37 meus, me-a, meummy
tuus, tu-a, tuumyour dīvīnus, dīvīn-a, dīvīnumdivine magnus, magn-a, magnum great
“These adjectives I call US-A-UM adjectives after their endings. The stem of an adjective can be found by removing the a from the feminine singular. To remind you of this, I want you to write a dash between the stem and the a.”
“Adjectives, like chamaeleons, copy the gender, number, and case of their associated noun: LATIN ADJECTIVES AGREE WITH THE NOUNS THAT THEY DESCRIBE IN CASE, GENDER, AND NUMBER.”
“You actually already know many of the forms that US-A-UM adjectives can take: the masculine form follows the same pattern as 2nd declension masculine nouns, and the feminine form follows the pattern of 1st declension nouns. Since the gender of the adjective needs to match whatever noun it goes with, first identify the gender of the noun, and this will tell you the gender and declension pattern for the adjective:”
US-A-UM Adjective Endings Based on the Gender of the Noun it agrees with (D)
Noun Gender:US-A-UM Adjective Declines Like:
Feminine1st declension noun
Masculine2nd declension masculine noun
“You actually know one example of an adjective going with a noun already: rēs pūblica. Rēs is a noun, and pūblica is an US-A-UM type of adjective. The noun is feminine, so the endings on pūblica are 1st declension endings. Literally, the phrase means ‘public thing’ or, better, ‘the people’s property’.”
“An adjective also has the same case as its noun, and the same number. So, if I wanted to use ‘republic’ in the genitive singular, I’d say rēī pūblicae: the noun is feminine, genitive, singular, and so is the adjective.”
“In the following examples, ars is feminine, and that is why ‘my’, meus, a, um, declines like a 1st declension noun, mea. Homō is masculine, and that is why ‘great’, magnus, a, um, declines like a 2nd declension noun, meus. There are no new endings to learn. But you must get used to adjectives sometimes modifying nouns when their endings are not spelled the same:”
ars (fem.) + meahomō (masc.) + magnus
SingularPluralSingularPlural
Nom. ars meaartēs meaehomō magnushominēs magnī
Gen.artis meaeartium meārumhominis magnīhominum magnōrum Dat.artī meaehominī magnō
Acc.artem meamartēs meāshominem magnumhominēs magnōs Abl.arte meāhomine magnō
my art (s./p.) my arts (s./p.)great person (s./p.)great persons (s./p.) of my artof my artsof a great personof great persons to/for my artto/for a great person
my art (o.)my arts (o.)great person (o.)great persons (o.) prep. + my artprep. + a great person
“ADJECTIVES IN LATIN OFTEN COME IMMEDIATELY AFTER THEIR NOUNS. When
they don’t, this can indicate a difference in meaning. For example, when magnus means large in size or amount, it comes before its noun; when it means important or awesome, it often comes after. The phrase magna urbs means a big city. The nickname Pompeius Magnus means that Pompey is awesome, not big.”
“Write out the Latin and English of these phrases in the eight combinations that you know now, just like we did for ‘my art’ and ‘great person’:”
my country(10)Senātus magnus (11)
divine madness (12)gēns tua (13)
“Translate these too:”
Have a care for (of) the divine madness, Lucretius. (14)
“Latin uses the genitive after cūra where English might say ‘for’.” With good reason, a great part of my people love your family line. (15)
Your reason teaches great minds, the minds of great human beings. (16)
Are you a woman of divine behavior? (17) “Remember ‘behavior’ is mōs in the plural form.” “Add this Adverb and these two important Conjunctions to your vocabulary:”
semperalways
namfor (explaining why)
enimfor (explaining why) “This word often comes second in a sentence”
“Both of the conjunctions nam and enim mean ‘for’, but not as a preposition before a noun. Instead, they introduce explanations: ‘I need water, for I am thirsty’; ‘I need to remain, for thus the goddess orders’. In Latin the last sentence would be either Manēre dēbeō, nam dea sīc mē iubet, or Manēre dēbeō; sīc enim dea mē iubet.
“Now fill in the blanks and adjust the translation of these lines of Lucretius:” Namsimul acratiō tuacoepitvōciferārī
as soon as started (3rd sing.)to give voice to (inf.)
nātūramrērum,dīvīnā mentecoorta,
,(from) rising (adj., fem., nom. sing.),
diffugiuntanimīterrōrēs,moeniamundī
flee away (3rd pl.) ,the walls (nom. pl.)world (gen. sing.)
discēdunt.
go away (3rd pl. pres.) (18)
When we were done, we walked back through the Porticus Pompeī. Like a tour guide, Latinitas explained to me that Pompey the Great ordered and had overseen the construction of this complex, paying for it out of his own pocket; after leading Roman armies to victory over countless nations and kingdoms in the eastern Mediterranean – Pontus, Armenia, Cappadocia, Syria, Phoenicia, Judaea, Nabataea – Pompey had become rich from plunder. She also drew my attention to the paintings and statues under the porticoes. There were hundreds of famous works of art from Greece, most of them stolen and carried back to Rome. Looking at them, I could feel the intense Roman love of Greek art – and the indignation of the Greeks, whose beloved treasures were stolen.
At the far end of the park we entered a tall but nondescript building. The interior looked like the back room of a theater. Sure enough, when we passed outside again, we were standing at the end
of a long stage, nearly 300 feet long. Rising before us were dozens and dozens of rows of seats arranged in semicircles. In size and layout it was just like theaters I had been to – but it was much more beautiful. All of the columns and supports were made of colored stone and marble. High up on the top row of the seats sat an entire temple. It had an inscription on it, from which I could make out the words VENERIS, ‘of Venus’, and POMPEIVS MAGNVS CONSVL. It was a temple for Venus, dedicated, like the theater and the park, by Pompey the Great as consul.
Instead of a roof, the theater had a timber framework, over which massive tapestries were draped, each one the size of a ship’s sail. Woven into them in gorgeous red and yellow colors were animals, tragic masks and comic masks, and stylized pictures of Pompey riding in a triumphal chariot. The material they were made of was thin, and the sunlight shining through them cast their color over everything below; when the wind gusted, the tapestries rippled and the colors swept in waves over the seats.
“This was one of Lucretius’ favorite places,” Latinitas remarked, “the Theatrum Pompeī. He loved to come here to watch plays – tragedies, comedies, mimes. The architecture and the colors impressed him as much as it impresses you. He even described in his poem the way in which, when the sun is shining, these awnings change the look of everything beneath them.”
The whole place was painfully beautiful to look at, and so real. And as I looked at the massive stone weight of it and the intricate, lively detailing, I thought about the sweat, the labor, and the pain that went into making it, and all the patient artistry expended by thousands of human beings I would never see with my eyes, much less learn their names. Yet I could see their work – I was totally surrounded by it, overwhelmed and blown away by it. And then it came to me, as Latinitas suggested, to see it as an act of assertion on their part, resistance through generosity, as if to say to all who would visit it: here is something beautiful which we human beings made, a beauty that we somehow managed to tap despite our misery, a bit of pride for those of us whose lives are one long humiliation, something which we crafted, not for those who oppressed us, but for those who would appreciate and make use of it, in any age.
This way of looking at things resolved the conflicts I felt somewhat, and when I returned home and fell asleep, I had a dream of actors walking across the stage, removing their masks, looking at me, nodding, squinting, then moving silently on.