A young girl should drink but little, and that diluted. She
must not loll at table, nor prop her arms thereon. Here she
should speak even less than at other times. The daughters of
Knights (Cavalier da Scudo), Judges, Physicians, or others of
similar condition, had better learn the art of cooking, though
possibly circumstances will not call upon them to put it in
practice.
A Princess approaching the marriageable age should not go out
to church; as she ought, as far as possible, to avoid being
seen about. (The marriageable age, be it understood, is very
early by Barberino’s reckoning, being twelve years.) A woman
should never go out alone.
An unmarried young lady had better wear a topaz, which is
proved by experience to be an antidote to carnal desire.
A Provençal gentleman, who was praising his wife for her
extreme simplicity in attire, was asked, ‘Why then does she
comb her hair?’ He replied: ‘To show that she is a woman, whose
very nature it is to be trim in person.’
A Lady’s-maid should not tell tales to her mistress of any
peccadilloes of the husband: still less should she report to
the husband anything against his wife, unless it be a grave and
open misdoing.
The section concerning Nurses (Part 13) contains much curious
matter: especially as showing how much reliance was placed
upon swaddling and other details of infant management, for
the improvement of good looks, and correction of blemishes.
Here we find also that the system against which Rousseau waged
such earnest war, of mothers’ not suckling their own children,
was already in full vigour in Barberino’s time. He enters no
protest against it; but does recommend mothers to follow the
more natural plan, if they can, and so please God, and earn the
children’s love.[41]
A she-Barber must not ogle or flirt with her customers, but
attend to her washes and razors. A Fruiteress must not put
green leaves with old fruits, nor the best fruits uppermost,
to take her customers in. A Landlady must not sell re-cooked
victuals.
A shrew earns the stick sometimes; nor should that form
of correction be spared to women who gad about after
fortune-tellers.
Beware of a Doctor who scrutinizes your pretty face more than
your symptoms. Also of a Tailor who wants to serve you gratis,
or who is over-officious in trying on your clothes: and beware
still more of a Tailor who is tremulous. If you go to any balls
where men are present, let it be by day, or at any rate with
abundance of light.
The use of thick unguents is uncleanly, especially in hot
weather; it makes the teeth black, the lips green, and the skin
prematurely old-looking. Baths of soft water, not in excess,
keep the skin young and fresh: but those in which hot herbs
are boiled scorch and blacken it. Dark hair becomes lighter by
being kept uncovered, especially in moonlight.
‘Courtesy is liberal magnificence, which suffers not violence,
nor ingenuity, nor obligation, but pleases of itself alone.’
To these brief jottings I subjoin one extract of some length, descriptive
of the marriage-festivity of a Queen. To abridge its details would be to
strip it of its value: but I apprehend that some of these details require
to be taken _cum grano salis_, Barberino having allowed himself a certain
poetical license.
Now it behoves to dine.
The trumpets sound, and all the instruments,
Sweet songs and diversions around.
Boughs, with flowers, tapestries, and satins,
Strewn on the ground; and great lengths of silk
With fine fringes and broiderings on the walls.
Silver and gold, and the tables set out,
Covered couches, and the joyous chambers,
Full kitchens and various dishes;
Donzels deft in serving,
And among them damsels still more so.
Tourneying in the cloisters and pathways;
Closed balconies and covered loggias;
Many cavaliers and people of worth,
Ladies and damsels of great beauty.
Old women hidden in prayer to God,
Be they served there where they stay.
Wines come in, and abundant comfits;
There are the fruits of various kinds.
The birds sing in cages, and on the roofs:
The stags leap, and fawns, and deer.
Open gardens, and their scent spreads.
There greyhounds and braches run in the leash.
Pretty spaniel pets with the ladies:
Several parrots go about the tables.
Falcons, ger-falcons, hawks, and sparrow-hawks,
Carry various snakes all about.
The palfreys houselled at the doors;
The doors open, and the halls partitioned
As suits the people that have come.
Expert seneschals and other officers.
Bread of manna only, and the weather splendid.
Fountains rise up from new springs:
They sprinkle where they are wanted, and are beautiful.
The trumpet sounds, and the bridegroom with his following
Chooses his company as he likes.
Ladies amorous, joyous, and lovely,
Trained, and noble, and of like age,
Take the bride, and usher her as befits:
They give her place to sit at table.
Now damsels and donzels around,
The many ladies who have taken their seats,
All prattle of love and joy.
A gentle wind which keeps off the flies
Tempers the air, and refreshes hearts.
From the sun spring laughs in the fields:
Nowhere can the eye settle.
At your foot run delightful rills:
At times the fish leap from the water.
Jongleurs[42] clad by gift:
Here vestments of fashion unprecedented,
There with pearls and precious stones
Upon their heads, and solemn garb:
Here are rings which emit a splendour
Like that of the sun outside.
Now all the men and all the ladies have washed,
And then the water is given to the bride:
And I resume speaking of her deportment.
Let her have washed her hands aforetime,
So that she may then not greatly bedim the water.
Let her not much set-to at washing in the basin,
Nor touch mouth or teeth in washing:
For she can do this afterwards in her chamber,
When it shall be needful and fitting.
Of the savoury and nicest viands
Let her accept, but little, and avoid eating many:
And let her, several days before, have noted
The other customs above written;
Here let her observe those which beseem the place.
Let her not intervene to reprehend the servitors,
Nor yet speak, unless occasion requires.
Let it appear that she hardly minds any diversion,
But that only timidity quenches her pleasure:
But let her, in eating, so manage her hands
That, in washing, the clear water may remain.
The table being removed, let her stay with the ladies
Somewhat more freely than at her arrival:
Yet for this day let her, I pray,
Abstain from laughing as far as she can, keeping
Her countenance so as not to appear out of humour,
But only timid, as has often been said.
If the other ladies sleep that day,
Let her also repose among them,
And prepare herself the better for keeping awake.
Let her drinking be small. I approve a light collation,
Eating little: and in like wise at supper
Let her avoid too many comfits or fruits:
Let her make it rather slight than heavy.
Some ladies make ready to go,
And some others to retire to their chambers.
Those remain who are in charge of her:
All approach to cheer her.
She embraces her intimates:
Let her make the kindest demonstrations to all—
‘Adieu, adieu’—tearful at parting.
They all cheer her up, and beg her to be
Confident, and many vouch
That her husband has gone to a distance:
Her guardians say the same.
They bring her inwards to a new chamber,
Whose walls are so draped
That nothing is seen save silk and gold;
The coverlets starred, and with moons.
The stones shine as it were the sun:
At the corners four rubies lift up a flame
So lovely that it touches the heart:
Here a man kindles inside and out.
Richest cambrics cover the floor.
Here baldaquins and the benches around
All covered with woven pearls;
Pillows all of smooth samite,
With the down of griffin-birds[43] inside;
Many topazes, sapphires, and emeralds,
With various stones, as buttons to these.
Beds loaded on beds with no bedstead,
Draped all with foreign cloths:[44]
Above the others the chiefest and soft,
With a new covering of byssus.[45]
Of this the down is from the phœnix-bird:[46]
It has one bolster and no more,
Not too large, but of fine form.
Over it sheets of worked silk,
Soft, yielding, delicate, and durable:
A superb quilt, and cuttings-out[47] within;
And, traced with the needle and of various cutting,
Fishes and birds and all animals,
A vine goes round the whole,
The twigs of pearls, and the foliage of gems,
Among which are those of all virtues,
Written of or named as excellent,
In the midst of it turns a wheel
Which represents the figure of the world;
Wherein birds, in windows of glass,
Sing if you will, and if not they are all mute.
There puppies of various kinds,
Not troublesome, and they make no noise:
If you call them, they make much of you.
On the benches flowers heaped and strewn—
Great is the odour, but not excessive:
Much balsam in vessels of crystal.
A nurse says: ‘All things are yours.
You will lie by yourself in that bed:
We will all be sleeping here.’
They show her the wardrobe at one side,
Wherein they say that they remain keeping watch.
They wash the Lady’s face and hands
With rose-water mixed with violets,
For in that country such is the wont.
They dress her hair, wind up her tresses,
Stand round about her, help her to disrobe.
Who takes her shoes off, happy she!
Her shoes are by no means of leather.
They look her in the face whether she is timorous:
She prays them to stay.
They tell her that they will sleep outside the bed,
At her feet, on the cloths I have spoken of.
‘They make-believe to do so, and the Lady smiles.
They put her to bed: first they hold her,—
They turn the quilt over: and, her face being displayed,
All the shows of gems and draperies
Wane before that amorous beauty
Which issues from the eyes she turns around.
Her visage shines: the nurses disappear:
The Lady closes her eyes, and sleeps.
Then these nurses trick the Lady.
They leave by the door which they had not shown her:
They go to the bridegroom who is waiting outside.
Him they tell of the trick.
There come around the new knight,
Young lord, puissant crown,
Many donzels and knights who wait
Solely for his chamber-service.
They give him water, as to the Lady:
His blond head each adorns,
Bright his countenance. Every one
Has gladness and joy, glad in his happiness.
They leave him in his jerkin, they bring him within:
They take off his shoes at the draped entry.
They all without, and the nurses at one side,
Stay quiet. A réveillée begins,
And so far off that it gives no annoy.
The comely King crosses himself, and looks:
The Lady and the gems make a great splendour,
And it seems to him that this Queen is asleep.
He enters softly, and wholly undresses:
It appears that the Lady heaves a sigh.
The King is scared: he covers himself up in the bed.
He signals to the birds to sing:
They all begin, one by one, and low.[48]
The signal tells them to raise their note:
Higher they rise in singing—and perchance
This noise may wake the Lady up.
Again he signals that they should all trill louder.
The Lady heaves a sigh, and asks,
‘Who is there?’—Says the King: ‘I am one
Whom thy beauties have brought hither.’
She is troubled, and calls the nurses.
The King replies: ‘I have turned them all out.’
She moves, wanting to get up:
She finds no clothes, for they have carried them away.
The King remains quiet, and waits to see
In what way he may be able to please her,
And says to her: ‘I have only come hither
To speak to thee a few words:
Listen a little, and then I will go.’
An elaborate dialogue ensues, conducted on the most high-paced footing
of enamoured courtesy. It contains the strangely beautiful passage
translated in my brother’s _Early Italian Poets_, and which I reproduce
here; taking therewith my leave both of this singular specimen of
how Kings and Queens might, would, could, or should confer on their
bridal-night, and also of Francesco da Barberino himself. The Queen is
the speaker.
‘Do not conceive that I shall here recount
All my own beauty: yet I promise you
That you, by what I tell, shall understand
All that befits and that is well to know.
My bosom, which is very softly made,
Of a white even colour without stain,
Bears two fair apples, fragrant, sweetly savoured,
Gathered together from the Tree of Life
The which is in the midst of Paradise.
And these no person ever yet has touched;
For out of nurse’s and of mother’s hands
I was when God in secret gave them me.
These ere I yield I must know well to whom;
And, for that I would not be robbed of them,
I speak not all the virtue that they have:
Yet thus far speaking— Blessed were the man
Who once should touch them, were it but a little;
See them I say not, for that might not be.
My girdle, clipping pleasure round-about,
Over my clear dress even unto my knees
Hangs down with sweet precision tenderly;
And under it Virginity abides.
Faithful and simple and of plain belief
She is, with her fair garland bright like gold,
And very fearful if she overhears
Speech of herself; the wherefore ye perceive
That I speak soft lest she be made ashamed.
Lo! this is she who hath for company
The Son of God, and Mother of the Son.
Lo! this is she who sits with many in heaven:
Lo! this is she with whom are few on earth.’
[Sidenote: SANDRO DI PIPPOZZO. GRAZIOLO DE’ BOMBAGLIOLI. UGOLINO BRUCOLA.]
Tiraboschi mentions a book which might perhaps be useful in further
illustrating Italian manners at the end of the 13th century: but I have
no direct knowledge of it,—a Treatise on the Governing of a Family,
written by Sandro di Pippozzo in 1299. A treatise on Moral Virtues
(_Sopra le Virtù Morali_) was composed by Graziolo de’ Bombaglioli, a
Bolognese, in Italian verse, with a comment in Latin, the date being
about the middle of the 14th century; and was published in 1642, being
at that time mistakenly attributed to King Robert of Naples. It is not
a Courtesy-Book; but, referring back to what has been said (on p. 12)
regarding the definitions of nobility given by Brunetto Latini, Dante,
and Barberino, I may cite part of what Bombaglioli says on the same
subject:
‘Neither long-standing wealth nor blood confers nobility;
But virtue makes a man noble (_gentile_);
And it lifts from a vile place
A man who makes himself lofty by his goodness.’
A third and older book, no doubt very much to our purpose, would be one
which Ubaldini (in his edition of Barberino’s _Reggimento_) refers to
as having been laid under contribution by that poet in compiling his
_Documenti d’Amore_—viz. a rhymed composition, in the Romagnole dialect,
on Methods of Salutation, by Ugolino Brucola (or Bruzola). This work,
again, is unknown to me; and, as I can trace no mention of it even in
Tiraboschi, a writer of most omnivorous digestion, I infer that it may
not improbably have perished.
Skipping therefore about a century and a quarter, within which Italian
literature was made for ever illustrious by the _Commedia_ of Dante, and
the writings of Petrarca and Boccaccio, not to speak of others, we come
to the early 15th century, still in Florence.
[Sidenote: AGNOLO PANDOLFINI.]
Agnolo Pandolfini wrote on the same subject as Sandro di Pippozzo,
the Governing of a Family (_Del Governo della Famiglia_). He died in
1446, aged about 86; and the date of his treatise seems to be towards
1425-30. This work must not be confounded with one bearing the same
title, frequently cited in the Dizionario della Crusca, and which deals
more particularly with morals and religion. Pandolfini, both by birth
and doings, was a very illustrious son of Florence: in 1414, 1420, and
1431, he held the highest dignity of the state, that of Gonfalonier of
Justice. He opposed the banishment of Cosmo de’ Medici, and was treated
with distinguished honour by that great though dangerous citizen on
his return. His treatise takes the form of a dialogue, wherein Agnolo
holds forth _ore rotundo_ to his sons and grandsons. The old gentleman
is indeed fearfully oracular, and possessed with a fathomless belief in
himself. He writes well, and with plenty of good sense. His book is not,
in the straitest acceptation of the term, a Courtesy-Book, but rather a
cross between the moral and the prudential—a dissertation of Œconomics.
Here are some samples of his lore.
[Sidenote: THE GOVERNO DELLA FAMIGLIA.]
To choose a house wherein one can settle comfortably for life
is a great consideration. A locality with good air and good
wine should be sought out: better to buy it than to rent it.
The whole family should have one roof, one entrance-door, one
fire, and one dining-table: this subserves the purposes both of
affection and of thrift.
The family and household should be well dressed. Even when
living a country life, they should keep on the town dress: good
cloth and cheerful colours, but without fancy-ornaments save
for the women.
The head of the family should commit to his wife the immediate
care of the household goods: men, however careful, should not
be poking and prying into every corner, and looking whether the
candles have too thick a wick. ‘It is well for every lady to
know how to cook, and prepare all choice viands; to learn this
from cooks when they come to the house for banquets; to see
them at work, ask questions, learn, and bear in mind, so that,
when guests come who ought to be received with welcome, the
ladies may know and order all the best things—and so not have
to send every time for cooks. This cannot be done at a moment’s
notice, and especially when one is in the country, where good
cooks are not to be had, and strangers are more in the way
of being asked. Not indeed that the lady is to cook; but she
should order, teach, and show the less skilful servants to do
everything in the best way, and make the best dishes suitable
to the season and the guests.’
‘I [the infallible Agnolo Pandolfini] always liked so to order
the household that, at whatever hour of day or night, there
should always be some one at home to look after all casualties
that might happen to the inmates. And I always kept in the
house a goose and a dog—wakeful animals, and, as we see,
suspicious and attached; so that, one of them rousing the
other, and calling up the household, the house might always be
secure.’
Always buy of the best—food, clothes, &c., &c. ‘Good things
cost less than the not good.’
[Sidenote: MATTEO PALMIERI.]
That Agnolo Pandolfini was regarded as a great authority not by himself
alone is proved by the fact that Matteo Palmieri, the author of a
Dialogue on Civil Life (_Della Vita Civile_), makes him the principal
speaker. And this was perhaps even during Agnolo’s lifetime: the
assumed date of the colloquy being 1430 (very much the same as that of
Pandolfini’s own book), and the actual date of composition being probably
enough not many years later. Palmieri was born in Florence in 1405, and
died in 1475, honoured for conspicuous integrity, and distinguished
by many public employments. The _Vita Civile_ is regarded as his most
important literary work. The interlocutors, besides Pandolfini, are
a Sacchetti and a Guicciardini. The subject-matter is more grave and
weighty than that of a Courtesy-Book strictly so called, though we may
dip into it for a detail or two. The following is Palmieri’s own account
of the work:
‘The whole performance is divided into four books. In the 1st
the new-born boy is diligently conducted up to the perfect age
of man; showing by what nurture and according to what arts he
should prove more excellent than others. The following two
books are written concerning Uprightness; and express in what
manner the man of perfect age should act, in private and in
public, according to every moral virtue. Whence, in the former
of these, Temperance, Fortitude, and Prudence, are treated of
at large—also other virtues comprised in these. The next is 3rd
in order, and is all devoted to Justice, which is the noblest
part of men, and above all others necessary for maintaining
every well-ordered commonwealth. Wherefore here is diffusely
treated of Civil Justice; how people should conduct themselves
in peace; and how wars are managed; how, within the city by
those who hold the magistracies, and beyond the walls by the
public officials, the general well-being is provided for. The
last book alone is written concerning Utility, and provides
for the plenty, ornament, property, and abundant riches, of
the whole body politic. Then in the final portion, as last
conclusion, is shown, not without true doctrine, what is the
state of the souls which in the world, intent upon public good,
have lived according to the precepts of life here set forth
by us; in reward whereof they have been by God received into
heaven, to be happy eternally in glory with his saints.’
[Sidenote: THE VITA CIVILE.]
Palmieri would have boys eschew any sedentary pastimes. They may jump,
run, and play at ball; and music is highly suitable for them. To beat
them is a barbarism. This may indeed, sometimes and perhaps, be necessary
with boys ‘who are to follow mechanical and servile arts,’ but not with
those who are carefully brought up by father and preceptor. Begin with
encouragements to the well-behaved, and admonitions to the naughty: and
the severer punishments should be ‘to shut him in; to withhold such food
and other things as he best likes, to take away his clothing, and so on;
to make him ponder long while over his misdoing.’ (This is singularly
gentle discipline for A.D. 1430: indeed Palmieri intimates that ‘almost
all people’ advocated manual correction in his time. Had any other
writer, of so early a date, discovered that ‘spare the rod and spoil the
child’ is not the sum-total of management for minors?)
A dinner-party is considered well made up, in point of numbers, if the
persons present are not less than three, nor more than nine. A larger
number than the latter cannot all join together in united conversation.
‘The expenses of a munificent man should be in things that bring honour
and distinction; not private, but public—as in buildings, and ornaments
of churches, theatres, loggias, public feasts, games, entertainments; and
in such like magnificences he should not compute nor reckon how much he
spends, but by what means the works may be to the utmost wonderful and
‘beautiful.’ (Nice doctrine this for some of our conscript fathers in
England, whose perennial diligence is, as Carlyle says, ‘preserving their
game.’ But the Florentine Republic was in that outcast condition that the
noblemen were not only not hereditary legislators, but were _ipso facto_
excluded from all public employment, unless they enrolled themselves in
the commonalty by belonging to one of the legislating guilds.)
[Sidenote: BALDASSAR CASTIGLIONE.]
Both Pandolfini and Palmieri are authors of good repute in Italian
literature: but by no means equal to the writer next on our list,
Baldassar Castiglione, with his book named _The Courtier_ (_Il
Cortigiano_). This is a remarkably choice example of Italian prose;
which is the more satisfactory because Castiglione was not a Tuscan, but
a Mantuan, and a proclaimed enemy of that narrow literary creed, the
palladium of pedants and ever-recurring bane of strong individualism
among Italian writers, that, save in the Florentine-Tuscan language (or
dialect) of the ‘_buon secolo_,’ the days of Petrarca and Boccaccio,
there is no orthodoxy of diction. Some noticeable details on this point
are to be found in the _Cortigiano_: showing that the ultra-purists of
that time insisted upon the use by writers, whether Tuscan or belonging
to other parts of Italy, of words occurring in Petrarca and Boccaccio
already quite obsolete and hardly intelligible even in Tuscany—and also
upon the use of corrupt forms of words framed from the Latin, because
these pertained to the Tuscan idiom, even although correct forms of the
same words were in current use in other Italian regions. In all such
regards Castiglione claims for himself unfettered latitude of choice:
the verbal precisian, scared at his theoretic license, is surprised and
relieved to find that after all the book is not only endurable in style,
even to his own punctilious ears, but particularly elegant.
Baldassar Castiglione was born on the 6th of December 1478[49] at
Casatico, in the Mantuan territory. Noble and handsome, he grew up almost
universally accomplished and learned; a distinguished connoisseur; and
valued by all the most eminent men of his time. His full-length portrait
appears in one of the frescoes of Raphael in the Stanze of the Vatican.
He went on many embassies—among others, to England. Henry VIII., of whose
youthful promise he speaks in the most rapturous terms, knighted him: the
Emperor Charles V. said that by Castiglione’s death chivalry lost its
brightest luminary. His career closed at Toledo on the 2nd of February
1529. Among his writings are poems in Latin and Italian, but his chief
work is the _Cortigiano_. This was composed between the years 1508 and
1518; and published in 1528, in a state which its author regarded as
somewhat hurried and incomplete. It is written in the narrative form, but
consisting principally of dialogue, or indeed of successive monologues;
and purports to relate certain _conversazioni_ (rightly to be so called)
which were held in 1506 in the court of Urbino, for the delectation of
the Duchess Elisabetta della Rovere (by birth a Gonzaga) and her ladies.
The topic proposed for treatment is—what should a perfectly qualified
Courtier be like? The principal speakers on the general subject are
the Conte Lodovico da Canossa, Federico Fregoso, and Ottavian Fregoso;
Bernardo Bibiena takes up the special question of _facetiæ_, and Giuliano
de’ Medici speaks of the Court Lady, and generally in honour of women.
The term Courtier has not a very exalted sound to a modern or English
ear: but Castiglione’s ideal Courtier is a truly noble and gallant
gentleman, furnished with all sorts of solid no less than splendid
qualities. His ultimate _raison d’être_ is that he should always, through
good and evil report, tell his sovereign the strict truth of all things
which it behoves him to know—certainly a sufficiently honourable and
handsomely unfulfilled duty. The tone throughout is lofty, and of more
than conventional or courtly rectitude:[50] indeed, the book as a whole
is hardly what one associates mentally with the era of Pagan Popes,—of a
Cæsar Borgia just cleared off from Romagna, and an Alessandro de’ Medici
impending over Florence.
[Sidenote: THE CORTIGIANO.]
Almost the only illustration which Castiglione supplies of the art of
dining is the following anecdote:
‘The Marquis Federico of Mantua, father of our Lady Duchess,
being at table with many gentlemen, one of them, after he had
eaten a whole stew, said, “My Lord Marquis, pardon me;” and, so
saying, he began to suck up the broth that was left. Forthwith
then said the Marquis: “You should ask pardon of the pigs, for
to me there is no harm done at all!”’
Some other points I take as they come.
‘Having many a time reflected wherefrom Grace arises (not
to speak of those who derive it from the stars), I find one
most universal rule, which seems to me to hold good, in this
regard, in all human things done and said, more than aught
else; and this is—to avoid affectation as much as one can, and
as a most bristling and perilous rock, and (to use perhaps a
new-coined word) to do everything with a certain slightingness
[_sprezzatura_], which shall conceal art, and show that what
is done and said comes to one without trouble and almost
without thinking.’ Yet there may be as much affectation in
slightingness itself as in punctilio. Instances adduced of the
latter, as regards the care of the person, are the setting a
scrap of looking-glass in a recess of one’s cap, and a comb
in one’s sleeve, and keeping a page to follow one perpetually
about with a sponge and a clothes-brush. Female affectations
were ‘the plucking out the hair of eyebrows and forehead, and
undergoing all those inconveniences which you ladies fancy to
be altogether occult from men, and which nevertheless are all
known.’
The perfect Courtier ought to know music—sing at sight, and
play on various instruments; he ought also to have a practical
knowledge of drawing and painting. Better even than singing at
sight is singing solo to the viol, and most especially thus
singing in recitative [_per recitare_], ‘which adds to the
words so much grace and force that great marvel it is.’ All
stringed instruments are well suited for the Courtier; not so
wind-instruments, ‘which Minerva interdicted to Alcibiades,
because they have an unseemly air.’ The Court Lady also ought
to have knowledge of letters, music, and painting, as well
as of dancing, and how to bear her part in entertainments
[_festeggiare_].
‘Old men blame in us many things which, of themselves, are
neither good nor bad, but only because _they_ used not to do
them: and they say that it is unbefitting for young men to go
through the city riding, especially on mules; to wear in the
winter fur linings and long robes; to wear a cap [_berretta_],
at any rate until the man has reached eighteen years of
age,—and other the like things. Wherein in sooth they mistake:
for these customs, besides being convenient and serviceable,
are introduced by fashion, and universally accepted,—as
aforetime to dress in the open tunic [_giornea_], with open
hose and polished shoes, and for gallantry to carry all day a
hawk on the fist for no reason, and to dance without touching
the lady’s hand, and to adopt many other modes which, as they
would now be most awkward, so then were they highly prized.’
Federico Fregoso, the chief speaker of the second evening, is
of opinion that a man of rank ought not to honour with his
presence a village feast, where the spectators and company
would be coarse people. To this Gaspar Pallavicino demurs;
saying that, in his native Lombardy, many young noblemen will
dance all day under the sun with country people, and play with
them at wrestling, running, leaping, and so on—exercises of
strength and dexterity in which the countrymen are often the
winners. Fregoso rejoins that this, if done at all, should
be not by way of emulation but of complaisance, and when the
nobleman feels tolerably sure of conquering; and generally, in
all sorts of exercises save feats of arms, he should stop short
of anything like professional zeal or excellence. [A concluding
hint worth consideration in these days of ‘Athletic Clubs.’]
The discourse of Bernardo Bibiena on _facetiæ_ is a magazine of good
things, both anecdotic, epigrammatic, and critical. The speaker is
particularly severe on ‘funny men’ and ‘jolly dogs’; concerning whom I
venture to introduce one consecutive extract of some little length.
‘The Courtier should be very heedful of his beginnings, so as
to leave a pleasing impression, and should consider how baneful
and fatal it is to fall into the contrary. And this danger do
they more than others run who make it their business to be
amusing, and assume with these their quips a certain liberty
authorizing and licensing them to do and say whatever strikes
them, without any consideration. Thus these people start off on
matters whence, not knowing their way out again, they try to
help themselves off by raising a laugh: and this also they do
so scurvily that it fails; so that they occasion the severest
tedium to those who see and hear them, and they themselves
remain most crestfallen. Sometimes, thinking thus to be witty
and lively, in the presence of ladies of honour, and often even
in speaking to them, they set-to at uttering most nasty and
indecent words: and, the more they see them blush, so much the
more do they account themselves good courtiers: and ever and
anon they laugh and plume themselves at so bright a gift which
they think their own. But for no purpose do they commit so many
imbecilities as in order to be thought “boon companions.” This
is that only name which appears to them worthy of praise, and
which they vaunt more than any other; and, to acquire it, they
bandy the most blundering and vile blackguardisms in the world.
Often will they shove one another down-stairs; knock ribs with
bludgeons and bricks; throw handfuls of dust into the eyes;
and bring down people’s horses upon them in ditches, or on the
slope of a hill. Then, at table, soups, sauces, jellies, all
do they flop in one another’s face: and then they laugh! And
he who can do the most of these things accounts himself the
best and most gallant courtier, and fancies he has gained great
glory. And, if sometimes they invite a gentleman to these their
pleasantries, and he abstains from such horse-play, forthwith
they say that he makes himself too sage and grand, and is not a
“boon companion.” But worse remains to tell. There are some who
vie and wager which of them can eat and drink the most nauseous
and fetid things; and these they hunt up so abhorrent to human
senses that it is impossible to mention them without the
utmost disgust.—“And what may these be?” said Signor Lodovico
Pio.—Messer Federico replied: “Let the Marquis Febus [da Ceva]
tell you, as he has often seen them in France; and perhaps the
thing has happened to himself.”—The Marquis Febus replied: “I
have seen nothing of the sort done in France that is not also
done in Italy. But, on the other hand, what is praiseworthy in
Italian habits of dress, festivities, banqueting, fighting,
and whatever else becomes a courtier, is all derived from the
French.”—“I deny not,” answered Messer Federico, “that there
are among the French also most noble and unassuming cavaliers:
and I for my part have known many truly worthy of all praise.
Yet some are to be found by no means well-bred: and, speaking
generally, it appears to me that the Spaniards get on better
in manner with the Italians than the French do; since that
calm gravity peculiar to the Spaniards seems to me much more
conformable to us than the rapid liveliness which is to be
recognized almost in every movement of the French race—which
in them is not derogatory, and even has grace, because to
themselves it is so natural and appropriate that it indicates
no sort of affectation in them. There are indeed many Italians
who would fain force themselves to imitate that manner; and
they can manage nothing else than jogging the head in speaking,
and bowing sideways with a bad grace, and, when they are
walking about, going so fast that the grooms cannot keep up
with them. And with these modes they fancy they are good French
people, and partake of their offhand ways: a thing indeed which
seldom succeeds save with those who have been brought up in
France, and have got into these habits from childhood upwards.”
The reader will probably agree with me in thinking that Castiglione’s own
opinion is expressed here rather in the speech of Federico Fregoso than
of the Marquis Febus; and that the all-accomplished Italian patrician
of the opening sixteenth century by no means regarded the French as the
courteous nation _par excellence_. Elsewhere it is remarked that the
French recognize nobility in arms only, and utterly despise letters and
literary men; and that presumption is a leading trait in the national
character.
Castiglione does not seem to have entertained the same objection to
gesturing that Francesco da Barberino did. In amusing narration or
story-telling, at any rate, he approves of this accompaniment; speaking
of people who ‘relate and express so pleasantly something which may have
happened to them, or which they have seen or heard, that with gestures
and words they set it before your eyes, and make you almost lay your hand
upon it.’
The banefulness of a wicked Courtier is set forth in strong terms.
‘No punishment has yet been invented horrid and tremendous
enough for chastising those wicked Courtiers who direct to a
bad end their elegant and pleasant manners and good breeding,
and by these means creep into the good graces of their
sovereigns, to corrupt them, and divert them from the path of
virtue, and lead them into vice: for such people may be said
to infect with mortal poison, not a vessel of which one only
person has to drink, but the public fountain which the whole
population uses.’
[Sidenote: GIOVANNI BATTISTA POSSEVINI.]
The last two authors on our list, Giovanni Battista Possevini and
Giovanni della Casa, will bring us to about the middle of the sixteenth
century; beyond which I do not propose to pursue the subject of Italian
Courtesy-Books. We are now fairly out of the middle ages, and in the
full career of transition from the old to the new. Indeed, were it not
that Della Casa’s work, _Il Galateo_, is so peculiarly apposite to our
purpose, I might have been disposed to leave both these writers aside as
a trifle too modern in date: but, coming closer as that does to the exact
definition of a Courtesy-Book than any other of the compositions which we
have been considering, it must perforce find admission here,—and a few
words may at the same time be spared to Possevini, who introduces us to a
special department of manners. And first of Possevini.
This writer was (like Castiglione) a Mantuan, and died young—perhaps
barely aged thirty. A famous man of letters, Paolo Giovio, found him to
be ‘a son of melancholy, and so learned, according to the title of Christ
on the cross,[51] as to make one marvel: he is a good poet.’ The book
we have to deal with is of considerable size, a _Dialogue concerning
Honour_ (_Dialogo dell’ Onore_): it was published in 1553, after the
author’s death, which seems to have occurred towards 1550. Possevini is
charged with having borrowed freely from another writer, who devoted
himself to the denunciation of duelling, Antonio Bernardi; although
indeed the _publication_ of Bernardi’s book did not take place till some
years after the posthumous work of Possevini was in print. The special
subject of the latter, as we have said, is honour—the quality and laws
of honour, with a leading though not exclusive reference to the duelling
system. Many other Italian writers of this period discussed that latter
question, some upholding and some reprobating the institution. Possevini
is certainly not one of its adversaries, but debates many of the
ancillary points with the particularity of a casuist. The few items which
I shall extract are cited more as curiosities than as fairly representing
the substance of the book.
[Sidenote: THE DIALOGO DELL’ ONORE.]
A man of letters affronted by a military man is not—so
Possevini lays it down—bound to call him out, for the duel
is not his vocation. If he is depreciated in his literary
character, it is in writing that he should respond: if he is
otherwise damnified, let him appeal to the magistrate. But this
latter course is not permitted to a soldier: fighting is his
business, and he must have recourse to the sword. The maxim
that, in duel, one is bound either to slay one’s adversary,
or take him prisoner, is barbarous: it should suffice to make
him recant or apologize, or to wound him, or to reduce him to
surrender and humiliation.
A man who marries a professional courtesan lowers himself; yet
not so far as that he can properly be refused as a duellist, or
as a magistrate, or in other matters pertaining to honour. A
husband who connives at his own dishonour, either by positive
intention or by stupidity exceeding a certain limit, should
be refused as above; not so a betrayed husband who has taken
any ordinary precautions. The husband who detects his wife in
adultery, without resenting it, is a dishonoured man: yet to
kill her is beyond the mark,—to divorce her, contrary to canon
law. He should obtain a legal abrogation of the wife’s dowry,
or else, as a milder course, send her back to her own people,
and have no sort of knowledge of her thenceforth.
[Sidenote: GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.]
Monsignor Giovanni della Casa, created Archbishop of Benevento in 1544,
was born of noble Florentine parentage on the 28th of June 1503, and
died on the 14th of November 1556. He ranks as one of the best Latin
and Italian poets of his century; but some of his poems are noted for
licentiousness, and are even reputed to have damaged his ecclesiastical
career, and lost him a Cardinal’s hat. The works thus impugned appear all
to belong to his youth. He had already obtained some church-preferment,
and was settled in Rome, by the year 1538. On the election of Pope Julius
III., in 1550, Della Casa lived privately in the city or territory of
Venice, in great state, and distinguished for courteous and charitable
munificence. Paul IV., who succeeded to the papacy in 1555, recalled him
to Rome, and created him Secretary of State.
[Sidenote: THE GALATEO.]
The _Galateo_ (written, I presume, somewhere about 1550) has always been
a very famous book in Italy; and of that sort of fame which includes
great general as well as literary acceptance. It is a model of strong
sententious Tuscan; approaching the pedantic, yet racily idiomatic at
the same time. The title in full runs _Galateo, or concerning Manners;
wherein, in the Character of an Elderly Man [Vecchio Idiota] instructing
a Youth, are set forth the things which ought to be observed and avoided
in ordinary intercourse_. The paragraphs are numbered, and amount to
180.[52] The name _Galateo_ is given to the book in consequence of a
little anecdote which it introduces, apparently from real life. There
was once a Bishop of Verona named Giovanni Matteo Giberti, noted for
liberality. He entertained at his house a certain Count Ricciardo—a
highly accomplished nobleman, but addicted (_proh pudor!_) to eating
his victuals with ‘an uncouth action of lips and mouth, masticating at
table with a novel noise very unpleasing to hear.’ The Bishop therefore
deemed it the kindest thing he could do to have the Count escorted on
his homeward way by a remarkably discreet, well-bred, and experienced
gentleman of the episcopal household, named Galateo, who wound up a
handsome compliment at parting with a plain exposition of the guest’s
peccadillo. His own misdoing was news to the Count: but he took the
information altogether in good part, and seriously promised amendment.
Let us now dip into the _Galateo_ for a few axioms; first on dining, and
afterwards on other points of manners.
You must not smell at the wine-cup or the platter of any one,
not even at your own; nor hand the wine which you have tasted
to another, unless your very intimate friend; still less offer
him any fruit at which you have bitten. Some monsters thrust
their snouts, like pigs, into their broth, and never raise
their eyes or hands from the victuals, and gorge rather than
eat with swollen cheeks, as if they were blowing at a trumpet
or a fire; and, soiling their arms almost to the elbows, make
a fearful mess of their napkins.[53] And these same napkins
they will use to wipe off perspiration, and even to blow
their noses. You must not so soil your fingers as to make
the napkin nasty in wiping them: neither clean them upon the
bread which you are to eat: [we should hope not]. In company,
and most especially at table, you should not bully nor beat
any servants; nor must you express anger, whatever may occur
to excite it; nor talk of any distressful matters—wounds,
illnesses, deaths, or pestilence. If any one falls into this
mistake, the conversation should be dexterously changed:
‘although, as I once heard said by a worthy man our neighbour,
people often would be as much eased by crying as by laughing.
And he affirmed that with this motive had the mournful fictions
termed tragedies been first invented: so that, being set forth
in theatres, as was then the practice, they might bring tears
to the eyes of those who had need of this, and thus they,
weeping, might be cured of their discomfort. But, be this as
it may, for us it is not befitting to sadden the minds of
those with whom we converse, especially on occasions when
people have met for refreshment and recreation, and not to cry:
and, if any one languishes with a longing to weep, right easy
will it be to relieve him with strong mustard, or to set him
somewhere over the smoke.’ You should not scratch yourself at
table, nor spit; or, if spit you must, do it in a seemly way.
Some nations have been so self-controlling as not to spit at
all.[54] ‘We must also beware of eating so greedily that hence
comes hiccupping or other disagreeable act; as he does who
hurries so that he has to puff and blow, to the annoyance of
the whole company.’ Rub not your teeth with the napkin—still
less with your fingers: nor rinse out your mouth, nor spit
forth wine. ‘Nor, on rising from table, is it a nice habit to
carry your toothpick[55] in your mouth, like a bird which is
in nest-building,—or behind the ear, like a barber.’ You must
not hang the toothpick round your neck: it shows that you are
‘overmuch prepared and provided for the service of the gullet,’
and you might as well hang your spoon in the same way. Neither
must you loll on the table; nor by gesture or sound symbolize
your great relish of viands or wine—a habit fit only for
tavern-keepers and topers. Also you should not put people out
of countenance by pressing them to eat or drink.
‘To present to another something from the plate before oneself
does not seem to me well, unless he who presents is of much
the higher grade, so that the recipient is thereby honoured.
For, among equals in condition, it looks as if he who offers
the gift were setting himself up somehow as the superior: and
sometimes that which a man gives is not to the taste of him
it is given to. Besides, it implies that the dinner has no
abundance of dishes, or is not well distributed, when one has
too much, and another too little: and the master of the house
might take it as an affront. However, in this one should do as
others do, and not as it might be best to do in the abstract:
and in such fashions it is better to err along with others than
to be alone in well-doing. But, whatever may be the best course
in this, you must not refuse what is offered you; for it would
seem as if you slighted or reproved the donor.’
For one man to pledge another in the wine-cup is not an
Italian usage, nor yet rightly nationalized, and should be
avoided. Decline such an invitation; or confess yourself the
worse drinker, and give but one sip to your wine. ‘Thank God,
among the many pests which have come to us from beyond the
mountains, this vilest one has not yet reached us, of regarding
drunkenness as not merely a laughing-matter, but even a merit.’
The only time when you should wash hands in company is before
going to table: you should do it then even though your hands
be quite clean, ‘so that he who dips with you into the same
platter may know that for certain.’
Well-bred servitors, serving at table, must on no account
scratch their heads or any other part of the body, nor thrust
their hands anywhere under their clothes out of sight, but
keep them ‘visible and beyond all suspicion,’ and scrupulously
clean. Those who hand about plates or cups must abstain from
spitting or coughing, and most especially from sneezing. If a
pear or bread has been set to toast, the attendant must not
blow off any ash-dust, but jog or otherwise nick it off. He
must not offer his pocket-handkerchief to any one, though it
be clean from the wash; for the person to whom it is offered
has no assurance of that fact, and may find it distasteful. The
usher must not take it upon himself to invite strangers, or to
retain them to dine with his lord: if he does so, no one who
knows his place will act on the invitation.
Scraping the teeth together, whistling, screaming, grinding
stones, and rubbing iron, are grievous noises: and a man who
has a bad voice should eschew singing, especially a solo.
Coughing and sneezing must not be done loud. ‘And there is
also to be found such a person as, in yawning, will howl and
bray like an ass; and another who, with his mouth still agape,
_will_ go on with his talk, and emits that voice, or rather
that noise, which a mute produces when he tries to speak.’
Indeed, much yawning should be altogether avoided: it shows
that your company does not amuse you, and that you are in a
vacant mood. ‘And thus, when a man yawns among others who are
idle and unoccupied, all they, as you may often have observed,
yawn forthwith in response; as if the man had recalled to
their memory the thing which they would have done before, if
only they had recollected it.’ Other acts discourteous to the
company you are in are—to fall asleep; to pace about the room,
while others are seated in conversation; to take a letter out
of your pouch, and read it; to set about paring your nails; or
to hum between your teeth, play the devil’s tattoo, or swing
your legs. Also you must not nudge a man with your elbow in
talking to him. Let us have no showing of tongue, nor overmuch
stroking of beard, nor rubbing-together of hands, nor heaving
of long-drawn sighs, nor shaking oneself up with a start, nor
stretching, and singing-out of ‘Dear me!’
Having used your pocket-handkerchief, don’t open it out to
inspect it.
‘They are in the wrong whose mouths are always full of
their babies, and their wife, and their nurse. “My little
boy yesterday made me laugh so—only hear.” “You never saw
a sweeter child than my Momus.” “My wife is so-and-so.”
“Said Cecchina:[56] and could you ever believe it of such a
scatterbrain?” There is no man so unoccupied that he can either
reply or attend to such nonsense: and the speaker becomes a
nuisance to everybody.’
In walking, you should not indulge in too much action, as by
sawing with your arms; nor should you stare other passers-by in
the face, as if there were some marvel there.
‘Now what shall I say of those who issue from the desk into
company with a pen behind the ear? or those who hold a
handkerchief in the mouth? or who lay one leg along the table?
or who spit on their fingers?’
Some people offend by affected humility, which is indeed
a practical lying. ‘With these the company has a bad
bargain whenever they come to a door; for they will for no
consideration in the world pass on first, but they step across,
and return back,—and so fence and resist with hands and arms
that at every third step it becomes necessary to battle with
them, and this destroys all peace and comfort, and sometimes
the business which is in hand.’
This last caveat leads on the author to a passage of importance regarding
ceremoniousness in general; from which we learn that that extreme of
etiquette was still almost an innovation in Italy in the middle of the
sixteenth century, and contrary to the national bias. This may surprise
some readers; for certainly the courteous Italian of the later period,
for all his characteristic ‘naturalness,’ has not been wanting in
ceremony, and the elaboration of politeness of phrase in his writing
is something observable—at least to Englishmen, the least ceremonious
nation, I suppose, under heaven (and that is by no means a term of
disparagement). I subjoin the passage from Della Casa, not a little
condensed; followed by another, still more abridged, concerning the
essence and right of elegant manners.
‘And therefore ceremonies (which we name, as you hear, by a
foreign word, as not having one of our own—which shows that our
ancestors knew them not, so that they could not give them any
name)—ceremonies, I say, differ little, to my thinking, from
lies and dreams, on account of their emptiness. As a worthy man
has more than once shown me, those solemnities which the clergy
use in relation to altars and the divine offices, and towards
God and sacred things, are properly called “ceremonies.”
But, as soon as men began to reverence one the other with
artificial fashions beyond what is fitting, and to call each
other “master” and “lord,” bowing and cringeing and bending in
sign of reverence, and uncovering, and naming one another by
far-sought titles, and kissing hands, as if theirs were sacred
like those of priests,—somebody, as this new and silly usage
had as yet no name, termed it “ceremoniousness”: I think, by
way of ridicule. Which usage, beyond a doubt, is not native to
us but foreign and barbarous, and imported, whencesoever it be,
only of late into Italy,—which, unhappy, abased, and spiritless
in her doings and influence, has grown and gloried only in vain
words and superfluous titles. Ceremonies, then,—if we refer to
the intention of those who practise them—are a vain indication
of honour and reverence towards the person to whom they are
addressed, set forth in words and shows, and concerned with
titles and proffers. I say “vain” in so far as we honour in
seeming those whom we hold in no reverence, and do sometimes
despise. And yet, that we may not depart from the customs
of others, we term them “Illustrissimo Signor” so-and-so,
and “Eccellentissimo Signor” such-a-one: and in like wise we
sometimes profess ourselves “most devoted servants” to some one
whom we would rather dis-serve than serve. This usage, however,
it is not for us individually to change—nay, we are compelled
(as it is not our own fault, but that of the time) to second
it; but this has to be done with discretion. Wherefore it is to
be considered that ceremonies are practised either for profit,
or for vanity, or by obligation. And every lie which is uttered
for our own profit is a fraud and sin and a dishonest thing
(as indeed one cannot in any sort of case lie with honour):
and this sin do flatterers commit. And, if ceremonies are, as
we said, lies and false flatteries, whenever we practise them
with a view to gain we act like false and bad men: wherefore,
with that view, no ceremony ought to be practised. Those which
are practised by obligation must in no wise be omitted; for he
who omits them is not only disliked but injurious. And thus
he who addresses a single person as “_You_” (if it is not a
person of the very lowest condition) does him no favour: nay,
were he to say “_Thou_,” he would derogate from his due, and
act insultingly and injuriously, naming him by the word which
is usually reserved for poltroons and clodhoppers. And these I
call “ceremonies of obligation”: since they do not proceed from
our own will, nor freely of our own choice, but are imposed
upon us by the law—that is, by common usage. And he who is wont
to be termed “Signore” by others, and himself in like manner
to address others as “Signore,” assumes that you contemn him
or speak affrontingly when you call him simply by his name, or
speak to him as “Messere,” or blurt out a “_You_.”[57] However,
in these ceremonies of obligation, certain points should be
observed, so that one may not seem either vain or haughty. And
first, one should have regard to the country one lives in;
for every usage is not apposite in every country. And perhaps
that which is adopted by the Neapolitans, whose city abounds
in men of great lineage, and in barons of lofty station, would
not suit the Lucchese or Florentines, who for the most part
are merchants and simply gentlemen, having among them neither
princes nor marquises nor any baron. Besides this, regard must
be paid to the occasion, to the age and condition of the person
towards whom we practise ceremony, and to our own; and, with
busy people, one should cut them off altogether, or at any
rate shorten them as much as one can, and rather imply than
express them: which the courtiers in Rome are very expert in.
Neither are men of great virtue and excellence in the habit
of practising many; nor do they like or seek that many be
practised towards them, not being minded to waste much thought
over futilities. Nor yet should artisans and persons of low
condition care to practise very elaborate ceremonies towards
great men and lords: for these rather than otherwise dislike
such demonstrations at their hands—for their way is to seek and
expect obedience more than civilities. And thus the servant who
proffers his service to his master makes a mistake: for the
master takes it amiss, and esteems that the servant wants to
call in question his mastership,—as if his right were not to
dictate and command. If you show a little suitable abundance
of politeness to those who are your inferiors, you will be
called courteous. And, if you do the same to your superiors,
you will be termed well-bred and agreeable. But he who should
in this matter be excessive and profuse would be blamed as vain
and frivolous; and perhaps even worse would befall him, for he
might be held evil and sycophantic. And this is the third kind
of ceremonies, which does indeed proceed from our will, and not
from usage. Let us then recollect that ceremonies (as I said
from the first) were naturally not necessary,—on the contrary,
people got on perfectly well without them: as our own nation,
not long ago, did almost wholly. But the illnesses of others
have infected us also with this and many other infirmities. For
which reasons, when we have submitted to usage, all the residue
in this matter that is superfluous is a kind of licit lying: or
rather, from that point onwards, not licit but forbidden—and
therefore a displeasing and tedious thing to noble souls, which
will not live on baubles and appearances. Vain and elaborate
and superabundant ceremonies are flatteries but little covert,
and indeed open and recognized by all. But there is another
sort of ceremonious persons who make an art and trade of this,
and keep book and document of it. To such a class of persons,
a giggle; and to such another, a smile. And the more noble
shall sit upon the chair, and the less noble upon the settle.
Which ceremonies I think were imported from Spain into Italy.
But our country has given them a poor reception, and they have
taken little root here; for this so punctilious distinction of
nobility is a vexation to us:[58] and therefore no one ought to
set himself up as judge, to decide who is more noble, and who
less so.—To speak generally, ceremoniousness annoys most men;
because by it people are prevented from living in their own
way—that is, prevented from liberty, which every man desires
before all things else.’
‘Agreeable manners are those which afford delight, or at least
do not produce any vexation, to the feelings, appetite, or
imagination, of those with whom we have to do. A man should
not be content with doing that which is right, but should also
study to do it with grace. And grace [_leggiadria_] is as it
were a light which shines from the fittingness of things that
are well composed and well assorted the one with the other,
and all of them together; without which measure even the good
is not beautiful, and beauty is not pleasurable. Therefore
well-bred persons should have regard to this measure, both in
walking, standing, and sitting, in gesture, demeanour, and
clothing, in words and in silence, and in rest and in action.’
[Sidenote: THE TRATTATO DEGLI UFFICI COMUNI.]
Besides the _Galateo_, Monsignor della Casa has left another and shorter
_Tractate on Amicable Intercourse between Superiors and Inferiors_
(_Trattato degli Uffici Comuni tra gli Amici Superiori e Inferiori_).
This deals not so much with the relation between those who are rich and
those who are poor in the gifts of fortune, taken simply on that footing,
as with the connection between master and servant, patron and client,
magnate and dependent. The tone is grave and humane, with an adequate
share of worldly wisdom interspersed. The opening is interesting and
suggestive; and shows that the great ‘Servant Controversy,’ of which
the pages of English daily newspapers are now almost annually conscious
in the dull season, was by no means unknown to Italy in the sixteenth
century:—
‘I apprehend that the ancients were free from a great and
continual trouble; having their households composed, not of
free men, as is our usage, but of slaves, of whose labour they
availed themselves, both for the comforts of life, and to
maintain their repute, and for the other demands of society.
For, as the nature of man is noble, copious, and erect, and far
more apt to commanding than obeying, a hard and odious task do
those undertake who assume to exercise masterdom over it, while
still bold and of undiminished strength, as is done now-a-days.
To the ancients, in my judgment, it was no difficult or
troublesome thing to command those who were already quelled
and almost domesticated—people whom either chains, or long
fatigues, or a soul servile from very childhood, had bereaved
of pride and force. We on the contrary have to do with souls
robust, spirited, and almost unbending; which, through the
vigour of their nature, refuse and hate to be in subjection,
and, knowing themselves free, resist their masters, or at least
seek and demand (often with reason, but sometimes also without)
that in commanding them some measure be observed. Whence it
arises that every house is full of complaints, wranglings,
and questionings. And certainly this is the fact; because we
are unjust judges in our own cause,—and, as it is true that
everybody unfairly prizes his own affairs higher than those
of others, albeit of equal value, and consequently always
persuades himself that he has given more than he has received,
the thing cannot go on _pari passu_. Hence comes the wearisome
complaint of the one, “I have worn myself out in your house;”
and the rebuke of the other, “I have maintained and fed you,
and treated you well.”’
I can afford only one more extract from this treatise; which indeed
handles its general subject-matter more on the ground of fairness,
good-feeling, and expedient compromise of conflicting claims, than as a
question of courtesy—though neither is that left out of view.
‘In giving orders and assigning duties which have to be
fulfilled, let regard be paid to the condition of the
individuals; so that, if anything uncleanly is to be done,
that be allotted to the lowest, and it come not to pass (as
some perverse-natured people will have it) that noblemen[59]
should sweep the house, and carry slops out of the chambers.
Let not things of much labour be committed to the weak, nor the
degrading to the well-mannered, nor the frivolous and sportful
to the aged. Moreover let the masters be heedful not to impose
upon any one anything of uncommon difficulty or labour or
painstaking, unless of necessity or for some great cause; for
the laws of humanity command us not to make a call upon a man’s
diligence and solicitude beyond what is reasonable, or as if in
levity—especially if it exceeds the ordinary bounds.’
With this I shut up Della Casa’s volume, and take final leave of my
reader—trusting that, after perusing, skimming, or skipping, so much
matter concerning Courtesy, he will part from me on the terms of (at
lowest) a ‘courteous reader,’ in more than the merely conventional sense.