Zibaldone

by Leopardi, Giacomo

  cetera fluminis

  Ritu feruntur, nunc medio alveo

  Cum pace (that is, peacefully) delabentis Etruscum

  In mare: nunc lapides adesos, etc.

  [Everything flows away like a river that now glides peacefully in the middle of its channel down to the Etruscan Sea, now {rolls} along eroded boulders, etc.]

  Since this example is not cited by Forcellini, I don’t think anything similar is likely to be found in the Latin writers. In Forcellini I do not find anything relevant under Cum, except perhaps the paragraph *“At times it seems to be redundant.”* See him, and if the Appendix has anything, and the Glossary, and the commentators on Horace. I find that under Pax Forcellini quotes, somewhat before the end, only one example from Livy, and mentions another, in which we read cum bona pace; it could be cited for my purposes, yet properly it means not peacefully but without making war, without disturbance, in peace, in short, as we would say.1 I observe furthermore that this habit, typical of Italian and Spanish, is also typical of Greek, certainly much more than of written Latin. And since the said modern languages certainly can’t have derived it from Greek, it is very likely [2266] that they got it from Vulgar Latin, which has a closer resemblance to Greek than written Latin does (this is also why the character of Spanish and Italian has a closer resemblance to Greek than to written Latin). And for two reasons: (1) that it is more ancient, and better preserves the characteristics of its origin, of that era, that is, when it and Greek derived from a single source, (2) that written Greek, that is, the only Greek that we know well, was incomparably more like spoken Greek than spoken Latin was like written. (21 Dec. 1821.)

  For p. 2250, margin. And didn’t qu always form a single syllable, whatever vowel it preceded? Aequus [even], aequa, aequi, aequos, aeque, etc. It’s not right to say that qu is considered a simple consonant. (See Forcellini under U and Q.) In pronunciation it was (and is today in Italian) not a simple consonant but a real syllable, like cu, and always will be, because of the nature [2267] of human speech, and so aequus was, in natural speech, absolutely trisyllabic. And nonetheless, the Romans always made it disyllabic.

  The consideration of diphthongs (among which qua que, etc., were not counted) in itself shows that, because of the nature of their pronunciation, especially in ancient times, the Romans really did characteristically express the sound of the double vowels in a single beat, that is, as a single syllable. For the vowels of ai (ancient) ae oe, etc., were undoubtedly, from the beginning, pronounced separately, but as a single syllable, as a result of which they came to be slurred together, as they were in Greece. That the vowels of the ancient diphthong ai were pronounced separately and so, consequently, were the Latin diphthongs, but that already in the time of Virgil they were pronounced closed, observe Aeneid 3, 354, where Virgil, in need of a trisyllabic word, says Aulai for aulae [halls]; and see also Aeneid 6, 747, and p. 2367. (Italian has many diphthongs and all are pronounced separately: but colloquial speech often reduces them to a single vowel, as in Latin; e.g., celo is said for cielo [sky], sono for suono [sound]. This is also customary among poets and others, also among the ancients. See the following page, etc. etc.) When the quantity of a syllable was subjected to rules, double vowels that in usage became single (that is, ae, etc.), [2268] were counted as forming a single syllable. Those which, though in a single beat, were still both (or there might be more than two) pronounced distinctly (as happens in Italian, too, where not even the vernacular, except perhaps in some places, says pensero, etc., and yet pensiero is always 3 syllables; the early poets, the 16th-century writers, etc., readily wrote pensero, etc.; see the rhymes of Della Casa and Marsand’s Petrarch),1 were counted as having as many syllables as there were vowels, etc. (21 Dec. 1821.) See the Regia Parnassi, under “Aaron,” and Forcellini, ibid.

  In order to show how the faculties, human and animal, all derive from habituation and what it is capable of, and how the spirit and man’s exterior and interior organs are marvelously adaptable according to circumstances that are variable and completely independent of the primitive, willed, and general order of nature, I have cited the faculties of the blind, deaf, etc. [→Z 1569]. I would add: isn’t it plain that nature has destined the hands to work, and [2269] the feet exclusively to walk, etc.? Will anyone say that it has given the feet the faculty for the same things that the hands can do? And yet the feet acquire it, and they have an equal, or slightly lesser, disposition for all the faculties and functions of the hands. I have seen a boy born without arms perform with his feet all the operations of the hands, even the most difficult, which are not learned without study. I have heard from an eyewitness about a well-off lady who embroidered with her feet.1 What does that mean? As great a natural faculty resides in the hands as in the feet, that is, none in either of the two. Habituation alone and circumstances procure it for the former, and can procure it for the latter.

  The same can be said of the faculties of the right hand and the right side with respect to the left. (21 Dec., Feast of St. Thomas, 1821.)

  [2270] How absurd it would be, then, to say that nature gave the foot the faculties of the hand, and nonetheless we see that it acquires them. It’s just as foolish to say that nature gave the hand certain faculties, but only the disposition and the capacity to acquire them; a disposition given to the foot, although in most men it remains not only useless but unknown and not even suspected; a disposition that is almost nothing but possibility; a disposition greater, certainly, in the hand, which nature expressly intended to acquire those faculties, etc. (it’s one thing, however, for nature to intend, another for it to place some inborn faculty there itself), and so provided it with a greater number of articulations, and put it in the place best adapted to operating, etc.1 Discuss in the same way all the human faculties, all the intellectual organs, exterior, interior, etc. The argument is systematic, and from the more material, clear, and visible things one can and should [2271] infer and explain the nature, etc., of those which are less clear and obvious, and less material in appearance. (22 Dec. 1821.)

  Being content with a person upon leaving him means, and is in substance nothing but, being content with oneself. We love conversation, we emerge satisfied from a talk, etc., with those who make us content with ourselves, in whatever way, whether because they bring it about, or because they do not know otherwise, they give us room to make an impression, etc. So when you remain content with someone else, that means in the final analysis that you take away from him an idea of yourself which is superior to your idea of him. So if this encourages love toward that person, ordinarily, then, it does not encourage either respect or fear or regard or esteem or a high opinion, etc., things that men in society wish to get from other men much more than love. [2272] (And with reason, because love for others is idle, but not so fear, opinion, good reputation, etc.) And only young men and novices, wanting to make their way in the world, voluntarily always try to leave people satisfied with themselves. One who reflects carefully attempts precisely the opposite, and although it seems at first sight that someone who is unhappy with you upon leaving takes away with him feelings unfavorable to you, nonetheless the fact is that, in spite of himself, and without in the least realizing it—indeed, both desiring and seeking and believing the opposite—he takes away feelings toward you that are favorable according to the world, since being unhappy with you is for him merely being discontent with himself in regard to you, and so, one way or another, you in his mind are superior to him (which is just what pains him), and this prevents him from eclipsing his opinion of you with his opinion and estimation of himself. Hatred may be the result but never contempt [2273] (not even when you have made him unhappy with reprehensible and even rude behavior). And contempt, or a low opinion, is what it is above all important to avoid in society, and what alone can be avoided, because hatred is not avoidable. For hating other living beings, and especially our companions, is innate in man and in living creatures, it cannot be avoided, no matter how much care one may willingly put into
satisfying others with works, words, behavior, and into ménager [dealing tactfully with], and flattering and studying them, and supporting everyone’s self-love. Whereas contempt for others is not in the least innate in man. Rather, he wills to conceive it, and wills it by virtue of the hatred he bears toward others. But since it depends on the intellect, and on acts, and not on will, it can very well be prevented. All these effects are greater in society today than ever before, because of the system of absolute and universal and persistent and ever-increasing egoism, which forms the character of the age. (22 Dec. 1821.)

  For p. 2225, margin. Horace, bk. 4, ode 13, ll. 22‒end of the ode:

  [2274] Sed Cynarae breves

  Annos fata dederunt,

  Servatura diu parem

  Cornicis vetulae temporibus Lycen:

  Possent ut iuvenes visere fervidi,

  Multo non sine risu

  Dilapsam in cineres facem.

  [But to Cynara destiny gave a brief existence while preserving Lyce in life, as long as an old crow, in such a way that irrepressible youths, with a burst of noisy laughter, could see the torch burn to ashes]

  (22 Dec. 1821.)

  If you start reading some book, even a very easy one, or listen to the clearest speech in the world, with excessive attention, and an exaggerated concentration of mind, not only does the easy become difficult for you, not only are you amazed and surprised and grieved at an unexpected difficulty, not only do you strive harder to understand than you would have with less attention, not only do you understand less, but, if your attention and the fear of not understanding or of letting something escape is really extreme, you will understand absolutely nothing, as if you hadn’t read, and hadn’t listened, and as if your mind were completely intent on another matter. For from too much comes nothing, and too much attention to a thing is the equivalent, in effect, of [2275] not paying attention, and of having another, completely different occupation, that is, attention itself. Nor will you be able to gain your purpose unless you relax, and slow down your mind, placing it in a natural state, and soothe and put aside your concern to understand, which only in that case will be useful.1 (22 Dec. 1821.) See p. 2296.

  For p. 1106, margin. Horace, Epode 2, 13: “Aut in reducta valle mugientium / Prospectat errantes greges” [“Or in a secluded valley he watches the wandering herds of oxen”]: the rustic, or peasant, in short, the country dweller. What do you say? Does it seem to you a frequentative? The Latins said spectare [to look] the same way we say guardare, riguardare, riuscire, rispondere, mettere [to look, to face], etc., in one place, in one direction, as in guardare a ponente, that is, face the west, mettere sul or nel giardino [to face onto the garden], rispondere (a window) alla strada [a window opening onto the street], etc. What do you think? Must this be a frequentative? See other continuative meanings of Spectare in Forcellini. [2276] And I wonder if a wall, a house that spectat orientam, or ad orientem [looks east, or to the east], does some frequent or continuous thing. If any verb in itare has ever been found used to express actions of this type. Here one should also cite the use of spectare to mean belonging, for which we have (besides spettare) riguardare, ragguardare, risguardare in the same sense. And that adspectabant of Virgil’s, is it frequentative or continuative? Has any verb in itare ever been used, or can it be used, in that sense? What does the ear say even if you understand little of things Latin? The same applies to a hundred other examples of continuative verbs cited by me. (23 Dec. 1821.)

  See Forcellini under Non, at the beginning, in the example from Quintilian,1 a phrase that is the same as the French non plus [no more]. See also if he has anything on magis [more] and on plus. [2277] Also see the Glossary. (23 Dec. 1821.)

  For p. 1107 end—and see Offensus, especially at the beginning and the end, and on the same subject see the interpretation of Horace, Epode 15, l. 15. See pp. 2291 and 2299, end.

  For p. 2141, end. The Greek ἅπτω [to adapt] is the same verb as the Latin apto. This clearly derives from an apo. And this apo is not Greek but Latin. And even if you wanted to hypothesize or could find an apo in ancient Greek, the Greek ἅπτω could not have been formed from it, for the reasons given above. Therefore the Latin apto can’t derive from the Greek, and it doesn’t seem that the Greek ἅπτω, being evidently the same verb, can have been taken from anywhere but Latium. (23 Dec. 1821.)

  For p. 2079, beginning. The simple Latin verbs certainly derive, at least for the most part, from nouns—in very ancient times, [2278] however, and in such a way that their nominal roots are, for the most part, unknown, and they themselves pass for roots. In other verbs the nominal root is present, and some, indeed, quite a few of these were evidently formed by the Latins over time, even in recent eras, that is, in the age of Cicero, the Antonines, etc. But ever since the language, as it developed and became regular, adopted the habit of compound verbs, it was always inclined to form them from simple verbs, joining these to the appropriate prepositions, adverbs, particles, nouns, etc. It very rarely liked to produce a new verb directly, made up of a preposition, etc., and a noun newly, deliberately adapted to conjugation. (An excellent faculty of Greek, Italian, Spanish.) Some of these can be found, but very few (in particular those made from substantive nouns), and especially compared with the immense number of verbs made from simple verbs. Dealbare [to whitewash, plaster] (furthermore the root is adjectival) is among these [2279] few. (23 Dec. 1821.)

  In Latin, obsidium is found for assedio [siege], obsidiare1 for insidiare [to lie in wait for]. (See and consult Forcellini.) It would seem, though, that the latter should have the meaning of assediare [to besiege]. The fact is that both the verb and the noun are compounds. So it’s natural that at one point they had simple forms. And what? Sidium or sedium, and sidiare, etc. Now, I think that these were actually alive in Vulgar Latin, even if they were dead in writing, and I deduce it from the Spanish sitio and sitiar (assedio, assediare), with the d changed to t, a usual exchange. Observe also the French siège, the Glossary on Sedius, the same on Assedium, and Assediare, and Italian and French words formed from the same root as obsidium, obsidiari but with different prepositions. (23 Dec. 1821.)

  For p. 2078, end. See the preceding thought, which demonstrates that obsidiari, e.g., which appears to be formed from a noun (either obsidium or sedes, etc.), was [2280] formed from a simple verb, sidiari or sidiare. (23 Dec. 1821.)

  The Italian mescolare, the French mêler, in early times mesler, the Spanish mezclar [to mix] evidently derive from a Latin misculare or misculari, which is formed from miscere (from which we also get mescere), just as joculari is from jocari, speculari from specere, gratulari from gratari, and many others. And since this misculari is found in three different daughter languages of Latin, it should necessarily be found in the source from which all three originated (independently of one another), that is, Vulgar Latin. Especially since each of the given words is characteristic of its own language, and has been from the beginning. See Forcellini, the Glossary, etc., which I haven’t consulted. Note that French and Spanish have no other verb that corresponds to miscere, which means that misculare prevailed in Vulgar Latin usage just as, in fact, in [2281] popular usage the Italian mescolare prevails over mescere. Likewise, mischiare prevails (and this is really the most colloquial form)—prevails, I repeat—and it is body and soul the Latin misculare, or misculari, with the cul changed by the characteristics of our pronunciation to chi (about which see p. 980, margin). We also say meschiare, but it’s less common, and using it has a touch of affectation, either of refinement or of something else. See if the Glossary has anything, and p. 2385.

  It was the custom in Vulgar Latin, a custom preserved in the three daughters, to use diminutives in place of, and with the same meaning as, the positives. Much could be said about that. Writers used the positive, but there are also many diminutive words that in the best written Latin usage take the place of positives that are completely obsolete, or even unknown, or little used. Oculus [eye] is a diminutive of an occus, about whi
ch there is, miraculously, information.1 Annulus [ring], paxillus [pole], axilla [armpit], maxilla [jawbone] (contractions palus, mala, ala, etc. See Forcellini under X and the respective entries), capella [she-goat], and a hundred other positive nouns and verbs in Latin use and familiar to us are in origin diminutives of other positives, which are ancient or unknown or little known. In the modern vernaculars, then, you find not auris [ear] but auricula (orecchia, oreja, oreille), not ovis [sheep] but ovicula or ovecula [2282] (oveja), not agnus [lamb] but agnulus or agnellus (agnello, agneau, etc.), not avis [bird], except in Spanish, but avicula or aviculus or avicellus (augello, ausciello, etc.: see the Veronese edition of the Dictionary, uccello, oiseau), see Forcellini under Aucella and the Glossary, not apis [bee] but apicula or apecula (pecchia, abeille, etc.), not genu [knee] but genuculum, etc. See the Glossary and Forcellini (ginocchio, genouille), etc. etc. Ranocchia [frog], ranoccio, grenouille (we also say colloquially granocchio), etc., are merely ranacula or ranucula, or ranocula, etc. See if the Glossary, the Spanish Dictionaries, etc., and Forcellini have anything. See p. 2358. A hundred, a thousand other examples could be cited of Latin positives that the modern languages abandoned in order to embrace their diminutives. This is something that I think has been noted by others but that should be thought of not as modern but as derived from ancient Vulgar Latin usage, since we find, in effect, this usage and this inclination in ancient Latin, even in very pure written Latin. And these types of diminutives originated not separately in the daughter languages but in the same Vulgar Latin womb common to the three nations, as is apparent from the cited examples, where the [2283] modern positives are found to be obvious corruptions of Latin diminutives, anterior, necessarily, to those modern positives, and where they are found to be corrupted in different ways in the three languages, according to the particular custom of each, and so can be recognized as being derived from a common origin, that is, from Vulgar Latin. We also have pascolare [to graze] (a diminutive of pascere, which we have as well, but with the same meaning), on which see Forcellini, the Glossary, etc. etc. (24 Dec., Christmas Eve, 1821.)