Unlike in Spain and in Greece, the Franks in Gaul soon mixed with the natives in everything: race, blood, marriage, customs, language, religion, the barbarian conquerors exchanging all their qualities and even their character for those of the civilized peoples they vanquished. Thus, in due proportion, also the Goths, the Lombards, etc., in Italy. Now, this mixing was precisely what harmed the preservation of native qualities in these two countries, and preservation of the language specifically, of which we are speaking here. The Franks could not become Gauls, or the Goths Italians, etc., without the Gauls in many respects becoming Franks (as indeed they were called and still are), and the Italians Goths.
[3583] Eventually Spain, which was never entirely subdued and ruled over by the Moors (unlike what happened in Greece), eradicated and expelled the foreigners entirely from within its midst. And not just the foreigners, but with them their religion, language, literature, customs, everything. And not just all this, but also foreign blood and foreign race, which had never been able to mix with native blood and native race, themselves almost fully intact, and were finally expelled from the nation which remained purely Spanish by blood (without worrying about detail), as oil remains untouched when it separates from some liquid with which it has never mixed. (And may it please God that in this last respect too, the history of the Greeks against the Mohammedans should conform to that of the Spanish, as it has done in everything else, and as the Greeks today are seeking to obtain.)1
Whereas the Franks always ruled in Gaul, and once the very name of the natives had died out and been changed to their own, and were completely merged with them, still do rule, so that as far as blood is concerned, it is not possible to say whether that nation is Gallic or Frank. As for religion it is Gallic, as for [3584] customs and language it is part Gallic (that is, Latin) part Frank even though the native prevails, though not so much as in Spain. You may say the same about Italy.
It is not necessary to speak of the modern history of Spain, its most tenacious faith and superstition, which is why as to religion it is still today, one might say, no more and no less like it was when the Moors were driven out, and like it was before the Moors themselves and even Mohammed, and like Christianity generally was in earlier times, which is different from all the other modern Christian nations, and the non-Christian ones as well. Nor is it necessary to mention the marvelous antiquity, so to speak, of the character shown by Spain in recent times, for these things are well known.1 And see pp. 3394–96. (1–2 Oct. 1823.)
Glisser [to slide]–γλίσχρος [glutinous, penurious] lubricus [slippery]. (3 Oct. 1823.)
For p. 3544. There is only one example of unus being used for primus in Forcellini, and it is the eighth given by him under the entry Unus, taken from Cicero, De senectute, ch. 5, but Forcellini does not note its meaning as primus. See if he has anything on this under duo, tres, etc. (3 Oct. 1823.)
Assulito for assulto, from assilio [to leap]. Resilito [3585] for resulto, from resilio [to leap or spring back]. See Forcellini. Both these words are very good Latin, and show the full, true, and ancient participle of salio [to leap], which is salitus (salito, salido, sailli), later contracted to saltus (or in the supine, saltum). They confirm my observations and opinions stated above [→Z 1107ff.] regarding the full, regular, and primitive forms of the participles and supines. If the Critics had been able to consider these opinions, and if they had duly noted that continuatives and frequentatives ending in ito are formed from participles and supines, they would not have marveled at the two verbs referred to, nor would they have attempted different readings, or even banished them completely from the texts in which they were found (the most recent editions of which should be consulted). (3 Oct. 1823.) See. p. 3845.
For p. 2821. To show that all this is true, on the derivation of confutare [to confute], etc., from fundo [to pour out], and on the participle futus for fusus, etc., see our rifiutare [to refuse], that is, the Latin refutare (which often means the same), which in French is refuser [to refuse] and in Spanish refusar or rehusar [to refuse], as though from refusus or fusus, the well-known participles of fundo or refundo. Yet there are as many French and Spanish verbs of that type as there are Italian and Latin ones. The French also have réfuter [to refute] [3586] in a different meaning (which is the literal meaning of refuto and the most common), but this is certainly much less popular and more modern (although not modern) than refuser, and not preserved but recovered by writers, etc., and not by the people, and not seamlessly passing from Latin to French.
In this connection, in speaking of the five modern daughter languages with reference to the mother tongue, and in seeking to argue from the latter to the former, or vice versa, or from one to another, etc., on the issue of their antiquity, etc., it is necessary to distinguish carefully in the modern languages between Latin terms and phrases which have been preserved, and Latin words and phrases which have been recovered, through literature, philosophy, politics, jurisprudence, diplomacy, etc. etc., which are infinite, and may also be very ancient indeed. However, any argument from these to the Latin ones will always be null for anyone purporting to investigate the antiquity of the language, etc., or at best weak. The opposite is true in the case of those terms and phrases which have been preserved, that is transmitted through continuous and uninterrupted succession from most ancient and primitive Latin to the modern languages by means of Vulgar Latin. See p. 3637. It is useful to draw a similar distinction in the Latin [3587] language vis-à-vis Greek, that is, between those words introduced by writers, etc., and those which are ancient and genuinely popular, etc. The same too in English with reference to French words, etc.1 (3 Oct. 1823.)
In the vernacular we pronounce phrases such as senz’altro pensare, senz’altro dire o fare, senz’altro preparativo, senz’altra cura senz’altro curarsene [without further thought, without further words, or without further ado, without further preparation, without further concern] and the like, used equally in elegant writing, to mean senza nulla pensare, senza niun preparativo, niuna cura [without any thought, etc.], etc. In which phrases the word altro is redundant, and is used pleonastically, these phrases basically meaning without thinking (here even the altro serves no real useful purpose, since senza as privative, when combined with pensare, includes the word referred to above, because the person who does not think, does not think anything), without preparation, without care (here too the niuno is pleonastic, although it is used, as nulla is in the previous case), senza curarsene, etc. See Speroni, who gathered the finest, most varied and multiple elegances of our language so industriously, and used them so prodigally, in his Discourse or Letter “del tempo del partorire delle donne,” which occupies the third place [3588] among his Dialoghi, Venice 1596, p. 53, penultimate line. Now compare this mere Italian idiom, which is entirely proper to the language and hence elegant, with precisely the same idiom used in the Greek and Attic language by the most elegant and careful writers. See Creuzer, Meletemata e disciplina antiquitatis, part 1, Leipzig 1817, p. 86, note 62, and Plato in the Symposium, ed. Ast, Leipzig 1819ff., tome 3, p. 472b, l. 1 and p. 532, l. 7.1 Corresponding even more closely to these examples is the one from Petrarch given by the Crusca under the heading Altro taken from Canzone 18, 6,2 where the term altra is equally and manifestly redundant, and indeed appears entirely out of place and contradictory, exactly as in some of the Greek passages seen in the places referred to above. Similarly another example from Speroni in “Dialogo della retorica,” Dialoghi, Venice 1596, p. 153, line 26 and Dialogue 10, p. 207, last line. See if Forcellini has anything. Senz’altro [certainly] similarly sometimes means senza nulla [without anything], semplicemente [merely], onninamente [entirely], etc. See p. 3885. Thus too also ἄλλως [otherwise], on which see my Notes to Mai’s Eusebius.3 (3 Oct. 1823.)
For p. 3080. Assaltare, assaltar is a barbarian Latin continuative from assalire [to attack] which itself is barbarian Latin, and has the same meaning as this does (see the Glossary under Assaltare, Assalire, Adsalire, etc.). Whe
reas sobresaltar [to startle] is different in meaning from sobresalir [to jut out] (saltar retains the Latin meaning [to jump], but salir [to go out] not [3589] at all, or only remotely or in part, etc. See Forcellini), and has no analogy of meaning with it. Thus also risaltare [to jump again] and risalire [to go up again]; our risultare or resultare (resultar, résulter) [to result, originate, ensue, derive] is utterly different and remote in meaning from both of these, and so too from the latter verb and the former two the Latin resulto [to spring or leap back] (see the Glossary). However, resulto and risultare, etc., have the same origin as risaltare, and both come from resilire [to leap or spring back], which in Italian is risalire with a corrupted meaning. (Rejallir is possibly the same as resilire, and jallir originally the same as saillir [to protrude, jut out, gush forth], and salire in Latin, and also in part in terms of meaning). Thus assaltare is originally the same as assultare [to jump] (the true Latin form of this verb), which sometimes also has the same or a similar meaning to that of assaltare, as also assilire. (See Forcellini under assilio and assulto, and the Glossary under adsalire and assultare, etc.) (Divenire–diventare [to become] also serves for this purpose.) A wholly Italian continuative from a wholly Italian verb, but also one which is formed in the Latin way, that is, from the participle of the original verb, is scortare [to escort] (with an open o), from scorto from the verb scorgere [to catch sight of, catch a glimpse of, spy, make out, discern, notice, see, realize, be aware of] in the sense of to lead, etc. (if it did not come [3590] from the noun scorta [escort]: the French have escorte and escorter). Which verb scorgere, the sibling of accorgere [to notice] (and others of the same kind if we have them) is quite Italian, no less than accorgere, etc., but these verbs perhaps originally come, through some corruption of form and metaphorical extension of meaning, etc., from the Latin corrigere [to make straight]. See if the Glossary has anything on this. There was possibly a verb excorrigere (scorgere [to notice]), an adcorrigere (accorgere [to notice]), etc. And the metaphor is presumably the opposite of that of avvisare [to inform], which has gone from meaning vedere [to see] to signifying ammonire [to warn], etc. (See what I have said elsewhere on this verb avvisare [→Z 1107ff., 2843–45, 3019].) Whereas scorgere has presumably gone from meaning ammonire (correggere) [to correct] to meaning vedere. But both meanings more or less are found in accorgere (accorgimento [shrewdness, device], accortezza [shrewdness, sagacity], etc.), and also in avvisare (avviso for opinion, being apprised of something; avvisamento; avvisato for accorto, etc. etc.]. Moreover, scorgere is presumably a contracted form from corrigere, like porgere [to hand] from porrigere [to stretch or spread out], and similar. (3 Oct. 1823.)
For p. 3526. However, one of the Gerusalemme’s great shortcomings is that it sought to compensate for, and balance together, the merits and importance of, and the sides represented by, Goffredo and Rinaldo, and the interest in one and the other. As a result, the interest is [3591] truly double, as in the Iliad,1 but not, as in the latter, different. And thus, contrary to what might initially appear to be the case, one interest damages and weakens the other. I mean, because the interest is other without being different, it is all to do with the same side, which is the Christian one, and the same end, which is the successful outcome of the Christians’ undertaking. Two interests which are quite different and remote from one another are able not to prejudice or weaken each other. And this is the case in the two interests of Hector and Achilles, which fall upon two opposing sides, the Greek and the Trojan, one born of misadventure, the other of good fortune. But two interests juxtaposed so closely, one next to the other, both produced by fortune, etc., both aiming at the same end, cannot help but overshadow and obstruct each other. And they do not produce that fine effect of contrasting passions and the other beautiful and poetic results in readers’ minds which continue to be born from reading the Iliad, or at least were born at the time in the readers and listeners for whom it was composed.
[3592] Although this dual interest appears not to offend unity (or so Tasso believed, having persuaded himself that by it he could serve variety and avoid uniformity without violating unity in the slightest), or although it appears, if nothing else, to offend perfect unity much less than the dual interest in the Iliad does, it is much more damaging than the other in terms of the purpose for which unity is prescribed. This purpose is that the interest in the minds of readers should not weaken through being divided or distracted, but become stronger, inasmuch as it is directed toward one single target. Now, as I have shown, the dual Hero in the Gerusalemme weakens the interest in the minds of readers much more than it does in the Iliad. This is precisely because this duality is all to do with the same side, and is directed to one and the same target, and because the two interests are too close and entirely in agreement with each other, and there are two of them without the two being different. In the Iliad, where they are quite opposite, they not only weaken each other less, they do not in fact weaken each other at all, or certainly, the total interest resulting from the poem in the minds of readers is not only not weakened by the duality, but enormously [3593] increased, and to a large degree produced by it absolutely. This confirms my observations on the need for an interest that is truly double, and for two different interests in the manner seen in the Iliad, and on the damage done by that unity which theorists have prescribed and epic poets after Homer have set themselves as their objective. Because, as I showed in that discussion, this unity is damaging to its own purpose, which is to ensure that the interest and total effect in the reader are keener as a result of being one and undivided, and focused on one target alone, for otherwise the unity referred to would have no reason, and the precept would be arbitrary, whereas the poet must be lord of his own liberty, insofar as to be so and to use it in his own way is not offensive to nature, or to the quality and requirements of the epic poem. Because therefore the unity prescribed by the theorists in the epic poem prejudices and offends its very purpose, it is a quality that is not only damaging but vain and absurd in itself and in its own terms.1
Going back to Tasso, the way in which he manages to show the agreement between his two Heroes, almost expressly preempting the rhetoricians’ objections, [3594] and to show that no duality of interest arises in his poem from their being two, is very ingenious. The soul of Ugone speaks to Goffredo, and says of Rinaldo (canto 14, stanza 13) “Perchè … lece.”1 With which words, placed in the mouth of another, Tasso is very clearly telling the pedants and detractors in his own voice: “There are two heroes in my poem, but the interest is one and one alone, because there is one undertaking and one purpose which both of them serve.” But this metaphysical distinction, still accepted and preached by the theorists (independently of the Tasso question), and by many others as well, including those of sound judgment, never rings true in the minds of readers. The theorists say that there can be more than one person of equal merit, provided there is only one source of interest (as in dramas, epic poems, etc.). And they congratulate themselves greatly on this distinction, which they consider to be very sharp and subtle, and most judicious. Now, the two terms mentioned above cannot stand together. Two Heroes of equal merit, who serve either the same undertaking or different ones, make for two distinct interests in readers’ minds (which overshadow each other more, the less different they are, and the more similar or equal they are to each other, and the more they are in agreement). For in truth, these two Heroes are always two quite separate people in readers’ minds, not one, as Tasso would have it, with one of the Heroes as the head and the other the hand, or whatever it might be.
[3595] This truth is effectively proven in reading the Gerusalemme. But since the case of a man who “between two foods, equally near at hand and tempting,” might die “of hunger before he could bring” one of these foods “to his teeth” (Dante, Paradiso 4),1 is purely hypothetical, like the mathematical point, and never true in practice, and since between two or more things from which to choose, man always finds, and has always found, some difference whi
ch inclines and determines him to choose one and reject the other, or when choosing is not in his own hands, or he does not have to choose by acting, it is impossible for him not to incline by affect (be this desire, love, pleasure, or anything else) to one thing more than to another, or not to flee from one thing more than from another; so, because it is impossible that, if there are two or more Heroes, however equal they may be in merit, one, for whatever reason, will not prevail in the minds of readers, especially when their merits are of different kinds, it is likewise impossible that the interest of the Gerusalemme (little and almost defunct as it is, as I have said elsewhere [→Z 3147–48], and assuming there actually is an interest of any kind) should be, as far as the reader is concerned, divided equally between Goffredo and Rinaldo. It is quite true that one of these Heroes damages the interest in the other, but even so, if the reader finds some interest in the Gerusalemme, out of the two Heroes he unfailingly chooses the one in which he locates the greater part or perhaps even [3596] all of it. Now, the Hero thus chosen (and here I appeal to the testimony of any reader of the Gerusalemme), against the poet’s intention, or certainly against the stated aim of the poem, and hence against what it is required to do, and with prejudice to its due effect and to unity (much more than the unity, aim, and requirement of the qualities of the poem are prejudiced in the Iliad), this Hero is, I repeat, Rinaldo. Whereas all the things referred to above would prefer the interest to be equal, or rather, undivided between the two, or at least (given that this really is impossible in naturea), that the interest in Goffredo should be greater.
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