For p. 3040, end. Asellus, capella are equivalent to asinus [ass], capra [goat]. See on this subject Forcellini under catellus [whelp, puppy]. (30 July 1823.) See p. 3073.
As from nosco–notus, noscito [to know], so from nascor–natus, nasciturus [to be born], about which I think I have spoken elsewhere [→Z 1113, 1167]. (30 July 1823.)
[3064] The same with morior–mortuus–moriturus [to die], etc. etc. (30 July 1823.)
For p. 3061. That assare [to roast] comes from ardere [to burn], and is the same as arsare, apart from the likelihood which it shows in itself, when we consider the meanings of such verbs, becomes even more probable when we note that our arrostire [to roast] (French rôtir) which is equivalent to assare, comes from urere which is almost equivalent to ardere (taken in the active sense, as we often do, and as we need to consider it in our case: see Forcellini under ardeo and arsus, the past participle, the French Dictionaries under arder, and the Spanish). And that arrostire comes from urere, is shown by seeing that it is a corruption (or whatever) of abbrostire which is originally the same verb; and that abbrostire is almost the same as abbrostolire, which is a corruption of abbrustolare; and that abbrustolare, when the letters abbr are subtracted (and I do not know how they came to be prefixed) is precisely the Latin ustulare [to singe], whose meaning is neither more nor less than that of abbrustolare; and that ustulare is formed from ustus from urere. Abbrustiare [to singe], a Florentine word, is materially the same as abbrustolare, with the tol changed [3065] (Latin tul) to ti, according to the practice in our language (and especially in Florentine and Tuscan), as from oc-ul-us occh-i-o, from masc-ul-us masch-i-o that the Florentines pronounce as mastio, etc., as I have said elsewhere [→Z 2358] (so from misc-ul-are misch-i-are, the Florentines say mistiare). The letters abbr abr or br seem in our language to be proper, I do not know why, to words of this sort of meaning or similar, as in abbrostire and the words mentioned above (the French only preserve the r, that is rostir, but this seems to be an apheresis of abbrostire, or abrustire which would be a true barbarian Latin word), in brustolare, abbruciare, etc., bruciare, etc., abbronzare, etc., abbruscare (see Alberti), brûler, abrasar [to sear], etc. Perhaps these are all corruptions of the Latin amb (ambustus, amburere, etc.). See if the Glossary has anything on the subject. In truth abbruciare, bruciare, brûler, abrasar do not appear to belong to Latin, and perhaps from the origin from which they spring was also borrowed the usage of prefixing the letters abbr, abr, br to other words with a similar meaning to theirs, [3066] albeit coming from a different origin, a Latin one, that is etc. (30 July 1823.)
That through literature Italian was for many centuries the most widespread language in Europe, and more widely spread than any other modern language in those times, or certainly for a long space of time (because Spanish for a certain time was perhaps equally so, and in Italy in the 17th century I find the Novels of Cervantes printed in Spanish,1 while today with French spreading so widely that there is no one who does not understand it, it is very unlikely that a book of literature or entertainment would be reprinted here in French); this fact can be gathered from many places and references indicated by me here and there [→Z 242, 1581–83], and from many others that can be easily gathered. See in particular Andrés, Storia della letteratura, part 2, bk. 1, “English poetry,” ed. Loschi, Venice, tome 4, pp. 116, 117, 119, the Life of Milton,2 Alberto Lollio’s “Orazione in lode della lingua toscana,” in the Prose fiorentine, part 2, vol. 4, Venice 1730–1743, pp. 38–39, where there is a very interesting passage on this subject. But note that in other editions such as that [3067] of the Raccolta di prose ad uso delle regie scuole, 3rd ed., Turin 1753, p. 309 this passage, along with the whole oration, is significantly altered; and see the preface to the quoted volume of the Prose fiorentine, pp. X‒XI.1 See also Speroni’s Oration “in morte del Bembo” in the Orationi printed in Venice, 1596, pp. 144–45. Caro’s “Canzone de’ Gigli,” sent to France, and composed specifically for that country, as too the Commentary on it, according to what Caro says in one of his letters to Varchi,2 the account taken of it in France, etc. (See Caro’s Life);3 Filicaia’s Canzone on the liberation of Vienna, sent to Germany, and I think also to Poland, and much praised there, as can be seen from Redi’s letters4 —See p. 3816; Alamanni’s poems composed in France at the request of those princes, etc., and printed there (see Mazzucchelli’s Life of Alamanni),5 since many other Italian books either in the original or translated were published at that time or reprinted outside Italy, where certainly no French, English, German books were published or reprinted in the original, and very few translated books (French or Spanish). All these things, and a thousand other similar pieces of information and indications which fill [3068] the books of the 16th and 17th centuries, and also the first years of the 18th century, demonstrate how widespread Italian was. Nevertheless it has left no or very few words to foreigners (except for some technical, military, fine arts words, etc., which are part of a different discussion),1 while French has communicated and communicates so many words and phrases and expressions and forms to all the cultured languages of Europe, and has planted them and naturalized them there for ever, and continues to plant and naturalize them. A sign that literature is a weak source and cause and subject for the universality of a language, because a language which is universal through its literature alone (and from this point of view Italian was truly universal in those times, much more than any other has ever been among civilized nations) does not make the nations in which it expands διγλώττους [bilingual], and is never anything other than material for study and erudition (παιδείας [education]).2 Therefore its words put down very shallow roots in other languages. Once the influence of its literature has come to an end [3069] its universality also comes to an end (not so with France, where once the influence of the nation comes to an end the universality of its language does not and will not come to an end, or with Greece, etc.), those words and expressions are very quickly forgotten and become obsolete which the study and imitation of its literature had perhaps introduced into foreign literatures, but no further than the literatures. At the time of Catherine de’ Medici in France, when our language spread for reasons other than just the literature, Italianism in French did not belong to literature alone, and in the latter as well was much greater than in other times and circumstances, because of which one of the Estienne family, I cannot recall which, wrote that satirical dialogue, about which I have spoken several times elsewhere.1
Ménage, Regnier Desmarais, Milton, etc., who wrote and composed poetry in Italian, are examples which were never repeated, I believe, in respect of any other modern language, except afterward with respect to French, and certainly they were examples never either given or imitated by Italians, and almost [3070] equaled only by the French. If it is true that in the 16th century there were chairs of Italian language in foreign parts, as Alberto Lollio says,1 they were, I believe, the only ones where they taught a modern foreign and not national language, nor was there anything similar in Italy for any other modern language (with the possible exception of the Propaganda in Rome)2 up to very recent times (is there at present any chair of modern languages in Italy? I greatly doubt it: of Italian? I am even more doubtful).3 It is also well known that Spanish literature and language in its golden age, which was the 16th century as with us, modeled itself to a great degree on Italian, with which nation Spain at that time was indeed too involved. (30 July 1823.)
Benedetto Buommattei in the Oration “Delle lodi della lingua toscana” delivered by him in the year 1623 in the Accademia Fiorentina (Life of Buommattei at the front of his Grammatica, Naples 1733, p. 22, beginning) toward the end, that is in the above-quoted Turin edition of the Raccolta, pp. 299, end–300 and at the end of his Grammatica, ed. quoted above, p. 273, end, speaks of the universal [3071] diffusion of Tuscan at that time, which you can see there.1 (30 July 1823.)
Dompter from domitare [to tame], with p inserted as in emptus [bought], sumptus [taken] (sumpsi, etc.) and
the like, and as some would have it in temptare which in Cicero’s Codex De re publica is written temtare,2 as are also written emtus, sumtus, peremtus [to destroy], etc. See p. 3761, end. And Richelet in his Dictionary writes domter with all its derivatives in the same way, and expects it to be pronounced donter, dontable, etc., so also other modern Dictionaries. So dompnus and domnus contracted from dominus. And to this discussion belongs the word somnus formed from ὕπνος [sleep] and, as Gellius says,3 from sypnus—or supnus–sumnus–somnus. See whether the Glossary has anything connected with the subject. (31 July 1823.)
For p. 3057. Similarly angustia for angoscia [a narrow space, distress, anxiety] (which is a corruption of angustia) or in a similar meaning appears to come from the Greek, that is as far as the metaphor is concerned. Στενοχωρίαι [a narrow space, distress] in this sense and in Saint Basil the Great’s Homily or sermon (λόγος) περὶ εὐχαριστίας “De gratiarum actione” [“On the Giving of Thanks, i.e., Eucharist”], Opera, ed. Garnier, tome 2, p. 26d, ch. 2.4 It remains to be seen however if such metaphors passed down to us from the Greeks, or to the Greeks from Latin (see, e.g., Forcellini under angustia: we too in this sense say strette, strettezza, etc.) or from barbarian [3072] Latin. See the Latin Glossary (because there is nothing in the Greek one) and Scapula. (31 July 1823.)
For p. 2841, margin. Such passive participles of neuter verbs (and perhaps of active verbs as well) used in a neuter sense (perhaps active as well), rather only in this sense, that is never passively, are abundant in the daughter languages of Latin. Stato, caduto, uscito, svaporato, esalato, venuto, andato, salito, sceso, sorto, vissuto, morto, etc. Parido or parida, participle with a passive ending, is used actively by the Spanish for someone who has given birth. Estar parida, esser puerpera, etc. Indeed almost all of these neuter verbs in the languages mentioned have such participles with the meaning mentioned and no other. (31 July 1823.) See p. 3298.
I have discussed elsewhere [→Z 107] the word camara or camera [room]. See Phaedrus, 4, 22, l. 29,1 and in the same place Desbillons and the others.
“The Romans, who achieved so much with their virtue and their blood, nevertheless recognized that everything comes from Fortune, a Goddess adored by them more than any other Deity. Hence Lucius Silla who conquered Virtue, and the Triumphs, and the seven Consulships of Gaius Marius, took on the name of Felix [Lucky], and considered himself to be the son of Fortune. And Augustus begged the Gods, that [3073] they would give his nephew his fortune, which was stupendous.” Bernardo Davanzati, “Orazione in morte del Gran Duca di Toscana Cosimo I.”1 (1 August, Feast of the Pardon of Assisi, 1823.)2
“Alexander the Great detested that” (advice) “of Aristotle, which suggested that he treat the Greeks as relatives, and the Barbarians as beasts, and plants.” Id., ibid.3 (1 August, Feast of the Pardon of Assisi, 1823.)
For p. 3063. Scrupulus diminutive of scrupus [sharp stone, anxiety], always used however, as far as I am aware, in place of the positive in metaphorical senses, with the sole exception of Cicero, De re publica 3, 16, p. 244.4 Rather even in its proper sense, except for one passage in Petronius, I am not aware that the positive mentioned can ever be found in use. But the diminutive, yes. I say the same about calx for lapis [stone], from which comes calculus. See Forcellini under calculus and calx. (1 August, Feast of the Pardon of Assisi, 1823.)
Aborto as from aborior–abortus [to miscarry], or from the simple orior [to spring from]. Our abortire and the Latin abortio is (if this verb really exists) would be anomalous continuatives. French avorter is the Latin abortare. See [3074] Spanish and whether there is anything in the Glossary. (1 August, Feast of the Pardon of Assisi, 1823.)
Appellito as from appello–appellatus [to call upon, to address], from which Spanish apellidar, apellido substantive, etc. (1 August 1823.)
Reditus a um. See the Oration of the Emperor Claudius (quoted in other cases by Forcellini, such as under appellito) in Gruter, p. 502, col. 1, l. 36. Cretus, concretus, etc. See Forcellini. Pertaesus, Distisus, Fisus, diffisus, confisus, etc. See Forcellini. Exoletus that is qui exolevit [one who has grown up]. See Forcellini at the end of the entry. Census a um. See Forcellini. Status a um. See Forcellini at the beginning of this entry, especially the reference to Domitius Ulpianus. Nuptus a um. Falsus. See Forcellini. (1 August 1823.)
It should be noted that Spanish, in its almost perpetual custom and rule, in participles of 2nd- and 3rd-conjugation Latin verbs preserves the ancient, regular and full form which I have discussed elsewhere [→Z 1155], notwithstanding the fact that in known Latin it is altered, contracted, or anomalous. In these cases Italian as a rule blindly follows Latin even though it goes against the rule and propriety of its conjugations and inflections, as I have said elsewhere [→Z 2688ff.] on the subject of arsare. E.g., (1) tenido [kept], venido [come], and a thousand like them are uncontracted participles, that is tenitus, venitus, [3075] in place of the contracted participles which known Latin uses, that is tentus, ventus, etc. In this and in many other cases we often change i to u (an interchange which itself may be very ancient) saying tenuto, venuto, etc. The French often change and compress into the letter u all the letters itus: tenu, venu from tenitus, venitus and so on in the normal way. (2) Corregido [corrected] is an uncontracted participle without any letter change at all, that is corregitus, from which regular participle Latin through contraction formed corregtus, and then with the g changed to its cognate palatal, correctus which is the only participle remaining in known Latin and Italian. Similarly leido [read] (except that Spanish omits the g throughout this verb) is the primitive regular legitus (shown by legitare [to gather, to read]) and it comes from this, and not in fact from lectus, from which we get letto. In fact, so that you can see the difference, from the substantive lectus [bed] Spanish does not form leido, but lecho (an ancient word), [3076] since the Spanish ch is very often the equivalent of the Latin ct. (3) Movido [moved], nacido [born], conocido [known], and a thousand like them are uncontracted and irregular participles, in place of contracted and anomalous ones. Movitus for motus. Nascitus (shown, apart from the analogy, by nasciturus, as I have noted elsewhere [→Z 3063]) for natus which is the only one today in Latin, Italian, and French. Cognoscitus, shown, as I have said elsewhere [→Z 1113, 1167, 2777, 2826] to have come from noscito, for cognitus, which is unique in Latin, unique in French. In Italian there is cognitus and there is also cognoscitus, with the i as usual changed to u, and I say changed, because in conosciuto, the i is an accident of writing, not proper to the word, and serves only to indicate the pronunciation of the letters sc, which if they were placed before the u without the interposition of the i, would be pronounced differently. So the h too is accidental in dich’io in giuochi, etc., etc. In any case nacido, etc., is properly the same as nascitus, with the s omitted through what is proper to the modern, because the ancients [3077] wrote the s, as also in crecer [to grow] (from which crecido‒crescitus cresciuto, for cretus-cru), condecender, etc. etc. Spanish is usually extremely regular in participles of this sort, much more than Italian, more than French, and normally preserves much more of the ancient nature and primitive property of Latin, indeed preserves it, one could say, fully. And that is the case no less nor in any different way when the known Latin is irregular or contracted than when it is regular and simple, such as from habitus, havido, or habido [had], which we with our usual change say as avuto. Now this havido in Spanish has exactly the same form as tenido, etc. But this is not the case in Latin, even though teneo has the same form as habeo. See p. 3544. See p. 3752, end.
However it is not the case that there are not occasions when Spanish also follows blindly the Latin anomaly or contraction in such participles, as Italian and French usually do, and becomes anomalous in its turn, like the other two. About visto, and quisto (which however also has a regular form querido) I speak elsewhere [→Z 2201–202, 3032]. From facere, hacer [to do, to make], [3078] it does not form completely hacido, facitus, but by contraction hecho from factus
(fatto, fait), anciently fecho, with the ct changed to ch as is proper in Spanish, as in derecho [straight], provecho [profit], etc. etc., and as I have also said elsewhere [→Z 871–72]; with the a changed to e, as in trecho from tractus, in leche from the ablative lacte (Perticari argues that it comes from the accusative with the m subtracted,1 but here we can see that the accusative of lac is lac: see also Forcellini where lac is masculine in several examples) and as the Latins do in compounds, conFECTUS, etc., in echar from jactare [to throw]. Where it is noteworthy that we and the French also have the same mutation: gettare, jeter, as the Latins in compounds: obiectare, etc. From dicere not decido or dicido, but dicho‒dictus‒detto‒dit. (1 August 1823.) See p. 3362.
The finest and most fortunate age of man, the only one which could be happy today, which is childhood, is tormented by upbringing and education in a thousand ways, with a thousand anxieties, fears, labors, so much so that the adult man, even in the midst of the unhappiness that is brought by the recognition of truth, disillusion, boredom with life, the dulling of the imagination, would not agree to go back to being a child if the condition was to suffer the very same as he suffered in his childhood. And why is that poor age so tormented [3079] and rendered unhappy, an age in which unhappiness would appear to be almost impossible to conceive? So that the individual will become cultured and civilized, that is, will acquire the perfection of man. Fine perfection, certainly desired by human nature, that which necessarily assumes the supreme unhappiness of the age which nature has manifestly designated as the happiest part of our life. I ask once more. Why is childhood made so unhappy? And I give a better answer. So that man will acquire at the cost of such unhappiness what will make him unhappy for his whole life, that is the knowledge of himself and of things, the opinions, customs, habits contrary to those that are natural, and therefore excluding the possibility of being happy; so that with the unhappiness of childhood he will purchase and bring about the unhappiness of all other ages; or let us rather say, so that with the happiness of childhood, he will lose the happiness which nature had destined and prepared both for childhood and for every other age of man, and that he would otherwise have obtained in effect. (1 August 1823.)
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