Storytelling in the Spectators / Storytelling dans les spectateurs 9783631748411

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Storytelling in the Spectators / Storytelling dans les spectateurs

DIE AUFKLÄRUNG IN DER ROMANIA LUMIÈRES – ILUSTRACIÓN – ILLUMINISMO Herausgegeben von Klaus-Dieter Ertler Herausgeberkomitee / Comité de rédaction: Hans-Jürgen Lüsebrink (Saarbrücken), Gerda Haßler (Potsdam), Jan-Henrik Witthaus (Kassel), Claudia Gronemann (Mannheim), Amélie Junqua (Amiens), Angela Fabris (Klagenfurt), Kirsten Dickhaut (Stuttgart), Alexis Lévrier (Reims), Ludger Scherer (Bonn), Fernando Durán López (Cádiz), Inmaculada Urzainqui Miqueleiz (Oviedo), Elisabel Larriba (Aix-en-Provence)

BAND 13

Klaus-Dieter Ertler / Yvonne Völkl / Elisabeth Hobisch / Alexandra Fuchs / Hans Fernández (eds.)

Storytelling in the Spectators / Storytelling dans les spectateurs

Contents/Table des matières List of Contributors ................................................................................................

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Introduction ............................................................................................................

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Claire Boulard Jouslin From Telling Stories to Storytelling: Orality, Fiction and Politics in the Spectator (1711–1714) and the Female Spectator (1744–1746) �����������������������  17 Joseph Chaves The Pastoral in Motion: Sociability in the Spectator ..........................................  31 Amélie Junqua Embroidering the Loose Dress of the Spartan Maids—Text, Sex, and Textile for Joseph Addison ....................................................................................  41 Michael Griffin Stories of Authorship, Politics, and Friendship: Hugh Kelly, Oliver Goldsmith, and the Babler (1763–1767) .............................................................  51 Cornelis van der Haven From Anecdote to Anecdote: The Chaotic Order of Storytelling in Dutch Anti-Spectators around 1725 ....................................................................  67 Yvonne Völkl Raconter soi, raconter l’autre. Stéréotypes nationaux dans les « spectateurs » de Justus van Effen .......................................................................  83 José de Kruif Quantifying Spectators ..........................................................................................  99 Ellen Krefting Society and Sentiment: (Hi)storytelling in Denmark’s Den patriotiske Tilskuer (1761–1763) .............................................................................................  111 Klaus-Dieter Ertler Migrations d’une pratique narrative: La Spectatrice danoise de Laurent Angliviel de la Beaumelle ......................................................................................  127

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Contents/Table des matières

Aina Nøding Radical Storytelling in the Age of Revolution: Norway’s Provinzialblade (1778–1781) ............................................................................................................  143 Misia Doms On Searching and Finding. Narratives in the Medical Weekly Der Tirolische Arzt .........................................................................................................  153 Hélène Boons Le masque brisé: heurs et malheurs de la fiction dans les « Spectateurs » de Jacques-Vincent Delacroix de part et d’autre de la Révolution française ..  167 Katarzyna Chlewicka Embedded in the Mainstream of Argumentation: Narratives in Die mühsame Bemerckerin ...........................................................................................  183 Václav Smyčka The Transformation of Stories in Bohemian Spectators and the Problem of Observing Characters’ Minds ..........................................................................  193 Maud Le Guellec Escenificar el acto periodístico: escritura y lectura en las micronarraciones de los “espectadores” españoles ............................................  205 Elisabeth Hobisch “[U]‌n talento de soñar tan ordenada y metódicamente”: la narración onírica en los “espectadores” españoles ...............................................................  221 Inmaculada Urzainqui Historias y relatos en El Corresponsal del Censor (1786–1788) ........................  237 Cinta Canterla Republicanismo y liberalismo en el periódico La Pensadora Gaditana ..........  255 Elisabel Larriba Le journal de bord de El Argonauta español (1790) ...........................................  273 Alexandra Fuchs Narrare nei fogli moralistici italiani .....................................................................  289 List of Figures ..........................................................................................................  303

List of Contributors Hélène Boons Université Paris 3-Sorbonne Nouvelle

Elisabeth Hobisch Universidad de Graz

Claire Boulard Jouslin Université Paris 3-Sorbonne Nouvelle

Amélie Junqua Université de Picardie Jules Verne, Amiens

Cinta Canterla Universidad Pablo de Olavide, de Sevilla Joseph Chaves University of Northern Colorado, Greeley, CO Katarzyna Chlewicka Nicolaus Copernicus University, Toruń Misia Doms Lower Austria University of Education, Baden bei Wien Klaus-Dieter Ertler Université de Graz Alexandra Fuchs Università di Graz Michael Griffin University of Limerick Cornelis van der Haven Ghent University

Ellen Krefting University of Oslo José de Kruif University of Utrecht Elisabel Larriba Aix Marseille Univ, CNRS, TELEMME, Aix-en-Provence Maud Le Guellec Universidad de Lille – Centro de investigación CECILLE Aina Nøding National Library of Norway, Oslo Václav Smyčka Charles University, Prague Inmaculada Urzainqui Universidad de Oviedo Yvonne Völkl Université de Graz

Introduction The Spectators, also known as Moral Weeklies, were an important magazine genre which came into being in the early 18th century and which shaped European identity by developing the strategies of critical journalism and by popularizing the ideas and values of the Age of Enlightenment. In almost all European countries, Spectator magazines were popular in the 18th century and beyond. Through their particular narrative architecture, they helped to form the collective memories of Europeans and influenced the sociability of groups and the personal development of citizens. Investigating modes of storytelling in the Spectators is an important starting point for a paradigmatic investigation of our historical, cultural and philosophical evolution since the Enlightenment and the impact of these magazines on issues of identity in today’s Europe. In this collection on “Storytelling in the Spectators”, we present a series of contributions which study English, French, Spanish, Italian, German, Dutch, Czech, Polish and Danish-Norwegian periodicals. In the first chapter, Claire Boulard Jouslin offers a study on the theme “From Telling Stories to Storytelling: Orality, Fiction and Politics in the Spectator (1711– 1714) and the Female Spectator (1744–1746)”. She shows that Eliza Haywood’s Female Spectator is often described as one of the followers of Addison and Steele’s Spectator, because it used stories to reform its female readers—a method that seems to come close to Christian Salmon’s definition of storytelling as a way to control opinion by aestheticizing politics and by offering people attractive models to imitate. But she questions this assumption by examining the nature of storytelling in both papers. Although both seem to engage in storytelling, rejecting the traditional oral form of telling stories and adopting instead a more visual one, their conception and use of stories differed substantially. Their political views (one whig, the other tory) led them to define the role played by imagination differently. This, in turn, conditioned the very nature of the narrative forms they used. The Female Spectator associated a tory vision with historicised/ historical writings in reaction to the Spectator’s strategy of equating a whig vision with fictional narratives. Both periodicals are early instances of storytelling which stress turning the reader into a critical, independent and reasonable agent, a view of the reader which does not fit with our latter-day suspicion of storytelling as a vehicle for seductive propaganda. In “The Pastoral in Motion: Sociability in the Spectator”, Joseph Chaves takes up a familiar topic in studies of Addison and Steele’s Spectator: their circulation

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in London’s burgeoning venues for polite sociability, such as the coffee house and the public park. Arguing that we have not fully appreciated Addison and Steele’s sense of the significance and novelty of the form of these interactions, this essay traces the Spectator’s attempt to understand them through the notion of propriety. Because propriety, in Addison and Steele’s understanding, mediates between what is natural, in any given situation, and convention, their writings often frame urban sociable encounters through the ancient genre of the pastoral. At the same time, in their attempt to represent the emergence (and dissolution) of new forms of consensus that arise from such sociable circulation encounters, the essays feature a very specific kind of narrative: stories that are fragmented and intertwined with other stories. In “Embroidering the loose Dress of the Spartan Maids—Text, Sex, and Textile for Joseph Addison”, Amélie Junqua unravels the various threads of a single story first narrated by Plutarch, and twice reported by Addison in his periodical essays. From its first telling in the primary source to its reappearance in Addisonian prose, the story has acquired quite a few layers, causing heated but rather pointless debates among classical scholars. Retold by Pierre Bayle in his Dictionnaire with all its interpretations, the anecdote becomes a focal point from which to gauge the attention commanded by feminine clothing at the start of the 18th century. When feminine garments become the subject of male scrutiny, textile and text are one, and the female body, an object in absentia, only revealed through and by a surface. In “Stories of Authorship, Politics, and Friendship:  Hugh Kelly, Oliver Goldsmith, and the Babler”, Michael Griffin focuses his analysis on the Babler of Hugh Kelly, which was a collection of essays originally serialised in Owen’s Weekly Chronicle from February 1763 until June 1767. Griffin describes the inception and development of that weekly publishing venture, drawing particular attention to the magazine’s coverage of three topics in particular: the plight of the professional author in the still burgeoning, post-Spectator market for periodical essay writing; the nature of party politics and the economic wellbeing of nations; and the nature of friendship. Goldsmith’s dramatic career would come to be shadowed by the unhappy jealousy that it created with Kelly, but their mutual work in the world of Grub Street periodicals saw the two Irishmen co-operate, however briefly, on the Babler. In that magazine, Kelly fashioned a Spectatorstyle venture which was timely in its commentaries on the modernising worlds of authorship and politics. Cornelis van der Haven has a look at the Dutch magazines in “From Anecdote to Anecdote:  The Chaotic Order of Storytelling in Dutch AntiSpectators around 1725” and discovers early satirical counterparts of the genre.

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The first Spectator-parodies appeared in the 1720s. One of the most successful authors of these satirical moral weeklies was Jacob Campo Weyerman, who in his magazine writing explicitly mocked the spectatorial genre. Dutch literary historiography has created a strict dividing line between the spectatorial magazine and the satirical magazines of Weyerman, a division which has often been criticised over the last decades. This paper focuses on the narratological differences and similarities between Weyerman and Justus van Effen, focusing on the role of the narrateur and the narrataire and the function of the anecdote. It will in particular investigate the way in which Weyerman’s stories, kept together by series of anecdotes, create a kind of “fragmentary unity” that seems to be different from the more classical rhetorical structure of Van Effen’s moral essays. The spectatorial work of Justus van Effen, composed in French, is the topic of the contribution of Yvonne Völkl, who addresses the constructions of national stereotypes in Van Effen’s writings. With the topic of “Narrating the Self, Narrating the Other”, Yvonne Völkl takes a look at storytelling in general and at the transmission of stories through media. She also addresses the questions of how and to what extent national stereotypes were developed in this context and the manner in which the author constructed his Dutch self in contrast to other European nations in his francophone adaptations of the Spectator. José de Kruif applies a metholodology of “distant reading” to the magazine and offers some examples of textmining in her essay on “Quantifying Spectators”. Through some examples of Dutch Spectators, the Hollandsche Spectator (1732‒1735) of Justus van Effen and De Denker (1763‒1764) by the Mennonite vicar Cornelius van Engelen, de Kruif demonstrates the ways in which new digital methods can add to our knowledge of the genre.  Although relatively few articles in Dutch Spectators are presented as storytelling, there  are many narratives incorporated into the much more common treatises in these texts. José de Kruif suggests that analysis of a sufficient number of treatises might bring up approaches that will also be suited for a sufficiently large corpus of “special” genres in Spectators (e.g. dream-narratives). Ellen Krefting contributes a study on “Society and Sentiment: (Hi)storytelling in Denmark’s  Den patriotiske Tilskuer” and shows how various kinds of storytelling are put to political and educational use in that magazine. She is particularly interested in its discussion of the relationship of history to fiction, pointing to the advantages of fiction over historical accounts in conveying moral examples. A  professor of political science, Jens Schielderup Sneedorff published Den patriotiske Tilskuer (The patriotic spectator, 1761–1763) as a logical consequence of his moral-political philosophy of patriotism. This philosophy was based on

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the idea of harmony between the four estates (nobility, clergy, bourgeoisie and peasantry) under an absolutist ruler, where each member of each estate was supposed to contribute to and strive towards the common good and the perfection of society as a whole. The combination of industriousness, enlightenment and loyalty was essential to the civic virtue of a patriot, according to Sneedorff. But this mentality did not emerge spontaneously; it needed nurturing, guidance and education, which was exactly what Sneedorff ’s spectator journal aimed to provide. Of a similar cultural moment, but in French, Klaus-Dieter Ertler analyses the migrations of a narrative practice in La Spectatrice danoise of Laurent Angliviel de la Beaumelle. It is interesting to observe how at the end of the spectatorial genre in Protestant areas (1749–1750), a young Frenchman went to Copenhagen to “civilize” Scandinavian culture by means of the moral press. He created a female voice within a Danish background in order to discuss basic forms of behavior and knowledge, following Protestant ethics, with a clear orientation to the contemporary Freemason’s worldview. In “Radical Storytelling in the Age of Revolution: Norway’s Provinzialblade” Aina Nøding focuses on Norway’s first major literary critic and journalist, Claus F.  Fasting, who singlehandedly published a weekly periodical called Provinzialblade (Provincial Journal; 1778–1781) for four years in his hometown of Bergen. His magazine (which exhibits some traits of the Spectator) presented original and translated texts on a variety of topics and genres, overtly promoting quite radical enlightenment ideas to a conservative readership. Many of the stories were authored by Voltaire and Montesquieu, as well as some which were set amidst the ongoing American War of Independence. Nøding argues that these stories make up important and strategic elements of Fasting’s larger political discourse on liberty, reason and moral sentiment. “On Searching and Finding: Narratives in the Medical Weekly Der Tirolische Arzt” is the title of Misia Doms’s essay, which brings up another type of spectatorial writing in the 18th century, that of the medical weeklies. These papers form one of the most influential spin-offs of the enlightened Spectator project— next to journals for children and for female readers, or literary weeklies. By analysing the famous German periodical Der Arzt as well as its nearly forgotten Austrian counterpart Der Tirolische Arzt, the present paper gives an overview of the large range of storytelling devices used in medical weeklies: Micronarratives, which present only a narrative nucleus inserted in general medical reflections, can be found next to detailed stories of sickness and healing with individual characters, climactic developments and/or unexpected turns. Alongside stories and micronarratives Misia Doms finds in these papers a rudimentary poetics of medical narration.

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One of the last Spectators of France, published before, during and after the French Revolution by Jacques-Vincent Delacroix, constitutes the corpus of Hélène Boons. She analyses the problem of the fictional author or editor in “The shattered Mask: Fortunes and Misfortunes of Fiction in Jacques-Vincent Delacroix’s ‘Spectators’ on both sides of the French Revolution”. For Boons, the author and magistrate Delacroix proves to be a rewarding resource when it comes to providing a diachronic approach to the Spectator genre. The author modified the form he has selected according to the political storms he endured and his choices affect both the relationship between speech and narration and the generic device of an authorial identity in disguise. The present study offers hypotheses to understand why the spectatorial voice slowly quietened during the 19th century. The core of the problem is to be found in the role granted by this particular type of periodical press to storytelling and, more broadly, to fiction. Katarzyna Chlewicka contributes “Embedded in the Mainstream of Argumentation: Narratives in Die mühsame Bemerckerin”, in which she studies an early Polish adaptation of the first spectators, written in German, which appeared around 1735 in the city of Gdansk. The journal privileges explicitly the genre of the story as a didactic and rhetorical concept. It does so using an “authoritative narrative style” and employing representative characters. Here, storytelling is also an object of meta-reflections concerning constitutive features of Spectator-stories such as the fictitious and/or the fabular. In his contribution, Václav Smyčka explains the “Transformation of Stories in Bohemian Spectators and the Problem of Observing Characters’ Minds”. His article deals with the transformations of poetics and narrative structure in fictional prose of that area. The genre emerged there in the 1770s and influenced its traditional fictional prose. It was characterised by new kinds of digression, new sociolects and ideolects, which atomized previous prose fictional genres like the exemplum, anecdote, or the chapbook. However, the new poetics cultivated by later spectators, which included a greater sentimentalism, as well as ideas of the French enlightenment novel and “Sturm und Drang”, helped to reduce the contingency of fictional prose and to re-establish a lost coherence. These two transformations signal the emergence of the modern short story in the spectators and other literary journals. The Spanish periodicals have an important position in Europe, as they are the expression of the Catholic cultures during the second half of the century. Maud Le Guellec observes the staging of the writing and reading process in the journals and its micronarrations. Many Spanish Spectators aim to highlight the new practice of journalism and to deal with issues such as the act of

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redaction, the individual or collective reading of an issue, the journalist positioning in regard to his work and its reception. Maud Le Guellec shows some of these mises en abyme in order to interrogate the writing and the functions of metajournalistic reflexion. Elisabeth Hobisch studies the function of the dream visions in the Spanish Spectators and argues that the authors of the genre developed their own style of dream narration and made use of its aesthetic characteristics for their specific goals. They were confronted with two traditions of dream narrations, the spectatorial and the local, and they managed to combine these two traditions in very amusing ways. Even if the structure elaborated by the authors of the first Spectator-models was maintained by many Spanish authors, Elisabeth Hobisch brings up examples of completely different uses of the dream and critical discussions of them. Inmaculada Urzainqui analyzes the histories and tales contained in the Corresponsal del Censor, published fortnightly in Madrid, from May 1786 to June 1788 by Manuel Rubín de Celis, one of the most original Spanish Spectators. The essay studies its epistolary character and the ambiguity of its expressive voice. After an explication of its particularities and objectives, Inmaculada Urzainqui demonstrates two types of micronarrations, where the medium engages emotionally with the reader in order to bring a major plasticity to the expression of its ideas: those referring to the situation of the author, and those narrated by the author’s supposed correspondents. A philosophical approach is offered by Cinta Canterla in her study of the concepts of Republicanism and liberalism in the “Female Spectator of Cadix”, La Pensadora gaditana. Her analysis establishes the ways in which the weekly’s Pensamientos relate to elements of classical republicanism, and to merchant republicanism in particular. It is interesting to see how political liberal thought emerged in Cadix, successfully culminating in the proclamation of the liberal Constitution of 1812. In La Pensadora Gaditana not only do republicanism and liberalism not oppose each other, they are in fact closely connected. Another example of spectatorial writing in Andalusia was El Argonauta español, published in Cadix in 1790 and reedited in Madrid in the same year. Its author was the surgeon of the Royal Marine, Pedro Pablo Gatell y Carnicer. Elisabel Larriba shows the originality of the journal and analyzes the modes and constructions of the story which was qualified by Gatell as a journey on sea, on earth and in heaven. The article of Alexandra Fuchs addresses the Italian Spectators, which follow the English and French models and become an outstanding indicator of

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the Italian discursive system during the Enlightenment. The study retraces the migration of the narrations and their modifications, starting from the English Spectator and proceeding onwards to the periodicals in the Romance-language speaking areas. The Editors Graz, May 2019

Claire Boulard Jouslin

From Telling Stories to Storytelling: Orality, Fiction and Politics in the Spectator (1711–1714) and the Female Spectator (1744–1746) Richard Steele and Joseph Addison claimed that it was their intention to reform their readers in the daily essay periodical the Spectator. So did Eliza Haywood in her monthly magazine The Female Spectator thirty years later. Both periodicals published essays which were intermixed with numerous narratives (several hundreds for the Spectator, forty-six short fictions for The Female Spectator) whose aim was to “instruct and please”1. As historians have proved, they also passed a political message to their audience. Indeed the Spectator had a Whig agenda while The Female Spectator had a Tory flavour2. This seems enough to suggest that the two periodicals were early examples of storytelling, a phenomenon which Christian Salmon described as “the subversion of the narrative powers to control the audience” (Salmon 2012, avertissement, my translation). Salmon claims that in its most elaborate form, storytelling is a means of aestheticizing politics so as to control opinion by offering people attractive and sometimes mendacious models to imitate3. Incidentally, Salmon recalls that storytelling is no new phenomenon: it became popular when the capitalist system emerged in the late 17th century. Its popularity only spread tremendously again with the development of new media and notably with the development of the web in the last decades of the 20th century. With this definition of storytelling in mind, I  would like to examine how Steele, Addison and Haywood turned the inclusion of narratives in their journals 1 Mr. Spectator declares: “I shall spare no Pains to make their (the readers’) Instruction agreeable, and their Diversion useful. For which reasons I shall endeavour to enliven Morality with Wit and to temper wit with Morality” (S I, 10, 44) while the Female Spectator argues: “The sole Aim of the following Pages is to reform the Faulty, and give an innocent Amusement to those who are not so” (FS I, bk. 1, 7.). All references to The Tatler, The Spectator and The Female Spectator will be signaled by the respective letters T, S and FS. 2 For the Spectator, see Nicholas Phillipson 1993 and Lawrence E. Klein 2005, 108–26. For the Female Spectator see Kathryn R. King 2006 and 2012. 3 Read Christian Salmon 2007, introduction, 2.

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into storytelling. I will first show that both journals first rejected the original oral form of telling stories to make the narrative process a visual one. Secondly, I contend that despite their title stressing the visual element in the periodicals, the Spectator and the Female Spectator did not connect vision and storytelling in the same way. Each of these periodicals had different theories of the imagination, which made them adopt a different attitude to truth and fiction. This in turn conditioned their choice of narratives as well as their use of it. Subsequently, we will show that the Female Spectator did not simply imitate the Whig storytelling method of the Spectator. It created an alternative Tory-leaning one. I will try to assess how successful each was.

Orality and the Evils of Telling Stories Steele and Addison wrote little on storytelling but when they did, it was systematically to criticize the faults of storytellers. For Richard Steele, in the Tatler, a periodical which supposedly praised orality and already inserted short fictions to convince the readers, a story teller was a coffeehouse speaker who concentrated all sorts of defects, the smallest of them being dullness: […] it is not only publick Places of resort, but private Clubs and conversations over a Bottle, that are infested with this loquacious Kind of Animal, especially with that Species which I comprehend under the Name of a Story-Teller. […] I would likewise lay it Home to their serious Consideration, Whether they think that every Man in the Company has not a Right to speak as well as themselves? And whether they do not think they are invading another Man’s Property, when they engross the Time which should be divided equally amongst the Company to their own private use? These Humdrum Companions seldom endeavour to wind up their Narrations into a Point of Mirth or instruction, which might make amends for the tediousness of them […] They look upon Matter of Fact to be a sufficient Foundation for a Story, and give us a long Account of Things, not because they are entertaining or surprizing, but because they are true […] I  would establish but one great general Rule to be observed in all Conversation, which is this, That Men should not talk to please themselves, but those that hear them. For the utter Extirpation of these Orators and Story tellers, which I take to be great Pests of Society, I  have invented a watch, which divides the Minutes into twelve parts, […] (T III, 264, 336).

Telling stories is criticised for being a bad form of orality that reveals the moral and social flaws of the orator. A  storyteller is a self-infatuated “pest” and the pleasure he seeks is that of being listened to, disregarding his listeners’ time and interests. Moreover he lacks discernment since he prefers the tediously exact truth to entertainment. This flawed orality reveals major shortcomings since it shows that the orator is not only tiresome but he is also a bad citizen: his sterile

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conversation “invades another man’s property”, one of the sacred principles of the new political settlement derived from the Glorious Revolution. The Spectator confirms this condemnation of storytellers as bad orators. Mr. Spectator criticises the “ordinary storytellers, who are most religiously careful of keeping to the Truth in every particular circumstance of a Narration, whether it concern the main end, or not” (S II, 138, 44). He too shows how a storyteller spoils his narrative by being too precise. Moreover, Addison explains in Spectator no. 538, that the storyteller is detestable because in order to be admired by his audience, he “overleaps the line of probability” (S IV, 421), a fact that makes people aware that the narrative cannot serve as an example to be imitated. What is unpalatable to Mr. Spectator is not so much that he lies, but that his way of narrating makes the narrative unprofitable. Last, like the Tatler that called the storyteller “a loquacious kind of animal” (T III, 264, 336), Mr. Spectator associates storytelling and loquacity. He declares:  “As for news mongers, Politicians, Mimicks, Story-tellers, with other Characters of that nature, which give Birth to Loquacity, they are commonly found among the Men as the Women […]” (S II, 247, 459). This association also signals that the storyteller is a defective citizen. For, as Addison explains in Spectator no. 135: “the English delight in silence” (S II, 135, 32) and have “a natural Aversion to Loquacity” (S II, 135, 33); loquacity is therefore contrary to the English nature. What is more, it was the characteristic of the then archenemy of Englishmen: the French people4. Implicitly therefore, such oral story telling turns the storyteller into a foreigner at best. At worst, it betrays his potential treachery to the nation. Conversely, we understand that reforming how to tell stories is central to the journals because it is linked with the social, moral and political improvement of the nation. We also may conclude that for the storyteller to be good, the truth of the story is not of primary importance. Fiction may be used. What is important is that the manner of telling the story raises the pleasure of the audience in order to instruct it. In other words, storytelling is defined not as a mere aesthetic form to be admired and expected to produce pleasure. It is valued because it is a social and political act that takes the interest of the whole community into account. When it is flawed, as is the case with the storytellers described by the Tatler and the Spectator, it needs reforming. The Spectator therefore is not original because it applies the old device of instructing by inserting stories in the popular press. It

4 Addison calls the French a Nation “so very talkative” in his letter ‘to Henry Newton’ (Graham 1941, 20).

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is original because it turns the press into an instrument of reform of storytellers, and it claims that anyone should strive to be a good storyteller. As the stories that are told in the Spectator simultaneously instruct the reader in the proper art of telling stories, they serve as a reflexive tool that turns the reader into an agent of the seductive and didactic process. The Spectator is also original because it redefines the narrative process, away from its original oral (and purely narrative) connection and gives it a visual nature in order to turn it into storytelling. Thirty years later, Eliza Haywood seems to follow the Spectator’s path. She too defined the act of telling stories in a negative way, linking it with both flawed orality, namely scandalous gossip, and with the moral degeneracy of the storyteller, his “envy or malice” or simply his idleness: “Nothing more plainly shows a weak and degenerate Mind than taking a delight in whispering about every idle story we are told to the prejudice of our Neighbours” (FS, bk. 13, 3). For the Female Spectator, telling stories is also reprehensible because it is associated with social disorder. Storytellers are bad-mannered because they ignore the common rules of civility and politeness. For instance, the Female Spectator recalls the visit of such a storyteller who breaks into the Female Spectator club to share a piece of gossip. She also stresses that storytelling can have dreadful consequences on people’s lives. She illustrates this through the story of Fillamour and Zimenes whose marriage and reputation were destroyed because of such scandalous tell-tales5. Last, the Female Spectator insists that even though storytelling may spread the truth, it is more often synonymous with lies, which is the negative eighteenthcentury definition of telling stories. What is interesting is that, contrary to Addison and Steele, she associates lies and fictions, turning fictional narratives (telling stories) into a particularly dangerous category of lies because they cause pleasure  both to the orator or to the listener:  “Fiction wears a more pleasing garb than truth as indeed it stands in need of flourishes […] and therefore is apt to make a very deep impression, […] or creates a Prejudice in us, which sometimes shuts our eyes against Conviction […]” (FS III, bk. 15, 162), she warns and deplores. So, fiction, which Addison and Steele deemed acceptable because they saw it as a help to raise the pleasure and interest of the audience, a condition they thought essential for a good storytelling, is described and condemned by Haywood as mendacious seduction. Indeed, the Female Spectator makes it clear that a person who embarks on such storytelling is very much akin to the seducer,

5 ‘Fillamour and Zimenes’, FS III, bk. 13, 16–30.

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whose manipulative oratory (and orality) is likely to lure the naive listener into taking the wrong decisions. It is highly significant that when dealing with lies and their consequences, Haywood ends up dealing with politicians who seem to be the prototypes of the manipulative storyteller. Moved by interest, they are commonly “running from one coffee house to another, whispering a secret they pass around” (FS III, bk. 13, 11). They tell “many absurd and preposterous stories” and make their way to fortune by telling “patriot Lies, Ministerial lies, Lies to beguile the honest Enquirer […]” (FS III, bk. 18, 369). So, like the Spectator, the Female Spectator makes telling stories a reflexive process that involves the reader. Indeed, she advises moralising storytellers so that they give up narrating falsehood for their own private and selfish interests. She advocates telling the truth, which, to her, is the essence of trust and community6. Thus while the Spectator claimed there was a need to reform the manners of storytellers and the way of telling stories to achieve storytelling (defined as moral and political reform), the Female Spectator questions the possibility of moral and political reform through telling stories. She hints that this can only be done by changing the nature of the stories told and by equating storytelling with truth. This is a first difference between the two papers that shows the Female Spectator cannot be depicted as a mere imitator of the Spectator.

Constructing Whig Storytelling If both journals criticized telling stories for being defective forms of orality producing bad citizens, how did they transform telling stories into storytelling? How did they turn their readers into good storytellers? As the title of the Spectator indicates, reforming the people can only be carried out through sight which is, as Addison pointed out in the first essay of the “Pleasures of the Imagination”, the most important sense. “Our Sight is the most perfect and most delightful of all our Senses. It fills the Mind with the largest variety of Ideas, converses with its Objects at the greatest Distance […]” (S III, 411, 535–6). The shift from oral to visual storytelling is mediated in the Spectator through a theory of the imagination which connects the sight, the imagination, and the pleasure of the spectator. “It is this Sense which furnishes the imagination or Fancy, I here mean such as arise from visible Objects, either when we have them actually in our view, or when we call up their ideas into our Minds by Paintings, Statues, Descriptions, or any the like Occasions” (S III, 411, 535–6). This pleasure

6 See FS III, bk. 18, 367–9.

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is created in the mind of the readers by the imaginary visions caused by the gaze and by the gazer’s (or reader’s) ability to transform his visions into ideas. In so doing, the gazer turns fiction into a secondary form of vision. The journal thus rationalises fiction as a natural production of the mind and of the sight of the reader. Such a theory firstly accounts for the fact that the Spectator uses highly visual forms of fictions: Mr. Spectator teaches his readers how to become good storytellers by offering model visual narratives: he writes dream visions, allegories and fables. These visual narrative forms are more likely to affect the reader’s imagination by creating an emotional and aesthetic pleasure that is likely to be turned into correct political and social reasoning. Secondly, this theory blurs the line between facts and fiction: it turns all scenes observed into potential stories that may reform the readers. This blurring also affects the Spectator’s storytelling model. Addison and Steele go so far as to extend this visual storytelling and apply it to the whole of the essays of the Spectator. The Spectator is indeed a metaphor (another image!): it suggests that the periodical is an optical instrument enabling its readers to observe the English society, giving it not only to be seen but also analysed and reformed by causing aesthetic pleasure to the readers. Mr. Spectator publishes essays which he calls “speculations”, a word whose definition shows the visual and imaginary nature of the essay. The Oxford English Dictionary indeed defines the term as follows: “the faculty of seeing; the action of seeing, the observation of the heavens and stars; a spectacular entertainment, the contemplation of profound study of some subject; an opinion reached by abstract reasoning; the action of buying and selling stocks”. Through the genre of the essay, as much as through the various narratives, the Spectator embodies the very act of visual storytelling in all its meanings. This is where the Spectator innovates: fiction is not to be restricted to short stories. As storytelling is vision, so storytelling is synonymous with fiction since all that is seen is likely to be turned into an aesthetic vision. This means that the periodical transforms everyday life into all sorts of literary narratives written by Mr. Spectator or by correspondents. But it also means that the whole journal becomes a work of fiction and must be read as a huge narrative. This is what a French eighteenth-century critic stressed when he commented on the Spectator: “chaque feuille forme une pièce complète dans le tems [sic] même qu’elle fait partie d’un tout, c’est là l’invention de l’Écrivain dont on vient de parler et qui du premier coup semble l’avoir porté à la perfection”7.

7 Nouveau Dictionnaire historique et critique, ‘Addison’, 1753. The idea was borrowed by

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Thirdly, the Spectator equates storytelling and Whiggism. Speculations are intimately connected with the Newtonian philosophy, capitalistic finance and a vision of the world order which clearly upholds the principles of the Glorious Revolution of 1689. The clearest evidence highlighting the connection between the visual and narrative nature of the periodical and its Whig propaganda is essay no. 3, a dream vision staging the allegory of Lady credit: In one of my late Rambles, or rather Speculations, I looked into the great Hall where the Bank is kept, and was not a little pleased to see the Directors, Secretaries, and Clerks, with all other Members of the wealthy Corporation, ranged in several Stations […]. The Thoughts of the Day gave my Mind Employment for the whole Night, so that I fell insensibly into a kind of Methodical Dream, which dispos’d all my Contemplations into a Vision or Allegory, or what else the Reader shall please to call it. Methoughts I returned to the Great Hall where I had been the Morning before, but, to my Surprize, instead of the Company that I left there, I saw towards the Upper-End of the Hall, a beautiful Virgin, seated on a Throne of Gold. Her Name […] was Publick Credit (S I, 3, 14–15).

The narrative was meant to show the disastrous financial consequences of a Stuart restoration on the new capitalistic, speculative regime. Here visual fiction is stretched to its utmost since essay no.  3 is a speculation (an essay, a study) using a speculation (an imaginary vision) to discuss the risks run by speculation (the new financial system). The essay does not only magnify the Whig views of Addison and Steele by turning them into an elegant and entertaining narrative. It also illustrates their conception of true citizenship. The authors put the essay in the service of the common good, using it to entertain readers but also to make the latter aware of the dangers of jacobitism and yield a vision that might give them food for thought and eventually make them react against a Jacobite invasion. The visual narrative aims therefore at turning the readers into good English citizens, that is turning them into Whigs. In this way, Addison and Steele inscribed Whig storytelling at the heart of English periodical journalism.

Turning Visual Storytelling into (S)Torytelling It is undeniable that like the Spectator, the Female Spectator serves as spectacular entertainment and a visual source of instruction because it too gives the gaze a

Thomas Babington Macaulay in his essay “Life and Writings of Addison”: “Every valuable essay in the series may be read with pleasure separately. The five or six hundred essays form a whole, and a whole which has the interest of a novel”, The Edinburgh Review, 1843, 78, 236.

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major role: “What the eye is witness, strikes the most, and makes the most deep and lasting impression” (FS I, bk. 2, 119), the journalist writes. Yet, as Haywood had Tory and Jacobite leanings and wrote prose narratives to oppose the Whig policies, she could not use the same visual storytelling process which was associated with Whig politics. So how did Haywood manage to distinguish her visual storytelling from that of the Spectator in such a way that she would not contradict her own Tory conviction? How different are the stories and the storytelling process she implemented from that of the Spectator? One great difference is the relationship the Female Spectator’s establishes between the gaze and the imagination. Haywood defines the imagination not as a source of pleasure, but as a source of evil. It is significant that, when discussing Mark Akenside’s poem the “Pleasures of the Imagination” which had been released in 1744, Haywood notes that: “[…] it would have been of more general service had these Miseries, which the Powers of Imagination are capable of afflicting, been delineated  with the same Energy and Spirit as the Pleasures of the Imagination” (FS IV, bk. 20, 87)8. She argues that the power of fancy is bad because by creating mendacious fictions, it incites people to behave or to think irrationally. She provides the example of Draxila, whose imagination makes her believe her husband doesn’t love her and who turns termagant (FS I, bk. 6, 345–6). The imagination is thus a destructive power that should be controlled so as to make people see without being dazzled. Haywood argues there are two ways of controlling the imagination: the first is to direct it towards contemplation (another word for thinking about the divinity):  “Imagination”, she argues, “is the source of contemplation” (FS IV, bk. 20, 96). The second is to use the imagination as a tool to imitate what is good: “Let imagination, greatly contribute to works of imitation” (FS IV, bk. 20, 95). This theory of the imagination accounts for the fact that the Female Spectator’s main storytelling strategy is based on contemplative essays rather than on the use of short stories to reform the readers9. Haywood explains: “the Contemplation […] on the Works of Nature affords not only a most pleasing Amusement, but it is the best lesson of Instruction we can read, whether it be applied to the Improvement of our Divine or Moral Duties […]” (FS III, bk. 15, 153)10. Her essays are narratives because they describe the natural world, and in doing so, 8 The same idea is repeated in FS IV, bk. 20, 96. 9 Kathryn Shevelow for instance maintains that “fiction is the primary vehicle for instruction in the Female Spectator” (1989, 172). 10 On the link between natural philosophy and the divine, read also bk. 15, 162. Haywood devotes a large section of book 20 to an essay on astronomy.

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they indirectly narrate God’s creation. This narration triggers contemplation and brings the readers closer to god and to the godly order11. The Female Spectator devotes several long essays to natural philosophy, to the immortality of the soul, to astronomy, to geography. Secondly, this theory of the imagination also indicates that didactic visual writing should be based on factual truth and should do no more than copy reality  so as to provide the reader with examples. This excludes the use of such fictional narratives as “fabulous account of real facts” because “instead of informing the mind, (they) are the most corrupters of it and are much worse than romances” (FS IV, bk. 23, 254). Indeed, unlike the Spectator, the Female Spectator does not resort to allegories, to dream visions, to oriental tales, nor to any romance. Instead, the journal relies on historical narratives. History is particularly recommended by the journal because it combines entertainment with instruction leading to meditation: It cannot fail to engage the Mind to Attention, and affording the strongest principles through Examples. […] the various Events which the struggle for Liberty against arbitrary power have produc’d […] afford an ample Field for Contemplation, and at the same time too much Pleasure to leave room for any Amusements of a low and trifling Nature (FS II, bk. 10, 243).

One may read the whole Female Spectator as a history book patching together different historical narrative forms that offer a picture of the world to the readers and lead them to contemplate the Divine. Indeed, all the narrative genres in the Female Spectator – the travel narrative12, the biographies of eminent persons13, the chivalric tale14 and most of all the domestic tale15  – are conceived as subcategories of history and they bear the stamp of historical veracity. The Female Spectator for instance justifies the inclusion of a travel account on Sumatra, stating that “truth is not loose” in such texts (FS III, bk. 18, 334). She moreover explains that “Books of travels are also beneficial to the understanding, and enable us to relish and retain History the better” (FS III, bk. 15, 172). In the same 11 See bk. 15 where she writes: “there is nothing more entertaining, or more profitable to the Mind, that the Study of Natural Philosophy […] a sincere and ardent Love of God would be conveyed to us through our Admiration of his Works, and the Benefit we receive by them”, 157–8. 12 In FS III, bk. 18, 337–63, Haywood provides a long travel narrative to the island of Sumatra. 13 See the biographies of the queens of Spain and of Austria in FS II, bk. 9, 185–92. 14 See the tale of the troubadour Jeffrey Ruddel in FS II, bk. 12, 383–4. 15 There are forty-two such narratives in the Female Spectator.

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way, all the domestic narratives aim to mirror the history of individuals. To a correspondent who blamed the journalist for dealing with domestic stories only, she answered: “Many little Histories, it is true, have been interspers’d, but then they are only such as serve to enforce Precept by Example, and make the beauty of Virtue, and the Deformity of Vice sink deeper into the Reader’s Mind” (FS II, bk. 8, 125). Stories have become histories, a blurring of fiction and reality that was not uncommon in those days, but that confirms the Female Spectator’s will to historicize narratives rather than to fictionalise them. Historicising narratives in turn affects the aesthetic nature of the narratives. It is striking that these realistic narratives in the Female Spectator are predominantly pessimistic in tone16. The heroines are either systematically punished for their mistakes and their ignorance, or they experience a tragic end. They reflect the ruthlessness of eighteenth-century English society towards women. Heroines can only be counterexamples. To historicize the gaze through realistic and historical narratives is also highly political. The vision conveyed in the contemplative essays as well as in the narratives is unmistakenly a Tory-leaning vision of the world. The Female Spectator keeps referring to corruption and to the degeneration of the times which were great Tory themes17:  “To check the enormous growth of luxury, to reform the Morals, and improve the Manners of an Age, by all confess’d degenerate and sunk, are the great Ends for which these Essays were chiefly intended” (FS II, bk. 8, 125). Again, when the eidolon justifies reading geographical essays (incidentally, geography was still a subbranch of history in the eighteenth century), she plainly builds up a Tory vision of the nation’s prosperity based on empire and land property (as opposed to the Whig association of property with commerce and money): “To the Royal Navy we are indebted for the preservation of everything the World calls dear: they are the Bulwarks of our Lawes, Liberties, our Religion, our Estates, and very lives […] To them Britannia owes her Empire over the Seas” (FS III, bk. 15, 171). Furthermore, the Female Spectator’s conception of history, according to which the contemporary world is mirrored by antiquity, reflects the Tory conception of

16 For an analysis of the pessimistic nature of domestic tales in the Female Spectator, read Claire Boulard Jouslin 2000, 350–6. 17 For the Tory main themes in the eighteenth century, see Linda Colley 1982 and Nigel Everett 1994, 12–21, in which he analyses Joseph Butler’s influential Tory Analogy of Religion (1736).

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history as a cyclical process rather than a progressive one18. Such a historical narrative as the amorous correspondence between Emperor Augustus and his mistress Livia is a perfect illustration of the way Haywood uses historical narrative and turns it into contemporary domestic fiction and political comment19. This series of seven supposedly authentic letters is a scathing coded comment on the policies of King George II, also known as George Augustus. Under the guise of history, the Female Spectator mirrors the corruption of the times. History is used as a domestic exemplum and as an agent of moral reform as well as a political discourse. Last, the heroines of the various pessimistic narratives convey the Tory message that women must not follow their selfish interest nor disrupt the moral system of the world intended by God. On the contrary, they must follow the path of virtue and strengthen the social bonds that are at the heart of God’s harmonious pattern by submitting to the prescribed gender hierarchy, by fulfilling their domestic duties as wives and mothers however unappealing this may be. Furthermore, the emphasis on the hardships of female life in domestic narratives also shows that Haywood’s determination not to magnify reality for didactic purposes is political and in direct opposition to the Spectator’s fictionalisation of narratives. Her not using seductive stories is a further indication of Haywood’s condemnation of the Whig capitalistic values dominated by the passions, the imagination and the Whig mode of narrating the world through speculative fiction. Haywood’s ‘contemplations’ therefore come against the Spectator’s ‘speculations’. A case in point is provided by the story of Ariana. Ariana, an acquaintance to the Female Spectator, is a vain girl who expects men to fulfill their promise of dying for her and who seeks only her own pleasure until she is ruined and deserted by all. Ariana ends up as a servant subjected to the constant mortification of her mistresses, a condition that she bears with patience. Her forbearance leads the Female Spectator to make this typical Tory comment: […] she submitted to everything with a patience, which, some imagined, came pretty near Stupidity; but I am of a different way of thinking, and call it Reason and Resignation to the Divine Will […] Ariana […] proved, […] that the seeds of Religion and Virtue were thicksown in her soul […] I am told that she has now not only Religion enough to

18 “Nothing new under the sun”, she writes in FS II, bk. 15, 161. On the Tory view of history, see Philip Hicks 1996. On Haywood’s Tory conception of history, see my contribution (2010). 19 See FS IV, bk. 20, 113–22.

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Claire Boulard Jouslin make her sincerely penitent […] but also philosophy enough to relate and make a jest of those Follies in herself […] (FS IV, bk. 24, 371–3).

The narrative tells therefore the story, or rather history of a “reformed coquet”, of a girl who was initially intoxicated by romantic fictions and who, through hardship, rediscovers her original virtuous nature and finds the path to divine contemplation. This history is the pessimistic adaptation of a similar story published by Addison in 1713 in the Guardian, another periodical which included numerous Whig narratives20. In the Guardian, the tale has a happy ending:  the heroine who has become a servant is not only aware of her past folly but she is socially redeemed by marrying a former lover who was moved by her plight. Although the writer insists it is a true story, the sudden marriage of the girl functions as the work of a “deus ex machina” and reinforces the fictional dimension of the narrative. Addison provides a pleasing aesthetic picture of reality which is likely to strike the readers’ imagination and to prompt them to ponder over the dangers of vanity. On the contrary, Haywood rejects this Whig fictionalisation of reality because it is seductive and inaccurate. She sticks to the harsh reality even though it is unpleasant to read: “It has always been a maxim with the Female Spectator not to sooth even the smallest error” (FS IV, bk. 24, 361). Instead she shows that there is no social redemption for female individuals who have strayed. The only reasonable prospect women have is resignation to God’s will, and ultimately, if they resume the path of virtue, lonely contemplation. This example illustrates how both periodicals could produce different modes of storytelling from the same visual root. It also shows in a spectacular way that the Female Spectator does more than simply imitate the old Spectator storytelling device and apply it to a female journal. Haywood was in fact trying to subvert the old storytelling Whig model to create a Tory one.

Conclusion Both periodicals, as we have seen, implemented very elaborate forms of storytelling because they abolished the hierarchy between storyteller and audience. They also annihilated the suspicion that the reader might be manipulated by narrative seduction. And they transferred the seductive process from editors to readers by turning them into correspondents.

20 The Guardian, 159, 519–21.

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Did their strategy work equally well? Obviously, telling stories did produce storytelling in both periodicals. It is undeniable that the Spectator’s storytelling attracted a prodigious number of correspondents who tried to produce visual storytelling in their turn. Mr. Spectator boasted that correspondents had sent him so many dream visions that “Had I printed everyone that came to my Hands, my Book of Speculations would have been little else but a Book of Visions” (S IV, 524, 365). What he did not admit though was that the authors rejected any form of criticism of the visual narrative sent in by readers. Such criticism was put aside and never published21. Those who challenged the Spectator’s storytelling method were excluded from the journal’s narrative community. One should therefore be cautious when discussing the efficiency of the storytelling method in the Spectator. By contrast, although the number of contributions allegedly sent by correspondents was also quite high in the Female Spectator, reflecting a degree of agreement with her method and her ideas, Haywood acknowledged that her venture did not produce universal approval. She even concludes the Female Spectator answering criticism from some of her readers: “Many of the subscribers […] complain that I have deviated from the entertaining Method I set out with at first […] that I moralize too much, and that I give them too few tales” (FS IV, bk. 24, 362). Such criticism reveals the difficulty to invent a coherent Tory storytelling that shuns aesthetic pleasure. It also highlights the power of the Whig storytelling model and the difficulty to surpass it.

Sources Bayle, Pierre: Nouveau Dictionnaire historique et critique. ‘Addison’. Amsterdam: Chatelain 1753. Boulard Jouslin, Claire: Presse et socialisation féminine en Angleterre de 1690 à 1750. Paris: l’Harmattan 2000. Boulard Jouslin, Claire: “‘Augustus Caesar to Livia Drusilla’: Théorie(s) de l’Histoire dans le Female Spectator d’Eliza Haywood. Comment les femmes écrivent l’histoire ?”. Études Épistémè 17 (2010),  ; DOI: . Colley, Linda: In Defiance of Oligarchy: the Tory Party 1714–1760. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1982.

21 The volume of rejected letters, which Charles Lillie later published reveals that some were critical of the Spectator. See Charles Lillie 1725, II, letter 118, 299–300.

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Everett, Nigel: The Tory View of Landscape. New Haven: Yale University Press 1994. Graham, Walter (ed.): Addison’s Letters. Oxford: Clarendon Press 1941. Hicks, Philip: Neoclassical History and English Culture, from Clarendon to Hume. London: Macmillan 1996. King, Kathryn R.: “Patriot or Opportunist?: Eliza Haywood and the Politics of the Female Spectator”. In: Fair Philosopher. Eliza Haywood and the Female Spectator. Donald J. Newman/Lynn Marie Wright. Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press 2006, 104–121. King, Kathryn R.: A Political Biography of Eliza Haywood. London: Pickering and Chatto 2012. Klein, Lawrence E.: “Joseph Addison’s Whiggism”. In: ‘Cultures of Wiggism’. New Essays on English Literature and Culture in the long Eighteenth Century. David Womesley/Paddy Bullard/Abigail Williams. Newark: Delaware University Press 2005, 108–126. Lillie, Charles (ed.): Original Letters to the Tatler and to the Spectator. London 1725, 2 vols. Macaulay, Thomas Babington: “Life and Writings of Addison”. Edinburgh Review (July 1843), 190–260. Phillipson, Nicholas: “Politics and politeness in the reign of Anne”. In: The Varieties of British Political Thought, 1500–1800. John Greville Agard Pocock (ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1993, 211–245. Salmon, Christian: Storytelling, La Machine à fabriquer des histoires et à formater les esprits. Paris: La Découverte 2007. Salmon, Christian : Ces Histoires qui nous gouvernent: De Sarkozy à Obama. Paris: J.C. Gawsewitch 2012. Shevelow, Kathryn: Women and Print Culture. London: Routledge 1989. The Female Spectator. London: T. Gardner 1745, 4 vols. The Guardian. John Calhoun Stephens (ed.). Kentucky: The University Press of Kentucky 1987. The Spectator. Donald F. Bond (ed.). Oxford: Clarendon Press 1965, 5 vols. The Tatler. Donald F. Bond (ed.). Oxford: Clarendon Press 1987, 3 vols.

Joseph Chaves

The Pastoral in Motion: Sociability in the Spectator To address the “common Fault […] of growing too intimate, and falling into displeasing Familiarities”, Steele pens a series of essays in the Tatler. “One would pass over patiently such as converse like animals, and salute each other with bangs on the shoulder, sly raps with canes, and other robust pleasantries practiced by the rural gentry of this nation”, but Isaac Bickerstaff finds a version of this behavior “even among those who should have more polite ideas of things”: Londoners too often “invert the design of conversation” by purposely and jocularly giving offense to one another, out of “an unjust sense of the art of being intimate and familiar” (T III, 225, 172)1. In the first of the series, Bickerstaff comments on a letter he has received from a Lysander, who “has writ to me out of the Country”, in order to complain of the injudicious interruption of his rural repose. Having, “after a long Satiety of the Town, […] been so happy as to get to a Solitude he extremely liked”, Lysander sits in the shade by the bank of a rivulet to read Virgil’s Georgics—only to be disturbed by “an indiscreet Flatterer”. The intruder disturbs Lysander’s doubly rustic reading in order to do two things: first, to commend Lysander on the virtue he displays in seeking rural retirement, and, second, in case we didn’t pick up on the irony, to complain “[w]‌e wanted you at Cards after Dinner” (T III, 215, 130). In this essay, I want to observe the extent to which these challenges arise in novel venues for sociability in early-eighteenth century London and to show how Addison and Steele conceptualize the meanings of urban sociability through the pastoral. Famously, Addison and Steele would bring learning from “Closets” and “Schools” to clubs, “Assemblies”, “Tea-Tables”, and “Coffeehouses” (S I, 10, 44), as well as the pleasure garden (S 383), the stock exchange (S 69), the shop (S 552), and even the hired coach (S 132)2. Of course, we have learned to see this form of translation as central to the Spectator’s project. However, we may not yet have appreciated as robustly the ways that, for Addison and Steele, these sociable venues bring into being new forms of social interaction. The sociable venues that emerge during the period, including not only the coffee house, the tea table, and 1 Parenthetical citations refer to The Tatler, 1987. 2 Parenthetical citations refer to The Spectator, 1965.

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the assembly room, but also the public pleasure garden, the spa, the exhibition hall, and the public coach, render sociable circles broader and more porous. If we can say that salons and clubs, with their regular meetings and restrictive ‘membership’, were characterized by continuity and contiguity, the sociable contexts that interest the Spectator were based on proximity and promiscuity—on vicarious pleasures, ephemeral acquaintances, and anonymous encounters: on social circulation. While these venues raise new challenges for regulating sociability, Addison and Steele display a considerable interest in their ethical and aesthetic potential. In order to trace the continuity, innovation, and instability here, we would do well to follow the ways that Addison and Steele draw on and adapt Early-Modern and eighteenth-century means of figuring polite sociability through the ancient genre of the pastoral. While the refinement required and produced by sociability is often associated with the city, writers from Madame de Scudéry through Shaftesbury had portrayed ‘the company’s’ mutual presence and evolving consensus as taking place in a kind of locus amoenus—a world apart from everyday cares and from the rules of other forms of social interaction. Polite sociability possesses mechanisms for creating consensus not only about the content of discussion, but also, self-reflexively, about the forms of association and interaction. Consequently, the organic social relations of the pastoral country can stand equally for the coming to harmonious agreement about matters discussed or about the metapragmatic terms of the conversation itself: Such moments often oppose the spontaneous, ‘easy’, gratuitous, and ever-fresh nature of polite sociability to the conventionality and instrumentality of the world outside. While ‘the country’ may represent the frame of sociable consensus, however, in other formulations it may represent a situation of exteriority to that frame—i.e., when the company’s sensus communis, or ‘common sense’ is revealed to be illusory, deleterious, or partial: Such moments oppose the artificiality or conventionality of polite agreement to the outsider, whose integrity and autonomy constitute a kind of rural retirement. While the pastoral is perhaps always given to the kinds of variability I describe above3, pastoral representations of sociability in the Tatler and the Spectator are especially rich because, in the burgeoning sociable venues of modern London, the form and scale of sociable groupings is so dynamic. Addison and Steele

3 Here I am indebted to Michael McKeon’s (1998, 279) view of the pastoral’s “investment both in the establishment and in the complicating demolition of dichotomous opposition”.

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employ the pastoral to show how consensus and even copresence come into being, transform, and dissolve in the coffeehouse, coach, and public park. At moments, Addison and Steele discover a new form of community in these urban forms of social relation—one that would replace the pastoral vision of the country’s organic, traditional community with new kinds of social and aesthetic order. At other moments, however, the modern city is figured as the country, because it offers us a renovation of rural retirement, devolving upon the abstraction and estrangement inherent in modern urban social relations. Moreover, the periodical essayists make the significance of the pastoral shift from moment to moment within a single essay. While the pastoral may often be thought of as a kind of anti-narrative genre (privileging stasis, the pre-modern, etc.), the Spectator renders the pastoral in motion. In its representations of venues such as the coffeehouse, the park, the tavern, the shop, or the exchange, the Spectator examines the ways that discussions, shared pleasures, or even just nods or glances open up, evolve, and close down common sociable worlds, each time redrawing the terms of the boundary between ‘country’ and ‘city’ and between nature and culture. Thus, the pastoral becomes in these essays less a context for stories than the object of narrativization. Over the course of the Tatler and the Spectator, Addison and Steele seem to become ever more interested in the positive potential of diffuse forms of sociability. In a very late number, to take a somewhat random example, Mr. Spectator enters a coffeehouse near the Royal Exchange to find three men talking while smoking pipes: “I need not tell my Reader”, he avers, “that lighting a Man’s Pipe at the same Candle, is looked upon among Brother-smokers as an Overture to Conversation and Friendship”. Mr. Spectator then picks up the latest number of the Spectator and initiates an exchange over it (S IV, 568, 539). The paper thus jokes about the openness of coffeehouse conversation, as well as the way openings into it are enabled by goods (especially drugs such as coffee, snuff, tea, and tobacco) and by the paper itself. Still, the problems with “the Art of being intimate and familiar” (T III, 225, 173)—I think the paradox is intentional—do not simply go away. A series of Spectator essays in August, 1711 echoes the Tatler series in complaining of excessive familiarity in shared urban spaces such as the coffeehouse. One letter begins as follows: “Mr. Spectator, / Here’s a young Gentleman that sings OperaTunes or Whistles in a full [coffee] House”. While much of the series is framed as depicting sociable actors being over-familiar, the subsequent injunction to right behavior tips over into a complaint about neglecting sociable presence: “Pray let him know that he has no Right to act here as if he were in an empty Room” (S II, 155, 108).

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The topic opens in a number that recalls the story of Corinna, who we saw inappropriately “jolted and commended in a stage-coach” (T III, 215, 129)  in the Tatler essay that tells the story of Lysander. It does so, however, not only to censure the transgression of what we often call ‘personal space’, but to discuss a more ambiguous and complex relationship between the personal and the impersonal, solitude and mutual presence. The narrative of this essay is less the straightforward movement of Mr. Spectator’s summer trip from London to the country than the coach riders’ negotiation of the personal and impersonal space of the coach. Once the coach had “jumbled us insensibly into some sort of Familiarity”, an army captain takes a widow’s attempts at small-talk for a more significant kind of overture than it is, and begins to court her and her daughter simultaneously, while also regaling the rest of the company with unwelcome, half-bawdy witticisms. While Mr. Spectator responds to the situation by pretending to fall asleep, a Quaker among the company reprimands the Captain, on terms that ambiguously emphasize both the lack of relationship among the coach’s inhabitants and their obligation to display common respect. The essay teaches the kind of behaviors that the sociologist Erving Goffman labeled ‘civil inattention’—which is what we do when we avoid eye contact in elevators, for example: a kind of active minimization of interaction, which in itself is based on consideration for the presence of others in a shared space4. The rest of the trip goes on swimmingly, and Mr. Spectator lets the Quaker draw the moral of the story:  “ ‘There is no ordinary Part of humane Life which expresseth so much a good Mind, and a right inward Man, as his Behaviour upon meeting with Strangers, especially such as may seem the most unsuitable Companions to him’ ” (S II, 132, 24–25). The essay on the coach, bringing Mr. Spectator from London to Sir Roger’s country estate, serves as a kind of hinge between the series on urban improprieties and the series of essays that discuss his time with Sir Roger. The summer papers serve less as a treatment of country life than an extended meditation on modern London by contradistinction. As in the series following the coach, here the focus is on anonymous sociability—in particular, the ways that Mr. Spectator’s persona is constituted within the porous and ever-shifting textures of urban sociable space. The opener in this series finds Mr. Spectator complaining about the lack of anonymity in the country: “It is indeed high time for me to leave the Country”, he reports at the end of July, “since I find the whole Neighbourhood begin to

4 Goffman 1972, 385.

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grow very inquisitive after my Name and Character. My Love of Solitude, Taciturnity, and particular way of Life, having raised a great Curiosity in all these Parts”. Here there is, of course, a pastoral association that provokes light satire in both directions: we recognize with pleasure that rustics engage personally, and that this form of social relation is antithetical to the ways of the eccentric Mr. Spectator and, more generally, to the anonymous forms of encounter increasingly proper to the Town. But this chiasmatic association of solitude with the city figures in the further elaboration of the persona’s critical perspective on social life: “I shall therefore retire into the Town, if I may make use of that Phrase, and get into the Crowd again as fast as I can, in order to be alone” (S II, 131, 20–21). In the city, Mr. Spectator tells us, “I can … raise what Speculations I  please upon others without being observed my self, and at the same time enjoy all the Advantages of Company with all the Privileges of Solitude” (S II, 131, 20–21). The blending of solitude and sociability in the persona of Mr. Spectator gets fuller expression in no. 454, which also employs the pastoral vocabulary of disinterested retirement. It does so by incorporating a series of chance encounters into an extended narrative. The narrative is extraordinarily minimal, and consists essentially of this: Mr. Spectator wanders around London. Mr. Spectator rises at four in the morning, “being restless, not out of Dissatisfaction, but a certain busy Inclination one sometimes has”, and resolves “to rove by Boat and Coach for the next Four and twenty Hours, till the many different Objects I must needs meet with should tire my Imagination, and give me an Inclination to a Repose more profound than I was at that Time capable of ”. So in a sense this is a two-step narrative, opening with a rather minimal kind of tension, and then tracing its gradual cessation over the course of his movement through the city. At the same time, the essay integrates Mr. Spectator’s perambulations into a pastoral framework. It begins by recommending that we “value things only as they are the Objects of Speculation, without drawing any worldly Advantage to themselves from them, but just as they are what contribute to their Amusement, or Improvement of the Mind” (S IV 454, 98). This detached, gratuitous form of engagement consists of taking visual pleasure in London’s bustle as though it were a landscape. On boat, among gardeners headed for market ports, Mr. Spectator observes “it was the most pleasing Scene imaginable […]. The Banks on each Side are as well peopled, and beautiful with as agreeable Plantations, as any Spot on the Earth; but the Thames it self, loaded with the Product of each Shore, added very much to the Landskip” (S IV, 454, 99). Indeed, the landscape is as much georgic as pastoral. Enraptured by this “Variety of Objects”. Mr. Spectator observes that “it was a pleasing Reflection to see the World so prettily chequer’d” (S IV, 454, 99–101).

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Both the essay’s pastoral frame and the narrative structure of alleviating Mr. Spectator’s “busy Inclination” are interwoven with the form of social relationship he experiences during his ramble. The opening, which celebrates the pleasure of “know[ing] a little of the World, and be[ing] of no Character or Significancy in it”, connects the aestheticization of the landscape to Mr. Spectator’s fundamental anonymity. Mr. Spectator indulges this pleasure in a series of interactions so slight as to be scarcely worth of the name: they are chance, ephemeral, slight, oblique, random, and significantly not directed to any end in particular. The exception that proves the rule of the pointlessness of these interactions is an extended episode of flirting with an anonymous woman, conducted entirely from within their respective coaches, as they drive over a complicated itinerary through the city. The game begun, Mr. Spectator’s coachman needs no more than a “Wink to pursue”, and both coachmen know the routine in advance: by hand signals, they “give Intelligence where they are driving”, and they “[take] Care to meet, justle, and threaten each other for Way, and to be intangled at the End of Newport-street and Long-Acre”. Eventually, after “an Hour and an Half ” of this, “my Lady was conveniently lost with Notice from her Coachman to ours to make off, and he should hear where she went”. Mr. Spectator learns later that the woman is a “Silk-Worm” (S IV, 454, 100–01)—one who mulls over goods at a shop without buying—and thus her style of consumption parallels their fruitless, impersonal eroticism. The pointlessness is the point, however, as Steele treats his circumambulations as a kind of exercise in recognition, or translation: at the end of the essay, after perambulating from Covent Garden to the Exchange, Mr. Spectator returns to his chamber, but finds himself “at a Loss what Instruction I  should propose to my Reader from the Enumeration of so many insignificant Matters and Occurrences”. He then asks readers, only half-jokingly, to consider the anonymous encounters that he relates as a form of polite sociability, requiring all of the attention, restraint, and mutual deference of the drawing-room conversation. If readers could “learn with me to keep their Minds open to Gratification”—as we’ve just seen Mr. Spectator do in his ramble—then “[t]‌his one Circumstance will make every Face you see give you the Satisfaction you now take in beholding that of a Friend; will make every Object a pleasing one; will make all the Good which arrives to any Man, an Encrease of Happiness to your self ” (S IV, 454, 103). The gratuitous nature of face-to-face polite sociability may be imaginatively transferred to the most minimal discussions, city walking, riding, and above all looking. Indeed, Steele confesses “an odd Humour I am guilty of, and was often that Day, which is saluting any Person whom I like, whether I know him or not. This is a Particularity would be tolerated in me, if they considered

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that the greatest Pleasure I know I receive at my Eyes, and that I am obliged to an agreeable Person for coming abroad into my View, as another is for a Visit of Conversation at their own Houses” (S IV, 454, 98). It’s possible, of course, to think of the papers’ persona as eccentric in this regard as in so many others. He may take pleasure in mixing, in half-disappearing into the urban throng so as to observe it critically and impartially, but we, lacking this task, move through the city happily embodied and either alone or with others. But, as I’ll suggest, the paper is fascinated with this form of encounter not only for shaping Mr. Spectator’s critical perspective, and not even only as a form of encounter that is liable to certain abuses, but also as a form of encounter in itself, which constitutes new forms of relation. This kind of interaction is fascinating to Addison and Steele, first of all, for its dynamism—for the way it brings forms of active, improvisatory co-presence into being and then watches them disappear again. And yet this on-again, off-again form of relation rarely winds up just where it started. Spectator, no. 383, for example, tells a story about the ways that urban experience generates and dissolves frames for sharing experience—obliquely, ephemerally, among strangers. The essay evokes the relationship between diffuse sociability and the pastoral not only because it involves Mr. Spectator and Sir Roger, but also because of its setting: as a pleasure garden, a form of rus in urbe, or ‘country in the city’, Vauxhall brings pastoral oppositions into play, but does so in a heightened, dialectical way, since its separation of ‘nature’ from ‘culture’ may itself be viewed as artificial. Vauxhall also, of course, exhibits anonymous sociability in spades5. And indeed the story told here is about the ways that common understandings of sociable interaction are available and elusive, made and unmade. As Mr. Spectator and Sir Roger head out on their visit to Vauxhall, the former recalls Sir Roger’s “Custom of saluting every Body that passes by him with a Good-morrow or a Good-night”. Explicitly tagging this tendency as a rural custom—it makes Sir Roger “popular among all his Country Neighbours” (S III, 383, 437)—Addison establishes the basic premise of the entire vignette: Sir Roger attempts, with city strangers, forms of relation that would make sense with familiars at his country estate, but here produce a stark and comic disjunction, culminating in the following. […] to the Knight’s great Surprize, as he gave the Good-night to two or three young Fellows a little before our Landing, one of them, instead of returning the Civility, asked

5 See Borsay 2012 and Ogborn 1998, 116–57.

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Joseph Chaves us what queer old Put we had in the Boat, and whether he was not ashamed to go a Wenching at his Years? (S III, 383, 437–38).

When the sound of birdsong recalls “a little Coppice by his House in the Country”, Sir Roger waxes poetic:  “Ah, Mr. Spectator! the many Moon-light Nights that I have walked by my self, and thought on the Widow by the Musek of the Nightingales!” On cue, “a Mask” approaches the knight and asks him “if he would drink a Bottle of Mead with her”. Echoing the boatman’s mistaken suspicions, this encounter violates Sir Roger’s romanticized vision of the park as pastoral idyll. In turn, Sir Roger, “startled at so unexpected a Familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his Thoughts of the Widow, told her, She was a wanton Baggage, and bid her go about her Business”. While the woman’s unwanted familiarity echoes Sir Roger’s easy, but in effect inappropriate sense of familiarity with other frequenters of Vauxhall, his injunction that she “go about her Business”, with its connotation of negotium, sounds against the presumed otium of his romantic and romanticized vision of the park. Indeed, it refers fairly specifically (if ‘unintentionally’) to the promiscuous mixing of the park as an auspicious setting for spontaneous anonymous assignations. Leaving the garden with Mr. Spectator, Sir Roger, “thinking himself obliged, as a Member of the Quorum, to animadvert upon the Morals of the Place, told the Mistress of the House […] That he should be a better Customer to her Garden, if there were more Nightingales, and fewer Strumpets” (S III, 383, 437–39). This last formulation expresses in condensed form the way that Sir Roger’s naïve idealization of the park allows him to shift seamlessly between country fellowship and solitary contemplation. The knight’s penchant for personal salutations resembles Mr. Spectator’s “odd Humour”, during his famous 24-hour ramble through London, written three months later, of “saluting any Person whom I like, whether I know him or not”. However, while Mr. Spectator’s ramble builds, in imagination, on the analogy between anonymous frequentation and the sociable visit, Sir Roger’s patently archaic way of relating is an attempt to literalize the park’s pastoralism as the social world of the country. In the revelation of what appears to be ‘natural’ to Sir Roger as out of place or lacking propriety, what comes into relief is the work of propriety proper to the interactions of this milieu. Considering the Spectator’s setting of pastoral in motion means questioning several forms of systematization or abstraction that we’ve become fond of in reading the eighteenth century—or, rather, to open up questions about the dynamic relation between the period’s own burgeoning forms of abstraction and the phenomena those forms sought to render intelligible. Having learned to

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question the Spectator’s various assertions of naturalness, we often overlook their irony and complexity. In terms of Addison and Steele’s treatments of sociability in particular, I have sought to show, ‘pastoralism’ functions as a mode of oppositional thinking through which each category—‘country’ and ‘city’, nature and culture—implies its opposite. The consensus of sociable interaction turns from a set of unexamined a priori understandings (which therefore appear as nature) into the particular, conventional social expectations of a limited group (culture). But this demystification invites us, in turn, into a position of exteriority to that now limited consensus (nature), or else into a new form of rapprochement, giving us a new, surprising, seemingly spontaneous form of consensus (another nature). The Spectator offers us less the opportunity to persist in any one of these moments than training in experiencing their collision.

Sources Borsay, Peter: “Pleasure Gardens and Urban Culture in the Long Eighteenth Century”. In Jonathan Conlin (ed.): The Pleasure Garden: From Vauxhall to Coney Island. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press 2012. Goffman, Erving: Relations in Public. New York: Penguin 1972. McKeon, Michael: “The Pastoral Revolution”. In: Kevin Sharpe/Steven N. Zwicker (eds.): Refiguring Revolutions: Aesthetics and Politics from the English Revolution to the Romantic Revolution. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press 1998. Ogborn, Miles Spaces of Modernity: London’s Geographies, 1680–1780. London: The Guilford Press 1998, 116–57. The Spectator. Donald F. Bond (ed.). Oxford: Clarendon Press 1965, 5 vols. The Tatler. Donald F. Bond (ed.). Oxford: Clarendon Press 1987, 3 vols.

Amélie Junqua

Embroidering the Loose Dress of the Spartan Maids—Text, Sex, and Textile for Joseph Addison At the beginning of the eighteenth century, the co-author of the Spectator attracted the attention of the Republic of Letters and more generally that of the reading public by diverse achievements. With the new format of the periodical essay Joseph Addison developed accessible literary and philosophical discourses, as well as original aesthetic canons such as the pleasures of the imagination or his distinction between true and false wit; all the while successfully steering the Spectator, selling up to 3,000 copies at its peak and reaching an estimate of 60,000 readers per day. But Joseph Addison must also be remembered today for less obvious characteristics, the most interesting of which remains his obsession with feminine garments. The entirety of the feminine wardrobe is not only a favourite topic of his, but a text per se wherein the threads of desire and repression run more or less seamlessly. Shoes and stockings are mentioned when the observer glimpses the ankle of a fair passenger as she is stepping out of a coach (Spectator IV, 377, 416)1. Garters are evoked through real or fictitious letters from female readers, or more precisely matrons (Tatler II, 151, 348) and audacious coquettes (Spectator II, 217, 345). Feminine clothing, it would seem, provides the author with a variety of shapes, colours and meanings. The shift, petticoat and tucker, the various forms of headgear and cosmetics, the confusing array of accessories such as  fans, patches, handkerchiefs, ribbons, masks, snuff-boxes, muffs and gloves—these and even more unlikely props2 pepper the Addisonian prose. The purpose of this paper will therefore be to expose the double nature of cloth as textile and text especially as it concerns the female body. A thorough inventory of each and every article of clothing within the Addisonian periodicals would require far more scope than a simple paper allows. Therefore the focus 1 This particular essay remains a prophetic vision of the far more lurid pictures one may find today in The Sun or The Daily Mirror where show business personalities stumble out of taxis in various degrees of inebriation and dishabille. 2 “Two Sets of Ivory Teeth […], and One Pair of Box for common Use” may be found in Steele’s essay (Tatler III, 245, 245).

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of this study shall be restricted to a single, unexpected item for an eighteenthcentury journalist: the tunic of Spartan maids under the rule of Lycurgus. Indeed over the course of centuries this dress has stimulated an enduring and mostly male discourse—as will be shown, a tale of excess and lack, desire and taboo. The selection of this particular garment was motivated by an intriguing fact; Addison has twice exploited this flimsy piece of fabric, in two different periodicals. One may wonder whether his second interpretation still reveals the same content or expresses the very opposite, that is, the death of desire in satiation and control.

Text, Sex and Textile Addison took care to obey the principle of “variety” in his essays and avoided recycling older essays if he could, preferring to bombard his readers with an unceasing flow of information, fiction, poems and quotations. But twice in the course of his periodical writing Addison used a single anecdote from Plutarch, in the Tatler and Guardian. As will be demonstrated this is no repetition, nor the sign of a paucity of invention. Addison found a renewed and altogether different source of inspiration in the same material—an anecdote from Plutarch’s Lives concerning Lycurgus’ laws on education and focusing on an obvious instance of sexually explicit textile communication. It is very likely, for reasons that shall be stated below, that Addison should have first encountered it as a French quotation in Pierre Bayle’s Dictionnaire, both in the French (Amsterdam 1702) edition which he had bought at the end of his Grand Tour and in the 1710 translation which appears in the sale catalogue of his library (Leigh and Sotheby 1799, 11). According to Plutarch, Lycurgus is supposed to have introduced Agoge among the younger Spartan population—a rigorous martial and moral training of all male citizens from the age of seven. Girls and maids were exempted from such ordeals yet subjected to public and physically demanding activities. He ordered the maidens to exercise themselves with wrestling, running, hurling the discus, and throwing the javelin, to the end that the fruit they conceived might, in strong and healthy bodies, take firmer root and find better growth, and withal that they, with this greater vigor, might be the more able to undergo the pain of child-bearing. And to the end he might take away their over-great tenderness and fear of exposure to the air, and all acquired womanishness, he ordered that the young women should go naked in the processions, as well as the young men, and dance, too, in that condition, at certain solemn feasts, singing certain songs, whilst the young men stood around, seeing and hearing them […]. Nor was there any thing shameful in this nakedness of the young women; modesty attended them, and all wantonness was excluded. It taught

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them simplicity and a care for good health, and gave them some taste of higher feelings, admitted as they thus were to the field of noble action and glory […]. These public processions of the maidens, and their appearing naked in their exercises and dancings, were incitements to marriage, operating upon the young with the rigor and certainty, as Plato says, of love, if not of mathematics (Plutarch, trans. Clough 1868 I, chap. 14, 101–2).

Thus if Plutarch is to be trusted, on some occasions during the year Spartan maids did not wear any clothing. He uses the word gymnos, meaning “nude”. For the rest of the year, maids did not wear the ankle-length, folded peplos but a simpler tunic slit on the thigh to allow for more freedom of movement. A possible illustration of it is a bronze statue held in the British Museum collections.

Picture: 520BC–500BC; Made in Laconia (?); Bronze figure of a running girl © Trustees of the British Museum3

Throughout the Hellenic world no other city ever allowed women to be so scantily clad, much less publicly naked; accordingly, Athenians made fun of Spartan maids by calling them phaenomerides or “thigh-showers”, and later on in the course of literature Spartan maids acquired a reputation for wantonness. 3 http://britishmuseum.org

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The most relevant illustration of the phenomemon is the string of quotations collected and commented upon by Pierre Bayle in his “Licurgue” article. Il voulut que les jeunes filles fissent les memes exercices que faisaient les jeunes garcons; et qu’elles dansassent toutes nues devant eux, et se moquassent d’eux, ou les louassent, selon qu’ils s’acquittaient mal ou bien de ce qu’ils avaient à faire. Notez qu’ils étaient tout nus devant elles. N’était-ce pas le moyen de les rendre dévergondées? Et se faut-il étonner après cela, que les filles de Lacédémone aient été en si mauvaise reputation? (Bayle 1702, ed. 1820 IX, 218). He ordered the young maids to practise the same exercises as the young boys, and to dance stark naked before them and to mock them or praise them according as they did their task well or poorly. You may note that the boys were stark naked before them. Was this not a way to make the girls wanton? And after that need one be surprised that the Spartan maids should have been held in such low repute?

It is therefore to be doubted that the above-mentioned statue actually illustrated the real garb of a typical Spartan maid, for if it were a true representation of the phaenomerides, the expression would be relatively chaste—the running maid here not only discloses her leg by lifting her skirt (thus materializing the jibe) but is also baring her bosom, of which nothing is mentioned in the word phaenomerides. One might conclude that the statue is an exaggerated caricature of a swift, or racy, Spartan maid. Pierre Bayle uses a similar argument against learned translators who claimed that the tunic only covered the maids’ backsides. In the course of these interminable footnotes of his, Pierre Bayle gleefully demonstrates that throughout the centuries treasures of erudition, time and reflection have been spent on a very nice point of dressmaking—“how long and how stitched was the Spartan maids’ tunic?” Il n’y a personne qui ne comprenne fort aisément, que si leur jupe, qui était fendue des deux côtés, sans être cousue au bas des fentes, ne fût descendue qu’un peu au dessous des fesses, elles eussent fait beaucoup pis que montrer la cuisse, quand elles eussent marché; de sorte que les poëtes, qui avaient en ce temps-là plus de liberté qu’aujourd’hui de s’exprimer grossièrement, leur eussent donné une épithète beaucoup plus forte que n’est celle de phaenomerides, montreuses de cuisses. Il n’est pas nécessaire d’éclaircir plus amplement cette pensée (Bayle 1702, ed. 1820 IX, 233). It is impossible for anyone not to understand very easily that had their skirt, which was slit on both sides without any stitches at the end of the slits, reached only slightly below their buttocks, they would have done far worse than showing their thighs as they walked along; therefore poets, who in those days had a greater license than today to express themselves in a lewd manner, would have bestowed upon them a far stronger epithet than what phaenomerides, thigh-showers, is. One need not explain this thought any further.

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Addison was an avid reader of Bayle’s Dictionnaire, to which he was said to refer as he dictated his periodical essays (Bohn 1856 IX, 732). Moreover he did not read Greek as well as Latin. Therefore we may assume that Pierre Bayle’s article told him everything he needed to know about the indecent interpretation of the tunic. Unsurprisingly when Addison translated the anecdote into his periodicals he neither mentioned the occasional nudity of the Spartan maids nor their appalling reputation. Rather than describe the maids he chose to characterize their clothing instead, keeping the evocative adjective “loose” as a probable reminder for his male, educated readers. It was an Instruction of a wise Lawgiver, That unmarried Women should wear such loose Habits, which in the flowing of their Garb should incite their Beholders to a desire of their Persons; and that the ordinary Motion of their Bodies might display the Figure and Shape of their Limbs in such a Manner, as at once to preserve the strictest Decency, and raise the warmest Inclinations. This was the Oeconomy of the Legislator for the Increase of People, and at the same Time for the Preservation of the Genial Bed. She who was the Admiration of all who beheld her while unmarried, was to bid Adieu to the Pleasure of Shining in the eyes of many as soon as she took upon her the Wedded Condition (Tatler III, 184, 4–5).

Thus snatched from Plutarch’s prose, the Spartan maids no longer run, but amble gracefully into the periodical essay. Apart from their nudity, Addison has also edited the emphasis on their health and physical exertion; the “running, wrestling, hurling [of] the discus, and throwing [of] the javelin”—rather improper activities for fashionable British ladies—have dwindled into “ordinary Motion”. By this description one might think readers are encouraged to believe that maids were at that time engaged in a permanent activity of strip-tease, sauntering about the streets of Sparta with the classical equivalent of a French “déshabillé” until their marriage, at which time they were thankfully allowed to sport warmer clothing. Framed in this mild edited context, the “loose” garment acquires far more sexual undertones than the simple, pragmatic tunics. By the very fact that neither the “Garb” nor the maids’ bodies are described—Addison only offers the vague expressions of “their persons”, “bodies” and “limbs”—the imagination of readers necessarily takes charge and fills, as it were, the gaps. Like a verbal sign, the tunic simultaneously hides and shows their unmentionable bodies. The flowing, loose cloth “displays” the taboo of flesh as much as it screens it; and textile is the only object Addison allows himself to put onto paper. Furthermore, the author hides the erotic power of the body behind the grammatical structures of his sentences. In the above-quoted paragraph, it is the regular pace of the maids’ steps, rather than their bodies, which is named as the cause of their allurement.

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As it covers or reveals its wearers, the tunic inspires a confusing waltz of emotions in the observer’s mind: “raise the warmest Inclinations […] preserve the strictest Decency”. One may wonder how a garment may simultaneously remain strictly decent and inspire sexual desire; Addison declines to comment. Indeed, readers are led into perplexing reflections by the vagueness of the whole paragraph rather more than by its subject. One may note that readers are left in the dark as regards the second part of the anecdote. “Bid Adieu” signals a change in outward appearance that is simply not explained and Addison here seems to have hurriedly translated Bayle’s article: Elles n’avaient la permission de montrer ainsi leurs parties, qu’afin de trouver un homme; car dès qu’elles étaient mariées, elles disaient adieu aux nudités (Bayle 1702, ed. 1820 IX, 221). They were only allowed to show their parts so as to find a man, for as soon as they were wedded they would bid adieu to nudity.

Finally if the two parts of the anecdote are compared one may observe that the description of the maids’ tunic requires more words (68) than its matronly counterpart (60)—the less textile, the more text. Addison may have felt the need to re-write the anecdote to refine this first version that had led him into an altogether different contemplation.

Desire and Control The second version of the anecdote of the Tatler (June 13, 1710) occurs some three years later in the Guardian 100 (July 6, 1713). This particular number represents an important editorial move of Addison’s—in the first hundred essays Steele’s essays could at times verge on the political pamphlet. Addison rather chose to publish lighter contributions, pursuing more humorous veins. Number 100 is thus a decisive break or change in tone. From the very first paragraph, the readers are firmly weaned off politics to focus on a more mundane subject, the lady’s tucker. There is a certain Female Ornament by some called a Tucker, and by others the Neckpiece, being a slip of fine Linnen or Muslin that used to run in a small kind of ruffle round the uppermost Verge of the Womens Stays, and by that means covered a great part of the Shoulders and Bosom (Guardian 100, 355).

Strictly speaking, the description never strays from the subject of clothes. But it undeniably retains a certain erotic charm as it mainly deals with the frontier between nudity and clothing—the place where skin and textile meet (a “slip of linen”, a “small kind of ruffle”, the “uppermost Verge” of the stays). Such a studied

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observation of ladies’ garments must immediately appeal to the senses of male readers. As the essay runs on, the female body becomes an uncharted territory where adventurous she-pioneers or Amazons bravely push the hem, or frontier, further. In proportion as Age refined, the Dress still sunk lower, so that when we now say a Woman has a handsome Neck, we reckon into it many of the adjacent Parts. The disuse of the Tucker has still enlarged it, insomuch that the Neck of a fine Woman at present takes in almost half the Body. Since the Female Neck thus grows upon us, and the Ladies seem disposed to discover themselves to us more and more, I would fain have them tell us once for all how far they intend to go, and whether they have yet determined among themselves where to make a Stop (Guardian 100, 355).

Unsurprisingly, Addison finds the idea of women as tracts of unconquered land disquieting. Marriage, that is, the lawful disposal of women—their souls, bodies and chattels—upholds a crucial principle of society—the uncontested ownership and inheritance of property. The versatile fashions that shrink feminine garments therefore disrupt the processes of courtship; they divert transactions and devaluate the standards of the marriage market. What most troubles and indeed surprizes me in this Particular, I  have observed that the Leaders in this Fashion were most of them married Women. What their Design can be in making themselves bare I cannot possibly imagine. No Body exposes Wares that are appropriated. When the Bird is taken the Snare ought to be removed (Guardian 100, 355).

When he describes the female counterpart of the commonwealth, Addison never casts the slightest shadow of doubt over the seductive power of his female contemporaries. Women mean business—such fashions will inevitably lead first to improper flirting and later to unlawful liaisons, thus blurring the frontiers that distinguish the three feminine castes—maidens, wives and widows. According to this line of reasoning, the indecency of fashion threatens the system of securely held property. The wife—and sons—one thought one possessed might actually be someone else’s4. 4 In Tatler 100, a number by Addison, the dreaming narrator observes the goddess of Justice come to set the world right thanks to her mirror: “as the mirror moved over them, it inspired every one with such a natural instinct, as directed them to see their real parents. It was a very melancholy spectacle to see the fathers of very large families become vacant, and bachelors undone by a charge of sons and daughters. You might see a presumptive heir of a great estate ask blessing of his coachman, and a celebrated toast paying her duty to a valet de chamber. Many under vows of celibacy appeared

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This may explain why, later in the essay, Addison sharpens his best quill to re-interpret Plutarch’s anecdote. The emphasis is no longer on the erotic power of clothing (only 39 words now) but on the unsentimental commodification and control of women. As that great Law-giver knew that the Wealth and Strength of a Republick consisted in the Multitude of Citizens, he did all he could to encourage Marriage: In order to it he prescribed a certain loose Dress for the Spartan Maids, in which there were several artificial Rents and Openings, that upon putting themselves in Motion discovered several Limbs of the Body to the Beholders . Such were the Baits and Temptations made use of, by that wise Law-giver, to incline the young Men of his Age to Marriage. But when the Maid was once sped she was not suffered to tantalise the male Part of the Commonwealth. Her Garments were closed up, and stitched together with the greatest Care imaginable. The Shape of her Limbs and Complexion of her Body had gained their Ends, and were ever after to be concealed from the Notice of the Publick (Guardian 100, 354–55).

The “Loose Dress” is cut again and sewn into a terse, rough costume of “artificial Rents”. Its fluid motion—the mellifluous “flowing garb”—is lost in the pragmatic language of “Baits” and “Snares”. Though some words remain (wise/great law-giver, loose habits/dress, beholders, limbs, shape and bodies), one cannot but notice that the intention of the narrator comes across far differently, with Addison highlighting the central “stitching” rite. “Her Garments were closed up, and stitched together with the greatest Care imaginable”. The once tell-tale clothing becomes a dumb frock as all the traps are shut. In the Guardian version, no vagueness remains and no space is left in the description to allow a modicum of coquetry for the Spartan maids, for the expression of their will or desire. They are not once the grammatical subject of a single sentence except where Addison uses the here, perfectly adequate, passive voice:  “was sped, was suffered”. The stitching of those less than subtle “rents and openings” is painstakingly symbolic and, another rare occurrence in the Addisonian prose, sexually crude. Stitches are visible marks of appropriation on a par with the wrapping of a ware that has been bought and/or consumed. Thus the Tatler’s daydream of supple limbs and curving folds is replaced by the straightforward lines of stitches that materialise the Guardian’s fantasised triumph and control over female sexuality. The fictional outcome is not unlike the surrounded with a numerous issue. This change of parentage would have caused great lamentation, but that the calamity was pretty common; and that generally those who lost children, had the satisfaction of seeing them put into the hands of their dearest friends” (Tatler II, 117).

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taming of a dangerous animal—“she was not suffered to tantalise the male Part of the Commonwealth”. From Plutarch, Pierre Bayle, to Addison, under those male authors’ pens, repression and desire wove a decidedly resistant narrative—a literary thread that held up for several centuries.

Sources A Catalogue of the Valuable Library, of the Late Celebrated Right Hon. Joseph Addison. London: Leigh and Sotheby 1799. Bayle, Pierre: Dictionnaire historique et critique [1702]. Paris: Desoer 1820, vol. 9. Plutarch: Plutarch’s Lives. Arthur Hugh Clough (trans. & ed.). Boston: Little, Brown & Company 1868, vol. 1. The Guardian. John Calhoun Stephens (ed.). Lexington: University Press of Kentucky 1982. The Spectator. Donald F. Bond (ed.). Oxford: Clarendon Press 1965. 5 vols. The Tatler. Donald F. Bond (ed.). Oxford: Clarendon Press 1987. 3 vols. The Works of the Right Honourable Joseph Addison. Henry G. Bohn (ed.). London: Bohn 1856, vol. 6.

Michael Griffin

Stories of Authorship, Politics, and Friendship: Hugh Kelly, Oliver Goldsmith, and the Babler (1763–1767) The Babler was a collection of essays originally serialised in Owen’s Weekly Chronicle from February 1763 until June 1767. Hugh Kelly (1739–1777) presided over the Babler and was its main author. Very few numbers of Owen’s Weekly Chronicle are known to exist; what remains to us of the Babler, therefore, is largely contained in a collected edition published in 1767 in two volumes by John Newbery (and others). I wish to give an account of the inception and development of that weekly publishing venture, drawing particular attention to the magazine’s treatments of three topics in particular: the plight of the professional author in the still burgeoning, post-Spectator market for periodical essay writing; the nature of party politics and the economic wellbeing of nations; and the nature of friendship. Alongside this last topic must be considered the relationship between Hugh Kelly and Oliver Goldsmith (1728–1774). Goldsmith, who would become one of the most famous writers—across the genres—of the 1760s and 1770s, was an erstwhile, ultimately estranged, friend to Kelly. He contributed at least one essay (that we know of) to the Babler. While primarily concerned with giving an overview of The Babler, this essay will propose continuities and discontinuities between the worldviews of the two men, and suggest where appropriate a degree of possible collaboration with or contribution from Goldsmith in Kelly’s series. The sentiments of several numbers of the Babler, on issues of authorship and party politics, though not acknowledged as works by Goldsmith, often chime with sentiments in Goldsmith’s confirmed works, while ideas of genuine friendship based on shared virtue have a consistent emphasis in the Babler, including in the one essay on the topic which was confirmed as Goldsmith’s shortly after his death. There is an added poignancy in the Babler’s emphasis on friendship, given the rift between Kelly and the paper’s only other known contributor, a fellow Irish expatriate. Kelly was a dramatist and journalist born in Killarney, Co. Kerry, in the southwest of Ireland. He was the son of a gentleman farmer—Ferdinand Kelly—who had lost his estate. This was perhaps the foundational misfortune which led Kelly into the more precarious world of letters. His father purchased a tavern in Dublin and Kelly was apprenticed to a stay-maker in that city. That was the profession in which

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he worked briefly in London before tentatively entering the world of journalism. He was the editor of Israel Pottinger’s Court Magazine between 1761 and 1765, likely contributing the poems contained therein which were signed ‘H. K’. Many of the prose pieces in the Court were of a type and tone similar to the sort of material that Kelly was producing in the Babler, and the two works coincided for a period of two years. Much of the dramatic writing in the Court—specifically the ‘Green Room’ column of theatrical criticism—was probably Kelly’s. He contributed to Charlotte Lennox’s Ladies’ Museum, and, later, Newbery’s Public Ledger (between 1767 and 1772). The Public Ledger had originally serialised Goldsmith’s ‘Chinese Letters’ (1760–1761), which would become The Citizen of the World in 1762. Kelly penned several political pamphlets and a poetic satire on the performers at Drury Lane entitled Thespis in 1766 (a somewhat diluted second edition appeared a year later) and published a Richardsonian novel—Louisa Mildmay, or Memoirs of a Magdalen—in 1767. He may also have been the editor of The Beauties of the Magazines, and other periodical works, selected for a series of years, consisting of essays, moral tales, etc. published in 2 volumes in 1772. Some of Kelly’s periodical writing was politically engaged, if conservative. He was visibly opposed to the radicalism of John Wilkes, and for this he was occasionally attacked in the Wilkesite Middlesex Journal or Chronicle of Liberty1. In 1773 he began to write for the General Evening Post and would continue to write for periodicals in support of the government, notably during the trial of Warren Hastings. Under the pseudonym ‘Nuna’ he wrote in the Public Advertiser in support of Britain’s colonial policies. Kelly is perhaps best known to posterity as a playwright; and while his works were successful, his politics could present difficulties for their reception. His opposition to Wilkes caused riots at the performance of his second play, A Word to the Wise (1770) when it was presented at Drury Lane, after which point Kelly began to publish plays anonymously. The School for Wives (1773) was the most successful play of the 1773–1774 season in Drury Lane. His first play False Delicacy, initially performed in January 1768, had also been a hit at Drury Lane, at the expense, famously, of Goldsmith’s first major dramatic effort The Good-Natur’d Man, staged at Covent Garden at roughly the same time. Rivalry, and Goldsmith’s jealousy, created a rift between the two authors. It was a schism 1 The Middlesex Journal or Chronicle of Liberty of 17 March 1770, for instance, features a letter to Hugh Kelly from one ‘Atticus’ of Staines: ‘The man who is so base as to pawn his reputation in the defence of the vilest ministry that ever existed in this kingdom, should not pass with impunity. His name should be exalted on the records of shame; he should be held in the most abject derision, and treated with the indignant wrath of an insulted an abased people’.

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which was never quite ended in Goldsmith’s lifetime, and there were rumours that Kelly became, like the infamous William Kenrick, one of Goldsmith’s cutting anonymous critics in the newspapers. Kelly appeared, however, to be deeply upset at Goldsmith’s death in April of 1774, whereupon he was one of only a few to attend the funeral. He was reported to have been in tears. Some more cynical onlookers, however, saw those tears as inauthentic. Goldsmith’s early biographer James Prior gives as an example of that perspective lines which satirised as hypocritical Kelly’s display of emotion: Hence K…..y who years, without honour or shame, Had been sticking his bodkin in Oliver’s fame, Who thought, like the Tartar, by this to inherit His genius, his learning, simplicity, spirit; Now sets every feature to weep o’er his fate, And acts as a mourner to blubber in state, &c. (Anon., cited in Prior 1837, 2: 175)2.

It is likely that Goldsmith’s only known contribution to the Babler was solicited by Kelly himself. It is also very possible, indeed likely, that Goldsmith contributed more than one essay to the Babler. Any such additional attributions would be difficult to prove, however; and none have been suggested by Arthur Friedman, the foremost editor of Goldsmith’s collected works to date. The ‘Essay on Friendship’ first appeared under Goldsmith’s name in the Universal Magazine of Knowledge and Pleasure at the end of April 1774, just a few weeks after his death. It is interesting, in the light of their fraught relationship, that the only indication of collaboration between Kelly and Goldsmith in periodical publishing should be an essay on such a topic. They were, it seems, close friends from their first meeting in 1765—an encounter probably occasioned by their mutual acquaintance with John Newbery—until the beginning of the 1768 when theatrical rivalry overtook them. Goldsmith’s death likely prompted Kelly to ponder anew this failed friendship. It was probably Kelly who transmitted the paper to the Universal Magazine and he was, most likely, the only person definitely aware of Goldsmith’s authorship. It has also been suggested that Kelly was the author of an anecdotal memoir of Goldsmith published in the same Universal Magazine in May 1774. Signed ‘G.’ these anecdotes of Goldsmith had been thought of as Samuel Glover’s; but the signature ‘G.’ may have been added in error. The author of those anecdotes describes himself as having been ‘upon the most friendly footing’ with Goldsmith, ‘for a great number of years’ (Universal Magazine 54: 255). The phrasing implies, 2 The italicized ‘bodkin’ is a reference to Kelly’s earlier, humbler profession of stay-maker.

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perhaps, a certain evasiveness about the status of that friendship at the time of the author’s death. That the anecdotes appeared just a month after the republication in the Universal Magazine of the ‘Essay on Friendship’ would seem to indicate the possibility that Kelly was their author (see [Anon.] 1999, 23–26). The first of the Bablers appeared in Owen’s Weekly Chronicle on 12 February 1763. It would be published every Saturday until 5 June 1767. There may have been roughly 220 Bablers in all, but the exact number is difficult to ascertain as the extant run of that Owen’s Weekly Chronicle is very limited. In Kelly’s collected Babler, the 123 essays are presented as though in a Spectator format, and are clearly aimed, just as they had been in their original format, at a middle-class, mercantile audience. The Babler may also have circulated separately from Owen’s Weekly Chronicle in the form of individual half-sheets distributed to various London taverns and clubs. This speculation is based upon a letter to the editor of the Public Ledger of 4 July 1765 which describes the separate printing of such a half-sheet version of the magazine ‘on account of its being generally very entertaining’ but this letter may have been composed in order to make the Babler seem more popular than it actually was. (See Bataille 2000, 13; and O’Leary 1965, 29, n63). The papers themselves often consist of a thematic preamble followed by a letter to the Babler on that theme from a generic correspondent; and they just as often are essays on a particular topic without an epistolary apparatus. Kelly also borrowed from Addison and Steele the trope of the composite eidolon, which in the case of the Spectator consisted of Mr Spectator and his Club. In the case of the Babler, there is instead at the core of the composite eidolon Mr Babler’s family, his sister Mrs Rattle and her son Harry. Beyond this small family unit there is the libertine Richard Bumper and one Cornelia Marchmont, who will eventually marry Harry. The essays deal with a wide range of topics, and often aim, in the Spectatorial style, to inculcate morality through storytelling: morality in friendship, in romantic or marital relations, morality in sex and courtship. Kelly was evidently keen to support a somewhat proto-feminist position in favour of a concept of marriage based upon mutual intellectual respect rather than financial advantage, decrying libertinism, predatory male behavior, and gendered double standards. As such, his writing was of a piece with a newer culture of sensibility which sought to undo cynicism and an implied acceptance of the nature of male power. Kelly, for Robert Bataille, ‘maintains throughout his writing career a consistent commitment to male reform’ (see Bataille 2000, 15)3. This was a consistent 3 Bataille’s study is the best and most substantive study of Kelly’s career to date, arguing throughout that a critique of masculinity and gender relations are at the core of Kelly’s writerly project.

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theme through the Babler, but it was a topic too substantial, as many topics were, for the form. Indeed, Kelly felt that the very profession of professional essayist was too constraining to deal with serious topics satisfactorily.

Authorship In the preface to the collected Babler, Kelly recalls the paper’s beginnings, and allows himself the opportunity to reflect and to critique the limitations of the medium. Having sent a piece on the absurdity of party in politics upon which he had taken extraordinary pains, thinking it a piece which would enhance his reputation, the essay ultimately proved too substantive, indeed too long, for the ‘prudential bonds of the Printer’. William Owen had evidently insisted that the paper be cut back. The constraints of the form, in terms of miscellaneity and length, are topics to which Kelly frequently returns, and even at the outset, he does not withhold his ire in criticising the bookseller: […] the rogue was incorregibly [sic] dull; and told me if I would have it in, I must strike a pen through the King, cut out Lord Bute, and burn the people of England.— These conditions were too hard to be complied with—and I rather chose to leave my admirable essay out entirely, thank mangle it to the taste of an unfeeling blockhead, who appeared so glaringly callous to the beauties of a masterly production […] (Kelly 1767, 1: v).

Kelly laments the material circumstances within which the periodical essayist must work, determined not so much by the intellectual resonance of the content but by the business concerns of the printer, thereby narrowing the intellectual possibilities of the Spectator-style essay: […] of all the various essayists the news-paper drudge, is the most unfortunately circumstanced; small as the boundaries of a Spectator, a Rambler, a World, an Adventurer, or a Connoisseur, may seem, the news-paper writer is under a necessity of moving in a still more contracted circle—the Printer (who on these occasions is a very great man) does not so much consider the importance of a writer’s subject, as the immediate profit of the partners; it is not the improvement of the reader which he consults, but the interest of the paper, or the topic of the day, and therefore often stints the essayist in the room, to advertise a parcel of stolen goods, or to epitomize the trial of some remarkable murderer (Kelly 1767, 1: iv).

Appealing to audience prurience for commercial reasons is, for Kelly, dangerous to the substance of periodical writing, but such dangers are general in a world in which was witnessing the ever greater production and consumption of print culture. In the first Babler, dated Saturday 12 February 1763, the Babler suggests that the Spectator’s heritage, while widespread, may also have had the negative effect of over-democratizing the literary world:

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Michael Griffin THERE is scarcely a little Essayist now-a-days, who amuses the world under any particular title, but gives himself airs of the greatest consequence, and claims some degree of affinity with the Tatler and Spectator: indeed, where the itch of reading is nearly equal to the cacoethes scribendi, a man has not great occasion to be possessed of either much genius or education to become a literary legislator, and set himself up as a regulator of the public; the most material article of all is, the choice of a tolerable title to attract the attention of the reader, and if this can be happily struck out, learning and abilities are not so much as secondary considerations (Kelly 1767, 1: 1).

This very democratization gives Kelly’s paper its name, for the greater clamour of voices in this emerging modern world has created the babbling sounds which, once associated with the supposedly non-literary worlds of business, of parliamentary and factional politics, have now invaded the literary sphere. For now, it seems, ‘the great business of mankind is babling’, and the effects are morally as well as culturally hazardous: ‘so very limited is the number which discourses now-a-days with any inclination to improve or entertain, that, I  dare say, my readers will be surprized when I set down some of the most eminent names in the kingdom among the order of Bablers’ (Kelly 1767, 1: 2–3). The nature of writing for periodicals, and the manner in which such activity could lead a professional author to channel views contrary to his own instincts are captured in number 46, on ‘The remarkable history of an author’. This piece opens with general remarks on the tendencies of any given society to despise its authors, a disposition caused by a mixture of inclinations: to disdain those who appear to be smarter, and to enjoy the disparagement of people who are indeed smarter but whose works, once put to paper, leave them open to critical onslaught. Most authors are also indigent and fated to obscurity, ‘and their genius being naturally depressed by the melancholy state of their circumstances, they become in a little time incapable of reflecting any honour on their country, or of acquiring any comfortable dependence for themselves’ (Kelly 1767, 1: 195). To illustrate his point, the Babler reproduces a letter from a correspondent happily retired in Derbyshire, himself an avid reader of the Babler, which he enjoys for its easy agreeability and Spectatorial mixture of instruction and entertainment. He recalls the various incidents which undid his own ambitions to be a writer, the first of which was the loss, through misfortune, of the support which he needed to study for a living in the church. During his years of study, he had composed several essays ‘in the various walks of literature’ which were ‘so favourably received by those exalted geniuses the compilers of magazines, that they generally honoured them with the appellation of elegant’ (Kelly 1767, 1: 196). This encouragement led the author to continue in the field of periodical writing, ‘as I looked upon an author to be the greatest of all sublunary characters’.

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Thus committed, the author neglected other possible careers such as the law. He finds himself increasingly in thrall to the booksellers, and with a modicum of fame comes, ironically, an increase in debt; naïve in the wiles of booksellers, he is consistently exploited and confined: I was confined to my regular place of work as if I was a shoemaker or a taylor, and very often ordered to do a particular quantity in a particular time. Sometimes, Sir, I have been obliged to write a philosophical essay on contentment, when my heart was bursting with anguish; and at others, ordered to prepare a poem on liberty, while the bailiffs were waiting at the door. But the severest mortification of all was, the impertinent freedom with which I was treated by every ragamuffin of the press: the printer would criticise on my performance to my face; and the very devils themselves would talk to me of mistakes, and propose what they were modestly pleased to consider as amendments […] (Kelly 1767, 1: 197–98).

The indignities of the life of the professional author being what they were, it might be expected that the author would prefer the older regime of patronage. But Kelly deftly illustrates that this was not necessarily the case, as when the author, having composed a well-received political treatise, is taken under the protective wing of ‘a nobleman of great eminence’: I now thought myself made for ever; but I had scarcely been a month in the house, when my lord’s admiration of my abilities began to abate a little; he expected as an author that I should support every absurdity he advanced in an argument; and as a man of genius, that I should always be comical. With this view he introduced me into all companies; but when he saw I would neither be his parasite not his buffoon, his friendship very visibly declined (Kelly 1767, 1: 198).

The plight of the author thus ensnared by vain patronage is similar in some respects to the obligation of a lowlier friend in a friendship between social unequals. The nobleman takes every opportunity ‘to insinuate the merit of his own generosity’ in relieving the difficulties of his charge. Only the intervention of a kindly gentleman, who had seen the author publicly debased in the relationship, saves the author from this miserable existence. He leaves him a hundred a year in his will. This frees the author to return to Derbyshire and to live a peaceful existence exempt from the tribulations of writing for a living. He gives in conclusion a couplet from Samuel Foote’s play The Author (1757): ‘Alas, what chance have authors to be read,/Whose daily writings earn their daily bread’4.

4 In the original, the couplet is: ‘What Prospect have those Authors to be read/Whose daily Writings earn their daily Bread?’ It appears at the end of the first act of two (Foote 1757, 24).

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There is much in Kelly’s critique of contemporary authorship which finds parallels in Goldsmith’s writing. Goldsmith’s series of essays on the topic for Lloyd’s Evening Post, published over the course of the first half of the first two months of 1762, offered by way of a fictional narration an exploration of the status and predicament of the ‘Indigent Philosopher’ or professional author. Goldsmith’s experience of aristocratic patronage also had a number of parallels with that described by the Babler’s correspondent. Before becoming a professional writer, he had been patronized as a medical student in Edinburgh by the Duke and Duchess of Hamilton, ‘but it seems they lik’d more as a Jester than as a companion so I disdaind so servile an employment twas unworthy my [...] calling as a Physician’ (Goldsmith 2018, 14). Later, he would demur from the patronage of the Earl of Northumberland, as he felt as though the booksellers had, whatever the difficulties of professional writing, provided him with a decent living (see Ginger 1977, 217–20). A later Babler on ‘The dangers of becoming an author’ reflects on the growth of the republic of letters. The author is especially critical of the tendency of the underqualified or unskilled to engage in poetry. Unexpectedly, the Babler critiques Pope’s The Rape of the Lock for being beautiful but ultimately no more than an ‘elevated gewgaw, merely capable of amusing the fancy, but no way calculated to enlarge the understanding’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 234). The critique speaks to a general tendency to bolster critical and civic awareness ahead of imaginative excess, a moral imperative inherited from the Spectator itself, but one hardly expects a poem of the status of The Rape of the Lock to be the object, particularly given that poem’s moral conclusions, its admonitions of shallow behaviour and coquettishness. The essay’s tone is harsh, even prudish; it certainly does not seem to concur with Goldsmith’s sense of what is valuable in poetry. Goldsmith—in his prefatory note in The Beauties of English Poesy (1767)—rather thought the Rape Pope’s ‘most finished production […] the most perfect in our language’ (Goldsmith 1966, 5: 317). Morality in writing was for Kelly partly a function of economy in language. In the penultimate number, he gives his ‘Reflections on Literature’, wherein he wishes […] that the present age had some solitary pruning hook, to lop off the redundancies of expression in literary composition; that the reader might not be put to the trouble of going over an unnecessary number of words, which, instead of helping out a writer’s sense, most commonly have quite a contrary effect, and only serve to obscure the tendency of his arguments (Kelly 1767, 2: 267).

The author rails against the over-embellishments of poetry, the ‘useless epithets or unmeaning pleonasm, merely to fill out the necessary quantity of syllables’

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(Kelly 2: 268). To prove this point he uses the example of a simile from Addison’s Cato, which stands accused of over-use of redundant synonyms for a core idea of purity. Whatever his virtues in prose, Addison has ‘but small pretensions to our applause’ as a poet (Kelly 1767, 2: 269). If writers cannot express themselves pertinently, Kelly churlishly proposes, they should leave pen and ink alone altogether. Such sentiments seem hardly to grasp the inherent and deliberate redundancy of much poetic language. Goldsmith, who invested most of his talent in the poetic medium, would hardly have agreed. In the very last number (123) of his Bablers Kelly gives his summary assessment of the nature of professional and periodical writing, lamenting the very miscellaneity which characterizes the medium. The Babler reflects on the development of the magazine over the previous four years, and claims that its success, such as it was, was primarily attributable to its moral emphasis and critical understanding. On that basis has the Babler elected to publish a selection, and to take leave of publishing the weekly essay. His parting reflections upon the nature of writing for the periodical press, and on the seemingly haphazard methods of composition which seem to characterise so much of this sort of writing, are worth citing at some length, not least because he manages to collect them in a single sentence: There is scarcely a walk of literature, which is reckoned so easy, or which in fact is so difficult as this species of periodical publication; in every other stile of composition, a writer may display his abilities on that particular subject with which he is most intimately acquainted; and may raise a considerable share of character by expatiating on such topics as are most immediately agreeable to his imagination; besides this, he may allow himself what time he thinks proper for the perfection of his works; and is never confined by a want of room from delivering himself fully upon the minutest point of speculation: but the case is far other wise with the unfortunate Essayist: the miscellaneous nature of his undertaking, forces him to furnish a variety of subjects, and obliges him to enter upon numberless discussions, which require not only a general knowledge of the world, but are often repugnant to his inclination: nor do the inconveniences under which he labours rest here; under an indispensable necessity of publishing on a particular day, whether he is either at leisure or in health; unembarrassed in his situation or undisturbed in his mind; he must go on, and even comprise his thoughts within such a compass as may suit the convenience of his Printer: before he can well begin, the scanty limits of his Paper renders it necessary to conclude; and his whole Essay must be contained in a quantity of words, which is scarcely sufficient to serve it for an introduction (Kelly 1767, 2: 273–74).

The Babler’s reservations about the form are prefatory to a final apology for the faults of the essays. In a sense, he wishes to condition and prepare readers who are coming to the essays afresh, having previously perused them in Owen’s

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Weekly Chronicle, and those who will come to them for the first time in the selected edition.

Politics There is an ironic inversion in the titling of the paper, as the Babler’s aim is to lessen the social and political effect of babbling, which Kelly defines broadly as an activity which includes several genres of conversational interjection, from impertinence to repetitive anecdote or joke-telling, to boastful or domineering know-all behaviour: all, for Kelly, is babbling, but the sphere of politics is perhaps the most babblesome of all. In one instance, in Babler 6 of 19  March  1763, Kelly ruminates on politics in ways which chime with Goldsmith’s worldview, which would come to be expressed most famously in his long poem, The Traveller, or A Prospect of Society (1764), wherein faction and party are the enemies of social cohesion. For Kelly, as for Goldsmith, party is the enemy of patriotism properly understood: AT a time when the whole Kingdom is running mad with political disquisitions, it would be something hard if the Babler was not allowed to dwell upon the subject; but has he is very unlike the generality of his name-sakes, and dreads nothing so much as offending, he declares himself publicly a lover of truth, yet an advocate of no party, and sets up for the title of a good Englishman without being wither a Whig or a Tory. Party distinctions are to him, the most disgusting circumstances imaginable, and an intemperate zeal in the support of any faction, not only the most ridiculous commotion in society, but the most dangerous (Kelly 1767, 1: 23).

The influence of faction in politics was an abiding concern of Kelly’s, and it was at the heart of Goldsmith’s analysis of current affairs also. Equally, both men shared an aversion to a false notion of patriotism which was propagated by people without any discernible public spirit. Such hypocrisy seems especially pronounced in the luxurious behaviour of those who would affect to criticize luxury. Again, the point is illustrated through storytelling: the ‘most whimsical patriot’ is one Ned Scamper, so well read in Bernard Mandeville’s Fable of the Bees: or, Private Vices, Public Benefits (1714) that he can claim patriotic motivation for every vice: ‘in short, Ned has drank, wenched, fought, and beggared himself, through an exalted solicitude for the general emolument, and is now close pent up in one of our prisons, out of a pure and disinterested regard for the welfare of society’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 2). Those of a lower social standing who consume British goods are presented by the author, presumably Kelly, as the real patriots, ‘and though these people are the best friends to the real interest of their country, they nevertheless give themselves no airs of importance, nor run into

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any insolent self-sufficiencies about their attachment to the good of the kingdom’ (Kelly 1767, 2:  3). The conclusion is that ‘those are always the truest patriots who make the least demands upon our gratitude for praise; and who pursue the indeviable path of national welfare, without looking upon themselves as entitled to any extraordinary merit from the steadiness of their course’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 3). In a moment of classical critique, however, the author cautions that luxury is a contaminant, and once available to the lower orders, would cause them to indulge the same excesses which they now behold. Thus, the author suggests that public spirit is not an absolute, or an essential characteristic of the working poor. Everyone is susceptible to Vice and Affectation, and England might even be one of the worst countries for its potential slavishness to those two tyrants. A change in understanding is needed. Desire must be educated and tempered with ‘moral rectitude’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 5), as ‘a bad man never made a real patriot’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 6). Revising and reversing the Mandevillean paradigm, the author proposes that ‘The foundation of all public excellence is a private virtue’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 6). A key to the Babler’s politics and their relationship to virtue is an understanding of the moderating conception of Providence. In Babler 76 of 10 July 1766, Kelly refers to Goldsmith’s recently published novel The Vicar of Wakefield, deeming ‘a fine observation’ Goldsmith’s contention that though the poorer part of mankind may in this world suffer more inconveniences than the rich, still upon their entrance into another life, the joys of hereafter will be enhanced by contrast, in proportion to their afflictions here; and that consequently there can be no room to suppose the least partiality in providence, since sooner or later those who are entitled to it’s benignity are certain of meeting with an equal degree of favour from it’s hand’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 56).

Kelly thinks that one does not need to consider the afterlife to see the general equity of providence, for the lowly are only miserable insofar as they are proud or affected, or given to ‘creating an endless round of imaginary difficulties’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 56). In effect, the grass is always greener, for even the wealthy, in Kelly’s understanding, languish ‘for the peaceful cottage of rustic obscurity’; and the man who has ‘a hundred downy pillows at his command, imagines that repose is only to be met with in the peasant’s solitary shed’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 57–8). In general, then, everyone is ultimately as well off as everyone else, in a sense profounder than the merely material. Just as plenitude and peace are relative to one’s station or perspective, so too are vice and virtue. In Babler 101, of 2 January 1767, the story of one Michael Carmody, executed in Cork for theft, illustrates the relativity of vice, and the coincidence of criminality with a more profound patriotic virtue than that professed

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or practiced by the rich. The essay has an ease and balance to its style which suggests Goldsmith’s hand, and of course it is intriguing that one or other of these Irish authors should be discoursing to a primarily London audience on the topic of vice and patriotism by referring to the singularly Irish patriotism of an Irish convict. The anecdote explores the tendency in everyday discourse to excessively critique poorer people for moral transgressions which, if perpetrated by the better off, would be considered a measure of their mischief or wit. Equally, the virtues of the poor generally receive less commendation than those of the rich. The author gives as an example Carmody’s patriotic gallows speech prior to his execution for crimes to which he was driven by the decline of Irish woollen manufacture through consumer neglect. The Babler approves of Carmody’s sentiments: At the very hour of death, in the immediate apprehension of an eternity, drest up in all the horrors of popish bigotry and superstition: I say, at such an hour, an ignorant, poor wretch to be only mindful of his country’s welfare, is a greatness of soul superior to the most celebrated stoic of antiquity, and throws even the Cato of Utica in a scale of comparative cowardice, was there a possibility of a parallel (Kelly 1767, 2: 174)5.

The sentiment of this passage recalls Jonathan Swift in its blend of anti-Catholic caricature and Irish economic patriotism. Goldsmith had in 1764 referred to Popish ‘superstitions’ in An History of England, in a Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son (Goldsmith 1764, 2:  115), and was given to punctuating a largely ecumenical world-view with standard Establishment prejudices. Kelly, with his more Catholic sounding name, might have been less ready to disparage that faith, though both authors knew that audience expectations in 1760s London would require the use of standard anti-Catholic tropes.

Friendship There were, thus, convergences and divergences between the worldviews of Kelly and Goldsmith, but on the evidence of writings on the topic of friendship in the Babler, intellectual differences would not necessarily have created a breach between them. Friendships were more likely to be damaged, according to the magazine’s ruminations on the topic, by excessive intimacy, or by professional or occupational jealousy. Babler 21, of 2 July 1763, defines friendship primarily as ‘a capacity of entertaining so cordial a regard for the interest of another person as

5 The story of Carmody’s execution, and his plea for Irish manufacture, was widely reported in London newspapers in May of 1734: in the Daily Courant and the Penny London Post on 22 May; and in the Weekly Miscellany of 25 May.

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to make it equally an object of importance with our own’ (Kelly 1767, 1: 90). The theme here anticipates the later Babler essay by Goldsmith on the same topic, though it predates his acquaintance with Kelly. In the earlier essay, Kelly explores the dangers of excessive affection in friendship. The main character is Will Threadbare, who gives his history of friendships. One of those friendships, originated while a student at Eton, was with ‘a fellow who now possesses one of the most valuable employments in the kingdom’ (Kelly 1767, 1: 91). The friends had professed to each other an intense attachment from a young age. That very intensity, however, was a source of danger and jealousy. The provost, an old friend of Threadbare’s father, in showing favour to Threadbare, causing his friend to grow envious and to behave coldly. Quarrels and a breach in the friendship ensue. Later, at Oxford, Threadbare would befriend one Ned Guzzle, ‘because I  was unalterably attached to the bottle myself, and he was reckoned the hardest drinker in the University’ (Kelly 1767, 1: 92). Threadbare eventually bests Guzzle in a drinking contest, after which Guzzle abruptly concludes all friendship and correspondence between them. After college, when Threadbare comes to London possessed of a little—inherited—fortune, his best friend is one Dick Wildman, with whom he spends every evening in the tavern, ‘and returned every morning with a strumpet to the same bagnio under the piazza’. Threadbare even recounts having fought a duel on Wildman’s behalf. Predictably enough, given the mutual and companionable womanizing, it is a woman—a maid in whom both had a sexual interest—who comes between the two men, irreparably scuppering their friendship. The moral of these anecdotes comes together in the final paragraph, in which it is proposed that no friendship is secure ‘which is not founded on virtue’ (Kelly 1767, 1: 93). To which point, Kelly cites Swift against too ready an involvement in friendships between rogues. The lines are from ‘The Life and Character of Dean Swift’, possibly only half remembered by Kelly, as there are some considerable differences between it and Swift’s original: Where e’er a prating rascal cries, He’s your dearest friend—he lies; To lose a guinea at picquet, Would make him rave, blaspheme, and sweat, Bring from his heart sincerer groans, Than if he heard you broke your bones (Kelly 1767, 1: 94)6.

6 In Swift these lines read: ‘Whene’er a flattering Puppy cries/You are his Dearest Friend’— he lyes—:/To lose a Guinea at Picquet,/Would make him rage, and storm, and fret,/ Bring from his heart sincerer groans/Than if he heard you broke your Bones’ (Swift 1967, 490–91).

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False friendship is one which, like patriotism, is without a modicum of virtue or a genuine sense of equity. True friendship, in Kelly’s formulation, also seems to require the complete absence of jealousy. The jealousies born of inequality of status figure in Goldsmith’s explorations. His ‘Essay on Friendship’ in the Babler 81, of 14 August 1766, is a treatment of a topic which, by the author’s own assessment, had been widely written upon, but poorly understood. It proposes friendship as a delicate balancing act in which too much closeness brings with it the possibility of pain; this too, in Goldsmith’s understanding, is the source of difficulty in so much fiction: Such speculatists, by expecting too much from friendship, dissolve the connection, and by drawing the bands too closely, at length break them. Almost all our romance and novel writers are of this kind; they persuade us to friendships, which we find impossible to sustain to the last; so that this sweetner of life, under proper regulations, is, by, their means, rendered inaccessible or uneasy (Kelly 1767, 2: 78).

The advice which Goldsmith gives against this endangerment of friendship is time-worn but solid:  friendships must develop organically and with room for participants to indulge pursuits separately. Friendship is best not spoken of too explicitly, for to name it is too often to create a burdensome sense of obligation. From this general introduction on the topic, Goldsmith thickens his argument with the demonstrative tale of Plautinus and Musidorus. The names are generic, though Goldsmith may be alluding to Katherine Philips’s use of the name Musidorus in her ‘Dialogue of Friendship Multiply’d’ of the later 1650s. Philips’ ‘Dialogue’ explores the desirability of devotion to just one friend, as opposed to the cultivation of many. In Goldsmith’s essay, Musidorus withholds complete devotion to the wealthy Plautinus, as such a devoted friendship would be forced and inorganic. Only when Plautinus’s fortune fails due to ‘misplaced liberality’ does Musidorus cultivate friendship with him, ‘and by uniting their talents both were at length placed in that state from which one of them had formerly fallen’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 80). Goldsmith adds to this ostensibly modern tale one from antiquity about two Jewish soldiers who had fought together in the time of Vespasian, an Emperor of Ancient Rome who subjugated the Jews in 66 AD. Their friendship, cemented in shared experiences of combat, ‘might have continued without interruption till death, had not the good fortune of the one alarmed the pride of the other, which was in his promotion to be a centurion under the famous John, who headed a particular party of the Jewish malcontents’ (Kelly 1767, 2:  80–1). Their new enmity led them to affiliate with ‘opposite factions, and sought each other’s lives in the conflict of adverse party. In this manner they continued for more than two

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years, vowing mutual revenge, and animated with an unconquerable spirit of adversion’. The lowlier soldier joined with a faction or ‘party of the Jews’ which allied itself with the Romans, driving John and his faction into the Temple. In the ensuing siege, the Temple was destroyed. The soldier now allied with the Romans saw his erstwhile friend upon the highest tower, ‘looking round with horror, and just ready to be consumed with flames’ (Kelly 1767, 2: 81). With this pitiable view his feelings towards his friend were re-kindled. He called upon his friend to leap down into the safety of his arms. Both friends were, however, killed by the fall, an awkwardly effective ending symbolic of the fate of friendship corrupted by jealousy and confounded by faction. That both soldiers were Jewish soldiers, divided, ultimately by an essentially colonial predicament is also quite poignant when considered alongside the interrupted friendship of two migrant Irish writers. Theirs was a shared predicament: in respect of their migrant status, but also in their being of relatively conservative dispositions. Their shared writerly origins—both having to make their way financially in the highly constrained world of professional periodical writing—adds to the bond between them: Kelly’s sense of grievance at the intellectual and material penury of Grub Street writing was matched by Goldsmith’s. Goldsmith would, after his successes with The Traveller and The Vicar of Wakefield, wriggle free of magazine writing into a greater degree of autonomy and fame, primarily as a poet, and, in the year before his death, as a playwright, with She Stoops to Conquer (1773). His earlier dramatic career was shadowed by the unhappy jealousy that it created with Kelly. Their brief friendship between 1765 and the end of 1767 promised to deliver more collaboration than posterity seems to have left to us, but it yielded to us at least one Goldsmith essay. And in the Babler, Kelly fashioned a Spectator-style venture which was timely in its commentaries on the modernising worlds of authorship and politics.

Sources [Anon.] “A Comment on the ‘Authentic Anecdotes of the late Dr. Goldsmith’ (1774)”. ANQ: A Quarterly Journal of Short Articles, Notes and Reviews 12.1 (1999), 23–6. Bataille, Robert R: The Writing Life of Hugh Kelly: Politics, Journalism and Theater in Late-Eighteenth-Century London. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press 2000. Foote, Samuel: The Author: a comedy of two acts. As performed by the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane. London: Printed for R. Francklin; and sold by P. Vaillant, 1757.

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Ginger, John: The Notable Man: The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith. London: Hamish Hamilton 1977, 217–20. Goldsmith, Oliver: An History of England, in a Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son, 2 vols. London: Printed for John Newbery 1764. Goldsmith, Oliver: The Collected Works, edited by Arthur Friedman, 5 vols. Oxford: The Clarendon Press 1966. Goldsmith, Oliver: The Letters, edited by Michael Griffin/David O’Shaughnessy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2018. Kelly, Hugh: The Babler. Containing a careful Selection from those Entertaining and Interesting Essays which have given the public so much satisfaction under that Title during a Course of Years, in Owen’s Weekly Chronicle, 2 vols. London: Printed for J. Newbery/L Hawes/W. Clarke/R. Collins/J. Harrison 1767. O’Leary, Thomas K: Hugh Kelly: Contributions toward a Critical Biography. Dissertation: Fordham University 1965. Owen’s Weekly Chronicle. London: William Owen, 1758–1770. [1758–1765 Owen’s Weekly Chronicle or Universal Journal; 1765–1770 Owen’s Weekly Chronicle and Westminster Journal]. Prior, James: Life of Oliver Goldsmith, M. B., 2 vols. London: John Murray 1837. Public Ledger. London: John Newbery, 1759–. Swift, Jonathan: Poetical Works, edited by Hubert Davis. Oxford: Oxford University Press 1967. The Middlesex Journal or Chronicle of Liberty. London: Isaac Fell, 1769–1772. The Universal Magazine of Knowledge and Pleasure. London: John Hint/W. Bent, 1747–1812.

Cornelis van der Haven

From Anecdote to Anecdote: The Chaotic Order of Storytelling in Dutch Anti-Spectators around 17251 Long before Justus van Effen’s first spectatorial magazine in Dutch was published in the 1730s, the spectator was already an established genre in the Low Countries that would soon produce its satirical counterparts. The first Spectator-parodies appeared in the 1720s. One of the most successful authors of these satirical moral weeklies was Jacob Campo Weyerman, who explicitly mocked the spectatorial genre in his magazines. Dutch literary historiography created a strict dividing line between the spectatorial magazine and the satirical magazines of Weyerman, that often has been criticised over the last decades. This paper will focus on the differences and similarities between Weyerman’s journals and the spectatorial genre. It will in particular investigate the way in which Weyerman’s stories, kept together by series of anecdotes, relay on a kind of “chaotic order” that is different from the more classical rhetorical structure of spectatorial essay in the tradition of van Effen and others.

The Spectatorial Genre in the Netherlands The rise and heydays of the spectatorial genre in the Low Countries is inextricably bound up with Justus van Effen (1684–1735) and his several spectatorial projects, most importantly of course Le Misantrope and his first and only spectator in Dutch language, De Hollandsche Spectator. This Dutch Spectator must have been very popular and at least 360 issues appeared in a period of about 5 years, between 1731 and 1736. Long before van Effen however, the spectator in fact was already an established genre in the Low Countries (Buijnsters 1966). This becomes clear from the first spectator parodies that already appeared in the 1720s. One of the most successful authors of these satirical “moral” weeklies was 1 This contribution is an adapted version of an article that was earlier published in Dutch:  “De wanordelijke orde van Weyermans vertelzuchtige vertogen”. In: Mededelingen van de Stichting Jacob Campo Weyerman 41, 2 (2018), 1–14. I would like to thank my colleague Lars Bernaerts for his feedback on the preliminary outcomes of this research.

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Jacob Campo Weyerman, who was re-discovered over the last decades, because of the important pioneering work done by the Dutch literary scholar André Hanou and his collaborators (see especially Hanou 2002 and Altena 1992). Weyerman has set up many magazines during his lifetime and it was his aim to live from these investments, which was not so easy of course and many of these projects had a short life. His most famous projects were the Rotterdam and Amsterdam Hermes (1720–1722). Many of Weyerman’s writings are written in a very flowery and ornate style, which is very difficult to translate. He is seen as an virtuoso in language, using surprising metaphors and he was well-known for his biting satire. It is difficult to say where we should draw a line between the satirical magazine and the spectators. In general however, an author like Weyerman is not mentioned in Dutch literary historiography as an author of moral weeklies. Buijnsters points at the more fanciful style of the satirical magazine and the irregular structure and composition of the “essays” that often consist of a very loose train of anecdotes, the one after the other, without a clear line of argumentation (Buijnsters 1984, 39). Apart from style, also the content can be characterised as “anti-spectatorial”. The idea of “unmasking” is dominant in his writing and refers to the secret and hidden vices of people who pretend to be virtuous. Weyerman himself was very clear in his profiling against the spectatorial genre. He was criticizing the didactic style of van Effen’s Dutch Spectator that became one of the main competing initiatives in the magazine business from 1731 onwards. Hanou (2002, 39) refers to how Weyerman mocks the four contributors to van Effen’s magazine as “camels” who serve their readers with bended knees while offering a quite simple language that would hardly be able to hide the ponderous content of those magazines: The […] Spektator, a weekly, that is, according to a notice, supported by four authors, heroes of the pen, who bend their kneecaps like […] camels do, who are packed up under their hinny saddles with a doleful weekly ponderous weight, only to give satisfaction to the taste and intellect of spelling readers […]2.

Altena (1992) is very critical however about the strict dividing line drawn in Dutch literary historiography between the spectatorial magazine and the

2 “De […] Spektator, een wekelijks schrift, volgens bericht onderschraagd bij een viertal schrijvers, welke penhelden hunne knieschijven toevouwen, op de wijze der […] kamelen, onder de muilezels zadel bestapeld met die zwaarmoedige wekeiljkse vracht, alleenlijk om te voldoen aan de smaak en de bevatting der spellende lezers […]”. Quoted after Hanou 2002, 39.

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satirical magazines of Weyerman. He admits that in the case of Weyerman the moral often is implicit or kept back because of his metaphorical language that is so difficult to read, but nevertheless, both van Effen and Weyerman would tend to reflect morally on the society of their own age and times, although using a very different style of writing (Altena 1992, 156). Still, Weyerman’s unashamed exposed individuality and libertarian attitude to life certainly is intriguing, as it runs parallel to the moralising discourse of the moral weeklies by Van Effen and others, to which Weyerman strongly opposed. The history of the moral weekly thus also is the history of its counterpart, the satirical magazine that flourished not in the last place because of offering an alternative for the often ponderous moralising discourse of the spectatorial genre (Hanou 2002, 40).

From vertoog to Clusters of Anecdotes Some of Van Effen’s essays (vertogen in Dutch) have a classical rhetorical structure that enables the Spectator discuss one or more particular moral issues or problems. In his overview of how spectatorial essays can be structured, Sutherland would call this the “simple structure” of the periodical essay, essays that are more or less “coherent and unified, the subject being the unifying force” (Sutherland 1977, 140). In van Effen’s essays we often recognize the structure of the exordium, to introduce the theme of the essay, the main part of his argumentation, the narratio, the confirmatio in which the speaker summarizes his main argument and a conclusio. In his essay about the Amsterdam theatre for instance (No. 27, 25  January  1732), the exordium immediately relates the Spectator’s reflections on the theatre to the bigger questions of what the status of the theatre is, as a respectable or detestable institution, or one of the adiaphora, things that are neither good nor bad, having no specific connection with morality. After that, a narrative begins in which the author expands on the backgrounds of this discussion and then starts with his own argumentation that is focused on how to produce better plays in the local Amsterdam theatre. Introduced by a short contra-argumentatio, the most important arguments of the author are summarized in a confirmatio, ending with a clear conclusion that theatre authors should be paid in order to improve the quality of theatre plays. Many of van Effen’s moral essays have such a clear rhetorical structure, but not all of them. Some of them are rather chaotic and bring to the fore several smaller topics, without a clear line of argument or even an integral structure that connects these different themes through the main issue that the essay wants to discuss. Often there is no clear hierarchy of the different addressed topics, which means that these essay-forms can have a quite complex structure that seems to be

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poorly conceived. In most cases however, Sir Spectator presents different smaller themes while forcing himself to choose only one in order to determine what will be the main question to reflect on the current issue. In the issue no.  213 (9 November 1733), for instance, the Spectator receives a letter from someone who found a piece of paper on the floor of the municipal theatre on which “Sir Spectator” had written down a list of topics to discuss in the coming issues of his periodical. The list presents to the reader a number of several fascinating themes, from the quality and dangers of wine consumption to moral reflections on overnicety. The Spectator however seems to punish his over-curious readership with reflections on what seems to be the most boring topic on the list, the necessity of making a new Dutch translation of the Psalms for singing in the church. Van Effen does not use this opportunity to write a more diverse essay in which he mentions briefly some more details about the topics that will be discussed in the following issues of his magazine. In the exordia of his essays, van Effen often presents his “alter ego” of the “Sir Spectator” as someone who is still undecided about what he would like to tell his readership, until the first sentences are written down on paper. Doing so, several topics can be touched upon before the main theme of the essay is determined. This literary technique is closely related to what scholars like Monika Fludernik (2003) would call a form of “natural narratology”. Typical for the genre is the “natural” way in which Sir Spectator speaks to his audience, as if his reflections follow upon an everyday encounter on the street or in the coffeehouse. It is as if the author of the essay is strolling through his memory looking for a suitable topic to talk about, not feeling bound however to any particular expectations. No. 52 of Le Misantrope for instance begins as follows: “Je prétends aujourd’hui ne m’attacher point à un seul sujet, obéïr simplement à mon génie, & m’abandonner à mes réfléxions. Je commencerai mon ouvrage à tout hazard et je le finirai comme je pourrai” (van Effen 1742, 87). The narrative, in other words, can potentially go into any direction; during his stream of thought in this issue, van Effen starts recounting a childhood memory, then broaches other topics, finally arriving at a number of crucial questions about what a philosopher is or ought to be. Van Effen presents all of this as an experiment that may not be strictly worth repeating, but he does demonstrate the very flexible nature of the spectatorial essay’s composition.

The Anecdote and Contingency The role of the anecdote in Dutch spectatorial magazines has not been discussed extensively, with the exception of an article by P.J. Buinsters on the anecdote

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in van Effen’s work. Buijnsters emphasises the anecdote as an instrument for showing interest in personal details, “the small but poignant particulars that form the drawback of one’s public life”, for which he uses the term “reflexivecharacterising anecdote” (Buijnsters 1989, 298–9). Buijnsters comes to the conclusion that many anecdotes in the spectators have a didactic intention. They form a collection of petites histoires, “secularised examples for the enlightened citizen” (Buijnsters 1989, 302–3). However, he suspects that the function of the anecdote in Weyerman’s essayistic work is rather different from that in van Effen’s work. This is evidenced by the sheer quantity of anecdotes that feature in Weyerman’s work, and by the fact that the anecdote in his work is not restricted to a short “exemplum”, but rather forms the most important structuring element of his essays. In a well-known article on “New Historicism”, the reading method developed by Stephen Greenblatt within the field of early modern literature, literary scholar Joel Fineman writes rather extensively on the relation between the anecdote and historiography. The anecdote often serves to support the forceful teleological structure that characterises many historiographic texts, consisting of a beginning, middle and end—with everything in the service of that ending—but it also has the potential to disrupt this structure. The anecdote can thus create an “effect of the real” that suspends the timelessness of historiographic discourse, as Fineman notes: The anecdote produces the effect of the real, the occurrence of contingency, by establishing an event as an event within and yet without the framing context of historical successivity, i.e., it does so only in so far as its narration both comprises and refracts the narration it reports (Fineman 1989, 61).

On the basis of the above, we could state that perhaps something similar counts for the genre of the spectatorial essay, and in particular for Weyerman’s anti-spectators, which we will discuss below. Often, these seem to steer into the direction of a conclusio with a moralistic pointe, but they end up avoiding the pointe altogether (this is easy to conclude in Weyerman’s work). Either this, or the structure of the endlessly expanding narration renders such an end point impossible in the first place. The anecdotal narrative style claims attention for itself, while not in service of the potential lessons to be learnt from the narrative, or of the knowledge to be gained. Just like historiography, we could describe the spectatorial essay as a narrative form with a certain goal in mind, a final point that we could describe as “making something public”, “showing something”, “announcing something”:  in short, a functional kind of writing working towards a certain final objective, apart from the question whether this

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objective relates to a moral lesson or to the transmission of knowledge and vicissitudes. The most important function of the anecdote, according to Fineman, is that it is able to disrupt abstract notions and create a sense of realness. This abstraction can relate to time, as is the case in historiography. Historiography would create a sense of timelessness, according to him, whenever historical events only prove to build towards a certain endpoint in the past or present. The anecdote does exactly the opposite: it creates a sense of time based on the description of a small, concrete occurrence. For Fineman, this is not only about “the effect of the real”, but also about “the occurrence of contingency”—which we could rephrase as an emphasis on eventuality: the fact that something might simply “eventuate”, occur, present itself, often without a clear reason or cause and without a certain aim. The emphasis in Weyerman’s writing, I think, is on that eventuality, and drawing on what German scholar Barbara Naumann calls “Geschwätzigkeit als Ereignis”, on the narrative craving of an event, the way in which it incites the author to produce literary Geschwätz: something in between chatter, prattle, gossip and slander (Naumann 2003, 113–7). At the same time, there is a constant connection with the coincidental and spontaneous. Monika Fludernik stresses the latter notion in her well-known Towards a natural narratology (1996). The “natural” quality of literary language, according to her, is contained in the spontaneity of an utterance—for example, a coincidental twist in an everyday conversation. This can be compared to the tradition of “conversational storytelling”, which has strong ties to older oral traditions, in which the audience is directly addressed and the borders between fact and fiction are continually blurred (Fludernik 2003, 14–5). This last aspect is highly relevant to the spectatorial genre and to Weyerman’s magazines, which constantly toyed with the friction between fact and fiction. He repeatedly suggests a sense of realness, after which he abrogates the same suggestion. For him, the anecdote is not a crowbar that serves to consciously evoke a sense of realness; rather, his narrative mode is attached to the anecdotal, the narrative craving as it were. Weyerman allows the “eventual” to prevail over that which juxtaposes it, the formal coherence of the essay and that which it should necessarily work towards (a lesson, a pointe, a vicissitude). If there is any kind of necessity at all in his essays, it would be the telling, the act of telling itself. In other words: a desire to tell.

The Dissector of Failings (1723–1725) Now, if we indeed take a closer look at the genre of the “anti-spectator” in the work of Weyerman, or better to say: the satirical version of the spectator occurring just

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before heydays of the genre in Dutch after 1731, we will see that the standardized essay form of van Effen’s earlier French spectators is not observed at all and that is indeed the “desire to tell” that takes centre stage. Weyerman’s essays were famous because of their unrestrained disorder, rambling from one topic to the other. If we should use the Sutherland’s terminology his essays have a “topical structure”, presenting a chain of different topics, without a clear line of argumentation, producing a fragmented narrative, hold together solely by the voice of the narrator (Sutherland 1977, 144–6). One of his initiatives was Den Ontleeder der Gebreeken (The Dissector of Failings), that appeared in the years 1723, 1724 and 1725. The first issue of The Dissector of Failings is somewhat programmatic and presents the new project of Weyerman as an attempt not to bore his readership with long talks but with “naakte, natuurlyke, en vrolyke Ontleeding”—“bare, natural, and funny analysis”. This adjective of “natuurlyk” seems indeed characterize the style of Weyerman. It is the same style as mentioned in regard of the exordia by Van Effen, but now stretched to the length of complete essays, written in this informal and somewhat conspirational way of addressing his audience, as if he is addressing friends or relatives. This feigned intimacy is used to suggest hidden meanings behind his often obscure stories that seems to push his writing in the direction of mere anecdote and gossip. Not only when it comes to style, but also in terms of presentation, it is tempting to interpret The Dissector of Failings as an early parody of the spectatorial magazines. It sports a motto, an aphorism and a frontispiece, as well as an “explanation” of the illustration in which writer and colleague Gysbert Tysens praises “Lord Jacob” as a moralist, as a man who uses his pen to separate virtue from vice, and as a capable gardener who combats the immoral weeds of eighteenth-century society. However, the fact that the motto is derived from Juvenal may make the reader rethink its intention. “Omne in praecipiti Vitium stetit”: immorality has reached its climax, its peak—and can only fall down from here. It is of course not moral education, but satire that is crucial in Juvenal’s universe (Copley 1941, 219–21). The “dissecting knife” that Weyerman wields according to the first issue (11 October 1723), turns out be—at least in a dream—a “silver skimmer” that Mercury hands him in the second issue (18 October 1723), in order to “skim […] the failings that are bubbling forth, from the capricious heads of your contemporaries, indiscriminately” (Weyerman 1724, 14). Thus, the Dissector dissects each and everyone’s failings, also, or perhaps particularly, the failings of those who believe themselves to be guardians of the right morality. “Skimming” (schuimen in Dutch) can either mean “purifying” or “removing the surfacing best component”, which introduces an ambiguity into the alleged moral intentions of Lord Dissector. It is not a coincidence that the moral in The

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Dissector often remains implicit or opaque, or that the quasi-moralist pointe undermines the essay’s earlier-mentioned didactic intentions. The Dissector features a lot of stolen work, for the most part taken from older English magazines such as that of Abraham Cowley (Van de Wetering 1995 and Bruggeman 2018). This is, however, not true for everything in The Dissector. There are many contributions with a semi-autobiographical undertone. Lord Dissector, as Weyerman’s alter ego, lives in Rotsenburg in Utrecht, the country estate to which he moved in 1722 with his partner Adriana de Visscher. Or we can find him elsewhere, at the river Vecht, near Breukelen, where he used to live in the heyday of his writership around 1725 (van Vliet & Sprangers 2013). Some of the issues are partly or fully dedicated to the author’s dwelling and his adventures and encounters there. Many essays for instance deal with a curious location, like the narrator’s own residence, close to the city of Utrecht, where encounters with different kind of people take place, providing the author the opportunity of presenting to his reader character sketches of different curious personalities from Utrecht and its surroundings. The narrative also can be purely fictional, like in the case of the story told by the arm chair (see below), although the suggestion of gossip related to personalities his readership may have been familiar with, never is far away. What distinguishes the essays by Weyerman from those written by van Effen, is that its main structural characteristic often is not the theme of what should be an example of moral reflection, but a topical element that seems to be discarded from any moral reflection. The most popular narrative technique however in Weyerman’s magazine is the description of remarkable events, which provides the author the opportunity to present to his readers several particularities about the world around him in a very natural and informal way. It is telling that these “ongemeene Voorvallen”, “remarkable noteworthy events”, are mentioned on the title page as one of the magazine’s selling points. Finally there also are the real Spectator-parodies, when the author presents to his reader a “moral issue” where there is none, like his “Bespiegling over de Rygsnoer van een Juffers Tabberedlyf ”: “Reflection upon the lace of a Lady’s corset” (No. 11, 20 December 1723), in which the several functions of the “Lady’s lace” are discussed, focusing on techniques of lover’s to undress ladies and about how the lace of the robe becomes the main object of desire, as possessing it means of course the ultimate conquest of the beloved woman. Many of his essays however are linked to what can be called an urban event culture (see also Naumann 2003, 113), as most of them are focused on every day incidents and occasions that occupied urban middle and higher classes of cities like Utrecht, Amsterdam and The Hague. However, the intention of the narrator

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is not in the first place to provide moral reflection on such events, but to produce seemingly unstructured “natural” narratives about what—as if by accident—just happened close by, like in his home-town Utrecht. This looseness and noncommittal attitude is not a by-product of Weyerman’s narratives. It rather seems to be his main goal not to pay explicit attention to form, structure and the outlines of his narrative. Rather the absence of all these elements, is his selling point. His essays are characterised by the “talkativeness of the event” (see the earlier reference to Naumann), the way in which the discussed event enables the author to produce literary Geschwätz and highlights his desire to tell.

Giving Birth to Stories One of the “noteworthy events” Weyerman discusses, is the birth of Lord Dissector’s child, in the issue released 16  July  1725. This birth forms the precursor for a number of ironic remarks directed at his readership, emphasising the importance of “Voorzichtigheyt”, precaution or prudence, in marriage. The “Jongeman die het Huuwelyk van binnen bestudeert”, the “young man who studies the interior of marriage” before he gets married, is a shining example of prudentia, according to the writer (Weyerman 1726, 313). So far, this seems the classical opening of a spectatorial essay. The instrument with which to train the reader in this prudence is Lord Dissector’s own “Ondervinding”, “experience”, as a young father attending a “Kindermaal” (children’s meal), the feast served to guests after each birth. However, this quasi-moral and philosophical exordium is brusquely interrupted by the narrator, who seems to call himself to order, concluding his “Lacoonian introduction” and proceeding with a description of the facts of the children’s meal. Like the entering of the guests, mostly ladies, who he receives with the “painful politeness of a wise man, who needs to pronounce the marital YES” (Weyerman 1726, 314)3. The ironical tone of the scene has been set and the message to the reader is clear: look before you leap, because before you know it, you will be a husband “drunk and with a hand filled with tears” (i.e. the baby). Subsequently, Lord Dissector describes the celebratory occurrence (the birth of the child) in a way that is not celebratory at all. After this, he introduces some short character sketches of the guests based on their appearances. Subsequently, the narrator calls himself to order, trying to tame his own desire to tell and urging himself to describe the actual party and the conversations involved:

3 “…de pynlyke Beleefdheit van een wys Man, die het Huuwlykx JA moet pronuntieeren”.

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Cornelis van der Haven It is remarkable that painters tirelessly make counterfeits, and children, which seems to be the case until this date, because instead of informing the readers of the occurrences and discourses of a children’s party, I entertain them with describing Neurenburg dolls, et cetera. But that’s it, it is enough, I will send away the guests’ shadow, and start with the baby shower4.

A remarkable detail is the metaphor of the “Children”, with which the narrator refers to the birth of an endless stream of new narratives, which form the foundation of his own near unstoppable narrative craving—an image that we will see again shortly. The feast as such starts taking the shape of social torture for the young father. We can interpret this quite literally: the screeching of “kakelende Klappeyen”, “cackling women”, who congratulate with exuberant expressions of joy, can be seen as heartfelt good luck wishes, but they rather seem to have the function of rupturing the father’s eardrums. Alcohol plays its part and the celebratory gathering results in a discourse that is anything but moralistic, and in which it is mostly the ladies who are speaking. Marriage, the birth of a child and the duties of a good husband and father disappear from view altogether. The wine-fed talkativeness of the present guests becomes overbearing, and introduces a topic that might be familiar to the reader who has read the motto well (Juvenal again: “Quid enim Venus ebria curat?”— “Why would Venus care if she was drunk?”). The most important conversation topic ends up being an adulterous neighbour who has her husband work in a bed sheet shop, while she spends time with an officer. This fact is denounced, but the most dominant of the party, Mademoiselle Margo, pleads for the adulterous woman like a member of the English House of Commons, arguing that she has the right to her own pleasures, just like the “suppressors they have birthed” (Weyerman 1726, 317). Her story is rudely interrupted, not by the other women, but by the story of a by now drunken officer who has been removed from service. His report culminates, again, in an exaggerated character sketch of a degraded “Ruyter”, a horseman, who seems to symbolise the failing of manhood, resembling the cuckold featured in the women’s conversation. In his turn, the horseman is

4 “Het is raar dat de Schilders onvermoeit zyn in ‘t maaken van Konterfeytsels, en van Kinders, en dat blykt in my tot dato deezes, want in stee van myn Leezers te onthaalen op de Verrichtingen en Discoersen van een Kinderfeest, onderhou ik die met de Beschryving van Neurenburgsche Poppen, en et cetereas. Maar basta, ‘t is genoeg ik zal de Schaduw der Gasten den bons, en het Kraamfeest zyn Begin geeven” (Weyerman 1726, 316).

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interrupted by Ms. Albeschik, who puts an end to the chaotic tale and manages to silence everyone with an anti-moral message contained within an aphorism that is clearly understood: Well, well, crooked boot-greaser, (Ms. Albeschik cried out), are you on again about powder mills and Solinger blades! Rather talk about how a woman whose husband is too lazy, or cleverer than lazy, can constantly and discretly conceive a child with her neighbour, whereby she escapes the scorn of infertility, all according to the old saying: there is no harm in that if it brings forth a beautiful child5.

All abrupt transitions—from the ironic narrator, to the cackling women who crave to tell stories, to the drunken soldier and then back again to the women— seem to serve the purpose of distracting the reader’s attention from the topic introduced at the beginning of the essay:  what lessons a soon-to-be groom can learn from hearing the experiences of a young father. There is no real clue to the story, and the answer is that there are as many different experiences as there are people. This is shown through individual reflections and the opinions about marriage and adultery that tumble over one another in this conversation. In this sense, naturally we could state that the chaotic and absurd character of the ladies’ and officer’s indecent testimonies confirm the statement introduced in the beginning: that prudence (foresight) in marriage is a difficult thing and “Ondervinding”, experience, is what matters. This particular experience is based on a party that has gone out of control, a “social” gathering that has failed to set limits on the desire to tell, but does provide the reader (and the young father) with an insight into confessions about the true “moral” love of these ladies, who at first glance seemed so demure. Behind the apparent chaos of the essay, there is an “ordered narrative craving” supported by the loosely connected motives of the young and insecure father, the cuckold in the ladies’ stories, their talks about their indulgences, and the officer as the personification of lost manhood. In the end, all of these issues belong to the terrain of experiences gained in and through marriage.

5 “Zo zo verroeste Stevelsmeerder, (riep Mejuffrouw Albeschik) praat jy weer van Kruydmolens en van Solinger Klingen! Praat liever, dat een Vrouw wiens Man te luy, of nog slimmer is als luy, altoos met discretie een Kind mag verwekken by haar Gebuur, waar door zy de Schimp ontwykt van Onvruchtbaarheyt, en dat is volgens het Oud Spreekwoord: Daar geschiet geen Kwaad daar een Schoon Kind van komt” (Weyerman 1726, 320).

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The Declaiming Arm Chair We could summarise the “structure” of the essay discussed above as starting with a classic (but ironic) exordium, a number of comical character sketches, followed by the tales of the characters present. These stories lapse into a flood of words without apparent ending and which can only be stopped abruptly, almost necessarily in media res, without obvious pointe. In issue 34 (29  May  1724), the story of the speaking arm chair, too, opens with a classic exordium, which offers critical reflection on the ephemerality of human beauty. However, this moral quickly is overtaken by testimonies of the talking Arm chair, who endlessly speaks about the sexual adventures that have taken place on its seat (Weyerman 1724, 265–9). This burlesque-like imitation of the Spectator genre starts off with a clear moral exhortation addressed to an overly vain friend, “who is as effeminate as a shop owner in Mechelen lace”. The young man looks at himself in the mirror and cries out, astonished: “Parbleu, Sir Dissector, I am the Hague May-pole [daisy] of young men!”, after which Sir Dissector scorns him, calling him a Narcissus who Time will deal with, calling his attention to the destructive force that ephemerality will exact on his life and limb (Weyerman 1724, 266). Sir Dissector is in excellent shape, seemingly ready to continue on about ephemerality, but he is brusquely interrupted by another speaker. The story that follows seems to have only a loose connection to Sir Dissector’s speech, and presents itself as a wonderous Adventure: “I would have stretched this speech into infinity […], when a wonderous Adventure, neither true nor believable, occurred, and in the following way”6. (Weyerman 1724, 266)  The adventure is the speaking Arm chair’s life story; this is the chair in which the Dissector’s friend has sat down in, after the admonition he received. Twice, an image of an infinite expansion is connected to speech: the Dissector’s story is capable of infinitely expanding, but so is the exposé that follows. The Arm chair’s narrative is almost literally born out of a swelling, a blowing up of itself: the chair is represented as a flower bud that has to burst, that has to speak— and only this narrative craving can and should interrupt the narrative craving of the story that Sir Dissector has just started. At first, the Arm chair speaks inarticulately; but soon enough, it has expanded so much that it speaks—and cannot stop. Here, the association with the sickly is clearly present, including a reference to eating a suspicious mushroom (an “ambiguous mushroom”), who makes the chair “cackle wholeheartedly”. The chair is compared to an impregnated 6 “Ik zou dit Vertoog hebben uitgerekt tot in ‘t oneindig, […] toen ‘er een wonderlyke Avontuur, die zo min waar als waarschynlyk is, zig opdeê, en dat op de volgende wyze”.

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(and fallen) damsel, the mushroom turns out to be a phallic symbol, and the pregnancy refers to the impending birth of his endlessly expanded tale:  “The Arm chair began to swell, like a young damsel who has consumed an ambiguous mushroom, not while walking, casually, but while falling, accidentally”7 (Weyerman 1724, 267). Ostensibly, this speaking is related to the moral that has just been announced, as the chair will speak about the fleeting “nieuwmodische Schoonheden”, “newly fashionable beauties”, who have inhabited its seat, as it declares. This reference to fleetingness is soon buried by an endless series of enjoyable anecdotes: from the story of the seamstress who sewed the Arm chair’s seat and was “embroidered” herself at the same time, to love-related escapades of those who have been seated on the arm chair and/or were mounted on it. The Arm chair’s “Declamation” suddenly stops, but is continued in the next issue. The reader can enjoy a sequel to the adventures, but is also surprised by a remarkably serious ending. The swollen adventure is punctured by what seems to be a pointe, one which nevertheless addresses the theme of ephemerality, namely death and all that follows. The Arm chair adopts a despondent tone: Life is approaching us, with a chain of iron cuffs, and death says his goodbye to us, through the breaking of those chains, yet that these break as easily as an Indian a coral or amber necklace, I can’t believe, even if I’m just an Arm chair8.

After this, his voice is smothered, “it seems”, he says, “that Death’s moral lesson comes to quiet my eloquence” (Weyerman 1724, 280). Right when the spectatorial mode appears to take up its role again, speech is silenced—but not before having uncovered something of the pointe and the moral lesson, which once again reinforces the ambiguity of Weyerman’s writing.

Conclusion As we have seen, the classical rhetorical structure that characterises at least some of van Effen’s essays seems to be completely absent in Weyerman’s vertogen. In the case of Weyerman gossip and slander often precedes over moral instruction and the moral hierarchy between an audience that is listening to a well-educated teacher is questioned in most of his texts, not in the last place by Lord Dissector 7 “De Leuning stoel begon te zwellen, gelyk als een jonge Juffer, die, niet ter loops, maar ter vallens, een dubbelzinnige Champignon heeft geconsumeert.” 8 “Het leeven nadert ons, met een schakel van yzere boeijen en de dood neemt zyn afscheid van ons, door ‘t verbreeken van die Ketens, doch dat zulks zo gemakkelyk toegaat als of een Indiaan een Koraale of een Barnsteene Snoer, op aarde, in stukken laat vallen, geloof ik niet, al ben ik maar een Leuning stoel” (Weyerman 1724, 280).

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himself, subverting his own moral authority. Moral problems are addressed, but they do not create textual coherence by providing for instance recognizable examples from daily life that enable the reader to reflect on these through a clear moral lesson at the end of the essay. However, what creates a kind of coherence and unity in what seems to be a discursive chaos of anecdote following upon anecdote is the “wild structure” of spoken human discourse as such, which the author tries to catch in written text, dishing up the apparent nonsense of daily speech that still contains lessons based on daily experiences—but only if we are ready to read between the lines of Weyerman’s “moral essays”. According to Fineman, historiography from the Classical period onwards has been dependent on the anecdote in order “to let history happen”. The interruption of a recounting of facts with the use of anecdotes was deemed necessary for this. The historiographer uses the anecdote while keeping its contingent effect under control, a balancing act that is crucial in the art of writing history (Fineman 1989, 61). Weyerman exerts little effort to limit the potentially disintegrating effect of anecdotal writing. One anecdote leads to another anecdote, and so the spectatorial narrative’s presumed endpoint (such as a moralistic pointe) remains out of reach. The craft of Weyerman’s spectatorial essays lies in their anecdotal fragmentation, which could potentially be the endpoint of historiography (but which rarely occurs, according to Fineman). Weyerman is not afraid to allow his essays and narratives to “derail”, and have them conclude in an abrupt or very open-ended way. In the worst case, we can interpret this as an inability to properly conclude a story, but at the same time, we can state that Weyerman invites the reader to allow his/her imagination free rein, again and again, in playing the game we tend to call literature.

Sources Altena, Peter: “‘Liever een’ arent dan een kerkuil’. Over Den Adelaar (1735) van Jacob Campo Weyerman, De Hollandsche Spectator van Justus van Effen en de geschiedenis van de ‘weekelyksche schriften’”. Voortgang. Jaarboek voor de Neerlandistiek 13 (1992), 145–71. Bruggeman, Jan: “Voetnoot 41: Het werk van Abraham Cowley, een rijke bron”. (consulted 14 March 2018). Buijnsters, Petrus Jacobus: “Voorlopers van Justus van Effen”. De Nieuwe Taalgids 59 (1966), 145–57. Buijnsters, Petrus Jacobus: “Spectatoriale tijdschriften in Nederland (1718– 1800)”. In: Petrus Jacobus Buijnsters: Nederlandse literatuur van de achttiende eeuw. Utrecht: H&S Uitgevers 1984, 36–46.

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Buijnsters, Petrus Jacobus: “Het gebruik van de anekdote bij Justus van Effen”. In: Gerardus Rutgerus Wilhelmus Dibbets and Paulus Wilhelmus Marie Wackers (eds.): Wat duikers vent is dit! Opstellen voor W.M.H. Hummelen. Wijhe: Quarto 1989, 295–302. Copley, Frank O.: “Juvenal, Sat. I, 1, 147–50”. The American Journal of Philology 62, 2 (1941), 219–21. Fineman, Joel: “The history of the anecdote. Fiction and fiction”. In: H. Aram Veeser (ed.): The New Historicism. New York: Routledge 1989, 49–76. Fludernik, Monika: Towards a natural narratology. London: Routledge 2003. Hanou, André: “De schoonheid en de schurk: Over Weyerman”. In: André Hanou: Nederlandse literatuur van de Verlichting (1670–1830). Nijmegen: Vantilt 2002, 35–40. Naumann, Barbara: “Zur Entstehung von Begriffen aus dem Ungeordneten des Gesprächs”. In: Thomas Rathamann (ed.): Ereignis: Konzeptionen eines Begriffs. Köln: Böhlau 2003, 103–18. Sutherland, Willam Owen Sheppard: “Essay Forms in The Prompter”. In: Richard P. Bond (ed.): Studies in early English periodicals. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press 1977, 137–49. van de Wetering, Chris: Den Ontleeder der Gebreeken. De voorrede en vier afleveringen. Unpublished MA Thesis, University of Amsterdam 1995. van Effen, Justus: Le Misantrope contenant differens discours sur les moeurs du siecle. Part 2. La Haye: Jean Neaulme 1742. van Vliet, Rietje and Sprangers, Peter: “Klopgeesten op Rotsoord en Rotsenburg”. Mededelingen van de Stichting Jacob Campo Weyerman 36 (2013), 97–105. Jacob Campo Weyerman: Den Ontleeder der Gebreeken. Vol. 1/2. Amsterdam: Hendrik Bosch 1724/1726.

Yvonne Völkl

Raconter soi, raconter l’autre. Stéréotypes nationaux dans les « spectateurs » de Justus van Effen Introduction L’acte de la narration est omniprésent dans les «  spectateurs  » de toutes les langues. Les feuilles représentent des voix narratives différentes qui construisent des portraits ou des utopies, racontent des fables ou des rêves, ou mentionnent des allégories ou des exempla. Sur le modèle d’Addison et de Steele, les éditeurs fictifs ou réels utilisent des stratégies narratives afin de transmettre leurs opinions – souvent critiques – sur la société, la politique, la mode, la conduite à tenir, ainsi que les « Vertus & Vices, répandue [sic] dans les mœurs du Genrehumain  » (XXXI. Bagatelle). Pour illustrer ces différents aspects, les éditeurs utilisent souvent des représentations simplistes et stéréotypées du propre et de l’autre, dont celles du caractère, de la nation ou du caractère national. La présente étude se consacrera à la construction de soi et de l’autre dans les premiers spectateurs de langue française rédigés par le Hollandais Justus van Effen et cherche à révéler comment cet auteur a contribué au discours du xviiie siècle sur la nation. Au début, nous prendrons en considération l’acte de la narration et de la transmission médiatique des récits afin de démontrer comment et à quelles fins se développent les stéréotypes nationaux au xviiie siècle. Ensuite, nous repérerons la conception des stéréotypes nationaux dans les spectateurs anglais par le storytelling dans le but de discerner comment Van Effen construit l’identité hollandaise par rapport aux autres nations européennes dans ses trois émulations du spectateur anglais : Le Misantrope [sic] (1711–1712), La Bagatelle (1718–1719), et Le Nouveau Spectateur français (1723–1725).

Storytelling et les médias Au cours de son évolution, l’être humain a développé la faculté du storytelling, c’est-à-dire la faculté de la narration, afin de faire un ensemble cohérent de toutes les expériences et événements qu’il expérimente au cours de sa vie. Tout comme Graham Swift dans le roman Waterland (1984), le critique littéraire américain Jonathan Gottschall (2012) conçoit l’être humain comme un «  storytelling animal  »  – un animal qui raconte des histoires. De façon similaire,

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l’écrivain britannique Salman Rushdie laisse constater un de ces personnages avec insistance : You of all boys should know that Man is the Storytelling Animal, and that in stories are his identity, his meaning and his lifeblood. Do rats tell tales? Do porpoises have narrative purposes? Do elephants ele-phantisise? You know as well as I do that they do not. Man alone burns with books (Rushdie 2010, 34)1.

Aujourd’hui aussi les narratologues considèrent le storytelling comme un besoin fondamental anthropologique de l’homme ; comme un besoin instinctif, indispensable et impératif avec lequel nous nous situons sans cesse par rapport à notre passé et à notre environnement (cf. Nünning A. 2013, 18 ; Scheffel 2004, 121; Köppe/Kindt 2014, 13). Mais qu’est-ce que c’est le storytelling au fond ? Comment fonctionne-t-il ? Du point de vue de l’histoire évolutionnaire, « narrer » c’est une façon de ficeler, de lier des informations. C’est grâce à cette méthode de ficelage que nous pouvons sauvegarder des informations et les mettre dans une relation causale les unes aux autres. Le storytelling se caractérise aussi par une voix narrative qui relate les diverses informations et en fait une histoire structurée qui traite souvent d’une expérience humaine. De plus, toute narration est adressée à quelqu’un – et ce même si c’est à soi-même. Par la suite, les produits de la narration sont des textes narratifs (cf. Nünning/Rupp 2012, 12). Selon Werner Wolf (2013, 62–63), nous exerçons par le storytelling plusieurs compétences. Premièrement, raconter stimule nos facultés cognitives. Le storytelling nous apprend à nous comprendre nous-mêmes et à comprendre les autres. Il nous donne, par exemple, des informations sur l’identité des personnes réelles et fictives ou sur le fonctionnement de la conscience, des sentiments ou des pensées des autres. Il nous permet de mettre en rapport causal et téléologique les différents événements de notre vie et de les arranger suivant la structure «  début  – milieu  – fin  ». Les récits émanant de ce processus réduisent la complexité du monde et le rendent plus compréhensible en développant des catégories et des schémas de signification essentiels. De la sorte, le storytelling fournit une contribution centrale, sinon la plus importante, à l’explication de l’être humain dans son existence temporelle et à la recherche humaine du sens dans son ensemble. Deuxièmement, raconter forme aussi nos connaissances 1 « Tu devrais savoir que l’Homme est le seul animal qui raconte des histoires et que ces histoires constituent son identité, sa signification et le sang qui le fait vivre. Est-ce que les rats racontent des histoires ? Les marsouins ont-ils un but narratif ? Les éléphants délirent-ils ? Il n’y a que l’homme qui s’enflamme pour les livres » [traduction d’Y.V.].

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appliquées, car en entendant une histoire, nous faisons l’expérience de différents modèles de comportement et de leurs conséquences tout en restant nous-même en sécurité. Ainsi, nous pouvons «  vivre  » de façon narrative des expériences que nous n’avons pas vécues en personne. Ensuite, à travers le storytelling nous apprenons une certaine sociabilité parce qu’entendre des histoires ne signifie pas seulement « enregistrer la succession d’événements », mais aussi « participer émotionnellement à l’histoire  » et former ainsi ses facultés empathiques  ; de plus, nous augmentons notre savoir sur le comportement et les normes sociales, morales ou épistémiques ce qui est essentiel pour le développement et la cohésion sociale. Finalement, Wolf mentionne l’avantage du storytelling qu’il voit dans l’exercice, par les personnes, de leur imagination et de leur créativité. Comme les récits, les médias2 (et les effets qu’ils exercent sur notre vie et notre perception) sont des compagnons permanents. Par exemple, les médias dirigent notre comportement de consommation ou influencent notre façon de penser et d’agir. En outre, ils forment des processus culturels entiers et façonnent notre compréhension du monde ainsi que la production de ce monde. En combinaison avec le storytelling, les médias produisent, structurent, distribuent et modifient des connaissances, des normes et des valeurs culturelles. Ils diffusent des significations, des vérités et des opinions qui retentissent sur nous, sur nos prochains et sur nos rapports mutuels (cf. Nünning/Nünning 2010, 4–16). Tels les récits, les médias sont des outils cognitifs qui nous aident à nous comprendre et à comprendre notre environnement, de même qu’à nous y orienter. Il s’agit des expressions spécifiques d’une culture qui non seulement sont produites par cette culture, mais la forment en même temps. De plus, il s’est avéré que les différents médias (et genres) produisent chacun leurs propres formes de storytelling : ils construisent leurs mondes de manière différente au niveau du contenu, de la structure et de la langue et, par conséquent, ils offrent différents moyens d’expression et différentes possibilités pour révéler la signification (profonde) de la vie. Au cours des siècles, les médias ont évolué avec les changements sociaux et techniques comme étant des réponses aux besoins sociaux de l’époque respective. En ce qui concerne le genre des spectateurs, Ellen Krefting, Aina Nøding et Mona Ringvej (2015) soulignent dans leur publication sur les EighteenthCentury Periodicals as Agents of Change l’importance des périodiques pour

2 Le terme médias se réfère ici aux moyens techniques, qui diffusent et reproduisent des informations au travers de textes, d’images ou de sons à un grand public, ainsi qu’au produits médiatiques tels que le journal, la radio, le documentaire, le roman etc.

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comprendre cette époque et sa diffusion transnationale. Bien plus rapidement que les livres, les périodiques permettent au public du xviiie siècle d’acquérir de nouvelles connaissances philosophiques, scientifiques ou politiques. Puisqu’ils sont relativement bon marché dans la production et dans l’acquisition, mais aussi par leur format pratique, les périodiques de type spectateur peuvent satisfaire la curiosité et la soif de savoir des lecteurs moins instruits et moins riches (cf. Krefting et  al. 2015, 5–7). De plus, leur contenu est marqué par un caractère épique ce qui signifie qu’ils contiennent une succession presque infinie de récits divers. Un de ces récits récurrents est celui sur les différentes nations qui recourent souvent aux stéréotypes nationaux.

Stéréotypes Les stéréotypes3 sont basés sur des généralisations et des catégorisations qui sont toujours des opinions subjectives sur les caractéristiques d’un groupe social bien défini. Tout le monde connaît sans doute des publicités avec des images de Français sensuels, d’Allemands travailleurs ou d’Italiens coléreux, de même que tout le monde connaît une (ou plusieurs) personne(s) qui ne rentre(nt) pas dans ces perceptions parce que la validité de ces jugements n’est généralement pas donnée (cf. Thiele 2015, 30). Les gens forment et utilisent des stéréotypes (cognitifs, picturaux, linguistiques) comme des panneaux dans la communication interculturelle aussi bien que dans la communication intraculturelle, c’est-àdire dans leur communication de tous les jours afin de renforcer l’appartenance à un groupe particulier (cf. Harth 1995, 19). En général, on peut distinguer différents types de stéréotypes, comme des stéréotypes concernant l’âge, le sexe ou le corps en général, la religion, le métier, la classe sociale ou la nation. La conception des stéréotypes nationaux se ramène à l’Antiquité et se renforce à partir du xvie siècle, au cours duquel la théorie du climat est réactualisée. À cette époque, on ne parle pas encore de stéréotypes nationaux étant donné que ce terme naît seulement à la fin du xviiie siècle dans le domaine de l’imprimerie

3 Étymologiquement, le terme stéréotype prend son origine dans le Grec. Il se compose de l’adjectif « stereos » et du substantif « typos » et signifie « forme fixe » ou « l’empreinte caractéristique ». Tandis qu’en 1798 l’imprimeur Firmin Didot a choisi ce terme pour décrire le processus d’impression avec des lettres fixes, en 1922 le journaliste américain Walter Lippmann le décrit dans Public Opinion (1998) comme ‘des images dans les esprits’ des gens. Pour lui, les « stéréotypes » sont des concepts cognitifs qui nous aident à percevoir le monde qui nous entoure de façon plus rapide et ciblée, car il est impossible de saisir le monde entier par ses propres expériences (cf. Thiele 2015, 27–28).

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afin de designer « l’image qui à partir d’un ensemble de caractères fixe permet de répéter l’impression » (Bert 2003, 32). Au xvie siècle, on parle plutôt du naturel d’un peuple qui sera renommé en caractère national deux siècles plus tard. Il est également question d’esprit ou de génie d’une nation dans ce siècle (cf. Florack 2001, 27). Il s’agit de l’idée que chaque peuple – et à cette époque le terme peuple est souvent utilisé comme synonyme de nation – ait une individualité collective, une nature qui lui soit propre et qui soit partagée par tous les membres d’un même groupe à travers le temps (cf. Florack 2007, 73–74). À la fin du xviie siècle, les stéréotypes nationaux deviennent un « objet de réflexion autonome, destinés non pas à être réfutés, mais à être développés et affinés » (Dubost 1999, 682). Au xviiie siècle, il se perçoit un surmoulage national de stéréotypes existants, c’est-à-dire que les stéréotypes basés sur l’âge, le genre ou le caractère ont été relégués au second plan en faveur de la nation ; en outre, il se développe une nouvelle compréhension du caractère et de la nation. En d’autres termes, des qualités existantes issues des typologies courantes concernant les péchés capitaux, les tempéraments ou les classes sociales sont dorénavant transférées à un modèle national. L’un de ces modèles est par exemple le tableau des peuples (Völkertafel) qui représente plusieurs nations européennes et rattache à chaque nation des caractéristiques spécifiques. Par exemple que les Espagnols seraient orgueilleux et coquets, et les Russes malins et énormément traîtres (cf. Stanzel 1999). Surtout les philosophes français comme Montesquieu ou Voltaire, mais aussi Kant, cultivent les stéréotypes communs au lieu de les affaiblir, bien qu’ils se soient donné le but de lutter contre la superstition et les préjugés, mais le savoir sur les stéréotypes nationaux était à cette époque un savoir culturel qui n’était pas conçu comme étant un préjugé. Ils s’emparent de façon de plus en plus explicite de la question de la diversité des nations et conçoivent des théories sur le développement des nations et des caractères nationaux. Dans De l’Esprit des Lois (1748) Montesquieu, par exemple, émet le postulat d’une relation entre le climat, les mœurs et les lois d’une nation. Le questionnement de la diversité des nations et la genèse de différentes théories à ce sujet, basées sur la raison et l’empirisme, sont soutenus par les développements au niveau de l’histoire culturelle et de la politique. De la sorte, un contact renforcé avec d’autres cultures lors des voyages de découverte ou le développement de premières institutions nationales contribuent à la formulation de caractères nationaux (cf. Neumann 2009, 21–31). De plus, ce changement dans la conception des nations du monde est également lié à la mutation de l’organisation sociale qui, au cours du xviiie siècle, se détache socialement et politiquement de la hiérarchie traditionnelle et se transforme en un nouveau modèle de société qui est celle de la nation

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moderne (cf. Delon 1997, 761)4. Dans L’Encyclopédie (1751–1772) de Diderot et D’Alembert, on peut discerner ce parallélisme dans l’entrée sur la nation, qui est une traduction directe de la Cyclopaedia (1728) de l’Anglais Ephraim Chambers et a été augmentée par l’aspect du caractère (cf. Mercier 2013, 253). NATION, s.  f. (Hist. mod.) […] Chaque nation a son caractere particulier  :  c’est une espece de proverbe que de dire, leger comme un françois, jaloux comme un italien, grave comme un espagnol, […] &c. Voyez Caractere (Diderot/D’Alembert 2016).

Cette entrée clôt avec une référence à l’entrée sur le ‘Caractere des nations’ par D’Alembert qui se fait l’écho de l’article précédent : […] Le caractere d’une nation consiste dans une certaine disposition habituelle de l’ame, qui est plus commune chez une nation que chez une autre, […]. Dans les nations qui subsistent depuis long-tems, on remarque un fond de caractere qui n’a point changé : ainsi les Athéniens, du tems de Démosthene, étoient grands amateurs de nouvelles ; […] & ils le sont encore aujourd’hui. […]. Il y a grande apparence que le climat influe beaucoup sur le caractere général ; […] (Diderot/D’Alembert 2016).

Ces exemples démontrent que les philosophes essayent de légitimer leurs convictions par un prétendu savoir historique, en supposant que déjà les Athéniens étaient de grands amateurs de nouvelles. Ces convictions ne sont pas seulement propagées dans les œuvres théoriques, mais aussi dans le théâtre5, le conte allégorique à finalité politique, les littératures historiques ou géographiques ou celles de voyages (cf. Dubost 1999, 670)  ; et aussi dans les périodiques de l’époque, comme celles du type spectateur.

4 Une description détaillée de la formation de la nation moderne peut être consultée chez Benedict Anderson (1996/2005). Dans Imagined Communities, il observe que même les sociétés postcoloniales se sont définies au début au niveau national et ont utilisé des instruments et des concepts de la réalité qui les ont présentées comme des sociétés nationales crédibles. De cette observation, Anderson développe l’idée que la nation est une communauté imaginaire et souveraine avec des limites territoriales, dont les membres ne se connaissent pas, mais se sentent appartenir à un même ensemble. Afin de générer ce sens communautaire, il souligne l’importance des réseaux de communication pour le développement d’une langue nationale commune, des médias nationaux et d’une histoire commune, qui sont uniques pour cette nation et avec lesquels elle peut se distinguer des autres nations. 5 Par exemple, dans Le Marchand de Venise (Shakespeare 1623) ou par les « ballets des nations » qui sont en vogue au xviie siècle à la cour de Louis XIV (cf. Welch 2013).

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La construction narrative de stéréotypes nationaux dans les spectateurs anglais L’étude de Wilhelm Papenheim (1930) démontre qu’Addison et Steele décrivent des caractères nationaux dans leurs périodiques à côté d’autres caractères qui ressemblent aux descriptions de caractères du philosophe antique Théophraste ainsi que de La Bruyère et des « character-writers » anglais du xviie siècle (Joseph Hall, Thomas Overbury, John Earle, Samuel Butler)6. À part des descriptions de caractères nationaux, Joseph Addison, qui est un fameux représentant de la théorie du climat, insère ses convictions sur la relation entre les zones climatiques et l’humeur des peuples dans ses périodiques, comme nous pouvons le constater dans cet exemple du Spectator, n° 170 (cf. Neumann 2009, 86–88) : Whether these or other Motives are most predominant, we learn from the modern Histories of America, as well as from our own Experience in this Part of the World, that Jealousy is no Northern Passion, but rages most in those Nations that lie nearest the Influence of the Sun. It is a Misfortune for a Woman to be born between the Tropicks; for there lie the hottest Regions of Jealousy, which as you come Northward cools all along with the Climate, till you scarce meet with any thing like it in the Polar Circle. Our own Nation is very temperately situated in this respect; and if we meet with some few disordered with the Violence of this Passion, they are not the proper Growth of our Country, but are many Degrees nearer the Sun in their Constitutions than in their Climate (Addison, in Bond 1965a, 172)7.

6 Papenheim montre que les descriptions des caractères d’Addison et de Steele sont plus subjectives que celles de leurs prédécesseurs. Au niveau du contenu, ils se distinguent de par l’inscription de la nationalité et de l’esprit du temps dans leurs descriptions ; au niveau de la forme, ils sont marqués par la forme de l’essai. Dans son analyse, Papenheim regroupe les caractères qui sont décrits de façon hautement subjective dans le Tatler, le Spectator et le Guardian en différentes catégories : des caractères montrant des qualités humaines générales (hypocrisie, paresse, etc.) ; des caractères qu’on peut distinguer en raison de leur sociologie (métier, classe sociale, genre, nationalité) ; des caractères qui ont une idéologie propre comme des libertins et ceux qui assument une fonction littéraire formelle comme les « dramatis personae » tel Isaac Bickerstaff. 7 Ce passage a été traduit en français et imprimé dans Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne, Discours 43 : « Quoi qu’il en soit, les Histoires modernes de l’Amerique, & notre experience, dans cette partie du Monde, nous apprennent que la Jalousie n’est pas un Vice du Nord, & qu’elle regne avec plus de fureur au milieu de ces Nations qui se trouvent les plus sujettes aux influences du Soleil. C’est un malheur pour une Femme d’avoir pris naissance entre les Tropiques, sous les plus ardens Climats de la Jalousie, qui se refroidit peu à peu à mesure que vous avancez vers le Nord, jusqu’à ce qu’elle soit presque éteinte sous le Cercle Polaire. Nous sommes à cet égard dans un Climat assez

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Ou dans une lettre d’un lecteur (fictif) dans le Spectator, n° 366, qui évoque la conviction que le climat influence la façon d’écrire de la poésie et qu’un ‘vrai’ poète ne peut pas provenir d’un pays froid : In hotter Climates, tho’ altogether uncivilized, I had not wondered if I had found some sweet wild Notes among the Natives, where they live in Groves of Oranges, and hear the Melody of Birds about them: But a Lapland Lyric, breathing Sentiments of Love and Poetry, not unworthy old Greece or Rome; a regular Ode from a Climate pinched with Frost, and cursed with Darkness so great a Part of the Year; where ’tis amazing that the poor Natives shou’d get Food, or be tempted to propagate their Species; this, I confess, seemed a greater Miracle to me, than the famous Stories of their Drums, their Winds and Inchantments (Addison, in Bond 1965b, 376)8.

La construction narrative de soi et de l’autre chez Van Effen En fin de compte, il intéresse de révéler comment, dans le sillage d’Addison et de Steele, Van Effen construit de façon narrative le soi hollandais par rapport aux autres nations européennes dans ses trois émulations du Spectateur anglais  :  Le Misantrope9, La Bagatelle10, et Le Nouveau Spectateur

temperé ; mais s’il y en a quelques-uns d’entre nous agitez de cette Passion violente, on peut dire qu’ils ne sont pas de notre crû, ou que du moins leur temperament est beaucoup plus près du Soleil que notre Climat » (Anon. 1720). 8 Les numéros 365 et 366 du Spectator n’ont pas été traduits en français pour le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne. « Dans des climats plus chauds, bien que non civilisés, je ne me serais pas étonné si j’avais trouvé de douces et sauvages notes parmi les indigènes, où ils habitent dans les bosquets d’oranges, et si j’avais entendu la mélodie des oiseaux : mais un poème lapon, respirant d’amour et de poésie, pas indigne de la vieille Grèce ou de Rome ; une ode régulière d’un climat pincé de givre, et maudit avec de si grandes ténèbres une partie de l’année ; où il est étonnant que les pauvres indigènes obtiennent de la nourriture, ou soient tentés de propager leurs espèces ; cela, je l’avoue, me semblait un plus grand miracle que les fameuses histoires de leurs tambours, de leurs vents et de leurs incantations » [traduction d’Y.V.]. 9 Le Misantrope paraît par feuilles entre le 19 mai 1711 et le 26 décembre 1712, c’est-àdire qu’il est lancé deux mois après la première parution du Spectator et trois ans avant la traduction de celui-ci. Le Misantrope connaît trois éditions intégrales en tomes qui paraissent en 1712/1713, 1726 et 1742. Toutes les citations provenant de ce périodique seront identifiées dans le texte par l’abréviation M suivie par le numéro du discours indiqué entre parenthèses. 10 Van Effen publie sa deuxième feuille périodique, La Bagatelle, entre le 5 septembre 1718 et le 14 avril 1719. Elle connaît quatre éditions intégrales en tomes qui paraissent en 1718/1719, de 1722 à 1724, en 1742 et 1743, et enfin à la fin du siècle en 1792. Toutes

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français11. Il importe de rappeler que la première édition du Misantrope a été publiée sans évoquer Van Effen comme le producteur du périodique et que seules les éditions subséquentes en volume portent son nom (cf. Buijnsters 1999). Dans son premier spectateur, Van Effen retient ses origines et prétend même être Français lorsqu’il est question d’un « nous français », par exemple dans le discours 27 au moment où il donne aux lecteurs son récit de voyage et s’inclut lui-même dans le « nous autres François ». Ainsi, il relate que cette autre « nation  » (terme avec lequel il désigne les étudiants de Leyde dans ce qui était à l’époque la république des Provinces-Unies des Pays-Bas) est «  aussi idolâtre de ses manieres que nous le puissions être, nous autres François, des nôtres » (M 27). Ou bien dans le discours 49, dans lequel il examine la notion de politesse en opposant une politesse générale qui est fondée sur la raison – suivant un procédé rationaliste  – à une politesse plus particulière qu’il explique avec le procédé empiriste : « Nous [les François] tirons les régles de la Politesse, de nos maniéres  ; puis examinant nos maniéres à ces régles, nous les y trouvons parfaitement conformes, & nous concluons que nous sommes les gens du Monde les plus polis » (M 49). Qui plus est, également lorsque Van Effen se fait passer pour un Hollandais dans le Misantrope, il le fait de façon masquée. Il énonce par exemple : « Suposez de grace, que je sois un de ces Bataves, […] » (M 13). Pourtant, lorsqu’il évoque les souvenirs de sa jeunesse à la foire de la Haye (M 62), le lecteur attentif est au moins déconcerté par cette constatation vue que, depuis le début, il prend l’auteur pour un Français. Dans la Bagatelle qui paraît six ans après la cessation du Misantrope, l’identité batave de l’auteur demeure secrète selon Schorr (2014, 3), mais son identité hollandaise se perçoit à l’intérieur du périodique. Par exemple, dans les numéros traitant du «  caractère  » du Beau-Sexe en France, Hollande, Angleterre et Allemagne (n° 36, 37, 38). Dans ces discours, il décrit le caractère de « nos Hollandoises » avec les mots suivants : « Le Beau-Sexe chez nous est généralement simple, bon, flegmatique, peu passionné ; mais charitable, & fort porté à la pitié » (B 36). De plus, il y oppose les Françaises aux Hollandaises tout en utilisant une sémantique fluviale qui rappelle le discours anthropologique et philosophique sur la ‘nature’ féminine qui s’est développé au cours du xviiie siècle et dans lequel la femme est les citations provenant de ce périodique seront identifiées dans le texte par l’abréviation B suivie par le numéro du discours indiqué entre parenthèses. 11 Le troisième journal de Van Effen, Le Nouveau Spectateur français, paraît entre décembre 1723 et avril 1725 et en volumes en 1725/1726, puis en 1742. Toutes les citations provenant de ce périodique seront identifiées dans le texte par l’abréviation NSf suivie par le numéro du discours indiqué entre parenthèses.

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conçue comme soumise à sa nature et ses émotions qu’elle ne peut pas maîtriser comme l’homme : « [La Française] ressemble à un Torrent impétueux, qui force tous les obstacles qu’on lui oppose ; [la Hollandaise] à un Fleuve, qui roule ses eaux avec une agréable lenteur, & auquel on seroit bien fâché de fermer le passage » (B 37). Dans le Nouveau Spectateur français, ce ‘nous hollandais’ disparaît comme presque tout discours explicite sur les autres nations, sauf quelques allusions dans des propositions subordonnées, comme celle-ci : « [J]‌’ai vû passer trois ou quatre jeunes gens dont les cheveux étoient frizez, poudrez, accomodez avec un art dont il n’y a que le François qui soit capable » (NSf 9). Dans ce passage, Van Effen fait en même temps allusion à l’image prédominante de l’époque que la nation française soit un « esclave de la mode » (NSf 9). Ces premiers exemples mènent à la construction discursive des stéréotypes de soi et de l’autre que Van Effen construit de façon implicite et explicite, c’est-à-dire qu’il emploie un procédé très similaire à celui d’Addison et de Steele, ce qui ne doit pas surprendre vu qu’il a connu les périodiques anglais du type spectateur et que, dans La Bagatelle, il a traduit plusieurs passages directement du Spectator et du Guardian (cf. Lévrier 2013 ; Pienaar 1929, 112)12. Les mentions implicites s’expriment à travers de courtes remarques ou des propositions subordonnées comme dans l’exemple ci-dessus invoquant, apparemment en passant, la coiffure du style français observée chez plusieurs jeunes gens. En ce qui concerne l’évocation explicite, Van Effen accumule – surtout dans le Misantrope – des récits de voyage pour introduire le sujet des représentations nationales. Soit que l’auteur ait entrepris le voyage lui-même et rapporte ce qu’il a vécu ; soit il s’agit de ce qu’il a lu dans un journal ou entendu par d’autres voyageurs sur les mœurs d’une autre nation. Ensuite, Van Effen introduit les stéréotypes nationaux comme des connaissances générales étant donné qu’à plusieurs reprises, il commence ses discours avec des affirmations générales comme celles-ci :

12 De telles caractérisations sont conçues dans les périodiques spectatoriales de manière directe et descriptive ou de manière indirecte et visualisée. Alors que dans la caractérisation directe ou descriptive l’auteur lui-même conduit des actions ou des caractéristiques d’une personne, il laisse dans la caractérisation indirecte ou visualisée la description à un personnage inséré, c’est-à-dire une sorte de médiateur qui se caractérise par son occurrence ou décrit quelqu’un d’autre. Cette dernière est la méthode préférée d’Addison et de Steele (Papenheim 1930, 37–41).

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(a) Les Histoires nous parlent d’une certaine Nation, la plus sage & la plus heureuse qu’on ait jamais trouvée dans l’Univers (M 13). (b) Chez toutes les Nations les hommes ont des plaisirs proportionnez à leur âge, & ce changement de leur goût est un effet presque nécessaire de la raison & de la nature. Chez la plûpart des François la raison & la nature ont cédé toute leur autorité à l’habitude & à la mode, & cette habitude & cette mode veulent que tout âge soit pour eux l’âge de la bagatelle (M 18). (c) Une loi bisarre défend aux Turcs l’usage du vin […] Il y a des Peuples barbares, ennemis du travail & de la peine, […] (M 65). (d) Les Espagnols, disait-on autrefois, ne se soumettront jamais à un Prince François, […] (M 87). Ou bien, Van Effen entame ses réflexions à partir des observations qu’il a faites, par exemple à la foire de la Haye où il est allé afin d’observer les galantes manières des personnes de distinction, mais il a pu constater que les jeunes gens d’aujourd’hui montrent une autre galanterie que dans sa propre jeunesse (cf. M 62). D’autres discours débutent avec les observations suivantes : (a) Ce n’est presque que parmi nous [les Français] qu’on voit des Vieillards faire profession d’une galanterie délicate, s’attacher à des Maîtresses & filer, comme on dit, le parfait amour (M 18). (b) Les Enigmes sont si fort en vogue, qu’il est bien juste que j’en dise un mot (M 46). (c) On voit généralement répandues par tout l’Univers certaines Coutumes qui ne découlent pas de la Raison (M 76). Après l’introduction au sujet, Van Effen continue ses discours la plupart du temps avec une comparaison, dans laquelle il compare deux ou plusieurs nations de manière assez neutre sans qu’une nation fasse meilleure figure que l’autre. Par exemple, avec une antithèse portant sur les caractères disparates de deux nations  – comme nous l’avons vu à travers les métaphores du torrent et du fleuve pour comparer le caractère des Françaises avec celui des Hollandaises. C’est seulement dans le discours 52 du Misantrope que l’auteur fait une exaltation des Hollandais qui sont admirés par les Français. Dans la Bagatelle 36 il fait de même entre les Hollandais et les habitants de l’île de Texel dans le Nord de la Hollande qui sont Frisons d’origine et dont il sourit d’un air moqueur à cause de leur trop bonne foi ce que Van Effen illustre avec une histoire exemplaire. Ensuite, les différentes conceptions des nations sont souvent supportées par un élément qui légitime pour le lecteur ce qui a été constaté. Ces légitimations

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proviennent des références à un auteur fameux qui a fait des réflexions similaires (a) ou opposées (b) : (a) J’ai lu dans le Journal de l’Abbé de Choisi, la bisarre maniére dont les Siamois se conduisent dans les guerres qu’ils ont avec leurs Voisins (M 65). (b) La Fontaine, en parlant de l’orgueil des Espagnols & des François, trouve plus de folie dans celui des prémiers, & plus de sottise dans celui des autres. Pour moi, je suis d’un sentiment tout opposé. La sottise peut être grave & sérieuse, la folie est d’ordinaire vive & divertissante (B 36). Comme dans l’Encyclopédie, Van Effen se réfère aussi à des exemples de l’Antiquité ou de la mythologie grecque pour faire comprendre le caractère spécifique des peuples. Ainsi compare-t-il les Bataves avec Aristides et Phocion (a) et insiste qu’en Hollande on voit plus souvent qu’en France de vieux couples amoureux qui ressemblent à un couple de la mythologie grecque rapportée par Ovide (b) : (a) Les Aristides & les Phocions de l’Antiquité étoient justement dans le même cas [que les Bataves] […] (M 52). (b) [N]‌ous voyons assez souvent des Baucis & des Philémons, qui tirent de dessous les cendres de la vieillesse des maniéres caressantes, qui ne laissent pas d’avoir de l’agrément pour les parties intéressées (B 37). En outre, Van Effen introduit des récits qu’il a entendu ou lu ailleurs et qui représentent la marque distinctive d’une nation qu’il veut confirmer. Ainsi, après avoir introduit le sujet des vieillards français amoureux qu’il considère ridicules, Van Effen évoque l’histoire exemplaire du septuagénaire damoiseau à l’esprit charmant, Ariste, et de la femme mariée, Dorimène  :  «  Un de ces Vieillards malheureux [Ariste], qui malgré ce ridicule se fait estimer de tous les honnêtesgens, s’étoit attaché à l’enjouée Doriméne » (M 18). Finalement, Van Effen utilise l’exemple des nations aussi pour soutenir ses réflexions sur toute sorte de sujets. Par exemple, pour parler des énigmes, il postule, en se référant à l’utilisation des Hiéroglyphes par les Égyptiens, que l’homme préférerait depuis toujours des énigmes : Les Enigmes sont si fort en vogue, qu’il est bien juste que j’en dise un mot. […]. Ce n’est pas depuis peu de Siécles que les Enigmes sont en usage. […]. Les Hiéroglyphes des Egyptiens n’étoient autre chose que des Enigmes de Morale, science qui a plus besoin d’être éclaircie que d’être enveloppée ; & les premiers Philosophes Grecs cachoient sous des emblêmes leur Physique, qui étoit elle-même une Enigme, & qui n’a pas encore toutà-fait changé de nature (M 46).

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En guise d’une conclusion Dans l’ensemble, la délimitation des groupes en nations a pour but de rendre compréhensible le monde du siècle éclairé qui tourne le dos aux hiérarchies absolutistes traditionnelles et qui est en train de mettre en place un nouveau modèle social qui est celui de la nation moderne. Les spectateurs en tant que média de masse diffusé largement dans tous les pays d’Europe durant le siècle, jouent un rôle notable dans la divulgation des stéréotypes nationaux ce qui influence par la suite l’intégration, la délimitation et aussi l’exclusion des groupes. En tant qu’observateur du monde, Van Effen raconte à ces lecteurs le monde autour de lui, le construit par le storytelling et en même temps le remet en question. Il emballe dans ses récits également les stéréotypes nationaux circulant au début du xviiie siècle. À travers maints exemples enrobés dans des histoires, il explique la prétendue différence entre les peuples  :  leurs caractères, leurs apparences, leurs vertus et leurs vices – bref leurs « différentes » identités. Grâce au storytelling, qui est un procédé commun et familier à tous les Hommes, les lecteurs peuvent plus facilement comprendre le contenu des histoires et déchiffrer leurs messages, étant donné que chaque récit réduit la complexité du monde. De la sorte, l’emballage en histoires permet également de repérer plus facilement les normes et valeurs culturelles prépondérantes ce qui aide par la suite à mieux s’orienter dans la société environnante. Comme nous l’avons vu, l’image de soi de Van Effen se transforme du prétendu Français au Hollandais d’origine dans ses trois émulations du spectateur anglais. Pour son premier périodique, il croyait avoir plus de succès en tant que Français sans pour autant s’abstenir de critiques subtiles envers « ses concitoyens ». C’est seulement dans les périodiques subséquents que Van Effen a eu le courage de se présenter sous sa propre identité batave et son propre nom. À cet égard, avec les récits dans lesquels Van Effen recourt implicitement ou explicitement aux stéréotypes nationaux, il contribue à la formation des identités individuelles et collectives. Dans ses deux premiers journaux, Le Misantrope et La Bagatelle, il utilise des stratégies explicites et dans le troisième, Le Nouveau Spectateur français, plutôt des stratégies implicites pour répandre les idées du soi et de l’autre. Bien que les mentions implicites restent discrètes ou passent presque inaperçues, elles influencent le lecteur de la même manière, sinon plus que les mentions explicites parce que les premières pénètrent plus subtilement la conscience des lecteurs. Pour conclure, avec la répétition et la divulgation des stéréotypes nationaux à travers le réseau communicatif de spectateurs, Van Effen

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contribue au projet du genre spectatorial qui consiste à faire des hommes et des femmes des membres utiles dans une société de plus en plus complexe au sein d’une nation.

Bibliographie Anderson, Benedict : Die Erfindung der Nation. Frankfurt am Main : Campus 2005 [1996]. Anonyme : Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne, ou l’on voit un Portrait naïf des Mœurs de ce Siècle. Traduit de l’Anglois (1720). Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Michaela Fischer-Pernkopf (éd.) : Die Spectators im internationalen Kontext. Digitale Edition, Graz 2011–2018. . Bert, Claudie : « Les stéréotypes ». Sciences humaines 6/139 (2003), 32. < https://www.cairn.info/magazine-sciences-humaines-2003-6-page-32.htm> [consulté le 11.11.2017]. Bond, Donald F. : The Spectator, edited with an introduction and notes. Oxford : Clarendon Press 1965 (Vol. 2 =1965a; Vol. 3 =1965b). Buijnsters, P.J. : « Le Misantrope (1711–1712) ». Dans : Jean Sgard (éd.) : Dictionnaire des journaux. 1600–1789. Paris : Universitas/ Voltaire Foundation 1999. [consulté le 05.03.2018]. Delon, Michel (éd.) : Dictionnaire européen des Lumières. Paris : PUF 1997. Diderot, Denis/Jean le Rond d’Alembert : Encyclopédie, ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, etc. Robert Morrissey et Glenn Roe (ed.) : ARTFL Encyclopédie Project. University of Chicago 2016. [consulté le 11.11.2017]. Dubost, Jean-François : « Les stéréotypes nationaux ? L’époque moderne (vers 1500–vers 1800) ». Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome. Italie et Méditerranée 111 (1999), 667–682. Florack, Ruth : Tiefsinnige Deutsche, frivole Franzosen. Nationale Stereotype in deutscher und französischer Literatur. Stuttgart : Metzler 2001. Florack, Ruth: Bekannte Fremde. Zu Herkunft und Funktion nationaler Stereotype in der Literatur. Tübingen : Niemeyer 2007. Gottschall, Jonathan : The Storytelling Animal : How Stories Make Us Human. Boston : Hough-ton Mifflin 2012. Harth, Dietrich : « Über die Bestimmung kultureller Vorurteile, Stereotypen und images in fiktionalen Texten ». Dans : Wolfgang Kubin (éd.) : Mein Bild in deinem Auge. Exotismus und Moderne; Deutschland – China im 20. Jahrhundert. Darmstadt : Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft 1995, 17–42.

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Köppe, Tilmann/Tom Kindt : Erzähltheorie. Eine Einführung. Stuttgart : Reclam 2014. Krefting, Ellen/Aina Nøding/Mona Renate Ringvej (éd.) : Eighteenth-Century Periodicals as Agents of Change. Perspectives on Northern Enlightenment. Leiden : Brill 2015. Lévrier, Alexis : « Justus Van Effen, un ‘passeur’ entre les presses anglaise et française ». Dans : Lise Andries et al. (éd.) : Intellectual Journeys. The Translation of Ideas in Enlightenment England, France and Ireland. Oxford : Voltaire Foundation 2013, 233–246. Lippmann, Walter : Public Opinion. With a New Introduction by Michael Curtis. New Brunswick, NJ : Transaction 1998 [1922]. Mercier, Anne-Marie : « Les échanges culturels entre Français et Anglais : vers une meilleure compréhension ? L’exemple de la presse (L’Esprit des journaux) entre 1772 et 1785. » In: Lise Andries et al. (éd.) : Intellectual Journeys. The Translation of Ideas in Enlightenment England, France and Ireland. Oxford : Voltaire Foundation 2013, 247–273. Neumann, Birgit : Die Rhetorik der Nation in britischer Literatur und anderen Medien des 18. Jahrhunderts. Trier : WVT 2009. Nünning, Ansgar/Vera Nünning : « Ways of Worldmaking as a Model for the Study of Culture : Theoretical Frameworks, Epistemological Underpinnings, New Horizons ». Dans : Ansgar Nünning/Vera Nünning/Birgit Neumann (éd.) : Cultural Ways of Worldmaking. Media and Narratives. Berlin : de Gruyter 2010, 1–25. Nünning, Ansgar/Jan Rupp : « ‘The Internet’s New Storytellers’ : Merkmale, Typologien und Funktionen narrativer Genres im Internet aus gattungstheoretischer, narratologischer und medienkulturwissenschaftlicher Sicht ». Dans : Ansgar Nünning/Jan Rupp/Rebecca Hagelmoser/Jonas Ivo Meyer (éd.) : Narrative Genres im Internet. Theoretische Bezugsrahmen, Mediengattungstypologie und Funktionen. Trier : WVT 2012, 3–50. Nünning, Ansgar : « Wie Erzählungen Kulturen erzeugen : Prämissen, Konzepte und Perspektiven für eine kulturwissenschaftliche Narratologie ». Dans : Alexandra Strohmaier (éd.) : Kultur – Wissen – Narration. Perspektiven transdisziplinärer Erzählforschung für die Kulturwissenschaften. Bielefeld : Transcript 2013, 15–53. Papenheim, Wilhelm : Die Charakterschilderungen im Tatler, Spectator und Guardian. Ihr Verhältnis zu Theophrast, La Bruyère und den englischen character-writers des 17. Jahrhunderts. Leipzig : Tauchnitz 1930. Pienaar, William J. B. : English Influences in Dutch Literature and Justus Van Effen as Intermediary. An Aspect of Eighteenth Century Achievement. Cambridge : Cambridge University Press 1929.

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Rushdie, Salman : Luka and the Fire of Life. London : Jonathan Cape 2010. Scheffel, Michael : « Erzählen als anthropologische Universalie : Funktionen des Erzählens im Alltag und in der Literatur ». Dans : Rüdiger Zymner (éd.) : Anthropologie der Literatur. Poetogene Strukturen und ästhetischsoziale Handlungsfelder. Paderborn : Mentis 2004, 121–138. Schorr, James L.: La Bagatelle (1718–1719). A Critical Edition of Justus Van Effen’s Journal. Oxford : Voltaire Foundation 2014. Stanzel, Franz K. (ed.) : Europäischer Völkerspiegel. Imagologischethnographische Studien zu den Völkertafeln des frühen 18. Jahrhunderts. Heidelberg : Winter 1999. Swift, Graham : Waterland. London : Pan Books 1984. Thiele, Martina : Medien und Stereotype : Konturen eines Forschungsfeldes. Bielefeld : Transcript 2015. Van Effen, Justus : La Bagatelle (1742). Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Michaela FischerPernkopf (éd.) : Die Spectators im internationalen Kontext. Digitale Edition. Graz 2011‒. . (8 August, 2019) Van Effen, Justus: Le Misantrope (1711–1712). Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Michaela Fischer-Pernkopf (éd.) : Die Spectators im internationalen Kontext. Digitale Edition. Graz 2011–. . (8 August, 2019)  Van Effen, Justus : Le Nouveau Spectateur français (1723–25). Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Michaela Fischer-Pernkopf (éd.) : Die Spectators im internationalen Kontext. Digitale Edition. Graz 2011‒. . (8 August, 2019) Welch, Ellen R.: « Dancing the Nation : Performing France in the SeventeenthCentury ‘Ballets des nations’ ». Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies 13/2 (Spring 2013), 3–23. Wolf, Werner : « Was wäre, wenn wir nicht erzählen könnten ? Dystopische Spekulationen und andere Reflexionen zur Relevanz des Narrativen und der Narratologie ». Dans : Alexandra Strohmaier (éd.) : Kultur – Wissen – Narration. Perspektiven transdisziplinärer Erzählforschung für die Kulturwissenschaften. Bielefeld : Transcript 2013, 55–73.

José de Kruif

Quantifying Spectators As we all know, Spectators resonated with the 18th century public, and therefore they must have had some blockbuster qualities which in my view in itself justifies research of the content of the genre. Until recently, a lot of research on the storytelling in Spectators as well as on the general content, has been of a qualitative nature. Research of a more quantitative approach usually focused on metadata like the number of editions or on the size and nature of the reading public and production and distribution of the genre as such. This changed in the early nineties of the last century when text mining techniques, rooted in linguistics and data mining were introduced. For intelligence analysts and biomedical researchers, text mining became part of the standard practice. The techniques evolved and improved rapidly, and although focused on texts, text mining as a methodology for literary studies was somewhat ignored. This changed when Franco Moretti coined the term: “Distant reading” and advocated the tremendous potential of electronic texts for literary studies (Moretti 2013). Nowadays, scholars like Mathew Jockers, Mike Kestemont and Jan Rybicki produce outstanding examples of how techniques that computers are ideally suited for, like pattern recognition, can reveal crucial information on literary works (Jockers 2013; Eder 2016). Still, a lot leaves to be desired for historical research of literature. Identifying general content patterns is extremely interesting for a long-running popular genre such as Spectatorial Magazines. It is also an attractive idea that earlier studies, based on qualitative research, can be put to the test. Do previously observed phenomena appear as frequent as expected and are there patterns out there that have not been detected earlier? This article discusses some preliminary results of the application of quantitative and in particular text mining techniques. It seeks to explore the usefulness of two approaches:  collocation analysis and topic modelling. Sources are two well-known Dutch Spectators:  the very famous Hollandsche Spectator by Justus van Effen, a journalist who gained a reputation as an outstanding literary author and De Denker, presumably edited by the Mennonite vicar Cornelius van Engelen whom is supposed to have edited three Spectatorial Magazines1. Effen’s 1 Both are digitized and online available Digitale Bibliotheek Nederlandse Letterkunde (DBNL) and .

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Hollandsche Spectator was published in the 1730s, the first issue of De Denker was published in 1763. Van Effen explicitly stated that he wanted to follow the example of Addison and Steele. Thirty years later, Van Engelen in turn pays tribute to Van Effen as an illustrious predecessor whose example he wants to follow. Nevertheless, a generation has passed when De Denker is published. For this article the following subjects have been studied with the help of data- and text mining techniques. Has the format survived unchanged over thirty years time? Was there a waxing and waning of themes? In addition to these general questions, research zoomed in on the question to which groups the Spectators focused and how these groups were reviewed? These corpora can be instrumental for a first exploration of how these themes occurred in Specatorial magazines. Also, inspection of a lot of issues simultaneously allows to take a leap from the specific to the general and back. In other words: what happens if we use text mining software to look for the patterns that shape this literary form? Qualitative “close reading” approaches already revealed several regularities of the genre, but at the same time a multitude of unread spectatorial magazines exists, of which we are not sure to what extent they fit in these patterns. De Denker is one of them.

Two Spectatorial Magazines The method applied was quite straight forward:  The issues of the magazines were split into their separate articles. Metadata like issue number, the type of text (poem, dream, story, letter to the editor etc.) were, together with the article texts, stored in a standard database. When the Hollandsche Spectator was digitized, abstracts of a few lines of each issue were made by us, the editors, on the request of publisher2. In the case of De Denker these abstracts are also present, but now they are a product of new conventions that publishers had introduced. Based on these abstracts, an initial estimate of the content of an issue could be made. The format of the texts was manually encoded in a separate field and the resulting data were added to the metadata. An inventory of these text types learned that both Spectatorial magazines lived up to the promise of their title: they always observe. But both do so mostly in treatises. Sometimes the editors resort to more specific observations like: a thoughtful peace on the national character of the Dutch or a description of the English 2 The new edition was published in the ‘Duivelshoekreeks’ by Astrea. This publishing house was owned by André Hanou and his wife, Rietje van Vliet. Both renowned 18th century specialists.

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Text Genres in De Hollandsche Spectator and De Denker 50 45 40 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

Hollandsche Spectator

em Po

Sa tir e

n io us s isc

D

Re po rt

Ad vi ce

n

bs er va tio

O

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e

De Denker

Fig. 1:  Formats

forerunners of the Hollandsche Spectator, these cases were labeled “observation”. Poetry is regularly deployed by Van Effen, but has practically vanished in De Denker. Van Effen sometimes tries his hand at classical well-known 17th-century pamphlet formats such as the conversation in the stage coach and the Schuitepraatje (which is hard to translate, small talk on a barge comes closest)3, but these seem to be experiments with no follow up. In four abstracts it is explicitly stated that the text was translated and finally dreams occur twice in de Hollandsche Spectator but never in De Denker. De Denker contains nearly 5 % (4.85) stories or fiction and the Hollandsche Spectator more than 4 % (4.05). In itself, this corresponds to what is known from qualitative sources about Justus van Effen. These report that Van Effen did not like storytelling. He felt resentment for pure fiction, which sometimes led him into conflict with his readers. Only after long insistence, in one issue he catered to the desire for an allegorical dream story. The term novelist for Van Effen meant as much as a bad word. It shows in his Hollandsche Spectator: emphasis is placed on the moralizing treatise, to the detriment of the narrative. But this has not changed much in De Denker.

3 In the early modern area barges were an important part of public transport in the Netherlands. Thanks to the many canals, there were regular services between many cities.

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Main subjects in Hollandsche Spectator and De Denker 35 30 25 20 Hollandsche Spectator

15

De Denker

10 5

e

ien ce Sc

n

ar ria g M

io Re lig

an ne rs M

Ar ts

G en er al

0

Fig. 2:  Main subjects

On the other hand, many story-like forms are hidden in the general treatises or advices. The narrative in these two Spectators is often hidden in this format. The examples in the Hollandsche Spectator are novelty sketches and some of these have become famous and are included in most anthologies. There are allegorical anecdotes aimed to explain the moral point, but these actually have actors caught in a story that will be settled in time. Though he did not like it, Van Effen had to tell stories to convey some of his messages. De Denker does not differ in this aspect. As a result we find a lot of ‘non-fictional’ treatises and observations about the behaviour of fellow citizens that are told by means of a short story incorporated in a letter-to-the editor or treatise. Regarding themes Van Effen is more interested in arts but this means mainly prose and poetry, for instance painting is never mentioned. There is no place for political opinions, but as can be seen in Fig. 2, especially De Denker is interested in science. However, all these findings are only based on the abstracts.

Two Spectatorial Magazines Full Text What will be the results if we turn to full texts? For a first investigation all texts were mapped with basic text mining techniques to get a general view of the content and general topics and themes in both Spectators. Several open source tools

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Fig. 3:  Word cloud Hollandsche Spectator with Man, heer (lord) and people (menschen) are encircled

enable exploration of patterns in full text. These allow us to map general themes as well as the frames that are attached to phenomena. Feeding Van Effen’s texts into Voyant (Sinclair/Rockwell 2009), an open source tool suited for first exploration, provides a first insight into word frequencies. This picture of word frequencies shows several much used verbs, but I have concentrated on the nouns, because I think these are the most telling. The terms man (man), sir or lord (heer) and people (menschen) are the most frequent nouns. Applying a concordance view to these terms revealed that the frequency of “heer” is partly due to the fact that a lot of the letters to the editor address the recipient as “Mijn heer” (Mylord) or Heer Spectator. Nevertheless, the male half of mankind is addressed far more often than the female half in the main part of the texts as well. As for the category of age: children are described using the general term “children”, boys and girls seldom appear apart. Investigating De Denker, resulted in more or less the same patterns in the word cloud: De Denker uses the term children more often, but apart from that and despite the different editors and thirty years difference in time, it is striking how much the word frequencies resemble each other. It seems to be a man’s world in both Spectators. We already noted that the format of these magazines has not

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Fig. 4:  Word cloud De Denker with Man, heer (lord) and people (menschen) encircled

changed much over time. It is also remarkable how much their phraseology has in common. The apparent gender differences in the word frequencies sparked my interest. Looking into this subject allows me to compare some results to existing literature on gender issues in Spectators and it indicates if text mining as a methodology delivers the same results as research based on close reading (Sturkenboom 1998). So women are mentioned less often in texts but do appear regularly as the addressed group. What is said about them, can be reconstructed using collocations, inspecting two or more words that tend to appear frequently together. Another option is to analyze the content by means of topic modeling and investigate which topics occur frequently in articles in which women are the group under scrutiny. Topic modeling allows the researcher to decompose texts and assign words to groups based on statistical algorithms (Riddell 2015). Ideally topic results in output that contains clusters of words that characterize the content of the document set. In this particular case Mallet, a relatively popular and easy-to-use tool was used. Mallet is based on Latent Dirichlet Allocation with the assumption that each document is a mixture of a small number of topics as a starting point (“MALLET homepage”). It rests on the assumption that each document contains a small set of various topics. For instance a topic like congress might generate a family of words like paper, PowerPoint, chair and scholars.

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The composition of the topics is based on the likelihood of term co-occurrence. Different topics might sometimes contain the same words, but each in a different context of neighboring words. Thus, all articles in the databases were analyzed using Mallet, applying a stopword list of relative meaningless words (like “the”) that was adjusted to 18th century Dutch idiom4. Several trials with different topic numbers showed that 20 topics seemed to generate the best interpretable summarization of the content of the corpora. Apart from long lists of which words were assigned to which topic, Mallet also generates information on the division of topics in each article. Since the groups discussed were also recorded, topics could be related to groups. The resulting table was analyzed with Gephi, an open source software for network visualization and analysis. The modularity algorithm implemented in Gephi points to parts that are more connected to each other than to the rest of the network (Blondel et al. 2008). The results of applying the modularity statistics on the division of groups and topics in the Hollandsche Spectator, were very telling. One of the topics, containing words like poems, art, poet, style, writers, labeled Style (writing) in the Hollandsche Spectator is strongly connected to hack writers and ditto poets, language purists and reciters of poems. And a ‘religious’ topic containing words like God, prayer, church, saint, belief, appeared to be especially connected to Protestants and Refugees. This was to be expected, but also shows that it is highly probable that in this case the topics do contain useful information on the actual document content. Fig.  5 shows how articles in which women are the main subject, appear together in one modularity class and are strongly linked to topics like love and family, conviviality and courtship, on the other hand citizens in general (usually men) are strongly linked to a “major domus” topic, consisting of words like lord, home, nation, city and grand. How about De Denker, thirty years later? Does difference in subjects and relative frequency of much-used terms result in different topics? Yes and no. Just like thirty years earlier, we find a cluster of writing professions connected to a topic containing words that express elements of the art of writing and a cluster of religious terms. The women in De Denker are connected to a topic containing concepts that contrast reason and emotions, a topic on mothers and daughters, to inner life and music and harmony and a topic best described as extended family, especially the elderly. Like the Hollandsche Specator many of the topics connected with women in De Denker evolve around intimate relations.

4 To avoid results with a lot of noise Mallet removes function words from the text files.

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Fig. 5:  Main topics in articles in which women are discussed

The topics also show that of all the articles that focus on female behavior in the Spectators, many discuss emotions. They are composed of words like: feelings, passions, special, and conversation. Close reading of the documents underlying topics like this, reveals sentences like: The weakness of women, in the taming of her hearts, has been written about for a long time in the Hollandsche Spectator and De Denker does not seem to differ much in this aspect. However, there is a caveat here. Topic modelling seems not to be suited to reconstruct sentiments. But it is possible to estimate sentiments surrounding a group by gathering the adjectives that are collocated with a term. For example Paul Baker et al. text mined the English newspapers to reconstruct representation of Islam in the British press and used this technique among others to prove that Islam is frequently described in terms like “radical” or “moderate” (Baker, Gabrielatos, en McEnery 2013). Thus a whole religion is framed as “severe” violent or “less severe” violent on a continuous basis which has the effect that it becomes permanently framed in terms of violence of fanaticism. In our case, adjectives also appear to be quite revealing. The sentiment, with which the females are represented, seems to depend on a combination of marital

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Quantifying Spectators Courteous society Piety and brightness Inner life

Churchlife

Happiness

Knowledge + writing

Fiction

Inoculation

Rich and poor

Theater

Major Domus Women

Emotion/reason

Mothers daughters

Elegant women Ladies and finery

Marriage and family life

Music and harmony

Fig. 6:  Women and topic in De Denker

status and societal rank. In the Spectator, ladies are described as noble, decent and careful with old fashioned as the only criticism. “Juffers” (misses) are sensible, lovable, pretty, good or attractive. The word “woman” is accompanied by favourite terms as well. Among them: quiet, honourable, beautiful, chaste or virtuous. However woman is also the only noun that is accompanied in many cases by negative terms like hateful, mean gullible, small, domineering, bossy, brutal, weak, maniac or coquettish. Stereotypes as well as power relations are expressed in language and that seems to be shown here. By these characteristic collocations, the meaning of the nouns is at least partly determined. In this case, the stereotype is partly dependent on the marital status and rank or societal status of the woman described. It is mainly married middle-class women whom Van Effen seems to oppose. His type of “bad” woman is reminiscent of the mother of Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice: nervous, moody, stupid, bossy, living on the tops and troughs of her emotions and therefore a burden for her family.

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However, as always, context is crucial. A concordance permits inspection of the context of the value judgements in the texts more closely and in our case confirms the impression that middle and lower class women are not discussed favourably. These results match the outcomes of earlier studies into gender aspects of Spectators that used traditional methods. And this indicates that text mining can produce a serious indication of content features. Corpus comparison reveals a lot of the merits of each technique. Replication of the topic modeling experiment with the issues of De Denker that focus on women, at first sight seems to reveal partly the same topics. De Denker, like the Hollandsche Spectator has fashion, emotional women, marriage and manners as topics, with (too much) money spending as an extra treat. The domains used to describe women is the same. Thus, De Denker partly reproduces Van Effen’s stereotypes but blames man as the cause: “And it is caused by our bad taste for the greater part, that the Women are not more capable and savvy” is much more good-natured about women’s traits. An example: Van Effen is irritated about headless following of ridiculous fashion trends, Van Engelen observes that women like to be well-dressed but adds that man should appreciate the trouble women take to please their eye. The topics and stereotypes are of the same nature, the judgement and sentiment differs greatly. Denker uses the same semantic space, but with an altogether different sentiment. Finally, the women in De Denker seem to be more alike, Van Engelen does not appear to distinguish ladies from women and married women from damsels.

Conclusion Several text mining techniques:  investigating word usage, concordances and topic modelling were used to investigate two Spectatorial Magazines that have been published with an interval of 30 years between them. Nowadays, there is probably no disagreement on the power of media in reproducing stereotypes. It is one of the most interesting aspects in this research: discovering general patterns in texts, e.g. use of adjectives, enable us to trace the parade of stereotypes that come to the fore in the many articles that are told in any form. Patterns that actually function as evidence to support or oppose literaryhistorical arguments on the content of Spectators were studied. The results of this limited text mining exercise partly confirm the findings of earlier studies. In this pilot that entailed investigation of two Spectatorial magazines that appeared with a thirty-year interval. According to this limited pilot, the Spectatorial format seems to be very stable, the treatise and the observation were used the most,

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but both authors also individually experimented with other formats. Van Effen tried his hand at poetry and a few 17th-century formats as well. Van Engelen published outright “advises” and no discussions and/or poems. Regarding content and framing of diverse groups, women are described as prey to emotions and the frames in which the contemporaries are captured are both gender-based and status-bound. A new finding is that the stereotypes do apply also to De Denker, so themes remain the same, but the sentiment is very different and class and marital status are mentioned much less. It is confirmed that gender is a crucial element in the Spectatorial classification system of society, but other classification systems like class and age and of course a general world view define the way various authors elaborate on it. Thus, text mining enables us to “read from a distance” indeed. It is a powerful tool that helps us to investigate large samples in a limited amount of time. However, instead of distant reading I  prefer postponed reading as a definition. If you treat a corpus like it is a bag of words, as has been done in this study, the results resemble a tourist map of the corpus. What is the general content of texts and where are the sights that are worth a visit? Text mining techniques allow exploration of a large corpus in a relatively small amount of time, revealing clues that need to be fleshed out. Further research will compare the results presented here to a much larger corpus of Dutch Spectators with other samples from Spectatorial magazines abroad. To this end, a large corpus of 42 Dutch Spectatorial magazines is being digitized at the moment. Findings of this pilot study prove that may be worth our while.

Sources Anon. [Nicolaas Bondt, Cornelis van Engelen; Abraham Arent van der Meersch et al.]: De Denker. Amsterdam: K. van Tongerlo/F. Houttuyn [January 3] 1763–[December 26] 1764. Baker, Paul/Costas Gabrielatos/Tony McEnery: Discourse Analysis and Media Attitudes: The Representation of Islam in the British Press. Cambridge: University Press 2013. Blondel, Vincent D./Jean-Loup Guillaume/Renaud Lambiotte/Etienne Lefebvre: “Fast unfolding of communities in large networks”. Journal of Statistical Mechanics: Theory and Experiment 10 (2008): P10008. . (8 August, 2019) Eder, Maciej/Jan Rybicki/Mike Kestemont: “Stylometry with R: A Package for Computational Text Analysis”. The R Journal 8/1 (2016), 107–21. .

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Jockers, Matthew L.: Macroanalysis. Digital Methods and Literary History. Illinois: University of Illinois Press 2013. . “MALLET homepage”. . Moretti, Franco: Distant reading. London: Verso 2013. Riddell, Allen: “Text Analysis with Topic Models for the Humanities and Social Sciences – Text Analysis with Topic Models for the Humanities and Social Sciences”. 2015. . (8 August, 2019) Sinclair, Stéfan/Geoffrey Rockwell: Voyant Tools: Words in Documents. 2009. . (8 August, 2019) Sturkenboom, Dorothee: Spectators van Hartstocht. Sekse en emotionele cultuur in de achttiende eeuw. Hilversum: Verloren 1998. Van Effen, Justus: Hollandsche Spectator. Amsterdam: Uytwerf [August 20] 1732–[April 8] 1735.

Ellen Krefting

Society and Sentiment: (Hi)storytelling in Denmark’s Den patriotiske Tilskuer (1761–1763) Recent scholarship has changed our understanding of historical writing in the century preceding Leopold von Ranke and the professionalization of history as a scientific discipline. By focusing on a variety of different genres and by widening the range of readers taken into account, scholars of the last two decades have revealed a surprisingly rich trove of eighteenth-century historical writing. Alongside the classic studies by well-known male historians on great public events and personalities, other authors in the eighteenth century, both male and female, produced histories that examined the domestic, private, and emotive spheres of individuals as keys to the past1. “Secret history” was one of the genres that thrived among the growing reading audience, connecting political acts to the private sphere in a way that was often regarded as scandalous by well-established historians. Many of the anonymously published “secret histories” were written by women2. In his study entitled Society and Sentiment. Genres of Historical Writing in Britain 1740–1820, Mark Salber Phillips (2000) demonstrates how during this period various new kinds of historical writing proliferated and responded to the social and sentimental concerns of new audiences, especially in the bourgeoning modern, commercial, middle-class society of Britain. A similar case can be made for other European countries as well, including those in which the middle class and urban culture were less developed. In Scandinavia, for instance, writers of historical narratives, working in “minor” historical genres such as biography and anecdotes, sought to represent the social world of everyday life as well as the individual’s inner experience and sentiments. These authors appealed to the reader’s curiosity, sympathetic identification, and pleasure in the act of reading, activating tropes that were common to other storytelling genres of the period. 1 See Woolf 1997; 2000, the special issue of Études Épistémè (17/2010) including BoulardJouslin 2010, and also Pomata 1993. 2 On “secret history” in the 18th century as an important historical genre lifting the veil of the “private” aspects of history, see Boulard-Jouslin 2010, but also Bannet 2005, Bullard 2009, Burke 2012, and McKeon 2005. On the genre of secret history in Scandinavia, see Krefting 2017.

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As Phillips points out, “the writing of history, which once concentrated almost exclusively on political events, widened its horizons in ways that often paralleled better-known developments in the contemporary novel”3. The eighteenthcentury novel, on the other hand, commonly adopted the conceit of claiming to present a true story or historical event, offering the readers pseudo-factual writings that purported to be “real documents ripped straight from history” (Paige 2011, x)4. Although the stories these novels presented were certainly not real or true in the historiographical sense, it would be inaccurate to dismiss them as lies or misrepresentations of historical reality. Indeed, these novels as a whole represented a literary experiment whose goal was to explore more deeply the shared social reality of the time. There is probably no better place to begin to untangle the complex dynamics between historical writing and storytelling in eighteenth-century Europe than with the spectator journals, or the so-called “moral weeklies”. In the spectator journals narrative genres of all kinds, from fables and fairy tales to anecdotes and biblical and secular historical example narratives, aimed to instruct, improve, and entertain a diverse readership spanning different ages, genders, and social stations. In some of the spectator journals, the moralizing and didactic efficiency of the various types of narration and their effect upon the readers was even raised as a prominent subject of discussion. In the following, I  will show how the famous Copenhagen spectator Den patriotiske Tilskuer (The patriotic spectator, 1761–1763) advocates in favour of a history of the contemporary world that focuses on ordinary citizens and semi-fictional “stories from the real world” as the textual vehicles best suited to fostering the development of exemplary enlightened, virtuous, and patriotic citizens.

Sneedorff ’s Idea of “Patriotism” Den patriotiske Tilskuer was probably the most successful and influential spectator journal published in Denmark-Norway during the eighteenth century. Claus Fasting, editor of the later Provinzial Blade in the Norwegian city of Bergen and one of its prominent readers, serves as an example of a contemporary who was deeply impacted by the journal on both a literary and personal level (Nøding

3 Phillips 2000 (back cover). 4 See also Warner 2016.

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2018). The publication of Den patriotiske Tilskuer was first announced in 1761, in the very last issue of Johann Andreas Cramer’s Der nordische Aufseher. In this issue the Copenhagen-based German editor declares that he will cede his post as secretary of the invisible society to a Danish patriot5. The new patriotic journal appeared anonymously twice a week in Copenhagen from January 20, 1761, to December 31, 1763, with a total of 308 issues and an extraordinary print run of 1072 (Jensen 2000, 234). It was partly financed by the state. The crown’s support can be explained by the fact that the editor and author of most of the journal’s content was Jens Schielderup Sneedorff (1724–1764), a professor of political science at the Sorø Academy (for young noblemen) outside Copenhagen and the crown prince’s official tutor. At the time of the first issue of the spectator, Sneedorff was already well-known for his political theory, laid out in a treatise published in 1757 entitled Om den borgerlige Regiering (On civil government)6. Here he developed a strong defence of an absolutist regime that he viewed as combining strong royal sovereignty with a sense of civic freedom. At the same time, he promoted the idea of harmony between the four estates in Denmark-Norway: the nobility, clergy, merchant class, and peasantry. According to Sneedorff, social harmony depended on a sense of deeply heartfelt civic duty among the members of each estate and a willingness to contribute to the common good and strive to perfect society as a whole. Industriousness, enlightenment, sincerity, and loyalty were the essential civic virtues of a patriot, whose patriotic actions were ideally motivated by a certain sense of personal honour. Striving for the common good was intended as a balance and counterweight to each individual’s natural inclination to act out of pure self-interest. According to Sneedorff, patriotic virtues and honour are rooted in human nature but must be activated and nurtured from a very young age. Education thus occupies a centre stage in his moral-political thinking. Indeed, as one of the core ideas of the European enlightenment, education played an essential role in many spectator journals, but Sneedorff ’s idea of civic and secular education of all citizens—from every estate, including the peasantry—can be seen as quite unique for the period of the early 1760s.

5 Der nordische Aufseher, no. 193, København 1761. See Cramer 1770, 709. 6 After the monograph on Sneedorff ’s literary work by Plesner 1930, only a handful studies on Sneedorff ’s work have appeared, such as Sørensen 1983 and Hassing 2005. Sneedorff ’s journal is also treated interestingly as a major contributor to the ideology of patriotism in Jensen 2000.

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Den patriotiske Tilskuer was an offshoot of Sneedorff ’s political ideas, a vehicle for his patriotic enlightenment programme. The journal served the aim of enlightening and educating the various groups of citizens according to their status and function in society. In contrast to several earlier journals of the spectator kind published in Copenhagen, which encouraged debate and the horizontal exchange of knowledge and opinion (Krefting 2015; Krefting and Nøding 2018), the model of enlightenment here appears as one of enlightenment from above. The fictitious editorial society that loosely frames the issues of Den patriotiske Tilskuer follows the pattern laid down by Addison and Steele (while also borrowing some of their stories). Yet, it clearly mirrors the hierarchical social structure of Dano-Norwegian society and Sneedorff ’s idea of harmonious division between the estates. In the second issue, the anonymous patriotic spectator presents himself in the company of the editorial society’s four other members: a nobleman, a learned priest, a merchant, and a peasant. While they represent the four estates of Dano-Norwegian society, the spectator himself stands apart as a type unto himself, a pure patriot who represents society in its entirety. The members of the four estates are explicitly presented in the journal as model citizens, virtuously striving towards the common good from their particular stations in society. When a female reader in Issue 26 complains about the absence of women in the editorial society, the spectator invents a fictitious society of virtuous and honourable women. He promises that this group of women will overview every issue of Den patriotiske Tilskuer containing topics related to the fair sex. These women are not representatives of particular estates; they are working on behalf of the female sex as a whole. In Sneedorff ’s vision of society, gender division clearly overrules division between estates. In practice, however, only about 30 issues refer explicitly to members of any of these groups; the perspective and the style of the various essays and stories were always those of the pure patriot, who stands in for Sneedorff himself, the “disinterested spectator” of society as a whole who envisions the ultimate aim of each issue as bringing enlightenment and education to all groups of readers, thus eventually paving the way to the reform and perfection of individuals as well as the entire community. Storytelling was considered the most important and efficient moral-didactic enlightenment tool and was used accordingly in Den patriotiske Tilskuer. The journal presents narrations of various kinds in order to express and inculcate ideas and norms of patriotism. We find a number of stories and micro narrations in the form of moral tales and fables, dreams, allegories, oriental tales, and a “Norse” tale about “Edmund and Urfe” based on Old Norse literature. The majority of the stories are introduced as “moral tales”:  there seems to be no

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doubt that Sneedorff was inspired by Voltaire and the genre of “contes moraux” in France, represented by Marmontel in particular7. Some of these stories are borrowed, translated, or adapted from other books and journals; others seem to be authored by Sneedorff himself, while the Norse tale, which fills the whole of Issue 16, is signed by an anonymous T*. In addition, there are numerous historical example narratives and some “true stories” introduced as stories “from the real world” based on letters from readers or on information given to the editors, such as “Coelies historie” (The story of Coelie), which is presented over three issues in 1763. The majority of these narratives are briefly introduced by the anonymous main editor. However, the journal also recurrently raises the intriguing question of what kinds of stories, or histories, can best convey moral examples. What kinds of narration are the most effective?

The Uses of Reading Sneedorff follows most pre-Rousseauian educational thinkers in considering reading an essential part of the moral education of children and adult men and women8. Reading is no less important in the education of a future king than in the education of citizens from every estate. In Den patriotiske Tilskuer, reading is generally seen as the best way for young people in particular to learn about the world and themselves in a pleasurable way since it offers important experience at low cost, effort, and risk. Reading about others’ lives and experiences evokes

7 Sneedorff had actually started his literary career by translating Voltaire’s Vision de Babouc into Danish, followed by A continuation of the vision of Babouc, authored by Sneedorff himself, where the protagonist has moved from Persepolis to Celtopolis (alluding to Copenhagen) and where the moral vices as well as virtues of the DanoNorwegian capital are revealed. Later, Sneedorff also translated Voltaire’s Zadig. In 1759 in his Letters, Sneedorff presents several “novellas” in addition to personal letters and essays on social and aesthetic matters. He had also published several stories based on Old Norse literature, such as The new Edda, or Gylfe’s second voyage (1759). This story, first presented for the newly established society for the progress of the beautiful and useful sciences (Selskabet til de skønne og nyttige Videnskabers Forfremmelse, also called “Det smagende selskab”, the tasteful society) puts forth a vision of a king ruling through love of the common good. 8 In Issue 52 (1761), Sneedorff presents a summary of Locke’s ideas on education, focusing especially on every child’s “impulse to imitate”. Later issues (272/273, 1763) reveal that Sneedorff was aware of the publication of Rousseau’s Emile (which appeared in 1761), which he criticizes at several points without really recognizing the revolutionary value of the work.

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emotional responses and reflection that can in turn lead to moral development and patriotic agency. In an earlier text on the education of the prince, Sneedorff argues that the pleasure of reading about exemplary lives and deeds can spark in young people’s hearts a desire to fulfil their duties. “You cannot believe how much is won if the heart is good, and how little use there is of knowledge if there is no noble desire to fulfil one’s duties”, he concludes in the 27th chapter of Om den borgerlige Regiering, entitled “On the education of a prince”9. This argument is repeated in the spectator journal, where virtue is defined as “an enlightened urge to fulfil one’s duties” (SSS vol. I, 355)10. In Sneedorff ’s view, abstract knowledge of the common good is not enough to induce children to fulfil their duty and act according to the common good: for the will to act according to reason and patriotic virtues, an emotional foundation is needed that has been activated through reading, experience, consideration, reflection, and conversation (SSS vol. VI, issues 305–306, 523)11. The view reflected in the spectator is that people of different ranks require different kinds of reading, just as they need different kinds of moral examples. Yet storytelling in general seems to have a certain universal educational quality since stories can be used to convey all kinds of moral examples appropriate for each estate12. History was viewed as an important type of moral narration. True stories about the deeds and lives of real historical people certainly could have a moraleducational effect, according to the classical “historia magistra vitae”-tradition which resonates strongly in Sneedorff ’s educational thinking and in his spectator journal. “Among all sciences and all of life’s businesses there is no knowledge that is more necessary than history […] History enlightens the lawgiver, entertains the children and provides to all reasonable men the most pleasurable pastime” (SSS, vol. IV, issue 161, 100). The editor of Den patriotiske Tilskuer frequently insisted that historical writing should always have a didactic purpose in mind;

9 Sneedorffs Samtlige Skrivter, vol. VII, Copenhagen 1775, 431. Hereafter referred to as SSS. All the English translations from Sneedorff ’s texts are mine. 10 The point is developed further in the 152-issue of Den patriotiske Tilskuer, where Sneedorff discusses the relation between individual enlightenment, conscience and good will, and the will of God. See SSS vol. IV, 254. 11 These issues are devoted entirely to Sneedorff ’s philosophy of education. 12 Reflections upon the principles of education, of which there is a great deal in the journal (drawing on Locke, Shaftesbury, Montesquieu, and also Basedow, the German philanthropist and education reformer, who was also a professor at Sorø Academy), are for the learned and the top representatives of the estates.

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proper history should be entertaining and useful, replete with political and especially moral wisdom. He dismissed the pedantic, antiquarian kind of historical inquiry concerned primarily with historical documents and source criticism used to support propositions about history. Opposing this scholarly approach to the past, he defended what was at the time sometimes called pragmatic history— the kind of history which seeks truth by narrating facts in an enjoyable manner that people can learn from, that can teach citizens, as well as future kings, how to live and act according to virtue13. The problem, however, was that this kind of exemplary moral-pragmatic history writing—whether sacred or worldly—still mainly focused on heroes, exceptional lives, and unachievable virtues in a distant past that very few readers could relate to and identify with. The limited scope of historical protagonists is the reason why the patriotic spectator actually deplored the present state of historical writing: “The enlightenment and improvement of the human being depend so much on the correct treatment of history, that one cannot work too hard on filling the gaps in this important branch of human knowledge” (SSS vol. II, issue 82, 297), the editor comments. In the same essay he also states that the existing histories of rulers and heroes from the distant past are narrated in ways that make it difficult to discern the moral point in them: “One learns to know them as great lords, courtiers, warriors, and seldom as fathers, friends of mankind, lawgivers and judges” (SSS 298). Not only do historians give their entire attention to the official aspects and public matter of history and tend to forget the private and civic ones, which are the ones that really reveal the inner motives and driving forces in history. They also lack interest in people from the lower estates. Why should there not, among so many ages, so many hundreds of years’ endeavours, be plenty of those which are able to enhance human experience in all estates, and encourage virtue in other occasions in life? A wise industry, a noble act, a curious and extraordinary proof of loyalty, love of mankind, friendship; if it did not concern the entire state, if it was said or done by a citizen, a peasant, should it not deserve to be written down just as much as the capricious acts and words of a frivolous nobleman, who is often said to satisfy human vanity at the expense of truth and virtue? Should it not be the duty of a history writer to honour such acts, since it is important for the state itself to have good citizens in all estates? (SSS 299–300).

This focus in Den patriotiske Tilskuer on everyday life and the inner world of ordinary people as dignified and even necessary historical subjects—along with 13 For the dominant paradigms of historical writing in the early Dano-Norwegian Enlightenment, in the period of Ludvig Holberg, see for instance Olden-Jørgensen in Haakonssen (2017) and Håkon Evju, 2019, 56–63.

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attention to the limits and potential of historical writing—seems to have several things in common with Adam Smith’s historiographical reflections from the same period. In his unpublished Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres (1748–1763), Smith commented upon the problems of historical composition from the viewpoint of the effects on the reader. For Smith, the theorist of moral sentiments, history was not only an account of great, observable events but also the narrative of everyday life and inner events, or “dispositions of mind”. He saw the narrative representation of these inner events as the formal problem challenging historical writing in his day14. For Sneedorff, just as for Smith, history was primarily understood as a narrative mode and a literary genre. According to Den patriotiske Tilskuer, what was needed in contemporary historical writing was a new kind of historical source material, or new historical documents. As the editor notes, if honourable private actions, the everyday world of work and custom, and the inner realm of sentiments were registered in the same way as the public matter and external events, they could become […] material for stories that, when they are good, are more useful than any textbook. Hence our novels and fables no longer would be the product of pure imagination, and over time one would be able to procure people of every age, station and sex truthful histories which were just as entertaining but more reasonable and innocent (SSS 301).

Until such “truthful histories” exist, it seems that fictional stories such as novels and fables can serve the moral-didactic purpose better than any other kind of narrative; fiction is clearly more efficient than abstract moral principles and lessons, the spectator notes, but it is also more efficient than traditional history because such narratives are entertaining and allow the readers to identify emotionally with the characters depicted.

The Moral Example of Fiction and Stories “From the Real World” The idea that moral examples are most efficiently conveyed by narrative fiction is not particular to the editor of Den patriotiske Tilskuer. It was quite common for writers in the early modern period to defend fiction because it offers exemplary

14 See Phillips (2000, 81–87). Both Smith and Sneedorff refer to the Roman historian Tacitus as an ideal in this respect. By largely disregarding the question of the importance of historical events, considering instead their affective motives and effects, “he leads us far into the sentiments and mind of the actors”, Smith notes, not unlike the editor of Den patriotiske Tilskuer.

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tales which give rise to moral truths, following the Aristotelian distinction between the real, particular facts of history and the probable, general truths of poetry. According to Sir Philip Sydney in A Defence of Poesie and Poems (1595), for instance, the poet is superior to both the philosopher and historian because philosophers know only precepts and lose themselves in abstractions while historians are tied to “the particular truth of things and not to the general reason of things”. The poet is able to do both, dealing in abstraction and also drawing “necessary consequence” (Sydney 1899, 42). Francis Bacon, in The Advancement of Learning (1605), defines narrative poetry as “fained history”; it imitates history in the manner of its making, but since it does not rely on facts but is based on imagination, it is divorced from the nature of things, which enables narrative fiction to provide the most pleasant, admirable, or virtuous examples15. The eighteenth century novel as fiction can surely be seen to proceed from such an imitation of history. However, the pages of Den patriotiske Tilskuer also clearly outline the deficiencies of fiction, and the novel in particular. One of the essays (written by Jacob Baden, editor of the review journal Den kritiske Tilskuer, The critical spectator) reminds the readers that French novels are particularly dangerous because they speak powerfully to emotions. But this is exactly what also makes novels extremely efficient educational tools. Novels are particularly suitable for teaching girls and young women about the world because they eliminate the risks involved in real experiences. In this respect, novels—with female protagonists—are better than history—which rarely has female subjects. They allow for emotional and moral identification. Richardson’s famous Pamela and Clarissa are the novels mentioned favourably in this context. Girls’ and women’s reading is in fact crucial. According to the editor of Den patriotiske Tilskuer, women play a key role in the virtue and civic honour of society as a whole. The reason why it is particularly important that women are enlightened and educated is that they have such power over men’s desires: they can show men that only virtuous and honourable men are desirable. Women, Sneedorff stresses, are the guardians of virtue16. The content and narrative form of the novel makes it more efficient for moraldidactic purposes than exemplary history. Moreover, it is not evident to the editor of Den patriotiske Tilskuer that history is truer or more “real” than fiction.

1 5 See Scholar and Tadié 2010, esp, 8–10. See also Warner 2016, and Paige 2011. 16 See, for instance, Issue 185 in SSS, vol. IV, 365–376, for a condensed presentation of female virtues formed as an answer to a question in the previous issue addressed by a female reader, Celinde, about a woman’s duties.

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Historical writing is always in danger of being deficient and even deceitful when it is not conducted properly: A novel is not only eternally more useful than such a history, I dare say that it is also truer. When a novelist characterizes a person well, he also teaches the general characteristics of human nature, which are not only reasonable but even real [.…] A historian, however, always betrays us when he attributes to a real historical person other capacities than he can prove by his own or others’ experience, which rarely expand further than to external aspects of actions. About the thoughts, purposes, motives and everything that constitutes the character, we can never be sure […]. (SSS, vol. VI, issues 257–258, 20–21).

History has the challenging task of representing a particular truth which is based on the observation of external reality. Fiction does not aim for the same kind of truth—it just has to be convincingly and well narrated in order to appear real and replete with moral truth about individuals’ inner lives. The ideal, however, would be to combine history’s truth and fiction’s narrative form and sentimental appeal. Den patriotiske Tilskuer actually suggests a new form of morally instructive narration, taking the best from both history and fiction: If such history writers who often have a deep understanding of the motivating grounds for human actions would enrich the world with their lucidity without harming the historical truth which deserves high consideration, I believe they would do well by dressing their stories in such inventions that admit mixing truth and fiction. This might possibly give opportunity to a new kind of learned and witty work which could be useful as well as pleasurable (SSS, vol. VI, 22).

Interestingly, Den patriotiske Tilskuer shows recurrent interest in this kind of story, which is neither proper, “true” history nor pure fiction. Throughout the journal the editor laments the lack of focus on private lives, inner motives, and ordinary people, including women, in traditional historical writing; he sees a need for more historiographical attention to the present times. In order to be both enjoyable and useful, and hence be able to “spark in young people’s hearts a desire to fulfil one’s duties”, history should ideally turn the readers’ attention towards common people and “ordinary circumstances” with which youngsters, as well as men and women, can identify their own lives. The journal suggests that the lack of contemporary histories of common people’s ordinary and inner lives be solved by encouraging readers themselves, from all estates and both sexes, to submit accounts of noteworthy “private deeds” and “words” from their own worlds, presented in a “natural style”, to be assembled by the editorial society of Den patriotiske Tilskuer in a sort of contemporary historical “protocol”, representing a “history of our time”, to be published after

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50 years with the names of the recorded persons (SSS vol. II, issue 82, 302–303). As proof of its utility, the following issue conveys a number of (hi)stories of this kind, anonymized and recited by the editorial society, about such people as a young nobleman who spends the money he earns from card games each year on poor families with many children, or a man who secretly repays the moneylender from whom his friend has borrowed money (SSS vol. III, 354). We also learn that the patriotic society itself continues to keep track of “noble and good deeds, in every estate”. Some of these are presented as exemplary, anonymized short stories in Issue 139 (SSS, 354). One of them is a short and very simple story, filling only a couple of pages in the journal, about an army soldier, Norwegian in origin, who shot a fellow soldier who was about to desert. When the officer in command later praised him for his deed and offered him a reward, the soldier declined, with the words, “No, my Lord, I  do not shoot people to death for money” (SSS, 356). The spectator concludes from this story that the soldier’s words serve as proof of the fact that the Norwegian common people have maintained the same attitudes that prompted their ancestors to commit so many noble and great deeds motivated solely by loyalty and honour. The story is representative of the kind of moral narrations included in Den patriotiske Tilskuer, whether they are taken from the aristocracy, clergy, bourgeoisie, or peasantry. The individuals depicted in these narratives generally denounce greed, personal economic interests, luxury, and materialistic extravagance while encouraging industriousness, self-control, and austerity—all for the common good of society.

The Story of Coelie Among the tedious and sometimes quite excruciating narrations of virtuous soldiers and merchants, landowners, and peasants, there is one story “from the real world” that stands out in Den patriotiske Tilskuer. It is a plainly written but complex story of the life of Coelie. This narrative serves to sum up Sneedorff ’s ideas about the role of education and the tremendous importance of reading, especially for women, the “guardians of virtue” for whom fiction in particular sparks a tendency towards sentimental identification and moral reform. The story of Coelie is presented over three issues of Den patriotiske Tilskuer, where it is introduced as a letter sent in by the woman herself17. Her educational firstperson narrative is told retrospectively: claiming to be totally unacquainted with the stylistic rules of literature, she presents and reflects upon her own experiences 17 Issue 198 in SSS, vol. IV, 498s.; continued in Issue 218, 141s.; Issue 220, 164s.; Issue 221, 174s.; and Issue 223, 196s. in SSS, vol. V.

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for the benefit of less experienced women. Addressed to the editor and the readers, her account follows her miserable upbringing, focused on teaching her from a very young age to be a woman of the most self-centred kind. By playing with dolls, she learns how to attract the attention and esteem of men, indulging in fashion and pleasing manners. Predictably, she falls in love with a man who adores these vain and shallow aspects of her character, but when her parents discover the relationship, they do not approve the libertine who has won her affection and forbid Coelie to marry him, preferring instead someone “of character”. But then her parents die and leave her with a substantial inheritance. She lets her passions take hold of her reason and marries the dissolute man despite his bad reputation—he is not only poor and without a proper profession or education, he is also deeply in debt and known for cheating. At first it is a happy marriage. Coelie and her husband lead a life based on pleasure, entertainment, and luxury. Once her husband grows bored with her and becomes indifferent, leaving her increasingly to herself, especially once the children have arrived, she began to suffer and reproach herself: “It was as if I had awakened from a dream”, Coelie explains. Having had little experience in life beyond playing with dolls, she can think of nothing else to do but play with her lovely daughter as if she were a pretty, vapid marionette like herself. The turning point in Coelie’s life comes with the discovery of books. From childhood she has known only the catechism and psalms. Now she begins to read fiction (“historier”), starting with the stories from The Tales from the Thousand and One Nights. “Many of my sex have been repelled from reading because they are advised to read books which are too challenging for them […] For women of mediocre or common education, more is achieved if they obtain the patience to read, even if it requires books of mediocre quality”. This is the lesson Coelie carries to the readers of Den patriotiske Tilskuer (Issue 221 in SSS vol. V, 175). What she has learned from the stories she has read, she points out, is that her destiny and her experiences were not unique. From reading fiction she learned that there were many women as simpleminded and full of vanity as she and many men like her husband. This realization did not make her wiser, she admits, but it provided her with some comfort. Coelie was not yet aware that she could obtain knowledge through her reading. To her, knowledge was restricted to learned people who knew Latin. But as her reading widened—from exotic stories to novels such as Clarissa and Grandison, followed by manuals on the education and instruction of children by Clemens Tode, for instance, and The Children’s Magazine (Børne-Magazinet)—she also learned to reflect. Reading inspires her to think, to reflect, and to “dialogue with herself ”, as she puts it. Coelie learns to take pleasure in her own company; she can suddenly spend a whole evening

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just with her own thoughts. Reading, it appears, has made her more enlightened not only about the world, but more importantly, about herself. Having begun to reflect upon her own childhood and education, she discerns the reasons behind her present situation. The most important result from Coelie’s reading and self-reflection is her growing awareness of her important role in the upbringing of her own children. She grows determined to avoid committing the same educational errors as her parents. Now focused on the “rules of nature” rather than the rules of fashion, she allows her daughters to take part in all the domestic activities they wish to instead of playing with dolls. She teaches them tidiness and hygiene rather than vanity, natural language and gestures rather than affectation, polite interactions with the servants rather than rudeness, natural sincerity and common sense rather than wittiness and artificial rhetoric. Coelie now encourages her children to think for themselves rather than forcing her own ideas on them. In every way she seeks to spare them from suffering the same fate as their mother. After leading a life based upon false and unnatural ideas, upon prejudice and forced acts, she declares that she has now started “discovering moral truth by my own common sense” (SSS 184). This is the reason why Coelie actually can serve as an example for everyone, the editor comments in his concluding remarks on the story.

Conclusion Coelie’s story clearly sums up Sneedorff ’s moral and educational ideas:  the importance of a subjective, sentimental foundation for patriotic virtues and the role of reading and reflection in shaping a virtuous citizenry with a “desire to fulfil one’s duties” for the sake of the common good. The story also demonstrates what is viewed in Den patriotiske Tilskuer as the limits of traditional historical writing and the moral-educational potential of these kinds of “(hi)stories from the real world”. The spectator journal had recurrently bemoaned history’s fixation with rulers, heroes, and public deeds performed in a distant past. The editor calls for histories which can be useful for larger groups of readers, representing the inner lives and private acts of ordinary people with whom the readers, including women, could identify, sentimentally and morally. Such a new kind of historical writing would, however, need to learn from fiction, from the way novels and short stories efficiently narrated the daily lives, inner sentiments, and moral development of their protagonists. Hence, Coelie might not only serve as moral example to Den patriotiske Tilskuer’s readers of both sexes. Her story also serves as a model for a new form of historical writing.

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Sources Bannet, Eve Tavor: “Secret history: Or, talebearing inside and outside the secretoire”. Huntington Library Quarterly 68/1–2 (2005), 375–396. Boulard-Jouslin, Claire: “‘Augustus Caesar to Livia Drusilla’: Théorie(s) de l’Historie dans la Female Spectator”. Études Épistémè 17/2010 (online). Bullard, Rebecca: The Politics of Disclosure, 1674–1725. London: Pickering and Chatto 2009. Burke, Peter: “Publicizing the private. The rise of ‘Secret History’”. In: Christian J. Emden/David Midgley (eds.): Changing Perceptions of the Public Sphere. New York/London: Berghahn Book 2012. Cramer, Johann Andreas: Der nordische Aufseher, vol 3. Leipzig: Ackermann 1758, 1759, 1761. Evju, Håkon: Ancient Constitutions and Modern Monarchy. Historical Writing and Enlightened Reform in Eighteenth Century Denmark-Norway 1730−1814. Leiden: Brill 2019. Fjord Jensen, Johan: Dansk litteraturhistorie 4: Patriotismens tid 1746–1807. København: Gyldendal 2000. Haakonssen, Knud and Sebastian Olden-Jørgensen (eds.): Ludvig Holberg (1684–1754). Learning and Literature in the Nordic Enlightenment. London: Routledge 2017. Hassing, Anders V.: Staten I hjertet. Jens Schielderup Sneedorffs patriotiske opdragelsesprojekt. MA Thesis. København: Københavns universitet 2005. Krefting, Ellen: “The urge to write: Spectator journals negotiating freedom of the press in Denmark-Norway”. In: Ellen Krefting/Aina Nøding/Mona Ringvej (eds.): Eighteenth Century Periodicals as Agents of Change. Perspectives on Northern Enlightenment. Leiden: Brill 2015, 153–171. Krefting, Ellen: “Konger uten klær. Hemmelige historier som eneveldekritisk sjanger”. Arr idéhistorisk tidsskrift 1 (2017), 3–18. Krefting, Ellen/Aina Nøding: “Hermits, squabblers, and tobacco smoking artisans: Spectator journals in Denmark-Norway, 1726−1785”. In: Misia Sophia Doms (ed.): Moral Weeklies in Europe. An International Companion to the Spectator Genre, forthcoming 2019. McKeon, Michael: The Secret History of Domesticity: Public, Private, and the Division of Knowledge. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press 2005. Nøding, Aina: Claus Fasting. Dikter, journalist og opplysningspioneer. Oslo: Scandinavian Academic Press 2018. Paige, Nicholas D.: Before Fiction. The Ancien Régime of the Novel. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press 2011.

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Phillips, Mark Salber: Society and Sentiment. Genres of Historical Writing in Britain 1740–1820. Princeton: Princeton University Press 2000. Plesner, Knud Frederik: Jens Schelderup Sneedorff. En litterærhistorisk monografi. København: Levin og Munksgaards forlag 1930. Pomata, Gianna. “History, Particular and Universal: On reading some recent Women’s History Textbooks”. Feminist Studies, 19/1 (1 April 1993), 7–50. Scholar, Richard/Alexis Tadié (eds.): Fiction and the Frontiers of Knowledge 1500–1800. Ashgate: Farnham 2010. Sneedorff, Jens Schielderup: Om den borgerlige regiering, København 1757. In: Sneedorffs Samtlige Skrivter VII–VIII. København: Gyldendal 1775–1777. Sneedorff, Jens Schielderup: Den patriotiske Tilskuer, København 1761–1763. In Sneedorffs Samtlige Skrivter I–IV. København: Gyldendal 1775–1777. Sydney, Sir Philip: A Defence of Poesie and Poems. London: Cassell and Company 1899. Sørensen, Øystein: Frihet og enevelde: Jens Schielderup Sneedorffs politiske teori. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget 1983. Warner, William: “Reality and the novel: Latour and the uses of fiction”. The Eighteenth Century 57/2 (2016), 267–279. Woolf, D. R.: “A Feminine Past? Gender, Genre, and Historical Knowledge in England, 1500–1800”. American Historical Review 102/3 (1997), 645–679. Woolf, D. R.: Reading History in Early Modern England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2000.

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Migrations d’une pratique narrative: La Spectatrice danoise de Laurent Angliviel de la Beaumelle Introduction Dans l’éventail des œuvres du genre spectatorial, établi par Richard Steele et Joseph Addison au début du xviiie siècle, se retrouve une architecture fonctionnelle qui a fortement influencé le système de la narration moderne. Les périodiques ouvraient la voie à une nouvelle façon de penser, d’écrire et de communiquer qui devait se répandre sur le continent européen et, plus tard, au-delà de l’Atlantique. Ils fournissaient au roman moderne les instruments nécessaires à son éclosion, en particulier au roman épistolaire aboutissant au siècle suivant à l’écriture feuilletonesque et au personnage emblématique du promeneur dans le paysage urbain, du flâneur dans le sens de Charles Baudelaire ou de Walter Benjamin. Les premiers titres de ce genre journalistique, témoins au xviiie siècle de la naissance d’une « opinion publique », peuvent être interprétés à posteriori comme annonciateurs de phénomènes modernes : ainsi The Tatler1 peut faire figure comme un précurseur de la communication en « quick data », c’est-à-dire comme un modèle sémantique des réseaux sociaux, de Twitter, où la communication est à la fois privée et publique et où le sujet pensant pénètre dans la place publique pour construire une plateforme de communication préfigurant ce qu’on appelle aujourd’hui le « social media ». « To tattle » (jaser) et « to twitter » (gazouiller) ont un dénominateur sémantique commun, à savoir communiquer sans entraves, en laissant les pensées jaillir librement entre le fictif et le factuel, suivant le modèle de l’oralité. The Spectator2 suivra la même idée, s’érigeant en observateur critique et satirique de la société et de ses coutumes, 1 Le premier modèle des essais périodiques a été The Tatler: By Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq., London, S. Buckley/J. Tonson, [12.4.] 1709–[2.1.] 1711, nr. 1–271, de Richard Steele et de Joseph Addison. 2 Le prototype des spectateurs est The Spectator: To be continued every Day [1st series], London, S. Buckley/J. Tonson, [1.3.] 1711–[6.12.] 1712, n° 1–555 de Richard Steele et Joseph Addison. Dans la deuxième série, les auteurs sont Joseph Addison, Eustache Budgell et Thomas Tickell: The Spectator [2nd series], London, S. Buckley/J. Tonson, [18.6.] 1714–[20.12.] 1714, n° 556–635. .

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préfigurant ce qu’on appellera plus tard l’écriture «  costumbriste  », autrement dit le traitement narratif des mœurs et de coutumes. Dans la mesure où le nouveau genre exige une instance fictive fondatrice, il crée les outils nécessaires pour la genèse du roman moderne. Mais le genre spectatorial se fixe aussi un but moralisateur, recourant au concept horatien du « prodesse et delectare », de la réunion d’aspects utiles et amusants. Les feuilles publiées généralement suivant un rythme défini cherchent à exercer une fonction éducatrice, de mentor, de « coach », pour orienter le lectorat fictif et réel – à majorité féminine – vers un code de comportement étroitement lié à l’éthique protestante ou – pour employer un terme de Montesquieu – à un concept républicain de la vertu. Aussi le roman d’éducation de Fénelon Télémaque (1699) ainsi que les Entretiens sur la pluralité des mondes (1686) de Fontenelle ont-ils servi de modèle, en particulier à Addison. Leur devise pourrait se résumer ainsi : « narrer pour éduquer et divertir », afin de gagner un public-lecteur à la fois contributeur et consommateur payant, mettant en route un mécanisme complexe de narration à la manière des contes arabes des Mille et une nuits, dont le texte avait été traduit en français quelques années plus tôt, entre 1704 et 1717, par Antoine Galland. Dans la réception du modèle anglais spectatorial, la Hollande, la France et l’Allemagne ont été privilégiées. La première traduction du Spectator en français, Le Spectateur français, avait paru en Hollande avant de passer à Paris et aux réseaux urbains de l’Europe3. Il faut souligner que les cultures protestantes ont joué un rôle prépondérant dans cette diffusion initiale. Mais on pourrait y reconnaître également en partie le canevas discursif du Grand Tour de Joseph Addison, entrepris entre 1699 et 1703. Les villes hollandaises offraient au jeune voyageur le cadre le plus bibliophile et profitable en ce qui concerne la production de livres, mais il entretenait également des relations très étroites avec Nicolas Boileau en France ou Wilhelm Gottfried Leibniz en Allemagne. Sa fascination pour les racines classiques de la culture italienne l’a aussi grandement influencé. Son séjour à Genève a laissé des traces dans ses relations avec Jean Alphonse Turrettini, un des professeurs les plus respectés de son temps, qui collaborait étroitement avec Pierre Bayle4, l’auteur du Dictionnaire historique et critique

Il y aussi The Guardian : To be Continued every Day, London, J. Tonson, [12.3.] 1713– [1.10.] 1713, n° 1–175, de Richard Steele et al. 3 Le Spectateur, ou le Socrate moderne : Où l’on voit un Portrait naïf des Mœurs de ce Siècle : Traduit de l’anglois, Amsterdam, David Mortier, [vol. 1–3]/Frères Wetstein, [vol. 4–6], 1714–1726. . 4 Cf. Smithers 1968, 55–83.

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(1694–1697), un réservoir discursif dans lequel Addison devait puiser beaucoup de ses concepts et micro-narrations. Il est évident que, dans la diffusion des patronymes et toponymes, le réseau spectatorial avait été également préfiguré par la révocation de l’Édit de Nantes en 1685. Le schéma particulier de la première vague de réception des spectateurs sur le continent européen s’explique par la forte migration franco-protestante et les restructurations dans la production des livres. En ce qui concerne la narrativité dans les spectateurs anglais, Joseph Addison était le partenaire le plus actif. Alors que son compagnon Richard Steele se chargeait surtout de l’organisation des feuilles et du retrait des textes envoyés chez l’éditeur, Addison développait des récits substantiels à partir de sa propre expérience de lecture. Nous y trouvons des éléments de romans et de contes dans les genres allégorique, épistolaire, exotique, onirique, autobiographique ou simplement proto-romantique, intégrés dans un grand ensemble de structures hypo- et hyperdiégétiques. N’oublions pas que cet art de raconter visait particulièrement de futures lectrices, si bien que le genre spectatorial a donné naissance à des satellites au féminin, comme un Female Tatler5, une Spectatrice6 ou le Female Spectator d’Eliza Haywood7, entièrement écrit par des femmes pour les femmes. Au milieu du siècle, nous trouvons une version scandinave intitulée La Spectatrice danoise, publiée par un jeune protestant français originaire de la région protestante des Cévennes, Laurent Angliviel (1726–1773), qui avait commencé sa carrière dans le cadre de l’Église calviniste de Genève sous le pseudonyme de La Beaumelle. Il s’introduit ensuite dans les milieux de la Cour royale de Copenhague, avant de passer à Berlin et Paris. Fruit de ses activités de précepteur dans la capitale danoise, ses feuilles témoignent du métissage culturel mis en œuvre avec vigueur ainsi que de la création d’un discours pseudo-protonationaliste visant à l’éducation de la jeune élite danoise.

5 [Thomas Baker, et al.], The Female Tatler. By Mrs. Crackenthorpe, a Lady that Knows Everything, London, B. Bragge/A. Baldwin, [8.7.] 1709–[31.3.] 1710, nr. 1–111 [115]. 6 Anonyme : La Spectatrice. Paris : Pissot/Jean de Nully [29 mars] 1728–[mars] 1729, 15 numéros. – Voir aussi Alexis Lévrier, Marion Brétéché, Amélie Junqua, Claire Boulard-Jouslin, Élise Revon-Rivière : La Spectatrice. Reims : Presses universitaires de Reims 2013. 7 Eliza Haywood [Elizabeth Fowler]: The Female Spectator. London : T. Gardner [avril] 1744–[mars] 1746, 24 num.

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La Spectatrice danoise de La Beaumelle comme modèle de transdiscursivité européenne Dans le contexte culturel du Royaume dano-norvégien du xviiie siècle, les feuilles morales de La Spectatrice danoise sont représentatives de l’impact de l’essai périodique à vocation littéraire, qui s’est développé dans le sillage de la migration huguenote à travers l’Europe. Peu après son arrivée à Copenhague, le jeune Cévenol a été initié aux coutumes littéraires du pays par un abbé ainsi que l’auteur national Ludvig Holberg (1684–1754) qui lui ont suggéré de s’essayer au le genre spectatorial, bien établi déjà dans d’autres cultures européennes. Nous avons ici une Comédie française qui a joué une fois devant la Cour. L’abbé Lemaire m’a dit que quelques courtisans ignares, pour se donner un air de goût et de discernement, ont fort critiqué la troupe, et m’a engagé de leur dessiller les yeux dans une feuille volante. Le baron de Holberg, avec lequel je suis très étroitement lié, m’a conseillé de donner au public des discours hebdomadaires. (La Beaumelle à son frère Jean, 16 juillet 1748 ; cit. d’après Lauriol 1978, 148)

Un peu plus d’un an après l’arrivée de la Beaumelle au Danemark, en août 1748, le journal était prêt à être lancé et suivait le rythme de publication hebdomadaire, tel qu’il a été pratiqué dans les spectateurs en Allemagne. Il devait être publié jusqu’en avril 17508. 29 numéros ont été publiés de septembre à décembre 1748, 31 numéros de janvier à avril 1749, et 23 ou – selon l’édition – 18 numéros ont suivi de janvier à avril 1750. Dans son projet de publication, La Beaumelle suit étroitement le modèle spectatorial à la mode. Le titre de La Spectatrice danoise met en évidence ses liens avec le prototype anglais. L’extension du titre « ou l’Aspasie moderne » se réfère à la traduction française du Spectator, qui évoque aussi son rôle de «  Socrate moderne » et sa mission consistant à faire descendre la philosophie du ciel et à 8 La Spectatrice danoise, ou l’Aspasie moderne, ouvrage hebdomadaire. Par Mr. Angliviel de La Beaumelle. Copenhague : Aux dépens de l’auteur 1749, Tome I, Première partie, 1–248 (décembre 1748) ; Seconde Partie, 249–504 (avril 1749). A la fin du premier volume se trouve un appendice de 28 pages, daté de novembre 1748 : Réponse au plaidoyer de la Spectatrice danoise, en faveur des Francs-Maçons. Par Philothée. Copenhague : E. H. Berling. – La Spectatrice danoise, ou l’Aspasie moderne, ouvrage hebdomadaire. Copenhague : Aux dépens de l’auteur 1749, Tome II [1750 devrait être la date juste, car l’approbation à la fin du volume fait mention du 25 avril 1750]. Vol. II, 1–202. Un autre volume II a été publié la même année à l’Imprimerie royale : il contient 18 numéros, 148 p. et une autre distribution de textes. Voir aussi Dictionnaire des journaux. 1600–1789. Oxford : Voltaire Foundation. [consulté le 4 septembre 2018].

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la distribuer parmi les hommes. Dans le numéro 10 (du 12 mars 1711), Addison propose une popularisation de la philosophie en la faisant sortir des institutions du savoir pour la faire connaître dans les cafés et autres lieux publics: It was said of Socrates, that he brought Philosophy down from Heaven, to inhabit among Men; and I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought Philosophy out of Closets and Libraries, Schools and Colleges, to dwell in Clubs and Assemblies, at Teatables, and in Coffee-houses9.

Le choix du nom d’Aspasie va dans le même sens, avec l’intention de souligner la présence féminine en philosophie. Aspasie se réfère à une femme de l’Antiquité grecque qui a vécu au ve siècle av. J.-C  – née vers 470, morte vers 400. Elle était connue pour sa beauté et son rayonnement intellectuel. En tant que nonathénienne, Aspasie ne pouvait pas épouser son compagnon Périclès. Elle s’occupait de la vie publique, d’art et de rhétorique, dénonçant la discrimination des femmes, cantonnées dans des tâches domestiques. Ainsi Aspasie est devenu la cible des railleries de la comédie antique10. Le nom d’Aspasie circulait également dans les feuilles anglaises, par exemple dans le Spectator ainsi que dans le Guardian11, où elle passait pour un personnage important de la philosophie de l’Antiquité : We are told by some antient Authors, that Socrates was instructed in Eloquence by a Woman, whose Name, if I am not mistaken, was Aspasia. I have indeed very often

9 The Spectator, 12 mars 1711, 19. 10 Elle pourrait représenter Madame du Châtelet, amante de Voltaire au château de Cirey (jusqu’en 1749). Dans ce contexte, il faudrait aussi mentionner la comédie Aspasie (1636) de Jean Desmarets de Saint-Sorlin (1595–1676), savant aux talents multiples, intime du Cardinal de Richelieu et ennemi des jansénistes. Voir l’interprétation de l’Aspasie par un lecteur jutlandais dans l’Amusement XXXIV. Voir aussi Amusement IV, 31. 11 « Aspasie est une Dame, qui a beaucoup de génie, & une grande Elevation dans l’esprit et dans les sentimens : elle a passé tout le tems de son veuvage dans une retrait convenable, qui fait honneur à son Epoux defunt, qui donne de la réputation à ses Enfans. Comme elle en a plusieurs de l’un & de l’autre sexe en âge de se marier, cette considération lui attire beaucoup de visites ; mais ses vertus, & les agrémens de sa conversation, lui en attirent encore d’avantage. Il n’y a presque point de circonstance de la vie humaine qui n’entre dans la vie de cette Dame considerée dans toutes ces differentes relations ; &, par conséquent, sa conduite me fournira une infinité d’incidens, dont le public pourra tirer les préceptes les plus utiles ». Justus Van Effen [Joseph Addison, Richard Steele] : « Discours II », in: Le Mentor moderne [The Guardian], Vol.1/002 (1723), 11–19, ed. Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Elisabeth Hobisch : Spectators. Digital Edition, Graz 2011. [7 septembre 2018].

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looked upon that Art as the most proper for the Female Sex, and I think the Universities would do well to consider whether they should not fill the Rhetorick Chairs with She Professors12.

Il faut également relever le fait que l’Aspasie moderne ou la Spectatrice est danoise, si bien qu’on a une instance fictive qui ne correspond ni au sexe ni à l’appartenance culturelle de l’auteur français. Au niveau de la fictionnalité, cette double rupture discursive crée un effet esthétique, qui se retrouve dans le nom des numéros du premier volume, à savoir «  Amusements  »13. L’effet culturel d’« ostranenie », de porte-à-faux sémantique, se voit thématisé dans les métaréflexions par la Spectatrice même : On sera surpris, que je donne en françois ces feüilles Périodiques. Qu’on ne me condamne pas sur l’étiquette du sac ; j’ai mes raisons : toutes les langues sont dans le fonds d’une beauté égale. Ce qui en fait la différence, c’est la diversité de génie des peuples, qui les parlent. La Danoise est douce, naturelle, simple, cette douceur & cette simplicité viennent de notre Caractère : nous sommes naturellement bons. La Françoise doit sa legereté, sa délicatesse, la variété de ses tours, sa liberté, au caractère vif & sociable des François, qui semblent nés pour la conversation. Suivant cette idée, j’ai crû que je devois me servir de la langue, qui est la plus propre au but, que je me suis proposé d’amuser & de plaîre. […] Le François aura toujours le dessus sur toutes les langues du monde. C’est cette supériorité qui me détermine en partie à le préférer à ma langue maternelle, que j’aime d’ailleurs & que j’estime infiniment (La Spectatrice danoise I, I, 5–6).

Le détournement des perspectives culturelles, qui était devenu une pratique courante dans la narration du xviiie siècle, constitue ici les assises de l’architecture diégétique. En justifiant son choix de la langue française, la voix narrative arrive à faire passer son message principal, qui consiste à souligner la supériorité de la langue et la culture françaises en Europe, en particulier sur une culture nordique peu développée à son avis. Dans la mesure où cette voix narrative vient de l’intérieur de la culture critiquée, elle vise à obtenir un haut degré d’approbation chez les lecteurs. La Beaumelle connaissait certainement bien la stratégie narrative divulguée par le roman épistolaire Lettres persanes de son auteur préféré, Montesquieu, mais la référence à son modèle anglais n’y manque pas non plus :

1 2 The Spectator [Addison] 247, incipit, ou Le Spectateur III, 27, incipit. 13 Il se peut que La Beaumelle ait pris se soit inspiré de la publication de Guillaume Hyacinthe Bougeant (1690–1743)  :  Amusements philosophiques sur le langage des bestes… Paris  :  Gissey 1739, dont l’auteur était un jésuite engagé. Le texte est la réécriture d’une fable indienne. Dans le deuxième volume de la Spectatrice danoise, cet aspect ludique du prédicat « Amusements » se perdra, et les numéros seront intitulés « Essais sur divers sujets ».

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Me faire imprimer, n’est pas ma folie ; mais mon foible est de vouloir être utile à ma Patrie, que je ne puis servir que de ma plume. […] Je me croirai amplement dédommagée de mes peines, si je fais naître à quelque habile Ecrivain l’idée de nous donner, deux fois la semaine, des discours qui vaillent ceux du Spectateur Anglois (La Spectatrice danoise I, I, 5–6).

L’hebdomadaire francophone était bien représenté dans d’autres villes européennes comme Paris, Genève, Amsterdam, Berlin, Francfort, Leipzig, Dresde, Stockholm et, plus spécialement, à Hambourg14. Au début du projet, Holberg et La Beaumelle avaient prévu une version additionnelle en langue danoise, une idée qui finalement n’a pas pu se réaliser, certainement à cause des critiques du jeune précepteur français envers le poète consacré du Danemark15. Mais deux anthologies ont vu le jour en Allemagne16. Les feuilles spectatoriales de La Beaumelle correspondent généralement à l’écriture essayiste, tout en dégageant un «  parfum  » pédagogique, un ton sentencieux, suivant la tradition du Télémaque de Fénelon. Elles se distinguent aussi de leurs prédécesseurs par une position discursive fortement influencée par l’Église Réformée de tradition calviniste. On peut également relever un message peu équivoque en faveur de la franc-maçonnerie, ce qui n’a rien de surprenant dans le contexte de l’éclosion des spectateurs17. Comme nous venons de le voir dans la question de la relation entre les sexes ou entre la noblesse et la bourgeoisie, la voix narratrice opère avec la figure du paradoxe tout en optant au bout du compte pour des solutions traditionnelles. Dans cette mise en scène, il y

1 4 Cf. Dictionnaire des journaux, 1991. 15 Cf. Dictionnaire des journaux, 1991. 16 Des Herrn de la Beaumelle Gedanken, 1756. [Edité avec une introduction de Philander v. d. Weistritz, pseudonyme de Christian Gottlob Mengel, le traducteur du texte, 24 avril 1756. Mengel († 1769), était un libraire de Silésie, qui est passé de Dresde à Copenhague.] – Des Herrn de la Beaumelle Gedanken, 1757 [avec une introduction de Christian Gottlob Mengel]. Dans les deux traductions, les « Amusements » sont rendus par « Gedanken » (« Pensées »). Il est significatif de voir que les traductions allemandes ont pris les noms de chapitres d’une autre publication, à savoir de Mes pensées [or Qu’en dira-t-on ?], 1751. – Beyträge zu den Gedanken des Herrn Beaumelle, 1754 [traduit par Karl Friedrich von Benekendorf]. 17 Il est étonnant que la franc-maçonnerie se soit développée dans le même contexte discursif que le prototype spectatorial. La « Grande Loge » a été fondée à Londres en 1717, avec la codification de ses anciennes chartes en 1723 par les « Constitutions d’Anderson ». Comme les spectateurs, les francs-maçons cultivent la philanthropie afin de contribuer à développer un idéal de vie sociale, mais le sujet n’est jamais traité de façon aussi explicite qu’ici.

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a deux noms à valorisation opposée : d’un côté, Voltaire, en tant que bête noire de l’auteur, attaqué à tout moment, d’un autre côté, Montesquieu, dont l’œuvre récente de l’Esprit des lois (1748) attire toute l’attention de l’auteur.

Constructions narratives de la voix spectatoriale La première indication de la poétique spectatoriale apparaît donc dans la construction narrative de la voix fictive. Le personnage représente un être philosophique, observateur du contexte culturel, hautement conscient de la complexité de la pensée humaine, pourvu d’un esprit critique, voire satirique, lecteur de réflexions reçues à son adresse ou à celle de son libraire ou éditeur, et possédant un sens de l’auto-critique développée pour bien exercer son rôle de mentor ou censeur. Cette instance spectatoriale met à nu l’acte d’écriture, relevant la matérialité de son travail et la contingence de sa production. Que ce personnage soit ici une femme, correspond tout à fait à cette stratégie de provocation à l’égard du lectorat. Le Public sera sans doute surpris de voir une femme s’ériger en Auteur. Mais pourquoi ? Il nous est permis de penser, & il ne nous seroit pas permis d’écrire  ? Le Ciel ne m’a point accordé les sublimes talens, qui font une héroïne dans la noble science du Ménage. Les détails m’ennuïent, m’impatientent, m’excédent. Les belles lettres ont pour moi des attraits aussi puissans, que le divin souris d’une beauté parfaite a pour un amant bien épris. Ne pourrai-je sans crime, m’amuser à barboüiller du papier  ? Ma vivacité ne s’accomode point de la lenteur de la Broderie. Que voulez-vous ? j’ai les yeux plus actifs que les doigts. Outre l’ennui, un point de tapisserie me coute plus de tems que dix lignes d’écriture. […] Il me semble de voir le public prononcer en ma faveur, & cela sans galanterie. Ne me flatte-je point ? (La Spectatrice danoise I, I, 1–2).

Suivant la poétique spectatoriale, La Beaumelle construit une fiction d’auteur et d’éditeur sous le signe d’Aspasie, une voix féminine qui se lance dans une discussion imaginaire avec son lectorat pour provoquer des réactions qui devraient lui parvenir sous forme de lettres. Il s’agit en même temps d’une stratégie économique pour vendre ses feuilles de semaine en semaine et construire un réseau de lecteurs et lectrices fidèles18. Par la voix d’une femme en révolte, qui s’arroge le droit de participer pleinement à l’évolution de la société, le texte crée un espace public, une plateforme de discussion pour améliorer le monde dans le

18 «  […] ceux, qui voudront partitiper [sic] à cet ouvrage, me communiquent leurs lumiéres, soit par lettres, soit par pensées décousuës. Je les y insérerai éxactement, pourvû qu’elles soient courtes, judicieuses, & originales. S’il y en a un trop grand nombre, celles des femmes auront la préférence ». La Spectatrice danoise I, I, 8.

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sens de la vertu. En remettant en cause le rôle casanier de la femme, vouée aux tâches ménagères, la voix fictionnelle s’érige en auteure. Mon séxe a dégénéré en Dannemarc ; Il étoit jadis, ou du moins paroissoit être plus spirituel : Poësie, Eloquence, Théologie, tout étoit du ressort de nos Grands-Méres. Elles partageoient avec leurs maris les plaisirs de l’amour & la gloire des Lettres19. Cet heureux tems n’est plus : voir & être vüe, recevoir des visites ennüiantes & les rendre dans les mêmes espèces, se mirer jusqu’à diner, ne manger qu’en médisant, comme si la médisance étoit le véhicule des bons morceaux, chercher le monde, s’en dégoûter, se coucher sans sçavoir ce qu’on a fait, se lever sans sçavoir ce qu’on va faire, voilà le cercle autour duquel tournent ces heures précieuses qui s’envolent avec tant de rapidité. La Lecture, les occupations qui tendent à orner l’esprit sont entiérement tombées. C’est ce qui m’engage à me déguiser sous le nom d’Aspasie. Ce masque me met à l’abri de toute raillerie ouverte. Et puis, j’aurai la délicieuse satisfaction d’entendre derrière le rideau les décisions des Connoisseurs, & de ceux qui se donnent pour tels, les faux jugemens qu’on hazardera sur mon nom. Que cet Incognito sera charmant !20.

La voix narrative constate une décadence dans les mœurs, importée par les comportements à la mode dans le contexte moderne. Le texte se réfère certainement à la Cour de Danemark, où les modalités de la vie contemporaine engendrent – selon l’auteure – l’ennui et une perte de plaisirs culturels. Comme dans de nombreux spectateurs européens, le système de « visite » obligatoire, les obligations de la vie mondaine, le gaspillage d’un temps précieux ne permettent plus la lecture. La Spectatrice se fait ainsi l’écho des plaintes récurrentes chez les spectateurs européens, en particulier au sujet de l’aménagement du quotidien, préfigurant le sujet de l’ennui dans le monde moderne. Dès le départ, la Spectatrice opte pour une métadiscursivité en cultivant l’autoréflexion sur sa condition d’observatrice critique. Elle suit les pratiques spectatoriales de l’anonymat et se cache derrière un masque afin de pouvoir critiquer librement son entourage. En outre, cette position lui procure un plaisir esthétique auquel les lecteurs peuvent prendre part, car ils n’apprennent pas seulement à valoriser et juger de façon subjective et objective, mais ils ont également la satisfaction de suivre les traces d’une genèse axiologique. Elle rejoint ici les pratiques spectatoriales inscrites dans la majorité des feuilles volantes. Une telle stratégie d’autocréation permet aussi d’adopter une position de neutralité et d’exprimer un point de vue public objectif, sans impliquer l’auteur réel. Wolfgang Martens la définit comme la mise en scène d’un « message de la 1 9 Voir la description de la femme provinciale du Jutland dans l’Amusement XXXIII. 20 La méthode spectatoriale consiste à se présenter comme observateur participant discret ou même invisibilisé. Souvent le narrateur crée un jeu de masques.

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vertu »21, tandis que Jean-Paul Sermain y reconnaît une simple prolongation de la littérature française du xviie siècle, en particulier la naissance du « périodique littéraire » (Sermain 2011, 47). Pour Alexis Lévrier, les spectateurs forment un genre à part entière justement à cause de cet aspect d’autocréation, genre appelé « feuilles périodiques à forme personnelle » (Lévrier 2007, 123). Comme nous l’avons vu dans le dernier exemple, l’instance spectatoriale choisit l’incognito pour bénéficier, d’une part, d’une position d’observateur neutre et pondéré, nécessaire pour ses jugements de censeur ou critique, d’autre part, de la discrétion absolue créant un plaisir esthétique pour cet observateur au même titre que pour son lectorat. Le stratagème permet aussi d’établir des liens étroits avec le public, une fonction importante qui se trouve dans le prototype anglais comme dans un grand nombre de traductions et d’adaptations. I have observed, that a Reader seldom peruses a Book with Pleasure ‘till he knows whether the Writer of it be a black or a fair Man, of a mild or cholerick Disposition, Married or a Batchelor, with other Particulars of the like nature, that conduce very much to the right Understanding of an Author. To gratify this Curiosity, which is so natural to a Reader, I design this Paper, and my next, as Prefatory Discourses to my following Writings, and shall give some Account in them of the several persons that are engaged in this Work. As the chief trouble of Compiling, Digesting, and Correcting will fall to my Share, I must do myself the Justice to open the Work with my own History. I was born to a small Hereditary Estate […] (The Spectator I, incipit).

La représentation fictionnalisée d’un je spectateur devient le centre d’intérêt pour le lectorat, qui a besoin de quelques repères pour profiter de la lecture. Monsieur le Spectator réfléchit sur cette fonction narrative par rapport à l’horizon d’attente, offrant une métacritique essentielle qui devient un élément central du genre. Selon lui, cela nécessite une introduction explicite avec des indications d’orientation du texte narré, qu’elles soient fictives ou non. Il explique les différentes fonctions d’un spectateur, qui doit non seulement réunir et lire les textes destinés à être publiés, mais aussi les corriger. Le Spectateur est donc au centre de toute l’entreprise communicationnelle et doit – avec la discrétion qu’il réclame – gérer les liens de la genèse des textes. La Spectatrice danoise suit le chemin indiqué tout en employant des éléments différents : Vous ne sçaurez jamais mon nom. Vous ne sçaurez pas même, si je suis Veuve, Femme mariée, ou simplement Fille, attachée au Théâtre ou à la Cour, Bourgeoise ou Titrée. Seulement j’avoûrai un ami, qui n’est point Amant au moins, mais qui m’aide de ses

21 Cf. Martens 1968.

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lumiéres. C’est en vérité, tout ce que je veux de lui. C’est bien peu, dira un Rieur, pour une personne si mistérieuse. (La Spectatrice danoise I, I, 4).

La Spectatrice danoise prend le contrepied de Mr. Spectator dont le ton est conciliant et ludique. Elle emploie une isotopie sémantique négative afin d’éviter la révélation de son identité. Pour elle, les indications de sa situation personnelle semblent être plus importantes pour une femme, aussi bien ses liens avec le théâtre ou la Cour que sa naissance aristocratique ou bourgeoise. La référence à un ami circonspect qui la soutient avec son savoir, mais qui n’est pas son amant, crée un doute implicite sur la présence d’un sigisbée dont le rôle à la fois haut en couleur et équivoque renvoie à son modèle problématique22. Quoi qu’il en soit, l’ami en question ne sera plus mentionné pendant toute l’œuvre. On trouve pourtant une « captatio benevolentiae » destinée aux lectrices où la voix narrative assure ne pas souhaiter entrer en concurrence avec elles, du moins en ce qui concerne le physique. Ou ne serait-ce qu’une stratégie spectatoriale pour attirer la curiosité sur sa personne ? Les Dames, si tant est que quelqu’une d’entre elles me lise, m’accorderon [sic] aisément leurs suffrages, dès que je leur aurai dit ce qui coute encor plus à une femme à penser qu’à dire, que je ne suis point jolie, & que, vraisemblement je ne la serai jamais. Jusqu’ici mes soupirans (j’en ai eu tout comme une autre) ne se sont point battus en düel à mon sujet ; & qui plus est, mon amour-propre n’en a point été humilié. Cependant, à cause de leurs fadeurs, je les ai tous congédiés ; & j’aime mieux être aux côtés d’Apollon, que d’avoir aux miens un Cavalier soi-disant aimable. Tel est mon goût, j’en conviens ; Mais qu’y faire ? Mon séxe doit m’en sçavoir bon-gré. C’est toujours une rivale de moins (La Spectatrice danoise I, I, 4–5).

Dans son neuvième Amusement, la Spectatrice revient aux réflexions métatextuelles. Au début, elle décrit les plaisirs qu’elle obtient par le jeu de masque. Elle publie une lettre de son libraire Fursman qui se plaint d’être souvent dérangé et même suivi par des personnes curieuses de connaître l’auteur du journal. La Spectatrice se montre déçue de savoir qu’une femme de qualité et d’esprit la prend pour un homme et admet qu’elle pense parfois à l’injustice de ne pas être un homme. Elle explique qu’elle veut quand même être sûre d’être reconnue comme femme puisqu’elle n’accepte pas que ses fautes et inexactitudes soient imputées à d’autres auteurs, annonçant qu’elle continuera son journal jusqu’à ce que le public cesse de le lire. Elle croit avoir le ton assez amusant pour corriger les défauts des hommes. Finalement, elle termine l’Amusement avec

22 Ou s’agirait-il simplement du professeur Holberg, avec lequel La Beaumelle est entré en conflit au fur et à mesure que le projet spectatorial s’est développé ?

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quelques réflexions sur le manque de structure de son œuvre et les reproches qu’on pourrait lui faire à ce propos, ainsi que les habitudes de lecture du public contemporain. Quelle bigarure ! dira-t-on ? Pas deux mots de suite sur le même sujet ! Que voulezvous ? C’est là mon goût, Ami Lecteur ! Faites-vous y, ou ne me lisez plus. Incapable de réfléchir deux Minutes sur le même objet, je prends mes coudées franches. Diversité, c’est ma Devise. (La Spectatrice danoise I, IX, 72).

Dès le premier Amusement, le sens ludique forme le cadre de l’architecture narrative, dans lequel sont insérés les essais pédagogiques ou tutoriels. La distinction entre le cadre enjoué et le message véhiculé se fait plus évidente que dans d’autres spectateurs, ce qui est dû à l’importance du message. On a l’impression que les textes sont rédigés pour le prince ou un enfant de la haute société danoise. Des sujets comme la littérature, la poésie, le théâtre, la francmaçonnerie, la Cour, l’immortalité de l’âme des bêtes sont destinés à orienter la jeunesse, mais aussi un lectorat de la périphérie européenne comme le Danemark contemporain. Les essais sont souvent divisés en chapitres pour mieux diffuser les leçons spécifiques. Parfois on a l’impression de textes « ready-made », d’unités diégétiques que l’éditrice fictive insère dans le cadre fictif. Cela correspond tout à fait à la poétique spectatoriale, dont les auteurs ou éditeurs ont eu recours à des textes préparés d’avance afin d’éviter l’interruption de la publication régulière. Claude Lauriol, le biographe de La Beaumelle, a identifié les sources de certains essais de la Spectatrice. Les Amusements où La Beaumelle reprend des essais parus dans le Journal helvétique, témoignent de ce travail. L’Amusement II est une reprise de l’essai ‘sur la folie des hommes’, l’Amusement III de celui ‘sur le plaisir’, l’Amusement IV de celui ‘sur l’amour de la gloire’, l’Amusement XIII de celui ‘sur l’envie’, l’amusement XVI de celui ‘sur l’infini’. La Beaumelle réutilisa aussi dans divers Amusements ses essais ‘sur l’amour de la vérité’ et ‘sur le vrai bonheur des chrétiens’ (Lauriol 1976, 151, note 266).

Dans la distribution des essais, la voix narrative change selon la poétique des spectateurs. D’un côté, il y a les missives qui arrivent dans les points de vente indiqués, d’un autre côté, il y a des messages de l’auteur La Beaumelle, lorsqu’il s’agit d’un texte élogieux à l’adresse de la maison royale. En général, c’est la voix narrative de la Spectatrice qui reste cachée derrière le texte, mais au fur et à mesure du développement du journal, cette voix se fait de plus en plus faible ou invisible. Mais il y a d’autres textes qui s’introduisent presque de façon indépendante sous forme de fragments comme le « Journal d’un Gentilhomme jutlandais » (II, 30), ou bien les « Lettres d’un Groenlandais » (à partir de II, 7), qui est en train de découvrir le Danemark. De son point de vue d’observateur naïf et non initié, il

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décrit la société européenne et critique la civilisation, reprenant l’argumentation des Lettres persanes à partir d’une perspective nordique. A la fin du deuxième tome, La Beaumelle introduit même une série d’articles élogieux sur L’Esprit des lois de Montesquieu.

Conclusion Dans la poétique spectatoriale, le phénomène du « storytelling » occupe une place importante. Issue du contexte anglican, la manière de gérer une multitude de récits à différents niveaux diégétiques fait partie de ce genre consacré du xviiie siècle. Les liens avec le protestantisme – bien qu’ils ne soient pas toujours explicites – se trouvent généralement dans les messages envoyés par le lectorat. Il s’agit d’inciter les contemporains à respecter les valeurs de la vertu, considérées comme la base éthique de la société moderne à venir. Attentifs aux nouvelles formes de communication dans l’espace public, les auteurs spectatoriaux cherchent à transmettre le message de la vertu par la forme antique des exemples, allégories ou rêves, des micro-récits capables de fasciner leur lectorat, de promouvoir la lecture – en particulier celle des femmes – et de stimuler des comportements « ad maiorem societatae gloriam ». Le sujet religieux proprement dit ne se trouve généralement pas au centre de l’intérêt. La Spectatrice danoise se présente à la fin de la l’apogée du genre dans le monde protestant et au début de son entrée dans le monde catholique. Rappelons que son auteur d’origine française, Laurent Angliviel de La Beaumelle, faisait partie des cercles calvinistes de Genève avant d’aller chercher fortune au Danemark et en Allemagne, et qu’il s’intégrait très vite dans les cercles de la franc-maçonnerie de Copenhague. Toute sa carrière est donc marquée par ces deux orientations et par la critique de la Révocation de l’Édit de Nantes. Les thèses exposées par Montesquieu dans l’Esprit des lois lui fournissent «  l’idearium  » de son enseignement. Avec la Spectatrice, il a créé une instance discursive dissociée de son personnage, afin de disposer des meilleures conditions de discrétion pour la critique. Il lui confère une aura philosophique à la manière d’Aspasie, afin de développer – à deux niveaux – sa critique de la société danoise et française.

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The Female Tatler. By Mrs. Crackenthorpe, a Lady that Knows Everything. [Thomas Baker, et al.]. London, B. Bragge/A. Baldwin, [8.7.] 1709–[31.3.] 1710, n° 1–111 [115]. The Guardian : To be Continued every Day. [Richard Steele et al.]. London : J. Tonson [12.3.] 1713–[1.10.] 1713, n° 1–175. The Spectator: To be continued every Day [1st series]. [Richard Steele/Joseph Addison]. London: S. Buckley/J. Tonson [1.3.] 1711–[6.12.] 1712, n° 1–555. – The Spectator [2nd series]. [Joseph Addison, Eustache Budgell and Thomas Tickell]. London: S. Buckley/J. Tonso, [18.6.] 1714–[20.12.] 1714, n° 556–635. [8 août 2019]. The Tatler: By Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq. [Richard Steele/Joseph Addison]. London: S. Buckley/J. Tonson [12.4.] 1709–[2.1.] 1711, n°1–271. Le Spectateur, ou le Socrate moderne : Où l’on voit un Portrait naïf des Mœurs de ce Siècle : Traduit de l’anglois. Amsterdam : David Mortier [vol. 1–3]/Frères Wetstein [vol. 4–6] 1714–1726. [8 août 2019]. Van Effen, Justus [Joseph Addison, Richard Steele]: « Discours II ». Le Mentor moderne [The Guardian], Vol.1\002 (1723), 11–19. Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Elisabeth Hobisch, éd. : Spectators. Digital Edition, Graz 2011. [7 septembre 2018].

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Radical Storytelling in the Age of Revolution: Norway’s Provinzialblade (1778–1781) In the twin kingdom of Denmark-Norway, the apex of the spectator genre was reached with Professor J.S. Sneedorff ’s The Patriotic Spectator (Den patriotiske Tilskuer; Copenhagen) in 1761–1763, over 30 years after the first Danish spectator journal appeared1. However, editors employing the genre soon saw the need to develop the genre to attract readers, as it was growing old fashioned. It is perhaps no surprise, then, that the first major feat of successful periodical journalism in Norway only indirectly shows affinity with the spectator form. Provinzialblade (Journal of the Province), published weekly in Bergen between 1778 and 1781, enjoyed nationwide acclaim for combining familiar elements, such as moral and philosophical essays and stories, with more topical issues such as recent inventions or travelogues. Its outspoken editor, Claus F. Fasting (1746–1791), was very much himself, not a fictitious character, nor part of a ‘society’. His journal thus resembles the more modern magazine form, combined with spectator aspects and literary criticism. Furthermore, the stories and essays he translates and authors often address political matters of the time in quite a radical manner. These issues are at once local and global in their scope and in the circulation of the texts themselves. The title Provinzialblade hides an agenda that is truly transnational and advanced. Particularly regarding the question of slavery. In singlehandedly publishing Provinzialblade in his hometown of Bergen, Claus Fasting instantly became Norway’s first major journalist. He had returned to this city on the Western coast of Norway after years of living off his pen in the capital Copenhagen. Fasting held a degree in Theology, but the Belles Lettres 1 Aristippus eller den philosophiske Spectateur udi moralske Reflexioner (Copenhagen, 1738). In the 1740s six spectator periodicals appeared; another six in the 1750s. They included two German language periodicals: Der Fremde (1745) and Der nordische Aufseher (1758–1761), and a French (La Spectatrice danoise, 1749–1750). On early Dano-Norwegian spectator periodicals, see Krefting 2014 and Krefting and Nøding 2019; for a discussion of Provinzialblade’s status as a spectator journal, see Nøding 2018, chap. 7 and Akselberg 2008.

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and music were his true calling. He had co-founded a musical society in Bergen (Harmoniske Selskab, 1765/1769), a literary society of poets in Copenhagen (Norske Selskab, from 1772) and tried to become the first to write an original tragedy performed on the Danish stage. When the latter failed, he showed a much greater talent for satire as an epigrammatist and literary critic. As the first major Norwegian literary critic, his sharp and witty pen renewed the genre of criticism, making readers love him and authors hate him. In 1778, he returned to Bergen and continued to live off his journalism while applying unsuccessfully for a permanent position. When he some years later became a prosecutor for the police court, he thwarted his employer’s work by strongly advocating the poor he was supposed to prosecute. The calls for compassion and social justice are foreshadowed in his journalism.

A Golden Age Fasting’s periodical was not the first to appear in Bergen. From the 1760s, a handful of short-lived journals had appeared, even one in the spectator tradition. Tobaks-Discourserne (The Tobacco Conversations, 1772), was original in every sense, as it was written by the artisan Ole Deberg, who stages a society of craftsmen, smoking and discussing improvements to the running of Bergen. Fasting’s aims were both higher and wider: to educate his nationwide readership’s taste and knowledge, by informing them of new ideas and literature, inventions and discoveries, history and poetry from around the world. The editor would bring his readers news of what went on in the world, “from which acquaintance Nature has excluded us by mountains and oceans, I don’t know, either as a punishment or as reward”2. Nevertheless, why start an ambitious periodical in Bergen at this time? Obviously, Fasting needed work and money. Furthermore, Bergen was at this time the place to make some, because of the Americans. The American War of Independence turned out to be very profitable to Denmark and Norway as neutral shipping nations, increasingly so as other European nations entered the war. France and Spain required dry cod, bacalao, and timber, making exports skyrocket. As the largest shipping port and town in Norway, Bergen (of approx. 14.000 inhabitants) profited immensely. Furthermore, the Danish colonies in the West Indies and West Africa became increasingly important to the lucrative trade in sugar and slaves, as Anglo-American trade became restricted (Fossen 2 “[...] fra hvis Omgang Naturen har udelukt os ved Klipper og Have, jeg veed ikke, enten til Straf eller Belønning”. Provinzialblade 1779, no. 23, 179 (Fasting 1968, 323).

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1979, 634–653). Fasting’s great grandfather, Jørgen Thormøhlen (ca. 1640– 1708), was actually the first to own a Danish slave ship, sailing from the Danish fort Christiansborg in today’s Ghana, to the sugar plantations in St. Thomas, in the Danish West Indies. By monopolizing the sugar import from the West Indies to Norway for a time, Thormøhlen became the country’s richest man. A hundred years later, the shipping industry in Bergen hungered for more background information on the situation in the war faring countries. Could an independent America become a new trading partner or even a military threat? Fasting provided the information, but perhaps not in the way his conservative readers expected, nor in a way his great grandfather would have approved of.

Sense and Sensibility Fasting’s magazine, Provinzialblade, presented original and translated texts of a variety of topics and genres, overtly promoting quite radical enlightenment ideas. His readership was mainly located to Bergen, but the journal was distributed to many towns in Southern Norway, as well as Copenhagen in Denmark3. He publishes some poems, articles and stories written by himself, but most of the texts are translations (about two thirds). They originate from mainly German, French and English books and periodicals, in particular the Teutsche Merkur, Mercure de France, and in particular a Hamburg newspaper, Hamburgische Address-Comtoir Nachrichten. Hamburg was the main port of entry for books and post to Denmark-Norway from the continent, and an important trade partner for Bergen. Provinzialblade was called “addisonian” by Fasting’s contemporaries. While it lacks most of the traditional characteristics of a spectator periodical, its magazinelike content is given a personalized and largely coherent form by the editor. He adds his own style and voice to the translations, making the texts seem uniform and elegant. Fasting supplies introductions and conclusions, or footnotes, to many of the pieces. These comments serves to explain and recommend the text to the reader, or discuss elements he disagrees with. We get a glimpse of the former literary critic here, but mainly sees an editor eager to convey information and values to his readers in a familiar, humorous voice. Fictitious letters to the editor are employed in a traditional way to stage debates about form and content with his readers, or address local grievances, such as tone-deaf public musicians or the tradition of New Year’s visits. Fasting’s personalization of the texts also 3 It is in Danish, the shared written language at the time, printed in black letters, which made it accessible to all readers.

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strengthens the sense of an underlying, uniform message throughout, of compassion and reason, of moral and aesthetic sensibility. That goes for his selection of stories as well. Fasting promotes key French philosophers that many of his readers disliked for their ‘ungodliness’. His greatest hero is Voltaire, who is defended throughout the four years of the periodical, despite repeated complaints from his readers. Furthermore, he argues strongly against slavery, which many of his neighbours in Bergen profited directly from, either by owning plantations or engaging in the slave- and sugar trade. In one of the first issues of his periodical (no. 6, 1778), he translated an excerpt from Thomas Paine’s Common Sense (1776), making it the first translation of Paine into Danish, just two years after the original. Throughout the issues, reason, tempered by sentiment, are his guiding lights, often at the expense of faith. Fasting’s taste in literature follows suit. He promotes key fiction writers of sentiment, such as Samuel Richardson, Lawrence Sterne, Christoph Martin Wieland and to some extent Jean-Jacques Rousseau. In order to further such authors and ideas of sense and sensibility, he applies the story—among other genres—to touch his readers’ hearts and minds. Reason and freedom—in particular from slavery—are recurring topics in these stories.

Radical Storytelling Many of the stories he presented were of and about authors such as Voltaire and Montesquieu. One of the few stories he writes himself, is “Mentor’s Journeys, or The Public and Private Happiness”. A man called Mentor travels to Paris, to learn what people say about Voltaire, before visiting the philosopher himself at Ferney. It is of course a defence of Voltaire, a man Fasting’s religious countrymen hate and who’s greatest crime—Fasting says—is that he possesses common sense: “From behind the Mask of Faith, Reason is prosecuted, and the Wise Man is always in the wrong, among those who are not [wise]”4. The framing story is very thin, limited almost to ‘stage directions’ of setting and descriptions of characters present. The main issue is the philosophical dialogue, commented on throughout by the author in foot notes. The text was written as a reply in an ongoing debate Fasting conducted with an Italian professor on the nature of happiness. Abbé Isidoro Bianchi of Palermo visited Copenhagen in the early 1770s and his tract on happiness was translated into Danish. After Fasting 4 “Under Troens Maske forfølges Fornuften, og den Kloge har altid Uret blant dem, som ikke ere det”. From “Mentors Reyser eller Den almindelige, og private Lyksalighed. Et Fragment”. Provinzialblade 1778, no. 12–13 (Fasting 1968, 57).

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published a critical review of it, the two men met and Fasting was invited to submit his own thoughts on the matter5. The story is thus both a universal philosophical text, as well as a story engaged in a specific local defence of Voltaire, and an even more specific response to a transnational exchange of ideas. He returned to Mentor in stories on love and marriage, concluding quite traditionally with happiness only existing among shepherds in the idyllic fields. Fasting applies this strategy of storytelling as defence for the philosophy of Montesquieu, too. He translated the story “Apheridon and Astarte” from Lettres persanes (1721), which had not yet been translated into Danish, claiming it should be read for its elegant style and interesting topic. An incestuous story of love between a brother and sister, who frees themselves from slavery, might seem an odd choice for introducing a writer his readers mistrusted. However, the story has been read as an allegory for a republican or democratic ideal, depicting a household made up of equal partners. Furthermore, equality requires a religious affiliation that rejects asymmetrical power relations, in this case leading the couple to denounce Islam6. Hence, the story outlines an ideal society based on a political and religious structure that ensures freedom and equality for all. Slavery and religion is also at the core of Provinzialblade’s second story related to Montesquieu. It is said to be about the philosopher himself, merely entitled “Montesqvieu”7. Again he applies storytelling to defend a philosopher that his audience dislikes. This time he translates a French story, which relates how Montesquieu in Marseille meets a young man, Robert, whose father is enslaved in Morocco. The philosopher secretly pays for his liberation and helps his family financially. It is told as a touching narrative, filling a double issue, although Fasting calls it an anecdote. In his introduction to the story, he claims “it should be told in every house, read in all town squares, kept in all archives […] to be praised and followed”8. His concluding remarks take the praise one 5 The initial review of Bianchi’s Betragtninger over […] den almindelige og private Lyksalighed (transl. by C.D. Biehl, Copenhagen 1774) published in Kritisk Tilskuer (Copenhagen 1775, no. 2 and 3). According to Fasting, his response was translated into French and sent to Bianchi’s friends in Palermo (Fasting 1968, 50). The story seems to be a further reply in their ongoing discussion. 6 The story is published over three issues of Provinzialblade 1780, no. 13–15. For further details, see Nøding 2015. 7 Provinzialblade 1778, no. 29–30. It was probably first published in Mercure de France as “Acte de bienfaisance” (1775), signed Mr. Mingard. Fasting most likely translated it from Hamburgische Address-Comtoir Nachrichten 1775, no. 30. 8 “[...] den bør fortelles i alle Huuse, oplæses paa alle Torve, og giemmes i alle Arkiver […] for at prises og efterfølges”. Provinzialblade 1778, no. 29–30 (Fasting 1968, 123–124).

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step further: “If a crook, who writes against Montesquieu, is a godly man, and the best, the kindest of men is a heretic, who wouldn’t want to be the latter?”9 The notion that religion and morals are separate, and that the latter trumps the former, caused quite a stir among his readers.

Free the Slaves! The topics of slavery and political freedom return in stories relating more directly to the Americas, as well, and the ongoing war. From the newspaper in Hamburg, Fasting translates and abridges a story of a husband and wife who take opposite sides in the Anglo-American war. The husband is all for freedom and distribution of power, while the wife argues that the lack of a strong leader (king) leads to anarchy and laziness. They try it out the two systems on their farm hands and factory workers; the wife wins and the liberal husband is declared insane. In the German paper, the couple is German (“Sebald und Sabine”), debating the possible impact of American ideas in the German states and Europe. Fasting eludes this question of dissemination of ideas by making the couple American or British (“Williams”), thus not applying revolutionary thoughts at home. While Fasting argues repeatedly and consistently against slavery, his views on a wider distribution of political freedom of power seems more hesitant, as this story suggests. Too much freedom given to the lower social groups may backfire. On the other hand, his translation of Tom Paine seems to argue for the opposite position. This story invites debate and negotiation over the consequences of democratic reform, mirrored in the conflict between the story’s two main characters. In 1781, Fasting translates a story by Jean-Francois de Saint-Lambert about the slave Ziméo, narrated by the Quaker George Filmer:  “Ziméo, par George Filmer, né primitive” (1769). Filmer visits Jamaica and witnesses an uprising, successfully led by Ziméo. He befriends Filmer and his Quaker friends, and tells the story of his misfortunes. Born a Prince in Benin, he is enslaved and loses his family and beloved. Unlike Aphra Behn’s Oroonoko (1688), this story has a happy conclusion, reuniting the slave prince with his loved ones. Then the narrator goes on to lecture the reader on the prejudices of whites against blacks. Fasting leaves out the lecture in his translation, as the story is quite long, but the message is still clear: slavery must end.

9 “Naar en Skurk, som skriver mod Montesqvieu, er rettroende, og den beste, og klogeste blant Mennesker er en Kietter, hvem ønsker da ey at være det sidste?” Provinzialblade 1778, no. 29–30 (Fasting 1968, 124).

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Fasting hammers this message to his readers in other genres as well, using arguments from religious beliefs, moral sentiments and compassion, and natural law. He confronts pro-slavery texts, in particular the leading Danish theologian Erik Pontoppidan (1698–1764) and S.-N.-H. Linguet’s Théorie des lois civiles  (1767). The latter defended slavery on the basis that slave owners (unlike employers) would care for their workforce out of self-interest, while Pontoppidan in 1760 argued for slavery as a means to an end for christening Africans (Provinzialblade 1781, no. 17; Nøding 2019 and 2018, 204). Fasting remains unapologetic to slavery. He inserts scenes of horror into his translations and depicts slave owners and profiteers as the true inhuman monsters (cf. Provinzialblade 1778, no.  23). In this ongoing argument, the stories of Provinzialblade play important parts, as illustrations, as well as ways of touching the readers’ feelings. Literature invites readers to engage their sentiment (or ‘sympathy’), as well as their reason, in order to feel what is morally right or wrong, not least concerning slavery (Hunt 2007, 66). It was not until 1792 that the African slave trade was prohibited in Denmark. Still, owning slaves remained legal until 1848, 67  years after the last issue of Provinzialblade was published10. Religious dissenters, such as Quakers, Methodists and Moravians, were among the earliest critics of slavery. The Moravian church had influential followers in Bergen, notably in Fasting’s own family, but he never mentions them or their opinions on this subject. John Wesley’s Thoughts upon Slavery (1774) is never referenced either. Fasting’s crystal clear abolitionist opinions are rare, in not only a local or Dano-Norwegian context, but even internationally. In Britain, abolitionist movements gained traction from the 1770s, but anti-slavery arguments often remained ambiguous (Outram 2005, 65). This makes Fasting’s unreserved opposition even more remarkable. By applying a number of genres, including prose fiction, Fasting sought to make his readers feel and think the same way.

Enlightening Stories The stories presented by Provinzialblade serve several goals: they entertain and instruct in a traditional manner, they introduce writers and famous works, and they engage with current and philosophical topics and debates. The stories presented here all act—to a greater or lesser degree—as ‘Trojan horses’ for Fasting’s promotion of new thoughts on freedom and happiness, particularly

10 By then, Norway had been seceded to Sweden.

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regarding the question of slavery. As in his prose on the same issues, the stories approach the subject from different angles: in terms of sympathy, religious beliefs, philosophy and politics. Engaging his readers’ sensibility and reason in the form of stories, presented a second approach to influence his mainly conservative readers. The issue of post publication censorship, which replaced pre censorship for all printed texts in Denmark-Norway after 1772, might have encouraged a cloaked approach to politics, which translation and re-contextualization of stories provided11. However, by printing a “paraphrase” of the story of Mr and Mrs. Willams/ Sebald and Sabine, which seems to be pessimistic of too much political freedom, Fasting opened a room for negotiating politics in the stories. Is freedom and distribution of power necessarily always a good thing? The acts of translation and rewriting helps the editor to soften and adapt the message to its readers, including the head of police, in charge of post censorship. At the same time, the seeming contradictions of opinions point to a core characteristic of periodicals:  their ongoing, transnational negotiation of terms, ideas and moral values. This is evident in Provinzialblade and not just in the stories. Fasting combines the traditional timeless questions of the spectators with topical issues and economic realities, addressing them—with a personal voice—in genres and to readers that are simultaneously local and transnational. In this manner, Provinzialblade’s stories serve as vehicles of literary, aesthetical and political dissemination to— and from—the province.

Sources Akselberg, Gunnstein: “Claus Fastings Provinzialblade—eit norsk spektatortidsskrift?” In: Eivind Tjønneland (ed.): Opplysningens tidsskrifter. Norske og danske periodiske publikasjoner på 1700-tallet. Bergen: Fagbokforlaget 2008, 73–92. Fasting, Claus F.: Samlede skrifter. Sverre Flugsrud (ed.). Oslo: Norsk språk- og litteraturselskap 1963–1972, vol. 1–3. Fossen, Anders Bjarne: “Borgerskapets by 1536–1800”. In: Bergen Bys Historie. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget 1979, vol. 2. Hunt, Lynn: Inventing Human Rights. A History. New York and London: W.W. Norton & Co. 2007.

11 Freedom of the press was introduced in September 1770, by the royal physician Johann Struensee, but was curbed after his arrest and execution in April 1772.

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Krefting, Ellen: “Kapittel 5: Tilskuernes skrivekløe, sannhetssøken og ytringsfrihet”. In: Ellen Krefting/Aina Nøding/Mona Renate Ringvej: En pokkers Skrivesyge. 1700-tallets dansk-norske tidsskrifter mellom sensur og ytringsfrihet. Oslo: Spartacus/Scandinavian Academic Press 2014, 119–148. Krefting, Ellen/Aina Nøding: “Hermits, squabblers, and tobacco smoking artisans: Spectator journals in Denmark-Norway, 1726−1785”. In: Misia Doms (ed.): European Spectators. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, forthcoming in 2019. Linguet, Simon-Nicolas-Henri: Théorie des lois civiles, ou principes fondamentaux de la société. Paris 1776 [Paris: Fayard 1984]. Nøding, Aina: “The Editor as Scout: The Rapid Mediation of International Texts in Provincial Journals”. In: Ellen Krefting et al. (ed.): Eighteenth-Century Periodicals as Agents of Change. Perspectives on Northern Enlightenment. Leiden: Brill 2015, 62–76. Nøding, Aina: Claus Fasting. Dikter, journalist og opplysningspioner. Oslo: Spartacus/Scandinavian Academic Press 2018. Outram, Dorinda: The Enlightenment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2005. [Paine, Thomas]: Common Sense; addressed to the Inhabitants of America, on the following interesting Subjects […]. Philadelphia: R. Bell 1776. Provinzialblade. Claus F. Fasting (ed.). Bergen 1778–1781. Digital Edition: Nasjonalbiblioteket, and Universitetsbiblioteket i Bergen [8 August 2019]. Saint-Lambert, Jean François de: “Ziméo”. In: Saisons. Amsterdam: s.é. 1769.

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On Searching and Finding. Narratives in the Medical Weekly Der Tirolische Arzt Next to weeklies for children and for female readers and apart from spectatorial magazines dealing with literature, economy or natural sciences, medical weeklies form one of the most influential spin-offs of the enlightened Spectator project. The present paper is going to deal with the narrative genres and techniques of the nearly forgotten Austrian weekly Der Tirolische Arzt (“The Tyrolean Physician”) by Claudius Martin Ritter von Scherer and Franz Niedermaier. This periodical on medicine and veterinary science was printed in Innsbruck between 1791 and 1792. In a first step the following study will shortly outline the general profile of this periodical and its authors. In a second step it will give an overview of the range of storytelling devices used in this weekly. And finally it will deal with the challenges, which professional readers have to face, if they want to learn from the narratives presented in the Tyrolean magazine.

The Weekly and Its Authors As far as the authors of the present paper sees, Der Tirolische Arzt is the first magazine inspired by the Spectator tradition in Innsbruck and in the whole of Tyrol1. Unlike the first moral weeklies, this periodical does not exclusively focus on the inhabitants of a certain town or city. From its title and topics, from the readers’ letters and from a subscribers’ list added to this weekly2 we can deduce that its addressees are barber surgeons, physicians as well as officials, landowners, clerics, lawyers, and pharmacists all over the contemporary territory of Tyrol. The authors’ central project is the improvement of medical care and the popularisation of medical and veterinary knowledge in the countryside. Reading the magazine, the medical practitioners could complete their diagnostic and therapeutic medical knowledge, the landowners were supplied

1 Another genre of periodicals, namely the intelligencer, was introduced to the County of Tyrol about 25 years earlier. From 1767 to 1768 the Intelligenzblatt der gefürsteten Grafschaft Tyrol (Intelligencer of the Princely County of Tyrol) was printed in Innsbruck. 2 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 427–32.

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with veterinary and agricultural information, and the other readers could, for example, gain from some general introduction to first aid and rescue measures3 and from the frequently inserted warnings against quack treatments. At the same time several sophisticated passages of the periodical (e.g. detailed medical data related to meteorological observations or treatises on the problem of contagiosity) and the continuous reference to contemporary medical sources suggest that the weekly is not restricted to teaching Tyrolean (non-)professionals but also addresses the international scientific community of European physicians. As mentioned above, Der Tirolische Arzt forms a co-production by two authors:  Claudius Martin Ritter von Scherer and Franz Niedermaier. Scherer was by far more famous than Niedermaier, that is why his contemporaries have left us some very detailed information about his biography. He was born 1751 in Donauwörth. After visiting a Jesuit secondary school (Gymnasium) in Munich, he became a fabric printer and farmer in Innsbruck first, then he studied medicine at the Universities of Innsbruck and Vienna and later veterinary medicine and surgery in Vienna. In 1781 he was offered the Chair for Veterinary Science in Innsbruck (his successor was Franz Niedermaier). In 1781/82 the University of Innsbruck was closed down by Joseph II and only three medical professorships were left over among which was the professorship for veterinary science. This means that Scherer could stay in his former position. Scherer also worked as the personal doctor of Archduchess Elisabeth, and as a teacher for surgeons at the Lyzeum in Innsbruck. In 1786 he founded the spa of Mühlau, a community close to Innsbruck today forming a part of this city, and promoted it in several works4. On top of that he purchased neglected parcels and cultivated them, gave lectures on farming and promoted the vaccination against the smallpox. In 1792 the University of Innsbruck was re-established by Leopold II and Scherer then also taught obstetrics. In 1805 he left Innsbruck with the Archduchess, became a professor for agriculture at the University of Graz and finally died in the Styrian capital in 18345. As can be seen from this biographical sketch, Scherer possessed a high capacity in different fields of medicine (surgery, obstetrics, spa treatments) as well as in veterinary medicine and agriculture. His versatility clearly influenced the thematic structure of Der Tirolische Arzt. On top of this, this author’s multiple talent 3 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 321–36; 353–63. 4 It is thus highly probable that the numerous passages of Der Tirolische Arzt related to bathing and to the advantages of the “Milau” (i.e. Mühlau) bath have been written by Scherer. 5 On the stages of Scherer’s life mentioned above see Wurzbach 1875; Anon. 1834.

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may also have contributed to the wide range of narrative genres and elements which can be found in this Tyrolean magazine.

Storytelling Devices in Der Tirolische Arzt Among the most fascinating text types inserted into Der Tirolische Arzt belong the monthly weather observations and the monthly lists of patients having died in Innsbruck in the previous month. Both sorts of text are firmly connected to each other and both of them contain structures on the edge of narration. Let us have a closer look at the monthly list of deaths containing the dead person’s age and the cause of his or her death, i.e. the lethal diagnosis like stroke or putrefying fever. We also learn, which patients died in the Innsbruck Military or in the Community Hospital. In reading this data together we find the narrative nucleus of a case of illness, or even of an individual’s life. In this context, it is remarkable, that children, not only recently born babies, but even elder children, remain anonymous, whereas the names of deceased adults are explicitly mentioned (the female patient names are marked by the suffix “in” so that we can distinguish the dead’s sexes). If the list had been written for purely statistical reasons, it would not have been necessary to mention the names of the departed adults either. However, we can detect two other reasons, why the names are mentioned here. Firstly, the naming of the dead indicates that the narratives en miniature care for the individuality of the recently deceased persons, as long as their lives have not been too short for individualisation. Giving the information mentioned above, the weekly rudimentarily tells the story of their demise—and so to speak even shortly outlines their biography. In doing so, the magazine spreads interesting news among the inhabitants of Innsbruck thereby satisfying the curiosity of the inquisitive readers6. In a way, the lists can thus be interpreted as a secular form of the Partezettel (death notices) used in the funeral rites of the Catholic Church. Secondly, the individual names guarantee for the authenticity and credibility of the presented data material7. This hints at another use at least the professional readers are thought to make of the monthly lists of deaths, whenever they 6 This function becomes clear by the fact that the lists also contain the deaths resulting from an accident, cf., for example, Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 304. If the periodical was exclusively concerned with epidemiological issues, this mode of death would not be mentioned. 7 For this function of telling the names of the patients cf. Stolberg 2007, 88.

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are capable of viewing them together with the neighbouring material, namely the daily weather records and some general remarks on currently circulating illnesses. By offering these monthly reports next to each other the authors urge their academic readers to find a connection between the weather and the current diseases and deaths. As a whole, the two types of abbreviated narration plus the additional epidemiologic information offer research material for the construction of a climate-related epidemiology8. Narration in this case clearly aims at furthering the process of scientific searching and finding. * Apart from microscopic narratives the weekly also contains more extended stories most of which can be classified as case studies. Instead of comprising vivid and/ or gripping elements, most of the latter are told in a rather prosaic way. In general, the readers neither get to know the character traits of the respective patient nor do they learn anything about his or her biography, personal circumstances or feelings during the illness. The report is restricted to mentioning the symptoms and development of his or her malady. Occasionally, some personal information, e.g. on the invalid’s profession is offered at the beginning of the respective text, but in most cases this information seems random and does not really have a narrative function. We can assume, that this sober mode of storytelling should prevent the recipients from sentimental reactions. They should not feel empathy or commiseration for the respective patient but rather get medical insights from their reading. Nine times out of ten, the narrator9 does not even try to keep the audience in suspense about the outcome of the disease. In some case histories, however, the course of the disease is described in a rather enthralling way, even though this does not mean that the distance towards the patient’s suffering is given up. The magazine contains, for example, two dramatic case studies of patients suffering from putrefying fever (Faulfieber). In one of these narrations, the priest is hourly anticipating the invalid’s passing away and the narrator already finds a clear sign of his patient’s near death in the form of a facies hippocratica (atony of the facial muscles, deadly pallor, hollow cheeks). Nevertheless the patient is prevented from dying by the narrator’s intervention10. In the other story the Faulfieber patient shows symptoms of a severe gangrene (“Brandt”), but nevertheless recovers from his illness (Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 298–300). 8 For case studies as a collection of empirical data cf. Süßmann 2007, 21. 9 The two authors usually hide behind the mask of a common “I” thereby establishing a narrator. 10 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 302–3.

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Even more remarkable is a passage of the magazine, where the neutral report is given up and narration becomes openly thrilling and touching. In the 15th issue, the authors quote a nearly gothic or at least sentimental story from a contemporaneous medical treatise by Johann Leberecht Schmucker. The citation is inserted into reflections on a treatment method called “Tropfbad” (bath of drops): From a great height single drops of water are splashed one by one on the patient’s head. At first glance this treatment seems to be quite harmless, but the narrator warns his readers about the strength of the Tropfbad cure, which could also be used as a torture measurement. The horrible story following this warning deals with a soldier, who suffers from a nervous disease. Among other symptoms, he becomes deaf-mute. When treated with the Tropfbad method the young man begins to labour under trembling attacks, heavy convulsions and syncopes and he implores the doctor with gestures to stop the cure. The doctor, however, insists on the continuation of the treatment and even repeats the measure the following day. As a result the patient regains his language and hearing ability and at once begins to interpret the whole situation in a religious way. He thinks that he had been obsessed with a demon and regards the physician as an exorcist. On the one hand he is overjoyed with his healing, on the other hand he beseeches the doctor that he never should repeat the treatment, because he would rather die than undergo such a cure once again11. Although this case history is clearly connected to a prominent topic of many passages of the weekly, the bathing cure, it can, at the same time, be counted among the traditional observationes rarae or curiosa, which were collected because of their peculiarity12. * Between the lines, Der Tirolische Arzt provides us with a rudimentary poetological norm for the composition of case histories13. At the beginning of the weekly the narrator invites his readers to send him “Pfuscherhistorien” (Niedermaier/ Scherer 1791, 16), instructive exempla14 of deficient forms of quack treatment, which should warn the farmers against wrong treatments. He demands that these texts had to be factual and should not contain any exaggerations, so that they could be read as authentic and trustworthy15. 1 1 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 229–37. 12 On this subgenre of case histories cf. Stolberg 2007, 86–7. 13 This poetological metareflection may be another trait, which Der Tirolische Arzt has inherited from his spectatorial ancestors. 14 For the proximity of exempla and case studies see Süßmann 2007, 17. 15 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 16.

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It is doubtful, however, if those Pfuscherhistorien, which actually have been inserted into the medical magazine, conform to this rule established by the authors of the periodical. In spite of the narrator’s frequent assertion to tell the truth, at least some of the case studies presented in the weekly might contain exaggerations or fictitious elements or they could even exclusively belong to the realm of fiction: In order to prevent the audience from severe health risks and to effectively contribute to popular enlightenment, the ethos of scientific truthfulness may have been given up more than once. An example for this transgression of a self-established principle will be given in the third paragraph of this paper. Among the case narratives presented in the context of guest contributions there is at least one, which is very likely to belong to the realm of entertaining urban legend rather than reporting the truth. In the 13th issue we find a reader’s letter, which asks for help with a dangerous local cattle plague. The letter itself seems to be authentic and to present a factual report, however, it ends with a short, probably fictitious narrative, which is likely to be inspired by or even adopted from early modern collections of anecdotes. The female housekeeper of a clergyman clearly misunderstands a doctor’s prescription and makes her master drink an enema16. * Occasionally, Der Tirolische Arzt also contains representatives of a narrative genre, which is very close to the anecdote, namely the apophthegma. In the 35th issue the authors present a collection of miscellanies, which is opened with a narrative about Hermann Boerhaave’s last will. While the above-mentioned story about the misused enema can entertain even simple-minded readers, this apophthegma, to which the narrator frequently returns in his following reflections, cannot be fully understood unless its recipients have some general idea of Boerhaave’s life, his greatness of mind and his scientific rewards17. * Another interesting genre included into the medical weekly is constituted by those texts, which do not tell the story of a particular invalid, but rather give a prototypic account of the course of a disease, a treatment, or some physiological process18. 1 6 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 197. 17 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 556. Similarly, an apophthegma dealing with Peter the Great, cf. Niedermaier/Scherer (1791, 164), requires some general knowledge on this Russian tsar. 18 On this genre and its relation to the genre of case histories cf. Stolberg 2007, 91. A subtype of this narrative form can be found in those passages of the weekly, which debate the contagiosity of various illnesses. Here, Der Tirolische Arzt several times tells the

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At first glance, these general narratives form the exact opposite to the case histories, at a closer look, however, we can see that these two genres are often amalgamated by the narrator:  When he outlines a general (patho-)physiological process or healing method, he often vividly sketches fine-grained settings and situations, so that one feels like observing an individual scene. Moreover, the narrator frequently talks in finite singular forms about those who undergo the respective disease, bodily process or medical treatment. Good examples for this diegetic method are formed by the narrator’s remarks on women in childbed19 and on breastfeeding20. In both cases we find a very vivid description of a young mother’s ordinary nature, state and experiences, the constitution of her surroundings etc., which contribute to a sensual concretion of the general processes21. In doing so, the narrator presents the general course of the childbed and breastfeeding in the narrative form of a specific case—and that is, according to the definition by Johannes Süßmann, the main criterion for a case history22. The permanent conflation of individuality and generality might remind a contemporary reader of a specifically spectatorial text type, the moral character. Like this genre, the narratives of childbed and breastfeeding also contain moral reflections. Moreover, these text passages can also be seen as a thematic adaptation from the early moral weeklies. The adequate behaviour of young mothers is discussed in more than one of these prototypical periodicals23. * To a larger extent than any other text inserted into the magazine the article on breastfeeding mentioned above contains dialogic elements24. The breastfeeding debate seems to have been so controversial, that the authors sought to anticipate possible objections against their position. A dialogic mise-en-scène also takes place in those passages, where the magazine presents various excerpts and/or abstracts from contemporary medical and pharmaceutical writings25. Such a florilegia technique leads to contradictions,

1 9 20 21 22 23 24 25

story of the outbreak and spread of certain epidemics and cattle plagues in different regions of Tyrol as well as in other European areas, cf. for example Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 282–284. Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 97–111. Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 59–63; esp. 53–6. On this narrative technique in the genre of case studies cf. Süßmann 2007, 19–20. Cf. Süßmann 2007, 19. Cf., for example, Anon. 1723, 155–62. Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 59–61. Cf., for example, Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 291–94.

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which stage, in a small format, the controversial medical debates of their time. On the one hand, the presentation of medical collectanea, which resembles the moral collectanea in spectatorial printings, might be induced by the assumption that some readers lacked access to the latest medical works. Like the moral weeklies, the Der Tirolische Arzt is designed as a catalyst of knowledge. On the other hand, the authors probably use this technique to demonstrate their connectivity to the international medical community. Another dialogic construction can be found, wherever the magazine by Scherer and Niedermaier inserts official announcements. Not only does the periodical publish the wording of contemporary acts related to the healthcare and education system, but it also adds a positive evaluation of the new regulations. Like the moral weeklies Scherer’s and Niedermaier’s periodical tries to make the case for enlightened innovations in the public sphere and simultaneously underlines the authors’ political loyalty26. Since the medical florilegia and the passages concerned with legal reforms confine themselves to staging a dialogue in the figurative sense of the word, they cannot be counted among the narrative or even literary passages of the Tyrolean medical weekly. Nevertheless they use a writing technique, which, according to Bakhtine, is closely connected to modern novelistic storytelling: the creation of a polyphony of voices27.

Challenges in the Reading Process As mentioned before, the authors of Der Tirolische Arzt intend to assist their professional readers (surgeons, physicians) in the process of upgrading their medical knowledge. An important issue reflected in Scherer’s and Niedermaier’s weekly are the pathophysiological variations, which a medical professional has to keep in mind when advancing an ill person. A physician or surgeon has to look for the prevailing symptoms in an individual invalid in a specific environment, and to provide an adequate, situation-dependent treatment28.

2 6 Cf., for example, Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 63–4. 27 Cf. Bakhtine 1979, 192–219. 28 Veterinary surgeons and experienced farmers, who form another target audience of the weekly, are faced with similar challenges in animal treatment. As mentioned above, the weekly provides them with some case histories as well and also offers stories and descriptions of cattle plagues. However, the majority of texts inserted into the Tyrolean periodical are concerned with human medicine. As a consequence, this class of texts will be focused in the present paragraph.

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In the second issue of the weekly the narrator claims, that in more than one case neither the patients themselves nor their family can help the physician or surgeon to get some insight into the invalid’s individual state. Sometimes, the ill person is unconscious or he or she is just too stupid to answer the practitioner’s anamnestic questions and the reports of his or her relatives are unreliable29. Which method can be used in these cases in order to find the right treatment? As an answer to this question the professional readers are advised to account to themselves for the current meteorological situation favouring typical kinds and varieties of diseases30. At first glance the abbreviated meteorological and epidemiological narratives and the associated remarks on treatments fitting this climate seem to provide the physician or surgeon with assistance for this task. However, the monthly reports will usually be published too late to help this professional in his current work: From reading which kinds of illnesses frequently occurred in February and which therapeutic interventions would have been adequate to deal with them a medical practitioner cannot deduce how to treat his patients in March. The only possibility to learn from these deprecated reports is to stick to reading them for a long period: By degrees the influences of a specific weather situation on the human organism will become more familiar to the readers—not least because the narrator augments his punctual observations with some general remarks on the connection between weather and disease based on the paradigm of a humoral pathology. This medical paradigm, as well as the traditional Galenic sex res non naturales (drink and food, air and light, sleep and waking, work and rest, excretions and secretions, and the psychic disposition and state) supply an important additional locus for the process of searching and finding an adequate medical diagnosis and treatment. While reflections on the current weather can help the practitioner to assess the environmental conditions influencing the respective illness, i.e. the situational factor of the patient’s malady, they cannot give an account for the sick person’s individual physis and state. To recognize these individual factors, the stories presented by Scherer and Niedermaier pay particular attention to the patients’ liquid and solid excretion. Apart from gathering diagnostical information from the excretion process, these narratives also frequently mention the manipulation of excretion for therapeutic reasons. In almost any case history contained in the weekly we can find some hints at measures which further the expulsion of the sickening matter, like the

2 9 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 24–5. 30 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 24.

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use of a setum (a rope of hair pulled through the neck of the patient), a blistering plaster, an enema, a vomitive agent, a laxative or a diaphoretic drug. However, the weekly’s advice concerning the use of sweeping measures is anything but simple and consistent. The narrator repetitively makes the case for a reasonable simplification of treatment and for a very cautious use of strong healing measures:  An invalid should not be stuffed with drugs or tortured by complicated treatments. The physician or surgeon should thoroughly ponder, whether bloodletting and other expulsory measures were an adequate healing method. As the narrator underlines in the first issue, a temporising attitude may even explain the success of some quacks, who—dealing with severe injuries— just wait and see31. Once more, the readers are faced with the fundamental problem, that it is rather difficult to follow the magazine’s treatment recommendations in everyday medical practice: It is more than likely that professional readers of the weekly like physicians and surgeons in rural areas will find it hard to decide, which of the contradictory principles concerning expulsory measures presented in the spectatorial magazine would be effective in concreto. They have to find out, which of their own cases require a temporising approach, which patients should be treated with mild expulsory measures and which illnesses have to be fought with an immediate and harsh sweeping treatment. Moreover, a reader of the magazine will be puzzled by complex case histories, which describe a changing treatment of the patient throughout the course of his illness. The cure starts with one specific medication or diet, but later on, it is replaced with another therapy. Does this mean, that the first measures had been wrong? Or could the patient’s healing only be achieved by combining different treatments in different phases of the disease? In several cases, the weekly leaves this question unanswered32. A medical practitioner reading the magazine does not know, whether to follow every single step of the narrated therapy or to concentrate on the final treatment. And what is the reader supposed to deduce from those case histories, which have a fatal end33? Shall he conclude, that the patient’s previous treatment had been wrong and that the narrator as physician in charge failed to find the right diagnosis or treatment? Or shall he just think, that the invalid had been too 3 1 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 5–14. 32 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 303. 33 Cf., for example, Scherer/Niedermaier 1791, 138–144. It is rather unusual to publish histories with a deadly ending, usually, casuistics with a happy ending are preferred, cf. Stolberg 2007, 83; 84.

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frail to recover or that his disease had been too aggressive to be cured? Is he supposed to admire the narrator’s sincerity and trustworthiness in not withholding unfavourable information or shall he learn that the narrator was a fallible human being and that the confidence in this medical authority should not be unconditional? In fact, it is highly probably, that the tragic case histories have not been added to the weekly for didactic, but for epistemic reasons: As mentioned above, the medical weekly is not only written to assist medical practitioners and other learned readers in Tyrol, who are searching for some reasonable and simple information on current diseases and their treatment34, but it is also designed as a contribution to the contemporary, trans-European foundational research. In the first context case narratives have to present existing results of medical investigation, offering a reasonable and promising diagnosis and treatment scheme presented for didactic reasons35. In the second context however, the representatives of this genre assume a prototheoretical function36. They point at unanswered questions and contribute material for the current quest for the best therapy. On this reading, the case studies ending with the patient’s death can often be seen as unsolved problems addressing the international scientific community and local professionals searching for advanced training would probably do well to just ignore them. An indispensable premise for using a case narrative in advanced training is the veracity of the story. The possible profit, which a professional reader can draw from the case studies, stands and falls with this characteristic. Therefore, a case study should be reported and interpreted by a direct eye-witness and told

3 4 For the didactic function of case histories see Stolberg 2007, 85. 35 Gianna Pomata (2013, 11) holds that “patients’ stories” of this kind, i.e. narratives presented “for didactic purposes” had to be seen as “tales”, respectively “examples and anecdotes”, but not as “cases”. Obviously, she agrees with André Jolles’ famous definition which reserves the term “case history” for narratives dealing with unanswered questions, cf. Jolles 1958, 191. The authors of the present paper opt for a wider understanding of the term “case narrative” including all kinds of reports about ill individuals. Such a definition of the medical case narrative can refer to Süßmann’s (2007, 19; emphasis in original) general definition of case studies as “Darstellungen, die das Dargestellte als Fall präsentieren”. 36 On the prototheoretical function of case narratives in journals from the late Enlightenment cf. Düwell/Pethes 2012, passim. General remarks on the prototheoretical and propaedeutical use of the genre can be found in Class 2013, xi.

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in an objective manner37. Surprisingly, the Tyrolean periodical comprises case descriptions, which clearly neglect these scientific standards. For example, the narrator tells us the story of an old woman who dies of a seemingly harmless drug for her stomach trouble. After drinking a medicine offered by a surgeon, she suffers from a sudden death. The narrator accuses the local surgeon of having poisoned his female patient against his will38 because of using unauthorised drugs for her treatment. He supposes that the surgeon had bought the seemingly harmless components of his medicament from a travelling drug monger instead of visiting a pharmacy and that the drugs were contaminated with rat poison39. Here, the narrator presents a case and even dares to speculate on the reason for the woman’s death although he is neither involved in the deceased patient’s treatment nor in her autopsy. The only material used for his highly speculative reflections are some written reports on the case and on the post-mortem examination. Moreover, the narrator can be blamed for taking a perspective, which is distorted by an unscientific prejudice. His decisive rejection of all alternative medical and pharmaceutical protagonists working beyond the authorized healthcare system of the enlightened Josephinist state leads to a denigration of every non-official activity within this sphere, completely lacking objectivity. Similar objections could be raised against other cautionary tales included in medical weekly:  As a warning against the visit of a village quack and against following the advice of female healers (one of which is aggressively entitled as “alte Fettel”40, i.e. ugly old bag) the narrator reports of rapid deaths, and other horrible consequences like the loss of a hand from such an amateur treatment41. Instead of addressing professionals interested in scientifically objective reports, these passages are clearly aimed at non-professional readers, who—in the spirit of popular enlightenment—should be deterred from searching help from unauthorised healers42. The rhetoric function of movere is predominant

37 Cf. Retzlaff 2018, passim, esp. 27. In fact, the narrator (“I”), who tells the case histories in Der Tirolische Arzt, cannot act as a real eye-witness because of his being a literary construct. Yet in most case narratives he probably serves as the mouthpiece of a direct eye-witness, namely the physician Scherer. 38 As Bettina Wahrig (2007, 99) emphasizes, case narratives on involuntary intoxication were even more frequent in 18th and 19th century writing than reports on murder by poisoning. 39 Cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 88–92. 40 Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 107. 41 Cf., for example, Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 15–6. 42 Concerning this function of case studies also see Düwell/Pethes 2012, 133.

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here43. Thus, these case histories are inadequate for the means of advanced training. There is another group of case studies in Der Tirolische Arzt, which professional readers should rather treat with caution, namely those dealing with bathing cures. The composition of these stories is very likely to be superimposed by the personal interests of their authors. Although the weekly suggests that its balneological presentations, including the case studies on bathing cures, were given from a disinterested, unselfish point of view44, it is obvious that the authors insert these texts in order to propagate the spa, which Scherer has recently established in Mühlau45. To sum up the results of this final paragraph:  Professionals, who intend to use the (case) narratives in Der Tirolische Arzt for upgrading their medical competence, will have to solve three central tasks. Firstly, they will have to detect the stories inserted for professional peers among those primarily written for non-professionals (case histories for promotion purposes46, stories containing anti-quack polemics). Secondly, they will have to abandon those (case) narratives rather presenting open scientific questions than recommended diagnostic or curative approaches. In addition to this double selection process, the professionals searching the periodical for advanced training elements will thirdly have to cope with another central task: They will have to decide which diagnostic observations and therapeutic strategies mentioned within the (case) narratives should be adopted under which environmental conditions at the bedside of which patient. Making use of stories for lifelong medical learning is all but a trivial task.

Sources Anon.: Der Leipziger Spectateur […]. Frankfurt/Hamburg/Leipzig: [s.e.] 1723. Anon.: “Nekrolog für Herrn Claudius Martin Ritter von Scherer […].” In: K.K. priv. Bothe von und für Tirol und Vorarlberg 78–81 (1834), 312; 316; 320; 324.

4 3 For the moving component of case studies also see Süßmann 2007, 17. 44 Cf., for example, Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 184. 45 The spa facilities including the patients’ accomodation are described in detail in the 12th issue, cf. Niedermaier/Scherer 1791, 185–92. 46 Even in Antiquity we can find, e.g. in the works of Galen, “patients’ stories” used for self-promotion: Pomata 2013, 11.

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Bachtin, Michail: Die Ästhetik des Wortes. Ed. by Rainer Grübel, translated by id. and Sabine Reese. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp 1979. Class, Monika: “Introduction: Medical Case Histories as Genre: New Approaches”. Medical Histories as Genre. (Special issue) Literature and Medicine 32/1 (2013), vii–xvi. Düwell, Susanne/Nicolas Pethes: “Noch nicht wissen. Die Fallsammlung als Prototheorie in Zeitschriften der Spätaufklärung.” In: Michael Bies/Michael Gamper (eds.). Literatur und Nicht-Wissen. Historische Konstellationen 1730– 1930. Zürich/Berlin: Diaphanes 2012, 131–48. Jolles, André: Einfache Formen. Legende, Sage, Mythe, Rätsel, Spruch, Kasus, Memorabile, Märchen, Witz. Tübingen: Niemeyer 21958. Niedermaier, Franz/Claudius Martin Ritter von Scherer: Der Tirolische Arzt, eine medizinische Wochenschrift für seine Landsleute von Klaudius Martin Scherer […] und von Franz Niedermaier […]. Vol. 1. Innsbruck: [s.e.] 1791. Pomata, Gianna: “The Medical Case Narrative. Distant Reading of an Epistemic Genre”. Medical Histories as Genre. (Special issue). Literature and Medicine 32/1 (2013), 1–23. Retzlaff, Stefanie: Observieren und Aufschreiben. Zur Poetologie medizinischer Fallgeschichten (1700–1765). München: Wilhelm Fink 2018. Stolberg, Michael: “Formen und Funktionen medizinischer Fallberichte in der Frühen Neuzeit.” In: Johannes Süßmann/Susanne Scholz/Gisela Engel (eds.). Fallstudien: Theorie – Geschichte – Methode. Berlin: trafo 2007, 81–95. Süßmann, Johannes: “Einleitung: Perspektiven der Fallstudienforschung.” In: id./Susanne Scholz/Gisela Engel (eds.): Fallstudien: Theorie – Geschichte – Methode. Berlin: trafo 2007, 7–27. Wahrig, Bettina: “Erzählte Vergiftungen. Kriminalitätsdiskurs und Staatsarzneikunde. 1750–1850”. In: Johannes Süßmann/Susanne Scholz/Gisela Engel (eds.): Fallstudien: Theorie – Geschichte – Methode. Berlin: trafo 2007, 97–111. Wurzbach, Constant von: “Scherer, Claudius Ritter von”. In: Anon. (ed.): Biographisches Lexikon des Kaiserthums Oesterreich […]. Vol. 29. Wien: Verlag der Universitäts-Buchdruckerei 1875, 206–7.

Hélène Boons

Le masque brisé: heurs et malheurs de la fiction dans les « Spectateurs » de Jacques-­Vincent Delacroix de part et d’autre de la Révolution française Jacques-Vincent Delacroix, avocat qui fréquenta les figures de la sociabilité littéraire du xviiie siècle telles que Voltaire, Grimm, Buffon ou Mme Riccoboni, appartient à la génération des transfuges politiques, déjà adultes sous le règne de Louis xvi et vieillards à la veille de la Monarchie de Juillet. On ne peut qu’admirer sa longévité, dans un temps où les têtes tranchées furent nombreuses. JacquesVincent Delacroix résista à la monarchie constitutionnelle, à la Convention, au Directoire, au Consulat, au Premier Empire, à la chute de Napoléon, aux Cent jours, et enfin aux deux Restaurations pour mourir octogénaire en 1831. Ce ne fut pas sans orages : il connut l’opprobre comme les honneurs, risquant sa tête devant le féroce Comité de salut public lors de la Convention thermidorienne en 1794. La notice de Michel Gilot dans le Dictionnaire des journalistes expose la foisonnante activité de cet homme de lettres papillonnant entre romans, mémoires, traités, mais aussi, et surtout, « spectateurs ». Delacroix publie entre 1767 et 1829 douze œuvres dont le titre contient cette indication générique. Elles ne paraissent pas systématiquement de façon périodique puisque le genre spectatorial recoupe des réalités d’édition très diverses. En revanche, la deuxième référence de cette longue série est un mensuel, intitulé le Spectateur Français pour servir de suite à celui de M. de Marivaux, publié de 1771 à 1772, et peut-être dès 1770. Delacroix, fort de la relative notoriété qu’il acquiert en tant qu’auteur de ce qui se présente comme un épigone marivaudien, continue tout au long de son existence à publier des œuvres s’inscrivant plus ou moins lointainement dans le sillage de cette publication. Ces douze « spectateurs » accordent un rôle contrasté aux microrécits. En effet, la relation harmonieuse entre discours et récit, fondement de la poétique spectatoriale, prééminente dans l’équilibre du Spectateur français de 1772, se trouve malmenée dans les textes qui font suite à 1789. Nous tenterons de comprendre pourquoi Delacroix choisit de tarir peu à peu la veine fictionnelle dans ses « spectateurs » au tournant des xviiie et xixe siècle.

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Harmonies contrariées À la lecture, l’œuvre spectatoriale de Delacroix paraît de prime abord frustrante : la richesse narrative et énonciative des «  spectateurs  » révolutionnaires et postrévolutionnaires est moindre que dans son Spectateur français originel. Il s’agit de présenter succinctement le corpus, avant de préciser les raisons de ce diagnostic.

Douze « spectateurs » Delacroix publie douze textes entre 1767 et 1829, qui se rattachent au genre spectatorial de façon plus ou moins lointaine. Le titre de sept de ces ouvrages commence par le terme de « Spectateur », voire pour la plupart de « Spectateur français ». 1767 : Le Spectateur en Prusse. 1771/72 : Le Spectateur français pour servir de suite à celui de M. de Marivaux1. 1791 : Le Spectateur français ou le nouveau Socrate moderne. 1794 : Le Spectateur français pendant le gouvernement révolutionnaire. 1796  : Le Spectateur français avant la Révolution. Ce titre correspond à une réédition modifiée du Spectateur français de 1772. 1815 : Le Spectateur français pendant le gouvernement républicain. Ce titre correspond à une réédition modifiée du Spectateur français pendant le gouvernement révolutionnaire de 1794. 1817 : Le Spectateur sous le gouvernement royal et légitime de Louis xviii. En outre, Delacroix publie parallèlement cinq textes dont les titres comprennent certes la mention du « Spectateur français » mais n’en font plus leur noyau : le voici désormais en position dégradée de complément du nom. L’auteur s’éloigne en apparence du modèle de 1771 mais n’écarte pas l’identité spectatoriale, choix qui laisse songeur quant à la rémanence du masque2 dans son imaginaire auctorial : 1 Ce texte, publié en 1771–1772 en six volumes, après sa diffusion périodique, connaît un certain succès puisqu’il est réédité dès 1777 dans un format abrégé de deux volumes, sous le titre de Peinture des mœurs du siècle, ou Lettres et Discours sur différents sujets. C’est cette version nettement raccourcie de 1777 qui servira de base à la nouvelle réédition de 1796, Le Spectateur français avant la Révolution. 2 Selon l’article pionnier du collectif de Grenoble, « Le Journaliste masqué. Personnage et formes personnelles », le choix par le journaliste d’un énonciateur masqué sous une identité fictionnelle est l’une des caractéristiques les plus révélatrices du genre spectatorial. Le collectif rassemble, sous le nom de « spectateurs », « tous les journaux dont le titre désigne un narrateur fictif », et ajoute que cette définition reste encore à préciser (Collectif de Grenoble 1982, 287).

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1793  : Opinion du Spectateur français sur la proposition de supprimer la peine de mort. 1819 : Les Méditations et souvenirs du Spectateur français. 1823 : Les Adieux du Spectateur français au monde politique et littéraire. 1824 : Le Moraliste du xixe siècle ou Les derniers adieux du Spectateur français. 1829 : Le Réveil du Spectateur français. L’écriture de ce corpus dépend fortement des circonstances politiques. Deux textes sont publiés entre 1767 et 1772, c’est-à-dire pendant le règne de Louis xv, quatre entre 1791 et 1796 au cours du bouleversement révolutionnaire, et six à partir de la Restauration, entre 1815 et 1829. Les «  spectateurs  » de Delacroix ont réfléchi de façon suivie les crises politiques françaises. Il faut garder ce constat à l’esprit tant il s’avère majeur pour comprendre les aléas connus par le genre à partir de 1789.

La fiction brève, joyau monarchique ? Face à cette abondance de sources, aux titres similaires, une conclusion s’impose  :  en ce qui concerne la richesse et la variété des microrécits, c’est Le Spectateur français, pour servir de suite à celui de M. de Marivaux, publié en six volumes en 1771–1772, qui remporte la palme. C’est tout d’abord la diversité des modes d’insertion du microrécit qui interpelle. Le Spectateur excelle dans l’art de laisser ou de prendre la parole, dans le droit fil de la tradition addisonienne. Il raconte fidèlement les événements de sa vie quotidienne qui lui paraissent dignes d’être consignés en raison de leur statut exemplaire ou exceptionnel. Par surcroît ces micro-récits se rattachent à une multitude de genres. On trouve des contes moraux, selon la mode initiée en France à la fin des années 1760 par Marmontel et Bastide3, comme le «  Discours sur la nécessité d’être deux » (Delacroix 1772, t. iv, 27–48), qui narre la rencontre fortuite dans une maison de campagne d’une jolie veuve, Lucile, avec le jeune célibataire Valcour ; des choses vues  ; des anecdotes liées à des événements contemporains4  ; une histoire tragique5 ; le récit d’une visite au salon du Louvre6 ; La narration évoque 3 René Godenne rappelle que les Contes moraux de Marmontel, publiés en 1759 à la suite de leur succès dans le Mercure de France depuis 1755, « font figure de modèle exemplaire » (Godenne 1970, 159). 4 Voir le «  Discours sur l’incendie de l’Hôtel Dieu et sur le moyen d’arrêter les embrasements », qui évoque l’incendie de l’Hôtel Dieu à Paris en 1772 (Delacroix 1772, t. vi, 106–112). 5 « Histoire tragique de deux amants » (Delacroix $1 $3. i, 105–117). 6 « Sur l’exposition des tableaux au Salon du Louvre » (Delacroix 1772, t. iii, 109–115).

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la Comédie Française7 ou bien laisse place à des réflexions sur l’urbanisme parisien, à l’occasion d’une promenade8. Conséquemment à cette diversité thématique, générique et narrative, le « je » caractéristique du « journaliste masqué » habite l’œuvre de façon nuancée et riche, tour à tour objet ou témoin de la narration selon diverses focales. Remarquons que les microrécits dans ce périodique sont rarement désignés comme tels. Dans la table des matières, peu de titres annoncent de façon explicite un récit court par le terme de conte, d’histoire, ou d’anecdote. La plupart des narrations sont insérées dans des « Discours » : ainsi le « Discours sur la nécessité d’être deux » (Delacroix 1772, t. iv, 27–48) n’est-il occupé que du récit des amours entre Lucile et Valcour. Tout se passe comme si le Spectateur de 1772 utilisait la fiction comme un support discursif détourné, qui lui permettrait de donner son avis de façon nuancée, riche et surtout plaisante. En témoigne le « Discours » en demiteinte consacré aux « dangers des romans » : La morale présentée sans art attriste et fatigue les lecteurs. Je me conformerai donc au goût de mon siècle : je deviendrai frivole pour lui plaire ; mes discours ne seront point hérissés de sentences. Souvent, je renfermerai la vérité dans un conte  ; elle en plaira davantage à ceux qui n’aiment plus que le mensonge (Delacroix 1772, t. i, 56).

Le récit équivaut, sur un mode attrayant et frivole, au discours, il peut donc entièrement le remplacer : c’est bien en homme de son siècle, féru de fictions, que Delacroix s’exprime. Il ne s’agit pas de se fier à ces prétentions morales mais de constater que le microrécit est un élément décisif de la poétique spectatoriale en 1772.

La poétique des « spectateurs » ultérieurs Dans les «  spectateurs  » ultérieurs, cette richesse narrative s’amoindrit. Les occurrences de la première personne du singulier s’estompent, de même que la diversité des sujets, des recours génériques, et des modalités de l’insertion du récit au sein de l’œuvre. Le cas du Spectateur français ou le nouveau Socrate moderne (1791) est à ce titre exemplaire. Les microrécits s’y construisent en écho avec les choix narratifs du Spectator de Joseph Addison et Richard Steele, datant de 1711–1712 et traduit en français à partir de 1716. On trouve un autoportrait fictif du journaliste masqué 7 « Discours : le Spectateur placé obscurément au parterre des Français à la première et dernière représentation d’une tragédie » (Delacroix 1772, t. iv, 313–320). 8 « Marche du Spectateur dans un faubourg de Paris ; ses réflexions sur les Hôtels qui l’embellissent » (Delacroix 1772, t. v, 245–251).

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en début d’ouvrage, une présentation des autres contributeurs imaginaires, un récit de rêve, une scène de café au cours de laquelle le Spectateur surprend par hasard la critique de son texte : autant de topoï du Spectator d’Addison et Steele. En sus de ce tarissement de l’inventivité thématique, les narrations s’insèrent avec peine au sein d’un périodique qui semble plutôt avoir pris le parti du discursif et de l’impersonnel. Elles font figure de gouttes d’eau face à l’océan de passages consacrés à des réflexions politiques, à des portraits des têtes couronnées d’Europe comme Joseph ii, et à des mélanges historiques. Cette tendance s’accroît, au-delà des premières années de la Révolution. En 1817, dans Le Spectateur sous le gouvernement royal et légitime de Louis xviii, Delacroix ne puise pas dans la richesse polyphonique de l’énonciation des microrécits monarchiques. La table des matières recèle essentiellement des sujets politiques et moraux comme «  De la nécessité et des moyens de préserver la société de la contagion des criminels », ou encore « De l’instruction publique ». Les quelques narrations n’accueillent que rarement l’expression d’une subjectivité. Les traces de l’écriture spectatoriale sont à chercher dans des lettres, comme la «  Lettre d’une ex-religieuse au Spectateur  », ou la «  Lettre d’un Voyageur sur le commerce maritime  » (Delacroix 1817, 1, 57, 148, 294), dans laquelle un épistolier anonyme décrit l’effervescence commerciale du port du Havre. Même si le Spectateur fréquente encore le café dans ce volume, il y laisse surtout la parole aux consommateurs, et s’efface très vite de la scène. Le cadre narratif, minime, sert alors de brève introduction de convention à de longs discours politiques, comme celui qui se consacre au général de La Fayette (Delacroix 1817, 304–316). Le rapport entre discours et récit a perdu de son harmonie, au détriment du récit. Le premier réflexe serait de désavouer les «  spectateurs  » de notre auteur postérieurs à 1789. Ils perdent de vue ce qui faisait l’originalité de la poétique du genre sous l’Ancien Régime : la pratique d’un journalisme personnel, unissant toutes les feuilles par l’omniprésence d’une narration à la première personne du singulier, correspondant au personnage du Spectateur qui distribue la parole et fait naître l’occasion du récit. Il est temps à présent de s’interroger sur les causes de ce bouleversement.

Le masque brisé L’identité dévoilée Pour qui s’attache à suivre l’évolution des «  spectateurs  » de Delacroix, une évidence s’impose  :  le masque de l’auteur, apanage du narrateur spectatorial, disparaît après la Révolution. Ce choix d’un journaliste-personnage remonte au

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moins à Addison et Steele. Dans le Spectator de 1711–1712, les auteurs se déguisent sous l’identité de Mr Spectator, et n’inscrivent pas leur nom au frontispice de l’ouvrage. La tendance demeure, avec quelques variations au cours du siècle : peu avant la Révolution, Louis Abel Beffroy de Reigny se cache derrière l’identité du primesautier « cousin Jacques ». En 1772, Delacroix, obéissant à ces codes, se désigne simplement sous le nom de « Spectateur ». Lorsqu’il délivre des éléments proches de sa vie personnelle, comme des extraits de sa correspondance avec Voltaire, il choisit soigneusement les lettres pour qu’elles ne permettent pas de découvrir son métier réel de magistrat. La « Lettre de Voltaire au Spectateur » contient des compliments de la part du « vieux malade de Fernay » (Delacroix 1772, t. iv, 202) au sujet du périodique de Delacroix, sans plus d’informations sur l’identité de son auteur : J’ai connu autrefois plusieurs auteurs du Spectateur Anglais : vous me paraissez avoir hérité de Steele et d’Addison. Pour moi, je ne puis plus être Spectateur ni même auditeur ; je perds insensiblement la vue et l’ouïe, et je me prépare à faire le voyage du pays dont personne ne revient ; mais tant que je resterai dans ce pays-ci, et que mes yeux verront un reste de lumière, je lirai votre ouvrage avec autant de plaisir que d’estime et de reconnaissance (id.).

Il est impossible de deviner dans cette lettre la profession de Delacroix, ni l’estime, pourtant réelle, que Voltaire porte à ses qualités d’avocat9. Le Spectateur demeure masqué. En revanche, lors de la réédition du périodique en 1796, sous le titre du Spectateur français avant la Révolution, Delacroix ajoute une autre lettre de Voltaire. Cette fois, elle permet de l’identifier comme un magistrat compétent. Voltaire y fait allusion à l’affaire de la rosière de Salency dans laquelle Delacroix a effectivement été impliqué10. Il se plaint de ne pas disposer de l’adresse de Delacroix, et ajoute :

9 Voltaire et Delacroix se sont tous deux investis, au cours des années 1771–1773, dans la délicate affaire Véron/Morangiès (Renwick, 1982). 10 Cette affaire opposa Charles-Laurent Antoine Danré, seigneur de Salency, à ses villageois. Il s’agissait des modalités de l’élection de la rosière, jeune fille du village à qui l’on décernait un prix en récompense de sa vertu. En 1773, le seigneur voulut choisir seul la rosière, à l’opposé de la tradition qui impliquait fortement les habitants. Un an plus tard, le Parlement de Paris réglementa ces pratiques et donna tort au seigneur de Salency. L’affaire eut un retentissement majeur et contribua à asseoir la réputation de Delacroix, car le jeune avocat publia en 1774 deux mémoires contre Danré (Maza 1997, 63–103).

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Je hasarde mes remerciements chez votre libraire. Il a imprimé peu de mémoires aussi bien faits que ceux pour la Rosière : ils sont les premiers, je crois, qui aient introduit les grâces dans l’éloquence du barreau (Delacroix 1796, 263).

Cette lettre, datée du 21 janvier 1775, est exemplaire du nouveau rapport de notre journaliste à la publicité de son identité. En 1796, Delacroix s’enorgueillit d’avoir eu de tels éloges de la part d’un héros national, et accepte que son identité réelle de se dévoile à la lecture. De surcroît, à partir de 1790, Delacroix signe systématiquement tous ses ouvrages et se fait fort de sa réputation en évoquant dès le frontispice sa profession  :  Le Spectateur français sous le gouvernement royal et légitime de Louis xviii est sous-titré «  Par M.  Delacroix, juge au tribunal civil de Versailles ». Ceci est à comprendre dans le cadre d’une mutation, consubstantielle à la Révolution, du métier de journaliste. Ce dernier devient un individu politique qui a son rôle dans le façonnement de l’opinion publique et se soumet à la «  pression patriotique  » (Labrosse et Rétat 1989, 154)  d’un public avide de renseignements. Les détours d’un masque, dès les prémices de la Révolution, inspirent peut-être doute et inquiétude : si « [l]‌e journaliste doit non seulement saisir et transmettre la nouvelle, mais être encore le délégué du public sur le lieu de l’action, un scripteur immédiat dans la chaleur de l’événement » (Labrosse et Rétat 1989, 164), il paraît difficile d’accorder sa foi à un délégué anonyme, qui plus est spectateur fantasmagorique. La Révolution donne au Spectateur  une fonction neuve et ciblée, celle d’un «  journaliste témoin et acteur  » (id.), dont l’écriture rend manifeste une implication réelle au sein de l’espace public, à l’opposé de l’apanage primordial du Spectateur addisonien : la désinvolture muette. Nuançons toutefois ce constat : la pratique d’une énonciation déguisée se maintient dans la presse après 1789 et pendant le xixe siècle : il suffit de songer aux périodiques du « Père Duchesne »11. Entre la tendance qui invite les journalistes à ne plus se cacher derrière des masques de convention, et celle qui leur impose de fournir le compte-rendu attentif de l’actualité politique, c’est la seconde qui l’emporte de loin sur la première. Si Delacroix délaisse la feintise de son personnage fictif, ce n’est pas parce que le journaliste révolutionnaire aurait systématiquement l’obligation morale de dévoiler son identité réelle. En revanche, c’est vis-à-vis des récits d’imagination que Delacroix souhaite 11 Le Père Duchesne est le titre de plusieurs périodiques révolutionnaires, dont la version la plus connue est dirigée par Hébert de 1790 à 1794. Ils reposent sur la fiction d’un journaliste homme du peuple et marchand de fourneaux, le père Duchesne, qui aboie son indignation avec une verve toute argotique et familière. Du 21 avril au 24 mai 1871, durant la Commune de Paris, paraît Le Fils du Père Duchesne illustré qui réveille de façon vive des souvenirs de la tradition spectatoriale.

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principalement marquer ses distances ; aussi ceux-ci seraient-ils favorisés par la présence d’un énonciateur imaginaire.

Haro sur le microrécit, ou l’ère du soupçon Face à la transmutation du rôle du journaliste, la fiction est de fait suspectée de frivolité. Selon Delacroix lui-même, elle se confond avec l’Ancien Régime, par son caractère folâtre et mondain. Lorsqu’il réédite en 1796 son périodique à succès des années 1770 sous le titre du Spectateur français avant la Révolution, il précise dès le « Discours préliminaire » : On ne doit pas s’attendre à trouver dans ce volume des idées relatives à la révolution. C’est le tableau d’une génération passée que j’offre à une génération nouvelle. Il y a bien quelques traits de ressemblance, un certain air de famille entre l’une et l’autre ; mais il faut les chercher, les étudier avant de les saisir. La première a plus de physionomie, plus de finesse, plus de grâce, plus d’enjouement ; l’autre, plus de caractère, plus de gravité, plus d’à-plomb ; elle semble occupée de plus fortes pensées (Delacroix 1796, i).

À la période républicaine sont associées la gravité et la pensée, quand la grâce et la gaieté demeurent le propre d’un Ancien Régime à l’heureuse allure. Plus loin, Delacroix traduit ces différences esthétiques en termes génériques : Si l’on me reprochait de n’avoir pas été assez sévère dans cette troisième édition  ; d’y avoir conservé des contes indignes d’occuper de graves républicains, des lettres peu attachantes par leur objet, je répondrai que, si je n’avais consulté que mon goût et ma pensée, j’aurais laissé tomber le tout dans l’oubli ; que je n’ai cédé qu’avec répugnance au désir de quelques lecteurs (Delacroix 1796, xxi-xxii).

L’esprit grave du républicain patriote contraste nettement avec la frivolité des lubies monarchiques (contes, lettres et autres bibelots d’inanité littéraire). Les « quelques lecteurs » à l’origine de la réédition se voient qualifiés de nostalgiques impénitents de cette «  génération passée  »  :  l’Ancien Régime finissant. Si l’allégation de leur désir tient de la construction d’un public imaginaire, il n’en demeure pas moins que Delacroix éprouve le besoin de justifier son choix d’une nouvelle édition. Le récit est peut-être surtout soupçonné parce qu’il représente le réel dans sa richesse et dans ses nuances. De plus, en 1796, Delacroix a de bonnes raisons de rester prudent : il possède encore le souvenir cuisant d’avoir été attaqué pour la publication en 1794 de son Spectateur français pendant le gouvernement révolutionnaire. Ce texte est accusé d’anti-républicanisme par la Convention, notamment en raison du 23e Discours, l’« Entretien avec un membre de la Convention » (Delacroix 1794a, 229). Le Spectateur y dialogue avec un représentant du peuple et exprime ses

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réserves sur la réalité de l’ardeur des citoyens pour la Constitution de 1793 alors en vigueur. Delacroix se voit reprocher à ce sujet un « style royaliste » (Aulard 1899, 346). Le révolutionnaire Pierre-Antoine Antonelle dans son pamphlet de pluviôse an III, intitulé Le Contraste de sentiments, ou le citoyen Delacroix en présence d’un démocrate, attaque violemment le Spectateur pour son parti-pris et souligne bon nombre d’exemples qui trahissent l’ardeur modérée de Delacroix pour la République. Dans ce cadre, ce sont surtout les narrations du périodique qui portent préjudice à Delacroix devant le Comité de salut public. Par exemple, le Spectateur laisse la parole à une «  fausse patriote  », qui exprime ses regrets face aux transformations sociales induites par la Révolution. C’est ensuite un « ex-noble » qui crie son désarroi : Jusqu’à présent, j’ai échappé, par mon adresse, à la captivité. Qui m’arracherait aux horreurs et aux dangers de la prison ? Qui oserait me réclamer ? Je n’ai plus ni parents, ni amis en France. Ceux avec qui je vis ignorent jusqu’à mon nom. J’ai été autrefois un de vos souscripteurs, j’ai reconnu dans vos portraits plus d’un de nos ridicules sans m’en corriger ; j’ai depuis reçu du malheur une leçon plus forte que toutes celles que pouvaient nous donner les moralistes  :  qui nous enseignera aujourd’hui le moyen de nous sauver de nous-mêmes, d’échapper à notre existence ? Dépend-il de moi de n’être pas né d’un noble ? (Delacroix 1794a, 46).

Le Spectateur exhorte l’épistolier à la patience et au travail : Vous êtes du nombre de ceux qui m’ont fait autrefois pitié par leur vanité, et qui excitent aujourd’hui ma compassion par leur frayeur. Vous avez été noble, n’en rougissez pas plus que les sages ne rougissaient de ne l’être pas : vos semblables se sont longtemps glorifiés de leur ignorance, honorez-vous de vos lumières, et consacrez-les à l’éducation de la jeunesse : consolidez la république par de bonnes maximes et une conduite franche, cela vous servira mieux que d’essayer, comme tant d’autres, de la détruire par la trahison, ou de la corrompre par les vices (Delacroix 1794a, 47–48).

Il adoucit de son indulgence la souffrance des deux personnages, preuves vivantes de l’absence de consensus national au sujet de la Révolution. Antonelle exprime de l’irritation face à ces voix discordantes dans son mémoire contre le texte, notamment lors du résumé qu’il en fait, discours par discours:  «  Un ex-noble vient à son tour, qui répète les éternelles complaintes des hommes de la caste, et fait des compliments d’écolier à monsieur le Spectateur, qui, de son côté, qui [sic] répond avec une morgue assez préceptorale, mais sans trop infirmer cependant les insinuations et observations malignes du plaignant contre-révolutionnaire » (Antonelle 1795, 6). Aux yeux des Républicains, ces personnages sont autant de citoyens peu respectables et de facettes dérangeantes de la société française des années 1793

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à 1795. Si Delacroix, victime d’une cabale et honni par le public, est finalement acquitté de justesse le 2 ventôse an III (20 février 1795), grâce au renouvellement inopiné des membres du Comité de salut public, il demeure traumatisé par le risque qu’il a couru. La fiction, par sa représentation complexe et ambivalente de la société, ne correspond pas aux abrégés manichéens goûtés par les hommes politiques de l’an iii. Delacroix adapte par conséquent les microrécits à un temps où la France républicaine renie son passé récent. Dans Le Spectateur français pendant le gouvernement révolutionnaire, ils ont prise sur les questions d’actualité, et portent sur des enjeux spécifiques à la Révolution. Dans la « Lettre d’une ex-Religieuse », une ancienne nonne demande conseil au Spectateur. Malgré les serments prêtés avant que la Révolution ne la contraigne à sortir de son couvent, peut-elle se marier avec « un citoyen, jeune, bien élevé, qui a fait ses preuves de courage et d’intelligence » (Delacroix 1794a, 104) ? Le Spectateur lui conseille de suivre la véritable loi de Dieu, qui veut que chacun puisse transmettre la vie grâce à une relation sanctifiée par le mariage, leçon édifiante tout à fait conforme à la morale révolutionnaire de l’an ii.

Bifurcations du microrécit Du microrécit aux mémoires Si les contes, anecdotes fictionnelles, lettres inventées, ont mauvaise presse à partir de 1789, il semble que pour survivre, le Spectateur, dorénavant identifié explicitement à la personne de Jacques-Vincent Delacroix, doive narrer des microrécits non-fictionnels reposant sur des faits réels. Une partie de son âme, qui n’existe déjà plus sous sa forme originelle, migre ce faisant vers un style de mémorialiste. L’auteur se sent ainsi porté à écrire des souvenirs réels lorsqu’il constate qu’en tant que journaliste il ne lui est plus possible de se plaire dans les détours d’une vie spectatoriale toute fictive. On trouve des évocations du temps jadis dans Le Spectateur sous le gouvernement royal et légitime de Louis xviii (1817), Les Adieux du Spectateur français au monde politique et littéraire (1823) et enfin dans Le Moraliste du xixe siècle ou Les derniers adieux du Spectateur français (1824). Le narrateur retrace ses rencontres avec les écrivains et figures célèbres de l’Ancien Régime (Mme Riccoboni, Mlle Clairon, Grimm, Buffon, Voltaire), évoque des souvenirs d’amis comme le bon Ducis, poète et dramaturge français mort en 1816, ou des anecdotes situées dans un cadre réel  :  la visite à la marquise de Gouy. Ces ombres du passé côtoient des microrécits édifiants, illustrant la piété

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filiale ou les beautés de la relation vassalique, d’où le « je » a quasiment disparu, comme le « Portrait d’une femme recommandable par ses principes et sa vertu », « Le prévoyant Seigneur », ou la « Prière d’un mourant à l’Éternel » (Delacroix 1824, 65, 99, 239). Les contes et anecdotes évacuent le plus souvent dans ces trois ouvrages la première personne du singulier, elle qui était si étroitement mêlée aux microrécits dans le siècle du triomphe du personnage spectatorial. Dans Le Moraliste du xixe siècle, la première personne est utilisée de manière minimale et très abstraite  ; elle sert à répondre à quelques lettres fictives, introduire un discours ou un débat politique avec un opposant imaginaire comme cet « Entretien du Spectateur avec un officier général qui se plaint de son inactivité » (Delacroix 1824, 198). Se voient clairement opposés des récits fictionnels, narrés selon un point de vue extradiégétique, à des récits non-fictionnels éveillant les silhouettes disparues, qui, seuls, usent vraiment du « je » de façon approfondie. Ce « je » correspond alors explicitement à l’identité et aux souvenirs de l’auteur.

Le Danger des souvenirs Si le bouleversement des conditions de possibilité de la fiction au sein de la presse conduit Delacroix à transformer sa façon d’écrire des « spectateurs », il ne faut pas négliger pour autant les créations hétéroclites engendrées par ces métamorphoses. Le Danger des souvenirs constitue un exemple d’hybridation post-révolutionnaire entre l’écriture spectatoriale et le genre romanesque. Il prouve que l’écriture spectatoriale, par sa plasticité, sait aussi se renouveler. Le Danger des souvenirs date de 1806. C’est une œuvre fictionnelle qu’il est difficile de définir. Elle se rapproche fortement du roman-mémoires, mais étonne par certains dérapages génériques qui la font glisser vers le genre des « spectateurs ». En dépit de louanges d’usage adressées à Napoléon, elle fait en effet preuve dans l’ensemble d’une grande nostalgie envers l’Ancien Régime, ce qui explique qu’elle ait été censurée dès 1806, et que Delacroix conserve le souvenir de cette amputation jusque dans le titre de sa réédition de 1829 : Le Captif littéraire, ou Le danger de la censure, par l’auteur du Spectateur français. Le regard mélancolique vers le passé est à l’origine de cette fiction. Le protagoniste, appelé le « Solitaire », puis « M.  Saint-Ange  », traumatisé par la mort du roi, s’est coupé du monde : c’est le risque du « danger des souvenirs » dont parle le titre. Le narrateur est réveillé un soir par les sons intrigants d’une harpe, provenant de la chambre au-dessus de la sienne. Il s’enquiert auprès d’un domestique de l’identité de son voisin et obtient d’épier ce dernier, caché dans un réduit.

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J’entrevis à travers une porte vitrée, voilée par une gaze, mon inconnu, qui était revêtu d’une robe de satin noir ; quatre bougies éclairaient sa chambre ; deux de ces lumières étaient fixées vis-à-vis son pupitre. Pas un de ses mouvements n’échappait à mon œil attentif. Les deux heures qui suivent le milieu de la nuit venaient de sonner, lorsque je le vis appuyer sa main sur un ressort qui fit entrouvrir une tapisserie ; un grand tableau se découvrit, et je reconnus l’image de Louis xvi, vêtu simplement et sans les attributs de la royauté (Delacroix 1806, 3).

Le mystérieux voisin exprime alors sa douleur au tableau de l’« ombre chère » (id.), avant de chanter en s’accompagnant à la harpe. Le « narrateur » – on n’ose dire « spectateur », même s’il lui ressemble – fasciné par le caractère sublime de la tristesse du Solitaire, ancien écuyer de Louis xvi, aspire à le guérir de sa mélancolie et à lui faire accepter le temps présent. Il l’aide à s’adapter à la société de 1806, quand le personnage a placé les années de l’après-1789 entre parenthèses. Le livre est divisé en 56 « Entretiens », correspondant à autant de chapitres narrés à la première personne du singulier par un narrateur intradiégétique. Le terme d’« entretiens » évoque la tradition spectatoriale qui se plaît à rassembler ses numéros sous une même structure formelle, même si celle-ci demeure pur artifice : des « discours » divisaient le Spectateur français de 1772. Nonobstant, les entretiens du Danger des souvenirs ne se composent pas systématiquement d’un dialogue. Le terme paraît plutôt équivalent à celui de « chapitre », même si de nombreux entretiens émaillent le début du livre, entre le solitaire nostalgique et le narrateur qu’il fascine par sa douleur aux accents de mal du siècle. Le début du roman-mémoires se consacre à la rencontre entre le narrateur et ce curieux personnage. Le narrateur lui fait découvrir l’amour, et visiter Paris. Dans l’entrelacement de ces deux éléments bat le cœur de l’hybridation générique du texte. L’amour arrive en la personne d’une charmante chanoinesse, dont on nous fait découvrir l’histoire pitoyable  dans les «  Lettres de cette femme sensible  » (Delacroix 1806, t. i, 120). Parallèlement, le narrateur voyage avec son ami, nouveau Persan, et offre à son regard naïf le Paris du début de la période impériale. Ici, le genre spectatorial entre en force dans l’intrigue romanesque. L’argument principal de l’ouvrage, ce solitaire traumatisé par la Révolution auquel il s’agit de redonner le goût de conjuguer la vie au présent, est alors écarté momentanément. Des personnages rencontrés au hasard de visites, n’ayant de vocation qu’éphémère, prennent la parole, pour discuter de questions annexes à l’intrigue, comme « l’éloquence du barreau » lors de la visite du tribunal. Le narrateur retrouve son rôle de Spectateur, et ne pense plus qu’à dialoguer avec ces inconnus, en délivrant les réflexions qu’il tire de ces échanges. L’intitulé du Xe entretien, est révélateur de tels moments de suspens générique : « Le Solitaire et son ami assistent à une

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cause célèbre qui se plaide dans un des tribunaux. Réflexions d’un ancien avocat sur l’éloquence du barreau et sur la nouvelle procédure civile et criminelle  ». L’avocat en question, au cours d’un dîner, évoque les bouleversements apportés au domaine judiciaire depuis la Révolution et discute des avantages comme des inconvénients de la nouvelle procédure comparée à ce qui avait cours «  dans l’ancien ordre des choses » (Delacroix 1806, 104). Tout se passe comme si le Spectateur était entré dans la durée. Il figure à mi-chemin entre la configuration de la durée propre au genre romanesque et le caractère fragmentaire de l’écriture spectatoriale dans laquelle le journaliste masqué est toujours saisi dans un temps découpé en strates, inaptes à communiquer entre elles. Mr Spectator vit sans lendemain : le personnage ne suit pas un itinéraire psychologique, parce que c’est un moraliste, et non un héros de roman. Chacune de ses aventures quotidiennes se découvre dans la cohérence instantanée de la feuille volante, que l’on peut relire de façon indépendante du reste du périodique. En revanche, dans Le Danger des souvenirs, les observations et digressions du moraliste s’insèrent au sein d’une structure narrative romanesque. Est-ce la conséquence de la «  crise des genres littéraires  » dont parle Françoise Le Borgne, à l’œuvre dans la seconde moitié du xviiie siècle, ou bien le corollaire de la nature souple de cette nébuleuse de textes ? Le Spectateur se meut et s’adapte plus qu’il ne disparaît. En somme, si les feuilles spectatoriales demeurent difficilement au goût du jour pendant la Révolution12 en raison de la place qu’elles accordent aux microrécits fictionnels, il reste à explorer les prolongements de ces textes au xixe siècle, dans la chronique13, derrière le regard des observateurs balzaciens et dans les pas du flâneur baudelairien. L’incipit de «  Sarrasine  » met en scène dans la nuit une créature hybride, spectatrice mais surtout narratrice, « œil vivant » (Starobinski 1961) de l’intrigue à venir :

12 Pour de plus amples analyses de l’extinction de la fantaisie fictionnelle dans les périodiques des premières années de la Révolution, je me permets de renvoyer à ma thèse, « Les “Spectateurs” de Paris : la presse périodique face aux métamorphoses de l’urbain (1711–1794)  ». La façon dont Louis Abel Beffroy de Reigny modifie stratégiquement le ton de ses périodiques à partir de 1789 en constitue un exemple très éloquent. 13 Par exemple celles d’Etienne de Jouy, publiées sous le titre d’Hermites dans la Gazette de France à partir de 1811. Pour une présentation approfondie de ces textes, voir Judith Lyon-Caen, « L’actualité de l’étude de mœurs. Les Hermites d’Étienne de Jouy », Orages 7 (2008), 85–102. Merci à Lucien Derainne de m’avoir signalé l’existence de ces textes.

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Hélène Boons

J’étais plongé dans une de ces rêveries profondes qui souvent saisissent, même un homme frivole, au sein des fêtes les plus tumultueuses. Minuit venait de sonner à l’horloge de l’Élysée-Bourbon. Assis dans l’embrasure d’une fenêtre, et caché sous les plis onduleux d’un rideau de moire, je pouvais contempler à mon aise le jardin de l’hôtel où je passais la soirée. Les arbres, imparfaitement couverts de neige, se détachaient faiblement du fond grisâtre que formait un ciel nuageux, à peine blanchi par la lune ; et, vus au sein de cette atmosphère fantastique, ils ressemblaient vaguement à des spectres mal enveloppés de leurs linceuls, image gigantesque de la célèbre danse des morts…– Puis, en me retournant de l’autre côté, je pouvais admirer la danse des vivants ! un salon splendide, aux parois d’argent et d’or, aux lustres étincelants, brillant de bougies (Balzac 2005, 650–651).

Ce narrateur au seuil de deux mondes – la vanité brillante du salon éclairé et le silence mortuaire d’un jardin enneigé – représente l’archétype du Spectateur, partagé entre bavardage et recueillement, dissimulation et transparence. La voix spectatoriale est loin de s’éteindre définitivement avec la Révolution.

Bibliographie Le Spectateur du Nord : journal politique, littéraire et moral. Hambourg : Pierre François Fauche 1797–1802. Addison, Joseph/Richard Steele : Le Spectateur, ou le Socrate moderne, où l’on voit un portrait naïf des mœurs de ce siècle, traduit de l’anglais. Paris : Étienne Papillon 1716–1726. Antonelle, Pierre-Antoine : Le Contraste de sentiments, ou le citoyen Delacroix en présence d’un démocrate. Paris : R. Vatar 1795. Aulard, Alphonse : Paris pendant la réaction thermidorienne et sous le directoire : Recueil de documents pour l’histoire de l’esprit public à Paris. Paris : Léopold Cerf, Noblet, Quantin 1899. Balzac, Honoré de : Nouvelles et contes, 1820–1832. Paris : Gallimard 2005. Beffroy de Reigny, Louis-Abel : Les Lunes du cousin Jacques. Paris : Lesclapart 1785–1787. Collectif de Grenoble : « Le journaliste masqué. Personnages et formes personnelles ». In : Centre d’étude du xviiie siècle (dir.) : Le Journalisme d’Ancien régime. Questions et propositions. Lyon : Presses Universitaires de Lyon 1982, 333–350. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Le Spectateur en Prusse. Paris 1767. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Le Spectateur français, pour servir de suite à celui de M. de Marivaux. Paris : Veuve Duchesne 1772. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Catéchisme patriotique à l’usage de tous les citoyens français, dédié aux états généraux. Paris : Gueffier 1789.

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Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Le Spectateur français, ou le nouveau Socrate moderne, annales philosophiques, morales, politiques, historiques et littéraires, où l’on voit le tableau de ce siècle. Paris : J.-J. Rainville, Debray 1791. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Opinion du Spectateur français sur la proposition de supprimer la peine de mort dans notre législation criminelle, et sur les moyens de purifier nos villes et nos campagnes. Versailles : Impr. de Vitry 1793. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Le Spectateur français pendant le gouvernement révolutionnaire. Paris : Buisson 1794a. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Mémoire justificatif pour le citoyen Delacroix, auteur du Spectateur français pendant le gouvernement révolutionnaire. Paris : Citoyenne Hérissant 1794b. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Nouvelles preuves que l’auteur du Spectateur français n’est pas royaliste. Paris: Impr. d’A.-A. Lottin 1795. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Le Spectateur français avant la révolution. Paris : Buisson 1796. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Le Danger des souvenirs. Versailles, Paris : Bossange, Masson et Besson 1806. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Le Spectateur français pendant le gouvernement républicain. Versailles : J.-A. Lebel 1815. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Le Spectateur sous le gouvernement royal et légitime de Louis xviii. Paris : Artus Bertrand 1817. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Les Méditations et souvenirs du Spectateur français. Paris : Artus Bertrand 1819. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Les Adieux du Spectateur français au monde politique et littéraire, suivis d’une description de la grande chartreuse et des moyens de la repeupler de nouveaux pénitents. Paris : Artus Bertrand 1823. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Le Moraliste du xixe siècle ou les derniers adieux du Spectateur français. Paris : Corby 1824. Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent : Le Réveil du Spectateur français. Paris : Artus Bertrand 1829. Godenne, René : Histoire de la nouvelle française aux xviie et xviiie siècles. Genève : Droz 1970. Labrosse, Claude/Rétat, Pierre : Naissance du journal révolutionnaire : 1789. Lyon : Presses Universitaires de Lyon 1989. Le Borgne, Françoise : Rétif de la Bretonne et la crise des genres littéraires (1767– 1797). Paris : Honoré Champion 2001. Lyon-Caen, Judith, « L’actualité de l’étude de mœurs. Les Hermites d’Étienne de Jouy », Orages 7 (2008), 85–102.

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Maza, Sarah : Vies privées, affaires publiques. Les causes célèbres de la France prérévolutionnaire. Paris : Fayard 1997. Renwick, John : Voltaire et Morangiés (1772–1773) ou les Lumières l’ont échappé belle. Oxford : The Voltaire Foundation 1982. Starobinski, Jean : L’Œil vivant. Paris : Gallimard 1961.

Katarzyna Chlewicka

Embedded in the Mainstream of Argumentation: Narratives in Die mühsame Bemerckerin The majority of Spectators in the Polish Kingdom emerged in Gdańsk, the main city of the Province of Royal Prussia where early steps in press development had been taken much sooner than in other regions of Poland. Gdańsk, located by the Baltic Sea, developed a dynamic press market during the 17th and 18th centuries mainly due to its politically and economically powerful German-speaking population. Therefore, nearly all periodicals printed there, not excluding the Spectators (published in Gdańsk since the 1730s), were written in German. The other Spectators’ publishing place in the Polish Kingdom was the capital city of, Warsaw, the centre of the Polish nobility culture. However, only a few Spectators in Polish and in German came out there relatively late, in the second half of the 18th century. Die mühsame Bemerckerin derer Menschlichen Handlungen, the first Spectator published in the Polish Kingdom and thus the first link among the Spectator– network in this area, came out in Gdańsk at the end of 1735. Similarly as almost all moral periodicals appearing there in the 1730s and 1740s (these years can be named the golden decades of Gdańsk Spectators) and in contrary to the later ones considered by the researchers lowbrow and much less interested in literature and philosophy (Grześkowiak-Krwawicz 1998, 141)  Die mühsame Bemerckerin represents an aspiring and highly regarded version of the genre. Additionally, it can be considered a relatively close Spectator adaptation continuing its line in many terms such as purposes, strategies and structures. However, very little attention has been given to the Bemerckerin up till now. There are only few contributions dealing with it to a certain extent, being merely minor parts of such publications as, for example, an introduction to the Gdańsk moral and scientific magazines (Kasprzyk 1968, 33–68) or an overview of Gdansk press history in the 18th century (Grześkowiak-Krwawicz 1988, 129–152). This paper is going to shed some more light on this so far barely studied magazine focusing on the story as its constitutive element, in particular on various means the narratives have been involved in its predominant educational concept. The first of them is fictionality and the way it is handled in the Bemerckerin on the metadiscursive and narrative levels as a device to steer the reception of the contemporary readership.

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The next one concerns the simply narrative concept of stories which share propinquity with the fable genre in their use of characters as instances governing the plot and employing narratives as a didactic tool. Also this feature of stories is indicated as a kind of metareflexion in the Bemerckerin. Finally, I’m going to discuss the dependent position of micronarrations in the entire argumentative composition of the magazine which has evidently been based on the common elements of the ancient rhetorical speech. The analysis of all the aspects shows a range of ways narratives function as means to enhance the argumentative quality of the magazine. In a relatively early Spectator version such as the Bemerckerin stories remains closely linked to the magazines’ (explicitly expressed) purpose to propagate Enlightenment values and so to strive towards the common good by the perfection of society. One of the substantial features of the Spectator genre the Bemerckerin shares with its predecessor is the strongly felt presence of metadiscursive reflections. They occur already in the initial part of the magazine being then explicated in subsequent issues aiming at many central features of the magazine, among them the use of stories. The first indication of the metadiscursive level in the Bemerckerin consists of the editor’s declaration of belonging to the Spectatorfamily and introduction of its concept and history. Surprisingly, despite the awareness of continuing quite a new literary tradition, and although numerous similarities with European Spectators Die mühsame Bemerckerin reveals, the introduction is not of an affirmative character. Quite the reverse, in sections devoted to single titles the most known ‘family-members’ received a fierce criticism. Thus, according to Die mühsame Bemerckerin, the early English Spectators (which have not been mentioned by name) became with time sensual and therefore disgusting for some circles of recipients. An equally critical view concerns the Swiss and German magazines and the reasons for their relatively rapid fall. As reported by the Bemerckerin the weekly Die Diskurse der Mahlern (1721– 1723) from Zurich tended to be irate and scholastic, the Leipzig Spectator Die vernünftigen Tadlerinnen (1726–1727) practiced unreasonable criticalness and Der Biedermann (1727–1729), also from Leipzig, brought nothing more than dalliances. Interestingly, the famous German Hamburger Patriot (1724–1726) did not receive an explicit criticism in the introductory part of the Bemerckerin. However, in one of the later sections of the magazine a letter was posted of a female reader who suggested that the just deceased valued German poet Johann Georg Hamman would enjoy more the reading of “Die mühsame Bemerckerin” than the reading of the “Hamburger Patriot”. The biting manner the editor reviews former representatives of the genre gives a foretaste of the extraordinary self-confidence and sarcasm other, especially

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moral, problems are treated with on further pages of the magazine. We do not know the name of the magazine’s editor. However, the fictitious speaking voice in the magazine introduces itself as a woman and thus calls the audience “my sisters”. Yet, this must have raised doubts among the audience, whereby the Bemerckerin feels obliged to repeatedly confirm the fact of being a woman. The critical comments on the Moral Weeklies within the European press market trigger a metadiscursive level in the magazine, which is then explicated addressing many fundamental questions of the genre. The following meta-referential parts comprise mostly of moments of self-justification that have evidently been provoked by the audience. Within a broad spectrum of issues the editor defends and legitimatises the weekly (as a whole and its specific features), thus responding to the critical voices which have, following the editor’s explanations, been received in the oral version in the higher social circles of Gdańsk or which even appeared in public in writing as reviews in other journals, for instance in the Potsdamer Zeitung (MB 1736, 8). By that means the Bemerckerin reflects on its own determinants regarding issues such as the right to criticism, the rules of the editor and the reader, an appropriate language and, what is especially important for this approach, the function of its main narrative form, i.e., the story. The crucial statement about the function of narratives in the magazine occurs in the issue No 13 where the Bemerckerin explains her own literary practice responding to the objection that her pen was too sharp, and this was an argument aimed exactly at stories in the magazine. Ich erdichte gewisse Geschichte, die eine Wahrscheinlichkeit mit dem haben, was unter denen Menschen vorgeht. Ich mache sie lächerlich. In der Abschilderung der Thorheiten muss man sich bemühen lebhaft zu seyn. So wenig es einem Redner anstehet, welcher seine verfertigte Rede in einem Thone, und ohne Bewegung wie ein Bild hersingen wollte. So wenig darff ein Moralist halb schlaffend oder im Traume von Lastern reden. Diese Weise bringt unvermerckt das Abscheuliche denen Lesern bey. Die allergelehrtesten Sitten-Lehrer haben deswegen vor sehr gut angesehen, die Regeln in Exempel zu verstecken. Sie haben ihr die Eigenschaften einer Historie ertheilet [...]. Man hat also die Fabeln, Sachen denen die natürliche Warscheinlichkeit fehlet, vor geschickt geachtet etwas zur Verbesserug derer Sitten beyzutragen […]. Ein Sitten-Lehrer muss auf diese Art die Laster verhast machen […]. Die Erfindungs-Krafft hat sie so eingekleidet, daß sie wahrafftig scheinen […]. Wollte ich meine Exempel so einrichten, daß ihnen alle Glaubwürdigkeit fehlte, wie würde ich meinen Endzweck erreichen. Was würden meine Vorstellungen vor einen Nutzen haben? (MB 1736, XIII).

The editor’s response to the criticism reflects fictitiousness and credibility as constitutive features of stories, which are thus constructed so as to create analogies

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to real-life experience. Equally, the characters or character traits stories have been centred on are merely a fictional representation referring to reality.  The employment of fiction allows an unhampered depiction of human follies mostly by making them ridiculous which is a means to steer the reception of the contemporary recipient in a particular direction. Moreover, it brings vividness in the editors’ utterances and allows to avoid monotony. Only in this way is the editor-storyteller – who considers herself a moralist and teacher – really able to reach the audience and thus to achieve the central aim of the magazine that she defines as improvement of morals and making the vices odious. In other words, placing stories in the Bemerckerin is a conscious employment of fiction in order to fulfill the magazine’s central programmme assumptions in the sense of the Enlightenment ethics (‘Sittenlehre’). By the way, another, quite a prosaic aspect of using fiction is stressed in the statement as the editor argues that it would be simply impossible to tell real stories all the time. As the quotation has shown, the editor clearly points to the fictional character of micronarrations in the meta-referential parts of the magazine and thus implies the stories should definitely be regarded as fiction. Nevertheless, on the textual level the Bemerckerin tends to elicit an impression the stories are true and not invented. She does it, for example, by including remarks about the social circles in Gdańsk and intentional similarities of the story characters and her Gdańsk acquaintances or even by personal involvement in the plot she narrates (for instance, while walking by the seaside in Gdańsk she meets a man who recounts a dream to her), whereby the reader is invited to approach the story with the ‘assumption of factuality’. The means to maintain this seemingly factual narration are thus geographic identification and quasi current experiences of the narrator. In consequence, the represented story-world in the Bemerckerin is a construct strongly referring to elements of the actual world. At first glance, the metadiscursive assertions and literary practice seem to differ quite extensively in the Bemerckerin. However, the direct assumption that there is narrative fiction involved and, on the other hand, micronarrations which maintain the illusion of factuality do not necessarily elicit conflicting receptive perspectives. According to Werner Wolf ’s concept of aesthetic illusion, the reception of a representational artefact can oscillate between two poles: the rational distance resulting from the metacommunicative awareness of the artefact’s fictional character, and the imaginative immersion in the fictional world which ensues a temporary suspension of the recipient’s disbelief, who thus “credit the illusionist representation or construct with a reality status” (Wolf 2013, 13). In a parallel way, in the Bemerckerin the readers’ attitude revolves around the editor’s explicit claim the world of micronarrations has to be perceived as fiction

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and the narrative illusion, the stories appearing in the magazine are taken from real life of the Gdańsk society. Certainly, simply structured narrative forms in the Bemerckerin do not facilitate an imaginative immersion communication theorists refer to such representational artefacts as compound narratives, films or computer games. Nonetheless, the micronarratives appearing there force the reader to feel confronted with human follies and problems conveying them in an (unprecedented) exceedingly mocking, exaggerating and thus repulsive manner, which is evidently calculated to require the reader’s emotional participation. Additionally, in the light of the outrageous vices the stories entail, the reader is offered or even imposed actually only one possible identification perspective in the narrative world—that of the critical and morally impeccable narrator. It can be therefore assumed that elicited reactions to the fictional world can be relatively similar by various recipients and that they are thus calculated to serve the magazine’s central educational idea. The crucial issue about this reception strategy is its playful character (also a central aspect of Wolf ’s concept) that results from the reader’s awareness of being imaginatively immersed in, or emotionally experience, a fictional representation of reality constituted by an artefact. The reader playfully admits the illusion of a possible world as if it were a slice of life and thus participates in a kind of game (Wolf 2013, 23). Interestingly, in the Bemerckerin the game takes place on many levels. Apart from the narratives, offering an impression of real world, and the metareferetential comments stressing the stories’ fictional character, the reader is confronted which a fictitious editor-narrator (a typical Spectator-genre element) who strives to position herself as a real figure. Moreover, the game goes beyond  the narratives insofar as the stories and the editor’s comments trigger mainly fictitious responses from the audience in the magazine such as readers’ letters. Many of them enhance the playful and thus amusing trait of the whole undertaking quite explicitly when they are, for instance signed by a bouquet of flowers. Interestingly, as in other Spectatorial magazines it is not to exclude that also real readers’ letters have been sent and published in the Bemerckerin. Another significant aspect of stories from the Bemerckerin conditioned by the dominant educational purpose of the magazine is their narrow basic narrative concept. The first notion concerning this issue appears in the editor’s statement quoted above when the relation between stories and fables is featured. The reference in itself might be not very surprising—as a regarded literature genre with an explicit didactic tension the fable immediately found entrance into European moral weeklies being published already in the English Spectator (Fuchs/Ertler 2014, 105). However, this notion in the Bemerckerin does not mainly concern fables as a part of the magazine (interestingly, one could hardly encounter some

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of them there) but focuses rather on the functional similarity of the two genres which both transpose moral rules in case studies or examples and then ‘dress’ them in narratives in order to amuse and to teach the audience. In other words, the story and the fable employ narratives as a useful moralizing device in a congruous way. In the quotation only this one feature shared by fables and stories is indicated. However, there are more parallels to expose:  both genres are singlethreaded narrative forms concentrated around characters which are created as the instance governing the plot. Moreover, the characters represent rather types than complex individuals; in other words, most of them are able to be summed up in a single idea. This can be demonstrated by numerous examples from the Bemerckerin. For instance, the story about the single Superstitiosa, waiting for almost 25 years for a fast marriage which was prophesied in her dream at the age of 15 thematises no more and no less as the faith in superstition. Human vanity is represented by just two characters, the belle Fardine whose skin got quickly aged because of her French-style makeup and the trendy Fastnosa who needs clothes from Paris, shoes from Dresden and stockings from England for her church attendance. What could hardly be missed in any Spectatorial magazine is indubitably the notion of miserliness concretized in the Bemerckerin by the miser Harpax who even on his deathbed does not demand a doctor or priest to save money. In most cases we encounter here, in accordance with the Spectator genre convention, types created for a comic effect, i.e., caricatures rather than individuals named after certain aspects of their behaviour. The structure of the stories is generally quite simple, with a strictly kept chronology, linear action and characters functioning as the main plot device. Additionally, a lot of micronarrations in the magazine reveal only a slight plot indication whereby they actually oscillate between narrative and characteristics. Even though also certain exceptions from this standard can be found there (somewhat more complex narrative forms such as framed narratives, stories with flashbacks used for exposing causality, stories with a historical background or with characters that offer a little more than behavioural patterns), the simply story-pattern remains the dominating structure in the Bemerckerin. Interestingly, the narrator does not recognize similarities or kinship between stories she tells in the Bemerckerin and more compound fictional narrative genres. Quite the reverse: the story is frequently used as a device that is critical towards the novel. It would be possible, based on stories from the Bemerckerin, to make a list of human follies caused by reading French and English novels. Thus, the negative influence of the human mind leading to naivety, verbosity or

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envy makes the central point of the critique. However, also the fictitious character of novels connected with the lack of reliability and causality as well as the fact that they are written for money or because of human conceit are indicated. Dieser Mensch […] hat in seiner Jugend nichts als Romainen gelesen. Die überhäufften Einfälle derer Herrn Romainen. Schreiber, welche in ihren Gehirn bald einen Prinz glücklich, bald unglücklich machen, bald einen Menschen ohne Verdienst aus dem Staube zu Purpure erheben [...] (MB 1736, XV). Romane sind “ums Brod oder aus Eitelkeit geschmierte Blätter” (MB 1736, XXVII).

With repeated critical judgments about novels, the Bemerckerin positions itself in the current debate about novels which are still a suspect genre in the first half of the 18th century. She does it in a similar way as numerous early moral weeklies in England and in the German-speaking area as well. This critical approach changes after 1745 as the Spectators recognize the educational potential novels offered (Martens 1968, 511–518). An especially valuable method to realize how closely micronarrations remain linked to the distinct didactic and argumentative aims of the Bemerckerin is the analysis of their status in the composition of the entire magazine. What is crucial here is the way, in which actually every issue of the magazine is structured, reminding of the ancient rhetorical speech and its four main ‘partes orationis’ (Ueding 2016, 259). Thus the motto, an obligatory opening element of a Bemerckerin issue (predominantly a quotation from German poets such as Opitz, Neukirch, König, Günther or Brokes) corresponds with ‘exordium’, the introductory part of the rhetoric discourse which has to bring “the mind of the auditor into a proper condition to receive to rest of the speech” (Cicero, quoted after Rubinelli 2009, 95). The subsequent elements of the Bemerckerin, the story and the essay (sometimes in a different order) have their equivalents in ‘narratio’ which is according to Cicero “the exposition of events that have occurred or are supposed to have occurred” (quoted after Rubinelli 2009, 95) and ‘argumentatio’, the central part of a persuasive speech. However, the parallel element to the ancient ‘peroratio’, the last concluding section of the ancient discourse, is poorly exposed in the Bemerckerin. What is more, as in a classical speech, all components of a Bemerckerin issue mentioned above contribute to one individual discourse or to a single idea in order to provide a complete assessment of the problem. An element with a special position and thus in a way an exception is the letter which can divert from problems discussed in the current issue or even introduce a new topic. However, contrary to the letter that often represents, thematically and also visually, an independent element in the magazine, the stories are directly involved in the

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rhetorical concept of a certain issue. They do not even need a separate paragraph or section appearing in the flow of the main text. The signal of a story beginning is usually the introduction of a name. Therefore, the narratives do not really interrupt the generally smooth organization of argumentation being actually a part of it. Furthermore, sometimes ‘didactic pauses’ are placed within the story, whereby the anyway modest plot is suspended altogether for a certain time. The pauses in narratives which also have their counterparts in the ancient speech (‘narratio partilis’, Ueding 2016, 264) allow the narrator to develop or to continue the argumentative part. The micronarrations appear thus indeed to be embedded in the mainstream of argumentation. This can be illustrated by means of the issue No 23 of the Bemerckerin (August 22, 1736) which is integrally devoted to the problem of gambling. The issue starts with a quotation from a poem by Johann Georg Hamman entitled “Große Spieler sind mehrentheils große Betrüger” (“Big Gamblers are mostly big deceiver”), followed by an essay providing a sharp judgment about this habit in Germany and in Europe as well. The issue also includes a story about a few male and female gamblers who were observed by the narrator during her accidental visit to a gambling society. The story seems to be interwoven in an extensive argumentative part. In other words, within the plot quite long argumentative pauses appear that, for example, begin in this way: “A lot of people believe that this kind of play sharps our minds. Respected people need this pretext to cover up their childish behavior. Let’s examine this opinion. Our mind ...” (MB 1736, XXIII). The integrative point of the whole rhetorical concept of the Bemerckerin is the speaking voice, being concurrently a female fictitious editor and an omniscient narrator. The narrator’s attitude towards the readers does not change from story to story. By inserting didactic comments into the narratives and addressing them directly at the audience, the narrator still remains in a position of an authority offering the reader a complete and accurate understanding of the events. Hence, the reader can be certain that the perspective of the narrator is the only right way of understanding thoughts and motives of the characters. Such an authoritative narrative strategy leaves no space for other points of view and limits the reception possibilities of micronarrations. The narrator’s character is also worthy considering here. Interestingly, the magazine lacks a biographical introduction or self-presentation of the narrator that would inform about conveying an individual’s family or social background which would match the genre conventions (Martens 1968, 36–40). Instead, the female speaking voice appears as an embodiment of virtues without much individual specificity. She never gets up late, she does not drink alcohol, she does not play cards. When she goes for a walk out of the city, she never forgets to admire nature as the work of God.

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Visiting a gambling house is possible only by accident. And even when the narrator has a dream, her dream is longer and much more complex than all other dreams in the magazine. By assuming all the perfect characteristics the narrator seems to function as a role model enabling an unerring identification of virtue and vice. However, quite conspicuous features of the narratives closely referring to the storytelling – such as the extraordinary self-confidence of the narrator and the garishness in describing and mocking human follies – actually do not fit with this ideal female identity. Nonetheless, they relate to the magazine’s purpose of teaching and delighting: depictions of human follies are amusing when they are exaggerated and sharpened. As a way of concluding it can be claimed that the central function micronarrations fulfill in the Bemerckerin is to enhance the magazine’s commitment to educate the society by conveying universal moral standards. The employment of fiction enables an unhindered description of human vices in an extremely mocking and thus amusing manner. This requires emotional participation of the reader who, in a way, experiences the fictional representation of the world of Gdańsk society feeling confronted and amused. Also the structures of micronarrations are to a large extend shaped by the educational aims of the magazine. Contrary to many later Spectator adaptations, fiction in the Bemerckerin does not develop into an autonomous world of literature, but remains closely linked to its pronounced didactic perspective. Additionally, the simple basic narrative concept determined by characters functioning as the main plot device and the authoritative narrative style does not leave room for any current political or social issues. Finally, also when considering the composition of the entire magazine as a complex rhetorical structure referring to the ancient speech the narrative appears in the Bemerckerin predominantly not as an autonomous piece of literature but rather as a part of an argumentative construct which has to strengthen arguments and thus to win the assent of the audience.

Sources “Die mühsame Bemerckerin derer Menschlichen Handlungen” (MB). Gdańsk: Thomas Johann Schreiber, I–LX (1735–1737). Fuchs, Alexandra/Klaus-Dieter Ertler: Die Moralischen Periodika in Italien: L’Osservatore veneto. Hamburg: Kovac 2014. Grześkowiak-Krwawicz, Anna: “Rolle der Zeitschriften bei der Gestaltung der Literaturpflege”. In: Anna Grześkowiak-Krwawicz (ed): Die Aufklärung in Danzig. Warszawa: Instytut Badań Literackich 1998, 129–152.

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Kasprzyk, Jerzy: “Gdańskie czasopiśmiennictwo naukowe i moralne I połowy XVIII w.”. Rocznik Gdański 27 (1968), 33–68. Martens, Wolfgang: Die Botschaft der Tugend. Die Aufklärung im Spiegel der deutschen Moralischen Wochenschriften. Stuttgart: Metzler 1968. Rubinelli, Sara: Ars topica: the classical technique of constructing arguments from Aristotle to Cicero. Heidelberg: Springer 2009. Ueding, Gert/Steinbrink, Bernd: Grundriß der Rhetorik: Geschichte – Technik – Methode. Stuttgart: Metzler 2016. Wolf, Werner: “Aesthetic Illusion”. In: Werner Wolf/Walter Bernhart/Andreas Mahler (ed.): Immersion and Distance: Aesthetic Illusion in Literature and Other Media. Amsterdam: Brill Academic Publishers 2013, 1–66, 3 (May 1992), 281–296.

Václav Smyčka

The Transformation of Stories in Bohemian Spectators and the Problem of Observing Characters’ Minds This paper focuses on the development of narrative structure within the fictional prose of the mostly German-languages spectators, or moral weeklies, written in Bohemia, Moravia and Austrian Silesia1. In line with the analysis of narratologists Lubomír Doležel (1991), Dorrit Cohn (1978), and Michail Bachtin (1986), I seek to portray the narrative innovations of spectators as the effect of two tendencies: first, as a digression from traditional plot-orientated narratives, as middleclass sociolects and a tendency toward reflexivity penetrated fictional prose language; second, as a process of neutralization of narrators’ and characters’ discourse, which Doležel described as a substance of “narrative transformation” of fictional prosa2. I  focus on the narrative techniques of observing and representing the inner psychology of characters in the spectatorial storytelling, a crucial aspect of the aforementioned tendencies (Doležel 1973, Cohn 1978). My paper is structured in three parts. In the first part, I briefly characterize the narrative modes of fictional prose before the spectator genre became popularized within the Bohemian Lands and compare it to the prose found in the early Bohemian and Moravian spectators from the beginning of 1770s. I then describe the main characteristics of storytelling in Bohemian and Moravian spectators and the separation of the single story from the compact narrative flow and short stories of genuine spectators. In the second part, I focus on the ways in which this appeared in a specific case study. I analyze the transformation of the fictional

1 The paper was elaborated due to financial support granted in the frame of projects GA ČR 17-08481S. It is partially based on the research, I have already presented in the paper Proměny narativních postupů fikční prózy v osvícenských časopisech českých zemí (Smyčka 2018). 2 Dolěžel considers “narrative transformation” as a transformation of traditional “plotoriented” prose into the “modern prose”, which is based on the “neutralization of the opposition of narrators’ and characters’ discourse” in the fictional prose (1973: 18). As a result of this neutralisation of narrators’ and characters’ discourse, claims Doležel, “a transitional zone has become into prominence, represented in the frequent ambigious segments” (1973: 18).

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prose caused by the influx of new ideas, such as Laurence Stern’s sentimentalism. In the third part, I discuss the problem of observation and representing the characters’ minds in the stories, which can be seen as a central problem of the transformation of traditional “plot-oriented” prose into the “modern prose” (Doležel 1973: 18).

Spectators and Other Genres of Fictional Prose in the Bohemian Lands (1770s) Spectators emerged in the Bohemian lands later than in most other European regions, around 1770, but they radically influenced the fictional prose written in the region after that time. The first spectators were written by foreigners coming to catholic Bohemian lands from mainly Prostestant countries to work as officers and typists. Johann Joseph Nunn, a young secretary from Erfurt working for the archbishop of Prague, published the first moral weekly of Prague—Die Unsichtbare (“The Invisible Female”)—between 1770 and 1772. This was published in cooperation with his colleague Christian Löper (a young intellectual, also from the Protestant German lands) and two local authors, the poet Johann Joseph Eberle and the lawyer Johann Heinrich Trottmann. The author of another weekly, Meine Einsamkeiten (“My Solitudes”, 1771–1772), Friedrich Kepner, also came to Prague from a primarily protestant region of present-day Germany. Hence, the genre occurred in Bohemia as part of cultural transfer, which made easier the position of the Bohemian lands on the border of the more or less catholic Austrian Empire and the protestant German regions. Nevertheless, at this time, many local authors also published their own weeklies:  the first issues of Die Unsichtbare provoked a similar weekly, Die Sichtbare (“The Visible Female”, 1770–1771), written by a local author; the young secretary Johann Ferdinand Opiz, from Prague, published the weekly Wöchentlich Etwas (“Something Every Week”,1773–1774); and another anonymous author created a weekly targeted to an aristocratic audience, Der Adel (“The Nobles”, 1774–1775). Other spectators followed soon after, such as Der Spiegel der Welt (“Mirror of the World”), Der satyrische Biedermann (“The Satirical Honest Man”,1786), Die Frau Zuschauerin (“The Lady Spectator”), which was meant for a female audience, and Der Theatralische Eulenspiegel (“The Theatrical Eulenspiegel”, 1797), which included elements of both a spectator and a theatre review journal (Kraus 1909; Meise 2009; Wögerbauer 2006: 226–233). Spectators first appeared in Moravia in 1777. Like in Bohemia, the first authors in Moravia originally came from different regions. Heinrich Friedrich Hopf, from Württemberg, commented on the culture of Brno in the spectator

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Poetische und Prosaische Erinnerungen; Joseph Lauber, coming to Brno from Vienna, published the spectator Wöchentliche Erinnerungen eines Freundes von Brünn. Johann Friedel, originally from Timisoara, published a third spectator, in 1777, Tropauer Kleinigkeiten. Hence, in both regions, the development of the spectators was quite abrupt—they became popular very quickly. Thus, we must ask how the type of storytelling found in spectators influenced the narrative structure of the other types of prose of that time? And how exactly did fictional prose look before spectators emerged in Bohemia and Moravia, in the time before the 1770s? Neither the Czech nor German written literature from Bohemia, Moravia or Austrian Silesia created any novel before the beginning of the enlightenment (Vodička 1948: 8). Chapbooks, fables, hagiography and exempla were the main genres of fictional prose in the Bohemian countries before the 1770s. These genres are characterized by the way they begin, with a dominant plot contained in their first line. The plot relied mostly supernatural force or Godly intervention, which determined fate of the characters and drove the story. The plot was thus the main organizational component of the texts. These texts minimalized any digression away from plot, meaning that there was little to no description or mention of the inner psychology of the characters. Another element of these texts was that the characters tended to use direct and indirect forms of speech and were often referred to in the third person, or very occasionally, in the first person. Both of these characteristics accented the tension between the characters and the narrator, because their speech was strictly separated and the minds of the characters were transparent just through their speech and acts. The contrast between traditional, “old-fashioned” fictional prose and the prose of the Bohemian spectators could be hardly more dramatic. First of all, spectators, often narrated by a fictional narrator, no longer only contained an adventurous plot. While the structure of spectatorial storytelling was similar to traditional moral genres in the way they combined short stories with commentary, the storytelling of the late spectators, like the ones written in Bohemia and Moravia, were missing mostly the parabolic symbolism and clear rhetorical structure of traditional text types, like sermons. In the later issues of Bohemian and Moravian spectators, the traditional rhetorical structure of fixed parts— exordium, narration, division, confirmation, refutation, digression, peroration, epilogue—is almost completely eliminated. Instead, the typical spectator used elements like anecdotes, letters, dialogue, and symbolism in order to spark discussion or further arguments. The stories in the spectators often had no strictly defined beginning or end, as they often blended in with narrator commentary either immediately preceding or following it, or the story would be further

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developed in discussions from fictional readers and the fictional letters they wrote to the magazine. In some cases, as in the spectator Meine Einsamkeiten (issues 5–8), the readers protested against the narrated story and continued by telling their own stories. In such way, the plot of the story was allowed to wander or trail off, returning back to the topic some pages later. In this way, the art of storytelling in spectators relied heavily on digression. Spectators introduced social polyphony and its ideologies into the fictional prose, something unheard in the literature of Bohemian lands prior to this time. Spectators essentially sacrificed plot in order to feature specific social figures and voices. The spectator Die Unsichtbare, for example, features a narrator, an old lady, a young lady in despair, a misogynous man, a young gentleman and a dandy. The spectator Meine Einsamkeiten features not only the main character—a wise man living in the countryside—but also his uneducated nephew and other uneducated conservative ladies from the countryside. They are characterized by specific speech patterns and by a specific way of storytelling (for example the ladies use many chatty digressions, interrupt the sentences and deviate the syntax, the old wise man doesn´t use too complicated baroque expressions, periods etc. (Kepner 1771: 66–68). Through these characters, specific sociolects and idiolects are introduced into the discourse and thus also into the polyphony, an idea that Michail Bachtin emphasized in his works about the development of the novel (1986: 110–124). The third important innovation of the storytelling in the spectators is their level of metareflection. The narrator, or better, the narrators of the issues present not only the story, but also comment the act of storytelling itself. The first issue mostly reflects on the author’s decision to write the spectator; several issues are introduced by a short story, which explains how the narrator became interested in the particular topic. All of these innovations threaten, or perhaps better said, challenge, the coherence of the text. The fact that the plot is fragmented by the storytelling, the narrators and its changing speech, threatens to lose the coherence of the story and the text. Thus, this calls for a new type coherence for fictional prose. This is perhaps why the initially unbroken narrative flow of the spectatorial issues, which had combined short stories with commentaries, began to be divided more clearly into separate articles. It is no accident that fictional stories and poetry were the first elements in spectators to be titled and separated from the rest of the content within the magazine. While in the first Bohemian spectators Die Unsichtbare, Die Sichtbare, Meine Einsamkeiten, Der Adel, and Die Frau Zuschauerin, the majority of the stories were not separated from the rest of the text (the Wöchentlich Etwas by Opitz was of course, an exception), the commentary

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is closely connected to the narration. In the weeklies from the late 1770s and 1780s (Poetische und Prosaische Erinnerungen, Wöchentliche Erinnerungen eines Freundes von Brünn, Tropauer Kleinigkeiten, Der satyrische Biedermann, Spiegel der Welt, Prager Allerley), stories within the magazine generally had their own titles. Giving the story its own special part within the magazine shows how the structure of spectators began to break down the fictional mask of the weekly and emphasized their own fictional frame. Thanks to it, the narrative in this isolated “double fictional” part of the spectators could be much more complex than the rest of the content within the issue without losing coherency. Hence, the increase of narrative, social, and reflexive complexity is balanced by the transformation of micro-storylines into the separated short stories and its integration. This can be seen as the general condition for the development of a more complex fictional discourse in the spectators.

Opitz’s Philosopher in the Soup and the Sentimentalism of Laurence Sterne We will illustrate the processes of disintegration and integration in storytelling with the example of the story Der Philosoph in der Suppe. It was included in the 1774 Prague spectator Wöchentlich Etwas, published by Johann Ferdinand Opitz (1774:  17–29, 37–45, 53–58) and influenced obviously by Laurence Sterne, as mentioned by the narrator3. The story, which spans across three issues, is centered on a very simple event:  it describes a philosopher falling into a puddle, which is observed by an old woman. The plot can actually be summarzied with one sentence of the text:  “Plumps! da liegt er darinn  –  –  –” (Opitz 1774:  37). However, as in Sternes novels, it is not simply the plot but the incredibly complicated narrative structure of the story that makes it interesting. The story is separated into twelve paragraphs and three paratexts, all of which describe the event from different points of view. The first paragraph contains a speech, which can be interpreted as free indirect speech. Some paragraphs describe the event from the objective third-person perspective, while other paragraphs use the rhetorical first-person from the narrator’s perspective as he speaks to the lady who witnessed the accident. There are also paragraphs written in the style of 3 The Narrator of the Spectator comments the story: “[...] ein ziemlich karnevalesmäßiges Stück [...] unter dem seltsamen und yorikschen Titel”. Yorick is the nickname of Sterne, which Sterne used even for his known character (Opitz 1772: 82). The narrator also calls Sterne next to Wieland and Yorick (mistake or joke?) as his favourite author (Opitz 1773: 3).

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essays and narrated in the first person, discussing general questions, such as the moral or immoral disposition of men. Another narrator breaks down the story in paragraphs 4, 8 and 10 and discusses the relevant themes of the act during the writing of the story itself. This narrator breaks the diegesis by recounting the discussion of several friends about the text of the story and commenting on the quality of the story. Finally, all of these narrative instances are questioned in the last paragraph, where another narrator, a supposed reader of the story, claims that it had been written by a mad man (Opitz 1774: 58). The story combines many narrative styles with different types of narrative discourse. Instead of the traditional opposition between narrator and character discourse, Opitz utilizes an extensive amount of narrative modes, all knotted together. The story combines all three of the spectatorial innovations—digressive crossing of different prosaic forms, which can be seen here also as the influence of Sterne, the polyphony of sociolects, and reflexivity—and unites them with outstanding poetic function. Both the transformation of the inner structure of the weeklies as well as the integration of western Enlightenment poetry, like Laurence Sterne’s sentimentalism, is important in this process. The specific poetics can be seen as pattern of narrative figures and style, which ensure coherency in the storytelling and show how to preserve the newly gained complexity. Thanks the poetics transferred from the novels of Laurence Sterne, the author is able to naturalize many different points of view in one complex narrative flow. The changing of perspectives and narrative modes are here no more the expression of the disintegration of the storytelling, but the inherent parts of the specific poetic, which integrates all of the entities it into the new narrative unity.

Observing and Representing Minds in Spectators I would now like to concentrate on one central narrative aspect of the storytelling in the spectators:  how to observe and represent the minds of the characters. This problem of observation is important for the spectators, as it gives legitimacy to the enlightenment moral literary discourse, which seeks to portray the human internal life within the pages. Following Foucault’s axiom that knowledge and power are closely connected, the spectators seem to embody modern governmentality based on observation (Foucault 1977: 27). The ability to observe the minds of one’s subjects is the basis of the modern art of ruling as well as for social critique. However, the ability to observe and represent the inner psychology of fictional characters is also a crucial narrative problem. The opposition between the character and narrator discourse, which according to Lubomír Doležel, is a typical aspect of traditional prose, makes the reporting

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about the secret thoughts of the characters highly difficult (Doležel 1991: 12–20). The authors of the stories in the spectators thus show an astonishing level of creativity in their use of various techniques to ameliorate this problem. I would like to present three patterns of observing and representing the minds of the characters in the stories of the spectators, each of which functions as a mediator. Their techniques also highlight the development of storytelling in Bohemian and Moravian spectators in general. Although the stories of early Bohemian Spectators were shaped by some progressive narrative tendencies, the expression of the inner psychology of the characters was still limited to two traditional narrative techniques:  indirect and direct speech. According to Dorrit Cohn’s Transparent minds, these simple techniques allows two basic ways, how to observe and present the characters minds: the psycho-narration and the quoted monologue (1978: 21–98). Psycho-narration was characterized by Cohn as the narration of a character’s consciousness in the language of the narrator, rather than in the mental language of the character. It completely emanates from the mind of the narrator and makes no attempt to hide the narrator as its origin. Psycho-narration is based mostly on the narration of consciousness in the third person. Psycho-narration dominates many of the short stories in early Bohemian spectators, such as Meine Einsamkeiten. Atypical example of this can be found in the story about a couple’s love, “Anekdote aus dem Ehestande”, which fills the entire issue 5 (Kepner 1771: 33–39), or the untitled story about friends Kleanth and Kriton, which can be found in issue 15 (Kepner 1771: 14–18). In both of these stories, the inner psychology of the characters is communicated (with one short exception) through the narrator, who acts as an omniscient confessor. His authoritative discourse turns the characters’ minds into a site for moral discourse, as it allows the narrator to communicate with the reader about a character behind his character’s back. This way of storytelling produces distance, enabling the narrator to observe and reflect the thoughts of his characters. For this reason, psycho-narration dominates the first Bohemian spectators, which retained several aspects of traditional plot-oriented narratives. However, since the publication of the earliest Bohemian spectators, psychonarration has competed with another method of observing and presenting the characters’ thoughts, which can be called, in Cohn’s terms, the quoted monologue (1978:  58). Spectators often published letters written by the fictional characters or by the narrator’s collaborators using fictional masks, which can be seen as quoted monologue. These enabled the narrator to observe and present the thoughts of the characters. The letters presented in the spectators, however, were still flawed in their observation of the minds, as they were controlled by

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the characters’ will and were therefore, dubious (or possibly ironic) witnesses of their secret thoughts. The strategy to observe characters’ minds through letters was also used in the fictional stories incorporated in the spectators. In the story presented in issue 16 of Die Unsichtbare, the narrator meets a frantic woman reading a letter in the deserted hinterland of Prague, and he is attracted to her secret tragic fate (Nunn 1770: 134–137). After the lady tears up the letter, throws it away and collapses, the narrator rushes to piece it together and learns that she had been left by her lover and is pregnant. The unintentional inclusion of the letter thereby enables the narrator to observe and present the thoughts of the character. However, there are also more sophisticated ways to observe the minds of the characters. Johann Joseph Nunn, the author of the aforementioned spectator Die Unsichtbare, provided his narrator, called the Invisible Female, with a strong sense of inquisitiveness and the supernatural ability to secretly observe the inhabitants of Prague and learn their private thoughts. The female narrator explains in the first issue how she received a sort of ink from an old man, which she then drank and received supernatural abilities from (Nun 1770: 4–13). This is a clear reference to the novel Le Diable boiteux by Alain-René Lesage, which the narrator explicitly mentions (Nunn 1770: 4). The invisible narrator navigates the streets of Prague and describes the manners and secret thoughts of its citizens. The female narrator uses her supernatural abilities in an untitled story in Die Sichtbare, included in issues 12 and 13. She makes a trip through Prague, possible only because of her invisibility, and observes the insidious attempt of an old man to marry a young lady (Nunn 1770: 97–113). The narrator, who hears all secret thoughts of the man, can see that his courting is motivated by the lady’s dowry and not by love. After the narrator listens to the secret thoughts of the lady, who loves another but is being forced into marriage, she decides to foil the old man’s plan. She sends him a threatening letter and scares him while invisible, causing him to give up his attempt. The lady is then allowed to marry a young poor man, who her mother had refused until this moment. The invisible narrator can report about the inner psychology of the characters in direct speech by using her magic abilities. However, a narrator need not be dependent on supernatural abilities or secret letters. There is a third narrative technique that enables the narrator to observe and report on the characters’ minds, the narrated monologue, or, in other terms, free indirect speech (Cohn 1978:  99), which presents a character’s voice and thoughts partly mediated by the voice of the author and neutralizes the tension between them. According to Cohn, “its growth is also closely tied to a specific moment of the novel’s development: the moment when third-person fiction enters

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the domain previously reserved for first-person (epistolary or confessional) fiction, and begins to focus on the mental and emotional life of its characters” (1978: 113). While the first patterns (psycho-narration and quoted monologue) occur in the traditional prose, the narrated monologue is believed to be a sign of modern storytelling, contemporary to Jane Austin or Johann Wolfgang Goethe. It began to appear in the prose of lesser known or totally unknown authors in the last decades of the 18th century. A very important reason for the use of this method of observation and presentation is the expansion of modern Enlightenment philosophies, such as Sturm und Drang and English sentimentalism, into the Bohemian spectators, which integrate thanks to their subjectivity the fragmentary storytelling into more coherence and complex poetic patterns and overcome partly the tension between narrators’ and characters’ discourse. The aforementioned story “Philosoph in der Suppe”, even contains a short narrated monologue (free indirect speech), namely the sentence, “Plumps! da liegt er drin”, which describes the event from the character’s point of view, even though the scene had been set by the narrator. Another example of this can be found in the short story, “Der sonderbare Kupler,” published in the spectator Der satyrische Biederman by Joseph Kirpal and Joseph Hirsch in Prague (Kirpal, Herbst 1788: 138–142). At the beginning of the story there is an introduction, which can be read as a brief manifesto of Sturm und Drang: Das Bild des tobenden Ozeans ist fürchterlich, aber das Bild des faulen Sumpfes ist unerträglich. Beide diese Bilder findet man in unzählbarer Menge im menschlichen Leben. Wenn der Sturm der Leidenschaften der das Blut in wallender Hize umhertreibt, der die Feder der Thätigkeit in Spannung erhielt, wenn der ausgebraußt hat? – was folgt dann? Sonnenschein? o weit gefehlt; eine trübe neblichte Stille, die Stille, des spätesten Herbstags, wo kein Lüftchen weht, und kein Sonnenstrahl erquikt! Alles Mittelmäßige ist traurig, am traurigsten ist wohl mittelmäßiger Zustand der Seele (Herbst/Kirpal 1788: 139).

The manifesto presented at the beginning of the story, in which the author or authors prefer extremes to conformity, unfolds with the plot of the story:  a young man falls in love with an actress, which destroys both of them. The father disagrees with the marriage and he threatens to disown the son, but the son gets married anyway. Lacking money, the wife is forced into prostitution and the young man becomes her pimp. As in the last example, it is not the content or the plot that is the most interesting, but rather the way in which it is told. The whole story is narrated in the objective third-person, however, this narration mode breaks down at the most dramatic point in the story, and the plot is driven—as in the previous example—by the narrated monologue (free indirect speech):

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Man fütterte ihn kräftig mit versprechungen, und er litt Hunger; Man zeigte ihm eine glänzende Aussicht, die ihm vermutlich nichts als ein baldiger Tod, in der Ewigkeit verschaffen konnte; denn er mußte nothwendig verhungern ehe er das schöne Ziel erreichte. Was war übrig!? – Nur etwas! Etwas das man sich in Verbindung mit der Lage unsers X denken muß, um es nicht so sehr häßlich zu finden (Herbst/Kirpal 1788: 141).

Even if the figure commits, from the point of view of this time, a moral crime, this new type of narrative discourse makes the reader empathize with him. The social and aesthetic manifesto of Sturm und Drang pointed against patriarchal hierarchy and power of the fathers and the conformity, which is maintained explicitly in the first part of the story, is reproduced implicitly on the level of the narrative structure. The free indirect speech enables the reader to sympathize with the figure and express the identification of the narrator with the nonconform decision of the main character. This is the productive achievement of the process of neutralization of the tensions of narrators’ and the main characters’ discourse in the free indirect speech and internalization of the polyphony of different voices and direct speeches into one narrative discourse. While I don’t want imply here a clear chronological development of the storytelling in spectators, it is obvious that the expansion of the narrated monologue enabled new, modern kinds of observing and representing characters’ thoughts. It is no accident that both of the stories where this technique was used, were influenced by the philosophies of the late Enlightenment (sentimentalism, Sturm und Drang). The expansion of the narrated monologue can therefore be seen as the decay of traditional spectatorial storytelling. The neutralization of narrators’ and the characters’ discourse allows for new ways of observing and representing the characters’ inner-thoughts.

Conclusion I described the narrative innovations of spectatorial storytelling in the context of the literature from the Bohemian Lands. These innovations can be summarised with three tendencies: first, as a fragmentarisation of the plot-orientated storytelling and the increase of digression, which led to the mixing of short stories with their commentaries; second, as a result of the invasion of sociolects into traditional fictional prose, which enabled the first spectators at the beginning of 1770s; finally, as an emphasis of reflexivity. All of these innovations challenged the processes of differentiation of the originally undifferentiated issues of spectators into the separately titled articles and single short stories. This process was accompanied by the synthetization and neutralization of tensions between the different perspectives and polyphony present in the early spectators. The spectatorial

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storytelling dominated originally by psycho-narration and quoted monologue began to be partially replaced with the tendency to observe the characters’ minds through narrated monologue. While the first process destroyed the stability of traditional narrative modes (peculiar to chapbooks, fables, hagiography etc.), which had relied on conveying plots, and enabled the emergence and expansion of spectatorial storytelling, the second transformation developed narrative strategies, which leaded to the decay of too digressive, fragmented and polyphonic spectatorial storytelling. However, the narrative modes of the modern story, which are based on the neutralization of the opposition of narrators’ and figures’ discourse, would have hardly emerged in the Bohemian Lands without the period of spectatorial storytelling.

Sources [Herbst, Joseph/Kirpal, Joseph]: Der satyrische Biedermann. Prague: Diesbach 1788. [Kepner, Johann Friedrich]: Meine Einsamkeiten. Prague: Mangold 1771–1772. Anonymous: Das Theatralische Eulenspiegel. Prag: Widtmann 1797. Anonymous: Der Adel. Prague: Diesbach 1775–1776. Anonymous: Prager Allerley. Prag: Rossenmüller 1785. Anonymous: Die Sichtbare. Prague: Pruschin 1770–1771. Bachtin, Michail: Untersuchungen zur Poetik und Theorie des Romans. Berlin: Aufbau-Verlag, 1986. Cohn, Dorrit: Transparent Minds: Narrative Modes for Presenting Consciousness in Fiction. Princeton: Princeton University Press 1978. Doležel, Lubomír: Narativní způsoby v české literatuře. Praha: [s.e.] 1973/1991. Foucault, Michel: Discipline and Punishment. London: Tavistock 1977. Friedel, Johann: Tropauer Kleinigkeiten. Troppau: Korn 1777. Hopf, Heinrich Friedrich: Poetische und Prosaische Erinnerungen. Brünn: Swobodische Erben 1777. Kraus, Arnošt: Pražské časopisy 1770–1774 a české probuzení. Praha: Česká akademie císaře Františka Josefa pro vědy, slovesnost a umění 1909. Lauber, Joseph: Wöchentliche Erinnerungen eines Freundes von Brünn. Brünn: Swobodische Erben 1777. Meise, Helga: “Kommunikation und Information im urbanen Raum: Die Pragermoralischen Wochenschriften 1770–1785”. In: Johannes Frimmel/Michael Wögerbauer (eds.): Kommunikation und Information im 18. Jahrhundert. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz 2009, 357–370.

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Nunn, Johann Joseph (ed.): Die Unsichtbare. Prague: Höchenberger 1770–1772. Opitz, Johann Ferdinand: Wöchentlich Etwas. Prague: Schönfeld 1772‒1774. Smyčka, Václav: Proměny narativních postupů fikční prózy v osvícenských časopisech českých zemí. In: Cornova 1 (2018), 71–94. Vodička, Felix: Počátky krásné prózy novočeské. Praha: Melantrich 1948. Wögerbauer, Michael: Ausdifferenzierung des Sozialsystems Literatur in Prag 1760–1820. Vienna [unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Vienna] 2006.

Maud Le Guellec

Escenificar el acto periodístico: escritura y lectura en las micronarraciones de los “espectadores” españoles En los números de los espectadores del siglo xviii es recurrente que se exponga a las miradas la persona ficticia del periodista: se presentan sus rasgos de carácter, sus ocios, sus paseos, etc. Asimismo dichas mises en abyme ficcionales pueden escenificar el proceso creador y receptor que caracteriza la voz narrativa y su lectorado. A  veces, la toma en consideración de la escritura y de la lectura se limita a una frase situada al inicio o al final de un microrrelato con otra temática o de un discurso que, por lo demás, no corresponde a un storytelling. Otras veces, el acto periodístico se impone más ampliamente, hasta constituir en escasas ocasiones el tema principal del número. Es verdad que al proponer una autorreflexión ficcionalizada sobre su proceso de creación y de recepción, la prensa crítica de la Ilustración se inscribe en una tradición literaria muy anclada:  advertencias al público, novelas quijotescas, ensayos, etc. Pero a este evidente linaje literario se añaden nuevos códigos propiamente periodísticos. Y sobre todo la prensa espectatorial se revela particularmente propicia a semejante postura de auto-escenificación debido a la conjunción de al menos dos factores. La necesidad que sienten los publicistas españoles de autojustificar su proceso creativo constituiría el primer factor. En efecto, la práctica periodística es reciente y su admisión entre los escritos de la época no es una evidencia, por lo cual interrogar sus propósitos y justificar su existencia a través de la metarreflexión se vuelve esencial. El segundo factor que me parece explicar esta propensión es el carácter sumamente visual de los espectadores. Para suscitar el interés y las reacciones, los periodistas ilustrados que se inscriben en la estela de The Spectator se valen en efecto de una escritura específica que multiplica las anécdotas y descripciones costumbristas, que bosqueja mediante unos pocos calificativos el retrato de las figuras ficticias del narrador, que suele proponer relatos de tertulias, bailes, meriendas, charlas en el café, etc. Cuanto más sugestiva, la escritura es más llamativa y, así, más eficaz: la escenificación del acto periodístico participa de esta ambición. Me propongo interrogar entonces las modalidades y funciones de las micronarraciones metaperiodísticas en el ámbito de los espectadores

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españoles:  ¿cómo se construye una mise en abyme del hecho de escribir un número, de tener acceso a un periódico y de debatir sobre él?

El periodista, frente al acto periodístico El periodista autor Si en primer lugar consideramos la puesta en escena del periodista, lo más común es obviamente la ficcionalización de su labor de escritura. El Pensador, publicado en los años 1760 por José Clavijo y Fajardo, explica desde el número 1, que sirve de prólogo a la obra, lo siguiente: A los principios se volvían mis pensamientos por el mismo camino, que habían traído: llegaban otros, que ocupaban el lugar de los primeros; y no despidiéndose éstos, ni los que les seguirán sin dejar sucesión, se iban borrando en mi memoria, al arribo de los nuevos huéspedes, las ideas, que habían excitado sus abuelos. No le pareció bien este método a mi amor proprio, que en cada especie olvidada creía haber perdido un tesoro. Mudé de sistema:  empecé a trasladar al papel todas las quimeras, y todas las necedades, que pasaban por mi fantasía; y, gracias a este cuidado, me hallo hoy con un registro general de cuanto he pensado de algunos años a esta parte.

En estas líneas, el narrador pretende recrear para sus lectores el proceso creativo que guía la escritura de cada “Pensamiento”. Y esta recreación es particularmente visual:  se describe la circulación indefinida de las ideas como una errancia espacial a través de los verbos “volver”, “traer”, “llegar”, “despedirse”, “seguir”, “arribar”, que dan cuerpo a lo inmaterial. El Corresponsal del Censor, publicado en los años 1780 por Manuel Rubín de Celis, utiliza un microrrelato similar — aunque específico a un discurso y no aplicable al conjunto de la obra— cuando le explica al Censor en qué estado de ánimo estaba en el momento de decidir de qué hablarle esta semana: Me paseaba cabizbajo por mi sala, me sentaba, me volvía a levantar, tomaba un libro, daba con las palmas de las manos las más crueles friegas a mi pobre frente, y sin embargo de todos estos esfuerzos, nada me ocurría que decirle. Tan desaforado fue mi apuro, y tanta mi fatiga en discurrir, que me acometió un terribilísimo dolor de cabeza, del que para libertarme tomé el bastón y sombrero, y me dirigí en derechura a cierto Café de esta Corte con ánimo de echarme a pechos una o dos tazas de dicho néctar, que dicen sus apasionados ser remedio eficaz contra el citado mal (n° 4).

La narración es menos filosófica que en El Pensador: presenciamos un verdadero deambular, con pasos, ademanes, idas y vueltas. La dimensión sumamente concreta del fragmento implica incluso la alusión a detalles físicos: los golpes que

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se da sobre la frente, el dolor de cabeza del cual sufre, los accesorios que necesita para el paseo e incluso —novedad del siglo— la necesidad de cafeína. En los dos casos mencionados, el periodista se autorrepresenta aislado en su proceso creador:  se trata de su carácter, de sus reflexiones y de sus dudas. Muchas veces, sin embargo, la ficción narrativa presenta los periódicos como el fruto de una asamblea. En tales casos, los números preliminares así como otros números de la revista refieren diálogos, charlas, debates entre distintos miembros del grupo que sirven para determinar el contenido de la obra, de su estructura y de los temas a abarcar. El proceso ficcional tal y como se expone a los lectores es entonces plural. Así, el narrador de El duende especulativo sobre la vida civil — publicado en 1761 por Juan Enrique de Graef— expone en el primer número sus vacilaciones en cuanto a la obra literaria que le conviene emprender. Después de haber descrito de manera dilatada el transcurrir de su meditación, incapaz de decidirse, acaba comentándolo en una tertulia. Escucha a continuación las burlas y los consejos de diferentes contertulianos antes de que, finalmente, la tertulia decida forjar un periódico de manera colectiva: se reparten el trabajo por partes y eligen el título de la obra. Otro “duende” recurre a este mismo tipo de ficción narrativa colectiva, aunque de manera mucho más humorística. Se trata del Duende de Madrid, en cuyo prólogo se relata: Érase una noche, en que olvidados los cuidados del día y las fatigas que inquietan a un hombre de negocios, subministraba a la caduca estructura de mi cuerpo el más dulce sueño que puede recrear a los mortales; gracias al honroso albergue y regalada cama que me prepara la magnificencia de aquella Excelentísima casa, cuyos timbres son tan notorios. Pero […] despavorido, y lleno de asombro, a imitación del soldado que deja a toda prisa el descanso de su tienda, para tomar las armas, despierto, me incorporo y oigo encima de mi cama el ruido más impertinente y extraño que se puede imaginar.

Entrelazándola con múltiples digresiones, propias de su estilo, Don Benito cuenta así la aparición de un duende que le asusta en sumo grado, con quien traba conversación y que resulta venir en nombre de una junta de duendes para encargarle la redacción del periódico. La ficcionalización del acto de creación periodístico es así completa, detallada y sabrosa. Las escenificaciones del Regañón general, en cambio, se caracterizan por una tonalidad de las más serias. En este periódico de los años 1803–1804, se construye la ficción de un tribunal que se reúne en juntas anuales, comenta la obra y establece objetivos pedagógicos. Cada junta da pie a un relato, aunque este no sirva más que de marco apenas esbozado para presentar una serie de reflexiones bajo la forma de monólogos que se suceden. Este carácter puramente utilitario de la escenificación se hace obvio en las frases de introducción y conclusión, construidas todas según el mismo

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modelo: “se principió la primera [junta] el día de la fecha, dando principio a ella el Regañón general con un discurso concebido en los términos siguientes […]. Concluido este razonamiento dio el Censor el informe sobre la redacción del periódico, en los términos siguientes […]” (1804, n° 52). De este modo, la ficción de los microrrelatos metaperiodísticos se delata muchas veces a sí misma. Pero en todos los ejemplos evocados, el periodista no solo se constituye como personaje de su obra, sino que se afirma en su labor de periodista: manejando a solas sus ideas y su pluma en los casos de El Pensador o de El Corresponsal del Censor o partícipe de una junta de escribientes en los casos de El duende especulativo, de El Duende de Madrid o de El Regañón.

El periodista lector En otras ocasiones el periodista es ficcionalizado en un acto de recepción:  la lectura de los correos que pretende recibir y que acaban, muchas veces, integrados en el periódico. Así, en el Juzgado casero, de 1786, se presenta un diálogo ficticio entre Juan Claro y el Padre Curro, y el primer número ofrece una doble escenificación: de Juan Claro, que recibe la censura del Juzgado casero, y del Padre Curro, que recibe el correo de Juan Claro. El primero cuenta: Oí, cuando ya estaba pie en cama para dormir la siesta, llegó el Postillón, metiendo más bulla que catorce Mallorquines cuando disputan intereses, y me entregó un gran pliego cerrado y sellado, como si incluía algo de provecho; abríle, y hallé ser la Censura del Juzgado Casero, a las noticias que comuniqué en la mía de 13 de Agosto.

La micronarración correspondiente al segundo personaje es más anecdótica y humorística todavía, pues expone: Cuando llegó el Postillón de nuestra vía reservada, y me entregó el Pliego de Vm.; estaba yo echando la clave a un plato de magras con su tomatillo al canto, y un jarro de tintillo (café de este País) que pudieran resucitar un muerto: leíle muy gustoso, y hallé en él cuanto pudiera apetecer esta Junta para dar principio a su proyectada Censura.

Juan Claro sólo hace alusión a la recepción de la carta, mientras que el Padre Curro también evoca la lectura. El primero insiste más sobre la materialidad del pliego, mientras que el segundo da detalles concretos sobre la comida interrumpida. Pero más allá de las diferencias, ambos narradores se ponen en escena como receptores de un material periodístico. En La Pensadora gaditana, periódico publicado en 1763–1764, la narradora Beatriz Cienfuegos describe a su vez la lectura que hizo de la carta de Doña Martina Marcia Mavorte: “Puede Vm creer, que para leer su carta no he consultado a los ceños, ni a las ponderaciones; toda la costa se la he debido a la risa” (n° 13). La evocación directa y muy visual

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que se hace a los efectos de la lectura (fruncimiento del ceño o risa) se explica aquí por el hecho de que la misma lectora anticipaba la recepción de su carta por parte de la periodista según estas consideraciones: Al escribir esto ha sido preciso soltar la pluma por acudir a la pasión de risa que me ha sorprendido, considerando las admiraciones, los arqueos de cejas, y los espantos que Vm Señora Pensadora habrá hecho, leyendo la sencilla relación que la estoy dando: ¡Válgame Dios, y qué de visajes y movimientos convulsivos habrá practicado al leer mi acertada conducta, aunque para Vm muy errada! (n° 13)

Entre los microrrelatos que ponen en escena al periodista como receptor, cabe además destacar dos casos de particular interés. El primer caso es constituido por el storytelling relativo a comentarios —escritos, la mayoría de las veces, pero también orales— hechos no sobre temas aleatorios y variados, sino sobre la propia obra periodística. El Corresponsal del Censor, por ejemplo, narra su encuentro con un lector que le reconoce y elogia su trabajo. Satisfecho, vuelve a su casa para enfrentarse con una recepción de su trabajo mucho menos satisfactoria: […] encuentro […] la siguiente carta que para mí había llevado cierto cartero a cierta librería. Leerla y caérseme el alma a los pies todo fue uno, porque como acababa de oír elogios tan desmesurados de mi persona, y el que me escribía tomaba rumbo diametralmente opuesto, se me congeló la sangre (n° 10).

La evocación paso a paso de la lectura y lo hiperbólico de las expresiones utilizadas le otorgan a esta puesta en escena del acto de recepción una gran fuerza expresiva. De manera muy similar, El Argonauta español, periódico de Pedro Gatell y Carnicer del año 1790, describe sus reacciones intensas frente a los comentarios, tanto negativos como positivos, que dos ‘entes’ con quienes se cruza le hacen respecto a su obra. Si nos limitamos a considerar la descripción de su reacción frente a las críticas, podemos leer: Considere Vm. cual quedaría el Argonauta. A lo menos, disminuyó de tamaño en un tercio y quinto. No temblaba, pero por poco se le salen de su centro las quijadas. De buenas a primeras no atinaba ni en dar un paso, ni en pensar qué respondería a otra tempestad de crítica, y críticos (n° 2).

El segundo caso de particular interés es cuando los espectadores emplean el topos del descubrimiento de un manuscrito. Así, uno de los discursos del Censor empieza con estas palabras: “El otro día tomé de un librero de esta Corte […] algunos pocos libros impresos, y una mediana porción de papeles manuscritos, que me alabó mucho el Librero, pero que yo no supe entonces qué cosa eran, ni aun ahora he acabado de registrar” (n°  36). Vuelve a casa y lamenta su probablemente inútil adquisición hasta que la lectura de un manuscrito le hace

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cambiar de idea. Se describe entonces a sí mismo “transportado de alegría”, “dando paseos arriba y abajo por mi sala” y tomando la decisión de publicar el manuscrito. A su vez, El Corresponsal del Censor narra: […] de cuando en cuando salgo a hacer un poco de ejercicio por los paseos que hay extramuros de esta Corte. […] Absorbido en varias ideas seguía uno de estos días mi paseo, cuando advierto caído en el suelo un papel: le tomo, y habiéndole leído, determiné desde luego poner dicho hallazgo en el Diario (n° 20).

El recurso es común y los guiños a la tradición literaria evidentes. Sin embargo, los espectadores renuevan en cierta medida el topos, adaptándolo a una nueva realidad editorial. El ejemplo más convincente de ello aparece en El Censor, donde se introduce una sátira en verso a través de la larga nota siguiente: Esta sátira la recibí sin otra carta alguna por el correo de Andalucía el día 10 de este mes. Diome gran cólera ver un pliego tan abultado, y que tan caro me costaba, y estuve por devolvérselo al cartero sin abrirlo, discurriendo que era de un antiguo corresponsal mío, que ya gracias a Dios hace algunos meses que me deja descansar. Pero, lo confieso, como mi curiosidad llega a tanto en punto de papeles, que tengo hecha una colección no pequeña de los que suelen venir envolviendo algo de la tienda (y a fe que hay en ellos cosas muy buenas); no pude reducirme a dejar de leer este pliego. Abríle después de haberle arrojado dos o tres veces al suelo: vi versos, comencé a leer; y desde luego di por bien empleados, no sólo el porte del pliego, sino también el mal rato que me había hecho pasar (n° 155).

Así, el manuscrito no se encuentra en un desván ni en un antiguo baúl, sino que es mandado a través del correo por un contribuyente anónimo que no se tomó la molestia de sufragar los costes de envío. La realidad periodística se impone en toda su materialidad por medio de la evocación de semejantes detalles narrativos.

El periodista lector de su propio periódico El espectador es escenificado así escribiendo su periódico, leyendo las cartas de los contribuyentes y también, de manera más excepcional, leyendo el mismo periódico que publica. El periodista se convierte entonces en receptor de su propio periódico. Es lo que ocurre en el discurso 51 de El Censor, en el que leemos: Uno de mis entretenimientos más comunes desde que doy a luz esta obra es el de leer los Discursos que llevo ya publicados. Pero es un entretenimiento de que no suelo salir muy gustoso. Porque yo no sé que diantre de virtud tiene esta maldita de la Imprenta, que semejante a los espejos, cóncavos, o convexos, que hacen parecer horrible la Dama sobre que la naturaleza haya derramado más gracias, hace también desaparecer los mayores primores, y desfigura las cosas más apuestas y más bien proporcionadas. Discursos que

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me habían parecido antes muy decentes me parecen malditamente después de impresos; y lo peor es que cada nueva lectura me descubre mil defectos, que antes no había percibido. Así que rara vez tomo uno en las manos que sin acabar de leerle no le arroje airado, no menos con él que conmigo mismo. Hay entre ellos tal Discurso, del cual llevo ya hecha pedazos más de una docena de ejemplares: y si quedara algún poder sobre la piedra después que se suelta de la mano, a la hora que es así faltaría uno por quemar, como ahora llueven pepinos.

El enfado de la voz narrativa frente a los defectos de su trabajo aparece aquí muy palpable:  por el uso de expresiones intensivas como por la alusión a sus acciones rápidas y violentas. Aunque también confiesa experimentar, en algunas ocasiones, cierta satisfacción: “También alguna vez (aunque no muchas) descubro perfecciones que antes se me habían ocultado, y hallo que he dicho algunas cosas muy buenas por pura casualidad y sin pensarlo”. Alternancia entre falsa modestia y autosatisfacción:  al escenificar las distintas etapas de su proceso creativo, El Censor respeta un topos literario propio de los prólogos y otros paratextos.

El lector frente al acto periodístico Pero la persona ficticia del periodista no es la única en dar pie a micronarraciones metaperiodísticas. En otros números es la lectura privada la que se materializa a través del storytelling: lectores impacientes por recibir el diario, escandalizados por una reflexión o entusiasmados por una noticia.

El lector y su recepción Cuando se trata de evocar la espera y la recepción del periódico por parte de sus suscriptores o lectores ocasionales, las alusiones suelen ser en realidad muy sintéticas. “Yo que de un jueves a otro estoy en expectativa del prometido Entretenimiento”, escribe Matalas callando al Curioso entretenido (n° 7). “Ya no tengo paciencia […]: ya no tengo humor de esperar siquiera una semana, ni la gravedad del asunto permite se dilate más tiempo”, confiesa Ramón Harnero, redactor supuesto de El Corresponsal del Censor, al Censor (n° 27). Las alusiones son tan sintéticas que cuesta hablar de microrrelatos. Pero cuando se trata de evocar el acto de lectura, se abren amplias posibilidades de desarrollo narrativo. Podemos citar de nuevo a Ramón Harnero, que cuenta: “Estaba divirtiéndome en los Diálogos de Fenelon, cuando por casualidad llegó a mis manos el Discurso de vm 143. Dejé aquellos, y empecé a leer dicho Discurso; leílo, releílo, y volvílo a leer; y después continué la lectura de los Diálogos” (El Corresponsal del Censor, n° 30). La repetición del acto de leer revela la afición genuina de El Corresponsal por El Censor.

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El Regañón general, en particular, multiplica los ejemplos de escenificación del proceso de recepción de la prensa. Del “Suscriptor perpetuo” que afirma que “[le] duelen las mandíbulas de la risa tan grande que [le] dio al leer el título de Regañón” (1803, n°  3) a “El Sargento Retirado” que se queja de “los sustos y malos ratos que [le] está dando continuamente el bendito [del] periódico en casi todos los Números en que habla contra las malas costumbres” (1803, n° 39), de R. Ll. que se refiere a “las carcajadas” que su precedente carta habría provocado en el “Amigo de la verdad” (1803, n° 40) a P. de L. y B. que pretende que una de las cartas publicadas en el periódico le “ha sacado de [sus] casillas” (1804, n° 51), la puesta en escena de la lectura es una temática secundaria pero recurrente a lo largo de los discursos. A veces incluso la narración se amplía, como en la carta de S.T.A. y A publicada en 1803: […] confieso que me ha dado mucha risa la carta del caballero C.D. inserta al final del número 29. Qué será esto, estaba yo diciendo para mi capote al leerla… Me frotaba y refrotaba los ojos, porque me parecía que algún encantador malandrín, por jugar conmigo me ponía a la vista lo que jamás según mi pobre y menguado alcance podía haberse escrito. Qué quiere decir este señor C.D. gritaba yo en altas voces, con sendas carcajadas (1803, n° 40).

Distintas reacciones se ven aquí ficcionalizadas:  la circunspección que transparenta por la acción de “frotarse los ojos” y por las preguntas emitidas, el entretenimiento que se manifiesta por la risa y las carcajadas así como el enojo que traicionan los gritos lanzados. Es más, según la ficción propuesta por “G.Y. El ochentón”, El Regañón no provoca solo diversión o ira, sino verdaderos cambios de vida. Así lo cuenta el lector a un amigo suyo: Pues bien, oigame ahora el prodigioso efecto que ha producido en un sujeto de medianas circunstancias el insinuado periódico Número 2 del 7 de Enero de este año, en el que el Censor del Tribunal informa sobre el juego, origen funestísimo de infinitos desastres. Por bien rara casualidad (o disposición de la divina Providencia) llegó a manos del tal sujeto el expresado papel, leyóle con gran atención, y al llegar al discurso del juego, cate vmd que duplica su fervor, y continúa con la más inexplicable ansia, hasta tanto que la misma acción reiteró tres veces, pero a la tercera ¡cosa extraña y singular! se ve tan vivamente penetrado del evidente, constante e irrefragable raciocinio del señor Censor, y le hacen tanta impresión sus patéticas y convincentes reflexiones acerca de lo que le sucede a un jugador, que a su irresistible poder se rinde, y generosamente abandona el juego, el maldito juego, que por tanto tiempo ha sido el objeto de sus amargas inquietudes […](1804, n° 11).

El microrrelato reconstituye el itinerario completo de un número de periódico, podríamos decir:  desde su concepción aleccionadora hasta la realización del ideal educativo pasando por lo azaroso de su recorrido, de un lector a otro. Y

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también se describen con detalles las reacciones del lector frente al contenido del número: su concentración, así como su trastorno moral.

El lector y su contribución periodística Pero el lector también puede ser escenificado como corresponsal del periódico: se convierte a su vez en un autor ficcionalizado como tal en el transcurso del proceso de creación. Es verdad que la micronarración de la recepción individual y la del acto de escribir al que se entrega el lector-contribuidor suelen venir a la par. Prueba de ello es la carta del labrador manchego, J.P., publicada en El Regañón. En ésta se insiste en que el deseo de escribir nace de la misma lectura del periódico: “aquella noche le leí otras dos veces, y después otras doscientas: pero de tanto leer me salió la gana de escribir a vmd”, cuenta J.P., antes de añadir más adelante: “si no le escribiera a vmd esta carta creo que reventara, según la gana de charlar que tengo desde la otra noche” (1803, n°  52). Pero en ocasiones la carta se focaliza únicamente sobre la narración del acto creador. En El Censor, por ejemplo, N. vuelve de un concierto en el cual su vecino no paró de hablar y explica la necesidad absoluta que siente de escribir: “son las once de la noche, y es tal mi irritación, que creo no podría cerrar los ojos en toda ella, si antes no me desahogara con Vm” (n° 12). En el discurso 34 del Pensador, D.S.G. también evoca su necesidad de liberarse a través de la escritura. Dotado de un carácter idéntico al de todas las voces narrativas de los espectadores, D.S.G. se describe a sí mismo continuamente asaltado por reflexiones y dudas que le ponen en estados sucesivos de resignación, enfado o desesperación. Frente a semejante inquietud, la única solución que se le ofrece es compartir sus ideas escribiéndolas: En tan angustiada vida fuera para mi de grande alivio tener con quien desabrochar mi pecho, y a quien comunicar mis pensamientos, a proporción que me fuesen ocurriendo; pero mi desgracia es tal, que me quita hasta este consuelo. Yo soy pobre, y ando mal vestido. ¿Qué más se necesita para no tener amigos, ni ser escuchado? Mi buena suerte es sin duda la que me ha inspirado a escribir a Vm esta Carta (n° 34).

De tener gente con quien hablar, el narrador podría desahogarse, pero en su ausencia se vale de la escritura y de El Pensador. El número 119 de El Censor consta de un ejemplo original y sabroso de esta escenificación de la postura del lector en sus relaciones con el periódico. Toda la carta, en efecto, es una larga preterición: el lector ficticio incita al periodista a hablar de los tabacosos, pero en realidad él mismo lo hace a lo largo de su contribución. Así, cuando exclama “¡Dios mío! ¡Lo que me reiré yo con este retrato si Vm le toma de empeño!” o, más lejos, “Deme Vm este gusto para reírme a carcajada de tanta extravagancia”, lo que hace en realidad es reaccionar

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directamente ante lo que acaba de redactar. Se ficcionalizan así, indirectamente, ambos procesos de escritura y de lectura.

Los lectores frente al acto periodístico Durante el siglo xviii tanto en España como en el resto de Europa se revoluciona el acto de leer y la lectura silenciosa e individual se impone entre las clases medias y altas de la sociedad. No por ello, sin embargo, desaparece la tradición de lectura oral y colectiva. Compartir un mismo número de periódico, leerlo en familia o en asambleas o reaccionar de manera colectiva sigue siendo una práctica muy común —práctica que, por lo demás, viene a compensar las tiradas limitadas de los espectadores españoles, las tasas bajas de alfabetización y el escaso porcentaje de población en capacidad económica de adquirir el periódico. Además, la prensa mantiene una estrecha relación con esta oralidad persistente de la lectura:  sus textos breves, su estilo natural, su escritura sugestiva y su polifonía potencian la lectura colectiva. Sus temas polémicos vinculados con la actualidad y las costumbres potencian el debate. Por lo tanto, la escenificación de la lectura es, muchas veces, la de una lectura plural. En El Pensador, “El Martyr del Pensador” se toma la molestia de leer “con sentido y pausa” ante su amiga a la espera —vana, como veremos— de que las reflexiones del periódico se vuelvan más convincentes (n° 45). En El Censor, Simplicio Llan insiste sobre la espera en grupo de la llegada del número cuando escribe:  “me dan mucho gusto los papeles que Vm imprime, y cuando llega el correo ya yo estoy, por lo regular, esperándole hace una hora en casa del cura para oírselos leer” (n° 27). En El Regañón —que también a este respecto cultiva de manera particularmente frecuente el relato metaperiodístico—, “El Tertuliante Agricultor de cien años” cuenta cómo la tertulia en la que participa con su hermano, sus hijos y el médico del pueblo comenta la carta del Discípulo de Pericón siguiendo el protocolo siguiente:  “Llegada la hora de la junta tomó el médico su asiento privilegiado en la silla poltrona, y nosotros cuatro nos sentamos en dos bancos colocados cerca del fuego, con más ceremonia y seriedad que si estuviéramos en ayuntamiento” (4 de enero de 1804). La lectura del periódico, como vemos, es alzada al rango de un asunto de orden político. En otro número, “El Rústico” comenta que en su pueblo los sujetos aficionados a las letras forman una junta para enterarse del contenido del periódico: “con la mayor alegría presentan su papel, le abren, y encargan su lectura al que tiene mejor voz, más clara pronunciación, y que sabe darle mejor sentido para que todos los entiendan” (1804, n° 49). Las modalidades concretas de la lectura se ven así evocadas: calidad de la voz y de la pronunciación. En el mismo periódico,

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Castro Urdiales narra cómo la tertulia de Apolo de la que es miembro recibió el nuevo Regañón: Pierre tomó la voz, y dijo, pase, pase este papel a la mesa para que allí se lea, y podamos formar concepto de él. En efecto, principió el Riojano, uno de los tertuliantes, a leer el Número 6, que era el último recibido por el correo: mientras se leyó el Regañón todos guardaron un profundo silencio, y advertí en unos un semblante risueño, en otros muchas admiraciones, y en el resto un no sé qué, que según inferí daban a entender que les agradaba su lectura (17 de marzo de 1804).

El entusiasmo se nota aquí en la repetición de la forma verbal “pase”, en la concentración casi sagrada durante la lectura y en las reacciones discretas pero marcadas de cada oyente: entre sonrisa, admiración y suspensión. Sin embargo, lo que las micronarraciones escenifican no es la lectura en sí, sino la acogida, las reacciones y los debates que nacen de la lectura, sea ésta pública o no. A  este nivel, en ocasiones el relato puede subrayar la recepción entusiasta. No obstante, lo que la mayoría de las veces se narra es el rechazo completo de la obra periódica o el conflicto entre un defensor y un ejército de oponentes. Así, la amiga del “Martyr del Pensador” evocada antes no reacciona para nada como éste deseaba: […] comenzó a bramar la Ninfa, en cuyo rostro estaban pintadas la rabia, el furor, y la desesperación; y saltando por el Rey de Portugal, se le encrespó de tal manera el humor bilioso, que descargó sobre mi una deshecha tempestad de dicterios, de desverguenzas, y de disparatones (El Pensador, n° 45).

Gritos, mímicas, movimientos:  todo se junta para expresar su enfado. La grandilocuencia de los términos empleados, el uso repetido del plural, el recurso al verbo “bramar” que refleja la animalización participan del poder sugestivo de la narración. En La Pensadora gaditana, el número sobre la afeminación de los hombres desata asimismo un profundo desacuerdo entre una mujer y su cortejo Celio. Al enterarse este último de las afirmaciones del periódico, cuenta el periódico que: […] se puso como un demonio, y dijo:  que no sabía cómo se permitía escribir tales desatinos en Cádiz, […] que si conociera a la Pensadora, la diría que era una bachillera ignorante, que pretendía regular el corazón magnánimo de los ricos por la poquedad y miseria del suyo; que se entretuviese con la escoba, y soltase la pluma (n° 7).

Frente a la agresividad del joven, la mujer, acérrima defensora de La Pensadora, se enoja, echa a su cortejo de casa y se queda todo el día sin comer ni sosegarse. Acerca de la ficcionalización de la recepción periodística, me gustaría evocar para acabar dos números muy similares de El Pensador y de El Censor. Dos

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escenificaciones en las cuales vienen implicados a la vez el lector (mostrado en su acción de comprar el periódico en la librería) y el periodista (testigo directo o indirecto del enfado del precedente). Así, en su número 4 El Pensador cuenta de manera muy vivaz una anécdota que le contó su librero:  la de un cliente que llega a la librería, compra el periódico  —con la alusión muy concreta al precio:  seis cuartos—, sale a leerlo y vuelve para quejarse. La intensidad de su enojo se manifiesta por la sucesión rápida de preguntas que dirige, escandalizado, al librero así como por los insultos dirigidos al periodista, aunque en su ausencia. ¿El motivo? El desfase profundo, según el lector, entre lo que el periódico anuncia (una postura crítica e inédita) y lo que al final hace (algo muy consensual). Finalmente exige recuperar su dinero y se va. La micronarración del número 63 de El Censor es muy similar: si unos detalles cambian, las etapas y la lógica son idénticas. El cliente llega, compra, consulta y se enfada: Estaba yo la mañana del Jueves pasado bastantemente temprano en una de mis Librerías a tiempo que entró un hombre de austera presencia pidiendo el Discurso del Censor de aquella semana. Púsose a leer los primeros renglones en medio de la puerta, pasó después la vista por las demás hojas con mucha precipitación, y volviéndose luego hacia dentro, le arrojó sin decir palabra con tal aire que por poco vino a dar en los hocicos al Librero.

En ambos casos cabe señalar que el microrrelato es utilitario: sirve para introducir el tema del número después de la espera frustrada de los lectores puestos en escena. Pero también en los episodios referidos la metarreflexión periodística sobre el emisor y los destinatarios del discurso, sobre el itinerario concreto del número, consta de valiosas informaciones. Del periodista luchando para trasladar sus ideas al papel hasta el lector esperando con ansias la llegada del próximo número de la revista, del tertuliano participando en un debate provocado por las afirmaciones de una carta publicada en el periódico hasta el periodista que se enfrenta con los comentarios mordaces que los madrileños hacen de su obra, la micronarración metaperiodística pone en escena a las distintas instancias involucradas en el proceso de creación y de recepción. Parece que los estamos viendo y escuchando, y esa es precisamente la intención del estilo sugestivo y visual de los espectadores. Obviamente, casi todos los ejemplos citados a lo largo del presente análisis corresponden a una pura ficción. Pero el carácter ficticio del storytelling no impide que se base —en parte, por lo menos— en una realidad. La realidad de la nueva práctica periodística que hay que afirmar, de sus modalidades de producción y recepción y de sus implicaciones. Los microrrelatos reflejan así el estatus inédito

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de unos periódicos  —espectadores y más ampliamente ilustrados— que se afirman a sí mismos como obras “de tertulias” (Correo literario de la Europa, “Advertencia al lector”), que van “rodando de mano en mano” (Diario de las musas, n° 65, 266) y alcanzando a todo un público “de gorra” (Argonauta español, n° 20, 211).

Bibliografía Álvarez de Miranda, Pedro: “Ensayo”. En: Francisco Aguilar Piñal (ed.): Historia literaria de España en el siglo xviii. Madrid: Trotta/CSIC 1996, 285–325. Argonauta español, El. Cádiz: Antonio Murguia 1790. Aullón de Haro, Pedro: Los géneros didácticos y ensayísticos en el siglo XVIII. Madrid: Taurus 1987. Bony, Alain: “L’élaboration de l’auteur supposé dans l’essai périodique: Swift, Defoe, Steele et Addison”. En: Le journalisme d’Ancien Régime. Lyon: Presses Universitaires de Lyon 1961, 335–350. Bony, Alain: Joseph Addison. Richard Steele. The Spectator et l’essai périodique. Paris: Didier Érudition/CNED 1999. Cal Martínez, María Rosa: “La captación del lector y la aproximación al público comunicante”. En: Periodismo e Ilustración. Número monográfico de Estudios de historia social 52–53 (1990), 81–97. Censor, El. Madrid: [s.e.] 1781; 1783–1784; 1785–1788. Chartier, Roger (dir.): Actes du colloque sur l’histoire de la lecture. Paris: IMEC Éditions et Editions de la Maison des sciences de l’homme: 1995 Corresponsal del Censor, El. Madrid: Imprenta Real 1786–1788. Duende de Madrid, El. Madrid: Pedro Marín 1787. Duende especulativo, sobre la vida civil (El). Madrid: Manuel Martín 1761. Enciso Recio, Luis Miguel: “Opinión pública, periodismo y periodistas en la época de Felipe V”. En: Eliseo Serrano Martín (ed.): Felipe V y su tiempo: congreso internacional. Zaragoza: Institución “Fernando el Católico” 2004, 549–596. Ertler, Klaus-Dieter: “La prensa moral en Europa”. En: Manuel Rubín de Celis: El Corresponsal del Censor. Madrid/Frankfurt am Main: Iberoamericana/Vervuert 2009, 9–23. Escobar, José: “El ensayo en las revistas españolas del siglo xviii: espíritu crítico y caracterización del autor”. En: Eugenio Bustos Tovar (coord.): Actas del IV Congreso Internacional de la Asociación Internacional de Hispanistas. Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca 1982, vol. I, 483–490.

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Fuentes, Juan Francisco/Javier Fernández Sebastián: Historia del periodismo español. Prensa, política y opinión pública en la España contemporánea. Madrid: Síntesis 1977. Gilot, Michel/Jean Sgard et l’ensemble du collectif de Grenoble: “Le journalisme masqué. Personnages et formes personnelles”. En: Le journalisme d’Ancien Régime. Lyon: Presses Universitaires de Lyon 1961, 285–313. Gómez Martínez, José Luis: Teoría del ensayo. Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca 1981. Guinard, Paul-Jacques: La presse espagnole de 1737 à 1791. Formation et signification d’un genre. Paris: Centre de Recherches Hispaniques 1973. Juzgado casero o Academia de legos. Madrid: Imprenta de Andrés Ramírez 1786. Larriba, Elisabel: Le public de la presse en Espagne à la fin du xviiie siècle (1781– 1808). Paris: Honoré Champion 1998. Larriba, Elisabel: “Une presse faite pour et par le public dans l’Espagne des Lumières”. En: El Argonauta español 3 (2006). . Le Guellec, Maud: Presse et culture dans l’Espagne des Lumières. Madrid: Casa de Velázquez 2016. Le Guellec, Maud: “Autoportrait et stratégies de détournement dans les prologues de la presse critique espagnole du xviiie siècle”. En: Serge Salaün (ed.): Entre l’ancien et le nouveau: le socle et la lézarde. Paris: CREC 2010, 547–565. . Observador, El. Madrid: [s.e.] 1787. Pensador, El. Madrid: Imprenta de Joaquín Ibarra 1762–1763; 1767. Pensadora Gaditana, La. Cádiz: Imprenta Real de la Marina 1763. Regañón general, El. Madrid: Imprenta de la Administración del Real Arbitrio de Beneficencia 1803–1804. Rigolot, François: “Le paratexte et l’émergence de la subjectivité littéraire”. En: Paratextes. Études aux bords du texte. Paris: L’Harmattan 2000, 19–40. Sánchez Aranda, José Javier/del Barrio, Carlos Barrera: Historia del periodismo español desde sus orígenes hasta 1975. Pamplona: Ediciones Universidad de Navarra 1992. Sánchez Blanco, Francisco (ed.): El ensayo español. 2. El siglo xviii. Barcelona: Crítica 1997. Tripet, Arnaud: “Aux abords du prologue”. Versants. Prologues au xvie siècle 15 (1989), 7–20.

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Urzainqui, Inmaculada: “Autocreación y formas autobiográficas en la prensa crítica del siglo xviii”. Anales de Literatura Española 11 (1995), 193–226. Urzainqui, Inmaculada: “Periodista-espectador en la España de las Luces. La conciencia de un género nuevo de escritura periodística”. El Argonauta español 6 (2009). . Zawiska, Elizabeth: “Les introductions auctoriales dans les romans des Lumières ou du bon usage de la préface”. Romanic Review LXXXIII/3 (mai 1992), 281–296.

Elisabeth Hobisch

“[U]‌n talento de soñar tan ordenada y metódicamente”: la narración onírica en los “espectadores” españoles El sueño es una experiencia humana que todos compartimos, es decir se trata de una experiencia constante en la humanidad. La curiosidad por los sueños y su significado se conoce desde la antigüedad. Igualmente, el sueño es un mundo muy difícil de representar fielmente, ya que a la hora de contar un sueño se pierde la visión del soñador, que puede llegar a ser una experiencia multi o transmedial (Engel 2017, 21), porque está despierto y solo puede recapitular lo que recuerda1. Nuestra actitud en el momento de soñar es, según Engel (2017, 41), comparable con la recepción de una obra de arte, o sea una “willing suspension of disbelief ”. Efectivamente, en el momento de soñar se subordina la razón a la visión y sus propias reglas2. Se acepta, por ejemplo, la representación de personas, objetos y sitios conocidos con un aspecto diferente (Engel 2017, 21) y se debilitan las categorías del tiempo y de la lógica. Los sueños en la vida real aparecen en forma aislada sin conexión causal con el mundo no soñado, aunque los hombres tienen una predilección por buscar esta conexión. En cualquier representación onírica, el sueño no aparece en su forma original3, sino mayoritariamente entretejido en una forma de narración. Si su narrativización no contribuye al desarrollo, a la intriga o a la expresividad, por lo general, no suele ser representado. Por consiguiente, la narración onírica casi siempre se emplea con alguna finalidad, por ejemplo, con la de ejemplificar algo, de profundizar un tema o bien con una función profética. A la hora de incluir un sueño en la argumentación de una obra de arte o en una narración, se trata, pues, de una co-textualización4 del sueño. 1 Tal como Engel observa, el soñador solamente puede contar lo que recuerda del sueño cuando está despierto (2017, 21), por lo cual el sueño solo puede ser comunicado parcialmente (2017, 26). 2 Engel (2017, 40): “The dream-worl is simply accepted as it is […]”. 3 Engel (2017, 21) compara el sueño en sí con una caja negra, por la imposibilidad de reconstruir toda la experiencia onírica a través de lo que recordamos. 4 La co-textualización es uno de los mecanismos de familiarización de los sueños que se aplica en el momento de narrarlos, ya que el sueño se inserta en un contexto narrativo y un marco textual, lo cual reduce el aislamiento del mundo onírico. (Engel 2017, 26–27).

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Cuéntame qué sueñas y te diré quién eres… A la hora de narrar un sueño, necesariamente se le imponen a este mundo onírico fluido e inestable5 categorías y convenciones culturales6. Así que, en el momento de narrar un sueño, también se narran y revelan las propias convenciones culturales y literarias. Desde la antigüedad es conocida la práctica de narrar sueños y el deseo de interpretarlos. Así lo observamos en las obras de Homero y de Elio Arístides, como también en libros de sueños y en manuales para su interpretación7. Por más que tengan en común el apoyarse en la misma tradición literaria8, las convenciones narrativas para relatar sueños se adaptan a la moda literaria, a las expectativas del público y a las intenciones del autor. A partir de estas tradiciones se ha desarrollado asimismo la convención literaria de emplear conscientemente las propiedades estéticas de un sueño narrado como recurso retórico o para liberarse de normas impuestas por el mundo real y los límites de la verosimilitud9. Engel (2017, 22)  observa que la narración onírica generalmente está determinada por modelos conocidos y acompañada por estrategias de familiarización y de defamiliarización, de cuya configuración depende el grado de “oniricidad” del sueño. Mediante estrategias de familiarización como la verbalización y la narración, la co-textualización y la funcionalización literaria, los autores acercan el mundo soñado al mundo real. Las estrategias de defamiliarización como la acentuación de lo extraño, un contenido raro o la focalización interna, por el contrario, sirven para hacer hincapié en la fluidez, inverosimilitud e improbabilidad de una narración onírica, por lo cual aumentan la oniricidad (Engel 2017, 22–23).

¿Cómo sueñan los espectadores? A continuación describiré las convenciones literarias y estrategias de familiarización o defamiliarización que se manifiestan en las narraciones oníricas 5 Engel (2017, 26): “fluidity and instability of the dream world”. 6 Engel (2017, 19): “all representations of dreams […] are inevitably related to contemporaneous cultural and textual patterns”. 7 Engel 2017, 33. 8 Gómez Trueba (1999) analiza una selección representativa de sueños literarios a lo largo de varios siglos y logra revelar numerosas similitudes estructurales y temáticas. 9 Engel (2017, 23)  describe este procedimiento como “literary adaption and functionalization”. Gómez Trueba (1999, 24) llama la atención sobre el hecho de que el sueño literario siempre sirve para comunicar ideas previas a él, por lo cual pierde su característica más destacada: lo imprevisto.

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de los espectadores españoles. En primer lugar, importan las convenciones genéricas de los sueños narrados en los primeros espectadores, es decir, el modelo inglés configurado por Joseph Addison y Richard Steele. No obstante, en el caso español se debe igualmente tener en cuenta la tradición literaria del Siglo de Oro, en la cual el sueño tiene un papel destacado. No es sorprendente que el sueño como forma narrativa característica de los periódicos espectatoriales ya haya llamado la atención de algunos investigadores. Gracias a Donald Kay10 ya disponemos de un análisis revelador de los sueños alegóricos en el periódico modelo The Spectator. Wilhelm Graeber11, a su vez, ha elaborado un estudio comparativo de las narraciones oníricas en numerosos periódicos alemanes, franceses, italianos e ingleses. Como no todos los periódicos espectatoriales españoles editados en nuestro proyecto de ediciones digitales12 contienen sueños, este análisis solo abordará los siguientes siete periódicos:  El Duende especulativo (1761), El Pensador (1762–1767), La Pensadora gaditana (1763–1764), El Censor (1781–1787), El Observador (1787), El Duende de Madrid (1787–1788), El Filósofo á la Moda (1788) y El Argonauta español (1790). De esta selección podemos deducir que en todas las fases de la actividad espectatorial en España, se encuentran por lo menos ejemplos aislados de narraciones oníricas. A partir de una tipología inspirada en los análisis de Kay (1975) y Graeber (2003), los 20 sueños contenidos en estos periódicos españoles se clasificarán según cuatro categorías: sueños alegóricos, viajes oníricos, sueños reveladores de la verdad (mediante un objeto mágico) y empleos divergentes del modelo.

El sueño literario en el Siglo de Oro La filosofía dominante en el Siglo de Oro apreciaba el sueño como símbolo de la inconstancia y la veleidad del mundo perceptible por los hombres, en comparación con el mundo considerado real, es decir, el divino. En España y sus colonias, donde floreció el arte barroco, esta simbología se empleaba en numerosas obras de arte marcadas por el espíritu del desengaño. Algunos de los ejemplos que podemos mencionar son Primero sueño de Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz13, los Sueños de Francisco de 1 0 Véase Kay 1975. 11 Véase Graeber 2003. 12 Véase http://gams.uni-graz.at/archive/objects/container:mws-es/methods/sdef:Context/​ get?locale=es. 13 Juana Inés de la Cruz: Primero sueño. (1692).

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Quevedo14 y La vida es sueño de Pedro Calderón de la Barca15. A su vez, aunque en su título no incluyen léxico relativo al sueño, las famosas obras maestras El Criticón de Baltasar Gracián16 y El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha17 están marcadas por la misma desconfianza en la realidad perceptible. Resulta claro que esta filosofía en aquel momento histórico se apoyaba en una visión del mundo que no será compatible con la confianza en las ciencias y en la razón humana que genera la Ilustración. Sin embargo, la idea de que bajo el manto del sueño se le revela al hombre la realidad, de día escondida detrás de la apariencia, y el empleo del concepto del poder revelador del sueño para fines satíricos o explicativos se mantiene en el siglo xviii18.

El modelo onírico de The Spectator La descripción del esquema onírico dominante en los periódicos espectatoriales que se encuentra en Kay (1975) tiene mucho en común con la elaborada por Graeber (2003) en su análisis comparativo. Tanto Kay (1975, 61) como Graeber (2003, 220) llaman la atención sobre la ventaja que la forma narrativa del sueño tiene especialmente para publicaciones periódicas:  su flexibilidad. Tanto el principio como el final se pueden introducir con gran facilidad, la forma se adapta a cualquier tema, debilita los límites estrictos de la verosimilitud y permite estrategias adicionales de distanciamiento del autor, tales como la alegoría o el viaje a países fantásticos (Graeber 2003, 220). Mientras Kay (1975) se limita a describir las narraciones oníricas contenidas en The Spectator, Graeber (2003) compara los sueños contenidos en periódicos ingleses, franceses, italianos y alemanes. Este autor (2003, 208) observa que los primeros espectadores ingleses se sirven de la narración onírica, pero sin abusar. Entre las publicaciones más tardías, por el contrario, aparecen cada vez más sueños y algunas se dedican incluso exclusivamente a tematizar la actividad de

14 Francisco de Quevedo: Sueños y discursos de verdades descubridoras de abusos, vicios y engaños en todos los oficios y estados del mundo. (1627). 15 Pedro Calderón de la Barca: La vida es sueño (estrenada en 1635). 16 Baltasar Gracián: El Criticón (1651, 1653 y 1657). 17 Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra: El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha (1605 y 1615). 18 Cabe mencionar que, tal como lo explica Gómez Trueba (1999, 21), los autores del Siglo de Oro no inventaron el sueño literario, sino que ellos mismos se sirvieron de modelos ya existentes en la tradición literaria, si bien crearon obras excelentes que, a su vez, servirían como ejemplos a las generaciones de autores futuros.

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soñar, tales como Der Träumer nebst einer kurzen Critik (1753) en Alemania, The Dreamer (1754) en Inglaterra e Il sognatore italiano (1768)19. Kay (1975, 63–64) y Graeber (2003, 209–210) describen  —casi de forma unánime— la estructura prototípica de las narraciones oníricas en los periódicos analizados por ellos de la siguiente manera: — El sueño es provocado por reflexiones o alguna lectura durante el día. Este elemento de la estructura, según Engel (2017, 34), proviene de la tradición de narraciones oníricas antiguas y es denominada ‘incubation-dream’. — El soñador se encuentra en un entorno emblemáticamente distinto de la realidad no soñada (Graeber 2003, 13) y procura reconstruir esta experiencia visual para el lector describiéndola de manera detallada. — Frecuentemente, el soñador es acompañado por un guía que le da explicaciones útiles para interpretar correctamente lo que ve20. — El soñador se encuentra en este mundo raro (Kay 1975, 62) y, frecuentemente, participa en los acontecimientos del sueño, es decir, no es un mero observador21. — El final de la narración está marcado por un susto, un esfuerzo o un ruido que despierta al soñador. Kay (1975, 64–65) resalta el hecho de que esta estrategia permite la cómoda adaptación de la narración al marco de un periódico de una extensión limitada22. Desde el punto de vista temático, el género es extremadamente flexible, aunque como observa Graeber (2003, 214) los autores suelen atenerse a la realidad como punto de referencia o comparación23. Esta orientación parece indispensable para un género como los espectadores, tan enfocado en la realidad, la situación actual y las circunstancias de vida en el país donde surgen. 19 Véase Graeber (2003, 208). Carsten Zelle (2012) elabora un análisis comparativo de Der Träumer y otros textos oníricos alemanes contemporáneos. 20 Según Ebner (2003, 192), esta estrategia narrativa también tiene una larga tradición en la historia literaria: el sueño literario dialógico que ya marca la estructura de la Divina Commedia de Dante. 21 Este detalle, diferencia la estructura típica de los sueños en los espectadores de la estructura de las sátiras oníricas descritas por Ebner (2003, 193), quien observa: “The narrator does not really participate in the plot”. 22 Véase también Graeber (2003, 220). 23 Engel (2017, 21) explica igualmente que para la mayoría de los sueños reales es válido el mismo principio: “No dream confronts us with the complete ‘other’. As a rule, it will contain many easily recognizable elements from our waking life […] or from our general knowledge of the world”.

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Graeber (2003, 211) llama la atención sobre las reflexiones que los autores publican acerca de la naturaleza del sueño. Mayoritariamente suelen percibirlo como mera actividad del espíritu sin interferencia del cuerpo o del juicio, situación que permite la superación de las fronteras de la razón. El origen (fisiológico o psicológico) del sueño, según la observación de Graeber (2003, 211), no suele tematizarse. En cambio, en los periódicos españoles sí se encuentran algunos comentarios sobre la naturaleza de los sueños, aunque no son numerosos ni muy extensos. Kay (1975) clasifica los sueños en The Spectator de acuerdo con su enfoque temático en sueños políticos, morales y satíricos. Graeber (2003, 215) diferencia las narraciones oníricas de contenido universal y las de contenido personal, las sátiras oníricas y las alegorías. Según este investigador (2003, 216–217), un concepto frecuente es el sueño como poder revelador, en el sentido que da a conocer al soñador la realidad de las cosas desenmascarando todas las falsas apariencias. El deseo de captar la realidad es, pues, el rasgo esencial que comparten los autores de Siglo xviii con los del Siglo de Oro, aunque diferenciándose fundamentalmente en cuanto a los procedimientos24. Por otro lado, dado que la obra de Quevedo tuvo gran éxito en toda Europa y fue traducida a numerosos idiomas25, habría que averiguar más detenidamente la influencia del modelo de la sátira onírica desarrollada por este autor en toda la prensa espectatorial en Europa.

Sueños alegóricos El primer grupo de narraciones oníricas de los espectadores y el que más se ha analizado corresponde a los sueños alegóricos. El Censor publica un sueño alegórico en el Discurso L.  Se trata de un sueño convencional en cuanto a la estructura narrativa. Una alegoría sobre el comercio es provocada por la lectura de una gaceta en la que se anunciaban premios de la Real Sociedad Económica de Madrid. El autor aprovecha la ocasión para un comentario irónico sobre las convenciones del género cuando menciona que no puede dormirse sin lectura y, por falta de un libro lee la gaceta (C L, 54).

24 La descripción de la actitud de Baltasar Gracián por parte de Aullón de Haro (1981, 322) da prueba clara de su distancia ideológica de los autores ilustrados: “Es pues, una moral de la astucia y del disimulo distanciada del optimismo racionalista del xviii, y muy próxima, en el fondo, al pesimismo desolado del pícaro”. 25 Véanse los detalles en Ebner (2003, 191).

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El sueño representa una alegoría de la doctrina económica defendida por el Censor también en otros discursos. Agricultura, Industria y Comercio estaban bien en una tierra fértil de la que fueron expulsados por el Poder, la Gloria militar y la Gloria literaria26. El sueño muestra la percepción histórica del autor, quien obviamente considera España un país de gran potencial económico, el cual durante la época del gobierno de los Habsburgo y el Siglo de Oro literario y militar fue descuidado. Aparte de una dimensión económica —el conjunto de agricultura, industria y comercio como condición necesaria para el florecimiento de un país—, este sueño también tiene una dimensión de valoración histórica que nos permite identificar al autor de este discurso como reformista27. No obstante, lo que más interesa en este discurso en cuanto a la narración es la explicación que el Censor da para publicar un sueño. Habla inicialmente de su apariencia, sobre la que no ha publicado detalles, lo cual suscita numerosas discusiones en las tertulias. El Censor cuenta haberse divertido escuchando las suposiciones sobre su apariencia, que se basan en un análisis de su carácter. Explica que lo que define a su familia es el hecho de que cada miembro se distinga por una característica específica. Describe a su padre como muy callado y a uno de sus hermanos como muy hablador. La característica que los miembros de su familia tienen en común es, según él, el hecho de que todos tengan la capacidad de soñar muy ordenadamente: Fuera largo referir todas las particularidades que hicieron notable à mi familia. Pero no omitiré una, que es casi comun à toda la parentela, y de que solo ha carecido algun otro individuo que degeneró notablemente de la casta. Es […] un talento de soñar tan ordenada y metodicamente, que los mas de nuestros sueños pueden pasar por unas alegorias muy cabales. Conservanse todavia los de mi padre, y contienen mas moralidad que todo el manual de Epitecto […]. En algunos se vén excelentes pedazos de critica, profundisimos documentos de politica y de comercio, y tal hay entre ellos que pudiera muy bien pasar por una poetica completa. No he degenerado yo en esta parte; […] tengo tambien mis sueños tales quales (C L, 53–54).

Sólo en el momento de leer la introducción al sueño publicado en el Discurso LXIX, el lector puede captar todas las implicaciones de esta peculiar descripción de la familia del narrador. Es en este discurso que el Censor publica un sueño alegórico traducido por completo de The Spectator 460, o bien de Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne Tome V, VII. Discours28. Por la alusión a que se trata de un 2 6 Véase al respecto la alegoría sobre el “Publick Credit” en The Spectator (no. 3, 1711). 27 Según von Tschilschke (2009, 67) esta percepción histórica de España es emblemática para los autores reformistas. 28 El Censor en este caso incluso copia el lema del texto original.

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sueño copiado de los papeles de su padre, revela que la descripción de este y su tío del Discurso L se refería a The Spectator y a The Tatler —o más probablemente a las versiones francesas Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne y Le Babillard. El Censor finge defenderse de los reproches de algunos lectores, quienes dudaban de la autenticidad de los sueños publicados en el periódico: […] voi á copiar aquí uno de los sueños de mi Padre, que se halla entre sus papeles. […] Si algun Lector creyese que aun ésta podrá ser una ficcion, no tiene mas que proponer su recelo en alguna de mis Librerías. Allí se le mostrará el original en forma tan autentica, que no le quede la menor duda de que la siguiente es una pura copia (C LXIX, 22).

La narración del sueño se convierte en este momento en una narración del género literario del que el Censor se considera parte. El elemento que lo reúne con su familia, a pesar de todos los caracteres diferentes que se presentan al público en la tradición espectatorial, es su capacidad de soñar ordenadamente29. El sueño alegórico sobre el castillo de la Vanidad al que los hombres son guiados por el Error y la Opinión común y del que después son expulsados, contenido en el Discurso LXIX, corresponde perfectamente a la estructura de las narraciones oníricas típicas de Mr. Spectator. El Censor incluso incluye la moraleja formulada al final del sueño por Mr. Spectator en su discurso copiado de los papeles de su ‘padre’. Otras narraciones oníricas alegóricas con gran similitud con el modelo se encuentran en La Pensadora gaditana, Pensamiento VI. La protagonista Beatriz Cienfuegos asiste a un tribunal de la verdad presidido por el Verdadero Honor, la Verdad y el Buen Juicio, que se encarga de castigar a los hombres por su presunción. En la introducción a este sueño, que también se sirve del poder revelador del sueño, ya que la falsa vanagloria es castigada, la Pensadora también comenta su manera de soñar, pero se limita a justificar sus sueños ordenados y razonables con su inclinación a la reflexión30. En El Duende especulativo, n° 15, el Duende sueña con el camino del vicio y el camino de la virtud, para subir a una montaña. En el Filósofo á la Moda, n° XXI, Leccion XL, se encuentra el sueño alegórico que el cortejo de una dama tiene

29 En la cita arriba se menciona un pariente que no sueña nada. Hasta ahora no he podido averiguar a cuál de los espectadores ampliamente conocidos y apreciados por los autores españoles se podría referir. 30 “En la mesa, estoy pensando, en casa pienso, en la calle pienso, en la Igesia [sic] pienso, en las visitas pienso, y en fin lo poco que duermo es pensando, como me sucedió noches pasadas: que como mi fantasía está tan preocupada de especies pensadoras, vistió sus sombras del color de mis ideas” (PG VI, 7–8).

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sobre su bella dama presumida, cuya belleza es amenazada por la edad. Este sueño es copiado de The Spectator 301 o de Le Spectateur français ou le Socrate moderne, Tome III, Discours LV.

Viajes oníricos Otro grupo de narraciones oníricas son los viajes oníricos que representan un problema considerado español transferido a otro contexto31. Un viaje onírico representativo se encuentra en El Duende de Madrid, n° VII. Don Benito, quien es el encargado de publicar los discursos redactados por la tertulia de duendes, va superando su actitud perezosa a lo largo de la publicación del periódico. Al cabo de unos discursos, publica un sueño que representa sus reflexiones y cuya naturaleza fantástica comenta explícitamente:  “El sueño […] se atreve á emprender lo que despierto aun no se atreve uno á imaginar” (DM VII, 165–166). En el mundo soñado, Don Benito se encuentra con un país que limita con el mar y con una sierra montañosa, los ‘niripeos’, cuya soberana con su corte celebra un estilo de vida licencioso e intercambia cajas que le llegan del lado del mar por objetos de lujo que le llegan por el lado de las montañas. Se trata, pues, claramente de una referencia crítica a la política económica de España, en la que el oro de América servía como medio de pago para objetos de lujo importados de otros países europeos. Cuando la soberana se desmaya, porque le faltan las fuerzas, es confrontada con su hija, quien le explica la causa de su debilidad y la convence de adoptar un estilo de vida más simple. Esta clara representación del estado de la economía en España es, además, explicada por Don Benito al final del discurso mediante dos dibujos de la moderación y del lujo. La predilección de la descripción detallada de la experiencia visual onírica se hace palpable en el momento en que el soñador reconstruye el aspecto físico de los personajes de su visión en dibujos. Sin embargo, la representación, por más fantástica que sea, siempre remite al lector a la realidad española criticada por los espectadores. Esta forma de

31 De este análisis se excluye intencionalmente el viaje a la luna en el n° 8 de El Argonauta español. Si bien este relato comparte numerosas características con los viajes oníricos, efectivamente el Argonauta no sueña el viaje, sino que viaja con “un globo aerostático” (AE 8, 57). Gómez Trueba (1999, 23) observa que la forma del sueño espacial, del viaje soñado a la luna o por el tiempo, en el siglo xix y xx, es sustituida poco a poco por los viajes que se efectúan mediante tecnologías nuevas o conocimientos científicos. Esta observación confirma la impresión de que el Argonauta ya representa un alejamiento del modelo espectatorial ‘clásico’ y un desarrollo hacia el siglo xix.

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narración parece permitir una crítica más directa que la que habría permitido un discurso del espectador. Sin embargo, como observa Zelle para el Träumer alemán32, estos sueños, debido a la pesadez de la moraleja obvia y del dominio del aspecto didáctico, ya casi carecen de gracia para el lector. Los viajes oníricos contenidos en El Censor son tan creativos como lo es el periódico entero. En el Discurso CXXX se publica una carta que, según el Censor, pertenecía a Joseph Addison. Un corresponsal le reprocha al ‘Editor del Espectator’ que se encargue de nimiedades en lugar de combatir las raíces de la corrupción actual que, como explica mediante su viaje onírico a la antigua Roma, están en la corrupción de las costumbres de las mujeres33. En el Discurso CLXI, el Censor sueña con un viaje a un país desconocido, entre cuyos habitantes salvajes la explicación del mecanismo de su reloj —objeto desconocido por aquella tribu— causa una polémica discusión. Tal como el Censor lo suele observar en las ciencias en España, la explicación compleja, incomprensible y fantástica de un hombre obtiene mayor aceptación del pueblo que la simple y entendible explicación de la mecánica del reloj propuesta por otro hombre. En la introducción a este discurso el Censor aprovecha la ocasión para expresar una crítica literaria bastante mordaz. Insinúa que el hecho de que se quede dormido tan repentinamente se debe a la mala calidad del libro que lee y del que incluso cita un párrafo34. En el Discurso Quarto de El Observador, el autor ficticio se duerme mientras reflexiona sobre un tema para el siguiente número de su periódico y sueña con un viaje a la luna. En la luna se encuentra con una estructura social muy similar a la española, lo cual le permite criticar más abiertamente el fanatismo, la dominación de la religión y la subestimación de las ciencias. En el n° XX, Leccion XXXVIII, de El Filósofo á la Moda se relata la legendaria visión de un indiano, en la que visita el más allá, donde las virtudes de los

32 Zelle (2012, 187) comenta: “Rationalisierung und Didaktisierung nehmen der Textsorte Traum gerade ihr eigentümliches Potential, das sie gegenüber den Normalformen der Didaxe […] auszeichnet”. 33 Véase el análisis detallado de la carta en Hobisch (2017, 283–285). 34 “Hallábame una de estas tardes un tanto desazonado y tan sin gana de ocuparme en cosa de provecho, que tomando el primer libro que se me vino á la mano, me puse á leer en él, tendido sobre la cama, por donde me le abrió la casualidad. Yo no sé si estaba ya dispuesto a dormir, ó si lo atribuya á alguna virtud soporífera del tal libro, semejante á la que en la Corte Santa del Padre Causino observó cierto Médico. El hecho es, que á cosa de dos páginas me quedé profundamente dormido, cabalmente como acababa de leer estas palabras” (C CLXI, 566–567).

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indígenas son recompensadas y la codicia de oro de los europeos es castigada. Este sueño es copiado de The Spectator, n° 56, o de Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne, Tome I, Discours XLIII.

Sueños reveladores de la verdad (mediante un objeto mágico) En los periódicos modelo ingleses frecuentemente un objeto mágico capaz de revelar la verdad es de gran interés en narraciones oníricas. Aunque esta forma es más rara en los espectadores españoles, hay un ejemplo. El Censor publica un sueño sobre un lente mágico en el Discurso LIV, que le permite contemplar el verdadero carácter de los hombres, el interior de sus cabezas, sus corazones, y también el valor de los libros. Al igual que en La Pensadora gaditana y en El Argonauta español, el examen de sus propias obras lo desilusiona, ya que revela la calidad deficiente de algunos de sus escritos. Es significativo que el discurso se interrumpa porque el soñador se despierta justo en el momento en el que está a punto de revelar el verdadero carácter de algunos eclesiásticos35. El Censor se inspira, pues, en la tradición espectatorial, si bien la herencia satírica de Quevedo se encuentra omnipresente. Otro sueño revelador de la verdad que no se sirve de un objeto mágico sino de un experimento físico es publicado en El Argonauta español, n° 26. El autor del Argonauta juega diestramente con las convenciones de la narración onírica espectatorial. Cuenta que el Argonauta está dormido cuando Sibila Eritrea viene a despertarlo: Dormido estaba la noche pasada el Bachiller de tal modo y manera, que mejor se parecía é [sic] un tronco que à una criatura racional. No bien sería media noche, quando le sorprendió una voz que oiría entre sueños que le llamaba:  Argonauta? Bachiller? despierta, que viene por tí la Sibila Eritrea. No se movía, y esto le obligó à aquella famosa Señora á cogerle por un brazo, y dándole un secudillon logró que se despertase; […] (AE 26, 201).

El Argonauta está tan profundamente dormido que le cuesta a su visión nocturna despertarlo para obtener su atención. El Bachiller finalmente llega a un tribunal literario que debe medir el valor para la Ilustración y el avance del siglo de las obras literarias de numerosos autores europeos36. El Argonauta está muy confuso y ni entiende la situación ni reconoce a las personas presentes: 35 Según Von Tschilschke (2009, 98), el tabú de la crítica a la Iglesia y a la corona termina por convertirse en un pilar esencial del discurso de identidad en la España de la época. 36 La intención del autor mediante esta narración onírica ejemplifica la visión universalista de los ilustrados. Este universalismo es típico del principio ‘cultura por civilización’ descrito por von Tschilschke (2009, 59).

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Díxole la Sibila: Bachiller, ¿qué decís de esto? Qué sé yo, respondió. ¿Qué no conoceis à ninguna de estas gentes? En mi vida los he visto. Pues sepais que este pelotón son los escritores de bellas letras: Aí está Rouseau, Volter, Marmontel, Alambert, y toda la demás caterva (AE 26, 202).

La confusión absoluta del protagonista del sueño no parece verosímil, pero le da la posibilidad al autor de describir de manera muy visual la escena que se le presenta al Argonauta mediante las explicaciones de la diosa que lo acompaña. Las obras literarias son, pues, destiladas, para revelar la cantidad de espíritu que contienen. Al final del proceso, el contenido del alambique revela que ni éstas en sí son muy ilustradas ni el siglo tiene derecho a tal denominación. Debido a la escasez de buenos resultados, el examen de las obras es interrumpido por Pluto. El Argonauta obtiene la orden de informar al público sobre el resultado del análisis y es acompañado a su cama por Sibila Eritrea. Cuando se despierta cuestiona la posibilidad de soñar de esta forma y se pregunta si le debe informar al público de que también su obra fue calificada de inútil. Aquel comentario del Argonauta es, por un lado, una estrategia para demostrar modestia y, por otro, es un juego con las convenciones genéricas. En el momento de expresar sus dudas sobre la decisión de comunicarle al público el resultado del análisis, ya lo ha informado. Esta narración onírica expresa una clara crítica del optimismo progresista de muchos autores y filósofos ilustrados, lo cual al final del discurso es formulado explícitamente por el Argonauta, quien refuerza su crítica llamándose a sí mismo ‘dormido despierto’: Pues sépalo el mundo todo, y entienda que esta es una relacion circunstanciada de lo que ha pasado en los cascos de un dormido despierto. Esta fué la famosa ilustracion del siglo: aquella que ha llenado de viento à tantos que no es creible. […] Mas virtudes, mas aplicacion hubieran, sí, ilustrado el siglo; mas no la presuncion, el ocio, y la maldad (AE 26, 205).

A la vez, esta narración también contiene numerosas referencias jocosas a los típicos sueños espectatoriales que, debido a su instrumentalización y orden didácticos, no parecen verosímiles. Tanto el protagonista que duerme profundamente como su incapacidad de orientarse y el hecho de que al final se pregunte a sí mismo si todo lo que vio pudo haber sido un sueño, son indicios de un desarrollo lúdico de las convenciones estéticas relacionadas con una tradición narrativa, en el momento de la publicación del Argonauta, ya muy conocida. Tanto el sueño revelador de la verdad contenido en El Pensador como los dos que encontramos en El Filósofo à la Moda son inspirados por sueños publicados por Mr. Spectator.La transformación de Fidelio en un espejo en el Pensamiento

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LXXIX es una adaptación del n° 392 de The Spectator o bien de Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne, Tome IV, XXX. Discours. Los núms. XIX, Leccion XXXVI y XX, Leccion XXXVII, en los que se describen la disección de la cabeza de un petimetre y del corazón de una dama vana, son traducidos de The Spectator 275 y 281 o bien de la versión francesa Tome III, XXXIX. Discours y XLII. Discours. El n° XXIV, Leccion XLIV, en el que un ángel permite ver el fondo de los corazones, es traducido de The Spectator, n° 587, o bien de la traducción francesa, Tome VI, XXI. Discours.

Empleos divergentes del modelo La narración onírica también aparece en los espectadores españoles en empleos diferentes del modelo. En el Discurso XL, el Censor cuenta visitar una tertulia en la que se desarrolla una discusión sobre la suerte, que le transmite al lector. En el Discurso XLI, el Censor vuelve a visitar dicha tertulia y continúa la misma conversación, hasta que al final del Discurso XLIV (al cabo de cuatro Discursos) repentinamente se desarrolla una discusión viva en medio de la que se despierta el Censor y se encuentra en su cama. De este modo, el autor instrumentaliza una de las características del sueño, la fluidez y la inestabilidad, para la justificación de un acontecimiento inverosímil. Así, el Censor subvierte el empleo convencional de la narración onírica y, a la vez, debilita la confianza del lector en el mundo narrado por él37. Otra visión onírica que se diferencia considerablemente de los modelos se publica en El Argonauta español, n° 12. En un sueño, el Bachiller es convertido en un Don Quijote de la Medicina: “Soñó dias pasados el Bachiller Argonauta que se había vuelto D. Quixote, con la diferencia de que si al Caballero de la triste figura le habian trastornado el juicio los descomunales libros de Caballería, al Bachiller los de la medicina” (AE 12, 89) y se encuentra con su biblioteca medio vacía. Una voz38 le explica al Argonauta la moraleja del sueño, que consiste en que la

37 La debilitación del marco de una narración onírica es descrita por Engel (2017, 27) como una de las estrategias de defamiliarización. El efecto de este procedimiento es una pérdida de estabilidad del mundo despierto y la pérdida de confianza del lector en el narrador. Este juego con la estabilidad del mundo narrado es una característica típica de la escritura del Censor, quien constantemente subvierte la confianza del lector en el autor ficticio mediante sus comentarios. Véase, por ejemplo, el análisis del Discurso XXXVIII en Hobisch (2017, 240). 38 La explicación directa de la moraleja por una voz, en este caso, desconocida corresponde al modelo antiguo del “message-dream” descrito por Engel (2017, 29–31) como el tipo

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observación de la naturaleza debe ser el medio de instrucción preferido por los médicos, ya que la repetida lectura de obras viejas no puede generar progresos útiles en las ciencias. Esta valiente apología del empirismo en la medicina es además un ejemplo maravilloso para la combinación lograda de tradiciones literarias propias y ajenas y el desarrollo creativo de nuevas narraciones oníricas. En dos ocasiones meramente se menciona un sueño. En El Duende de Madrid, n° 4, los duendes se sirven de una pesadilla de Don Benito, en la que le representan su propio entierro, para asustarlo y recordarle su promesa de publicar los papeles recibidos. En el Discurso XXXIX, el Censor publica sus reflexiones acerca de la riqueza y su repercusión en la felicidad que son inspiradas por un sueño. En este ejemplo se invierte, pues, la iniciativa, ya que las reflexiones en el estado despierto se inspiran en un sueño y no al revés.

Conclusión Aunque las narraciones oníricas en los espectadores españoles no son tan numerosas como otras formas, podemos resumir que muchos autores se sirven de esta posibilidad extraordinariamente visual para tratar una amplia gama de temas. La tendencia de la multiplicación de los sueños en periódicos tardíos observada por Graeber (2003, 208)  también se encuentra reflejada en los espectadores españoles. La mayoría de los ejemplos respeta la estructura de las narraciones oníricas desarrollada por los modelos ingleses, si bien el juego con las convenciones en los periódicos tardíos gana terreno frente a los periódicos tempranos39. Los marcos narrativos de los sueños se emplean para numerosos comentarios lúdicos sobre el género espectatorial y las convenciones genéricas de narraciones oníricas. Este procedimiento permite una lectura entretenida de esta microforma narrativa, aunque los sueños en sí, si son convencionales, a veces terminan oprimidos por una intención didáctica y una moraleja muy obvias. Asimismo, el sueño literario podría ser considerado en un nivel metaficcional como representación de la propia manera de escribir. Los espectadores se inspiran en observaciones, lecturas o eventos sociales cotidianos y fingen desarrollar libremente la argumentación en sus discursos. De la misma manera,

más antiguo de sueño conocido en la literatura. Una característica de este tipo de sueño es el hecho de que no requiere interpretación adicional (30). 39 Esta observación no se limita a la forma del sueño, ya que igualmente es válida para la carta. Véase Hobisch (2017, 40, 208–210, 240).

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su mente, liberada de los límites de la razón, convierte en visiones nocturnas los pensamientos o lecturas del día.

Bibliografía Álvarez y Valladares, Joseph [Joseph Clavijo y Faxardo]: El Pensador. 6 tomos. Madrid: Joachin Ibarra 1762–1767. Anónimo: Der Träumer, nebst einer kurzen Critik. Jena: [s.e.] 1753. Anónimo [Luis García de Cañuelo/Luis Marcelino Pereira]: El Censor, obra periódica. Madrid: [s.e.] 1781–1787. Anónimo: El Filósofo á la Moda, ó el Maestro universal. Obra periódica que se distribuye al público los lunes y los jueves de cada semana sacada de la obra francesa intitulada: Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne. Madrid: Imprenta de Benito Cano 1788. Aullón de Haro, Pedro: Historia breve de la literatura española en su contexto. Madrid: Ed. Playor 1981. Bachiller D. P. Gatell: El Argonauta Español, en que se corrigen por un estilo jocoso los actuales abusos en todas clases de materias, y al tiempo se suministran pensamientos interesantes á el mayor progreso de las Ciencias, Artes, Agricultura, y Comercio, é igualmente noticias curiosas, anecdotas, obra util, deleitable, e instructiva a todas las personas de ambos sexôs. Cádiz: D. Antonio Murguia 1790. Calderón de la Barca, Pedro: La vida es sueño. Edición, introducción y notas de José María Ruano de la Haza. Madrid: Castalia Ediciones 2012. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de: Don Quijote de la Mancha. Editado por el Instituto Cervantes. Dirigido por Francisco Rico. Barcelona: Crítica 1998. Cienfuegos, Beatriz: La Pensadora gaditana. Madrid: Imprenta de Francisco Xavier Garcia 1763; Cádiz: Imprenta Real de Marina 1764. Cruz, Sor Juana Inés de la: Primero sueño y otros escritos. Editado por Elena del Río Parra. México D.F.: Fondo de Cultura Económica 2007. Dieterle, Bernard/Manfred Engel (eds.): Writing the Dream. Écrire le rêve. Würzburg: Könighausen & Neumann 2017. Dieterle, Bernard/Manfred Engel: The Dream and the Enlightenment. Le Rêve et les Lumières. Paris: Honoré Champion 2003. Don Benito [Pedro Pablo Trullench]: El Duende de Madrid. Discursos periodicos, que se reparten al publico por mano de D. Benito. Madrid: Imprenta de Don Pedro Marin 1787. Ebner, Elisabeth: “Quevedo’s Sueños and the Dream Satire of the Spanish and German Enlightenment”. In: Bernard Dieterle/Manfred Engel (eds.): The

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Dream and the Enlightenment. Le Rêve et les Lumières. Paris: Honoré Champion 2003, 187–205. Engel, Manfred: “Towards a Poetics of Dream Narration (with examples by Homer, Aelius Aristides, Jean Paul, Heine and Trakl)”. In: Bernard Dieterle/Manfred Engel (eds.): Writing the Dream. Écrire le rêve. Würzburg: Könighausen & Neumann 2017, 19–44. Gómez Trueba, Teresa: El sueño literario en España. Consolidación y desarrollo del género. Madrid: Cátedra 1999. Gozzi, Gasparo: Il Sognatore italiano. Venezia: Paolo Colombani 1768. Gracián y Morales, Baltasar: El Criticón. Edición de Ismael Quiles. Buenos Aires: Espasa-Calpe 1948. Graeber, Wilhelm: “‘Ces songes méthodiques qu’on ne trouve que dans les livres’. Le rêve dans les hebdomadaires moraux”. Bernard Dieterle/Manfred Engel (eds.): The Dream and the Enlightenment. Le Rêve et les Lumières. Paris: Honoré Champion 2003, 207–223. Hobisch, Elisabeth: La forma epistolar en los espectadores españoles. Características y tipología de las cartas. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang 2017. Kay, Donald: Short Fiction in The Spectator. Alabama: University Press 1975. King, William: The Dreamer. London: W. Owen 1754. Marchena, José: El Observador. Madrid: [s.e.] 1787. Mercadàl, Juan Antonio [Francisco Mariano Nipho o Juan Enrique de Graef]: El Duende Especulativo sobre la vida civil. Madrid: Imprenta de Manuel Martin 1761. Quevedo y Villegas, Francisco de: Sueños y discursos: de verdades descubridoras de abusos vicios y engaños en todos los oficios y estados del mundo. Ed. por Felipe Maldonado. Madrid: Castalia Ediciones 1973. Von Tschilschke, Christian: Identität der Aufklärung/Aufklärung der Identität. Literatur und Identitätsdiskurs im Spanien des 18. Jahrhunderts. Frankfurt am Main/Madrid: Vervuert/Iberoamericana 2009. Zelle, Carsten: “Träume ‘die in die Moral einschlagen’ Zur Gattung der Traumsatire in der Moralischen Wochenschrift Der Träumer (1752–1753)”. In: Misia Sophia Doms/Bernhard Walcher (eds.): Periodische Erziehung des Menschengeschlechts. Moralische Wochenschriften im deutschsprachigen Raum. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang 2012, 169–187.

Inmaculada Urzainqui

Historias y relatos en El Corresponsal del Censor (1786–1788) Un espectador singular En el novedoso universo periodístico de los “espectadores”, tan ligado al proyecto ilustrado, uno de los más originales es El Corresponsal del Censor, que publicó quincenalmente en Madrid —con alguna irregularidad— desde mayo de 1786 hasta junio de 1788 Manuel Rubín de Celis, un militar de profesión, luego diplomático y funcionario del entorno de Campomanes, y ya para entonces con una larga y variada trayectoria de escritor (Urzainqui 2009). Alcanzó un total de 51 “cartas” o números, cada uno de alrededor de dieciséis páginas1. Y original, principalmente, por dos motivos: por estar planteado como una correspondencia con otro espectador, El Censor (1781–1787), la gran revista crítica promovida por Luis García del Cañuelo y Luis Marcelino de Pereira, ya para entonces con más de un centenar de números en su haber2; y por el perfil ambiguo y desconcertante del personaje que sustenta la voz expresiva, “Ramón Harnero”, que si unas veces se presenta como un botarate egoísta y frívolo, pagado de su nobleza, inculto y de ideas anticuadas, en otras es un hombre observador y reflexivo, de genio mordaz y un tanto pesimista, amante de la verdad, devoto de Feijoo (“autoridad para mi tan recomendable”), sensible, buen lector y muy crítico con las ideas y costumbres del tiempo; en fin, el carácter que razonablemente cabría esperar en un “espectador”.

1 Sigo la reedición moderna, que es trascripción literal de la primera (Madrid: Imprenta Real, s.a.): Manuel Rubín de Celis, El Corresponsal del Censor 2009. Pero actualizo ortografía y puntuación para facilitar la comprensión de los textos. Puede verse también en la edición digital de Ertler, Klaus-Dieter/Hobisch, Elisabeth: The “Spectators” in the international context. Graz: Digital Edition 2011. hdl.handle.net/11471/513.20.187. Para una caracterización general de El Corresponsal del Censor, véanse Guinard 1973, 325–335; Urzainqui/Ruiz de la Peña 1983; Hodab/Ertler 2008 y el estudio de Renate Hodab que precede a la ed. cit. de 2009. 2 Afortunadamente, la trayectoria, temas y características de El Censor cuentan ya con importantes estudios. Entre los más recientes y renovadores, destaca el de Francisco Sánchez-Blanco (2016), que incluye bibliografía actualizada.

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A esas dos caras opuestas de una misma personalidad, una que encarna los valores del ilustrado comprometido con la mejora y reforma de la sociedad, y otra intencionadamente degradada por la ironía y el humor (“me persuado que las armas con que se han de batir los abusos populares en los papeles periódicos ha de ser la burla”, dirá por boca de un corresponsal, nº 22, p. 179), se corresponden también dos discursos de signo contrario, pues aunque todas las cartas son comunicados amistosos, escritos en tono vivo y conversacional, con multitud de interpelaciones, apóstrofes, ruegos, preguntas retóricas y andanadas contra los contrarios ideológicos de ambos (García de la Huerta, Forner, el Juzgado casero, el P. Arcos…) que crean una atractiva atmósfera de complicidad, la comunicación se mueve entre dos vertientes de contraria significación. Una, que podemos llamar veraz, expresa realmente las ideas y propuestas críticas de Rubín de Celis, y otra engañosa o figurada es la que, mediante una calculada ironía, finge alabar o dar la razón a lo que reprueba y censurar lo que defiende; un recurso muy grato al periodismo crítico, presente en muchas páginas del Censor (Uzcanga Meinecke 2004, 162–171) y en el diseño editorial de El Apologista Universal (1786–1788)— el otro miembro de la “trinca censoria”, en despectiva calificación de Forner—, que Rubín de Celis maneja con enorme soltura y habilidad. De manera que, para entender cabalmente el mensaje y saber a qué carta quedarse, hay que hacer un esfuerzo de interpretación, captar cuál de los dos “Harnero” está hablando y, si el registro es irónico, practicar el correspondiente ejercicio de inversión textual: todo un reto a la inteligencia del lector y un modo, también, muy a propósito para sortear problemas con la censura en asuntos particularmente delicados, como son muchos de los que trata. Ese registro irónico, casi siempre burlesco, se muestra ya en el primer número de la revista, que, como pórtico a su declaración de intenciones, se encamina a criticar la línea editorial de su maestro, afear su indulgencia, y proponer que se dedique a escribir sobre otras cosas, como celebrar algunos excelentes escritos contemporáneos. Naturalmente, todo ha de entenderse en sentido contrario, como el propio redactor apunta al calificar como “delirios” esa apuesta expresiva: Tengo ánimo de seguir con Vm. una correspondencia epistolar de quince en quince días, toda por este estilo, pues no sé otro. Haga su merced provisión de paciencia para leer mis delirios, que yo también tengo un grande almacén de ella para sufrir los de otros (CC 64).

Aunque no todo, como he dicho, irá en tal estilo, resulta claro que ese entrecruce de discursos y ese juego oscilante entre dos personalidades discordantes es una de las originales estrategias que elige Rubín de Celis para exponer sus ideas y denunciar y ridiculizar muchas lacras, prejuicios y desórdenes de la

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sociedad contemporánea: los mayorazgos y la nobleza ociosa; las deficiencias del sistema educativo y de la predicación; la mendicidad hipócrita; las desviaciones y abusos en la práctica religiosa y la vida conventual; los perjuicios que ocasiona el excesivo número de abogados y sus tretas para prolongar los pleitos; la injusticia de los jueces y la lentitud de los procesos judiciales; el penoso estado de la poesía y el teatro; la frivolidad de hombres y mujeres; el exceso de rigorismo al vedar a las jóvenes el trato con los hombres; la dañina moda del cortejo; la escasez de matrimonios por razones egoístas o los que se celebran por conveniencia; la xenofobia y el negativo papel de los apologistas de las glorias nacionales; la escolástica degenerada; el sangriento espectáculo de los toros; el injusto modo de adquirir los grados académicos; la tolerancia moral con el contrabando; el clientelismo en la obtención de empleos y dignidades; la multitud de eclesiásticos prácticamente inactivos; el mal funcionamiento de la censura; el excesivo número de días feriados… Un ambicioso programa crítico que, si en muchos asuntos es heredero de la tradición de los “espectadores” y lleva la impronta inequívoca del Censor, ofrece también otros nuevos, incluso más audaces y provocadores; sobre todo en el terreno religioso, lo que motivará que la Inquisición lo prohíba in totum “por ser inductivo a error, capcioso, temerario y peligrosa su lectura” (Urzainqui/Ruiz de la Peña 1983, 131). Que esa estrategia la utiliza Rubín con plena conciencia lo muestran las palabras que, entre bromas y veras, encabezan la carta 33: Señor Censor: Allá voy con mis almanakes: conozco en conciencia que no son la cosa más seria del mundo, pero, amigo mío, no lo puedo remediar; soy de genio bastantemente burlón y satírico, y cuando más me violento para hablar con aquel peso y seriedad que hablan los hombres de forma, entonces es cuando mi genio ostenta su poder. Lo cierto es que, en medio de mis frecuentes chufletas, no se me escapa ni una mentira. Cuanto digo, a lo menos a mi entender, son verdades desnudas, y aun por eso se escandalizan algunos de oírlas (CC 227).

Más allá de su genial humorismo y de los rasgos cómicos que prodiga (“mis frecuentes chufletas”), el lector debe saber que cuanto dice “son verdades desnudas” y hay en ello una profunda seriedad. También el otro procedimiento del que se vale para lograr sus objetivos, el formato epistolar, es original. No de suyo, claro está, pues contaba con una ya muy larga tradición de escritos al modo, por ejemplo, de las Cartas eruditas y curiosas de Feijoo, pero sí según lo que venía siendo habitual en los “espectadores”. Porque aunque en la lección del Spectator inglés también hay en ellos multitud de cartas, son cartas de los lectores al redactor o a otras personas —la mayoría fingidas— que se utilizan para ilustrar y dar mayor vivacidad a las ideas o por otros variados

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fines3; no cartas de un periodista a otro periodista. El único caso anterior de parecidas características es El Amigo y Corresponsal del Pensador (Madrid, 1763) de un desconocido Antonio Mauricio Garrido (tal vez seudónimo), un efímero periódico de tan solo cuatro cartas o números que nació en la órbita del Pensador para actuar como comentarista y, según su propia declaración, “suplemento” suyo (nº 3, 60)4. Como Rubín no lo menciona, ignoramos si pudo haberse inspirado en él; aunque en realidad tampoco habría sido necesario, habida cuenta de la gran atracción que la forma epistolar despertaba en el público lector y de la tendencia que venían mostrando los periódicos a interrelacionarse (dialogar) con los colegas (Urzainqui 2015). Siendo además práctica habitual en ellos la colaboración de los lectores comunicando ideas, críticas, sugerencias, comentarios, peticiones, etc., no tendría nada de extraño que a los dos se les hubiera ocurrido la idea de institucionalizar monográficamente esa figura. Tampoco sabemos los motivos por los que eligió este sistema comunicativo, porque formalmente no lo explica en ningún momento. Pero el modo en que lo utiliza es indicio claro de que lo hace porque avistó las muchas posibilidades que le ofrecía para actuar también como un anejo o complemento del programa crítico del Censor, con el que se siente plenamente identificado. Porque eso es básicamente El Corresponsal: una sucesión de cartas a su admirado “maestro” y amigo para asociarse a su tarea crítica, bien recreando y corroborando sus ideas o explayándolas con nuevas cuestiones desde un análogo prisma de revisionismo ilustrado. Pero sin esperar, ni tener, respuesta suya. La única excepción es la carta 23, que dirige a los censores de libros para criticar sus abusivos métodos e instarles a no emplear sus facultades de manera arbitraria aprobando libros inútiles o perjudiciales, o vedando la salida a los que no encajan con sus gustos y opiniones aun cuando no contengan nada rechazable. Pero contando, dice, con que el Censor lo disculpe. Para desarrollar ese programa y hacerlo más ameno y efectivo, se decanta por una comunicación abierta y versátil, en la que junto a su propia voz puedan concurrir también otras voces y discursos ajenos, como por lo demás venía siendo habitual en la compleja construcción narrativa de los espectadores. Así, le informa de su familia, orígenes y relaciones personales; le hace partícipe de sus ideas, preocupaciones y reflexiones sobre su propio proceso comunicativo; se 3 Sobre las cartas en los espectadores y sus diversos objetivos, véase la reciente y valiosa monografía de Elisabeth Hobisch (2017). Analiza las contenidas en El Duende Especulativo, El Pensador, El Curioso Entretenido, El Censor y El Filósofo a la Moda. 4 Su carácter y contenido lo analizan en detalle por primera vez Ertler/Hobisch 2014, 31–75.

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desahoga por algún problema; le comenta cuestiones sobre las que ha tratado o le sugiere otras sobre las que convendría tratar; le copia una misiva que ha escrito a un primo suyo o el texto que ha redactado para contestar a las Demostraciones palmarias que contra él, el Censor y El Apologista Universal ha escrito “El Bachiller Regañadientes” (Forner); le hace consultas o requiere su opinión sobre algún punto; celebra su éxito, lo anima en su tarea crítica, o se conduele por las muchas impugnaciones que recibe…; pero también le comunica conversaciones y discusiones que ha mantenido; situaciones en las que se ha visto; cartas que ha recibido, o que le han enviado para que se las haga llegar a él; un texto que está leyendo y quiere que lo conozca por tener conexión con algo que ha tratado — caso del diálogo entre Solón y Justiniano incluido por Fénelon en sus Dialogues des morts sobre la importancia de formular clara y sencillamente las leyes y evitar la lentitud de los procesos judiciales (nº 30)—, o cinco extensas composiciones de carácter satírico que también le han remitido5. Cediendo la palabra a otros interlocutores —sus corresponsales, las gentes con los que habla, los autores de los textos que publica…— crea un juego de voces y perspectivas que, además de dilatar el espacio crítico, dotan la escritura de un atractivo carácter ficcional. Indudablemente, tanto ese diseño epistolar como el perfil ambiguo y contradictorio del redactor alejan al Corresponsal del Censor del modelo inaugurado por Addison y Steele. Pero no deja de ser cierto también que, sin ser un espectador prototípico —si es que podemos hablar así, dada la disparidad de fórmulas existentes (Ertler/ Levrier 2012, 10–12)— en él concurren las principales marcas identificadoras del género: personificación de contenidos mediante la creación de un redactor ficticio que da unidad al conjunto, autorretrato y notas personales del mismo, subjetivismo, intención crítica y reformadora de las costumbres, sesgo humorístico, variedad temática, libertad estructural, introducción de una breve

5 Son: “Metrificatio invectivalis contra studia modernorum”, una furibunda sátira en latín macarrónico contra la anquilosada enseñanza universitaria y el desinterés por la ciencia moderna, obra de un “Durón de Testa” que encubre la personalidad del conocido fabulista Tomás de Iriarte; la anónima fábula El león sobre las obstinadas competencias de los jueces, que sabemos ser obra del jurista y futuro traductor de La nouvelle Heloïse Antero Benito y Núñez (la publicará en Sátiras de don Amato Benedicto, Granada, imp. de Moreno, 1802); la extensa epístola poética contra la Oración apologética por la España y su mérito literario de Forner de “Lázaro Cadebar de Miranda”, Bernardo María de Calzada en realidad (Urzainqui 1995, 214), y otras dos “Sátiras” anónimas, una contra las madres que educan mal a sus hijas, y otra, de un eclesiástico, contra los abusos que se cometen con motivo de la procesión del Corpus.

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cita como encabezamiento o lema de cada número, cercanía con el lector y, en fin, utilización de recursos habituales como diálogos, retratos, cartas de los lectores y, lo que aquí interesa resaltar, microrrelatos de anécdotas, historias y ficciones, que, según venía siendo habitual en los espectadores, sirven para conectar emocionalmente con el lector y dar mayor visibilidad a las ideas particularizando experiencias y puntos de vista representativos de la sociedad contemporánea; y, además, en una importante porción del texto —más de un tercio del total, según el cálculo efectuado por Renate Hodab (2009, 56)—, lo que evidencia la gran confianza que deposita en ellos Rubín de Celis como eficaz herramienta expresiva.

Relatos y ficciones en el Corresponsal del Censor De acuerdo con esa peculiar mecánica epistolar, esos microrrelatos los podemos clasificar en dos grupos:  los que narra el redactor ficticio, “Ramón Harnero”, haciendo referencia a su personalidad, situaciones que ha vivido y casos que le han sucedido, y los que están puestos en boca de otros personajes, todos también con experiencias autobiográficas. Por lo mismo, tanto unos como otros son relatos en primera persona, con un yo narrador que controla y organiza la secuencia de los hechos que cuenta, pasados o recientes, y les imprime un sesgo serio o burlesco según los casos. Solo que, a diferencia de los textos verdaderamente autobiográficos, ese yo es un ente ficticio, creado y regido por la mano del autor real de acuerdo con sus propósitos críticos.

Autorretrato, sucesos y anécdotas del personaje redactor Como cualquier espectador que se precie, el primer segmento narrativo se centra en la noticia del origen, educación y personalidad del personaje que actúa como redactor, que a diferencia de otros espectadores tiene nombre propio, “Ramón Harnero”, un seudónimo que Rubín de Celis debió de elegir porque, además de ser un apellido de su linaje, se prestaba muy bien, por el significado de la palabra (harnero = “criba”) a su condición de crítico, según corroborará un corresponsal dirigiéndose a él como “señor don Harnero o don criba”. Pero no es esa condición la que primariamente quiere trasladar al público, pues el retrato que dibuja en el segundo número y completará en otros con diversas pinceladas no solo nada tiene que ver con semejante perfil sino que es francamente ridículo. Mayorazgo de una familia noble y rica (“Yo, señor mío, heredé a la edad de veinticuatro años por muerte de mis padres unos mayorazgos que, según dice mi contador, rendirán al año no sé que tantos miles de ducados”),

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egoísta y pagado de su posición, su vida transcurre entre la disipación y el ocio, en las antípodas de la de un antepasado suyo que se distinguió por su patriotismo, generosidad y apoyo a la cultura. Su educación es más que deficiente, pues aunque sus padres le pusieron un ayo que trató de inculcarle el sentido del trabajo y la emulación de las virtudes de sus mayores, como lo que más les importaba era preservar su abolengo y creían que el estudio solo es ocupación de aquellos miserables que lo necesitan para su sustento, sus enseñanzas cayeron en saco roto; así que, además de inútil e insustancial, es un ignorante que desconoce hasta las cosas más elementales (v. gr. confunde al historiador Mariana con una mujer) y su biblioteca se reduce a una colección de tonadillas, comedias de Valladares y Moncín y el “agregado de cuantas jácaras han salido a luz en Madrid de diez años a esta parte” (CC 25), es decir, la literatura popular al uso. Tampoco su aspecto físico le hace mucho favor. A tenor de las señas con las que lo identifica un hombre con el que se encuentra una tarde de toros, tiene “nariz larga, ojos chicos y vivos, maltratado el semblante de las viruelas, rizos flotantes, cargado de espaldas, estatura mediana, de aspecto melancólico, y en el andar aire de esportillero hecho y derecho” (nº 10, 109). Salta a la vista que ningún lector podría tomar en serio semejante estampa para un periodista que sale a la palestra en apoyo del Censor. Sabe que no es más que un juego irónico para descalificar justamente todo lo que ese ridículo Harnero encarna. Pero hay otro Harnero, como hemos visto, el Harnero ilustrado y crítico, que observa con atención, piensa con sensatez, combate con energía, se implica en el progreso de la cultura y mejora de la sociedad, y encarna, en fin, los rasgos del protagonista típico del género espectatorial. Pero ese, sin embargo, no contará con ningún autorretrato específico. Serán sus actitudes y comportamientos, y de cuando en cuando sus palabras, los que permitan adivinarlo. Tal ocurre, por ejemplo, con la referencia que hace a su genio censor al anunciar al “maestro” la dura crítica que va a hacer de ciertos abusos religiosos: [...] no se admire vm. de que yo vuelva a la carga y me obstine en andar visitando rincones y escudriñando sitios oscuros para hallar tropezaderos a mi delicadeza importuna. Ese es mi destino, se ha de cumplir, no hay remedio. Yo hago todos los esfuerzos posibles por no meterme en censurar especies que me chocan, y mientras más me esfuerzo, menos esperanzas veo de poderlo conseguir; sí señor, menos esperanzas, pues lo que he sacado de mi último propósito ha sido el no contentarme con censurar lo que está a la vista, sino también (¡mire qué perversa inclinación la mía!) lo que se practica a puerta cerrada y a oscuras, que es más todavía. Verdad es que a este mi destino se añade algo en mi entender de buena voluntad […] (nº 42, 280).

En cualquier caso, y más allá de esa personalidad bifronte y contradictoria, lo que ambas expresan es que es que se trata de un hombre sociable, que acude a

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diversas tertulias o recibe visitas en su casa, que frecuenta el teatro, va a los toros (espectáculo que el Harnero ilustrado abomina por su barbarie), concurre a los paseos y a los cafés y observa lo que se dice en ellos (“Tengo dicho muchas veces en cafés, Prado y Puerta del Sol, sitios que frecuentísimamente adorno, y donde me hallará su merced infaliblemente a todas horas”, nº 1, 59); aunque también le gusta hacer paseos en solitario por los alrededores de la ciudad. Y son esos escenarios, también habituales en sus predecesores, en donde Harnero sitúa, unas veces en broma y otras en serio, las anécdotas y sucesos que le pasan, o los diálogos que mantiene con diversas personas, que son otras tantas escenificaciones de las ideas que Rubín se propone desarrollar. Tal sucede con lo que oyó en una conversación de café sobre las causas del corto número de matrimonios que se efectúan en España y que luego comentó con un amigo que se encontró en la calle (nº 4); con lo que respondió en una tertulia a un caballero, “a quien todos escuchaban y todos daban la razón”, que ridiculizaba la barbarie y salvajismo de los indios americanos para demostrarle con ejemplos palpables lo injusto de semejante apreciación e incluso su superioridad en muchos aspectos respecto de los europeos (nº 11), situándose así en la línea de reflexión iniciada por The Spectator sobre la percepción europea del continente americano y el cuestionamiento de la cultura occidental, según ha mostrado Klaus-D. Ertler en un reciente trabajo sobre el tema (2017); con la dama, “doña Eusebia”, que fue a visitar la víspera de la Asunción para felicitarle por su cumpleaños y vio cómo se excusaba de cumplir con el ayuno preceptivo por seguir el criterio de un hermano suyo, un clérigo formado en la lección de sumas de moral laxistas y contraproducentes (nº 8); con un extranjero con el que habla al poco de haberse convertido al catolicismo y le explica lo incomprensibles que resultan a los protestantes ciertas prácticas religiosas introducidas caprichosamente por los católicos, y cuánto estorban a su conversión, lo que le dará pie a extenderse sobre lo absurdo y perjudicial de la flagelación voluntaria (nº 42), o con la respuesta que una tarde de paseo dio a un teólogo supuestamente experto en materia de moral haciéndole ver que, frente a lo que él defendía, el contrabando debe ser sancionado moralmente como forma culpable de defraudar a la República. Y en una tertulia es también en donde en cierta ocasión recoge la opinión de sus lectores sobre un discurso de crítica social que acaba de escribir, las peticiones que le hacen para que recorte esto y aquello y así no verse retratados, y su decisión final de destruirlo (nº 45). En un terreno más centrado en su vida personal se sitúan los relatos de las cartas 37, 47 y 48  —continuación una de la otra— y 49. En la primera narra que un abogado desaprensivo lo convenció para que reclamara sus derechos de mayorazgo y cómo después de un largo pleito, que finalmente perdió, se vio

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obligado a pagar la cuantiosa suma de las costas; una historia que relata con gran profusión de detalles, sin duda para fustigar las tretas y marrullerías de los letrados para ganar dinero y que, al concretarla en su caso personal, resulta mucho más efectiva. En las dos siguientes cuenta que una noche que, para “divertir su melancolía”, fue según su costumbre a visitar la casa de una dama cultivada e inteligente, madre de cuatro muchachas de costumbres irreprochables, se encontró con su sorprendente y desagradable anuncio de que a partir de entonces debía recortar sus visitas porque su confesor había dictaminado que sus hijas no debían relacionarse con hombres por ser moralmente peligroso; cómo su marido se opuso rotundamente a ello diciendo con buen criterio que “cuando los confesores mandan simplezas y se meten en lo que no es de su inspección, es no solo lícito sino preciso el mandar lo contrario” (CC 313), y cómo, a instancias de la escrupulosa señora, que quería saber a qué atenerse, le hizo ver lo lícito y positivo de esas relaciones en una sociedad moderna. Obviamente, también en este caso la anécdota le permite explayarse sobre el tema y mostrar su enérgico rechazo a la abusiva injerencia de los confesores en asuntos familiares. La carta 49 va mucho más allá, pues en ella narra Ramón Harnero su frustrado matrimonio con una joven, hija de una familia de mercaderes, por la rotunda oposición de su padre, “D. Críspulo Harnero”, justamente por considerar que esa condición plebeya iba a “ensuciar”, son sus palabras, “la ilustricidad” de sus progenitores” (nº 49, 325). Naturalmente, se trata de un relato en clave irónica para descalificar la hipocresía e insensatez de los pujos nobiliarios, según se muestra en los sucesivos momentos de la secuencia narrativa:  en el modo en que participa sus pretensiones al Censor, en la carta disuasoria de D. Críspulo, la ruptura del compromiso, la conversación que mantuvo con el padre de la muchacha después de los dos meses convenidos para llevar a cabo las averiguaciones genealógicas de su abolengo, nada respetables, y en las doloridas palabras con las que al final Harnero reconoce su profundo error: Desengañado yo con semejantes verdades, le supliqué me perdonase y perdonase a mi padre el poco favor que habíamos hecho a su sangre; despedime de él y de la señorita, y salí de la casa hecho cargo de que es gran locura despreciar a nadie, y mucho mayor querer averiguar hasta los más remotos siglos sus ascendientes, por ser difícil dejar de hallar entre las cenizas de ellos mucha inmundicia capaz de ocasionar un accidente mefítico al interesado; siendo por lo tanto muy conveniente dejarlas cubiertas con el oscuro y tupido velo del tiempo, y muy perjudicial pretender correrle […] (CC 327).

También son personales, pero de otra naturaleza, dos cartas, igualmente irónicas, que el Corresponsal traslada al Censor, una, que envuelve de nuevo una fuerte

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crítica a la nobleza ociosa y frívola, es la trascripción de la que ha dirigido a un primo suyo afeándole su conducta, pues en vez de vivir como un noble orgulloso de su cuna, ocioso, derrochador y despreocupado de contribuir al bien público, se conduce como un ciudadano ejemplar (no dispendia sus bienes con actrices, lee libros provechosos, no busca un matrimonio de conveniencia, va a emprender un viaje para aprender…) e instándole a que haga una vida más acorde con su alcurnia (nº 15); y otra, dirigida contra la relajación que se vive en los conventos de religiosas, es la que le ha contestado una monja con la que por fin ha logrado cartearse, “sor Plácida de San Zoilo”, contándole detalles muy expresivos de su existencia conventual: su afán por recibir visitas, las fiestas y saraos que celebran, la relación que mantiene con su “suave” y “cariñoso” confesor, sus artimañas para evadirse del coro (nº 39). Por último, hay que señalar también otros tres números particularmente interesantes por su ficcionalidad y su estrecha relación con dos mecanismos expresivos típicos de los espectadores. Me refiero a las cartas 17, 20 y 21, también complementarias. En la primera, destinada a denunciar la extendida creencia de la falta de racionalidad del pueblo bajo (labradores, artesanos, criados…) y reivindicar su capacidad intelectual, introduce el recurso de la disección anatómica para reconocer el interior de las personas. Cuenta que, estando escribiendo un discurso defendiendo esa descabellada idea para mandarlo al Censor, llegó un amigo que, tras habérselo leído, le hizo ver justamente lo contrario, que la gente humilde es bastante más racional y sensata de lo que se cree. En prueba de ello, le dice “haber leído en no sé qué papel” que un habilidoso anatómico hizo la disección de la cabeza de un labrador recientemente fallecido y la de un caballero muy rico y reconocido socialmente, y que mientras que en la del primero había hallado un orden y unas ideas muy claras y organizadas, en la del segundo no había más que vaciedad y confusión: Respecto que vmd. quiere pruebas, me dijo, voy a dárselas, y tan convincentes que solo una cabeza de cal y canto dejará de rendirse a ellas. Tengo presente haber leído en no sé qué papel que a un habilísimo anatómico se le puso en la cabeza disecar la de un pobre labrador recién muerto; y halló en ella muy bien dispuestos y en buen estado los sesos, las fibras, los nervios y, en fin, todos los instrumentos orgánicos. Continuó sus indagaciones hasta llegar al sitio del alma, esto es, a la glándula pineal: aquí, dicen, se pintan las ideas, como las figuras se representan sobre un lienzo. ¿Y qué le parece a vmd. vio nuestro anatómico a favor de un famoso microscopio de que se valió para el asunto? Parece increíble lo que vio; pero no hay que dudarlo. Vio muchas ideas unidas, reflexivas y consiguientes; sulcos [surcos] excelentemente trabajados y dentro de ellos trigo arrojado con mucho orden, un granero muy bien colocado, y varias observaciones bien hechas sobre todas las estaciones del año. Pero la admiración de vmd. será mayor cuando sepa que dicho anatómico quiso hacer la misma observación con otra cabeza.

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Era esta de un caballero rico que había muerto sin sacramentos, porque los médicos no tuvieron por conveniente asustarle, y que no dejó de hacer en el mundo un brillantísimo papel. ¿Qué se figura vmd. halló en ella nuestro curioso? Pues nada más descubrió que percepciones vagas, pretensiones sin mérito, una grande altanería mezclada con una grandísima bajeza, sueños de amistad y de amor, con una porción mediana de locura genealógica (nº 17, 151).

Como es fácil advertir, la anécdota remite a los dos actos de disección que se hallan en los números 275 y 281 del Spectator (núms. 39 y 42 del tomo III de la traducción francesa, Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne) que luego reaparecerán, modificados, en el nº 54 del Censor y en la lección 36 de El Filósofo a la Moda (1788), que es la versión española más directa del prototipo inglés a través de una versión italiana (Ertler 2012). Las otras dos, encuadradas en su caso por el típico recurso del texto encontrado, le sirven para forjar un extenso relato utópico en el que Rubín de Celis vuelca muchas de sus concepciones de ilustrado acerca de la legislación, el sistema económico, la educación y la organización social, en la línea de la sociedad modélica que había dibujado El Censor en su viaje al país de los Ayparchontes (núms. 71 y 75). Un día que, según su costumbre, salió a pasear solo por los extramuros de Madrid “meditando sobre las diversas locuras que acometen a los hombres”, halló caído en el suelo un papel que resultó ser la carta de un viajero a un amigo relatándole su arribada a una isla lejana tras sufrir su barco una borrascosa tempestad, el fraternal recibimiento de los nativos, y la admirable organización social de su existencia, según pudo conocer durante los dos meses que duraron los trabajos de reparación del barco. Aunque la carta no indica fecha ni lugar, por la narración de los hechos deduce que había sido escrita fuera de Europa. Pensando que por lo curioso de su contenido interesaría al Censor, se la remite traducida del “idioma europeo” en el que está redactada — no indica cuál—, “suplicándole que el secreto se quede por ahora entre los dos, pues ignoro si convendrá propagar las especies que contiene” (nº 21, 166)6. De todos modos, pese a que el texto es de gran riqueza ideológica y pone sobre el tapete muchas de las cuestiones más debatidas del momento, tiene poco de novelesco, pues el autor se centra fundamentalmente en describir el funcionamiento de la vida en la isla, deja para mejor ocasión el relato de las 6 Sobre este interesante texto llamó la atención Pedro Álvarez de Miranda en su estudio sobre las utopías españolas (1981). Véase también Urzainqui/Ruiz de la Peña 1983, 11–117. Con el título de “La Isla”, lo ha reeditado María Dolores Gimeno junto con el viaje de los Ayparchontes y otro de análogo carácter aparecido en el Correo de Madrid (Gimeno 2014). Analiza también alguna de sus ideas en su estudio de 2016.

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incomodidades y aventuras que le acaecieron durante el viaje, no introduce retratos ni diálogos (salvo uno brevísimo, con la sabia respuesta que dio el presidente del primer tribunal a un “malvado insulano” que propuso confiscar los bienes de un pobre desgraciado que había sido condenado a muerte), y tampoco entra en detalles descriptivos sobre el lugar y el aspecto de las gentes que los acogen. Le basta con decir que, tras saltar a tierra y besar “a esta común madre de los hombres”, advirtieron los viajeros que “estaba habitada por unos que en estatura y color apenas se diferenciaban de nosotros”, es decir, eran muy parecidos a los europeos, y consiguientemente a los españoles. Así, el contraste entre las costumbres de unos y otros puede percibirse mucho mejor que si hubiera pintado un mundo distante y exótico. Porque en eso básicamente consiste el relato:  en ir viendo lo que practican los isleños relacionándolo con lo que ocurre en Europa; las múltiples mejoras que han introducido (en cuestiones de educación, comercio, higiene, medicina, atención de enfermos y menesterosos, alimentación, organización de la justicia y práctica jurídica, régimen carcelario, medios de información, planteamientos bélicos…), y la forma en que han superado las deficiencias, errores y desórdenes de otro tiempo gracias a los buenos oficios de su “sabio” gobierno y a una nueva legislación presidida por la razón, el humanitarismo y el afán modernizador. Explica así, por ejemplo, cómo se ha llegado a abolir enteramente la tortura: Los jueces, para que el reo confesase el delito que había cometido o que se le imputaba, usaban del cruel, inhumano, bárbaro y falible medio de la tortura; sin que advirtiesen que la ley no debe atormentar antes del juicio; que el tormento es cierto, y el crimen puede no serlo; que la humanidad y la naturaleza siempre han desaprobado semejante práctica, y que es mejor queden impunes mil delitos que castigar y deshonrar a un inocente. Por lo que, convencidos los que formaron el Código moderno de la sinrazón y barbarie de este procedimiento, y habiendo acaecido que un delincuente vigoroso salvó su vida negando, y que un ciudadano de débil complexión confesó en el potro un delito que no había cometido por no poder sufrir los dolores del tormento, propusieron que este se aboliese enteramente. Así se decidió en asamblea general; y hoy algunos jueces antiguos se avergüenzan haber impuesto a los hombres, a sus hermanos, a sus semejantes, un castigo apenas disimulado en los siglos doce o trece (nº 20, 169–170).

Pero la constatación de este y otros muchos logros no obsta para que también señale, para matizar lo que sería la imagen de un mundo ideal y hacer más creíble lo que cuenta, que sigue habiendo todavía viejos hábitos que no se han podido desterrar. Con todo, a ningún lector avisado se le podría escapar que esta y las demás historias y anécdotas que cuenta Harnero eran pura invención, por mucha impresión de verdad que quisiera darles.

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Relatos ajenos Y lo mismo cabe decir del otro grupo, el de los relatos narrados por los demás personajes que escriben al Corresponsal y hallan cabida en sus páginas. Como venía siendo habitual en los espectadores, todos son, o parecen ser, apócrifos, según dejan entender la índole excepcional o simbólica de sus nombres y lo intencionado de su contenido; y todos tienen también un acusado sesgo personal, pues fundamentalmente son confesiones, desahogos y peticiones de consejo que siempre encierran una lección. Cinco de ellos tienen como protagonistas personajes francamente ridículos y que con más o menos matices venían ya menudeando en los espectadores anteriores. “Pedro Mártir”, que cuenta su historia con detalles muy expresivos para que “su lectura conduzca muy mucho para escarmiento de otros”, es un frustrado pretendiente de familia hidalga que, para salir de pobre, se ha casado con una mujer de baja extracción social, rica, fea y gruñona que lo esclaviza y le hace la vida imposible (nº 3); “Leocadia Matute”, que pide consejo al Corresponsal para salir de su miserable estado de soltería, es una mujer de mundo, frívola y alocada que envidia la suerte de una amiga modesta y hogareña que acaba de contraer matrimonio con un hombre rico, juicioso y buen cristiano con el que lleva una pacífica vida de felicidad conyugal (nº 6); “Simplicio Manso”, un sujeto igualmente insustancial le hace partícipe de su satisfacción por el cambio que se ha producido en su mujer, “doña Prudencia Sola”, gracias a ciertas amistades, pues de ser una ejemplar ama de casa y una madre atenta a la educación de los hijos —lo que le hacía sentirse avergonzado en sociedad, aun cuando ello le hiciera muy feliz— ha pasado a ser tan marcial y petimetra como las mujeres modernas (nº 7), y “Alberto Naranjo y Peralta”, es el mayorazgo de una noble y rica familia madrileña, inculto, engreído, amante del juego y la diversión —un petimetre a ultranza—, que, tras participarle su deseo de casarse con una mujer acomodada a su modo de pensar e inclinaciones, “esto es, educada galanamente”, pensando que la mencionada “Leocadia Matute” podría convenirle, le envía una extensa noticia de su persona y circunstancias “para que Vmd. se sirva trasladar este retrato a los delicados ojos de madama y tratar nuestro conyugio, que apetezco con las mayores veras” (nº 12). Al lado de estas figuras fácilmente reconocibles como paradigmas de egoísmo, simpleza y frivolidad, se hallan dos mujeres con historias mucho más tristes y patéticas; historias de frustración y desajustes vitales por culpa de la imposición familiar en la elección de esposo, que es uno de los asuntos más recurrentes, como es sabido, en la tradición de los espectadores.

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Una es “María de los Dolores”, una muchacha joven, bella y bien educada que escribe al Corresponsal para que se compadezca de su desgracia. Hace tiempo  —le cuenta— que un joven digno de todo su amor le declaró con la mayor modestia el suyo. Decidida a casarse con él, se lo comunicó a un tío suyo con el que vivía, pero él se negó rotundamente porque tenía pensado casarla con el hijo de una viuda rica, un hombre despreciable por el que no sentía sino repulsión. Al no aceptar esos planes, su tío cambió enteramente de actitud, y lo que había sido afecto y protección se convirtió en desprecio y malos tratos, hasta el punto de que tres años después y próximo a la muerte, la desheredó, legó todos sus bienes para misas y obras pías, y aun le impidió que lo atendiera en sus últimos momentos. Sin un céntimo para vivir ni techo donde cobijarse se ha visto obligada al fin a acogerse a la generosidad, precisamente, de un amigo del propio Harnero (nº 9). Su sentido queda claramente de manifiesto en el texto de remisión que dirige al Censor: Señor Censor: una señorita joven, bien educada, y en cuanto a su belleza favorecida a manos llenas de la fortuna, me ha escrito la siguiente carta, léala vmd., escriba contra el abuso de semejantes violencias, compadézcala, y mándeme (nº 9, 102).

La otra, de perfil mucho más original, es una monja septuagenaria, “María Josefa de las Angustias”, que también le escribe para desahogarse y hacer que su dolorida confesión sirva para evitar que otros padres abusen de sus prerrogativas y fuercen a sus hijas a ingresar sin vocación en una orden religiosa. Atraída desde muy joven por el amor, a los diecisiete años se enamoró perdidamente de un primo suyo con el que anhelaba, de común acuerdo, casarse. Pero sus padres, insensibles a los gritos de la razón, deshicieron el proyecto y forzaron “impía y violentamente nuestro destino”. Casaron a su primo con su hermana mayor y a ella, tras una breve temporada en el campo, la destinaron a la vida religiosa en un convento del que era superiora una tía suya. Pero el dolor por la separación y la boda de su primo la acompañaron toda la vida. Aunque los primeros tiempos fueron de oración, mortificación y serena obediencia a la regla conventual, las frecuentes visitas de los parientes y la situación privilegiada que le proporcionaba el cargo de su tía fueron excitando en ella el recuerdo del mundo que había dejado. Pasado un tiempo, su primo vino con su familia a vivir a la ciudad, y fue a visitarla; y con la visita, rebrotó el amor. A partir de entonces le empezaron a fastidiar los ejercicios religiosos y entró en un prolongado estado de indolencia espiritual. Envidiaba el matrimonio y solo deseaba estar con su primo. Tiempo después, cuando él murió, arrepentido, también ella empezó a sentir el horror de sus pecados. Por eso ahora, cuando ya no hay solución para su vida desencantada, escribe al Corresponsal para que

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alerte a los padres y no violenten la voluntad de sus hijos. Y termina con estas conmovedoras palabras: Ojalá que esta confesión pública de mis maldades y el débil sonido de mi voz penetre sus corazones y los haga bien mirados y prudentes en una materia en que se cometen tan grandes pecados de consecuencia (nº 13, 216).

Y quedan, por último, otros tres corresponsales de condición muy diferente a los anteriores que le trasladan casos y experiencias que van también en una dirección crítica bastante alejada de la de aquellos. Uno es un cura de Andalucía que, movido por la vehemente indignación que le merece la supuestamente piadosa costumbre de los exvotos, envía por su conducto una carta al Censor suplicándole que reflexione sobre el asunto y critique con dureza el fanatismo e ignorancia que encierra. En apoyo de ello, le cuenta en términos muy vivos y elocuentes la escandalosa manera en que oyó pregonarlos a una milagrera que llevaba “una gran cesta llena de piernecitas de cera, ojos, manos, brazos, y hasta los miembros más vergonzosos”, varios casos igualmente escandalosos que él ha presenciado con sus propios ojos, y el diálogo que mantuvieron sobre ellos —y un amigo le contó— un viajero ilustrado y católico sincero que argüía eran “un fanatismo digno de remediarse”, y un sacristán a la antigua que lo contradecía y hasta veía visos de heterodoxia en tal aserto: “Yo no entiendo de fatenismos [sic], yo creo en Dios a puño cerrado, y me parece que vmd. huele a chamusquina”. Y no se atrevió a referirle lo que oyó a unos libertinos porque “fácil le será a vm. pensar lo que dirían y cómo hablarían de nuestra insensatez” (nº 22, 179). Otro, que le escribe también para que traslade su carta al Censor, es un canónigo (“el Doctor D. A. B.”, tal vez un personaje real) que, con una larga experiencia de oposiciones, pone a la vista un puñado de injusticias y arbitrariedades en la concesión de grados universitarios de las que ha sido testigo (nº 25). Y el tercero, que sirve también para abundar en su crítica a la religiosidad popular, ofrece la singularidad de ser un inglés, admirador del Corresponsal, que le ha escrito desde Londres —donde, según dice con socarrona satisfacción, también se lee su periódico— para participarle, en términos inequívocamente irónicos, que ha decidido convertirse al catolicismo gracias “a ciertas prácticas devotas y racionales” que ha visto en España. Unas prácticas que tal como las describe son otras tantas formas de superstición y degradación de la verdadera piedad: relatos de milagros absurdos (“una cuenta de un rosario que perdió cierto devoto de San Antonio de Padua, la traía entre sus tenazas una hormiga cuando clamaba a este santo para que se la deparase” […]), creencia en el poder omnímodo de las indulgencias, imágenes religiosas adornadas con aderezos, joyas y vestidos absolutamente impropios y fuera de lugar… (nº 41, 277). Indudablemente, igual

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que con el citado extranjero con el que conversaba en Madrid, Rubín se sirve de la mirada distanciada del otro, del de fuera de España, para dar mayor fuerza a sus incriminaciones; un recurso muy del gusto de la época, con manifestaciones tan brillantes como las Lettres persanes o las Cartas marruecas, y que desde el prototipo inglés venía siendo también muy utilizado en la tradición espectatorial (Ertler 2017). En fin, ya se ve por lo que hemos ido viendo que lo que encontramos en la original y aparentemente contradictoria construcción periodística de Rubín de Celis es un conjunto de historias y anécdotas verosímiles al servicio del pensamiento y la crítica social; no tanto cuentos en el sentido tradicional de historietas o narraciones breves de carácter fabuloso, cuanto relatos de experiencias, usos sociales y puntos de vista de la España contemporánea forjados, en un ingenioso formato epistolar, para plasmar con vivos y elocuentes ejemplos sus denuncias y su ilustrado sistema de valores. Y ello, sin mayores derroches imaginativos ni demasiadas concreciones descriptivas, pues lo que ante todo le interesa es que esos relatos resulten verosímiles y propicien la expresión de sus ideas. Evidentemente, ni los propósitos ni la opción por este tipo de narraciones son nuevos. Estaban en el código genético de la tradición espectatorial, en la que inequívocamente se inscribe, pese a que por no hacer ninguna referencia directa no podamos saber si Rubín leyó el Spectator o alguna de sus traducciones o adaptaciones francesas, lo que no sería de extrañar, dado que sabía francés y fue traductor de varias obras. Lo reconocemos por su directa conexión con las ideas y estrategias discursivas del Censor, entre las que se cuenta justamente un abundante empleo de narraciones de este tipo; por sus admirativas alusiones a El Pensador como ascendiente suyo (Guinard 1973, 326), pródigo también en estrategias ficcionales (Ertler 2005; 2014), y desde luego, por la poética misma que subyace en sus páginas, común a la de los demás espectadores (Urzainqui 2009). Pero está claro también que la suya es una fórmula original de espectador; una personal reinvención del género en la que tradición y novedad conviven armoniosa y brillantemente.

Bibliografía Álvarez de Miranda, Pedro: “Sobre utopías y viajes imaginarios en el siglo xviii español”. In: Homenaje a Gonzalo Torrente Ballester, Salamanca: Caja de Ahorros 1981, 351–382. El Amigo y Corresponsal del Pensador. Papel periódico que saldrá cada quince días en el viernes de la semana. Por D. Antonio Mauricio Garrido. Madrid: Imprenta de Francisco Xavier García 1763.

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El Corresponsal del Censor. [Manuel Rubín de Celis]. Madrid: Imprenta Real, s.a. [1786–1788]. Ertler, Klaus: “El siglo de las Luces y sus estrategias de ficcionalización en el periodismo moralista: El Pensador de Clavijo y Fajardo”. In: Christian von Tschilschke/Andreas Gelz (ed.): Literatura – Cultura – Media – Lengua. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang 2005, 189–200. Ertler, Klaus: “Le réseau européen des ‘spectateurs’: El Filósofo a la moda”. In: Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Alexis Lévrier/Michaela Fischer (éds.): Regards sur les spectateurs. Periodical Essay – Feuilles volantes – Moralische Wochenschriften – Foglimoralistici – Prensa moral. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang 2012, 301–322. Ertler, Klaus/Lévrier, Alexis: “Préface”. In: Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Alexis Lévrier/Michaela Fischer (éds.): Regards sur les spectateurs. Periodical Essay – Feuilles volantes – Moralische Wochenschriften – Foglimoralistici – Prensa moral. Peter Lang: Frankfurt am Main 2012, 9–21. Ertler, Klaus: “Le système narratif des spectateurs et leur réception en Espagne: quelques vecteurs discursifs dans le Pensador de José Clavijo y Fajardo”. El Argonauta español 11(2014), Livraison janvier: Pratiques journalistiques aux premiers temps de la presse espagnole (XVIIIe– début du XIXe siècles) [online], 11|2014, mis en ligne le 15 février 2014. URL: ; DOI: . Ertler, Klaus/Hobisch, Elisabeth: Die Spectators in Spanien. Die kleinen Schriften der 1760er Jahre. El Murmurador imparcial, El Amigo y Corresponsal del Pensador, El Escritor sin Título, El Belianís literario. Peter Lang: Frankfurt am Main 2014. Ertler, Klaus: “La ficcionalización de las voces americanas en el género periodístico de los espectadores españoles”. El Argonauta español [on line], 14|2017, mis en ligne le 30 mai 2017. URL: ; DOI: . Gimeno, María Dolores: Tres utopías ilustradas: Viaje al país de los Ayparchontes, La Isla y La Utopía de Zenit. Madrid: Clásicos Hispánicos 2014. Gimeno, María Dolores: “Sobre las virtudes y los vicios en las utopías ilustradas en España: el ‘hombre de bien’”, Dieciocho, 39.2 (Fall 2016), 255–274. Guinard, Paul-J.: La presse espagnole de 1731 à 1791. Formation et signification d’un genre. Paris: Centre de Recherches Hispaniques 1973. Hobisch Elisabeth: La forma epistolar en los espectadores españoles. Características y tipología de las cartas. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang 2017.

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Hodab, Renate: “Análisis de El Corresponsal del Censor”. In: Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Renate Hodab/Inmaculada Urzainqui (eds.): Manuel Rubín de Celis: El Corresponsal del Censor Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang 2009, 45–57. Hodab, Renate/Ertler, Klaus-Dieter: Die spanische Presse der Aufklärung: ‘El Corresponsal del Censor’. Wien/Münster: LIT 2008. Rubín de Celis, Manuel: El Corresponsal del Censor. Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Renate Hodab/Inmaculada Urzainqui (eds.): Iberoamericana/Vervuert: Madrid/ Frankfurt am Main 2009. Sánchez-Blanco, Francisco: El Censor. Un periódico contra el Antiguo Régimen. Sevilla: Alfar 2016. Urzainqui, Inmaculada/Álvaro Ruiz de la Peña: Periodismo e Ilustración en Manuel Rubín de Celis. Oviedo: Cátedra Feijoo/Consejería de Cultura del Principado de Asturias 1983. Urzainqui, Inmaculada/Álvaro Ruiz de la Peña: “Autocreación y formas autobiográficas en la prensa crítica del siglo xviii”. Anales de Literatura Española 11 (1995), 193–226. Urzainqui, Inmaculada/Álvaro Ruiz de la Peña: “Manuel Rubín de Celis”. In: Klaus-Dieter Ertler/Renate Hodab/Inmaculada Urzainqui (eds.): Manuel Rubín de Celis. El Corresponsal del Censor. IberoamericanaVervuert: Madrid/Frankfurt am Main 2009, 25–43. Urzainqui, Inmaculada/Álvaro Ruiz de la Peña: “Periodista-espectador en la España de las Luces. La conciencia de un género nuevo de escritura periodística”. In: El Argonauta español 6 (juin 2009)[on line] 6|2009, mis en ligne le 15 juin 2009. URL: ; DOI: . Urzainqui, Inmaculada/Álvaro Ruiz de la Peña: “Diálogo entre periodistas (1737–1770)”. In José María Maestre Maestre/Manuel Antonio Díaz Gito/Alberto Romero Ferrer (eds.): Francisco Mariano Nipho. El nacimiento de la prensa y de la crítica literaria periodística en la España del siglo xviii. Alcañiz/Madrid: C.S.I.C./Instituto de Estudios Humanísticos 2015, 375–418. Uzcanga Meinecke, Francisco: Sátira en la Ilustración española. Análisis de la publicación periódica “El Censor” (1781–1787). Vervuert: Frankfurt am Main 2004.

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Republicanismo y liberalismo en el periódico La Pensadora Gaditana Introducción En un trabajo reciente titulado Cádiz y las fábulas de la historiografía occidental, Gabriel Paquette (2014) explica los motivos por los que se hace precisa una vuelta a Cádiz, a las investigaciones sobre Cádiz, para comprender adecuadamente el período 1750–1850; y con él, el liberalismo español, la Constitución de 1812 y las posteriores independencias de los países americanos del área de influencia española. Pone de manifiesto la necesidad de superar los prejuicios e invenciones (cuentos, dice él) de la historia política occidental más canónica, realizada desde posiciones geoestratégicas externas a este escenario y aferrada, salvo honrosas excepciones, a una posición ideológica que se empeña en ver a la España de ese período como un país católico y reaccionario del sur, dependiente, en el terreno intelectual, de los desarrollos del pensamiento político del centro y norte de Europa, y de Estados Unidos. Paquette señala varios campos para el desarrollo de nuevas investigaciones, uno de los cuales reclama la incorporación del pensamiento político gaditano — que tuvo consecuencias decisivas en el desarrollo de la democracia en España y toda la América Latina— a la narración histórica del liberalismo universal. Dicho con sus propias palabras: Muchos otros ejemplos pueden ser citados, pero todos nos llevarían a la misma conclusión: un relato adecuado del desarrollo histórico del liberalismo no puede olvidar las contribuciones del mundo iberoatlántico. Cádiz, concebido de esta manera como una rica, independiente y nunca incorporada veta de historia política intelectual, representa un evidente desafío a varias de las narrativas imperantes en la historiografía de los Estados Unidos y de Europa Occidental. Revisar estas narrativas con el ingrediente gaditano serviría para revelar su verdadero estatus y desenmascararlas como fábulas (Paquette 2014, 56–57).

El objetivo de este trabajo es realizar una contribución a este cometido, a propósito de la llamada de atención sobre el republicanismo y el liberalismo del periódico La Pensadora Gaditana (Cádiz, 1763–1764)1. 1 Los números del periódico se volvieron a publicar en 1786, de nuevo en Cádiz, ya como libro. Cito aquí por esta edición, indicando número de tomo y página.

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El republicanismo mercantil en el siglo xviii En la Teoría y en la Filosofía Políticas, el término republicanismo hace referencia a dos corrientes distintas, aunque relacionadas. En primer lugar, alude a una tradición política cuyos hitos históricos más importantes fueron el pensamiento político de la polis griega y de la república romana; el discurso a favor del vivere civile de las ciudades libres italianas durante el Renacimiento, en su lucha contra el principado; y los ideales ciudadanos inherentes a las revoluciones americanas y francesa. Los autores de referencia de esta corriente son, entre otros:  Aristóteles y Cicerón, en el mundo antiguo; y ya entre los modernos, “[...] Maquiavelo y sus predecesores italianos del siglo xv; los republicanos ingleses Milton, Harrington, Sidney, y otros; Montesquieu y Blackstone; los escritores británicos del siglo xviii; y muchos americanos de la etapa fundacional tal como Jefferson y Madison” (Lovett 2014, 1). Aunque las opiniones de los investigadores no son completamente unánimes al respecto, pues algunos cuestionan, por ejemplo, el encuadre de Montesquieu y Jefferson en esta corriente. Es a este republicanismo, también llamado “republicanismo clásico”, no necesariamente opuesto durante el siglo xviii a la tradición liberal, al que voy a hacer referencia en este escrito; y no utilizaré la palabra en su segundo sentido (Lovett 2014), alusivo a la corriente contemporánea conocida como “neorepublicanismo”, que, reelaborando la tradición clásica, considera el valor esencial del republicanismo, la defensa de la libertad entendida como independencia de cualquier forma arbitraria de poder y toma, partiendo de ello, posiciones políticas contrarias a las de la corriente liberal. Los rasgos comunes más generales del republicanismo clásico, desarrollado ya como republicanismo moderno durante los siglos xvi, xvii y xviii (y evidentes, como argumentaremos, en La Pensadora Gaditana), son los siguientes:  la llamada de atención sobre la responsabilidad en relación a lo público de cada miembro de la comunidad; la importancia que otorga al entramado cívico y en consecuencia, a la sociabilidad; el convencimiento de que la ciudad constituye el espacio esencial de atención en lo relativo a este entramado; el valor central que otorga a la virtud ciudadana y a la denuncia de la corrupción; el recurso, en su argumentario, a la historia política de Grecia y Roma y a los escritores de la tradición clásica del mundo antiguo; y finalmente, la importancia que da a la retórica, la ejecución discursiva y el diálogo, debido a su apuesta por un convencimiento basado en razones. Esta tradición republicana asigna a lo político un carácter constitutivo, no meramente instrumental, y concibe la moral y la política en estrecha

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interconexión. Pues al considerar a esta última un elemento configurador básico del ser humano  —que se humaniza o deshumaniza según florezca o se degrade el cuerpo político— promueve, en consecuencia, la participación y la responsabilidad moral públicas, como garantía, a su vez, de la salud y el florecimiento de la República. La dimensión constitutiva de lo político es en ella, pues, la base de todo lo demás (Cruz Prados 2003, 87–88). Ahora bien, en la segunda mitad del siglo xviii, el republicanismo —que en este momento histórico sigue siendo todavía independiente de la forma organizativa del Estado, monarquía o república— se vuelve más complejo en Europa, y aparece vinculado a los discursos y reflexiones de la incipiente economía política relativos a las causas de la grandeza y la decadencia de las naciones, y al papel cívico y político de la nueva burguesía comercial. Sigue presentando los mismos rasgos esenciales característicos de la corriente, ahora más elaborados; pero al convencimiento del republicanismo clásico de que la salud de la República depende muy especialmente de la moralidad de las redes familiares de patricios, va a añadir ahora la concreción de que son las familias de los comerciantes las que tienen que asumir ese protagonismo social, sustituyendo a la decadente e improductiva nobleza y a otros sectores vinculados al sistema de privilegios. Un ejemplo interesante de este republicanismo mercantil lo constituye el texto conocido por los investigadores como Beylage zu Dangeuil [sic]2, publicado en 1756 por Johann Georg Hamann, en unos años en los que este filósofo alemán estuvo vinculado a la casa comercial de la familia Berens, en el puerto de Riga. Apareció anexo a la traducción al alemán que realizó de una obra de Plummard de Dangeul relativa a la economía francesa y al comercio, en un libro que incluía otros materiales, por ejemplo, la traducción de un extenso extracto de una obra sobre España debida al economista Ulloa3. En este ensayo Hamann defendió un republicanismo de corte mercantil (Canterla 2016) que se considera un precedente de las posiciones de Adam Smith, y cuyas ideas centrales aparecen igualmente en La Pensadora Gaditana.

2 Hamann, como Herder, utiliza la forma “Dangeuil” y no “Dangeul” para referirse al apellido del economista francés. 3 El título completo del libro, con todo los materiales descritos, era Des Herrn von Dangueil Anmerkungen über die Vortheile und Nachtheile von Frankreich und Großbritannien in Ansehung des Handels und der übrigen Quellen von der Macht der Staaten. Mitau y Leipzig: Johann Friedrich Petersen 1756. Volvió a publicarse en 1757, impresa en Königsberg por Johann Friedrich Driest, siendo el editor Johann Christian Schuster, de Danzig y Leipzig.

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El filósofo alemán desarrolla en él las ideas características del republicanismo clásico, pero las va a reelaborar para señalar que el grupo social relevante para el progreso de la República es la burguesía mercantil. Así, afirma que en los pueblos de la antigüedad (esencialmente, en Grecia y Roma) la comunidad civil y la política se encontraban estrechamente relacionadas, y por eso la nación gozaba de energía y vitalidad; que la historia humana ha seguido el camino de la corrupción y la degradación, y en su presente, los grupos sociales que deberían ser, por su moralidad y su afán de utilidad a la patria, la levadura de la comunidad, explotan al pueblo, utilizando lo público en su beneficio; finalmente, que considera necesario, para hacer florecer de nuevo a la República, regenerar moralmente el cuerpo político y la comunidad civil (Hamann 1952, 229–230). Establecidas esas líneas generales del republicanismo clásico, realiza el diagnóstico de la situación en Alemania4, que guarda una estrecha relación con la denunciada por Beatriz Cienfuegos en el Pensamiento VI de La Pensadora, como explicaremos más adelante. Llama la atención sobre la decadencia de la aristocracia, criticando su ociosidad, corrupción y falta de compromiso con el bien común. Pero considera además igualmente contrarios a la virtud cívica a todos los que la emulan, esos “despreciadores u odiadores del hombre”5 que ponen su beneficio por encima del bien común. No sólo los misántropos que se consideran, llenos de soberbia, superiores al resto de los miembros de la comunidad, incapacitados de cualquier forma de sociabilidad sincera que los vincule con sus semejantes; sino también aquellos que explotan económicamente en su beneficio a otros miembros de la ciudad, más pobres pero laboriosos (227–229). Frente a esta situación de decadencia, Hamann ve una ocasión de regeneración de la República en el comercio (231 y ss). En su opinión, el libre intercambio comercial podría reactivar el tejido social y dar vida a la comunidad civil en su conjunto; pero para que los comerciantes no cayesen de nuevo en el egoísmo de la vieja aristocracia, se hacía necesaria la recuperación de la virtud cívica, de la verdadera amistad y sociabilidad entre las personas, de forma que se diesen las condiciones para que los hombres del pueblo —especialmente los campesinos, artesanos y comerciantes, pero también los intelectuales— pudiesen ser útiles a la patria mediante su laboriosidad, construyendo un nuevo entramado social. El

4 Es la expresión que usa en sus escritos; Deutschland. Así, por ejemplo, en Hamann 2015, 24, línea 7. 5 Son personas afectadas por “eine Art Menschenhasses” (Hamann 1952, 228, línea 31).

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bien común sería en ese contexto el fin último de la comunidad, y los intereses individuales se subordinarían espontáneamente a él. El autor acaba concluyendo que el comercio es una oportunidad de nivelar a los diferentes grupos sociales y redistribuir la riqueza, dado que la libertad y la igualdad de oportunidades generarían una suerte de meritocracia. Pero identifica, además, a la burguesía comercial con el grupo social que mejor puede desempeñar el papel de los antiguos patricios y constituir, con su redes familiares, la trama sólida de la comunidad; convirtiéndose con ello en la clase abanderada del progreso y mejora de la patria (234 y ss.). Y lo hace con el interesante argumento —que volverá a aparecer en La Pensadora Gaditana— según el cual, puesto que su actividad se basa de un modo intrínseco en el crédito financiero y las inversiones de terceros, es el grupo social que lleva en su esencia misma la exigencia de la virtud, dado que su negocio depende de la confianza que inspire (239–240). Así, Hamann se opone explícitamente a la posible regeneración de la nobleza a través de su dedicación a la actividad comercial, como parecía proponer la obra de Gabriel François Coyer La Noblesse Commerçante, publicada en París ese mismo año6; pues en su opinión estaba incapacitada, por su decadencia, para hacerlo de un modo que no convirtiese la actividad, de nuevo, en un respaldo más a su egoísmo. Eran, pues, las familias de los comerciantes las que debían asumir todo el protagonismo de los cambios sociales y políticos:  estamos ya frente a un republicanismo mercantil.

La Pensadora Gaditana y el republicanismo mercantil del siglo xviii El texto de Hamman remitía a una corriente que en ese momento histórico atendía a las causas del declive de los países analizando su economía y su política, y que otorgaba un lugar destacado al comercio.

6 La obra se inicia con un grabado en el que un noble, frente a un barco se pregunta, mirando sus blasones y títulos apilados en el suelo: “¿De qué sirve este vano amasijo de una inútil gloria?” (1756, 2); y en la explicación interior de ese frontispicio (5–6) se explica que el noble rechaza esa inutilidad, decidiéndose por el comercio, para ser útil a la Patria. Había, pues, siguiendo las tesis de Coyer, que promover que los nobles se dedicasen a la actividad comercial. En España, la obra suscitó gran interés, siendo traducida al castellano en 1781, a instancias de la Sociedad de Amigos del País de Mallorca.

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En 1724 había visto la luz en Madrid Theórica y Práctica de Comercio y de Marina, del economista español Jerónimo Ustáriz, en la que este comparaba la economía española con la de otros países europeos, analizando sus ventajas y desventajas; en 1740, otro economista español, Bernardo de Ulloa publicaba igualmente en Madrid una nueva obra dedicada al análisis de las causas de la decadencia de la industria y el comercio españoles y a proponer remedios para su florecimiento: Restablecimiento de las Fábricas y el Comercio español. Errores que se padecen en las causales de su decadencia, cuáles son los legítimos obstáculos que le destruyen, y los medios eficaces de que florezca; en 1749, el economista británico Josiah Tucker analizaba los puntos fuertes y débiles de la economía inglesa en comparación con la francesa, con la finalidad de exponer los medios que podían contribuir al engrandecimiento de su nación, en otro libro: A Brief Essay on the Advantages and Disadvantages which respectively attend France and Great Britain, with regard to Trade. With some Proposals for removing the Principal Disadvantages of Great Britain; finalmente, en 1754, otro economista, esta vez francés, Plumard de Dangeul, publicaba en París y Leiden el estudio de las fortalezas y debilidades de Francia en comparación con Inglaterra, en relación al comercio y a otros aspectos económicos, políticos y sociales: Remarques sur les avantages et les désavantages de la France et de la Gr. Bretagne, par rapport au commerce et aux autres sources de la puissance des États. Son estas obras, que daban una gran importancia al comercio, y en las que no sólo se analizaban estrictamente los aspectos económicos de las distintas naciones, sino también los sociales (número y distribución de habitantes, sistema de gobierno, religión, organización social, costumbres, laboriosidad de sus gentes, etc.), las que constituyen el contexto del ensayo de Hamann, aparecido, recordemos, como apéndice a la traducción al alemán de una de ellas, con inclusión de un amplio extracto de otra; y las mismas que establecen igualmente, en mi opinión, el marco general del republicanismo mercantil de La Pensadora Gaditana. El periódico español se publica en Cádiz en un momento de extraordinaria expansión de la ciudad, pues en 1717 se había trasladado a ella, desde Sevilla, la Casa de la Contratación  —que licitaba todo el comercio con América—, convirtiéndose así en la capital económica del Imperio Español. La urbe, que ya era importante, se transformó poco a poco, mediante un intenso crecimiento poblacional y del tráfico comercial marítimo, en uno de los enclaves más cosmopolitas de Europa, en el que se concentraban las más importantes casas de negocios del continente y la población en su conjunto estaba implicada de una u otra manera en el comercio.

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La Pensadora (1763–1764) aparece en el centro mismo del gran despegue. Sus números ven la luz a medio camino entre 1743, fecha del Catastro de Ensenada, que otorga una cifra de entre 9.500 y 10.000 habitantes a la ciudad (folio 11), y 1787, el año del Censo de Floridablanca, que recoge ya 71.080 habitantes (Bustos 1990, 44), lo que significa que en menos de cincuenta años la población de la Cádiz se septuplicó. Pero además, las exportaciones e importaciones desde su puerto, que se habían ido incrementando de modo sostenido desde 1709, conocen un espectacular crecimiento (Fernández Pérez 1995, 66) precisamente en esas mismas fechas (1748–1788). Las transformaciones que sufría la ciudad a un ritmo intenso provocaron el enfrentamiento entre los estilos de vida de los antiguos y los modernos españoles, un conflicto entre los valores de una vieja sociedad estamental asentada en los privilegios y los de otra nueva, en la que la nobleza era desplazada por la burguesía comercial y su meritocracia basada en el trabajo y la actividad competitiva. En este contexto, varios aspectos sociales hicieron que la virtud cívica cobrara una importancia crucial, pues comercio, virtud y peligro a la virtud parecían ir de la mano. De un lado, la burguesía comercial gaditana tenía el soporte básico en su credibilidad y honestidad, puesto que de ellas dependía la confianza y el crédito financiero mediante el que otros españoles invertían sus capitales en las transacciones comerciales que ellos realizaban. Pero no sólo se trataba de un asunto interno: debido al monopolio comercial de la Monarquía Hispánica, durante bastante tiempo con América sólo pudieron comerciar españoles, por lo que la competencia con puertos como el de Amsterdam, por ejemplo, situados en otros circuitos comerciales, dependía de la capacidad de los comerciantes gaditanos para atraer las inversiones extranjeras o para asociarse con casas comerciales europeas interesadas en el negocio con los territorios españoles. La virtud, la honorabilidad en los tratos y el buen nombre eran esenciales para atraer y mantener el interés de los mercados. Y así se recoge en diferentes números de La Pensadora. En este sentido, en el Pensamiento X, “Sobre el exceso de los gastos”, por ejemplo, puede leerse: Ninguna cosa está más fundada sobre la buena fe, y fama de los hombres que el recíproco comercio, pues es bastante la posesión sola de un honrado proceder para atraer a su manejo los mayores intereses; logrando por este medio adquirir útiles correspondencias que fomentan al bien opinado, y muchas veces lo que no consigue un rico que se sabe es pródigo, mira a su disposición un principiante que tiene de su parte la notoriedad de su acertada conducta; por cuya causa ningunos están más obligados a la regularidad de su porte, ni a la moderación de los gastos, que aquellos que dependen sus manejos

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y utilidad de ajenas voluntades; pues tienen otros tantos testigos que velan sobre su proceder, cuantos amigos viven interesados en sus dependencias [...] (I, 221–222)7.

Pero por otro lado, el auge de la actividad comercial trajo a la ciudad bastantes quebraderos de cabeza relacionados negativamente con la virtud, especialmente en lo relativo a la desestabilización de las estructuras familiares. Algunos extranjeros, por ejemplo, para eludir el veto debido al monopolio8, se casaron con españolas utilizando el matrimonio de manera instrumental, olvidándose de las obligaciones conyugales y familiares una vez abierta la casa comercial gaditana; como también lo hicieron otros españoles que, especialmente en la primera mitad del siglo xviii (Fernández Pérez 1995, 61), buscaron utilizar como inversión inicial en sus negociosel dinero de la dote de la esposa. Pero además de ello, los continuos viajes de negocios y las largas estancias en América de los cabezas de familia de la burguesía gaditana, y los desplazamientos estacionales en los barcos de un contingente cada vez mayor de trabajadores, alejaban a los hombres de sus casas largas temporadas, dándose el caso de que en ocasiones ya no volvían. El número de mujeres abandonadas, o dadas por viudas, o que debían pasar solas grandes temporadas, aumentó exponencialmente en Cádiz9, lo que acarreó un relajamiento de las costumbres, del que da buena cuenta, de nuevo, La Pensadora10.

7 Los manirrotos se encuentran con que los que invirtieron en sus negocios, asustados, “[...] improvisadamente les piden sus créditos, y por no arriesgarlo todo se contentan con lo que encuentran, y nuestros generosos manirrotos se hallan sin lo ajeno, sin lo suyo, y sin crédito para entablar nuevas dependencias [...]” (223). En cambio, los honrados que trabajan sin ostentación, adquieren “[...] amigos útiles y decentes; con cuyas amistosas alianzas se aumentan las correspondencias, crece el crédito y se proyectan expediciones grandes, cuyo manejo pone en posesión de los mayores fondos” (229–230). 8 A partir de 1716 las autoridades establecieron una distinción entre comerciantes extranjeros “avecindados y arraigados” y los meramente “transeúntes” (Herzog 2013, 158–159), y el matrimonio resultó ser una forma eficaz de mostrar arraigo. 9 Todavía a finales del siglo, en 1787, el número de viudas (123 por 1000) casi triplicaba el de viudos (44 por 1000) en la provincia de Cádiz, tasa muy elevada en comparación con otras regiones españolas (Bustos 1990, 33). 10 Especialmente en el Pensamiento XI, “Sobre la facilidad con que los casados hacen viajes a las Indias”, y el XVI, “Sobre el poco cuidado que tienen los padres para casar a sus hijas”, donde la autora del periódico afirma: “¡Válgame Dios qué asunto he tratado! Y en Cádiz, donde se ven todos los días tantos casamientos con sujetos forasteros, sin tener, ni inquirir más noticia que la que ellos mismos deponen de sí [...]” (II, 68).

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Así pues, necesitado el comercio de la virtud de la burguesía de negocios, y necesitada también la ciudad de la virtud de sus conciudadanos, el paradigma republicano resultaba un recurso muy oportuno para afrontar la cuestión de las responsabilidades cívicas. Pues el volumen de riqueza que circulaba en la ciudad11 unido al gusto por la celebración de la sociabilidad en un contexto de mezcla de personas de diferentes nacionalidades, lenguas, religiones y costumbres, hacía temer no solo por un relajamiento de las costumbres españolas, sino por el riesgo de una decadencia licenciosa de los comerciantes y sus familias debido al lujo y el despilfarro, alejándose de su responsabilidad moral y política, según afirma el periódico. Si se compara La Pensadora Gaditana con el texto de Hamann se encuentran muchas similitudes que evidencian que el republicanismo mercantil circulaba por los puertos de Europa a la vez que los productos. En diversos lugares del periódico, Grecia, Roma y otras civilizaciones antiguas son utilizadas como modelo de virtud, que habrían caído en la decadencia precisamente cuando sustituyeron a aquella por los egoísmos e intereses personales, la ociosidad y el lujo. Así por ejemplo, en el Pensamiento III, “Sobre la afeminación de los hombres”, Julio César es reivindicado como ideal por su austeridad (I, 57–58), para a continuación exponer, un poco más adelante, las causas de la decadencia de Roma y otras civilizaciones en estos términos: Los Fenicios que tanto se extendieron, si al principio por su comercio, luego por su valor; los Romanos que señorearon el mundo al continuado afán de un trabajo interminable; y la República de Cartago que así mismo llegó a una tanta extensión, que estuvo muy cerca de obscurecer todas las glorias de Roma; todos cayeron miserablemente al infeliz golpe del lujo, del fausto y de la afeminación. Estas Potencias que debieron tanta exaltación a sus hijos, y se lisonjearon de invencibles, mientras el valor se llevaba las atenciones de sus patricios; estas mismas fueron lamentable despojo de la desgracia; luego que degenerando aquellos de las virtudes con que supieron hacerse inmortales en

11 “El Conde de Maule estimaba que en Cádiz un hombre de cien mil pesos no merecía la reputación de rico; la adquiría cuando pasaba de trescientos mil, y de poderoso cuando se acercaba a un millón, en bienes raíces, en giro y sin empeños. Esta opinión es evidentemente un poco exagerada, pero aún así, refleja bastante bien la percepción que los contemporáneos tenían de la riqueza de un comerciante de la Carrera [...]. La estructura de los capitales de estos comerciantes es muy similar. [...] En primer lugar, como ya señalara A. García Baquero, los negociantes gaditanos siguen siendo reacios a invertir en bienes inmuebles, de tal modo que la mayor parte de su patrimonio está constituida por activo circulante. [...] La distribución de los demás patrimonios es similar: los créditos y efectos, junto con el dinero efectivo y la plata, constituyen las partidas más importantes” (Carrasco 2000, 124–125).

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la fama, se entregaron vilmente a las diversiones, al explendor, a la afectación; en una palabra, mudaron su naturaleza, se afeminaron (I, 59–60).

El egoísmo es para La Pensadora la causa principal de la decadencia de las naciones; de ahí que haya que desenmascararlo y combatirlo en todas sus facetas. Pues mientras que el ciudadano virtuoso piensa en el bien común y es útil a su patria (IV, 9), el envilecido sólo lo hace en su beneficio (IV, 10). De forma que, anteponiendo mollicie, placeres y narcisismo a lo útil a la comunidad, arruina con ello su virtud y la de sus semejantes. La obligación de todo patricio es, según el periódico gaditano, contribuir al engrandecimiento y florecimiento de la República. Puede hacerlo a través del valor, del entendimiento o del esfuerzo, y ser útil a la patria en tres grandes campos: el ejército, la ciencia y la industria (I, 55–56, II, 208). Pero cuando se deja llevar por la ociosidad y el lujo, se ve precipitado a una corrupción moral que arrastra a la decadencia a la propia República. Así por ejemplo, sucede con los malos comerciantes, que, pensando más en el lujo y el disfrute que en el trabajo y sus propios negocios, “[...] nunca conseguirán el fruto de sus tareas; porque, haciendo las diligencias violentos y de prisa, las más veces no ser hechas a tiempo y con eficacia, es la causa de la pérdida de sus intereses y de sus créditos” (I, 64). De tal forma que “Estos males, eslabonados unos en otros, y de unos a otros individuos, son la ruina lastimosa de una República; y esta República y estos individuos se verán lastimoso estrago de sus desórdenes [...] degenerando [...]” [I, 64]. El egoísmo lleva incluso a algunos grupos sociales a huir de la laboriosidad y a considerarla poco apropiada a su honor, pretendiendo vivir a costa de otros. Se creen superiores a los demás hombres, que necesitan trabajar, contraviniendo el principio racional básico, claramente evidente por sentido común, de que todos los seres humanos son igualmente dignos (II, 168–169); y comportándose, de hecho, como verdaderos zánganos de la República (I, 127). Beatriz Cienfuegos los identifica en el Pensamiento VI, “El tribunal del verdadero honor”, empleando el recurso literario de un sueño en el que un juez, “vestido a lo moderno” (I, 114) y sentado en un trono sin insignias, juzga, en nombre de la razón y la moralidad, a tres individuos, en representación de tres tipos sociales que son un obstáculo para el progreso. Este juez del verdadero honor —auxiliado de la verdad, la razón, el sentido común y el “propio conocimiento”12 (I, 116)— va a condenar a aquellos que 12 El conocimiento de uno mismo, base de toda la moralidad, como dirá más adelante (II, 136–138, 146, 150).

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escudándose en un falso y decadente sentido del honor, hacen de este un pretexto para su egoísmo: bien para no trabajar (un noble, el primero en ser juzgado); bien para despreciar a sus semejantes (un misántropo soberbio que se cree superior a los demás, el segundo sentenciado); o bien, finalmente, para vivir a expensas de otros, más pobres pero laboriosos, protegido por una relevancia social que lo ampara de sus robos (un rico que no paga los trabajos que encarga, el último en ser condenado). Estos inútiles son, según el periódico, los responsables de la decadencia de la nación. Y ante esta circunstancia, la propia autora del periódico, que se representa a sí misma en el sueño, exclamará con desaprobación citando a Cicerón, una de las referencias de la tradición republicana:  “¡O tempora! ¡o mores!” (I, 131). Los tres tipos sociales censurados aparecen igualmente en el texto de Hamann arriba aludido. Los defectos que se les atribuyen son muy similares, aunque con las naturales peculiaridades: un texto habla de la sociedad española y el otro de la alemana; sin embargo, la perspectiva republicana es la misma. La crítica a la nobleza ociosa no es una novedad, pues aparece en otras obras del momento; tampoco lo es la que se hace al tercer personaje del sueño, el que representa a aquellos que explotan a los trabajadores. Pero el paralelismo que realmente resulta curioso por lo inusual es la denuncia que se hace tanto en el ensayo de Hamann como en La Pensadora Gaditana a los despreciadores del hombre (I, 124). Al igual que el filósofo alemán, la filósofa gaditana no se refiere tampoco propiamente a una cuestión psicológica, el rasgo del carácter de una persona singularmente rara que huye de sus semejantes, sino a algo que se le asemeja y que es un vicio social: el desprecio de otros seres humanos, a los que se considera inferiores, convertido ese desprecio mismo en afirmación de una excelencia elitista. El tipo social, que, mirando a todos con desdén, se siente superior a los demás atenta contra la línea de flotación básica de la República:  las redes de sociabilidad y la virtud de la amistad, que han de constituir el entramado sólido de la misma. Estos personajes déspotas, descorteses y engreídos, que no atienden a las razones que esgrimen los demás y que demuestran en esto ser ellos mismos unos irracionales, están incapacitados para la verdadera sociabilidad; constituyendo un obstáculo para la construcción de una sociedad de iguales que, basada en la racionalidad, el sentido común y la capacidad de acuerdos13, esté orientada al bien común (II, 153–174). Y así es denunciado en La Pensadora: ¿Es honor ser ignorante, presumido, y no convencerse de la razón y buen juicio? ¿Consiste el honor en mirar con desprecio el resto de los hombres, no disimular los

13 De ahí la importancia que el periódico otorga a saber dialogar (IV, 95–97).

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defectos de los amigos, y hacer causa de honor defender una sinrazón a todo riesgo? Engañado has vivido: el hombre de honor verdadero es afable, cortés, comedido, sujeta gustoso su entendimiento al dictamen ajeno cuando es acertado; disimula a sus amigos los defectos que directamente no hieren su estimación; ama a todos, sirve a todos, y es el regalo y el deleite de las compañías: a todos procura ser grato, y de todos es deseado: esto le hace amado de los hombres, y honrado aun de sus enemigos, y en esto consiste el verdadero honor (I, 124–125).

Son precisamente los textos relativos a la sociabilidad y a la amistad, los que evidencian más claramente el republicanismo del periódico, cuyas reflexiones son calificadas en una supuesta carta que le dirige una culta lectora de “ciceronianas iluminaciones” (IV, 109). La verdadera sociedad racional, justa y equitativa14, exige esas dos virtudes, muy necesarias también para el comercio y los negocios. Pero hay quienes las confunden con los excesos: el relacionarse sin prudencia, la comunicación alocada, las fiestas sin control de los gastos, los lujos, las modas, la incapacidad para guardar secretos, la precipitación en el adherirse a las novedades, etc. Y de ahí la importancia de una filosofía moral y política que corrija los abusos y haga reflexionar al público sobre las verdaderas virtudes cívicas, denunciando las falsas apariencias. La Pensadora dedica, precisamente, sus números a ello, en beneficio de la verdadera sociedad: Es la sociedad bien entendida un arte racional, y juicioso, con que los hombres comunicándose recíprocamente, dirigidos de la verdad, se socorren en sus necesidades, se interesan en sus contentos, se comunican especies útiles, y discretas, y emplean el tiempo de tal modo, que nunca les queda escrúpulo de haberlo perdido. La sociedad simulada, o mal entendida es una inclinación vergonzosa, con que todos siguiendo el engaño y la falsedad, se destruyen entre sí (cuando parece que más se favorecen) con el mal ejemplo, con la adulación, y con las conversaciones inútiles, y perjudiciales, desperdiciando a porfía la preciosidad de los años. ¿Y cuál de estas dos sociedades, lectores míos, será las que Vms. practican? Tal vez tendrán muchos la sencillez de responder que la primera; y yo (ya se ve que será malicia mía) afirmo y creo que la segunda: la sociedad mal entendida (o por decirlo mejor) lo intratable, lo inhonesto, y lo reprehensible, disfrazado con este especioso nombre de sociedad; porque no entiende, o no quieren entender en qué consiste esta prerrogativa hermosa de la razón. ¿Será efecto de sociedad verdadera el empeño con que los más procuran sus intereses y aumentos con daños del vecino, del amigo y muchas veces del hermano?¿Será acaso el ansia con que se precipitan todos en seguimiento de la ambición, soberbia, y vanidad; sin que el humilde por humilde, ni el noble por noble dejen de engreirse, y hacerse distinguir aun en las cosas más naturales de los mismos de su especie, y muchas veces

14 “[...] la sociedad bien ordenada es una compañía de racionales que viven según las más rigorosas leyes de toda equidad y justicia: [...]” (III, 106–107).

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teniendo a deshonor el que le hablen aquellos a quien la casualidad hizo menores, siendo esto lo que de continuo sucede? Bien sé que no (II, 80–82).

En opinión de La Pensadora, es esencial para la patria la regeneración de la virtud cívica. Por eso dedica su periódico a criticar los abusos15 que enmascaran como valores lo que no son más que prejuicios, burdos intereses y privilegios. Así, en diferentes Pensamientos distingue entre el verdadero honor y el falso (I, VI), la verdadera amistad y la fingida (II, XV; III, XXXVI; IV, XLV), el matrimonio virtuoso y el viciado (II, XVI), el verdadero recato y el simulado (II, XIV), la verdadera y buena sociedad y la corrompida y falsa (II, XVII), etc. Pues la virtud auténtica es aquella que busca la utilidad con la mira puesta en el bien común, a diferencia de la interesada, que no es más que un instrumento del propio beneficio. Y para argumentarlo e ilustrarlo, Cienfuegos se sirve a lo largo de todo el periódico de los autores clásicos de referencia de la tradición republicana. Pero todas estas cuestiones abordadas en La Pensadora no se trataban por vez primera en España. El periódico gaditano se sitúa en línea de continuidad con la filosofía moral y política del republicanismo clásico español del siglo XVII, aunque insertándolo en un nuevo formato, el de la prensa periódica que sigue el modelo de los espectadores (Ertler 2003, 18 y ss). Así por ejemplo, en la edición corregida y ampliada de la obra de Gabriel Pérez del Barrio Secretario y consejero de señores y ministros16 de 1667, encontramos muchos elementos que volverán a reaparecer en los Pensamientos de 1763–1764, de entre los que

15 La Pensadora dedica uno de sus Pensamientos (el XIX, “Sobre la utilidad que se sigue al Público de la lección de los papeles que critican los abusos”) a justificar la utilidad de los papeles —como su periódico— dedicados a este cometido, y en los que se cuentan historias de modo razonable, esto es, orientadas a la utilidad pública. Su argumentación resulta reforzada por otro (el Pensamiento VIII, “Sobre las relaciones de los guapos”) en el que argumenta la inutilidad moral y política de otras narraciones que eran muy populares entre sus contemporáneos y que también se vendían como papeles: los relatos (“relaciones”) en verso en las que se ensalzaban de modo épico las hazañas de criminales y bandoleros famosos (los guapos). 16 El título completo de la primera edición de esta obra, en principio un libro técnico con consejos e incluso ejemplos de documentos para el ejercicio del oficio de alto funcionario o similar, fue: Dirección de secretarios de señores y las materias, cuidados y obligaciones que les tocan, con las virtudes de que se han de precisar, etc. (Pérez del Barrio 1613). Conoció varias reediciones, en las que las reflexiones morales y políticas fueron sucesivamente en aumento. La que más nos interesa es la última de 1667, cincuenta y cuatro años después de la primera, en vida del propio autor, titulada Secretario y consejero de señores y ministros, etc.

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mencionaremos algunos significativos: la importancia que otorga a la virtud17, como objeto incluso del gobierno político; el valor que concede a la sociabilidad y la amistad18; la concepción de la ciudad como centro de paz, buena intención y verdad (folio 274); el espacio que dedica a desenmascarar las viciosas apariencias (a distinguir la verdadera curiosidad de la falsa, el virtuoso silencio del viciado, el verdadero honor del falso, la amistad noble de la hipócrita, etc.); el recurso a los pueblos antiguos19 como modelo a seguir (folio 268); la crítica a los que se resisten a ser laboriosos; el recurso a los autores antiguos en el argumentario; e incluso el gusto por el formato de las cartas, la conversación (folios 245 y ss.) y la emulación escrita del diálogo, entre otros elementos de la tradición política republicana. Una parte muy amplia de la obra de Pérez del Barrio está escrita en la forma de cartas y respuestas, y los temas clásicos del republicanismo, abordados después en La Pensadora, se encuentran en ellas. Especialmente interesante para nuestro cometido es el n° 73 (172–175), titulada “Otra sobre virtuosa y viciosa curiosidad de dos amigos”, y la respuesta en el n° 74 que le sigue, como ejemplares, hay muchos más, de la articulación republicana de la moral con la política. Los vicios de la curiosidad malsana y su pernicioso efecto sobre la comunidad, e incluso en los negocios (68, 248), quedan claramente puestos de manifiesto allí y en otros lugares de la obra: el no saber guardar secretos, la maledicencia, el interés morboso por la vida de los otros, el obstentando la paz, y abundancia, que la malicia chismorreo, etc., son condenados como manifestaciones de una corrompida sociabilidad, al igual que lo serán después en La Pensadora20. En 17 “La República es como una viña, que no puede florecer ni dar fruto si no le ayudan las influencias del cielo y la industria humana, y tiene señor que la beneficie, pode y quite las superfluidades, desvíe los deleites y crianza de los vicios, y plante las virtudes [...]” (Pérez del Barrio 1667, folio 280). 18 “Yo confieso que la amistad es importante al bien de la República...” (folio 245). 19 Grecia y Roma, pero no sólo, pues se recurre también a los antiguos españoles: “En tiempo antiguo fecundo de hombres generosos (aunque dice Cicerón no hay memoria del) las buenas costumbres de nuestra Patria, nos daban excelentes varones, que siendo admiración al mundo las observaban, obstentando la paz, y abundancia, que la malicia y malos procedimientos de soberbios, codiciosos y viciosos, consentidos, han estragado y reducido a intereses, cautelas, fraudes, y engaños, por haberse perdido la salud y felicidad de aquella doctrina, cuya restitución toca a los Reyes [...] y Ministros” (folios 73–75). 20 Existen muchas continuidades entre la obra de Pérez del Barrio y algunos Pensamientos del periódico gaditano. Por ejemplo, en Secretario y consejero de señores y ministros, a propósito de las virtudes necesarias para ese empleo (241 y ss.), hay un apartado dedicado a la virtud de saber guardar secretos: “Del secreto. En siete puntos” (folios

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cambio, la verdadera curiosidad es reivindicada como fuente de la vitalidad de la comunidad civil, del cuerpo de la República; y explicada como investigación, afán de saber, deseo de superación, pasión por el descubrimiento, interés por la industria y sana ambición de comercio; poniéndola además en relación con el progreso en la forma de gobierno, cuyo ideal político define. Muchas veces me traen a la memoria nuestros encontrados amigos aquella letra de Pitágoras, con que Virgilio nos figura la virtud, y el vicio, por lo acedo, y dulce de la fruta que gozamos en sus conversaciones. La desta tarde me contentó mucho; pero faltome por decir que la verdadera curiosidad ilumina, y perfecciona al hombre, y le provee de ciencia, y valor, esfuerzo y ánimo para sus acciones, y con ella mide los cielos, hermosea la tierra, y pone leyes a los vientos, corrige, y enfrena el espantoso furor del mar, sonda, y mide la profundidad, y altura de su piélago inmenso, y junta el Orizonte [sic] con el Occidente, comunicando a todos cuanto en estas, y aquellas partes produce la tierra, y le buscan, y adquieren las cosas más profundas, y en la manera en que la industria las acomoda, y aplica al uso, y aprovechamiento del beneficio humano, viene a competir el arte con la naturaleza, la cual privó de la vista a muchos filósofos, a quien envidió Demócrito, que se sacó los ojos, para mejor filosofar con los del entendimiento los movimientos de los planetas, y de las claras, y resplandecientes tapicerías del cielo, gracia, sapiencia, virtudes, y ornamentos del cuerpo, y alma. Y tambien nos da el modo del gobierno, que es el arte de las artes, y ciencia de las ciencias, paz del pueblo, y firmeza de la patria, libertad de la gente, templanza del aire, serenidad del mar, y fertilidad de la tierra: tiene en obediencia hombres indomitos, modera voluntades libres, conforma corazones contrarios, y corrige, y enfrena, y hace a todas manos un caballo tan bárbaro, y desbocado como el vulgo, humillando, y castigando soberbios, y levantando, y premiando a los humildes, reprimiendo a los grandes, y poderosos, defendiendo a los flacos, e inocentes, dando vida a todo el cuerpo de la República (folios 172–173).

Es precisamente a esta tradición republicana española a la que da continuidad La Pensadora Gaditana. El periódico es un ejemplar excepcional de su desarrollo durante el siglo XVIII hacia un republicanismo mercantil; que junto con el liberalismo al que estrechamente aparece vinculado en sus mismas páginas, sentó las bases en Cádiz de la ilustre tradición política democrática iberoamericana. Es necesario, sí, como dice Paquette en su artículo ya citado al comienzo de este trabajo, volver a ella.

247 y ss). Lo ahí dicho guarda mucha relación con el contenido del Pensamiento XII, “Sobre el Secreto”, donde, entre otras cosas, puede leerse: “¿Cómo se dispondrá para los empleos de las mayores confianzas de una República, aquel que no sabe, ni puede guardar el secreto de un amigo?” (I, 267).

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Bibliografía Bustos, Manuel, y otros: “La población de la provincia de Cádiz en los siglos xvii y xviii”. Trocadero 2 (1990), 5–71. Canterla, Cinta: “Free Trade and New Philosophy: Tucker, Dangeul and Hamann”. 2000. The European Journal XVII/2 (december 2016), 10–14. Carrasco González, Mª Guadalupe: “Comercio, negocios y comerciantes en Cádiz a finales del siglo xviii”. En: Rafael Torres Sánchez (ed.): Capitalismo mercantil en la España del siglo xviii. Navarra: EUNSA 2000. 107–140. Cruz Prados, Alfredo: “Republicanismo y Democracia Liberal”. Anuario Filosófico 36/75(2003), 83‒110. Cienfuegos, Beatriz: La Pensadora Gaditana. Cádiz: Manuel Ximénez Carreño 1786. Coyer, Gabriel François: La Noblesse Commercante. London-Paris: Duchesne 1756. Ertler, Klaus-Dieter: Moralische Wochenschriften in Spanien: José Clavijo y Fajardo: El Pensador. Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag 2003. Fernández Pérez, Paloma: “Alianzas familiares y reproducción social de la élite mercantil de Cádiz (1700–1812)”. Trocadero 6–7 (1995), 51–67. Hamann, Johann Georg: Sämtliche Werke. Historisch-kritische Ausgabe von Joseph Nadler. Vol. IV. Wien: Verlag Herder 1952, 225–242. Hamann, Johann Georg: Evocación de Sócrates. Introducción, edición crítica del texto alemán, traducción y notas de Cinta Canterla. Huelva: Consulcom 2015. Hamann, Johann Georg: Des Herrn von Dangueil Anmerkungen über die Vortheile und Nachtheile von Frankreich und Großbritannien in Ansehung des Handels und der übrigen Quellen von der Macht der Staaten. Mitau/Leipzig: Johann Friedrich Petersen 1756. — Königsberg: Johann Friedrich Driest 1757. Herzog, Tamar: “Merchants and Citizens: On the Making und Un-making of Merchants in Early Modern Spain”. The Journal of European Economic History XLII/1 (2013), 137–163. Lovett, Frank: “Republicanism”. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 2014. (consultado en 2016). Paquette, Gabriel: “Cádiz y las fábulas de la historiografía occidental”. En: Roberto Breña (ed.): Cádiz a debate: actualidad, contexto y legado. México: El Colegio de México 2014, 49–62. Pérez del Barrio, Gabriel: Dirección de secretarios de señores y las materias, cuidados y obligaciones que les tocan, con las virtudes de que se han de precisar […]. Madrid: Alfonso Martín de Balboa 1613.

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Pérez del Barrio, Gabriel: Secretario y consejero de señores y ministros […]. Madrid: Mateo de Espinosa 1667. Plumard de Dangeul, Louis-Joseph: Remarques sur les avantages et les désavantages de la France et de la Gr. Bretagne par rapport au commerce et aux autres sources de la puissance des États. Traduction de l’anglois du chevalier John Nickolls. Paris/Leyde : Frères Estienne 31754. Tucker, Josiah: A Brief Essay on the Advantages and Disadvantages, which respectively attend France and Great Britain, with regard to Trade. With some Proposals for removing the Principal Disadvantages of Great Britain. In a New and Concise Method. London: Printed for the author and sold by T. Trye 1749. Ulloa, Bernardo: Restablecimiento de las Fábricas y el Comercio español. Errores que se padecen en las causales de su decadencia, cuáles son los legítimos obstáculos que le destruyen, y los medios eficaces de que florezca. Madrid: A. Marin 1740. Ustáriz, Jerónimo: Theórica y Práctica de Comercio y de Marina. Madrid: Sin privilegio 1724. VVAA: “Cádiz”, en Catastro de Ensenada. 1743 (mss). . Folio 11. Cádiz: University Press 2000.

Elisabel Larriba

Le journal de bord de El Argonauta español (1790)

Biblioteca Pública de Cádiz

Un Spectateur retrouvé Joseph Addison et Richard Steele ne manquèrent pas d’épigones en Espagne et il suffit, pour s’en convaincre, de se reporter à la thèse de Paul-J. Guinard sur La presse espagnole de 1731 à 1791. Formation et signification d’un genre, qui fut publiée en 1973. Aux différents « Spectateurs » présentés et analysés par cet éminent chercheur, il convient toutefois d’ajouter une publication, qui vit le jour à Cadix en 1790 : El Argonauta español. Periódico gaditano, en el que se corrigen los actuales abusos por un estilo jocoso rédigé par un certain Br. D. P. Gatell. On ne saurait d’ailleurs faire grief à Paul.-J. Guinard de ne pas avoir fait état de ce

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titre puisqu’en 1978, un autre pionnier de l’histoire des périodiques en Espagne, Francisco Aguilar Piñal, dut avouer, dans la notice qu’il consacra à cette publication dans son catalogue de La Prensa Española en el siglo XVIII. Diarios, revistas y pronósticos, qu’il n’avait pu localiser aucun exemplaire de cette publication dont on ne connaissait l’existence que par un compte rendu qu’en avait fait le Memorial literario en octobre 1790 et par un dossier conservé à l’Archivo Histórico Nacional, à Madrid, qui faisait état de l’envoi par l’auteur d’exemplaires au Premier Secrétaire d’Etat, le comte de Floridablanca1. En fait, deux institutions conservaient une collection (apparemment complète) de El Argonauta español constituée chacune d’un volume contenant 26 numéros de ce périodique imprimé à Cadix par Antonio Murguía (calle de la Carne, n° 6), et réédité par Aznar à Madrid : la Bibliothèque publique de Cadix2, et celle du Thomas J. Dodd Research Center de l’Université du Connecticut3. De nos jours, chercheurs et curieux peuvent facilement consulter ce « spectateur » espagnol puisqu’il a fait l’objet de deux éditions : l’une que nous avons commise en 2003, l’autre due à Marieta Cantos Casenave et María José Sánchez de León (2008). Par ailleurs, on peut le consulter sur internet, soit sous forme de reproduction des exemplaires originaux sur les sites de la Biblioteca virtual de Prensa histórica du Ministère espagnol de l’Education, de la Culture et des Sports et sur celui de University of Connecticut Libraries, soit retranscrit par l’équipe de Klaus-Dieter Ertler sur le site « Spectateurs – Moralische Wochenschriften » de l’Université de Graz4. Avant que El Argonauta español ne fût réédité, puis mis en ligne, Marieta Cantos Casenave et nous-même avions attiré l’attention des chercheurs sur l’intérêt que présentait ce périodique (tardivement redécouvert) dans quelques articles publiés sous les auspices du Groupe de Recherche sur le xviiie siècle de l’Université de Cadix (Cantos Casenave 1992 et 2000  ; Larriba 1999 et 2000). Mais nous nous perdions alors en conjectures sur ce que pouvait avoir été la

1 « El Argonauta español. Periódico gaditano, en el que se corrigen los actuales abusos por un estilo jocoso… Su autor el Br. D. P. Gatell./No se ha localizado ningún ejemplar de este periódico, no citado por Solis. Hay referencia y reseña en el Memorial literario, de octubre de 1790, tomo XXI, 186. El autor envía varios números a Floridablanca en septiembre de 1790 (AHN, Consejos, 11278/78) » (Aguilar Piñal 1978, 8–9). 2 Référence : 07–468.181.3-GAT Arg. 3 Référence : Span Per 89. On trouvera à la fin de l’exemplaire du Thomas J. Dodd Research Center une note de deux pages adressée au « Señor Público » concernant le lancement de la souscription au tome II (mars-décembre 1791) qui ne put voir le jour. 4 .

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personnalité de son rédacteur, ce don P. Gatell qui exhibait avec une évidente satisfaction son titre de bachelier et dont on pouvait tout juste dire qu’il s’était fait une place somme toute honorable dans la République des Lettres en rédigeant quelques œuvres d’inspiration cervantine qui eurent un certain succès, à en juger par les nombreuses annonces parues dans la presse de l’époque, les rééditions qu’elles connurent au xixe siècle et surtout le fait que l’une d’elles (Historia del más famoso escudero Sancho Panza, desde la gloriosa muerte de Don Quijote de la Mancha hasta el último día y postrera hora de su vida) fut l’objet – à l’instar du chef-d’œuvre de Cervantès– d’une seconde partie apocryphe en 1798. On ne pouvait toutefois se contenter, pour juger de la production du bachelier don Pedro Gatell des très rares indices qu’il livre sur lui-même et sa formation intellectuelle dans son périodique : sa connaissance de la presse anglaise, dont il reconnaît qu’elle lui a inspiré son Argonauta español, même si celui-ci présente plus d’une différence avec son modèle5 ; et surtout son extraordinaire capacité à pratiquer le grand écart entre un onirisme littéraire débridé et une rigueur scientifique implacable. Nous avons suivi bien des pistes avant de pouvoir identifier cet écrivain qui avait jugé que le moi était véritablement haïssable. Mais nous avons fini par retrouver ses états de service aux Archives de la Marine Royale de Viso de Marqués, dans la province de Ciudad Real  :  avant de rejoindre la République des Lettres, Pedro Pablo Gatell y Carnicer, né à Reus, en 1742, avait été pendant près de 20 ans un chirurgien de la Marine et ses pérégrinations en ce bas monde ne sont pas sans rapport avec le voyage imaginaire qu’il fit faire à l’Argonaute espagnol6.

5 Voir le texte qui ouvre le n° 15 et nous plonge dans une conversation entre un fervent défenseur du périodique et un homme ne l’ayant jamais lu et peu enclin à le faire. Le premier, afin de montrer au second combien lui-même, sa femme et sa fille gagneraient à lire le périodique, jugea opportun d’évoquer l’énorme succès que suscitait ce type de publications à Londres (y compris auprès des jeunes enfants), mettant ainsi en évidence la parenté avec le modèle anglais. Et l’Argonaute, à qui la scène fut rapportée par son zélé défenseur, déclara : « Apuesto yo que si el enemigo de la lectura hubiese leído al Espectador Inglés que hubiera respondido : buena diferencia hay de uno a otro, la misma que de la luz a las tinieblas; y que el apasionado le hubiera contestado. Es cierto que es muy diferente éste del Argonauta; pero sepa Vm. que los fines son los mismos; y que en su tono dice verdades tan ciertas e importantes como aquel » (115/176). Nous renvoyons ici et par la suite à la pagination de l’édition originale et à celle de notre édition. 6 Cf. Larriba 2005.

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De la lancette à la plume : du voyage réel au voyage journalistique Ce Pedro Gatell y Carnicer qui rangea sa lancette pour prendre la plume et qui, en 1790, se fit argonaute changea radicalement de cap. Mais il ne se départit jamais de l’esprit qu’il avait acquis lors de ses études au prestigieux Collège de Chirurgie et de Médecine de Cadix, l’une des institutions d’enseignement les plus avancées de l’Espagne de son temps, qui disposait d’une bibliothèque scientifique qui n’avait rien à envier aux meilleures de Londres ou de Paris et où l’on pouvait même trouver des ouvrages interdits par le Saint Office : la rigueur intellectuelle, l’intérêt pour les découvertes scientifiques et l’ouverture d’esprit inhérentes à la formation qui fut la sienne continuèrent d’habiter ce transfuge de la chirurgie à la littérature et marquèrent ses écrits. Celui qui avait parcouru le monde pendant des années et avait dû supporter les affres des longues traversées maritimes présenta son entreprise journalistique comme une nouvelle expédition, littéraire cette fois, sans la moindre limite comme il se plut à le signaler à ses lecteurs, ce « Señor Público » auquel il s’adressa dans son premier discours. Le voyage qu’il allait entreprendre, déclara-t-il avec enthousiasme, le mènerait en tous lieux et par tous les chemins, par mer comme par terre, jusqu’aux régions les plus éloignées comme les Cieux et les corps célestes, et, ce qui ne manquait pas de piquant, sans bateau ni globe aérostatique7. Selon Pedro Gatell et Carnicer, cette expédition à bord d’un Argo de papier devait l’amener à parcourir toutes les nations, voir leurs lois, us et coutumes et autres particularités, sans laisser de côté le moindre objet qui pourrait attirer son attention en matière de science ou de technique et à se promener, en guise de divertissement, parmi les Règnes animal, végétal et minéral8. Aussi livrerait-il chaque jeudi le journal de bord de cette expédition gigantesque dans laquelle il s’abandonnerait au gré des vents, mais au cours de laquelle la boussole signalerait toujours les vérités qui contribuent au bien public. Toutefois, pour ne pas décevoir 7 « El viaje es a todo y por todo el mundo, por mar y por tierra, desde el centro a la superficie, y por todas las regiones aun las más lejanas de nosotros, como son los Cielos, y cuerpos celestes. La mayor gracia está en que se debe efectuar sin navío, ni globo aerostático » (« El Argonauta Español al Señor Público », n° 1, 3/57). 8 «  […] debe percurrir por todas las naciones, leyes, usos, costumbres y demás circunstancias, sin perdonarse ciencia, arte ni objeto alguno que pueda topar con nuestros sentidos, tanto internos, como externos. Por último se paseará por vía de recreo por los Reinos Animal, Vegetal y Mineral, sin dejar de tropezar co algunos acasos que debe el tiempo ofrecer  » («  El Argonauta Español al Señor Público  », n° 1, 3/57).

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ses lecteurs en faisant des promesses qu’il ne pourrait peut-être pas tenir, il ne jugea pas utile de fournir plus de détails sur ce voyage dont il rendrait compte parfois avec le plus grand sérieux, parfois en le relevant (mais sans exagération) de quelque facétie.

Un Journal de bord agrémenté de micro-récits Conformément à ce qui avait été annoncé, le journal de bord du bachelier argonaute, qui s’inspire des voyages qu’avait effectués le chirurgien de la Marine royale Pedro Gatell, présente la plus grande diversité et quant au fond, et quant à la forme.

Les discours sérieux Notre Bachelier offrit en effet à son public des discours ‘sérieux’ comme celui que l’on trouve dans le deuxième numéro sur « l’art de l’Imprimerie que l’on qualifie de divine ». Faisant une significative référence aux « cent yeux d’Argos », Pedro Gatell y remonta jusqu’aux origines de cette technique pour en décrire l’évolution à travers les siècles et les pays avant d’en arriver à l’Espagne de son temps et en soupeser avec la balance d’Astrée les avantages et inconvénients9. Il fit montre de la même docte gravité dans la livraison suivante en traitant de l’Agriculture, sujet pour lequel il fit appel à diverses autorités de l’Antiquité (comme Xénophon, Columelle, Cyrus, Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus) tout en livrant à ses lecteurs un échantillon des plantes d’Amérique qui pourraient être acclimatées en Espagne10. Il en alla de même pour le Commerce, dont il présenta une défense et illustration dans le numéro suivant où il soutenait que ce qui l’habilitait à traiter de ce sujet était d’avoir beaucoup voyagé «  et d’avoir frayé avec les Nations les plus commerçantes du monde car c’était une sottise que de croire que l’on pouvait savoir quelque chose sans quitter les jupes de sa mère  »11. De la même veine sont ses réflexions sur le Baromètre (nos 4 et 512), les Arts et Métiers (n°  513), l’Histoire (n°  514), le Thermomètre «  instrument de physique des plus utiles  » 9 « II – Del Arte de la Imprenta llamada divina », n° 2, 9–11/63–65. 10 « V – Agricultura », n° 3, 20–22/74–76. 11 « […] el Br. dice que de algo le ha de haber servido el mucho viajar, y el trato con las Naciones más comerciantes del mundo; porque creer que sin salir de las faldas de su madre se puede saber algo, es desatino » (« VI – Comercio », n° 3, 22/76). 12 « VIII – Barómetro », n° 4, 30–32/84–87 et « Continuación del Barómetro », n° 5, 33–35/89–90. 13 « IX – Artes », n° 5, 35–37/91–93. 14 « X – Historia », n° 5, 37–40/93–96.

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(n° 1115), la nécessité de disposer d’une histoire de la Marine (n° 1616), l’Histoire ancienne de l’Espagne de Justinien (n° 19 et 2017) ou la Navigation (n° 2418), art qui, selon lui, tenait du prodige, et avait apporté nombre de bienfaits, tant sur le plan scientifique que moral ou spirituel, car l’humanité « s’était améliorée de mille pour cent depuis le temps où l’on navigue »19. Pour notre Argonaute, aux yeux d’Argos20, qui en plus d’une occasion fit preuve d’une certaine érudition (mais non de pédanterie), qui aimait à s’appuyer sur l’histoire, l’expérience et l’observation, le voyage, réel ou imaginaire, à travers le temps comme l’espace, constituait assurément une source essentielle du savoir.

Le mariage de la rigueur scientifique et de la fantaisie littéraire : le storytelling au service de l’utile Soucieux de séduire un large public avec ce périodique qu’il présentait comme une «  œuvre utile, agréable, et instructive pour toutes les personnes de l’un et l’autre sexe  »21, notre Argonaute n’hésita pas à abandonner le genre sérieux pour agrémenter ses discours d’anecdotes, de micro-récits et autres fantaisies littéraires de tout genre.

1 5 « XX – Termómetro instrumento físico utilísimo », n° 11, 84–87/142–144. 16 « XXIV – Necesidad de una historia de la Marina en España », n° 16, 188–192. 17 « Compendio de la Historia antigua de España, por Justino », n° 19, 149–152/215–218 et « Sigue la Historia de España », n° 20, 155–160/221–227. 18 « XXVII – Navegación », n° 24, 185–188/255–258. 19 « [… es] un prodigioso portento mágico » (n° 24, 185/255) et « Por su medio ha corrido la Religión todos los climas, y el Comercio ha entrado en todas las Naciones de la tierra. Además de habernos proporcionado todos los menesteres de la vida, nos franquea los del lujo. Las raíces, telas, las más brillantes piedras, y las perlas de más oriente circulan en todo el universo. ¿Qué multitud de conocimientos nuevos, creídos tal vez por imposibles, no nos proporciona la mágica Arte de Navegar? La Geografía está ya por su medio en un punto que deja poco que desear. La Historia se halla maravillosamente iluminada. Las Artes y Ciencias han tomado un ascendiente inaccesible. En una palabra, todo el globo ha mejorado en un mil por ciento desde que se navega » (n° 24, 186/256). 20 Une nouvelle référence est faite à Argos au n° 19 : « El Argonauta, que por lo que tiene de Argos está siempre atento como con cien ojos, ha observado que […] » (145/211). 21 Cette volonté de toucher un large public, sans exclusion des femmes (qui en constituaient « la moitié » et à qui il prit la peine de s’adresser directement lors de la deuxième livraison), fut affichée et revendiquée dans le sous-titre même du périodique : « Obra útil, deleitable, e instructiva a todas las personas de ambos sexos ».

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Ainsi, las des expéditions maritimes, il décida d’entreprendre un voyage en aérostat, le dernier cri de la science et de la modernité, qui le mena jusque dans la lune où il débarqua dans l’une des villes les plus peuplées de cet astre et, après avoir appris la langue lunaire, il se lia d’amitié avec un Philosophe moraliste. Cette « grande aventure » (« aventura magna ») qui le mena à un monde symétrique à la terre (comme dans le Voyage dans la lune de Cyrano de Bergerac22) lui permit, dans le huitième numéro de El Argonauta español, de comparer les habitantes des deux planètes, de dénoncer le manque de pudeur des terriennes, et d’insister sur la nécessité pour chacun et chacune de s’habiller conformément à sa condition. Le propos moralisateur n’avait rien d’original. La dénonciation des ravages causés par des tenues inappropriées était dans l’air du temps23 et avait même conduit en 1788 un confrère soucieux de marquer sa différence, le Duende de Madrid, à agrémenter ses réflexions sur la question de deux estampes enluminées illustrant le « luxe » et la « modération » vestimentaires24. El Argonauta ne s’autorisa pas une telle coquetterie visuelle. Mais il pimenta quelque peu son récit par le choix de son mode de locomotion, se distinguant ainsi de El Observador qui, lui, s’était simplement transporté en rêve sur la Lune25. Les ascensions en aérostat ne fascinaient pas seulement notre Bachelier, mais tous les Espagnols, comme on peut en juger par les gravures qui furent publiées en 1784 et eurent pour objet soit la construction de ces curieuses machines volantes, soit les expériences auxquelles elles donnèrent lieu26 : la science-fiction et l’utopie étaient assurément de nature à entraîner l’adhésion d’un public rassasié des sermons qu’on lui débitait Cf. Larriba 2000. Cf. Molina et Vega 2004, 142–159. [Trullench] 1788. « Sin saber sobre qué hablar al público esta semana, y resuelto ya a dejar mi papel para la próxima, me quedé dormido en un profundo sueño. Parecióme que arrebatado en un turbillón era llevado al mundo de la Luna, donde se ofrecían a mi visto objetos desconocidos a los habitantes de este globo » (El Observador, dis. IV, 51–63, 51). Sur les rêves des Spectateurs on pourra consulter dans ce même ouvrage la contribution d’Elisabeth Hobisch. 26 Les premières expériences conduites par les pionniers de l’aérostatique, parmi lesquels les frères Montgolfier ou les frères Robert en France dès 1783, ou Vizente Lunardi en 1784 à Londres (puis à Madrid en 1793 dans les Jardins du Buen Retiro) ne manquèrent pas d’être évoquées dans la presse espagnole. Elles firent par ailleurs l’objet dès 1784 de nombreuses gravures (accessibles à un large public) ou de tableaux (Carnicero 1784 ; Goya c. 1792). Sur l’importance de ces « informations visuelles » et l’énorme intérêt suscité auprès d’un très large public par cette science spectacle, on consultera Vega 2010, 134–213. 2 2 23 24 25

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à l’église chaque dimanche et à l’occasion de toutes les fêtes carillonnées. Aussi Pedro Gatell reprit-il ce thème quelques semaines plus tard, à sa dix-septième sortie (129–132/193–196). Il ne fut toutefois pas le seul à estimer qu’une telle combinaison ravirait le public. Peu ou prou à la même époque, en mars 1790, un certain Don Patricio de Vera y Burlada (qui ne jugea pas utile de dévoiler sa véritable identité) adressa au Diario de Madrid un texte (objet de trois livraisons consécutives) dans lequel il rendait compte de son «  Voyage aérostatique au Monde de Venus  », qui précisa-t-il n’était pas le fruit de son imagination. Il affirmait avoir trouvé dans la librairie de Sancha, un ouvrage de Barthélemy Faujas de Saint-Fond sur la manière de construire les ballons aérostatiques (sans doute celui qu’il publia en 1784). Passant avec succès de la lecture à la pratique, il avait pu se doter d’une machine volante (qu’il prit la peine de décrire avec précision) et entreprendre son voyage céleste. Notre Bachelier, qui de toute évidence n’ignorait rien de ces avancées, ne se contenta pas de cette expédition en prise avec l’actualité scientifique. Il réalisa également, en rêve, un voyage extraordinaire qui le mena, sous la houlette de la Sibylle Erythrée jusqu’au Palais de Pluton (n° 2627). Là, dans un salon, le dieu des enfers, entouré d’Eaque, Minos et Rhadamanthe, se trouvait en compagnie de tous les écrivains de ce siècle que « bien des gens disent et croient être celui des Lumières » (203/275). Parmi ces hommes de Lettres, il put voir Rousseau, Voltaire, Marmontel, d’Alembert et, dans le groupe des Espagnols, il finit par reconnaître « l’Argonaute, l’Auteur de la Morale de D. Quichotte, le Panagéryste [...] »28. Tous avaient été convoqués pour jeter leurs œuvres dans un gigantesque alambic grâce auquel les dieux seraient à même de juger si l’on pouvait à bon droit qualifier ce siècle des Lumières. Et il ne put que constater que ses œuvres, tout comme celles des autres auteurs de son temps, n’étaient bonnes qu’à emballer des friandises (204/276). C’est en songe également qu’il se transforma, dans le douzième numéro, en un Don Quichotte à l’esprit dérangé non par les romans de chevalerie, mais par les livres de médecine dans une nouvelle version de l’examen de la bibliothèque du Chevalier à la Triste Figure, ce que ne laissait pas présager l’extrême sobriété du titre choisi pour son récit  :  «  Médecine  » (n° 12, 89–93/147–152). Cette 2 7 « Una de las grandes aventuras del Bachiller », n° 26, 201–205/273–277. 28 « Todos esos que miras son Españoles. ¿Españoles? Sí, y los más de Madrid. ¿No conoces a ese que está ahí cerca? No lo distingo bien la Fisionomía. Pues éste es el Argonauta Español, el Autor de la Moral de D. Quijote, el Panegirista, y el que escribió aquella obra de Historia Natural que corre con el nombre de una Parra » (« Una de las grandes aventuras del Bachiller » (n° 26, 202/274).

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fantaisie onirique aux accents cervantins permit au Bachelier (qui ne manqua pas de rappeler qu’il est des rêves empreints de vérité29) d’enrober dans du miel des réflexions particulièrement acides, qui, par ailleurs, sans cet atour littéraire, auraient pu sembler bien arides à un public non averti. Cependant, toutes les aventures de l’Argonaute ne furent pas aussi extraordinaires et, en général, c’est sur terre et dans des endroits fort communs que le guidèrent ses pas. Ainsi le retrouve-t-on dans le classique salon d’érudits à la mode, où des jeunes gens imberbes, au lieu de consulter les livres relatifs à leur profession, jouent les philosophes (n° 130). Ou encore, dans une réunion d’arrière-boutique où l’on discutait de patriotisme  ; d’abord, comme simple spectateur, puis comme acteur qui joignit sa voix à celle d’un chapelain qui avait pris part à la discussion (n° 2131). L’Argonaute ne pouvait manquer non plus de fréquenter cet espace primordial de sociabilité que représentent les cafés. Dans l’un d’entre eux, il fut témoin d’une scène intéressante qui eut lieu après la lecture publique d’un exemplaire de la Gazette dans lequel il était fait état, à la rubrique Saint-Pétersbourg, de la ville de Kronstadt, que lecteur et auditeurs étaient bien incapables de situer, ce qui tout naturellement l’amena à de réflexions sur l’utilité de la Géographie, la nécessité de la connaître et donc de l’enseigner (n° 10, 73–76/131–134). Au cours de son séjour à Madrid, où il arriva après son voyage « dans l’autre monde » (la lune), il déambula avec l’un de ses amis dans les endroits les plus fréquentés de la capitale  :  la Puerta del Sol  ; la promenade du Prado, la Plaza Mayor. Espérant vaincre la « forte mélancolie » qu’il éprouvait depuis son retour sur terre, cet ami l’emmena également dans les quartiers les plus populaires de la ville. Ils entrèrent même chez des gens de rien où l’on dansait au son de la guitare et du tambourin, ce qui l’entraîna à disserter sur le ridicule de certains usages et pratiques fort à la mode (n° 9, XVIII, 65–68/121–125). Dans le vingt-cinquième numéro, où il évoqua de nouveau son expérience lunaire et parla de l’expression usuelle «  ne pas être moins qu’un tel  »32, nous retrouvons notre Argonaute d’abord chez un artisan, puis chez un de ses proches. Peu avant (n° 23), il avait déjà rendu visite à l’un de ses amis qui, en maugréant, 29 « […] diciendo hay sueños que son verdades, se animó a revelarlo con el fin de que cada uno reflexiones si tiene o no fundamento, y de que si le tiene, sigan estas máximas los que desean acertar » (n° 12, 92/150). 30 « […] tertulia de eruditos a la moda, de esos barlampiños que en lugar de tomar los libros de su profesión se meten a filósofos » (n° 1, dis. 1, 6/60). 31 « XXVII – Patriotismo », n° 21, 161–165/229–233. 32 « Yo no he de ser menos que fulano, ni que fulana », n° 25, 197–200/267–271.

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lui avait rapporté la dispute survenue entre ses voisins, M.*** (qui était un fort honnête homme) et son épouse Mme ***, au sujet du choix du parrain de leur futur enfant. Tel fut le point de départ de réflexions, nourries par l’expérience personnelle du bachelier, sur les abus auxquels s’exposaient ceux qui acceptaient naïvement une telle responsabilité. En abordant pour la première fois le thème de l’éducation, ou plutôt, de la mauvaise éducation des enfants (n° 3, IV,  17–20/71–73) notre Bachelier avait choisi de se contenter de rendre compte de ce qu’il avait observé un jour où, chassé de chez lui par le froid, il s’était promené dans les rues de la ville en quête de soleil. Il rapporta d’abord sa rencontre avec une femme assise à une porte et tenant dans ses bras un enfant dont les caprices la faisaient rire malgré elle. Il évoqua aussitôt après, tout horrifié, une bagarre d’enfants à laquelle il avait assisté après la messe alors qu’il était encore dans l’église. En sortant du lieu saint, il dut accompagner jusque chez elles une dame et sa fille et resta stupéfait des mauvais conseils que sa mère prodiguait à la jeune fille. Enfin, la dernière scène se déroula dans sa propre maison, où à peine rentré, il vit un voisin s’emporter contre sa femme qui poussait leur fils à la paresse et leur fille à la coquetterie. Aux yeux de notre journaliste, ces quatre scènes tragi-comiques, ces quatre contre-exemples, étaient plus efficaces qu’un docte et long discours pour dénoncer les déficiences des parents. A la diversité des lieux et des personnages objet de la critique de notre infatigable voyageur correspond celle des formes du récit et de la narration. Ainsi trouve-t-on des lettres adressées par des correspondants dans le journal de bord qui nous est présenté. Elles ne sont, à vrai dire, guère nombreuses et l’on peut douter de leur authenticité. La première, extrêmement brève, n’est, semble-t-il, qu’un pur prétexte pour que l’Argonaute puisse, à la demande de son correspondant, départager deux amis qui se disputaient sur le fait de savoir si la terre était ou non habitable en tous lieux33. Mais cette lettre ne sert pas seulement d’introduction au discours de notre publiciste : elle lui permet, tout en soulignant la confiance que l’on porte à l’étendue de ses connaissances et à la solidité de son jugement (ce n’est pas pour rien qu’il faisait ostentation de son titre de bachelier !) de lancer un appel à collaboration. Il avait annoncé dans le Prospectus, rappelat-il, que son expédition serait une aventure individuelle et son journal de bord l’œuvre d’une seule plume. Toutefois, il n’hésita pas à reconnaître que le champ

33 « Carta de un Curioso al Argonauta », n° 9, 69/125. La lettre particulièrement brève est suivie en revanche d’une longue réponse signée El Br. Argonauta : « Respuesta », n° 9, 69–72/125–129.

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à couvrir était bien vaste pour un seul homme. Aussi espérait-il que des gens à l’esprit ouvert apportent à l’Argonaute quelques idées originales, exprimées aussi bien en vers qu’en prose, persuadé que, chacun dans son domaine, pourrait enrichir ses propos et les opinions que d’autres avaient exprimées34. Le résultat ne fut pas toujours des plus heureux et la lettre d’un certain Cornelio Balbo avec son espèce de catalogue d’aphorismes sur le commerce (n°1235) est quelque peu indigeste. Moins aride, quoique résolument sérieuse et fort documentée, fut celle que lui adressa son très affectionné compatriote Francisco Pérez Mansilla (n° 1336), qui partageait avec Gatell son intérêt pour l’Agriculture et avait lui aussi parcouru ce vaste monde. En fait, on trouve dans El Argonauta español bien plus de formes dialoguées que de lettres. Gatell (qui par ailleurs multiplia les références à Socrate) les introduisit discrètement dans ses récits. Mais elles peuvent tout aussi bien structurer des « discours » ou être totalement autonomes. C’est le cas du dialogue entre deux personnages à la moralité douteuse, Don Ciriato et Doña Sofonisma, par lequel s’ouvre le n° 14 du périodique37, qui occupe cinq des huit pages de cette livraison et pour lequel l’Argonaute se contente d’ajouter à la fin quelques vers en guise de conclusion et de morale. Dans le n° 18, en revanche, il devint acteur et discuta directement avec un homme qui se trouvait à la porte d’un hôpital « plein de malades », quelque peu singulier puisque l’on pouvait lire, au frontispice de ce bâtiment, l’inscription « Hôpital de Faillis » (« Hospital de Quebrados »), ces derniers étant à la fois victimes et propagateurs d’une nouvelle forme de peste38. Dans la 15e livraison, il choisit de reproduire en style indirect la conversation qu’avait eue, selon ce qu’on lui avait rapporté, en présence de sa femme et de sa fille, quelqu’un qui ne connaissait pas El Argonauta español et l’un de ses lecteurs les plus enthousiastes39. Il n’en fallait pas plus pour que notre Bachelier ne se

34 « Tendría desde luego mucha complacencia en que se sirviesen los curiosos ilustrar este papel del Argonauta con pensamientos nuevos, tanto en prosa como en verso, sin que obste el haber dicho en el prospecto que sería obra de una sola mano. Digo esto, y lo he pensado así, porque juzgo que no podré yo tocar todas las teclas. Estoy seguro que cada uno como maestro en su ejercicio podrá profundar más que yo, y por consiguiente adelantar sobre lo que yo escribieren y otros hubieran producido » (n° 9, 72/128). 35 Cornelio Balbo, « Señor Bachiller Argonauta », n° 12, 94–96/152–155. 36 Francisco Pérez Mansilla, « Señor Argonauta », n° 13, 100–104/160–165. 37 « Diálogo entre Don Ciriato y Doña Sofonisma », n° 14, 105–109/167–171. 38 Sans titre, n° 18, 137–140/203–206. 39 Sans titre, n° 15, 113–116/175–178.

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mette à discourir sur la lecture, si importante et si dédaignée des Espagnols et des Espagnoles, sans omettre celle des journaux en établissant quelques comparaisons entre l’Espagne et l’Angleterre où les jeunes filles préféraient, affirma-t-il, avec une pointe d’envie et d’amertume, se plonger dans un périodique plutôt que de savourer une tartine beurrée40. Dans le texte qui ouvre le n° 19 et qui porte sur la difficulté de garder des employés ou des domestiques41, notre Argonaute interroge tout d’abord un maître à ce sujet. Il rend compte immédiatement après de la conversation qu’il a entendue entre un patron et l’un de ses employés. A  l’adresse (surtout) des maîtres, il relate ensuite un « petit conte » dont le protagoniste, un auditeur du Conseil de Mexico, changeait chaque semaine le nom de ses domestiques afin de pouvoir les garder à son service. Enfin, il termine en énumérant, sur un ton moralisateur, les devoirs des uns et des autres. Quatre temps, quatre approches différentes et diverses modalités littéraires pour accrocher ses concitoyens et les inviter à une réflexion sur les causes de la volatilité des employés et domestiques, mal, déplorait-il, particulièrement répandu à Cadix. S’il varia les genres et sollicita des contributeurs des pièces tant en prose qu’en vers, ce n’est que rarement qu’il ouvrit son journal à la poésie qui, pourtant, recueillait très largement les faveurs du public, comme le rappela en 1793 l’un des lecteurs d’une autre publication de province, le Correo literario de Murcia, qui signa sa lettre aux Editeurs sous le pseudonyme « Le Souscripteur aux Vers du Périodique »42. La « Recette pour amorcer une véritable amitié »43 attribuée 40 « Si cuidasen los padres de inclinarlos desde pequeños a la lectura de los libros buenos, de los que instruyen en las circunstancias que hacen útil, y apreciable a un hombre, y una mujer, siendo ya mayores tomarían mejor este recreo que el juego. Y con esto imitarían a las niñas inglesas a apreciar más la lectura de un Periódico que no a almorzar con manteca » (n° 15, 177/115). 41 Sans titre, n° 19, 145–148/211–214. 42 El Subscriptor a los Versos del Periódico, « Señores Editores », Correo literario de Murcia, 28 mai 1793 (n° 78) 62–63 où l’on peut lire en guise d’introduction : « Yo soy uno de los contribuyentes a la subsistencia de el Periódico, porque soy uno de los apasionados de la Poesía, y como Vms. suelen insertar algunas Fabulillas, y otras cosas de buen gusto, deseo muchísimo los Martes, y Sábados, por leerlas: ya he llevado diferentes chascos, y Dios sabe lo frío que me quedo cuando no trae versos el Periódico; yo no soy solo de esta manía, hay muchos que no han leído siquiera un párrafo del Correo, fuera de las Poesías: Vm. saben que estos Papeles que debería servir para la instrucción popular, solo se leen por diversión, si falta esta dimos con el santo en tierra » (62). 43 « Receta para entablar una verdadera amistad », n° 2, 14–16/68–70. Le sonnet est reproduit 15/69.

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à Pline, fut complétée par un sonnet que Cervantès fit chanter à Cardenio dans son Don Quichotte. Notre bachelier intégra dans ses réflexions sur la vieillesse44 quelques vers du poète Ennius rapportés par Cicéron (42/98). Il en appela dans sa réponse à un lecteur «  curieux  » (n° 9, 69–72/125–129) à Ovide, Virgile, Horace, Tibulle, Diogène Laërce et Macrobe. C’est avec un dizain qu’il vint parachever, comme nous l’avons vu, le «  Dialogue entre Don Ciriato et doña Sofonisma » (n° 14, 109/170–171). Le numéro XV inclut une « Ode au colonel de Régiment de La Posma »45. Sa réticence à s’aventurer sur les terres du Parnasse tient sans doute au mépris que lui inspiraient les « poèmes à la mode » produits par les rimailleurs de son temps et dont certains périodiques étaient friands46. La Poésie, à laquelle il consacra néanmoins tout un discours, en adoptant une démarche historienne (n° 22, 169–173/237–241), ne fut pas en aucun cas l’outil qu’il privilégia pour connecter émotionnellement avec ses lecteurs et les inciter à le suivre dans sa quête « d’une toison d’or, trois fois plus intéressante » (n° 1, 3/57) que celle de Jason et de ses illustres compagnons. Et c’est bien le voyage, sous diverses modalités et objet de multiples références, qui articule l’accroche narrative du Bachelier.

« Toujours en mouvement » A la fin de son expédition journalistique, notre Argonaute affirmait fièrement être toujours en mouvement, sauf quand il dormait, ce qui, par ailleurs, était inexact car il l’était aussi en rêvant47. Au gré de ses « navigations » soumises à d’incessants

4 4 « XI –Vejez », n° 6, 41–44/97–100. 45 Il s’agit du marquis del Mérito dont Esménard, dans une note aux Mémoires du Prince de la Paix, disait qu’il était « très connu par le titre ou sobriquet de colonel du régiment de la Posma, de l’apathie, de la paresse, des ennuyeux, etc. ; car ce mot posma veut dire tout cela. Le noble vieillard n’en était pas moins un grand disputeur ; on le soupçonnait fort de jésuitisme » (Godoy 1836, III, 16–17). 46 « […] basta lo dicho del capítulo 20 [del arte Poética] para que lluevan poetas a millares como se ve y queja en el día, las anacreónticas, y otras de que está lleno el Correo de Madrid, son los Poemas de moda más que no valgan sino para desacreditar el siglo ilustrado […]. Máximas perversas, ya volvimos a ser copleros, ya feneció las belleza admirada de los Extranjeros, y tiempo vendrá en que no se permita dar a la Prensa pieza de Poesía que no esté forjada en la fragua del Parnaso. Así lo espera el Argonauta, en pro de la literatura Española » (« XXVII – Poesía », n° 22, 178/241). 47 « El Argonauta que siempre está en movimiento, sino cuando duerme, tropieza a veces sin querer » (« Dat veniam Corvis, vexat censura columbas. Perdona a los cuervos, y oprime su crítica a las palomas », n° 20, 153/219).

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changements de cap, il rencontra, souligna-t-il, toute sorte de gens, y compris des êtres ni rationnels, ni vraiment réels, même s’ils avaient l’air d’être de chair et d’os48. Cette appétence pour le voyage et le mouvement se reflète également dans son écriture, dans la diversité des genres utilisés, le rythme qu’il impose à son lecteur ou auditeur, par la récurrence des formes dialoguées, sa propension à poser des questions, auxquelles il répond lui-même ou fait répondre par d’autres… En découle un journal de bord dans lequel on peut voir un produit hybride : un « spectateur » certes, mais marqué par une tension entre esprit scientifique et veine littéraire, propre de celui qui se cachait derrière le masque de El Argonauta español  :  un chirurgien de la marine royale ayant abandonné la lancette pour la plume.

Bibliographie Aguilar Piñal, Francisco : La prensa española en el siglo xviii. Diarios, revistas y pronósticos. Madrid : C.S.I.C., 1978. Cantos Casenave, Marieta: « Viaje, conocimiento y utopía en El Argonauta ». Cuadernos de Ilustración y Romanticismo. Revista del grupo de Estudios del siglo XVIII 2 (1992), 55–63. Cantos Casenave, Marieta: « Orden y transgresión en el Cádiz ilustrado: la visión de El Argonauta ». In: Alberto Romero Ferrer (coord.): VI Encuentro de la Ilustración al Romanticismo. Juego, Fiesta y Transgresión. 1750–1850. Cádiz: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Cádiz 1995, 463–477. Carnicero, Antonio : Ascensión de un globo Montgolfier en Aranjuez. Museo del Prado. Huile sur toile, 170 x 284 cm. c. 1784. Faujas de Saint-Fond, Barthélémy : Des ballons aérostatiques, de la manière de les construire, de les faire élever : avec quelques vues pour les rendre utiles. On y a joint l’histoire des ballons les plus singuliers, soit par la manière dont ils furent construits, soit par l’élévation où ils sont parvenus, & leur capacité. Lausanne : J.P. Hubard & Comp. 1784. Gatell, P. (El Br. D.): El Argonauta español. Periódico gaditano en el que se corrigen por un estilo jocoso los actuales abusos en todas clases de materias, y al mismo tiempo se suministran pensamientos interesantes a él mayor progreso de las Ciencias, Artes, Agricultura y comercio, e igualmente noticias curiosas, anécdotas &c. Obra útil, deleitable, e instructiva a todas las personas de ambos sexos. Ridiculum acri dulcius: Cadix, Por D. Antonio Murguía 1790. – Cf. aussi deux éditions de El Argonauta : Elisabel Larriba (ed.). Cádiz : Servicio

48 « […] con una furia, algunas con algún hombre, y otras con unos entes que ni son de razón, ni del todo reales, por más que lleven de ello la piel » (n° 20, 153/219).

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de Publicaciones de Cádiz 2003 et Cantos Casenave, Marieta/Rodríguez Sánchez/María de León (ed.). Sevilla : Renacimiento 2008. Godoy, Manuel : Mémoires du Prince de la Paix Don Manuel Godoy, Duc de la Alcudia, Prince de Bassano, Comte d’Evoramonte, Ancien Premier ministre du roi d’Espagne, Généralissime de ses armées, Grand-Amiral […]. Traduits en français d’après le manuscrit espagnol, par J.C. D’Esménard. Paris : Ladvocat – Londres : Richard Bentley – Madrid : Casimir Monnier 1836, 4 tomes. Goya, Francisco de : L’ascension de la montgolfière. Musée des Beaux-Arts d’Agen. Huile sur toile, c. 1792, 105,5 x 84,5 cm. Guinard, Paul-J.: La presse espagnole de 1731 à 1791. Formation et signification d’un genre. Paris : Centre de Recherches Hispaniques 1973. Larriba, Elisabel : De la lancette à la plume. Pedro Gatell y Carnicer.: un chirurgien de la Marine Royale dans l’Espagne des Lumières (1745–1792). Aix-en-Provence : Publications de l’Université de Provence 2005. Larriba, Elisabel: « La Historia en El Argonauta español, periódico gaditano de la Ilustración ». In Alberto Gónzalez Troyano/Marieta Cantos Casenave/Alberto Ferrer (dir.): Historia, Memoria y Ficción. Cádiz: Servicio de Publicaciones de la Universidad de Cádiz 1999, 177–187. Larriba, Elisabel: « La utopía lunar del Argonauta español, periódico gaditano de la Ilustración ». Cuadernos de Ilustración y Romanticismo. Revista del grupo de Estudios del siglo xviii 8 (2000), 153–166. Molina, Álvaro/Vega, Jesusa: Vestir la identidad, construir la apariencia. La cuestión del traje en la España del Siglo xviii. Madrid: Ayuntamiento de Madrid – Área de Gobierno de las Artes 2004. Subscriptor a los Versos del Periódico, El, « Señores Editores ». Correo literario de Murcia 78 (28 mai 1793), 62–63. [Trullench, Pedro Pablo]: « Sueño político simbólico que ha tenido Don Benito sobre la reforma de los trajes, o lujo indiscreto de las damas españolas ». El Duende de Madrid. Discursos periódicos que se repartirán al público por mano de Don Benito. Madrid : Pedro Marín, 1788, n° VII, 161–196. Vera y Burlada, Patricio D.: « Viaje aerostático al Mundo de Venus. Pieza jocoseria, crítico moral dirigida al Diarista de Madrid ». Diario de Madrid 66 (7 mars 1790), 262–264; 67 (8 mars 1790), 265–268; 68 (9 mars 1790), 269–271. Vera y Burlada, Patricio D.: « El matrimonio en la obra del Bachiller don Pedro Pablo Gatell y Carnicer (1745–1792) ». In : Roberto Fernández/Jacques Soubeyroux (ed.): Historia Social y Literatura. Familia y burguesía en España (siglos xviii y xix). Lérida: Editorial Milenio 2003, 165–175. Vega, Jesusa: Ciencia, Arte e Ilusión en la España Ilustrada. Madrid: CSIC – Ediciones Polifemo 2010.

Alexandra Fuchs

Narrare nei fogli moralistici italiani I fogli moralistici italiani sono fortemente influenzati dai modelli francesi e inglesi e sviluppano un indicatore eccezionale per il discorso dell’Illuminismo in Italia1. Una moltitudine di forme brevi, micro-racconti inseriti, testi e adattamenti presi da periodici precedenti così come da opere antiche e contemporanee, letterarie e filosofiche, contribuiscono alla formazione di componimenti complessi nella struttura, che rimangono un’ “opera aperta” nel senso di Umberto Eco. In riferimento a The Spectator, il modello inglese pubblicato da Joseph Addison e Richard Steele, i direttori intitolano i loro fogli moralistici Osservatore toscano (Magnanima 1779–1783), L’Osservatore veneto (Gozzi 1761–1762), Gli Osservatori veneti (Gozzi 1762), Lo Spettatore italiano (Ferri 1822), Lo Spettatore italiano-piemontese (Grassi 1787), Lo Spettatore lombardo (Pezzi 1821–1825) e Il Socrate veneto (Anselmi 1733) conferendo con ciò ai periodici una inequivocabile identità italiana oppure regionale. Molti periodici fanno riferimento al Veneto fin dal titolo, come indicano la Gazzeta veneta (Gozzi 1760–1761), poi pubblicata sotto la regia di Pietro Chiari (1761–1762), e la Gazzetta urbana veneta (Piazza 1787–1798). I fogli moralistici italiani, benché basati su modelli inglesi e francesi, raccontano dunque principalmente dell’Italia, il che a sua volta ci ricorda la particolarità nazionale dei periodici italiani. Altri fogli come La Donna galante ed erudita (Cornoldi Caminer 1786–1788), La Frusta letteraria di Aristarco Scannabue (Baretti 1763–1765) o la traduzione del periodico inglese The Spectator, Il Filosofo alla moda, ovvero il Maestro universale (Frasponi 1728–1730) – pure pubblicato a Venezia – non presentano riferimenti geografici, ma indicano piuttosto l’importanza dell’autore fittizio che tutti i fogli moralistici hanno in comune nel titolo. Nella sua funzione di istanza superiore, il ruolo dell’autore fittizio è quello di guidare i lettori tra le microstorie integrate, e allo stesso tempo di trasferire il sistema dei valori dell’Illuminismo, e dunque in un certo senso di dare istruzioni su come comportarsi in situazioni difficili. Gli autori sono specializzati nell’osservare e nel commentare il comportamento dei contemporanei nella vita sociale: lo presentano ai lettori sotto forma di storie, senza prendere apertamente una posizione morale. Li incoraggiano piuttosto a riflettere su quanto letto e osservato nel proprio ambiente. Per quel che 1 Cf. Rau 1980, 252s.

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riguarda la voce del Gazzettiere nella Gazzetta urbana veneta, osserva Rosanna Saccardo: “La cosa più singolare è il tono famigliare, con cui è scritta ogni parte del giornale: il giornalista è come un buon padre, che per correggere i cittadini prende occasione dai non lodevoli fatti di cronaca che riporta” (Saccardo 1942, 99). In diversi punti l’autore fittizio del periodico non soltanto lascia ai lettori l’interpretazione delle storie raccontate, ma interviene per offrire spiegazioni, cosicché l’autore fittizio si presenta solo fino a un certo punto come un’autorità: la presunta plurileggibilità alla fine cessa di sussistere. Il processo della narrazione è strettamente legato all’autore fittizio e viene da lui discusso nei passaggi metapoetici, che a loro volta richiamano continuamente il lettore al processo di lettura. Il ruolo centrale dell’autore fittizio e dei suoi commenti a livello metatestuale sono strettamente collegati al mercato letterario. I  diversi cambiamenti nel sistema della letteratura, dipendono a loro volta dai cambiamenti in campo socioculturale2. Nel Settecento la produzione di letteratura dipende in larga misura dal mercato: anche narrare diventa dunque un fattore economico3. Mentre lo Spectator osserva le risorse culturali londinesi del suo tempo, gli Osservatori, Gazzettieri e Spettatori descrivono la vita della società urbana in Italia. I comportamenti della emergente cittadinanza moderna in Italia offrono un vasto terreno di critiche e contestazioni, soprattutto perché i fogli moralistici sono permeati dall’etica protestante, nella quale l’ozio è inteso come il padre dei vizi, e viene per questo rifiutato con veemenza. È allora di fondamentale importanza che gli spettatori non diffondano soltanto le loro visioni dell’economia nell’ambito del protestantesimo, ma anche in quello del cattolicesimo, sebbene solo mezzo secolo dopo. Allo stesso tempo, questo processo mette in moto dei cambiamenti nelle modalità della narrazione. Per mantenere alto l’interesse dei lettori, è necessario rimproverare e biasimare il loro comportamento in maniera garbata. Una siffatta critica sociale comporta quindi la complessità del testo nella sua struttura. Nel Settecento l’oggetto delle osservazioni è l’uomo. Ciò richiede accorgimenti strategici da parte dell’autore, che riesce a trasferire il messaggio morale al lettore soltanto tramite strategie di luogo comune. Il narrare ha la fondamentale funzione di semplificare la complessità del mondo reale, fuori dalla finzione, senza rinunciare ai legami con

2 Cf. Fuchs/Ertler 2014, 233ss. 3 Cf. Marchi 1986, 133.

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un significato4. Dipende finalmente dai lettori concretizzare di nuovo i messaggi astratti per trarre un beneficio pratico dall’insegnamento morale. I fogli di portata più ampia, come per esempio La Frusta letteraria di Aristarco Scannabue o La Donna galante ed erudita, trattano vari temi in ogni numero. Quanto più brevi sono i fogli, tanto più si limitano a temi particolari. Il livello di cornice del narratore fittizio si presenta inizialmente omogeneo. A  causa dell’architettura dei fogli moralistici, e a causa degli intrecci e degli inserti, i fogli brevi presentano anche una varietà di temi. Al di sotto del livello più superficiale, che si presenta caotico, si nasconde un’intelaiatura strutturata in modo preciso, nella quale sono incluse anche le lettere al direttore. Queste lettere parlano di temi filosofico-morali, di temi che riguardano la vita economica in città e raccontano aneddoti della vita quotidiana. Nel centro della complessa intelaiatura narrativa si trova l’autore fittizio del periodico. Il racconto cornice risale alla letteratura orientale, ma si riconduce anche alla tradizione letteraria italiana dal componimento del Novellino, e particolarmente del Decameron di Giovanni Boccaccio, in cui il racconto cornice ha la funzione di sistemare e organizzare a livello metapoetico testi eterogenei. Particolarmente nei fogli moralistici, occorre una strategia strutturante per creare un legame che unisca la molteplicità dei testi di vari autori, e di conseguenza di varie qualità e vari stili. In generale, solo l’autore fittizio guida i lettori sia attraverso il testo a diversi livelli diegetici, che attraverso i messaggi morali raccontati da voci distinte. Nel contesto del nostro progetto di ricerca sui fogli moralistici italiani, spagnoli e francesi, abbiamo creato un modello di categorizzazione per indicare le fratture narrative e discorsive e per poterle presentare graficamente5. Oltre all’accesso ai testi elettronici e alla presentazione di contenuti tematici, abbiamo individuato a livello formale i principi narrativi. Dai risultati dell’analisi è emerso che i periodici hanno in comune numerose strutture parallele, che sono tipiche per il genere, ma allo stesso tempo ammettono anche una particolarità nazionale. A ben guardare, brevi inserti narrativi con distinte priorità tematiche spesso si rivelano come micro-racconti nei racconti. In questo caso la forma breve, integrata più volte, imita la struttura dell’entità superiore. 4 Haferland/Meyer 2010, 3. 5 Si tratta di una Collezione dei fogli moralistici in un Digital Repository  – Geisteswissenschaftliches Asset Management System (GAMS) – al istituto di Filologia Romanica a Graz, in collaborazione con il “Zentrum für Informationsmodellierung” (“Austrian Centre for Digital Humanities”), sotto la regia di Johannes Stigler. .

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Negli inserti narrativi gli autori osservano più precisamente la vita quotidiana della città. Tutto quello che gli spettatori – cioè sia i direttori dei fogli, sia gli autori di lettere al direttore – percepiscono nella società auditivamente o visivamente, lo trasmettono nei periodici sotto forma di racconti di sogno, favole, allegorie, autorappresentazioni e ritratti degli altri. Il che si riconduce alla tradizione novellistica italiana. Sulla base della genesi testuale, i fogli moralistici diventano  – a livello narrativo – un’impresa condivisa da una moltitudine di partecipanti. Il direttore del periodico si presenta costantemente come istanza fondamentale, che secondo il contesto ha il ruolo di direttore o di autore del foglio. Nel contempo il direttore fittizio dei fogli decide sull’integrazione di articoli stranieri nel suo componimento. Questi articoli inseriti possono essere lettere da parte dei lettori, ma anche racconti tramandati da molto tempo nei fogli moralistici risalenti allo Spectator. Il processo della narrazione è la componente più importante dei periodici e attribuisce una funzione identitaria alla società urbana. Il che succede sia nelle lettere al direttore che nelle micro-narrazioni dentro le lettere, nei racconti inviati o nei commenti che guidano i lettori. La narrazione nei fogli moralistici italiani non concerne dunque soltanto la moltitudine di forme narrative, ma anche innumerevoli fonti testuali:  per questo la funzione narrativa si modifica continuamente. I periodici contengono un fondo di riferimenti tra testi letterari e non-letterari. Le osservazioni sulle connessioni e sugli aspetti della ricezione dei testi non letterari, p.e. testi scientifici come il racconto “Il Valetudinario”6, fanno riferimento alla volgarizzazione della conoscenza scientifica coeva. Racconti che riflettono costumi stranieri ed esotici7, come per esempio nella narrazione “Prima visione di Mirzah”8 o “Hilpa”9, ovvero racconti sull’identità europea o su una certa regione o nazione, fanno parte della formazione della propria consapevolezza e della percezione degli

6 La storiella del “Valetudinario” tra l’altro si trova in: The Spectator 25; Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne I/XIX; Il Filosofo alla moda XII; El Filósofo á la moda 1/II; Der Zuschauer 25; O Anonymo 1, Gazzetta urbana veneta 85 (1789). 7 Cf. anche Fuchs/Ertler 2018, 183–206. 8 La storiella “Prima visione di Mirzah” tra l’altra si trova in: The Spectator 159; Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne II/XXXVI; Il Filosofo alla moda CXXXIV; Der Zuschauer 59; Gazzetta urbana veneta 25 (1796). 9 La storiella di “Hilpa” tra l’altra si trova in: The Spectator 584 e 585; Le Spectateur ou le Socrate moderne VI/XVIII e XIX; Scelta delle più belle ed utili speculazioni dello Spettatore, Ciarlatore e Tutore LVII e LVIII; Der Zuschauer 584 e 585; Gazzetta urbana veneta 84 (1796).

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altri. Il ricorso a componimenti dà spiegazione della conoscenza tramandata a quel tempo, confermando che la coscienza modificata non è equivalente alla rottura tra l’antico e il moderno, ma che anche sull’asse diacronico esiste tuttora una stretta correlazione. Quando gli autori dei fogli moralistici continuano a raccontare le idee circolanti, come per esempio i pensieri di Joseph Addison sull’estetica letteraria in “The Pleasures of Imagination” (Spectator 411–422) non sfuggono i collegamenti all’assiologia transeuropea. Dalle comparazioni locali, regionali e nazionali, dalla presentazione dei micro-racconti come anche dalla superiore intelaiatura formale e contestuale, si possono trarre conclusioni per quanto concerne ciò a cui viene data la massima importanza nei rispettivi ambiti nazional-culturali. Tanto sul livello tematico quanto su quello formale, si può individuare l’intreccio tra i fogli moralistici e i suoi pendants. Con ciò si può tener conto della discussione attuale, che accentua la relazione tra testo e costituzione di area culturale nazionale10. Le descrizioni delle particolarità nazionali dei racconti nei fogli moralistici italiani, e la loro posizione nel contesto europeo, danno visione della società italiana, soprattutto di quella veneziana. Lo si può illustrare sulla base di un esame della migrazione dei micro-racconti dal contesto protestante dello Spectator, al contesto cattolico dei paesi latini, e della sua presentazione nei fogli moralistici italiani. Un’analisi intertestuale dei periodici evidenzia in qual modo i microracconti circolanti comportano il trasferimento dell’assiologia dell’Illuminismo del Settecento, offrendo al contempo una controproposta al discorso tradizionale. Su tutti i livelli si individuano la voce di un narratore e il suo punto di vista che porta in primo piano osservazioni o esperienze individuali, riconosciute probabilmente dai lettori sulla base della loro vita reale11. Nella seguente analisi il periodico Gazzetta urbana veneta (1787–1798) di Antonio Piazza, pubblicato solo alla fine del secolo, serve come testo primario, nel quale però compaiono alcuni micro-racconti tratti dallo Spectator inglese, anche se si deve presumere che i racconti siano una traduzione del foglio francese Le Spectateur, ou le Socrate moderne: Modelli gli saranno soprattutto la Gazzetta del Gozzi e quella del Chiari […]. Ma, […] egli guardò al di là di quelli, e risalì allo Spectator. Quest’ultimo poté forse leggerlo, come si vedrà, anche nella lingua originale: certo lo conobbe nella traduzione francese, poiché

10 A proposito dell’analisi della messa in scena della comunicazione, dell’organizzazione dell’intelaiatura, del processo della scrittura, della disposizione formale come anche della migrazione dei microracconti nel periodico Gazzetta urbana veneta, si veda anche: Fuchs/Ertler 2018. 11 Cf. Benjamin 1977, 443.

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[…] gli era ben nota; egli stesso, d’altra parte, dichiara nei Lamenti di aver tradotto tante opere “dal franco idioma” in lingua italiana. Una attenta analisi di alcuni saggi dello Spectator tradotti per la Gazzetta urbana veneta, rivela che egli si valse della versione francese, anche se, pubblicando quelle traduzioni, le presentò come fatte direttamente sugli originali (Colombo 1966, 209ss).

Sulla base dei testi indicati, si può mettere a fuoco il percorso dei racconti e delle loro modificazioni dallo Spectator fino ai periodici nei paesi latini e particolarmente al periodico di Piazza. In quel momento la narrazione di racconti aveva ancora un gran significato, malgrado la cospicua mole di informazioni attualissime offerte dalla Gazzetta. Gli spettatori, come anche gli autori dei contributi narrativi, si rivolgono a una platea di lettori che è ancora ignorante per quel che riguarda i temi filosofico-morali, ma che è già pronta a imparare e a informarsi. Ne consegue che i micro-racconti integrati sono pieni di forza di persuasione. Gli autori mirano a trasferire il loro pensiero ai lettori. A tal fine è necessario che gli autori abbiano vissuto la stessa esperienza di imparare leggendo. La trasmissione delle conoscenze entra dunque in una sfera ciclica e viene effettuata a due livelli. Al livello del contenuto (histoire) viene trasferita la conoscenza pratica, mentre al livello retorico-discorsivo (discours) vengono trasmesse ai lettori competenze retoriche per motivarli a dare forma scritta ai propri testi.

A Burlatori inutili, ed a Burlatori proficui12 Nel numero 371 dello Spectator di martedì 6 maggio 1712, l’autore si occupa della tradizione dei club in Inghilterra. Lo Spectator non ha intenzione di parlare direttamente dei club, ma preferisce lasciare la parola all’autore anonimo di una lettera al direttore, che racconta le proprie osservazioni. Questo numero dello Spectator è accolto nel Discorso XVII dello Spectateur, ou le Socrate moderne (1716–1726)13. In sostituzione della frase introduttiva dello Spectator:  “I shall communicate to my Reader the following Letter for the Entertainment of this Day”, nel periodico francese compare un titolo di secondo grado: “Lettre sur la Bizarrerie & l’esprit goguenard des Anglois”. Nel periodico italiano Filosofo alla

1 2 Cf. anche l’analisi in Fuchs/Ertler 2018, 172–183. 13 La grafia del motto nella traduzione francese differisce da quella nel testo inglese: “Iam ne igitur laudas, quod de sapientibus alter Ridebat?”; oltre all’indicazione delle fonti, si trova inoltre l’informazione: “Sat. X. 28”. Per i lettori che non conoscono il latino, lo Spectateur traduce il motto in francese: “Est-ce donc vous n’aprouvez aujourd’hui que Démocrite, qui rioit de tout?” Le Spectateur, ou le Socrate moderne XVII, 97.

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moda, il Discorso XVII migra nella Lezione CCIX del tomo quarto. Inoltre, il Filosofo inserisce il sottotitolo: “A Burlatori inutili, ed a Burlatori proficui”. Invece nel foglio italiano la lettera al direttore comincia ex abrupto. Nello Spectator la lettera è indirizzata al “Sir”, nello Spectateur al “Monsieur” e nel periodico italiano al “Sig. Filosofo”. Già nel primo paragrafo della lettera al direttore, si osserva la dinamica della variazione di significato tra il testo inglese e le traduzioni e gli adattamenti in altre lingue. Nello Spectator l’autore della lettera comincia con una constatazione glorificante sugli autori di commedie inglesi e sui loro componimenti: Sir, you know very well that our Nation is more famous for that sort of Men who are called Whims and Humourists, than any other Country in the World, or which reason it is observ’d that our English Comedy excells that of all other Nations in the Novelty and Variety of its Characters (The Spectator 371, 396).

L’autore della lettera fa di tutto per mettere in rilievo lo spirito creativo dei suoi contemporanei in collegamento con la eccezionale produzione letteraria, affinché questo determini un certo carattere nazionale. Parla dell’Inghilterra come nazione e non dimentica di caratterizzare con orgoglio le commedie “inglesi”. L’identità nazionale, cioè la caratteristica inglese, si basa sulla diversità. Proprio questa diversità viene sottolineata come elemento comune e definita al contempo come delimitazione rispetto ad altri paesi14. La produzione letteraria funge da collegamento della società eterogenea. A questo proposito si pone la questione dell’accettazione del quadro tracciato da parte degli altri. La certezza con la quale lo Spectator sostiene che l’Inghilterra ruba la scena a tutti gli altri paesi del mondo per quanto concerne i Whims and Humourists, induce a pensare che presuma che anche gli altri paesi abbiano conservato lo stesso quadro dell’Inghilterra. Nel periodico francese Le Spectateur, ou le Socrate moderne non si trova più l’enfasi dell’inglese come personaggio particolare. Leggendo soltanto il primo paragrafo della lettera, si può trasferire il tutto al contesto francese: Vous savez très-bien que notre Nation est la plus fameuse qu’il y ait au Monde pour ce qu’on appelle des Gens bizarres & d’une humeur fantasque. C’est pour cela même que notre Comédie l’emporte sur celle de toutes les autres Nations par la singularité & la multitude de ses Caractères (Le Spectateur, ou le Socrate moderne XVII, 97).

14 In una nota in calce, Bond fa riferimento all’autoritratto di William Temple (1814, 438), per quel che riguarda la varietà e l’umore nella società inglese (The Spectator 371, 396).

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Facendo riferimento ai contemporanei inglesi nel titolo “[...] l’esprit goguenard des Anglois”, si evita un’interpretazione equivoca. Nello Spectator, nella frase seguente l’autore della lettera dice al direttore:  “Among those innumerable Sets of Whims which our Country produces [...]” (The Spectator 371, 396). A questo punto lo Spectateur francese mira a una formulazione diversa e parla di “nostra isola”, guardando in direzione dell’Inghilterra: “Entre ce nombre infini de Quinteux que notre Isle produit [...]” (Le Spectateur, ou le Socrate moderne XVII, 97). La presentazione della lettera al direttore, nel Filosofo alla moda determina invece una ricezione del tutto diversa. A  differenza della variante francese, il sottotitolo “A Burlatori inutili, ed a Burlatori proficui” non contiene nessun riferimento all’Inghilterra. La lettera al direttore è indirizzata al “Sig. Filosofo” e comincia ex abrupto, senza intermediazione da parte dell’ autore del periodico: Sapete benissimo, che la nostra nazione è la più famosa del mondo nelle Persone bizzare e di umorre [sic] fantastico. Per questo anche le nostre Comedie [sic] superano quelle delle altre nazioni per la singolarità, e per la moltitudine de’ loro Caratteri (Il Filosofo alla moda 209, 102).

Di sicuro i lettori amanti del teatro leggeranno il primo paragrafo con orgoglio. All’inizio della lettera vengono ricordati i quadri del teatro rinascimentale e i nomi dei grandi autori di teatro, come per esempio Ludovico Ariosto, Pietro Aretino e Niccolò Machiavelli. I lettori del Filosofo alla moda pensano con orgoglio alla Commedia dell’arte, la cui tradizione è cominciata già nel Seicento. Il Filosofo non ha la minima intenzione di distruggere questo quadro e di deludere i suoi lettori. Mentre nella frase successiva lo Spectateur parla dei “Quinteux que notre Isle produit”, il Filosofo mantiene l’immagine del mondo teatrale dell’Italia: “Trà [sic] l’infinito numero de Fantastici, che si producono da nostri Paesi [...]” (Il Filosofo alla moda 209, 102). In questo modo i fogli moralistici diventano un luogo in cui si incontrano, un luogo in cui vengono collegati una molteplicità di testi e immagini che i lettori sciolgono e interpretano di nuovo. A quanto pare, nel Filosofo alla moda il testo originario dello Spectator si è già lasciato alle spalle l’area linguistica inglese, e si è infilato nell’ambito linguistico e tematico italiano dove il Filosofo continua a scrivere in modo diverso per influenzare la propria platea di lettori. Infatti descrive diverse società, composte da persone che “hanno la bocca in mezzo al volto”, da una “truppa di Loschi” o da “Balbi” (Il Filosofo alla moda 209, 103). Spinge anche a incontrarsi una “dozzina d’Amici […] che si notavano per l’uso di varie espressioni superflue”, persone che bestemmiano o “Fabbricatori di racconti, o di storie” (Il Filosofo alla moda 209, 105–107).

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Anche Gasparo Gozzi, nel n° 5 della Gazzetta veneta di mercoledì 20 febbraio 1760, inserisce un breve estratto della lettera, senza perdere l’occasione di sfruttare la descrizione di coloro che, nei propri discorsi, inseriscono una molteplicità di parole inutili. In primo luogo, il Gazzettiere informa sullo spettacolo La Compagnia dei Salvadeghi, ossia i Rusteghi15 di Carlo Goldoni, presentato il 16 Febbraio al teatro San Lucca. Si parla di due figure fittizie, di una coppia sposata che, discutendo, usa una moltiplicità di parole irrelevanti, e suscita perciò l’idea di uno scherzo. Nello Spectator invece, fa la sua comparsa un uomo responsabile dello scherzo. La sua idea è quella di unire persone che hanno in comune gli stessi difetti. Nella Gazzetta veneta viene presentato un gruppo di persone che sta discutendo sui vizi, quando uno di loro decide di invitare a cena persone famose e molto ‘viziose’. I fogli moralistici raccontano sempre di persone con un’identità sconosciuta e talvolta di figure senza nome. Occasionalmente le persone, o le singole figure, hanno uno pseudonimo che trasporta un certo significato. Anche in questa narrazione si evitano i nomi concreti. Ciò contribuisce alla costituzione di un’identità collettiva, non fondata però su esperienze personali, come per esempio su lettere individuali. Il gioco di mascheramento, non solo presenta per l’autore fittizio del periodico, il vantaggio di poter nascondere le proprie critiche dietro una maschera16. Nascondendo allo stesso modo i destinatari della critica dietro una maschera, sono i lettori ad accettare più facilmente le aspre critiche. Se la critica riguarda un collettivo anonimo, non è il singolo lettore a sentirsi chiamato in causa; quest’ultimo può addirittura confermare la critica e mettersi addirittura nei panni del critico. In questo modo l’autore ha la possibilità di denunciare direttamente i vizi e i mali che regnano nella società e allo stesso tempo di ridurre al minimo i pregiudizi dei lettori. Di conseguenza, l’implementazione di un autore fittizio può essere messa in relazione con la discussione settecentesca sui pregiudizi. La messa in scena della figura dell’autore ha luogo su tutti i livelli narrativi. Il gioco del mascheramento dell’autore fittizio non si limita al livello del periodico. Anche le presunte lettere al direttore spesso sono scritte dagli autori dei fogli moralistici stessi, con l’intenzione di confondere i confini tra realtà e finzione. Al centro dell’interesse non stanno individui singoli o persone concrete, ma avvenimenti e reazioni, la morale e la lezione appresa. Dal punto di vista dei 15 La commedia I Rusteghi andò in scena per la prima volta sotto il titolo La Compagnia dei Salvadeghi, o sia i Rusteghi. 16 A proposito della funzione dell’autore fittizio nei fogli moralistici si veda anche: Martens 1968, 33ss.

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lettori, basta che dietro le voci narranti, si nascondano persone dello stesso ambito sociale, una garanzia di identificazione. L’accento delle micro-narrazioni non viene messo sulla descrizione di individui specifici, che agiscono su eventi particolari della storia. Gli autori fanno piuttosto attenzione a creare un collegamento tra il testo fittizio e il mondo fuori dal testo, per offrire ai lettori un esempio da usare nel proprio presente17. Il Gazzettiere usa la stessa strategia. Per quel che riguarda il nucleo del discorso, il Gazzettiere si orienta alla presentazione originale inglese. I partecipanti diventano consapevoli dei vizi degli altri e quindi anche dei propri. Adesso utilizzano saggiamente le proprie parole. Nello Spectator l’esempio finisce presentando l’applicazione utile ed efficace dello scherzo: “[...] the Conversation was cleared of its Redundancies, and had a greater quantity of Sense tho’ less of Sound in it” (The Spectator 371, 398). Il Gazzettiere fa ammutolire la compagnia per la vergogna. All’improvviso una donna si alza e dice:  “In un momento non possiamo guarire. È meglio, che ci sfoghiamo alla prima, e parliamo” (La Gazzetta veneta 5, s.p.). Successivamente la compagnia si sbellica dalle risate e poi ricomincia a chiacchierare senza problemi. Gozzi continua a scrivere l’aneddoto dal suo punto di vista e progressivamente si sposta dall’applicazione del testo originale. Anzi, con l’inserimento della donna che alza la voce, pare persino relativizzarla. L’ambito culturale di Venezia offre a Gozzi sufficienti possibilità per sviluppare la sua creatività. Riesce davvero a collegare un micro-racconto, che risale all’ambito inglese e che si è integrato già decenni prima nei periodici italiani dove circola da lungo tempo, con un avvenimento attuale, e a trasferirlo nel proprio presente per i suoi lettori. La migrazione della lettera al direttore però non si ferma lì. Il micro-racconto viene presentato un’altra volta sabato 29 dicembre 1792 nel n° 104 della Gazzetta urbana veneta. Nel periodico di Antonio Piazza la risata si collega ancora una volta con il discorso didattico-morale. La presentazione si avvicina di nuovo al testo originale dello Spectator. Nella Gazzetta urbana veneta il contenuto della lettera non si presenta sotto forma di una lettera al direttore, ma sotto quella di un racconto. Inoltre, il Gazzettiere amplia l’introduzione: innanzitutto spiega ai lettori di aver ricevuto un foglio che tratta di burle. Tra le righe si capisce che il contenuto non è frutto della sua penna, ma mancano informazioni dettagliate sul testo originale. La Conclusione è “a comune divertimento”. Prima di pubblicare il contenuto del messaggio, il Gazzettiere si pronuncia così:

17 Cf. anche Stürzer 1984, 64s.

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Noi senz’accennarle dichiariamo apertamente il nostro dissenso per tutte quelle, che potendo cagionare dello spavento decidono talvolta della vita, o della salute altrui; e per l’altre che facendosi zimbello de’poveri baggiani, o delle persone d’infimo rango, non lasciano alcun adito alla resa della pariglia. La burla degenera in crudeltà quando mette a rischio i giorni, o la salute degli uomini, ed in viltà quando non tende a deludere l’accortezza, e ad offrire all’eguaglianza qualche ripresa (Gazzetta urbana veneta 104, 1792, 826).

Non è più possibile farsi scherno di una sofferenza fisica senza essere criticati. Il Gazzettiere dimostra la propria solidarietà con le vittime della risata che ha l’unico scopo di divertirsi burlandosi di altri: “In vece dunque d’insegnare ad altri a divertirsi senza compassione, o senza dignità, offeriamo [...] esempj stranieri, che servir possono al nostr’oggetto di piacere con instruzione [...]” (Gazzetta urbana veneta 104, 1792, 826). Nemmeno lo stato sociale rappresenta un parametro per la comicità. Il Gazzettiere sottolinea piuttosto lo scopo di istruire e al contempo anche l’utilità di scrivere. Non si deve più ridere degli altri, ma dei “proprj personali difetti, la generosità ne’ capriccj” (ibid.), per finalmente riuscire a correggergli. Il titolo in corsivo “Perchè andar in collera?” e la spiegazione al di sotto del titolo “Traduzione”, evidenziano sul livello formale il testo inserito. Il Gazzettiere salta le riflessioni sulle commedie inglesi e comincia immediatamente con la descrizione delle burle collocando il racconto di nuovo nell’ambito inglese:  “Un Gentiluomo Inglese assai ricco” è lo spirito creativo che convoca le compagnie. Nella Gazzetta urbana veneta non si trovano più considerazioni da parte dell’autore della lettera a proposito dei mancati benefici per i partecipanti, constatati ancora nello Spectator. Il Gazzettiere premette al racconto le proprie riflessioni. Menziona però brevemente che il Galantuomo ha trovato un imitatore, che intende migliorare i vizi dei suoi contemporanei. Gli autori dei fogli moralistici influenzano notevolmente le modalità di presentazione della narrazione alla platea dei lettori. I  racconti tramandati, arricchiti con supplementari potenziali d’identificazione, vengono messi a disposizione dei lettori veneziani. Quando un micro-racconto circola in vari fogli moralistici, a ben guardare si verificano chiare modificazioni di significato. Osservando soprattutto il modo in cui gli autori dei fogli presentano, commentano e cercano di collegare un racconto con le rispettive intenzioni, non possono sfuggire le diversità di significato.

Conclusioni La descrizione delle strutture di comunicazione e dell’allestimento discorsivo nei fogli moralistici italiani contribuisce a enucleare le funzioni dell’autore fittizio. Il

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suo ruolo principale è quello di fornire l’impresa giornalistica di un’intelaiatura e soprattutto di coinvolgere i lettori. In base ai loro contributi, sotto forma di lettere al direttore, è possibile ricostruire il processo di finzionalizzazione della vita quotidiana, così come la trasformazione della comunicazione orale in forma scritta, il che ha avuto un ruolo fondamentale in considerazione del cambiamento del paradigma sociale. Se ne conclude che i fogli moralistici italiani sono esempi rappresentativi che trasformano argomenti letterari in micro-racconti e offrono istruzioni per la lettura, fornendo anche la possibilità di contribuire alla discussione in forma scritta da parte dei lettori. I narratori riferiscono esperienze proprie, sia reali che fittizie. In questo modo la narrazione acquista una componente antropologica. Il processo della narrazione è strettamente connesso con la costruzione personale, il che significa che nella narrazione si crea una coscienza collettiva. I periodici morali costituiscono così un repertorio di racconti in cui spesso è soltanto l’analisi precisa a mettere in luce le caratteristiche culturali emergenti da elementi specifici di una certa cultura, che portano poi a un’identità collettiva.

Bibliografia Addison, Joseph e Richard Steele: The Spectator. To be continued every day. London: S. Buckley, J. Tonson [1. Marzo] 1711–[6. Dicembre] 1712. Anon.: Le Spectateur, ou le Socrate moderne, Où l’on voit un Portrait naïf des Mœurs de ce Siècle. Traduit de L’Anglois. Paris: Etienne Papillon/Frères Wetstein/François-Guillaume L’Hermite 1716–1726. Anselmi, Francesco: Il Socrate veneto. Venezia: Modesto Fenzo 1733. Baretti, Giuseppe: La Frusta letteraria di Aristarco Scannabue. Venezia [s.e.], [1. Ottobre] 1763–[15. Luglio] 1765. Benjamin, Walter: “Der Erzähler. Betrachtungen zum Werk Nikolai Lesskows” [1936]. In: Walter Benjamin: Gesammelte Schriften. T. II/2. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp 1977, 438–465. Colombo, Rosa Maria: Lo Spectator e i giornali veneziani del settecento. Bari: Adriatica 1966. Cornoldi Caminer, Gioseffa: La donna galante ed erudita. Giornale dedicato al bel sesso. Venezia: Negozio Albrizzi a S. Benedetto 1786–1788. Fantechi, Paolo: Scelta delle più belle ed utili speculazioni inglesi dello Spettatore, Ciarlatore, e Tutore. Livorno: Paolo Fantechi e Compagni 1753–1756. Ferri, Giovanni: Lo Spettatore italiano. Milano: Società tipografica de’Classici italiani 1822.

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Frasponi, Cesare: Il Filosofo alla moda, ovvero Il Maestro universale. Venezia: Giovanni Malachino 1728–1730. Fuchs Alexandra/Klaus-Dieter Ertler: Die Moralischen Periodika in Italien: L’Osservatore veneto. Hamburg: Kovač 2014. Fuchs Alexandra/Klaus-Dieter Ertler: Kommunikative Inszenierung und Migration der Mikroerzählungen in der Gazzetta urbana veneta von Antonio Piazza. Hamburg: Kovač 2018. Gozzi, Gasparo: Gazzetta veneta. Venezia: Paolo Colombani [6. Febbraio] 1760–[31. Gennaio] 1761. Gozzi, Gasparo: L’Osservatore veneto. Venezia: Paolo Colombani [4. Febbraio] 1761–[18. Agosto] 1762. Gozzi, Gasparo: Gli osservatori veneti. Venezia: Paolo Colombani [3. Febbraio] 1762–[18. Agosto] 1762. Grassi, Francesco: Lo Spettatore italiano-piemontese. Torino: Giammichele Briolo 1787. Haferland, Harald/Matthias Meyer: Einleitung. In: Harald Haferland/Matthias Meyer (ed.): Historische Narratologie – Mediävistische Perspektiven. Berlin/ New York: De Gruyter 2010, 3–15. Magnanima, Luca: Osservatore toscano. Livorno: Carlo Giorgi 1779–1783. Marchi, Armando: “L’autore mercatante. Mercato e professione nel Settecento”. Problemi 76 (1986), 132–151. Martens, Wolfgang: Die Botschaft der Tugend. Die Aufklärung im Spiegel der deutschen moralischen Wochenschriften. Stuttgart: Metzler 1968. Pezzi, Francesco: Lo Spettatore lombardo. Milano: Giovanni Pirotta 1821–1825. Piazza, Antonio: Gazzetta urbana veneta. Venezia: Zerletti [2. Giugno] 1787– [30. Luglio] 1798. Temple, William: The Works of Sir William Temple. London: S. Hamilton 1814. Rau, Fritz: Zur Verbreitung und Nachahmung des Tatler und Spectator. Heidelberg: Winter 1980. Saccardo, Rosanna: La Stampa periodica veneziana fino alla caduta della repubblica. Padova: Tipografia del Seminario 1942. Stürzer, Volker: Journalismus und Literatur im frühen 18. Jahrhundert. Die literarischen Beiträge in Tatler, Spectator und den anderen Blättern der Zeit. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang 1984.

List of Figures José de Kruif Quantifying Spectators Fig. 1: Formats ������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  101 Fig. 2:  Main subjects .............................................................................................  102 Fig. 3: Word cloud Hollandsche Spectator with Man, heer (lord) and people (menschen) are encircled .............................................................  103 Fig. 4: Word cloud De Denker with Man, heer (lord) and people (menschen) encircled ................................................................................  104 Fig. 5:  Main topics in articles in which women are discussed ........................  106 Fig. 6:  Women and topic in De Denker ..............................................................  107

Die Aufklärung in der Romania Lumières – Ilustración – Illuminismo Herausgegeben von Klaus-Dieter Ertler Band 1

Klaus-Dieter Ertler / Jessica Köhldorfer: Die Spectators in Spanien. El Duende Especulativo sobre la Vida Civil von Juan Antonio Mercadàl. 2010.

Band 2

Juan Antonio Mercadàl: El Duende Especulativo sobre la Vida Civil. Editado por Klaus-Dieter Ertler. 2011.

Band 3

Klaus-Dieter Ertler (Hrsg.): Die Spectators in der Romania – eine transkulturelle Gattung? 2011.

Band 4

Klaus-Dieter Ertler / Elisabeth Hobisch / Andrea Maria Humpl: Die spanischen Spectators im Überblick. 2012.

Band 5

Klaus-Dieter Ertler / Alexis Lévrier / Michaela Fischer (éds.): Regards sur les "spectateurs". Periodical Essay - Feuilles volantes - Moralische Wochenschriften - Fogli moralistici - Prensa moral. 2012.

Band 6

Klaus-Dieter Ertler / Elisabeth Hobisch: Die Spectators in Spanien. Die kleinen Schriften der 1760er Jahre. El Murmurador imparcial. El Amigo y Corresponsal del Pensador. El Escritor sin Título. El Belianís literario. 2014.

Band 7

Klaus-Dieter Ertler / Elisabeth Hobisch / Andrea Maria Humpl: Die Spectators in Spanien. Die kleinen Schriften der 1780er Jahre. La Pensatriz salmantina. El Curioso Entretenido. El Apologista Universal. El Corresponsal del Apologista. El Teniente del Apologista Universal. El Duende de Madrid. El Observador. El Argonauta Español. 2014.

Band 8

Michaela Fischer: Die Figur des Lesers im Kommunikationssystem der Spectateurs. 2014.

Band 9

Alexandra Fuchs: Spuren der Moralischen Presse im Erzählwerk von Antonio Piazza. 2016.

Band 10

Elisabeth Hobisch: La forma epistolar en los espectadores españoles. Características y tipología de las cartas. 2017.

Band 11

Michaela Fischer-Pernkopf / Veronika Mussner / Klaus-Dieter Ertler: Die Spectators in Frankreich. 2018.

Band 12

Hans Fernández / Pascal Striedner: Bento Morganti. Collecçam dos Papeis Anonymos. 2019.

Band 13

Klaus-Dieter Ertler / Yvonne Völkl / Elisabeth Hobisch / Alexandra Fuchs / Hans Fernández (eds.): Storytelling in the Spectators / Storytelling dans les spectateurs. 2020.

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