The Myth of Mosca: Instances of Antirealism in Eugenio Montale’s «Xenia»

Abstract

The objective of this essay is to demonstrate the fictional nature of the character Mosca in Xenia I and Xenia II, the first two sections of Eugenio Montale’s collection Satura (1971), and to illustrate the strategies through which the author makes this possible. Although Mosca is inspired by the historical figure of Drusilla Tanzi, the poet employs a series of macrotextual, thematic, linguistic, and rhetorical devices to elevate the female figure to that of a poetic character. The study briefly addresses these various devices and seeks to refute the hypothesis of a diary-like memorial structure in Xenia, advocating instead for a “narrative–novelistic” structure, which leverages the typical mechanisms of narrative fiction. The contribution demonstrates how the combination of these strategies significantly influences the character of Mosca, ultimately leading to her absorption within the fictional world of narrative poetry.

1. Introduction

Eugenio Montale began composing his first Xenia on 4 April 1964, just over six months after the death of his wife Drusilla Tanzi on 20 October 1963. This contribution aims to examine the poetic nature of the character of Mosca, who was born precisely from the reworking of the biographical material related to Drusilla.1 My aim is to show how much her representation depends on artistic reasons, beyond realism. Behind the stylistic clarity and the seemingly diaristic structure of Xenia I and II lies, in fact, an intricate process of poetic construction. Mosca is not merely a mimetic reproduction of Drusilla. Other Montalian poetic inspirations converge in her representation. If anything, her character and peculiarities serve as a cue. Everything is magnified, sublimated, and given a higher value and function. Sacrificing herself to an artistic project, Mosca responds to the literary and value demands of 1960s–70s Montale, thereby ending up caught in the meshes of antirealism. Even references to the most occasional life experiences, in fact, can be read through the lens of poetry, as remakes of an imagery already employed and elaborated by the author in previous texts.

Montale subtly weaves the fabric of the myth of Mosca. The impression of a certain realism survives; however, it is very often a patina, a simulation. Through this essay, it will be possible to glimpse the planes on which this process of antirealistic elaboration operates.2 The first paragraph will be devoted to some images and thematic elements, which highlight the level of fiction in the female character. In the second paragraph, on the other hand, I will touch upon the rhetorical–alliterative devices that the poet employs to formalize the theme of communication. Finally, in the third paragraph, I will focus on the macro-textual structure, and especially on the narrative–novelistic dimension of Xenia II. The novel-like impression, in fact, catapults Mosca into a further fictional atmosphere.3 The ultimate result Montale arrives at, perhaps also in response to nostalgia and mourning, is the revitalization of his beloved. The poem keeps Drusilla alive but in the mutated form of her literary alter ego.

2. Thematic Strategies: Construction of the Poetic Character of Mosca

In this section, I will show how Montale creates a fictive, poetic image of Mosca from thematic elements. Only through an in-depth analysis of the texts, in fact, can one see how biographical details may also be interpreted through the lens of poetic creation. The poet mixes life experience with literature, as happens in the case of the liseuse of Mosca, which we will see in a moment. At other times, simply physical or character traits, such as a woman’s laugh or sight, undergo a process of idealization, ending up taking on a mythical value.

Let me start with the example of the liseuse. Xenia’s first poem opens with an apparition of Mosca. If one were to stop at a biographical-diaristic analysis of the poem, so to speak, one could say that this is a usual phase of the re-elaboration of mourning. It is under this light that the text—although this is the case for all of Xenia—is read by Santagata: “Caro piccolo insetto (I, 1) e Senza occhiali né antenne (I, 2) illustrano in maniera piuttosto chiara la prima fase del lutto: la negazione. Durante questo primo periodo, la persona perduta tende a manifestarsi frequentemente come allucinazione, nella dimensione onirica o durante la veglia” (Santagata 2022, p. 56). I certainly do not exclude that at the origin of this apparition there may also be the individual experience of the husband who suffers the hard blow of his wife’s death, although the importance of the theme, also from a literary point of view, requires at least some reflection.

Montale’s vision of a beloved woman during the night appears already, for example, in a letter sent on 6 June 1962 to the Greek poetess Margherita Dalmati: “Passo lunghe notti insonni popolate di marianiki e tutte hanno il tuo volto ed io sono abitato dagli angui d’inferno anche se non suona ‘la pianola degli inferi’” (Montale 2021a, p. 46). The tones of the love letter give way to elegiac ones in the letter to Dalmati of 1 February 1965, which on the other hand recalls precisely the apparition of Mosca the day after his death:

Una volta (o due) è venuta a trovarmi di notte e pareva molto triste e angosciata; era vestita di un verde pallido. Posso giurarti che non era soltanto un sogno ma una vera presenza materiale sebbene non del tutto corporea. Una volta o due? Di una sono certissimo. Forse dirai che sono del tutto impazzito ma non è vero…

(Montale 2021a, p. 88)

The doubt about the single or double appearance of the wife seems to refer precisely to the first two xenia of the first series. It should be borne in mind that the letter is dated 1965, while the two poems are both dated 10 April 1964, so the epistolary account may have been based on a poetic invention. Montale is certain of an apparition, and it could be the event recounted in I, 1. We know, in fact, that by means of a small but relevant correction, the poet decides to pass from an attestation of uncertainty (“sei ricomparsa forse accanto a me”, v. 5) to one of the opposite sense (“sei ricomparsa accanto a me”). Moreover, it must be ruled out that Montale wanted to make this change for metrical or euphonic reasons.4 The second apparition, of which the poet is not certain, could be that of I, 2, in which only the possible signs of the woman’s appearance are recorded. Moreover, it is likely that the doubt as to the number of visions he had (“Una volta o due?”) reflects, after all, the ambiguity of the poetic invention. Looking at the date of composition of the two epigrams, it could be argued that both refer to the same apparition, which occurred on the evening of 10 April 1964. However, the differences between the two texts lead me to believe that the poet wished to duplicate the miraculous event in order to demonstrate how contact with Mosca, if possible, is to be sought not through the old senhals (especially the “lampo” of Clizia; I, 2, v. 6) but in the sign of a sacred text (“il Deuteroisaia”; I, 1, v. 4).

That this is an apparition of a literary character, or even a literary one, is evidenced by at least one other factor, which leads me to consider the two texts as intertextually connected. Consider the first five lines of the third-to-last poem in the Satura collection, entitled Luci e colori, a typescript of which bears the date “2/7/’70” (Montale 1980, p. 1048):

Se mai ti mostri hai sempre la liseuse rossa,

gli occhi un po’ gonfi come di chi ha veduto.

Sembrano inesplicabili queste tue visite mute.

Probabilmente è solo un lampeggio di lenti,

quasi una gibigianna che tagli la foschia.

This is a clear reworking of the motif present in the first two texts of Xenia I. It is important to highlight the introduction of two variants. Firstly, Mosca’s ghost appears to be wearing glasses (“probabilmente è solo un lampeggio di lenti”), contrary to what was said in I, 1 (“ma non avevi occhiali”, v. 6). Above all, Mosca’s dress is no longer green as Montale declared in the aforementioned letter to Dalmati (“era vestita di un verde pallido”) but red (“hai sempre la liseuse rossa”). In doing so, the poet retrieves the image of another woman. It is one of the characters in L’uomo in pigiama, a 1952 prose collected in Farfalla di Dinard. The female figure barely appears through a crack in his hotel room, but the protagonist is just in time to see her: “[…] ero ormai davanti allo spiraglio. Due occhi neri, una liseuse rossa su una camicia di seta, una capigliatura corta ma piuttosto ricciutella. Fu un attimo, lo spiraglio si richiuse di colpo” (Montale 2021b, p. 164). One may think that the memory of the ‘I’ suffers the ravages of time—which would still take us into the topoi of Montale’s poetry—or that the freedom with which he presents his wife in poetry is indeed a clear sign of literary invention.

Let me now turn to the implications of the theme of laughter, starting with the quotation from the eleventh xenion of the first series, written on 10 December 1965:

Ricordare il tuo pianto (il mio era doppio)

non vale a spegner lo scoppio delle tue risate.

Erano come l’anticipo di un tuo privato

Giudizio Universale, mai accaduto purtroppo.

Mosca’s “scoppio delle […] risate” (v. 2), one of her character’s traits, is such as to evoke a private apocalypse. Together with the theme of seeing and hearing, the theme of laughter is also expressionistically isolated in Montale’s poetics. Thus emphasized, it becomes an object of mythical characterization. Mosca’s laughter is not a simple laughter but a desecrating and judging motion, one of the two complementary aspects—together with the laugh expressing ironic detachment—through which her value is manifested, namely the unmasking of the hypocrisies of mundane society. This high function is, of course, provided to the woman’s laughter by certain poetic passages. Consider, for example, II, 4 and the rigmarole of variants of the second stanza (especially v. 7, “e ne sorrise”), in which laughter, first shared with the doctor (“e con te rise”), ends up being linked exclusively to the woman (“e poi ne rise”), since she is capable of revealing “incredibili agnizioni” (v. 4) through her speech. Laughter seals its demystifying and shrewd act; that is, the agnition referred to the doctor’s name. In II, 10 and in La morte di Dio, Mosca’s bursting laugh reveals instead its judgmental accent, both against the caste of scholars with high-sounding names and against the ecclesiastical hierarchies. The resulting message is, therefore, one of humility, rejecting all forms of doctrinal and institutional wisdom in favor of a life lived in awareness of the limits of one’s own knowledge. The text that comes closest to I, 11, however, is the rejected xenion Sapeva ridere come nessun altro…, dated 15 October 1967, and today included in Bettarini-Contini’s Varianti e autocommenti (Montale 1980, p. 988). Its handwritten version follows, perhaps not by chance, the just cited II, 10, also bearing the same date. I quote the short epigram:

Sapeva ridere come nessun altro,

dice Goffredo. Resta da decidere

sul senso di quel ridere e sul numero

delle sue vittime.

The text, although discarded and replaced with the present II, 5, offers important food for thought about the theme I am dealing with. Not only does it prompt the reader to question the “senso di quel ridere” (thereby confirming its complex and non-trivial value) but it implicitly still links it to the great motif of the Universal Judgement, given that laughter also generates an unspecified number of victims, among whom the poet itself would have liked to appear.

If in Ossi di seppia the motif of laugh is mainly linked to the figure of Esterina (Falsetto), in Le occasioni it appears in relation to another important inspirer (“il suono del tuo riso non è più lieto”; La casa dei doganieri, v. 7). Like Mosca, the mysterious Arletta is also dead, and the poet seeks a way to communicate with her. However, while Arletta’s absence imposes itself more somberly in the form of detachment, Mosca remains pervaded with vitality. Her role as guide cannot be tied within the simple paradigm of the vanished beloved. Certainly, in contrast to what happens with Esterina, Arletta is the probable origin of the sad and elegiac vein that sometimes naturally binds itself to the poems that mourn her. A distinction is necessary, however. The inspirer of the Xenia continues to be depicted mainly in her laughing attitude, while it is the ‘I’ that absorbs the elegiac component. I am convinced that it is precisely the different natures of the two protagonists of the Xenia that generate the encounter clash between the comic–satirical component, which belongs to Mosca, in whose sign the entire collection is not by chance inscribed, and the elegiac one of the ‘I’, which gradually abandons the more nostalgic and memorial tones. “Insomma, se c’è qualcuno o qualcosa di epigrammatico o satirico, in questa raccolta, pare più lei che lui” (Bettini 1985, p. 405). In I, 10, in fact, the memory of the woman’s weeping is not sufficient to extinguish the outburst of laughter. The ‘I’ admits instead that its own weeping is double that of Mosca. In the second series of Xenia, the opposition is welded into a single expression, “ti vedevo piangere/dal ridere” (II, 10, vv. 10–11), which contains nothing oxymoronic, as it heightens the positive intensity of laughter. However, the co-presence of weeping and laughter, of “dolcezza e orrore” (II, 4, v. 9), could also have relevant implications. Mosca’s irony, since it is linked to an ethics of unmasking, carries with it a painful awareness of the truth, of the inauthenticity and vanity of any elitist or institutional vague knowledge. Her judgmental attitude, moreover, is never detached from the feelings of compassion and charity that bring her closer to human beings, at the same time as it distances her from them.

The fact that Montale draws the theme of laughter from previous characters demonstrates once again that Mosca has not remained unscathed by the grafts and exchanges of traits between one inspirer and another, all equally transformed and blended into the artistic device of the poem. The metaliterary statement made by the poet in Quaderno di quattro anni, in the poem L’immane farsa umana…, is relevant in this sense:

Ho tentato più volte di far nascere

figure umane angeli salvifici

anche se provvisori; e se uno falliva

né si reggeva più sul piedistallo

pronta e immancabile anche la sostituta

adusata alla parte per vocazione innata

di essere il doppio sempre pronto al decollo

alle prime avvisaglie e a volte tale

da onnubilare dell’originale

volto falcata riso pianto tutto

ciò che conviene al calco più perfetto

di chi sembrò vivente e fu nessuno.

I do not believe with this either that Montale’s personages are fungible or truly interchangeable, or that they lack a specificity that ultimately must also depend on the poet’s biographical experience. There is no doubt, however, that all of the women participate, in different ways from time to time, in the unique semantics of ‘you’, whose imagery is often nourished by repeated images. In the case of laughter, the theme is problematized and enriched through the collections, finding its greatest expression in the character of Mosca.

Let me now turn to the theme of seeing–feeling within I, 5. For the first time, in the first series of Xenia, the poet sketches one of Mosca’s powers and valorous attributes, namely his “radar di pipistrello” (v. 11), defined in the previous verse as “senso infallibile”. The latter syntagma only appears in the printed text, whereas in the two earlier manuscript drafts we find a more specific “fiuto infallibile”. Below is the text:

Non ho mai capito se io fossi

il tuo cane fedele e incimurrito

o tu lo fossi per me.

Per gli altri no, eri un insetto miope

smarrito nel blabla

dell’alta società. Erano ingenui

quei furbi e non sapevano

di essere loro il tuo zimbello:

di esser visti anche al buio e smascherati

da un tuo senso infallibile, dal tuo

radar di pipistrello.

The corrective rigmarole relating to vv. 8–11, as Grignani states, clearly shows the poet’s intention to move towards an “espressionismo come corrispettivo formale del processo di simbolizzazione e quindi come negazione del realismo” (Grignani 1974, p. 368). Montale must initially have played on the opposition between not seeing (“insetto miope”) and feeling with the sense of smell (“fiuto infallibile”). The loss of one sense is compensated for by the sharpening of another one; hence, there is the parallelism with the bat. Shortly after the first draft, in a letter to Guarnieri dated 29 April 1964, the author writes: “Sono stanco e conduco una vita miserabile avendo perduto l’unica ragione di vita che avevo. Io ho sempre vissuto per far vivere qualche altro e più di tutti e di tutto la povera Mosca che era cieca ma aveva un fiuto infallibile e non si è mai sbagliata nel giudicare gli uomini” (Montale 1996a, p. 1512). As mentioned for the first xenion in the same series, however, Mosca’s (non-)seeing is charged with greater significance. Mosca does not see physically but because she develops a deeper sight, a feeling that amplifies her ability to perceive the world for what it really is. The poet, therefore, from a divergence—one might even say complementarity—expressed on the simple level of physical perception, subsequently constructs a more subtle dichotomy between perceiving superficially (that of “chi crede/che la realtà sia quella che si vede”; II, 5, vv. 6–7) and seeing deeply. Indicative of this gradual mythopoetic process are the three variant phases to which I have referred above. If in the 1964 draft the naïve–wise men “non sapevano di essere ritagliati e posti al muro/dal tuo fiuto infallibile”, in 1965 they “non sapevano […] di esser visti e squinternati/dal tuo fiuto infallibile”. At this point, the contradiction of “essere visti […] dal tuo fiuto” can only lead to the further and final correction. The “senso infallibile” is just that—a seeing that is actually a hearing (“Ascoltare era il solo tuo modo di vedere”; I, 9, v. 1). This also means, it is clear, being able to unmask, to demystify, to get to the core of reality. Macrì has rightly spoken of her “virtù di nuda verità” (Macrì [1967] 1968, p. 132).

The variants do not only go in the direction of greater complexity and deepness but also seem to establish a certain continuity with one of the fundamental attributes of the great inspirer of Le occasioni and La bufera, which is the sight. Bringing Mosca from the sphere of ‘sniffing’ to that of ‘seeing–feeling’ means diminishing the gap that opposed her to Clizia, certainly accentuating the development entirely within this one perceptive sense. To put it another way, Montale does not create a new character out of nothing but rather wishes to reuse and resemantize old poetic material to ennoble Mosca by inserting her in the groove of the Clizia’s myth, without erasing her distinctive traits (“insetto miope”). It is no coincidence, in fact, that the “radar di pipistrello” (v. 11), evoking the story Il pipistrello from the third part of La farfalla di Dinard, creates a short circuit between the women of poetry and prose. For the text of Farfalla, Scaffai has highlighted the intricate grafting of Clizia’s memories into the figure of his wife Drusilla-Mosca (Montale 2021b, p. 313), according to a mechanism of passing on and exchanging narrative (or narrativized biographical) material that by now should come as no surprise. Although in the prose it is possible to identify the bat with the man’s father (“se fosse mio padre ch’è venuto a farmi visita?”, p. 118), the signs of an initial identification between the animal and the woman are neither few nor unspoken. The first step, alluded to by Scaffai, is found just after the re-evocation of the childhood memory of the bat’s killing by the I-speaker:

«Non sono brutti, sai? In fondo sono dei poveri topini con ali di ragnatelo. Si cibano di zanzare, non fanno male a nessuno. E il mio, disgraziatamente non era morto, sussultava… come questo. (Ih, ih!) Non piangere, ora viene quell’altra bestia, il portiere. Bisognerà dargli due o tre scellini; forse più, secondo la durata della caccia. Non piangere, non costa poi troppo. Ma fammi riflettere: questo non è neppure il secondo, è il terzo pipistrello importante della mia vita. Il primo lo sai, il secondo… sei tu o quasi, non ti offendere; il terzo è piovuto qui stasera e noi lo accogliamo così, scagliandogli contro riviste di carta patinata, pantofole, tappeti; fra poco, se è mezzo morto, sarà finito a colpi di scopa. Non so se sia giusto, non so… non so. (Ih, ih!) No, non piangere, dico per dire. Ora vedremo il da farsi. L’unica sarebbe prenderlo con delicatezza e metterlo fuori. Se tornasse a ingabbiarsi nel cestino, per esempio. Se si potesse sbaraccare tutto dalla finestra, la gabbia e quell’anima nera. Ah, ah! Lasciami pensare…»

(p. 118).5

Here, she loses part of her own distinct individuality, perhaps merging with that of the women-inspirers who preceded her, according to a process of mythologization not unlike that which in other words would be described some time later in Satura’s liminal poem, Il tu. The complementarity between Clizia and Mosca is not only discernible at the level of the character’s construction but is dropped diegetically into the story. As an aside, it is not improbable that in the subsequent dichotomy of “la gabbia e quell’anima nera”, Pythagorean body and soul, one can recognize the drama of Mosca caged in plaster: “la gola ed il petto/t’avevano chiuso di colpo/in un manichino di gesso” (Ballata scritta in una clinica, vv. 11–13).

The second passage is the one that closes the prose:

Lei con gli occhi sbarrati guardò ancora la conchiglia ormai ferma e pensò al ristorante delle ali nere; poi ricordandosi di colpo che, pochi anni prima, la curiosità di assistere al Pipistrello di Strauss l’aveva salvata dalla morte, dalla bomba che aveva distrutta la sua casa, ebbe un altro scatto e si gettò perdutamente sull’ammasso delle coperte con un riso lungo e convulso.

(p. 119)

It is here that the woman also recognizes the bat’s faunal signs. The identification with the animal is finally possible. One must note how Montale himself condenses references to the two different female figures in the same ending. The “ristorante delle ali nere”, as I have said, is the one frequented by Irma Brandeis, while the “bomba che aveva distrutto la sua casa” refers to an anecdote, which perhaps never happened, concerning Drusilla Tanzi’s Florentine home. In the latter case, the invention of certain details, namely the staging of Strauss’s Pipistrello6 and the destruction of the woman’s home,7 is even more significant. If the latter serves to weld the animal to the woman more tragically, in the sign of an escaped tragedy, even more important is the creation of the ‘occasion’ (Strauss’s Pipistrello) that can unite both inspirers in a continuum of images and symbols. Montale prepares the character of Mosca and the network of senhals that years later will identify her. Behind the bat’s radar lies a long rigmarole of transfers and grafts, which have little or nothing to do with mere reality and much to do with the poetic world.

3. Rhetorical–Formal Strategies: New Forms of Communication

In this section of the present contribution, I will focus on more formal elements. Having ascertained the impossibility of communicating with Mosca through physical contact, the lyric self, especially in xenion I, 8, alludes to the construction of new forms of communication between himself and the vanished woman. It seems that the poet can still hear the words of his beloved but through an acute decipherment of her signals. The latter are also widespread in the poems themselves, in the form of alliterations, repetitions of syllables and sounds, which refer precisely to the relationship between the ‘I’ and the ‘you’. In this way, not only Mosca’s poetic character but also her field of action end up being absorbed into the lump of artistic invention.

As I have just mentioned, the most relevant text for understanding the forms and modes of communication that the ‘I’ establishes with Mosca is I, 8, of which I first quote the final version with its variants, and then the first draft:

La tua parola così stenta e imprudente

resta la sola di cui mi appago.

Ma è mutato l’accento, altro il colore.

Mi abituerò a sentirti o a decifrarti

nel ticchettìo della telescrivente,

nel volubile fumo dei miei sigari

di Brissago.

  

2. mi appago] m’appago

4. Mi abituerò a sentirti o a decifrarti] Mi abituo ad ascoltarti

6–7. nel volubile fumo dei miei sigari | di Brissago.] nelle volute diafane del mio | sigaro di Brissago.

  

Di poco, quasi nulla, ormai mi appago.

Mi abituerò a parlarti

col ticchettìo della telescrivente,

con le volute lente del mio sigaro

di Brissago.

It is easy to note that the rewriting of the text entails a general change of perspective. The text, in the first draft, opens with a self-reflection of the I-speaker (“Di poco, quasi nulla, ormai mi appago”), followed by a few lines that still place him at the center, in the particular conversational dynamic that he establishes with the deceased, since it is he who is speaking (“Mi abituerò a parlarti”). In the final version, the center is Mosca, both in the initial diptych, which opens with “la tua parola”, and in the continuation of the poem, in which, with a total reversal, it is the woman who speaks and the man has no choice but to listen to her, if anything to decipher her. Indeed, the choice of the verb “sentirti” instead of “ascoltarti” is even more accurate, since this kind of feeling, as I explained in the previous paragraph, implies a deeper and more complex understanding of external reality. The genesis of the text, therefore, clearly shows the author’s desire to leave the word to the inspirer, to redeem her from the silence to which she seemed destined in I, 2 (vv. 7–10). This anticipates one of the results of the second series of Xenia, in which, for the first time within the diegetic structure of the poem, there is a genuine direct speech on Mosca’s part.

In the final version of I, 8 there are also important indications as to the nature of this ‘word’, which is first described as “stenta e imprudente” and of which it is then said that “è mutato l’accento, altro il colore”. Given that the new poem belongs to Mosca (I, 14, vv. 1–3) and is shaped on the values she embodies, the characteristics of her ‘word’ are important not only to define the character but also because of the poetic season that is born with it. The Tuscan variant “stenta” is probably, in this sense, the most relevant element. The adjective is found exclusively in Ossi di seppia and Satura, with three and one occurrences, respectively. This simple statistic may already be non-trivial in itself, although one can also read vv. 1–10 of Potessi almeno costringere, in the section Mediterraneo of the Ossi:

Potessi almeno costringere

in questo mio ritmo stento

qualche poco del tuo vaneggiamento;

dato mi fosse accordare

alle tue voci il mio balbo parlare: –

io che sognava rapirti

le salmastre parole

in cui natura ed arte si confondono,

per gridar meglio la mia malinconia

di fanciullo invecchiato che non doveva pensare.

The fourth phase of Montale’s poetry owes much to the poetics of the first one (Santagata 2022), despite the natural presence of differences. Both periods give rise to a poetry characterized by a “ritmo stento”. In Satura, this rhythm is a deliberate outcome, reflecting an ideal of poetry that rejects the sublime, tending instead towards humility in order to convey Mosca’s own message of humility. Ossi di seppia, on the other hand, originated from a desire for totality (perhaps even a pan experience) that was constantly frustrated by the impossibility of translating into verse the “vaneggiamento” and the voices of the sea. In this latter case, therefore, the “ritmo stento” is what remains of a failed poetic program and is equivalent to the “balbo parlare”. In contrast, this very aspect is appreciated by the poet of Satura, who sees stammering (or verbal reticence) as the only viable form of expression, given that complete speech only belongs to God. It is a sign of a decency that can still be found in simple characters such as Mr. Cap (“Tace a lungo,/farfuglia”, II, 2, vv. 6–7) and Celia (“una balbuzie/impediva anche lei”, vv. 8–9). The ultimately positive model of stammering and halting rhythm is, of course, Mosca herself. On the other hand, «imprudente» is a hapax legomenon; here, the reference to the woman’s bold, ironic, and sharp-witted attitude is clear, as she ridicules formalities and the pretensions of every institution, from intellectual circles (II, 10) to the Church (La morte di Dio), including the “blabla/dell’alta società” (I, 5, vv. 5–6). It may be argued that while the adjective “stenta” denotes the constructive moment of this new poetics, “imprudente” instead pertains to its critical-negative phase, from which the poet’s satirical vocation takes shape. However, in Mosca’s speech, both “accento” and “colore” are altered. To discern the meaning of these terms, they must be examined in relation to the subsequent verses.

The “accento” refers to rhythm, to the prosody of speech, and by extension to that of poetry itself, which the poet now associates with the “ticchettìo della telescrivente”. Here, a trans-communicative level comes into play (Agosti 1972), to which I will refer later. What matters is not so much the mechanical, repetitive, or cold sound of the teleprinter but rather the prosodic–rhythmic counterpart of that “ticchettìo” within the poetry of Xenia, interwoven with alliterative elements that recall Mosca and constitute one of the ways in which an attempt is made to reestablish communication with her. Then, the “accento” has changed because the channels through which the speech of the departed can still be made present have changed as well.

On the other hand, “colore” must be associated with the “volubile fumo dei miei sigari/di Brissago”. While the chromatic association is evident, the rhetorical notion of color is also at play, although it cannot be explored in depth here.8 What is important to note is that in defining Mosca’s speech, the poet is referring to the ornato, the style of his own poetry. Given the reference to smoke, it would be natural to imagine a grayish, somber color—one that can, in turn, be linked to the funereal and melancholic atmosphere following the death of his wife. However, while elegiac notes are present in Xenia, they are perhaps not the most innovative or revolutionary aspect of this new poetry. However, by examining textual variants further, not immediately intuitive insights into the color of the smoke emerge. The poet speaks of the “volute diafane del mio/sigaro di Brissago”, suggesting that the smoke is not gray but transparent. If this image is analyzed through the rhetorical implications of the term “colore”, a valid correspondence with the style of Xenia can indeed be established. This new poetry aspires to a clarity of diction (which does not equate to semantic banality), to stylistic transparency, founded on the rejection of obscurisme (Croce 2005, pp. 30–32) and the mannerism of previous collections. In this sense as well, a transformation has clearly taken place. Smoke had already held a magical and propitiatory value in Montale’s earlier poetry, and in Xenia it remains linked to the mysterious and almost mystical ability to communicate with the absent. In Nuove stanze, for instance, notable similarities with the epigram can be observed. Even in the poetry of Le Occasioni, the smoke (“fumo”, v. 4) appears in connection with the female figure, in a private and almost magical context. The origin of the smoke is domestic and unassuming, namely “tabacco” (v. 1), just as in Xenia we find “sigari”, the only difference being that in the latter case, it is the I-speaker who generates the smoke, even though Mosca ultimately gives the smoke its form and meaning.

Thus far, I have outlined some elements that denote a communicative need on the part of the ‘I’ towards the inspirer, as well as the new modalities through which this relationship can be established in the aftermath of Mosca’s death. Upon closer examination, however, the poet also constructs a secondary system that exploits the formal possibilities of poetry, and generally of language, to convey the semantic implications of the primary system in a more subtle yet pervasive manner. On this topic, it is impossible not to begin with Agosti (1972):

Scrutati davvicino, i testi di Xenia si mostrano eccessivi e abnormi come pochi altri di Montale. Sintatticamente «normali» e apparentemente impegnati […] a un massimo di fedeltà all’esperienza vissuta, che si configurerebbe «trascritta» per culmini significativi tramite procedure di pura registrazione dei dati, essi si rivelano al contrario elaborati e riorganizzati in base a tre tipi di procedimenti.

(p. 197)

The first of these procedures consists of the “istituzione, entro la crudità del referto, di armoniche tematiche che rinviano il componimento alla situazione generale del colloquio con l’‘altro’, situato ‘al di là’” (ibid.). Indeed, both series of Xenia, as well as the entire Satura, contain numerous references to objects or communicative situations, which become evident upon reading the texts. The initial texts record attempts, often unsuccessful, at communication (I, 1 and particularly I, 2), although by I, 3 this theme begins to take on more positive tones. Moreover, for the first time, there is a reference to the semantic field of the telephone (which will also appear in I, 9 and II, 11, passing through the teleprinter in I, 8). The xenion I, 4 elevates the theme of communication to the level of a poetic afterlife. In the second series, this motif is further developed through an extensive use of direct speech, and one need only to consider that the core of this section is a dialogue between the poetic I and Mosca (I, 7). Agosti, for his part, argues that the letter, the telephone, and the teleprinter are “simboli positivi per analogia (sono infatti gli strumenti normalmente adibiti nel colloquio a distanza), essi sono altresì oggetto di negazione da parte dell’autore, cui tali strumenti non servono più” (pp. 197–98). As I have previously attempted to demonstrate, I believe the relationship should be reversed. For the poet, the telephone and the teleprinter are primarily among the many stifling objects of modernity, devices that at best simulate the characteristics of a true conversation and that are often “fonte di seccature” (Montale 2002, p. 114). In poetry, however, their value is redeemed, both because they are associated with the figure of Mosca and because the poet demonstrates the alternative and unconventional ways in which these instruments can function. Consider, for instance, the poem A tarda notte, which stages a miraculous telephone conversation, precisely because it is futile and unexpected. Attention should also be paid to the assonance in telefoniste:amiche:ripartire in I, 3. The telephone operators are friends, positive figures who, through their role and their connection to the telephone, enable one to “ripartire”. The polysemy of this latter term allows for an interpretation of this not only as ‘to divide’ but also as ‘to set off again’, a new beginning, precisely what the poetic I is seeking in relation to new modes of communication with Mosca.

For reasons of space, I must forgo discussing the second procedure identified by Agosti. I move, therefore, directly to the third, which consists of the “minuzioso e conturbante trattamento anagrammatico e allitterativo della materia verbale” (Agosti 1972, p. 197). This technique allows one to “costituire, al di sopra o al di sotto del piano semantico, una sorta di “testo” non-significativo, volto a realizzare, attraverso modalità sub-linguistiche di significazione, la forma o le forme di un comunicare trans-contestuale” (ibid.). The poet systematically distributes within his verses a series of sounds or syllables that continually evoke the second-person singular pronoun in its various phonological and morphological forms. Variants of the first-person singular pronoun also frequently appear, either to evoke the image of a two-person dialogue or in relation to specific thematic contexts, such as the elegiac and nostalgic ones. For illustrative purposes, I will not reproduce the critic’s examples, to which I instead refer the reader for consultation. However, I will seek to demonstrate the validity of the principles he sets forth by examining the first xenion, I, 1:

Caro piccolo insetto,

che chiamavano mosca non so perché,

stasera quasi al buio

mentre leggevo il Deuteroisaia

sei ricomparsa accanto a me,

ma non avevi occhiali,

non poTEvi vedermi

né poTEvo io senza quel luccichìo

riconoscere TE nella foschia.

I have marked certain sounds according to a criterion that I will illustrate shortly. The text opens with the I-speaker’s vision of the woman and ends with the realization of a mutual difficulty in establishing a relationship, despite the lyrical I perceiving Mosca’s presence and her subsequent reappearance beside him. The paradox, therefore, already manifests itself at this level, since an initial form of contact, regardless of how uncertain, has already taken place. This encounter, in fact, is expressed precisely on the level of signifiers. The poem is rich in stressed ‘e’ sounds, which I have marked with underlining, and they frequently occupy prominent positions, such as at the beginning or end of the verse (all verses except the sixth and ninth), or both. The network of ‘e’ sounds initially leads to the first-person singular pronoun “me”, which is mirrored at the beginning of the preceding verse («mentre») and in other forms of the pronoun, indicated in italics. However, these ‘e’ ultimately guide the reader towards the «te» of the final verse, itself prepared by two hidden occurrences in the preceding two verses, marked here in capital letters. The final «te» is positioned significantly at the center of the verse, coinciding with the ictus of the sixth syllable. This placement outlines a gradual process of the ‘I’ approaching the ‘you’, ultimately rediscovering it. The «te» is the final destination. The search for contact with the woman yields its first tentative positive sign, initiating the discourse of Xenia, which will continue to develop this theme. The most interesting verse in this respect is the eighth. Here, six words form two hemistichs that are rhythmically identical, as they repeat the same pattern of stressed vowels e–e–i(o). The stressed ‘e’ sounds recall the «te» of the final verse, while the terms «io» and «lucchichìo» explicitly allude to the lyrical I. This creates an interweaving of the two pronouns, and consequently of the two protagonists, although it also means that the stressed ‘e’ lean more towards the ‘you’ than the ‘I’, compelling a reconsideration of their pervasive presence in the text.

The network of ti/tue/te/tu, often in relation to mi/mio/me/io, is present in many of the xenia (at least I, 3; I, 5; I, 10; I, 11; I, 12; I, 13; II, 1; II, 5; II, 13; II, 14), frequently with significant implications. For instance, in I, 3 and I, 8, among these occurrences, we also find «TElefoniste» (v. 6) and «TElescrivente» (v. 5). The second-person pronoun is embedded within the prefix ‘tele-’, emblematic, as we know, of the new means of communication, meaning ‘from afar, at a distance’. It is evident even at the level of deciphering the alliterative structure that the distance now existing between the two partners may be bridged through appropriate means of communication or through alternative pathways that make the absent present or transport the ‘I’ into its afterlife.

In the case of xenion I, 10, the presence of personal pronouns, although not excessively high, frequently appears in final verse positions. Except for «Antonio», none of the other occurrences remain unconnected to some form of rhyme or rhythmic echo:

«Pregava?». «Sì, pregava Sant’Antonio

perché fa ritrovare

gli ombrelli smarriTI e altri oggetTI

del guardaroba di Sant’ErmeTE».

«Per questo solo?». «Anche per i suoi morTI

e per me».

«È sufficienTE» disse il preTE.

I will once again indicate references to the ‘I’ in italics and to the ‘you’ in uppercase. The theme of recovering lost objects through a prayer to Saint Anthony, when connected to the subsequent remark “per i suoi morti/e per me”, allows the seemingly comic theme to develop on a deeper level. It concerns the recovery of contact between the deceased and the survivors, brought together in Mosca’s prayers. The transition from «Sant’Antonio» to the mythical «Sant’ErmeTE» is particularly significant, as the latter name contains, in succession, the pronouns ‘me’ and ‘te’, whose sounds are further emphasized by the repetitions of «me», «sufficienTE», and «preTE».

4. Macrotextual Strategies: Xenia II, Mosca’s Novel

In this final section of the essay, I will focus on how Montale integrates a narrative component into lyric poetry. This aspect has a decisive impact on the representation of Mosca. While drawing from her biographical experiences, through a novelistic framework, the poet moves toward a fictionalized portrayal of the woman. In Xenia II, Mosca has now become a poetic character, revitalized through direct discourse.

If one examines the texts not only in their final versions but also diachronically, a certain complexity in their elaboration emerges. Considering the textual variants, two lines of revision can be identified. The first direction involves eliminating the preterite (II, 12, vv. 4–6) or shifting from preterite to imperfect (II, 3, vv. 2–3) or directly to present perfect (II, 7, v. 2; II, 13, vv. 5–6). In other cases, imperfect is replaced with present perfect (II, 7, v. 3) or with the present (II, 6, v. 2). The second, opposing trend involves changes in the reverse direction; the present is replaced by the imperfect (II, 11, v. 9), imperfect shifts to preterite (II, 10, v. 2; II, 14, v. 18), and in some instances the preterite is retained (II, 4, vv. 5–7), albeit with certain modifications.

Regarding the first of these two corrective strategies, it is important to note that the substitution of preterite verbs is almost always linked to Mosca’s figure. Montale systematically avoids associating her with or making her the grammatical subject of a verb in preterite, which is classified as a perfective verb of aoristic aspect, denoting completed events with no continuing impact on the present. In contrast, Mosca continues to influence the I-speaker’s life, communicating with him and guiding him through her values. In the mythic narrative of Xenia, any realistic allusion to the beloved’s death is systematically blurred. Regarding the second and seemingly more controversial variant trend, the reasoning concerning Mosca remains valid. The only exception, if it can be called such, is found in II, 14, v. 18, for which I will now provide the textual variants:

18–19. il mio coraggio fu il primo|dei tuoi prestiti e forse non l’hai saputo.] ^ail mio coraggio era un tuo|prestito senza interessi, mai saldato. ^bil mio coraggio era un tuo | prestito accolto ad occhi chiusi. ^cil mio coraggio fu solo | un tuo prestito e l’hai sempre saputo. ^dil mio coraggio fu l’ultimo|dei tuoi prestiti e forse non l’hai saputo. ^eil mio coraggio fu il primo|dei tuoi prestiti e forse non l’hai saputo ^fil mio coraggio era un prestito|tuo, senza interesse, mai saldato.

(Montale 1980, p. 991)

Starting from version c, Montale begins to favor the preterite “fu” over the imperfect “era”. We can disregard version f, which reverts to the original a version, likely due to the poet’s temporary inclination to restore two verses that had undergone an implausible sequence of revisions. The resulting effect is comparable to that of I, 6 (“E fu/il tuo incanto”, vv. 2–3), leading me to believe that Xenia I itself served as a model for imitation. It seems that the poet sought to conclude the Xenia with an image of mythical resonance, indefinitely distanced in time. The term ‘exception’ is, thus, an overstatement. The Xenia never deviate from the emerging norm, namely that no verb in preterite ever has Mosca as its grammatical subject.

This latest wave of corrections, which tends to shift verbal occurrences further into the past, is accompanied by a series of complementary strategies. First, there is a significantly higher number of preterite verbs in Xenia II compared to Xenia I (ten instances versus five), excluding the six additional occurrences that were later eliminated or replaced. Second, there is the use of the historical present. Out of the thirty-nine present-tense verbs in Xenia II, eight function as historical presents, while eleven appear within the numerous direct speeches (where verb tenses operate under different constraints). This brings the actual number of present-tense verbs down to only twenty occurrences, amounting to just 22% of the total instances, compared to 44% in Xenia I. Then, this is the meaning of what I have termed the second corrective direction. Each of the strategies listed contributes to increasing the frequency of narrative tenses (Weinrich 2004, sct. I.5) and consequently the narrative component of the text. From a formal standpoint, this reinforces the novelistic impression that distinguishes Xenia II from the more lyrical tone of the first series.9

I will now proceed with the analysis of the final textual variants that further indicate a shift toward a narrative mode. First, let me consider a passage from Weinrich:

[…] I morfemi temporali e personali nella loro funzione di segnali sintattici sono strettamente legati: gli uni e gli altri caratterizzano insieme l’evento linguistico in rapporto alla situazione comunicativa; è così che si spiega la loro affinità. La prima e la seconda persona designano il parlante e l’ascoltatore. C’è da aspettarsi che la loro frequenza aumenti quando costoro hanno qualcosa direttamente in comune dovendo commentare i fatti lì per lì in discussione. Esse saranno invece meno frequenti quando si racconta, perché allora è più facile che si parli di un terzo (persona o cosa) assente. Ecco perciò l’affinità tra la terza persona e i tempi del racconto. Che il passé simple si combini molto piú spesso, in maniera così vistosa, con la terza persona è solo una conferma del fatto che questo tempo appartiene al mondo narrato.

(Weinrich 2004, pp. 290–91)

Montale, in accordance with the conventions of lyric poetry and even more with his institutional inclination toward the use of ‘you’, appears to calibrate his engagement with the “mondo commentato”, at least in terms of the relationship between tempus and persona. Mosca is the listener, or rather the interlocutor of the speaker–poet. This is unquestionably true for Xenia I. However, in Xenia II, the discussion requires further consideration. In the second series, before reaching its final stabilization, the poet employs the third person to refer to the woman in three instances. In the first draft of xenion II, 4, we find “Così era. Anche sull’orlo dell’abisso/pronta a scherzare” (vv. 4–5); in the discarded version of II, 9, “E la parola dio,/lei giudiziosa non la pronunciava mai/neppure con la minuscola” (vv. 5–7); finally, in the rejected xenion Sapeva ridere come nessun altro, “Sapeva ridere come nessun altro,/dice Goffredo. Resta da decidere/sul senso di quel ridere e sul numero/delle sue vittime”. In all of these cases, they represent either initial or in some instances (Sapeva ridere come nessun altro) unique drafts. The poet must have initially perceived the third-person formulations as more natural and spontaneous, as they likely seemed more aligned with the increasing narrative direction of his poetry and the fictional characterization of Mosca as a literary figure. Given Montale’s usus scribendi, as a poet fundamentally oriented toward the ‘you’ form, these textual choices must be considered significant.

Direct speech has already been mentioned. Another crucial innovation in Xenia II is the systematic introduction of direct speech, an element rarely found in Montale’s previous poetry10 but more frequent in his literary prose (such as Farfalla di Dinard), which played a significant role in shaping the stylistic and imaginative framework of his later works. In Xenia I, the only example of this technique appears in the tenth xenion. In Xenia II, however, dramatization through direct speech is a notable feature of xenia 2, 6, 7, 8, and 11. Furthermore, direct speech initially appeared in the first line of the earliest draft of II, 4 (“‘È matta’./L’avrà detto il cerusico Mangàno”), which was later retained, although slightly modified, in its revised form (“‘È matta!’”). Additionally, the opening line of Sapeva ridere come nessun altro could also be interpreted as direct speech. Particularly noteworthy is the sequence of textual revisions in II, 8, where Montale entirely rewrites the brief epigram, replacing an indirect narrative style with a direct dialogue between Mosca and the wine seller. Below, I provide without additional variants the draft from 10 September 1967, followed by its final version:

Dicono che esista anche il Paradiso.

Ma abbiamo preferito rimandare

l’appuntamento.

  

«E il Paradiso? Esiste un paradiso?».

«Credo di sì, signora, ma i vini dolci

Non li vuol più nessuno».

Aside from II, 11, direct speech primarily foregrounds Mosca’s voice, endowing her words with confidence, ironic force, and revelatory power, traces of which persist in other texts as well. Xenion II, 4 revolves entirely around the moment of verbal recognition-play revealed by the woman. Furthermore, II, 9 (“tu, giudiziosa,/dio non lo nominavi neppure con la minuscola”, vv. 5–6) intertwines the religious theme with that of Mosca’s humility. Similarly, II, 10 (“non sapevi un’acca/di portoghese o meglio una parola/sola: Madeira”, vv. 3–5) reinterprets the theme of humility, framing illiteracy in a positive light. The atmosphere in Xenia I, however, is markedly different, centering instead on the arduous search for that same “parola così stenta e imprudente” (I, 8, v. 1) through new communicative modalities, without which failure would be inevitable (“Forse che/te n’eri andata così presto senza/parlare?”; I, 2, vv. 7–9).

The final element supporting the narrative tendency is the abundance of secondary characters, whose presence is significantly more pronounced in Xenia II compared to Xenia I. Moreover, the depiction of these figures is far more dynamic; many are named individually,11 engage in dialogue with the two main characters,12 and act with a degree of autonomy. Their concrete presence on the page does not contradict the expressionistic style or the conciseness with which they are rendered. Rather, their essence is captured in a few defining gestures, fixing them in the reader’s memory as myth, a process outlined by Avalle (1977). Grignani (1974, p. 370) describes this as “eliminazione di particolari biografici o circostanziali per una scelta di allusività e di simbolizzazione dell’esperienza”. Everything, therefore, is interconnected. The characters, among whom Mosca is the undisputed protagonist, naturally evoke the novel as a genre, which in turn leads back to the category of myth.

This extensive analysis does not seek to deny the presence of lyrical elements. Rather, it aims to move beyond an exclusively lyrical framework by substantiating initial intuitions and impressions with rigorous study and appropriate analytical tools. Ultimately, it is important to recall that the most fertile innovations of this poetic phase are named after Mosca. The poet constructs a framework to contain her, to give her voice, and to express her values. His language is molded around her figure, the grief of loss is counterbalanced by her enthusiastic poetic revitalization. In Xenia, it is not only themes and content but also form that serve the need to create a fictional world, one in which Mosca may still laugh, and her vitality may be sublimated.