The Book of the Courtier Read online

  After signor Gaspare had spoken, signora Emilia made a sign to the lady Costanza Fregoso, as it was her turn, to speak next; and madam Costanza was about to do so when the Duchess suddenly remarked:

  ‘Since signora Emilia is unwilling to give herself the trouble of thinking of a game, it is only right for the other ladies to enjoy the same privilege and also be exempt from making any effort this evening, especially as we have so many men with us that there is no danger of running out of games.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ said signora Emilia. And imposing silence on madam Costanza, she turned to Cesare Gonzaga, who sat by her side, and told him to speak next. So he began in this way:

  ‘Anyone who studies our actions carefully, always finds in them various shortcomings. And this is because Nature, being fond of variety in this as in other matters, has made one man sensible in regard to one thing and another in regard to something else. So, since one person knows what another does not, and is ignorant of what another understands, we find that everyone all too easily perceives his neighbour’s error and not his own, and we all think we are very wise, perhaps most of all in regard to things about which we are most foolish. For example, we have seen in this household how many who, to begin with, were reputed to be extremely shrewd, as time has passed have been recognized as being very stupid, and this discovery has been made only because of our diligence. Thus they say that in Apulia when someone is bitten by a tarantula many musical instruments are played and various tunes are tried until the humour which is causing the sickness all of a sudden responds to the sound with which it has a certain affinity and so agitates the sick man that he is shaken back into good health. In the same way, whenever we have suspected some hidden strain of folly, we have stimulated it so cunningly and with so many different inducements and in so many various ways that eventually we have discovered its nature; then, having recognized the humour for what it was, we have agitated it so thoroughly that it has always been brought to the culmination of open madness. In that way, one man turned out to be foolish in verse, another in music, another in dancing, another in ballet, another in riding and another in fencing: each according to his own innermost vibrations. And in this, as you know, we have enjoyed some marvellous entertainment. Therefore I hold this for certain: that in each one of us there is some seed of folly which, once it is stirred, can grow indefinitely. So I suggest that our game this evening should be to discuss this subject and that each one of us should answer the question: “If I had to be openly mad, what kind of folly would I be thought likely to display, and in what connexion, going by the sparks of folly which I give out every day?”; and let the same be said of all the others, following the usual order of our games, and let each of us seek to base his decision on some genuine signs and evidence. Thus each of us shall benefit from this game in finding out his faults and being able to guard against them all the better; and if the vein of folly we disclose proves so abundant that it is beyond remedy, let us encourage it and, according to Fra Mariano’s3 teaching, we shall have saved a soul, which is no little achievement.’

  The idea for this kind of game provoked a great deal of laughter, and for a while no one could stop talking. One person said that he would be foolish ‘when it came to thinking’; another ‘in looking’; yet another, ‘I’m already a fool in love’ and so forth.

  Then Fra Serafino, laughing as usual, said: ‘This suggestion would take too long, but if you want a really fine game get everyone to give his opinion why it is that almost all women hate rats and love snakes; and you’ll discover that no one will hit upon the truth except myself, for I have discovered this secret in a strange way.’

  And he had already launched into his usual nonsense when signora Emilia ordered him to keep quiet and, passing over the lady who sat next in line, made a sign to the Unico Aretino, whose turn it now was. And without waiting for anything more, he said:

  ‘I would like to be a judge with the authority to employ any kind of torture in order to extract the truth from criminals. This is so that I could reveal the deceits of a certain ungrateful woman who, with the eyes of an angel and the heart of a serpent, never says what she is thinking in her mind and who, with a feigned and deceitful compassion, does nothing but cut open human hearts. And I tell you, there is no venomous serpent in all the sands of Libya as avid of human blood as this deceiver, who is a veritable Siren not only in the sweetness of her voice and her honeyed words but also in her eyes, her smiles, her looks and in all her ways. However, since I am not allowed, as I would wish, to make use of chains, rope or fire to learn the truth about a certain thing, I would like to find it out through a game, which is as follows: namely, that each one of us should say what he believes is the meaning of the letter ‘S’ that the Duchess is wearing on her forehead.4 Although this is certainly only another cunning subterfuge, someone may chance to give an explanation for it which she has not perhaps been expecting, and it will be found that Fortune, who looks at men’s sufferings with such compassion, has led her unwittingly to reveal by this little sign her secret plan to smother with calamities and kill whoever gazes at her or serves her.’

  The Duchess burst out laughing; and then Aretino, seeing that she wished to protest her innocence, went on: ‘No, madam, it is not your turn to speak now.’

  So then signora Emilia turned to him and said:

  ‘Sir, there is no one among us who does not yield to you in everything, and especially in your knowledge of what is in the Duchess’s mind. And just as you know her mind better than the rest of us, because of your inspired understanding, so you love it more than we, who are like those weak-sighted birds which cannot look at the sun and therefore cannot know how perfect it is. So, apart from what you yourself decided, every effort we made to resolve this problem would be useless. Therefore you must undertake the task on your own, as the only one who can carry it through successfully.’

  Aretino stayed silent for a little while, and then, when he was again asked to speak, he eventually recited a sonnet on the subject he had raised, describing what was the meaning of the letter ‘S’, which many of those present thought he had made up on the spot but which others decided must have been composed beforehand since it was more ingenious and polished than seemed possible in the time.

  So then, everyone having applauded happily and praised Aretino’s sonnet, after a moment’s conversation signer Ottaviano Fregoso, whose turn it was to speak, began laughingly as follows:

  ‘Gentlemen, if I were to claim that I had never experienced the passion of love, I am sure that the Duchess and signora Emilia, even though they did not believe it, would pretend to do so, and they would argue that it was because I had always doubted whether I could ever persuade any women to love me. But to tell the truth, up to now I have never tested this so thoroughly as to have reason to despair of being able to succeed some time or other. Nor indeed have I refrained because I have such a high opinion of myself, or so little regard for women, that I doubt whether there are many among them worthy of my love and service. Rather, I have been frightened off by the endless laments of certain lovers, who are pale and sad and taciturn and who always seem to carry their unhappiness in their eyes. And when they do speak they accompany every word with repeated sighs and talk of nothing else save tears, torments, despair and their longing for death. In consequence, even if at times some amorous spark has been kindled in my heart, I have at once forced myself to do everything possible to extinguish it, not through any hatred of women, as these ladies may suppose, but for my own safety. I have also known others go to the opposite extreme from these groaners, and not only derive joy and satisfaction from the kind looks and tender words and gracious beauty of their ladies but also flavour all their unpleasant experiences with sweetness, positively relishing all their lovers’ wars and quarrels and fits of temper. Now these men seem to me to be happy beyond words: for if they derive such sweet satisfaction from the amorous outbursts that the others think worse than death, surely in the manifestations of lo
ve they should experience that supreme beatitude which we cannot find in this world. So this evening I would like as our game that each one of us should say what, if the one he loves has to be angry with him, he would want the cause of her anger to be. For if there are any here who have experienced these sweet outbursts of anger, I am sure that out of kindness they would choose one of the causes that make them so sweet. And then perhaps I shall pluck up the courage to venture further in love, in the hope of finding this sweetness for myself, where some find only bitterness. In this way, these ladies would no longer be able to slander me with the accusation that I love no one.’

  This idea was very well received, and already everyone was ready to say something on the subject. But as signora Emilia made no comment at all, Pietro Bembo, who was next in turn, spoke as follows:

  ‘Gentlemen, the game proposed by signor Ottaviano has raised no few doubts in my mind, for he speaks of the slights of love which, even though they are of various kinds, I have always found a bitter experience. And I do not think that one could learn from me anything capable of making them sweet. But perhaps they are more or less bitter according to what provokes them. For I remember once having seen the lady I was serving furious with me either through some unjustified suspicion she had concerning my loyalty or because of some other false notion given her by what someone said to spite me; and in consequence I believed that no suffering could be worse than mine, and it seemed to me that the greatest pain I felt was in suffering without deserving it and in having this affliction not through any fault of mine but through her lack of love. On other occasions I saw her angry because of some mistake I had made, and I recognized that this was my fault; and then I decided that my former misery had been nothing to what I felt now, and it seemed to me that the greatest torment possible was to have displeased through my own fault the lady I was so anxious to serve and who was the only one I loved. So I would like our game to be that each of us should say whether, if the one he loves has to be angry with him, he would want the reason for her anger to be found in her or in himself. In this way we shall establish whether it is more painful to give displeasure to the person one loves or to receive it from her.’

  Everyone was waiting for signora Emilia to answer, when without saying a word to Bembo she turned to Federico Fregoso and indicated that he should say what game he would suggest; and he immediately began as follows:

  ‘Madam, I would like to be allowed, as sometimes happens, to defer to someone else’s judgement, because for my part I would gladly approve any of the games proposed by these gentlemen, since I feel sure that they would all prove agreeable. However, so as not to evade my turn, let me say that if anyone should wish to praise our Court – leaving aside the merits of the Duchess which, together with her divine virtue, are capable of transporting the meanest spirits from earth to heaven – he would be fully justified in observing, without the slightest trace of flattery, that one would be hard put to it to find anywhere in Italy an equal number of knights as outstanding and as skilled in so many different things, apart from their main profession of chivalry, as are found here. Therefore if men are to be found anywhere who deserve to be called good courtiers and who are capable of judging what constitutes perfect courtiership, one must reasonably accept that they are with us now. So to teach a lesson to the many fools who in their presumption and absurdity think they are entitled to be called good courtiers, I would like our game this evening to be this: that one of us should be chosen and given the task of depicting in words a perfect courtier, explaining the character and the particular qualities needed by anyone who deserves such a title. And, just as in philosophical disputations, if anything is said which does not seem appropriate, each of us may be allowed to contradict.’

  Federico was continuing to speak, when signora Emilia interrupted him to say: ‘If the Duchess wishes, this will be our game for this evening.’

  And the Duchess answered: ‘Yes, that is my wish.’

  Then almost without exception all those who were present began to say among themselves and to the Duchess that this was the best game of all; and hardly waiting to hear each other talk, they all urged signora Emilia to decide who should make a start. So, turning to the Duchess, she said:

  ‘Decide, madam, who it is you wish to undertake this task; for I don’t want in choosing one rather than another to appear to be judging whom I think the most capable, and so give offence.’

  The Duchess answered: ‘No, you must make the choice yourself; and take care lest by disobeying me you set a bad example to the others to do the same.’

  Then, with a smile, signora Emilia said to Count Lodovico da Canossa:

  ‘Well, then, so that we won’t lose any more time, you will be the one to undertake the task as described by Federico. Not, let me say, that we believe you are such a fine courtier that you know what befits one, but because if you say everything contrariwise, as we hope you will, then the game will be still better since everyone will have a reason for challenging you, whereas if the task were given to someone knowing more than you do, no one could contradict anything he said, since it would be the truth, and so the game would prove very dull.’

  The Count immediately retorted:

  ‘But, madam, since you are present we need have no fear that the truth would go unchallenged.’

  After everyone had laughed at this for a while, he continued:

  ‘All the same, I would willingly be excused the labour involved, because it seems to me to be too difficult and also because I know that what you have said about me for a joke is indeed only too true, namely, that I do not know what befits a good courtier. Nor do I need to provide any proof for this other than the fact that since I do not act like a good courtier it can be judged that I do not have the knowledge. However, I think I am therefore less blameworthy, seeing that it is surely worse not to want to perform well than not to know how to do so. Still, since you want me to undertake the task, I cannot and will not refuse it, so as not to contravene either our rules or your judgement, which I value far more than my own.’

  Then Cesare Gonzaga remarked:

  ‘As it is already quite late and there are many other ways in which we can entertain ourselves, perhaps it would be as well to defer this discussion until tomorrow and give the Count time to think about what he has to say. For it is certainly very difficult to have to speak unprepared on such a subject.’

  The Count replied: ‘I don’t want to be like the man who stripped down to his shirt and then jumped a shorter distance than he had in his greatcoat. So as far as I am concerned it is very fortunate that the hour is late, because as there is little time I shall have to say far less, and not having given the matter any thought I will be held excusable and allowed to say without being censured all the things that come to my mind. And now in order not to have to carry the burden any longer, let me start by saying that to recognize true perfection in anything is so difficult as to be scarcely possible; and this because of the way opinions vary. Thus there are many who like to hear someone talking a great deal and who will call him an agreeable companion. Some will prefer reticence; others an active and restless man; others one who always acts with calmness and deliberation; and so everyone praises or condemns according to his own opinion, always camouflaging a vice under the name of the corresponding virtue, or a virtue under the name of the corresponding vice. For example, a presumptuous man will be called frank, a modest man, dull; a simple-minded man, good; a rascal, shrewd; and so on and so forth. Still, I do think there is a perfection for everything, even though it may be concealed, and I also think that this perfection can be determined through informed and reasoned argument. And since, as I have said, the truth is often concealed and I do not claim to be informed, I can only praise courtiers of the kind I esteem myself and approve what seems to my limited judgement to be nearest to what is correct; and you can follow my judgement if it seems good, or keep to your own if it differs. Nor shall I argue that mine is better than yours, for not only can you
think one thing and I another but I myself can think one thing at one time and something else another time.’

  The Count then continued: ‘So, for myself, I would have our courtier of noble birth and good family, since it matters far less to a common man if he fails to perform virtuously and well than to a nobleman. For if a gentleman strays from the path of his forbears, he dishonours his family name and not only fails to achieve anything but loses what has already been achieved. Noble birth is like a bright lamp that makes clear and visible both good deeds and bad, and inspires and incites to high performance as much as fear of dishonour or hope of praise; and since their deeds do not possess such noble brilliance, ordinary people lack both this stimulus and the fear of dishonour; nor do they believe that they are bound to surpass what was achieved by their forbears. Whereas to people of noble birth it seems reprehensible not to attain at least the standard set them by their ancestors. Thus as a general rule, both in arms and in other worthy activities, those who are most distinguished are of noble birth, because Nature has implanted in everything a hidden seed which has a certain way of influencing and passing on its own essential characteristics to all that grows from it, making it similar to itself. We see this not only in breeds of horses and other animals but also in trees, whose offshoots nearly always resemble the trunk; and if they sometimes degenerate, the fault lies with the man who tends them. So it happens with men, who, if they are well tended and properly brought up, nearly always resemble those from whom they spring, and are often even better; but if they have no one to give them proper attention, they grow wild and never reach maturity. It is true that, through the favour of the stars or of Nature, certain people come into the world endowed with such gifts that they seem not to have been born but to have been formed by some god with his own hands and blessed with every possible advantage of mind and body. Similarly, there are many to be found so uncouth and absurd that it can be believed simply that Nature was motivated by spite or mockery in bringing them into the world at all. Just as even with unceasing diligence and careful training the latter cannot usually be made to bear fruit, so with only the slightest effort the former reach the summit of excellence. And to give you an example, look at Don Ippolito d’Este, Cardinal of Ferrara, whose fortunate birth has influenced his person, his appearance, his words and all his actions. Because of this favour, despite his youth, even among the most venerable cardinals he carries such weighty authority that he seems more suited to teach than to be taught. Similarly, when conversing with men and women of every sort, when playing or laughing or joking, he has such charming ways and such a gracious manner that anyone who speaks to, or merely sets eyes on the Cardinal feels a lasting affection for him. However, to return to the subject, I say that between such supreme grace and such absurd folly can be found a middle way, and that those who are not perfectly endowed by Nature can, through care and effort, polish and to a great extent correct their natural defects. So in addition to noble birth, I would have the courtier favoured in this respect, too, and receive from Nature not only talent and beauty of countenance and person but also that certain air and grace that makes him immediately pleasing and attractive to all who meet him; and this grace should be an adornment informing and accompanying all his actions, so that he appears clearly worthy of the companionship and favour of the great.’