The Book of the Courtier

by Baldassare Castiglione

After the Count had been silent for a moment, the Magnifico Giuliano said:

  ‘I am not at all of the same opinion as signor Gaspare; on the contrary, for the reasons you have given and for many others besides, I believe that music is not only an ornament but a necessity for the courtier. However, I should like you to explain how he is to practise this and the other accomplishments that you assign to him, and on what occasions and in what manner; for there are many things which in themselves are commendable but which are most unseemly when practised at the wrong time; and on the other hand, there are many things that seem inconsequential but which are greatly esteemed when performed on the appropriate occasion.’

  ‘Before we launch into this subject,’ the Count replied, ‘I should like us to discuss something else again which, since I consider it highly important, I think our courtier should certainly not neglect: and this is the question of drawing and of the art of painting itself. And do not be surprised that I demand this ability, even if nowadays it may appear mechanical and hardly suited to a gentleman. For I recall having read that in the ancient world, and in Greece especially, children of gentle birth were required to learn painting at school, as a worthy and necessary accomplishment, and it was ranked among the foremost of the liberal arts; subsequently, a public law was passed forbidding it to be taught to slaves. It was also held in great honour among the Romans, and from it the very noble family of the Fabii took its name, for the first Fabius was called Pictor. He was, indeed, an outstanding painter, and so devoted to the art that when he painted the walls of the Temple of Salus he signed his name: this was because (despite his having been born into an illustrious family, honoured by so many consular titles, triumphs and other dignities, and despite the fact that he himself was a man of letters, learned in law and numbered among the orators) Fabius believed that he could enhance his name and reputation by leaving a memorial pointing out that he had also been a painter. And there was no lack of other celebrated painters belonging to other illustrious families. In fact, from painting, which is in itself a most worthy and noble art, many useful skills can be derived, and not least for military purposes: thus a knowledge of the art gives one the facility to sketch towns, rivers, bridges, citadels, fortresses and similar things, which otherwise cannot be shown to others even if, with a great deal of effort, the details are memorized. To be sure, anyone who does not esteem the art of painting seems to me to be quite wrong-headed. For when all is said and done, the very fabric of the universe, which we can contemplate in the vast spaces of heaven, so resplendent with their shining stars, in the earth at its centre, girdled by the seas, varied with mountains, rivers and valleys, and adorned with so many different varieties of trees, lovely flowers and grasses, can be said to be a great and noble painting, composed by Nature and the hand of God. And, in my opinion, whoever can imitate it deserves the highest praise. Nor is such imitation achieved without the knowledge of many things, as anyone who attempts the task well knows. Therefore in the ancient world both painting and painters were held in the greatest respect, and the art itself was brought to the highest pitch of excellence. Of this, a sure proof is to be found in the ancient marble and bronze statues which still survive; for although painting differs from sculpture, both the one and the other derive from the same source, namely from good design. So if the statues which have come down to us are inspired works of art we may readily believe that so, too, were the paintings of the ancient world; indeed, they must have been still more so, because they required greater artistry.’

  Then signora Emilia, turning to Giovan Cristoforo Romano, who was seated with the others, asked him:

  ‘What do you think of this opinion? Would you agree that painting allows for greater artistry than sculpture?’

  ‘Madam,’ replied Giovan Cristoforo, ‘I maintain that sculpture requires more effort and more skill than painting, and possesses greater dignity.’

  The Count then remarked:

  ‘Certainly statues are more durable, so perhaps they may be said to prove more dignified; for since they are intended for monuments, they serve the purpose for which they are made better than paintings. But, leaving aside the question of commemoration, both painting and sculpture also serve a decorative purpose, and in this regard painting is far superior. And if it is not, so to say, as enduring as sculpture, all the same it survives a long time, and for as long as it does so it is far more beautiful.’

  Then Giovan Cristoforo replied:

  ‘I truly believe that you are not saying what you really think, and this solely for the sake of your Raphael; and perhaps, as well, you feel that the excellence you perceive in his work as a painter is so supreme that it cannot be rivalled by any sculpture in marble. But remember that this is praise for the artist and not for his art.’

  Then he continued:

  ‘Indeed, I willingly accept that both painting and sculpture are skilful imitations of Nature; yet I still do not understand how you can maintain that what is real and is Nature’s own creation cannot be more faithfully copied in a bronze or marble figure, in which all the members are rounded, fashioned and proportioned just as Nature makes them, than in a picture, consisting of a flat surface and colours that deceive the eye. And don’t tell me that being is not nearer the truth than merely seeming to be. Moreover, I maintain that working in stone is far more difficult, because if a mistake is made it cannot be remedied, seeing that repairs are impossible with marble, and the figure must be started again; whereas this is not the case with painting, which can be gone over a thousand times, being improved all the time as parts of the picture are added to or removed.’

  Then, with a smile, the Count replied:

  ‘I am not arguing for the sake of Raphael, nor should you think me so ignorant as not to recognize the excellence shown by Michelangelo and yourself and other sculptors. But I am speaking of the art and not the artists. You say truly enough that both painting and sculpture are imitations of Nature; but it is not the case that the one seems to be what it portrays and the other really is so. For although statues are made in the round, like objects in real life, and painting is seen only on the surface, sculpture lacks many things to be found in painting, and especially light and shade: for example, the natural colouring of the flesh, which appears altogether changed in marble, the painter copies faithfully, using more or less light and shade according to need, which the sculptor cannot do. And even though the painter does not fashion his figures in the round, he does depict the muscles and members of the body rounded and merging into the unseen parts of his figures in such a way as to demonstrate his knowledge and understanding of these as well. The painter requires still greater skill in depicting members that are foreshortened and taper gradually away from the point of vision, on the principles of perspective. This, by means of proportioned lines, colours, light and shade, simulates foreground and distance on an upright surface, to the degree that the painter wishes. Does it, then, seem of little importance to you that Nature’s colours can be reproduced in flesh-tints, in clothing and in all the other objects that are coloured in life? This is something the sculptor cannot do. Still less can he depict the love-light in a person’s eyes, with their black or blue colouring; the colour of blond hair; the gleam of weapons; the darkness of night; a tempest at sea; thunder and lightning; a city in conflagration; or the break of rosy dawn with its rays of gold and red. In short, it is beyond his powers to depict sky, sea, land, mountains, woods, meadows, gardens, rivers, cities or houses; but not beyond the powers of the painter.

  ‘So it seems to me that painting is nobler and allows of greater artistry than sculpture, and I believe that in the ancient world it reached the same perfection as other things; and this we can see from a few surviving works, especially in the catacombs in Rome, but far more clearly from the evidence of classical literature, which contains so many admiring references to both painting and painters, and informs us of the high esteem in which they were held by governments and rulers. For example, we read that Alexander was
so fond of Apelles of Ephesus that once, after he had had him portray one of his favourite mistresses, and then heard that the worthy painter had fallen desperately in love with her marvellous beauty, without a second thought he gave the woman to him: this was an act of generosity truly worthy of Alexander, to give away not only treasures and states but his own affections and desires; and it showed, too, how deeply fond he was of Apelles, to please whom he cared nothing about the displeasure of the lady whom he loved so much himself, and who, we may well believe, was more than grieved to lose so great a king in exchange for a painter. Many instances are recorded of Alexander’s kindness towards Apelles; but the clearest evidence of his esteem for him is seen in the decree he issued that no other painter should dare to do his portrait. Here I could tell you of the contests of so many noble painters, who were the admiration and wonder of the world; I could tell you of the magnificence with which the ancient emperors adorned their triumphs with pictures, dedicated them in public places, and acquired them as cherished possessions; I could tell you how some painters have been known to give their pictures away, believing that they could not be adequately paid for with gold or silver; and how a painting by Protogenes was so highly regarded that when Demetrius was laying siege to Rhodes and could have entered the city by setting fire to the quarter where he knew the painting was, rather than cause it to be burned he called off the attack, and so failed to take the place; and how Metrodorus, an outstanding painter and philosopher, was sent by the Athenians to Lucius Paulus to teach his children and to decorate the triumph that he had to make.21 Moreover, many great authors have written about painting, and this is convincing evidence for the high regard in which it was held. But I would not have us carry this discussion any further. So let it be enough simply to state that it is fitting that our courtier should also have a knowledge of painting, since it is a worthy and beneficial art, and was greatly valued in the times when men were greater than now. And even if it had no other useful or pleasurable aspects, painting helps us to judge the merits of ancient and modern statues, of vases, buildings, medallions, cameos, intaglios and similar works, and it reveals the beauty of living bodies, with regard to both the delicacy of the countenance and the proportion of the other parts, in man as in all other creatures. So you see that a knowledge of painting is the source of very profound pleasure. And let those reflect on this who are so carried away when they see a beautiful woman that they think they are in paradise, and yet who cannot paint; for if they did know how to paint they would be all the more content, since they would then more perfectly discern the beauty that they find so agreeable.’

  Cesare Gonzaga laughed at what had been said, and then commented:

  ‘Of course, I am no painter myself, but I certainly derive far more pleasure from looking at a certain lady than would that most worthy Apelles whom you mentioned a moment ago, were he to come back to life.’

  The Count replied: ‘But this pleasure of yours is caused not entirely by her beauty but also by the affection you surely feel towards her. And, if you were truthful, you would confess that the first time you looked at that lady you did not feel the thousandth part of the pleasure you experienced later on, although her beauty was no less. So you can see that the pleasure was caused far more by your affection than by her beauty.’

  ‘I would not deny that,’ answered Cesare. ‘But just as pleasure arises from affection, so affection is prompted by beauty. So we may still argue that the lady’s beauty is the source of my pleasure.’

  ‘Besides beauty, the heart is stirred by many other qualities, such as attractive manners, wisdom, speech, gestures and a hundred and one other things, all of which might be called forms of beauty; but, above all, by the feeling that one is loved oneself,’ replied the Count.

  ‘So even if that beauty you talk about were lacking, it would still be possible to love most ardently. But surely the love that is generated merely by physical beauty will give far more pleasure to the one who understands it more than to the one who understands it less. Therefore, to return to our subject, I think that when Apelles contemplated the beauty of Campaspe he must have enjoyed himself far more than did Alexander, since we may readily believe that both men’s love for her was prompted solely by her beauty, and that this was why Alexander decided to give her to someone who, he believed, would understand it more perfectly. Have you not read that those five girls of Crotone, whom the painter Zeuxis chose from among all the others of that city for the purpose of forming from all five a single figure of consummate beauty, were celebrated by many poets because their beauty had won the approbation of one who must have been the most perfect judge?’22

  Cesare was evidently not at all satisfied with this and was totally unwilling to grant that others besides himself could share the pleasure he felt in contemplating the beauty of the woman he mentioned, so he began to say more. Then, however, was heard the noise of a great tramping of feet and of raised voices, and, as everyone turned to see what was happening, there appeared at the door a blaze of torches preceding the arrival of the Prefect, with a large and noble escort. He was just coming back from accompanying the Pope on part of his journey; and immediately on entering the palace, having asked what the Duchess was doing, he had been told about the game for that evening and about the task given to Count Lodovico to discuss the nature of courtiership. So he was hurrying as fast as possible to join the gathering in time to hear something of what was being said. After he had paid his respects to the Duchess, therefore, and asked the others to sit down (since they had all risen to their feet on his arrival) he too sat down in the circle along with some of his gentlemen, among whom were the Marquess Febus da Ceva and his brother Ghirardino, Ettore Romano, Vincenzo Calmeta, Orazio Florido and many more. Then, as everyone remained silent, the Prefect said:

  ‘Gentlemen, my arrival would have been most unfortunate if it meant interrupting the course of the splendid discussions which I believe have been taking place among you. But do not treat me badly by depriving me, and you yourselves, of such pleasure.’

  Count Lodovico answered: ‘On the contrary, sir, I think that everyone would find it more agreeable to keep silent than to speak; for as the task has fallen to me more than to the others this evening, I am tired of talking, and, I imagine, all the others are tired of listening, since my remarks were not worthy of this gathering nor equal to the importance of the subject that was chosen, concerning which, having given myself little satisfaction, I think I have given the others still less. So, sir, you were very fortunate to arrive at the end. And the best course now would be to hand over what remains to someone taking my place, because whoever he may be he will, I know, perform far better than I would if I were to carry on, being as tired as I am.’

  ‘I absolutely refuse,’ said the Magnifico Giuliano, ‘to be cheated of the promise you made me; and I am sure that the Prefect will not be displeased to hear this part of the discussion.’

  ‘And what was the promise?’ asked the Count.

  ‘To explain how the courtier should make use of the good qualities you said were fitting for him to have,’ answered the Magnifico.

  Now the Prefect, although still very young, was more wise and discreet than seemed possible for such tender years, and in all he did he displayed both magnanimity and a lively intelligence which was a true presage of his high qualities in later life. So, without hesitating, he said:

  ‘If all this is still to be explained, it seems that I have arrived in very good time. For in hearing how the courtier should make use of his good qualities I shall also hear what they are, and so I shall come to learn everything that has been said so far. So do not refuse, Count, now that you have settled part of the debt, to pay the rest.’

  ‘I would not have such a heavy debt to pay,’ said the Count, ‘if the work were divided more fairly. The mistake was made of giving the authority of command to too partial a lady.’ And at this, laughing, he turned to signora Emilia, who at once retorted:

  ‘It is not for y
ou to complain of my partiality. However, since you do so for no reason, we shall give a share in the honour, or as you call it, the work, to someone else.’

  Then, turning to Federico Fregoso, she said:

  ‘It is you who proposed this game of the courtier, so it is only right that it should fall to you to continue with part of it: and this will be to meet the Magnifico’s request, explaining how and in what manner and when the courtier should put his good qualities into use and practise those things which the Count said it was right for him to know.’

  Then Federico answered: ‘Madam, in wanting to distinguish the way and manner and timing of the good qualities practised by the courtier you want to separate what are inseparable; for these are the very things that decide whether his qualities and the way he employs them are good. Therefore, seeing that the Count has spoken at such length and so well, and has also touched on these aspects, and has prepared in his mind the rest of what he has to say, it was only right that he should carry on to the end.’

  Signora Emilia replied:

  ‘Well, now, just you count yourself to be the Count, and say what you think he would say, and in that way you will give complete satisfaction.’

  Then Calmeta said: ‘Gentlemen, since the hour is late, so that Federico should have no excuse for not saying what he knows, I think it would be well to defer the rest of the discussion until tomorrow. And let the short time that is left be spent on some less ambitious entertainment.’

  As everyone agreed with this, the Duchess called on madonna Margherita and madonna Costanza Fregosa to dance. And then immediately Barletta, a delightful musician and an excellent dancer, who always kept the Court agreeably entertained, began to play, and the two ladies, taking each other by the hand, danced first a bassa and then a roegarze, extremely gracefully, and to everyone’s satisfaction.23 Finally, since the night was now far gone, the Duchess rose to her feet, at which everyone reverently took his leave and retired to sleep.