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[Permission to use this text has been kindly granted by Dr. Hilary Putnam — with profound thanks]


From The Works of Aretino, Translated into English from the original Italian, with a critical and biographical essay by Samuel Putnam, Illustrations by The Marquis de Bayros in Two Volumes; Pascal Covici: Chicago; 1926; Volume II., pp. 116-148.

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THE LETTERS OF PIETRO ARETINO

Letters XL-LIX




XL

To THE COUNTESS ARGENTINA RANGONA PALAVICINA

In Which He Thanks Her for Her Continuous Gifts.

I, Signora Contessa, happening last night to lift my eyes to the stars, found myself trying to count them, and I had to laugh at myself, because it seemed to me that I was trying to count, one by one, the presents which Your Most Illustrious 117 Ladyship has made me since you were here with us. And as I was telling the joke to some gentlemen, along came your servant who brought me the snuff box with a medallion of gold and twenty-four tags, like whose which His Excellency, the count, your husband, brought me the last time he came back from France. And I, ogling it, said: “So this was lacking from all that infinite number!” So you see what a great thing it is you have done by making me this gift. How long is it since I had the two robes of silk of which you despoiled yourself the day you sent them to me? How long is it since I had the veils of gold and the rich sleeves and the most beautiful of bonnets? How long is it since you sent me the ten and ten and eight scudi? How long is it since you had the cask placed in my cellar? How long is it since you presented me with the handworked handkerchiefs? How long is it since you placed the turquoise on my finger? It is six months, rather not four. Surely, I shall drown in the deluge of your courtesy. But since I know that you would not change your consort for the emperor, I will not say it is a sin that you are not the wife of His Majesty. I believe that both you and he, in accumulating nothing, accumulate enough for yourselves; and so, you rival yourselves in giving even to him who does not ask of you. But all the lords and ladies would like to be like this and show to all fortunes the same indifference. For nearly ten years, you resided here with a throng of men and women living at your expense, and at Mestre, you had the upkeep of enough people and horses to have drained the sea of water, and not merely your purse of money. But it is true that God is the treasurer to large spenders, and it is even more clear that virtue and faith have gladly pushed the great Guido up to the heavens.


From Venice, the 22nd of May, 1537.







XLI

To MESSER AMBROGIO DEGLI EUSEBII

In Which He Dissuades Him from Taking a Wife.

I had thought, my son, that I was bringing you up in 118 poetical studies, and I find that I was supporting you in amorous employments, and when I thought I was listening to your verses I was hearing your sobs. But you would have made less of a mistake in acquiring a friend than in picking a wife. To tell you the truth, I have great compassion for you, because the man who is in love is a wretch, tormented by miserable calamities. But this comes from your not having resisted the first assaults of Love, as I warned you to do; if you had done so, you might have conquered that passion which, when its lustful desires have been satisfied, repents the pleasure it has received. When it comes to marrying, blessed are they who marry by word and refrain from marrying in fact! Do you know whom wives are good for? For those who want to become like Job, for by suffering their perfidy at home, a man is bound to suffer away from home and so become the monarch of patience. Granted that she is as beautiful as you say, you are assuring yourself of her at great peril; if she is ugly, you will become the slave of penitence. And the more you praise the sufficiency of her virtue, the more you will blame your own small judgment, for songs and letters are the keys that open the doors of their chastity. They do not regard matrimony as necessary and sacred, for the reason that their blessings are offspring, the sacraments and faith; but you will be offending the revered name of father, if you desire, by usurping it to become an irreverent son. But the worst of it is the inconvenience which she will give you and you her; for which reason, your free couch will become the servant of strife and the hospital of quarrels. The fact is, you show you are becoming an old man, since you do not always wish to appear a youth; so you had best leave the weight of a wife to Atlas’ shoulders. Leave their laments for the ears of tradesmen. Leave their caprices to the man who knows how to beat them and who can put up with them. Cling to the bough of honor, from which the man who gets into trouble over women hangs himself. Come and go from your house 119 without saying “whom am I leaving her to and with whom shall I find her,” nor let jealousy make a meal of your teeth. Be able to appear in church or in the piazzo without fear of that whispering which always goes on behind the back of the husband of any woman. And if you wish an heir, get one with other women; and if the consciousness of adultery gives you remorse, do better still and legitimatize your offspring with your own kindness and their virtue, for every good and virtuous man ennobles his own birth and puts a stop to all talk about the infamy of his mother. And if continence rules your desires, I would laud your prudence and comfort you with Poetry, to whom you are under obligations since she it was who gave you a name before you were likely to be known. Love her and devote yourself to her; if you do not, your fame, which is beginning to spread its wings, will be betrayed by yourself, if you are not ashamed even to think of leaving eternal glory for a lascivious pleasure which lasts but a day.


From Venice, the first of June, 1537.







XLII

To SIGNOR GIAMBATTISTA CASTALDO

In Which He Urges Him to Restore Her Son to Signora Flaminia.

The signora Flaminia, courteous cavalier, has sent me from Rome a second present, pleasing as the first; and he who accepts a gift from another is under obligations to that other, for gifts are the ambassadors of those who hope by means of them to gratify their desires. The short of what I have to tell you is that she, who knows by rumor how dear I am to you, has selected me to obtain from your hands her little son; and so you will pardon me if I, who do not know the causes of your separation, presume with temerity to intercede for her, for it is not right to ask friends for unjust things. Reason, I know, would dictate that, since you are possessed of every rare custom and virtue, I should urge you 120 to keep the child rather than to give him up, for he can be as much better off with you as he is sure to be worse off with her. I am quite susceptible to the supplications of mothers and the sound of the word, because they live and die in the life and death of their children and suffer in their souls when the latter are far away; and so, I beseech you, whatever you would do in this case for any one who asks you, do for me, who in this am entreated by many whom I am glad to have command me. The poor mother would like with the bridle of matrimony to rein the license of an honesty that takes no more pleasure in the delights of the world, and it seems to me that her not having him near her forbids this. But if those voices which are the affections of the soul may penetrate to the ears of God, may mine, which are formed of affection itself, reach your ears; and then they who are pressing me in this matter will have to confess that I have done what I could to console her.


From Venice, the 2nd of June, 1537.







XLIII

To MESSER FRANCESCO MARCOLINI

Of Certain First Fruits.

Surely, my good fellow, if I were in the habit of pecking at my brains as every pedant does, since the cognomen of “divine” has been tacked on the back of my name, I should believe, without doubt, that, as it was the ancient custom to offer to the gods the first fruits of earth and flock, I am, if not a half, at least a third god, in so constant a stream do your presents come, the first fruits of your hand in nature and in art. But knowing as I do that what little virtue I have merely irrigates your own divinity, in order not to become drunk with the latter, I place your gifts to the account of your being too human. You began with orange flowers to sharpen my appetite, pickling them as my maids do the caccialepri, pimpernels, dragons and a hundred other kinds of herbs, and these are offered to me in panniers and rush 121 baskets so well woven that, in accepting the salad, it is difficult to return the baskets; and your lady, who I am sure, would not make so much fuss about this, if she saw what a good time my women have in taking them. I am sure I do not know where you collect all the varieties of flowers, of violets and pears which, when they do not come bursting out of the bottle, you send to me full-flowered and odorous. Here I have bunches of sweet violets before it is yet April; and here, my lap is full of roses when there is not one to be seen, by a miracle, anywhere. Scarcely do the cherries begin to put on red cheeks before you send me my fill of ripe ones. But where did I leave those strawberries, covered with there native odor of musk? And the cucumbers, which had barely begun to bud and which my Pierina and my Catrina leaped to see? Who would not drink from the brilliant new beakers? And who would not anoint his beard and wash his hands with the oil and soap which you so often give me> And who would not clean his teeth with those toothpicks of yours? I am willing to lay a wager with any one who says I was not the one to see the first figs this season, raised in your delightful garden. And so I was first with the musk-pears, melons, plums, grapes and fish. But where are the artichokes which you for so long have sent to my table? And where the gourds which I have eaten, fried in the platter, before I would have sworn they were in bloom? Of beans, I do not speak, except to remind you in case you have forgotten. And because in all the things you have given me I have glimpsed your heart, I keep those same gifts in my own heart. And it will not be long before I shall pay you as I am able for every tuft of violets, white, vermilion or yellow, with which you have delighted me.


From Venice, the 3rd of June, 1537.







XLIV

To THE DUKE D’ ATRI

For Praising Frances I, He Wants a Fixed Stipend.

Il Comitolo, the Perugian, most illustrious prince, acting 122 for his lordship, the most illustrious Count Guido, who is with His Majesty, King Francis, has consoled me by advising me of the words which, in my behalf, your Excellency has had with Monsignor Montmorency, the great maestro of France, in the presence of Luigi Alamanni, who is honored by the world and respected by me. All of which I knew before I was told, and I was certain of it before it even occurred to me to doubt it, for your kindness is sincere, and the love you bear me a candid one. Hence, the new hope I have, thanks to your benignity, goes on its own feet, for you have made His Majesty understand that I have been, and forever shall be, his servant, since he is the subject of all the homilies and histories that constitute my work. But the fact that I am not used to living on dreams and have always looked out for myself, together with the glory he has conferred on me, has made me esteemed and well taken care of. For three years I postponed putting on the chain that was to come, and now four years have passed in which there has not come to me so much as a greeting; and so, I have given my allegiance to one who gives without promising. I speak of the emperor, the servant of Christ and lord of fate. Take the case of the Cardinal di Lorena. Seeing in my heart the image of his king, he made me presents, and because the gifts he made me were not enough, he reassured me with hopes which, dissolving into French smoke, made me despair of French affection. But whenever he gives me an honest opportunity, I shall recognize the benefit; and if the great maestro will only do what he said he would, I shall exalt him with real honors. And to what person could Alamanni be of assistance, the assisting of whom would be of more assistance to him than would the assistance which he might give to me?28 But without further assistance, I am the humble servant of His Excellency, the lieutenant-general of His Majesty, and Your Lordship’s.


From Venice, the 8th of June, 1537.






FOOTNOTE



28  A good example of Aretino’s word play.





123

XLV

To MONSIGNOR GRAN MAESTRO
          THE DUKE OF MONTMORENCY

           On the Same Subject; Four Hundred Scudi a Year.

Your Excellency probably has forgotten the affection you showed to me in the promise which you gave me of the necklace and in the letter which you addressed to me with the necklace itself; but I have never ceased to remember the favor which you did by promising it to me nor the consolation you gave me in sending it. But if God had only granted that you should remember I am your servant, even as I am always mindful that you are my lord, many things that have been said would not have been said, and many that have not been said would have been said. But the motive of the chain, I know, was that I might be quiet forever, since as he saw it, by praising His Majesty,29 I was telling a lie. But, having no respect for short measure, I have adorned all my letters with His Majesty’s name. And when the four hundred crowns a year have been given me for my living, with the truth for which I am known I will speak of the fame of your king; for I am a captain myself, and my malice does not steal soldiers’ pay, cause peoples to revolt or betray forts; but with my inky cohorts, and with the truth painted on my banners, I acquire more glory for a prince I serve than armed men do. My pen pays its honors and blame in cash. I, in a morning, without other literary employment, indulge in the praise and vituperation of those, not whom I adore and hate, but who deserve to be adored and hated. And so, keep the word which you gave in the presence of many, who are now scattered all over Italy; and I shall be all that duty may desire. This comes from the grace which the heavens have given to one most Christian, to whom all show affection and whom all call upon and desire. But if he who, not to fall away from the French nature, never remembers his friends if not in their needs — if he is desired by all, what


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Black and white lithograph by the Marquis de Bayros, of three clothed women in the dark, with a bright sun shining on a rose branch behind.



125

would he be if he were remembered for all time? In conclusion, I bow to Your Most Illustrious Excellency, in reminding you how Darius used to say that he would rather have one Zopyrus for an advocate than possess a thousand Babylons.


From Venice, the 8th of June, 1537.






FOOTNOTE



29  Charles V.







XLVI

To SEBASTIANO, THE PAINTER, BROTHER OF PIOMBO

Of the Baptism of His Own Little Daugher, Adria.

Although, father, our fraternal affection needs no other chains to bind it, I have wished also to cincture it with those of a godfather, in order that your own benign and holy way of life might become the ornament of that friendship which virtue itself has established between us eternally. It has pleased God that the child should be a woman, although I, no different from the rest of fathers, had wished it might be a man child, as if it were not the truth that daughters, all suspicion of honor aside, which must be well looked to, were not the greater consolation. Look you: the boy, at twelve or thirteen years, commences to strain at the paternal bit and, bursting out of school and the bonds of obedience, makes those who conceived and bore him sorry for it. But of more importance are the mischief and threats of mischief with which every night and day they assail their fathers and mothers, whence come maledictions and the chastisements of the justice of God. But a daughter is the couch on which, in his graying years, the one who created her takes his repose; nor does an hour pass in which her parents do not rejoice in her lovableness, who solicitously cares for them in their needs. And so, I no sooner saw a child in my own image than, putting aside all displeasure that she was not something else, I was so overcome by the tenderness of nature that at the moment I experienced all the sweetness which comes of blood ties. The fear that she might die before many more days of life caused me to have her 126 baptized at home; for which purpose, a gentleman in your stead held her in accordance with the Christian custom. I should not have acted so hastily, had I not feared from hour to hour that she would fly away to paradise. But Christ has preserved her to be the amusement of my last years and for a witness to that life which others gave to me and I to her; for all of which I give Him thanks, praying Him that I may live to see her married. In the meanwhile, I must consent to be her plaything, for we are the buffoons of our children. Their simplicity always tramples us under foot, pulls our beard, strikes us in the face, rumples our hair; for it is in such coin as this they sell the kisses and the embraces which bind us. There is no delight which could equal such a pleasure, if the fear of some misfortune to them did not constantly keep our minds perturbed. Every tear they shed, every cry they give, every sigh that comes from their mouths or their bosoms disturbs our very souls. There is not a leaf falls or a hair floats on the air that it does not seem to us a leaden weight which must fall on their heads to kill them; nor does nature break their slumber or dull their hunger without our trembling for their well-being. Yes, the sweet is strangely mixed with the bitter; and the more pleasing they are, the more acute is the jealous fear of losing them. God keep my little daughter, for she is of so gracious a disposition that, if I should lose her, I am sure I should die. Adria is her name, and she is well called that, since in the bosom of the waves by divine will she was born. And I glory in this, for this site is the garden of nature; and I, in the ten years I have lived here, have experienced more contentment than I ever should have known had I lived, despairingly, in Rome. And when fate permitted me to be in your company, I have been happy; for even though we are absent, I esteem it a great privilege to be your friend, fellow and brother.


From Venice, the 15th of June, 1537.





127

XLVII

To THE PRINCESS DI MOLFETTA

In Which He Promises Not to Speak Ill of the Ladies.

In order that Your Highness may not believe that I am one of those maestri of whom it is fitting never to speak the truth, I am writing to you, as I promised you when you were here, to assure you that I regarded it as a happiness to know you, both because of your greatness and because of the opinion which you had of me in the matter of the ladies. I, who am more theirs than are the priests or the devil’s friars, have always held them in reverence, but I have kept the thing to myself, for the reason that they have been courtesy itself in their restraint. And I deliberately refrained from praising them until one should have shown herself liberal toward me. But the divinity of the Siren was too much for my deliberation; and so, I was constrained to hymn them in the manner you know and, hymning them, to confess their merits and my own virtue, which attained the fruit it desired in drawing such stanzas from the chaste and pure love which I, paternally, bore them. But I am willing to pledge myself not to speak in the opposite manner, for you seem to be under the impression that I mishandle the ladies as I do the gentleman, whom I mistreat whenever, through the avarice of others, cricket-whims make a cage of my head, whereupon people begin to crush me with tribute. Surely, the vileness which would have lain in touching them has restrained my tongue and pen, for if this were not so, they would even now be paying me tribute as the princes do, for I would have uncovered all the altars of Naples and Milan and Mantua and Ferrara and of all Italy to find the foolish, the wise, the tradeswomen, the sibyls, the learned, those who work miracles, the ugly and some of the prodigies for the honor of the world. Oh, what a triumph would have been there! Oh, what a fine story could be made out of that! It is no little thing that I know their secrets as well as if I were their confessor. For some thought must be 128 given to the subtlety of the devil and the instability of poets; because, whenever a fit of fury assails me, behold, Rome, Bologna and everything in ruins. But there is no danger for us, since God wills that whoever has any stain in himself should fight with his chameleon nature; and indeed, looking upon your face and hearing the name which the limpid Latin pen of Nicolò Franco had given to your marvelous beauty, the sight and sound made your beauty chaste, glorious and perfect, even as you yourself are, who, by the grace of heaven and through no human favor, have been joined in matrimony to that Ferrante whose virtue harbors the mind of a Caesar. I am sure he could not be the husband of a better wife, nor you the wife of a better husband. For which reason your own Highness and his are looked upon by me with the astonishment of those who made you what you are.


From Venice, the 17th of June, 1537.







XLVIII

To MESSER FRANCESO MARCOLINI

Concerning a Volume of Letters.

With the same good will, my good fellow, with which I have given you my other works, I give you these few letters, which have been collected through the love that my young men have for the things I do. Let my reward be your appreciation of the gift, for I esteem it a greater glory to present them to others than to have composed them — fortuitously, as you know, and as for having them printed at one’s own cost and selling by one’s own solicitation the books drawn from one’s fancy, that appears to me to be a feeding upon one’s own members. And he who every evening goes to the shop to collect the sales of the day partakes of the nature of the pimp who, before he goes to bed, empties the purse of his woman. I hope, with the favor of God, that the courtesy of princes may pay me for the labor of writing and not a wretched purchaser, for I would rather endure discomfort than do wrong to virtue by reducing the liberal arts to 129 mechanics. It is obvious that those who sell their manuscripts become the porters of their own infamy. Learn to be a merchant of the useful by following the trade of a bookseller and you renounce the name of poet. It is not pleasing to Christ that that which is the function of certain beasts should be the trade of my own generous nature. A fine thing it would be if I, who spend a small treasury every year, were to imitate the gambler who places a hundred ducats on a bet and then goes home and beats his wife for not filling the lamps with cheap oil. Let them be well printed and in genteel folios; I care for no other price. And so, from hand to hand, you others shall be the heirs to that which has issued from my genius.


From Venice, the 22nd of June, 1537.







XLX

To MESSER PAOLO PIETRASANTA

Of His Own Ignorance.

If it would not be merely cutting off the heads of the hydra, I, brother, should be tempted to burn everything I have written, seeking to make myself remembered only in your letters, which I should keep, for whoever was to read those divinely intelligent words with which you are in the habit of addressing me and praising me, without reading any of my own works, would be convinced that I was another Plato. You are, surely, out of the ordinary run of lying philosophers, and you do not find it necessary to go around with elevated eyebrows and contemplative gestures. You do not babble of the grandeur of the stars nor seek to take the measure of the sun, nor do you swear that the aspects of the moon in its various phases are just what you say they are, and you do not obstinately affirm that the thunder, lightning, rain and winds, which are but the little differences which Mother Nature has with herself, must come from the causes you perceive. The reasons which you assign are not monstrous and confused. The altitude of the air and the profundity of the sea are not determined by 130 Pietrasanta. He does not square the orbit of the earth with circles or with spheres; but, on the other hand, the intellect which God has given you penetrates the nature of that same deity, until you come to understand the essential unity of the individual Trinity; and as you consider and solve the reasons of souls and bodies, you make us understand the immortality of the former and the fragility of the latter. And the sun is not so clear to us as the Sacred Scriptures are to you; the spirit of the Hebraic meanings is so well understood by you, in the acuteness of your science, that we need no other interpreter to open for us the secret truths of eternal life. The practical quality of your virtue looks to effects and deeds, and in this you observe that golden mean which is the seat of the blessed. That virtue explains to us the difficulties which we encounter in our efforts to know the Supreme Force; and so near is the doctrine of your tongue to the truth that you seem to be showing us the truth even while you are seeking to find a means of making it clear to us; whence, I may say to you that, in considering the essence of the true God, you are tasting the fruit of the tree of perfect knowledge. But how much greater an obligation do you have toward heaven than do I! for I can only open my mouth and let fall, quite by chance, weak sayings and futile words, doing with my ink on paper what those persons do with chalk who take pleasure in defacing the white walls of hostelries.30 And here, I must confess that I have, in this, some little knowledge of myself. The truth is, I have repudiated all my past compositions, and I am just beginning to learn and to write, although I am not able to do this as I ought. But my excuse must be the unfriendly fortune which has forced me to gain my bread through the industry of my pen, since I am by nature not one who would deign to procure it in any other fashion. I conclude by acknowledging all that your own graces and those of every learned man 131 deserve, for the knowledge of knowing nothing, which is in me, comes from the modesty of an occult virtue. And so, love me.

From Venice, the 23rd of June, 1537.






FOOTNOTE



30  This is a rather startling bit of self-insight. There is in Aretino, as in George Grosz, no little of the street urchin, scrawling obscenities on a wall.







L

To THE COUNT DI SAN SECONDO

The Torments of Love.

Go easy, signor, with your attempts to please me, for I would not have you so hound me with your abundance that, wishing to be a man and repay you and not being able to do so, I shall appear to you a beast. To me it is more than enough that, in writing to Signor Cosimo de’ Medici, among all the other things you had to do, you took care to remember me to him. But all else is idle talk, when one has on his back the devil of love, who, I may believe, since she does not spare my old age, does not spare your youth. What cruel nights, what fiery days, thanks to her ribaldries! I had cut down my diet in order to get thin (though I am sure it is not the food but the leisure of this city which has given me such a paunch and such an appetite); but it did not help any. I lost first one of my women and then another, until I became like a victim of plague or famine who is but the shadow of his former self. Truly, I have more pity for those who suffer from love than for those who die of hunger or who go to justice wrongly; for dying of hunger comes from idleness, and being unjustly punished is the result of an evil fate; but the cruelty which falls on the head of an innamorato is an assassination, slaying his faith, his solicitude and the service he should render himself. I have always found myself, and find myself still, and always shall find myself, thanks to God’s grace and my own, without money, on the verge of losing patrons, friends and relatives, in imminent danger of death, burdened with debt or facing a thousand other catastrophes; and my conclusion is that all these other pains are as sweet as sugar in comparison with 132 the hammerings of jealousy, expectation, lies and deceits, which crucify the days and nights of one in love. Desire is poison at lunch and wormwood at dinner; your bed is a stone, friendship is hateful and your fancy is always fixed on one thing; until I am astonished that it is possible for the mind to be in so continuous a tempest without losing itself in the eternal battle of its thoughts, which make it pursue the loved object while it tears out its own heart. All this would be amusing enough, if there were in women some little recompense. But they, playing an amorous game of cards, discard, every time, their aces and their kings. But a certain thing which a Perugian said ought to be carved in letters of gold. He had come out of a love affair with a lady-friend with so bad a case of syphilis that he would have been the despair of the wood of India; he was covered with it, from head to foot, very bestially. It had embroidered his hands, enameled his face, bejeweled his neck and strung his throat with coins, so that he looked as though he were made of mosaic. And being in this sorry plight, he was seen by one of those . . . you understand; and after the usual marvelment and consolations, the fellow said: “Brother, it would have been a good thing for you, if you had learned my art!” “I wish to Christ I had!” replied the other, “since it was for this hide that I have sacrificed a hundred times to our Saint Arcolano; but because God was not pleased with my pledge, you see what happened to me.” And ending on this parable, I will commend myself to Your Lordship.


From Venice, the 24th of June, 1537.







LI

To MESSER NICOLÒ FRANCO

Against Rhetoric.

Follow the path that nature shows you, if you wish your writings to stand out from the page on which they are written, and laugh at those who steal famished words, because there is a great difference between imitators and 133 thieves, and it is the latter whom I damn. Gardeners scold those who trample the herbs to gather their condiments and not those who pluck them gracefully, and they make a sour face at those who, to get the fruit they want, break the branches and and not at those who pick two or three plums, scarcely moving the boughs. I tell you most assuredly that, with the exception of a few, all the others are bent on stealing and not on imitating. Tell me: is not the thief, who transforms the habit he has stolen so he can wear it without its being recognized by its owner, a man of more genius than the one who, being unable to conceal his theft, gets caught at it? You heard the other day, when Grazia read us the divine Sperone’s great dialogue, a remark from the eloquent mouth of my Fortunio to the effect that it sounded as though Plato, in certain places, had been the imitator; and he said this because the author had made his own the passages he had made use of. Look you: the nurse instructs the infant she nourishes, taking his feet and teaching him to walk, putting her own smile into his eyes, her own words upon his tongue, her own manners into his gestures until Nature, as he grows older, teaches him attitudes of his own. And he, little by little, having learned to eat, to walk and to talk; forms a series of new customs; and leaving the embrace of his nurse, he puts into operation his own native habits; and so it is with all of us; we retain only so much of our early instruction as birds do a knowledge of the mother and father from whom they fly away. This he must do who would amount to anything as a poet and, taking only a spiritual inspiration, he should emerge with a harmony formed by his own proper organs. For the ears of others are now satiated with “needs-be’s” and “otherwise’s,” and the sight of them in a book moves us to laughter in the same manner as would a cavalier who was to appear in the piazza all decked out in armor, with golden egrets and a trencher cap; we would say that such a man was mad or masquerading. And yet, in another age, this was the apparel of Duke Borso and of Bartolomeo 134 Coglioni. Of what use are those pleasing colors which are employed to paint designless clusters of little boughs? Their glory lies in the enlarged use which Michelangelo makes of them, who so employs nature and art that it is hard to say who is the master and who is the disciple. Another would have him, since he is a good painter, counterfeit a piece of velvet or a belt-buckle! “The truth is in fools,” said Giovanni da Udine31 to some persons who were amazed at his miraculous grotesques in the loggia of Leo and the vineyard of Clement. And to tell you the truth, Petrarch and Boccaccio are imitated by those who would express their conceits with the same sweetness and light32 with which Petrarch and Boccaccio express theirs; you will not find the latter imitated by the man who would plunder them, not of their “wherefore’s” and their “whence’s,” their tricks and qualifications, but of the poetry that is in them. And when the devil blinds us to the point where we run away bodily with some one, forcing us to imitate Virgil, who stole from Homer, or Sanazaro, who cheated on Virgil, the sin is pardoned us. But the faecal blood of pedants who would poetize feeds on imitation, and while they cackle away in their worthless books, they transfigure the works they imitate into locutions, which they embroider with phthisical words, according to rote. O wandering tribe, I tell you, and I tell you again, that poetry is a whim of Nature in her lighter moods; it requires nothing but its own madness and lacking that, it becomes a soundless cymbal, a belfry without a bell. For which reason, he who would compose without taking beauty out of its swaddling clothes is nothing more than a cold potato. Any one who doubts may make the matter clearer to himself by means of the following analogy: the alchemists who, with all imaginable industry, employ the imagination of art for the satisfaction of their own patient avarice, never succeed in producing gold, but merely 135 a good imitation; whereas nature, giving herself not the least trouble in the world, brings it forth fine and pure. Take a lesson from what I am going to tell you of that wise painter who, when asked whom he imitated, pointed with his finger to a crowd of men, inferring that he drew his models from life and truth, as I do when I speak and write. Nature herself, and Simplicity, her handmaid, give me what I put into my compositions, and my own fatherland unloosens the knots in my tongue when it tries, superstitiously, to twist itself into foreign chatterings. In short, anyone who soils paper can use “chente” and “scaltro” for “agente” and “paziente”. But do you look to the nerves and leave the skin to the tanners of literature, who stand there begging a penny’s worth of fame with the genius of a highwayman — not that of a learned man, such as you are. It is true that I imitate myself, since Nature as a companion is a large order and art is, of necessity, a clinging beetle. But I advise you to strive to become a sculptor of the senses, and not a miniaturist of vocabularies.


From Venice, the 25th of June, 1537.






FOOTNOTES



31  The painter.

32  con la dolcezza e con la leggiadria.





LII

To SIGNOR GIROLAMO DA CORREGGIO

Fishes and Wine.

I have tried out the fish you sent me, along with those which I received from the Count Lodovico Rangone da Roccabianca, and both have the same delicate, juicy flavor. And you may believe me that, even if they were half spoiled and had lost their freshness, they were dearer to me than the presents of cash and goods which the princes give me. And as I shared with others the bergamot pears which the signora Veronica sent me, I have done the same with the fishes. It seemed to me, as I made a meal of them, that I was eating the apples which caused Adam, of blessed memory, to fall, and Adam would have been astonished to find himself in such a terrestrial paradise as this; for Corregio 136 is the inn to all who would hoist a flank without paying the hostler. Surely, whoever did him wrong would be committing a sin, for he is the vagabonds’ garden of refuge, and if the world liked to wear bouquets, it would carry him in its hand as the prize gilly-flower. You well know our Messer Giambattista Strozzo, pater patriae, who would make a man with his belly full die of hunger, by sharpening the appetite with the praises which he gives to his own wines, breads, roasts, melons and all the luxuries of the palate. And he is so obstinate in his contentions, that if your mother had not sent me those casks of white and red wine, the impression would have gone abroad that I did not believe in the perfection of such a country as yours. The Count Claudio Rangone sent me some of his wine from Modena, and it was very gentle; but it did not have so clear a color or so biting a taste as yours. I am sure that, in Your Lordship’s land, Bacchus must long since have been canonized, and the aforesaid Strozzo still goes on trying to convince me that he is the lieutenant of Parnassus, but meanwhile, I am plucking the flowers of your own poetic divinities.


From Venice, the 29th of June, 1537.







LIII

To THE MAGNIFICENT OTTAVIANO DE’ MEDICI

On the League Against the Turks.

Upon seeing, my lord, and having counted out to me by the gentle Messer Francesco Lione the fifty scudi which Duke Cosimo, by your leave, has been generous enough to present me, my conscience itself was ashamed and that is the reason why I have been so restrained, though I ought not to have doubted the liberality and the love of the son of such a father. It was the office of a prudently discreet man to wait his time to remind you of the old and new bonds of service; but since it is a common though vicious error, the adulations of hope and the stimulus of need call for pardon, and I am sure these spurs will win a pardon for me in this 137 case. On the other hand, the courtesy which His Excellency has shown me is a good augury for the beginning of his rule, for none but the best princes and those who reign by the election of God and the counsels of the best men, pay tribute to me, overcoming, thus, hatred and pertinacity with clemency and kindness, like those of that great youth whose praise will always be the food of my labor. You may be assured that my work will have a bearing upon the name and rank of His Most Illustrious Lordship, as will be seen in the copious letters I have written to Caesar, a collection of which I propose to sent to the magnanimous Signora Maria, who is, perhaps, a bit thoughtful in all these tumults provoked by the Turks and the French, tumults which shatter the ears of the world, and which are like the winds and waves, which, raging about the reefs, drive all ships to port. For my part, I believe that God consents to this in order to glorify the power of the religious Venetians, for whose incredible preparations the bosom of all the seas is not large enough; and it is nothing short of a miracle, the way in which this city of Christ provides itself with money, not for war (for she is at war with none), but in order to guard herself against those who would declare war upon her,33 and this it is which accounts for her streets being filled with pomp and joy and senators. The other states raise their funds by impost, amid great confusion and the laments of their people; but here, there is as much rivalry in finding gold as there is in bartering dignities. For the prudence of the Emperor Charles may boast that it has been wise in knowing and cherishing this city. And it is generally conceded that St. Marks’ is the fatal comb which Fortune wears on her forehead, and from it hang victories and defeats.


From Venice, the first day of July, 1537.






FOOTNOTE



33  From which it may be seen, the doctrine of “preparedness” is at least as old as the sixteenth century.





138

LIV

To CAESAR

Exhortations and Counsels.

There is no doubt that emperors and kings are elected of God34; and for this reason, they are sacred and adored, as figures drawn of that Image of which we are able to make only a conjecture; and from this source comes their faculty of listening to and consoling their subjects, with their royal grace and their benefits. He who ascends the throne violently through the force or the favor of others, either reigns with infamy or brings ruin and vituperation on himself; but those who receive their sceptre from the supernal will shall rule for all eternity. Did not your power, achieving the impossible, seat Alessandro against the will of fate? And he rules only so long as your fortune sustains him, and lacking your aid, he must fall. But even if the shadow of fate is against us, will it be easy to stop Duke Cosimo, when we have the consent of Christ and of Caesar? Who can deny that divine choice has placed him where his thoughts are fixed? For which reason, we may liken him to David, called from his flocks to a kingdom by the signs of God’s will. He, being a lamp of virtue and of goodness, sustained by a pilgrim spirit, will find his whole mind inflamed, his will warm, his heart ardent and his mind fervent in your service. You do not raise to greatness a corrupt person, who has need of a lordship and the high regard of others, but one from whom something may always be hoped, not feared, one who shall be a prince and not a tyrant, one who will know how to give to his subjects and not steal from them, one who will know how to confer honor upon them and not shame, one, in short, who will know how to caress and how to correct. For this the peoples, who by nature love quiet, will adore your modesty alone; and that force, which sometimes forces a prince to be other than good, will be so tempered with good sense that it will be held perfect in the execution of 139 your procedures, and you shall surely be better known for the goodness of your mind than for the pomp of your dominion. Do not delay, then, in giving to one who has not delayed his gifts even to the barbarians, so that all the nations may be astonished by the magnificence of the holy emperor who, in making largess of what he received from the crown of Tunis, comes near clinging to God by the skirts since he who gives largely is very near to God.

But this would be all too little reward for the immense affection and the firm faith which have saved Florence for you, giving to you alone the State. It is a thing worthy of your mind, of your greatness, and of the merits of those who hold it a liberty to serve you to join him in matrimony with your own glorious daughter, who, by taking any other title, would be, perhaps, untrue to her fate, which has destined her to be the queen of our hearts and hopes, and whom we should very much like to have live under the just laws of the House of Medici, that house whose power is already known to Austria, which has been cast down by the arm of Augustus in his own blood. For no other reason did heaven permit the death of the former duke, than to make clear how you should be incarnated in Tuscan flesh, for otherwise, you would never believe, and others would never be able to show you, how dear you were and are to us. And so, with swift deliberation, give to your daughter a consort, to the city a patron and to your friends contentment. See the good Cosimo who, silent in his uprightness, is waiting expectantly to be consoled by that grace which you should scatter over him; for the good wish for it, the times demand it, and so it ought to be. Furthermore, if no one else merited so great a gift as this from so great a monarch, he would merit it from the fact that he does not come of an adulterous parentage, but one illustrious by the virtues of the father and the mother. His father, surely, was the terror of men, and his mother the astonishment of the ladies. Thus, in doing this, you accomplish many laudable effects. By doing 140 so, you reward the efforts of his parents, elevate the purity of their offspring and avenge yourself and us against fate and envy; you avenge yourself by making him your son-in-law, in place of the one whom fate and envy have taken from you; and you avenge us by giving us a lord in place of the one whom they stole from us. You should take into consideration, above all, the fact that such a betrothal would restore the heart, refresh the mind and revive the voice of those who adore you; and, at the same time, would cut out the eyes, tear out the tongue and bind the arms of those who hate you; the nights do not flee so quickly as hope dries in the hand, and so, we have no recourse but your mercy; none in our armies. Any delay in this matter is a torment to Caesar’s servants and a joy to his adversaries. Bending then, on my knees in reverence to that Majesty, I ask your Majesty if it is honest that the most just Charles, by delaying, should make a feast for his enemies and bring woe to his friends.



From Venice, the 6th of July, 1537.



FOOTNOTE



34  And the “divine right of kings” is somewhat older than James I.







LV

To MESSER GIOVANNI POLLASTRA

In Which He Refuses a Dedication.

The great good will which you have for me, my good fellow, sometimes causes the great love I bear you to be too sure of itself; and so, I become lazy, where I ought to be solicitous by visiting you with my letters at least twice a month. And I do this because the security which, for so many years, I have felt with regard to you promises me that, whether I write to you or not, I am always in your heart, neither more nor less than if I wrote every day; and so, from being your loving brother, by this I ought to become a hateful villain. But that such is not the case, I am assured by my friend, Messer Tarlato Vitali, whom, upon is leaving here, I commissioned to take to you my fraternal kisses; and since I know him to be a very courteous gentleman, I am sure he 141 he has already done so. But do you really believe that I am as lacking in affection as I am in words? I swear to you, by that fervent and most tender love which I bear my little daughter, whom God has given me for a solace to my old age, that where your interest is concerned, spilling water is to me like spilling blood, and I hold you in my heart in the same place of pre-eminence which I reserve for my service to Caesar. I keep my friends as misers do their treasure, because, of all the things granted us by wisdom, none is greater or better than friendship. It is an honest union of eternal wills, and in virtuous and just men it has no end, even as it shall have no end with us, for as we go on loving each other, we keep it always laden with its own fruits. I am admonished, in every manner possible, by the reproof I feel in not having written you twice since I have been here; but something, I do not know what, in the memory I hold of you, even as I read your words, has refused to unloose my tongue, and only with labor has consented that I take my pen and tell you how in the work you have addressed to me appears the love you bear your country, the charity which you show a friend and your own innate greatness of soul. But it would be a great temerity in me to accept your dedication, sensing myself to be a person of no rank and a man of small merit. And so, I advise you to turn to the Marchese del Vasto,35 or to whomsoever may appear to you better fitted to receive the fruit of your labors; to me, it is enough to have the certainty of your good opinion, which, in the benignity of your judgment, has adjudged me worthy of being honored by the writings which come from your fertile genius. In place of this, do me the favor before you die of letting me see some of your verses. If you can do so without the inconvenience of coming here and returning to your home again, you ought to have some of your verse and prose printed. I tell you, this is an age in which the work of any one, no matter who 142 he is, is not taken by the printers as a gift, and if you do not pay their terms, you can get no service on your own. And so, listen to me as though I were speaking in your own person, and for the sake of a little money, do not resist the temptation to have an impression made of those Trionfi, of the body of which I should like to see at least a member, as I have told you. Let me be your messenger in the matter, if you love me as I love you, and as I shall love you so long as I am able to love myself.


From Venice, the 7th of July, 1537.






FOOTNOTE



35  The pompous old marquis, to whom Aretino ended by dedicating his own Marfisa. See Introduction.







LVI

To MESSER AGOSTINO RICCHI

Winter and Summer.

If science and learning were dearer than life, I, my son, should exhort you to the accustomed tasks; but, since living is of the greater moment, I beseech you to come here with us where, without disturbing your memory with the deviltries of Aristotle, you may study to be healthy while the dog days36 are on, which are very trying on the person and the patience. I, for my part, take more pleasure in seeing the snow falling from heaven that I do in feeling myself wounded by the gentle breezes. Winter impresses me as an abbot who, floating at his ease in the heavens, likes to eat, sleep and to do, with a little too much relish, that other thing. His case is like that of a rich and noble prostitute who, disgusted, throws herself down and, sprinkled with foul smells, does nothing but drink and drink some more. And all the fresh wines and gaily bedecked rooms, all the artificial fans and foods of June and July, are not worth a mouthful of that greasy bread which is eaten before the fire in December or January, while one drinks with it a few musty cups and, in stooping to turn the roast, detaches for himself a bit of salt fried pork, without any thought of mouth or fingers, though the latter are cooked in the course 143 of the theft. At night, you enter where the warming pan has done advance service for you, and you take your companion in your arms, all cozily under the covers, and she warms you with her own temperamental heat; while the rain, the thunder and the fury of the north wind merely assure you an unbroken sleep till morning. But who could endure the bestial entertainment of the fleas, bedbugs, gnats and flies and all the other annoyances of the summer season? You lie on the sheets, naked as a new born babe, dependent for a fan upon the mocking services of a treacherous family servant, who leaves you planted37 there as soon as he thinks your eyes are closed; and you wake up in the middle of the finest sleep and turn over on your other side to seat some more; you take a drink, sigh and, turning over again, you long to flee from yourself and, if possible, to disappear from your own sight, so great is the importunity of the heat, which annihilates you in a universal perspiration. And if it were not that the memory of watermelons, those pimps of the palate, assailed you, which is the only thing that makes their summer temple desirable, you would flee the heat as knaves do the cold. There are those who like the season on account of the abundance of its fruits, lauding the cherries, the figs, the fishes and the eggs; as if the truffles and the olives of winter were not worth more than all those things. And there is quite a different sort of conversation around a fire than there is in the shadow of a beech tree,38 for in the latter place a thousand harlot appetites attack one. In such a case, there is a call for the song of birds, the murmur of waters, the sighing of zephyrs, the freshness of a lawn and similar conceits; but four dry logs have in them all the circumstance necessary to a conversation of four or five hours, with chestnuts on the plate and a jug of wine between the legs. Yes, let us love winter, for it is the spring of genius. But to come back to ourselves, I tell you, you ought to come 144 straight off, for our Messer Nicolò Franco, a most learned and the best of youths, has found a little room outside in which he can sleep. I have nothing more to say to you, unless you choose to remember me to Signor Sperone and to Ferraguto.


From Venice, the 10th of July, 1537.






FOOTNOTES



36  rabbia del caldo.

37  Che ti pianto, etc.

38  Cf. Virgil [Eclogues I.]: “sub tegmine fagi.







LVII

To MESSER TARLATO VITALI

On Seing One’s Native Land Again.

If, my brother, a man of some merit, desiring to rid himself of all cares and to taste an interior contentment, were to go back to see his native land once every ten years, there is no doubt that, in the brief space of fifteen days, he would experience all that beatitude which souls feel when they return to heaven. For the love of relatives and the charity of friends takes you into the arms of good will with so much gentleness and joy that the spirit, drunk with such affections, sees nothing and tastes nothing except the well-being and the welcome which it receives from one and the other; and, finding nothing but courtesy and honor, a day seems to him an hour, as he delights in the streets which he has not seen for so long a time; it appears to him that he receives a heart-felt greeting from every citizen, and that every one, from the lowest to the highest, receives him as a companion or superior. For a smile which shows you the face of your own fatherland elevates you more than the ranks which others confer on you, and a “good-day” from an old neighbor is worth more than a reward from this prince, or from that, and the soul senses more joy in glimpsing the smoke from the paternal hearth than it takes in the flames kindled by the glory of its own virtues. But he who would not lose an iota of this felicity, does not burden others with his presence overmuch, giving them a chance to take his measure; but rather, by making a famine of himself upon his return, creates in those of quality and benignity, who hold him so 145 dearly and who look upon him with so much good will, the desire of seeing more of him. Your gentleness would always find a kind and reverent reception from the aretini, and when you had stayed a century, it would seem, upon your departure, that you had been with us but a month. And if my people cannot be consoled with your presence, since you are not always able to put yourself out on account of us, may we at least see the proofs of your affection in those fresh wines and precious fruits, for I cannot compete with you in the delights in which that province of yours abounds. It is true, Messer Francesco Bacci was recently here, and we were able, in embracing him, to show the sort of brotherly love there is between us, a love which, it may be said, beginning in the cradle, has reached the height of perfection, nor is there any possibility of its ever being broken, even by death. And you said as much to him of me. To Eugenia, your daughter, I say the same, although I am sure she has forgotten me, as has her husband, although Madonna Tita, her mother, will swear that I am wrong in thinking such a thing. I would have you, then, remember me to them, as would the one who is more than a daughter to me and her sister, Lucretia, and Girolamo, their brother, who has promised to supply me with watermelons night and morning. I hope you keep well; as for me, I have had three most dangerous attacks of fever, from which I only escaped by the grace of God and not thanks to my having observed the doctor’s orders.


From Venice, the 13th of July, 1537.







LVIII

To SIGNOR MARIO BANDINI

He Prophesies to Cardinal Piccolomini That He Will Become Pope.

I, Captain, would not excuse my not having replied at once to your letter, which was not less gracious than it was gentle, by the fact that I have been very busy or the fact 146 that I have been ill, for I ought to put work aside and forget the fever in order to return the kindness of such a cavalier as you, showing you by my good faith that you are as near my heart as those who do not imitate you in virtue and gentleness are far from mind. If it were permitted to advise God and to give laws to heaven, I should say that God and heaven, for the common welfare, as soon as the pontiff’s seat is vacant by death, ought to take your uncle for the place, so that Rome once more might adorn itself with that joy, those pomps and that spirit of which ugliness of mind on the part of others has deprived it. Certain it is, fortune may make a prince of a plebeian, but over nature it has no jurisdiction. And so it is, he who is born without a generous zeal, the greater the altitude to which he is raised, the more he is abased; for blood that thinks it is made illustrious through the favor of fate, becomes obscure; becoming villainous, it is interred with its titles and cognomens. But are you reading what I write to you without taking from it an augury of your future felicity? I have said so many true things in my day, that I will say one more; and that is, that, by the virtue which he inherits from the two Pii, if Cardinal Piccolomini were to succeed them, it would be no miracle but something which had to happen. I was with the great Giovanni de’ Medici at Fano, when he swore to me that if Jesus ever did him a favor, it was in blessing him with me; and yet, I believe I was soon out of his fancy, for such a one as he does not remember even himself. But, on the other hand, I, who am become so much yours that I no longer appear to have a part in myself, after thanking you for the courtesy you have shown in writing me, would pray you not to disdain my services, which shall be prompt in pleasing you. And in case you write to the valorous Archbishop of Siena, your brother, not because I deserve it, but because you are kindness itself, remember me to him. But look you, even as I close this page, my dear and rare Varchi appears and, upon glimpsing the superscription, restrains the reproofs 147 he was about to address to me, for he believed, as you yourself must have done, that I had forgotten my duty in not replying to your courteous Lordship.


From Venice, the 15th of July, 1537.







LIX

To MESSER ANTONIO GALLO

In Which He Exhorts Him to Cultivate Poetry with Originality.

With that good face, my delicate youth, with which one plucks and tastes the first fruits of the year, I took and read your words, pleasing and savorous as the most pleasing and savorous apples that ever were tasted. And I have taken no less pleasure in your own writing than in the wonderment which you express at mine, according to what you tell me; for the deep and gentle love I bear you in my heart, the rare virtue of poetry that is in you, and your manners, which are so richly adorned, are the causes which impel me to praise you and to exhort you to continue your studies, since to tire himself in studies is the duty of him who, with glory, has begun to climb the ladder of fame. And so, flee laziness, which, while it produces an immediate delight, ends in the sorrow of repentance. And know that nature without exercise is a seed shut up in the pod, and art without practice is nothing. Be, then, assiduous in composition, if you would be the best of poets, and above all, see to it that you steal fine strokes and the spiritual acuteness from your own genius, for he is certainly mad who thinks he can make a name for himself through the labors of others. Strive to draw your conceits from your own thoughts, which are born in you out of memory, while you are engaged in raising yourself to the heights, with the fury of Apollo. Doing this, your judgment will find satisfaction in its own works, and you will be baptized as a son of the muses, and not as the offspring of literary thefts.

And now, speaking of something else, I will say that the 148 signor Guidobaldo would not be the son of so great a father, if he were not constantly mindful of the services and the virtue of others, as he is mindful of myself and of Lione: of me, on account of the desire I always had to obey his wishes; of Lione, on account of the life-like medallion which the latter has made of him, and which is one of my own possessions. Wherefore, I pray God that our gratitude may be equal to his Excellency’s goodness. And when we can do no more, we will consecrate to him our good intentions, beseeching your gentle breeding to keep us in your honored graces, trusting that you will take comfort in regarding the person, aside from those accidents and disorders which are the pleasurable food of youth. Adieu.


From Venice, the 6th of August, 1537.






[Letters LX-LXXIX]






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