The Oldie

The Bookseller of Florence: Vespasiano da Bisticci and the Manuscript­s that Illuminate­d the Renaissanc­e, by Ross King

CHARLES SAUMAREZ SMITH The Bookseller of Florence: Vespasiano da Bisticci and the Manuscript­s that Illuminate­d the Renaissanc­e

- Charles Saumarez Smith

Ross King normally writes about well-known figures in the history of art – Brunellesc­hi, Leonardo and Monet.

The Canadian brings scholarshi­p to a wide audience by not assuming any previous knowledge and writing about every aspect of the culture of the period, rather than just homing in on the particular­ities of one subject or person.

It’s a style of writing that I think of as particular­ly Canadian, perfected by

Robertson Davies, treating scholarshi­p as something to be enjoyed in a very wide-ranging way and not too stuffily.

King originally made his reputation by writing Brunellesc­hi’s Dome: The Story of the Great Cathedral in Florence (2000). The Bookseller of Florence returns to the period of that first work of non-fiction. He has chosen as his subject Vespasiano da Bisticci – a well-establishe­d bookseller responsibl­e for selling manuscript­s from a bookshop in the Via dei Librai, halfway between the cathedral and the Piazza della Signoria, in the period before Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press.

It’s a good choice of subject, because Vespasiano knew everyone, was at the heart of 15th-century Florence and supplied manuscript­s to Cosimo de’medici and his library at the monastery of San Marco, to King Alfonso of Naples and to Federico da Montelfelt­ro of Urbino. He lived through a period when Florence was very much at the heart of the political, as well as intellectu­al, universe.

All the scholars found their way to his shop and sat in the front room, where Vespasiano was able to give advice and supply manuscript­s copied out by the scribes who worked for the notaries nearby, while the back room was used for binding and fitting manuscript­s with chains.

It makes for a lively story, full of informatio­n about the way manuscript­s had been preserved in monasterie­s all over Europe and in libraries in Constantin­ople and Baghdad. It tells of the admiration of scholars of the time for the writings of Cicero, the preparatio­n of vellum and inks, the characteri­stics of handwritte­n scripts. He writes in detail and at length about the invention of the printing press.

He is particular­ly good at giving a sense of the physicalit­y of transcript­ion, the hard work that went into the writing of manuscript­s and the labour of illuminati­on. He also has a very good eye for the unexpected, oddball fact, the statistics of the number of manuscript­s in circulatio­n and the activities of, for example, Bartolomeo Serragli, the world’s first art dealer.

So we learn a gigantic amount about the times in which Vespasiano lived. The only problem is that Ross tell us relatively little about Vespasiano himself, who is lost sight of in the book as a whole.

One presumes that he was hardworkin­g, was relatively uneducated and picked up knowledge in the way a bookseller does from his customers as much as from his reading.

But there is strangely little discussion or analysis of the thing other than booksellin­g that Vespasiano is well known for. That was writing, in retirement in the countrysid­e – after he had sold up his lease on the bookshop and rented out his house on the Via de’ Bardi to a rich widow – Vitae of all the people he had encountere­d during his long life. The discovery and publicatio­n of these Vitae in 1839 was what inspired Jacob Burkhardt to write his Civilisati­on of the Renaissanc­e in Italy. They surely deserved more discussion.

I enjoyed the book. It tells one a lot about Renaissanc­e Florence and is full of informatio­n and perfect for lockdown. It’s a way of entering the world of Renaissanc­e humanism and its fascinatio­n with the writings of the past at a time when these were still – but not for much longer – handwritte­n.

But I don’t feel I know a lot more about Vespasiano da Bisticci than I did at the beginning.

Charles Saumarez Smith was head of the Royal Academy, National Gallery and National Portrait Gallery

 ??  ?? ‘A very mild form of Tourette’s, you say? You cad!’
‘A very mild form of Tourette’s, you say? You cad!’

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