We can well understand that the publication of the Greek Grammar, Aristotle, and kindred authors must have been a work of time. But five books were produced in two years, and that with the aid of two scholarly editors, besides the zealous help of friends, to which we have referred above. In addition to the costly methods that Aldus was forced to pursue, he could find no type that suited him, and set himself to invent one; that known at first as Aldino, and later Italic, was the result. There is a tradition that he aimed to reproduce the even and clear chirography of Petrarch, and himself described the result as a type "of the greatest beauty, such as was never done before." Aldus hastened to ask of the Signoria the sole right to use this type for ten years, which privilege was granted him upon the following appeal:—
"I supplicate that for ten years no other should be allowed to print in cursive letters of any sort in the dominion of your Serenity, nor to sell books printed in any other countries in any part of the said dominion, under pain to whoever breaks this law of forfeiting the books and paying a fine of two hundred ducats for each offence, which fine shall be divided into three parts,—one for the officer who shall convict, another for the Pietà, the third for the informer, etc."
Query, was this not putting a strong temptation before the informer and the convicting officer?
The type we now use in italics is the descendant of the Aldino, but not so delicate and graceful as the ancestor. The first book printed in this manner appeared in 1501, and, as seems most fitting, was the poems of Petrarch, printed directly from his own manuscript. The Aldine mark on the titlepages of this great printer's books was the anchor and dolphin; and Lorenzo of Pavia said of this volume to the Duchess Isabella Gonzaga, it is "a rare thing, which, like your Ladyship, has no paragon."
After a time Erasmus of Rotterdam wrote to Aldus concerning the publication of his "Adages," and finally came to Venice, and became one of the assistants of the printer,—this man of great fame, greater than those Italians who called him "that Dutchman" and laughed at his moderation and large appetite. Jealousy and envy invaded the Stamperia, where the sounds of the gayety of fashionable Venice never were heard, and where little interest was felt in the struggles, the feuds, and the betrayals which were rampant there, from the Great Council and that of the Ten down through the many "sets" of maggiori and minori in that busy, overflowing city. What a contrast to all this was that conclave of the Neacademia on the days when the obscure passages of Aristotle, Virgil, and other ancient authors were discussed! How gravely did they give their reasons why an adverb would better express the meaning than an adjective, and what lengthy arguments were needed to decide for or against a relative pronoun!
Sadly we record the total changes that came with the wars of the first decade of the sixteenth century. Aldus, his Stamperia, his precious manuscripts collected with such pain and care, all disappeared; and though he returned to his labors with characteristic zeal, he gained fame only, and died poor. He did not work for profit. His copyright in type, if we may use the word, was of little use, and his thoughts were bent on other things than money-making. He never swerved from his decision, in the preface to the Greek Grammar, to devote his life to the good of mankind. Renouard, the French critic, tells us how his devotion to his chosen calling became a passion. If he heard of a manuscript that could explain an existing text, he rested not until he got it. He valued no labor, expense, travel, or study that could further his ends, and it was wonderful to see with what readiness he was assisted. Some for money, some without reward, and others for the same reasons which influenced him, gave all the aid possible to further his success; and from distant places, without solicitation from him, precious manuscripts were sent for his advantage.
He was succeeded by his son called Aldo il Giovane, and his grandson; but even with the advances made in processes, no imitator nor rival excelled the scholarly bookmaker, Aldo il Vecchio, whose books are now among the very choicest treasures of the richest libraries in the world. Quoting again from the "Makers of Venice,"—
"Let us leave Aldo with all his aids about him,—the senators, the schoolmasters, the poor scholars, the learned men who were to live to be cardinals, and those who were to die as poor as they were famous; and his learned Greek Musurus, and his poor student from Rotterdam,—a better scholar perhaps than any of them,—and all his idle visitors coming to gape and admire, while our Sanudo swept round the corner from S. Giacomo dell' Orio, with his vigorous step and his toga over his shoulders, and the young men who were of the younger faction came in, a little contemptuous of their elders and strong in their own learning, to the meeting of the Aldine academy and the consultation on new readings. The Stamperia was as distinct a centre of life as the Piazza, though not so apparent before the eyes of men."
It is a singular fact that the Senate of Venice, in 1362, should have thought it worth while to present Petrarch with a palace, that he might in return, "with the good will of our Saviour, and of the Evangelist himself," make Saint Mark the heir of his library, and yet should have postponed the beginning of the building in which the books should be kept nearly two centuries; for it was not until 1536 that Sansovino commenced the Libreria Vecchia, which Aretino considered superlatively beautiful. Meantime the gift of Petrarch, stored in a small chamber of San Marco, was quite forgotten. No one lived who knew its whereabouts; and the legacies of Cardinal Bessarion, of Cardinal Grimani, Contarini, and Nani, were the glory of the library which Petrarch wished to found. Not until 1634 were his precious manuscripts discovered. But a meagre number could be saved from the mass of corruption they had become; and for all time the neglect and destruction of these precious parchments will remain a disgrace to Venice.