Chapter III: Part 3

‘The Courtier should be very heedful of his beginnings, so as
to leave a pleasing impression, and should consider how baneful
and fatal it is to fall into the contrary. And this danger do
they more than others run who make it their business to be
amusing, and assume with these their quips a certain liberty
authorizing and licensing them to do and say whatever strikes
them, without any consideration. Thus these people start off on
matters whence, not knowing their way out again, they try to
help themselves off by raising a laugh: and this also they do
so scurvily that it fails; so that they occasion the severest
tedium to those who see and hear them, and they themselves
remain most crestfallen. Sometimes, thinking thus to be witty
and lively, in the presence of ladies of honour, and often even
in speaking to them, they set-to at uttering most nasty and
indecent words: and, the more they see them blush, so much the
more do they account themselves good courtiers: and ever and
anon they laugh and plume themselves at so bright a gift which
they think their own. But for no purpose do they commit so many
imbecilities as in order to be thought “boon companions.” This
is that only name which appears to them worthy of praise, and
which they vaunt more than any other; and, to acquire it, they
bandy the most blundering and vile blackguardisms in the world.
Often will they shove one another down-stairs; knock ribs with
bludgeons and bricks; throw handfuls of dust into the eyes;
and bring down people’s horses upon them in ditches, or on the
slope of a hill. Then, at table, soups, sauces, jellies, all
do they flop in one another’s face: and then they laugh! And
he who can do the most of these things accounts himself the
best and most gallant courtier, and fancies he has gained great
glory. And, if sometimes they invite a gentleman to these their
pleasantries, and he abstains from such horse-play, forthwith
they say that he makes himself too sage and grand, and is not a
“boon companion.” But worse remains to tell. There are some who
vie and wager which of them can eat and drink the most nauseous
and fetid things; and these they hunt up so abhorrent to human
senses that it is impossible to mention them without the
utmost disgust.—“And what may these be?” said Signor Lodovico
Pio.—Messer Federico replied: “Let the Marquis Febus [da Ceva]
tell you, as he has often seen them in France; and perhaps the
thing has happened to himself.”—The Marquis Febus replied: “I
have seen nothing of the sort done in France that is not also
done in Italy. But, on the other hand, what is praiseworthy in
Italian habits of dress, festivities, banqueting, fighting,
and whatever else becomes a courtier, is all derived from the
French.”—“I deny not,” answered Messer Federico, “that there
are among the French also most noble and unassuming cavaliers:
and I for my part have known many truly worthy of all praise.
Yet some are to be found by no means well-bred: and, speaking
generally, it appears to me that the Spaniards get on better
in manner with the Italians than the French do; since that
calm gravity peculiar to the Spaniards seems to me much more
conformable to us than the rapid liveliness which is to be
recognized almost in every movement of the French race—which
in them is not derogatory, and even has grace, because to
themselves it is so natural and appropriate that it indicates
no sort of affectation in them. There are indeed many Italians
who would fain force themselves to imitate that manner; and
they can manage nothing else than jogging the head in speaking,
and bowing sideways with a bad grace, and, when they are
walking about, going so fast that the grooms cannot keep up
with them. And with these modes they fancy they are good French
people, and partake of their offhand ways: a thing indeed which
seldom succeeds save with those who have been brought up in
France, and have got into these habits from childhood upwards.”

The reader will probably agree with me in thinking that Castiglione’s own opinion is expressed here rather in the speech of Federico Fregoso than of the Marquis Febus; and that the all-accomplished Italian patrician of the opening sixteenth century by no means regarded the French as the courteous nation _par excellence_. Elsewhere it is remarked that the French recognize nobility in arms only, and utterly despise letters and literary men; and that presumption is a leading trait in the national character.

Castiglione does not seem to have entertained the same objection to gesturing that Francesco da Barberino did. In amusing narration or story-telling, at any rate, he approves of this accompaniment; speaking of people who ‘relate and express so pleasantly something which may have happened to them, or which they have seen or heard, that with gestures and words they set it before your eyes, and make you almost lay your hand upon it.’

The banefulness of a wicked Courtier is set forth in strong terms.

‘No punishment has yet been invented horrid and tremendous
enough for chastising those wicked Courtiers who direct to a
bad end their elegant and pleasant manners and good breeding,
and by these means creep into the good graces of their
sovereigns, to corrupt them, and divert them from the path of
virtue, and lead them into vice: for such people may be said
to infect with mortal poison, not a vessel of which one only
person has to drink, but the public fountain which the whole
population uses.’

[Sidenote: GIOVANNI BATTISTA POSSEVINI.]

The last two authors on our list, Giovanni Battista Possevini and Giovanni della Casa, will bring us to about the middle of the sixteenth century; beyond which I do not propose to pursue the subject of Italian Courtesy-Books. We are now fairly out of the middle ages, and in the full career of transition from the old to the new. Indeed, were it not that Della Casa’s work, _Il Galateo_, is so peculiarly apposite to our purpose, I might have been disposed to leave both these writers aside as a trifle too modern in date: but, coming closer as that does to the exact definition of a Courtesy-Book than any other of the compositions which we have been considering, it must perforce find admission here,—and a few words may at the same time be spared to Possevini, who introduces us to a special department of manners. And first of Possevini.

This writer was (like Castiglione) a Mantuan, and died young—perhaps barely aged thirty. A famous man of letters, Paolo Giovio, found him to be ‘a son of melancholy, and so learned, according to the title of Christ on the cross,[51] as to make one marvel: he is a good poet.’ The book we have to deal with is of considerable size, a _Dialogue concerning Honour_ (_Dialogo dell’ Onore_): it was published in 1553, after the author’s death, which seems to have occurred towards 1550. Possevini is charged with having borrowed freely from another writer, who devoted himself to the denunciation of duelling, Antonio Bernardi; although indeed the _publication_ of Bernardi’s book did not take place till some years after the posthumous work of Possevini was in print. The special subject of the latter, as we have said, is honour—the quality and laws of honour, with a leading though not exclusive reference to the duelling system. Many other Italian writers of this period discussed that latter question, some upholding and some reprobating the institution. Possevini is certainly not one of its adversaries, but debates many of the ancillary points with the particularity of a casuist. The few items which I shall extract are cited more as curiosities than as fairly representing the substance of the book.

[Sidenote: THE DIALOGO DELL’ ONORE.]

A man of letters affronted by a military man is not—so
Possevini lays it down—bound to call him out, for the duel
is not his vocation. If he is depreciated in his literary
character, it is in writing that he should respond: if he is
otherwise damnified, let him appeal to the magistrate. But this
latter course is not permitted to a soldier: fighting is his
business, and he must have recourse to the sword. The maxim
that, in duel, one is bound either to slay one’s adversary,
or take him prisoner, is barbarous: it should suffice to make
him recant or apologize, or to wound him, or to reduce him to
surrender and humiliation.

A man who marries a professional courtesan lowers himself; yet
not so far as that he can properly be refused as a duellist, or
as a magistrate, or in other matters pertaining to honour. A
husband who connives at his own dishonour, either by positive
intention or by stupidity exceeding a certain limit, should
be refused as above; not so a betrayed husband who has taken
any ordinary precautions. The husband who detects his wife in
adultery, without resenting it, is a dishonoured man: yet to
kill her is beyond the mark,—to divorce her, contrary to canon
law. He should obtain a legal abrogation of the wife’s dowry,
or else, as a milder course, send her back to her own people,
and have no sort of knowledge of her thenceforth.

[Sidenote: GIOVANNI DELLA CASA.]

Monsignor Giovanni della Casa, created Archbishop of Benevento in 1544, was born of noble Florentine parentage on the 28th of June 1503, and died on the 14th of November 1556. He ranks as one of the best Latin and Italian poets of his century; but some of his poems are noted for licentiousness, and are even reputed to have damaged his ecclesiastical career, and lost him a Cardinal’s hat. The works thus impugned appear all to belong to his youth. He had already obtained some church-preferment, and was settled in Rome, by the year 1538. On the election of Pope Julius III., in 1550, Della Casa lived privately in the city or territory of Venice, in great state, and distinguished for courteous and charitable munificence. Paul IV., who succeeded to the papacy in 1555, recalled him to Rome, and created him Secretary of State.

[Sidenote: THE GALATEO.]

The _Galateo_ (written, I presume, somewhere about 1550) has always been a very famous book in Italy; and of that sort of fame which includes great general as well as literary acceptance. It is a model of strong sententious Tuscan; approaching the pedantic, yet racily idiomatic at the same time. The title in full runs _Galateo, or concerning Manners; wherein, in the Character of an Elderly Man [Vecchio Idiota] instructing a Youth, are set forth the things which ought to be observed and avoided in ordinary intercourse_. The paragraphs are numbered, and amount to 180.[52] The name _Galateo_ is given to the book in consequence of a little anecdote which it introduces, apparently from real life. There was once a Bishop of Verona named Giovanni Matteo Giberti, noted for liberality. He entertained at his house a certain Count Ricciardo—a highly accomplished nobleman, but addicted (_proh pudor!_) to eating his victuals with ‘an uncouth action of lips and mouth, masticating at table with a novel noise very unpleasing to hear.’ The Bishop therefore deemed it the kindest thing he could do to have the Count escorted on his homeward way by a remarkably discreet, well-bred, and experienced gentleman of the episcopal household, named Galateo, who wound up a handsome compliment at parting with a plain exposition of the guest’s peccadillo. His own misdoing was news to the Count: but he took the information altogether in good part, and seriously promised amendment.

Let us now dip into the _Galateo_ for a few axioms; first on dining, and afterwards on other points of manners.

You must not smell at the wine-cup or the platter of any one,
not even at your own; nor hand the wine which you have tasted
to another, unless your very intimate friend; still less offer
him any fruit at which you have bitten. Some monsters thrust
their snouts, like pigs, into their broth, and never raise
their eyes or hands from the victuals, and gorge rather than
eat with swollen cheeks, as if they were blowing at a trumpet
or a fire; and, soiling their arms almost to the elbows, make
a fearful mess of their napkins.[53] And these same napkins
they will use to wipe off perspiration, and even to blow
their noses. You must not so soil your fingers as to make
the napkin nasty in wiping them: neither clean them upon the
bread which you are to eat: [we should hope not]. In company,
and most especially at table, you should not bully nor beat
any servants; nor must you express anger, whatever may occur
to excite it; nor talk of any distressful matters—wounds,
illnesses, deaths, or pestilence. If any one falls into this
mistake, the conversation should be dexterously changed:
‘although, as I once heard said by a worthy man our neighbour,
people often would be as much eased by crying as by laughing.
And he affirmed that with this motive had the mournful fictions
termed tragedies been first invented: so that, being set forth
in theatres, as was then the practice, they might bring tears
to the eyes of those who had need of this, and thus they,
weeping, might be cured of their discomfort. But, be this as
it may, for us it is not befitting to sadden the minds of
those with whom we converse, especially on occasions when
people have met for refreshment and recreation, and not to cry:
and, if any one languishes with a longing to weep, right easy
will it be to relieve him with strong mustard, or to set him
somewhere over the smoke.’ You should not scratch yourself at
table, nor spit; or, if spit you must, do it in a seemly way.
Some nations have been so self-controlling as not to spit at
all.[54] ‘We must also beware of eating so greedily that hence
comes hiccupping or other disagreeable act; as he does who
hurries so that he has to puff and blow, to the annoyance of
the whole company.’ Rub not your teeth with the napkin—still
less with your fingers: nor rinse out your mouth, nor spit
forth wine. ‘Nor, on rising from table, is it a nice habit to
carry your toothpick[55] in your mouth, like a bird which is
in nest-building,—or behind the ear, like a barber.’ You must
not hang the toothpick round your neck: it shows that you are
‘overmuch prepared and provided for the service of the gullet,’
and you might as well hang your spoon in the same way. Neither
must you loll on the table; nor by gesture or sound symbolize
your great relish of viands or wine—a habit fit only for
tavern-keepers and topers. Also you should not put people out
of countenance by pressing them to eat or drink.

‘To present to another something from the plate before oneself
does not seem to me well, unless he who presents is of much
the higher grade, so that the recipient is thereby honoured.
For, among equals in condition, it looks as if he who offers
the gift were setting himself up somehow as the superior: and
sometimes that which a man gives is not to the taste of him
it is given to. Besides, it implies that the dinner has no
abundance of dishes, or is not well distributed, when one has
too much, and another too little: and the master of the house
might take it as an affront. However, in this one should do as
others do, and not as it might be best to do in the abstract:
and in such fashions it is better to err along with others than
to be alone in well-doing. But, whatever may be the best course
in this, you must not refuse what is offered you; for it would
seem as if you slighted or reproved the donor.’

For one man to pledge another in the wine-cup is not an
Italian usage, nor yet rightly nationalized, and should be
avoided. Decline such an invitation; or confess yourself the
worse drinker, and give but one sip to your wine. ‘Thank God,
among the many pests which have come to us from beyond the
mountains, this vilest one has not yet reached us, of regarding
drunkenness as not merely a laughing-matter, but even a merit.’
The only time when you should wash hands in company is before
going to table: you should do it then even though your hands
be quite clean, ‘so that he who dips with you into the same
platter may know that for certain.’

Well-bred servitors, serving at table, must on no account
scratch their heads or any other part of the body, nor thrust
their hands anywhere under their clothes out of sight, but
keep them ‘visible and beyond all suspicion,’ and scrupulously
clean. Those who hand about plates or cups must abstain from
spitting or coughing, and most especially from sneezing. If a
pear or bread has been set to toast, the attendant must not
blow off any ash-dust, but jog or otherwise nick it off. He
must not offer his pocket-handkerchief to any one, though it
be clean from the wash; for the person to whom it is offered
has no assurance of that fact, and may find it distasteful. The
usher must not take it upon himself to invite strangers, or to
retain them to dine with his lord: if he does so, no one who
knows his place will act on the invitation.

Scraping the teeth together, whistling, screaming, grinding
stones, and rubbing iron, are grievous noises: and a man who
has a bad voice should eschew singing, especially a solo.
Coughing and sneezing must not be done loud. ‘And there is
also to be found such a person as, in yawning, will howl and
bray like an ass; and another who, with his mouth still agape,
_will_ go on with his talk, and emits that voice, or rather
that noise, which a mute produces when he tries to speak.’
Indeed, much yawning should be altogether avoided: it shows
that your company does not amuse you, and that you are in a
vacant mood. ‘And thus, when a man yawns among others who are
idle and unoccupied, all they, as you may often have observed,
yawn forthwith in response; as if the man had recalled to
their memory the thing which they would have done before, if
only they had recollected it.’ Other acts discourteous to the
company you are in are—to fall asleep; to pace about the room,
while others are seated in conversation; to take a letter out
of your pouch, and read it; to set about paring your nails; or
to hum between your teeth, play the devil’s tattoo, or swing
your legs. Also you must not nudge a man with your elbow in
talking to him. Let us have no showing of tongue, nor overmuch
stroking of beard, nor rubbing-together of hands, nor heaving
of long-drawn sighs, nor shaking oneself up with a start, nor
stretching, and singing-out of ‘Dear me!’

Having used your pocket-handkerchief, don’t open it out to
inspect it.

‘They are in the wrong whose mouths are always full of
their babies, and their wife, and their nurse. “My little
boy yesterday made me laugh so—only hear.” “You never saw
a sweeter child than my Momus.” “My wife is so-and-so.”
“Said Cecchina:[56] and could you ever believe it of such a
scatterbrain?” There is no man so unoccupied that he can either
reply or attend to such nonsense: and the speaker becomes a
nuisance to everybody.’

In walking, you should not indulge in too much action, as by
sawing with your arms; nor should you stare other passers-by in
the face, as if there were some marvel there.

‘Now what shall I say of those who issue from the desk into
company with a pen behind the ear? or those who hold a
handkerchief in the mouth? or who lay one leg along the table?
or who spit on their fingers?’

Some people offend by affected humility, which is indeed
a practical lying. ‘With these the company has a bad
bargain whenever they come to a door; for they will for no
consideration in the world pass on first, but they step across,
and return back,—and so fence and resist with hands and arms
that at every third step it becomes necessary to battle with
them, and this destroys all peace and comfort, and sometimes
the business which is in hand.’

This last caveat leads on the author to a passage of importance regarding ceremoniousness in general; from which we learn that that extreme of etiquette was still almost an innovation in Italy in the middle of the sixteenth century, and contrary to the national bias. This may surprise some readers; for certainly the courteous Italian of the later period, for all his characteristic ‘naturalness,’ has not been wanting in ceremony, and the elaboration of politeness of phrase in his writing is something observable—at least to Englishmen, the least ceremonious nation, I suppose, under heaven (and that is by no means a term of disparagement). I subjoin the passage from Della Casa, not a little condensed; followed by another, still more abridged, concerning the essence and right of elegant manners.

‘And therefore ceremonies (which we name, as you hear, by a
foreign word, as not having one of our own—which shows that our
ancestors knew them not, so that they could not give them any
name)—ceremonies, I say, differ little, to my thinking, from
lies and dreams, on account of their emptiness. As a worthy man
has more than once shown me, those solemnities which the clergy
use in relation to altars and the divine offices, and towards
God and sacred things, are properly called “ceremonies.”
But, as soon as men began to reverence one the other with
artificial fashions beyond what is fitting, and to call each
other “master” and “lord,” bowing and cringeing and bending in
sign of reverence, and uncovering, and naming one another by
far-sought titles, and kissing hands, as if theirs were sacred
like those of priests,—somebody, as this new and silly usage
had as yet no name, termed it “ceremoniousness”: I think, by
way of ridicule. Which usage, beyond a doubt, is not native to
us but foreign and barbarous, and imported, whencesoever it be,
only of late into Italy,—which, unhappy, abased, and spiritless
in her doings and influence, has grown and gloried only in vain
words and superfluous titles. Ceremonies, then,—if we refer to
the intention of those who practise them—are a vain indication
of honour and reverence towards the person to whom they are
addressed, set forth in words and shows, and concerned with
titles and proffers. I say “vain” in so far as we honour in
seeming those whom we hold in no reverence, and do sometimes
despise. And yet, that we may not depart from the customs
of others, we term them “Illustrissimo Signor” so-and-so,
and “Eccellentissimo Signor” such-a-one: and in like wise we
sometimes profess ourselves “most devoted servants” to some one
whom we would rather dis-serve than serve. This usage, however,
it is not for us individually to change—nay, we are compelled
(as it is not our own fault, but that of the time) to second
it; but this has to be done with discretion. Wherefore it is to
be considered that ceremonies are practised either for profit,
or for vanity, or by obligation. And every lie which is uttered
for our own profit is a fraud and sin and a dishonest thing
(as indeed one cannot in any sort of case lie with honour):
and this sin do flatterers commit. And, if ceremonies are, as
we said, lies and false flatteries, whenever we practise them
with a view to gain we act like false and bad men: wherefore,
with that view, no ceremony ought to be practised. Those which
are practised by obligation must in no wise be omitted; for he
who omits them is not only disliked but injurious. And thus
he who addresses a single person as “_You_” (if it is not a
person of the very lowest condition) does him no favour: nay,
were he to say “_Thou_,” he would derogate from his due, and
act insultingly and injuriously, naming him by the word which
is usually reserved for poltroons and clodhoppers. And these I
call “ceremonies of obligation”: since they do not proceed from
our own will, nor freely of our own choice, but are imposed
upon us by the law—that is, by common usage. And he who is wont
to be termed “Signore” by others, and himself in like manner
to address others as “Signore,” assumes that you contemn him
or speak affrontingly when you call him simply by his name, or
speak to him as “Messere,” or blurt out a “_You_.”[57] However,
in these ceremonies of obligation, certain points should be
observed, so that one may not seem either vain or haughty. And
first, one should have regard to the country one lives in;
for every usage is not apposite in every country. And perhaps
that which is adopted by the Neapolitans, whose city abounds
in men of great lineage, and in barons of lofty station, would
not suit the Lucchese or Florentines, who for the most part
are merchants and simply gentlemen, having among them neither
princes nor marquises nor any baron. Besides this, regard must
be paid to the occasion, to the age and condition of the person
towards whom we practise ceremony, and to our own; and, with
busy people, one should cut them off altogether, or at any
rate shorten them as much as one can, and rather imply than
express them: which the courtiers in Rome are very expert in.
Neither are men of great virtue and excellence in the habit
of practising many; nor do they like or seek that many be
practised towards them, not being minded to waste much thought
over futilities. Nor yet should artisans and persons of low
condition care to practise very elaborate ceremonies towards
great men and lords: for these rather than otherwise dislike
such demonstrations at their hands—for their way is to seek and
expect obedience more than civilities. And thus the servant who
proffers his service to his master makes a mistake: for the
master takes it amiss, and esteems that the servant wants to
call in question his mastership,—as if his right were not to
dictate and command. If you show a little suitable abundance
of politeness to those who are your inferiors, you will be
called courteous. And, if you do the same to your superiors,
you will be termed well-bred and agreeable. But he who should
in this matter be excessive and profuse would be blamed as vain
and frivolous; and perhaps even worse would befall him, for he
might be held evil and sycophantic. And this is the third kind
of ceremonies, which does indeed proceed from our will, and not
from usage. Let us then recollect that ceremonies (as I said
from the first) were naturally not necessary,—on the contrary,
people got on perfectly well without them: as our own nation,
not long ago, did almost wholly. But the illnesses of others
have infected us also with this and many other infirmities. For
which reasons, when we have submitted to usage, all the residue
in this matter that is superfluous is a kind of licit lying: or
rather, from that point onwards, not licit but forbidden—and
therefore a displeasing and tedious thing to noble souls, which
will not live on baubles and appearances. Vain and elaborate
and superabundant ceremonies are flatteries but little covert,
and indeed open and recognized by all. But there is another
sort of ceremonious persons who make an art and trade of this,
and keep book and document of it. To such a class of persons,
a giggle; and to such another, a smile. And the more noble
shall sit upon the chair, and the less noble upon the settle.
Which ceremonies I think were imported from Spain into Italy.
But our country has given them a poor reception, and they have
taken little root here; for this so punctilious distinction of
nobility is a vexation to us:[58] and therefore no one ought to
set himself up as judge, to decide who is more noble, and who
less so.—To speak generally, ceremoniousness annoys most men;
because by it people are prevented from living in their own
way—that is, prevented from liberty, which every man desires
before all things else.’

‘Agreeable manners are those which afford delight, or at least
do not produce any vexation, to the feelings, appetite, or
imagination, of those with whom we have to do. A man should
not be content with doing that which is right, but should also
study to do it with grace. And grace [_leggiadria_] is as it
were a light which shines from the fittingness of things that
are well composed and well assorted the one with the other,
and all of them together; without which measure even the good
is not beautiful, and beauty is not pleasurable. Therefore
well-bred persons should have regard to this measure, both in
walking, standing, and sitting, in gesture, demeanour, and
clothing, in words and in silence, and in rest and in action.’

[Sidenote: THE TRATTATO DEGLI UFFICI COMUNI.]

Besides the _Galateo_, Monsignor della Casa has left another and shorter _Tractate on Amicable Intercourse between Superiors and Inferiors_ (_Trattato degli Uffici Comuni tra gli Amici Superiori e Inferiori_). This deals not so much with the relation between those who are rich and those who are poor in the gifts of fortune, taken simply on that footing, as with the connection between master and servant, patron and client, magnate and dependent. The tone is grave and humane, with an adequate share of worldly wisdom interspersed. The opening is interesting and suggestive; and shows that the great ‘Servant Controversy,’ of which the pages of English daily newspapers are now almost annually conscious in the dull season, was by no means unknown to Italy in the sixteenth century:—

‘I apprehend that the ancients were free from a great and
continual trouble; having their households composed, not of
free men, as is our usage, but of slaves, of whose labour they
availed themselves, both for the comforts of life, and to
maintain their repute, and for the other demands of society.
For, as the nature of man is noble, copious, and erect, and far
more apt to commanding than obeying, a hard and odious task do
those undertake who assume to exercise masterdom over it, while
still bold and of undiminished strength, as is done now-a-days.
To the ancients, in my judgment, it was no difficult or
troublesome thing to command those who were already quelled
and almost domesticated—people whom either chains, or long
fatigues, or a soul servile from very childhood, had bereaved
of pride and force. We on the contrary have to do with souls
robust, spirited, and almost unbending; which, through the
vigour of their nature, refuse and hate to be in subjection,
and, knowing themselves free, resist their masters, or at least
seek and demand (often with reason, but sometimes also without)
that in commanding them some measure be observed. Whence it
arises that every house is full of complaints, wranglings,
and questionings. And certainly this is the fact; because we
are unjust judges in our own cause,—and, as it is true that
everybody unfairly prizes his own affairs higher than those
of others, albeit of equal value, and consequently always
persuades himself that he has given more than he has received,
the thing cannot go on _pari passu_. Hence comes the wearisome
complaint of the one, “I have worn myself out in your house;”
and the rebuke of the other, “I have maintained and fed you,
and treated you well.”’

I can afford only one more extract from this treatise; which indeed handles its general subject-matter more on the ground of fairness, good-feeling, and expedient compromise of conflicting claims, than as a question of courtesy—though neither is that left out of view.

‘In giving orders and assigning duties which have to be
fulfilled, let regard be paid to the condition of the
individuals; so that, if anything uncleanly is to be done,
that be allotted to the lowest, and it come not to pass (as
some perverse-natured people will have it) that noblemen[59]
should sweep the house, and carry slops out of the chambers.
Let not things of much labour be committed to the weak, nor the
degrading to the well-mannered, nor the frivolous and sportful
to the aged. Moreover let the masters be heedful not to impose
upon any one anything of uncommon difficulty or labour or
painstaking, unless of necessity or for some great cause; for
the laws of humanity command us not to make a call upon a man’s
diligence and solicitude beyond what is reasonable, or as if in
levity—especially if it exceeds the ordinary bounds.’

With this I shut up Della Casa’s volume, and take final leave of my reader—trusting that, after perusing, skimming, or skipping, so much matter concerning Courtesy, he will part from me on the terms of (at lowest) a ‘courteous reader,’ in more than the merely conventional sense.

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.’