We were strolling round Macerata with no intention of visiting its library. I assumed it would be chiuso per restauro (closed for restoration), the three most important words for any bibliophile in Italy. However, we spotted it and I said to the Chelsea Fan, “Let’s go in!”.
Although he doesn’t speak Italian and is only generally interested in libraries and early printed books, he was up for it. We asked the staff at Reception if we could see round, they found another member of staff who was delighted that anyone was interested in his beloved library, and off we went.
As we had given no warning, he didn’t get out any books for us, but he showed us the fine rooms in which the historic collections are housed, and indeed the rooms are worthy of the books they hold.
The library was founded in 1773, though it is actually much older than that. As so often in Le Marche, it is based on the library of a religious order, in this case the Jesuits, who had been suppressed by Pope Clement XIV also in 1773. He gave their library to the Comune of Macerata to form a public library. The library was actually opened in 1787, after it had been given a suitable home (sede confacente), which I think means that its original home was refurbished, and the collections had been enlarged.
The Jesuit library has been added to over the years by various benefactors and bequests, and Macerata Library now consists of about 350,000 volumes. These include about 300 incunables, which we weren’t able to see. Actually the British Library’s Incunabula Short Title Catalogue only lists 269 hits for the keyword Macerata. Where are the others catalogued? The earliest is an Apuleius, printed in Rome in 1469, one of only about 53 in the world. No other comparable Italian communal library has a copy, and there are only eight in Britain.
And a very fine home it is. The Chelsea Fan had to take these photographs discreetly, that’s why there aren’t many of them.
In a very English way I didn’t quite like to ask what the hanging object was doing there; there were similar objects dotted about and we assumed they represented some sort of project or exhibition. A bit incongruous, but certainly creative.
Cardinal Pallotta supported, and Pope Pius VI subsidised, the enlargement of the library between 1773 and 1787. Would that some of the comuni which took over conventual libraries after Unification had received similar help! See the passage about Mondavio library in my post On the trail of incunabula in central Italy .
You can’t really see the sixteen medallions along the top of the bookcases; they portray philosophers and men of science, in keeping with the Enlightenment grand plan of the first librarian, Bartolomeo Mozzi.
How many English public libraries have a ceiling like that? A few, maybe.
This was the last photo the Chelsea Fan was able to take. After our tour we bade a warm and grateful farewell to our kind guide, and I resolved to be more systematic about my library explorations in future.
The man in the weighing chair is supposed to be a portrait of Sanctorius Sanctorius himself. The British Library‘s version of this is missing its frontispiece. I have not included a lot of information about Sanctorius or Vlacq, because if you follow the links and tags you will find it. I will just say that I was reluctant to include a picture of a book published by Vlacq, who was a mathematician as well as a publisher, and published a book of logarithm tables. How well I remember throwing my log tables into the bin as I left the maths O level exam hall. (Why did I assume I’d passed?)
I enjoy using the British Library‘s Incunabula Short Title Catalogue (ISTC). If you know Le Marche, try typing in the name of a comune and see what comes up. Ostra Vetere has 80 incunabula. That’s about one for 42 inhabitants. You can also find some amusement in seeing what other large and famous libraries have copies of little Ostra Vetere’s books: Bodley and the British Library have copies of Marchesinus’ 1489 Mammotrectus.
The library also has a 1481 Mammotrectus, printed in Milan by Leonardus Pachel and Uldericus Scinzenzeler, but I couldn’t photograph it as it wasn’t on display. In fact they hadn’t displayed any other incunabula.
Ostra Vetere’s collection of antiquarian books derives from the Frati Minori, or Franciscan Friars Minor, whose collection the comune took over at the time of the unification of Italy, when many religious houses were suppressed, as happened in Mondavio. As you would expect,the friars had many medical books, for they were expected to doctor the townsfolk. In my previous post I showed you one book by Jean Fernel, and here is another.
The Marche region of central Italy – about one third down the Adriatic coast – is full of small, fortified hill towns. It is an area I have come to know well through regular holidaying and, as a librarian, I was intrigued to start investigating some of its small, semi-forgotten book collections.
My starting point was the public library in Corinaldo, a small town (pop. 5,200) about fifteen miles inland. In the local tourist office I had already bought a couple of books (Pongetti, below) which referred to the communal library’s collections of antiquarian books, and I was keen to have a look at them.
They turned out not to be on display, but the helpful librarian, D.ssa Monia di Cosimo, welcomes interested visitors and will show the collection to you on request. It includes some 16th century books or cinquecentine as the Italians call them, which have recently been conserved by the Cappuccini friars at Fabriano, a centre of paper-making for hundreds of years, an hour’s drive away from Corinaldo. The province (the next tier up of local government) helped to fund the commune (basic unit of local government) to restore these books.
A few years ago in the regional capital, Ancona, I had seen an exhibition, Collectio Thesauri, displaying, among many others, a book from an even smaller commune, Mondavio (pop. 3,840) across the valley from Corinaldo. On visiting, it turned out to have many more antiquarian books, (about 1,300 from 1450-1800) of which a few have been conserved and displayed in glass cases in the museum. Opening times are few and far between, but the helpful staff may well open up for you specially.
Fascinated by this, and by the contrast between these communal libraries and British branch libraries serving similar-sized communities, I began to dig a bit deeper to find out why and how two small communal libraries came to own significant collections of antiquarian books, always bearing in mind that Italian campanilismo, or pride of place, means that no locality, however small, is willing to surrender any part of its heritage to a larger body, however much more (allegedly) fitted for stewardship.
Until the unification of Italy in 1860 the Marches were part of the papal state and thus hosted many religious houses, many of which in turn had significant libraries. After unification, most religious orders were suppressed and their property passed in many cases to the communes.
The Marches have also benefited from the enthusiasm for book collecting shown by private individuals, be they priests or laymen. In some cases, these collections were to raise money for the collectors’ families, and dispersed. Most of Corinaldo’s aristocratically-owned books are thought to have come to the library via second-hand booksellers. Sometimes collections were donated to the collector’s townsfolk; but not in Corinaldo or Mondavio.
Corinaldo’s antiquarian collection reflects its character as a community dominated by a few aristocratic families and the Church. It consists of 17 titles (18 volumes) which used to belong to the town’s aristocratic families, and 25 titles (37 volumes) from the Cappuccini convent. These have been catalogued by D.ssa Francesca Pongetti in the two publications which I bought locally.
Turning first to the secular collection, the libraries from which these books come were the product of that love of book-collecting mentioned above. This is exemplified by a 1584 Horace which belonged to Tommaso Ciani (1812-1889) and which bears on the fly-leaf a verse exhorting the book “so much loved by me,” if lost, to tell its new owner that it wants to return to its lost owner Tommaso (Quintus Horatius Flaccus: Omnia poemata. Venice, Giovanni Griffo, 1584.) (Pongetti 2004).
The collection does include one example of an individual book donation; Tommaso Boscherini (active 1681-1725) gave the citizens of Corinaldo his 1686 “Labyrinthus Creditorum” (a treatise on voluntary liquidation) by Salgado de Somoza, a 17th century Spanish jurist, printed in Venice by Giovanni Battista Tremontini in 1686 (Pongetti 2004).
Although the Cappuccino convent in Corinaldo was suppressed after unification and the friars had to leave in 1867, they found temporary shelter elsewhere and were allowed to reclaim their home in 1874. Nevertheless, some of their books did find their way to the communal library.
The collection reflects the interests of the friars and the purpose of the library. There are a number of religious texts, including Bibles, theological treatises, and, as preaching was an important part of their duties, collections of sermons. Among these is the library’s oldest book: a collection of sermons by Hugo de Prato Florido, printed in Lyons by Antonius du Ry in 1528. (Pongetti 2002.)
In contrast, Mondavio’s collection of antiquarian books derives from one source only – the Cappuccino convent of Mondavio, which, lacking the gentry support which the Corinaldese convent enjoyed, was definitively suppressed in 1867. Its library (about 2,800 books) was offered to the commune of Mondavio. They decided to take it in 1868, and, as a small commune without the dominant gentry families of Corinaldo, they seem to have bitten off more than they could chew. The collection as a whole has never been fully open to the public. Nowadays, some of the most valuable and interesting books are conserved and on display (not for reading), but the rest of the collection is closed to the public. Its incunabula and cinquecentine have been catalogued by D.ssa Barbara Lepidio as part of her degree thesis, of which she has kindly sent me a copy, but which is not widely available. In 2006 the commune did ask the province for Eur. 4000 to publish a catalogue of incunabula and cinquecentine (presumably Lepidio’s), but without success.
The library boasts 7 incunabula, including a Latin version of an Arabic treatise on medicine, the Al-Hawi of Rhazes: (Abu Bakr Muhammad ibn Zakarija: Liber expositio; medecinarum simplitu elhavi [sc Al-Hawi]) printed in Brescia in 1486 by Iacobus Britannicus).
There is also a complete Seneca printed in Venice in 1492 by Bernardino de Coris of Cremona, and a prologue to the letters of Marsilio Ficino printed in Venice by Matteo Capcasa of Parma in 1495. (Lepidio.) Generally, the collections reflect the spirit of the age in which they were acquired, and these fifteenth century books reflect the humanistic spirit of enquiry of the period – even to the extent of including a book by a Muslim, albeit a standard medical text-book.
For full details of the incunabula see the British Library’s Incunabula Short Title Catalogue an indispensable research aid.
Mondavio library also has a fine example of a book printed locally in the Marches, in 1513, by Ottaviano Petrucci of Fossombrone. Petrucci was one of the earliest printers of music; born in the small town of Fossombrone, he worked in Venice and moved back to Fossombrone in 1511, where his first book was a long and complex treatise, familiarly known as the Paulina, by the local bishop, Paolo da Middelburg, on the calculation of the date when Easter should be celebrated (Mei).
Considering the history of these two small Italian collections, one naturally asks “Is bigger better?” Does a collection need to be owned by a large authority, to be properly looked after? I would answer: “not necessarily”. Small collections mirror their local communities and would lose their uniqueness if moved or merged. Belonging to a large organisation is no guarantee that any special collection will be cherished as it deserves. With help and support from higher-tier authorities, and awareness and support from their citizens, the small towns of the Marches can flourish as proud owners of precious books.
Lepidio, Barbara. Tesi di laurea: La libraria dell’ex-convento dei Cappuccini di Mondavio – edizioni del XV e XVI secolo dal fondo antico della biblioteca comunale di Mondavio. Urbino, Universita degli Studi, 2001.
Mei, Mauro (ed.) : Collectio thesauri delle Marche; …Vol. II; l’arte tipografica dal XV al XIX secolo. Ancona: Regione Marche, 2004.
Pongetti, Francesca: I Cappuccini nella diocesi di Senigallia e il valore singolare della libraria e del convento di Corinaldo. Fano: Grapho 5, 2002.
Pongetti, Francesca: La “Marca” e le famiglie nobili e notabili di Corinaldo. [Fano:] Futura, 2004.
Thanks to Margaret Curson of Brighton and Hove Libraries, Monia di Cosimo of Corinaldo’s Biblioteca Comunale, Barbara Lepidio, librarian at the University of Urbino, and Carol Marshall of Hampshire Libraries.
This time I had a look at the Biblioteca Estense in Modena – only the normal tourist bit, I didn’t get a special look round.
As all the guide books will tell you, the library contains the famous manuscript bible of Borso d’Este, which is indeed beautiful, but somehow MSS just don’t do it for me – I like early printed books, of which obviously they have a fine collection including some printed by Aldus Manutius.On dispay are also some maps from the library’s cartographic collection, including a fine portolan. (NB There are lots of portolans in Barcelona’s Maritime Museum). Imagine my disappointment when I found that 2 of the half dozen or so display cases were filled with examples of facsimiles – not from their collection, which would have been fair enough, but from e.g. the Vatican Library.
I also met my good friends, and helpers with my article in the Cilip Rare Books Group newsletter, Barbara Lepidio (a librarian at the university of Verona) and Monia di Cosimo, Corinaldo’s communal librarian. Barbara knows Mauro Mei, the doyen of antiquarian and rare book librarianship in the Marche, and has offered to introduce me to him which would indeed be a privilege.
When I arrived here the exhibition I had hoped to see was in the process of being moved from one floor to another. I expressed my disappointment, whereupon a kind employee offered to show me round the library itself. This is just what happened in Mondavio (see my earlier post) and is typically Italian; everything is personal.
Jesi’s public library goes back to … well, just when does it go back to? It is based on a donation made to the city in 1710 by the jurist and bibliophile Monsignor Giuseppe Pianetti. As a priest, he didn’t have any direct descendants to leave his collection to, so he left it to the city via his nephew Cardolo. This is one of the reasons why the Marche region is so rich in fine books and libraries. As part of the Papal states, the Marche had lots of priests! The good cleric’s nephew had a catalogue of the library compiled by a Franciscan friar of Ancona. This beautifully handwritten and illustrated work now rests proudly on a table in the middle of the room.
Frontispiece of the catalogue (below )
“P” page of the catalogue (above ). Both from collectio thesauri, vol 1, pp447-8, ed. Mauro Mei. Florence, edifir for Regione Marche, 2004.
I asked my guide about incunabula, and he was particularly proud of the Constitutiones Egidianae of Cardinal Albornoz, (the constitution of the Papal States), printed in Jesi in 1480 by Federico de’ Conti. I also saw a little office book, printed by a local monastery in 1473, with one illustration.
My guide was also very anxious to show me two facsimiles, one of Dante’s Divina Commedia, also printed by de’ Conti, in 1472 (now in Ravenna). The people of Jesi are understandably proud of the fact that this is one of the three earliest Italian printings of the Divina Commedia.
The other facsimile was of a manuscript of “Hunting with Birds” by Frederick II, who was born in Jesi. It is a beautiful manuscript with detailed illustrations, apparently very useful for natural history, but not really what I am interested in! However, I didn’t have the heart to say this to my guide. It was a bit frustrating when I got back and looked at my Marcheggiano bibliographer’s Bible, the exhibition catalogue of Collectio Thesauri, and realised what I could have asked to see.
This leads me to digress and remark on the Italian love of facsimiles. In Modena two whole display cases were dedicated to them, and recently the Vatican library donated a very expensive and beautifully produced facsimile to the Queen’s library at Windsor Castle . I suppose they are proud that they can still achieve the same fine craftsmanship as their ancestors.
In the library some books have been opened and faced forward, so that you can see their title pages. I noticed:-
Apiaria uniuersae philosophiae mathematicae, by Mario Bettini and Francesco Curti. Bologna: Ferroni ,1642, dedicated to Matthias Galasso (other copies in the British Library)
Funerali antichi di diuersi popoli, et nationi; forma, ordine, et pompa di sepolture, di essequie, di consecrationi antiche at d’altro, descritti in dialogo da Thomaso Porcacchi da Castiglione Arretino. Venice: Galignani, 1574. (also in the BL)
Seneca’s Works [in Latin]. Paris: Dupuis, 1586.
The globes you can see in the photograph at the top were made in 1699-1700 by Coronelli, a Venetian monk who was also the founder of the Cosmographic Academy of the Argonauts in Venice in 1684, followed by his appointment as Cosmographer of the Republic [of Venice] in 1685. His fame was assured by the fact that he produced 2 globes for the King of France between 1681 and 1683. Never mind that they weren’t very accurate or easy to use: what was good enough for the king of France was good enough for Monsignor Pianetti.