Now this graceful idiom characteristic of our language was likewise characteristic of the purest Greek (indeed, according to the grammarians, it is an Atticism) and was employed [2920] by the most elegant writers, and especially by Plato, the first exemplar of Atticism. In the Symposium, Opera, ed. Ast, Leipzig 1819– … tome 3, 1821, p. 460, ll. 16‒17d: “ἐὰν μέν σοι ἐθέλῃ παύεσθαι ἡ λύγξ,” “if the hiccough wants to spare you,” instead of “ἐὰν μέν σοι παύηται ἡ λύγξ” [“if the hiccough gives you a rest”].1 Here ἐθέλειν [to want] is redundant. See Scapula under ᾿Εθέλω and Θέλω. Corinth,2 περὶ διαλέκτων [On Dialects]: “᾿Αττικὸν καὶ τὸ θέλει ἀντὶ τοῦ δύναται, ὡς ὁ Πλάτων” (at the beginning of the Phaedrus), “τὰ χωρία οὐδέν μ' ἐθέλει διδάσκειν” [“Attic employs the verb to want in place of the verb to be able, as in Plato: the countryside does not want to teach me anything”]. But it is not true that it always stands in such an idiom for to be able to, as even Scapula states in the two passages cited. It certainly does stand for to be able to in the Sophist, tome 2, 1820, p. 314, ll. 18‒19d-e: “Καὶ μὴν ἓν γέ τι τούτων ἀναγκαῖον, ἢ πάντα ἢ μηδὲν ἢ τὰ μὲν ἐθέλειν, τὰ δὲ μὴ ξυμμίγνυσθαι” “that some things could be mixed together, others not.”3 Also see therein p. 318, penult. line b; 326, l. 12b; 342, ll. 13‒14d; 314, l. 26e; Synesius, Opera, 1612, p. 43c. But in the passage from the Symposium, and in the one from Homer in Scapula, ἐθέλειν is redundant, as volere often is in Italian, in that idiom of ours cited above, and potere would be a very poor explanation of it. In the one from the Phaedrus it is likewise essentially redundant, because the passage means τὰ χωρία οὐδέν με διδάσκει [the countryside doesn’t teach me anything]. If we should say οὐδέν με δύναται διδάσκειν [cannot teach me anything] [2921] we would perhaps be saying as much, but not the same thing, and although we’d be telling the truth we would not therefore be saying precisely what Socrates says. In this and in many other similar cases, as much in Greek as in Italian, if we explain the verb volere with potere the expression proves to be true and correct, but this does not mean that the intention was to say potere. Because often when expressing ourselves we have two intentions, one a final intention (and this latter in our case would be equally well explained by rendering volere with potere as by stating that it is redundant), the other an immediate intention (and this latter in our case would not be attained by saying potere, nor would it be explained using this word), the intention or meaning of this utterance when taken literally being different from both of the above intentions. (8 July 1823.) However, we only use the verb volere in this sense and fashion with negative or conditional particles, or in the interrogative, as in that line from Anacreon (ode 44 ᾿Εδόκουν ὄναρ τροχάζειν [I dreamed of running]): “τί θέλει ὄναρ τόδ' εἶναι”; “what does this dream want to be?”1 But in affirmative utterances, forms, or meanings, the verb volere [2922] is never used with this particular meaning or in this particular way either by the Italians or the French in the above-mentioned senses, save in the phrase voler dire or significare [to mean], etc., which is also Greek, and which may be referred to the idiom we are discussing. The Greeks generally still use this idiom not in the affirmative, though not always. In an affirmative sense, and yet in relation to things that are inanimate or ideal or intellectual or, as one says, things of reason, we use the verb volere, in a sense however that is different from the above, and is equivalent to the Greek μέλλειν [to be obliged to, to be destined to] but with a slight degree of doubt; such as “Questa guerra vuole andare in lungo,” that is to say, “It seems that this war will last a long time”; Vuol piovere, etc. In this sense the verb volere has a meaning equivalent to the one that dovere often has in Italian, which sometimes absolutely means μέλλειν (like avere a, aver da with the infinitive [to have to]), sometimes with some doubt, as in “Questa guerra deve andare in lungo” [This war is going to last a long time] that is to say, “it seems that,” etc. We still say “Questa guerra mostra di voler esser lunga, pare che voglia esser” [“This war looks like lasting a long time”], etc. And in similar ways; and dovere likewise. In yet another way we use the verb volere affirmatively, out of linguistic propriety, and also with inanimate things, to mean to be on the point of, to come very close to not; and it is only used with this meaning in the perfect or in the pluperfect, although in an example from the Crusca, Volere, § 3, it occurs in the gerundive. (9 July 1823.) See p. 3000.
[2923] The Italians don’t have customs; they have usages. So it is with all civilized peoples that are not nations.1 (9 July 1823.)
You have to have a fine idea of yourself (esteem yourself greatly) to be capable of sacrificing yourself. A person who does not have great and constant self-esteem is not right for true love, nor capable of dévouement [devotion] and of the total sacrifice that it demands and inspires.2 (9 July 1823.)
The verb avere [to have] with the meaning of essere [to be], when used impersonally by the Italians by the French by the Spanish, and sometimes also personally by the Italians (see Corticelli), is simply the Latin se habere (which likewise means essere) with the pronoun omitted. The Latin populace must have said, e.g., nihil hic se habet, qui si ha nulla, that is to say, non v’è [there’s nothing]; then with the pronoun discarded, nihil hic habet, qui non v’ha nulla [there’s nothing here]. Cicero: “Attica belle se habet” [“Attica is well”] with a pronoun, and elsewhere “Terentia minus belle habet” [“Terentia is not so well”] and here the pronoun is left figuratively within the phrase. (Forcellini, under Belle.) Bene habeo, bene habemus, bene habent tibi principia are [2924] all elliptical utterances because of the omission of the pronoun se, nos, me. Bene habet, optime habet, sic habet; here apart from the omission of the pronoun se there is also that of the noun res. Whence it happens that in these utterances, which given entire would be bene se res habet, sic se res habet, the verb habere because of the aforesaid ellipsis comes to be impersonal. And here then you get the verb habere in Latin with the meaning of essere, an absolute neuter, that is to say, without a pronoun and impersonal. Quis hic habet? Who’s here? In this and in other places where the verb habere stands for abitare [to live] with a neuter meaning, this verb strictly speaking simply means essere; and habitare likewise, which is a frequentative or continuative of habere, so long as it has a neutral meaning, stands for essere. And this form is wholly Greek; since among the Greeks half the time ἔχειν is simply a synonym of to be, and is also used impersonally in this sense all the time, as in Italian, French, and Spanish. See p. 3907. So too constantly in modern Greek. [2925] Δὲν ἔχει, non ci è, non ci ha [there isn’t]. (9 July 1823.)
Regarding the verb habitare, which by virtue of its formation can be both continuative and frequentative, one may consider the examples from Forcellini, in some of which (as in those from Cicero, De senectute, last ch.) it patently has the first meaning, but in others the second; or it means solere habere, that is to say, esse, etc. And see again the primitive habere in the sense of the continuative habitare (from whose meaning that of this verb is derived) in Forcellini under habeo, column 3. (9 July 1823.)
The usual practice in our language is to put the adverb male [badly] as a privative particle instead of in before adjectives, substantives, adverbs, participles, etc., either making a single word or else writing it separately. This usage is so correct for us that a writer is at liberty to make in this fashion as many such new combinations as he wishes, as some moderns have done, [2926] e.g., Salvini, following the example of the ancients, and they are indicated in the Crusca. Male for non or poco or difficilmente [with difficulty]. See the Crusca under male. The French likewise have: mal-adresse, mal-adroit, mal-adroitement, mal-aisé, mal-gracieux, mal-plaisant, mal-habile, mal-honnête, etc. etc. See Richelet’s Dictionary under Ma
l, end. Now this usage is wholly Latin and characteristic of authors from the best periods. See Forcellini under male. (9 July 1823.)
Maltrattare, maltraiter, maltratar [to maltreat]–male-tractatio is from Arnobius, in Forcellini entry for Male, end, where others said mala tractatio. It is characteristic of our earliest writers, and of the Florentine or Tuscan vernacular, to use male for all genders and numbers instead of the adjective malo. (9 July 1823.)
Might savamo, savate as used by our early writers for eravamo eravate [we were, you were] be persons of a more regular, more ancient, and truer imperfect of sum, sumus, sunt [to be] than the usual eram, formed perhaps from another stem; persons, I mean, of an imperfect sabam, era preserved in Vulgar Latin up until the beginnings of our vernacular? (9 July 1823.)
For p. 2753. It is also certainly the case that in the same circumstances a man, and a young man at that, [2927] and an unhappy one as well, is less discontented with his lot, with his condition, with his fortunes during the winter than during the summer; less impatient with uniformity and boredom, less impatient with setbacks, less defiant of fate and necessity, more resigned, less burdened by life, more forbearing of existence, and sometimes almost reconciled with it, almost glad,1 less unable to conceive how one can live, and to find a way of spending his days. Or at any rate all these dispositions are more frequent in him or more lasting in winter than in summer; and often habitual in the former season, whereas in the latter they are simply present. And even the young man who habitually despairs of himself and of life, rests from his despair in the winter, not because he is more hopeful in that period than in the others, but because he does not experience or experiences less intensely the sense of that despair which, at root, cannot abandon him. That is, he leaves off [2928] desiring, or desires less vividly those things that he has wholly and habitually and forever despaired of obtaining. All this because the vital spirits are less mobile and agitated and awake in the winter than in the summer.
These considerations should be applied to the character of nations that live in different climates, of those that are used to passing most of the year under shelter and leading a domestic and homely existence because of the rigors of the climate, and vice versa.1 (9 July 1823.) See pp. 3347–49 and 3296, margin, etc.
Regarding the verb vexare which I hold to be a continuative of vehere [to carry]a and which is made from an ancient participle vexus instead of vectus, on which see p. 2020, it is worth noting that both elsewhere and particularly in participles in us it is not rare in Latin for the letters s and t to be exchanged. So from intendo [to stretch] you get intensus and intentus, whence intentare, just as from vectus you get vectare; from ango [to press together, to cause pain], anxus and anctus. See Forcellini under ango, at the end. See p. 3488. And likewise tensus and tentus from tendo and from its other compounds, discussed by me elsewhere [→Z 2344–45] regarding intentare. See p. 3815. I refer to an exchange because, in [2929] my opinion, these particular participles, such as tensus and tentus, are simply the one participle pronounced in two different ways because of a physical property of the language. Whence vexus, that is to say vecsus, is identical to vectus, and vecsare or vexare, so far as origin is concerned, the same as vectare. But vexus was lost, with vectus remaining, and perhaps it was more ancient than the former, just as vexare would seem to be more ancient than vectare. Moreover it is as reasonable for vexus to derive from veho is exi as it is for nexus, whence nexare, companion of vexare, to derive from necto is exi, and pexus from pecto is exi (and it is worth noting that pexus also has pectitus), and plexus, whence amplexare, from plecto is exi, etc., flexus, from flecto is exi (see pp. 2814–15 margin), etc. And as to the verbs that have or had participles both in sus and in tus, if you want another example see fundere, which has fusus and also had futus, p. 2821 and nitor eris which has nixus, whence nixari, and had nictus, whence nictari, which example (see pp. 2886–87) is particularly relevant. See p. 3038. Figo‒fixi‒fictus, and fixus which is more common still. Likewise our figgere‒fisso and fitto, see p. 3284 and p. 3283, where you have fixare which is wholly analogous to vexare. See pp. 3733ff. And for many other verbs our theory of continuatives demonstrates the existence of double participles or supines, [2930] that is, it demonstrates that they had participles or supines distinct from those they now have, or else they had two, both lost, or even more than two, as with fundo–fusus, futus, funditus, etc. etc. See p. 2826 and the following thought, and p. 3037. Moreover vexare with regard to vehere could also belong to that category of verbs on which pp. 2813ff. But I do not believe so, for the reasons stated above, which convince me that it comes from a participle vexus. Vexus, flexus, etc., from vexi, etc. are perhaps contractions of vexitus, etc., and likewise vectus, etc., which, however, retains the t, like textus from texui, etc. See pp. 3060‒61, with all those to which it refers and those cited in it. (9 July 1823.)
Pinso pinsis pinsi and pinsui, pinsum and pinsitum and pistum. From pinsus or from pinsitus, pinsitare in Plautus, if this word is genuine. From pistus pistare in Forcellini and the Glossary (see under Pistare and Pistatus), whence our pestare [to pound, to stamp on] which in everyday speech is even today more often pronounced pistare, just like pisto for pesto. (See the Glossary under pestare.) Pisto also survives in Spanish, and is a substantivized neuter adjective, which means what we mean when we say pollo pesto [minced chicken]. All three of these participles of pinso are borne out by examples, and are not just my conjectures. See Forcellini under each of them, and under pinso.
We should note here what Festus says about the word pinso (in Forcellini under Pistus). “Pistum a pinsendo pro molitum antiqui frequentius usurpabant quam nunc nos dicimus” [“Instead of molitum the ancients used pistum formed from pinso more frequently than we do now”].1 [2931] In actual fact pistillum, pistor, pistrinum, and almost all the derivations of pinso come from the supine or participle pistum or pistus. Now, according to Festus, in his day this participle or supine, though very common among the ancients, was not widely used. He certainly means not widely used in polite language or in writing. But here you get the Roman people and informal speech retaining the ancient usage and retaining it to the last, since in the daughter languages of Latin there is almost (I say almost because of the verb pisar, etc., on which see below) nothing left of the verb pinsere but what pertains to its participle pistus, that is, pesto, pisto Italian and Spanish pestare, pestello, etc. And the verb pestare or pistare, which looks as though it entered late Latin instead of the original pinsere, in place of which it is still retained in Italian even today, was formed at that time from pistus, or else if it was characteristic of ancient Latin too, what is certain is that it was preserved on the lips of the common people and in informal speech with the verb pinso falling into disuse and being totally forgotten, contrary to what [2932] Festus seems to say, or what could reasonably be gathered from the words written by him above, by someone who did not know the facts.
Pistus (see pp. 3035ff.), whence pistare, is obviously formed from the regular and original pinsitus, with its n removed, whence pisitus, and the latter contracted into pistus, as with positus, repositus, etc., into postus, repostus. And see p. 2894. Now just as from pinsitus you get pisitus and pistus, once the n is removed, so too from pinsus another irregular participle of pinso, of which there are a fair number of examples (see Forcellini under pinso, end and pinsus) there was formed, in my opinion, pisus, and from this latter, as from pistus pistare, comes the verb pisare, which consequently and according to this argument is a continuative of pinsere precisely like pistare, and perhaps like pinsitare. If this argument had been heeded by those who in Varro and Pliny substitute the verb pinsere for the verb pisare (or pisere, on which see later), which is recognized however by Diomedes, and again read by some in Persius [2933] (see Forcellini under pinso, end) they would perhaps never have thought of banishing this verb. And still less would they have done this if they had observed this same verb pisare in an Anonymous author, De re architectonica, although I do not
now have the time to investigate who it is, unless it is the epitomizer of Vitruvius, but certainly it does not seem too close to his style, and see his passage in the Glossary under Pisare. And less too if they had looked at the Spanish pisare (calcare [to stamp on], cal-pestare [to trample]) and at the Italian pigiare, which is the same; and if in that passage from Varro “ficum et uvam passam cum piserunt” [“they pound figs and dried grapes together”], where they reinsert pinserunt, they had observed the obvious conformity with the solemn vernacular phrases pisar las uvas, pigiar le uve [to tread the grapes]. And so too if they had paid attention to the substantive piso onis [mortar], derived from pisare [to pound] or certainly from pisus in place of pinsus, which substantive may be found in Forcellini and in the anonymous author quoted in the Glossary, and in the Spanish pison, whence pisonar, etc. See once again Forcellini under pinso the passage from Varro, bk. 1 De re rustica, ch. 63, with what he says of it; and the word Pisatio, where I don’t think much of those who read spissatione.
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