You have frequently urged me to collect my letters, to revise and to
publish them in a volume. I have now gathered them, that I might not
omit any mark of that obedience which I owe to him, on whom I rest all
my hopes, and all my prosperity. I have not, however, collected them
all, because that would have been a more laborious task than to have
gathered the scattered leaves of the Sibyl. It was never, indeed, with
an intention of forming my letters into one body that I wrote them, but
merely as occasion prompted, and as the subjects presented themselves
without seeking for them. I never retained copies except of a few,
which, less fortunate, I think, than the others, were thus favoured for
the sake of the verses they contained. To form, however, a tolerable
volume, I have also inserted some written by others, but only those with
which several ingenious scholars favoured me, and which, perhaps, may
put the reader in good humour with my own.
There is one thing for which some will be inclined to censure me; the
style of my letters is very unequal; and, to confess the truth, I did
not find myself always in the same humour, and the same modes of
expression were not adapted to every person and every topic. They will
not fail then to observe, when they read such a diversity of letters (I
mean if they do read them), that I have composed not epistles, but (once
more) miscellanies.
I hope, my Lord, notwithstanding this, that amongst such a variety of
opinions, of those who write letters, and of those who give precepts how
letters should be written, I shall find some apology. Some, probably,
will deny that they are Ciceronian. I can answer such, and not without
good authority, that in epistolary composition we must not regard Cicero
as a model. Another perhaps will say that I imitate Cicero. And him I
will answer by observing, that I wish nothing better than to be capable
of grasping something of this great man, were it but his shadow!
Another will wish that I had borrowed a little from the manner of Pliny
the orator, because his profound sense and accuracy were greatly
esteemed. I shall oppose him by expressing my contempt of all writers of
the age of Pliny. If it should be observed, that I have imitated the
manner of Pliny, I shall then screen myself by what Sidonius
Apollinaris, an author who is by no means disreputable, says in
commendation of his epistolary style. Do I resemble Symmachus? I shall
not be sorry, for they distinguish his openness and conciseness. Am I
considered in nowise resembling him? I shall confess that I am not
pleased with his dry manner.
Will my letters be condemned for their length? Plato, Aristotle,
Thucydides, and Cicero, have all written long ones. Will some of them be
criticised for their brevity? I allege in my favour the examples of
Dion, Brutus, Apollonius, Philostratus, Marcus Antoninus, Alciphron,
Julian, Symmachus, and also Lucian, who vulgarly, but falsely, is
believed to have been Phalaris.
I shall be censured for having treated of topics which are not generally
considered as proper for epistolary composition. I admit this censure,
provided, while I am condemned, Seneca also shares in the condemnation.
Another will not allow of a sententious manner in my letters; I will
still justify myself by Seneca. Another, on the contrary, desires abrupt
sententious periods; Dionysius shall answer him for me, who maintains
that pointed sentences should not be admitted into letters.
Is my style too perspicuous? It is precisely that which Philostratus
admires. Is it obscure? Such is that of Cicero to Attica. Negligent? An
agreeable negligence in letters is more graceful than elaborate
ornaments. Laboured? Nothing can be more proper, since we send epistles
to our friends as a kind of presents. If they display too nice an
arrangement, the Halicarnassian shall vindicate me. If there is none;
Artemon says there should be none.
Now as a good and pure Latinity has its peculiar taste, its manners,
and, to express myself thus, its Atticisms; if in this sense a letter
shall be found not sufficiently Attic, so much the better; for what was
Herod the sophist censured? but that having been born an Athenian, he
affected too much to appear one in his language. Should a letter seem
too Attical; still better, since it was by discovering Theophrastus, who
was no Athenian, that a good old woman of Athens laid hold of a word,
and shamed him.
Shall one letter be found not sufficiently serious? I love to jest. Or
is it too grave? I am pleased with gravity. Is another full of figures?
Letters being the images of discourse, figures have the effect of
graceful action in conversation. Are they deficient in figures? This is
just what characterises a letter, this want of figure! Does it discover
the genius of the writer? This frankness is recommended. Does it conceal
it? The writer did not think proper to paint himself; and it is one
requisite in a letter, that it should be void of ostentation. You
express yourself, some one will observe, in common terms on common
topics, and in new terms on new topics. The style is thus adapted to the
subject. No, no, he will answer; it is in common terms you express new
ideas, and in new terms common ideas. Very well! It is because I have
not forgotten an ancient Greek precept which expressly recommends this.
It is thus by attempting to be ambidextrous, I try to ward off attacks.
My critics, however, will criticise me as they please. It will be
sufficient for me, my Lord, to be assured of having satisfied you, by my
letters, if they are good; or by my obedience, if they are not so.
Florence, 1494.