For p. 2864. Stipula [stalk], from unattested stipa with the diminutive remaining, from which we have stoppia, the French esteuble whence éteule. See Forcellini under stipula, stipa, stipulor, etc., and whether there is anything in the Glossary. (21 July 1823.)
Barbarian continuatives. Spanish Dilatar from differo‒dilatus [to spread, to scatter]. See the Crusca. French dilayer. I find in modern Spanish dilatar also in the sense of to denounce, to accuse, from defero‒delatus. Decretare, decretar, décréter from decerno‒decretus [to decide, to determine]. French Diviser from divido‒divisus [to divide]. Spanish Libertar [to set free] almost liberitare or liberatare. Such a contraction is no cause for surprise in this case, and is perhaps ancient. Libertus a [one set free, a freedman] seems to be merely a contraction of liberatus a. See whether there is anything in Forcellini and the Glossary. (21 July 1823.)
For p. 2996, end. That obstino [to persist] comes from obs and teneo, see Forcellini under obstinatus, beginning and under obscenus [inauspicious, abominable] beginning. If obscenus too comes from obs, note the analogy. Since in composition, the preposition a or ab is never placed in front of words [3002] beginning with c, q, t but always abs. So therefore if obscenus comes from cano [to sing] or caenum [filth], it is only to be expected that one does not say obcenus but oscenus. Oscillo [to swing], for me, is from obs and cillo as, and means almost the same as obciere, obmovere, obcire [to move forward]. Now I say cillo as, not cillo is as Forcellini does,1 because it is clear in the passage from Festus that cillent (optative) is part of a first-conjugation verb; because cillo must have been a diminutive of cio or of cieo [to move], like conscribillo [to scribble], etc. (see p. 2986), which are of the first, although conscribo, etc., are of the 3rd; because I can see oscillans, oscillatio, and our oscillare, etc., and Forcellini himself says oscillo as, not is. See all these headings in Forcellini and oscillum and cilleo. If oscillo as were formed from cillo is or cilleo es, it would belong to this category of ours, like obstino as, from teneo es, etc. Forcellini does not appear to have noticed that cilleo or cillo are undoubtedly linked to cio or cieo. And so therefore one says likewise ostendo that is obstendo, obstino not obtino. More modern writers ignored this rule, and said obtendo, obtineo, etc. In place of this last verb it appears that the ancients said obstineo, with the meaning however of ostendo [to show]. See Forcellini under obstinet. And perhaps many Latin compound verbs and parts of speech beginning with os, which are said to be formed from the noun os, are not so formed at all but from obs, as, e.g., oscen inis [bird of augury] which is said to be formed from os and cano (as if singing was ever done except with the mouth), perhaps really comes from obs and cano. In fact occinere that is obcinere [to sing (inauspiciously)] (which according to the ancient rule would have been obscinere, and therefore oscinere like ostendere, which too is foolishly derived by some from os, in clear contradiction of its meaning) was said of birds of augury, and from the way in which Livy uses it2 it appears that this word was ritual in this [3003] context. See Forcellini under occino, occento, occentus, occano, obcantatus, obcanto. I wonder a great deal whether those words which are said to be derived from sursum contracted to sus (except susque) such as sustineo, sustollo, suspendo, suspicio, etc. etc., in fact come from sub (third preposition ending in b, like ob and ab), and are originally substineo, substollo, etc., where the s is introduced for propriety of language; and whether they mean the same as to support from below, to raise from below, that is whether they express the action which is carried out from below upward, as in Spanish subir does not in fact mean to descend or to go down, but to rise, that is to go from below upward. Thus frequently the Latin subire. See Forcellini where you will also find subvenio for supervenio. See p. 3558. Subrepere [to creep along] in the passage of Pliny cited by Forcellini, see Sauroctonus, properly is nothing other than repere [to creep] from below upward, because this is (if I recollect correctly) what the lizard is doing in the Apollo Sauroktonus from the Pio-Clementino Museum, which does not repit clam [creep secretly], but openly, and is not going down, but going up a tree.1 And then Pliny used the term repere as appropriate to the lizard, which is almost a reptile. The Apollo mentioned is certainly a copy of the one by Praxiteles, on which see Pliny. In any case, the insertion of the s can also be found after other prepositions, and in exact support of our case are formed destino [to determine, to design] and praestino [to purchase], blood brothers of obstino, formed from de or prae and from teneo (see Forcellini under Destino and Praestino) and not in fact from some imagined stino, as some claim. And these two verbs indeed, belong to the category of which we are speaking, particularly since they, and [3004] especially destino, have an entirely continuative force. (21 July 1823.)
Very frequent in written Italian, and more in written and spoken Spanish is the use of the verb andare, andar (not ir), in the sense of to be. Here is Seneca the tragedian (in Forcellini under eo is, col. 3, beginning), “Non ibo inulta” [“I will not be unavenged”]. Note that we have without doubt taken this usage from the Spanish (in fact it is extremely frequent in our seventeenth-century writers with a hundred other Hispanisms; in 16th- and 14th-century writers, it is never found, as far as I remember, or almost never). And Seneca is in fact Spanish. The expression of the Egyptian Claudian “qui vindicet ibit” [“an avenger will come”], that is erit [there will be], is different in nature, because neither the Spanish nor the Italians use andare instead of essere unless it is in practice or potentially followed by an adjective which has the force of a predicate.1 In Horace, Satires 2, 1, last line: “tu missus abibis” [“you, dismissed, will go”] is the same as missus, that is absolutus eris [you will be absolved], that is mittēris or absolvēris. The Greeks have οἴχεσθαι [to go] with participle: usage analogous to ours. Here perhaps there should be reference to the expressions, andar la bisogna, la cosa [how the business, the matter goes], etc., così andò il fatto [that’s how it was], così va for così è [that’s how it is], va bene [that’s fine], come va la salute [how’s your health], etc. etc. See the Spanish and French Dictionaries. (21 July 1823.) See p. 3008.
[3005] For p. 2844. Thus Spanish avistar [to make out]. —This discussion also includes the French viser [to aim], deviser, ancient French, for s’entretenir familièrement [to discuss informally], etc. (see the Du Cange Glossary under Visores [witnesses, inspectors], § 2), and the Italian divisare, which also however, at least in some senses, could be a barbarous continuative of divido‒divisus [to divide] and the same as French diviser. See if there is anything in the Crusca, and Forcellini and the Glossary.
On this topic it should be noted in relation to the word guisa, French guise, which I have spoken of elsewhere [→Z 1679], that it is no different to saying visa, and must have originally meant aspetto, quel ch'apparisce e si vede [what appears and is seen], forma, whence then modo, maniera, façon. Evidence of the first meaning of this word and the form it had originally are our noun divisa [division, livery, device] (which I do not think comes from divisare for variare); French devise; divisato for de-formato, contraffatto, déguisé, travestito [disguised], which Salvini said barbarously diguisato—Disguisare is, I think, our ancient form. See the Crusca. —divisamento for assisa [uniform, livery]. Guisar in Spanish is vestire, etc. But see the Spanish Dictionaries. Travisare, travisato, travisamento, traviso mean the same as travestire [to disguise], almost traguisar. Svisare [to distort, to smash someone’s face in] see in the Crusca. See if there is anything in the Glossary. (21 July 1823.) See p. 3036.
[3006] Suso, giuso [up, down]. Thus the most ancient Latins for sursum deorsum. See Forcellini under Susum, etc., and whether there is anything in the Glossary.
For p. 2814. Vindicare [to lay claim to], indicare [to indicate] which would perhaps correspond to indicere [to proclaim] as educare is to educere. But one may venture to suggest the possibility that the former comes from vindex icis [claimant, protector], the latter from index icis [pointer, indication];a and so iudicare [to judge] from iudex icis, educare [to lead
forth, to bring up] from an e-dux ucis (in a reciprocal sense like redux from reduco [to lead back]) jugare [to bind, to join] from jux or junx jugis which still exists today in the compounds coniux [spouse], etc., as I have said elsewhere [→Z 1132]. So one may also suggest the possibility that the whole of this category of verbs comes from known or unknown verbal nouns, not directly from original verbs. In any case, given what I have conjectured elsewhere [→Z 1129ff.] that nouns such as dux, dex (iu-dex, in-dex, etc.), ceps (parti-ceps [participant], au-ceps [bird catcher, spy], etc.), fex (arti-fex [artificer, artist], etc.), spex (aru-spex [soothsayer], etc.), fer (luci-fer [light-bearer], etc.), and similar, are previous to their respective verbs, it would follow from this that verbs of this category formed from such nouns were brothers and not children of the corresponding third-conjugation ones, and it would always be important and to our purpose to note how of two verbs formed from one root, the one [3007] which has or at the beginning had a continuative meaning, is first conjugation, and the other is third, etc. One can continue the discussion in this way. Educare could come from dux, with the preposition added only to the verb, and not to the noun; therefore it is not necessary to suppose a compound noun edux. The simple noun is sufficient. So sacrificare (p. 2903) could come from a sacrifex and also from the simple fex. So occupare (p. 2996) could come from an occeps occupis (like auceps aucupis whence aucupare), or occeps occipis which would be the same (since the mutual interchangeability of i and u in such nouns is very normal as in every other case; and hence mancipium and mancupium, etc.), could come, I repeat, from this compound noun, or else from the simple ceps. Mancipo or mancupo, according to this argument, will not come from manus and capio, but from manceps ipis, which in ancient times must also have been said as manceps cupis. See p. 3019, end. Opitulare [to help] (p. 2997) will be from opitulus [helper]. And the same for, if not all, at least a large part of verbs of this category. Propago as [to propagate, to increase] from pango is [to fix, to plant]. See pp. 3752–53. (22 July 1823.)
[3008] For p. 3004, end. When joined with passive participles the verb to go among the Spanish has almost the function of an auxiliary verb and the role of to be, as with us the verb venire (venire ucciso, etc., for essere ucciso [to be killed], and it can also be found in Ariosto; and see the Crusca), but the former normally signifies a more continuous and lasting state of being acted upon. I do not know if one would say fulano andò muerto or matado [so-and-so was killed] for fuè matado (22 July 1823.)
For p. 2953. That is what happens when we learn or have learned some foreign language, what happens, I mean, with regard to relating to the corresponding character in its alphabet the idea of those sounds which are not found in our language, or which are not expressed in our alphabet as being distinct from the others, or which since they are compounds are therefore expressed in the alphabet of that foreign language with a particular character, either because such a composition of sounds is not used in our language, or because our writing indicates it with more than one character, and the foreign language with one only (such as Greek where p and s are ψ). On which see pp. 2740ff., 2745 end–46, and [3009] ff. (22 July 1823.) See p. 3024.
For p. 2841. Poetic style and language in a literature that is already formed, provided it has them, are not distinguished from the prosaic nor divided and separated from the vulgar solely by the use of words and expressions which, although understood, are not adopted in everyday discourse or in prose, these words and expressions being nothing other than ancient idioms and manners of speech which have fallen into disuse, except in poems. But poetic language is also greatly distinguished from the prosaic and common by the different material inflection of those same words and expressions which prose and the common people still use. So it happens very frequently that a certain word or expression is poetic when spoken or written in a certain way, and prosaic, indeed sometimes completely unpoetic, indeed even completely unworthy and very common, when it is spoken or written in a different way. And in the former it is extremely elegant, while in the latter it is utterly coarse, even sometimes for prose writers. This method of distinguishing and separating the language of a poem from that of prose and the common people by inflecting or modifying the extrinsic form of a prosaic and everyday word or expression differently [3010] from its use is adopted very frequently in any language which has a distinct poetic language, as was always done by the Greeks, and is by the Italians. In fact, talking purely of poetic diction, and not style, the above-mentioned method is one of the most frequently adopted to achieve the end stated, and perhaps more frequent than the use of rare words or expressions.
Now this different poetic inflection and pronunciation of current words, what else is it normally, if not ancient inflection and pronunciation, used by ancient prose writers, in ancient speech, and now passed into disuse in everyday prose and speech? In such a way that the words so pronounced and written are truly none other than ancient words and archaic forms, insofar as they are so written and pronounced? And when we ordinarily call things poetic inflections, poetic license, poetic words, is it not the same as saying archaisms? On this topic see an excellent observation by Perticari, Apologia, Chapter 14, end, pp. 131–32.1 Certainly this diversity of inflection for the most part is exactly [3011] what I say. So it is in Greek poets, so in Latin (though they are more wary of the ancient, and therefore their poetic language is a good deal less distinct from their prose in relation to words, than Greek is), so in Italian. Because it is not to be thought that the inflection of a word is to be esteemed, and therefore truly to be, more elegant for prose or verse, because it is and insofar as it is closer to its etymology, but only because it is and insofar as it is less trite through everyday use, while still being well understood and not seeming affected. (In fact it is very often the case that the regular etymological inflection is extremely coarse and the same word when distorted is extremely elegant and very poetic, as I state elsewhere [→Z 2075–76].) And this aspect of not being trite or affected, but well understood, how can it happen to a word, or to this sort of inflection of the same word? Taking it from or inflecting it in accordance with a particular dialect ensures that it will not be made trite by the general populace, but it is very unlikely to ensure that it does not appear affected or that it is well understood by all. As well as the fact that it will also be trite for that part of the nation to whom that dialect is proper. In truth particular dialects are a meager help and source for poetic language, and any sort of elegance. We Italians see this in Dante, where the [3012] words and inflections genuinely proper to particular dialects of Italy are not at all successful. Nor has our poetry, nor any wise man among our poets or prose writers ever decided to imitate Dante in the use of dialects, not only in general, but even with regard to those same words and pronunciations or inflections which he adopted.1 In relation to the use and mingling of Greek dialects in the inflection of words in Homer, while I have no intention of revisiting the infinite arguments already offered by so many others on this subject, I will just say that either the circumstances of Greece and Homer were different from those which we can consider—and therefore, since because of the antiquity and obscurity of the material we can make no certain and clear judgment about it, we can deduce no argument from it—or else (and this is what I think) those inflections which in Homer are attributed to dialects, and it is considered that Homer took them from dialects, either all or a great part were in truth proper to the common Greek language of his time, or of a language, or perhaps we might say of a usage more [3013] ancient than he, from which common language, whether it was more ancient, or still in use, Homer took those inflections which he is thought to have taken from this and that dialect without distinction and confusedly.1 Since I do not want to accept any of this, I will say that in Homer the mingling of dialects must have been as unsuccessful as in Dante. On the subject of later Greek poets—all of whom (apart from those who wrote in personal dialects, such as Sappho, Theocritus, etc.)2 followed Homer completely, as in every other th
ing, so too in the language, and from him they took everything which makes their language poetic, that is from his language they formed what is called Greek poetic dialect, or else common poetic language—the question is not difficult to resolve. For they did not take the inflections which they adopted from the dialects, proper though they were to particular dialects, but from Homeric dialect or language, in such a way that they turned out elegant and poetic, not inasmuch as they were proper to personal dialects, but inasmuch as they were ancient and Homeric. They were well understood [3014] by the whole of the nation, and did not appear affected because the entire nation, although it did not use Homeric inflections and words in everyday speech or in prose writing, did know them, however, and its ear was attuned to them through the great popularization of Homer’s verses, which were sung by the rhapsodes in the streets and taverns, and known by heart even by children. See p. 3041. Which did not happen with the poems of Dante, who was never even a canonical poet in Italy, as Homer was in Greece with the grammar teachers themselves, or certainly with the grammarians (see Wetstein’s Laertius, tome 2, p. 583, note 5), nor is the Italian poetic dialect and language Dante’s, nor was it ever. I say this in general terms, and not about some few and particular poets, his decided imitators, such as Fazio degli Uberti, Federico Frezzi the author of the Quadriregio, and one or two from the last century like Varano.1 Even Petrarch’s language is not Dante’s, nor was it taken from him, nor does it make use at all of particular dialects.
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