Zibaldone
Page 215
Now, let what I say about the ancients and moderns be applied to young and old individuals, in whichever age of nations and the human race, and the same difference both of circumstances and effects will be found proportionately. (25 July 1823.)
[3032] Visto Italian and Spanish participle of vedere [to see], is an obvious contraction of visitus, as quisto, chiesto, etc., of quaesitus (see pp. 2893ff.). Thus vista, Italian and Spanish verbal substantive, is a contraction of visita, a barbarian Latin word for visitus us that is visus us. Thus the compounds of vedere have, e.g., avvisto, rivisto, provvisto, etc. The word vista for veduta, and with other similar meanings, as it has with us as well, is barbarian Latin. See it in the Glossary. And that it is a contraction of Visita, as I say, and that therefore visto is a contraction of visitus, see the Glossary again under Vista, 4. Now let us consider.
(1) The Latin video [to see] from which come our vedere and the Spanish ver form in the participle, not visitus, but visus. Similarly the anomalous viso is, which is a derivation of it. But according to the principles posited by me and shown elsewhere [→Z 2894–95, 2932, 2991–92] it is absolutely certain that the ancient participle of video must have been visitus (anomalous in place of viditus) as docitus was from doceo. Therefore our Italian and Spanish visto is a contraction (extremely common in ancient and good [3033] Latin: see pp. 2894 and ff.) of the ancient visitus; it is an entirely Latin vistus which is prior to visus and more regular. Now, how does it ever happen that this participle, completely lost in known Latin, this extremely ancient participle, more ancient and more regular than the one used by Latin writers, appears for the first time in barbarian Latin, and therefore is to be found in extremely common usage in two daughter languages of Latin, and is to be found in place of the visus of known Latin, when this visus is not found in the said languages? Could it be that this participle, independently of Latin, was formed in the said languages from the verb vedere according to the rules of conjugation proper not to Latin, but to those languages? On the contrary, according to these rules, in those languages it is completely anomalous and irregular and outside any orderly structure. It has no origin in those languages, and in its place, Italian, according to the rules of its conjugations, should say vedutoa (Spanish should say veido or vido), and in fact it says that as well. But this second Italian participle, [3034] regular and modern, is much less vulgar and more noble, and the other irregular, ancient Latin participle is more plebeian, and perhaps, at least in some places, the only one adopted by the people, since in Spanish it is one and the same for the ordinary people as for educated people and in writing. Where then does this participle come from in barbarian Latin, and in modern languages, if it does not come from known Latin, nor from the roots and rules of those languages? What other means can have preserved it for us, except Vulgar Latin, a greater preserver of antiquity than written Latin, and in this present case, actually more regular?
(2) Visito as is considered a frequentative of viso is [to look at]. Let us put on one side whether it is from viso is, or rather from video [to see] whose participle is the same, that is visus. But if the ancient participle of one or the other or both, was visitus, the verb visito could also be the continuative of whichever of the two seems best, and come not from visus, or the supine visum, but from visitus, or the supine visitum. From visus likewise were formed various verbs for which see [3035] pp. 2843ff., 3005, 3019. If visito comes from visitus part of video, it will be neither the child of viso is, nor different from it through formation and original meaning (that is, it would be frequentative, and viso continuative), on the contrary it will be brother to viso is, formed in the same way, that is from the participle in us of video, a continuative as is visere; but will be an elder brother, because it is formed from a more ancient and regular participle than visus, or rather it will be originally one and the same verb as viso is, because it is formed from the same participle, that is, visitus also said visus through contraction and anomaly.
(3) I have maintained on pp. 2932ff. the existence of the verb pisare or pisere (all one with pigiare and pisar) [to pound, to crush] formed from a pisus participle of pinsere. Now with the example of visto, and with the help of the considerations which it offers us, we will confirm our argument, and vice versa with reference to that argument we will confirm the present one. The regular participle of pinso is pinsitus which still exists. Here is a twin of visitus. From pinsitus was formed by contraction [3036] and anomaly pinsus which also exists. Here therefore from visitus, visus which is the only one existing in known Latin. Likewise from pinsitus was formed pistus which equally exists. This formation presumes and demonstrates two changes. In the first place the subtraction of the n, whence pisitus which does not exist, but is proven, as you can see. And here we are back to visitus. Second, the usual subtraction of the i (as in postus for positus), whence pistus which is the only participle preserved in modern languages (Italian pesto, Vulgar Italian and Spanish pisto), from which pistare. And here we are again at the vistus preserved in modern languages in place both of visitus and of visus, whence avvistare, etc. (see pp. 2844, 3005). But since from pinsitus was formed pinsus, with the letters it subtracted, so precisely from pisitus pisus, in the same way as pistus. And in exactly the same way from visitus visus, the same as vistus. Censeo‒censitus and census a um, according to the observation made by me about such 4th-conjugation verbal nouns [→Z 2009–10, 2019, 2145ff., 2227, 2339]. It is noteworthy that uncontracted censitus in Latin writers is much more rare and modern than the contracted census. A similar thing to this example of visus for visitus. See p. 3815 end.1 And just as from visus, the anomalous contraction of visitus, was formed the anomalous viso is in place of viso as (here you may refer to p. 3005 about the verb viser avvisare, etc.) so it is curious to note that also from pisus, anomalous contraction of pinsitus or pisitus, can be found or is thought to be formed, in addition [3037] to piso as, and perhaps also in its place, the anomalous continuative piso is.
And here we can consider how many participles in us a single verb has, that is pinso, or rather how many have arisen from a single one, that is pinsitus, some existing, some demonstrated by logic, and a few of these by our theory of continuatives. It is a good idea to consider this so that it can serve as an example, and therefore so that people accept how right I am to say that very many first-conjugation verbs, which do not at all appear so, are true continuatives of known or unknown verbs (and on this subject see pp. 2928–30), and how many words which are believed to be pure adjectives, are true participles of verbs sometimes known, but not recognized as being their fathers (on which see p. 3026).
So from pinso
1, 2, 4 existing in good Latin. 3 demonstrated by grammatical logic from pistus. 5 demonstrated by the continuatives pisare or pisere, pigiare, pisar. [3038] Anyone who were to claim that pisus was not from pisitus but from pinsus, subtracting the n as from pinsitus in pisitus, would not have much of a case. We would still have, both in pinsus and in pisus, the subtraction of the it to demonstrate the derivation of visus from visitus, and the more ancient nature of the latter, as too of vistus which has only one letter fewer than visitus, and not two. (25 July, Feast of St. James, 1823.) See the following page.
For p. 2929. Thus from vivo–vixi–victum [to live] there must have been formed vixum and vixus. I deduce this from our ancient visso, which is not a contraction of vissuto because such a contraction is not part of the character and usage of our language. Though vissuto (which many say and said more regularly as vivuto, even fourteenth-century writers, as I myself have found, in the same way as riceVUTO from riceVERE) seems to come from another, and even more ancient and regular Latin participle vixitus, with the i changed to u, as frequently in Latin (see pp. 2824–25 beginning, and 2895), and particularly as in Italian in passive participles which are proper, customary, and regular in the language (venditus–venduto, redditus–renduto, perditus–perduto, seditus ancient [3039] and regular–seduto, debitus from another conjugation–devuto, tenitus, an
cient and regular–tenuto, ceditus ancient and regular–ceduto).
And here should be noted the preservation in our vulgar tongue of that very ancient vixus unknown in Latin, similar to the preservation of vistus, for which see pp. 3032–34. (25 July 1823.) Whether it is the case that visso was formed from the unknown supine vixum, or from the unknown neuter participle vixus, in place of which we do not find even victus a um (while we do find the supine victum), nevertheless it must have existed, according to what I have said elsewhere [→Z 1107, 2690, 2841–42, 2917–18] about such neuter participles, etc. And the daughter languages preserve an infinite number of them, which are not found in written Latin. (25 July, Feast of St. James, 1823.)
For the preceding page. Anyone who were to claim that pisere did not come from pisus (although there is a very fine example of it in visere from visus, as I have said), but that (even if it really existed) it was the same as pinsere, with the n subtracted as in pistus, would likewise worry me very little. In such a case pisare would be not brother but son of pisere; and certainly it and pisar and pigiare would come from pisus, as the infinite number of [3040] examples demonstrates which, in relation to the formation of such first-conjugation verbs from participles in us of other verbs, my theory of continuatives brings together, etc. etc. (26 July, Feast of St. Anne, 1823.) See p. 3052.
Of the man in whom a great and cultured intelligence and strength of resolve come together it can be asserted without any doubt that he would do and achieve great things in the world, and that he could certainly not remain obscure, in whatever condition the fortune of his birth had placed him. But the habit of prudence in deliberation normally excludes facility and readiness of resolve, and also steadfastness in operation. For which reason men of great and well-trained intellect are for the most part, indeed almost always, prisoners, in a manner of speaking, of irresolution. They find it difficult to make up their minds, they are timid, indecisive, uncertain, hesitant, weak in carrying anything through.1 Otherwise they would dominate the world, which, since resolve in itself can always do much more than prudence alone, was and is and always will be under the control of mediocre men. (26 July, Feast of St. Anne, 1823.)
For p. 2864. Avolo, abuelo, ayeul from avulus [ancestor]. We also have the positive avo. (26 July 1823.) See pp. 3054, 3063.
[3041] For p. 3014. I firmly believe that, in whatever way, the inflections, words, expressions, etc. etc., which in Homer are believed to be proper to this or that other dialect were in his day for whatever reason known and understood by all the Greek nations, or at the least, by one such nation (such as perhaps the Ionic), and in that case that he would have had it in mind to sing and write for that nation alone, and probably did. As for the other poets, if the reasons I have advanced to explain how, in spite of the use of dialects, they were universally understood do not appear sufficient, note how effectively in Greece, as elsewhere, the poets stopped singing to the people fairly early (and the same with other writers too), and Greek poetic language certainly became unintelligible to the common people, from which idiom it was even further separated than Italian poetic language is from the common and everyday. So poets wrote for educated persons, who by understanding and all the time studying and knowing by heart Homer’s verses, and quoting them, imitating them, alluding to them frequently [3042] in educated conversation and writing, easily understood other poets and Greek poetic language, although it was composed of elements proper to various dialects. For that language was completely Homeric, as I have said, both in detail and in general. That is, the inflections, expressions, words of which it was composed, were either exactly the same as Homeric ones (and such in fact were perhaps the greater part), or were of that manner, of that origin, derived or formed from those of Homer, or taken from the sources and places from which he drew them, and this according to the laws and procedures which he followed. Those poets who after Homer wrote for the people, and composed for the people, like the playwrights, didn’t mingle dialects at all, or hardly, and the effective consequence of this is that if sometimes their style is Homeric, as is that of Sophocles, their language is not. In truth it is Attic, since it was made for the Athenians, except perhaps in lyric pieces, which, also because of the nature of the subject matter and the genre, would have been mainly out of reach of the ignorant. In effect Phrynichus in Photius (codex 158)1 counts among the models, rules, [3043] and norms of pure and direct Attic speech the tragedians Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, and the comic writers to the extent that they were Attic, since they sometimes mixed in something from other dialects for comic effect or mimicry, and this does not form part of our discussion. Some tragedians as well, perhaps, out of respect for the enormous number of outsiders who flocked to the performance of plays in Athens from every part of Greece, will not have hesitated to use something from other dialects. But generally it can be seen that the dialect used by Greek dramatists is just the one. And besides, in the same way that in our own theaters, and those of all educated nations, the majority of the audience is from the people but the plays that are staged are not written in popular style or popular language, always in educated language, and very frequently one that is extremely poetic and different from common and everyday speech and even from educated prose, so one must imagine this happening in pretty well the same way in Greece and Athens too, where the judges of the plays which competed for the prize [3044] were not in the end the people, but a small and select number of the knowledgeable, and where the educated persons among those who made up the audience were at least as numerous as they are with us. See the Viaggio d’Anacarsi, ch. 70.1
Other nondramatic poets restricted themselves to some particular dialect or other, and consequently they wrote for only one nation or part of Greece, and they set that as their audience (as it is extremely likely that Homer did). Nor were these few in number, in fact among the ancients they were in the majority. And one can say that the total, confused, indiscriminate, profuse mingling of dialects in Greek poetic language, and the blind following of the language and usage of Homer is only proper to the more modern Greek poets and in the decadent period of poetry, such as Apollonius of Rhodes, Aratos, Callimachus, and others such from the times of the Ptolemies, when the basis of Greek literature was already the imitation of its ancient classics. So it is no surprise that the language of Hesiod, a contemporary of Homer, or a little earlier or later,2 turns out to be Homeric: the use of [3045] this language in him can be explained with the same reasons and considerations as are applicable to Homer. In Anacreon there is very little mingling of dialects. (See Fabricius, Bibliotheca Graeca, under “Anacreon.”1 Certainly his language is completely different from that of Homer. It is Ionic. Sappho wrote in Aeolic. Empedocles, although Sicilian and Pythagorean, used Ionic instead of Doric. (See Fabricius under “Empedocles,” Giordani on Schinas’s “Empedocles,” end of the second article.)2 Is it possible that the Ionic dialect was at that time the most common in Greece? It is probable, on account of the busy trade of that nation, which was entirely maritime and mercantile. Perhaps what we call Ionic was simply the common language of Greece at that time, as, with certain restrictions, Attic, which yet was born from Ionic, was subsequently? This is also probable, and in that case the question about Homer would be resolved, who is recognized by all as a poet who is principally Ionic in language. And my opinion would also be confirmed, where I say that the language followed by him, was simply the common idiom of the whole of Greece at that time, as Tasso’s [3046] Italian is the common Italian of the whole of Italy. Or could it be that Greece was still not sufficiently cultured on a wide scale to have an already structured and perfect common language, and in the absence of the latter Ionic did service, as the most widespread because it was proper to the nation which had most dealings with others? Or finally perhaps Empedocles chose Ionic to imitate and follow Homer? Very likely. In Pindar, and in other lyric poets of his or similar type, the mingling of dialects is no surprise. It is license rather than established use (ἐπιτήδευμα [cus
tom, practice]); and this license is natural in that type of poetry which makes extreme use of license in everything else, such as style, images, conceits, transitions, phrases, etc.
My contention that the assumed multiple dialect of Homer was no more than the common Greek of that time, or no more than a single dialect to which belonged all those characteristics which are now attributed to many different ones, this contention I believe is already supported and [3047] also generally accepted today by foreign scholars.1 (26 July 1823, Feast of St. Anne.)
Force, originality, abundance, sublimity, and also nobility of style can, certainly in great part, come from nature, intellect, upbringing, or with the support of these one can acquire in a short space of time the aptitude for it, and once it is acquired, one can without great difficulty put it into practice. Clarity and (especially in our time) simplicity (I mean what is almost the same as naturalness and the opposite of sensitive affectation, of whatever sort it may be, and in any subject matter and style and composition whatsoever, as I have explained elsewhere [→Z 1411ff.]), clarity and simplicity (and therefore also grace which cannot exist without these two, and which very often to a large extent consists of them), clarity, I repeat, and simplicity, those fundamental strengths of any sort of writing, those qualities which are indispensable, indeed of the foremost necessity, without which the other strengths count for nothing, and with which no writing, even though it has no other virtue, is never contemptible, are entirely and in every way the work, gift, and effect of [3048] art. The qualities where art should be least apparent, which appear the most natural, which ought in fact to appear the most spontaneous, which appear the most effortless, which equally ought to appear achieved with supreme lack of effort, one of which qualities can be said precisely to consist in hiding art completely, and in the absence of any show of artifice and arduousness—it is precisely these which are the daughters of art alone, those which cannot be achieved except through study, the ones that are most difficult to get the habit of, the last to be achieved, and of such a kind that even having acquired the habit, it is impossible to put it into practice without extreme exertion. The writer’s every slightest negligence in composition removes simplicity and clarity from his writing, in proportion to how extensive it is, because these are never other than the fruits of art, both habitual and of the present, because nature never teaches them, nor gives them to anyone, because it is impossible for them to come by themselves, when people do not search them out, nor is it possible for any part [3049] of any writing to become clear or simple in any other way than through deliberate artifice and diligence employed by the writer to make it so. And by inevitably removing clarity and simplicity, the writer’s every slightest negligence damages, and in any given part destroys both the beauty and the excellence of any kind of writing whatsoever. Because simplicity and clarity are such fundamental and essential parts of the beauty and the excellence of written works that they have to be continuous, nor ever for any reason (except for a joke or something similar) must they be interrupted, nor fail in any, albeit small, part of the composition. Force, sublimity, abundance or brevity and rapidity, splendor, nobility itself, can be, and indeed very often have to be interrupted in writing. They can, and indeed have to have sometimes the greater, sometimes the lesser role within a single piece of writing, as in different compositions and genres. They can differ even from themselves, according to the writings, and their parts and circumstances [3050] and situations, in fact they must not or cannot behave otherwise. But clarity and simplicity must never have a greater or lesser role. In any type of writing, style, part of any composition whatsoever, they not only must not fail even for a moment, but they must always and everywhere and in every writer be the same in relation to themselves (although they can be obtained with different means, and it is possible to give them different appearances and different circumstances), they must always be of the same quantity, in a manner of speaking, and always the same to themselves in their essence of clarity and simplicity, and in the intensity of this essence. (26 July 1823, Feast of St. Anne.)