The Book of the Courtier

4.—Thus all the hours of the day were assigned to honourable and pleasant exercises as well for the body as for the mind; but since my lord Duke was always wont by reason of his infirmity to retire to sleep very early after supper, everyone usually betook himself at that hour to the presence of my lady Duchess, Elisabetta Gonzaga; where also was ever to be found my lady Emilia Pia,^[37] who was endowed with such lively wit and judgment that, as you know, it seemed as if she were the Mistress of us all, and as if everyone gained wisdom and worth from her. Here then, gentle discussions and innocent pleasantries were heard, and on the face of everyone a jocund gaiety was seen depicted, so that the house could truly be called the very abode of mirth: nor ever elsewhere, I think, was so relished, as once was here, how great sweetness may flow from dear and cherished companionship; for not to speak of the honour it was to each of us to serve such a lord as he of whom I have just spoken, there was born in the hearts of all a supreme contentment every time we came into the presence of my lady Duchess; and it seemed as if this were a chain that held us all linked in love, so that never was concord of will or cordial love between brothers greater than that which here was between us all.

13.—At this my lady Emilia laughed and said to Count Ludovico da Canossa:

“Then not to lose more time, you, Count, shall be the one to take this enterprise after the manner that messer Federico has described; not indeed because we account you so good a Courtier that you know what befits one, but because, if you say everything wrong as we hope you will, the game will be more lively, for everyone will then have something to answer you; while if someone else had this task who knew more than you, it would be impossible to contradict him in anything, because he would tell the truth, and so the game would be tedious.”

The Count answered quickly:

“Whoever told the truth, my Lady, would run no risk of lacking contradiction, so long as you were present;” and after some laughter at this retort, he continued: “But truly I would fain escape this burden, it seeming to me too heavy, and I being conscious that what you said in jest is very true; that is, that I do not know what befits a good Courtier: and I do not seek to prove this with further argument, because, as I do not practise the rules of Courtiership, one may judge that I do not know them; and I think my blame may be the less, for sure it is worse not to wish to do well than not to know how. Yet, since it so happens that you are pleased to have me bear this burden, I neither can nor will refuse it, in order not to contravene our rule and your judgment, which I rate far higher than my own.”

“Accordingly we may affirm that to be true art which does not appear to be art; nor to anything must we give greater care than to conceal art, for if it is discovered, it quite destroys our credit and brings us into small esteem. And I remember having once read that there were several very excellent orators of antiquity, who among their other devices strove to make everyone believe that they had no knowledge of letters; and hiding their knowledge they pretended that their orations were composed very simply and as if springing rather from nature and truth than from study and art; the which, if it had been detected, would have made men wary of being duped by it.

“Thus you see how the exhibition of art and study so intense destroys the grace in everything. Which of you is there who does not laugh when our friend messer Pierpaolo dances in his peculiar way, with those capers of his,—legs stiff to the toe and head motionless, as if he were a stick, and with such intentness that he actually seems to be counting the steps? What eye so blind as not to see in this the ungracefulness of affectation,—and in many men and women who are here present, the grace of that nonchalant ease (for in the case of bodily movements many call it thus), showing by word or laugh or gesture that they have no care and are thinking more of everything else than of that, to make the onlooker think they can hardly go amiss?”

“Now hear the end of my tale. Not long afterwards it happened that a letter, which this second lady had written to her lover, fell into the hands of still another lady, also very noble and of good character and rarest beauty,—who, being like most ladies curious and eager to learn secrets and especially other ladies’, opened this letter, and on reading it saw that it was written with the fervour of ardent love. And the sweet, impassioned words that she read first moved her to compassion for that lady, for she well knew from whom the letter came and to whom it was going; then they gained such power, that as she turned them over in her mind and considered what sort of man he must be who could arouse such love in the lady, she too straightway fell in love with him; and the letter had perhaps a greater effect than if it had been sent by the young man to her. And as it sometimes happens that a poisoned dish, intended for a prince, kills the first comer who tastes it, so in her over greediness this poor lady drank the love poison that had been prepared for another.

“What more shall I say? The affair became well known, and spread abroad so that many other ladies besides these, partly to spite the others and partly to imitate them, used every effort and pains to possess themselves of the man’s love, and contended for it with one another as boys contend for cherries. And all this began with the first impression of that lady who saw him so beloved by another.”

“At least tell what he did.”

Messer Cesare continued:

“Being loved by a great lady, at her request he came secretly to the place where she was; and after he had seen her and conversed with her as long as she and the time allowed, taking his leave with many bitter tears and sighs, in token of the extreme sorrow that he felt at such a parting, he besought her to keep him continually in mind; and then he added that she ought to pay his board and lodging, for as he had been invited by her, it seemed to him reasonable that he should be at no charge for his coming.”

Then all the ladies began to laugh and to say that he was quite unworthy to be called a gentleman; and many of the men were ashamed, with that shame which the man himself would have rightly felt if he had at any time found wit enough to be conscious of such a shameful fault.

My lord Gaspar then turned to messer Cesare, and said:

“It was better to refrain from telling this thing for the honour of women, than to refrain for the honour of men from naming him; for you can well imagine what good judgment that great lady had in loving such a senseless animal, and also that of the many who served her perhaps she had chosen this one as the most discreet, forsaking and misliking men whose lackey he was unworthy to be.”