Neo-Latin Philology: Old Tradition, New Approaches 9058679896, 9789058679895

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SUPPLEMENTA HUMANISTICA LOVANIENSIA XXXV

SUPPLEMENTA HUMANISTICA LOVANIENSIA Editors: Prof. Dr. Gilbert Tournoy (General editor) Dr. Godelieve Tournoy-Thoen Prof. Dr. Dirk Sacré Editorial Correspondence: Seminarium Philologiae Humanisticae Blijde-Inkomststraat 21 (Box 3311) B – 3000 Leuven (Belgium)

This publication was made possible with the financial support of PEGASUS Limited for the Promotion of Neo-Latin Studies

SUPPLEMENTA HUMANISTICA LOVANIENSIA XXXV

NEO-LATIN PHILOLOGY: OLD TRADITION, NEW APPROACHES PROCEEDINGS OF A CONFERENCE HELD AT THE RADBOUD UNIVERSITY, NIJMEGEN, 26-27 OCTOBER 2010 Edited by Marc VAN DER POEL

LEUVEN UNIVERSITY PRESS 2014

© 2014 Leuven University Press / Universitaire Pers Leuven / Presses Universitaires de Louvain, Minderbroedersstraat 4, B – 3000 Leuven (Belgium) All rights reserved. Except in those cases expressly determined by law, no part of this publication may be multiplied, saved in an automated datafile or made public in any way whatsoever without the express prior written consent of the publishers. ISBN 978 90 5867 989 5 e-ISBN 978 94 6166 134 0 D/2014/1869/8 NUR: 635

CONSPECTUS RERUM — Marc van der Poel, Introduction

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— Haijo J. Westra, What’s in a Name: Old, New, and Material Philology, Textual Scholarship, and Ideology 13 — H. Wayne Storey, Method, History, and Theory in Material Philology 25 — Christoph Pieper, In Search of the Marginal Author. The Working Copy of Basinio of Parma’s Hesperis 49 — Marianne Pade, The Material Fortune of Niccolò Perotti’s Cornu Copiae in the Fifteenth and Early Sixteenth Centuries 71 — David Rijser, The Tortuous Path from Anonymity to Authorship: ms bav Vat. Lat. 2742 89 — Werner J.C.M. Gelderblom, The Materiality of Revision: Manuscript, Print and Revisions in Johannes Secundus’ Poetry 107 — Marc van der Poel, Venius’ Emblemata Horatiana: Material Fragmentation of a Classical Poet 131 — Tom Deneire, Antiquarian Latin and the Materiality of Late Humanist Culture:the Case of Johann Lauremberg’s play Pompejus Magnus (1610) 165 — Nienke Tjoelker, Reading and Writing in the Early Modern Period: New Philology and the Alithinologia (1664)  183 — Index nominum

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— Notes on the contributors

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Marc van der Poel INTRODUCTION On 26 and 27 October 2010 a small group of philologists in the field of Medieval and Renaissance Latin and Italian literature convened in Nijmegen for the conference ‘Neo-Latin Philology, Old Tradition, New Approaches’, to discuss the question whether the approaches developed in the so-called New or Material Philology can sensibly be applied to the study of Latin literature in the Renaissance. This question was raised by the two organizers of the conference, Werner Gelderblom and Marc van der Poel, in the context of our interest in the materiality of literature, a topic which Radboud University’s Faculty of Arts had put on its research agenda in 2009. Scholarly reflection on the materiality of literature goes back to the last decade of the previous century, when a group of scholars led by Stephen J. Nichols, in a famous collection of essays published in the first issue of the 1990 volume of the journal Speculum, introduced this approach to texts as an important innovation in medieval philology under the somewhat provocative label of ‘New Philology.’1 Whereas in the past philologists usually focused on the study of a literary work in its original context and on the reconstruction of its authentic – often irretrievable – version, followers of New  Philology are more interested in the various forms a given work may acquire through its medium and through the meanings it was given by successive communities of readers in the course of its reception. More specifically, our conference aimed at addressing the  question whether this fresh approach might lead to productive results in the field of Neo-Latin studies as well. In particular, we wanted to  focus on the materiality of Latin texts in the early modern age, an age which saw many developments precisely in the field of the physical appearance of literature, the most important being of course the introduction of the technique of movable type printing. In  other words, our goal was to discuss the different ways in which the material presentation in either manuscript or print was a factor which contributed to the interpretation of a text in the period under consideration. To this end, we invited a group of philologists who are working in the field of Medieval and Neo-Latin Studies and   See Nichols (1990), 1-10 for the basic ideas behind the launch of New Philology.

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whose credentials show their interest in the study of the material sources of Latin texts. The present volume contains most of the presentations given at the conference. Before we briefly introduce each individual contribution to this volume, we would like to describe an important trait which they all share, that is, that none of the authors has let her or himself be restrained by the ideological considerations inherent in New Philology. As Haijo Westra explains in his contribution, Stephen Nichols’ statement in 1997 that ‘New Philology’ is better called ‘Material Philology’ does not imply the creation of just another term for the same concept. On the contrary, the notions Material Philology and New Philology cover two clearly distinct scholarly approaches.2 New Philology, on the one hand, is explicitly connected with French poststructuralist theories and means to attain a radically new kind of philology of medieval texts, in which attested variants must not be weighed against each other in order to reconstruct the original text written by the author, but each version of the text has its own status and value within the framework of the material features and the social context of the manuscript which contains the text. Material Philology, on the other hand, does take into account the material and social context in which texts were produced, but does not attack the principle that there exists such a thing as the authentic text of the author, and in many cases even takes this text as a starting-point. The contributors to this volume without exception side with the ideas of Material Philology rather than those of New Philology. While it is not our intention to contribute to the discussion about the ideological premises of New Philology, nor, for that matter, to explore the ways in which New Philology differs from “old” philology, we do want to make the point that in the case of the study of texts produced in the Renaissance, the focus on the copyist as opposed to the author as the creator of meaning is less relevant, because in this period the author does come to the fore more clearly than in the Middle Ages and acquires, thanks to the printing press, a tool to present himself through a more stable medium than the codex. Moreover, several contributors to this volume suggest that the ideological position of New Philology is more suitable for texts written in the vernacular, because Latin texts, especially those written following the classical rules of imitation and emulation, tend to strive intrinsically for a greater degree of completion and perfection. Material Philology, on the other   See Nichols (1997), 10-30.

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introduction9

hand, does appear to be useful to gain new insights in Latin literature of the Renaissance, for, as each contribution to this volume shows, special attention to the material form of the text and to the social context in which it is read can lead to new insights, not only in the relation between the author and his text, but also in the impact of other agents within the sphere of literary activity as well as in the ways in which the interpretations of the text may vary in the course of its reception. Thus, this volume offers a sample of the opportunities afforded by Material Philology in the research of Latin texts from the Renaissance. The first two contributions address several theoretical matters concerning New Philology and Material Philology. Haijo Westra provides us with an eyewitness report of the debate on New Philology in the nineties of the previous century and gives a sound assessment of the contribution of New Philology as an historical phenomenon. He argues that the contrast between “old” philology and New Philology concerns in part ideological matters, but also that the ensuing differences have become less sharp because the poststructuralist movements have become less strict in their theoretical stances. Although Bernard Cerquiglini, one of the founders of New Philology, still adheres to the original theory of the nineties, Westra believes that the renewed focus on the materiality of the text in the debate between “old” philology and New Philology will have lasting influence, and he argues that Material Philology should not be put on a par with New Philology, because the latter concentrates, too much perhaps, on its ideological premises, whereas the former can be a practical starting point for innovative research on Latin texts from the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. H. Wayne Storey, who takes Material Philology as the starting point of his observations, formulates on the basis of examples from his own practice three pragmatic principles which not only constitute guidelines for researchers of the materiality of sources, but also provide subject matter for discussions on theory and methodology: (1) each copyist strives for unity, (2) the quire constitutes a unity of its own whose meanings may be influenced by other quires in the codex, (3) the unities and the parts of each codex constitute contexts of interpretation for all its users. Storey shows that study of a codex from these material aspects ensures a better focus on the historical complexity of texts, their authors, their publishers and their readers than has been the case hitherto. The remaining seven contributions in this volume are case studies of various kinds of Latin texts in the Renaissance in which their materia-

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lity forms the focal point. First, Christoph Pieper discusses the working manuscript of Basinio of Parma’s (1425-1457) epic poem Hesperis (1453). He discusses a number of special features of this manuscript for which the author himself was responsible, such as changes in the text and marginal annotations to the text in both Latin and Greek, and he argues that these material details reveal the author’s effort to present himself as the ideal court poet for the select group of prospective readers for whom he created the manuscript. Pieper thus shows that Material Philology can contribute to answering questions about not only the text and its medium, but also the author. Marianne Pade takes Niccolò Perotti’s (1429-1480) influential Cornu copiae (1478) as the starting point of her contribution, in which she studies the materiality of both manuscript and printed edition. More specifically, she focuses on the only manuscript in which the Cornu copiae survives and on the early editions of it, and discusses how the interplay between discussions about the genre of the work, the potentialities of the two mediums and the needs of the various communities of readers influenced the work itself, its material presentation and its reception. David Rijser shows in his essay on the MS BAV Vaticanus Latinus 2742, which contains an unidentified commentary on Horace’s Ars Poetica from the first decades of the sixteenth century, how materiality, authorship and hermeneutics can be connected. He demonstrates how fascinating it is to attempt to reconstruct in detail the publication process of an early modern text, because it can yield unexpected insights in both the authorship and the purpose of the text. Through this reconstruction, Rijser moreover illustrates that in the Renaissance, the production of a text was the effort of more than one creator and that in some cases a text was attributed to a single author only in the course of its reception by an audience, and that this attribution at a later stage can have a major influence on the use and the interpretation of the text and on the importance attached to it. Werner Gelderblom’s study of the famous Bodleian manuscript containing Janus Secundus’ (1511-1536) poetry, which was the printer’s copy for the edition of 1541, focuses on the author’s dealing with the materiality of not only the manuscript but also the printed version of his poems. More specifically, he shows how Secundus’ revisions in the working manuscript reveal how the author adapts his poems, which had previously been circulated in manuscript, in such a way that they are suitable for publication in a printed edition. By studying the changes introduced by the author



introduction11

Gelderblom attempts to define how manuscript and printed edition were different for Secundus as media for his poems. Marc van der Poel focuses in his contribution on the material reception of the classical poet Horace. More specifically he addresses the fragmentation of Horace’s poetry in the illustrated commonplace book Emblemata Horatiana (1607) by Otto Venius (1557-1629). He also discusses briefly two later editions of the Emblemata Horatiana, in which the collection of fragments was given a new function for new audiences, as a result of which their presentation was adapted. In his discussion of the remarkable antiquarianism in the play Pompejus Magnus (1610) by Johann Lauremberg (1590-1658), Tom Deneire makes a strong case for something one may call intertextual materialism: he shows that Lauremberg’s style can only be understood against the background of the way in which ancient texts were presented in early seventeenth-century editions. More specifically, the physical characteristics of commonplacebooks, dictionaries, and books containing antiquarian studies and archeological finds facilitated the creation of an intellectual environment in which abstruse and obscure forms were valued for their own sake. Nienke Tjoelker, finally, uses the emphasis put by Material Philology on the material and social context of a text to gain more insight in the effect of the Alithinologia (1664) by the Irish author John Lynch (16001677). She argues that the paratext of the printed edition of this work and the use of sources in the text and the edition have contributed to the construction of the author’s self-identity within the complex mutual relations between intellectuals in seventeenth-century Ireland. Thanks are due to Haijo Westra, who has checked the English of the contributions written by non-native English speakers. Martje de Vries and Glyn Muitjens, graduates from the Department of Classics in Nijmegen, have helped with the preparation of the final manuscript for publication. Finally, I want to express my gratitude to the Research Institute of Historical, Literary and Cultural Studies of the Radboud University and to Pegasus Ltd for the promotion of Neo-Latin Studies for their financial support.

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Bibliography Nichols, Stephen G., ‘Introduction. Philology in a Manuscript Culture’, Speculum, 65 (1990), 1-10 Nichols, Stephen G., ‘Why Material Philology? Some Thoughts’, in Philologie als Textwissenschaft: Alte und neue Horizonte, eds. H. Tervooren & H. Wenzel (Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie, 116), (Berlin: Schmidt, 1997), pp. 10-30 Radboud University Nijmegen Classics Department/Institute of Historical, Literary and Cultural Studies [email protected]

Haijo J. Westra WHAT’S IN A NAME: OLD, NEW, AND MATERIAL PHILOLOGY, TEXTUAL SCHOLARSHIP, AND IDEOLOGY Bernard Cerquiglini’s Éloge de la variante, published in 1989, ‘hit North Americian medievalists like a brise marine’, according to one reviewer who characterised Cerquiglini’s work retrospectively as follows: Subtitled Histoire critique de la philologie, this brief polemical essay became the centerpiece of the New Philology: a vision of the practice of medieval studies, centering in particular on Old French literature[s], that sought to historicize the discipline, to locate it politically and socially ... and to reclaim it from the positivist regressives for the theoretically savvy progressives. (Lerer (2000), 369)1

The gauntlet thrown down so provocatively by Cerquiglini was taken up very soon thereafter in North America, not just by scholars in Old French literature but by a broad range of medievalists interested in hermeneutical questions related to their disciplines, in particular the status and interpretation of medieval texts, and questions of methodology, especially how to edit medieval texts. An almost immediate reaction to the issues raised by Cerquiglini appeared in the unprecedented special issue of Speculum of January 1990.2 Significantly no such fundamental reflection on philosophical and methodological issues had been published before in this leading journal. The articles by Nichols, Wenzel, Fleischman, Spiegel, Patterson, and Bloch now appear as models of thoughtful and measured responses to the challenges posed to traditional practice, but feelings ran high precisely among traditional practitioners who felt challenged to the core not only in their methodology but also in their most basic presuppositions and convictions and who lashed out against the ‘new’ philology as a kind of betrayal, a trahison des clercs. One needs to have lived through this period to remember the intensity of the reaction, linked as it was to the resistance to the new French scholarship 1   The term New Philology has also come to be used in ethno-history and legal history by “a school of historians based mainly in the United States who have pioneered a novel approach to the history of indigenous societies under colonial rule by focusing on day-today ‘mundane’ texts, typically legal documents or documents preserved in legal records, written in indigenous languages”, see Boast (2010), 239. 2   Speculum, 65.1 (1990).

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associated in particular with Foucault, to whom the English translation of Éloge de la variante was dedicated posthumously.3 In this respect, the reception of Cerquiglini was part of a broader confrontation between Anglo-American positivism and French post-structuralist deconstruction. Cerquiglini actually invokes the Nouvelle Critique that is deemed to have started with Barthes’ Sur Racine (1963).4 The confrontation raged in particular in the humanities and the social sciences, making for a period of intense scholarly and ideological conflict, pitting canon against margin, and questioning disciplinary methods, boundaries, and curricula in the process. The reaction of textual scholars was all the more pronounced because Cerquiglini had chosen a specific philological practice of textual editing and criticism as a focus for his critique, namely a rather dated, nineteenth-century practice, and an all too easy target to caricature. At the same time, as Stephen Nichols has pointed out, a comparably anachronistic and limited conception of philology was current in North America.5 No wonder, therefore, that traditional practitioners of the editorial craft felt challenged for having been associated with a procrustean practice of making medieval texts fit the straightjacket of the printed edition while suppressing variance as the essential characteristic of medieval texts. Obviously Cerquiglini had touched an already sensitive nerve. Textual editing and literary criticism/theory had gone their separate ways in Anglo-American scholarship at least since the 1950s, with literary criticism taking up the hermeneutical side of the philological enterprise, and textual editing limiting itself to a rigorously technical craft. The two were still combined in an earlier generation of scholars, for example Eugène Vinaver, who edited Malory and wrote on the aesthetics of medieval romance as well as the theory of editing. The bifurcation was spurred by the approach of the New Critics who emphasized ‘ambiguity’ and ‘irony,’ leaving behind the positivist practice of editing as an ancillary activity. In Germany we see a separation between Hermeneutik and Textkritik, although, again, an older scholar such as Friedrich Ohly practiced both. The new method in literary criticism, werkimmanente Interpretation, moved away from Geistesgeschichte, the pearl in the crown of nineteenth-century philology as an interpretative discipline. As well, positivist Literaturgeschichte was challenged by Rezeptionsgeschichte

  Cerquiglini (1999).   Cerquiglini (2007), 1. 5   Nichols (1990), 1; cf. Busby (1993d), 88. 3 4



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and Rezeptionsaesthetik at Konstanz, introducing sociological and socio-aesthetic orientations. Moreover, New Historicism introduced an ideology-critical orientation in what had once been the positivist enclave par excellence in the Anglo-American World, the discipline of history.6 No wonder that textual scholars already felt isolated and left behind: hence their fierce reaction to Cerquiglini’s book. The matter had become existential rather than a mere methodological dispute. And, as is common in such situations, even that which may be valuable or useful is resisted, resulting in a circling of the wagons, a redoubt strategy leading to further isolation and a falling behind in a number of new areas affecting the interpretation of texts in broader contexts, such as literacy and orality, the status and function of texts, patronage, the text as a communicative act, the aesthetics of medieval literary composition, and its relation to the broader cultural paradigm. Against this background, the ridicule of a dated practice of textual criticism was like holding a match to a keg of gunpowder. Cerquiglini obviously did not expect the explosive reactions he received, as is evident from his response to the reception of his work. In particular his reply to a collection of essays on the New Philology published in 1993 may be quoted here as exemplary: Citons, pour les États-Unis, le recueil assassin dirigé par Keith Busby, dont la recension dans Romance Philology fut adroitement confiée à M. Peter Dembowski : autant confier une rubrique judiciaire à Jacques l’Éventreur. (Let us cite, for the United States, the murderous collection edited by Keith Busby, the review of which was cleverly confided to Mr. Peter Dembowski: the equivalent of entrusting Jack the Ripper with a column as a court reporter. (Cerquiglini (2007), 1)

Cerquiglini’s indignation was just a touch disingenuous, given his provocative attack on the Old School. What did he expect? For the etiolated hulk of traditional textual scholarship to crumble at his clarion call? As already suggested, this academic controversy entailed a major ideological and generational confrontation. The new scholarship from France was deconstructive and relativistic, seeing itself as progressive in its attack on the status quo and its academic institutions and doctrines. In the U.S., this trend was either embraced enthusiastically by ‘trendy, 6

  E.H. Carr’s What is History (1961) was largely ignored in North America.

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French-besotted faddists’ in the words of one egregious commentator7, or indignantly rejected by more conservative scholars who were horrified by the denials of objectivity, verifiability, fact and truth as they saw them, making this the ideological battle of their lives. What, then, are some of the specific reactions contained in this just mentioned ‘murderous’ little volume that went by the conciliatory title Towards a Synthesis? There is first of all the pious approval of ‘vigorous discussions, even polemics’ regarding first principles in scholarly circles as necessary and healthy for the future of the discipline, but this guard post is knocked down quickly, in the heat of the debate, by discursive violence.8 Some authors, even while expressing regret at the acrimonious tone of the debate, actually start lobbing the occasional verbal grenade themselves. At the same time alarm is expressed at the discord in the house of Philology, with attempts to paper over the cracks in the walls, all this accompanied by dire existential warnings: What is at stake is nothing less than the survival of the discipline which should be precious to us ... as the source of our livelihood. (Leupin (1991), 410)

This warning has to be seen against the political climate of the times, with its threats to, or actual cutbacks of, philological disciplines and programs in North America and in Thatcherite Britain; in the Netherlands, the then minister of Education Deetman proposed to do away with Papyrology, Post-Classical Greek, Byzantine Studies, Late Latin, Medieval Latin and Humanist Latin: all this in the land of Erasmus!9 The political threat exacerbated the conflict and gave it a near hysterical character at times. Yet it also had its artificial characteristics. The polemic was at least initially due in part to a disease of the English language in that ‘new’ has come to mean ‘new and improved’ in the age of advertising, while ‘old’ is inevitably associated with what is obsolete and passé. Another trick of the language caused the definite article ‘the’ in front of lower case ‘n’ as in ‘the new philology’ to be dropped and to be replaced by capital N and capital P as in ‘New Philology’, thereby essentialising its contents which, as it turned out, were difficult to define at first. Not only the name but the concept was seen to be an invention. Several critics in Busby’s volume caught on to the artificiality of the debate and called the polemic   Paglia (1991), 169; cf. Westra (1992), 5-7; Busby (1993d), 86, 89.   Busby (1993a), 1; Id. (1993d), 86-87. 9   Mare (Oct. 26, 1989), 5; cf. Busby (1993c), 31, n. 10. 7 8



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false. Closely related is the claim that there was actually nothing new in what the supposedly ‘new’ philology had to offer: we had been paying attention to manuscripts, marginalia, scribes and variants all along. Some even argued that the crisis was manufactured by the politics of rupture, and that the attention paid to it was excessive and had given it too much credence. This even led to a criticism in conference corridors of the special issue of Speculum which was felt to have been hijacked in order to publicise the new philology in North America.10 More significant are the specific objections to, and limitations of, Cerquiglini’s notions, as noted by Keith Busby in relation to the central issues of the supposed anonymity of the medieval author and the ubiquity of variance: The most serious doctrinal difference between the New and the Old Philology is probably the question of authorial (and scribal) presence and intention. This matter is all the more important since it determines the very manner in which an edition is produced and subsequently used. Post-modern philology dispenses with the notion of the author and the authorial text, and usually reduces scribal function to that of chaotic generation and inchoate variance. Certain forms of literature, such as the chanson de geste, with its fluid verse form, its anonymity, and strong ties to an improvised oral tradition, lend themselves well to this view of textual transmission, but others most surely do not. Here is another consequence of the unbending dogmatism of the New Philology, namely that it fails to take into account the vastly different circumstances in which different texts and genres were composed. What is true of the cyclical manuscripts of the Old French epic is most assuredly not true of Chrétien’s romances. The first, for reasons just mentioned, is the object of more or less free remaniement by scribes on both linguistic and narrative levels; the second, constrained both by the exigencies of the octosyllabic rhyming couplet and by the spectre of the master, leaves by and large only traces of what I have elsewhere called ‘micro-variance’. (Busby (1993d), 91)

My own contribution to this volume dealt with the challenge posed to the editing of Medieval Latin texts by the new philology. Twenty years later we can assess its actual impact: there appears to be not a single edition of a Medieval Latin text that expressly espouses the ideas of the new philology.11 There are a number of objective reasons for this. In the first place, Latin, because of its long history as a written language, because   Busby (1993a), 4; Id. (1993d), 82, 86, 90, 95.   Westra (1993), 49-58. Jan Ziolkowski is not aware of any such edition either (e-mail message, Oct. 16, 2010). For a recent overview of the editing of Medieval Latin texts and the features of copying Latin, see Poirel (2005), 151-173. 10 11

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of its fixed grammar and rather limited lexicon, was more stable than emerging vernaculars. Latin pronunciation and hence spelling varied, but not drastically so. This stability made an extensive system of abbreviation possible, resulting in Latin being able to be written in a condensed form as a kind of shorthand. When a textual problem appears it can often be traced to a mechanical, material misreading of an abbreviation or a given word in the exemplar, or to any of a series of well-attested types of copying error. Latin scribes tended to be less interventionist than vernacular scribe-redactors as they were copying an acquired, second language rather than re-writing the exemplar in their own vernacular variety. Practitioners of Latin textuality generally subscribed to the aesthetic ideal of imitatio which, as its scribal concomitant, entailed an exact copy. Also, the notions of auctor and auctoritas were well established. And although this may sound again like the nothing-newunder-the sun argument, Medieval Latinists have always paid attention to the physical codex and its provenance; they ‘privilege’ marginalia as significant evidence for the conditions of manuscript production; they are keen on distinguishing the different scribal hands on palaeographical grounds; and they are conscious of medieval spelling as a reflection of pronunciation and regional variation. Moreover, they are prepared to maintain medieval punctuation reflecting the reading aloud of the text.12 Medieval Latin editors have long ago abandoned the nineteenth-century practice of rewriting texts to conform to classical usage. In fact some editors are so loath to intervene in the text that they leave manifest errors. The real innovation to the theory of editing in the late 1980s came not from the new philology but from a cross-disciplinary application of cladistic analysis, with Peter Robinson’s examination of the manuscript tradition of the Old Norse saga Svipdagsmál, using a software program developed for tracing the evolutionary descent of a living organism and applying it to the computerised collation of the manuscripts and to a statistical analysis of the variants.13 Now that the sound and fury of the ideological debate have died down with the passing of postmodernism and the introduction of science-based methodologies in the humanities, can we arrive at a more balanced assessment of the contribution of New Philology as an historical 12   See for example Marjorie Chibnall’s edition of The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis (1969), esp. p. xli. The editor has kept the distinctive point-and-tickle sign indicating: keep your voice up. 13   Robinson and O’Hara (1996).



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phenomenon? In the first place it should be noted that in the initial, ideological encounter, New Philology’s emphasis on the material aspects of the codex was pushed to the background, if not completely ignored. Since then, it is this emphasis on the ‘manuscript matrix’ and the ‘social context’ that has come to the fore in the actual philological practice, especially of vernacular texts, displacing the original ideological content. In the process, the name New Philology has morphed into Material Philology.14 I can attest to this development from my own experience. Having been asked to write an entry on this subject for the new Oxford Dictionary of the Middle Ages, I was given the lemma New/Material Philology, suggesting that the two had become synonymous. I actually had to have an exchange of emails with the editor to convince him of the original ideological content of New Philology: it never was just about methodology.15 Cerquiglini provides a more recent set of definitions of traditional and New Philology (not his terminology) and the differences between them in his 2007 article, ‘Une nouvelle philologie?’ For this purpose he introduces a schematic representation, with Paradigm I standing for traditional Philology and Paradigm II for the New:16   Option critique Technologie Métaphore Héros Amour Objet Texte comme Principe But Méthode Résultat Relations :

Paradigme I Autorité textuelle Imprimerie Arbre Auteur Unicité Copie méprisée Essence verbale Décontextualisation Reconstruction Interventionnisme Livre imprimé  

Paradigme II Partage textuel Internet Réseau Copiste Variance Réception positive Matérialité du codex Contextualisation Simulation Comparaison Hypertexte  

1. Oralité 2. Théorie médiévale de l’écriture

Écriture comme résidu (Rien de spécial)

Dialectique Oral/Écrit “Surplus de sens”

  Nichols (1990), 9; Id. (1997), 10-17, where Nichols expresses a preference for the term Material Philology. The term radical philology does not seem to have caught on in this context. 15   See the entry in Bjork, ed. ODML (2010) 1293, which still seems to conflate the two. 16   Cerquiglini (2007), 2. 14

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Passing over the first three, computer-related categories for now, let us consider Héros. According to Cerquiglini, Paradigm I privileges the original author and has contempt for the scribe as the source of error and adulteration, whereas Paradigm II aims to reduce the distance between the author and the copyist who sometimes becomes co-author or editor and who regularly contributes as a rubricator, illustrator and glossator, thus participating in the realisation of the text and its meaning. Under Amour, Cerquiglini contrasts the ideal of the unique original version and the suspicion, even revulsion, of variance in Paradigm I, with variance as the first principle of writing in a scribal culture according to Paradigm II. Under Objet, Paradigm I sees the manuscript copy as imperfect by definition, a falling off from a perfect, unique, creative act by the original genius of the author, whereas Paradigm II sees the manuscript as a positive act of reception, ‘despite the inevitable material errors’. Next, in Paradigm I the notion of Texte is reduced to a verbal essence, removing the text from its codex. By contrast, Paradigm II insists on the materiality of the codex as the immediate, meaning-giving context of the text: le texte n’échappe pas à la matérialité du codex; il est étudié, puis édité dans sons contexte. On voit l’importance que cette philologie accorde au codex, œuvre d’art luxueuse, collective et réfléchie, figuration concrète du texte médiéval. La philologie doit donner à voir l’esthétique littéraire d’une civilisation manuscrite; elle doit se rendre attentive au mode de signification propre au codex : sémiotique de l’image, discours de la rubrique, expansion verbale de la glose, etc. Inspirée par la Nouvelle Critique et les ordinateurs, la nouvelle philologie est paradoxalement plus respectueuse de l’œuvre médiévale, dans sa matérialité contextuelle... (- the text does not escape the materiality of the codex; it is studied, then edited in its context. One sees the importance this philology accords to the codex, a luxurious work of art, collective and thoughtful, a concrete configuration of the medieval text. Philology must make visible the literary aesthetic of a manuscript culture; it must make itself attentive to the mode of signification proper to the codex: the semiotics of the image, the discourse of the rubric, verbal expansion of the gloss, etc. Inspired by the Nouvelle Critique and computers, the new philology is paradoxically more respectful of the medieval work, in its contextual materiality...) (Cerquiglini (2007), 6-7)

Hence, Décontextualisation and Contextualisation are seen as diametrically opposed principles. According to Cerquiglini, the But (Goal) of Paradigm I is to reconstruct the closest possible version of the lost, perfect original by reducing the variants. Paradigm II on the



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other hand wants to ‘simulate’ the genesis, circulation, reception, and signification of medieval works: Fidèle au principe philologique («  aider à l’intelligence des textes  »), le nouveau paradigme entend rendre compte : du codex (numérisation), de son fonctionnement (rapport du texte, de l’image, du paratexte), de sa réception (lien avec les autres manuscrits, affichage des séquences textuelles variantes), de la signification offerte… Aidée par l’électronique, une édition conçue par la philologie nouvelle doit simuler le savoir et la jouissance… (Faithful to the philological principle [helping to understand texts] the new paradigm intends to account for: the codex (digitalisation), its functioning (relationship between text, image and paratext), its reception (connection with other manuscripts, display of the textual sequences that have variants), and the meaning provided.… Aided by the electronic medium, an edition conceived by the new philology must simulate knowledge and pleasure ….). (Cerquiglini (2007), 7)

In terms of Méthode, Paradigm I is interventionist, with the editor sometimes openly changing a reading but more often surreptitiously normalising the text, according to Cerquiglini, since the omniscient editor thinks that he understands the original better than the copyist. Paradigm II does not privilege the hierarchy of copies – presumably the stemma codicum; each reading is a unique solution, ‘whose validity certainly can be evaluated.’ And finally, under Résultat, Paradigm II sees the hypertext edition as the ideal expression of medieval textuality, freed from the straightjacket of the printed book conveying a single supposedly authoritative text which Cerquiglini regards as just another scribal version in the history of the text. The inevitable question that arises from Cerquiglini’s latest formulation of the differences between old and new approaches to philology is: has anything changed? The answer is yes. The most dubious aspect of the new philology, namely the unwillingness to recognize the existence of manifest textual errors has been modified through the admission of ‘material errors’, presumably copying errors, and the admission that variant readings ‘can be evaluated’, presumably based on their intrinsic merit. In other words, objectivity and verifiability have been re-admitted, providing a more solid epistemological ground. Also, references to fidelity to a shared philological principle and respect for the text (re-)introduce a normative perspective. At the same time, a major methodological change has brought the two camps together, namely the widespread use of the computer. Textual scholars on all sides have welcomed the electronic

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capabilities of editing texts early on. But Cerquiglini goes well beyond the practical use of this new methodology in his programmatic and idealistic (some would say: naïve) embrace of the computer screen and the Internet as the perfect vehicles, indeed the optimal realisation, of medieval textuality as he sees it. This has only intensified since 1989. In fact, he is almost rhapsodic on this score in his 2007 article. In the process he claims to have recovered the authentic medieval aesthetic of variance in the electronic sharing and enjoyment of it. One can see why the Internet would be so appealing from a radically deconstructive point of view: no authorship, no authority, no hierarchy, only different points of view, universally accessible, and fluid, ergo considered to be radically democratic and progressive. However, medieval textuality was anything but democratic. Manuscripts were expensive to produce and were typically written for wealthy and powerful patrons; literacy was largely restricted to an educated elite and physical access to manuscripts was severely limited as well. Equally ideological is Cerquiglini’s vision of a post-textual philology, given that he identifies modernity with printing, specifically with the tyranny of the single, authoritative printed text. Instead, the computer screen is appropriated as enabling a truly post-modern form of representation, replacing the entire concept of textuality with that of infinite variance. Medieval textuality in this view equals variance, and the notion of text is effectively deconstructed. Here we see post-modern relativism driven to an extreme whose logical outcome is to destabilize texts into the plurality of their variants, thereby actually denying the function of a given manuscript as a unique communicative act.17 Whereas material philology seems to have moved on as an actual practice, Cerquiglini’s concept of a new philology is still an ideological construct. Bibliography Bjork, Robert E., Oxford Dictionary of the Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) Boast, Richard P., ‘Bringing the New Philology to Pacific Legal History’, NZACL Yearbook, 16 (2010), 239-257 Busby, Keith, Towards a Synthesis? Essays on the New Philology (Faux Titre. Études de langue et littérature françaises, 68, eds. Keith Busby et al.) (Atlanta: Rodopi, 1993a) 17

  Fleischman (1990), 25; Elspeth Kennedy in Westra (1993), 57.



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Busby, Keith, ‘Introduction’ in Keith Busby, ed., Towards a Synthesis? Essays on the New Philology (Atlanta: Rodopi, 1993b), pp. 1-3 Busby, Keith, ‘Variance and the Politics of Textual Criticism’, in Keith Busby, ed., Towards a Synthesis? Essays on the New Philology (Atlanta: Rodopi, 1993c), pp. 29-45 Busby, Keith, ‘Doin’ Philology While the –isms Strut’, in Keith Busby, ed., Towards a Synthesis? Essays on the New Philology (Atlanta: Rodopi, 1993d), pp. 89-95 Carr, Edward Hallett, What is History? The George Macaulay Trevelyan Lectures Delivered in the University of Cambridge, January-March 1961 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962) Cerquiglini, Bernard, Éloge de la variante. Histoire critique de la philo­ logie (Paris: Editions du Seuil,1989) Cerquiglini, Bernard, In Praise of the Variant: A Critical History of Philology, trans. Betsy Wing (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999) Cerquiglini, Bernard, Une nouvelle philologie?, 2007 Chibnall, Marjorie, The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, 6 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969) Fleischman, Susan, ‘Philology, Linguistics, and the Discourse of the Medieval Text’, Speculum, 65 (1990), 19-37 Lerer, Seth, ‘Review Cerquiglini (1999)’, Comparative Literature, vol. 52 (2000), no. 4, 369-372 Leupin, Alexandre, ‘Rev. Pierre Gallais, L’imaginaire d’un romancier français du XIIème siècle. 4 vols, Amsterdam 1988-89’, Speculum, 66 (1991), 408-10 Mare. Leids Universitair Weekblad. 1989. October 26, p. 5 O’Hara, Robert J.: see Robinson and O’Hara (1996) Nichols, Stephen G., ‘The New Philology. Introduction: Philology in a Manuscript Culture’, Speculum, 65 (1990), 1-10 Nichols, Stephen G., ‘Why Material Philology? Some Thoughts’, Zeit­ schrift für deutsche Philologie 116 (1997), Sonderheft, ed. Helmut Tervooren and Horst Wenzel: Philologie als Textwissenschaft. Alte und Neue Horizonte, pp. 10-30 Paglia, Camille, ‘Junk Bonds and Corporate Raiders: Academe in the Hour of the Wolf’, Arion, NS 1, 2, (1991), 139-212 Poirel, Dominique, ‘L’édition des textes médiolatins’, in Frédéric Duval, ed., Pratiques philologiques en Europe. Actes de la journée d’étude

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organisée à l’École des Chartes le 23 septembre 2005 (Paris, École des Chartes, 2006), pp. 151-173 Robinson, Peter M.W. and O’Hara, Robert J., Cladistic Analysis of an Old Norse Manuscript Tradition, 1996 Westra, Haijo Jan and Cropp, Martin, ‘Rev. Arion: A Journal of Humanities and the Classics, 3rd series, 1.2 (Spring 1991)’, Bryn Mawr Classical Review, vol. 3, no. 1, (1992), 1-7 Westra, Haijo Jan, ‘Editing Medieval Latin Texts’, in Keith Busby, ed., Towards a Synthesis? Essays on the New Philology (Atlanta: Rodopi, 1993), pp. 49-58 University of Calgary Department of Greek and Roman Studies [email protected]

H. Wayne Storey METHOD, HISTORY, AND THEORY IN MATERIAL PHILOLOGY Few are the disciplines that would be more ‘resistant to theory’ than material philology. Founded upon an evolving methodology of best practices, standards of observation and representation, and new paradigms of interpretation, it is a discipline that describes and assesses “the material” in its complex contexts of production, reproduction, and use. Its pragmatic advances have been quietly noteworthy. For example, together with colleagues in the archival and library sciences, it has brought about a far more rigorous and useful set of tools in manuscript description, including the simple measurement of a manuscript’s ruled writing space that links production far more effectively than the outer dimensions of the parchment or paper usually trimmed for binding — a logical innovation still resisted by many scholars too often because they themselves have failed to note the text blocks in their own research. In tandem with codicologists and art historians, material philology unseated one of the mainstays at the center of the stemma codicum of Petrocchi’s critical edition of the Divine Comedy, MS Cortona 88, and overturned the artful interpretation of ut pictura poesis in numerous illuminated manuscripts by demonstrating the actual methods of illuminators following instructions rather than reading the text.1 Long before the publication of the special 1990 issue of Speculum, which in truth posited something very different from material philology: a “new philology”, the essential role of the material has informed the work of scholars as diverse as the bibliographer W. W. Greg, the paleographer Armando Petrucci, and the Romance philologist D’Arco Silvio Avalle.2 But even in the late nineteenth century, Umberto Marchesini (1890a, 29) identified a ‘famiglia grafica’ of manuscripts of the Divina 1   For the question of ms. Cortona 88, see Pomaro (1994), 196-97. For instructions to illuminators, see Alexander (1992), 52-71, and Storey (1993), 171-92. 2  On Greg’s work with medieval manuscripts, see especially Edwards (2009). Petrucci’s extensive work in manuscript studies and its pivotal role in the development of material philology are best demonstrated in his essay on ‘graphic symbolism’ in Petrucci (1995), 103-31. Equally important are Avalle’s contributions, demonstrated in Avalle ([1985] 2002) and ([1993] 2002) and especially in his reconstruction of the song book of Peire Vidal (Avalle (1960)).

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Commedia, most produced with distinct material characteristics that unite them as a singular codicological and paleographical style, the ‘Danti del Cento’.3 Gabriella Pomaro’s cautious analyses of this group and its multiple copyists and their environments of production have only begun the work of investigating the cultural and interpretative significance of a transcriptional style that influenced much of the way fourteenth-century northern Italian readers read and, potentially, interpreted the Commedia.4 In 2001 Giancarlo Savino turned the tables on these analyses and posited the conjecture that the distinctive codicological preparation and ‘mano bastarda cancelleresca’ might have instead imitated a Dantean holograph, enticingly linking the material features of these copies literally to an usus scribendi that would have carried the prestige of a ‘virtual holograph’ (p. 1105). The applications of material studies continue to unfold in proposals for electronic editions, in the recuperation of what M. J. Driscoll calls the “text’s ‘artefactuality’” (2010), and in the investigation of the strata of cultural overlays and matrices applied to the transmission of texts that ultimately bears upon pivotal variants, especially — as both Giorgio Pasquali and Hermann Fränkel have shown  — in the recuperation of readings and data from so-called deteriores.5 The methods that have come to fall under the rubric of material philology suggest approaches that draw upon a wide variety of historical disciplines to investigate not just the contexts of reception and interpretation but even authorial intention, the provenance of the variantistica normally associated with traditional philology. In 2002, Guglielmo Gorni called for a “philology without adjectives” (2003, 51) a curious proposal in a panel entitled “Philologies” at a large gathering of Dante specialists dubbed “Dante2000”. Gorni’s essay, which essentially eliminates a distinction between classical and vernacular philologies, has been answered by a host of philologists and codicologists who have proposed in any number of forms an integration of philology 3   For a review of the paleographical features of this style of the ‘Cento’ across the manuscripts in this family often identified with the copyist of MS Milano, Trivulziano 1080, Francesco di ser Nardo da Barberino, see Boschi Rotiroti (2004), 78 and, more recently, Pomaro (2007). The significance of the variants of this group of codices was first addressed systematically in Vandelli (1922). 4   These studies are spread across: Pomaro (1986), Pomaro (1994a), Pomaro (1994b), and Pomaro (1995). The best overview of her work is found in Pomaro (2007). 5   See Pasquali (1971), 43-108, and especially Fränkel’s discussion (1964, 134-37) of μένος for γένος in v. 548 of the Argonautica. Driscoll (2010), 90 mistakenly conflates ‘new’ and ‘material’ philology.



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into the larger and more interdisciplinary field of material philology. The goal of my work, both here and in a recent essay on the mechanisms of textual cultures (2009), is not to settle the question of who is in the service of whom. I am more in favor of the ‘one-big-happy-family paradigm’, which I fear is not always popular. It does, however, seem important to discuss the place where method meets theory in order to propose several principles that guide the discovery of the role of the material in the service of texts and in our greater understanding of how the cultural matrices of subsequent generations of readers can surface in the written document and influence our interpretations of works. I have over the years come to believe that the origins of Neo-Latin culture lie not only in the rediscovery of textual antiquities but especially in numerous crises of the codex in transition. We see it easily enough in Italy, for example, in the dramatic changes in the preparation and construction of manuscripts from the fourteenth to the fifteenth century and in book production from the late fifteenth through the sixteenth century.6 On the front lines, as it were, of these crises are two essential elements: the copyist (and later the compositor) and the fascicle (and later the signature). I will use as a guide some basic, pragmatic principles of my own experience in the materiality of sources that I hope will be able to suggest methodological and theoretical points of departure for future discussions. Principle 1: Professional copyists love consistency. Where they don’t find it they tend to impose it As I hope we will see in our first example, the copyist must negotiate a difficult space between the cultural standards of his patron on the one hand and, on the other, the compilational and transcriptional norms of his antegraphs (the exemplars from which he compiles and copies). The early fifteenth-century copyist of Firenze, Biblioteca Riccardiana 1088, had as his task the reproduction of the fables of Aesop in the Italian vernacular (ff. 3r-14r), Petrarch’s Rerum vulgarium fragmenta (ff. 15r-59r), and some poems by Niccholò Soldanieri, Francesco and Giannozzo Sacchetti, Antonio da Ferrara, Benuccio Salimbeni, Cino da Pistoia, Tomaso de Bardi, and even two attributed to Dante Alighieri (ff. 60r-66v).7 Throug6 7

  See Storey (2005), as well as Petrucci (1995), 181-200.   I follow the editors’ recommended style in referring to individual chartae as folios

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hout the codex the Riccardiano scribe has prepared a careful copy with a consistent ductus, considering especially that he prepares his transcription on paper, rather than on parchment, with very few strike-throughs. He leaves an entire folio blank to separate the ‘books’ of his compilation. He seems particularly meticulous in the Petrarch section. Other extant fifteenth-century copies of Petrarch’s Fragmenta (Rvf) attempted to follow, with varying degrees of success, the poet’s own transcriptional formulae for the five genres that comprise the work.8 Authorial variants and the order of the poems tell us first of all that the Riccardiano copyist’s antegraph is an early form of the Fragmenta, with the ballata Donna mi vene spesso ne la mente (f. 32v [position = Rvf 121]) and the madrigal Or vedi amor (f. 44v) in the positions originally assigned to them before Petrarch intervened to erase the ballata and move the madrigal into its place, recycling the rounded body of the majuscule D of ‘Donna’ as the majuscule O of ‘Or’.9 The scribe’s antegraph seems to have followed carefully Petrarch’s original layout of the verses, often two or more verses per transcriptional line, a consistent layout reminiscent of the scribal styles of the end of the thirteenth and early fourteenth century. But then at f. 27r, between two canzoni (Rvf 71 and 72), the Riccardiano copyist inserts two maniculae and an editorial note that spans most of the width of the folio’s writing space to tell his patron that he is changing the layout of his transcription. He will no longer follow the transcriptional system of his antegraph, that is across the folio from column to column, but he will instead arrange all the poems so that they can be read first down the left column and then down the right.10

(ff.), the unit obtained by taking a sheet, or folio, and folding it in half to create a bifolium of two chartae. 8   See Storey (2004), 152-71. Examples of other fifteenth-century codices that attempt to replicate Petrarch’s ‘visual poetics’ are: MSS Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Segniano 1; and Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Pluteo 41.10. For an overview of the fifteenth-century tradition, see Del Puppo (2004). For the characteristics of the late fourteenth-century tradition, see Storey (2004) and Storey (2006a). 9   Petrarch replaces the ballata Donna mi vene spesso ne la mente with the madrigal Or vedi Amor only after a majority of the quires are returned from the rubricator’s workshop probably in 1369. Before that the madrigal occupied the space between the current Rvf 242 (Mira quel colle) and Rvf 243 (Fresco, ombroso, fiorito). See Storey (1993), 366-77. 10   See f. 27r of the codex. The folio is reproduced in Petrucci (1987), tav. 26, and transcribed in Brugnolo (2004), 119, n. 52: ‘Non mi piace di più seguire di scrivere nel modo che ò tenuto da quinci a dietro, cioè di passare da l’uno colonello all’altro; anzi intendo di seguire giù per lo cholonello tanto che si compia la chanzone o sonetto che sia’.



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The copyist’s task of following Petrarch’s unique transcriptional and poetic system has now the added challenge of interpretation and conversion to the simpler matrix of one verse per line down the column regardless of the poetic genre. But there are additional factors in the preparation of a manuscript. The planning for the construction of the folios and the fascicles does not accommodate well his decision. In some cases he must transcribe additional verses on the same transcriptional line to make his pages come out right. In spite of his efforts, he comes to the end of what readers believed to be Part I of the Fragmenta (Rvf 263, the sonnet Arbor victoriosa triumphale) in something of a predicament: the sonnet occupies only one of the two columns, leaving his copy out of the aesthetic balance he has sought throughout his work (see Plate 1, f. 46v). So he adds a sonnet to fill the column and then at the bottom of the folio attaches his own explicit for Part I, which recalls the argument and the genres in Part I and introduces the incipit of Part II: ‘Poi apresso seguita come vedrete cose fatte per lo detto messer francescho dopo la morte della detta madona Aura e comincia cosi / I vo pensando enel pensier massale’ (f. 46v). The addition of a sonnet to Part I is a practice we find in other codices of the Fragmenta made in the same era, but the added poem is usually taken from one of Petrarch’s unanthologized lyrics, or rime estravaganti. The Riccardiano copyist instead turns to a sonnet on the supremacy of death over even the greatest men, Alessandro lasciò la signoria, so popular that it finds its way into the lyric poetry of Dante Alighieri in Luigi Rigoli’s nineteenth-century edition (1825, pp. v and 12), but is ultimately dismissed as inauthentic in 1861 by Pietro Fraticelli on aesthetic grounds (see pp. 294-95). Remarkably, in the final section of the codex, the Riccardiano scribe copies again the very same sonnet, Alessandro lasciò la signoria, this time with attribution to Dante (see Plate 2, f. 61r). Significant variants in the transcription and the attribution suggest that the copyist took this version from another antegraph. But an additional feature strikes the reader: the copyist has reverted to the transcriptional style he renounced in the Petrarch section, adopting the old style of two verses per line in a full-page rather than columnar layout. The sonnet’s terzina style is reminiscent of late thirteenth- and early fourteenth-century scribal formats.

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Plate 1: Firenze, Biblioteca Riccardiana 1088, f. 46v; reprinted with the kind permission of the Biblioteca Riccardiana.

In the traditional philological paradigm, the Riccardiano copyist’s addition of the sonnet Alessandro lasciò la signoria as the last poem of Part I is simply an interpolation to be eliminated from the work we know as Petrarch’s Rerum vulgarium fragmenta. In the same paradigm, the copyist’s dramatic change of transcriptional style is also of no importance since traditional philology deals with text and not with the cultural contexts of production. But, in fact, these two elements supply an extraordinary snapshot of two cultural systems at odds and a copyist in dilemma, the arbitrator of a cultural transition who allows us to analyze more accurately the original state of the texts and the mechanisms involved in their reproduction and transposition into another cultural system. This is not an easy negotiation. At stake are an array of mechanisms from the internal



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Plate 2: Firenze, Biblioteca Riccardiana 1088, f. 61r; reprinted with the kind permission of the Biblioteca Riccardiana.

structures of the codex to the scribe’s own reconciliation between fidelity to his antegraph and loyalty to his contemporary, professional writing codes. The overarching structure of the lack of internal attribution of individual poems in Petrarch’s Fragmenta ultimately concedes the space for the non-Petrarchan sonnet Alessandro lasciò la signoria to the professional aesthetics of the Riccardiano copyist’s exemplar, a concession he could not make in the third part of his book still governed by a lyric context where the combined pressures of Petrarch’s macrotext and his culture’s systematic graphological response are absent. There the more ancient matrix of the anthology of individual lyric poems proves to be more conservative and less subject to the scribal culture’s prevailing formulae he applies from f. 27r on. In varying degrees we see this kind of

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scribal dilemma and cultural contrast in every manuscript we encounter, but here the contrast is especially demonstrative: the same lyric poem, Alessandro lasciò la signoria, in two distinct matrices. The ‘Petrarchan’ version on f. 46v reflects a curiously more ‘Petrarchan’ patina (‘charlomagno lascio la gentilezza / e attaviano imperador ricchezza’ [vv. 6-7]) as opposed to the more popular formulation on f. 61r, in which the verses are reversed: ‘attaviano lasciò la ricchezza / e charlomagno la gran gentilezza’. This same distinction in tone is borne out in two versions of v. 9. In the ‘Petrarchan’ version death defeats famous men (‘baroni’); in the ‘Dantean’ version death extinguishes their possessions: ‘Tucti questi baroni à vincti morte’ (f. 46v); ‘E tucte queste chose à spente morte’ (f. 61r). Multiple versions and variants of the popular song must have circulated, as demonstrated by Rigoli’s version taken from another manuscript. The Riccardiano copyist becomes an editor as he incorporates one version for his Petrarchan section and keeps perhaps the version of his antegraph for the second occurrence in the lyric section (f. 61r), where it actually initiates the sonnet section. Principle 2. The book is built by the gathering (the integrity of the folio/page reflects the manuscript’s social programme). The social text is defined by its companions in the miscellany Two early generations of Italian vernacular poets sang in Old Occitan: Rambertino Buvalelli, Sordello, Lanfranco Cigala, Bartolomeo Zorzi, among others. We have evidence that the Genoese diplomat Percivalle Doria wrote in both Old Occitan and Italian. In the first decades of the thirteenth century, the patronage of northern Italian courts from Este to Monferrato and the Lunigiana extended to poets such as Uc de Saint Circ, Aimeric de Peguilhan, and Guilhem Raimon, helped to solidify the literary and the editorial presence of the Old Occitan tradition in Italy. In fact, as we know, just over half of the extant chansonniers of Old Occitan lyric were produced in northern Italy. This scribal tradition contributed significantly to the editorial formulae that would be applied in the late thirteenth century to the structuring of the Italian-made anthologies and repertories of Sicilian, Bolognese, Tuscan, and Venetian lyrics.11 At the heart of the Italian-Occitan model is the intricate relationship between the hierarchies of authorship — variously defined — and the structure   See Bologna (1993), 3-48.

11



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of the individual fascicle, or grouping of fascicles, that constituted the primary building block of the medieval codex. In turn, the individual manuscript page, or half of a bifolium, reflected the quire’s programme. This design feature of the booklet played a critical role even in the holograph manuscripts of those authors most concerned with innovative book construction, such as Petrarch and Boccaccio.12 Yet as the model became more and more integrated into Italian contexts, local applications that no longer reflected the cultural concepts and norms of the original courts where Occitan lyrics were performed were added into Italian copies of Occitan literature. While in some centers of production, especially in the Veneto, we find a more obsequious attitude toward autochthonous Occitan antegraphs, already in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth century in Tuscany we encounter a significant local overlay that both defines new needs and methods of assembling these evolving ‘source books’ and challenges our histories of Occitan literature. This evolution grows out of the construction of the fascicle and its reflection of new literary and material mechanisms brought to bear upon the social structure of the book as a more concise tool. The late thirteenth-century Venetian codex Vatican Library, Latino 5232 reflects a far more classical tradition of Old Occitan verse, together with the biographies (vidas) and analyses (razos) of most poets and an intricate system of illustrations of the poets to reaffirm the repertory’s organizing principles of literary canon and social rank. It is composed of gatherings of six bifolia, or senions. The manuscript’s regular programme is carried out from senion to senion virtually without interruption. Of far less ‘classical’ pretensions and far more pragmatic concerns, the fascicles of the contemporary Tuscan book, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Pluteo 41.42, tell — in all senses — a different story and reflect a very different cultural orientation to the materials it assembles.

12   We recall, for example, that Petrarch’s father insisted upon a material unity of each work by imposing a seamlessness between fascicles on the construction of the copy of Virgil destined as a gift for his son, the codex that today is Milano, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, SP 10/40.

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Table 1:  Overview of the layout of the quires of Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Pluteo 41.42 Laurenziano Pluteo 41.42; 1290(?) – 1310 (final additions); Tuscan production Guard leaf i Hand: ε (Anton Maria Salvini?) Guard leaf ii Unit A Hand: α (Petrus Berzoli de Eugubio) ff. 1r-38v: Occitan lyrics 3 quinions + 1 quaternion f. 20v: catchwords Peire uidal f. 38v: catchwords La francha captenensa Unit B Hand: β (veneta?) {distinct change in quality of the parchment} ff. 39r – 52r: vidas [missing initial fascicle?] 2 quaternions f. 46v {end of quaternion 1} Unit C Hand: α (Petrus Berzoli) ff. 55r-66r: Occitan lyrics = coblas 1 senion Unit D Hand: α (Petrus Berzoli) 1 quaternion (ff. 67-74) + 1 quinion (ff. 75-84) f. 67r-77v: Donatus provincialis by Uc Faidit [ff. 70r-77r Occitan–Latin glossary/rimario] ff. 78r-79r: Occitan – Italian glossary ff. 79v-83v: Las Razos de trobar by Raimon Vidal f. 83v: colophon signed by Petrus Berzoli Unit E Hand: γ (Italian) ff. 83v-84v: Tractatus de bonitate et malitia mulierum (French) Hand: δ (French?) ff. 85r-92v: Livre des moralitz



METHOD, HISTORY, AND THEORY IN MATERIAL PHILOLOGY 35 1 quaternion f. 92v-colophon: 1310 {terminus ad quem} Hand: ζ (modern hand) Guard leaf ia

An overview of the quires used to assemble Laur. 41.42 reveals an alternation between the quaternion and the preferred Florentine format of the quinion, with which the primary scribe, Petrus Berzoli, organizes the first part of his repertory. This first unit shows us immediately the shift in cultural perspective. The elegance of deluxe Italian-Occitan chansonniers and the rich apparatus of illustrations are replaced by the sobriety of a study copy to be consulted not to learn the golden age of Provençal lyric but for linguistic and stylistic imitation. Table 2: Overview of the distribution of the contents of ‘Units’ A and D of Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Pluteo 41.42 Unit A: Quinion 1: f. 1r: f. 2r: f. 7v:

Blanchacet Guiraut de Borneilh Folket de Marxella

4 compositions 16 compositions 12 compositions

Quinion 2: f. 11r: f. 11v: f. 13r: f. 14r: f. 14v: f. 16r: f. 19r: f. 19v: f. 20r:

Guabert de Poicibot N’ Aimeric de Pepugnan Ranbaut de Vaqeras Bernard del Ventedorn Gauselm de Faidit Bernard del Ventadorn Guilielm Anelier [de Toloza] Gui d’Uisel Peire Vidal de Tolosa

2 compositions 6 compositions 3 compositions 1 composition 5 compositions 8 compositions 1 composition 2 compositions 6 compositions

Quinion 3: f. 21r: f. 22r: f. 22r: f. 24v: f. 25r:

Peire Vidal (cont.) Reis Rizard Folqet de Marsella Peire Vidal Peirol d’Alvergnia

1 composition 8 compositions 1 composition 7 compositions

36

H. Wayne Storey f. 27r: f. 28r: f. 29r: f. 29v: f. 30v:

Arnald de Miroill Folqet de Roman N’ Aimeric de Bellinoi Perdigon d’Alvergna N’ Arnad Daniel

4 compositions 3 compositions 2 compositions 3 compositions 2 compositions

Quaternion 1: f. 31r Arnald cont = [C]hanzon dun mot son plan e prim f. 31r Cadenet 2 compositions f. 31v Raymon de Miraval 3 compositions f. 32v Elyas de Berzoll 1 composition f. 33r Raymon de la Sala 1 composition f. 33v Girardon lo Ros 1 composition f. 33v Vescont de saint Antolin 1 composition f. 34r [unattributed] 1 composition f. 34v N’ Ugo de san Sil 3 compositions f. 35r Vescont de saint A[ntolin] 1 composition f. 35v [Elia de Rosegnol] 1 composition f. 36r [unattributed] 1 composition f. 36r [Monge de Montalton] 1 composition f. 36v Pons de Capdoil 2 compositions f. 36v Lanbert de Ponzibech 1 composition f. 37r Gausem Faidiz 3 compositions f. 38v [unattributed] 1 composition f. 38v N’ Arnald de Miroill 1 composition Unit D: Quaternion 1 (ff. 67–74) 1. Donatz (ff. 67r–77v) [ff. 70–77 Occitan – Latin glossary and ‘Rimario’] Quinion 1 (ff. 75–84) 2. ff. 78r–79r: Provençal–Italian glossary 3. ff. 79v–83v: Razos de trobar (Raimon Vidal de Besalú) 4. ff. 83v–84v: Tractatus de bonitate et malitia mulierum The first quinion presents a very different kind of canon that begins with the relatively minor Blacasset (1240-1280) before presenting large groupings of poems by Guiraut de Bornelh (ca. 1165-1200) and by Folquet de



METHOD, HISTORY, AND THEORY IN MATERIAL PHILOLOGY 37

Plate 3: Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Pluteo 41.42, ff. 65v-66r; reprinted with the kind permission of the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana.

Marseilh (1180-1195).13 The lack of standardization in the spelling of the attributions to Folket suggests that the compiler of Pluteo 41.42 is assemblying his collection from different sources. The continuation of Folquet’s song Car no m’abelis solatz onto the second quinion before Gaubert’s poem Huna gran amors corals, confirms what we see throughout Unit A: that the planned programme of this section was not divided by freestanding fascicles whose order could be shifted. At the close Unit A on f. 38v, the copyist/rubricator announces with the catchwords ‘La francha captenensa’ that poem # 124 will begin on the next fascicle, which we no longer have. The next unit (B), which is missing its initial fascicle (or fascicles) and is in a different hand, is an insert of vidas and razos with passages of poems copied in red. We shall return to this unit momentarily, but for now it is enough to note that almost all of the subjects of the vidas and razos are poets whose work has been copied in Unit A, with the noteworthy 13   For a thorough introduction to the codex Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana Pluteo 41.42, see Noto (2003), especially the ample description and bibliography, pp. 33-96. I have followed Noto’s use of the spellings of names in the MS’s attributions for Table 2 but not in the text of the essay. See as well Avalle (1993), 100-101.

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exception of the razo of the Italian poet Lanfranco Cigala’s Era vau disen et vos amatz on f. 48v. Petrus Berzoli’s ‘Unit C’ is a self-contained grouping limited to a single senion (see Table 1 and Plate 3; ff. 65v-66r). Most of the final column of f. 66r and all of the verso is blank. Berzoli’s final unit (D) seems to have been designed to operate independently as a set of two fascicles. His choice of using first a quaternion and then a quinion seems to underscore the linkage between the fascicles and even among the three works: Uc Faiditz’s Donatz provincialis, Raimon Vidal de Besalú’s Razos de trobar, and the added Provençal-Italian glossary. Berzoli affords both Uc’s Donatz and Vidal’s Razos treatment as works at the same level as Unit A, the four fascicles of Occitan lyric, dedicating a new manuscript page to the incipit of each work. Unit D completes what we could call the ‘cross-cultural interface’ between the linguistic experience of the venerated Occitan literary culture and the Tuscans. After the insertion into the collection of the vidas and razos of Unit B, Unit D completes the cultural primer with Uc’s treatise not in Old Occitan but in the Latin version, and Raimon Vidal’s didactic treatise on the ‘dreicha maniera de trobar’ and the ‘maior autoritat li cantar de la lenga lemosina que de neguna autra parladura’. Uc Faiditz’s Donatz teaches the tools of syntax and lexicon and Raimon’s text teaches those who want to sing properly in Occitan to use them eloquently. Units B and D offer an apparatus that at once teaches and glorifies a literary culture and language in exile. Over the last century, Pluteo 41.42 has been the fancy of the eye of some of the best and wisest Romance philologists who have contended that the codex, or perhaps its antegraph, was likely one of the texts of Old Occitan lyric that Dante might have consulted.14 Evidence seems to be there in the manuscript’s inclusion of poets such as Aimeric de Belinoi, Aimeric de Peguilhan, and even Folquet de Marseilh. The first two poets seem to have enjoyed a first-hand popularity in northern Italy and the last is a writer prized by Dante ultimately for his pious renunciation of love lyric. But there is little doubt that the canon in the first quinions in Unit A and the lessons of Unit D might well reflect an instructive resonance among Tuscan poets of the caliber of Bonagiunta da Lucca and Chiaro Davanzati. When a now anonymous poet praises Bonagiunta’s poetic prowess, it is in comparison to two prominent poets in Laurenziano 41.42 and in Terramagnino da Pisa’s Doctrina de Cort: Folquet de Marseilh   See Avalle (1993), 100.

14



METHOD, HISTORY, AND THEORY IN MATERIAL PHILOLOGY 39

and Peire Vidal: ‘Di ciausir motti Folchetto tu’ pari / non fu, né Pier Vidal né ’l buon di ’Smondo’,15 to which Bonagiunta answers in kind: ‘che ’n voi commendan li due che son pari, / ma più che pari, – Folchetto né ’Smondo’.16 In the apparatus of MS Laurenziano 41.42, the two fascicles of Unit D redefine the roles of the other units, establishing new hierarchies among the poetic samples, supported by the apparatus of the vidas and razos that now extend to a non-Occitan audience of Raimon Vidal’s didactic book: ‘per q’ieu vuell far aqest libre per far conoisser la parladura a cels qe la sabon drecha et per ensennar a cels qe no la sabon’ ([f. 80r] ‘for I wish to make this book so that others will know the language [of the troubadours] correctly and to teach it to those who don’t know it’). The assemblage of three extant units (A, C, D) in the same ‘α’ hand together with the imported vidas and razos of Unit B in a different hand suggests a role for an additional hand, that of a compiler of what must have been a more extensive manuscript whose programme was anything other than a nostalgic retrospective of the glorious generations of Old Occitan poets. This compiler, perhaps Berzoli himself, saw in Unit B a missing element not only essential to the didactic purposes of the collection but to the editorial model established most prominently among the northern Italian courts that had hosted Occitan singers and poets in virtual exile from the courts in Occitania under French suppression. We do not know the entire contents either of Unit A or Unit B. At least one quire has been lost from the end of A and at least one from the beginning of B. From what we have, however, we can see new cultural paradigms grounded in the profound presence of Uc de saint Circ, remembered less for the three compositions on ff. 34v-35r (N’ Ugo de san Sil) of our Unit A than for the necessity of importing in Unit B the vidas of whose tradition he is probably the primary composer and promulgator.17 By the late thirteenth century, Uc’s biographies of the poets and singers, including his own, created probably midway in the first half of the century, had become a didactic key to reading and learning a language and a literary production that was at once essential for northern Italian poetry and a foreign idiom. 15   Vv. 5-6 of the anonymous sonnet Poi di tutte bontà ben se’ dispàri (Contini (1960) 1, p. 275). 16   Vv. 5-6 of Bonagiunta’s reply-sonnet Lo gran pregio di voi sì vola pari (Contini (1960) 1, p. 276). 17   See Guida (1991) and Meneghetti (1991) for introductions to Uc’s editorial activities and influence.

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Principle 3. The complex unities and divisions of the codex constitute ‘contexts of interpretation’ both for the copyist and subsequent users of the manuscript Perhaps as early as 1330, a young Boccaccio begins what would grow, probably up until 1348, to become an extensive set of classical and contemporary materials copied in his own hand that would eventually be assembled into his early notebooks and miscellanies. Among these pages of Boccaccio the copyist, Boccaccio the author, and Boccaccio the glossator, we can trace the formation — in every sense — of the intellectual professional, especially of Boccaccio the editor. These are also pages in which we can follow the development of a cultural apparatus that a young Boccaccio imposed upon his copies and scholia. These are transcriptions that give us insight into what I have called elsewhere Boccaccio’s ‘social texts’ (Storey 2006) that reveal his engagement with and response to learning and writing at many levels. While these notebooks contain important copies of Dante’s epistles, of Andalò di Negro’s Tractatus sphere materialis, of Petrarch’s metrical epistles, of the Vita Vergilii, and of Boccaccio’s Faunus and his own letters, it is their overarching unity that gives us the greatest insight into the evolution of Boccaccio the scholar. That said, there is no edition of his notebooks. In 1998, Raul Mordenti, a specialist in digital philology, proposed a hypertextual edition of the Zibaldoni and Miscellanea, but even in its theoretical formulation the undertaking demonstrates — among other things — the extraordinary gap between the utility of such an edition almost exclusively for specialists and its actual use by readers.18 Instead the Zibaldoni have come to be seen by many scholars and readers as a repository of often disjointed individual texts, copied over time, that have become the focus of withering analyses. Among the most scrutinized has been Boccaccio’s partial transcription of a letter purportedly from a monk in isolated southeastern Tuscany, the Lunigiana, to the then Lord of Pisa and Lucca, Uguccione della Faggiola, to recommend Dante’s first canticle, the Inferno, and his own monastery del Corvo in the Val del Magra. Over its long critical history the letter has been declared a Boccaccian forgery, a Boccaccian parody, a literary exercise, and an

18   At the time of the final preparation of this essay, Mordenti’s site (http://rmcisadu. let.uniroma1.it/boccaccio/) contains only the Elegia di Costanza (f. 60r-v) and De non ducenda uxore (f. 52v) and bibliography up until 1999.



METHOD, HISTORY, AND THEORY IN MATERIAL PHILOLOGY 41

authentic — if perhaps exaggerated — account by Ilaro of Dante’s brief sojourn at the monastery. In most cases, simply put, the letter has been stripped from its important material context of MS Lauren­ziano 29.8. Thus in 2006 my own diplomatic-interpretative edition and commentary on the work sought to re-position the text in its role in the assemblage of two fascicles (9 and 10; ff. 60-71) devoted mostly to Dante and Giovanni del Virgilio.19 In this larger context the letter shows every sign of being authentic but redacted by Boccaccio as he starts to seek in its report essential historical information for his research on Dante. In fact from his early transcription probably in 1339 of Dante’s epistles XI, III, and XII on ff. 62v and 63r and Ilaro’s letter on 67r to Dante’s and Giovanni del Virgilio’s Eclogues (ff. 67v-72v), the two quires constitute historical sources that will serve Boccaccio both in his editions of Dante in the 1350s and 1360s and even in his last unfinished work of commentary on Dante’s Commedia (Esposizioni) in 1372-1373. These quires constitute a trajectory of Boccaccio’s research for future projects that will go well beyond the context of Laurenziano 29.8. Almost since its rediscovery in the mid-eighteenth century, Friar Ilaro’s letter has been the subject of controversy regarding its authenticity.20 The outcome of the debate is not without consequence. If authentic the letter overturns some long-held positions in Dante studies upon which some scholars have based their careers. Often at the heart of the controversy have been 1) the nature of the letter’s Latin and the Latin of the scholars editing or analyzing the letter, 2) a general orientation to Boccaccio as a copyist, and 3) the reputation of scholars making claims for or against authenticity. Until the edition of 2006, not only had the letter always been shorn from its material context in its sole material witness in Boccaccio’s hand, it had become a self-fulfilling critical exercise in editing the letter according to the tenets of an early humanist forgery. When I started work on the letter, the first step was to strip away the humanist accretions that had formed over two hundred years of editing and interpretation. The second step was to reread the letter in the context of its place in the two quires devoted to Boccaccio’s early Dante research. I limit myself here to one particular problem that presented itself in my work on the 2006 edition of the letter and serves, I believe, as an

  See Storey and Arduini (2006).   See Storey (2006) for a review of the debate which began in earnest in the early nineteenth century. 19

20

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example of our third principle: the interpretation of Boccaccio’s use of aliter. As a young copyist Boccaccio would have learned the abbreviation to signal in the margin a variant in his antegraph, especially in a service copy such as his notebooks.21 Such is the case in his own copying of the poetic exchange between Dante and Giovanni del Virgilio, where we find a perfect example of the scribal practice. But line 8 of my edition presents us with a particularly perplexing construction which concludes in the memorable response that would trigger Longfellow’s final lines in his sonnet Dante (‘And, as he asks what there the stranger seeks / Thy voice along the cloister whispers “Peace!”  ’): ‘iter(um) inter[r]ogavi q(ui)d peteret al(iter) q(ue)reret. Tu(n)c ille, circu(m)spectis mecu(m) ­ fra(tr)ib(us), dix(it): Pacem.’ Here aliter is not in the margins. Is this a case of interpolation from the margins into the text? Making just this case would actually have reinforced the notion that Boccaccio was comparing exemplars, or found a variant in the margin of his antegraph, sustaining the idea that Boccaccio copied from an authentic historical document. Moreover, the preponderance in previous editions of the letter to eliminate aliter quereret has always aimed to improve the letter’s Latin. But Boccaccio was by the late 1330s already well on his way to becoming the prolific and yet attentive copyist of a manuscript as highly structured as his first Dante edition of the 1350s (MS Toledo, Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Zelada 104.6). Moreover his other copies in the same quire as the Ilaro letter demonstrate an extraordinary care for what is marginal and what is the text. He would also have known by then the literary uses of aliter (‘al’) including its pleonastic usage.22 Rather than a fair copy of an entire document, we encounter here a work space in which Boccaccio gleans details from a report that would have caught his scholarly eye. The petitio of Ilaro’s letter, which Boccaccio does not copy, on behalf of his monastery might even have interested Boccaccio as an historian, but not as a topic for his Dante studies. Instead Boccaccio’s focus locks on to Dante’s unusual presence at the monastery and the reported exchange between the friar and the famous exiled wanderer. We are here at the origins of the development of Boccaccio’s unique ear for ‘anecdotal narrative’ as a philological tool, a practice we see combined to perfec21   See Boccaccio’s transcription of Giovanni del Virgilio’s eclogue to Dante, Pyeridum vox alma, novis qui cantibus orbem in MS Laurenziano 29.8, f. 67v, in the right margin at l. 28: al(iter) terga, and f. 140r of the Teseida (MS Laurenziano, Acquisti e doni 325). 22   See, for example, Vitruvius, De architectura 5, 1, 4: ‘natura impedierit et aliter coegerit symmetriam commutari’.



METHOD, HISTORY, AND THEORY IN MATERIAL PHILOLOGY 43

tion with both Scholastic and Humanist methods in his final commentary on the first seventeen canti of the Inferno (Esposizioni). Regardless of Ilaro’s accuracy, the letter has exactly the same character as other anecdotes of personal history that Boccaccio collected over years of research and weighs in his subsequent Trattatello and Esposizioni as he considers even the origins of the composition of the Commedia.23 In the context of Boccaccio’s scholarly attention to the anecdotal evidence in Dante’s biography, it is Ilaro’s imploring formula founded on that reiterative aliter in the face of Dante’s circumspection that merits the scholar’s verbatim copy: ‘interrogavi quid peteret aliter quereret’. Even in this Dantean section of the ninth and tenth quires of the codex, Boccaccio’s copy of Ilaro’s letter distinguishes itself from other texts. If his copy on the verso of the same folio of Giovanni del Virgilio’s carmen to Dante represents an editorial site, replete with variants and conjectures (including the al’ terga of l. 28), Boccaccio’s service copy of parts of Ilaro’s letter gives us a different glimpse into even deeper concerns of Boccaccio the biographer and the historian, who collects and weighs the evidence of artifacts and the words of informants and eyewitnesses. Thus while Boccaccio surely redacted the letter to copy those sections that would serve him later for other works, there was no need for him to edit the letter to improve its syntax nor its style. The copyist is not a theoretical construction. Nor is the text in its applications of ink on writing material. My three examples, instead, lead us to a kind of reverse theoretical position toward the editorial reconstruction of a literary work, especially the editing of works — as is usually the case — for which we have only scribal copies rather than rather carefully supervised fair copies intended for ‘publication’. How can we begin a process of evaluating variants based solely on a stemma codicum produced primarily by the mechanical processes of recensio, collatio and eliminatio? My question is not anti-Lachmannian but designed to encourage the expansion of editorial processes to engage the shifting cultural values and mechanisms that the witnesses of a work bring to us in their complex material structures. Such an expansion would, I hope, lead us 23   See, for example, Boccaccio’s Esposizioni 8.3-16 (Padoan (1965), 446–50), in which he offers the anecdotal accounts of Dante’s nephew Andrea di Leone Poggi and the poet’s friend Dino Perini concerning the fate of Dante’s early manuscript of the Commedia, especially Boccaccio’s doubt of both accounts in 8.14 (p. 449): ‘Non so a quale io mi debba più fede prestare; ma qual che di questi due si dica il vero o no, m’occorre nelle parole loro un dubbio [...]’.

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to a greater understanding of the texts we edit as repositories of intricate cultural formulae that inform us about the work, its reception, and its cultural uses. I believe this expansion would lead us away from the illusion of an authentic philology based solely on lexical variants and conjecture and toward the editorial formulation of works in their multiple contexts of production and reproduction, in which at times reception reflects intention. Bibliography Alexander, Jonathan James Graham, Medieval Illuminators and their Methods of Work (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992) Avalle, D’Arco Silvio, ed., Poesie, Peire Vidal, 2 vols (Milan – Naples: Ricciardi, 1960) Avalle, D’Arco Silvio, ‘I canzonieri: definizione di genere e problemi di edizione’, in D’Arco Silvio Avalle, La doppia verità. Fenomenologia ecdotica e lingua letteraria del medioevo romanzo (Florence: Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2002), pp. 155-73 Avalle, D’Arco Silvio, I manoscritti della letteratura in lingua d’oc, ed. Lino Leonardi (Turin: Einaudi, 1993) Avalle, D’Arco Silvio, ‘La filologia romanza e i codici’, in D’Arco Silvio Avalle, ed., La doppia verità. Fenomenologia ecdotica e lingua lette­ raria del medioevo romanzo (Florence: Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2002), pp. 205-11 Bologna, Corrado, Tradizione e fortuna dei classici italiani, 2d print., vol. 1 (Turin: Einaudi,1994) Boschi Rotiroti, Maria, Codicologia trecentesca della ‘Commedia’ (Rome: Viella, 2004) Brugnolo, Furio, ‘Libro d’autore e forma-canzoniere: Implicazioni grafico-visive nell’orginale dei Rerum vulgarium fragmenta’, in Gino Belloni et al., eds., Rerum vulgarium fragmenta. Codice Vat. Lat. 3195. Commentario all’edizione in fac-simile (Rome – Padua: Antenore, 2004), pp. 105-29 Contini, Gianfranco, Poeti del Duecento, 2 vols (Milan – Naples: Ricciardi, 1960) Del Puppo, Dario, ‘Remaking Petrarch’s ‘Canzoniere’ in the Fifteenth Century’, Medioevo letterario d’Italia, 1 (2004), 115-39 Driscoll, Matthew James, ‘The Words on the Page. Thoughts on Philology Old and New’, in Quinn and Emily Lethbridge, eds., Creating



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the medieval saga: Versions, variability, and editorial interpretations of Old Norse saga literature (Odense: Syddansk Universitetsvorlag, 2010), pp. 87-104 [accessed May 2011] Edwards, A. S. G., ‘W. W. Greg and Medieval English Literature’, Textual Cultures: Texts, Contexts and Interpretation, 4.2 (2009), 54-62 Fränkel, Hermann Ferdinand, Einleitung zur kritischen Ausgabe der ‘Argonautika’ des Apollonios (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1964) Fraticelli, Pietro Iacopo, Il canzoniere di Dante Alighieri, Opere minori di Dante Alighieri, vol. 1 (Florence: Allegrini e Mazzoni, 1861) Gorni, Guglielmo, ‘Material Philology, Conjectural Philology, Philology without Adjectives’, in Teodolinda Barolini and H. Wayne Storey, eds., Dante for the New Millennium (New York: Fordham University Press, 2003), pp. 44-55 Guida, Saverio, ‘Ricerche sull’attività biografica di Uc de Sant Circ a Treviso’ in M. L. Meneghetti and F. Zambon, eds., Il Medioevo nella Marca: trovatori, giullari, letterati a Treviso nei secoli xiii e xiv (Treviso: Premio Commisso, 1991), pp. 91-114 Marchesini, Umberto, ‘I Danti “del Cento”  ’, Bullettino della Società Dantesca Italiana, 2-3 (1890a), 21-42 Marchesini, Umberto, ‘Ancora dei Danti “del Cento”  ’, Bullettino della Società Dantesca Italiana, 4 (1890b), 19-26 Meneghetti, Maria Luisa, ‘Uc de Saint Circ tra filologia e divulgazione’, in M. L. Meneghetti and F. Zambon, eds., Il Medioevo nella Marca: trovatori, giullari, letterati a Treviso nei secoli xiii e xiv (Treviso: Premio Commisso, 1991), pp. 115-28 Mordenti, Raul, ‘Problemi e prospettive di un’edizione ipertestuale dello zibaldone laurenziano’, in M. Picone and C. Cazalé Bérard, eds., Gli Zibaldoni di Boccaccio. Memoria, scrittura, riscrittura (Florence: F. Cesati, 1998), pp. 361–77 Noto, Giuseppe, Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana P (plut. 41.42), “Intavulare”. Tavole di canzonieri romanzi, vol. 1, part 4 (Canzonieri provenzali), ed. A. Ferrari (Modena: Mucchi, 2003) Padoan, Giorgio, ed., Esposizioni sopra la Comedia di Dante. vol. 1 (Milan: Mondadori, 1965) Pasquali, Giorgio, Storia della tradizione e critica del testo (Florence: Le Monnier, 1971) Petrucci, Armando, L’età medievale, Letteratura italiana. Storia e geo­­ gra­fia part 1, vol. 7, ed. A. Asor Rosa (Turin: Einaudi, 1987)

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Petrucci, Armando, Writers and Readers in Medieval Italy, trans. C. M. Radding (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995) Pomaro, Gabriella, ‘Codicologia dantesca 1. L’officina di Vat.’, Studi danteschi, 58 (1986), 343-74 Pomaro, Gabriella, Frammenti di un discorso dantesco (Modena: Mucchi, 1994a) Pomaro, Gabriella, ‘I testi e il testo’, in Vincenzo Placella and Sebastiano Martelli, eds., I moderni ausili all’Ecdotica (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 1994), pp. 193-214 Pomaro, Gabriella, ‘I copisti e il testo. Quattro esempi dalla Biblioteca Riccardiana’, in R. Abardo, ed., La Società Dantesca Italiana 18881988. Atti del Convegno internazionale, Firenze, 24-26 settembre 1988 (Milan – Naples: Ricciardi, 1995), pp. 497-537 Pomaro, Gabriella, ‘Ricerche d’archivio per il ‘copista di Parm’ e la mano principale del Cento (in margine ai ‘Frammenti di un discorso dantesco’)’, in Paolo Trovato, ed., Nuove prospettive sulla tradizione della ‘Commedia’. Una guida filologico-linguistica al poema dantesco (Florence: F. Cesati, 2007), pp. 243-79 Rigoli, Luigi, Saggio di rime di diversi buoni autori che fiorirono dal xiv fino al xviii secolo (Florence: Ronchi, 1825) Savino, Giancarlo, ‘L’autografo virtuale della Commedia’, in Per correr miglior acque: Bilanci a prospettive degli studi danteschi alle soglie del nuovo millennio. Atti del Convegno internazionale di VeronaRavenna, 25-29 ottobre 1999 (Rome: Salerno Editrice, 2001), pp. 1099-1110 Storey, H. Wayne, Transcription and Visual Poetics in the Early Italian Lyric (New York: Garland, 1993) Storey, H. Wayne, ‘All’interno della poetica grafico-visiva di Petrarca’, in Gino Belloni et al., eds., Rerum vulgarium fragmenta. Codice Vat. Lat. 3195. Commentario all’edizione in fac-simile (Rome  –  Padua: Antenore, 2004), pp. 131-71 Storey, H. Wayne, ‘Cultural Crisis and Material Innovation: the Italian Manuscript in the XIVth Century’, Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire, 83 (2005), 869-86 Storey, H. Wayne, ‘Il codice Pierpont Morgan M. 502 e i suoi rapporti con lo scrittoio padovano di Petrarca’, in Furio Brugnolo and Zeno Lorenzo Verlato, eds., La cultura volgare padovana nell’età del Petrarca, (Padua: Poligrafo, 2006a), pp. 487-504



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Storey, H. Wayne, ‘Contesti e culture testuali della lettera di Frate Ilaro’, Dante Studies, 124 (2006b), pp. 57-76 Storey, H. Wayne, ‘Interpretative Mechanisms in the Textual Cultures of Scholarly Editing’, Textual Cultures: Texts, Contexts, Interpretation, 4.1 (2006), 129-47 Storey, H. Wayne and Arduini, Beatrice, ‘Edizione diplomatico-interpretativa della lettera di frate Ilaro’, Dante Studies, 124 (2006), 77–89 Vandelli, Giuseppe, ‘Il più antico testo critico della Divina Commedia’, Studi danteschi, 5 (1922), 41-98 Zamponi, Stefano, Pantarotto, Martina and Tomiello, Antonella, ‘Stratigrafia dello Zibaldone e della Miscellanea Laurenziani’, in M. Picone and C. Cazalé Bérard, eds., Gli Zibaldoni di Boccaccio. Memoria, scrittura, riscrittura (Florence: F. Cesati, 1998), pp. 181-258 Indiana University, Bloomington Department of French and Italian [email protected]

Christoph Pieper IN SEARCH OF THE MARGINAL AUTHOR. THE WORKING COPY OF BASINIO OF PARMA’S HESPERIS* Recently, Basinio of Parma (or Basinio Basini, as one finds alternatively) has received considerable research interest.1 Obviously, he is considered an interesting example of the phenomenon of poeti cortigiani who wrote their poetry in direct contact with and sometimes even on the instruction of the ruler whom they served.2 Basinio actually had two such literary patrons: after some years at the court of Lionello d’Este in Ferrara, he came to Rimini – in 1449 or early 1450 – on the invitation of Sigismondo Malatesta. The ruler of Rimini was famous for his interest in architecture and literature, and he stimulated a rather far-reaching revival of classical culture. This interest, however, was primarily due to political intentions; art and literature should help to shape his public figure as a ruler of Augustan proportions.3 Therefore, apart from the great amount of outstanding artists at his court, Sigismondo also gathered an impressive group of humanists around him that should perpetuate his glory through literature. It is obvious that when Basinio of Parma entered the service of Sigismondo Malatesta, he found himself within a lively group of humanist writers that were on the one hand working closely together (possibly on order from above) in their project to extol the deeds of Sigismondo, but that on the other hand were also rivalling for the favour of the ruler. Obviously, Basinio quickly found his way. One reason for his success was probably that he got along well with Roberto Valturio, ex-professor at the Studio of Bologna, historiographer, author of a treatise entitled De re militari and one of the closest counsellors of the Malatesta.4 * I thank Gary Vos for his help with the English and for his critical comments. I am very grateful to the Biblioteca Gambalunga in Rimini for granting me the permission to publish the extracts of the autograph manuscript of Basinio. 1   Major recent contributions are Coppini (1996), (2003) and (2009); Berger (2002); Kokole (2004); Frioli (2006); Pieper (2006) and (2012). Cf. Pieper (2006), 91-2, n. 2 and n. 3 for an overview of earlier studies. 2   Cf. the convincing recent study of literary patronage in the Italian Quattrocento (in the case of Giannantonio Campano) by De Beer (2013). 3   Cf. Ettlinger (1988) as the most detailed study for the representation of Sigismondo in art and architecture. Pieper (2012) deals with the ideological process of image-shaping through Latin poetry at the court of the Malatesta. 4   Rossi (1949), 241 attributes to him the role of Maecenas (‘Mecenate del novello

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Basinio’s major contributions to the corpus of literature written for Sigismondo Malatesta are, firstly, the three books of the Liber Isottaeus, a creative re-writing of the model offered by Ovid’s Heroides.5 Furthermore, Basinio wrote two works that already in their titles position themselves next to ancient models, the Astronomica (in literary aemulatio with Manilius’ work of the same title and even more with Aratus’ Phaenomena) and the (fragmentary) Argonautica (in response to Apollonius of Rhodes and Valerius Flaccus). Finally, we have the Hesperis, a panegyrical epic in 13 books on Sigismondo Malatesta and his warfare against Alfonso of Aragón, the ruler of Naples and Sicily.6 Let me now turn to the topic of this paper, the Hesperis. The work seems to lack final revision – at least, if we may believe the poet’s last will which is quoted in the preface of the eighteenth-century edition of the Hesperis by Lorenzo Drudi. Basinio asks his lord Sigismondo to burn the manuscript rather than to allow it to be finalized by mediocre poetasters: Item reliquit jure Legati Ex[cellentissim]o D[omi]no suo D[omi]no Sigismondo pandulfo de malatestis Hesperida opus nondum ultime lime impositum quod est maximum omnium sui bonorum hac lege ne corigi [sic] patiatur. si vero ipse Dominus corigi aut emendari voluerit per alu[m]nos et indoctos viros qui omnes hodie viventes in hac arte parum valent jubeat* omnino aut flammis comburi aut profluentiis dissipari. melius enim hoc opus sic se habet quam si a pluribus emendetur. (Drudi (1794) vol. 1, xiv.)7 * Conieci, jubet Drudi Similarly, he lawfully left to his most gracious Lord Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta the Hesperis, a work that had not yet seen the last polishing, (but) Augusto’) at the court of Rimini. The best introduction to his life is Massera (2002) who informs us on p. 221 that from 1446 onwards Roberto was admitted to the ‘consiglio privato’ of Malatesta. 5   Cf. Coppini (2009), 302 where she mentions the striking reception of Ovid’s Heroides at the court of Rimini. 6   While all works of Basinio written in Rimini still lack a critical edition, only the relatively early epyllion Meleagris, composed still in praise of Lionello d’Este, has found a modern critical editor, Andreas Berger. For all the other texts, we are still dependent on older material: For the Astronomica, Hesperis and Argonautica, one must go back to the 18th century edition by Drudi (1794). For the Liber Isottaeus, some earlier love elegies and other carmina, we have Ferri (1925). Both editions do not fulfill the standards of a modern critical edition. The Diosymposeos Liber has been edited uncritically (on the base of the 16th century editio princeps) by Coppini (2003). 7   A further argument for (even stronger) imperfection is that Basinio in the verses in which he summarizes the content of the Hesperis (f. 2r) also dedicates one verse to a fourteenth book which obviously never was written or possibly never was part of the poet’s final plans, cf. Campana (1965), 93.



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which is the greatest of all his goods. He did so under the condition that Sigismondo should not allow any corrections. If, however, the Lord himself would want it to be corrected by his pupils and other unlearned men who live today and are all not very good in the art of poetry, then he should order that it must be burned completely by flames or destroyed by watery streams. Thus the work is better off than if it is emendated by many.

Of course, all this is meant to be reminiscent of Virgil asking Augustus to burn the Aeneid.8 But Basinio does even more. In his will, he also articulates the wish to be buried in the church of S. Francesco in Rimini and that his lord Sigismondo should build a tomb for him.9 Jessie Poesch, in a short research note of 1962, has argued that Basinio imitates still another famous relationship of poet and politician: the one of Ennius and Scipio Africanus.10 I have mentioned this last will as it shows very impressively Basinio’s self-confidence; he dared to enter in competition with even the biggest names in the history of Latin epic. One can find the same attitude in Basinio’s literary writings as well. In the Liber Isottaeus, for example, Basinio fights for his own role at the court through a work of poetry that was probably commissioned by Sigismondo, namely to write a corpus of elegiac letters exchanged between the Malatesta and his concubine, the still underage Isotta degli Atti. Basinio adds a third correspondent, an 8   Cf. Poesch (1962), 117. Additionally, Gary Vos reminds me of an intertextual link with Ovid’s Tristia in which he utters his wish to burn the Metamorphoses (cf. Trist. 1,7,29-30: ‘ablatum mediis o p u s est incudibus illud / defuit et coeptis u l t i m a l i m a meis’.) 9   Drudi (1794) vol. 1, xiii: ‘In primis Animam suam recomitens omnipotenti Deo sueque gloriose Matri Virgini Marie apud Ecclesiam S[an]cti Francesci de Arimeno rogans Magnificum D[omi]num N[ost]rum Sigismundum ut debeat ac velit et dignetur facere unum Sepulcrum in quo sint hec omnia vid[elicet]: Parma mihi patria est, sunt sydera carmen et arma.’ (‘Firstly, he recommended his soul to the almighty God and his glorious mother, the Virgin Mary; he asked our magnificent Lord Sigismondo that he should have the duty and should want and grant to build one tomb at the church of S. Francesco in Rimini on which all these words should be written: Parma is my fatherland, my poetry is [about] stars and weapons.’) The verse inscription imitates Ovid, Trist. 4,10: ‘Sulmo mihi patria est’, but surely, as Campana (1965) 94 suggests, also the famous Vergilian epitaph quoted by Donatus in his Vita Vergilii, esp. the part ‘cecini pascua rura duces’. – Sigismondo indeed honoured Basinio by burying him in the Tempio Malatestiano in a sarcophagus, but instead of the verse inscription, he made Roberto Valturio compose a prose epitaph quoted by Campana (1965), 94: ‘Basinii Parmensis poetae D(omini)* Sigismundi Pandulfi Mal(atestae) Pandulfi f(ilii) tempestate vita functi condita hic sunt ossa.’ *Campana fills in Divi, which seems less plausible to me. (‘Here lie the buried bones of the poet Basinio of Parma who died during the era of the Lord Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta, son of Pandolfo.’) 10   Poesch (1962), 116 gives the main ancient sources for the story (Livy, Pliny the Elder and – for the epitaph – Cicero’s Tusculanae Disputationes).

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unnamed poeta (who nevertheless should be seen as a literary representation of the author himself). Throughout the three books this poet-figure gains more and more importance and finally is shaped as the closest, if not the only counsellor of Sigismondo.11 In the case of the Liber Isottaeus, such an interpretation is merely based on intertextual and intratextual evidence. For the Hesperis, however, things are different. We possess an autograph manuscript of the opus maximum of Basinio’s commitments to Sigismondo which shows with material evidence that it was indeed Basinio’s long-lasting project to shape his literary competence and to negotiate his importance for the courtly life in Rimini. The manuscript is the author’s working copy of his Hesperis and is kept today in the Biblioteca Civica Gambalunga in Rimini with the shelf-mark Sc-Ms. 34. It is written on paper, and the thirteen books of the Hesperis span ff. 2r-151v. Furthermore, it contains the unfinished Argonautica (on ff. 154v-208v). In the following, I want to examine the codex not so much for its value in reconstructing the text for a critical edition (it is of course most valuable for it). Instead, I propose to look at the author at work and to interpret this as one role within Basinio’s public self-representation at the court of Rimini. It is obvious that by saying this I do not exactly follow the ‘true doctrine’ of what is called ‘New Philology’. When Bernard Cerquiglini in 1989 published his Éloge de la variante, he saw himself in the footsteps of Michel Foucault to whom he also dedicated his essay. The most radical difference between traditional philology and new philology seems to be the question which role we want to attribute to the author of a literary text – or whether we want to give him any role at all. According to Cerquiglini’s rather polemical vision, an old-fashioned text-critic (or as he calls him, Monsieur Procuste, philologue)12 uses manuscript evidence to get back as closely as possible to the author’s original (though he knows that he will never reach it) and can therefore accept a reading of a certain manuscript/ print because it overlaps with the typical style of the author A, or he can exclude a variant reading because it does not fit the metrical pattern of author B. The new philologist by contrast knows that everything we as readers can get from an author is the ‘implied author’ who is no absolute entity but who is inscribed in the text and is as fictitious as the plot.13   Cf. for this interpretation: Pieper (2006), esp. pp. 105-109.   Cerquiglini (1989), 31. 13   The term was coined by Booth (1987); cf. e.g. p. 74-5: ‘The “implied author” chooses, consciously or unconsciously, what we read; we infer him as an ideal, literary, created 11

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Therefore the interest switches towards the users, the only category in literature we can get close to. The new philologist does not aim at eliminating variant readings in the textual transmission, but embraces them as traces of a specific user-context.14 In this view, every single manuscript is part of a cultural history, and the aim of the philologist is to make accessible the complete history of reception for later users of the text. Whatever the ‘real’ author (if he exists within the system of literature at all) wanted to write or actually wrote, is of no interest as long as it cannot be traced in manuscript form. How, then, do I dare to search for the author at work? I will re-introduce the concept of ‘the author’ into my paper via the ideas developed by the critical movement referred to as ‘the poetics of culture’ or ‘New Historicism’. Stephen Greenblatt, whose studies have been extremely influential for the development of the theoretical framework of this ‘New Historicism’ (even if he himself refuses to see himself as part of a theoretical school), on the one hand is deeply influenced by structuralist ideas of textual (semiotic) autonomy; nevertheless, he re-introduces the concept of the ‘author’ not as the maker of a text, but as the agent of collective processes of negotiation. In the following quote, he illustrates this through the analogy with Renaissance rulers: In literary criticism Renaissance artists function like Renaissance ­monarchs: at some level we know perfectly well that the power of the prince is largely a collective invention, the symbolic embodiment of the desire, pleasure, and violence of thousands of subjects, the instrumental expression of complex networks of dependency and fear, the agent rather than the maker of the social will. Yet we can scarcely write of prince or poet without accepting the fiction that the power directly emanates from him and that society draws upon this power. (Greenblatt (1988), 4)15

In short, the author is not conceivable outside the actual society and its discourses that attribute to him (as a representative of literature in general) his public function and position. But once he has gained an influential position in society, he can shape public discourse through his authoritative use of language. In other words (again quoting Greenblatt): version of the real man; he is the sum of his own choices.’ 14   Cf. Cerquiglini (1989), 57: ‘Qu’une main fut première, parfois, sans doute, importe moins que cette incessante récriture d’une œuvre qui appartient à celui qui, de nouveau, la dispose et lui donne forme.’ 15   A useful reader (with an informative introduction on the phenomenon of ‘New Historicism’) is the one by Bassler (2001).

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Ill. 1: Rimini, Biblioteca Civica Gambalunga, Sc-Ms. 34, f. 5v-6r

‘Literature functions within this system in three interlocking ways: as a manifestation of the concrete behavior of its particular author, as itself the expression of the codes by which the behaviour is shaped, and as a reflection upon these codes.’16 For the present study, Greenblatt’s concept of an author negotiating with his surrounding is especially appealing because during this process, the author also constantly shapes his own image (the famous ‘self-fashioning’) and thus creates his own historicity – according to Louis Montrose’s famous formula of the ‘historicity of texts’ and the ‘textuality of history’.17   Greenblatt (1980), 4.   Montrose (1989), 20 (emphasis is by Montrose): ‘By the historicity of texts, I mean to suggest the cultural specificity, the social embedment, of all modes of writing […]. By the textuality of history, I mean to suggest, firstly, that we can have no access to a full and authentic past, a lived material existence, unmediated by the surviving textual traces of the society in question […]; and secondly, that those textual traces are themselves subject to subsequent textual mediations when they are constructed as the ‘documents’ upon which historians ground their own texts, called “histories”.’ 16 17



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Ill. 2: Rimini, Biblioteca Civica Gambalunga, Sc-Ms. 34, f. 2v-3r

Back to the codex. Its lay-out has been identified by Donatella Frioli as typical for all of Basinio’s autographs (ill. 1).18 The pages are organized carefully with almost constantly 25 lines per page, the text tending towards a square shape (ca. 16x13 cm) instead of the more rectangular shape of the leaf (ca. 30x21 cm). This results in a big free space under the main text which can be filled with additions or corrections, if necessary. And this necessity arises often enough. The margin obviously is a space in which the author Basinio likes to leave his marks.19 In the following, I will concentrate on this marginal Basinio. I will present three different types of marginalia: textual variants that show the (natural) mouvance of the text in the right hand of its author; non-verbal additions that show the author as the first reader of his own text; and finally paratextual material in the form of Greek verses. The very first verses of the Hesperis are a fine example of Basinio’s work in progress. As almost any humanistic epic poet, Basinio engages with Vergil’s opening of the Aeneid. Initially, the first two lines read as follows, as can be seen in ill. 2 in the right column of the text: Martis anhela feri fida confecta iuventa / Calliope dic bella viri virtute potentis (‘Speak, Calliope, of the panting war of wild Mars, brought to an end by the virtue of the powerful man, to whom the youth was faithful.’) No doubt, the verses sound truly epic; especially the invocation of the Muse Calliope is in accordance with convention. But the syntax of the first line is rather   Cf. Frioli (2006), 259.   Marginalia have attracted great interest in recent research on medieval and early modern book-history. Two relatively recent volumes are Fera et al. (2002) and Larratt Keefer et al. (2007). A courageous attempt at synthesis is Tura (2005). 18

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complicated, and what is more – no single word of this first line echoes Vergil directly. This might have been the reason for Basinio to rewrite the beginning and to link it closer to the Aeneid. In the second version, the proem introduces two concepts closely related to each other, arma and triumphus, just as Vergil had done in his first line (arma and vir).20 More importantly still, the traditional epic marker arma now appears as the third word of the text. In the second line, Basinio has changed the specific Muse Calliope to the generalized Musa, as Vergil has called his inspiring deity in Aeneid 1, 8 (Musa, mihi causas memora…). Corrections which follow the same pattern can be found abundantly. Let me just give one more example: in Hesperis 1, 52, Jupiter sends Mercury down to earth to give Sigismondo the divine order for the war against the king of Naples (whom the text constantly describes as a foreign, i.e. Spanish, ruler who attacks pan-Italian territory). In the first version, Jupiter asks Sigismondo to call the Italian people to arms and conquer the camp of Alfonso: candida magnanimi capiet tentoria regis (‘he shall conquer the white tents of the magnanimous king’). The corrected version instead specifies that Sigismondo must keep Alfonso far from the coast of Italy – Italiae et patriis Alphonsum avertat ab oris. Firstly, Basinio sharpened the constellation of his main characters – Alfonso is no magnanimus vir any longer, because this adjective is typically attributed to Sigismondo, as for example in Hesperis 1, 2. Secondly, the war is explicitly shaped as an affair of national interest and not as a civil war inside the borders of Italy. Finally, by quoting two key words of Vergil’s proem (ab oris and Italia), Jupiter’s order is not just any call for war. Instead, it is inserted into a framework that allows Sigismondo to act as an alter Aeneas and thus legitimizes his deeds through the highest possible authority that can be imagined in the context of Renaissance literature. As I said before, one could find numerous examples of such corrections which help Basinio to evoke more evidently the Vergilian pre-text and sanction not only the described action, but also his own poetic enterprise. This kind of textual mouvance, or better, development in the manuscript is common in humanistic philology which regularly deals with authorial variants. Actually, Basinio will be quite an easy case for future editors, as he is extremely well structured when changing or extending his own

20   Verg. Aen. 1, 1-3: Arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris / Italiam fato profugus Lavinaque venit / litora. (‘I sing of weapons and the man who first came from the coast of Troy to Italy, a refugee by fate, and to the shores of Lavinium.’)



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Ill. 3: Rimini, Biblioteca Civica Gambalunga, Sc-Ms. 34, f. 121v

Ill. 4: Rimini, Biblioteca Civica Gambalunga, Sc-Ms. 34, f. 68r

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text (even if he is by no means an easy author to read). As soon as the additions extend a single verse (the longest one in the manuscript is 8 verses in a row), they are normally inserted at the bottom of the page (ill. 3) and marked with small letters that refer to the passage in the text where they have to be added. Obviously, the author is keen on preventing that later copying might confuse the right order of the verses. Similarly clear instructions can be found when Basinio is deleting a longer passage which he had written initially. In the specific case of ill. 4, the passage to be cancelled is longer than two pages. To make sure that he really aims at such a radical obliteration, Basinio at the beginning of the deletion adds a marginal note saying: ‘vacant omnia haec usque ad finale signum’ (‘all this should be left out until the final sign’). No copyist should be able to miss the intended expunction. With this last example, we are confronted with quite a substantial deviation from Cerquiglini’s concept that ‘l’œuvre littéraire (au Moyen Age) est une variable.’21 One should remember that his study aims at the variance of vernacular medieval texts. In them, the variant appears as soon as the text is read and spread. Basinio, on the other hand – and I think that he is a typical representative of humanist authors writing Latin – also accepts or even appreciates the movable text, but only as long as it is still in his hands, i.e. those of the author. As soon as the text is distributed among others for reception and copying, he wants to stabilize it in order to protect it from deformation. Donatella Frioli speaks of ‘la tendenza a contenere al massimo il novero delle abbreviazioni, forse suggerita dalla volontà di evitare potenziali incomprensioni nei copisti.’22 In my opinion, one important reason for this authorial control over textual variants in Latin poetry of the Quattrocento (in opposite to the vernacular medieval tradition) is the humanist’s attitude towards the Latin language as fundament of their poetics of imitatio. We only have to think of the fervent polemics of major humanists about the style of their colleagues, the most prominent example of which is probably the one between Poggio Bracciolini and Lorenzo Valla in 1452/53. Valla, for example, uses the complete third book of his Antidotum primum to scrupulously list all linguistic howlers committed by Poggio Bracciolini in his former Oratio prima. As Ari Wesseling rightly observes, these critical remarks were not only meant to be linguistic comments; instead, they were used by Valla to 21

  Cerquiglini (1989), 57.   Frioli (2006), 252.

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destroy the reputation of the opponent.23 In such an intellectual climate, it is hardly surprising if humanists try to avoid grammatical or stylistic errors which could creep into their texts without themselves being the origin of them. A first conclusion therefore might be that in contrast to the vernacular tradition, Latin authors of the Quattrocento normally aimed at one authorised text which they needed for fashioning themselves as competent users of Latin, the language that according to Lorenzo Valla’s Elegantie served as a kind of ‘passport’ of the res publica litteraria.24 For us philologists, this means that an (old-fashioned) critical edition indeed seems to be the adequate way of presenting a Latin text written by a Renaissance humanist. But this is not the whole story. In Basinio’s autograph one finds elements which would not be represented adequately in a critical edition and which still have to do with the self-fashioning of the author. Herewith, I turn to my second point, the non-verbal features of the manuscript. On some folio-pages, one encounters a wriggly marginal line that marks a certain amount of verses. It seems to be a typical reader’s mark used to denote a passage of special interest or importance, but it is obvious that the mark is made by Basinio himself. To put it a bit more formally: he does not only appear as the author in the manuscript, but also as the first interpreting recipient of his text.25 I would even argue that he consciously plays the role of a reader to trigger extra attention to the passages he marks. In the role of a reader, he wants to enforce his authorial control over the reception of his own work (one could speak of a variation on the well-known readers’ guidance). And this guidance leads the reader not only to some of the most important scenes of the narration, but also to the implied author. 23   Cf. Wesseling (1978), 29 in the very concise introduction of his edition (emphasis is mine): ‘L’invettiva fu dunque tutt’altro che un triviale libello polemico. Il proposito dell’influente segretario fu di compromettere il rivale allo scopo di eliminarlo.’ Cf. also Valla’s own words at the beginning of the third book of the Antidotum primum (§1, p. 182 ed. Wesseling, emphasis is again mine): ‘Superest sextum quod in nostra partitione promisimus, ut de superato captoque hoste triumphemus’. (‘There is left a sixth point which I promised to tackle in the division of my treatise, namely to crow about the defeated and captured enemy.’) 24   For the formulation cf. Grafton (2009), 20. Ch. 1 (on pp. 9-34 entitled ‘A sketch map of a lost continent’) is dedicated to the ‘republic of letters’ in general. For the program of Valla’s famous proem to the first book of the Elegantie, cf. De Caprio (1984), Fisher (1993) and above all the ground-breaking study of Regoliosi (1993). 25   Cf. Tura (2005), 305 who proposes a general distinction between gloses de confection (which are collocated in the process of composition) and marginalia de lecture (situated, as the name suggests, on the reader’s level). On p. 306 he argues that the first type of marginalia is more often, but not always connected with the author, whereas the second type can also (less often) be written by the author himself.

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In fact, several passages which are highlighted in the described way are connected with the author-figure or can be read on a poetological level. I will give one example for each case. During the battles described at the beginning of the Hesperis, Sigismondo is especially acclaimed by the youth of Italy. With collective enthusiasm they all want to fight together with and for him. Basinio grasps the opportunity for an epic catalogue in which he sums up the major cities that send troops to Malatesta. Parma, the homeland of Basinio’s family,26 is also mentioned in an encomiastic way (Hesperis 4, 196-7, f. 43r):27 Parma virum frugumque potens, cui cedat honorem / caetera pars Italae claris regionis in armis. (‘Parma, mighty with men and fruits of the field, to whom the rest of the Italian region in shining armour yields honours.’) The line in margine marking these verses should obviously prevent readers from overlooking the passage that attributes to the author’s native region a pivotal position in Italy. A second case: in the sixth book, Sigismondo’s triumph in Florence is the centre of attention. During the ceremony he is granted a laurel crown by the citizens. At this very moment Basinio interrupts his narration for a historical excursus (Hesperis 6, 50-91) in which the narrator informs his readers that already in antiquity the laurel was offered to military leaders. The myths of Hercules and Apollo (after having slain the Python) are referred to as the first examples for attributing a laurel crown to heroes. Apollo in his traditional double role of warrior and protector of artists serves a transition to a new aspect (Hesperis 6, 81-86, f. 65r): Ex illo arcitenens pro tanto Phoebus honore perpetuam laurum iuvenili in vertice gestat, vatibus ac meritis ducibus quae praemia quondam una fuisse ferunt: facundae his gratia linguae, illis grande dabant quod praelia ferrea nomen. Ergo utrique pari pariter se fronde colebant. ‘Therefore, as a sign of such a great honour, the bow-carrying Phoebus wears the eternal laurel on his youthful head – an award that once (as the saying goes) belonged to both poets and military leaders who deserved it. The poets got it out of gratitude for their eloquent tongue, the leaders, because harsh battles gave them a great name. Thus both groups adorned themselves in the same way with leaves’. 26   He actually was born in Tizzano, today Tizzano Val Parma, as Campana (1965) 89 informs us. The former castle is at ca. 40 km SW of the city of Parma. 27   The passage is reminiscent of Vergil’s laudes Italiae, esp. Georg. 2, 173-176, as Gary Vos reminds me.



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Ill. 5: Rimini, Biblioteca Civica Gambalunga, Sc-Ms. 34, f. 65r

As one can see in ill. 5, from the third verse of the quote which prominently starts with the elevated term for sublime poets, vates, Basinio has added his squiggly line in margine. Obviously, this final part of the excursus was of special interest for him. It suggests that the idea expressed here is of crucial importance for his self-fashioning. I have tried to show elsewhere that in the Hesperis we find the tendency to combine the functions of statesman and court poet to an indissoluble entity.28 The combination brings both parties everlasting glory, as Basinio explicitly affirms when concluding his excursus (Hesperis 6, 91, f. 65r): fama ducum ac vatum viret indelebile nomen. (‘The reputation of military leaders and poets, a name that cannot be destroyed, is flourishing forever.’) Of course, for such a claim a really good poet is needed, and Basinio was surely not afraid of casting himself as such a poet, worthy of being called a true emulator of antiquity. A third category of marginal markers added by Basinio to his own text seems to hint in this direction, namely when the narrative expli28   Cf. Pieper (2012), 36-7. As I mentioned before, in his Liber Isottaeus, Basinio argues for a similarly close connection between prince and poet, cf. Pieper (2006), see above n. 11.

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citly compares Sigismondo’s war with great wars described in ancient literature, most prominently the one at Troy29 – a common strategy applied by early modern authors to connect not only the content, but especially the poet with ancient models, in this case Homer. Before I will turn to another of Basinio’s ways of inserting his own text into a specifically Homeric framework, there is still one quite peculiar case of a graphical addition to the text that I would like to mention. At the end of the fourth book, Sigismondo meets pope Eugene IV in Rome in order to confer about the dangerous political situation. After they have finished their conversation, Sigismondo visits Rome, and Basinio uses the short passage for reflections on the vanity of all human things, thoughts that are triggered by the ruins of the eternal city. The passage is of crucial importance to Basinio’s argument that every good ruler needs a poet as intellectual guide and counsellor. Just as Achilles is only known due to the work of Homer, but not through any marble statue, so Sigismondo understands that he will need a vates to celebrate his deeds (Hesperis 4, 583-4, f. 51r): Felix ille quidem magnum cui saecula vatem / dant sua, qui laudes cernit sua facta futuras. (‘That man is happy to whom his time gives a great poet to recognize his deeds as the material for future praise.’) It is not surprising that these lines and their context are also highlighted with the well-known marginal line. But there is more. Shortly after the quoted passage, at the very end of book IV, after Sigismondo has visited the ancient ruins, his vates comes back to his mind again. This time, however, Basinio does not tell us explicitly. Instead, he presents us a Sigismondo who is deeply concerned with astronomical questions, with the position of certain stellar constellations and the topography of the whole earth (Hesperis 4, 600-610). Why would Sigismondo do so? My suggestion is: because he has read Basinio who, as we know, simultaneously with his Hesperis also worked on his Astronomica.30 By referring 29   One example can be found in book II in which Alfonso’s siege of Populonia (Piombino) is the major theme. At a certain moment, Alfonso attacks the city so heavily that no parallel in antiquity suffices to describe the battle (Hesperis 2, 367-72, f. 25r): neither the Greeks at Troy, not the Romans or Carthaginians have ever fought similarly. This passage is also highlighted by Basinio with the typical marginal mark. 30   Campana (1965), 92 informs us that the work was finished in 1455. In its proem, Basinio praises Sigismondo as the ideal addressee for the poem (Astronomica 1, 11-13), quoted after Drudi (1794), 295: Nec cuiquam potui, tibi quam felicius astra / dicere qui rerum causas, qui sidera primus / cunctorum et vasti scrutaris semina mundi. (‘I could not talk about stars to someone else more fittingly than to you who first among all examines the ontological essence of things, the stars and the origin of the enormous universe.’) We find exactly this Sigismondo in the fourth book of the Hesperis.



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indirectly to this work, Basinio claims that Sigismondo has learned from him and even remembers the lessons in important moments of his life. But again the text is not the only evidence. Exactly at this point on folio 51v, Basinio adds a little sketch of the cosmos divided into five zones (ill. 6). Similar illustrations are quite common in medieval manuscripts, among others those of Macrobius’ commentary on Cicero’s Somnium Scipio­ nis.31 I doubt that modern editors would try to reproduce the little image, but in my opinion it can help us to understand Basinio’s poetic ideal. By inserting the drawing, he links his epic text with his own didactic poetry and with philosophical treatises in general. Obviously, Basinio wanted to show philosophical erudition and shape himself as a worthy representative of a poetry based on ἐγκύκλιος παιδεία. And as such a learned poet, he could hope to be a central part of Sigismondo’s court-life.

Ill. 6: Rimini, Biblioteca Civica Gambalunga, Sc-Ms. 34, f. 51v   A nice reproduction can be seen in Edson et al. (2005), 46, ill. 32.

31

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One crucial question, however, needs to be asked: what is the public Basinio shaped his own public figure for? Is a working copy of one’s own text not first and foremost a very private thing, just one of the few documents which are not meant to be part of public representation? And even if this were not the case: in manuscript culture, there is no such thing as one authorized and therefore uniform edition which can be disseminated. How many people would become acquainted with Basinio’s manuscript? Indeed, the manuscript will not have been accessible to many people. Still, I am quite positive that Basinio might have shown his work in progress to his fellow humanists at the court of Sigismondo – and to Sigismondo himself who had commissioned the work. My suggestion therefore would be that they form the intended public for the manuscript. I cannot prove this, but we know for sure that the manuscript was later given to Roberto Valturio.32 On f. 2v, on which the text of the Hesperis starts, we encounter a short notice written by the latter (cf. ill. 2): quem ipse mihi dedit Roberto Valturrio [sic] (‘which he himself gave to me, Roberto Valturio’). Augusto Campana thinks that Basinio only gave his manuscript to Valturio when he was sure of his approaching death.33 But even if this is correct – and it is very probable that it is, as Basinio seems to have worked on his Argonautica until the end of his life – it does not alter my argument. The fact that the manuscript was given as a present at a fatal moment is an important indication that even prior to this it was by no means mere personal material, but could be used for communication with fellow humanists at the court. Valturio was, as I mentioned earlier, an important figure, both for Basinio with whom he was in friendly relationship, and for the court via his position of private counsellor. In fact, he occupied exactly the position at which Basinio himself was aiming with his literary self-fashioning. At the court, which was crowded with highranking humanists, struggling for the special favour of Sigismondo seems to have been business as usual. In these circumstances, even a manuscript could be a strategic argument.

32   There is a striking contradiction between Basinio’s testament as reported by Drudi (see above n. 7) in which Sigismondo is asked to destroy the Hesperis and the fact that Basinio gave to Valturio what could be called an ‘authorized’ copy of the text. It enforces the interpretation that the testament was meant to serve Basinio’s self-fashioning and that his strategy was understood by his contemporaries, as well. Obviously, the court had a highly developed competence to decipher literary staging that did not necessarily correspond to ‘reality’. This is also suggested by the Liber Isottaeus in which Isotta dies although the ‘real’ girlfriend of Sigismondo was still very much alive and would even outlive the condottiere himself. 33   Campana (1965), 93.



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If this specific manuscript can indeed (at least to some extent) be interpreted as part of the self-fashioning of its author, there is one particularity which especially strikes our attention. One of Basinio’s strongest arguments to enforce his own claim of becoming a central courtier is his good knowledge of Greek – in the mid-Quattrocento still a distinguishing qualification. In 1920 Ferruccio Ferri published an essay on the polemical discussion at Sigismondo’s court about the role of Greek for humanist learning and writing.34 Basinio firmly argued against his colleagues Giannantonio Pandoni (il Porcelio) and Tommaso Seneca da Camerino who defended the learned Latin tradition as sufficient background for any humanist. Basinio, in contrast, was convinced that only the combination of Greek and Latin learning would enable high-ranking poetical composition. According to him, those who were ignorant of the Greek tradition did not even deserve the name of poet. Against this background, the insertion of Greek words or even whole verses in the margin of his text is more than just a preliminary working notice. Already on the title page of the manuscript (f. 2r), on which he also gives an overview of the content of the whole work,35 he writes his name and the title of his work in Greek (Βασινίου Ἑσπερίδος τὸ πρῶτον [scil. βιβλίον], ‘the first book of Basinio’s Hesperis’). More fascinating, however, are the extra verses he adds here and there in the margin throughout the whole work. All of them are quotations from Homer’s Iliad. To be clear, these verses were never intended to be inserted into the main text. They always serve as auto-commentary (in a way, one can describe them as the starting point of a modern Similienapparat). Furthermore, the paratext connects Basinio’s own verses with Homer and the Homeric tradition, the highest possible authority for any poet in ancient and early modern Europe. Remember that at the same time Basinio worked on his Hesperis, Pope Nicholas V approached at least three humanists to work on a translation of Homer – Carlo Marsuppini, Francesco Filelfo and Basinio himself.36 Basinio did not want the job, but that did not prevent him from imitating Homer.37 34   Ferri (1920); cf. Bianca (1997) for the prolongation of the influential conflict at the Roman curia under Pius II. A short summary of the affair can also be found in Piromalli (2002), 52-3. 35   Basinio obviously imitates the verses summarizing the Aeneid which nowadays form the first twelve carmina of the Anthologia Latina (Anth. Lat. 1,1-12), but which are also well attested in manuscript form. 36   For a good overview of this unsuccessful papal project see Sowerby (1997). 37   Rather general remarks on Basinio and Homer can be found in Finsler (1912), 30-33, esp. 32: ‘Die Hesperis ist von homerischen Reminiszenzen ganz erfüllt. Nicht nur sind

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Within the scope of this paper, I cannot show in detail where Basinio imitates the Greek model. For the moment, it is remarkable that Basinio not only imitates the Iliad, but that he wants to be seen doing it. The quoted verses in margine function on different levels. Often they mark a lexical allusion to or even a translation of a Homeric verse within the text. Sometimes, the reference to the Iliad even defends certain stylistic decisions. On f. 138v, for example, Basinio adds three new verses in the margin that play with several polyptota within the same sentence.38 The dared expression is sanctioned by a quote from Iliad 16,215 which is added below the three extra verses: ἀσπὶς ἄρ᾿ ἀσπίδ᾿ ἔρειδε, κόρυς κόρυν, ἀνέρα δ᾿ ἀνήρ. In other cases, the Homeric quotation legitimizes Sigismondo as a truly epic hero, as at the beginning of book III: Basinio introduces Jupiter who in a conversation with Mars recalls earlier glorious battles in Italy and starts with Aeneas, the son of a goddess. In Hesperis 3, 14, the sexual intercourse of Anchises and Venus is expressed in a verse reminiscent of Homer’s θεὰ βροτῷ εὐνηθεῖσα (‘a goddess reclining next to a mortal’) from Iliad 2, 821: mortali dea mixta viro. In a third case, Basinio even shows his mastery in what we would call reception studies (ill. 7). The verses Hesperis 11, 168-9 ille inimicus enim mihi plus quam Tartaro39 ipso / pectore qui caelet nunquam quod et ore revelet (‘more than the reign of death I hate the man who never says what he thinks’) are inserted in the margin of the text. Directly after them, Basinio quotes the Homeric verses which he translated, namely Iliad 9, 312-313 (ἐχθρὸς γάρ μοι κεῖνος ὁμῶς Ἀίδαο πύλῃσιν, / ὅς χ᾿ἕτερον μὲν κεύθῃ ἐνὶ φρεσίν, ἄλλο δὲ εἴπῃ) and which are taken from a conversation between Achilles and Odysseus. However, Basinio is not the first to express the idea in Latin, and he also knows that. Therefore, he adds one close Latin parallel for the phrase, namely Sallust’s characterization of the Romans after the siege of Carthage in Bellum Catilinae 10, 5: ‘[they] carry one thing openly on their tongue and keep another one sealed in their hearts’: aliud in ore aliud in pectore clausum habere.

einzelne Verse und Versgruppen herübergenommen, sondern auch größere Partien zeigen eine starke Verwendung Homers.’ He even thinks (p. 30) that Basinio ‘wollte selbst ein Homer werden, der Malatesta’s und Italiens.’ 38   Hesperis 12, 446-47: ‘Sed clypeus clypeo, galeae galea alta recumbit; / diripit arma viro vir […]’. 39   Drudi reads tartaro et. I follow the reading of the manuscript, even if I have to accept the hiatus between the fifth and the sixth foot.



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Ill. 7: Rimini, Biblioteca Civica Gambalunga, Sc-Ms. 34, f. 148v

In my view, all this is meant to prove Basinio’s competence in Greek as well as in transforming the Homeric pre-text into a high-ranking new epos. The Greek verses he adds serve to make his competence visible even to his fellow humanists who are not familiar enough with Homer to see the intertextual link without help. Modern editors would probably have to banish this Homeric paratext into the preface where it would be described as typical of the autograph of Basinio. Nevertheless, it is an important feature of the manuscript I have examined. The Hesperis, surely Basinio’s most ambitious work, is more than just one example of how to glorify a more-than-average condottiere and to shape him as the hope of Italy. The epos also was composed to ensure its author a stable position at the court of Sigismondo. To achieve this aim, Basinio did not only use the text itself; he also worked with the material medium that preserved it. On the one hand, he tried to influence later reception and to minimize corruption of his verses. On the other hand, as a proud Hellenist, he displayed his learning in astronomy and Greek literature in marginal glosses. Paradoxically enough, it is precisely in the margin of the manuscript that he pushed himself into the centre of attention, thus trying to ensure that no one can lose sight of the ‘author’ in the codex.

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Bibliography Basinio of Parma, Hesperis. MS. Rimini, Biblioteca Civica Gambalunga Sc-Ms. 34 (olim DQ.I.37; D.III.33; ms. 67; 4.A.II.12) Bassler, Moritz, New Historicism: Literaturgeschichte als Poetik der Kultur (Tübingen – Basel: Francke, 2001) de Beer, Susanna, The Poetics of Patronage: Poetry as Self-Advancement in Giannantonio Campano (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2013) Berger, Andreas, Die Meleagris des Basinio Basini: Einleitung, kritische Edition, Übersetzung, Kommentar (Trier: WVT, 2002) Bianca, Concetta, ‘Graeci, Graeculi, Quirites: A proposito di una contesa nella Roma di Pio II’, in Vincenzo Fera and Giacomo Ferraù, eds., Filologia umanistica: Per Gianvito Resta, vol. 1 (Padova: Antenore, 1997), pp. 141-63 Booth, Wayne C., The Rhetoric of Fiction (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1987 = 1961) Campana, Augusto, ‘Basinio da Parma’, in Dizionario biografico degli italiani 7 (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1965), pp. 89-98 Cerquiglini, Bernard, Éloge de la variante. Histoire critique de la philo­ logie (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1989) Coppini, Donatella, ‘Basinio e Sigismondo: Commitenza collaborativa e snaturamento epico dell’elegia’, in Claudia Cieri Via, ed., Città e corte nell’Italia di Piero della Francesca: Atti del Convegno internazionale di Studi, Urbino, 4-7 ottobre 1992 (Venice: Marsilo, 1996), pp. 449-67 Coppini, Donatella, ‘Un epillio umanistico fra Omero e Virgilio: Il Diosymposeos liber di Basinio da Parma’, in Mauro de Nichilo et al., eds., Confini dell’umanesimo letterario: Studi in onore di Francesco Tateo, vol. 1 (Rome: Roma nel Rinascimento, 2003), pp. 301-36 Coppini, Donatella, ‘Basinio da Parma e l’elegia epistolare’, in Roberto Cardini and Donatella Coppini, eds., Il rinnovamento umanistico della poesia: L’epigramma e l’elegia (Florence: Polistampa, 2009), pp. 281302 De Caprio, Vincenzo, ‘La rinascita della cultura di Roma: La tradizione latina delle Eleganze di Lorenzo Valla’, in Paolo Brezzi et al., eds., Umanesimo a Roma nel Quattrocento. Atti del convegno, New York, 1-4 dicembre 1981 (Rome: Istituto di Studi Romani, 1984), pp. 163-90 Drudi, Lorenzo, ed., Basini Parmensis Opera praestantiora nunc primum edita et opportunis commentariis inlustrata, 2 vols (Rimini, 1794)



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Edson, Evelyn, et al., eds., Der mittelalterliche Kosmos: Karten der christ­ lichen und islamischen Welt (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2005) Ettlinger, Helen S., The Image of a Renaissance Prince: Sigismondo Malatesta and the Arts of Power (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Berkeley, 1988) Falcioni, Anna, ‘Malatesta (de Malatestis), Sigismondo Pandolfo’, in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, vol. 84 (Rome: Istituto dell’Enciclopedia Italiana, 2007), pp. 107-14 Fera, Vincenzo, et al., eds., Talking to the Text: Marginalia from Papyri to Print (Messina: Centro di Stori Umanistici, 2002) Ferri, Ferruccio, Una contesa di tre umanisti (Basinio, Porcellio e Seneca): Contributo alla storia degli studi greci nel Quattrocento in Italia (Pavia: Fusi, 1920) Ferri, Ferruccio, Le poesie liriche di Basinio (Isottaeus, Cyris, Carmina varia) (Turin: Chiantore, 1925) Finsler, Georg August, Homer in der Neuzeit von Dante bis Goethe: Italien – Frankreich – England – Deutschland (Leipzig – Berlin: B.G. Teubner, 1912) Fisher, Alan, ‘The Project of Humanism and Valla’s Imperial Metaphor’, Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 23 (1993), 301-22 Frioli, Donatella, ‘Alla corte di Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta: Per la tradizione manoscritta di Basinio da Parma’, Filologia mediolatina, 13 (2006), 241-303 Greenblatt, Stephen, Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980) Greenblatt, Stephen, Shakespearean Negotiations: The Circulation of Social Energy in Renaissance England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988) Kokole, Stanko, ‘The Tomb of the Ancestors in the Tempio Malatestiano and the Temple of Fame in the Poetry of Basinio da Parma’, in Giancarla Periti, ed., Drawing Relationships in Northern Italian Renaissance Art: Patronage and Theories of Invention (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), pp. 11-34 Keefer, Sarah Larratt and Bremmer, Rolf H., eds., Signs on the Edge: Text and Margin in Medieval Manuscripts (Leuven: Peeters, 2007) Massera, Aldo Francesca, ‘Roberto Valturio: Omnium scientiarum doctor et monarcha (1405-1475) ’, in Antonio Piromalli, ed., La cultura lette­

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raria nelle corti dei Malatesti (Rimini: Centro Studi Malatestiani, 2002), pp. 215-48 [first published 1925-1926 in Annuario dell’Istituto Tecnico R. Valturio di Rimini] Montrose, Louis, ‘Professing the Renaissance: The Poetics and Politics of Culture’, in H. Aram Veeser, ed., The New Historicism (New York: Routledge, 1989), pp. 15-36 Pieper, Christoph, ‘Nostrae spes plurima famae: Stilisierung und Auto­ stilisierung im Liber Isottaeus des Basinio von Parma’, in Reinhold F. Glei and Robert Seidel, eds., ‘Parodia’ und Parodie. Aspekte intertextuellen Schreibens in der lateinischen Literatur der Frühen Neuzeit (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2006), pp. 91-110 Pieper, Christoph, ‘Die vielen Facetten des Sigismondo Malatesta in der ideologischen Poesie des Hofes von Rimini’, in Karl Enenkel et al, eds., Discourses of Power: Ideology and Politics in Neo-Latin Literature (Hildesheim – Zurich – New York: Georg Olms, 2012), pp. 19-41 Piromalli, Antonio, ‘Gli intellettuali presso la corte Malatestiana’, in Antonio Piromalli, ed., La cultura letteraria nelle corti dei Malatesti (Rimini: Centro Studi Malatestiani, 2002), pp. 37-60 Poesch, Jessie J., ‘Ennius and Basinio of Parma’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 15 (1962), 116-18 Regoliosi, Mariangela, Nel cantiere del Valla: Elaborazione e montaggio delle Elegantie (Rome: Bulzoni, 1993) Rossi, Vittorio, Il Quattrocento, quarta ristampa riveduta e corretta, ed. Aldo Vallone (Milan: Vallardi, 1949) Sowerby, Robin, ‘Early Humanist Failure with Homer’, International Journal of the Classical Tradition, 4 (1997), 37-63 and 165-94 Tura, Adolfo, ‘Essai sur les marginalia en tant que pratique et documents’, in Danielle Jacquart and Charles Burnett, eds., Scientia in margine: Études sur les marginalia dans les manuscrits scientifiques du Moyen Age (Geneva: Droz, 2005), pp. 261-387 Valla, Lorenzo, Antidotum primum: La prima apologia contro Poggio Bracciolini, ed. Ari Wesseling (Assen – Amsterdam: van Gorcum, 1978) Leiden University Classics Department [email protected]

Marianne Pade THE MATERIAL FORTUNE OF NICCOLÒ PEROTTI’S CORNU COPIAE IN THE FIFTEENTH AND EARLY SIXTEENTH CENTURIES The present chapter is part of a collection of articles that focuses on the materiality of Latin texts in the Early Modern Age. Contributors have been asked to discuss the different ways in which the material presentation in manuscript or print may have influenced readers’ approach to a text at various periods. This chapter does not in any way ignore that aspect, but I have also ventured to turn the question the other way around, to ask how the interpretation of a text may influence various aspects of its material presentation. Describing the material fortune of Niccolò Perotti’s Cornu copiae in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries as an interplay of reciprocal influences I try to determine how such diverse factors as authorial intent and self-presentation, the use of paratextual elements, discussions of genre, the requirements and possibilities of the chosen media – that is manuscript vs. print –, and the needs of successive communities of readers inevitably brought about a development both in the material presentation of the text, in its reception, and in the text itself.1 The Cornu copiae and MS Urbinas latinus 301 The Roman humanist Niccolò Perotti redacted the Cornu copiae seu linguae latinae Commentarii, his last major work, after retiring from his post as papal governor of Perugia in 1477.2 In form the work is a commentary on Martial, his second, in fact,3 but it far exceeds the normal dimensions of a commentary, containing as it does the results of Perotti’s life-long study of the language and culture of Antiquity.4 It is preserved in 1   I have studied the early textual tradition of Perotti’s Cornu copiae in Pade (2011b and c). 2   See Charlet (1995), 37-44. On Perotti’s life, see Id. (1997). 3   The first one is preserved in an autograph manuscript which Perotti had annotated over a period of about 20 years; cp. Ramminger (2001), 125-44. For Perotti’s work on Martial before the compilation of the Cornu copiae see also Campanelli (1998), 169-80; Pade (2008a), 79-95, Ead. (2008b) and (2011d). 4   For Perotti and the Cornu copiae, see Mercati (1925, repr. 1973), Margolin (1981), Della Corte (1986), Jocelyn (1990), Furno (1995), Stok (2002), Pade (2005) and (2013), and Charlet (2011), 30-40.

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a single manuscript, the Urbinas latinus 301, now in the Vatican Library.5 The large tome was produced between 1477 and 1480, probably in Sassoferrato, Perotti’s native town. The Urbino manuscript is intriguing in many respects. It was originally intended as the presentation copy to Federico da Montefeltro, from whom Perotti hoped to obtain financial support for the printing of the work. During a long and unfinished revision the manuscript then became Perotti’s working copy, but he did not live to see its publication.6 For some reason which is still not quite clear, the Cornu copiae was only printed in 1489, in Venice,7 that is all of nine years after Perotti’s death in 1480; but subsequently at least thirty-six editions appeared during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, some of which I shall examine in this article.8 The only modern edition was published in Sassoferrato in eight volumes during the last decade of the twentieth century.9 The Urbino manuscript consists of 671 folios, the writing material is paper. The codex now has two modern flyleaves at the beginning, but collation and folio signatures show that originally it opened on the first page of the proem, addressed to Federico da Montefeltro, duke of Urbino, and allegedly written by Pirro, Perotti’s dearly beloved nephew. Perotti pretended that he, like Virgil, did not want to publish his opus magnum; Pirro, accordingly, is presented as the author of the proem, thief and clandestine editor of his uncle’s work, and as the scribe of the entire codex. Following the proem there is a Brevis commemoratio vitae Martialis, a short life of Martial, and then on f. 4 verso the beginning of the Cornu copiae. Surrounding the text on both sides we find an abundance of marginalia which, like the numerous corrections and additions to the original text, are in the hand of Perotti. The original stratum of the text is written in single long lines, in a regular cursive hand. It is definitely the work of a professional scribe, and not of the young Pirro, as the proem would have us believe. The hand brings to mind the writing style of the Roman Academy; also the epigraphic capitals of the display script and other decorative elements,

5   For the manuscript, see Fabio Stok’s description in Perotti (1989-2001), vol. 8, pp. 5-10. 6   Cp. Stok (2002a) and the revised version of the article in Id. (2002b), 7193. 7   Ed. Ludovicus Odaxius, Venice: Paganinus de Paganinis, 14 May 1489, H 12697*, ISTC ip00288000. 8   Cp. Milde (1982). 9   Modern edition in Perotti (1989-2001), in the following abbreviated CC.

THE MATERIAL FORTUNE OF NICCOLÒ PEROTTI’S cornu copiae73 such as the initials, show a marked influence from the book culture of the Academy.10 The visual presentation of texts in humanist book culture is a blatant example of how material characteristics announced the contents. From around 1400 manuscripts written in the antiqua script and adopting a type of decoration and layout inspired by models going back to the eleventh and twelfth centuries would clearly tell the reader that he or she was confronted with an ancient or humanist Latin text as opposed to a text representing contemporary or near-contemporary scholastic culture. In the second half of the century, in Padova and especially in Rome, a new style developed which used a cursive based on the antiqua as prestige script, epigraphic capitals – with serifs – for display script and initials placed in frames, surrounded by decorative scrolls that were not of the white vine-stem type. These elements are all present in the Urbino manuscript, and they were no doubt meant to signal the recherché, to tell the intended reader, in the first place Federico di Montefeltro, that the Cornu copiae was a product of contemporary élite humanist culture. The genre of the Cornu copiae The form of the Cornu copiae has occasioned much discussion. In the proem, ps-Pirro tells Federico that his uncle had been asked by Pomponio Leto, the leader of the Roman Academy, to produce a corrected text of the Roman poet Martial, for the common good of the learned world: ‘ut [...] pro communi studiosorum utilitate emendandum susciperet’ (CC proh. 2). Perotti accepted the invitation, but decided also to produce a commentary on the poet. However, it turned out that he had set himself an arduous task. Working endless nights Perotti read through large amounts of Greek and Latin literature from all fields of learning, and accordingly the book far outgrew the normal boundaries of a commentary. His vigiliae had been necessary for various reasons: the most important was that he had not followed the usual method of commentators. He had commented upon every single word in Martial, thereby creating the impression that he intended to make a commentary not on one poet but on the entire Latin language:

10   Cp. Pade (2007) and Ead. (2008a). A picture of the MS is available on the website Rome Reborn: The Vatican Library & Renaissance Culture at http://www.loc.gov/ exhibits/vatican/images/human23.jpg.

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Marianne Pade tum uero in primis, quod non est in eo opere communem interpretum morem secutus. Sed ita hunc Poetam exposuit ut ne uerbum quidem reliquerit intactum uisusque plane fuerit non unum Poetam, sed uniuersam Latinam linguam uelle interpretari (CC proh. 2).

So in the preface Perotti did present the work as commentary on Martial, and I shall argue that the material presentation of the text takes that aspect of the work into account. On the other hand, paratextual elements like rubrics, marginalia and even parts of the proem tell a different tale: here as well as in the postscript of the work, Perotti emphasizes that he had produced a work on the Latin language. In the rubrics to the proem and to the main text, the title of the work is Cornu Copiae sive Commentarii Linguae Latinae, there is no mention of Martial, and the abundant corpus of marginalia hardly ever refers to the text of the Epigrams. In fact, the only paratextual element that does, are the running titles that refer to the number of the epigram Perotti is treating. This ambiguity may be seen in the early reception of the work. In Marcantonio Sabellico’s dialogue De reparatione linguae Latinae, composed around 1490, there is a long discussion of the merits of the humanist commentary. One of the interlocutors, Battista Guarini, argues that recent commentaries on ancient authors had played a central role in the restoration of Latin their century had witnessed. However, he does not mention Perotti. Benedetto Brugnolo, on the other hand, the main protagonist of the first part of the dialogue, and later editor of the Cornu copiae, does. Listing the humanists responsible for the recent restoration of Latin in his day, he mentions Perotti as being second only to Lorenzo Valla. He mentions a number of Perotti’s works, but with regard to the Cornu copiae he expresses himself with great caution, as apparently he has not seen the work himself. There were people who claimed to have seen these commentarii and found them ‘still somewhat unsystematic, but nonetheless quite learned’.11 Perotti himself called his work commentarii, but in the passage in the De reparatione it is not clear what Brugnolo intended by the term, which had a variety of meanings at the time, ranging from ‘notes’, ‘summary’ to ‘commentary’.12

11   ‘sunt qui commentarios eius, quos Cornu copiae inscripsit, se vidisse dicant, rem adhuc indigestam, sed quae plurimum alioqui habeat eruditionis,’ Sabellico (1999), 136. 12   On Sabellico’s discussion of the Cornu copiae, see Pade (2013). On the meaning of commentarius in the Italian Renaissance, see Ramminger (2008).

THE MATERIAL FORTUNE OF NICCOLÒ PEROTTI’S cornu copiae75 Genre and mise en page in the presentation copy Obviously the genre of the Cornu copiae was not self-evident. The question is if this had any direct impact on the material presentation of the work. We know that Perotti had reflected on the matter. The proem contains a rather curious paragraph which, as far as I am aware, does not resemble anything we normally find in letters of dedication in this period. Perotti makes Pirro describe how, as the self-appointed editor of his uncle’s work, he had brought some order into the unorganized mass of notes he had stolen. Pirro tells how he had arranged the material so that anybody interested only in a commentary on Martial would not be scared off by the sheer size of the book: for every epigram there was a summary at the beginning of the commentary, and the lemmata from Martial were clearly indicated by red capitals. As for the rest – which is actually by far the largest part of the work – readers could easily retrieve specific information by consulting the alphabetic index placed at the end of the work. The mise en page and the contents of the Urbino MS, as we have it today, fit only partially with Pirro’s explanation of his editorial work. It is true that the commentary on each poem begins with a short summary, followed by the lemmata from Martial and the appropriate commentary. For example, in Mart. epigr. 1, 1 Perotti first explains how the word barbara should be understood in Martial’s poem, namely inculta moribus. The summary of the epigram and the explanation of barbara take up five lines. After that follow two pages of lexicographical material before we find the next lemma from Martial, written in red capitals. This lexicographical material must be what Pirro promised to make accessible by an alphabetic index at the back of the volume, but it isn’t there. Instead we find the writing field surrounded on both sides by Perotti’s marginalia, in the inner margins referring to persons mentioned in the text, most of them the authors of quotations used to document definitions; in the outer margins signalling words treated in the text. It is significant that Perotti’s marginalia do not refer to the Martial lemmata in red capitals, but only to the beginning of the lexicographical explanation of the word barbarus. What is more, the marginalia are not mentioned in Pirro’s description of the manuscript’s layout. We don’t know whether the index mentioned by Pirro was indeed planned for the manuscript, or only for the printed edition Perotti hoped for. Giovanni Mercati believed it was lost before the binding of the manuscript, whereas Fabio Stok argues that the idea of compiling it was

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abandoned when Perotti began his revision of the work13 – and it became evident that the original stratum of the work would not be the exemplar of a printed version. However, Pirro’s description raises several questions, such as: why is it there, why does it not correspond to the actual layout of the manuscript, and what are the material relations between the Urbino manuscript and the first printed editions? I believe that the answer to the first question – why we have the unusual description of the manuscript’s mise en page – is easy. The Cornu copiae is not a mainstream work, and its genre isn’t easy to define. As I tried to demonstrate, preface and paratextual elements point in different directions, and also the indirect evidence of Sabellico’s De reparatione seems to indicate that the form of the work was the subject of discussion. As far as I am aware, we have very few systematic discussions of the codicological typology of texts with commentaries.14 Some thirty years ago Gerhard Powitz proposed a classification of textus cum commento.15 None of them corresponds closely to what we have in the Cornu copiae, although the work is a case of textus cum commento in as much as the text of Martial is there – albeit in very small bits. If anything, the mise en page of the Urbino manuscript resembles Powitz’s No. 9 (see below Fig. 1), in which portions of the text are followed, in the same writing field, by the commentary, instead of being juxtaposed – but this only fits the part of the text that refers to the lemmata in red capitals. Still, although the mise en page is unusual, there is no doubt that it was the result of careful planning, as both Pirro’s description and the visual results show. However, exactly because it was unusual, because there were no established models for the material organisation of this unusual type of text, Perotti wanted to make sure that the visual presentation of his work helped, or guided the reader to use the Cornu copiae as he intended. My second question as to why Pirro’s description does not correspond to the actual layout of the manuscript, is not difficult either, I believe. Perotti wanted Federico to fund the printing of the work, and surely his preface is also intended for the printed edition, which would have an 13   ‘“Pirro” parla anche di un indice, collocato in coda all’opera, ma di esso non c’è traccia nell’attuale Urb. Lat. 301: esso potrebbe esser andato perduto prima dell’attuale rilegatura del codice [see Mercati (1925) 126 n] oppure (e mi sembra l’ipotesi più probabile) non venne mai allestito, in seguito alla decisione, presa da Perotti nel 1478, di integrare ed ampliare ulteriormente la propria opera,’ Stok (2002b), 67. 14   Holtz (1984), 141-67. 15   Powitz (1979), 80-89. Powitz’s classification was still the only existing one twenty years ago, cp. Maniaci (2002) I, 3.

THE MATERIAL FORTUNE OF NICCOLÒ PEROTTI’S cornu copiae77 index. Although we do have indices in manuscripts of lexicographical works, the ones I have seen refer to chapters, and the chapters in the Cornu copiae are far too long to be used for that. Perotti probably never meant to compile an alphabetic index for the manuscript, as it would not have been transferable to the printed edition. The material relation between early editions of the Cornu copiae and the Urbinas latinus 301 I shall now address the question of the material relations between Urbinas latinus 301 and the first printed editions. If we look at the princeps of 1489, edited by the Urbino humanist Ludovico Odasio, we immediately see a close resemblance to the layout of Urb. lat. 301. It reproduces the rubrics, it has the lemmata from Martial in capitals – black, for technical reasons, rather than red – but space has been left blank for the initial B to be filled in by hand (see below Fig. 2). Odasio’s edition has the alphabetical index, as described by Pirro, but not, as Pirro promised, at the end. Instead it is printed on sig. a2r-b8v of the edition, thus occupying a very prominent position and emphasizing the lexicographical aspect of Perotti’s work, as it regards the non-commentary part of the Cornu copiae. The still rather barren title page supports this impression. Apart from the title of the work, the only text is a tetrastichon by Ioannes Franciscus Philomusus in praise of the Cornu copiae: as the works of Varro and Nigidius once enriched the Latin language and the Romulean fathers, so – from the all-containing horn – Perotti’s abundance restored the lost riches, now that they (i.e. Varro and Nigidius) are gone.16 However, in his preface to Guido, Federico’s son who subsidized the edition, Odasio did praise the Cornu copiae both as linguae Latinae commentarii and as commentary on Martial.17

16   ‘IOANNIS FRANCISCI PHILOMVSI PISAVRENSIS TETRASTICHON IN CORNV COPIAE PEROTTAEI LAVDEM. Varronis Nigidique olim monumenta latinam/ Ditarunt linguam Romuleosque patres/ Pro quibus ammissis Perotti copia raptas/ Omnifero e cornu plena refundit opes’ (sig. a1). Cp. Charlet (1988). 17   ‘Cornucopiae libros, quos linguæ Latinæ commentarios non immerito nuncupauit. In quibus quom Valerium Martialem interpretandum desumpserit non sententias modo et uocabula eorumque figuras, ut reliqui solent, sed historias etiam longius repetitas et uniuersam grammatices rationem uarie concine luculenterque complectitur,’ ed. Venetiis 1489, sig. c1v-c2r. See above n. 7.

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The six following editions18 derive from the princeps and largely reproduce its layout, except that we get beautiful wood-cut initials, as we see in the initial from the 1494 edition (see below Fig. 3). There are also a growing number of poems, written in praise of the commentary. However, as one can see in Fig. 3, the visual distinction between the commentary and the lexicographical part has become blurred, because the marginal lemmata are placed already opposite the commentary. It is ironic that the first to change the mise en page materially was Polidoro Virgilio who did actually consult the Urbino manuscript for his 1496 edition. We know this, because he printed the text of two cartae which had been omitted in earlier editions, as he himself relates in preface of the edition, where he also tells about his visit to the ducal library in Urbino.19 On the title page he proudly announces that the reader will find the text not only more correct but also marked up in a new arrangement that will facilitate consultation even more than previous indices had done. But his index, too, Polidoro boasts, was now so well ordered and contained so many words that it would be even more useful to the reader than the work itself had been previously.20 The index is in fact very long, twenty-eight folios in four columns (i.e. 224), compared to the fifteen in five columns (i.e. 150) of the editio princeps, but the most radical change is that Polidoro arranges the text in two columns, in order, it seems, to make lines begin with lemmata, signalled by capital initials moved out to the left of the writing field, for easier retrieval. As one can see in Fig. 4 Polidoro retains the lemmata from Martial in capitals in the text itself, but instead of Perotti’s, and earlier editions’, marginal lemmata, we find the initial capital letters of the lemma words to the left of the column. The result saved paper; Polidoro’s text is 306 folios long, whereas e.g. Odasio’s is 354, but to achieve this arrangement he sometimes had to 18   Venice: per Bernardinum de Cremona et Simonem de Luero, 1490; Venice: per Baptistam de Tortis, 1490; Venice: per Bernardinum de Coris de Cremona, 1492; Venice: Philippus Pincius, 1494; Venice: per Dionysium de Bertochis de Bononia, 1494; Venice: per Ioannem de Tridino, 1496. 19   ‘Ibique hoc quod deerat inuentum fragmentum accuratissime quidem ut lectitantibus perbelle patebit ad indicem .o. per ordinem quarternionum tanquam nobilissimum membrum, suo corpori restituimus,’ Polidoro Virgilio, preface to his edition of the Cornu copiae, Venice, 1496. Cp. F. Stok in Perotti (1989-2001), vol. 6, 28 n. 71. 20   ‘Cornu copiae emendatissimum miro ordine nouissime insignitum in quo toto opere facilius omnia uocabula reperies quae in sola tabula aliorum antea impressorum prius inuenire posses. Cui etiam addite sunt due carte que in aliis omnibus antea impressis per incuriam scriptorum omisse fuerant. Tabulam operis adeo ordinatam et multitudine uocabulorum refertam accipies ut melior ipsa tibi et utilior futura sit quam prius ipsum totum opus foret,’ Polidoro Virgilio, preface to his edition of the Cornu copiae, Venice, 1496.

THE MATERIAL FORTUNE OF NICCOLÒ PEROTTI’S cornu copiae79 change Perotti’s text, especially the word order, quite substantially. As had earlier editions, he retained the running titles referring to book and number of Martial’s epigrams, and he may in fact also have imitated the two initials of the Urbino manuscript. The M and B of Polidoro’s edition are remarkably close to those of the manuscript, with the geometrical pattern of the foliage surrounding the M, and the more organic one of the B, growing out of the lower left corner (see below Fig. 5). Polidoro was the first editor to leave out the marginal lemmata; as we have seen he somehow compensated for the word-lemmata by his system of short lines beginning with the words commented upon, indicated by capitals, but the lemmata auctoris, which Perotti listed in the inner margins, are lost. Visually, in the Urbino manuscript and in the earlier editions that reproduced the princeps, we were always reminded that Perotti’s definitions of words were based on classical usage. One aspect that distinguishes his work – and that of his teacher, Valla – from that of medieval lexicographers, is the way their explanations of Latin usage proceeds from examples taken from auctores. The material presentation of Perotti’s text in Polidoro’s edition does not emphasize that aspect any more. Aldo Manuzio’s first edition of the CC appeared in 1499. The unadorned title page simply announces that he has, of course, corrected the text, but also that he has restored the Greek, which had been illegible in earlier editions, and that the new and copious index referred to page number and verse, that is a new system. As a new and special feature we hear that the margins surrounding the text are empty – so that readers, in the manner of the learned, could add their own annotations.21 Earlier editions certainly could not have boasted of empty margins, and the fact that Aldo mentions this possibility may be a very indirect indication of the Cornu copiae’s status: it was acknowledged as the kind of work people would annotate, presumably to form their own ‘filtered’ collection of word definitions, descriptions of ancients customs etc., which would again turn their copy of the Cornu copiae into a personalised commonplace book. However, Aldo’s publicity statement is yet another way of advocating a retrieval system which, like the indices, was a tool for finding specific information without necessarily engaging with the argument of the original text.

21   ‘et quod operæ pretium est, margine expedito et uacuo, ut possit, siquid libuerit, in margine, ut fieri a doctis assolet, annotari,’ Aldo Manuzio, title page of his edition of the Cornu copiae, Venice, 1499.

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Aldo’s text is 629 pages long, printed with single long lines, and without highlighted lemmata or marginal notes. There are no running titles referring to Martial’s epigrams any longer, only page numbers, and the lines are numbered, as promised on the title page. Before the long index, twenty-five folios in five columns, we find Aldo’s epistula lectori, on editorial matters, and after the index the prefaces of Odasio, Perotti and the Vita Martialis. The lemmata from Martial are still in capitals, but apart from that there are no visual indications of the difference between commentary and the lexicographical part. Since there are no running titles referring to Martial’s epigrams, the reader can leaf through pages and pages without being reminded that the work is also supposed to be a commentary on the Roman poet. The material presentation of the text is definitely oriented towards retrieval of lexicographical content. The last edition I shall examine here is that of Benedetto Brugnolo, printed by Tacuinus, from 1504. It repeats the layout of the edition printed by Ioannes Angelus Scinzenzeler in Milan in 1502, of which I have only been able to see an incomplete copy. These editions mark a new development. The fairly ornate title page boasts, as usual, that the text has been corrected, but also that it is mirifice concinnatum, wonderfully arranged, and that the index is more comprehensive, more useful and furthermore easier to use than previous ones. It contains more than three thousand words left out in earlier indices, all signalled by a point placed in front of the word.22 This is repeated in the printer’s, Tacuinus’, letter to the reader, which also explains that the index is even more alphabetical than earlier ones, in the sense that it orders the words not only after the first letter but also after the rest. His index is forty-eight folios long, printed in five columns (i.e. 480 columns), so it is indeed copious, as the title page promised. The only prefatory material is Tacuinus’ letter to the readers; both Perotti’s and Odasio’s letters are left out, as is the life of Martial. The lemmata from Martial in capitals are still there, but apart from that there is absolutely no indication that the CC should be a commentary on the epigrams. The running titles referring to book and number of epigram are long gone, and Martial’s name isn’t mentioned in any paratext, not even in Tacuinus’ 22   ‘Cornucopie nuper emendatum a domino Benedicto Brugnolo ac mirifice concinnatum cum tabula prioribus aliis copiosiori, utiliori, faciliorique. Insuper supra vocabulorum tria milia ab aliis omissorum excerpsimus, quorum tibi indicium facient singula puncta singulis dictionibus per nos excerptis preposita. Ceterum si utilitatem incredibilem cognoscere uolueris, epistolam nostram lege,’ CC, ed. Brugnolo, Venice: Tacuinus, 1504.

THE MATERIAL FORTUNE OF NICCOLÒ PEROTTI’S cornu copiae81 letter. The text of the CC is printed in two columns, which are numbered with very large Arab numerals. The index refers to column numbers and to capital letters placed to the left of each of the columns. The letters indicate where Perotti’s lemmata are found in the text. They are alphabetical; if a column contains more than twenty three lemmata (i.e. the number of letters in the alphabet), Tacuinus has recourse first to the ampersand, then to the abbreviations for ‘con’ and ‘rum’, followed by lower case letters. Though lemmata from Martial are still there, visually they are much less in evidence because of the reference letters, they remain in the background, so to speak, whereas the grid made out of column numbers and reference letters is in the foreground as visual guide, as Lesesteuerung. In this edition, not only Martial, but to some degree also Perotti is disappearing. Perotti is not mentioned on the title page, but he is praised, if briefly, in Tacuinus’ letter. Here, however, the laus Brugnoli is much longer, and in both texts the index is of primary importance. Tacuinus describes both how comprehensive it is, and how easy to use. At a rough estimate it contains 28800 lemmata, which is not much less than many average-sized dictionaries. Of course one had to look for explanations of the lemmata further back in the book, but that had been facilitated by Tacuinus’ system of retrieval. The material presentation and the conception of the text Does the material presentation of the text in the editions we have examined testify to a changed conception of the text? I believe so. Though there is not a completely linear development, elements such as the position of the index and the way it began to be advertised on title pages and in prefaces clearly show how facility of information retrieval was emphasized. Readers were expected to use the indices to locate exactly the information they needed, without necessarily engaging with the argument of the original text. Changes in the visual presentation of the text itself point in the same direction; the disappearing running titles identifying the epigrams of Martial were gradually substituted by page or column numbers, referred to by the index. The text, ever more often in two columns, was marked up by line numbers or letters, again because of the index. Ironically, in several editions the index has running titles, where the text itself has none. They are of the type ‘A ante p’ – making it easy immediately to find the right part of the index.

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The table below shows how, in addition to the original set of texts in the Urbino manuscript, Perotti’s letter of dedication to Federico (PFed), the life of Martial (VitM) and the CC itself with Perotti’s marginalia, a new set of texts, or text types, such as printers’ (Prf) and editors’ prefaces – especially that of Odasio to Guido (OGui) –, and the index (Ind.), became stable features. There were even editions which left out some of the original texts, and of course many editors would get rid of the running titles (rt) and Perotti’s marginalia (mg). One also clearly sees the tendency to print the text in two columns (||) rather than long lines (—) which creates a closer retrieval grid. Ind.

OGui

PFed

VitM

CC

U301

Prf  

 

 

X

X

X

—,||, rt, mg —, rt, mg

1489

 

X

X

X

X

X

—, rt, mg

1490,1-96,1

 

X

X

X

X

X

—, r, mg

1496,2

X

X

X

X

X

X

||, rt

1498

?

X

 

X

X

X

—, rt, mg

1499

X

X

X

X

X

X

—

1502

?

X

 

 

 

X

||

1504

X

X

 

 

 

X

||

1506

X+’96

X

 

X

X

X

||, rt

1507

X

X

X

X

X

X

||, rt, mg

All this shows that the Cornu copiae was seen less and less as a commentary on Martial and more and more as a lexicographical handbook. And if the lexicographical information there was found lacking or faulty, editors did not hesitate to change the text, of quotations and even of lemma forms, if the conception of Latin had changed. The logical next step would of course be to restructure the Cornu copiae as a dictionary. That almost happened; or rather the Cornu copiae constituted a major source for Calepino’s Latin lexicon, and it was exploited by Latin lexicographers until Estienne and even Forcellini in the eighteenth century.23

  Stok (2002b), 217-30.

23

THE MATERIAL FORTUNE OF NICCOLÒ PEROTTI’S cornu copiae83 Figures

Fig. 1 Powitz No 9 (fields with lines represent commentary)

Fig. 2 CC editio princeps

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Fig. 3 ed. Venice: de Bertochis, 1494

Fig. 4 CC, ed. Polidoro Virgilio, Venice: per Joannem de Tridino, 1496

Fig. 5 Initials at the beginning of Pirro’s preface and commentary in Urbinas latinus 301 and ed. of Polidoro Virgilio, Venice 1496

THE MATERIAL FORTUNE OF NICCOLÒ PEROTTI’S cornu copiae85 Bibliography Campanelli, Maurizio, ‘Alcuni aspetti dell’esegesi umanistica di Atlas cum compare gibbo [Mart. VI 77 78]’, Res publica litterarum, 21 (1998), 169-80 Charlet, Jean-Louis, ‘Observations sur certaines éditions du Cornu copiae de N. Perotti (1489-1500)’, Studi Umanistici Piceni, 8 (= Res Publica Litterarum 11) (1988), 83-96 Charlet, Jean-Louis, ‘Curifugia, la villa Sans-souci: N. Perotti ‘locataire’ de Pline le Jeune (Corn. C. 18,11 = Ald. C. 731–732)’, Studi Umanistici Piceni, 15 (1995), 37-44 Charlet, Jean-Louis, ‘Niccolò Perotti’, in Colette Nativel, ed., Centuriae Latinae. Cent une figures humanistes de la Renaissance aux Lumières offertes à Jacques Chomarat, Travaux d’Humanisme et Renaissance 314 (Genève: Droz, 1997), pp. 601-5 Charlet, Jean-Louis, ‘Niccolò Perotti, humaniste du Quattrocento: Bibliographie critique’, Niccolò Perotti. The Languages of Humanism and Politics, eds. Marianne Pade and Camilla Plesner Horster, Renæssanceforum, 7 (2011), 1-72 Della Corte, Francesco, ‘Niccolò Perotti e gli Epigrammi di Marziale’, Res publica litterarum, 9 (1986), 97-107 Furno, Martine, Le Cornu copiae de Niccolò Perotti. Culture et méthode d’un humaniste qui aimait les mots, Travaux d’Humanisme et Renaissance 294 (Genève: Droz, 1995) Holtz, Louis, ‘Les manuscrits latins à gloses et à commentaires’, in Cesare Questa and Renato Raffaelli, eds., Il libro e il testo (Urbino: Università degli Studi di Urbino, 1982), pp. 141-67 Jocelyn, Henry David, ‘The sources of the Cornu Copiae of Niccolò Perotti and their integrity: some methodological remarks’, Memores Tui, Sassoferrato (1990), 99-111 Maniaci, Marilena, ‘La serva padrona. Interazioni fra testo e glossa sulla pagina del manoscritto’, in Vincenzo Fera et al., eds., Talking to the Text: Marginalia from Papyri to Print. Proceedings of a Conference held at Erice (Erice, 26 September - 3 October 1998) (Messina: Centro Interdipartimentale di Studi Umanistici, 2002), pp. 3-35 Margolin, Jean-Claude, ‘La fonction pragmatique et l’influence culturelle de la Cornucopiae de Niccolò Perotti’, Res Publica Litterarum, 4 (1981), 123-71

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Mercati, Giovanni, Per la cronologia della vita e degli scritti di N. Perotti, arcivescovo di Siponto, Studi e Testi 44 (1925, reprinted in Rome, 1973) Milde, Wolfgang, ‘Zur Druckhäufigkeit von N. Perottis Cornucopiae und Rudimenta grammatices im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert’, Studi Umanistici Piceni, 2 (= Res Publica Litterarum 5a) (1982), 29-42 Pade, Marianne, ‘Niccolò Perotti’s Cornu copiae: Commentary on Martial and Encyclopedia’, in Marianne Pade, ed., On Renaissance Commentaries, Noctes Neolatinae 4 (Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag, 2005), pp. 49-63 Pade, Marianne, ‘Un nuovo codice pomponiano? Appunti sulle relazioni tra Niccolò Perotti e Pomponio Leto’, in Chiara Cassiani and Myriam Chiabò, eds., Pomponio Leto e la Prima Accademia Romana. Giornata di studi, Roma 2 dicembre 2005, RR inedita 37 (Rome: Roma nel Rinascimento, 2007), pp. 25-40 Pade, Marianne, ‘Commenti perottini a Marziale? Il Ms B 131 sup. del­la Biblioteca Ambrosiana di Milano’, Studi Umanistici Piceni, 28 (2008a), 79-95 Pade, Marianne, London, British Library, King’s 32. Repertorium Pompo­ nianum, , (2008b) Pade, Marianne, ‘Intertextuality as a stylistic device in Niccolò Perotti’s dedicatory letters’, in Marianne Pade and Camilla Plesner Horster, eds., Niccolò Perotti. The Languages of Humanism and Politics, Renæssanceforum, 7 (2011a), pp. 121-46 Pade, Marianne, ‘L’Urbinas latinus 301 e la tradizione testuale del Cornu copiae di Niccolò Perotti’, Studi umanistici Piceni, 31 (2011b), 21-28 Pade, Marianne, ‘The Urbinas latinus 301 and the early editions of Niccolò Perotti’s Cornu copiae’, in Outi Merisalo and Caterina Tristano, eds., Dal libro manoscritto al libro stampato, Proceedings of an international conference in Rome, 10-12 December 2009, Incontri di Studio 8 (Spoleto: CISAM, 2011c), pp. 91-108 and tavv. i-ii Pade, Marianne, ‘Pomponio Leto e la lettura di Marziale nel Quattrocento’, in Pomponio Leto tra identità locale e cultura internazionale, eds. Anna Modigliani et al., RR inedita 48 (Rome: Roma nel Rinascimento, 2011), pp. 103-23 Pade, Marianne, Le Noctes Atticae di Gellio e la prefazione del Cornu copiae di Niccolò Perotti’, Studi Umanistici Piceni, 32 (2012), 21-28

THE MATERIAL FORTUNE OF NICCOLÒ PEROTTI’S cornu copiae87 Pade, Marianne, ‘Niccolò Perotti’s Cornu Copiae: the Commentary as a Repository of Knowledge’, in Karl A. Enenkel and Henk Nellen, eds., Neo-Latin Commentaries and the Management of Knowledge in the Late Middle Ages and the Early Modern Period (1400-1700), Supplementa Humanistica Lovaniensia, 33 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2013), pp. 241-62 Nicolai Perotti Cornu copiae seu linguae Latinae commentarii, eds. Jean-Louis Charlet et al., 8 vols (Sassoferrato: Istituto Internazionale di Studi Piceni, 1989-2001) Powitz, Gerhardt, ‘Textus cum commento’, Codices manuscripti, 5 (1979), 80-89 Ramminger, Johann, ‘Auf dem Weg zum Cornu copiae. Niccolò Perottis Martialkommentar im Vaticanus lat. 6848’, Neulateinisches Jahrbuch, 3 (2001), 125-44 Ramminger, Johann, Neulateinische Wortliste. Ein Wörterbuch des Lateinischen von Petrarca bis 1700 (2003 - ) Ramminger, Johann, ‘Notes on the Meaning of commentarius in the Italian Renaissance (with an appendix containing texts by Valla, Tortelli and Perotti)’, in Carlo Santini and Fabio Stok, eds., Esegesi dimenticate di autori classici (Pisa: ETS, 2008), pp. 11-35 Sabellico, Marcantonio A. C., De Latinae linguae reparatione, ed. G. Bottari, Percorsi dei classici 2 (Messina: Centro Interdipartimentale di Studi Umanistici, 1999) Stok, Fabio, ‘Il proemio del Cornu copiae’, Studi Umanistici Piceni, 21 (2001), 37–54 (= id. 2002b, pp. 43-70) Stok, Fabio, ‘La revisione del Cornu copiae’, Studi Umanistici Piceni, 22 (2002a), 29-46 Stok, Fabio, Studi sul Cornu copiae di N. Perotti (Pisa: ETS, 2002b) Accademia di Danimarca Via Omero 18 I-00197 Roma e-mail: [email protected]

David Rijser THE TORTUOUS PATH FROM ANONYMITY TO AUTHORSHIP: MS BAV VAT. LAT. 2742 The MS BAV Vaticanus Latinus 2742 contains a commentary on Horace’s Ars Poetica with an introductory essay on the history and function of poetry in general, dating from the first decades of the sixteenth century. This text has played a significant role in the scholarly interpretation of the nature and function of poetics in the Vatican during the pontificate of Julius II and Leo X, figuring, for instance, prominently in the pages of Ingrid Rowland’s The Culture of the High Renaissance of 1998 and Christiane Joost-Gaugier’s study of the Stanza della Segnatura in the Vatican apartments of 2002, although it was already used and briefly discussed by Künzle in the sixties of the last century. No integral edition or study has yet been produced, and scholars have worked from the fairly clearly written manuscript, quoting sequences from its pages as a major source for the cultural ambience in papal circles of the early 16th century. Their interest was caused by the attribution of its authorship to Tommaso Inghirami, first Canon of the Lateran and then papal librarian under Julius II, based on early 17th-century inventories and followed by scholarly consensus.1 Tommaso Inghirami is a figure well known to Renaissance scholars.2 Although his early years are not well documented, his stay in Florence from the age of three combined with the Platonism evident in his Roman work suggest a connection with Florentine Platonism. Moving to Rome brought him protection of the Della Rovere and connections with Pomponio Leto’s Roman Academy. There, his humanist career flourished, and oratorical and diplomatic activities ensued in the 1490s. Named canon of the Lateran by Alexander VI in 1503, he continued service under Julius with more prestigious assignments, mainly oratorical. The function of preposito of the Vatican library followed, combined with that 1   Inghirami (1955), Kristeller (1963), ad loc. Vat. Lat. 2742, Kuenzle (1964), Rowland (1997), Joost-Gaugier (2002), Kempers (2001), Rijser (2012). The attribution, first noted in the inventory by Domenico Rainaldi, was based on evidence contained in the original binding, lost when the MS was rebound between 1609 and 1612 as attested by the stemma­ta of Paul V and cardinal librarian Scipione Borghese (see Inghirami (1955), 37n9). 2   For Inghirami, see Galetti (1777), Rowland (1998), Benedetti (2004), Joost-Gaugier (2002), 23-42 and Kempers (1997), 29-30.

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of canon of Saint Peter’s. Inghirami’s prominence in intellectual, diplomatic and ecclesiastical matters suggests a function comparable to the Augustan Maecenas, notwithstanding a road-accident that impaired his health permanently. Thus it was as a preeminent courtier that he delivered the funeral oration of Julius and died himself three years later, in 1516. Especially Inghirami’s extraordinary Roman debut in the performance of the role of Seneca’s tragic heroine Phaedra in a production at the palazzo of cardinal Riario is frequently referred to by scholars:3 when part of the provisional stage in the cortile collapsed in the middle of the performance, Inghirami was able to improvise in faultless Latin senarii until the mishap had been adjusted and he resumed the text apparently seamlessly. Hence the sobriquet Fedra, under which he gradually became something of a celebrity in curial Rome, with his rotund physique and wandering eye (this, as Ingrid Rowland tells me, still runs in the family). Nor was monumental attestation lacking: visitors of the Lateran would recognize the face of its jovial canon on a humorous ex voto that celebrated rescue from his road accident. As papal librarian, Inghirami moved further up in the curial elite, as the honour of the delivery of one of the funeral orations of Julius II attests. Indeed, his portrait has been identified as one of the on-lookers in Raphael’s tapestry of Saint Paul preaching in Athens, as well as on the left side of the ‘School of Athens’, on the ground of the similarity with the features on Raphael’s famous portrait of Tommaso in Pitti Palace.4 His general influence in the period, together with his function as librarian, have led to the plausible hypothesis that he was the humanist responsible for the programme of Raphael’s Stanza della Segnatura, a major claim to fame if ever there was one.5 Most scholars investigate Inghirami’s tracks primarily because of this very connection with the Stanza della Segnatura. Yet the MS commentary on Horace attributed to him is only partly serviceable as a source for what they are after, that is, ideas on aesthetics in general and patterns of interpretation: the major second part of the treatise, the commentary proper, contains mainly philological and antiquarian material, and

3   His old palazzo in the Campo de’ Fiori, not the palace that was later called the Cancelleria, which had not yet been completed. The show was perhaps directed by Pomponio Leto; see however Bober (2000), 239. 4   For the cartoon, see Shearman (1972), 60-1 and (2003), 655, and for the identification of the corpulent figure as Inghirami, see Künzle (1964). For Inghirami on the ‘School of Athens’, see Joost-Gaugier (2002), with literature. 5   See the references in note 1 above, with Taylor (2009), note 11, and Pfisterer (2003).



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although this is of high quality, it does not add much to the picture we already have of main-stream contemporary humanist activity as mainly orientated towards philology in the stricter sense. The first part, however, consists of an essay on poetry that is in fact a miniature Ars Poetica in itself. And this introductory essay does indeed shed interesting light on the way art in general was envisaged in High Renaissance Rome. In it, we find reference to ideas on the divine nature of poetry and furor, the poet as a prophet, and the poet as universally knowledgeable. Many of these ideas are prefigured in Florentine art-theory from the later Quattrocento, yet in Vat. Lat. 2742 they are significantly developed. Moreover, the new form these ideas take on here is echoed widely in subsequent Cinquecento criticism, especially the importance of unity of content and of diction that the Vatican MS uniquely singles out for extensive treatment.6 The argument in the manuscript is moreover continually illustrated with examples from visual art and architecture, and it is here that those interested in the larger cultural significance of the Vatican manuscript may find the most promising material.7 The parallels between literary and visual art that Vat. Lat. 2742 emphasises and discusses extensively, strongly suggest that the marked emphasis of the MS on unity and coherence of style in literature and the stylistic characteristics of Raphael’s frescoes are more than coincidentally related: Raphael’s stylistic unity, balance and decorum that were so innovative, and seen to be so by contemporaries, strikingly reflect the main preoccupations of the treatise and may very well be dependent on it. If Vat. Lat. 2742 is to be connected with the Stanza, the prominence of poetry in the iconography of the latter for which I have argued elsewhere can be seen as being legitimised by the major claims made for this art in the treatise. If so, both the MS and the frescoes must have been grafted on the programme of Augustan revival intimated by Julius II, Inghirami’s and Raphael’s patron. That much, in brief, of the relevance of the Vatican manuscript, and the ties that bind it to Tommaso Inghirami. There is, however, a problem with the attribution of the manuscript which has hitherto escaped the notice of critics. Strangely, no one has yet seen that the text of the manuscript is faithfully reproduced by the treatise of Aulo Giano Parrasio, In Q. Horatii Flacci Artem poeticam commentaria, published posthumously by Bernardino Martirano in Naples in

  For the influence of these ideas, see Weinberg (1961), 96-100.   For the relevance of the introductory essay of Vat. Lat. 2742 (as well as its first lemmata) for the visual art in the Vatican, see Rijser (2012), Chapter 2. 6 7

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1531.8 Parrasio’s treatise was discussed in Weinberg’s History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance, apparently, however, without knowledge of the existence of Vat. Lat. 2742.9 Students of the Vatican manuscript, on the other hand, seem to have never consulted the admirable study of Weinberg, or they would have seen the conformity, attested even by extended quotations. Consultation of the printed version reveals that the treatises are in fact identical, only differing in minor variants. Who, then, is the author of the treatise, and to what extent has the history of its printing affected its interpretation and influence? The printed edition of Parrasio’s commentary is preceded by a dedicatory epistle of its editor Bernardino Martirano, who was a pupil and countryman of Parrasio. In this dedication Bernardino emphasises Parrasio’s devotion to his studies and states as the latter’s aim both the usefulness of his work to posterity and Parrasio’s own personal fame: (...) ne (ut ante nostra tempora plerisque accidit) simul cum vita nomen interiret, omni opera, cura, studio, diligentia, noctes diesque usqueadeo laboravit, ut non absque posteriorum utilitate immortalitatem sibi, vel ipsis invidis approbantibus, compararit. (Martirano (1531) 2r) (...) to avoid what has befallen many in the past, namely that one’s name perishes with the body, Parrasio, sparing neither labour nor care, effort nor diligence, wore himself out working nights and days to procure his own immortality together with the common good of posterity, so that even the envious approved.

For the former statement we have a slightly malignant corroboration in the paragraph devoted by Pierio Valeriano to Parrasio in his De litteratorum infelicitate, to the effect that Parrasio had systematically undermined his physical strength by the prolonged burning of midnight oil to such an extent that the only thing he eventually still could move was his tongue.10   Martirano (1531).   Weinberg (1961), 96-100. 10   Valerianus [1620], 24: Verum is, dum assiduis vigiliis, & longa lectionis laboribus maceratur, in eam incidit articularis morbi truculentiam, ut per annos aliquot nil praeter linguam in universo corpore haberet incolume, siderato propemodum utroque crure, ut nullis pedum officiis uti posset, lacertis prae dolore, & contractione redditis inutilibus, magna insuper inopia, & egestate oppressus, rerum demum omnium desperatione ductus, relicta Roma in Calabriam cum secessisset, in febrim subito incidit, qua diu vexatus, miserabilique eo cruciatu superatus expiravit. The articularis morbus is the gout, usually attributed to other causes than over-working. There is a certain irony in the fact that Tommaso Inghirami, Parrasio’s great and admired friend, had stated earlier in his career (Panegyricus) that inertissimi homines quorum omnis vis virtusque in lingua sita est. 8 9



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To return to Bernardino’s preface: the result of Parrasio’s labours and travails, Martirano states, has not yet been honoured in print, surely by the interference of Fortune, always keen on thwarting the virtuous and obscuring the light of fame: Nam de tot laboribus, de tot luculentissimis lucubrationibus, de tot innumeris, ac pene divinis eius operibus, vix unum alterumve extat, ac lectitatur. Quod non hercule eius negligentia vel improbitate peractum est, sed quadam potius (ut ita dicam) hominum tabe, qui alienae laudis ob invidiam impatientes, non qui sibi prodessent, sed alios ut laederent, omne pene Parrhasii vigilias vix eo defuncto rapacissimis unguibus occuparant. (Martirano (1531), 2r.) For of all these efforts, of all these splendid wakeful working-nights, of all these innumerable, almost divine works, hardly one is extant and can be p­ erused by the reader. To be sure, this has not been caused by any ­negligence or other fault on his part, but rather by the vice of those who, envious of another’s good fame not to gain something for themselves but out of pure spite, took hold of almost all of the fruit of Parrasio’s nightly labours with their rapacious nails when he was hardly buried.

This last remark in particular, with its strong metaphor suggestive of grave-robbery, would be most brazen if the text actually printed by Martirano would in fact be Inghirami’s. But Martirano seems quite innocent of deceit. He dutifully rehearses that Antonio Seripando, the literary heir to Parrasio, is also working on the legacy and has advanced plans to publish his works. Fine though this resolution is, Martirano continues, the process of procuring this edition is time-consuming, and Bernardino himself, eager to honour his master and show the world how much he owes to him, announces that he will now anticipate, and contribute this edition of Parrasio’s commentary on Horace’s Ars Poetica, the only work he could, with considerable difficulty, lay hands on.11 Although Parrasio’s text had not received its final polish, nor was handed down as an autograph, Martirano considers an edition expedient, if only to force those who have illegally appropriated Parrasio’s works to acknowledge their debt.12

11   Martirano (1531), 2v-3r: Verum adhuc praeter haec in Flacci poeticam commentaria mille sane laboribus acquisita, nihil reliqui consequi potui. 12   Martirano (1531), 3r: Quae et si non satis elucubrata nec autoris manu perscripta, ac elimata prodierint, tamen ut alii scriptorum Parrhasii occupatores, exemplo meo ducti, illa quae occulunt, propalare velint nolint cogantur, typis cudenda tradere visum est.

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The printed version of the treatise contains a number of variants inferior to the MS in the Vatican Library.13 On the other hand, the manuscript generally is evidently less polished in orthography and interpunction in comparison to the printed edition and contains variants.14 These sometimes amount to errors such as to cast doubt on the scholarship of the scribe, the most flagrant example being the transcription of Greek τὸ πρέπον by praepositionem.15 This shows indisputably that Vat. Lat. 2742 cannot be an autograph, for an author as accomplished as the writer of the treatise would without a shadow of a doubt be above this type of error. And it is, a fortiori, evident that the hand of Vat. Lat. 2742 cannot be that of either Tommaso Inghirami or Aulo Giano Parrasio, famed scholars in Latin and Greek. The distribution of errors over the manuscript and the printed version, on the other hand, suggests that both versions were, or were based on, transcriptions. The possibility that the printed version was corrected from but based on the Vatican MS, however, cannot be ruled 16 out. Indeed, the fact that the Vatican MS was not in Inghirami’s hand had been noticed before by Isabella Inghirami, apparently a distant relative of the Vatican librarian.17 In her catalogue of the works of Inghirami, however, she notes that the epigraph, poetica & oratoria sunt sorores germanae. & praecepta sunt communia, added to the MS at its opening in a hand different from that of the running text and absent in the printed version, was an autograph addition by Tommaso Inghirami himself to a MS written not by him.18 Whether or not this statement is correct, it is evident that her main assertion is correct, that the running text of BAV 2742 is in another hand than that of other MSS, like Ott. Lat. 1485, appa-

13   inventi (Martirano (1531), 1r.) for inventis (Vat. Lat. 2742, 1r), and the elision of aetas (Martirano (1531), 2r; cf. Vat. Lat. 2742, 2r) are good examples. 14   So the deletion of verbs like dixerunt and connectives. 15   Praepositionem: BAV Vat. Lat. 2742, 8r. 16   The other possibility, that Vat. Lat. 2742 was transcribed from the printed edition, a practice which was not uncommon in the early age of print, is less likely since at 14r and v the MS presents lemmata absent in Martirano’s edition. On the other hand the printed edition has a sentence absent in the MS at 14v. 17   Inghirami (1955), 262. The family relationship is noted by Joost-Gaugier (2002), 58. 18   Comparing Vat. Lat. 2742 to a MS considered an autograph, the BAV. Cod. Ott. Lat. (1485), which contains a treatise which may be said to be the companion volume to the AP commentary, the in rhetoricam enarrationes on the history and nature of rhetoric seems to reveal that the assertion of Isabella Inghirami is open to doubt: the forms of the abbreviated ‘n-m’ and the ‘p’ suggest that the epigraph of 2742 and the hand of Ott. Lat. (1485) are not identical.



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rently in Inghirami’s hand without doubt. If the epigraph and the corrections in 2742 were indeed his, this would seem to have the following implications for 2742: Inghirami knew Parrasio well, and was obviously interested in his commentary on Horace’s Ars Poetica. He therefore had Parrasio’s commentary, which was as yet unpublished, copied by a scribe, then read the proof and made corrections in his own hand – a common procedure in the period. This hand was recognized by subsequent archivists who considered it the author’s redaction of a copy made of his own work, and combining this supposition with other data, among which information contained in the original binding, they ascribed the MS erroneously to the Vatican librarian, while in fact it was a transcription of a treatise by Parrasio. Let us look at the connection between the two scholars to see if we can corroborate this hypothesis. The career of Parrasio may be reconstructed on the basis of an autobiographical oration, the oratio ante praelectionem, the introductory lecture to an academic course, edited and supplemented with a biographical preface de vita, et scriptis A. Jani Parrhasii commentarius, by Xaverius Matthaeus in 1771.19 This edition contained as pièce de résistance Parrasio’s quaesita per epistolam, ‘epistolary scholarship’, consisting of learned answers to learned questions on matters of classical philology put to the scholar by colleagues and humanists from all over Italy.20 Parrasio appears from this text to have been a major scholar in the period, for not only are his correspondents men of fame and learning, also his answers are of an unusual erudition.21 Parrasio was, according to Mattei, born nobili genere in 1470 at Cosenza.22 Instructed in both the serious and lighter matters, he formed a predilection for amoeniores litterae, to the disappointment of his father.23 Threats, however, were to no avail, and the young Parrasio held on to the Muses. He became a member of Pontano’s Academy, and acquired the 19   For biographical information on Parrasio, see Tristano (1988), and for an extensive bibliography Cirillo (2002), 148n6. 20   Mattei (1771), 259, who based his edition of the quaesita per epistolam on a prior edition of Stephanus, based in its turn on BAV Vat. Lat. 5233, for which see Ferreri (2002), 217. 21   The fact that the collection opens with a letter to Ianus Lascaris on a lis cum Politiano is saying a lot. 22   Mattei (1771), xi-xxxiii. 23   Sumptus ideo rescidit sperans filium, subtractis vel ad vitam necessariis subsidiis, porro in illis studiis minime futurum, ut intabesceret e quibus nihil praeter vanum plausum elicere posset. Sed contra accidit [...] nec minime valuerunt quin paullulum a Musarum illecebris divelleretur (ibidem xii).

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customary nick-name, in his case Aulus Janus Parrhasius. From Naples, he travelled north, where he married the daughter of the Greek humanist Demetrius Chalcondyles, a traditionally expedient way to get hold of classified intellectual information. Perhaps also thanks to this connection, he became something of a celebrity.24 In Milan he becomes paid professor of rhetoric, teaching Andrea Alciati and Johannes Jacobus Trivulzi, who joins the young students’ ranks to listen to Parrasio. Alciati does not particularly fancy Parrasio, though, writing to a friend ‘I suspect whatever comes from Parrasio, who as you know often quotes authors whom he has never seen.’25 Mattei dryly comments that rather ‘Parrasio used to praise authors that nobody else had ever seen.’26 We may see in Alciati’s remark the source of the rapacissimi ungues that later would allegedly take possession of Parrasio’s unpublished works. The children born from the union with the Greek humanist’s daughter die prematurely.27 Nor is this the only calamity: he is beset by more scholarly envy and decides to flee the impending storm and receive ampler reward to boot, uberiora stipendia secutus as Parrasio later termed it himself. Just then, alas, the League of Cambrai attacks the terraferma of Venice, and Parrasio realises that his opportunities for study will be limited in a country in turmoil, and decides to return to Cosenza, where he founds an Academy of considerable importance. Not long afterwards, however, a letter by Leo X written at the behest of Inghirami and Lascaris calls him back to Rome, the autograph of which still existed in Mattei’s time.28 The date mentioned there, anno II, refers to the second year of Leo’s pontificate, 1514. Thus we may conjecture that Inghirami and Parrasio have enjoyed each other’s company for a conside  ibidem xiii.   suspicor quid Parrhasianum, quem scis eos auctores plerunque adducere solitum quos numquam viderat, xiii. 26   Parrhasium laudare solitum eos auctores, quos numquam alii viderant, ibid. 27   Spiriti (1750) does not know of any children, but he does know of the channel into which the invidia was poured: ‘gli fu addossata la vergognosa impostura, ch’egli prendesse abbominevole piacere di alcuni nobili giovinetti suoi discepoli’. Another shared interest with Tommaso? 28  ‘dilecto filio Jano Parrhasio; dilecte fili, salutem, & apostolicam benedictionem. Cum id magnopere exoptem, ut Romanus litterarum ludus a praestantissimis doctoribus exerceatur, ut ii, qui se bonis artibus dederunt, ex ea re fructus uberrimos percipiant, de tua in studiis mitioribus doctrina certior factus, ad ea publice edocenda Romae te sublegi, stipendiumque dari iussi annis singulis ducentorum aureorum nummum. Quare volo, ut ad Urbem quamprimum venias, libenter enim, paternoque animo te videbo. Datum Romae, kalend. Octobr. Anno II’ (xix). The letter was in the archives of San Giovanni a Carbonara, which has dissolved into the national archives in Napels; it has been discussed and edited by Ruggiero (2002), 177-187. 24 25



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rable time, for Tommaso died in 1516. As noted, however, the development of Parrasio’s health was hardly favourable, and in 1521 the moving tongue pronounces its owner’s wish to die in patria.29 He thus leaves Rome for Cosenza and dies at a date for which Mattei sets the terminus ante at 1534.30 This proves that Mattei did not know the editio princeps (Naples, 1531) of the commentary on Horace’s Ars poetica, because it is evident from its preface that Parrasio was dead by then. Mattei continues with an enumeration of Parrasio’s printed works, among which the commentary in another edition (Naples 1533, apud Joan. Sulebac, in-4°), and sheds yet more light on the riddling rapaces ungues mentioned by Martirano, for he mentions that the literary legacy of Parrasio, handled by Antonio Seripando’s more famous brother, Cardinal Girolamo Seripando,31 was delivered for print to Paulus Manutius, who, however, printed only five volumes of the projected total of twenty or twenty-five, passing on the rest to his son Aldus, who in his turn had parts of this bulk printed with the suppression of their author’s name.32 This instance of piracy, however, would seem to be unconnected with the AP-commentary, which was never printed by Manutius. After printed editions of Parrasio’s work Mattei lists inedita, mostly commentaries. There the commentary again is mentioned, s.v. 16: ‘in Horatii poeticam adnotationes: eadem, quae typis editae, ut supra’. Mattei, who evidently recognised Parrasio’s handwriting (this emerges from lemma 13: accedunt aliqui tractatus MSS. alterius tamen manu de meteoris etcc., qui tamen Parrhasii esse non videntur), apparently considered these adnotationes if not an autograph, at least authentic. So much, briefly, for Parrasio’s life and work. What about his connection to Inghirami? Parrasio’s correspondence evinces the author’s high regard of Inghirami, quem ex omnibus maxime scio censoris, & amici 29  ‘Sed vix iam rude donatus senex Romae sese veteri ludo incluserat, cum podagrae, chiraegrae vis hominem assiduis curis, vigiliisque confectum eo redegerunt, ut Pierio Valeriano teste nihil praeter linguam in universo corpore haberet incolume’, xx. 30   ibidem: ‘cum annos vixerit lxiv. quicquid Morerius contra asserat, illum scilicet obitum anno mdliii. Cum enim Nicolaus Salernius epicedium in Parrhasii obitu suis poeticis opusculis inseruerit, typis vulgaverit Neapoli anno mdxxxiv Parrhasium non ultra annum mdxxxiv aut xxxv vixisse clarissime evincitur.’The date of death is in fact 1522. 31   See Tristano (1988). 32   Mattei (1771), xi-xii: scripsit opera in XX libros, alii vero in quinque & viginti, relictumque cardinali Antonio Seripando auctoris amico, quo Paullus Manutius primus acceperit excudendum; quattuor libris editis, ceteros Aldo filio tradidit, qui, suppresso Parrhasii nomine, sibi eos [xii.] adoptavit. Huius plagii fides sit penes Barrium, cui l.2.c.7. de situ, & antiquit. Calab. haec agenti, scriptori licet accurato, neque subscribere, neque intercedere velim.

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animo nostra lecturum (from the letter to T. Phaedro, Lateranensi Canonico, written after 7-1-1503, when Tommaso accepted the office, and before January 1508, when he ceded it).33 Like other letters by Parrasio, this one (about the etymology of cluere, clipeum) is very learned, though not very exciting. Lemmata from his commentaries, quoted by Mattei pp. 272-382, are primarily devoted to realia and philology, and aim to elucidate loci vexati. This, by the way, contrasts sharply with especially the initial part of the AP-commentary, which provides a more comprehensive and interdisciplinary approach. Thus, considering the tone and content of Parrasio’s work, the discursive parts of the commentary and the introductory essay on poetry, seem more or less an anomaly. Parrasio’s high regard for Inghirami also surfaces in Parrasio’s oratio ante praelectionem, an introductory lecture for a course on Cicero’s letters to Atticus, which is printed by Mattei, and, I think, provides the solution to our problem.34 In the vein of the letters of Cicero, crammed as they are with complaints, Parrasio here elaborates on the whips and scorns of time. I paraphrase again: ‘Those who expect a well tempered oration at this occasion will be disappointed, for I have suffered grave losses, the consequences of which preclude careful preparation.35 After the loss of all my kin, now my dearest friend has passed away: Fedro Inghirami’.36 There follows a highly rhetorical enumeration of Inghirami’s virtues, especially with respect to the protection and support of the latter granted Parrasio: Nam quis est in hoc orbis terrarum domicilio (cuius antiquum scenae decus instauravit) quis in hac excultissima academia (quae Phaedro rhetore caelum vertice contingebat) quis adeo barbarus a Musis abest, & Gratiis, qui ad extincti Phaedri nomen ubertim non fleat? O detestandam fati impor  Kuenzle (1964), 507.   It is also in the MS Vat. Lat. 5233, 160-166; see further Ferreri (2002), 217-221. 35  [242.] Si quis in hoc ornatissimo consessu sollemnia praelectionis expectat, elaboratamque domi praefationem, is aut acceptas a me clades ignorat, aut quantum movear amissione eorum, quos amo, certe nescit; vel habet ille quidem maiorem professionis, quam meorum temporum rationem. Quis enim tam patiens, quis adeo lentus, quis ita durus, immo crudelis esset, ut intra paucissimos dies elatis duobus usu vitae, similitudine voluntatum, mutuis officiis, affinitate coniunctissimis, ab exsequiis, ab acerrimo statim luctu cogitationem transferat ad exornationes, & pigmenta verborum, protinusque prosiliat ad flosculos, & orationis artificia? Certe nemo. 36  [246] Arbitrabar invidiae satis superque litatum, nec ulterius ad novam plagam fore locum, quum ecce tibi qua minus improba mors expectabatur (utinam me prius), occupat T. Phaedrum. 33

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tunitatem! Silet, heu, T. Phaedre, vox illa argutae linguae suadela, quae mentes hominum in omnes affectus impellebat, quae Romanam facundiam a Goticis usque temporibus amissam restituit. Ubi nunc est ille gestus cum sententiis congruens? Ubi illa incorrupti Latini sermonis integritas? Quis ultimam manum tot inchoatis operibus imponet? Quae (non secus ac Apellis illa decantatissima Venus) interrupta pendent: luculentissimae orationes, apologia Ciceronis in obtrectatores, quam mihi paucis ante diebus, quam coepisset aestuare, domi suae per summam voluptatem legit: Annalium breviarium, quo res omnes a populo Romano gestas complexus est: in Horatii poeticam vigilantissima commentaria; in Plauti comoedias scrupulosissimae quaestiones. O male vivacem senectutem meam! Quo me nunc vertam miser? Ad quem confugiam? Cuius iudicio posthac utar? Cui pectoris intima committam? Quando non iam T. Phaedri, cuius humanitate prudentia, amore, fide recreabar. Who in this true centre of the world, who in this most learned academy, what very barbarian is uncultured to such a degree, that he will not weep floods of tears at the news of Fedro Inghirami’s death? Alas for the dismal importunity of fate! The voice is silent, that incarnation of sweet-tongued persuasion that impelled the minds of men to all emotions, that restored Roman eloquence lost since the times of the Goths! Where is now the gesticulation that illustrated his bon mots? Where the wholeness of the Latin language unscathed? Who will add the finishing touch to the works that he commenced? These, like that most famous Venus of Apelles, hang in suspension: splendid orations; the defence against Cicero’s critics that he read to me to my utter delight only a few days before his fever broke out in his home; the summary of the annals that treated comprehensively all Roman history; the uniquely perceptive commentaries on Horace’s Ars Poetica; the most scrupulous philological analyses of Plautus’ comedies! Woe the fact that I am old and still alive to have come to this point of misery! Where may I turn now? To whom shall I seek refuge? Whose judgement may I profit by? In whom confide my heart’s secrets, when not anymore in Tommaso, whose culture, wit, love and faith kept me alive?’37

Parrasio’s tongue, at any time, so it appears, was doing quite well indeed. But whatever the Ciceronian exuberance, it is evident that Parrasio wishes his reader to be well aware of the congeniality between Inghirami and himself: representing himself as a spiritual son and heir, he implicitly seems to announce that, since leaving Tommaso’s orphans to their fate would amount to impiety, the speaker is the proper person to finish off what Tommaso began. And among the librarian’s unfinished works he explicitly mentions vigilantissima commentaria in Horati poeticam. We are thus led to the conjecture that Inghirami, engaged in a commentary 37

  Mattei (1771), 246-247.

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on the AP, left the unfinished manuscript to be adopted and revised by Parrasio. This, of course, may be only what Parrasio wants the reader to think – he could have appropriated this and other manuscripts rather more surreptitiously than the image of a pious heir suggests, but it is impossible to know. To what extent Inghirami’s work was revised by Parrasio also remains conjectural. We have seen that editor Martirano, in all probability unaware of the co-authorship of Inghirami, stated that the manuscript he printed ‘non satis elucubrata nec autoris manu perscripta, ac elimata prodierint’,38 that is, he was aware that the text is not fully accurate, and had not had recourse to an autograph. That Parrasio himself had meant to steal Inghirami’s work seems unlikely because he mentions Inghirami’s commentary as unfinished in his public praise of the librarian. Yet it would be possible that the entire manuscript Martirano published was Inghirami’s, and the ascription to Parrasio erroneous, or even a deliberate falsification by Martirano. Again, this seems improbable, if only because of the Parrasian colouring of the latter half of the commentary.39 On the other hand Martirano’s motif to claim the MS for Parrasio, as the latter’s compatriot and pupil, is clear: he would profit by his tutor’s fame, and confer fame on their relatively humble birthplace. In his overanxious desire to publish a Parrasian text, he may have stopped short of a full investigation of the source of what he took to be authentic. Yet if he was indeed unaware of Inghirami’s co-authorship, he must have had some reason to suppose Parrasian authorship. The explanation may lie in the literary inheritance of Parrasio, who left his library to his friend and fellow pupil Antonio Seripando.40 Together with Seripando’s own collection of books and manuscripts, Parrasio’s books were annotated, supplemented and, one may surmise, copied by what has been called a ‘philological laboratory’, sponsored by Seripando and originally headed by his master, the Florentine humanist and pupil of Poliziano, Francesco Pucci.41 Carlo Vecce has investigated what is left of Seripando’s collection, formerly in San Giovanni a Carbonara, now

  See note 14 above.   Yet the second printed edition of the commentary under Parrasio’s name, apparently independently of Martirano’s edition, seems to preclude this possibility: the second editor would, in that case, have made exactly the same mistake in suppressing Inghirami’s contribution. 40   See Tristano (1988). 41   See Vecce (2002), 53-64, with illustrations. 38 39



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in the National Library of Naples, and identified in the numerous annotations in printed editions owned by Seripando, beside the hand of Seripando himself, that of his one-time collaborator and friend Jacopo Perillo. Although in the early years of the Cinquecento harmoniously working together in processing the legacy of their master Pucci and jointly signing their annotations,42 these two seem to have come to blows somewhere in 1518-19, for Seripando has cancelled the name of Perillo in all but one instance.43 Now, Perillo’s handwriting strongly resembles the main hand of Vat. Lat. 2742.44 It thus seems likely that Vat. Lat. 2742 is a rough copy from the Perillo-Seripando workshop.45 We must then, I think, assume that after the death of Inghirami in 1516, Parrasio set to work on the AP-commentary that had been begun by Tommaso Inghirami, perhaps in collaboration with Iacopo Perillo and/ or Antonio Seripando. Whatever the initial set-up, it seems that Perillo (or, if the identification of his hand proves to be incorrect, someone else) eventually took possession of the commentary from Parrasio’s legacy and copied it for private purposes. If Vat. Lat. 2742 is indeed in Perillo’s hand, it is even possible to speculate on these purposes more specifically. We have seen that Perillo’s name was cancelled by Antonio Seripando from codices that originally testified to their friendship and collaboration. No solid evidence is extant to explain such radical measures, but Vecce has ventured the hypothesis that the damnatio memoriae may be connected to the dire straits in which Perillo apparently found himself in the years 1518-1519, attested to by his correspondence with Isabella d’Este and Mario Equicola.46 In desperate need of money and a job, he sold his books to Seripando, but also, it is likely, did everything he could to bolster his reputation as a scholar and humanist. Vecce has suggested that the rift between Seripando and Perillo may have been caused by the latter’s ‘omission’ of the source of the learning transmitted, being in the 42   E.g. Antonius Seripandus et Iacobus Perillus fratres cariss. haec annotabant, quoted with many similar examples in Vecce (2002), 58. 43   Vecce (2002), 60. 44   For the hands of Seripando and Perillo, see Vecce’s illustrations, pp. 60-64; for the epigraph, see above, p. 5 with n. 20. Judging from memory, it seems to me that Seripando’s hand resembles the hand of some of the additions in Vat. Lat. 2742, among which the epigraph poetica & oratoria sunt sorores germanae & praecepta sunt communia. 45   A number of Parrasian MSS have found their way to the BAV through the machinations of Lucas Holste in the 17th century, for which see Ferreri (2002). Vat. Lat. 2742, however, cannot belong to these, as it is attested in Rome already previously, see Inghirami (1955). 46   Vecce (2002), 60, with n. 6.

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case studied by Vecce the notes of Pucci, thus implicitly claiming his own copyright on the material.47 The transcription of the AP-commentary may very well be part of this project: the contents and style of the treatise would certainly have impressed Equicola and Isabella d’Este, and thus could have been a forceful recommendation for a job. Whatever Perillo’s role in the story, a copy of the AP-commentary from the Perillo-Seripando workshop was procured by Martirano, perhaps even the very Vat. Lat. 2742: if so, his frequent stays in Rome may have caused the MS to be incorporated in the BAV.48 Martirano’s acknowledgement of Seripando’s editorial activities in the Parrasian legacy, together with his affirmation that the text he is working from was not an autograph, suggest that Martirano’s text came from this very source. Indeed, his repeated and emphatic reference to piracy may very well be a veiled allusion to the Perillo-plot: from Martirano’s preface it emerges that at the time there were those who sought to incriminate Parrasio or appropriate his intellectual ownership. The irony, of course, is that none concerned apparently realised that the commentary was not exclusively Parrasian, but contained a nucleus created by Inghirami. It is well to note that our survey has all but severed the connection of the commentary printed by Martirano from Tommaso Inghirami: this connection solely rests on Parrasio’s remarks about the orphans left by Inghirami, quoted above. Yet it still seems safest to assume a Parrhasian redaction of Inghirami’s torso, for a number of elements, otherwise difficult to explain, are accounted for by this hypothesis: on the one hand Parrasio’s mentioning of Inghirami’s work on the AP and the intimate connection of the two scholars; on the other Martirano’s attribution of authorship. Most importantly, there is the difference in style and content of for example the preliminary essay (in the vein of Inghirami’s treatise on rhetoric), and the excursus on nomenclature and the background of the Pisones (rather more reminiscent of the epistulae of Parrasio). This very lack of balance in the MS published by Martirano may be due to the fact that Parrasio, too, did not come round to fully finish the work, indeed, may not have intended publication under his own name at all. As to the ascription of Vat. Lat. 2742 to Inghirami, it was probably based on the mentioning of an Inghirami-commentary in the oratio ante praelectionem. 47

  Vecce (2002), 60.   See the Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, s.v. Bernardino Martirano.

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What conclusions may be drawn from this strange history of appropriation and misattribution, relevant to the subject of ‘new philology’? In the first place there is the irony of authorship as ownership. Martirano, as a Calabrian, was anxious to vindicate the authorship of a local humanist, Parrasio, to confer honour on his own background and to show his piety towards his own master. Yet in doing so he unleashed a category that was in fact, if my hypotheses are at all correct, alien to his master. Parrasio’s main fame rested on his published correspondence with famous humanists, and thus showed that their search for knowledge was a communal, shared project, a joint effort. Parrasio’s redaction of Inghirami’s commentary further illustrates this strong idea of fellowship, of working together towards a common goal. All Martirano’s talk of theft, ownership and authorship, on the other hand, is quite typical of what may be termed a post-sacco syndrome: after the Sack of Rome, and even in the threatening days just before, many examples can be found of the former unanimity of curial humanists breaking down to give way to bitter rivalry. The cases of the Belgian humanist Longueil, on trial in Rome, or that of Johannes Goritz and his happy crew of scholars come to mind: there too enmity and rifts suddenly become the main features of humanist discourse, where only a short while before all had sung in unison the praise of the papal Golden Age in the making.49 The pressure from the north brought national affiliations in sharp perspective: hence strong claims are made for both specific groups and specific persons. Martirano’s talk about theft concerning Parrasio’s intellectual property belongs to this discourse. Perillo’s adventures in the text-trade may be another example of the shift of paradigm that was taking place. Yet it is striking what impact, in this case also, authorial attribution makes on the reader: how differently this text reads when seen as the piously saved herculean labour of a great, unrecognized man, or as the sylloge of leisurely notes of a Vatican arriviste like Inghirami combined with the scholarly efforts of his friend Parrasio! Editor Bernardino Martirano, of course, even if he could have guessed something, was not interested in niceties. Printing, in his case, amounts to radical appropriation, is a political-historical act that stands in sharp contrast to the aim of accumulation of knowledge and learning as a joint venture that characterises the genesis of many, indeed most humanist manuscripts. The printed edition now becomes clearly focused on two authors, Horace and Parrasio, as 49

  For Longueil, cf. Rowland (1998), 250-3; for Goritz, Rijser (2012), 177-242.

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authorities. Authority had been the main totem of scholasticism and thus the target of early humanism: yet, ironically, authority, both in the modern and in the etymological sense of belonging to an ‘author’ we now see surfacing again, exemplifying a shift in cultural paradigm, from cohesive and shared to single and doctrinal. There is a final irony in the whole story. The printed edition’s allocation of authorship severs the straight connection of the commentary with the Vatican, and thus obscures the topical relevance of the treatise’s treatment of diction as central in connection with style of the Stanza:50 a reading unconnected with Inghirami fails to produce what is in fact the unusual element in the treatment not because of what it actually says, but because what it actually says remains isolated from contingent cultural facts and developments that elucidate this content. On the other hand, and by contrast, the name Parrasio apparently made the text look like a scholarly, antiquarian and even provincial exercise from the periphery of humanistic discourse, for during a very long time indeed, the AP-commentary was seen as a rather marginal affair, and received no attention whatsoever. It was only when this same text surfaced as attributed to Inghirami, and through him, connected to the Vatican under Julius and Leo, that a proper process of interpretation began. There is, in short, a lot yet to be learned from peering beneath the surface of a printed edition.51 Bibliography Benedetti, Stefano, ‘Inghirami, Tommaso’, in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani, eds. G. Pignatelli et al. (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 2004), pp. 383-87 Bober, Phyllis Pray, ‘Appropriation Contexts; Decor, Furor Bacchicus, Convivium’, in Alina Payne et al., eds., Antiquity and its Interpreters (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 229-43 Cerasuolo, Salvatore, ‘Storia critica del Ars Poetica’, in Marcello Gigante and Salvatore Cerasuolo, eds., Letture Oraziane (Naples: Dipartimento di filologia classica dell’Università degli studi di Napoli Federico II, 1995), pp. 267-89   Cf. Weinberg (1961), 100.   While this article was already at the press, new information on the identity of the scribe of Vat. Lat. 2742 presented itself that necessitates further research and analysis, which I will perform forthwith and publish separately. Until that time, the reader is kindly asked to view the final conclusions of this paper as provisional in the highest degree. 50 51



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Cirillo, Teresa, ‘Note del Parrasio a un’edizione dell’opera di Tacito’, in Giancarlo Abbamonte et al., eds., PARRHASIANA II. Atti del II Seminario di Studi su Manoscritti Medievali e Umanistici della Biblioteca Nazionale di Napoli. Napoli, 20-21 ottobre 2000 (Naples: Annali dell’Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli [AION], 2002), pp. 147-176 Ferreri, L. ‘I codici parrasiani della Biblioteca Vaticana, con particolare riguardo al Barberiniano Greco 194, appartenuto a Giano Lascaris’, in: Giancarlo Abbamonte et al., eds., PARRHASIANA II. Atti del II Seminario di Studi su Manoscritti Medievali e Umanistici della Biblioteca Nazionale di Napoli. Napoli, 20-21 ottobre 2000 (Naples: Annali dell’Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli [AION], 2002), pp. 189-224 Joost-Gaugier, Christiane L., Raphael’s Stanza della Segnatura; Meaning and Invention (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002) Inghirami, Isabella, ‘Notizie dei codici, degli autografi e delle stampe riguardanti le opere dell’umanista volterrano Tommaso Inghirami, detto Fedro’, Rassegna Volterrana, 21-23 (1955), 33-41 Inghiramus, Thomas Phaedrus, Orationes duae, ed. Pietro Luigi Galletti (Rome: Typis Generosi Salomoni, 1777) Kempers, Bram, ‘  “Sans fiction ne dissimulacion”: The Crowns and Crusaders in the Stanza dell’Incendio’, in Götz-Rüdiger Tewes, Michael Rohlmann, eds., Der Medici-Papst Leo X. und Frankreich (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), pp. 373-425 Kempers, Bram, Ruysch en Erasmus in Rome: Een kleine bespiegeling over multidisciplinariteit, internationalisering en kinderen, P.C. Hooft­ lezing, 6 (Amsterdam: Vossiuspers, 1997) Kristeller, Paul Oskar, Iter Italicum, 7 vols (London: Warburg Institute; Leiden: E.J. Brill and Leiden, 1963-1992) Kuenzle, Paul, ‘Raffaels Denkmal für Fedro Inghirami auf dem letzten Arazzo’, in Mélanges Eugène Tisserant; vol. VI, première partie: Bibliothèque Vaticane, Studi e Testi, 236 (Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1964), pp. 499-548 Martirano, Bernardino, ed., A. Iani Parrhasii Cosentini in Q. Horatii Flacci commentaria luculentissima, cura et studio Bernardini Martyrani in lucem asserta (Naples: Ioannes Sultzbachius, 1531) Matthaeus, Xaverius, ed., Auli Jani Parrhasii Consentini quaesita per epistolam; ex recensione Henr. Stephani (Naples: Stamperia Simoniana, 1771)

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Pfisterer, Ulrich, Review of Christiane L. Joost-Gaugier, Raphael’s Stanza della Segnatura. Meaning and Invention (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), in: H-ArtHist, 11.12.2003 [accessed 7 April 2011] Rijser, David, Raphael’s Poetics: Art and Poetry in High Renaissance Rome (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2012) Rowland, Ingrid D., ‘The Intellectual Background of the School of Athens: Tracking Divine Wisdom in the Rome of Julius II.’, in Marcia Hall, ed., Masterpieces of Western Painting: Raphael’s School of Athens (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 131-70 Rowland, Ingrid D., The Culture of the High Renaissance; Ancients and Moderns in Sixteenth Century Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998) Ruggiero, Carmela, ‘Lettere del Parrasio in un codice della Biblioteca Oratoriana dei Girolamini’, in Giancarlo Abbamonte et al., eds., PARRHA­SIANA II. Atti del II Seminario di Studi su Manoscritti Medie­ vali e Umanistici della Biblioteca Nazionale di Napoli. Napoli, 20-21 ottobre 2000 (Naples: Annali dell’Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli (AION), 2002), pp. 177-188 Shearman, John, Raphael’s cartoons in the collection of Her Majesty the Queen, and the tapestries for the Sistine Chapel (London: Phaidon, 1972) Shearman, John, Raphael in Early Modern Sources (1483-1602), 2 vols (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003) Spiriti, Salvatore, Memorie degli scrittori Cosentini (Naples: Stamperia dei Muzi, 1750) Taylor, P., ‘Julius II and the Stanza della Segnatura’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 72 (2009), 103-141. Tristano, Caterina, La biblioteca di un umanista calabrese: Aulo Giano Parrasio (Manziana: Vecchiarelli, 1988) Valerianus, Pierius, De litteratorum infelicitate libri duo (Venice: Iac. Sarzina, 1620) Vecce, Carlo, ‘Postillati di Antonio Seripando’, in Giancarlo Abbamonte et al., eds., PARRHASIANA II. Atti del II Seminario di Studi su Manoscritti Medievali e Umanistici della Biblioteca Nazionale di Napoli. Napoli, 20-21 ottobre 2000 (Naples: Annali dell’Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli (AION), 2002), pp. 53-64 Weinberg, Bernard, A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance, 2 vols (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1961) University of Amsterdam Classics Department [email protected]

Werner J.C.M. Gelderblom THE MATERIALITY OF REVISION: MANUSCRIPT, PRINT AND REVISIONS IN JOHANNES SECUNDUS’ POETRY The development of the internet, which now influences the life of nearly every human being, has made us fully aware of the impact of a new publication medium on our ways of writing and reading, and also of the slow and gradual pace of this impact: more than forty years after the first introduction of a long-distance computer network we are still discovering the full possibilities of the world wide web. Similarly, fifteenth-century Europe experienced a world-changing moment, when Johannes Gutenberg introduced the technique of movable type printing in Europe, and so paved the way for the printed book, which is one of the most important inventions in modern history. Yet, it is well known that this new invention did not alter the world immediately. At first, printed books were designed and used as if they were manuscripts, and manuscripts continued to be an equally important publication medium until well into the seventeenth century.1 However, this does not mean that until that time manuscript and print were considered to be fully interchangeable publication mediums. In recent research, there is some interest in these differences, and Arthur Marotti, Brian Richardson, and Harold Love, to name just these three, have convincingly argued that there are clear and meaningful differences between print and manuscript publications, at least in the sixteenth and seventeenth century, and that both means of circulating literary works should be allocated an equally important place in studies of the early modern time.2 Simultaneously, Stephen Nichols, presenting a ‘New Philology’ to the field of Medieval Studies, and Jerome McGann, writing mainly about nineteenth-century English literature, have pleaded for more attention to the material appearances of literary works, since these have an important influence on the meaning for the user of a specific copy of that work.3 In 1   Recently, David McKitterick has shown that the human mind did not have a full notion of print as the primary and stable means of publication until the late eighteenth century (McKitterick (2003)). 2   See Love (1993), Marotti (1995), and Richardson (2009). 3   For New Philology see Stephen Nichols’ introduction to a special issue of the journal Speculum (Nichols 1990) and Nichols (1997). McGann (1991) provides a clear and profound account of his ideas.

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this context, McGann distinguishes between the linguistic and the bibliographical codes of a literary work, which both contribute to its meaning. Surprisingly, given this recent focus on the material aspects of literary works, relatively little attention has been paid hitherto to the influence of the medium of publication on textual constitution, or, to use Jerome McGann’s terms, on the symbiotic relation between the bibliographical and linguistic codes. Since the material context is of great influence to the meaning of a literary work, it is reasonable to suggest that an author composed his texts in accordance with the material context that he had in mind. In this contribution, I will attempt to illustrate this by discussing examples of textual revisions in some works of the sixteenth-century poet Johannes Secundus. The works in question were first published in manu­ script form and subsequently in print. The revisions I will discuss were all made in view of the publication in print; by studying them, I hope to reveal that sixteenth-century authors were aware of the differences in materiality, and to show how this awareness influenced the structural and textual content of their literary works in each medium. I believe that the study of textual revisions in relation to the material appearances of a literary work will open up new insights in writing practices and concepts of materiality in the Renaissance period.4 Johannes Secundus (1511-1536) and the sources of his poetry Let us first briefly introduce Johannes Secundus and the sources of his poetry. Secundus was born in The Hague in 1511 and died very early in 1536 due to an illness.5 He was the son of a high-placed humanist in the Low Countries and received an excellent education, mainly in Latin and Greek, first in his place of birth, later in Mechlin. Very soon, it became clear that he was gifted with an exceptional poetic sense in Latin, the only language he used for his literary writings, and it must have been partly for that reason that he was sent to Bourges (France) in 1532 to study law under Andreas Alciati (1492-1550). Alciati was not only an esteemed jurist, but more importantly, a famous Neo-Latin poet, now known as the founder of the literary genre of the emblem book. After returning in 1533, 4   Similarly, in her book on the genesis of modern English poems, Sally Bushell argues for a complementary approach of McGann’s ‘transmission [as] a part of meaning’ and her own ‘making [as] a part of meaning’ (Bushell (2009), 5). 5   For more extensive accounts of Secundus’ life and works, see Schoolfield (1980) and Price (1996).



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Secundus started to look for an appointment and tried his luck at the court of Charles V in Spain. Due to an illness he returned to the Low Countries prematurely in 1535, and died there in 1536, when he was about to return to Spain to accept an appointment as secretary to the emperor himself. Although he was only 24 years old, his oeuvre, as it is known today, comprises no less than ten books of poetry, consisting of love elegies, occasional poetry (funerary poems, metric epistles and epigrams), odes, etcetera. Yet, he earned himself eternal fame with one small work only, his Liber Basiorum, a cycle of nineteen short poems with one subtle subject, kissing. Like many humanists, Secundus used his poetry to introduce himself to important and high-placed persons, hoping that they would be willing to promote his career. Since, as we have just seen, he travelled widely across Europe, he had to send his poetry to many places to keep in touch with friends and benefactors. Some of these manuscripts are still extant today, whereas others can partly be reconstructed from later unauthorized manuscript or print copies based on these manuscript publications.6 Approximately one year before his unexpected early death, Secundus started to prepare copy for a print publication of his poetry, among other things, by revising manuscript copies of his poetry preserved in his personal files.7 Unfortunately, death prevented him from completing this printer’s copy and from seeing his work printed. However, these tragic circumstances also caused the preservation of this copy manuscript that became an object of veneration for his broken-hearted family. One of his brothers, Hadrianus Marius, completed the copy and had it printed in 1541.8 However, deviating from usual sixteenth-century practices, Marius did not discard the manuscript with the many writings, revisions, and even revision notes in the hand of his deceased brother, but preserved it instead. The manuscript happened to survive the centuries and now forms a unique document of the writing and revision processes of an outstanding

6   A trustworthy overview of all sources for Secundus’ poetry is still lacking. The sources for Secundus’ Basia and some of his elegies are fully discussed in Tuynman (1991) and Tuynman (1994). 7   See Tuynman (1991), 202-203, 260-261 and Gelderblom (2009), 98-99 for the evidence from letters and MS B that Secundus was preparing copy for a printed edition in the last year of his life. 8   Johannes Secundus, Opera. Nunc primum in lucem edita (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1969; original ed. Utrecht: Harmannus Borculous, 1541). More information about the genesis of this edition can be found in Gelderblom (2009).

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Renaissance Latin poet, which can be studied in the Bodleian Library in Oxford.9 This Bodleian manuscript (MS B) of Secundus’ poetry is the multiform result of a complex genesis: close study of the manuscript by Tuynman has revealed that its 159 leaves constitute a combination of loose sheets and quires put together at a later time, in some cases many years after their original production. The first parts were written when Secundus was staying in Spain between 1533 and 1535, and served at that time probably as fair copies and working manuscripts for the poet’s personal files; later parts were written by Secundus when he was back in the Netherlands and was manifestly preparing a print edition of his poetry, while still other parts were written by his brother Marius after Secundus’ untimely death.10 Revisions occur in all of these parts, but, obviously, their status may vary. In this paper, I will only study the revisions that were made after Secundus’ decision to publish his poetry in print, since the purpose of this contribution is to examine how Secundus’ revisions may relate to the material shift from manuscript to print.11 These revisions are in the hand of either Secundus or Marius, who also revised the manuscript parts copied out by Secundus when he was preparing the manuscript for print after the poet’s death. However, the fortunate coincidence that (extensive) revision notes in Secundus’ own hand have been preserved at the back of MS B demonstrates that Marius’ early revisions in the text (easily recognisable by the discoloration of the ink that was used by Marius in that stage) have been faithfully based on these authorial notes and, therefore, have the same status as the later revisions by Secundus himself.12 In later stages, Marius adjusted some more places in the manuscript, mostly small details and probably often on his own authority, with the intention to prepare the manuscript for the printer. The focus of this paper 9   MS Rawlinson G 154. The provenance of this manuscript has been reconstructed in detail in Tuynman (1991), 207-209 and Tuynman (1994), 275-281. 10   The paper sheets of the Spanish parts contain a clearly recognisable watermark of Spanish origin (nr. 13757 (Madrid, 1535) in Briquet (1907); cf. Valls I Subirà (1980), 166-167). 11   MS B contains earlier revisions as well, which provide valuable information about other parts of Secundus’ poetics, as I will show elsewhere. 12   Almost all of Secundus’ revision notes at the back of MS B concern the first book of elegies. The fact that Secundus made revision notes instead of directly revising the text of this part of the manuscript probably means that he planned to make a new fair copy of it (this part was already loaded with earlier revisions). After Secundus’ death, Marius decided that a new copy was not necessary and revised the existing copy with the help of Secundus’ notes.



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will be on authorial revisions, but occasionally, the editorial revisions by Marius will also be considered, since these show the equally interesting ideas about the peculiarities of print publication of Secundus’ brother and fellow poet. Revisions and Intentions In the following pages, I will use the revisions and revision notes in MS B to compare the textual appearances of Secundus’ poetry in both manuscript and print publication. The purpose is to show what these revisions can teach us about a sixteenth-century author’s textual approach to different material representations, taking as a starting point the fact that Secundus realised, as we do now, that materiality influenced the meaning of his literary works and that, logically, he adapted his work to function in each different material entity in the best possible way. However, even though most of the revisions in MS B can be dated quite securely and the revisions discussed here were surely made after Secundus’ decision to change the medium of publication, it is still possible and even probable that Secundus kept revising his poetry for more than one reason, not only to adjust it to the new medium, but also, for instance, for literary and stylistic reasons. How, then, will it be possible to decide which revisions were made by Secundus with an eye on the new medium, and is it possible to define the intentions of the author at all? To answer the last question first, authorial intentions are notoriously difficult or even impossible to pinpoint. Yet, authorial revisions may be different, since alterations, at least, allow us to conclude that it was the author’s intention to change the text at a specific point in time. Without going into details of this topic, which would require an article or book on its own, I would like to refer to the approach of John Bryant, a scholar of nineteenth-century English, who studied Melville’s revisions of his novel Typee, and used this experience to write on a more theoretical level about revisions and the fluid text.13 One of his starting points is that: ... a fluid text, in fact, offers concrete representations of intentionality, for a revised text records not so much intended meaning but more importantly the intention to change meaning. (Bryant (2007), 26)

  Bryant (2002).

13

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Bryant argues that these intentions to change can be interpreted in a network consisting of the author, the public and others economically and politically interested. His most often mentioned example is the changing of savage into islander and vice versa at several places in Melville’s manuscript. His conclusion is that: ... we know that his change from one to the other is itself conscious and meaningful. This awareness enables us to place more useful boundaries on speculation. And, with our construction of a strategy out of Melville’s intended revision in mind, we can also more carefully speculate upon the ways our awareness of textual fluidity may affect the ways we read a text and a culture. (Bryant (2002), 9)

This brings us to the other question: although it seems reasonable to assume that an authorial revision shows the author’s intention to change, how can it then be decided for what reason that change was made? Here, Bryant’s example is illustrative as well. If the islander-savage revision occurred only once, it would not have been a strong indicator of Melville’s strategy, but its repeated occurrence makes it meaningful. I think that the same principle is valid in Secundus’ case: if it is possible to extract certain patterns in the revisions that were made in the very short time after his decision to print his works, and if these patterns can be reasonably related to the transposition to another medium, it seems fair to conclude that these changes were made because of that change of medium. Thus, in my view, the quantity of similar revisions in a defined period of time makes it possible to reach conclusions about intention and meaning of these revisions. These observations have been somewhat lenghty, but I hope that they have opened our eyes to an often neglected part of Renaissance poetics. However, in a study of something as pragmatic as revisions on a paper sheet, the proof of the pudding will definitely be in the eating, and so we will now turn our attention to the revisions in MS B. Material revisions I: the fear of impersonality The first cluster of revisions related to the shift from poetry published in manuscript to poetry published in print is concerned with what I call the ‘fear of impersonality’. It has been observed by most scholars of material aspects of Renaissance literature that, in the sixteenth century, manuscript publication was generally considered private publication, with notions of presence and personality, whereas print publication was regarded as



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public and impersonal.14 After all, easier, faster and wider distribution was the reason that print publication was successfully introduced in the first place. However, this “publicness” also led to more vulnerability of the author: ill-intentioned people, be they scholastic theologians, hostile clergymen, or just malevolent literary critics, could more easily search for abuses and faults in print publication. Moreover, due to the relative stability of print in comparison to the fluidity of manuscript, print publication was associated with stronger authorial ownership: more than in manuscript publication the author was the responsible owner of print publications.15 Because of these differences politically, sexually, and religiously unorthodox writings were, generally speaking, less likely to be published in print, and often remained in the safer environment of manuscript publication. It thus seems likely that an author would also adjust the textual appearance of a work in this respect when he moved it from manuscript to print publication, but detailed studies of this process do not yet exist. This contribution sets out to show that Secundus, when he had decided to print his work, can be seen to adjust his poetry in MS B with the purpose to soften its tone, because the materiality of print, together with the notion of “publicness”, required this new textual constitution: print was a public medium and, as such, was required to adjust to public morals. Before I come to that, it is useful to briefly discuss the publication history of Secundus’ poems about the death of Thomas More.16 These poems, which fiercely criticize Henry VIII, the king of England, were diffused by Secundus in manuscript form, and after his death printed in an unauthorized edition by Hieronymus Gebwiler, who ascribed these poems to Desiderius Erasmus.17 When Marius discovered this edition with the poems wrongly ascribed to Erasmus, he decided to make an edition of his own in Louvain. He explained the reasons for his decision 14   See Richardson (2009), 1-58; Love (1993) passim (e.g. p. 184, 291); Marotti (1995) passim (e.g. p. 332). 15   Although print was far less stable in the sixteenth century than nowadays, as is shown by McKitterick (2003), it was even then already experienced as a more stable medium (see e.g. Richardson (2009), 14). For the stronger sense of authorial ownership that coincided with this, see Richardson (1999), 101-104. 16   A much more detailed account in Dekker (1986), 203-236. About these poems in general, see Blanchard (1972). 17   Desiderius Eramus, In … Rofensis Episcopi ac Thomae Mori … Heroicum Carmen …. (Hagenau: Valentin Kobian, 1536). (Bodleian Library, Vet D1 e 81). Besides this, evidence of the circulation of these poems can be found in two extant manuscript copies (Basel, Öffentliche Bibliothek der Universität Basel, ms. C. VIa 54, 314v-317v and Bayeri­ sche Staatsbibliothek München, Collectio Camerariana, Vol. 33 (= CLM 10383), 311r313r).

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in the foreword, which contains an extremely interesting statement about the diffusion of this poem in manuscript and print: Nam quamquam et ipse ea, dum viveret, quod in regem Angliae quibusdam locis essent acerbiora, amicis tantum communicaverit, carminumque suorum meditans editionem, haec tamen ad tempus supprimere cogitaret, et nos quoque postea eo defuncto idem facere statuissemus, nunc tamen cur id faciamus nulla est causa. Edita enim iam bis sunt et mille forsan exemplaribus per hominum manus volant…18 For although he (= Secundus) himself, when he was alive, also circulated these (= the poems on Thomas More) only among friends, since they were too harsh for the king of England in some places, and he, thinking of an edition of his poems, thought it better to suppress these at least for the moment, and although, later, after he had died, we too had decided to do the same, now however, there is no reason why we would do this. They have after all been published twice already and they pass through the hands of men in perhaps even a thousand copies.

These remarks prove beyond doubt that Secundus and his posthumous editor, Marius, differentiated between publication in manuscript and print and believed that some contents were more appropriate for circulation in manuscript form alone.19 It is this differentiation that will be studied here, but now on a different level, in the textual constitution(s) of Secundus’ poems and books of poems. The first example is from Secundus’ Liber epigrammatum (‘Book of epigrams’), which contains a poem whose title in the first redaction was In Marullum et Marium.20 The diplomatic transcription of this epigram in MS B (ff. 64v-65r) reads as follows (Secundus’ additions in italics):

18   Naenia in mortem clariss. viri Thomae Mori … Louvain: Servatius Zassenus, 1536. 8o. (The Hague, Royal Library, 229 E34), Aiiir-v. 19   This can also be illustrated by a few lines of text under the table of contents in the posthumous edition of Secundus’ complete works (Secundus (1541) A1v): Scripsit & alia nonnulla, quae sunt / a nobis heic omissa, quod in / principes quosdam / acerbius dicta / videren- / tur. (‘He also wrote some other things, which have here been omitted by us, because they seemed to be said in too severe a tone against some princes.’). 20   Unfortunately, Secundus did not number his epigrams. In the often used edition of Bosscha (1821), the epigram carries the number 1.10. For a brief analysis of this poem, see Price (1996), 82-83.



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Varium In Marullum & Marium





Variusque Marullus Mariusque Septimillae Donavere toga nova maritum. Nunc ille ambulat huc et huc togatus //f. 65r// Et transit fora, porticus, tabernas, Vicos, balnea, fornices, popinas, Nec toto decies revisit anno Relictam dominis domum novellis. Securi modo saepe luce prima, Securi modo saepe sole sero, Securi medio die dolabunt fruuntur Variusque Marullus Mariusque Septimillam. Varius On Marullus and Marius Varius Marullus and Marius gave a new Toga to the husband of Septimilla. Now, he walks hither and thither in his toga And he travels around the markets, galleries, taverns, Neighborhoods, bathhouses, brothels, bistros And does not come back to see his house Ten times in an entire year, turned over to new masters. Now often at dawn, securely Now often in the evening, securely Varius At midday, securely, Marullus and Marius will bang enjoy Septimilla.

Since Marullus was the name of a famous Neo-Latin poet from the Quattrocento, particularly known for his chaste poetry, the poem no doubt has a metapoetical layer and ridicules the chastity of his poetry.21 It is 21   See on Marullus in general, Kidwell (1989); Enenkel (2008), and for his chasteness Lamers (2009) and Coppini (2000). I will not go into details about the metapoetical layer

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beyond doubt that contemporary readers would have equated Marius, the name of the other protagonist in the first version in MS B, with Secundus’ brother Marius, all the more since he too wrote rather chaste poetry.22 In this case, it can be easily inferred that Secundus sent this poem in manuscript to Marius and other acquaintances who understood the poetics of gently teasing his brother and fellow poet. However, with print publication in mind, Secundus did not want to publicly mock his brother and therefore changed the name ‘Marius’ at three places in the title and the poem to ‘Varius’, not incidentally the Latin word for ‘different’, by which means Secundus cleverly coded the second name as a fictitious one. More importantly, in the punch line of the poem, he also changed the word combination dolabunt … Septimillam, a slang obscenity meaning ‘they will have rough sex with Septimilla’, into the more neutral fruuntur … Septimilla, ‘they enjoy Septimilla’.23 Secundus, changing from a private to a public medium, chose to tone down the sexual explicitness of this poem, arguably to its disadvantage, since the point loses a lot of its (metapoetical) power in the new version of the poem. Secundus’ erasures were all done with one penstroke, but when Secundus had died and Marius was preparing the manuscript for print, he deleted his own name and, in an unusual way, somewhat angrily with a lot of loops, and even jotting fake characters over the deleted word, so as to make the erased word almost unreadable. Apparently, Marius did not want the printer to read his name in this passage, even when it was already erased by Secundus and would not appear in print; his veneration for Secundus’ autograph ended where his own good name came into play. Remarkably, Marius did not obliterate the obscene word dolabunt in the of this poem. It seems to me that Secundus is contrasting the public chasteness of the poetry (the cloak) with the inferred private unchasteness of the poet (the sexual activities in the house), thus turning upside down the topical contrast between the unchaste poetry and the chaste life of the poet. 22   Marius’ poetry can be found in Poemata et effigies trium fratrum Belgarum ... Leiden: Apud Ludovicum Elzevirium, 1612. 8o. (Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Rés. p-Yc-1248). The first book of elegies (pp. 1-20) contains most of his amatory poems, which are characteristically of a Petrarchan nature (with e.g. no less than three poems on the mistress’ hands that fend off the lover’s kisses). 23   The word dolare received its full obscene meaning, when the informed reader remembered the only obscene usage of the word from classical poetry known to him, in the Priapea (46.9-10: dolemque / cunni vermiculos scaturrientis; the use of the word in Martialis 7.67.3 depends on an emendation by Gruterus and was unknown to Secundus and his contemporary readers). Later, we will see a second example where the full obscenity would only be clear to those who recognized the allusion. Apparently, Secundus considered even this ‘intertextual obscenity’ not safe enough for publication in print.



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same aggressive way. At first, this may appear as an amusing indication of Marius’ sexual vanity, but the contrast with the heavily erased name may corroborate our conclusion regarding the different poetics of manuscript and print: Marius was worrying about the appearance of his own name in a text regardless of its setting, but it did not matter to him that the obscene word dolabunt was still readable in the manuscript. Apparently, he considered it acceptable that this word was still easily recognisable in the manuscript, as long as it did not appear in print. We may conclude that manuscript publications indeed had their own poetics in comparison to print publication: dolabunt was permitted in the privacy of the manuscript, not in the “publicness” of print. A second, comparable example comes from Secundus’ Julia, his first book of elegies.24 Here, it was Marius who revised a line at a very late moment in what seems to be an editorial revision. Just before he brought the manuscript to the printer, he erased the following distich in Eleg. 1.10: Annuit et divum grex25 et pater ipse Deorum Iupiter, et phrygio cum Ganymede iacet.26 The band of gods granted its support as well as the father of gods himself, Jupiter, and he lay down with the Phrygian Ganymede.

These lines, which are, in fact, essential for the poem, apparently offended Marius, or to be more precise, may have offended the public Marius had in mind for a print publication, probably because of the suggestion of homosexuality and pederasty in the last line, which would become even more obvious when the allusions to Martial were taken into consideration by an informed reader (compare what I have called ‘intertextual obscenity’ in note 23).27 For this reason, Marius decided to delete the whole distich, which he apparently considered more acceptable for manuscript than for print.28   On this work, see Murgatroyd (2000).   Marius changed this word in an earlier revision stage to chorus, possibly because he thought the word grex too mundane or too blasphemous to refer to gods, a good example of ‘material revision’ on its own. 26   MS B, f. 13r (these lines followed after the current line 22). 27   Martialis 11.22 (line 2: nudo cum Ganymede iaces) and 11.43 (vers 4: ille tamen grandi cum Ganymede iacet). These poems are among the sexually most explicit of Martial (Kay 1985, 118: ‘This epigram ... finds M. at his least restrained’ (about 11.22)). 28   It must be remarked here that Marius erased these lines in such a way that they became unreadable. Apparently, these lines were even too unorthodox for manuscript in 24 25

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More examples could easily be given, but these two are very illustrative: in the preparation of the print edition, Secundus, the author, and Marius, the editor, reread all of Secundus’ poems in the form in which these were diffused in manuscript and deleted those details that could point towards a lack of conformity of any kind, since print would be more impersonal and public.29 That the material shift caused textual adaptations inspired by a fear of impersonality can also be illustrated on a larger scale. It has been pointed out before that the diffusion in print provided the motivation for a more explicit defence of the text against maltreatment by others, for example by means of a privilege.30 In Secundus’ case, this need for defence in the new physical format can also be witnessed by the addition of a complete new poem to the Basia. Whereas this famous work can be proved to have consisted of eighteen poems in its manuscript publications, Secundus added a nineteenth poem in MS B when he prepared the text for the print medium.31 In this new closing poem (Basium 19), the narrator, Secundus’ alter ego, addresses bees, advising them to leave alone other flowers and come to the lips of his mistress on which all honey can be found. Since the lips of his mistress are easily understood to be a metaphor for Secundus’ Kisses, his Basia (lips being the ‘material container’ of kisses, like paper was for the Kiss poems), and as the imagery of bees gathering nectar Marius’ eyes, although Secundus did not delete them when he was preparing the copy. Perhaps the material difference was not the only reason for deletion here, but also the fact that times had changed and that Marius as an editor wanted to protect the name of his deceased brother more strongly than the author himself. 29   I have treated a similarly illustrative example from the Basia elsewhere (Gelderblom 2009b, 126-128). To summarize the relevant conclusions there, in Basium 5 Secundus decided, among other things, to delete the following line (22): Sed si quae Dea, si Deus quis usquam est,... (‘But if there is somewhere any goddess or any god...’) and to replace it with the far more neutral Si quisquam tamen est, amore maior… (‘But if someone is mightier than Cupid…’). In light of the other changes discussed above, the conclusion may be that Secundus thought the first version religiously too risqué in print. 30   The posthumous edition of Secundus’ Works contains a privilege: Cum gratia & Privilegio Caesario (Secundus (1541) A1r). For authorial protection by means of a privilege, see Richardson (1999), 70-76. 31   This is evidenced by the later addition of this poem to MS B and the absence of this poem in two unauthorized editions, which were based on versions that Secundus had undoubtedly diffused in manuscript: Joannes Secundus, Basia. Et alia quaedam, (Lyon: Gryphius, 1539) (University of Amsterdam, 069-92) and Joannes Secundus, Cymba Amoris, Insomnium. Eiusdem Basia …. (Utrecht: Harmannus Borculous, 1540) (Rotterdam, Gemeentebibliotheek, 4 E 12). Tuynman (1991), 210, 215-217 provides more information about these editions and the absence of Basium 19 in them.



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to make their own honey was a well-known metaphor for the imitative practice of writers, who read other works (flowers) and digested these to create their own literary work (honey), it must have been obvious to contemporary readers that this poem contained a metapoetical layer.32 The poetic I speaks to other poets (the bees) about his Basia (the lips of his mistress) and urges these poets to imitate them (gather their honey from the lips). This summarizes the first part of the poem (ll. 1-14), and so far its content seems not to be especially designed for publication in print (or it must be for the plural form of address, which is more suitable for print publication). This image changes in the second half of the poem, when the poetic I warns the bees (i.e. the poets): Non etiam totas avidae distendite cellas, Arescant Dominae ne semel ora meae, Basiaque impressans siccis sitientia labris, Garrulus indicii triste feram precium. Heu, non et stimulis compungite molle labellum: Ex oculis stimulos vibrat et illa pares.33 And don’t greedily swell all of your cells either, in case my mistress’ mouth dries up once and for all, and when I press thirsty kisses on lips which are arid I receive a dreadful punishment for my babbling disclosure. Oh, and don’t you sting her soft lips: she shoots out stings as painful as yours from her eyes.

The contemporary reader, encouraged by the first part of the poem to interpret this passage metapoetically, will, in my view, have seen it as a defence of the text of the Basia. First, it urges not to imitate the Basia too closely (not to take away all honey, ll. 15-18), that is, not to duly copy the artistic ideas of the author, or even not to plagiarize.34 In this context, it is worth noting that Basia impressare (l. 17) can also mean ‘to print Kiss 32   The metaphor of the bees is first found in Seneca’s epistles. For its popularity in Renaissance times, see e.g. Pigman III (1980) 8-9. On the metapoetical layer in Basium 19, cf. Robert (2004) and Bizer (1995), 138-145 (mainly on metapoetical reception of this poem); the argumentation below differs from these. For a more extensive account of my arguments, see Gelderblom (2011). 33   MS B, f. 90r; translation from Murgatroyd (2000), 199. 34   Plagiarism was very common in Secundus’ time; see for instance Kewes (2002), and although plagiarism may have been easier when a work was not printed (Richardson (2009), 21), the larger diffusion could also cause greater fear that unknown others would made improper use of the text.

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poems’, so again stressing the second layer of the poem and more clearly expressing the fear that improper use of the text of the Basia by others would make it impossible for Secundus to reissue his work.35 Secondly, ll. 19-20 ask the colleague poets (the bees) not to criticize the Basia in their poems (not to sting the lips). It was very common in the sixteenthcentury literary community that poets criticized other poets. Here, the verb compungere gives an extra argument for this interpretation, since its simplex verb (pungere) was frequently used to express the biting power of epigrams.36 Altogether, Secundus expresses a distinct fear of others, and especially the treatment of his literary work by others (plagiarism and criticism) in this new poem. I conclude that this fear, whether earnest or tongue-in-cheek, must be linked to the new materiality of the text: print was associated with “publicness”, and this “publicness” brought about that a work was consummated by more and unknown readers instead of by an intimate circle of friends, who were the implied readers of the poems when they were diffused in manuscript; the new reading public was far less manageable by Secundus and, therefore, he felt the need to defend the text of one of his major creations more vigorously.37 Secundus even seems to play on this notion of “publicness” by using the word garrulus ( l. 18: ‘babbling’) in this added poem. In conclusion of this first section about categories of revisions for material reasons, we can say that, for the sixteenth-century author and editor, print publication, the public medium, had its own poetics: it required more restraint, especially in the political, sexual and religious atmosphere. What had been possible in the manuscript publications, considered a medium of privacy in the sixteenth-century setting, could very well be dangerous in print. The culturally defined fear of the larger, anonymous readership compelled Secundus to mitigate his texts, and also to add formal as well as literary defences of this text.

35   Impressare was the normal word for printing in the sixteenth century (see Shaw (1989), 220-222). 36   For this usage, the source was Martial 7.25.18 (about epigrams): nam mihi, quae novit pungere, Chia sapit (Since for me, a fig tastes well, when it knows how to bite’). 37   Richardson (2009), 218 states that ‘[in printed editions] the sense of needing to guard the work against possible criticisms can be particularly strong.’



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Material revisions II: the poetics of assemblage Whoever picks up the first edition of Secundus’ poetry (see note 8) unwittingly, will be surprised to find Secundus’ best known and most highly valued work, his Basia, at a very humble position in the book.38 In a total of ten books, it takes sixth place, after three books of elegies, one book of funeral poems and one book of epigrams. This is all the more surprising, since there is much evidence that Secundus circulated the Basia more prominently in manuscript form than any other work.39 Yet, this inconsistency can be explained when an important difference between sixteenthcentury manuscript and print editions is taken into account: whereas manuscript publications were normally very small, frequently consisting of only one quire, a suitable format for easy circulation of an unbound book, print publications were often much larger.40 This means that authors and editors had to consider the order of different works in a print edition, while this was the task of the people receiving the edition in the case of diffusion in manuscript form.41 Therefore, the creation of a print edition leads to something I would like to call a poetics of assemblage; the order and interconnections of several poetic books provide an added parameter for significance in this new material context. This may explain the remarkable order of Secundus’ works in the print edition: 1) It was natural that the first work ever written by Secundus, the Julia, should open the edition (and editions often start with elegiac books), and 2) an imperative of generic coherence required the other two books of elegies to follow immediately after; 3) since Secundus as a young man at the start of his career would try to flatter as much as possible, the funeral poems and the epigrams, containing many poems about prominent persons, needed a prominent place as well; 4) only after these, the Basia found a place. We may infer from the order in this edition that one of its original goals was to promote Secundus’ career, and that Marius maintained this order even after Secundus had died. Thus, this edition shows that the order of 38   That the order of the books was decided upon by Secundus, and not by Marius, is proved by Tuynman (1991), 202-203. 39   Apart from the fact that two manuscript copies were used for unauthorized editions of the Basia (see note 31), an anonymous note in a Leiden manuscript (BPL 3005, f. 148r) that must be dated before the posthumous edition of Secundus’ poetry speaks in very laudatory terms of the Basia (see for this note and a discussion, Tuynman (1991), 211-212). 40   See Richardson (2009), 259. 41   Richardson (2009), 131-137: ‘Authors who brought their own poems together were likely to organize them according to certain principles and to intend the collection for presentation’ (p. 131).

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works in a print edition was meaningful and that printed editions, more than manuscript publications, were subject to a ‘poetics of assemblage’. The following example will show that this same principle also asked for textual revision. In the Julia, Secundus’ first book of elegies, the author planned a major revision at the end of his life: Secundus’ revision notes, preserved at the back of the Bodleian manuscript, propose ten fundamental changes in the Julia, altering no less than 34 lines.42 My study of these revisions has revealed that they concur with the addition of a completely new poem to the Julia, Eleg. 1. 6; both this new poem and the revisions in the other poems put more emphasis on the metapoetical layer of this work.43 The last four lines of Eleg. 1. 6, in which the poetic I talks about his inability to come up to Julia’s wish to be sculpted, make this sufficiently clear: Deficit, et torpet, nec iam sibi conscius artis Ullius est animus, nec memor ipse sui. Ah, nulli fas est mortali effingere Divas, Mens cadit, obstupeo, heu, et mihi surripior.44 And my brain falters, it’s numb, it’s no longer aware that it knows Any art, and it even forgets it exists. Oh, no mortal may portray goddesses! My mind is failing, ah, it’s stunned and stolen.

The narrator – the sculptor – is not able to create a ‘Julia’ in stone, because it is not allowed for mortals to portray goddesses. However, the poet, Secundus, did create a Julia, his first book of elegies, which bears her name as a title, and in it he did portray a ‘Julia’, and, as a consequence, this poem not only implies that poetry is more powerful than other arts, but even that poetry is a divine art. The addition of this new poem, in combination with the other revisions to the Julia, which I will not discuss in detail here, changed the significance of the Julia profoundly.45 More than before, this work had become 42   As mentioned above, it was not Secundus, but Marius who made the actual revisions proposed in Secundus’ notes. The most probable assumption is that Secundus planned to make a new fair copy of the Julia to present the printer with a neat text, but that death prevented him from doing so. 43   See for more details about the addition of Eleg. 1. 6 in MS B, Tuynman (1991), 248-252. The study of the revisions in the Julia are part of my doctoral dissertation. 44   Eleg. 1.6.17-20; MS B, f. 14v (translation from Murgatroyd (2000), 33). 45   To give only one telling example of the revisions in the other poems, Secundus noted that no less than twelve new lines had to be added to Eleg. 1. 7 (the current ll.



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a statement about the excellence of poetry and the act of writing poetry. In my opinion, Secundus’ revisions were triggered by the new material context of the Julia: in manuscript publication, the Julia had always been a separate work, or at most, one book in a combination of two books of elegies, but now it would be the opening book of a print publication of ten books of poetry. This new function required a more fundamental selfreflective layer in this book of love poetry and Secundus’ revisions are intended to create this layer. In print, to repeat my starting point, the scale of a publication was often larger than in manuscript, and, more importantly, it was the author or the editor who decided on content and order of the collected texts. Such a collection required an opening statement, a first book representative of and preferably presenting the poet’s ideas, and it was to produce such a book, that Secundus altered the text of the Julia. Material revisions III: a different self-representation? My discussion of the order of the poetic books in the print edition of Secundus’ poetry has already made it plausible that it was Secundus’ original intention to promote his career with this book. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that Secundus tried to present himself in the best possible light as a poet and as a person. In this section, I would like to consider whether the conditions of self-fashioning, a well-known and important aspect of Renaissance culture, differed between publications of the same poem in manuscript and in print.46 An important revision in the Bodleian manuscript makes one suspect that this self-fashioning assumes different forms in different physical appearances of a text, although the evidence will not be conclusive. The revision that I will discuss is an addition of sixteen lines by Marius, yet in all probability based on a revision note by Secundus himself to the first poem in the Funerum liber, the book of funeral poetry, in MS B.47 Secundus wrote this first Funus, a long poem on Secundus’ deceased father, in 1532, and evidence from his letters shows that he had sent it to

35-40 and 43-48). In Paul Murgatroyd’s words, exactly these lines ‘introduce the theme of poetry’s power to bestow immortality’ (Murgatroyd (2000), 122). 46   After the seminal contribution that was Greenblatt’s (1980), many publications about humanist self-fashioning have appeared. See for example Enenkel (2003). 47   The specific discolouring of the ink of Marius’ revision connects the time of this revision to those in the Julia that have been based on the preserved notes by Secundus. The evidence from the manuscript makes it most plausible that Marius based all his revisions at that time on such notes, some of them preserved, others not.

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many friends in manuscript form.48 This is not surprising since his father was a well-known judge, who had held the chair of the Great Council of Mechlin and had many important and influential friends, so that sending a lofty poem to commemorate the death of his father to these friends would probably be helpful for the career of the young Secundus. Now when this same poem was being prepared for print publication, at an important place in the collection, namely as the first poem in the poetic book that was the first after the elegies, Secundus apparently saw the need to add extra lines to this poem. In this addition (ll. 203-218), Secundus’ father speaks to his sons from the underworld in a prosopopoeia, and stresses, several times, that his sons have to follow in his footsteps and become equally honest and good, as will be clear from the following examples:49 Vivite felices, et nostras ite per artes, (l. 203) Interea speciem nostri tamen orbis habebit / In vobis (ll. 209-210) Sic etiam similes non sit pudor esse parenti, (l. 214) et dum similes non esse parenti / Una in re cupitis, similes non sitis in ulla. (ll. 217-218) Live happily and go under the guidance of our arts. (l. 203) Meanwhile, however, the world will have an image of us in you. (ll. 209210) May you not be ashamed to be similar to your father in this way. (l. 214) and when you do not desire to be similar to your / father in one thing, may you not be similar in anything (ll. 217-218)

In terms of self-representation, these lines are obviously very effective, since Secundus presents himself and his brother as the natural successors of the good and honest man his father was. Why, then, were these lines not added in the manuscript version, but only when Secundus was pondering a print publication of this poem? Did Secundus only come up with this idea at a late moment? This is not impossible, but it is perhaps not too farfetched to assume that, in print, selffashioning worked differently in comparison to publication in manuscript. Did this new bold act of self-promoting only operate in the anonymity of print publication? Would it have been too self-centered in a manuscript publication sent to persons who had personally known Secundus’ father?

48   See for evidence of early circulation, Tuynman (1991) 205 and a letter of Secundus to Johannes Dantiscus (28 april 1534); Biblioteka Kórnicka, Kórnik (Poland), MS 230, pp. 301-303 (edited in Guépin (2000), 590-591). 49   All Latin quotes from the marginal addition on f. 51v of MS B.



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In my opinion, it seems that the notions of privacy and especially authorial presence, which were attached to manuscript publication in Secundus’ lifetime, forbade this too obvious case of self-fashioning that was allowed in the “publicness” and anonymity of print publication; a sixteenthcentury manuscript publication ‘was well able to reinforce existing social bonds and to create new ones in a process of community fashioning’, but as such it may have had its own social code, different from that of print publication.50 Yet, I started this paper with some caution about retrieving intentions from authorial revisions and I stressed the need for a series of similar revisions before we can reach compelling conclusions. MS B, as far as I can see now, does not offer more examples of this category of ‘material revision’. Therefore, more research on this subject-matter, in Secundus’ writings but also in other manuscripts, would be necessary, which may, I believe, yield fruitful results. Conclusion Now that I have reached the current limits of my material, it is time for a brief summary. In this paper, I have contrasted the linguistic codes of manuscript and print publications of Secundus’ poetry by studying those revisions in MS B that were made when Secundus and later his brother Marius were preparing the manuscript for publication in print. From these revisions, it has become clear that, in the early sixteenth century, manuscript and print were treated as different ways of publication, which had each their own textual requirements, or, to use that term again, their own poetics. In principle, manu­script publications were sent to friends only and had a limited circulation and, therefore, were governed by the idea of privacy, even though a work in manuscript could have substantial diffusion. Authorized print publications, by contrast, had by definition a more varied and anonymous readership and, thus, were subject to a poetics of “publicness”. Furthermore, I have identified three fields in which these different poetics influenced the texts of one famous sixteenth-century author, Johannes Secundus. First, manuscript publications had fewer restrictions with regard to contents, they ‘permitted a degree of informality and 50   The quote is from Richardson (2009), 10. He stresses the importance of authorial presence in manuscript publications: the reader of a manuscript feels (through handwriting, among other things) the existence of the author more strongly than the reader of a printed text (the same idea can be found in Love (1993), 145).

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out­spokenness that would have been less appropriate in the more public and impersonal context of print’.51 Thus, lines that were sexually, religiously, or politically debatable were allowed in the fluid and temporal context of the manuscript, but were less called for in printed editions. I have shown that Secundus did in fact alter the text of his poems in many places for this reason when he changed the physical settings of them. Secondly, manuscript publications were rather small and their order and context were often decided on by the person receiving the text who could gather them with any other literary work by any other author in any order, so that, in manuscript publications, poetic books functioned mainly on their own as separate literary works. Print publications were more often collections created and organized by an author or editor, and such collections were logically arranged according to the ideas of the creator. This ‘poetics of assemblage’ not only influenced the visibility of individual works in the hierarchy of the collection as a whole, but could also require textual revision of individual literary works, since they had a new context, in which they functioned. Ideally, the whole of the print edition surpassed the sum of its parts. Finally, and this is a more tentative conclusion, the way of self-fashioning, a very important feature of Renaissance culture, may have differed in the two mediums. Again, this is due to the, partly constructed, publicprivate-opposition: self-fashioning in the public medium, print, may have been more direct and explicit than in manuscript, which, in the sixteenth century, was associated with the direct presence of the author, which arguably required more modesty. I started this paper with a reference to the digital revolution, which is still ongoing today. We are only beginning to discover the powers of the different mediums and are now differentiating between typical digital contents and contents that we want to see on paper. Similarly, in sixteenth-century Europe, due to the Gutenberg revolution, people discovered the power of a new medium, print, and differentiated between manuscript and print publication. In this paper, I have shown what this material differentiation meant for an author who published his works in manuscript as well as in print. The revisions in MS B clearly reveal that the author adjusted the text of his poetry to materially different mediums. We must conclude that the bibliographical codes, i.e., the material context of a text, not only 51

  Richardson (2009), 267.



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influence the way in which a work is read, but also act on the author’s way of presenting the linguistic codes, the text of his work. The extent of the revisions may even justify that we speak of different versions of the text: Secundus published different works when he divulged his literary works first in manuscript and later in print, not only because the material context itself changed the interpretation of the texts, but also because the texts were changed to fit into the material context. Bibliography Bizer, Marc, La poésie au miroir. Imitation et conscience de soi dans la poésie latine de la Pléiade (Paris: Honoré Champion Editeur, 1995) Blanchard, André, ‘Jean Second et ses poèmes sur l’exécution de Thomas More’, Moreana, 36 (1972), 1-32 Bosscha, Petrus, Pieter Burmann, eds., Ioannis Nicolaii Secundi Hagani opera omnia: Emendatius et cum notis adhuc ineditis Petri Burmanni Secundi, 2 vols (Leiden: S. et J. Luchtmans, 1821) Stevenson, Allen, ed., Les filigranes. Dictionnaire historique des marques du papier dès leur apparition vers 1282 jusqu’en 1600 [par] CharlesMoïse Briquet, 4 vols (Amsterdam: The Paper publications Society, 1968; original ed. Paris 1907) Bryant, John L., The Fluid Text. A Theory of Revision and Editing for Book and Screen: Editorial Theory and Literary Criticism Series, (Michigan: University of Michigan Press, 2002) Bryant, John L., ‘Witness and Access. The Uses of the Fluid Text’, in Textual Cultures: Texts, Contexts, Interpretation, 2-1 (2007), 16-42 Bushell, Sally, Text as Process. Creative Composition in Wordsworth, Tennyson, and Dickinson (Virginia: University of Virginia Press, 2009) Coppini, Donatella, ‘Da ‘dummodo non castum’ a ‘nimium castus liber’: osservazioni sull’epigramma latino nel Quattrocento’, Les Cahiers de l’Humanisme, 1 (2000), 185-208 Dekker, Alfred M.M., Janus Secundus (1511-1536). De tekstoverlevering van het tijdens zijn leven gepubliceerde werk (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1986) Enenkel, Karl, ‘In Search of Fame: Self-Representation in Neo-Latin Humanism’, in S. Gersh and B. Roest, eds., Medieval and Renaissance Humanism: Rhetoric, Representation and Reform (Leiden: Brill, 2003), pp. 93-113

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Enenkel, Karl, ‘XIV. Todessehnsucht am Schwarzen Meer: Michael Marules’ lyrische Autobiographik im “Exilgedicht” (“De exilio suo”; 1489/90;1497) und anderen Gedichten’ in Karl Enenkel, ed., Die Erfindung des Menschen. Die Autobiographik des frühneuzeitlichen Humanismus von Petrarca bis Lipsius (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008), pp. 368-428 Faller, Stefan, ‘Die Aporie des Bildhauers – Johannes Secundus’ Elegie 1,6’ in Eckhart Schäfer, ed., Johannes Secundus und die römische Liebeslyrik (Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen, 2004), pp. 71-87 Gelderblom, Werner J.C.M., ‘Het ontstaan van een kus. Het vijfde kusgedicht van Janus Secundus’, Hermeneus, 81 (2009), 122-128 Gelderblom, Werner J.C.M., ‘Garrulus ... feram precium: Janus Secundus’ poëzie in manuscript en druk’, Nieuwsbrief van het Neolatinistenverband, 24 (2011), 2-12 Gelderblom, Werner J.C.M., Secundus’ versies: de tekstgenese van Janus Secundus’ Julia en Basia, diss. Nijmegen, 2012 Greenblatt, Stephen, Renaissance Self-Fashioning. From More to Shakespeare (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980) Guépin, J.P. De drie dichtende broers. Grudius, Marius, Secundus: in brieven, reisverslagen en gedichten, 2 vols (Groningen: STYX Publications, 2000) Kay, Nigel M., Martial book XI. A commentary (London: Duckworth, 1985) Kewes, Paulina, Plagiarism in Early Modern England (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002) Kidwell, Carol, Marullus. Soldier Poet of the Renaissance (London: Duckworth, 1989) Lamers, Han, ‘Marullo’s Imitations of Catullus in the Context of his Poetical Criticism’, in Susanna de Beer et al., eds., The Neo-Latin Epigram. A Learned and Witty Genre (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2009), pp. 191-213 Love, Harold H.R., Scribal Publication in Seventeenth-Century England (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993) Marotti, Arthur F., Manuscript, Print, and the English Renaissance Lyric (Cornell University: Cornell University Press, 1995) McGann, Jerome J., The Textual Condition (Princeton,  NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991) McKitterick, David, Print, Manuscript and the Search for Order, 14501830 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003)



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Murgatroyd, Paul, The amatory elegies of Johannes Secundus (Leiden: Brill, 2000) Nichols, Stephen G., ‘Introduction. Philology in a Manuscript Culture’, Speculum, 65-1 (1990), 1-10 Nichols, Stephen G., ‘Why Material Philology? Some Thoughts’, Philo­ logie als Textwissenschaft: Alte und neue Horizonte, 116 (1997), 10-30 Pigman III, George W., ‘Versions of Imitation in the Renaissance’, Renaissance Quarterly, 33-1 (1980), 1-32 Price, David, Janus Secundus (Tempe, AZ: Medieval & Renaissance Texts & Studies, 1996) Richardson, Brian, Printing, Writers and Readers in Renaissance Italy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999) Richardson, Brian, Manuscript Culture in Renaissance Italy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009) Robert, Jörg, ‘Mella legatis apes. Lyrische Ich-Erfahrung, rinascimentaler imitatio-Diskurs und Poetik des Mythos in den Basia des Johannes Secundus’, in Eckhart Schäfer, ed., Johannes Secundus und die römische Liebeslyrik (Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag Tübingen, 2004), pp. 277-292 Schoolfield, George C., Janus Secundus (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1980) Secundus, Johannes, Opera. Nunc primum in lucem edita (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1969; original Utrecht: Harmannus Borculous, 1541) Shaw, David, ‘Ars formularia: Neo-Latin Synonyms for Printing’, The Library 6th ser., 11 (1989), 220-230 Tuynman, P., ‘De handschriften en overige bronnen voor de teksten van Secundus’, in J.P. Guépin met een bijdrage van p. Tuynman, ed., De kunst van Janus Secundus. De ‘Kussen’ en andere gedichten (Amsterdam: Bakker, 1991), pp. 199-267 Tuynman, P., ‘The Legacy of Janus Secundus: the Bodleian Ms of his Collected Poems’, Humanistica Lovaniensia, 43 (1994), 262-287 Subirà, Oriol Vals I, La historia del Papel en España, II. Siglos XV-XVI, 3 vols (Madrid: Empresa Nacional de Celulosas, 1980) Radboud University Nijmegen Classics Department/Institute for Historical, Literary and Cultural Studies (until August 1, 2012) [email protected]

Marc van der Poel VENIUS’ EMBLEMATA HORATIANA: MATERIAL FRAGMENTATION OF A CLASSICAL POET

Introductory remarks The goal of this contribution is to discuss how classical texts were taken out of their original context, split up in fragments and used in new, contemporary contexts during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This process of fragmentation and adaptation is illustrated through a cursory discussion of the Emblemata Horatiana by Otto van Veen, a well-known work which was frequently reprinted in various re-editions, translations and adaptations between 1607 and 1755. More specifically, we will take a look at three editions: the first edition by van Veen himself (Antwerp 1607), the edition by Marin le Roy de Gomberville (Paris 1646) and the edition by Jean Leclerc (The Hague 1755). Our observations will be focused on the texts and the representations, as well as their mutual connections and their purport, and how these differ in the successive editions. The bibliographical and book-historical characteristics of the editions (format, typefaces, layout, technical details concerning the representations) also show remarkable differences, but cannot be addressed within the limited context of this brief study. I hope to contribute with my observations on these three editions of the Emblemata Horatiana to an interesting but neglected chapter in the reception of the Roman poet Horace. As such, this study can be read as a counterpart to R. Mayer’s recent observations on the Emblemata Hora1 tiana and its history. In addition, I want to make the point that, although the Emblemata Horatiana did receive some attention from scholars, primarily art historians, there remain many aspects of this work and its history about which we know very little. It would be worthwhile to form an interdisciplinary research team of philologists, art historians, biblio­ graphers and book historians to study all the editions of the Emblemata Horatiana, not only the three main editions discussed here, but also their various offshoots, and the mutual relationships which exist between these editions. Such an interdisciplinary study of all these editions, of the   Mayer (2009).

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processes of their making – following M. Thøfner’s work on the 1607 edition2 – and of their reception, would not only add to our factual knowledge of the various aspects of these editions, but would also offer a fascinating look into the intellectual history of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Otto van Veen (or Otho/Otto V(a)enius) was born in 1565 as the son of the burgomaster of the town of Leiden, which was at that time still a catholic community.3 Before turning his attention primarily to the visual arts, Venius attended Latin school, where he embarked upon an eminently humanistic training, focused on reading classical literature in Greek and Latin and composing Latin texts imitating the classical authors in both form and matter. At the time of Venius’ youth, the second half of the sixteenth century, it was common to read – and in the northern Low Countries more so than in other countries – the classical pagan authors with some reservation; for example the poetry of Horace, especially his collection of Odes, was read in a moralizing way, so as to make it fit better into the Christian culture of the time.4 This standard sixteenth-century pedagogical use of classical authors, characterized by assiduous reading and imitating texts with a moralistic outlook, forms the suitable background to approach Otto Venius’ collection of classical quotations, primarily of Horace, illustrated with copper plates, which became famous under the appellation Emblemata Horatiana.5 This book was published in 1607 at Antwerp, where Venius had settled in 1593 as a painter and where he became a prominent representative of the Counter-Reformation culture in the southern Low Countries.6 It was the first work in which Venius combined texts with pictures. Soon after, he published several more similar works, all published in Antwerp: Amorum emblemata, 1608; Vita D. Thomae Aquinatis, 1610; Historia septem infantium de Lara, 1610; Batavorum cum Romanis bellum,

  Thøfner (2003).   See Lier (1895), 791-792 and Allgemeines Lexikon der bildenden Künstler von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, vol. 34 (Leipzig 1940), 176-177, for a brief biography of Venius. 4   See Van der Poel (2007), for a brief description of the character of humanism in the Northern Low Countries. See for a survey of humanist education and humanist schools in the Low Countries the old, but still viable study of Bot (1955). 5   The combination ‘Emblemata Horatiana’ is not found on the title page of the first edition, but in the heading of each pair of pages comprising a group of sententiae and its accompanying illustration. 6  Otho Vaenius, Q. Horati Flacci Emblemata, imaginibus in aes incisis, notisque illustrata, Antwerp 1607 (Landwehr (1988) no 817); reprint, with a preface and an index by D. Tschižewskij (1972). 2 3

Venius’ emblemata horatiana133 1612; Amoris divini Emblemata, 1615. With all these works Venius won great acclaim throughout Europe, but, aside from his paintings, perhaps his most famous work remained, besides the Amorum emblemata, the Emblemata Horatiana, because it was published many times in several versions, including re-editions, translations and adaptations. Thus, it was famously called by Leonard Forster ‘one of the most influential books of the European Baroque’.7 In what follows, we will first take a look at the original edition of 1607, and then discuss briefly and in a more general way the two most important later versions. The edition of 1607 If we want to determine the character of the Emblemata Horatiana, the first point which merits our attention is the use of the term ‘emblemata’ on the title page: ‘Q. Horati Flacci Emblemata.’ It would require an entirely separate investigation to establish the place of Venius in the history of the use of the term ‘emblema’,8 but it is immediately clear from the subtitle of the work and especially from the first sentence of the preface to the reader that Venius uses the word ‘emblema’ not in its classical sense of ‘inlaid work’9 nor in our modern sense of a representation with a legend expressing a moral lesson or fable,10 but rather as a quasi-synonym of ‘sententia’. For the subtitle ‘(emblemata) imaginibus in aes incisis, notisque illustrata’ (emblemata, illustrated by means of copper-plates and annotations) proves that the word emblema by itself does not mean here ‘images’ or ‘representations,’ and it is in the first sentence of the preface to the reader that we find an indication of the meaning in which Venius does use emblema: Damus hic vobis, Lector seu spectator benevole, sententias, quas Emblemata vulgo vocant, ex Q. Horatio Flacco, Lyricorum principe, desumtas, tabulisque in aes incisis illustratas. (p. 6) With this book I present to you, benevolent reader or beholder, the ‘sentences’, commonly called emblems, taken from Q. Horatius Flaccus, the most dinstinguished lyrical poet, illustrated by means of copper-plates.   Forster (1981), 117.   The following publications would be a good starting point for such an invesigation: Miedema (1968), Gerards-Nelissen (1971), 20-63, especially p. 23 with note 16, Russell (1975). 9   See for this meaning for instance Quintilian, Institutio oratoria, 2, 4, 27. 10   The testimonies for this meaning go back as far as ca. 1430, see the Oxford English Dictionary online, s.v.: emblem, 2. 7 8

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‘Sententia’ is used here in one of its primary senses of ‘thoughts,’ more specifically ‘thoughts expressed in words’, that is, ‘citations’ (i.e., from Horace). Venius continues by explaining the rationale of the pictures: the thought, or rather the line of poetry expressing the thought, on the one hand and the picture which illustrates it on the other hand support each other (‘mutuas namque sibi operas poësis et pictura fidelissime praestant’, p. 6); more specifically, he points out that a message presented to the mind by means of the eyes is more keenly recorded than a spoken or written message: Solent enim oculis obiecta animos magis afficere, quam ea, quae dicta aut scripta. ‘Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem, Quam quae sunt oculis subiecta fidelibus.’ (p. 6; the quotation is from Horace, Ars poetica, 180-1)

In this same passage, Venius points out that the sententiae in this collection, illustrated by pictures, comprise tenets of moral philosophy, in particular Stoic philosophy: Reperies itaque in hoc libello non pauca Ethicae, sive Moralis ac Stoicae Philosophiae dogmata, imaginibus expressa. Ex quibus non modo oblectamentum, sed et uberrimum fructum hauries.

More specifically, he explains that the sententiae contain illustrations of virtues and vices, as well as emotions of the soul, and he refers the reader to Justus Lipsius’ recent Manuductio ad Stoicam philosophiam (1602), which is one of the standard works of neo-stoicism, the philosophic movement in which the principles of Christian thought and pagan Stoicism were combined. Venius and Lipsius, who had died in 1606, were long-time friends, as is shown by a dedication written by Lipsius in Venius’ Album amicorum in Leiden, June 2, 1584,11 and it is attractive, though of course entirely speculative, to suggest that Venius meant to honor the memory of his friend with the publication of the Emblemata Horatiana one year after his death: ‘Ceterum Virtutes ac Vitia, more veterum ex numismatibus ac statuis non raro expressi, interdum vero adfectus, passionesque, Cupidinum habitu, novo fortassis exemplo, sed decoro oculisque admodum grato repraesentavi; (...) De Stoica porro, ac Morali, ut loquuntur, Philosophia disserere

  Van den Gheyn (1911), 55, 121-122.

11

Venius’ emblemata horatiana135 non huius est loci aut instituti. Multa de his alii; inter eos nostri saeculi, heu quondam! phoenix, Iustus Lipsius, cuius Manuductionem aliaque scripta, Lector sive Spectator, consule. (pp. 6-7) I have expressed after the fashion of the ancients on coins and in statues the virtues and vices, and sometimes I have also represented the affects and passions in the dress of desires, perhaps in an untried way, but still a graceful one and pleasing to the eye (...) This is not the place nor is it my plan to speak about the stoic and, as they say, moral philosophy. Others have written much about this subject, among whom the phoenix of our time, the – alas – late Justus Lipsius, whose Guide and other writings, reader or spectator, you must consult.

If we attempt to describe the nature of Venius’ work on the basis of these explanations in the preface, it seems safe to compare it with a type of work with which Venius was certainly familiar given his humanistic training, namely a commonplace book, that is, a quotations book grouped according to ‘loci communes’, literally ‘common places’, that is, general headings. Rudolph Agricola and Desiderius Erasmus, two famous humanists from the Low Countries, were the authors of two widely published descriptions of the use of commonplaces in Renaissance pedagogy (Agricola’s letter to Barbirianus, better known as De formando studio, and the section ‘Methodus colligendi exempla’ in Erasmus’ De copia rerum et verborum).12 Many of such collections were published in the Renaissance,13 and in every humanist school, pupils were taught to compile their own commonplace book both as an aid to memorize passages and as a sourcebook and reference guide in the composition of their own texts.14 So Venius was certainly familiar with this type of writing; following it as a model, he grouped in the Emblemata Horatiana the sententiae of his choice under general headings, which in this case reflect, as he pointed out in the preface, neo-stoic tenets. In some cases, the heading itself is a classical quotation.15 The first sententia under each heading is a brief   Agricola (2002), 200-219, especially pp. 212-214 and Erasmus (1988), 258-269.   I mention just one example in whose title both the terms ‘sententiae’ and ‘communes loci’ appear: Andreas Eborensis, Sententiae et exempla ex probatissimis quibusque scriptoribus collecta et per communes locos digesta (Paris, 1583). 14   The standard work on commonplace books is Moss (1996). See on this matter also the pertinent observations of Gerards-Nelissen (1971), 21-23. 15   ‘Quod satis est cui contingit, nihil amplius optet’ (Horace, Epist. 1, 2, 46; p. 112), ‘avarus nisi cum moritur, nihil recte facit’ (Publilius Syrus, Sententiae, A 23; p. 114), ‘stultitiam patiuntur opes’ (Horace, Epist., 1, 18, 29; p. 122), ‘nil ego contulerim iucundo sanus amico’ (Horace, Sat., 1, 5, 44; p. 136), ‘idem velle atque idem nolle, ea demum firma amicitia est’ (Sallust, Cat., 20, 4; p. 142), ‘fortuna non mutat genus’ (Horace, Epod., 4, 12 13

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quotation (varying from 2 to 8 lines) from Horace, usually from his Odes, supplemented with a choice of other classical quotations, usually school authors, mostly Latin but occasionally Greek, such as Terence, Juvenal, Seneca and various other poets and in some cases prose authors, and incidentally with a quotation from the Bible or a contemporary philosophical text (mostly Lipsius), all pertaining to the general heading. Brief marginal notes give the name of the authors and in most cases the title of their works from which the quotations are taken. In a number of cases there are also short prose texts (and in a few cases, lines of poetry) whose provenance is not identified.16 It would require detailed research to determine their origin; possibly some or all of them were written by Venius himself. The headings and the choice of sententiae and additional texts which are grouped under the heading occupy the left hand pages of the edition. Each corresponding right hand page is occupied by a copper engraving that illustrates the heading and the texts, and it is this illustration which makes Venius’ commonplace book quite unique. In some cases, the engraving is an illustration of the imagery found in the accompanying quotations (a good example of this is the engraving which illustrates the sententiae under the heading ‘curae inevitabiles’, where ‘cura,’ ‘timor et minae’, ‘atra cura’ and ‘curae’ in the sententiae are represented as little black flying monsters which pursue the men riding horse and sailing a ship, just as Horace describes; ed. 1607, p. 94-95; figure 1). On the other hand, there are some cases in which there does not seem to be a direct link between the imagery of the lines of poetry quoted and the engraving, but in which the engraving rather visualizes the general idea emanating from the poetry and captured in the general heading. In some of these cases an unmarked prose text (or a line of poetry) explains the engraving; an example is the first group of sententiae under the heading ‘virtus inconcussa’ (figure 2), where the prose text printed in addition to three classical quotations constitutes the explanation of the engraving.17 We shall discuss 6; p. 154), ‘post multa virtus opera laxari solet’ (Seneca, Hercules Furens, 476; p. 160), ‘culpam poena premit comes’ (Horace, Od., 4, 5, 24; p. 180), ‘nil aliud ac umbra atque flatus est homo’ (translation of Sophocles, Ajax the Locrian, fr. 13 ἄνθρωπος ἐστί πνεῦμα καὶ σκία μόνον; 4, 43, 52 Radt, 5, 840, 14 Hense; p. 208), ‘mors ultima linea rerum est’ (Horace, Epist., 1, 16, 79; p. 212). 16  See for the list of pages containing unmarked prose texts below, note 22; the unmarked lines of poetry are found at pp. 98, 128, 134, 156, 158, 174, 190, 194, 202, 212. 17   Another very clear example is the prose text on p. 182 (‘principum delicta plebs luit’), which explains the content of the picture as follows: ‘Vides hic raptum Helenae: cuius caussa Troya perijt’ (You see here the abduction of Helena; Troy perished because of her).

Venius’ emblemata horatiana137 this example below in more detail. In all cases, however, the various texts under the common heading are central and the engraving functions as an illustration of the texts, and it is in this respect that Venius’ work differs most clearly from an emblem book, in which the picture forms a unity together with the motto and the legend. Since the Emblemata Horatiana offer in each and every case not a single text in conjunction with the picture, as is normally the case in an emblem book, but a choice of texts, one might dare to suggest that Venius not only intended his work to be read and looked at by the general reader in the same way as he or she would read and look at an emblem book (as Venius seems to suggest in the preface), but that he also wanted to make it functional for people who used commonplace books in their own practice of writing texts. But even if this suggestion goes too far, it is clear beyond doubt that the Emblemata Horatiana is not a typical emblem book, and that it might be called more appropriately an illustrated commonplace book. It is with this notion in mind that I believe one should study the Emblemata Horatiana.18 A question to which a definitive answer will probably never be given is whether Venius used a particular source for his collection of sententiae. According to Gerards-Nelissen, Venius probably chose his texts on the basis of his reading of the works of Laevinus Torrentius, bishop of Antwerp, who published an edition of Horace’s poetry in 1602.19 Venius and Torrentius were friends. It is quite possible that Venius read Torrentius’ edition with particular interest because Torrentius was his friend, but one must not forget that Venius was certainly very familiar with Horace’s poetry and with the moralistic reading of it from his school days in Leiden onward. So, the idea of choosing Horace as the main source for an illustrated commonplace book and the selection of passages may very well have been entirely his own, or he may have used another source than Torrentius’ edition of Horace, for example an existing anthology or a collection of commonplaces; more particularly, one might suggest as a possible source Joseph Lange’s school edition of Horace’s Odes in the form of commonplaces, published in Hanau, 1604, and designed to be used as a practical aid in composition exercises in poetry.20 Langius’   A similar observation has been made by Enenkel (2005), 21.   Gerards-Nelissen (1971), 21. 20  J. Langius, Quincti Horatii Flacci Venusini, Poetae Lyrici Odae in Locos Communes ad Lyricae poëseos studiosorum utilitatem digestae (Hanau, 1604). See for a short biography of Langius Franck (1883). 18

19

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conversion to Catholicism in 1603 or 1604 may well have awakened Venius’ interest in his work. As to the other classical sources quoted in the Emblemata Horatiana, it is unclear whether or not Venius followed a certain rationale in choosing them. Some of the quotations, those from Horace as well as the others, were very well known proverbs or adages in Venius’ time, but others were less well known and may either be the fruit of Venius’ own reading or they may have been taken from a particular, hitherto unidentified source book. In the 1607 edition, the Emblemata Horatiana contain one hundred one commonplaces combining a general heading, a choice of sententiae concerning the theme indicated in the heading and an accompanying picture. As we saw above, Venius states in his preface to the reader that the sententiae serve to illustrate the tenets of the Stoics, and this is clearly traceable in the collection. It starts with some ten commonplaces focused on ‘virtus’ (virtue) in general; it ends with about twelve commonplaces focused on the transience of all things mortal and on death; in between these two groups we find some seventy commonplaces on the importance of education, frugality, the proper use of resources (more specifically, a correct attitude towards wealth and poverty), friendship, the importance of religion and of a proper religious attitude. Although all the units have a highly moralistic purport and thus show themselves to reflect neo-stoic teachings, there does not seem to be a clear rationale of the order in which the subject matter is dealt with. Perhaps a detailed comparison with Lipsius’ Manuductio and other neo-stoic writings of the period would shed more light on this rationale behind Venius’ ordering of his commonplaces. Let us now, in order to get a better impression of the structure of Venius’ illustrated commonplaces and the way in which the classical texts are split up and adapted to the seventeenth-century context, take a closer look at the first one, about which we have already briefly spoken above (see figure 2). The first citation under the heading ‘Virtus inconcussa’ is from Horace’s so-called second Roman ode (book 3, 2) and comprises the fifth stanza of this poem of seven stanzas: virtus repulsae nescia sordidae, incontaminatis fulget honoribus: Nec sumit aut ponit secureis Arbitrio popularis aurae (Odes, 3, 2, 17-20)

Venius’ emblemata horatiana139 Virtue knows nothing of humiliation at the polls but shines with honors untarnished. It does not take up or lay down the axes at the whim of the wind of popular opinion. (tr. West (2002), 25)

The second Roman ode belongs to Horace’s most famous poems. It begins with the insistence that Roman boys should learn to be able to endure hardship and poverty, and that it is sweet and honorable to die for one’s fatherland (stanzas 1-4, lines 1-16; line 13 is the famous line ‘dulce et decorum est pro patria mori’). In the fifth stanza, the poet turns to praise virtue. ‘Virtus’ in line 17 (which forms almost exacty the centre of the poem) first looks back at the physical courage praised in the preceding stanzas (‘virtus’ in its primary sense of ‘manly excellence’), but secondly and more importantly, it has a more general meaning of ‘moral goodness’ within the context of the stanza of which it forms the grammatical subject, because the poet here speaks about the political life of the Romans; virtue is associated with political success, and more specifically political success which is indifferent to the fickleness of popular favor. The poet continues in stanza 6 by saying that virtue opens the way to heaven for those who deserve not to die (‘virtus, recludens immeritis mori caelum,...’, lines 21-22); it is perhaps remarkable that Venius does not quote this sixth stanza, because the Roman context here is in far better agreement with Venius’ Christian frame of reference than the preceding fifth stanza. After the fifth stanza of this ode, Venius continues with two citations from other classical works. The first one is from Horace’s Satires, 1, 6, 15-17, in which the poet says that the populace often foolishly bestows public offices to those who do not deserve them, and that the populace, stupidly enslaved to fame, lives in awe of titles of honor and the dignity of ancestral busts.21 It seems clear that the connection between the passage from the Odes and the one from the Satires is constituted by the notion of the despicableness of the multitude, which is contrasted with the worthiness of virtue. After this citation from Horace’s Satires, Venius has placed the prose text referred to above, whose provenance is unclear; it goes as follows:

21  ‘For the people often foolishly bestows office on those who don’t deserve it, is stupidly enslaved to renown, which is dazzled by inscriptions and ancestral busts’ (tr. Michael Brown 1993, 63; I have slightly adapted the translation because Venius does not cite exactly the same text as we find in modern editions of Horace).

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Marc van der Poel Virtus nullius rei indiga, manet immota; Fortunam pedibus premens, Honores ac Divitias despiciens, sola sibi ipsi merces, atque amplissimum est praemium. Suntque eius species variae, Pietas, Iustitia, Prudentia, Fortitudo, Magnanimitas, Temperantia, etc. Virtue, needing nothing, stands motionless; pressing hard with her feet on Fortune, looking down upon official dignities and wealth, she is her own reward and most honorable distinction. It has a number of varieties: piety, justice, prudence, courage, magnanimity, temperance, etc.

This prose text clearly has a double function. First, it is a more detailed characterization of the notion ‘virtus inconcussa’ (‘virtue unshaken’) of the heading, and second, it explains the different elements found in the picture, especially the identity of the central figure which stands erect, the figure which is lying down at the bottom of the picture, and the six smaller figures flanking the central figure, three on each side. The prose text is then followed by a third classical citation, namely the opening lines of Claudianus’ Panegyric on the consulship of Fl. Manlius Theodorus from the end of the fourth century CE. These lines constitute as it were a poetic variation of the preceding prose text and the picture, and they bring home the point Venius wishes to make with the entire group of citations in the category of ‘virtus inconcussa’: Ipsa quidem Virtus pretium sibi sola lateque Fortunae secura nitet, nec fascibus ullis Erigitur plausuve petit clarescere vulgi: Nil opis externae cupiens, nihil indiga laudis Divitiis animosa suis, immota cunctis Cladibus, ex alta mortalia despicit arce. (Claudian, Panegyric on the consulship of Fl. Manlius Theodorus, 1-6) Virtue is its own reward; alone with its far-flung splendor it mocks Fortune; no honors raise it higher, nor does it seek glory from the mob’s applause. External wealth cannot arouse its desires, it asks no praise but makes it boast of self-contained riches, and unmoved by all chances it looks down upon the world from a lofty citadel. (tr. Platnauer (1922), vol. 1, 339)

A final remark about the prose text. This text is placed in the middle of the group of classical quotations, it occupies roughly the central part of the page, and it constitutes, as we already mentioned, the explanation of the picture. It is interesting to observe that in other cases in which we find a prose text among the classical quotations, this text roughly has precisely these same three characteristics. A detailed comparison of all these individual cases could perhaps reveal if there is a particular reason

Venius’ emblemata horatiana141 for this recurring pattern.22 Perhaps the explanation in prose is given a central position on the page facing the illustration simply for the sake of easy reference. The copperplate which accompanies this commonplace (i.e., the heading ‘virtus inconcussa’ and the classical citations from Horace, Odes 3, 2, Satires 1, 6, and Claudian’s Panegyric) illustrates most clearly the idea formulated by these texts, in particular the last one, which lacks the specifically Roman political context of the first two. Moreover, the prose text provides a suitable explanation of the picture. All in all, it seems safe to conclude, also with Venius’ introductory letter to the reader in mind, that Venius expresses the idea of virtue after neo-stoic fashion; virtue is the highest good, and is indifferent to human affairs and the vicissitudes of life: we see a female figure representing virtue, which treads under her foot a figure lying on its side, representing Fortune. The indifference of virtue to human affairs is represented by various, particularly Roman tokens of honor and wealth represented in the lower part of the picture, among which a crown, a laurel wreath and the bundle of rods and an axe (fasces), which was carried before the highest Roman magistrates. The figure of virtue is flanked by six smaller figures, three on either side, representing the six stoic virtues mentioned in the prose text on the left hand side of the page; they are, from left to right, first pietas and justitia, 22   Prose texts amidst the classical citations are found in the following commonplaces: ‘virtutis gloria’ (p. 10), ‘naturam Minerva perficit’ (p. 12), ‘virtus immortalis’ (p. 14), ‘virtutis sapientia comes’ (p. 16), ‘medio tutissimus ibis’ (p. 20), ‘virtus in actione consistit’ (p. 22), ‘virtus invidiae scopus’ (p. 24), ‘amor virtutis’ (p. 26), ‘animi servitus perpetua’ (p. 30), ‘vis institutionis’ (p. 32), ‘incipiendum aliquando’ (p. 34), ‘fructus laboris gloria’ (p. 36), ‘crapula ingenium offuscat’ (p. 40), ‘natura moderatrix optima’ (p. 42), ‘animus purgandus’ (p. 44), ‘philosophia vitae magistra’ (p. 46), ‘Minerva duce’ (p. 48), ‘disciplinae animus attentus’ (p. 50), ‘diuturna quies vitiis alimentum’ (p. 52), ‘habenda in primis animi cura’ (p. 54), ‘conscientia mille testes’ (p. 58), ‘honeste et publice’ (p. 60), ‘nihil silentio utilius’ (p. 62), ‘a poculis absint seria’ (p. 64), ‘amant altena camoenae’ (p. 66), ‘sapientiae libertas’ (p. 82), ‘nimius paupertatis metus’ (p. 84), ‘sors sua quemque beat’ (p. 86), ‘agriculturae beatitudo’ (p. 88), ‘grande malum invidia’ (p. 96), ‘quo plus sunt potae, plus sitiuntur aquae’ (p. 110), ‘varium pecuniae dominium’ (p. 120), ‘stultitiam patiuntur opes’ (p. 122), ‘paupertatis incommoda’ (p. 134), ‘nil ego contulerim iucundo sanus amico’ (p. 136), ‘idem velle atque idem nolle, ea demum firma amicitia est’ (p. 142), ‘domi argus, fori talpa’ (p. 144), ‘is quocumque vitae genere philosophari licet’ (p. 150), ‘victrix malorum patientia’ (p. 152), ‘varia senectae bona’ (p. 162), ‘nequid ultra vires coneris’ (p. 174), ‘neglectae religionis poena multiplex’ (p. 178), ‘principum delicta plebs luit’ (p. 182), ‘de rogo, non de domo exstruenda senex cogitet’ (p. 194), ‘morte linquenda omnia’ (p. 196), ‘communi ad letum vita’ (p. 198), ‘mors ultima linea rerum est’ (p. 212). In a few cases, there are one or more lines of poetry whose provenance is not indicated; see above, note 16.

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then prudentia and fortitudo, and finally magnanimitas and temperantia. It has been suggested long ago by Mrs. Dekker that this picture represents the Christian virtue which, by spurning all earthly things, reaches its triumph in heaven; “virtue leans on the divine virtues faith and hope and is encircled by love, the third divine virtue, and by five other virtues, namely prudence, vigilance, justice, strength and temperance.”23 If this interpretation of the picture is correct, it takes us even further away from the original, Roman context of Horace’s Ode 3, 2 and Satire 1, 6; but even without a complete Christianization of the pagan context, it is clear that Venius has taken the verses he quotes out of their original setting and combined them, together with the third fragment of Claudian, to a new message, namely the contemporary message of neo-stoic philosophy to stand firm, with equanimity, in the time of hardship and violence in which people were living. The later versions of the Emblemata Horatiana The fragmentation of Horace’s poems did not end with the edition of 1607. The printing history of the Emblemata Horatiana is extremely long and varied and includes various branches of new editions and adaptations until 1755. In what follows I will attempt to present the gist of this development and illustrate that with these editions, the original context of Horace’s poems was lost even more and the citations became more intertwined with a modern, Christian context. First of all, there exists a re-edition (or perhaps rather, following Sabbe, a number of copies of the first edition), which includes some additions in the form of Dutch and French verses (quatrains) accompanying the Latin quotations.24 Next, there appeared in Antwerp, 1612, a new edition with a variety of additional texts in Spanish, Italian, French, and Dutch.25 For instance, the commonplace virtus inconcussa contains the same Latin texts as in the 1607 edition, plus fourteen verses in Spanish, eight in Italian, eight in French, eight in Dutch, and finally another four lines in French

23   Dekker (1962), 405. Dekker used an edition from 1683 (Zinnebeelden, Getrokken uit Horatius Flaccus, etc.; see the full title in Dekker, p. 403). 24   Landwehr (1988), no. 818, and p. 22; see also Sabbe (1935) 1-14, especially p. 3, where Sabbe mentions that the Dutch quatrains are from G.A. Bredero. 25   Landwehr (1988), no. 820; Sabbe (1935), 3-4, who also provides details about the authors of the vernacular texts. I have used the digital version of the copy in the library of the University of Ghent, made available by Google.

Venius’ emblemata horatiana143 (see figure 3). All these texts formulate the idea expressed by the Latin texts and the accompanying picture: Virtue, standing high, tramples with her foot on Fortune, spurns the things of this world which the populace embraces. In the context of our present study, it must suffice to conclude that these texts in the vernacular seem to convey the same message as the texts in Latin, but one may observe that, since they outnumber the Latin texts (twelve lines of poetry and four lines of prose text in Latin vs. thirty eight lines of poetry and four lines of prose in the vernacular languages), they do increase the disintegration of the classical texts in their new context. After 1612, the history of the printings of the Emblemata Horatiana becomes very complex. There exist a few editions which stay quite close to the pre-1612 editions.26 In addition, there appeared numerous versions with a Dutch, German, French or Spanish title page, with a variety of additions and adaptations in the content. To my knowledge, the best and most detailed survey of this complicated mixture of editions, re-editions, and translations has been published by Maurits Sabbe in 1935.27 It is of 26   For example the editions mentioned by Landwehr (1988), nos. 822 (Brussels 1682) and 824 (Amsterdam 1684), and the edition Amsterdam 1683, used by Dekker (1962). I have not seen any of these editions. Sabbe mentions a collection of engravings by W. Hollar which include ten copies of engravings from Venius’ Emblemata Horatiana, with the heading or title and one citation by Horace: Emblemata nova, omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci, etc. (Sabbe (1935), p. 8). 27  Four years later, a Dutch version of the French 1935 publication appeared in Sabbe’s collected essays (Sabbe 1939). Here is a brief catalogue of the various titles under which Venius’ work appeared in print, with references to the more recent bibliography by Landwehr (1988): 1. Dutch versions: Bijgedichten op Otto Vaenius Zinnebeelden uit Horatius, Amsterdam 1682 (Sabbe (1935), p. 9-10), Antoni Jansen, Zinnebeelden, etc, Amsterdam 1683 (Landwehr, no. 383), De leermeester der zeden, etc., Amsterdam no date (Landwehr, no. 449) and variants and re-editions (Landwehr, nos. 450-454). 2. German versions: Philip von Zesen, Moralia Horatiana, etc. Amsterdam 1656, in 2 parts (Landwehr, no. 906; reprint Wiesbaden 1963, ed. W. Breuer), Jean Le Clerc, Das Schau­ spiel des menschlichen Lebens, etc., The Hague 1755 (Landwehr, no. 173). 3. French versions: Marin le Roy de Gomberville, La doctrine des mœurs, tirée de la philosophie des stoïques, etc., Paris 1646, in two parts (reprint Paris 2010, ed. B. Teyssandier; see Sabbe (1935), pp. 4-5, and p. 9 for a reprint of 1681); Id., Le théâtre moral de la vie humaine, etc., Brussels 1672, in 2 parts (Landwehr, no. 245; re-edition of the ed. 1646), Brussels 1678 (Landwehr, nos. 246, 247; Sabbe (1935), p. 9); Jean Le Clerc, Le spectacle de la vie humaine, etc., Schouwtoneel des menschelyken leevens, etc., The Hague, 1755 (Landwehr, no. 172). 4. Spanish versions: Theatro moral de toda la philosophia de los antiguos y modernos, con el enchiridion de Epicteto, etc., Brussels 1669 (Landwehr, no. 789), variants and re-editions of this edition in 1672, 1701 and 1733 (Landwehr, nos. 789S-792). 5. English version: Manington Gibbs, The doctrine of Morality, etc., London 1721, 2 vols (translation of La doctrine des mœurs; Sabbe (1935), pp. 12-13). See on this last edition and the reception of the Emblemata Horatiana in England and Scotland Bath

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course impossible to discuss here all these editions, let alone to describe even in the most general terms their differences with the original edition from 1607 and their mutual relationships concerning both the texts and the representations. I want to confine myself to highlighting two important differences which distinguish a number of the post-1612 editions from the original 1607 edition. The first edition in which these distinctive characteristics are found is the French version of Marin le Roy de Gomberville, La doctrine des mœurs, tirée de la philosophie des stoïques.28 This edition is dedicated to the young dauphin who was to become king Louis XIV and to his mother princess Anne of Austria, who was regent of France at that time. The dedication states explicitly that the edition was meant for the moral instruction of the dauphin. To this end, Gomberville adapted the general design of Venius’ commonplace book considerably, and in fact, he does not even mention that his work is based on Venius’ Emblemata Horatiana; the name of Venius does not appear anywhere. The most conspicuous adaptation is the fact that Gomberville has placed the heading of each commonplace not above the collection of citations and other texts, as it was the case in Venius’ edition, but above the representation, thus making the representation the starting-point for the reader/ viewer; these are new headings, given in French only. In addition, he has placed a French legend under the representation. Thus, I think one might say that it was Gomberville who turned Venius’ illustrated commonplace book into a book of emblems, in which each emblem comprises a motto, a representation and a legend. In Gomberville’s edition, the emblems are printed on the right hand pages. On each corresponding left hand page, we find additional material consisting of a detailed explanation of the representation in French (referred to as ‘discours’ on the title page and as ‘explication’ in the book), followed by a selection of Venius’ choice of classical quotations; Gomberville has also provided his Latin quotations with a Latin heading, for which he used Venius as his source in many cases. In a number of cases, however, Gomberville has for some reason changed Venius’ wording.29 (1997); Bath (1997), pp. 104-105, briefly discusses a very late and extremely rare edition of 1875 (Ut pictura poesis, Or an Attempt to Explain the Emblemata Horatiana of Otho Vaenius). See for a brief survey of the various re-editions also Praz’ bibliography of emblem-books in Praz (1964), 523-524. 28   Not in Landwehr (1988), who only lists the edition of Brussels 1672 with the title Le théâtre moral de la vie humaine, etc. (no. 687). I have consulted the re-edition by Teyssandier (2010). See on Gomberville’s work the detailed study by Teyssandier (2008). 29   There are some cases where Gomberville has an entirely different choice of citations than Venius, e.g. in commonplace/emblem no. 31 in Venius (ed. 1607, pp. 68-69) =

Venius’ emblemata horatiana145 In addition to these changes, the two major differences with the 1607 edition referred to above are also without doubt due to Gomberville’s effort to make Venius’ work more explicitly a pedagogical work. First, two commonplaces, or rather emblems, have been added in Gomberville’s edition, namely ‘pecuniae obediunt omnia’ (part 1, no. 46; see figure 4) and ‘Quid non auro pervium?’ (part 1, no. 49, see figure 5),30 which constitute a proper warning against putting too much faith in wealth. Thus, Gomberville’s collection has one hundred and three emblems (not one hundred, as is stated on the title page). Secondly, Gomberville put his emblems in a radically different order than Venius’ commonplaces: from the one hundred one commonplaces in Venius’ edition only seven appear in the same place in Gomberville’s collection; for example, the commonplace we discussed in detail above, representing stoic virtue, which occupies the first place in Venius’ edition and thus announces the theme of the entire collection, has become in Gomberville’s edition emblem number twenty-three of the second part.31 Moreover, Gomberville divided the collection in two parts. In the first part, he brought out, as the preface to the second part explains, all the virtues and vices, and all the guises in which the vices appear, so that everyone can see the traps they set and is able to avoid them; in other words, the first part shows ‘toutes les condi32 tions de la vie’, but ‘sans nous y vouloir attacher’. In the second part, the same material is offered, but now with the intention that each person is stimulated to embrace ‘those virtues which are most worthy of us, that is, those which are the most noble, sacred and in proportion with the rank of our birth’ (avec la pensée de nous les faire embrasser (...) celles qui sont les plus dignes de nous, c’est-à-dire, qui sont les plus nobles, les plus spirituelles, et les plus proportionnées à la hauteur de notre origine).33 A detailed study of the explanations or ‘discours’ would probably yield interesting part 1, no. 24 in Gomberville. To my knowledge, these differences have not yet been collected and analyzed by anybody. The Latin headings of Gomberville which differ from those of Venius have been recorded in the concordance included in the Appendix. 30  In later editions, one also finds these two commonplaces, but at different positions in the collection; e.g. in the edition Amsterdam 1684, ‘pecuniae obediunt omnia’ is no. 59 and ‘Quid non auro pervium’ is no. 58; the heading of this commonplace has been changed into ‘stultitiam patiuntur opes’ in this edition (see the preface of Tschižewskij in Van Veen (1972)). 31   See the Appendix for a complete survey of the order of the commonplaces/emblems and their differences in the various editions. 32   Teyssandier (2010), ‘préface’ to the second part (not paginated). 33   It is possible that ‘origine’ refers to the place of mankind among the species of living beings (‘virtues proper to us as human beings’), but this seems to me less likely.

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data to illustrate how exactly the commonplaces and the classical texts are used to uphold the social structures of seventeenth-century France. All in all, it seems safe to say that not only the structure, but also the design and spirit of Gomberville’s edition differs substantially from Venius’ original edition. True, the theme of Venius’ edition is the explanation and depiction of important moral tenets of neo-stoic philosophy with a pedagogical purport, but Gomberville’s explanations in prose illustrate that his version is much more emphatically a moral guidebook for the Christian reader of noble descent, even if a zealot might object to the express use of Horace and other pagan authors.34 A detailed study of Gomberville’s prose explanations might shed more light on his pedagogical intentions. To conclude our brief observations on Gomberville’s La doctrine des mœurs, we will take a quick look at Gomberville’s emblem virtus inconcussa (see figure 6). As we saw above, this had been the first commonplace in Venius’ original edition and is now emblem twenty-three of the second part. In Venius’ original edition, it was clear from both the texts and the picture that the artist expressed the neo-stoic virtue of the person who, in his or her wisdom, manages to stay unperturbed amidst the vicissitudes of life, represented by Fortuna in both the classical texts and Venius’ prose text on the one hand and the picture on the other. In Gomberville’s edition, the first major difference with Venius is that, as we noted above, the classical quotations have been relegated to the bottom part of the page in order to make place for the prose explanation in French, which has become much larger than the prose explanation in Latin by Venius. Moreover, the French prose text expressly states that the emblem expresses the triumph of the virtuous person in heaven. Thus, the texts of Horace and Claudian form no longer the heart of the matter and constitute an ornament which serves at most to illustrate the importance of the message. That this is indeed the sole function of the classical texts in Gomberville’s edition is proved by the fact that there exist reprints of his edition which leave out the Latin quotations entirely (see figure 7)35.

34   The following observation of l’abbé Goujet (1697-1767), quoted by Kerviler, illustrates this prejudice: ‘Tout y (i.e., in La doctrine des mœurs) est moral, tout y tend à l’instruction; ce qui n’empêche pas qu’on y rencontre quelquefois des maximes plus philosophiques que chrétiennes, et quelques-unes mêmes que la saine morale réprouve’ (Kerviler (1876), 68). 35   M. de Gomberville, La doctrine des mœurs, qui représente en cent tableaux la diffé­rence des passions et enseigne la manière de parvenir à la sagesse universelle (Paris, 1784).

Venius’ emblemata horatiana147 Gomberville’s edition has copper engravings by Pierre Daret (16041678), the French portret painter and engraver; it would be worthwhile to make a detailed comparison between Venius’ engravings and those of Daret, in order to establish whether it is true that Daret simply copied the work of Venius, as Gomberville’s nineteenth-century biographer Kerviler has claimed.36 One distinctive characteristic of Daret’s representations jumps to the eye, that is, the fact that they are all mirrored. A very brief word about the edition of Filip von Zesen, Moralia Horatiana: das ist die horazische Sitten-Lehre from 1656.37 This edition offers essentially a translation of Gomberville’s work and is largely similar in lay-out, with the German emblem on the right hand page and additional material in both Latin and German on the left hand page, but with a few remarkable details. First, in the additional material, the order of the German explanation and the Latin quotations has been turned around, so that one first reads the Latin heading followed by the Latin text and proceeds from there to the German explanation of the illustration on the right hand page.38 Second, in the emblems, a Latin subscription has been added under the representation. In many cases, these subscriptions are identical to the Latin headings on the right hand page, but not in all cases. The entire body of Latin phrases, that is, the headings of the classical citations on the one hand and the subscriptions of the representations on the other, seem to constitute a complex mixture stemming partly from Venius’ edition, partly from Gomberville’s edition, and partly from Zesen’s own pen or yet another source. As a last sample among the many re-editions and adaptations of Venius’ original work, let us take a brief look at the last edition of the Emblemata Horatiana, the bilingual edition entitled Le spectacle de la vie humaine, ou leçons de la sagesse / Schouwtoneel des menschelyken leevens, of lessen der wysheid, followed by a long subtitle, in which Venius is mentioned and which contains detailed information on the content of the volume, published in The Hague 1755, edited by Jean Leclerc (see figure 8).39 This edition shows, in a way, the strength of Venius’ original   Kerviler (1876), 67.  Landwehr (1988) no. 906. I have consulted the facsimile edition mentioned in note 27. 38   To my knowledge, the explanations in German have not yet been analyzed. Based on a sample of two explanations taken at random I assume they are translations of Gom­berville’s French explanations. 39  Landwehr (1988), no. 689. I have consulted the copy from the library of dr. P. Tuynman. The copy of the Lenox Library in New York has been digitized by Google 36 37

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format, because various features of the original edition which had been suppressed in later editions, especially in Gomberville’s La doctrine des mœurs, reappear in this last edition: firstly, Venius’ name appears in the subtitle; secondly, together with verses in German, French and Dutch, a choice of the Latin texts included in the 1607 edition have also been reproduced; thirdly, this edition has prose explanations of the representations, like Gomberville’s La doctrine des mœurs, but they were written by Leclerc and placed, not side by side with the representation, but on a separate page after each representation, in juxtaposition with a Dutch version of the same text. Thus, the interplay between the classical texts and the representation, which is characteristic of Venius’ original edition, has been restored in this edition, even if a choice of vernacular texts has been added, as in most editions after 1607. The explanations of the representations, which were a central element in Gomberville’s emblems, seem to serve rather as a kind of secondary additional commentary. On the other hand, Leclerc did follow Gomberville’s new ordering of the emblems or commonplaces (with one curious exception),40 although he did not divide them in two parts. The printer’s preface stresses that Leclerc’s edition is meant to function as a pedagogical handbook for the instruction of the Christian reader, both in school and at home.41 Without the division in two parts, it seems that Leclerc’s goal was to lead the reader by means of the texts and representation through the moral doctrines of Christianity based on the teaching of the Bible, as it were in the chronological order of his lifetime, literally from the cradle to the grave. Thus, one may discern the following units of commonplaces: commonplaces one to five deal with the helplessness of children at birth and the need to provide them with an education, so as to acquire wisdom and virtue; in commonplaces six through twelve virtue is defined and described in all its aspects; commonplaces thirteen through forty show how philosophy teaches us to be wise, especially how to control ourselves; commonplaces forty-one to sixty expatiate in detail on the proper attitude towards poverty and wealth. Commonplaces sixty-one to eighty-three show that the importance of wisdom lies in the fact that it helps us to lead a happy books. Leclerc died in 1736; it is unclear why his edition of Venius’ work was published only twenty years after his death. In the same year, a German version of Leclerc’s edition appeared in The Hague (see note 27), which I have not seen. 40   The commonplaces/emblems ‘Volat irrevocabile tempus’ and ‘Mortis certitudo’ (2.24 = 98 and 2.39 = 84) have been turned around by Leclerc (98 and 84). 41   Leclerc (1755), *2-verso (Dutch version) and §2-verso (French version).

Venius’ emblemata horatiana149 and successful life in the midst of the turmoil of our existence. Finally, the theme of the transience of the things of this world and of our own mortality is presented in detail in commonplaces eighty-four through one hundred three. Conclusion We have seen that Venius’ Emblemata Horatiana underwent major changes through the various editions published after the first edition of 1607. It was originally an illustrated commonplace book and it developed into a book of moral emblems; the lines of poetry from Horace and other classical poets, which were already fragmented in the format and context of the original 1607 edition, became more and more marginalized, not only by the addition of other lines of poetry in various vernacular languages, but also, and in Gomberville’s edition almost completely, by prose texts which changed the original message considerably by turning Venius’ commonplace book into a handbook for the instructions of the moral doctrines of Christianity. In the last edition by Leclerc, the connection between the classical texts and the representations has been restored, although in this edition too, the message is geared toward the instruction of the moral doctrines of Christianity. All in all, this brief study has yielded sufficient material to conclude that the degree of fragmentation varies in the consecutive editions of the Emblemata Horatiana. On the other hand, it is evident that the various editions of the Emblemata Horatiana need to be studied in much more detail than has been possible in the context of this contribution. What is more, I hope it has become clear that the study of the history of the Emblemata Horatiana merits a more interdisciplinary approach than it has had to this date: philologists and art historians should work together to bring to light all the large and small differences in the texts and iconography and their mutual relation and interdependence throughout the numerous editions. On top of that, the bibliographical and book historical characteristics of the successive editions, which have been largely left aside in this contribution, would merit to be studied in conjunction with the texts and images.

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Bibliography Agricola, Rudolph, Letters. Edited and translated, with notes by Adrie van der Laan & Fokke Akkerman (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2002) Bath, M., ‘Vaenius abroad: English and Scottish Reception of the Emblemata Horatiana’, in B. Westerweel, ed., Anglo-Dutch Relations in the Field of the Emblem (Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 87-106 Bot, P.N.M., Humanisme en onderwijs in Nederland (Utrecht/Antwerpen: Uitgeverij het Spectrum, 1955) Dekker, A.F., ‘In de spiegel der Horatiana’, in Opstellen op het gebied van bibliotheekwezen aangeboden door vakgenoten aan prof. dr. L. Brummel bij zijn afscheid als bibliothecaris van de Koninklijke Bibliotheek te ‘s-Gravenhage = Bibliotheekleven, 47 (1962), pp. 402-407 Enenkel, K.A.E., ‘Imagines agentes: geheugenboeken en de organisatie van kennis in de Neolatijnse literatuur’, Rede uitgesproken bij het aanvaarden van het ambt van bijzonder hoogleraar (Leiden, 2005) pdf-file, to be accessed at Erasmus, D., De copia verborum ac rerum, ed. by Betty Knott, in Opera omnia Desiderii Erasmi Roterodami, I.6 (Amsterdam etc: North Holland, 1988) Forster, L., ‘Die Emblemata Horatiana des Otho Vaenius’, in Wolfenbütteler Renaissance Forschungen, 12 (1981), 117-128 Franck, J., ‘Lang, Joseph,’ in Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie, 17 (1883), cols. 602-606 Gerards-Nelissen, I. ‘Otto van Veen’s Emblemata Horatiana’, Simiolus: Netherlands Quarterly for the History of Art, 5 (1971), 20-63 Gomberville, Marin le Roy de, La doctrine des mœurs. Tirée de la philo­ sophie des Stoïques: représentée en cent tableaux, et expliquée en cent discours, pour l’instruction de la jeunesse. Au roi (Paris: Pierre Daret, 1646) Gomberville, Marin le Roy de, La doctrines des mœurs, édition établie par B. Teyssandier (Paris: Klincksieck, 2010) Kerviler, R., Marin le Roy sieur de Gomberville. L’un des quarante fondateurs de l’Académie française (Paris 1876) Landwehr, J., Emblem and Fable Books Printed in the Low Countries 1542-1813. A Bibliography (Utrecht: HES Publishers, 1988) Leclerc, J., Le spectacle de la vie humaine, ou leçons de la sagesse / Schouwtoneel des menschelyken leevens, of lessen der wysheid (The Hague: Joannes Van Duren, 1755)

Venius’ emblemata horatiana151 Lier, H. A., ‘Veen, Otto van’, in Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie, 39 (1895), cols. 791-792 Mayer, R., ‘Vivere secundum Horatium: Otto Vaenius’ Emblemata Horatiana’, in L.B.T. Houghton and M. Wyke, eds., Perceptions of Horace. A Roman Poet and His Readers (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 200-218 Michael Brown, P., Horace. Satires I, with an Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Warminster: Ares & Phillips, 1993; repr. 2007) Miedema, H., ‘The Term Emblema in Alciati’, in Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 31 (1968), 234-250 Moss, A., Printed Common-Place Books and the Structuring of Renaissance Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996) Platnauer, M., Claudian, with an English translation (London, Cambridge, MA: William Heinemann Ltd, Harvard University Press, 1922; repr. 1956) Praz, M., Studies in Seventeenth-Century Imagery. Second edition considerably increased (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1964; repr. 1974, 2001) Russell, D., ‘The Term “Emblème” in Sixteenth-Century France’, in Neophilologus, 59 (1975), 337-351 Sabbe, M., ‘Les “Emblemata Horatiana” d’Otto Venius’, in De Gulden Passer, 13 (1935), 1-14 Sabbe, M., Vondel en Zuid-Nederland met andere opstellen (Antwerpen: Lectura-uitgaven, 1939), pp. 39-60 Teyssandier, B., La morale par l’image. La doctrine des mœurs dans la  vie et l’œuvre de Gomberville (Paris: Honoré Champion Editeur, 2008) Thøfner, M., ‘Making a chimera: invention, collaboration and the production of Otto Vaenius’s Emblemata Horatiana’, in A. Adams and M. van der Weij, eds., Emblems of the Low Countries: A Book Historical Perspective, Glasgow Emblem Studies, vol. 8 (Glasgow: n.pub., 2003), pp. 17-44 Van den Gheyn, J., S.J., Album amicorum de Otto Venius. Reproduction intégrale en fac-similé avec introduction, transcription, traduction, notes (Brussels: Société des Bibliophiles et Iconophiles de Belgique, 1911) Van der Poel, M., ‘L’humanisme et les études classiques dans les Pays-Bas de la Renaissance’, Canadian Journal of Netherlandic Studies/Revue canadienne d’études néerlandaises, 28 (2007), 120-139

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Van Veen, O., Quinti Horati Flacci Emblemata Imaginibus in aes incisis, notisque illustrata, mit einem Vorwort von D. Tschižewskij (Hildesheim, New York: Olms, 1972) (Facsimile of the first edition, Antwerp 1607) West, D., Horace, Odes III, Text, Translation and Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002) Radboud University Nijmegen Classics Department/Institute of Historical, Literary and Cultural Studies [email protected]

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Figure 1 From the ed. by Venius, 1607 (facsimile reprint Hildesheim, New York: Olms, 1972; reduced in size)

Figure 2 From the ed. by Venius, 1607 (facsimile reprint Hildesheim, New York: Olms, 1972; reduced in size)

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Figure 3 From the edition published in Antwerp: apud Philippum Lisaert, 1612 (copy of the University of Ghent, digitized by Google)

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Figure 4 From the edition by Gomberville, 1646, edited by B. Teyssandier, Paris 2010 (reduced in size)

Figure 5 From the edition by Gomberville, 1646, edited by B. Teyssandier, Paris 2010 (reduced in size)

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Figure 6 From the edition by Gomberville, 1646, edited by B. Teyssandier, Paris 2010 (reduced in size)

Figure 7 From the edition by Gomberville, 1784 (private copy; reduced in size)

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Figure 8 Title page of the edition by Leclerc, 1755 (copy from the library of Dr. P. Tuynman; reduced in size)

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Marc van der Poel APPENDIX CONCORDANCE OF THE EDITIONS OF VENIUS AND GOMBERVILLE/LECLERC

Heading in Venius 1. Virtus inconcussa 2. Virtutis gloria 3. Naturam Minerva perficit 4. Virtus immortalis 5. Virtuti sapientia comes 6. In medio consistit virtus 7. Medio tutissimus ibis 8. Virtus in actione consistit 9. Virtus invidiae scopus 10. Amor virtutis 11. Animi servitus 12. Animi servitus perpetua 13. Vis institutionis 14. Incipiendum aliquando 15. Fructus laboris gloria 16. Voluptatum usurae, morbi et miseriae 17. Crapula ingenium offuscat 18. Natura moderatrix optima 19. Animus purgandus 20. Philosophia vitae magistra 21. Minerva duce 22. Disciplinae animus attentus 23. Diuturna quies vitiis alimentum 24. Habenda in primis animi cura 25. Educationis et consuetudinis typus 26. Conscientia mille testes 27. Honeste et publice 28. Nihil silentio utilius 29. A poculis absint seria 30. Amant alterna Camoenae 31. Festina lente

ed. Venius pp. 8-9 pp. 10-11 pp. 12-13 pp. 14-15 pp. 16-17 pp. 18-19 pp. 20-21 pp. 22-23 pp. 24-25 pp. 26-27 pp. 28-29 pp. 30-31 pp. 32-33 pp. 34-35 pp. 36-37 pp. 38-39 pp. 40-41 pp. 42-43 pp. 44-45 pp. 46-47 pp. 48-49 pp. 50-51 pp. 52-53 pp. 54-55 pp. 56-57 pp. 58-59 pp. 60-61 pp. 62-63 pp. 64-65 pp. 66-67 pp. 68-69

  Virtus mortalia despicit   Virtutem qua virtus est, cole 3   Improbus numquam liber est 4   Improbus ex servitute ad servitutem proruit 5   Virtutis amore caetera vilescunt 6   Educatio mores facit 7   Concordia populi insuperabilis 1 2

ed. Gomberville 2-231 2-14 1-1 2-16 1-5 1-9 1-10 1-6 2-21 1-162 1-383 1-394 1-3 1-7 1-8 1-36 1-35 1-11 1-4 1-13 2-75 1-12 2-6 1-15 1-26 2-12 2-13 1-28 2-20 2-18 1-247

ed. Leclerc 83 74 1 76 5 9 10 6 81 16 38 39 3 7 8 36 35 11 4 13 67 12 66 15 2 72 73 28 80 78 24

Venius’ emblemata horatiana159 32. Mediis tranquillus in undis 33. Innocentia ubique tuta 34. Mortis formido 35. Frugalitatis exemplar 36. Potestas potestati subiecta 37. Quis dives? Qui nil cupit. 38. Sapientiae libertas 39. N  imius paupertatis metus libertati noxius 40. Sors sua quemque beat 41. Agriculturae beatitudo 42. Avaritiae malum 43. Mentis inquietudo 44. Curae inevitabiles 45. Grande malum invidia 46. Culmen honoris lubricum 47. Multiplex avaritiae praetextus 48. Nil auri cupidem refraenat 49. Pecunia a bono et honesto abstrahit 50. Cum fructu peregrinandum 51. Anxia divitiarum cura 52. Quo plus sunt potae, plus sitiuntur aquae 53. Q  uod satis est cui contingit, nihil amplius optet 54. A  varus nisi cum moritur, nihil recte facit 55. Amicitiam fovet munificentia 56. L  iberali homini volunt omnes quam optime 57. Varium pecuniae dominium 58. Stultitiam patiuntur opes 59. Pecunia donat omnia 60. Avarus quaesitis frui non audet 61. Heres instar vulturis esse solet

pp. 70-71 pp. 72-73 pp. 74-75 pp. 76-77 pp. 78-79 pp. 80-81 pp. 82-83 pp. 84-85

2-9 2-10 1-48 1-319 1-17 1-40 2-8 1-4510

69 70 41 31 17 40 68 45

pp. 86-87 pp. 88-89 pp. 90-91 pp. 92-93 pp. 94-95 pp. 96-97 pp. 98-99 pp. 100-101 pp. 102-103 pp. 104-105 pp. 106-107 pp. 108-109 pp. 110-111

1-32 1-33 1-5211 1-4212 1-43 1-29 1-3413 2-314 1-53 1-48 2-4 1-51 1-54

32 33 52 42 43 29 34 63 53 48 64 51 54

pp. 112-113

1-30

30

pp. 114-115

1-57

57

pp. 116-117 pp. 118-119

1-2515 1-6016

25 60

pp. 120-121 pp. 122-123 pp. 128-129 pp. 130-131 pp. 132-133

1-59 1-5617 1-47 1-55 1-5818

59 56 47 55 58

  Beatus ille non est, cui semper aliquis terror impendit   Frugalitas summum bonum 10   Paupertatis metus virtuti non semper noxius 11   Grande avaritiae malum 12   Necesse est ut multos timeat, quem multi timent 13   Bene qui latuit bene vixit 14   Multiplex curarum praetextus 15   Vulgus amicitias utilitate probat 16   Liberali homini volunt omnes optime 17   Vitio vitium accedit 18   Avarus etiam post fatum improbus 8 9

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62. Paupertatis incommoda 63. Nil ego contulerim iucundo sanus amico 64. Amicitiae trutina 65. Amici vitium ne fastidias 66. I dem velle atque idem nolle, ea demum firma amicitia est 67. Domi argus, foris talpa 68. Cuique suum studium 69. Sua nemo sorte contentus 70. I n quocumque vitae genere philoso­ phari licet 71. Victrix malorum patientia 72. Fortuna non mutat genus 73. A musis tranquillitas 74. A musis aeternitas 75. Post multa virtus opera laxari solet 76. Varia senectae bona 77. Vera philosophia mortis est meditatio 78. Ex vino sapienti virtus 79. Tempera te tempori 80. Tempus rite impensum sapiens non revocat 81. Post mortem cessat invidia 82. Nequid ultra vires coneris 83. T  empora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis 84. Neglectae religionis poena multiplex 85. Culpam poena premit comes 86. Principum delicta plebs luit 87. Tute, si recte vixeris 88. De futuris ne sis anxius 89. Quid enim velocius aevo? 90. Aeternum sub sole nihil 91. S  ic vivamus, ut mortem non metuamus 92. D  e rogo, non de domo exstruenda senex cogitet   Pauperies non temnenda   Homo homini deus 21   Ibi est amor, ubi est reciprocus 22   Tempus rite impensum ne revoca 23   Non temnite divos 24   Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur 25   Sequitur nocentes ultor Deus 26   De rogo senex cogitet 19

20

pp. 134-135 pp. 136-137

1-4419 1-2120

44 21

pp. 138-139 pp. 140-141 pp. 142-143

1-22 1-26 1-2321

22 26 23

pp. 144-145 pp. 146-147 pp. 148-149 pp. 150-151

1-27 2-1 2-2 1-14

27 61 62 14

pp. 152-153 pp. 154-155 pp. 156-157 pp. 158-159 pp. 160-161 pp. 162-163 pp. 164-165 pp. 166-167 pp. 168-169 pp. 170-171

2-11 1-50 2-5 2-15 2-17 2-31 2-30 2-19 2-26 2-2722

71 50 65 75 77 91 90 79 86 87

pp. 172-173 pp. 174-175 pp. 176-177

2-22 1-1823 1-2524

82 18 85

pp. 178-179 pp. 180-181 pp. 182-183 pp. 184-185 pp. 186-187 pp. 188-189 pp. 190-191 pp. 192-193

1-19 1-20 1-3725 2-33 2-32 2-28 2-29 2-34

19 20 37 93 92 88 89 94

pp. 194-195

2-3526

95

Venius’ emblemata horatiana161 93. Morte linquenda omnia 94. Communis ad letum via 95. Improvisa lethi vis 96. Mortis certitudo 97. Cunctos mors una manet 98. Volat irrevocabile tempus 99. N  il aliud ac umbra atque flatus est homo 100. Inexorabile fatum 101. Mors ultima linea rerum est 102. Pecuniae obediunt omnia 103. Stultitiam patiuntur opes

pp. 196-197 pp. 198-199 pp. 200-201 pp. 202-203 pp. 204-205 pp. 206-207 pp. 208-209

2-37 2-40 2-36 2-39 2-38 2-24 2-4227

97 100 96 84 99 98 102

pp. 210-211 pp. 212-213 -

2-41 2-43 1-46 1-4928

101 103 59 58

Latin heading in Gomberville

ed. Gomberville

ed. Leclerc

ed. Venius

1. Naturam Minerva perficit

1-1

1

3

2. Educatio mores facit

1-2

2

2529

3. Vis institutionis

1-3

3

13

4. Animus purgandus

1-4

4

19

5. Vitium fugere virtus est

1-5

5

530

6. Virtus in actione consistit

1-6

6

8

7. Incipiendum aliquando

1-7

7

14

8. Currite, ut comprehendatis

1-8

8

1531

9. In medio consistit virtus

1-9

9

6

10. In vitium saepe ducit culpae fuga

1-10

10

732

11. Natura moderatrix optima

1-11

11

18

12. Disciplinae animus attentus

1-12

12

22

13. Philosophia vitae magistra

1-13

13

20

14. In quocumque vitae genere philosophari licet

1-14

14

70

15. Habenda in primis animi cura

1-15

15

24

16. Virtutem qua virtus est, cole

1-16

16

1033

17. Potestas potestati subiecta

1-17

17

36

18. Non temnite divos

1-18

18

8234

19. Neglectae religionis poena multiplex

1-19

19

84

  Ecce sumus pulvus   Quid non auro pervium 29   Educationis et consuetudinis typus 30   Virtuti sapientia comes 31   Fructus laboris gloria 32   Medio tutissimus ibis 33   Amor virtutis 34   Nequid ultra vires coneris 27

28

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20. Culpam poena premit comes

1-20

20

85

21. Homo homini deus

1-21

21

6335

22. Amicitiae trutina

1-22

22

64

23. Ibi est amor, ubi est reciprocus

1-23

23

6636

24. Concordia populi insuperabilis

1-24

24

3137

25. Vulgus amicitias utilitate probat

1-25

25

5538

26. Amici vitium ne fastidias

1-26

26

65

27. Domi argus, foris talpa

1-27

27

67

28. Nihil silentio utilius ad servandas amicitias

1-28

28

2839

29. Grande malum invidia

1-29

29

45

30. Quod satis est qui contingit, nihil amplius optet

1-30

30

53

31. Frugalitatis summum bonum

1-31

31

3540

32. Sors sua quemque beat

1-32

32

40

33. Agriculturae beatitudo

1-33

33

41

34. Bene qui latuit bene vixit

1-34

34

4641

35. Crapula ingenium offuscat

1-35

35

17

36. Voluptatum usurae, morbi et miseriae

1-36

36

16

37. Sequitur nocentes ultor deus

1-37

37

8642

38. Improbus numquam liber est

1-38

38

1143

39. Improbus ex servitute ad servitutem proruit

1-39

39

1244

40. Quis dives? Qui nil cupit

1-40

40

37

41. B  eatus ille non est cui semper aliquis terror impendit

1-41

41

3445

42. N  ecesse est ut multos timeat, quem multi timent

1-42

42

4346

43. Curae inevitabiles

1-43

43

44

  Nil ego contulerim iucundo sanus amico   Idem velle atque idem nolle, ea demum firma amicitia est 37   Festina lente 38   Amicitiam fovet munificentia 39   Nihil silentio utilius 40   Frugalitatis exemplar 41   Culmen honoris lubricum 42   Principum delicta plebs luit 43   Animi servitus 44   Animi servitus perpetua 45   Mortis formido 46   Mentis inquietudo 35

36

Venius’ emblemata horatiana163 44. Pauperies non temnenda

1-44

44

6247

45. Paupertatis metus virtuti non semper noxius

1-45

45

3948

46. Pecuniae obediunt omnia

1-46

46

-

47. Pecunia donat omnia

1-47

47

59

48. Pecunia a bono et honesto abstrahit

1-48

48

49

49. Quid non auro pervium

1-49

56

5849

50. Fortuna non mutat genus

1-50

50

72

51. Anxia divitiarum cura

1-51

51

51

52. Grande avaritiae malum

1-52

52

4250

53. Nil auri cupidum refraenat

1-53

53

48

54. Quo plus sunt potae, plus sitiuntur aquae

1-54

54

52

55. Avarus quaesitis frui non audet

1-55

55

60

56. Vitio vitium accedit

1-56

5651

-

57. Avarus nisi cum moritur, nihil recte facit

1-57

57

54

58. Avarus etiam post fatum improbus

1-58

58

6152

59. Varium pecuniae dominium

1-59

59

57

60. L  iberali homini volunt omnes quam optime

1-60

60

56

61. Cuique suum studium

2-1

61

68

62. Sua nemo contentus

2-2

62

69

63. Multiplex avaritiae praetextus

2-3

63

47

64. Cum fructu peregrinandum

2-4

64

50

65. A musis tranquillitas

2-5

65

73

66. Diuturna quies vitiis alimentum

2-6

66

23

67. Virtutis amore caetera vilescunt

2-7

67

2153

68. Sapientiae libertas

2-8

68

38

69. Mediis tranquillus in undis

2-9

69

32

70. Innocentia ubique tuta

2-10

70

33

71. Victrix malorum patientia

2-11

71

71

72. Conscientia mille testes

2-12

72

26

73. Honeste et publice

2-13

73

27

  Paupertatis incommoda   Nimius paupertatis metus 49   Stultitiam patiuntur opes 50   Avaritiae malum 51   Stultitiam patiuntur opes 52   Heres instar vulturis esse solet 53   Minerva duce 47

48

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74. Virtutis gloria

2-14

74

2

75. A musis aeternitas

2-15

75

74

76. Virtus immortalis

2-16

76

4

77. Post multa virtus opera laxari solet

2-17

77

75

78. Amant alterna camoenae

2-18

78

30

79. Ex vino sapienti virtus

2-19

79

78

80. A poculis absint seria

2-20

80

29

81. Virtus invidiae scopus

2-21

81

9

82. Post mortem cessat invidia

2-22

82

81

83. Virtus mortalia despicit

2-23

83

154

84. Volat irrevocabile tempus

2-24

98

98

85. Tempora muntantur, et nos mutamur

2-25

85

8355

86. Tempera te tempori

2-26

86

79

87. Tempus rite impensum ne revoca

2-27

87

8056

88. Quid enim velocius aevo?

2-28

88

89

89. Aeternum sub sole nihil

2-29

89

90

90. Vera philosophia mortis est meditatio

2-30

90

77

91. Varia senectae sunt bona

2-31

91

7657

92. De futuris ne sis anxius

2-32

92

88

93. Tute, si recte vixeris

2-33

93

87

94. Sic vivamus, ut mortem non metuamus

2-34

94

91

95. De rogo senex cogitet

2-35

95

9258

96. Improvisa lethi vis

2-36

96

95

97. Morte linquenda omnia

2-37

97

93

98. Cunctos mors una manet

2-38

99

97

99. Mortis certitudo

2-39

84

96

100. Communis ad letum via

2-40

100

94

101. Inexorabile fatum

2-41

101

100

102. Ecce sumus pulvis

2-42

102

9959

103. Mors ultima linae rerum est

2-43

103

101

  Virtus inconcussa   Tempora muntantur, et nos mutamur in illis 56   Tempus rite impensum sapiens non revocat 57   Varia senectae bona 58   De rogo, non de domo exstruenda senex cogitet 59   Nil aliud ac umbra atque flatus est homo 54 55

Tom Deneire ANTIQUARIAN LATIN AND THE MATERIALITY OF LATE HUMANIST CULTURE: THE CASE OF JOHANN LAUREMBERG’S PLAY POMPEJUS MAGNUS (1610) Introduction The stylistic ‘school’ of antiquarianism probably belongs to one of the more obscure capita in Neo-Latin literary history. In one of the few passages in secondary literature that discuss it at all, Jozef IJsewijn mentioned ‘a play on Pompey entirely in archaic Latin’, for which the author ‘excused himself for making his hero speak a language which was two centuries or more older’.1 The work IJsewijn drew attention to, published in 1610 as Pompejus Magnus by one Johann Lauremberg, will be the object of the present contribution. When the excellent library staff of the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven was finally able to locate a copy of this now extremely rare piece2, I could immediately tell that IJsewijn was right in describing this as ‘eccentric and often hardly understandable Latin’.3 A quick glance at one of the first full pages of the play4 revealed the use of words like procare, luridus, protelare, domutio, clupeatus, cascus, anterminus, desubulare, propagmen and hippomolgus, which are all far from straightforward Latin vocabulary.5 In fact, confronted with our own difficulties with the text, one immediately wonders how many of Lauremberg’s contemporaries would have been able to understand such Latin on the spot, and more in general, how such a strange and difficult Latin was able to function as a literary phenomenon. The latter question will be central to the present discussion.   IJsewijn (1996), 51.   I wish to thank Jef Costermans and the entire staff of the K.U.Leuven Interlibrary loan service for their efforts in locating the Pompejus Magnus. 3   IJsewijn (1996), 51. 4   Joannes Guilielmi F. Laurembergius, Pompejus Magnus. Tragoedia (Laciburgi Pharodenorum, 1610), f. A3. 5   Procare (‘to request’, cp. precari), luridus (‘pale’), protelare (‘to drive forth’, cf. telum), domutio (‘the going home’, cf. domumitio, domuitio), clupeatus (‘armed with a shield’, cf. clipeus), cascus (‘old’), anterminus (= vicinus, only in Du Cange), desubulare (‘to bore in deeply’), propagmen (‘prolongation’), and hippomolgus (probably after the Greek ἱππημολγοί: ‘the Mare-milkers, a Scythian or Tartar tribe’). 1 2

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Lauremberg’s Pompejus Magnus Johann Lauremberg or Iohannes Laurembergius (often ‘Guilielmi filius’)6 was born in the German city of Rostock in 1590 and died in Sorø in what is now Denmark in 1658.7 He pursued an academic career, studying mathematics, medicine and poetry in Rostock (1608-1612), followed by a peregrinatio academica (1612-1617) that took him through Holland, England, Italy and France, with two longer stays in Paris and Reims to study medicine. In 1618 he was offered the chair of poetry in Rostock. By then he had already published some poetry, among which a bilingual (Greek and Latin) poem Venus navigans, and done some research in the field of philology and mathematics. In 1623 Lauremberg accepted an offer from the Danish crown to fill a position at the newly founded academy in Sorø, where he would stay for the rest of his life. Apart from topographical, philological and mathematical works (Clavis instrumentalis Laurembergica (1612-1625) and Logarithmus seu canon numerorum (1628)), Lauremberg also wrote and published several German plays. Yet most of all, he found critical acclaim for his often-reprinted Latin Satyra. When he was still a student8, Lauremberg also wrote a Latin play, called Pompejus Magnus. It was published in 1610 in Lassan, in the current German Bundesland Mecklenburg-Vorpommern (the title page has Laciburgi Pharodenorum9). It was dedicated to three Hamburg-based brothers Rump10 and is now extremely rare. In fact, the copy I was able to

6   His father, Wilhelm Lauremberg (1547-1639), was a professor of medicine and mathematics in Rostock. 7   Biographical information from Dünnhaupt (1982) and IJsewijn – Würzner (1982). See also ‘The Septentrional Comedies’, in Wade (1996), 90-119 and passim. 8   IJsewijn (1996), 51 suggests that it was when he was a student in Leiden, but Dünn­ haupt’s chronology of Lauremberg’s academic career seems to exclude this possibility. 9   Laciburgium stands for ‘Lassahn, D., Preußen (Schleswig-Holstein)’ (cf. Graesse, Orbis Latinus) and the Pharodeni are a German people in the vicinity of the coast of the Baltic sea, preserved in various forms (also Varini, sometimes interpreted as the same people as the Suardones) and mentioned by Ptolemy (2, 11), Tacitus (Germ. 40: Varini) and Pliny (nat., 4, 99: Varinnae). In Georgius Hornius, Ulyssea sive studiosus peregrinans omnia lustrans littora (Leiden, 1671), p. 296 we find the Pharodeni interpreted as the Mechlenburgenses, an opinion followed by many nineteenth-century geographical works. Therefore, we conclude that Laciburgium Pharodenorum is to be identified with the current Lassan in Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania, Germany. Either Graesse is mistaken by situating ‘Lassahn’ (sic) in the neighbouring Bundesland Schleswig-Holstein or there are in fact two towns by the same name. 10   Heinrich, Johann and Conrad Rump. For more information, see Lappenberg (1861), 155-156 (who concludes that Lauremberg must have been in Hamburg at the time of the dedication, i.e. 2 December 1610).

THE CASE OF JOHANN LAURemBERG’S PLAY pompejus magnus167 obtain from the Landesbibliothek Mecklenburg-Vorpommern is the only one I know of. It deals, obviously, with the story of Pompey the Great (29 September, 106 BC – 29 September, 48 BC)11 relating his murder after the defeat at Pharsalus (48 BC) in four acts. Besides Pompey himself, it figures his counsellor Lentulus12, his wife Cornelia, King Ptolemy, two of Ptolemy’s counsellors (Achilles and Photinus), Septimius, who is Ptolemy’s legate, an unnamed messenger, and finally a chorus of Roman women and girls. Very briefly told, the story goes as follows. In the first act Pompey and Lentulus deliberate whether to seek out the protection of the Egyptian king or to flee further on. In the end, they resolve to try and find out Ptolemy’s sympathies through a messenger. In a typically tragic moment, Cornelia already voices a dire premonition that things will end badly. In the second act Ptolemy debates the matter with his counsellors. Photinus makes a plea to welcome Pompey as a friend, while Achilles wants to dispose of him. The young King dares not choose and decides to welcome Pompey but to call Caesar to have matters come to a decision. At the end of their song, the chorus sees Pompey’s messenger returning and concludes from Cornelia’s reaction that he does not bring good news. In the third act Pompey says goodbye to his wife who vainly tries to persuade him not to go to Ptolemy. Pompey then follows Ptolemy’s legate, and Cornelia and the women remain behind. At the end of their song, the chorus women notice a man approaching who is covered in blood and sweat. In the fourth and final act this messenger relates Pompey’s murder after crossing from Alexandria to Pharos. At first the chorus cannot locate the body (that is to say, the head and trunk have been separated), but with the help of a fisherman they eventually manage. The play is closed by a prayer from Cornelia to Jupiter, and a chorus song that focuses on divine retaliation against the sacrilegious. An Archaeology of Antiquarianism In the foregoing, IJsewijn was quoted as stating that Lauremberg’s Latin seems ‘eccentric’ and I have already offered some first impressions of its appearance, but so far little has been said about the stylistic nature of this 11   For a summary of the play and a short discussion of it from a biographical point of view, see also Lappenberg (1861), 155-160. 12   It is difficult to ascertain which (if any at all) historical Lentulus Lauremberg means. Both Lucius Cornelius Lentulus Crus (d. 48 BC) and Publius Cornelius Lentulus Spinther fled to Rhodes after Pharsalus. Lauremberg’s Lentulus accompanied Pompey to Egypt.

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so-called ‘antiquarianism’. Indeed, Lauremberg’s Latin certainly strikes one as exceptional, but it is not unattested in Neo-Latin literary history. While it is usually categorized in the Companion to Neo-Latin Studies as ‘antiquarianism’ (since the authors styled themselves antiquarii)13, in other studies it is sometimes called ‘hyperarchaic Latin’.14 It consists of an obscure use of language coined by late sixteenth- or early seventeenthcentury philologists who went in search of the most unlikely archaisms with which they padded their prose or verses.15 Better known examples include some poems by Jacobus Balde (1604-1668), while several others ridiculed it in pastiches, for instance Michael Abel (ca. 1543-1595) or Federicus Jamotius († 1609). The linguistic features of Lauremberg’s antiquarianism in Pompejus Magnus in particular can be analysed in three main layers. Focussing on the same page we quoted from before (f. A3), which has been reproduced in appendix (cf. infra), we can describe this antiquarianism from the perspective of orthography, morphology and lexicology. First of all, we see Lauremberg trying to mimic old Latin through his spelling, writing coherciti instead of coerciti, Romoleum instead of Romuleum, flammolam instead of flammulam, adgredier instead of aggredier, duello instead of bello, conferundas instead of conferendas, Diveis instead of Divis, or quojus instead of cuius. Of course, these alternative spellings might reflect alternative pronunciations as well (e.g. flammolam vs flammulam), but as we have no evidence that Lauremberg used these transformations as figures of sound, but only seems to aim at creating a difference in word-physiognomy, these changes are interpreted as orthographical here. More importantly, we have to realise that, as will be the case for the other layers of antiquarian style as well, Lauremberg does not consistently change his Latin spelling into a more archaic variant. While he often archaizes his Latin, it is still a composite that retains many classical elements as well. For instance, on our f. A3 we find transversi which is elsewhere turned into transvorsi, and in other passages Lauremberg frequently uses the classical maximus or cum instead of maxumus or quom or quum.16 In this way, the choice between an archaic or classical spelling seems rather random.

  IJsewijn –Sacré (1998), 415-416.   E.g. Relihan (1996), 283, n. 58. See also IJsewijn – Würzner (1982), 278. 15   IJsewijn – Sacré (1998), 416. 16   E.g. maximi (f. A2) and cum (f. A5). 13 14

THE CASE OF JOHANN LAURemBERG’S PLAY pompejus magnus169 A second layer of Lauremberg’s antiquarianism is his morphology, where we notice several curiosities in, for instance, the conjugation of verbs and the declension of nouns. On f. A3 we find many examples of such morphological antiquarianism, i.e. labare instead of labi, ornamen instead of ornamentum, the syncopated forms exposta instead of exposita, sirint instead of siverint, and adduxe instead of adduxisse, the old subjunctives (or rather optatives) duint instead of dent and fuat instead of sit/fuerit, the ending -ier in adgredier instead of aggredi, famul instead of famulus, the alternative indicative danunt instead of dant, or the nominative sanguen instead of sanguis. Some other passages include forms like the subjunctive adduxet (f. A2) instead of adducat, the old ablative in -od in devorandod (f. A4), but also less exotic examples like the common faxit (f. A5) instead of faciat, or puerus (f. A5) instead of puer. Again Lauremberg has not consistently archaized his morphology and the difference between, for instance, the aforementioned adduxet or adducat seems random, as both appear easily interchangeable. However, we also have to factor in the metrical constraints of the iambic trimeter, which obviously affected Lauremberg’s choice in many of these instances. Without a doubt the richest layer of Lauremberg’s antiquarian style is his vocabulary, as already suggested by the ten examples in the introduction to this paper. In almost every verse of his play Lauremberg has integrated archaic or obsolete words, found only in the most specialised of dictionaries and lexica. Besides the ones already mentioned, we find on the same f. A3: perduellis (a synonym of hostis), censio (a noun from the verb censere), ipsipte (a derivative like mihipte or eopte), exodium (from the Greek ἐξόδιον), and the adverbs perpetim (from perpes), demagis (for maxime) and viriatus (from viriae, ‘adorned with bracelets’). Although the degree of lexical archaism is very high, again we notice that Lauremberg did not look for archaic variants for all of his words. Apparently, he did not make use (or did not know?) of certain archaic variants as the Plautine interbitere, adbitere and abitere for interire (f. A4), adire (f. A12) and abire (f. B6). Neither does he make use of the archaic form siremps for simile (f. A5) or of the old cluere (second conjugation) instead of audire (f. B7). Still, as stated, this layer is the most conspicuous aspect of Laurem­ berg’s antiquarianism, and its effect is even strengthened by another, quite surprising characteristic of this layer. For Lauremberg appears to have included not only rare obsolete words in his play, but also other rare vocabulary which is not necessarily ante-classical. The latter includes on

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f. A3 such words as insuperabilis (rare but classical, Livy), prosubigere (rare but classical, Virgil), tragula (rare but classical, Caesar and Livy) or internecinus (rare but classical, Cicero), stinguere (a Lucretian simplex of exstinguere), sulcare (poetical and postclassical), or a word like praenobilis, which is only attested since Apuleius. In this way, Lauremberg can be said to cheat somewhat, or stated differently: he evidently tried to maximize the ‘estranging’ effect of his vocabulary, a point to which we will have to return later in this paper. To finish the stylistic analysis of Lauremberg’s Latin, it has to be said that, to the best of my knowledge, there is no real imitation of old Latin in Lauremberg’s syntax. We do not find such typically archaic phenomena as the use of the indicative mode in indirect questions, paratactic or asyndetic expressions instead of hypotactic ones, or unclassical object clauses such as scio quod. Neither does Lauremberg include other stylistic features of the archaic period, such as, for instance, a heavy use of alliteration or adnominatio, and there is no trace of the so-called guttatim-style, or the archaic tendency towards brevitas.17 The Poetics of Antiquarianism The archaeology of antiquarianism has especially highlighted one formative characteristic of Lauremberg’s antiquarian style: it appears that it is greatly determined by an element of randomness. In other words, Laurem­ berg’s antiquarianism is obviously produced by consciously interspersing classical Latin with archaic spelling, morphology and vocabulary. Or, in the latter case, with vocabulary that merely looks archaic, or is just rare. Obviously, Lauremberg himself realised that this kind of Latin was quite out of the ordinary and accordingly he looks to justify it in his ad lectorem: Erunt haud dubie, Lector benivole, qui hanc meam qualemcumque opellam lancinandam aliis proiicient, praecoces scioli: cum quae scripsi, eo sint gesta tempore, quo post soloecismorum scyllas enavigatas, purissimi Latinae linguae floris ancora sedebat; eorum quae scripsi, multa barbariem resipiant, et vagientis adhuc sermonis loquelam. Eos ego monitos velim, nec me temporis habita ratione haec effudisse, nec styli; quem et puriorem esse oportuit, si saeculum spectes, quo haec acta; nec adeo solutum, si ipsum scriptionis genus. (Laurembergius, Ad lectorem, unpaginated).

17

  On elements of archaic style in general, see e.g. Courtney (1999), 1-11.

THE CASE OF JOHANN LAURemBERG’S PLAY pompejus magnus171 Dear reader, without doubt there will be people who would throw this little work of mine (such as it is) to others to have it torn to pieces, as precocious smatterers, because what I have written was done at a time when, after the cliffs of solecisms had been avoided, the purest beauty of Latin was anchored, while much of what I have written reeks of barbarism and of the kind of language that is still in its childhood years. Those people I would like to warn that I have written this without taking into account the era, or the style, which should have been both more pure, if you look at the time frame when these things happened, and not as experimental, if you look at the style. (Lauremberg, To the reader)

Now the fact that Lauremberg seems to realise that he has created a kind of stylistic monstrum, reveals an important point regarding the poetics of antiquarianism. Rather than wanting to recreate an exact copy of archaic Latin poetry, Lauremberg seems bent on creating a Latin style that uses archaism and pseudo-archaism to generate a stylistic effect of obscurity, learnedness, and exclusiveness. In this way, such poetics can truly be called ‘antiquarian’, since much like the antiquarian collector of ancient artefacts, Lauremberg can be said to collect linguistic curiosities, which he stored in his museum of antiquarian Latin style. The nature of these poetics also tells us something about the intended public Lauremberg sought to address. Clearly this hybrid and outlandish Latin in which Lauremberg presented his collection of old Latin, could only have appealed to an elitist audience with an intellectualistic literary taste. And while Lauremberg’s Latin exceeds the usual amount of archaism or learnedness of Baroque Latin18, literary history indicates that this antiquarianism was in fact appreciated by a small fraction of the late sixteenth- and seventeenth-century literary public. In the following, I will propose a possible answer to the question why antiquarianism could have functioned and flourished (if only with a narrow public) as a form of literary art during this specific phase of humanist culture.

18   This precise point is made by IJsewijn about the Pompejus Magnus as compared to the ‘difficult Baroque Latin of late learned Humanism’, as seen in the Andromeda Belgica by Jan-Baptist Gramaye (1600) (cf. IJsewijn (1981), 78. For an edition of this play, see .

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Material Philology and Intertextual Materiality In order to answer this question I will draw upon the methodology of Material Philology.19 However, this paper will use Material Philology more as a reading strategy or an interpretive method than as an alternative perspective to traditional Lachmannian textual criticism.20 So, instead of its suggestions for innovative text-critical approaches, this paper takes some of Material Philology’s interpretive insights as a starting point. These are mainly that 1) the physical form of a literary work is an integral part of its meaning; and 2) this physical form is not an a-historical object, it originated in a particular context and continues (through its use, reception, ...) in a particular context; as the physical form bears traces of these contexts, they are relevant for the literary work and for its meaning.21 Secondly this interpretive potential of Material Philology will be used in a sort of by proxy-methodology, that is to say: not the physical form22 of the text itself will be central to this study, but of the text’s intertexts. Hence the present approach researches intertexual materiality. In this way, this paper will not examine how the physical form of Lauremberg’s Pompejus Magnus is relevant for its literary interpretation, but how the physical form of this text’s intertexts can shed some light on the question how antiquarianism is able to function as a literary phenomenon. Such an approach will also entail a historical perspective, as the study of the materiality of Lauremberg’s intertexts can reveal how Pompejus Magnus is a very particular stage in the reception of classical texts by successive communities of readers throughout the ages. The Intertextual Materiality of Pompejus Magnus When considering the intertexts that have determined Lauremberg’s literary activity in Pompejus Magnus one is immediately inclined to consider old Latin in particular. Especially archaic Latin poets such as Livius Andronicus, Naevius, Plautus, Terentius, Pacuvius, Ennius and 19   With this term, I refer to the theoretical movement of textual research, not the school within ethnohistory by the same name (on which, see Restall (2003)). My understanding of it is largely based on Driscoll (2010). For a critical view (esp. critical to the newness of New Philology), see Varvaro (1999). 20   For the latter, see, for instance, Driscoll (2010), although with some caution (cf. p. 4). 21   Cp. Driscoll (2010), 3. 22   I prefer this to the term ‘artefactuality’ as I have the impression that this word is usually reserved for the notion of ‘physically being a work of art’ (see Driscoll (2010), 5-6 and Nichols (1990), 3 (‘the medieval artifact, for Spitzer, was the edited text’)).

THE CASE OF JOHANN LAURemBERG’S PLAY pompejus magnus173 Lucilius, and the works of the second-century archaizers Fronto, Aulus Gellius and Apuleius come to mind. Still, in the foregoing stylistic analysis of Lauremberg’s Latin we have seen that other texts play a role as well. Indeed, the appearance of classical and post-classical Latinity shows that essentially the complete body of Latin literature is at the intertextual background of Pompejus Magnus. Accordingly, this approach seems too general to be of any help for our research question. However, this is also precisely the reason why it will be fruitful to look not at the nature of Lauremberg’s intertexts, but at their physical form. Perhaps this will explain why he and his public were charmed by the poetics of antiquarianism. The physical form through which humanist authors like Lauremberg met and worked with Latin literature is obviously quite diverse. In late humanist culture of the early seventeenth century ancient Latin literature was accessible in editions, in commentaries, in translations, in emblems, etcetera, which accounts for quite a manifold intertextual materiality. However, three specific forms of intertextual materiality seem especially conducive to a literary practice such as Lauremberg’s. A first important form of Lauremberg’s intertextual materiality can be found in the use of commonplace-books, which are defined by Ann Moss in her seminal publication on the subject as follows: the commonplace-book, in the form which was normative to it by the end of the sixteenth century, was a collection of quotations (usually Latin quotations) culled from authors held to be authoritative, or, at any rate, commendable in their opinions, and regarded as exemplary in terms of linguistic usage and stylistic niceties.23

Although the phenomenon has clear roots in ancient rhetorical theory (topicality) and medieval practices, Moss traces the actual appearance of such collections to the times of Erasmus, Vives and Melanchthon, while some decades later – by the middle of the sixteenth century – commonplace-books also started appearing in print.24 As a child of his time, Lauremberg will certainly have used commonplace-books and accordingly can be called a member of the ‘mental community of the commonplace-book’, as Moss calls it.25 In her words:

  Moss (1996), v.   Moss (1996), 101-133 and 186-214. 25   Moss (1996), viii. 23

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This points at a deeply-rooted pedagogical, even cognitive, influence of commonplace-books, and their link with linguistic usage and stylistic niceties acutely reveals just how such commonplace-books structured humanist thought. As they were collected in manuscript, and probably even more so as they were read in print, commonplace-books increasingly turned the late humanist mind towards the encyclopaedic, towards collecting words and turns of phrases. It is clear that this practice, which is evidently characteristic for Lauremberg’s era, can help explain not only how Lauremberg found his rare linguistic material, but more importantly, the mindset behind his poetics and stylistics of collecting the obscure. A second factor of intertextual materiality that can account for Lauremberg’s literary practice is the rise of the antiquarian tradition, i.e. the study of material remains from Antiquity (coins, inscriptions, ruins, monuments, …) in light of philological and archaeological research of ancient culture. Starting in Quattrocento Italy with the work of people like Poggio, Pomponio Leto and most importantly Flavio Biondo27, it crossed the Alps in the next century, with figures like Budé, Conrad Celtis and Beatus Rhenanus.28 By Lauremberg’s time the antiquarian works had gained even more in popularity and had opened up not only new worlds, but indeed also new words for the humanists. Those familiar with epistolography will, for instance, recognize that towards the end of the sixteenth century, when dating a letter, the abbreviation Eid. is sometimes used instead of Id. for Idus. It is clear that humanists who started using such a learned variant of the usual Idus did so in imitation of and with reference to antiquarian sources (coins, inscriptions) where they found the archaic spelling Eidus. Again the materiality of these intertexts must have influenced the way in which ancient texts reached humanists such as Lauremberg. Through his interaction with Latin texts and vocabulary as he read it in the antiquarian

  Moss (1996), v.   Cp. Papy (2004), 99. 28   Cf. French (2002), 188. See also ‘Chapter Two: The Europe of the Antiquaries’, in Schnapp (1996), 121-178. 26 27

THE CASE OF JOHANN LAURemBERG’S PLAY pompejus magnus175 publications, Lauremberg not only met linguistic material that would be useful for an archaic and peculiar style, but this kind of reading must have also fed his general literary practice of collecting rare words. A final factor of Lauremberg’s intertextual materiality is sixteenthcentury philological lexicography. While there have obviously been dictionaries since the dawn of time,29 it was only with the activity of Budé (born 1467) that these would start to take a philological, e.g. a scholarly turn. And although Budé never published any dictionary, ‘what he was doing’ in some of his sixteenth-century publications, ‘was lexicography in all but name’, to quote John Considine’s recent book Dictionaries in Early Modern Europe.30 Accordingly Considine affirms the ‘pervasive influence of Budé’ on the Early Modern dictionary: ‘What he modelled for his successors was the precise treatment, founded on vast learning, of words as evidence for the past: words in the service not of humanistic rhetoric but of philology’.31 Shortly after Budé we can situate the work of Robertus Stephanus who published his first Latin dictionary, the Dictionarium, seu latinae linguae thesaurus in 1531. So it is effectively by the middle of the sixteenth century that we see the actual appearance of philological lexicography, which would produce dictionaries and wordlists that not only aimed at the educational market (dictionaries to learn Latin vocabulary and style) but also at scholarly definitiveness (dictionaries to research Latin philology and culture). This double perspective, for instance, was effectively and explicitly introduced in Stephanus’s second edition of the Thesaurus (1536).32 Again we can understand how the contemporary rise of philological lexicography can be a factor of intertextual materiality that shaped an antiquarian style like Lauremberg’s. In such dictionaries he found the unusual linguistic material he was looking for to intersperse his verses with, and, over time, the use of such philological lexicography also gave his poetics an encyclopaedic and learned air.33 Yet this link with lexicography 29   There are, for instance, Sumerian-Akkadian wordlists which date back to as far as 2300 bc. 30   Considine (2008), 35. 31   Considine (2008), 38. 32   Considine (2008), 43. 33   For this material aspect, cp. Considine (2008), 55: ‘Estienne’s self-portrayal as a hero was ultimately shaped by a technology. Because statements about the past could be marshalled and communicated in print, they could be built up into the great learned compilations that are the fundamental philological texts of the sixteenth century. Technical possibilities and scholarly aims were in a symbiosis here: the work of the best philo­

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is more significant for Lauremberg’s specific case than one might expect at first sight. Twelve years after his Pompejus Magnus Lauremberg would publish a book with the title Antiquarius in quo praeter antiqua et obsoleta verba ac voces minus usitatas, dicendi formulae insolentes, plurimi ritus Pop[uli] Rom[ani] ac Graecis (sic) peculiares exponuntur et enodantur (Lugduni: Ioannes Anard., 1622). It is effectively a dictionary, over 500 pages long, offering old and uncommon words, such as cascus or procare, which we met in f. A3 in the introduction to this paper, but curiously not all of the archaic words Lauremberg uses in the Pompejus Magnus are found in his Antiquarius.34 It is concluded by a supplement in which Lauremberg collected some words from bilingual (Greek-Latin) glossaries, which he found in Stephanus’s publications.35 So apparently, both his Pompejus Magnus and Antiquarius are witnesses of Lauremberg’s activity as a collector of archaic and unusual words (antiqua et obsoleta verba ac voces minus usitatas). They testify to a general encyclopaedic intellectualism, which not only reveals itself in his philological works, but also in his literary activity. Conclusion Accordingly we can conclude that Lauremberg’s literary activity in his Pompejus Magnus was clearly conditioned by its intertexual materiality.36 We have seen how this could mediate the reception of ancient Latin texts by humanists like Lauremberg. This process happened on two different levels: first, the specific intertextual materiality Lauremberg dealt with facilitated his recovery of archaic and unusual linguistic material; and logists meant that the printers had learned texts to print, and the existence of printed texts gave the philologists more to think about. This was a symbiosis at whose most lively point stood those who both engaged in original philological research and had control over the technology that could express it’. 34   For instance neither luridus nor anterminus are found anywhere in the Antiquarius. 35  Its full title is Supplementum Antiquarii seu Plurimarum vocum exoletarum et insolentiorum, ex Glossariis Graecolatinis, ab Henrico Stephano editis passim excerptarum, farrago: digesta a Iano Laurenbergo (p. 503sqq, of the Antiquarius). 36   We might also think of the intertextual materiality of the commentary tradition. In this way, the highly specialised and encyclopaedic commentaries and notae that accompanied the editions Lauremberg used, could also have influenced his linguistic material and literary practice. Still, it is not quite sure whether we can affirm this factor as especially valid for Lauremberg’s time (as opposed to commonplace-books, the antiquarian tradition and philological lexicography which are all (mainly) late-sixteenth-century phenomena). In fact, it is unsure whether there is something like a Renaissance commentary (see Skoie (2006), referring to Pade, On Renaissance Commentaries, [p. 5]).

THE CASE OF JOHANN LAURemBERG’S PLAY pompejus magnus177 second, this intertextual materiality also directed his literary taste for the archaic and unusual. To be short, we can state that the intertextual materiality had an impact both on the philology and the philosophy of Lauremberg’s poetics. As he structured his thought in an encyclopaedic fashion through commonplace-books; as he found rare or archaic material in antiquarian books; and as he used philological dictionaries to explore the Latin lexicon, it is no wonder that Lauremberg developed a poetics that can also be characterized as encyclopaedic, rare, archaic and philological. Accordingly we can affirm what was hypothesized above, namely that it is as much this intertexual materiality that inspired Lauremberg’s poetics, as his choice to imitate specific texts. As he shared this particular reading of the Latin sources with a number of his colleagues, it now also becomes understandable how Lauremberg’s antiquarianism appealed to a small in-crowd of like-minded humanists. Of course we have to add some cavenda to this general thesis. First of all, it is clear that Lauremberg’s peculiar literary activity and the literary functioning of antiquarianism cannot be fully explained from intertextual materiality alone. Other contributing factors include the fact that many humanists had studied medical or legal texts at university, which would have introduced them to an encyclopaedia of archaic or rare vocabulary as well.37 Indeed, a rising number of late humanist authors were university professors, so it need not surprise if we see contemporary poetics turn increasingly towards the encyclopaedic and the intellectualistic.38 Another factor that will have played a role is the growing popularity in later humanist literary aesthetics of obscuritas as a stylistic virtue, which had quite an influence on Baroque Latin literature.39 Still, this does not mean that the impact of the specific intertextual materiality as described above is negligible. Indeed, the opposite is true, as we can identify the same phenomenon as an undercurrent of the aforementioned factors. Commonplace-books, antiquarian publications and philological dictionaries were all extremely popular with university professors and served as formal and cognitive models for their academic publications. The tradition of legal and medical humanist publications shows quite some affinity with these models as well, and the aesthetic appreciation for obscurity may well have to do something with the 37

  On the legal studies, see ‘Muret and the History of “Attic Prose”  ’, in Croll (1989),

123.   Cp. Nisard (1852), 41.   See Nisard (1852), 153-154. See also Kivistö (2006), 429-438.

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aforementioned mental turn towards the academic, the unusual and the philological. Secondly, my general thesis of a specific intertextual materiality in Lauremberg’s time as a constitutive factor for antiquarianism should not imply that stylistic archaism can only occur in such a mental and cultural environment. Indeed, one might draw attention to the stylistic movement of Apuleianism40, an archaizing and convoluted Latin style after the fashion of Apuleius, which originated in Bologna in the late fifteenth century with Filippo Beroaldo the Elder (1453-1505) and his followers such as Giovanni Battista Pio (1475/76-1542?). Moreover, when speaking about philological lexicography one could object that in Perotti’s Cornu copiae (first edition 1489) humanist authors could already find a mass of archaic linguistic material that could have functioned for literary intertextuality. In view of these objections we can repeat that Lauremberg’s specific intertextual materiality is obviously not an infallible recipe for the rise of antiquarianism. Clearly, as mentioned above, other historical and cultural elements have played a role in its origin, but this does not mean that the specific intertextual materiality did not play a vital role in providing the necessary cultural backdrop for antiquarianism to get a foothold as a literary tendency that was acceptable for the contemporary public. Indeed, there are even indications that Apuleianism, for instance, can be understood in similar terms as the proposed intertextual materiality.41 Moreover, while we may compare our antiquarian style with Quattro­ cento Apuleianism or other archaizing modes, it is clear that late humanist antiquarianism is still different. Perhaps not radically different, but still different both from a qualitative and a quantitative point of view, for the quality of the archaisms and the learnedness of antiquarianism is du jamais vu in Neo-Latin style. To cite an example: while Beroaldo cum suis may use words like Lauremberg’s cascus or procare they would not use (or certainly not with the same ease) his archaic morphology such as ablatives ending in -d (devorandod and others) or forms of esse like fuat.   See D’Amico (1984); Prete (1988) and Grewing (1999), 58-64.   John D’Amico analyses somewhat similar material conditions for the rise of Italian Apuleianism as represented by the language of Beroaldo, Pio and Barbaro, stressing the importance of the humanist editorial work of the Quattrocento and the appearance of commentaries (D’Amico (1984), 364-369). Similarly this also lead to a poetics of erudition. D’Amico identifies an underlying ‘desire to promote erudition as a major criterion for criticism and patronage’ (D’Amico (1984), 375) and concludes ‘The Apuleian movement may be seen as a minor milestone on the road to Latin as an “academic” study’ (D’Amico (1984), 392). 40 41

THE CASE OF JOHANN LAURemBERG’S PLAY pompejus magnus179 Moreover, the quantity of archaism and learnedness of antiquarianism is also remarkable. While authors like Girolamo Cardano and the likes may find appeal in an obscure style, the degree of difficulty of antiquarianism is exceptional. Indeed, Lauremberg’s Latin is a form of l’art pour l’art, which is different from other kinds of archaic Latin. IJsewijn, for instance, identifies a passage from Vives’ Aedes legum as antiquarianism. Yet in the passage, Vives evokes a very old porter of the Law Court who speaks a kind of archaic Latin42, which proves that for Vives the use of such Latin is stylistically functional. It is rhetorical sermocinatio. From the above quoted fragment from Lauremberg’s ad lectorem, we have clearly seen that his antiquarian style is all but functional. Quite the contrary, it is a kind of intellectual wink-wink, nudge-nudge only to be fully understood by an in-crowd, which possibly consisted of only Lauremberg himself. In this way, we can carefully state that Lauremberg’s antiquarian style may in large part be explained from a number of material factors that were especially prominent in his cultural environment, i.e. late-sixteenth and seventeenth-century transalpine humanism.43 Indeed, the Pompejus Magnus is not the work of a poet-humanist in Petrarchan style (poeta et orator) or in the style of the social critic Erasmus, it is a sign of late humanist bookish culture, not of civic Renaissance humanism. Like Budé, Lauremberg was a scholar instead of an orator; a philologist who believed that ‘encyclopaedic knowledge, not eloquence, leads to true human culture’.44 Bibliography D’Amico, John F., ‘The Progress of Renaissance Latin Prose: the Case of Apuleianism’, in Renaissance Quarterly, 37 (1984), 351-392 Considine, John, Dictionaries in Early Modern Europe: Lexicography and the Making of Heritage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008) Courtney, Edward, Archaic Latin Prose, American Philological Association: American Classical Studies, 42 (1999) 42   IJsewijn (1996), 51 and IJsewijn – Sacré (1998), 415 (who mentions a similar case in Vives’ Anima senis). 43   A good introduction into the intellectual context of late humanist cultural can be found in Walter (2004). 44   Quoted from Considine (2008), 31 with regard to Budé (Considine himself quotes from Pfeiffer (1976)).

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Croll, Morris W., Style, Rhetoric, and Rhythm. Essays by Morris W. Croll, eds. J. Max Patrick et al. (Woodbridge: Oxbox Press, 1989; repr. of Princeton 1966 edition) Driscoll, M.J., ‘The words on the page. Thoughts on philology, old and new’, in Creating the medieval saga. Versions, variability, and editorial interpretations of Old Norse saga literature. eds. J. Quinn & E. Lethbridge (Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2010) digitally available at Dünnhaupt, Gerhard, ‘Lauremberg, Johann’, Neue Deutsche Biographie 13 (1982), pp. 720-721 French, Peter J., John Dee: the world of an Elizabethan magus (1972), (New York, 2002) Grewing, Farouk, Lateinische Grammatik und Stilistik in der Renaissance. Zu Adriano Castellesi, De sermone Latino et modis Latine loquendi, Bochumer Altertumswissenschaftliches Colloquium, 45 (Trier, 1999) IJsewijn, Jozef, ‘Theatrum Belgo-Latinum. Het neolatijns toneel in de Nederlanden’, in Mededelingen van de Koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België, Klasse der Letteren, 43-I (1981), 69-114 IJsewijn, Jozef, ‘Neo-Latin: an Historical Survey’, in Josep Lluis Barona, ed., Humanisme i literatura neollatina: ecrits seleccionats, Col. Honoris Causa, 12 (València, 1996), pp. 43-64 IJsewijn, Jozef, and Dirk Sacré, Companion to Neo-Latin Studies. Part II. Literary, Linguistic, Philological and Editorial Questions, Supplementa Humanistica Lovaniensia, 14 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1998) IJsewijn, Jozef, and M. H. Würzner, ‘Lauremberg, Johann. In Classical and Neo-Latin literature’, in Moderne Encyclopedie van de Wereldlite­ ratuur, 5 (Antwerp – Haarlem: De Standaard, 1982), pp. 275-277 Kivistö, Sari, ‘The Concept of Obscurity in Humanist Polemics of the Early Sixteenth Century’, in Rhoda Schnur et al., eds., Acta Conventus Neo-Latini Bonnensis. Proceedings of the Twelfth International Congress of Neo-Latin Studies Bonn 3-9 August 2003, Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies, 315 (Tempe/AZ, 2006), pp. 429-438 Lappenberg, Johann Martin hrsg., Scherzgedichte von Johann Lauremberg (Stuttgart: Bibliothek des litterarischen Vereins in Stuttgart, 1861) Moss, Ann, Printed Commonplace-Books and the Structuring of Renaissance Thought (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996)

THE CASE OF JOHANN LAURemBERG’S PLAY pompejus magnus181 Nichols, Stephen G., ‘Introduction. Philology in a Manuscript Culture’, Speculum, 65-1 (1990), 1-10 Nisard, Charles, Le triumvirat littéraire au XVIe siècle. Juste Lipse, Joseph Scaliger et Isaac Casaubon (Paris: Amyot, 1852) Papy, Jan, ‘An Antiquarian Scholar between Text and Image? Justus Lipsius, Humanist Education, and the Visualization of Ancient Rome’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 35/1 (2004), 97-131 Pfeiffer, Rudolf, History of classical scholarship from 1300 to 1850 (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1976) Prete, Sesto, ‘La questione della lingua latina nel Quattrocento e l’importanza dell’opera di Apuleio’, in Heinz Hofmann, ed., Gronin­gen Colloquia on the Novel 1 (Groningen: Egbert Forsten, 1988), pp. 123-140 Relihan, Joel C., ‘Menippus in Antiquity and the Renaissance’, in Rober Bracht Branham and Marie-Odile Goulet-Gazé, eds., The Cynics. The Cynic Movement in Antiquity and its Legacy, Hellenistic Culture and Society, 23 (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1996), pp. 265-293 Restall, Matthew, ‘A History of the New Philology and the New Philology in History’, Latin American Research Review, 38/1 (2003), 113-134 Schnapp, Alain, The Discovery of the Past. The Origins of Archaeology (London: British Museum Press, 1996) Skoie, Mathilde, [Review of:] Marianne Pade (ed.), On Renaissance Commentaries, Noctes Neolatinae. Neo-Latin Texts and Studies, Band 4 (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 2005), in Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2006.02.49 Varvaro, Alberto, (transl. Marceloo Cherchi), ‘The “New Philology” from an Italian Perspective’, Text, 12 (1999), 49-58 Wade, Mara R., German court culture and Denmark: the “great wedding” of 1634 / Triumphus nuptialis danicus, Wolfenbütteler Arbeiten zur Barockforschung, 27 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1996) Walter, Axel E., Späthumanismus und Konfessionspolitik: die europäische Gelehrtenrepublik um 1600 im Spiegel der Korrespondenzen Georg Michael Lingelsheims, Frühe Neuzeit, 95 (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2004)

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Antwerp University Library Section ‘Special Collections’ Prinsstraat, 13 B-2000 Antwerp E-mail: [email protected]



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Nienke Tjoelker READING AND WRITING IN THE EARLY MODERN PERIOD: NEW PHILOLOGY AND THE ALITHINOLOGIA (1664)1 ‘New Philology’ was first and foremost a methodology for manuscript study. For the New Philologists, the recovery of an ‘original’ reading wrongly privileged a modern notion of authorial authenticity which was not applicable to medieval texts, and, in their view, every reading had its own value.2 New Philology also helped open up the field of medieval manuscript study for material philology, which is characterised by a number of general tendencies. Material philology made the social contexts in which the surviving forms of a text were produced its focus, rather than merely attempting to reconstruct any form that preceded them. A second tendency of material philology was the holistic analysis of manuscripts, appreciative of their full content, including marginalia and layout. The comparison of the variations in readings to understand these social contexts can be seen as a third tendency of this type of philology. The purpose of this article is to explore how a study of the material aspects can be applied to the printed edition of the Alithinologia (1664) by John Lynch, an Irish priest well-known among his contemporaries. It will investigate how material philology can help us to place the work in the social context of the work, author and audience. From this new approach, new conclusions can be drawn about the debate between John Lynch and Richard O’Ferrall, and, more generally, about reading and writing by Irish exiles in the seventeenth century. I will examine the role of social contexts and materiality in the debate between Lynch and O’Ferrall. The sources mentioned in the text and in the printed marginalia in Lynch’s work will be analysed. Before turning to these specific aspects, however, a short introduction to the historical background seems helpful. The Alithinologia and the Supplementum Alithinologiae were part of a controversy of the author with the Capuchin Richard O’Ferrall concerning the role of the Old English in the crisis in Ireland in the 1650s. To understand this debate, one needs to take into account the complicated political and religious

  I am grateful to Jason Harris for his helpful comments.   Cf. Drout (2010).

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situation in Ireland at the time. Seventeenth-century Ireland consisted of three groups: the native, or Gaelic Irish, the Old English or Anglo-Irish, and the New English. The Gaelic Irish were the oldest. The Old English, sometimes also called Anglo-Irish, then the principal landowners in the kingdom, were the descendants of Norman settlers who came to Ireland in the twelfth and thirteenth century. Finally, the settlers of the sixteenth and seventeenth century, who were mostly Protestant, were called the New English. However, each of these groups was a complex cluster of smaller groups from different regions of Ireland. Therefore, ethnic tensions existed among Catholics in Ireland, although intermarriage was common and all three groups had a common interest in religion, land and political power. Through the various plantations, the New English confiscated many lands from the Gaelic Irish and Old English. In particular, a great part of Ulster was confiscated and assigned to English and Scottish settlers in the beginning of the seventeenth century. The Gaelic Irish became increasingly angry about their lack of political and economic influence and about religious discrimination against Catholics in Ireland, and rose into revolt in 1641. In 1642, the political and religious elite of the Irish Catholic community formed a confederation known as the Confederation of Kilkenny, as they took Kilkenny as their seat of government. In the period from 1642 to 1649, they effectively ruled Ireland. During this period, they fought a war against various factions which represented British rule. Negotiations with the English king took place through intermediaries, and were complicated by internal divisions within the Confederation. Traditionally, historians explained this division with a two party model of an Old English and Gaelic Irish party. Recently, however, Micheál Ó Siochrú proposed a three party model based on social status, distinguishing a peace party, a clerical party, and a loose grouping of non-aligned moderates.3 The peace party consisted of Catholic landowners, both Old English and Gaelic Irish. They were interested in a speedy peace settlement, which retained as much of the existing social and economic order as possible. The clerical party, consisting of the Italian papal nuncio, Giovanni Battista Rinuccini, and Catholic bishops, returned exiles and those gentry and nobility excluded from power in Kilkenny by the dominant clique, also wanted a peace with the king, but only on condition of major religious concessions, and a significant redistribution of land. Finally the moderates, also seeking a   Ó Siochrú (2008), 17-20.

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compromise peace settlement, demanded significantly better terms than those offered by Ormond (the representative of the English King during much of this period), but not necessarily all the concessions favoured by the clergy. The actions of Rinuccini in the final years of the Confederation of Kilkenny caused an important conflict among its members. Despite protests of the clergy and the nuncio, confederates agreed on a ceasefire. Rinuccini pronounced censures against those who supported it. Internal tensions relating to these events resulted in the failure of the Confederation. Eventually, in February 1649, Rinuccini left Ireland. The controversy as to the causes and circumstances of the failure of this Confederation provides the theme of the Alithinologia. In this luxuriously produced tome, Lynch defends the political and religious character of the Old English, in order to refute a memorandum submitted to Propaganda Fide in 1658 by the Irish Capuchin Richard O’Ferrall, which was the subject of angry discussion in Irish circles all over Europe. For O’Ferrall the only real Irishman is a Catholic Gaelic or Old Irishman. Lynch on the other hand stressed the unity of the Irish. Social context and materiality in the debate between Lynch and O’Ferrall One aspect of the study of literature which is particularly highlighted by the New Philologists is the study of the social context in which a work came into being. In the case of the Alithinologia, consideration of the social position of John Lynch, an exiled Irish priest in France in the late seventeenth century, and of his opponent Richard O’Ferrall, adds an interesting facet to our understanding of the work. The differences in fortunes and social background of both historians have been noted by scholars as important influences on their viewpoints and this can be illustrated also by their material output.4 While O’Ferrall came from a noble Gaelic family who had lost all its possessions in the plantation of James I at the beginning of the seventeenth century, John Lynch came from an important Old English family from Galway. O’Ferrall was active in the politics of the Confederation as an ardent supporter and courtier of Rinuccini, and occupied an important position at the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide in Rome. In 1650 Rinuccini asked O’Ferrall for his assistance in writing   Cf Corish (1953) and Campbell (2009).

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a history of Irish affairs, which, although postponed due to Rinuccini’s ill health, eventually became the Commentarius Rinuccianus. O’Ferrall’s handwritten memorandum, written in 1658, should be seen in this context. It outlines matters which were eventually further developed in the Commentarius Rinuccinianus. However, by 1660 O’Ferrall’s situation had worsened. He was widely criticised for his memorandum, he lost his prominent position at Propaganda Fide, and his health was quickly deteriorating. Lynch’s fortunes had also changed. After a thorough education in Jesuit schools, the Oratorian college in Dieppe, and the Irish seminary in Rouen, he took a doctorate from the University of Paris.5 Lynch returned to Ireland and was ordained in 1625, and then made archdeacon of Tuam in 1631. Soon after this, he became the chaplain of Sir Richard Blake, a prominent gentleman of Galway, associated with the peace faction. In 1652, when Galway surrendered to the Cromwellian army, Lynch fled to France, never to return to Ireland again. After a period of apparent poverty, in the early 1660s Lynch found the patronage of the Lesquens, a local Breton noble family.6 He also seems to have established strong connections with the international religious community. This can be illustrated by the fact that in the same period, in a document from 1662-63, his name occurs in a list of candidates for bishoprics, describing him as ‘a secular priest, archdeacon of Tuam, a writer of Irish history, a learned and good-living man, who is native of Galway city: the Pope is asked to appoint him to Kilmacduagh as bishop or vicar apostolic.’7 His stable position allowed him to see a series of four books through the press of Saint-Malo.8 In this period, the printing press of Saint-Malo was run by Antoine de la Mare, typographus illustrissimi et reverendissimi D. episcop. Macloviensis.9 De la Mare was a prominent printer and bookseller, and, more importantly, the official printer of Saint-Malo. Antoine de la Mare printed many religious publications, and also worked for the bishop of 5   Cf. Lynch (1944), De Praesulibus i, p. 79 and ii, p. 90. For a discussion of Lynch’s Jesuit education, also cf. Lynch (1848), Pii Antistitis Icon, 22. 6   D’Ambrières – Ó Ciosáin (2003), 52. 7   D’Ambrières – Ó Ciosáin (2003), 53. 8   Between 1662 and 1669, four books by Lynch were printed in France: the Cambrensis Eversus, the Alithinologia, Supplementum Alithinologiae, and Pii Antistitis Icon. Lynch’s last work, De praesulibus Hiberniae, remained in manuscript, but was published by the Irish Manuscript Commission in 1944. 9   Jouon des Longrais (1971), 107; Walsh (1963), 18.



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Saint-Malo.10 For example, he published the works of the canon and vicar-general of Saint-Malo, Doremet. Also, the Examen philosophiae platonicae, a lengthy Christian Platonist work by Louis de Morainvillier d’Orgeville, archdeacon of Dinant and vicar of the bishop of Saint-Malo, was published at his press in 1650, and reprinted there in 1655. Therefore it can be expected that Lynch’s religious connections were a factor in his ability to produce this work, and most of his other works, at a prestigious printing press such as this, and of such high quality. While Antoine de la Mare’s name appears on the title page of his life of Francis Kirwan, Pii Antistitis Icon, Lynch’s other three works do not mention any publisher. Nevertheless, a typographical comparison of these works by Patrick Corish with the Pii Antistitis Icon, which is imprinted ‘Maclovii apud Antonium de la Mare’, suggests that all these works came from the same printing house.11 The absence of De la Mare’s name almost certainly has to do with the polemical character of these works. The Cambrensis Eversus is a refutation of the medieval description of Ireland by Gerald of Wales, which was a popular, even if stereotypical and negative, description of the Irish in continental Europe in the seventeenth century. The Cambrensis Eversus was dedicated to Charles II. The Alithinologia and Supplementum Alithinologiae, which Lynch published after having received a full copy of O’Ferrall’s report, are dedicated to the cardinals of Propaganda Fide, and participate also in a highly significant debate among Irish religious circles, as is discussed above. The polemical character of these three works is also the reason for the use of pseudonyms on the title-pages. The Cambrensis Eversus, Lynch’s refutation of Gerald of Wales, was published under the pen name Gratianus Lucius. Both the Alithinologia and the Alithinologiae Supplementum are published under the pseudonym Eudoxius Alithinologus. The particular material form of Lynch’s and O’Ferrall’s works plays an important part in their debate. O’Ferrall had presented his short report of 12 leaves to Propaganda Fide already on 5 March 1658, but it was leaked to the wider Irish ecclesiastical community in the summer of 1659. Lynch states that he only had access to part of O’Ferrall’s report when he wrote his response, a consequence of the material form and way in which it was circulated. Lynch justifies his response to an incomplete version of the report by giving a comparison to Saint Jerome, who only criticised parts   Jouon des Longrais (1971), 107.   Corish (1953), 227, n. 31.

10 11

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of Rufinus’s writings against him which had been transmitted to him, because the rest had only been communicated to Rufinus’s confoederati. A few years later, Lynch was prompted to write the Supplementum after he had received a full copy.12 Interestingly, Lynch responded to a short memorandum of 12 leaves with two erudite works which comprised over 350 pages in total. Lynch states that the final touch was set to the work in July 1660.13 The fact that Lynch did not postpone writing until he could obtain a full copy of O’Ferrall’s report suggests that he worked under a certain amount of time pressure in order to finish the book quickly. Nevertheless, the quality of the edition is high, and very few errata occur. Rarely, a note which seems to have been intended for the margin, ended up in the main body of the text.14 Again, this high quality must be a confirmation of Lynch’s connections among the local nobility and religious authorities. Lynch’s reply to O’Ferrall’s report only appeared in 1664. Lynch states that the work was finished in July 1660. The reason for the delay in printing, however, he says, is of no importance for the reader.15 A possible reason for this could be that Lynch during this time worked on and published his Cambrensis Eversus.16 It seems likely that Lynch wanted to avoid drawing attention to this work here, because it was dedicated to the English King Charles II, while the current work was addressed to the cardinals of the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide. Hence, Lynch also used a different synonym for this work. Although Lynch was of an Old English background,17 his work also shows a clear interest in the Gaelic culture. He made copies and translations of various volumes of Irish annals, and translated Geoffrey Keating’s Foras Feasa ar Éirinn (History of Ireland) from Irish into Latin.18 As stated above, Lynch can be linked to members of the peace   Lynch (1664), p.3; Jerome, Apologia Contra Rufinum I, 4.   Lynch (1664), f. 2r. 14   For example cf. page 66, where the reference ‘Hist. tom. I. lib. 3. c. 6 pag. 34.35.’ occurs in the main body of the text, following a quotation from this text. Elsewhere notes such as these are in the margin. 15  On f. 2r, under the heading Ad Lectorem, Lynch states: ‘Huic lucubrationi sub mensem Iulium Anni 1660 postrema manus addita est. Quod scire, vt existimo lectoris interest, vt inter legendum comperiet. Causa vero cur interim in lucem emissa non fuerit dicere non attinet.’ 16  The Cambrensis Eversus was published in 1662. 17   On the Anglo-Norman origin of the Galway Lynches, cf. MacLysaght (1978), s. v. Lynch, p. 201. 18   Some sources state that this translation was published in St Malo, 1660, but offer 12 13



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faction among the confederates. From these links, it may be assumed that Lynch strongly opposed Rinuccini. However, as an ecclesiastic, active in the international religious community, and publishing at a press linked to established religious authority, it is expected that he would be careful not to lose favour in the religious community in Rome. Lynch’s self-representation is an aspect that can be illuminated by a combination of methods of Old, New and Material Philology. In the Alithinologia, we see a cleric who is clearly convinced of the incorrectness of the Rinuccinian censures, but also keen to avoid direct accusations of the papal nuncio. In the content, but also in the material aspects of the work, such as the title, printed marginal notes and index, Lynch presents himself as neutral, and tries to appeal to the audience of the work. Gérard Genette described these material elements as paratextuality. Paratexts are liminal devices and conventions, both within the book (peritext) and outside it (epitext), that mediate the book to the reader: titles and subtitles, pseudonyms, forewords, dedications, epigraphs, prefaces, intertitles, notes, epilogues, and afterwords.19

Paratexts shape the relationships between authors, texts, contexts and readers, and often served to justify the authority of a writer.20 In the following a paratextual analysis will be applied to the Alithinologia, in order to learn more on Lynch self-representation and the relationship between author and reader. In the title of the present work, Lynch presents himself as neutral. Alithinologia is a rare Greek word, referring to the correct method of history, described by Polybius, which was popular in the Early Modern period.21 Polybius and his followers were aware of the danger of subjectivity, and urged caution with regard to it. In recent work I have argued that the different views of Lynch and O’Ferrall on Irish identity, in particular of the no evidence for this statement. (For example Welch (2001), s. v. Foras Feasa ar Éirinn, p. 200, and Duffy (2005), s. v. Foras Feasa ar Éirinn, p. 182.) Bernadette Cunningham argues that Lynch translated Foras feasa in the late 1650s, and that, although probably intended for publication, it only survived in manuscript. Three manuscript copies are extant. (Cunningham (2000), 187-189.) 19   Macksey, in Genette (1997), xviii. 20  Lewis (2008), 2-3. For a helpful division in different types of paratexts, see Armstrong (2007). 21   Polybius 12.26 discusses sophistical commonplaces. In paragraph ‘d’, the Greek historian Timaeus is criticised for impressing many people by the appearance of a true account (διὰ τὴν ἐπίφασιν τῆς ἀληθινολογίας), and the pretence of proof, and in that manner convincing them of falsities.

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Old English, are reflected in the form and style of their works through the use of a particular literary persona.22 From a strictly philological analysis, Lynch appears as a scholar in the res republica litteraria. Lynch wrote in a highly rhetorical Latin style, and in this manner, he placed himself in the learned Latin culture of the early modern period. For example, many elements of Cicero’s style can be seen. However, another aspect, that of the counter-reformation priest Lynch, is revealed by the sources chosen to lend auctoritas to his arguments. By beginning his dedicatory letter with a quotation from the forensic speech Pro Milone, the scholar Lynch chooses Cicero as his model. On the other hand, the counter-reformation priest appears from the choice of Jerome as another model. Jerome comes into view for the first time as a model from a quotation of Psalm 49:20-21 (Vulgate edition), very prominently placed on the title page: Aduersus fratrem tuum loquebaris, et aduersus filium matris tuae ponebas scandalum. Arguam te, et statuam contra faciem tuam. You spoke against your brother and you laid a scandal against your mother’s son. I will reprove you and will make a decision before your face.

Jerome also referred to this biblical verse in the first book of his Apologia contra Rufinum.23 It clearly also suits the occasion of Lynch’s refutation, and sets the tone for the rest of the work. By using the same quotation in this paratext, Lynch suggests a similarity between the Apologia contra Rufinum and the Alithinologia. As mentioned above, a little later in the work Lynch also refers to Jerome and his Apologia contra Rufinum explicitly as his models in his justification for attacking only part of O’Ferrall’s report, since only fragments were available to him.24 Lynch’s models and sources can be explained by his goal to appeal to his audience. This audience consisted of the cardinals of the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, but also the international community of exiled Irish clerics. The choice of Jerome as a model can thus be seen as captatio benevolentiae. The margins of this book have been used by Lynch to cite his authorities and highlight certain passages. The work contains many quotations from other works, including classical literature, the Bible, ecclesiastical and contemporary literature.25 References to these can give us a look into

  See also Tjoelker (2012).  Jerome, Apologia Contra Rufinum, I, 31. 24   Lynch (1664), 3. 25   They are mostly correctly referenced in the margins of the original. 22

23



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the books in Lynch’s library. In many cases, the reference in the margin tells us exactly which page of which edition of a work Lynch used. For example, Lynch’s references to the works of Gerald of Wales are to an edition by William Camden, included in his Anglica, Normannica, Hibernica, Cambrica, a veteribus scripta (Frankfurt 1603). However, the marginal notes should also be seen as a way to influence a reader’s understanding of a text. In the early modern period, references in the margins often seem to have been used to add authority to a text and guide the reader by framing it in a learned or classical heritage.26 In his analysis of printed marginalia in miscellanies published in England between 1640 and 1682, Adam Smyth helpfully explains this function of marginal notes in Ben Jonson’s Part of King James His Royall and Magnificent Entertainment: ‘they function to frame the text in a learned, almost impenetrable, classical past. With such a frame the reader is denied any latitude, and Jonson’s printed words, now heavy with heritage, become immovable.’27 This view is also brought forward by Cervantes’ Don Quixote: ‘if it serves no other purpose, at least that long catalogue of authors will be useful to lend authority to your book at the outset.’28 References in marginal notes in the Alithinologia give authority to the text. From the numerous references in the margins of the work, it is clear that Lynch was highly literate in, and relied on the authority of, classical, medieval, and contemporary Latin literature. Biblical and ecclesiastical sources play a key part in Lynch’s arguments. An example occurs in his criticism of the rebellious character of the Ulster Irish: Hos tamen aduersarius Catholicorum nomine honestare, fidei defensorum titulo decorare, et laudibus ad coelum extollere non erubescit, ignarus a Lactantio dici religionem defendendam esse non occidendo, sed monendo, non saeuitia sed patientia, non scelere sed fide. Monendo, inquit S. Augustinus, non minando, suadendo non insaeuiendo fides Christiana seminari caepit, seminata crevit, adulta floruit, florens fructificauit, fructificans perseuerauit, et contra infernorum portas aeternum praeualebit. (Lynch (1664), 49) The adversary however is not ashamed to honour these men with the name of Catholics, to adorn them with the title of defenders of the faith, and to extol them with praise, ignorant that it is said by Lactantius that religion should not be defended by killing, but by teaching, not by rage but by patience, not by disgrace but by faith. By teaching, said Saint Augustine, not   Smyth (2004), 65.   Smyth (2004), 65. 28   Cervantes (1950), 29, quoted by Smyth (2004), 65. 26 27

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Nienke Tjoelker by threatening, by advice, not by raging it was possible to propagate the Christian faith, and once spread it grew, having matured it flourished, while flourishing it bore fruit, and while bearing fruit it persevered, and it will eternally prevail over the gates of the infernal regions.

The authority of these two important authors from the Christian canon, Lactantius and Augustine, supports Lynch’s statement that the Ulster Irish are not to be commended for their violent rebellion. The argument is effective, especially because of the respect of Lynch’s audience for these church fathers. In certain cases, we can also draw evidence from his use of sources for a typically medieval method, which remained very popular in the early modern period, namely the use of florilegia, transformed to the humanist genre of commonplace books.29 For example, Lynch uses the following phrase, referring to Seneca as the author: ‘Generosus enim animus, vt ait Seneca, rectius ducitur quam trahitur.’30 This quotation is not referenced in the margin, and cannot be found in the extant works of Seneca. It seems to be a variant on Seneca, De clementia, I.24: Natura contumax est humanus animus et in contrarium atque arduum nitens sequiturque facilius quam ducitur; et ut generosi ac nobiles equi melius facili freno reguntur, ita clementiam voluntaria innocentia impetu suo sequitur, et dignam putat civitas, quam servet sibi. Plus itaque hac via proficitur. The human spirit is naturally refractory, aspiring to opposition and difficulties. It is more prepared to follow than to be led. And just as thoroughbred, pedigree horses are more easily controlled by a loose rein, so a moral integrity that is voluntary follows upon clemency by its own impulse, and the community considers clemency valuable enough to be preserved in its own interest. My conclusion is that this route is more beneficial. (Transl. Braund (2009), 135).

In Medieval and Early Modern Latin, the sententia is used several times in slightly different variations.31 It is frequently ascribed to Seneca, which 29   This was true despite the concern of humanists to read the complete texts rather than florilegia. For an excellent study of the genre of the commonplace book and its relation to its predecessor the florilegium, cf. Moss (1996). 30   Lynch (1664), 86. 31   See for example Ludolph of Saxony, Life of Christ, pars I, caput 29: ‘Generosus animus facilius ducitur quam trahitur’ (eds. A.-C. Bolard et al., Paris and Rome, 1865 [reprint Salzburg, 2006], vol. 2, p. 135, col. 1); Vincent of Beauvais, De eruditione puerorum nobiliorum, caput 26: ‘Generosus animus facilius ducitur quam trahatur’ (ed.



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suggests the existence of florilegia ascribing this saying to Seneca since the Middle Ages. In fact, this is proven by the occurrence of the phrase in a list of dicta Senecae in a manuscript from the fifteenth century.32 Lynch must have consulted a florilegium such as this, rather than an edition of Seneca’s De clementia itself. Lynch’s intention to appeal to the Irish members of his audience may have been a factor in his choice of Irish sources. Nollaig Ó Muráile has shown that Gaelic source-material is essential to all of Lynch’s works. In the Cambrensis Eversus, he refers to a collection of early Irish law tracts, based on a list furnished to him by Dubhaltach Mac Fhirbhisigh, the ancient Uraiceacht na nÉgeas, the fourtheenth century ‘Topogra­ phical poem’ by the Connacht poet Seán Mór Ó Dubhagáin, the Book of Uí Mhaine (which Lynch calls the Book of Ó Dubhagáin) and several Irish annals33. In his De Praesulibus Hiberniae, he also refers to the Annales Dungallenses, now known as the Annals of the Four Masters.34 It is likely that he also used these annals while writing the Alithinologia. On page 22, Lynch refers to ‘Annales nostri’ (although not in the margin) as a source for his information on the assembly of 1525. His information in the paragraph seems to be based on the entry for that year of the Annals of the Four Masters. On the following pages (pp. 23-24), a list of Gaelic Irishmen who attended the 1585 parliament closely resembles the list in the same Annals. The Annals of the Four Masters were compiled between 1626 and 1636 by the Irish Franciscan community of St. Anthony’s College in Louvain, and were coordinated by four scholars: Mícheál Ó Cléirigh, Cú Choighcríche Ó Cléirigh, Cú Choigcríche Ó Duibhgeannáin, and Fearfeasa Ó Maoil Chonaire. Although two sets of autograph manuscripts survive, the work was not published until 1848.35 Therefore, Lynch must have consulted either one of the two manuscripts, or the notes of a friend.36 Either way, the use of this source illustrates how Lynch must A. Steiner, Cambridge, Mass., 1938, p. 93, line 50), and Erasmus, Letter to John Desmarais (J. Paludanus): ‘Generosus animus quanto commodius ducitur quam trahitur’ (P.S. Allen, ed., Opus epistolarum Des. Erasmi Roterodami, vol. 1, Oxford, 1906, p. 399, lines 51-2). I am grateful to Werner Gelderblom for his assistance in finding this information. 32   Cf. manuscript Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 3683. The information about the list of sayings of Seneca is included in the catalogue of the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, München. Cf. http://www.manuscripta-mediaevalia.de/hs/projekt-Muenchen-Augsburgpdfs/Clm%203683.pdf. 33   Ó Muráile (1996), 159. 34   Ó Muráile (1996), 163. 35   O’Donovan (1856). 36   Cf. Gwynn (1945), 40. Gwynn suggests that Lynch made copious notes from one

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have made use of his contacts in the network of Irish in Europe to consult manuscript sources. It also must be seen as a deliberate use of Gaelic Irish source-material in the refutation of a report by a Gaelic Irishman, Richard O’Ferrall, directed against the Old English. Lynch’s attempt to influence the reader can also be seen in the index at the end of both the Alithinologia and the Supplementum Alithinologiae. As the title and marginal notes, the index functions as a paratext of the Alithinologia.37 Lynch points his reader in the direction he wants him to go, by his selection of keywords and entries. Remarkable, for example, is the lengthy entry in the index under adversarius, which consists of a long list of accusations of O’Ferrall: Adversarius affligit afflictos, 2. Eius irreuerentia ibid. Similis consiliariis Artaxerxis, 8. Nouioribus Hibernis nouam inuidiam e veteribus offensis constat, 25. Errat in enumeratione temporis, 34. eius mendacia, … (Lynch (1664), index) The adversary strikes down the distressed. 2. His disrespect there is similar to Artaxerxes’ attitude towards his advisers. 8. His envy of the more recent Irish is clear from his old offenses. 25. He errs in the recapitulation of time. 34. his lies, … etc. etc.

Conclusions The selective and coloured presentation of subjects in the index supports Lynch’s own authority in the work, as we have seen in the case of other paratexts in the Alithinologia. They function effectively as methods to influence the reader’s interpretation of the text. The focus of New Philology on the social background of how a work came into being, and on the materiality of a book from this period can contribute a great deal to our knowledge of the author of a printed text and his relationship to the reader. In the case of the Alithinologia, we have seen that Lynch’s social position at the time of writing was an important factor in the materiality, sources and style of the work. Paratexts in the Alithinologia function in combination with argument and Latin style to persuade the reader.

of the two autograph’s manuscripts, which was in the custody of his friend Roderick O’Flaherty for a while and contains extensive annotation in O’Flaherty’s hand. The other possibility which Gwynn suggests is that Lynch had obtained a full transcript for his own use. 37   Mulvany (2005), 6.



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Bibliography Armstrong, Guyda, ‘Paratexts and Their Functions in SeventeenthCentury English “Decamerons”’, The Modern Language Review, 102 (2007), no. 1, 40-57 Braund, Susanna, Seneca: De Clementia, Edition with translation and commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009) Campbell, Ian, Alithinologia: John Lynch and seventeenth-century Irish political thought, Unpublished doctoral thesis (Dublin, 2009) Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de, The Adventures of Don Quixote, trans. John. M. Cohen (London: Penguin, 1954) Corish, Patrick J.,‘Two Contemporary Historians of the Confederation of Kilkenny: John Lynch and Richard O’Ferrall’, Irish Historical Studies, 8 (1953), 217-236 Cunningham, Bernadette, The World of Geoffrey Keating: History, Myth and Religion in Seventeenth-century Ireland (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2000) D’Ambrières, René, Ó Ciosáin, Éamon, ‘John Lynch of Galway (c. 15991677), his career, exile and writing’, Journal of the Archaeological and Historical Society, 55 (2003), 50-62 Drout, Michael D.C., ‘Doing Philology 2: Something ‘Old’, Something ‘New’: Material Philology and the Recovery of the Past’, The Heroic Age: A Journal of Early Medieval Northwestern Europe, 13 (2010)

Duffy, Sean, Medieval Ireland: An Encyclopedia (New York: Routledge, 2005) Genette, Gérard, Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretatio (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) Gwynn, Aubrey, ‘John Lynch’s De Praesulibus Hiberniae’, Studies: an Irish Quarterly Review, 34 (1945), no. 133, 37-52 Harris, Jason and Sidwell, Keith (eds.), Making Ireland Roman: Irish Neo-Latin Writers in the Republic of Letters (Cork: Cork University Press, 2009) des Longrais, Frederic Jouon, Jacques Doremet, sa vie et ses ouvrages (Geneva: Slatkine, 1971, reprint of 1894) Lewis, Mary S., ‘Introduction: The Dedication as Paratext’, in Cui dono lepidum novum libellum? Dedicating Latin works and motets in the sixteenth century, ed. Ignace Bossuyt et al., Supplementa Humanistica Lovaniensia, 23 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2008), pp. 1-13

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Lynch, John, Cambrensis Eversus, seu Potius Historica Fides in Rebus Hibernicis Giraldo Cambrensi abrogata … (St Malo: Antoine de la Mare, 1662) Lynch, John, Alithinologia sive veridica responsio ad invectivam mendaciis ... foetam (St Malo: Antoine de la Mare, 1664) Lynch, John, Supplementum Alithinologiae (St Malo: Antoine de la Mare, 1667) Lynch, John, Pii Antistitis Icon (St Malo: Antoine de la Mare, 1669) Lynch, John, Cambrensis Eversus, ed. Matthew Kelly, 3 vols (Dublin: Celtic Society, 1848-52) Lynch, John, De Praesulibus, ed. John F. O’Doherty, 2 vols (Dublin: Irish Manuscripts Commission, 1944) Macksey, Richard, ‘Foreword’, in Gerard Genette, Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997) MacLysaght, Edward, The Surnames of Ireland (Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1978) Moody, Theodore William et al. (eds.), A New History of Ireland, vol. 3, Early Modern Ireland 1534-1691, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2009) Moss, Ann, Printed Common-place Books and the Structuring of Renaissance Thought (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996) Mulvany, Nancy C., Indexing books (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005) O’Donovan, John, ed., Annals of the Kingdom of Ireland by the Four Masters, 7 vols (Dublin: CELT, 1856) O’Ferrall, Richard, Ad Sacram Congregationem de Propaganda Fide, Unpublished report, 1658 (Cf. O’Ferrall 2008) O’Ferrall, Richard, Ad Sacram Congregationem de Propaganda Fide, transcription & translation of the London version, ed. Ian Campbell & Nienke Tjoelker, Archivium Hibernicum, 61 (2008), 7-61 O’Ferrall, Richard and O’Connell, Robert, Commentarius Rinuccinianus, de sedis apostolicae legatione ad foederatos Hiberniae Catholicos per annos 1645-9, ed. Stanislaus Kavanagh, 6 vols (Dublin: Irish Manu­ scripts Commission, 1932-1949) Ó Muráile, Nollaig, ‘Aspects of the intellectual life of seventeenth century Galway’, in Gerard Moran & Raymond Gillespie, eds., Galway: History and Society, (Dublin: Goegraphy Publications, 1996), pp. 50-63 Ó Siochrú, Michael, Confederate Ireland 1642-1649, A Constitutional and Political Analysis (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2008)



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Smyth, Adam, “Profit and Delight”: printed miscellanies in England, 1640-1682 (Detroit, Michigan: Wayne State University Press, 2004) Tjoelker, Nienke, The Alithinologia (1664) by John Lynch: an edition of part of the text with introduction, commentary, and translation, unpublished doctoral thesis (Cork, 2010) Tjoelker, Nienke, ‘Irishness and literary persona in the debate between John Lynch and O’Ferrall’, in Alejandro Coroleu, Carlo Caruso & Andrew Laird, eds., Acta of the conference ‘The role of Latin in the Early-Modern World: Latin, Linguistic identity and Nationalism, 1350-1800, Barcelona 5-6. May 2010, Renæssanceforum 8 (2012), pp. 167-192 Walsh, M. On, ‘Irish books printed abroad, 1470-1700: an interim checklist’, in The Irish Book, vol. 2, no. 1 (Dublin: Dolmen Press, 1963), pp. 1-36 Welch, Robert (ed.), The Oxford Companion to Irish Literature (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001) Ludwig Boltzmann Institute for Neo-Latin Studies Langer Weg 11 6020 Innsbruck Austria [email protected]

INDEX NOMINUM Abel Michael: 168 Agricola Rudolph: 135, 135n. Aimeric de Belinoi: 38 Aimeric de Peguilhan: 32, 38 Alciati Andrea: 96, 108 Alexander VI (papa): 89 Alfonso of Aragón (rex Neapolis): 50, 56, 62n. Alighieri Dante: 27, 29, 38, 40-42, 42n., 43 Andreas Eborensis: 135n. Antonio (Beccari) da Ferrara: 27 Apollonius Rhodius: 50 Apuleius: 170, 173, 178 Aratus: 50 Augustine / Augustinus (s.): 192 Augustus (imperator): 51 Aulus Gellius: 173 Balde Jacobus: 168 Bardi Tomaso de: 27 Basinio of Parma (Basinio Basini): 49-70 passim Beatus Rhenanus: 174 Beccari Antonio: 27 Beroaldo Filippo the Elder: 178 Berzoli Petrus: 34, 38-39 Biondo Flavio: 174 Blacasset: 36 Blake Sir Richard: 186 Boccaccio Giovanni: 33,40-42, 42n., 43, 43n. Bonagiunta da Lucca: 38-39, 39n. Borghese Scipione: 89 Bracciolini Poggio: 58, 174 Bredero G.A.: 142n. Brugnolo Benedetto: 74, 80 Bryant John: 111, 111n., 112 Budé Guillaume: 174, 179 Buvalelli Rambertino: 32 Caesar Iulius: 170 Calepino Ambrogio: 82

Camden William: 191 Cardano Girolamo: 179 Celtis Conrad: 174 Cervantes Miguel de: 191, 191n. Chalcondyles Demetrius: 96 Charles II (rex Angliae): 187-188 Charles V (imperator): 109 Cicero M. Tullius: 51n., 63, 98, 170, 190 Cigala Lanfranco: 32, 38 Cino da Pistoia: 27 Claudianus Claudius: 140, 141-142, 146 Dante Alighieri: 27, 29, 38, 40-42, 42n., 43 Dantiscus Johannes: 124n. Daret Pierre: 147 Davanzati Chiaro: 38 De la Mare Antoine: 186-187 Della Rovere (familia): 89 Demetrius Chalcondyles: 96 Doremet Jacques: 187 Doria Percivalle: 32 Eborensis Andreas: 135n. Ennius: 51, 172 Estienne Robert: 82, 175 Equicola Mario: 101-102 Erasmus Desiderius: 113, 113n., 135, 135n., 173, 179 Eugene IV /Eugenius IV (papa): 62 Federico da Montefeltro: 72-73, 76, 82 Filelfo Francesco: 65 Folquet de Marseilh: 36-38 Forcellini Egidio: 82 Fronto Marcus Cornelius: 173 Gebwiler Hieronymus: 113 (Aulus) Gellius: 173 Gerald of Wales: 187, 191 Giovanni del Virgilio: 41, 42, 42n., 43 Goritz Johannes: 103 Gramaye Jan-Baptist: 171n.

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Gruterus Janus: 116n. Guarini Battista: 74 Guido (filius Frederici Montefeltrii): 77, 82 Guiraut de Bornelh: 36 Gutenberg Johannes: 107 Henry VIII (rex Angliae): 113 Hieronymus (s.): 187, 190 Homer: 62, 65, 65n., 66-67 Horatius Q. Flaccus: 89, 90, 93, 97, 103, 131-133, 135n., 136-139, 141-142,146 Ilaro (frater): 41-43 Inghirami Tommaso: 89-90, 93-97, 99-102 Isabella d’Este: 101-102 Isotta degli Atti: 51 Jamotius Federicus: 168 Jansen Antoni: 143n. Jerome (Saint): 187, 190 Johannes Secundus: 107-129 passim Jonson Ben: 191 Julius II (papa): 89-91, 104 Juvenalis D. Junius: 136 Kirwan Francis: 187 Keating Geoffrey: 188 Lactantius Firmianus: 192 Lascaris Janus: 95n., 96 Lauremberg Johann: 165-82 passim Leclerc / Le Clerc Jean: 131, 143n., 147-149 Leo X (papa): 89, 96, 104 Leone Poggi Andrea di: 43n. Le Roy de Gomberville Marin: 131, 143n., 144-149 Lionello d’Este: 49 Lipsius Justus: 134-136, 138 Livius Andronicus Lucius: 172 Livius Titus: 51n., 170 Longueil Christophe de / Longolius Christophorus: 103

Louis XIV (rex Franciae): 144 Lucilius Gaius: 173 Ludolph of Saxony: 192n. Lynch John: 183-97 passim Mac Fhirbhisigh Dubhaltach: 193 Manilius Marcus: 50 Marius Hadrianus: 109-111, 113-114, 116, 116n., 117, 117n., 118, 118n., 121, 122n., 123, 123n., 125 Marsuppini Carlo: 65 Martialis M. Valerius: 71, 71n., 72-77, 77n., 78-82, 116n., 117, 117n., 120n. Martirano Bernardino: 91-93, 100, 102, 103 Marullus Michael: 114-115, 115n. McGann Jerome: 107, 107n., 108 Melanchthon Philippus: 173 Melville Herman: 111, 112 Mór Ó Dubhagáin Seán: 193 Morainvillier d’Orgeville Louis de: 187 Naevius: 172 Negro Andalò di: 40 Nicholas V / Nicolaus V (papa): 65 Nigidius Figulus Publius: 77 Ó Cléirigh Cú Choighcríche: 193 Ó Cléirigh Mícheál: 193 Odasio Ludovico: 77-78, 80, 82 Ó Duibhgeannáin Cú Choigcríche: 193 O’Ferrall Richard: 183, 185-189, 194 Ó Maoil Chonaire Fearfeasa: 193 Ovidius P. Naso: 50 Pacuvius Marcus: 172 Pandoni Giannantonio: 65 Parrasio Aulo Giano: 91-100, 103-104 Paul V / Paulus V (papa): 89 Perillo Jacopo: 101, 101n., 102 Perotti Niccolò: 71-87 passim Perini Dino: 43n. Petrarca Francesco: 27-28, 28n., 29-31, 33, 40 Philomusus Joannes Franciscus: 77



index nominum

Pio Giovanni Battista: 178 Pirro (filius fratris vel sororis Nicolai Perotti): 72-73, 75-76, 76n., 77 Pisones (fratres quibus Horatius Artem poeticam inscripsit): 102 Plautus T. Maccius: 172 Pliny the Elder (Plinius Gaius Secundus): 51n. Poggio Bracciolini: 58, 174 Polidoro Virgilio: 78, 78n., 79 Poliziano Angelo: 100 Polybius: 189, 189n. Pompeius Magnus Cn.: 167 Pomponio Leto Giulio: 89, 174 Pontano Giangioviano: 95 Priapea (carmina): 116n. Publilius Syrus: 135n. Pucci Francesco: 100-102 Quintilianus M. Fabius: 133n. Raimon Guilhem: 32 Rhenanus Beatus: 174 Riario Pietro (cardinalis): 90 Rinuccini Giovanni Battista: 184-186, 189 Rufinus Tyrannius: 188 Rump, Heinrich, Johann, Conrad: 166n. Sabellico Marcantonio: 74, 74n., 76 Sacchetti Francesco and Giannozzo: 27 Salimbeni Benuccio: 27 Sallustius C. Crispus: 66, 135n. Scinzenzeler Ioannes Angelus: 80 Scipio P. Cornelius Africanus Maior: 51 Secundus Johannes: 107-129 passim Seneca Lucius Annaeus: 119n., 136, 136n., 192-193

201

Seripando Antonio: 93, 97, 100, 101, 101n. Seripando Girolamo (cardinalis): 97 Sigismondo Malatesta: 49-52, 56, 60, 62, 62n., 63-65, 67 Smyth Adam: 191 Soldanieri Niccholò: 27 Sophocles: 136n. Sordello da Goito: 32 Stephanus Robertus: 82, 175 Tacuinus Johannes da Tridino: 80-81 Terentius P. Afer: 136, 172 Terramagnino da Pisa: 38 Tommaso Seneca da Camerino: 65 Torrentius Laevinus: 137 Trivulzi Johannes Jacobus: 96 Uc de Saint Circ: 32, 39 Uc Faiditz: 38 Uguccione della Faggiola: 40 V(a)enius Otho (Otto): 131-164 passim Valerius C. Flaccus: 50 Valeriano Pierio: 92 Valla Lorenzo: 58-59, 74, 79 Valturio Roberto: 49, 64, 64n. Varro M. Terentius: 77 Veen, Otto van: 131-164 passim Vergilius P. Maro: 51, 55-56, 56n., 60n. Virgilio Polidoro: 78, 78n., 79 Vidal Peire: 39 Vidal Raimon de Besalú: 38-39 Vives Juan Luis: 173, 179 Zorzi Bartolomeo: 32 Zesen Philip von: 143n., 147

NOTES ON THE CONTRIBUTORS Tom Deneire, Ph.D. (2009) researched Neo-Latin epistolography and stylistics at Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, and participated in an NWOproject on bilingual humanist poetry at the Huygens ING (The Hague). His research interests included Latin style, rhetoric, diglossia and literary theory. In 2013, however, his focus switched from literary studies to library and information science. He is now Curator of the Special Collections of the Antwerp University Library, specializing in Early Modern books, especially Jesuit literature, and digitization projects. Werner J.C.M. Gelderblom (b. 1982) studied Classics at the Radboud University of Nijmegen (the Netherlands) from 2000 until 2005. At the same university, he completed his PhD (2012) on the textual genesis and material presentation of the Neo-Latin poetry of Johannes Secundus. Afterwards, he decided to continue his career outside of Academia. Marianne Pade, Ph.D. (1989) in Classical Philology, Copenhagen University, and dr.phil. Aarhus University, is Director of the Danish Academy at Rome and Professor of Classical Philology at Aarhus University. She has published extensively on neo-Latin and Renaissance Humanism. Amongst her most recent publications are the critical edition of Plutarchi Chaeronensis Vitam Dionis & Comparatio et de Bruto ac Dione iudicium Guarino Veronensi interprete (1414), Firenze 2013, “From medieval Latin to neo-Latin,” Brill’s Encyclopedia of the Neo-Latin World, ed. P. Ford, J. Bloemendal and C. Fantazzi, Leiden-Boston 2014. 5-19, and “The Reception of Plutarch from Antiquity to the Italian Renaissance,” A Companion to Plutarch, ed. Mark Beck, Wiley-Blackwell 2014, pp. 531-43. Christoph Pieper (Ph.D. Bonn, 2008) is Assistant Professor of Latin language and literature at Leiden University. His research focuses on Roman eloquence, esp. the reception of Cicero in Antiquity and beyond, on Ovid, and on the poetry of the Italian Quattrocento (esp. in Florence and Rimini). He has published a monograph entitled  Elegos redolere Vergiliosque sapere. Cristoforo Landinos Xandra zwischen Liebe und Gesellschaft  (Hildesheim etc. 2008) and has co-edited volumes on discourses of power and ideology in early modern Europe (together with

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Karl Enenkel and Marc Laureys, Hildesheim etc. 2012) and on valuing the past in the Greco-Roman world (with James Ker, Leiden etc. 2014). David Rijser is associate professor of Classics and Cultural History at the University of Amsterdam. He specializes in classical receptions and early modern studies. His recent book Raphael’s Poetics; Art & Poetry in High Renaissance Rome (Amsterdam 2012) focuses on the renaissance reception of especially Augustan poetry. He has published numerous articles, edited volumes and journalistic work. H. Wayne Storey is Professor of Italian and Medieval Studies at Indiana University – Bloomington. He is the Founding Editor of the journal Textual Cultures. He writes about and edits works in the early Italian and Old Occitan traditions, including his most recent essay “Mobile Texts and Local Options: Geography and Editing” (Textual Cultures 8.1 [2013]). Much of his work has focused on philological issues in Petrarch’s Rerum vulgarium fragmenta, including his collaborative volumes Commentario al codice Vaticano Latino 3195 (Antenore 2004) and Petrarch and the Textual Origins of Interpretation (Brill 2007). Together with John Walsh, he is the editor of the Petrarchive, an open-access “rich text” edition and electronic archive of Petrarch’s Rerum vulgarium fragmenta, . Nienke Tjoelker moved to Ireland in 2006, after a BA and MA in Classics at the Radboud University Nijmegen (the Netherlands), and an MA in Medieval and Renaissance Studies at the Catholic University of Leuven (Belgium). At University College Cork she completed her PhD at the Centre for Neo-Latin Studies. Her thesis was an edition with introduction, translation and commentary of the Alithinologia (St Malo, 1664) by the Irish priest John Lynch. In 2011 she moved to Austria, where she is currently writing a study about eighteenth century Latin theatre at the Ludwig Boltzmann Institute for Neo-Latin Studies in Innsbruck. Her focus is on the relation between Latin theatre and ideas of Enlightenment. An edition with extensive introduction and translation of an unknown theatre poetics from the eighteenth century by the Jesuit priest Andreas Friz is forthcoming with Brill Publishers in early 2015. Tjoelker’s research interests include Irish Neo-Latin, Neo-Latin theatre, emblem studies and Neo-Latin epistolography.



Notes on the contributors

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Marc van der Poel (Ph.D. Nijmegen, 1987) is Professor of Latin at the Radboud University Nijmegen. His area of expertise lies at the crossroads between Latin philology and ancient rhetoric and its history until the present day. He is currently the editor of Rhetorica. A journal of the history of rhetoric. Haijo J. Westra is professor emeritus of Greek and Roman Studies at the University of Calgary. He has written on late classical, early Christian, medieval and Neo-Latin literature.

SUPPLEMENTA HUMANISTICA LOVANIENSIA 1. Iohannis Harmonii Marsi De rebus italicis deque triumpho Ludovici XII regis Francorum Tragoedia, ed. by G. Tournoy, 1978. 2. Charisterium H. De Vocht 1878-1978, ed. by J. IJsewijn & J. Roegiers, 1979. 3. Judocus J. C. A. Crabeels. Odae Iscanae. Schuttersfeest te Overijse (1781), ed. by J. IJsewijn, G. Vande Putte & R. Denayer, 1981. 4. Erasmiana Lovaniensia. Cataloog van de tentoonstelling, Universiteitsbibliotheek Leuven, november 1986, 1986. 5. Jozef IJsewijn, Companion to Neo-Latin Studies. Part I: History and Diffusion of Neo-Latin Literature, 1990. 6. Petrus Bloccius, Praecepta formandis puerorum moribus perutilia. Inleiding, Tekst en Vertaling van A. M. Coebergh-Van den Braak, 1991. 7. Pegasus Devocatus. Studia in Honorem C. Arri Nuri sive Harry C. Schnur. Accessere selecta eiusdem opuscula inedita. Cura et opera Gilberti Tournoy et Theodorici Sacré, 1992. 8. Vives te Leuven. Catalogus van de tentoonstelling in de Centrale Bibliotheek, 28 juni-20 augustus 1993. Ed. by G. Tournoy, J. Roegiers, C. Coppens, 1993. 9. Phineas Fletcher, Locustae vel Pietas Iesuitica. Edited With Introduction, Translation and Commentary by Estelle Haan, 1996. 10. The Works of Engelbertus Schut Leydensis (ca. 1420-1503). Ed. by A. M. Coebergh van den Braak in co-operation with Dr. E. Rummel, 1997. 11. Morus ad Craneveldium: Litterae Balduinianae novae. More to Cranevelt. New Baudouin Letters. Ed. by Hubertus Schulte Herbrüggen, 1997. 12. Ut granum sinapis. Essays on Neo-Latin Literature in Honour of Jozef IJsewijn. Ed. by Gilbert Tournoy and Dirk Sacré, 1997. 13. Lipsius en Leuven. Catalogus van de tentoonstelling in de Centrale Bibliotheek te Leuven, 18 september-17 oktober 1997. Ed. by G. Tournoy, J. Papy, J. De Landts­ heer, 1997. 14. Jozef IJsewijn, with Dirk Sacré, Companion to Neo-Latin Studies. Part II: Literary, Linguistic, Philological and Editorial Questions, 1998. 15. Iustus Lipsius, Europae lumen et columen. Proceedings of the International Colloquium Leuven 17-19 September 1997. Ed. by G. Tournoy, J. De Landtsheer, J. Papy, 1999. 16. Myricae. Essays on Neo-Latin Literature in Memory of Jozef IJsewijn. Ed. by Dirk Sacré and Gilbert Tournoy, 2000. 17. Petrus Vladeraccus, Tobias (1598). Ed. with an introduction and commentary by Michiel Verweij, 2001. 18. Self-Presentation and Social Identification. The Rhetoric and Pragmatics of Letter Writing in Early Modern Times. Ed. by T. Van Houdt, J. Papy, G. Tournoy, C. Matheeussen, 2002. 19. Tuomo Pekkanen, Carmina Viatoris, 2005.

20. Die Marias von Cornelius Aurelius. Einleitung, Textausgabe und Anmerkungen von J.C. Bedaux, 2006. 21. Justus Lipsius (1547-1606).Een geleerde en zijn Europese netwerk. Ed. by J. De Landtsheer, D. Sacré, C. Coppens, 2006. 22. Iosephus Tusiani Neo-Eboracensis, In nobis caelum. Carmina Latina. Raccolta, edizione e traduzione in lingua italiana con aggiunta di Prefazione e di Indici di Emilio Bandiera, 2007. 23. «Cui dono lepidum novum libellum?». Dedicating Latin Works and Motets in the Sixteenth Century. Ed. by Ignace Bossuyt, Nele Gabriëls, Dirk Sacré & Demmy Verbeke, 2008. 24. Spanish Humanism on the Verge of the Picaresque: Juan Maldonado’s Ludus Chartarum, Pastor Bonus and Bacchanalia. Ed. with introd., trsl., and notes by Warren Smith & Clark Colahan, 2009. 25. The Neo-Latin Epigram. A Learned and Witty Genre. Ed. by Susanna de Beer, Karl A.E. Enenkel & David Rijser, 2009. 26. Syntagmatia. Essays on Neo-Latin Literature in Honour of Monique MundDopchie and Gilbert Tournoy. Ed. by Dirk Sacré & Jan Papy, 2009. 27. De Paus uit de Lage Landen Adrianus VI 1459-1523. Catalogus bij de tentoonstelling ter gelegenheid van het 550ste geboortejaar van Adriaan van Utrecht. Ed. by Michiel Verweij, 2009. 28. Ad fines Imperii Romani anno bismillesimo Cladis Varianae. Acta Conventus Academiae Latinitati Fovendae XII Ratisbonensis. Ed. by Jan-Wilhelm Beck, 2011. 29. Aline Smeesters, Aux Rives de la lumière. La poésie de la naissance chez les auteurs néo-latins des anciens Pays-Bas entre la fin du XV e siècle et le milieu du XVII e siècle, 2011. 30. Roger Green, Philip Burton, Deborah Ford, Scottish Latin Authors in Print up to 1700. A Short-Title List, 2012. 31. Terence O. Tunberg, De rationibus quibus homines docti artem Latine colloquendi et ex tempore dicendi saeculis XVI et XVII coluerunt, 2012. 32. The Early Modern Cultures of Neo-Latin Drama, Ed. by Philip Ford & Andrew Taylor, 2013. 33. Neo-Latin Commentaries and the Management of Knowledge in the Late Middle Ages and the Early Modern Period (1400 -1700), Ed. by Karl Enenkel & Henk Nellen, 2013. 34. The Art of Arguing in the World of Renaissance Humanism, Ed. by Marc Laureys & Roswitha Simons, 2013. 35. Neo-Latin Philology: Old Tradition, New Approaches. Proceedings of a Conference Held at the Radboud University, Nijmegen, 26-27 October 2010, Ed. by Marc van der Poel, 2014. 36. Andreae Alciati Contra Vitam Monasticam Epistula. Andrea Alciato’s Letter against Monastic Life, Critical Edition, Translation and Commentary by Denis L. Drysdall, 2014. For more information about the series, please contact [email protected] or visit our website www.lup.be