The genitive for the accusative. Petrarch, Sestina 6, “Anzi tre dì,” l. 3.3 “Di state vi sono de’ papaveri, delle pere e di quante mele si trovano” [“In summer there are poppies, pears, and as many apples as you can find”] (genitive for the nominative), Caro, Gli amori pastorali di Dafni e Cloe, bk. 2, not far from the beginning, p. 8, Pisa 1814.4 “Presentando loro per primizia della vendemmia a ciascuna statua il suo tralcio con di molti grappoli e con de’ pampini suvvi” [“They presenting as the first fruits of the harvest to each statue its shoot with many clusters and vine leaves on it”] (genitive for the ablative), ibid., p. 27. And that is often the case in this author and other classical writers. See p. 4214.
“È stato negli eserciti e provveduto capitano e coraggioso guerriero” [“He has been in battle an astute captain and courageous warrior”], ibid., p. 41.5
Riavere for ricreare, ristorare, fare riavere [to recreate, to restore]. See Crusca, § 1. Caro, loc. cit., bk. 2, p. 38: “poichè col cibo l’ebbe alquanto confortato, con saporitissimi baci ed altre dolcissime accoglienze tutto lo riebbe” [“when she had comforted him somewhat with food, with tasty kisses and other sweet welcomes she quite recovered him”]. That is restored him, not as Monti in the Proposta says, made him return to his senses,6 because Daphnis had not fainted, he had been punched, beaten, and badly treated by some young men. —Similarly the Greeks say ἀνακτᾶσθαι [to refresh, to revive] for ποιεῖν ἀνακτᾶσθαι ἑαυτόν [to bring about one’s revival], as does Photius very elegantly, Bibliotheca, codex 83, speaking about the Roman Antiquities of Dionysius of Halicarnassus: “κέχρηται δὲ καὶ παρεκβάσει οὐκ ὀλίγῃ” (digressionibus utitur non raro), “τὸν ἀκροατὴν ἀπὸ τοῦ περὶ τὴν ἱστορίαν κόρου διαλαμβάνων ταύτῃ, καὶ ἀναπαύων καὶ ἀνακτώμενος” (reficiens) [“he often makes use of digressions, relaxing and restoring the reader from the lassitude engendered by the story”].7 See p. 4217.
[4201] Volere [to want] for μέλλειν. Anguillara, Metamorfosi, bk. 4, stanza 105.1 (Bologna, 16 Sept. 1826.)
Incespitare for incespicare [to stumble] mentioned elsewhere [→Z 2935]. Caro, loc. cit. above, bk. 2, p. 48, end.
Risicato for che si arrischia, che si suole arrischiare [who takes risks, who is daring, adventurous]. Caro, ibid., bk. 3, pp. 53, 59.
ArretIcato (irretitus, preso nella rete [caught in the net]), ibid., p. 54. Sanicare, sanicato [to restore, restored to health]. See Crusca, Affumicare [to smoke].
Insertare ghirlande [to wreathe garlands of flowers], Caro, ibid., bk. 1, p. 25 and final page.2 “Con le foglie tessute e consertate in modo che facevano come una grotta” [“With the leaves woven and intertwined so that they were like a grotto”], ibid., bk. 3, p. 53. “I rami si toccavano e s’inframmettevano insieme insertando le chiome” [“The branches touched and crossed one another making wreathes of their foliage”], bk. 4, beginning, p. 77.
Grufare, grufolare [to root, to grub], Caro, loc. cit., bk. 4, p. 80.
Mele appie3—Mele appiole, or appiuole. Diminutive adjective. See Crusca under Mela, Appio, Appiola. Mele appiole, Caro, loc. cit., bk. 1, p. 20, mele appiuole, bk. 3, end, p. 74.
Εὐήθης, εὐήθεια, etc., bonitas, bonus vir [goodness, good man], etc., bonhomme, bonhomie, etc., dabben uomo, dabbenaggine [good-natured man, good-naturedness], etc. Words whose meaning and use show how highly esteemed the ancients and moderns commonly (since people determine the meaning of words) held goodness in reality. And I actually remember that when I was learning Greek, whenever I came across that εὐήθης, etc., I was always puzzled by it, because such words seemed to indicate praise, and I could not get it into my head that they could have a bad meaning, as the text required.4 It may be worth mentioning that I was studying Greek as a child. (Bologna, 18 Sept. 1826.)
᾿Οβελίας–oublie [bread roll–unleavened wafer]. See Casaubon on Athenaeus, bk. 3, ch. 25.
Often in moments of sorrow, even deep sorrow, I have asked myself: is it possible for me not to distress myself about this thing? And once I had had the experience several times, I made myself reply yes, it was. But not to distress oneself about it would be unreasonable: can’t you see how grievous this trouble is, how serious and real it is? —Apart from the fact that trouble in itself does not really exist, for if you ignore it or you do not distress yourself about it, it is no longer trouble. But can distressing yourself about it be remedied or diminished? —No. —Can not getting distressed by it ever do you any harm? —Certainly not. —And so is it not better for you not to think about it, not to suffer from it, than to suffer? —Much better. —How can it be unreasonable then? In fact it is all too reasonable. And if it is reasonable, if it is useful, [4202] if you can do it, why do you not do it? What are you lacking other than the willingness to do anything about it? I swear to you that such considerations really helped me, and they had a real effect, so that when I refused to distress myself about some misfortune of mine, however great it was, I did not really distress myself about it, and consequently suffered little from it. (Bologna, 25 Sept. 1826.) See p. 4225.
The richness of the Greek language, and the marked diversity of style it allowed, so diverse that each style seemed a different language, can be seen as well from the fact that the ancients had voluminous lexicons dedicated to one particular style, as we could have separate lexicons for our poetic language or prose (two divisions which our language allows, but Greek has many more). See Photius, Bibliotheca, the chapters or codices 146, 147. “Λεξικὸν τῆς καθαρᾶς ἰδέας” (that is, styli simplicis or something similar). “᾿Ανεγνώσθη λεξικὸν κατὰ στοιχεῖον καθαρᾶς ἰδέας. μέγα καὶ πολύστιχον τὸ βιβλίον· μᾶλλον δὲ πολύβιβλος ἡ πραγματεία. καὶ χρήσιμον, εἴπερ τι ἄλλο, τοῖς τὸν χαρακτῆρα μεταχειριζομένοις τῆς τοιαύτης ἰδέας. 147. Λεξικὸν σεμνῆς ιδέας. ᾿Ανεγνώσθη λεξικὸν σεμνῆς ἰδέας. εἰς μέγεθος ἐξετείνετο τὸ τεῦχος, ὡς ἄμεινον εἶναι δυσὶ μᾶλλον τεύχεσιν ἢ τρισὶ τοῖς ἀναγινώσκουσι τὸ φιλοπόνημα” (solemnis Photio vox hoc sensu) “περιέχεσθαι. κατὰ στοιχεῖον δὲ ἡ πραγματεία. καὶ δῆλον ὡς χρησίμη τοῖς εἰς μέγεθος καὶ ὄγκον ἐπαίρειν τοὺς λόγους αὐτῶν ἐν τῷ συγγράφειν ἐθέλουσιν” [“A lexicon of the simple style” (that is styli simplicis or something similar). “I read a lexicon on the simple style with classifications in alphabetical order. It is a book of considerable length and seems to consist of several volumes rather than one. It is however useful to anyone who would like to use this level of style. 147. A lexicon for the elevated style. I read a lexicon on the elevated style, which is also a book of such ample size that it would have been preferable for readers if this elaborate work were divided into two or three volumes. The subject is likewise arranged in alphabetical order and it is clearly useful to those who in speaking and writing want to excel in the elevated and grandiloquent style”].1 “146. Lexicon Purae Ideae. Lexicon legi Ideae purae litterarum ordine. Magnus est hic liber, ut multi potius, quam unus esse videatur. Utilis autem, si quis alius, iis est, qui hanc Ideam tractant. 147. Lexicon Gravis styli. Legi Ideae gravioris Lexicon, quod ipsum quoque in immensum crevit, ut legentibus aptius fore arbitrer, si in duos opus illud, aut tres tomos distribuatur. Digestum item est litterarum ordine, patetque utile esse iis, qui sublimi tumidoque dicendi genere excellere studio habent” (Schottus’s translation). (Bologna, 22 September 1826.)
[4203] The Greeks, like the moderns, had voluminous histories of the theater and drama (as they had of philosophy, geometry, painting, sculpture, and every kind of subject). Photius in the Bibliotheca, codex 161,1 giving an acc
ount of the 12 books of Eclogues or Extracts of Sopater the sophist, says that the fourth book contains some extracts, among others, “ἐκ τοῦ ὀγδόου λόγου τῆς τοῦ ῾Ρούφου δραματικῆς ἱστορίας, οἷς παράδοξά τε καὶ ἀπίθανα ἐστὶν εὑρεῖν, καὶ τραγῳδῶν καὶ κωμῳδῶν πράξεις τε καὶ λόγους καὶ ἐπιτηδεύματα, καὶ τοιαῦθ' ἕτερα” [“from the eighth book of Rufus’s History of the Theater; there are some especially astonishing and unbelievable passages; diverse material on the actions, words, and morals of tragic and comic actors and other similar matters”]. And that the fifth book “σύγκειται αὐτῷ ἔκ τε τῆς ῾Ρούφου μουσικῆς ἱστορίας πρώτου καὶ δευτέρου καὶ τρίτου βιβλίου. ἐν ᾧ τραγικῶν τε καὶ κωμικῶν ποικίλην ἱστορίαν εὑρήσεις” (Tragicorum ac Comicorum. Schottus) “οὐ μὴν δὲ ἀλλὰ καὶ διθυραμβοποιῶν τε καὶ αὐλητῶν καὶ κιθαρῳδῶν· ἐπιθαλαμίων τε ᾠδῶν καὶ ὑμεναίων καὶ ὑπορχημάτων ἀφήγησιν,” (epithalamiorumque carminum et hymenaeorum atque cantilenarum in chorea enumerationem. Schottus) “περί τε ὀρχηστῶν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν ἐν τοῖς ῾Ελληνικοῖς θεάτροις ἀγωνιζομένων· ὅθεν τε καὶ ὅπως οἱ τούτων ἐπὶ μέγα κλέος παρ' αὐτοῖς ἀναδραμόντες γεγόνασιν, εἴ τε ἄῤῥενες εἴ τε καὶ τὴν θήλειαν φύσιν διεκληρώσαντο· τίνες τε τίνων ἐπιτηδευμάτων ἀρχὴ διεγνώσθησαν” (quinam etiam singulorum auctores ac principes studiorum exstiterint. Schottus), “καὶ τούτων δὲ τίνες τυράννων ἢ βασιλέων ἐρασταὶ καὶ φίλοι γεγόνασιν. οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ τίνες τε οἱ ἀγῶνες, καὶ ὅθεν, ἐν οἷς ἕκαστος τὰ τῆς τέχνης ἐπεδείκνυτο. καὶ περὶ ἑορτῶν δὲ ὅσαι πάνδημοι τοῖς ᾿Αθηναίοις. ταῦτα δὴ πάντα καὶ εἴ τι ὅμοιον, ὁ πέμπτος” (τοῦ Σωπάτρου) “ἀναγινώσκοντί σοι παραστήσει λόγος. ῾Ο δὲ ἕκτος αὐτῷ συνελέγη λόγος ἔκ τε τῆς αὐτῆς ῾Ρούφου μουσικῆς” (ἱστορίας) “βίβλου πέμπτης καὶ τετάρτης. αὐλητῶν δὴ καὶ αὐλημάτων ἀφήγησιν ἔχει, ἄνδρες τε ὅσα ηὔλησαν καὶ δὴ καὶ γυναῖκες. καὶ ῞Ομηρος δὲ αὐτῷ καὶ ῾Ησίοδος καὶ ᾿Αντίμαχος οἱ ποιηταὶ τῆς διηγήσεως μέρος,” (huius narrationis partem [4204] efficiunt. Schottus) “καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πλεῖστοι τῶν εἰς τοῦτο τὸ γένος τῶν ποιητῶν ἀναγομένων” [“is composed of extracts drawn from the first three books of Rufus’s History of Music; one finds a variety of material on writers of tragedy and comedy, and also some information on composers of dithyrambs, on flute players and cythara players, on epithalamia, hyporchemata,1 dancers and other theater people of the Greeks, on the life and career of famous men and women; he writes about those who were known as promoters of different activities and of those who had the love or friendship of those in power; he gives an account also of the competitions in which competitors displayed their talent and of the origins of those competitions. He also gives information on public Athenian festivals. Such are the elements among others that the fifth book offers its readers. The sixth book is composed of extracts taken from the fifth and fourth books of Rufus’s History of Music. It is an account of flautists and of music for the flute, and the men and women who played it. The poets Homer, Hesiod, and Antimachus are included, in fact they take up the greater part of the section on poets”]. And it goes on to mention the other books of other writers of which the sixth book of Sopater has extracts. And the eleventh he says has extracts, among others, “ἐκ τῆς τοῦ ᾿Ιώβα” (Iubae) “τοῦ βασιλέως θεατρικῆς ἱστορίας ἑπτακαιδεκάτου λόγου” [“from the seventeenth book of King Juba’s History of the Theater”], which book is mentioned in Athenaeus as well, bk. 4.2 (Bologna, 1826, 24 Sept., Sunday.) See p. 4238.
There are innumerable, evident, and continual contradictions in nature not only from a metaphysical and rational point of view, but also in relation to the material world.3 Nature has given to certain animals the instinct, the skills, the weapons to pursue and attack others, and to those others the weapons to defend themselves, the instinct to anticipate attack, to run away, to use a thousand different ploys in order to save themselves. Nature has given to some the inclination to destroy, to others the inclination to survive. Nature has given to some animals the instinct and the need to feed on certain plants, fruit, etc., and has armed certain plants with thorns to keep animals away, certain fruits with the most clever and ingenious shells, skins, outer layerings of every kind, and has placed them high up on the tops of plants, etc. Nature has made fleas and bugs to suck our blood, and has given to us the instinct to seek out and destroy them. A list of such contrary phenomena and other similar ones would extend into infinity, and would embrace every realm, every element, and the whole system of nature. It is no doubt wrong of me, but the sight of such phenomena makes me laugh. What is the purpose, what is the real intention and true aim of nature? Does she want such a fruit to be eaten by animals or not to be eaten by them? If she does, why has she defended it so carefully with such a hard shell? If not, [4205] why has she given to some animals the instinct and appetite and perhaps also the need of finding and eating it? Naturalists admire the immense wisdom and skill of nature in the defenses given to a particular species of animal or vegetable or whatever, against any kind of offense from the outside. But do they not ever think it was in the power of nature not to cause the offense in the first place? That nature herself is the only cause of both defense and offense, of both harm and remedy? And which of the two is harm and which remedy from nature’s point of view, no one knows. We know that in nature offensive behavior is no less clever and ingenious than defensive is; that the kite or the spider is no less crafty than the hen or the fly is amorous or wary. As long as naturalists and mystics examining the systems of bodies go into ecstasies of admiration over the infinite artifice and foresight of providence in supplying the defenses, all I will do, until someone can find a better explanation for me, is compare the conduct of nature to that of the doctor, who treated me with continual purgatives, and when he saw it weakened my stomach, prescribed decoctions of quinine and other tonics to fortify it and to reduce the action of the purgatives, without discontinuing their use. But, I asked humbly, would not the action of the purgatives be certainly reduced, if, since I do have to continue to use them, I took them in less efficacious and smaller doses? (Bologna, 25 Sept. 1826.) See the following page.
῎Ιχνος–ἴχνιον [footprint].1 Photius, Bibliotheca, codex 166, col. 360. “ὡς Παάπις διώκων μετ' ἴχνια τοὺς περὶ Δερκυλλίδα, ἐπέστη αὐτοῖς ἐν τῇ νήσῳ” [“that Paapis, having tracked down Dercyllis’s companions, reached them unexpectedly on the island”].
[4206] In relation to the white Moors, mentioned elsewhere [→Z 4125], there is another passage in the ancient novelist Antonius Diogenes (Photius thinks he lived not long after Alexander), who in Photius, codex 166, col. 357, introduces the traveler Dercyllis to tell how “ὡς περιπέσοι” (αὐτὴ) “ἀνθρώπων πόλει κατὰ τὴν ᾿Ιβηρίαν, οἳ ἑώρων μὲν ἐν νυκτί, τυφλοὶ δὲ ὑπὸ ἡμέραν ἑκάστην ἐτύγχανον” [“by chance she arrived in a town in Spain where the inhabitants could see by night, but were blind during the day”]. (Bologna, 25 Sept.
1826.)
For the preceding page. Admire all you will the providence and benevolence of nature for having made antidotes, for having, so to speak, put them next to poisons, for having placed the remedy in the country producing the disease. But why make poisons in the first place? Why arrange to have diseases? And if poisons and diseases are necessary or useful to the economy of the universe, why make the antidotes? Why have the remedies ready and then put them within reach? (Bologna, 1826, 26 Sept.)
For p. 4183. This story, since that is what I take it to be, makes me see a fresh similarity between ancient and modern customs. That is, it makes me think that the ancient Greeks invented ridiculous stories of brutish constancy about the Spartans, just as we invent stories of bêtise [stupidity] and foolishness about the Germans and Swiss (addietro tu e muro),1 as others invent examples of cowardly, ferocious, treacherous, underhand wickedness about the Italians, etc. In fact, that for ancient witty writers, and in popular Greek opinion as well, the Spartans were the subject of jokes and tales, for which some true examples were brought forward, but which actually referred to other people, just as we Italians act as a model of treacherous cruelty for other nations, etc. (Bologna, 26 Sept. 1826.) See p. 4217.
It is evident and well known that the idea and the word spirit when all is said and done cannot be otherwise defined than as substance which is not matter, since it has no positive qualities we can know, or put a name to, [4207] or even imagine.1 Now matter as word and idea, an idea and word likewise abstract, that is expressing collectively an infinite number of objects really quite different from one another (and we in fact do not know whether matter is homogeneous, and therefore one identical substance, or else has different elements, and therefore as many substances, quite different in nature and essence, in the way in which it is distinct in a variety of forms), matter, I repeat, as both word and idea embraces everything which falls and can fall under our senses, everything we know, and are able to know and to conceive of; and this idea and word can only really be defined in this way, or at least this definition is the most apt, rather than the other deduced from the enumeration of some of its common qualities, like divisibility, width, length, depth, and suchlike. For that reason the definition of spirit as a substance which is not matter is exactly the same as defining it as a substance which is not one of those we know or are able to know or to conceive of, and that is all we actually say and think every time we say spirit, or we think about the idea, which cannot, as I have said, be defined otherwise. Nevertheless this spirit, which is no other than the one we have been discussing, has for many centuries been thought to contain in itself all reality of things; and matter, that is all we know and conceive of, and all we are able to know and to conceive of, has been thought to be only appearance, dream, emptiness compared with spirit. It is impossible not to deplore the poverty of the human intellect if we consider such delirium. But when we think that this delirium is completely back with us today; that everywhere in the 19th century there is a rebirth and a radical revival of spiritualism, perhaps even more spiritual, so to speak, than before; that the most enlightened philosophers of the most enlightened modern nation, congratulate themselves on recognizing as the characteristic of this century, the fact that it is “éminemment [4208] religieux” [“eminently religious”], that is spiritualistic;1 what else can a wise man do, but utterly despair of the enlightenment of human minds, and cry out: “O Truth, you have vanished from the earth for ever, just when men had started to search you out.”2 For it is clear that this and innumerable other lunacies, of which it now seems impossible and hopeless to cure human intellects, are actually the product, not of ignorance, but of learning. The fanciful idea of the spirit never enters the head of a child or a pure savage. The child or savage is not spiritualistic because he is completely ignorant. And children, and pure savages, and anyone completely ignorant are consequently a thousand times more wise than the most learned men of this enlightened century, as the ancients were a hundred times more wise at least, because they were more ignorant than the moderns. And they were more wise the more ancient they were, because they were that much more ignorant. (Bologna, 26 Sept. 1826.) See p. 4219.
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