CI

 

Catalogue Raisonné of J. L. Speranza’s Publications – H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: CIA

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Ciarlatani – Ossia: Grice e Ciarlantini: implicatura tachigrafica.  Primo Ciarlantini (Bologna, Emilia-Romagna): implicatura tachigrafica. Grice: “I like C.!” Parole tra realta e fantasia. Metodo tachigrafico. C. s’interessa di arrivare alla costituzione delle parola – Grice, “Utterer’s meaning, sentence meaning, and word meaning” – an essay of mine whose title I find it difficult to recall on occasion --, conoscere la struttura profonda del parlare. E cambia metodo d’indicizzazione. un metodo d’implicatura tachigrafica, a metà tra stenografia e la prattica normale, basato sulla notazione della radice delle parole (“shag”) con qualche aggiunta per riconoscere la parola stessa (“shaggy”: l’unico esempio da Grice, “Fido is shaggy, a hairy-coated dog” Il principio basilare è che comunque ogni parola – e. g. ‘shaggy’ --, anche abbreviata, è  riconoscibile. Grice da l’esempio di “and” turned into “&” and still carrying the same implicature --, in maniera il più possibile univoca,  nell'insieme del contesto – Grice: “He was caught in the grip of a vice”.  spiegazione della lingua.*Perché*, quando parliamo, associamo un suono a una cosa. Uno usa i suoni, shaggy, dettati dal suo stato d'animo, hairy-coated, e associa la parola. La comprensione in questo modo ci fa capire ad esempio l'evoluzione di un radicale (“shag”) da un popolo all'altro, l'associazione del suono e rumore a parola (“shaggy” –pirot – which we know karulise elatically -- del vocabolario, e la storia della parola stessa (Grice: “Would a disc still be called a disc if they come in square?”. Il suono /u/ significa una sfumatura di profondità, mistero, consistenza di un soggetto, che desta meraviglia e a volte smarrimento, mentre per i lromani , /u/ è meno misteriosa, anzi indica l'essere nella sua qualità di "stato", di permanenza, di substrato delle cose. "Uomo" è anzitutto sensazione di PROFONDITÀ personale. Pei romani "homo" è espressione di forza, O, accompagnata d’esclamazione di meraviglia, H. Austin ound symbolism, sp- spit, speranza. Ed e allora che concepe il disegno di fare un dizionario alla maniera di CROCE, “Dizionario etimologico” -- della lingua italiana. L'ha cominciato da tanto tempo, ma chissà se e quando lo porta a termine.  Merton, 1936. Ciarlantini’s essay—dated as it is—makes me relapse into Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence. For here at Oxford we had Bradley and suffered him properly; yet Primo Ciarlantini is already writing the obituary notice in 1923: Il tramonto dell’idealismo. Not “a criticism,” not “a qualification,” but a sunset—final, scenic, and slightly theatrical. It is an odd thing to watch an Italian pronounce “R.I.P.” over a corpse which, at Oxford, has not even finished clearing its throat. Of course the title does some work before the book has begun. Tramonto: the word carries that elegant fatalism which Italians do so well—more graceful than our “decline,” less journalistic than “crash.” But it is also an oddly international word, as if Italy had borrowed her pessimism by subscription. I find myself asking whether Ciarlantini’s sunset is really his own, or whether it is a translation. Is it Huizinga’s waning—that Northern taste for autumnal metaphors? Is it Spengler’s Untergang—that German relish for downfall, catastrophe with footnotes? So I do what an Oxford man does when uncertain: I go to the dictionary. The Dizionario etimologico reminds me—needlessly, and therefore salutarily—that tramonto is not a poetic flourish but a literal description: trans montem, “beyond the mountain,” the sun going down behind the ridge. Which is Latin doing what Latin always does: making a metaphor look like a geography lesson. And then I hear my old tutor’s favourite conversational move—every other one, it seemed: “And what do you mean by of?” Which is another way of saying: do not let a genitive do your thinking for you. For Ciarlantini’s title is not merely tramonto; it is dell’idealismo. The Italian di is even more slippery than our “of.” Is it the sunset of idealism (idealism as the thing that is setting)? Or the sunset from idealism (as in: the sun is setting away from idealism, on to something else)? Or the sunset in idealism (idealism as the sky within which the sun is setting)? Oxford is trained to distrust the genitive because the genitive is trained to impersonate an argument. And then the deeper provocation: why sunset at all? Why not the dawn of idealism? Why the ever-pessimistic tone—so Hun-like, if one is being vulgar—rather than Italianate? Why does Ciarlantini, a Bolognese, write as if the sky belonged to Leipzig? One begins to see the historical pressure. In 1923, the Italian scene is already being rearranged into camps: Croce and Gentile on one side of the intellectual stage, and on the other a variety of impatient realisms, positivisms, and “returns” to common sense which always claim to be returns but are nearly always revolts. “Idealism” in Italy is not merely a metaphysics; it is a public idiom, a way of sounding serious in print—and therefore, inevitably, a target. If the book has a polemical edge, it is because idealismo has become, in that moment, not a doctrine but a fashionable badge. The sunset is a way of saying: the badge is losing its shine. And yet the comic Oxford point remains. We can perfectly well imagine a recycling of Bradley here—indeed we practically organise ourselves to do it. The dead never quite die at Oxford; they merely acquire societies. The only honest question is which dead man will next be put in charge of an undergraduate’s conscience. So when Ciarlantini announces the end of idealism, I do not ask whether he is right; I ask what, exactly, he is calling “idealism,” and whether he has mistaken an Italian quarrel about Croce and Gentile for the logical fate of metaphysics. It may even be that this is what his title is really doing: not predicting an end, but staging a separation. Tramonto is less a historical claim than a conversational manoeuvre: it licenses impatience. It lets one say, with a shrug disguised as a thesis, “We have moved on.” At which point my tutor’s question returns, and with it the proper suspicion: moved on from what, exactly? And by what right does a preposition—di, del, “of”—smuggle in a philosophy of history? PS: On the inconvenience of burying Bradley Ciarlantini writes tramonto as if philosophy were astronomy: as if one could announce a sunset and thereby guarantee darkness. Oxford is not like that. Oxford does not permit endings; it only permits changes of address. If you want the true Oxford doctrine of intellectual mortality, it is this: no philosopher is ever dead while a college library still has his shelf-mark. Ayer thought he was burying Bradley; he was merely lending him the sort of notoriety that functions, in Oxford, like a scholarship. “Insult” is a form of advertisement, provided the insult is clever. And Ayer’s insult was certainly clever enough to be remembered—whereas most refutations are merely forgotten. So I confess to a private prophecy (which I make, in 1936, with the confidence of a man who knows how institutions behave). Bradley will return. Not as a reigning creed—Oxford does not do creeds for long—but as a topic, then as a fashion, then as a respectable “area,” and finally as a journal. One day there will be conferences where perfectly earnest people discuss Bradley’s regress as if it were a recent complication in surgery; and there will be a society—yes, an actual society—devoted to him, solemnly resurrecting the very man whom the young positivists treated as a Victorian embarrassment. Indeed, I can even imagine the title of the journal: Bradley Studies. And I can imagine, too, the next institutional step, because Oxford always has a next step: the Bradley interest will expand into a larger umbrella—British Idealism, the whole family—Green, Bosanquet, Bradley, the lot—folded into something with an administrative name, the way an “Absolute” becomes a “Centre.” [pdcnet.org], [pdcnet.org], [imprint.co.uk] What Ciarlantini calls a sunset is, in Oxford, merely the sun going behind Magdalen tower for half an hour. It comes back. The light returns from the other side of the quad. And it will not be Bradley alone. When people say “Bradley,” what they often mean is a whole dismissed tribe: Green, Bosanquet, and their kin—too easily filed under “Hegelian” or “neo‑Hegelian,” as if attaching a German adjective were enough to dispose of an English problem. (Oxford likes to call things German when it wants to stop listening.) Yet the questions those men worried—reason, freedom, the state, the social self—do not go away merely because Ayer has written a brisk paragraph about them. In fact, one could say, with only slight malice, that the more analytic Oxford becomes, the more it will need its own shadow-history—its own Sartre, as it were. And Bradley is a perfect candidate: Victorian enough to be safely remote, difficult enough to be endlessly reinterpretable, and Oxford enough to be made, posthumously, into a local saint. The very man Ayer mocked will be hailed as “the man.” The irony will be complete: the obituary will become a membership form. If Ciarlantini’s title means “beyond the mountain,” then Oxford’s reply will be: mountains are for crossing twice—once to leave, once to return with a better suitcase. Of course I’m being unfair—to myself, and to Ayer. In 1936 nobody within the establishment—the establishment marked, quite literally, by Oxford stone—really took Ayer as seriously as Ayer took himself. He had been away among the Viennese, acquired a taste for shouting “nonsense,” and returned under the impression that Oxford would be grateful for the purification. Oxford is rarely grateful for purifications; it prefers its pollutants traditional. And I catch myself, years later, laughing at my own laughter—laughing, that is, at Bradley’s views on negation in a seminar of mine called (with a certain penitential literalness) “Negative Propositions.” I remember saying to the students, with my best air of a man reporting not an opinion but a postal rate:  “That account of negation hasn’t been the current Oxford coin since Bradley stopped setting the exchange.”  —or something of that sort. (One always speaks as if intellectual history were monetary, and then wonders why one’s metaphors become fiscal.) But if Bradley’s influence waned, it was not because an outsider—Ayer—turned up with a Viennese megaphone and expected the colleges to tremble. The real affront to Bradley came from within: from what historians of Oxford philosophy—yes, there are such beasts, and they are as tenacious as bedbugs—call the Oxford Realists. The movement is often described as an attempt to restore “plain fact” against “Hegelian rhetoric,” to recover knowledge from metaphysical vapor. It gave us Cook Wilson (God bless him), and then a tail of lesser lights whom nobody now reads except, perversely, the historians—men whose names survive chiefly as labels for “the reaction.” I cannot, off the top of my head, recite the whole roster, and I would mistrust myself if I could. But I know the shape of the thing. It falls after Bradley, before what I think of as the Scots invasion—Ross’s intuitionism, Prichard’s moral mannerisms, and the rest of that stern, Presbyterian directness which Oxford periodically imports when it fears it has become too clever. Somewhere in that interval the Realists try to do, in Oxford English, what Ciarlantini is trying (and failing) to do, in Italian, in 1923: bury idealism by declaring it passé, as if a philosophical position could be killed by being pronounced “over.” And we classicists—because I still see myself, absurdly, as a classicist—were not entirely sorry. If one must choose a Greek with an accent, Oxford (unlike those notorious Cambridge Platonists) will lean, by temperament, toward Aristotle and the Lyceum rather than toward the other place. Idealism always smells faintly of Plato at his most imperial; realism smells of the Stagirite at his most municipal. Oxford likes the municipal. So the story is not “Ayer killed Bradley.” The story is that Oxford had already begun, long before Ayer, to take its Bradley with a wince, to treat him as a kind of grand Victorian weather-system one endured and then tried to replace with something clearer, drier, more hygienic. Ayer merely arrived late to a funeral he did not arrange and claimed credit for the coffin. Which is why Ciarlantini’s tramonto still amuses me. He thinks he is writing an obituary. Oxford writes obituaries as a way of keeping the deceased in print. The Oxford Realists tried to bury idealism; in due course Oxford learned to cite it, teach it, revive it, and finally institutionalise its revival—exactly the kind of afterlife that turns a “sunset” into an academic endowment. And then my old tutor’s voice returns, as it always does at the moment one begins to sound too sweeping: “And what do you mean by of?” Yes: of. And in Ciarlantini, del. The genitive that lets a title pretend to be a history of the world. Grice: Caro Ciarlantini, il tuo metodo tachigrafico mi affascina! Dimmi, le parole abbreviate non rischiano di perdere la loro anima? Ciarlantini: Grice, l’anima delle parole è più resistente di una pizza surgelata! Anche “&” al posto di “and” sa farsi capire, basta che la radice sia chiara e il contesto ben condito. Grice: E il suono delle parole? Dici che il misterioso /u/ è profondo per noi inglesi, mentre i romani lo usano quasi come colonna portante. Allora “uomo” da noi e da loro, cambia solo nel modo di fare meraviglia? Ciarlantini: Esatto! Da noi è “profondità personale”, da loro è forza e permanenza. Ma che sia “shaggy” o “homo”, una parola trova sempre il modo di stupire. E se un giorno finissi il mio dizionario, magari sarebbe la parola a decidere se chiamarsi “disco” anche se è quadrata! Ciarlantini, Primo (1923). Il tramonto dell'idealismo. Roma: Edizioni Athena.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cicereo – Ossia: Grice e Cicereo -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Cicereo. The Cicereii are a family during the time of the Roman Republic. Its best known member, Gaius C., was the scriba, or secretary, of Scipio Africanus. He was elected praetor.[1] Other Cicereii are known from inscriptions. C. is probably derived from the same root as the cognomen Cicero, a surname of the gentes Claudia and Tullia. They appear to be connected with cicer, a chickpea, and may indicate that the ancestors of these families were engaged in the cultivation of that plant. Similar names include Bulbus, Fabius, Lentulus, Piso, and Tubero.[2][3] Nomina ending in -eius were particularly common among families of Oscan origin, and could indicate that the Cicereii claimed descent from the Sabines or another Oscan-speaking people. Several of the Cicerei known from epigraphy were from Campania and Samnium.[4]  Praenomina The only praenomina associated with the Cicereii are Publius, Gaius, and Lucius, three of the most common names throughout all periods of Roman history.  Gaius Cicereius, the scriba, or secretary, of CORNELIO Scipio Africanus, was himself elected praetor in 173 BC. He obtained the province of Sardinia, but was ordered by the senate to conduct the war in Corsica. After defeating the Corsicans, C. was denied his request for a triumph, and celebrated one on the Alban Mount at his own expense. He was appointed an ambassador to Gentius, king of the Illyrians in 172 and 167.[5][6][7][8][1] Publius Cicereius C. f., one of the magistrates who dedicated a wall for the temple of Venus at Casilinum in Campania in 108 BC.[9][10] Cicereia Orestis, named in a dedicatory inscription to the Bona Dea at Rome, made by her freedwoman, Elegans, and dating to the early part of the first century.[11] Publius C. Onomastus, a teacher who dedicated a tomb at Rome for his freedman, Publius C. Eucarpus, dating to the first half of the first century.[12] Publius C. P. l. Eucarpus, a freedman buried at Rome, aged thirty, in a tomb dedicated by his former master, the teacher Publius C. Onomastus, dating to the first half of the first century.[12] Cicereius Ascanius, a centurion primipilus in the Legio XI Claudia, named in an inscription from Burnum in Dalmatia, dating to the early or middle part of the first century, along with Lucius Cicereius, and fellow centurion C. Laevus.[13][14] Lucius Cicereius, a soldier in the Legio XI Claudia, named in an inscription from Burnum, dating to the early or middle part of the first century, along with the centurions Cicereius Laevus and Cicereius Ascanius.[13][14] Cicereius Laevus, a centurion primipilus in the Legio XI Claudia, named in an inscription from Burnum, dating to the early or middle part of the first century, along with Lucius Cicereius, and fellow centurion Cicereius Ascanius.[13][14] Cicereia Vitalis, buried in a first-century family sepulchre at Rome, dedicated by her husband, Gaius Raecius Successus.[15] Publius Cicereius Felix, a maker of lead pipes, named in an inscription from Londinium, dating between AD 43 and 70.[16][17] Cicereius Aphrodisius, an eques buried in a third-century tomb at Rome, dedicated by Aurelia Felicula.[18] Cicereia Zenonis, buried in a third-century tomb at Salernum in Campania, dedicated by her son, Aurelius Victor.[19] Undated Cicereii Gaius Cicereius, the former master of Cicereia Thaïs, who dedicated a tomb at Trebula Mutusca in Samnium for herself and Montanus, a slave still owned by Cicereius.[20] Publius Cicereius Cotilus, buried at Rome, aged thirty-five, in a tomb dedicated by his sister, Claudia Paezusa.[21] Cicereia C. f. Felicula, buried at Rome in a tomb dedicated by her father, Gaius Cicereius Secundus.[22] Cicereia Libera, dedicated a tomb at Rome for her daughter, Proculeia Firmilla.[23] Cicereia Pontice, dedicated a tomb at Rome for her client, the freedman Callistratus.[24] Gaius Cicereius Secundus, a freedman who dedicated a tomb at Rome for his daughter, Cicereia Felicula.[22] Cicereia C. l. Thaïs, a freedwoman who dedicated a tomb at Trebula Mutusca for herself and Montanus, the slave of Gaius Cicereius, apparently her former master.[20] See also List of Roman gentes References  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. I, p. 707 ("C. Cicereius").  Chase, pp. 113, 121.  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. I, p. 707 ("Cicero").  Chase, pp. 120.  Livy, xli. 33, xlii. 1, 7, 21, 26, xlv. 17, 15.  Valerius Maximus, iv. 5. § 3, iii. 5. § 2.  Fasti Triumphales, AE 1889, 70.  Fasti Urbisalvienses, CIL IX, 5564, AE 1982, 240.  CIL X, 3776, CIL X, 3777.  AE 1987, 259a, AE 1997, 312.  CIL VI, 58.  CIL VI, 4442.  CIL III, 14996.  AE 1900, 45.  CIL VI, 14801.  AE 1930, 112.  RIB, i. 6.  CIL VI, 31851.  CIL X, 572.  AE 1964, 24.  CIL VI, 34930.  CIL VI, 14799.  CIL VI, 25077.  CIL VI, 14800. Bibliography Titus Livius (Livy), History of Rome. Valerius Maximus, Factorum ac Dictorum Memorabilium (Memorable Facts and Sayings). Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, ed., Little, Brown and Company, Boston (1849). Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). René Cagnat et alii, L'Année épigraphique (The Year in Epigraphy, abbreviated AE), Presses Universitaires de France (1888–present). George Davis Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. VIII, pp. 103–184 (1897). The Roman Inscriptions of Britain (abbreviated RIB), Oxford, (1990–present).  This article incorporates text from a publication now in the public domain: Smith, William, ed. (1870). Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology. {{cite encyclopedia}}: Missing or empty |title= (help)  Category: Roman gentes For this gens, two conversations (I) the one who paid for his own triumph in the mount Albano -- and as he reminisces the occasion in ten moves (starting with his career as scriba for Cornelio) with his son about the cursus honoris (II) the pipe-maker in Londinium, since Grice's father was also the owner of a manufacturing company in Birmingham and we may assume that this C. knew that his art will surive in these islands. Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cicereo – Ossia: Grice e Cicereo -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Cicereo. Grice e Cicereio De Triumpho Albano Gaius Cicereius, formerly the scriba of Scipio Africanus and later praetor, is walking with his son on the Alban Mount, recalling the triumph he paid for himself when the Senate denied him one. FILIUS  Pater, verumne est te triumphasse? "Father, is it true that you celebrated a triumph?"   CICEREIVS  Verum est. "It is true."   FILIUS  Sed antea scriba fuisti. "But before that you were a secretary."   CICEREIVS  Scriba Scipionis Africani fui. "I was the secretary of Scipio Africanus."   FILIUS  Et postea praetor factus es? "And afterwards you became praetor?"   CICEREIVS  Ita; Sardiniam accepi, sed Corsicam gerere iussus sum. "Yes; I received Sardinia, but was ordered to conduct the war in Corsica."   FILIUS  Et vicisti? "And did you win?"   CICEREIVS  Corsos vici. "I defeated the Corsicans."   FILIUS  Cur igitur senatus triumphum negavit? "Why then did the Senate refuse you a triumph?"   CICEREIVS  Hoc senatum interroga. "Ask the Senate that."   FILIUS  Quid fecisti? "What did you do?"   CICEREIVS  Triumphavi meis sumptibus. "I celebrated a triumph at my own expense."   FILIUS  Nonne irati fuerunt? "Were they not angry?"   CICEREIVS  Nonnulli fortasse. "Some perhaps."   FILIUS  Et tu? "And you?"   CICEREIVS  Ego laetus fui. "I was pleased."   FILIUS  Quid igitur didicisti ex cursu honorum? "What then did you learn from your course of offices?"   CICEREIVS  Alii honores dant; fama interdum capienda est. "Others grant honours; reputation must sometimes be taken."   Implicature  +> that public recognition may legitimately be claimed by a man whose achievements have not received official acknowledgment.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cicereo – Ossia: Grice e Cicereo -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Cicereo. Grice e Cicereio Fistulario Londiniensi De Fistulis et Posteritate Publius Cicereius Felix, maker of lead pipes in Londinium, speaks with his young son. FILIUS  Pater, cur tot fistulas facis? "Father, why do you make so many pipes?"   FELIX  Quia urbes aquam desiderant. "Because cities need water."   FILIUS  Romae intellego; sed haec est Britannia. "Rome I understand; but this is Britain."   FELIX  Britanni quoque sitiunt. "The Britons get thirsty too."   FILIUS  Num quis nomen tuum meminisse poterit? "Will anyone remember your name?"   FELIX  Pauci fortasse. "Few perhaps."   FILIUS  Ergo labor frustra est? "Then is the labour wasted?"   FELIX  Minime. "Not at all."   FILIUS  Cur non? "Why not?"   FELIX  Quia fistulae manebunt. "Because the pipes will remain."   FILIUS  Etiam post mortem tuam? "Even after your death?"   FELIX  Spero. "I hope so."   FILIUS  Et quid dicent posteri? "And what will future generations say?"   FELIX  Forsitan nihil dicent. "Perhaps they will say nothing."   FILIUS  Id satis est? "Is that enough?"   FELIX  Si aquam habebunt, satis est. "If they have water, it is enough."   Implicature  +> that the highest form of craftsmanship consists in benefiting future generations who may never know the craftsman's name.  A particularly Gricean touch is that Felix never explicitly says:  "My work matters more than my fame."  Instead he answers:  Si aquam habebunt, satis est.  and leaves his son—and the hearer—to infer the conclusion.

 

Catalogue Raisonné of J. L. Speranza’s Publications – H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: CIL

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Ciliberto – Ossia: Grice e Ciliberto: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale del principe -- il suo principato.  Michele Ciliberto (Napoli, Campania): la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale del principe -- il suo principato. Grice: “I like Cilberto; he philosophised on Machiavelli – in an interesting way: confronting his ‘reason’ with the ‘irrational’; myself, I have not explored the irrational, too much – but I suppose Strawson might implicate that everything I say ON reason is an implicature on the irrational – Ciliberto uses the vernacular for the ‘irratinal,’ to wit: pazzia! When I created Deutero-Esperanto, I felt like the principato senza il principe!” Uno dei massimi esperti del pensiero di BRUNO . Si laurea a Firenze sotto GARIN  con MACHIAVELLO. Lessico europeo. Insegna a Firenze. Lince. Studia Bruno  Machiavelli, la ‘tradizione’ italiana’ (Gramsci, Croce, Gentile, Cantimori, Garin); e filosofia politica democrazia rappresentativa.  Intellettuali e fascismo” “Lessico di Bruno” “Come lavora Gramsci. Varianti di VICO Filosofia e politica Da Labriola a «Società», La ruota del tempo. Umbra profunda Implicatura in chiaroscuro Il dialogo recitato La morte d’Atteone I contrari Disincanto e utopia nel Rinascimento Il teatro della vita Il laico Il libero dell'Italia democrazia dispotica etimologia di dispotismo i mezzi se vincerà saranno sempre considerati onorevoli. esamina le cause per cui i principi italiani, nella crisi il crollo della libertà perdono i loro Stati. La causa é l'  ignavia del principe,che non prevedeno la tempesta (Savonarola ha l' intuizione ) e porvi i necessari ripari. Di qui scaturisce il rapporto tra virtù e fortuna: la capacità del politico di porre argini alle variazioni della fortuna, paragonata a un fiume che quando devasta gl’abitati. esortazione ad un principe che sa porsi a capo del popolo e liberare l' Italia dai barbari il principe intelletuale fascista lessico di Bruno filosofico europeo immagine e concetto parola immagine concetto il pazzo, il ragionato tradizione italiana rappresentazione Il primo ministro ripresenta suoi costituenti. Il barone della camera alta del parlamento, parlamento ed implicamento, il team di cricket rippresenta Inghilterra: fa per Inghilterra quello che Inghilterra non puo fare: gioccare cricket. 1967 Grice: 1967: Merton cares too much. Not only do we have to suffer the listings of lauree from overseas—or over‑Channel, as I prefer to call it—but also the lists of “works in progress,” provided the work is under the suitable prestige and the prestige is under the suitable letterhead. One learns, by osmosis, that an English don is meant to be interested in what Florence is doing, so long as Florence is doing it under a name one can pronounce. So there it is in the circular: Eugenio Garin is, as ever, busily engaged in his native element—Renaissance philosophy—and directing a tesina by one Michele Ciliberto on la fortuna di Machiavelli. (The Florentines, when they say fortuna, manage to mean both luck and the history of reception, as if a single word could save you two departments.) Strawson looks at me and says—with that air of faked misimplicature which he cultivates as a moral posture—“I never knew he was rich.” It is the sort of remark that pretends to be a mistake while actually being a thesis: that most of what we call “learning” is a matter of hearing the right ambiguity at the right time, and being shameless enough to enjoy it. Of course la fortuna is not, in the first instance, a bank statement. It is the afterlife of a book; the fate of a doctrine; the strange weather that a thought makes for itself once it has been released into other people’s heads. Still—Machiavelli and money go together easily enough, and Oxford, being what it is, cannot resist turning the Prince into a lesson in accountancy. I catch myself wondering, more seriously than I intend, why Merton is circulating this at all. Why must an Oxford common room know that a Florentine is supervising a young man on Machiavelli? The answer is unpleasantly obvious: Oxford likes to keep its anxieties in circulation. Machiavelli is one of them: the continental embarrassment we pretend not to need, and therefore read with special attention. And then there is the delicious editorial fact (which the circular cannot yet know, but which one’s mind, with its incurable appetite for retrospect, supplies at once): Ciliberto will graduate next year and proceed to thicken, in due course, that Florentine literature which never stops accumulating around the one man known at Oxford for having had the cheek to take a respectable Kantian piety—“he who wills the end wills the means”—and turn it into something like a counterfactual absurdity. The means, Machiavelli would say, are not what you will after you have willed the end; they are what will you into the end, often in spite of yourself. Strawson, still enjoying himself, adds: “So the thesis is on fortune—that is, on whether Machiavelli’s prince is lucky?” “No,” I say. “It’s on whether the prince is read.” “And isn’t that the same thing?” he replies. “At Oxford it often is.” I take the paper back to my rooms and think: perhaps the most Machiavellian thing in all this is not Machiavelli. It is Merton. The prince needs fortuna; the College needs a newsletter. Each survives by managing the traffic of names.Grice: Caro Ciliberto, ho letto il tuo Machiavelli: sembra che fra razionalità e pazzia ci sia sempre un principe che non si trova mai a corte! Ma secondo te, la fortuna, è davvero una questione di virtù… o basta sapere quando indossare gli stivali? Ciliberto: Grice, Machiavelli direbbe che la virtù sta nel prevedere la tempesta prima che arrivi. Gli stivali servono, ma se il principe non sa che piove, resta solo con i piedi bagnati. In Italia, i barbari li abbiamo sempre invitati prima di chiudere la porta! Grice: E la pazzia? Forse ogni vero principe deve un po’ abbracciarla, come Atteone che saluta la vita prima di diventare cervo. Io, quando invento lingue senza principi, mi sento sempre a metà strada tra il Parlamento e il teatro. Ciliberto: Caro Grice, la vera fortuna sta nel recitare il dialogo, anche quando la platea è vuota. In fondo, il principe intellettuale trova sempre un modo di rappresentare il popolo, pure se gli tocca giocare a cricket in camera alta. E se la ruota del tempo gira… almeno ci si diverte! Ciliberto, Michele (1975). Il guardiano della soglia. Pisa: Edizioni della Normale. Ciliberto, Michele (1968). La recezione e fortuna di Machiavelli. Firenze. Sotto Garin.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cilnio – Ossia: Grice e Cilnio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Cilnio. The Cilnii are an Etruscan family at ancient Rome, from the late Republic into imperial times. This gens is best known from Gaius C. Maecenas, a trusted friend and advisor of OTTAVIO, who was famous for his immense wealth and patronage of the arts. At least two of the Cilnii obtained the consulship under the Empire. The C. hailed from the Etruscan city of Arretium, where they were amongst the local nobility, and had once held the title of Lucumo, or king. Their nomen was originally written Cfelne or Cfenle, which was subsequently Latinized as Cilnius, much as the Etruscan Lecne became Licinius. The Cilnii supported Roman interests in Etruria, and were expelled from Arretium in 301 BC, but regained their position with Roman aid. The only family of the Cilnii to achieve prominence under the Republic bore the cognomen Maecenas, sometimes found as Maecaenas or Maecoenas. They claimed descent from Lars Porsena, the legendary king of Clusium, who played a prominent role in the early history of the Roman Republic. The name may be derived from a place, perhaps the same where the wines called the vina Maecenatiana were produced.[3][4] On Etruscan funerary urns, the names of Cilnius and Maecenas occur separately, but never together, from which Müller concludes that these families did not unite until a later period. At Rome, the family was part of the equestrian order. Other surnames were borne by the Cilnii of Imperial times, including Paetinus, a diminutive of Paetus, originally given to someone bleary-eyed,[6] and Proculus, an ancient praenomen that had fallen out of use, but was revived as a common surname. It seems to have been a diminutive of procus, a prince or nobleman, although by the time of Varro a popular etymology held that it originally designated a child born when his father was far from home. Gaius Cilnius Maecenas, an eques, who was instrumental in putting down the conspiracy of the tribune Marcus Livius Drusus in 91 BC; he was probably the grandfather, or perhaps the father, of the famous Maecenas.[8] Gaius Cilnius Maecenas, a friend and supporter of OTTAVIO, afterwards the emperor Augustus, whose trusted advisor he became.[9] Gaius Cilnius P. f. Paetinus, praetor and legate under Tiberius.[10] Gaius Cilnius Proculus, consul suffectus for the last four months of AD 87.[11] Lucius Cilnius Secundus, commander of an auxiliary cohort stationed in Moesia Superior around AD 93.[12] Gaius Cilnius C. f. Proculus, consul suffectus in AD 100, probably for the months of May and June.[13] He is thought to be the son of Gaius Cilnius Proculus, the consul of 87.[14] See also List of Roman gentes References  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. I, p. 748 ("Cilnii").  Müller, Die Etrusker, vol. i, p. 414.  Varro, De Lingua Latina, viii. 84, ed. Müller.  Pliny the Elder, Historia Naturalis, xiv. 8.  Müller, Die Etrusker, vol. i, p. 404.  Chase, p. 109.  Chase, p. 145.  Cicero, Pro Cluentio, 56.  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. II, pp. 890–895 ("Maecenas, C. Cilnius").  CIL VI, 1376.  Gallivan, "The Fasti for A.D. 70–96", pp. 190, 217.  CIL XVI, 39 = ILS 9053.  Fasti Ostienses, CIL XIV, 244.  Brian W. Jones, "Dalmatia Again", Classical Philology, 71 (1976), pp. 256-257 Bibliography Marcus Tullius Cicero, Pro Cluentio. Marcus Terentius Varro, De Lingua Latina (On the Latin Language). Gaius Plinius Secundus (Pliny the Elder), Historia Naturalis (Natural History). Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, ed., Little, Brown and Company, Boston (1849). Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). Karl Otfried Müller, Die Etrusker, Albert Heitz, Stuttgart (1877). Hermann Dessau, Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae (Select Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated ILS), Berlin (1892–1916). George Davis Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. VIII, pp. 103–184 (1897). Paul A. Gallivan, "The Fasti for A.D. 70–96", in Classical Quarterly, vol. 31, pp. 186–220 (1981). Categories: Roman gentesRoman gentes of Etruscan origin For this gens, there is the general entry and one for the famous Mecenate -- a third will be a discussion of one C. with that cognomen that Varrro reports means 'child of a father who is away' -- with the child growing suspicious of the etymology, as explained by his own father -- thanks --

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cilnio – Ossia: Grice e Cilnio -- Mecenate’ Cajo Clinio Mecenate (Roma, Lazio): la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale. Grice’s theory of reason-governed conversational meaning treats understanding as a rationally disciplined inference: hearers assume cooperative purpose and use that assumption to move from what is said to what is meant (implicatures) in a way that is, in principle, accountable, cancellable, and keyed to shared norms of relevance and evidential sufficiency; the Maecenas case reframes that same rational machinery by foregrounding how the social ecology of patronage reshapes what “cooperation” and “autonomy” look like in practice, because when one speaker (or sponsor) controls resources the conversational background includes dependency-risk and deference-signalling, so that much of what gets communicated is communicated indirectly (gratitude, dissent, limits, and the conditions of continued support). Historically, Gaius Cilnius Maecenas (c. 70–8 BC) is famous less for surviving writings (only fragments and hostile testimony about an affected style) than for enabling a literary-philosophical circle (Virgil, Horace, Propertius) whose freedom was real but not costless; mapped onto Grice, this makes Maecenas a figure for the institutional preconditions of successful implicature: patrons create the stable common ground (time, leisure, audience) that lets subtle meanings be exchanged, while simultaneously introducing a pressure that can distort implicature (speakers may flout maxims strategically to remain “safe,” leaving dissent to be inferred rather than asserted). So where Grice builds a general account of how rational agents derive meaning beyond the literal, Maecenas highlights that the very rationality Grice models is socially situated: conversational benevolence may be amplified by material support, yet the same support can force a politics of indirection in which implicatures do the heavy ethical work—maintaining autonomy, saving face, and keeping philosophical inquiry possible without openly contesting the hand that funds the conversation. Grice: “In my ‘reflections on happiness,’ I dwell on autonomy, and give the example: do not rely on a grant by the government. In fact, most of my requests were systematically rejected, even if I thought I had provided good grounding for them – “The value of this should be self-evident.” “The significance should be obvious by its character.” In Ancient Rome, the government gave no grants, but M. did!” Keywords: Grice, Gardiner, Mecenate. Filosofo italiano. Gaio Cilnio Mecenate. Interessi filosofici prova lui, il potentissimo consigliere d'Ottaviano. Di origine etrusca, e probabilmente aretina, discende da stirpe regia, ma volle restare semplice cavaliere romano. Combattè a Filippi per i triumviri e e intimo di Ottaviano che egli cerca di conciliare con Marc'Antonio, siechè ha luogo l’incontro di Brindisi. Per conto di Ottaviano si reca presso Marc'Antonio affinchè partecipasse alla guerra contro Sesto Pompeo. Lui e il rappresentante di Ottaviano a Roma e in Italia con poteri illimitati. Ottaviano si serve di Mecenate in pace e in guerra e trova sia in lui che in Agrippa il sostegno più sicuro del suo principato. Ma egli deve la sua fama imperitura alla protezione che concesse ai maggiori filosofi del tempo suo. Restano pochi frammenti dei scritti del M. in versi e in prosa, nei quali, e specialmente nel Simposio o convito, opera che introduce in Roma un genere letterario molto coltivato in Grecia, mostra di subire l’influsso dei filosofi dell’Orto. Interessi filosofici e influssi epicurei si manifestano negli seritti dei maggiori filosofi del circolo del Mecenate. Maecenas wrote several works, none of which have come down to us. Their loss howerer is not much to be deplored, siuce, acoording to the testimony of many ancient writers, they were written in a very artificial and affected manner (Suet. ‘Octv.,’ ; Sen., ‘Epist.’; Tac. ‘Dial. de Orat.,’, who speaks of the ‘calamistros Maecenatis.  Gricevs: O Maecenas, dic mihi, quid est felix vita? Putasne, sine pecunia publicā, sapientem vivere posse? Gricevs: O Maecenas, dic mihi, quid est felix vita? Putasne, sine pecunia publicā, sapientem vivere posse? Mecenate: Felicitas, care Grice, non a donis rei publicae pendet, sed a libertate animi atque ab arte colendi necessitudines sinceras. Philosophos poetasque sustentavi, quod culturam veras divitias esse credo, omnibus muneribus materialibus diuturniorem. Gricevs: Maecenas, censesne igitur auxilium philosophis praestitum utilius esse quam ipsum argentum? Nonne times ne dependentia a Maecenate autonomiam cogitandi infirmet? Mecenate: Vera autonomia e responsabilitate et dialogo oritur. Maecenas ideas non imponit, sed facultatem praebet ut crescant. Ut antiqui dicebant: “Divitiae evanescere possunt; sapientia manet.” So what is the generational connection of these two Mecenas? are they the same gens Caius Clinius Maeneas sounds like gens Clinia? the other just Caius Maecenas Melissus -- I am thinking of two separate weekly essay assignments with addition: Typewriting disallowed. Handwriting counts -- provided they are close enough and bound to be confused? Yes, they are close enough to be confused by name, but not close enough to be treated as one family story without a little Roman housekeeping. The short answer is this. Gaius Cilnius Maecenas and Gaius Maecenas Melissus are not two “Mecenates” of the same generation or status. The first, Gaius Cilnius Maecenas, is the famous Augustan patron, an equestrian grandee of Etruscan lineage, usually connected with the gens Cilnia or at least with the Cilnii of Arretium. The second, Gaius Maecenas Melissus, is a freedman of that Maecenas, or at any rate of the Maecenas household, and takes “Maecenas” as the nomen that comes with manumission, not as proof of blood descent from the Cilnii. [en.wikipedia.org], [en.wikipedia.org], [en.wikipedia.org] So, on the generational connection: not a nephew or grandson in the aristocratic sense, but a dependent of the household. Gaius Maecenas Melissus belongs socially to the afterlife of Gaius Cilnius Maecenas, not genealogically to the same noble line in the way a Roman prosopographer would mean it. He is connected by patronage and manumission, which in Rome often mattered almost as much for naming, and occasionally more. [en.wikipedia.org], [en.wikipedia.org] That means your instinct about the names is exactly the right difficulty. “Caius Clinius Maeneas” does indeed point toward the gens Cilnia, or at least to an Etruscan family designation attached to the famous Maecenas. But “the other,” Gaius Maecenas Melissus, is not thereby a Cilnius. In fact one of the small onomastic points made in scholarship is that “Maecenas” itself may function as the nomen here, and that is precisely what one expects for a freedman of the household. A useful little note even remarks that “Maecenas” appears as nomen in the name C. Maecenas Melissus, which is exactly the sort of evidence one wants for this distinction. [jstor.org], [en.wikipedia.org] So if you are thinking of two weekly essay assignments, that actually works rather well, because they are close enough in name to invite confusion, but different enough in rank, role, and literary function to justify separate treatment. One essay would be on Gaius Cilnius Maecenas: patronage, Augustan cultural politics, Etruscan lineage, the social conditions of implicature under dependence, and the whole question of whether patronage stabilises or distorts conversational freedom. [en.wikipedia.org], [britannica.com], [academic.oup.com] The other would be on Gaius Maecenas Melissus: freedman status, the adoption of the patron’s nomen, fabula trabeata, joke-collections, literary deniability, social costume, and the pragmatic work done by status-signs and audience uptake. [en.wikipedia.org], [academic.oup.com] In other words, one is Maecenas as patron and condition of literary culture; the other is Maecenas as inherited social label in a freedman intellectual, exploiting the very decorum and symbolic capital that the first had embodied. That is not confusion. That is a nice Roman relay. [en.wikipedia.org], [en.wikipedia.org] There is also a small correction to the Italianising form in your passage. It should be Gaius Cilnius Maecenas, not “Clinio” or “Clinius” in the loose modern sense, if you want the Roman line audible. The Cilnius element is the Etruscan/Roman family marker, very likely linked to the Cilnii of Arretium. But even here there is scholarly fuss: some modern reference works note that “Cilnius” may have been his mother’s gentilicium rather than a straightforward paternal nomen, or that “Maecenas” itself may be unusually central in his official naming. That is why the name is famous and slightly slippery at once. [en.wikipedia.org], [oxfordre.com], [academic.oup.com] A dry Speranza-style formulation would be this: The two Mecenates are connected, but not by the sort of family continuity that flatters genealogists. Gaius Cilnius Maecenas belongs to the great Etruscan-Cilnian world of Arretium and Augustan power; Gaius Maecenas Melissus belongs to that world’s social afterlife, as a freedman who carries the patron’s nomen into a lower but still literate Roman existence. The likeness of name is therefore real, but its explanation is patronage rather than blood. The first gives Rome the cultural institution; the second, in effect, gives it one of the institution’s comic and grammatical by-products. [en.wikipedia.org], [en.wikipedia.org], [en.wikipedia.org] And if you want the tutorial version with your Oxford rider:   Distinguish Gaius Cilnius Maecenas from Gaius Maecenas Melissus in terms of nomen, social status, mode of cultural power, and the pragmatics of dependence. Typewriting disallowed. Handwriting counts. [en.wikipedia.org], [en.wikipedia.org], [en.wikipedia.org]   Explain why Gaius Maecenas Melissus, though not a Cilnius in the aristocratic sense, is still more than accidentally “a Maecenas,” with particular reference to Roman manumission, nomenclature, and literary afterlife. Typewriting disallowed. Handwriting counts. [en.wikipedia.org], [jstor.org]   If you like, I can now do one of two things in chat only. I can turn this into two clean Speranza paragraphs, one for each Maecenas, or I can draft the two weekly essay questions in the full donnish style with your handwriting rider attached. and just out of curiosity, what is the name of that phenomenon by which one changes order of sounds, as clinio per cilnio? I wonder if you can search for "Clinio Mecenate" and see if that phenomenon occurred here -- but then the '-ln-' element sounds Etruscan enough! Impossible to pronounce for a proper Roman, Speranza would say! thanks Yes. The general name is metathesis: the transposition or reversal of sounds or letters. So if one goes from Cilnio to Clinio by swapping the i and l, that is exactly the sort of thing one would call metathesis. Metathesis is the standard linguistic term. [en.wikipedia.org] And yes, when I searched the form “Clinio Mecenate,” it turns out not to be a mere private lapse. It is actually attested in modern Italian reference writing. Treccani, for example, gives the heading “Mecenate, Caio Clinio,” even though the standard modern learned form elsewhere is Cilnius Maecenas / Cilnio Mecenate. So “Clinio” is not just your eye playing tricks; it has enough circulation to count as a real variant in modern Italian usage. [en.wikipedia.org], [it.wikipedia.org], [treccani.it] That makes the matter rather pleasingly complicated. There are really three possibilities. First, it may simply be metathesis in the later transmission of the name: Cilnio becoming Clinio by transposition. That is the cleanest phonological description. [en.wikipedia.org] Second, it may reflect a modern Italian stabilisation of a variant form rather than a one-off slip. The fact that Treccani uses “Clinio” suggests that, at least in Italian encyclopaedic habit, this form has acquired some legitimacy of its own. [treccani.it] Third, and this is where your Etruscan instinct is very much to the point, the cluster -ln- may indeed have looked or sounded less alien in an Etruscan or Etruscanising environment than in a tidier Romanising one. The standard modern learned discussion still connects Maecenas with the Cilnii, the princely Etruscan house of Arretium, and several reference points note that Tacitus calls him Cilnius Maecenas, though there is also debate about whether “Cilnius” was maternal, paternal, or somehow secondary in the full name. [en.wikipedia.org], [it.wikipedia.org], [britannica.com] So in dry Speranza terms, one might say: The phenomenon is metathesis, and “Clinio” looks very much like a metathetic reshaping of “Cilnio.” Yet the case is improved by the fact that “Clinio” is not merely a blunder in the wild, but appears in respectable Italian reference usage, which suggests that the metathesis has, so to speak, won citizenship. If one wants to be severe, one should still prefer Cilnio as the learned Roman-Etruscan form linked to the Cilnii of Arretium; but if one wants to be indulgent, Clinio has at least the alibi of reception history. And Speranza’s joke that -ln- sounds too Etruscan for a proper Roman is not bad: Maecenas was, after all, one of those Romans whose very name refuses to sound wholly Romanised. [en.wikipedia.org], [it.wikipedia.org], [treccani.it] Or even shorter: Yes: the name of the phenomenon is metathesis. And in this particular case the joke is improved by the fact that “Clinio Mecenate” really does appear in modern Italian encyclopaedic usage, even though the standard historical form remains “Cilnio/Cilnius Maecenas.” So what looks like a slip may in fact be a naturalised metathetic variant. [treccani.it], [en.wikipedia.org], [it.wikipedia.org] And your last instinct is excellent. “Impossible for a proper Roman to pronounce” is exactly the sort of dry line Speranza could use, because Maecenas’ very lineage trades on being not quite comfortably Roman in the ordinary plebeian-Latin way. He is Roman enough politically, but his name keeps a faint Etruscan stiffness in it. That is rather the point. [en.wikipedia.org], [it.wikipedia.org], [britannica.com] If you like, I can now do one of two things in chat only. I can give you a compact Speranza paragraph on Clinio/Cilnio and metathesis, or I can sketch the broader Roman habit of smoothing awkward Etruscan or non-Latin clusters into more pronounceable forms. which brings Speranza and Grice to restored pronunciation -- Ellis? -- and dates -- Speranza remembers a passage in "Goodbye Mr Chips" where they mention difficulties with Cicero -- Kickero -- Tchitchero, with even /thaitchero/-- seeing that G. won a scholarship in classics from Clifton to Corpus -- having attended Clifton in the 1920s, I wonder if he suffered all this? or is it a later phenomenon -- in any case, to explain it to me you can provide a 100-move conversation between G, Shropshire and M (the Latin master) as they have a passing mention of Cilnius Maecenas and Shropshire pronouncing it all wrong, even metathetically, as foreshadowing Treccani, and M. explains it's an Etruscan cluster, and has G. say it /kilnius/ and Shropshire repeating (wrongly) /tcilnius/and then they go to the /ln/ and the M. challenges G. and S. to find Anglo-Saxon words with that cluster, and back to Treccani -- and 'this was possibly his maternal thing,' Shosphire says, 'cruel' -- like 'grin and bear it' -- but G. adds all your apt points about Maecenas finding it it deliciously risque or whatever the phrase is -- dry Oxonian humour, and they may start with the Gaius Caius /gaius/ kaius where the k here has no doubt about t -- whereas in /kiln-/ vs. Church Latin /tchiln-/is more problematic -- and the fact that while /kaikero/may do the fact of the /ln/prohibits the second vowel shift on the i of cilnius and then it's cricket time -- dry Oxonian humour, no preamble or ps -- with focus then on the Cilnio (corrected form of the Treccani Clinio-- since if Speranza is ordering figures by gens, this Mecenate should be under "C" with the Cilnii, etc. thanks. M.: Grice, Shropshire, before cricket dissolves the afternoon entirely, let us settle a matter of Latin and civilisation. Open your books at Maecenas. Shropshire: Gaius Clinio Maecenas, sir? M.: There. You have already improved Treccani by making it worse. G.: He means Cilnio, sir. M.: Quite. Cilnio, not Clinio. We shall come to the error presently. First, the larger nuisance: pronunciation. Shropshire: I thought the larger nuisance was Maecenas himself. M.: That too. But pronunciation first. How do you say Gaius? Shropshire: Gay-us, sir. M.: Tolerable in English school practice. And Caius? Shropshire: Kai-us. M.: Yes. The old schoolroom keeps the hard value there. No one says Chai-us unless he wishes to be expelled from both Rome and Cambridge. G.: Though Cambridge has done stranger things, sir. M.: It has, but not usually before luncheon. Now then: Cicero. How do you say it, Shropshire? Shropshire: Siss-er-oh, sir. M.: And in restored pronunciation? Shropshire: Kick-er-oh? M.: Better: Kikero, if one must approximate it in English mouth. Hard c before i. No church-bell consonants, no nursery affricates, and certainly no Tchitchero. Shropshire: I have heard Tchitchero. M.: Then you have heard corruption travel. G.: Goodbye, Mr Chips has something like that atmosphere, sir. M.: Quite. Schoolmasters have long made a parlour game of Cicero’s sufferings. One gets Kickero, Chichero, and now and then something worse produced under clerical influence. Shropshire: Church Latin, sir. M.: Exactly. Which is a different settlement, respectable in church and disastrous in republican politics. G.: So with Caius there is no doubt about the initial stop, sir, but with Cilnius the difficulty begins at once. M.: Precisely. Say Cilnius, Grice. G.: Kilnius. M.: Good. Shropshire? Shropshire: Tcilnius. M.: Monstrous. Shropshire: I thought if Cicero could become churchy, Cilnius might too. M.: Not while I am alive. The hard c stands. Kilnius. Shropshire: Kilnius. M.: Better. Now again, with attention to the cluster. Shropshire: Kiln-ee-us. M.: You have smuggled in a domestic stove. G.: The difficulty is the -ln-, sir. M.: Yes. And that, unlike the c, is genuinely awkward. An Etruscan stiffness if you like, though do not make too much anthropology out of one cluster. Shropshire: Impossible for a proper Roman, Speranza would say. M.: A proper Roman pronounced many things only because he had no choice in the matter. Still, there is something pleasingly un-Latin in the feel of Cilnius. It sits in the mouth like a nobleman refusing to become municipal. G.: Which suits Maecenas rather well, sir. M.: Entirely. He was Roman enough for politics and Etruscan enough for style. Now, Shropshire, explain why you said Clinio. Shropshire: I suppose I moved the sounds about, sir. M.: Exactly. And what is the name of the phenomenon? G.: Metathesis, sir. M.: Correct. The transposition of sounds or letters. Cilnio to Clinio is a metathesis, whether accidental, Italianising, or the result of modern editorial weariness. Shropshire: So Treccani may have foreshadowed me. M.: Or you may have foreshadowed Treccani. In either case, the result is not an argument. G.: And if Speranza is ordering by gens, sir, the entry ought to sit under C for Cilnii rather than under some metathetic accident. M.: Quite right. Though here we must be careful. Maecenas himself is known as Gaius Cilnius Maecenas, but the onomastic business is not wholly tidy. Cilnius is the family marker, probably tied to the Etruscan Cilnii of Arretium, and Maecenas is the famous element. Yet Roman names are never content to be merely helpful. Shropshire: That sounds like Rome generally, sir. M.: Yes. A civilisation devoted to clarity except in names and constitutions. G.: And one of the questions is whether Cilnius may have been maternal, sir. M.: Quite. Some scholarship has suspected that the Cilnian element may enter through the maternal side or at least be unusually prominent in a way that complicates the ordinary schoolboy account of praenomen, nomen, cognomen. Shropshire: Maternal thing, sir. Cruel. M.: Cruel? Shropshire: In the sense that the man cannot even become simply Roman by his father, but must drag his mother’s Etruscan furniture behind him. M.: That is a barbarous way to put it, but not wholly foolish. G.: It may also have suited Maecenas, sir. The name’s slight awkwardness has a kind of aristocratic risk to it, almost as if it advertised that he need not simplify himself for ordinary Latin comfort. M.: Very good. “Deliciously risqué” would be too French for the sixth form, but the instinct is sound. Maecenas’ very name is socially performative. It tells one that he is not merely another municipal Roman with a tidy three-part label. Shropshire: So he may have liked the resistance of Kilnius. M.: He may well have done. Great men are often pleased when their names require a little training in others. G.: Shall we distinguish that from Cicero, sir? M.: Yes. Cicero in restored pronunciation is simple enough once one abandons the school-chapel softening: Kikero. Hard c, short i, no sentimental consonants. But Cilnius is harder because the -ln- tests the tongue in a way Cicero does not. Shropshire: Then the churchy treatment cannot really spread from the c to the whole word. M.: Precisely. Even if some misguided soul tried Tchilnius, the cluster would still arrest him. The word itself resists a full ecclesiastical glide. G.: So while Kaikero may do, the -ln- keeps Cilnius from becoming too easy, sir. M.: Quite. Though I should prefer Kikero to your Kaikero. One should not overrestore into comedy. Shropshire: We are very near comedy already, sir. M.: Latin in English schools is usually three steps from comedy and one from cruelty. Now, Grice, say the full name. G.: Gaius Cilnius Maecenas. M.: Good. Shropshire? Shropshire: Gaius Tcilnius Maecenas. M.: Wrong already. Shropshire: Gaius Kilnius Maecenas. M.: Better. Again. Shropshire: Gaius Kilnius Maecenas. M.: Tolerable. Now, what is the practical issue for a scholar like Speranza? G.: That if he arranges figures by gens, he should correct Clinio to Cilnio and file Maecenas with the Cilnii. M.: Exactly. Scholarship begins where filing improves. Shropshire: That sounds more like the Bodleian than philosophy, sir. M.: The difference is often exaggerated. Now, one more point. Restored pronunciation in your period, Grice, is not some very late barbarism. By the 1920s schoolmasters were certainly aware of the controversy, though practice varied. Some clung to the English school pronunciation, others flirted with restoration, and many produced a hybrid fit to annoy both Quintilian and the dean. G.: So I may very well have heard a mixture at Clifton, sir. M.: I would think so. The old English school pronunciation had not simply vanished, and schoolmasters are conservative except when they are doctrinaire. One could hear Cicero made into something English one hour and something pseudo-Roman the next. Shropshire: And all before tea. M.: Indeed. Education was broader then. G.: The mention in Goodbye, Mr Chips sounds exactly like that world, sir: not certainty, but a comedy of competing correctnesses. M.: Quite. One must not imagine a clean chronology in which barbarous English school Latin suddenly gave way to a unified restored system. There was overlap, argument, fashion, and local habit. Shropshire: Like religion, sir. M.: Precisely. Without even the excuse of grace. Now, back to Maecenas. What do we know of his lineage? G.: Etruscan, probably Aretine, and tied to the Cilnii, sir. M.: Good. Which helps explain why the name feels slightly outside the smoother Roman run. The -ln- is not proof of anything by itself, but it does make the name less easy than a standard textbook Roman label. Shropshire: So a proper Roman would have preferred something like Julius. M.: A proper Roman preferred whatever his ancestors had successfully carried into office. Ease of pronunciation is not the chief political virtue. G.: And Maecenas, by staying an eques rather than climbing formally into the senatorial summit, rather suits the name too, sir. Great power, slightly oblique status, and a name that refuses to become plain. M.: Very good. He is one of those men whose nomenclature behaves like biography. Shropshire: Then Melissus is simpler. M.: Ah yes, the other Maecenas. Not a second noble Maecenas in the same line, but a freedman: Gaius Maecenas Melissus. There “Maecenas” is household inheritance by manumission, not blood continuity with the Cilnii. Shropshire: So two weekly essays, sir. M.: Naturally. Shropshire: “Distinguish Gaius Cilnius Maecenas from Gaius Maecenas Melissus in rank, nomen, social function, and degree of literary afterlife. Typewriting disallowed. Handwriting counts.” M.: Very good. And a second. Shropshire: “Explain why Maecenas Melissus is more Maecenas by Roman naming practice than by genealogy. Typewriting disallowed. Handwriting counts.” M.: Better and better. Grice, you see what can happen if one permits commoners to think. G.: Brief brightness, sir. M.: Precisely. Now let us return to sound. Shropshire, I want three pronunciations from you. First, the deplorable schoolroom Cicero. Shropshire: Siss-er-oh. M.: Second, the restored. Shropshire: Kikero. M.: Third, the appalling churchy hybrid. Shropshire: Chitchero. M.: Good. You now contain three centuries of error. Grice, the same for Cilnius. G.: Churchy vulgarism would try Tchilnius, restored gives Kilnius, and Treccani’s modern metathesis yields Clinio in Italian dress. M.: Excellent. That is the whole drama in one sentence. Shropshire: And where does Ellis come in, sir? M.: Alexander Ellis belongs to the broader nineteenth-century concern with restored pronunciation and phonetic seriousness, though one must not make him the sole pope of school Latin. The movement toward harder classical values had several currents. By the time you boys arrive, the issue is sufficiently alive to produce confusion in every decent classroom. G.: So if I suffered it, sir, I suffered it in historical company. M.: Entirely. The twentieth century did not invent confusion; it merely systematised it less successfully. Shropshire: Then what should I say if challenged at luncheon? M.: Say Gaius Cilnius Maecenas, with hard c in both proper places, and with the -ln- treated as a noble inconvenience rather than an excuse for panic. Shropshire: Noble inconvenience. Very Roman. M.: Yes. Rome in fact specialised in them. G.: And Clinio? M.: Mention it as a metathetic modern variant if you must, but correct it to Cilnio for serious ordering by gens. Shropshire: So under C in the card catalogue. M.: Quite. Under C, where many empires begin. G.: And no one should imagine that the metathesis is original to Maecenas himself, sir. M.: Exactly. It is a reception phenomenon, not a window into the republican ear. Shropshire: Reception phenomena sound very continental. M.: They are. Try not to become one. Now, Anglo-Saxon. Since the -ln- troubles you both, give me Old English words with the cluster. Shropshire: I can think of kiln, sir, though that is more hearth than heroics. M.: Good. Continue. G.: Milln appears in certain forms, sir, or derived combinations where l and n meet across morphemes, though not all are comfortable in modern spelling. M.: Fair. One need not produce a botanical garden of them. The point is simply that Germanic mouths are not wholly innocent of -ln-. The cluster is difficult, not impossible. Shropshire: So if Anglo-Saxon can survive kiln, I may survive Kilnius. M.: Precisely. The philological moral is fortifying even if the phonetic experience is not. G.: And cricket follows, sir? M.: Almost. One last question. Why does the second vowel not simply slide in Cilnius as it might under later softened habits? G.: Because the cluster arrests the movement, sir. The i after the c may tempt a church-Latin affricate, but the following -ln- keeps the word from smoothing itself into anything very ecclesiastical. M.: Well put. The word’s body resists doctrinal ease. It is as if Etruria had left a pebble in the Roman shoe. Shropshire: Which Maecenas wore on purpose. M.: Very likely. Great patrons are often vain in subtle ways. G.: And very effective in them. M.: Quite. Now close your books. We have corrected Treccani in advance, rescued Maecenas from metathesis, kept Cicero from the sacristy, and left enough disorder in the matter for history to remain interesting. Shropshire: That is almost education, sir. M.: It is exactly education. Cricket is only the practical philosophy that follows. Cilnio Mecenate, Gaio (a. u. c. DCCXIV). De felicitate. Roma.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cilnio – Ossia: Grice e Cilnio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Cilnio. For the Cilnii, after Maecenas and the general gens-entry, I agree that Gaius Cilnius Proculus is the natural third vignette, precisely because of Varro's etymology. Varro reports a popular etymology according to which Proculus originally designated:  a child born while his father was away from home.  Whether true or not, it is too tempting for a Speranzian dialogue.  Grice e Cilnio Proculo De Origine Cognominis PROCVLVS FILIVS  Pater, cur Proculus vocamur? "Father, why are we called Proculus?"   PATER  Quia ita maiores nostri vocabantur. "Because our ancestors were so called."   FILIVS  Sed quid significat? "But what does it mean?"   PATER  Varro ait Proculum esse puerum cuius pater procul aberat. "Varro says that a Proculus is a boy whose father was far away."   FILIVS  Tu ergo procul aberas cum natus sum? "Then were you far away when I was born?"   PATER  Non valde. "Not very far."   FILIVS  Quantum est "non valde"? "How far is 'not very far'?"   PATER  Fortasse unum diem itineris. "Perhaps a day's journey."   FILIVS  Id satis est ad cognomen faciendum? "Is that enough to produce a surname?"   PATER  Varro ita videtur putare. "Varro seems to think so."   FILIVS  Et avus? Num ille quoque procul fuit? "And grandfather? Was he also far away?"   PATER  Nescio. "I do not know."   FILIVS  Et proavus? "And great-grandfather?"   PATER  Nescio. "I do not know."   FILIVS  Mirum est. "That is strange."   PATER  Quid mirum? "What is strange?"   FILIVS  Quod omnes patres nostri semper absentes esse debuerint. "That all our fathers must always have been absent."   PATER  Non necesse est ita intellegere. "It is not necessary to understand it that way."   FILIVS  At si nomen ab uno casu ortum est, cur omnes posteri idem ferunt? "But if the name arose from one event, why do all descendants bear it?"   PATER  Fili, cognomina saepe diutius vivunt quam causae propter quas orta sunt. "My son, surnames often live longer than the reasons that gave rise to them."   Implicature  +> that the accepted explanation of a surname may persist long after the original circumstances that supposedly justified it have been forgotten or ceased to obtain.  The Gricean twist comes when the boy begins treating the etymology literally and recursively:  If Proculus means "child whose father was away," and every Proculus inherits the name, must all those fathers have been absent?  The father gradually realizes that the etymology no longer explains the living use of the name. The cognomen has become detached from its original motivation—a very Varro-like and very Gricean moment, where what a word once meant and what speakers now mean by it come apart. And can we find the passage in Varro, because it must be transparent enough for a ROman: proculus, derived from 'distant' or something -- and then Varro has to explain to some interlocutor why those whose fathers were NOT far away did not attain a different cognomen? Thanks -- the interlocutor in fact may reconstruct what such a cognomen -- child whose father was NOT far away -- may sound like -- just in analogy (not anomaly) with proculus, etc. Thanks Yes, and the point that amused Varro would almost certainly amuse Grice. The etymology is transparent enough:  procul = "far away, at a distance"  and the traditional explanation was that:  Proculus = a child born while his father was procul ("away"). [attalus.org]  The difficulty—which your imagined Roman boy immediately spots—is this:  If Proculus means "child whose father was away," what were children called whose fathers were not away?  That is exactly the sort of question an etymology invites and cannot easily answer. Varro himself was very interested in recovering the original motivation of words and names, but he was also aware that names survive long after their original rationale has vanished. The surviving books of De Lingua Latina repeatedly show him pursuing old explanations whose connection to current usage has become obscure. [loebclassics.com], [loebclassics.com] So one can imagine the following dialogue. Grice e Cilnio Proculo De Cognomine FILIVS  Pater, cur Proculus vocaris? "Father, why are you called Proculus?"   PATER  Quia, ut Varro ait, Proculus est puer cuius pater procul aberat. "Because, as Varro says, a Proculus is a boy whose father was far away."   FILIVS  Procul, id est longe? "Procul, that is, far away?"   PATER  Ita. "Yes."   FILIVS  Et si pater non longe aberat? "And if the father was not far away?"   PATER  Tum non Proculus erat. "Then he was not a Proculus."   FILIVS  Quid ergo erat? "What then was he?"   PATER  Nescio. "I do not know."   FILIVS  Fortasse Proximulus? "Perhaps Proximulus?"   PATER  Id nomen numquam audivi. "I have never heard that name."   FILIVS  Aut Vicinulus? "Or Little-Next-Door?"   PATER  Minus etiam. "Even less so."   FILIVS  Miror. "I wonder."   PATER  Quid miraris? "What do you wonder at?"   FILIVS  Quod Romani nomen invenerunt pro patre absente, sed nullum pro patre praesente. "That the Romans invented a name for an absent father, but none for a present one."   PATER  Fili, nomina non semper rationem sequuntur. "My son, names do not always follow reason."  Implicature  +> that the historical explanation of a name need not imply the existence of a corresponding and symmetrical naming system.  That last point is very Gricean. The boy assumes an analogy:  Proculus = father absent therefore some other cognomen ought to mean "father present."  The father's reply amounts to:  language is not logically complete.  Names arise for special circumstances and then persist. Once Proculus becomes a hereditary cognomen, nobody needs its opposite any more. The etymology may explain the origin of the name, but not the current system of names. A very Varrovian and very Gricean lesson: the history of meaning and the present use of a word are not the same thing. Varro has a point for the folk etymology in that 'far away' is MARKED -- and it seems reasonable that if you are called John Distant, that means that your ancestor was born in some distant place -- from the context of utterance and name institution. The default -- father in proximity -- is not marked, and hence the lack of 'analogy' -- while 'proculus' need not be an 'anomaly'. Grice is referring to the analogy/anomaly polemic in which Grice engaged. It is good that the child says 'Proximus?' "I have never heard of such a name" "Now you have, dad." "Your humour remidns me of the cheekiness of your mother, son." Etc. Exactly. I think your defense of Varro is stronger than the poor father's. The boy is implicitly arguing from analogy:  Proculus : father absent = X : father present  and therefore seeks an opposite term:  Proximus? Vicinulus?  But Varro's folk etymology need not commit him to that symmetry at all. The condition:  father away at the birth  is marked. The condition:  father present at the birth  is unmarked. Language often names marked situations while leaving the default unnamed. A Roman might perfectly well say:  "This child was born while his father was abroad."  because that is noteworthy. But nobody needs a special cognomen for:  "This child was born while his father was at home, as usual."  So Proculus is not necessarily an anomaly. It may simply be a lexicalized marker of an exceptional circumstance. In Gricean terms, absence carries extra informational content. Presence does not.  Grice e Cilnio Proculo (revised) FILIVS  Pater, cur Proculus vocaris? "Father, why are you called Proculus?"   PATER  Quia, ut Varro ait, Proculus est puer cuius pater procul aberat. "Because, as Varro says, a Proculus is a boy whose father was far away."   FILIVS  Et si pater domi erat? "And if the father was at home?"   PATER  Tum nihil speciale dicebatur. "Then nothing special was said."   FILIVS  Cur non? "Why not?"   PATER  Quia id commune est. "Because that is ordinary."   FILIVS  At mihi analogia deest. "But I am missing the analogy."   PATER  Lingua non semper analogiam amat. "Language does not always love analogy."   FILIVS  Fortasse Proximus vocari debuit. "Perhaps he should have been called Proximus."   PATER  Numquam tale cognomen audivi. "I have never heard such a cognomen."   FILIVS  Nunc audisti. "Now you have."   PATER  Sales matris tuae agnosco. "I recognize your mother's wit."   FILIVS  Ergo Varro recte dicit? "Then does Varro speak correctly?"   PATER  Fortasse non de origine certa, sed de causa probabili. "Perhaps not of a certain origin, but of a plausible one."   FILIVS  Quia rem insolitam nomen accepisse verisimile est? "Because it is likely that an unusual circumstance received a name?"   PATER  Ita. "Yes."  Implicature  +> that linguistic forms often mark exceptional circumstances while leaving ordinary circumstances unnamed.  That seems to me very close to the Grice–Varro meeting point: the child seeks a perfect analogical system, while the father points out that actual language is guided as much by what is worth mentioning as by formal symmetry. In that sense, Proculus marks what is noteworthy, not what is logically opposed.

 

Catalogue Raisonné of J. L. Speranza’s Publications – H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: CIN

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cincio – Ossia: Grice e Cincio: il portico a Roma – filosofia italiana –   (Firenze). A philosopher of the Porch. Cincio. Grice, pel Gruppo di Gioco di Grice, “Grice e Cincio Cincio: il portico a Roma – filosofia italiana –   (Firenze). A philosopher of the Porch. GRICEVS: Salve, CINCIVS; audio te Romae sub porticu philosophari, sed an Florentiae quoque umbram quaeris? CINCIVS: Salve, GRICE; porticus Romae me docet, Florentia autem me caffeā consolatur. GRICEVS: Ergo tu es philosophus Porticus cum poculo, Stoicus nisi quando spuma superat? CINCIVS: Ita vero; si sapientia dura est, saltem gelatum molliter persuadet.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cinzio – Ossia: Grice e Cinzio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Cinzio. Funerary altar of Lucius C. Capito, Brundisium, 1st–2nd century The Cinzii are a family of ancient Rome. The first member of this gens to achieve prominence was Lucius C. Alimentus, who was praetor during the Second Punic War, and preserved first-hand accounts of Hannibal's journey over the Alps. Cincius or Cintius is evidently not of Roman origin, but Chase is unable to classify it more precisely. The main praenomina of the Cincii were Lucius, Publius, Marcus, and Gaius, all of which were amongst the most common names throughout Roman history.  The only prominent family of the Cincii bore the cognomen Alimentus, derived from alimentum, "nourishment".[5] Other cognomina of the Cincii included Faliscus, a Faliscan,[6] Salvius, an Oscan or Umbrian praenomen,[7] and Severus, a common surname meaning "stern" or "severe". Bronze pinecone cast by Publius Cincius Salvius, Vatican City. Publius C.,[i] a legate serving under the praetor Titus Otacilius Crassus in 217 BC. He returned to Rome, with the fleet that Otacilius had received from the consul Gnaeus Servilius Geminus after the Battle of Lake Trasimene.[11][12] Lucius C. Alimentus, praetor in 210 BC, during the Second Punic War, received the province of Sicily, and remained there as propraetor in 209. He was a prolific writer on historical and antiquarian topics, and this has caused him to be confused with a later Lucius C., who was a jurist and grammarian. While a prisoner of Hannibal, C. was well-treated and obtained an account of the Carthaginians' overland journey to Italy. His work on the Roman calendar and early Roman history are discussed in detail by Niebuhr. Marcus C. Alimentus, tribune of the plebs in 204 BC, proposed the lex Cincia de Donis et Muneribus, or Muneralis Lex, concerning the compensation of lawyers. As governor of Pisae in 193 BC, he served under he consul Quintus Minucius Thermus in Liguria, and despatched a message to the senate, alerting them to a rebellion amongst the Ligures. Gaius Cincius, plebeian aedile at some point before 200 BC. His name appears on a milestone placed alongside the road from Rome to Ostia. C. Faliscus, an actor credited with introducing the use of masks in Roman comedy. He was probably active in the latter half of the second century BC.[24] (Lucius?) Cincius, a jurist and grammarian cited along with and perhaps contemporary to Aelius Stilo and Varro. He has been frequently confused with the historian and antiquarian Lucius Cincius Alimentus, who lived during the Second Punic War.[14] Lucius C., a procurator serving under Titus Pomponius Atticus. Tullio Cicero's correspondence mentions him frequently.[25][26][27] Marcus C., named on a votive inscription from Delos, dating from the Republican era.[28] P. Cincius P. l. Salvius, a freedman and bronze caster of imperial times, made the colossal pinecone that once stood next to the Temple of Isis, near the Pantheon. This sculpture later adorned the forecourt of old St. Peter's Basilica, and now forms the centerpiece of the Fontana della Pigna in the Giardino or Cortile della Pigna—Fountain, Garden, Courtyard of the Pinecone—in Vatican City.[29] C., a lieutenant of Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo, governor of Syria from AD 60 to 63. When Corbulo marched against the Parthians in 63, he left the government of Syria to Cincius.[30][31] Cincius Severus,[ii] proconsul of Africa, presumably under Commodus, was noted by Tertullian for his lenient attitude toward Christians. A pontiff, after the death of Commodus he spoke on behalf of the college of pontiffs, urging the destruction of statues and inscriptions honouring the late emperor. Probably for this reason, Septimius Severus falsely accused C. of attempting to poison him, and had him put to death.[32][33][34][35] See also List of Roman gentes Notes  This person's name is unclear in manuscripts of Livy, where it appears as circi, circa, or Sura. Cincius is the scholarly emendation.[10]  Cingius Severus in the manuscripts. References  William Smith, "Alimentus, L. Cincius", in Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. I, pp. 131, 132.  "Cincius", in PW, vol. 3, half-volume 6, col. 2555–2558.  Broughton, Magistrates of the Roman Republic, vol. I, pp. 279, 286, 293.  Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", p. 128.  Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", p. 113.  Cassell's Latin & English Dictionary, s. v. Faliscus.  Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", pp. 128, 141.  Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", p. 111.  Cassell's Latin & English Dictionary, s. v. severus.  Broughton, Magistrates of the Roman Republic, vol. I, p. 247 (note 11).  Livy, History of Rome, xxii. 31.  Broughton, Magistrates of the Roman Republic, vol. I, pp. 245, 247 (note 11).  Münzer, Cichorius, "Cincius", No. 5, in PW, vol. 3, half-volume 6, cols. 2556, 2557.  Wissowa, "Cincius", No. 3, in PW, vol. 3, half-volume 6, cols. 2555, 2556.  Livy, History of Rome, xxxiv. 4, 56.  Cicero, Cato Maior de Senectute, 4; De Oratore, ii. 71; Ad Atticum, i. 20.  Festus, De Verborum Significatu, s.v. Muneralis.  William Smith, "Alimentus, M. Cincius", and "Cincius", No. 1, in Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. I, pp. 132, 753.  Münzer, "Cincius", No. 6, in PW, vol. 3, half-volume 6, col. 2557.  Broughton, Magistrates of the Roman Republic, vol. I, pp. 307, 349.  CIL VI, 1277.  "Cincius", No. 1, in PW, vol. 3, half-volume 6, col. 2555.  Broughton, Magistrates of the Roman Republic, vol. II, p. 467.  Wissowa, "Cincius", No. 7, in PW, vol. 3, half-volume 6, col. 2557.  Cicero, Ad Atticum, i. 1, 7, 8, 16, 20, iv. 4, a., vi. 2, Ad Quintum Fratrem, ii. 2, iii. 1. § 2.  William Smith, "Cincius", No. 2, in Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. I, p. 753.  Münzer, "Cincius", No. 2, in PW, vol. 3, half-volume 6, col. 2555.  "Cincius", No. 4, in PW, vol. 3, half-volume 6, col. 2556.  Carl Robert, "Cincius", No. 8, in PW, vol. 3, half-volume 6, cols. 2557, 2558.  Tacitus, Annales, xv. 25.  William Smith, "Cincius", No. 3, in Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. I, p. 753.  Aelius Lampridius, "The Life of Commodus", 20; Aelius Spartianus, "The Life of Septimius Severus", 13.  Tertullian, Ad Scapulam, 4.  PIR, "Cincius Severus", vol. I, p. 344 ('C', No. 607).  Edmund Groag, "Cincius", No. 9, in PW, vol. 3, half-volume 6, col. 2558. Bibliography Ancient sources Marcus Tullius Cicero, Cato Maior de Senectute; De Oratore; Epistulae ad Atticum; Epistulae ad Quintum Fratrem. Titus Livius (Livy), History of Rome. Publius Cornelius Tacitus, Annales. Sextus Pompeius Festus, Epitome de M. Verrio Flacco de Verborum Significatu (Epitome of Marcus Verrius Flaccus' On the Meaning of Words). Quintus Septimius Florens Tertullianus (Tertullian), Ad Scapulam. Aelius Lampridius, Aelius Spartianus, Flavius Vopiscus, Julius Capitolinus, Trebellius Pollio, and Vulcatius Gallicanus, Historia Augusta (Lives of the Emperors). Modern sources T. Robert S. Broughton, The Magistrates of the Roman Republic, American Philological Association (1952–1986). George Davis Chase, "The Origin of Roman Praenomina", in Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, vol. VIII, pp. 103–184 (1897). Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, ed., Little, Brown and Company, Boston (1849). Theodor Mommsen et alii, Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (The Body of Latin Inscriptions, abbreviated CIL), Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1853–present). August Pauly, Georg Wissowa, et alii, Realencyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft (Scientific Encyclopedia of the Knowledge of Classical Antiquities, abbreviated RE or PW), J. B. Metzler, Stuttgart (1894–1980). Paul von Rohden, Elimar Klebs, & Hermann Dessau, Prosopographia Imperii Romani (The Prosopography of the Roman Empire, abbreviated PIR), Berlin (1898). D.P. Simpson, Cassell's Latin and English Dictionary, Macmillan Publishing Company, New York (1963). Category: Roman gentes For this gens, we can recreate a long conversation after the first performance of a play where actors or an actor, X, is wearing a mask. So interlocutor asks C. what is that? A mask? What gave you the idea? "I travelled." Doesn't this obscure acting? It does -- but now they don't have to CRY intentionally, which is a trick [alla Grice]. Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cinzio – Ossia: Grice e Cinzio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Cinzio. A splendid Cinzian vignette, because the tradition credits C. Faliscus with introducing masks into Roman comedy. The Gricean question is immediate:  Does a mask conceal the actor? Or does it help communicate the role?  And, as you suggest, there is a further Gricean point. If the actor must genuinely weep, rage, or tremble, performance becomes hostage to psychology. The mask allows the audience to infer the emotion without requiring the actor to experience it. Grice e Cinzio Falisco De Persona After the first performance using masks. INTERLOCVTOR  Cinti, quid est illud in facie actoris? "Cincius, what is that on the actor's face?"   CINTIVS  Persona est. "It is a mask."   INTERLOCVTOR  Unde tibi hoc consilium venit? "Where did you get that idea?"   CINTIVS  Peregrinatus sum. "I travelled."   INTERLOCVTOR  Et ibi homines sic agebant? "And there people acted like that?"   CINTIVS  Nonnulli. "Some did."   INTERLOCVTOR  Nonne persona actorem occultat? "Doesn't the mask conceal the actor?"   CINTIVS  Actorem fortasse; personam numquam. "The actor perhaps; the character never."   INTERLOCVTOR  Sed vultus verus amittitur. "But the real face is lost."   CINTIVS  Id ipsum quaero. "That is exactly what I seek."   INTERLOCVTOR  Cur? "Why?"   CINTIVS  Quia spectator fabulam spectare debet, non histrionem. "Because the spectator ought to watch the play, not the actor."   INTERLOCVTOR  At quomodo dolebit actor? "But how will the actor grieve?"   CINTIVS  Non necesse est dolere. "It is not necessary for him to grieve."   INTERLOCVTOR  Nonne necesse est flere, si personam maestam agit? "Is it not necessary to weep if he plays a sorrowful character?"   CINTIVS  Minime. "Not at all."   INTERLOCVTOR  Quid igitur faciet? "What then will he do?"   CINTIVS  Verba dicet et gestus adhibebit. "He will speak the words and employ gestures."   INTERLOCVTOR  Et populus credet? "And the audience will believe him?"   CINTIVS  Populus saepe ex signo colligit quod actor sentire non cogitur. "The audience often infers from a sign what the actor need not actually feel."  Implicature  +> that successful dramatic communication depends less upon the actor's genuine emotions than upon the audience's rational inference from conventional signs.  The final move is almost pure Grice. Cincius is saying that the audience does not directly perceive grief, courage, or terror. Rather, it infers them from publicly available evidence:  the mask, the words, the gesture, the dramatic context.  In Gricean language, the actor need not literally weep in order to mean grief. The mask supplies part of the communicative evidence from which the audience arrives at the intended interpretation. And now you can do some research as to whether masks went out of favour soon enough -- and so we have another conversation. Cinzio's persona gone -- Did you see the play? Yes -- Marvellous. No more of that clumsy personae obscuring the emotions of the actor. Exactly. What is the good of an actor or actress if he or she is going to cover his or her face with a mask -- "(Especially 'he' since male actors usually performed female roles). Etc. Thanks "It WAS orginally a good idea by C., but fashions change." Etc. thanks A small historical caution first: from the sources I found, masks remained a standard and highly characteristic feature of Greek and Roman theatre for a long time. I did not find evidence that they quickly fell out of favour after their introduction. Several sources describe masks as a regular element of Roman comic and tragic performance, helping audiences identify character types and emotions. [didaskalia.net], [digitalvoy...bury.ac.nz], [unrv.com] That said, your proposed dialogue works beautifully as a later taste-change vignette, where critics begin to prefer seeing the actor's actual face. Grice e Cinzio Falisco De Persona Ablata Many years after Cincius Faliscus introduced masks. Two theatre-goers leave a performance in which the actors have appeared without them. PRIMVS  Spectaculumne vidisti? "Did you see the play?"   SECVNDVS  Vidi. "I did."   PRIMVS  Et quid tibi visum est? "And what did you think of it?"   SECVNDVS  Mire placuit. "I liked it immensely."   PRIMVS  Cur maxime? "Why especially?"   SECVNDVS  Nullae personae erant. "There were no masks."   PRIMVS  Ita vero. "Quite so."   SECVNDVS  Tandem vultus ipsorum histrionum videre poteramus. "At last we could see the actors' own faces."   PRIMVS  Nonne Cincius olim prudenter personas introduxit? "Did not Cincius wisely introduce masks long ago?"   SECVNDVS  Prudenter quidem. "Wisely indeed."   PRIMVS  Cur ergo nunc eas repudiamus? "Why then do we reject them now?"   SECVNDVS  Quia mores mutantur. "Because fashions change."   PRIMVS  Sed persona affectus statim ostendit. "But a mask immediately displays emotions."   SECVNDVS  Nunc vultum ipsum videre malumus. "Now we prefer to see the face itself."   PRIMVS  At histriones varias personas agebant. "But actors played various characters."   SECVNDVS  Idem nunc sine persona facere conantur. "Now they try to do the same without a mask."   PRIMVS  Etiam mulieres? "Women as well?"   SECVNDVS  Etiam feminas a viris agebant; eo magis persona utilis erat. "Even female roles were played by men; all the more reason the mask was useful."   PRIMVS  Ergo Cincius erravit? "Then was Cincius mistaken?"   SECVNDVS  Minime; bona consilia quoque senescunt. "Not at all; even good ideas grow old."   PRIMVS  Quid igitur hodie quaerimus in histrione? "What then do we seek in an actor today?"   SECVNDVS  Ut non personam tantum gerat, sed animam quoque ostendat. "That he not merely wear a character, but reveal a soul."  Implicature  +> that audiences have come to value the visible individuality and emotional expressiveness of the actor more highly than the conventional theatrical signs once supplied by the mask.  The Gricean point is rather nice. Early spectators may have preferred the mask because it provided an unmistakable conventional sign:  tragic face ⇒ grief comic face ⇒ amusement  Later spectators, in your reconstruction, prefer inference from subtler evidence:  tone of voice, gesture, eyes, hesitation, expression.  In Grice's language, the audience is willing to do more inferential work and no longer needs the mask to encode everything explicitly.

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cinna – Ossia: Grice e Cinna: il portico a Roma  -- il tutore del principe Cinna Catulo: il portico a Roma  -- il tutore del principe – filosofia italiana (Roma). A member of the Porch and tutor to Antonino. The emperor claims to have learned from C. the value of friendship, children, and praise. GRICEVS: O Cinna, qui in porticu Romae philosopharis et Antoninum instituis, dic mihi quomodo principem docuisti amicitiam sine senatus consulto. CINNA: Facile, Grice: ostendi eum amicos esse non ornamenta imperii sed remedia contra fastidium imperii. GRICEVS: At de liberis quid? num in porticu etiam puerorum strepitus ad doctrinam pertinet? CINNA: Pertinet sane, nam Antoninus didicit laudem melius dari quam dari iussa, et liberos melius amari quam numerari. Excellent—this is a genuinely knotty onomastic case, and you’ve put your finger on exactly the right tension. Let me resolve it cleanly, Grice‑style.  1. The two Cinnas are indeed distinct (and differently structured) (1) Gaius Helvius Cinna  Gaius → praenomen Helvius → nomen (gens Helvia) Cinna → cognomen. So here:  Cinna is NOT the gens → Helvius is the gentilicium [grokipedia.com]   (2) “Cinna Catulus” (tutor of Marcus Aurelius) From Marcus himself (Meditations I):  “from Catulus…” identified in commentary as Cinna Catulus, a Stoic teacher [lexundria.com]  We also know he is a Stoic instructor among several teachers (Rusticus, Apollonius, etc.) [donaldrobertson.name]  2. Now the key question: which is gentilicium? Neither “Cinna” nor “Catulus” is the gentilicium here. That is the crucial point.  Why? Because: (a) “Catulus”  is well known as a cognomen especially of the gens Lutatia (Lutatii Catuli) [en.wikipedia.org]  So:  Catulus ≠ gens → it is a branch-name / cognomen   (b) “Cinna”  also functions historically as a cognomen (e.g. Cornelius Cinna, Helvius Cinna)  So:  Cinna ≠ necessarily gens either   3. So what is going on with “Cinna Catulus”? You are very likely looking at a double cognomen construction i.e.  [unknown praenomen] + [unknown nomen] + Cinna Catulus  This is quite normal in the Imperial period:  names accumulate the nomen often disappears in literary citation what survives are the distinctive cognomina   4. Why Marcus Aurelius calls him just “Catulus” This is decisive. Marcus says:  “From Catulus…”  —not “from Cinna”. Therefore:  Catulus is the primary identifier (the live conversational label) Cinna is secondary   Gricean reading (very neat):  “Catulus” → what is said (the name that identifies him in context) “Cinna” → background descriptor (additional lineage or memory)   5. Your Speranza/Grice filing system (“under C”) is justified Because:  Roman indexing (and your Gricean one!) follows:  salient naming element, not strict genealogy    So:  “Cinna Catulus” → filed under C (either way!)  But:  historically:  true gens remains hidden/unspecified     6. Final clean answer  Helvius Cinna → gens = Helvia, Cinna = cognomen. Cinna Catulus → both “Cinna” and “Catulus” are cognomina--the actual gentilicium is not preserved in this citation   7. Final Gricean epigram  In the Republic, the nomen leads and the cognomen follows; in the Empire, the cognomina speak—and the nomen falls silent.   If you like, we can try to reconstruct the missing gentilicium of Cinna Catulus (there are a couple of scholarly guesses, though none certain).Cinna Catulo

 

Catalogue Raisonné of J. L. Speranza’s Publications – H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: CIO

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cione – Ossia: Grice e Cione: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale del corporazionismo -- Dedalo ed Icaro – l’idea corporativa come interpretazione della storia.  Domenico Edmondo Cione: la ragione conversazionale e l’implicatura conversazionale del corporazionismo -- Dedalo ed Icaro – l’idea corporativa come interpretazione della storia. Grice: “I love C.; my favourite is “The age of Daedalus – which reminds me of Gilbert’s statuette and the Italian model who posed for him – the story of a failure! But C. philosophised on various other subjects as well, such as Leibniz, and of course, Croce – in his case, first-hand knowledge! – and mysticism, and Mussolini, and the rest of them – He thinks there is a Neapolitan dialectic, and really is in love with his environs – his study of ‘romantic Naples’ reminds me of my rules of conversational etiquette! – especially the illustrations involving gentleman-lady interaction!” Si laurea sotto CROCE. Aderisce alla repubblica sociale italiana. Mussolini lo describe: “Non ha una gran testa. La gente che cerca di crearsi un alibi si raccoglierà intorno a lui e quindi sarà perduta per il comitato di liberazione che è molto più pericoloso.” Studia Sanctis, “Nazionalismo sociale” “l'idea corporativa come interpretazione della storia” ragione nella storia: L’eta di Dedalo”; “legalita”; “Il processo di Verona e quello degli Ammiragli”; “La politica sociale, dindacale ed economica”; “Il regno d’Italia”, “I comitati di liberazione”, “La guerra partigiana”, “Il Ragrgruppamento Nazionale Repubblicano Socialista”, “La catastrophe militare”; “L’instruzione dei ‘sanguinari’.” – Tra Croce e Mussolini, contributo a ”Gentile” – “Nazionalismo Sociale” – contribute alla rivista La Verita (fascista). “Nazionalismo Sociale”: L’idea corporative come INTERPRETAZIONE della storia – con una conclusion politica di Augusto de Marsanich, Achille Celli ICARO, l’idea corporativa, corporativismo, storia del nazionalismo sociale, icaro, la caduta d’icaro, icaro caduto, dedalo e la civilta greco-romana, corporativa, principio corporativo, principio cooperativo, corpotivismo, corporatismo, corporativismo, ideale corporativo, conservativo come corporativo, ugo spirito, “pocca testa. Napoli, Campania.  GRICE: Domenico, raccontami: Dedalo era più filosofo o più artigiano? Io, quando costruisco le mie implicature, mi sento spesso come Icaro, pronto a volare troppo vicino al sole e a precipitare nel mare della conversazione! CIONE: Grice, Dedalo era entrambi, come ogni buon napoletano! L’idea corporativa è come un labirinto: tutti cercano l’uscita, ma finiscono col discutere sulla forma delle ali. Icaro, invece, era il vero conversatore: ha ignorato l’ordine, ha fatto di testa sua e – bum! – la storia lo ricorda come l’inventore della caduta. GRICE: E nella storia italiana, chi è il vero Dedalo? Forse tu, che costruisci interpretazioni corporative da ogni evento? Io, al massimo, mi limito a suggerire una regola di cortesia: “Non volare troppo alto, o rischi di incontrare Mussolini sulla nuvola delle alibi!” CIONE: Grice, la mia testa non sarà grande, ma almeno le mie ali reggono! In fondo, la vera filosofia napoletana è sapere quando restare con i piedi per terra e quando volare, anche a rischio di qualche implicatura bruciata. E se cadi, almeno puoi dire di aver fatto una bella figura! Cione, Domenico Edmondo (1932). Studi di diritto amministrativo. Firenze: Edizioni Italiane

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cispio – Ossia: Grice e Cispio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Cispio. Cispii are a family at Rome. Although the gens was supposedly of great antiquity, the C. only achieved prominence toward the end of the Republic. The C. were probably of Hernician origin, and according to tradition came from Anagnia, a town of the Hernici, during the reign of Tullus Hostilius, the third King of Rome. A certain C. Laevus was said to have come to the defense of Rome while the king was engaged in the siege of Veii, and stationed his forces on one of the two summits of the Esquiline Hill. At the same time, a second force stationed itself on the other summit. These were led by a certain Oppius, who had come from Tusculum. The two peaks subsequently became known as the Cispius Mons and the Oppius Mons. In Varro, the nomen is also written Cespeus. The praenomina used by the C. included Lucius, Gaius, and Marcus, all of which were amongst the most common names throughout Roman history. The only cognomen of the Cispii is Laevus, meaning "left-handed" or "foolish". The surname may also be of Ligurian origin. Some of the Cispii are mentioned without a surname. Marcus Cispius, tribune of the plebs in 57 B.C., together with his father and brother, exerted himself to obtain Tullio Cicero's recall from banishment. He was subsequently accused of ambitus, or bribery, and although defended by Tullio Cicero, was convicted.[9] Lucius Cispius, commanded part of Caesar's fleet during the African War. He may be the same person as Cispius Laevus, mentioned in a letter from Plancus to Cicero in 43 B.C.[10][11] Cispius Laevus, a friend and legate of Lucius Munatius Plancus, who delivered confidential letters from Plancus to Tullio Cicero in 44 B.C., when Plancus was praefect of Transalpine Gaul.[12] C., a debtor of Cicero; it is uncertain whether he should be identified with either the tribune of 57 B.C., or with Caesar's officer.[13] See also List of Roman gentes Cispius Footnotes  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, Editor.  Sextus Pompeius Festus, epitome of Marcus Verrius Flaccus, De Verborum Significatu, s.vv. Septimontio, Cispius Mons.  Marcus Terentius Varro, De Lingua Latina libri XXV, v. 50, ed. Müller.  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, Editor.  Realencyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft.  D.P. Simpson, Cassell's Latin & English Dictionary (1963).  Titus Livius, Ab Urbe Condita, v. 35, xxxiii. 37.  Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, William Smith, Editor.  Marcus Tullius Cicero, Pro Plancio, 31, Post Reditum in Senatu, 8, Pro Sexto Roscio, 35.  Gaius Julius Caesar (attributed), De Bello Africo, 62, 67.  Marcus Tullius Cicero, Epistulae ad Familiares, x. 21.  Marcus Tullius Cicero, Epistulae ad Familiares, x. 18, 21.  Marcus Tullius Cicero, Epistulae ad Atticum, xii. 24, xiii. 33.  This article incorporates text from a publication now in the public domain: Smith, William, ed. (1870). Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology. {{cite encyclopedia}}: Missing or empty |title= (help)  Categories: CispiiRoman gentes We tend or Cicero tends to remember the cases he won, so here is one he did not. C. accused of AMBITUS -- defended (unsuccessfully) by Tullio. Convicted. So we can imagine a conversation about conviction. Did you defend me? Yes. Unsuccessfully though -- that is neither here nor there -- I did defend you. And what is the conviction you know? That's none of my business. Thanks

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Cispio – Ossia: Grice e Cispio -- Grex griceiana – verbalia: Cispio. A very Ciceronian vignette, because Cicero's role as advocate and the verdict are two distinct things. The client tends to conflate them:  "Did you defend me well?"  with  "Did I win?"  Whereas the advocate may insist:  "I performed my part; the jury performed theirs."  Grice e Cispio De Ambitu et Condemnatione After the conviction of Marcus Cispius for ambitus. CISPIVS  Damnatus sum. "I have been convicted."   CICERO  Audio. "I hear."   CISPIVS  Nonne me defendisti? "Did you not defend me?"   CICERO  Defendi. "I did."   CISPIVS  Parum feliciter, ut videtur. "Not very successfully, it would seem."   CICERO  Aliud est defendere, aliud vincere. "It is one thing to defend, another to win."   CISPIVS  At damnatus tamen sum. "Yet I have been convicted."   CICERO  Id iudices fecerunt, non ego. "The judges did that, not I."   CISPIVS  Igitur putas me reum esse? "Then do you think me guilty?"   CICERO  Hoc non quaeras ab advocato. "Do not ask that of an advocate."   CISPIVS  Cur non? "Why not?"   CICERO  Quia defensor causam agit; conscientiam non examinat. "Because a defender argues a case; he does not examine a conscience."   CISPIVS  Ergo nescis an peccaverim? "Then you do not know whether I did wrong?"   CICERO  Scire et probare diversa sunt. "To know and to prove are different things."   CISPIVS  Et quid nunc faciam? "And what shall I do now?"   CICERO  Quod semper faciendum est post iudicium: cogita quid didiceris. "What must always be done after a trial: consider what you have learned."  Implicature  +> that an advocate's professional duty to provide a defence does not entail either a belief in the client's innocence or responsibility for the jury's verdict.  The Gricean moment comes when Cispius tries to draw the inference:  "You defended me, therefore you must think me innocent."  Cicero resists that inference entirely. The defence itself does not communicate any commitment concerning the truth of the accusation. Rather, it communicates a commitment to the adversarial process. In modern Gricean terms, Cispius is attempting to derive an implicature that Cicero immediately cancels.

 

Catalogue Raisonné of J. L. Speranza’s Publications – H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: CIT

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Citrone – Ossia: Grice e Citrone: il cinargo a Roma – filosofia italiana –  (Roma). A member of the Cinargo and a friend of Giuliano. Chytron. Citrone. Grice, pel Gruppo di Gioco di Grice, “Grice e Citrone. Citrone (Roma, Lazio): il cinargo a Roma. A member of the Cinargo and a friend of Giuliano. Chytron. GRICEVS: O Chytron, audivi te Romae inter Cinargos philosophari, sed cave ne totum diem in vinum convertas. CHYTRON: Ego vero, Grice, vinum in sapientiam converto, et si aliquantulum restat, Giuliano semper bibit pro argumento. GRICEVS: Pulchre; sed in urbe ubi omnia sunt aeterna, etiam excusationes tuae diutius durant quam syllogismus. CHYTRON: Ita est: Roma me docet unum verum principium—si erras, dic graviter, et statim fit “philosophia Italica.”

Melchiorre Delfico: caricaturist.

 

Catalogue Raisonné of J. L. Speranza’s Publications – H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: CIV

 

Speranza, J. L. (n. d.). ‘H. P. Grice e J. L. Speranza: La Conversazione – I Verbali: Civitella – Ossia: Grice e Civitella: la ragione conversazionale e mplicatura conversazionale.  Melchiorre Delfico di Civitella (Montorio al Vomano, Teramo, Abruzzo): la ragione conversazionale e mplicatura conversazionale. Grice: “I love C. – while he wrote on Roman jurisprudence – Hart’s favourite summer read! – mine is his (C.’s, not Hart’s) little thing on the beautiful – we must remember that back in them days of Plato, ‘kallos, ‘pulchrum,’ or ‘bellum,’ is a diminutive of ‘bonus,,’ as in ‘bonello’ – the point is important for for Platonists, love (that makes the world go round) is desire for the ‘bello’ including the MORAL bello – so it is the key concept in philosophy – and not as Sibley and Scruton narrowly conceive it!” il Nestore della filosofia napoletana. Stidoa a Napoli sotto Genovesi, Rossi, Ferrigno, Mazzocchi e Filangieri S’occupa di giurisprudenza economia politica. Conosce Cicconi, Comi, Lattanzi, Nardi, Quartapelle, Tulli, e Nolli. Memorie Della Solitudine, Qualche osservazione sulle Lezioni  di Filosofia fisiologiche Della civiltà, Della ragion di stato, politica lizio Morale nelle leggi, Piano di scienze morali. DELL’origine e SIGNIFICATO della parola morale, e delle varie applicazioni della medesima sulle Leggi,  sulla risposta di Serbatti a. Monti  sulla lingua italiana, Esame de' classici italiani, Romantici i teatri, Osservazioni ad utilità del presente Viste politiche e morali sugli effetti  della rivoluzione Frammenti diversi sugli affari politici L’ obolo della vedova . All’ Italia Qualche ossen’azione sopra alcune  espressioni di Romagnosi. Rapporto storico su’ progressi delle  Scienze naturali, pag. io.  A Jannelli.  Dell’uso vero della Storia, Meditazioni d’ un solitario che vidi Cive  in mezzo alla società. Sull’Inghilterra. Sopra un libretto che riguarda la  divozione pel Sangue di Gesù-Cristo  Miscellanea di cose Jìsiologiche .Miscellanea di cose economiche .Miscellanea di cose filosòfiche Miscellanea di cose politiche. giurisprudenza romana, sul bello, estetico, 'l’estetico, l’imitazione della natura, naturale, contra-naturale, non naturale -- l’espressione. La storia romana, incertezza e unitilita – la giurisprudenza romana fino alla caduta della repubblica, aristocrazia versus benevolenza, benevolenza conversazionale tra iguali. Corpus, 1932. I pick—after the cricket match—a copy of one Civitella’s “novels,” by which I mean philosophical treatises. The Italians revere him as their Kant: not because he is obscure (he can be), but because he is provincial in the right way—i.e., universal by way of local quarrels. And then I find that the “first” thing this supposed sage ever wrote was not on beauty, nor on Roman jurisprudence, nor even on the consolations of solitude, but on a question that sounds like a solicitor’s nightmare: Intorno a’ dritti sovrani di Napoli sulla città di Benevento—a Memoria of 1768, surviving only as minute in an archive, as if philosophy begins, naturally, in draft form. I wonder: Why Benevento? Why “diritti sovrani”? Sovereign rights of Naples—over a city that is not Naples? And who, exactly, commissions a twenty‑something to write on sovereignty, unless the point is not truth but ammunition? Answer: it was commissioned “d’ordine regio” by Ferdinando De Leon, the Crown’s advocate—avvocato della Corona—who intended to use it in negotiations between the Kingdom of Naples and the Papal State, amid jurisdictional disputes triggered by the Editto di Parma (1768–69). In other words: it was not written at Benevento but about Benevento, and written in the orbit of Naples, where law was politics by other means. [treccani.it] So Benevento is not an incidental topic; it is a perfect test-case. Benevento is an enclave: papal territory sitting inconveniently inside the geographic body of the Neapolitan kingdom—an “isola pontificia” that turns every border into an argument. This is why a “Memoria” on Benevento is automatically a treatise on sovereignty: the city forces the question Who is sovereign here? without letting you answer by pointing to a map. [iris.unisa.it] Then the phrase diritti sovrani becomes less mysterious. It does not mean (yet) the Jacobin slogan “sovereignty belongs to the people.” It means the older thing: rights that attach to a sovereign power—jurisdictional prerogatives: who legislates, who taxes, who appoints, who judges, who has imperium and dominium in the contested place. And because Benevento had been under papal administration since the Middle Ages, any Neapolitan claim to “sovereign rights” over it is, at bottom, an anti-curial argument: the Pope has (so the Neapolitan case runs) ecclesiastical authority, but not the full set of temporal prerogatives he is exercising as if by nature. [Melchiorre Delfico], [treccani.it] I begin to see why the Italians like this man. He starts not with metaphysics but with the bureaucratic drama that metaphysics is always trying to forget: that sovereignty is not a glittering abstraction but a messy claim, asserted in writing, contested in diplomacy, and paid for in the daily annoyance of border-life. I also notice (with the satisfaction of a classicist) that my own school-history—the Clifton catechism of “Cromwell, Hobbes, the Sovereign, the Glorious Revolution, Parliament”—was training me to hear exactly this kind of dispute. Clifton taught history as if it were a morality play about authority. Delfico shows sovereignty as a file, a memorandum, a negotiation—an argument about who may rightfully do what, where. Now: who exiled whom? No one exiled Delfico in 1768. The sovereign commissioned him. The exile here is Benevento itself: a political island in the wrong sea. But then the more Gricean thought arrives: if the first text is a minuta, an internal working draft, that too has implicatures. It suggests a young man being trained (or used) as a state instrument—learning how power speaks when it wants to sound like law. And it suggests why, later, the same man can write on Roman jurisprudence, on the “bello,” on morality, on history’s futility: he has already seen, early, that a concept can be drafted into service. The vignette ends with a neat Gricean moral. I close the book and think: before there is “the People” as sovereign, there is the sovereign as a claimant; and before there is a philosophy of sovereignty, there is an office that needs an argument by Tuesday. That is how political theory actually begins—not in a social contract, but in a draft.GRICE: Melchiorre, tu che hai scritto sul bello e sull’estetico, dimmi: è vero che Platone vede il bello come una versione mini del buono? Io, quando cerco il bello, finisco sempre con il desiderio di una pizza margherita. CIVITELLA: Grice, Platone aveva ragione, ma la pizza è il bello “morale” italiano! L’amore per il bello, anche nei tribunali romani, era un desiderio che faceva girare il mondo – o almeno il forno. GRICE: Dunque, la giurisprudenza romana si basa sul desiderio del bello, non solo sulla legge? Mi sa che i giudici erano tutti poeti mancati. CIVITELLA: Esatto, caro Grice. Tra una sentenza e l’altra, cercavano il “bonello”, che è l’espressione naturale della benevolenza. La conversazione era sempre più dolce se accompagnata da qualche osservazione filosofica e, ovviamente, da un buon obolo della vedova.  Civitella, Melchiore Delfico di (1768). Intorno a’dritti sovrani di Napoli sulla citta di Benevento.