HISTORIANS AND SCHOLARS.
When we consider the literature of Venice, we are amazed to find how
few names are in its list of authors, and how narrow the field they
occupied. Of poets there were none; and, indeed, the only writers of
importance were the early annalists and the later historians. That
peculiarly self-centred trait of which we have spoken as belonging to
the Venetians in various directions, was eminently characteristic of
their writers. It was Venice, and only Venice, that interested them;
and from its earliest days there were those, nameless now, who were
so impressed with the growth, the strength, and the splendor of the
city that they saw growing and spreading around them, that they wrote
it all down, and thus furnished invaluable material to those who came
after them and wrote in a more elegant and systematic style. Some of
these early annals still exist. They are read by the learned, and
are said to be a strange medley of history and fable, all expressed
in language of such vigor as to emphasize the earnestness of the
writers, and frequently with such realism as would eclipse the
authors of our day who cultivate that quality. His Serenity Marco
Foscarini, in his work on Venetian literature, gives the names of
such a host of these imperceptible writers, who are more than half
lost in the ancient fogs in which they existed, that one must be
brave even to read these names, much more so to attempt their works.
{320}
Sagornino, of the eleventh century, is more real; and no aspect in
which Venice could be viewed was neglected by him and his followers.
Its ceremonials, treaties, ecclesiastical and other important
matters, are treated with no more attention and respect than are the
merest details and most common events. They were all lovers of this
mistress, Venezia, to whom the slightest variation in her pulse was
almost a matter of life and death.
But not until the fourteenth century were these chronicles put into a
form which could be called history. Andrea Dandolo, Petrarch's
friend, the first scholarly Doge, may also be called the first
Venetian historian. His family had already given three Doges to the
Republic, and he had not only the early annals, but the state papers
and those of his ancestors, on which to rely for the facts which he
wove into a formal, dignified, and conscientious narration of the
lives and deeds of the rulers of Venice who had preceded him.
After him, for a half-century, again there were but the chronicles of
monks who wrote of their orders, soldiers who fought their battles
over on parchment, or idle patricians who amused themselves by
keeping diaries. A history of Venice was talked of, was ardently
desired; but no one undertook it, until Marco Antonio Sabellico, a
native of Vicovaro, was seized with the desire to write such a book,
which was published in 1487. It seems almost impossible to believe
what we are told,--that he had seen no authoritative book on Venice,
that he knew neither Dandolo's history, nor that best account of the
Chioggian War, written by the nephew of the great Zeno. But be this
as it may, in fifteen months he completed a work which, though not
without its errors, stands as an authority, and is without doubt the
most eloquent of Venetian annals. It was at once accepted with
enthusiasm; and the Senate graciously gave to Sabellico two {321}
hundred ducats a year. The translation from the Latin by Dolce
retains the telling eloquence of the original. It is a wonderful
account of the internal and external affairs of the Republic, given
with a pen so graphic as to make its word pictures full of the charm
that we find in the work of the artist who places before the eye the
color and the details of what he represents.
Again an interval of dilettantish essays transpired, until, in 1515,
Andrea Navagero, whom Foscarini calls the most elegant Latin writer
in Italy, was made the Historian of the Republic. But in spite of
this great honor, which came to him early in his life, we have no
history by him; and his own story is tragical. Fifteen years passed
after his appointment to office, and the work done by Sabellico in as
many months was not yet forthcoming, when, in 1530, he was sent on an
embassy to France. Soon after reaching Paris he sickened and died,
and on his last day burned all his papers,--ten books, it is said, of
the history of Venice. It is believed that this was done in a
delirium; but the sensitive nature of Navagero, and his morbid
dissatisfaction with his work, leave a doubt as to his condition when
he committed this deplorable act.
Then, too, another writer, older than he, of infinite research,--Mrs.
Oliphant calls him "one of the most astonishing and gifted of
historical moles,"--Marino Sanudo, was collecting and putting
together that work of his for which we all thank him and his
Maker,--an endless procession of facts with all possible details,--an
_omnium gatherum_ from which all seekers can select that which suits
their needs.
Here we must note a curious coincidence. We have a chronicle written
by another Andrea Navagero, sometimes quoted, but finished while the
historian was a child. And likewise was there a second Marino
Sanudo, called {322} Torsello, again the elder of the two, who wrote
more than a century before the oft-quoted historian. This Sanudo
Torsello wrote of the Crusades and of other matters more distinctly
Venetian, and although sometimes quoted, is of little importance
beside the younger man. In fact, the two elders, Navagero and
Sanudo, serve principally to create a confusion by their names, and
are of no special value in any direction.
The younger Sanudo is very important among Venetian historians, and
really began his researches when but nine years old. He was of a
noble house, had all possible advantages of education and travel, was
keen in his observations, and in a very sober manner makes many a
humorous remark, like that one so often quoted: "If the story had not
been true, our brave Venetians would not have painted it." When
Marino was seventeen years old, his cousin Marco Sanudo was appointed
one of the Syndics of Terra Firma, and took the young author with him
to Padua. From this time he noted in his diaries all that came under
his observation, and all he heard. He left, besides his voluminous
published works, fifty-six volumes of these journals, many, if not
all, of which are now published, and afford an almost momentary
account of the life in Venice for a half-century before 1533. He
collected a great library, and was active in his public life. He
records his speeches in the Senate, and they were almost numberless.
He held many important offices, and was extremely active in the
discussions of all public matters in the Great Council as well as the
Senate. He was usually in the minority; but that never discouraged
him, and he more than once records his determination to "let no day
pass without writing the news that comes from day to day, so that I
may the better, accustoming myself to the strict truth, go on with my
true history, which was begun several years ago. Seeking no
eloquence of {323} composition, I will thus note down everything as
it happens." He also records his determination "to do something in
this age in honor of the eternal majesty and exaltation of the
Venetian State, to which I can never fail, being born in that
allegiance, for which I would die a thousand times if that could
advantage my country, notwithstanding that I have been beaten, worn
out, and evil entreated in her councils." And thus it resulted that
his diaries became an unequalled storehouse of minute and general
information, and it is largely to them that we owe that fascinating
and curious information which admits us, so to speak, into the houses
and palaces, the social gatherings, the august assemblies, even into
the Council of Ten, and the innermost recesses of life in mediæval
Venice.
When one reviews a life like that of Marino Sanudo, and is impressed
with the fact that he lived and breathed in exactly the atmosphere
that suited him,--that from his earliest years he was inexpressibly
busy in doing just that for which he was best fitted by nature, that
which of all the world he would have chosen,--it naturally seems that
he must have been a very happy man. But he had his trials,--some of
them very heavy to him. Again and again he is excluded from public
office. At first he congratulates himself on having more time, but
later it becomes evident that he feels his unpopularity keenly, as
one may see when he says:--
"In the past year [1522] I have been dismissed from the Giunta
[Zonta], of which two years ago I was made a member; but while I sat
in that Senate I always in my speeches did my best for my country,
with full honor from the senators for my opinions and judgment, even
when against those of my colleagues. And this is the thing that has
injured me; for had I been mute, applauding individuals as is the
present fashion, letting things pass that are against the interest of
my dearest country, acting contrary to the law, as those who have the
{324} guidance of the city permit to be done, even had I not been
made Avvogadore, I should have been otherwise treated.... I confess
that this repulse has caused me no small grief, and has been the
occasion of my illness; and if again I was rejected in the ballot for
the past year, it was little wonder seeing that many thought me dead,
or so infirm that I was no longer good for anything, not having
stirred from my house for many months before. But the Divine bounty
has still preserved me, and, as I have said, enabled me to complete
the diary for this year; for however suffering I was I never failed
to record the news of every day which was brought to me by my
friends, so that another volume is finished."
But the signal grief of his life must have come from the appointment
of the young and inexperienced Navagero as the historian of the
Republic. He speaks of this Messer Andrea Navagero, who was paid for
writing history, with gentle contempt; but the speedy death of
Andrea, and the fact that he left nothing behind to be placed in
comparison with the work of Sanudo, disposes of this matter with
comparatively few words.
But when Pietro Bembo was appointed to succeed Navagero, what must
have been Sanudo's indignation,--a man who had lived out of Venice,
who did not even remove to that city to write its history, who had
done nothing to prove his fitness for the office, and who hesitated
not to ask Sanudo to lend him the precious diaries from which to
extract materials for his own writing!
Well did Sanudo answer that he would "give the sweat of his brow to
no one." And then Bembo wrote from Padua, asking the Doge to compel
Sanudo to open his collections to him. But at last the poor,
slighted man did give his "sweat" to his unconscionable rival; and
the result is much to his credit, for beside his animated and
entertaining narrative Bembo's writing is as dry as desert sands.
{325}
Very late in his life the Ten gave him one hundred and fifty ducats a
year as a recognition of his books,--"which I vow to God is nothing
to the great labor they have cost me," as he remarks. Until within
two and a half years of his death he continued his diaries; and as
soon as he ceased to write them he made a will, in which he gave them
bound and enclosed in a book-case to the Signoria, to be placed where
they should think best. And now comes the most astounding fact.
These treasures, which we should naturally think would have been
placed with care and pride where they could be seen and consulted,
were put no one knows where, and in 1805 were found in the Royal
Library at Vienna, having got there nobody knows how!
Sanudo's library and his collections of pictures and curiosities,
from the celebrated _mappamondo_ to matters of slight importance and
value, had become famous; and we are told that "the illustrious
strangers who visited Venice in these days went away dissatisfied
unless they had seen the Arsenal, the jewels of S. Marco, and the
library of Sanudo." Sometimes they were forced to be "dissatisfied;"
for the old historian grew weary of "illustrious persons," and said
them nay with a will, when asked to display his collections.
To him personally, while he had been greatly interested in all his
_roba_, the books were the most precious, and at one time he had
intended to make a gift of them to the library of S. Marco; but
although long promised, this library was not begun. Sanudo was poor.
He could not even reward Anna of Padua, who had served him faithfully
for twenty years, and had not been paid. He also felt himself
compelled to relinquish the marble sarcophagus in San Zaccaria, for
which a previous will had provided; and so at last, he directed his
executors to sell his collections, to pay the worthy Anna, to bury
him "where {326} he falls," preserving only the epitaph which he had
written to his great comfort. No one knows where he was laid; and
not a word to his honor and remembrance existed in Venice until Mr.
Rawdon Brown, who has rescued the name and works of Sanudo from
oblivion, placed an inscription on his house, still standing, with
the Sanudo arms upon it, behind the Fondaco dei Turchi (Museo
Civico), in the parish of S. Giacomo dell' Orio. Mrs. Oliphant
says:--
"Would it have damped his zeal, we wonder, could he have foreseen
that his unexampled work should drop into oblivion, after historians,
such as the best informed of Doges, Marco Foscarini, knowing next to
nothing of him--till suddenly a lucky and delighted student fell upon
those volumes in the Austrian Library; and all at once, after three
centuries and more, old Venice sprang to light under the hand of her
old chronicler, and Marino Sanudo with all his pictures, his
knick-knacks, his brown rolls of manuscript and dusty volumes round
him, regained, as was his right, the first place among Venetian
historians,--one of the most notable figures of the mediæval world."
To be held in everlasting remembrance was the reward that Marino
Sanudo ardently coveted; and though never appreciated by his
contemporaries, and utterly forgotten by the whole world for hundreds
of years, he is now respected and valued, and that _eterna memoria_,
to earn which he valued no toil, at last is his.
It remains to speak of Theobaldo Mannucci, or Manutio, familiarly
called Messer or Ser Aldo, best known to us as Aldus, the great
printer of Venice, whose house may still be seen, in the Campo San
Agostino, near the Scuola di S. Giovanni Evangelista, near by the
spot on which stood the house of the _gran cavaliere_, Bajamonte
Tiepolo. Aldus was not a Venetian, having first seen the light in
Bassiano, near Rome. The history of {327} his earlier years is
indistinct; but this much seems to be true, that, being a great
scholar and student, he had also been a tutor in the family of the
Pii, princes of Carpi. He was also the friend of Count Giovanni Pico
at Mirandola, one of the most scholarly men of his age.
At length, for one reason and another, too many and too involved to
be given here, he decided to go to Venice, and begin that making of
books which in his hands became such an honor and advantage to that
city; and in this he was much encouraged, and probably substantially
aided, by Count Pico. Thus a Florentine and a Roman brought to this
Mistress of the Sea a kind of prestige which no son of hers had
given. Aldus probably knew that foreign printers, of whom we have
spoken, had been encouraged to do their work at Venice; but he was no
mere printer, and although it is by that name that he is most
frequently spoken of, he was a scholar before he was a printer, and
became a printer because of his scholarship. He had found how meagre
and incorrect were the text-books of his time; and to supply these
defects and give to the world books free from blemishes in substance
and form, was his untradesmanlike motive.
It is believed that he went to Venice about 1488, and his first
publication appeared six years later. Meantime he had prepared the
manuscripts he wished to print, and had drawn around him a large
number of men, old and young, from senators and priests to the youths
who sought learning, to listen to his reading and exposition of the
Greek and Latin authors. The Neacademia of Aldo became a most
important factor in Venetian life. To quote Mrs. Oliphant:--
"Sabellico, the learned and eloquent historian, with whose work
Venice was ringing; Sanudo, our beloved chronicler, then beginning
his life-long work; Bembo, the future cardinal, already one of the
fashionable semi-priests of society, holding a {328} canonicate; the
future historian who wrote no history, Andrea Navagero, but he in his
very earliest youth; another cardinal, Leandro, then a barefooted
friar,--all crowded about the new classical teacher. The enthusiasm
with which he was received seems to have exceeded even the ordinary
welcome accorded in that age of literary freemasonry to every man who
had any new light to throw upon the problems of knowledge. And while
he expounded and instructed, the work of preparation for still more
important labors went on. It is evident that he made himself fully
known, and even became an object of general curiosity, one of the
personages to be visited by all that were on the surface of Venetian
society, and that the whole of Venice was interested and entertained
by the idea of the new undertaking.... It was a labor of love, an
enterprise of the highest public importance, and as such commended
itself to all who cared for education or the humanities, or who had
any desire to be considered as members or disciples of that highest
and most cultured class of men of letters, who were the pride and
glory of the age."
His house, though "far from the busy haunts," was soon a
gathering-place and centre for such men as were seriously interested
in what was there transpiring; and Aldus skilfully employed all who
could and would aid him in the preparation of the almost
indecipherable manuscripts, in proof-reading, and in many matters
which demanded keen intelligence and infinite patience.
The picture of his busy shops, to which these men turned and where
they labored, leaving the fascinations of the Piazza and the exciting
life of Venice at her best, makes one of the most interesting of the
many remarkable scenes of that unique and marvellous city. And it is
curious to note how in the lives of men like Aldus in the present day
his vexations are repeated, reminding us that there is nothing new
under the sun. He complains that if he attempted to answer the
letters he receives, both night and day would be too little for the
task; and {329} troublesome visitors were as numerous then as now,
wherever great men live. He humorously wrote of these:--
"Some from friendship, some from interest, the greater part because
they have nothing to do,--for then 'Let us go,' they say, 'to
Aldo's.' They come in crowds and sit gaping,--
'Non missura cutem, nisi plena cruoria hirudo.'
I do not speak of those who come to read me either poems or prose,
generally rough and unpolished, for publication, for I defend myself
from these by no answer or else a very brief one, which I hope nobody
will take in ill part, since it is done, not from pride or scorn, but
because all my leisure is taken up in publishing books of established
fame. As for those who come for no reason, we make bold to admonish
them in classical words in a sort of edict placed over our door,
'WHOEVER YOU ARE, Aldo requests you, if you want anything, ask it in
few words and depart, unless, like Hercules, you come to lend the aid
of your shoulders to the weary Atlas. Here will always be found in
that case something for you to do, however many you may be.'"
We can well understand that the publication of the Greek Grammar,
Aristotle, and kindred authors must have been a work of time. But
five books were produced in two years, and that with the aid of two
scholarly editors, besides the zealous help of friends, to which we
have referred above. In addition to the costly methods that Aldus
was forced to pursue, he could find no type that suited him, and set
himself to invent one; that known at first as Aldino, and later
Italic, was the result. There is a tradition that he aimed to
reproduce the even and clear chirography of Petrarch, and himself
described the result as a type "of the greatest beauty, such as was
never done before." Aldus hastened to ask of the Signoria the sole
right to use this type for ten years, which privilege was granted him
upon the following appeal:--
{330}
"I supplicate that for ten years no other should be allowed to print
in cursive letters of any sort in the dominion of your Serenity, nor
to sell books printed in any other countries in any part of the said
dominion, under pain to whoever breaks this law of forfeiting the
books and paying a fine of two hundred ducats for each offence, which
fine shall be divided into three parts,--one for the officer who
shall convict, another for the _Pietà_, the third for the informer,
etc."
Query, was this not putting a strong temptation before the informer
and the convicting officer?
The type we now use in italics is the descendant of the Aldino, but
not so delicate and graceful as the ancestor. The first book printed
in this manner appeared in 1501, and, as seems most fitting, was the
poems of Petrarch, printed directly from his own manuscript. The
Aldine mark on the titlepages of this great printer's books was the
anchor and dolphin; and Lorenzo of Pavia said of this volume to the
Duchess Isabella Gonzaga, it is "a rare thing, which, like your
Ladyship, has no paragon."
After a time Erasmus of Rotterdam wrote to Aldus concerning the
publication of his "Adages," and finally came to Venice, and became
one of the assistants of the printer,--this man of great fame,
greater than those Italians who called him "that Dutchman" and
laughed at his moderation and large appetite. Jealousy and envy
invaded the Stamperia, where the sounds of the gayety of fashionable
Venice never were heard, and where little interest was felt in the
struggles, the feuds, and the betrayals which were rampant there,
from the Great Council and that of the Ten down through the many
"sets" of _maggiori_ and _minori_ in that busy, overflowing city.
What a contrast to all this was that conclave of the Neacademia on
the days when the obscure passages of Aristotle, Virgil, and other
ancient authors were discussed! How gravely did they give their
reasons why an {331} adverb would better express the meaning than an
adjective, and what lengthy arguments were needed to decide for or
against a relative pronoun!
Sadly we record the total changes that came with the wars of the
first decade of the sixteenth century. Aldus, his Stamperia, his
precious manuscripts collected with such pain and care, all
disappeared; and though he returned to his labors with characteristic
zeal, he gained fame only, and died poor. He did not work for
profit. His copyright in type, if we may use the word, was of little
use, and his thoughts were bent on other things than money-making.
He never swerved from his decision, in the preface to the Greek
Grammar, to devote his life to the good of mankind. Renouard, the
French critic, tells us how his devotion to his chosen calling became
a passion. If he heard of a manuscript that could explain an
existing text, he rested not until he got it. He valued no labor,
expense, travel, or study that could further his ends, and it was
wonderful to see with what readiness he was assisted. Some for
money, some without reward, and others for the same reasons which
influenced him, gave all the aid possible to further his success; and
from distant places, without solicitation from him, precious
manuscripts were sent for his advantage.
He was succeeded by his son called Aldo _il Giovane_, and his
grandson; but even with the advances made in processes, no imitator
nor rival excelled the scholarly bookmaker, _Aldo il Vecchio_, whose
books are now among the very choicest treasures of the richest
libraries in the world. Quoting again from the "Makers of Venice,"--
"Let us leave Aldo with all his aids about him,--the senators, the
schoolmasters, the poor scholars, the learned men who were to live to
be cardinals, and those who were to die as poor as they were famous;
and his learned Greek Musurus, and his poor student from
Rotterdam,--a better scholar perhaps than any {332} of them,--and all
his idle visitors coming to gape and admire, while our Sanudo swept
round the corner from S. Giacomo dell' Orio, with his vigorous step
and his toga over his shoulders, and the young men who were of the
younger faction came in, a little contemptuous of their elders and
strong in their own learning, to the meeting of the Aldine academy
and the consultation on new readings. The Stamperia was as distinct
a centre of life as the Piazza, though not so apparent before the
eyes of men."
It is a singular fact that the Senate of Venice, in 1362, should have
thought it worth while to present Petrarch with a palace, that he
might in return, "with the good will of our Saviour, and of the
Evangelist himself," make Saint Mark the heir of his library, and yet
should have postponed the beginning of the building in which the
books should be kept nearly two centuries; for it was not until 1536
that Sansovino commenced the Libreria Vecchia, which Aretino
considered superlatively beautiful. Meantime the gift of Petrarch,
stored in a small chamber of San Marco, was quite forgotten. No one
lived who knew its whereabouts; and the legacies of Cardinal
Bessarion, of Cardinal Grimani, Contarini, and Nani, were the glory
of the library which Petrarch wished to found. Not until 1634 were
his precious manuscripts discovered. But a meagre number could be
saved from the mass of corruption they had become; and for all time
the neglect and destruction of these precious parchments will remain
a disgrace to Venice.
In 1812 the splendid collection of one hundred and twenty thousand
volumes and ten thousand manuscripts was transferred to the more
spacious halls of the Ducal Palace, leaving the Great Hall of the
Libreria with its paintings by Veronese and Tintoretto, and the row
of Greek philosophers which look down from between the windows.
Ruskin calls these last the finest paintings of {333} the kind in
existence. One of these is the Diogenes, which Tintoretto painted
with the greatest care, because Titian had told the Procurators of
St. Mark that Tintoretto was not worthy to be employed in the
decoration of this hall. But these officials thought this a little
severe, and gave Tintoretto his opportunity.
Diogenes is nude and seated, with his legs crossed. One elbow rests
on the thigh, and the raised hand supports the chin. It is the
impersonation of profound meditation. There is such power in the
modelling of this figure, and the light is so managed, that it stands
out as if it did not intend to remain in the niche where it is
placed. Two other works of Tintoretto's are also here, in spite of
the efforts to deprive him of the honor. They represent the removal
of the relics of Saint Mark from Alexandria, and Saint Mark rescuing
a sailor.
When, under Eugene Beauharnais, the Procuratie Nuove were converted
into the Palazzo Imperiale, the Libreria Vecchia was made a part of
the Palace, and united to the buildings of the Piazza.
{334}