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. 180-211.
[180]THE LETTERS OF PIETRO ARETINO
To MESSER DOMENICO BOLANI
Description of the House Which He Had Rented of Him.55
It would appear to me, honored gentleman, a sin of ingratitude, if I did not pay in praises the debt I owe to the divinity of the place in which your house is situated, where I dwell with all the pleasure that there is in life, for its site is the most proper, being neither too high up nor low down. I am as timorous about entering upon its merits as one is about speaking of those of the emperor. Certainly, he who built it picked out the best spot on the Grand Canal. And since it is the patriarch of streams and Venice the popess of cities, I can say with truth that I enjoy the finest street and the pleasantest view in the world. I never go to the window that I do not see a thousand persons and as many gondolas at the hour of market. The piazze to my right are the Beccarie and the Pescaria;56 as well as the Campo del Mancino, the Ponte and the Fondaco dei Tedeschi; and where these meet, there is the Rialto, crowded with men of business. Here, we have the grapes in barges, the game and pheasants in shops, the vegetables on the pavement. Nor do I long for meadow streams, when at dawn I wonder at the waters covered with every kind of thing in season. It is good sport to watch those who bring in the great stores of fruit and vegetables passing them out to those who carry them to their appointed places! All is bustle, except the spectacle of the twenty or 181 twenty-five sail boats, filled with melons which, huddled together, make, as it were, an island in the middle of the multitude; but then comes the business of counting, sniffing and weighing them, to judge their perfection. Of the beautiful housewives, shining in silk and superbly resplendent in gold and jewels, not to appear to be indulging in an anticlimax, I refrain from speaking. But of one thing I shall speak, and that is of how I nearly cracked my jaws with laughter when the cries, hoots and uproar from the boats was drowned in that of grooms at seeing a bark-load of Germans, who had just come out of the tavern, capsized in the cold waters of the canal, a sight that the famous Giulio Camillo and I saw one day. He, by the way, used to take a delight in remarking to me that the entrance to my house from the land-side, being a dark one and with a beastly stair, was like the terrible name I had acquired by revealing the truth. And then, he would add that any one who came to know me would find in my pure, plain and natural friendship the same tranquil contentment that was felt on reaching the portico and coming out on the balconies above. But that nothing might be lacking to my visual delights, behold, on one side, I have the oranges that gild the base of the Palazzo dei Camerlinghi and, on the other side, the rio and the Ponte di San Giovan Grisostomo. Nor does the winter sun ever rise without entering my bed, my study, my kitchen, my other apartments and my drawingroom. But what I prize most is the nobility of my neighbors. I have opposite me the eloquent, magnificent and honored Maffio Lioni, whose supreme virtues have taught learning, science and good manners to the sublime intellect of Girolamo, Piero and Luigi, his wonderful sons. I have also His Serene Highness, my sacramental and loving godfather, and his son. I have the magnanimous Francesco Moccinico, who provides a constant and splendid board for cavaliers and gentleman. At the corner, I see the good Messer Giambattista Spinelli, under whose paternal roof dwell my friends, the Cavorlini (may God pardon fortune 182 for the wrong done them by fate). Nor do I regard as the least of my good fortune the fact that I have the dear Signora Iacopa, to whom I am so used, for a neighbor. In short, if I could feed the touch and the other senses as I feed the sight, this house which I am praising would be to me a paradise, for I content my vision with all the amusement which the objects it loves can give. Nor am I at all put out by the great foreign masters of the earth who frequently enter my door, nor by the respect which elevates me to the skies, nor by the coming and going of the bucentaur,57 nor by the regattas and the feast days, which give the Canal a continuously triumphal appearance, all of which the view from my windows commands. And what of the lights, which at night are like twinkling stars, on the boats that bring us the necessities for our luncheons and our dinners? What of the music which by night ravishes my ears? It would be easier to express the profound judgment which you show in letters and in public office than to make an end of enumerating all the delights my eyes enjoy. And so, if there is any breath of genius in my written chatterings, it comes from the favor you have done me — not the air, not the shade, not the violets and the greenery, but the airy happiness I take in this mansion of yours, in which God grant I may spend, in health and vigor, the remainder of those years which a good man ought to live.
From Venice, the 27th of October, 1537.
55 See Hutton’s chapter.
56 The meat and fish markets.
57 The state barge.
To TRIBOLO, THE SCULPTOR
On the “St. Peter, Martyr” of Titian.
Messer Sebastiano, the architect, knowing the great delight I take and the small judgment I possess in sculpture, pleased me much by making me see, through his description, the facile manner in which the folds of the Virgin’s robe fall58 183 in the work of genius which you dedicated to me. He described to me also how languidly the members of Christ droop, the dead Christ whom you, with a fine stroke of art, have placed in her lap; and he did it so vividly that I beheld the affliction of the mother and the misery of the son before I really saw them. As he told me of the wonderful work you had done, I thought of the author of that San Pietro Martire. You remember how astonished you and Benvenuto59 were upon looking at it. Closing, in the presence of such a work, your physical and mental eyes, you felt all the living terrors of death and all the true griefs of life in the forehead and the flesh of the one who had fallen to the ground, and you wondered at the cold and livid appearance of the nose and the bodily extremities; nor could you restrain an exclamation when, upon beholding the fleeing multitude, you perceived in their countenances a balance of vileness and fear. Truly, you pronounced a right judgment upon my great table when you told me it was not the most beautiful thing in Italy. What a marvelous group of cherubs in the air, amid the trees which shelter them with their trunks and leaves! What a wonderfully simple and natural landscape! What mossy stones that water bathes which issues here from the brush of the divine Titian! Who, in his benign modesty, salutes you most warmly, proffering himself and anything he has, swearing there is no equal to the affectionate interest he takes in your fame. Nor can I tell you how eagerly he awaits seeing the two figures which, by your own choice, you have decided to send me: a gift which, I assure you, shall not be passed over in silence nor with ingratitude.
From Venice, the 29th of October, 1530.
58 It is interesting here to compare the things which the early Cubists [see Salmon] found, or thought they found, in El Greco. See also what Roger Fry says of El Greco [“Vision and Design”].
To MESSER BERNARDO NAVAIERO
In Praise of Venice.
Your literate and laudable testimonial, excellent youth, 184 together with that of the honored Messer Girolamo Quirini, is well adapted to make clear to others how, in the breasts of the chieftains who have been elected to admonish and to punish, there is no benevolent affection, either new or old, with which I have not been tenderly received and sheltered, as an act worthy of the deeds of the magnanimous Venetian nature. I, while the high favor of the most illustrious Pietro Zeno and the most excellent Marcantonio Veneiero was lifting me from the earth, took occasion to look up and saw at the top of the tribunal, all the sincere modesty which goes to enrich the gravity of justice; I saw also honor, glory, praise, power, presidency, reputation, eloquence, magistracy, clemency and felicity. Whereupon I, bowing my mind to such virtues, blessed in my heart the instant and the hour in which fate brought me here, that fate which, in return for my piety, removed me from the malignity of courts. For popes, emperors and kings, to those who serve them, are the source of calumnies and adulations, as well as of poverty and misery, whence it is, hope, when it grows a little larger, becomes at once the object of an envy grown more bitter, a hatred more perilous and an emulation more acute; a thing which has no place in the service of a republic; in which, while particular interests may puff the minds of a few, the eye of duty, which looks always to the public good, sees to it that, in whatever happens, malevolence is converted into love. But those peoples who trail out their years in the wake of princes become mad and devour, with a constant rancor, both themselves and others. And so, my situation here, in the bed of this lagoon, is my consolation. I am looked upon gently by the most esteemed and the wisest. I obtain the benignity of all pleasures and graces. And I enjoy, above all my other noble customs, your conversation, which to me is dearer than the intimacy of any lord whatsoever, since from your spirit come not only examples, judgments and doctrines, but honesty, good manners and gentility. And it seems to me, as I look upon you, that I am beholding the image of the 185 Greek and Latin tongues and the very statue of goodness. And so, I pay you my respects and celebrate you.
From Venice, the 3rd of November, 1537.
To MESSER GIROLAMO SARRA
Of Various Kinds of Salad.
As soon, my brother, as the tributes of salad begin to fall off, giving rein to my fancy for divination, I set about astrologizing the reasons why you are withholding payment in foods from my appetite and taste. But if I had carried my thoughts on to the olive-oil press, I never would have suspected that you would deprive me of such provision, replacing it with citronella, which is as pleasing to your throat as it is displeasing to mine. And so it is, man says: “Whence come enmities?” They come from that herb, which you could not refrain from sending me nor I from throwing away. What the devil should be done with one of those who neither drink wine nor eat melons, when they take away from a good companion his drink-money,60 at the request of Monna Ranciata, whose overbearingness is to be seen in all the gardens? Surely, she must have bewitched you and left you with a sibyl in your arms, from whom you are taking orders. Alas! I suppose I shall have to accustom myself to doing without, and I hope to be able to do so, since I am used to being without a farthing, which is quite different from opening the mouth and sending down a good swig. And so, change your mind and send me the tribute which your own courtesy lays upon you, so that I may enjoy those fruits which you plant in the soft March earth for the pleasure of the merchant-porters. Ask the good Fortunio what pleasure I take, what praises I give and what a welcome I extend upon the receipt of a gift of salads, as well as to the servant who fetches them. I perceive in what manner you have tempered the bitterness of some herbs with the sweetness of 186 others. It takes little learning to know how to mitigate the sharp and biting taste of certain leaves with the flavor, neither sharp nor bitter, of certain others, making of the whole a compound that is satisfying to the point of satiety. The blossoms scattered among the little greens of such fine appetizers tempt my nose to whiff them and my hand to pluck them. In short, if my servants knew how to make spices in the Genoese manner, I should leave for them the breast of wild chicken which, very often, for lunch and for dinner, to the glory of Cadoro, the unique Titian sends me; although, not without blame to me, who am a Tuscan, for not remembering it, I leave the preparation of it to the one who killed it. I do not know what pedant it was, making a face at one you sent me the other day, entered upon a eulogy of the lettuce and the endives, which were quite without odor; until Priapus, the god of gardeners, becoming angry with himself, debated whether he should not hunt them all down from behind, most bestially. For I prefer a handful, not of home-made salad, but of wild succory and a little catmint, to all the lettuces and endives that ever were. I am astonished that the poets do not become drunken in singing the virtues of the salad. It is a great wrong to the friars and nuns not to praise it, for they steal whole hours from their orisons, to spend it in cleaning the leaves of little stones, and they throw much time away as they sweat in gathering and curing those leaves. I believe the inventor must have been a Florentine — he could not have been anybody else — for the laying of the table, decorating it with roses, the washing of beakers, the putting of plums in ragoûts, the garnishing of cooked livers, the making of blood-puddings and the serving of fruit after meals all come from Florence. Their pigs’ brains, thirst-inciters, and diligentini, with their other thoughtful subtleties, cover all the points by means of which cookery may appeal to the jaded appetite. In conclusion, I will say that the citronella is only remembered by me with annoyance. And so, tomorrow will be as 187 good a time as any to put me back in the good graces of your garden. And avoid the deadly rue; for when I come upon a salad that has been well rolled in a vinegar fit to grind stones, I rebel at the very smell of it.
From Venice, the 4th of November, 1537.
60 regaglie: cf. The French pourboire.
To THE MARCHESA DI PESCARA
Praises.
This century of ours, signora, which has nothing left to wonder at, such are the works it has produced through its genius, may still be astonished at those it has given birth to through the spirit. But in avoiding all comparisons which are better suited to the soul than to the intellect, it is difficult to make a beginning, when one opens his mouth or raises his eyebrows. Two things the world has not seen the like of: one, the invincible spirit of your consort; the other, your own high and invincible mind, whose kindness gives you the palm; for as he, with his force, won the battles of the people, so you, with such valor as that you possess, win the wars of the senses. And while the purity of those flames with which the angels glow lights your heart, you are vaunted by the true voice of a holy fame, for which reason heaven reserves for you other palms and other crowns than mortal ones. What an augury of happiness it was the day you were christened “Vittoria.” What fatality was in the name, since, conquering, as with arms, all the worldly vanities, you adorn yourself with the spoils and trophies acquired in the confiscations of a firm well-doing and a constant faith in the face of earthly deceits. You, not to lessen the rank of your great husband, have discovered the spiritual milita, whose cohorts come into camp under the ensigns of reason, which, for the honor of Jesus and in the service of the soul, triumphs over its adversaries in every campaign. As a demonstration, while he, in order to dominate the inexpugnable, was putting into operation what the school of Mars never knew, so you,
to subjugate the abyss, employ all that you have learned from the studies of Christ, holding at low rate those who are more interested in acquiring earthly than heavenly glory, and who display more heart in making themselves lords of the cities of the earth than of the kingdom of paradise, shedding with greater lealty their blood for men than they do their tears for God, repudiating, in their hope of praise and gain, the life that is in death, being afraid of the shadow which surrounds the service of our Redeemer. For the conquerors of any clime never wore a diadem as resplendent as that which gleams in the cap of the man who has learned to subdue himself, for all the difficulties of bravery and prudence lie in this, and not in the overthrow of empires. This being so, what chariot and what garland should your just goodness have, since it, always being conscious of the public good, never fleeing the assaults of error, but maintaining constantly a war with vice and peace with virtue, has made itself its own prisoner? O elected lady, you alone know how to live at the celestial board, making your food of those viands which are cooked with the fervent fires of charity, which in your firm breast finds the inn of all delights, chaste, sweet, gentle, clear, sacred and holy. And since your desire is none other than to hear the word of God, as enclosed in the bosom of the Scriptures, you make merely a change of lesson and, transforming the poetic books into prophetic volumes, you study Christ, Paul, Agostino, Girolano and the other pens of religion. Happy, then, in the memory which you leave with us here below, and which you store up for yourself in your eternal fatherland above, have compassion, being such as you are, on those who are otherwise; for you know (you who are so restrained with the manners of your father and adored with the graces of your mother) that all our little brief mortality is a thing we hold in common with the animals; whence it is, avoiding all gifts that depend on time and fortune, you procure for your constant soul eternal things, thus satisfying God, who always was, and yourself, 190 who will be always. But terrestrial magnificences would yet be excellent, if only the princes who are monarchs of them would set before themselves a standard of high living such as that you have set yourself.
From Venice, the 5th of November, 1537.
To MESSER ANTONIO BRUCCIOLI
Against the Ignorant Friars.
Why, my good fellow, do you pay any attention to the idle chatterings of the friars, since hatred is an essential of their nature, and all they know how to do is to bark and bite? You ought to know well enough that love never goes unaccompanied by jealousy or glory by envy. I do not deny that, in a few monasteries, there are fathers worthy of praise and rank; I believe in this, just as I believe in miracles; but by Christ, take away the few truly good, and you will see what sort it is who put on the habits, so called, of your saints. Scarcely does their arrogance scent accomplishment or learning on the part of others than, being ashamed that other should do what they by profession and by sacrament are obligated to do, they at once attempt to take vengeance for their own natural ignorance by taxing the life, name and works of the chaste interpreters of the Old and New Testaments. Growing old. In the footsteps of the maestri and the wiseacres, they lose all hope of being able, through their own industry or genius, to walk with new feet in the true paths of God’s Scriptures, and so, they annoy with a Lutheran calumny those who are most just and most Christian. Our defense is the credit which they have lost, in fact and as a result. The wrongful sway which they formerly exercised over our rightful merits has become the handmaid of him, who, with deeds and not with fictions, speaks well and writes better. Go on, then, driving them to despair with the volumes which your profound and sincere wisdom gives the world; for the Bibbia, the Salmi and the other immortal 191 labors of Bruccioli are not food to the taste of such as they. What a benefit it would be to our souls and their lives, if, changing their nature and their literary style, they would only mount their pulpits as preachers and not as cavillers! For the good and simple know that the coming of the Son of God will make manifest to us that which is hidden in each and every prophecy. Hence, whoever believes in Jesus finds that such a belief has infused into his intellect the Virgin birth, the immortality of the soul and the resurrection of the dead. Every impossible effect may easily be demonstrated by one who is not doubtful of his birth. For this reason, the reverend fathers have no business going about vociferating in their pulpits about the manner in which the divine Word was incarnated in Mary, nor how it is the spirit leaves our members cold, nor how the dust of flesh and bone, tossed to the winds or scattered on the sea, must be brought together again in order that we may be resurrected alive. Surely, such brazen arguments are a reproach to the silence of Christ, who simply gives us a sign, in order not to take away the premium which he puts on faith, which is a blessing to those who, believing, seek neither testimony nor pledge. We go to church clean of those scruples which the perverse find in religion, and, thinking we are going to hear a sermon, we bear a strident dispute, which has nothing whatever to do with the gospels or with our sins. As a result, even the barbarians look upon the whole thing as a fantasy. The root of the evil lies in the desire for transcendental knowledge on the part of those who would do themselves more honor by commending and bowing to you than in offending and injuring you; for you are a man without an equal in your knowledge of the Hebraic, Greek, Latin and Chaldean tongues, and so good at heart that you would rather teach those who reprehend your writings than revenge yourself on them. And so, you are bound to live happy and honored.
From Venice, the 7th of November, 1537.
192To MASTER TITIAN
The “Annunciation.” 61
That was wise foresight on your part, my dear fellow, in deciding to send your picture of the Queen of Heaven to the empress of the earth. Nor could that high judgment from which you draw the marvels of your painting have found a loftier lodging place for the canvas in which you depict such an Annunciation. It is dazzling in the rays of gleaming light which issue from the rays of paradise, from whence come angels, gently wafted down in diverse attitudes over the gleaming, light and lively-hued clouds. The Holy Spirit, surrounded by the lamps of its own glory, makes us hear the beating of its wings, so life-like is the dove whose form it has taken. The heavenly arch which spans the air over the country revealed by the glow of dawn is truer than that which we actually see of an evening after a rain.62 But what am I to say of Gabriel, the divine messenger? He, filling everything with light and more refulgent than ever in the inn, is bowing so gently, with such a gesture of reverence, that he forces us to believe that he is actually appearing in the sight of Mary. He has a celestial majesty in his countenance, and his cheeks are trembling with the tender hue of milk and blood, which your coloring has very naturally counterfeited. His head is haloed with modesty, while gravity gently abases his eyes; his hair falls in tremulous ringlets. The fine robe of yellow cloth is not incompatible with the simplicity of his attire and conceals without hiding his nudity. Nor were wings ever to be seen before with such a fine variety of plumage. And the fragrant lily in his left hand shines with an unwonted candor. Above, his mouth is forming a salutation, expressed in the angelic notes, “Ave.” The Virgin is first adored and then consoled by the courier of God, and you have painted her so marvelously and in such a manner that all other lights are dazzled by the luminous reflections 193 of her peace and piety. So that now, in the light of this new miracle, we are no longer able to praise as before that history which you painted in the Palazzo di San Marco, as an honor to our lords and an annoyance to those who, not being able to deny your genius, gave you the first place in painting and to me the first in evil-speaking, as if your works and mine were not visible throughout the world.
From Venice, the 9th of November, 1537.
61 A description, the only one we have, of the famous painting now lost to us.
62 Aretino, as has been said (see Introduction) was a realist in his art criticism.
To MESSER FORTUNIO
In Which He Exhorts His Friend to Free Himself of the Snares of Love.
Why, honored brother, do you seek to flee love by going to the country? Do you not know that what you need is a change of mind, and not of place? Desire, the image of the loved object, like a mirror of the heart, always stands before you with an image of the one for whom you sigh, burn and weep; and so, putting distance between you and her is merely making a martyr of yourself for her sake. The bird whose wing has caught fire cannot put out the flame, but only kindles it the more, by flying; and when the mind, with an arrow in its side, takes flight, it is simply speeding its own end. Hence, betaking yourself here and there will only be the death of you. Moreover, think how shameful it is to commit one’s self to such an experiment when one knows, one can with difficulty stay away. In case you wish to forget the affection you bear another, the best thing is to root it out with love of the soul, which is a subject worthy of the dignity it lends us.63 In loving the body, you have forgotten how praiseworthy is constancy, the principal virtue in a lover. The lady knows that you repent loving her; and so, resolve to break the yoke of servitude with the free hand of prudence, being unwilling to permit the gifts of friendship, conferred upon you by the stars, to be rendered sterile by 194 venereal pains. What more can the skies give you than they have given you already? You have a majestic presence, gentle manners, ability in action, a graceful bearing, good nature, a happy genius, praise for your works and a glorious name. So true is this, that many persons often blame the planets for the poverty of their intellects and envy your wealth of spirit. Therefore, compose your reason, which has been upset through the wrong done your vanity by the gentle love god. Turn your thoughts to the exercise of science, so that our own times and centuries to come may not have cause to curse the inactivity which, with idle flattery, keeps you marking time, to the delight of death, who always tries to put fancy to sleep because those who give praise do not place the seat of immortality in her dominion. Of what use to us is that familiarity which you have with the learning of all tongues, if your industry stands idle and time is wronged by the silence of your pen? Although I am the greatest loser of all, since I learn from you what I do not know and what no other can teach me. But if you are not moved by considerations of your own honor and the common profit, then I trust you will be moved by the debt you have always felt you owed to Your Lordship’s rank, being not unmindful of the fact that we are of the same native land; as a sign of which, witness the bonds of benevolence which of old have bound aretine minds and the hearts of Viterbum. For you in Arezzo and I in Viterbum are in a position to enjoy those magisterial privileges which the statutes in either city give us. But this is little in comparison with the place which friendship holds with you, for your kindness joins me to you in an affection which can never be broken. Finally, I would conjure you, by the dear gentleness and the charity that is in you, to make your peace with your books, which, now that you have cast them aside, you seem to hate; for Italy well knows that you not only write books worth reading but speak, always, things worth writing.
From Venice, the 15th of November, 1537.
63 “Sublimation”!
To MESSER BATTISTA STROZZI
In Which He Dissuades His Friend from Going to War.
I do not know what well known man it was who swore to me recently that some whim had seized you again for some business or other. Stay at Coreggio, my sire; stay with us; or, al corpo di me, you’ll be hunting me up to write your epitaph. I had thought that the cacaruola of Montemurlo would have made you wise, but you are worse than ever. And the reason for this is the Ciceronian judgment in the treatise, Del tiranno, which is the a-b-c of your propositions. I tell you, you would do better to make it your business to confabulate with your lyre at the fireside of our patroness, Signor Veronica, improvising a couple of stanzas in heroic fashion and leaving the weather-veering to the weather-cocks. I think of how I found you at Prato, buried in that vat of straw (from which you cried out to the cavalryman, who, not knowing you were with us, wished to take a couple of mouthfuls: “I surrender”); and I wonder that you did not make a vow to all the Virgins in the world to say nothing more about liberty or pay. But alas! madness and the devil tempt you and drag you away; go, then, but take it easy behind the baggage trains, for in a “Salvum me fac” lies the safety of nos otros, and not in getting into the rout, receiving half a dozen wounds and, in addition, being looked upon as a beast. You know that in the house of the Count Guido Rangone, I counseled you not to be stubborn in the matter, endeavoring to make you feel that killing or crippling others would not be to your credit, since you are not armorum; follow my advice, and you will not have to give an account to the mourners; for if Your Lordship is killed, every one will say: “Served him right!” And so, when you return to the danger-zone, using a couple of nails as a spur to your steed, imitate the fellow who, on account of the movement of his body, kept his heels tied with a pair of shoe-strings. Thus, staying with the rear-guard and hurling defiance, you will 196 make the crowd believe that it is woe to the enemy if your pony does not shed its shoes! In case the battle is won, spur forward and mingle with the victors and, cocking your ears to the cries of “Viva! Viva!” enter the conquered land with the first, and with the face, not merely of a captain, but of a very giant. If worst comes to worst, lose no time in getting out, take to your legs, fly away, for it is better for your hide that they should say: “What coward is fleeing there?” than “What corpse is lying here?”64 Glory is good enough in its place; but when we are dead, old lady Fame can sound the bagpipes and play the Pavan all she chooses, but we will not be there to hear them; we shall be crowned with laurel and mingling with the dust of Cyprus. And if you do not take my word for it, take the assurance of Messer Lionardo Bartolino, that war is something more than talk. He leaves it to those who are masters of the art, laughing at the ones who are willing to lose their hair in hot lye. I, for my part, never heard of a brain that was more apt at sifting brains than his; nor do I know a more liberal or a more discreet friend or a person less envious of the good of others; for which reason, I love him, holding it a very graceful thing, his having borne witness to my goodness in the same manner in which I shall testify to your wisdom, when you become content to bring up the military rear and are satisfied with the name of poet, leaving the title of Rodomonte to the bolt-eaters and pike-swallowers. And with this advice, bene valete.
From Venice, the 16th of November, 1537.
64 “Better be a live coward than a dead hero.”
To MESSER IACOPO SANSOVINO
In Which He Dissuades His Friend from Leaving Venice.
There is no doubt that the execution of those works which come from your high genius provide a complement to the pomp of this city, which we, thanks to its goodness and liberality, have chosen for a fatherland; and it has proved to 197 be our great good fortune, since here the desirable foreigner is not merely the equal of the ordinary citizen; he is looked upon also as a gentleman. Look what good has come out of the sack of Rome,65 since out of it, by God’s favor, we have your sculpture and your architecture. It is no news to me that the magnanimous Giovanni Gaddi, an apostolic churchman, together with the cardinals and the popes, are tormenting you with requests in their letters to return to the court, that they may again have you for ornament. To me your judgment would appear very strange, if you were to seek to flee the nest of safety for the perch of danger, leaving the Venetian senators for the courtezan-prelates. But they must be forgiven their eagerness in this matter, for you are, indeed, very apt at restoring temples, statues and palaces. And in former times, they never had seen the church of the Florentines, which you erected upon the Tiber to the astonishment of Raffaello da Urbino, of Antonio da Sangallo and of Baldassare da Siena; nor do they ever turn to your work at San Marcello or to your marble figures or the sepulchres of Aragona, Santa Croce and Aginense (the very inception of which would be beyond most) without sighing for the absence of Sansovino; and in the meanwhile, Florence grieves even as she revels in the spirit of Bacchus which you have given to the gardens of Bartolini, as in all the other marvels which you have sculptured and erected. But if they must do without you, it is because your wise virtues have found a good place in which to set up their tabernacle. A salute from these noble sleeves is worth more than a present from those ignoble mitres. If any one who wishes to see in what respect this republic holds the virtuous, let him look upon the house in which you dwell, as in the worthy prison of your art, and where you every day produce marvels from your hands and from your intellect. Who would not praise the perpetual defenses with which you have sustained the church of St. Mark? Who is not astonished at the Corinthian workmanship 198 of the Misericordia? Who does not stand lost in thought before the rustic and Doric architecture of the Zecca? Who is not dumbfounded upon viewing the Doric carving, which has been begun opposite the signorial palace, with, above it, the Ionic composition with the needed ornaments? What a fine sight the edifice will be, with its marble and precious stones, rich in great columns, which must be erected to go with the other! It will have, in composite form, the beauties of all architectures and will be a fitting loggia for the promenades of such nobles as these. What shall I say of the Cornari? or la Vigna? or la Nostra Donna de l’ arsenale? or that wonderful Mother of Christ, extending the protecting crown to this unique fatherland? A history which you have made us see in bronze, with wonderful figures, in the pergolo of your dwelling; for which you merit the rewards and the honors conferred upon you by the magnificence of the most serene-minded ones who devotedly look upon your work. And so, may God grant our days be many, that you may keep on serving them and I praising you.
From Venice, the 21st of November, 1537.
65 Described in the Ragionamenti.
To THE MAGNIFICENT MESSER GIROLAMO QUIRINI
In Which He Excuses Himself for an Outburst of Wrath.
Sudden wrath, magnificent one, is very familiar to the aretine tribe; nor does this appear to me a blameworthy thing in such natures as these, for anger represents a certain power, when a great mind, prevented from executing its own generous desires, is moved by it. For this reason, I, the other evening, as you know, being a prey to the impetuosity of the moment, spoke disagreeably, my face being kindled with flames to the disdain of just cause; in which I was like a lamp which, from an abundance of oil, shoots forth sparks without giving light. Truly, angry men are blind and foolish, for reason at such a time takes flight and, in her absence, 199 wrath plunders all the riches of the intellect, while the judgment remains the prisoner of its own pride. However, do not believe that, merely because I was so possessed of bile, there was in me any evil desire of revenge. For the case which wrath made out in my heart appeared to me so infamous a one that I should have looked upon it as a disgrace not to have become angry. But the ability to defend one’s self against the assaults of lust and anger is one which few or none of us possess; and so, either of these two passions is deserving of pardon.
From Venice, the 21st of November, 1537.
To THE MAGNIFICENT MESSER GIOVANNI BOLANI
A Caricature.
I hear, signor, that Messer Pietro Piccardo is at Padua and with a paucity of thoughts in his head that would be a disgrace to a young wind-hover. It is a good thing the surcharge of years gives him not a pain in the world! And yet Fabrizio da Parma and the Pope, who are the two oldest whores66 in Rome, swear that they knew him when he had a beard two fingers long. This, whoever, does not keep him from putting on the armor of love and neighing for the fray. I nearly burst my jaws with laughing when I saw him with a crowd of women behind a shop. He, every chance he had, would come out with an “I kiss your hand” or “Your Ladyships” in a manner that would have outdone a Spaniard. Of his bowings and scrapings I do not speak, for it is impossible to find words spicy enough to express them. He would lay out before his friends certain little enameled rings, certain little baskets of silver-thread and certain collars and trifles, accompanied by certain crude jests of his own and very solemn ceremonies. And when he had done displaying these modern relics, he would make a shovel of some kind of cornucopia he had; whereupon Monsignor Lippomano 200 would remark to him: “Put them away, for you, domine, are the finest antique I ever saw.” . . . Certainly, our signor ought to put him up in marble or bronze over the door of all the wine-vats, with a Bible at his feet which should contain the names of all the pontiffs and cardinals he has known. I could spend whole days in hearing him tell how San Giorgio won sixty-thousand ducats from the Signor Franceschetto, the brother of Innocent, and how with these winnings was built the palazzo in the Campo di Fiori, coming then to the flasks with which Valentino poisoned himself and his father, thinking that he was brewing it for their reverences. He remembers the blow which Julius on the bridge gave to Alessandro in minoribus. One night, he was routed from his bed at five o’clock in the morning by an uproar in the corridor outside, and going out, he ran after some one who was going up and down singing “Oh, my hard, blind fate” and thinking the fellow was burlesquing the bad news which His Holiness had just received from the field, and not listening to Accorsio,67 who kept saying to him all the while “Holy father, go to bed,” he broke the head of the steward, an old man of sixty years, who had heard the noise and come running, in the belief that the steward was the musician. He had been present at all the schisms, all the jubilees and all the councils. He knew all the whorishness. He saw Iacobaccio da Melia go mad. He knows where the mange comes from and all the other ribaldries of the court. And so, I judge, he would as soon sell himself for a chronicle as for a statue. In short, he is virtue, friendship and pleasure itself to all men. Nor did I change my opinion when I heard him in conclave with my friend, Ferraguto, who nearly split as he heard how, when the old fool threw a pail of water on Ziotto, the latter tore away one whole side of his face, leaving the skin hanging in a thousand pieces; but his anger was gone a month before his hair had grown back. The conclusion of the whole matter is, I should like to be living with him and with your own 201 magnificent and gentle self, so that we might topple backward in the laugher we should have in conversation.68 But since, on account of the public business which occupies you, I cannot always have you with me, why not come here sometimes, knowing that honorable recreations merely serve to hearten the leisure of the good? But whether you come or not, I am indebted to that affection which, by nature, by custom and your own nobility, you entertain for me and for my writings.
From Venice, the 22nd of November, 1537.
66 i piu vecchi cortigiani di Roma.
67 The papal favorite.
68 Cf. The manner of Aretino’s death. See Introduction.
To MESSER LUIGI ANICHINI
Against Love.
I thought yesterday, when I saw you running like a courier, that you must be bringing some great news to the Rialto. But I found you merely had accompanied the Signora Viena to church for the christening of a baby. O my brother, this Love is an evil beast, and the one who tags its behind can neither compose verses nor carve gems. The little thief, in my opinion, is nothing more than untempered desire, nourished by our own fanciful thoughts, and when the pleasure it produces lays hold upon the heart, the spirit, the soul and the senses are all converted into one affection. And for this reason, the man who is in love is like one of those frantic bulls, goaded by the “gadfly,” which in my country is the name given to the bites of ticks, flies and wasps on the flanks of horses and she-asses. That is what Love does to sculptors and poets. The chisel cannot carve nor the pen write when we are eaten up by a cancer. But you are young and fitted to endure any evil. Sansovino and I, on the other hand — old men, halleluiah — deny the “Omnia vincit” when we see the deadly swindles it perpetrates upon us, by swearing to us that the hoe and spade will relieve our heat. And so, knowing you have a good 201 recipe for dying beards black, me vobis commendo; but see to it you don’t make mine turquoise, for then, by God, I should be like those two gentlemen who, in such a case, had to stay shut up in the house for a whole year.
From Venice, the 23rd of November, 1537.
To MESSER GIOVANBATTISTA DRAGONZINO
Poetry Gives Nothing but Immortality.
The sonnet, good man, which, with your accustomed candor and charity of mind, you have drawn from your genius in praise of me has been read by me with the greatest pleasure and laid away with care, for my heart appreciates the good will you showed in desiring to honor me, as well as the good quality of the verses with which you have honored me. I am very sorry that I am not a master of physical force, instead of being merely a man of rank, for this prevents me from rendering you payment in anything but hopeful words. The Muses have need of money, and not of lean thanks and fat offers. Surely, if the poor dames had crucified Christ, they would not be more persecuted by poverty. My friend, Messer Ambrogio da Milano, when he saw a fellow with a worn-out hood, pointed his finger at him and said: “He ought to be a poet.” But we are here, thank God, and we ought not let the cruelty of fate drive us to despair, since it is a find thing to put one’s name on sale at all the fairs, along with hearing one’s self sung in the bank, causing Death to give up hope by confessing that poets are not flesh for her teeth; though they make a good meal, hot or cold. By God, that murderous necessity they feel is like the nature of princes, since it takes pleasure in seeing them suffer in the frying-pan of discomfort, giving them for sustenance the excrements of glory, when a “Here lies so and so” makes the crowd come running to their sepulchre. Our only hope is to make merry in the other world, being content in this one with a quantum currit. And so, whoever likes to go barefoot 203 and bare of back, let him transform himself from a man into a chameleon and become a maker of rhymes. But to stop gossiping, I am at your service, as I always have been and shall be always.
From Venice, the 24th of November, 1537.
To MESSER GIANFRANCESCO POCOPANNO
On the Virtues and Vices of His Century.
Your dear and courteous nephew, together with your letter, gave me the shears, which were so brand-new that they made even me leap for joy, although I am but a man and shall not have to use them, to say nothing of Pierina, who is a woman and needs them in her business. Finally, Brescia produced goffi and arabesques and other works, armor and gilded artifices and damaskins, perfected in design and with various arrangements of leaves, such as only come from overseas. I cannot help believing that the blood of brave ancients would curdle in beholding our Master Arquebuse and Don Cannon, for these would seem to them too bestial in aspect when compared with the bows and arrows with which Mars used to embroider his cuirasses. Surely, if our age were as good as it is fine to look at, we would not regard with such envy the excellences of the past nor be so doubtful as to future inventions. We see all the arts brought to a miraculous climax and everything made great. For example, these scissors you sent me are a great trophy. Another commenced to change his tune, as soon as he saw the clothes of Leo and Capella, worked in silk and gold after the designs and colors of Raphael. They no longer use little flowers in damasks or ray-work; the verdure of the espaliers is visible from afar. Habits are long and wide. One no longer suffers the torment which shoes used to give. Everything is richly cut. Even to handwriting, as a sample of which, take that of Messer Francesco Alunno, which makes print look as though it had been done by hand and work done with the 204 pen as if it were print. Look where Michelangelo has placed the art of painting with his astounding figures, depicted with a majesty of judgment and not with the mechanics of art. And you, too, make of man a natural prodigy, adding tone and sound to sound and tone in poetry, resuscitating style, which had died, with the spiritedness of your subjects. For there is no food more satiating than milk and honey; and just as such foods produce disgust for the palate, so perfumed and gallant words make our ears belch. But let this be said with the permission of him who thinks otherwise. And to Your Lordship I commend me.
From Venice, the 24th of November, 1537.
To MESSER FRANCESCO BACCI
Of Rome and Venice.
If I, brother, with regard to your coming had believed what your letters promised and what the words of Messer Tarlato confirmed to me, I should have been angry with myself for my own simple-mindedness and with you for not coming; but knowing as I do what an effort it is for you to put foot out of Arezzo, when I received your last, I believed it, but as one does who, when his sleep is disturbed, gives denial or consent with a nod of his head. I wish, for the sake of friendship and for love of me, you would come here just once, in fact as you have so often in intent. You may believe me that those who have not seen Rome and Venice have missed the objects of all wonderment, although in a different manner in the two cases; for in one you will find the insolence of fortune, and in the other the gravity of a monarchy. It is a strange thing to view the confusion of that court, and a beautiful spectacle to contemplate the union of this republic. You may even, in a manner of speaking, let your imagination go as far as paradise, but you would never be able to picture in your mind the evasions of the one nor the calm ways of the other, for the two are one immense 205 structure of labor and of quiet. I do not know what Mantuan it was, wishing to demonstrate how this city stands in the sea, filled a basin of water with half-shells of walnuts and said: “There it is!” While, on the other hand, a preacher, not caring to tire himself in describing the court, showed his flock a picture of the inferno. You certainly should hesitate about visiting it, then, if you wish other lands to give you hospital. I had to laugh at a Florentine, who, seeing in a richly fitted gondola a most beautiful housewife, was astonished at the crimson, jewels and gold with which she was bedecked and exclaimed, “Why, we are a mountain of rags!” Nor was he so far wrong, for here, the wives of bakers and tailors go dressed in more pomp than do gentlewomen in other hands. And what sights we have here and what food to eat! Great ignorance was that which first located Venus and Cupid in the island of Cyprus; she reigns here with all her troop of little sons. And I know I am only speaking the truth when I say that God here is in a good humor eleven months of the year; for here, there is never a headache nor a suspicion of death, and liberty goes with flying colors, without ever meeting any one who says to her, “Get down where you belong!” And so, when you come, make up your mind to come here, for I should like to make you confess that Pope Clement, who with us was of minor rank, was wrong when he refused to pardon some one who had stolen something there to spend here. Think, moreover, what standing you will have in being a friend of mine, who in less than eleven years have received and thrown away ten thousand scudi, acquired through my own virtue.
From Venice, the 25th of November, 1537.
To THE CAPTAIN VINCENZIO BOVETTO
In Which He Congratulates Him on His Progress in the Army.
I, who have followed from time to time the achievements 206 of your youth in Africa, in France and wherever there has been a war, have praised and thanked the choice and military judgment of the great Giovanni de’ Medici, when, with a true insight into your character, he decided to make you a soldier; which pleases me as much now as it displeased me then. You well know with how much care and how much affection I have reared you, making no difference between a father’s love and that I showed you, recognizing you as my own son; and the affection of my heart grew with your own virtues. Surely it was from me you learned kindness, generosity and animosity; and for this reason it is, you are loved, praised and feared. I weep when I remember the gentle Signora Lucrezia da Correggio and the courteous Signor Manfredo, her consort, whose natural modesty and good manner you are heir to. But I cannot quite comprehend it, when I hear of your deeds of arms and the high reputation they have brought you; I hope to see you one day in the rank which I desire for you. Go on, then, serving our magnanimous Signor Ippolito, who wisely proceeds outside the common path; for he who follows the trail of others leaves on the earth no footprints that may be called his own; and he who would amount to something in such a profession has the right even to do evil.69 All princes are creatures of violence, and without that violence on their part, the ferocity of soldiers would become brotherly love. For no virtue does the army have a higher regard, nor is there one more convenient in serving its dignity, since by maturing the hatreds that motivate it, it achieves glory. And so, may His Lordship, to whom I pray you to remember me, imitate the tremendous example of him of terrible memory,70 so that fortune, who is the principal support in all enterprises, may favor his valor and discover your own.
From Venice, the 25th of November, 1537.
69 How new is Nietzsche?
70 Giovanni.
To MESSER PAOLO DA ROMA
In Praise of Medical Science and His Charity.
When I heard, my brother, that you had journeyed all the way to Rome, I was beside myself with thinking that the devil had tempted you from your quiet state. And then, when I was told that you had decided to remain there, I lost all the respect I had had for your counsels and your experience and said: “Can it be that when the senate of his own country has placed a man, on account of his merits, in the catalogue of its illustrious citizens — can it be that a person of so much worth, and who is so necessary to his countrymen, should place himself and his faculties in constant peril, a peril that we always knew, and you always will know, thanks to the malice of all concerned? But now that I know from your own hand, that you are back in Bologna and anxious to return, my mind is revived at the thought of seeing once again the man to whom God gave my own life and that of Lionardo, and also at the thought of the welfare of this illustrious city, which embraces no less the kindness with which you are filled than the virtue of which you are the summit. Putting aside incantated water, the canonical procedure, what do you not do in the case of a mortal wound! Safe and gentle is your surgery, which you practice out of charity and not out of avarice. The world is quite right in exalting you, since you alone, in attempting to save the lives of others, transform yourself, through affection, science and your artful practice, into the remedy which you place upon their wounds; and thus, curing others, do you procure health for yourself. For which reason, God gives you a green old age, consoles your mind and multiplies your riches; by which means you are enabled to ennoble with honored gifts your many nephews, whom, with paternal love, in place of the sons that you have not, and to the great delight of your good and valorous wife, you are every day marrying 208 off, for which act of piety, Christ shall double your years and your contentment of mind and body.
From Venice, the 25th of November, 1537.
To MESSER PIETRO PICCARDO
Bantering.
I had thought, you old gossip! That you were still babbling away at Rome, and here you are sanctifying the benefice of my friend, the Monsignor Zicotto, arch-pope of Coranto; and what upsets me still more is to hear that you are conducting yourself like a brace of pontiffs, giving jubilees, intimidating councils and canonizing saints. They tell me that you are crucifying bandits, absolving vows and hurling excommunications right bestially; and I congratulate myself on the fact that you are bringing the clergy under a new monarchy, castrating and uprooting the sects of the hypocrites and consoling with regressions, reservations and hopes the vagabond herd: hence, it cannot be that the priest, Ianni, has not already unloosed upon you a pack of ambassadors; and perhaps even the Turk, in whose dominion the aforesaid diocese is situated, will come to terms with you. And so, keep your bridle well in hand, and see to it that the “sol, fa, me, re” of the quondam Armellino pulverizes your tympanum. In the meanwhile, Your Most Reverend Lordship, who is a trifle asthmatic, might do well to barter his goods at some of the fairs, confirming, blessing eggs and confessing the countrymen, in which there is no danger. But are you not ashamed to make sport of Verona, Chieti and all the abstinence there is in the world? I have a high regard for your thoughts, which surge up like a piece of camel’s hair cloth. The man who does not envy you is the town idiot,71 for you have a kindness that is so attractive and a grace that is so penetrating that it is all the good folk can do to keep from running after you. All houses are open to you, 209 and from all the piazze you are called; it is “Zicotto” on this side and “Piccardo” on that. And so, move your bowels with the full moon and not merely every ten days, putting a stop to the “Spain will urinate and France will defecate” contests. You need not give a pistachio either to know why summer has long days and winter short ones, making a bid for the enmity of neither hot nor cold, holding as bestialities all syllogisms and all aphorisms, so that it is of no difference to you whether it is cloudy or fair, as you rejoice in snow and rain alike, with your breeches down. And do not break your head in endeavoring to ascertain whether the fire which lightning-bugs carry in their tails is an elemental substance or not, or whether the cicadae sing with their bodies or with their wings. You are thus in a position to laugh at the big blockheads who affirm that a certain river is a foot wider than Ptolemy estimated it and that the Nile has not so many horns, making sport of certain astrologers who would like to make out that the spot on the face of the moon is a ringworm and not the edge of a yellow boil, giving as much faith to prognosticians as Guarico does, now that he has no need of such quackeries. Saying nothing and doing nothing which you ought not to do and ought not to say, you render immortal graces to the one who put the tail on the breviary; and so, go on saying your offices from horseback and away with melancholy.
From Venice, the 26th of November, 1537.
71 pazzo publico.
To MESSER GIOVANNI AGNELLO
Against the Life of Courts, in Praise of Venice.
The signor Benedetto, the ducal orator and your brother, asked me yesterday how I was and what I was doing, saying he wished to advise you, since, from love or me, you desired to know. And so, I will tell you that I am fine and am doing very well. And not only I, who am likely to be well off where another would not be and to do well when another 210 would not; but any poltroon would be well and do well away from the pope and the emperor, in this city and removed from courts. I was never in paradise, that I know; for I am not able to imagine how its beatitudes are composed. I know that to die of hunger is to cheat the world by evading its little hells. Courts, ah? Courts, eh? It seems to me better to be a boatman here than a chamberlain there. Hopes there, favors here, greatness afterward. Behold yourself there, a poor servant, on foot; see yourself martyred by the cold and devoured by the heat: where is the fire to warm yourself by? Where is the water with which to refresh yourself? and if you fall ill, what room, what stable, what hospital will take you in? Behold there the rain, the snow, the mud which kill you when you ride with your patron or in his train. Where are your fresh clothes to put on? Where a good face to put on for all this? What a cruel sight it is to see mere children growing a bear[d?] before their time and the white hairs of youth consumed at the tables, the portieres and the privies. “Take the rest of it,” said a good and learned man, who had been hunted to the gallows because he would not commit a piece of pimpery. Courts, eh? Courts, ah? It is better for us to live on bread and capers than on the smoke from fine viands on plates of silver. Nor is there anything to compare with the pleasure which you get from a walnut or a chestnut, either before or after a meal. And just as there is no suffering like that of the courtier who is tired and has no place to sit down, who is hungry and has nothing to eat, and who is sleepy and yet must keep awake; so there is no consolation equal to my own, who sit down whenever I am fatigued, eat when I am hungry and sleep when I am sleepy, and all the hours are the hours of my own will. What shall we say of the craven state of those who think that being able to stumble into a bit of straw is ample compensation for any servitude or any fidelity? For my part, I am satisfied with my want, since I am not obliged 211 to take off my hat to Duranti nor to Ambrogio.72 Think it over, and see if you do not agree that I am well off and doing well. But my pleasure would be immensely increased, if Your Lordship would make constant use of this house, for I cannot think of a habit that would content me more; and, when we are talking or dining together with Titan, I would not say “your reverence” to the whole college, much less to Chieti. The days seem to me years since Your Excellency has been keeping himself with Caesar’s Majesty in Spain. I like lordly philosophers and those of a nobler manner, such as you are and such as was the good Gianiacopo Bardellone, and not those who, like ragamuffins, are all the time busy concealing their rags. And so, I commend me to you with the reverence of a younger brother.
From Venice, the 26th of November, 1537.
72 Papal favorites.