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NEW DIRECTIONS IN BOOK HISTORY
Anonymity in Eighteenth-
Century Italian Publishing
The Absent Author
Lodovica Braida
New Directions in Book History
Series Editors
Shafquat Towheed
Faculty of Arts
Open University
Milton Keynes, UK
Jonathan Rose
Department of History
Drew University
Madison, NJ, USA
As a vital field of scholarship, book history has now reached a stage of
maturity where its early work can be reassessed and built upon. That is the
goal of New Directions in Book History. This series will publish mono-
graphs in English that employ advanced methods and open up new fron-
tiers in research, written by younger, mid-career, and senior scholars. Its
scope is global, extending to the Western and non-Western worlds and to
all historical periods from antiquity to the twenty-first century, including
studies of script, print, and post-print cultures. New Directions in Book
History, then, will be broadly inclusive but always in the vanguard. It will
experiment with inventive methodologies, explore unexplored archives,
debate overlooked issues, challenge prevailing theories, study neglected
subjects, and demonstrate the relevance of book history to other academic
fields. Every title in this series will address the evolution of the historiog-
raphy of the book, and every one will point to new directions in book
scholarship. New Directions in Book History will be published in three
formats: single-author monographs; edited collections of essays in single
or multiple volumes; and shorter works produced through Palgrave’s
e-book (EPUB2) ‘Pivot’ stream. Book proposals should emphasize the
innovative aspects of the work, and should be sent to either of the two
series editors.
Editorial board:
Marcia Abreu, University of Campinas, Brazil
Cynthia Brokaw, Brown University, USA
Matt Cohen, University of Texas at Austin, USA
Archie Dick, University of Pretoria, South Africa
Martyn Lyons, University of New South Wales, Australia
Lodovica Braida
Anonymity in
Eighteenth-Century
Italian Publishing
The Absent Author
Lodovica Braida
University of Milan
Milan, Italy
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature
Switzerland AG 2022
Translation from the Italian language edition: “L’autore assente. L’anonimato nell’editoria
italiana del Settecento” by Lodovica Braida, © Editori Laterza 2019. Published by Editori
Laterza. All Rights Reserved.
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of
translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval,
electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now
known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information
in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the
publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to
the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made.
The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and
institutional affiliations.
This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG.
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
To the memory of my mother, Anna.
Contents
1 Introduction.
The Absent Author: Functions and Uses of
Anonymous Authorship 1
References 15
2 The
Ambiguities of the “Author Function” 19
1 Reflections on the Book Market 19
2 How to Write to “be read”: The Advice of Carlo Denina 28
3 Authorial Silence 37
4 Vittorio Alfieri: “The terrible ordeal of printing” 46
References 57
3 Anonymity
in Travel Books 65
1 Travel Writing and the Notion of the Author 65
2 Four Nameless Travellers 73
References 90
4 Giuseppe
Parini: Between Anonymity and Revealing the
Author’s Name 95
1 Il Giorno and Its Continuer: Parini a Second Cervantes? 95
2 Silent Coexistence and “Rapacious” Printers: The
One-Volume Edition of Il Mattino, Il Mezzogiorno
e La Sera108
3 Translations and the Re-instatement of the Author’s Name116
References134
vii
viii Contents
5 Carlo
Goldoni and the Construction of Authorship139
1 From Stage to Page139
2 Literary Property Versus Printing Privilege and Theatrical
“Use”149
3 From Playwright to Author158
References176
6 Novels:
Read Them and Forget Them181
1 “Learned Italians” Do Not Write Novels181
2 Delegitimisation and Anonymity188
3 Books of “Sentiment” and Representation of Female Writing195
4 Forgettable Books: Fire and Oblivion200
References206
Index211
About the Author
ix
List of Figures
xi
CHAPTER 1
This Introduction has been revised and expanded for the current edition.
Casti wrote to his friend Paolo Greppi, who was coming to Paris, to bring along the copy
2
of Animali parlanti that he had left with him: “The other copy of my ‘apologhi’ [Animali
parlanti] you have with you, when you come, you can bring with you, since it is presently
very much lacking; if you are embarrassed to bring it with you, then burn it if you like—who
knows if its brothers [the other texts] will not suffer the same fate” (“L’altra copia de’ miei
apologhi che è presso di voi, venendo potete portarla con voi, benché presentemente man-
cantissima; se poi v’imbarazzasse a portarla con voi, bruciatela pure poiché chi sa che i loro
fratelli non abbiano ad avere la medesima sorte”), [Paris], le 8 pluviôse an 7 [27 January
1799], quotation taken from Tatti (2018, 160). On Casti, see also Palazzolo (2001).
1 INTRODUCTION. THE ABSENT AUTHOR: FUNCTIONS AND USES… 3
Some of these studies suggest moving away from a culture that tends to
read a form of cultural inferiority into an anonymous text compared to a
text attributed to an author (something which applies not only to literary
history but also to the history of art and music): rather than seek the
author hiding behind a certain text, whether literary, philosophical or
artistic, it is instead necessary to cast light on “the cultural systems that
underpin it” (Rizzi, Griffiths 2016, 202–203). In order to break loose
from literary criticism and its author-centred perspective, it has become
necessary for some scholars, “to explore the materials, functions, contexts,
and nuances of anonymous authorship without necessarily finding the
author” (North 2011, 13). In this perspective, the analysis of anonymity
is emerging as a research area independent of attribution studies: “Scholars
of attribution—points out Marcy L. North—strive to replace anonymity
with a name, and scholars of anonymity seek to understand the absence of
a name” (North 2011, 13–14).
Studying anonymity and its relevance in early modern printing is not
easy, however. As Mark Vareschi has recently highlighted, the search is
complicated by the difficulty of tracing works that have been published
without the author’s name on the title page, as there is no cataloguing
system that includes such data. Even online catalogues suffer from the
same problems in terms of querying data. The only way to find books
showing no indication of their authors is to search for a specific title.
Thousands of eighteenth-century texts, however, turn out to be “doubly
disappeared”: “unread and largely ignored because of their anonymity and
inaccessible because of cataloguing methods and database design”
(Vareschi 2018, 4). In order to get some idea of anonymous publications
throughout the centuries, it is necessary to refer to what John Mullan has
defined as “the great, but neglected, monuments to nineteenth-century
scholarship” (Mullan 2007, 4): the dictionaries of the anonymous authors
and pseudonyms. Nevertheless, these only contain works originally pub-
lished without the author’s name, but which, starting from publication or
immediately thereafter, were then attributed to one or more authors.
Those that have never been attributed are not found in Melzi for Italian
works, in Barbier for French, or in Halkett-Laing for English.3 Much
3
We refer here to the main French, Italian and English dictionaries of the anonymous and
pseudonymous writers: Barbier (1806–1809); Quérard (1869–1871 (II ed.)); [Melzi]
(1848–1859); Passano (1887); Rocco (1888); Halkett, Laing (1882–1888). For some indi-
cations on the history of the Italian dictionaries of anonymous writers see Pasquali, Natali
(1929); on the Halkett, Laing see Orr (2013); on French bibliographers Barbier et Quérard
and their activity see Serrai (1999, 39–60 and 79–146).
1 INTRODUCTION. THE ABSENT AUTHOR: FUNCTIONS AND USES… 5
5
[Baillet, Adrien], Auteurs déguisez sous des noms étrangers, empruntez, supposez, feint à
plaisir, chiffrez, renversez, retournez, ou changez d’une langue en une autre. Paris: Dezallier,
1690. On this work by Baillet, see Waquet (2013); see also Cochetti (1995).
6
[Mallet, Edmé-François] Anonyme, in Encyclopédie ou Dictionnaire raissonné des arts et
des métiers, vol. 1, Paris: Briasson, David, Le Breton, Durand, 1751, 488–489: “On donne
cette épithete à tous les ouvrages qui paraissent sans nom d’auteur, ou dont les auteurs sont
inconnus.” On the entry “anonyme” of the Encyclopédie, see Tunstall (2011, 676–682).
7
[Mallet, Edmé-François] Anonyme (see footnote n. 7), 488–489: “comme une bassesse
et comme une espèce de deshonneur (il fallout plûtot dire comme un sot orgueil) de passer
pour auteur.”
8
Ibid.:“un mépris mal fondé pour des ouvrages sans nom d’auteurs.”
1 INTRODUCTION. THE ABSENT AUTHOR: FUNCTIONS AND USES… 7
9
Ibid.: “un livre anonyme est toujours un ouvrage intéressant, quoique réellement il soit
faible ou dangereux.”
10
Ibid.: “ce n’est que dans ce dernier cas qu’on peut condamner les auteurs anonymes.”
11
Cf. Braida, Infelise (eds.) (2010).
12
“If there are texts without an author, there is no text without authorship, if only because
the text endlessly nourishes the author’s fictions, which are so many elements that reveal this
desire for authorship that characterises the practices of literature,” Brunn (2007).
8 L. BRAIDA
is almost never accidental and has an effect on how one’s actual “author-
ship” is communicated.
It would be of great interest to analyse the long-term use of anonymity,
starting with the establishment of the printing press in Europe, through-
out the whole period of the ancien régime, but studies and bibliographical
attention are still lacking and it is not possible to develop a comparative
perspective over a broad chronological span. Here, therefore, a more
limited spatial and temporal context has been chosen, the Italian eigh-
teenth century, given the numerous transformations that took place in the
century of the Enlightenment with regard to the expansion of book circu-
lation and the new possibilities affecting access to reading.13 These two
elements of slow but significant change make it possible to observe the
behaviour and strategies of authors in a publishing market where, com-
pared to the past, it was becoming easier, albeit prudently, to circumvent
ecclesiastical censorship.
Here we focus on certain authors of literary texts, both famous and less
well known, who, in different ways, have resorted to anonymity. Space is
also given to two successful genres, travel books and novels, often pub-
lished without any indication of intellectual responsibility or under false
imprints. The fact that readers approached many books without being able
to attribute a name to these texts is no trivial fact. This silence of the
author has its own historical, social and cultural relevance, in the same way
as the voice of those who, by contrast, did everything possible to docu-
ment and protect every aspect of their artistic creation, in some cases even
attempting to react against the dishonesty of printers who had published
their works without their consent. Carlo Goldoni, as will be seen later,
following a complaint from his publisher, takes matters to court; while
Alfieri distances himself from a pirated edition through a terse and straight-
forward announcement in a journal.
If the author’s “voice” leaves various traces, the choice of silence, and
the reasons for this, are more difficult to document. Anonymity, especially
when there are no doubts about the attribution of a work, is, as men-
tioned, a theme that literary history does not address. Many critical studies
also show a lack of bibliographic sensitivity: in most cases, in footnotes,
anonymous works where the author is known are indicated without
reporting the author’s name in square brackets, thus producing, involun-
tarily, a falsification of the edition’s data. The absence of the name from
13
On recent studies in these fields, cf. Braida, Tatti (eds.) (2016).
1 INTRODUCTION. THE ABSENT AUTHOR: FUNCTIONS AND USES… 9
the title page is not considered relevant data in itself. What matters is the
association between the text and a name to which intellectual responsibility
is to be attributed, regardless of the materiality of the edition. In reality,
the title page and other paratextual spaces (prefaces, indexes, dedications)
contain information regarding how the author and printer perceived the
work and how the author constructed or denied his or her identity. The
impression, gained from the certainty of the bibliographic data that literary
history provides, is that the link between the author and the work had
been an established fact since the first edition. This is often not the case,
though: years might pass before the work carried the author’s name on the
title page, and in some cases it was necessary to wait until the author’s death.
Classical philology, which traces the entire manuscript tradition of a
work in order to establish a text as close as possible to the author’s wishes,
or which, in the absence of manuscript evidence, evaluates all the variants
in the different editions supervised by the author, often does not take into
account that in many cases the text completely escaped the writer’s con-
trol, arriving in readers’ hands through pirated editions, at much lower
prices than the first edition.
Also in terms of what analytical bibliography in the English-speaking
world has come to define as the “ideal copy text,” the printed text, stripped
of all “corruption” deriving from the oversights and carelessness of the
printers,14 appears idealised in an immobility that has nothing to do with
practices common in early modern printing, where, as Donald McKenzie
has pointed out, the only norm was, paradoxically, “the normality of non-
uniformity” (McKenzie 1969, 13).
The social history of the book therefore recounts a different story: the
story of a proliferation of editions controlled neither by the first printer
nor by the author, of a mobility of texts, transformed into different edi-
tions, sometimes merged with others, sometimes enriched by illustrations
and new paratexts, sometimes impoverished by the neglect of printers.
And, unlike the idealisation of texts assigned, in literary tradition, to an
author, the social history of the book also invites us to take into account
the denial of intellectual responsibility. In other words, the silence of
the author.
14
In Principles of Bibliographical Description (1949, 113) Fredson Bowers writes: “an ideal
copy is a book which is complete in all its leaves as it ultimately left the printer’s shop in per-
fect condition and in the complete state that he considered to represent the final and most
perfect state of the book.”
10 L. BRAIDA
15
On the definition of livres philosophiques, see Darnton (1988, 1995a and 1995b).
16
Sabine Pabst (2018, 161–162) has observed that the refuge in anonymity was also used
by young German authors to protect themselves from possible criticism: an anonymous text
would have concentrated any negative reaction on itself, while the author, who remained
unknown, would have been able to modify and refine his text.
1 INTRODUCTION. THE ABSENT AUTHOR: FUNCTIONS AND USES… 11
17
Parmentier, Introduction to Parmentier (ed.). (2013, 5–16); Vareschi (2018, 16–20).
18
Parini (1969) (Dante Isella’s critical edition); Parini (2013) (national edition). On new
philological research after Isella’s edition, see Biancardi (2011).
12 L. BRAIDA
were continued by the hand of another author, who took advantage of the
fact that readers were waiting impatiently for La Sera (The Evening), which
Parini himself had promised he would write in the “Dedication to Fashion”
that prefaced Il Mattino. This continuation was also made possible by
what can be defined as the ambiguity of the “author function”: while La
Sera was published anonymously, it is known that the writer, who imitated
the free-verse hendecasyllables of the “real” author with some skill, was a
Veronese lawyer, Giovanni Battista Mutinelli, who genuinely admired
Parini. His behaviour here was not very different from that of the self-
styled Avellaneda who, in 1614, had, without Cervantes’s knowledge,
published a continuation of Don Quixote.19
It is surprising that critics have remained almost completely silent20 on
a publishing case that also provides a great deal of information on the
extent to which this appropriation influenced the behaviour of Parini him-
self, who, during his lifetime, published no continuation of his two poems
and, in the parts of the poem that remained in manuscript form, no longer
used the title La Sera. Indeed, he silently allowed printers to go on making
money from his work with reissues of Il Mattino and Il Mezzogiorno, even
when Mutinelli’s La Sera was added to them and, with anonymity main-
tained for all three poems and a continuity of page numbering. In this way,
they were published as if they were a unified work produced by the same
pen. There were numerous editions of the work entitled Il Mattino, Il
Mezzogiorno e La Sera. Poemetti tre, but no critical-literary study has ever
taken them into consideration. Nevertheless, these editions circulated and
reached thousands of readers. Ironically, only after Parini’s death did this
combination of the three poems come to an end and La Sera fall into
oblivion. Analysis of the French, German, English and Spanish transla-
tions paradoxically reveals that the European market published the two
Parini poems and excluded La Sera, indicating the author’s name on the
title page or in a translator’s note. As recent studies have shown, each
translation is a world unto itself, in which the text is adapted to the culture
that appropriates it.21 Moreover, the four translations of Il Mattino and Il
19
On the continuation of Don Quixote by Avellaneda see Chartier (2014 Chap. 5,
Préliminaires, 158–165).
20
The only essays to have posed the problem that the publication of La Sera represented
for Parini’s continuation of the poem are those by Leporatti (1993) and by Fido (1998).
21
See Burke, Po-chia Hsia (eds.). (2007); Chartier (2020); Chartier (2021).
1 INTRODUCTION. THE ABSENT AUTHOR: FUNCTIONS AND USES… 13
22
On the difficulties that beset the introduction of copyright in Italy, see Palazzolo (2013).
23
Cf. Boldrin, Levine (2008).
14 L. BRAIDA
their dominant position in the market, weaken those who first produced
such content. The European Union initiated a discussion on precisely this
subject, online copyright, and then approved a resolution, on 12 September
2018, to place a limit on the excessive power of large web platforms. This
resolution introduces, among other things, the principle that online plat-
forms, if they create links from news, images and texts produced by others,
must pay a fee to the producers/publishers of these contents. Attention
today is therefore no longer focused on publishing “piracy” on paper, but
rather via the web.24 However, paradoxically, the risk of the “absent
author” is with us once again—this time, in the sense of him/her being
“irrelevant.” In other words, authorial voice and identity are too weak to
prevent omnivorous platforms from appropriating the contents produced,
using them in part, fragmenting them and exploiting their appeal as they
gain more likes.
Acknowledgements This book owes a great deal to the generosity of friends and
colleagues who have provided useful suggestions through their observations, criti-
cal readings and discussions: in particular Pedro Cátedra, Patrizia Delpiano,
Gigliola Fragnito, Mario Infelise, Mariolina Palazzolo, Tiziana Plebani, Giuseppe
Ricuperati and Corrado Viola.
Some seminars in recent years, and in particular those at the University of
Pennsylvania in April 2018 (one of which concerned Carlo Goldoni and the ways
in which he defines his identity as an author), were immensely inspiring in relation
to the discussion on the construction of authorship. There, I had the opportunity
to heed the stimulating comments of Roger Chartier, John Pollack, Peter
Stallybrass and Eva del Soldato: my deepest gratitude goes to all of them for creat-
ing an atmosphere of great serenity and sharing.
I would also like to express my gratitude to Jonathan Rose and Shafquat
Towheed for accepting my book in this series.
24
On the relationship between piracy and intellectual property doctrines, cf. Johns (2009).
1 INTRODUCTION. THE ABSENT AUTHOR: FUNCTIONS AND USES… 15
References
Barbier, Antoine Alexandre. 1806–1809. Dictionnaire des ouvrages anonymes et
pseudonymes français et latins. Paris: Imprimerie Bibliographique, 4 vols (with
subsequent editions in 1822–27, 1872–79, and supplement, 1889).
Biancardi, Giovanni. 2011. Dal primo Mattino al Mezzogiorno. Indagini sulle
prime edizioni dei poemetti pariniani. Milan: Edizioni Unicopli.
Boldrin, Michele, and David K. Levine. 2008. Against Intellectual Monopoly.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bowers, Fredson. 1949. Principles of Bibliographical Description. Princeton:
Princeton University Press.
Braida, Lodovica, and Mario Infelise (eds.). 2010. Libri per tutti. Generi editoriali
di larga circolazione tra antico regime ed età contemporanea. Turin: Utet.
Braida, Lodovica, and Silvia Tatti (eds.). 2016. Il libro. Editoria e pratiche di let-
tura nel Settecento. Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura.
Brunn, Alain. 2007. Auteur, auctorialité. www.fabula.org/atelier.php?Auteur%2C.
Accessed 10 July 2021.
Burke, Peter, and Ronnie Po-chia Hsia (eds.). 2007. Cultural Translation in Early
Modern Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Chartier, Roger. 2014. The Author’s Hand and the Printer’s Mind. Transformations
of the Written Word in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge: Polity Press.
25
Six sections of this book, now extensively revised and with an updated bibliography, have
previously appeared in some books and journals. These are Sects. 1, 2 and 4 in Chap. 2, sec-
tion 2 in Chap. 3 and sections 3 and 4 in Chap. 6. They refer to the following essays respec-
tively: L’ambiguità della “funzione autore” nell’editoria italiana del Settecento, In Del Vento,
Christian, and Nathalie Ferrand (eds.). 2018. Manuscrits italiens du XVIIIe siècle: une
approche génétique, Colloque international, Paris, 19–20 Mars 2015, monographic edition of
the Rassegna della Letteratura Italiana: 49–59; Scrivere per farsi leggere. La ‘Bibliopea’ di
Carlo Denina. In Ricuperati, Giuseppe, and Elena Borgi (eds.). 2015. Carlo Denina
(1731–1813). Un piemontese in Europa, 135–156. Bologna: Il Mulino; Vittorio Alfieri e la
“terribile prova dello stampare.” In Benedetti, Marina, and Maria Luisa Betri (eds.). 2010.
Una strana gioia di vivere. A Grado Giovanni Merlo, 411–442. Milan: Edizioni Biblioteca
Francescana; Il ricorso all’anonimato nel Settecento: il caso dei libri di viaggio. La Bibliofilia.
Rivista di Storia del Libro e di Bibliografia, 2018 CXX (2): 259–278; Romanzi da leggere e
da dimenticare: un’anomalia italiana del Settecento. La Bibliofilia. Rivista di Storia del Libro
e di Bibliografia, 2017 CXIX (3): 431–451. Moreover, some of the themes of Chap. 5 have
been presented in the article: Carlo Goldoni and the Construction of Authorship on the
Printed Page. Quaerendo, 2020, 50: 241–265.
16 L. BRAIDA
———. 2020. Le migrazioni dei testi. Scrivere e tradurre nel XVI e XVII secolo.
Rome: Carocci.
———. 2021. Editer et traduire. Mobilité et matérialité des textes (XVIe–XVIIIIe
siècle). Paris: EHESS-Gallimard-Seuil.
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Oxford: The Voltaire Foundation.
———. 1995a. The Forbidden Best-Sellers of Pre-Revolutionary France. New York;
London: W.W. Norton & C.
———. 1995b. The Corpus of Clandestine Literature in France, 1769–1789.
New York; London: W.W. Norton & C.
Del Vento, Christian. 2016. Come le biblioteche private si trasformano nelle bib-
lioteche d’autore. In Il libro. Editoria e pratiche di lettura nel Settecento, eds.
Lodovica Braida, and Silvia Tatti, 97–105. Rome: Edizioni di Storia e
Letteratura.
Del Vento, Christian, and Nathalie Ferrand (eds.). 2018. Manuscrits italiens du
XVIIIe siècle: une approche génétique. Colloque international, Paris, 19–20 Mars
2015, Monographic Edition of Rassegna della Letteratura Italiana.
Del Vento, Christian. 2019. La biblioteca ritrovata. La prima biblioteca di Vittorio
Alfieri. Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso.
Fido, Franco. 1998. Le sudate carte della “Sera”: una continuazione apocrifa del
“Giorno”. In F. Fido, La serietà del gioco. Svaghi letterari e teatrali nel Settecento,
60–74. Lucca: Pacini Fazzi.
Foucault, Michel. [1969] 1977. What Is an Author? In M. Foucault, Language,
Counter-Memory, Practice. Selected Essays and Interviews, ed. Donald
F. Bouchard, 113–138. Ithaca and New York: Cornell University Press (1st ed.
1969: Qu’est-ce qu’un auteur. Bulletin de la Société française de philosophie
LXIV: 73–104).
Griffin, Robert J. (ed.). 2003. The Faces of Anonymity: Anonymous and
Pseudonymous Publication from the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Century.
New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
———. 2007. Working on Anonymity. A Theory of Theory Vs. Archive. Literature
Compass 4: 463–469.
Halkett, Samuel, and John Laing. 1882–88 (Republished with Updates in
1926–1934). Dictionary of the Anonymous and Pseudonymous Literature of
Great Britain. Edinburgh: William Paterson, 4 vols.
Johns, Adrian. 2009. Piracy: The Intellectual Property Wars from Gutenberg to
Gates. Chicago; London: University of Chicago Press.
1 INTRODUCTION. THE ABSENT AUTHOR: FUNCTIONS AND USES… 17
1
Foucault ([1969] 1977).
2
Cf. Rose (1993); for a comparative perspective on copyright in Britain and France, see
Izzo (2010); on the French debate, as expressed through the works of Diderot and
Condorcet, cf. Chartier (2007b). See also Moscati (2012).
even then this holds true only for the territories of the Cisalpine Republic.3
The contrast between spaces in which copyright was in force and those in
which the author enjoyed no recognition led to the creation of two
strongly demarcated realities, and the dialogue between these two reali-
ties would remain difficult for a long time, as was clearly shown by the
Austria-Piedmont Convention of 1840. The primary purpose of this
Convention, prepared for through years of diplomatic negotiations, was
to curb the spread of pirated reprints and plagiarism, denounced in their
various forms by both writers and several publishers, who established a
form of alliance precisely on these grounds.4 However, it is also well
known that the long-awaited Convention had little chance of solving
piracy issues in Italian-speaking areas as a result of two refusals: one was
the Canton of Ticino and the other, an even more serious case, was the
Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. Moreover, it was the issue of publishing
piracy that, in relation to the problematic question of copyright, charac-
terised much of the Italian debate in nineteenth century before and after
the 1840 Convention. It ought to be said that it was also the first time
that Italian writers had tackled a relatively taboo matter: eighteenth-cen-
tury authors were somewhat silent on the subject of literary property. Or
rather, while many of them were ready to admit that the book market had
become stronger, this admission did not go as far as claiming an eco-
nomic return for the author. The only literary figure who actually came
into the open in terms of throwing down a challenge to his printer and
his impresario was Carlo Goldoni. He was not, however, successful in
doing so, and was sentenced in 1756 by the Court of the Riformatori
dello Studio of Padua to pay compensation to his Venetian printer,
Giuseppe Bettinelli, because in 1753 he had decided to publish his plays
in Florence with the Paperini printing house while the Venetian edition
was still being printed.5
The present analysis takes as its starting point a very specific question:
to what extent were Italian authors aware of a book market that, from the
3
Berengo (1980, chapter 6).
4
See Palazzolo (2013). The writings of journalists and editors were collected in Palazzolo
(ed.) 1989. The failure of the Bourbon kingdom to comply with the 1840 convention would
be debated by publishers and authors in the following years, including Giuseppe Pomba,
Giovan Pietro Vieusseux and Giacomo Stella. See also Borghi (2003); Albergoni (2006);
Moscati (2017).
5
On Goldoni, see Chap. 5.
2 THE AMBIGUITIES OF THE “AUTHOR FUNCTION” 21
Such words reveal a certain optimism about the possibilities for a liter-
ary man to make a future for himself in the “republic of letters.” What is
striking in his article is that the greatest opportunities for an author are not
related either to book production or to the patronage system. The novelty
lies in linking the improvement in the condition of the author with the
increase in the number of readers: the book has lost something of its
sacredness, is no longer reserved for a few scholars, is accessible to wider
audiences, audiences to which women have also been added in recent years:
A book is no longer only reserved for those caves where in past centuries, in
the pale light of a lamp, sat some hirsute wise man, like a monster of the
human species. A book is a piece of furniture found in even the most ele-
gantly appointed rooms; a book can be found on the dressing tables of the
most amiable ladies; a book may even be read simply because the author has
had the talent to write it.7
6
Verri (1993, 285): “Nel secolo decimottavo in cui viviamo non hanno certamente ragione
i letterati davvero di lagnarsi […]. Il pubblico legge assai più di quello che non si sia mai letto
forse dacché s’è inventata l’arte dello scrivere […]. Ora, sì tosto che universalmente si legge,
ogni autore che sappia scrivere, cioè che scriva cose che paghino della fatica di leggere o che
le scriva con ordine, con chiarezza e con grazia, ogni autore, dico, che sappia scrivere è sicuro
di ottenere tosto o tardi la stima e la considerazione del pubblico.”
On Verri and the journal Il Caffè, cf. Venturi (1969); Capra (ed.) (1999); Capra
(2000, 2002).
7
Verri (1993, 285): “Un libro non è più riservato a quelle sole caverne dove al pallido
lume d’una lampada se ne stava un irsuto sapiente ne’ secoli scorsi, come un mostro della
specie umana. Un libro è un mobile che si trova nelle stanze più elegantemente adornate; un
libro trovasi sulle pettiniere delle più amabili dame; un libro perfine è letto per poco che
l’autore abbia avuto talento di scriverlo.”
22 L. BRAIDA
8
On “notices to the reader,” see Trombetta (2015).
9
Quotation from Lay (1973, 76): “Non è Roma che colle sue proibizioni decida del
merito dei libri; è il pubblico che ne decide.”
10
Cf. Mutterle (1989, 235–243). On Gozzi’s role as printing superintendent of the
Republic of Venice, a position he held between 1762 and 1783, cf. Infelise (1989, 294–308);
Gozzi (2003).
11
Lettere diverse di Gasparo Gozzi, Venezia: Giovanni Battista Pasquali, 1750, 23–24:
“Veggo tanti libri ch’escono ogni giorno, ne’ quali si conosce benissimo che sono stati com-
posti con grandissima fretta, e tuttavia non solamente sono comperati, ma per isquisiti lodati
e tenuti cari.”
2 THE AMBIGUITIES OF THE “AUTHOR FUNCTION” 23
He implicitly noted what other authors and journalists were also expe-
riencing: a wider market was seeing increasingly diversified types of books
and products were now available for all budgets and for all sorts of readers.
Moreover, such a transformation of the book market also had conse-
quences on the way people read. Among Gozzi’s observations may be
found what is the most intense description of that way of reading—one
which emerged strongly during the eighteenth century—which scholars
have defined as “extensive”: meaning the approach to a broader corpus of
books and journals, read more quickly and less carefully, “with the
eyes only”:
One opens the first cover of the book, looks at the frontispiece, turns over
two or three pages, and then puts it back to sleep. Another glances two or
three times at the index, finds half a dozen passages that stir his curiosity,
hurries to the places indicated, and then touches it no more. There are those
who read with their eyes only, which by habit are fixed on the pages; but
with thought wholly alienated, finish reading, and cannot swear in all con-
science to have read it.12
This broadening of the market and the enhancement of the “author func-
tion” did not, however, go hand in hand. In many cases, especially when
a work was expected to be successful, the printer paid the author with a
certain number of copies of his book (Paoli 2004, 268–269). In most
cases, however, the author had to be content with finding a publisher who
would cover the printing costs, without claiming anything for himself. It
may seem an anachronism to say that, for a long time, authors suffered all
kinds of injustice, and plagiarism was tolerated and often passed over in
silence, given that, when abuse is considered, it is often thought of in
terms of infringement of copyright. In reality, in the absence of a law, the
rule was that there was no protection and, once the manuscript was handed
over to the printer, the author could expect nothing more. The only safe-
guards provided for new editions were the printing privileges issued by
12
Ibid., 26: “Uno apre il primo cartone del libro, guarda il frontispizio, dà una rivolta a
due o tre facce, e poi lo mette a dormire. Un altro dà due o tre occhiate agl’indici, trova
mezza dozzina di passi che gli muovono la curiosità, corre a’ numeri segnati, e poi non ne
tocca più. C’è chi legge con gli occhi solamente, i quali per usanza stanno sulle carte; ma
alienato col pensiero affatto affatto, termina di leggere, che non può giurare in coscienza
d’aver letto.” On the transformation of reading during the eighteenth century, see Wittmann
(1999); Chartier (2007a); Loretelli (2010).
24 L. BRAIDA
13
This is the case, for example, of the edition Dei pregi dell’eloquenza popolare (Of the vir-
tues of popular eloquence) by Ludovico Antonio Muratori, printed by Giuseppe De Bonis and
paid for by the Neapolitan bookseller and publisher Terres, in 1751, which, as stated in the
same bookseller’s Avviso, faithfully reproduces the “copy just published in Venice,” referring
to Giambattista Pasquali’s 1750 edition.
14
Cf. Borghi (2003) (in particular on Gioia and Cantù, pp. 39–46). In reality, despite the
way France was mythologised by some authors, including M. Gioia, things were not much
better there: despite the existence of a law on literary property, only 10% of authors managed
to make a living thanks to their writing. Charle (1990, 1996).
2 THE AMBIGUITIES OF THE “AUTHOR FUNCTION” 25
market is almost never addressed. There are at least three works by Italian
authors that deal with the social role of the author: Lettere inglesi (Letters
from England) by Saverio Bettinelli (Venice, Pasquali, 1766),15 La
Bibliopea o sia l’arte di compor libri (Bibliopea or the Art of Composing
Books) by Carlo Denina (Turin, Reycends, 1776) and Del principe e delle
lettere (The Prince and Letters) by Vittorio Alfieri (Kehl, 1795 [but 1789]).
Overall, these works appear to focus mainly on the process of creating
texts and on their literary characteristics. Scant attention is paid by any of
these authors—with the exception of Denina—to the transition from the
creative process to the printed book about to enter the homes of private
readers. Even when the author does consider the market, opinions are
expressed most sternly. Bettinelli—hiding behind the literary guise of a
cultured English traveller visiting Italy—is harsh on his literary figures,
defining them as “literary plebs” (“plebe letteraria,” Letter IV), “useless
[…] and annoying and inappropriate in social life” (“inutili […] e fastidi-
osi e importuni alla vita sociale,” Letter V) and “true insects of literature”
(“very insetti della letteratura”, Letter II), in tones reminiscent of Voltaire’s
“canaille écrivante.”16 His attention is reserved above all for those authors
who try to turn writing into a profession, accepting any compromise in
order to survive, thus lowering the quality of literary production. Venice,
Italy’s most important publishing centre, is presented as a workshop inces-
santly churning out slim books for every occasion and sonnet collections
of little value yet printed in luxury editions. Such a catastrophic tone
recalls that of Giuseppe Baretti’s Frusta letteraria (The Literary Whip), in
the issue of 15 January 1765, where he denounced the “enormous waste
of paper” caused by the publication of numerous pointless books, lacking
originality, their content already outdated, inspiring in their readers only
“boredom” and “weariness.”17
Vittorio Alfieri’s work is an extreme case. Not only is he dismissive of
the market, he even fears that it could affect writing itself: in his opinion,
a literary work has meaning only if unconstrained by any logic of eco-
nomic profit, since it is a value that belongs not to a single individual, but
15
The Dodeci lettere inglesi sopra varj argomenti, e sopra la letteratura italiana were pub-
lished anonymously in the second edition of Versi sciolti dell’abate Carlo Innocenzio Frugoni,
del conte Francesco Algherotti [sic] e del padre Xaverio [sic] Bettinelli, con le Lettere di Virgilio
dagli Elisii (Venezia: Giambattista Pasquali, 1766). All quotations from Lettere inglesi are
taken from Bettinelli (1969).
16
On Bettinelli see Crotti, Ricorda (eds) (1998); Braida (2011).
17
Baretti (1932, vol. 2, 271).
26 L. BRAIDA
18
“Une gêne imposée à la liberté, une restriction mise aux droits des autres citoyens”:
Condorcet quotation from R. Chartier (2007b, 139). On Fragments by Condorcet cf.
Hesse (1990).
19
Alfieri (1951a, 125): “dire con energia la verità,” and 121: “utile altrui e glorioso a se
stesso.”
20
Ibid., 159: “E benché si vendano anche i libri, si possono pur fare senza venderli; e prima
della stampa così accadeva per lo più.”
2 THE AMBIGUITIES OF THE “AUTHOR FUNCTION” 27
books not to all those who want them, but only to those that I want to
have them; and this is not publishing books.” 21
Ortes’ attitude reflected a sort of obsession with controlling the copies
of his works. He would have liked to have chosen his readers one by one,
as though they were interlocutors in a direct dialogue.22 When, therefore,
his books were intercepted by the market and requested by bibliophiles,
he was seized by an irrepressible anxiety that only subsided when he knew
they were in safe hands.23 However, in some cases the circle of readers
increased beyond the desired number, through lending or simply by word
of mouth between friends. Thus, the author himself intervened to block
the dissemination of his writings, including his Errori popolari (Popular
Errors) and subsequently the essay Dell’economia nazionale (The National
Economy). In a letter to his brother Mauro who, from Faenza, helped him
distribute his works to choice readers, he clearly explained the reasons why
he wrote, why he identified his target readers and why he chose to put a
stop to distribution:
21
Ortes to G. L. Bianconi, Venice, 23 November, 1776, in Ortes (2015, 138): “I giornal-
isti di Firenze han parlato ancora del mio Saggio di Pope, e insomma queste genti sono
intestate a farmi passare per un letterato che pubblica libri, cosa che non è vera; perché io
comunico i miei libri non a tutti quei che li vogliono, ma a quei soli che voglio io; e questo
non è pubblicar libri.”
22
Regarding how Ortes followed the printing of his works in the printing house and took
care of their distribution, cf. Carnelos (2015a, 2015b).
23
Ortes revealed his apprehension when he did not know where and whom his books had
reached, given that he was accustomed to monitoring them copy by copy. He wrote to the
abbot della Lena (Venice, 8 September, 1781, ibid., 218): “I understood with great pleasure
that the two copies of my last book, have, after some difficulties, been received, first because
in this way you are suitably served, and then because I was ignorant of their fate, or into
whose hands they had fallen, and as I usually know the destinies of all my the copies, I was
not a little worried” (“Ho inteso con molto piacere che le due copie dell’ultimo mio libro
dopo più ragioni le sian pervenute, prima perché ella ne fu così servita, e poi perché ignorava
il destino loro, o in quali mani fossero capitate, come so di tutte le copie da me destinate, cosa
che mi teneva in qualche pensiero”).
28 L. BRAIDA
sorry if this were done. A journalist should speak only of books given to the
public, and mine is not one of these.24
24
Ortes to don Mauro Ortes, Venice, 4 January 1772, ibid., 44: “In proposito del mio
libretto [si riferiva agli Errori popolari], anch’io conosco ch’esso non sarà così facilmente
inteso da tutti, ma convien sapere ch’io non lo ho nemmen scritto per tutti, ma per quei
pochi solamente ai quali avessi giudicato comunicarlo. Se avessi voluto dare un libro al pub-
blico lo avrei steso in altra maniera. Per questo non crederei che alcun novellista ne facesse
menzione in gazzette o novelle letterarie e mi dispiacerebbe che ciò fosse fatto. Un novellista
non dovrebbe parlare che di libri dati al pubblico, e il mio non è tale.”
25
On Denina cf. Ricuperati, Borgi (eds.) (2015).
26
Bibliopea o sia l’arte di compor libri di Carlo Denina professore d’eloquenza e di lingua
greca nella Regia Università di Torino, Turin: fratelli Reycends, 1776 [colophon: in Torino,
dalla Stamperia d’Ignazio Soffietti], 149.
2 THE AMBIGUITIES OF THE “AUTHOR FUNCTION” 29
relationship. This is a far cry from the exaltation of the author as a creative
genius which we find a few years earlier in the treatise by Bettinelli,
Dell’entusiasmo delle belle lettere (The Enthusiasm for Belles Lettres—1769).27
The focus is entirely on the art of “making a book” (bibliopea from the
Greek poiêin, to make, and biblíon, book) through a combination of writ-
ing skills and adherence to the social conventions of a publication (for
example, the inclusion of a dedicatory letter) and to the censorship regula-
tions. Denina, however, does not overlook the importance of the material-
ity of the edition, being aware that authors do not write books but texts
that become books only when they enter the printer’s shop.28 Here lies the
modernity of Denina’s work: the attention to the text (of any kind) and to
its becoming a book through taking on physical characteristics that, while
often extraneous to the intentions of the author, are linked to the deci-
sions of the printer.
The decision to write a manual stemmed from his observation of a spe-
cific absence: “I have been amazed more than once that, among so many
authors, who over the past three centuries have written not only about all
parts of literature, but about nearly all literary minutiae, no one has ever
written in general on the art of composing books.”29 And although some
aspects dealt with in Bibliopea had already been addressed by Giusto
Fontanini, Apostolo Zeno and Lodovico Antonio Muratori as well as in
some entries in the Encyclopédie (he quoted the terms livre, épître, préface,
citation, adnotation, dialogue), there was as yet no other text that addressed
the problem as a whole. He knew well that scholars might, due to its basic
nature, consider the work “presumptuous and vain,” but he also knew
that for many it could prove a useful tool. Unlike Ortes, Denina did not
address a few choice readers, but a rather broad audience, consisting of
both those who wanted to challenge themselves with writing,30 and those
27
On this work by Bettinelli, see Braida (2011).
28
On publishing mediation in the passage from text to book, see Stoddard (1987).
29
Bibliopea o sia l’arte di compor libri di Carlo Denina (see footnote n. 26), Introduzione,
VII–VIII: “Io mi son più volte maravigliato, che fra tanti autori, che da tre secoli in qua
hanno scritto, non solo di ogni parte della letteratura, ma quasi d’ogni minutezza letteraria,
niuno abbia preso a scrivere in generale sopra l’arte di compor libri.”
30
He was thinking mainly of those “who will have to instruct others either by way of
speeches and treatises, or by some sort of book” and of those who “for particular interests,
or for official reasons, have to arrange in writing their own or other people’s thoughts”
(“avranno da istruire altrui o per via o di discorsi e trattati, o per qualunque sorta di libri,”
and those who “per particolari interessi, o per ragioni d’uffizio hanno a disporre per iscritto
i propri o gli altrui pensamenti”), ibid., XV.
30 L. BRAIDA
who were simply eager to have tools to be able to judge the books they
had in their hands with some competence.31
The treatise (as the author defined it) is divided into three parts: the
first concerns the cultural formation of the author (“What is required to
train an author”); the object of the second is the book itself, as a product
whose morphological characteristics are described (dealing with the struc-
ture of the chapters, the organisation of contents and summaries, the space
for illustrations, the style of the dedications); the third part deals with
direct and indirect citations (so as not to be accused of plagiarism) and
takes a broader look at the more general context in which the author oper-
ates and in which the book is produced and distributed, with reference
made to censorship and the book market (“What happens after the com-
position of the book”).
The first part placed the author’s training in a sort of reading course
designed to form “good taste”—in other words, to stimulate his ability to
“sense the beauty and the good in everything.” It was the mastery of a
solid basic culture that guaranteed “the faculty of knowing what is well
imagined, well ordered, and well expressed, and this is called taste.”32 The
abbot emphasised the need for all authors, not just the literati, to study the
Latin and Greek classics. While in the first part the work included many
aspects put forward by Muratori in his Riflessioni sopra il buon gusto
(Reflections on Good Taste),33 greater originality was shown in the second
part—an originality that lay in the attention paid to what Gérard Genette
called the “thresholds” of the text (Genette 1997): the title of the book,
the dedication, the introduction and the tables of contents. In these para-
textual areas, Denina recognised the ability of author and publisher to
dialogue with the reader. In hindsight it might be said that Denina was
well aware of that “communication circuit” of which Robert Darnton has
31
Ibid., XI. He added (ibid., 20): “We address this treatise in truth to the benefit especially
of those who are destined for the literary pursuits of writing books, or treatises, whether to
dictate them in schools or to publish them in print” (“Noi indirizziamo nel vero questo trat-
tato a profitto segnatamente di coloro, che sono destinati alle occupazioni letterarie di scriver
libri, o trattati, sia per dettarli nelle scuole, sia per pubblicarli con le stampe”).
32
Ibid., 41: “la facoltà di conoscere ciò, che è ben immaginato, ben ordinato, e bene
espresso, e chiamasi gusto”).
33
Cf. Ricuperati (1989). From the linguistic point of view, too, the observations contained
in the Bibliopea were not particularly original. As C. Marazzini observed, “Denina’s ideas can
be traced back to a moderate Enlightenment that translates into strong hostility towards the
Crusca and Tuscan, and sympathy for the so-called ‘Italian’ solution to the language ques-
tion,” Marazzini (1985, 11). See also Marazzini (2015).
2 THE AMBIGUITIES OF THE “AUTHOR FUNCTION” 31
34
Bibliopea o sia l’arte di compor libri di Carlo Denina (see footnote n. 26), 137–140.
35
Ibid., 137: “Non essendo possibile che si leggano di seguito i grossi libri, il lettore affret-
tato, stanco ed impaziente è costretto a scorrere gl’indici e i sommarj.”
36
On the distinction between editorial “strategy” and the “tactics” of readers who read
and interpret texts following their own paths and not necessarily following the advice of the
author or publisher, cf. De Certeau (1990, 57–63).
37
Bibliopea o sia l’arte di compor libri di Carlo Denina (see footnote n. 26), 138: “Un’opera
di cui il leggitore spera di vedere la fine, e che si legge in pochi giorni, è assai più raro che non
si legga di seguito e tutta intera.”
32 L. BRAIDA
an essay, but also for a poem: it was better to divide it into many shorter,
more manageable poems rather than having the reader choose to lay it
aside. In other words, the author was never to lose sight of the goal of
writing in order to be read. The section on translations also seemed to
point in this direction:
If there were some rules to be given, I would rather that a translator, who
wishes to be read, imitated the frankness and freedom of the French rather
than the timidity and heavy and uncomfortable exactness of most Italians. It
might be said that the former translate to be read, and the latter to help us
understand the original; and sometimes we need the original in order to
understand the translation.38
Whereas the first impact of the book on the reader was material (the
physical consistency of the edition), the next step lay in the title. It is no
coincidence that eight sections in the second part were concerned with the
choice of a title which, in order to be effective and immediately communi-
cate the contents of the book, was supposed to give a brief outline of the
contents and to convey in very few words the whole substance of the
work. Brevity, then, was the first rule to be observed. The different exam-
ples of titles and the description of the difficulties of finding a valid solu-
tion are indicative of how important it was for Denina that the title should
convey the subject to the reader in as close as possible a way to what the
latter would find in the book. However, brevity was not always achievable,
especially when a variety of topics was covered. One of the pitfalls to be
avoided was that “of cooling the curiosity of the reader by revealing too
expressly the things the author wants to say.”39 In other words, he hinted
that a little indeterminacy did not hurt, since it could function as a bait to
reel the reader in.
The attention to the various types of texts that authors could try their
hand at makes the Bibliopea an interesting observatory on Italian publish-
ing, which, according to Denina, lacked originality and the courage to
break new paths. It relied too often on the ideas of foreign publishers for
38
Ibid., 159 (“Se si avesse pure a dare qualche regola, io vorrei anzi che un traduttore, che
desidera d’esser letto, imitasse piuttosto la franchezza, e la libertà de’ Francesi, che la timidità,
e la esattezza pesante, e incomoda della più parte degl’Italiani. Direbbesi, che i primi tradu-
cono per farsi leggere, e gli altri per ajutarci a intendere l’originale; e talvolta ci fa d’uopo
l’originale per intendere la traduzione”). My italics.
39
Ibid., 180: the risk of “alienare, o raffreddare la curiosità de’ leggitori col determinare
troppo espressamente le cose che si vogliono dire.” My italics.
2 THE AMBIGUITIES OF THE “AUTHOR FUNCTION” 33
40
It is curious that Denina should be critical of literary periodicals precisely in the years in
which they were developing with greater vigour and vivacity, as Italian historiography on
journalism has shown, cf. Ricuperati (1976, 1982).
41
Bibliopea o sia l’arte di compor libri di Carlo Denina (see footnote n. 26), 169: “Gran
vergogna è per l’Italia, che fuori de’ vocabolari grammaticali, non siasi in quarant’anni saputo
far altro che traduzioni di dizionari francesi, e inglesi.” On Italian encyclopaedism cf.
Abbattista (ed.) (1996).
42
On Robbio di San Raffaele (close to the Amicizia cristiana association, founded in
Turin in the mid-1770s with the aim of promoting books in defense of the Catholic faith)
and on Della condotta de’ letterati (Torino: Fontana, 1780), cf. Braida (1995, 323–328);
Delpiano (2015, 133–141).
43
Bibliopea o sia l’arte di compor libri di Carlo Denina (see footnote n. 26), 241: “con-
tinuar la lettura […] con l’aspettazione di qualche cosa che gli gradisca d’intendere e di
sapere”).
44
Ibid., 241. A section was also dedicated to the novel (part 2, Chap. 4), Qualità essenziale
de’ romanzi, e de’ poemi narrativi (The essential quality of novels and narrative poems), ibid.,
244–248. Muratori also dwells on the power of novels to involve their readers, cf. Delpiano
(2018, 24).
34 L. BRAIDA
45
Numerous contributions have been published on dedications (in Italian publishing) in
recent years: cf. Terzoli (ed.) (2004); Ricuperati (2005), Paoli (2004) (in particular Chap. 3,
Le dediche). See also the journal Paratesto. Rivista Internazionale: the first issue, published in
2004, has essays on various types of paratext, including dedicatory letters.
46
Bibliopea o sia l’arte di compor libri di Carlo Denina (see footnote n. 26), 208: “senza
affettazione e stiracchiature.”
47
Ibid., IV: “i progressi delle lettere, e delle belle arti” can contribute “alla felicità degli
Stati, e alla gloria de’ regni.”
48
Ibid., 213: “ad un certo numero d’esemplari stampati il nome e l’elogio di una persona,
e ad un’altra quantità di copie il nome e la dedicazione ad altro mecenate, e questo per bassa
ambizione, e altro vile interesse.”
2 THE AMBIGUITIES OF THE “AUTHOR FUNCTION” 35
49
Following the publication of the third volume of Delle Revoluzioni d’Italia, which had
received the approval of ecclesiastical and secular censorship, Denina still had to suffer the
“persecutions” of a theologian (he recounts the episode in Prusse Littéraire) who accused
him of having added two pages after the approval of the censors, without the censors having
noticed it; but the protection of the King Victor Amadeus III spared him further difficulties.
It should be remembered that in 1777, one year after the publication of the Bibliopea,
Denina had to confront far more serious problems due to the publication in Florence of a
book that criticised the inefficiency of certain religious orders, Dell’impiego delle persone (Of
the employment of people). The volume was impounded and the author punished with suspen-
sion from teaching at the University of Vercelli. On the dramatic clash with censorship, cf.
Braida (1995, 128–140); on the reformist force of the treatise printed in Florence, see Ossola
(2015). Dell’impiego delle persone has been recently published by C. Ossola (Denina 2020).
50
On the debate regarding Italian decadence, cf. Verga (2009).
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Lord Lundie faisait de rapides progrès dans son art, quoique l'orgue
de Barbarie, différent de la Jurisprudence, soit plutôt affaire de
vocation que de métier, et il lui arrivait de rester parfois sur un point
mort. Giuseppe, je crois, chantait; mais je n'arrivais pas à
comprendre le sens des remarques de Sir Christopher. C'était de
l'espagnol sud-américain.
La femme dit quelque chose que nous ne saisîmes pas.
«Il se pourrait que vous l'ayez sous-louée, insista l'homme. Ou bien
votre mari qu'est ici.
—Mais ce n'est pas le cas. Envoyez immédiatement chercher la
Police.
—A votre place, je ne le ferais pas, maâme. Ce ne sont que des
cueilleurs de fruits pour les marchés. Ça ne regarde pas où ça
couche.
—Prétendez-vous dire qu'ils y ont couché? Moi qui l'ai fait nettoyer la
semaine passée! Faites-les sortir.
—Oh, si vous le dites, ça ne va pas être long. Alfred, va me chercher
le palonnier de réserve.
—Ah, non! Vous allez abîmer la peinture de la porte. Faites-les
sortir!
—Et qu'est-ce que, Dieu me pardonne! je suis donc en train de faire
pour vous, maâme?» repartit l'homme d'un ton déconcerté.
Mais la femme fit demi-tour vers son époux.
«Edward! Ils sont tous ivres, ici; et là, ils sont tous fous. Faites
quelque chose!» dit-elle.
Edward esquissa un demi-pas en avant, et soupira:
«Eh là!» dans la direction de la maison en rumeur.
La femme se mit à marcher de long en large, véritable image de la
Tragédie Domestique. Les déménageurs évoluèrent un peu sur leurs
talons, et...
«Je le tiens!»
Le cri retentit par toutes les fenêtres à la fois, suivi de l'aboiement de
limier que poussa Sir Christopher, d'un enragé prestissimo sur
l'orgue de Barbarie, et de cris à tue-tête pour appeler Jimmy. Mais
Jimmy, à côté de moi, roula ses prunelles congestionnées, à la façon
d'un hibou.
«Je n'ai jamais connu ces gens-là, dit-il. Je ne suis qu'un pauvre
petit orphelin.»
Un renard sortit de son terrier sur les rives du grand fleuve Gihon,
qui arrose l'Ethiopie. Il vit un blanc qui passait à cheval à travers les
tiges de durrha sèches, et, pour accomplir ses destinées, glapit
après lui.
Le cavalier retint les rênes au milieu des villageois qui se pressaient
autour de son étrier.
«Qu'est-ce que cela? dit-il.
—Cela, repartit le cheik du village, c'est un renard, ô Excellence
Notre Gouverneur!
—Ce n'est pas, alors, un chacal?
—Rien du chacal, mais Abu Hussein, le père de la ruse!
—En outre (le blanc parla à mi-voix), je suis Mudir de cette province.
—C'est vrai, s'écrièrent-ils. Ya, Saart el Mudir (O Excellence Notre
Gouverneur).»
Le grand fleuve Gihon, trop accoutumé à l'humeur des rois, continua
de couler entre ses rives espacées d'un mille vers la mer, tandis que
le Gouverneur louait Dieu en un cri strident et interrogateur encore
ignoré de ces parages.
Lorsqu'il eut abaissé son index droit de derrière son oreille droite, les
villageois lui parlèrent de leurs récoltes: orge, durrha, millet, oignons,
et le reste. Le Gouverneur se dressa debout sur ses étriers. Il
regarda au nord une bandelette de culture verte, large de quelques
centaines de mètres, qui se déroulait comme un tapis entre le fleuve
et la ligne fauve du désert. Elle s'étendait, en vérité, cette
bandelette, à soixante milles devant lui et tout autant derrière. A
chaque moitié de mille, une roue hydraulique soulevait en grinçant
l'eau bienfaisante jusqu'aux récoltes, au moyen d'un aqueduc en
argile. Le caniveau avait environ un pied de large; la levée de terre
sur laquelle il courait, au moins cinq pieds de haut, et large en
proportion, était la base de cette dernière. Abu Hussein, nommé à
tort le Père de la Ruse, buvait à même le fleuve au-dessous de son
terrier, et son ombre s'allongeait sous le soleil bas. Il ne pouvait
comprendre le cri strident qu'avait poussé le Gouverneur.
Le cheik du village parla des récoltes dont les maîtres de toutes
terres devraient tirer revenu; mais les yeux du Gouverneur étaient
fixés, entre les oreilles de son cheval, sur le caniveau le plus
rapproché.
«On dirait un fossé d'Irlande,» murmura-t-il.
Et il sourit, rêvant à certain talus dont il entrevoyait l'arête de rasoir
dans le lointain Kildare.
Encouragé par ce sourire, le cheik continua:
«Lorsque la récolte manque, on est obligé d'opérer un dégrèvement
d'impôts. C'est donc une bonne chose, ô Excellence Notre
Gouverneur, que vous veniez voir les récoltes qui ont manqué, et
constatiez que nous n'avons pas menti.
—Assurément.»
Le Gouverneur ajusta ses rênes. Le cheval partit au petit galop,
s'enleva sur le remblai du caniveau, fit au sommet un savant
changement de pied, et sautilla en bas dans un nuage de poussière
dorée.
Abu Hussein, de son terrier, regardait avec intérêt. Il n'avait jamais
encore rien vu de semblable.
«Assurément, répéta le Gouverneur. (Et il revint, accompagné du
cheik, par où il était allé.) Il vaut toujours mieux s'assurer par soi-
même.»
Un vieux steamer à roues à l'arrière, encore moucheté de balles,
une gabare amarrée au flanc, apparut au détour du fleuve. Il siffla
pour avertir le Gouverneur que son dîner l'attendait, et le cheval,
voyant son fourrage empilé sur la gabare, hennit en réponse.
«En outre, ajouta le cheik, au temps de l'Oppression, les Emirs et
leurs créatures dépossédèrent beaucoup de gens de leurs terres. Du
haut en bas du fleuve nos gens attendent qu'on les fasse rentrer en
possession de leurs champs légitimes.
—On a désigné des juges pour arranger le différend, repartit le
Gouverneur. Ils vont bientôt arriver en bateau à vapeur pour
entendre les témoins.
—A quoi bon? Sont-ce les juges qui ont tué les Emirs? Nous
préférerions être jugés par les hommes qui exécutèrent le jugement
de Dieu sur les Emirs. Nous nous en rapporterions plutôt à votre
décision, ô Excellence Notre Gouverneur!»
Le Gouverneur hocha la tête. Un an s'était écoulé depuis qu'il avait
vu les Emirs étendus côte à côte, immobiles, autour de la peau de
mouton rougie sur laquelle gisait El Mahdi, le Prophète de Dieu. Il ne
restait plus maintenant d'autre trace de leur domination que le vieux
steamer, jadis unité d'une flottille derviche, qui lui tenait lieu de
maison et de bureau. Ce steamer s'approcha tant bien que mal du
rivage, abaissa une planche, et le Gouverneur suivit son cheval à
bord.
Jusqu'à une heure avancée, on put y voir briller des lumières, que
réfléchissait maussadement le fleuve en tiraillant sur les amarres. Le
Gouverneur lut, non point pour la première fois, les rapports plus ou
moins administratifs de certain John Jorrocks, M.F.H.[39].
[39] Master of Fox Hounds. Maître d'équipage de chasse au
renard.
«Il nous faudra environ dix couples, dit-il soudain à son Inspecteur.
Je me les procurerai quand j'irai au pays. Vous serez whip[40],
Baker?»
[40] Valet de chiens, à la chasse au renard.
L'Inspecteur, qui n'avait point encore atteint ses vingt-cinq ans,
signifia son assentiment à la manière usuelle en pareille matière,
c'est-à-dire en levant la main, tandis qu'Abu Hussein glapissait à la
grande lune du désert.
«Ah, dit le Gouverneur, qui se montra en pyjama sur le pont, encore
trois mois, et nous te donnerons quelque chose pour ton rhume,
mon ami.»