Mark, that he
demanded
a sight of them, but that he found
them almost entirely spoiled, and some of them even petrified.
them almost entirely spoiled, and some of them even petrified.
Petrarch
Mark, to be the heir of those
books, on condition that they should all be placed in safety, that they
should neither be sold nor separated, and that they should be sheltered
from fire and water, and carefully preserved for the use and amusement
of the learned and noble in Venice. He expressed his hopes, at the same
time, that the illustrious city would acquire other trusts of the same
kind for the good of the public, and that the citizens who loved their
country, the nobles above all, and even strangers, would follow his
example in bequeathing books to the church of St. Mark, which might one
day contain a great collection similar to those of the ancients.
The procurators of the church of St. Mark having offered to defray the
expense of lodging and preserving his library, the republic decreed that
our poet's offer did honour to the Venetian state. They assigned to
Petrarch for his own residence a large palace, called the Two Towers,
formerly belonging to the family of Molina. The mansion was very lofty,
and commanded a prospect of the harbour. Our poet took great pleasure in
this view, and describes it with vivid interest. "From this port," he
says, "I see vessels departing, which are as large as the house I
inhabit, and which have masts taller than its towers. These ships
resemble a mountain floating on the sea; they go to all parts of the
world amidst a thousand dangers; they carry our wines to the English,
our honey to the Scythians, our saffron, our oils, and our linen to the
Syrians, Armenians, Persians, and Arabians; and, wonderful to say,
convey our wood to the Greeks and Egyptians. From all these countries
they bring back in return articles of merchandise, which they diffuse
over all Europe. They go even as far as the Tanais. The navigation of
our seas does not extend farther north; but, when they have arrived
there, they quit their vessels, and travel on to trade with India and
China; and, after passing the Caucasus and the Ganges, they proceed as
far as the Eastern Ocean. "
It is natural to suppose that Petrarch took all proper precautions for
the presentation of his books; nevertheless, they are not now to be seen
at Venice. Tomasini tells us that they had been placed at the top of the
church of St.
Mark, that he demanded a sight of them, but that he found
them almost entirely spoiled, and some of them even petrified.
Whilst Petrarch was forming his new establishment at Venice, the news
arrived that Pope Innocent VI. had died on the 12th of September. "He
was a good, just, and simple man," says the continuator of Nangis. A
simple man he certainly was, for he believed Petrarch to be a sorcerer
on account of his reading Virgil. Innocent was succeeded in the
pontificate, to the surprise of all the world, by William Grimoard,
abbot of St. Victor at Marseilles, who took the title of Urban V. The
Cardinals chose him, though he was not of their Sacred College, from
their jealousy lest a pope should be elected from the opposite party of
their own body. Petrarch rejoiced at his election, and ascribed it to
the direct interference of Heaven. De Sade says that the new Pope
desired Petrarch to be the apostolic secretary, but that he was not to
be tempted by a gilded chain.
About this time Petrarch received news of the death of Azzo Correggio,
one of his dearest friends, whose widow and children wrote to him on
this occasion, the latter telling him that they regarded him as a
father.
Boccaccio came to Venice to see Petrarch in 1363, and their meeting was
joyous. They spent delightfully together the months of June, July, and
August, 1363. Boccaccio had not long left him, when, in the following
year, our poet heard of the death of his friend Laelius, and his tears
were still fresh for his loss, when he received another shock in being
bereft of Simonides. It requires a certain age and degree of experience
to appreciate this kind of calamity, when we feel the desolation of
losing our accustomed friends, and almost wish ourselves out of life
that we may escape from its solitude. Boccaccio returned to Florence
early in September, 1363.
books, on condition that they should all be placed in safety, that they
should neither be sold nor separated, and that they should be sheltered
from fire and water, and carefully preserved for the use and amusement
of the learned and noble in Venice. He expressed his hopes, at the same
time, that the illustrious city would acquire other trusts of the same
kind for the good of the public, and that the citizens who loved their
country, the nobles above all, and even strangers, would follow his
example in bequeathing books to the church of St. Mark, which might one
day contain a great collection similar to those of the ancients.
The procurators of the church of St. Mark having offered to defray the
expense of lodging and preserving his library, the republic decreed that
our poet's offer did honour to the Venetian state. They assigned to
Petrarch for his own residence a large palace, called the Two Towers,
formerly belonging to the family of Molina. The mansion was very lofty,
and commanded a prospect of the harbour. Our poet took great pleasure in
this view, and describes it with vivid interest. "From this port," he
says, "I see vessels departing, which are as large as the house I
inhabit, and which have masts taller than its towers. These ships
resemble a mountain floating on the sea; they go to all parts of the
world amidst a thousand dangers; they carry our wines to the English,
our honey to the Scythians, our saffron, our oils, and our linen to the
Syrians, Armenians, Persians, and Arabians; and, wonderful to say,
convey our wood to the Greeks and Egyptians. From all these countries
they bring back in return articles of merchandise, which they diffuse
over all Europe. They go even as far as the Tanais. The navigation of
our seas does not extend farther north; but, when they have arrived
there, they quit their vessels, and travel on to trade with India and
China; and, after passing the Caucasus and the Ganges, they proceed as
far as the Eastern Ocean. "
It is natural to suppose that Petrarch took all proper precautions for
the presentation of his books; nevertheless, they are not now to be seen
at Venice. Tomasini tells us that they had been placed at the top of the
church of St.
Mark, that he demanded a sight of them, but that he found
them almost entirely spoiled, and some of them even petrified.
Whilst Petrarch was forming his new establishment at Venice, the news
arrived that Pope Innocent VI. had died on the 12th of September. "He
was a good, just, and simple man," says the continuator of Nangis. A
simple man he certainly was, for he believed Petrarch to be a sorcerer
on account of his reading Virgil. Innocent was succeeded in the
pontificate, to the surprise of all the world, by William Grimoard,
abbot of St. Victor at Marseilles, who took the title of Urban V. The
Cardinals chose him, though he was not of their Sacred College, from
their jealousy lest a pope should be elected from the opposite party of
their own body. Petrarch rejoiced at his election, and ascribed it to
the direct interference of Heaven. De Sade says that the new Pope
desired Petrarch to be the apostolic secretary, but that he was not to
be tempted by a gilded chain.
About this time Petrarch received news of the death of Azzo Correggio,
one of his dearest friends, whose widow and children wrote to him on
this occasion, the latter telling him that they regarded him as a
father.
Boccaccio came to Venice to see Petrarch in 1363, and their meeting was
joyous. They spent delightfully together the months of June, July, and
August, 1363. Boccaccio had not long left him, when, in the following
year, our poet heard of the death of his friend Laelius, and his tears
were still fresh for his loss, when he received another shock in being
bereft of Simonides. It requires a certain age and degree of experience
to appreciate this kind of calamity, when we feel the desolation of
losing our accustomed friends, and almost wish ourselves out of life
that we may escape from its solitude. Boccaccio returned to Florence
early in September, 1363.
