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