“Je n’ai jamais vu d’homme ayant de la fierté dans l’ame en montrer dans son maintien. Cette affectation est bien plus propre aux ames viles et vaines” [“I never saw a man with pride in his soul who showed it in his behavior. This affectation is much more fitting to low, vain souls”]. Ibid., 232.3
“Manual of practical philosophy.” “Par-tout où l’on substitue l’utile à l’agréable, l’agréable y gagne presque toujours” [“Everywhere that the useful is substituted for the pleasurable, the pleasurable nearly always gains something”]. Ibid., 231.4 Let this serve for those thoughts [→Z 4266–67, 4273–74] where I say that activities, etc., whose purpose is pleasure alone, never produce pleasure, etc. (9 May [1829].)
For p. 4418. “L’existence des êtres finis est si pauvre et si bornée, que quand nous ne voyons que ce qui est, nous ne sommes jamais émus. Ce sont les chimeres qui ornent les objets réels, et si l’imagination n’ajoute un charme à ce qui nous frappe, le stérile plaisir qu’on y prend se borne à l’organe, et laisse toujours le coeur froid” [“The existence of finite beings is so poor and so limited that when we see what is, we are never moved. It is fancy that adorns real things, and if imagination does not add some charm to the thing that strikes us, the sterile pleasure that we take in it stops at the sensory organ, and always leaves the heart cold”]. Ibid., 242.5
Guardare for aspettare [to await], etc., about which elsewhere [→Z 3559]. Aguato [ambush], agguato, aguatare, agguatare, etc., for insidiare [to lay in wait], are properly the same as aspettare al passo [to wait at the pass], and in this proper sense are equivalent to the Spanish aguardar.
NaVIta–naUta [sailor]; naVIs [ship]–naUfragium [shipwreck], etc.; and so forth.
[4503] Diminutive Italian form with astro. Pollastro [simpleton], vincastro [cane], etc. Pejorative. Giovinastro [lout], medicastro [quack doctor], poetastro [poetaster], etc. Perhaps also frequentative, and with astrare. Likewise in French: folâtre [frisky], folâtrer, etc. (9 May [1829].) Verdastro [greenish], verdâtre for verdigno; and so forth. Padrastro [stepfather], etc.
Torreo–tostum–tostar [to roast] Spanish. Elixus [boiled], assus [roasted], perhaps participles; and therefore assare, elixare, perhaps continuatives. Livy 7, 10: linguam exserere [to stick one’s tongue out], where the ancient annalist Quadrigarius, in Gellius 9, 13, to whom Livy himself alludes, linguam exsertare: very good, Quadrigarius—and it is not a frequentative but a continuative because, as I have said elsewhere [→Z 2815–18], the frequentative indicates doing something habitually (at uncertain intervals and times), and not the continual doing of something repeatedly in a short, given space of time. Considered in this way, verbs also with ico, and others which are called frequentative, as well as those with ito, will be seen more properly as continuatives. (10 May 1829.)
From what I said elsewhere [→Z 3388–89, 4440, 4465] on poetry of style, how much imagination it requires, etc., it seems that those who were truly poets of style in previous times would have been poets of invention, or more accurately, of invention of things; and that they are the true poets of their times, etc. (10 May [1829].)
No matter how much a person has read, it is very unlikely when he conceives a thought that he will believe it to be his own, when it is someone else’s; that he will attribute it to his own intellect, his own imagination, when it actually belongs to his memory. Such conceptions are accompanied by a certain sensation that distinguishes those that are original from the rest; and the thought that bears with it the sensation, so to speak, of originality, very probably will never have been conceived in the same way by anybody else, and it will be new and his own; not, I should say, as to the substance, but as to the form, which is all one can ask for. Since it is well known that the novelty of most of the thoughts [4504] of the most original and thoughtful authors consists in their form.1 (10 May [1829].)
SimIlis [similar]–simUlare [to simulate], etc. etc.
Carduus [thistle], cardo (Italian)—chardon (French), cardone [cardoon], etc. Juillet [July].
Weakness attractive to a stronger person (as strength to the weak, male to female). On this is founded to a large extent the natural tenderness of parents toward their offspring, which in animals finishes completely when their weakness ends. Also the attraction of children to adults, of women to men, of small and tender animals (birds, etc.), in all things (even plants, etc.) where sense or imagination perceives an idea of tenderness, weakness, inferior powers, etc. Also illness, pallor; and then unhappiness, etc. etc., and everything which is the object of compassion, can be brought under this heading. Compassion is a source of love, etc. etc. See p. 4519, end. (11 May [1829].)
During the last century the sciences were linked with letters; that century had a philosophical literature (true literature, and truly in its own right). In our own century the sciences have swallowed them up; 19th-century literature, properly speaking, does not exist. Italy is not alone in suffering today from this lack of contemporary literature; it is common to all cultured nations. Only Greece, and other such still half-civilized countries, will perhaps have a 19th-century literature—if the inevitable influence of neighboring nations does not kill letters off there as well, and before they develop.2 (11 May [1829].)
For p. 4500. Calderugio [goldfinch], for calderino, diminutive of carduelis (chardonneret) of which elsewhere [→Z 4113]. —Raperugiolo [serin]—raperino. Perhaps also with cco-are. Piluccare [to nibble], éplucher [to peel]. Badalucco [skirmish]. Balocco [plaything]. And similar pejorative or frequentative forms. —And with onzo-are, from Latin unculus-are (avunculus [maternal oncle], homunculus [little man], latrunculus [robber]). See p. 4513. Mediconzo-lo [quack doctor] (almost medicunculus), ballonzare [to bob], (ballonzìo, vernacular Tuscan), etc. And similarly with oncio-are. Baroncio,3 etc. And with agno-ugno-are, from the Latin nulus, or ngulus, or unculus, or similar. Verdognolo [greenish], (viridunculus), verdigno, rossigno [reddish], vecchigno [oldish], etc. See Crusca. Ugna-ungula [nail]. And likewise with ñ … Spanish. [4505] And likewise the analogous French and Spanish forms to each of these Italian words. —Without then counting the endings in which the Latin ul … is transformed in the vernacular languages, and in which they have no diminutive pejorative value, etc. etc. Such as (except perhaps for some of those noted above) our Italian with io, iare (unghia [nail], nebbia [mist], bacchio [pole], etc. etc.), and with lo, lare (isola [island], manipolo [maniple], accumulare [to accumulate], tumulo [tumulus], etc. etc.) the French with … le … ler (combler, comble, accumuler, île [island], disciple, ridicule, oncle, ongle [nail], fable, etc.); the Spanish with lo, lar (habla, hablar [to speak], isla [island], etc. etc.). I include the Latin ul … whether or not it is diminutive, or whether or not the Latin diminutive is known; such as piaggia [beach], spiaggia, from the unknown plagula for plaga; trembler [to tremble] from tremulare, etc. In any event, all of these endings are notable for the etymological observation made on p. 4497, lines 5, 7. (11 May [1829].) See next page.
Ala [wing], mala [jawbone], velum [sail, veil], palus [pole]—axilla [armpit], maxilla [jawbone], vexillum, paxillus [pole]. On these words, which are perhaps positivized diminutives, see Forcellini on these same words, and under the letter X. Similarly paucus–paulus, or paullus–pauxillus [little].
For p. 4497. Contraction of coronula [small crown], as in patena [paten]—patella [dish], catena [chain]—catella, catinum, catinus–catillum, catillus; and just like our culla [cot] for cunula. Also paullus or paulus a um, for pauculus–pauclus, if it is not a contraction of pauxillus. See the previous thought.
Audeo [to dare] ausum–osare, oser, etc. Pulso as [to knock], referring to doors, instruments, etc., and still continuative, in the way described at p. 4503, paragraph 2: pello [to beat] would be entirely incorrect.
The faculty of feeling is equally and indifferently capable of feeling pleasures and pains. Now the things that produce the sensations of pain are immeasurably more than those that produce pleasure.1 Therefore the faculty of feeling is an ill, in
the present state of things, if not in itself. And the greater [4506] it is in a species or in an individual, so much unhappier is that species or individual, and vice versa. Man is therefore lowest in the order of beings, if the levels are calculated by unhappiness, etc. etc.
Becqueter [to peck]. Picoter [to peck]. Pulta, Latin polta [pottage], Italian—poltiglia [mush]. See Forcellini,1 etc. Pungere–punzecchiare [to prick], in Marche dialect puncicare. Sputacchio [spittle], sputacchiare.
For p. 4505. Perhaps also with co-are, and que quer French (claquer [to slam], etc.). Also with ico icare, if long (because in our ways of pronouncing, the Latin icul … has a long i); in particular, if it is contracted into icl…, etc. (as it would be in these cases if short), it is from the Latin ǐco as, etc. See p. 4509.
Greek words may have come into Italian in later times, through the trade and conquests of the Venetians, the Crusades, the Greeks in the Kingdom of Naples and Sicily, and other similar ways (these are, in any event, much earlier than the capture of Constantinople); but not the phrases, the constructions, the idioms, true properties of language, common to Italian and Greek, which I have frequently noted. (13 May [1829].)
One reason, among others, why it is impossible for foreigners to enjoy the poetry of languages which are sisters to their own, or similar (as English would be to our languages which come from Latin) is that, because the poetic idiom of these languages, like that of prose, is made up of words and manners of speech which are also found in the sister languages, a great number of the words and expressions which comprise it, and which are poetic, that is, noble, elegant, unusual, and so on, in such a language, are low or commonplace or trivial in the language of the foreigner reading them, or at least prosaic, and often ridiculous and laughable; they have meanings that are analogous but different, they evoke ideas which are entirely alien to poetry in general or to that subject in particular. This is especially notable between Italians and Spaniards (see p. 4422). (I could use any piece of Spanish poetry whatsoever to give a very clear example.) And it is also applicable to elevated prose, oratorical, historical, and similar. (13 May [1829].)
[4507] For p. 4501. It can be doubted whether any real progess is being made in relation not only to reason, but also to knowledge, learning, erudition, human understanding.1 The ancient is forgotten and abandoned in favor of the modern. Here I do not mean archaeology but civil and political history, literary history, the knowledge of great men, the bibliology, the literature, the discoveries, the very sciences of the ancients. We are taught, we know about, what the moderns know; the knowledge of the ancients (which was perhaps just as great) is ignored and unknown. Nor do I mean only the Greeks and Romans, but our own people from earlier centuries, not excluding the 18th century either. Look at the most learned and erudite moderns. Except for a few monsters of knowledge (such as the odd German)2 who are knowledgeable about old and new alike, the immense encyclopedic knowledge of the others covers, so to speak, only the present. What they know of the past is so superficial as to be useless. Instead of increasing our knowledge, all we do is replace one knowledge with another, even in one single subject (without, however, one area of study then prevailing in one period at the expense of the others). And this is something entirely natural. Time is short, human knowledge is growing but the span of life is not, and this does not allow more than a certain amount of knowledge. I do not know, upon closer consideration, how much even the material sciences are progressing. With hardly sufficient time to learn about the innumerable observations made by contemporaries, how much profit can be gained from those of the past? The materials do not increase, they change. And how many things are discovered every day which our forebears had already discovered! Only, no one gave them any further thought. I repeat that I am talking not only about the ancients, but also about people from recent times. One glance at the biographical Dictionaries, the writings, observations, discoveries, practices of men who have been forgotten or [4508] are hardly known, and yet who lived only a few years or decades ago, will support and confirm these considerations. People are learning every day, but the human race forgets, and I know not whether to the same extent. (13 May [1829].)
Ciondoli [pendant], ciondolare [to dangle], etc., dondolare, cinguettare [to chirrup], linguettare [to stammer], bredouiller, barbouiller, barboter, imbrodolare [to spill food on one’s clothing], etc.
Trebbiare [to thresh] (tribulare [to torment]. See Forcellini, Glossary, etc.)—τρίβειν [to rub, to thresh].
One of my little brothers, when our mother refused to let him have his own way, used to say: “oh, I see, I see; naughty Mama.” People talk and judge others in the same way, but they do not express themselves so clearly (ἁπλῶς [frankly]). (14 May [1829].)
What power authority can have in pleasure (as in every other passion, for example sadness, hope, fear, etc.)! Here I mean in the most real pleasures, etc. In love: women loved by someone else, famous for their beauty, wit, etc., although you might not otherwise like them yourself.1 In literature: if you read a book which public opinion judges to be good, a classic, etc., you experience an immeasurably greater pleasure than if you have to notice its merits for yourself. The pleasure of the unexpected, which can be experienced in this second case, does not compare in any way to that which we derive in the first case from the authority of others. Here we are not concerned with memories, distance, venerable antiquity, centuries of approval, etc., also a new book, just published, etc. The reputation of the author, although still living, is so important to the pleasure! La Bruyere’s remark is classic: it is much easier to pass off a mediocre book on the basis of a well-established reputation than to acquire a reputation on the basis of an excellent book.2 And I would venture to suggest, in fact, that more pleasure is obtained from reading a mediocre book (new or old) by a famous author than an excellent book written by an unknown writer. (14 May [1829].)
[4509] Barbio [barbel], barbo (Alberti)—barbeau. Tâtonner [to grope about], etc., bourdonner [to buzz]. Brontolare [to grumble], etc.
βροντὴ [thunder], etc.—brontolare [to grumble].
For p. 4506. Nutrīcare [to nourish] therefore comes from nutrīco. Mendīcare [to beg] from mendīco as, etc. Besides, also forms in chio chiare, co care, cio-zo-are, preceded by a consonant (mischiare [to mix], bufonchiare [to grumble], ballonchio [country dance]—these also, and similar, from the Latin uncul…, etc. etc.). And the same should be said about the other Italian forms noted above, and also French and Spanish, and also Latin: not only with a preceding vowel. The form with onzo, referred to above, is actually in onzo (onzare, etc.), and not just in onzolo (see the Crusca under Romitonzolo [scruffy hermit], and is a corruption from that in oncio, and therefore also contains the entire Latin form in unculus. (See p. 4496, paragraph 8 and p. 4443.) Rapulum (i.e., small turnip, parvum rapum)–raperonzo, raperonzolo–raiponce. See Spanish, etc. Raponzolo or ramponzolo; Marche dialect and Franco Sacchetti in his “Caccia.”1 —And the French form in ce cer, je jer, ye yer (côtoyer, old guerroyer, etc.), in ie ier, etc., ge, ger (bagaGE–bagaGLIO [baggage]), consonant or vowel preceding. Raiponce. See here above. (15 May.) Sucer (succiare) [to suck], in the 1st conjugation, while sugo is is in the 3rd. And in bro, brare, and similar, the Latin l changed into r. Sembrare [to seem] from simulare or similare. Assembrare [to assemble] (assembler) assimulare, from simul [similar]. The same also in Spanish, etc. —And in a–u–io–iare. (16 May [1829].) See p. 4511.
“Hatred toward our fellows.” It is still proper and essential to all animals. Two of the same species cannot be kept in the same cage, etc. (unless they are of different sex), without continually fighting, and the stronger killing the other, or tearing it to bits. Birds, crickets, etc. And see what I have said elsewhere [→Z 4280] about animals which look at themselves in a mirror. (15 May [1829].)
Ballonzare–ballonzolare [to dance clumsily] (Alberti). Buffoneggiare [to fool about]. Bucacchiare. Bucherare [to riddle with holes]. Fo–sfo-racchiare [to make a hole]. Lampeggiar
e [to flash]. Torreggiare [to tower over]. Criailler [to bawl, to whine]. Rimailler [to string rhymes together]. Rioter [to chuckle].
Aguzzo–auzzo [pointed], etc., sciaura [disaster], reina [queen], reine (French), etc., magister–maestro [master], etc.
Manco–mancino [left side], diminutive used as adjective. Pisello [pea]. Fagiuolo [bean]. See the Latin, French, Spanish. Asio, Latin—assiuolo [scops owl].
[4510] What is said about the wondrous orders of the universe, and how everything is marvelously devised in order to preserve itself, etc., is like what is said about how seeds are only sown, animals only born, in a place where they find the appropriate nourishment, in an appropriate place for them to live. Millions of seeds (animal or vegetable) are sown, millions of plants or animals are born in places where they have no nourishment, where they cannot live. But these perish in obscurity; the others—and I know not whether they are greater in number—reach perfection, survive, and we come to know about them. The truth of the matter is that only animals, etc., which survive, develop, and about which we know, are those which find themselves in places where they are able to live, etc. (or rather, that the animals which do not find themselves, etc., do not live, etc.). This is the truth, but it is not worth saying. Now speak in this way about the system of nature, of the world, etc., more or less according to the ideas of Strato of Lampsacus.1 (16 May [1829].)
TrèVe—treGua [truce].
Continuato [continued], continuatamente, etc., for continuo [continual], etc. See French, Spanish, Latin, etc.
“Homme, ne cherche plus l’auteur du mal; cet auteur c’est toi-même. Il n’existe point d’autre mal que celui que tu fais ou que tu souffres, et l’un et l’autre te vient de toi. Le mal général ne peut être que dans le désordre, et je vois dans le système du monde un ordre qui ne se dément point. Le mal particulier n’est que dans le sentiment de l’être qui souffre; et ce sentiment, l’homme ne l’a pas reçu de la Nature, il se l’est donné. La douleur a peu de prise sur quiconque, ayant peu réfléchi, n’a ni souvenir ni prévoyance. Ôtez nos funestes progrès, ôtez nos [4511] erreurs et nos vices, ôtez l’ouvrage de l’homme, et tout est bien” [“Man, look no longer for the author of evil; this author is yourself. There is no other evil than the one you do or suffer, and both one and the other come from yourself. General evil can only lie in disorder, and in the system of the world I see an order that never fails. Particular evil lies only in the feeling of the being that suffers; and this feeling man did not receive from Nature, he gave it to himself. Grief has little hold over those who, having reflected little, have neither memory nor foresight. Take away our baleful progress, our errors and our vices, take away the work of man, and all will be well”]. Rousseau, Pensées, 2, 200.1 —Indeed, precisely the order that exists in the world, and seeing that evil is in this order, that such order cannot exist without evil, makes the existence of the latter inconceivable. Animals destined for the nourishment of other species. The inborn envy and hatred of living beings toward their fellows: see p. 4509, paragraph 4. Other more serious and essential evils which I have noted elsewhere [→Z 4127–32, 4174–77, 4257–59, 4461–62, 4510] in the system of nature, etc. We conceive more easily of accidental evils than of regular and ordinary evils. If there were disorders in the world, evils would be exceptional, accidental; we would say: “the work of nature is imperfect, as are the works of man”; we would not say: “it is bad.” We would regard the author of the world as a limited reason and power, not wondrous, since the world itself (which is the effect from which, alone, we argue the existence of the cause) is limited in every sense. But what epithet should we give to that reasoning and power which includes evil in the order, which founds order on evil? Disorder would be a lot better: disorder is variable, changeable; if today there is evil, tomorrow there may be good, all could be well. But what hope is there when evil is ordinary? I mean, in an order where evil is essential? (17 May [1829].)
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