harbour doubts until I actually see it. Such is the ignorance, laziness, or arrogance of these fellows, that, strange as it may seem, they do not reproduce what you give them, but write out something quite different."[23]

Each copy of a work had, therefore, before the invention of printing, its own peculiar virtues and vices. A correct and clearly written codex possessed charms which no modern "numbered" edition on wide-margined paper can equal. We have many indications of the affection which Petrarch felt for his books and which he instilled into others. Even his rustic old servant at Vaucluse learned to distinguish the various volumes, great and small. The old fellow would glow with satisfaction, his master tells us, when a book was put into his hands to be replaced upon the shelves; pressing it to his bosom, he would softly murmur the name of the author.[24] Petrarch's interest was, however, no selfish one; he fondly hoped that his collection would become the nucleus of a great public library, such as we find a century or two after his time. When he could no longer foster interest in his favourite studies by his own potent presence and by his letters to his friends and fellow-scholars, his books, with their careful annotations and textual corrections, would form a permanent incentive to progress.

He chose Venice as the most appropriate place to establish his library. The letter in which he offers to leave his books to that city gives us a clear notion of his purpose. Laying aside all regard for classical models, he addressed the Venetian Government in the current Latin of the chancery:

"Francesco Petrarca desires, if it shall please Christ and St. Mark, to bequeath to that blessed Evangelist the books he now possesses or may acquire in the future, on condition that the books shall not be sold or in any way scattered, but shall be kept in perpetuity in some appointed place, safe from fire and rain, in honour of the said saint and as a memorial of the giver, as well as for the encouragement and convenience of the scholars and gentlemen of the said city who may delight in such things. He does not wish this because his books are very numerous or very valuable, but is impelled by the hope that hereafter that glorious city may, from time to time, add other works at the public expense, and that private individuals, nobles, or other citizens who love their country, or perhaps even strangers, may follow his example and leave a part of their books, by their last will, to the said church. Thus it may easily fall out that the collection shall one day become a great and famous library, equal to those of the ancients. The glory which this would shed upon this State can be understood by learned and ignorant alike. Should this be brought about, with the aid of God and of the famous patron of your city, the said Francesco would be greatly rejoiced, and glorify God that he had been permitted to be, in a way, the source of this great benefit. He may write at greater length if the affair proceeds. That it may be quite clear that he does not mean to confine himself in so important a matter to mere words, he desires to accomplish what he promises, etc.

"In the meantime he would like for himself and the said books a house, not large, but respectable [honestam] in order that none of the accidents to which mortals are subject shall interfere with the realisation of his plan. He would gladly reside in the city if he can conveniently do so, but of this he cannot be sure, owing to numerous difficulties. Still he hopes that he may do so."[25]

September 4, 1362, the grand council determined to accept the offer of Petrarch, "whose glory," the document recites, "was such throughout the whole world that no one, in the memory of man, could be compared with him in all Christendom, as a moral philosopher and a poet." The expense for a suitable dwelling was to be met from the public treasury, and the officials of St. Mark's were ready to provide a proper place for the books.

Petrarch lived for several years, as we shall see, in the house furnished by the Venetian Government, and it was, until recently, believed that his books were sent to the city, and, to the disgrace of the Republic, allowed to perish from negligence. Tommasini, the author of a once esteemed life of Petrarch, reports the discovery in 1634, in a room of St. Mark's, of certain stray volumes nearly destroyed by moisture and neglect,[26] which he assumed to be the remains of Petrarch's original collection. This has recently been shown to be a mistake, for the books in question never belonged to Petrarch, many indeed dating from the next century. There is, in fact, no reason to suppose that his library ever reached Venice after his death.

M. Pierre de Nolhac has succeeded, by the most minute and painstaking study of Petrarch's handwriting and habits of annotation, in partially reconstructing a catalogue of his books. The fate of the poet's collection was a matter of vital interest to the literary men of his time. Immediately after his death, Boccaccio wrote to ask what had been done with the bibliotheca pretiosissima. Some, he said, reported one thing and some another. But the books evidently found their way to Padua, for it was there that Coluccio Salutati and others sent for copies, not only of Petrarch's own works, but of rare classics which he possessed, such as Propertius and the less known orations of Cicero. Petrarch's last tyrant-patron, Francesco di Carrara, Lord of Padua, had for several years been upon bad terms with Venice, and it is easy to understand why the famous library, once in his possession, was never delivered to St. Mark's, as its owner had intended. The prince appears to have sold many of the volumes, although he retained a choice selection for himself. A renewal of the wars with his neighbours brought upon him, however, a final calamity, and he was forced to cede all of his possessions, in 1388, to Gian Galeazzo Visconti. The latter carried off the precious books to Pavia, where he added them to his own important collection. One volume has been discovered by M. de Nolhac, which bears the half-obliterated name of Francesco di Carrara. But Pavia was in turn robbed of its treasures, for in 1499 the French seized them and transported them to Blois, whence they have found their way to Paris. Some twenty-six volumes in the National Library have been satisfactorily proven actually to have belonged to Petrarch, while Rome can boast of but six, and Florence, Venice, Padua, and Milan of one each. The rest may either have been destroyed, or be wanting in those characteristic traits by which they could be identified.

Petrarch's habit of annotating the books in which he was most interested[27] gives the volumes which have come down to us a certain autobiographical value, and M. de Nolhac's study of