Daniello Bartoli

"Even from these and individually from the Tartars of Niuche called Chin, who are more eastern, China is defended by hand ammunition, that is, the famous wall, which is worth discussing here. The head or founder of the imperial Cin family, one of the most ancient, a prince renowned for his prowess in arms and his works of more than royal magnificence, glorious above all others in Chinese history and for various reasons remembered by scholars, whether it was a dream he had or a prediction made by soothsayers (on which writers disagree, and perhaps there was nothing more than a good omen of providence), foresaw that the Tartars, as soon as the opportunity arose, would make every effort to break through the borders and descend to flood and fill China with their nation. Therefore, after consulting with his great heart, he decided not only to close the borders to them in the present but also to build a shelter that would secure them for centuries to come. He determined to arm those northern borders with a wall that would be invincible against both the Tartars and the weather. He did not delay in setting to work."

"It is interspersed with very strong and thick towers, which rise above the wall in beautiful proportion and space and height; and there are perpetually garrisoned soldiers, as many as are needed to defend the many passages of the curtain wall that flank the tower they guard. There are also very strong castles defending the few gates that had to be opened in the wall."

"I have never wanted to fight anyone, neither in open battle nor in a duel. But if ever I did, it would certainly not be with Grammarians; terrible men, like those whose words are not words, but deeds. And may God protect me from ever provoking them; for they are quick to anger, and if they take up their open dictionaries, as if they were Michele Scotto's Scongiuratore, just by opening them, they bring forth, like spirits ready to obey their every command, so many, I do not say nouns and verbs, but nicknames and proverbs, that it would be less dangerous to find oneself in the midst of a swarm of angry hornets than among them."

"[...] the most beautiful part of a discourse is the beauty of the subject: and those who work with their brains know from experience that an ingenious subject wonderfully sharpens the intellect and it seems almost as if the noble subject itself provides thoughts worthy of itself, ambitious to be treated nobly."

"Great mutations must be undertaken with great counsel and proceed slowly in order to proceed safely: otherwise, instead of one good from a wise man, two evils from a fool are encountered, which are to decide without judgement and to repent without remedy."

"There are a hundred thorns for every rose."

"(About the Great Wall of China) All walled with square stones, strong enough to withstand any torment of air and water; and, whether true or plausible, it is nevertheless rumoured among the Chinese that King Cin ordered the execution of the master builders of the work if, where one stone meets and fits together with another, the joints were so loose that a nail could be driven into them: which, even if it is nothing more than an expression of exaggeration, would still have no reason to be feigned, if the squaring and fitting of the marble were not exquisitely executed."

"The two boundless oceans, which descend from opposite sides of Africa and meet at this Cape of Good Hope, collide with each other with such furious force, as you can see here. Alps, I would say, and [Apennines] of waves, driven to break against each other: with which the storm is so strangely disrupted that there is no rule of art for turning the rudder that is sufficient to receive it with a slanted side and dampen the impetus of the furious beating of the waves. Here, then, the sea is as deep as an abyss, and full of terrible monsters, heralds of the approaching storm, when they raise their heads and gasp, and throw a river of water into the air with their great trumpets: sometimes so many together, as I have witnessed, that as far as the eye can see to the last edge of the horizon, everything appears crowded with such hideous creatures. On land, everything is rocks, mountains and cliffs of inaccessible height, cut vertically into the sea, so that the breaking of the waves against their sides causes a formidable crash that terrifies and deafens us. Along them runs a violent south-westerly current, which, when it meets the sea pushed against it and the opposing wind, either rebounds or overcomes them, doubling the fury of the storm and causing the waves to boil and swirl in such violent and rapid circles that each of them, when it pulls down any large ship, is a Charybdis. Finally, this endless ocean, which stretches from here to who knows how far beyond the Antarctic, is an open field for the winds to battle, which, being unbroken and unobstructed, are all the more capable of turning the sea upside down, as they have no obstacle to break their course and their forces. (Part I, Chapter XII, “Capo di Buona Speranza”; 1664, pp. 176-177)"

"I would not want you to falsely imagine that seeing the Antipodes, where I am now taking you, would cost us a journey of at least eleven thousand miles, which is the distance from here to the opposite side of the world. This is quite the opposite of the truth; indeed, the way to never reach them is to go there, and the reason for this is very clear: because there are no Antipodes, except [opposite] feet against feet; nor can they be [opposed] except on the points of the earth's diameter: therefore we must be half a world away. (Part I, Chapter XIX, “'The Antipodes”'; 1664, p. 295)"

"[...] with the finest artistry, not only concealed or hidden, but lost within it, that body (of the Colossus of Rhodes) appeared, like the men of Deucalion from stones, born of himself by divine teaching. And to say nothing of the well-understood proportion of his limbs, all corresponding to the most perfect natural form; and of the softness and sensitivity, without one discordant with the other; and of the lively and spirited attitude with which he posed and stood upright; his face was tempered with such a beautiful and, above all, difficult mixture of air that it was impossible to distinguish which was more dominant in him: the lovable, rightly desired in an effigy of the Sun, or the majestic, equally due to the face of a God. (Part I, Chapter XX, “Rhodes”; 1664, p. 308)"

"[...] this incomparable King of the Mountains, Atlas towering above us. Behold how he rises up, how he rears himself, and how his proud head [raises] and turns towards the ever-feared and ever-hostile Europe, in an act of recognition and spying: and how he spreads his immense back towards that jealous frontier of his Africa, in the act of securing and defending it with his shoulders. However much we see of him, he is neither the whole of Atlas, nor more than that; but only the summit. (from “'L'Atlante,”' p. 79)"

"Here no sail is lowered, here no hand is removed from the oar, here no anchor is yet thrown to drop. Terra Incognita} Just to name it is to understand how much there is to know about it. Here are the shores of this sea, visible to the eye but not yet to the foot of anyone who knows it. If you are not satisfied with just seeing it, and you wish to venture forth to inquire about it, turn towards it and cry out: O you over there, what world is yours? What region? What country? Is it an island in the sea or mainland? Is it cultivated or uncultivated? Is it deserted, solitary, uninhabited or inhabited? And by what multitude of men? And of what language, customs, religion and God? Are there kings, magistrates, people; are there assemblies and cities, or do they live in uncertainty, like the Scythians, wandering and roaming? No one shows up to answer: so the answer is a profound silence, which is nevertheless the true answer to those who have good ears, because only by remaining silent can one say what it is, that is, Terra Incognita. Now, let us believe that this concealment of such a large part of the world is done for the sake of Nature's reputation; otherwise, as the Stoic said about philosophising about this great universe, “Pusilla res mundus est, nisi in illo quod quærat omnis mundus habeat” : thus, once the Earth has been completely discovered, it would cease to appear to us as a world, and we would begin to consider it as nothing much ,so much remains unknown in the North, so much in the South, so much in its parts far from the sea, and so many islands, small worlds in themselves, scattered and lost in the immensity of the ocean, as in the infinite spaces of the void, the worlds seen in their philosophical dreams by Democritus and Epicurus. Thus, one might say that the Earth is so great that for as many centuries as time has recorded in its annals, people have laboured to discover its parts, and yet God knows how many centuries remain for others to discover. (from “'Terra incognita”', pp. 330-331)"

"Here we lack only one [sign] to prove that we are on the barren shore of the much-sung and feared Lake Averno: what others, historians and poets, have written about it is confirmed here by the truth, and our eyes give us full faith in it. Here is the continuous circle of mountains, in whose deepest centre the lake lies, and remains so completely hidden that whether it is winter or summer, dawn or dusk, or the sun rises at midday, it can never be seen, even with a reflection of light, or be seen by it: therefore this unhappy water, in the melancholy brown that it always shows, seems to have the darkness of hell mixed in it to blacken it even more. Behold the thick forests that gather around it, and again blind it, doubling its shadows. Enclosed on all sides, it has nowhere to lead even a thin thread of water out, and move as if alive; but everything stagnates between its banks, everything within itself becomes swampy, and like a corpse of water, it stinks. Of the Cimmerians who have their dwellings nearby, I can only point with my finger and tell you that they live there in their underground caves: whether they are alive or dead, no one knows for sure, because their home is also their tomb. On this other side, it will be easy for you to recognise in that great cleft in the mountain the dark and frightening mouth, or rather chasm, into which anyone who has the courage to enter the bowels of the earth must throw himself, and descend alive, if he can, to the Elysian Fields, or else, and more likely, to Hell. All that is missing is to see some unwary flock of birds flying through the air that hangs over and broods over the lake, entering it and attracting the pestilential vapour that exhales from it, poisoning themselves and falling down, I know not whether stunned or dead. But to linger so long on this unhappy shore, with the stench of sulphur biting our brains and strangling us, would be to pay too high a price for our curiosity. (from “Il lago Averno”, p. 343)"

"There is only one path to the true: straight as a ray of light. Infinite and contrary are those that lead away from it to falsehood. (Book I, Chapter IV; 1659, p. 55)"

"The root, which fears so much that the sky will not see it, the sun will not touch it, the air will not harm it, well aware of what its ministry is, burrows deep underground, and in its tender birth, it pierces, penetrates, branches out, and spreads: and throws out so many trunks, branches, and roots everywhere that it looks like an upside-down, buried tree: and therefore it lives because it is buried, otherwise, if you dig it up, it dies. There it is the first foundation of the [fabrica] it supports, and well suited to it, that is, for the high, deep, for the wide, spread out, for the shocks from the whirlwinds, divided and firm on every side from which the wind blows: like the masts of ships, which are held by the rigging, which, like arms, grasp it from all sides and hold it steady. In addition to this, the root is all together what [in] animals is the mouth, the belly, and the liver. It sucks in food, cooks it, transmutes it into juice, indifferent to receiving the different forms of the different parts that derive from it. (Book I, Chapter VII; 1659, p. 97)"

"Hear: the day might seem too honoured with the works of the hand, of which the night is deprived, if the works of the mind were not given in exchange for those. The day therefore has its labours, the night its thoughts; and appropriate to each, the former has noise, the latter silence. (Book I, Chapter X; 1839, p. 97)"

"But before I bring you the snails, I must do as that wise painter Theon recounted by Aelianus, who did not reveal the image of a soldier in arms exposed to a large crowd eager to see it until a full choir of musicians had played a sonata in a martial style, as if challenging two armies to battle. When he saw that the spectators had conceived a certain martial spirit, he drew back the curtain from the painting and revealed the soldier in such a fierce act of charging the enemy that, as the historian describes him, he seemed to have lightning in his eyes and thunder in his right hand, so terrible was his gaze and formidable his sword, running in a manner and with a bearing befitting one carried away by the impetus of fury. Such was Theone's soldier, for which reason he first disposed the minds of the onlookers with that sonata inviting them to a true spectacle of battle. (Book I, Chapter XI; 1839, p. 101)"

"And has God not shown himself to be supremely admirable in varying in a hundred and more different ways the circling and coiling of a snail within itself? Could anything be more equal, more determined, more simple? And yet, in his hands, it has become capable of such great art. Some turn with volutes, one inside the other, as if they were twisting around a spindle: and as they proceed lengthwise, they become thinner and gradually taper to a point. Others, on the contrary, all return to themselves: and tell me, Archimedes, who wrote so ingeniously about them, who teaches them to draw a line so perfectly that it is not out of proportion in any way? Tell me, architects, who struggle so much to draw volutes with a ruler, and yet never anything but false ones, while, not knowing any better, they compose them from some part of a circle, and they are not circles, even though they are circular: who has instilled the rule in snails? Born masters of an art, of which they are not yet good disciples. (Book I, Chapter XI; 1659, pp. 173-174)"

"[...] working on Grotesque [...] everything is, one might say, a mosaic of disproportionate elements put together, all the more beautiful because the parts are taken from further afield and come together in more foolish forms. The neck of a crane sprouting from the stem of a flower, ending in a [scimia] head, with four snail horns that shoot fire: a peacock's tail blooming on an old man's chin as a beard, and a thick mop of coral hair; another has vine arms, twisted legs, and two little lights shining in the shell of a conch; a nose like a flute, ears like a pair of bat wings, and when he looks at himself in a net, he sees the image of a mammoth behind him: and such fantastical oddities, as painters are wont to imagine. But even in this, he needs wisdom, for just as not every tree can be grafted onto every other tree, so not every part can be well joined to every other part in the grotesque, and it must be whimsy, not nonsense, nor should the wisdom of [judgement] in arranging it be less prominent than the madness of ingenuity in inventing it. (Book I, Chapter XVI; 1659, pp. 284-285)"

"And since we want to know everything, let him take them out and show us his hands and measure them, if by chance they were like those of King Ahasuerus of Persia, that is, of Ahasuerus, husband of Esther, nicknamed Longimanus, because one hand was longer than the other; and understand why he gives sparingly to some, and only when necessary, either the help of grace or the goods we call fortune, while to others he gives abundantly, exceeding and overflowing. (Book II, Chapter III; 1839, pp. 201-202)"

"Regarding the sun Saint Anastasius of Sinai, he held a strange opinion that it was created by God here on earth, then lifted it up and transported it to the fourth heaven, where the virtue that lay low below could spread for the benefit of a few, spread for the benefit of all, and there was like the heart of nature, from whose vital heat it is animated and from whose spirits it has the vigour to move and operate. (Book II, Chapter VII; 1839, p. 240)"

"Bartoli represents the typical mentality of the seventeenth-century man of letters: marvellous mastery of form, absolute lack or deficiency of thought. One would not really say that he came into the world a generation after Galileo and Sarpi."

"The Marino of prose was Daniello Bartoli, a highly skilful and unsurpassed craftsman of periods and phrases, with a style that was both refined and ornate. He travelled to almost every corner of the earth and produced thousands of descriptions and narratives: one never sees that the prohibition of so many new things has refreshed his impressions. A rhetorician and abstract moralist, his head full of mythology and sacred scripture, copious in words and phrases in all fields of knowledge, a brilliant colourist, he believed he could say everything, because he knew how to say everything well. Nature and man were nothing more than stimuli and opportunities for him to draw out all his erudition and vocabulary. He has no other, more serious purpose. Unfamiliar with the European cultural movement and all the struggles of thought, stuck in a second-hand classicism and Catholicism that came to him from school and was not explored by his intelligence, his brain remains as idle as his heart, and his attention is entirely focused on the technical and mechanical aspects of expression. He treats the Italian language, like Greek or Latin, as a dead language, already fixed, and fully possessed by him."

"Those who wish to convince themselves of the immense variety of styles and almost different languages contained within the Italian language should consider the works of Daniello Bartoli."

"Il p. Dan. Bartoli è il Dante della prosa italiana. Il suo stile in ciò che spetta alla lingua è tutto a risalti e rilievi."

"Uomo che fra tutti del suo tempo, e fors'anche di tutti i tempi, fu quello che e per teoria e scienza e per pratica, meglio e piú profondamente e pienamente conobbe la nostra lingua."

"Daniello Bartoli, Dell'uomo di lettere difeso e emendato, Giacinto Marietti, Torino, 1834."

"Daniello Bartoli, Della Geografia trasportata al Morale, Egidio Ghezzi, Roma, 1664."

"Daniello Bartoli, La geografia trasportata al morale, dalla tipografia di Giacinto Marietti, Torino, 1839."

"Daniello Bartoli, La ricreatione del savio, Ignatio de' Lazzeri, Roma, 1659."

"Daniello Bartoli, La ricreazione del savio, Borel e Bompard, Napoli, 1839."

"Daniello Bartoli, L'uomo al punto, 2 voll., a cura di Adolfo Faggi, UTET, Torino, 1930."