SINCE you are preparing new Institutes of your native language, Benedetto Buonmattei, to which your are even now putting the finishing touches, you are entering upon a path to fame already trodden by some men of the highest eminence. At the same time it is evident that you are rousing in the breasts of your countrymen the hope and expectation that your own labors will illumine, amplify, or at any rate polish and re-arrange the work of your predecessors. If your countrymen do not themselves perceive that they are under no common obligation to you for this they must indeed be ungrateful. The first place and highest honor are, it is true, due to the man who has the ability to mold the character of his people wisely and to rule them in peace and war by the most enlightened ordinances. But second only to him I would place the man who devotes his powers to establishing by rules and precepts the idiom and usage of the language, whether written or spoken, accepted as correct in the best period, and who circumscribes it about by a barrier which must never be passed, under penalties almost as severe as those laid down by Romulus himself. To compare the benefits conferred by these two—it is the former alone who has the power of making the social life of the people just and pure, but the latter alone who can make it humane, rich, and refined, which are the qualities next to be desired. The former supplies a noble patriotism and courageous counsels in face of a hostile invasion; but the latter, with a learned censorship of ears and a light-armed guard of goo authors, undertakes the task of overcoming and driving out that barbarism which constantly besets men's minds and which is the most subtle and insidious foe to their characters. For we ought not to minimise the importance of the purity or corruption of the language, and of the degree of correctness with which it is commonly used. This indeed more than once played a part in the welfare of Athens. It is Plato's opinion that an alteration in the style and fashion of dress portends grave disorders and changes in the State; I would maintain rather that when the language falls into corruption and decay the downfall of the State and a period of degradation and obscurity are at hand. For is not the use of words which are illiterate and mean, incorrect in form, or wrongly pronounced, a very clear indication of a slothful and sluggish disposition among the people, and a proneness to submit to any form of slavery? On the other hand, we have never heard of an empire or a country which did not enjoy at least moderate prosperity as long as its people continued to cultivate and take a proper pride in their language. Consider then, Benedetto, what deep and lasting gratitude you will assuredly win from your fellow countrymen, if you do but persevere in rendering this service to your country. This I say, not in the expectation that any of these points have escaped you, but in the belief that your thoughts are much more set on the services you can render to your country than on the gratitude which your country ought most properly to pay to you.

I will now proceed to point out the rare opportunity of being of service to foreigners which now offers itself, if you care to take it. Among them there is no one with any pretensions to superior intellect or to culture and elegance but counts the Tuscan language among his chief delights, and even considers it an essential part of his serious studies; especially if he has drunk either nothing or but a small draught of Greek and Latin. For my own part, I have not merely sipped of both these languages, but have drunk as deeply of them as any man of my years; yet I can often partake with eagerness and delight of the feast afforded by the great Dante, by Petrarch, and by many another of your writers. Not Attic Athens herself, with her clear stream of Ilissus, nor ancient Rome, beside the Tiber, have had the power to make me lose my affection for your Arno and the hills of Fiesole, or cease to visit them with joy.

Consider now, I beg, whether there is not something providential in my having been sent to spend these few days among you, your latest guest from foreign lands—one than whom your country has, I think, no more devoted admirer. For this reason it behoves you to remember what I have so often urged upon you; namely that you would consent to add to your work, already begun and in part completed, a short chapter on the correct pronunciation of the language, treated as simply as the subject will permit, and so earn the gratitude of us foreigners. For up to the present the authorities on your language seem entirely to have forgotten us, and to have thought only of giving satisfaction to their own countrymen. Yet, in my opinion, they would have acted in the better interests both of their own fame and of the reputation of the Italian tongue if they had so set forth their teaching as if men of every race might reasonably be expected to desire a knowledge of that language. So far as their work went, they gave the impression that you Italians did not care to spread your knowledge beyond the confines of the Alps.

Therefore the glory of this achievement has not been tasted by any other, and is reserved for you fresh and pure to this day. There will be yet another claim to fame no less your own, if you will go to the trouble of indicating severally who among all the host of authors can justly claim the second place after the acknowledged masters of the Florentine tongue, who excels in tragedy, who writes lively and elegant comedy, who shows acuteness or depth of thought in letters or dialogues, and who has a noble style in historical writing. With such a guide, a student who so desires will not find it difficult to select the best, and will at the same time have a sound foothold if he wishes to go further afield. In this attempt you will have as your models Cicero and Fabius among the ancients, but none, so far as I know, among your own contemporaries.

I believe, if I am not mistaken, that whenever we have chanced to speak of this, your courtesy and kindliness have led you to accede to my request; but I do not desire to evade the obligation of entreating this favor in due form and set phrase. For while your own virtue and modesty claim but the lowest place and the least regard for your work, I am anxious that its own worth and the respect I myself feel should proclaim its just and true value. And indeed it is but fitting that we should not fail to pay the honor due to a benefactor in proportion to the graciousness with which he has bestowed his favors upon us.

For the rest, should you ask why, on this occasion, I have made use of Latin rather than of your own tongue, my object was to confess freely, by writing in Latin, my imperfect knowledge and grasp of that language in which I crave your guidance and instruction. I hoped by this means to prevail with you the more readily, and believed that if I brought with me from Latium that hoary and venerable mother to plead her daughter's cause with me, you would not find it in your heart to deny any request supported by her authority, her sanctity, and her majesty, revered from time immemorial. Farewell.

Florence, September 10. 1638.

Translation by Phyllis B. Tillyard