Zibaldone

by Leopardi, Giacomo

  For p. 2843, margin. When I speak of disyllabic verbs, I mean counting the eo of the second-conjugation verbs (e.g., do-ceo [to teach]), and the io of the fourth-conjugation verbs (au-dio [to hear]) as though they were one syllable, in accordance with the vernacular usage I have demonstrated elsewhere [→Z 1123ff.], where they were pronounced as disyllables. And when I say disyllabic, I mean the stem, i.e., the first person singular present indicative. (4 Sept. 1823.)

  For p. 3343. Generally among the ancients, and in primitive nations and societies, the term unhappy is a term of opprobrium, and is used vituperatively, as a term of insult, ignominy, blame, reproach, etc., and this is how it is perceived. And being seen as unhappy is akin to being of ill repute. And unhappiness (of whatever kind) is used as an accusation, like a crime or a vice, etc. (4 Sept. 1823.)

  [3352] Nisi me omnia fallunt [unless I am very much mistaken], the verb meditor [to reflect, to attend, to care for] is a true, perfect continuative of medeor [to heal]. Continuative as to its meaning, and continuative as to its form and derivation.

  Medeor does not have a participle ending in us that is in use, but by analogy its true and regular participle in us is meditus. That it does not now have this participle should come as no surprise. Countless verbs no longer have theirs, or have them only in irregular form, and their participles in us, or regular participles in us, have been or could be shown by me [→Z 3033–35] by means of the continuatives and frequentatives which derive from them, or by other means, and despite the fact that such participles are otherwise wholly unattested. I have also shown [→Z 2928ff.] several different participles in us (or supines) of verbs which nowadays have only one, or three for verbs which nowadays have only two, etc.

  Medeor is said to derive from μέδω or μεδέω, I reign, I rule, because the doctor has to command.1 What an incredibly forced, poor etymology this is. I believe it to be undisputed that medeor is simply μήδομαι, curo [to care for], curam gero [to practice care], a very ancient Greek verb [3353] which was already out of use, or at least had something of the ancient about it, in the days of Xenophon, as it seems may be gathered from his Symposium, ch. 8, § 30.1 And if poets (and writers adopting a flowery, sophisticated style) continued to use it even after such a long time, they did the same thing with a thousand other ancient words too, which in fact they used precisely because they were ancient, and made to sound foreign to or cut off from the speech of ordinary people. Latin poets did the same thing; so too do the Italian poets, and I discuss this at length elsewhere [→Z 1123ff.]. The fact that this verb is so ancient encourages us to suppose that it might have a brother in Latin, one that is proper to the oldest Latinity as the verb medeor is. Now, it may be seen that medeor is the same as μήδομαι for a variety of reasons. First of all, the external reasons.

  (1) Only the middle or passive (μήδομαι) voices of this verb remain in Greek. Similarly in Latin only the deponent medeor exists, whence medicor [to heal] also deponent, on which see p. 3264.

  (2) If anyone were to insist that the verb deriving from μήδομαι should be medor rather than medeor, apart from the fact that [3354] thousands of other examples could be brought forward of such changes, to endings in particular (and also much more substantial changes, ones which are not concerned merely with endings or the form of the conjugation itself, as this one is), especially in words as ancient as this (οἶνος [wine], masculine, vinum neuter, etc. etc.); it should be noted that the future of μήδομαι is μηδήσομαι, as though it came from μηδέομαι. Moreover, the difficulty would be almost as great in the case of μέδω impero [I rule], for while μέδω and μέδωμαι are used very commonly, μεδέω is not. Scapula gives only one example of Homer using the participle μεδέων (whereas μέδων is extremely common),1 possibly to keep it typically dialect, or for poetic variation, more than any other reason.a Nor, so far as I am aware, are the future μηδήσομαι or aorist ἐμέδησα or ἐμεδησάμην found, unlike μηδήσομαι from μήδομαι.

  Coming now to the internal reasons, that is, meaning, an excellent proof that medeor is the same as μήδομαι may be found in the ease, closeness, and naturalness of its etymology. Medicare in Italian truly means to treat, take care of, console, provide for the sick person (all of which are meanings of μήδωμαι). Indeed, [3355] is the Latin verb curare not used specifically to mean to medicate? Has this not become the only proper meaning of the verb curare in colloquial and ordinary Italian usage, that is, to treat, to heal? Is this not (if I am not mistaken) absolutely the only meaning that the Spanish verb curar has? The same may be said of cura, French cure, etc., i.e., medication, healing. Hence medeor is literally μήδομαι, also as far as its meaning is concerned, the only difference being that it retains only a more particular, specific meaning rather than a more general one, as has also happened with the verb curare in colloquial and spoken vernacular in Italian, and in Spanish with curar, which is precisely the same, identical case; and the same is true also of millions of other verbs in different cases. Hence medeor is μήδομαι, and not even metaphorically (except insofar as it means to put right, to heal), but literally, and without being far-fetched, as it would be to derive it from μέδω impero [to rule].

  Moreover, it should be noted that μέδω, and μέδομαι particularly, very often have the same meaning as μήδομαι, that is, curo, curam gero. And [3356] both of them probably come from the same root, and originally were one and the same verb, initially meaning either impero [to rule] or curo [to cure] which has not come down to the present. Thus while I deny that medeor comes from μέδω impero, I do not deny that it comes from μέδω curo, or rather from μέδομαι, which amounts to the same thing as deriving it from μήδομαι. Indeed, despite the fact that in very ancient words one may not, or should not, look too much at whether vowels are long or short, and the many other differences of this kind that could be cited between Greek and Latin words which are identical in meaning or certainly in origin, and again between ancient and most recent Latin, or between various periods in the Latin and Greek languages, involving the same term; despite this, I will not oppose the idea that medeor derives from μέδομαι rather than from μήδομαι, because the me in medeor is short in this verb and medicor and all its other derivatives or compounds (such as remedium), including meditor, on which more shortly. And it might well be believed that μέδομαι had an irregular future form μεδήσομαι (just as μήδομαι has μηδήσομαι), which would point to the unattested verb μεδέομαι, especially since [3357] its active voice μεδέω exists. Indeed, it will be very natural to suppose that medeor in fact comes from the unattested verb μεδέομαι (whether this was proper to all Greece, or merely some dialect which changed it from μέδομαι), and hence the verb medeor could not, by virtue either of its form or of its meaning, be more evidently, perfectly, regularly, or fully the same as the Greek verb.

  From medeor, which later came to mean specifically and exclusively to heal, with the metaphorical meanings appropriate to it, but which from the beginning, as the above shows, had the general meaning of curo, curam gero, consulo [to care for, to take care of, to have regard for], as the Greek verb μεδέομαι did; from medeor, I maintain, according to the ordinary and regular formations of continuatives from participles ending in us, meditor was formed.

  (1) Meditor, like medeor and like medicor, and also like μήδομαι, is a deponent verb.

  (2) Insofar as its meaning is concerned, meditor is the equivalent of the Greek μελετάω [to attend, to study]. Now, where does this verb come from? From μέλω (now unattested, save in the [3358] impersonal), curae sum [to be an object of care and attention] and sometimes also curo, hence μέλομαι curo, curam gero, hence μελέτη [practice, meditation] cura, hence μέλετάω [to care for, to practice] curo, curam gero, and hence exerceo [to exercise], exerceo me, [I practice], meditor [to meditate], in the same way as με�
�έτη means exercitatio, meditatio, indeed, the participle μεμεληκώς from μέλω is also found for qui se exercuit [one who has practiced], etc. (see Scapula under μελετάω).a Can a better example or proof be found? Μελετάω is properly the Greeks’ meditor, and it comes from μέλω curo, as meditor comes from medeor in its original, proper, and general meaning, which is in fact curo. It is certainly ludicrous to derive meditor from μελετάω (as Forcellini does), for these verbs mean the same thing. But although they have nothing in common insofar as their origin and provenance is concerned, the Greek verb’s derivation nonetheless shows clearly and reveals the derivation, descent, origin, and root of the equivalent Latin verb. A derivation which is confirmed and demonstrated by my theory of the formation of continuatives, of which this instance [3359] constitutes an especially regular example in terms of form and a particularly characteristic one in terms of meaning. For who cannot see that to practice or meditate on something is but a continuation of the simple act of having a care for it or taking care of it, which may be sometimes accomplished in but a brief space of time whereas the former requires duration, length, and continuity over time?

  See how wonderfully my theory of continuatives clarifies the origins of the Latin language, corrects etymologies, reveals the true and original properties of words and the analogies between languages. As in this instance, with the observation that meditor must come from a participle ending in us, etc.: (1) the lost participle or supine of medeor is discovered; (2) the true etymology of meditor is revealed; (3) that of medeor is corrected and affirmed; (4) the original and proper meaning of this verb is found and demonstrated; (5) the analogy between the Greek and Latin languages is observed in the comparative derivations of meditor and μελετάω (equivalent verbs) with respect to their meaning. (3 Sept. 1823.) —As kings in ancient times were the ones who had duties, that is who were tutors and curators of the republic (Cicero, De re publica),1 [3360] or were reputed to be such rather more so than was subsequently the case,a it is little wonder that the king was referred to as curator (μέδων) and to reign meant the same as to care for, and vice versa. In other words, the shift from one to another of these meanings was very easy and natural, whichever of the two was the original and proper meaning of the verb μέδω.b Medeor and meditor are deponent verbs. Similarly, μήδομαι is the middle voice. And it is quite natural that one should say μεδέομαι or μέδομαι rather than use the active voice μέδω in the sense of curo, curam gero, for this meaning is one of those which has something reciprocal about it, which in Greek are usually expressed with the verb in the middle voice. Thus it is entirely natural that medeor should be a deponent verb, that is, that it should come from μέδομαι or μεδέομαι, despite the fact that this verb also has an active voice. Which μήδομαι does not. But this, for the reason described above, does not bear much weight in proving that medeor is μήδομαι rather than the verb μέδω‒μέδωμαι. (5 September 1823.)

  A man is more pleasing and successful in conversation and in life, the more he [3361] is able to laugh. (5 Sept. 1823.)

  Constater in French [to notice] is a continuative of consto as, with the a of constatus not having changed to i, which shows that this continuative must either be barbarian Latin or of French origin. The same may be said of the Spanish verb horadar [to bore through, to pierce] (foradar in ancient Spanish), from foro as. See if the Glossary has anything on this. (5 Sept. 1823.)

  For p. 3282. The man (and in the same way also the woman) who is weak and in need of the actions of others, whether he is born like this or has become so, somehow (and to a greater or lesser degree) grows used to being served and aided by others, and to not serving or helping anyone himself, for he is unable to, even if from the beginning he may have wanted to, even if he is inclined by disposition to charity. Because of this habit he becomes prone to egoism, which, as you see, is not innate in him because of himself (even if he has always been weak and needy, right from birth), but is the result of a habit which developed in him sooner or later, which began either at the start of his life or in the flower of his youth, in middle age or as his years start to wane, etc. Because of this habit, he starts to consider others (if not by using his reason, then at least in practice) [3362] as though they were made for him, and himself as though he were made for himself alone, which is the very essence of egoism; he becomes a stranger to that compassion and charity which he has never been able or will never again be able to practice, the habit of which he has never been able to acquire, or had to lose. (5 Sept. 1823.)

  For p. 3078. These same anomalies in Spanish and the many more in Italian (for which see p. 2688ff. and elsewhere), in which these languages abandon the rule of their own analogy in order to follow Latin, may serve to suggest that on those occasions when they do not depart from their own analogy, they are not therefore automatically abandoning the Latin language but are in fact following it—not, however, Latin as we know it, rather as it was preserved in the vernacular tradition—especially if in these instances it is seen, as is very often and perhaps on the majority of occasions the case, that Italian and Spanish, in following their own analogy, are in fact still following what would have been the true analogy of the Latin language, although Latin itself, so far as we know it, in very many of these instances does not follow its own analogy but is anomalous and [3363] irregular. Hence we should not disregard the evidence which people were trying to draw from regular Italian and Spanish participles to prove that Latin had participles analogous to these (albeit unknown to us) and from which they derived. For instance, I could usefully derive the Latin viditus from the Italian veduto [seen], which would be the very regular Latin form as the other is the very regular Italian. Especially because just as visus in Latin is anomalous, so too the anomalous visto is found in Italian and Spanish, and in this the two languages depart from their analogy in order to follow, not the Latin analogy, but its anomaly. See pp. 3032ff. and in particular p. 3033 margin. The same may be said of the French language. As a general observation it will be noted insofar as the passive participles are concerned, that what is or would be regular in the daughter languages (save for the regular and usual alterations, i.e., endings, the i which becomes u in Italian, as on p. 3075 and other similar examples) is or would be just as regular in Latin. (5 Sept. 1823.)

  [3364] The sudden transition from the grave, serious, lento, melancholic, passionate, intimate, and as they say, from adagio (if I am not mistaken) to allegro, accelerated, fading, étourdi [stunned, dazed], etc. etc., which is so common in our music, indeed which is typical of virtually all of our arias, etc., not only has no foundation whatsoever in nature, it is in fact quite contrary to nature, in which nothing is sudden, and much less the passage from one opposite to the other. Moreover, quite apart from its suddenness, the allegro itself does harm to the passionate, it extinguishes or cools the passion in the minds of the listeners, and provides an ugly contrast with what precedes it. The effect of one part of the melody is harmful to, contrasts with, destroys that of the other. It is unlikely that a melancholic person would speak in an allegro intonation, a passionate person in a one that is fading, unlikely that he allow himself to become gay, playful, insouciant, silly, etc. etc. Nonetheless, the degree to which anyone who has listened to music among us must have become habituated to transitions such as these, makes them seem entirely proper to us, leads us to expect them as though they were natural, as though suggested by the preceding melody, etc., as though due, as though absolutely proper to musical composition. It leads our ear to expect them almost spontaneously and naturally (as is the case, for becoming habituated is second nature), indeed, when they are not there, it makes us see their absence as something improper. It makes our ear yearn for something, not be satisfied, indeed be choqué, révolté [shocked, disgusted] by their absence, disappointed in its expectations, in short, it causes this absence [3365] to produce a sense and judgment that something is imperfect, mutilated, unbecoming, and u
npleasant, and hence ugly in musical terms. (5 Sept. 1823.) Thus the concept of the opposite of ugliness, that is of beauty and propriety in music, depends on, and is determined by, habituation, with the result that, if such habituation is not merely unnatural but is in fact contrary to nature, so too such beauty and propriety, that is the idea we have of it, is not merely beyond nature, and not founded in nature or produced by nature, but is indeed contrary to nature. (6 Sept. 1823.) Such transition is in direct contrast with imitation, which must be the immediate purpose and office of music, as it is also of the other fine arts and poetry, which should be inseparable from music (and vice versa) and one with it, etc. On which, see elsewhere [→Z 3228].

  “J’ai vu quatre sauvages de la Louisiane qu’on amena en France, en 1723. Il y avait parmi eux une femme d’une humeur fort douce. Je lui demandai, par interprète, si elle avait mangé quelquefois de la chair de ses ennemis, et si elle y avait pris goût; elle me répondit qu’oui; je lui demandai si elle aurait volontiers tué ou fait tuer un de ses compatriotes pour le manger; elle me répondit en frémissant, et avec une horreur visible pour ce crime” [“I saw four savages from Louisiana who were brought to France in 1723. Among them was a woman with the sweetest disposition. I asked her through an interpreter if she had ever eaten the flesh of her enemies, and if so, whether she had liked it; to which she replied in the affirmative. I asked her if she would willingly kill or have killed any of her compatriots in order to eat them; in reply she shuddered, clearly horrified at such a prospect”]. Voltaire, Correspondance du Prince Royal de Prusse (later Frederick II) et de M. de Voltaire, Letter dated 31 October, [3366] at Cirey, 1737, tome 1 of the Correspondance de Frédéric II, Roi de Prusse, tome 10 of the Oeuvres Complettes de Frédéric II, Roi de Prusse, 1790, p. 142.1 (6 Sept. 1823.)