The Book of the Courtier

by Baldassare Castiglione

  ‘One of his friends answered: “This is not cruelty, but a tacit way of teaching you to understand that she is never pleased with someone who is too importunate.”

  ‘Said the other: “No, it is a sign that although she does not grant what is asked, she likes to be begged for it.”

  ‘So there you see,’ continued Bernardo, ‘that the refusal of that lady to dismiss the beggar prompted words of severe censure, of modest praise, and of biting sarcasm.

  ‘Now, to go back to the kind of pleasantries that pertain to our subject, I maintain that, in my opinion, there are three varieties, although Federico mentioned only two: namely, a long and amusing narrative, in a polished style, that tells us how some incident was resolved; and the spontaneous thrust of a single cutting remark. But we shall add the third kind, called practical jokes, which include story-telling, brief comments, and also a certain amount of action. The first kind of pleasantries, which consist in a now of narrative, are, as it happens, just like short stories. And, to give you an example: the time when Pope Alexander VI died and Pius III was made pope, your fellow Mantuan, my lady, Antonio Agnello being at Rome and in the Vatican Palace, was discussing the death of the one and the creation as pope of the other; and while giving his opinion on these occurrences to certain of his friends he remarked: “Gentlemen, in the time of Catullus doors began to speak without tongues and to hear without ears, and thus to disclose the adulteries that had been committed. And now, even if men are not as worthy as they were in those days, it may be that doors, many of which, at least here in Rome, are made of ancient marble, have the same powers as they had then. And for myself, I believe that these two in front of us would know how to resolve all our doubts if we wished to learn from them.”

  ‘At this, the gentlemen with him waited in suspense, wondering what the outcome would be. Antonio continued to walk to and fro, and then all of a sudden he lifted his eyes to look at one of the doors in the hall in which they were strolling, and, after pausing a moment, he pointed out to his companions the inscription that it bore. This showed the name of Pope Alexander, followed by the letters V and I, signifying, as you know, the Sixth. Then Antonio said: “See that this door says ‘Pope Alexander VI’, meaning to tell us that he became pope by means of the violence he has employed, and that he has made use more of violence than of reason.* And now let us see whether we can learn something about the new pontiff from the other door.” Then, turning casually to the other door, Antonio pointed out the inscription which contained the letters N, PP and V, standing for Nicolaus Papa Quintus; and straight away he cried: “Oh dear, this is bad news. The door is telling us: Nihil Papa Valet.”†

  ‘Now you see that this kind of joke is both elegant and agreeable, and befits a courtier whether the story is true or fictitious. For in this case one may invent as much as one pleases without being blamed for it; and in telling the truth one may embroider it with a little falsehood, more or less, according to need. But perfect grace and true merit in this consist in using both gestures and words effortlessly to express exactly what one wants, so that those who are listening seem to see what is being described before their very eyes. When this is achieved, it is so effective that sometimes it enhances and makes very amusing something which would not, of itself, be very witty or ingenious. And although stories like this require both gestures and the power of the spoken word, yet sometimes they can achieve their purpose effectively when written down. Who does not laugh when, in the Eighth Day of his Decameron, Giovanni Boccaccio tells how much trouble the priest of Varlungo would take in singing a Kyrie or a Sanctus when he was aware that Belcolore was in church?* What he writes about Calandrino† also counts as an amusing discourse, as do many other of his stories. And under the same heading may be considered causing laughter by mimicry or imitation, in which I have never seen anyone more outstanding than our Roberto da Bari.’

  ‘That would be no small praise,’ said Roberto, ‘if it happened to be true, because I would certainly endeavour to imitate the good rather than the bad, and if I could resemble some men I know I would count myself very fortunate indeed. But I’m afraid I know how to imitate only those things which cause laughter and which, you said earlier, are defective.’

  Bernardo replied: ‘Defective, yes, but not disagreeable. And it must be said that this imitation of which we are speaking is not possible without talent. For as well as choosing appropriate words and gestures, and setting before the very eyes of those who are listening the face and manners of the person being talked about, we must be prudent and pay considerable attention to the place and timing and the kind of people to whom we speak, and not descend to buffoonery or go beyond bounds; and as you observe all these things admirably, I imagine that you know all about them. For to be sure it would not be right for a gentleman to pull faces, to weep and laugh, mimic voices and wrestle with himself, as Berto does, or dress up in peasants’ clothes, in front of everyone, like Strascino, and things of that kind, which are suitable for them, since that is their profession. But what we must do is to make use of this kind of imitation casually and subtly, remembering always our dignity as gentlemen, eschewing vile words and indecorous acts, not contorting the face or person grotesquely but making our movements in such a way that whoever hears and sees us imagines from our words and gestures far more than he can hear and see and is therefore moved to laughter. In this kind of imitation one must eschew satire that is too cruel, especially as regards facial or physical deformities; for physical defects often provide splendid material for laughter if one exploits them discreetly, but to be too savage in doing this is the work not only of a clown but of an enemy. Thus it is necessary, though difficult, to follow in this the style of our Roberto, who mimics everyone and touches them on their raw spots, even in their presence; and yet no one is upset, nor does it seem that anyone can take it ill. And I shall not provide any examples of this, since every day he provides us with plenty.

  ‘It also causes great mirth (in this matter of story-telling) to list elegantly all the defects of certain persons, provided they are minor faults and not deserving of any greater punishment: such as foolish remarks which may be sometimes straightforward and sometimes tinged with a little quick and compelling extravagance; or again, certain extreme examples of affection; or sometimes a fine, big lie. For example, a few days ago our Cesare described a splendid piece of folly, namely, something he witnessed when, being in the presence of the local mayor, he saw a peasant come in to complain that he had had his donkey stolen; and when he was describing his poverty and the way he had been tricked by that thief, to make his loss seem all the more serious, he said: “Sir, if you had seen my donkey you would realize even more that I have good reason to complain; for when he had his pack on he looked just like Cicero.”

  ‘And then again, a friend of ours encountering a herd of goats led by a huge billy-goat stopped and said with a look of astonishment: “Look at that fine billy-goat! He is a veritable St Paul!”

  ‘And signor Gaspare tells of having known a man who, being an old retainer of Duke Ercole of Ferrara, had offered the Duke his two sons as pages; but before the boys could enter his service they both died. When the Duke heard of this, he condoled with the father very affectionately, saying that he grieved very much, because the one time he had seen them they had appeared to be very handsome and sensible boys. To this the father had replied: “My lord, you have seen nothing, for these last few days they had grown far more handsome and able than I could ever have believed, and they were already singing together like two hawks.”

  ‘Then only the other day one of our doctors was watching a man who had been condemned to be whipped round the square and feeling sorry for him, when he saw that although his shoulders were bleeding profusely the poor wretch was ambling along as if he were merely out for a walk; so he said to him: “Hurry along, my poor fellow, and get your punishment over soon.” At this the man turned and stared at him as if in wonder, and then after a pause he said: “When you are whipped
, you have it done your way; and now let me have it done mine.”

  ‘You must still remember the foolishness of that abbot, about which the Duke was talking to us a little while ago. He was present one day when Duke Federico was discussing what should be done with a great load of earth that had been excavated for the foundations of this palace, which he was then building, and he remarked: “My lord, I have the perfect answer for where it should go. Order a great pit to be dug, and then it can be put there without any further ado.” And to this Duke Federico replied, not without laughing: “And where will we put the earth that comes out of the pit?” Responded the abbot: “Have it dug so large that it will take both loads.” And even though the Duke kept insisting that the larger the pit was made, the more earth there would be to dispose of, the man could never get it into his head that it could not be made big enough to take the two loads; and all he would say was: “Well, make it bigger still.” So you see what fine brains he had.’

  Then Pietro Bembo asked: ‘Why do you not tell the story about your Florentine commissary? This was the man who was being besieged in Castellina by the Duke of Calabria when one day he found a number of poisoned bolts that had been fired from the camp; and so he wrote to the Duke to say that if the war had to be waged so barbarously he would have the same medicine put on his cannon balls, and then heaven help those who had the worst of it!’

  Bernardo burst out laughing and said:

  ‘Pietro, unless you keep quiet I will tell all the things (and there are plenty of them) that I have seen and heard of your Venetians, and especially when they try to ride on horseback.’

  ‘Please do not,’ replied Pietro, ‘and I promise to keep quiet about two splendid stories I know concerning Florentines.’

  ‘They must surely have been Sienese,’ replied Bernardo, ‘who often slip up in this way, such as the one who just recently, on hearing certain letters read in Council, in which to avoid repeating the name of the person concerned use was made of the term “the aforesaid”, said to the one who was reading: “Wait a moment, please, and tell me, this ‘aforesaid”, is he a friend of our city?”

  Pietro laughed and added: ‘I am talking about the Florentines, not the Sienese.’

  ‘Well speak freely then,’ said signora Emilia, ‘and do not be so cautious.’

  So Pietro continued: ‘When the rulers of Florence were waging war against the Pisans, the expenses were so high that they sometimes found their funds exhausted. And one day when it was being discussed in Council how to raise money for their immediate needs, after various suggestions had been made one of the oldest of the citizens said: “I have thought of two ways in which we can find a large sum of money without too much bother. The first is as follows: seeing that we have no more profitable source of revenue than the customs levied at the gates of Florence, and we have eleven gates altogether, let us immediately have built another eleven, and then we shall double the revenue. The other way is this: let orders be given for the immediate opening of mints at Pistoia and Prato, in the same way as at Florence, and day and night let them do nothing except mint money, which should be all gold ducats. And now in my opinion the latter course would be quicker, and far less costly.”’

  Everyone laughed a great deal at the clever ingenuity of this citizen; and then after the laughter had died away, signora Emilia said:

  ‘Bernardo, will you allow Pietro to make fun of the Florentines without having your revenge?’

  Bernardo, who was still laughing, replied: ‘I forgive him his offence, for if he had displeased me in making fun of the Florentines, he has pleased me in obeying you, which I myself would always do.’

  Then Cesare said: ‘I heard a splendid piece of oafishness from a Brescian who earlier this year had gone to Venice for the feast of the Ascension and who in my presence was telling some of his friends the fine things he had seen there: how much merchandise there was, and how much silverware, spices, cloth and fabrics. Then he described how the Signory went forth very ceremoniously to wed the sea in the Bucentaur,14 on which there were so many finely dressed gentlemen and so much music and singing that it seemed just like heaven. Then after one of those friends of his had asked him what kind of music of all he had heard had pleased him most, he said: “It was all good. But I especially noticed someone playing on a strange sort of trumpet which with every move he thrust down his throat more than two palms’ length, and then straight away would draw it out, only to thrust it down again; and you never saw the like!”’

  At this, everyone began to laugh, realizing the silly notion the man had had in imagining that the musician was thrusting down his throat that part of the trumpet which disappears when it slides in.

  Bernardo then added: ‘Affectation is simply tiresome when it is only moderate; but when it is highly exaggerated it can be extremely laughable, as with what we hear some persons say on the subject of greatness, the nature of courage or noble birth; or sometimes, in the case of women, on beauty or refinement. Thus just recently a lady who was present at a great festival seemed to be extremely aggrieved and abstracted, and when she was asked what she was thinking about to make her so unhappy she replied: “I was thinking of something that always makes me shudder when it comes to mind and always oppresses my heart. And this is that on the Day of Judgement all our bodies must rise and appear naked before the tribunal of Christ and I cannot tell you the distress I feel at the thought that my body will have to appear naked as well.”

  ‘Affectation of this kind, being so exaggerated, is more laughable than annoying. Then you are all acquainted with those lies that are so big and splendid that they make us laugh. And that friend of ours, who never lets us go without them, told me a marvellous one only the other day.’

  Then the Magnifico Giuliano said: ‘That may be so, but it could not have been finer or more subtle than what one of our Tuscans, a merchant from Lucca in fact, swore was true the other day.’

  ‘Let us hear it,’ prompted the Duchess.

  The Magnifico Giuliano replied with a laugh:

  ‘Well, this merchant, so I was told, finding himself in Poland decided to buy a large number of sables, with the idea of importing them into Italy and securing a fat profit. After many negotiations, since he could not enter Muscovy himself, in view of the war being waged between the King of Poland and the Duke of Muscovy, using the services of some of the inhabitants of the country he arranged that on the appointed day certain Muscovite merchants should come with their sables to the Polish border, where he promised he would be himself, ready for business. So the merchant made his way with his companions towards Muscovy, and when he came to the Dnieper he found it frozen over like marble and saw that the Muscovites were already on the other bank, but, being in turn fearful of the Poles because of the war, would approach no nearer than the width of the river. Both parties having recognized each other, after signs had been made the Muscovites began to shout the price they wanted for their sables. But it was so bitterly cold that they could not be heard; and the reason for this was that before they could reach the other bank where the merchant stood with his interpreters their words froze in the air and hung there frozen and suspended in such a way that the Poles, who knew the thing to do, chose as their course of action to build a great fire right in the middle of the river. This was because they judged that that was as far as the warmth of the voice carried the words before they had been intercepted by the ice; and the river was, moreover, so solid that it could easily bear the weight of the fire. After the fire had been prepared, the words, which had been frozen for the space of an hour, began to melt and to descend with a murmur like snow falling from the mountains in May; and so they were immediately heard very clearly, even though the Muscovites had already gone their way. All the same, since the merchant considered that the words he heard were asking too high a price for the sables he refused to close the deal, and so he returned home without them.’

  After everyone had laughed, Bernardo said: ‘What I wish to tell you is certainly
not as ingenious as that; all the same it is very fine, and it goes as follows. A few days ago the friend I have told you of was speaking about the country or world just discovered by the Portuguese mariners, and of the various animals and other things they bring back from there to Portugal; and he claimed that he had set eyes on a monkey, of a very different kind from those we are used to seeing, which could play chess extremely well. And on one occasion, when the gentleman who had brought it was in the presence of the King of Portugal and was playing it at chess, the monkey made some moves that were so clever as to press him hard, and eventually checkmated him. As a result the gentleman flew into a rage (as people who lose at chess invariably do), took up the King (which, being of Portuguese make, was very big) and gave the monkey a great blow on the head. At once the monkey skipped aside and began to complain loudly, seeming to be demanding justice from the King himself for the wrong done to it. The gentleman thereupon invited it to play another game, and the monkey, after a few signs of refusal, began to do so and, just as before, once again it got him into trouble. At length the monkey saw that it was in a position to give the gentleman checkmate again, and so it applied itself with fresh cunning to avoiding being struck once more. Unobtrusively, without revealing what it intended, it put its right paw under the gentleman’s left elbow, which he was resting rather fastidiously on a taffeta cushion, and using its left hand to checkmate him with a pawn, having suddenly snatched the cushion away, at one and the same time it placed the cushion on its head as a shield against his blows. Then it jumped for joy in front of the King, as it celebrated its triumph. So you see how wise, wary and discreet that monkey proved to be.’