They Have No Public, Nor Private Libraries That Afford
Any Thing Worth Perusing.
There is not even a bookseller in Nice.
Though they value themselves upon their being natives of Italy,
they are unacquainted with music. The few that play upon
instruments, attend only to the execution. They have no genius
nor taste, nor any knowledge of harmony and composition. Among
the French, a Nissard piques himself on being Provencal; but in
Florence, Milan, or Rome, he claims the honour of being born a
native of Italy. The people of condition here speak both
languages equally well; or, rather, equally ill; for they use a
low, uncouth phraseology; and their pronunciation is extremely
vitious. Their vernacular tongue is what they call Patois; though
in so calling it, they do it injustice. - Patois, from the Latin
word patavinitas, means no more than a provincial accent, or
dialect. It takes its name from Patavium, or Padua, which was the
birthplace of Livy, who, with all his merit as a writer, has
admitted into his history, some provincial expressions of his own
country. The Patois, or native tongue of Nice, is no other than
the ancient Provencal, from which the Italian, Spanish and
French languages, have been formed. This is the language that
rose upon the ruins of the Latin tongue, after the irruptions of
the Goths, Vandals, Huns, and Burgundians, by whom the Roman
empire was destroyed. It was spoke all over Italy, Spain, and the
southern parts of France, until the thirteenth century, when the
Italians began to polish it into the language which they now call
their own: The Spaniards and French, likewise, improved it into
their respective tongues. From its great affinity to the Latin,
it was called Romance, a name which the Spaniards still give to
their own language. As the first legends of knight-errantry were
written in Provencal, all subsequent performances of the same
kind, have derived from it the name of romance; and as those
annals of chivalry contained extravagant adventures of knights,
giants, and necromancers, every improbable story or fiction is to
this day called a romance. Mr. Walpole, in his Catalogue of royal
and noble Authors, has produced two sonnets in the antient
Provencal, written by our king Richard I. surnamed Coeur de Lion;
and Voltaire, in his Historical Tracts, has favoured the world
with some specimens of the same language. The Patois of Nice,
must, without doubt, have undergone changes and corruptions in
the course of so many ages, especially as no pains have been
taken to preserve its original purity, either in orthography or
pronunciation. It is neglected, as the language of the vulgar:
and scarce any-body here knows either its origin or constitution.
I have in vain endeavoured to procure some pieces in the antient
Provencal, that I might compare them with the modern Patois: but
I can find no person to give me the least information on the
subject. The shades of ignorance, sloth, and stupidity, are
impenetrable. Almost every word of the Patois may still be found
in the Italian, Spanish, and French languages, with a small
change in the pronunciation. Cavallo, signifying a horse in
Italian and Spanish is called cavao; maison, the French word for
a house, is changed into maion; aqua, which means water in
Spanish, the Nissards call daigua. To express, what a slop is
here! they say acco fa lac aqui, which is a sentence composed of
two Italian words, one French, and one Spanish. This is nearly
the proportion in which these three languages will be found
mingled in the Patois of Nice; which, with some variation,
extends over all Provence, Languedoc, and Gascony. I will now
treat you with two or three stanzas of a canzon, or hymn, in this
language, to the Virgin Mary, which was lately printed at Nice.
1
Vierge, maire de Dieu,
Nuostro buono avocado,
Embel car uvostre sieu,
En Fenestro adourado,
Jeu vous saludi,
E demandi en socours;
E sense autre preludi,
Canti lous uvostre honours.
Virgin, mother of God,
our good advocate,
With your dear son,
In Fenestro adored,
I salute you,
And ask his assistance;
And without further prelude,
I sing your honours.
[Fenestro is the name of a place in this neighbourhood, where
there is a supposed miraculous sanctuary, or chapel, of the
Virgin Mary.]
2.
Qu'ario de Paradis!
Que maesta divine!
Salamon es d'advis,
Giugiar de uvostro mino;
Vous dis plus bello:
E lou dis ben soven
De toutoi lei femello,
E non s'engano ren.
What air of Paradise!
What majesty divine!
Solomon is of opinion,
To judge of your appearance;
Says you are the fairest
And it is often said
Of all females,
And we are not all deceived.
3.
Qu'ario de Paradis!
Que maesta divine!
La bellezzo eblovis;
La bonta l'ueigl raffino.
Sias couronado;
Tenes lou monde en man
Sus del trono assettado,
Riges lou avostre enfan.
What air of Paradise!
What majesty divine!
The beauty dazzles;
The goodness purifies the eye:
You are crowned:
You hold the world in your hand:
Seated on the throne,
You support your child.
You see I have not chosen this canzon for the beauty and elegance
of thought and expression; but give it you as the only printed
specimen I could find of the modern Provencal. If you have any
curiosity to be further acquainted with the Patois, I will
endeavour to procure you satisfaction. Meanwhile, I am, in plain
English, - Dear Sir, Ever yours.
LETTER XXII
NICE, November 10, 1764.
DEAR SIR, - I had once thoughts of writing a complete natural
history of this town and county: but I found myself altogether
unequal to the task. I have neither health, strength, nor
opportunity to make proper collections of the mineral, vegetable,
and animal productions. I am not much conversant with these
branches of natural philosophy. I have no books to direct my
inquiries. I can find no person capable of giving me the least
information or assistance; and I am strangely puzzled by the
barbarous names they give to many different species, the
descriptions of which I have read under other appelations; and
which, as I have never seen them before, I cannot pretend to
distinguish by the eye.
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