3. Italian Examples
p. 71-112
Note de l’auteur
Paola Italia wrote sections 3.5, 3.6 and Giulia Raboni wrote sections 3.1-3.4.
Texte intégral
3.1 Petrarch: The Codice degli abbozzi
1Petrarch’s Canzoniere, also known as Rerum vulgarium fragmenta, is the earliest Italian work of which we have the original manuscript, which is partly autograph and partly idiograph (i.e., written by Petrarch’s copyist under the author’s direct supervision).
2Codex Vatican Latin 3195 preserves the final redaction on which the poet worked until his death, but at the same time contains traces of multiple redactions in authorial interventions on the manuscript itself. Along with this fundamental document (now available online: https://digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Vat.lat.3195), we also possess other manuscripts (and their copies) that were derived from 3195 with the intention of making a gift to someone or simply meant for circulation. These copies represent intermediate forms in the elaboration of the Rerum vulgarium fragmenta. The three most important codices — Chigiano l v 176 (written by Giovanni Boccaccio), Laurenziano xli 17 (a copy of a lost codex donated to the Lord of Rimini Pandolfo II Malatesta) and Queriniano d ii 21 (a copy of another lost manuscript made for an unknown recipient) — were used to reconstruct the elaboration of the text in specific moments in time. As for the content of the lost intermediate redactions, this was reconstructed indirectly, through the testimony of letters and derived manuscripts, as well as through comparison with the extant manuscripts. Among these redactions, the most important is the so-called ‘Pre-Chigi’ or ‘Correggio’-form (from the name of the recipient, the Lord of Parma Azzo da Correggio) that represents the first and central phase in the construction of the Canzoniere’s narrative.
3Thanks to the sum of these testimonies, it was possible for modern scholars, beginning with Ernst Hatch Wilkins’s studies in the 1950s (see Wilkins 1951), to analyze how the structure of Petrarch’s work evolved. Wilkins identified nine forms (whose hierarchy was re-discussed by later scholarship), which allow us to connect the codex’s structure, and the factors determining its internal cohesion, with specific variants in the individual poems. Wilkins justified this analysis partly on account of internal reasons and partly on account of their relationship with the rest of the poems.
4Examining the individual variants of a single text can indeed reveal the internal motivations of its evolution, but their implications may remain unclear if their relationship (be it one of similarity or opposition) with the other poems is not also analyzed. It is precisely because of this need for broader analysis that much of the scholarship on variants in the Canzoniere is not focused on single texts but on groups of texts, whose genetic apparatuses sometimes reveal a tormented creative activity aimed at making the collection more coherent and at redistributing organically its contents and themes. The problem with giving a unitary representation of Vatican Latin 3195 using an apparatus of variants is therefore complex. One reason for this is that, while it is possible to create an apparatus for a single text, the text’s position and function in the wider work may vary between different redactions of the Canzoniere, and this kind of representation might not do justice to the variants that are due to structural reasons. As a result, Petrarchan philology has in recent years explored two parallel paths. On the one hand, there has been a growth in studies about the constitution of the Canzoniere as a whole (see especially the work of Domenico De Robertis, Cesare Segre and Marco Santagata), its chronology, changes in the disposition of the texts, and new interpretations of its macro-structures; and on the other, multiple photographical and critical editions of the main witnesses have been produced.
5Of particular interest among the Petrarchan codices is the autograph manuscript Vatican Latin 3196 (also available online: https://digi.vatlib.it/mss/detail/Vat.lat.3196), which was already the object, as we have noted (see Chapter 1), of a ground-breaking edition by Federico Ubaldini (1652), who had rendered the variants using advanced typographical solutions, such as using a smaller print and italics for the rejected variants and a larger print for the definitive text. This edition, reprinted in 1750 and still employed by the eighteenth-century scholar Ludovico Antonio Muratori in his Petrarchan commentary, was used by scholars until Appel’s 1891 diplomatic edition (which was in turn replaced by Romanò’s 1955 edition). Laura Paolino’s critical edition (Petrarca 2000) represents a fundamental advancement in our capacity to fully appreciate the readings found in the manuscript. Paolino devotes much space, in the introductory chapters, to the history of Petrarch’s autographs, providing a reconstruction that also represents a significant contribution to the history of Petrarchan philology and of petrarchismo over the centuries. Her introductory chapters give a comparable amount of attention to the detailed description of the material characteristics of the manuscripts, as well as to discussing the criteria adopted in her edition (these are extremely conservative, and quite close to being diplomatic, extending even to the poet’s graphical use, and they are justified by the peculiar nature of the object itself of the edition).
6Paolino’s edition also reconstructs the chronological order of the manuscript’s leaves, allowing us to isolate significant moments in the elaboration, the earliest one being the group composed of fols 7–10, 11r, 15r, 16, datable to 1336–1337/8. Recent studies suggest that the first project of the narrative structure of the collection is to be dated to these same years, although this was significantly different from the definitive structure (Pancheri 2007). A peculiarity of this codex, which justifies the particular treatment it has received, as we will see, is that it is composite, i.e., containing leaves belonging to multiple moments in time. The codex includes, together with seventy-three poems — four of which are by correspondents of Petrarch, others in double or lacunose redactions —, two fragments of the Triumphus Cupidinis and of the Triumphus Aeternitatis, and one of Fam. xvi 6. Because of its composite nature, neither the order of the texts, nor the individual readings correspond to a single stage of the composition. The situation is made even more problematic by the fact that there may be later authorial interventions that cannot always be dated with certainty. In addition to this, in some instances, the texts are from a period later than the intermediate forms of the Canzoniere that we possess.
7Adopting the usual praxis of authorial philology, namely, that of choosing as copy-text the final authorial intervention that the codex presents, would have led to privileging the most advanced state, which is not the same for every text in the codex, and is often closer to the other codices of the Canzoniere. Had this approach been adopted, the process of authorial re-elaboration would have been less noticeable. Paolino instead reproduces the oldest text as the copy-text and allows the reader to reconstruct the subsequent interventions from the apparatus, where they are dated on the basis of evidence of varying kinds, graphical (ductus, ink), topographical (the position of the variant in the manuscript), or chronological (in the case of marginalia where the date is reported).
8Paolino justifies her ‘heterodox’ choice with two arguments, one ‘internal’ and the other ‘external’. The first one is the authority of Domenico De Robertis, who chose the earliest redaction as copy-text when editing Leopardi’s Canti, and therefore opted for an evolutionary apparatus, differently from Moroncini and his successors who instead opted for the author’s last will. This is actually a bit of a forced parallelism, as Leopardi’s Canti exist in multiple printed forms, and De Robertis’s criteria, based on the meaningfulness of the first printed edition for the author and the public alike (see section 3.5), cannot be applied to Petrarch’s private drafts, which were in no way ‘definitive’ and were never meant to be seen by the public. The second argument is more convincing: most texts are clean transcriptions, and the variants they present are not ‘instaurative’ (i.e., introducing new content to the text) but rather ‘substitutive’ (i.e., modifying an already stable form of the text). In cases of ‘live’ elaboration (variants applied during the process of the first writing, affecting the text that follows), Paolino uses a different form of representation by including the effaced passage in italics directly in the copy-text, before the version that replaces it. Consider an example in the following sonnet, https://digi.vatlib.it/mss/detail/Vat.lat.3196, c. 5v (the apparatus of the original Italian edition was translated by us):
36 [150]
c.5v | 1 | Che fai, Alma? che pe(n)si? aurem mai pace? |
2 | Aurem mai tregua? od aurem guerra et (er)na? | |
3 | Che fia di noi? che dir? p(er) quel ch’io scerna, | |
4 | A’ suoi begli occhi il mal nostro no(n) piace. |
5 | Che pro, se co(n) quelli occhi ella ne face |
6 | Ghiaccio di state (et) foco qua(n)do iuerna? |
7 | Ella no(n), ma quel dio che gli gouern[a]. |
8 | Questo ch’è a noi, s’ella sel uede, et tace? |
A9 | Tace talor la li(n)gua, e ‘l cor sospira |
10 | E co(n) la uista asciutta i(n) duol si bagna |
11 | Dentro doue mirando altri nol uede. |
9 | Talor tace la li(n)gua, e ‘l cor si lagna |
10 | Ad alta uoce, e ‘n uista asciutta (et) lieta, |
11 | Pia(n)ge doue mira(n)do altri nol uede. |
12 | P(e)r tutto ciò la mente no(n) s’acqueta, |
13 | Né ro (m) pe il duol che ‘n lei s’aghiaccia (et) stagna, |
14 | Ch’a gran sp(er)a(n)ça huom misero no(n) crede. |
93. che dir p(er) > no(n) ‘l so ma in: correction written in left margin and referred with a cross-reference mark to the effaced text. 6. Ghiaccio di state (et) > di state vn [g]hiaccio (Ghiaccio effaced, (et) crossed out and the words vn [g]hiaccio un written above, between the lines; the g- of [g]hiaccio is hidden by an inkblot) 7. Quel dio > coluj A 10. i(n) preceded by an effaced letter, perhaps n; redaction A is erased by three oblique lines 13. Né ro (m) pe > ro (m) pendo; s’aghiaccia > s’accoglie (above the line)
10marginal notes
1. Above the sonnet, left: tr(anscriptus)
11A particular problem is that of variants made illegible by later interventions (such as heavy erasures). In this case the editor is forced to integrate the later variant in the text despite it being extremely likely to belong to a later phase — not unlike the variants that the author wrote in the margins or the interline, that are instead relegated to the apparatus, as they represent a later revision of the text than that found in the copy-text. See for example the first quatrain of sonnet 7 [191]. https://digi.vatlib.it/mss/detail/Vat.lat.3196, c.1v:
1 | Sicome eterna uita è ueder dio, |
2 | Né più si brama, né bramar più lice, |
3 | Così me, do(n)na, il uoi ueder, felice |
A4 | Questo breue (et) fugace uiuer mio. |
4 | Fa in q (ue) sto breue (et) fraile uiuer mio. |
12In this case, as the apparatus explains, ‘me’ on line 3 was written over an erasure, under which Angelo Romanò (Petrarca 1955) had deciphered a ‘fa’ — a reading that is grammatically well-coordinated with redaction A of line 4, in a construction later superceded by the complete rewriting of the final line of the quatrain. Because of the way the text is presented in Paolino’s edition, this is not immediately clear to the reader.
13It is therefore evident that an optimal solution cannot always be found. Choices often entail gains as well as losses and risks, so all factors must be taken into consideration in order to make the solution as compliant to one’s theoretical objectives as possible. Other than the advantages and the minor problems that we have discussed, one can also argue that Paolino’s edition could ideally be integrated into a progressive apparatus of the whole Canzoniere, where the earliest version will necessarily have to be picked as copy-text.
14Paolino also edited the Codice degli abbozzi (before the proper critical edition was published) in Mondadori’s Meridiani series (Petrarca 1996) as the second volume of Petrarch’s rhymes, where, despite presenting essentially the same text and most of the apparatus of the critical edition, the spelling and punctuation have been notably modernized. In this way, Paolino offers us an example of an astute double edition of an autograph directed to different audiences.
3.2 Pietro Bembo: The Prose della volgar lingua
15The first direct reference to the fact that Pietro Bembo was working on a dialogue on the vernacular language dates to April 1512, in a letter to Trifon Gabriele which was also directed to his other Venetian friends and primarily to Giovanni Battista Ramusio. In this letter, Bembo announces that he is going to send his friends two books (‘and perhaps half the work’), asking for proofreading and suggestions on the revision of the text. However, there are no extant witnesses of this first redaction or of the discussions that followed. Similarly, although in a letter sent in 1525 to Cardinal Federigo Fregoso Bembo claims that there exists an earlier version of the dialogue dating to when he was at the Urbino court (after 1507), this is not proved by any extant document.
16Bembo’s statement must be taken with a grain of salt, as it was part of a strategy to claim the precedence of his work over the first Italian grammar to be printed, Francesco Fortunio’s Regole della volgar lingua (1516); Bembo’s dialogue itself also implicitly declares its own priority, given that it is set in 1502 and mentions Giuliano de’ Medici (d. 1517) as alive. It is, however, also true that indirect traces might suggest the existence of at least a work of planning and grammatical classification at a quite early date. For not only is there a testimony by Lodovico Castelvetro documenting the circulation of the text before 1508 and an allusion by Bembo himself to some ‘annotations on language’ he had written in a letter to Maria Savorgnan in September 1500, but there are also still stronger hints in the so-called ‘B Fascicle’ added to the edition of Petrarch’ Canzoniere printed by Aldo Manuzio, which Bembo curated (1501), which contains grammatical notes that re-appear in an almost identical form in the Prose (better known with the less accurate title Prose della volgar lingua; see Patota 1997), thereby proving the continuity of Bembo’s project of linguistic reform since the time of the Manuzio editions of Dante and Petrarch.
17By the time he sends the fascicle to his Venetian friends, Bembo has already been present for a few months in Rome at the court of Pope Leo X, who would later, in March 1513, take him as his secretary. It is likely that this role, together with his irritation for the existence of Fortunio’s aforementioned Regole (which also implied the necessity to update his work), and the particular complexity of the third book of the dialogue (which is essentially a grammar of literary Italian language in dialogue form) kept him for some time from completing the work. It is nevertheless true that the Prose is not mentioned again until the letter to Fregoso of January 1525, where he says that he has already given a manuscript copy of the text to Clement VII in November 1524, and claims that he intends to publish it in Venice. Since Clement’s copy is now lost, the Prose’s extant witnesses are limited to the three printed editions (Tacuino 1525, Marcolino 1538 and the posthumous Torrentino 1549, edited by Carlo Gualteruzzi) and the autograph Vatican Latin 3210 (known as V), preserved at the Vatican Library and composed in 1521–1522, at a time when Bembo, dissatisfied with the papal court, had retired to his villa in Padua, devoting himself to the cultivation of literary pursuits. On account of the importance of the dialogue in the Italian literary tradition, all of these redactions have lately been the object of a particular attention, allowing us to closely follow the process of their elaboration.
18The most important recent contributions are those on the stop-press corrections of the Torrentino 1549 edition (discussed first by Bongrani (1982) and more recently closely analyzed by Sorella (2008)), which has allowed us to identify interventions made by Benedetto Varchi meant to normalize the text’s language, even going in some cases against Bembo’s own precepts. This will lead in the long run to a critical edition of the final text innovating on Dionisotti and Martelli’s current ‘vulgate’ editions. The earliest redaction of the text has also received special attention, giving new insights into the times and processes of its composition, with two critical editions, one centred on manuscript V and another on the princeps, respectively produced by Mirko Tavosanis (Bembo 2002) and Claudio Vela (Bembo 2001).
19Despite being based on the same witnesses, these two editions are radically different not only because both authors had to take into account the existence of the other’s work (Vela, despite having published his one year before Tavosanis, does cite Tavosanis’s 1996 PhD thesis), but also because of a partially different critical approach.
20Tavosanis’s editon is indeed focused on the sources employed by Bembo, specifically the manuscripts that he used to exemplify and define his vernacular grammar, including the medieval lyric chansonniers, Dante’s poems and Boccaccio’s works, specifically the Decameron, for which Tavosanis proves that the Hamilton autograph was used. The adoption of this ‘critical focus’ obviously did not prevent Tavosanis from discussing the dating of V and its relationship with the princeps, and often but not always his findings fit with Vela’s conclusions. However, such an approach led Tavosanis to privilege the manuscript’s earliest redaction (which he calls ‘phase A’), relegating to the apparatus both the genesis (on the first part of the apparatus) and the text’s following evolutions as found in later interventions on the manuscript, as well as in the Tacuino print (P) (on the second part).
21The key advantage of this structure is that it isolates the earliest redaction from Bembo’s later interventions on the manuscript, which were meant, on the one hand, to add more examples, especially in the third book, and, on the other, to normalize the text itself to his own grammatical rules, which were not originally applied systematically and might have been fully elaborated only at a later stage, as can be seen from the evolutionary apparatus. What the apparatus cannot instead attest is the difference between V’s final redaction and P, a difference that is at times quite considerable, and which suggests the existence of a copy of V with corrections, probably lost precisely because of its use by the printer. The evolutionary part of the apparatus does not indeed distinguish V’s later reading from P, just as it does not represent the genesis of the interventions on the manuscript; instead, this part of the apparatus substantially limits itself to two moments of the elaboration, that of base reading and that of the princeps, thereby making the apparatus extremely easy to read.
22The critical edition produced by Vela is more complex, but also more analytical and exhaustive, and it is based on two fundamental choices. First, the 1525 princeps was selected as the copy-text. Despite not being the author’s final will, the princeps indeed represents the point of arrival for the ‘imposition across Italy of a language learned on books, which only in the most cultured environments overlaps to some extent with everyday language, but is nevertheless spoken and written as though it was a living language’ (Dionisotti 1966: 47), a linguistic norm adopted by the new literature which ultimately replaces the form of Italian cultivated in the courtly tradition that precedes it. Furthermore, the adoption of P as copy-text also allowed for the use of extremely conservative criteria in the text’s linguistic and graphic usage, extending as far as the use of punctuation and accents, and thereby underlining the importance of Bembo’s choices in defining linguistic norms in all these domains, as well as highlighting the Tacuino edition’s pursuit of elegance, which is symptomatic of the treatise’s ‘noble’ implied readership. As far as representation is concerned, the identification of a specific phenomenology of correction both for the later interventions on V and for the passage from V to P has led, in this edition, to an unprecedented ‘dialogue’ between text and apparatus, one in which much information, rather than being delegated to the apparatus, can be inferred from the text thanks to the use of particular indicators that allow instant visualization of the various phases by which the text has been elaborated according to the following analytical representation:
1. Editorial strata in V
23a) when V’s final reading coincides with P and is the result of a process of an internal correction of V, the segment is signalled in the text by two interpuncts (·text·), and the genesis can be found in the first part of the apparatus;
24b) when in V a segment is erased without being replaced by anything, this is signalled by a single interpunct (·) in the text, and the deleted content can be found in the apparatus between > and <;
25c) if instead the segment is erased without being replaced, but it is rewritten in a substantially identical form elsewhere in V, the same symbol is used in the text, while the apparatus will report the erased text between↑↑> and <↑↑ or↓↓> and <↓↓, depending on whether the new collocation, indicated in brackets, is before or after in the text;
26d) a passage which was originally written in a substantially identical form but was collocated elsewhere in V (in other words: what we have called ‘the new collocation’ at 1c) will be delimitated in the copy-text by ↓↓ or ↑↑ depending on whether the original collocation was before or after the new one, with the first band of the apparatus reporting the original collocation (see par. 28 of the example reported below);
27e) text added while revising V is isolated by two asterisks (with smaller asterisks indicating further additions); in the case of longer additions that are adjacent, or are one within the other, superscript letters are instead used (in bold if the addition happened on extra leaves that were physically added).
2. Passage from V to P
28a) P’s additions are signalled by two superscript ‘P’ letters at the beginning and end of the section in the text (PtextP);
29b) where P suppresses a segment that was in V’s final reading, this is signalled by ⋀ in the text, with the second band of the apparatus reporting the removed section;
30c) segments that changed their collocation from V’s final reading to P are marked out by two single downwards or upwards arrows in the text (↓text↓ or ↑text↑), with the original collocation given in the second band of the apparatus;
31d) if P’s reading is different from V, it is underlined in the text: the manuscript’s final reading is in the second band of the apparatus;
32e) purely paragraphematic or minor graphic variants are in a third band of the apparatus at the bottom of the page, written in a smaller font.
3. P’s errors
33a) when the correction appears in the print’s Errata corrige, the text will incorporate the correction, with the segment being marked out by two superscript E’s (EtextE), and the substituted text can be found in the third band, which is marked by [E];
34b) where Vela has corrected the text, this is not reported in the text itself, and can instead be found in the table of P’s corrected readings at the end of the volume.
35The three-band apparatus thus reports, where applicable, the segments as follows: 1. a), b), c), d) in the first band; 2. b), c), d) in the second band, e) at the bottom of the second band; 3. a) in the ‘E-band’.
36Here is, as an example, the passage corresponding to i xi 24–31 (pp. 28–29 in the Vela edition):
3724+Et come che il dire in hispagna paia dal latino esser detto: egli non è così; percioche quando questa voce alcuna vocale dinanzi da se ha, ·spagna· *le più volte*: et non Hispagna si dice. ⋀+ 25Il-qual uso tanto innanzi procedette; che anchora in molte di quelle voci, le-quali comunalmente ·parlandosi· hanno la e. dinanzi la detta .s. ·quella .e. pure nella .i. si cangiò· bene spesso. istimare, istrano, et somiglianti. 26Oltra che alla voce nudo ·s’aggiunse· non solamente la .i. ma la g. anchora, et ·fecesene· ignudo; *non mutandovisi percio il sentimento di lei in parte alcuna:27il-quale in quest’altra voce ·ignavo· ·si muta nel contrario di quello della primiera sua voce; che nel latino solamente è ad usanza: la-qual voce nondimeno · Italiana è più tosto, si come dal Latino tolta; che Thoscana. *28↑↑Ne solamente molte voci, come si vede; o pure alquanti modi del dire presero dalla Provenza i Thoscani.↑↑a|29Anzi essi anchora ·molte figure· del ·parlare·, molte sentenze, molti argomenti di Canzoni, molti versi medesimi le furarono: et piu ne furaron quelli; che maggiori stati sono et miglior poeti riputati.30Il che agevolmente vedera; chiunque le Provenzali rime pigliera fatica di leggere: senza che io; a cui sovenire di ciascuno essempio non puo: tutti e trePvoiP gravi hora recitandolevi.31Per le-quali cose *quello* estimar si ·puo·; che io M. Hercole rispondendo vi dissi; che il verseggiare et rimare da quella natione, piu che da altra s’è preso.
24+…+] transcribed in the last charta. In the final text the corresponding text is added in margin and is elaborated as: >Spag< spagna |
25 >favellandosi< parlandosi >essi< quella .e. pure nella .i. °si ins. cangiò (from cangiarono with -ò over -a- and >rono<) |
26 >si giunse< s’aggiunse fecesene] -se- ins. |
27 ignavo] -avo over –orante >et peraventura in altro< si muta >voce< Italiana |
28↑↑…↑↑] cf. x, apparatus of §§ 36–38 |
29 molte (e over i) >modi et< figure >dire< parlare written above |
31 puo rewritten istimar |
*
3824 ⋀] nella spagna: per la spagna.
24 detto; | cosi: | volte, | Hispagna, | dice: |
26 ignudo. Non | 27 Latino | 30 Ilche | 31 Perlequali | altra, |
39This structure has the advantage of being highly analytical and compact, and the understanding of its complex system of signs is also helped by the inclusion of an extremely useful bookmark containing the legend of the symbols. However, it is only useful for a text such as this one, in which most interventions are additions, and it would not fit cases in which the witnesses bear very different redactions or the elaboration of the single witnesses is more convoluted.
40Likewise, it is evident that such an ‘invasive’ structuring is justified by its critical function, and the text is nonetheless usable, after removing the symbols, for an edition aimed at a broad public.
3.3 Tasso: The Rime d’amore
41The editorial history of Torquato Tasso’s works is connected to a sort of legend, one particularly nurtured in the Romantic age as in, for example, Goethe’s eponymous tragedy, and generated by the dramatic, true-life vicissitudes of the poet, who was locked up in the Sant’Anna asylum in Ferrara for having allegedly attempted to assault with a knife a servant at the court of the Duke. Probably, behind his imprisonment there lurks too the suspicion aroused by the poet’s restless behaviour towards religion, which was particularly inconvenient in Duke Alfonso II Este’s court, as his duchy was under the constant threat of being annexed to the Papal state, and this made the Duke particularly zealous in dealing with any suspicion of heresy.
42The news of the poet’s madness aroused during his lifetime an immediate and morbid interest for his texts, which began circulating in editions that were mostly derived from his autographs, which the publishers obtained from the poet himself. Tasso himself indeed encouraged these editions in the hope that his fame might win him freedom, although afterwards he was very dissatisfied with their hasty and slapdash editorial choices which involved including apocryphal texts and adopting incoherent or contaminated readings.
43The poet’s confined and deprived living conditions also had their consequences on the times and modes of his production. On the one hand, the need for protection abnormally nourished his creativity, especially for encomiastic poetry; and, on the other, Tasso finds himself forced to work on the manuscript leaves and the printed editions to which he has access, and this makes it even more difficult to reconstruct the ways in which his work was composed and revised in the years of his seclusion. In this period, Tasso also organizes his poetry according to a tripartite structure divided into love rhymes, encomiastic rhymes and holy rhymes, with the holy rhymes also including encomiastic poems sent to members of the clergy. This three-fold division represents an attempt to move beyond the Petrarchan ‘unitarian’ model of the Canzoniere towards a more ‘parcelled out’ mode of organization which would become particularly popular among the poets of the Baroque age.
44The project only found partial realization with the publishing of the Parte prima (containing the love poetry) in 1591 by Francesco Osanna in Mantua, and that of the encomiastic rhymes by Pietro Maria Marchetti in Brescia in 1593. As for the third part, it was destined to remain unpublished, and its intended outline has been recently reconstructed by Luigi Poma on the basis of the manuscript Vatican Latin 10980, copied by Marcantonio Foppa from a holograph, and edited in 2006 by Franco Gavazzeni and Vercingetorige Martignone. Before this edition, the situation was muddled and almost unsolvable because of the arbitrariness of the printed editions that the author could not personally supervise. Tasso’s often overly dramatic declarations on the situation also led many scholars to consider a reliable reconstruction of these texts impossible. This is evident in the first edition with some scholarly ambitions, produced at the beginning of the twentieth century by Angelo Solerti (Tasso 1902), which contains 1708 texts but admittedly gives up on reconstructing the author’s will, even ignoring some undeniably authorial attempts at systematization, and instead employing a chronological order reconstructed on the basis of the poet’s biography. What Solerti keeps of Tasso’s project is only the thematic tripartition, albeit redistributing its contents and significantly altering its form by changing the order of the poems and also including ones that the author later excluded, especially the madrigals. In this way Solerti effaced Tasso’s design, regardless of the fact that this can be reconstructed through the short expositions that he wrote for each of the published poems in line with this aim of giving both a narrative and exegesis to his own poems. Tasso’s texts are further altered in Solerti’s edition by the contamination of individual readings from different redactions, and worsened by the choice to only include in the apparatus the readings that the editor deemed meaningful.
45Despite the undeniable merit of being the first edition to list the manuscripts and give them a siglum, Solerti’s edition is unsatisfying for modern philologists. All the same, Solerti’s work was, for a long time, the basis of both scholarly editions and editions for a general public, as well as for critical works on Tasso. For this reason, many scholars ended up ignoring Tasso in works that deal with more technical aspects of poetic practice and that require a solid philological basis, as Valeria de Maldé (1999) noticed in commenting upon Aldo Menichetti’s monumental monograph on Italian poetic metres.
46A first rigorous examination of the problem of editing Tasso’s Rime came in Lanfranco Caretti’s Studi sulle Rime del Tasso, a collection of essays published in 1950. After having analyzed in detail the history of the poems and having classified the main manuscripts and printed editions, Caretti reviewed Solerti’s edition in detail, underlined its shortcomings, and proposed a systematization based on the author’s final will. Thus, Caretti claimed that in editing the poems, the Osanna edition had to be used for the first part, the Marchetti edition for the second and the codex Ravelli of the Angelo Mai library in Bergamo for the third part, as Caretti considers it the witness closest to the author’s final will for the holy rhymes. Rhymes excluded from this authorial systematization had to be placed in a separate section instead. The entire previous process of correction would have to be represented as well, including the first authorial attempts to structure the collection as attested by the autographs. These guidelines were used for multiple researches promoted by Caretti himself at the University of Pavia and now form the basis for the National Edition of Tasso’s works. We thus now know — as already mentioned — which manuscript, namely, Vatican Latin 10980, contains the most advanced version of the third part. Different forms for the second part have been identified as well: one is found in the manuscript F1 of the communal library of Ferrara and in the Parisian codex Pt, while another, earlier, systematization (which will soon be published) has been found in manuscripts E1 and E2 at the Biblioteca Estense in Modena.
47The most important contribution on the love lyrics instead came from Dante Isella’s studies (collected in 2009a: 51–114). What makes Isella’s work innovative is not so much the way he pinpoints the importance of the autograph Chigiano l viii 302, known as C and datable to 1583–1584 (which contains the earliest systematization of the love lyrics and was already known to earlier scholars), but rather the fact that he clarified how it was composed, leading him to theorise a new edition, different from the one Caretti imagined. Isella indeed proved the direct derivation of the readings found in the Chigiano from two annotated prints: Ts1 (an exemplar of the Prima parte delle rime published by Vittorio Baldini in 1582, known with the siglum 11), and Ts2 (an exemplar of the Terza parte, published by Vasalini in 1583, also known as 22), both published in Ferrara and both harshly criticized by the poet despite his involvement in their production. The derivation proposed by Isella demonstrates how, although one should always use them with some circumspection, these editions actually contain heretofore unattested redactions. When re-elaborating his texts, the poet, deprived of his own autographs, found himself forced to use these editions, somewhat ‘authorizing’ them regardless of their reliability.
48The detailed analysis of the genesis of the Chigiano manuscript also underlines the originality of the collection it contains. This autograph has an individual character, based on the revision of the printed texts, but altered to make the collection as a whole more coherent. Such a character is significantly different from that of the collection ultimately published in the Osanna edition. From this difference came Isella’s proposal to subdivide further this theoretical edition so as to present both systematizations. The apparatus of this ideal edition would therefore have to represent the respective genesis of each of the two different copy-texts, while the earliest attempt at an authorial systematization, dating to 1567 and known as silloge degli Eterei, would go in an appendix. The reason for this is that this version precedes the thematic subdivision and is therefore radically different from both later forms in terms of structure (see Gavazzeni 2003). As in Caretti, a separate volume would then contain all poems that do not belong to any of the collections.
49The 1993 edition of the Rime d’amore (secondo il cod. Chigiano l viii 302) by Gavazzeni, Leva and Martignone therefore presents, in accordance to this plan, the rhymes of the collection with the final readings as the copy-text and an apparatus divided in three bands (see the example) containing:
- a first band with the internal evolution of the manuscript;
- a second band with the readings of the printed editions known as 11 and 22 and the two annotated exemplars, where used (with the addition, for a few poems, of the testimony of later prints);
- a third band with extra observations (for instance, material details of the manuscript).
50The apparatus, placed at the bottom of the page, is linear and somewhat ‘photographic’, as the varia lectio found in the printed editions and annotated exemplars is separate from that belonging to the Chigiano. The apparatus clearly divides the two phases of the work, but requires the reader to look at both bands in order to get a conspectus of the whole; at the same time, the part dedicated to the manuscript is rich with topographical indications (using superscript letters) where the authors deemed such information relevant to defining the manuscript’s chronology, but again requiring the reader to make his deductions (Gavazzeni himself would later prefer other ways of presenting the varia lectio, see his edition of Leopardi’s Canti in section 3.5). Here is how sonnet xxi of the Chigiano appears in the edition:
xxi c. 13r
51Appressandosi a la sua donna, dice a’ suoi pensieri et a’ suoi affanni che si partano da lui.
Fuggite, egre mie cure, miei aspri martiri, | |
Sotto il cui peso giacque oppresso il core, | |
Ché per albergo hor mi destina Amore | |
Di nova speme e di più bei desiri. | 4 |
Sapete pur che quando avien ch’io miri | |
Gli occhi infiammati di celeste ardore, | |
Non sostenete voi l’alto splendore | |
Né ‘l fiammeggiar di que’ cortesi giri, | 8 |
Ma ve ‘n fuggite qual notturno e fosco | |
Stormo d’Augelli inanzi al dì che torna | |
A rischiarar questa terrena chiostra. | 11 |
E già, s’a certi segni il ver conosco, | |
Vicino è il sol che le mie notti aggiorna, | |
E veggio Amor che me l’addita e mostra. | 14 |
522 mia] >lo< 4 Di nova speme di più beia] >A le sue gioie, a’ suoi dolci< 5 pura] >ben<
11 (i, 3) |
Ts1 (lines 2, 5, 6a, 6b, 8, 9) |
53Arg. Appressandosi… lui] Sonetto nel ritorno 2 il cui peso] ‘l cui >pondo< 3 mi] lo 4 Di nova… bei] A le sue gioie, a’ suoi dolci 5 pur] >ben< / quando] quand’ 6 Gli occhi infiammati] >Que’ Soli accesi<□I lumi accesi 8 que’] >duo< 9ve‘n] >via< 13il]‘l
54In this example, only the first two bands can be found (the second one being divided, as we will see, in two parts). In the first band, the angled brackets (><) indicate an effaced passage, while the superscript letters indicate the position of a correction (in the example,a stands for a correction found in the interline above).
55The second band is divided in two parts: the first part contains, in bold, the indication of the print witnesses: in this case, the poem can be found in 11 (the aforementioned 1582 edition printed by Vittorio Baldini) and in Ts1, an exemplar of 11 annotated by Tasso himself. The brackets following the sigla contain, for 11, the volume and page containing the text (i, 3), and for Ts1 the list of the lines that the author altered in this exemplar (2, 5, 6a, 6b, 8, 9); the line number is in italics if the correction makes the line coincide with the one in the copy-text: when this happens, the text of the correction is omitted from the second band of the apparatus, as it can easily be read in the copy-text. In the second part of the second band, the forward slash (/) at line 5 separates two corrections belonging to the same line, while the square □ at line 8 separates two subsequent interventions on the same portion of text.
56The critical edition of the Osanna version, carried out by Vania de Maldé (Tasso 2016), allows us to better understand the process of Tasso’s elaboration, both in terms of narrative and of form, as already shown by Colussi 2011 which examines the Chigiano’s evolution from the points of view of syntax, phono-morphology, lexis and rhetorical style. Colussi’s study enriches and confirms our perception of the importance of the collection in Tasso’s development of a new poetic, and shows how it differs from the one of his youth in two different ways: the progressive abandonment of the poetic model offered by Giovanni Della Casa (this is indicated by the way Tasso limits enjambements, that is, Della Casa’s most signature stylistic feature) and the pursuit of a ‘middle’ lyric style, eliminating the more popular elements (as evident from the removal of the madrigals) but at the same time reducing the gravitas, which becomes confined instead to his heroic poem Gerusalemme liberata.
3.4 Alessandro Manzoni: Fermo e Lucia and the seconda minuta
57The beginning of Manzoni’s long work on his novel (I promessi sposi) can be dated with precision to 24 April 1821, thanks to a note written by the author on the first sheet of the initial chapter of the earliest draft of the work (conventionally called Fermo e Lucia after the main characters). After having written poems, plays and essays, Manzoni attempted a novel. In doing so, he at the same time addressed both the complaint made by contemporary romantics about the absence of the novel as a genre in the Italian high culture tradition and the call of the pre-unitarian nationalist movement for a national language that might assist the realization of cultural unification. The work was composed over two years, and reached its conclusion in September 1823 in a form where, while the narrative is mostly complete, the linguistic problem — that is, which of the vernacular languages, employed both in the past and present, in Italy to use — is consciously ignored for the moment. We know, however, from a letter to Claude Fauriel that Manzoni was aware of this issue and already convinced of the need to find a solution.
58The only form of national language that existed in Manzoni’s time was the hyper-literary language of lyric poetry. This begged the question regarding which language one should adopt in writing a novel that strived to be popular (both in terms of public and of narrative) and understandable for the entirety of the nation. After having been set aside, the linguistic problem re-emerged once the first draft was complete, when the author started revising his text to prepare a manuscript for which a copyist would make a fair copy so as to send it to the censor. After correcting a few chapters, roughly until the end of the first volume, Manzoni seems to be increasingly convinced that he was able surpass the language of that rough draft, one he himself defines as ‘an indigestible mixture made of sentences that are part Lombard, part Tuscan, part French, and even part Latin, as well as of sentences not belonging to any of these groups but rather derived through analogy and extension from one or the other’.
59By gaining experience from the process of writing itself and from reading Tuscan works and dictionaries, as well as perhaps through discussions with his friends, Manzoni soon grew convinced that he could reach a less ‘subjective’ unitary language, based on chiefly comic Tuscan authors and the Vocabolario degli Accademici della Crusca, a dictionary characterized by a heavy linguistic conservativism. After a few chapters had been revised on the same paper as the first draft (Manzoni had intentionally only used one vertical half of the page in order to leave the other half for corrections), and after the copyist had transcribed them in fair copy, Manzoni began a much deeper revision which would in the long run lead to the first print of the Promessi sposi, produced in Milan by Vincenzo Ferrario in instalments from 1824 to 1827. Since the beginning of this revision in spring 1824, the new text progressively distances itself from the earlier drafts, not only because it is done on other leaves of paper, but also because the narrative is entirely restructured, with many episodes being shortened and the ‘montage’ of the events being altered. Whereas in the earlier version the adventures of the two separated lovers were told separately (first everything that happens to Lucia, and then the vicissitudes affecting Fermo), in the later form the episodes are ‘interlaced’, leading to what amounts to an almost complete rewriting of the novel. From the documentary point of view, these are the witnesses from the first draft to the Ferrario edition:
- Prima minuta (‘first draft’): the autograph dossier of Fermo e Lucia, which survives in its entirety with the exception of a few leaves. The leaves are numbered on the first page and folded vertically so as to use the right column for the text and the left one for corrections;
- Seconda minuta (‘second draft’): the autograph of the revised version, which for the earlier chapters reuses some leaves from the Prima minuta;
- Censor’s copy: drafted by the copyist, it contains interventions, some quite major, by Manzoni dating to the period before it was sent to the censor and the printer;
- Printing proof: only a few extant pages;
- The 1824–1827 print (known as the Ventisettana): two stop-press corrections were found by Neil Harris and Emanuela Sartorelli (2016) only on two of the sixty-eight examined exemplars, while the analysis of the watermarks indicates that fifteen pages were replaced during the long print of the three volumes.
60All these autographs can now be directly consulted online on the website www.alessandromanzoni.org, a database that collects all the manuscripts conserved in the Braidense Library of Milan and the books of the writer, together with their description and the critical bibliography on Manzoni’s works.
61Due to the first draft’s structural difference from the Ventisettana, the editors had to publish it separately from the manuscript versions, as Chiari and Ghisalberti (Manzoni 1954) already did when first editing the full work as part of the ‘Classici Mondadori’ series. This edition, while accurate and commendable, is not exhaustive and is unsystematic in the presentation of the variants that are relegated to notes at the end of the book. The 2006 edition directed by Dante Isella attempts to address this issue, by adopting more accurate and efficient criteria for the representation.
62First of all, the apparatus, which is too extensive to fit in the footer, is in a separate volume, written in the same font size as the text to facilitate the comparison and underline its importance. In this way, the reader is able to appreciate the phases of the correction over the longest textual segments possible. In other words, where there are multiple corrections over a single segment, the interventions are presented in a systemic apparatus which attempts to highlight the ‘direction’ of the corrections as a whole rather than indicate where each individual correction is found on the manuscript page — a choice that comes with the risks implied in such a bold interpretative effort.
63See this example of the apparatus, from vol. 1, chapter 1, f. 5a, paragraph 20 (see Fig. 6):
20 [osservando come aveva fatto tante altre volte] sul monte i riflessi del sole già nascosto, ma che mandava ancora la sua luce sulle alture, distendendo sulle rupi e sui massi sporgenti come larghi strati di porpora.
5a 20 sul monte… porpora] (reading 1 and part of 2 are on f.4d)1i massi sporgenti e le rupi sporgenti illuminateadagli ultimi raggi del soleb(above) dai rifle<ssi> che riflettevano quà e là →2sui massi e sulle rupi sporgential< >bil sole già tramontatocil sole già nascostoaper chibai suoi occhi, e la luce sparsa quà e là come a grandi strati di porporadla luceeil riflesso del so<le> i riflessi del sole già nascosto, ma che3sull’alto del monte i riflessi del sole già nascosto, ma che splendeva ancora mandava ancora la sua luce sulle alture, distendendo sulle rupi e sui massi sporgenti come larghi strati di porpora. → T
64The evolution of this segment is schematized in three phases (corresponding to the superscript numbers1 2 3): the second phase materially reuses elements of the first (hence the use of the symbol →), while the final one, which is the copy-text (here indicated as T), partially reuses the third phase (the process is therefore represented as → T). There is no reusage of materials from phase 2 to 3, as the absence of arrows signals: this means that Manzoni completely effaced the sentence he had written in phase 2 and rewrote it from scratch (phase 3), then altered it to the form found in the copy-text. Where there are more evolutions internal to a single phase, this is represented with superscript letters, first in roman, then in italic and, where there is a further development, this is marked in bold. The final formulation for each phase is in the regular font size, while the ‘accidents’, that is, minor changes within a phase, are in smaller print, so that the final reading for each phase is always immediately evident. Topographical indications are minimal: the arrow signals reuse of materials, but the way this happens (whether the new material is inserted in an empty space or written above or below, etc.) is not specified unless it holds chronological significance (i.e., it suggests that an individual intervention is from a later time compared to the rest of the segment). This solution clearly obliges the editor to determine what to consider an autonomous phase and what not, and to attribute each correction a relative chronology.

Fig. 6 Alessandro Manzoni, Fermo e Lucia, 1821–1824 (Biblioteca Nazionale Braidense, Manz.B.II, t. I, cap. I, f. 5a), http://www.alessandromanzoni.org/manoscritti/624/reader#page/28/mode/1up

Fig. 7 Alessandro Manzoni, Fermo e Lucia, 1821–1824 (Biblioteca Nazionale Braidense Manz.B.II, t. I, cap. III, f. 26c), http://www.alessandromanzoni.org/manoscritti/624/reader#page/112/mode/1up
65From the chronological point of view, the greatest difficulty stems from the re-use of leaves from the first draft in the second, which requires the distinction of the readings belonging to the second draft from those of the first so as not to confuse two different moments in the elaborative process. While this distinction can be made on the basis of graphical usage, language, and content, it is impossible to make with absolute certainty. In uncertain cases, a footer is added to both the text and the apparatus, with the uncertain reading preceded by a bicuspid arrow (↔), thereby signifying that the reading might belong to either form, while the copy-text reports the earlier reading. In the text, these uncertain readings are signalled by superscript numbers. See for instance vol. 1, chapter 3, leaf 26c (Fig. 7), where the description of the lawyer’s office is effaced during the revision and completely rewritten in the left-hand column only after a first attempt at reusing the first version as attested by an aborted correction (un] una above). Two variants are instead uncertain (and these are numbered 7 and 8, implying that six other uncertain variants precede in that same chapter), as they might belong to the genesis of the second draft as much as to the revision of Fermo e Lucia. Here is the text and apparatus relative to leaf 26c:
venite figliuolo, e lo fece entrare con se nello studio. Era questa una stanza con un grande scaffale di libri vecchj e polverosi, un tavolo gremito di allegazioni, di suppliche, di papiri7, e intorno tre o quattro seggiole, e da un lato un seggiolone a bracciuoli con un appoggio quadrato coperto di évacchetta inchiodatavi8 con grosse borchie, alcune delle quali cadute da gran tempo lasciavano in libertà gli angoli della copertura, che s’incartocciava quà e là. Il dottore era in veste da camera, cioè coperto d’una lurida toga che gli aveva servito molti anni addietro per perorare nei giorni di apparato, quando andava a Milano per qualche gran causa. Chiuse la porta e rincorò Fermo con queste parole: Figliuolo, ditemi il vostro caso.
↔7libelli8vacchetta
26c 21 venite] before (on f. 26b) addio 22 libri vecchj] libri written over v< > gremito di] before ripieno di e da un lato… bracciuoli]1a bracci<uoli> 2T {e] over i} 23 gli aveva] gli ins. apparato, quando] from apparato = quan<do> perchè bisogna rincorò] r- on d
↔ 22 papiri] libelli above vacchetta inchiodatavi] corr. to vacchetta
66The problem of representing the later steps in the elaboration of the novel is even more complex. Unlike what happens between the two drafts, in the passage from the Seconda minuta to the Ferrario editon (that is the Ventisettana) the narrative remains almost identical. As a result, it would be theoretically possible to edit the Ventisettana by putting the Seconda minuta’s readings in the apparatus. However, the Seconda minuta underwent an extensive work of internal revision, with entire pages being rewritten or eliminated, so that a single apparatus would be illegible. It was therefore decided to edit the Seconda minuta autonomously (Manzoni 2012), while the edition of the Ventisettana only reports in the apparatus the changes that happened between the Seconda minuta’s final reading and the Ventisettana’s reading (through the censor’s copy and, when available, the printing proof). The apparatus follows the same rules as that of the Fermo, while the paragraph division is that established by Caretti in his 1971 edition of the Ventisettana (Manzoni 1971) and still adopted by most later editors, so as to make the comparison easier.
67Of course, particular attention was paid to the re-used leaves from Fermo. They are signalled by a grey background, and in the cases where Manzoni had originally attempted a correction of the text from the Fermo but then decided to rewrite the entire passage instead, the apparatus indicates the corresponding paragraph of the Fermo, marking any case of a dubious reading with a bicuspid arrow. This solution is not without some issues. The main one is that the Seconda minuta is a work in progress and not a complete, organic text. Manzoni actually worked at the same time at rewriting the text from the Fermo and at printing the already-rewritten parts, so that, in short, we cannot read the second tome of the Seconda minuta as continuous with the first one, since between these parts there is the entire work on the censor’s copy and the replacement of some of the already-printed leaves with new, revised ones (which Manzoni used to call ‘cartons’). The decision made, then, was taken both to prevent the apparatus from becoming unwieldy and to underline the most critical moment of Manzoni’s linguistic elaboration from the mixture of languages found in Fermo to the evermore Tuscan-centric solution of the following versions. In this way, the edition proposes itself as a tool to reconstruct the process that brought the text to its final version through much more complex steps than was previously recognized.
68This edition constitutes perhaps one of the most advanced solutions so far from the point of view of interpretation, leaving aside photographic representation in favour of a diachronic structure that allows for the comparison of long segments, with recourse to appendixes only when the elaboration is too complex to be represented in the apparatus.
69This is nowadays a common tendency in authorial philology and it undoubtedly has many advantages, especially for prose texts, since it allows us to see the evolution of variants in its totality even in terms of syntax and style; this approach does not, however, come without disadvantages, especially from the linguistic point of view. Indeed, if on the one hand, the organization of the apparatus in phases makes it easier to perceive the evolution of a segment, it is actually harder, on the other hand, to notice the substitution of single words, which would aid lexicological and morphological research. If one made this kind of objection, one could answer that: 1) often the replacement of a word is the consequence of changes in the wider structure; 2) in the case of the systematic application of a linguistic norm, the replacement is likely to also happen in isolation (that is, it is not always within a wider re-worked segment) and can be immediately noticeable; 3) it is true that comparing single words is more difficult in this way, but the lexical change is nevertheless registered by the apparatus, while one could not pinpoint major changes from a word-for-word apparatus without having to look at the autograph; 4) one can always find a way to give representation to single variants while privileging the phase of the correction.
3.5 Giacomo Leopardi’s Canti
70The importance of Giacomo Leopardi’s collection of poetry, the Canti, lies not only in their being a fundamental poetic work of the first half of the nineteenth century, but also in their particular editorial history, which will be worth retracing here before speaking about the technical problems connected with their multiple critical editions. The Canti are in fact the only case in Italian literature where four critical editions have followed one another, with each featuring a different structure. This case also deserves a longer discussion compared to the previous ones, because the history of authorial philology begins with Moroncini’s 1927 critical edition, which, by highlighting the extraordinary writerly dynamics of Leopardi’s texts, helped to inspire Contini in founding criticism of variants.
71Even leaving aside the editions, the history itself of the Canti, with their long and often non-linear evolution, justifies the particular philological attention they have received. The relevant witnesses are:
- The first edition of the two patriotic canzoni ‘All’Italia’ and ‘Sopra il monumento di Dante’, printed in Rome in 1818 (R18);
- The ‘Ode ad Angelo Mai’, printed in Bologna in 1820 (B20);
- The first collection, Canzoni, printed in Bologna in 1824 accompanied by the Annotazioni (‘Commentary’) (B24);
- The collection Versi, printed in Bologna in 1826 (B26);
- The first proper edition of Canti, printed in Florence in 1831 (F31);
- Another edition of the Canti, printed in Naples in 1835 (N35), with its errata corrige (N35err);
- An exemplar of N35 with the addition of the author’s corrections, in part autograph and in part written under his dictation by his friend Antonio Ranieri (Starita corretta or N35c).
72One must also add other intermediary stages, namely the publications of one or more poems in journals, such as the Nuovo ricoglitore, which between 1825 and 1826 hosted the author’s earliest idylls and re-published the aforementioned Annotazioni as well as the poem ‘Alla sua donna’ (these editions are known as NR25 and NR26). A similar case is that of the 1825 publication of the idyll ‘Il sogno’ on the journal Il Caffè di Petronio (CP). The chronological series of the main witnesses therefore is R18, B20, B24, NR25–26, B26, F31, N35, N35c.
73As well as the printed editions, multiple autographs survive. In analysing them, one must however take into consideration that they are not drafts, but rather revised fair copies (Gavazzeni 2006: 409), which contain corrections in the interline, in margins, or occasionally on separate slips of paper physically added to the page. For the first three canzoni (‘All’Italia’, ‘Sopra il monumento di Dante’, ‘Ad Angelo Mai’), Leopardi sometimes adds variants to the printed versions, while for the others they can only be found in manuscripts. The marginal space of the manuscripts is also used for the varia lectio (the sum of ‘genetic variants, alternative readings, glosses and lists of synonyms meant to “authorize” the language’, ibid.). The varia lectio therefore does not only include proper variants (be they genetic or alternative), but also footnotes which are functional to the text and at times pre-exist parts of it, even though they cannot be properly considered part of the text itself of the poems. One such case is provided by the linguistic glosses (sometimes in the added slips), indications of sources, authorial commentaries, and other elements that should be represented separately from genetic, alternative and evolutionary variants. Therefore, the analysis of how the text was formalized leads the critic to understand more fully the layers of its elaboration, and ultimately the compositional strategy lying behind it and the authorial poetics inspiring it.
74Starting with the canzone ‘Bruto minore’, Leopardi becomes his own copyist, writing a stanza per page while filling the lower, left, and (rarely) right margins with the varia lectio, surrounding the text in a way that is visually reminiscent of classical and humanistic commentaries. The varia lectio is especially used in B24. This is perhaps due to the young poet’s need to justify to himself and to the literary world a series of linguistic choices, which were often perceived as heterodox, despite being rooted in the Italian canonical literary tradition. In the manuscripts written after the Canzoni, such as those containing the ‘Epistola al conte Carlo Pepoli’, ‘Il Risorgimento’, and ‘A Silvia’, there are fewer variants, and these are always reported on the left or right margins. For ‘Le ricordanze’, ‘La quiete dopo la tempesta’, ‘Il Sabato del villaggio’, ‘Canto notturno di un pastore errante dell’Asia’, the situation changes, and ‘the variants are included between round brackets in the text (in the case of ‘Le ricordanze’ there are also square brackets indicating rejection)’ (Gavazzeni 2006: 410). By examining the manuscripts, the modus operandi of the poet can be reconstructed. As Gavazzeni puts it (ibid.: 410–11):
After having copied what at the time he considered the final reading, Leopardi continues copying from that same source — a now-lost dossier from which he transcribed the provisionally final text together with its genetic materials and alternative readings. These genetic variants and alternative readings, together with other materials, were included in the varia lectio that the author used for interlinear corrections and, more rarely, for changes to prints following the princeps. From this, one can deduce that normally Leopardi would first transcribe the text, then report the variants in the footer (or occasionally in the lateral margins or the header), and then started altering his base-text.
75Let us therefore start our examination of the critical editions with Moroncini’s (Leopardi 1927), which Folena called, in the 1978 reprint, ‘a happy encounter of knowledgeable empiricism and dogged scrupulousness’ (Leopardi 1978: n.p.). As for the copy-text, Moroncini (later followed by Peruzzi and Gavazzeni in their editions) opts to reproduce the texts and order of the Starita corretta (N3c), the printed edition with corrections written under Leopardi’s dictation, considering this as representative of the author’s final will. The apparatus is vertical and covers the manuscript and printed tradition without distinction. Invariants are given in square brackets, variants in italics (though this can be confusing since Leopardi himself largely employed italics in his manuscripts), and the final text is in bold. Variants are separated by single spacing when in a single witness, while they are double spaced when more than one witness is noted. Moroncini also distinguishes substantial from interpunctive variants by putting them in two different bands of the apparatus. The authorial varia lectio is reproduced in smaller print and included in a box in the lower margin of the page; when the text is abbreviated or incomplete, the editor completes the word or sentence himself.
76Innovative and scientific in its way of representing the manuscripts, especially for that time, the Moroncini edition was also strongly interpretative in transcribing and in ordering the variants. Nevertheless, it remained essential for more than half a century, being the basis on which all studies on the Canti were built for a considerable period.
77The critical edition that followed, curated by Emilio Peruzzi and published in 1981, had the merit of printing for the first time the facsimiles of all of the poet’s manuscripts together with the critical edition itself (though Peruzzi’s edition does not include notes, prefaces and dedications). In this way, the 1981 edition allowed the reader to double-check the philologist’s work for every text. Despite agreeing with Moroncini on the importance of using the author’s final will (the Starita corretta) as copy-text and on presenting together manuscript and printed tradition, Peruzzi differs from his predecessor on two fundamental points. First, he does not separate interpunctive and formal variants from the substantial ones on the grounds that ‘often a comma is enough to change the meaning of a sentence, and even more so in poetry, where punctuation also defines pauses, scans the rhythm, and traces the melodic curve, bringing about specific meanings’ (Leopardi 1981: vi). Moreover, Peruzzi’s transcription of the variants is significantly less interpretative, compared to Moroncini who used to ‘develop hemistichs or even entire lines from single words’ (ibid.) without signalling such integrations in the apparatus. The representation of the variants is based on the same principles as Moroncini’s, as they are put in a column, with each phase occupying a different typographic line. Peruzzi, however, reports the final readings of each verse in the header of each page and gives their genesis below, with Greek letters indicating different phases of a single witness. If a line remains unchanged from the first version to the final one, the line is given with the specification of the earliest witness, without any other indication. N35’s final readings are repeated only where there have been elaborations, as the point of arrival of a chain of variants. When the reading of a witness does not change in the following witnesses, the sigla of the following ones are not reported, thereby implying the identity of the readings.
78Greek letters indicate the different phases of the elaboration of a line in a specific redaction. This of course only applies for manuscripts that may present different phases of elaboration: AR (the autographs preserved in Recanati), AN (the ones at the Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emanuele iii in Naples), AV (preserved in Visso, near Recanati). Effaced portions of the text are reported between square brackets, and italics indicate invariant portions, unlike most apparatuses, where italics either indicate text that is underlined in the original or effacement. Words that are underlined in the autograph or in italics in the printed edition are rendered using small capitals, while upper-case italic indicates a double underlining. There is a similar ‘switch’ of signs in the case of words that Leopardi wrote in brackets, which are rendered in double square brackets, because single brackets are already used for erasures. Incomplete letters are indicated by a dot below each letter, while an X with a dot below it indicates an unreadable character. Peruzzi’s edition, which was reprinted in a less costly version in 1998, is still widely used by scholars, but its main shortcoming is the limitation of the vertical apparatus (which presents variants line by line) to represent corrections that affect more than one line, as often happens in Leopardi’s elaboration (see the example at section 2.6 of this volume).
79As its very title suggests, the Edizione critica delle stampe e dei manoscritti (Critical edition of the prints and manuscripts), the critical edition produced by Domenico De Robertis in 1984, is completely different for its way of representing variants and the solutions adopted. De Robertis indeed separates the manuscript tradition from the prints, editing the printed editions in the first volume and publishing very high-quality reproductions of the manuscripts in the second. The real innovation lies, however, in De Robertis’s choice of the first printed edition as copy-text for each poem, with the apparatus containing the entirety of its evolution until its latest printed version in N35. For instance, the Ode ad Angelo Mai is published according to the first print (B20), while the apparatus presents the evolutionary variants of the printed tradition: B24, B26, F31, N35. If the reading of a printed edition is based on the manuscripts AR or AN, it is signalled in a separate apparatus of footnotes with superscript letters. The text is in the upper half of the page, and the apparatus in the lower one. For each witness, all the variants are given, in columns, with the number of the line to which the variant refers.
80The edition, as already noted, does not represent the genesis of the autographs. This is both for practical and theoretical reasons. For, according to De Robertis, not only would such a representation ‘require an extremely refined editorial technique, whose costs are at the moment unaffordable’ (Leopardi 1984: xxii), but as editor he wanted to underline — rather than the genetic process — the ‘crystallization’ of the poem, ‘the moment […] in which the poetic endeavour, no matter how complex, has reached a fully-defined aspect, and the text breaks free of the author’s control, at least until the following reprint’ (ibid.: xxi). The reader is therefore presented with the entirety of Leopardi’s manuscripts, which are considered autonomous and not in need of an apparatus. Nevertheless, the philologist adds, in the introductions to the reproductions of each manuscript in the second volume, a useful comparative apparatus so as to show that manuscript’s final reading and the printed edition to which it is connected.
81De Robertis’s edition presents itself as ‘a new methodological hypothesis, based on a different philology and aiming for a different way of representing the text so as to obtain full legibility both for the text and its history, in order to organically present to the “user” the moment of “production”’ (ibid.: xvii). To use the author’s own metaphor, the ‘history of the text’s vicissitudes is privileged over its final form, so that, rather than the ultimate plot (Starita), the reader can appreciate its long and complex fabula’ (ibid.: xviii).
82A different solution is instead found in the new critical edition directed by Gavazzeni and published in 2006 by the Accademia della Crusca (with the addition, in the 2009 reprint, of a third volume of Poesie disperse). The Gavazzeni edition uses, like those by Moroncini and Peruzzi, the author’s final will as copy-text (N35c), but follows De Robertis in the choice of recognizing the importance and individuality of the two elaborative moments (manuscripts vs printed editions) of the text, without nevertheless giving up on representing the manuscripts’ genesis. The result is an edition that presents the final reading of the Canti, and documents its genesis by reconstructing its manuscript and printed tradition, but also separately represents, as a tool for scholars, the most advanced manuscript reading. This is particularly useful (perhaps necessary) for particularly complex manuscripts such as those connected to B24, for which the full transcription of the manuscript and printed variants would have made the study of the autographs more difficult. We are able to see the manuscript’s final reading with the possibility of analysing the phases of the corrections thanks to the integral reproduction of the text means that one can distinguish chronologically interventions, different inks and the textual stratification. This is very clear in the example of La Ricordanza, reproduced in Figure 5.
83This is not strictu senso a second critical edition, but rather a tool for scholars to be read together with the final print, to which it is connected by the comparative apparatus. The manuscript’s final reading, if different from the first print, is presented in round brackets in N35c’s apparatus. This ‘bridges’ the gap between the two texts and apparatuses, allowing us to retrace the author’s intervention in the passage from manuscript to princeps. Isolating the manuscript text also allows an evaluation of how much of it survives in the printed editions (the manuscript variants that are used in the printed text are in bold).
84Let us look at the two (both genetic) apparatuses from up close. The apparatus for the manuscripts is horizontal and explicit, and represents all corrections on the manuscript in relation to the final reading, which is the one found in the copy-text. The collocation on the page and the chronological ordering of each variant are specified in italics. Depending on the kind of correction, these variants might be presented derivatively (X over Y, X written below Y etc.), or progressively (1X from which2Y from which T, or simply X from which T). In the case of minor corrections, it is more ‘agile’ to represent the correction derivatively: X written above Y.
85Where there are instead wider corrections, or variants in complex order, the progression is more useful than the derivation (1X from which 2Y from which T or X from which T) so as to make the process clearer. Minor corrections within a phase, as already seen in the previous chapters, are better represented derivatively, so as not to obscure the understanding of the longer segment.
86The apparatus pertaining to the manuscripts is therefore always diachronic and not synchronic, as the chronological order of the variants is privileged over their position in the text (unless the position gives information relevant to chronology), obliging those who want to know where a correction can be found on the manuscript page to check the manuscripts themselves. It is also a systemic apparatus, as the portion of text affected by the variant (the one before the square bracket) is always directly comparable with the variant itself and re-written entirely in the apparatus. In this way, the reader can see it immediately without having to go back to the text. The apparatus of the prints is positive for the variants, negative for the invariants. The presence of a reading preceded by the siglum B26, for instance, implies that all testimonies older than B26 report the reading that precedes, while all the later ones have the same reading as B26, unless another siglum informs us that from another edition onwards the reading changes again. The last siglum indicates the first print to present the final reading. The prints whose sigla are omitted because of this solution can be found on the top left corner of every page, which for each poem lists in chronological order all the prints that contain it.
87The varia lectio is instead isolated in a box (like in Moroncini’s edition) and transcribed with absolute fidelity to the autograph, down to its position in the page and its graphic peculiarities. The number of the line to which the varia lectio refers in the text is indicated within brackets and in bold, preceding the portion of text itself. To make critical study of the text easier, different typographic characteristics correspond to different kinds of varia lectio. Thus, for instance, a grey background indicates self-commentaries and linguistic sources, so as not to confuse them with alternative variants.
AN c. [1r] (p. 1) | AV c. [4r] (p. 7) |
La Ricordanza
Idillio iii
1 | O graziosa Luna, io mi rammento |
2 | Che, or volge un anno, io sopra questo poggio |
3 | Venia carco d’angoscia a rimirarti: |
4 | E tu pendevi allor su quella selva |
5 | Siccome or fai, che tutta la rischiari. |
6 | Ma nebuloso e tremulo dal pianto |
7 | Che mi sorgea sul ciglio, a le mie luci |
8 | Il tuo volto apparia; chè travagliosa |
9 | Era mia vita: ed è, nè cangia stile, |
10 | O mia diletta Luna. E pur mi giova |
11 | La ricordanza, e ‘l noverar l’etate |
12 | Del mio dolore. Oh come grato occorre |
13 | Il sovvenir de le passate cose |
14 | Ancor che triste, e ancor che il pianto duri! |
title | La Ricordanza | Idillio iii] AN1Idillio | La Luna from which2Idillio | La Luna o la Ricordanza from which3Idillio | La Ricordanza (in pen B, with L on I) |
1 | O] AV from Oh |
2 | Che, or volge un anno, ] AN1Ch’or volge un anno, (with an on al) from which2Ch’è presso a un anno, from which T (in pen C) Che, or] AV Ch’or from which T sopra] AN from su (see Philological Notes) |
4 | su quella selva] AN1sopra quel prato, (with prato rewritten on bosco) 2su quella selva, from which T (in pen C). |
5 | Siccome or] AN written above Com’ora (in pen C) |
7–8 | a le mie luci | Il tuo volto apparia; chè travagliosa] AN1a le (before al<le>) mie luci | Il tuo viso appariva, perchè dolente from which2il tuo bel viso | Al mio sguardo appariva, perchè dolente3a le mie luci | Il tuo volto apparia; che travagliosa (in pen B) from which T (in pen C) |
9 | cangia] AN1cangia2cambia (in pen B, written above1) from which T (in pen C) |
11 | ricordanza] AN from rimembranza |
12 | come] AN written above quanto (in pen B) |
13 | de le] AV from delle |
14 | triste] AN from tristi il] AN from ‘l (in pen C) |
AN c. [1r]
right margin, transversal
(12) (come sì grato) (in pen C)
88(AV) NR26 B26 F31 N35 (N35err) N35c
*
Alla luna.
1 | O graziosa luna, io mi rammento |
2 | Che, or volge l’anno, sovra questo colle |
3 | Io venia pien d’angoscia a rimirarti: |
4 | E tu pendevi allor su quella selva |
5 | Siccome or fai, che tutta la rischiari. |
6 | Ma neuboloso e tremulo dal pianto |
7 | Che mi sorgea sul ciglio, alle mie luci |
8 | Il tuo volto apparia, che travagliosa |
9 | Era mia vita: ed è, nè cangia stile, |
10 | O mia diletta luna. E pur mi giova |
11 | La ricordanza, e il noverar l’etate |
12 | Del mio dolore. Oh come grato occorre |
13 | Nel tempo giovanil, quando ancor lungo |
14 | La speme e breve ha la memoria il corso, |
15 | Il rimembrar delle passate cose, |
16 | Ancor che triste, e che l’affanno duri! |
title | xiv | ALLA LUNA.] NR26 LA RICORDANZA. | Idillio iii. B26 LA RICORDANZA|IDILLIO iii F31 XIII. | ALLA LUNA. N35 |
1 | luna] NR26 Luna F31 |
2 | l’anno, sovra questo colle] NR26 un anno, io sopra questo poggio F31 l’anno, io sovra questo colle N35 |
3 | Io venia pien] NR26 Venia carco N35 Venia pieno N35err |
7 | alle] NR26 a le N35 |
8 | apparia, che] NR26 apparia; chè N35 |
10 | luna] NR26 Luna F31 |
11 | il] NR26 ‘l N35 |
13–17 | Nel tempo… duri!] (AV Il sovvenir… duri!) NR26 Il sovvenir… duri! B26 Il sovvenir… duri. N35c |
(15) | rimembrar] NR26 sovvenir N35c delle] NR26 de le N35 cose, ] NR26 cose B26 |
(16) | e che l’affanno duri!] NR26 ancor che il pianto duri! B26 ancor che il pianto duri. N35c |
3.6. Carlo Emilio Gadda’s work
89What has been called the ‘Gadda case’ has dominated twentieth-century Italian philology. This has been due to two main factors. First, the particular conditions of his production, one in which only part of his works were printed, while many others remained unfinished. And second, the writer’s habit of keeping in his ‘legendary vaults’ all the documentation relating to his literary activity. The publication of all of Gadda’s works in the ‘Libri della Spiga’ series by Garzanti began in 1988 and finished five years after. This edition was — as the director of the series called it — ‘a well-meditated philological proposal’ that was based on ‘a general project for a critical edition’ (‘Presentazione’ by Dante Isella in Gadda 1988: xviii). Isella and his students published a rigorously-established text for each work without an apparatus, with the exception, as we will see, of La meccanica, and this represented the first attempt to give an order to a particularly intricate textual situation. Isella summarized this state of affairs in the introduction to the first volume (ibid.: xx):
The first problem we had to face while organizing this edition was the aforementioned gap between public and private, i.e., between what Gadda wrote but kept in his legendary vaults and what he managed to publish during his tormented and often desperate life. We did not fear the mixture of completed and unfinished works: the ‘non finito’ is a constitutive, ontological, element of Gadda’s creativity. Nevertheless, from the outset, it was apparent that it would have been absurd […] to organize this edition as a strictly chronological succession of edited and unedited works. Even by distinguishing and grouping separately different genres of texts (as much as possible with a writer for whom the pastiche is a fundamental feature), it would nevertheless be evident (and irritating even for the most well-disposed reader) that there is an inconsistency between the texts that underwent the final revision and those that (even after philological scrutiny) remain fluid both in terms of reading and structure.
90As curator of a posthumous work whose author had not left a precise editorial plan, Isella opted for the historical reconstruction of the authorial project that emerged from the letters the author exchanged in the mid-1950 with Giulio Einaudi (publisher of Gadda’s masterpiece, La cognizione del dolore), and particularly that which is contained in the letter written on 14 December 1954, from which it is possible to deduce that Gadda wanted to organize his works by separating narrative texts from essays. Gadda’s proverbial reticence to ‘almost posthumously’ publish texts written many years before is another reason why Isella did not want, in transmitting Gadda’s work to readers in the new millennium, to mix the edited works with the rich and extremely important unedited material (see Italia 2007c; Italia and Pinotti 2008).
91It is, however, undeniable that the two characteristics of Gadda’s work, namely its ‘complex system of communicating vessels’ and its ‘textual metamorphosis’ (Isella in Gadda 1988: xx) over time, have made it a particularly fertile field for study and have led to new developments in authorial philology in general. Beginning in 1983, with the edition of the Racconto italiano di ignoto del Novecento, a new method of representing manuscripts was established, distinguishing apparatus, marginalia, and alternative variants (see sections 2.3–2.4), thereby allowing us to identify and separately represent multiple textual levels (Isella in Gadda 1983 and in Gadda 1993: 1267–1268). As Isella put it:
This model is based on the double need to represent fully the complexity of Gadda’s page while at the same time to rationalize its many components, freeing them from the threads in which they are entangled. It is indeed first of all necessary to distinguish the text from the marginalia, the latter being the series of the writer’s interventions, written in margins or in the interline of the text proper, that report indications, doubts, self-commentaries, etc. It is also necessary to distinguish readings that by succeeding one another constitute the phases of the established (i.e. most advanced, but not necessarily definitive) text from the readings that are meant as possible variants (the so-called alternative variants), that virtually open it up towards new solutions.
92This model was the basis for the main critical editions of Gadda’s texts in the nineties, from the Disegni milanesi (1995) to La meccanica (published in 1989 in the Opere in a complete edition with apparatus), to Un fulmine sul 220 (Gadda 2002). These editions were witness to an important evolution of the apparatus towards an ever more diachronic and systemic structure.
93In fact, the earlier apparatuses, for reasons of clarity and simplicity, presented each correction by itself regardless of whether it was implied with others or not, and preferred a synchronic approach in which the physical characters of the page were preferred over the interpretation of the chronology of the corrections. The more recent ones instead try to connect variants that might be related and to present, whenever possible, their chronological order using superscript numbers that identify the different phases of a single segment.
94We are thus moving from synchronic and photographic apparatuses, which are useful tools to help read manuscripts, towards diachronic apparatuses that attempt to put the complex genesis of the text into a timeline, and from apparatuses containing single variants to systemic ones that distinguish single phases that include other, appropriately represented, phases within them. One must also add to the above the necessity, since the early nineties, to pay more attention to the reconstruction of how the text is laid out, through the identification and chronological ordering of the various corrections within the wider genetic phase (see Italia 2007c, and Italia and Pinotti 2008: 28–34), so as to overcome the technical and theoretical obstacles that Gadda’s manuscripts pose (on this, see Terzoli 1993).
95If we have gained a better knowledge of the autographs and of the different types of texts (fiction, essays, poems), this does not change our perception of the dynamics of Gadda’s corrections as consisting in a process of progressive insertions rather than substitutions, with the result that we find an ever-growing expansion of an initial segment with marginal, linear and interlinear additions, as well as with footnotes or even entire portions written elsewhere and recalled by the use of marginalia. Such features allow us to engage in deeper study of manuscripts by representing the different series of corrections and distinguishing immediate and late variants. Real, immediate variants are limited to those of the first redaction, on which during one or more subsequent moments, the author intervened with insertions (i.e., late variants). In this perspective, it might be useful, in some cases, to change the point of view from which we look at the genesis of the text by not taking over the final reading that the manuscript contains, but rather by adopting instead the first complete redaction, the one to which all the insertions are added later. This solution may not be helpful for unedited manuscripts, where it is better to choose the final reading as copy-text, as we see in the example that is based on the first draft of the pamphlet titled Eros e Priapo, which Gadda wrote in 1944–1945 but was only published in 1967 (see Italia and Pinotti 2008). However, it is a good solution for manuscript redactions of texts that were later published in journals and/or in volumes. In these cases, choosing as copy-text the earliest version which can be reconstructed on the manuscript would allow one to distinguish easily between immediate and late variants in a two-part apparatus, both genetic and evolutionary, especially when we consider that the final reading found in the manuscripts is often almost identical to that of the first print.
96As a result of these observations, which future editions might confirm or disprove, the principle of the author’s last will is being put into discussion in these specific cases. For the printed tradition, this is relevant because of the importance that the first editions have (especially when we look at Gadda as a ‘twentieth-century classic’, with everything that this implies for his tradition), compared to later or, so to speak, ‘final’ re-publications. In the case of the manuscripts, this approach is useful because of the importance of publishing the first complete reading (instead of the final one), i.e., the base-text on which Gadda developed his pyrotechnical linguistic virtuosity. In this way, the editor can make the entire process of correcting and of creating variants more understandable for the reader.
Eros e Priapo. ‘A’ Redaction. Chapter i
[Ri 18] Dimando interpetrare e perscrutare certi moventi del delinquere non dichiarati nel comune discorso, le secrete vie della libidine camuffata da papessa onoranda, inorpellata dei nomi della patria, della giustizia, del dovere, del sacrificio: (della pelle degli altri.) Mi propongo vederea ed esprimere, e non per ambage ma per chiaro latino, ciò che a pena è travisto e sempre e canonicamente è taciuto ne’ nobili cicalari delle persone da bene: que’ modi e que’ procedimenti oscuri dell’essere che pertengono alla zona dell’inconscio, quegli impulsi animali a non dire anim<al>eschi da i’ Plato topicizzati nell’epiθumetikon cioè nel pacco addominale, nel vaso delle [19] trippe: i | quali hanno tanta e talora preminente parte nella bieca storia degli omini, in quella dell’omo individuo, come in quella d’ogni aggregazione di omini. Non palese o meglio non accetto alla sublime dialessi di alcuni storici de’ miei stivali, pure un merdoso lezzo redole su dal calderone della istoria, al rabido al livido, allo spettrale dipanarsi della tesi: dell’antitesi: della sintesi.b Tesi ladra, antitesi maiala, e ruffiana sintesi. Che ci ballano la loro ossitona zoccolante giga d’attorno, d’attorno al sangue, alla vergogna e al dolore, come le tre streghe shakespeariane da torno la pentola de’ loro malefizî:
double double toil and trouble:
fire, burn and cauldron bubble.
‘Italiani! vi esorto alle istorie’. Tra le quali ci guazza dimolto dolore e dimolto sangue, mi pare a me. ‘Vi esorto alle istorie’.
[Ri 18] interpetrare e perscrutare]1interp<retare>2scrutare → T e] inserted in interline canonicamente] written above regolarmente impulsi animali a non dire animaleschi]1animaleschi impulsi → T (animaleschi from animalesche) da i’ Plato topicizzati] che Plato topicizzava → T cioè] written above ossia nel vaso] written under calderone [19] palese o meglio non accetto] palesi o meglio non accetti → T alla] rewritten without effacing alcuni]1alcuni2taluni3taluni → T calderone]1tripposo calderone2calderone tripposo → T al rabido al livido, allo spettrale dipanarsi]1fra il → lo rabido dipan<arsi>2allo livido, al rabido, allo (from al) spettrale dipanarsi → T tesi: dell’antitesi: della sintesi] from tesi, dell’antitesi e della sintesi al sangue, alla vergogna] al from all< > da torno] written above dattorno pentola] written above pignatta (la pignatta] before il) dolore e di molto sangue] written above sterco
aannotare
bdi tesi, antitesi, sintesi.

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