The Oxford History of the Renaissance

Gordon Campbell
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 The Oxford History of the Renaissance

The Renaissance is one of the most celebrated periods in European

history. But when did it begin? When did it end? And what did it
include?

Traditionally regarded as a revival of classical art and learning,

centred upon fifteenth-century Italy, views of the Renaissance have
changed considerably in recent decades. The glories of Florence and
the art of Raphael and Michelangelo remain an important element of
the Renaissance story, but they are now only a part of a much wider
story which looks beyond an exclusive focus on high culture, beyond
the Italian peninsula, and beyond the fifteenth century.

The Oxford History of the Renaissance presents the cultural history

of this broader and longer Renaissance: from seminal figures such as
Dante and Giotto in thirteenth-century Italy, right through to the
waning of Spain’s ‘golden age’ in the 1630s and the closure of the
English theatres in 1642, the date generally taken to mark the end
of the English literary Renaissance. Geographically, the story ranges
from Spanish America to Renaissance Europe’s encounter with the
Ottomans—and far beyond, to the more distant cultures of China
and Japan. Thematically, under Gordon Campbell’s expert editorial
guidance, the volume covers the whole gamut of Renaissance
civilization, with chapters on humanism and the classical tradition;
war and the state; religion; art and architecture; the performing
arts; literature; craft and technology; science and medicine; and
travel and cultural exchange.
The historians who contributed to The Oxford History of the Renaissance are all
distinguished authorities in their field. They are:

FRANCIS AMES-LEWIS—Birkbeck, University of London

WARREN BOUTCHER—Queen Mary University of London
PETER BURKE—University of Cambridge
GORDON CAMPBELL—University of Leicester
FELIPE FERNÀNDEZ-ARMESTO—University of Notre Dame
PAULA FINDLEN—Stanford University
STELLA FLETCHER—University of Warwick
PAMELA O. LONG—Independent scholar
MARGARET M. McGOWAN—University of Sussex
PETER MACK—University of Warwick
ANDREW MORRALL—Bard Graduate Center
PAULA NUTTALL—Victoria and Albert Museum
DAVID PARROTT—University of Oxford
FRANÇOIS QUIVIGER—The Warburg Institute
RICHARD WILLIAMS—Royal Collection Trust
The editor and contributors wish to dedicate this volume to Matthew
Cotton.
GORDON CAMPBELL is Fellow in Renaissance Studies at the University of
Leicester, and a Fellow of the British Academy. In January 2012 he was presented
with the Longman History Today Trustees Award (for lifetime contribution to
history). He has written and edited many books for Oxford University Press,
including The Oxford Dictionary of the Renaissance (2003); Renaissance Art and
Architecture (2004); John Milton: Life, Work and Thought (2008; co-author); Bible:
The Story of the King James Version, 1611–2011 (2010); The Hermit in the
Garden: From Imperial Rome to Ornamental Gnome (2013), and Norse America:
The Story of a Founding Myth (2021).
The Oxford History of the
Renaissance
Edited by
GORDON CAMPBELL
 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP, United Kingdom
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 Contents

Introduction
Gordon Campbell

1. Humanism and the Classical Tradition

Peter Mack

2. War and the State, c.1400–c.1650

David Parrott

3. Religion
Stella Fletcher

4. The Civilization of the Renaissance

François Quiviger

5. Art and Architecture in Italy and Beyond

Francis Ames-Lewis

6. Art and Architecture in Flanders and Beyond

Paula Nuttall and Richard Williams

7. The Performing Arts: Festival, Music, Drama, Dance

Margaret M. McGowan

8. Vernacular Literature
Warren Boutcher

9. Craft and Technology in Renaissance Europe

Pamela O. Long and Andrew Morrall

10. The Renaissance of Science

Paula Findlen

11. The Global Renaissance

 Felipe Fernández-Armesto and Peter Burke

Further Reading
Picture Acknowledgements
Index
 Introduction
Gordon Campbell

The Renaissance is a model of cultural descent in which the culture

of fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Europe is represented as a
repudiation of a medieval world in decline in favour of the revival of
the culture of ancient Greece and Rome. The parallel religious model
is the Reformation, in which the Church is represented as turning its
back on corruption and decline in favour of a renewal of the purity of
the early Church. In both models, there had to be an intervening
middle period between the glorious past and its revival. The idea of
the Middle Ages (medium aevum) was introduced to European
historiography by the Roman historian Flavio Biondo in 1437, and
quickly became a commonplace. Thereafter European history was
conventionally divided into three periods: classical antiquity, the
Middle Ages, and the modern period. The biblical metaphor of
rebirth was first applied to art by Giorgio Vasari, who used the term
to denote the period from Cimabue and Giotto to his own time. It
was certainly an inordinately slow birth.
The broadening of the term ‘renaissance’ to encompass a period
and a cultural model is a product of the nineteenth century, albeit
with roots in the French Enlightenment. That is why we use the
French form (renaissance) rather than the Italian (rinascità) to
denote this rebirth. In 1855 the French historian Jules Michelet used
the term ‘Renaissance’ as the title of a volume on sixteenth-century
France. Five years later Jacob Burckhardt published Die Cultur der
Renaissance in Italien (The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy),
in which he identified the idea of a Renaissance with a set of cultural
concepts, such as individualism and the idea of the universal man.
Vasari’s designation of a movement in art had become the term for
an epoch in history associated with a particular set of cultural values.
These issues are explored in detail in François Quiviger’s chapter on
‘The Civilization of the Renaissance’, which explores the afterlife of
Burckhardt’s concept of individuality in more recent notions of self-
fashioning and gender fluidity, and in the complex notion of the ‘self’.
The model of the Renaissance has evolved over time. An older
generation of historians had a predilection for precision: the Middle
Ages were deemed to have begun in 476 with the fall of the Roman
Empire in the west and concluded with the fall of Constantinople in
1453, when Greek scholars fled to Italy with classical manuscripts
under their arms. This book subverts those easy assumptions at
every turn, but the contributors nonetheless assume that the model
of a cultural Renaissance remains a useful prism through which the
period can be examined. That model has been challenged by those
who prefer to think of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries purely in
terms of a temporal period called the Early Modern period. This idea
is, of course, as fraught with ideological baggage as is the term
Renaissance, and embodies narrow assumptions about cultural
origins that may be deemed inappropriate in a multicultural Europe
and a globalized world.
This is a book about the cultural model of a Renaissance rather
than a period. That said, it must be acknowledged that while this
model remains serviceable, it also has limitations. The idea of a
Renaissance is of considerable use when referring to the scholarly,
courtly, and even military cultures of the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries, because members of those elites were consciously
emulating classical antiquity, but it is of little value as a model for
popular culture and the everyday life of most Europeans. The idea of
historical periods, which is emphasized by the use of centuries or
rulers as boundaries, is particularly problematical in the case of the
Renaissance, because a model that assumes the repudiation of the
immediate past is insufficiently attentive to cultural continuities.
Such continuities are sometimes not readily apparent, because
they are occluded by Renaissance conventions. Shakespeare is a
case in point. He was in many ways the inheritor of the traditions of
medieval English drama, and he accordingly divided his plays into
scenes. Printed conventions, however, had been influenced by the
classical conventions in Renaissance printing culture. Horace had
said that plays should consist of neither more nor less than five acts
(‘Neue minor neu sit quinto productior actu fabula’, Ars Poetica 189).
Shakespeare’s plays were therefore printed in five acts, and so were
appropriated into the classical tradition. In 1863, three years after
Burckhardt had published his book on the Renaissance, the German
playwright Gustav Freytag published an essay on drama (Die Technik
des Dramas) in which he advanced the thesis that a five-act
structure (exposition, rising action, climax, falling action,
denouement) can be discerned in both ancient Greek drama and the
plays of Shakespeare. The model of the Renaissance was thereby
imposed on the structure of Shakespeare’s plays (and of the plays of
the ancient Greek playwrights). This influence may also be seen in
the early quartos of Shakespeare’s plays. The inclusion of classicizing
genres (comedy and tragedy) on the title-pages (such as A Pleasant
Conceited Comedy called Love’s Labour’s Lost and The Most
Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet) would seem
to be the promotional work of the publisher, not the author. When
Shakespeare’s colleagues decided to assemble a posthumous
collection of his plays, they chose to publish them in a folio format,
which was the form normally associated with the publication of
classical texts. Within this famous folio, the plays were organized in
three genres: comedy, tragedy, and history, the last of which was
borrowed from an ancient non-dramatic genre. By such means
publishers obscured the roots of Shakespeare’s plays in vernacular
English drama, and so appropriated his work to the model of the
Renaissance. The plays do reflect innovative classical influences as
well as cultural continuities with the Middle Ages. Many of the
chapters in this book address the blend of continuity and innovation
in the culture of the period.
The model of the Renaissance still affects the European sense of
its past. In England, for example, secondary schools do not teach
the language of England’s past—Anglo-Saxon—because our line of
cultural descent is deemed to originate in ancient Greece and Rome;
traditional schools therefore teach classical Latin, and sometimes
ancient Greek. The humanists of the Renaissance believed that
classical Latin was pure and medieval Latin corrupt, and so taught
classical Latin; we do the same today. In the case of Greek, we are
much more precise. We do not teach Homeric Greek or Byzantine
Greek or modern Greek, but rather the Greek of Athens in the fifth
century bce. In this sense, we are inheritors of the Renaissance.
Renaissance humanists are the subject of Peter Mack’s chapter,
which traces the contours of humanism from its origins in Italy
(especially Padua) and the seminal figure of Petrarch before turning
to the humanist scholars of fifteenth-century Italy and the slightly
later humanists of northern Europe and Spain. The humanist
movement represented by these scholars had a transformative
impact on the educational initiatives of the Renaissance, and also left
its mark on academic disciplines such as philosophy, history, and
classical scholarship.
Humanism was also important for national literatures. The
burgeoning of vernacular literature, accelerated by the technology of
print, produced a distinguished corpus of literature in many
languages. This literature, much of which is indebted to classical
models, is the subject of the chapter by Warren Boutcher. Latin was
the language of educated discourse, but throughout this period it
faced a fast-growing rival in vernacular writing, which created new
literary cultures amongst a plethora of lay publics. In some cases
classical genres were retained for writing in vernaculars, so the
period is replete with examples of epics and tragedies written in
national languages. The language of the international republic of
letters was Latin, but the hegemony of Latin as the learned language
of Europe was increasingly challenged by French, the language that
also produced what might be claimed as Europe’s most distinguished
body of vernacular literature.
The idea of the Renaissance has slowly evolved since the
nineteenth century. There was an assumption (now an
embarrassment) that Europe was the centre of the world, that
Europeans had discovered other parts of the world and brought
civilization to the uncivilized. Now we speak of cultural encounters,
and acknowledge that there were complex cultural exchanges. These
issues are explored in the chapter on the global Renaissance by
Peter Burke and Felipe Fernández-Armesto, who describe the
interfaces between the European Renaissance and the cultures of
the Byzantine Empire, the Islamic world, Asia, the Americas, and
Africa. Travellers, including missionaries, disseminated European
ideas and in turn were influenced by the cultures in which they
found themselves. Print enabled words and images to become
vehicles of culture, and travellers brought artefacts back to Europe.
There had been many renaissances in various parts of the world, but
the European Renaissance was the first global Renaissance.
Within Europe, in forms such as architecture, the traditional
model of a cultural movement beginning in Italy and Flanders still
has much to commend itself, as long as lines are not drawn rigidly.
Italian Renaissance architecture spread well beyond Italy: the
Belvedere in the garden of the Hradčany in Prague is a wholly
Italianate building, as are the Palace of Charles V in the Alhambra,
the Boimi Chapel in Lviv (now in Ukraine), and the reconstructed
royal palace in Visegrád (Hungary). There are also striking examples
of cultural hybridity, such as the arcaded galleries (with local and
Venetian elements) around the squares in Zamość (Poland), the
Orthodox decoration of the interior of the Palace of Facets in the
Moscow Kremlin, and the Islamic strain in Spanish architecture after
the Reconquista. Nor are Renaissance buildings confined to Europe.
The debt to Italy in the architecture of Juan de Herrera is readily
apparent in the Escorial, but Italian forms and Herreran monumental
severity also characterize the early cathedrals in the Spanish Empire,
notably Mexico City, Puebla, and Lima.
In the twenty-first century, the model of the Renaissance is
characterized by its breadth, but also the elasticity of its temporal
boundaries. Italianists characteristically regard the death of Raphael
in 1520 and the Sack of Rome in 1527 as marking the end of the
High Renaissance. Students of the Spanish Golden Age, on the other
hand, see the period of Spain’s artistic and literary zenith as
beginning in the 1490s (the Reconquista concluded in 1492) and
extending to the early seventeenth century, with the death of Lope
de Vega in 1635. The advantage of treating the Renaissance
primarily as a cultural phenomenon rather than a period is that such
temporal discrepancies are easily accommodated. The chapters in
this volume will therefore describe the history (especially the cultural
history) of a long Renaissance, and one with permeable boundaries.
The study of the Renaissance is dominated by the history of art
and architecture. Two chapters in this volume attend to the seminal
centres of art and architecture, and to their influence. Francis Ames-
Lewis’s chapter is centred on Italy and beyond, and Paula Nuttall
and Richard Williams discuss the art and architecture of the northern
Renaissance in Flanders and beyond. Francis Ames-Lewis considers
the access that Italian Renaissance artists and architects had to the
art and architecture of classical antiquity, and how they interpreted
those models for contemporary clients. Burckhardt’s vision of the
Renaissance as centred on man rather than God is used as the
starting point of the discussion of the human form in Renaissance
sculpture and portraiture. Italian Renaissance painting was indebted
to survivals from classical antiquity, but perhaps more importantly,
drew on the classical notion of mimesis, the imitation of nature. The
contemporary models that were examined through the prism of
mimesis included the work of north European artists, notably in
Flanders.
The chapter on the art and architecture of northern Europe, by
Paula Nuttall and Richard Williams, focuses on the effect on local
traditions of the ideas of the Renaissance. The fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries are treated separately, because the leaky
watershed of 1500 marks a shift in the relationship between
northern and southern art. In the fifteenth century, the art of
northern Europe was in small measure influenced by developments
in Italy, but the dominant change was a series of innovations in the
north that paralleled or preceded comparable shifts in Italian art. In
the sixteenth century the relationship changed, as the burgeoning
humanist movement in the north began to facilitate direct Italian
influence on the art of the north, which increasingly reflected the
classical ideals of the Italian Renaissance. These divisions between
north and south are not always sharp, partly because artists and
architects were mobile, so there were Flemish artists working in
Rome and Italian artists working in northern and central Europe, and
artistic relations between centres such as Venice and Nuremberg
facilitated constant exchanges.
From a twenty-first-century perspective, the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries seem to be dominated by wars and religion—and
by wars arising out of confessional differences. It would be a
mistake, however, to think of religion and warfare in terms of our
own experience. Religion provided a language not only for
articulating belief in God, but for many matters for which we would
now use the language of politics or human emotion. The artistic
image of the Madonna and Child, for example, was a centuries-old
devotional image with pagan roots in the depiction of Isis and Horus,
but at the hands of Renaissance (initially Venetian) artists, it became
an intensely human image of a mother and her infant son.
Conversely, the art of the period can reflect strands of spirituality
in the Renaissance. The crucifixion panel in Grünewald’s Isenheim
Altarpiece depicts the tortured body of Jesus on the cross, his skin
covered with sores, his hands twisted with the pain of the nails, and
his feet contorted by the single nail driven though them. The
painting was originally hung in a monastic hospital that cared for the
dying, and patients who gazed at the body of Jesus would not have
thought of it in theological terms (seeing, for example, the three
nails as an image of the Holy Trinity), but as a reflection of their own
afflictions, and possibly as an affirmation that grace can survive the
destruction of the body. Stella Fletcher’s chapter on religion is an
account of the spiritualities that characterize such belief, and of the
refractions of those spiritualities in the art of the Renaissance.
Europe was continuously at war in the years covered by this
volume, but there was neither large-scale destruction nor vast
numbers of casualties by comparison with the wars of the twentieth
century. In Renaissance Europe, many more people died of plague,
and of childbirth, than were killed in battle. War could be brutal, but
it was also regarded as an art, a subject explored in David Parrott’s
chapter on ‘War and the State’. Machiavelli stood at the head of a
long succession of theorists, many of whom saw war through the
prism of the wars of classical antiquity. War was driven by aggrieved
rulers who were motivated by considerations of honour, reputation,
and vindication. The nature of warfare evolved constantly
throughout the period, partly because of developments in weaponry
and fortifications, but also because of the changing nature of armies
and navies.
The study of the arts in the Renaissance has traditionally been
focused on what are traditionally known as the fine arts: painting,
sculpture, architecture, music (i.e. composition), and poetry. These
are all spheres in which artists of the Renaissance produced some of
the finest creations of European civilization. This preoccupation with
the fine arts in subsequent centuries has, however, often played
down the importance of other areas of creative endeavour. The
distinction between the fine arts and the decorative arts that first
emerged in the mid-eighteenth century, for example, established a
hierarchy of taste: the fine arts were intended to give pleasure,
while the decorative arts (then known as the mechanical arts) were
deemed to be merely useful. Easel painting was a fine art, but the
painting of figures on pottery was decorative; the exteriors of
buildings (including their gardens) were the product of the fine art of
architecture, but the interiors (including layout as well as fittings and
furnishings) were decorative art; sculpting in marble was a fine art,
but ivory-carving and wood-carving were crafts. Such distinctions
persist in modern attitudes, and unhappily suppress popular
awareness of some magnificent works of art, such as Benvenuto
Cellini’s salt cellar, now in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna.
The virtuoso craftsmanship of this small piece, which was
commissioned by King Francis I of France, melds decorative
elements from the Fontainebleau School with sculpted figures in the
idiom of Italian Mannerism. Such works of art have not captured the
public imagination because they are not classified as fine art. During
the Renaissance, however, artists were members of craft guilds, and
in many languages the terms ‘artist’ and ‘artisan’ were used
interchangeably.
The chapter by Pamela Long and Andrew Morrall on craft and
technology sets aside modern distinctions between art and craft, and
indeed illuminates the convergence of artisanal and learned cultures
during the Renaissance. The figures on Cellini’s salt cellar are
classical gods drawn from the learned tradition. This detail is
indicative of an important phenomenon, which is the integration of
the classical renewal that lies at the heart of the Renaissance into
the design of crafts. Aristocratic patronage facilitated the transition
of classical themes from the learned world to crafted objects ranging
from tapestries to tableware. The trades that produced the craft and
technology of the period were often innovative in fields such as
agriculture, shipbuilding, military technology, and fortification.
Traditional narratives of the scientific revolution tend to run from
Copernicus (a heliocentric cosmology) to Newton (a universe
governed by scientific laws). Just as the Renaissance was deemed to
begin in 1453 with the fall of Constantinople, so the scientific
revolution that heralded the birth of modern science was deemed to
begin in 1543, the year in which Copernicus’ De revolutionibus
orbium coelestium (On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres),
Vesalius’ De humani corporis fabrica (On the Fabric of the Human
Body), and the German translation of Leonhart Fuchs’s De historia
stirpium (On the History of Plants) were published. Paula Findlen’s
chapter on ‘The Renaissance of Science’ presents these
accomplishments as the culmination of developments in science and
medicine in the course of the Renaissance. The humanist re-
examination of the science and medicine of classical antiquity
promoted debates about how best to explain the nature of the
universe, the place of human beings within it, and the physiology of
the human body.
 The aspects of the cultural life of the Renaissance that are most
difficult to recover include the performing arts, which come alive at
the moment of performance but leave little evidence of the
experience of those who witness them. Some performance spaces
survive, such as the Teatro Olimpico in Vicenza, as do written
accounts, financial records, musical scores, pictorial representations,
and a range of artefacts, and performances can in some measure be
reconstructed from such materials. Margaret McGowan’s chapter on
the performing arts focuses on festival, music, drama, and dance,
and shows how these forms are shaped by the knowledge of
classical antiquity promoted by the humanist scholars of the
Renaissance. This is a theme that animates and connects all the
chapters in this volume.
 1
Humanism and the Classical Tradition
Peter Mack

Renaissance humanism was a scholarly movement which profoundly

changed European society and intellectual life. By the end of the
sixteenth century the educational reforms instigated by the
humanists had altered the lives and ways of thinking of elites
throughout Europe and the New World of America. Even today our
ideas of proportion and beauty in buildings and literary works are
deeply influenced by classical ideals revived and transformed in the
Renaissance.
Humanists occupied themselves with a range of studies centred
on curiosity about the world of classical antiquity. They aspired to
write Latin prose like Cicero, to study and interpret Latin literature,
to collect manuscripts of ancient writers and to use those
manuscripts to improve their texts, to learn Greek, to understand
ancient Greek poetry and philosophy, and to write poetry and history
which followed classical models. They were hungry for facts about
the history, customs, and beliefs of the ancient world, and they tried
to use their knowledge to guide conduct in their own time. They
sought to make their discoveries about pagan classical literature and
thought compatible with their Christian beliefs. Above all their goal
was to become, and to enable others to become better people,
through their understanding of the greatness of the classical past.
Renaissance humanism sponsored a revolution in education. In
the historian Paul Kristeller’s influential definition, humanistic studies
(studia humanitatis) by the mid-fifteenth century ‘came to stand for
a well-defined cycle of studies’, which included grammar, literary
studies, rhetoric, poetics, history, and moral philosophy. But this was
the core rather than the limit. Scholars trained in humanistic subjects
turned their attention to improving texts and translations of the
Bible, to political theory, to other fields of philosophy, including
cosmology and the nature of the soul, and to theology. The
Florentine Marsilio Ficino (1433–99) was as much a humanist in his
attempt to make Platonic philosophy part of Christianity as he was in
his translations from Greek into Latin for Cosimo de’ Medici. The
theorists and supporters of the Reformation and the Counter-
Reformation were trained by humanists and in their turn encouraged
the growth of humanistic education.
Renaissance humanism relied heavily on the work of medieval
scribes and scholars. If the Carolingian scribes had not copied
classical manuscripts in the ninth and tenth centuries there would
have been very few old Latin manuscripts for humanist scholars to
‘discover’ and disseminate. If Latin had not been revived in the ninth
century and then continued to be taught as the learned language of
Europe throughout the later Middle Ages there would have been no
basis from which humanists could urge a return to the standards of
classical Latinity. Medieval scholars and rulers created the
universities and the Europe-wide network of learning which
Renaissance humanists later adorned. Although humanist scholars
tried to enhance their significance by denigrating the preceding
Middle or Dark Ages, modern scholars acknowledge continuities
between medieval and Renaissance learning. We need to insist that
there was change but that in many cases it began gradually. The
texts and teaching methods of early fifteenth-century humanist
grammar schools differed only in some emphases from medieval
schools, but by the middle of the sixteenth century the difference
had become much greater. Writers like Machiavelli and Montaigne
are unthinkable in the Middle Ages and are the direct products of
humanist approaches to the ancient world.
 Although the origins of Renaissance humanism lay with Paduan
teachers of letter-writing and independent scholars like Petrarch
(1304–74), the crucial support for the early development of
humanism came from noble and civic patronage. Owning a library of
classical texts or employing an ambassador who could deliver a
competent neo-classical Latin oration became a matter of prestige
for Italian cities and courts, which were soon imitated in that regard
by the magnates and kings of other European countries. The success
of humanists in persuading first the civil servants and then the rulers
of Florence and Rome of the external publicity value of classical
learning was essential to the diffusion of the humanist movement.
Humanists occupied important administrative and diplomatic posts.
They became chancellors of cities and states; some even became
popes. They sometimes succeeded in displacing the hereditary
nobility to become the trusted counsellors of rulers.
The spread and development of humanism depended on schools.
It is a characteristic of northern European humanism, which in many
ways surpassed Italian humanism after about 1500, that the most
important humanists devoted themselves to the reform of schools
and to writing new textbooks. Secular and religious princes were in a
position to found new schools and colleges, and to reform the
syllabus of existing institutions of learning. The Renaissance is
marked by widespread writing about educational reform and by the
elaboration of new programmes for many schools which in the
sixteenth century had many shared features, both across the newly
developing nation-states and across Europe as a whole. These
educational reforms were the most far-reaching, enduring, and
influential legacy of humanism.
A further crucial motor for the development of humanism was
provided by the invention and diffusion of printing. Although
manuscripts remained more beautiful and more prestigious in terms
of aristocratic collecting well into the sixteenth century, the advent of
print made it possible to circulate a newly discovered or newly
improved text rapidly and uniformly throughout Europe. The
reduction in the price of books made it possible for scholars and
students to own several texts on the same subject where previously
they might have been content with one. The Europe-wide
distribution achieved by printers in the major centres like Venice,
Paris, Basel, and Frankfurt gave authors of new Latin scholarly works
the incentive of knowing that their ideas could be spread very rapidly
throughout Europe.
As the nation-states became more powerful, the educated elite,
including scholars, operated in a series of bilingual worlds, in which
Latin was the international language of political and scholarly
communication but the local vernacular was the language of the
courts and of political power. The male elite was educated in Latin
but they increasingly expressed themselves publicly in Italian,
French, German, Spanish, and English. An Elizabethan bishop would
write against the continental Roman Catholics in Latin and against
the local puritans in English. Important and influential though neo-
Latin instructional works were, the enduring legacy of humanism lies
in vernacular literature, treatises, and Bible translations.

Origins of humanism and Petrarch

Latin learning and classical Latin literature could hardly have
survived in western Europe without the activities of Irish and English
monks in the sixth to eighth centuries. They cultivated Latin
grammar, collected, read, and copied classical Latin texts, and
eventually re-exported Latin learning to the European continent in
the time of Charlemagne (768–814). The towering figures here were
Bede (673–735), who wrote Bible commentaries, grammar
textbooks, and works on chronology as well as his Latin
Ecclesiastical History of the English People (731), and Alcuin (c.740–
804), who was called from the centre of learning at York to help
Charlemagne establish new monastic schools in his empire, in
France, Germany, and northern Italy. In the ninth century the
monasteries founded by Anglo-Saxon missionaries produced copies
of most of the classical Latin texts which have survived, many of
them written in the new Caroline minuscule script, which later
humanists misidentified as the ancient Roman handwriting, and
reproduced in the italic and roman typefaces we still use today. For
many of the classical Latin texts which we read today, a single copy
had survived into the ninth century, when most of them were
recopied in sufficient quantities to increase their chances of recovery.
Lupus of Ferrières (c.805–c.862) collected, copied, and collated
manuscripts, encouraging his friends and pupils to do likewise. What
was recovered in the ninth century was never truly lost again; while
some texts languished safe but uncopied in monastic libraries, others
were recopied, especially in the great Benedictine monastery of
Montecassino in the eleventh and early twelfth centuries. From the
monasteries Latin spread to courts and universities, becoming the
international language of learning and high-level Church
communication. But this form of Latin was still a living language,
much influenced by the local vernaculars and in many ways unlike
the careful artistic Latin prose of classical writers like Cicero.
A second crucial factor in the revival of ancient learning was the
political life of Italian city-states in the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. By 1250 cities like Padua, Florence, Venice, and Siena had
established republican systems of government in which political
speech-making was an important part of the fabric of city life. At the
same time as the essential foundations of modern accountancy and
international banking were being laid, many merchants in these
cities were wealthy enough to demand a role in political activities.
While he was in exile in France, Brunetto Latini (c.1225–1293), first
Chancellor of the Florentine republic and teacher of Dante, wrote an
Italian translation of part of Cicero’s rhetorical textbook, De
inventione, with a commentary which made connections to the art of
letter-writing. At almost the same time Rhetorica ad Herennium was
translated into Latin by Guidotto da Bologna. Latini valued what
Cicero and other classical writers could teach but, in spite of his own
Latin learning, he believed that Cicero’s teachings should be made
available to readers of the vernacular.
In the twelfth century, interest in classical rhetoric had taken a
different turn with the compilation of arts of letter-writing which
combined instructions for writing various types of official letter in
Latin with observations based on classical Latin rhetoric. From the
late eleventh to the late fourteenth century dozens of letter-writing
manuals (artes dictaminis) were composed and the teaching of Latin
letter-writing flourished as part of a practical training for officials and
notaries at the margins of medieval universities, notably Bologna.
According to one school of thought the earliest humanists were the
heirs of the writers of artes dictaminis. Another school of thought, in
contrast, sees the early humanists as asserting the value of classical
models in an age of anti-classicism. The context here would be the
anti-classical polemics of the Bolognese professor of dictamen,
Boncompagno da Signa (1165–1240).
The first of the humanists was the Paduan notary Lovato Lovati
(1241–1309), who read widely in classical lyric poetry and composed
Latin verse epistles, a treatise on classical Latin poetic metre, and a
short commentary on Seneca’s tragedies. Lovati’s pupil, the Paduan
notary and diplomat Albertino Mussato (1261–1329), wrote in Latin
a defence of poetry, a history modelled on Livy, and a verse tragedy,
Ecerinis, modelled on Seneca’s tragedies, which warned his fellow
citizens against tyranny. These Paduan early humanists exhibited an
enthusiasm for classical literature, a wish to understand it better, and
a desire to imitate Latin literature in their own private and literary
writings. In their public letters they continued to follow the models
of the medieval ars dictaminis.
Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch) was the outstanding scholar and
writer of his generation. The son of an exiled Florentine notary, he
soon abandoned his own legal studies and took advantage of the
accumulation of French and Italian manuscripts of Latin texts around
the papal court in Avignon. He collected and copied manuscripts,
putting together the most complete version of Livy’s history available
in his day and personally correcting it by comparing it with other
manuscripts. His Livy is the famous British Library Harley manuscript
2493, later owned and corrected by Lorenzo Valla. In Avignon,
Petrarch commissioned from Simone Martini the frontispiece for his
Vergil, showing Vergil, Aeneas, and the ancient commentator Servius
at the top, with scenes illustrating the subjects of the Eclogues and
Georgics below. He also found manuscripts of Cicero (the oration Pro
Archia and the Letters to Atticus) and Propertius. His own list of his
favourite books includes Cicero, Seneca (Moral Epistles and
Tragedies), Valerius Maximus, Livy, Macrobius, Aulus Gellius, Vergil,
Lucan, Statius, Horace (especially the Odes), Juvenal, St Augustine,
Boethius, and a Latin translation of Aristotle’s Ethics. He owned a
manuscript of Homer’s Iliad but he never succeeded in learning
enough Greek to read it. In Latin Petrarch wrote letters (in prose and
verse), philosophical treatises, pastoral poems, and an unfinished
epic, Africa, on the life of the Roman general Scipio Africanus. He
strove to uphold classical standards of Latin expression and wrote
biting critiques of the misguided thinking and poor use of Latin by
scholastic philosophers and British logicians. He was the first post-
classical author to publish collections of his letters. Petrarch’s name
lives today because of his Italian poetry and particularly for his
Canzoniere, the collection of poems celebrating his love for Laura,
which was much imitated by fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Italian,
French, and English poets.
To the following generation of humanists Petrarch served as an
important model in several different ways: for the breadth of his
curiosity about the ancient world; for his wide knowledge of Latin
literature and his attempt to relate this knowledge to his own
experience; for his discovery of new manuscripts and new texts and
his attempts to improve the texts of works he knew; for his attempts
to write Latin poems and letters worthy of comparison with classical
Latin; for his critique of scholastic Latinity; and for his ambition to
learn Greek.

Italian humanism of the fifteenth century

Coluccio Salutati (1331–1406), Chancellor of Florence for thirty
years, was among Petrarch’s correspondents. Like Petrarch he
sought to improve the texts of Latin authors and built up a large
library, uniting for the first time for centuries Cicero’s Letters to
Atticus with the newly discovered Letters to his Friends, a
Carolingian manuscript found in the cathedral library of Vercelli in
1392. He also owned the oldest complete manuscript of the poet
Tibullus and one of the three primary manuscripts of Catullus. His
private letters imitated Cicero’s. He established Greek teaching in
Florence when he persuaded Manuel Chrysoloras (1350–1415) to
lecture at the university between 1397 and 1400. Chrysoloras taught
Greek to the next generation of Florentine humanists and
encouraged them to make translations from Greek into Latin, not
according to the old word by word method but attempting to
formulate the ideas expressed in the Greek text in good Latin
sentences. He composed a grammar (Erotemata) for the use of
western European students, which became the first Greek grammar
to be printed (in 1471) and was used by Erasmus and Reuchlin.
Salutati also engaged Giovanni Malpaghini (1346–1422) to teach
rhetoric in Florence. According to the historian Ronald Witt, this was
the decisive point at which public letter-writing began to prefer
classical models of Latin epistolography over the medieval ars
dictaminis.
Among Chrysoloras’s pupils was Leonardo Bruni (1370–1444),
who translated Aristotle’s Politics and Ethics into a Latin which fitted
with humanist theories of translation and ideas of Latin style. He
also translated nine of Plutarch’s Lives and several of Plato’s
dialogues, including Phaedo, Apology, and Gorgias into Latin. He
used Greek historians such as Polybius and Xenophon for his Latin
historical compilations On the First Punic War, On the Italian War,
and Commentaries on Greek Matters. Bruni later became Chancellor
of Florence and wrote in Latin a Praise of the City of Florence (1404)
and a History of the Florentine People in Twelve Books (1416–44).
He wrote Italian biographies of Petrarch and Dante. Bruni organized
a programme of Italian translations of his Latin works. His On the
First Punic War was the subject of five separate Italian translations
in the fifteenth century and survives in 120 vernacular manuscripts.
It was printed twelve times in Italian before 1600, as against five
Latin editions. Evidently there was a great demand for Roman
history in the vernacular. Although Bruni’s scholarship and history
were firmly based on his knowledge of Greek and his commitment to
a good classical Latin style, he believed in using the vernacular to
spread the benefits of humanist learning.
Another pupil of Chrysoloras was the great educator Guarino
Guarini (1374–1460), who followed his master back to
Constantinople (1403–9) in order to perfect his Greek and to acquire
manuscripts of Greek texts. Guarini ran a private school in Verona
(1419–29) and then established a court school in Ferrara (1429–60).
The emphasis of his teaching was on giving pupils knowledge about
all aspects of the ancient world, teaching them Greek, and helping
them to acquire a Latin writing style which approximated to classical
standards of expression. His method of reading focused on style,
and on teaching his pupils to collect vocabulary, maxims, and literary
examples of the employment of figures of rhetoric for use in their
own compositions. He also put considerable emphasis on teaching
his pupils the principles of classical rhetoric, the art of composing
speeches and other texts. He wrote a new commentary on the
anonymous Rhetorica ad Herennium, which most people up to the
middle of the sixteenth century believed to have been the work of
Cicero, and which had been the most important first primer of
rhetoric since the Middle Ages and continued to be so. His
commentary focused on the literal teaching of the text, commented
in detail on its language and style, provided contextual information
from ancient history, and gave examples from Cicero’s orations,
especially Pro Milone, which showed the use of the doctrines. He
makes many references to Cicero’s rhetorical works and to the first-
century Roman rhetorician Quintilian. His method of grammar school
teaching was diffused by the account of his school written by his son
Battista. Guarino’s near contemporaries Pier Paolo Vergerio
(1368/70–1444) and Gaspare Barzizza (1360–1430) wrote works on
education and grammar teaching which promoted the humanist
approach to grammar school teaching.
The greatest of the manuscript recoverers, Poggio Bracciolini
(1380–1459), was also a member of Salutati’s circle, though not a
pupil of Chrysoloras. As a papal secretary Poggio attended the
Council of Constance (1414–17) which ended the schism in the
papacy. From Constance in 1415 Poggio made an expedition to the
Burgundian monastery of Cluny, where he found an ancient
manuscript of five of Cicero’s speeches, two of which were
previously unknown. In 1416 and 1417 he went to St Gall, where he
found a text of Lucretius, a complete Quintilian, Asconius’
commentary on five of Cicero’s speeches, as well as texts by Silius
Italicus and Manilius. On later manuscript-collecting expeditions he
found eight previously unknown speeches of Cicero, Statius’ Silvae,
and Petronius’ Trimalchio’s Feast. Besides his extraordinary
discoveries of old manuscripts and new texts, Poggio was very
influential in improving texts and circulating them. Inspired by his
example, Gerardo Landriani found Cicero’s Brutus and the complete
texts of his De oratore and Orator in 1421. Other discoveries around
this time included the minor works of Tacitus and several new
comedies by Plautus.
The growth of humanism depended on the support of wealthy
and powerful patrons who received dedications, founded libraries,
and commissioned manuscripts and translations. Because they were
convinced of the value to the city of classical scholarship and stylish
Latin writing, such patrons formed an influential network of support
which encouraged scholars and educational reforms. One crucial
aspect of this support was the founding and support of public
libraries. Niccolò Niccoli (1364–1437) was the son of a rich cloth
merchant and a member of social circles associated with humanism.
As a protégé of Salutati who copied manuscripts around 1400
alongside Poggio, he played a role in the development of the
humanistic script, based on the Caroline minuscule, which was the
medium for many attractive and readable humanist manuscripts.
Niccoli persuaded Florentine magnates to employ humanist scholars
as tutors to educate their children and collected ancient cameos and
sculptures, and, above all, manuscripts. Poggio’s correspondence
shows how he helped Niccoli acquire copies of old manuscripts.
Although he could not read Greek, Niccoli owned 146 Greek
manuscripts which were eventually, in pursuance of his wishes,
incorporated in a public library in the Dominican convent of San
Marco. The Florentine bookseller Vespasiano da Bisticci (1421–98)
once organized forty-five scribes to produce 200 volumes in less
than two years for Cosimo de’ Medici (1389–1464) for the library of
the Badia of Fiesole. The list of books for copying was compiled by
the humanist Tommaso Parentucelli (1397–1455), who later became
Pope Nicholas V. In the 1470s Vespasiano organized copying of
manuscripts for the library of Federico di Montefeltro in Urbino. This
collection was later incorporated in the Vatican library established by
Nicholas V in the 1450s. Nicholas V commissioned Latin translations
of many Greek authors, including Thucydides, Herodotus, Xenophon,
Theophrastus, Ptolemy, and Strabo. As a participant in the Council of
Constance, Cosimo had helped finance Poggio’s book-collecting
expeditions. He was able to use such contacts to enrich his own
library with classical texts and new discoveries. In 1492 his grandson
Lorenzo de’ Medici (1449–92) dispatched Janos Lascaris on a
journey to various Byzantine provinces to collect Greek manuscripts.
He returned with more than 200. On Lorenzo’s death the family
library made available to the citizens of Florence consisted of over
1,000 volumes.
Ottoman threats to the Byzantine Empire and the eventual fall of
Constantinople in 1453 led to more contacts between east and west
and to the migration westwards of many scholars and manuscripts.
Basilios Bessarion (1403–72) first came to Italy as a member of the
Greek delegation to the Council of Ferrara-Florence (1438–45),
which aimed to reunite the western and eastern churches. After he
settled in Italy and was made a cardinal his house in Rome became
a centre of Greek studies. He built up an exceptional library of Greek
manuscripts which he donated to the city of Venice as the basis of a
public library and so that Greek émigrés might have access to as
complete a library of Greek texts (including Christian texts) as
possible. Cardinal Bessarion made a new Latin translation of
Aristotle’s Metaphysics and used philological arguments based on
original Greek manuscripts to resolve problems of theological
controversy and in the text of the Bible.
The greatest scholar of the first half of the fifteenth century was
probably Lorenzo Valla (1407–57), who was born into a family
associated with the papal court, and worked for King Alfonso the
Magnanimous while he was establishing his rule over Naples, before
returning to Rome in 1447, first as papal scriptor and later as
apostolic secretary and professor of rhetoric. During the 1430s Valla
conceived and began to publish a series of works which he revised
throughout his career, improving them as his knowledge of Latin and
Greek literature increased. His dialogue On the True Good (1431)
attacks conventional Christianizing Stoicism by opposing to it an
original amalgam of Christianity and Epicureanism. Inspired by the
disagreeable experience of teaching rhetoric at the law-dominated
University of Pavia, Refoundation of Dialectic and Philosophy (1439)
attacks the basis of Aristotelian logic and metaphysics and proposes
in its place a simplified logic operating in everyday language, which
for Valla was the language of Cicero and Quintilian. Valla continues
with Petrarch’s sweeping and often unfair attacks on the barbarous
Latin and impenetrable complexity of Scholastic philosophers. In his
view arguments should be expressed with clarity using classical Latin
vocabulary and constructions, checked against the usage of the best
authors. His most successful work, Elegantiae (1441), reformulates
the rules of Latin syntax and the usage of Latin vocabulary on the
basis of analysing examples from the whole corpus of Latin
literature. One of Valla’s aims was to recover the distinctions
between closely related words which had been observed in classical
Latin but had been lost by medieval writers. These additional
distinctions made it possible to think more precisely in Latin and to
follow the thought of the classical authors more carefully. In On the
Donation of Constantine (1440), Valla shows on historical, linguistic,
and rhetorical grounds that the document which purported to
transfer power over the Roman Empire to the papacy was a later
forgery and could not possibly have been written at the time of
Constantine. His Annotations on the New Testament (1443) corrects
the Latin of the Vulgate translation (the official Bible of the Roman
Catholic Church) by comparing it with manuscripts of the original
Greek text. In 1447 Valla completed his Emendations on the Text of
Six Books of Livy, the result of a careful study of manuscripts of
books 21–6.
Knowledge of the newly discovered complete text of Quintilian
was fundamental to all Valla’s works, which are based on close
investigation of classical Latin usage and on the application of
principles taken from rhetoric. Valla was active in textual criticism
and the collation of manuscripts, as evidenced by his work on
Petrarch’s copy of Livy. Valla’s thorough knowledge of Greek was the
inspiration for his work on the text of the New Testament and for his
Latin translations of Thucydides and Herodotus. His translation of
Thucydides is still important to editors because Valla had access to a
manuscript tradition which is now lost. The translation is so exact
that scholars can reconstruct places in which he has amended his
Greek text on the basis of the manuscript he consulted. Valla was
unafraid to draw controversial conclusions from his linguistic
discoveries. Much of his effort was devoted to criticisms of
Aristotelian and scholastic philosophers and to controversies with
other humanist scholars including Poggio. In his own lifetime and
immediately afterwards Valla was a controversial figure whose views
could be ignored and several of whose major works (including On
the True Good, the Refoundation of Dialectic and Philosophy, and
the Annotations on the New Testament) were unknown or little
circulated. The exception was his grammatical masterpiece, the
Elegantiae, which was an important reference work in both Italy and
northern Europe in the sixteenth century, with forty-five manuscripts
surviving and 152 printed editions before 1620.
Valla’s pupil Niccolò Perotti (1429–80) composed an unfinished
commentary on Martial, Cornucopia or Commentaries on the Latin
Language, which is in effect a dictionary of a good part of the Latin
language. His Rudimenta grammatices (1468) became the basic
humanist Latin grammar, insisting on classical standards of
expression. It includes a humanist version of the treatise on letter-
writing and, in later editions, rules for the composition of Latin
verse, which makes it a complete elementary course in Latin. It was
printed 115 times before 1500 and a total of 133 times up to the last
printing in 1535. The earlier editions are mostly from Italy (and
especially Venice) and Paris; the later ones mainly from Germany.
In contrast to Valla’s life of wandering and controversy, the
translator and philosopher Marsilio Ficino (1433–99) spent most of
his life in Florence supported by Medici patronage. Cosimo de’ Medici
commissioned from him Latin translations first of the Hermetica,
Greek texts which apparently preserved ancient Egyptian theologico-
magical wisdom, completed in 1463, and then of all Plato’s
Dialogues, published in 1484. Ficino eventually added translations of
the major Neoplatonic philosophers Porphyry, Iamblichus, and
Plotinus. He wrote commentaries on several of Plato’s dialogues,
including Parmenides, Sophist, Philebus, Timaeus, Phaedrus, and
Symposium. His original works included Platonic Theology: On the
Immortality of the Soul (1474), which seeks to prove the immortality
of the soul through analysis of its attributes, to refute rival accounts
of the soul’s mortality, and to reconcile Platonic views of the soul and
the afterlife with Christianity, and Three Books on Life (1489), a
largely medical work based on the ancient theory of the four
humours, which included descriptions of some magical processes of
healing involving astrology and amulets. Ficino believed that Plato’s
works (and indeed the Hermetica) incorporated earlier wisdom (the
so-called Ancient Theology) which God had entrusted to Moses,
Solomon, and the Egyptians and which could be used to supplement
both the Old Testament and the later and more complete revelation
of his plans conveyed through the life and teaching of Jesus. Ficino
was a healer, a priest, and a philosopher as well as a translator. His
syncretic philosophy combining Christianity, Platonism, and magic
was one of the distinctive achievements of the Renaissance. For
most Renaissance readers Ficino’s Latin translations of Plato, usually
published with his commentaries, were the principal means of access
to Plato’s thought. His translation of Plato was first printed in 1484 in
an unusually large edition (for the time) of 1,025 copies which sold
out within six years. Plato was not printed in Greek until 1513.
Ficino’s Latin translations and interpretations of Plato and of the
Neoplatonists had an immense influence on Renaissance thought,
literature, and culture.
Angelo Poliziano (in English, Politian, 1454–94), the greatest
classical scholar of the fifteenth century, was educated in Florence.
Lorenzo de’ Medici took him into his household as tutor to his
children, in which guise he appears leading his charges to greet their
father and his political associates in the fresco by Domenico
Ghirlandaio in the Sassetti Chapel of the church of Santa Trinita,
Florence. Poliziano was a fine poet in both Italian and Latin, and
lectured on classical literature at the University of Florence. His Latin
letters were treated as models of style by sixteenth-century teachers
and were quoted and cited alongside Cicero’s letters in many
Renaissance letter-writing manuals. His greatest work of scholarship
was the Miscellanea, a collection of studies of varying length on
particular scholarly issues, mainly improvements in the text of
various Latin authors on the basis of a collation of manuscripts or a
comparison with Greek sources. The book also included short essays
on miscellaneous topics such as the origin of the names of the days
of the week, the invention of purple, and the correct spelling of the
name Vergil. He knew Greek very well and was able to use the text
of the Greek poet Callimachus to emend a corrupt passage in one of
Catullus’ (Latin) poems, which he recognized as being based on it.
Poliziano examined and collated old manuscripts of Terence, Vergil,
and Seneca. In his manuscript collations on printed texts he used
sigla abbreviations (individual letters or other short forms identifying
particular manuscripts) to distinguish between the different
manuscripts he was using. He constructed arguments based on the
history of manuscripts, showing for example that the received text of
Cicero’s Letters to his Friends depended on a lost manuscript in
which some of the quires had been bound together in the wrong
order. He took an interest in post-classical authors in both Latin and
Greek. He knew Greek well enough to compose Greek epigrams and,
unlike earlier Italian humanists, to make improvements in the texts
of Greek authors. He interested himself in disciplines allied to
philology such as the study of ancient coins and inscriptions.
Poliziano originated methods and lines of approach in manuscript
studies and textual scholarship which came to full fruition only
centuries later. Even though he never published an edition of a
classical text, modern classicists regard Poliziano as the greatest
scholar of the fifteenth century and one of the most significant in the
history of their discipline.
Count Giovanni Pico della Mirandola (1463–94) was a precocious
polymath who knew Greek, Latin, and Hebrew. He is famous for
offering to defend 900 theses on religion, natural philosophy, and
magic against all critics in Rome in 1486, before the pope halted the
exercise. The theses represent an attempt to reconcile Platonic,
Aristotelian, Christian, and Jewish knowledge. Pico was a friend of
Poliziano, and later also of Savonarola, and was supported by the
patronage of Lorenzo de’ Medici. He wrote a vernacular commentary
on Benivieni’s Canzone, itself based on Ficino’s interpretation of
Plato’s Symposium. His principal published work was the Heptaplus,
a cabbalistic interpretation of the first twenty-six verses of Genesis.
Pico was the first Christian to have extensive knowledge of the
Cabbala, which he owed to the Jewish scholars who taught him
Hebrew. His Oration on the Dignity of Man, originally intended to
introduce the defence of his theses, presents man as essentially free
to choose between animal and angelic forms of life, while urging
that the individual should choose the latter in order to attain moral
transformation, intellectual knowledge, and eventually union with
the infinite. Like Ficino he believed in the doctrine of ancient
theology, which regards the knowledge of Orpheus, Pythagoras,
Zoroaster, and Moses as an earlier form of divine wisdom to be used
alongside the Christian revelation.
The arrival of printing in Italy gave a fresh impetus to the
development and diffusion of humanism because it enabled many
identical copies of classical texts and new works of scholarship to be
produced rapidly and distributed throughout Europe. Cicero’s De
oratore was the second book to be printed in Italy (the first was an
ancient grammar text) when Arnold Pannartz and Konrad
Sweynheim set up their press in the Benedictine Abbey at Subiaco in
1465. Between 1465 and 1475 almost all the classical Latin texts
appeared in print in Italy, not all of them in very good editions.
Printing made it possible for scholars to build up comprehensive
working libraries relatively quickly. Printed books facilitated collation
of manuscripts, as we see for example in Poliziano’s manuscript
annotations on the Rome 1473 edition of the elder Pliny’s Natural
History. Printing made classical texts available in quantities
impossible before. By the end of the fifteenth century nearly 200
editions of Vergil and over 300 of works by Cicero had been printed,
mainly in Italy. From 1494 to 1515 the scholar-printer Aldus
Manutius (c.1450–1515) produced a great series of classical editions
in Venice, including the first editions of many Greek texts, such as
the complete works of Aristotle (1495–8), Sophocles, Euripides,
Herodotus, Thucydides, Demosthenes, and the Greek rhetoricians.
By 1515, thanks largely to Aldus, all the major classical authors were
in print in serviceable and often beautiful editions. Venice’s role as
an international centre of trade and printing meant that new editions
could circulate rapidly throughout Europe. Thanks to fifteenth-
century Italian scholarship and printing, the future of classical texts
and the linguistic and scholarly knowledge needed to interpret them
had been secured.

Northern European humanism 1470–1530 and Spain

Humanism in northern Europe developed out of contacts with Italy
in the fifteenth century. Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester (1391–1447),
commissioned a Latin translation of Aristotle’s Politics from Leonardo
Bruni, which was delivered in 1433. Pier Candido Decembrio (1392–
1477) dedicated his translation of Plato’s Republic, completed in
1441, to Duke Humphrey and assisted him in building up the
collection of classical manuscripts which he donated to Oxford
University. In the fifteenth century students from the Netherlands,
Germany, Spain, and Britain frequently travelled to Italy to study law
and medicine. Some of these students acquired a taste for
humanistic learning which they brought back to their own countries
and which led to reforms in the teaching of Latin and the beginnings
of Greek teaching. Where earlier northern humanists had had to
study in Italy in order to learn Greek, by about 1490 it was possible
to learn Greek in northern Europe, with the result that many
important northern humanists of the sixteenth century, such as
Erasmus, More, Vives, and Melanchthon, either never went to Italy
or went there only when they were already fully educated.
The first important Dutch humanist, Rudolph Agricola (1444–85)
went to Pavia to study law in 1469. He soon gave up his law studies
to devote himself to improving his Latin style and his knowledge of
classical Latin literature, acting as an unofficial tutor in humanist
subjects to other Dutch and German students who helped support
his further studies. In 1475 he moved to Ferrara in order to learn
Greek. For a time he was employed as an organist by Count Ercole I,
who frequently engaged musicians and composers from the Low
Countries. Agricola played a part in the official ceremonies of both
Italian universities, giving public Latin orations at the installation of
three rectors (Pavia, 1472–4) and for the inauguration of the
university year (Ferrara, 1476).
In all Agricola spent ten years in Italy and it was there that he
conceived and began to write his masterpiece, On Dialectical
Invention (1479), which was inspired by the advanced teaching in
Latin composition he had been giving to his northern fellow
students, who were already masters of arts when he began to teach
them. On Dialectical Invention presents a new approach to the
process of planning a text, setting out from a reconsideration of the
principles of communication in the light of examples from classical
Latin poems and orations. Thus Agricola always foregrounds the
need to convey a message to a particular audience in the most
persuasive way and investigates the ways in which passages from
classical literature have been shaped to achieve this end. He
developed new principles for planning texts from a combination of
doctrines taken from rhetoric and dialectic textbooks. The analysis of
examples of effective writing in the light of the general principles of
communication is at the heart of Agricola’s project. With its original
treatment of the topics of invention, the relationship between
narrative and argument, the arousal of emotion, and the
organization of texts, On Dialectical Invention is the most original
rhetoric text of the Renaissance and one of the five most important
works ever written on the subject. It also includes instructions for
making dialectical analyses of texts, which Agricola later exemplified
in his commentary on Cicero’s Pro lege Manilia and which became a
sub-genre of northern humanist literary commentary. Agricola’s
contribution to rhetorical theory may be compared with those made
by Valla and Poliziano to classical philology.
On his return to Frisia, Agricola became town secretary of
Groningen. His personal fame among northern students and the
travel required by this diplomatic post enabled him to inspire other
would-be humanists in the Low Countries. He helped Alexander
Hegius (1433/40–98), who was one of Erasmus’ teachers, learn
Greek, and he wrote a letter on the humanist educational
programme, On the Formation of Studies (1482), to the composer
Jacques Barbireau (1455–91), who had tried to persuade him to
open a humanistic school in Antwerp. This letter also includes
instructions for compiling commonplace books in which pupils would
record phrases, arguments, and stories from their reading for reuse
in their own compositions. Agricola’s instructions for what became
one of the staples of grammar school training were later elaborated
by Erasmus and Melanchthon. His last years in Heidelberg were
devoted to the study of Hebrew and to religious writings in support
of his pupil Johann von Dalberg (1445–1503), who was bishop of
Worms and Privy Councillor to the Elector Palatine.
William Grocyn (c.1449–1519) and Thomas Linacre (c.1460–
1524) were both private pupils of Poliziano in Florence. Grocyn
returned to establish Greek teaching in Oxford in the 1490s, while
Linacre went on to study medicine in Padua. Linacre helped Aldus
Manutius with the publication of the Greek Aristotle. He later won
fame for his Latin translations of works by Galen and for his works
on Latin grammar. Johann Reuchlin (1455–1522) learned Greek from
Chrysoloras’s Erotemata and taught Greek in Tübingen in the 1480s.
He wrote a Latin dictionary (1478) and composed comedies in Latin
(1498, 1504). He was the first northern humanist to interest himself
in Hebrew, perhaps as a result of time spent with Johann von
Dalberg in Heidelberg in the 1490s. He collected Hebrew
manuscripts, wrote a dictionary and grammar of Hebrew in Latin
(1506), the first Christian to do so, and composed Latin dialogues on
the Cabbala (1494, 1517).
Erasmus of Rotterdam (?1469–1536) became the most prominent
European intellectual of the early sixteenth century. He provided
programmes for founders of schools and collaborated closely with
printers to improve the texts of classical writers in circulation and to
ensure the availability of his own works. He made notable
contributions to the study of the Bible and developed a European
network of correspondents whose studies he encouraged and
corrected through his letters. The establishment of grammar schools
concentrating on classical literature and on promoting classical
standards of Latin composition and the acquisition of Greek was
crucial to the success of the humanist movement in northern
Europe. Erasmus contributed decisively to the syllabus of the new
grammar schools with his tract On the Method of Study (1511),
which was often printed with Agricola’s On the Formation of Studies
and other humanist texts on education. Erasmus produced textbooks
and editions for school use (including editions of the most
elementary readers such as the Distichs of Cato), offering a model
which many first-rate northern humanists followed, of concerning
themselves with educational theory and working to provide
textbooks which would further the humanistic movement in grammar
schools.
Erasmus wrote On Copia (1512), which one might gloss as ‘on
abundance of subject matter and expression’, the most successful
rhetoric book of the sixteenth century, for St Paul’s School in
London, founded by John Colet (1467–1519), Dean of St Paul’s and
one of Erasmus’ strongest supporters in England. The book provides
a series of well-explained methods of varying a pre-existing text,
using the tropes of rhetoric and the topics of invention, along with
examples and collections of alternative expressions for much-used
phrases. Erasmus designed the book for grammar-school pupils as a
preparation for the classical rhetoric manuals by Cicero and
Quintilian. On Copia puts particular emphasis on the use of
description, comparison, examples, and axioms within texts. It
teaches pupils the method of constructing commonplace books.
Erasmus’ On Writing Letters (1521) taught practical letter-writing,
one of the principal composition exercises in the grammar school,
adapting classical rhetorical teaching to modern conditions. It
provided a great deal of helpful advice on self-presentation in
relation to an audience, which pupils could have used in their own
writing of letters and speeches as well as in the conduct of their
everyday lives.
Erasmus’ Adages (first published in 1500) is a dictionary of
classical Latin proverbs, intended to assist pupils in understanding
texts and to provide them with materials with which to embellish
their own writings. When Erasmus had acquired a better knowledge
of Greek he published with Aldus Manutius in 1508 a much
expanded version incorporating proverbs from Greek texts and
exploring the connections between proverbs in both languages. He
always emphasized the value of proverbs in preserving and
conveying ancient moral teaching. The further expanded edition of
1515 incorporated long essays on moral and political topics in which
Erasmus showed the way in which proverbs and techniques of
amplification could be used to compose impressive and persuasive
arguments.
In 1505 Erasmus published for the first time Lorenzo Valla’s
Annotations on the New Testament. Since he believed that an
improved Latin text of the New Testament would help recall the
Church to its former purity, he set about making a Greek text on
which to base a new translation of the Bible intended to correct
errors in the Vulgate. He studied Greek New Testament manuscripts
available to him in England in 1512–13 and the writings of the
Church Fathers in search of improved readings. In Basel in 1515–16
he had access to five Greek manuscripts, but he based most of his
readings on a twelfth-century manuscript of no great value.
Nevertheless his publication of his Novum Instrumentum in 1516,
which included a Greek text, a new Latin translation, and
annotations interpreting the text, marked a new era in biblical
scholarship. Text, translation, and annotations were further improved
in subsequent editions. Erasmus strengthened the evangelical
message with his Paraphrases on the books of the New Testament,
which use the techniques of rhetorical amplification to make his
audience understand and feel the force of the Christian message.
Erasmus’ Greek text was the basis for translations of the New
Testament by Martin Luther (1483–1546) into German (1522), by
William Tyndale (c.1494–1536) into English (1526), and by the
translators of the King James Version (1611).
Erasmus was also active as an editor of patristic and classical
texts. His somewhat faulty edition of the works of Seneca appeared
from Basel in 1515 and his much better edition of St Jerome in 1516.
His Seneca was greatly improved in its second edition of 1529, for
which he had access to better manuscripts and made many more
emendations. Erasmus enriched Latin literature with his mock
encomium The Praise of Folly (1511), which promoted his brand of
evangelism based on a recognition of the simple and revolutionary
teaching of Christ and a rejection of the worldly prudence of the
established Church, and with his dialogues and his many letters to
his wide circle of friends. To receive a letter from Erasmus, and for
that letter to be published in one of his printed volumes, was a much
sought-after honour for scholars and noblemen. Since Erasmus was
hostile to many of the same failings of the Church, such as the sale
of indulgences, he was at first sympathetic to Luther and refused to
attack him. Later he clarified his adherence to Catholic doctrine,
asserting the importance of the freedom of the will against Luther’s
theology of predestination. Although he remained faithful to Rome,
even moving from Basel when it became Protestant in 1529, his
attacks on the Church hierarchy and his insistence that the methods
of philology be applied to the Bible and the Church Fathers
encouraged a critical approach to the religious establishment.
Unintentionally he was one of the forerunners of the Reformation.
Printing was first established in France, in Paris, in 1470. In 1471
the works of Sallust were printed. By 1478 there was a press in Lyon
which later became a centre of humanistic and classical printing.
From the 1470s Italians were appointed to lecture at the University
of Paris and Greek teaching was available there from about 1476,
though it was greatly strengthened by the work of Janos Lascaris
(c.1445–1535) from 1495. Lascaris was also involved in organizing
the royal library and in procuring Greek manuscripts from Milan.
Jacques Lefèvre d’Étaples (c.1460–1536) began to study Greek
around 1480. In 1490 he wrote an introduction to Aristotle’s
Metaphysics. In 1492 he visited Florence and was influenced by both
Ficino and Giovanni Pico della Mirandola. Thereafter he made
humanist Latin translations of and introductions to the principal
works of Aristotle (1506) which remained the staple of university
teaching in Paris, combining this with an interest in Hermetic and
Platonic texts. He also published an edition of the Psalter (1509) and
of St Paul’s Epistles (1512) with careful explanations of the situation
in which Paul was writing and the literal meaning of the text. Lefèvre
shared Erasmus’ commitment to the study of Greek and to classical
standards of Latin style but he was more traditional and supported
both the Aristotelian university syllabus and the church’s
interpretation of scripture.
Guillaume Budé (1468–1540) was a man of independent means
who devoted himself to scholarship from about 1491. He learned
Greek in Paris and published four translations of treatises by Plutarch
(1503–5). He became a royal secretary in 1497 and was Francis I’s
Master of Requests (1522–40) and Director of the Royal Library. His
Annotations on the 24 Books of the Pandects (1508) approaches a
legal text from the point of view of philology and philosophy. He
uses the legal text as a historical source to reconstruct the reality of
life in ancient Rome. His book was also a scathing attack on
scholastic jurisprudence which treated Roman law as a universally
authoritative system rather than a human artefact which was
created and adapted in response to particular historical
circumstances. Budé was the founder of legal humanism which was
further developed by the Italian scholar Andrea Alciati (1492–1550),
who taught at universities in France from 1518 and who became
famous for his publications on emblems (a genre involving a
symbolic image, explanatory verses, and a motto) from 1531. Budé’s
second great work of scholarship was On the Unit (1515), a deeply
scholarly and controversial investigation of the value of all
measurements and coins in the ancient world, based on both a
thorough knowledge of all the sources and a practical sense of the
ways in which measures and values operate. His Commentaries on
the Greek Language (1530) is a work of lexicography which was
later incorporated in Henri Estienne’s Greek–Latin dictionary,
Thesaurus of the Greek Language (1572). Budé was influential in
persuading Francis I to establish in 1530, and pay the salaries of, the
‘Royal Lectureships’, originally two in Greek, two in Hebrew, and one
in Mathematics, and which were the origin of the Collège de France.
Sir Thomas More (1477/8–1535) was a friend of Erasmus, with
whom he made Latin translations of Lucian around 1506, and a
strong supporter of humanistic learning in England. From a legal
career he turned in 1517 to royal service under Henry VIII,
eventually reaching the eminence of Lord Chancellor in 1529. He
wrote an English biography of the Italian humanist Giovanni Pico
della Mirandola (1510) and a humanistic history of the reign of
Richard III in English and Latin (1514–18). His most famous work
was the Latin Utopia (1516), in which he launched a new genre of
fiction and described a communistic form of political organization
based on an Erasmian combination of Plato and Christianity. Through
his household, and his association with Juan Luis Vives, he promoted
the education of women in classical subjects. He was irrevocably
opposed to the Reformation and to Tyndale’s translation of the Bible
into English, which he persecuted. He serves as an example of a
statesman devoted to and motivated by Christianity and the study of
the classical world, who found time for scholarship and writing.
 Juan Luis Vives (1492–1540) left Valencia to study in Paris in
1508 and went from there to Bruges in 1512, where he met More in
1520. More helped him when he came to England, where Vives
taught Greek at Oxford and worked as tutor to Princess Mary from
1527. He wrote a commentary on St Augustine’s City of God (1522),
which he dedicated to Henry VIII. Most of his works were published
after his return to Bruges in 1528. They include a survey of the state
of learning in various subjects, On the Causes of the Corruption of
the Arts (1531), which was followed by his proposals for a
reorganization of the teaching of the principal subjects, On Teaching
the Disciplines (1531), very successful elementary dialogues for
pupils learning Latin, the Colloquia or Practice of the Latin Language
(1539), and an important and influential treatise on letter-writing
(1534). He also composed important works on the education of
women (1524) and on ways to tackle the problem of poverty (1525).
He wrote a book on the nature of the soul, On the Soul and Life
(1538), and studied the emotions. He composed a series of texts on
rhetoric and dialectic, including an original synthesis of rhetorical
doctrine adapted to modern conditions and organized around the
idea of style, On the Method of Speaking (1533), which did not
enjoy much influence. Vives was a fine stylist and an original thinker
who was active across a range of curriculum subjects and who
demonstrated notable social concerns.
Philipp Melanchthon (1497–1560) studied at Heidelberg and
Tübingen, where he began to teach. In 1518 he was appointed
Professor of Greek at Wittenberg, where he became the leading light
of the university and lectured on an astonishing range of classical
and biblical texts, including Homer, Vergil, Cicero’s orations and De
oratore, Terence, Paul’s Epistles, especially Romans, and Aristotle’s
Ethics and Physics. His lectures resulted in many printed
commentaries (some of them based on notes his pupils took on his
lectures) and in the Epitome of Moral Philosophy (1538).
Melanchthon played a crucial leadership role in reforms of
Wittenberg University and of many German grammar schools and
universities. His influence on the curricula of Protestant German
schools and universities was very strong, as evidenced by his epithet
‘the preceptor of Germany’. He wrote a series of influential textbooks
on rhetoric and dialectic, which emphasized the connections
between the two subjects and tried to combine coverage of the main
Aristotelian and Ciceronian doctrines with incorporation of some of
the new insights of Agricola and Erasmus. His crucial contribution
was to emphasize both Christianity and an education in classical
languages and literature by recognizing their different but
complementary spheres. Once one understood the overwhelming
centrality of grace, one could allow a place for pagan learning as
helpful within the necessarily less important concerns of this world.
Working alongside Luther, Melanchthon made crucial contributions to
the development of Protestant theology, as the main author of the
Augsburg Confession (1530) and through the different editions of his
Theological Commonplaces (1521–59), where he sought to give
clear statements of the essential doctrines of Protestant Christianity
on the basis of biblical texts. The work was organized logically from
such central topics as sin, law, grace, Christ, and God. Melanchthon
created and provided the basic textbooks for an educational system
which combined Christianity with humanist learning.
Although Italy led the way with printing of classical texts in the
fifteenth century, it now seems that printers in the north of Europe,
and especially in Paris, took over the leadership in humanistic
printing early in the sixteenth century. According to Andrew
Pettegree’s figures, France, Germany, Switzerland, and the
Netherlands accounted for 104,000 editions in Latin and Greek
between 1450 and 1600, compared with 39,600 for Italy. Green and
Murphy identify 338 editions of Cicero’s rhetorical works printed
between 1500 and 1600 in northern Europe, compared with 73
editions from Italy. Paris alone printed 153 editions, compared to
Venice’s 57. Northern printers also published very large numbers of
new Latin works on humanistic subjects, for example there were 165
editions of Erasmus’ De copia between 1512 and 1569, only 12 of
them from Italy (all from Venice). The early sixteenth century also
saw great scholarly printers establish their reputations in northern
Another random document with
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 —Dans quel guêpier suis-je donc, s’écria-t-il? Tout s’embrouille autour
de moi; je n’y reconnais plus rien; jamais pareil fait ne s’est produit; jamais
aussi ce stupide règlement dépourvu de sanction ne m’a paru aussi ridicule
qu’aujourd’hui. Je ne veux dénoncer personne, mais je ne veux pas qu’on
me dénonce; cela n’en finirait plus. Continuez à jouer aux cartes, jouez
toute la journée, si le cœur vous en dit, mais laissez-nous la paix.
—Avant de vous en aller, voulez-vous me dire pourquoi la Compagnie a
imposé ce règlement? Pouvez-vous lui trouver une excuse, j’entends une
excuse rationnelle, plausible, et qui ne soit pas l’élucubration d’un cerveau
d’idiot?
—Certainement, je le puis; la raison en est bien simple. C’est pour ne
pas heurter les sentiments des autres voyageurs, de ceux qui ont des
principes religieux; ceux-ci ne supporteraient pas que le jour du Sabbat fût
profané en jouant aux cartes en wagon.
—C’est juste ce que je pensais. Ils ne regardent pas, eux, à voyager le
dimanche, mais ils ne veulent pas que les autres...
—Par Dieu! vous voyez juste! je n’y avais jamais pensé avant; au fond
quand on y réfléchit, ce règlement paraît stupide.
Sur ces entrefaites le surveillant du train arriva et fit mine de vouloir
faire cesser le jeu; mais le conducteur du wagon l’arrêta et le prit à part pour
lui expliquer la situation. Tout en resta là.
Pendant onze jours, je séjournai à Chicago, malade dans mon lit; je ne
vis donc rien de la foire et je dus retourner dans l’est, dès qu’il me fut
possible de voyager. Le major prit la précaution de retenir un wagon-salon
pour me donner plus de place et rendre mon voyage plus confortable; mais
quand nous arrivâmes à la gare, par suite d’une erreur, notre wagon n’était
pas attaché au train. Le conducteur nous avait bien réservé une section du
compartiment, mais, nous assura-t-il, il lui avait été impossible de faire
mieux. Le major déclara que rien ne nous pressait et que nous attendrions
jusqu’à ce qu’on ait accroché un wagon. Le conducteur lui répondit avec
une certaine ironie:
—Possible que vous ne soyez pas pressé, comme vous le dites, mais
nous n’avons pas de temps à perdre; veuillez monter, messieurs, et ne nous
faites pas attendre.
Mais le major refusa de monter en wagon et il m’engagea fort à l’imiter.
Il déclara qu’il voulait son wagon et qu’il l’aurait; le conducteur impatienté
s’écria:
—Nous ne pouvons mieux faire, nous ne sommes pas tenus à
l’impossible. Vous occuperez ces places réservées ou vous ne partirez pas.
On a commis une erreur qui ne peut être réparée au dernier moment. Le fait
se produit quelquefois et personne n’a jamais fait autant de difficultés que
vous.
—Ah! précisément; si tous les voyageurs savaient faire valoir leurs
droits, vous n’essaieriez pas aujourd’hui de trépigner les miens avec une
pareille désinvolture. Je ne tiens pas spécialement à vous causer des
désagréments, mais il est de mon devoir de protéger mon prochain contre
cette sorte d’empiètement. J’aurai mon wagon-salon ou bien j’attendrai à
Chicago et je poursuivrai la Compagnie pour violation de son contrat.
—Poursuivre la Compagnie pour une telle bagatelle?
—Certainement.
—Vous le feriez réellement?
—Oui.
Le conducteur regarda le major avec étonnement et ajouta:
—Décidément vous avez raison; j’y vois clair maintenant, je n’y avais
jamais songé auparavant. Tenez, je vais envoyer chercher le chef de gare.
Ce dernier arriva et parut plutôt ennuyé de la réclamation du major (mais
pas du tout de l’erreur commise).
Il accueillit la plainte du major avec brusquerie et sur le même ton que le
conducteur du train au début; mais il ne sut fléchir le major qui réclama
plus énergiquement que jamais son wagon-salon. Cependant le chef de gare
s’amadoua, chercha à plaisanter, et esquissa même un semblant d’excuses.
Cette bonne disposition facilitait un compromis, le major voulut bien faire
une concession. Il déclara qu’il renoncerait au wagon-salon retenu par lui à
l’avance, à condition qu’on lui en fournît un autre. Après des recherches
ardues on finit par trouver un voyageur de bonne composition qui consentit
à échanger son wagon-salon contre notre section de compartiment. Dans la
soirée, le surveillant du train vint nous trouver et, après une causerie très
courtoise, nous devînmes bons amis. Il souhaitait, nous déclara-t-il, que le
public fît plus souvent des protestations; cela produirait un très bon effet
d’après lui, les Compagnies de chemin de fer ne se décideraient à soigner
les voyageurs qu’autant que ces derniers défendraient eux-mêmes leurs
propres intérêts.
J’espérais que notre voyage s’effectuerait maintenant sans autres
«incidents réformateurs», mais il n’en fut rien.
Au wagon-restaurant, le matin, le major demanda du poulet grillé; le
garçon lui répondit:
—Ce plat ne figure pas sur le menu, monsieur, nous ne servons que ce
qui est sur le menu.
—Pourtant je vois là-bas un voyageur qui mange du poulet grillé.
—C’est possible, mais ce monsieur est un inspecteur de la Compagnie.
—Raison de plus pour que j’aie du poulet grillé; je n’aime pas ces
récriminations, dépêchez-vous et apportez-moi du poulet grillé.
Le garçon appela le maître d’hôtel qui expliqua très poliment que la
chose était impossible; des règlements très sévères s’y opposaient.
—Soit, mais alors vous devez appliquer impartialement ces règlements
ou les violer avec la même impartialité. Vous allez enlever à ce monsieur
son poulet ou m’en apporter un.
Le maître d’hôtel resta aussi ébahi qu’indécis. Il esquissait une
argumentation incohérente lorsque le conducteur survint et demanda de
quoi il s’agissait. Le maître d’hôtel expliqua qu’un voyageur s’obstinait à
avoir du poulet, tandis qu’il n’y en avait pas sur la carte et que le règlement
s’y opposait. Le conducteur répondit:
—Cramponnez-vous au règlement, vous n’avez pas autre chose à faire.
—Mais un instant, s’agit-il de ce voyageur? Dans ce cas, continua-t-il en
riant, croyez-moi, ne vous occupez plus du règlement; donnez-lui ce qu’il
demande et ne le laissez pas énumérer tous ses droits. Oui, donnez-lui tout
ce qu’il demande et si vous ne l’avez pas, arrêtez le train pour vous le
procurer.
Le major mangea son poulet, mais il avoua qu’il l’avait fait uniquement
par devoir, pour établir un principe, car il n’aimait pas le poulet.
J’ai manqué la foire, il est vrai, mais j’ai recueilli dans mon sac un
certain nombre de tours diplomatiques qui, plus tard, pourront m’être très
utiles; le lecteur les trouvera sans doute comme moi aussi pratiques que
subtils.
 UN VEINARD!
Ceci se passait à un banquet donné à Londres en l’honneur d’un des plus
illustres noms de l’armée anglaise de ce siècle. Pour des raisons que le
lecteur connaîtra plus tard, je préfère tenir secrets le nom et les titres de ce
héros, et je l’appellerai le lieutenant général Lord Arthur Scorosby V. C. K.
C. B. etc.... Quel prestige exerce un nom illustre! Là, devant moi, était assis
en chair et en os l’homme dont j’entendis parler plus d’un millier de fois,
depuis le jour où son nom, s’élevant d’un champ de bataille de Crimée,
monta jusqu’au zénith de la gloire. Je ne pouvais me rassasier de
contempler ce demi-dieu; j’étais en extase devant lui, je le buvais des yeux;
son calme, sa réserve, son attitude digne, la profonde honnêteté qui
s’exhalait de toute sa personne faisaient mon admiration; ce héros n’avait
pas conscience de sa valeur; il semblait ne pas se douter que des centaines
d’yeux admirateurs étaient fixés sur lui et que de toutes les poitrines des
assistants montait vers lui un culte profond d’adoration.
Le Clergyman assis à ma gauche était une de mes vieilles connaissances.
Clergyman aujourd’hui, il avait passé la première moitié de sa vie dans les
camps et sur les champs de bataille, comme instructeur à l’école militaire de
Woolwich.
A ce moment un éclair singulier illumina ses yeux, se penchant vers moi
il murmura confidentiellement à mon oreille, en désignant d’un geste
discret le héros du banquet:
—Entre nous, sa gloire est un pur accident; il la doit à un coup de veine
incroyable.
Cette déclaration me causa une grande surprise; s’il s’était agi de
Napoléon, de Socrate ou de Salomon, mon étonnement n’eût pas été plus
grand. Quelques jours plus tard, le Révérend me fournit l’explication
suivante de son étrange remarque:
—Il y a environ 40 ans j’étais instructeur à l’école militaire de
Woolwich; le hasard voulut que je me trouvasse là lorsque le jeune
Scorosby passa son examen préliminaire; sa nullité m’inspira une profonde
pitié: tandis que les autres élèves de sa section répondaient tous
brillamment, lui se montra d’une ignorance crasse. Il me fit évidemment
l’effet d’un brave garçon, doux et sans astuce, mais c’était navrant de le
voir planté debout comme un piquet et décocher des réponses d’une
stupidité et d’une ignorance prodigieuses. J’eus vraiment compassion de lui
et je me dis: «La prochaine fois qu’il passera un nouvel examen il sera
certainement renvoyé; aussi serait-il plus charitable d’adoucir sa chute
autant que possible.»
Je le pris à part et m’aperçus qu’il savait quelques mots de l’histoire de
César, mais c’était là tout son bagage; je me mis donc à l’œuvre et lui
rabâchai un certain stock de questions sur César, qui devaient
infailliblement être posées aux élèves. Vous me croirez si vous voulez: le
jour de l’examen il se montra transcendant dans ses réponses, si
transcendant qu’il recueillit force compliments pour ce «gavage» purement
superficiel; tandis que les autres, mille fois plus instruits que lui,
répondirent mal, et furent fruit-sec. Avec une veine fantastique qui ne se
reproduira peut-être pas deux fois dans un siècle, il n’eut pas à répondre à
d’autres questions. C’était stupéfiant. Pendant le temps que dura son
examen, je restai à côté de lui avec la sollicitude qu’éprouve une mère pour
son enfant estropié; il se tira toujours d’affaire comme par enchantement.
A n’en pas douter, les mathématiques allaient le couler et décider de son
sort; toujours par bonté d’âme pour adoucir sa chute, je le pris de nouveau à
part et je lui serinai un certain nombre de questions que l’examinateur ne
manquerait pas de poser; puis je l’abandonnai à son triste sort. Eh bien!
vous me croirez si vous voulez: à ma grande stupéfaction il mérita le
premier prix et reçut une véritable ovation de compliments.
Pendant une semaine il ne me fut plus possible de dormir: ma conscience
me torturait nuit et jour; par pure charité j’avais essayé de rendre moins
dure la déconfiture de cet infortuné jeune homme sans me douter du résultat
qui allait se produire. Je me sentais coupable et misérable: comment, par
mon fait, cette pauvre cervelle bornée allait se trouver en tête d’une
promotion et supporter de graves responsabilités! A n’en pas douter, à la
première occasion, un effondrement ne manquerait pas de se produire.
La guerre de Crimée venait d’être déclarée.
«Quel malheur, pensai-je, voici maintenant la guerre; ce pauvre âne va
avoir l’occasion d’étaler au grand jour sa nullité.» Je m’attendais à un
désastre: ce désastre se produisit: j’appris avec terreur que le jeune
Scorosby venait d’être nommé capitaine d’un régiment de marche. Qui eût
pu supposer qu’un tel poids de responsabilité dût peser sur des épaules aussi
faibles et aussi jeunes? J’aurais encore compris sa nomination au grade de
porte-étendard, mais à celui de capitaine, songez quelle folie! Je crus que
mes cheveux allaient en devenir blancs. Moi qui aime tant la tranquillité et
l’inaction, je me tins le triste raisonnement suivant: «Je suis responsable de
ce malheur vis-à-vis de ma patrie; j’accompagnerai donc cet incapable, je
resterai à ses côtés pour sauver ma patrie dans la mesure du possible.» Je
rassemblai le pauvre petit capital péniblement économisé pendant mes
années de dur labeur, je me mis en route avec un gros soupir et j’achetai un
grade de porte-étendard dans son régiment. Ainsi nous partîmes tous deux
pour la guerre.
Là, mon cher, quel spectacle effroyable! Il ne fit que des bévues, inepties
sur inepties; mais, voyez-vous, personne ne connaissait à fond cet individu,
personne n’avait mis au point ses capacités; aussi prit-on ses bévues
navrantes pour des traits de génie. Le spectacle de ses sottises me fit crier
de rage et délirer dans ma fureur; j’étais exaspéré de voir que chaque
nouvelle insanité de sa part augmentait sa réputation; je me disais: «Le jour
où les yeux de ses admirateurs s’ouvriront, sa chute sera aussi grande que
celle du soleil tombant du firmament.» Montant de grade en grade, il passa
par-dessus les cadavres de ses supérieurs; au plus chaud de la bataille, notre
colonel tomba frappé, et mon cœur se mit à battre affreusement, car
Scorosby allait prendre sa place. «Pour le coup, pensai-je, avant dix minutes
nous serons tous perdus.»
Le combat fut acharné; sur tous les points du champ de bataille les alliés
lâchaient pied. Notre régiment occupait une position de la plus haute
importance et la moindre bévue pouvait tout perdre. A ce moment critique,
notre fatal insensé fit quitter au régiment la position qu’il occupait, et le
lança à la charge contre la colline opposée où on ne voyait pas trace
d’ennemis.
«C’est la fin de tout, pensai-je cette fois. Le régiment s’ébranla; nous
avions franchi le faîte de la colline avant que ce mouvement insensé ait pu
être découvert et arrêté. Nous trouvâmes de l’autre côté une armée russe de
réserve au grand complet, dont personne ne soupçonnait l’existence.
Qu’arriva-t-il? Nous avions 95 chances sur 100 d’être massacrés. Mais non,
les Russes en conclurent que jamais un seul régiment ne se serait hasardé
dans une passe aussi dangereuse; ce devrait être l’armée anglaise tout
entière! Se croyant bloqués et découverts, les Russes firent demi-tour,
repassèrent la colline dans un affreux désordre. Nous les serrions de près
dans notre poursuite; arrivés sur le champ de bataille, ils se heurtèrent au
gros de l’armée ennemie; ce fut un chaos et une confusion épouvantables, et
la défaite des alliés se transforma en une éclatante victoire. Le maréchal
Canrobert contemplait ce spectacle avec ravissement, émerveillé, trépignant
de joie. Il fit appeler Scorosby, l’embrassa et le décora sur le champ de
bataille en présence de toutes les troupes.
Quelle avait donc été la fameuse bévue de Scorosby? Il avait tout
bonnement pris sa droite pour sa gauche, et rien de plus.
Il avait reçu l’ordre de se porter en arrière pour soutenir notre droite; au
lieu de cela, il chargea en avant et escalada la colline par la gauche. Il acquit
ce jour-là la réputation d’un grand génie militaire; la gloire de son nom
répandue dans tout le monde brillera dans les annales de l’histoire. Aux
yeux de tous, c’est un homme bon, doux, aimable et modeste, mais, en
réalité, il est au-dessous de tout comme incapacité. Une veine phénoménale
l’a servi jour par jour, année par année. Pendant un demi-siècle il a passé
pour un soldat des plus brillants; sa carrière militaire est émaillée d’un
nombre incalculable de bévues, cela ne l’a pas empêché de devenir
chevalier, baron, voire même lord; voyez plutôt sa poitrine, elle est
constellée de décorations. Eh! bien, monsieur, chacune de ces décorations
représente une gaffe colossale; prises dans leur ensemble, elles constituent
nettement la preuve qu’avant tout, pour réussir en ce monde, il faut être né
«veinard»!
 TABLE
LES PETERKINS 5
PERCE, MON AMI, PERCE 19
POURQUOI J’ÉTRANGLAI MA CONSCIENCE 29
LES AMOURS D’ALONZO FITZ CLARENCE ET DE ROSANNAH ETHELTON 59
LE CHAT DE DICK BAKER 95
LA FÊTE DISPENDIEUSE DU COLONEL MOSES GRICE 101
SUR LES BEBES 129
CONSIDERATIONS SUR LE TEMPS 135
UN SAUTEUR MEXICAIN_PUR-SANG 143
L’HOMME LE PLUS MÉCHANT ET LE PLUS STUPIDE DE TURQUIE 153
QUELQUES HÉROS D’OCCASION 165
A LA CURE D’APPÉTIT 179
EXTRAIT DU TIMES DE LONDRES EN 1904 201
NOS DIPLOMATES 223
EN VOYAGEANT AVEC UN RÉFORMATEUR 239
UN VEINARD 267

ACHEVÉ D’IMPRIMER

le vingt-deux mai mil neuf cent dix

PAR

BLAIS & ROY

A POITIERS

pour le

MERCVRE
 DE

FRANCE
 *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LES
PETERKINS ***

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