hom these historians had so freely written, which
deterred Benedetto Varchi from publishing his well-known "Storie
Fiorentine," which was not given to the world till 1721, a period which
appears to have roused the slumbers of the literary men of Italy to
recur to their native historians. Varchi, who wrote with so much zeal
the history of his fatherland, is noticed by Nardi as one who never took
an active part in the events he records; never having combined with any
party, and living merely as a spectator. This historian closes the
narrative of a horrid crime of Peter Lewis Farnese with this admirable
reflection: "I know well this story, with many others which I have
freely exposed, may hereafter prevent the reading of my history; but
also I know, that besides what Tacitus has said on this subject, the
great duty of an historian is not to be more careful of the reputation
of persons than is suitable with truth, which is to be preferred to all
things, however detrimental it may be to the writer."[113]

Such was that free manner of thinking and of writing which prevailed in
these Italian historians, who, often living in the midst of the ruins of
popular freedom, poured forth their injured feelings in their secret
pages; without the hope, and perhaps without the wish, of seeing them
published in their lifetime: a glorious example of self-denial and lofty
patriotism!

Had it been inquired of these writers why they did not publish their
histories, they might have answered, in nearly the words of an ancient
sage, "Because I am not permitted to write as I would; and I would not
write as I am permitted." We cannot imagine that these great men were in
the least insensible to the applause they denied themselves; they were
not of tempers to be turned aside; and it was the highest motive which
can inspire an historian, a stern devotion to truth, which reduced them
to silence, but not to inactivity! These Florentine and Venetian
historians, ardent with truth, and profound in political sagacity, were
writing these legacies of history solely for their countrymen, hopeless
of their gratitude! If a Frenchman[114] wrote the English history, that
labour was the aliment of his own glory; if Hume and Robertson devoted
their pens to history, the motive of the task was less glorious than
their work; but here we discover a race of historians, whose patriotism
alone instigated their secret labour, and who substituted for fame and
fortune that m