The Dynamics of Text and Framing Phenomena: Historical Approaches to Paratext and Metadiscourse in English 9027207887, 9789027207883

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The Dynamics of Text and Framing Phenomena edi t ed by Matti Peikola Birte Bös

John Benjamins Publishing Company

The Dynamics of Text and Framing Phenomena

Pragmatics & Beyond New Series (P&bns) issn 0922-842X Pragmatics & Beyond New Series is a continuation of Pragmatics & Beyond and its Companion Series. The New Series offers a selection of high quality work covering the full richness of Pragmatics as an interdisciplinary field, within language sciences. For an overview of all books published in this series, please see benjamins.com/catalog/pbns

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University of Augsburg

University of Zurich

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Zhejiang International Studies University

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The University of Queensland

University of Trieste

Volume 317 The Dynamics of Text and Framing Phenomena Historical approaches to paratext and metadiscourse in English Edited by Matti Peikola and Birte Bös

The Dynamics of Text and Framing Phenomena Historical approaches to paratext and metadiscourse in English

Edited by

Matti Peikola University of Turku

Birte Bös University of Duisburg-Essen

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam / Philadelphia

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TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences – Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48-1984.

doi 10.1075/pbns.317 Cataloging-in-Publication Data available from Library of Congress: lccn 2020032620 (print) / 2020032621 (e-book) isbn 978 90 272 0788 3 (Hb) isbn 978 90 272 6055 0 (e-book)

© 2020 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Company · https://benjamins.com

Table of contents

Acknowledgements

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Part I.  Conceptualisations of text and framing phenomena Chapter 1 Framing framing: The multifaceted phenomena of paratext, metadiscourse and framing Birte Bös and Matti Peikola Chapter 2 On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext: Punch magazine as a case study Jukka Tyrkkö and Jenni Räikkönen Chapter 3 The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing Claudia Claridge and Sebastian Wagner Chapter 4 Threshold-switching: Paratextual functions of scribal colophons in Old and Middle English manuscripts Wendy Scase Chapter 5 Framing material in early literacy: Presenting literacy and its agents in Anglo-Saxon manuscripts Ursula Lenker

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Part II.  Framing and audience orientation Chapter 6 Paratext and ideology in 17th-century news genres: A comparative discourse analysis of paratextual elements in news broadside ballads and occasional news pamphlets Elisabetta Cecconi Chapter 7 “All which I offer with my own experience”: An approach to persuasive advertising strategies in the prefatory matter of 17th-century English midwifery treatises M. Victoria Domínguez-Rodríguez and Alicia Rodríguez-Álvarez Chapter 8 “I write not to expert practitioners, but to learners”: Perceptions of readerfriendliness in early modern printed books Hanna Salmi Chapter 9 Book producers’ comments on text-organisation in early 16th-century English printed paratexts Mari-Liisa Varila

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Part III.  Form and layout in framing Chapter 10 Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing: Framing contents and expanding the text Elisabetta Lonati

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Chapter 11 Recuperating Older Scots in the early 18th century Jeremy J. Smith

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Chapter 12 Paratext, information studies, and Middle English manuscripts Colette Moore

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Index

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Acknowledgements

This volume results from the fruitful discussions in the workshop on “Paratextual Communication in a Historical Perspective”, held at the 20th International Conference on English Historical Linguistics (Edinburgh, August 2018). We would like to thank all the contributors for enthusiastically sharing our interest in the topic and for their valuable co-operation. We are very grateful for the continued support by the series editor, Anita Fetzer, and by Isja Conen at John Benjamins. We would also like to thank the two anonymous reviewers for their constructive comments on a previous version of the manuscript. Finally, our thanks go to Carolin Aldick and Nora Behrendt, who, with their careful attention and devotion to detail, have been of immense help in preparing the volume for publication. Turku/Essen, May 2020 Matti Peikola and Birte Bös

Part I

Conceptualisations of text and framing phenomena

Chapter 1

Framing framing The multifaceted phenomena of paratext, metadiscourse and framing Birte Bös and Matti Peikola University of Duisburg-Essen / University of Turku

1. Introduction Texts are not produced and perused in a vacuum. This commonly accepted pre­ mise has been approached from various disciplinary angles, and accordingly, it has been conceptualised in different, but related ways. This volume explores the dynamic relations of texts and their contextualising elements, drawing particularly on the notions of paratext, metadiscourse and framing.1 It aims at developing a more comprehensive historical understanding of these phenomena, covering a wide time span, from Old English to the 20th century, in a range of historical genres and, contexts of text production, mediation and consumption. However, more fundamentally, it also seeks to expand our conception of text and the communicative ‘spaces’ surrounding them, and probe the explanatory potential of the concepts under investigation. 1.1 Genette’s notion of paratext Our discussion starts out from the seminal concept of paratext, which was introduced by Gérard Genette in 1982, in the second volume of his ‘transtextual trilogy’ (Genette 1997a), and further elaborated in the third instalment in 1987, which constitutes the foundational work for the study of paratext (Genette 1997b). Paratext, in Genette’s definition, comprises a variety of liminal elements that are situated on the threshold between the main text(s) of the book and the reader, and thus present the main text to the readers by providing them with sites from which they can enter it (cf. the original title of Genette’s 1987 work Seuils ‘thresholds’). 1.  As framing is understood by us as the most comprehensive of the three notions (cf. Section 2.2 below), it is often used as an umbrella term here. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.01bos © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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In his characterisation of paratexts, Genette (1991, 1997b: Chapter 1) draws on the following criteria: (1) the location of the paratextual element in relation to the text, (2) the temporal relation of text and paratext, (3) the substantial status of the paratext, and (4) various pragmatic aspects involving elements of the communicative situation, such as addressers and addressees, responsibility for the message and what Genette terms (“very freely” and not fully in accord with the definition of speech act philosophers like Searle) the “illocutionary force” (1991: 268). The explanation of the latter shades into his discussion of (5) functional aspects which, in contrast to the other criteria, he claims, “cannot be described theoretically and, as it were, a priori in terms of status” (1997b: 12). While the first four criteria, in his view, allow for relatively straightforward choices among mutually exclusive Table 1.  Genette’s categorisation of paratext (Genette 1991, 1997b: Chapter 1) Location

Location of the paratext in relation to the text: – peritext: around/near the text (in the same volume) – epitext: removed from the text (outside the volume)

Temporal situation

Appearance of text as temporal point of reference: – anterior paratext: appearing prior to text – original paratext: appearing at the same time as the text –  subsequent/belated paratext: appearing later than the text (→ anthumous/posthumous: before/after author’s death)

Substantial status

Form of the paratext: – textual: verbal realisation of the paratext – iconic: nonverbal, visual realisation, e.g. illustrations – material: physical make-up of the paratext, typographic choices, etc. – factual: non-explicit facts which have an impact on the reception of the text

Pragmatic status

Elements of the communicative situation: Addresser who is responsible for the paratext: – authorial paratext: author – editorial paratext: publisher – allographic paratext: third parties Addressees of the paratext/accessibility: – public paratext: addressed to the general public or specific addressees (e.g. readers of the text, critics, booksellers) – private paratext: addressed to individuals, not publicly accessible – intimate paratext: addressed by the authors to themselves Addresser’s degree of responsibility for the message of the paratext: – official paratext: responsibility assumed – unofficial/semi-official paratext: responsibility avoided (to a more or less degree) Illocutionary force of the message: – providing “pure” information – expressing intention and interpretation



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

alternatives, as summarised in Table 1, functional aspects are much fuzzier, highly context-dependent and need to be examined “genre by genre and often species by species” (1997b: 13). Given the particular interest of this volume in the pragmatics of framing, we will return to an overview of major functions of paratextual elements in Section 2.3, and many of the contributions of this volume will provide the empirical analyses Genette called for. Yet, we will also show that the other categories are likewise not always as clear-cut as indicated by Genette. 1.2 Central questions of the volume Genette’s concept soon gained attention amongst literary scholars, and specialists in literary and book history, translation and media studies have later embraced it as well (e.g. Baron, Lindquist and Shevlin 2007; Smith and Wilson 2011; GilBardají et al. 2012; Belle and Hosington 2018; Tweed and Scott 2018; Brown-Grant et al. 2020). Also some historical linguists and philologists have applied the concept, for example in research into medical, religious and news genres/discourses (e.g. del Lungo Camiciotti 2011; Suhr 2011; Meurman Solin and Tyrkkö 2013; Peikola 2015; McConchie and Tyrkkö 2018). These studies generally indicate that the concept of paratext may offer new insights into early communicative practices by enriching our understanding of the verbal and visual resources used for mediating texts in different communicative contexts. However, applying the model to historical texts and contexts that differ from those discussed by Genette is not without theoretical and methodological challenges. The following questions mark central issues addressed in this volume. How can the concept of paratext, originally developed for literary studies, be fruitfully applied to non-fictional texts and in a linguistic perspective? Genette’s work on paratext is largely situated in the context of the late modern French novel, and he emphasises the author as the key agent responsible for the shaping of paratext. As a consequence, the role played by paratext in non-fictional main text genres and the contributions of other relevant agents of textual production to paratextual communication is unnecessarily marginalised in the original model. In their chapters, the contributors of this volume bring to the fore aspects of paratextuality in non-fictional genres (and their possible differences from those of literary works); explore the use of paratext by agents other than the (Genettian) author, such as scribes, compilers, publishers, printers, compositors, editors, and translators; and investigate the impact of genres and agents on the realisations of paratextual elements. How does the concept of paratext link to other concepts like framing and metadiscourse? What added value can the concept of paratext offer for historical linguistics and philology?

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As indicated above, the paratextual model is not the only approach that addresses framing elements in textual communication. Thus, it is not only necessary to explore the benefits and limitations of this model, but also to investigate the explanatory force of related notions such as metadiscourse and framing, which are also employed by the contributors or this volume. Furthermore, we seek to discover the intersections and overlaps of these concepts (see Section 2.2 of this chapter for more detail). What functions do framing elements serve in different textual genres and in different periods? Genette explores communicative situations that characterise individual paratextual elements such as the preface or the title, but he is reluctant to elaborate on the overall functions of paratext beyond its general purpose of presenting or mediating the main text for the reader. Functions of paratext have subsequently been refined (e.g. by Birke and Christ 2013) and functional classifications of metadiscourse and framing have additionally furthered our insights (e.g. Boggel 2009; Wolf 2008; see also Section 2.3 below). The chapters of this volume complement these insights by providing fine-grained functional descriptions of framing elements in different genres, socio-pragmatic contexts and historical periods. What does paratextual communication convey about (changing) socio-cultural conditions and genre conventions? How have framing elements developed over time? Are there any general diachronic trends? What effects do media shifts have? As Chartier (2014: 149) observes, paratextual relations between text producers and consumers/addressees are not ahistorical, but “directly dependent on the techniques of reproduction of the written word, on the supports used for texts, and on the circulation of works” (for a similar observation on metadiscourse, see Boggel 2009: 1). When modes of textual production, dissemination and consumption change, we may also expect to see changes in the functions and conventions of framing elements (cf. Section  3.2 below). The contributions in this volume, both individually and collectively, take account of such diachronic developments, highlighting transformations, but also underscoring practices that have remained stable over time. What is our notion of text? How can text and framing elements be differentiated in a systematic way? How can we cope with boundary issues? In critical discussions of Genette’s metaphorical characterisation of paratext as a threshold or vestibule (Genette 1997b: 2; cf. Scase, Chapter 4, this volume), boundary issues have received particular attention. As pointed out by Birke and Christ, “scholars have struggled with the question of how to differentiate text and paratext in a more systematic way” (2013: 69; see also Ruokkeinen and Liira 2017 [2019]). The contributions in this volume do not only provide ample evidence of the fluid boundaries of text and framing elements, they also reconsider the notion



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

of text, deal with entextualisation phenomena and multi-text compilations. Many contributions also explicitly recognise the importance of material and visual aspects of framing and their interplay with the linguistic features of text and paratext – a dimension largely ignored by Genette in his original formulation of paratext (see also Section 3.2 below). In the planning stage of this volume, the invited contributors were supplied with the above-mentioned questions and requested to engage with them from the perspective of their respective areas of expertise. Their contributions (to be introduced in detail in Section 4 of the present chapter) bring to the fore the importance of context-specific pragmatic interpretation that is attuned to the nuances of the communicative situation. In addition to observing what framing elements were made use of by text producers, and how they were employed in various kinds of texts and historical contexts, the chapters in this volume essentially seek to understand why these elements were used in such ways. This pragmatic core lays the foundation for approaching the set of questions outlined above. 2. Paratext, metadiscourse and framing – relating the core concepts of the volume 2.1 Paratext in a prototype perspective When we take a closer look at Genette’s work and further studies dealing with paratext, a pattern emerges which, we argue, can be elucidated particularly well by applying the prototype model.2 Figure 1 takes up this perspective, showing the best representatives of the category paratext at the core and the less prototypical examples at the periphery. The idea behind this figure is that the most-investigated types of paratext, and thus possibly also those that are intuitively perceived as most prototypical and well-delineated, are characterised by a combination of specific characteristics. Figure 1 thus returns to the major dimensions of paratext postulated by Genette, which were summarised in Table 1 above and are reorganised here under the terms location, temporal status, substantial status, communicators, communicative situation, functions, and complemented by an additional dimension of linguistic levels of paratext.

2.  For an overview of the prototype concept, see Ungerer and Schmid (2006).

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Communicators

Fra m

ing

Allographic

Met ad

isco urse

Editorial

Intimate Private

Authorial Public

Para text

Peritext

Location

Subsequent Anterior

Functions

Commercial

Interpretative Macro Textual Original

Epitext

Communicative situation

Navigational

Micro

Material Iconic

Linguistic levels

Factual Substantial status

Temporal status

Figure 1.  Paratext and related phenomena in a prototype perspective

Starting with the criterion of location, Figure  1 indicates that it is peritext, i.e. paratextual elements which occur in the immediate vicinity of the main text, that has received most attention in research and is thus placed at the core of the prototype presentation. Indeed, peritext is so prominent that it is sometimes even equated with its hyperonym paratext. Peritext is also the major focus of most of the contributions in this volume, which cover paratextual elements like titles and prefaces, footnotes and colophons, to name but a few. In contrast, epitext, which is more removed from the actual text, is obviously more difficult to locate, and relations to the text under discussion might not always be straightforward. This is, for example, discussed by Tyrkkö and Räikkönen (Chapter 2, this volume), who argue strongly for including both peritext and epitext in paratextual analyses. As regards the temporal status, there is prototypically a focus on original paratext. This is also true for the contributions in this volume, which mainly investigate those framing elements that were issued together with the original version or first edition of the main text. Some also engage with examples of subsequent paratext that were added to the text later (see, for example, Smith’s discussion of the editorial framing of Older Scots verse in Chapter 11). However, both subsequent and, even more so, prior paratexts, pose particular challenges evolving around the question of what is text and what is framing. As Stanitzek remarks, [t]‍he greater the distance of these elements from the actual bound volume – and of course distance here is not restricted to the spatial dimension in the narrower



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

sense but also includes a temporal and social aspect – the more tenuous Genette’s conceptualization becomes. (2005: 31)

As far as the substantial status is concerned, it is probably not surprising that in literary as well as in linguistic studies, the focus is mostly on textual elements. However, iconic elements (such as pictures) and material aspects (e.g. typographic choices) are occasionally covered as well, and they also play a role in some of the chapters here (see, for example, Tyrkkö and Räikkönen, Chapter  2, Lonati, Chapter 10, and Moore, Chapter 12). A category which has triggered much discussion due to its elusive and (over-)‍comprehensive nature, is Genette’s notion of factual paratext, “a fact whose existence alone, if known to the public, provides some commentary on the text and influences how the text is received” (Genette 1997b: 7). It can be argued that the notion of factual paratext takes the whole concept of paratext too far to keep it meaningful. As it is almost impossible to operationalise and analyse factual paratext, it is assigned peripheral status in this prototype conceptualisation. The two dimensions of communicators and communicative situation take up important aspects of the ‘pragmatic status’ outlined by Genette (1997b: 8–9). As mentioned above, there is a strong focus on authorial communicators (not only) in Genette’s work, which the volume at hand tries to counterbalance by considering also editorial and allographic senders, i.e. third parties such as scribes, editors and printers, whose influence on the framing of text has often been overlooked. Furthermore, we have to allow for cases of multiple or unclear communicators, particularly given the historical contexts under investigation here. Regarding the communicative situation, public paratext, which is directed at a general audience or specific target groups, is at the core of the prototype conceptualisation and also at the centre of the contributions in this volume. This is obviously related to the degree of accessibility, which has rendered paratexts from less accessible private or even intimate contexts quite underresearched. This dimension certainly deserves future exploration. Figure 1 furthermore indicates that – in a functional perspective – particular attention has been devoted (again not just) by Genette to the interpretative function. His work has been criticised for overemphasising this function and neglecting others, and triggered more differentiated functional approaches such as that by Birke and Christ (2013: 67–68). A more detailed discussion of functional descriptions, also of the related concepts of metadiscourse and framing, is provided in Section 2.3 below. Finally, with the dimension of linguistic levels, we have added a linguistic perspective to the characterisation of paratext. Genette’s, as well as many other works have concentrated very much on well-defined macro-level units, such as

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title pages, prefaces, epigraphs, etc., whereas linguistic micro-level units, which tend to be more closely entwined with the main text, take us to the area where the paratext concept intersects with other notions. 2.2 Paratext and metadiscourse As also indicated in Figure 1, paratext is not the only concept that has been used to relate to the phenomena under discussion. The notions of metadiscourse and framing broaden the picture, and so complement the notion of paratext which, at least in its prototypical conceptualisation outlined above, seems to be the most narrow concept. Thus, the Genettian categories of textual peritext overlap with some of the macro-level oriented conceptualisations of metadiscourse. For example, Brownlees employs the concept of editorial metadiscourse in relation to historical news discourse, defining it as “passages written ostensibly by the news editor or publisher as distinct from embedded reports written by various correspondents and reporters printed within the news publications” (2015: 3).3 However, the concept of metadiscourse is extremely fuzzy,4 and what is clearly more widespread are the much broader conceptualisations of metadiscourse which draw attention to linguistic micro-level units within the text. This conceptualisation of metadiscourse exceeds the Genettian notion of the paratext as threshold, focussing on intratext and “on explicit textual devices, that is, items which can be clearly identified in the text” (Hyland 2005: 28, emphasis in original). Hyland’s classification, which is widely used, is also adopted in some of the chapters in this volume (cf. the contributions in Part II). It differentiates interactive elements which help to guide the reader through the text (i.e. transitions, frame markers, endophoric markers, evidentials and code glosses) and interactional elements involving the reader in the text (i.e. hedges, boosters, attitude markers, self mentions and engagement markers) (Hyland 2005: 49; 2017: 20–21). Metadiscourse, in this sense, is inseparably interwoven with the text and characterised as an intratextual, authorial phenomenon. However, some conceptualisations of metadiscourse (like that by Boggel 2009) allow for a combination of both macro- and micro-level perspectives and thus 3.  See also Bös (2015: 24), cf. the use of the term in practically oriented studies like Arrington and Rose (1987). 4.  See, for example, the comments in Hyland (2005: 16–17; and also 2017) on the fuzziness of the concept. Ädel and Mauranen (2010: 2) distinguish between a broader, integrative/interactive model vs. a more narrow, non-integrative/reflexive model. Beauvais (1989) criticises the imprecision of early metadiscourse definitions and points out problems with the broad approach.



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

integrate elements located outside or at the ‘thresholds’ of the text and those inside the actual text. 2.3 Paratext and framing The phenomena under investigation can be also conceptualised using a frametheoretical approach which draws on the Goffmanian notion of ‘cognitive frames’ (1974) and also Bateson’s “metacommunicative […] frame-setting message[s]” (Bateson 1955/1972: 190, cit. in Wolf 2006: 6). In that light, frames can be conceived of as ‘abstract cognitive metaconcepts’, whereas framing is the related activity (Wolf 2006: 7). More specifically, [f]‍ramings may, thus, be defined as codings of abstract cognitive frames that exist or are formed within, or on the margins and in the immediate context of, the framed situation or phenomenon and – like the corresponding frames – have an interpretative, guiding and controlling function with reference to it. (Wolf 2006: 6)

Interestingly, this definition hints at the thresholds as one potential locus of framing. However, it also explicitly comprises other loci of framing. In fact, MacLachlan and Reid (1994: 4) explicitly distinguish between intertextual framing (which helps us recognise texts as representatives of certain genres), circumtextual framing (occurring around the text, at the boundaries, thresholds) and intratextual framing (appearing within the text). In this respect, it can be argued that all Genettian paratexts are framings, but not all framings are paratexts (Wolf 2008: 93). Framing can thus be considered as an alternative, but also an addition to the Genettian paratext concept which focuses particularly on the thresholds (cf. Wolf 2008: 95) and the (broad) notion of metadiscourse with its intratextual focus. Framings are advocated by Wolf (2008: 95) as a more integrative and flexible model than paratext, which can be used going beyond literary discourse. From the linguistic perspective pursued here, the notion of textual framing borders, outlined in Wolf’s comprehensive typology of framings (2006: 25), appears particularly beneficial for dealing with the dynamics of text and framing elements and coping with boundary issues (some of which are exemplified in Section 3.2). Wolf’s (2006: 10) understanding of frames and framings as (inherently) “transmedial phenomena” encourages a multimodal perspective for their linguistic analysis.5 It is evident, for example, that the visual highlighting of linguistic framings in the material text increases their salience and may therefore also contribute to their prototypicality (see further Section 3.1). Relating to the “edges” which seem 5.  For visual elements used in framing, see e.g. Duro (1996), Kress and van Leeuwen (1996), Bawden (2017).

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to be “a privileged place for signalling relevant frames” (Wolf 2006: 22), textual framing borders can comprise both paratextual and intratextual elements (Wolf 2006: 24) and thus form the bridge between macro-level paratext and micro-level metadiscourse (see, for instance, the examples discussed in Section 3.2.1). 2.4 Functional classifications of paratext, metadiscourse and framing From a functional perspective, the concepts of paratext, metadiscourse and framing show a clear common core, which was already indicated in the prototype presentation in Figure 1 above and is shown again in the central blue box in Figure 2 below. It is the interpretative function that has been foregrounded (not just) in Genette’s work on paratexts. This function is also captured by Birke and Christ (2013: 67) in their three-fold distinction of major functional categories of paratext, and it is similarly outlined for the category of instructional metadiscourse by Boggel (2009: 3) and for framing by Wolf (2008: 92), whose functional classifications form the basis of Figure 2. In this respect, framing elements are most prominently used to suggest to the reader specific ways of understanding, reading and interpreting the text. Navigational paratext Text-organizing metadiscourse

Interpretative paratext Cultural contextualisation framings

Instructional metadiscourse Framings supporting/ guiding interpretation

Stancemaking metadiscourse

Commercial paratext Framings advertising for/ controlling reception

Figure 2.  Major functions of paratext – metadiscourse – framing (based on classifications by Birke and Christ 2013: 67–68; Boggel 2009: 3; Wolf 2008: 92)

However, the functional classifications we draw on here also go beyond the most prototypical interpretative function. Thus, Boggel’s classification (2009: 3) also



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

draws our attention to stance-making metadiscourse (e.g. by the use of attitudinal markers, evidentials, self-mention, etc.), which is obviously closely related to the interpretative function (and thus presented in the light blue box in Figure 2). However, the very broad notion of metadiscourse generated by including this functional aspect has been criticised as ‘too all-inclusive’ and abandoned even in the metadiscourse literature itself. More common ground exists regarding navigational functions, i.e. means facilitating reader orientation, which are mentioned explicitly in both the paratext and the metadiscourse perspectives. Here, the fuzzy boundary between the two concepts (and also the link to the notion of framing borders) becomes particularly clear, as this function is realised both in macrolinguistic text-framing elements (like prefaces, cf. e.g. Boggel 2009: 48) as well as microlinguistic metadiscursive elements like intratextual ‘frame markers’6 (like my purpose here is to, Hyland 2005: 49; cf. also Hyland 2017: 19). The commercial function (e.g. advertising the text, promoting the sale) taken up in Figure 2 has been neglected not only by Genette, but also in the works on metadiscourse. In the conceptualisation of framing it is tentatively taken up, but not very prominent. However, work on selected elements of paratext, such as title pages, has shown that this is a particularly important function which should not be neglected (e.g. Suhr 2011; Olson 2016; Varila and Peikola 2019; see also the contributions in Part II of this volume). In fact, Saenger goes as far as to argue that the pages that make up the front matter in early modern books “constitute something like the birth of modern advertising” (2005: 197; see Hackley and Hackley 2018 for application of the paratext framework to modern marketing texts). Finally, the framing concept explicitly draws our attention to the cultural contextualisation functions, anchoring the text in a particular cultural setting (Wolf 2008: 92), which are also partly indicated in the functions outlined for the other concepts. This and other potential functions await further exploration in this volume, which will also try to shed more light on fuzzy category boundaries, issues of multifunctionality (cf. also Boggel 2009: 61) and differentiation according to the various perspectives of the communicative parties involved (authors, readers, publishers, etc.). 3. Contextualising the dynamics of text and framing phenomena This section illustrates the theoretical considerations and conceptualisations presented above with examples of paratextual and other framing phenomena 6.  Note that, interestingly, Hyland’s label takes up the notion of frame in this category (2005: 49).

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from various genres and historical periods. After a brief discussion of some prototypical instances (Section  3.1), we will take up cases that seem less prototypical and may present various analytical challenges (Section  3.2). While our main focus lies on textual peritexts, we will also touch on their iconic and material dimensions. 3.1 Prototypical examples The prototypicality of textual peritexts, we argue, may be achieved both by linguistic and visual (iconic)/‍material means. In practice, these modes operate together, and it is often difficult to pinpoint their precise role in any individual instantiation of framing. For the sake of clarity, we will consider them separately here. 3.1.1 Linguistic prototypicality: Genre conventions Some types of textual framing have developed relatively stable linguistic conventions, which even gives them generic status. Prefaces (prologues) are a case in point. Found already in Old English (see Lenker, Chapter 5, this volume), they typically display argumentative topoi, discourse strategies and communicative moves that in various ways correspond to what Genette calls “the themes of the why” and “the themes of the how” (1997b: 196–229; cf. e.g. Litzler 2011; Domínguez-Rodríguez and Rodríguez-Álvarez 2015 and Chapter 7, this volume). Such features are not limited to the prefatory matter in books. Inaugural comments found in early 18th-century newspapers, for example, display a recurrent three-step argumentation structure, as aptly illustrated by the example shown in Figure 3.

Figure 3.  Inaugural comment in The General Post, 21–24 July 1711.



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

In their canonical form, these inaugural comments were used by the newsmakers to (1) establish the “topos of a journalistic glut” (Winkler 1998: 202; cf. Figure 3: “so great a Number of the same sort seems to have overstock’d the Town and glutted the Country”), (2) claim the exceptional status of their own publication, and (3) differentiate from their competitors (“the Advantages the Publick is like to find in this above any of those that have hitherto appear’d…”) (Bös 2017; cf. Winkler 1998: 202; Winkler 1993: 663). It is obvious that these comments were model­ led on the conventions used in prefaces of contemporary books (Bös 2017: 19). Their elements also conspicuously resemble those identified in the blurbs of modern books (cf. Bhatia 2004: 175), which suggests that we are dealing with a continuing tradition. 3.1.2 Visual and material prototypicality Visual flagging enhances the salience of textual peritexts in various ways and may contribute to the reader’s perception of the framing (paratextual) status of a linguistic element (cf. Holsanova, Holmqvist and Rahm 2006; Leckner 2012; Liira and Ruokkeinen 2019). An element may be flagged by highlighting its colour, size, style and/or location on the page (Carroll et al. 2013: 57; see also Varila et al. 2017). Prototypical textual peritexts of this kind include titles, headings, rubrics, newspaper mastheads, etc., that are as a rule flagged, for example by writing/printing them in red, centring them on the line or at the top of the page, or using a different font/script for executing them (as illustrated in Figure 3; for these elements, see also Cecconi, Chapter  6, and Moore, Chapter  12, this volume). In addition to their paratextual status, such elements also often work metatextually to provide information (identify, comment) on another paratextual element (see also Section 3.2.2 below). A rubric, for example, may be used to identify a prologue, as in “The prologe upon the translacion of dynyse hidde dyuynite” (Cambridge University Library MS Kk.6.26 fol. 121r, cited by Connolly 2009: 284). The category of visually flagged prototypical peritexts also comprises various notes and glosses that are placed in the side-margins or the foot of the page, at the end of the main text, or between lines of main text. They can be keyed to the main text with a number, letter or other cue, and are often executed in smaller font or a different (grade of) script than the main text (on footnotes, see Claridge and Wagner, Chapter 3, this volume). The visual flagging of a textual peritext may also be achieved by framing it literally, for example when the title of a book is surrounded by decorative border elements (“compartments”) on the title page (see McKerrow and Ferguson 1932: xi). The preliminaries (or frontmatter) offer a prototypical example of how the physical location of peritextual elements in the material book can contribute to their framing or paratextual status (cf. Wolf’s notion of ‘framing borders’ discussed

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above). Even in e-books, the reader will expect the initial location to work as a paratextual space. In the medieval manuscript culture and well into the era of the printed book, the final (terminal) location was similarly (if not sometimes more) relevant, as it contained the colophon, the explicit and the printer’s device (see Sherman 2011; on the colophon, see also Scase, Chapter 4, and Lenker, Chapter 5, this volume; in Chapter 6 Cecconi compares the initial and terminal paratextual devices in two early modern news genres). The backmatter is obviously still used for specific navigational and interpretative paratexts like indexes and glossaries (on these and other such devices, see Lonati, Chapter 10, this volume). 3.2 From prototypicality to periphery In practice, manifestations of paratextual communication and framing phenomena are rarely clear-cut. Inadequacy of flagging is one aspect of this fuzziness, but there are also several other dimensions to it, brought about in various ways by the historically changing medial, technological and communicative constraints of text production  – as well as problems in the theoretical frameworks themselves (cf. Sections 1 and 2 above). We will illustrate some of these theoretical and methodological challenges below. 3.2.1 Flagging issues Instantiations of textual framing are not always made salient by linguistic, visual or material flagging. This may be either because there is little or no flagging present or because similar flagging is also used for other purposes in the text. In such cases, the boundary between paratext (framing border) and main text may seem fuzzy, which can present analytical challenges for the researcher. Figure 4 shows the first 28 lines of the Middle English romance Havelok the Dane in a late 13th/early 14th-century manuscript.7 Lines 1–26 are visually presented as a section of their own, flagged with a 2-line pen-flourished coloured initial . This section is largely made of conventional metadiscursive elements that occur in some form at the beginning of a large number of Middle English romances (see the note to ll. 1–26 by Herzman, Drake and Salisbury 1997; see also Taylor 2011: 71–73). In this section, the narrator addresses the audience and hints at the oral context of the situation (ll. 1–2 “Herknet to me gode men wiues maydnes and alle men”), gives a label for the text (l. 3 “Of a tale þat ich you wile telle”, l. 12 “And þe tale ye mowen ylere”, l. 21 “Here y schal biginnen a rym”), 7.  For this manuscript (Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Laud Misc.108), see Bell and Couch (2011). Liszka (2011) presents an overview of the previous studies that address the dating of the manuscript and its texts.



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

Figure 4.  The beginning of Havelok the Dane in Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Laud Misc. 108, fol. 204r, detail, http://‍tsar192.grid.csun.edu/osdviewer.php. Reproduced with permission by The Bodleian Libraries, The University of Oxford.

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describes the main protagonist (l. 5 “Ƿe tale is of hauelok imaked”, l. 7 “Hauelok was a ful god gome” etc.), and makes a supplication to Christ to protect the audience (ll. 16–20 “Ƿat crist vs shilde alle fro helle […] Benedicamus domino”). Lines 1–26 may be viewed functionally as a kind of preface or prologue. Indeed, some of the thematic elements that occur in these lines are commonly found even in modern prefatorial communication (cf. Genette 1997b: Chapter 9 passim, for the themes of genesis, choice of a public, genre definitions). The formal flagging of the lines with the decorated initial reinforces the reader’s perception of them as a distinctive unit. It should be observed, however, that the pen-flourished initial that opens the narrative proper (or main text) in line 27 (“It was a king bi are dawes […]”) is similar in colour, size and style to the initial used in line 1 (as seen in Figure 4). Similar text-organising initials are also used at the beginning of other sections of the poem in this manuscript, so despite being flagged visually, the textual framing border constituted by lines 1–26 does not stand out differently from those sections that more clearly belong to the main text.8 Nonetheless, it may be asked whether the visual flagging of lines  1–26 of Havelok the Dane in MS Laud Misc. 108 makes them more ‘prototypically paratextual’ than those functionally similar metadiscursive passages at the beginning of many other Middle English romances that are not highlighted visually or linguistically, but effectively blend into the main text. For example, the first three stanzas (or 18 lines) of Sir Beues of Hamtoun in the Auchinleck manuscript (see Figure 5) share similar thematic and linguistic elements with those found in the opening section of Havelok the Dane (e.g. l. 1 “Lordinges herkneþ to me tale”; ll. 3–4 “of a kniȝt ich wile ȝow roune beues a hiȝte of hamtoune”). The prefatory theme of truthfulness (Genette 1997b: 206–207) is also present here (l. 6 “wiþ outen lesing”). Unlike in Havelok, however, there is no clear textual or linguistic shift to the narrative proper or main text (unless the opening word of the fourth stanza “whan” in l. 19 is viewed as a discourse marker suggesting this) – nor are the first three stanzas (ll. 1–18) singled out visually on the manuscript page. In this case, the concept of intratextual metadiscourse might seem more readily applicable to the analysis of the opening lines than approaching them as a distinct paratextual element.

8.  Evans (2011: 63) surmises that the “great extent of decoration” in Havelok in comparison to many other texts in the manuscript may mean that it was viewed as a prestigious text and also that the work of the decorator who executed the initials aimed at emphasising its romance genre in contrast to the hagiographical items that precede it in the manuscript.



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

Figure 5.  The beginning of Sir Beues of Hamtoun in the Auchinleck Manuscript (Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland Advocates’ MS 19.2.1), fol. 176r, adapted from the digital facsimile available at https://‍auchinleck.nls.uk/mss/beues.html.

3.2.2 Different levels of paratextual communication One of the areas in which paratextual communication and metadiscourse effectively blur into each other is when framing elements themselves contain other framing elements that are used in what Wolf calls self-centred functions (Wolf 2006: 29). According to Wolf, this happens “when framings are used to ‘foreground’ conventions of paratexts” (2006: 30). Inaugural comments of newspapers, for example, may themselves contain comments on the necessity of inaugural comments. Thus, the first paragraph of the inaugural comment (“The INTRODUCTION”) shown in ex. (1) acknowledges “the need to introduce a New Paper” and mentions that this is done with “Accounts of the Design, and of the Persons who undertake it” – i.e. topics that are part of the same framing element (cf. Bös 2017: 19–20). (1) The INTRODUCTION THE good Understanding which is necessary to be kept up between Authors and Readers, hath established a fashionable Correspondence between them, and made it natural to introduce a New Paper with such Accounts of the Design, and of the Persons who undertake it, as may at once gratify every Man’s Curiosity, and interest him in the Success of the Undertaking.   (The Daily Gazetteer, 30 June 1735, emphasis added)

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3.2.3 Status of elements in compilations One of the limitations of Genette’s model is its focus on artefacts that contain one clearly identifiable main text (typically a narrative literary work). This position poses theoretical and practical challenges for applying the concept of paratext to compilations and other compositional works. In such cases, how does one identify the ‘main text’ and distinguish it from the framing elements? Does the internal organisation or order of the texts in a multi-text compilation have some paratextual or framing function in itself? The analytical challenges increase when the artefact takes some other form than the canonical printed book (cf. Stanitzek 2005: 36 on “[t]‍he inadequacies of Genette’s book orientation”). Many late medieval religious, devotional and other utilitarian manuscripts, for example, are furnished with a calendar that contains the monthly arranged saints’ festivals for the year and often also provides various kinds of astronomical and medical information (see e.g. Pfaff 1998; Peikola 2009; Wieck 2017). Calendars typically form a self-standing structural (codicological) unit, and tend to be placed at the beginning of the manuscript book, sometimes appended there by a later user of the manuscript. They are rarely found as ‘texts’ of their own, but tend to occur as components of other manuscripts. Calendars do not usually make explicitly verbalised interpretative or navigational connections to other texts in the same manuscript (cf. these functions discussed in Section 2.2), so it would perhaps be difficult to view them as textual peritexts to some specific main text(s). It might still be argued, however, that placed at a prototypical location at the beginning of the book, the calendar has the potential of framing the texts that follow it. This interpretation may suggest itself especially when the calendar is pre­faced to texts that are not conventionally accompanied by it. For example, although calendars do not as a rule occur in medieval Latin Bibles, they are found in many manuscripts of the Middle English (Wycliffite) Bible translation.9 Since calendars, however, almost systematically occur in medieval Latin books of hours, psalters and other devotional books, it may be speculated whether prefacing the Middle English biblical manuscripts with a calendar was an act of framing that sought to emphasise their affinity with such devotional books rather than present them as books of the Bible, whose translation into English was suspiciously viewed by ecclesiastical authorities (see Peikola 2009: 91). Challenges that have to do with the compilatory nature of the text also apply to the analysis of newspapers and magazines (see also Tyrkkö and Räikkönen, Chapter  2, this volume). Thus, not just modern newspapers, but also some of their earlier predecessors feature a “package approach”, with the news story as 9.  Matti Peikola is aware of more than twenty manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible that contain a calendar. See also Solopova (2016: 15–16).



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

“the backbone of the presentation” (Ungerer 2000: 191), accompanied by features, commentaries, photographs, tables, cartoons, etc. Are these elements framing the news story as the ‘main text’, or are they ‘main texts’ in their own rights, with their own framing? 3.2.4 Entextualisation The fluidity of the notions of paratext and (main) text is also manifest in entext­ ualisation processes by which text becomes paratext, and vice versa.10 The transformation of text into paratext may be seen, for example, in the early modern legal textbook Doctor and Student by Christopher St German. At one stage of the long production history of this work, the producers of a new edition decided to use material from the author’s last will and from a description of him in the authoritative biography by John Bale as framing elements placed in the frontmatter. Presumably, this was done to enhance the credibility of the author and add to the value of the product (see Varila et al. 2020). The reverse process of paratext becoming part of text takes place, for example, when marginal glosses or comments are visually and linguistically amalgamated with the body text. This can be observed in some manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible. In Chapter 16 of the first Epistle to the Corinthians, many manuscripts have a marginal gloss that informs the reader that the “Stephan” mentioned in the text is a woman (1 Cor. 16: 15). The gloss is typically phrased either as this Stephan was a woman or without the deictic element as Stephan was a woman. In addition to its placement in the margin, the gloss tends to be flagged with red ink. In some manuscripts, the gloss is relocated from the margin into the main text, sometimes abbreviated to read simply the woman, in apposition with the name Stephan. Its paratextual status is usually still marked visually by underlining, either in red or in text ink.11 In at least two manuscripts, however, there is no indication whatsoever in the text to indicate that the phrase a woman has some paratextual status, so it seems to have become fully part of the main text.12

10.  For entextualisation and the processes of decontextualisation and recontextualisation associated with it, see Bauman and Briggs (1990: 72–78). 11.  For example in British Library MS Lansdowne 455 fols. 113v–114r (“Stephan was a womman,”), British Library MS Harley 327 fol. 22v (“stephan þe womman”). 12.  British Library MS Harley 940 fol. 31r, John Rylands University Library MS English 76, fol. 131r.

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3.2.5 Media shifts and modes of production Recent research has shown how the ongoing shift from the printed to the digital medium has brought considerable changes to both forms and functions of framing phenomena. As Birke and Christ (2013: 70) point out, in this shift, “spatiality of text, paratext, and context changes and […] boundaries become blurred in new ways”. The gradual shift from the handwritten to the printed medium in the early modern period was similarly associated with paratextual transformations. Although the printed book ‘inherited’ many forms of paratext from the manuscript period, the new modes of commercial, market-oriented production and the different technology of multiplication introduced changes in paratextual communication. In fact, von Ammon and Vögel (2008: xv) argue that with the invention of printing, paratextual forms and functions multiplied and diversified to an unprecedented extent. The emergence of the title page and the concurrent demise of the colophon is one oft-cited development associated with this medial shift (see e.g. Smith 2000; Sherman 2011), but changes may also be expected in the conventions and functions of some long-established framing elements such as prefaces and dedications (e.g. Saenger 2006). The technological shift from manuscript to print also affected the conventions of visual flagging, for example in the use of colour and the available means for changing the size of an element (cf. handwriting vs. typography; for the use of visual hybrid techniques involving both media, see Driver 2014: 95–99). When studying framing phenomena in manuscripts, it is easy to forget that these books were generally not produced in the ‘speculative’ mode that characterises print publication. In the speculative mode, producers invest capital on the making of a number of substantively similar books (or other forms of publication) which are then offered for sale to prospective buyers. In the ‘bespoke’ mode that largely characterised medieval English vernacular manuscript culture, however, books were made on commission to the order of individual customers by way of a contractual agreement with the producer or their representative (see Pearsall 1989: 1–2; Kwakkel 2011).13 This more individualised relationship between the producer and the consumer of the manuscript book may have resulted in a more individualised, ‘tailor-made’ design of the paratextual apparatus (for further discussion and examples, see Peikola 2015: 44–47; Liira 2020). The bespoke mode also applies to some print products, so the distinction may be useful even when it is not associated with a media shift. Overall, it largely remains to be investigated 13.  There are some late Middle English manuscripts that might have been produced ‘speculatively’, but these seem to have been exceptions (Mooney and Matheson 2003). Certain types of popular Latin books, however, are known to have been produced in this mode (Honkapohja 2017: 29–30).



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

how the fundamentally different relationships between the producer and consumer in the bespoke and speculative modes are reflected in conventions of paratextual communication between them. 4. The contributions to the present volume The volume at hand consists of three parts. The contributions in Part I, Conceptualisations of text and framing phenomena, continue the discussion of the present chapter by taking up and exemplifying the challenges and suggesting fruitful approaches in exploring the notions of (main) text and paratext. Paying attention to the often fuzzy boundaries between elements of text and framing in materials ranging from the Old English to the Late Modern period, the contributors make valuable observations about the functions of such elements in different genres, communicative situations and material contexts. The chapter by Jukka Tyrkkö and Jenni Räikkönen further negotiates the conceptualisation of paratext in historical linguistics. Based on material from the corpus of Punch magazine, they argue that while peritext has been comparably well researched, more attention needs to be devoted to the notion of epitext, which has often been neglected in linguistic studies. Highly eclectic in nature, Punch, or the London Charivari, a satirical magazine particularly popular at the turn of the 20th century, aptly illustrates the challenges of differentiating ‘main text’ and paratextual elements in compositional documents. In shedding light on the dynamic nature of paratext, Tyrkkö and Räikkönen’s discussion shows how originally peritextual features can gain epitextual force over time. In Chapter  3, Claudia Claridge and Sebastian Wagner focus on footnotes, which again display an ambiguous status, as they are typically positionally and visually separate from, but functionally and linguistically similar to the text in many respects. Investigating historiographical writing from the late 17th to the late 19th century, Claridge and Wagner show how authorial footnotes were established as a genre-specific practice and provide an in-depth discussion of their functions, ranging from evidential functions, content-related supplements and digressions to authorial comments, which are used by writers to position themselves in historiographical discourse. Wendy Scase’s contribution considers the applicability of Genette’s paratext model to medieval manuscript culture. She especially focuses on the paratextual status of the colophon – a scribal note placed at the end of a text. Using examples of Old and Middle English scribal colophons in a wide range of texts and manuscripts, Scase shows how these colophons in various ways challenge the boundary between text and paratext, and make the reader pay attention both to the meaning

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and the materiality of writing. She argues that the metaphor of threshold-switching, derived from the field of digital electronics, describes the nature of the colophon more appropriately than the metaphor of threshold proposed by Genette for the characterisation of paratext. In Chapter  5, Ursula Lenker examines the functions of framing elements in manuscripts and texts from Anglo-Saxon England, focusing especially on Alfredian and Ælfrician prologues, as well as scribal colophons. She shows how these initial and terminal paratexts testify to authors’ and scribes’ keen awareness of features of written literacy in this earliest phase of text production in English. Authors made versatile use of prologues to invest vernacular texts with an authority reflecting their Latin models; scribes displayed their literacy through colophons, seeking to preserve their names to posterity. Part II, Framing and audience orientation, brings together four contributions that focus on text producers’ use of framing devices to construct their readers and to engage and interact with them. Prominent here are pragmatic strategies such as value-promotion and reader-friendliness used to arouse the reader’s curiosity and persuade them to consume the text in a desired way. The contributions particularly touch on the commercial and navigational functions of framing devices. In addition to paratext, the concept of metadiscourse plays an important role in Part II. In Chapter 6, Elisabetta Cecconi compares the use of paratextual and metadiscursive elements in news broadside ballads and occasional news pamphlets from the 17th century. Her analysis demonstrates how the changing perspectives on news presentation and a shift in news values are reflected in the initial and terminal paratexts of the selected publications. Cecconi observes an increasing focus on the informative value of the news over its religious significance, manifesting, for example, in the endophoric textual markers referring to the news publication itself and the emergence of increasingly fact-centred headings and proto-leads, which gradually lost their moralising functions. M. Victoria Domínguez-Rodríguez and Alicia Rodríguez-Álvarez investigate how producers of midwifery treatises made effective use of the front matter to advertise their books to prospective buyers in the increasingly competitive market for medical literature in 17th-century England. Their scrutiny of the prefaces, epistles to the reader and other prefatory materials in 14 first editions of midwifery treatises from 1612 to 1700 reveals the use of a wide range of value-enhancing marketing strategies in these paratextual elements. The strategies are analysed using the framework of Aristotelian rhetoric, with insights from recent findings in marketing studies concerning successful advertising campaigns employing author-, reader- and text-based persuasion.



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

Chapter  8 by Hanna Salmi deals with metadiscursive comments made by 16th- and 17th-century authors, editors, translators and other book producers to address non-specialist popular audiences. The data of her corpus-assisted enquiry are obtained from the English Historical Book Collection in Sketch Engine. Salmi identifies six recurrent thematic features that book producers, in their promotional discourse, associated with the notion of reader-friendliness. Her study shows that Early Modern English metadiscourse on reader-friendliness is present in a wide range of paratextual elements especially in the frontmatter of books. Salmi also contributes to the theoretical discussion about the relationship between metadiscourse and paratextuality. Mari-Liisa Varila’s contribution focuses on 16th-century book producers’ metadiscursive practices to instruct and persuade their readers in title pages and prefaces with comments related to aspects of text-organisation and text-structuring. She finds that authors, translators and printer-editors made a versatile use of such metadiscourse, for example to guide the reading process, to promote the value of the book, and to draw the reader’s attention to the authenticity of the text at hand. Her scrutiny shows how metadiscursive comments of title pages and prefaces could be used to supplement each other in framing the text. The chapter also makes a useful theoretical contribution by comparing the concepts of metadiscourse and paratext. The three contributions in Part III, Form and layout in framing, highlight the important role played by features of ‘expressive form’ in textual framing – i.e. elements belonging to the material text, such as layout, ruling, punctuation and spelling, that are traditionally situated outside the core of linguistic analyses (for the discussion of the concept of expressive form, see Smith, Chapter 11, this volume). As the contributors show, paying attention to these features may offer new insights into text producers’ choices regarding the structuring and organisation of information when mediating texts for their readers. They also indicate how such expressive features on the page may work together with more traditional paratextual elements to construct framing efficiently. Elisabetta Lonati’s contribution in Chapter 10 focuses on the front and back matter framing medical handbooks and compendia of the 18th century. Her material, which was extracted from the Eighteenth Century Collection Online (ECCO), displays an increasingly more complex paratextual apparatus, including tables of contents, indexes, appendices and glossaries. Lonati’s investigation of the interaction of features of layout and language in these paratextual elements shows that they do not just provide information regarding the structure of the book at hand, employing different organising principles, e.g. alphabetical or thematic ordering. They also relate the phenomena under discussion, establish taxonomies, and explain and expand the information provided in the main text. In this way,

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paratextual elements also take over an important role in shaping and stabilising contemporary medical discourse. In Chapter 11, Jeremy J. Smith investigates how members of an early 18thcentury Jacobite community of practice made use of paratextual communication to advance their ideological agenda to revive the Older Scots language. Smith’s focus is on dedications, prefaces and notes written by the poet and antiquarian Allan Ramsay and his collaborator Thomas Ruddiman, a scholar and a publisher, in their editions of some key works of Older Scots verse, for example by Robert Henryson and Gavin Douglas. In addition to demonstrating how Ramsay and Ruddiman paratextually conveyed their ideas about what Older Scots should be like, Smith shows how such principles were put into practice in their editorial work, especially in decisions concerning the expressive form of texts in the area of spelling and punctuation. Finally, Colette Moore brings the disciplines of paratext studies and medieval manuscript studies into a dialogue with recent insights from information studies and information science. She shows how findings concerning information structure and information design of digital documents may be fruitfully applied to analyses of those elements on the manuscript page that are used to structure and organise information. The linguistic and graphic features examined in the chapter include headings, rubrics and other textual boundary markers, as well as elements of ruling, illustrated from manuscripts of the late Middle English Brut Chronicle. Terminological comparisons between the different disciplines facilitate their combination in the analysis. Thus, this volume brings together a range of studies highlighting the dynamics of text and framing in different historical stages of English and various genres, and tackling opportunities and challenges in researching this dynamics. Though essentially rooted in historical linguistics and philology, the contributions also are open to insights from other disciplines (such as medieval manuscript studies and bibliography, but also information studies, marketing studies, and even digital electronics). This, we hope, will make this volume an interesting read for scholars interested in the history of the English language, language variation and change, historical pragmatics, book history and textual studies.

Primary sources Manuscripts Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland Advocates’ MS 19.2.1 (The Auchinleck manuscript). https://‍auchinleck.nls.uk/mss/beues.html London, British Library MS Harley 327.



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

London, British Library MS Harley 940. London, British Library MS Lansdowne 455. Manchester, John Rylands University Library MS English 76. https://‍luna.manchester.ac.uk/ luna/servlet/ Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Laud Misc. 108. http://‍tsar192.grid.csun.edu/osdviewer.php

Newspapers 17th–18th Century Burney Collection Newspapers. https://‍www.gale.com/intl/c/‍17th-and-18thcentury-burney-newspapers-collection The Daily Gazetteer, 30 June 1735 The General Post, 21–24 July 1711

Secondary sources Ädel, Annelie, and Anna Mauranen. 2010. “Metadiscourse: Diverse and Divided Perspectives.” Nordic Journal of English Studies 9/‍2: 1–11.  https://‍doi.org/10.35360/njes.215 Arrington, Phillip, and Shirley K. Rose. 1987. “Prologues to What Is Possible: Introductions as Metadiscourse.” College Composition and Communication 38 (3): 306–318. https://‍doi.org/10.2307/357750 Baron, Sabrina A., Eric N. Lindquist, and Eleanor F. Shevlin (eds). 2007. Agent of Change: Print Culture Studies after Elizabeth L. Eisenstein. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press. Bateson, Gregory. 1955/1972. “A Theory of Play and Fantasy.” In Steps to an Ecology of Mind, ed. by Gregory Bateson, 177–193. New York: Ballantine. Bauman, Richard, and Charles L. Briggs. 1990. “Poetics and Performance as Critical Perspectives on Language and Social Life.” Annual Review of Anthropology 19: 59–88. https://‍doi.org/10.1146/annurev.an.19.100190.000423 Bawden, Tina. 2017. “The Relationship between Letter and Frame in Insular and Carolingian Manuscripts.” In Graphic Devices and the Early Decorated Book, ed. by Michelle P. Brown, Ildar H. Garipzanov, and Benjamin C. Tilghman, 143–162. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press. Beauvais, Paul J. 1989. “A Speech Act Theory of Metadiscourse.” Written Communication 6 (1): 11–30.  https://‍doi.org/10.1177/0741088389006001002 Bell, Kimberly K., and Julie N. Couch (eds). 2011. The Texts and Contexts of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc. 108: The Shaping of English Vernacular Narrative. Leiden: Brill. https://‍doi.org/10.1163/ej.9789004192065.i-342 Belle, Marie-Alice, and Brenda M. Hosington (eds). 2018. Thresholds of Translation: Paratexts, Print, and Cultural Exchange in Early Modern Britain (1473–1660). London: Palgrave Macmillan.  https://‍doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72772-1 Bhatia, Vijay K. 2004. Worlds of Written Discourse: A Genre-Based View. London: Continuum. Birke, Dorothee, and Birte Christ. 2013. “Paratext and Digitized Narrative: Mapping the Field.” Narrative 21 (1): 65–87.  https://‍doi.org/10.1353/nar.2013.0003 Boggel, Sandra. 2009. Metadiscourse in Middle English and Early Modern English Religious Texts. Frankfurt/M.: Peter Lang.

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Birte Bös and Matti Peikola Bös, Birte. 2015. “Conceptualisations, Sources and Agents of News: Key Terms as Signposts of Changing Journalistic Practices.” In Changing Genre Conventions in Historical News Discourse, ed. by Birte Bös, and Lucia Kornexl, 25–31. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/ahs.5.02bos Bös, Birte. 2017. “Of Hopes and Plans – Newsmakers’ Metadiscourse at the Dawn of the Newspaper Age.” In Diachronic Developments in English News Discourse, ed. by Minna PalanderCollin, Irma Taavitsainen, and Maura Ratia, 15–37. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/ahs.6.02bos Brown-Grant, Rosalind, Patrizia Carmassi, Gisela Drossbach, Anne D. Hedeman, Victoria Turner, and Iolanda Ventura (eds). 2020. Inscribing Knowledge in the Medieval Book: The Power of Paratexts. Berlin: De Gruyter.  https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9781501513329 Brownlees, Nicholas. 2015. “‘We have in some former bookes told you’: The Significance of Metatext in 17th-Century News.” In Changing Genre Conventions in Historical English News Discourse, ed. by Birte Bös, and Lucia Kornexl, 3–22. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/ahs.5.01bro Carroll, Ruth, Matti Peikola, Hanna Salmi, Mari-Liisa Varila, Janne Skaffari, and Risto Hiltunen. 2013. “Pragmatics on the Page: Visual Text in Late Medieval English Books.” European Journal of English Studies 17 (1): 54–71.  https://‍doi.org/10.1080/13825577.2013.755006 Chartier, Roger. 2014. The Author’s Hand and the Printer’s Mind. London: Polity. Connolly, Margaret. 2009. The Index of Middle English Prose. Handlist XIX: Manuscripts in the University Library, Cambridge (Dd-Oo). Cambridge: D. S. Brewer. del Lungo Camiciotti, Gabriella. 2011. “Textuality in Late Medieval England: Two Case Studies.” In Communicating Early English Manuscripts, ed. by Päivi Pahta, and Andreas Jucker, 25–37. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Domínguez-Rodríguez, M. Victoria, and Alicia Rodríguez-Álvarez. 2015. “‘The reader is desired to observe…’: Metacomments in the Prefaces to English School Grammars of the Eighteenth Century.” Journal of Historical Pragmatics 16 (1): 86–108. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/jhp.16.1.04dom Driver, Martha. 2014. “Woodcuts and Decorative Techniques.” In A Companion to the Early Printed Book in Britain 1476–1558, ed. by Vincent Gillespie, and Susan Powell, 95–123. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer. Duro, Paul (ed). 1996. The Rhetoric of the Frame: Essays on the Boundaries of the Artwork. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Evans, Murray J. 2011. “‘Very like a whale?’: Physical Features and the ‘Whole Book’ in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc. 108.” In The Texts and Contexts of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc. 108: The Shaping of English Vernacular Narrative, ed. by Kimberly K. Bell, and Julie N. Couch, 51–69. Leiden: Brill. https://‍doi.org/10.1163/ej.9789004192065.i-342.16 Genette, Gérard. 1991. “Introduction to the Paratext.” New Literary History 22: 261–272. https://‍doi.org/10.2307/469037 Genette, Gérard. 1997a. Palimpsests: Literature in the Second Degree. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. [Originally published in French in 1982 as Palimpsestes: La littérature au second degré, Paris: Editions du Seuil.] Genette, Gérard. 1997b. Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Cambridge University Press. [Originally published in French in 1987 as Seuils, Paris: Editions du Seuil.] https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511549373



Chapter 1.  Framing framing

Gil-Bardají, Anna, Pilar Orero, and Sara Rovira-Esteva (eds). 2012. Translation Peripheries: Paratextual Elements in Translation. Frankfurt/M.: Peter Lang. https://‍doi.org/10.3726/978-3-0351-0360-1 Goffman, Erving. 1974. Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience. Harvard: Harvard University Press. Hackley, Chris, and Amy R. Hackley. 2018. “Advertising at the Threshold: Paratextual Promotion in the Era of Media Convergence.” Marketing Theory, first published July 15, 2018. https://‍doi.org/10.1177/1470593118787581 Herzman, Ronald B., Graham Drake, and Eve Salisbury (eds). 1997. Four Romances of England: King Horn, Havelok the Dane, Bevis of Hampton, Athelston. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications. http://‍d.lib.rochester.edu/teams/publication/salisbury-four-romancesof-england Holsanova, Jana, Kenneth Holmqvist, and Henrik Rahm. 2006. “Entry Points and Reading Paths on Newspaper Spreads: Comparing a Semiotic Analysis with Eye-Tracking Measurements.” Visual Communication 5 (1): 65–93.  https://‍doi.org/10.1177/1470357206061005 Honkapohja, Alpo. 2017. Alchemy, Medicine, and Commercial Book Production. A Codicological and Linguistic Study of the Voigts-Sloane Manuscript Group. Turnhout: Brepols. https://‍doi.org/10.1484/M.TT-EB.5.111529 Hyland, Ken. 2005. Metadiscourse. London: Continuum. Hyland, Ken. 2017. “Metadiscourse: What Is It and Where Is It Going?” Journal of Pragmatics, 113: 16–29.  https://‍doi.org/10.1016/j.pragma.2017.03.007 Kress, Gunther, and Theo van Leeuwen. 1996. Reading Images. The Grammar of Visual Design. London, New York: Routledge. Kwakkel, Erik. 2011. “Commercial Organization and Economic Innovation.” In The Production of Books in England 1350–1500, ed. by Alexandra Gillespie, and Daniel Wakelin, 173–191. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511976193.010 Leckner, Sarah. 2012. “Presentation Factors Affecting Reading Behaviour in Readers of Newspaper Media: An Eye-Tracking Perspective.” Visual Communication 11 (2): 163–184. https://‍doi.org/10.1177/1470357211434029 Liira, Aino. 2020. Paratextuality in Manuscript and Print: Verbal and Visual Presentation of the Middle English Polychronicon. Doctoral dissertation. Turku: University of Turku. http://‍urn. fi/URN:ISBN:978-951-29-8058-1 Liira, Aino, and Sirkku Ruokkeinen. 2019. “Material Paratext Studies: Redefining the Concept of Text in Light of Manuscript Evidence.” In Working on It: PhD Research at the Department of English, University of Turku, ed. by Ira Hansen, and Sirkku Ruokkeinen, 111–133. Turku: University of Turku. http://‍urn.fi/URN:isbn:978-951-29-7719-2 Liszka, Thomas R. 2011. “Talk in the Camps: On the Dating of the South English Legendary, Havelok the Dane, and King Horn in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc. 108.” In The Texts and Contexts of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc. 108: The Shaping of English Vernacular Narrative, ed. by Kimberly K. Bell, and Julie N. Couch, 31–50. Leiden: Brill. https://‍doi.org/10.1163/ej.9789004192065.i-342.15 Litzler, Mary F. 2011. A Corpus of Middle English Medical Prologues in the Sloane Collection of the British Library: An introduction to the genre in prose. Ph.D. dissertation, University of las Palmas de Gran Canaria. acceda.ulpgc.es/bitstream/10553/6294/4/‍0634709_00000_0000. pdf MacLachlan, Gale, and Ian Reid. 1994. Framing and Interpretation. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press.

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Birte Bös and Matti Peikola McConchie, Roderick W., and Jukka Tyrkkö (eds). 2018. Historical Dictionaries in their Paratextual Context (vii–xii). Berlin: De Gruyter.  https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110574975-202 McKerrow, Ronald B., and Frederic S. Ferguson. 1932. Title-Page Borders Used in England & Scotland 1485–1640. London: Oxford University Press. Meurman-Solin, Anneli, and Jukka Tyrkkö (eds). 2013. Principles and Practices for the Digital Editing and Annotation of Diachronic Data. Helsinki: VARIENG. http://‍www.helsinki.fi/ varieng/series/volumes/14/ Mooney, Linne R., and Lister M. Matheson. 2003. “The Beryn Scribe and His Texts: Evidence for Multiple-Copy Production of Manuscripts in Fifteenth-Century England.” The Library 7th ser. 4: 347–370.  https://‍doi.org/10.1093/library/4.4.347 Olson, Jonathan R. 2016. “‘Newly amended and much enlarged’: Claims of Novelty and Enlargement on the Title Pages of Reprints in the Early Modern English Book Trade.” History of European Ideas 42 (5): 618–628.  https://‍doi.org/10.1080/01916599.2016.1152753 Pearsall, Derek. 1989. “Introduction.” In Book Production and Publishing in Britain 1375–1475, ed. by Jeremy Griffiths, and Derek Pearsall, 1–10. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Peikola, Matti. 2009. “Instructional Aspects of the Calendar in Later Medieval England, with Special Reference to the John Rylands University Library MS English 80.” In Instructional Writing in English: Studies in Honour of Risto Hiltunen, ed. by Matti Peikola, Janne Skaffari, and Sanna-Kaisa Tanskanen, 83–104. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.189.08pei Peikola, Matti. 2015. “Manuscript Paratexts in the Making: British Library MS Harley 6333 as a Liturgical Compilation.” In Discovering the Riches of the Word: Religious Reading in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. by Sabrina Corbellini, Margriet Hoogvliet, and Bart Ramakers, 44–67. Leiden: Brill.  https://‍doi.org/10.1163/9789004290396_004 Pfaff, Richard W. 1998. “Why Do Medieval Psalters Have Calendars?” In Liturgical Calendars, Saints, and Services in Medieval England, ed. by Richard W. Pfaff, 1–15. Aldershot: Ashgate. Ruokkeinen, Sirkku, and Aino Liira. 2017 [2019]. “Material Approaches to Exploring the Borders of Paratext.” Textual Cultures 11 (1–2): 106–129. Saenger, Michael. 2005. “The Birth of Advertising.” In Printing and Parenting in Early Modern England, ed. by Douglas A. Brooks, 197–219. Aldershot: Ashgate. Saenger, Michael. 2006. The Commodification of Textual Engagements in the English Renaissance. Aldershot: Ashgate. Sherman, William H. 2011. “The Beginning of ‘The End’: Terminal Paratext and the Birth of Print Culture.” In Renaissance Paratexts, ed. by Helen Smith, and Louise Wilson, 65–88. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511842429.005 Smith, Helen, and Louise Wilson (eds). 2011. Renaissance Paratexts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511842429 Smith, Margaret M. 2000. The Title-Page: Its Early Development 1460–1510. London and New Castle, Del.: The British Library and Oak Knoll Press. Solopova, Elizabeth. 2016. Manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible in the Bodleian and Oxford College Libraries. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Stanitzek, Georg. 2005. “Text and Paratext in the Media”. Critical Inquiry 32 (1): 27–42. https://‍doi.org/10.1086/498002 Suhr, Carla. 2011. Publishing for the Masses: Early Modern English Witchcraft Pamphlets. Helsinki: Société Néophilologique.



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Taylor, Andrew. 2011. “‘Her Y spelle’: The Evocation of Minstrel Performance in a Hagiographical Context.” In The Texts and Contexts of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc. 108: The Shaping of English Vernacular Narrative, ed. by Kimberly K. Bell, and Julie N. Couch, 71–86. Leiden: Brill.  https://‍doi.org/10.1163/ej.9789004192065.i-342.17 Tweed, Hannah C., and Diane G. Scott (eds). 2018. Medical Paratexts from Medieval to Modern: Dissecting the Page. London: Palgrave Macmillan. https://‍doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-73426-2 Ungerer, Friedrich. 2000. “News Stories and News Events. A Changing Relationship.” In English Media Texts: Past and Present, ed. by Friedrich Ungerer, 177–195. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.  https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.80.12ung Ungerer, Friedrich, and Hans-Jörg Schmid. 2006. An Introduction to Cognitive Linguistics, 2nd ed, Harlow: Pearson Longman. Varila, Mari-Liisa, Hanna Salmi, Aleksi Mäkilähde, Janne Skaffari, and Matti Peikola. 2017. “Disciplinary Decoding: Towards Understanding the Language of Visual and Material Features.” In Verbal and Visual Communication in Early English Texts, ed. by Matti Peikola, Aleksi Mäkilähde, Hanna Salmi, Mari-Liisa Varila, and Janne Skaffari, 1–20. Turnhout: Brepols.  https://‍doi.org/10.1484/M.USML-EB.5.114128 Varila, Mari-Liisa, Sirkku Ruokkeinen, Aino Liira, and Matti Peikola. 2020. “Paratextual Presentation of Christopher St German’s Doctor and Student 1528–1886.” In Message and Medium: English Language Practices Across Old and New Media, ed. by Caroline Tagg, and Mel Evans, 232–252. Berlin: De Gruyter Mouton.  https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110670837-016 Varila, Mari-Liisa, and Matti Peikola. 2019. “Promotional Conventions on English Title-Pages to 1550: Modifiers of Time, Scope, and Quality.” In Norms and Conventions in the History of English. English Historical Linguistics 2016: Selected Papers from ICEHL 19, Volume II, ed. by Birte Bös, and Claudia Claridge, 73–97. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. von Ammon, Frieder, and Herfried Vögel. 2008. “Einleitung.” In Die Pluralisierung des Paratextes in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. By Frieder von Ammon, and Herfried Vögel, vii–xxi. Berlin: Lit Verlag. Wieck, Roger S. 2017. The Medieval Calendar: Locating Time in the Middle Ages. New York: The Morgan Library & Museum, in association with Scala Arts Publishers, Inc. Winkler, Karl T. 1993. Handwerk und Markt. Druckerhandwerk, Vertriebswesen und Tagesschriftentum in London 1695–1750. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Winkler, Karl T. 1998. Wörterkrieg. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Wolf, Werner. 2006. “Introduction: Frames, Framings and Framing Borders in Literature and Other Media.” In Framing Borders in Literature and Other Media, ed. by Werner Wolf, and Walter Bernhart, 1–40. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Wolf, Werner. 2008. “Prologe als Paratexte und/oder dramatische (Eingangs-)‍Rahmungen? ‘Literarische Rahmung’ als Alternative zum problematischen Paratext-Konzept.” In Die Pluralisierung des Paratextes in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. by Frieder von Ammon, and Herfried Vögel, 79–98. Berlin: Lit Verlag.

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Chapter 2

On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext Punch magazine as a case study Jukka Tyrkkö and Jenni Räikkönen Linnaeus University / Tampere University

Originally introduced in literary theory, Gerard Genette’s concept of paratext has been increasingly adopted in historical linguistics as a collective term for features other than the so-called ‘body text’. While this development and the renewed attention to these features is welcome, we argue that Genette’s original concept has been simplified and at least partly misrepresented in the linguistic context. Using a newly compiled corpus of Punch magazine as our primary data, we discuss how and why the two constituent terms of paratext, peritext and epitext, can be useful in the linguistic context. More specifically, we demonstrate that when considered from a diachronic perspective, the interactions between the concepts may afford new insights into textual interpretation. Keywords: paratext, peritext, epitext, interaction, Punch magazine

1. Introduction In recent years, linguists have increasingly found paratext to be a useful theoretical tool for addressing features that have traditionally often been ignored (see Genette 1987, 1997; Ledin 2000; Hågvar 2012).1 Whilst traditional core fields of linguistics, such as morphology and syntax, have little interest in, or use for, elements that frame the texts from which evidence is drawn (in fields that rely on primary data as evidence), others such as discourse analysis, pragmatics and genre studies make extensive use of contextual evidence, and indeed sometimes turn 1.  As Juhl Rasmussen points out (2015: 131), the concept that was to be termed paratext was already introduced in Genette (1992 [1979]), but at that time under the broader concept of intertextuality. It is also worth noting that despite its use in other fields such as linguistics, paratext remains a primarily literary theoretical concept (Åström 2014). https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.02tyr © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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these features into the main object of inquiry. Consequently, paratext has emerged as an area of considerable interest in translation studies (e.g. Pellatt 2013), media studies (Frandsen 1991; Levin 2000; Hågvar 2012), digital media studies (e.g. Green 2014; Tavares 2015), and perhaps especially historical linguistics (see, e.g. Meurman-Solin and Tyrkkö 2013; Kytö and Walker 2014; McConchie 2014; Bös 2015; Peikola 2013, 2015; Varila et  al. 2017; Ratia and Suhr 2017). Within historical linguistics, paratext has been usefully employed in the study of historical pragmatics (Jucker and Taavitsainen 2013; Carroll et al. 2013), the material history of books (Suhr 2011), and for purposes of contextualising the analysis of the linguistic data (Tyrkkö et al. 2013; McConchie and Tyrkkö 2018). This appropriation of a literary-theoretical concept into linguistics has also brought along some conceptual shifts, which have often not been made explicit. For example, whilst the original concept of paratext encompassed both peritext, or features of the printed work, and epitext, or factors external to the work itself, virtually all linguistic studies that employ paratext either ignore or minimise attention to epitextual features and focus on the peritextual, such as fore matter, illustrations, features of typography and layout, and back matter (cf. Bös and Peikola, Chapter 1, this volume). At the same time, linguists have also developed and extended the concept of peritext beyond its original scope, affording much more attention to features associated with typesetting and printing, which Genette (1997) discussed only briefly and primarily from an aesthetic perspective. However, perhaps even more fundamental challenges concern the application of the paratextual apparatus to texts that do not readily conform to the dichotomous dynamic between the ‘work’ of literary novel, and the paratextual features that surround and permeate it. Compositional documents, such as newspapers, magazines and encyclopaedias, and linked documents such as websites and rhizomatic networks of digital texts, raise fundamental questions about the lines of demarcation between text and paratext. And while this is not to say that the concepts and frameworks of paratextual theory would not be appropriate – and indeed we will argue that they are – it is useful to ‘stress test’ the concepts by applying them to unusual or problematic cases. Accordingly, the present paper revisits the concepts of peritext and epitext with an eye to explicating some of the theoretical differences between the literary and linguistic uses of the term, and discussing the dynamic interaction that exists between the two concepts. We will also reflect on the applicability of the concept of paratext in the absence of a single core text, as is the case with newspapers, magazines and other compositional documents. As a case study, we discuss Punch, or the London Charivari, the satirical magazine that was very popular in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext

2. Theoretical background 2.1 Defining text Before the concept of paratext can be meaningfully discussed, a few words need to be said about the underlying concept of text and especially how it is understood in the different disciplines. In literary studies and related fields, which should be discussed first given the origins of the term paratext, text is widely interpreted as a near-synonym, and to some extent, replacement of the more traditional work (see Stanitzek 2005). Defined as a creative, purposeful and internally coherent product of an author or artist (Lotman 1977), a text can be a traditional literary product, such as a novel or a short story, but also an image, a video installation, etc. In linguistics, by contrast and not surprisingly, text is understood as referring to the language of a continuous written record or a spoken interaction. Focusing on the written mode, we may start with an influential definition by Hoey (2001: 11), who argues that a text can be defined as “visible evidence of a reasonably self-contained purposeful interaction between one or more writers and one or more readers, in which the writer(s) control the interaction and produce most of the (characteristically all) the language”.2 When the definition is read exclusively from the written perspective, its most important constituents are the seemingly uncontroversial statements “interaction between [ ] writers and [ ] readers” and “reasonably self-contained”. What makes a piece of writing self-contained? Is it the fact that it can be understood without recourse to other texts? That it forms a coherent whole? Expresses a thought, or a series of thought, that make sense? The interactivity that Hoey refers to is not only confined to interaction between the writer and the reader, but equally to the interactive nature of negotiation that is involved when identifying texts in the first place. As Eggert (2009: 73) notes, texts are not “self-identical” in the sense that there would be objective and uncontroversial markers that define them, but rather they are defined by process of interpretation: individual readers, informed by cultural conventions, interpret specific sequences of writing as texts. Thus, for example, the same physical textual document (or object) may be understood to be a single text or, conversely, to contain numerous texts.3 2.  It goes without saying that numerous definitions of text have been suggested in the linguistic context. See, e.g., Halliday and Hasan (1976: 1–2) and Beaugrande and Dressler (1981: 11). 3.  The challenges associated with the categorisation of written objects is neither new nor has it been resolved in textual studies, and even a casual reader of relevant literature will be familiar with the plethora of terms in use: text type, genre, domain, class, register, style, category, etc. (see, e.g. Lee 2001; Biber 1988; Diller 2002).

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In the context of the present study, our main reason for discussing the definition text is the need to negotiate the meaning and applicability of the concept of paratext in publications that comprise multiple sections. Although much of the scholarship on paratext has focused on linear and internally coherent texts, it is important to recognise that the concept should be equally applicable to texts that challenge that premise. In the present study, we focus on magazines and newspapers, that is, on compositional publications that linguists, depending on the discipline, either view as a text type (for example, in corpus linguistics) or as a genre of writing that incorporates multiple different texts types (in text linguistics and textual theory). The two different perspectives are understandable and each in their own right acceptable. For example, a single issue of a newspaper typically contains headlines, editorials, letters sections, news items, advertisements, sports results, weather forecasts and numerous other types of content, but they are all recognisable to the ‘mature reader’ as typical parts of newspapers in general, and contextually, as parts of the specific newspaper in which they are encountered. For Hoey (2001: 75–77), compositional documents constitute discourse colonies,4 a term he coins for documents that consist of multiple seemingly independent elements which “do not derive their meaning from the sequence in which they are placed” (Hoey 2001: 75). Although the internal structure of newspapers and magazines could be argued to afford some additional contextual meaning to individual textual elements, they do not inform meaning in the same way as, say, the sequential organisation of chapters does in a novel or a non-fiction book. 2.2 Paratext and linguistic analysis As Varila et al. (2017: 1–3) note, there are a multitude of theoretical frames and related terminologies in use when it comes to research into the material and visual features of texts. Identifying layout, scripts and typography and examples of nonverbal communicative means, the authors demonstrate how different theoretical approaches assign value to texts, and how shifts in theory may place more or less emphasis on various aspects of the text or document. The paratextual approach, which is one of these possible approaches and the one of interest in the present study, focuses on the interplay between a text and the various framing elements that contribute to its interpretation (see also Carroll et al. 2013). The key defining criterion of paratext is that it is a feature that adds to, defines or comments on a text. Defining paratext as the liminal space between a text and its audience, Genette (1997: 1–2) famously described paratextual elements 4.  For earlier discussion of the concept of discourse colony, see Hoey (1986).



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext

as a ‘vestibule’, a threshold or a conceptual antechamber that prepares the reader to receive or interpret the text in a particular way. The definition establishes the work, or main text, as a fixed product and a point of focus, which the paratextual elements – and by extension, the producers of the paratext – support (Gardiner 2000: 257–259). In the linguistic context, the central element of ‘work’ is replaced by a more prototypical element that could often, though not always, be called the body text or main text, and the conventional interpretation has been that this substitution is essentially unproblematic. However, a closer look at the linguistics appropriation of paratext reveals that the transfer of the concept may not be quite as straightforward as it seems. Firstly, the original concept of paratext was much more complex than what linguists have subsequently made use of. To begin with, Genette (1997: 4–12) defined paratext as consisting of two types of elements that relate to the literary work: the peritext, comprising elements of the written document itself, and epitext, or written entities that reside outside of the text. The concept of peritext thus comprises all the elements in the literary object that are extraneous to the body text, such as fore matter, marginalia, illustrations and back matter. Because control of peritextual features has traditionally been a part of the book production process that befalls primarily on the publisher, peritexts have sometimes been described as the ‘publisher’s peritext’. In the literary theoretical context, especially, these elements are essentially guides to the reader, which contribute to the reading or interpretation of the work in a variety of different ways. While some peritextual features are saliently apart from the text, such as images or displaced textual elements (footnotes, marginalia, etc.), others may be less obvious. For example, Juhl Rasmussen (2015) discusses the effects of explicit genre labels on title pages describing them as a type of ‘contract’,5 and Ratia (2014) and Suhr (2018) both maintain that genre labels provide contemporary readers with important information about how a particular text was to be read and interpreted. The second major type of paratext is epitext, which according to Genette (1997: 4–12) comprises both material and immaterial features that address, describe or comment on the text, such as advertisements, reviews, interviews with the author and so on. Readers may be exposed to epitexts about a book or publication prior to reading it for the first time or between successive readings, and their readings can therefore be influenced by factors such as the book’s reputation or the author’s persona. For example, let us suppose that you, the reader of this study, have not previously seen a single issue of Punch magazine. If you have read the entire article, you still will not have seen an issue of Punch, but you have read about the magazine. You know, for example, to expect illustrations, you know that Punch 5.  See also Genette (1997: 11) and Shevlin (1999).

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was a popular magazine, and that its articles and illustrations were famous for their satirical nature. This article thus functions as an epitext to Punch magazine. Figure 1 highlights the major shifts involved in the reconceptualisation of paratext in the historical linguistics context. Linguistic appropriations of paratext have typically privileged peritext over epitext and included visual features, such as typography and layout, as major features of the analytical apparatus.6 The latter is perhaps the most notable theoretical shift, because although Genette (1997: 33) does note that “typographical choices may provide indirect commentary on the texts they affect”, and lists several examples of such features, the entire topic is discussed in the space of a single page of the book (see also McGann 1991: 13). By contrast, (historical) linguists, many coming from a philological background, have devoted considerably more emphasis on these features, at times promoting them to a near-eponymous role in paratextual analysis. And for good reason. Historical evidence certainly supports the understanding that visual features of the text were always important to publishers. In one of the earliest and best-known contemporary remarks on the importance of such features, the printer Joseph Moxon wrote about the significance of considering “indenting, pointing, breaking, italicing, &c.” when setting a book to print, noting that such choices ought to “sympathize with the Authors Genius, and also with the capacity of the Reader” (Moxon 1677: 220). These features, and their equivalents in hand-written texts, have been discussed by historical linguists under a variety of concepts, such as visual pragmatics (Machan 2011) and visual prosody (Meurman-Solin 2013). Apart from the shifting of foci of paratextual studies, another major conceptual challenge concerns the fundamental theoretical construct of the role of paratext in relation to the ‘work’ or the ‘main text’. Although this is no doubt often the case (for discussion, see Liira and Ruokkeinen 2019), there are a variety of situations where the framework is challenged, if not broken. Firstly, conceptual challenges arise when transgressions occur that challenge conventional interpretations of form or modality. The most typical examples of this would be illustrated publications, such as children’s picture books, coffee table books, pornographic publications, illustrated medical text books, etc., in which the images play a central role and the text may at times be distinctly unimportant.7 6.  cf. Moore, Chapter 12, this volume, who integrates the perspectives of information structure and information design. 7.  A classic example would be Andreas Vesalius’ De humani corporis fabrica, published in 1543. For centuries, Vesalius’ Anatomy has been renowned for its superb illustrations rather than its textual content, which is rarely, if ever, mentioned at all. From the paratextual perspective, the illustrations, a traditionally peritextual feature, are undoubtedly the main text of the book and the written text is the peritext. Indeed, over the centuries the illustrations have become such a



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext

Literary frame

(Historical) linguistic frame

Typography…

Paratext

Typography… Peritext Peritext Paratext

Epitext

Epitext

Non-verbal facts

Non-verbal facts

Figure 1.  Shifts in foci following the introduction of paratext into (historical) linguistics

Given the dynamic between the original concepts of paratext and text, it would seem inaccurate to define the images in these types of publications as paratextual (Pantaleo 2017). Similarly, while footnotes and marginalia are normally elements that provide additional or secondary information in relation to the text, it is not difficult to think of examples ranging from medieval marginalia to postmodern literature where such elements are as important, if not more important, than the text they seemingly frame. Secondly, in cases where the apparently uncomplicated concept of main text is replaced by sectional or non-linear documents (that is, by Hoey’s discourse colonies), the theoretical referent of any paratextual elements is likewise either absent or transformed. In recent years, some scholars particularly in the field of digital media, have voiced concerns about whether the concept of paratext can be stretched to accommodate non-linear and decentred texts (see Birke and Christ recognised and widely discussed characteristic of the book that they have spawned a wealth of epitextual matter.

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2013: 79; Rockenberger 2014: 253).The question is therefore raised whether the conceptual existence of a paratextual element depends on a pre-existing and identifiable main text or whether a peritextual or epitextual item might be defined in relation to a complete document (colony) instead of to a single text? Turning more specifically to paratexts encountered in sectional publications such as newspapers, Hågvar (2012: 29–31) argues that the concept can be useful in the analysis of “content taxonomies and section names” in such publications. Drawing on Frandsen (1991) and Ledin (2000), Hågvar focuses on the functions of paratextual elements as identifiers of recognisable sections which, for most readers, aid in navigation through the publication and allow the discovery of interesting sections. This functional analysis parallels the discussion found in historical linguistics, as discussed previously. For Hågvar (2012: 32), paratextual elements encompass four distinct analytical dimensions, namely semantic boundaries, wording perspectives, classification principles and visual cues. Without going into detail about the specific features of the dimension, we find it significant to the present discussion that the paratextual analysis in fact only focuses on peritextual elements, which are taken to label or signal different sections of the newspapers or, therefore, identifiable main texts. 3. Punch magazine 3.1 Punch, or the London Charivari Punch, or the London Charivari, conventionally referred to as Punch magazine, was a popular satirical magazine published in London from 1841 to 1992. It was founded by Henry Mayhew and Ebenezer Landells, and edited in the early years by Mayhew and Mark Lemon. Punch was fashioned after the Parisian magazine Le Charivari, founded a few years earlier in 1832 by Charles Philipon and Gabriel Aubert. In 1835, the French government imposed strict censorship laws essentially banning political satire, and in response Le Charivari shifted toward social criticism. Because British press laws were much more permissive, Punch always had a political perspective as well. The name ‘Punch’ came from one Mr. Punch, one of the main characters in the traditional puppet show ‘Punch and Judy’, which had been popular across Britain and in continental Europe since the late 17th century. The character of Mr. Punch affects the appearance of a court jester or harlequin, beats other characters in the show with a big stick, and generally behaves in an obnoxious manner. The name of the magazine thus carried a rich history of its own, associating British culture with Paris, where Punch and Judy were very popular, and signalling a willingness not to spare any punches at deserving (and undeserving) contemporary targets.



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext

Published one issue per week, Punch was the premier magazine of its type particularly during its heyday during turn of the 19th century; for a historical overview, see Altick (1997). The irreverent, but rarely if ever vulgar, take on contemporary political and social issues made Punch a favourite of upper-middle class London society, particularly because its political and social message tended to lean strongly toward a conservative world-view on topics such as women’s suffrage (Buszek 2006: 90–92), and the magazine was popular throughout the Empire, even spawning new versions abroad (Maidment 2013). The magazine was also iconoclastic in its approach to what a mainstream magazine was supposed to be like. The writers and editors made extensive and innovative use of creative typographic features, images and diagrams, experimented with non-linear storytelling, employed frequent and sometimes extensive multilingual content, and otherwise included a variety of content usually not seen in contemporary magazines. The authors of individual articles, letters and other items are generally not given, or when they are, they are typically made-up and humorous. Although Punch was not the first British periodical to feature humorous drawings, it was the first to make them a central part of the publication and also gave the term ‘cartoon’ its modern meaning (Appelbaum and Kelly 1981: 15–16); indeed, in many ways Punch sustained the Regency tradition of comic illustrations, which by the early 19th century was waning (Maidment 2013: 24). The role of illustrations, typically wood engravings, was central to Punch from the very beginning, no doubt partly because one of two founders, Ebenezer Landells, was an illustrator and engraver by profession. The use of satirical cartoons reflecting on political and social issues became one of the magazine’s most prolific, enduring, and notable features. As Maidment (2013: 23) notes, the choice of using wood engravings made it much easier to include images with text, which became a signature feature of Punch, and also made the image quicker to produce than bronze engravings, which meant that the editors of Punch could quickly react to contemporary issues with satirical cartoons. From the very beginning, the character of Mr. Punch had an integral and ubiquitous presence in the magazine. Not only was Mr. Punch the namesake of the magazine and a common subject in the cartoons, but much of the written content featured the imaginary character as well: reports on the Parliament could be written as though by Mr. Punch, narrative stories depicted Mr. Punch interacting with contemporary politicians, letters could be addressed to Mr. Punch or be written by him, and so on. Decade after decade and throughout other changes, Mr. Punch endured as the motif character of the magazine. Example (1) is an excerpt from the beginning of a narrative story in a 1895 issue of the magazine with Mr. Punch as the central character.

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(1) It was the luncheon-hour at Lord’s. Likewise it was exceeding hot, and Mr. PUNCH, after an exciting morning’s cricket, was endeavouring to cool himself with an iced tankard, a puggreed “straw,” and a fragrant whiff. “Willow the King!” piped Mr. PUNCH, pensively. “Quite so! A merrier monarch than the Second CHARLES is WILLIAM (GILBERT) the very First! And no one kicks at King Willow, even in these democratic days. The verdant, smooth-shaven lawn, when wickets are pitched, is your very best ‘leveller’ – in one sense, though, in another, what stylish RICHARD DAFT calls ‘Kings of Cricket’ (‘by merit raised to that good eminence’), receive the crowd’s loyal and most enthusiastic homage. But, by Jove, the Harrow boys will want a new version of their favourite cricket song, if prodigy be piled on prodigy, like Pelion on Ossa, in the fashion to which the Doctor during the first month of Summer in this year of Grace has accustomed us.”…  (Punch 1895, May 5)

Although under different terms, the paratextual features of Punch have attracted the attention of scholars in cultural history, media studies and beyond (e.g. Altick 1997). For example, Maidment (2013: 19–39) gives a comprehensive account of the multitude of content types found on the typical page of Punch. And there is a lot there. On almost every page of Punch, numerous seemingly independent elements – text, images, tables, diagrams and others – compete for attention in seemingly random arrangement. A poem is followed by a short dialogue, a cartoon about something else is found next to them, and the rest of the page is occupied by a commentary on daily politics in prose. The arrangement challenges the idea of a primary text in many ways and replaces it with the suggestion that the complexity and non-sequential layout somehow reflects the urban condition that Punch so ably comments on. 3.2 Creating the Punch corpus The Punch corpus used in this study was compiled from 550 digital copies of issues of Punch magazine from select years between 1841 and 1920, available through the Project Gutenberg repository in the autumn of 2017 (see Figure 2).8 An issue of Punch came out more or less every week, in addition to which there were special 8.  The Punch corpus was compiled by Jukka Tyrkkö, Jenni Räikkönen and Turo Hiltunen. The compilation work was partly funded by and contributes to the project Democratisation, Mediatisation and Language Practices in Britain, 1700–1950, funded by the Academy of Finland (2016–2020). The corpus is currently available from the compilers under Creative Commons license CC BY-NC-SA; the more developed version 2 (in progress) will be available from appropriate academic repositories under the same conditions.



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext

issues, which means that over the timeline in question a little over 4,000 issues would have been published and the corpus therefore covers roughly 13 per cent of all issues of Punch from this period. Notably, because the digital copies do not include layout information or explicit marking of individual texts within the issues, the originally compositional documents are in some sense rendered into single texts by the digital transcription process. 60 52 50

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Figure 2.  Issues of Punch magazine in the corpus (1941–1920)

The sampling method was primarily opportunistic, relying on issues available on the repository. Once downloaded, the issues were annotated using a very light XML markup consisting of an initial document type declaration, the use of a element to wrap the Gutenberg copyright content at both the beginning and end of each document, a element wrapping the all the text that appeared in the original issue, and elements within the element wrapping the different text typological sections, indicated with a @type attribute. The frequently occurring cartoons and other images were tagged as illustrations without additional descriptive information about this image; we aim to add image descriptions and other peritextual information to version 2 of the corpus. Likewise, the current markup schema does not address layout features, which would be interesting but extremely time-consuming to include, given the number of issues in the corpus and the complexity and variability of the magazine page.

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The typology of sections was developed heuristically, that is, by careful manual analysis of the content, carried out by the second author in consultation with the first author and the third compiler. In the final analysis, twelve distinct types of content were identified. Although the objective of the typological analysis was primarily motivated by plans to use the corpus for linguistic analysis, the resulting taxonomy of content types proved useful for the present purpose as well. Out of the twelve categories,9 five occur in all or most of the issues and often several times in one issue: title, illustration, prose, poem and miscellaneous. The other categories that are not as frequent are: announcement, drama, dialogue, index, instruction, letter and review. Next, we describe each of these categories in more detail, discussing the criteria for inclusion and giving some examples in the form of facsimile images and extracts. It is worth noting that some of the categories may enclose elements of others within them; for example, a prose segment may include dialogue or a poem. These embedded sub-segments were not marked up separately. Title includes the front matter of the issue: the complete name of the magazine (Punch, or the London Charivari), the volume number and date. In some volumes, this also includes the name of the editor. The subtitle of Punch magazine, “London Charivari”, associates the magazine with its Parisian predecessor and thus creates certain expectations about style and content in the minds of sophisticated readers. As a subtitle it is a part of the magazine’s peritext, but it also functions as a signalling element pointing to the epitext. Illustrations represent the pictures and drawings for which Punch magazine is most known. As the illustrations themselves cannot be seen in the source text files, the annotation [Illustration] was used in the source editions to mark their place in the issue. Sometimes the illustrations also include text, which is put inside the same element in the XML mark-up. This text is either a caption to the image or text that is part of the illustration itself, such as a dialogue. The artists are typically not named. A typical issue of Punch is roughly 120 pages long, and there are typically some 100 illustrations in each issue distributed evenly throughout. The cartoons are typically humorous snapshots of contemporary social issues or politics, often depicting two or more characters in interaction. Most of them are fairly large, covering a quarter of a page or more. Importantly for the topic of paratext, the illustrations are often, but not always, independent elements rather than paratextual support for specific written texts. Illustration 1 shows an unequivocally paratextual image of the printer William Caxton in Punch 1877, July 14. 9.  We use the term ‘category’ deliberately as a theoretically neutral option. We will discuss the text typological questions in Section 3.



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext

Illustration 1.  Cartoon of William Caxton (Punch 1877, July 17)

As an example of an independent illustration, Illustration  2 shows the Liberal politician John Bright interacting with Prime Minister William Gladstone. The former is depicted as a naval rating and the latter as the captain of the ship of state, with the two domes of Royal Naval College, Greenwich, in the background. The illustration occupies a full page; it is not a part of a longer story, and the preceding and following pages do not refer to the image either explicitly nor by topic. Notably, like many other independent illustrations, Illustration 2 includes some textual content. Given that the image and text form a textual element, we argue that it functions as an element on equal footing with the other text categories we identify. One might argue that this element can be further broken down into image and text, and that the textual component is the actual text of the segment and the image a mere peritextual supplement, but this seems intuitively wrong.

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Illustration 2.  Cartoon of Gladstone and Bright (Punch 1872, January 13)

As mentioned earlier, Mr. Punch features frequently in the illustrations. Drawn as a short smirking man with a large crooked nose and an equally prominent chin, Mr. Punch can be seen doing chores, visiting politicians, talking to people on the street, and engaging in many other activities. Illustration 3 shows Mr. Punch and his dog Toby on the first page of volume 30 of Punch (1856, January 5). Given the location and function of this image in the volume, it could be described as traditionally peritextual: it functions as an introductory image to the respective volume and links it thematically with the magazine. Notably, however, the specific nature of this illustration’s peritextual function as a label relates it to the magazine on the whole (“this is volume 30 of Punch magazine”) and not to any one textual item within the specific volume. So what is the text to which the image is a vestibule? Is it the textual colony on the whole?



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext

Illustration 3.  Mr. Punch and Toby in a prefatory illustration (Punch 1856, January 5)

Other images involving Mr. Punch serve other, more directly illustrative functions. In Illustration  4, we see Mr. Punch addressing heads of state in Geneva. This image functions as a more conventional peritextual element, because it is an illustration to a specific dialogic segment.10

Illustration 4.  Mr. Punch and politicians (1872, June 29) 10.  A comparison with Illustration 3 highlights the changing depiction of Mr. Punch from an overtly cartoonish character into a much slimmer and naturalistic form, still recognisable by the exaggerated nose and chin.

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Prose sections are longer narrative texts written in complete sentences. Most of the sections categorised as prose are stories, but there are also prose texts on current developments in politics, and texts that describe new inventions, for instance. Some prose texts also include poems, letters or other types of text that elsewhere would be annotated differently, but if they occured inside the prose text, we did not identify them separately in the XML mark-up, as only the main category is annotated in each case (illustrations are an exception, as they are always annotated separately). Prose is one of the main text types in Punch and there are several prose texts in each issue. There are also some series of prose texts that occur across several issues. For instance, there is a long-running series entitled “Essence of Parliament” that recounts the happenings in parliamentary sittings. Poems include different types of poems, song lyrics and nursery rhymes. The length and style vary, as there are longer poems with perfect rhymes and a strict metrical rhythm, and short poems, such as haiku, with only a few lines. Some poems have titles, others do not. The poems are often humorous and not infrequently presented as being poems or songs by a specific real person. There are some serialised poems, such as “CABBY? OR, REMINISCENCES OF THE RANK AND THE ROAD” by “Hansom Jack”, which appeared in ten instalments from August 31 to November 11, 1895. Dialogue is a discussion between two or more people, and it is written as direct speech and the speaker’s name is at the beginning of each turn. A dialogue can appear similar to drama, but the dialogue does not include stage directions. Drama is dialogue with stage directions. In some cases, there is an introduction to the play at the beginning, where the context and the setting are described, with a list of characters. In the dialogue itself, there are descriptions on how the characters speak (for instance, timidly or proudly), to whom they speak and what they are doing while they speak. Stage directions are usually put in square brackets. The drama texts occur without any preceding explanation or meta discussion. (2) A FRIEND AT A PINCH. (An Utterly Impossible Incident that will never be “Reported.”) SCENE – A Court of Law. Experienced Counsel arguing a point in the teeth of his Lordship on the Bench. His Lordship (angrily). No, Mr. BANDS, I really cannot agree with you. It seems to me that you are merely wasting our time, and no doubt your own. Experienced Counsel (politely). Not at all, my Lord. I scarcely venture to urge the great importance of the matter to my client…  (Punch 1895, May 4)

Letters are usually directed to Mr. Punch, but there are some examples of correspondence between other people, as well, in which case there might be several letters in a row. The texts usually start with a title, which is followed by the first line of the actual



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext 49

letter, often Dear Mr. Punch, or Sir/Madame (Examples (3) and (4)). The letters follow the traditions of the genre, as the letters usually end with Yours sincerely or Yours faithfully, followed by a signature. In some letters, there is also a post script. The length of the letters varies, as there are very short letters with only a few sentences, and letters that are many paragraphs long and sometimes include a poem or story. Most, if not all, of the letters are fabrications by the writers and editors of Punch. (3) A FOOD PROBLEM DEAR MR. PUNCH, – Please do tell me. Must I count sausages under the meat or the bread allowance? I do so want to help my country faithfully. Yours, WORRIED HOUSEWIFE.  (Punch 1917, February 14) (4) A PROTEST DEAR MR. PUNCH, – Will you please ask the Times not to allow such unpleasant subjects to be introduced into its columns as there was last Wednesday, – that is, judging by the heading on page 8, “The Birch and the Primitive Seat,” which of course none of us fellows read (one line of it was enough for me), and if there is another of the sort, we shall vote that the Times isn’t taken in here in future, and I don’t think the Times would like that. A word from you will be sufficient, I am sure. Your Constant Reader, UPPER LOWER MIDDLETON. Eton College, Bucks, near Windsor, England.  (Punch 1887, October 22)

Example (4) showcases the role played by Punch magazine in contemporary political and social discourse. The imaginary reader is commenting on an article published in the Times,11 an entirely separate publication with no formal or informal ties to Punch, suggesting that Mr. Punch, a character who by lore has ready access to politicians, businessmen and members of the media, should do something to intervene in what gets published in the Times. Reviews are usually critical commentaries of contemporary books or plays. Most of the reviews belong to the serialised section entitled “Our Booking-Office”, which appears at the end of some issues, and which usually includes more than one review. Example (5) shows the beginning of a review. The authorship of the “BookingOffice” reviews is always attributed to “Mr. Punch’s Staff of Learned Clerks”. There is, again, the reference to the character of Mr. Punch, not Punch magazine. 11.  The humorously upper-class self-reference of “Your Constant Reader” reveals that this is not a real letter received by the magazine, but rather another example of Punch’s metanarrative. The editors of Punch delighted in the comedic reuse of various subtle devices, tropes and characters, which would only have been apparent to frequent readers of the magazine.

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(5) OUR BOOKING-OFFICE By Mr. Punch’s Staff of Learned Clerks. Mr. Beresford is most warmly to be congratulated upon his new book, The House in Demetrius Road (Heinemann). Mr. Beresford’s work has had from the first remarkable qualities that place him beyond question amongst the first half-dozen of the younger English novelists; but never before, I think, have his talents had a subject so exactly suited to their best display. It would be difficult to praise too highly the grim and relentless effect of the author’s treatment of his subject…  (Punch 1919, May 13)

Instruction is often a numbered list that gives, for instance, cooking instructions, rules of a game or instructions on how to use a tool. Instructions can also include general advice for life. However, these are an extremely rare text type within Punch. Announcements are of two types: (1) administrative announcements ((6)), placed at the end of some issues, where the editors of Punch announce that contributions to the magazine will not be returned, and (2) announcements either by Mr. Punch or by other people in which the public is informed of some happening ((7)), such as an opening of a bar, or someone is congratulated for their accomplishments. The announcements of the second type are part of the magazine’s material and often sarcastic or otherwise humorous.

(6) NOTICE. – Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.  (Several, see, e.g. Punch 1891, June 6)



(7) Forthcoming Book, a “Standard” Work (in the Press), New Edition of _Allsopp’s Fables_. N.B. – This volume will contain two extra Fables, illustrating the proverb of “Allsopps to Cerberus,” and “There’s many a slip between the mug and the Hind-lip.” Many novel pints will be introduced.  (Punch 1891, March 1)

The first type of announcement could be categorised as paratextual in character. The segments differ from the overall tone of the magazine by being serious metacomments on the editorial process, they are reprinted verbatim from one issue to another, and appear in a consistent place within the respective issue. The category Miscellaneous (short: misc) includes a variety of minor text types not covered by the other definitions. Often, they are short, only a few sentences long, but there are also some longer texts that do not have the characteristics of a prose text. Example (8) shows a typical short snippet from the 1850s.



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext



(8) A LIVING SUPERIORITY. – Woman has this great advantage over Man – she proves her will in her lifetime, whilst Man is obliged to wait till he is dead.  (Punch 1853, volume 25)

Even though the category is called ‘miscellaneous’, it also contains some sections that occur in several issues. For instance, in the volumes from 1914 onwards there is a section entitled “Charivaria” at the beginning of each issue which consists of short news snippets, and the 1890s saw a long-running series of miscellanea entitled “Mr. Punch’s Dictionary of Phrases” (cf. (9)). (9)

MR. PUNCH’S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES. SOCIAL. “_You’ll come again soon?_” _i.e._, “Thank goodness, he’s going abroad!” “_Always make time to see you_;” _i.e._, “Strict orders to servants, ‘Not at home.’” (Punch 1890, June 21)

There are also short comments on news or advertisements which include a quote from a news article or an advertisement that is then commented on and made fun of. Example (10) highlights a style of commentary typical of Punch: a seemingly random and obviously incoherent news item is recycled from the New Zealand Herald, with a short sarcastic comment supplied below by Punch. (10) “A married man, aged 34 years, collided with the mail train when riding a motorcycle into Hawera on Friday. His right arm, collarbone, and blue hospital uniforms on Thursday morning.” – _New Zealand Herald_. We rather like this telescopic style of reporting. It leaves something to the reader’s imagination.  (Punch 1919, February 5)

The last category is Index. Indexes appear in the last issue of each volume and they list the titles of the texts published that year in an alphabetical order and the number of the issue in which those titles appeared. 3.3 Distribution of content types To understand the textual complexity of Punch magazine, we use the typological annotation to calculate the proportional distributions of the textual elements and their distribution over time. Starting with an aggregated view of the number of elements (Figure 3),12 it is clear to see that illustrations played a significant role in

12.  Note that Figure 3 shows the count of elements, not their length. Thus, short but frequent elements such as illustrations and miscellanea appear very prominent, while long items such as drama appear negligible.

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Punch throughout the decades. In the early years, some 25% of all elements were illustrations and from 1887 onwards, 35–40% of all elements were illustrations. 1.00 0.90

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Figure 3.  Distribution of content categories in Punch, aggregated by year

Figure  3 also shows the apparent consistency across the decades. The most notable developments include the greater role given to drama between 1887 and 1895, the contemporaneous increase in the number of poems and decrease in the number of prose texts. In Figure 4, we look at the same data from a different perspective. Each horizontal line represents a single issue of Punch, with the length of the line reflecting the length of the issue in lines. We have coloured the lines according to element type; note that we have simplified the image somewhat by excluding the most infrequent element types. The issues are organised vertically according to year, with the oldest issues at the bottom. This view allows us to examine the internal structure of Punch from issue to issue and year to year. Note that there is no room to show the labels of all individual issues on the vertical axis. The diachronic developments of Punch are now made apparent. During the first decades (represented by the years 1841, 1853 and 1872), Punch focuses strongly on prose, with other elements interspersed between long prose segments.



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext

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Punch_1920_11_24.xml Punch_1920_10_13.xml Punch_1920_09_01.xml Punch_1920_07_21.xml Punch_1920_06_09.xml Punch_1920_04_28.xml Punch_1920_03_17.xml Punch_1920_02_04.xml Punch_1919_06_18.xml Punch_1919_05_07.xml Punch_1919_03_26.xml Punch_1919_02_12.xml Punch_1919_01_01.xml Punch_1917_11_21.xml Punch_1917_10_10.xml Punch_1917_08_29.xml Punch_1917_07_18.xml Punch_1917_06_13.xml Punch_1917_05_02.xml Punch_1917_03_21.xml Punch_1917_02_07.xml Punch_1916_06_28.xml Punch_1916_05_17.xml Punch_1916_03_29.xml Punch_1916_02_23.xml Punch_1916_01_12.xml Punch_1915_01_20.xml Punch_1914_12_09.xml Punch_1914_10_28.xml Punch_1914_09_16.xml Punch_1914_07_08.xml Punch_1914_05_27.xml Punch_1914_04_22.xml Punch_1914_04_01.xml Punch_1914_02_18.xml Punch_1914_01_07.xml Punch_1895_10_12.xml Punch_1895_08_31.xml Punch_1895_07_20.xml Punch_1895_06_08.xml Punch_1895_04_27.xml Punch_1895_03_16.xml Punch_1895_02_02.xml Punch_1894_12_29.xml PUnch_1894_11_17.xml Punch_1894_10_06.xml Punch_1894_08_18.xml Punch_1893_12_30.xml Punch_1893_11_18.xml Punch_1893_10_07.xml Punch_1893_08_26.xml Punch_1893_07_15.xml Punch_1893_04_29.xml Punch_1893_03_18.xml Punch_1893_02_04.xml Punch_1892_12_24.xml Punch_1892_11_12.xml Punch_1892_10_01.xml Punch_1892_08_20.xml Punch_1892_07_09.xml Punch_1892_05_28.xml Punch_1892_04_16.xml Punch_1892_03_05.xml Punch_1892_01_23.xml Punch_1891_12_12.xml Punch_1891_10_31.xml Punch_1891_09_19.xml Punch_1891_08_08.xml Punch_1891_07_04.xml Punch_1891_05_23.xml Punch_1891_04_11.xml Punch_1891_02_28.xml Punch_1891_01_17.xml Punch_1890_12_13.xml Punch_1890_11_01.xml Punch_1890_09_20.xml Punch_1890_08_09.xml Punch_1890_06_28.xml Punch_1890_05_17.xml Punch_1890_04_05.xml Punch_1890_02_22.xml Punch_1890_01_11.xml Punch_1887_11_26.xml Punch_1887_10_15.xml Punch_1887_09_03.xml Punch_1887_07_23.xml Punch_1872_01_13.xml Punch_1841_11_27.xml Punch_1841_10_16.xml Punch_1841_09_05.xml Punch_1841_07_17.xml

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Figure 4.  Diachronic distribution of content categories in Punch per volume

From 1887 onward,13 drama appears. Although the number of drama elements is relatively low, the elements are long and uninterrupted, and thus prominent in the line-by-line view. We can also see the structural consistency of textual types over the years and decades. Another clear shift takes place around 1914. The role of drama has been radically reduced, prose has again become more prominent, and most notably the miscellaneous elements appear to have claimed a new role. Numerous elements of miscellany appear consistently at the beginning and end of each issue, including the aforementioned “Charivaria” section at the beginning of each issue. Letters, too, have become longer, though as Figure 3 shows, their overall number appeared relatively stable. 4. The peritextual and epitextual features of Punch magazine: Two examples Moving from the overall macro-textual structure of Punch and the diachronic developments thereof, we now turn to discussing examples of two specific features 13.  It is important to note that because the current composition of the corpus only includes select years, we are not claiming that drama appeared in Punch magazine in 1887, only that that is the first year in the corpus that prominently features drama.

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that best highlight the conceptual complexities of serialised compositional publications, such as magazines and newspapers. 4.1 The cartoons As noted earlier, the humorous illustrations of Punch magazine are arguably the most enduring and salient feature of the publication. Even today, many decades after the heyday of the magazine, Punch is remembered for its cartoons. The images served numerous functions, from introductory images on the title page to prefatory headers, and from illustrations explicitly linked to specific texts to independent images. The illustrations may or may not contain text, and when they do, the text is either a part of the image itself or a caption, the latter often in the form of a short dialogue. From the perspective of paratextual theory, these images can function as conventional peritextual illustrations, that is, they can supply a specific segment of text with an illustration or act as decorative elements, or they can occupy a role as independent elements on a par with textual elements such as prose, drama, or dialogue. The first two functions would appear unproblematic, but the third would appear to require an expansion to the theoretical framework currently employed in linguistics in order that non-verbal content may be analysed as text.14 And if this is the case and images can indeed function as ‘texts’, will they also, potentially at least, be able to function as main texts for paratexts? The captioned cartoons in Punch would seem to prove this notion correct. Although we could, of course, analyse the caption as the text and the illustration as its peritext, such a reading seems counterintuitive. Beyond their impact within any individual volume, the cartoons of Punch developed collectively into an important source of epitextual content. They were talked about, circulated and reprinted, and thus, over the years, Punch came to be associated with the illustrations, and any reader of Punch from the 1850s onward would have expected to be entertained by the witty and sarcastic cartoons. As anecdotal evidence of this, we may note the numerous references to Punch magazine in the British Hansard. In (11), we quote Mr John Bright, MP, from 1853: (11) The woodcut was more complained of than the letter-press; but it should be recollected that they were appealing to persons, many of whom were unfortunately unable to read, and they were, therefore, compelled to bring thus home to them facts which they could not acquire from the newspapers: The present Emperor of France complained more of the pictures in Punch 14.  Notably, the more encompassing art critical definitions of text and paratext would have no issue here.



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext

and the Illustrated News than the articles, because his people understood the one and not the other   (Mr. John Bright, House of Commons, 1853, February 21)

The reference to “the pictures in Punch” in (11) also raises a further question. While it seems clear that the Emperor has complained about specific pictures in specific issues of Punch, it may be argued that because the magazine is particularly famous for its illustrations, this public complaint not only directs attention to specific pictures or specific issues, but in fact to the magazine on the whole. Thus, despite the specific nature of the complaint, it may end up serving as additional epitext for the entire magazine and not merely the specific images. This dynamic and its wider theoretical implications require further research. 4.2 Mr. Punch The other feature we wish to highlight is the use of the fictional character Mr. Punch as a motif feature of the magazine, both as an image and as a textual reference. As already noted, the image of Mr. Punch recurs persistently in the magazine either as a central figure of illustrations or as a character lurking in the background. While the peritextual nature of these visual appearances could (and should) be discussed in more detail, we are here more concerned with the overall impact that they have on the paratextual level. In independent literary works, images function either as illustrations, that is, they illustrate or supply the text with an image, or as decorations, meaning that they add an aesthetic quality to the page. A third function, text organisation, can also be ascribed to images, but this is much more commonly accomplished by the use of graphic elements rather than images depicting a recognisable object.15 However, as argued earlier, illustrations can also be the main content of a ‘textual’ document – for example, in picture books – and in these cases they must be considered either the main text or a sub-type of the main text. Such illustrations can become notable in their own right, creating expectations about subsequent editions of the book or publication and becoming the main talking point in epitextual matter. In the case of Punch magazine, not only are the cartoons notable in their own right, but the images depicting Mr. Punch, specifically, foster a recognisable continuity through peritextual means. Whether the character occurs in a prefatory image, an illustration or an independent cartoon, there is a framing function at work that connects that one occurrence with the evolving humorous mythos of the ubiquitous Mr. Punch. The same function is served by textual references to Mr. Punch. References to the character, including alternate forms such as “Mr. Punch”, “Monsieur Punch”, 15.  Floral and other patterned images are admittedly a borderline case between the two.

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“Master Punch”, “Mistur Punch” and “Mishter Punch” (the latter two being eyedialect approximations), occur 1181 times in the corpus (see Figure 5), and there is no reason to believe that the 550 volumes would be an outlier in this regard. Court

10 35 30 25 Count

20 15 10 5 0

Punch_1841_07_17 Punch_1841_09_25 Punch_1872_02_03 Punch_1887_08_27 Punch_1887_10_08 Punch_1887_12_03 Punch_1890_01_18 Punch_1890_03_01 Punch_1890_04_12 Punch_1890_05_24 Punch_1890_07_05 Punch_1890_08_16 Punch_1890_09_27 Punch_1890_11_08 Punch_1890_11_20 Punch_1891_02_07 Punch_1891_03_21 Punch_1891_05_02 Punch_1891_06_13 Punch_1891_07_1_ Punch_1891_09_19 Punch_1891_11_07 Punch_1891_12_26 Punch_1892_03_19 Punch_1892_05_21 Punch_1892_07_02 Punch_1892_09_03 Punch_1892_10_15 Punch_1892_11_26 Punch_1893_01_07 Punch_1893_03_25 Punch_1893_07_29 Punch_1893_11_04 Punch_1894_07_14 Punch_1894_09_29 Punch_1895_01_05 Punch_1895_03_02 Punch_1895_05_18 Punch_1895_08_03 Punch_1895_11_16 Punch_1914_02_11 Punch_1914_03_25 Punch_1914_04_19 Punch_1914_05_20 Punch_1914_07_01 Punch_1914_09_09 PUnch_1914_10_14 Punch_1914_11_25 Punch_1915_01_06 Punch_1915_02_17 Punch_1916_02_09 Punch_1916_03_15 Punch_1916_04_26 Punch_1916_06_14 Punch_1917_01_24 Punch_1917_03_07 Punch_1917_04_18 Punch_1917_05_30 Punch_1917_07_04 Punch_1917_08_15 Punch_1917_09_26 Punch_1917_11_07 Punch_1917_12_19 Punch_1919_01_29 Punch_1919_03_12 Punch_1919_04_23 Punch_1919_06_04 Punch_1920_01_21 Punch_1920_03_03 Punch_1920_04_14 Punch_1920_05_26 Punch_1920_07_07 Punch_1920_08_18 Punch_1920_09_29 Punch_1920_11_10 Punch_1920_12_22

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Issue

Figure 5.  Occurrences of reference to “Mr. Punch”

As Figure 5 shows, these references persist throughout the 80 years covered by the corpus, and it goes without saying that these references are not random co-occurrences of the same name nor references to a real person such as a politician, whose name would come up as a natural part of commenting on contemporary events. Instead, they are references to the ubiquitous personage and namesake of the magazine and as such serve an important coherence-building function, namely linking the specific texts and, more broadly, issues in which they are encountered with the broader context of the magazine, its history and textual tradition. Although the references are not highlighted typographically or otherwise, they arguably stand out just as much as any peritextually highlighted textual content would. At the same time as they are peritextual, these references are also, to coin a term, epitextual intrusions into the text itself. They reference at once both the magazine and its tradition, and the external cultural history of the puppet character. Similarly to the concept of callback in stand-up comedy, where a joke repeats or otherwise recalls a previous joke, references to Mr. Punch anaphorically repeat and reinforce the overarching meta-joke of Punch as a serial publication. In most cases throughout the decades, the specific textual or visual depiction of the character of Mr. Punch neither amuses nor informs the reader in and off itself. Instead, the effectiveness of the character has been established epitextually by previous



Chapter 2.  On the dynamic interaction between peritext and epitext

readings of other issues of the magazine. Upon coming across the Punch character, the reader is primed by preceding epitextual encounters to interpret his likeness or name as a token of the magazine’s lore and as a representation of confrontational and satirical social commentary, both the publisher’s peritext and epitext at the same time. Arguably, this priming may take place even for readers who are not familiar with the magazine as such, but who are only factually aware of the character of Mr. Punch and its association with the magazine. The concept of factual paratext (Genette 1991: 265) might come closest to explaining this effect, though Genette’s original definition refers primarily to facts about the world  – the author’s age and gender are given as examples – while the association of a recurring fictional character with a magazine is arguably epitextual even if the reader knows about the association as a fact and not through personal experience of reading. 5. Conclusions This pilot study on the paratexts of Punch magazine has focused on highlighting some of the theoretical challenges associated with the application of the paratextual apparatus to serialised and compositional publications. Focusing on some of the differences between the literary theoretical and linguistic understandings of paratext, we argued that the concept of epitext may be usefully employed in the linguistic framework as well. We described our approach to annotating text structure and the basic text typological system we adopted, showing how complex a publication like Punch can be and how the internal structure of the publication can change over time. Importantly, our analysis has highlighted the high volume of illustration in Punch, and drawing analogies with picturebooks and other publications in which images play a central role, we argue that although the illustrations in Punch are sometimes conventional peritext attached to specific main texts, at other times they stand alone and occupy the position of main text. We also discussed two examples of paratexts where we claim that peritext and epitext interact in a dynamic way. Namely, we hope to have shown that as persistent and noteworthy peritextual features become cultural talking points or signifiers of the publication in which they reside, they gain epitextual force which affects subsequent readings of the same, or other volumes in the series. Over the course of the study the usefulness of paratext as a concept has become quite clear to the authors. However, there are also several conceptual dark corners which we feel could be illuminated further by reintroducing some elements of paratextual theory, such as epitext and a broader understanding of text, that have thus far been pushed to the side in linguistics. We look forward to future paratextual studies in linguistics with great anticipation.

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Acknowledgements This study was first presented by the first author at the workshop “Paratextual communication” organised by Birte Bös and Matti Peikola at ICEHL XX in Edinburgh, August 2018. This written version has benefited considerably from the comments received at the workshop. All facsimile images from Punch magazine are courtesy of Heidelberg University Library under Creative Commons licence CC-BY-SA 3.0. Images are credited individually in their respective captions. We are grateful to the referees for their insightful comments.

Primary sources Punch corpus. 2018. Compiled by Jukka Tyrkkö (Linnaeus University), Turo Hiltunen (University of Helsinki) and Jenni Räikkönen (Tampere University).

Secondary sources Altick, Richard. 1997. Punch: The Lively Youth of a British Institution, 1841–1851. Columbus: Ohio State University Press. Appelbaum, Stanley, and Richard M. Kelly. 1981. Great Drawings and Illustrations from Punch, 1841–1901: 192 Works by Leech, Keene, Du Maurier, May and 21 Others. Dover: Courier Dover Publications. Åström, Frederik. 2014. “The Context of Paratext: A Bibliometric Study of the Citation Contexts of Gérard Genette’s Texts.” In Examining Paratextual Theory and its Applications in Digital Culture, ed. by Nadine Desrochers, and Daniel Apollon, 1–23. Hershey: IGI Global. https://‍doi.org/10.4018/978-1-4666-6002-1.ch001 Biber, Douglas. 1988. Variation across Speech and Writing. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511621024 Birke, Dorothee, and Birte Christ. 2013. “Paratext and Digitized Narrative: Mapping the Field.” Narrative 21 (1): 65–87.  https://‍doi.org/10.1353/nar.2013.0003 Bös, Birte. 2015. “Conceptualisations, Sources and Agents of News: Key Terms as Signposts of Changing Journalistic Practices.” In Changing Genre Conventions in Historical English News Discourse, ed. by Birte Bös, and Lucia Kornexl, 25–31. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/ahs.5.02bos Buszek, Maria E. 2006. Pin-Up Grrrls: Feminism, Sexuality, Popular Culture. Durham: Duke University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1215/9780822387565 Carroll, Ruth, Matti Peikola, Hanna Salmi, Mari-Liisa Varila, Janne Skaffari, and Risto Hiltunen. 2013. “Pragmatics on the Page: Visual Text in Late Medieval English Books.” European Journal of English Studies 17 (1): 54–71.  https://‍doi.org/10.1080/13825577.2013.755006 de Beaugrande, Robert-Alain, and Wolfgang Dressler. 1981. Introduction to Text Linguistics. London and New York: Longman.  https://‍doi.org/10.4324/9781315835839 Diller, Hans-Jürgen. 2002. “Genre vs. Text Type: Two Typologies and Their Usefulness for the Newspaper Reader.” In Text Types and Corpora, ed. by Andreas Fischer, Gunnel Tottie, and Hans M. Lehman, 1–17. Tübingen: Gunter Narr Verlag.



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Eggert, Paul. 2009. “The Book, the E-text and the ‘Work-site’”. In Text Editing. Print and the Digital World, ed. by Marilyn Deegan, and Kathryn Sutherland, 63–82. Farnham: Ashgate. Frandsen, Finn. 1991. “Avisens paratekst – et nyt område for medieforskningen.” MedieKultur 16: 79–97. Gardiner, Juliet. 2000. “‘What Is an Author?’ Contemporary Publishing Discourse and the Author Figure.” Publishing Research Quarterly 16 (1): 63–76. https://‍doi.org/10.1007/s12109-000-1014-4 Genette, Gérard. 1992 [in French 1979]. The Architext: An Introduction. Berkeley: University of California Press. Genette, Gérard. 1987. Seuils. Paris: Editions du Seuil. Genette, Gérard. 1997. Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511549373 Green, Johanna. 2014. “‘On þe nis bute chatering’: Cyberpragmatics and the Paratextual ‘Anatomy’ of Twitter.” In Texts and Discourses of New Media [Studies in Variation, Contacts and Change in English 14], ed. by Jukka Tyrkkö, and Sirpa Leppänen. Helsinki: Varieng. Hågvar, Yngve B. 2012. “Labelling Journalism. The Discourse of Sectional Paratexts in Print and Online Newspapers.” Nordicom Review 33 (2): 27–42. https://‍doi.org/10.2478/nor-2013-0012 Halliday, Michael A. K., and Ruqyua Hasan. 1976. Cohesion in English. London: Longman. Hoey, Michael. 1986. “The Discourse Colony: A Preliminary Study of a Neglected Discourse Type”. In Talking about Text. Studies Presented to David Brazil on His Retirement, ed. by Malcolm Coulthard, 1–26. Birmingham: Birmingham Instant Print Ltd. Hoey, Michael. 2001. Textual Interaction. An Introduction to Written Discourse Analysis. London and New York: Routledge. Jucker, Andreas H., and Irma Taavitsainen. 2013. English Historical Pragmatics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Juhl Rasmussen, Anders. 2015. “Genre and Paratext.” In Genre and … [Copenhagen Studies in Genre 2], ed. by Sune Auken, Palle Schantz Lauridsen, and Anders Juhl Rasmussen, 125–153. Valby: Ekbátana. Kytö, Merja, and Terry Walker. 2014. “Features of Layout and Other Visual Effects in the Source Manuscripts of An Electronic Text Edition of Depositions 1560–1760 (ETED).” In Texts and Discourses of New Media [Studies in Variation, Contacts and Change in English 14], ed. by Jukka Tyrkkö, and Sirpa Leppänen. Helsinki: Varieng. Ledin, Per. 2000. Veckopressens historia: Del II [History of the weekly press: Part II]. Lund: Svensk sakprosa. Lee, David Y. W. 2001. “Genres, Registers, Text Types, Domains and Styles: Clarifying the Concepts and Navigating a Path through the BNC Jungle.” Language Learning and Technology 5 (3): 37–72. Liira, Aino, and Sirkku Ruokkeinen. 2019. “Material Paratext Studies: Redefining the Concept of Text in Light of Manuscript Evidence.” Anglicana Turkuensia 33: 111–134. Lotman, Yuri. 1977. The Structure of the Artistic Text. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan. Machan, Tim William. 2011. “The Visual Pragmatics of Code-Switching in Late Middle English Literature”. In Code-Switching in Early English, ed. By Herbert Schendl, and Laura Wright, 303-333. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Maidment, Brian. 2013. “The Presence of Punch in the Nineteenth Century.” In Asian Punches: A Transcultural Affair, ed. by Hans Harder, and Barbara Mittler, 15–46. Springer Science & Business Media.  https://‍doi.org/10.1007/978-3-642-28607-0_2

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60 Jukka Tyrkkö and Jenni Räikkönen McConchie, Roderick W. 2014. “Some Reflections on Early Modern Printed Title-Pages.” In Principles and Practices for the Digital Editing and Annotation of Diachronic Data [Studies in Variation, Contacts and Change in English 12], ed. by Anneli Meurman-Solin, and Jukka Tyrkkö. Helsinki: Varieng. McConchie, Roderick W., and Jukka Tyrkkö (eds). 2018. Historical Dictionaries in their Paratextual Context [Lexicographica. Series Maior]. Berlin: De Gruyter. https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110574975 McGann, Jerome J. 1991. The Textual Condition. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Meurman-Solin, Anneli. 2013. ”Taxonomisation of features of visual prosody”. In Principles and Practices for the Digital Editing and Annotation of Diachronic Data [Studies in Variation, Contacts and Change in English 12], ed. by Anneli Meurman-Solin, and Jukka Tyrkkö. Helsinki: Varieng. Meurman-Solin, Anneli, and Jukka Tyrkkö (eds). 2013. Principles and Practices for the Digital Editing and Annotation of Diachronic Data. Helsinki: Varieng. http://‍www.helsinki.fi/ varieng/series/volumes/14/ Moxon, Joseph. 1677. Mechanick Exercises: Or, The Doctrine of Handy-works. Applied to the Compositors Trade, Vol. II. London. Wing M3013. Pantaleo, Sylvia. 2017. “Paratext in Picturebooks.” In The Routledge Companion to Picturebooks, ed. by Bettina Kümmerling-Meibauer, 38–48. London: Routledge. https://‍doi.org/10.4324/9781315722986-5 Peikola, Matti. 2013. “Guidelines for Consumption: Scribal Ruling Patterns and Designing the Mise-en-Page in Later Medieval England.” In Manuscripts and Printed Books in Europe 1350-1550: Packaging, Presentation and Consumption, ed. by Emma Cayley, and Sue Powell, 14–31. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Peikola, Matti. 2015. “Manuscript Paratexts in the Making: British Library MS Harley 6333 as a Liturgical Compilation.” In Discovering the Riches of the Word: Religious Reading in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. by Sabrina Corbellini, Margriet Hoogvliet, and Bart Ramakers, 44–67. Leiden: Brill.  https://‍doi.org/10.1163/9789004290396_004 Pellatt, Valerie (ed). 2013. Text, Extratext, Metatext and Paratext in Translation. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Pellatt, Valerie. 2013. “Introduction.” In Text, Extratext, Metatext and Paratext in Translation, ed. by Valerie Pellatt, 1–8. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Ratia, Maura. 2014. “Investigating Genre through Title-Pages: Plague Treatises of the Stuart Period in Focus.” In Texts and Discourses of New Media [Studies in Variation, Contacts and Change in English 14], ed. by Jukka Tyrkkö, and Sirpa Leppänen. Helsinki: Varieng. Ratia, Maura, and Carla Suhr. 2017. “Verbal and Visual Communication in Title Pages of Early Modern English Specialised Medical Texts.” In Verbal and Visual Communication in Early English Text, ed. by Matti Peikola, Aleksi Mäkilähde, Hanna Salmi, Mari-Liisa Varila, and Janne Skaffari, 67–93. Turnhout: Brepols.  https://‍doi.org/10.1484/M.USML-EB.5.114131 Rockenberger, Annika. 2014. “Video Game Framings.” In Examining Paratextual Theory and its Applications in Digital Culture, ed. by Nadine Derochers, and Daniel Apollon, 252–286. Hershey: IGI Global.  https://‍doi.org/10.4018/978-1-4666-6002-1.ch013 Shevlin, Eleanor. 1999. “‘To Reconcile Book and Title, and Make ’em Kin to One Another’: The Evolution of the Title’s Contractual Functions.” Book History 2: 42–77. https://‍doi.org/10.1353/bh.1999.0011 Stanitzek, Georg. 2005. “Texts and Paratexts in Media.” Critical Inquiry 32 (1): 27–42. https://‍doi.org/10.1086/498002



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Suhr, Carla. 2011. Publishing for the Masses: Early Modern English Witchcraft Pamphlets. Helsinki: Société Néophilologique. Suhr, Carla. 2018. “News and Relations: Highlighted Textual Labels in the Titles of Early Modern News Pamphlets.” In Sociocultural Dimensions of Lexis and Text in the History of English, ed. by Peter Petré, Hubert Cuyckens, and Frauke D’hoedt, 41–60. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.  https://‍doi.org/10.1075/cilt.343.02suh Tavares, Sergio. 2015. “Paratextual Prometheus. Digital Paratexts on YouTube, Vimeo and Prometheus Transmedia Campaign.” International Journal of Transmedia Literacy 1: 175–195. https://‍doi.org/10.7358/ijtl-2015-001-tava Tyrkkö, Jukka, Marttila, Ville, and Carla Suhr. 2013. “The Culpeper Project: Digital Editing of Title-Pages.” In Principles and Practices for the Digital Editing and Annotation of Diachronic Data [Studies in Variation, Contacts and Change in English 12], ed. by Anneli MeurmanSolin, and Jukka Tyrkkö. Helsinki: Varieng. Varila, Mari-Liisa, Hanna Salmi, Aleksi Mäkilähde, Janne Skaffari, and Matti Peikola. 2017. “Disciplinary Decoding: Towards Understanding the Language of Visual and Material Features.” In Verbal and Visual Communication in Early English Texts, ed. by Matti Peikola, Aleksi Mäkilähde, Hanna Salmi, Mari-Liisa Varila, and Janne Skaffari, 1–20. Turnhout: Brepols.  https://‍doi.org/10.1484/M.USML-EB.5.114128

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Chapter 3

The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing Claudia Claridge and Sebastian Wagner University of Augsburg

An aspect distinguishing historical from other narration is the historiographers’ engagement with sources and other scholars, which shows as intertextuality in the text. A prominent intertextual device is the (foot)‍note, which originates around 1700 (Grafton 1997: 191) and whose institutionalised presence separates older, literary historiography from the more modern scholarly type and with regard to frequency of use also history from other humanities research (Koskela and Männikkö 2009: 155). A footnote may simply be used to provide a reference, the origin of information and thus evidence. Additionally this evidence may be further commented on. If there is more or other content than a reference, the text-note coherence relationship can be described by adapting the Hallidayan (clause) expansion types of elaboration, extension and enhancement. The exploratory study further shows that positioning of self and others within the historiographical discourse community can be done via stance devices in the footnote text. Keywords: historiography, footnote, paratext, evidentiality, positioning, reader alignment, evaluation

1. Introduction Encountering [a footnote], as Noel Coward remarked, is like going downstairs to answer the doorbell while making love. (Bowersock 1984: 54)

The view of footnotes indicated by this quote points to attitudes regarding footnotes ranging from annoying to boring, which may indeed be shared by many readers. From a discourse-linguistic perspective, however, footnotes are a very intriguing device for various reasons. First, they are visually and positionally distinct from the (other) text (on the page), but they are also clearly linked to it by anchor symbols. Thus, the boundary between text and note is at the least permeable and https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.03cla © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

64 Claudia Claridge and Sebastian Wagner

perhaps not a real boundary at all. Secondly, notes are also register- and genrespecific, in the sense that readers will expect them in some texts, such as academic ones, but less or not at all in others, e.g. novels. The first group includes history writing, in which notes belong to the essential scholarly apparatus. Finally, notes may play a role in genre evolution: in history writing they are said to appear around 1700 (Grafton 1997: 191), presumably as an effect of developments both in print technology and in the discourse community. These observations inform our investigation into footnote usage in Late Modern English historiography, more precisely, in the period from the late 17th to the late 19th century. The text-note connection raises the question of the note’s status as, e.g., paratext (Genette 1997), metadiscourse (Hyland 2005), or something still undetermined. If notes are indeed a generic requirement in history writing, what is their range of functions? How do they contribute to the fulfillment of the historian’s tasks, such as presenting facts, assessing historical relevance, discussing sources, or locating themselves in the discourse community? And finally, is it possible to detect changes from the late 17th to the late 19th century? The chapter will first elucidate the concept of footnotes as such and in a larger context, as well as their role in historiographical writing. The outline of the corpus and the methodology will be followed by the analysis presenting the functional characteristics of footnotes, with a special focus also on authorial positioning. 2. Footnotes – paratext – metadiscourse Compare the following definitions of (foot)‍note:

(1) a. A note is a statement of variable length (one word is enough) connected to a more or less definite segment of text and either placed opposite or keyed to this segment.  (Genette 1997: 319) b. A note, reference, or additional piece of information printed at the bottom of a page, used to explain or comment on something in the main body of the text on the same page.  (OED, s.v. footnote)

Both state that the note has a connection to other text, thereby implying that the note itself is of a separate, different character. (1a) makes vague reference to the position (“placed opposite”), while (1b) does so precisely. (1b) has to be seen partly in contrast to the definition of marginalia, which specifies “in the margin” (OED). Plain note is first attested in 1532, while the compound footnote appears in 1711; marginalia is found latest of all, in 1819, although early notes tended to be found in the left and right margins (OED). In our data three positions, bottom as well as margins of page and end of work, are found with various types of content. It seems



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

as if the specific terms footnote and marginalia were only necessary once different positions were available and perhaps functional differentiation had evolved. Only the OED definition makes explicit mention of the content or function of notes, such as explanation or comment. However, this is not very distinctive from what is said about marginalia: “[n]‍otes, commentary, and similar material” (OED, s.v. marginalia). More on types and functions of notes is found in the literature. Koskela and Männikkö (2009: 154) only distinguish two functional types, bibliographical versus content notes when looking at historical research papers in modern Swedish, thus creating a large, undifferentiated content category. For authorial notes in non-literary texts, Genette (1997: 304–327) provides the three main functions Table 1.  Functions of notes Genette’s functions Supplement references/ authorities

Commentary

Slights’ functions Explanation annotation

bibliographical/source references

definition/ explanation

explication

defining and explaining for clarification

translations

translation

foreign language text into English

precision

amplification

adding further detail

complexities

–

additional detail considered relevant only for specialised reader

arguments/ rebuttals

justification

adding arguments, defending the author’s position

evaluation

subjective assessments and judgements

Digression

– exhortation

off-topic remarks triggered by some aspect of the text admonishing the reader

preemption

filling space in order to prevent others’ marginal text

organisation

division into / marking of textual parts

emphasis

highlighting important text words and passages

simplification

rubrics, summaries

rhetorical gloss

identifying figures and tropes

appropriation

giving the text a new purpose

correction

objecting to author’s points

parody

mocking the text

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66 Claudia Claridge and Sebastian Wagner

supplement, commentary and digression, of which the first can be further subdivided. Slights (2001: 25–26), dealing with marginalia in Renaissance books gives a (non-exhaustive) list of 15 functions. Table 1 presents an overview of Genette’s and Slights’ functions. Three of the above functions (italicised) were also found by Bowersock (1984: 60) in Gibbon’s writing, namely citation, explanation and authorical comment. As note position will turn out not to be distinctive in our (early) material, we propose to distinguish (foot)‍notes and marginalia on functional grounds. As we are here interested only in authorial notes,1 those functions fulfilling (primarily) the aims of readers, editors etc. will be excluded, i.e. appropriation, correction, and parody. Those functions that are mainly (meta)‍textual/structural, namely organisation, emphasis, simplification, and rhetorical gloss, simply aid navigation in and ease of comprehension of the text and are also often added by compositors, editors or readers. All of these, together with preemption, do not add further weight to the text itself, as the functions listed above them in Table 1 (shaded areas) do through additional content or evidential backing. Exhortation is somewhat problematic, but may be included in this group on the assumption that the appeal to the reader organically evolves from the text content. Thus, our working definition of footnote is ‘text (of whatever size) that adds mostly ideational, but also interpersonal matter and that is graphically both set apart from and linked to the main running text’. We reserve the term marginalia for authorial textual notes and those of various kinds added by editors or readers. Using paratext terminology (cf. discussion below), we consider footnotes as an interpretive type (dealing with “specific ways of understanding, reading, interpreting the text”, Birke and Christ 2013: 67), whereas marginalia belong to the navigational type (providing orientation in the text, Birke and Christ 2013: 68). Which functions notes in our narrower definition precisely fulfil in historiography is what we want to find out. Regarding the latter part of the above definition, notes are visually set apart by occurring on the sides (‘marginalia’) and the bottom of the page (‘footnote’) or at the end of the chapter or book (‘endnote’). Notes are also usually printed in a smaller (and sometimes different) font. Furthermore, they are usually linked to the text by an anchor device such as a superscript number, letter, or symbol (e.g. asterisk, dagger) placed where the note links to. Figures 1 and 2 illustrate the visual separation of text and notes, Figure 1 showing marginal notes anchored by superscript letters alternating with a marginalia (unanchored), and Figure 2 exemplifies 1.  Non-authorial notes are absent in our printed and published data. Such types might have been there in earlier history writing, as non-authorial interpretative comments (with conventional anchoring devices) have a long medieval tradition (as an anonymous reviewer pointed out).



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

anchored footnotes, unanchored ideational notes in the margins (circled) and text-structuring marginalia (boxed).

Figure 1.  Dugdale’s marginal notes.*

*Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale; Wing/65:01, accessed at eebo.chadwyck. com

“An. 756.” (Figure 1) and “Ann. 1603.” (Figure 2) are classified as marginalia, as they only clarify the chronological structure of the historical narrative and are thus navigation aids. Using the margins rather than the bottom for notes persisted longer in Britain than on the continent (Barker 2009: 250). Our analysis in sections 5–6 below will focus on footnotes according to our working definition above, regardless of whether they are explicitly anchored or not. Genette treats footnotes in the framework of paratexts, which are characterised as follows: they surround [the text] and prolong it, precisely in order to present it, in the usual sense of this verb, but also in its strongest meaning: to make it present, to assure its presence in the world, its “reception” and consumption, in the form, nowadays at least, of a book. (Genette and Maclean 1991: 261)

The concept includes textual forms like titles, prefaces, tables of contents etc. as well as (some) notes. In discussing authorial notes in discursive texts as opposed to e.g. editorial notes, however, Genette (1997: 313) raises doubts as to their paratextual status. He assigns them to the fuzzy boundary between text and paratext, and regards them rather as belonging to the text by extending and modulating it – as against commenting on it. Genette compares these notes in nature to a “simple parenthesis” (cf. the instances in Figure 1), but they are of course visually much more set apart from the text than material within brackets or dashes. Thus, they are less part of the text than parentheses. But what is the ‘text’, or the main text as opposed to the footnote text? Looking at Figure 2 again, we might conclude that the visually distinctive block from trial to odious is the (main) text: it is a coherent and cohesive entity (extending also across the preceding and following pages) and it is complete without the text(s) around the edges – i.e. readers could ignore the latter. However, the notes are not

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68 Claudia Claridge and Sebastian Wagner

Figure 2.  Catharine Macaulay’s marginal notes and footnotes* (highlighting added, CC & SW)

*Courtesy of Boston Public Library; accessed via https://‍archive.org/details/historyofengland001maca/page/3

independent in the same way: he in note * is anaphorically linked to the main text and duc de Sully in note † is co-referential with Rosny. In terms of cohesion, notes are usually linked to the text and could thus simply be seen as an extension of it. Also, notes are not necessarily a complete message on their own, as “Stow, p. 825” is uninformative without the content to be found there, which is mentioned in the main text. These features set notes apart from a paratext like the preface, which can be read on its own without recourse to the rest of the book. The preface also does



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing 69

presentational work as specified in the definition above by setting the scene and preparing the reader for the text of the book.2 Notes, at least those of the authorial type, do not have such a presenting function.3 In fact, none of the activities specified in Genette’s definition apply strictly to authorial notes: they do not surround the text as a whole, but at most pages, they do not assure the book’s presence. They do prolong or rather expand individual passages of the book, however, and they do ensure the ‘correct’ consumption, i.e. interpretation, of selected content in the main text (cf. the classification as interpretative paratext above). From the notes’ point of view, they are thus rather part of the text, albeit a – visually and thus notionally – subordinated one. Metadiscourse is a further concept which may be interesting for footnotes. Hyland (2005: 49) subdivides metadiscourse into an interactive and an interactional dimension. The interactive dimension helps to guide the reader through the text and includes framing, discourse deixis, evidentials, and code glosses. The interactional dimension aims at reader involvement and engagement; it includes hedging, boosting, attitude expression, self mentions and reader-focused engagement markers. Some of these are indeed reminiscent of functions mentioned above, e.g. evidentials (according to X) of references/annotation, code glosses (such as) of explanation/amplification, attitude expression (surprisingly) of commentary/evaluation, engagement markers (you can see that) of exhortation. The functional overlap is usually only partial (with the potential exception of evidentials), however, and the metadiscourse items are fully integrated into the running text, which is a crucial difference to notes (but see Section 6 below). Where functional identity or wide-ranging similarity is present one may nevertheless ask why one or the other realisation has been preferred. There are also some non-verbal realisations of metadiscourse (Hyland 2005: 28) that apply to footnotes, namely font size and type as well as punctuation (cf. the anchors). Looking at authorial notes through the lenses of paratext and metadiscourse, one reaches a somewhat paradoxical conclusion. Notes are positionally and visually clearly metadiscoursal and paratextual, whereas linguistically and content-wise they exhibit close similarities to functions and realisations found in the main text. The decision to separate them from the main text is clearly significant, reflecting some kind of authorial prioritising. Genette’s prevarication thus reflects a truly ambiguous status of authorial notes.

2.  On prefaces and audience orientation, cf. Domínguez-Rodríguez and Alicia RodríguezÁlvarez, Chapter 7, Salmi, Chapter 8, and also Varila, Chapter 9, this volume. 3.  Nevertheless, prefaces and notes may share functions, such as highlighting differences to other works, but while the former do this on a global level, the latter only concern local levels.

70 Claudia Claridge and Sebastian Wagner

3. Historiography and footnotes According to Grafton (1997: viii, 131), footnotes were ‘created’ as an academic device by historians and philosophers, with the years around 1700 forming a decisive watershed before the rapid spread of footnotes in 18th-century historiography. Nevertheless, notes as such were not invented by historians proper, but were used previously by antiquaries, ecclesiastical historians (Grafton 1997: 169, 179, 181) and generally in religious writing. These earlier practices will certainly have influenced historiographical usage. In the theory of history writing notes play an important part in what has been described as “double structure” (de Certeau 1991), and “upper” vs “lower” text (Gossman 1976), which may be linked to “superstructure” vs “infrastructure” (Goldstein 1976). The double structure of the historiographical text falls into a continuous upper text, which provides the primary narrative and interpretation, and a discontinuous lower text, which adds sources, references, quotes, and comments (de Certeau 1991: 122–123; Gossman 1976: 55; Grafton 1997: 200). The lower text thus is a visible and readable reflection of the historical repertoire (Gossman 1976: 55), of all the institutions and activities by which the past is constituted in research in the first place, i.e. the infrastructure. As notes are an integral part of the work, they are also part of the superstructure, the whole visible product (Grafton 1997: 231–232, reporting Goldstein 1976). The lower text, i.e. the footnotes, thus fulfil an important function in history writing. It is here that the nature of the sources and their relationship to the main text become clear and can be discussed (Koskela and Männikkö 2009: 159; Gossman 1976). In this sense, the notes present the foundation on which the whole work rests. The notes also ensure the explicit presence of a plurality of voices to a potentially larger extent than the text itself and are thus the prime locus of engagement and intertextuality. They are also the place for the discussion of controversial points and for justifying as well as defending an author’s personal interpretation of historical material (Grafton 1997: 205; Koskela and Männikkö 2009: 158). The situation just described does not hold for history writing at all times. In fact, earlier works like Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica, the Brut Chronicles (Brie 1906), or More’s (1641) Historie of (…) Edward the Fifth do not contain authorial notes. In the 16th century one starts to find notes of an ideational type, for example in Holinshed’s Chronicles or the antiquary Stow’s Survey of London, where source texts are noted in the margins, although without anchoring. These are the early signs of the development towards the use of notes, which by the mid-18th century were such an established practice that non-use engendered criticism and apologies. David Hume, for example, apologised to Walpole for not properly documenting his authorities in notes in his History of England, stating that,



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

while he had followed the model of Renaissance historians, “that practice [notes, CC & SW] was more modern than their time, and having been once introduc’d, ought to be follow’d by every writer” (quoted in Grafton 1997: 190–191). Later, Hume in turn was to criticise Gibbon, whose (extensive) endnotes he considered to be in the wrong position, and asked for them to be turned into proper footnotes (Grafton 1997: 103). This request was met by compliance in subsequent volumes of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall. These remarks illustrate the developments regarding notes that must have happened between the 16th and the 18th century. 4. Data and methodology A small pilot corpus has been constructed, spanning the time from just before the 1700 watershed posited by Grafton and starting with pre-academic history to the beginnings of academic history writing. This corpus consists of works by seven historiographers, who stand for different outlooks on the discipline and together can thus be regarded as representative of the field as a whole, namely William Dugdale, Gilbert Burnet, Catharine Macaulay, Edward Gibbon, William Robertson, Thomas Macaulay, and William Stubbs (cf. Primary sources). Dugdale belongs to the group of antiquaries, who regarded themselves as distinct from the historians of their time, but in their meticulous approach to historical evidence in the form of written sources and artefacts foreshadowed and influenced modern historiographical methodology. Three of our historians were churchmen, namely Burnet, Robertson, and Stubbs, who will have been familiar with annotation practices already from theological writings. Burnet represents the group of ecclesiastical and religiously partisan historians; the impetus for his work was the desire to argue against other extant views of the English Reformation. Robertson was active in the Scottish Enlightenment and a Historiographer Royal. Stubbs held the position of Regius Professor of Modern History at the University of Oxford and was the first truly academic scholar in our group, who was also active in the collection and edition of historical documents. Catharine Macaulay was the first and, at her time, only female English historian. The two most eminent historians for their respective periods were Gibbon and Macaulay. While the other historians in our list are represented by works on the British Isles, Gibbon dealt with classical antiquity. He is known, among others, for his erudite use of sources and for the style of his footnotes. Macaulay produced a dramatic and emotionally intense work on a crucial period of England, the Glorious Revolution and its aftermath. The database of notes was compiled from major works of these authors, which reached a broad readership. 75 consecutively occurring notes were collected from three to four different sections of each work (depending on the overall extent of the

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work and the size of pages). All types of notes were included, regardless of position or function. This served to set footnotes proper into an overall context of visually similar text, which needed to be navigated as a whole by readers. Of the resulting 525 data points 232 notes with typical marginalia functions were excluded, leaving 293 notes in line with the footnote definition used here for further analysis. As Table 3 below shows, only Thomas Macaulay used exclusively notes according to our definition; all other authors are left with fewer than 75 notes for investigation. Close reading of notes and associated main text was used to reveal topical connections and linguistic realisations relevant to the questions posed here. 5. Text-note linking: Functions In order to investigate the text-note relationship we carried out a functional classification. For this we evolved a classification scheme based on and adapted from Table 1, shaded areas, and enhanced by the inclusion of Halliday and Matthiessen’s (2004) system of clausal expansion, cf. Figure 3. We have separated the evidential function from other content functions, as its main function is not adding content, but backing and providing authority for content. This is also of overarching importance for the register of history writing, making up an important part of the “lower text”. Both supplement and digression add content beyond the text, but while the latter goes off topic, so to speak, by bringing in peripheral and irrelevant points, the former adds more relevant detail to the content treated in the maint text. In this way, supplement may be seen as similar to subordinate clause content, which also expands on the content of the main clause. Halliday and Matthiessen (2004: 395–422) offer three types of such expansions (Table 2). evidential

content : supplement

content: digression

commentary

• for main text content

• elaboration • extension • enhancement

• tenuous link to main text

• comments on research(ers) • evaluations

Figure 3.  Functional classification of footnotes



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

Content supplement

Table 2.  Clausal expansion, to be used for supplement footnotes elaboration: further characterisation of an already introduced discourse item

– exposition – exemplification – clarification – description

extension: adding something new to previous discourse items

– addition: positive, negative, adversative – variation: replacive, subtractive – alternation

enhancement: qualifying discourse items with the addition of circumstantial detail

– temporal – spatial – manner – causal-conditional – concessive

The final functional group is commentary, which relates especially to the historical infrastructure and the specific function of the lower text to highlight polyphony. Here the historian provides (evaluative) comments relating to the nature of the research process, the relevance of the research results, the sources, the scholarly community, and situates himself in the field. While a note may fulfill just one function, it is also common to find mixed notes realising various functions (cf. the difference between total functions-total notes in Table 3 below). All functions just outlined were found, but, as Table 3 shows, to greatly different extent. The evidential function dominates in our data (80.9%) just as in modern Swedish history writing (95.5%, Koskela and Männikkö 2009: 155), highlighting its great importance for history writing. Table 3.  Functions of footnotes Authors Evidential Supplement Digression Commentary Total Total (chronological order) functions notes Dugdale (1675)

  57

–

–

–

  57

  57

Burnet (1681)

  15

–

–

 1

  16

  16

CMacaulay (1763–83)

  13

30

2

 7

  52

  33

Gibbon (1776–88)

  39

34

2

25

100

  54

Robertson (1781)

  30

 1

–

 1

  32

  31

TMacaulay (1848)

  63

22

2

18

105

  75

Stubbs (1874–78)

  20

12

–

 2

  34

  27

Total

237

99

6

54

396

293

As we want to focus mainly on the supplement function, we will discuss the evidential and digressive function briefly upfront. The commentary function will

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then be treated in more detail in Section 6 below. Examples (2a-e) illustrate the evidential function, namely the referencing of primary sources (2d,e) and of secondary literature (2b,c,e) as well as the abbreviated referencing style with ibid. Our two earliest authors use this function (almost) exclusively; this is apparently the route by which footnotes worked their way into historiography. (2)

a. b. c. d. e.

Ibid.  (Dugdale) Rushworth  (CMacaulay) Innes, Essays 552.  (Robertson) Ord. Vit. x. 14  (Stubbs) Herodotus, l. iv. c. 94. Julian in the Caesars, with Spanheim’s observations.  (Gibbon)

Real digressive notes are rare, and the examples found here may be called borderline. In (3), for example, Gibbon jumps from Scotland and the Roman border in the 2nd century A.D. to a Scottish poet of the 16th century – two very different aspects, but nevertheless text and note are cohesively linked by the notions of indepedence and subjugation. As there was no topical need to bring in the poet Buchanan, the note was nevertheless classified as digressive.

(3) This wall of Antoninus, at a small distance beyond the modern cities of Edinburgh and Glasgow, was fixed as the limit of the Roman province. The native Caledonians preserved in the northern extremity of the island their wild independence, for which they were not less indebted to their poverty than to their valour. Their incursions were frequently repelled and chastised; but their country was never subdued11. – note: 11The poet Buchanan celebrates, with elegance and spirit (see his Sylvae v.), the unviolated independence of his native country. (…)  (Gibbon)

Supplementary content in notes is the second most common functional type, which was subclassified according to the types elaboration (54.5%), extension (26.3%) and enhancement (19.2%). All four subtypes of elaboration (cf. Table 2) are attested, once even in combination. Exposition in (4) repeats the information from the main text in other words or from a different point of view, which is often done by providing the original source quote. This adds substance and precision to the point made. Exemplification adds specific instances to the textual content, e.g. in (5) listing Roman generals who experienced the fate mentioned in the text. Clarification explains and corroborates in more detail points made in the text, as in (6) providing the rationale behind the figure given. Description provides further factual descriptive detail on an item, such as the population of London in (7).

(4) He fought his wars on the Continent by means of mercenaries: – note: ‘Mavult enim princeps stipendiarios quam domesticos bellicis apponere



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

casibus.’ Dialogus. i. c. 9. ‘Nolens vexare agrarios milites nec burgensem nec rusticorum multitudinem ….. Duxit, solidarios vero milites innumeros.’ R. de Monte, A.D. 1159.  (Stubbs)

(5) The military fame of a subject was considered as an insolent invasion of the Imperial prerogative; and it became the duty, as well as interest, of every Roman general, to guard the frontiers intrusted to his care, without aspiring to conquests which might have proved no less fatal to himself than to the vanquished barbarians. – note: Germanicus, Suetonius Paulinus, and Agricola, were checked and recalled in the course of their victories. Corbulo was put to death. (…)  (Gibbon)



(6) The Archbishop of Canterbury can hardly have had five thousand a year. – note: (…) The gross revenue for the three quarters was not quite four thousand pounds; and the difference between the gross and the net revenue was evidently something considerable.  (TMacaulay)



(7) The plague at this time raged with such unsparing violence, as to carry off thirty thousand of the inhabitants of London* only. – note: This city is said to have contained but one hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants at this time.  (CMacaulay)

The distribution in Table 4 shows that all authors using supplement notes make use of these functions and that the first three are the more important ones. Table 4.  Content supplement function: Elaboration* Exposition

Exemplification

Clarification

Description

CMacaulay

2

2

5

4

Gibbon

3

7

3

4

3

1

Robertson

1

TMacaulay

4

Stubbs

8

5

2

*Authors with zero attestations will not be included in tables from here onwards. This concerns especially Dugdale and Burnet.

Extension footnotes are used by four authors, employing only three of the six Hallidayan subtypes (Table 5 below).4 By positive addition, as in (8), additional, i.e. non-contradictory, information is given on the Annian of the text, namely regarding the name and the time period. In contrast, adversative addition provides information that contradicts the text, and thus retracts or takes away content, e.g. 4.  The missing subtypes are negative addition, subtractive variation, and alternation.

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in (9), where the text implies that the people mentioned were spared execution, but the note corrects this. (10) is the only potential instance of replacive variation. The note is attached to a long paragraph, which deals with the “rules” concerning suspension of laws and royal prerogative and reports various points of view. The footnote content implies that all these opinions are useless, but can/should be replaced by the sensible one by Coventry.

(8) The several branches, to whom it was communicated, united, by marriage or inheritance, the wealth and titles of the Annian, the Petronian, and the Olybrian houses; and in each generation the number of consulships was multiplied by an hereditary claim. – note: (…) The Annii, whose name seems to have merged in the Anician, mark the Fasti with many consulships, from the time of Vespasian to the fourth century.  (Gibbon)



(9) To all but Brook the sentence of death was mitigated to imprisonment. – note: The lord Cobham, the lord Gray, and Sir Griffith Markham, were brought to the block, before the warrant of reprieve was produced. (…)  (CMacaulay)

(10) extended discussion on the limits of authority and liberty – note: The most sensible thing said in the House of Commons, on this subject, came from Sir William Coventry: “Our ancestors never did draw a line to circumscribe prerogative and liberty.”  (TMacaulay)

Table  5 indicates that the extension option was used more in an affirmative way, thus strengthening the text, rather than contradicting it by adding controversial points. It is also interesting that the academic historian Stubbs only uses positive addition. Table 5.  Content supplement function: Extension Positive addition

Adversative addition

CMacaulay

8

2

Gibbon

6

3

TMacaulay

5

1

Stubbs

1

Replacive variation

1

Enhancement adds circumstantial detail to the text content concerning space, time, manner, causes/reasons, conditions or concessions (the last two unattested here). The addition of the distance from Ravenna to Rome in (11) gives the reader a better idea of the march of the Goths. In (12) what looks like spatial information mainly gives temporal detail by the implied date of the Diet of Ratisbon; that time is intended is implied by the before-clause in the main text. The manner of the



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

royal progress through the country is expressed in (13) by way of the comparison to a devastating army, which at the same time is of course evaluative. The example in (14) has been classified as causal, as the details in the note supply the reasons for the conclusion (must have been small) expressed in the text. (11) …but the king of the Goths, despising the ignoble prey, still advanced with unabated vigour; and after he had passed through the stately arches, adorned with the spoils of Barbaric victories, he pitched his camp under the walls of Rome. – note: (…) The measured distance between Ravenna and Rome, was 254 Roman miles. (..)  (Gibbon) (12) Before the conclusion of the treaty, the emperor had transferred the dignity of elector Palatine to the duke of Bavaria, – note: This was at the Diet of Ratisbon. (…)  (CMacaulay) (13) The subordinates of the court followed the example of their chief; no man was safe against them; the poor man was not protected by his poverty, nor the rich by his abundance. – note: On the enormities of the king’s followers, who made his progresses through the country resemble the march of a devastating army, see (…)  (Stubbs) (14) As the country then possessed only seventeen ships of the first and second rate that had ever been at sea, and as a large proportion of the persons who had commanded such ships had good posts on shore, the expenditure under this head must have been small indeed. – note: It appears from the records of the Admiralty, that Flag officers were allowed half pay in 1668, Captains of first and second rates not till 1674.  (TMacaulay)

Interestingly, such detail is not very common in notes, as Table 6 shows. It may be that it is usually either seen as important enough to be put into the text or dispensed with completely. The causal type is the most common one, and one might assume that it has a useful role to play in historical argumentation. Table 6.  Content supplement function: Enhancement Spatial

Temporal

CMacaulay

1

1

Gibbon

1

Manner

Causal 7

2

4

TMacaulay

1

1

Stubbs

1

As stated above, many notes are multi-functional. An example of a mixed note from Macaulay can illustrate this, where evidential information is underlined,

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supplementary content (here: exemplification) is bold-faced, and commentary, i.e. evaluation, is presented in italics. (15) Neal’s History of the Puritans, Calamy’s Account of the ejected Ministers and the Nonconformists’ Memorial contain abundant proofs of the severity of this persecution. Howe’s farewell letter to his flock will be found in the interesting life of that great man, by Mr. Rogers. Howe complains that he could not venture to show himself in the streets of London, and that his health had suffered from want of air and exercise. But the most vivid picture of the distress of the Nonconformists is furnished by their deadly enemy, Lestrange, in the Observators of September and October, 1685. (TMacaulay)

6. Authorial positioning in footnotes As indicated above (Figure  3), commentary relates to research, researchers and their evaluation. Many notes thus feature the historians’ intersubjective assessments, often though not exclusively linked to evidential aspects, and various strategies aimed at aligning or disaligning readers with those assessments. Here, we were primarily interested in answering two core questions: Firstly, how are explicit instances of evaluation applied to assessing the reliability or truthfulness of a source, the decency of historical protagonists or the normality of an event? And secondly, how ‘visible’ is the historian as a researcher and interpreter? 6.1 Evaluation in footnotes In order to classify the interpersonal choices, we applied a slightly expanded version of Martin and White’s (2005) appraisal theory. Their framework provides a way of systematically classifying the resources which construe evaluative meaning. Generic considerations led us to concentrate on two of the three existing subsystems, viz. appreciation and judgement, as the third system, affect (dealing with emotions), was considered less relevant for the assumedly objective domain of serious historiography. The subsystem judgement focuses on the author’s positive and negative ethical evaluations of behaviours in terms of their normality, capacity, tenacity, veracity, and propriety (Martin and White 2005: 52). In the original framework, judgement is restricted to appraising ‘human’ conduct. For the current study, however, we would suggest expanding the judgement system so as to additionally integrate evaluative meanings that refer to norm-based assessments of inanimate entities (e.g. historical phenomena, events, actions). This expansion is considered crucial for a comprehensive detection of ethical and



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

moral assessments in historiography, as historians do not restrict their interpretative evaluation to human behaviour but frequently shift their focus to historical objects, which, in turn, are being evaluated on the basis of moral values or norm consensuses (e.g. Wagner 2019: 79). The subsystem appreciation, on the other hand, primarily marks positive and negative evaluations of things, processes and states of affairs (Martin and White 2005: 56). However, resources of this system are not restricted to assessing the quality or complexity of the subject matter, but they allow for the classification of evaluative meaning that is informed by what historiographers consider to be (socially) significant (Coffin 2006: 141–142). Thus, the variable “valuation” is relevant for the investigation of register-informed choices in the notes. Table 7.  Assessment: appreciation (white = positive; grey = negative) ­total Appreciation: Apprecomposition ciation: (complexity) composition (balance) CMacaulay

 5

Gibbon

22

Robertson

 1

TMacaulay

19

Stubbs Total

–

Appreciation: reaction (quality)

AppreAppre- Total ciation: ciation: notes reaction valuation (impact) 1

–

–

1

33

1

1

–

 6

–

54

–

–

–

 1

–

31

1

4

–

 8

–

75

–

–

–

–

–

–

27

14

4

6

–

15

1

–

1

–

–

1

1

–

–

12

–

–

–

–

–

1

–

2

1

2

 2

2

–

–

–

49

4

1

3

1

2

The footnotes feature a total of 49 instances of appreciation (Table 7). A quick glance at the table reveals that evaluation of the quality of entities is unevenly distributed across the notes: Gibbon and Thomas Macaulay make much more extensive use of the subsystem’s resources, particularly of those realisations subsumed under the subcategories of appreciation: reaction (quality) (the historians’ evaluation of the condition of a text/process/phenomenon) and appreciation: valuation (i.e., the assessment of the salience of the object in focus, cf. (16)) (Martin and White 2005: 56–57). Further, our data exhibits a preference for positive evaluations. (16) A very singular proof of this occurs in the French history. 

(Robertson)

(17) This is excellently put, by Mr. Hallam, in the first chapter of his Constitutional History.  (TMacaulay) (18) King’s Natural and Political Observations 1696. This valuable treatise, which ought to be read as the author wrote it, and not as garbled by Davenant, will be found in some editions of Chalmers’s Estimate.  (TMacaulay)

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The typical examples of appreciation: reaction: quality in (17–18) display two things: The historian’s evaluation is realised via assessment either of the verbal processes (“excellently put”), or via premodifications estimating the adequacy and expedience of the material underlying the deliberations in the anchor text (“learned notes”; “valuable treatise”). In (18), Macaulay even combines his assessment with a concrete recommendation, reflecting on two alternative resources available. His aversion for Davenant’s rendition of the praised original finds expression in the negative evaluation of its quality (“garbled”). Table 8.  Assessment: judgement (white = positive; grey = negative) total Judgement: Judgement: Judgement: Judgement: Judgement: Total tenacity propriety veracity capacity normality notes CMacaulay

 8

 1

1

–

 3

–

1

1

1

–

–

33

Gibbon

21

 6

2

2

 7

2

–

–

–

1

1

54

TMacaulay

26

 8

3

3

 3

2

3

1

–

2

1

75

Total

55

15

6

5

13

4

4

2

1

3

2

As Table 8 shows, it is only the two Macaulays and Gibbon whose notes fulfil the function of assessing the source’s or a character’s reliability (tenacity) or their behaviour as compliant with prevailing norms (propriety). Items realising positive appraisal of reliability and negative assessment of decency are thus used comparatively frequently. The subcategory judgement: capacity, in which values are classified that aim at assessing attributes such as competence, resilience and performance (cf. Martin and White 2005: 52; Coffin 2006: 146), interestingly only comprises as little as three instances. Beyond that, our selection of notes highlights an evaluative strategy which is deemed quintessential for historiography (see e.g. Jenkins 2003; Davies 2016): the critical assessment of the credibility of the sources. (19) See Pliny’s Panegyric, which seems founded on facts [+veracity].  (Gibbon) (20) The story in the Life of James the Second, ii. 43; is not taken from the King’s manuscripts, and sufficiently refutes itself [-veracity].  (TMacaulay) (21) a very curious narrative written by John Coad, an honest, Godfearing carpenter [+propriety] who joined Monmouth, (…)  (TMacaulay) (22) Dion Cassius (l. liv. p. 736.), with the annotations of Reymar, who has collected all that Roman vanity has left upon the subject [-propriety].  (Gibbon)



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

Gibbon’s estimation of Pliny’s Panegyric (19) is construed as a (hedged) positive evaluation of its truthfulness. This classification is justified primarily on the basis that we assume a fact-based source to be recognised as more truthful than one without a factual foundation (O’Brien 2001; Hesketh 2011),5 which is one of the few core principles in otherwise varying historiographical conventions. Macaulay’s assessment of “the story in the Life of James the Second”, in (20), can be read as expressing a negative appraisal with regard to its verisimilitude, since it is not in line with the authoritative source and is considered argumentatively defective. We observed that historians do not only evaluate the embedded sources but also their creators’ decency, manners and demeanour. It appears as if by confirming these attributes ((21: honest, godfearing), the reliability of the referenced material is being further substantiated and its incorporation in the footnote justified. In (22), Gibbon’s negative evaluation of the Roman conduct (an expression of social sanction of their vanity) in turn positively assesses Dion Cassius’ efforts, regarding his commitment and zeal. So far the examples presented displayed mainly explicit construals of evaluative meaning. However, it is assumed that linking a passage of text with a footnote opening with the mention of a first-hand source in thematic position might function to signal to the reader that the author has confidence in the source. Justifying a reading of these occurrences as implicit evaluative strategies, characterised by what Martin and White refer to as ideational token or token of attitude (2005: 75, 153),6 rests on the view that the historiographical discourse community valued first-hand evidence higher than, for instance, mediated evidence (e.g. Jenkins 2003: 57–58). Consequently, the examples below (23–25) are classified as tokens of judgement: tenacity (understood to be informed by genre conventions and the historians’ argumentative goals) as they indicate and assess the source’s reliability and thus trigger judgement via seemingly purely ideational meanings. (23) These are Cranmer’s own words. See the Appendix to Burnet’s History of the Reformation, Part I. Book III. No. 21. Question 9.  (TMacaulay) 5.  We find evidence for the contemporary, pre-institutional demand for authentic, fact-based sources in Macaulay’s historiographical meta-commentary. He conceives “the perfect historian” as someone “in whose work the character and spirit of an age is exhibited in miniature. He relates no fact, he attributes no expression to his characters, which is not authenticated by sufficient testimony.“ (Macaulay ‘History’ Edinburgh Review 1828). 6.  In the Appraisal framework, ‘tokens’ account for ideational content that is likely to evoke evaluative meaning. This notion enables the researcher to label the potential of (a set of) descriptive expressions to trigger evaluation in particular contextual constellations (Martin and White 2005; Coffin 2006).

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(24) A peer who was present has described the effect of Halifax’s oratory in words (…)  (TMacaulay) (25) It is transmitted from his own authority, that at this time he was made uneasy by a dream which represented the bishop of Lincoln brought to him in chains  (CMacaulay)

When it comes to devalorising the sources’ tenacity, Thomas Macaulay, in (26), criticises an unidentified group of writers (many), by not only elaborating on their lack of evidence, but also by marking the actions of some of them as unacceptable (so absurd). (26) Many writers have asserted, without the slightest foundation, that a pardon was granted to Ferguson by James. Some have been so absurd as to cite this imaginary pardon (…)  (TMacaulay) (27) Sir John Reresby, who ought to have been well informed, positively affirms that Ferguson was taken three days after the battle of Sedgemore. But Sir John was certainly wrong as to the date, and may therefore have been wrong as to the whole story.  (TMacaulay)

His relentless assessment of Sir John’s error in one part in (27) leads Macaulay to signal his doubt concerning his source’s overall reliability. It could, furthermore, be assumed that the high degree of confidence, realised by the adverbial (certainly), might function to further corroborate the historian’s interpretative authority. It is this construction of a historiographical authority that frequently manifests itself in the footnotes, particularly in those instances when readers are pointed to the sources’ deviations from shared (social) values, historical conventions or common practice. So far we have been concerned with interpreting and examining the function of evaluative meanings within their contexts. Once we shift from the evaluative items to a more systematic analysis of their respective targets, it becomes apparent that the footnotes feature evaluative meaning that either focusses on the source in its entirety or on the source’s content. We can see that in our selection of notes historians tended to assess the value of the source as a whole, rather than to critically comment on the embedded information (cf. Figure 4). The most frequent subsystems used by our historians are negative appraisals of judgement: propriety (target: mainly historical personae) and positive appraisals of appreciation: valuation when evaluating the source’s content. Further, they used positive appraisals of appreciation: valuation or appreciation: quality (justifying the source’s usefulness) and judgement: tenacity (emphasising its reliability) when evaluating the source as a whole. These preferences are noteworthy, as they can be seen as indicative of the purpose the note fulfils in substantiating arguments



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

in the main text, namely (i) through engendering moral values, and (ii) through highlighting the historian’s expertise by reference to critically examined, thus legitimised sources. entirety

content

Judgement; 19; 30% − propriety (7) + valuation (5)

+

Appreciation; 16; 27%

valuation (13) quality (11)

+ tenacity (16)

Appreciation; 43; 73%

Judgement; 44; 70%

Figure 4.  Distribution of evaluation directed at the source as a whole or at its content

6.2 Authors and readers in interaction Another essential interpersonal component that can be attested in the footnotes is that of reader alignment. If we assume that writers envision their readers as actively co- or counter-constructing the argument, it is indispensable to signal dissociation from or rejection of contrary positions as well as agreement and solidarity. Thus, the propositions provided in or elaborated via the notes might be presented as, for instance, “bare” assertions, as highly reliable, as representing only one out of a range of options, or as attributed to an external voice (cf. Martin and White 2005). Martin and White’s (2005: 94) engagement system allows for the attestation of either the expansion or the contraction of what Bakhtin (1981: 281) refers to as a dialogistic “background” with the aim to align or disalign the imagined reader. The system network (Figure 5) provides an overview of the heteroglossic resources and potential realisations. Edward Gibbon and Thomas Macaulay make extensive use of those resources. Table  9 displays a tendency for contract: proclaim: endorse and contract: disclaim: counter to eliminate dialogistic alternatives. Engagement that aims at recognizing alternative viewpoints is mainly expressed in our notes as expand: attribute: acknowledge.

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deny no, didn’t, never

disclaim

counter yet, although, amazingly, but affirm naturally, of course, obviously, etc.

contract concur

concede admittedly---[but]: , sure… [however], etc. pronounce I contend, the facts of the matter are…, indeed

proclaim

endorse the report demonstrates/shows/proves that…

entertain perhaps, it’s probable that, this may be, must, it seems to me, apparently, expository questions expand acknowledge Halliday argues that, many Australians believe that..., it is said that, the report states

attribute

distance Chomsky claimed to have shown that…

Figure 5.  engagement (heteroglossic subsystem) (Martin and White 2005: 134) Table 9.  engagement in footnotes Contract: total Proclaim: endorse

Expand:

Proclaim: Proclaim: Disclaim: Entertain Attribute: Attribute: pronounce concur counter acknowledge distance

Burnet

 3

 2

–

CMacaulay

 3

–

–

–

–

–

 1

–

 2

–

 1

–

Gibbon

28

 7

3

Robertson

 1

–

–

3

 7

1

 4

3

–

–

1

–

–

TMacaulay

28

 8

3

1

 2

3

 7

4

Stubbs

 6

 2

–

Total

69

19

6

–

 1

2

 1

–

4

12

7

14

7



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

To exemplify how engagement resources can be strategically used in footnotes, Stubbs’ dialogistic expansion in (28) (expand: entertain: possibly) followed by an immediate contraction of dialogistic space, namely a denial of the probability of alternative viewpoints (contract: disclaim: counter: but it is more probable that… / seems most likely) is thought to have the potential to align the reader with the historian’s authoritative interpretation, as Stubbs ostensibly weighs up the pros and cons of a potential misapprehension. (28) The words of Ordericus will scarcely bear this. Possibly he may refer to a substitution of the short hundred for the long in the reckoning of the hide of land: but it is more probable that the whole story is a misapprehension, and is to be referred to the Domesday Survey, in which Ranulf seems most likely to have taken a part. See p. 348, below.  (Stubbs)

In (29), Thomas Macaulay initially admits his fallibility, only to then contract the dialogistic space by dismissing alternative results as potentially faulty and by simultaneously establishing his own comparison as the yardstick (contract: proclaim: concur: concede). Here, the reader is construed as being at least to some degree resistant to Macaulay’s argumentative position. (29) I do not, of course, pretend to strict accuracy here; but I believe that whoever will take the trouble to compare the last returns of hearth money in the reign of William the Third with the census of 1841, will come to a conclusion not very different from mine.  (TMacaulay)

It might be hypothesised that once historians (as Macaulay above) make reference to well founded, generally agreeable, valid, highly warrantable (legal) documents, records, depositions or the like, the reader is supposed to be strongly aligned with the historians’ view, as alternative positions, potentially based on less reliable evidence, are being ruled out. (30) It appears from the records of the Admiralty, that Flag officers were allowed half pay in 1668, Captains of first and second rates not till 1674. (TMacaulay) (31) Evelyn’s Diary. Jan. 27, 1682. I have seen a privy seal, dated May 17. 1683, which confirms Evelyn’s testimony.  (TMacaulay)

Authors may remain in the background (as in (28), (30)) or explicitly place themselves in the footnote (as in (29), (31)). We briefly illustrate three ways of doing this. Firstly, examples (32) and (33) suggest that the reader is being included with the author as a discourse participant (given that the first person plural pronouns are read as inclusive types).

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(32) See the admirable abridgment given by Tacitus, in the life of Agricola, and copiously, though perhaps not completely, illustrated by our own antiquarians, Camden and Horsley.  (Gibbon) (33) From the numbers on the list, we must always deduct one twelfth above threescore, and incapable of bearing arms. See Population de la France, p. 72.  (Gibbon)

Secondly, a set of footnotes features what Hyland (2005: 53) refers to as self mention, in our material commonly realised via first person pronouns plus epistemic verbs of judgement as (34–35) aimed to instil confidence provided, the historian’s integrity and interpretative authority is not called into question. (34) For my own part, I am almost convinced that Lactantius dedicated his Institutions to the sovereign of Gaul, at a time when Galerius, Maximin, and even Licinius, persecuted the Christians; that is, between the years 306 and 311.  (Gibbon) (35) I believe that no example, of a King’s doing homage to one of his own subjects, is to be met with in the histories either of England or Scotland.  (Robertson)

Lastly, in (36) the historiographer construes himself as engaging personally in the acquisition, inspection, and even in the recovery of source documents. This illustrative account of the historian’s hands-on mentality seems to be aimed at convincing the putative reader of the author’s effort, particularly regarding his investment in gathering supplementary evidence. (36) I refer to a despatch of Bonrepaux to Seignelay, dated Feb. 8/‍18. 1686. It was transcribed for Mr. Fox from the French archives, during the peace of Amiens, and, with the other materials brought together by that great man, was entrusted to me by the kindness of the late Lady Holland, and of the present Lord Holland. I ought to add that, even in the midst of the troubles which have lately agitated Paris, I found no difficulty in obtaining, from the liberality of the functionaries there, extracts supplying some chasms in Mr. Fox’s collection.  (TMacaulay)

7. Discussion and conclusion After this survey of notes, let us now return to the questions posed in the introduction. The functions and tasks performed by notes have turned out not to be surprising given the generic needs of historiography.



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing

The overwhelming dominance of evidential notes shows the great disciplinary importance of linking to both primary and secondary sources, to the extent that (foreign-language) quotes from these are also provided in notes (via the elaboration function). The relevance of evidential notes is further highlighted by the amount of critical evaluation (e.g. (28)) and positioning as a historian (e.g. (36)) occurring within them. This serves the purpose of ensuring the validity of the work for which they form the basis, i.e. of the ‘lower text’ as the foundation (e.g. (23–25)), of justifying the necessity of the present work versus others (e.g. (26)) and of generally locating the author within the historical community of practice (e.g. (16–18)). The tendency to evaluate sources in their entirety, be it an author or a work as such, may have to do with the fact that they are being dealt with regarding their standing in the community and thus their usability as a basis of the present work. The supplementary content provides such aspects as add more detail and precision to the main text. This is the case with elaboration, the most frequent category, with positive addition and with temporal, spatial and manner enhancement. These fact-related types have the potential effects of making the author seem very knowledgeable and of stilling the readers’ want for (more) information. They may also make the text stronger and thus more convincing. Serving the purpose of argumentation is thus another aim fulfilled by the note content, which is more prominent in the supplement types of adversative addition and replacive variation (extension) as well as causal enhancement. While these are individually not overly frequent, their presence is nevertheless noticeable. As indicated above, evidential annotation also plays a role in the persuasive power of the text. Regarding persuasiveness the attempted alignment of readers with inclusive pronouns, with explicitly highlighting spatio-temporal contrasts for them, and especially with closed-off dialogistic space is noteworthy. The readers are meant to follow the authors’ point of view. The authors’ self-mentions are thus in line with a “degree of authoritativeness [that] writers are prepared to invest in their texts to personally get behind their statements” (Hyland 2002: 1093) and thus a certain overt subjectivity. There is some evidence that with Gibbon and TMacaulay the first person singular is used more in notes than in the text. This contrasts with the scientific concept of “reduced authorial intrusion” (i.e. the ‘recorder voice’) (Coffin 2006: 151), which regards the absence of explicitly inscribed (evaluative) resources as functioning to produce seemingly neutral and objective historiographical accounts (Coffin 2006: 151). Stubbs’ low frequencies with regard to intersubjective positioning, might be at least partially explained by the self-conception of the emerging historical discipline, which no longer aimed at the general audience but restricted its scope to the trained intellectual scholars (cf. O’Brien 2001) and which was driven by an “objective, trustworthy, and disinterested” ideal of historiography (cf. e.g. Hesketh 2011; Soffer 1994; Burrow 2009).

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This last aspect leads us to the question of change in our small selection of historians. Stubbs stands out also in another respect: he breaks the otherwise noticeable trend towards more footnotes and fewer marginalia (cf. last column in Table 3), and as such seems less ‘modern’ than Macaulay. The one aspect that remains fairly constant is again the use of evidential notes; the fact that the highest proportion and almost exclusive use is found with our first two authors leads to the assumption that this function led to the use and establishment of historiographical notes in the first place. As other functions followed suit evidential notes lost their predominant position, but are only really outranked by other functions in Catharine Macaulay’s work. As with this point, the uneven peaks and troughs with other functions seem to have to do with the different backgrounds and (stylistic) preferences of individual authors. Thus, the three contemporaneous writers CMacaulay, Robertson, and Gibbon differ widely in their note usage. Finally, looking at the textual status of historiographical notes again, the question of what distinguishes and separates them from the main text needs to be at least tentatively answered. If one looks closely, all but one of the notes’ functions and uses detailed can also be found in the main text. A few brief indications must suffice: Regarding supplement content, TMacaulay uses exemplification on p. 50– 51, Gibbon provides spatial enhancement on p. 4–5, and CMacaulay gives descriptive elaboration on p. 180. The assessment of a source as credible is discussed by TMacaulay on p. 37. It thus turns out as if the only note-exclusive functions were those connected to evidentiality, i.e. (i) pure, uncommented references as in (2) and Figure 1 above, (ii) discussions of source content as in (28), and (iii) the provision of foreign-language source material. In this respect, footnotes indeed specialise in the methodological infrastructure of the historical discipline. In all other respects, metadiscourse is contributed by and distributed between main text and notes – but in which ways and proportions will have to be left to further research. In as far as text and notes do largely the same or similar work the conception of authorial notes as paratext is hard to uphold. Nevertheless, two paratext characteristics remain. Firstly, their simple presence, even unread, “assure[s] the reception and consumption” of the work as one of respectable historiography, i.e. they are the guarantors of its quality. Secondly, there is the visual aspect of notes as separate text chunks and of the fact that one interrupts the main text reading process for taking in the note. May this give its content a greater impact and importance than it might have when integrated into the text? This is another question we have to leave for the future.



Chapter 3.  The footnote in Late Modern English historiographical writing 89

Primary sources Burnet, Gilbert. 1681. The History of the Reformation of the Church of England. 2nd ed. London: Chiswell. (pp. I,1–5, II,35–8, III,180–8) Dugdale, William. 1675. The Baronage of England. London: Roper, Martin and Herringman. (pp. I,1–2, I,593–4, II,432–3) Gibbon, Edward. 1776–88. History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. London: Strahan & Cadell. (pp. I,1–6, III,231–6, V,251–61) Macaulay, Catharine. 1763–83. The History of England. London: Dilly. (pp. 1–7, 176–86, 348–59) Macaulay, Thomas. 1848. The History of England. London: Longman, Green, Brown, and Longmans. (pp. 31–95, 161–308, 647–68) Robertson, William. 1781. The History of Scotland. London: Cadell. (pp.1–20, 235–43, 485–90) Stubbs, William. 1874–78. The Constitutional History of England. Oxford: Clarendon. (pp. 1–10, 301–5, 587–91)

Secondary sources Barker, Nicholas. 2009. “The Morphology of the Page.” In The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Vol. 5: 1695–1830, ed. by Michael F. Suarez, and Michael L. Turner, 248–267. Cambridge: Camebridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521810173.013 Bakhtin, Mikhail M. 1981. The Dialogic Imagination (transl. by Caryl Emerson & Michael Holquist). Austin: University of Texas Press. Bede. 1968. A History of the English Church and People. Transl. & introd. Leo Sherley-Price, revised R. E. Latham. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Birke, Dorothee, and Birte Christ. 2013. “Paratext and Digitized Narrative: Mapping the Field.” Narrative 21 (1): 65–87.  https://‍doi.org/10.1353/nar.2013.0003 Bowersock, Glen W. 1984. “The Art of the Footnote.” The American Scholar 53 (1): 54–62. Brie, Friedrich W. D. (ed). 1906. The Brut or The Chronicles of England. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co. [Early English Text Society O.S. 181] Burrow, John. 2009. A History of Histories. London: Penguin. Coffin, Caroline. 2006. Historical Discourse. London: Continuum. Davies, Martin L. 2016. How History Works: The Reconstitution of a Human Science. London: Routledge. De Certeau, Michel. 1991. Das Schreiben der Geschichte. Frankfurt: Campus Verlag. Genette, Gérard. 1997. Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Cambridge: Camebridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511549373 Genette, Gérard, and Marie Maclean. 1991. “Introduction to the Paratext.” New Literary History 22 (2): 261–272.  https://‍doi.org/10.2307/469037 Goldstein, Leon. 1976. Historical Knowing. Austin/London: University of Texas Press. Gossman, Lionel. 1976. Augustin Thierry and Liberal Historiography. 15 History and Theory. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Grafton, Anthony. 1997. The Footnote. A Curious History. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.

90 Claudia Claridge and Sebastian Wagner Halliday, Michael A. K., and Christian M. I. M. Matthiessen. 2004. An Introduction to Functional Grammar. 3rd ed. London: Hodder Education. Hesketh, Ian. 2011. The Science of History in Victorian Britain: Making the Past Speak. London: Routledge. Hyland, Ken. 2002. “Authority and Invisibility: Authorial Identity in Academic Writing.” Journal of Pragmatics 34 (8): 1091–1112.  https://‍doi.org/10.1016/S0378-2166(02)‍00035-8 Hyland, Ken. 2005. Metadiscourse: Exploring Interaction in Writing. London/New York: Continuum. Jenkins, Keith. 2003. Re-thinking History. 3rd ed. London: Routledge. Koskela, Merja, and Tiina Männikkö. 2009. “Notes on Notes. Endnotes and Footnotes in Swedish Historical and Philosophical Texts.” In Cross-Linguistic and Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Academic Discourse, ed. by Eija Suomela-Salmi, and Fred Dervin, 151–162. Amsterdam: Benjamins.  https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.193.10kos Martin, James R., and Peter R. R. White. 2005. The Language of Evaluation: Appraisal in English. Basingstoke: Palgrave.  https://‍doi.org/10.1057/9780230511910 More, Thomas. 1641. The historie of the pitifull life, and unfortunate death of Edward the Fifth, and the then Duke of Yorke, his brother with the troublesome and tyrannical government of usurping Richard the Third, and his miserable end. London: Thomas Payne. (Wing/M2688) O’Brien, Karen. 2001. “The History Market in Eighteenth-Century England.” In Books and Their Readers in Eighteenth-century England: New Essays, ed. By Isabel Rivers, 105–133. London: Continuum. OED: Oxford English Dictionary. https://‍www.oed.com/ Slights, William W. E. 2001. Managing Readers: Printed Marginalia in English Renaissance Books. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.3998/mpub.17226 Soffer, Reba N. 1994. Discipline and Power: The University, History and the Making of an English Elite, 1870–1930. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Wagner, Sebastian. 2019. Evaluation in Late Modern English History Writing. University of Augsburg: unpublished PhD thesis.

Chapter 4

Threshold-switching Paratextual functions of scribal colophons in Old and Middle English manuscripts Wendy Scase University of Birmingham

This chapter offers a new, material analysis of medieval scribal colophons, the brief writings that scribes added to manuscript texts. Gérard Genette saw the scribal colophon as the ancestor of ‘paratext’, the ‘threshold’ (‘seuil’) to the printed text. Contributing to current modification of paratext theory, this chapter considers what Genette’s model reveals about manuscript culture. It proposes that the scribal colophon turns the spotlight on the graphic properties of the scribe’s work rather than simply or predominantly serving as a threshold to reading the text. The chapter proposes that threshold-switching, a term in digital electronics for a process that causes oscillation between one state and another, may be a more appropriate metaphor than the threshold for this important function of the medieval scribal colophon. The colophon is evidence that, as in digital media today, in manuscript culture writing was not regarded simply as a transparent medium that one looked through to access the meaning beyond. Keywords: colophon, scribe, medieval, manuscript, paratext

1. Introduction [L]‍a page de titre […] est, après le colophon des manuscrits médiévaux et des premiers incunables, l’ancêtre de tout le péritexte éditorial moderne. [T]‍he title page […] – after the colophon of medieval manuscripts and incunabula – is the ancestor of the whole modern publisher’s peritext.  (Genette 1987: 34; Genette trans. Lewin 1997: 34)

The medieval colophon is seen by Gérard Genette as the ancestor of one of the categories of literary material that he terms paratext: a threshold (seuil in the original French) to the text, a “fringe”, “a zone not only of transition but also of transaction”

https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.04sca © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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Wendy Scase

(Genette 1997: 2). Derived, according to OED, from Greek κολοϕών (summit, finishing touch), the noun colophon is defined as “[t]‍he inscription or device, sometimes pictorial or emblematic, formerly placed at the end of a book or manuscript, and containing the title, the scribe’s or printer’s name, date and place of printing, etc.” (OED, s.v. colophon, n.; cf. Sherman 2011: 69). Defined by Richard Gameson as “a formal scribal note which bears – or purports to bear – in some way on the scribe himself and his work” (2002: 1), and in Denis Muzerelle’s stricter definition, as a formula that mentions the date or place that a text was copied, “Formule finale dans laquelle le scribe mentionne le lieu ou la date de la copie ou l’un et l’autre” (Muzerelle 2002-2003 [1985]: 435.4), for Genette the colophon is the ancestor of the category of paratextual material that he terms ‘le péritexte éditorial’ (1987: 20–37). Despite identifying the medieval colophon as the ancestor of a key category of paratext, Genette has relatively little to say about it or manuscript culture more broadly. There are few indications of how the text-paratext model might be applicable to medieval manuscripts. He notes that any form of ‘manifestation’ of a text may be invested with ‘paratextual value’, including the fact of transcription itself: [T]‍exts often circulated in an almost raw condition, in the form of manuscripts devoid of any formula of presentation […] an almost raw condition because the sole fact of transcription […] brings to the ideality of the text some degree of materialization, graphic or phonic, which […] may induce paratextual effects.  (Genette 1997: 3, original italics)

Concentrating, in practice, on matter that is prefatory to the text, Genette also has relatively little to say about end matter, about what Sherman terms ‘terminal paratext’ (2011). But the relevance of Genette’s model to scribal colophons is suggested by his inclusion of the printer’s colophon (“the printer’s mark indicating that his work has been completed: the name of the printer, the date of completion, the serial number, and perhaps the date of the book’s depôt légal”, Genette 1997: 33) or “publisher’s peritext”, in Lewin’s translation (Genette 1997: 16–36). If the printer’s colophon is only briefly mentioned, scribal paratext makes an even more fleeting appearance, being included in the chapter on “Les Dédicaces” (‘dedications’). Genette speculates that a “scribe’s role […] in making each copy might have given him some right to the inscription”, the inscription (“la dédicace” in the original) being conceived of, however, as a dedication of the text to a particular person (Genette 1987: 128; Genette 1997: 137) in a way similar to that of an author signing copies of his work for particular recipients. Genette freely admitted that his typology of the paratext was provisional and incomplete and the scribal colophon is one of his typology’s ‘lacunae’ (Genette 1997: 407).



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2. Approaches to paratexts in medieval manuscripts Many analyses of paratexts in medieval manuscripts have an empirical emphasis, being undertaken to derive provenance information and in some cases insights into the motivations of scribes, their working conditions, social status, and so on, and this is especially true of work on colophons. Examples include the catalogue of colophons in the Brussels Bibliothèque Royale (Glorieux-De Gand with Kelders 1991) and the Colophons de Manuscrits occidentaux des Origines au xvie Siècle, where colophons are listed in scribal name order so that information about scribes can be retrieved and collated (Bénédictins du Bouveret 1965–1982). The title of Manuscript Notes as Documentary Sources, edited by Andreas Görke and Konrad Hirschler (2011), makes explicit that volume’s emphasis on the documentary. Similarly, in the volume of essays emanating from the collaborative Hamburg research project on manuscript cultures (Sonderforschungsbereich 950  – Manuskriptkulturen in Asien, Afrika und Europa) paratexts are seen to “document the temporal and spatial dimensions of the process of production and transmission of manuscripts” (Ciotti and Lin 2016: 8). Essays in the Hamburg volume use colophons and other paratext to provenance items in neglected manuscript corpora. Examples include an essay by Ciotti and Franceschini (2016) on colophons in Tamil and Tamilian manuscripts and Techasiriwan’s (2016) use of colophons to date and place Tai Lü and Tai Khün manuscripts. Such studies are typical of much work where, despite the enthusiastic response to Genette’s work reflected in renewed interest in colophons and other manuscript paratext, the emphasis has been largely limited to their information-bearing properties. Lucien Reynhout, noting the lack of study of colophons ‘for their own sake’, “[p]‍eu de phénomènes codicologiques semblent si connus et ont été en réalité si peu étudiés pour eux-mêmes que les colophons de manuscrits médiévaux” (‘few codicological phenomena are so seemingly well-known and in reality so little studied for their own sake as the colophons of medieval manuscripts’ (2006, vol. 1, 17)), has made a rare attempt to analyse colophons as a discourse with its own formulas and distribution patterns. But Genette emphasises that paratext exists to frame a text; its informational and other discursive and generic modes provide a frame for reading and interpretation of the text. How applicable is his seuil (threshold) metaphor to the scribal colophon? What new interpretations might result from his analytical model? What adaptations might need to be made to his methods to enable productive applications in the study of medieval manuscripts? This chapter will pursue these questions with reference to colophons in Old and Middle English manuscripts, paying particular attention to their functions.

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3. Genette’s framework: Applications and adaptations In the thirty odd years since the publication of Seuils, Genette’s paradigm of the paratext has been enthusiastically adopted across many disciplines, such as film studies (for example, Gray 2010), information sciences (for example, Pecoskie and Desrochers 2013), digital humanities (for example, Desrochers and Apollon 2014), and narratology (for example, Hill and Pecoskie 2014). Along with enthusiastic adoption have come critique and revision. Genette’s approach clearly owes much to structuralist thought and unsurprisingly his theory’s reliance on binaries and on a hierarchical relation between text and paratext have been called into question. Informed (albeit often implicitly rather than explicitly) by the postmodern manoeuvres of dissolving binaries and challenging hierarchies, revisions and critiques of Genette’s frameworks have been reinvigorated by the challenge of adapting them to digital literature. For example, in “The Margins of Bookishness”, Ira van Dijk finds that “[t]‍reating dynamic digital paratexts […] as ambivalent spaces that are neither completely in, nor outside of the work, ha[s] proved to be fruitful […]” (van Dijk 2014: 40). Discussing ‘transitional literature’, that is, electronic literature that mimics the forms and conventions of printed media, such as books on e-readers, Ellen McCracken proposes that Genette’s models of paratext “need augmentation and modification” because in this environment readers may more easily move between text and paratexts (such as blogs, readers’ comments, and online dictionaries) than when reading print and may also interact with fonts and formats and carry out functions such as word searching (2013: 106–107). Birke and Christ argue that, despite, or even because of, its controversial and contradictory aspects, Genette’s theory of paratext offers a productive lens through which to analyse the effects of a change from print to digital media, notwithstanding the possibility that the concept is at the same time reaching the limits of its usefulness “[e]‍ven as the concept of paratext may thus reach its limits with emerging digital texts, the three areas we have identified as salient with regard to digitized paratext – boundaries of the text, materiality, and authorization – are still central to gauging medial change” (2013: 81). These limitations of application are being reached as the whole of the internet becomes an unbounded paratext. Below, in my analysis of the scribal colophon, I will explore the applicability of Genette’s framework to that other non-print medium: medieval manuscript textuality. I will argue that the text-paratext binary requires reconsideration in relation to manuscript textuality, just as it does in relation to digital media. But of course, the digital and manuscript phenomena and the analytical problems they raise are



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very different. Considering the scribal colophon in relation to Genette’s concept of paratext alerts us to some of the properties particular to manuscript textuality.1 Because the present chapter is interested in the applicability of Genette’s framework to the analysis of medieval manuscript colophons, it will take a formal and structural approach to the colophon rather than a historicist approach, and hence will be organised around Genette’s categories of the paratext’s position in relation to the text, its mode, and its pragmatics and function rather than considering the examples in chronological order.2 In this way the chapter seeks to engage with the structuralist approach adopted by Genette and with later responses to his work on the paratext. 4. Genette’s model and medieval scribal colophons Genette proposes that one may analyse paratext in relation to its position relative to the text in place and time, its mode, its pragmatics, and its function (“pour quoi faire?”, “to do what?”, Genette 1987: 10; Genette 1997: 4; see also Bös and Peikola, Chapter 1, this volume). All of these aspects except the last are analysable in term of binaries or at least limited possibilities for difference and contrast. This section tests the applicability of Genette’s framework to a sample of medieval scribal colophons. There is no comprehensive catalogue, let alone comprehensive edition, of scribal colophons in medieval English manuscripts and current catalogues and finding aids make it very difficult to identify Old and Middle English texts that include them. As Gameson writes, “scholarly resources for studying [the scribal colophon] are hopelessly inadequate” (2002: 3). The massive six-volume reference work Colophons de Manuscrits occidentaux des Origines au xvie Siècle (Bénédictins du Bouveret 1965–1982) is not easy to filter by provenance and entries do not always give the texts of colophons or much information about manuscript contents. Reynhout (2006) has made an important contribution by analysing the materials in the Colophons de Manuscrits occidentaux. He identifies 29 key tropes and formulas, classifying the materials under these headings and then by date and 1.  After I had completed this chapter, Liira’s important PhD thesis appeared which tests exhaustively the application of Genette’s framework to the various forms of paratext in manuscripts and early prints of John Trevisa’s translation of Ranulph Higden’s Polychronicon, including the translator’s and printers’ colophons but not scribal colophons as there are none in the manuscripts (2020: 121). 2.  For surveys with a historical approach see Reynhout (2006) and Bénédictins du Bouveret (1965–1982).

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geographical provenance. His analysis, however, does not always take into account the language of the colophons or of the texts that they relate to. If one seeks to focus on a particular set of materials, as, in the present case, manuscripts that include Old or Middle English texts, a number of resources have to be searched as there is no systematic list. Early materials are better served than later ones. Richard Gameson’s excellent short work The Scribe Speaks? Colophons in Early English Manuscripts includes a catalogue of 44 colophons in early (pre12th-century) manuscripts (Gameson 2002: 33–50) and includes information about manuscript contents. EM 1060–1220, a catalogue of mainly literary works written in English in manuscripts dated in the immediate post-conquest period, also includes transcriptions of paratext. For later manuscripts, finding colophons is more difficult. Colophons are sometimes recorded in catalogues and indexes, such as The Digital Index of Middle English Verse (DIMEV), the Manuscripts of the West Midlands (MWM), the Linguistic Atlas of Late Mediaeval English (LALME), and the Linguistic Atlas of Early Middle English (LAEME). Some catalogues of manuscripts of a particular work are helpful. The Descriptive Guide to the Manuscripts of the Prick of Conscience (Lewis and McIntosh 1982) contains reports and sometimes texts of colophons in its entries. Studies devoted to manuscripts copied by particular scribes that record colophons include Fein (2014) on the 15th-century gentry scribe Robert Thornton, Scase (forthc.) on the 15th-century clerical scribe John Benet, and Connolly (1998), on the 15th-century scribe John Shirley. Essays that include some analysis of later medieval colophons include Scattergood (2006) and Thorndike (1937, 1956). In Genette’s framework, position in relation to place (“emplacement”, 1987: 10) divides into two categories: paratextual material may be close to the text, in the same volume as it, or material that originates outside it. The first kind of paratext is labelled “péritexte” (1987: 10) and encompasses such materials as book and chapter titles and notes to the text. The second kind is labelled “épitexte” and includes materials with a bearing on the text such as letters by or interviews of the author (1987: 10). If we apply this framework, the scribal colophon, by etymological definition appearing in a fixed position at the end of the work as its ‘summit’, or ‘finishing touch’, is part of the paratext. Positioned at the ‘summit’, or at the end of the process of making the work, it is at the boundary of the work and in the same volume as it and it therefore is part of the péritexte. Péritexte is material placed “autour de la texte” (‘around the text’), in the same volume as it (Genette 1987: 10). And yet, with many examples the boundary between the text and the colophon is not clear-cut. Texts that end with a prayer for the scribe or requests for prayers may blur the boundary between the explicit (the statement that marks the end of the text) and the scribal colophon. In Cambridge, St John’s College, MS



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E. 34 (137), a manuscript of the Prick of Conscience, the prayer for the scribe, who inserts his name, is included in the rhyme scheme of the mixed-language explicit: (1)

Explicit tractatus Stimulus consciencie nominatus Here endiþ þe tret[…] þat prik of conscience clepid ys Floure of maydens alle Tu gloria virginitatis Whan we to þe calle Rege nos sociando beatis He þat wrote þis tretis God graunte hym hevene blis Nomen scriptoris est Ricardus plenus amoris. (Lewis and McIntosh 1982: 41. Here ends the treatise called Prick of Conscience. Flower of all maidens, thou glory of virginity, when we call to thee, rule us by uniting us with the blessed. He that copied this treatise, may God grant him heaven’s bliss; the name of the scribe is Richard, full of love.)

The early Middle English poem Genesis and Exodus includes the scribe in a prayer at the end of the Genesis portion: (2)

And he ðat ðise lettres wrot, God him helpe, weli mot, And berge is sowle fro sorge ⁊ grot. Of helle pine, cold ⁊ hot! (Arngart (ed) 1968: lines 2527–2530, And he that copied these letters, may God help him benevolently, and protect his soul from the sorrow and lamentation of hell’s torment, cold and hot.)

In Oxford, Bodleian Library, Rawl. Poet. 138, in the colophon to the Prick of Conscience, fol. 112v, another pious version of the nomen scriptoris formula is worked into the explicit:3 (3) Explicit liber vocatus stimulus conciencie [N]‍omen scriptoris salvet deus omnibus horis (quoted Lewis and McIntosh 1982: 114. Here ends the book called the Prick of Conscience. May God save the name of the scribe at all times.)

However, colophons that include prayers are often in the subjunctive and the scribe is an object of the text’s prayer rather than its voice. The use of the subjunctive in prayerful colophons such as (1), (2) and (3) here sometimes marks a grammatical

3.  For this signature formula see Friedman (1995: 305–306). I propose to treat signature formulas in another publication.

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boundary with the explicit, creating an additional paratextual boundary between the explicit and the colophon that is in tension with the blurring of the boundary. A particularly complex and much earlier example of the blurring of the boundary between text and paratext occurs in the Lindisfarne gospels. A colophon on the last page of the gospel of John is clearly separated from the text by its script: the fine, majestic half-uncial of the gospel laid out per cola et commata contrasts with the sloping, fainter, insular minuscule of the colophon that varies in presentation between the per cola et commata and punctuated text (British Library, Cotton Nero MS D.iv fol. 259r).4 Composed by a scribe rather than the author of the text, the colophon belongs with the péritexte éditorial. And composed many centuries after the gospel texts, it is ‘later’ paratext. The colophon, however, is in the same hand and script as the interlinear gloss of the text and the name of the scribe responsible for the Old English gloss is recorded in it:

(4) [ic ?erased]5 aldred presbyter indignus et misserrimus […] hit ofgloesade on englisc’ (259r, I, Aldred, unworthy and very wretched priest […] glossed it in English).6

The colophon is therefore a paratext to the gloss, a paratext to a paratext (a gloss being counted as paratextual material by Genette). The positioning of Aldred’s text gives it the authority of and invokes the horizon of expectations associated with the colophon which has generally been treated by scholars as based on historical 4.  The various texts that make up what Nees calls the colophon and others call the ‘colophon group’ (see Brown 2016: 24) are reproduced, edited, and translated in Nees (2003: 330–334). The main colophon text is translated by Nees as follows, ‘+Eadfrith, bishop of the Lindisfarne church, originally wrote this book, for God and for St. Cuthbert and – jointly – for all the saints whose relics are in the island. And Æthelwald, bishop of the Lindisfarne-islanders, impressed it on the outside and covered it – as he well knew how to do. And Billfrith, the anchorite, forged the ornaments which are on it on the outside and adorned it with gold and with gems and also with gilded-over silver – pure metal. And Aldred, unworthy and most miserable priest, glossed it in English with the help of God and St. Cuthbert. And, by means of the three sections, he made a home for himself – the section of Matthew was for God and St. Cuthbert, the section of Mark for the bishop, the section of Luke for the members of the community [in addition, eight ores of silver for his induction], and the section of St. John was for himself [in addition, four ores of silver for God and St. Cuthbert] so that, through the grace of God, he may gain acceptance into Heaven, happiness and peace, and through the merits of St. Cuthbert, advancement and honor, wisdom and sagacity on Earth, + Eadfrith, Æthelwald, Billfrith, Aldred made or, as the case may be, embellished this Gospel-Book for God and Cuthbert.’ (Nees 2003: 341). 5.  Nees (2003: 341) does not record an erasure here; Brown (2016: 26) reads “[I] Aldred”. 6.  Wherever relevant to the chapter’s focus of materiality, transcriptions are taken from the original sources and original spelling and punctuation are retained.



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facts or traditions known to Aldred. However, this impression of facticity is complicated by Lawrence Nees’s demonstration that Aldred has confected from literary histories a plausible and symbolic history for the Gospels in the genre of the colophon (Nees 2003). In Nees’s view, Aldred’s colophon merges fact and invention to write Aldred into an imagined group of four makers of the book: Eadfrith who aƿrat (‘wrote’) it, Æthelwald who bound it, and Billfrith who made the ornaments on the binding, a group of four that parallels the group of four evangelists who are like these makers of the book also, for each one scripsit (aƿrat in Aldred’s gloss of the Latin text of the colophon) the text of a gospel. Brown is more inclined than Nees to see the colophon as based on fact; nonetheless she stresses its importance as a community-sanctioned statement about the ‘presumed origins’ of the Lindisfarne gospels, a book that “must have been a greatly treasured and venerated relic in its own right” (2016: 36). It is not merely in blurring the categories of text and paratext that Aldred’s colophon eludes analysis in relation to Genette’s theory. Describing the process of making the book, the colophon relates to the codex in which it appears, not just to or even primarily to the text in the codex. As we shall see, this is typical of the medieval manuscript colophon. The scribal colophon characteristically calls attention to the materiality of the book and its copying, and thus serves not just as a threshold to the text, as Genette would see it, but as a prompt to reflect on its materiality. This function of turning the spotlight on the codex in which it appears and on scribal production is common to many, perhaps most, scribal colophons. Genette’s attention to the temporal relation between text and paratext also reveals the colophon’s focus on the material and graphic (the present chapter follows Genette in treating the graphic (“graphique”) as a form of materialisation of the text that is alternative to the phonic (“phonique”) (see Genette 1987: 9; cf. Genette 1997: 3). According to Genette, position in relation to time (“la situation temporelle”, 1987: 11) may be anterior (paratext produced before the text), original (paratext produced at the same time as the text), or later (paratext produced after the text, Genette 1987: 11). Many colophons explicitly announce that they are written at the end of the copying of the text, the end in both spatial and temporal senses. But while being categorisable in Genette’s terms as positioned ‘around’ the text and temporally ‘later’ than it, marking the place where the text ends, scribal colophons also mark the end of the period of its copying. Of course, this temporal relation between the paratext and the text may be extremely complicated in manuscript culture. The kind of ‘scribal explicit’ found in the Lindisfarne gospels may not actually be the final work carried out by the scribe: although in most cases it could only be entered once the place the work ends was known, it could have been written before further work by the scribe took place, such as correction and revision. Complexity may arise when we seek

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to apply temporal analysis because of the accretive and open-ended properties of manuscript codex production. Such complexity may be compounded by ambiguity in expression or even a perspective on temporality that is spiritual rather than historical. An example of both sources of complexity is found in the Bath Old English gospels in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 140:

(5) Finit AMEN. Sit sic hoc hic Interim. Ego ælfricus scripsi hunc librum in monasterio baðþonio et dedi brihtƿoldo preposito: Qui scripsit uiuat in pace. in hoc mundo et in futuro seculo. et qui legit legat[] in eternum (fol. 45v, cf. Gameson 2002: 44. ‘It is finished, Amen. Thus may this be here for the time being. I Ælfric wrote this book in Bath monastery and gave it to Brihtwold the Provost. May the one who copied it live in peace, in this world and the next, and whoever reads it may he read in eternity.)7

The colophon occurs at the end of the gospel of Matthew. This book must refer to this gospel and not to all of the texts in the codex, which are written in several hands. However, the phrase also refers to a physical object that has been given to Brihtwold – perhaps to the unbound quires of the gospel, ready for checking or binding. The past tense dedi (‘I gave’) is curious too: does it imply that the colophon was written after the work had been handed over? Or is perhaps the point of view that of eternity, for it is hoped that the scribe will continue to live in peace and the reader continue to read the book both in this world and ‘in eternum’. The handing over will be a matter that is already and always known from this perspective. In relation to its mode, to what Genette calls the “substantial status” of the paratext (Genette 1997: 7), Genette states that paratext is usually verbal; it shares the linguistic status of the text (though it may be iconic – a visual symbol or rebus, for example). However, with regard to colophons in Old and Middle English manuscripts, Latin appears to be overwhelmingly the language of scribal signatures and colophons. Because we do not have a list of scribal colophons in English-language manuscripts we cannot put hard numbers on this. But for the earlier period the figure seems to be around 80 per cent Latin, 20 per cent English. Gameson identifies over 40 manuscripts dated before the early 12th century that bear scribal colophons. Of these colophons, only eight and a half are in Old English by Gameson’s count, and all of those occur in association with English language texts. The preponderance of Latin as the language for colophons seems to be replicated in northern continental Europe. A survey of colophons in 600 manuscripts in the Bibliothèque Royale, Brussels, found that 500 were in Latin, fifty in French and fifty in Dutch (but the languages of the main texts are not specified, GlorieuxDe Gand with Kelders 1991: 36). These data suggest that a boundary between text 7.  Following Gameson, I have emended the manuscript reading, qui legit legator in eternum.



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and paratext is reinforced in Old and Middle English manuscripts by code-switching. They also suggest that the paratext serves to highlight the contrast with the language of the text, perhaps enhancing recognition that it is in a language relatively rarely found and therefore, perhaps, highlighting the specialist skill of the scribe. However, that boundary is not clear-cut. Some colophons mix languages, for example, Aldred’s colophon in the Lindisfarne gospels. Other examples, discussed further below, include a colophonic prayer in Cambridge, St John’s MS E. 34 (137), and a colophon with the medical recipes in Wellcome 405, where a Latin colophon is followed by an English translation. So far we have seen that Genette’s analytical categories of a paratext’s position relative to the text in time and space, and of its mode or substantial status, require some modification when applied to medieval manuscript colophons. The application of these frames has to take into account the unique and particular production of each manuscript and the colophon draws attention to the special materiality of manuscript production. Genette’s analytical categories of paratext pragmatics and paratext function also require adaptation for colophons in the manuscript context and likewise reveal that the scribal colophon serves as a threshold to the materiality of the text rather than to its content alone. In Genette’s model, the pragmatics of paratext may be analysed in relation to the nature of the addresser and addressee and the illocutionary force of the message communicated (and without doubt, Genette adds disarmingly, some other factors that have escaped him, 1987: 13). The addresser falls into one of two categories: either the author or someone else, yielding the binary authorial paratext and “paratexte éditorial” (1987: 14). Addressees are more varied, including librarians, critics, and the general public (1987: 14). In terms of its illocutionary force, paratext may inform, promise, advise, enjoin, and so on (1987: 16). The function of paratext is not susceptible, according to Genette, of being analysed in this strict structuralist manner, however. Analysis of function must take into account the variables of place, time, and communication situation, and functions may vary “genre by genre and species by species” (Genette 1997: 13). However, variation is tempered by the occurrence of “some fundamental and highly recurrent themes”; paratextual discourse “is more ‘constrained’ than many others and is one in which authors innovate less often than they imagine” (Genette 1997: 13; i.e. authors are not as innovatory as they may think they are; cf. Genette 1987: 18). Above all, the function of paratext is always one of subservience to the text: “un élément de paratexte est toujours subordonné à ‘son’ texte, et cette fonctionnalité determine l’essential de son allure et de son existence” (1987: 16; “the paratextual element is always subordinate to ‘its’ text, and this functionality determines the essence of its appeal and its existence”; Genette 1997: 12). The binary returns with a hierarchical relation between text and paratext.

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Analysed in relation to its ‘pragmatic status’ in the terms that Genette suggests, the function of the colophon ranges across some of the possibilities listed by Genette: it may convey information, and it may make requests. However, scribal colophons are rarely reliably and simply informative of facts or documents of transactions. Indeed, few examples tell us anything individual and distinguishing about the scribe. Relatively few are as informative as that of the Middle English colophon to the Canterbury Tales in Glasgow, Hunter MS 197, which records that Geoffrey Spirleng of Norwich and his son Thomas completed their copy in January 1456 when Geoffrey was aged 50 and his son was aged 16 (fol. 102v). The fine hand that wrote, Rycharde Halter ys my name And with my hande I wrote This same in Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Library, MS Codex 196 is unlikely to be claiming responsibility for the text of the Prick of Conscience beside which it occurs: carefully centred on one of the rulings for the writing frame, the note is in a different script from and runs at right-angles to the main text (fol. 77r). Richard Gameson draws attention to the pragmatics of early medieval scribal colophons, suggesting that their function is less to inform than to request some kind of favour or reward from the reader: By and large, early medieval colophons were written less to tell the reader something about the scribe than as an expression of scribal activity itself and in order to get the reader to do something for the transcriber. (Gameson 2002: 32)

Gameson’s assertion that colophons are designed to elicit reward or favour aligns with Thorndike’s (1956) brief thematic analysis of scribal colophons in medieval manuscripts in selected continental libraries. Thorndike lists as regular themes thanks and praise to Christ, God, and the Trinity; requests for a material reward, which might range from a fee to a drink to a pretty girl; and apologies and requests for forgiveness for any errors. She says that many were “often repeated and became hackneyed” (1937: 268). In pragmatic terms, the colophon is usually a communication addressed by (or on behalf of) the scribe and the addressee may be God, the patron, prospective patrons, correctors of the work, and readers more generally. However, as we shall see below, analysis in terms of addresser and addressee is complicated by the conventions of the scribal colophon. The begging/reward topos is one means by which the spotlight is trained on the codex as a material product created by scribal activity. Leweston, one of the scribes of the late 15th-century Findern manuscript, Cambridge University Library, Ff.1.5, signs Chaucer’s ironic begging poem Complaint to his Purse with a begging colophon:

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(6) Explicit in veritate/ Da mihi quod merui/ Quod Leweston (it [i.e. the text and the copying of it] is ended, in truth, give to me what I deserve, according to Leweston, fol. 58v, quoted from Scattergood 2006: 59).8

Another of the scribes in the volume, one W. Calverley, signs Chaucer’s Parliament of Fowls with an apology for the quality of his letters wittily suited to the bird theme of the poem:

(7) Si mea penna valet melior mea litera fiet/ Explicit parliamentum avium/ Quod W. Calverley (if my quill/ feather were healthy it would have made my letters better, here ends the Parliament of Fowls, fol. 58v, quoted from Scattergood 2006: 33).

Bodleian Library, Fairfax 16, fol. 201r bears the colophon:

(8) Qui legit emendat scriptorem non reprehendat (Let him who reads make corrections; let him not blame the scribe, quoted and translated Scattergood 2006: 51).

John Shirley asks readers to correct errors in meter or ortografure (British Library Add 29729, preface, lines 66–77, quoted by Scattergood 2006: 57). In the verse colophon on the fine late medieval prayer roll New York, Pierpont Morgan, Glazier MS 39, the scribe, who identifies himself as Perceval, formerly of Rugby and now a canon of Coverham Abbey, requests that the reader should not criticise the roll behind his back but should instead amend any errors found (Bühler 1964: 278). In such cases, the addresser is the scribe and the implied addressees are those for whom the copies have been made, those who are expected to judge the graphic and textual quality of the scribe’s work. Other colophons indicate the scribe’s hard work and achievement through requests for refreshments or leisure time. At the end of medical recipes in English, in early 15th-century London, Wellcome Library, MS 405, fol. 66v, an amusingly frank and forthright colophon reads: (9)

Nunc scripsi totum Pro Christo da michi potum Now haw y vryt alle Ghyf me drynk of gode ale. (Now I have written it all, for Christ’s sake give me a drink [Latin]/ give me a drink of good ale [English])

8.  The precise meaning of quod when it precedes a scribe’s name is debated. I propose to discuss this and other aspects of scribal signatures elsewhere.

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Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales, MS Peniarth 356B, a 15th-century text of the Middle English Accedence ends with a colophon: (10) [E]‍xplicit expliciunt, ludere scriptor eat (Thomson (ed) 1984: 80).

This formula, common in 14th- and 15th-century manuscripts, suggests that the activity of producing the text has been arduous and finishing it brings a plea for release: the graphic work is finished, may the scribe go out to play. British Library, Harley 1205, has a colophon similar to (10) at end of the Prick of Conscience (Lewis and McIntosh 1982: 63), as does the Prick of Conscience in British Library, Lansdowne MS 348, (Lewis and McIntosh 1982: 68). The colophons which thank God that the text is finished or ask for release from work draw attention to the length of the text and the achievement of the scribe in finishing such demanding work. Typically of many colophons that ask for prayers as a reward for scribal work, Geoffrey Spirleng’s orate pro salute animarum Galfridi Spirleng […] ac Thome Spirleng filii sui (Glasgow, Hunter MS 197, fol. 102v) is written in the third person, is voiced by an indeterminate or impersonal addresser, and addresses plural, unspecified readers. The verse colophon Pray for me John Iwardbe in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS. Gough Liturg. 19 (fol. 114r) a prayer book in Latin and English, may refer, the catalogue suggests, to the person for whom the book was made rather than to the scribe (who writes a professional textura hand), though the use of the first person and the similarities between the hand of the colophon and that of the text somewhat call this into question. In some cases when the colophon includes the text of a prayer for the scribe, the voice of the colophon merges with that of the addressee, as for example at the end of Sawles Warde in the early 13th-century manuscript British Library, Royal MS 17 A.xxvii: (11) Par seinte charite biddeð a pater noster for Iohan þat þeos boc wrat. Hwa se þis writ haueð ired. Ant crist him haveð swa isped. Ich bidde p[er] seinte charite. Þet se bidden ofte for me. A pater noster ant ave marie. Þet ich mote þaet lif her sprehen. Ant ure laverd wel icwemen. In mi juhe[re]‍de ⁊ in min elde. Þet ich mote jesu crist mi sawle gelden. AMEN. (fol. 10r, from the British Library Catalogue. By St. Charity pray a Pater Noster for John who wrote this book. Whosoever has read this writing, and Christ has furthered his prosperity, I pray by St Charity, that he pray often for me a Pater Noster and an Ave Maria, that I may [lead] that life here spoken about, and please our Lord well in my youth and my old age so that I may give my soul to Jesus Christ. Amen.)

As well as drawing attention to the text as the product of scribal activity, this kind of colophonic prayer may also function to direct the reader’s attention to the graphic accomplishment of the scribe; it functions as a threshold to the graphic



Chapter 4.  Threshold-switching 105

properties of the text in hand. In the much earlier manuscript of the Old English Bede, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 41, a text at the end speaks in an unidentified first-person voice, perhaps that of Bede: (12) [B]‍IDDe ic eac æghƿylcne mann brego rices ƿeard þe þas boc ræde and þa bredu befo fira aldor þæt gefyrðrige þone ƿritre ƿynsum cræfte þe ðas boc aƿrat bam handum tƿam þæt he mote manega gyt mundum synum geendigan his aldre to ƿillan and him þæs geunne se ðe ah ealles geƿeald rodera ƿaldend þæt he on riht mote oð his daga ende drihten herigan. AMEN. ge ƿeorþe þæt. (Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 41, pp. 482–483. Moreover, I pray each man, the warrior-guardian of the kingdom who reads this book and the lord over men who holds the binding, that he help the scribe who copied this book with joyful craft with his two hands that he might complete many more such to the pleasure of his lord and may he who rules over the heavens grant that he may rightly praise the Lord to the end of his life.)

The text refers to the joyful craft of the scribe and refers back to his text asking that he may be permitted to produce further outputs like the one in the book. Sometimes the unspecified voice of the colophon is by implication that of the codex itself (see also Lenker, this volume). Following the end of the Old English gospel of John in London, British Library, Cotton Otho C.i(1) a colophon reads AMEN⹎ ƿulfƿi me ƿrat (fol. 110r). In context, following the Evangelist’s statement that there could not be enough books in the world to record all the deeds of Christ (ic ƿene ne mihte þes middan[g]‍eard ealle þa bec befon, John 21: 25), the colophon suggests that the codex itself is reflecting on its limitations and those of its scribe. A Latin and Old English text on cryptography that includes examples in British Library, Cotton Vitellius MS E.xviii bears an anagrammatic and cryptographic colophon in the voice of the book that challenges the reader to decode the text (fol. 16v). In the code, m and xx encode vowels formed from minims, and other vowels are substituted by the consonant that follows them in the alphabet, so ÆlxxnfiE fxx m~rt, decrypted and unscrambled, stands for Ælfuuine me uurat (‘Ælfwine copied me’; for the transcription cf. Gameson 2002: 47). It is not only this colophon’s property of being voiced by the codex that draws attention to the graphic accomplishment of the scribe. The colophon also draws attention to the graphic accomplishment of the scribe and the copy by employing the cryptographic language of the text, for copying ciphered text must have demanded huge attention to accuracy. The colophon at the end of a short Old English penitential text in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Junius 121, reads: (13) Me scripsit Wulfgeatus scriptor Wigornensis. Ora obsecro pro ipsius neuis cosmi satorem. Amen. Et qui me scripsit semper sit felix. Amen (Gameson

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2002: 47, Wulfgeatus, scribe of Worcester, wrote me. Pray I beseech for the scribe’s faults to the creator of the cosmos. Amen. And may the one who copied me always be happy.)

The statement Wulfgeatus, scribe of Worcester, wrote me seems to be in the voice of the book, and in asking for prayers for the faults of the scribe it draws attention to the qualities of his output.9 Autograph manuscripts with colophons may create their own special problems: texts copied by their authors may blur the functional distinction between the authorial and scribal colophon in their end matter. In doing so, they may draw attention to the graphic properties of the text. Dan Michel concludes his Ayenbite of Inwyt with the following paratext in British Library, MS Arundel 57: (14) Ac hier ich wille endi \mine/ matire. To þe blisse of oure lhorde to huam by alle worþssipe. Þet ous lete wonie ine his uelaȝrede huer is lif eurelestinde. Þis boc is ycome to þe ende⹎ heuene blisse god ous zende. Amen. ¶Nou ich wille þet ye ywyte hou hit is ywent: þet þis boc is ywrite mid engliss of kent. Þis boc is ymad uor lewede men vor uader and uor moder and uor oþer ken ham uor to berȝe uram alle manyere zen þet me hase in wytte ne bleue no uoul wen. Huo ase god is his name yzed þet þis boc made god him yeue þet bread of angles of heuene and þerto his red and onderuonge his zaule huanne þet he is dyad. Amen. ¶Ymende. Þet þis boc is uolueld ine þe eue of þe holy apostle of Symon an Iudas of ane broþer of þe c[l]‍oystre of sauynt austin of Canterberi Ine þe yeare of oure lhordes beringe. 1340. (fol. 94r, But here I will end my matter. To the bliss of our Lord to whom by all worship that allows us to dwell in his fellowship where is life everlasting. This book has come to an end; may God send us heaven’s bliss. Amen. Now I wish you to know how it happened that this book is written in the English of Kent. This book is made for unlettered men, for fathers and for mothers and for other kin to protect them from all manner of sin so that there is no foul 9.  Gameson suggests that this colophon may have been copied over from an exemplar (2002: 47). If Gameson is correct, the scribe of Junius 121 has perhaps not recognised the paratextual status of the material, despite marking out the colophon from the text by using a different language and script. The use of the voice of the book in this colophon is comparable with inscriptions in the voice of the inscribed object, such as Ælfred mec heht gewyrcan (‘Alfred commanded me to be made’) on the Alfred jewel (871–899); both speak about the object that bears them (see also Lenker, Chapter 5, this volume). The inscription in the voice of the Cross on the Ruthwell Cross [I]‍c riicnæ kyningc, heafunæs hlaford, hælda ic ne dorste […] is subtly different because the object that bears the inscription speaks for all crosses rather than as the historical, material cross of the crucifixion. This is more comparable with the authorial colophon where the author’s closing statement speaks about all forms in which the text may appear. This distinction in blurred in autograph manuscripts: see below.



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blemish in knowledge or belief. Whoever made this book, if he is of good name(?), God give him bread of the angels of heaven and his counsel and receive his spirit when he is dead. Amen. Memorandum. That this book is finished on the eve of the holy apostles Simon and Judas by a brother of St Austin’s at Canterbury in the year of our Lord 1340.)

After announcing that he will end his treatment (matire), the authorial voice announces that the book has come to an end. The sentences after the first paraph address, now in the voice of the author-scribe, questions connected with the text as a graphic production. They explain why the text is in local orthography (engliss of kent) and pray that God give spiritual benefits to the person who made the book. After the second paraph a memorandum records the place and time that the book was completed. The name of the author-scribe is supplied among other paratextual material written by the same scribe on an opening flyleaf: (15) Þis boc is dan Michelis of Northgate ywrite an englis of his oȝene hand. Þet hatte⹎ Ayenbyte of inwyt. And is of þe bochouse of saynt Austines of Canterberi. mið þe lettres⹎ C: C: (fol. 2r. This book was written by Dan Michael of Northgate in English in his own hand. It is called Remorse of Conscience. And it belongs to the Library of St Austin’s House, Canterbury, under the shelfmark CC.)

The genre of this flyleaf paratext is the ex libris: the note refers to the ownership of the codex and its library shelf-mark. But in referring to the hand and orthography of the manuscript it chimes with the colophonic material in drawing attention to the graphic properties of the codex. We have seen that medieval scribal colophons challenge and problematise Genette’s theory of the paratext as a threshold to the text. Scribal colophons blur the boundary between text and paratext and in many ways serve not the text, as Genette suggests, but its material instantiation: the codex and the scribe’s graphic work. They draw attention to the text as a graphic product, as the output of scribal activity; if they are thresholds they give access not just to or primarily to a text, but to the copying of a text. Perhaps one of the most striking illustrations of the ways that the colophon directs attention to the materiality of the text is the colophon to Lydgate’s Fall of Princes in Bodleian Library, MS Arch. Selden. B.10: (16)

Go litell byll withoute title or date And of hole hert [whole-heartedly] recommaunde me Whiche that am callede Johan Lydgate To all tho folke whiche lyst [desire] to haue pyte On them that suffere trouble and aduersyte Beseche them all that they shall rede aright

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Mercy to medle wyth [mix with] trouthe and equyte And loke well theyre mirrours and deme non other wyght [judge no other man] Here endethe the prouerbes of Lydgate Vpon the fall of prynces. Empryntede at London in fletestret at the sygne [sign] of the sonne by Wynkyn Worde.  (fol. 209v)

The text has been copied from Wynkyn de Worde’s printed edition of The prouerbes of Lydgate of c. 1510 (STC 17026). After the authorial paratext of the envoy (Go litell byll […]), the scribe has appended the printer’s colophon – matter categorised by Genette as editorial paratext. The colophon and the text are both in the hand of the scribe, written in the same rather fine, formal, late secretary script. The boundary between the authorial and editorial paratexts is enhanced by the scribe’s use of brown ink for the text, including the envoy, and red for the colophon, which contrasts with the use of black ink for both in the print. But clearly, Genette’s categories break down here. This text is not printed, as the colophon says, but copied. It is also clear from the quality of the script and the extraordinarily fine penwork initials in the manuscript that the scribe is not attempting to make a facsimile of the print. It appears that from the scribe’s point of view, authorial and editorial (printer’s) paratext should be distinguished visually, and also that both are regarded by him as text to be copied. The disjunction between the statement of the colophon and the showy calligraphy of its text draw attention to the text as a material, scribal product.10 5. Conclusion How far does Genette’s metaphor of paratext as a ‘threshold’ (seuil) illuminate the medieval scribal colophon? Genette’s scrutiny of the paratext aims to destabilise the “idol of the closed text” of the period of post-war formalism (Genette 1997: 410). Genette is concerned that the paratext should not in turn become viewed as a closed text: “[T]‍he discourse on the paratext must never forget that it 10.  The colophon in the second edition of the print (STC 17027) reads Yprynted […] by me Wynkyn de Worde, the manuscript reads Empryntede […] by Wynkyn Worde. Had the scribe been copying from this edition, his omission of me would have made the colophon more appropriate to its manuscript context, to its appearance in a unique, hand-made artefact rather than in one of the prints issued by Wynkyn de Worde. However, although the question of which edition the scribe copied is not firmly decided (Gillespie 2003: 215), the closeness of the spellings of the manuscript to those of the first edition print suggest that the scribe was using that edition.



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bears on a discourse that bears on a discourse”, Genette admonishes in his conclusion: “[a] threshold exists to be crossed” (Genette 1997: 410). The analysis in the present chapter contributes to this view of the paratext as a destabilising frame for the text. But it has offered the colophon as a kind of paratext that problematises the threshold as a metaphor for this species of manuscript paratext. Again, it is helpful to turn to theory of electronic media. We saw above that cyber-cultural theory has modified the metaphor of the threshold, suggesting that the boundary between text and paratext is problematic in the digital medium. But an alternative metaphor is offered by theorists of digital text that is perhaps also useful for our purposes. Discussing the implications of electronic text for the history of literacy, Richard Lanham posits that digital text, with its malleability in the hands of the reader, has ushered in an era of oscillation between looking at the text and looking through it: The textual surface has become permanently bi-stable. We are always looking first AT it and then THROUGH it […] Look THROUGH a text and you are in the familiar world of the Newtonian interlude, where facts were facts, the world was really ‘out there,’ folks had sincere central selves […] Look AT a text, however, and we have deconstructed the Newtonian world into Pirandello’s […]. (Lanham 1993: 5)

Lanham offers the text as a surface that is alternately perfectly transparent and perfectly visible. His metaphor of bistability draws on the language of visual perception and digital electronics. It combines an image of bistable visual phenomena (for example, ambiguous or reversible figures such as the image that may be interpreted as a duck or a rabbit, or the image that may be read as two faces in profile or a vase) with the metaphor of the digital electronics circuit in which components may have two stable states (OED, s.v. bistable, adj.).11 Likewise the scribal text is framed by the colophon as an object that can be looked through (read) and looked at when its length, accuracy, and other graphic features are invoked. This semantic field of digital electronics offers us an additional metaphor for the relation between the scribal colophon and the text. The threshold device or threshold-switching (OED, s.v. threshold, n. c3 b) controls the bistable system, switching between its two stable states. Shining the spotlight on the material, graphic component of the text, the scribal colophon is like the threshold device that switches between two stable states. If, in Genette’s view, threshold texts destabilise the formalist notion of the closed text, the medieval scribal colophon destabilises the print-centric ideology 11.  For discussion of bistable visual phenomena in cognitive sciences see Leopold and Logothetis (1999).

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of the transparent text. Switching between the two stable modes of regarding the text, it alerts us to commonalities between the digital text and the manuscript text. With the manuscript text as with the electronic text, what is destabilised is not so much the notion of the text as closed as the notion that the text is transparent. The colophon invites the reader to look back at the text just read as a graphic object. The scribal colophon is the switch that oscillates between the text’s two stable states. The colophon is a strategy that releases the reader from his learned forgetfulness that text is always mediated. For the modern student of manuscripts, it is evidence that medieval manuscript texts could have many semiotic dimensions and that looking at the text was an important dimension of medieval literate practice and graphic culture.12

Primary sources Manuscripts  berystwyth A National Library of Wales, MS Peniarth 356B  ambridge C Corpus Christi College, MS 41 Corpus Christi College, MS 140 St John’s College, MS E.34 (137) Trinity College, MS B.14.39 University Library, MS Ff.1.5  lasgow G University Library, Hunter MS 197  ondon L British Library, Additional MS 29729 British Library, Arundel MS 57 British Library, Cotton Nero MS D. iv British Library, Cotton Otho MS C.i(1) British Library, Cotton Vitellius MS E.xviii British Library, Harley MS 1205 British Library, Lansdowne MS 348 British Library, Royal MS 17 A.xxvii Wellcome Collection, MS 405

12.  I am preparing evidence to support this wider argument as part of my current project, Crafting English Letters: A Theory of Medieval Scribal Practice. I am grateful to the Leverhulme Trust whose award of a Major Research Fellowship has supported this project and has funded the work for the present chapter.



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 anchester M John Rylands Library, MS Eng. 51  ew York N Pierpont Morgan Library, Glazier MS 39  xford O Bodleian Library, MS Arch. Selden. B.10 Bodleian Library, MS Fairfax 16 Bodleian Library, MS. Gough Liturg. 19 Bodleian Library, MS Junius 121 Bodleian Library, MS Rawl. Poet. 138  hiladelphia P University of Pennsylvania Library, MS Codex 196

Editions, catalogues and indexes Arngart, Olof (ed). 1968. The Middle English Genesis and Exodus: Re-edited from MS CCCC 444 with introduction, notes and glossary. Leeds Studies in English, 36. Bénédictins du Bouveret. 1965–1982. Colophons de Manuscrits Occidentaux des Origines au XVIe Siècle. Fribourg: Éditions Universitaires. DIMEV: Mooney, Linne R., Daniel W. Mosser, and Elizabeth Solopova, with Deborah Thorpe and Daniel Hill Radcliffe. (n. d.). The DIMEV: An Open-Access, Digital Edition of the ‘Index of Middle English Verse’. www.dimev.net EM 1060–1220: Da Rold, Orietta, Takako Kato, Mary Swan, and Elaine Treharne (eds). 2018. The Production and Use of English Manuscripts 1060 to 1220 (Stanford: Stanford University). https://‍em1060.stanford.edu/ LAEME: Laing, Margaret. 2008, 2013. A Linguistic Atlas of Early Middle English, 1150–1325, Version 3.2. Edinburgh: The University of Edinburgh. http://‍www.lel.ed.ac.uk/ihd/laeme2/ laeme2.html LALME: Benskin, Michael, Margaret Laing, Vasilos Karaiskos, and Keith Williamson. 2013. An Electronic Version of A Linguistic Atlas of Late Mediaeval English. Edinburgh: The University of Edinburgh. http://‍www.lel.ed.ac.uk/ihd/elalme/elalme.html, revised online edition of McIntosh, Angus, Michael L. Samuels, and Michael Benskin. 1986. A Linguistic Atlas of Mediaeval English, 4 vols. Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press. Lewis, Robert E., and Angus McIntosh. 1982. A Descriptive Guide to the Manuscripts of the Prick of Conscience. Oxford: Society for the Study of Mediaeval Languages and Literature. Lydgate, John. (c. 1521). The prouerbes of Lydgate. London: Wynkyn de Worde. (STC 17026). MWM: Scase, Wendy (ed). 2009. Manuscripts of the West Midlands: A Catalogue of Vernacular Manuscript Books of the English West Midlands c. 1300  – c. 1475, revised edn. Sheffield: University of Sheffield. www.hrionline.ac.uk/mwm/ STC: The English Short Title Catalogue. http://‍estc.bl.uk

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Secondary sources Birke, Dorothee, and Birte Christ. 2013. “Paratext and Digitized Narrative: Mapping the Field.” Narrative 21 (1): 65–87.  https://‍doi.org/10.1353/nar.2013.0003 Brown, Michelle. 2016. “Aspects of Aldred’s Agenda in Glossing the Lindisfarne Gospels.” In The Old English Gloss to the Lindisfarne Gospels: Language, Author and Context, ed. by Julia Fernández Cuesta, and Sara M. Pons-Sanz, 13–36. Berlin: De Gruyter. https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110449105-006 Bühler, Curt F. 1964. “Prayers and Charms in Certain Middle English Scrolls.” Speculum, 39 (2): 270–278.  https://‍doi.org/10.2307/2852729 Ciotti, Giovanni, and Marco Franceschini. 2016. “Certain Times and Uncertain Places: A Study on Scribal Colophons of Manuscripts written in Tamil and Tamilian Scripts.” In Tracing Manuscripts in Time and Space through Paratexts, ed. by Giovanni Ciotti, and Hang Lin, 59–130, Studies in Manuscript Cultures 7. Berlin: De Gruyter. https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110479010-004 Ciotti, Giovanni, and Hang Lin. 2016. “Preface.” In Tracing Manuscripts in Time and Space through Paratexts, ed. by Giovanni Ciotti, and Hang Lin, vii–xii, Studies in Manuscript Cultures 7. Berlin: De Gruyter.  https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110479010-001 Connolly, Margaret. 1998. John Shirley: Book Production and the Noble Household in FifteenthCentury England. Aldershot: Ashgate. van Dijk, Ira. 2014. “The Margins of Bookishness: Paratexts in Digital Culture.” In Examining Paratextual Theory and its Applications in Digital Culture, ed. by Nadine Desrochers, and Daniel Apollon, 24–45. Hershey, PA: Information Science Reference, an imprint of IGI Global.  https://‍doi.org/10.4018/978-1-4666-6002-1.ch002 Fein, Susanna. 2014. “The Contents of Robert Thornton’s Manuscripts.” In Robert Thornton and his Books, ed. by Susanna Fein. Woodbridge: York Medieval Press with Boydell and Brewer. Friedman, John B. 1995. Northern English Books, Owners, and Makers in the Late Middle Ages. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press. Gameson, Richard. 2002. The Scribe Speaks? Colophons in Early English Manuscripts, H. M. Chadwick Memorial Lectures 12. Cambridge: Dept of Anglo-Saxon Norse and Celtic, University of Cambridge. Genette, Gérard. 1987. Seuils. Paris: Éditions du Seuil. Genette, Gérard, trans. Jane E. Lewin. 1997. Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Literature, Culture, Theory 20. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511549373 Gillespie, Alexandra. 2003. “‘These proverbes yet do last’: Lydgate, the Fifth Earl of Northumberland, and Tudor Miscellanies from Print to Manuscript.” The Yearbook of English Studies, 33: 215–232.  https://‍doi.org/10.2307/3509027 Glorieux-De Gand, Thérèse, and Ann Kelders. 1991. Formules de Copiste: Les Colophons des manuscrits datés. Brussels: Bibliothèque Royale. Görke, Andreas, and Konrad Hirschler (eds). 2011. Manuscript Notes as Documentary Sources. Würzburg: Ergon. Gray, Jonathan. 2010. Show Sold Separately: Promos, Spoilers, and other Media Paratexts. New York: New York University Press.



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Hill, Heather L., and Jen L. Pecoskie. 2014. “Iterations and Evolutions: Paratext and Intertext in Fanfiction.” In Examining Paratextual Theory and its Applications in Digital Culture, ed. by Nadine Desrochers, and Daniel Apollon, 143–158. Hershey, PA: Information Science Reference, an imprint of IGI Global.  https://‍doi.org/10.4018/978-1-4666-6002-1.ch008 Lanham, Richard. 1993. The Electronic Word: Democracy, Technology, and the Arts. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.7208/chicago/9780226469126.001.0001 Leopold, David A., and Nikos K. Logothetis. 1999. “Multistable Phenomena: Changing Views in Perception.” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 3 (7): 254–264. https://‍doi.org/10.1016/S1364-6613(99)‍01332-7 Liira, Aino. 2020. Paratextuality in Manuscript and Print: Verbal and Visual Presentation of the Middle English Polychronicon. Doctoral dissertation. Turku: University of Turku. http://‍urn.fi/URN:ISBN:978-951-29-8058-1 McCracken, Ellen. 2013. “Expanding Genette’s Epitext/Peritext Model for Transitional Electronic Literature: Centrifugal and Centripetal Vectors on Kindles and iPads.” Narrative, 21 (1): 105–124.  https://‍doi.org/10.1353/nar.2013.0005 Muzerelle, Denis. 2002–2003 [1985]. Vocabulaire codicologique: Répertoire méthodique des termes français relatifs aux manuscrits avec leurs équivalents en anglais, italien, espagnol, version 1.1. Paris: Institut de Recherche et d’Histoire des Textes. https://‍vocabulaire.irht. cnrs.fr/vocab.htm Nees, Lawrence. 2003. “Reading Aldred’s Colophon for the Lindisfarne Gospels.” Speculum, 78 (2): 333–377.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/S0038713400168605 OED: Oxford English Dictionary. https://‍www.oed.com/ Pecoskie, Jen L., and Nadine Desrochers. 2013. “Hiding in Plain Sight: Paratextual Utterances as Tools for Information-related Research and Practice.” Library and Information Science Research, 35 (3): 232–240.  https://‍doi.org/10.1016/j.lisr.2013.02.002 Reynhout, Lucien. 2006. Formules latines de colophons, 2 vols. Turnhout: Brepols. Scase, Wendy. forthc. “John Benet, Scribe and Compiler, and Dublin, Trinity College, MS 516.” In Scribal Cultures in Late Medieval England: Essays in Honour of Linne R. Mooney, ed. by Margaret Connolly, Holly James-Maddocks, and Derek Pearsall. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer. Scattergood, John. 2006. “The Copying of Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts.” In Manuscripts and Ghosts: Essays on the Transmission of Medieval and Early Renaissance Literature, by John Scattergood, 21–82. Dublin: Four Courts. Sherman, William H. 2011. “The Beginning of ‘The End’: Terminal Paratext and the Birth of Print Culture.” In Renaissance Paratexts, ed. by Helen Smith, and Louise Wilson, 65-88. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Techasiriwan, Apiradee. 2016. “Locating Tai Lü and Tai Khün Manuscripts in Space and Time through Colophons.” In Tracing Manuscripts in Time and Space through Paratexts, Studies in Manuscript Cultures 7, ed. by Giovanni Ciotti, and Hang Lin, 35–58. Berlin: De Gruyter. https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110479010-003 Thomson, David (ed). 1984. An Edition of the Middle English Grammatical Texts. New York: Garland. Thorndike, Lynn. 1937. “Copyists’ Final Jingles in Medieval Manuscripts.” Speculum 12 (2): 268. https://‍doi.org/10.2307/2849582 Thorndike, Lynn. 1956. “More Copyists’ Final Jingles.” Speculum 31 (2): 321–328. https://‍doi.org/10.2307/2849416

Chapter 5

Framing material in early literacy Presenting literacy and its agents in Anglo-Saxon manuscripts Ursula Lenker University of Munich

The remarkably extensive and diverse Anglo-Saxon text corpus clearly testifies to the literary precocity and self-awareness of both writers and book producers in Anglo-Saxon England, the first period of literacy in English. This becomes particularly evident in prologues and scribal colophons, the two kinds of framing material discussed in the present chapter. Clearly modelled on classical or early Christian genre conventions, the famous Alfredian and Ælfrician prologues frame the reading of the following vernacular texts by investing them with the authority implicit in Latin literacy. At the end of texts or manuscripts, scribal colophons exploit the value of manuscripts as material objects, by presenting the – in a manuscript culture typically individual – agents of literacy, namely the book and its producer(s). Similar in their formal characteristics to maker formulae in epigraphy, colophons further serve independent functions in keeping the names of the scribes in remembrance through the centuries. Both kinds of framing material thus attest to the authorial and medial (self-)‍awareness of the agents of Anglo-Saxon literacy, who understood the great potential of the written medium to carry authority and to secure longevity. Keywords: Anglo-Saxon, manuscript, literacy, colophon, scribe, Alfredian texts, Ælfric, Genette, maker formula

1. Anglo-Saxon literacy: The surviving evidence For a volume focusing on the “Dynamics of Text and Framing Phenomena” from a historical perspective, the Anglo-Saxon period is a most appropriate starting point because this first period of English (traditionally dated from the early 5th to the late 11th century) is clearly a fully literate period. All in all, our Anglo-Saxon text corpus encompasses about 100 runic and about 240 non-runic inscriptions https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.05len © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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(and often a mixture of both scripts),1 and ca. 960 manuscripts and fragments (if we include both manuscripts written in England and those imported from the Continent; cf. Gneuss and Lapidge 2014). Some 420 manuscripts and fragments contain Old English (Ker 1957), so that we have a rather extensive written record of vernacular Old English (over 3 million running Old English words in about 3,060 texts; cf. DOEC). The majority of Anglo-Saxon manuscripts, however, are solely or partly in Latin, which is not at all surprising since manuscript literacy was brought to England with Christianization from the end of the 6th century onwards and since the Christian Latin textual traditions dominate the process of text transmission throughout the period. In the vast majority of cases, Anglo-Saxon scribes were ecclesiasts “working in a regulated Christian culture” (Wilcox 2001: 51). This means not only that the surviving record is heavily weighted towards Christian learning, but also that Christian models shaped Anglo-Saxon textual traditions from their very beginnings. In deliberate undertakings, “writers in the vernacular relied heavily on Latin traditions as a means of investing their own work with the authority implicit in the use of Latin” (Irvine 2014: 143). This reliance on Latin traditions includes the adoption of classical and early Christian genre conventions for both the main texts and for framing material such as prefaces and colophons. The most important Latin models for Anglo-Saxon paratexts2 and other framing material are provided by Gospel manuscripts, which have survived in large numbers.3 Among these, the epistolary preface of Jerome to his translation of the Bible into Latin, the Vulgate, served as the prime model in both form and contents, even down to the level of wording.4

1.  For surveys of this material, see Waxenberger (forthc.) and Okasha (1971) (and supplements), respectively. 2.  When referring to ‘paratexts’, I here use the terminology developed by Genette (1997), in which ‘peritext’ is a paratext which is found on the same medium as the main body of the text it surrounds, in contrast to ‘epitext’, which relates to the text, but is “not materially appended to the text within the same volume but circulating, as it were, freely, in a virtually limitless physical and social space” (Genette 1997: 344). 3.  About one in ten Anglo-Saxon manuscripts (more than 90) are (fragmentary) Latin gospelbooks. For a survey on Anglo-Saxon gospelbooks, see, e.g., McGurk (2011) or Lenker (2017); for more detailed descriptions of the gospelbooks, see Lenker (1997) and Gneuss and Lapidge (2014). On their status as treasured material objects, see below, Section 4.3. 4.  Most of the Latin gospelbooks contain a number of other paratexts by Jerome, also mainly in epistolary form, in which he relates the circumstances and names the commissioner of translation (Pope Damasus) and gives an insight into his translation practices, sketching the perils



Chapter 5.  Framing material in early literacy 117

2. Paratexts from Anglo-Saxon England: Paucity of evidence In his introductory chapter of Paratexts, Genette stresses that “a text without a paratext does not exist and has never existed” (1997: 3). Even though this is also true for many of the textual productions of the earliest phase of literacy in England, we still have to acknowledge some substantial differences to paratexts in later print cultures (which are in the focus of Genette’s Paratexts). First, most of the AngloSaxon texts have come down to us anonymously,5 both with regard to the author or translator and the scribe, and mostly with little or no information on the place and time of production of the manuscript. One exception are some of the scribal colophons. All in all, however, only 44 manuscripts, i.e. about five per cent of all extant Anglo-Saxon manuscripts, have colophons (Gameson 2002), among them 12 in high-status gospelbooks (see further below, Section 4.3). Similarly, the Old English and Latin ‘Prefaces’ surviving in the vernacular manuscript production only yield a very meagre text corpus, although most of them – in contrast to the colophons – have gained a prominent place in AngloSaxon scholarship; they feature frequently in anthologies of Old English, conspicuously without (!) the text they accompany in the manuscripts. This is particularly true for the Alfredian and Ælfrician prefaces (and epilogues) discussed in the following sections. 3. Investing vernacular literacy with authority in Alfredian and Ælfrician prefaces 3.1 The conceptualization of prefaces as a threshold That the Latin textual culture was the predominant literary model for Anglo-Saxon prefaces is already reflected in their Old English term – fore-spræc (see DOE, s.v. fore-sprǣc, 3. ‘(written) prologue, preface, foreword’) – a loan translation of Latin prae-fatio (cf. Latin prae-for ‘to say or utter beforehand’) or prae-locutio (Latin prae-loquor ‘to speak/say first’; cf. also Greek prol-logus). of translation. On their model character for the Alfredian and Ælfrican prefaces, see below, Section 3 and n. 11. 5.  Named authors of the Anglo-Saxon period proper (without continental authors whose books came to England) are Bede, Cædmon and Cynewulf for Old English poetry. As concerns Old English prose, named individuals are Ælfric of Eynsham, Æthelwold (bishop of Winchester), Aldred, King Alfred (‘Alfredian texts’), Bald, Bede, Byrhtferth, Werferth and Wulfstan the Homilist. There are furthermore some 25 named individuals who produced texts in Latin (list compiled from the classified index of Lapidge et. al. (2014); see also Thornbury (2014: 243–247).

118 Ursula Lenker

Quite strikingly, also the spatial metaphor of paratextual material as a ‘threshold’ (see the original French title of Genette’s Paratexts, Seuils ‘thresholds’) can be shown to have a long tradition. In his preface to his Liber Pastoralis, Gregory the Great (c. 540–604) conceptualizes the beginning of the book as a threshold to the larger discourse, when referring to it as (in) ipsa locutionis nostrae ianua ‘at the door of our speech’. The Old English translation accordingly uses the term duru ‘door’:

(1) From ðære dura selfre ðisse bec, ðæt is from onginne ðisse spræce …  (DOEC, CP B9.1.3 0014) ‘From the door of this book, that is from the beginning of this speech …’.

As models, quite a number of examples of Latin prologues and epilogues were available to Anglo-Saxon authors and compilers. In addition to the prefatory matters in gospelbooks and Bibles (see above, Section 1 and n. 4), there are, for instance, the preface and epilogue to Pope Gregory’s Cura Pastoralis, the prefaces accompanying or introducing Latin Saints’ Lives or Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica, which has a prefatory letter to King Ceolwulf and a concluding prayer (for a survey, see Irvine 2014: 144). Even though the conceptualization of the preface as the ‘door’ to a text was thus known to the Anglo-Saxons and even though the classical models were available in both form and concept, most of the well-known vernacular texts from Anglo-Saxon England do neither have prefaces nor epilogues. Indeed, one production circle (the Alfredian one; see Section  3.2) and one author (Ælfric; see Section 3.3) account for almost all of the prefaces and epilogues accompanying vernacular texts. 3.2 The Alfredian prefaces On the backdrop of the rareness of prefaces in the vernacular Anglo-Saxon textual tradition, Frantzen (2003) stresses the relevance of the comparatively many prologues and epilogues in Alfredian texts. Since the learned people in this cultural milieu, i.e. the earliest phase of Anglo-Saxon literacy, not only translated works into the vernacular, but also created prefaces for works that did not originally have them, Frantzen maintains that “the preface seems to have been a signature pre­ occupation of Alfred and his court” (2003: 121).



Chapter 5.  Framing material in early literacy 119

This “signature preoccupation” has survived in a large number of ‘Alfredian’6 prefaces and epilogues in Old English prose and verse.7 Tellingly, in contrast to the Latin and Old English prefaces by Ælfric, all Alfredian prefaces are in Old English:



OE Prose Prefaces: – translation of Gregory’s Dialogues (GDPref 1 (C)) – revised version of translation of Gregory’s Dialogues (GDPref 1 (H)) – translation of Gregory’s Cura Pastoralis (CPLetWærf) – translations (prose and prosimetrical version) of Boethius’ Consolatio (both: BoProem) – Old English version of Augustine’s Soliloquies (SolilPref) – Law Code (LawAfEl)



Verse Prefaces: – translation of Gregory’s Dialogues (GDPref) – translation of Gregory’s Cura Pastoralis (CPPre) – The Meters of Boethius (Met)



Verse Epilogue: – translation of Gregory’s Cura Pastoralis (CPEp)



This survey shows that we are dealing with a range of different and, most importantly, diversified texts. Most striking is the employment of verse following the principles of Germanic alliterative verse in prefaces accompanying Old English versions of received texts by the Church Fathers (Gregory, Boethius). Many of the Alfredian paratexts are modelled on Latin genre traditions. Godden considers this a “programme” of paratexts in Alfredian manuscripts, which are generally “richly furnished with the kind of framing texts we call prologues, prefaces, proems, and epilogues” (Godden 2011: 441). Complex presentations of the paratexts as in Cambridge, University Library, Ii.2.4 (translation of Gregory’s

6.  According to Irvine (2014: 147), the prose preface to the translation of Gregory’s Dialogues “may well represent the earliest use of the prefatory form in Old English”. Because of the function of these paratexts as royal stamps of authority, they were composed throughout the Anglo-Saxon period, so that dates (even relative ones) and allocations to King Alfred himself (or his contemporaneous circle) are difficult (for details on suggested dates and provenances, see Irvine (2014)). 7.  Other forms of non-paratextual framing material are the epilogue to the Old English version of Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica and closing prayers in BoProem and Met. On blurred genre conventions, see below, Section 4.1.

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Liber Pastoralis)8 can be seen as a “conscious attempt to present these works in a similar light to much of Carolingian writing” (Godden 2011: 472), investing them with the authority implicit in the use of Carolingian Latin textual traditions. More particularly, these prefaces (many of which were written much after Alfred’s time; see n. 6) mark the vernacular texts by a “stamp of royal authority” (Irvine 2014: 148). This “stamp of royal authority” is mainly achieved by naming the king (in the voice of the king or in a third-person reference), usually at the beginning or end of the paratext (or both, as in the formula Ic ða ælfred … Westseaxna cyning at both the beginning and the end of the preface to the Laws (LawAfEl; 2 h, i)), i.e. at the most prominent positions for presenting a text. Apart from naming the king and his status, the prefaces also highlight the king’s involvement in the translation (see underlined passages in (2)) and in the distribution of these books in what can be seen as part of a national programme of publication of vernacular texts with the clear purpose of authorizing them. (2) a. Ic ÆLFRED geofendum Criste mid cynehades mærnysse geweorðod, … & forþan ic sohte & wilnade to minum getreowum freondum, þæt hi me of Godes bocum be … awriten.  (1.1, 1.12)9 ‘I, Alfred, honoured with the glory of kingship by Christ’s gift … And therefore I sought and asked of my true friends that they should write down for me from God’s books the following teachings concerning …’.  (GDPref 1 (C); beginning) b. þæt is se selesða sinces brytta, / Ælfryd mid Englum, ealra cyninga …  (16) ‘Alfred of the English, the best distributor of treasure of all the kings that he has ever before heard of …’.  (GDPref; end; verse) c. Ælfred kyning hateð gretan Wærferð biscep his wordum luflice & freondlice  (1–2) ‘King Alfred greets bishop Werferth with affectionate and friendly words’.  (CPLetWærf; beginning) d. Siððan min on englisc Ælfred kyning awende worda gehwelc …  (11) ‘Afterwards King Alfred translated every word of me [= the book/text] into English’.  (CPPref; middle) e. Ælfred kuning wæs wealhstod ðisse bec …  (1.1) ‘King Alfred was the translator of this book …’.  (BoProem; beginning)

8.  This manuscript has the Old English prose preface (fol. 5r), the Old English verse preface (fol. 6v), a “table of contents” in the form of a Latin list of sixty-five chapters and their subjects (fol. 7r) and then the Latin text of Gregory’s original prose preface. 9.  The translations are adapted from Irvine (2014), who partly takes hers from the editions of the respective texts.



Chapter 5.  Framing material in early literacy 121

f. Ðus ælfred us ealdspell reahte, / cyning Westsexna, cræft meldode, / leoðwyrhta list.  (A6, 1) ‘Thus Alfred, king of the West-Saxons, maker of verse, told us old stories, revealed his craft …’.  (Met; beginning; verse) g. Hær endiað þa cwidas þe Ælred kining alæs of þære bec þe we hataþ in Ledene …  (11) ‘Here end the sayings which King Alfred selected from the book which is called in Latin …’.  (SolilPref; end) h. Ic ða ælfred cyning þas togædere gegaderode & awritan het, monege þara þe ure foregengan heoldon ….  (49.9) ‘Then I, King Alfred, gathered these laws (together) and commanded to be written many of those that I liked of those our predecessors observed …’.  (LawAfEl; beginning). i. Ic ða ælfred Westseaxna cyning eallum minum witum, þas geeowde, …  (49.10) ‘Then I, Alfred, King of the West Saxons, showed these to all my councilors, …’.  (LawAfEl; end).

What we see here is that the prominent framing function of the paratexts – the authorization of the vernacular texts by presenting them with a royal stamp – is made in either the voice of King Alfred himself, by a third-person reference to him or in the voice of the book/text, in particular in the verse paratexts (on parallels of all of these features in scribal colophons, see below, Section 4.2). In this presentation of authority, many of the paratexts strikingly do not only follow classical models by, e.g., choosing the epistolary style (see above, Section 1 and n. 4), but deliberately also draw on Old English models by using Old English alliterative verse (2b), (f); in (2f), King Alfred is even presented as ‘the maker of verse, (who) revealed his craft’. Thus, the full range of literary models, both Latin and vernacular, available to the authors of these paratexts is exploited in these prefaces for investing them with royal authority: In this accommodation of vernacular patterns in classical models, the dynamics of a literacy specific to Anglo-Saxon England becomes evident. 3.3 Framing in Ælfric’s prefaces The largest number of surviving Anglo-Saxon prefaces are the more than thirty surviving Latin and Old English texts by Ælfric of Eynsham (c. 950–c. 1010).10 10.  Catholic Homilies First Series: Latin Preface (1), Old English Preface (1); Catholic Homilies Second Series: Latin Preface (1), Old English Preface (1), *Admonition (1), *‘De Sancta Maria’ (1), *‘Excusatio dictandis’ (1), *Closing Prayer (1); Lives of Saints: Latin Preface (1), Old English

122 Ursula Lenker

In genres and voices, we see major differences to the Alfredian prefaces. Most of Ælfric’s prefaces are in the first-person voice of Ælfric himself (see, e.g., (3a) and (4a) below). None is in the voice of the book. None of them is in Old English alliterative verse. The tradition Ælfric links himself up with is clearly the Latin tradition only. Thus he regularly chooses the common epistolary form and mainly provides information which conforms to classical (and also today’s) genre conventions. This can be illustrated by a brief comparison of prototypical passages in Ælfric’s Latin and Old English prefaces to the Catholic Homilies. These provide an identification of Ælfric himself as the author ((3a), (4a)) and information on the circumstances of text production, including  – though only in the Latin preface  – commissioners or patrons (3a), the envisaged audience ((3b), (3f), (4c)), the structure of the main text and its text type (3b), the principles of translation ((3b), (4b)) and – very prominently – detailed references on Ælfric’s authoritative sources, i.e. the auctores he relies on (3e). (3)  Latin preface to the First Series of Catholic Homilies  a.

b.

Ego Ælfricus, alumnus Æðelwoldi, benevoli et venerabilis presulis, salutem exopto domno archiepiscopo Sigerico in Domino. Licet temere vel presumptuose, tamen transtulimus hunc codicem ex libris Latinorum, scilicet Sancte Scripture, in nostram consuetam sermocinationem, ob ędificationem simplicium, qui hanc norunt tantummodo locutionem, sive legendo sive audiendo; ideoque nec obscura posuimus verba, sed simplicem Anglicam, quo facilius possit ad cor pervenire legentium vel audentium ad utilitatem animarum suarum, quia alia lingua nesciunt erudiri quam in qua nati sunt.

(Wilcox 1994: Text 1a)

‘I, Ælfric, a student of the benevolent and venerable prelate Æthelwold, send a greeting in the Lord to the lord Archbishop Sigeric. Even if rashly or presumptuously, we have, nevertheless, translated this book from Latin works, namely the Holy Scripture, into the language we are accustomed for the edification of the simple, who know only this language, either through reading or hearing it read; and for that reason we could use no obscure words, just plain English, by which it may more easily reach to the heart of the readers or listeners to the benefit of their souls, because they are unable to be instructed in a language other than the one to which they were born.

Preface (1), *Preface to ‘Life of St Edmund’, *Preface to ‘Life of St Thomas’; Translation of Genesis: Old English Preface (3); Grammar: Latin Preface (6), Old English Preface (6); Vita Æthelwoldi: Latin Preface (1); Letter to the Monks of Eynsham: Latin Preface (1); Letter of Sigefyrth: Old English Preface (3); Letter to Sigeweard: Old English Preface (1); Letter for Wulfsige: Latin Preface (2); Letters for Wulfstan: Latin Preface (1). The numbers in brackets refer to the copies of extant manuscripts for the respective texts. On Ælfric’s prefaces, see Wilcox (1994) and Swan (2009).

Chapter 5.  Framing material in early literacy 123

c.

Nec ubique transtulimus verbum ex verbo, sed sensum ex sensu;

d.

cavendo tamen diligentissime desceptivos errores, ne inveniremur aliqua heresi seducti seu fallacia fuscati.

e.

Hos namque auctores in hac explanatione sumus secuti, videlicet Augustinum [Y]‍pponiensem, Hieronimum, Bedam, Gregorium, Smaragdum, et aliquando [Hæg]‍monem, horum denique auctor­ itas ab omnibus catholicis libentissime suscipitur. Nec solum evangeliorum tractatus in isto libello exposuimus, verum etiam sanctorum passiones vel vitas, ad utilitatem idiotarum istius gentis.

f.

We have not translated word for word throughout but in accordance with the sense; guarding, nevertheless, most diligently against deceptive errors so that we not might be found to have been led astray by any heresy or darkened by fallacy. For indeed, we have followed these authors in this exposition: namely, Augustine of Hippo, Jerome, Bede, Gregory, Smaragdus, and sometimes Haymo, for the authority of these is most willingly acknowledged by all the orthodox. We have not only expounded homilies on the gospels in this book but also the passions or lives of saints for the benefit of the uneducated among this people.’

(4)  Old English preface to the First Series of Catholic Homilies   (Wilcox 1994: Text 1b) a.

b.

c.

Ic, Ælfric, munuc and mæssepreost, swaðeah waccre þonne swilcum hadum gebyrige, wearð asend on Æþelredes dæge cyninges fram Ælfeage biscope, Æðelwoldes æftergengan, to sumum mynstre, ðe is Cernel gehaten, þurh Æðelmæres bene ðæs þegenes, his gebyrd and goodnys sind gehwær cuðe. Ƿa bearn me on mode, ic truwige ðurh Godes gife, þæt ic ðas boc of Ledenum gereorde to Engliscre spræce awende, na þurh gebylde micelre lare, ac for ðan ðe ic geseah and gehyrde mycel gedwyld on mangeum Engliscum bocum, ðe ungelærede men ðurh heora bilewitnysse to micclum wisdom tealdon;

‘I, Ælfric, monk and mass-priest, although more weakly than for such orders is fitting, was sent, in king Æthelred’s day, from bishop Ælfeah, Æthelwold’s successor, to a minster which is called Cernel, at the prayer of Æthelmær the thane, whose birth and goodness are known everywhere. Then it occurred to my mind, I trust through God’s grace, that I would turn this book from the Latin language into the English tongue, not from confidence of great learning, but because I have seen and heard of much error in many English books, which unlearned men, through their simplicity, have esteemed as great wisdom;’

Ælfric’s prefaces first and foremost evince his conscious attempts at placing himself in the long tradition of the church fathers and Carolingian writers: There

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are clear echoes on classical and, in turn, the Alfredian prefaces in form and contents and wording.11 While the Alfredian prefaces (also in their later manuscript transmission; see n. 6) set a more general coordinate system in that they aim at placing the vernacular texts on a par with the received Latin texts by investing them with a royal stamp of authority, in the Ælfrician prefaces it is the author/translator himself who has strong individual aims regarding the reception of his texts. Ælfric’s main concern is his teaching of orthodox lore to unlearned/lay people (3b, 3f, 4c) or, more generally, to those who are not competent enough in Latin to fully and correctly understand his authoritative sources. His central aim in presenting his texts is the avoidance of fallacies and heresy (3d). This is also echoed in the paratext printed as (5), an exhortation to the scribe regularly found at the end of a prologue: False copying – a commonplace in manuscript culture, also found, for instance, in Chaucer’s poem Adam Scriveyn – is here equalled with the heresy detested by Ælfric.

(5) Nu bydde ic and halsige on Godes naman, gif hwa þas boc awritan wylle, þæt he hi geornlice gerihte on þære bysene, þy læs ðe we ðurh gymelease writeras geleahtrode beon. Mycel yfel deð se ðe leas writ, buton he hit gerihte, swylce he gebringe þa soþan lare to leasum gedwylde; forði sceal gehwa gerihtlæcan þæt þæt he ær to woge gebigde, gif he on Godes dome unscyldig beon wile. ‘Now I desire and beseech, in God’s name, if anyone will transcribe this book, that he carefully correct it by the copy, lest we be blamed through careless writers. He does great evil who writes false, unless he correct it; it is as though he turn true doctrine to false error; therefore should everyone make that straight which he before bent crooked, if he will be guiltless at God’s doom’.

Interestingly, this imprecation of scribes is the most widely surviving of all Ælfrician paratexts and almost identically found in all of Ælfric’s Old English 11.  Apart from the epistolary form, compare phrases such as Nec ubique transtulimus verbum ex verbo, sed sensum ex sensu (3c) to the Alfredian Hwilum he sette word be worde, hwilum andgit of andgite ‘Sometimes he set it down word for word, sometimes sense for sense’ in the Preface to the Boethius (BoProem 2.1), itself probably modelled on hwilum word be worde, hwilum andgit of andgiete in the Old English prose preface to the translation of the Cura Pastoralis (CPLetWærf 58). These phrases (and their concepts!) are essentially borrowed from Jerome’s reactions on his critics on the question of verbatim, word-for-word translations: When accused of deviating from the source text, Jerome stated that, when translating, he ‘render[ed] sense for sense and not word for word’ (non verbum e verbo, sed sensum exprimere de sensu; Patrologia Latina 22, 571, col. 571).



Chapter 5.  Framing material in early literacy 125

prefaces (to the Second Series of Catholic Homilies, to the Grammar, to the Lives of Saints and to the Translation of Genesis).12 In contrast to the literary authorial self-awareness attested in the prologues through presentation of author, audience and translation principles in the prefaces (see (3) and (4) above), the terminal framing text in (5) focusses on the medium: It refers to this particular text in this particular manuscript, which will be copied in a particular context by a particular scribe for a particular audience. It thus negotiates the production and reception of a particular text in a particular manuscript. The scribal colophons, i.e. the terminal paratexts reviewed in the following sections, can in this context be seen as an interaction with and response to the authorial exhortations such as Ælfric’s in that they also focus on the main agents in literacy, namely the book and its producer(s). 4. Terminal framing material in manuscripts: The communicative functions of Anglo-Saxon scribal colophons 4.1 Anglo-Saxon scribal colophons: Presenting the agents of literacy On this backdrop of the construction of royal and textual authority in both Alfredian and Ælfrician prefaces (and their echoes of classical models), I will now focus on a kind of paratext typical for manuscripts: scribal colophons at the end of manuscripts (or rarely, texts).13 As has been pointed out above, the 44 colophons identified for Anglo-Saxon manuscripts by Gameson (2002) are the exception rather than the rule: only about five per cent of surviving manuscripts feature colophons. The majority of Anglo-Saxon colophons are in Latin; only 8.5 colophons are in Old English (in (17), both Latin and Old English are used). In medieval studies, the term colophon usually refers to “the scribes’ inscriptions at the end of a manuscript, in which they provide some kind of information about their copying endeavour” (Schiegg 2016: 129; see also Scase, Chapter 4, this volume). While in about 2/‍3 of Anglo-Saxon colophons, individuals involved in 12.  Despite Ælfric’s exhortations not to alter his texts, his homilies are regularly found in compilations together with other (in Ælfric’s view certainly unorthodox) homilies. This reveals that Ælfric’s sense of his work as an authorized and fixed was not compatible with the practice of early medieval text transmission (Wilcox 2001: 63), which was in the responsibility and power of scribes and compilers (see below, Section 4). 13.  Sherman (2011: 65) suggests the term ‘terminal paratext’ for paratexts at the end of books and points out that virtually all of the paratextual elements in Genette’s inventory are located at the beginnings of books and that the metaphors used – threshold, vestibule, canal lock or airlock (Genette 1997: 2, 408) – can also be seen to primarily refer to front matter.

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the production of the manuscripts are indeed named, such a narrow definition would exclude some of the colophons listed in Gameson (2002), which – as the most basic forms of colophons – only mark the end of a text or provide some “finishing touch”14 in the form of a prayer (7):15 (6) Finit euangelium secundum Iohannem. ‘Here finishes the gospel according to John’. (7) Amen deo gratias. ‘Amen. Thanks [be] to God’.

Colophonic material like (6) is, of course, closer to rubrics marking the beginning or end of texts (i.e. incipits or explicits). They do at first glance not seem to provide much information on particularities of manuscript production. Gameson (2019), however, can show in an investigation of rubrics and colophons in the Codex Amiatinus that in spite of the generally formulaic and conventional nature of this material, it still “indicates that in small elements (such as the form and content of rubrics and subscriptions) as well as larger ones (such as Uncial script and layout per cola et commata), Wearmouth-Jarrow adopted conventions of the late antique/ Italian book culture to which it was exposed”. Another very brief kind of colophon gives the name of the scribe, thus individualizing him or her.16 These are common in both Latin and Old English: (8) Johannes me scripsit.17 ‘John wrote me’.

(9) Wulwi me wrat.18

14.  The OED (s.v. colophon 2.a) relates the term to Greek κολοφών ‘summit, finishing touch’ and gives as a meaning ‘[t]‍he inscription or device, sometimes pictorial or emblematic, formerly placed at the end of a book or manuscript, and containing the title, the scribe’s or printer’s name, date and place of printing, etc.’. 15.  Both (6) and (7) are from Echternach Gospels; Paris, BN, lat. 9389; s. vii/viii; fol. 222v (Gameson 2002, no. 2). 16.  Most of the identifiable scribes of colophons are male; in Oxford, Bodleian Library, Bodley 451, however, we have an unambiguous reference to the female scribe through the female form scriptrix: Salua et incolomis [sic] maneat per secula scriptrix ‘May the [female] scribe remain safe and sound forever’ (fol. 119v; Gameson 2002, no. 42). 17.  Oxford, Bodleian Library, Bodley 311, fol. 85r; penitential collection; s. x2; Gameson (2002, no. 21). 18.  London, British Library, Cotton Otho C.I (I), fol. 110r; Old English Gospels; s. xi med.; Gameson (2002, no. 28).

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‘Wulfwi(g) / wrote me’.

Such colophons inform us about the name of the scribe and give an explicit verbal reference to his or her writing activity (scripsit, wrat) and the material object itself, in both cases as a speaking object (cf. me; on this employment of prosopopoeia, see below, Section 4.2). They thus index the main agents in the production of this material object (a book individualized by its personification). Colophons recurrently also address the third major agent of literacy, the reader(s).19 For early examples, see the following colophons from the Codex Amiatinus (for details on these colophons and their classical models, see Gameson 2019: 90–92):20 (10) a. b. c.

Lege Feliciter (fol. 86v; fol. 146r) Lege Felix (fol. 110v) Feliciter qui legis. (fol. 796r; fol. 1016r) ‘Read happily’ ‘Happy you [who you] read’.

The specific association of colophons with negotiating the interaction of the processes of writing and reading is particularly striking in colophons using cryptic writing: (11) Ælxxnfıı≡ fxxm-rt∙ dııræ cð∙=dxıınxxn (transliteration: Ælfuuine me wrat raed ðu ðe cenne) ‘Ælfwine wrote me. Read you who might be able’.21

Cryptograms such as this are the realm of professionals: only those fully literate are able to solve the usually not very complicated ciphers. Most often, vowels are replaced by dots or by the consonants which follow them, as in: (12) DFPGRBTKBS.AMEN = Deo gratias. Amen.22

Simple as these ciphers may be, they still elude those who have not been trained in a scriptorium. These ciphers are intrinsically related to their scribes’ medial selfawareness, their identification and perhaps even pride as professionals of literacy. 19.  Only in London, British Library, Royal 5 D.v (Gameson 2002, no. 41), readers and listeners are addressed: Pax legentibus et audientibus in Christo. Amen. ‘Peace to the readers and hearers, in Christ. Amen.’ (fol. 252v). 20.  For further Latin examples, see, e.g., Gameson (2002, nos. 2, 3, 5, 9, 10, 16, 17, 18, 22, 23, 28, 33). 21.  London, British Library, Cotton Vitellius E.xviii (Gameson 2002, no. 35). The transliteration and translation follow Pulsiano (1998: 99) (but see now also Scragg 2019). 22.  Reims, Bibliothèque municipale, 9, fol. 154v (Gameson 2002, no. 33).

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4.2 Prosopopoeia: Not only scribes, but books speak A similar display of professional scribal intricacies can be seen in the many cases of prosopopoeia in Anglo-Saxon colophons. While the focus in the interpretation of the Anglo-Saxon colophons has generally been the scribe, we see from the colophons such as Johannes me scripsit (8), Wulwi me wrat (9) and the cryptogram ‘Ælfwine wrote me’ (11) that the scribe’s voice is not the only one in colophons: We rather hear the book’s voice, which refers to itself in the first person (me) in clear instances of the rhetorical device of personification in a ‘speaking object’, i.e. prosopopoeia (on prosopopoeia in Anglo-Saxon England, see Knappe 1998: 26). What is placed in the centre of attention by this rhetorical device is the reified text presenting itself, the manuscript as the (now finished) material object (on reification as one of the prime functions of literacy, see Coulmas 1989: 12). The employment of the rhetorical device of prosopopoeia first of all displays the rhetorical education of the scribes: Common in riddles and other literary forms from Anglo-Saxon England in both Latin and Old English (see, e.g., Bredehoft 1996; Knappe 1998: 26; Orton 2005, 2014), prosopopoeia is common in all kinds of framing material, not only in colophons, but also in prefaces and epilogues. The most prominent examples are found in the Alfredian texts introduced above in Section 3.2. In the verse preface to the translation of Gregory’s Dialogues (GDPref), the book speaks in phrases similar to those we have seen in the colophons: (13) a. b. c.

Se ðe me rædan ðencð …  ‘He who sets out to read me …’. He in me findan mæg …  ‘He can find in me …’. Me awritan het … Wulfsige bisceop  ‘Bishop Wulfsige had me written’.

(line 1) (line 2) (line 12)

Similar employment of prosopopoeia is attested in the verse preface to the Old English Pastoral Care, in (14) Siððan min on englisc Ælfred kyning / awende worda gehwelc, and me his writerum / sende suð and norð …  (CPPref, lines 11–13) ‘Afterwards king Alfred translated every word of me into English and sent me south and north to his scribes …’.

Expert scribes must also have been especially aware of the prominence given to personal names in these phrases, in particular when the speaking object ‘book’ or ‘text’ singles out the individuals responsible for its existence.



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4.3 Colophons as micro-texts This function of profiling names and individuals in colophons employing prosopopoeia opens up yet another perspective on their communicative functions, a function that transgresses their ancillary presenting functions directed at the text(s) they accompany. This view is supported by the fact that, in many cases, the speaking material object of a colophon is a gospelbook and thus a most valuable kind of manuscript. This material aspect is one of the characteristics distinguishing the status of (most) books in a manuscript from those in a print culture: The cost and value of books has continuously decreased with ever more multiple copies produced of one and the same book (increasingly getting cheaper over the centuries, from parchment to paperback). The high value and the extraordinary public esteem of gospelbooks have also caused the frequent insertion of various kinds of important legal documents and records of an administrative character (charters, records of guilds, manumissions) on their blank folios or spaces well into the modern period.23 Expert scribes would have been involved in or at least been aware of this use of gospelbooks as a treasured material objects safeguarding longevity. In obviously successful attempts at ensuring permanence, scribes often add their names and their supplications into this esteemed carrier medium, as in (15): (15) Ðe min bruche gibidde fore owun ðe ðas boc gloesde. ‘Whosoever uses me, may he pray for Owun who glossed this book’.

Such supplications and prayers are a very old and common feature of colophons. In the Codex Amiatinus, for example, the basic formula ora pro me ‘pray for me’ is typographically highlighted by being presented in the form of a cross, showing the expertise of the scribe (see Gameson 2019, Figures 2 and 4). In a more elaborate form,24 the Worcester scribe Wulfgeat asks for prayers for his faults:

23.  These added texts, however, though ‘peri-textual’ since on blank spaces or margins ‘around’ the text (cf. Greek περί ‘about, around’), are not ‘peritexts’ in the sense of Genette. They have no relation to the text of the four gospels, do not negotiate meaning between the gospel text and its respective readers, but exploit the high esteem of the material object as a carrier medium. 24.  The most elaborate Anglo-Saxon colophon informing about the production of a manuscript is certainly Aldred’s colophon in the Lindisfarne Gospels (London, British Library, Cotton Nero D. iv, fol. 259r) giving a ‘lengthy account, mainly in Old English, of the original manufacture of this copy (by Eadfrith, Æthilwald and Billfrith) and the subsequent activities and hopes of its glossator, Aldred’ (Gameson 2002, no. 14). For recent research on this complex colophon and its reliability, see the chapters by Brown and Roberts, in Fernández Cuesta and Pons-Sanz (2016). See also Scase, Chapter 4, this volume.

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(16) Me scripsit Wulfgeatus scriptor Wigornensis. Ora obsecro pro ipsius neuis cosmi satorem. Amen. Et qui me scripsit semper sit felix. Amen.25 ‘Wulfgeat scribe of Worcester wrote me. Pray, I beseech, to the Creator of the universe for his [the scribe’s] faults. Amen. And may he who has transcribed me be happy forever. Amen’.

In (17), Farmon explicitly refers to his responsibility for the Old English gloss26 to the Latin gospel text of the Rushworth Gospels and closes his colophon with a prayer for the forgiveness of his sins and eternal well-being: (17) Farman presbyter þas boc þus gleosede dimittet ei dominus omnia peccata sua si fieri potest apud deum.27 ‘Farmon the priest glossed this book thus. May the Lord set aside all his sins, should he come into the Lord’s presence’.

The self-identification of the scribe followed by a prayer of praise or supplication is most revealing when seen in the context of Ælfric’s and later authors’ recurrent imprecations to the scribes at the end of prefaces (see Section 3.3 above) and in particular warnings such as gif he on Godes dome unscyldig beon wile ‘if he will be guiltless at God’s doom’ (see (5) above). In manuscript contexts such as these, the supplications may be seen as an interactive and direct response to these warnings. Apart from their functions in the immediate dialogic context of the production of books, such self-identifications of scribes may, however, be considered to serve even more general communicative functions – in particular in view of the prolific positioning of the book as a material speaking object through prosopo­ poeia in gospel books. Considering the value the employment of prosopopoeia places on the material object as a carrier medium of the colophons, their functions should in my opinion – at least additionally – be seen similar to those characterizing many brief texts beyond the Old English manuscript culture, specifically the so-called maker formula attested in epigraphic inscriptions (nos. from Okasha 1971), which – as the scribal colophons – centre their attention on the material object they are written on and its producer:

25.  Oxford, Bodleian Library, Junius 121, fol. 101r; Old English ecclesiastical institutes and homilies; s. xi3/4; Gameson (2002, no. 36). 26.  The verb OE gleosede probably refers to both the scribal and authorial activities of the glossator. The verb is only attested three times in Old English (in various manuscripts), two of them in the Rushworth Gospels (see DOE, s.v. glēsan). 27.  Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct. D.2.19; s. x2; Gameson (2002, no. 16).



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N.N. me worhte ‘N.N. made me’ Cross (no. 17) s. x–xi + Drahmal me worhte. Carved stone sun-dial (no. 41) s. x–xi + Loðan me wrohte. Carved stone sun-dial (no. 64) s. xmed + 7 Hawarð [:] me wrohte [:] 7 Brand presbyter. Bronze censer-cover (no. 100) s. x–xi + GODRIC ME WVORHT. Decorated iron knife (no. 109) x. ixex–x + BIORHTELM ME WORTE.

(18)

(19) N.N. me he(h)‍t wyrcean ‘N.N. ordered me to be made’ ‘Alfred jewel’ (no. 4) x. ixex–s. x + Aelfred mec heht gevvyrcan. ‘sigerie’ ring (no. 156) uncertain + SIGERIE HEÐ MEA GEVVIRCAN.

When viewed in this wider context of literacy beyond manuscript culture, our scribal colophons – and perhaps also the verse prefaces employing prosopopoeia – might perhaps be better not only solely be seen as paratexts, which inform us about the production circumstances of a book, but also as brief independent texts, which are attested in many different forms in Anglo-Saxon literacy (labelled ‘micro-texts’ in Lenker and Kornexl 2019; see Kornexl and Lenker 2019: 1–2). On valuable material objects, the maker formulae first of all invest these objects with the authoritative stamp of professionals in book production (a function we have also seen for paratextual material in manuscripts), but they may also be taken as an attempt to ensure that the name of the maker will be kept in remembrance. At least some of the Anglo-Saxon scribes have also been successful in this attempt: through their colophons they are known to us as individual scribes, so that these paratexts fulfil a much wider function than just accompanying or presenting other texts.28 5. Conclusions Viewing the prologues and colophons extant in Anglo-Saxon manuscripts in the perspective of their Latin and Old English traditions shows that these framing texts are much more than just supplementary material. Even though both prologues and colophons are clearly modelled on classical or early Christian genre conventions, they still reveal specific characteristics of literary production and its presentation in the earliest phase of English literacy. While most Anglo-Saxon texts have come down to us anonymously, the prologues identifying vernacular 28.  That scribes were aware of this function, at least in later times, is attested in the case of the scribe of the Anglo-Norman Manuel des Pechiez, who makes a point of omitting the name of the author from its prologue, when explaining Mun nun ne vus voil ci nomer,/ Car deu sul qeor luer ‘I do not want to give you my name here, because I seek to praise God alone’ (example taken from Dearnley 2016: 101–102).

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texts as produced during and after King Alfred’s reign (871–899) or by Ælfric of Eynsham (c. 950–c. 1010) authorize these vernacular texts with an authority implicit in Latin literacy. As experts in manuscript production and literacy, also scribes must have been aware of the great potential of these initial and final framing positions for a display of the specific features of Anglo-Saxon literacy and their main agents (authors, scribes, books and readers). As a ‘finishing touch’, the scribes accordingly used this pronounced position for adding ‘micro-texts’ with the successful intention of keeping their names in permanent memory.

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Ker, Neil R. 1957. Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon. Oxford: Oxford University Press (plus supplements). Knappe, Gabriele. 1998. “Classical Rhetoric in Anglo-Saxon England.” Anglo-Saxon England, 27: 5–29.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/S0263675100004774 Kornexl, Lucia, and Ursula Lenker. 2019. “Anglo-Saxon Micro-Texts: An Introduction.” In AngloSaxon Micro-Texts, ed. by Ursula Lenker, and Lucia Kornexl, 1–10. Berlin: de Gruyter. https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110630961-001 Lapidge, Michael, John Blair, Simon Keynes, and Donald Scragg (eds). 2014. The Wiley Blackwell Encyclopedia of Anglo-Saxon England. 2nd ed. Chichester: Wiley. Lenker, Ursula. 1997. Die westsächsische Evangelienversion und die Perikopenordnungen im angelsächsischen England. München: Fink. Lenker, Ursula. 2017. “Gospelbooks.” In The Encyclopedia of Medieval Literature in Britain, 4 vols., Vol. II (s.v.), ed. by Siân Echard, Robert Rouse, Jacqueline A. Fay, and Helen Fulton. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.  https://‍doi.org/10.1002/9781118396957.wbemlb134 Lenker, Ursula, and Lucia Kornexl (eds). 2019. Anglo-Saxon Micro-Texts. Berlin: de Gruyter. https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110630961 McGurk, Patrick. 2011. “Anglo-Saxon Gospel-Books, c. 900–1066.” In The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain. Volume 1: c. 400–1100, ed. by Richard Gameson, 436–448. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521583459.019 Okasha, Elisabeth. 1971. Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Non-Runic Inscriptions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (plus Supplements in Anglo-Saxon England 11, 21, 33). Orton, Peter. 2005. “Deixis and the Untransferable Text: Anglo-Saxon Colophons, VersePrefaces and Inscriptions.” In Imagining the Book, ed. by Stephen Kelly, and John J. Thompson, 195–207. Turnhout: Brepols.  https://‍doi.org/10.1484/M.TCNE-EB.3.4133 Orton, Peter. 2014. Writing in a Speaking World: The Pragmatics of Literacy in Anglo-Saxon Inscriptions and Old English Poetry. Tempe, AZ: ACMRS. Patrologia Latina = Migne, Jacques Paul (ed). (1844–1864). Patrologiae cursus completus: Series Latina. 221 vols. Paris. Vol. 90 (1862) [accessed via Patrologia Latina Database]. Pulsiano, Phillip. 1998. “The Prefatory Matter of London, British Library, Cotton Vitellius E. xviii.” In Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts and their Heritage, ed. by Phillip Pulsiano, and Elaine Treharne, 85–116. Aldershot: Ashgate. Scragg, Donald. 2019. “Cryptograms in Old English as Micro-Texts.” In Anglo-Saxon MicroTexts, ed. by Ursula Lenker, and Lucia Kornexl, 117–129. Berlin: de Gruyter. https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110630961-006 Schiegg, Markus. 2016. “Scribes’ Voices: The Relevance and Types of Early Medieval Colophons.” Studia Neophilologica, 88: 129–147.  https://‍doi.org/10.1080/00393274.2015.1101354 Sherman, William H. 2011. “The Beginning of ‘The End’: Terminal Paratext and the Birth of Print Culture.” In Renaissance Paratexts, ed. by Helen Smith, and Louise Wilson, 65–87. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511842429.005 Swan, Mary. 2009. “Identity and Ideology in Ælfric’s Prefaces.” In A Companion to Ælfric, ed. by Hugh Maghennis, and Mary Swan, 247–269. Leiden: Brill. Thornbury, Emily V. 2014. Becoming a Poet in Anglo-Saxon England. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107280304 Waxenberger, Gaby. forthc. Towards a Phonology of the Old English Runic Inscriptions and an Analysis of the Graphemes [RGA; Berlin: de Gruyter]. Wilcox, Jonathan (ed). 1994. Ælfric’s Prefaces. Durham: University of Durham.

134 Ursula Lenker Wilcox, Jonathan. 2001. “Transmission of Literature and Learning: Anglo-Saxon Scribal Culture.” In A Companion to Anglo-Saxon Literature, ed. by Phillip Pulsiano, and Elaine Treharne, 50–70. Malden, MA: Blackwell.

Part II

Framing and audience orientation

Chapter 6

Paratext and ideology in 17th-century news genres A comparative discourse analysis of paratextual elements in news broadside ballads and occasional news pamphlets Elisabetta Cecconi University of Florence

This contribution examines the way in which ideology and the (changing) socio-cultural news values of the time can be mapped onto the news presentation strategies adopted in the paratext of 17th-century news broadside ballads and occasional news pamphlets. Based on Genette’s (1997) notion of paratext and on Hyland’s (2005) model of metadiscourse, the comparative discourse analysis focuses on the paratextual components found in the initial and terminal paratext of each news genre. The results show that the ideological imperatives of the Church along with people’s increasing interest in objective and fact-centered news had a determining role in the choice of the author’s and publisher’s metadiscourse resources across the century. Keywords: 17th-century English news, paratext, metadiscourse, interactive markers, interactional markers, ideology, Church, realistic reportage, broadside ballad, occasional news pamphlet

1. Introduction In the 17th century the explosion of cheaply priced printed texts led to the full development of a stable print market, which was able to accommodate people’s thirst for news. Broadside ballads and occasional pamphlets were the most commonly consumed forms of cheap print and as such they were a standard item both in printing houses and in London bookshops. They were designed to entertain, edify and inform – although not necessarily in this order throughout the century – and,

https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.06cec © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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given their growing success among the public, they were quickly turned into an effective vehicle of socio-political propaganda and Protestant indoctrination. Through their narratives, broadsides and pamphlets instructed people as to how to interpret the apparently inexplicable events of the time and how to adjust their social and moral conduct accordingly. In order to ensure the desired large-scale delivery of the ideological message as well as a profitable revenue for the stationers, broadsides and pamphlets had to attract the potential buyers and convince them to part with money. This required a good knowledge of the average consumer’s tastes, desires and expectations not only on the part of the author but also on the part of printers and publishers who were responsible for the final appearance of the commercial product. As genres to be sold in the print market, broadsides and pamphlets had the advantage of being cheap and swift to be consumed. This, however, was not necessarily sufficient, as the information needed to be packaged in a way that could arouse people’s curiosity from the start. In this regard, news presentation played a crucial role in the successful sale of the product and in the future of the commercial enterprise. The topic announcement occupied the front page and included a set of metadiscursive advertising elements which were meant to lure the reader and draw him/her into the text, so as to ensure the correct fruition of the commodity. Using Genette’s notion of paratext (1997) and its subsequent elaboration by Sherman (2011), the aim of my study is to examine the initial and terminal paratextual components characterising 17th-century news broadsides and pamphlets at the verbal and non-verbal level. Since the two genres shared the same context of production, distribution and reception, the comparative discourse analysis reveals a considerable degree of interrelatedness in their news presentation especially until the 1660s, when pamphlets start to show new trends in the framing of the news content and a consequential higher degree of diversification from broadsides. 2. Theoretical framework The notion of paratext was coined by Genette (1997) in relation to the core text. While the text is defined as “a more or less long sequence of verbal statements that are more or less endowed with significance” (1997: 1), the paratext encompasses all that surrounds and accompanies a text in order to present it or make it present itself to the reader as an object of consumption. Paratext can therefore be considered as a communicative act between senders and receivers having the core text as message and implying a certain degree of control and influence on the part of the producer over the consumer. Insofar as paratextual elements entail some sort of self-reflectivity as a kind of discourse about discourse or as referring to the core



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text, it may be argued that they show a certain degree of overlap with the linguistic notion of metadiscourse, theorised, amongst others, by Hyland (2005: 37) (see also Bös and Peikola, Chapter 1, this volume). Both Genette and Hyland conceive of paratext and metadiscourse respectively, as offering a framing for understanding communication as a social engagement. In particular, they consider them as pragmatic constructs which project authors/publishers into discourse with their own system of values and beliefs and which – at the same time – presuppose their knowledge of the situational context of communication. If paratext and metadiscourse may be said to overlap in terms of their selfreflectivity and interactional pragmatic function, they differ in terms of object of enquiry. While paratext regards what surrounds the core text, with the exclusion of the text itself, metadiscourse examines the textual product as a whole and does not differentiate between core text and elements off the text. The two notions may be complementary, since while the paratext provides us with a specific space to investigate other than the core text, metadiscourse offers detailed taxonomies for analysing the linguistic ways in which the author/publisher enters the commercial product to guide the reader through the text. For the purpose of my analysis, I shall adopt the notion of paratext to indicate the initial and terminal sections outside the text as object of inquiry and I shall apply the metadiscourse taxonomy of Hyland (2005) to investigate the linguistic strategies adopted to present the text to the reader. 3. Data and methodology In my study of paratext in 17th-century broadsides and pamphlets I have made use of two electronic archives: the Early Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) and the Early English Books Online (EEBO). To build my dataset from the archives, I selected broadside ballads and pamphlets which exemplified the variety of paratextual packaging both at the beginning and at the end of the text. In cases where similar paratextual patterns were found, I included those broadsides and pamphlets which shared a higher degree of discourse and content interrelatedness. My dataset consists of 56 texts, including 28 news broadsides and 28 news pamphlets from 1610 to 1699. The two groups of data are further subdivided into two sub-groups of 14 texts each, corresponding to the first and second half of the century. I selected texts dealing with natural disasters, prodigies and murders, since the moral interpretation which generally accompanies these topics may shed some light on the relationship existing between metadiscourse and ideology construction in the paratext.

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In order to analyse the paratextual components of 17th-century broadsides and pamphlets, I rely on the revisited model of Genette’s typologies of paratext proposed by Birke and Christ (2013), who group and classify paratextual elements according to their function. These scholars distinguish between three functional typologies of paratext: 1. Navigational function, which facilitates and guides the reception and use of the product offering orientation, suggesting, organizing and structuring possible approaches to the product and recommending actions. 2. Commercial function, which includes advertising, praising, selling, attracting and directing the buyer’s attention; referring to and recommending other products, cultivating needs. 3. Interpretive function, which mediates empirical data, clarifying internal and external relations and properties of the work, explicitly revealing intentions, removing epistemic obstacles to the reader’s understanding. To the typology above, I shall add the ideological function which coalesces with Birke and Christ’s interpretive function in its task of guiding the reader towards a certain interpretation but differs from it in its more specific intent to change the reader’s attitude and beliefs to fit the author’s (Rockenberger 2015: 60). Following van Dijk (1998: 8), I consider ideology as manifestation of a social community endowed with a shared framework of social, religious and political beliefs. In this sense, the ideological function of paratext serves to “construct a community of readers desired for a particular work” (Brayman Hackel 2005: 86) by establishing public consensus around a set of values and beliefs which conform to the sociocultural and political positioning of the dominant institutions (i.e. the Church and the government). As Birke and Christ make clear, the paratextual categories tend to overlap and should be considered together in relationship to one another in order to make sense of the complex way in which they operate in discourse (2013: 78). In order to account for the metadiscourse strategies used in the paratextual components, I follow Hyland’s model (2005). In particular, I focus on two aspects of interactive metadiscourse, i.e. transitions and endophoric markers, and two aspects of interactional metadiscourse, i.e. attitude markers and engagement markers. Transitions are markers used to express semantic relations between clauses (and, with, together with, and lastly, also, for which), whilst endophoric markers are elements that refer to other parts of the text. In my analysis, I shall limit my examination of endophoric markers to genre nominal references in the title (Song, Ballad, Relation, Account, News, Warning, Lamentation) (see Brownlees 2015). Some metadiscourse markers – more precisely Lamentation and Warning in the headlines of broadside ballads – may be positioned mid-way between endophoric and attitudinal markers as they contain features of both. Indeed, as endophoric



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markers, they are used to describe and advertise the content of the broadside, and as attitudinal markers, they express the author’s evaluation of that particular content. In this sense, they perform both a commercial and interpretive/ideological function. Although in the course of the analysis they will be discussed as endophoric markers, their evaluative force will also be taken into account. Hyland’s interactional markers, on the other hand, are used to engage the reader in the argument by providing resources that permit the writer “to conduct more or less overt interaction with the audience, by appearing in the text to comment on and evaluate the content through the use of modality and evaluation and by assigning speech roles to himself and the reader” (Thompson 2001: 59). More precisely, attitude markers express the author’s opinion or affective attitudes to a proposition and are found on the title page (miraculously, damnable, strange, true, warning), whereas engagement markers are used to build a relationship with readers by bringing them into the text, anticipating their objections and guiding them to a particular interpretation (Gentle Reader, to the Incredulous). Following Sherman (2011), a distinction will be drawn between initial paratext, to refer to the title page, and terminal paratext, to indicate the closing conventions at the very end of the text.1 The analysis will be structured in relation to the following paratextual components: (1) headlines, (2) introductory summary sections which I refer to as proto-lead,2 (3) woodcuts, (4) tunes and imprints.3 The aim of my study is to identify similarities and differences in the framing strategies of the two genres and to shed some light on their diachronic development marked by both change and continuity. This will help us map corresponding changes in the socio-cultural (news) values of the time and account for their significance in the presentation of 17th-century news publications.

1.  Genette (1997) accounts for all the forms of paratext used to usher the reader into the text but devotes little or no attention to the conventions used to usher the reader out of that same text. Sherman (2011) coins the term ‘terminal paratext’ as distinct from ‘initial paratext’ to account for the closing devices used in Early Modern English printed books. 2.  The term ‘lead’ comes from modern journalism and refers to the introductory paragraph reporting on who, what and where and encompassing the news values of the story (Bell 1991: 176). I use the term proto-lead because 17th-century leads are still quite different from the modern ones in length and discourse construction (Cecconi 2009). 3.  One news pamphlet in my dataset contains a dedicatory letter and a preface to the reader (The Fatall Vesper 1623). These paratextual components have not been included in the present analysis, as they are optional elements which do not constitute fixed properties of the genre.

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4. Broadsides and pamphlets Already popular in the 16th century, broadside ballads were verse narratives printed on one single sheet of paper and sold for between half a penny and a penny. In the Stuart period under examination, they were primarily conceived of as songs printed to be sung and as such their final appearance was very much dependent upon their performative and commercial purpose. Their successful delivery and sale were entrusted to the relentless activity of pedlars and balladmongers who recited them in squares, country markets, fairs and on city streets. In order to arouse the curiosity of potential buyers and encourage the purchase, the ballad text was anticipated by a general description of its theme and content and by sensational words in the title which acted as baits for the masses (Würzbach 1990; Watt 1991; Walsham 1999; Fox 2000). As occasional publications, news broadside ballads co-existed with pamphlets which, from the late 16th century onwards, became the most common medium for conveying news. The pamphlet was a short, quarto book, typically consisting of between one sheet and a maximum of twelve sheets and it was sold for a few pennies from London to the provinces. Unlike broadsides, pamphlets were prose narratives written and printed to be read either individually or collectively with a resulting greater argumentative complexity. Both genres were denigrated by men of letters as being untrustworthy, deceitful and poorly printed lucrative publications and from the mid-17th century their authors were conceived of as greedy individuals ready to fabricate lies and sow social disruption in return for a lump sum of money (Zaret 2000; Raymond 2003; Claridge 2010; Brownlees 2011; Suhr 2011). Holding the wires of the broadside and pamphlet commercial enterprise were printers and publishers who were the real decision-makers in terms of the final appearance of the publication. It was the printer who drafted the title page and selected woodcuts and it was part of his initiatives to introduce italics, capitals, indentation and spacing for emphasis. The presence of woodcuts reveals to what extent visual communication continued to play a role in Protestant England and, conversely, “how post-Reformation religion continued to have a place in visual culture” (Watt 1991: 136). Contrary to the iconophobia of the Tudor period (Collinson 1998: 117; Fox 2000: 33), 17th-century printers accompanied their products with illustrations so as to guarantee the successful fruition of the content even on the part of the illiterate. The page number, the heading that appeared at the top of each page, the catchword and, on some pages, the signature were added later, after the typesetting of the page had been completed and contributed to the commercial success of the product (Raymond 2003: 77). A printing house could produce both broadsides and pamphlets and it was not uncommon for the same author to provide both a



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ballad and a pamphlet rendition of the same news event, hence the interrelatedness between the title pages of the two genres (Raymond 2003: 123; Cecconi 2009). Once in the market, broadsides and pamphlets circulated rapidly among all layers of society and could be approached by both literate and non-literate people alike. The marketing strategies took into careful consideration the audience’s preferences but were also subservient to the propaganda imperatives of the Church, which were traceable in the constant moralising interpretation of the events. As Walsham argues, it is difficult to establish whether sensational broadsides and pamphlets are titillation under the pretence of religious admonition or homilies camouflaged as wonder news (1999: 50). What is certain is that these commercial products of mass consumption provide telling evidence of the very complex interplay existing at the time between the forces of the news market and those of the Church. 5. Analysis of paratext in 17th-century broadside ballads and pamphlets

Figure 1.  Title pages of the news broadside The Unnaturall Wife (1628), by permission of the Pepys Library, Magdalene College, Cambridge and the news pamphlet Bloody News from Dover (1647), © The British Library Board, Thomason/ E. 375[20]

At a first glance, the title pages of the crime broadside and pamphlet strike us for their similarity, as we can see in Figure 1.4 They both present a major headline, a proto-lead and a woodcut, which constitute the essential parts of the news event 4.  In the course of the analysis, the descriptor “title page” will be applied to broadside ballads too in order to refer to the left half of the sheet reporting the title.

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presentation. Woodcuts occupy a central position and, despite different circumstantial details, share the conventional representation of a man and a woman in the apparel of the time, with the woman caught in the moment of committing the murder. At a closer look, the title pages reveal differences as well. The most evident one is the presence of the core text in the broadside ballad. In the pamphlet, the text appears on the next pages of the book, thus leaving space for a larger woodcut, under which the imprint is reported. In the broadside, information regarding printers and publishers appears in the terminal paratext on the lower half of the sheet, whereas prominence is given to the tune which is printed immediately after the proto-lead. A higher degree of diversification between the layout of broadsides and pamphlets emerges in the second half of the century, as we can see in Figure 2.

Figure 2.  Title pages of the news broadside Sad News from Salisbury (1684) by permission of University of Glasgow Library, Special Collection; the news pamphlet A true Account of the Dreadful Storm (1686), The Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, Ashm. G12 (206) and the newsbook Mercurius Publicus (20–27 December 1660), © The British Library Board, C.20.f.9.(216–217)

While the broadside maintains its traditional paratextual components, the pamphlet features a different content presentation. The headline and proto-lead are maintained, but the woodcut disappears. While the removal of the illustration is a common practice in pamphlets throughout the century, the printing of the core text on the title page, with the resulting shortening of the initial paratext, has no precedents in earlier decades. This news discourse layout resembles that found in newsbooks from the 1640s onwards (cf. Mercurius Publicus in Figure 2, third image) and suggests that printers, presumably involved in the production of both occasional and periodical pamphlets, might have opted for a homogenisation in the typography of the title pages.



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5.1 Headlines The typographical complexity and lexical density of paratexts in printed books (McConchie 2013) and broadside ballads (Cecconi 2010) increase in the 17th century. In most cases, the headlines and proto-leads of news broadsides and pamphlets, though graphically distinct, are syntactically linked through punctuation and connectors (or, containing, being, which, who, wherein), which make it hard to separate one from the other. For the purpose of the present analysis, the term headline is restricted to the initial verbless clause. The headlines of broadside ballads show some degree of variation across the century especially in the use of endophoric markers which reveal their changing self-perception as objects of consumption. In the first half of the century, broadsides feature endophoric markers focusing on the edifying purpose of the narrative. From the 1650s onwards, this moralising spin progressively withdraws (although it never disappears) as the author/publisher begins to highlight the informative value of the publication. Until the 1650s, the most frequent endophoric marker in my dataset is Lamentation (6), which highlights the suffering of the doer and interprets it as a manifestation of divine justice. The Providential interpretation of the word finds its attestation in the OED where Lamentation is associated with the Lamentations of Jeremiah – one of the books of the Old Testament dealing with the destruction of Jerusalem. The theme was commonly exploited in 17th-century Protestant cheap print for edifying purposes as documented in apocalyptic broadside ballads comparing sinful England to Jerusalem (e.g. Englands New Bell-Man 1658–1664, Christs tears over Jerusalem 1674–1679, News from Hereford, 1661) (Watt 1991; Cecconi 2010). The use of Lamentation as self-descriptor inscribes the news event within the Christian reality paradigm of sin, suffering and repentance so as to urge people to change their covetous life before God vents His wrath on them. Another similar endophoric marker is Warning (3), which is used to advertise the moralising purpose of the text, as a result of its association with prophecies in the Revelations and with the Protestant preaching that the Judgement Day is imminent. The word appears in the headlines of several Early Modern English ballads whose ideological function is to warn people to repent for their sins before it is too late (Watt 1991: 98). The marker establishes an interpersonal communication between author and reader, in which the former is represented as the person endowed with moral superiority and therefore entitled to warn the latter, cast in the subordinate role of the potential sinner. The frequency of Lamentation and Warning shows that the linguistic choices of authors, publishers and printers are still subservient to the Puritan imperatives of the Church and that the narrative is framed within a conventional as well as

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reassuring pattern of sin and repentance which perfectly fits in the Providential order of things.5 While Lamentation and Warning entail moralising connotations which appeal to the ideological function of the paratext and respond to the reader’s demand for moral guidance, the other two endophoric markers in my dataset, Song and Ballad, refer to the publication type and document the authors’ perception of the broadside genre still as a performative text to be sung rather than as a news text to be understood. Headlines in broadside ballads also feature a stock of attitudinal markers – the same as those used in 17th-century pamphlets – which highlight the sensationalism and negativity of the news event (sorrowful, lamentable, sad, great, strange, bloody) as a means to promise entertainment and titillation to the audience (e.g. Murther Unmasked, 1619 and The cryes of the dead, 1620) (Lake 1993: 262). The use of emotionally loaded adjectives fits the commercial purpose of the headline and their re-cycling remains a consistent feature of the two genres. In the second half of the century, broadside ballad data suggest a shift of focus from Providentialism towards factuality and authenticity. This does not mean that the reality paradigms of lamentations as manifestation of God’s punishment and warning as memento mori disappear. Nonetheless, authors and publishers begin to conceptualise broadside ballads not just as moral exempla but also as vehicles of (ostensibly) reliable information. Seven out of the 14 broadside titles in my dataset feature the endophoric markers New(e)‍s and Relation, which in the previous decades were completely absent in the headlines. This new trend in balladry may be partly ascribed to a change in the print market in the early 1640s, when the collapse of censorship favoured experimentation in news discourse and competition among news genres. At that time broadside ballads had to compete with a growing number of rival news publications and periodicals which centred around the values of factuality, reliability, proximity and freshness (Raymond 1999, 2003; Zaret 2000; Brownlees 2011; Pettegree 2014). This might have prompted ballad authors to foreground the news value of their product from the very first advertising line, by borrowing endophoric markers from occasional and periodical news pamphlets. The broadside headline Sad News from Salisbury (1684) (Figure 2) is just one of many similar news-oriented headings, where the focus is on the informative value of the content and on its accurate mode of delivery: Newes from Hereford (1661), A Sad and True Relation of a great Fire or two (1662), A True and Perfect 5.  Although data are too limited to allow for generalisation, evidence seems to suggest that the suitability of content to the Protestant teaching favours a discourse interrelatedness between stories on crime, natural disasters and prodigies and the appeal to Providentialism (Walsham 1999: 50; Raymond 2003: 108)



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Relation of a Horrible Murther (1678–1680). The increasing homogeneity in headlines editing makes it almost impossible to distinguish a broadside from a pamphlet headline after the mid-17th century, as the following pamphlet samples show: A true Account of the Dreadful Storm (1686), A Strange and True Relation of a Wonderful and Terrible Earthquake (1661), Bloody and Barbarous News from Bishopsgate-Street (1678), Bloody News from Shrewsbury (1673). In both genres, the endophoric markers inscribe the publication within the category of news texttype whereas the premodifying attitudinal markers (sad, bloody, strange) serve an advertising function. Throughout the century, pamphlets rely on the same stock of attitudinal markers as broadside ballads, whereas they differ from the early broadsides for a recurrent usage of superlative constructions and for the choice of endophoric markers with a focus on factuality and informativity. From the first half of the century, pamphlets with topic-oriented headlines featuring attitudinal markers in superlative constructions (e.g. The most Strange and Wonderfull apperation, 1645; A most execrable and barbarous Murther, 1642) coexist with headlines containing the endophoric markers Relation (10), News (6) and Account (5) which focus on the concept of ‘news’ and on the mode of news presentation (Brownlees 2015: 10). The self-descriptors are commonly premodified by attitudinal markers which highlight the unprecedented character of the event (strange), its macabre nature (bloody) and, most importantly for the commercial objectives of the author/publisher, its authenticity (true, exact).6 Figure 1 exemplifies some of the differences between the headline of a broadside and that of a pamphlet announcing a murder story in the first half of the century. The broadside uses the topic-oriented heading The Unnaturall Wife to refer to the domestic murder committed by a woman against her husband. The evaluative adjective unnaturall is ideologically biased and foregrounds the moral criticism of the author, who condemns the woman for acting against ‘nature’, i.e. against the Christian code of behaviour whereby a woman should love her husband as God loves the Church (cf. Ephesians 5:22–33 in the title page of the pamphlet Murther, Murther, 1641). The pamphlet, on the other hand, uses the news-related headline Bloody Newes from Dover to present the domestic murder. The pattern new(e)‍s + from is very common in 17th-century news discourse as it enhances the accuracy of the news as well as its potential proximity to the consumer, which is a very effective 6.  In my dataset there is not one single instance of the word pamphlet to refer to the publication type. A similar finding was made by Brownlees, who argued that, given the very negative reputation of the pamphlet, “publishers and editors themselves almost entirely avoided giving such name to what they printed and sold” (2015: 16).

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reader-engaging strategy. The pamphlet headline is deprived of the broadside moralising spin, as the publisher chooses to advertise the commodity by foregrounding the informative value of the content over its religious interpretation. 5.2 Proto-lead The proto-lead of broadsides and pamphlets can be defined as “metatextual advance information” which is meant to inform and present the content of the publication, state and assert the truth of what is being reported, evaluate and exaggerate the significance of the event (Würzbach 1990: 80). All these illocutionary acts turn it into an essential and distinctive component of cheap print where the interpretive, commercial and navigational functions perfectly conflate. In Figure 1, the proto-lead of the broadside features a common pattern for the structuring of the information. 1. The lamentable Murther of one good man Davis Locke – Smith in Tutle Street, who was stabbed to death by his Wife, on the 29 of June, 1628. For which fact, She was arraigned, Condemned, and Adjudged to be burnt to Death in Smithfield, the 12. July 1628.  (The Unnaturall Wife, 1628) The proto-lead follows a participant-deed-punishment structure which reflects the chronological order of medieval storytelling and at the same time gives prominence to the punishment by placing it in end focus position (Cecconi 2015: 169). While the deed is verbalised in a subordinate relative clause, the punishment occurs in an independent, paratactic construction introduced by the cause-effect marker for which fact. The syntactic construction reveals the author’s willingness to emphasise the punishment over the deed for ideological reasons. Indeed, the punishment restores social order and reveals the power of God’s Providence through the justice of the judicial system. In this sense, the proto-lead serves both an interpretive and ideological function, as it acknowledges the authority and power of the State as a manifestation of divine justice and urge people to ward off evil so as to obtain God’s mercy and save their life. The ordering of the information also performs a navigational function as it anticipates the most salient moments of the narrative, thus facilitating the audience’s orientation in the ballad. Precise details of the time and place of the murder and execution enhance the factuality and authenticity of the event in order to resist the accusation of manufacturing false news. The proto-leads of pamphlets do not significantly differ from those in broadsides, as we can see in Figure 1.



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2. The great and bloudy Murder, committed by Mary Champion (an Anabaptist) who cut off her Childs head, being 7 weekes old, and held it to the husband to baptize. Also another great murder committed in the North, by a Scottish Commander, for which Fact he was executed.   (Bloody News from Dover, 1647) After the announcement of the theme and its conventional macabre evaluation as great and bloody, the details of the deed are encoded in a subordinate relative clause, as is the case in the broadside. The punishment is not reported, as the woman is still waiting for her trial. It is interesting to note that both in the broadside and in the pamphlet the image of the world turned upside-down is gendered. Indeed, in many pamphlets and broadsides women were portrayed as leading men into sin in line with a certain socio-cultural tendency to project onto women the negative, sinful and weak aspects of human nature (Lake 1993: 265). The pamphlet also reports another piece of crime news – signalled by the transition marker also – for which the punishment is verbalised in end-focus position as happens in the broadside. The two crime stories announced in the proto-lead have a strong religious and political significance in the context of the Civil War and of the strong Puritan campaign against sectaries and dissenters. The information about the religious creed of the woman as well as that about the Scottish nationality of the Commander are prioritised over other factual details (e.g. time and place of the event), as the religious and political orientation of the murderer is meant to bias the reader’s interpretation of the crime and its ideological meaning. The practice of recounting more than one single news event, on the other hand, is a typical feature of the pamphlet genre. It became common especially after the 1640s, possibly in connection with the appearance of periodical publications called “newsbooks” which reported on the major socio-political events of the week (Raymond 2003: 214).7 To be competitive in the market of cheap print, publishers of occasional pamphlets might have felt the need to adjust the format of their publication to meet the buyer’s need to receive as much information as possible in one single commodity and at a low price. In order to advertise the increasingly comprehensive character of their publication, publishers transformed the anticipated summary of the news event into a sort of modern-day index of the content by means of the reiteration of the transition markers also, as also, likewise. This was at the expense of the woodcut, which 7.  On discussing the cultural revolution which affected the printed market in the 1640s and 1650s, Raymond notices how the socio-political instability of the time facilitated the creation of cross-fertilisation among different news genres. In particular “the heterogeneity of the pamphlet format enabled pamphleteers to compress news, history and opinion into a few sheets and to bring into focus diverse heterogeneous materials and voices” (Raymond 2003: 214).

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was removed from the title page. In the pamphlet The most Strange and Wonderfull apperation dated 1645 (Figure 3), the proto-lead is typographically divided into three major sections corresponding to three news events announced: the first one introduced by the headline and the second and the third one signalled by the transition marker as also, which documents a change in the direction of a more collective and heterogeneous news genre. The pamphlet gathers together news of different kinds, from sensational news (the blood in a pool and a monstrous birth) to political Civil War intelligence (the King as hostage of the Parliament) as evidence of a period of chaos and disruption. Although still in a rudimental way, the mid-17th-century occasional pamphlet starts imitating the all-inclusive character of the newly-born weekly publications in order to catch up with the tastes of an increasingly demanding news readership. This discourse practice continues until the end of the century.

Figure 3.  The title page of the news pamphlet The most Strange and Wonderfull apperation (1645) featuring a list of content, © The British Library Board, Thomason/E.303 [22]



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From the 1650s onwards, proto-leads (as well as headlines) register a shift of emphasis from the story as moral exemplum to the story as piece of news. Authors and publishers advertise the content of both broadsides and pamphlets by prioritising the endophoric markers Relation (10), Account (7), Narrative (3) and News (3). As in headlines, these nodes are premodified by a conventional stock of evaluative adjectives representing the news values of credibility (true, exact, perfect), sensationalism (strange, wonderful) and negativity (sad, doleful, lamentable), which reveals to what extent modern-day news values were already at work in early modern news discourse (Bös 2015: 30). The reiterative use of these attitudinal markers, however, is such that they lose part of their semantic meaning and advertising force and become to some extent “delexicalised” (Brownlees 2011: 5). In this regard, it is hard to assess how the systematic claims to authenticity and sensationalism were interpreted by contemporaries; whether they were taken at their face value, or whether they were simply accepted as part of a commercial agreement between people’s demands and publishers’ offer. Whilst it is documented that members of the literary élite scorned, criticised and ridiculed pamphlets and broadsides for their scurrility and unreliability (Würzbach 1990: 47–48; Raymond 2003: 8–10), the common reader’s reception is more difficult to retrieve and assess. According to Walsham (1999: 39–40) the reiterated claims to authenticity and accuracy called those very qualities into question and are more likely to be perceived as a disclaimer than a warranty. By and large, the proto-lead of broadsides and pamphlets in the second half of the century is characterised by fact-centred circumstantial information (i.e. time and place of the event, proper names of people involved), description of lurid and factual details of the story, the reality paradigm of the “wonderful but true” event, and the pattern of murder, examination and confession. The Providential slant and fictionalisation which were typical of proto-leads in the previous decades continue to be present, although the realistic reportage prevails as the major commercial value of the news publication. Consider the fact-centred proto-lead taken from the broadside Sad News from Salisbury (1666), where the author anticipates the topdown structuring principle of modern journalism by foregrounding the outcome of the natural disaster over its causes (Ungerer 2002; Jucker 2005): Being an account of a most sad and Dreadful Frost and Snow, which happened the 23rd. Of December 1684, in and about most Parts of the West of England, which Froze to Death many poor passengers who travelled the Rode, beside many Beasts, Incredible to believe, but that some who were in the same Storm are alive to justifie the truth thereof, the like scarce ever been known in this Kingdom.  (Sad News from Salisbury, 1684)

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The writer’s focus on disaster shows that negativity and sensationalism were the main bearers of newsworthiness at the time, but they needed to be complemented with truthfulness in order to bring their advertising force to completion. Here is where the persuasive force of the author’s voice comes into play. The attitudinal marker Incredible to believe pertains to the interactional function of the proto-lead and is used to anticipate the reader’s spontaneous reaction to the story. The author adopts a common argumentative strategy which consists in anticipating the reader’s possible objections to his claims and in rebutting it by means of evidentials, in the form of survivors’ testimonies. A similar dialogic argumentation is re-iterated in the terminal paratext of the same broadside (see Section 5.4.). In some broadsides the Providential framework is maintained through familiar Protestant reminders (warning, deplorable exempla, the good Providence of God), which, however, lose their privileged position to be postponed to the end of the news summary. This suggests that, despite a more secular approach to news presentation, the religious grasp continues to be strong. Consider the following proto-lead taken from the broadside A True Relation (1651–1686, my emphasis): The great Flood that happened in many parts of England in December and January last, to the undoing of Many, the drownding of Cattel and driving down of Bridges and houses the drownding of people and washing up of corn by the roots which was the means of Rising the prices of corn in and about the City of London; with a warning for all people to amend their lives lest a worse thing befalls us.

Regarding pamphlets, the second half of the century sees the commercial success of the trial pamphlet sub-type which meets people’s demands for stories of crime and justice. Publishers fill proto-leads with details of the deed, the criminal scene and the trial, so as to frame their product as something closer to a source of public information than to mere entertainment. The specialised forensic lexicon which appears in some trial proto-leads (found guilty of Petty Treason, Sessions at the Old Bailey, Robbery and Burglary) is indicative of a new trend in pamphlet literature which aims to compete with the emergence of other forms of crime publishing, from the weeklies to the more specialised Old Bailey Trial Proceedings (1674–1913) and the Ordinary’s Accounts (1676–1772) at the end of the century. As is the case with broadsides, the increasing factuality of pamphlets does not necessarily compromise the Protestant significance of the event. Indeed, in many cases the religious ideology is still traceable in the pattern of punishment and repentance. The confession of the criminal made public in his/her speech upon the scaffold inscribes the account within a conventional Christian framework which is reassuring to the honest believer and which is useful to the Church in order

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to legitimise its power through re-iterated public testimonies of God’s existence.8 Consider the following proto-lead where the criminal’s confession and repentance are to be interpreted as signs of Divine Providence: Found Guilty of Petty Treason and Condemned at the Sessions at the Old Bayly the 10th. Of this Instant Iuly. To be Burned to Death. For the Barbarous and Bloody Murther of William Lillyman her late Husband. With her Confession and Penitent Behaviour, since such her Condemnation.  (A Complete Narrative of the Tryal of Elizabeth Lillyman, 1675)

The ideologically-laden and fictionalised character of the pamphlet’s proto-lead is striking when we compare it with the same account in the Old Bailey Trial Proceeding, where it is clearly stated that “this bloody woman [Elizabeth Lillyman] had the confidence to deny the Fact, and to pretend herself to be clearly innocent of it” (Old Bailey Proceedings, 7th July 1675). 5.3 Woodcuts Woodcuts are a conventional feature of broadside ballads and are also frequently found in pamphlets. In my dataset 11 pamphlets out of 14 present a woodcut in the period from 1610 to 1650, indicating their pervasive presence in cheap print. In the next decades, pamphlets remove illustrations from their title page to gain more space for their verbal presentation of the content and – from the 1680s – to report the core text under the proto-lead. Broadside ballads, on the other hand, continue to use woodcuts as a prototypical feature of the genre. Crime broadside and pamphlets tend to reproduce direct illustrations, where the image depicts a particular textual reference, as we can see in Figure 1. In the murder broadside there are clear contextual references to the specific details of the murder story: the woman holds the head of her baby on the right hand to show it to her husband, while she throws the body away with her left hand. To increase the text-dependent value of the illustration, the printer added the linguistic cues Presbyterian (for the husband) and Anabaptist (for the wife) which contributed to the ideological function of the text.

8.  Both in crime broadsides and pamphlets, the criminal’s repentance in the speech upon the scaffold is not always consistent with the corresponding account in the Old Bailey Trial Proceedings. One case in point is the broadside The Murtherer’s Lamentation, Being an Account of John Jewster and William Butler (1694). In the broadside the prisoner confesses the crime and repents for his offence, whereas in the corresponding Old Bailey trial account he denies the accusation and defies the authority of the Judges (Cecconi 2015: 184).

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Indeed, by appealing to the reader’s prior knowledge of Anabaptists as a socially disruptive radical sect, the author generated the ideological implicature that the woman’s evil originated from her religious creed and – more extensively – that sects were responsible for fomenting deviant and criminal behaviour in society by defying its Protestant values and beliefs (Walsham 2006; Lake 1993). In the pamphlet woodcut, the representation of the murder is more conventional and the image could be re-used for similar murder stories, where the woman stabbed her husband to death (cf. Anne Wallens Lamentation, 1616). The pamphlet woodcut also features the conventional representation of the devil right behind the woman. This is typical of crime stories where the devil is portrayed as the murderer’s instigator (Lake 1993: 268). A similar woodblock of the devil is found in the The devils reign upon Earth (1655), and reveals the common habit of re-using and re-cycling images from text to text (Figure 4). Fumerton (2010: 19) describes the practice of buying up and exchanging woodcuts as being part of an “aesthetic of vagrancy” which constitutes the very essence of modern print news culture. A similar migration of woodcuts characterises two other crime broadsides which share exactly the same image of the woman burnt alive: A Warning for all Desperate Women (1628) and Anne Wallens Lamentation (1616) on the second page (Figure 4).9

Figure 4.  Examples of woodcuts re-adaptation in the broadsides Anne Wallens Lamentation (1616, 2nd page), by permission of the Pepys Library, Magdalene College, Cambridge, in A warning for all desperate Women (1628, title page), by permission of the Pepys Library, Magdalene College, Cambridge, and in the news pamphlet The Devils reign upon Earth (1655, title page), © The British Library Board, Thomason/E.1646 [4]

As is the case with headlines and proto-leads, woodcuts had a commercial, interpretive and ideological function. They addressed a wider community of potential 9.  Broadside ballads also feature woodcuts on the right half of the sheet to introduce the content of the second part of the ballad, as is the case in Anne Wallens Lamentation, 1616.



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buyers and provided consumers with interpretive and ideological cues, in favour of the dominant religious and socio-political forces (Suhr 2011: 126). Indeed, in many cases, it is the woodcut – rather than the proto-lead – which encodes the Protestant significance of the event and ensures its delivery to the audience. For example, the broadside woodcut in Figure 2 represents the city of London destroyed by a storm. The presence of the skeleton, the coffin, the use of swords and axes are all conventional symbols of death, whereas the crosses on the roofs of the churches represent the residues of Christianity over which the angel of Death is now presiding. Readers are guided to interpret the event and its dreadful consequences as a manifestation of God’s wrath on society for its covetousness. Contemporaries must have been familiar with this image, given its re-use in other similar broadsides on natural disasters (e.g. London Mourning in Ashes, 1666).10 5.4 Tunes and imprints The tune is a distinctive component of the broadside ballad genre as it refers to its performative character. It primarily accomplishes a navigational function in that it offers instructions as to how to sing the ballad song. The tune appears immediately after the proto-lead in the conventional verbless clause: to the tune of. In some cases, the next page repeats the reference to the tune in the format: to the same tune. It is interesting to note that some tunes were re-issued in ballads of similar content, presumably because – beside being relevant to the story – they were familiar to the audience and might have prompted the purchase. In this regard, tunes – just like woodcuts – were part of that patchwork printing practice which was meant to facilitate the reception of the product by means of popular repetitive patterns (Fumerton 2010: 19). The choice of a tune or a reused woodcut were just some of the potential mental groupings consumers might make as a result of the dismembering and re-composing work of printers. In the murder broadsides A warning for wives (1629), The Unnatural Wife and Murder upon Murder (1635) printers re-issued the tune Bragandary, whereas the popular Fortune my Foe appeared as a tune in four crime broadsides focusing on the murderer’s repentance: The Complaint and Lamentation of Mistresse Arden (1610–1638), Save a Thief from the Gallows (1635), Anne Wallens Lamentation (1616), The Lamentation of Edward Brutton (1633). Another difference between the title page of the two news genres is the imprint, which, in the pamphlet, occurs at the bottom of the title page, whereas in 10.  Other woodcuts endowed with strong Providential significance are found in the broadsides A true Relation (1651–1686); Newes from Hereford (1661); Misery to be Lamented (1662), The Londoners Lamentation (1666).

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the broadside it appears at the very end of the second page, as part of the terminal paratext. In Figure 1, the pamphlet imprint reports the date of the publication highlighting the ‘freshness’ of the relation.11 The imprint generally reports information about the place of printing, i.e. London, the printer (i.e. printed by) and the publisher or bookseller (printed for). It is worth pointing out that at the time, the publisher could also be a bookseller and occasionally even a printer, as any individual involved in the cheap print trade could occupy a number of difficult-to-distinguish roles at different stages of production (McAbee and McMurhpy 2007). In some cases, pamphlet as well as ballad imprints could point to specific bookshops and exact locations where the commodity might be purchased, thus performing a clear commercial function: London, Printed for E. Husbands and I. Franck and are to be sold at their shops, in the middle Temple, and next door to the Kings Head in Fleet-Street. Sept. 17. 1641 (An Exact and True Relation 1642). Several pamphlets from the 1680s onwards provide the imprint in the terminal paratext, as is the case in weeklies. The postponement of the imprint appears to be consequential to the new appearance of the title page, which presents the core text immediately after the lead, and to the smaller length of the pamphlet, often printed on just one sheet (e.g. An Account of a most Horrid and Barbarous Murther, 1684; Barbarous and Bloody News, 1690). In broadside ballads the imprint appears in the terminal paratext, after the conventional Latin formula FINIS, which marks the end in pamphlets too. This frame marker was taken from the scribal tradition and carried into print culture in the 16th and 17th centuries. As Sherman (2011: 73) argues, FINIS announces and effects the end of the text standing outside it and speaking in what can be called the voice of the pamphlet or broadside. Besides the word FINIS, printers could use additional visual devices to mark the end of the text, especially in pamphlets, where more space was available for additional ornaments or even small sized illustrations. In many cases, for example, they used an ornamental tail piece or a horizontal border, as Figure 5 shows. The scrupulous work of printers in marking the end of their products is indicative of the importance ascribed to terminal paratext in Early Modern English cheap print. As Ong claims: “Print encourages a sense of closure, a sense that what is found in the text has been finalised, has reached a state of completion. Print culture tends to feel a work as ‘closed’, set off from other works, a unit in itself ” (Ong 1982: 129). 11.  Next to the imprint there is a note written by the collector George Thomason. It indicates the year 1646 and appears as a correction. Marginalia were not infrequent in Thomason’s tracts and can also be found in the pamphlet in Figure 3, where the year 1645 refers to the time when the product came into his possession. Marginalia are indicative of the interactive nature of the consumer’s experience of the printed text (Haig 2016: 12).



Chapter 6.  Paratext and ideology in 17th-century news genres 157

Figure 5.  The terminal paratext of the news pamphlet The most Strange and Wonderfull apperation (1645), © The British Library Board, Thomason/E. 303 [22]

Occasionally, the author’s name may appear next to the word FINIS or below, as is the case with the famous balladeer Martin Parker (Figure 4). Generally speaking, however, authors remain anonymous in 17th-century broadsides and pamphlets. At that time, in fact, the publication was not seen as an individual creation, but rather as a piece of public property, and as the result of a commercial agreement between agents of news and audience (Watt 1991: 81). Finally, it was not uncommon for broadsides to use the terminal paratext to report the names of reliable witnesses prepared to testify to the authenticity of the strange but true event. Authors made use of the frame marker “insert” to refer to their reporting of evidentials. This denotes their awareness of a closing space in the publication where they could insert what could not fit in other parts of the text but which was still worth being included for the interpretation of the

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narrative. Consider the following example taken from the broadside Sad News from Salisbury (1684): For the better satisfaction of the Incredulous, I here insert the Names of several who have sufficiently tested the bitterness of this outrageous Storm and Frost, and are yet alive to testifie the Verity thereof. Mr Matthew the Carrier of Shaftsbury, who had several of his Cattle dyed, and he himself lost the use of both his hand: Mr. Morris and Mr. Clark. Carriers to Exeter and Shaftsbury, very much endangered of their lives: the Carrier of Bath and Wells, had one passenger froze to death besides his own Son, a man and his wife going with the Taunton Carrier, were both froze to death, and found dead foot to foot, with about 30 more near Evill in Somersetshire; and 6 or 7 near Chard, and many more, besides some store of Horses and Oxen, too many to be here inserted. FINIS. (Sad News from Salisbury, 1684)

The use of the engagement marker the Incredulous encodes the author’s awareness of the consumer’s presence in discourse and of his/her possible objections to his claims. Incredulous readers are supplied with detailed and statistically plausible interpretive cues in order to persuade them of the authenticity of the news. The occurrence of the frame marker FINIS after the insertion prompts reflections as to whether to consider the additional evidence as part of the text – insofar as it occurs before FINIS – or as falling outside the ballad text on account of its prose style and different layout. In other cases, the printer uses a horizontal line to separate the ballad from the list of the eye-witness names (see Newes from Herford 1661). The lack of uniformity is characteristic of 17th-century cheap print and stems from the printers’ still rather diversified conceptualisation of the terminal paratext and its functions. 6. Conclusion The analysis of paratext in 17th-century news broadsides and pamphlets has revealed a progressive foregrounding of the informative value of the news over its religious significance. While the title pages of early broadsides foregrounded the moralising purpose of the story, those in the last decades increasingly featured claims to factuality, as a result of people’s growing interest in high-quality news reports which could enhance their social standing in the eyes of their recipients. From the mid-17th century onwards, ballad authors and publishers began to frame their news products as relation, account, news in order to keep up with consumers’ demands for authenticity.



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In pamphlets of the second half of the century, the woodcut disappeared together with its Providential message and left space for the core text on the title page. This new format shrank the verbose paratexts of the previous decades and replaced them with more fact-centred proto-leads. In the summaries, the details of the murder merged with the specialised lexicon of trial discourse, although a certain degree of fictionalisation and indoctrination persisted in the re-iteration of the Christian pattern of confession and repentance. In the context of the development of newsbooks, which collected several pieces of news in one single issue, pamphlets from the mid-17th century offered more than one story to the reader and the news-collecting character of the commodity became instrumental to the sale. The occasional news pamphlet proved to be a flexible and versatile genre, very receptive to new trends in news discourse and very good at combining traditional Providentialism and evaluation with pretence of objectivity. News broadside ballads were more conservative in their layout. The woodcut never disappeared and from the second half of the century it became the major repository of the Protestant message. As the heading and proto-lead progressively abandoned their moralising function in favour of claims to factuality and authenticity, the woodcut continued to represent the news event as a moral exemplum. Even their terminal paratext did not change consistently across the century and – when necessary – it was exploited as an additional, interactional space to bias the reader’s perception of the news story as authentic and reliable. By and large, the integrated framework of paratext and metadiscourse has proved useful to historical (news) discourse analysis as it allows the researcher to pinpoint sections of discourse outside the core text as object of enquiry and to examine metadiscourse strategies used to frame and present the text to the reader.12 The analysis of endophoric markers has revealed an evolving self-perception of the text-types utilised in the two genres with a progressively shared trend towards the foregrounding of the informative reportage. The interactional category in the form of attitude markers has proved to be predominant in the heading and proto-leads of both genres, as it was mostly by means of evaluation that authors encoded their presence in discourse and construed the expected ideological response in the reader. Engagement markers, on the other hand, were rarely found

12.  The notion of ‘core text’, which can be useful to distinguish the text from its paratextual packaging in the print culture, becomes more problematic when dealing with compilatory documents, as pointed out in Bös and Peikola, Chapter 1, and Tyrkkö and Räikkönen, Chapter 2, this volume.

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in the title pages and terminal paratext, the reader’s presence being mostly implied by the author’s encoding in discourse.13 Finally, the classification of paratext in terms of its functions has helped unravel the link existing between publishers’ aims, readers’ demands and genre conventions throughout the century. In particular, the ideological function has enabled us to map a progressive change in the socio-cultural (news) values of the time, from the emphasis on the religious interpretation of the story and its edifying role in people’s life towards a more secular approach to the news as a highly-valued commodity to be exchanged within the community, with interesting instances of clever compromise.

Primary sources Early English Broadside Ballad Archive. University of California at Santa Barbara. http://‍ebba. english.ucsb.edu Early English Books Online. http://‍eebo.chadwyck.com Oxford English Dictionary. https://‍www.oed.com/ Old Bailey Online. www.oldbaileyonline.org

Secondary sources Bell, Alan. 1991. The Language of News Media. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Birke, Dorothee, and Birte Christ. 2013. “Paratext and Digital Narrative: Mapping the Field.” Narrative 21 (1): 65–87.  https://‍doi.org/10.1353/nar.2013.0003 Bös, Birte. 2015. “Conceptualisations, Sources and Agents of News. Key Terms as Signposts of Changing Journalistic Practices.” In Changing Genre Conventions in Historical English News Discourse, ed. by Birte Bös, and Lucia Kornex, 23–51. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/ahs.5.02bos Brayman Hackel, Heidi. 2005. Reading Material in Early Modern England: Print, Gender and Literacy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brownlees, Nicholas. 2011. The Language of Periodical News in Seventeenth-Century England. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholar Publishing. Brownlees, Nicholas. 2015. “‘We have in some former bookes told you’: The Significance of Metatext in 17th-Century English News.” In Changing Genre Conventions in Historical English News Discourse, ed. by Birte Bös, and Lucia Kornexl, 3–22. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.  https://‍doi.org/10.1075/ahs.5.01bro

13.  Engagement markers appear in prefaces and dedicatory letters which can be found in some pamphlets but which have not been included in the present analysis.



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Cecconi, Elisabetta. 2009. “Comparing Seventeenth-Century News Broadsides and Occasional News Pamphlets. Interrelatedness in News Reporting.” In Early Modern English News Discourse, ed. by Andreas H. Jucker, 137–158. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.187.11cec Cecconi, Elisabetta. 2010. “‘Old England of thy sins in time repent’: Religious Lexis and Discourse in XVII Century Broadside Ballads. [Linguistics and Philology].” Rhesis, International Journal of Linguistics, Philology and Literature 1 (1): 5–22. Cecconi, Elisabetta. 2015. “Comparing Discourse Construction in 17th-Century News Genres. A Case Study of Murder Reports.” In Changing Genre Conventions in Historical English News Discourse, ed. by Birte Bös, and Lucia Kornexl, 163–190. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/ahs.5.07cec Claridge, Claudia. 2010. “News Discourse.” In Historical Pragmatics, ed. by Andreas H. Jucker, and Irma Taavitsainen, 588–620. Berlin/New York: De Gruyter. Collinson, Patrick. 1998. The Birthpangs of Protestant England. New York: St Martin’s. Fox, Adam. 2000. Oral and Literate Culture in England 1500–1700. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fumerton, Patricia. 2010. “Remembering by Dismembering: Databases, Archiving and the Recollection of Seventeenth-Century Broadside Ballads.” In Ballads and Broadsides in Britain 1500–1800, ed. by Patricia Fumerton, and Anita Guerrini, 13–34. Farnham: Ashgate. Genette, Gérard. 1997. Paratexts. Thresholds of Interpretation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511549373 Haig, Edward. 2016. “Ideology and Propaganda in English Civil War News: A Study in Historical Media Discourse based on Thomason Tracts.” Studies in Media and Society 8: 17–36. Hyland, Ken. 2005. Metadiscourse. London: Continuum. Jucker, Andreas H. 2005. “Mass Media Communication from the Seventeenth to the TwentyFirst Century.” In Opening Windows on Texts and Discourses of the Past, ed. by Janne Skaffari, Matti Peikola, Ruth Carroll, Risto Hiltunen, and Brita Wårvik, 7–21. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.  https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.134.04juc Lake, Peter. 1993. “Deeds against Nature: Cheap Print, Protestantism and Murder in Early Seventeenth-Century England.” In Culture and Politics in Early Stuart England, ed. by Kevin Sharpe, and Peter Lake, 257–284. Stanford: Stanford University Press. McAbee, Kris, and Jessica C. Murhpy. 2007. “Ballad Creation and Circulation: Congers and Mongers.” In English Broadside Ballad Archive. Resources. McConchie, Roderick W. 2013. “Some Reflections on Early Modern Printed Title-Pages”. In Principles and Practices for the Digital Editing and Annotation of Diachronic Data [Studies in Variation, Contacts and Change in English], 14, ed. by Anneli Meurman-Solin, and Jukka Tyrkkö. http://‍www.helsinki.fi/varieng/series/volumes/14/mcconchie/ Ong, Walter J. 1982. Orality and Literacy. The Technologizing of the Word. London/New York: Routledge.  https://‍doi.org/10.4324/9780203328064 Pettegree, Andrew. 2014. The Invention of News. How the World Came to Know About Itself. London: Yale University Press. Raymond, Joad. 1999. “The Newspaper, Public Opinion and the Public Sphere in the Seventeenth Century.” In News, Newspapers and Society in Early Modern Britain, ed, by Joad Raymond, 109–114. London: Frank Class. Raymond, Joad. 2003. Pamphlets and Pamphleteering in Early Modern Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

162 Elisabetta Cecconi Rockenberger, Annika. 2015. “Video Game Framings.” In Examining Paratextual Theory and its Applications in Digital Culture, ed. by Nadine Desrochers, and Daniel Apollon, 252–286. Hershey: IGI Global. Sherman, William H. 2011. “The Beginning of ‘The End’: Terminal Paratext and the Birth of Print Culture.” In Renaissance Paratexts, ed. by Helen Smith, and Louise Wilson, 65–88. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511842429.005 Suhr, Carla. 2011. Publishing for the Masses. Early Modern English Witchcraft Pamphlets. Helsinki: Société Néophilologique. Thompson, Geoff. 2001. 1998. “Interaction in Academic Writing: Learning to Argue With the Reader.” Applied Linguistics, 22 (1): 58–78.  https://‍doi.org/10.1093/applin/22.1.58 Ungerer, Friedrich. 2002. “When News Stories Are Not Longer Just Stories: The Emergence of the Top-Down Structure in News Reports in English Newspapers.” In Text Types and Corpora. Studies in Honour of Udi Fries, ed. by Andreas Fisher, Gunnel Tottie, and Hans Martin Lehmann, 91–104. Tübingen: Gunter Narr. van Dijk, Teun A. 1998. Ideology. An Interdisciplinary Approach. London: Sage. Walsham, Alexandra. 1999. Providence in Early Modern England. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Walsham, Alexandra. 2006. Charitable Hatred. Tolerance and Intolerance in England, 1500–1700. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Watt, Tessa. 1991. Cheap Print and Popular Piety. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Würzbach, Natasha. 1990. The Rise of the English Street Ballad. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Zaret, David. 2000. Origins of Democratic Culture: Printing, Petitions and the Public Sphere in Early-Modern England. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Chapter 7

“All which I offer with my own experience” An approach to persuasive advertising strategies in the prefatory matter of 17th-century English midwifery treatises M. Victoria Domínguez-Rodríguez and Alicia Rodríguez-Álvarez University of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria (Instituto Universitario de Análisis y Aplicaciones Textuales IATEXT)

In 17th-century England, a growing popular interest in medical literature brought with it a significant editorial boom in the field. This meant that the number of midwifery treatises published gradually increased, resulting in strong competition for a place in the sales market. Authors, editors and other agents deployed different advertising strategies in the front matter of the books, which served as publicity blurbs specifically designed to convince the potential reader to buy the work. Such strategies were supported by a series of arguments and assertions both to attract the readers’ attention and to help increase sales of the product. In this paper we identify and analyse the persuasive marketing strategies used to construct the prefatory discourse in a selection of 17th-century English midwifery treatises. Taking into account some studies on current advertising strategies, Genette’s (1997) theory on paratext and Aristotle’s classical rhetorical model, we have classified marketing strategies into those which are (1) focused on who produces the text, that is, how the authors establish authority and use their professional experience and moral integrity to convince the potential user to buy their book over another (ethos); (2) intended to highlight the relevant role of midwives in taking care of women and newborns and securing their welfare (pathos); and (3) related to the quality and utility of the work (logos). Keywords: 17th-century English midwifery treatises, paratext, front matter, prefaces, Aristotelian rhetorical theory, persuasive strategies, advertising, marketing

https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.07dom © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

164 M. Victoria Domínguez-Rodríguez and Alicia Rodríguez-Álvarez

1. Introduction In 17th-century England midwifery treatises enjoyed a great popularity (Kassell 2013: 66; Powell 2018: 43), to the extent that authors, printers and editors alike joined efforts to gain the favour of the public in a competitive market by means of different persuasive strategies. At that time, the art of midwifery was almost exclusively practiced by uneducated lay women that had acquired obstetric skills through unofficial training or apprenticeships supervised by an experienced senior midwife (Barrett-Litoff 1982; Kontoyannis and Katsetos 2011). Traditionally, conservative male physicians and medical practitioners had refused to acknowledge any connection between medicine – as a science focused on health and the human body, and distinct from surgery – and midwifery – a profession or specialty on women’s diseases, which they considered ancillary (Loudon 2008). However, medical men eventually changed their view and, by the end of the 17th century, male-midwives and practitioners started to displace midwives in the field (Wilson 1995; Cahill 2001; Fissell 2008). This caused a growing tension between male and female practitioners: although surgeon-apothecaries were increasingly required by women in labour at home (Loudon 2008), traditional midwives warned against inexperienced male practitioners assuming false authority (Allotey 2011). Most midwifery treatises published in 17th-century England were written – or, more often, translated from continental works or composed of fragments from other books – by male authors (Hobby 1999), even before male practitioners entered into the field. Yet it must be acknowledged that some midwife-authors, like Jane Sharp and Elizabeth Cellier, were also reputed and made themselves a name in the market during their lifetimes. In fact, Sharp and Cellier gained recognition among publishers since they “were unusually literate and generally well educated […] Like male participants in the public sphere, midwives read texts, sometimes kept notes, and shared their knowledge through apprenticeships and mutual discussions” (Cody 1999: 483). Thus, having these books printed was indeed worthwhile and profitable because their content drew on skill and expertise and the instructions were sound, balanced and practical. At the same time, male practitioners began to consolidate in the publishing market, finding a way to express their ideology and fully justify why they should treat women’s diseases and help in delivery, so that “texts by several other men led the way to a veritable burgeoning of books on the subject, paralleling male-midwives and male physicians’ entrance into the field” (Hellwarth 2002: 5). Even if the proliferation of vernacular treatises on obstetrics attests to the great interest in pregnancy and childbirth among non-professional readers (Fissell 2007: 117), the number of publications and the extended lack of originality of their contents (Hobby



Chapter 7.  “All which I offer with my own experience” 165

1999: xix–xx) required adopting marketing strategies to boost sales in a very competitive market. Books were thus considered commodities or commercial products subject to the readers’ perusal and appraisal before consumption (Lesser 2004: 2). In this context, the front matter as a space for advertising gained popularity during the 17th century (Dobranski 2005: 36), mainly due to “a decline in the aristocratic patronage of printed books” (Saenger 2006: 9). Without the financial support of patrons, the authors looked for alternative ways of ensuring incomes; dedicatory epistles, for instance, were commonly addressed to general readers now. As a result, “marginal texts are no longer of marginal importance” (Saenger 2006: 13) and advertising strategies became crucial to gain the goodwill of potential readers and buyers, and also to ensure that the public bought the book. But note that this advertising function is not brand new since, for instance, the preface the publishers inserted in Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida could be already considered a “publicity blurb” (Bevington 1998: 1) and, even further back in time, this concept could also apply to the late medieval context (Tether 2017). Indeed, the front matter acts as a mediator between the reader and the text and, to understand “the experience of the early modern book buyer”, we must tackle “the ‘conversation’ between book makers and book-buyers” (Saenger 2006: 7). Likewise, 17th-century medical writers were aware of the effect their preliminary words could have on the audience; therefore, their books “came accompanied almost invariably by introductory dedications, verses praising the author, epistles to a patron or esteemed colleague [and] to the readers themselves” (Jones 2011: 42). Prefaces, in particular, were considered an essential part of medical and allied sciences texts, to the point that “[they] must have been expected by the readers, who would have been disappointed by a book without them” (Jones 2011: 42). In fact, Genette’s concept of prefaces as a valuable threshold or “‘vestibule’ that offers the world at large the possibility of either stepping inside or turning back” (1997: 2) is present in the preface to The English Midwife Enlarged in metaphorical terms: “I shall no longer detain you in the Porch [=preface], but desire you will forthwith be pleased to walk into the Palace [=the treatise]” (Anon., 1682, A4r). In view of the above, this paper intends to prove that the front matter of 17thcentury English midwifery treatises serves a promotional purpose by identifying and analysing different persuasive strategies aimed at enhancing the value of the book as a product. In our analysis, we will apply Genette’s (1997) framework and Aristotle’s rhetorical model to investigate and classify those strategies used by the authors to persuade potential readers about the excellence of their own treatises against others of the same genre. Besides, we will offer some insight into aspects like the challenges faced by female lay practitioners at the time, which also moved authors to argue in favour of their expertise and good practice with women in labour (Cahill 2001; Evenden 2000; Marland 1993; Towler and Bramall 1986; Wilson 1995).

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2. Selected study material Our selected primary material has been retrieved from the Early English Books Online (EEBO) database. We entered two broad search parameters: (i) title keyword: ‘midwife’, ‘midwives’, ‘child birth’ and (ii) date range: 1600–1700, thus obtaining 100 records. Many volumes included two of these keywords in their titles, so repeated records were eliminated; non-medical texts were also dismissed. A total of 42 records were midwifery treatises; only the first editions were singled out, beside other subsequent ones with major modifications in the prefatory matter. This further refinement reduced the study material to 14 works, out of which 11 are originally written in English (like those by Culpeper [1651], Chamberlayne [1656], Wolveridge [1670] or Barret [1699]), and 3 are translated from other languages (e.g. The Diseases of Women with Child, and in Child-bed [1672], translated from the work by the Frenchman François Mauriceau [1668]). Given that the main focus of this study lies in the front matter as a suitable promotional space for authors and publishers, it seems convenient to establish what the limits of this space will be. We understand the concept of ‘prefatory constituent’ considering Genette’s (1997) description of, and findings on, the ‘paratext’ and its framing functionality for the main text. Accordingly, we deal with verbal or textual constituents located just before the beginning of the midwifery treatise per se. Generally speaking, these constituents include title pages, dedicatory epistles, prefaces, and “elements inserted into the interstices of the text” (Genette 1997: 5). They all form what he calls the ‘peritext’, as distinct from the ‘epitext’, which covers productions outside the book like publicity announcements or interviews. That is, Genette uses ‘paratext’ as an umbrella term to embrace both concepts; using his own equation, that would be: “paratext = peritext + epitext” (1997: 5; see also Tyrkkö and Räikkönen, Chapter 2, this volume). All in all, in our study, by ‘paratext’ we mean just the elements in the prefatory or front matter, to the exclusion of title pages, frontispiece illustrations and prefatory verse. Apart from clarifying the idea of ‘paratext’, the types of paratextual elements included in our selected material must be also specified because some of them (a) are not always clearly identified by name, or (b) are unusual as they respond to particular circumstances. Table 1 summarises our study material and the different prefatory elements examined, amounting to 25 in total. In Genette’s terms, those elements actually comprise authorial prefaces, allographic prefaces (written, in our case, by the translators) and dedicatory epistles, as well as other miscellaneous elements such as a note by the editor, a note by the author’s widow, a list of differences between the original work and a previous fake edition, and a note attesting to “The Approbation of the four Sworn Provosts and Wardens of the Master-Chirurgeons of Paris” (Mauriceau, 1672).

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Table 1.  Selected study material Author* (year) Front matter Dedicatory epistle

Preface (or Preface- Other prefatory elements like element)

Guillemeau, Jacques (1612)

The Author’s Epistle The Translators preface Introductory to the Reader

Rüff, Jakob (1637)

To all grave and modest Matrons

Culpeper, Nicholas (1651)

– To the Midwives of England – To the Reader

Chamberlayne, Thomas (1656)

The Preface

Culpeper, Nicholas (1656)

To the Midwives of England

Wolveridge, James (1670)

– The Author to the Reader – The Preface

Sermon, William (1671)

To the most Accomplish’d Ladies and Gentlewomen of England

Sharp, Jane (1671)

To her much esteemed To the Midwives of and ever honoured England friend, the Lady Ellenour Talbutt

Mauriceau, François (1672)

The Author’s Epistle The Author to the Dedicatory. To all my Reader dear Brethren, the Sworn Master-Chirurgeons of the City of Paris

Anon. (1675)

– Mrs. Culpepers Information, Vindication, and Testimony – Reader [note by the editor] – To the Reader [different from 1651 ed.]

– The Approbation of the four Sworn Provosts and Wardens of the MasterChirurgeons of Paris – The Translator to the Reader

A short commentarie (continued)

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Table 1.  (continued) Author* (year) Front matter Dedicatory epistle

Preface (or Preface- Other prefatory elements like element)

Anon. (1682)

To all English Midwives

Anon. (1690)

The Introduction

Barret, Robert (1699)

To the Right Honourable The Preface to the and Vertuous Elizabeth, Reader Countess of Anglesey

Anon. (1700)

To the Midwives

*Names as in the ESTC.

As shown in Table 1, the most frequent element in the front matter is the preface, either explicitly labelled as preface, introduction, or commentarie, or as epistles “To the reader” or “To all English midwives”, a textual genre that, according to Genette (1997: 133), “should be read […] as prefaces”; in fact, we may even have in the same work “two prefaces that differ in their enunciating status” (Genette 1997: 162). In our paper, the phrase “dedicatory epistle” is used for epistles addressed to a private or public entity of a higher social or professional status: either a female aristocrat or the representatives of a college of medical practitioners. Finally, in “Other prefatory elements” we find the translators’ prefaces (i.e. allographic prefaces) and other miscellaneous texts resulting from a particular situation, like Mrs. Culpeper’s defense of her husband against alleged plagiarism. 3. Prefatory matter as a space for persuasion and marketing: Models of analysis In the Early Modern English competitive book market, a customer could browse books in bookstalls where volumes on the same topic may have even been displayed together (Bennett 1989: 140; Hamlet 2015). Bearing in mind the high number of midwifery treatises published at the time, it is not hard to imagine a potential reader having a look not at the blurbs, as a contemporary reader would do today, but at the sections of the book that could help them decide on their purchase. In this context, and in accordance with our hypothesis, advertising can be considered the main function of the paratextual apparatus of midwifery treatises, as it has been proposed for other Early Modern English books (Saenger 2005: 197), a space where authors, translators, editors and other agents used persuasive techniques and strategies not very different from those used in present-day marketing campaigns.



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To analyse these persuasive strategies in our study material, we have referred to Genette’s aforementioned work and to Aristotle’s rhetorical model. Genette states that the main purpose of the preface of a book is “to ensure that the text is read properly” (1997: 196–197) by providing the readers with reasons for reading the text (why) and also guiding them to properly interpret the text (how). Regarding the why, or the rationale behind the book’s production, Genette assumes that nowadays “it is no longer precisely a matter of attracting the reader – who has already made the considerable effort to procure a copy of the book by buying, borrowing, or stealing it” (1997: 198). However, we contend that the paratextual elements of 17th-century English midwifery treatises were not addressed to those who had already bought the book (i.e. the reader or end-buyer) but rather to people still undecided about acquiring it (the potential buyer or purchaser). Thus, if we conceive the paratext of our study material as an advertising space that serves to persuade the potential buyer, the absence of any advice on how the book must be read or perused (a characteristic found in the works of our corpus) seems also justifiable. However, not having information on how the book can be used does not prevent the application of Genette’s model to our analysis of persuasive marketing strategies in the prefatory matter to 17th-century English midwifery treatises. In addition, Genette (1997: 8–12) identifies three basic elements that are involved in the communicative situation of the paratext, namely: the sender (who may be the author, the publisher, the translator or any other agent), the addressee (the public), and the message (the text). Only two of them, the sender and the text, are taken up later in his book, when dealing with the rhetorical apparatus of persuasion deployed in the prefaces to convince the reader about the value of the work. However, Genette (1997: 199–207) expands on the persuasive arguments revolving around the qualities of the text, such as the importance and usefulness of the subject, its originality, the unity of the texts in the case of compilations, or the validity of its contents, whereas he just mentions “modesty” as a kind of persuasive argument related to the sender. As in the case of Genette’s why and how the book must be perused, we find here an unbalanced treatment of the senderaddressee-message triangle, yet our analysis is partly based on his proposal, particularly during the process of identifying the strategies that are closely linked to the value of the text. For the reasons given, our diverging consideration of the paratext as a space for marketing 17th-century English midwifery treatises – rather than for presenting, justifying or outlining the work – is more closely aligned with Saenger’s mercantile conception of the prefatory matter in the early modern period, which postulates “that these pages constituted an early, coherent, and very versatile system of advertising” and, as such, “they employed techniques […] geared around a very specific and rather crucial act of reader-response: the purchase” (2005: 197). In

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light of Saenger’s (2005) conceptualisation of the paratext, we directed our attention to some recent marketing studies specifically dealing with advertising campaigns that have successfully applied models of analysis based on Aristotle’s rhetorical artistic proofs or means of persuasion: ethos, logos and pathos (cf. Steinger 2006; Higgins and Walker 2012; Samuel-Azran et al. 2018; Yang et al. 2018). In fact, the Aristotelian model is still in force and current in most manuals on persuasion, rhetoric and business communication (see, among others, Parsons 2013; Perloff 2017; Young 2017). It is important to note that adopting this ‘marketingrelated’ model does not conflict with Genette’s approach since, broadly speaking, Aristotle’s rhetorical proofs correspond to the three basic elements Genette identified for the communicative situation of the paratext: ethos-sender, pathos-addressee, logos-message (Rhet. I.2, 1356a, in Freese, 1926). 4. Analysis 4.1 Ethos, or author-based persuasive strategies Ethos, the first of the three Aristotelian rhetorical artistic proofs, had a significant role within his persuasive theories. The concept appeals to the credibility of the sender and includes three dimensions: ‘expertise or competence’, ‘trustworthiness’ and ‘dynamism’ (Stiff and Mongeau 2016). While the first two dimensions can be extrapolated to the prefatory matter of 17th-century English midwifery treatises, the third one is not easy to determine in written texts since, according to Jones (2013: 573–574), it is highly dependent on the speaker’s personality and performing abilities. On this account, we will be discussing and exemplifying just the first two dimensions below. 4.1.1 Expertise or competence This first dimension refers to arguments that determine the perception of a speaker’s expertise or competence in relation to the topic being discussed. As Jones puts it, “competent speakers must know the content of their speech and be able to effectively deliver that content” (2013: 573). In the case of our selected material, the authors develop their perceived competence as well-instructed professionals by introducing persuasive arguments that are based on (a) long-time practical experience and (b) sound knowledge in the fields of medicine or midwifery. To support this authorial image, some authors draw on persuasive arguments grounded on their real experience. In this sense, Guillemeau (1612, ¶¶1v) and Barret (1699, A3r-A3v), for instance, explicitly indicate the number of years they have devoted to medical practice, 40 and 20 respectively. Both point out that the



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knowledge acquired by field experience has provided them with considerable practical and therapeutic judgement, along with sensibility regarding women’s diseases:

(1) I haue gathered together all that I could possibly, out of that which I haue obserued this forty yeares and aboue, wherein I haue practised it, and seene it practised, in the greatest families both within, and without this Kingdom […].  (Guillemeau, 1612, ¶¶1v)

As Guillemeau (1612) does in (1), Sermon (1671) also brings his credentials as a military and royal physician to support his proven experience:

(2) I have presumed with all dexterity possible to demonstrate in short, the most facile or easiest Directions for Women in their greatest Extremity […] which secrets by great Care, Travel, and long Study (through Gods blessing) I have attained to, and have had large Experience thereof, not only in the Armies for many Years […] but likewise since the Happy Restauration of his Sacred Majesty. And it is very well known, that I have alwayes had good success in my Practice […].  (Sermon, 1671, A4r)

The argument stressing the “Experience and Observation in the Practice of deliveries” is likewise used by the anonymous author of The English midwife enlarged to vindicate his authority as an expert and to criticise “those that never practiz’d the Art” (1682, A3r). Furthermore, in a show of commitment to the subject and to the reader, he claims not “impos[ing] upon you any thing that hath not endur’d the Test of confirm’d experience” (Anon., 1682, A3v), an argument commonly put forward by other authors of our midwifery books selection:

(3) I have back’d every thing with examples from my own Practice; which I chose rather to follow than the common road of Books upon that Subject.  (Barret, 1699, A8v)

Therefore, by advocating for professional experience, the authors endorse the idea that the theory learnt from books (undoubtedly indispensable to procuring a ground for responsible and knowledgeable practice) is incomplete without what midwifery field work offers:

(4) I would not divert you from reading of many learned Authors who have treated of it, but only advise you that the most part of them, having never practised the Art they undertake to teach, resemble (in my opinion) those Geographers, who give us the description of many Countries which they never saw […] For it is certain […] that the speculative part of Arts is improfitable, and unfruitful, when destitute of the practice.   (Mauriceau, 1672, A7r)

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On this basis, Mauriceau’s book contains proper knowledge (“I faithfully recite what I have with very happy success observed these many years in the practice of Deliveries” [1672, A7r-A7v]) and rests on authentic experience: “I have only bound my self to acquaint you with the truth, of which, I hope, you will have more Satisfaction, and be better pleased, than if I had always blindly followed the thoughts of others” (1672, A7v). Just like Mauriceau in (4), other authors argue in favour of reading and studying reference books by authoritative experts on medicine and midwifery, an idea that is indirectly used as a marketing strategy at the same time. Sharp, for example, tells in (5a) about her big effort to consult books written in different languages for the sake of enriching and improving her daily midwifery practice, while Chamberlayne openly acknowledges in (5b) that he has learnt from the best international medical authorities: (5) a. I have been at Great Cost in Translations for all Books, either French, Dutch, or Italian of this kind. All which I offer with my own Experience.  (Sharp, 1671, A1r-A1v) b. Now Christian Reader, to give thee a true information of what we have here done for thy good, we shal not only Justifie from our own experiences, but fully demonstrate from the writings of the best practisers, both of the French, Spanish, and Italians, and other Nations; and we must cleerly confesse, that we are highly obliged to the incomparable labours of that most famous woman of the world, Madam Loug Bourgeo, late Midwife to the Queen of France […] for her reasons are solid experiences, and her witnesses have been all of the most emminent persons of France […].  (Chamberlayne, 1656, A2v–A3r)

Finally, there are some other paratextual elements intended to improve the author’s credibility to the reader’s eyes. As a case in point, “The Approbation of the four Sworn Provosts and Wardens of the Master-Chirurgeons of Paris” is strongly supportive of the contents of Mauriceau’s treatise and confirms that his work is “very profitable for the Publick, and necessary for young Chirurgeons, and all Midwives, to learn perfectly the practice of the Art of Deliveries” (1672, A5v). Besides, and although it may seem paradoxically critical with Mauriceau’s work at times, the “The Translator to the Reader” preface adds value to the resulting vernacular version of the book. However excellent Mauriceau’s work may be, Chamberlen, the physician-translator into English, openly disagrees with some of the concepts and medical practices in Mauriceau’s original text and thus feels entitled to warn the reader against some inaccurate content: “Those few things wherein I dissent from my Author, if of dangerous consequence, I note in the Margent” (1672, A1r). These marginal notes not only show the translator’s professional competence in the fields



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of medicine and midwifery, being able to identify erroneous medical information, but also function as a persuasive strategy: the text is approved (by the “four Sworn Provosts and Warderns”) and revised (by an English expert: the translator). The translator’s competence is further revealed through some critical remarks on the original treatise, like the one referring to Mauriceau’s improper use of terminology: “I find also that he doth not distinguish between the words Plaister and Ointment, but useth them promiscuously one for the other” (1672, A2r). 4.1.2 Trustworthiness This second dimension refers to “the degree that audience members perceive a speaker to be presenting accurate, credible information in a non-manipulative way” (Jones 2013: 543). It represents the confidence that a speaker inspires in his audience and is more related to the sender’s character as perceived by the audience. The arguments related to this dimension are based on personal features such as generosity, Christian morality and modesty, as we will exemplify below. Out of generosity, and attempting to do a social (6) or Christian (7) service to the community, some authors claim to be sharing their expertise to the benefit of midwives and women patients alike. In the examples below, the authors state that sharing their expertise and knowledge is an act of solidarity and a way to help those who are in need:

(6) And withall I haue not refused nor disdained to go vnto the meanest, mooued partly by Charity, and partly to make myselfe more and more experienced therein.  (Guillemeau, 1612, ¶¶1v)



(7) […] the respect and pity I owe to the fair Sex; surmounted all the Objections of Policy and Interest, and would not suffer me any longer to conceal, what knowledge of these things my twenty years Diligent and Laborious Experience has afforded me; what method Persons concern’d in such Cases ought to observe; And what are the most approved Remedies, that […] I have seen most effectual and successful in relieving Poor Women.   (Barret, 1699, A3r-A3v)

This same generosity is shown by Culpeper (1651), who depicts himself as a humble servant of God and, to comply with his Christian duties, he shares the knowledge acquired from Him with all the midwives of England. In the prefixed “To the midwives of England”, Culpeper claims that all contents are tested and experienced-based, yet they would not have been possible without God’s benevolence and guidance. For this very reason, the information provided is indeed trustworthy and will help midwives to practice their office safely and wisely:

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(8) I confess God hath given me some little sparks of Knowledg, I do not call them little as they come from God, for such a word would hold forth […] extream Ingratitude, but I call them Little Comparatively, in respect of what shall be shortly be revealed to the Sons of Men […].  (Culpeper, 1651, ¶6v)

This argument, plus Culpeper’s sources, was later harshly criticised by Chamberlayne (1656), who considered his work very deficient and, therefore, lacking trustworthiness and utility for midwives:

(9) […] and its almost A miracle to us that Mr. Culpepper, a man whom we otherwaies respect, should descend so low, as to borrow his imperfect Treatise from those wretched volumes [i.e. The Birth of man and The expert Midwife] […] and we must deale faithfully with you, that, that small peice of his, intituled, The directory for Midwifes, is the most desperately defficient of them all […].  (Chamberlayne, 1656, A2v)

To publicly counteract such criticism, and support her late husband’s trustworthiness, Mrs. Alice Culpeper herself addresses the reader in the 1656 edition of the treatise. In the prefatory matter, we find an epistolary-like vindication offering testimony on the authenticity of Culpeper’s medical work and unquestionable reputation, concluding that: (10) […] if any Person shal question the Truth of any part of this Vindication, or Epistle; if they wil take pains to come to me, I wil face to face, justifie the truth of every word thereof, as I have subscribed my Hand thereunto in the presence of many witnesses.  (Culpeper, 1656, A2v)

On the other hand, the arguments related to the author’s modesty are often found closing the preface or dedicatory epistle where a formulaic sentence or short paragraph invites the reader to evaluate the efficacy of the remedies and treatments compiled. To some extent, the authors are putting themselves in the hands of their readers and giving them room to judge the midwifery treatise as a medical work: (11) a. I rest at your devotion unto whom in the beginning I have inscribed these my labours, the particular contents whereof, follow in the next leafe.  (Rüff, 1637, A5r) b. Lastly, Let me entreat this favor of you all, That if you by your own Experiences find any thing which I have written in this Book not to be according to Truth […] First, judge charitably of me […]. Secondly, Acquaint me with them; and they shall be both acknowledged, and amended […].  (Culpeper, 1651, ¶7v–¶8r)

Here, Rüff and Culpeper humbly address the readers and tell them that the book is simply responding to a social demand or paying a service to the (female)



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community. Both can be perceived as likeable, trustworthy and open to receive any valuable and serious considerations from expert and knowledgeable readers on whose devotion (11a) and charity (11b) they rely to judge the contents of their treatises. To encourage readers to participate, the authors state that any improvement of the overall result will benefit not only the end-users of the book (practitioners) but also “the dear English women” in general. 4.2 Pathos, or reader-based persuasive strategies Pathos, the second Aristotelian rhetorical proof studied here, refers to the deployment of emotional appeals to achieve a specific response from the target addressee. According to Jones (2013: 574), “stirring emotions in an audience is a way to get them involved in the speech, and involvement can create more opportunities for persuasion and action”. However, effective communicators must not overuse emotional appeals to avoid biased perceptions that may undermine their expertise and trustworthiness (ethos). When appealing to pathos in a text, the sender should be “logically convincing” inasmuch as the “audiences may be suspicious of a speech that is solely based on emotion. Emotional appeals are effective when you are trying to influence a behavior or you want your audience to take immediate action” (Jones 2013: 574). Hence, these persuasive strategies are very appropriate for a context of immediacy such as browsing through a book contents and illustrations before buying. Focusing on our study material, Culpeper’s use of informal language makes midwife-readers feel comfortable. His familiar and simple diction, as illustrated below, projects the image of an author close to the addressees who writes as if he were talking with them face-to-face. The oral character and familiar tone of Culpeper’s prefatory texts are observed whenever he reproduces popular metaphors and comparisons (12a), addresses the readers with expressions of personal involvement (12b), directly questions them (12c), or includes parenthetical personal comments as some sort of aside (12d). (12) a. a man needs not the Eyes of a Lynx to see it […] though he be as blind as a Mole […].  (1651, ¶2v) b. So soon as you have read this, you will presently agree with me […].  (1651, ¶5v) c. To whom should I dedicate it, but to you? And though I confess the Theory of this be requisit, very requisit to all Women; yet to whom doth the Practical part of it belong but to your selves?  (1651, ¶4r)

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d. The consideration of this (I say) put me upon it, to write Physick in my Mother-Tongue. I thought (and I yet think I am not mistaken in my thoughts) that it were a good and acceptable work […].  (1651, ¶3r-¶3v)

Another kind of persuasive strategy appealing to the emotional side of readers is overtly praising midwives’ skill and wisdom as professionals, on the one hand, and their relevance in social and human terms, on the other. The first type of praising appears in Mauriceau’s translator’s (i.e. Chamberlen’s) preface, where he asserts that the midwives’ skills are “certainly the greatest”. This way, Chamberlen is resorting to a captatio benevolentiae technique, by which a specific group of potential buyers feel really appreciated and valued by the physician-writer: (13) And that Midwifes skill is certainly the greatest, and she deserves most commendation, who can soonest discover the success of the Labour, and accordingly either wait with patience, or timely send for advice and help.  (Mauriceau, 1672, A1r)

Likewise, Anon. (1690) appeals to the discretion of the “Learned and Ingenious of the Age”, a eulogistic expression that includes midwives, the main target readers of his book. Discretion is a quality that places these women in high esteem and cleverly indicates that they are mindful of the privacy of her fellow women: (14) […] the Mystery of Generation […] which I hope will be to the satisfaction of the Learned and Ingenious of the Age, whose Discretion I need not doubt, will keep them from wresting it to any other end that what it was design’d for, viz. The Benefit and Advantage of the Modest of either Sex.  (Anon., 1690, A4v)

The idea of midwives playing a key role in childbirth is highlighted by Rüff (1637) and Culpeper (1651) in their prefaces, using a hyperbolic and obsequious language that depicts them as “chosen” by God: (15) And the businesse whereunto God hath ordayned them of so great and dangerous consequence as concernes the very lives of all such as come into the world […].  (Rüff, 1637, A2v) (16) The Creator of Heaven and Earth, the God of all the World […] Commits the Life of every Child of his to your charg even at the very first Minute that He allots it to draw its breath; and at your hands will He have an Accompt of it another day.  (Culpeper, 1651, ¶4v–¶5r)

Such a divine commission confers an authority on midwives that was beginning to crumble at the end of the 17th century with the professional intrusion of manmidwives, a situation that would not go unnoticed by the midwives-readers. In



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fact, the authors’ appeal to a potential threat constitutes another common persuasive advertising technique: the so-called “fear appeal” (Stiff and Mongeau 2016: 188). These fear-arousing messages motivate midwives to purchase the treatises, be more informed and improve their practices, an effective way to cast manmidwives aside and maintain their authority, as shown in (17) and (18): (17) If you make use of them [Culpeper’s rules contained in his treatise], you wil find your work easie, you need not call for the help of a Man-Midwife, which is a disparagement, not only to your selves, but also to your Profession […].  (Culpeper, 1651, ¶4v) (18) For I must tell you, […] that it is a Disparagement to you, and reflects both upon your Reputation and Profession, when you cannot deliver a Woman without the help of a Man-Midwife. Which tho’ it may be for the Safety of the Travelling Women, is yet a Discredit to you, who ought to be so accomplish’d as to go through with the Work you have undertaken, and to perfect it your selves […].  (Anon., 1700, iii)

4.3 Logos, or text-based persuasive strategies Logos, in the framework of Aristotelian rhetorical proofs, is about how persuasive arguments are put forward to condition the addressee’s decision-making processes; to this end, the sender provides a series of objective and rational facts related to the contents of the discourse (Stiff and Mongeau 2016: 165). Reasoning or logical persuasive arguments embrace the presence of credible information, e.g. those claims based on the expertise and trustworthiness of the sender, which are projected in the resulting text (cf. Section 4.1 above), as well as the inclusion of supporting material and reliable sources. However, presenting the text itself as “verifiable, specific, and unbiased” (Jones 2013: 574) can also help the sender appeal to logos. Taking into account the persuasive arguments rationally appealing to logos found in our study material, the term treatise can be conceived in two ways: as a ‘text’ (i.e. the principal part of the book, excluding the front and back matter) and as a ‘physical object’, that is, the book itself. In both cases, the authors show a tendency to put forward arguments similar to those currently employed in marketing and advertising. The problem-solution organisational pattern is commonplace in any advertising campaign nowadays. To successfully reach and convince the audience, most firms resort to identifying, or creating the illusion of, a problem or need the public presumably has. Once the public is inadvertently convinced of the existence of such a “real” problem or need, they will perceive the product proposed as a reasonable and suitable solution and justify the course of action (Jones 2013: 462, 558).

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In 17th-century English midwifery treatises, the solution to the several problems and inconveniences for practicing midwives is buying the best book issued in the competitive market of the time. As in modern advertising campaigns, most prefaces from our early modern study material firstly describe a problem in the shape of a rationale to justify why the treatise has been published; and the treatise itself is the most perfect solution the expert author can provide. One of the problems identified is, for instance, women’s ailments and suffering during pregnancy or childbirth since they are assisted by unlearned and unskillful midwives. Thus, Barret states that he would not have undertaken the writing of yet another midwifery treatise “had I not been forc’d into it by the Lamentable Condition of Poor Women, that perish daily, together with their Children, merely through the ignorance and negligence of those, whose hands they are entrusted to” (1699, A2v–A3r). Likewise, some authors declare that extended quackery and malpractice moved them to publish their books, which are presented as a solution: (19) It is for your sakes, worthy Matrons, that I render’d this excellent Treatise of Midwifery into English […] indeed the Deficiency that I have seen in many, that pretend to your Office, in the doing of their Business, was the great, if not the only Motive that caus’d me to Translate it […].  (Anon., 1700, i)

But while the previous excerpts are addressed to professional midwives, the text in (20) is aimed at English laywomen and presents the treatise as a solution adapted to their needs, that is, as a practical tool to deal with obstetric, neonatal and health problems by themselves (a sort of self-help book): (20) I thought I should undertake a thing not unbeseeming a Christian Physitian, if I should reduce, as it were, into a breif Comment, what things were fit to observe, as well in their time of bearing, as also in the birth, from which, being somewhat more instructed, they might better enjoy their health, preserve their off-spring, and after birth better defend their bodies.  (Anon., 1675: 1)

Mauriceau’s excerpt in (21) illustrates how midwifery treatises written by physicians may constitute a solution to a generalised problem of the time, that is, the lack of medical students’ training on pregnancy and childbirth-related illnesses: (21) […] (since in those Exercises, so ordered by you [the Sworn Master Chirurgeons of the City of Paris], we [Students in Chirurgery] do not usually discourse of Women with Child, nor of their different Labours) I have thought, that […] you will not judge amiss, my publishing this Book to the world […].  (Mauriceau, 1672, A4r)



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This idea is endorsed by Chamberlen, the translator of Mauriceau’s treatise into English. In the preface, he explains that he had also identified the same problem: the need for appropriate teaching or reference material in English, yet instead of compiling a book to sort it out, he decided to translate Mauriceau’s work as a reliable and valid solution for the potential user of the book: (22) Having long observed the great want of necessary directions how to govern Women with Child and in Childbed […] I designed a small Manual to that purpose; but meeting sometime after in France with this Treatise of Mauriceau […] I changed my resolution into that of translating him […].  (Mauriceau, 1672, A8v)

On the other hand, some authors present their works not as the definite solution to the problem but as an unprecedented or improved one. This is especially typical when they overtly acknowledge the presence of some other midwifery treatises in the market. In these cases, the problem-solution pattern involves comparisons with similar book-products available and derogatory remarks about these potential competitors, as the ones following: (23) It is high time, there being already published, many Treatises in this kind, for us to discharge our consciences for the good of the Nation, we have perused all that have been in this nature in English, and finde them strangely defficient, so crowded with unnecessary notions, and dangerous mistakes, that we thought it fit to give you warning of them, that for the future the unfortunate practisers, may prevent the almost guilt, of the crying sin of murder.  (Chamberlayne, 1656, A2r)

By contrast, other persuasive arguments appealing to logos center on different outstanding qualities of the text. The first one refers to brevity, as a characteristic that enhances the readability and practical usability of the text. We have illustrated it in the passages quoted in (20) and (22) above. The words selected in (20) – reduce, breif and Comment – emphasise the idea of brevity, whereas in (22) Chamberlen describes the book translated as “a small Manual”, choosing an adjective frequently used elsewhere in the study material to denote the reduced size of the treatise: “this ensuing small Tract” (Wolveridge, 1670, B4r), “this small Work”, “this small Production” (Mauriceau, 1672, A4v), “this small Treatise” (Barret, 1699, A2v), or “these few sheets” (Barret, 1699, A3v). And, Sermon, in a very graphic way, notes that he has “digested this Work into a small Volume” (1671, A3v). Apart from presenting the contents briefly, which is reflected in small-sized volumes, the authors also make the effort of epitomizing their knowledge and expertise (cf. Section  4.1) by being as simple and plain as possible. Culpeper, for instance, makes it clear that he could “have written you deeper Notions in Physick

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than you shal find in this Book” (1651, A5r), and, similarly, Sermon tells that his treatise has been written “in the most plain method I could, and have purposely omitted those Philosophical terms of Art, and hard crabbed Physical words (which more amaze the Ignorant, than help their infirmities) commonly made use of in Books of this nature” (1671, A3r-A3v). The author’s effort to achieve clarity and simplicity of presentation is also highlighted in the book’s paratext, as a way of further supporting the ethos; without competence and expertise, authors like Mauriceau would not have been able to tackle some difficult matters, which “create yet incomparably more trouble to explain them significantly, to be well understood” (1672, A4v). Other remarks on this characteristic plain style can be found in Barret (1699, A7v), “this Plain and Familiar Treatise”, and Salmon (1700, ii), “plain and familiar Stile”. To conclude, another common advertising persuasive argument used to appeal the potential buyers’ attention revolves around the careful selection of relevant material. Culpeper’s promotional message articulates around the quality and adequacy of the contents included in his midwifery treatise. As a way to enhance the promotion of the book and convince the reader of its suitability, he uses binary structures that are highly typical of advertising and marketing campaigns (cf. d’Onofrio 1982; Cook 2001, esp. Chapter 6; Guffey and Loewy, 2010: 68–69, among others): “[…] my Rules […] are very plain, and easie enough; neither are they so many that they will burden your Brain, nor so few that they will be in-sufficient for your Necessity” (1651, 4r-4v; our emphasis). Similarly, in (24), Chamberlen, in the translator’s preface, states that Mauriceau’s treatise in English contains just the best and most common remedies extracted from daily practice. As a persuasive argument, it implies that the content of the book is the result of practical observation and effective practices: (24) I have not stuft it with a great number of long Receipts, which serve only to swell a Volumn, and confound their [young Chirurgeons and Midwives] Wits in the uncertainty of the choice of so many different Remedies, composed of Drugs which very often are unknown to them; but singly contented my self to teach them the best, and principally such as we ordinarily use in our practice.  (Mauriceau, 1672, A7v; our emphasis)

5. Concluding remarks In our selected study material, made up of 25 paratextual constituents including dedicatory epistles, prefaces or preface-like pieces and other prefatory texts, several persuasive strategies are displayed to influence more effectively the readers’



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beliefs, attitudes and values. To convince the potential buyer/reader about the strengths and quality of the book, the authors of 17th-century English midwifery treatises put forward a series of persuasive arguments that draw both on classical rhetorical proofing and on marketing techniques comparable to those used in advertising campaigns nowadays. In such arguments, the authors not only attest to their own professional expertise and trustworthiness, but also reveal certain sociocultural aspects determining the practice of midwifery at the time or mention other logos-centred topics like the contents or format of the book. As seen throughout Section 4 above, the selected arguments in our study material appeal to ethos, pathos and logos to jointly construct the persuasive and advertising foundation of the paratext contained in the midwifery treatises. Table 2 below lists those arguments for a comprehensive illustration of our results: Table 2.  Classification of persuasive arguments in study material Classification of persuasive arguments by rhetorical proofs Author-based (ethos)

Reader-based (pathos)

1. Expertise and competence – Informal language (close– Credibility (profesness & familiarity) sional) – Praising midwives (skills & – Practical experience wisdom) (long) – Fear-appeal (conferring – Proper knowledge authority) (education & learning)

Text-based (logos) – Problem-solving (treatise meets a real need) – Brevity (size) – Simplicity and clarity (presentation) – Content-selection (utility)

2. Trustworthiness – Generosity (sharing expertise) – True Christian principles (service to the community) – Modesty (humility topos)

Author-based persuasive strategies (ethos) usually depict an educated and credible medical professional moved by noble or Christian principles. This kind of appeal to ethical values incorporates archetypal arguments in preface writing: spirit of self-sacrifice for the community, acknowledgement and/or criticism of previous works of the type, topos of affected modesty, among others. Reader-based strategies (pathos), on the other hand, intend to gain the readers’ goodwill by stirring their feelings; for this, the authors use eulogistic terms or expressions of gratitude or appeal to the readers’ emotional or moral side. Text-based arguments (logos)

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focus on more pragmatic and rational issues to promote the book, including simplicity or real practical utility. All these arguments together contribute to construct the ultimate rationale and goal behind such a persuasive display, which is to advertise and secure the acquisition of the book by a wider sector of the target end-users. It should not be forgotten that all this persuasive discourse is located in the prefatory matter of the book, which has a preeminent position within the overall midwifery treatise and often served authorial or editorial commercial purposes in a competitive market.

Funding This paper is part of the Research Network of Excellence “Europa Renascens. Biblioteca Digital de Humanismo y Tradición Clásica (España y Portugal)”, FFI2017-90831-REDT, funded by the Spanish Government.

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Wolveridge, James. 1670. Speculum matricis hybernicum, or, The Irish midwives handmaid. London: Printed by E. Okes. [Wing / W3319].

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184 M. Victoria Domínguez-Rodríguez and Alicia Rodríguez-Álvarez Hellwarth, Jennifer W. 2002. The Reproductive Unconscious in Medieval and Early Modern England. New York: Routledge. Higgins, Colin, and Robyn Walker. 2012. “Ethos, Logos, Pathos: Strategies of Persuasion in Social/Environmental Reports.” Accounting Forum 36: 194–208. https://‍doi.org/10.1016/j.accfor.2012.02.003 Hobby, Elaine (ed). 1999. The Midwives Book or the Whole Art of Midwifery Discovered. Jane Sharp. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jones, Peter M. 2011. “Medical Literacies and Medical Culture in Early Modern England.” In Medical Writing in Early Modern English, ed. by Irma Taavitsainen, and Päivi Pahta, 30–43. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511921193.004 Jones, Richard G., Jr. 2013. Communication in the Real World: An Introduction to Communications Studies. Irvington, NY: Flat World Knowledge. Kassell, Lauren. 2013. “Medical Understandings of the Body, c. 1500–1750.” In The Routledge History of Sex and the Body: 1500 to the Present, ed. by Sarah Toulalan, and Kate Fisher, 57–74. New York: Routledge. Kontoyannis, Maria, and Chrsitos Katsetos. 2011. “Midwives in Early Modern Europe (1400– 1800).” Health Science Journal 5 (1): 31–36. Lesser, Zachary. 2004. Renaissance Drama and the Politics of Publication. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Loudon, Irvine. 2008. “General Practitioners and Obstetrics: A Brief History.” Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine 101 (11): 531–535.  https://‍doi.org/10.1258/jrsm.2008.080264 Marland, Hilary. 1993. The Art of Midwifery. Early Modern Midwives in Europe. New York: Routledge. Parsons, Patricia J. 2013. Beyond Persuasion. Communication Strategies for Healthcare Managers in the Digital Age (2nd ed.). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Perloff, Richard M. 2017. The Dynamics of Persuasion. Communication and Attitudes in the 21st Century (6th ed.). New York/London: Routledge. Powell, Louise. 2018. “Touching Twins in the Texts and Medical Paratexts of Seventeenth-Century Midwifery Books.” In Medical Paratexts from Medieval to Modern. Dissecting the Page, ed. by Hannah C. Tweed, and Diane G. Scott, 43–56. London/New York: Palgrave Macmillan.  https://‍doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-73426-2_3 Saenger, Michael B. 2005. “The Birth of Advertising.” In Printing and Parenting in Early Modern England, ed. by Douglas A. Brooks, 197–220. Aldershot: Ashgate. Saenger, Michael B. 2006. The Commodification of Textual Engagements in the English Renaissance. Aldershot: Ashgate. Samuel-Azran, Tal, Moran Yarchi, and Gadi Wolfsfeld. 2018. “Rhetoric Styles and Political Affiliations During Israel’s 2013 ‘Facebook Elections.’” International Journal of Politics, Culture and Society 31: 15–30.  https://‍doi.org/10.1007/s10767-016-9247-1 Steinger, Sheila. 2006. Persuasive Communication Skills: Public Speaking. Cape Town: Juta Academic. Stiff, James B., and Paul A. Mongeau. 2016. Persuasive Communication (3rd ed.). New York: The Guilford Press. Tether, Leah. 2017. Publishing the Grail in Medieval and Renaissance France. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer. Towler, Jean, and Joan Bramall. 1986. Midwives in History and Society. New Hampshire: Croom Helm.



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Wilson, Adrian. 1995. The Making of Man-Midwifery: Childbirth in England, 1660–1770. London: University College of London Press. Yang, Sung-Byung, Hanna Lee, Kyungmin Lee, and Chulmo Koo. 2018. “The Application of Aristotle’s Rhetorical Theory to the Sharing Economy: An Empirical Study of Airbnb.” Journal of Travel & Tourism Marketing 35 (7): 938–957. https://‍doi.org/10.1080/10548408.2018.1455622 Young, Richard O. 2017. Persuasive Communication. How Audiences Secide (2nd ed.). New York/ London: Routledge.

Chapter 8

“I write not to expert practitioners, but to learners” Perceptions of reader-friendliness in early modern printed books Hanna Salmi Stockholm University

In this chapter, I will examine metadiscursive comments on the intended audience and the accessibility of texts in early modern English printed books. This study demonstrates how different aspects of the work could be seen as increasing its suitability to a broad readership, and what strategies early modern book producers chose for marketing their works to non-specialists or readers new to the topic covered. However, many of these strategies also served the purpose of fending off potential criticism from more learned readers, who were not the intended beneficiaries of popular books. This chapter also examines the relationship between the concepts of paratextual communication and metadiscourse. Keywords: critical readers, Early Modern English, metadiscourse, promotional discourse, reader-friendliness

1. Introduction Instructive texts intended for a general audience need to be easy and pleasant to read. For such books, marketing efforts often focus on highlighting aspects of the book which make it more accessible. However, this is by no means a new strategy. The presence of features that were intended to make the material easier to understand can be noted already in the earliest printed books, prefaces, title pages and other paratexts. This chapter focuses on how English book producers of the 17th century describe the abilities of their intended audiences and which features of the book they mention as increasing accessibility. My data is based on a corpus search of phrases which potentially indicate a discussion of the audience; the phrases are then https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.08sal © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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examined in their full context to identify common themes and features beyond the search phrase itself. I will begin this chapter with a brief discussion of the historical context in which these books were produced. In the following section, the data collection and methodology will be described in more detail. Each category of features will then be discussed in turn, with examples of how book producers showcased them for their intended audience. This will be followed by a consideration of the potential functions that such metatextual references could serve. The early modern period is a time of great significance for book publishing. Practical books had been available to a wider readership already in the medieval period (Keiser 1999), but the printing press opened new possibilities for a more speculative way of producing books. Manuscript books were most commonly (but not exclusively) produced on order, as the reproduction process was usually so costly and labour-intensive that some funding was required already at the beginning of the enterprise. Printing technology made it financially viable to produce books without certain knowledge that buyers would appear. Literacy was also on the increase already in the late Middle Ages, but in spite of the difficulties of assessing literacy based on the available data, it seems that the percentage of the population which could read rose substantially and more or less steadily throughout the early modern period (Barry 1995: 76). The percentage of people with at least some access to written material would have been even higher, since reading texts aloud was still an important part of the reading culture. For example, heads of households might have read the Bible or other edifying works to their servants (Green and Peters 2002: 91). The first coffee houses and libraries also made reading matter readily available even to those who might not have been able to afford books of their own (Barry 1995: 81–82). The reading matter available to a popular audience would have consisted not only of books, but also various types of more ephemeral reading matter, little of which has unfortunately survived. For example, extra copies of title pages could be printed and nailed on walls outside the printer’s shop (Voss 1998: 737). All this means that opportunities for selling books to a wider, popular audience increased considerably, and it became common to produce books speculatively, in other words without a prior contract with a future buyer. This, in turn, led to the development of sophisticated strategies of advertising by the late 16th century (Voss 1998). Paratexts were a key site for marketing a book, and many types of visual and verbal communication can be found within them. Various aspects of the book and its organisation could be advertised in paratexts. In this chapter, I will focus specifically on discourse which promotes the book as suitable for nonspecialist audiences and other readers “of mean capacity”. In the 16th and 17th centuries, the new technology of printing was also adopted for the purpose of debating issues of general interest. Indeed, printed pamphlets became a very typical way of publishing one’s opinions on social, political,



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or religious issues, and extended conversations could be carried out in this format when other authors responded to the arguments made in the first pamphlet (see e.g. Brownlees 2017). The tone of such publications could be very aggressive indeed, and criticism of other writers’ arguments was common. 2. Paratexts and metadiscourse Paratextual communication is related to other types of similar phenomena found within the main text. Especially the notions of framing and metadiscourse are relevant for the discussion. Genette (1997) developed his theory of paratext for literary studies, although it has recently been applied to many non-literary and historical text types as well. Goffman’s notion of framing, on the other hand, is a concept used in sociology and discourse analysis to refer to the shared interpretative schemas of various communicative events. While frame analysis has been applied to a broad range of situations and behaviours, Goffman himself certainly recognised its applicability to framing texts, as evidenced by his playful introduction commenting on the conventions of prefaces (1974: 1–20), and lately it has been applied to literary texts as well (Wolf 2006; see further Bös and Peikola, Chapter 1, this volume). Metadiscourse, finally, is a linguistic notion that seems to be most popular among researchers focusing on academic communication and specifically on a set of established moves used by writers to achieve various goals. However, historical scholars generally seem to favour a much broader definition, whereby any discourse which helps the writer to clarify their message and engage with their audience qualifies as metadiscourse (e.g. Brownlees 2015; Chaemsaithong 2013). This is not unlike Hyland’s definition of metadiscourse as a “cover term for the self-reflective expressions used to negotiate interactional meanings in a text, assisting the writer (or speaker) to express a viewpoint and engage with readers as members of a particular community” (2005: 37; see also Bös and Peikola, Chapter 1, Claridge and Wagner, Chapter 3, Cecconi, Chapter 6, Varila, Chapter 9, this volume). Paratexts are defined by location: their functioning depends partly on the fact that they occur in very standardised places within the physical book, where the reader of the book knows to expect them and can easily find guidance on how to use and interpret the contents. Metadiscourse, on the other hand, is particularly useful in managing transitions and clarifying links between different parts of the text, but it is still much more evenly spread throughout the text than paratexts, which are separate from the main text by definition. However, as Taavitsainen points out, “[p]‍refatory material consists of metadiscourse and the genre of prefaces is metadiscursive in itself ” (2006: 432). In this chapter, I focus specifically on

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metadiscourse (in Hyland’s broad sense) which is located within paratexts, but very similar metadiscourse can occasionally be found within the body text as well. Birke and Christ (2013) identify three different aspects of the function of paratexts: the interpretive function, the commercial function, and the navigational function (see also Bös and Peikola, Chapter 1, Cecconi, Chapter 6, this volume). The interpretive function refers to the various ways in which paratexts guide the reader towards a particular interpretation of the text; the commercial function refers to the ways in which paratexts can advertise the main text; and the navigation function can be found in paratexts such as tables of contents, which assist the reader in locating information within the work (2013: 67–68). Especially the interpretive and navigational functions can also be taken over by metadiscourse within the text, and indeed they overlap to a great extent with the notion that metadiscourse mostly serves interpersonal and textual functions (e.g. Hyland 2005: 26). These terms are understood in the systemic-functional sense – interpersonal referring to any linguistic means of interacting with others, while the textual function refers to the organisation of the text itself (Hyland 2005: 26). Of course, as Hyland later rightly notes, these functions are always in place simultaneously and they cannot be clearly distinguished (2017: 20). However, the commercial function seems to be limited to actual paratexts, since commercial elements within the text would be hard to locate at a glance. For example, title pages developed conventions of promotional discourse already early on (see e.g. Varila and Peikola 2019). What distinguishes metadiscourse from other uses of the same linguistic features for other purposes is its reference to actions “within the world of discourse” (Ädel 2001: 4). References to ‘the real world’ do not qualify as metadiscourse. This distinction has been useful in my corpus searches as a way of weeding out irrelevant examples. However, I have interpreted it rather flexibly, since a strict interpretation would detract from an analysis of the interpersonal functions of metadiscourse. For example, early modern book producers frequently refer to the time and money which their volume will demand from the reader. Since these references are relevant to building their intended audience, and they also refer to the world of the discourse and specific reasons for including particular features of the text to benefit the audience, they have been included in my analysis. The more detailed modern classifications of metadiscourse cannot be applied to early materials without considerable modifications, and they will not be considered here in depth. Indeed, it seems to me that hedges, boosters and other established forms of metadiscourse (see e.g. Hyland 2005), while probably the most important ones for modern academic writing, are only a small selection of the possible realisations of discourse about discourse. In the following discussion, I will briefly consider the applicability of the term metadiscourse separately for each of the different categories of comments.



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3. Materials and methods The examples analysed in this chapter were collected from the English Historical Book Collection available in Sketch Engine, an online corpus management system offering an interface for studying a number of existing collections. The English Historical Book Collection consists of three parts: Phase I of the Early English Books Online (EEBO) database, Eighteenth Century Collections Online (ECCO) and Readex’s Early American Imprints collection by Evans. However, since I am mostly interested in the period before 1700, my analysis focuses mostly on examples from EEBO, to a lesser degree on the early American books, and examples from ECCO have not been considered for the present study. Using Sketch Engine as an interface has both advantages and disadvantages. First of all, while the search features in EEBO’s own user interface are good, accessing the full-text collection of EEBO-TCP Phase I1 via Sketch Engine turns it into a corpus, with wild-card searches, concordances, and so on. Sketch Engine’s trademark “word sketches” are another useful feature for this type of study. A word sketch is an automatically produced short summary of a word’s collocational behaviour. As the texts have been automatically POS-tagged, advanced grammarbased searches are also possible. The Corpus Query Language (CQL) supported by Sketch Engine makes these searches very easy and versatile. These reasons were strong enough to support choosing Sketch Engine as an interface, although not all of them were used for the present study, which is a first experiment with this combination of tools. However, there are some limits as well. In some cases, the link from the concordance line to the full text was broken, which meant that I could not use the context to assess whether the examples were relevant or not. Such examples were therefore excluded from the analysis. Some cases of faulty POS tagging were also spotted. These issues would create problems in a more statistically oriented study, especially the missing full-text links. The approach in this study is more qualitative, however, albeit with some descriptive statistics, and there is no reason to suspect that its findings would be seriously undermined by the problems mentioned above. For the present study, two corpus searches of the English Historical Book Collection were carried out. Both consisted of relatively short phrases, serving as diagnostic devices identifying stretches of text discussing the expected audience of the text: mean + capacity, and intelligible + to. These searches were formed with Sketch Engine’s Corpus Query Language, using lemmas as search items, so that all 1.  Phase I is the part of the EEBO collection that is now freely available to the public and, as such, freely available to corpus developers.

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relevant word forms were captured (meanest and meaner as well as simply mean, capacities as well as capacity).2 The search phrases were chosen from a previously collected set of prologues where authors discussed their intended readership and its capabilities. This pre-existing set is not expected to be representative, since it is based on specific searches for earlier research on dialogic genres, rather than careful design. While searching for dialogues, discourse on the approachability of that format soon strikes the eye. However, it provides a convenient starting place for continued investigation. The two corpus searches are not intended to be exhaustive or statistically representative. Instead, they are used to identify potentially interesting stretches of text, which will then be analysed in their full context for relevance. Relevant passages are in turn analysed qualitatively. While such a “thick” approach (see Ädel and Mauranen 2010) goes deeper than a purely quantitative corpus search, it is also a rather indirect approach, which means a high percentage of false hits. For mean + capacity, the original 466 hits were reduced to 60 relevant paratextual examples, while for intelligible + to, 521 hits only yielded 21 relevant examples within paratexts and an additional 16 in the main text (excluded from the counts). Two publications came up in both searches, but other relevant examples all come from different works. Irrelevant examples were weeded out manually, including examples located outside paratextual matter (a labour-intensive task). The main criterion for inclusion was that the passage must refer to the current text. However, no distinction was made between references made by the author of the book and by someone else in, for instance, a prefatory letter – both were considered to guide the reader and promote the text. This means that anonymously written elements are not a problem. This approach is similar to the “informed indirect searching” method of Williams (2012), whose pilot study focused on verbal irony in the Corpus of Middle English Prose and Verse. Irony, like metadiscourse, can take many forms, and for this reason is not easily searchable. However, Williams’s corpus searches for variants of the lexical items mock and scorn proved to be a fruitful way to identify examples of verbal irony in a digital corpus. A difference between my approach and most established paratext scholarship is that the searches included the full text, rather than just the parts normally considered to function as paratexts, such as prologues and epilogues. Most of the hits were indeed located within paratextual matter, but instances of similar discourse were sometimes found also in the body text. For the present chapter, I have chosen to focus only on the examples found within paratexts, but in future research, it would be interesting to explore the similarities (and differences) between the metadiscourse found within paratexts and that in the main text itself. 2.  See the Discussion section below for a discussion of the meaning of the word mean.



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The materials in the Early American Imprints collection and ECCO both extend well into the late modern period, but for the current chapter, the analyses only include hits from 1700 and earlier. In practice, the overwhelming majority of my examples comes from the 17th century, while the earliest publication in the dataset dates to 1587. This is a time when paratextual communication in printed works had already been conventionalised to some degree, although new developments naturally still occurred. In the following section, I will discuss the most commonly mentioned features promoting easy access to a book. These features are grouped into six general categories and an ‘unclear’ category for cases where a publication is described as easy without explaining what makes it so. However, in some cases these general categories could well be divided into further subcategories if the dataset was more extensive and yielded more examples of each category. 4. Features contributing to reader-friendliness The features discussed in the current study include (1) language and style, (2) explanations, additions and apparata, (3) form, method and order, (4) brevity and ‘copiousness’, (5) examples and demonstrations, and (6) practical issues such as time and money. While this is intended as a mainly qualitative exploration of paratextual discourse regarding reader-friendliness, Figure 1 below shows the raw frequencies of each category in my dataset. Features contributing to reader-friendliness Language and style Explanations, additions, apparatus Brevity vs copiousness Form, method & order Time & money Examples & demonstrations Unclear 













Figure 1.  The raw frequencies of mentions for each analytical category

Each of the relevant hits from the corpus search yielded a text passage – sometimes relatively short, sometimes more extensive  – where the author, editor or other book producer discusses what makes the book accessible to a large audience.

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Some of the passages mention only one feature as contributing to the goal of reader-friendliness, but in many cases there is a longer list of different features, and in some cases no specific factors were named at all. This means that the number of mentions for each category of features is completely unrelated to the number of relevant hits for the corpus searches. In this section, I will discuss each group of features in order of descending frequency, and I will thus begin with discussing language and style. This category includes aspects such as vocabulary, choice of vernacular language, or the lack of rhetorical ornament, but format and “method” (of presentation) have been treated separately, as the latter are more concerned with ordering the presentation in a pedagogical way. Language and style issues were mentioned in 26 passages, and it was the most common category in this study. This is not unexpected: e.g. Ruokkeinen (2013) found that evaluations of the “style or composition of the literary work” formed a major recurring category in prologues and dedications. Example (1) contains two of the most typical recurring keywords mentioned in passages discussing language and style: rhetorical ornaments on the one hand, and terms (whether technical or foreign) on the other.

(1) If this fall into the hands of the Learned, we request them to remember, That it is designed for Persons of meaner Capacities [emphasis added], that neither understand, Ornaments of Speech, nor affect Terms of Logick.  (Chandler 1699, To the reader, p. 4)

Both are aspects of language that can be very genre-specific, and terms are generally acquired simultaneously with content knowledge about a particular topic. For a beginner in the field, they can therefore be particularly challenging. Many ‘inkhorn’ terms borrowed from Latin or Greek had also not been completely incorporated into English at this point, which may have led to additional concerns about terminological choices. The specific types of terms discussed depend on the field of the work, but “difficult” or “unusual” words are also mentioned more generally. As for ornaments of speech, this appears to mean figures of speech and other rhetorical flourishes. Rhetorics was still commonly taught at schools at that time (see e.g. Enterline 2012), so educated people could be expected to understand at least the basic concepts. Such ornaments included things like metaphor and allegory, but also more specific figures of speech such as meiosis, and there were popular textbooks explaining all of them, such as Puttenham’s The Arte of English Poesie (1590). Translation practices could also be discussed. However, unlike in the medieval period, when writers discussed their choice of the vernacular as a medium of writing (see e.g. Dearnley 2016), the choice of English is rarely an issue in my



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materials. The focus seems to be more on the audience, and free translation could be defended by referring to the capabilities of the intended readers.

(2) If any one blame me for taking too much liberty; after owning it is the most I have taken throughout my Translation, I must say, I cou’d not make it so intelligible to an English Reader without this, or something like it.  (Anonymous translator, 1694, endnote, p. 241)

It is not always a simple task to produce a text that is easy to follow, and indeed many authors refer to the difficulty of rendering their subject matter intelligible (cf. (3)).

(3) A Friend of mine […] advertis’d me of certain obscure Italian Terms, which I had made use of in my Discourse; the understanding of which would doubtless be very difficult to many, who were not acquainted with that Tongue; and that one should strive to render things as clear and intelligible to the Reader as was possible. And truly, though I conceiv’d the Counsel was but reasonable, it gave me a great deal of trouble […].   (Fréart 1668, An advertisement to the Reader)

These references fit relatively comfortably under the category of metadiscourse, since they discuss aspects of the text and its language alongside aspects of the intended reader. The second category of features increasing reader-friendliness includes explanations and additions of various types. These were mentioned in 14 passages. This category is somewhat heterogeneous, the unifying factor being that information is added to help the inexperienced reader. For example, difficult words could sometimes be explained in other words, as in (4).

(4) And whereas several phrases are briefly explained in other words, it is done only for the sake of the most ignorant, and to render them at first sight intelligible to the very lowest capacities […].   (Worthington 1673, preface, p. 10)

Additions mostly seem to refer to such explanations, but various types of apparata are also mentioned, for example glossaries of hard words in various formats, indices, tables, and notes. Example  (5) discusses language issues and notes the presence of a glossary.

(5) Since nothing could so well express the meaning and intention of the Author, as the very Latin and Greek Words used in these Tracts, we have continued them expresly, and though in many Places I have given their meaning by Synonyma’s, yet for the benefit of meer English Readers, we have here composed a Table Alphabetically of all the hard Greck and Latin

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Words, used in the whole Volume…3   (Willis 1684, note before the alphabetical table at the end of the work)

In spite of the glossary, the choice to use the original Greek and Latin probably suggests that the majority of the audience was expected to have some familiarity with at least the relevant part of the vocabulary  – specialist terms could be acquired without gaining complete mastery of a language, as they were borrowed into the English lexicon.

(6) And lastly to prevent any doubts or perplexities, our Gentlemen Candidates, or young beginners in these Curiosities may fall into, for want of a right understanding of certain Terms of Gardening, which I shall use in this Treatise, I have added a little Dictionary of them at the end, which gives as full an explanation of them, as is necessary to make them intelligible to the meanest Readers.  (De La Quintinie 1693, preface)

The reference to the “meanest readers” is interesting – should it be interpreted as referring specifically to reading proficiency? Such an interpretation is perhaps especially tempting since the audience is also described as consisting of “young beginners”. (See also the discussion on the meaning of the adjective mean in Section 5.) In some cases, it seems that the producers’ attempts to produce approachable books were not as complete as modern audiences would expect. An example of this is Worthington’s catechism from 1673. Fowler, the author of the preface, notes that the author has paraphrased difficult phrases in the text “to render them at first sight intelligible to the very lowest capacities” (p. 10). In this case, the act of explanation apparently needed defending, since there was a risk that simple readers might mistake the paraphrases for a part of the catechism itself. To avoid such misunderstandings, the added explanations were distinguished typographically from the main text. However, this consideration for the reader did not stop them from giving the work a title in Greek: “Hypotypōsis hygiainontōn logōn, a form of sound words, or, A scripture-catechism shewing what a Christian is to believe and practice in order to salvation”. Admittedly, the title also contains an “explanation in other words” such as Fowler claimed to have provided within the work, but even so, it is a strange title for a volume intended mainly for a popular audience, unless the idea was that they could maintain an appearance of learning by owning books with Greek titles. Finally, sometimes these additions referred to completely new material inserted within a text. For example, Hennepin’s A New Discovery of a Large Country in America included parts that he did not publish in the original French edition of his 3.  I have shortened the example for convenience, but the phrase “meanest capacity” can be found within the extended passage.



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book. This was because he had been forced to leave out the discussion of the “River Meschasipi” for fear of upsetting his travel companion M. la Salle, who wanted all the credit for the discovery (1698, preface, p. 1). Having been commanded to leave France, he apparently felt free to publish his discoveries in more detail. In any case, new material was a strong selling point, whether it was a revised and more correct version of the original (see Massai 2011) or other types of “enlargements” (Olson 2016). In this category, the typical promotional function of paratexts thus seems more prominent than the interpretive or navigational ones associated with metadiscourse, although in a way the highlighting of additional material is also a structural clarification. The third category includes references to both brevity and copiousness, to use the contemporary expression. This is an interesting pair of features, as both of them can be cited as evidence of a reader-friendly approach. Thirteen passages mention one or the other of these as increasing approachability. Brevity is obviously connected to the time in which a work can be read, but it can also lead to obscurity (cf. (7)).

(7) The volume, I confess, hath sweld too much under my hand: But I have this Apology, The vast Comprehensiveness, great Variety, and Frequent Difficulties of the Subject-Matter; As also mine earnest endeavours after Practicalness and Dum brevis esse laboro, obscurus fio.4   (Roberts 1657, An Epistolary Introduction, p. 13)

Verbosity and even a degree of redundancy, on the other hand, added to the reading time, but they could also be seen as helping readers unfamiliar with the topic, as in (8) from Moxon’s Tutor to Astronomie and Geographie (1659).

(8) I doubt the Learneder [sic] sort may be apt to Censure me guilty of Prolixity, if not Tautology: Because the Precepts being plain, they may account some of the Examples Useless. But I desire them to consider that I write not to expert Practitioners, but to Learners; to whom Examples may prove more Instructive then Precepts.  (Moxon: 1659, To the reader, p. 1)

An expert reader has no need for the examples which can help the beginner with learning the material, and the general rules or precepts which they consider clear can indeed be hard to follow without practical examples. References to brevity and verbosity are naturally metadiscursive. The fourth category, form, order, and text organisation, was mentioned in 12 passages. For example, it appears from various paratextual comments that the 4.  ‘When trying to be concise, I become obscure’ – a well-known quote from Horace.

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dialogue format was generally considered to be easy to understand. One special case of dialogue is the questions and answers form, which seems to have been a common way of presenting complicated matter in writing. For example, logic could be taught in this way:

(9) Together, with a new invented Art of Logick, so plain and easie by way of Questions and Answers, that the meanest capacity may in a short time attain to a perfection in the ways of Arguing and Disputing.   (Phillips 1685, title-page)

Other terms, in addition to those referring to the dialogue format, which seem to refer to different types and systems of structuring information include order and method. Like the questions and answers form, different orders were seen as enhancing the readability of the text. I have classified references to ‘method’ under this heading, although they tend to be rather vague as to what exactly is referred to. The Oxford English Dictionary gives two main branches of meaning for the word: firstly, it can refer to “a procedure for attaining an object”; and secondly, “a systematic arrangement, order” (OED, s.v. method). Both meanings are in use at least from the mid-16th century, but the second one seems more likely in this context: (10) (…) I have contracted their various Works into this little Cabinet or choice Compendium of the Mathematicks, in which thou shalt find the whole Subject clearly and intelligibly handled: I have used a plain and easie method: I have laboured to be as plain and perspicuous as possible: I have applied such Examples to each as may best demonstrate their Operation, be most easie for memory, and applicable to practice (…).   (Taylor 1687, preface)

While Taylor’s description of his ‘method’ can be interpreted as referring to a teaching method, it seems to me that in practice this would mean a particular system of organising the subject matter. References to the structure of a text are of course part of even the strictest definitions of metadiscourse, so this category is very clearly a metadiscursive one. While literacy was one factor which limited the potential readership, Barry considers purchase price to be even more important (1995: 79). Both price and other practical factors (such as size and the time in which the book could be read) are mentioned by book producers as enhancing the approachability of their product. Eleven passages discuss such practicalities. For example, Dunton’s Heavenly pastime, or, Pleasant observations on all the most remarkable passages throughout the Holy Bible (1685) is described as serving readers who do not have much time or money (cf. (11)).



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(11) […] here being the pith and marrow of many Voluminous Authors of that Bulk and bigness, that many People have not time to read them, more have not Money to buy them, and therefore by that means seeing the tediousness and chargeableness of attaining to knowledge break of their Journey at the beginning of their race, and despairing of attaining to the end, begin not to run at all.  (Dunton 1685, Epistle to the reader, p. 1)

Although not strictly related, these two practical aspects are often discussed together: (12) […] that the Young Artists may not spend their Time and Money unnecessarily, I have given easie, plain, and ready Rules for making of Rockets to two Inches and half Diameter, which is sufficient for all private Occasion […].  (Anderson 1696, “To the young pyrobolistes”)

This category is different from the previous ones in the sense that it does not qualify as metadiscourse: the factors referred to discuss conditions of the real world rather than the textual world. Of course the time of reading is related to the contents and organisation of the book, and the price is related to various aspects of its physical realisation, but neither of these is a strictly textual phenomenon. They were included as evidence of audience design, but it is debatable whether they qualify as metadiscourse in the strict sense. Especially the new natural sciences made use of the sixth category of features: examples and demonstrations. They were mentioned in seven passages. However, this is also a problematic category in the sense that it is not always very clear what was referred to. For example, Tryon’s A way to health included a treatise on herbs, which was said to present advanced secrets of philosophy in an approachable way to anyone by means of examples: (13) To which is Added, A Treatise of most sorts of ENGLISH HERBS, With several other remarkable and most useful Observations, very necessary for all Families. The whole Treatise displaying the most hidden secrets of Philosophy, and made easie and familiar to the meanest Capacities, by various Examples and Demonstrances.  (Tryon 1691, title-page)

In practice, it appears that in this case, the part of the treatise referred to contains a set of tables showing the astrologically most propitious time to gather each herb. Apparently there was some annual variation, since the tables have been calculated for 19 years from 1683 to 1701.5 There is a separate table for plants governed by 5.  The 19-year period corresponds to the Metonic cycle, which combines the solar year with the 12-month lunar year and is thus also used for calculating the date of Easter, which falls on the Sunday after the first full moon following the spring equinox. The likely reason for this

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each planet. The tables are also accompanied by an explanation of how to read the tables, supported by a concrete example: how to find the best time to gather fleewort in 1683. In other words, in this case the “demonstrance” seems to mainly refer to text organisation by tables. George Sinclair’s Hydrostaticks (1673) is an example of a text where descriptions of actual scientific experiments were included. The author justifies his choice of experiments in some detail, saying that he aims to choose the easiest and plainest ones. (14) IN explicating the Phenomena of the Hydrostaticks, and in collecting speculative, or practical conclusions from them, I purpose to make choise of the plainest, and most easie Experiments, especially in the entry, that this knowledge, that’s not very common, and yet very useful, may be communicated to the meanest capacities. (Sinclair 1673, To the Reader, p. 3)

He goes on to discuss the function of such experiments in theory-building at some length, explaining that even seemingly obvious results can sometimes be useful, while too “mystical” experiments can be discouraging for a beginner. All in all, it seems that a considerable amount of thought was expended on the question of how best to transmit information of a technical nature to non-specialist audiences. These examples are again metadiscursive in nature. This category could perhaps have been merged with the second one, explanations and additions, but the role of experiments as evidence for the emerging natural sciences would seem to justify treating them as a separate category. Finally, there is a set of unclear cases where the author mentions having tried to make the text clear and useful for a particular audience, but does not comment on any specific strategies for achieving this goal. Clearly such comments are metadiscursive in nature, but they cannot readily be categorised under the strategies for achieving reader-friendliness. Such examples can still shed some light on the intended audience of the work. For example, Cocker’s Arithmetic is described as being designed to help anyone who needs to use arithmetic in their life: (15) I have design’d this Work not extraordinary abstruse or profound, but have by all means possible, within the circumference of my capacity, endeavoured to render it extraordinary useful to all those whose occasions shall induce them to make use of Numbers.   (Cocker 1678, “Mr. Edward Cocker’s proeme or preface”)

correspondence between the herb tables and the Metonic cycle is that the phase of the moon was considered to be of great importance both in gardening and gathering herbs.



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In other cases, the choice of a popular audience is portrayed as being a forced one. Leti’s History of the cardinals of the Roman church (1670) is said to aim for an audience of “the commoner sort”, since he has been unable to reach or satisfy more learned readers. Nonetheless, he professes an ardent desire to reach these inexperienced readers, including language learners (cf. (16)). (16) For my part I am conscious of great insufficiency, and that I have nothing to recommend me, but an immense, and insatiable desire, to make my self intelligible to the most illiterate people in the world: for this reason (being unable to arrive at that pitch of satisfaction (which is natural to all writers) to see my self favour’d by the learned, and receiv’d by them, though as the meanest of them all). I endeavour to gain the acceptance of the commoner sort, by framing my self to the capacity of every body; and the rather, because those strangers who are most curious of learning our tongue, venture not but upon such books as are easie and familiar.   (Leti 1670, The author to the reader)

It is interesting to note that the term framing was already in use and seems to signify much the same thing it does in Goffman’s theory! Finally, one type of material that is rarely mentioned in my data set, and has for that reason not been assigned a category of its own, is illustrations. As we have seen, there is evidence that works aiming for a popular audience with perhaps incomplete literacy skills were designed to cater to the needs of such audiences. Together with typographical devices and more narrative ways of writing, judicious use of illustrations was one of the central strategies adopted by book producers (Suhr 2011). Copperplates and “cuts” are mentioned, but only two mentions in a total of 81 passages is hardly a high number. It will take further research to establish whether the absence of illustrations in my data is due to the method (illustrations can obviously be included without explicitly mentioning them as contributing to the approachability of the text), or whether there is another reason for it. 5. Discussion My initial assumption was that the features investigated were a way of marketing the book to a specific audience. Indeed, this is likely to be one of their main functions especially in those cases where reader-friendliness is mentioned on the title-page or as part of the title itself. This also seems a reasonably likely function for mentioning reader-friendliness in a letter to the reader (such cases form the majority of my examples). However, this reasoning does not explain why similar comments would be included in the main text or in an endnote, where a potential

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buyer would be unlikely to spot them in time for the buying decision. Clearly there are other functions as well, and the most striking one is a defensive one. The authors appear to be quite concerned about the possibility of objections from critical readers, and they do their best to fend off such potential criticism by reminding such readers that they are not the intended audience. It is interesting that book producers clearly felt comfortable with describing their intended audience of consisting of readers of “mean” or “low” capacity – that seems potentially quite insulting. In his discussion of popular literature, Barry points out that it is not at all clear from the evidence whether such works were really aimed at the common people, raising the possibility that they were mostly read by “the middling sort” (1995: 74). Voss notes that in the Elizabethan period, the flattery associated with the bespoke mode6 of book production was quickly disappearing (1998: 751), but also refers to introductory poems from the period which complimented the reader’s intelligence (1998: 744). However, even if flattery was becoming outmoded, this is still very different from calling the audience simple. There is evidence of similar practices already in the Old English period, where, for instance, the vernacular text of The Catholic Homilies by Ælfric was described as intended to serve ad utilitatem idiotarum – for the benefit of the uneducated (see Lenker, Chapter  5, this volume). However, at that time it seems likely that the book would mainly have been read by educated people for or possibly to the uneducated majority. In the early modern period, however, it is likely that the less learned ones would read these same stretches of text as well, even though these epithets are used in asides to the learned readers. This invites the question of whether the connotations of the word mean have changed since then: was the word equally negative in the early modern period? According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the earliest meaning of mean appears to be ‘shared by all, common’ (s.v. mean, adj.1). However, already in the late 14th century it had developed a second sense of inferiority, so that a “mene carpenter” was a carpenter of limited skill (MED, s.v. mēne, adj.1), and it could also refer to those lower in social status. However, writers could also use the phrase to refer to themselves. While such self-deprecating remarks were undoubtedly part of the common humility topos and should therefore not be taken too literally, this nonetheless suggests that the negative connotations of the word were not particularly strong. The popular modern For Dummies series, which provides accessible introductions to an ever-increasing range of topics from quantum mechanics to the blues harmonica, is perhaps a suitable comparison. Undoubtedly the title of the series is intended as ironical, but one may still wonder whether it would be equally successful if it was titled For Morons or For Imbeciles? 6.  The ‘bespoke mode’ of book production refers to books produced on order.



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On the other hand, there is also the possibility that, especially in instructive works, such unflattering descriptions of the intended audience were aimed specifically at teachers, rather than the students or pupils who would also use the work. As students are likely to have their textbooks assigned by teachers, some slight damage to their self-esteem is unlikely to lead to reduced sales. At the same time, such descriptions invite the teacher to consider himself a member of the learned group, and remind him that any strategies for increasing approachability are not aimed at him, but at his pupils. Brayman Hackel mentions that skilled readers were typically addressed in dedicatory letters (if at all), while most prefatory matter focused on the common reader (2005: 98). Indeed, she notes that prefaces sometimes dismiss learned readers, who do not need instructions in how to read a text. However, in her view, the “gentle reader” constructed by such paratexts was also expected to be friendly and uncritical (2005: 117). This is hardly the impression one gains from the present data, where the learned reader mostly seems to figure as a threatening character, likely to “blame”, “censure”, or otherwise undervalue the work. Anderson mentions that some authors resorted to very aggressive language in their letters to the critical reader (2002: 638–639), but in my data, they mostly seem to be on their guard. This may be related to the traditional expectations of humility from authors and other topoi of prefatory matter as well. If authors were unwilling to resort to such sharp-tongued reproofs, another way to defend against potential criticisms was to establish the text as belonging to an audience with different needs. While book producers could hope to reach a wide and varied audience, in practice it is hardly possible to design a text to function equally well for experts and for those with little previous knowledge of the topic, or even of reading in general. Potential criticism could also be fended off by pointing out that expert readers could easily skip explanations which they did not need. Due to the relatively small number of texts used as material, I have not at this stage examined my examples along genre lines. As the dataset contains texts from a number of very different genres with only a few examples from each genre, it would be hard to make generalisations about what is typical of the genre more broadly. However, many of the texts do have a very clear instructive function, which would tend to support interpreting these descriptions as potentially aimed towards teachers. Furthermore, a number of them make explicit reference to “young beginners” as part of their intended audience. On the other hand, not very many of the texts are on topics which would commonly be taught at school: there are books on history and especially religion, but also gardening, travel writing from the New World, and “Rosie Crucian physick”.

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In order to assess the likelihood of such critical readings actually taking place, one has to consider the general atmosphere of the times. Already in the late 1580s, the pseudonymous Martin Marprelate used pamphlets to spread his anti-Anglican propaganda, sparking off a lively controversy, and satirical or polemical pamphlets were soon widely adopted as persuasive tools in the various religious and political debates of the time. While there was no universally accepted definition of what a ‘pamphlet’ was, in the early 17th century it was described by one lexicon-writer as a little book for fools and it was further associated with “calumny or scandal” (Raymond 2003: 7). The libel (from Latin libellus, ‘a small book’) was another genre that soon developed highly negative connotations (Raymond 2003: 20), which shows the close association between small size and controversial content. In addition to propagandistic works, the emerging natural sciences and new philosophical attitudes also led to lively exchanges in print. It is obvious that not all easy books of small size and low price were written for the purpose of entering such controversies, and my dataset only contains six publications that are clearly controversial judging by their titles, all of them religious (see e.g. Chandler 1699). However, in a culture where polemical exchanges in print form were so common, the risk of being critically read or involuntarily pulled into a controversy may have seemed high enough to merit pre-emptive defensive action. During the early modern period, schooling also still placed a certain amount of importance on disputation skills, which may have further encouraged such an oppositional attitude. 6. Conclusion This chapter has examined book producers’ references to their intended readership and especially the factors which they considered made the book easier to read. I have shown that the authors took into account many different features of the text and the physical book in designing a product that would serve a popular audience well: language and style; explanations, additions and apparata; form, method and order; brevity and verbosity; examples and demonstrations; and finally practical issues such as affordability and the time it would take to read a book. However, the most striking function of metadiscursive comments referring to the audience has proven to be a defensive one, aimed to control how readers approached the book and to pre-empt excessive criticism. The generalisability of these findings is limited by the relatively small sample size examined here. However, the qualitative close reading approach allows for a nuanced picture of the discourse about reader-friendliness. In future research, I hope to include searches with many more lexical items. For example, the word plain might well be found in similar contexts, although due to the high number of



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false hits, it would probably need to be combined with some collocating words for increased accuracy. This chapter has also examined the ways in which the notion of paratextual communication partially overlaps with, but also differs from the concept of metadiscourse.

Primary sources Anderson, Robert. 1696. The making of rockets in two parts. London: for Robert Morden. Wing / A3105. Plautus’s comedies, Amphitryon, Epidicus, and Rvdens, made English: with critical remarks upon each play. 1694. London: A. Swalle & T. Child. Wing / P2415. Chandler, Samuel. 1699. A dialogue between a paedo-baptist and an anti-paedo-baptist. London: A. Chandler. Wing / C1931. Cocker, Edward. 1678. Cockers arithmetick being a plain and familiar method suitable to the meanest capacity for the full understanding of that incomparable art as it is now taught by the ablest school-masters in city and countrey. London: for T. Passinger. Wing / C4819. De La Quintinie, Jean. 1693. The compleat gard’ner. London: M. Gillyflower. Wing / L431. Dunton, John. 1685. Heavenly pastime, or, Pleasant observations on all the most remarkable passages throughout the Holy Bible. London: for Dunton at the Black Raven. Wing / D2625. Fréart, Roland. 1668. An idea of the perfection of painting demonstrated from the principles of art. Transl. by J. E. Esquire. Savoy: Henry Herringman. Wing / C1922. Hennepin, Louis. 1698. A new discovery of a vast country in America […]. London: M. Bentley, J. Tonson, H. Bonwick, T. Goodwin and S. Manship. Wing / H1451. Leti, Gregorio. 1670. Il cardinalismo di Santa Chiesa, or, The history of the cardinals of the Roman Church. London: for J. Starkey. Wing / L1330. Moxon, Joseph. 1659. A tutor to astronomie and geographie, or, An easie and speedy way to know the use of both the globes, coelestial and terrestrial in six books. London: Moxon. Wing / M3021. Phillips, Edward. 1685. The mysteries of love & eloquence, or, The arts of wooing and complementing as they are manag’d in the Spring Garden, Hide Park, the New Exchange, and other eminent places. London: J. Rawlins for Obadiah Blagrave. Wing / P2067. Roberts, Francis. 1657. Mysterium & Medulla Bibliorum. London: by R. W. for George Calvert. Wing / R1594 Sinclair, George. 1673. The hydrostaticks, or, The weight, force, and pressure of fluid bodies, made evident by physical, and sensible experiments by G.S. Edinburgh: G. Swintoun, J. Glen, & T Brown. Wing / S3854. Taylor, John. 1687. Thesaurarium Mathematicae, or the Treasury of the Mathematicks. London: by J. H. for W. Freeman. Wing / T534. Tryon, Thomas. 1691. A way to health, long life and happiness: or, A discourse of temperance. London: H.C. for D. Newman. Wing / T3201A. Willis, Thomas. 1684. Dr. Willis’s practice of physick. London: T. Dring, C. Harper, & J. Leigh. Wing / W2854. Worthington, John. 1673. Hypotyposis hygiainonton logon, a form of sound words, or, A scripturecatechism. London: Royston. Wing / W3625.

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Secondary sources Ädel, Annelie. 2001. “On the Search for Metadiscourse Units.” In Proceedings of the Corpus Linguistics 2001 Conference, ed. by Paul Rayson, Andrew Wilson, Tony McEnery, Andrew Hardie, and Shereen Khoja, 3–12. Lancaster University. Ädel, Annelie, and Anna Mauranen. 2010. “Metadiscourse: Diverse and Divided Perspectives.” Nordic Journal of English Studies 9 (2): 1–11.  https://‍doi.org/10.35360/njes.215 Anderson, Randall. 2002. “The Rhetoric of Paratext in Early Printed Books.” In The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain. Vol. IV: 1557–1695, ed. by John Barnard, and Donald F. McKenzie, 636–644. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barry, Jonathan. 1995. “Literacy and Literature in Popular Culture: Reading and Writing in Historical Perspective.” In Popular Culture in England, c. 1500–1850, ed. by Tim Harris, 69–94. Houndmills: Macmillan.  https://‍doi.org/10.1007/978-1-349-23971-9_4 Birke, Dorothee, and Birte Christ. 2013. “Paratext and Digitized Narrative: Mapping the Field.” Narrative 21 (1): 65–87.  https://‍doi.org/10.1353/nar.2013.0003 Brayman Hackel, Heidi. 2005. Reading Material in Early Modern England: Print, Gender, and Literacy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brownlees, Nicholas. 2015. “‘We have in some former bookes told you’: The Significance of Metatext in 17th-Century English news.” In Changing Genre Conventions in Historical English News Discourse, ed. by Birte Bös, and Lucia Kornexl, 3–22. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.  https://‍doi.org/10.1075/ahs.5.01bro Brownlees, Nicholas. 2017. “‘He tells us that’: Strategies of Reporting Adversarial News in the English Civil War.” Journal of Historical Pragmatics 18 (2): 235–251. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/jhp.00004.bro Chaemsaithong, Krisda. 2013. “Interaction in Early Modern News Discourse: The Case of English Witchcraft Pamphlets and Their Prefaces (1566–1621).” Text&Talk 33 (2): 167–188. Dearnley, Elizabeth. 2016. Translators and Their Prologues in Medieval England. [Bristol Studies in Medieval Cultures]. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer. Enterline, Lynn. 2012. Shakespeare’s Schoolroom: Rhetoric, Discipline, Emotion. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.9783/9780812207132 Genette, Gérard. [1987] 1997. Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Transl. by Jane E. Lewin. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goffman, Erving. [1974] 1986. Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience. Boston: Northeastern University Press. Green, Ian, and Kate Peters. 2002. “Religious Publishing in England 1640–1695.” In The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain. Vol. IV: 1557–1695, ed. by John Barnard, and Donald F. McKenzie, 67–93. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521661829.004 Hyland, Ken. 2005. Metadiscourse: Exploring Interaction in Writing. London: Continuum. Hyland, Ken. 2017. “Metadiscourse: What Is It and Where Is It Going?” Journal of Pragmatics 113: 16–29.  https://‍doi.org/10.1016/j.pragma.2017.03.007 Keiser, George R. 1999. “Practical Books for the Gentleman.” In The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain. Vol. III: 1400–1557, ed. by Lotte Hellinga, and Joseph B. Trapp, 470–494. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521573467.025



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Massai, Sonia. 2011. “Editorial Pledges in Early Modern Dramatic Paratexts.” In Renaissance Paratexts, ed. by Helen Smith, and Louise Wilson, 91–106. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511842429.006 MED: Middle English Dictionary. 2001. https://‍quod.lib.umich.edu/m/‍middle-english-dictionary/dictionary Olson, Jonathan R. 2016. “‘Newly amended and much enlarged’: Claims of Novelty and Enlargement on the Title Pages of Reprints in the Early Modern English Book Trade.” History of European Ideas 42 (5): 618–628.  https://‍doi.org/10.1080/01916599.2016.1152753 OED: Oxford English Dictionary. https://‍www.oed.com/ Raymond, Joad. 2003. Pamphlets and Pamphleteering in Early Modern Britain. [Cambridge Studies in Early Modern British History]. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ruokkeinen, Sirkku. 2013. Tragicall Historie and Phantasticall Trifles: On Evaluation of the Book in Sixteenth-Century Translators’ Paratexts. MA thesis, University of Turku. http://‍urn.fi/ URN:NBN:fi-fe201305223712 Sketch Engine: Language corpus management and query system. https://‍www.sketchengine.eu Suhr, Carla. 2011. Publishing for the Masses: Early Modern English Witchcraft Pamphlets. [Mémoires de la Société Néophilologique, 83]. Helsinki: Société néophilologique de Helsinki. Taavitsainen, Irma. 2006. “Audience Guidance and Learned Medical Eriting in Late Medieval English.” In Advances in Medical Discourse Analysis: Oral and Written Contexts, ed. by Maurizio Gotti, and Françoise Salager-Meyer, 431–456. Bern: Peter Lang. Williams, Graham. 2012. “Searching for Verbal Irony in Historical Corpora: A Pilot Study of ‘Mock’ and ‘Scorn’ in the ‘Corpus of Middle English Prose and Verse.’” In Developing Corpus Methodology for Historical Pragmatics. [Studies in Variation, Contacts and Change in English, 11], ed. by Carla Suhr, and Irma Taavitsainen. http://‍www.helsinki.fi/varieng/series/volumes/11/williams/ Varila, Mari-Liisa, and Matti Peikola. 2019. “Promotional Conventions on English Title-Pages to 1550: Modifiers of Time, Scope, and Quality.” In Norms and Conventions in the History of English, ed. by Birte Bös, and Claudia Claridge, 73–94. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/cilt.347.05var Voss, Paul J. 1998. “Books for Sale: Advertising and Patronage in Late Elizabethan England.” Sixteenth Century Journal 29 (3): 733–756.  https://‍doi.org/10.2307/2543686 Wolf, Werner. 2006. “Introduction: Frames, Framings and Framing Borders in Literature and Other Media.” In Framing Borders in Literature and Other Media, ed. by Werner Wolf, and Walter Bernhart, 1–40. Amsterdam/New York: Rodopi.

Chapter 9

Book producers’ comments on text-organisation in early 16th-century English printed paratexts Mari-Liisa Varila University of Turku

This chapter focuses on book producers’ metadiscourse related to text-organisation in 16th-century English printed paratexts. Paratexts offered authors, translators, and printers a convenient space for instructing the reader in navigating the contents of the book at hand. Choices related to text-organisation were occasionally highlighted on the title-page and described in more detail in prefaces or letters to the reader. In this chapter, I examine title-pages and prefaces to find out how book producers justified and clarified their methods of structuring text and information and whether text-organisation was used as a selling point in the early period of print in England. Keywords: Early Modern English, paratext, metadiscourse, book history, textorganisation

1. Introduction This chapter focuses on text producers’ metadiscourse in English books printed during the early 16th century, a period when the shift from manuscript to print as a primary medium for book production was still very much ongoing. Scholars studying a period of media shift commonly observe both changes and continuities in patterns of text production. The technological differences between media as well as the social and cultural context of writing, reading, and using texts may offer explanations for these changes and continuities. The existing and new media may differ in terms of the production process or audience, and such differences can influence the resulting product in various ways. Book producers may follow established conventions, but also figure out new solutions for producing and framing texts.

https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.09var © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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The paratext  – the text surrounding and presenting the main work(s) in a book – can be used to explain and justify the text producers’ decisions related to the presentation of the main text of the book, or to advise the readers on how to use the book and access its contents (on paratext, see e.g. Genette 1997a; Genette 1997b; cf. Bös and Peikola, Chapter 1, this volume). Paratextual spaces such as title-pages and prefaces are therefore a fruitful source of information for textual scholars and book historians interested in the patterns of book production and use. Prefaces and prefatory materials themselves have been described as “metadiscursive by definition in relation to their main texts” (Taavitsainen 2006: 440). However, in this study, my focus is more specifically on explicit metadiscursive comments situated within paratextual elements. In what follows, I shall investigate early 16th-century English title-pages and prefaces to shed light on the processes of text production and organisation of information during this period of media shift. My focus is on comments related to text-organisation: book producers’ descriptions of their text-organisational work and their advice to the readers on how to access the text and information contained in the book. Some of the book producers’ comments can be expected to be simply descriptive and instructive, helping the reader find their way around the book and its contents. However, book producers may also promise something to the reader, or appeal to them. I shall also consider the role of text-organisation in terms of marketing books: were text-organisational features used as a selling point in the mainly speculative context of early print? In the following section, I shall provide an overview of previous work on metadiscourse in paratextual communication. I will then briefly contextualise my study in terms of 16th-century print production before describing the methods and materials of the present study. Finally, I shall respectively examine (1) comments found on title-pages (a paratextual element in constant development throughout the 16th century) and (2) comments in prefaces (an element that was very conventional by the 16th century) before offering some concluding remarks based on my data. 2. Metadiscourse and paratext Ken Hyland begins his recent state-of-the-art survey of the concept of metadiscourse by defining it simply as “the commentary on a text made by its producer in the course of speaking or writing” (2017: 16). This simple and broad definition guides the analysis in the present chapter. Hyland notes that metadiscourse can be viewed as a “recipient design filter” that acts as a bridge between the writer/ speaker and the reader/hearer, helping the audience understand the message in



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the way intended by the writer/speaker (2017: 17). Since paratext largely shares the overall function of persuading the reader to approach the message in a desired manner, it is not surprising that paratextual matter is an abundant source of metadiscursive content. In what follows, I shall briefly discuss the intersection of metadiscourse and paratext and introduce previous studies approaching paratext from the perspective of metadiscourse. The roles of paratext and metadiscourse in framing text have been described in rather similar terms. According to Genette, paratext creates a transitional and transactional zone for authorial commentary that encourages specific ways of reading and receiving the text (1997b: 2), whereas Hyland notes that metadiscourse “signals the presence of a text-organising and content-evaluating author” (2017: 18). Both perspectives thus emphasise the authorial, mediating voice that aims at inviting a certain kind of response from the audience (cf. also Bös and Peikola, Chapter 1, this volume). While much of the previous work on metadiscourse has focused on the authorial perspective, in my data, other text producers (printers and translators) are more prominently present. Both paratext and metadiscourse are categories with fuzzy boundaries and with a wide range of definitions and potential classifications. The border between text and paratext is not easily established. Genette defines paratext as a threshold, “without any hard and fast boundary on either the inward side (turned toward the text) or the outward side (turned toward the world’s discourse about the text)” (1997b: 1–2). While Genette notes that paratext is “made up of a heterogeneous group of practices and discourses of all kinds” (1997b: 2), his focus, as that of the present study, is primarily on textual paratext (1997b: 7). Established categories of textual paratext, such as titles, prefaces, and tables of contents, are often visually flagged for instance through layout and typography. They are also commonly located at the edges of text: before or after the main text, or corresponding to major divisions within the text. These conventions facilitate the collection of paratext data, but less conventionally marked paratextual passages may prove elusive to such materially and visually informed search criteria. Furthermore, the role of visual elements in paratextual communication is still being negotiated (see e.g. Ruokkeinen and Liira 2017). A similar difficulty applies to identifying metadiscourse. A distinction is usually made between propositional content and metadiscourse, but the boundary between the two is not clear-cut (Hyland 2017: 17–18). To find instances of metadiscourse, researchers often search a text corpus for specific surface features, such as the use of first- and second-person pronouns, hedges, or text-organising phrases. However, these surface features typically act as a starting point, and quantitative results are balanced by close reading of examples in their context (Hyland 2017: 18). Hyland points out that metadiscourse is formally heterogeneous:

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metadiscursive strategies used by text producers may take very different forms, and the same linguistic form may have different functions in different contexts (2017: 18). For this reason, he calls for a contextually informed approach to studying metadiscourse (Hyland 2017: 19). Many previous studies classify individual instances of metadiscourse based on their perceived functions. However, Hyland (2017: 20) notes that text-organisational and interactional features are commonly intertwined and should thus be considered together. Taavitsainen also finds overlap between the textual and interpersonal functions of metadiscursive passages in late medieval and early 16thcentury medical writing (2000: 193). The interpersonal model of metadiscourse, described in Hyland (2005) and building on Thompson (2001), accordingly approaches texts from the point of view of interactive and interactional resources. Summarising based on Hyland (2017: 20), interactive resources are related to the “writer’s management of the information flow to guide readers through a text”, such as transition and frame markers (in addition, finally) and endophoric markers (seen above, in Chapter 1). Interactional resources comprise the writer’s “interventions to comment on material” such as hedges, attitude markers, and explicit references to self (Hyland 2017: 20). The different levels of metadiscourse are often referred to as macrolevel and microlevel metadiscourse. Paratextual elements such as prefaces might be considered macrolevel metadiscourse, whereas lower-level items (e.g. transition and attitude markers) would be situated on the micro level of metadiscourse. Prefatory matter has been identified in previous research as an important site for analysing both the macro and micro levels of metadiscourse. In her study on audience guidance in medieval medical writing, Taavitsainen treats prefaces and other prefatory matter as macrolevel metadiscourse (2006: 440–441). She then specifies some microlevel metadiscursive features that commonly occur in prefatory matter, including the use of first- and second-person pronouns, interpersonal pleas or promises to the reader or dedicatee, and metatextual information and guidance related to the structure of the main text (Taavitsainen 2006: 440-441). Chaemsaithong’s analysis of English witchcraft pamphlets also focuses on prefaces, arguing that as an interactional and persuasive space, “the preface necessarily embodies linguistic resources to negotiate intended meanings with readers”, or, metadiscourse (2013: 170). Domínguez-Rodríguez and Rodríguez-Álvarez (2015) examine metadiscursive features in prefaces of 18th-century English grammars, finding paratexts to be fruitful sources for their close analysis of authorial metacomments. Prefatory elements such as abstracts and introductions are also commonly analysed in metadiscourse research focusing on present-day English (Hyland 2017: 25). The present chapter similarly proceeds from the premise that prefatory matter offers a good starting point for a study on text producers’ metadiscursive



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descriptions of text-organisational strategies. Before presenting my research design in more detail, I will first briefly introduce the context in which the primary materials of this study were produced. 3. Text-organisation in 16th-century print Printing presses were established in England from the late 15th century onwards. 16th-century printers still commonly reproduced medieval works, and they continued to frame these texts with paratextual devices that were already familiar to many readers, for example various types of prefatory texts (e.g. prefaces, prologues, dedications, and letters to the reader). When reproducing the text of an earlier work, printers and translators could also adopt an editorial role in rendering their source text more user-friendly. This could be done, for instance, by reorganising the contents of the work to be printed. The main text of a book can be organised in a variety of ways. The contents may follow a chronological order, as for example in chronicles and diaries. Items or entries can also be arranged in alphabetical order, as in dictionaries and concordances. The contents may also be organised thematically, or they may follow some kind of a specific, conventional scheme. In addition to reorganising the main text of the work, book producers could also add in the edition paratextual tools for information retrieval, for example tables and indices (see e.g. Blair 2010: 48–49). This kind of editorial and cumulative approach to text-organisational work predates print. Malcolm Parkes begins his influential essay on the development of text-organisation in the medieval period by noting that “[i]‍t is a truism of palaeography that most works copied in and before the twelfth century were better organized in copies produced in the thirteenth century, and even better organized in those produced in the fourteenth” (1991: 35). This was achieved, for example, by modifying the layout of the text on the page or inserting various kinds of finding aids in the book. Such work was often undertaken by scribes. Keiser points out that late medieval scribes of practical books regularly added finding aids, sometimes “superimposing them in books previously copied without such devices” (1999: 475–476). However, finding aids were also added by manuscript owners and compilers. According to Scase, scholarship on finding aids has shown that they are “a particularly sensitive index of ways in which codicological developments can be shaped by intellectual and social change” (2017: 288). An analysis of these elements may thus reveal a lot about how books were created, read, and used. The development of navigational aids in the medieval period has most commonly been discussed in the context of scholastic reading practices, but Scase (2017) argues

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that the needs of not only professional but also inexperienced readers influenced the development of navigational paratext. As printed books were marketed to both learned and less experienced readers, one might expect to find different strategies and different levels of detail in book producers’ descriptions of text-organisation and finding aids. The gradual shift from manuscript to print as the primary medium of commercial text production has some implications for the development of navigational paratextual devices. Manuscript books are unique in terms of their combination of contents and physical structure, while the copies of a printed edition typically share the same contents. Michael Twyman divides print production into two stages: origination, “the organization and production of the marks to be printed”, and multiplication, “the production of more or less identical copies of an item in the form of a print run” (1998: 8–15). The contents of the copies of a print edition are distributed in the same manner over a number of sheets, leaves, and pages, since a single composition (arrangement of type) can be printed multiple times to produce multiple copies. In manuscript production, each instance of origination is simultaneously an instance of multiplication: the organisation and production of written marks on the physical page of a new copy of the text. In different manuscript copies, the text of the same work could comprise a different number of leaves, and one physical codex could contain copies of several different works. This, in turn, led to different options for elements such as tables of contents and indices. It was possible to devise a table of contents for a whole manuscript codex, so that the entries in the table covered all items in the physical book. Scase calls tables tied to specific physical codices codex-specific tables (2017: 291). Alternatively, a table could be linked to an individual work rather than a physical codex (Scase’s non-codex-specific tables, 2017: 291). While non-codex-specific tables can be linked to scholastic practices (cf. Parkes 1991), codex-specific tables form a very varied group in terms of their comprehensiveness and referencing system (Scase 2017: 292–294). Depending on its type and rationale, a table of contents may refer to parts of the work (books, chapters, or subsections) or to parts of the physical codex (pages or leaves). Navigational devices referring to units of textual content, such as chapters, could be copied from one codex to another, but devices referring to physical units – pages or leaves – had to be adapted to their new physical environment when the text was copied to ensure that the references were useful. Paratextual elements such as navigational devices and prefaces could be produced as codicologically distinct units, they were sometimes inserted into previously existing volumes, and they occasionally circulated independently of the main text (see e.g. Rouse and Rouse 2011: 406; Peikola 2015: 49; Scase 2017: 298–299). In early printed texts, much of the text-organisational work took place on the edition level. For example, the same chapter generally took up the same page range



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in each copy of an edition. Once the contents of the work had been mapped onto the physical support (sheets, leaves, and pages), print allowed for the production of navigational paratextual devices for the whole edition. The table of contents, for instance, could be efficiently multiplied for a number of copies. Modifications to the work and its paratext could be made before printing the next edition of the same work (or even during the print run), and each individual copy of a printed edition is obviously a unique material object. Copies of print editions were commonly bound together with other texts in the 16th century (see e.g. Knight 2013). On the copy-specific level, such multi-text volumes thus share some text-organisational practices with manuscript codices. The focus of this chapter, however, is on the production stage of printed editions and the kind of text-organisational work undertaken before the books were printed. While the paratextual apparatus of 16th-century printed books contains many traces of medieval patterns of text-organisation, such as the continued use of prefaces and navigational aids, one paratextual element that mainly developed in the context of printing is the title-page. It was initially an identifying label for the printed book, but gradually gained a promotional function (Smith 2000: 22–23). This shift is related to the production modes typical of manuscript and print. In the medieval period, manuscripts were primarily produced in the bespoke mode. Briefly put, texts were copied when they were needed. When scribes were commissioned to copy specific works or materials, the customers typically knew in advance what they would receive when the product was finished. The production of printed books, in turn, was mainly speculative. Early printers took financial risks in producing hundreds of copies of a work, hoping to find enough buyers for their edition to make a profit. The title-pages, and the titles themselves, became tools for both identifying and advertising the merchandise (Shevlin 1999: 45–48; Smith 2000: 22–23). The relationship between the two media and the two modes of book production is obviously more complex than the description above can express (see e.g. McKitterick 2003; Boffey 2012). Nevertheless, the number of printing presses and the production of printed books in England increased throughout the 16th century, from only a few printers in the early years to approximately twenty printing houses and fifty presses at the end of the century (as estimated by Raven 2007: 47). Printers had to find ways of promoting their products to new audiences. In addition, they could make a profit by reselling previously published works in the form of revised editions, which sometimes meant that the paratextual framework underwent more changes than the main text of the work (see e.g. Olson 2016). Text-organisational strategies and navigational devices could be used to improve upon previous editions (or manuscript versions) of a work, and evidence for such choices may be expected to appear in prefatory matter.

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4. The present study My analysis focuses on two different categories of prefatory paratext. Firstly, I examine title-pages, a category that largely developed in conjunction with printing and that was ideally placed to attract the attention of a prospective reader. Since the title-page consisted of a single page and often contained elements of visual interest alongside text (e.g. borders, decoration, text in different fonts), there were spatial constraints in place for the amount of text that the book producers could fit on the page. This may have influenced their metadiscursive strategies: were text-organisational choices important or persuasive enough to be highlighted on the title-page? Secondly, I investigate prefaces, a persistent category of paratext that has been shown to contain metadiscursive features across historical periods and in various media of text production. The spatial limitations on prefaces are generally less strict than those on title-pages, and prefaces may thus be expected to contain longer passages explaining or justifying decisions made by book producers. Such passages might be situated on a ‘meso’ level of metadiscourse, between the macrolevel of whole paratextual elements such as prefaces and the microlevel of individual intratextual devices such as hedges or references to self. Methodologically, my analysis draws on corpus-assisted discourse studies (CADS). Approaches combining computer-assisted searches with close reading have been previously successfully applied to the study of metadiscourse in the history of English. For example, Taavitsainen describes her method as “qualitative reading aided and supported by computerised searches” in an electronic corpus (2006: 439). Brownlees’s investigation of editorial metadiscourse in 17th-century English news proceeds from vocabulary searches based on his existing knowledge of the genre and modified based on the initial results (2015: 7). My data were gathered from the Early English Books Online (EEBO) database, which contains digital images of most 16th-century English editions and full-text versions of many of the titles. To find relevant examples of metadiscourse in prefaces, I conducted full-text searches through the EEBO interface (limiting full-text keywords within ‘Prefaces’, ‘Dedications’, and ‘To the Reader’). For the title-page searches, I used an in-house dataset of title-page metadata collected from EEBO. This dataset comprises entries containing title-page information (title, printer, and year of publication) for all editions in EEBO up to the year 1600, including editions for which full-text versions are not yet available. I have focused my searches on the part of the dataset covering the early years, up to 1550. I have also consulted EEBO images for close reading of examples in their textual and visual context. However, the scope of this chapter does not allow for a full bibliographical and historical contextualisation of the editions and works mentioned here.



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In choosing items for initial searches, I used my previous knowledge of early English paratexts as a starting point and modified the list of search terms as my work progressed (similarly to Brownlees 2015). I searched for vocabulary related to the topic of text-organisation: terms describing the physical volume or the abstract work or their constituent parts (e.g. book, chapter, table) and vocabulary denoting textual work (e.g. add, gather, order, set forth). These searches yielded a number of relevant instances, but not enough to merit a quantitative survey. For example, for the word order (verb or noun), which proved to be a fruitful search term for the purposes of this paper, I found 18 relevant instances from title-pages and 50 relevant instances from prefaces, dedications, and letters to the reader in 1473–1550. The word table, as a reference to a paratextual device, appears on 62 title-pages in 1473–1550. For comparison, the total number of title-pages in English in EEBO from 1500 to 1550 is nearly 2,500 (see e.g. Varila 2018: 31–32). There is thus some evidence of book producers commenting on and advertising their textorganisational practices on title-pages and in prefatory matter, but such comments are not very common in relation to the size of the whole corpus of printed English books up to 1550 (on title-page vocabulary describing textual processes and products, see also Varila and Peikola 2019). The initial stage of vocabulary searches was complemented by close reading of relevant examples in their context, which enabled me to locate longer passages of metadiscourse related to text-organisation. To accommodate for the intertwining and overlapping of various functions in instances of metadiscourse found in my data, I have decided not to structure my analysis below according to functions. Instead, my discussion is presented in two sections based on the type of paratextual element. The first section focuses on metadiscursive comments related to text-organisation found on title-pages, and the second section examines comments found in prefatory matter. The discussion below will demonstrate, however, that relevant mentions on title-pages often reference other paratextual matter within the edition. My focus in what follows is on comments that specifically mention, highlight, or justify text-organisational decisions, and as shall be seen below, these comments come in various forms, including declarations, promises, and instructions. 5. Text-organisation on title-pages Selling books is sometimes simple: a customer needs a specific text and subsequently purchases a book containing the text. However, sometimes the need or desire to buy a copy has to be created, for example through using various linguistic and/or visual persuasive strategies. Early printers devised ways of using the paratextual space to market their editions. Especially the title-page quickly developed

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into an important promotional and informational space that could draw the potential reader’s attention with both its visual and verbal content. As Smith notes, even if we cannot be certain exactly how potential customers first encountered early printed books, “it is plausible that the first verbal indicator [the customer] would encounter was whatever fell on the book’s first physical page, whether it was ready bound or in quires” – that is, the title-page (2000: 145–146). Shevlin points out that the audience of the title of a work is larger than the audience of the work itself (1999: 43). Similarly, the readership of an early printed title-page may have been much wider than the readership of the text of the book. A prospective customer could also have seen a copy of the title-page outside the book. Shevlin presents evidence for early modern title-pages having been used as advertising flyers or posters, noting that such a title-page “bore the responsibility first of attracting passersby via its visual appeal and then of conjuring up the absent work and inculcating a desire for its presence” (1999: 48–49; see also Saenger 2006: 38–39). The examples cited by Shevlin and Saenger mostly date from the late 16th and the 17th centuries, but this dual use has some implications for the treatment of early title-pages in terms of paratext theory. Genette divides paratext into two basic categories: peritext, located within the same physical volume as the text itself (e.g. preface), and epitext, at least initially located outside the physical volume (e.g. author interview) (1997b: 4–5). If the text of a 16th-century title-page was included within the physical volume and also circulated as a detached advertisement, it could act as peritext or epitext depending on the reader and the context. Unsold copies could also be made more attractive by substituting a new, revised title-page for the original one (see e.g. Bowers [1949] 1994: 80). This further stresses the importance of the title-page as a promotional space. Although prefatory matter is by definition found at the beginning of the book, it was commonly printed last, as can be deduced from bibliographical evidence (see e.g. Gaskell [1972] 1995: 52, 108). This enabled the book producers to produce some of the paratextual matter after the main text had been printed, and to look back on their decisions related to the production process. Book producers arguably placed in the prefatory space elements that they wished the reader to read or notice before reading the main text of the work. In addition to the title-page, the reader may also have encountered, browsed, or read prefaces, dedications, tables of contents, or indices in this space. 16th-century title-pages often advertised the main text and highlighted the quality of the production process  – as Smith notes, title-pages announced “not only the text but also its producer” (2000: 143). The quality and novelty of the edition could be stressed by stating that the text had been diligently corrected, or that the edition was newly printed. Such claims were already made on title-pages



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in the beginning of the 16th century (Smith 2000: 106), and they continued to be made throughout the early modern period. Claims of novelty could also be used to sell reprints, as demonstrated by Olson (2016). Conversely, the venerable age of the work or the credentials of its author could also be highlighted (see e.g. Varila and Peikola 2019: 83). 5.1 References to the organisation of the main text Text-organisation is occasionally mentioned on early 16th-century title-pages, although it is not as common a selling point as the quality or novelty of the text or the work. One typical promotional theme occurring on title-pages is the usefulness of the main text to the reader. In terms of text-organisation, the accessibility of the main text may be similarly stressed. Book producers may simply highlight the logical organisation of the contents of the book in relatively general terms. For example, the title-page of Richard Pynson’s edition of Natura brevium (STC 18388, 1518) states that additions have been “put in theyr places moste conuenient”. John Byddell’s edition of biblical commonplaces (STC 21752.5, [1538]) claims to be “ordrely and after a co[m]‍pendious forme of teachyng set forth with no litle labour, to the gret profit and help of all such studentes in Gods worde as haue not had longe exercyse in the same”. This book is explicitly directed at inexperienced readers of the Bible, which is perhaps why the orderliness or clarity of the text is emphasised in the title. In the above cases, the details of the organisation scheme are not specified on the title-page. The book producers simply promise that the contents are presented in a logical manner. However, including such comments on the title-page suggests that the quality of text-organisation could be highlighted to tempt customers. One way to help the reader navigate the contents was to organise the main text itself according to a recognisable pattern or scheme. Title-pages occasionally mention such structuring principles. For example, the title-page of a Bible concordance printed by Richard Grafton (STC 17300, 1550) promises that in this work, “by the ordre of the letters of the A.B.C. ye maie redely finde any worde conteigned in the whole Bible, so often as it is there expressed or mencioned”. Grafton’s title-page informs the reader of both the genre and the organisational structure of the book. A biblical concordance, itself a finding aid for another text, would not typically have been read linearly. It would have been consulted according to the reader’s current needs and interests, and thus it was important to make the contents easy to navigate. The title-page promises the reader that it will be easy to find and access information within the alphabetically organised book. Another way of organising the text according to a recognisable scheme was to use some sort of conventionalised pattern. For example, religious material could be organised according to a conventional order, in turn dependent on the daily or

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yearly cycle. The title-page of STC 2999 (Edward Whitchurch, [1547]) promises that the contents have been “gathered and set in suche order, as may be vsed for dayly meditacions”. STC 5806 ([Reynold Wolfe], 1550), in turn, is described on the title-page as “A postill or collection of moste godly doctrine vpon every gospell through the yeare aswell for holye dayes as Sondayes, dygested in suche order, as they bee appoynted and set forthe in the booke of Common Prayer”. Both titles instruct the reader on how to find their way around the text and how the contents might be used throughout the day or year. Like religious texts, early scientific texts employ conventional schemes of organising information. In William Copland’s 1550 edition of The treasurie of healthe (STC 14651.5), some of the additional contents have been “redacted to a certayne order according to the membres of mans body”. The conventional order of presenting medical information related to the human body was to progress from the head to the feet. This also mirrored the cycle of the twelve astrological signs, as Aries was associated with the head and Pisces with the feet. This pattern of organisation, from head to feet, would have been easy to navigate for someone familiar with the conventions of medical and scientific writing. 5.2 References to paratext In addition to describing the organisation scheme of the main text, 16th-century book producers occasionally mention various other paratextual elements on the title-page, for example prefaces and finding aids. Prefaces typically consist of one or more pages of text placed after the title-page and before the main text. Finding aids may comprise one or more pages or leaves, and they may be located before or after the main text or be interspersed with the main text. Some finding aids mirror the organisation of the main text, presenting a condensed view of the contents in the form of a table or summary, while others follow an organisational scheme different from that of the main text, for example an alphabetical index containing page or chapter references. The title-page of John Weyland’s primer (book of hours) from 1539 (STC 16009) declares that by consulting the “prologe next after the kale[n]‍der” the reader shall “sone perceaue, and there in shall se brefly the order of the whole boke”. The title-page is followed by a dedication, a prologue to the calendar, the calendar itself, and, finally, the prologue mentioned in the title. On χA4v (the eighth leaf of the book, as signature A is duplicated), there is indeed a “prologe to the whole worke” which summarises the contents of each part of the book and explains the rationale of what has been included in the edition and why. The title-page of STC 4412 [1548?], a translation of Jean Calvin’s Petit traict’e de la Saincte cene, advertises a preface by the translator Miles Coverdale, who “hath set before this litle booke



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an Epistle to the reader much more effectuous then in the fyrst edicion”. The references on these title-pages direct the reader’s attention to the prefatory materials within the books, and the latter one promises to improve on the previous edition. The title-page of STC 19907, a 1550 edition of Piers Plowman, describes the organisation of the main text and a related summary: in the begynning is set a brefe summe of all the principal matters spoken of in the boke. And as the boke is deuided into twenty partes called Passus: so is the summary diuided, for euery parte hys summarie, rehearsynge the matters spoken of in euery parte. euen in suche order as they stande there.

A summary or a table of contents is essentially an abridgment of the contents. It provides the reader with an overall view of what the book contains, which may help a prospective customer or reader decide whether they want to purchase or read the book. A summary or table simultaneously works as a finding aid for a reader consulting or rereading the book later, and it was faster to use compared to browsing the full work. Although statements related to text-organisation are not exceedingly common on early 16th-century title-pages, the examples above show that book producers did occasionally use text-organisation as a selling point. This could be done in a summary manner, stating that the book is “orderly” or that everything is in its proper place. But book producers could also be more specific, declaring that the main text is arranged in alphabetical or conventional order, or advertising a new or improved preface or finding aid in the volume. Such cross-references to prefaces and finding aids invited the reader to engage with the book beyond its title-page, and perhaps encouraged the customer to purchase a revised edition of a work to which they already had access. 6. Text-organisation in prefaces In addition to the title-page, book producers addressed text-organisation in other front matter, such as different kinds of prefaces or letters to the reader. Textorganisational comments in prefaces might be expected to functionally differ from those found on title-pages. Given that the text of a 16th-century preface is typically longer than that of a title-page, and not as readily accessible to a potential customer, the immediate promotional value of prefaces may be somewhat lesser than that of title-pages (but see Domínguez-Rodríguez and Rodríguez-Álvarez, Chapter 7, this volume, on persuasive advertising strategies in 17th-century prefatory discourse). However, metadiscursive promotion in a preface may certainly influence the opinion of a reader already engaged with the book. A preface can potentially

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offer much more detailed help in terms of navigating the book than a title-page. It can also be used to justify the decisions of the book producers and present them in a positive light, anticipating potential criticisms towards their product. Prefaces may also reveal editorial or text-critical approaches to text-organisation, or an appeal to the reader that they use text-organisation as a tool for critical reading. In the following, I will examine in more detail some examples of comments related to text-organisation found in prefatory matter. 6.1 Developing the paratextual frame Richard Grafton’s editions of the so-called Hall’s Chronicle (STC 12721–3a) present a printer willing to take on editorial duties and improve the paratextual frame of a work gradually. Hall’s Chronicle is a massive volume, comprising over a thousand pages. In the end of the first iteration of Grafton’s preface, he tells the reader that “so sone as my leasure wil serve, for thine ease & ready fyndyng of any thyng herein conteyned I purpose to gather an exact table of the whole woorke” (STC 12721, [hedera]‍3v). The preface suggests that although the edition is now published, Grafton will continue working on the text. The readers can thus expect at least a new finding aid, and potentially an improved edition of the whole work to be made available in the near future. The work may have been already underway; the bibliographical evidence for the process of printing this work is complex and suggests ongoing work in 1547–1550, and some copies combine sheets from different stages of the work by different printers (see Blayney [2013] 2015: 724–725, and English Short Title Catalogue entries for STC numbers 12721–3a). However, instead of directly promising the reader to gather a table of the work, Grafton purposes to do it – this hedge fashions the comment into a statement of intention rather than a promise. Grafton’s comment can also be understood in the wider context of paratextual communication in early books. According to Shevlin (1999), titles of books gradually developed a contractual function in the early modern period, not only in the legal sense but also in terms of how accurately they represent the contents of the main text. Book producers could make offers or promises to the reader in paratextual spaces, thereby seeking to interact with their audience and, perhaps, to enter into a kind of contractual relationship with them. Grafton fulfills his tentative promise later. In the revised preface, Grafton states: “wher I promysed for the ready fynding of suche thinges as are herin conteygned to gather an exact table, I haue now performed my promes herin and haue (after my best maner, and so diligently as I can) deuysed for the history of euery seueral kyng, a seuerall table” (STC 12723, 1550, A3v). Somewhat more confidently, Grafton now declares to have “performed his promise”. He adds a paratextual layer that helps the reader navigate the long work. He places alphabetical



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indices after all the major sections of the work and explains how the indices – or, in Grafton’s words, tables – are organised. References in the tables are given by the leaf, side of leaf, and line number, and the margins of the main text are equipped with roman numerals for every ten lines. In such a massive volume, these indices must have been laborious to create, but potentially very useful to the reader. This important addition is also announced on the title-page of the edition, which shows how different paratextual elements could work together to frame the text. The 1550 title-page employs a different visual design than that of the earlier edition, but the text of the title proper is substantially the same as in the previous edition. However, after the title, in smaller type, the revised title-page reads: “Whereunto is added to every king a several table”. The new navigational paratextual element is thus prominently advertised on the title-page, perhaps to entice not only new customers but also those who already owned a copy without the indices. The reference to the indices on the title-page increases the visibility of the new navigational device situated within the book, inviting the customer to browse the edition further and, ideally, purchase a copy. The different visual design might also have made the edition appear new and different. Similar strategies are still in use today. For example, the cover of a new edition of a popular textbook might carry a prominently placed edition statement and a revised visual design. 6.2 Text-critical comments In some instances, albeit rare, the preface encourages the reader to use text-organisation as a point of reference for identifying a specific version or edition of a work, for ensuring that the text is authentic, or that it is the version intended to be circulated by the book producers. These purposes share a text-critical dimension. Two different examples of such commentary are discussed below. My first example comes from an English translation of the work known as the Meditations of Saint Bernard printed by Wynkyn de Worde in 1496 (STC 1916). According to the colophon, the anonymous translator of the work is a “deuoute Student of the vnyuersytee of Cambrydge” (E5v). In the (untitled) preface, the translator complains that an earlier version of the translation, not yet “duely correcte & ordred”, had been “by deuoute persones transumpte & copied” against his will (A1v). The translator therefore proceeded to correct the text and provide the printer with a new version (dating this to 12th September, 1495, on A1v). The translator then appeals to the reader, urging them to dispose of their copies of the earlier translation and choose the present edition instead: “leue them as doubtfull & Ieoperdous: And take this more dyligently ordred & corrected” (A2r). The titlepage of this edition only contains the title, “Medytacions of saynt Bernarde”, and

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a woodcut illustration of the saint. But the phrase duly/diligently ordered and corrected, here used in the preface, is very similar to promotional formulae used on 16th-century title-pages. However, the translator does not simply mention the fact that different translations exist, but continues by explicitly instructing the reader on how to distinguish between the two versions by comparing the patterns of text-organisation: It is not harde to knowe the one fro the other. For they dyfferre bothe in nombre of chapyters & in rubryshes of the same. The vncorrected was diuyded in to .xxv. chapyters. Wherof the fyrste had noo specyall rubryshe. The seconde chapytre of the same began thus. ¶Our mynde sothly is the ymage of god or elles thus ¶The mynde sothly is the ymage of god. And his rubryshe was this. ¶That the mynde of man is called the ymage of god. / But this that is corected more dylygently is deuyded & parted in to .xviij. chapiters only. whereof the rubryshes folowe here in ordre. (STC 1916, A2r)

This example illustrates the kinds of text-organisational work that book producers may have undertaken before an edition was printed. The translator asserts to have produced two versions of the translation, reordering and correcting the text in the second version. Furthermore, the alternative readings given for the beginning of the second chapter in the example above suggest that the manuscript copies of the earlier translation had developed some minor variants. The reader is informed that a simple comparison of the chapter division and rubrication will reveal which version of the text they are consulting. The preface invites the reader to read critically and choose the more reliable, corrected and improved text. A reader buying de Worde’s edition would obviously have received the “more diligently ordered and corrected” text, which perhaps begs the question of whether this detailed explanation of the differences between the two versions was worth including in the edition. However, as the earlier version was circulated in manuscript, a prospective reader might already have owned or had access to a manuscript copy of the less polished translation. The customer might have been persuaded by the preface to acquire the new, reorganised and corrected text. The detailed text-critical description of the differences could be used to identify the two versions. The description is instructive, but simultaneously advertises the present book as the better option. Bearing in mind that this edition has a very simple title-page (A1r), the preface on the following opening (A1v–A2r) was probably the ideal textual site for promotional and persuasive moves. The preface is even reprinted in substantially similar form and in the same location in de Worde’s two later editions of the work (STC 1917, 1499; STC 1918, [1525]). Text-organisation might also have mattered beyond the level of a single work. In the 16th century, it was common to bind together copies of different editions,



Chapter 9.  Comments on text-organisation in 16th-century paratexts 225

or have the texts bound together by a bookbinder. Such compilations could, for example, comprise texts by a specific author or addressing the same theme. 16thcentury book producers did not have control over what the buyers and readers did after buying an unbound copy of a work. However, in one instance a translator motivates the inclusion of paratextual material by referring to such practices. In the preface to STC 25420 [1541], printed by William Middleton, the translator Richard Whitford (identified on the title-page as “a late brother of Syon”) notes: I am compelled not onely to setforth my name, but also to ioyne therunto this cataloge and wryttynge of the contentes (by noumber) of this volume. And that I do: charitably to gyue you warnyng to serche well / and suerly that none suche other workes, be put amonge them: that myght deceyue you. For (of a certente) I founde nowe but very late: a worke: ioyned and bounde with my pore labours & vnder the contentes of the same volume / and one of my workes that was named in the same contentes: lefte out, in sted wherof: was put this other worke that was not myne. For the tytle of myne, was, thus. A dayly excercyse, & experience of death. An the other worke hathe no name of any auctour and all such workes in thys tyme be euer to be suspected. (STC 25420, A1v)

The translator tells the reader a story about a volume of his works, where one of his texts was taken out and replaced by an anonymous, and therefore suspicious, work. This swapping of texts could only be detected by carefully consulting the list of contents of the volume and comparing it to the contents. The translator continues by warning the reader about anonymous works, circulated without the name of the author or translator, as they may be heretical. He advises the reader: “Knowe what you rede, and what you suffre your chyldren to lerne. Specially (after my pore aduise) medle not with the workes of nameles & vnknowne auctours I haue shewed you why” (A2r). This advice echoes Henry VIII’s 1538 proclamation which declares that no person “shall from henseforthe prynte any boke of translations in the englyshe tonge, oneles the playne name of the translatour therof be conteyned in the saide boke, or elles that the prynter wyll answere for the same as for his owne priuie dede and acte” (STC 7790; see also Blayney [2013] 2015: 488). This preface suggests that in addition to giving a condensed view of a work and acting as a finding aid, a table of contents may have had yet another function. By inserting a list or table of contents in their product, book producers could try to mitigate the risk of dangerous texts being hidden and circulated within a volume of texts otherwise considered appropriate. The reader is encouraged to “search well and surely” that there are no substitutions in the volume. In other words, they should cross-check the number and titles of the texts in a volume against the list of contents. The list of contents could thus be used to ensure the authenticity of the text.

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7. Conclusion This chapter set out to examine how 16th-century book producers described and promoted their strategies of text-organisation in paratextual spaces. As expected on the basis of previous research, paratextual elements provided fruitful material for an analysis of metadiscursive practices. In this study, the focus was specifically on title-pages and prefaces, both of which were shown to contain descriptions of text-organisation and mentions of text-organisational paratextual devices. Importantly, a close reading of the examples in context shed light on the interplay between different paratextual elements: navigational aids are sometimes both advertised on the title-page and described in the preface. Furthermore, the examples discussed here highlight the metadiscursive practices of the various categories of text-producers active in early 16th-century print trade – not only authors, but also translators and printer-editors. Based on the examples analysed, 16th-century book producers’ metadiscursive comments related to text-organisation performed a variety of tasks. Firstly, and unsurprisingly, comments related to text-organisation could guide the reading process in various ways. Comments on the title-page could be used to draw the reader’s attention to the structure of the main text or the finding aids provided within the book and encourage them to browse or read the book beyond the title-page. Secondly, comments on text-organisation were also used as part of the larger toolkit for advertising the quality of the edition and the book production process. Book producers could note that the book is well ordered, or highlight a newly added preface or finding aid. In the context of print, the title-page offered a suitable space for such promotion. Even when the potential buyer already had access to a given work, the book producers could entice them into buying the new version by stressing the added value of a revised structure and better navigational tools. Finally, comments related to text-organisation could be used to show the reader how to ensure the authenticity or superiority of the present text by using text-organisation as a point of reference for comparing the different versions of a work or different editions. Such editorial or text-critical strategies were perhaps considered useful in the context of speculative production of printed books, as they could be used to convince the reader that they need a specific, or revised, version of a certain work. The book producers could also use paratext as a form of insurance, advising the reader to access a particular version and thus pre-empting potential problems resulting from their audience consulting dangerous or otherwise deficient texts.



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Primary sources All STC numbers are 2nd ed. STC 1916 = Meditations of Saint Bernard. [Westminster: Wynkyn de Worde, 1496]. STC 2999 = Deuout psalmes and colletes […]. [London: Edward Whitchurch, 1547]. STC 4412 = A faythful and moost Godlye treatyse […]. [London: John Day and William Seres, 1548?]. STC 5806 = A postill or collection of moste godly doctrine […]. London: [Reynold Wolfe, 1550]. STC 7790 = The kynges most royall maiestie […]. [London]: Thomas Berthelet, [1538]. STC 12721 = The vnion of the two noble and illustrate famelies […]. [London: Richard Grafton], 1548. STC 12723 = The vnion of the two noble and illustre famelies […]. [London: Richard Grafton and Steven Mierdman, 1550]. STC 16009 = The manual of prayers or the prymer […]. London: John Weyland, [1539]. STC 17300 = A concorda[n]‍ce, that is to saie, a worke […]. [London: Richard Grafton, 1550]. STC 18388 = Natura breuiu[m] newly corrected […]. [London: Richard Pynson, 1518]. STC 19907 = The vision of pierce Plowman […]. London: [Richard Grafton for] Robert Crowley, [1550]. STC 21752.5 = Com[m]‍on places of scripture […]. London: John Byddell, [1538]. STC 25420 = Here foloweth dyuers holy instrucyons […]. [London: William Middleton, 1541].

Secondary sources Blair, Ann M. 2010. Too Much to Know: Managing Scholarly Information before the Modern Age. New Haven: Yale University Press. Blayney, Peter W. M. [2013] 2015. The Stationers’ Company and the Printers of London 1501– 1557 (2 vols.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139542715 Boffey, Julia. 2012. Manuscript and Print in London c. 1475–1530. London: British Library. Bowers, Fredson. [1949] 1994. Principles of Bibliographical Description. Winchester: St Paul’s Bibliographies and New Castle, DE: Oak Knoll Press. Brownlees, Nicholas. 2015. “‘We have in some former bookes told you’: The Significance of Metatext in 17th-Century English News.” In Changing Genre Conventions in Historical English News Discourse, ed. by Birte Bös, and Lucia Kornexl, 3–22. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.  https://‍doi.org/10.1075/ahs.5.01bro Chaemsaithong, Krisda. 2013. “Interaction in Early Modern News Discourse: The case of English Witchcraft Pamphlets and Their Prefaces (1566–1621).” Text&Talk 33 (2): 167–188. Domínguez-Rodríguez, M. Victoria, and Alicia Rodríguez-Álvarez. 2015. “‘The reader is desired to observe…’ Metacomments in the Prefaces to English School Grammars of the Eighteenth Century.” Journal of Historical Pragmatics 16 (1): 86–108. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/jhp.16.1.04dom Early English Books Online (EEBO). ProQuest. https://‍www.proquest.com/eebo Gaskell, Philip. [1972] 1995. A New Introduction to Bibliography. New Castle, DE: Oak Knoll Press.

228 Mari-Liisa Varila Genette, Gérard. [1982] 1997a. Palimpsests. Literature in the Second Degree. Transl. by Channa Newman, & Claude Doubinsky. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Genette, Gérard. [1987] 1997b. Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Transl. by J. E. Lewin. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hyland, Ken. 2005. Metadiscourse. London: Continuum. Hyland, Ken. 2017. “Metadiscourse: What Is It and Where Is It Going?” Journal of Pragmatics 113: 16–29.  https://‍doi.org/10.1016/j.pragma.2017.03.007 Keiser, George R. 1999. “Practical Books for the Gentleman.” In The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain. Vol. III: 1400–1557, ed. by Lotte Hellinga, and Joseph B. Trapp, 470–494. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521573467.025 Knight, Jeffrey T. 2013. Bound to Read: Compilations, Collections, and the Making of Renaissance Literature. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. https://‍doi.org/10.9783/9780812208160 McKitterick, David. 2003. Print, Manuscript and the Search for Order, 1450–1830. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Olson, Jonathan R. 2016. “‘Newly amended and much enlarged’: Claims of Novelty and Enlargement on the Title Pages of Reprints in the Early Modern English Book Trade.” History of European Ideas 42 (5): 618–628.  https://‍doi.org/10.1080/01916599.2016.1152753 Parkes, Malcolm B. 1991. “The Influence of the Concepts of Ordinatio and Compilatio on the Development of the Book.” In Scribes, Scripts and Readers: Studies in the Communication, Presentation and Dissemination of Medieval Texts, ed. by Mary A. Rouse, and Richard H. Rouse, 35–69. London: Hambledon Press. Peikola, Matti. 2015. “Manuscript Paratexts in the Making: British Library MS Harley 6333 as a Liturgical Compilation.” In Discovering the Riches of the Word. Religious Reading in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. by Sabrina Corbellini, Margriet Hoogvliet, and Bart Ramakers, 44–67. Leiden: Brill.  https://‍doi.org/10.1163/9789004290396_004 Raven, James. 2007. The Business of Books. Booksellers and the English Book Trade. New Haven: Yale University Press. Rouse, Richard H., and Mary A. Rouse. 2011. “Some Assembly Required: Rubric Lists and Other Separable Elements in Fourteenth-Century Parisian Book Production.” In “Li premerains vers”: Essays in Honor of Keith Busby, ed. by Catherine M. Jones, and Logan E. Whalen, 405–416. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Ruokkeinen, Sirkku, and Aino Liira. 2017 [2019]. “Material Approaches to Exploring the Borders of Paratext.” Textual Cultures 11 (1–2): 106–129. Saenger, Michael. 2006. The Commodification of Textual Engagements in the English Renaissance. Aldershot: Ashgate. Scase, Wendy. 2017. “‘Looke this calender and then proced’: Tables of Contents in Medieval English Manuscripts.” In The Dynamics of the Medieval Manuscript: Text Collections from a European Perspective, ed. by Karen Pratt, Bart Besamusca, Matthias Meyer, and Ad Putter, 287–30. Göttingen: V&R unipress.  https://‍doi.org/10.14220/9783737007542.287 Shevlin, Eleanor F. 1999. “‘To reconcile Book and Title, and make ‘em kin to one another’: The Evolution of the Title’s Contractual Functions.” Book History 2: 42–77. https://‍doi.org/10.1353/bh.1999.0011 Smith, Margaret M. 2000. The Title-Page: Its Early Development 1460–1510. London & New Castle, DE: The British Library & Oak Knoll Press.



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Taavitsainen, Irma. 2000. “Metadiscursive Practices and The Evolution of early English Medical Writing 1375–1550.” In Corpora Galore: Analyses and Techniques in Describing English. Papers from the Nineteenth International Conference on English Language Research on Computerised Corpora (ICAME 1998), ed. by John M. Kirk, 191–208. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Taavitsainen, Irma. 2006. “Audience Guidance and Learned Medical Writing in Late Medieval English.” In Advances in Medical Discourse Analysis: Oral and Written Contexts, ed. by Maurizio Gotti, and Françoise Salager-Meyer, 431–456. Bern: Peter Lang. Thompson, Geoff. 2001. “Interaction in Academic Writing: Learning to Argue with the Reader.” Applied Linguistics 22 (1): 58–78.  https://‍doi.org/10.1093/applin/22.1.58 Twyman, Michael. 1998. The British Library Guide to Printing: History and Techniques. London: The British Library. Varila, Mari-Liisa. 2018. “Compiling Practices in Printed English Paratexts 1500–1550.” Journal of the Early Book Society 21: 27–51. Varila, Mari-Liisa, and Matti Peikola. 2019. “Promotional Conventions on English Title-Pages up to 1550: Modifiers of Time, Scope, and Quality.” In Norms and Conventions in the History of English, ed. by Birte Bös, and Claudia Claridge, 73–97. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/cilt.347.05var

Part III

Form and layout in framing

Chapter 10

Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing Framing contents and expanding the text Elisabetta Lonati University of Eastern Piedmont

This study focusses on the paratextual apparatus of 18th-century medical writing, with specific reference to tables of contents, indexes, appendices and glossaries in handbooks and compendia published in the second half of the century. The analysis, carried out on a sample of relevant works of the period, investigates both the layout (structural organisation on the page), and language issues (use of English to convey meaning). In particular, the relationship between the type and function of the paratext, along with the systematisation of contents through language are at the core of the discussion. The results of the analysis highlight the relevance of basic and complex paratextual patterns in medical writing. The interaction of layout and language frames medical contents for the reader (front matter), whereas back matter expands the main text by mapping connections and dependencies (indexes), adding lists of medicines and remedies (appendices), and explanatory terminology (glossaries). Keywords: paratext, front matter, back matter, 18th-c. medical writing, 18th-c. medical handbooks, 18th-c. lexicography, 18th-c. medical terminology

1.

Aim of the study

The general aim of this contribution is to investigate some of the paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing. More precisely, focus will be placed upon tables of contents, indexes, appendices and glossaries in handbooks and compendia published in the second half of the century. As the titles tell, these works were referred to in various ways: treatise, observations, essay, dissertations, review, remarks, comparative view, repository, short/comprehensive treatise, analysis, practice,

https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.10lon © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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art1 etc. They were addressed either to an expanding lay readership interested in health and medicine (Lane 2001: 9, 11–12, 22–23; Waddington 2011: 79–97, 172–175; Taavitsainen and Pahta 2011: 4–5; Lonati 2017: 11–14), or to students and professional practitioners, and usually either described a variety of diseases or focussed on specific affections such as fevers and inflammations. Although their aim was essentially practical, recurrent sections structuring text and discourse, devoted to prevention, along with the description of signs and symptoms, diagnosis, prognosis, possible cures and remedies, all seem to suggest a stabilising disciplinary procedure (Lonati 2017: 95–96). Furthermore, paratextual sections, particularly back matter when present, provided an appropriate place to introduce extra information: remedies, medicines, word meanings and definitions of specialised terminology, which were complementary to the main body. It is from these extra sections that a close analysis of the paratext starts, focussing on the layout (structural organisation on the page), and on language issues.2 As regards the layout, the study investigates the relationship between the type and function of the paratext, its taxonomic and hierarchical strategies. The analysis of the use of English to convey meaning focusses on the systematisation of contents through language, frequent repetition of key words, definition strategies, and sense relations (particularly hyponymy-hyperonymy). Before discussing the sources and methods selected for the study, it is worth mentioning the complex background in which medical books were produced, and medical knowledge was disseminated for an expert and a non-expert readership, even though the boundaries between these two macro-groups of readers were inevitably and inextricably blurred (Furdell 2002: 30, 38, 43, 49; Raven 2007: 134, 195–199; Rosenberg 1983: 25–26; Signy 2010: 780–784, 788). The 1740s are considered the “threshold decade for the great take-off in book trade productivity in the eighteenth century” (Raven 2007: 130), due to many cooccurring reasons. Along with the expansion of trade, the book market and book demand grew fast, especially among the middling classes (Raven 2007: 101). Books, like many other non-essential and commercial items, were definitely commodified 1.  These denominations may refer either to the kind of works (treatise, essay, observations, dissertations, etc.) as an attempt to identify and conceptualise genre (cf. Lonati 2017: 19–25, 89–96), even though in this period a one-to-one correspondence between denomination and genre cannot be established, or refer to medicine as a discipline. In this period, medicine encompassed both the theoretical level of specialised knowledge (treatise, essay, dissertations, etc.), and the more practical attitude of performing medicine (art, practice, observations, comparative view, etc.). 2.  See also Moore, Chapter 12, this volume, for the effects of structural and graphical choices in late Middle English manuscripts.



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in this period, as the result of a long process started much earlier. Books assumed different social functions, in relation to an expanding and multifaceted audience: from luxury goods and signs of status (Raven 2007: 101) displayed in domestic libraries, to portable, pocket-size useful books, such as instructional handbooks to be consulted by professionals or to be read by educated lay men or, furthermore, to cheaper and less prestigious books, or popular print (Raven 2007: 222–223). The use of the vernacular was another key component in this dynamic context. The combination of all these commercial, social, and linguistic factors became crucial with respect to the growing interest in health by the literate lay people in a consumer (urban) society, and a corresponding expansion of the medical market place for remedies and cures, since the early modern times (Furdell 2002: 29– 30). On the one hand, physicians and formally-trained practitioners – especially, apothecaries and surgeons  – had the possibility to disseminate and popularise their ideas and practices; on the other hand, printers, booksellers, and readersconsumers made the “broad diffusion of medical knowledge” possible beyond “formal academic medicine” (Rosenberg 1983: 27). According to Signy, in a study on the well-known Tissot’s Avis au peuple sur sa santé (1761), “the popularization of medicine is also an horizontal movement” (2010: 771), which combines agency (“active construction of meaning that varies according to innumerable social and cultural factors”, Signy 2010: 770–771, i.e. reader-consumer’s needs and perspectives), and normativity (“vertical movement downward […] as the transformation of esoteric knowledge into lay knowledge by way of editorial manipulation and semiotic simplification”, Signy 2010: 770, i.e. authorial perspective/s). Physicians and practitioners writing to express and disseminate their own ideas in vernacular, to communicate with their colleagues, to instruct (semi)‍professionals, to inform and advise on health issues, contributed to the formation of a mixed and “elusive” readership (Rosenberg 1983: 26). Nonetheless, differences between “complex knowledge (restricted to physicians) and simple knowledge (available to laymen […])” (Signy 2010: 787), professional knowledge and lay knowledge, and their separated functions, were emerging to be definitely established in the following century. Signy refers to Tissot’s Avis, but more general (medical) issues of the period are implied. The handbook was “not a substitute for a physician”, or licensed practitioner, “but […] a complement to one” (Signy 2010: 788), even though it could be read by a variety of users.

236 Elisabetta Lonati

2. Sources and method

Primary sources The analysis, carried out on a small selection of well-known medical works published in the second half of the century (cf. References, Primary sources), was mainly qualitative. Although the number of texts examined was limited, it does not invalidate the general aim of the study, and the perspective of the investigation, which intends to examine and exemplify a (highly) structured paratextual apparatus, and verify its role and function(s) as regards text reception and disciplinary discourse elaboration. ECCO (Eighteenth Century Collection Online)3 was the main source for the collection of the corpus. The research was based on the following combination of search parameters in ECCO: a. keyword (with variations): the combination of each word or multiword expression below with the following parameters b., c., d. altogether (e.g. family physician + b., c., d. means Keyword=family physician [with variations] + Monographs [content type] + Publication Date=1750-1800 + Language=English), renders the total number of works per search item (family physician, 149 works; family medicine, 115 works; domestic physician, 31 works; domestic medicine, 79 works; common diseases, 273 works; epidemics, 70 works; fever/s, 601 works; observations fevers, 127 works; mortality, 547 works); b. monographs; c. publication date between 1750–1800; d. English language. While the key words and expressions varied, the other parameters remained stable. The final sample selection was based upon relevance (the most relevant works according to database results of the combined search result list), and frequency (some works can be found in more than one combined search result list, according to word/expression + b., c., d. parameters).4 A further step in the selection of 3.  https://‍www.gale.com/uk/primary-sources/eighteenth-century-collections-online and, at Milan University, http://‍gdc.galegroup.com/gdc/artemis?fromProdId=ECCO&p=GDCS&u=m ilano 4.  Database results for each keyword/group of works (e.g. family physician + b., c., d., 149 works) are automatically distinguished into more precise subjects by the search engine, and clustered into sub-units (e.g. family physicians 149 works, family medicine 29 works, popular medicine 36 works, general practitioners 29 works, medicine 28 works, etc.). This more refined selection supports the analysis of results (function Analyze Results) by fixed term clusters in each specific sub-unit (e.g. ‘M.D.’ in family medicine). This mechanism of funnelling data is



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 237

materials was based upon the outcome of a survey of paratextual features (front and back matter: type, complexity, variety of schematic paratext, tabulation) in the most frequent and relevant works retrieved from the combined search results list. Dedicatory epistles, prefaces and introductions were not included in the study. Except for Forster (1745),5 only M.D. writers and their works were considered. The following works (here referred to as author-date) represent the selected corpus. Most of them include multiple diseases, i.e. Black (1788 and 2nd1789), Buchan (2nd1772 and 17th1800), Fisher (1785), Forster (1745), Millar (1770), Smythson (1785), Wallis (1793, 2nd1795 and 2nd1796). Others focus on specific phenomena: Huxham (1750), Clark (1780), Sims (1776). Usually, only the first edition has been examined, but in three cases two editions6 of the same work have been compared to highlight modifications or adaptations. Most of these works were originally octavo, portable volumes: after all, materials had to be easy to get hold of and browse and authors had to guide readers through their books, providing or implicitly suggesting instructions for use.

Secondary sources As regards the secondary sources for this study, they may be ordered according to their function and relevance. Genette (1991: 261–262; 1997: 1–2), Goffman (1986: 10–11), and Mirenayat and Soofastaei (2015) provide the general theoretical background to paratextual analysis: they introduce and discuss the notions of text and paratext, the notion of frame or framework as a set of conventions organising experience, “in our society the very significant assumption is generally made that all events […] can be contained and managed within the conventional

applied to all the original keyword/group of works listed in a. above to sort out sub-units. The examination of sub-units by term clusters provides the most relevant works per unit; the following comparison of the most relevant works across groups (e.g. family physician, domestic physician, domestic medicine, common diseases, etc. in a. above) highlights the frequency and recurrence of the same works (i.e. the most relevant works), and definitely helps establish the corpus for the present study. 5.  Forster’s work has been included in the corpus because of its interesting table of contents: Forster displays what seems to be a mere list of topics without any visual subdivision, but this list enables an underlying order to emerge (from medical procedure in general to the description of specific diseases). This order will be made explicit in the organisation (and layout) of contents in later works, cf. Group 2.A. § 5.2. 6.  In the case of Wallis, the second edition was published with two different titles in London in the years 1795 and 1796, even though their contents and page numbers overlap. These editions are to be considered as the same version of Wallis’s work, and thus count as one.

238 Elisabetta Lonati

system of beliefs” (Goffman 1986: 30),7 and the notion of transtextuality as “a way to communicate a text with other texts” (Mirenayat and Soofastaei 2015: 533), respectively. An introduction on the origin, establishment, and function of scientific language and discourse is provided by Gross et al. (2009: 68–116) and Gunnarsson (2011: 3–9). More specific contributions investigating medical writing (language, discourse, communication) from different perspectives are useful for establishing the 18th-century disciplinary and linguistic background. Among the selected studies, it is worth mentioning Pahta (2011) on medical texts and the construction of knowledge, Taavitsainen and Pahta (2011 and 2013) on medical writing in early and late Modern English, McConchie (2013) and Ratia (2013) on language issues in medical title-pages, Taavitsainen et al. (2014) and Taavitsainen (2015) on 18thcentury medical English, and Lonati (2014, 2016, 2017) on lexicographic, lexicological, and textual strategies in elaborating and communicating medical discourse. 3. Paratext The present section establishes the general theoretical background for this study. The opening aim is to explain the notion of text, and text-in-discourse. As the title states, medical writing is the object of the study: the expression applies to those works of reference  – handbooks and compendia or practica (Lonati 2017: 11)  – which deal with medical topics, and address a readership of both experts and nonexperts. This means that the notion of text here overlaps with that of written text: that is to say, a piece of writing which has to organise contents in a coherent (network of concepts) and cohesive (consistent use of language, and content-language interaction) unit of meaning to make communication effective. The text, usually contained in a book-volume, “in the form […] of a book” (Genette 1997: 1), typically displays different linguistic (and structural) features, thus making different text types and communicative contexts emerge (cf. De Beaugrande-Dressler 1981). In this study, the text (potentially including many different text types: instructive, informative, explanatory, expository, descriptive, etc.) may be referred to as the 7.  Goffman (1986: 10–11) explains that “definitions of a situation are built up in accordance with principles of organization which govern events – at least social ones – and our subjective involvement in them; frame is the word I [Goffman] use to refer to such of these basic elements as I am able to identify. That is my definition of frame. My phrase ‘frame analysis’ is a slogan to refer to the examination in these terms of the organization of experience”. In the present study, this general organisational principle is relevant to the analysis of paratextual features and conventions in medical writing, as an effort by medical authors to provide a discernible shape – or scaffold  – to their wide-ranging topics. However, it is not possible to go through Goffman’s detailed discussion in depth, and apply it systematically to the texts under scrutiny.



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 239

main body or the main text. The main body is not usually presented alone; other pieces of writing usually surround it: their function – or functions – may vary, according to their nature and positioning (front and/or back matter). According to Genette (1991: 261; cf. also 1997: 1, with minor variations), the text rarely appears in its naked state, without the reinforcement and accompaniment of a certain number of productions, themselves verbal or not, like an author’s name, a title, a preface, illustrations. One does not always know if one should consider that they belong to the text or not, but in any case they surround it and prolong it, precisely in order to present it, in the usual sense of this verb, but also in its strongest meaning: to make it present, to assure its presence in the world, its “reception” and its consumption, in the form, nowadays at least, of a book. This accompaniment, of varying size and style, constitutes what I once christened elsewhere, in conformity with the frequently ambiguous meaning of this prefix in French – consider, I said, adjectives like parafiscal or paramilitary – the paratext of the work.

As a consequence, the surrounding texts – if present – support and contextualise the main body: they constitute the paratext, or para-texts in a variety of forms and functions (titles, inscriptions, epigraphs, dedicatory epistles, introductions, prefaces, tables of contents, running heads, notes, appendices, indexes, etc.). These forms and functions may be closely related to the main text, thus framing the contents (cf. note 7), introducing the text to the reader, suggesting how he/she should read the book, informing him/her about its general aims, unfolding the structure of the main body, including extra contents, explaining key terms in separate sections, etc.: The paratext, then, is empirically made up of a heterogeneous group of practices and discourses of all kinds and dating from all periods […] in the name of a common interest, or a convergence of effects, that seems to me more important than their diversity of aspect. (Genette 1997: 2)

However, the forms and functions of the paratext can also act differently and be considered as independent texts themselves, relevant as they may be or become, in the wider context of the discourse. The need to regularise the emerging and still fluid medical domain, and to organise and define it as a discipline, required the introduction of more and more complex forms of schematisation in medical works, preceding and/or following the main body. The paratextual apparatus indeed comprises tables of contents, appendices, indexes and, sometimes, glossaries: devices which help map both the main body, and medical discourse in general. Paratextual devices unfold and display the principles and processes which define (or frame, cf. note 7) the theoretical network of medicine as a discipline, and the common practice of medical writing.

240 Elisabetta Lonati

The main body and the paratextual apparatus provide evidence of an encompassing scientific discourse on medicine: The production of scientific texts […] is a process of situated rhetorical action, in which writers have an active role, constructing scientific knowledge through texts with particular reading audiences in mind, and at the same time positioning themselves and their commitments and ideological debts within the field of knowledge they represent, within the broader scientific community, and within society at large. Discourse in this sense is always realized through texts, and texts consist of discourses that create meaning in social embedding, never in a vacuum. These meanings are realized in texts through linguistic and non-linguistic signs, actual words or visual images, and their various combinations. (Pahta 2011: 335)

Hence, the layout (non-linguistic signs) and the terminology used (linguistic signs) to express meanings may also display disciplinary aims, functions, and issues, by establishing and stabilising the relationship between medical terminology and processes, notions, concepts, approaches, habits, etc. In other words, paratextual devices may help stabilise disciplinary discourse, as becomes evident when we look at them in a diachronic perspective. 4. Structure of the study As regards the paratextual apparatus, and the complexity of paratextual devices, two main groups can be identified among the selected works. Group 1 is characterised by the inclusion of front matter only, and by basic patterns in the presentation of contents. Group 2 is characterised by complex front matter (complex pattern in the organisation of contents), and by the inclusion of back matter (e.g. additional sections such as indexes, glossaries, collections of medicines and recipes) in a number of works. These two groups are labelled by the following headings, and correspond to the different sections in which extracts are analysed, exemplified, and discussed:

Group 1 Front matter-paratext only (basic pattern, cf. § 5.1.) the tables of contents consist of lists of items, thematically and/or alphabetically arranged. The examples (Tables 1–3) are taken from Forster (1745/diseases), Sims (1773 and 2nd1776/fevers), and Fisher (1785/diseases).



Group 2 A. and B. A. Front matter-paratext (complex pattern, cf. § 5.2.)

Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 241







the tables of contents usually follow the thematic order, or mapping of items, though in a more complex structure than is the case with Group 1: examples (Tables 4–6) are taken from Black (1788 and 2nd1789/diseases), Wallis (1793, 2nd1795, 2nd1796/diseases), Millar (1770/diseases), and Clark (1780/fevers). For Buchan’s tables of contents (2nd1772 and 17th1800/diseases), cf. § 5.2., note 9. B. Back matter-paratext (additional sections, cf. § 5.3.) indexes, glossaries, and appendices are added at the end of the works: examples (Tables  7–12) are taken from Huxham (1750/fevers), Millar (1770/diseases), Clark (1780/fevers), Smythson (1785/diseases), Wallis (1793, 2nd1795, 2nd1796/diseases), and Buchan (17th1800/diseases).

5. Medicine and dissemination: Experiential and disciplinary issues in handbooks 5.1 Group 1. Front matter: Basic pattern As regards front matter, the first set of extracts includes the most basic pattern, which mainly consists of providing information on the contents of the book. Group 1 usually displays kinds of lists, mainly characterised by descriptive headings (Table 1, The Causes of Distempers, The Curative Indications, The Method used in […], etc.), single diseases and their correspondent denominations (Table  1, Continual Fevers, Small-Pox, Pleurisy, Palsy, Meazles, Erisipelas, Coughs, etc.), and no clear taxonomy (i.e., no thematic groups of diseases clearly displayed according to similarities, symptoms, signs, causes, organs, origin, etc.). The layout is usually simple, featuring very common and widespread denominations and diseases, expressed in English. The opening example is taken from Forster (1745), and reproduces the first page of his “Contents”: Table 1.  Forster 1745 Forster 1745 Causes of most Diseases

Page

CONTENTS NATURE, what is meant by the Word with Physicians The Office of the Animal Spirits

 1 ibid.

The Causes of Distempers

 3

The Effect of Distempers

 6

The Diagnostics and Prognostics

14

The curative Indications

19 (continued)

242 Elisabetta Lonati

Table 1.  (continued) Forster 1745 Causes of most Diseases

Page

Regimen the most effectual Remedy in Distempers

23

Continual Fevers

24

A Phrenzy and Weakness of Spirits The Method used in critical Transl. of Diseases

29 ibid.

Methods used in Fevers, which yield not to critical Evacuations

31

Evacuations

32

Intermitting Fevers

34

A Quartan Ague, with a Dropsy

ibid.

Small Pox

39

Pleurisy

45

Methods used in mixt Crises

ibid.

Bastard Peripneumony

46

Phrenzy

49

Apoplexy, Catalepsis, and Lethargy

52

Sleep, how caused and prevented

54

Palsy

59

Convulsions and Epilepsy

62

Convulsions and a Palsy

64

Memory to Strengthen

6 […]

Drunkenness how helped

ibid.

Head-Ach

71

Ophthalmia, and Films on the Eyes

73

Eyes Wounded

ibid.

Deafness, Noise, and Pain in the Ears

75

Bleeding at Nose

78

Tooth-Ach, Tooth-Foul

81

Gums Scorbutic, Mouth Ulcerated

Lips,

[…]

Although the topics are not categorised, their order is not random. The order of the distempers is indeed preceded by a sort of introductory section on physiology, and on the basic elements of medical procedure, highlighted by specific and well-established expressions (Causes, Effect, Diagnostics, Prognostics, Indications, Regimen, Remedy). From Continual Fevers onwards the situation becomes more fluid: disease denominations are listed one after the other without any division



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 243

that might help the reader to identify at first glance thematic and disciplinary groups of items. However, together with a few recurring lexical items (e.g. fever, palsy), basic disciplinary expertise and practical (everyday) experience help the lay reader or the practitioner to find their way around the contents. In this specific work by Forster, for example, fevers8 are dealt with in between Continual Fevers and Bastard Peripneumony, ‘affections of the brain, nerves and senses’ between Phrenzy and Drunkenness how helped, and ‘affections of the head’ between Head-Ach and Gums Scorbutic, Mouth Ulcerated (cf. Table 1). Even though the whole four page-long table of contents cannot be included here, it is worth pointing out that implicit sections such as ‘respiration and lungs’, ‘heart and emotions’, ‘digestion and stomach’, ‘gut-intestines’, ‘women’, ‘children’, ‘stone’, ‘inflammations’, ‘gout’, and ‘poisons’, can indeed be singled out from it. The following example displays another way of arranging contents: alphabetical order, typical of lexicographic works of reference (cf. Lonati 2007: 91–94; 2013: 116–124; 2014: 92–103). Fisher (1785), whose work was a very popular one at the time, provides a long list of diseases as separate topics (Lonati 2017: 96– 100). Table 2 displays some concise extracts of the lemmata: Table 2.  Fisher 1785 Fisher 1785 Practice of Medicine Made Easy

Page

An Alphabetical Table of Diseases treated in the foregoing Book […]

[…]

Colic in general

45

– flatulent or windy

46

– bilious

46

– hysteric

47

– nervous

48

[…]

[…]

Cough, catarrhal

55

Cough, hooping

57

Cough, stomach

59

[…] Eye blood-shot

[…] 76 (continued)

8.  Grouping of diseases and affections, as well as their general denominations between single quotation marks, are mine. They are grounded on frequent classification and display in other handbooks of the same period.

244 Elisabetta Lonati

Table 2.  (continued) Fisher 1785 Practice of Medicine Made Easy Eye watery

Page 76

Eye, spots or specks on, see albugo […]

[…]

Fever, ardent or inflammatory

78

Fever bilious

78

Fever intermitting

82

Fever miliary

84

Fever nervous

86

Fever putrid

88

Fever remitting

95

Fever scarlet […]

96 […]

The arbitrariness of the alphabetical order is positively balanced in the list by the genus-differentiam sequence: the head-genus always comes first, and the attributedifferentiam later. The morpho-syntactic attributive slot is left empty in the noun phrase (e.g. Bilious Fever > Ø Fever > Fever Bilious: differentiam-genus > Ø genus > genus-differentiam). This allows the author to group sequences of similar diseases as independent headwords for easy retrieval. It is a kind of thematic categorisation, which also highlights the lexicographic practice of defining the genus by differentiam: headword + kind of disease. Fisher also includes cross-references to equivalent denominations (e.g. Eye, spots or specks on, see albugo); this further lexicographic technique is useful for providing basic definitions, and intra-textual connections. The last example of this section concerns a later work: Sims (1773 and 2nd1776/ fevers). Sims focusses on fevers of various origins, and only includes “Contents” but, unlike his predecessors, he groups diseases thematically. In this case, the principle is not one of similarity among epidemical disorders (Table 3), but is strictly linked to climate and environment (e.g. place/environment-Tyrone, climateWeather). Sim’s “Contents” are thus divided into chapters:



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 245

Table 3.  Sims 1773 and 2nd1776 Sims 1773 and 2nd1776 (contents and page reference overlap) Observations on Epidemic/al Disorders

Page

contents chap. i. On epidemical disorders in general

1

Description of Tyrone

7

Weather and Diseases preceding

10

chap. ii. Constitution First. Weather of 1765, 1766, and part of 1767

12

Petechial fevers

14

Phrenitis

16

Bilious disorders

20

Inflammation of the liver

34

Small-pox

36

Pleurisies and peripneumonies

45

Peripneumony of children

54

Meazles

55

Erysipelas

57

Fever of this constitution

60

chap. iii. Constitution Second. Weather part of 1767 and 1768

70

Chronic rheumatism

71

Acute rheumatism

76

Coughs

80

Fever of this constitution

84 Quinsey […]

Only a selected number of diseases is provided in the front matter: the list is not exhaustive and includes only general captions (names of diseases). The headings under chapter one, nonetheless, establish the general frame of the work, and its primarily practical and descriptive purpose (Of epidemical disorders, Description of, Weather and diseases preceding). The main objective of the work is the collection of data and the observation of recurrent epidemical events. The collection of data, the observation of frequent and systematic medical events, and their comparison in context, is one of the approaches most consistently

246 Elisabetta Lonati

adopted in the second half of the century. It is the scientific method of practising medicine: observation, data collection and hypothesising, experimentation, general issues. The following sections, including extracts from Group 2 (A. and B.), will illustrate how the complexity of the paratextual apparatus constantly increases in this period, making reference works more and more useful for their users, and reliable from a disciplinary perspective. 5.2 Group 2. A. Front matter: Complex pattern More complex patterns for the contents (Group 2.A.) display sections that are clearly identifiable: parts and chapters (descriptive headings, and sub-headings: e.g. Buchan,9 Black, Wallis, Millar, Clark), diseases and medical events are grouped according to similarities (taxonomy and systematisation means shared disciplinary knowledge, e.g. kinds of fevers, kinds of pain, diseases and organs, etc., as well as received practice in dealing with medical procedures). As regards the use of language, the widespread terminology of common diseases is usually found in the vernacular often accompanied by anglicised equivalents (e.g. Millar, from Latin to English in some cases; Wallis, English to English). The representation of the medical procedure – i.e. from description to cure – frequently determines the order of the topics listed in the contents, and the use of metalanguage unfolds either the construction or the representation of medicine as science (e.g. Millar, Description, Diagnostics, Prognostics, Cure, Cases; Clark, Description, Comparison, Cure and Cases). Moreover, the effect of prevailing diseases in everyday life determines and explains the repetition of prevailing terms: inflammation and fever are catch-all words (denominations may be found in Latin/Latinised forms, or English/Anglicised), they can delimit semantic fields and introduce lexical sets (e.g. from fevers to kinds of fevers, from inflammation to kinds of inflammation, Table 4). Another strategy adopted by medical writers is the reiteration of framing expressions to encompass the nature of contents: this is the case with Black (Table 4, Of the … causes, Of general…, Of the local…), Wallis (Table 5, On Disease in general, Febrile affections in general). This strategy, along with the additional use of 9.  The two editions under scrutiny here (2nd1772 and 17th1800) include the same topics in their respective “Contents”, (xxxiii, xxxvii) and display the same structure in the organisation of their works into “Parts” and “Chapters”, except for page numbers. For this reason, and for reasons of space, the comparison of the two versions is not included in the analysis: tiny differences in word selection, (e.g. Customary Evacuation vs. Common Evacuations), layout (e.g. Of Sleep and Clothing vs. Of Sleep-Clothing), headings (e.g. Of Diseases … General Observations … Of Fevers in General vs. Of Diseases … Of the Knowledge and Cure of Diseases … Fevers in General) are not relevant. The most interesting aspects concern the addition of back matter in the 17th1800 edition (§ 5.3.), whereas in the 2nd1772 edition the paratext is limited to front matter.



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 247

parallel structures in Clark (Table 6, Of the Difference of, Of the Cure of, The Cure of, Cases of the … Cases of the … Cases of the), has a cohesive effect. The first two extracts of the series (Tables 4 and 5) are taken from Black (1788 and 2nd1789) and Wallis (1793 and 2nd1795/96). In both cases, the contents of the first and second editions, and their internal organisation, are compared: Table 4.  Black 1788 and 2nd1789 Black 1788 Comparative View – Mortality Human Species

Page

CONTENTS

Black 2nd 1789 Arithmetical and Medical Analysis – Mortality Human Species CONTENTS

[…]

[…] […]

Of fevers,

  75 CHAP. IV. Page 43

Intermittens fevers,

  78

Remittens fevers,

  84 Of Fevers – The fatal epidemicks in England   90 during two centuries – Of intermitting fevers – Remitting fevers – Nervous and putrid   97 fevers – Inflammatory fever – Of the comparative 102 proportion, mortality, and prospects of cure of 111 the preceding fevers, in every situation – Smallpox – Measles – Scarlet fever – Plague – Sweating 113 sickness – Of the great sources of fever; a few 115 observations – Of general febrile prognosticks. 121

Nervous and putrid fevers, Inflammatory fever, Small pox, Measles, Scarlet fever, Plague, Sweating sickness, Of

CHAP.

Of the predisposing and occasional causes of all the preceding fevers,

121

Of general febrile prognosticks,

127 CHAP. V. page 74

Of the local phlogistic fevers,

133

Inflammation of the brain,

Rheumatism, acute and chronic,

134 Of the following local and phlogistic fevers – 136 Inflammation of the brain – Angina, inflammatory and putrid – Pulmonick inflammation – 142 Hepatick inflammation – Inflammation of the 150 stomach – Erysipelas – Rheumatism, acute and 152 chronic – Gout – Internal suppuration and gangrene in the thorax and abdomen. 153 […] 155

Gout,

159

Internal suppuration and gangrene in the thorax and abdomen,

166

[…]

[…]

Angina, inflammatory and putrid, Pulmonic inflammation, Hepatic inflammation, Inflammation of the stomach, Erysipelas,

248 Elisabetta Lonati

The 1788 section on fevers (Table 4-left) appears as a list of individual topics, just like the rest of the “Contents”. The only explicit suggestion here for the reader is the repetition of two key words, used alone or in combination: fever and inflammatory. Each one prevails respectively in the first and second half of the list, inflammation and inflammatory being hyponyms of fever. This superordinate term defines the semantic field of the subsequent, more specific, febrile and inflammatory affections (e.g. Intermittent Fevers […] Inflammatory Fever […] Inflammation of the Brain, etc.). No further taxonomic issues or hierarchical configuration can be singled out, even though Of the predisposing and occasional causes of all the preceding fevers may be considered a kind of recapitulation, a textual and discourse marker in the sequence. The implicit divide emerging from the 1788 edition is made explicit on the page a year later, in the 2nd1789 version.10 The topics, and their respective headings, are essentially the same. However, the reorganising strategies are not only a kind of layout restyling, they highlight disciplinary issues: this is also confirmed by a number of textual additions that contextualise the 2nd1789 contents. References to specific time and space (in England during two centuries), data collection (comparative proportion, mortality, and prospects of cure of the preceding fevers), and generalisation (in every situation, Of the great sources of fever) unfold medical disciplinary procedures and processes which frame contents. A similar clustering of topics, as in Black (2nd1789, Table 4), emerges in Wallis’s “Table of Contents” (1793 and 2nd1795/96). Except for a different numbering, the two tables include the same topics, already subdivided in the first 1793 edition: Table 5.  Wallis 1793 and 2nd1795/96 Wallis 2nd1795/1796

Wallis 1793 Art of Preventing Diseases

Page

Complete family Physician/Art of Preventing Diseases

TABLE OF CONTENTS (p. xvi)

TABLE OF CONTENTS (p. xxiv)

[…]

[…]

SECTION VIII.

SECTION V.

On Disease in general,

313

On Disease in general, 276

chap. i. Febrile Affections in general,

315

chap. i. Febrile Affections in general, 278

10.  The two editions were issued by the same printer (cf. References), but it is not clear whether this change is the responsibility of the publisher, or the author, or both.



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 249

Table 5.  (continued) Wallis 2nd1795/1796

Wallis 1793 Art of Preventing Diseases

Page

Complete family Physician/Art of Preventing Diseases

On continued Fevers. – § i. Simple continued – § 2. Inflammatory. – § 3. Nervous. – § 4. and Putrid

from 316 to 359

On continued or Continent Fevers. – § i. Simple continued, or Vasculo-plethoric Fever, 280. – § 2. Inflammatory, or Vasculo-plethoric Inflammatory Fevers, 287. – § 3. Nervous, 297. – § 4. and Putrid, 305. – § 5. Anomalous or mixed Fevers, 317.

Forms of Medicine,

359

Instanced in the Puerperal, and Child-bed Fever, 321

§ 5. Mixed fever,

371

Recapitulation, 329

instanced in the Puerperal, or Childbed Fever

375

SECTION VI. Remittent Fever, 331

SECTION IX. Remittent Fevers,

387

Bilious remittent Fever, 338

Bilious, marsh remittent Fever,

395

Marsh remittent Fever, 339

SECTION X. Intermittent Fever, […]

SECTION VIII. 396

Intermittent Fever, 340 […]

In the case of Wallis, major improvements in the 2nd1795/96 editions come from the introduction of equivalents, which have significant lexicographical and lexicological bearings. On the one hand, this technique helps stabilise medical terminology, establishing connections between common vernacular denominations, and more specialised anglicised expressions (e.g. simple/inflammatory vs. vasculo-plethoric). On the other hand, these more refined denominations also highlight the potential origin of the fevers under scrutiny: it is not only a linguistic process, but a disciplinary one, providing external shape to complex medical events, as well as suggesting their internal structure. The repetition of the term fever (genus), and some of its attributes (differentiam), e.g. remittent, promotes cohesion. Besides summing up the key points already described, the introduction of the Recapitulation paragraph also delimits text and discourse before starting a new section. Table 6 compares two further extracts that come from different authors and their respective works: Millar’s Observations on the Prevailing Diseases (1770), and Clark’s Observations on Fevers (1780). Both works organise their contents in parts, sections and chapters, according to the topics under discussion. In the case of Millar, the extract provided concerns Inflammatory Diseases (especially, Inflammatory Fevers), for Clark Fevers in general (Continued Fevers, in particular).

250 Elisabetta Lonati

Table 6.  Millar 1770 and Clark 1780 Millar 1770

Clark 1780

Observations on the Prevailing Diseases

Page

Observations on Fevers

Page

CONTENTS (A2, p. i)

 

CONTENTS (p. xxvii ff.)

 

INTRODUCTION

 1

PART I.

 

PART I.

   

Observations on Fevers, especially those of the continued Type.

 

Of Inflammatory Diseases. CHAPTER I.

 

SECT. I.

 

General Observations on the Air and Epidemic Diseases in Great Britain

 7

Character of Fevers

   3

SECT. II.

 

CHAP. II.

 

Of the Difference of Fevers

   5

General Remarks on Inflammatory Fevers

12

SECT. III.

 

CHAP. III.

 

Of the Cure of continued Fevers

  19

Of the Pleurisy and Peripneumony

15

Cases of continued Fevers

  30

sect. i.Description of the Disease

ib.

[…]

 

sect. ii.Of the Diagnostics

18

PART. II.

 

sect. iii.Of the Prognostics

20

[…]

 

sect. iv.Of the Cure

23

SECT. I.

 

CHAP. IV.

 

Description of the Scarlet Fever attended with Ulcerated Sore-Throat

206

Pleuritic Cases

30

SECT. II.

 

Introduction

ib.

217

case i.

31

case ii.

34

Comparative View of the above Epidemic with the Scarlet Fever of Authors, and the Angina Maligna

CHAP. V.

 

SECT. III.

 

General Observations on Inflammations of the Abdominal Viscera

35

The Cure of the Scarlet Fever attended with Ulcerated Sore-Throat

249

SECT. IV.

 

CHAP. VI.

 

Of the Hepatitis, or Inflammation of the Liver

37

CHAP. VII.

 

Of the Ileus, or Inflammation of the Intestines

39

[…]

[…]

Cases of the Scarlet Fever attended with 257 mild Ulcerations of the Throat Cases of the Scarlet Fever attended with 287 gangrenous Ulcers of the Throat Cases of the dropsical swelling consequent on the Scarlet Fever

314

[…]

[…]



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 251

These two extracts are interesting for various reasons: firstly, they arrange their materials in a similar manner and, secondly, they use cohesive strategies (lexical items) to reinforce conceptual meaning (disciplinary procedures and contents). In both tables of contents, the authors begin with introductory sections (Millar, General Observations > Epidemic Diseases > Inflammatory Fevers; Clark, Observations of Fevers > Character > Difference), the process is one of narrowing and focussing on more detailed aspects. The highly structured plans of their handbooks are interesting, if compared with the preceding works analysed (cf. Tables 4 and 5; § 5.1.). The theoretical framework of the medical disciplinary approach is revealed by the use of metalanguage: Millar, Description, Diagnostics, Prognostics, Cure and Cases; Clark, Description, Comparative View, Cure, Cases. On the one hand, the general frame of reference is provided (theoretical level: from Description to Cure), on the other hand, practical issues demonstrate and exemplify previous experience (experiential level: Cases). The use of lexical repetitions (disease, fever/s, scarlet fever), equivalents (Millar: Hepatitis, or Inflammation of the Liver; Ileus, or Inflammation of the Intestines), and parallel syntactic structures (Clark: Description of the Scarlet Fever attended with, The Cure of the Scarlet Fever attended with, Cases of the Scarlet Fever attended with) give prominence to and reinforce textual coherence, and discourse meaning too. 5.3 Group 2. B. Back matter: Indexes, glossaries and appendices Apart from clearly structuring contents (some of them analysed in § 5.2. above), Group 2.B. is characterised by those works that include back matter: the main body is consequently ‘packed’ between front matter and back matter. This section will focus on indexes, glossaries, and appendices (Tables 7–12). The interaction of paratextual complex structures and medical discourse as a whole is interestingly displayed in back matter: paratextual features include examples of addition (something new added to the main body, e.g. collection of medicines in appendices, glossaries, etc.), and of integration (something expanding the main body, and connecting its sections, parts, chapters, and topics, e.g. indexes). Indexes usually focus on the subjects treated in the main body, and refer to the text (intratextual network of reference, e.g. Huxham, Smythson). They may include lexicographic components usually found in glossaries (e.g. Buchan and Huxham), such as cross-references (introduced by See) to the index itself, as well as equivalents and definitions (e.g. Buchan and Wallis). In Millar, the heading Appendix (I., II., III.) is used as a general heading that refers to a collection of quotations, a selection of prescriptions and medical remedies, and to a glossary. Glossaries focus on the definition and explanation of medical terminology as used in the main body (e.g. Millar, Buchan): equivalents, definitions and

252 Elisabetta Lonati

encyclopaedic expansions, sense relation of hyponymy to categorise terms and contents, metalanguage (Table 10), evaluation (Tables 8 and 9), and Latin/Latinate and English/Anglicised terms are the main lexicographic techniques adopted. The following extracts (Tables 7–12) exemplify added and/or integrated materials, examining the different degrees of complexity and comprehensiveness. 5.3.1 Indexes Indexes, mostly of subjects, are among those paratextual devices which can provide both very essential information (e.g. Table 7 Smythson), and establish a complex intratextual network (Table 8 Buchan, 1800; Table 9 Wallis). In this latter case, they not only include cross-references to topics and page numbers, but they may integrate content meaning in the main body with definitions and equivalents referring to it. Table 7 below exemplifies three indexes included in Smythson (1785). These are among the most elementary and essential index structures, distinguishing between diseases, medicines, and herbal: Table 7.  Smythson 1785 Smythson 1785 Compleat Family Physician INDEX OF DISEASES [p. 1015] A acidities 13 After-Pains 451 Aneurisms 256 Apoplexy 333 Appetite, want of 259 Appearances of Death 674 […] Bastard Pleurisy 160 Barrenness 433 Bilious, or Remitting Fever 171 Bilious, or Yellow Fever of the West India Islands 474 Bites of Dogs, and other Animals in a State of Madness, and of Hydrophobia, or Dread of Water 370 […] Galls 733 Gleets 406 Gout 291 Green Wounds 696 […]

INDEX OF MEDICINES [p. 1017] A alkaline Aloetic Wine 278 AEthiop’s Mineral 425 Alleviating Medicines for the Stone and Gravel 245 Allum Whey 238 Allum Water 458 Alterative Potion 315 […] Balsamic Syrup 164 Bate’s Anodyne Balsam 270 Batter Pudding 463 Barley Water 464 Balsam of Guaiacum 315 Blistering Plaster 182 […] Paregoric Elixir 202 Panada 462 Pill for a Cough 204 Pill Ditto ibid. Pills, Purging Anodyne 213 […]

INDEX TO THE BRITISH HERBAL [p. 1019] A adders Tongue 765 Agrimony 766 Alder, Black ibid. Ale-Hoof ibid. Allheal 767 Almond Tree ibid. Aloe Plant ibid. Amonum, Common 768 […] Balm 772 Barberry Bush ibid. Barley ibid. Barren Wort ibid. Bay Tree 773 […] Dead Nettle, Red 769 Daffodil, Common 800 Daisey, Great 801 Daisey, Little ibid. Dandelion ibid. […]



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 253

They are mere lists, in alphabetical order, very easy to browse through at a glance. Occasionally, some equivalents are introduced, as s.v. Bilious, but this is not the rule. The function of these indexes is strictly dependent on the main body for interpretation. The following examples display more complex structures and contents: their purpose is multifarious, and encompasses medical discourse in general. Tables 8 reproduces two extracts, taken from Huxham (1750) and Buchan (17th1800): Table 8.  Huxham 1750 and Buchan 17th1800 Huxham 1750 Essay on Fevers

Page

INDEX I. Of Subjects.

276

[…] AGUES. See Fevers intermitting. […] ALCALIOUS, all Humours of the Body, which putrefy, become so – volatile Salts dissolve and corrupt the Blood […] FEVER, is a Struggle of Nature to relieve herself – chlorotic, from Acrimony and Putrefaction – of that which attends Gangrenes – History of such – secondary, of the Small pox FEVERS, general Method of curing them – of the most simple – more compound and inflammatory – inflammatory, natural Way of curing them – intermitting, how caused – when and why common – People die mostly in the cold Fit […]

Buchan 17th1800 Domestic Medicine

INDEX […] […] Ague, a species of fever no person can mistake, and the proper medicine for, generally known, 147. Causes of, 148. Symptoms, ibid. […] Regimen for, ibid. Under a proper regimen 50 will often go off, without medicine, 150. Medical treatment of, 151. Often degenerates 46 into obstinate chronical diseases, if not radically cured, 154. Peruvian bark the only medicine to be relied on in, 155. Children how to […] be treated in, ibid. Preventive medicine for 26, 101 those who live in marshy countries, 156. […] Fevers, of a bad kind, often occasioned among labourers by poor living, 43. Frequently attack sedentary persons after herd drink69 ing, 52. Nervous, often the consequence of ibid intense study, 57. Putrid and malignant, often 158, 163 occasioned for want of cleanliness, 100. The most general causes of, enumerated, 140. The 5 distinguishing symptoms of, 141. The several 1 species of, ibid. is an effort of nature, which ought to be assisted, 142. How this is to be 4 done, 143. Cordials and sweetmeats improper 12 in, 144. Fresh air of great importance in, 145. The mind of the patient ought not to be 18 alarmed with religious terrors, ibid. Cautions 18, 21 as to bleeding and sweating in, 146. Longings, and the calls of nature, deserve attention, ibid. 19 Cautions to prevent a relapse, 147. […] […] 33

(continued)

254 Elisabetta Lonati

Table 8.  (continued) Huxham 1750 Essay on Fevers

Page

Buchan 17th1800 Domestic Medicine

– of the Pericardium

Fever, acute continual […] 157 […]. Fever, bilious […] 247 […]. Fever, intermitting. See Ague. 75 Fever, miliary […] 205 […]. Fever, milk […] 537 […]. […] Fever, nervous […]‍‍188 […]. 234, 245 Fever, puerperal, or childbed […] 538 […]. Fever, putrid, is of a pestilential nature […] 237 195 […]. 238, 245 […] 239

– of the Diaphragm

240, 246

HEAD should not be kept too hot in the Small-pox HEAD ACH, A Symptom of the nervous Fever […] INFLAMMATION of the Pleura – of the external Membrane of the Lungs – of the Mediastinum

INFLUENZA, a catarrhal Fever, with its different Types

137

20

[…]

The two indexes arrange medical terminology in alphabetical order, either as multiword headings (Table 8, Huxham, Inflammation of […]; Buchan, The most general causes of, The distinguishing symptoms of, The several species of, etc.), or single-term headwords (Table 8, Huxham, Ague/s, Fever/s, Head, Influenza; Buchan, Ague, Fevers, Fever, etc.). As Fisher (cf. 5.1., Table 2), the two physicians systematically use the genus-differentiam order for sub-headwords, in order to exhibit a certain degree of thematic mapping and taxonomic structure. This lexicographic technique provides lexical sets of similar affections, as hypernym-hyponym/cohyponym sense relation (e.g. fever – fever simple, inflammatory, intermitting, etc. Huxham; fever – fever acute continual, bilious, intermitting, etc. Buchan). Besides cross-referring to the index itself and to the main body, the headings/ headwords also introduce extra information. In this case, extra information may actually integrate contents in the main body, or add useful details at discourse level, independent of the main body. The same piece of information may cover the two aspects. As regards the indexes, extra information is essentially lexicographic in its components, and lexicological-encyclopaedic in its function: glosses (Buchan, s.v. ague, fevers, fever putrid; Huxham, s.v. alcalious, head-ach), equivalents (Huxham, s.v. influenza), definitions (Buchan, s.v. ague, fever putrid; Huxham, s.v. fever), explanations (Huxham, s.v. head), and expansions (Buchan, s.v. ague, fever) are included in the entries. Their function is more than intratextual, it is effective at discourse level, and grounded on medical disciplinary principles. They display and categorise medical knowledge as disciplinary knowledge, through language. Another feature worth mentioning is the use of evaluative expressions, Buchan,



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 255

s.v. Ague (proper medicine, proper regimen, the only medicine), Fevers (improper, of great importance, deserve attention). A similar context is found in Wallis’s works. In the following extract, he explicitly introduces his index. In a few lines, he overtly explains his choice to combine the function of an index (reference) and of a glossary (explanation of technical terms), and provides an interesting example of the framing element (Table 9). Table 9.  Wallis 2nd1795 Wallis 2nd1795 Complete family Physician INDEX * This is not only an Index of reference, but of explanation, as there are in the Work unavoidably some technical Terms, not very readily intelligible to common Readers. Where, therefore, the Words are not explained in the Body of the Work, they are in this place. And Words marked with an Asterisk, are referred to the Page where such may be found, with the Sense given of them. Where the letter F, is placed before the Figures, they refer to the article in some of the Forms of Medicine, P. 731, &c. Abdomen, lower belly, Abdominal, belonging to the abdomen. Ablutions, cleansing. Abscess. See Inflammation. Abscess of the liver, not always mortal, how accounted for, 472. […] Acidulated waters, diuretics, 240. Acid vapours, expectorant, 223. Acini*, or glandular shoots, what their use, 30. […] Fevers, the division of, 278 – continued, what – defined – their division – general description, 278, 279, 280 – simple, why so called, – mixed, why so termed – eruptive, idiopathic, symptomatic, what, 403. Fevers, perfect knowledge of the, continued – inflammatory – nervous – and putrid – sufficient for understanding the nature of all fevers, however denominated – the reasons, 316, 317. 331 – what parts of the machine are affected in the four simple fevers mentioned above – deductions from thence practically useful, why, 317 to 320. Fevers, mixed or anomalous […]. Fevers anomalous. See Fevers Mixed. Fevers, their peculiar nature often not to be discovered at first with certainty […] 342, 343. […] *The index-glossary is also included in the 1793 and 2nd1796 editions of Art of Preventing Diseases, with minor differences (e.g. typeface, and reformulation of some entries).

As in previous examples (Table 8), Wallis’s index-glossary includes cross-references to the index itself (e.g., s.v. Abscess, Fevers anomalous) and to the main body (e.g., s.v. Abscess of the liver, Acid vapours, Acini, etc.), glosses (e.g., s.v. Fevers-the

256 Elisabetta Lonati

division, Abscess of the liver-not always mortal, etc.), and equivalents (e.g., s.v. Abdomen, Abdominal, Ablutions, Acidulated waters, etc.). Like Buchan, Wallis includes evaluative expressions, s.v. Fevers (perfect knowledge, sufficient for, practically useful). As before, this apparatus supports the reader in the construction of disciplinary knowledge, independently of the specific work or reference. 5.3.2 Glossaries This section focusses on glossaries, which are essentially added material, neither integrated into, nor directly connected to, the main body. The lemmata are limited to the topics described and discussed in the handbooks, but the function of the glossaries goes far beyond the intratextual needs so as to define and explain notions, procedures, and concepts included in the main body. The examples (Table 10) are taken from Millar (1770) and Buchan (17th1800): Table 10.  Millar 1770 and Buchan 17th1800 Millar 1770 Observations on the Prevailing Diseases

Buchan 17th1800 Domestic Medicine

APPENDIX, N°. III. containing A GLOSSARY explaining the terms of art

A GLOSSARY

ABDOMEN, the belly. Abdominal, relating to the Abdomen. Ab errore loci, when any of the fluids, the red blood for instance, is, from inflammation, or any other cause, forced into such vessels as do not, in a natural state, carry red blood. […] Acrimony, sharpness, corrosiveness. […] Alexipharmic, antidotes against poison were formerly called so, but now this term is applied to medicines that resist putrefaction and promote perspiration. Alkalies, saline substances which effervesce with acids. […] Anodyne, medicines that ease pain. Anomalous, irregular. Antacids, substances of an opposite nature to acids, such as alkalies and absorbent earths. Anthelmintics, medicines against worms. […] Fever, by this is commonly understood an increase of heat, a frequent pulse, and a disturbance of some of the animal functions or natural operations. – ardent, causus, or burning fever, where there is great heat, unquenchable thirst, and a dryness of the skin, mouth, and tongue.

ALTHOUGH terms of art have been sedulously avoided in the composition of this treatise, it is impossible entirely to banish technical phrases when writing on medicine, a science that has been less generally attended to by mankind, and continues therefore to be more infected with the jargon of the schools, than perhaps any other. Several persons having expressed their opinion that a Glossary would make this work more generally intelligible, the following concise explanation of the few terms of art that occur, has been added in compliance with their sentiments, and to fulfil the original intention of this treatise, by rendering it intelligible and useful to all ranks and classes of men. Abdomen. The belly. Absorbents. Vessels that convey the nourishment from the intestines, and the secreted fluids from the various cavities into the mass of blood. Acrimony. Corrosive sharpness. Acute. A disease, the symptoms of which are violent, and tend to a speedy termination, is called acute. […] Atrabilarian. An epithet commonly applied to people of a certain temperament, marked by a dark complexion, black hair, spare habits, &c. which the antients supposed to arise from the atra bilis, or the black bile. […]



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 257

Table 10.  (continued) Millar 1770 Observations on the Prevailing Diseases

Buchan 17th1800 Domestic Medicine

– continual, one in which there are no distinct remissions, or whose force continues nearly the same the whole course of the disease. – hectic, a slow fever, increasing after eating, and towards the evening. Fever inflammatory, this has a different name, according to the part affected; if the membranes of the brain are inflamed, it is called a phranzy; if the lungs, a peripneumony, &c. – intermittent, an ague; here, betwixt the febrile fits, there is a complete cessation of the fever. – malignant, a fever accompanied with violent and dangerous symptoms. – nervous, in which the nerves and brain are supposed to be principally affected. – pestilential, or plague, the most malignant and acute of all others. – putrid, a fever attended with symptoms of a putrefaction of the humours. – nonan, […]

Endemic. A disease peculiar to a certain district or country. Epidemic. A disease generally infectious. Exacerbation. The increase of any disease. […] Gangrene. Mortification. […] Hectic fever. A slow consuming fever, generally attending a bad habit of body, or some incurable or and deep-rooted disease. Haemorrhoids. The piles. Haemorrhage. Discharge of blood. Hypochondriacism. Low spirits. Hypochondriac viscera. The liver, spleen, &c. so termed for their situation in the hypochondriac or upper and lateral parts of the belly. […] Inflammation. A surcharge of blood, and an increased action of the vessels, in any particular part of the body. […] Ligature. Bandage. Lixivium. Ley. […]

Before analysing the entries, it is worth mentioning the introductory paragraph preceding Buchan’s glossary. Buchan, like Wallis, gives some reasons for the inclusion of a glossary, points out its function, and provides useful information as regards its usage. The aim of the glossary is to explain technical terminology to “make this work more generally intelligible”, since it was impossible – in Buchan’s words – “entirely to banish technical phrases”. Moreover, the author also declares he has been concise in defining the “few terms of art that occur”. This metalinguistic approach is particularly relevant because it anticipates and frames the structure of the glossary and its essential contents, and it also raises meta-lexicographic and meta-disciplinary awareness. The correspondence between Buchan’s plan and its practical realisation, that is the clear connection between disciplinary term and disciplinary content, is a major issue in the construction of (his) medical discourse. Millar is generally less concise than Buchan in his glossary, but the two author-compilers share many similarities. The main lexicographic techniques used by both are the genus-differentiam order in the lemmata for multiword denominations, the use of equivalents, definitions, and encyclopaedic expansions. In both cases, the authors introduce metalinguistic expressions, such as formerly called so, new term is applied, this has a different name (Millar), and an epithet commonly

258 Elisabetta Lonati

applied (Buchan). However, the construction of the entries highlights some individual preferences and practices. To begin with Millar, his glossary is characterised by the inclusion of many equivalents (e.g., s.v. Abdomen, Acrimony, Fever ardent-causus-burning, Fever pestilential-plague), and interesting definition strategies. Definitions, in particular, may be very concise (e.g., s.v. Alkalies/saline substances, Anodyne/medicines, Antacids/substances, Fever hectic/a slow fever, Fever malignant/a fever, etc.), or shift to encyclopaedic expansions (e.g., s.v. Alexipharmic, antidotes against poison […]; Fever, by this is commonly understood […]; Fever inflammatory, this has a different name, according to the part affected […]; etc.). Another relevant feature of Millar’s definitions is their simplified structure: they often start with the expressions when, where, in which. This means that they tend to focus on the practical, situational, concrete side of medical events. The terms are not described or presented as abstract entities, but contextualised as dynamic processes. This would facilitate understanding, as well as the representation of what is happening or may happen. By this technique, Millar emphasises the connection with real circumstances (e.g., s.v. Fever ardent […] where there is great heat; Fever continual, one in which there are no distinct remissions; Ab errore loci, when any of the fluids, etc.), which is the main purpose of handbooks. As regards Buchan’s glossary, the use of translation equivalents is extensive; this is coherent with the necessity for him to be concise and to the point (e.g., s.v. Abdomen, Acrimony, Gangrene, Haemorrhoids, Ligature, Lixivium), and provide a one-to-one correspondence to make the meaning as clear as possible. Definitions are usually very concise (e.g., s.v. Endemic, Epidemic, Exacerbation, etc.). In this perspective, encyclopaedic expansions are necessarily limited in their frequency and scope (e.g., s.v. Acute, Atrabilarian, Hectic fever, Hypochondriac viscera, Inflammation, etc.). 5.3.3 Appendices This section brings to a close the overview of paratextual devices with the examination and discussion of appendices. The word appendix may include multifarious and multifaceted materials: Millar uses the word three times as a heading in three different sections; whereas Wallis does not explicitly categorise his Forms of Medicine as an appendix. The first example (Table 11) belongs to Millar (1770), who lists three different appendices in his Contents: Appendix N° I, Translation of some Latin Quotations, with Remarks; Appendix N° II, Translation of some Latin Prescriptions; Appendix N° III, A Glossary, explaining the Terms of Art. Only Appendix N° II will be reproduced here. The second and concluding extract (Table 12) belongs to Wallis, and concerns pharmaceutical recipes in the 1793 and 1795/96 editions. Tables 11 and 12 below exemplify the opening pages of the appendices under scrutiny:

Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 259



Table 11.  Millar 1770 Millar 1770 Observations on the Prevailing Diseases APPENDIX N° II, Translation of some Latin Prescriptions p. 361 [heading in contents, p. vi] […] A Translation of the Prescriptions in the preceding Work [30 prescriptions] Prescription in the Ileus, or Inflammation of the Intestines. N°. I. Take of Mint-water six ounces,             Magnesia an ounce,             Rhubarb in powder a dram,             Syrup of Marshmallows an ounce. Mix them together. A table spoonful of the mixture may be taken every half hour, till two or three stools are procured. N°. II. Take of Camphor a dram,              Pure nitre half a dram,              Almonds bruised half an ounce,              Rue water eight ounces. Make an emulsion. A table spoonful may be taken frequently when the pain and difficulty in making water are urgent. […]

Table 12.  Wallis 1793 and 2nd1795/1796 Wallis 1793 Art of Preventing Diseases

Wallis 2nd1795/1796 Complete family Physician/Art of Preventing Diseases

[in the Table of Contents, p. 359, p. 644, p. 845]

[in the Table of Contents, p. 731 in both 1795/96 eds.] FORMULAE MEDICAMINUM

THE FORMS OF MEDICINE [182 recipes] prescribed through the course of the preceding work. simple continued, inflammatory, nervous, and putrid fevers.

THE FORMS OF MEDICINE [182 recipes] prescribed through the course of the preceding work. ***The figures annexed to each Formula, refer to the places where it is prescribed, that the particular use to which it is appropriated may be discovered.

No. I. saline mixture.

No. I. saline mixture.

Take Kali prepared,

I dram.

Take Kali prepared,

     Lemon Juice,

2 ounces 2 drams.      Lemon Juice,

I dram. 2 ounces 2 drams.

     Distilled, or Boiled Water, 5 ounces.

     Distilled, or Boiled Water, 5 ounces.

     Sugar,

     Sugar,

2 drams.

Mix. – dose. Four table spoonfuls every two or three hours.

2 drams.

Mix. – dose. Four table spoonfuls every two or three hours. See pages 282. 292. 294. 325. 345. 387. 399. 496. 633. 640. 669.

(continued)

260 Elisabetta Lonati

Table 12.  (continued) Wallis 2nd1795/1796 Complete family Physician/Art of Preventing Diseases

Wallis 1793 Art of Preventing Diseases No. II. nitrous powder.

No. II. nitrous powder.

Take Nitre powdered,

6 or 10 grains.

Take Nitre powdered,

6 or 10 grains.

     Crabs Claws prepared,

20 grains.

     Crabs Claws prepared,

20 grains.

     Sugar,

30 grains.

     Sugar,

30 grains.

Mix. – and take it in the manner above recited.

No. III. cooling saline purge.

No. III. cooling saline purge. Take a Milk of Almonds, or

Take a Milk of Almonds, or      Decoction of Barley,

Mix. – and take it in the manner above recited.  – 282. 292. 325. 387. 410. 497. 501. 545. 563. 613. 617, 669.

10 ounces.

     Decoction of Barley,

10 ounces.

in which dissolve,

in which dissolve,      Vitriolated Natron, or

1 ½ ounce.

     Vitriolated Natron, or

1 ½ ounce.

     Tartarized Natron, or

1 ounce.

     Tartarized Natron, or

1 ounce.

     Vitriolated Kali,

½ ounce.

     Vitriolated Kali,

½ ounce.

     Manna,

1 ounce.

     Manna,

1 ounce.

dose. Four table spoonfuls every third hour, till the desired effect is produced.

dose. Four table spoonfuls every third hour, till the desired effect is produced. See pages 282. 290. 316. 325. 328. 343. 360. 361. 387. 391. 410. 497. 524.

[Strictly related to the preceding work, integrated into the main text.]

[Placed at the end of the work, clearly/structurally paratext. It can be used independently of the preceding main text, even though its principal function is to provide further information]

Millar’s Prescriptions are placed at the end of the work as added material referring back to the main body, and to specific topics, even though page numbers are not provided. The reader has to check the “Contents” to find the information needed: this makes the appendix dependent on other paratextual devices in order to establish connections with the main body. However, the appendix may also be used independently, since it refers to very common and widespread diseases, or distempers: from this perspective, remedies and prescriptions refer to contemporary medical discourse in general, and not only to the contents of Millar’s handbook. Intra-textual relationships, contextualising the paratextual apparatus, co-exist with more general issues. Wallis’s appendices in the three editions vary only slightly in layout, and in the introduction of page numbers in the two later versions. A major change from the 1793 version is the status of the Forms of Medicines within the works. In the first



Chapter 10.  Paratextual features in 18th-century medical writing 261

edition, this extra section apparently merges with the main body, since it is subdivided into three segments and placed at the end of specific chapters (SECTION VIII/chap. I. Febrile affections in general; SECTION XV/chap. III. When the Serum […]; SECTION XXI/§ I. Inflammation of the Womb). Strictly speaking, and from a structural point of view, the 1793 Forms of Medicines cannot be considered paratextual apparatus, which is something external and distinct from the main body. However, its function is precisely one of paratext, though fragmented. The situation, as mentioned above, changes in the 1795/96 editions: the Forms of Medicines sub-sections are reorganised, assembled, and placed altogether at the end of the works. This re-placement (or dis-placement) definitely transforms them into appendices, i.e. back matter. They become discernible units, with a more straightforward function. This means that they can be perceived and used as independent units: the position of the many sections included in reference works of this kind (i.e. handbooks) may determine their function/s (main body or paratext), and their status (a. strong relation of dependence between main body and paratext; b. relation of dependence between main body and paratext, and potentially independent usage). In the case of a., the paratext establishes an intra-textual network, and the relationship with the main body is essential (e.g. cross-references to page numbers in the index, cf. Section  5.3.1.). In the case of b., the paratext provides both an intra-textual function, and a self-contained function. Displaying additional disciplinary contents does not necessarily refer to the main body, notwithstanding the inclusion of page numbers as cross-references: the paratext behaves as an independent main body of a different nature, in Wallis 2nd1795/96 – Table 12, as a collection of medical recipes. In other words, the same paratextual apparatus may be interpreted either as establishing an internal network, or expanding its function at external discourse level. 6. Final remarks The analysis highlights the inclusion and use of an increasingly complex paratextual apparatus in medical writing in the second half of the 18th century. The different paratextual patterns help define the text itself, and primarily organise it linguistically. It is in this paratextual space that language is the primary structuring tool, delimiting medical issues for the reader, mapping connections, dependencies, and, not least, defining terminology. Some of these paratextual features may be found quite systematically (table of contents) before the main body; others (indexes, glossaries, and appendices) are occasionally included at the end of it. In both cases, they are used to struc-

262 Elisabetta Lonati

ture and frame contents, establish relations (e.g. hierarchy), connect phenomena, processes, diseases (e.g. symptoms-cause-effect). As regards front matter, some works include very basic patterns, mainly consisting in lists of diseases: taxonomy or thematic groups of diseases based on similarities (symptoms, signs, causes, organs, etc.) are usually missing. This is the case of Forster (1745), who lists a series of separate subjects; Fisher (1785) and his alphabetical arrangement of diseases as separate entries; and Sims (1773; 2nd1776), who discusses a limited number of separate diseases under the heading epidemical disorders. More complex patterns with clearly identifiable sections in the tables of contents are exemplified by Black (2nd1789), who clusters diseases around a unifying term or event (e.g. Of Fevers), and highlights general processes starting from circumscribed experience (e.g. in England … in every situation); Wallis (1793; 2nd1795/96), who introduces specialised equivalents along with common vernacular denominations, and often makes use of repetitions to mark the focus of the chapter (section); Millar (1770) and Clark (1780), who start from introductory sections to gradually focus on more detailed contents, and uncover medical procedures by the use of metalanguage (description, diagnostics, prognostics, cure). Back matter encompasses a series of added sections of different forms and functions: these are indexes, glossaries, and appendices. Indexes usually trace back to the main text to establish connections between topics, and/or to retrieve a specific subject. The most basic example is provided by Smythson (1785) with his indexes of diseases, of medicines, and The British Herbal. All of them are mere lists in alphabetical order, followed by page numbers. More complex indexes may include cross-references, glosses, and equivalents (Huxham, 1750; Buchan, 17th1800), or explanations of technical terms (Wallis, 2nd1795). As regards glossaries, their lemmata are limited to the topics discussed in the main body, but their function goes beyond this intratextual usage: they also define and explain medical terms, notions, and procedures in general (Millar, 1770; Buchan, 17th1800), and may be considered as independent units, though they are clearly part of the book. The use of equivalents and concise definitions is the norm, whereas encyclopaedic expansions are occasional features (Millar, 1770). Appendices include various lists of remedies, recipes, and medical preparations: the examples are taken from Millar (1770), who provides a list of prescriptions translated from Latin; and from Wallis, who provides a collection of recipes (Forms of Medicines) in his Art of Preventing Diseases (1793; 2nd1795/96). Appendices, besides expanding the main body with further added materials for practical issues (medical recipes), may also be used as completely independent sections. In conclusion, the paratext, with all its variants, emerges as a unifying principle, and as a unifying entity. In the front matter, it frames contents for the reader; in the back matter, it provides further reading material to retrieve, explain, and



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expand the main body. Tables of contents, indexes, glossaries, and appendices establish a lexically, and structurally dense network, relating to the complexity of the main body, but also to medical discourse in general.

Primary sources Black, William. 1788. Comparative View of the Mortality of the Human Species, at all Ages; And of the Diseases and Casualties by which they are destroyed or annoyed. Illustrated with Charts and Tables. […] Published at the unanimous Request of the Medical Society of London. London: Printed for C. Dilly, in the Poultry. Black, William. 2nd 1789. An Arithmetical and Medical Analysis of the Diseases and Mortality of the Human Species […] Published at the unanimous Request of the Medical Society of London. The second Edition corrected and improved. London: Printed for the Author by John Crowders and sold by C. Dilly, in the Poultry. Buchan, William. 2nd 1772 [1st 1769]. Domestic Medicine: or, A Treatise on the Prevention and Cure of Diseases by Regimen and Simple Medicines. The Second Edition, with considerable Additions. London: Printed for W. Strahan; T. Cadell in the Strand; and A. Kincaid & W. Creech, and J. Balfour, at Edinburgh. Buchan, William. 17th 1800. Domestic Medicine: or, A Treatise on the Prevention and Cure of Diseases by Regimen and Simple Medicines. With an Appendix, containing a Dispensatory for the Use of Private Practitioners. To which are added, Observations on the Diet of the Common People; recommending a Method of Living less expensive, and more conducive to Health, than the present. […] London: Printed by A. Strahan, Printers Street; for A. Strahan; T. Cadell Jun. and W. Davies, Strand; and J. Balfour, and W. Creech, Edinburgh. Clark, John. 1780. Observations on Fevers, especially those of the Continued Type; and on the Scarlet Fever attended with Ulcerated Sore-Throat, as it appeared at Newcastle upon Tyne in the Year 1778: together with A comparative View of that Epidemic with the Scarlet Fever as described by Authors, and the Angina Maligna. […] London: Printed for T. Cadell, in the Strand. Fisher, J[oseph]. 1785. The Practice of Medicine Made Easy. Being a Short, but Comprehensive Treatise, Necessary for Every Family. In which are exhibited the symptoms of almost every disease to which men are subject, the method of distinguishing any disease from others which it resembles, where such distinction is necessary, together with the most approved methods of cure, as to the regimen of the patient and the proper medicines to be used, so far as the Lectures of the learned Professors in the two celebrated Universities of Edinburgh and Leyden, or the books hitherto published by the most eminent Physicians in Europe, or the Author’s own judgment and experience have discovered to be most safe and beneficial, expressed in such a plain language, that it may be easily understood by persons of very moderate capacities. […] London: Printed for the Author, and sold by all the Booksellers in Great Britain and Ireland. Forster, William. 1745. A Treatise on the Causes of most Diseases incident to Human Bodies, and the Cure of them. First by a right Use of the Non-Naturals chiefly by Diet. And Secondly by Medicine. […] Leeds: Printed by James Lister.

264 Elisabetta Lonati Huxham, John. 1750. An Essay on Fevers, and their Various Kinds, as depending on Different Constitutions of the Blood: with Dissertations on Slow Nervous Fevers; on Putrid, Pestilential, Spotted Fevers; on the Small-Pox and on Pleurisies and Peripneumonies. […] London: Printed for S. Austen, in Newgate-street. Millar, John. 1770. Observations on the Prevailing Diseases in Great Britain: together with a Review of the History of those of Former Periods, and in Other Countries. […] London: Printed for T. Cadell, successor to Mr. Millar, and T. Noteman, in the Strand. Sims, James. 1773. Observations on Epidemic Disorders, with Remarks on Nervous and Malignant Fevers. […] London: Printed for J. Johnson, in St. Paul’s Church-Yard; and G. Robinson, in Pater-noster-row. Sims, James. 2nd 1776. Observations on Epidemical Disorders, with Remarks on Nervous and Malignant Fevers. […] London: Printed for J. Johnson, in St. Paul’s Church-Yard; and G. Robinson, in Pater-noster-row. Smythson, Hugh. 1785. The Compleat Family Physician; or, Universal Medical Repository. Containing the Causes, Symptoms, Preventions, and Cures, all the various Maladies to which Human Nature is liable. An Account of every celebrated SPA, British and Foreign, and Strictures on Quackery. To which are added, The Family Surgery; The Compleat British Herbal; Observations on Tea, Coffee, Tobacco, and Snuff; and a Great Variety of Most Extraordinary Cases in Physic and Surgery. The whole forming A Compleat Body of Domestic Medicine, calculated as well to assist Gentlemen of the Faculty, as for the Use of Private Families. […] London: Printed for Harrison and Co. N° 18, Paternoster Row. Wallis, George. 1793. The Art of Preventing Diseases, and Restoring Health, founded on Rational Principles, and adapted to Persons of Every Capacity. […] London: Printed for G.G.J. and J. Robinson, Paternoster-row. Wallis, George. 2nd 1795. The Complete family Physician, or The Art of Preventing Diseases, and Restoring Health, founded on Rational Principles, and adapted to Persons of Every Capacity. […] Second Edition with considerable Alterations and Additions. London: Printed by G. Sidney, Black Horse Court, Fleet Street. Wallis, George. 2nd 1796. The Art of Preventing Diseases, and Restoring Health, founded on Rational Principles, and adapted to Persons of Every Capacity. […] Second Edition. With considerable Alterations and Additions. London: Printed for G.G. and J. Robinson, Paternoster-row.

Secondary sources de Beaugrande, Robert-Alain, and Wolfgang U. Dressler. 1981. Introduction to Text Linguistics. London: Longman.   https://‍doi.org/10.4324/9781315835839 Furdell, Elizabeth L. 2002. Publishing and Medicine in Early Modern England. Rochester, New York: University of Rochester Press. Genette, Gérard. 1991. “Introduction to the Paratext.” New Literary History 22 (2): 261–272. The Johns Hopkins University Press. http://‍www.jstor.org/stable/469037 Genette, Gérard. 1997. Paratexts. Thresholds of Interpretation. [Translated by Jane E. Lewin; Forword by Richard Macksey] Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. [First edition in French, Seuils, Editions du Seuil, 1987]   https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511549373 Goffman, Erving. 1986. Frame Analysis. An Essay on the Organization of Experience. Boston: Northeastern University Press. [First edition published by Harper & Row, New York, 1974]



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Gross, Alan G., Joseph E. Harmon, and Michael S. Reidy. 2009. Communicating Science. The Scientific Article from the 17th Century to the Present. Indiana, West Lafayette: Parlor Press. [2002 by Oxford University Press] Gunnarsson, Britt-Louise. 2011. “Introduction: Languages of Science in the Eighteenth-Century.” In Languages of Science in the Eighteenth Century, ed. by Britt-Louise Gunnarsson, 3–21. Berlin: De Gruyter Mouton.  https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110255065.3 Lane, Joan. 2001. A Social History of Medicine. Health, Healing and Disease in England, 1750– 1950. London: Routledge. Lonati, Elisabetta. 2007. “Blancardus’ Lexicon Medicum in Harris’s Lexicon Technicum: A Lexicographic and Lexicological Study.” In Words and Dictionaries from the British Isles in Historical Perspective, ed. by John Considine, and Giovanni Iamartino, 91–108. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Lonati, Elisabetta. 2013. “Health and Medicine in 18th-Century England: A Sociolinguistic Approach.” In The Popularization of Specialized Discourse and Knowledge across Communities and Cultures, ed. by Susan Kermas, and Thomas Christiansen, 101–128. Bari: Edipuglia. Lonati, Elisabetta. 2014. “Medical Entries in 18th-Century Encyclopaedias: The Lexicographic Construction of Knowledge.” In Perspectives in Medical English, ed. by Tatiana Canziani, Kim S. Grego, and Giovanni Iamartino, 89–107. Monza: Polimetrica International Scientific Publisher. Lonati, Elisabetta. 2016. “The Language of Medicine in the Philosophical Transactions: Observations on Style.” Token: A Journal of English Linguistics 5: 5–24. http://‍www.ujk.edu.pl/token/ & http://‍www.ujk.edu.pl/token/issues/volume-5/‍ Lonati, Elisabetta. 2017. Communicating Medicine. British Medical Discourse in EighteenthCentury Reference Works. Milano: DiSegni, Ledizioni. http://‍www.ledizioni.it/prodotto/ elisabetta-lonati-communicating-medicine/  https://‍doi.org/10.4000/books.ledizioni.8204 McConchie, Roderick W. 2013. “Some Reflections on Early Modern Printed Title-Pages.” In Principles and Practices for the Digital Editing and Annotation of Diachronic Data, ed. by Anneli Meurman-Solin, and Jukka Tyrkkö. Helsinki: VARIENG. http://‍www.helsinki.fi/ varieng/series/volumes/14/mcconchie/ Mirenayat, Sayyed A., and Elaheh Soofastaei. 2015. “Gérard Genette and the Categorization of Textual Transcendence.” Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences 6 (5): 533–537. Pahta, Päivi. 2011. “Eighteenth-Century English Medical Texts and Discourses on Reproduction.” In Languages of Science in the Eighteenth Century, ed. by Britt-Louise Gunnarsson, 333–351. Berlin: De Gruyter Mouton.  https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110255065.333 Ratia, Maura. 2013. “Investigating Genre through Title-pages: Plague Treatises of the Stuart Period in Focus.” In Principles and Practices for the Digital Editing and Annotation of Diachronic Data, ed. by Anneli Meurman-Solin, and Jukka Tyrkkö. Helsinki: VARIENG. http://‍www.helsinki.fi/varieng/series/volumes/14/ratia/ Raven, James. 2007. The Business of Books. Booksellers and the English Book Trade, 1450–1850. New Haven/London: Yale University Press. Rosenberg, Charles E. 1983. “Medical Text and Social Context: Explaining William Buchan’s ‘Domestic Medicine.’” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 57 (1): 22–42.

266 Elisabetta Lonati Signy, Patrick. 2010. “The Popularization of Medicine in the Eighteenth Century: Writing, Reading, and Rewriting Samuel Auguste Tissot’s Avis au peuple sur sa santé.” The Journal of Modern History 82 (4): 769–800.  https://‍doi.org/10.1086/656073 Taavitsainen, Irma, and Päivi Pahta. 2011. “An Interdisciplinary Approach to Medical Writing in Early Modern English.” In Medical Writing in Early Modern English [Studies in English Language], ed. by Irma Taavitsainen, and Päivi Pahta, 1–8. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511921193.007 Taavitsainen, Irma, and Päivi Pahta. 2013. “The Corpus of Early English Medical Writing (1375–1800) – a Register-Specific Diachronic Corpus for Studying the History of Scientific Writing.” In Principles and Practices for the Digital Editing and Annotation of Diachronic Data, ed. by Anneli Meurman-Solin, and Jukka Tyrkkö. Helsinki: VARIENG. http://‍www. helsinki.fi/varieng/series/volumes/14/taavitsainen_pahta/ Taavitsainen, Irma, Turo Hiltunen, Anu Lehto, Ville Marttila, Päivi Pahta, Maura Ratia, Carla Suhr, and Jukka Tyrkkö. 2014. “‘Late Modern English Medical Texts 1700–1800’: A Corpus for Analyzing Eighteenth-Century Medical English.” ICAME Journal 38: 137–153. https://‍doi.org/10.2478/icame-2014-0007 Taavitsainen, Irma. 2015. “Medical News in England 1665–1800 in Journals for Professional and Lay Audiences.” In Changing Genre Conventions in Historical English News Discourse, ed. by Birte Bös, and Lucia Kornexl, 135–160. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. https://‍doi.org/10.1075/ahs.5.06taa Waddington, Keir. 2011. An Introduction to the Social History of Medicine. Europe since 1500. Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire: Palgrave MacMillan.

Chapter 11

Recuperating Older Scots in the early 18th century Jeremy J. Smith University of Glasgow

In early 18th-century Scotland, a group of writers and printers appeared who were engaged, as a community of practice, on the recuperation of Scots verse composed some two hundred years earlier. In doing so they have a claim to be the ‘inventors’ of Scots, bringing about what literary critics have regularly referred to as the ‘vernacular revival’. In this chapter, the editorial work of two key figures – Allan Ramsay and Thomas Ruddiman – is examined. It is shown how features of ‘expressive form’ in their editions, such as spelling and punctuation, can be related closely to the paratextual materials supplied. It is also shown how Ramsay’s and Ruddiman’s editorial practices relate closely to their own ideological interests. Keywords: spelling, punctuation, textual criticism, Scots, poetry, print, manuscript, ideology, Jacobitism, Enlightenment

1. A Jacobite community of practice The notion of communities of practice is now a commonplace of historical pragmatics. The concept, as formulated by Jean Lave and Etienne Wenger-Trayner (1991), began in anthropological and educational studies, but rapidly spread into other fields. Penelope Eckert and Sally McConnell-Ginet have famously defined it as follows: A community of practice is an aggregate of people who come together in mutual engagement in an endeavor. Ways of doing things, ways of talking, beliefs, power relations – in short practices – emerge in the course of this mutual endeavor. As a social construct, a community of practice is different from the traditional community, primarily because it is defined simultaneously by its membership and by the practice in which that membership engages. (1992: 464)

https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.11smi © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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For linguists working within the pragmatic paradigm, such communities of practice exist within a wider discourse community, in which the conventions deployed are understood both by those who use and by those who encounter them, rather like a common currency. In order to understand each other, speakers/hearers and writers/readers need to have a shared linguistic practice: they need to be part of the same discourse community, in which the denotations and connotations of the signifiers they deploy are generally understood. Historical pragmatists, of course, are necessarily concerned with written texts, and in this context insights from other researchers working in the broader field of historical textual studies are relevant. Book historians, for instance, have recently emphasised how texts in their production “enter into perpetual cycles of circulation” (Verweij 2016: 2). Thus authors, copyists (scribes, printers), editors and readers all participate in the construction of that text’s meanings in the widest sense, expressed through a set of signs, some obviously linguistic (lexicon, grammar), and others which are sometimes marginalised by linguists or even excluded from their consideration altogether: writing-systems in the widest sense, including not only spelling but also script or font, what is called mise-en-page, and punctuation. Such features of ‘expressive form’ (Bell 2002: 632) have been shown to relate closely to dynamic, shifting socio-cultural processes, imperatives and functions as those texts are transmitted across time and space. Gérard Genette, whose formulation of the notion of paratext has been so influential, has famously described how a text “is rarely presented in an unadorned state” (1997: 10): such ‘written-language’ features as those just flagged can be said, in Mark Sebba’s helpful formulation, to “function as markers of difference and belonging, and be involved in the creation of identities at different levels of social organisation” (2009: 36). Books are after all “ineluctably, social products” (McKenzie 2002: 553), and it is therefore no surprise that historical pragmatists are increasingly – as is their pleasingly appropriative and interdisciplinary habit – taking on board the insights of inter alia book historians (see e.g. Jucker and Taavitsainen 2013; see also the important essays in Peikola et al. 2017, and references there cited). One such community of (textual) practice emerged in Scotland in the early years of the 18th century, as part of that turbulent period of socio-cultural conflict which led to the Scottish Enlightenment. However, this community had an agenda that in some ways was opposed to the ‘forward-looking’ views traditionally associated with Enlightened thought. They were Jacobites, supporters of the Stewart monarchy that had been expelled from the British and Irish polity via the ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688 and the Battle of the Boyne in 1690, and whose two 18th-century military incursions, the ‘15’ and the ‘45’, were to result in ignominious failure. Jacobites, whose name derives from Jacobus ‘James’, refused to swear



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oaths of loyalty to those who succeeded the Stewarts – William of Orange and his successors – and are thus often referred to as ‘non-jurors’. Despite their political misfortunes, however, such non-juring Jacobites were in some sense successful in the long term, in that they had a significant cultural afterlife. Responsibility for developing a Scottish literature in Scots  – the traditional locus for the ‘vernacular revival’ of the 18th century which led inter alia to the poetry of Robert Burns – can be located rather precisely: in the recuperation of earlier Scots verse by a group of – albeit at times necessarily discreet – Jacobites. The most important member of this community was the poet, entrepreneur and antiquarian Allan Ramsay (1686–1758).1 Ramsay was a keen supporter of the Stewart monarchy, and his interest in Older Scots poetry stemmed from his traditionalist views. Indeed, one such work, Gavin Douglas’s translation of Virgil’s Aeneid (c.1513), seems to have served as a ‘code-book’ for those sharing Ramsay’s ideology; Douglas’s poem appeared in an edition (1710) by Thomas Ruddiman (1674–1757), who was – in addition to being an editor, a distinguished librarian, and the leading Latinist of his day – another non-juror who also worked as a printer and publisher of, inter alia, works by Ramsay himself. Ramsay and Ruddiman – ‘mutually engaged on an endeavour’ – thus clearly formed a community of practice. This paper begins with a close study of a key work by Ramsay: the edition of primarily Older Scots verses which Ruddiman published for him in 1724, known as The Ever Green. By good fortune we can trace with some precision the processes involved in appearance of The Ever Green, starting with the 16th-century manuscript that was Ramsay’s primary source, via Ramsay’s own handwritten text that he prepared for the printer, through to the edition that Ruddiman subsequently produced. This text will then be compared with Ruddiman’s own earlier edition of Douglas’s translation of the Aeneid (1710), for which 16th-century exemplars also survive. In both sets of texts, features of ‘expressive form’, ‘linguistic’ in the widest sense, are seen to be of considerable interest, including not only traditionallydistinguished lexical, grammatical and orthographic phenomena, but also other formal elements such as punctuation. Such features may be related to discussions offered in paratextual materials such as dedications, prefaces and notes. All can be accounted for in terms of the socio-cultural conditions in which this community of textual practice operated.

1.  For biographies of all the 18th-century individuals discussed in this paper, see in the first instance the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (https://‍www-oxforddnb-com), hence ODNB, last consulted on 22nd September 2019.

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2. Allan Ramsay’s The Ever Green (1724) The full title of Ramsay’s edition is as follows: The Ever Green, Being a Collection of Scots Poems, Wrote by the Ingenious before 1600. Towards the end of his Preface, Ramsay gives a short account of his primary source, and how he obtained it. The deployment of italics is that of the original, and non-italicised forms thus highlight not only Ramsay’s aristocratic connexions (“the Earl of Hyndford”) but also his antiquarian credentials through references to ‘technical’ terminology (“ManuscriptBook in Folio”, “MS.”). I cannot finish this Preface, without grateful Acknowledgements to the Honourable Mr. william carmichael, Advocate, Brother to the Earl of Hyndford, who, with an easy Beneficence that is inseparable from a superior Mind, assisted me in this Undertaking with a valuable Number of Poems, in a large Manuscript-Book in Folio, collected and wrote by Mr. George Bannyntine in Anno 1568; from which MS. the most of the following are gathered: And if they prove acceptable to the World, they may have the Pleasure of expecting a great many more, and shall very soon be gratified. (Ramsay 1724: xii)

“Bannyntine” is a misspelling of the ‘Manuscript-Book’s compiler, the prominent 16th-century Edinburgh merchant George Bannatyne, who produced this anthology of Older Scots verse in tyme of pest (i.e. plague). The Bannatyne Manuscript, as it is usually referred to, is now Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Advocates’ MS 1.1.6. As Ramsay flags, this book is usually dated to 1568, but it may have been written a little earlier, perhaps relating to the marriage of Mary Queen of Scots to Henry Lord Darnley (see MacDonald 1986). It is arguably the most important surviving witness for Older Scots poetry, containing verse by such major authors as William Dunbar and Robert Henryson. Examination of the manuscript which Ramsay prepared for Ruddiman – now London, British Library, Egerton MS 2024 – demonstrates how closely these two men worked on this project. Folio 1r of the Egerton manuscript, for instance, is a mock-up title-page, which is presented as in the printed version in every particular, including a quotation from An Essay on Criticism by Alexander Pope (himself a Roman catholic with sustained if discreet Jacobite sympathies), and in its use of a hierarchy of lettering-size. The only difference lies in the complete lack of punctuation; this last, often referred to by contemporaries as ‘pointing’, Ramsay seems to have left for the printer’s attention. Ramsay similarly presented a careful dedication, although in this case he did deploy pointing; and the dedication gives us a pretty good idea of the discourse community at which the text was aimed. The dedication’s opening in the Egerton manuscript reads as follows. Emboldened type in this transcription indicates an engrossed form in Ramsay’s



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handwriting; I have also marked forms that are crossed through. [..] signifies letters now lost in the manuscript; I have adopted the convention to indicate a section that has been so thoroughly scored out that what was written originally is now illegible. [fol. 2r] To His Grace James Duke of Hamilton Captain General of the Archers and the Honourable Members of the Royall Company of ARCHERS Right Noble, Right Honourable     }     My   Lords & Gentlemen and Honourable Noble Men and Gentlemen } When the more Eminent concerns of Life, or the agreeable Diversion of ye Bow; make no demands upon your Time: the following, Old Bards, present you with ane entertainment that can never be disagreeable to any Scots Man, who despises the fopery of admiring nothing but what is either new or foraign, and is a Lover of his Countrey. Such the Royall Company of Archers are, and such every good man should strive to be. The spirit of freedom and Chearfulness, that shines throw both the Serious, and Comick Performances of our old poets, appears of a pice with that Love of Liberty that our antient            Heroes [fol. 2v] Heroes contended for, and mentain with sword in hand, fro[..] You then, my Lords and Gentlemen, who take pleasure to represent our Brave Ancestors, these XXXXXXXXXXXXX Poets XXXXXXX claim Regard or patronage, they now make a demand for that Immortal fame, that tuned their souls some Hundred years ago, which is in your power by […] Countenancing to bestow. they do not address you with ane Indigent face, and a thousand pityfull appologys, XXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX to bribe the good will of the criticks. No, No! its long since they were superiour to the Spleen of these Sour gentlemen.

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Ramsay had a sustained relationship with the Company of Archers, composing a poem in its praise (‘On the Royal Archers Shooting for the Bowl’), which survives on fol. 41v of another holograph manuscript: Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, MS 2233. Perhaps unsurprisingly in this context, the Company of Archers was known to be a significant ‘nest of closet Jacobites’ (ODNB) at the beginning of the 18th century. A list of the members of the company survives, published by David and James Adams in Edinburgh in 1715, and includes the name of Robert Freebairn in the muster; in that same year Freebairn became the principal printer of Jacobite proclamations, e.g. Scotland’s Lament, Confabulation and Prayer (1715), The Miserable State of Scotland since the Union, briefly represented (1716), and also an account of the Battle of Sheriffmuir (SPAT 1996: 15). The Company, then, seem likely to have been at least part of the discourse community for which Ramsay was catering, and their traditionalist ideology may be plausibly linked to Ramsay’s emphasis, through his deployment of engrossed lettering, on Old Bards, Scots Man, and Ancestors, and indeed some of the other phraseology. However, the language deployed is polite English of the period, albeit with in places slightly eccentric spelling: comparison with the printed version shows that the printer felt moved to impose some order on Ramsay’s usage in this instance, replacing (for instance) appologys with Apologies, Countrey with Country, and mentain with maintain. (The form ane in the Egerton manuscript – at first sight a stray Scotticism – seems likely, on the evidence of the printed edition, to be simply a variant spelling for an.) However, the editorial process which Ramsay undertook when he turned to the verses themselves is rather more intriguing, showing that he was developing something rather new: the recuperation – and indeed in places the invention – of a distinctive Scots linguistic usage. Such intentional deployment of Scots was actually an innovation  – albeit a backward-looking one – at the beginning of the 18th century. Older Scots texts inherited from the late medieval period such as Barbour’s Bruce or Hary’s Wallace – both of them patriotic epics  – had often been reprinted during the 17th and early 18th centuries, and indeed continued to be produced (see e.g. Smith 2013). However, even when printed by ideologists such as Robert Freebairn, such works were presented in language substantially modified in the direction of English, purged of many if not most Older Scots features. Nevertheless, a change was in the air, and not necessarily for ideological reasons; indeed, unionist contemporaries were similarly interested in Scots usage. A good example of the latter is Lady Grisell Baillie (née Hume) (1665–1746), who came from a very different background to Ramsay. Lady Baillie’s future fatherin-law, Robert Baillie, had been hanged during the ‘Killing Time’, the suppression of presbyterianism in Scotland during the 1670s and 1680s, the last years of the Stewart monarchy. Her father, Patrick Hume, had been a close associate of Baillie’s,



Chapter 11.  Recuperating Older Scots in the early 18th century 273

and was forced to escape to the Netherlands, followed by Grisell and the rest of the family. She returned with her father in the train of William of Orange in 1688, and married George Baillie, Robert’s son. She took on the running of large estates, supporting the rise of her husband who became a lord of the Treasury in 1717, but she also found time to develop her literary interests. Were ne my Hearts light I wad Dye is probably Lady Baillie’s best-known poem, and it was written in Scots. Various versions are recorded; the text below is that surviving in Orpheus Caledonius, a book of songs with music, collected by William Thomson (1726: 40). The text is engraved, written in an italic script throughout. The copy used for the transcription below is from the Euing Collection in Glasgow University Library, Sp. Coll. N.a.2. 1. 2.

There was an a May and she lo’ed na men, She Bigged her bonny Bow’r down in yon Glen, But now she cryes dale and a-well-a-day, Come down the Green gate and come here away. But now she cryes dale and a-well-a-day,  Come down the Green gate and come here away. When bonny young Johnny came o’er ye sea, He said he fan nathing so bonny as me, He haight me baith Rings and mony bra things, And were ne my Hearts light I wad dye. 

5

10

The language of the poem demonstrates the remaking of the ballad tradition in the 18th century. There are several Anglicised features, such as Old English hw- reflected as in when etc. (cf. Scots quhen), Old English -h- as in light etc. (cf. Scots licht), and the third person singular feminine pronoun she (cf. Scots scho). However, Lady Baillie’s poem offers a fair attempt at representing Scots usage, even when she deploys the so-called ‘ideological apostrophe’, flagging a perceived ‘lack’ – in comparison with English – even in words where historic sound-changes would mean that the form in question would have been a genuine Scots form. Examples include lo’ed ‘loved’, flagging the 16th-century sound-change known as v-deletion, and fu’ ‘full’ with another early modern sound-change, l-vocalisation.2 Ramsay was not therefore alone in having an interest in Scots; but the paratextual material he provided for The Ever Green shows that his attitude to the language was somewhat distinct from that of Lady Baillie. The Preface, for instance, shows that he saw Scots as having a ‘polite’ value contrasting with the solely ‘pastoral’ (and thus rustic, ‘vulgar’) associations that Lady Baillie drew upon: 2.  A study of the ‘ideological apostrophe’ is currently being undertaken, for a Glasgow doctoral thesis, by David Selfe. For an initial account of these sound-changes, see Smith (2012: 31).

274 Jeremy J. Smith

There is nothing can be heard more silly than one’s expressing his Ignorance of his native Language; yet such there are, who can vaunt of acquiring a tolerable Perfection in the French or Italian Tongues, if they have been a Forthnight in Paris or a Month in Rome: But shew them the most elegant Thoughts in a Scots Dress, they as disdainfully as stupidly condemn it as barbarous. But the true Reason is obvious: Every one that is born never so little superior to the Vulgar, would fain distinguish them by some Manner or other, and such, it would appear, cannot arrive at a better Method. But this affected Class of Fops give no Uneasiness, not being numerous; for the most part of our Gentlemen, who are generally Masters of the most useful and politest Languages, can take Pleasure (for a Change) to speak and read their own. (Ramsay 1724: x–xi)

Ramsay, in other words, distinguishes those who despise Scots as “Fops”, while flattering his intended readers as “Gentlemen” who, though fully cognisant of “the most useful and politest Languages”, can nevertheless appreciate the “elegant Thoughts in a Scots Dress” that are “their own” possession; they are “superior to the Vulgar”. The passage is both defensive but also assertive, in terms that are consistently designed to appeal to a polite, aspirational 18th-century audience. In order to assist these Gentlemen, however, Ramsay saw fit to supply further paratextual material: “A GLOSSARY; OR, An EXPLANATION of the Scots Words” at the end of volume II of The Ever Green, and, beneath the first poem in the collection, a lengthy footnote: Because we strictly observe the old Orthography; for the more Conveniency of the Readers, we shall note some general Rules at the Bottom of the Page, as they occur, wherein the old Spelling differs from the present, in Words that have nothing else of the Antique, or Difference from the English: But shall refer you to the Glossary at the End of the second Vol. for the Explanation of all that kind in particular, and of those that are peculiar to this Nation. (Ramsay 1724: 1)

Ramsay then goes on to offer a series of spelling-‘rules’ – the notion of ‘rules’, i.e. setting in order, is surely significant – that distinguish Scots from English usage, e.g. Grene, Sene, Clene, &c. Green, Seen, Clean. The double ee is supplied in such Words, commonly with one e before, and another after the Consonant. (1724: 1)

Other ‘rules’ include the following: Quhyle, Quhat, Quho, Quhat, &c. While, What, Who, White. The qu is always us’d for the German w, when an h immediately follows. See Mr. Ruddiman’s Glossary to Gavin Douglas’s Virgil.

As flagged, we will be returning to Ruddiman’s edition of Douglas’s translation later in this chapter, but the observation on forms is interesting, since there

Chapter 11.  Recuperating Older Scots in the early 18th century 275



is good evidence that Ramsay was developing his sensitivity to Scots orthography as he worked on the edition. To illustrate his working-methods we might examine again the Egerton manuscript. One of the poems presented in The Ever Green is Robert Henryson’s sophisticated pastoral poem Robene and Makyne, a seeming-comic dialogue between an initially-insistent girl and an initially-reluctant shepherd (later in the poem they reverse roles). Here is a short transcript from the opening of the poem as it appears in the Egerton manuscript, annotated to flag Ramsay’s corrections to his initial copy. Ramsay also places lines above each of the proper names, as a convention indicating that they should be italicised, and a breve or ‘tittle-mark’ above in when corrected; this latter usage was widely adopted by writers in the 17th and 18th centuries, especially in legal texts, to distinguish from .3 As seems to have been his custom with verse – in contradiction to his practice with prose – he did not use punctuation other than capitalisation to indicate the beginning of some lines, and, in accordance with common English 18th-century practice, to mark what contemporaries referred to as ‘emphatical words’.

[fol. 27r]

Robin sat on the gude grene* Hill   keipand a flock of fei* When Mirry* Makyne said him till   O Robin reu on Me I haif* thee Luvit* baith loud & still   thir Towmonds twa or thre* My Dule in Dern but gif thou Dill   Doutless bot* dreid I dee* Robin replyd now be the Rude   Naithing of Luve I knaw but keip my sheip under yon Wod   lo where they Raik on Raw quhat* can haif* Mart* thee in thy Mude   thou Makyne to me shaw quhat* is luve or to be lude*   fain wald I leir that law

*corrected from green *corrected from fee *corrected from Merry   *corrected from have, Luv’t *corrected from three   *corrected from but, die         *corrected from what, have, Mard   *corrected from what, luid (earlier ?lued)  

3.  Craig Lamont, currently working at Glasgow on the AHRC-funded Allan Ramsay editing project, informs me that the tittle-mark is widely deployed in Ramsay’s handwriting. The usage continued; Alison Lumsden (Aberdeen) reports, based on her extensive knowledge of his manuscripts, that Walter Scott too was accustomed to use the same diacritic: perhaps unsurprising, given Scott’s legal background.

276 Jeremy J. Smith

It will immediately be apparent that Ramsay’s corrections are all in the direction of a more distinctively Scots usage, but comparison with the Bannatyne original indicates that Ramsay’s procedure was not entirely driven by the text he was allegedly editing. Here is a transcription of the same lines from the 16th-century original: [fol. 365r] Robene sat on gud grene hill Kepand a flok of fe Mirry makyne said him till Robene thow rew on me I haif the lovit lowd and still Thir ȝeiris two or thre My dule in dern bot gif thow dill Dowtles’ but dreid I de Robene ansrt be ye rude Na thing of lufe I knaw But keipis my scheip vndir ȝone wid Lo quhair thay raik on raw quhat hes marrit the in thy mude makyne to me thow schaw Or quhat is lufe or to be lude ffane wald I leir that law Comparison shows both substantive and so-called ‘accidental’ differences. Ramsay has added various small words, presumably to regularise his own conception of the poem’s metre, e.g. the in line 1 and O in line 4, and he also replaces the Bannatyne readings ansrt ‘answered’ (line 9) with replyd now and ȝeiris ‘years’ with the very different Towmonds ‘twelve-months’. The latter at least seems to be a genuinely Scots form, recorded from the 16th century onwards in the Dictionary of the Scots Language (DSL 2019), and is maybe deployed by Ramsay to sustain a disyllable; the reflex of Older Scots ȝeiris, a disyllable in the 16th century, would have been a monosyllable by the 18th century (as it is in present-day English). Metrical considerations may also have been in Ramsay’s mind when he replaces Bannatyne’s line 14 makyne to me thow schaw with thou Makyne to me shaw, starting the line with a more conventional iamb rather than the trochee of the original; they perhaps also underlie his replacement of Bannatyne’s hes marrit with the periphrastic can haif Mart, where he seems to consider the last word monosyllabic (his uncertainty about the word is indicated by its being a correction from Mard – the only verb that he capitalises). A similar metrical consideration probably accounts for his introduction of baith in line 5; although he corrects Luv’t to Luvit, he clearly the considers the verb to be measured as monosyllabic. The form grene for original



Chapter 11.  Recuperating Older Scots in the early 18th century 277

green reflects the application of one of Ramsay’s spelling rules as well as according with the Bannatyne usage, while Mirry for Merry similarly reflects the older copy. Other changes are interesting since they demonstrate that Ramsay had limits to his understanding of Older Scots. He does not use the now-obsolete letters yogh and thorn (the latter characteristically isomorphous in Older Scots usage with ). He is unsure about the Bannatyne forms fe, thre and de, all of which should rhyme with me, and instead deploys a series of mutually conflicting corrections (fei, thre and dee for fee, three, die). The form wid ‘wood’ in the Bannatyne version of line 11 is clearly unsatisfactory for him, and he replaces it with more easily-comprehensible Wode, even though the former form is fairly widely attested in DSL from the 16th century onwards, and is a genuine Scots form;4 and although he is clear about quhat ‘what’ as being more authentically Scots, he slips up with where for Bannatyne’s quhair. He tends to use in words like luve, where Older Scots conventions tend to prefer , as in Bannatyne lufe; however, this is perhaps acceptable given that Bannatyne allows lovit as a variant (with the deployed, as in English, to avoid potential minim-clash). He shares Bannatyne’s uncertainty with but/bot ‘but’, and regularly replaces Bannatyne’s with , in words such as sheip, shaw. The introduced form When in line 3 is a similar slip; the Scots form is quhen, as Ramsay’s earlier footnote might suggest. A more subtle misunderstanding appears again in lines 10–11, where Ramsay writes as follows: Naithing of Luve I knaw but keip my sheip under yon Wod



Bannatyne’s equivalent lines are: Na thing of lufe I knaw But keipis my scheip vndir ȝone wid

In presenting these lines Ramsay misses the operation of a well-known feature of Scots syntax, still occasionally witnessed in some present-day Scots dialects, viz. the Northern Personal Pronoun Rule, where the verbal inflexion is -is (as in keipis), unless the plural or first-person singular personal pronoun is immediately adjacent to the verb in question (as in knaw) (see Smith 2012: 46). Perhaps even more interesting, however, are those forms where Ramsay seems to consider the Bannatyne text insufficiently in line with his own conception of a ‘tidy’ Older

4.  Two pre-1700 citations of wid ‘wood’ are drawn from the Bannatyne manuscript, one of which is from this line; but there are also other citations stretching into late 19th century from north-east Scotland and the borders. The form with may derive from the Old English byform widu, cf. more common wudu, or perhaps Old Norse viðr.

278 Jeremy J. Smith

Scots; something he does in other poems.5 Thus he regularises the deployment of in keipand (line 2), cf. Bannatyne Kepand to accord with the later form keip, cf. Bannatyne keipis; in line 6 he replaces Bannatyne’s two with twa, and in line 5 he replaces Bannatyne’s in lovit with , albeit leaving the following . The attempt throughout is to regularise Older Scots, aligning it with the rules that he flags in the footnote at the very beginning of the texts he edited. Ruddiman’s edition of the same lines (1724: 56–57) generally retains Ramsay’s revisions. I

R    OBIN sat on the gude grene Hill, Keipand a Flock of Fie, Quhen mirry Makyne said him till, O Robin rew on me I haif thee luivt baith loud and still Thir Towmonds twa or thre; My Dule in dern but gif thou dill Doubtless bot Dreid I die.

II

ROBIN replied, Now by the Rude, Naithing of Luve I knaw, But keip my Sheip undir yon Wod, Lo quhair they raik on Raw, Quhat can have mart thee in thy Mude, Thou Makyne to me schaw? Or quhat is Luve, or to be lude? Fain wald I leir that Law.

Comparison with Ramsay’s original demonstrates that the printed version offered a clean, punctuated copy of the text generally (though not invariably) in line with Ramsay’s corrections; names are also italicised as Ramsay had indicated. The printer has also tidied up the capitalisation, generally only using capital letters for nouns, or to indicate the beginning of a speech (as in Now by the Rude, line 9). In

5.  In his version of William Dunbar’s Discretioun in Taking, for instance, Ramsay replaces the perfectly acceptable Bannatyne diuill ‘devil’ with Deil. Ramsay’s form, now the common Scots usage sanctioned by its appearance in Robert Burns’s later Address to the Deil, is arguably a hyper-correction in the direction of a perceived more ‘authentic’ Scotticism; v-deletion, i.e. the dropping of [v] with compensatory lengthening of the vowel, is increasingly common in Scots after c.1450, but is clearly not reflected in Bannatyne’s spellings. For further discussion of such hypercorrection, see Smith (2020, ch.5).



Chapter 11.  Recuperating Older Scots in the early 18th century 279

line with conventions adopted for English since the 16th century, a hyper-correct  – never pronounced in English – has been added in Doubtless (line 8). However, closer examination shows a few interesting further changes. Some are fairly straightforwardly in the direction of more securely Scots forms, such as replacing initial with in schaw, line 14 (although not in Sheip), and supplying Quhen, quhair for When, where in lines 3 and 12 respectively (the former not being in the Bannatyne manuscript). The reverse, however, is the case in line  13, where the printer has replaced Ramsay’s haif with have. The odd, ahistorical luivt in line 5 seems to be a compromise-attempt to present a monosyllabic form that, while fitting the metre of the line as revised by Ramsay, would reflect its ‘other’ Scottish character. Such modifications suggest that the printer was no passive transmitter of what the editor supplied, but rather a participant in the overall project. This expertise, it may be argued, derived from Ruddiman’s editing of the Older Scots Aeneid; it is to some of the paratextual material in that edition that we might now turn. 3. Thomas Ruddiman’s edition of Douglas’s Eneados (1710) Ruddiman’s 1710 edition certainly marked a major step forward in the editing of vernacular texts. It included a grammatical section (“General Rules For Understanding the Language of Bishop Dowglas’s Translation of Virgil’s Æneis”, with cross-references to major authorities such as George Hickes’s foundational Linguarum Veterum Septentrionalium Thesaurus Grammatico-Criticus et Archaeologicus of 1705), marginal narrative-summaries of the kind that were to become standard in learned editions in the 19th century, and a list of “The most considerable of the Various Readings of the MS and Old Edition”, i.e. textual notes. Perhaps the most impressive element of the edition’s paratextual apparatus is the large Glossary – referred to by Ramsay as authoritative – with etymological notes and conjectured cognates, marked in blackletter typeface when Germanic (including Anglo-Saxon) forms were cited. Examination of the Glossary is of interest for the small modification in rhymes undertaken in Ruddiman’s print of Ramsay. As we have seen, in Robene and Makyne Ramsay struggled with the Bannatyne series fe: me: thre: de. He replaced this sequence with fei (an odd form, not elsewhere attested in Older Scots), Me, thre and dee respectively, three of which were themselves corrections of earlier fee, three, die. The printer attempted to address this muddle, replacing Ramsay’s set with the sequence Fie, me, thre and die: all presumably, despite the different spellings, rhyming on /‍i/‍.

280 Jeremy J. Smith

Of these forms perhaps the most interesting is Fie. Bannatyne’s fe is usually interpreted as ‘livestock’, the reflex of Old English feoh/Old Norse fé ‘cattle, property’; this meaning is obsolete in present-day English, and the Oxford English Dictionary (hence OED) argues that the modern fee ‘remuneration’ derives from the same word with a change of denotation.6 Ruddiman seems to have been of that view, as witnessed by the entry for Fee in his Glossary to the Aeneid, where he states that the word also means ‘Goods’ in Scots: “ita enim pecora plerumque rustici appellant” (1710: n.p., sv. Fee).7 Ruddiman offers only the one Scots lemma, but DSL’s spellings for all meanings of the word helpfully range from fe and fee through fea and fey to fie, this last being recorded fairly frequently in a number of texts from the 16th century until as late as court records from Roxburghshire in 1700. Some fiespellings are even recorded in DSL from elsewhere in the Bannatyne Manuscript. It seems that Ruddiman’s modification was, at least potentially, informed by his knowledge of the range of forms available in written Scots. Such learning would hardly be surprising. Whereas Ramsay came to an interest in Older Scots texts from an entrepreneurial background (he began his career as a wigmaker and seller of sundries to the growing tourist market of Edinburgh), Ruddiman’s was more conventionally scholarly. A prizewinning graduate of classics at King’s College in Aberdeen, in 1700 Ruddiman moved to Edinburgh to work in the Advocates’ Library. He supplemented his income with various other enterprises, perhaps most famously his Rudiments of the Latin Tongue, which was first published in 1714 by Robert Freebairn, and went through fifteen editions in Ruddiman’s lifetime alone; the Rudiments cemented his reputation as the leading Latinist of his period. More modestly, from 1706 onwards, Ruddiman worked as a proofreader and editor for Freebairn and his associate Andrew Symson. It was in that last capacity that he undertook a major publishing enterprise, viz. the 1710 edition of the Older Scots Eneados, a translation of Virgil’s Aeneid completed, probably in 1513, by Gavin Douglas (c.1476–1522), poet and bishop of Dunkeld. The work was subsequently printed by William Copland of London in 1553: the only edition before Ruddiman’s of 1710. The 1710 edition of VIRGIL’S ÆNEIS, Translated into SCOTTISH Verse included a preface lavishly acknowledging the assistance from luminaries such as Bishop William Nicolson of Carlisle, Robert Sibbald, Archibald Pitcairn, John Drummond and “the Worthy Mr. John Urry of Christ-Church, Oxon.”: the first reference to Urry’s interest in medieval textual scholarship that was ultimately to result in the appearance of his influential – if flawed – posthumous edition of 6.  It should be noted that the OED entry for fee has not yet (http://‍www-oed-com, last consulted 22nd September 2019) been fully updated. 7.  ‘For so country people usually call cattle.’



Chapter 11.  Recuperating Older Scots in the early 18th century 281

the works of Chaucer (1721). With the possible exception of Nicolson, all those mentioned are known to have Jacobite or non-juring sympathies; Urry, for instance, had lost his Christchurch studentship in 1688 for refusing to take the oath of loyalty to William III. There were also acknowledgements for the assistance derived from standard learned authorities, such as “[Franciscus] Junius’s Glossarium Gothicum”, and “Du Fresne” (i.e. the French lexicographer Du Cange). Ruddiman’s contribution was effusively acknowledged in the Preface: “We are also obliged by all the Ties of Justice and Gratitude to acknowledge that this Work is very much indebted to the Care and Pains of the Judicious Thomas Ruddiman, A.M. Under-Keeper of the Advocates Library, who deserves all Respect and Incouragement from the Patrons of Vertue and Letters.” Although later accounts, notably in ODNB, consider him primarily responsible for the Glossary, the most thorough discussion of Ruddiman’s career to date (Duncan 1965) considers that Ruddiman was responsible for the edition as a whole, a conclusion supported by the formidable level of scholarship evinced by the book. The 1710 edition was based primarily on the blackletter 1553 edition of William Copland (d.1569). Copland specialised in romances, especially those already produced by his predecessors Wynkyn de Worde and William Caxton. Ruddiman claims to have collated Copland’s edition with a manuscript, almost certainly Edinburgh, University Library, MS Dc 1.43. A note on a flyleaf of this latter volume, ascribed by an anonymous later annotating librarian to the great 19th-century antiquarian David Laing, would support the view that Ruddiman was the editor of the 1710 text: “This appears to be the MS. collated by Ruddiman for his edition of Gawain [sic] Douglas’s Virgil, printed 1710.” Ruddiman was clear about the defects of Copland’s edition from the outset. The title-page includes an explicit critique of the 1553 text, claiming that his was “A new EDITION. WHEREIN The many Errors of the Former are corrected, and the Defects supply’d, from an excellent MANUSCRIPT. …”; and in the preface he went even further (Ruddiman 1710: 2): There is none who looks into the Edition of Bishop Douglas’s Translation of Virgil’s Æneis, Printed at London, Anno. 1553, about 30 years after the Author’s Death, but may observe innumerable and gross Errors, through the Incorrectness of the Copy, or Negligence of the Printers, or probably both. Which render it difficult, if not impossible, without extraordinary Pains, to reap the least Advantage from that excellent Version. As it was therefore necessary to Correct those Faults, so it has been done with the greatest Care, by comparing the Translation with the Original, and narrowly observing the Language of our Author, and those who wrote in, or near his time.

282 Jeremy J. Smith

Ruddiman also offered an explicit statement on the edition’s policy with regard to punctuation: Great Care hath been taken of the Pointing, which had been done very negligently in the first Impression. There is a Comma about the middle of each Line in the London Copy; which, without Doubt, was intended for a Pause or Stop, that so the Verse might run and sound more smoothly: But, tho somewhat like to this was us’d by the Anglo-Saxon Poets, yet it is not to be found in our MS: And by the Advice of the best Judges, it was thought very convenient to omit it; both because, after a small Acquaintance with our Author, none can want any such Assistance; and these Comma’s were often misplac’d: And tho they could have been set right again, yet even then might frequently be taken for ordinary Interpunctions, and so destroy the Sense, and perplex the Reader. (1710: 3)

The reference to “the Anglo-Saxon Poets” seems likely  – especially given the Preface’s reference to Hickes’s Thesaurus – to be a reference to the half-line structure of Old English verse, then recently discovered; it is impressively up-to-date of Ruddiman that he is engaging with the issue. This paratextual material is, for the purposes of the current chapter, important. Ruddiman’s revision of Copland is, as we shall see, in line with his discussion in the Preface. He replaces Copland’s blackletter typeface with a more modernstyle roman font. As in Ramsay’s edition of Dunbar, names are italicised, a usage found in prints of contemporary novels and plays. As Ramsay’s 1724 edition was to do, Ruddiman replaces Copland’s yogh with , but differs from Ramsay in retaining the 16th-century printer’s use of , in fugitiue ‘fugitive’, trawell ‘travail’ etc. Otherwise Ruddiman retains Copland’s spelling accurately, save in this passage for the form eike ‘also’, where a final -e has been added, presumably as an archaisticism; but this deviation is a rarity, and substantive interventions of this kind are, by contrast with Ramsay, very few. As flagged in his Preface, however, Ruddiman has been much more interventionist in “the Pointing”  – something which, we have seen, Ramsay was in The Ever Green comfortable about leaving to him. Apart from capitalisation and a midline comma mark, which seems to have functioned as a metrical indication of a caesura, Copland uses no other marks in the translation itself, although he does deploy the punctus, manicules, paraph marks and hederae in the accompanying paratextual material, and in his prefatory verses, and virgules in his headings. Comparison of the texts of the 1553 and 1710 editions of Douglas’s translation shows the depth of learning that Ruddiman brought to his task. Transcriptions from the beginning of the Book I of the poem in Copland’s and Ruddiman’s editions follow:

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Copland 1553 [fol. 9r]

T He battellis and the man I will discriue   Fra Troyis boundis, first that fugitiue   By fate to Italie, come and coist lauyne Ouer land and se, cachit with meikill pyne Be force of goddis aboue, fra euery stede Of cruel Juno, throw auld remembrit feid



The propo sicion of the hole worke    

Ruddiman 1710 [page 13]

T He battellis and the man I will discriue,   Fra Troyis boundis first that fugitiue   By fate to Italie come, and coist Lauyne: Ouer land and se cachit with meikill pyne, Be force of goddis aboue, fra euery stede, Of cruel Juno throw auld remembrit feid.

5         10

The propesition of the hole worke.      

[Translation: I will describe the conflicts and the man, who, a fugitive, first came from Troy’s boundaries to Italy, and the Lavinian coast: driven over land and sea with great pain, from every place, by force from (the) gods above, through the ancient remembered enmity of cruel Juno.]

Analysis shows that Ruddiman’s ‘pointing’ is carefully designed to disentangle the notoriously complex syntax of these opening lines. Any educated reader of the period would have been familiar with the Latin equivalent, and to account for Ruddiman’s activity it is helpful to compare the Douglas version, as presented by Ruddiman, with Virgil’s Latin ‘ORIGINAL’. The following text appears as laid out in a widely-circulated late 17th-century edition: Publii Virgili Maronis Opera, published by Evan Tyler and R. Holt for the Stationers’ Company in 1679 (for Tyler, see Spurlock 2011).8 Here are the opening lines as they appear in the edition (1679: 74):

Arma, virúmque cano, Trojæ qui primus ab oris Italiam, fato profugus, Lavináque vênit Littora, multùm ille & terris jactatus, & alto, Vi superûm sævæ memorem Junonis ab iram:

8.  A heavily-annotated copy of the 1679 edition, now Oxford, Bodleian Library, 297.g.85, was owned by Thomas Hearne, with whom Ruddiman collaborated on the Oxford edition of Fordun’s Scotichronicon (1722); Hearne was yet another non-juring, Jacobite sympathiser.

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[Translation: Of arms and a man I sing, who first from the boundaries of Troy, exiled by fate, came to Italy and the Lavinian shores: he was thrown greatly both on land and on sea, by the power of the gods, on account of the remembered anger of savage Juno …]

A difficulty for readers of the Older Scots is that Douglas – like many humanists – was attempting to transfer across to a comparatively uninflected vernacular the syntactic structures characteristic of high-status, more heavily-inflected languages, such as Latin; something similar can be seen in the ‘Ciceronian’ prose of later Scottish 16th-century writers in both Latin and Scots, such as George Buchanan (see Smith 2012: 64). Latin is notoriously what has rather crudely been called a ‘verb-final’ language, in which the verb in a main clause is prototypically delayed until the end; and something rather similar has been adopted by Douglas, albeit further constrained by the complexities of writing in rhyming couplets. The delayed verbs in the Scots translation of this passage are cachit (from cache, glossed ‘drive, catch’ by Ruddiman in his Glossary), discriue ‘describe’, and come, clearly a reflexion of Latin verb-final positioning (cf. jactatus, cano and venit respectively in Virgil’s verses). Perhaps encouraged by Virgil’s separation of modifying Lavina (usually Lavinia in modern editions) from its headword Littora, but adopting a different approach given the lack of inflexions in Scots, Douglas has placed and coist Lauyne after come. He has thus separated these words from the rest of the prepositional phrase to Italie, adopting the inherited, but now archaic, Old English syntactic practice known as the ‘split heavy group’, whereby noun- or adjective-phrases linked by a coordinating conjunction such as and are split, e.g. ‘an old man and a wise’. This usage eventually became archaic – as it is in presentday English – but has in this case helpfully allowed for a rhyming couplet. It will be clear therefore that Ruddiman as editor was faced with a formidable challenge when parsing these lines, and he has approached the problem with characteristic learning. In order to assist his readers, he has replaced Copland’s punctuation to flag Douglas’s grammatical structure very carefully, obviously informed by his understanding of the Latin original. He relocated the comma-mark in line 3, thus separating and coist Lauyne from the preceding verb come and marking its status as a distinct phrase, albeit ‘split’ from the rest of the prepositional phrase to Italie. By removing a comma-mark between Ouer land and se and cachit he captured the close link in Virgil’s Latin between the past participle jactatus and its modifying nouns et terris … et alto. However, in the case of fra euery stede, the addition of a final comma-mark in Ruddiman’s version clarifies the phrase’s parenthetical status in a way that would be acceptable – if a trifle fussy – to a present-day reader. It is noticeable that the comma-mark inserted by the modern editor of the Latin after the end of the opening Arma virumque canō correlates with that Ruddiman places after



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discriue in the first line. And the modern semi-colon at the end of the Latin quoted above correlates with the full-stop inserted by Ruddiman, after feid, at the end of Douglas’s opening sententia (line 10). Indeed, Ruddiman clearly understands the principles of ancient approaches to the sentence, and this understanding is demonstrated where he departs from the modern editor’s punctuation of the Latin; the double punctus at the end of line 3 reflects a “major medial pause, or disjunction of sense” (Parkes 1992: 302) within the sententia, marking the division between cola. It is thus clear that Ruddiman has undertaken the editorial task in careful alignment with the scholarly principles he sets out with such care in his Preface. Paratext and text are in careful articulation. 4. One community, two practices … This chapter began with a reference to the notion of community of practice, and it is clear that Ramsay and Ruddiman formed such a community. Both were members of the culture of conviviality and sociability that existed in Edinburgh’s cramped Old Town at the beginning of the 18th century, and which can only be vaguely sensed by present-day visitors to the massive ‘lands’ that line the city’s Royal Mile from St Giles’s cathedral to the castle. But in addition they were clearly ideologically close, sympathisers with Jacobitism who saw their cultural endeavours as contributing to political change, and both men worked together on the production of texts that, to those who could understand the semiotic codes they deployed, spoke to a shared agenda: they were working, therefore, on a ‘mutual endeavour’. This mutual endeavour expressed itself through the ‘reinvention’ of Scots, the linguistic variety that had become gradually occluded during the previous century. Ramsay’s engagement with the Bannatyne manuscript demonstrates not simply a reversion to older usages but an attempt (in line with contemporary philosophical trends) to ‘methodise’ Scots, regularising the variation that had characterised the Older Scots period. Ruddiman, more antiquarian in his interests, saw his role as to do with reconstituting the dignity of Scots, treating its older instantiations with the respect hitherto reserved largely for the classical languages.Ruddiman after all was a scholar, transferring up-to-date techniques of textual criticism, which in the 18th century were making formidable advances,9 to the editing of vernacular texts. Some of this scholarship he clearly carried over to his collaboration with Ramsay on The Ever Green, but Ramsay was a very different kind of editor, who saw himself as producing what was in a sense a creative, literary response to the texts he had 9.  Perhaps the best-known example of such an editor is Richard Bentley (1662–1742), whose career is fully described in Reynolds and Wilson (2013).

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inherited: an approach that was to bear considerable cultural fruit later in the century, most notably in the editorial activities of Thomas Percy and, later, Sir Walter Scott. And, as we have seen, the different principles they adopted in the editing process – scholarly and interpretative in the case of Ruddiman, antiquarian and creative in the case of Ramsay, but both inflected with cultural Jacobitisim – were stated, with a lesser or greater degree of explicitness, in the quite precise linguistic choices they made, and in the assured paratexts that framed their works.

Acknowledgements I am also very grateful to the editors for their support and encouragement, and to an anonymous reviewer of an earlier draft for insightful comments that led me to re-orient the argument.

Funding I am most grateful to the Leverhulme Trust, who generously funded me for a Research Fellowship in 2017–19, enabling me to develop the larger project of which this chapter is part.

Primary sources Copland, William (pr). 1553. The xiii Bukes of Eneados of the famose Poete Virgill Translatet out of Latyne verses into Scottish metir, bi the Reuerend fathir in God, Mayster Gawin Douglas Bishop of Dunkel & vnkil to the Erle of Angus (London: Copland) Hickes, George and Humfrey Wanley. 1705. Linguarum Vett. Septentrionalium Thesaurus Grammatico-Criticus et Archaeologicus (Oxonii: e Theatro Sheldoniano) Ramsay, Allan (ed). 1724. The Ever Green, being a collection of Scots Poems, Wrote by the Ingenious before 1600 (Edinburgh: Ruddiman) Ruddiman, Thomas (ed). 1710. Virgil’s Æneis, Translated into Scottish Verse, by the Famous Gawin Douglas Bishop of Dunkeld (Edinburgh: Symson and Freebairn) Ruddiman, Thomas. 1714. The Rudiments of the Latin Tongue, or A plain and easy Introduction to Latin Grammar (Edinburgh: Freebairn) Thomas, William. 1726. Orpheus Caledonius. N.a.2. Euing Collection in Glasgow University Library, Sp. Coll. N.a.2. Virgil. 1679. Publii Virgilii Maronis Opera (London: Tyler and Holt)



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Secondary sources Bell, Maureen. 2002. “Mise-en-Page, Illustration, Expressive Form: Introduction.” In The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain IV: 1557–1695, ed. by John Barnard, Donald F. McKenzie, and Maureen Bell, 632–635. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521661829.033 DSL: Dictionary of the Scots Language. https://‍dsl.ac.uk/ Duncan, Douglas. 1965. Thomas Ruddiman: A Study in Scottish Scholarship of the Early Eighteenth Century. Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd. Eckert, Penelope, and Sally McConnell-Ginet. 1992. “Think Practically and Look Locally: Language and Gender as Community-Based Practice.” Annual Review of Anthropology 21: 461–490.  https://‍doi.org/10.1146/annurev.an.21.100192.002333 Genette, Gérard, trans Jane Lewin. 1997. Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511549373 Jucker, Andreas, and Irma Taavitsainen. 2013. English Historical Pragmatics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Lave, Jean, and Etienne Wenger-Trayner. 1991. Situated Learning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511815355 MacDonald, Alasdair. 1986. “The Bannatyne Manuscript: A Marian Anthology.” Innes Review 37: 36–47.  https://‍doi.org/10.3366/inr.1986.37.1.36 McKenzie, Donald F. 2002. “Printing and Publishing 1557–1700: Constraints on the London Book Trades.” In The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain IV: 1557–1695, ed. by John Barnard, Donald F. McKenzie, and Maureen Bell, 553–567. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CHOL9780521661829.028 ODNB: Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. https://‍www.oxforddnb.com/ OED: Oxford English Dictionary. https://‍www.oed.com/ Parkes, Malcolm B. 1992. Pause and Effect: A History of Punctuation in the West. London: Scolar. Peikola, Matti, Aleksi Mäkilahde, Hanna Salmi, Mari-Liisa Varila, and Janne Skaffari (eds). 2017. Verbal and Visual Communication in Early English Texts. Turnhout: Brepols. https://‍doi.org/10.1484/M.USML-EB.5.112805 Reynolds, Leighton, Nigel G. Wilson. 2013. Scribes and Scholars: A Guide to the Transmission of Greek and Latin Literature, third edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sebba, Mark. 2009. “Sociolinguistic Approaches to Writing Systems Research.” Writing Systems Research 1: 35–49.  https://‍doi.org/10.1093/wsr/wsp002 Smith, Jeremy J. 2012. Older Scots: A Linguistic Reader. Woodbridge: STS. Smith, Jeremy J. 2013. “Textual Afterlives: Barbour’s Bruce and Hary’s Wallace.” In Scots: The Language and Its Literature, ed. by John Kirk, and Iseabail Macleod, 37–69. Amsterdam: Rodopi.  https://‍doi.org/10.1163/9789401209908_007 Smith, Jeremy J. 2020. Transforming Early English: The Reinvention of Early English and Older Scots. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/9781108333474 SPAT: Scottish Printing Archival Trust. 1996. A Reputation for Excellence: A History of the Dundee and Perth Printing Industries. Edinburgh: Merchiston Publishing. Spurlock, Scott. 2011. “Cromwell’s Edinburgh Press and the Development of Print Culture in Scotland.” Scottish Historical Review 90: 179–203.  https://‍doi.org/10.3366/shr.2011.0033 Verweij, Sebastiaan. 2016. The Literary Culture of Early Modern Scotland. Oxford: Oxford University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198757290.001.0001

Chapter 12

Paratext, information studies, and Middle English manuscripts Colette Moore University of Washington

Investigations of paratextual elements can be approached methodologically from the vantage of information science. Information structure (the organization of information on the clausal and sentence level) is connected to the discipline of linguistics, and information design (the ways that a text presents material in its layout or appearance) derives from website construction and digital humanities. Although they stem from different disciplinary conversations and contexts, information structure and design collectively provide tools for examining aspects of text on the manuscript page, and drawing upon these analytic rubrics rather than the more traditional rubrics of manuscript studies serves to highlight new features and put manuscript work in closer conversation with present-day visual and textual analysis. This investigation draws upon illustrative examples from the Middle English Brut Chronicle to examine how the structural and graphical choices of the late Middle English manuscript page work together to organize and structure information, and examines the terminological and interpretative distinctions between different analytical frameworks. Keywords: paratext, peritext, information structure, information design, information science, ordinatio, layout, Brut, Chronicle

1. Introduction Studies of paratext in English were first directed at manifestations of the printed book, and only more recently have scholars also extended the concept of paratext to the medieval manuscript book (e.g. Johnson 2015; Peikola 2015). The critical attention to paratext that has emerged in history of the book and literary studies (in the wake of Genette 1987) nonetheless shares some tactics with 20th-century investigations in manuscript studies that examine layout through the ordinatio, compilatio, and mise-en-page (Parkes 1976): both explore the hermeneutic

https://‍doi.org/10.1075/pbns.317.12moo © 2020 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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implications of metadiscursive structures and the organization of written texts. Furthermore, the present research suggests, paratextual elements can also be approached methodologically from the vantage of information science. The present chapter, therefore, investigates the theoretical overlaps between these critical lenses – taking some examples from the Middle English prose Brut as illustration. This investigation focuses in particular on the paratextual elements that Gérard Genette calls the peritext: the chapter titles, headings, prefaces, dedications, epilogues, and other structural elements of the text (1997: 2). Such elements are multifunctional, incorporating aspects that act both as interpretive elements, which shape the reader’s interpretation of a text, and navigational ones, which assist the reader in managing the work (for the functional model, see Birke and Christ 2013; see also Bös and Peikola, Chapter 1, this volume). As such, these peritextual elements are part of what medieval studies has examined as ordinatio and compilatio: terms describing the scribal layout of the page that go back to scholasticism in the Middle Ages. Medievalists also use the scholarly framework of the mise-en-page, a term that comes from 20th-century French studies of the visual (the terms were used influentially in Parkes 1976, but see also Hinton 1984; Evans 1985; Furnish 1990; Morse 1999; Keiser 1991; Stevens 1991; Rouse and Rouse 1992; Adams 1995; Butterfield 1996; Peikola 2008; Wakelin 2018). The present work introduces a third set of analytic categories which provide sharper tools to discuss the effects and overlapping functions of peritext: terms from information studies. Information studies offer attention to different aspects of organization through a variety of disciplinary approaches: this research focuses on two aspects of the study of information, information structure and information design. Information structure examines the organization of information on the clausal and sentence level; it is connected to the discipline of linguistics (Lambrecht 1994; Meurman-Solin, López-Couso, and Los 2012). Information design, in turn, centers on the ways that a text presents material in its layout or appearance; it derives from website construction and digital humanities (Jacobson 1999). Although they stem from different disciplinary conversations and contexts, information structure and design collectively provide tools for examining aspects of text on the page, and therefore offer a productive critical perspective on the structure of the medieval manuscript page. This discussion, therefore, is an exploration of terminology and scholarly categories, since it is essential to consider how the choice of academic models puts analysis in conversation with different fields. In the case of structural elements of medieval manuscripts, we see that considering them as peritext links the analysis to studies of printed books and to an examination of literary publics and book production, considering them as ordinatio links the analysis to a medieval studies model borrowing terminology from medieval scholasticism, and considering



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them as elements of information structure and design links them to digital texts and production. This investigation first introduces in more detail the approaches and terms borrowed from information structure and design, and then it draws upon examples from Middle English manuscripts of the prose Brut Chronicle to discuss the hermeneutic lenses. In particular, the study draws upon aspects such as headings, rubrication, and textual boundary markers. Examining textual and paratextual organization illustrates how the structural and graphical choices of the late Middle English manuscript page work together to organize and structure information, and examining the theoretical models through which we analyze this organization illuminates the ways that different scholarly rubrics call attention to certain aspects of verbal and visual textuality. 2. The framework of information studies Information studies (related to information science and informatics) is the name for a recent conjuncture of approaches to how information is analyzed, organized, classified, processed, and disseminated. Nathan Shedroff classifies data as the base level of observation, research, gathering and discovery, and information as the next level up: the presentation and organization of these data (1999: 271). In Shedroff ’s model, knowledge is the further level of integration, made from constructed discourses of information, and wisdom is still another level of understanding involving evaluation, interpretation, and contemplation. Information studies is an interdisciplinary field, incorporating methodology and perspectives from computer science, library science, telecommunications, law, cognitive science, and other disciplines. It also has some areas of overlap with textual studies, the history of reading, linguistics, and digital humanities studies, and it is these approaches that inform thinking about paratextual structure. Information structure, one kind of analysis that we will employ, examines the presentation and organization of information in the sentence. It is a linguistic approach – part of the interface of syntax and pragmatics in language. Particular aspects of sentences under consideration include the presentation of given and new information, the ways the sentences frame a central aspect (the topic) and a communication about that (the comment), and the ways that the sentence focuses our attention on different elements (Lambrecht 1994; Ward, Birner and Huddleston 2002; Ward and Birner 2004; Erteschik-Shir 2007). Although information structure has not been much examined in historical texts, there is one central collection edited by Meurman-Solin, López-Couso, and Los (2012) which contains a number of small studies of information structure in historical texts and genres. The studies illustrate how material from earlier periods presents particular challenges

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because of the ways that the development of written styles rather than spoken ones can complicate the evidence (10). Strategies of marking information as given vs. new, for example, vary diachronically, as one might expect, and it can be difficult to disentangle patterns in an adequate way when syntactic variation can present options rather than absolutes (12). What we see in the studies from MeurmanSolin, López-Couso, and Los’s volume, though, suggests that it is important to be aware that information structure creates pragmatic pressures upon the ordering and framing of content which influence scribal and authorial choices in medieval manuscripts, even as it does in the present day. To illustrate these pragmatic pressures upon structuring information, consider a sentence from Huntington Library, MS 1339, fol. 25r, a manuscript of the Mirror of the Blessed Life of Jesus Christ (in Figure 1).

(1) In þis forseid processe of Jesu what hope we þat he dide or where & in what manere lyued he þo þre dayes. [In this foresaid process of Jesus, what do we hope that he did, or where and in what manner did he live during those three days?]

The sentence is a question, but the convention of ending interrogative sentences with a question mark had not yet emerged in written English, so the interrogative construction is marked by the interrogative pronoun and proadverb and the inverted word order. With its opening clause, both in the initial position and through the deixis of þis and forseid, the sentence points backwards to the previous section of discourse (“In þis forseid processe…”). As a question, too, the sentence also points forwards to the next section of discourse, one that will presumably address the posed question. The information is structured in the discourse partly through these morphosyntactic choices. Information design, for its part, considers the presentation of information as a visual phenomenon. It is part of the study of visual layout, and investigates the graphical presentation of ideas as connected to ease of understanding, the ways that spatial presentation affects interpretation, tools for maximizing clarity in arrangement, and the relationships between visual elements of texts. The field of information design is founded on the principle that systematic arrangement of communication channels and tokens can increase the understanding of people participating in a given discourse (Jacobson 1999: 4). Scholars have investigated the graphic principles of visual sign systems (Bertin 1983; Saint-Martin 1990; Horn 1998; Malamed 2009; Katz 2012; “Wayfinding in Web Design”) and examined their effects. Johanna Drucker offers a model for graphical analysis which delineates central elements of investigation for the field from which other graphical elements and variables of spatial organization are derived. In her model, the rationalization of a surface is how areas and spaces are set apart in order for them



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to signify meaning. On the medieval page, this might refer to, for example, the ways that ruling the page designates areas for words and for margins. Next, the distinction between figure and ground marks the elements of related shared spaces in a graphical field, designating foregrounded and backgrounded aspects of the visual space  – consider, for example, the ways that red lettering on the manuscript page creates a visual markedness that sets up a figure and ground between rubricated words and backgrounded brown words. Finally, the delimitation of the domain of visual elements so that they function as a relational system indicates how aspects of the layout are framed and understood in relation to a shared reference. Consider with the manuscript page how conventions are established to create relationships, how, for example, a paraph mark might represent a smaller section break than a rubricated heading to indicate the hierarchies between textual divisions (Drucker 2014: 71).

Figure 1.  Huntington library, MS 1339, fol. 25r

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For an illustration of these features of design, look to the page from HM 1339 (Figure  1). On this page, the rationalization of surface describes the ways that the ruling designates different areas of the page for text and for margins. Then, distinguishing between these different areas permits the page to employ aspects of figure and ground to highlight the words that appear in the marginal space. These marginal words are foregrounded by being marked through their position on the page, with colored paraph marks, and in their employment of Latin (note in Example (1) how the sentence begins with a paraph mark which serves to mark it on the page). The page participates in delimiting the domain of visual elements by including certain kinds of framing features like headings, catch words, page numbers, and marginal notae, but not others. Through exposure to the conventions of this manuscript and others, the reader becomes familiar with the functionality of the elements of the page: the marginal notae indicate significant parts of the text, for example, and the catch word (down at bottom right) is a book organizing mark to indicate the first word of the following page. One is significant to the organization of the reader’s textual experience, the other is intended to organize the bookmaker’s work. Another analytic category stemming from information design that has useful applications to textual organization is way-finding (Lynch 1960; Arthur and Passini 1992; “Wayfinding in Web Design”). Borrowed from discussions of built environments, way-finding examines the chronologically linear experience of a visual design and the means by which a viewer (in the case of a written text, the reader) is guided through it. In Figure  1, we might consider the ways that the reader’s eye moves first to the marginal elements, then is caught by the underlining or the colored paraph marks. Although tools from information structure and information design have not been used together, nor have they been applied as such to premodern works (though see related work by Guyda Armstrong 2015 on information design in early modern translations), this research finds that they are useful for analyzing the presentation of information on the medieval page: the way that words and layout work together to organize written language. To illustrate the analytic tools provided by information structure and design and compare these to the perspectives of manuscript studies and paratextual analysis, the next section turns to the late medieval manuscripts of the Brut chronicle (explored in more detail in Moore 2020).



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3. Peritextual structure and information studies in manuscripts of the Brut 3.1 Introduction to the Brut Chronicle The Brut Chronicle is the name for the prose chronicle history of Britain (sometimes called the prose Brut to distinguish it from Laȝamon’s Brut in verse) that survives in more than 240 total manuscripts in the three major literary languages of medieval Britain. The work is untitled in manuscripts, but known as the Brut in reference to the opening narrative of the founding of Britain by Brutus of Troy (great-grandson of Aeneas). The early versions of the text, from the 13th century, were in Anglo-Norman and were based on Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae. The Middle English versions date from slightly later. There are nearly 180 surviving Middle English manuscripts containing the work, more than any other work in English before 1500 except the Wycliffite Bible (Kennedy 1989: 2598, 2629; Marx and Radulescu 2006: xiii). To call the work the Brut, however, suggests a unity that is perhaps misleading given that the versions of the text are so different from one another (Marx 2006: 54). This kind of extensive variation is not unusual for works that survive in multiple medieval manuscripts, of course, as Andrew Taylor remarks: “only a few novels or poems of the last two centuries would approach the degree of fluidity…that is the norm for vernacular texts in the Middle Ages” (Taylor 2002: 16). Scholars have carefully mapped out textual connections and stemmata for some medieval literary works with multiple versions, such as the different versions of the manuscripts of Piers Plowman or the multiplicity of variants of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. For the Brut, the fullest description of the manuscript tradition was done by Matheson (1998) and it is apparent that the collection of texts that comprises “the Brut” is quite an elaborate network. Some clusters of manuscripts of the prose Brut may have been created in common; Linne Mooney and Lister Matheson examine scribal hands and textual variants to propose that five to seven manuscripts of a group referred to as AV:1419B were produced by a single workshop (Mooney and Matheson 2003: 357, 362, 368). For the most part, though, copies were made at different times by many different scribes, and the variations between them can be as small as a changed spelling of a single word or as large as added or removed sections. Changes can be intentional (such as respelling a word to reflect a regional dialect) or inadvertent (such as miscopying a word, potentially changing its meaning). The text is not even consistently inconsistent, though, in its disparate traditions of copying and additions. Daniel Wakelin suggests that within the divisions of particular copied sections of the work the manuscripts are often fairly faithful to previous copied versions, providing some consistency in

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particular portions of the text (2014: 51). The result is a collection of manuscripts which share many general perspectives, chunks of content, and some elements of information structure and design, but were under continual revision during their period of production and contain significant differences. There is a sense, therefore, in which every manuscript of the Brut presents a distinct work through its variations in structure, design, and interpretation. Brut manuscripts are useful for a comparative illustration, therefore, because they survive in numerous copies with different organizational structures: looking at this variation permits us to consider alternate models of paratext together with information structure and information design. This research draws examples from a few manuscripts that are available electronically, Ann Arbor, University of Michigan, MS 225; Dartmouth, Dartmouth College, Rauner MS 003183; Glasgow, University of Glasgow, MS Hunter 83 (T.3.21); and Manchester, University of Manchester Library, English MS 102, together with Friedrich Brie’s edition. The organization of these manuscripts provides useful insight into theoretical frameworks of verbal and visual strategies for organizing the page. 3.2 Headings Intertextual headings take on the primary role in organizing entries in the Brut; they are used to delineate events of the narrative and to flag thematic and chronological anchors in the text. They typically read like this:

(2) Of Kyng Donewall, þat was Cloteneȝ sone, and how he hade wonne þe lande.  (Brie 1906: 23) [Of King Donewall, that was Cloten’s son, and how he had won the land]

(3) How Donewal was þe ferst kyng þat euere Werede crone of golde in Britaigne.  (Brie 1906: 23) [How Donewal was the first king that ever wore a crown of gold in Britain]

(4) How Kyng Morwith deide þrouȝ meschaunce, þrouȝ a beste for his wickednesse.  (Brie 1906: 28) [How King Morwith died through mischance, by a beast, for his wickedness]

The tools of information design focus our attention on the effect of the visual demarcation of the headings, the delimitation of the domain of visual elements: the rubrication or other features through which the words of the headings are set apart. Medieval manuscripts make use of different colors of ink, most often red – a rubrication which emphasizes a word or passage visually by creating a contrast with the usual brownish ink color (figure and ground). Invoking the medievalist model, Elizabeth Bryan comments on rubrication in the Brut, pointing out that



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this rubrication becomes a way that texts with variant passages could share ordinatio and therefore be tailored to look alike (2009: 223). Invoking tools of information design would underscore, further, that the red ink is a way-finding tool that structures the events of the narrative, indicating thematic and chronological waypoints in the text. The headings are not in red ink in every Brut manuscript, but they frequently are (see MS 225 in Figure 2). Even in texts where the lettering of the headings is not rubricated, the letters are usually marked in other ways, see, for example, Hunter 83 (T.3.21) in which these headings are in slightly larger letters that are underlined in red.

Figure 2.  University of Michigan Library, MS 225, fol. 5v

An information structural perspective highlights that, grammatically, these headings are not sentences but nominal relative clauses and prepositional phrases: most of them are how-clauses or of-phrases or both. They read, then, discursively as

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topics rather than as narration; they are syntactically marked, in fact, as being not part of the narrative. One could almost see them as resembling truncated sentences: “[This chronicle tells] Of King….” or even continuations of a larger metasentence that is threaded through the volume: “[The chronicle tells] Of King… [and] How…. [and] How….” Although these headings are both visually and syntactically separate from the narrative, they are integrated into the discursive topic marking. They occur on nearly every page, often a few times on a page, to flag the introduction of major topics, and their ink color visually organizes them as waypoints for the marking of topics. 3.3 Paraph marks Other kinds of section-medial narrative shifts are marked visually in some manuscripts with paraph marks (¶), often in red or blue ink. These paraph marks typically flag shifts in the narrative content or mode, turns of the narrative events, and occasionally direct speech. Often, they go along with discursive connectors like And or But as the first word after the paraph. An impressionistic look at Bodleian Library, MS Rawlinson B.171, the manuscript on which Brie based his edition, suggests that nearly half of paraph marks cooccur with And. Consider a sample page from University of Manchester Library, English MS 102 (Figure 3). Here are the paraph marks on this page: ¶So that managles kyng of scotland… ¶And or other half yere… ¶And whan he was come… ¶and hir lorde… ¶Tho made he sorwe… ¶Tho began leir… ¶And now y wote wel… ¶And tho shulde y haue… ¶In this maner… (fol. 4v)

These discursive breaks, we see, are often double-marked by design and by structure: (a) in the design, through the red paraph marks that draw the reader’s eyes to these flagged points on the page, and (b) in the structure, through the syntactic breaks and the discourse connectors like and and tho that join together the structural and narrative units of the text. The manuscripts of the Brut draw upon both kinds of divisions, and employing the elements of the structure and design together creates a redundancy that both heightens the effect and serves to instruct the reader in the functionality of different kinds of markers. This kind of functional repetition indicates that the text does not contain a single system for organization,



Chapter 12.  Paratext, information studies, and Middle English manuscripts 299

Figure 3.  University of Manchester Library, English MS 102, fol. 4v

but depends upon multivalent tools for creating structure, and that structure must then be multiply indicated. 3.4 Clause structure marking of given and new information New sections are set apart visually with headings as mentioned, but the information structure of the sentences themselves can also aid in the chronological marking of royal succession. A sentence in a Middle English manuscript is an independent syntactic unit, though these are not always distinguished with the final punctuation of the period or full stop employed in contemporary English, and much of the punctuation that appears in the examples is not scribal but is added by later editors. Consider these clause structures, from three sentences that occur directly after headings and thus begin new sections within the text:

300 Colette Moore



(5) After þis Kyng Bladud, regnede Leir his sone; and þis Leir made þe toune of Leycestre,…  (Brie 1906: 16) [After this King Bladud reigned Lear his son; and this Lear made the town of Leicester…]

(6) And after þis Conenedag, regnede Rynallo his sone, an Wise knyȝt, and an hardy and curteise,…  (Brie 1906: 21) [And after this Conenedag, reigned Rynallo his son, a wise knight, and a hardy and courteous one…] (7) After þis Ryuallo, regnede Gorbodyan his sone xv ȝere, and deide and lith at Ȝork.  (Brie 1906: 21) [After this Rynallo, reigned Gorbodyan his son for 15 years, and died and lies at York.]

The placement of the sentence as the leading one of the section already marks it in the narrative, and the information structure of these sentences demonstrates, further, how the reader should experience the marking of time. These sentences all begin with an initial adverbial followed by the main verb in verb second (V2) position, a constituent order that was common in Old English, fading in Middle English, and uncommon in present-day English (Stockwell 1984; Los 2009). Both the V2 order and the clause-initial adverbial have been discussed as aspects of information structure, particularly as strategies for putting given information first (Van Kemenade and Westergaard 2012; Los 2015: 15–16). Each of these clauses, too, contains the deictic demonstrative adjective þis, referring back to the last section. In these sentences above, therefore, the clause-initial adverbial with deictic marker points backward to the previous monarch – the given information – and is followed by the main verb in second position, which creates a separation before the subject in third position. The subject of each of these is the successor king, in the third position – the new information. The order of constituents in the main clause, therefore, is an aspect of historical English syntax that can be shaped by factors of information structure. In this case, the order of constituents assists the features of information design in laying out the chronological bonds of royal succession. 3.5 Ruling Another aspect of way-finding in medieval manuscripts may be found in the ruling of the manuscript page – the lines inscribed on each side of the leaf to create blocks of text and straight horizontal guides for writing. Ruling has been examined as the product of scribal communities and one form of variation that indicates scribal allegiances (Peikola 2013). A manuscript page is framed by margins and scribal



Chapter 12.  Paratext, information studies, and Middle English manuscripts 301

ruling patterns: a ruling that determines how the text is to be read on the page. Some manuscripts of the Brut (e.g. University of Michigan MS 225 or Dartmouth College, Rauner Special Collections Library, MS 003183) are laid out in a single column, such that the reader’s route across a page tracks from left to right across each line and from top to bottom. Others (e.g. University of Manchester University Library, English MS 102) are written in two columns, creating a sightline which progresses from left to right across each column, so that the eye moves from top to bottom twice per page (compare Figure 2 and Figure 3). Narrower columns can make it easier for the eye to track through more compressed text; the eye must linger longer over denser concentrations of characters and must move more slowly from left to right (see, e.g., Beymer et al. 2005). This is not to say that choices in column layout were directly motivated by imagined comprehension, of course: ruling of the manuscript page was influenced by a combination of conventions in scribal tradition and production. The ruling of the manuscript page also plays a role in rationalizing the surface and distinguishing the figure and ground: setting apart the foregrounded element and the backgrounded one. The process of ruling begins by inscribing the lines that demarcate the division between the words and the margins. Christopher de Hamel suggests that the scribes were marking the margins rather than the blocks of words, given the process of construction and the defining of the margins (de Hamel 2001: 42). De Hamel describes the well-proportioned manuscript page as containing a lower margin that is approximately twice as wide as the inner margin, leaving the center of an opening with two inner margins that would be fairly close to the measure of the lower margin. Marking the margins produces a writing frame on this well-proportioned page that is roughly the height that the page is wide (de Hamel 2001: 43). This sets apart blank space for use by scribes, compositors, illuminators, and readers. For the reader, the question of which of the writing area or the margins is the figure and which the ground is perhaps not clear cut, however, and the answer may vary depending on textual circumstances. The page of a codex would appear to have the written word as its defining element, and as such the letters aligned in ruled blocks would seem to be the figure and the margins and empty spaces the ground. Margins are a place to set fingers and rest pens: they create a frame which emphasizes the words, and they often serve, in this light, as a background to the words’ foreground. Yet this assessment can be complicated by other functions for margins. If the manuscript is illuminated, the decorative elements are often located in the margins, as are many headings, scribal notae, and commentary from later readers. Looking at marginal images, one could view the parallel lines of letters in formation as the visual backdrop for the illuminations, or the background to the commentary’s foreground (look for example at Figure 1). The distinction of figure

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and ground, therefore, is perhaps not fixed for the medieval work, and may shift from page to page given the layering of different forms and kinds of information. 4. Analytic models As we have seen, then, a historical chronicle like the Brut is fundamentally governed by the passing of time: the events of the story of a people (a people who gain a collective identity in part through the work of the history itself). We also see that it is in large part the structure and design of the manuscript that constructs and defines this chronological orientation. In the manuscripts of the Brut, we find, time is not marked primarily by years or centuries as is common for modern histories, but by monarchic succession: the reign of one king followed by another. This section analyzes how the distinctions in terminology for discussing organization itself provide an interpretative framework for this chronology. As discussed, the royal succession is set out by the headings and by the paraph marks, visual designations of the primary kind of structure. In the Brut manuscripts, the headings note the advent of a new king’s reign, and particular events within that, and the paraph marks cooccur with discursive connectors or prepositions, indicating the linking nature of these flags on the page and permitting the grammatical and the visual to work together in presenting information. All of the existing theoretical frameworks seek to classify how the visual marking organizes the text. The manuscript studies rubrics of ordinatio and mise-en-page center the analytic focus upon the scribal construction of page layout, emphasizing the material chain of manuscript production and the agency of determining the hierarchy of presentation. Some manuscripts contain more extensive marginalia that add a layer of interpretative commentary to the work (Marvin 2014): marginalia and scribal notes are a kind of ordinatio. These can take on an influential hermeneutic role for later readers of the manuscripts, even if they are not part of the initial work (see, for example, Wakelin 2014). Invoking the language of ordinatio or mise-enpage permits the analysis to join with the medieval scholarly conversation about layout on the manuscript page, emphasizing the shaping influence of scribes and drawing upon the terminology of medieval scholasticism. Even the terms themselves – in Latin and French – evoke a time before English was used for interpretation and analysis. This scholarly conversation looks backwards to contemporaneous analytic rubrics for manuscript production and interpretation. Paratextual analysis, in turn, contextualizes these features by putting them in conversation with peritext of the book: the ways that, for example, headings get taken up in printed works. Paratextual analysis also focuses attention upon



Chapter 12.  Paratext, information studies, and Middle English manuscripts 303

manuscript structures which are added at a later point. The Dartmouth Rauner Codex of the Brut, for example, has a table of contents which Elizabeth Bryan believes is added later by a 16th-century hand (2009: 208). The table of contents seems to have been created by copying the headings from the manuscript rather than from an external source, since it replicates errors from the manuscript (208). In looking to the organizing structures of the printed book, peritextual analysis often frames manuscripts as the genealogical predecessor of print, pointing ahead from the medieval manuscript to later print incarnations and highlighting strategies that get imported from script to print. Finally, to consider these textual elements through the lens of information science is to look forward to the present: opening an interpretative connection to digital texts, their organization and production. As such, the terms are transhistorical and emphasize strategies that have a wide chronological range. Information structure provides sharper tools for drawing in the use of grammar for emphasis and organization, and information design provides sharper tools for analyzing the reader’s visual progression through a page and the importance of layout for guiding a reader’s experience. Joining together tools from information structure and information design draws attention to how headings, paraph marks, clause structure, and ruling work both visually and grammatically: how the visually marked headings are supported by the grammatical structure of the sentences that follow: sentences which point backwards and forwards to orient the reader in the chain of royal sovereignties. Using the tools of information science unites the concerns of linguists with layout design and has the effect of highlighting how markers that seem to be visual flags on the pages of the Brut manuscripts often turn out to be lexical or syntactic signals as well. 5. Conclusion The manuscripts of the Brut Chronicle employ organizational tools which shape the reader’s experience of the text. These tools- features like headings, word order, margins, and punctuation- can be studied through different hermeneutic lenses, and each scholarly framework has advantages and puts that analysis into conversation with different fields. As discussed in Section  4, the terminology of manuscript studies invokes medieval interpretative categories and serves to stress the continuity between the manuscripts and their scribal production. Next, emphasizing the organizing structure as peritext links the analysis to book history and frames the medieval manuscript as the root of the Early Modern printed book. Finally, applying terms from information studies and information design constructs transhistorical

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interpretative continuity between medieval manuscripts and present-day linguistic and digital analysis. Each framework asks us to look at the medieval book in a different light, and each presents a different perspective on the text by zooming in on alternate elements and drawing connections to varying scholarly conversations and interests. Examining textual and paratextual organization illustrates how the structural and graphical choices of the late Middle English manuscript page work together to organize and structure information. And examining the hermeneutic lenses of scholarship permits us to consider critically how different scholarly conversations focus our attention in alternate ways and give us a multifaceted view of the early page.

Primary sources Brie, Friedrich W. D., (ed). (1906, 1908). The Brut, or The Chronicles of England. 2 vols. The Early English Text Society, os 131, 136. London: Oxford University Press. Brie, Friedrich W. D. (ed). The Brut, or The chronicles of England. Edited from Ms. Raw. B171, Bodleian Library, &c., by Friedrich W. D. Brie, with introduction, notes, and glossary. Corpus of Middle English Prose and Verse. http://‍name.umdl.umich.edu/APG1531 Ann Arbor, University of Michigan, MS 225. https://‍quod.lib.umich.edu/b/‍brut?auth=world;q1 =brut;rgn1=ic_all;size=20;type=boolean;view=thumbnail;start=1 Dartmouth, Dartmouth College, Rauner MS 003183. https://‍www.dartmouth.edu/~library/ digital/collections/manuscripts/ocn312771386/ Glasgow, University of Glasgow, MS Hunter 83 (T.3.21). http://‍special.lib.gla.ac.uk/manuscripts/ search/detail_c.cfm?ID=34505 Manchester, University of Manchester Library, English MS 102. http://‍luna.manchester.ac.uk/luna/servlet/workspace/handleMediaPlayer?lunaMediaId=Man4Medieval VC~4~4~105145~103642

Secondary sources Adams, Robert. 1995. “Langland’s ‘Ordinatio’: The ‘Visio’ and the ‘Vita’ Once More.” The Yearbook of Langland Studies 8: 51–84.  https://‍doi.org/10.1484/J.YLS.2.302841 Armstrong, Guyda. 2015. “Coding Continental: Information Design in Sixteenth-Century English Vernacular Manuals and Translations.” Renaissance Studies 29: 78–102. https://‍doi.org/10.1111/rest.12115 Arthur, Paul, and Romedi Passini. 1992. Wayfinding: People, Signs, and Architecture. Ontario: McGraw Hill. Bertin, Jacques. 1983. Semiology of Graphics: Diagrams, Networks, Maps. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.



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Beymer, David, Daniel M. Russell, and Peter Z. Orton. 2005. “Wide vs. Narrow Paragraphs: An Eye Tracking Analysis.” In Human-Computer Interaction – INTERACT 2005, Lecture Notes in Computer Science, vol 3585, ed. by Maria F. Costabile, and Fabio Paternò, 741–752. Berlin: Springer.  https://‍doi.org/10.1007/11555261_59 Birke, Dorothee, and Birte Christ. 2013. “Paratext and Digitized Narrative: Mapping the Field.” Narrative 21 (1): 65–87.  https://‍doi.org/10.1353/nar.2013.0003 Brie, Friedrich W. D. 1906. (ed). The Brut, or the Chronicles of England. London: Early English Text Society by Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co., Ltd. Bryan, Elizabeth J. 2009. “Rauner Codex MS 003183: The Beeleigh Abbey Brut at Dartmouth College.” The Journal of the Early Book Society 12: 207–244. Butterfield, Ardis. 1996. “Mise-En-Page in the Troilus Manuscripts: Chaucer and French Manuscript Culture.” Huntington Library Quarterly: A Journal for the History and Interpretation of English and American Civilization 58 (1): 49–80.  https://‍doi.org/10.2307/3817897 The Chronicles of England. Book of the month: University of Glasgow special collections. http://‍special.lib.gla.ac.uk/exhibns/month/sep2001.html de Hamel, Christopher. 2001. The British Library Guide to Manuscript Illumination: History and Techniques. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Drucker, Johanna. 2014. Graphesis: Visual Forms of Knowledge Production. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Erteschik-Shir, Nomi. 2007. Information structure: The Syntax-Discourse Interface. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Evans, Murray J. 1985. “Ordinatio and Narrative Links: The Impact of Malory’s Tales as a ‘Hoole Book.’” In Studies in Malory, ed. by James W. Spisak, 29–52. Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, Western Michigan University. Furnish, Shearle. 1990. “The Ordinatio of Huntington Library, MS HM 149: An East Anglian Manuscript of Nicholas Love’s Mirrour.” Manuscripta 34 (1): 50–65. https://‍doi.org/10.1484/J.MSS.3.1323 Genette, Gérard. 1997 [1987]. Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Jane E. Lewin, trans. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511549373 Hinton, Norman D. 1984. “The Canterbury Tales as Compilatio.” Proceedings of the Illinois Medieval Association 1: 28–47. Horn, Robert. 1998. Visual Language: Global Communication for the 21st Century. Bainbridge Island, WA: MacroVU Press. Information Design: Concepts and Theories. https://‍avitalshapira.wordpress.com/2013/02/21/ wayfinding-information-design-theory/. Jacobson, Robert (ed). 1999. Information Design. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press. Johnson, Ian. 2015. “From Nicholas Love’s Mirror to John Heigham’s Life: Paratextual Displacements and Displaced Readers.” In Discovering the Riches of the Word: Religious Reading in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. by Sabrina Corbellini, Margriet Hoogvliet, and Bart Ramakers, 190–212. Leiden: Brill.  https://‍doi.org/10.1163/9789004290396_010 Katz, Joel. 2012. Designing Information: Human Factors and Common Sense in Information Design. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons. Keiser, George R. 1991. “Ordinatio in the Manuscripts of John Lydgate’s Lyf of Our Lady: Its Value for the Reader, Its Challenge for the Modern Editor.” In Medieval Literature: Texts and Interpretation, [Medieval & Renaissance Texts & Studies: 79], ed. by Tim W. Machan, 139–157. Binghamton, NY: Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies.

306 Colette Moore Kennedy, Edward D. 1989. “Chronicles and Other Historical Writing.” In A Manual of the Writings in Middle English 1050–1500, vol. 8, ed. by Albert E. Hartung. New Haven, CT: The Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences. Lambrecht, Knud. 1994. Information Structure and Sentence Form: Topic, Focus, and the Mental Representations of Discourse Referents. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511620607 Los, Bettelou. 2009. “The Consequences of the Loss of Verb-Second in English: Information Structure and Syntax in Interaction.” English Language and Linguistics 13 (1): 97–125. https://‍doi.org/10.1017/S1360674308002876 Los, Bettelou. 2015. A Historical Syntax of English. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Lynch, Kevin. 1960. Image of the City. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Malamed, Connie. 2009. Visual Language for Designers: Principles for Creating Graphics that People Understand. Beverly, MA: Rockport Publishers. Marvin, Julia. 2014. “‘It is to harde for my lernyng’: Making Sense of Annotations in Brut Manuscripts.” Digital Philology: A Journal of Medieval Cultures 3 (2): 304–322. https://‍doi.org/10.1353/dph.2014.0015 Marx, William. 2006. “Reception and Revision in the Middle English Prose Brut.” Trivium 36: 53–69. Marx, William, and Raluca Radulescu. 2006. “Introduction, Readers and Writers of the Prose Brut.” Trivium 36: xiii–xvi. Matheson, Lister M. 1998. The Prose Brut: The Development of a Middle English Chronicle. Tempe, AZ: Medieval & Renaissance Texts & Studies. Meurman-Solin, Anneli, María J. López-Couso, and Bettelou Los (eds). 2012. Information Structure and Syntactic Change in the History of English. Oxford: Oxford University Press. https://‍doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199860210.001.0001 Mooney, Linne R., and Lister M. Matheson. 2003. “The Beryn Scribe and his Texts: Evidence for Multiple-Copy Production of Manuscripts in Fifteenth-Century England.” The Library 7th ser. 4: 347–370.  https://‍doi.org/10.1093/library/4.4.347 Moore, Colette. 2020. “Information Design and Information Structure in the Middle English Prose Brut.” In Message and Medium: English Language Practices Across Old and New Media, ed. by Caroline Tagg, and Mel Evans, 261–280. Berlin: De Gruyter Mouton. Morse, Mary. 1999. “Seeing and Hearing: Margery Kempe and the Mise-En-Page.” Studia Mystica 20: 15–42. Parkes, Malcolm B. 1976. “The Influence of the Concepts of Ordinatio and Compilatio on the Development of the Book.” In Medieval Learning and Literature: Essays Presented to Richard William Hunt, ed. by Jonathan J. G. Alexander, and Margaret T. Gibson, 115–141. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Peikola, Matti. 2008. “Aspects of Mise-En-Page in Manuscripts of the Wycliffite Bible.” In Medieval Texts in Context, ed. by Graham D. Caie, and Denis Renevey, 28–67. London: Routledge. Peikola, Matti. 2013. “Guidelines for Consumption: Scribal Ruling Patterns and Designing the Mise-En-Page in Later Medieval England.” In Manuscripts and Printed Books in Europe 1350–1550: Packaging, Presentation and Consumption, ed. by Emma Cayley, and Susan Powell, 14–31. Liverpool, England: Liverpool UP.



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Peikola, Matti. 2015. “Manuscript Paratexts in the Making: British Library MS Harley 6333 as a Liturgical Compilation.” In Discovering the Riches of the Word: Religious Reading in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. by Sabrina Corbellini, Margriet Hoogvliet, and Bart Ramakers, 44–67. Leiden: Brill.  https://‍doi.org/10.1163/9789004290396_004 Rouse, Richard H., and Mary A. Rouse. 1992. “Ordinatio and Compilatio Revisited.” In Ad Litteram: Authoritative Texts and Their Medieval Readers, [Notre Dame Conferences in Medieval Studies 3], ed. by Mark D. Jordan, and Kent Emery Jr., 113–134. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Saint-Martin, Fernande. 1990. Semiotics of Visual Language. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Shedroff, Nathan. 1999. “Information Interaction Design: A Unified Field Theory of Design.” In Information Design, ed. by Robert Jacobson, 267–292. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press. Stevens, Martin. 1991. “The Towneley Plays Manuscripts (HM1): Compilatio and Ordinatio.” Text 5: 157–173. Stockwell, Robeert P. 1984. “On the History of the Verb-Second Rule in English.” In Historical Syntax, ed. by Jacek Fisiak, 575–592. Paris: Mouton. https://‍doi.org/10.1515/9783110824032.575 Taylor, Andrew. 2002. Textual Situations: Three Medieval Manuscripts and Their Readers. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.9783/9781512808001 Van Kemenade, Ans, and Marit Westergaard. 2012. “Syntax and Information Structure: VerbSecond Variation in Middle English.” In Information Structure and Syntactic Change in the History of English, ed. by Anneli Meurman-Solin, María J. López-Couso, and Bettelou Los, 87–118. Oxford: Oxford University Press. https://‍doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199860210.003.0005 Wakelin, Daniel. 2014. Scribal Correction and Literary Craft: English Manuscripts 1375–1510. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  https://‍doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139923279 Wakelin, Daniel. 2018. Designing English: Early Literature on the Page. Oxford: Bodleian Library, University of Oxford. Ward, Gregory, and Betty Birner. 2004. “Information Structure and Non-Canonical Syntax.” In The Handbook of Pragmatics, ed. by Laurence R. Horn, and Gregory Ward, 153–174. Oxford: Blackwell. Ward, Gregory, Betty Birner, and Rodney Huddleston. 2002. “Information Packaging.” In The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language, ed. by Rodney Huddleston, and Geoffrey K. Pullum, 1363–1447. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://‍doi.org/10.1017/9781316423530.017 Wayfinding in Web Design. https://‍www.viget.com/newsletter/wayfinding-in-web-design/

Index

A addressee  4, 101–103, 169 addresser  4, 101, 103 advertisement  37, 51, 218 advertising  13, 138, 140, 163, 165, 168, 169, 177, 180–182, 188, 218, 226 agent  5, 115, 125, 127, 163, 168, 169 Alfred  106n9, 117n5, 118, 120, 121, 132 alphabetical order  220, 222, 243, 244 announcement  44, 50 appendix  233, 239, 251, 258, 260–263 Aristotle  163, 165, 170, 175, 177 audience  122, 125, 135, 148, 173, 175, 177, 187, 188, 190, 191, 196, 200–204, 210, 212, 218, 222, 226, 240 see also reader, readership authenticity  146, 147, 151, 158, 226 author  4, 5, 9, 10, 36, 65, 78, 81, 83, 85, 87, 101, 106n9, 122, 125, 131n28, 139–141, 145, 146, 151, 152, 157, 158, 163, 173, 177, 179–181, 200, 202–204, 257, 268 see also paratext, authorial authority  72, 82, 120–122, 163, 181 authorization  94, 121 Æ Ælfric  117n5, 121, 122, 124, 132 B backmatter  16 see also paratext, terminal Bible  20, 21, 219 blackletter  279 see also font

blurb  165 body text  37, 190 see also main text book producer  190, 202–204, 209, 210, 213, 217–222, 225, 226 see also producer border  11, 12, 16 see also boundary, threshold boundary  6, 13, 16, 22, 40, 63, 64, 98, 108, 109, 211 see also border, threshold broadside  137–139, 142–145, 147, 148, 151, 153–156, 158, 159 buyer  140, 142, 169 see also consumer C calendar  20 cartoon  41, 44, 54 chronicle  302, 303 cipher  127 code-switching  101 codex  105, 107, 214, 301 codicological unit  20 cognitive frames  11 colophon  91–93, 95, 98, 98n4, 99, 101, 102, 104–110, 115, 125–127, 129–131 colour  296, 298 comment  14, 15, 19, 51, 58, 66, 73, 187, 190, 200, 201, 204, 210, 217, 221, 223, 226, 291 commentary  49, 57, 65, 66, 73, 78, 81n5, 211, 302 commercial function  13, 140, 148, 190, 235 community  140, 267–269 compilation  20, 225 compiler  5, 118, 124n12, 213, 257, 270 compositional document or publication  34, 36, 57

consumer  6, 22, 155, 235 see also buyer context  5, 125, 130, 175, 209, 212, 226, 238 convention  6, 14, 22, 81, 126, 141n1, 211 conventional framing  145, 146 conventional peritext  47, 54, 57 correction  65, 275–279 credibility  151, 170, 172, 181 D dedication  92, 165 dedicatory epistle  165–168, 180 dialogue  54, 198 digital see also electronic analysis  304 humanities  94 medium  22, 109 text  109, 303 digression  65, 66, 72 drama  44, 48, 54 E Early Modern  22, 145, 156, 168, 169, 178, 188, 190, 202, 204, 219, 222 editing  279, 285, 286 edition  8, 21, 55, 213–215, 217, 218, 223, 224, 226, 237 editor  5, 9, 10, 41, 163, 164, 268 editorial approach, duty, strategy  222, 226 metadiscourse  10, 216 note  67 see also note paratext  4, 108 sender  9

310 The Dynamics of Text and Framing Phenomena electronic see also digital literature  94 media  109 end matter  92 see also paratext, terminal endnote  66, 71 see also note entextualisation  21 epigraph  10, 239 epilogue  119, 192, 290 epistle  165, 167, 168, 239 see also letter epistolary form  122 style  12 vindication  174 epitext  4, 8, 34, 37, 57, 116n2, 166, 218 see also paratext evaluation  65, 69, 72, 78–81, 83, 141, 159 evidential  10, 13, 69, 72, 73, 87, 88 evidentiality  88 ex libris  107, 122 exemplar  106n9, 269 expert  132, 173, 203 explicit  16, 37, 96–99, 126, 212 see also paratext, terminal expressive form  267–269 F flyleaf  107, 281 font  15, 66, 69, 94, 216, 268, 282 footnote  8, 39, 63–67, 72, 73, 78, 81, 83 see also note formula  95, 115, 130, 131 frame  10–13, 39, 101, 109, 156–158, 189, 212, 222, 233, 237–239 see also marker, frame framing  3, 3n1, 5–7, 11–13, 19, 115, 119n7, 121, 141, 166, 189, 201, 211 circumtextual  11 intertextual  11, 296 intratextual  11–13 frontmatter  13, 15, 44, 125n13, 165, 168, 221, 262

see also paratext, initial; prefatory matter; preliminaries G genre  6, 14, 36, 37, 101, 107, 138, 141, 146, 147, 149, 150, 153, 155, 159, 160, 189, 204, 234n1, 291 genre convention  6, 14, 119n7, 122 see also convention gloss  10, 15, 21, 65, 69, 98, 254 glossary  16, 233, 239, 251, 255–257, 261–263 gospel  98, 98n4, 101, 122, 126n18, 130n26 gospelbook  116n3, 116n4, 129 graphic element  55 materialisation  92, 99 object  110 property  91 principle  292 graphical choice  234n2, 289, 291 H handbook  233, 235, 238, 241, 258 heading  15, 159, 241, 246, 246n9, 254, 290, 296, 302, 303 see also rubric headline  143, 145–147 hearer  210, 268 historiography  70, 79, 80, 86, 87 humility  181, 202, 203 I ideology  139, 140, 152, 164, 269, 272 illocutionary act  148 force  4, 101 illustration  44, 48, 51, 54, 55, 144, 153, 156, 294, 296 image  35, 38, 39, 44, 54, 55, 153, 240 see also picture imprint  141, 155, 156, 156n11 inaugural comment  14, 15, 19

index  44, 51, 220, 223, 233, 239, 240, 251–255, 261–263 information design  289, 290, 292, 294, 296 information structure  289, 290, 292, 303 information studies  289–291 initial  16, 18, 108, 141n1 see also paratext, initial inscription  92, 106n9, 126n14 instruction  44, 50, 217 instructional metadiscourse  12 interaction  35, 83, 233, 251 interpersonal communication  145 function  190, 212 interpretive element  290 interpre(ta)‍tive function  9, 11, 12, 66, 140, 148, 190 italics  142, 270 see also font L Late Modern  64 Latin  100, 116, 116n3, 116n4, 121, 132, 284, 294 layout  36, 38, 144, 233, 234, 240, 241, 289, 290, 292, 293, 303 see also mise-en-page letter  48, 49, 54, 192, 278 see also epistle lettering  293, 297 literacy  115–118, 128, 131, 132, 188 literary studies  5, 9, 189, 289 M magazine  34, 36–38, 40–44, 46, 49–51, 53–57 main text  3, 6, 8, 10, 15, 16, 18, 20, 21, 37–40, 48, 54, 55, 57, 67–70, 72, 74, 76, 83, 87, 88, 100, 102, 116, 122, 166, 189, 190, 192, 196, 201, 210–215, 218–223, 226, 239, 259, 262 manuscript  16, 18, 20–22, 92–97, 99–102, 104–110, 116, 117, 119, 124–126, 128–132, 188, 213–215, 224, 269–272, 275, 279–281, 285, 289–304

Index 311

margin  11, 15, 21, 64, 67, 70, 129n23, 223, 293, 294, 300, 301, 303 marginal gloss  21 image  301 note  66, 67, 172 narrative-summary  279 word  94 marginalia  37, 39, 64–67, 72, 88, 156n11, 302 marker  10, 13, 18, 35, 69, 140, 141, 145–152, 156–159, 212, 248, 291, 298, 300, 303 attitudinal  13, 140, 141, 146, 147, 151, 152 endophoric  10, 140, 147, 159, 212 frame  10, 13, 156–158, 212 marketing  143, 165, 168–170, 172, 177, 180, 181, 187, 188, 201, 210 materiality  94, 99, 101, 107 media  6, 22, 94, 109, 209, 210, 215, 216 medial constraint  16 change, shift  22, 94 self-awareness  127 medical discourse  239, 251, 253, 257, 260, 263 information, knowledge  20, 173, 220, 234, 235, 254 practitioner, see practitioner recipe  103, 261, 262 see also recipe text, work, writing  165, 174, 212, 233, 261 terminology  240, 249, 251, 254, 262 medicine  164, 170, 172, 173, 234–236, 239–241, 246, 248, 251, 254, 255 medieval  16, 20, 22, 26, 66n1, 91–96, 99, 101–103, 107–110, 125, 148, 165, 188, 194, 212, 213, 215, 272, 280, 289, 290, 292–296, 300, 302–304 medium  22, 94, 109, 116n2, 125, 129, 130, 142, 194, 209, 214 metacomment  50, 212

metadiscourse  3, 5, 6, 10–13, 18, 19, 64, 69, 88, 139, 140, 159, 189, 190, 192, 195, 197–199, 205, 209, 210–212, 216, 217 interactional  10, 69, 139–141, 152, 159, 189, 212 interactive  10, 69, 140, 212 metadiscursive comment  200, 204, 210, 217, 226 element, feature, structure  13, 16, 138, 212, 216, 290 passage  18, 212 reference  197, 198 see also metatextual reference strategy  212, 216 metaphor  93, 108, 109, 118, 125n13, 175, 194 metatextual information  148, 212 reference  188 see also metadiscursive reference metre  276, 279, 282 micro-text  129, 131, 132 Middle English  16, 18, 20, 22n13, 23, 26, 93, 95–97, 100–102, 104, 290, 291, 295, 299, 300, 304 midwife  164–166, 168, 171–178, 181, 182 midwifery treatise  164–166, 168–170, 174, 178–182 see also treatise mise-en-page  268, 289, 290, 302 see also layout mode  6, 14, 22, 23, 35, 100, 101, 110, 146, 147, 202, 215, 298 bespoke  22, 202n6, 215 speculative  22, 23, 188, 210, 215, 226 N navigational aid, element, device, tool  213–215, 223, 226, 290 function  8, 12, 13, 16, 20, 24, 66, 140, 148, 155, 190, 197

news  5, 10, 16, 20, 21, 36, 51, 137–152, 154, 155, 157–160 newsbook  144, 149, 159 newspaper  14, 15, 19, 20, 27, 34, 36, 40, 54 norm  78–80, 295 note  15, 63, 64, 66, 67–80, 82, 83, 86–88, 92, 96, 102, 107, 156n11, 166, 172, 195, 196, 239, 269, 279, 281, 294, 301, 302 see also endnote, footnote O Old English  14, 98, 100, 105, 116–126, 128–131, 202, 273, 277n4, 280, 282, 284, 300 Older Scots  267, 269, 270, 272, 276–280, 284, 285 ordinatio  289, 290, 297, 302 see also text-organisation organisation  20, 36, 55, 65, 66, 188, 190, 197, 199, 200, 210, 213, 214, 219–221, 234, 237n5, 238n7, 240, 246n9, 247, 290–292, 294, 296, 298, 302–304 see also ordinatio, textorganisation orthography  107, 274, 275 P pamphlet  137–140, 142–159, 188, 189, 204 paraph mark  282, 293, 294, 298, 302, 303 paratext  3–13, 33–39, 64, 91–95, 138–140, 166, 169, 170, 189, 190, 192, 210, 211, 239, 268 see also epitext, peritext allographic  4, 9, 166, 168 authorial  4, 65–67, 69, 70, 78, 87, 88, 101, 106–108, 166, 170, 211 factual  4, 9, 57 function, see commercial function, interpre(ta)‍tive function, navigational function iconic  4, 9, 14, 100 initial  16, 138, 139, 141, 141n1, 144

312 The Dynamics of Text and Framing Phenomena material  4, 7, 9, 11, 14–16, 21, 36, 37, 50, 67, 99, 102, 108, 109, 126–131, 215, 302 non-verbal  4, 36, 39, 54, 69, 138 original  4, 8 prior  4, 8, 37 subsequent  4, 8 terminal  16, 92, 125, 138, 139, 141, 144, 152, 156–160 textual  4–6, 9, 10, 14–16, 20, 211 see also paratext, verbal verbal  4, 5, 80, 100, 127, 138, 153, 166, 188, 192, 218, 291, 296 see also paratext, textual patron  102, 122, 165 peritext  4, 8, 10, 15, 34, 37–39, 116n2, 218, 290 see also paratext persuasion  168–170, 175 persuasive argument  169–170, 177, 179–181 discourse  182 force or power, persuasiveness  87, 152 move, strategy, technique, tool  163–165, 168–170, 173–177, 180, 181, 204, 217, 224 space  212, 216 physician  164, 171, 235, 236, 254 see also practitioner picture  9, 44 see also image poem  18, 42, 44, 48, 49, 52, 97, 102, 103, 124, 202, 269, 270, 272–276, 278, 282, 295 see also poetry, verse poetry  117n5, 269, 270 see also poem, verse positioning  64, 78, 87, 140, 240 practitioner  164, 165, 168, 175, 187, 234, 235, 243 see also physician prayer  96, 97, 101, 103, 104, 106, 118, 119n7, 121n10, 126, 129, 130

preface  14, 18, 68, 116–125, 128, 131, 165–169, 174, 176, 178–181, 189, 196, 198, 203, 210, 212, 214–218, 220–226, 239, 270, 273, 280–282, 285 see also prologue prefatory element  166, 168 header  54 image  55 letter  118, 192 see also epistle, letter material, matter, text  14, 118, 166, 168–170, 174, 175, 180, 182, 203, 210, 212, 213, 215–218, 221, 222, 282 see also frontmatter; paratext, initial; preliminaries space  218 theme  18 verse  282 preliminaries  15 see also frontmatter; paratext, initial; prefatory matter printer  9, 16, 38, 44, 92, 108, 126n14, 138, 142, 144, 145, 153, 155, 156, 158, 164, 188, 209, 211, 213, 215–217, 222, 223, 235, 268–270, 272, 278, 279, 282 printing  22, 34, 155, 156, 188, 213, 215, 216, 222 producer  6, 7, 21–23, 37, 115, 125, 130, 138, 187, 188, 190, 193, 196, 198, 201–204, 209–214, 216–226 see also book producer prologue  14, 15, 18, 115, 117–119, 124, 125, 131, 192, 194, 213, 220 see also preface promoting (book, print, text)  13, 25, 180, 182, 188, 192, 215 promotional discourse  190 formula  224 function, purpose  165, 197, 215 space  166, 218 value  221

pronoun  85–87, 211, 212, 273, 277, 292 prose  42, 44, 48, 50, 52–54, 119, 120n8, 142, 158, 275, 284, 290, 291, 295 prosopopoeia  127–131 proto-lead  141, 143–145, 148–155, 159 publisher  4, 5, 10, 13, 37, 38, 57, 92, 138, 139, 142, 144–149, 151, 152, 156, 158, 160, 164–166, 169, 269 punctuation  69, 145, 268–270, 275, 282, 284, 285, 299, 303 R reader  3, 6, 10, 12, 15, 16, 18, 21, 35, 37, 38, 40, 56, 57, 64–66, 69, 72, 78, 81–83, 85, 87, 102–105, 110, 127, 127n19, 129n23, 132, 138–141, 145, 146, 149, 152, 154, 155, 159, 160, 165, 169, 171, 172, 174–176, 180, 181, 189, 190, 192, 196–198, 204, 210–213, 218–226, 234, 235, 237, 239, 243, 248, 256, 260–262, 268, 284, 290, 294, 298, 300–303 see also audience, readership casual  35n3 common  151, 203 “constant”  49n11 contemporary  37, 168 critical  202, 203 e-  94 educated  283 expert  175, 197, 203 frequent  49n3 general  165 “gentle”  203 incredulous  158 inexperienced  195, 201, 214, 219 intended, target  176, 195, 274 imaginary, imagined  49, 83 knowledgeable  175 lay  243 learned  201–203 mature  36 “meanest”  196 midwife  175, 176 non-professional  164

Index 313

“of mean capacity”  188, 202 potential, putative  86, 165, 168, 218 present-day  284 simple  196 skilled  203 sophisticated  44 specialised  65 reader alignment  63, 83 reader involvement  69 reader-engagement  148 reader-friendliness  193–195, 200, 201, 204 reader orientation  13 readership  71, 150, 187, 188, 192, 198, 204, 218, 234, 235, 238 see also audience, reader recipe  101, 103, 240, 258, 259, 261, 262 religious writing  70, 219, 220 reportage  151, 159 request  102 review  49, 233 rhetorical device  128 see also metaphor, prosopopoeia model  165, 169 ornament  194 proof (Aristotelian)  170, 175, 177, 181 Roman  282 see also font rubrication  224, 291, 296, 297 rubric  15, 65, 126, 291, 302 see also heading ruling  102, 293, 294, 300, 301, 303 S salience  11, 15 science  164, 165, 199, 200, 204, 246, 265, 289 scientific community  240 discourse  238, 240, 246 writing  220, 240 Scots  269, 270, 272–280, 284, 285

scribe  92–110, 116, 117, 124–132, 156, 213, 215, 268, 290, 292, 295, 299–303 script  15, 36, 98, 102, 106n9, 108, 112, 116, 126, 268, 273, 303 space  65, 129, 144, 153, 156, 159, 216, 226, 246n9, 292–294, 301 speaker  48, 170 spelling  108n10, 268, 272, 274, 277–280, 282, 295 supplement  45, 65, 66, 72, 73, 75–77, 87, 88 T table  21, 42, 67, 120n8, 190, 195, 199, 199n5, 200, 211, 213–215, 217, 218, 220–223, 225, 233, 237n5, 239–241, 243, 248, 251, 261–263, 303 taxonomy  234, 241, 246, 248, 254, 262 technology  22, 64, 188 text type  36, 48, 50, 122, 159, 238 text-organisation  210, 212–217, 219, 221–224, 226 see also ordinatio, organisation textbook  21, 194, 203, 223 threshold  3, 6, 10, 11, 37, 91, 93, 99, 101, 104, 107–109, 117, 118, 125n13, 165, 211 threshold-switching  91, 109 title  13, 15, 22, 37, 44, 48, 51, 54, 96, 126n14, 140, 142, 143, 146, 166, 187, 196, 201, 202, 204, 211, 215, 216, 218–220, 222, 223, 225, 233, 238, 239, 290 title-page  15, 22, 37, 54, 141–144, 147, 150, 153–156, 158–160, 166, 187, 188, 190, 201, 207, 210, 215–226, 238, 270, 281 topos  14, 15, 102, 181, 202, 203 transition  140, 149, 189, 212 translation  20, 65, 101, 116, 118–120, 122, 123n11, 125,

128, 194, 195, 220, 223, 224, 258, 269, 274, 279, 280, 282, 284 translator  95n1, 117, 124, 166, 168, 172, 173, 176, 179, 180, 211, 213, 220, 223–226 treatise  164–166, 168–170, 172–175, 177–182, 199, 233, 234n1 tune  141, 144, 155 typographic choice  4, 9, 38 typographical device  201 highlighting  56, 129 typography  22, 36, 38, 39, 41, 144, 145, 150, 196, 211 V verse  103, 104, 119–122, 128, 131, 142, 165, 166, 269, 270, 272, 275, 280, 282, 284, 295 see also poem, poetry visual aspects of framing and paratext  11, 11n5, 14–18, 21, 22, 36, 38, 66, 88, 100, 108, 109, 156, 211, 216–218, 223, 240, 290–294, 296, 298, 299, 301–303 see also illustration; image; layout; paratext, iconic visual communication  142 visual pragmatics  38 visual prosody  38 voice  70, 83, 87, 97, 104–107, 120–122, 128, 152, 156, 211 W way-finding  294, 297, 300 woodcut  141–144, 149, 153–155, 159, 224

This volume explores the complex relations of texts and their contextualising elements, drawing particularly on the notions of paratext, metadiscourse and framing. It aims at developing a more comprehensive historical understanding of these phenomena, covering a wide time span, from Old English to the 20th century, in a range of historical genres and contexts of text production, mediation and consumption. However, more fundamentally, it also seeks to expand our conception of text and the communicative ‘spaces’ surrounding them, and probe the explanatory potential of the concepts under investigation. Though essentially rooted in historical linguistics and philology, the twelve contributions of this volume are also open to insights from other disciplines (such as medieval manuscript studies and bibliography, but also information studies, marketing studies, and even digital electronics), and thus tackle opportunities and challenges in researching the dynamics of text and framing phenomena in a historical perspective.

isbn 978 90 272 0788 3

John Benjamins Publishing Company