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.

FOOTNOTES

[1] As mentioned below, the first German work including something by way of Courtesy-Book, ab. 1210 A.D., _Der Wälsche Gast_, was written by an Italian, Tomasin von Zirclaria.

[2] Possibly this notion prompted Dante to represent himself, in the opening of the _Commedia_, as also lost in a forest.

[3] The line here translated as one forms two in the Italian, and the like with our sequel; Brunetto’s metre being an ungracefully short one—thus:

‘Sie certo che Larghezza È’l capo e la grandezza,’ &c.

Indeed the metre keeps up such a perpetual jingling as almost to reduce to doggerel what might, in a different rhythmical form, be accepted as very fair rhyme and reason indeed. I have thrown the several couplets into single lines, in the translation, simply with a view to saving space.

[4] The original runs

‘Che, siccome dell’ arti, Qualche vizio non prendi.’

This phrase is not quite clear to me; but I suppose the word ‘_arti_’ is to be understood as meaning ‘crafts, trades, or professions,’ and that Brunetto had been sharp enough to see that people become ‘shoppy’ according to their respective shops. ‘Vous êtes orfèvre, Monsieur Josse.’

[5] ‘_Mercennaio_’—literally, mercenary or hireling.

[6] ‘_Picciolini._’ These were, I gather, coins of a particular denomination, but I have not been able to ascertain their precise value.

[7]

‘Credesi far la croce, Ma e’ si fa la fica.’

I have translated literally; but that of course makes something very like nonsense in English. To ‘make the fig’ is a gesture of the thumb and fingers, understood as gross and insulting in the highest degree. The general sense of the passage is therefore—‘He fancies he is thus testifying in his own honour, whereas it really does redound to his own extreme shame.’ Readers of Dante, remembering the splendid canzone

‘Le dolci rime d’amor ch’ io solia,’

in which he refutes the false and defines the true bases of ‘nobility’ (_gentilezza_), will perceive that the illustrious pupil had been to a great extent anticipated by the teaching of his early instructor. Francesco da Barberino (_Reggimento e Costumi delle Donne_) adopts a middle course, discriminating ‘_gentilezza_’ thus: ‘Nobility is twoform in quality and in origin. The first is a state of the human soul contented in virtue, hostile to vice, exulting in the good of others, and pitiful in their adversity. The second is mastery over men or riches, derived from of old, sensitive to shame when brought low.’

[8] Here, on the contrary, we come to a precept the reverse of Dantesque. Yet, on combining this passage with that which opens the ensuing paragraph, it would seem that Brunetto does not mean to recommend connivance with anything that is positively evil, but only with current habits and fashions, objectionable though they may be, in matters essentially indifferent—as of speech and deportment.

[9] ‘_Briccon_’—the colloquial term still in daily use among Italians.

[10] ‘_Solo d’una canzone_:’ literally, ‘merely for one song.’ The Abate Zannoni understands this to mean ‘_per aver una sola volta canzonato femmina_.’ He admits that this sense of the phrase is not discoverable in that fetish of the Italian pedant, the Dizionario della Crusca; but as I have no superior authority to oppose to that of Abate Zannoni, I have followed his interpretation.

[11] This seems strange doctrine—that love of courtesy and love of women cannot co-exist in the same man—if we are to accept it in its amplest sense. Perhaps, however, we are to understand that the speaker is still confining his censures to miscellaneous and unsanctioned amours or flirtations, especially with married women.

[12] Poesie Lombarde Inedite del Secolo 13, publicate ed illustrate da B. Biondelli. Milano: Bernardoni. 1856. We are indebted to Signor Biondelli’s courtesy for a copy of this curious and interesting work.

[13] Bonvexino (pronounced Bonv_es_ino) is, in modern Italian, Bonvicino—i.e. good neighbour.

[14] ‘Afresh’ represents the Italian ‘de frescho.’ Signor Biondelli considers that the phrase means ‘afresh,’ indicating that Fra Bonvesino had written his Courtesies in Latin before turning them into Italian. Signor Biondelli, however, admits that ‘de frescho’ may also mean ‘now recently,’ ‘just now’; and, but for his contrary preference, I should attribute that meaning to the word in the present instance.

[15] ‘Noxe.’ I _suppose_ this must represent the modern-Italian word ‘nozze,’ nuptials, though the incident of a wedding seems rather suddenly introduced at this point, and does not re-appear afterwards.

[16] Signor Biondelli understands this stanza in a somewhat different sense, as applying to the _assigning_ of dishes, not the _signing_ of the cross as a grace before meat. The reference to Christ seems to me to create a strong presumption in favour of my interpretation.

[17] It is clear from the general context that the victuals here spoken of as to be eaten with a spoon are solid edibles—not merely soups or the like: the spoon corresponding to the modern fork. The word translated ‘suck’ is ‘sorbilar:’ perhaps ‘mumble’ would convey the force of the precept more fully though less literally.

[18] I feel some doubt as to the meaning of this passage.

[19] This appears to be the general sense of the last two lines. In the final one Signor Biondelli gives up two words as unintelligible: he infers that they must be miscopied.

[20] This seems to contemplate the plan of the several guests helping themselves off the dish brought to table. At any rate, so Signor Biondelli understands it.

[21] ‘Donzello.’ This precept seems to be especially addressed to the servitors. Uguccione Pisano, quoted by Muratori, says: ‘Donnicelli et Domicellæ dicuntur quando pulchri juvenes magnatum sunt sicut servientes.’ Such Donzelli were not allowed to sit at table with the knights; or, if allowed, had to sit apart on a lower seat.

[22] ‘Drapi da pey.’ I confess to some uncertainty as to what sort of thing these ‘foot-cloths’ may have been. Signor Biondelli terms them ‘the cloths wherewith the feet were wrapped round and dried.’ He adds: ‘This precept apprizes us that at that time the use of a pocket-handkerchief was not yet introduced, and perhaps not even the use of stockings.’ One would fain hope that the summit of Lombardic good breeding in 1290 was not the wiping of noses on cloths actually and at the moment serving for the feet. Possibly _drapi da pey_ is here a generic term; cloths or napkins at hand for use, and which _might have_ served for foot-cloths. Thus the word ‘duster’ might be employed in a similar connection, without our being compelled to suppose that the individual duster had first been used on the spot for dusting the tables or floors, and then for wiping the nose. Or indeed, we moderns, who wipe our noses on _hand_-kerchiefs, do not first use said kerchiefs for wiping our _hands_, nor yet for _covering our heads_ (‘_couvre chef_’).—Reverting to Signor Biondelli’s observation as to ‘the use of stockings,’ I may observe that Francesco da Barberino, in a passage of his _Reggimento e Costumi delle Donne_, speaks of ‘the beautiful foot shod in silk’—‘_calzato in seta_’—which _may_ imply either a stocking or else a shoe. This poem, as we shall see further on, is but little later than Bonvicino’s.—The reader may also observe, at p. 68, the horror with which a much later writer, Della Casa, contemplated the use of a dinner-napkin as a pocket-handkerchief.

[23] ‘Chi s’ asetilia.’ Signor Biondelli cannot assign the exact sense of this verb. I should suppose it to be either a form of ‘Assettarsi,’ to settle oneself, to keep one’s place, or a corruption of ‘Assottigliarsi,’ to subtilize, to be punctilious, to ‘look sharp.’

[24] ‘D’alchun obediente.’ This phrase, if directly connected with the ‘Jesu Xristo’ of the previous line, seems peculiar. I am not quite clear whether the whole stanza is to be understood as an injunction to render grace after meat, in thankfulness for what Christ has given one—or to thank the _servants_ who have been waiting at table, and so to glorify Christ by an act of humility.

[25] ‘Dro bon vino dra carera.’ The general sense is evidently near what the translation gives: but Signor Biondelli is unable to assign the _precise_ sense. No wonder therefore that I am unable.

[26] Several others must nevertheless have been written before or about the same time; for Barberino himself, in the exordium to his _Reggimento e Costumi delle Donne_, says—

‘There have been many who wrote books Concerning the elegant manners of men, but not of women.’

[27] A full account of it by Mr Eugene Oswald follows the present Essay.

[28] This injunction forms stanza 4 in our extract from Barberino beginning at p. 38.

[29] See at p. 40, the stanza beginning ‘And I think that he does amiss.’

[30] _The Early Italian Poets, from Ciullo d’Alcamo to Dante Alighieri (1100-1200-1300), in the Original Metres: together with Dante’s Vita Nuova. Translated by D. G. Rossetti. Smith and Elder, 1862._

[31] There is evidently something erroneous in this statement: Brunetto died in 1294. The Editor of a collection of Italian Poets (_Lirici del Secolo secondo, & c.—Venezia, Antonelli, 1841_) says: ‘Francesco went through his _first_ studies under Brunetto Latini. _Hence he passed_ to the Universities of Padua and of Bologna.’ Barberino being a Tuscan, this seems the natural course for him to adopt, rather than to have gone to Padua and Bologna _before_ Florence. My brother’s remark, as to the death of Neri in 1296, and as to Francesco’s _subsequent_ sojourn in Florence, agrees, however, with the statement made by Tiraboschi: apparently we should understand that Francesco had been in Florence both before and after his stay in Padua and Bologna, and that his studies under Brunetto pertain to the earlier period.

[32] _Teachings_ or _Lessonings of Love_ might probably express the sense more exactly to an English ear.

[33] ‘Chi vuol fare merli.’ The phrase means literally ‘he who wants to make battlements’—or possibly ‘to make thrushes,’ I can only _guess_ at its bearing in the present passage, having searched for a distinct explanation in vain. It seems to be one of the myriad ‘_vezzi di lingua_’ of old Italian, and especially old Tuscan, idiom.

[34] ‘Di mandar a laveggio.’ I am far from certain as to the real meaning.

[35] This precept, and especially a preceding one (p. 39) which enjoins the host to place the guests in their appropriate seats, keeping by himself those of less account, would seem to show that at this period the seats at the right and left of the host (or hostess) were by no means understood to be posts of honour. The absence of all mention, either in Bonvicino or in Barberino, of the hostess or her especial duties, strikes one as a singularity. That the hostess is nevertheless understood to be present may be fairly inferred from the clearly expressed presence of other ladies.

[36] Prettily worded in the Italian:

‘Nè abbracciar stringendo, Se non sei ben una cosa con quello.’

[37]

Ancor c’ è molta gente Ch’ han certi vizj in dono ed in servire, Sì che poco gradire Vediamo in lor quando ne fanno altrui:

Chè non pensano a cui, Nè che nè come, nè tanto nè quanto. Altri fanno un procanto Di sue bisogne, e poi pur fanno il dono.

Ed altri certi sono Che danno indugio, e credon far maggiore. E molti che colore Pongon a scusa, e poi pur fanno e danno.

Ed altri che, com’ hanno Servigio ricevuto, affrettan troppo Disobbligar lo groppo Col qual eran legati alli serventi:

Onde sien tutti attenti Che non è picciol vizio non volere Obbligato manere; Anzi par poi che sforzato sia largo.

Dicemi alcuno: ‘Io spargo Li don, per mia libertate tenere; Non per altrui piacere.’ Questo è gran vizio: ed è virtù maggiore,

E più porta d’onore, Saver donar la sua persona altrui, Ricevendo da lui, E star apparecchiato a meritaro.

E non ti vo’ lassare Lo vizio di colui che colla faccia Non vuol dar sì che piaccia, Ma turba tutto, e sta gran pezza mutto.

[38] The mention of a slave in a Florentine household of the late 13th or early 14th century may startle some readers. I translate the note which Signor Guglielmo Manzi, the editor of the _Reggimento_, supplies on this subject. ‘Slavery, which abases mankind, and revolts humanity and reason, diminished greatly when the Christian religion was introduced into the Roman Empire—that religion being in manifest opposition to so barbarous a system. The more the one progressed in the world, the more did the other wane; and, as Bodino observes in his book _De Republicâ_, slavery had ceased in Europe, to a great extent, by 1200. I shall follow this author, who is the only one to afford us some degree of light amid so great obscurity. In the year 1212 there were still, according to him, slaves in Italy; as may be seen from the ordinances of William, King of Sicily, and of the Emperor Frederick II. for the kingdom of Naples, and from the decretals of the Popes Alexander III., Urban III., and Innocent III., concerning the marriages of slaves. The first of these Popes was elected in 1158, the second in 1185, and the third in 1198; so that the principle of liberty cannot be dated earlier than in or about 1250—Bartolo, who lived in the year 1300, writing (_Hostes de Captivis_, I.) that in his time there were no slaves, and that, according to the laws of Christendom, men were no longer put up to sale. This assertion, however, conflicts with the words of our author, who affirms that in his time—that is, at the commencement of the 14th century—the custom existed. But, in elucidation of Bartolo, it should be said that he implied that men were no longer sold, on the ground that this was prohibited by the laws of Christendom, and the edicts of sovereigns. In France it can be shown that in 1430 Charles VII. gave their liberty to some persons of servile condition; and even in the year 1548 King Henri II. liberated, by letters patent, those of the Bourbonnais: and the like was done throughout all his states by the Duke of Savoy in 1561. In the Hundred Tales of Boccaccio we have also various instances showing that the sale of free men was practised in Italy. These are in the 6th Tale of the 2nd Day, the story of Madonna Beritola, whose sons remained in Genoa in serfdom; and in the 6th of the 5th Day, the story of Frederick, King of Sicily; and in the 7th of the same Day, the story of Theodore and Violante. It is therefore clear, from all this evidence, that, in the time of Messer Francesco, so execrable a practice was still prevalent; and, summing up all we have said, it must be concluded that serfdom, in non-barbarian Europe, was not entirely extinguished till the 16th century.’

[39] ‘Mottetti e parlari.’ Only a few specimens of these are given, and they are all sufficiently occult. Here is one. ‘Grande a morte, o la morte. Di molte se grava morte. [Responde Madonna] Dolci amorme, quel camorme, dunque amorme conveniarme.’

[40] This Lady is an ideal or symbolic personage—presumably Wisdom.

[41] Matteo Palmieri (see p. 58) indicates that the state of things was the same in his time, about 1430: he is more decided than Barberino in condemning it.

[42] ‘Uomin di corte.’ This term was first applied to heralds, chamberlains, and the like court-officials: subsequently to the entertainers of a court, ‘giullari,’ jesters, and buffoons: and in process of time it came to include courtiers of whatever class. In the early writers—such as Barberino, Boccaccio, &c.—it is not always easy for a translator to pitch upon the precise equivalent: the reader should understand a personage who might be as romantic as a Troubadour, or as quaint as a Touchstone—but tending rather towards the latter extreme.

[43] ‘Uccelli grifoni.’ This seems a daring suggestion: possibly, as a griffin is a compound of eagle and lion, we are to understand that the eagle is the griffin-_bird_.

[44] ‘Drappi oltramarin’—which _may_ mean foreign (from beyond sea), or else of ultramarine colour: I rather suppose the former.

[45] ‘Lana di pesce’—literally, fish’s wool. The term is new to me, nor do I find it explained in dictionaries: I can only therefore surmise that it designates the silky filaments of certain sea-mollusks, such as the pinna of the Mediterranean. This byssus is still made use of in Italy for gloves and similar articles.

[46] !!

[47] ‘Intaglj;’ and the next line gives the word ‘Scolture.’ Giovanni Villani notes that in 1330 a prohibition was issued against ‘dresses cut-out or painted:’ the fashion having run into the extravagance of ‘dresses cut-out with different sorts of cloth, and made of stuffs trimmed variously with silks.’

[48] These seem to be very obedient birds: and their position, behind glass windows in a globe figuring the world, was rather an odd one to modern notions. The reader will keep me company in guessing whether or not we are to take the whole description _au pied de la lettre_.

[49] Tiraboschi says 1468; but that, as far as I can trace, is a mistake.

[50] It may be fair to state that the work, as first published, was put in the Roman index of prohibited books; and that the reissues (including no doubt the edition known to me) have omitted the inculpated passages. Whether these were objected to on moral or rather on ecclesiastical grounds I cannot affirm: the book as now printed is not only quite free from immoralities, but is decidedly moral, whereas there remains at least one passage of a tone such as churchmen resent _ex officio_.

[51] A noticeable proverbial phrase. It is new to me; but I suppose it means either ‘learned in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin’ (the three languages in which the inscription over the cross was written), or else perhaps ‘learned in languages generally.’

[52] That most capital and characteristic book, the Autobiography of the tragedian Alfieri, contains a reference to the _Galateo_, which, longish as it is, I am tempted to extract. ‘My worthy Paciaudi was wont to advise me not to neglect, amid my laborious readings, works in prose, which he learnedly termed the nurse of poetry. As regards this, I remember that one day he brought me the _Galateo_ of Della Casa; recommending me to ponder it well with respect to the turn of speech, which assuredly is pure Tuscan, and the reverse of all Frenchifying. I, who in boyhood had (as we all have) read it loosely, understood it little, and relished it not at all, felt almost offended at this schoolboyish and pedantic advice. Full of venom against the said _Galateo_, I opened it. And, at the sight of that first _Conciossiacosachè_, to which is trailed-on that long sentence so pompous and so wanting in pith, such an impulse of rage seized me that, hurling the book out of window, I cried like a maniac: “Surely a hard and disgusting necessity, that, in order to write tragedies at the age of twenty-seven, I must swallow down again this childish chatter, and relax my brain with such pedantries!” He smiled at my uneducated poetic _furor_; and prophesied that I would yet read the _Galateo_, and that more than once. And so it turned out; but several years afterwards, when I had thoroughly hardened my neck and shoulders to bear the grammatical yoke. And I read not only the _Galateo_, but almost all our prose writers of the fourteenth century, and annotated them too: with what profit I cannot say. But true it is that, were any one to give them a good reading as regards their turn of phrase, and to manage availing himself with judgment and skill of their array, rejecting the cast clothes of their ideas, he might perhaps afterwards, in his writings as well philosophic as poetic or historic, or of any other class, give a richness, brevity, propriety, and force of colour, to his style, which I have not as yet seen fully gracing any Italian writer.’ A word or two may be spared to the formidable-looking vocable _Conciossiacosachè_ which so excited Alfieri’s bile. It might be translated literally as ‘Herewith-be-something-that;’ and corresponds in practice to the English ‘Forasmuch as’—or more briefly ‘since,’ or ‘as.’ The Italian word _poichè_ serves all the same uses, save that of longwindedness. But _Conciossiacosachè_ itself is not lengthy enough for some Italian lips: and I believe that even the phrase into which it has sometimes been prolonged—‘Con ciò sia cosa fosse massimamente che’—has been used for other than burlesquing purposes.

[53] The comparison whereby our Archbishop illustrates the condition of the napkins must perfume our page only in its native Italian—‘Che le pezze degli agiamenti sono più nette.’

[54] This is affirmed by Xenophon of the Persians: he says in the _Cyropædia_ that, both of old and in his own time, they did without either spitting or blowing the nose—a proof of temperance, and of energetic exercise which carried off the moisture of the body.

[55] _Stecco._ ‘Toothpick’ is the only appropriate technical sense for stecco given in the dictionaries; and I suppose it is correct here, although Della Casa’s very next sentence, denouncing the carrying of this implement round the neck, designates it by the word _stuzzicadenti_, and it seems odd that the two terms should be thus juxta-posed or opposed. If _stecco_ does not in this passage really mean ‘toothpick,’ I should infer that it indicates some skewer-like object, used possibly as a fork—i.e. to secure the viands on the plate, while they are severed with a spoon, and by that conveyed to the mouth (see pp. 21 and 34 as to the use of spoon instead of fork in Bonvicino’s time). This would in fact be a sort of chop-stick. Such an inference is quite compatible with the _general_ sense of the word _stecco_—any stake or splint of wood.

[56] Cecchina is a double diminutive of Francesca; corresponding to ‘Fannikin’ or ‘Fan.’

[57] The English reader may fancy that this passage conflicts with that which immediately precedes: but such is not the case. In the earlier passage, the use of _You_ was recommended as more civil than _Thou_: in the later passage, the use of _Vossignoria_ (or other the like impersonal term, where appropriate) as more respectful than _You_.

[58] This is, I think, still a national trait among Italians, and a most creditable one: the endless grades and sub-grades, shades and demi-shades, of good society, as maintained in England (with an instinct comparable to the marvellous power of a bat to wing its dark way amid any number of impediments, and to be impeded by none of them), are unintelligible to ordinary Italians—or, where intelligible, detestable. Long may they remain so!

[59] _Nobili._ I presume this is to be understood literally; the household in which noblemen could be thus employed being of course one of exalted position.