Affumare, affummare–affumicare [to smoke (fish, etc.)]. Arsiccio [scorched], arsicciare, abbruciacchiare, etc.
Pallare–palleggiare [to play with a ball]. Does pallare for quassare [to shake] come from πάλλω [to shake]?
Pigna [bowl], Marche dialect—pignatta, pignatto, pignattino [cooking pot], etc. See p. 4498. The diminutive pignatta reveals its positive pigna.
Homme [man], etc., distingué [distinguished]. Arrondi [rounded] for rond [round].
To people who in good faith are satisfied and steeped in themselves nearly everybody else is agreeable, they are pleased to see them, and enjoy their company. Because they believe they are generally respected, admired, μακαριζομένους [deemed to be happy] by others; otherwise [4494] they would be neither steeped in themselves nor satisfied. It is natural that someone who is considered to be an admirer should be well thought of in the eyes of a person who believes he is admired. Consequently these people (who would seem to be supremely egoistical) are very often generous, companionable, amenable, good friends. Sometimes they are even modest by reason of the full and tranquil certainty (the certain and calm belief) they have about their own merit (or whatever advantages they have in terms of nobility, wealth, power, and so forth). (Rosini).1 (26 April [1829].)
Courage, in its true sense, does not exist in nature; it is an imaginary and theoretical quality. Someone who is not afraid in danger does not think about the danger, whether because he is accustomed not to think, or is used to such circumstances, or is distracted by events or by other thoughts at that moment. Someone who does think about the danger, is afraid; except where he thinks that death, or whatever imminent danger it may be, is not harmful. In such a case that danger is not a danger in his view. But to think of something as harmful, to know that one is in danger of running into it, to be aware of the danger and not to be afraid, this is true courage; and this is impossible in nature. The so-called courageous are astonished when in times of danger they see others who are afraid, and they ask why. They had not been aware of the risk, or had paid very little attention to it. See the witty remark made by Charles XII, King of Sweden, under siege in Stralsund, in Voltaire, bk. 8, London 1735, tome 2, pp. 160–61.2 (26 April 1829.)
[4495] Μακαρίζω [to deem happy], εὐδαιμονίζω [to call happy], μακαριστέος [who can be deemed happy], etc. We only have invidiare [to envy] invidiabile [enviable], etc. (and likewise the French porter envie, digne d’envie, etc.), words which are very harsh and uncivil. The language of the Greeks is more human or, better, more civilized in this, as in many other respects. (26 April.) Féliciter French [to congratulate] is sometimes close to μακαρίζειν, metaphorically, especially in the reciprocal sense.
Ventare [to blow a wind], sventare—ventolare, sventolare [to flutter, to wave], ventilare [ventilate] (Latin ventilo), venteggiare [to blow a light wind].
Pargoleggiare [to behave like a child], etc. Vanare—vaneggiare [to behave vainly]. For esser vano [to be vain] see vaneggiare also in Petrarch, Triumph of Time:1 “E vedrai ’l vaneggiar di questi illustri” [“And you will see the vain behavior of these illustrious men”]. (26 April [1829].)
Tinea [maggot] (we have tigna [ringworm]), teigne, intignare, etc.—tignuola. See Forcellini.
Gringotter. Parlottare [to whisper]. Cantacchiare [to sing softly or hum]. Vezzeggiare [to pamper]. Bamboleggiare [to behave like a child]. Boursiller [to chip in (with money)].
Acutus from acuo [to sharpen], participle used as an adjective, and no longer recognized as a participle. Argutus [acute], i.e., here arguitus; and participle used as an adjective. Desolato for solo [lonely] (person or place). See Crusca, Forcellini.
ParVulus [small], parVolo—parGolo [baby]. PluVia, pioVa—pioGGia [rain].
Pargolo [baby] is diminutive. Yet it is already antiquated, and only the supradiminutive pargoletto is now used in prose. Such is the tendency of people to diminish. Thus in Tuscany today, you no longer hear piccolo [small] but piccino. (27 April.) In Latin pusillus [very small] for the antiquated pusus.
Pina [pine cone]–pinocchio [pine seed]. See Crusca. Innamoracchiare [to make someone fall a little bit in love], innamorazzare, amoreggiare [to flirt].
Gravato for grave [heavy]. Petrarch. “L’aere gravato e l’importuna nebbia” [“The heavy air and oppressive fog”].2
We like a landscape painting, and find it attractive, because it reminds us of a real view; we like a real landscape, and find it attractive, because it seems worthy of being painted, because it reminds us of paintings. The same can be said of all imitations (important thought). Thus in the present we always like and find attractive only those things which are distant, and all pleasures which I shall call poetic consist in perceiving similarities and relationships, and in rememberings.3 (Recanati, 27 April 1829.)
LiFe—to liVe.4 And innumerable similar words.
[4496] Folâtre, folâtrer [to romp]. Folleggiare, pazzeggiare, etc. See Crusca.
DiVes [rich], diVItis, diVItitae, etc.—dis, ditis, Dis Ditis, ditare [to enrich], etc.
RecUpero [to recover]—recIpero. See Forcellini.
Recisamentum [chip, shaving] would appear to indicate a recisare. See the Glossary.
Trouble, troubler [trouble, to trouble] (turbula, turbulare).
Fustigo, remigo, navigo, laevigo, fatigo, litigo.
Remotus, secretus, occultus, riposto [hidden], etc., participles used as adjectives.
Covaccio–covacciolo [nest, bed] (accovacciare [to withdraw into a lair, to huddle], etc.). And similar others with accio–acciolo, acciare–acciolare. Thus with acchio–acchiolo, etc. See p. 4473, paragraph 9, with linked thoughts before and after the present one. Note that the ending in ulus a um, ulare, etc., was already included in the form in accio, acchio, aglio, etc. (such as here in covaccio, which comes from cubaculum), acciare, etc., so that in the form in acciolo, acchiolo, acciolare, etc., it gets to be repeated.
For p. 4486. Also the form in as asse (crevasse, crevasser, etc. Crever [to split], se crever,–crevasser [to crack]) asser (frigo [to fry], fricasser)a ace acer is often simply the Latin in acul…, our word with accio acciare, azzo azzare, etc. Likewise the Spanish in azo aza azar. Minae [threats], minor [to threaten], minaccia, minacciare, menace, etc., amenaza, etc. Likewise perhaps also in êche, eche, etc. etc., esse, isse, etc., oisse, ousse, etc., isser, etc.; and in ezo, izo (granizo [hailstone]), etc., izar, etc., acho, echo, etc., achar, etc. Likewise sometimes our form in asso, assare, esso, etc. —Similarly our Italian ones in ǒlo, ǒlare, ōlo (gragnóla [hailstone]), etc., uolo uolare, icciuolo, or a-ucciuolo (filiolus, figliuolo [son]), etc., all from the Latin ul…, or sometimes ol … See p. 4498. —Thus French analogously in eul, euil, etc. etc. (linceul [shroud]). All these forms come, I suggest, from the single Latin form, either having a diminutive value, etc., or being a simple ending, for which see pp. 4442–44. —See also the previous thought. (30 April). Also often the Spanish allo allar—ullo ullar; and perhaps the French al [4497] alle, aller—uller. Likewise often perhaps our form in allo (timballo for timpano [kettledrum]) allare—ullo ullare (culla [cot] from cunula, cullare, colla, collare, from chordula, fanciullo [boy] (see p. 4492, paragraph 7), maciulla, maciullare [to scutch]). Note, however, that Latin words also have the diminutive form, etc., in ill…, ell … oll … (corolla [small garland], see p. 4505), ull…, perhaps also all…, in verbs and also in nouns. —It is amazing in how many different ways Latin pronunciation has become corrupted, even within a single nation; something remarkable in the science of etymology. And this is largely the reason for the great superiority of Italian over Latin in its abundance and variety of frequentative, diminutive, etc., forms, a superiority which I have noted elsewhere [→Z 1117, 1242–43], referring to Latin frequentatives. —See also p. 4490, paragraph 5. (1 May [1829].) See p. 4500.
Piovegginare. Piovigginare [to drizzle]. Gergo–jargon. Frego [mark]—fregacciolo, sfregacciolo [scribble], fregacciolare [to rub]. Impiastrare–imp
iastricciare [to dirty]. Ram-mentare [to remember]—di-menticare, s-menticare [to forget], etc.
Masticare [to chew]: from a mansitum–mastum (pinsitus–pistus) of mandere [to chew], as from mixtum misticare.
One and the same century both lacks poetry and wants the useful in poetry, above everything else, the language of the people; to banish its elegance; to deprive it of most of its beauty, which is its essence; or, against its proper nature, to subordinate beauty (and hence sublimity, greatness, etc., see p. 4492, end, and ff.) to truth, or what is called truth. It is natural and logical that an unpoetic century should want a poetry that is not poetic,1 or less poetic than it can be; indeed a poetry that is not poetry. (2 May [1829].)
For p. 4273. Thus the foreigners, having perverted their writing by wanting to use it to express Latin rather than vernacular pronunciation, and then becoming accustomed to this perversion, indeed, forgetting all about it and thinking of their way of writing [4498] as natural and logical, they then set about perverting Latin pronunciation, operating the same difference between written Latin and its pronunciation as they are accustomed and forced to do beween the pronunciation and the writing of their own vernaculars. It is natural and logical that those who write their own language badly have trouble reading others. Especially ones they know only in writing. (2 May [1829].)
For p. 4496. Such is parvolus for parvulus [small]: and regularly after a vowel, such as lacteolus, flammeolus, bracteola, lanceola, Tulliola, filiolus, etc., and likewise in verbs. —Perhaps also our form in atto attare (attolo attolare), probably from acchio, etc., rather than from asso. And thus also the diminution, etc., in etto ettare, otto, utto, etc. etc. And thus also the French in et ette etter eter, ot ote (barbote) otte otter oter, etc. (becqueter, piquer– picoter): and the Spanish in ito ecito, etc., oto, etc. Certainly also the Spanish in ico ecico, etc. etc. (3 May 1829.)
That libertar [to set free] comes from liberatare or liberitare (meritare–mertare), is also demonstrated by libertus, adjectival participle, a simple contraction of liberatus [freed].
The absence of any special feeling of good or ill, which is the most ordinary condition of life, is neither indifference, nor good, nor pleasure, but suffering and ill. This alone, even if ills did not exceed goods, nor was greater, would be enough to tip the scales of life and human destiny immeasurably onto the side of unhappiness. When man has no feeling of any particular good or ill, he feels in general the native unhappiness of man, and this is that feeling which is called boredom.1 (4 May 1829.)
[4499] Regarding what I said elsewhere [→Z 4079–81, 4272] about animals and mad people who, unlike men, exert all of their energies in order to achieve their ends, here I would add children, who sometimes win out over grown men with true, living energy, etc. (4 May 1829, Recanati.)
For p. 4493. There can be no sweet and noble and high and strong illusion without the great illusion of self-love, the illusion of self-esteem and hope. If you take this away, all others fade immediately, and you can then see that this was the foundation and the nurse, not to say the root and the mother of all the others. —Imagine someone in the deepest ecstasy of feeling and enthusiasm: say a word to him, make a single gesture of disdain or which he interprets as such, or suppose that something reminds him of some disparagement that he once suffered: all illusions at that point disappear in a flash, the enthusiasm is gone, the person turns to ice. (5 May 1829.)
Scheda–schedola [form]. See Crusca, Forcellini. Viola [violet], Latin, Italian, etc.—violette, French.
Vos–os [you], Spanish. PlUvia–plUie [rain]. Esca [food]—vescor, vescus [to eat], etc. See Forcellini.
Homme outré, soumis [an overtaxed, subdued man]. Sommesso. Rimesso [restored to health]. Rassegnato [resigned], etc.
Talus–talon, tallone [heel]. Cipolla, cebolla [onion], perhaps from cepucula or cepulla (see p. 4497, beginning), diminutive like many other names of herbs, plants, animals, etc., referred to elsewhere [→Z 4113–14]. In French too oignon has a diminutive form: also ciboule [scallion], ciboulette [chive], cive [shallot] (cepe), civette. See Forcellini, etc. Ceniza [cinder] Spanish (see p. 4496, paragraph 9), cinigia (see Alberti) (see the following thought), and in the Marche we say ciniscia, or ceniscia: perhaps from ciniscula or cinisculus, like pulvisculus [fine powder]. (6 May [1829].) See Forcellini, etc.
[4500] For p. 4497. Perhaps also sometimes our forms in a-u-gio, ggio, cio-are. Corruptly scio, etc. Perhaps sometimes from the Latin ascul …—uscul … Cinigia. See the end of the previous page. See p. 4504.
“Si la tristesse attendrit l’ame, une profonde affliction l’endurcit” [“If sadness softens the soul, a profound affliction makes it hard”]. Rousseau, Pensées, 2, 205.1
“Le pays des chimeres est en ce monde le seul digne d’être habité, et tel est le néant des choses humaines, que hors l’être existant par lui-même, il n’y a rien de beau que ce qui n’est pas” [“The land of fancy is the only one worth living in in this world, and such is the nothingness of human things, that outside the being existing for itself, there is nothing beautiful but that which does not exist”]. Ibid., 206–207.2
The remarkable conformity of roots between the names of most of the first 10 numbers in the most disparate languages seems to prove unity of invention and of origin in the names of numerals, and consequently of numbering. (7 May [1829].)
The inchoative form of verbs, so beautiful and so much used in Latin, is also lacking in the Greek language. (7 May [1829].)
Aisé, agiato, agiatamente, etc., for agevole [comfortable], agibilis. Falcato [crescent-shaped], quadrato [square], carré, quadratus, etc., and other similar participles used as adjectives or adjectives in participle form, without verb; as there will perhaps be others noted by me in this regard expressing shape.
Uomo, etc., ordinato [orderly man, etc.]. (7 May [1829].) Prolongé [prolonged].
Bacherozzo–bacherozzolo [maggot]. And an infinite number of similar words with azzo–uzzo.
“Les anciens politiques parloient sans cesse de moeurs et de vertus; les nôtres ne parlent que de commerce et d’argent” [“Ancient politicians spoke incessantly about mores and virtue; ours speak only of commerce and money”]. Rousseau, Pensées, 2, 230.3
“Plus le corps est foible, plus il commande; plus il est fort, plus il obéit” [“The weaker the body, the more it commands; the stronger it is, the more it obeys”]. Rousseau, ibid., 223.4
“Il n’y a point de vrai progrès de raison dans l’éspece humaine, parce que tout ce qu’on gagne d’un côté, on le perd de l’autre; que tous les esprits partent toujours du même point, et que le temps qu’on [4501] emploie à savoir ce que d’autres ont pensé, étant perdu pour apprendre à penser soi même, on a plus de lumieres acquises, et moins de vigueur d’esprit. Nos esprits sont comme nos bras exercés à tout faire avec des outils, et rien par eux-mêmes” [“Reason does not truly progress in the human species, because everything that is gained on the one side is lost on the other; for every mind starts from the same point, and with the time that is spent knowing what others have thought being lost to thinking for ourselves, we have more acquired knowledge and less mental vigor. Our minds are like our arms, accustomed to doing everything with tools, and nothing by themselves”]. Ibid., 221.1 See p. 4507.
“Social Machiavellianism.” “La véritable politesse consiste à marquer de la bienveillance aux hommes” [“True politeness consists in showing good will toward men”] (Ibid., 222).2 But in this way you succeed only in avoiding their ill will. In order to make them fond of you, false and sham politeness is necessary, consisting in showing respect to everyone. An ordinary and moderate use of this politeness makes others well disposed toward you; an excellent and exceptional use of it makes them love you. Men are much less concerned about being treated with kindness than with respect, and they feel more gratitude and love toward those who respect them than toward, not only those who love them but do good by them. “On peut résister à tout hors à la bienveillance, et il n’y a pas d
e moyen plus sûr d’acquérir l’affection des autres que de leur donner la sienne” [“Everything can be resisted except good will, and there is no surer way of winning the affection of others than giving them one’s own”]. (Ibid., 224.)3 This saying is very true when applied to demonstrations of respect. Good will, affection, love itself, not only are not always reciprocated, but often generate pain, nausea, aversion toward the lover. Examples are very frequent, not only between the two sexes, but between fathers and sons, and between other relatives, especially of different ages and generations, among which it is not uncommon to find love on one side and true, continual, and insuperable hatred on the other. But it is impossible to stay either hostile or indifferent, to resist, not to reconcile ourselves, not to feel affection toward someone who demonstrates their respect for us; especially if that person (easily done) convinces us of it. (8 May [1829].)
[4502] For p. 4478, margin. “Pour ne rien donner à l’opinion il ne faut rien donner à l’autorité, et la plupart de nos erreurs nous viennent bien moins de nous que des autres” [“To give nothing away to opinion you must give nothing to authority, and the majority of our errors come much less from ourselves than from others”]. Ibid., 228.1
“Social Machiavellianism.” “Tout est plein de ces poltrons adroits qui cherchent, comme un dit, à tâter leur homme; c’est-à-dire à découvrir quelq’un qui soit encore plus poltron qu’eux et aux dépens duquel il puissent se faire valoir” [“Everything is full of those clever good-for-nothings who set out, as they say, to test their man; that is to say, to find someone even more hopeless than they are and at whose expense they can gain value”]. Ibid., 227. (Condulmari. Galamini.)2 Today, and in Italy, where everyone is a good-for-nothing, the whole of society, and social life, and my Machiavellianism, consists in this. (8 May [1829].)
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