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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/77508-0.txt b/77508-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..82ecac8 --- /dev/null +++ b/77508-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,21540 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77508 *** + + + + +THE WOMEN OF THE RENAISSANCE + +A STUDY OF FEMINISM + + + + +OPINIONS OF THE FRENCH PRESS. + + +“M. de Maulde has exhausted the subject, and gives us a sort of bible of +the feminine life.”—_Revue des Deux Mondes._ + +“Among the numerous writings on feminism which have appeared in +these latter days, none is more complete and entertaining than M. de +Maulde’s.”—_Journal des Débats._ + +“M. de Maulde has written a most captivating volume, which will remain a +definitive monument henceforth indispensable to anyone who wishes to know +the history of the French soul.”—_Revue des Revues._ + +“The question of feminism has been treated in masterly fashion by M. de +Maulde in his fine book on _The Women of the Renaissance_. And while he +draws the completest picture of French and Italian society in the 15th +and 16th centuries, and groups his finished portraits with accomplished +art, he at the same time marvellously depicts the charm and the influence +of women at that curious epoch.”—_République Française._ + +“It is almost impossible to name a more fascinating book for anyone +interested in history.... We have no idea of attempting to sum it up +or condense it in a few pages; it would suffer too seriously in the +process; we should merely like, without recommending it (which would be +superfluous) to the attention of our readers, to indicate its merit, its +charm, and its opportuneness.”—_Correspondant._ + +EXTRACT FROM A REVIEW IN _The Athenaeum_. + +“M. de Maulde writes in great detail and with commendable erudition +on the position of women and the feminist movement of the sixteenth +century as it shaped itself in Italy and, later, in France. These +studies of the woman of those days, in all her social relations and in +all her activities, are illustrated with an unceasing flow of anecdote +and citation, never more apt than when employed to characterise +that remarkable group who were imbued with the so-called ‘idées +platoniciennes.’... After a really interesting sketch of the composition +of that curious amalgam which finds its complete expression in the +harangue of Bembo ... M. de Maulde draws many inferences which have a +direct application to the feminist movement of our own day; in contrast, +for instance, with the mystical ardours of Renaissance platonism we hear +of the naturalism of John Ruskin. For this reason the book will, we +think, attract a wide circle of readers; many ... will be delighted by +its store of lively and significant anecdote.” + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + + The Women of + the Renaissance + + _A Study of Feminism_ + + By + R. de Maulde la Clavière + + Translated by + George Herbert Ely + + “The path of a good woman is indeed strewn with flowers, but + they rise behind her steps, not before them.”—RUSKIN. + + _With a Portrait of the Author_ + + New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons + London: Swan Sonnenschein & Co., Lim. + 1900 + + + + + To + WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY + + EDITOR OF TUDOR TRANSLATIONS + + THIS VERSION IS + + INSCRIBED + + + + +CORRIGENDA + +Transcriber’s Note: These corrections have been applied. + + +Page 8, line 21, _for_ Women’s _read_ Woman’s. + +Page 39, foot-note, _for_ precèdent l’amour _read_ procèdent de l’amour. + +Page 148, line 20, _for_ Saint-Marthe _read_ Sainte-Marthe. + +Page 191, line 13, _for_ Joconda _read_ Gioconda. + +Page 191, line 22, _for_ exuberance _read_ encumbrance. + + + + +TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE + + +No mere translator can hope to preserve the style of his original, and +herein M. de Maulde is bound to suffer more than most writers. There +is no one to whom Buffon’s phrase, _Le style est l’homme même_, may be +more justly applied. His work is absolutely himself; it derives from +his original personality and his wide and sure learning an historical +value and a literary charm almost unique. He is a wit with the curiosity +and patience of the scholar, and a scholar with the temperament of the +artist. The sparkle and humour of his conversation are crystallised in +his letters, the charming expression of a large and generous nature. + +Trained at the École des Chartes, M. de Maulde held for a few years +an appointment in the prefectoral administration. But his tastes drew +him rather to history than to politics. In 1886 he founded the Société +d’Histoire diplomatique, of which he has been the life and soul, and +which owes its success mainly to his activity and enthusiasm. He is the +founder also of the Congrès internationaux d’histoire, of which the first +was held at the Hague in the summer of 1898, when official delegates +from all the great countries of the world met amicably to discuss +international relations in the cold light of scientific history. For many +years he has been a member of our Royal Society. + +But it is above all as a student of the Renaissance that M. de Maulde +takes high rank among contemporary scholars. He has made a close study +of that great movement, in regard both to the internal politics of France +and the origins of modern diplomacy, and to the general march of ideas +and the evolution of manners. The results of his studies are embodied in +a remarkable series of works, the earliest being a book entitled _Les +Origines de la Révolution française au commencement du xviᵉ siècle_—a +brilliant picture of French Society at that critical epoch. This was +succeeded by the first part, in three volumes, of an _Histoire de Louis +XII._, and this by the three volumes entitled _La diplomatie au temps de +Machiavel_. Other works in the same series are two volumes on _Jeanne +de France, duchesse d’Orléans_ and _Louise de Savoie et François Iᵉʳ_. +In all these M. de Maulde shows the profound erudition and the just +critical sense to be expected in an historian of the school of Fustel +des Coulanges, together with a literary grace and a lightness of touch +with which the scientific historian is too rarely endowed. His brief +experience of official politics seems to have left him with an urbane +scepticism, a benevolent irony, which serve only to set off his radical +enthusiasm for great ideas and for the great conceptions of art. At +bottom an idealist, he has interpreted with insight and humour the +aesthetic and spiritualist revolution of the Renaissance, nowhere more +characteristically than in the present volume. + +With M. de Maulde’s consent the greater part of his footnotes are +omitted—mainly references to authorities unknown or inaccessible to the +English reader, and useless without the complete bibliography omitted +by desire of the French publishers, MM. Perrin et Cie. A few notes are +added within brackets: for these and for the Index the translator is +responsible. + +The translator is under great obligations to the Baronne Louise +Dupont-Delporte, who, at M. de Maulde’s request, has compared the +proofs of this book with the original text, and to whose watchfulness +and friendly care heartiest acknowledgments are due. The same task of +collation was undertaken by Mr. David Frew, whose frank, tonic, kindly +criticism has been of the highest value. Thanks are also tendered to +all who in various ways and with constant kindness have given their +assistance in the course of this work, among whom M. de Maulde himself +has laid the translator under a large debt of gratitude. + + _August, 1900._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PREAMBLE + + Masculinism of Anglo-Saxon countries—Feminism of Latin + countries. Pages 1-5 + + INTRODUCTION + + Italian origin of the Renaissance feminist movement—Protests + against war, force, the materialisation of the religious spirit + and the hollowness of learning—Recourse to the affections—Quest + of true happiness—Idealism: woman chooses the method—“Love + and faith”—Crusade of love—Worship of life and hatred of + death—Women the motive-force of life—Active and tranquillising + rôle of Italian women in the 16th century—Conquest of France + by the new spirit—General sentiment of the new society. Pages 6-20 + + _BOOK I. FAMILY LIFE_ + + CHAPTER I + + MARRIAGE + + Marriage, its realist character and its difficulties—The + aim of marriage not personal satisfaction—The girl married + blindfold—The father—Marriageable age—Interviews—Reflections of + the father—Ideas of the bridegroom elect—His physical and moral + criterion—His uneasiness—Final crisis—Ideas of Michelangelo + and Raphael—Marriage ceremonies and festivities—Weddings at + Naples, Florence, and Venice—Behind the scenes—Weddings in + France—Brides’ journeys—Moral aspects. Pages 21-44 + + CHAPTER II + + THE MARRIED WOMAN + + The genius of motherhood—Marriage a physical science—Domestic + difficulties—Platonism in marriage—Semi-wives—Wives in name + only—Vocation of women for medicine—Women as sick-nurses—as + doctors—Enfranchisement of women as regards medicine—Intimacies + between women and doctors—Women’s medical collections—Hygienic + rules—Neurasthenia—Woman as home-ruler—The châtelaine—Her + management of retainers—The science of charity—Principles of + great houses. Pages 45-69 + + CHAPTER III + + THE CHILDREN + + 1. _Maternity._—Tendency to small families, its various + causes—Marital misfortunes—How new arrivals were + received—Unpopularity of feeding by the mothers—Children + educated by the mother till the age of seven—Old system + of hardening—New system based on reason. 2. _The + Boys._—Necessity of developing individualism among + them—Paternal education—Growing influence of the mother—College + life—Greatness and decadence of tutors—Understanding between + tutors and mothers—Excessive production of young men of + fashion—Influence of the new ideas—Decline of the spirit + of toil and discipline. Pages 70-85 + + CHAPTER IV + + THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS + + Girls brought up solely by their mothers—Old theory + of early marriage—Education, especially physical and + moral—Opinion of moralists and physicians: counsels of Anne + of France—Utilitarian system of Germany—The intensive school: + Vivès; St. Theresa; the Spanish system—The aesthetic school: + Dolce; the Italian system—Louise of Savoy—New theory of late + marriage—Protests against the realism of education—Tutors + of girls—Moral freedom of girls—Protests against what they + read—The story for girls, after Anne of France—The flirt—The + hunt for a husband—Various ideas on that matter—Coquetry, + intrigue, chambermaids—Jean Raulin’s sermon—Open-air life. Pages 86-108 + + CHAPTER V + + THE HUSBAND, AND THE VARIOUS WAYS OF SLIPPING HIS YOKE + + The husband lord and master: his absolute authority—The + stick—The wife’s insignificance—The husband’s grievances + against marriage—The wife’s grievances—Beware love!—_Modus + vivendi_—Women dowered or not: growth of women’s influence + on the dowry system—Practical philosophy—Unsatisfied + affections—Wives separated or divorced—Widows—Sentimental + finery—The wife of a dead husband—Classical widows: their + spirit of order and piety—Gay widows—Widows’ virtue—Advantages + and disadvantages of widowhood—Re-marriage—Sincerity of + women’s praise of marriage. Pages 109-135 + + _BOOK II. SOCIAL LIFE_ + + CHAPTER I + + PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE + + Individualistic and anti-philosophic spirit of + France—Flourishing of the salons—Reign of money: legitimated + in Italy—The Roman programme—French society—Proposed remedies + against Christian socialism—Anne of France—School of Cardinal + d’Amboise—Principles of sentimental sociology—Social _raison + d’être_ of platonism—Its Florentine origin—Development + of the doctrine—Intellectual aristocracy—Platonism a + fashionable craze—Discussions on the real character of + love—Cataneo—Eloquent Bembo—Petrarchism—Elevation of + sentiments by platonism—Michelangelo—French opposition + to platonism—Triumph of platonism through Italianism and + feminism—Anne of France—Margaret of France and her general + philosophy. Pages 137-176 + + CHAPTER II + + THE SCIENCE OF PLATONISM + + Is platonism dangerous for women?—Double system for catching + men: passion and sensibility—To spread love the end of life + and the secret of happiness—Platonic virtue—Criticism of + this virtue in practice—School of Anne of France—Vittoria + Colonna and Michelangelo—Philosophic school—Multiplication and + withdrawal of favours—Love through duty—Love of princesses—The + veil of mystery—Practical recruiting of platonism—Sources of + love or second love. Pages 177-193 + + CHAPTER III + + THE MISSION OF BEAUTY + + Science consists in extracting the element of happiness + from everything, first of all from oneself—Beauty a social + duty—Charm has no physical rules—Women slight or the reverse; + blondes; the skin, the eyes—Corporeal beauty—Michelangelo and + Dürer—Portraits of women as Venus—Prudence of women—Artists and + their fancies—Jeanne of Aragon—Margaret of France—Receptions + in the morning—The ‘Innocents’—Art of retaining youth, or of + restoring youthfulness—A lady’s toilette—Fashion—Spiritual + significance of colours—Luxury—Architecture—Taste for fine + furniture. Pages 194-227 + + CHAPTER IV + + THE EMBROIDERY OF LIFE + + The science of dining—Table-talk—Balls and dancing: custom of + kissing—Protests of the Reformers—Church—Pilgrimages—Gardens + and country life—Flowers—Pugs and parrots—The horse—Hunting, + Roman and platonist—Hunting philosophised; Budé and Blondo—Park + animals—Nature—Life at watering-places; pure water; gravity + and fun. Pages 228-260 + + CHAPTER V + + INTELLECTUAL RESOURCES + + The library—Curiosity divided and dilettante in + character—Taste for tales, jest-books, romances—The old + poets—Music—Instruments, the human voice—Intellectual + music—Harmony—Sacred music—Chamber music—The + orchestra—Discussion on the abuse of music—The + theatre—‘Phaedra,’ Bibbiena—The _Calandra_—Opposition to + the theatre—French ideas. Pages 261-283 + + CHAPTER VI + + CONVERSATION + + Art of conversation: its supreme rôle—Women’s + triumph—Tone of conversation—Philosophical + spirit—Variety of form—Subjects of conversation—French + conversation—Quips and cranks—Conversational + dallyings—Stories—Dissertations—Gaieties—Correspondence, + its revival—Family letters—Letters in the grand style—Tone + of letters—Some Italian letters. Pages 284-310 + + _BOOK III. THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN_ + + CHAPTER I + + POLITICAL INFLUENCE + + Women remain strangers to the keener activities: war, + justice—Women, political in spite of themselves—Isabella + of Aragon—Jeanne of Aragon—Anne of France—Return from + ambition to love—Restless women—Renée of France—Purely + defensive heroism of women—Ladies of Sienna and + Pisa—Isabella the Catholic—Catherine Sforza—Woman + according to Michelangelo. Pages 311-324 + + CHAPTER II + + MORAL INFLUENCE + + The good old times—Moral degeneration—Ambition, money—Evil, to + be cured homœopathically as in Italy, or allopathically as in + Germany?—Virtue, must it necessarily be tiresome?—Raphael’s + embarrassment—The antiplatonists—Louise of Savoy, Rabelais—The + work of amelioration by two methods. (i) _The softening of + virtue_—Different systems in regard to marriage; free union; + system of contract; the double marriage—Firenzuola—Marriages + of affection—Secondary platonism, a compromise—Alms without + significance, to lure the human animal—Sipping at love, by way + of Italian dilettantism—The attack—Love a dream—Prayer. (ii) + _The ennoblement of vice_—Attempt at purification of carnal + love—The Italian courtesans, and their moral influence—Tullia + d’Aragona—Imperia—Venice—Francis I.—French system of the double + household—Diana of Poitiers—Bembo in tears—Infatuation—The + feminising of men—The question of the beard. Pages 325-371 + + CHAPTER III + + INTELLECTUAL INFLUENCE + + Conquest of men by mind—Army of intellectual women—Isabella + d’Este—Anne of France—Margaret of France: her theory—The + friends and guests of Margaret—Intellectual headquarters + of France—Egerias —Difficulty of this government—Vittoria + Colonna and Aretino—Flatteries and compliments—Supervision + of manuscripts—Affection—Pecuniary aid—Necessity of feminine + patronage. Pages 372-397 + + CHAPTER IV + + INTELLECTUAL INFLUENCE (_Continued_) + + Results of feminine influence—Literature in praise of + women—Pompeo Colonna—Two schools of taste: passion, + sensibility—Castiglione—Literature of conversation—Fugitive + poems—Temples of high poetry—Literature of poodles and + birds—The ancestor of Vert-Vert—Spanish women—France, + Lyons—Accusation of frivolity—German scepticism—The struggle + in France—For or against women—Timidity of Frenchwomen—Spirit + of the prelates. Pages 398-421 + + CHAPTER V + + RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE + + Progress of religious sensibility—Women compared to the + moon—Entrance of the sentimental spirit—Free enquiry at Rome + and in Italy—Philosophic religion—Entrance on the scene of + women as priests, as well as physicians—Religious traditions + of women in France—Decay of faith—Roman liberalism—Situation + of the French clergy—Alliance between women and the + aesthetic clergy—Liberal principles of this alliance—The + _bibliennes_—Aristocratic religion—Writings of the mystic + women: Gabrielle de Bourbon, Catherine d’Amboise—The mystic + writings of Margaret of France, her ideas—Her relations + with the _palinods_—The mystics—The mysticism of divided + application—Direct communion with God—Smiling character of + the new mysticism—Spiritual petrarchism—Correggio—Vittoria + Colonna—Vergerio. Pages 422-453 + + CHAPTER VI + + RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE (_Continued_) + + Scorners of mystic liberalism—The savants—Reproaches + addressed to the liberal party: paganism, materialism—Women’s + struggle against these tendencies—The monks: the monastic + spirit—Struggle against the monks: the pros and + cons—Rabelais—Folengo—The German monks—Rising of the + lower clergy against liberalism and aestheticism: Luther, + Calvin—Struggle of the Reformers against women and liberty + of thought—Vittoria Colonna and Ochino—Direction of the + liberal and aesthetic party in France—Margaret of France + and her active rôle—Feminist theory of Postel—Replies of + Luther, the Sorbonne, the theological parties. Pages 454-474 + + CONCLUSION + + Total want of success of the feminist movement—Disappointments + of Margaret of France—Reaction against cosmopolitanism and + intellectualism—The spirit of the Pléiade—Love of free + air—Margaret of Savoy—Fall of the Roman spirit—Montaigne—Last + effects of feminism—The triumph of Death—The mistakes of + the Renaissance feminism—Disappearance of the aesthetic + system—Sensualism of the 18th century—The naturalism of + Ruskin. Pages 475-503 + + INDEX. Pages 504-510 + + + + +PREAMBLE + + +The woman question—what is more absorbing? + +What do women want? What do they demand? They have been shamefully +neglected. To judge by the code, there never were such beings on earth. +But the code has hallowed iniquities. The education of women is pitiable. +They ought to know every thing—and are taught nothing. They are deficient +in intelligence—they are too intelligent. They ought to have their +separate careers, their separate circles, their independence—to be the +equals of their husbands, to be men and yet remain women. They ought to +have votes—that, it appears, forms one element of happiness. Many people +in England are even dreaming of suppressing marriage; and it must be +observed that, as Englishmen largely expatriate themselves, there is no +lack of involuntary spinsters, who are by no means the least ardent in +prosecuting the campaign. In short, it is a very babel. Everyone has +something to say. The press, the stage, the pulpit, all resound with +these questions—to say nothing of public meetings, private meetings, +at-homes, lectures. The subject is well-nigh done to death; it has, +moreover, a special tendency to lose itself in mist, and there is no sort +of cohesion in outlook or aim. + +Nowhere is this anarchy more patent than in education. How are you to +tell young girls what they ought to be, what they ought to learn and +think and know, when you are absolutely in the dark as to what you want +to make of them? Are they to play the same part in life as men, or to +perform public duties, equal, perhaps superior, to theirs, but different? +Are they to marry early, or late? Ought they to see and know, before +marriage, all there is to see and know? Or is it their blissful privilege +to enjoy the pleasant things of life in deliberate ignorance of all the +rest, and, in their piping time of peace, to turn the divine hours of +youth to the best advantage? Once married, what is their mission to be? +How far will it profit them to have learnt the whole art of household +management? Should they exercise any influence out of doors? If so, what? +Will their influence consist in preserving their good looks and their +skill in dancing? Or is their influence to be a serious thing? Is it to +be intellectual, or religious, or moral, or artistic, or scientific? +These questions jostle one another in some confusion. + +And the confusion is irritating, because it compels us to grope our +way haphazard. The education of girls has seriously suffered thereby; +it has been frittered away, has bred a habit of easy contentment with +superficial ideas rather than of resolutely, earnestly, thoroughly +mastering what it is proper to know. The mind, like the body, has its +nervous system, and to obtain its full measure of energy it is needful to +husband its resources. + +Now, we may get some light on this complicated problem if we refer it +to experience, or, in other words, apply the lessons of the past. We +often encounter in the world, in regard to history, and more especially +the history of morals, a singular prejudice in the form of a certain +optimism (or pessimism) which imbues us with the idea that we are the +first or almost the first denizens of the globe—that all the generations +whose blood flows in our veins, whose feelings throb in our breasts, +whose traditions govern our thoughts, were composed of beings essentially +unlike ourselves, upon whom things must necessarily have made different +impressions. This idea is not absolutely correct; in reality, we depend +on our ancestors to an almost incredible degree. We are fettered by +innumerable bonds of their bequeathing—bonds of love and hate, and +prejudices of every kind; they hold us in leash as we ourselves hold our +descendants. The generations flit by so swiftly that they have barely +time to transmit life ere they are gone. + +Especially in regard to the condition of women, the questions that are +agitated to-day with more or less airiness or vehemence are almost as old +as the hills. At certain periods they have been investigated more closely +than at others, and then learning, philosophy, and experience have said +their say. + +The Renaissance was one of the epochs at which these questions pushed +to the front. Like our own age, it was a period of transition; its +conclusions were often very different from our own, but in some points it +bore a wonderful likeness to the present day. The position of women then +underwent an almost inevitable transformation, both material and moral. +Up to that time women had been regarded as inferior to men; opinion was +built up on the practical and utilitarian basis still cherished in the +Anglo-Saxon countries: all modes of activity belonged to the men, while +the women’s duty was to remain at home as domestic ornaments, precious, +but fragile. + +Yet society was not wholly averse to granting women what we call the +right to a career. The Salic law was exclusively a French invention, and +the product of special circumstances; in the political world there was +nothing to prevent the acceptance of aid from women, even in the midst of +the gravest perils. It was a woman—and a woman to the finger-tips—Isabel +of Bavaria, who all but ruined us; Joan of Arc was our salvation. It is +not too much to say that, in later years, the honour and might of France +were saved by Anne of Beaujeu and Louise of Savoy. The same thing holds +from top to bottom of the social ladder. In certain towns women might +have been seen taking part in elections in the public square;[1] in many +of the châteaux the lady of the place, in the absence of her husband, +fulfilled the most trying and masculine of tasks, administering justice, +commanding the men-at-arms. Christine de Pisan speaks of this, not as a +right, but as a rigorous duty.[2] Among the working classes female labour +was extensively employed, at a fairly high rate of pay. + +But no one saw in this, as the opinion of Christine de Pisan shows, a +direct and natural outlet for women’s activities. A woman was regarded +as the subject of her husband, and his deputy in case of need; hers +was not a personal part; she was only the shadow or the extension of +another person—a sort of half-man, or, as caustic folk said, an _homme +d’occasion, mas occasionnatus_—a man marred in the making. (It must +be confessed that this idea is rather hard on the ladies, and even on +us men, more particularly because Providence does not take us into +consultation in these matters, and all of us, men and women alike, have +the assurance of remaining to the end of our days male or female as God +made us.) On that system, it was allowable for women in cases of absolute +necessity to perform the tasks of men, though the men could scarcely +offer to reciprocate; if there was no help for it, women might adopt a +trade or profession, but that appeared undesirable. All the countries +faithful to these ideas were utilitarian countries, where men had +incontestably the upper hand, and where no great need was felt for lofty +flights. + +In the countries of Latin blood and spirit they start from a principle +absolutely the reverse. Women are not at all “men for the nonce”; in the +picturesque words of good François de Moulins, addressed to his pupil +Francis I., “Never forget that women came from Adam’s side, not from +his feet.” They are not substitutes for men, but have their own proper +sphere. Castiglione has given us the typical formula in his famous book +_The Courtier_. “Man,” says he, “has for his portion physical strength +and external activities; all doing must be his, all inspiration must +come from woman.” She is, in his own words, the “motive force.” One +recalls the smiling remark of the charming Duchess of Burgundy: “I am +always delighted when it is women who govern, because then it is men who +direct.” But according to Castiglione, the world ought to show the very +opposite: men should govern and women direct; men act, women think, or +mayhap dream. The former should have the material tasks of administration +and practical affairs; the latter the spiritual and idealist realm. +Looked at in this way, it is obvious how much larger the woman’s part +suddenly becomes, and what supreme importance it holds in the life of the +world. Instead of serving her husband merely as the material replenisher +of his stock and an under-manager for his affairs, the woman will carve +out her own path and enjoy personal freedom, and will be the better +able to lift up her head at home and in society for knowing that she +represents there something more than the flesh; she will be the soul, the +seeker after noble thoughts—thoughts necessary to happiness, but which +the practical spirit of men scarcely permits them to pursue. There will +be no question (to the great disappointment of certain modern aesthetes, +who after all profit very largely by the railways and telegraphs) of +declaring a relentless war against industry, manufactures, the business +of administration; this unpleasing but serviceable sphere must simply be +left to men, and upon this sordid earthly existence must be erected the +frail edifice of general happiness—the true life—a life of enthusiasm, +beauty, and thought; in other words, we must relax the bonds of the +material life, take time to fetch our breath, and infuse into realism a +new and brighter spirit by means of the love of the beautiful. That is +women’s task; in the words of Ecclesiastes, “Their hearts are snares and +nets, their hands are as chains.” They are the queens of happiness, and +they must compel us to be happy and to enjoy the happiness necessary to +us. + +With this end in view, the women of the Renaissance formed a league: +they accomplished on behalf of the rights of the heart a sort of _coup +d’état_, the story of which we are about to relate. Finally, no one was +happy after all. But it is interesting to know why. + +First, let us explain in a few words how it came about that in a country +like France women were able to assume so important a part. Then, we shall +proceed to show how vast was their effort, how ardent their quest for +happiness, and we shall see why the formula they discovered has not come +down to us. + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +France is a singular country. We are slightly Greek, half Latin or +Ligurian, very Gallic or very German, and in the West, the country of +an intellectual gulf-stream, we are dreamers—the Celts of M. Legouvé’s +enthusiasm. All of us, whatever our stock, professed in the Middle Ages +to adore women; the author of an old _fabliau_ makes the Virgin ask of +one of our gallant knights the subtle and searching question, “Is thy +lady fairer than I?” But in practice—in other words, in our home life—we +treated women like animals, with the whip. + +We must remark also that, during the whole course of the fifteenth +century, France had no time for philosophising: the Hundred Years War +and the awful distresses resulting from it; the iron hand and heavy +taxation of Louis XI., whose rule was regenerative but very severe; then +the Civil War and the Italian expedition—all these circumstances left +us no breathing-space, and are in some measure the justification of an +aftermath of brutality. It was only in the last years of the century that +peace allowed us to reflect, and then activity, prosperity, and happiness +burst out like a lightning-flash. Louis XI., who had clear and definite +rights over France, had dealt with her like a strenuous husband; Louis +XII., who wedded her by chance, treated her with the delicate worship of +a lover who has thrown off the every-day concerns of life. + +By what happy chance did the French, till then so apt, whatever they +professed, to value women only on the physical side, take under the +influence of kindly peace and individual well-being a step further +towards the South, and come to think that women might serve as social +guides? The genesis of these ideas was very remarkable. + +They came from elsewhere. + +During our convalescence, Italy had become transformed. A great +revolution, moral, religious, scientific, and above all aesthetic, had +brought once more upon the arena the two eternal protagonists—the Roman +spiritualists, and the friends of material force, that is, of imperial +Germany. + +Men are in general inclined to the side of force; their idea of happiness +consists in imposing their will upon others, no matter how brutally, or +at any rate in donning a uniform—they are born fighters or jockeys. + +Women, on the contrary, can only hope to exert direct and effectual +action by the spiritualising of society; and it is not by handing +themselves over to the tender mercies of men, whoever they may +be—husbands, lovers, doctors, hydrotherapists—or by aping the manners and +talk of men, that they acquire their liberty. They are taken at their own +valuation, provided they accentuate their purely feminine qualities. + +This was thoroughly understood by the women of Italy, who managed so well +that the crisis turned quite naturally to their advantage, without any +theories whatever.[3] Neither the accepted classics nor Plato gave them +any assistance; they triumphed of themselves, and often at their own +cost, because they accomplished their own education before undertaking +that of others. Many of them, instructed, stout-hearted, nobly generous, +while men were wasting their activities abroad, consistently embodied at +home the superb saying of Christ, “Let not your heart be troubled”—the +only prescription yet discovered for the cure of neurasthenia. People +poked fun at them, accused them of “wanting to wear the breeches.”[4] +Italian husbands were no more inclined than others to fall at their +wives’ feet and proclaim their divinity: they accustomed themselves to +them gradually, almost unawares. It was natural that the disappointments, +vexations and trials of politics or business should throw them in this +direction; what was more fortunate and less expected was that, women +having monopolised all that made life worth living, men one day awoke to +the fact that women were the glory of all distinguished families, and +that, thanks to them, life had become an art, a passion. + +They began, then, by shedding a domestic radiance; it was by filling +their own home with light and hope and joy that they began to quicken +the world at large. The science of happiness established itself under +a wholly practical and empirical form, like the science of medicine; +for the heart needs the ministry of healing, a more difficult and +perhaps more delicate art than that of the body. Where can you apply a +thermometer to test the temperature of the soul? Moral sufferings have +the peculiarity of concealing themselves, even when physical collapse +is the result; they are not easily diagnosed, and no one understands +them: and, further, they manifest themselves oddly. It is in the pride +of life, when one feels strongest, that one is weak and in danger; peace +is more treacherous than strife, health more perilous than sickness, +strength feebler than weakness. Or, if one is conscious of the mischief, +one despairs of finding the remedy, which consists of compassion and +generosity. Woman’s medicines are love and hate. + +Love—that is to give something derived from herself; to act, not through +that long-armed vulgar charity (though this, too, has its merits—and +is often very tiresome) which aims at heading a subscription list or +presiding at a public meeting, but through that modest individual charity +which humbly and quietly diffuses a little affection, cheerfulness, +and enthusiasm. These are the real great ladies; to them, giving is a +necessity, a second nature. They are born generous. They seek their own +happiness in the happiness of others, without stopping to ask themselves +if their conduct is philosophic. + +Hate! They detest and resolutely combat the elements of force in which +men most delight, but which, as women believe, produce the worst ills; +and these are, the power of money, the power of war. + +The egotism of wealth they regard as the very source of materialism, +against which they cannot but struggle. On this point the women of the +Renaissance bore the brunt of a long and skilfully fought battle, which +we shall follow in all its phases. + +As for war, that is the arch-enemy against which their first blows are +aimed. The little Italian wars of the Middle Ages did not resemble the +vast hecatombs of to-day, but they bred a swarm of atrocities, tumults +and feuds; war is less cruel, perhaps, when it is not a mere pastime. To +storm a place at the opening of a campaign is regarded as a humane act +and good tactics, since in the long run it shortens the struggle; but +the horror of it! Naturally, women are the worst sufferers. In vain do +they push their way through the flames to the feet of some cold stone +angel or some Madonna with her eternal smile; you see poor girls flinging +themselves into the water, and noble ladies going about serenely and +deftly to save what can be saved—their husbands’ lives or their own +fortunes. Many centuries had passed since St. Augustine had offered +his tender consolations to the victims of the barbarians; they might +appropriately have been offered when the French captured Padua or the +Germans Rome, or even at that obscure assault of Rivolta in 1509, when +an Italian captain devoured the heart of one of his political enemies, +disembowelled the man’s wife, and made horse-troughs of their corpses. + +Even if we ignore gross infamies like these, war was not more humane. The +historian of Bayard cannot find words to celebrate the magnanimity of his +hero in so generously respecting two high-born maidens of Brescia who had +received him into their house, tended him and healed his wounds with the +devotion of sisters of mercy. And even in times of peace military habits +were commonly so intolerable that quiet folk fervently prayed for a war +to bring them relief. + +For centuries sages and philosophers had been expatiating on the evils of +war; councils had attempted to intervene; but war continued to flourish. +The idea of suppressing it seemed a mere Utopian dream. + +They might have tried at least to stem its flood by an appeal to the +co-operation of moral forces; but, singularly enough, the more brilliant +the fifteenth century in Italy became in art and intellect, the more its +moral forces appeared to decline. + +Christianity, too often sunk into mere mechanical routine, teeming with +abuses, overloaded with observances, had practically lost all influence. +Side by side with a few clergy somewhat above the rank and file in +culture, there was a crowd of empirics who rarely troubled their heads +with thinking things out for themselves; they discoursed, not of love +or hope, but only of faith—a faith which brutish men wished to destroy, +and the more refined few wished to vivify, and which was thus doubly +imperilled. The common people were indifferent, and allowed themselves +still to be lulled by the old crooning melodies to which they were +accustomed; they remained Christian from sheer indolence, like many men +of quality; but it was open to question whether the first shock would +not set them clamouring for a more lively tune—an “air of flutes and +violins,” as Heine said; paradise instead of hell. + +As to learning, the cultured were agreed in recognising its failure; +that, indeed, was beyond question. Men were tired of reasoning, reading, +writing, worrying! Learning in tragic dismay sought only to prostrate +itself before faith; or rather, men asked themselves whether learning +really existed. Tiphernus, an eminent professor at the Sorbonne, and in +high favour at Rome, confesses that all this learning so much belauded +and paraded seemed to him nothing but a means of earning a living for +professors, a combination of all the vanities, the technical slang of a +crowd of pedants, critics more or less ignorant, and shameless imitators, +who formed little cliques beyond whose pale there was no salvation. “To +believe them,” he exclaimed, “we are not equal to the ancients”: then +lions forsooth have lost their ferocity, and hares their cowardice, for +Providence shines for the whole world, and it cannot be that man alone +has degenerated! A league of falsehood! he reiterates. Under cloak of +high culture men conceal their vices, and especially their idleness. +Do what we may, we are progressing: every one of us is conscious of a +forward impulsion. The pontiffs of reason, who have painfully climbed the +steep ascent, wish to keep everything to themselves, and to set up their +books as a balk to the world, but all in vain; they will never persuade +us that their collapse is that of nature. + +Tiphernus died about 1466. From that time forth science was flouted. It +gave the world, nevertheless, what it was destined to give—fire-arms, +Greece, many admirable things—everything but happiness, which it had +never undertaken to provide. And it was precisely on this point that +the great mistake was made. What, men asked, is the good of learning, +money, labour, or even semblances of joy, if we are oppressed by a life +of contention and heaviness? Why are we born with wits, why should we +rule multitudes, thrill men’s souls, dwell in palaces, if our hearts +are empty? Suppose we wrest Nature’s secrets from her, work every vein +of ore, crop every blade of grass: suppose the race of men to form one +magnificent herd, fat and flourishing, and even peaceably inclined—what +is the good of it all if there is no joy? All things live by love; the +heart makes itself heard above the claims of work, above the intellect, +demanding for life a recompense, a goal. We perish for lack of something +to love; out of mere self-pity we ought to bestow on ourselves the alms +of life, which is love. All is vanity save this vanity, for before our +birth, until our death, throughout our whole existence, it bears in front +of us the torch of life. + +Perhaps it might be better if men could be governed mechanically and +reasonably from an armchair in the library by dint of syllogisms. +Unhappily, they love only what pleases them; they are big, greedy +children, listless and lazy if you talk to them of reason, but ready to +break their necks in pursuit of an illusion. Hence it is very necessary +to choose one’s illusions well, and well to employ them. + +The eternal illusion is love. + +But what _is_ love? That is the real question. If it is a Petrarchan +flower, we crush it under our steel-tipped boots; if it is a coarse +sensation, it crushes us, and we have to wrestle with it. Thus we must +arrive at a new fact—a love which is neither a beautiful superfluity nor +a vile sensual thing; which, in short, is a direct outcome of the worship +of beauty. + +We must discover a new sensibility, lofty, strong, fruitful, spiritual, +almost sacerdotal, which serves to link minds together in their common +pursuit of a high ideal. To us French this intricate problem seemed +highly discouraging and perhaps silly, but its importance was recognised +in Italy, the classic ground of love’s quintessences, where even to-day +a candidate for Parliament had better speak of love than of the sugar +bounties. + +The science of sensibility is to most men a fountain sealed; they always +fancy themselves to be too robust! They march straight on in parallel +lines; military devotion is their virtue; women alone can serve as a +bond of union, soften and beautify everything, cover with a varnish of +glory and disinterestedness the things that need it. Hence, besides +their mission at home, they may be said to have a social part of the +first importance to play; the more sensible men become to their social +influence, the higher is man’s civilisation. + +Now at the very period when France decided to move, the women of Italy +had long since shown what could be expected of women in this direction. +They often flaunted sentiments which are open to the charge of audacity +or naïveté, primitive sentiments, à la Botticelli or Perugino, crude to +a degree; there were manifestly many women of young and fresh affections +who opposed to the simplicity of brute force that charming form of +simplicity, that adorable confidence in the things of life, which the +worship of the beautiful gives to unsoiled souls. They are to the +women of the eighteenth century what Memling is to Watteau. Properly +to understand their spiritual condition we should have to do as they +did—solve the problem of feminism in the feminine way, be women, and more +than women—arch-women. + +The fulfilment of their natural vocation, namely, to look after the +amenities of life, was a pretty extensive office, in a country where +art and taste had so prominent a place. But they went farther. They +inculcated moral strength through beauty; they dreamt of raising men, +of plunging into their life like rescuing angels. Some critics say that +the intervention of women is always a proof of men’s decadence, and +that when they save us, we are in parlous need of saving. Unhappily +that is our normal state. Women assuredly represent the Red Cross of +society; it is the duty of us men to be purblind and case-hardened to the +brutalities of life, or even to find a certain happiness therein, and to +remain cold like a sword-blade; women have no right to escape wounding +by the despicable and shameful things among us. They would prefer, you +say, to remain quietly gathering flowers behind their park walls; that +is perfectly true; they only act from a sense of duty, because they no +longer wish to serve as the stake of battles, because there is no misery, +no injustice, no disgrace for which a woman of heart does not feel +responsible. In fulfilling this mission they do not humble us; on the +contrary, we can have no higher ambition than to desire peace, no action +can less degrade us than to bend in respect before the noblest things in +the world—weakness and sentiment. It was the conviction of all the sons +of the Renaissance, and of its great-grandsons (even the last and most +sceptical of them, like M. Mérimée), that sentiment has higher lights +than reason, and that certain intuitions of the heart unfold to us, as +in bygone days to Socrates, horizons hitherto beyond our ken—a foretaste +of the divine. Tired of spinning round in the vain and narrow circle +of reasoning, these men, sceptics in their own despite, come to place +their trust in sentiment, in hope and love: they lean upon women who see +things with the eyes of love. In this they find a certain happiness, and +at all events the secret of strength. No doubt the men of the fifteenth +century did not attach to the idea of number the philosophic importance +given it since their time; it was recognised that in the name of the +rights of intelligence a general should command a whole army, a professor +direct his pupils, a master his workmen; three robbers united against +one honest man, though in the majority, did not appear to have right on +their side; but it is none the less true that intellectual isolation has +always created a situation of difficulty. “The vulgar may judge me as +they please and take me for what they will,” heatedly exclaims Tiphernus, +the professor of whom we have already spoken; “let others please the +multitude! As for me, I pride myself on pleasing two or three.” All the +clever men who speak so eloquently are sure to be in bondage to some +woman; for, after all, the approbation of two or three men, howsoever +intelligent, would not carry them very far, while with the enthusiasm of +two or three women one can at a pinch be satisfied. And thus the work of +civilisation is accomplished; vulgarity, even the vulgarity of common +sense, is hidden under a coating of the ideal, women having a horror of +force, of the law of number, of all that is banal and coarse. + +Such was the atmosphere, absolutely new and somewhat overheated, in +which the influence of women developed and flourished. The revolution +was a profound one: hitherto the social system had turned entirely on +the principle of the good and the true, from which a practical and +utilitarian morality was derived. The idea of the beautiful was utterly +mistrusted, and, far from believing in its purifying force, many people +saw in it only a cause of moral enfeeblement. Men had preached a religion +of gloom and manifold observances; it seemed that there was no mean in +life between the virginal precepts of a catechism of Perseverance[5] +and the lowest stages of vice. And now the new generations were no +longer willing to regard earthly happiness as an illusion, nor the love +inculcated by the Gospel as a snare, and flattered themselves on finding +a means of building life upon liberty. A mysticism, compact of snow and +mist, had glorified self-repression, scepticism in regard to earthly +things, the joys of suffering or at least the quest of happiness through +resignation; and its effect had been to raise a select few to a state of +ethereal perfection, and to unloose the mass of mankind to an unbridled +savagery. The moral pendulum had oscillated violently between ether and +mud, mud and ether, a condition of instability like that described by M. +Huysmans to-day. + +And on the other hand people wished to live henceforth under a calm and +radiant sky; they talked of taking the gifts of God as they found them, +denying neither body nor soul, but idealising everything. They contented +themselves with affirming the pre-eminence of the soul; apparently the +science of happiness was to consist in abstracting themselves from the +material and the personal and in going straight back to ideas. From that +time it truly belongs to women to govern the higher world, the realm of +sentiment. They will lull the appetites to sleep; they will charm men +of dull burdened soul subdued to earth by daily toil; they will choose +out the refined, the buoyant in soul, to form them into an intellectual +aristocracy: the others will at least be lifted a little above themselves. + +The refined are recognised by their thirst for the ideal. At first blush +one might suppose they will be met especially among men of the upper +classes, or at least among men of leisure, for these are fortunate in +being able to look into their own hearts and to follow their own bent, +and in opportunities for gaining impressions. They are not deformed by +drudgery, they have bathed their souls in the great sights of Nature; +the Mediterranean, delicious and bewitching, has cradled them on her +kindly bosom, and has already accomplished for them half of the task by +reflecting the sky in her feminine smile. But no; for lack of discipline, +the idle tend toward sensuality. Consequently, women will address +themselves more especially to the men who can work. + +And their scheme will be this. They will interpose, almost like angels, +between heaven and earth; they will love us and we shall love them; they +will gently invert the order of things, so as to make of life a work +of art. They will efface two of the three blind forces which govern +us—Death, Fortune, and Love. If they do not prevent all failures and +weaknesses, they will cheer and comfort them by means of a potent elixir, +obtained from a God of philosophy, like physicians who cure by allopathy. +So many springs are creaking and snapping for want of a drop of oil! they +will pour out that drop. So many noble things lack the sap of life! they +will give them that sap, that vitality, that soul. The sap of love brings +grapes from thorns! + + Si l’amour fault, la foy n’est plus chérie; + Si foy périt, l’amour s’en va périe. + Pour ce, les ay en devise liez: + _Amour et foy_.[6] + +And thereby the transformation, or at any rate the amelioration, of +the world is to be achieved. Men are not, perhaps, so intractable and +brutal as they pretend; by their own account they would be quite content +to accomplish the journey of life eating and sleeping behind drawn +curtains. We must not believe them. They have shut themselves up in a +bare workshop: throw open the windows, let the sun stream broadly in, +bringing light and warmth and the balmy breath of nature. The effects of +the old system of morality, with its bolts and bars, have been seen only +too often; the loathing of vice, the noble pride of virtue and aesthetic +intelligence are also forces; and they alone can make of our terrible +abode a truly sacred dwelling, open, free, dear to our hearts, the +monument of human affection and of happiness. + +Thus, briefly, the conclusion was reached that women can transform +themselves and become the chief element in human society, that of +happiness. Hitherto they had been understudies to their husbands; they +had believed themselves bound to take an interest in the work, ideas, +and tastes of a man, with no other recompense than the satisfaction +derived from a duty done. They had to issue forth like butterflies from +the chrysalis, and to become women full of charm, in order to direct the +affairs which men believed they had in their own hands, and in order to +fascinate, to enfold, to struggle if need be, but without violence or +parade. Then they had to rise a step higher, become objects of love, +propagate love, and bring all things into harmony. + +Thanks to these ideas, Italy at the end of the fifteenth century had +taken a marvellous bound towards the beautiful.[7] + +Spain likewise had leapt towards chivalry; it was like the raising of +a curtain, so sudden was the change: women, hitherto shut up in their +boudoirs, appeared in all their radiance like goddesses. + +France, on the contrary, viewed these new ideas with profound mistrust, +and long rejected them because of their Italian origin. We knew Italy, +but under very false colours; she gloried in rising superior to wealth +and rank, in the importance of women, prelates, and artists in her +life; while we only knew her through merchants and soldiers. Her +bankers established in our towns—“Lombards,” as they were scornfully +called—passed in the eyes of the people for men without a country, for +birds of prey akin to the Jews; our knights, still bewitched by the joys +of their expeditions, spoke carelessly only of a people without weapons +and of defenceless women. The French clergy chimed in with their note +of bitter opposition to Rome. And thus Italy was readily imagined as a +hot-bed of pleasure: but to go there in quest of the philosophic secret +of happiness seemed absurd. + +In the intellectual point of view, Italy created a wrong impression +among us through the persons she sent us: professors more or less +broken down,[8] exiles more or less voluntary;[9] impecunious, ravenous, +and pretentious characters,[10] not very philosophic in their attitude +towards their rivals: all those also who rang the changes on the honour +we had had in beating them, the Stoas, Soardis, Equicolas, wonderfully +assiduous in making Louis XII. out to be a second Charlemagne (in those +days Charlemagne was still a Frenchman); Caesar Borgia and his brilliant +retinue, at whose brief passage we looked on in contemptuous unconcern. +Because Caesar Borgia did not take our fancy, or because some of us had +met light women on the highway to Italy, any Italian idea appeared to us +a false one; we shut ourselves up in what Pontanus, Julius II., and other +Italians remaining in Italy called our “barbarism,” and as we plumed +ourselves on our logic, we only abandoned our antagonism to adopt all +the Italian fashions completely and indiscriminately. To that end, Louis +XII. had to oblige by dying, and Francis I. by reigning; so at least +Castiglione, the master of the new school, formally declared after the +accession of Francis. So it actually turned out. + +Thus women are queens; they move like fairies. “It is a small thing to +say of a woman that she does not destroy the flowers on which she sets +her foot; she must refresh them. The violets should not droop when she +passes, but burst into flower.”[11] + +We do not claim that this system is perfect; our aim is precisely to +examine with the utmost care its strong and its weak points; but it is +certain that, to begin with, by the side of almost all the illustrious +men who then flourished in such numbers, we see the indispensable woman +silhouetting herself, not as tyrant or even director, but as mentor and +guide—as mother, rather, since she brings them forth into the higher +life; or, still better, as light and sun, as reinvigorating, vivifying +warmth: according to the saying of Schiller, “Love is the sun of +Genius.” “Without women,” says Castiglione, “nothing is possible—neither +military courage, nor art, nor poetry, nor music, nor philosophy, nor +even religion: God is only truly seen through them.” This was no new +observation: Solomon had already said the same thing; but we must believe +there were new conclusions to be drawn from it, since men hoped to find +in it the answer to that vexed question of happiness which has been put +in vain since the foundation of the world. + +To realise how women transformed themselves, we must follow their example +and open our minds. They had the courage so to do: they looked life +fairly in the face—with their woman’s eyes, it is true, fine, subtle, +and complex; they looked, and often they did not really understand their +own impressions, vivid, and rather strong than clearly defined. Often, +also, under the impulse of these impressions, they acted in the genuine +woman’s way, with tricks and reservations, evading the consequences of +their own theories, going round the obstacle they advanced to attack in +front. Their achievements and thoughts are difficult to determine. We +cannot here, as in an ordinary history, be satisfied with a mere string +of facts; we must play the chemist, analyse these various and complex +elements, and seek to evolve a general formula. + +That formula is this: to live, that is, to love life, to attain a mastery +of life without allowing it to crush or dominate us. The attainment +of this result is well worth the trouble of deciphering a few women’s +hearts, even though the handwriting should be less clear than our +ordinary manuscripts. In those days they sincerely studied to love life; +they loved it, rejecting all negations and obstructions, all that +overwhelms and paralyses, scouting death itself! Instead of yielding to +scepticism in regard to things, they wished to push love to the stage +of Stoicism, to lift the heaviest burdens, to gaze upon the star of +consolation which speaks to us of love eternal. + +Every woman will begin with her own redemption. She is at first thrown +out into the world while still a child, almost in childish innocence: +very soon rigorous duties, material and oppressive in character, seize +upon her: she is, so to speak, battered and rolled out by very rough +forces—the firm authority of her husband, the idea of obedience, the +trials of motherhood, fruitful in joys, but also in hardships and cares. +Whilst her will is annihilated and enslaved, and her heart often remains +an undiscovered country, she assists with pain and disgust at the +downfall of her flesh—that flesh which has become the abode of pain, a +body of death, to give birth to life. + +How is the sudden thrill brought about, turning the dull, torpid larva +into the bright butterfly? How do women succeed in drawing from this +essentially human condition something of the divine, passing from +physical production to spiritual production? These above all are the +questions we must seek to determine. + +It must not be expected that we shall present to our readers fair +barristers, or engineers, or professional scholars, still less pedants. +No; these ladies were simply modest women, who took their share in the +humblest duties of everyday life, but discovered, apart from charity in +the material sense, the absolute necessity of another charity, moral +charity for moral and spiritual penury, for those destitute of happiness, +so numerous and found everywhere, even within the walls of the Louvre. + +If they accomplished a revolution, it was a peaceful and internal +one. They piled up no barricades, issued no manifestos, launched no +declaration of their rights as women and citizens. Though the laws were +not generally favourable to them, they demanded no amendment of the +laws; the same magistrates continued as in the past to deliver the same +judgments from the same benches, politicians still made their fortunes, +ploughmen still followed the plough, engineers continued to construct +bridges and make roads, notaries to scan the cause-lists. Nothing was +changed, in appearance, in the material course of the world, except that +a moral power had come into being, and that women, like the goddesses of +happiness painted by Nattier, under the cloak of indifference had taken +into their keeping a mysterious urn, whence life seemed to gush in a +spontaneous stream, without the help of judges, engineers, or notaries, +yet continually sending out the current essential to the sweetness and +fruitfulness of the world. + + + + +BOOK I. FAMILY LIFE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +MARRIAGE + + +There are two ways of dealing with the heart of a woman. You may have +confidence in it, believe in it, regard it as a real element of strength +and happiness, uplift and develop it, touching it then to fine issues +in love, religion, philosophy. These are the lines on which the modern +world proceeds. Or you may treat it as a frail organ of the body, unruly, +incapable of good; you may bind it down, early and with due care, with +all sorts of reasonable chains, the chief of which, marriage, will keep +it fast prisoned, and reduce it to nothingness and oblivion. This, of +course, was the system of former days. + +Singularly enough, these two systems, contrary as they are, spring from +precisely the same practical starting-point, which indeed remains the +sole point of contact between them: the principle, namely, that marriage +and love are distinct, and must neither be confused nor blended. + +To Battista Spagnuoli of Mantua,[12] poet and monk, in the solitude of +his cloister, marriage shone with a rosy light. Cornelius Agrippa,[13] +with his utilitarian and paradoxical mind, regarded it as a compulsory +conscription of the German type, with no possible exemptions, or almost +none, and fancied that if men would but go in quest of a pretty woman +instead of being so much absorbed with the proprieties and the main +chance, the result would prove far more satisfactory. With the exception +of these two, and a few more or less ingenuous or eccentric people +like them, no one believed in the utility or the possibility of love +in marriage. Caviceo’s romance _Il Peregrino_ was considered sheer +perversity, for after innumerable intrigues and adventures it ends—how? +With wedding bells! So that, according to Caviceo, marriage was to turn +out a romance of cloak and sword![14] + +It was universally agreed that no idea could be more absurd, less +practical, more detestable, more immoral even. Marriage was a +transaction, an ‘establishment,’ a business partnership, a grave material +union of interests, rank, and social responsibilities, sanctified by +the close personal association of the partners. To insinuate an idea of +pleasure was to rob it of its noble and honourable character, and to +drag it down into the mire of sensuality. To mingle with it a physical +suggestion was to degrade it; to mingle with it love, the absolute, great +enthusiasms of heart or intellect, was to lay up for oneself disasters, +or at least certain disappointment. “Love-matches turn out badly quite +as often as arranged marriages.” A romance lasts a week, the reality +for a lifetime. No passion can survive the humdrum, the monotony, the +deadweight of matrimonial experience: and what marriage can hold out +against passion? Heart freedom, the storms, raptures, revulsions to be +anticipated on all sides—what amalgamation is possible between these and +the peaceful domestic life which is looked-to to furnish forth a very +solid, united, and well-ordered existence? A certain equality is the +rule of passion: what it demands is a perfect union between two persons +who are mutually attracted and whom there is nothing to keep apart. +What would become of married life under these conditions, without some +directing authority, without one to give law to the other? In regard to +marriage, the time-honoured principle, rigorous though protective, was +this: the husband ought always to take the helm, imbecile, madman or rake +though he be: woman is born to obey, man to command. + +Wedlock then is good solid household bread, not by any means cakes and +ale. It is the modest squat suburban villa in which you eat and sleep: +passion is a church-spire piercing the sky—the spire we see high above +our smoky roofs, whence on Sundays and festivals our ears are greeted +with the sound of bells. + +To try to import passion into marriage is like trying to pack a cathedral +into one’s bedroom. + +And so marriage is to retain its actual character as a simple, natural +function of the physical life, like eating and drinking: the husband a +domestic animal, presented to the woman by the usages of society, the +accident of birth, and the terms of the bargain. There is no reason for +choosing him except in so far as he fulfils these conditions. Do women +choose their family affections? Do they select their father, brother, +relatives? The husband also is a relative, a partner, to whom every +possible duty is owing except that of love. The woman’s duty to him is to +keep house for him, present him with children, nurse him in sickness, and +regard his liberty as sacred. + +In short, at whatever point of view one placed oneself, marriage excluded +every idea of personal fancy; indeed, of all the contracts of life, +marriage was the least tolerant of any such idea. Its traditional +character as a business transaction no one would have dreamed of +contesting. + +So far as the woman was concerned, the practical consequences of this +principle were very simple. It was not for her to seek a husband, but +merely to accept the man whom fate, that is to say, Providence, had +destined for her. Nothing was more ridiculous than here and there to +find some portionless girl, or one who, like Mademoiselle de Clermont, +was no longer in her first bloom, waxing sentimental and speaking with a +sigh of the “unaccustomed pleasure” of loving the man one married. “This +pleasure,” she says, raising her eyes to heaven like a virgin martyr, +“if it sets at nought human wisdom, is inspired by wisdom from on high; +so fine, so exquisite must it be, that of a truth it is keener than +sorrow at the loss of the loved one—a commonplace and everyday sorrow.” +Whereupon, whatever sympathy may have been inspired by Mademoiselle de +Clermont’s misfortune, her friends cannot help smiling: “So you mean to +say,” they exclaim, “that a woman has more pleasure in the embraces of +her husband than pain at seeing him slain before her eyes!”[15] + +The idea that a young girl should submit passively to be married was +almost the only one on which there was complete agreement. Everyone was +thoroughly convinced that in adopting any other course she would almost +invariably be committing a folly sure to bring repentance. If young and +unsophisticated, she would allow herself to be lured and snared by mere +illusions from which there would be a speedy awakening; if she had lost +something of her youth and innocence things were still worse, for then +she inevitably said and thought and did ridiculous things, like poor +foolish Mademoiselle de Clermont. A spinster of twenty-five or thirty, +seized with a yearning for marriage,[16] would be subject to attacks of +mental vertigo springing rather from vanity than from love; one could +believe her capable of the veriest follies and the most surprising +judgments.[17] That was the opinion of all serious women, from Louise +of Savoy to Anne of France,[18] whether they were of matter-of-fact +intellect, spiritual in their affections, or somewhat wayward in their +imagination. The whole mechanism of life exemplified this fundamental +principle: a young girl should have “no choice, ambition, or wish” of her +own; “experience, failing God and the Law, proves to girls the necessity +of discretion, and of not marrying to please themselves; their marriage +should be left to their relatives, or in default of relatives, to their +friends.”[19] + +Very frequently, the “best” marriages were negotiated by intermediaries +more or less obliging, relatives or friends. Princes and princesses were +married through the good offices of diplomatists. Indeed, ladies and +gentlemen of the Court did quite a respectable trade in match-making, for +a consideration. + +But, after all, the task of marrying his daughter was essentially and +especially one for the father. + +For the most part, the father would be only too glad to wash his hands of +the business. In every case he was in a hurry to bring matters to a head, +and believed that in losing no time he was acting in the interests of +his child. She was to belong wholly to another household, since it was a +woman’s lot to belong to her husband, and so it was well for her to enter +upon her new life as early as possible, before she had formed ideas of +her own, and at an age when the paternal household would not yet have +set its stamp indelibly upon her. + +In this respect the betrothals, the “marriages for the future”—marriages, +that is, solemnised in infancy for future consummation—were of great +service, and the higher the position occupied in the social scale, the +earlier such marriages were. Kings have even been known to marry their +daughters two days after birth, but such a compact, it is true, was +in the end declared by the lawyers to be immoral and hardly serious. +Indeed, later on, when the time for carrying out the bargain came, some +princes and princesses felt constrained to protest against this arbitrary +disposal of their persons. Happily, such engagements were not of the most +stable kind, and, often enough, political considerations were sufficient +to upset them before any harm was done.[20] + +In distinguished families, betrothal was by no means unusual at the age +of two or three. At this tender age Vittoria Colonna[21] was betrothed to +the Marquis of Pescara. + +Consummation usually took place at the age of twelve. That was a +favourite age with the husbands; though, according to the best judges, +fifteen was the age when the physical charms were at their best, and +the soul was most malleable—a view dating as far back as Hesiod and +Aristotle. Tiraqueau,[22] the friend of Rabelais, vaunts his exploit in +having wedded a girl of ten. In vain did the French physicians implore +the men in mercy to have a little patience, beseech them to wait at least +until the fourteenth year: they demurred, for it was humiliating for a +father to have a fifteen-year-old daughter on his hands: at sixteen they +would have called it a catastrophe. Champier,[23] one of the gravest of +writers, proposed that after the age of sixteen young women should be +provided with husbands by the State, on the lines of Plato’s system. Some +parents betrayed such haste to get their girls off their hands that they +anticipated the ceremony, handing them over to their husbands-elect on +the strength of a mere promise of fidelity. It happened at Milan, among +the Sforza family, that a mother, becoming apprehensive, refused at the +last moment to part with her daughter on such terms, and the matter ended +where it should properly have begun, in a mutual arrangement, the young +lady being formally placed in charge of her husband to save appearances. +But difficulties like these were always very dangerous. In this case a +dispute arose in regard to the dowry, and blood waxed hot; the bridegroom +broke off the match, and took to wife another girl of the same family, a +child of ten, whom he led off like a horse-dealer returning with a filly +purchased at the fair. + +Sometimes, in great families, the girls were married in advance by proxy. +Certain wives grew to womanhood without even making their husbands’ +acquaintance. + +Urbino is not a great way from Mantua, but the diplomatic agent of Urbino +found it necessary to urge his master, Francesco Maria della Rovere, +a youth of eighteen, to come on a visit to Leonora Gonzaga, whom he +described in the most alluring terms: “If your Excellency saw Madame +Leonora, and the Marquis’s little mare, you would see the two loveliest +things I ever set eyes on. I do not think there is in all Italy anyone +more beautiful or virtuous than Madame, and I am sure no king or prince +in Christendom has a mare to match his Excellency’s.” Ultimately La +Rovere yielded like a lord, and set off incognito to see his wife, a girl +of fourteen years and a half, a merry little creature, pretty, well-bred, +and a pupil of the historian Sigismondo Golfo. She was presented to him +at the palace of Mantua, in the Hall of the Sun. He stepped forward to +greet her, and embraced her in the most correct style; then, on Cardinal +Gonzago remarking loudly that this was a somewhat frigid demonstration, +he went forward again, caught Leonora by the arms and head, and planted a +becoming kiss upon her lips. And then they sat down and began chatting on +the topics of the day, notably a portrait which had just been finished. + +To find marriages of mutual affection it would have been necessary to +go down among the lower ranks of the people, in country places; “good +matches were made”[24] as they danced together at the fair or at the +village merry-makings. But in the great world the future spouses were +subjected to a system of “interviews.” Louis de la Trémoille,[25] who +conceived the eccentric idea of escaping the infliction, found no other +means than to introduce himself into the house of his prospective wife, +Gabrielle de Bourbon, disguised and under a false name, as they do in the +comedies. With a widow, perhaps, a little less ceremony may have been +permissible, and then—! In one of his diplomatic despatches Bibbiena[26] +relates with much humour an interview of this sort: + +“To-day there took place an interview between the Duke of Calabria and +the divine lady of Forli.[27] Needless to say, his excellency was +admirably groomed and attired in the height of Neapolitan fashion. His +arrival at Bagnara was welcomed with a salute of musketry, and he stayed +to dinner. He spent two hours here with the countess, but it is patent to +everyone that Feo[28] has the lady well under his thumb. His excellency +took his leave very well satisfied; but he was only moderately taken with +the countess: he told me that they joined hands very gingerly, that he +caught some winking and shrugs. And so we are off again, like a cricket +into its hole.” + +The final scene was enacted between the bride’s father and the bridegroom +or his parents. It was remarkably like any other sort of bargaining: and +on this subject an old author throws a charming side-light: he urges +paterfamilias to bestow as much care on the choice of a son-in-law as on +the purchase of a dog! + +Ah! if the wife is ever to become an instrument of love, there is no +sign of it here! Her father occupies himself with calculations of the +frankest and most practical kind; he has lived long enough to understand +the importance of questions of money or worldly interests, and on this +score is usually more than a match for his son-in-law. It is all very +well for the preachers to extol virtue naked and unadorned! The ideal of +a self-respecting father is an eligible elder son, heir to the paternal +dovecot, a man of leisure, or at any rate a “gentleman,” in other words, +well-connected, moving in good society, with fine friends. Trade he +rather looks down on: he has seen so many failures!—so many substantial +traders have taken to setting up as “merchant gentlemen,” like the +Genoese, and have come to grief! The law, on the other hand, is extremely +popular; in these days there is nothing better than an alliance with a +lawyer. The young man who is waiting for the death of his father to buy +an appointment in the judicature may hold up his head in any company. + +Having once come to a decision, the father is at no loss for excellent +reasons both for himself and others. “He plays the guitar well, is +a beautiful dancer, a delightful singer, an excellent writer, a +good-looking decent fellow! He has the promise of a post as Lord High +Whipper-snapper to the King: ’tis a fine thing, a place at Court! +given opportunity and a friend, and your fortune is made.”... “He is +a sensible fellow, keeps a still tongue in his head, answers you only +with nods or Italianate shrugs.”... “Oh! it’s all the same to me. I am a +gentleman myself; here’s to all gentlemen! Zounds! but ’tis expensive, +worse luck! Come now, I’m as good a gentleman as the king. I don’t keep +up his style, to be sure, but, mark you, I hunt when I like, come and +go as I please, bustle about, flog and bawl at and curse my people, +let ’em know I am master; and the hundred or two serfs I have under me +daren’t stir, egad, without my leave.”... “Tut tut! a little less gilt +and a little more gingerbread! My girl marry a lord and then forsooth +go footing it in the mud to canvass Jacks-in-office for a flower-girl’s +corner or some twopenny-ha’penny matter! A fig for your gentlemen!”... +and so on, with endless variations on the same theme of utilitarianism +pure and simple. Perhaps the girl is already smitten with a handsome +officer: no matter, she will have to marry some surveyor from Paris, +especially if he holds a good appointment on the crown lands, because +that provides opportunities of feathering one’s nest. In such matters +the fathers relentlessly enforce their authority, apparently with every +right. The pleadings in a criminal case reveal to us the Biblical +Machiavelism of a well-to-do peasant who had conceived the idea of +getting gratuitous service for ten years from the candidate for his +daughter’s hand and fortune: the period expires, and then the father with +singular bad faith proposes to exact another ten years’ service; but this +time the future son-in-law rebels, and has the misfortune accidentally to +kill his prospective father-in-law, and this brings him before the courts. + +The father’s egotism was only equalled by that of the bridegroom elect. +The man who thought of marrying, that is to say, of taking a wife, was a +man of some thirty years (Plato proposed thirty, Aristotle thirty-five); +he had enjoyed his youth, and was now shutting the door upon it. Why? +Often he was not very clear himself: because the time had come, he +supposed, for doing what everybody did. Celibacy was not the vogue: “We +are no longer in the age of the vestals,” as Egnatius[29] excellently +said. And we discover from various sources that the religious vocation +was not very well understood, even among girls. Luckless preachers had +to toil and sweat to prove that virginity was no crime, and that a woman +might quite fittingly prefer the ideal of a mystic marriage to the +prospect of bearing a man’s yoke and measuring out the domestic oil. +Erasmus writing to nuns is too courteous not to speak of angels or lilies +of the valley, but in his heart of hearts he thinks it all terribly +old-fashioned, and has not the slightest belief in the virginal theories +of St. Jerome. With still greater reason, celibacy was not countenanced +beyond a certain age. Luther very honestly regarded it as an intolerable +burden, contrary to nature and the custom of the early church. “It is +as impossible to do without women as without meat and drink.” And so a +man took a wife because he thus fulfilled part of his duty as a healthy +animal; he married because at thirty years the time had come for making +a home and begetting a family. In reality a man married, in a manner, +impersonally, rather for his family than for himself; and all that he +desired was to complicate his life as little as possible in marrying, to +be able to preserve his tastes, habits, hobbies, without the incubus of a +partner. + +The worst feature of this business of matrimony was that it was so +entirely at the mercy of chance, which made almost a lottery of it, +and it would have been much more ridiculous for a man than for a woman +to yield to a childish infatuation. The man knew nothing of the girl +he was espousing, either physically or morally. He merely assumed some +likelihood of her resembling her parents, with the result that he devoted +special attention to his prospective mother-in-law; she was the woman +he was wedding. A young woman without relatives to serve as samples and +guarantees was at a discount in the matrimonial market. At the best, +it is always a leap in the dark, something like a step into death; it +is the burial of the past, the first sacrifice of one’s life for the +preservation of the race; the Stoic, says Cardan, knows whereabouts he +is at his marriage and his death. A man’s best course is to take comfort +beforehand, to fix his eyes on the object he aims at, to reflect that the +reason, the mind has no great part in it, and that children are not the +offspring of a woman’s brain. + +Moralists had put themselves to much trouble to cheer men along this +difficult road, and to provide them with a series of test questions as an +aid to matrimony. They assured a man that he might be quite easy in mind +if he simply verified eight particulars in regard to the girl he proposed +to marry: physically, her age, health, maternal aptitudes, beauty; +generally, her intelligence, education, family, and dower. Unhappily, +this verification was not easy. + +Physically, he could verify nothing but the young lady’s age; for the +rest, the physicians advised him to look to her figure and in general +to choose the best-grown girl; but no one can fail to see how vague +and fallacious was any presumption based on that! True, there were the +attractions of her features to judge by; but those were precisely what +the same moralists urged him to distrust: a serious man, they said, would +never build on that sand. In married life striking beauty is apt to pall, +you come to loathe it, and a pretty woman is rarely clever enough to +bring grist to her husband’s mill—except maybe in trade, when she serves +as a signboard or a trade-mark. Sensible men preferred plainness; it was +only widowers or wealthy dotards who gave themselves as a last resource +the luxury of marrying a pretty woman. Poor souls! they would do better +to think of their rheumatism, their indigestion, the dreadful draughts! +Such a match was that of Madame Dixhomme, a very sprightly young woman +well known in society, who bore the name of an old husband, a shining +light of the Parisian bar, who might have been her father! There is no +help for it. These good patriarchs will listen to no advice, and always +count on coming off well. The world is content to smile, and to look on +their attitude as courageous, not to say heroic.[30] + +So much for the physical aspect. In regard to moral principles, there was +one that was firmly established. The man who was bringing himself to the +marrying point was haunted by the spectre of feminine independence; the +terror he felt in anticipation of some enforced sacrifice of his tastes +or whims took possession of him and dominated every other sentiment. +So when he set out in quest of a young wife, he looked for one in his +own rank of society, on his own level, so that she might have nothing +to hope for from him, nothing to cast in his face, that he might owe +her nothing, that she might have no pretext for riding roughshod over +him, but might resign herself quite contentedly to play second fiddle, +regarding this subordination as natural, just as the ivy gladly embraces +the asperities of the wall it is fixed to. The husbands wished their +wives to take pleasure in resignation and to fancy that their woes were +the source of true felicity. The first condition towards attaining this +end was that the ladies should not have a higher, nor even a lower +station in society to look back on. + +In a fit of epicurism dashed with respectability you marry your cook, +thinking you are securing careful attentions, a good table, and a warm +bed! Woful mistake! You are wedding a fishwife, who will treat you after +the manner of fishwives, and overwhelm you with coarse abuse: she will +never tire of telling you you are not man enough for her. You would not +find it much more pleasant to marry a woman a little too much above you, +who, at the critical moment, would hold you with an admirable curtain +lecture, and, instead of doing her wifely duty, would discourse to you +for the hundredth time on the splendid matches she had declined, the rage +of her family, your poverty,[31] and so forth. + +It is easy to understand with what uneasiness and fatalism all these +considerations, not to mention others, fill the mind of a man who has +reached the age of official paternity. He hesitates long, and makes up +his mind at last with his eyes wide open, knowing that “in the best of +marriages one must expect at least as much pain as pleasure.” Not that +he would maintain that marriage is a mistake for men, but he does think +that “neither joy nor felicity has part or lot in such brutishness.” He +asks advice from one and another, and always runs counter to it. Someone +tells him of a girl with money—she will want to rule the roost; of a +poor girl—she will be a drag; a pretty girl—so much the better for his +neighbours; a plain girl—ugh! that offends his susceptibilities. What +does he want, then? A good manager, a strapping well-built wench: if he +talks of consulting an expert, he is referred to Triboulet![32] He would +much rather have to choose a cow. + +It is in this frame of mind that he at last makes his decision. If in +later years he attains to some eminence and is tempted to-write his +memoirs, this business of his marriage will be one of the episodes he +will be able to detail, for his own justification, with perfect composure. + +A dispensation of Providence was often necessary to bring him to the +point. This dispensation manifested itself under the most diverse forms. +The learned Tiraqueau, of whom we have already spoken, was struck one +day with the fact that the Greeks and Romans had a very poor opinion +of celibacy, and he culled from Valerius Maximus especially a number +of convincing proofs on this head. Whereupon he crossed the street and +demanded in marriage the young girl who lived opposite; he found that her +name was Marie Cailler, that she was very well-bred, and that her parents +were anxious to get her off their hands. But Tiraqueau was determined +not to suggest a suspicion that a man of his stamp felt a real need of +marriage, and so he dedicated to his father-in-law and to posterity the +unparalleled account of his actual motives. + +The hand of Providence was sufficiently revealed in the will of the +parents, or in the cash of an uncle from whom one had expectations, and +who, not having himself taken the trouble to perpetuate his stock, was +determined that the duty should be undertaken by another. + +It is curious enough to see Michelangelo in this rôle of the preachifying +uncle. So far as he was concerned, he had long held such peculiar ideas +about marriage that he would have nothing to do with it. At a time +when he had come to years of discretion he worked himself up into a +fine fury of indignation against his brother, who, to put an end to an +old and vexatious law-suit, thought of marrying the daughter of the +opposite party. Later, however, he took it into his head that the name of +Buonarotti must not be allowed to disappear: “the world would not come to +an end, but every living being does his best to preserve his species.” +For this reason his nephew was to marry. But marry whom? Not money, said +the uncle, but a girl of good stock: “to wed a good, well-bred, healthy +woman, is to do a good day’s work,” and to assure peace and quietness at +home. + +The idea of a good day’s work did not much take the young man’s fancy: +the prospect of a dowry was more attractive. But the dowry Michelangelo +made himself responsible for, provided they found for him a niece who was +really adaptable and likely to prove a good wife. A match was proposed, +but after dragging on for a time the negotiations fell through, to be +resumed and to fall through again. The uncle was content to give the +nephew a start, and kept himself in the background, though he was all the +time setting the bishop of Arezzo at work in the matter. He knew that +the distinguished people at Florence were at that time in sore pecuniary +straits, a circumstance at which he rejoiced, for it might be expected to +help forward his plans. Ere long, however, the bishop of Arezzo offered a +girl who was no beggar-maid to be wed for charity. + +The nephew’s hesitation being at last overcome, he obtained an +introduction to the Guicciardini, one of the principal families of +Florence, rich in the possession of two daughters. All went so well +that the good uncle was soon exchanging excellent letters with the +girl’s father. But on the very first occasion when serious business was +discussed, the bridegroom elect discovered with dismay that the style of +the house, which indicated a respectable fortune, was all a vain show. +Old Guicciardini, excellent man, was very careful to avoid a scandal, +and there and then offered his would-be son-in-law the daughter of one +of his friends the Ridolfi. Kept well posted in these various incidents, +Michelangelo at last became rather bewildered; but to him it mattered +little whether his nephew espoused the Ridolfi or the Guicciardini +provided it was one of the two. + +Finally, the nephew wedded the fair Ridolfi in April, 1553, and on +May 20th he poured out all his satisfaction in a letter to his uncle. +Ravished, enchanted, and overflowing with thankfulness, Michelangelo +despatched the promised dowry with a present of jewellery. In April of +the following year a son made his entrance into the world under the name +of Michelangelo Buonarotti; next year another was expected, and a third +the year after. Michelangelo signified his approval by a present of 600 +golden crowns (about £2000). That was something like a marriage! + +But Raphael, a man of the world, wedded to his independence, took a far +less simple view of the institution. His uncle, a worthy canon, never +spoke to him of a dowry; a stroke of Raphael’s brush was worth a dowry +in itself. Unhappily, the divine poet of maternal love, the exquisite +interpreter of women, weighed and digested the matter like a man of +sense. He does not cease to thank Providence, he says, that he has +refrained from wedding any of the ladies contemplated up to the present. +To-day (1514) he may marry brilliantly if he likes; the choice is open +to him: a cousin of Cardinal St. Maria in Porticu, offered him by the +Cardinal himself—a lovely creature, of good family, with a dower of 3000 +crowns, or even more. But “he is in no hurry”; and indeed, that is the +sober truth: men are not in a hurry; and Raphael never married. + +So it was quite with the feeling that he was fulfilling an impersonal +and family duty that a man ended by espousing a woman whose attitude was +as impersonal as his own. For the same reason, to consecrate the nuptial +transaction and give it due importance in the eyes of the world, the +marriage was surrounded with an ever-increasing ostentation. The opening +scene was as imposing and brilliant as the subsequent years of married +life were to prove sombre and colourless. + +At a later date we find the Calvinists up in arms against these idle +gawds, which they style scandalous worldliness, a “villany.” Nevertheless +there was evidently no idea of glozing over the real character of the +contract; but aesthetic taste, however rudimentary, insisted apparently, +if not on idealising the contract, at least on beautifying it. + +Up to the solemn moment everything has been transacted between men. +The young woman appears on this great day for the first time in her +life. If she has been brought up according to the old method, many +people have scarcely suspected her existence. Unlike her husband, who +is taking a step backwards, subsiding from youth into maturity, she +is being born into life. There she is, at the door or under the porch +of the church, standing beside her husband, involuntarily, with no +desires of her own, passive—an offering, as it were, to the race. In +this strong light of publicity she alone seems a little ill at ease, +blushing at the exhibition, agitated at this unknown something which +the rest are so joyfully celebrating. The priest comes down the nave, +just as at funerals, receives the young couple’s whispered “I will,” +sprinkles them lightly as they stand with a little lustral water, +censes them; and then the procession is formed, to wind its way up to +the altar where the nuptial benediction mass will be sung—a long, noisy +procession, ponderous, gothic, all stiff with velvets, monumental stuffs +and gilded draperies; thirty, forty, sometimes three hundred persons, +none but members of the family; but in these circumstances of parade and +pleasure the family becomes extraordinarily multiplied. At the head of +the procession, buried under trappings of superb finery representing a +fortune, the little bride is scarcely visible; she is for all the world +like the clapper of a bell. And verily under that golden robe there is +after all nothing—but a woman. + +They leave the church, and there is no crush; the sight attracts only a +few curious folk, a few halt and blind: in those days there was nothing +to draw the overwhelming throng without which no modern marriage is +complete. And the procession crawls on, displaying through the town its +festal finery drawn from ancestral coffers, with a majesty which may +perhaps give the impression of an official pageant, but nowhere indicates +the crowning incident in a love-story. All is significant of a serious, +authentic, arithmetical fact, a practical and substantial fact, a +performance got up for the honour of a family. + +It is precisely this which sends a thrill through all who take part +in the ceremony. Under these huge plumes and massive carcanets there +vibrates a delirious but very real joy—the old family joy in pomp and +circumstance, this, too, drawn, as it were, out of the ancestral coffers. +What man is there who, however poverty-stricken he may be, dispenses with +magnificence at his marriage? Perhaps this is the only day—or rather, +the only period, for one is not married in a day—when he will know what +luxury is. There is a truce to care; life shows a countenance all joy and +geniality. + +In the rural parts of France the company only rose from table to sit +down again, or to dance under the elms. Deep drinking, love, quarrels, +broad jests, strange customs, such, for instance, as the _jus primae +noctis_, or the drinking-match traditional with the country lads—all +this developed a boisterous gaiety. The bridegroom alone groaned under +it, for among the middle and lower classes it was the correct thing to +invite to one’s wedding as big a crowd as possible. The poor man spent +his time running from fiddler to purveyor, ruining himself in presents +for his friends and the bridesmaids; he was expected to show everyone a +smiling face, to receive his guests, have a word for all, crack jokes, be +at everybody’s beck and call, think of everyone but himself, lucky if at +an odd moment he could snatch a morsel to eat. When night came he had not +even the right of taking his rest; ordeals of every kind lay in wait for +him; and in the morning he was bound to go on laughing, to receive more +visits, and profess himself the happiest fellow in the world. And then +comes the turn of the upholsterers and house-furnishers. + +“Happily,” he says, “one doesn’t get married every day.” Divorce will +never number him among its supporters. + +Helysenne de Crenne,[33] the great romance-writer, sketches a somewhat +analogous picture of the doings in the great world. + +On some fine sunny morning, when the birds are enlivening all things +with song, the groomsmen set out in procession to fetch the bridegroom, +and the bridesmaids to escort the bride. She arrives in a blue robe +adorned with pearls, a diamond coronet on her head. The festivities, +extraordinarily magnificent, last the whole day, concerts and dances +forming part of them; the men hover solicitously about the ladies; some +of them get up a tilting match, ironically inviting the bridegroom to +enter the lists, and his refusal lets loose a flood of pleasantries. + +At nightfall the couple are solemnly bedded. At this moment, in France, +the fun is only just beginning. The house seems verily bewitched: not a +bolt catches, not a window but is under a spell; at the most unexpected +moment an avalanche of troublesome visitors bursts into the nuptial +chamber; the couple spring out of bed; the intruders wax hilarious on +the slightest pretext. In her precipitation the bride has perhaps torn +a little rent in her shift; a court is at once constituted to try the +case, and we may imagine the full-flavoured jests that are bandied about, +becoming indeed a little wearisome. + +In Italy the marriage was a more solemn and complicated affair. The +law indeed was compelled to intervene with a view to limiting the +expenditure, in spite of which certain Florentine marriages cost +some £20,000, without reckoning the presents—and the presents made a +heavy item. At Venice the witnesses, sometimes numbering forty, could +not escape for less than two hundred ducats apiece. The marriage set +the artistic world in motion. Men of letters came flocking up with +inflictions in the shape of epithalamiums, more or less new, descanting +in Grecian style on the theme “is marriage a necessity?” or farragoes +of pedantry, crammed with allusions to the ancients, full of names like +Lycurgus and Plato, lauding the families of the young couple to the +skies, and comparing the bride and bridegroom to Philip of Macedon, +Mithridates, Dido; eclogues were rained on them, and apologues, and +declamations in Latin verse. All these were printed, and constituted +an authentic memorial of the event. A painter of repute would be +commissioned to decorate the trunk for the brides trousseau; he would +depict on it a story from Scripture or mythology, or a genre scene,[34] +and this formed another memorial, often charming and always worth +keeping.[35] + +In the pages of history we find descriptions of so many weddings that +it would be no easy matter to make a selection. King Alfonso of Aragon, +hardly serious as a husband but a very splendid prince, was married +with a magnificence that was long remembered. On the shores of the sea, +the glorious sea of Naples, tables were set up for a company of thirty +thousand, amid fountains running wine and pavilions flashing with light. +In the neighbouring forest a hunt was organised for the Court. The +Neapolitans in their enthusiasm invoked the sun to witness that nothing +more beautiful could ever be seen. + +The wedding of Eleanor of Toledo to the Duke of Florence in 1539 is +described with abundant details in a little book compiled for the +occasion. There you may read a description of the triumphal arches, the +statues, the dramatic performances, and find the complete text of the +stanzas, the madrigals and the comedy. The music was printed separately. + +One may read also the details given by M. Molmenti of the dazzling +pageants at Venice: the official proclamation in the court of the +Doge’s palace, the prolonged and sumptuous preparations for the festive +entertainments, the canals _en fête_, the façades of the palaces hung +with bunting, the gondoliers in red silk hose skimming the waves, +the armies of servants in gold-embroidered liveries, the bonfires, +the fireworks, the fifers and trumpeters, the serenades, dramatic +performances, balls, banquets with lavish displays of gold plate and +decorations flashing with all the colours of the rainbow—it is all like +a dream; even Veronese would have despaired of painting the thousand +extravagances of this feverish life. + +But nowhere do we catch sight of the woman: it is the man who +predominates and plays the leading part. Suddenly the curtain falls. The +girl has become a wife, and then what crudities! what realism! even in +those circles where delicacy is as a rule pushed to the utmost limits of +refinement. + +Details on so intimate a matter appear to elude the historian. But though +confidences are lacking, we may surmise the real feelings, the profound +degradation of certain young brides, from the very circumstantial reports +of the ambassadors charged with superintending the arrangements of royal +marriages. These reports, it is true, relate to a very special society, +but it was the highest society, and precisely that which set the fashion. +No one would imagine what singular details are to be found in these +letters. + +Take for instance an incident that happened at the charming Court of +Urbino, perhaps the most exquisite of all courts. On the morrow of her +son’s marriage, the Duchess-dowager had the door of the bridal chamber +flung open at dawn, and approaching her daughter-in-law, who bashfully +tried to hide under the bedclothes, said to her: “Well now, my daughter, +isn’t it a fine thing to sleep with the men!” What a compliment from +the Queen of Platonism! No one after this will deny that marriage is +everywhere stamped with the character of unredeemed prose. + +That phrase “fine thing” in particular, which on the lips of the duchess +so often denoted the ideal, startles us here with a singular irony. + +Or again, what a curious chapter of adventures was that of Bianca +Sforza, who as heiress to an immense fortune had become by proxy the +wife of the Emperor Maximilian! Ambassador Brascha was deputed to the +delicate mission of proceeding to Innsprück to hand the princess over +to her husband, but lo! on arriving they found no one to meet them but +an archduchess. How was he to extricate the lady from this embarrassing +situation? + +Brascha wrote to Vienna, striving in the meantime to put a good face on +the matter, giving balls, and so forth. + +Maximilian was in no hurry to reply, but wrote at length, asking to see +the ambassador. Brascha set out instantly, taking with him this charming +but singular note: + + “Most serene King, + + My lord, I find myself under such obligations towards your + Majesty that I am quite dazed at the love you manifest for me. + I could not if I tried express the joy which floods my soul. + Being unable to testify to it sufficiently in writing, I send + Messer Erasmus Brascha to speak on my behalf: and I beseech + your Majesty to believe him, and I commend myself to you. + + Innsprück, December 26, 1493. + + From Your Majesty’s handmaid, + + BLANCA MARIA, with her own hand.” + +It was two months before Brascha returned: he was determined not to +return alone. The Emperor was very much occupied: he entertained the +ambassador handsomely, invited him to festivities, waxed eloquent in +praise of the Sforza family, and even mentioned Innsprück with much +urbanity; but all this did not answer the purpose of the unlucky Brascha, +whose exertions, uneasiness, and distress of mind may be imagined. At +last the imperial procession began to move: for Brascha it was a moment +of poignant emotion. Poor Bianca had no prudish reluctance in quitting +Innsprück, where she had been so long eating her heart out, and the +union took place on March 9 at Ala. And on the 10th Brascha wrote, with +a sounding sigh of satisfaction: “At last, thank God, we have got to +the consummation of the marriage, to the confusion of our enemies. I +spent yesterday evening with the king and queen, and we were deep in +conversation up to the time when, the Court having broken up, their +Majesties decided to go to bed.” Brascha was resolved to make quite sure, +continuing for several nights in succession to assure himself. At last he +breathed freely! Ah! such missions as this were no sinecures! + +But when the time came for reappearing in public, life glowed with a +new heat and resumed all its exquisite charm. If by some chance a young +bride of princely rank had to cross Italy to rejoin her husband, she saw +along her whole course nothing but demonstrations of joy, smiling faces, +charming freaks of fancy; to give her pleasure these affectionate people +used their one resource—invention. At Milan the poet Bellincione and +Leonardo da Vinci welcomed the young wife of Giovanni Galeazzo in a sort +of firmament, in which animated planets circled round her, loading her +with compliments the while. Plato in his raptest moods never imagined +anything sweeter or lovelier than certain tokens of homage paid by the +Italians to a new sovereign lady. On returning to their domains the Duke +and Duchess of Urbino found, ranged upon a hill-slope, the ladies of +the city exquisitely dressed, and the children bearing olive-branches +in their hands. As soon as the bridal party came in sight a screen of +mounted choristers rose up before them, accompanied by nymphs in antique +garb; dogs started off in pursuit of hares let loose for them; the hills +resounded with the strains of a cantata specially composed; the Goddess +of Mirth in person descended the slope and offered the duchess her +congratulations and good wishes. + +These affectionate welcomes, this show of cordiality at least warmed +the sick and sad heart of a young wife, and indicated at the outset her +path of safety. Yes, it was a pious and salutary work to envelop in +an ideal world this timid child of nature who was being consigned to +a lord and master. It would have been barbarous to check this joy in +external things; to show the poor girl from the very first the cutting +of bread-and-butter as the be-all and end-all of a woman’s life; to shut +out from her view all that lends brightness and colour to the world. On +the contrary, thanks to the smiles with which heaven and earth greeted +her, a woman of intelligence and sensibility entered upon her mission +with a stout heart, in the vague anticipation that fortune was bound to +smile upon her still. Where was the harm? There was nothing in her hopes +to prevent her from treading the stoical path of destiny and lending +herself to the material functions that devolved upon her. But her eyes +were opened, she perceived the dawn for her of a life which her husband +had long known. It was now her turn to blossom out; she became conscious +of her soul, and understood that she too was to be entitled to her youth. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE MARRIED WOMAN + + +“Woman, in my judgment, is the stumbling-block in a man’s career. To love +a woman and yet do anything worth doing is very difficult, and the only +way to escape being reduced by love to a life of idleness is to marry.” +There is nothing new in this reflection, put by Tolstoï into the mouth of +one of his characters.[36] Such was the theory of the Middle Ages—fatal +love! The new-fledged husband was under no illusion in the matter: he +had married to cure himself of love, or rather to have done with it for +ever, to turn from woman and towards higher things; he would never have +imagined any connection between his marital duties and his soul. First +and last, wedlock had no romance for him. Marriage was the worn and dusty +highway of materialities. + +Nor did the expectations of the young girl soar any higher. Shown the +simple truth by the solemn personages to whom she owed her upbringing, +sedulously guarded against any kind of illusion, she knew all there was +to know about her new duties, and in regard to these it was thought +peculiarly necessary to arm her against errors and enthusiasms that might +bring disappointments in their train. Marriage she had always looked upon +as a natural function with excellent precedents, and she had studied its +rules, in their rudiments at least, so as to be able to guide her steps +intelligently in a career that had necessarily its technical side. + +This was why Champier the physician compiled expressly for Suzanne de +Bourbon—that peerless flower among noble maidens—a little treatise quite +foreign in its nature to what is in these days called “literature for +young people.” Yet it must be confessed that this treatise, frankly +physiological as it is, constituted the best imaginable safeguard against +being swept away on a flood-tide of passion and folly. Champier lays +down, as rigorously as though stating an astronomical law, various rules +for his lady’s guidance in the most intimate relations of wedded life; +prudence, moderation, and regularity are his text, and he gives point to +his precepts by setting against them a menacing array of human ills—gout, +anæmia, dyspepsia, enfeeblement of the sight.[37] Prosing preachers of +this sort, let us add, addressed themselves chiefly to the women, and +their exhortations were felt to be necessary and moral in the extreme. + +Marriage being a partnership to perpetuate a stock and beget children, +the wife was naturally expected to accept without wincing the +consequences of the contract—consequences it was as unreasonable to decry +as to extol. All around her she saw reminders of the high sacredness +and dignity of her vocation: genealogical trees spread their vast +ramifications over the walls, and, while invoking the past, gravely, +almost solemnly shaped for her that gigantic note of interrogation in +regard to the future which distinguishes man from the brutes: the whole +taking deeper significance and impressiveness from the emblematic figures +of Wisdom, Honour, Reason, with which some artist had illustrated them. +“Marriage is a holy and religious bond; and the pleasure a man hath of +it should be a moderate, staid, and serious pleasure, and blent somewhat +with severity.”[38] To attach oneself to this pleasure, to make it the +axis of one’s world, would have seemed beneath contempt. By the favour of +Heaven, a wife could still retain her self-respect and become a moral and +religious soul. + +On these lines the straight path was marked out: in regard to +circumstances, neither revolt nor rapture; between the two partners, +neither love nor hate, but an amicable understanding, a little stiff +perhaps, and wholly practical. To stray from this path was only to fall +into difficulties and mistakes. + +To what extent this wary walking really availed is a question upon +which opinions have always been pretty evenly divided. Marriage was +the time-honoured target at which everyone had a prescriptive right +to discharge the shafts of his wit; for all that, marrying and giving +in marriage proceeded apace, and the institution went on perpetuating +itself imperturbably. It may well be believed that, at an epoch when +conversation, free discussion, and a mania for philosophising were in +vogue, no one lost an opportunity of airing his views on the surprises +and the advantages of wedlock; and indeed it is at this time that we see +the first indication that the shafts of irony were taking effect, and +that the target, after all, was showing signs of wear. + +Here, too, there emerges more clearly into view a truth which the reader +will already have seen faintly suggesting itself in the careful and +impartial sketch we have endeavoured to draw of the beginning of life +for women: the truth, namely, that the ascendency of man developed in +him strange principles of egotism. It might be supposed that married +women, handed over, as we have shown, like so many sheep, would pitifully +cry out against their sacrifice, while the husbands would be abundantly +satisfied with the results of a “deal” (if the word may be allowed) +effected at so little cost to themselves. But such was not the case: +humanity is so constituted that, sunk in abject slavery, with no glimpse +of anything beyond, it will hug its chains; while the more freedom it +enjoys, the keener grows its appetite for freedom. So long as we are +sure of a to-morrow, and believe that somehow or other our lot may yet +improve, the present does not count: but, for us to love the present, +the future must stretch out before us into the gloom of the unknown, +and this, no doubt, is why Providence imposes on us the great enigma +of death. So it was with marriage. While the women were content, the +husbands railed at it. Monogamy irritated them. Despite all possible +precautions monogamy almost inevitably endows the wife with a certain +influence. Polygamy alone, in virtue of the classic principle _divide et +impera_, can assure to a husband an undisputed authority, and that is +why, at bottom, to many men who dared not avow it, polygamy appeared the +most natural of luxuries. There are savants, too, who will prove to you +that in many countries it was easy to slacken the marriage bond, turn +it, even, to profitable account; that it was regularly let on lease for +a month or a year. The Babylonians would rather have lent a wife than an +ass. + +With women, on the other hand, we remark a resignation springing largely +from the code of perfect realism by which their marriage was regulated. + +They find themselves face to face with a fact; what is done cannot be +undone, nor can it be done over again. The transaction is completed: all +that remains is to pay the price. Once they can think themselves quit of +that obligation, the problem of liberty will present itself to them too, +though not, of course, under the forbidding aspects of those ideas of +divorce, remarriage, polygamy, that are floating in the air. In the eyes +of the women marriage kept its character as a sacrament: the view that it +was a contract freely entered into between their husbands and themselves +appeared hard to accept, for several reasons. In the first place, little +faith was put in that system of social contracts of which we are so +enamoured to-day. Life was incomprehensible without a large admixture of +fatalism. We are not, we cannot be, parties to a contract when we come +into the world; but certain laws have already had their way with us, and +to them we continue subject. In marriage, one of those laws, there is +nothing irrational in the accessory notion of a contract, and yet, even +in marriage, with every imaginable liberty of choice, the real substance +of a contract is not found. Is not this contract specially complicated +with latent circumstances of time, place, motive, which act unequally +upon the two parties? In its very nature it involves so much that is +unknown, so much that is fortuitous, admits of so many causes of error +and instability, that it barely comes into the category of reasonable +presumptions, much less of contracts. + +Erasmus is astonished that women are still to be found willing to submit +to all the trials of maternity; and indeed it would perhaps have +been difficult to find such women, if, before venturing out upon so +perilous a sea, they had not been able to insure themselves against the +selfishness of men by a high conception of duty, stronger and, above all, +more durable than the idea of a contract. They needed no persuasion to +beware of self-delusion, to contemplate marriage under its most leaden +hues; but yet they wished to retain for it its character as a refuge, +rude but trustworthy. They derided the chimerical theories of Plato on +free union; in short, all things considered, not one of them regretted +having been married in the time-honoured way, since no other means had +yet been discovered of assuring an honourable motherhood. Unions of +policy and position, they very well knew, do not bring about a fusion of +hearts; too often they become “suburbs of hell.” But what is to replace +them? Marriages of passion and love? As a matter of fact, says a caustic +critic, since as mere men we are no longer of any importance, or at +any rate are all of equal value in the eyes of women, the question is +becoming much simpler: a princess will be able to marry after her own +heart, to wed a prince, or a peasant, as there is not a pin to choose +between them. Where is the advantage? retorts a sage: love matches +turn out as ill as the others. The only philosophy of marriage which +women must cling to is that in this matter there is no philosophy. It +is useless to attempt to sublimate it; what they have to do is to make +the best they can of it, and satisfy themselves with a sort of virtuous +affection, in accordance with the unfathomable designs of Providence. +“Marriage,” says Margaret of France,[39] “should not admit of any +objective either of pleasure or of self-interest: all the same, it is not +a perfect state; let us be satisfied with wisely accepting it for what it +is, a make-shift, but reputable.”[40] + +Thus the conclusion to which women tend to arrive in their cogitations +on married life—and who have a better right to cogitate?—is that though +they may submit to a husband, they no longer think themselves bound to +adapt themselves to him, to identify themselves with him at every moment +and in every caprice, or to worship this fellow-mortal with the same +superstitious veneration as of yore. They see him as he is, a man, with +certain qualities, human, in the nature of things, and certain defects, +naturally far from divine: a physical creditor, whose claim they do not +contest, but are well able to measure. + +At the risk of appearing rash in a matter wherein mathematical proofs are +so difficult to produce, we think we are justified in asserting that the +majority of married women (we are speaking of women of position) desired +to render their physical subjection as light as possible, regarding this +obligation almost as the seamy side of life, an error of Providence. +And they had so much the better of the position that, as rumours of the +little domestic dramas always got abroad sooner or later, the ladies +were almost certain to have the laughers on their side, especially in +France. The French refused all rights to the married woman, but they +always took her part, even when she was in the wrong, precisely because, +as they looked at marriage, the husband represented the government and +the wife the opposition. Domestic squabbles fed the stage, furnishing +certain types which were very popular—to wit, the man who married too +young, or the man who married too old, the latter a special favourite +since the time when good King Louis XII., sacrificing himself to a +dynastic ambition, espoused the lady he called his “torment.” The +husband’s part, then, is in truth difficult enough to play. If he is +intellectual, platonic, there is no pity for him, people are all so busy +finding excuses for his wife. In regard, also, to a husband who puffs and +blows and is irritably jealous, the “new right” grants to the wife the +fullest absolution. Everyone knows that a silk dress is not enough for +happiness!—and because a husband is pleased to be deaf or blind, it is +not to be expected that the whole world is to be blind and deaf too. + +On her side, a wife had the right to stand on her dignity and play the +prude. In general, the average worthy man, a little vulgar perhaps, but +a good father and an excellent man of business, is not a great success +in his domestic relations, and in insisting on what he regards as his +wife’s mission, the bearing of children, he wofully deceives himself. My +lady’s mission is to be the lady of the house: as for him, let him go to +his office and “think himself too much honoured that God has blessed +him with such a wife.” If it is a question of receiving fine fashionable +friends, people from Court, madam has incomparable graces; but any tender +approaches on the good man’s part are sure to bring on a fit of the +megrims. + +There were a multitude of good, excellent marriages which were only half +marriages. Appearances were saved in the eyes of the world, and even in +the eyes of the married couple themselves; they both had the good taste +to drift along without undue strain, gathering merely the natural fruits +of their association. Both enjoyed their liberty: the wife was unmolested +and her own mistress; the husband travelled, sailed the seas, or went on +embassies, striking up flirtations in his progress from court to court, +and doing his household honour by his successes. Castiglione,[41] a +perfect type of the man of the world, saw his wife at intervals, and was +always on the best of terms with her; evidently it never occurred to him +to take her about with him, but he always showed her in the most delicate +manner how much he valued her. At Rome he amused himself by putting into +verse a letter he was addressing to her. It was at Rome, too, in August +1520, that he learnt of her death in giving birth to a daughter; just +before she died the tender-hearted woman mustered strength to smile for +the last time, and to dictate one more charming little letter.[42] + +Montaigne has a good deal of pity for the women who were subjected to +these capricious humours: “They are verily in worse condition than +maids and widows. We want them at the same time hot and cold.” He does +not remark that, for some reason or other—disgust of too pronounced +a materialism, longing for peace and quietness, coquetry, scorn of +sensuality, or what not—the majority of women only accepted wifehood for +the sake of motherhood, and would be more than satisfied if they could +be virgin-mothers; some considered themselves almost as idols sacred +from human touch. Pope Alexander VI., for all his humour and his nimble +wit, was very far from understanding all these refinements, and this +singular loathing of the flesh. In 1502 he expressed himself pithily and +forcibly, but vainly, about the amusing opposition of the Duchess of +Urbino, who, when she was offered urgent and incontestable reasons for +the annulment of her marriage,[43] absolutely refused to exchange her +husband for a French husband of unimpaired vigour, whilst the duke, the +cause of this contention, accepted a cardinal’s hat. Laugh as Alexander +might, with all his keen sense of humour, at what he called “fraternal +magnanimity,” this simple incident at Urbino contained the germ of an +entirely new code. Other ladies carried the sentiment of ‘fraternity’ to +preposterous lengths. Paul Jove[44] himself, who belonged body and soul +to the philosophic world, gives vent to his feelings when he records the +remarkable feat of Julia Gonzaga, Countess of Fondi, who was left a widow +after many years of marriage without having ever yielded on the essential +point. Marriage so understood becomes a mere matter of policy or business. + +We have no wish to dilate on this delicate problem of bodily +emancipation; but it so constantly comes before us, and it is especially +of such vast importance in regard to the further development of the ideas +current in society, that it is hardly possible to avoid doing so. The +preachers, who at one time had ardently urged the severing of family ties +as inexorably demanded by religion, are now seen proclaiming from their +pulpits, with the same appeal to religion, a totally different doctrine, +and inculcating mortification of the flesh of quite a novel kind. We +know the story of an excellent pharmacist of Pau “who never had anything +to do with his wife except in Holy Week,[45] by way of penance.” Even +in remote country places it became the vogue to occupy separate rooms. +There was no attempt at disguising the fact, and a good deal of joking +on this casuistical refinement went on in polite circles. It was one of +the points on which Henri d’Albret was not backward in rallying his wife +Margaret. She flung back the half-laughing, half-angry retort: “Henri, +perhaps the lady whom you think so much to be pitied might find some +solace if she pleased. But let us dismiss the pastimes in which only two +can share, and speak of what should be common to all.” Then Henri, taking +as was proper a higher tone above these trivialities, addresses humanity +at large: “Since my wife has caught so well the drift of my remark, and +takes no pleasure in a pastime for the individual.... I give in.”[46] + +We have often read the eulogies on Margaret of France, sister of Francis +I., and the compliments paid to her conjugal virtue. There is no reason +to gainsay them, but it is well to note of what stuff her virtue was +made. Henri II. could write: “Without me, she would never have returned +with her husband.” And, in truth, she made no secret of it. + +One day when someone was relating a scandalous freak on the part of a +faithless husband, Henri d’Albret said to her with affected tenderness: +“I assure you that I shall never undertake so great or so difficult an +enterprise. I shall not have spent my day badly if I succeed in making +you happy.” And Margaret made the somewhat dry and aesthetic reply: “If +mutual love does not satisfy the heart, all else will fail to do so.” +Towards the end of a certain December the Princess happened to be a +little out of sorts; whereupon she wrote boldly to her brother: “I got +this on St. Firmin’s day (September 25), as likely as not.” This recalls +a certain bet that M. de la Rochepot made with Queen Eleanor, wife of +Francis I. La Rochepot maintained that the queen was drawing the long +bow—that she was not really so free with her favours as she gave people +to understand. However, he forbore like a gallant gentleman to insist, +and surrendered to the contrary testimony of men who had the best reasons +for knowing. + +But now, in the midst of this cold, nicely balanced existence, or these +serious misunderstandings even, a heavy blow falls suddenly in the shape +of illness: the husband is struck down. Instantly a change comes over +everything. Womanly kindness gushes forth as from a natural spring. The +wife’s concern is still, as is always the case in matrimonial questions, +only with the bodily realm, but the soul breaks through. For the first +time the wife asserts herself, less perhaps out of affection for a man +from whom only yesterday she held aloof, than in obedience to a natural +instinct for combatting material things, pain and disease. Differences +of temperament, character, position, philosophical views, all drop out +of sight: sensibility alone shines forth triumphant. The house is in +commotion, messengers scour the country in search of distant physicians, +the chaplain sets off to arrange for masses and votive candles. See, +at the bedside of Pierre de Bourbon, the great Anne of France, once +the haughty regent of the kingdom, now fixing her eyes steadfastly on +the sick man, taking no rest day or night, declining aid from anyone, +measuring out potions and remedies with her own hand, administering the +doses herself, warming the bed, doing for the patient little offices of +infinite delicacy without a touch of constraint; an eye-witness goes so +far as to say that she “made it her delight.” The wedded wife is not a +love-sick girl, a scribbler of verses; she has no need of imagination, +of airs and graces, of enthusiasm: here she is seen in all her grave +nobility. She is a sister of mercy. The woman who could not pardon a +cross-grained husband resigns herself without hesitation to a future of +poultices, cooling draughts, and rheumatism. Some there are who endure +this lot for long years without flagging, some who encounter it at the +very outset of their married life. It is their natural vocation. + +The attraction exercised on women by suffering is one of the most +singular phenomena in the realm of psychology. It is as evident as the +attraction of the magnet for iron. Women are born nurses and doctors, +with a passion for tending the sick, for dedicating themselves with all +their wealth of tenderness, for devoting their delicate fingers to the +binding up of wounds. Between this passion and the passion of love there +is an intimate relationship; in both is involved the bestowing of life on +man; but in this case the problem is very simple, presenting none of the +moral complications of love. Matter-of-fact and practical women are not +the least strongly convinced of the vocation of their sex for medicine. + +So general was the impression in regard to this that a certain pious +author advised that the doors of the medical school should be thrown open +freely to women, that they should be taught all that men were taught, +indeed a little more (Greek and Arabic), and that they should then be +sent off to the Holy Land to aid in the conversion of the infidels. + +But why not keep in France women so well-instructed? The reader no doubt +has an inkling of the reason: the physicians are to be reckoned with, +jealous guardians of their monopoly, already exasperated against the +surgeons, apothecaries, and women, “nonentities,” who are meddling with +the care of the children. They are masculine, these physicians, men to +their finger-tips: to kill, or at any rate to physic one’s fellows, one +must needs wear breeches. “The woman who meddles with our trade is a +silly creature.” + +Women did meddle with it, nevertheless, out of devotion, and above all +out of self-respect. And on this matter we must take note of ideas +absolutely the reverse of those which prevail to-day. + +To women it would have appeared the deepest humiliation and the basest +servitude to depend on men for the thousand intimate and special +attentions which they so often found necessary in regard to their health. +Undoubtedly they held that modesty is to some extent a relative term, and +that “intentions” count for something in it. So they willingly permitted +all sorts of friendly, spontaneous, personal familiarities, so long as +they were in good taste; but even when sick and suffering they were +determined to remain women; and the idea of surrendering their womanhood, +of passing like cattle under the hands and eyes of a horse-doctor on +the mere pretext that the modesty of a girl or a woman is a remnant of +savagery, and that all stand-offishness in this respect appears almost an +insult towards a practitioner, did not strike them as a matter of course; +they repudiated it absolutely; and, moreover, the Roman, Greek, and +Arabic ideas, then so fashionable, strengthened their resistance. + +So far from believing that a man had more rights because he was paid, or +because his senses had become deadened by constant wear and tear, they +regarded both these circumstances as adding to their humiliation and +confusion. For their special maladies they had recourse to women only, +and the very fact that in such cases physical pain is complicated with +moral pain and weariness of soul, led women of the world, great ladies, +to take up a work of charity of real delicacy and refinement, to devote +themselves to a thorough study of this class of maladies, so that they +might spare their sisters the unpleasantness of mercenary attentions. + +Nothing could be more gracious or more natural. + +Science at this period was science, and a man was a man. He was as much +entitled to study medicine, and to practise it, even without a diploma, +as to study any other branch of knowledge—history, mathematics, or +chemistry. To have dragged out a few years on the benches of a school is +assuredly not a bad means of learning, but it is not the only one, and +it ought not to be regarded as warranting for the rest of a man’s life +a positive presumption of his universal knowledge and impeccability. In +medicine, as in other things, so-called amateurs[47] have been known +occasionally to bear the palm over professionals. Now, what science can +women more naturally cultivate, what answers better to their requirements +in regard to refinement and equality, what more legitimately emancipates +them? The practice of medicine was their first conquest, the “great +charter” of their freedom. A number of women, particularly women of +distinction who had charitable hearts and leisure for study, in a certain +sense practised medicine. A celebrated savant, while gently expressing +his regret, dedicated to Diana of Poitiers,[48] as to a colleague, with a +thousand professions of scientific esteem, a treatise on the diseases of +women. + +Except that they watched for the propitious moment for regaining the +upper hand, the physicians gave in; they left the patient in the +hands of a woman, contenting themselves with writing a prescription +on the particulars reported to them, thus securing at least formal +recognition—and their fees. Even from professorial chairs medicine was +extolled as a lovely and philosophic thing; and in an official ceremony +at Paris a “prince of science” (to adopt a modern term) declared to a +large audience that Nature has a certain feminine complexion, that she +has been specially bountiful to women and endowed them more highly than +men. + +It should be remarked that if the physicians had the good sense not to +quarrel with the formidable power of women, but to come to terms, that +result was probably due to the fact that they were themselves in the +throes of a crisis which could not but inspire them with great prudence. +People were up in arms against them; they were no longer content with +rehashing stale jokes;[49] the sick expected to be cured. Further, +complete discord reigned in the scientific world; men vied with each +other in flinging about opprobrious epithets like “fool,” “mountebank,” +and “specialist.” Paris remained faithful to the traditional and +philosophic spirit, while Paracelsus burnt the works of Galen and +Avicenna. Many men dismissed medicine as a purely empirical science with +no theory behind it, and capable of being mastered in six months. The +activity in scientific circles only added to the intellectual confusion. +Opinion went so far as to hold doctors responsible for their actions, and +to maintain that their repute should be strictly proportionate to their +merits.[50] There were not wanting sceptics, even among women. Margaret +of France, in one of her comedies, brings on the scene a sick man who, +after being tossed about like a shuttlecock between his doctor and his +wife, is ultimately cured through the prayers of the cook. + +Nevertheless, a real bond of friendship and brotherhood was in most +cases established between the lady and this stranger who called himself +a doctor. It was a sort of domestic and personal intimacy. Women, as we +all know, are greatly in need of a directing authority; they love also +to be made much of, as certain doctors understood wonderfully well; +like that doctor who never met a woman without attempting to worm out +of her some confidences as to her health, and when someone expressed +his astonishment, “Aha!” said he, waggling his head, “even well-corked +bottles sometimes have cracks.” In reality, he fancied that his +solicitude would be highly appreciated. + +The doctor who won a lady’s esteem became her friend. He would write to +her asking how she was, and addressing her as “my sweet princess”; if he +learnt of her illness, he flew to her; if she died, he mourned her. His +sentiments sometimes outran his interests; a noble lady died, and among +her effects were found formidable doctor’s bills she had forgotten to +settle. If in special cases there were limits to the confidence patients +placed in their doctor’s skill, there remained still a vast enough field +for private friendship, which lent itself only too well to scandal. + +Official recommendations to hold medicine in respect “on account of +its necessity” came from the pulpit. Priests and doctors gave each +other mutual support and divided the empire between them.[51] Scholars +unearthed the old story of a medical student who bore himself like +an angel while attending an Aspasia. But in spite of these little +testimonials, ill-natured folk like Ronsard, Brantôme and others +continued with more or less virtuous indignation to make doctors their +butt. Dolce[52] amuses himself by relating the misadventure of a young +husband, who, having confided to his physician his intense longing to +become a father, was ere long lodging with the courts a complaint that +he had too speedily obtained his wish. The public was always ready to +laugh at stories of this kind. Medical science was often considered as +an instrument of corruption. Champier, who practised at Lyons, in good +set terms accuses his fellow-physicians of becoming veritable agents of +demoralisation, and of perverting their patients’ moral sense. + +So far as medicine was concerned, women showed a becoming modesty in +their ambition. Many medical women were women of the old school, who +acknowledged the superiority of men. They confined themselves to a +well-defined field of study. As soon as she marries, a woman will join +battle with sickness; by and by she will have children to take care of, +then it will be her duty to preserve her beauty and charms. Here is +a medical field well marked out for her. On other points she remains +subordinate to men, leaving to them in particular all lofty speculations. + +An eminent, if not the foremost place in the medicine of the schools +was then held by astrology, to which the physicians, wise in their +generation, owed a great part of their prestige.[53] Assuredly it was +not hard to believe, with Plato and the Christian church, that the +universe does not end with man, and that above us there is a hierarchy of +supernatural beings, imperceptible to our senses, on whom we depend, and +whose wings sometimes seem to brush us as they pass: those beings whom +Ronsard has invoked, in verses of so much beauty, as witnesses of his +love: + + Ailés démons, qui tenez de la terre + Et du haut ciel justement le milieu, + Postes divins, divins postes de Dieu.[54] + +Many physicians held that the noblest part of their art consisted +in penetrating if possible the mystery of the influence of these +supernatural forces. + +Further, how could they but discover, even in the natural order of +material things, a universal harmony, intimate relations between the +health of women and the ocean tides and the revolutions of the heavens, a +thousand bonds— + + D’innombrables liens, frêles et douloureux, + Qui vont dans l’univers entier de l’âme aux choses.[55] + +as M. Sully-Prudhomme sings? People who had lost all belief in the saints +had in those days the strongest faith in heaven and the stars. They +believed readily enough that though the spirit, coming from God, is +free, the vile physical body depends wholly on the stars— + + Aux corps vous donnez vostre loy, + Comme un potier à son argile.[56] + +These celestial torches govern the universe. In vain man struggles, +suffers, battles, strains all his powers; he is in the grip of a +mysterious destiny. + + Ainsi vous plaist, estoilles!... + En vain l’homme de sa prière + Vous tourmente soir et matin; + Il est traîné par son destin, + Comme est un flot de la rivière.[57] + + —_Ronsard._ + +Women, particularly sensitive to the mystery of things, could not close +their ears against such lofty scientific preoccupations. Renée of France +implores the aid of the stars. Margaret exclaims, “their effects are felt +in human bodies.” Yet the surrender was not complete, as one might be +disposed to expect: it is a very remarkable fact that in spite of their +natural impressibility and their genius for imaginative flights, they did +not readily ascribe to medicine so supernal a glory. To them medicine was +a science of the earth earthy, a practical and experimental science. The +only metaphysical principle they associated with it came from without; +and that was, charity. + +On the other hand they were wonderfully credulous.[58] One of their +passions was to collect strange exotic recipes of any and every kind. +Catherine Sforza, statesman as she was, spent hours in a private +laboratory, receiving a Jewess who had brought her a universal salve, or +verifying formulae for a celestial water, a cerebrine made of the marrow +of an ass, a magnet intended to compose family squabbles, and a thousand +other prescriptions of like virtue. One of her ambassadors sends her +a drug chiefly compounded of eggs and saffron, of which he sings the +virtues with a frenzy of enthusiasm: “I wish to be present when you test +it.... I would not change places with the King of France, so happy am I +in contemplating so admirable a thing; and besides, your Excellency would +not find another man like me: for courage is required, not to be afraid +of spirits; faith, to believe; secrecy, to betray nothing; and, finally, +you need the instruments that I have; the Universities of Bologna, +Ferrara, Paris, and Rome possess nothing like them.” At the very moment +of going to war Catherine does not forget to write an order for the jars +she needs for her experiments. Nevertheless, in all these strings of +formulae, often so puerile and collected for collecting’s sake, we detect +more than a collector’s mania: we cannot but see in them the thirst for +the unknown—an attempt to pierce the impenetrable beyond. This effort, it +may be admitted, was not very scientific. But was that of the most highly +accredited physician any more so? Women accepted the doctrine that the +sun governed the heart and nerves, Jupiter the liver, and Venus the rest +of the organism; but they were superior to it in so far as they drew no +conclusion from it, making hygiene their chief aim, and limiting their +ambition to the preservation of health and youthfulness. + +In this respect they were successful; women have rarely been known +to retain their beauty in so much freshness up to an advanced age as +these women of the first years of the sixteenth century. Their activity +was unceasing, they drank deep of life, but never to excess: therein +lay their great secret—a secret that was simplicity itself, and of +inestimable value, as the next generation was to find when, by dint of +defying nature, by crushing themselves under busks and baubles, exposing +the bosom, turning night into day, or carrying everything to extremes, +the world became peopled with pale-faced, forbidding, white-lipped +women. Ere long a cruel procession of maladies appeared—nervous attacks, +fits of hysteria, stabbing pains at the heart, agonising births of puny +creatures—signalising the return of neurasthenia, which had seemed +buried, but which was to revive in triumph, and for which no other +remedies were to be found than a return to the life of nature, fresh +air, repose, renunciation of the habits of the fashionable world, +uninterrupted vegetation. + +In brief, the woman whom marriage has started upon a physiological career +is bent on defending her body and remaining her own mistress, in face of +her husband, her physician—the whole world. + +She has her work cut out for her. Further, she is beset under various +forms by an irruption of materialities, which would speedily overwhelm +her if she did not know how to cope with them. She has still to govern +the household, to regulate day by day its eating, drinking, sleeping—the +whole domestic organisation. + +Husbands are all alike; it is in great measure to secure a house which +“goes like clockwork,” that they marry. They consider it the most natural +thing in the world for a woman to consecrate herself to rounding off +their life, to yoke herself in unmurmuring submission to thankless tasks, +like the domestic drudge described by Solomon, necessary to the world as +food or light: “She seeketh wool and flax, and worketh willingly with her +hands.... She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her +household and a portion to her maidens.... She girdeth her loins with +strength.... Strength and honour are her clothing.... Favour is deceitful +and beauty is vain, but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be +praised.” + +The preachers take pains to show that she shall indeed be praised, that +her ideal is glorious though her lot will be obscure, and that there is a +happiness in housewifely duty—in feeling that the whole household moves +by her impulse alone. “The wise woman has exalted her house”; on her +wisdom and rectitude has depended the greatness or the decay of a family. +To pull down is the work of fools. The wise build up, and is not to build +up a splendid mission, say the preachers with growing ardour—to build up +happiness for those one loves, and one’s own happiness in this world and +the world to come? “Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain!” Look at this +massive woman, probably happy in her own way, a marvel of plumpness, with +firm-set lips and a look of energy and masterfulness, unpoetic but very +wholesome—this matron of Lotto, blind to all indications that ironical +moonbeams are grimacing behind her; or this superb large-limbed creature, +burdened with a cluster of children, whom Holbein presents to us as +his wife. These good ladies, we may be sure, rise at six and retire at +ten, and from dawn till dark their only aim in life is to take the air, +to go to church, to cook and dust and darn. No Utopia worries them, no +philosophic idea ruffles the calm monotony of their lot. + +The majority of French women were sprung from this type in its most +pronounced form, the rural form, and it was practically impossible for +them to alter. In France men of rank almost all belonged to the class of +landed proprietors, and the affairs of these proprietors had been for +several years passing through a crisis. Even if their income were below +the moderate figure of three or four thousand livres,[59] they had to +submit to being eaten out of house and home by a number of traditional +functionaries, while on the other hand the growing needs of luxury and +the depreciation of money seriously embarrassed them. More than one +noble, believing he saw a mine of gold opening in Italy, had joyously +buckled on his sword again, only to return impoverished, if not in debt, +worn out, and soured in temper. + +The country squire bore his straitened circumstances with rather an ill +grace. Rubbing shoulders with the peasants (and the humblest peasant was +a lord in his own eyes) and with the village authorities; a determined +foe to Jews, financiers, and monopolists; a democrat, persuaded that all +men are equal, or nearly so; resigned moreover to figure as head of his +village, since a head it was bound to have, but troubling himself very +little about the other social magnates; he shut himself up in his estates +like his father and grandfather before him, among the sons and grandsons +of the people by whom those respectable personages had been surrounded. +He was an excellent man, of bluff manners and healthy appetite, +determined to keep his eldest son waiting for his inheritance as long +as possible, and to disperse the rest of his family, sending the boys +into the Church or the army, and marrying the girls to his neighbours. +He had a grudge against Louis XII. for giving the landed interest +nothing but fair words: Francis I., who multiplied court appointments +and paid handsome salaries, appeared to him the right sort of king for +agriculturists. + +That was the kind of man with whom and for whom the majority of the +women of French society lived. At bottom, this husband is an idealist; +he despises money, and plumes himself on the fact with a certain smug +satisfaction; but in his home life he frequently acts as an absolute +realist, a cold-blooded calculator. He will readily and with the utmost +chivalrousness admit that women in general are superior beings, worthy +of much liberty; but he insists on his particular woman remaining on a +lower plane and occupying herself with practical matters. He relinquishes +to her the honour of keeping the accounts, he even authorises her to +negotiate a bargain, or to secure payment of a due, while he himself +hunts, settles disputes among his peasants, potters about, or does +nothing. Montaigne is eager to avow that he has no concern with business; +in his view it is ridiculous and unjust “that the idleness of our +wives should be fostered with our sweat and maintained by our toil.” +He admits in the most liberal manner the right of women to work, and +does so from pure goodness of heart, since women delight in managing, +and a woman who works wants no pity! While Madame de Montaigne is +keeping his accounts, planting, reaping, looking after the masons, her +intellectual husband is good-naturedly gossiping about mankind at large, +or tranquilly contemplating the backs of his books, or dawdling through +Italy, on the principle that travel is the salt of wedlock, poking his +nose into everything on the way, halting at the watering-places, visiting +interesting young ladies; all the time reverencing his wife, oh, so +deeply! He feels that when he returns and finds her among the haymakers, +his love will take a new lease of life: “These interruptions fill me with +a new kind of affection towards mine own people, and make my house so +much pleasanter a place.... I am not ignorant that true amity hath arms +long enough to embrace, to clasp and hold from one corner of the world +unto another.... The Stoics say that there is so great an affinity and +mutual relation between wise men that he who dineth in France feedeth his +companion in Egypt.... If I be at Rome ... I hold, I survey and govern my +house ... I even see my walls, my trees and my rents to grow.”[60] + +In those days the direction of a household was an admirable +apprenticeship to philosophy, since it was a point of honour to maintain +a great number of idle people. Thus Madame de la Trémoille had to rule, +feed, and place forty men, four of whom were attached to her personal +service (chaplain, tailor, groom, and steward), and only three women, of +whom one was a nurse. + +She had to maintain this retinue and give it a stamp of high +respectability and discipline, which was all the more difficult because +the servants were people of some consequence, there for life, holding +places that had been hereditary for several generations; in other +words, the house belonged to them, in virtue of some indefinable family +collectivism. + +Further, people had an ingrained propensity to regard generosity as the +special mark of an aristocrat; and as this virtue was expected to grow in +proportion to rank, it invariably had the drawback of straitening their +means. Out of an enormous total expenditure, Madame de la Trémoille had +at her disposal only two hundred livres for her personal use. A prince +was often worse off than those who lived on his bounty. + +Further, this “generosity” did not manifest itself only in money: it +declared itself in affectionate and gracious actions, which after +all involved expense. Thus at Blois no domestic event took place in +the household without the cognizance of the Duchess of Orleans; she +interested herself in the weddings and gave each couple a present: +her children acted as sponsors; she even looked after her servants’ +love-children; she watched over the aged; any of her servants or even +of their friends who were in trouble were sure of her sympathy; she +interceded with the king to obtain pardon for a criminal or the remission +of a tax: “You will do both great charity and alms,” she wrote to him, +“and to me a singular pleasure.” Here and there in her modest accounts +there is a little space vacant, importing a surrender of feudal dues to +distressed tenants, a remission of rent, a cancelling of debt. + +In the account-books of the leading French families there always occurs +a very suggestive chapter, under the heading of alms. In vain does +the charitable spirit in its shrinking from ostentation draw a veil +over the few lines in which the facts are intentionally summarised. +You breathe in passing an aroma of sweetness, just as in going by +a dead wall you divine, from whiffs of their scent, the roses and +violets on the other side. It was the women’s duty to dispense the +alms, and in so doing they obtained, across the arid waste of material +preoccupations, grand outlooks towards the ideal. A lady of that period +was good from pure goodness of heart; she could let her charity shed +its radiance spontaneously, without effort. She lived in the very heart +of wretchedness: the filthy hovel, instead of shrinking from her sight +and entrenching itself in hateful and inaccessible suburbs, hung upon +the walls of the castle, like a parasitic plant. What woman could shut +her ears against the cries of wretchedness so near? And charity also +was recognised by the State. Louis XII. devoted to it a total of six +thousand livres, which he increased in 1509 by one thousand six hundred +and forty-two livres; and to ensure a more conscientious distribution +he even appointed, in addition to his confessor and almoner, a special +functionary, Jacques Acarie, who received the title of “treasurer of the +offerings, alms, and devotions.” + +This fondness for almsgiving the king inherited from his mother, Mary of +Cleves, who was generosity itself. She did not confine herself to the +charitable doles that were traditional, or almost obligatory, such as the +offerings at Easter or All-Hallows: the present of a robe to the “King of +the château” on Twelfth Night; New-Year’s presents to a whole village of +improvised musicians who came deafening her with drums, clarions, carols, +and cries of “_Au guy l’an neuf!_”[61] She went farther afield, to seek +out the poor, and in secret she spent her pin-money in succouring them. +But these private resources were far from inexhaustible. Like many women, +she had a strong predilection for one special work of charity—the care +of women in child-bed. She organised for them a regular supply of food, +besides giving occasional assistance in money or in kind. + +She took a personal interest also in the Hospital, and worked with her +own hands in a Dorcas society which she founded, and which distributed +every year in the little town of Blois five hundred shirts and five +hundred dresses. + +In addition to all this there was a long list of “good works” in a +more special sense: little dowries of fifty or sixty sous bestowed on +poor girls, who sometimes bore notable names, like “Jeanne the Fair,” +“Lawrence and Jeanne de Saint-Prest”; pensions to needy students; alms +to convents; subscriptions to churches. The family of Joan of Arc had a +special right to the bounty of the faithful: “Perrette de Lys” used to +receive fifty sous “to bring up her own children.” + +Truly charity flourished in France, becoming almost a new chivalry. +Certain men of the world became self-constituted alms-collectors for a +convent or nunnery, under the name of its “spiritual friends.” + +It cannot be said that France owed anything in this regard to the +example of Italy. The Italians enjoyed large incomes, much larger than +the average Frenchman of ancient and sometimes crippled fortune; but +their expenses were heavier; they had to give fêtes and buy pictures and +villas. Without wishing to exaggerate the significance of an anecdote, it +is curious enough to compare with the excellent practices of the French +Court a characteristic action on the part of Julius II. In the course +of the expedition against Bologna, the Pope was told that one of the +old court servants had just lost his only mule. “What did it die of?” +was the Pope’s curt response. “Of the bad water of Perugia.” “Send the +stud-master to me.” Everyone believed that he was sent for to replace the +defunct mule, but Julius simply said: “Take care they drink nothing but +boiled water.” + +Many great charitable schemes were in operation in Italy, where +refinement and compassion were highly developed; but the wealthy people +of Italy had no great love for anonymous almsgiving. This was due, no +doubt, to the fact that poverty bears itself more light-heartedly under +an azure sky. In France, where, unhappily, the stars could not fill +hungry mouths, the old traditions, in spite of the seductions of luxury, +were nobly preserved by the women. Anne of France and Anne of Brittany +both received the nickname of “Mother of Maidens,” in allusion to the +dowerless girls they befriended. Anne of France, who has sometimes been +taxed with avarice, contrived to dispense her benefactions quietly, as +cleverly as others trumpeted theirs. At her expense intelligent children +of the lower classes were kept at their studies until they had taken +their degree; orphans learnt needlework or some trade; widows, cripples, +beggars, poor folk too proud to beg, the broken-hearted, saw unexpected +manna fall from heaven; deserving people were encouraged, sustained, +uplifted, “cherished and nourished” by an unseen providence.[62] + +How beautiful, how rare is the art of giving! In our day we see organised +innumerable charitable schemes, “collections” without number, harvests of +good works. But how many people give for love of giving? + +Margaret of France, too, like a true princess, was generous, and loved to +do good by stealth. In her anxiety not to appear to curry favour with the +people, she refused—in the blunt phraseology of one of her biographers—to +act “like a mountebank capering on a platform.” “She was wont to say that +kings and princes are not masters and lords of the poor, but only their +ministers.” + +The writer of a moral history must needs explore all these sweet recesses +of a woman’s soul, where so mysterious a work is accomplished. Later on +we shall see the women bustling about on the public stage, giving the +world what it demands of them. Here, in the silence of the heart, they +act only for themselves; yet, even from the social standpoint, they +will never do a loftier or more efficacious work. On the rugged path on +which so many of the unhappy are apt to lose their philosophy, is it not +well to spread a soft thick carpet, so that the wayfarers may step more +lightly and be less roughly jolted? This of itself is surely a genuine +work of love, in full accord with the words of Christ: “To her much shall +be forgiven, for she loved much!” From the very outset of their life, +painfully spelling out the meaning of wedlock, women are, almost unknown +to themselves, winging their flight towards the ideal, towards love. +Here, love calls itself charity, that is to say, love for the sick, love +for the poor, love for all who are weak and all who suffer. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CHILDREN + + +Their mission as mothers, thanks to the precautions of which we have +spoken, did not weigh very heavily upon the women. The tide was set +against large families; in the country, six children were thought an +enormous encumbrance, and as a rule the higher the rank the smaller +the family. There were not a few houses which had no children at all. +Somewhere in Lombardy, indeed, there was an old law granting exemption +from taxes to families of twelve children, but it did not result in an +embarrassed exchequer. + +The physicians questioned on this phenomenon return only evasive +explanations. Placing themselves as they did at a special standpoint, +they held the women more especially responsible, accusing the detestable +experiments some of them indulged in with a view to preserving their +figure, such as drinking water or vinegar, eating sour foods, never +setting foot to ground; or a life at high pressure, well calculated to +develop morbid germs and increase nervous over-excitement; the sort of +St. Vitus’s dance which affects some people; and the thousand other +causes of moral and cerebral derangement. Evidently, in their view, +nothing would be so likely to facilitate motherhood as a life spent in +feeding the pigs and the poultry. + +Yet women resign themselves better than men to the trials that a family +brings upon them. + +When they first recognise their condition, even those who do not feel +called upon to make too much of their duty heroically accept their lot. +No one pities them; it is natural to them to love children,[63] and if +there are moments of anguish to fear, there are also blissful moments +to look forward to. The husband, on the other hand, is disconsolate; he +regrets everything; he sees in the cold light of reason the consequences +of the event, and his friends agree that he will reap nothing but +worries. A man of fashion collects pictures, antiques, not children. +Some charitable souls suggest that children assure a kind of survival, +are a pledge of immortality, a security for the continuance of the race; +but, for that matter, a much simpler, surer and more comfortable way of +achieving immortality is simply to write a sonnet. Hardly any but poor +drudges, “chestnut eaters,” can afford the luxury of being fruitful and +multiplying, because for them, in their kind of work, with their rigorous +enforcement of paternal authority, a swarm of children represents an +immediate increase of earning-power and tools at very little cost. A +middle-class householder, who loves his ease or is ambitious only to +swell his banking account, has nothing to gain by a large family. + +Among the middle class, then, the budding father is the subject of +sincere commiseration. What cares, what vexations will be his! He regards +himself as bound for some time to consider the slightest whim of his wife +as sacred. With a flutter at the heart he hies him to the astrologer to +ascertain at least if it is a boy or a girl; and when the unfeeling stars +announce a girl, he still manages to smile. + +One fine day (or fine night, for Nature is whimsical in her choice), see +him, lantern in hand, chilled to the marrow, shivering, running off to +find the nurse; and then what terrible, what wearing hours follow! In +very truth it is he who demands pity, for Providence, having failed to +foresee these moments for the man, has forgotten to give him strength +equal to them. How ardently he wishes it were all over! “There is no +saint in the calendar,” he cries, “but shall have his candle!” The first +wail of the newcomer pours balm on the mother’s heart; but what of the +husband? Can he spare time to admire this shapeless, unsightly little +creature? He seeks nurses for mother and child, he has the room hung with +red, covers the floor with velvet rugs; if by good luck he falls asleep +in a corner, it is only in his dreams to see a spectral balance-sheet +dancing a frantic saraband. No, he has not his wife’s strength. + +The red room becomes for the young mother a palace of delight. It was +a charity to visit a relative, friend, or neighbour when recovery was +assured, and very few women would risk losing paradise for such a trifle. +And so the room is never empty. There the lady holds a “regal court,” or +what we, with less enthusiasm, should call a woman’s club. We may fancy +how they chatter, how often the husband is hauled over the coals, how +they cry shame on him. “What! this shabby dress! He wouldn’t give you +this or that? Ah, the old skinflint!” + +There prevailed in Italy the very amiable practice of sending all sorts +of little presents—flowers, fruit, trinkets, nicknacks. The young mother +was entitled also to a little tray, painted or chased, of which charming +specimens exist, real works of art. All these presents came in a heap. +With his grave and masculine brush, Domenico Ghirlandajo has depicted for +us a scene at Santa-Maria-Novella: a maidservant is presenting a cordial +on the tray, a friend is amusing herself with the baby, a high-born dame +is making her entry in great dignity, a message-girl is bringing in a +superb basket of fruit. It is a constant stream of visitors, wonderfully +picturesque. + +As to the husband, he has disappeared among his occupations and his +worries; he reappears a fortnight later, to return these civilities with +a grand dinner. + +The child is to belong to the mother until the eighth year; an exquisite +period in which the heart will expand. It is as she clasps in her arms +this feeble little creature, this messenger from a new world, that a +woman comprehends love; life appears to her all bathed in a mysterious +light, golden, and warm, and glad. All women, whether cultivated or +illiterate, have this sensation. + +For some time, perhaps for several years, a mother can thus find the +restfulness that springs from happiness, and, in making all things +minister to her inward joy, she steeps her soul in a felicity to which +she foresees no end. + +No woman, then, ought to deprive herself of the first smiles of her +child, his first prattlings, his divine fondlings, which Raphael has +depicted and which Erasmus considered so beautiful a thing that he made +them a theme for rhetorical exercises. + +But from the very first the world interposed with tyrannous hand. In old +times a woman had been permitted to nurse her child; suckling constituted +a part of the maternal functions, approved by moralists and physicians. +But now the fashion had changed; the cry of milk-sellers offering milk +for the nursery was added to the morning din in the streets of Paris. The +smaller gentry and even a certain number of country magnates[64] sent +their children out to nurse; and to meet this need, human cattle-rearing +became a recognised agricultural industry, which flourished exceedingly, +though it was rather speculative for those engaged in it, for the +children were sometimes left in settlement of the bill. + +In the great houses, or those of middle station, a nurse was employed, +after satisfying moral and medical tests—a stout respectable person +from twenty to thirty years of age. She entered the family, and there +represented the life of nature, occupying, to the end of her days if she +pleased, a privileged situation about her foster-child. + +Not infrequently, we must admit, the husband was heartily at one with the +ancient principles, and would very readily have authorised his wife to +dispense with a nurse. But then some fair friend would take him aside and +put him to shame: “What, he actually means to impose that bondage upon +his wife! Does he not see already how worn out she is! Ah, he means to +compel her to it, and we very well know why, the miser! Really, who would +have thought a husband had a soul black enough to inflict such thraldom +on a woman, who, thank God, still possesses some attractions!” + +And in that last word there is a world of meaning. A wife of fifteen or +sixteen years, after a year or two of marriage, had every reason to think +that life was not over for her, and that she still had need of her beauty. + +Further, etiquette, and in princely houses even politics, intervened: +the convenances were opposed to a mother taking too personal a part in +her children’s upbringing, for in that case it would not have been worth +while to own a whole regiment of servants. There they were, however, and +their allotted functions must be respected; and so the mother had to +limit her solicitude to a careful superintendence. + +Nevertheless, many women ventured to set etiquette at defiance. The +Princess of Orange appears just like any other woman when she writes so +joyfully to her sister-in-law, Anne of France, that she has just seen her +“fair niece,” who called her “mummy and daddy,” and “gave her as sweet a +welcome in her little baby-talk as such a baby could.” So, too, Louise +of Savoy, when, in 1520, in the midst of preoccupations of every kind, +she recalls that, thirty-five years before, Francis I. had cut his first +teeth quite unnoticed, “and was not the least little bit ill.” + +Up to the age of seven, the children remained under their mother’s +fostering wing, in a pure state of vegetation. Moralists and physicians +taught that they must be allowed to develop freely, without having to +learn anything, and without bothering about anything but good air and a +regular life. + +The grand principle of education is to let children grow up of +themselves, alone, unaided, without grand theories, without dogmatism; +and to habituate them to rely on nothing—neither neither fear nor love; +to be themselves; and this from the very earliest infancy. Every being +entering life brings to it his own individuality for development; he has +the free use of his faculties; he observes much, instinctively using eyes +and ears, and his soul reflects his environment like a celestial mirror. +So the mother has only to help him, direct him, set him good examples. + +This careful attention in early days appears of capital importance, +because then or never is the time to root up any little weeds one by one +as they appear. No strenuous effort is needed; it is work to be done by a +woman’s hand, gently. + +Hitherto it had been imagined that the first thing needful was to secure +a maximum of physical strength, and consequently to harden a child by +means almost cruel, such as an exemplary self-repression, a life in the +open air, freely exposed to all inclemencies of the weather. If a child +wept he was allowed to weep. He was taken sometimes to church, or to see +very near relatives, but never to places of amusement, to the theatre, +or to the houses of the wealthy. To become ever so little accustomed to +comfort, idleness, or an artificial life was considered fatal. People +feared to make a mollycoddle of him, and said to themselves that the army +and the gymnasium in later years would never eradicate ill habits formed +in childhood. They thought only of the children; the mothers were left +out of account. + +The women regarded this system as much too severe, and one of the first +results of their influence was its modification. Why martyr the children +under pretext of hardening them? What was the good of exposing them +half naked to the cold, or of making little monks of them, and assuming +towards them the airs of a policeman? Was it so great a crime to show +these poor little creatures some affection, to admit them to some share +with their elders in the life they were bound to know, to form their +minds and their manners by allowing them a place at the card table, or to +give them companions—even at the cost of a black eye? + +The old moralists regarded such proceedings as premature and far too +unsystematic, and refused to hear of anything but muscle, maintaining +that entrance into the world always came soon enough. Women were to +divert education into another channel. When they come to gain greater +power in the home, we shall find them demanding the right to love their +children, enter into their concerns, live with them, take pleasure in +them, at least until they attain the classic age of seven. + + +THE BOYS. + +When the seven years were past, a boy became for his mother only an +object of anxiety or tribulation. He came under the direct and exclusive +authority of his father, who aimed at moulding him on large lines and +turning him at fourteen, not into a bookish don, nor perhaps a mere +‘pass-man’ even, but into a man of backbone and individuality, armed at +all points for the battle of life. Our ancestors had a particular horror +of everything resembling enlistment into brigades, reduction to a uniform +pattern. The collegiate system seemed to them detestable, a make-shift +in the worst sense; Louis XI., though he took care to send the princes +of the younger branch to college, just as carefully avoided sending his +son there. College, as Montaigne said, was a “factory of Latinizers,” a +“house of preventive correction,” where men worked like day-labourers +(of that period) fourteen or fifteen hours a day, until their brains +were completely addled and they hated the sight of books; and what, if +you please, was the magnificent result? A smattering of Greek and Latin, +a certain facility in prating about Jupiter, Venus, Pyramus—without too +minute an enquiry, happily, into what those august names stood for. As to +ideas, they did no more than stuff the boys with a few stock notions to +serve for intelligence,[65] instead of vigorously developing the creative +and original faculties. + +Thus there was general agreement that college was to be avoided as +much as possible, and that a boy should remain at home. But then came +the tug-of-war. If he remained at home, the mother, who had in all +probability centred precisely on this son all her affection, would +claim him as her care, which is just what the father did not wish; he +mistrusted her, her kindness, her “shows of love.” It was an axiom that +boys must be subjected to thoroughly masculine management, a life of +birching, under the firm hand of the father; the father had a perfect +right to forbid them to see their mother. How could he succeed in +“hardening the soul and the muscles” of a boy, in giving him a physical +and moral robustness depending largely on the “thickness of the skin,” +if the mother was always at hand, interfering, discovering that her son +had been too hot or too cold, petting him, commiserating his slightest +hardships? That was not the way to make a man! + +Nowhere was the battle against feminism fought more resolutely than on +this ground. The adversaries of women may be almost infallibly recognised +by this mark, that they insist above all things on keeping in their hands +the education of men, because they regard this as the direction in which +the influence of women is most manifestly fatal. + +They fear family life because of the freedom which reigns there, and +because they know nothing worse for a man than a precocious impulse +towards sensibility. “When I was twenty,” growls an old man, “I knew +nothing about women; in these days, infants in arms are further +advanced.” That is a proof, someone will say, of superior intelligence, +a guarantee of their virtue. Not at all. Any system, even college, +was preferred to the education of men by women. From the moment when +tenderness and sympathy become paramount in a house, there is no course +open but to get rid of the boys at any cost. + +But is not this to push rigour a little too far, and uselessly to +lacerate the mother’s heart, this aching heart which thought it had at +last found something to fill its void? The mothers are not lacking in +arguments to support their claims. They refuse absolutely to acknowledge +that kindness necessarily spells weakness. Has it not been understood +from time immemorial, by people who could least be suspected of +sentimentalism, how important it is to preserve for a man his refuge in +the affection of his mother? Have not the names of Saint Monica and so +many other devoted mothers always been cited with delight? A rational +education ought not to rely solely on the principle of fear: it should +be the express image of life; and if brutality and coarseness are to +be banished from the world, it will not do to begin by sowing them +broadcast. How many men, nobly fashioned by the hands of women, have +been brought, by means of love’s training alone, to a perfect perception +of authority, reverence, discipline! Affection has a wisdom of its own, +secret agencies of its own; a mother’s heart can see as clearly, and +obtain as many practical results, as the reason and the despotism of +the father. In this, as in other things, force is not everything, and +another regimen is possible than that of the “birch,” or indeed of the +“filliping,” dear to Montaigne. + +Margaret of France offers us on this subject a pertinent object-lesson; +she cites herself. Her mother, Louise of Savoy, left a widow, indulged to +the utmost the luxury of freely loving her children. When someone spoke +to her of handing her son over to men, she made answer by installing the +bed of the young Francis in her own room. And the result? + + Fille et filz eut, à elle obéyssans, + Rempliz d’esprit, de vertuz et bon sens.[66] + +We can understand what deep chords were struck by this dispute between +the fathers and the mothers, and what echoes it set sounding in the +whole life of the women. Separated as they were from their sons by force +of custom, it was natural indeed that, eager to imbue the stern spirit of +men with love and tenderness, they should turn passionately to the love +of their children. + +In the first engagement they were often worsted. The son went off +to college. Montaigne deplores it. It is within the four walls of a +class-room, he says, and by doses of Greek syntax, that a young fellow is +to be taught the science of life and given that clear philosophic outlook +which comes through history and experience! What professor will teach +him the wisdom of holding aloof from the world’s Vanity Fair, swarming +with upstart mountebanks and overweening buffoons? His mother would have +liked to extract for him the essence of life, the secret of happiness, to +impart to him the sacred spark of love. But Montaigne is one of those who +regard this as very dangerous; he believes, in short, that “seeing the +world” would be still more fatal than “preventive imprisonment.” + +In other cases, the father would select a tutor to train his son, and +then the crisis lay below the surface. + +The father always has some hesitation in determining his course. To begin +with, he thinks of the expense, and though enthusiasts represent that +there is no better investment, he knits his brows. Then he would like +to find a perfect man: a difficult matter. As a rule, he decides on the +recommendation of friends, who have seen their nominee at work, and are +loud in praise of his tact, his manner, his method, his knowledge; they +do not explain that their man finds it necessary to expatriate himself, +but he is still young (thirty or thirty-five), and is anxious to make a +position. + +The candidate himself takes up his pen to speak with becoming modesty +of his humble accomplishments. He promises to ride out with his pupil, +and “engage in any other exercise that may be desired”; all that he asks +is that he may sleep outside the château and not have to dine in the +kitchen, like some of his colleagues. This is not enough for the anxious +mother; she would like to know if he is a man of honour and a gentleman. +Her mind is set at rest. + +For a long time these tutors maintained a certain attitude of reserve. + +In his _Calandra_, Bibbiena gives an example of one who is completely +uninteresting, speaking, acting, and dressing like the rest of men. But +these young fellows were men, and what is more, men of education, not +so foolish as, after tasting of a life of refinement, to fail long to +recognise its advantages. Sometimes, under a guileless demeanour, they +suffered temptations the reverse of philosophic: Vegio[67] calls them, +without mincing matters, “abominable bucks.” They learnt by experience +how hard it is to get on by zeal and earnestness, and how easy by other +means. They cultivated literature to some purpose. No one thought any +the worse of Antony de la Salle, the austere tutor of the house of Anjou +in the 15th century, for writing _The Fifteen Joys of Marriage_ or _The +Hundred Novels_, or of Lemaire’s[68] notion of elevating the ideas of +the young Charles V. by offering him delicate nourishment in the shape +of a _Judgment of Paris_ of photographic realism—a picture of the future +reserved by heaven for princes and the great ones of the earth. Such +things were read: dissertations on Aristotle were not. + +In proportion as the women posed as patrons of literature, the tutor type +appears in higher relief. The torrent of invective let loose against +them leaves no room for doubt that the tutors had red-letter days. +The dramatists and the writers of novels do not condone the airs of +proprietorship they assumed in regard to mothers or cousins. They show +you a poor devil of a pedagogue, a dried-up anatomy, void of personal +merit, ill-featured, grotesque, boorish, dying for love of some fair, +rich and distinguished girl, whom he pesters with glowing love-letters, +or with sonnets spiced with epicureanism. What peals of laughter there +are when he, like many others, comes in due course to taste the rod in +pickle! + +From the moment when Aretino, in his _Marescalco_, which appeared in +1533, revealed the dramatic possibilities of such a part, the type was +fixed. + +Before the tutor appears on the scene you know what you are going to +see: a spectacled pedant, ungainly, loutish, pretentious, a twaddling +bore, full of philology and quotations. His very features have acquired a +mechanical cast betraying his habit of holding forth on the obvious, as +Montaigne says, or of extinguishing youth by his stupidity, his “hoggish +wisdom,” to adopt the words of Rabelais. + +Then, in virtue of a law of fate, the glory of the tutor waned and +fell. The impulse that went forth towards liberal studies brought so +many rivals into the field that, unless he opened a private seminary or +obtained a professorial chair, the tutor was ruined. His salary became +diminutive, and, as we know, the man who is poorly paid is thought little +of. He may take all the pains imaginable, set impositions, rap knuckles, +pull ears, but no one is satisfied. + +“I know no worse blockhead in the world than the scholar, except it be +the pedant.” + +And then the poor “pedant,” full of gall and bitterness, withdraws into +his shell. After a long day of toil and drudgery, his only pleasure in +life is to get back to his solitary room, and there spend the night in +collating notes, collecting rare phrases, happy turns of expression, or +hammering out verses, love poems addressed to a beauty whom luckily he +does not know, or lyrical verses at a white heat of passion. And these +productions of his heart (such of them, at least, as Fortune has deigned +to preserve) lie to this day, bundles of them, in the dust of archives. + +Needless to add that the tutor considers himself martyred by the father. +The father, who does not profess to love him, treats him indeed, more or +less openly, as a tradesman and a nuisance, and interferes when the whim +takes him, finding fault with this and that—the boy’s talkativeness, his +pranks, his bad companions. He would like on the one hand less severity, +on the other more progress. And then this youngster, who calls him “Sir,” +and whom he always regards as a child, assumes mannish ways and threatens +to follow at his heels: another serious drain upon his purse! Besides, +what is the good of so many courses of study, of this “bookish swagger”? +Can’t he learn everything without such a fuss? What, here is a child we +are going to launch into actual life, and you stuff him with syllogisms, +dates, a world of mere lumber! Did Alexander the Great learn all these +things? He had, grant you, a tutor named Aristotle; ay, and with a few +good moral principles for his whole kit he conquered the world! True, +he respected the arts and sciences, he praised their “excellence and +elegance,” but was he ever seen to grow pale and bite his nails over a +problem in dialectics? No, indeed![69] + +The tutors were never safe from these annoyances, except perhaps in the +houses of princes or kings, because then they were important personages, +high functionaries, and a numerous body. + +The mother, on the contrary, made herself the friend of the tutor, and +by this means exercised a perceptible influence upon him. She surrounded +him with affectionate attentions. They were two natural allies, two +feeble and down-trodden creatures who sought support in high communings +which the husband did not understand. As a man of culture the tutor leant +towards feminism, and he tasted doubly, for himself and for his pupil, +the attentions, the solicitous benevolence, which a mother throws about +the work of education. The palace of Louise of Savoy at Amboise thus +saw a succession of special tutors who came to imbue Francis I. with +aesthetic principles, and they retained the pleasantest recollections of +their stay. The young princess indeed spoilt them, pampered them, almost; +she had them at her own table, instead of leaving them to the society of +chamberlains and playactors: she made them talk, and talked with them. + +In spite of all opposition, the education of men thus underwent a +gradual transformation in cultivated countries. Instead of maintaining +their former attitude of grave reserve, hardly distinguishable from +bashfulness, and of regarding everybody, especially persons well on in +years, with a distant respect; instead, notably, of showing in their +intercourse with women all the shades of respect from profound reverence +to profound courtesy, the majority of these young men made their entrance +into life without embarrassment and with the most charming manners. They +put off the armour of social etiquette, they were docile, pleasant, +graceful in bearing, proficient in the art of pleasing. A multitude of +books on “civility,” an excellent specimen of which came from the pen +of Erasmus, instructed them in the science of good-breeding, formerly +somewhat neglected. Moreover, as education is always the great objective +of men who desire to exercise a serious influence on thought, they vied +with one another in propounding theories and advocating each his own +system in regard to the direction of youth, a task which engrossed such +men as Cordier,[70] Sadoleto,[71] Vivès,[72] Luther, Calvin, Erasmus, +to mention only the chief. We need not follow here their far-reaching +discussions, which are but the development of the struggle entered +upon between the idealistic and the matter-of-fact spirits. On the +extreme frontier of the two realms Zwingle, established so to speak as +a mainguard, defends the German tactics. Without denying the amenities +of aestheticism, he declares for an education of cloistral severity, +for curricula of the exact sciences and logic, and prefers Hebraists or +erudite Hellenists to elegant Latinists. + +Erasmus, on the contrary, marks out the Roman frontier. He considers +that any effort to direct the intelligence of children into one rigid +channel only has the effect of drying it up. He appreciates neither the +exhibition of truth in its skeleton state, the system which flourished +in the schools of the Middle Ages, nor the pure apprenticeship to +utilitarianism to which Zwingle inclines. The sentiment of the beautiful, +in his view, offers an immense advantage in life—that of sustaining +and consoling the spirit; in education there is no other process for +widening, refining, elevating the faculties.[73] The new movement has his +entire approval. + +Indeed, he is ready to go very far. Instead of banishing all thoughts +of women from their minds, he is surprisingly ready to explain to +young men that there are two loves, a good and a bad, and to set them +such subjects for composition as the question “ought a man to marry or +not?” Hütten[74] pokes great fun at the coy professors who so carefully +expurgate the mythology, who would fain drape the Muses and turn them +into angels, or who compare Diana to the Virgin Mother. + +In reality, as everybody had his own programme of education, dependent +on no one’s theories or whims, all this fine ardour produced little but +modifications of detail. So men remained faithful to gymnastics and +all the sports—riding, hunting, fishing, tennis, perhaps even to sober +philosophic deambulations in the style of St. Gregory of Nazianzen. But +they held dancing in less abhorrence, and the love of gaming worked havoc. + +Music triumphed over its detractors, who had been wont to represent it as +directly tending towards effeminacy and voluptuous impressibility. Now, +on the contrary, it was regarded as a child’s most ennobling avocation +and a precious resource for forming his mind. Instruction in the +principles of design seemed a necessity for men who were called to live +among objects of art, and who, without some practical experience, would +infallibly fall a prey to pinchbeck. + +However, it is impossible to deny that a too exclusive development of +the emotional side of their nature did produce, among certain young +men, untoward and even disastrous results. Education had become very +wide-spread; everybody sought after it, rather out of _amour-propre_ +than to supply needs they really felt; and the result was that there +was less anxiety to equip solidly a few choice minds than to give the +mass a superficial polish. The world was overrun with amiable young +men, patterns of social accomplishment, knowing how to bow, dancing +well, of excellent table manners, primed moreover with a few tags of +Latin or Greek, living in elegant idleness, and thus the pride of the +good merchant who had the honour of begetting them and keeping the pot +boiling. Their weak point was that they knew too much of life in their +beardless youth: aestheticism had brought them neither illusions nor +enthusiasm; but they were past-masters in the commercial valuation of +some fashionable young lady and her belongings. + +At the age of fifteen or sixteen, all these young fellows, good or bad, +took flight in the most diverse directions, and escaped from their mother +for good and all. + +She sees them go! Some, the smartest of them, go to Court as brilliant +pages, all ablaze with gold and velvet: the others into some château, +where they combine the duties of head-huntsman and stud-groom, and dine +in the kitchen, hoping to be mentioned in their master’s will. + +Others, maintained by a more subtle father, are commissioned “to attain +unto the virtue and honour that knowledge gains for gentlemen.”[75] +Ah! the gay young sparks! They proceed, at great expense, to establish +themselves at Padua, Bologna, or elsewhere, and there the lore they +gather comes from profound study of Signora Angela’s ankles or Signora +Camilla’s bright eyes. One of these pious youths, the son of a councillor +of Paris, dismissed post-haste the private tutor accompanying him. So +long as the lad’s purse holds out, the father proves indulgent, and +indeed is secretly not a little proud of his heir’s escapades. Boys will +be boys. One facetious father addresses a letter to his son “studying at +Padua—or sent to study.” + +Many people attributed the wildness of young men to the fact that their +education was not directed by women. + +Calvin considers that the young men were thrown too much into women’s +society; Henri Estienne[76] charges upon aesthetic education all the +vices of the age. This is going a little too far: it would be just as +reasonable to make the vices of the age responsible for the bad results +of education. As a matter of fact, notwithstanding a certain measure +of progress, the education of the sixteenth century did commit errors +for which it had to pay. Discipline was relaxed.[77] It was a common +complaint that studies lost tone as they became more general;[78] the +new education took its pupils too young, forced them remorselessly +through too extensive curricula, encouraged them to be content with a +smattering, gave them the habit of not going deep into anything, and made +shallow and paradoxical men. + +Two women who were the products of the most opposite principles, Louise +of Savoy and Anne of France, were on their guard against this error. The +one determined to have her son educated under her own eyes, the other +undertook the education of her future son-in-law—a clear proof that all +women cannot be charged with particular faults. + +However paradoxical the idea may appear, it seems that the system of +education ought to have been more completely revolutionised. Either +the old principle of bringing boys up so as to make men of them should +have been maintained, or a new one should have been boldly and frankly +enunciated, namely, that it would be well for a boy to be brought up by +his mother, since he is to live with a woman, and a girl by her father, +since she is to live with a man. Of this principle, however, we nowhere +find the slightest hint. + +In this education there would have been something more intimate, more +just, more natural, and perhaps more profitable. You can tell among a +thousand the men who have been brought up by a serious mother, and the +women brought up by a careful father. + +Unhappily, the social customs of the time raised an insurmountable +obstacle. In addition to the fears of excessive sensibility of which we +have spoken, the rigid family principle ordained that the son should +belong to the family and not to his mother. He was a man: therefore +let him ride and hunt and be a soldier! It was better to err through +brutality than through tenderness. + +In reality, many mothers exercised but an indirect and ineffective +influence on their sons. The sons were too much separated from them +and left them too soon. Were the mothers made for the children or the +children for the mothers? Judging from the number of households which +were only held together by the children, one might think they were made +for the mothers; and yet a woman who relied too much on this support was +sure to remain in cruel loneliness. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS + + +If the sons were destined almost inevitably to disappoint their mothers’ +hopes, the daughters were to compensate for that disappointment. We must +crave pardon for entering into all these details. It is impossible to +set forth the story of a woman’s heart without first of all plumbing as +deeply as possible the secret of those holy passions which move women as +mothers and as daughters. We started from the solid ground of marriage +after the old style, a mere physical and rational fact. The sensibility +of women begins to blossom out on coming into contact with physical +wretchedness; it creates the sick-nurse and the alms-distributor; it +is then that the mother is born. Her love for her sons has nothing but +separation to look forward to; but in the love of mother for daughter a +woman’s heart finds another stay. Here there is no interference to be +feared from a third party. The daughter belongs to the mother, and the +father does not even seek any share in their intimacy: “Women’s policy +hath a mystical proceeding; we must be content to leave it to them.”[79] +Let the father provide the girl’s dowry, that is all that is required of +him. In the formal and somewhat Philistine society which was the outcome +of the Middle Ages, the several shares of the parents were very clearly +defined. + +But these things which the father knew nothing about are of the greatest +interest for us. We want to know what went on between mother and +daughter, and how the women of the future were being formed, for then +we shall know also whether the mother was able to fashion for herself +a lasting joy in her home, and whether she was so well satisfied with +the principles on which she herself had been brought up as to apply +them to her daughter. Later on we shall have to treat of more momentous +questions, of ideas much more highly artistic and philosophic, but we +shall meet with none from which a more thorough knowledge of the inner +workings of feminine souls is to be gained. In the slightest question of +education all the social questions have their echoes, as we hear the roar +of the ocean in a shell. + +Historians are very far from agreement in the information they give us +as to the manner in which young girls were educated in those days. An +old, but false, proverb runs: “The mother feeds, the father instructs”; +which signifies in plain language that the mother never instructed, +suckling being the top of her capacity. On the other hand, as the +treatises on education speak only of the boys, or at most of “children,” +and practically never use the word “daughters,” some historians have +concluded that the girls were left to vegetate and that their education +was never considered, while others, on the contrary, and these not the +least important—such as Burckhardt and Minghetti—have believed that the +girls merely followed the same course as the boys. + +We shall not traverse these two opinions, contradictory as they are, +because they both appear true to a certain extent. + +The question of education really depends on another question, of much +greater moment, which we have set ourselves to answer in this book: What +ought women’s life to be? Where ought they to seek their happiness? +And at the outset we are brought face to face with a very troublesome +problem. Is a woman to continue to be married passively, as we have +seen her married—to be left almost a slave? or is she to be put into a +condition of self-defence? Is she to be made an obedient tool, a mirror +of the ideas of others, destitute of all mind of her own, and all the +happier in knowing nothing beyond the narrow bounds of her bedroom? or +does it seem better to render her an active, educated creature, with an +individuality of her own, capable of reasoning and acting? Is the mother +to remain merely a temporary guardian, charged with watching over a +little girl for a master of undisputed title, who will form her and train +her after his own fancy, and to whom she will belong at the earliest +moment, even in her first flower? or is the mother to be at perfect +liberty to link herself closely with her daughter, and, precisely because +the girl is one day to be given to another, to arm her with independence +and intelligence, even although she knows that sooner or later some +portion of this armour must be dropped on the way? There is the whole +question. And on that question depends the education of girls. + +In the first case (that is if we adopt the time-honoured theory) +the mother was preparing a blank page. She had little to do except +to promote as hardy a vegetation as possible, a blossoming out into +strength and beauty, to maintain absolutely unbroken quietude, to +respect and even prolong the days of childhood.[80] There is no need +here for lengthy dissertations: the system consisted in proscribing +everything that involved the slightest mental exertion, even in the form +of little pastimes; in preserving an absolute simplicity, a cloistral +existence;[81] in shunning even physical exercises if they were at all +energetic. From the intellectual standpoint it allowed, on the artistic +side, some trifling pieces of needlework (tapestry, netting, or the +like); music, not suggestive or light, but classical music; as recreative +reading, some elementary books of religion or morality; in science, some +notions of physics, agriculture, medicine, some philosophical expositions +of great moral questions, such as original sin, the Redemption, the +immortality of the soul, and the Creed in general. That was what had gone +to form the little bride, the robust, sedate, matter-of-fact, shy little +creature whom at the beginning of this book we saw led to the altar. She +was ignorant, but so much the better: she was only being born into life, +but she brought as her stake a solid health and a well-balanced character +generally; and at thirteen years, that was a good deal. The husband would +do the rest. + +And it must not be imagined that this system, barbarous as it may seem to +some, was regarded as at all ill-conceived. It had numerous friends. The +learned of the Middle Ages, from the venerable Egidio Colonna[82] to the +illustrious Gerson,[83] had formed no other idea of women’s needs. Gerson +even enunciated the aphorism (which, however, must not be pressed): +“All instruction for women should be looked at askance.” In this the +philosophers were at one with the physicians, whose advice was to err on +the side of caution. In support of their position, they invoked the great +name of St. Chrysostom,[84] and that of Lycurgus also, who wished to +prolong the childhood of young girls to the eighteenth year (and this in +Greece), and to devote the whole period to the care of the body. + +On this system, the mothers could not form close ties with their +daughters, still less enter into their life. One mother, however, +inspired by her ardent devotion to an only daughter, and at the same +time thoroughly conversant with the actual necessities of life—Anne +of France—has shown to what good account these apparently rudimentary +opportunities might be turned, while paying due respect to the advice of +Gerson and the physicians. She set down her views in a little work, of +a purely practical and intimate character, designed for her daughter’s +use, and written day by day with a certain desultoriness, according to +the line her reflections or her reading happened to take, and without the +slightest intention of supporting a thesis. This book imparts to us _ex +abrupto_ the secret of her thoughts. + +She pinned her faith to education, not to instruction; she desired an +education that was spontaneous and in some sort automatic, which would +result, not from a perfect intimacy between mother and daughter, still +less from a sentiment of equality, but solely from a kindly, frank, and +affectionate association, of such a nature that the mother would colour +her child’s character “as good wine colours its cask.” + +This gentle prescription assumes a wide mental culture to begin with, and +a certain robustness of intelligence. Anne of France intended the moral +and philosophic education of the girl to be carried out with the aid of +Boethius, Plato, the fathers of the church, the ancient philosophers, +and, it need hardly be said, in conformity with the “Instructions of St. +Louis.” + +On the other hand she did not trouble to develop the imagination or the +emotions: she had a horror of affectation, of all that appeared to her +to smack of the studied, the conventional, the theatrical: she would +not permit it anywhere, either in dress, in which she rejected false +simplicity and false elegance alike, or in conversation, studies, or +conduct. She loved only the splendour of truth, the glorification of the +real in its noble aspects. It was her aim to temper the young girl’s soul +by instilling into her the habit of searching enquiry and deep thought, +and of building her reasoning always on clear premises like the certainty +of death or the existence of God. + +From these principles there resulted, not a critical scepticism like that +of Montaigne, Pascal, or Descartes, but, if one may say so, a vigorous +and affirmative scepticism, that is to say, the absolute, perhaps even +harsh determination to look the facts of life fairly in the face, as +serious but ephemeral matters; and to abstain from giving them colours, +shapes, an import which do not belong to them, from throwing a false halo +about them. As a drowning man clings to a rope, so Anne of France clung +to a precise and objective morality, which, firmly anchored on religious +faith, defied discouragements and fatigues as well as illusions. Beyond +the restless sea of mundane realities in all their nakedness, it pointed +to other realities, which appeared to her just as clear, just as +positive, and in which she found a steadfast beacon light. + +In thus basing feminine education on individualism and a severe +conception of the True, Anne feared rather than desired the intrusion +of aestheticism. What was required, in her opinion, was to form strong +women, vigorous in body and mind: she wished to develop strength of +will and stability of character, which are practical virtues. Assuredly +she had no personal scorn for the beautiful: she gave proof enough to +the contrary. She loved an art full of sap and zest; she was a subtle +connoisseur, a royal patron! Delight in beautiful things was so natural +to her that she counted on transmitting the taste to her daughter. +And she was accomplished in philosophy; she read Plato, a first step +which some of the most confirmed lady platonists neglected. But she was +persuaded that the period of struggle was only opening for women, and +that they must arm themselves to maintain the fight. She had no bent +towards German utilitarianism—she could not have contented herself with +the studies Luther sanctioned, nor with the elementary programme of +virtue which Calvin found all-sufficient: at the same time, she had no +greater confidence in the idealism of Rome. The world was not yet perfect +enough! She joyfully hailed the dawn, but did not believe that the day +was yet fully come. Women must not be content with a dilettante reliance +on impressions; they must make what they love an object of thought, and +having formed their reasoned conception, must seek to realise it. For +them to be queens would be admirable indeed; but for the present it is +enough for them to escape crushing. What they need is will, and, as a +consequence, intellect and individuality. + +This was a clear enough scheme of life. In Spain the same ideas obtained +so striking a success that people were not satisfied with the compromise +devised by Anne of France, and with this wholly moral education +which would leave the daughter for a few short years to her mother. +Circumstances were urgent; there was no time to waste; ideas were at +boiling-point: a part of the ancient principles, the physical and moral +repose recommended by the physicians, was sacrificed, and the children +were flung headlong into the whirlpool. Little girls sucked in Latin with +their mother’s milk; then, the soul being expropriated, so to speak, for +the public good, they were given a tutor at an age when they ought to +have been learning nothing but how to walk; at seven they were expected +to be able to maintain a conversation, and at thirteen to have finished +their studies and be ripe for matrimony. + +This programme, so vigorous that at first blush one would be tempted to +think it a mere figment of the imagination, was not only propounded but +largely practised by one of the most conspicuous men of the time—Vivès, +the tutor of Isabella the Catholic’s daughters. Vivès went to England in +the train of Catherine of Aragon, and in that country of matter-of-fact +aspirations he could still have believed himself in Spain, so successful +was he in rousing the same fire and enthusiasm for his ideas. His fervour +led to a revolution, or rather, as Erasmus said with a smile, to a +“topsy-turvydom” in high society; the men, who continued to scour the +seas and do business in great waters, fell quite to the rear, while the +young ladies, stepping to the front, engaged with a brisk rivalry in +marvellous exhibitions of precocity. At thirteen, Lady Jane Grey read +Plato in the original, and Mary Stuart delivered in public her first +Latin speech; at fourteen, Queen Elizabeth translated a work by Margaret +of France, _The Mirror of the Sinful Soul_. These wonderfully clever +children were not confined to any particular country, and the same breeze +fanned the same flame from John o’ Groats to Gibraltar. Saint Theresa, +who was born in 1515, is an excellent type of her contemporaries. Bereft +of her mother, and one of a family of twelve, she was certainly not the +object of any special training, but kept pace with girls of her age; yet +at six years she was already, to use her own expression, “swept away by +a violent movement of love,” and had to be prevented from hurrying to +Africa in the hope of being massacred and winning heaven cheaply. What +singular girls! + +The thing that urged them on was the general fear in which the husband +was held, the pressing need of attaining, ere it was too late, a good +condition of defence and even of superiority. The rising spectre of +marriage fascinated teacher and taught alike. At ten years of age, to +tell the truth, such personages as Anne of France and Margaret of France +had already disposed of their heart! so that to overwhelm them with +work was believed the best way to protect them against themselves. “The +craters of Etna, the forge of Vulcan, Vesuvius, Olympus cannot compare +their fires to those of the temperament of a young girl inflamed by high +feeding,” cries Vivès. The more effectually to extinguish these flames +Vivès reinforces the regimen of work with a course of cold water and a +vegetable diet, and this he austerely names “the perpetual fast” of the +Christian life; he proscribes dancing, and counts on serious studies to +preserve them from vanity and to widen the scope of their intellectual +activities. In short, while more sharply accentuating the scientific +note than Anne of France, he has the same end in view. Like her, he is +convinced, passionately convinced indeed, that it is right to set a +straight course for marriage, having now only a half-hearted belief in +the old ideal of virginity: he has, further, so rooted a horror of vain +sentimentalities, affectations, romances, poetry, all sensibility real +or affected, that he throws overboard Italian and French for his pupils: +he wishes them to have wills and energies of their own. But like a true +Spaniard, an enthusiast and yet a Stoic, he loves these warm, ardent +natures. He is a little like that lord-justice who in his official tone +interrupted a too pertinacious advocate, but under his breath bade him +continue. He shrinks from the flames, but sees in them the instrument of +regeneration. These little girls of thirteen, inured to the reading of +Scripture, tricked out with history and ethics, with Xenophon and Seneca, +he sends forth to the conquest of the world, to fulfil their vocation +as women. He hopes that their initiation into Biblical exegesis will +lead them to construct a philosophical religion for themselves, and that +they will attain a rational appreciation of Catholicism as the source of +justice and knowledge, and the sole panacea for society. That is the gist +of his preaching to the daughters of Isabella the Catholic. Did Luther +himself probe nearer the heart of the matter, or outline a scheme more +novel and more magnificent? + +Let us complete our portrait of Vivès, and at the same time that of many +a young woman of the new generation, by adding that he by no means looked +down on the practical knowledge of plain cooking, of domestic economy +or the common medicines. It might be thought that he had no ardour but +for the Bible, and there is no lack of ill-natured jesters who cast a +stone at his Latinist ladies;[85] whereas, on the contrary, he spoke +up for the kitchen, though to the detriment of dress and dolls. “What,” +he cries, “is not a hand smutted with coal as good as a snow-white hand +that is open to everyone?” It only needs a father or mother to fall ill, +and he is perfectly happy, for then you will see his fair Latinist in +neat white apron, bringing a cooling draught she herself has mixed, and +bestowing one of those smiles for which one would gratefully gulp down a +whole druggist’s shop. Here, according to him, is the distinguishing mark +of his system; a practically useful intelligence, and a physical as well +as moral devotion. + +The Italian school drew its inspiration much more directly from the +need of the ideal; it rejected passion as full of peril and made +mere sensibility its goal. But it too pretended to take its stand on +conceptions of absolute truth, though more elementary ones; and these +it did not represent as intellectual acquirements, because it regarded, +not knowledge, but feeling and judgment, as the end a woman ought to +set before her. The education dear to this school was above all an +education of impressions and enthusiasm, in which scientific truth only +came in to supply ballast and to prevent an exaggerated serenity, or +an over-confidence in life. In its refinement and elegance this school +preserved as it were an after perfume from the noble city of Rome, where +fastidious and ceremonious prelates, gourmets but not cooks, let money +flow into their pockets through immense spiritual aqueducts, and set +about pouring it away again in perfect cascades of ostentation. Hands +smutty with coal indeed! A lazzarone would blush at the thought! There +are none but princesses in Italy. + +Dolce, a supreme example of the Italian, took, for the formation of an +Italian woman, the recognised elements: chastity, modesty, reserve, +composure, and a regular study (this was to be particularly free, with +no expurgation) of the classics and the church fathers;[86] and from all +this he would fashion for you the sweetest creature imaginable. + +Idleness and melancholy were his two great foes: he had no hostility +to love. What reason was there to abstain from carefully cultivating a +young girl’s capacity for loving, seeing that as a woman she would find +in it her chief resource? To reject the thought of love, to avoid the +very utterance of the word, and then, like Vivès, to rack your brains +to create infinite derivatives, was, according to Dolce, a childish and +an untrustworthy proceeding; it would be much better to face the ordeal +frankly, and deaden its shocks beforehand by anointing oneself with the +healing balm of platonic doctrine, by exhibiting, on the one hand, the +body in its wretchedness, the vileness of earthly love, and on the other +the beauty of love divine and pure. Women may fall through passion, +but they can win salvation through sensibility, and therefore Dolce +nourished them on the appropriate classics: Virgil, parts of Horace, +Dante, Petrarch, Bembo, Sannazaro,[87] and, more especially, Castiglione. +To his opponents, however, this system seemed over-venturesome; they +reproached him with going half-way to meet danger, with putting into +hands still weak the two-edged sword which so often wounds lustier hands. +To this objection Dolce returned on behalf of the beautiful the same +answer that Vivès made on behalf of the true. He was convinced that a +liberal education was most surely calculated to form strong souls, citing +in support of his contention Corinna and a thousand other old-world +heroines rendered impeccable by culture, and, of his own time, the four +daughters of queen Isabel, pupils of Vivès; all four, indeed, equally +accomplished and yet equally unfortunate—but could anyone begrudge them +their misfortunes? + +Thus, according to Dolce, abstract or severe studies were not for girls: +“vain and futile quackeries” he called them, which could only bring +them in subjection to men. “All that is needed is to awaken and foster +the faculties which are in women.” To rule as with a rod of iron, women +need only remain as they are, with the talents given them by nature.[88] +What is the good of teaching them, for example, the dates and the nice +problems of history? They should be taught to read history, to derive +from the accurate narrative of facts an impression of the poignant +emotions and moral struggles which the historian necessarily indicates +with a more or less light touch, and then, linking these events together +in their minds, to get at the heart of them, deduce the lofty moral +principles controlling them. In philosophy they have no need of great +metaphysical principles; but what is important for them is to understand +that misery exists, that there is suffering everywhere, often hidden away +and yet only too real. Woman is a fellow-worker with God! It suffices to +lop off the thorns which cumber her; she will shoot up naturally towards +the light, sucking, like a flower, the earth’s sap, which is love. The +corn which is to go to the mill and make bread needs the plough’s rude +toil, a lovely delicate flower often asks no more than a handful of earth +and a bountiful sky. + +And it was in this way that so many sweet Italian women blossomed +out, almost spontaneously, delighting in life, themselves the joy and +felicity of the world, all compact of poetry, archaeology, rhetoric, and +philosophy—Attic through and through at thirteen years. The efflorescence +was universal save at Venice, a country half-Germanic, half-Oriental, +where they insisted on keeping the girls immured until their wedding-day, +showing nothing of them but bundles of millinery on Sundays. And yet +there do not appear to have been more angels at Venice than elsewhere, +and no one succeeded there in resuscitating the type (henceforth unknown) +of matrons hypnotised, as it were, by their husbands’ frown or the idea +of death. Italy was peopled with fairy-like creatures, who thought nobly +of all men and wore to admiration the double ornament of fine jewels and +a fine intellect. “A little girl,” said Bembo, “ought to learn Latin: it +puts the finishing touch to her charms.” + +Louise of Savoy brought up her daughter Margaret according to these +Italian principles at a period when France as yet did not understand +them. Margaret blossomed like a flower: she knew something of everything +(too much indeed), notably of philosophy and theology: she learnt Latin, +Hebrew, Italian, and Spanish; but she could speak nothing but French. + +At nine years of age, she was wonderfully clever and accomplished; at +thirteen, she inspired so much admiration as to be considered “rather +Persian than French.” + +The defects of the system were not at once perceived, though these were +developing in women a thirst like that of Tantalus, exciting a state of +restless agitation and nervousness, which the old doctors of Gerson’s +school professed to guard against and which Vivès fancied he had avoided +by directing their activity towards a definite end. People were struck +only with the immediate advantages. Erasmus uttered heart-rending plaints +about the little girls he was ever meeting in the Low Countries, poor +ignorant little creatures, thick-lipped, podgy, stuck on high heels so as +to appear grown-up, over-dressed, rigged out with a load of ribbons and +feathers, with all the airs of innocent little baggages: “I ask myself,” +he cries, “if these are dolls, or monkeys, or girls.” How he would have +liked to tear off all that flummery, and fill their beaks with a little +Greek or French, or even a little Latin! + +A simple fellow said to Margaret: “Men and women have different +functions, but their virtues ought to be equal.” He was making a mistake; +the virtues of women ought to be superior. + +But if women believe that it is their mission to rule instead of to obey, +or, at any rate, that the obedience they owe has well-defined limits; +if they are no longer the burden which a father used to get rid of as +soon as possible, and which a husband received as his absolute property, +body and soul; if they desire to count for something; if marriage is +regarded as the union of two persons equally free, as the close and not +the commencement of education; if the wife is no longer the pupil of +her husband, and it is considered better for her to come to him fully +instructed: then a very natural consequence will inevitably ensue, +whatever may be thought or said: women will marry later, will insist on +exercising a choice as men do, and on laying down their own conditions: +they will in this way imagine that they have greater freedom and are +probably making a better bargain, for they have become women of sense. + +The fortunate discovery was made that Lycurgus, in the main, considered +twenty years the best age for marriage: with the result that in the most +aristocratic families, and those most swayed by tradition, they waited +with the most perfect resignation until the seventeenth year,[89] while +ladies of exceptional courage held that it was “modern style” to marry +much later. Margaret of France was not married till she was thirty-seven. + +This reform, important as it was, did not end in making what we should +regard as a happy girlhood possible. + +However the Italian theory might wreathe life with roses and preserve a +happy ignorance of physiological problems, it was not easy for a French +girl to reach that point and retain this beautiful innocence, surrounded +as she was by people who called a spade a spade, idealising things no +more than in the days when she was married as soon as born. + +Girlhood was not a delightful fiction which permits infinite hopes to be +cherished, and keeps realities hidden; it was rather an apprenticeship; +and after all, since the wife has a personal mission to accomplish in +the world, which will consist, so to speak, in patching and renovating +hearts that are rent, this apprenticeship seems as necessary to her as to +a laundress or a dressmaker. + +The art cannot be learnt more successfully than in maidenhood. + +From the moment this was admitted, it is correct to say, girls received +the same education as men: with this qualification, that their education +was more thorough, because they made a later beginning in life. + +In the first place, they had male teachers, or even a tutor. Margaret of +France, like her brother, was taught only by tutors—a singular anomaly +at a time when women plumed themselves on their superiority, and one +which we shall not seek to explain. Humanists with the highest admiration +for woman’s intellect held governesses in horror,[90] and allowed no +discussion about the monopoly of instruction; even in Spain, the country +of learned women, Vivès insisted on instruction by men. + +And yet the market was not overstocked with women’s tutors; the part +usually fell to more or less second-rate persons, who accepted it +light-heartedly enough; even in princely houses there was considerable +difficulty in keeping a man of real earnestness. + +These young fellows readily transformed themselves into friends and +comrades: Brantôme accuses them of a thousand irregularities, and goes +so far as to match them with the physicians and apothecaries. Some of +them were known, it appears, to elope with their pupils, but that we must +believe to have been purely casual, and their gaiety to have taken, as +a rule, a more delicate form. Eustorg de Beaulieu[91] smilingly reminds +one of his pupils, now a staid wife and mother at Tulle, of the time when +she raved about her lessons, and said she would rather go to the clavecin +than to confession. Another pupil of his, the young Helen Gondy of Lyons, +called him in fun “her Hector,” a title which he accepted on the distinct +understanding that he was not stupidly to die for her, “like the other +Hector.” A third, Mademoiselle de Tournon, conceived the idea of making +a bishop of this excellent, jovial, amiable professor; but this time +Eustorg raised objections, and declared flatly that he was sure his skull +was too thick. + +And so Dolce’s advice was followed; melancholy was banished. But I +am not sure that very fine distinctions were drawn between the two +kinds of love, or that the young masters possessed the delightful art +of developing only the fancy and the softer qualities. In France and +elsewhere, to all appearance, they rather treated their fair pupils in +masculine fashion, with a fearless handling of ideas; that at least is +the impression we get from Erasmus’ dialogues, _The Girl and the Lover_, +_The Youth and the Courtesan_. Brantôme taunts them with a certain +tendency to make special use of the risky passages in the Bible and their +authors for teaching theology and an elegant style. + +In this way the young girls attained a perfect independence of mind. They +cannot even be compared with the American girl of to-day, for the old +hardy, somewhat wild French stock had undergone a wonderful grafting with +Italian refinement. Many of them, having reached a certain age, pursued +their studies with marvellous gusto; Petrarch and Erasmus they thought +rather poor stuff, preferring to work at Poggio[92] and Boccaccio. Their +style of talk was intrepid! Ah! there was no standing on ceremony with +them! Fun was fast and furious. + +They devoured romances, novels and plays: these fine intrigues, these +riotous passions seemed to them to constitute the ideal life. They were +_demi-vierges_. “With all these lascivious romances, spotless virginity +will be unknown.” + +To describe the indignation and grief of old-fashioned people at this +sight is impossible. “I would rather see a girl deaf or blind,” cries +Vivès, “than thus overstimulated to pleasure.” Of course it was pleaded +that the artistic instincts were being satisfied! But all these romances +bore but little likeness to the subtle analyses of our days, which are +sometimes masterpieces of philosophy: they were a tissue of adventures +all equally untrue to life. Vivès did not understand how, if only from +the point of view of taste, girls of any intelligence could go into +raptures over such extravagances: a knight who is left for dead, but +comes to life on the next page; a hero who massacres a hundred foes +single-handed; nor how they could worship as a demi-god the author of +such trash. He begs the mothers for pity’s sake to interfere, to take the +trouble to glance through a book before leaving it to their girls; but +the mothers are accustomed to live their own life, and besides, a lady +of fashion has so many occupations! He beseeches the preachers for help, +waxing almost indignant when he hears them pompously stringing together +their platitudes on dogma instead of boldly attacking questions of living +interest and condemning books that are absurd or of evil tendency. But +the preachers go on preaching. + +Anne of France took a more dispassionate view: she saw clearly enough +that girls ought sometimes to put aside the church fathers, if only for +the pleasure of going back to them, and she did not despair of finding a +practical solution of the difficulty. Her dream was a very simple one—the +dream that recurs again and again and yet remains but a dream: namely, +to have good romances for young girls, pure, high-toned stories, replete +with the practical philosophy of life, and at the same time interesting, +dramatic, thrilling. She has left us a specimen, somewhat archaic +indeed, of what she desired: a historical romance founded on a passage +in Froissart about an unfortunate captain of Brest, one M. du Chatel, +whose son is, with flagrant bad faith, threatened with death by the +English if he does not betray the town into their hands. This eminently +patriotic subject is the groundwork of a little story, short, simple, +illustrated with a fair number of pictures, and in every way innocuous. +In the opening scene, Madame du Chatel swoons; further on, however, +it is she who, like a true woman, has all the strength of character, +and cheers her trembling husband with words worthy of a Roman matron, +or with magnificent appeals to the divine mercy, “although,” as she +says, “children are in a special sense the sons and daughters of their +mothers.” (How touching is this claim, interpolated quite incidentally!) +So the story proceeds with alternations of strength and weakness. On +coming to after a long swoon, the poor mother learns that her son is +dead. “God’s will be done!” she says, without a tear; “may our Lord +receive his soul!” And then she goes and dons her mourning, and, as soon +as she is alone, weeps! + +And here, so please you, you have a story for young girls! + +Unluckily, for a girl of eighteen or twenty life is no longer “such stuff +as dreams are made on,” and as a rule the romances, good or bad, are at +last thrown into the shade by a certain practical romance in which she +must needs play her part, and which demands her whole attention. + +Not, assuredly, that all this led the young ladies to gild the pill or +modify their first conception of marriage; on the contrary, the more they +considered the matter, the more they weighed, in as just a balance as +men, the advantages against the disadvantages. Very often, princesses of +the blood royal loved simple noblemen, or even men of lower rank: they +never married them. It was too well known that love and marriage were two +different terms, and that certain old books, preserved in the libraries, +maintained the theory that married women, “possessing what maids seem +to seek,” should remain at home and never again exhibit themselves for +the pleasure of others, or even for their own. Formerly a girl of ten +years, repressed and secluded, could picture marriage as a source of +“liberty and pleasure”; and these blessings once secured are sedulously +guarded. You must be grateful to men for giving you their name and +fortune, of course; but some men are so odd! It is impossible to take too +many precautions. Many an excellent young man, pleasant enough to all +appearance, may turn out an insufferable husband. + +And so it was with mingled prudence and dilettantism that these fair +sixteenth-century Americans set out in quest of the Golden Fleece. Little +hampered by parents who thought their whole duty was done when they +paid over the dowry, they learnt how pleasant it was to take life into +their own hands, to show themselves in society, to talk, laugh, dance, +frolic—live, in a word, without a by-your-leave to anyone. And yet the +Latin delicacy and grace betray themselves in various prejudices: to +practise archery, to pad themselves for a pass with the foils, or merely +to have their photographs taken as naiads—these resources were not yet +open to them! The poor things could only triumph by their charm and +enthusiasm, quite in the Latin way, at the risk of rubbing off a little +of their bloom here and there. + +Outcries came from the dowagers: What! throw themselves at men’s heads +in that way! how scandalous! and how silly! Do they think then that men +are so stupid as not to consider serious qualities? For their amusement +indeed they like the coming-on disposition, but not for marriage: it +is Cinderella that attracts Prince Charming. Anne of France cites an +illustration in point: three young Germans of the highest distinction +arrived one day from the heart of their distant wilds with the sole +object of wedding the three maids of Poitiers, of whom marvellous tales +were told. It was a terrible shock when they found themselves each face +to face with his own fair damsel. The first had so squeezed her waist +that she well-nigh fell inanimate into the arms of her wooer, who was +thoroughly put out; the second chattered like a very magpie; the third +rather naïvely displayed a sentimentality in the latest mode; and the +upshot was that, with never a word to one another, the three Germans were +soon stride for stride footing it back to Germany. And Anne’s conclusion +is very reasonable: “Would it not have been better to cultivate a staider +manner?” + +But it remained to be proved whether a staider manner would be right +after all, and whether a princess, of however high descent, could indulge +in the luxury of waiting at the chimney-corner until the man of her +dreams was pleased to appear. Unhappily the contrary was the general +belief. Someone has remarked that if men do not often marry the girl who +pleases them, they do not always marry the girl who displeases them. And +that is just the reason flirtation held its own. + +The art of flirting is a very subtle one, and yet it is incredible how +little time was required to bring it to perfection. Everybody had to do +with it: even princesses wanted to fancy that they chose their husbands. + +The young girl “came out” into the world in two ways. If she had no +mother, or her parents found it convenient to separate themselves from +her, there was in France a patriarchal custom, peculiar to that country, +which consisted in the girl’s entering the service of a “dame” or +“demoiselle” of good repute. So highly was this custom esteemed, that +Anne of France recommended her daughter to conform to it should occasion +arise, although the heiress of the duchy of Bourbon had certainly no need +of entering anyone’s service to push her way in the world. + +Anne herself, and Anne of Brittany, thus kept “schools of manners”—a sort +of fashionable boarding-school, where the young men never addressed the +girls but on bended knee in the ancient style, and where the somewhat +cloistral austerity seemed mitigated by the belief that so excellent +a place and so well guaranteed a virtue could not fail to tempt the +most fastidious husbands. But this institution, intended to serve as a +bulwark against the new manners, floated along, on the contrary, in their +current: Catherine de’ Medici’s “flying squadron,” as it was called, +completely lost the character of a boarding-school, and discharged its +functions with freelance recklessness. + +For the most part, it was at her mother’s side that a girl set off in +quest of a husband. The plan of operations varied so greatly that no +one will expect us to unravel its principles. All these young girls +matched one another in _chic_. They never spoke to their mothers without +bleating “Madame ma mère,” or lisping “By your favour, madam,” like so +many well-behaved silly sheep. Many of them were for ever showing their +teeth: they had a laugh for anything—a phrase, a fly, a gentleman with +a bald head. One laughing sent the others into fits too, and that was +thought remarkably witty. They were experts in the “sedate management +of their green-blue eyes, full of softness and opened neither too +little nor too much.” They wore lovely dresses—monumental robes which +yet seemed rather an accompaniment than a vesture for their limbs. Some +old folk (Vivès, for example) professed horror at their ring-loaded +fingers, their pierced ears (a barbarous custom, to be sure!), those +light, delicate touches of the brush with which they did up the face, and +those subtle perfumes wafted from no one knows where: in all this they +saw woful error, and even worse, rank folly. They sharply reprimanded +the mothers, reproaching them for a multitude of things: for withering +the natural goodness and charitableness of their daughters by fostering +expensive habits; for inciting them to a false luxury, all vulgarity +and tinsel, which is neither comely nor virtuous, and helps not a whit +towards matrimony—at least it is to be hoped so, for it would be a great +imprudence to depart so far from reality, and to entice a man into +marriage by means of the rouge-pot and sham charms.[93] + +But materfamilias is a lady of fashion, accustomed to shine in society, +and seeing no harm in it; further, she is too good a mother not to desire +success for her offspring, not to applaud a venturesome flight. She, +too, has dreams of a Prince Charming; she has her enthusiasms, which +take clear and definite shape in her mind as positive hopes. As for the +father, he becomes cantankerous, and considers only the expense of the +game; he is quite of the dowagers’ opinion, and thinks well enough of +men to believe that they pay most attention to serious qualities. And +so, in order to compose once for all this perpetual domestic wrangle, a +great wag, Coquillart,[94] proposes to clothe the girls in parti-coloured +dresses, one colour for the father, another for the mother. + +When a girl makes a successful start, certain mothers are seized with a +sort of fanaticism; we are wrong in calling it fanaticism: it is really +a new outburst of good-heartedness and the passion for self-sacrifice of +which women are possessed, for, if they reflected, they would clearly +realise that personally they have nothing to gain by a brilliant match +for their daughters. + +Some of them push self-sacrifice to the point of servility; they efface +themselves, walk in the rear, with the meek and deprecating bearing of a +waiting-maid. That is a form of goodness which the women of former days +would not have understood—Anne of France choked at the mere mention of +it. She had commanded armies, bearded diplomatists, made men her puppets, +checkmated her judges, manipulated her States-general, set her whole +country in a ferment without a sign of feeling: but here she lost command +of herself: “It is tomfoolery ... it is overweening presumption in the +daughter, and in the mother sheer madness.” + +Kisses, caresses, secret trysts, presents, love-letters, showers of +rondeaus and ballads, stolen glances, songs more than gay—all this made +French flirtation an exquisite pastime, essentially intoxicating in its +charm. The good, modest young damsel, who would cast down her eyes in the +street, was not a whit shocked at a pretty broad jest in the company of +men: + + Aucunes sont, qui, en humbles manières, + Avec les folz jouent leurs jarretières.[95] + + —_Bouchet._ + +In the evening by candle-light, ensconced in some nook of the spacious +fire-place, young men and girls would sit unceremoniously on one +another’s knees, laughing and talking nonsense. People who have got past +these maidenly frolics themselves find it more and more difficult to +become reconciled to them. Jean Bouchet feelingly describes them in his +book, _Les Regnars traversant les voies périlleuses_, at a period when +the art was still in its infancy. Young men easily get absolution: they +naturally profit by opportunities of amusing themselves; and, besides, +theirs is the passive part. But the girls! how venturesome they are, how +light-heartedly they chip, at least in spirit, the poor remnant of their +semi-virginity! + +It would be a mistake to suppose that flirtation will in time lead to the +introduction of the love element into marriage. These damsels are by no +means anxious to allow the principle of earthly love—that is to say, a +germ of divorce—to steal into their married life. Their ideal consists in +falling in love with a man of wealth and established position, and so far +it has a reassuring character, worthy of respect. At this stage of their +life they are working for themselves, as later they will have to work for +humanity. M. Bourget has discovered in America the different varieties of +the sixteenth-century flirt: the professional beauty; the girl of ideas, +who stumps a platform and stands for the parish council; the “jolly good +fellow”; the girl of well-balanced philosophical mind; the coquette; the +girl of ambitions; all are ambitious and to some extent coquettish, and +even the philosophical girl gives the ideal only a secondary place. + +But amid this charming round of coquetting and artless sensibility, +passion sometimes flashes out—passion, at once the great peril of the +Latin races and their eternal charm. One may be convinced that the heart +has been subdued by cold calculation, and that love is laid under a +spell by means of philosophy; but they burst their bonds! And here the +parts are not distributed as one would wish: this generation is about +to inflict a wound on platonism! Often it is the wife who, instead of +serving as an idol, gives herself to love. In the terrible veins of +French and Spanish women there flows a blood which they do not always +succeed in mastering, the old blood of knights or peasants; they bruise +themselves against the invisible mail-armour of modern life. + +In the second act you would almost invariably see the serving-maid appear +on the scene—the “confidante” of the plays, a good soul, as indulgent to +everyone as she is to herself, devoted, and not more thick-headed than +becomes her, thoroughly convinced that she has something to gain from +every intrigue. The mother has her own affairs and her dignity to attend +to, which keeps her in ignorance of what is going on; whilst with the +maid there are private conversations, mutual unbosomings, a companionship +in study of the facts of life. Lucky, indeed, if some smart lackey, let +in on the strength of his ingenuous manner, does not put in his word! + +Saint Theresa thus plunged with masterful strokes into the swirling tide +of existence, with the aid of a serving-maid, at the age of fifteen. Her +father placed her in a convent, but the walls were no barrier to her: +she performed unheard-of feats, broke through the roof, wrenched away +the gratings. She had to be despatched to a more reposeful situation—to +an uncle stuffed with the fathers of the church, a man after Vivès’ +own heart; from his care she returned with a passion for religion, and +escaped once more, this time to enter a Carmelite convent in the teeth +of opposition. She was now in her nineteenth year, and her trials, +repentances, revolts were only just beginning; eighteen more years of +struggle were required ere this tempestuous character was at last soothed +definitively into mildness. + +Unhappily, the girls’ little love affairs sometimes had graver +consequences. Plays and novels show us situations awkward enough: in one +of Parabosco’s comedies, the mother arrives a little behind the fair. + +Laughing, boisterous, pitch-forked into life, the poor children do not +pretend to have the ferocious virtues that men have not.[96] Is that +their fault, since they have been brought up like men? If they go wrong, +it is not from a bent towards wrong; it is as the birdling errs, buffeted +by the storm on its first escape from the nest. To avoid risk altogether, +they would have to remain for ever under the mother’s wing, as the early +educators wished. + +In the sixteenth century, there were still good people who wished girls +to become deaf-mutes again, and constitute Our Lady “the guardian and +warder of their hearts.” But such talk was not very effective. + +Wise counsellors and practical preachers who advocated “retreats,” and +knew the world, addressed themselves directly to the girls and sought +to touch the chord of self-interest. The grave Jean Raulin,[97] from the +eminence of one of the most fashionable pulpits in Paris, reasoned with +them somewhat as follows: “To wed a widow, well and good! There is no +fuss, no golden ring, no benediction, but withal it is a marriage: whilst +with a counterfeit young maid presenting herself at the altar—! Ah! fair +ladies, guard your purity to the very hour of your espousals, whether you +be earthly or spiritual brides! That is the precious treasure you must at +all costs save, and for many reasons: because of human frailty, according +to the words of the 2nd Epistle to the Corinthians, ‘We have our treasure +in earthen vessels’; because of its inestimable value, according to the +words of Ecclesiasticus, chapter xxvi., ‘There is no price worthy of a +continent soul’; because of the irreparability of the mischief, according +to the words of St. Jerome, ‘God can do all things save restore a lost +virginity.’” + +Many could not help regretting the free country life, and fancied that +fidelity to a more rigorous system of education would have yielded +better results. Of a truth it would have been better to make women frank +creatures of passion than coquettes or mere worldlings. But an honest +glance at the life of rural folk was enough to assure the observer that +utilitarianism does not elevate the manners. Yes, seen from a distance, +the ways of country folk seem compact of smiles and caresses, love +and candour: pigs and cows meet in the meadow or at the fair; lovers +too meet, at church, at a dance, after those winter parties so hotly +denounced by the preachers, nay, every morning and evening if their +hearts bid them; and they can exchange little presents, meet to scrape +the fiddle or twang the guitar, without anyone finding fault, save +perhaps a rival with whom they are quits for a few rounds at fisticuffs, +or at most a thrust with a knife. A fashionable young girl, you may be +sure, would not be horrified at the exchange of a few good swashing blows +for her; she is apt to regard life as too tame. It remains to discover +whether to reduce life to its primitive simplicity is really to elevate +it. The idealists thought not. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE HUSBAND AND THE VARIOUS WAYS OF SLIPPING HIS YOKE + + +The most troublesome question to be settled in regard to feminism is that +of the authority of the husband. Legally, the husband was head of the +household, an idea which found ready acceptance among the lower ranks of +society, and which the people applied with its habitual logic. It won +warm approval from Rabelais. Nothing struck men as more grotesque than a +husband suspected of having allowed his wife to get the upper hand. An +artisan of Bourges, at whom some unpleasant neighbours hummed a refrain +about a woman who thrashed her husband, on that ground alone brought +against them an action for slander. + +In all sincerity, the husband considered himself an absolute owner, +the lord and master, the head and soul of his wife, that “feminine and +feeble creature” whom he condescended to take to his hearth, and who owed +him, in the name of God and the law, “perfect love and obedience.” As +to the wife, she was, so to speak, stepping into a railway train driven +without her assistance. She had paid her fare, and wedlock stretched +itself rigidly in front of her like the driver’s footboard, a place for +manliness and nerve, but unromantic in the extreme. What matters to +her the scenery along the line? The rippling sea may chant its amorous +strains, the spring sun may dot the wilds with flowers, the tempest may +sweep through the gorges, but the track stretches on and on in its direct +unswerving course, with never a thrill, never a smile, unfaltering, +unreflecting, mathematically. + +What was the wife but the principal servant, or the eldest of the +children? She only addressed her master with the most profound respect. +“Sir,” she would say to him, or “My good friend.” She was his “wife and +subject”; if she wrote to him she signed, “your humble obedient handmaid +and friend.” But her husband spoke to her stick in hand. + +The stick! that was the only argument the women understood. + + Bon cheval, mauvais cheval, veut l’esperon, + Bonne femme, mauvaise femme, veut le baston.[98] + +Preachers spoke of the thrashings with a smile. Needless to say, the +police did not interfere. Margaret of France did indeed think it a little +vexatious that a lady honoured with the king’s attentions like the +beautiful Madame de Chateaubriand should still receive correction of this +sort under her husband’s roof-tree. + +But this was not all: the authority of the husband was often coupled with +the tyranny of the mother-in-law. The husband’s mother, especially if she +was a widow, rendered life horribly galling and difficult. + +On the other hand, the married woman, no matter to what lengths her +husband might carry his ill-usage, knew well that there was no redress +for her anywhere. Unhappy wives sometimes in the madness of despair fled +from their homes in the most shocking plight, only to be remorselessly +dragged back by their father, brother, or cousins, as a result of the +appalling freemasonry between men. To rely on her own mother was out of +the question for a wife; the two women belonged to two distinct houses, +with a barrier, a great gulf fixed between them. In the early days of +wedlock a husband, not to appear a tyrant, and because he was in no way +inconvenienced, would allow his wife now and then to visit her mother; +but he contrived that these visits became gradually rarer, and when he +was not at home, a wife careful of her repose and dignity would never +cross her mother’s threshold without first writing to him: “If it be your +good pleasure, I would fain go.” + +That was a woman’s life. As it was not all smiles and rosewater, there +was good reason for marrying the girls off early, before they had learned +to care one way or another, their equipment being a few simple maxims +inculcating obedience, and some odds and ends of medical knowledge. Wives +who owed their training to Vivès could not but be very unhappy, according +to the principles of marriage held by Vivès himself. For Vivès not merely +approved of early marriages, he was also one of those who believed that +the wife was created for the husband, and an irresponsible and inferior +being; he looked at the husband as someone to bring her out. Erasmus, +Bouchet, Dolce himself, nay, everybody had much the same impression. + +The supremacy of the husband was the sacred ark; bold indeed would be +the person who dared lift a hand to it! So in modern times we have seen +aesthetes, like Ruskin, capable of every possible audacity but that. +Ruskin does not understand women, and yet he has gone out of his way to +exalt their rôle in the world; but, as soon as he comes face to face with +the husband, he loses countenance, his candour vanishes, his words become +cold and colourless. + +How is one to explain this singular phenomenon, that so many good and +even generous-minded men, after expressing a heart-felt sympathy with the +sufferings of women, after proclaiming their intelligence and their right +to live, falter and hide their heads when the question of liberty at home +is raised? It is not because they believe there is no more to be said. La +Rochefoucauld declares that “there are few good wives but are tired of +their calling,” to which it would be easy to reply, “There are few good +wives whose calling is not tiring.” But what is to be done? No one is +inclined to go like Plato to the root of the matter and suppress marriage +altogether. Marriage obviously necessitates a husband; it is a vexatious, +clogging, disagreeable necessity, maybe, but there are no visible means +of escaping it. A wife too is necessary; well, once a man and woman are +united in wedlock, one of the two must needs hold the reins. There are +many reasons, even physical ones, why a woman should not undertake to +earn bread for the family and to flog the husband. And so the husband +retains that right. + +But if we go a little deeper into the psychology of domestic life in the +sixteenth century, we shall note other important phenomena, pointing to a +different conclusion. + +To begin with, investigating facts from the outside, who was it that +complained of marriage? The man; always the man. In actual working +the woman found compensations, or at least advantages in it. For her +it was a state leading to boundless possibilities if only she cared to +open the door. The more ardent paladins of feminism, indeed, were often +disconcerted by her outwardly conciliatory attitude towards it. But the +husband, married though he was, could not forget that setting up an +establishment had involved the turning his back upon life. His chains +appeared to him, if not heavy (to him they were not heavy), at any rate +the sign of a monotonous, unvarying servitude. In the words of an old +ballad, the monk may change his order, the canon his stall, the official +his functions, + + But we that be poor married men + Can neither go up nor down. + +If we enquire of the spouses themselves, we find that the disagreements +and difficulties rarely sprang from the larger facts—those that were +regarded as irreparable. + +Heaven seems to have taken care to arm us, in regard to important +questions, with a veritable long-suffering. There are fools, it is +true, who seriously think of keeping their wives under lock and key, +not reflecting that no better means could be devised for making them +desperate and leaving them at the mercy of Tom, Dick or Harry—the first +passing officer. Such men only get their deserts. But there are also +shrewd men who keep their eyes shut to what it is best not to see: +everybody advises them to do so, or, what is better, gives them every +assistance. There must be a special providence, even, watching over the +wives.[99] A wife, on the contrary, can hardly remain in ignorance of +her husband’s laxities, for these most often manifest themselves in the +broad daylight, and sometimes under his own roof. Many stories might be +told about chambermaids such as we read of in Scripture, but a little +too mercenary, to be sure: for the courts showed so much generosity in +assessing the damages due in such circumstances that artless little +Chloes have been known to bamboozle the judges and profit handsomely by a +mishap that was wholly imaginary. + +In Italy, men of the world had a sure and simple custom, which consisted +merely in buying a young slave-girl. In the market of Venice, a pretty +Russian, a fair Circassian, a well-built Tartar girl between twenty-five +and thirty years of age would fetch from six to eighty-seven ducats. +It needs no showing how well this institution was suited to platonism; +the most eminent platonists did not disdain it. The mother of Carlo de’ +Medici was a lovely Circassian girl, purchased in this way by the grave +and aesthetic Cosimo. It would never have occurred to a wife to desert +her home for such a grievance as this; to do so would have made her a +general laughing-stock. She might feel keen inward suffering; perhaps her +heart would close a little more towards the earth and open out towards +heaven; but this experience would be of use to her, and a woman who was +genuinely an idealist would almost rejoice at it. It would teach her to +show a firm and lofty front to the world, to live among her ideals, to +form a low estimate of men. + +Domestic quarrels really spring from the crabbed sour virtues, the +insufferable respectabilities. Men are hard to please. One moment they +find a wife in the way: the next they expect her to be perfect. She +ought every morning, as an old author explains, to put on the slippers +of humility, the shift of decorum, the corset of chastity, the garters +of steadfastness, the pins of patience, and so on; but it is by no means +proved that in such a case a husband would not think his wife a little +over-dressed. + +The wife, too, is up in arms about mere trifles—her husband’s +commonplace soul, his narrowness, his materialism, his egotism, his +gross old-bachelor ways. Her real grievances, to say nothing of her +fancied ones, are innumerable. One woman finds, instead of the “morning +dew” of her dreams, that she has espoused a lumpish lout.[100] Another, +brought up in a part of the country where hunting was the stock topic +of conversation, feels aggrieved if her husband tries to engage her +practical interest in literature or music, the result of which is so +complete a discord that the husband at last packs her off to her father, +who promptly sends her back again. Another lady is wretched because her +good man loses his appetite, and in bed does nothing but sigh; on this +foundation she builds a whole world of suppositions, and finishes by +making life impossible to the poor man, who is all the time at a loss to +know why: as a matter of fact, he has been worried about an investment. +There are some women odious because of their incessant chattering, their +tempers, their vanity. Many women are desperately fond of contradicting +their husbands, tormenting them with pin-pricks. At table a husband +inadvertently poured water into his wife’s glass. The lady handed the +glass to a footman, saying hotly: “When it is dry, I will ask for it +back.”[101] These are the things which destroy domestic happiness, which +poison a man’s life (“wine and women have their poison,” says an old +proverb), which disgust and shrivel the heart of a woman and drive her +to a life away from her home, in pilgrimages or what not. A man does not +need to be a saint to bear with a woman of easy virtue, but only a saint +can endure a wearing woman. + +And so what is wanted in domestic life is a great deal of prudence and +wisdom, and as little as possible of illusions and passion. Marriage +is the most sacred bond in the world, but only so long as it is not +strained. To yield to the temptation of loving would be fraught with +great peril; that is the forbidden fruit. Champier, a philosophical +physician of the time, calls it fatal: it kills. Leaving out of account +the physical vicissitudes of life, the spirit of man is too fickle to +permit him safely to stake his life on one head.[102] Of this, Europe had +a terrifying proof. + +Philip the Fair was a notorious lady-killer; and his wife Joanna, like +a genuine Spaniard, loved him to distraction. On one occasion when he +was travelling in the Netherlands, she worried herself into a sort of +prostration. One wild, bitter night, as November nights are in Navarre, +this poor Joanna, seized with a sudden hallucination, rushed out +half-clad into the courtyard of the castle of Medina del Campo. People +hurried up to her, and the governor stopped her and ordered the gate to +be shut; but the unhappy woman, her eyes starting from her head, clung +to the gate, and no human strength could tear her away. When morning +came she was still there, panting and shivering, with wild, sunken eyes. +Her mother, Queen Isabella, who was lying ill at Segovia, despatched an +admiral and an archbishop in hot haste to the castle, but neither the +archbishop nor the admiral succeeded in getting the poor mad thing away +from her gate. They only managed, with great difficulty, to induce her +to enter an adjacent shelter for the following night. Only the Queen was +able to put an end to this distressing scene, the memory of which thrills +Spain to this day. Yes, La Bruyère has well said: “Women go to extremes! +They are better or worse than we.” There lies their danger. They would +assuredly do well to beware of their ecstasies, and to keep above or +below the husband with whom it is their lot to live. + +If they are reasonable and resigned, like those of whom we have to +speak, not believing in the necessity of a matrimonial passion, then the +humanists resume their dulcet strains. They have no intention of bringing +about a violent rupture, but make their appeal to finesse. + +The old type of the hectoring husband, even with his bludgeon, is no +longer a terror. No one is so likely to play a puppet’s part as the man +who fancies he is monarch of all he surveys. The foolish fellow is so +convinced of his superiority that he never perceives the slender cords +by which he is led. He works like an ox,[103] and his wife calls him a +selfish beast and curmudgeon. She croaks of the workhouse if things +are not going well with him, while if everything is going smoothly she +“cockers and cossets him,” and then gets, not a beating, but a dress or +a blouse. She has tears or smiles as occasion serves, and, if need be, +practises her blandishments on the friends of the dear man. She wheedles +even Heaven itself, for all that is required to ensure peace is to bring +the shirt that her lord and master is to wear on Sunday into contact +with the altar during Friday’s mass, and there is no difficulty in that. +It is commonly said that “a woman is easy to manage provided ’tis a man +that takes the trouble”; a man is still easier to manage provided a woman +is good enough to take him in hand. In short, the women had long before +this quietly juggled away this harassing domestic problem. That is why, +despite the bogey of principles, the women thought highly of marriage. +They reconciled themselves to obedience, so long as they did not obey. +For the same reason the warmest friends of women found no better means +of combating marriage than to defend it. The men alone girded at it, +because, accustomed in their bachelor days to eat their own cake, they +did not easily get into the habit of working for a little community. + +Erasmus has very cleverly summed up the situation in the form of a +dialogue between a young bride and a matron of sense and sobriety.[104] + +The former makes loud outcry. “What a hell is marriage!” she exclaims, +“what a slave’s business! And for whom, ye gods! For a gambler, a brute, +a rake! ’Twould be better far to sleep with a pig!” + +The other soothes her. She must take her husband as she finds him, that +is to say, a coarse animal, a sort of elephant, to be tamed with a lump +of sugar.[105] She must appear to give in to him about trifles, to put +up with some of his whims and eccentricities, and above all to lay in a +large stock of good temper and never be idle or dull, for the husband +has a perfect horror of being bored, perhaps because he is such a bore +himself, and sulkiness upsets him, especially if he is sulky. What +she must do is to leave him what he has, and give him what he lacks, +those charming possessions with which the new system of civilisation +has endowed women. She may even add a little affection, and then, one +fine day, she will be struck with astonishment (for men do not shine at +finesse) to see this rough husband of hers at her feet, and, instead of +considering her a nonentity, taking her for the image of God. From that +moment she possesses the affection she has sought; and the task is not +very difficult. + +Truth compels us to add, however, that, apart from this moral recipe, +another circumstance contributed to give the women greater importance in +conjugal life. In France, as in every country where men are the ruling +spirits, they were not fond of giving the girls a dowry, or at all events +they gave them the smallest possible allowance. When the girls married, +they received a sum representing in a way what would some years before +have been called their “night-cap,” but what was then styled a “chaplet +of roses,” and they renounced all claim on the inheritance. Accordingly +a rich man did not think it at all extraordinary to wed a girl without a +fortune, since that was the usual thing. Louis de la Trémoille married +Gabrielle de Bourbon on those terms. Further, there was not the same +difference between large, middling and small fortunes as there is to-day. +With an income of three or four thousand livres, equal to £3000 or £4000 +to-day, a man was thought a nabob. The husband, then, brought the money, +and in addition he guaranteed a contingent jointure on his own property, +so that it was really a home of his providing that the woman entered. +A man in those days knew nothing of that pride now universally felt in +wedding a millionaire’s daughter from Cincinnati, or even from Paris. + +To marry money struck people as shameful, almost infamous. A husband +supported on his wife’s income was the object of heartfelt commiseration, +and an establishment so organised seemed unworthy of the name. No +sarcasm was keen enough for the classical “son-in-law of Monsieur +Poirier,”[106] the dapper lordling, all genealogy and sport, whose sole +accomplishment is a knack of plunging deep into debt, from which his +worthy father-in-law (who made his money in treacle) toils behind the +scenes to extricate him. + +On the contrary, Monsieur Poirier was highly esteemed in industrial +countries—the Low Countries, for example, while as to the Italians, +they, openly and unashamed, regarded big dowries as at once legitimate +and desirable. They had the courage of their opinion—for instance, that +physician of Pistoja who had to choose between two girls, one of whom was +warranted a sensible creature, while the other was less sensible, but +richer by three hundred crowns. The doctor did not hesitate an instant +in choosing the richer, for in his opinion the risks were equal, and +the difference pointed out between them was not worth a few crowns. No +Italian was at all loth to marry a woman who brought him a dowry large +enough to live on. At Florence fifty crowns a year would almost keep a +household of moderate tastes, and a woman of the lower middle-class as +a rule received a dowry of two or three thousand florins, which yielded +an income of at least a hundred and fifty florins. The Visconti and the +Sforza, by means of dowries which were by all accounts colossal, got +their daughters into the principal royal houses of Europe. In short, the +Italian system continued to exercise a wonderful fascination even over +outsiders, and in starting on the expeditions to Italy more than one +French noble fancied that a rich wife would be the reward of his prowess. + +It is not very surprising that these ideas at length overcame all +resistance in France. Louis XI., who was a pupil of the Sforza, did much +in this as in other things to snap the chains of the old traditions. We +have elsewhere related how lightheartedly he made and unmade marriages, +with the sole object of rewarding various adventurers at the expense of +the most honourable families. + +Louis XII., on the contrary, set himself passionately to oppose these new +manners. Although he plumed himself on his chivalry as much as anyone, he +did not admit that the heat of passion could excuse the abduction of a +young girl, even if she were rich—and in such cases she was almost always +rich. His firmness did not prevent some picturesque exploits; but the +authority of the church, with its strong weapon the canon laws, lent him +aid. + +We have moreover had occasion to show elsewhere how much difficulty +Charles VIII. had, after the event, in getting the legitimacy of his +marriage with the heiress of Brittany acknowledged.[107] + +And so it is that, at the epoch of women’s triumph, we find in France +two distinct species of husbands. The first, without shutting their eyes +to the importance of money, refused to make it the principal question +in marriage. Undoubtedly it was unfortunate if the wife came quite +empty-handed, and in such a case a girl ran some risk of the “pain” +of remaining an old maid or falling into an unhappy plight. The most +insignificant workgirl set her heart on getting a little dower together, +even by methods not altogether innocent,[108] and we know that the +purses of princesses dribbled out a beneficent response to this desire. +But many marrying men were quite content to be fobbed off with some sort +of equivalent. Thus Louis XII. created François de Melun Count of Epinay +to induce him to marry Louise de Foix; and Louis de la Trémoille gave +twelve hundred livres to his servant, Robert Suriete, to compensate him +for the portionless condition of a pretty girl, Marie de Briethe. + +The other kind of husband, which was destined more and more to outnumber +the first, saw in money, on the contrary, the real, substantial element +of wedlock. Anyone who thought that a woman would appreciate a sacrifice +made to marry her struck them as egregiously simple. The richer women +are, the better they are, as Montaigne says: there is no reason why +a man should sacrifice positive “commodities” to uncertain (and not +particularly useful) quantities such as birth, beauty, virtue, wit. + +The ball once set rolling spun along merrily. Especially in Italy, the +exploitation of marriage attained imposing proportions. Indignant fathers +of families protested; the Venetian senate, composed mainly of fathers, +passed various decrees more and more restrictive, contemptuous and +scathing, but all in vain. The whole class of idle young men of fashion, +and it was a numerous one, avowedly regarded marriage as a unique means +of enriching themselves and assuring an idle life, a charmingly easy +means, too, not above the level of the meanest intelligence. Guez de +Balsac likened it to a fat prebend which does not require the holder to +become actually a canon, but which does unhappily necessitate occasional +residence. + +This custom does not perhaps indicate very warm feelings on the part +of the young men, but it cannot be denied that it satisfied the secret +wishes of the women and gave a sanction to the evolution of their ideas. + +From the day when they pay the household expenses, women consider +the parts reversed, and begin by assuming the most perfect liberty. +Henceforth no more constraint, no more subterfuges, no more Judas +kisses. They are now, mark you, equal[109] or superior to their husband +in those material concerns which are the essence of domesticity; and +as moreover they fancy that morally they excel the men, that they are +at once more affectionate, more chaste and more steadfast; as they are +reminded on all sides of the example of paragons like Cleopatra, they +make up their minds to be Cleopatras too. They consent, out of goodness +of soul, to try their prentice hand on their husbands. They make him +happy, sometimes even in his own despite; they are going to transform him +“from a battered ingot or a base coin into a new crown piece.” In his +heart of hearts the husband may fret and fume, call to mind the old-time +ways, wonder at his wife’s continual absences from home and her choice +of friends, and at times even try to interfere; but he is quickly given +to understand that my lady is not going to be held in a leash or shut up +in a band-box, that seraglios exist no longer. She will devote herself +to his happiness, provided he shows himself docile and recognises his +incapacity and helplessness. Ay, and let him reflect: how could he get +on without so virtuous a wife? He would go into a consumption. She is +there, regulating his expenses, his pleasures, the frets and sallies of +his temperament; she watches like a sister of mercy over his physical and +moral well-being, and it is by this means that the household represents +henceforth a unity, sound, robust, with two bodies, four arms, and two +souls. + +Obviously (to repeat it once more), we have no intention of enunciating +an absolute rule. In speaking of households, we do not mean that all the +households in France were cast in the same mould, and that everywhere at +the same moment they were all acting precisely in the same way. No two +were alike. + +The truth is that, one way or another, a very large number of women no +longer suffered themselves to be snuffed out, “trodden under foot,” to +use the current phrase. As to the manner in which their controlling +influence showed itself, that depended on events, tastes, how the wind +blew, circumstances. A favourite idea of Margaret of France, and +one which it would have been difficult to get out of her head, was +that women always err by their meek and quiet spirit, their excess of +long-suffering. In vain is the reply made that more than one woman +makes a virtue of necessity, and that, face to face with a violent +creature threatening to break every bone in her body, a woman needs all +her patience; Margaret protests that she would rather be flogged than +despised. This magnificent declaration sets some of the company smiling, +and enraptures the women. One pert widow alleges that she loved her +husband so much that if he had beaten her she would have killed him. “In +other words,” retorts Henri d’Albret, “you mean to rule the roost. Well, +I am agreeable, but you would have to get all the husbands to agree.” +Margaret winces under this intellectual cut; she is put out, for natural +as she would regard it for her husband to take her orders, she dares not +say so. Even she falters, and admits that the man is the natural head, +but not that he has a right to desert or maltreat his wife.[110] Can this +be Margaret? Yes, the words are her own, and are exactly to the point. +Women do lack decision—and she was the very first to show it! + +Some young ladies, to elude this difficulty, thought it well to marry +a ninny—if not an absolute fool. Worthy folk were amazed and sang the +praises of mind and its attractions, “the treasures of knowledge,” and +asked them what pleasure they promised themselves. What a question to +ask! Why, since a husband was in question, they promised themselves +precisely no pleasure; nothing but money, or a name! That was how +the Duchess of Medina-Sidonia married; she espoused an income of +sixty-thousand ducats, with a grandee of Spain. True, this grandee, +when paying a visit to the archbishop, asked very politely to see the +children! There was nothing here to hinder the duchess from having as +much mind as she wanted. But it must be confessed that this was an +extreme remedy, and it would be preferable for a woman to feel and +believe herself able to mate with a man of intelligence. + +Domestic manners thus underwent a profound transformation. In humble +homes the wife continued perforce to cook, to make the beds, to wash +her husband’s head and feet, with no loss of dignity. But in the great +houses, it was no longer common to find hard inelegant matrons who rose +with the sun, were continually chevying the children and servants, and +knew no pleasure but the joy of piling up well-bleached and well-darned +linen on Saturday, the housewife’s field-day. As Fourier has pointedly +observed, disdain of such mole-eyed habits is the test of a people’s +progress in civilisation. + +It is much more delightful to float through life with a smile on the +lips, and to govern imperceptibly, by means of a languorous Creole grace. + +Such grace abounded, and many instances of it might be given. Here is a +specimen which seems to us characteristic; it is a simple little note +from Isabella d’Este[111] to her husband, dictated to a secretary: + + “My Lord, + + Prithee mock not at my letter, nor say that all women are poor + things and ever smitten with fear, for the malignity of others + far exceedeth my fear and your lordship’s mettle. I should have + written this letter with my own hand, but ’tis so hot that, + if it last, we are like to die. The little knave is very well + and sendeth a kiss to your lordship, and as for me, I do ever + commend myself to you. + + Longing to see your lordship, + + ISABELLA, with my own hand.” + + Mantua, July 23rd. + +“With my own hand,” the signature and no more. It is so hot! But does +not this very air of fragility convey a charm exactly of the kind to +subjugate even a husband? + +This charm does enfold him—and it keeps husband and wife apart! Seen at a +distance these distinguished women, genuinely Stoic at heart under a mask +of _abandon_, in reality overawed their lords and masters, and, even in +their private intercourse with them, kept themselves shrouded in mystery +and the unknown. Vittoria Colonna’s husband, who took little pains to be +agreeable at home,[112] became so devoted a lover of his lawful spouse +when far away as to compose in her honour a whole volume of charming +verses entitled _A Book of Loves_. This book was never published, and +has disappeared. Brantôme keenly regrets its disappearance, because, +he says, it would have given us an opportunity to see the poetry of +conjugal love, and to know if that ought to draw its inspiration from +platonic sentiments or not—from celestial love or from love legitimately +terrestrial. + +Poor Brantôme! We think we can solve the question which troubles him. +The women of that time were waxing philosophic, they had set their minds +towards acquiring a good deal of knowledge and yet remaining alive, +instead of minimising themselves, humbling themselves, following behind +like a boat in tow. They had become vestals (if we may put it thus) in +regard to marriage, and considered that their true mission was to shed +abroad the love which welled over from their quivering hearts; for it is +always the lack of men that turns women into feminists. In the world they +were going to become “goddesses,” and it would be impossible any longer +to live without them. + +Francis I., in a court without women, found himself getting too proud and +despotic; his gardens appeared to him “flowerless,” so he summoned and +enticed young women to him, and treated them “like goddesses in heaven.” +He shewed them their new mission. + +And yet, what unsuspected depths of loathing rose to the lips of those +divine women! I do not know whether the number of women sick of their +husbands was larger than at present, but it was large enough. Pride and a +high sentiment of duty in the gaze of the world long watched over them, +like those grand statues of splendid, almost menacing virtues which the +sculptors of former days were fond of setting before a tomb, at either +end of the grave. But after they had accomplished, unostentatiously, +devotedly, the mission for which men married them, namely, kept the house +in order, loyally studied the master’s comfort, poulticed and physicked +him, borne him children, replenished the stock (pardon the expression) +like good brood-mares, and humbly occupied the foot of the table, there +came a time when this primary duty was done, and then they sprang up as +though from a sleep, and looking at the sun, enquired of him whither they +must fly to find life. They were born to sow flowers behind them. Their +children were these flowers, painfully plucked out of their very vitals +and flung into the future. It remained yet to pluck from their hearts, +with a more vivifying joy, immaterial flowers, flowers of love, flowers +of happiness, children of the soul, their real children, for if the woman +is a passive being in physical conception, in spiritual conception she +plays another part, she becomes the active being. The seed is hers to sow. + +By this time they were no longer at the “angelic age,” as Alfred de +Vigny called it, namely, fifteen years. As a rule, they might confess to +thirty, the age when women have “a spice of the devil,” the age at which +one ought to know how to deal with soul and heart. + +The sort of revolution they brought about was no new thing. There always +had been and always will be women of thirty years, quite aware of their +age; but these were in addition keen-sighted, psychological women, who +meant to get to the bottom of the phenomenon and measure its intensity +with the eye of a connoisseur, for it seemed to them that they were +entering into life. + +The children, who had been the _raison d’être_ of the home, were about +to go out into the world, or had already gone. As soon as he could, +the first-born son, that dear little boy whom the mother loved, asked +and obtained a little money and disappeared. Henceforth he was hardly +mentioned; he now had his own affairs, his own pleasures, and when he +wrote it would be a postscript, affectionate but rather concise: “Madam, +I had forgotten to write and say I have learnt that you have given me a +little brother named Guy. I beseech you, Madam, see him well nourished, +for I love him well.” Sometimes news came that, far away, Death had +rudely snapped the last remaining tie, and from the truly heroic words +which then burst from certain courageous mothers’ hearts, we see how +hardened their souls had become, and how the noblest and most dearly +loved of them had been compelled, in their thorny life, to form the +painful but admirable habit of sacrificing their affections to the very +uttermost. Gabrielle de Bourbon was announcing to her officers the death +of her only son, killed at Marignan. Aloud she said: “in this battle that +the King has won”; but in a whisper she added: “which has brought such +heavy woe upon us.” + +That sweet women whose very nature is to love should go out, when all +fails them thus, into the world, like the bees of God, to gather a little +honey and labour for the common hive, is not very surprising. They prefer +“a little love from many to a great deal from one,”[113]—especially when +that one does not love them! + +And so marriage comes to serve them as a refuge when on their +honey-quest. It is like the lodge in which hunters take up their +quarters, to be nearer their game and to shelter themselves from the +weather. The women rejoice at having it. Nevertheless, before studying +these emancipated women as they play their part manlike away from home, +we have still to examine a final objection of principle, which was strong +enough to hold some of them back. + +Many moralists, even without bias against feminism, reproach the women +with owing their philanthropy to a horror of marriage; according to them, +the mission to the world upon which the women wished to enter was for +them a means of evading their domestic duties. + +That is not the fact. Without appealing to the obvious arguments, we +wish for no other proof of the women’s good intentions than their very +manifest desire not to carry their separation from their husbands beyond +a certain point. They did mean to render their bonds lighter, and even +elastic. But, as we have already seen, they defended the institution of +marriage and affectionately tended their husbands in sickness; and it is +certain that they had no wish to lose them. + +Divorce originated in the masculine countries. It appeared a step in +advance, because hitherto public opinion had shown itself singularly +cruel in regard to separated wives. There was neither pity nor justice +for them. The husband had no shame in deserting his wife, and it was +always she who was blamed. + +To put a stop to separations, the Senate of Venice, evidently convinced +that as men they were not there for nothing, prescribed in 1543 a system +which was simplicity itself. All separated women were metaphorically +to be buried in a heap; they were forced to wear a special costume +like lepers, and were forbidden access to any public place. The clergy +revolted. In the end, the august Senate contented itself with a milder +punishment; it placed the unfortunate women under the surveillance, not +of the state police, but of their ex-husbands. + +But a time came when the Venetian measures no longer appeared feasible, +and then in the countries where men ruled opinion it was generally +admitted that woman, being a secondary creature, needed an owner and +employer. Instead of trampling upon her when she found herself without +a master, they deigned to do her so much justice as to provide her with +a new lord. Calvin, generous soul, permitted her, in case of proved +desertion, to take another mate. + +In the Roman countries, deserted wives were objects of compassion. But +marriage remained indissoluble; there was no remarriage; and a woman in a +country where women were a force had nothing to gain by placing herself +in a false position. All that Roman charity could do was to throw open +houses of refuge where she might find a retreat in honour and solitude. +The true way of getting rid of a husband was to keep him. + +Nor did the women, even the more philosophic of them, find any +substantial advantage in being widows. + +Certainly we must make some deductions from the rather theatrical +demonstrations customary at death-beds. The custom was an old one, dating +from the time when it was agreed that in losing her master a woman lost +her all; these poor women were stricken to the heart-core, and thrilled +with an emotion half comic, half touching. That was their manner of +receiving their liberty; it seemed as though they had nothing left them +but to die themselves, especially if they were young, and for some time +everyone seemed of that opinion. In lugubrious and lachrymose tones +their friends would remind them of overpoweringly wonderful examples: +Artemisia, who drank her husband’s ashes in a cup of water; Portia, +Cato’s daughter and wife of Brutus, who, on learning of her husband’s +death, finding no knife at hand, did not seek one but swallowed live +coals. Those who had simply opened a vein or cut their throat, or who had +without ado plunged a dagger in their heart, were past numbering. We can +realise what delicacy, what aristocratic charm there was in the Indian +widow’s suttee. + +But for her children, who after reconciling her to marriage reconciled +her to life, Louise of Savoy would have died on the corpse of her +husband; so, at least, Jean de Saint-Gelais, her chamberlain, assures +us, and he was suspected, only too reasonably, of over-familiarity with +the secret tastes of his mistress. But for her religious scruples the +beautiful Isabella Richisentia had killed herself on the body of Raymond +de Cardoña.[114] Bouchet and Moncetto, nicknamed Lycurgus, deliberated in +great distress of mind whether they should persuade Mary of England[115] +to live, after the death of Louis XII.; they reminded her of Lucrece, +Penelope and others, and Moncetto wore himself out in speaking of them to +her in every known language and in verse. But for the young Englishman +she espoused only a fortnight later, Mary, perhaps, would have died. + +As a rule these widows, like reasonable creatures, at last made up their +minds to live, under pressure from those about them; but it was also +customary for them to display at least gorgeous mourning finery.[116] + +Let us first see how they buried their husbands. + +There were quiet women like Anne of France who contented themselves with +the celebration of a very impressive service, and to all appearance shed +no tears, for they spoke neither of drinking the powdered bones of the +dead man nor of spending the rest of their life in the bed of the dear +departed. Anne of France indeed considered these proceedings as “useless, +unworthy and detestable follies”; the only mourning that appealed to her +was simple, silent and lasting. But more than once people were staggered +at the quantity of tears women’s eyes could contain. “Vainly do they +tear their cheeks and dishevel their hair; I go off and enquire of a +chambermaid or of a secretary how they were, how they lived together. We +would much rather they laughed at our death, if they would but smile on +us while we live.”[117] + +A Spanish lady, the Countess of Consentana, in officially notifying +her vassals of the death of her husband, signed herself, “The sad and +unfortunate countess,” and, the better to indicate her distress, she +dropped two ink-blots where her name should have come. The facetious +vassals replied to their “sad and more than very unfortunate countess” in +an address which, in their agitation, they all signed with enormous daubs +and flourishes. Spain smiled, from Bilbao to Gibraltar. + +So a widow left nothing undone to show how much she deplored her +solitary condition. To this first conclusion we must add a second not +less manifest: almost every widow strove earnestly to regard her husband +as alive, so true is it that her aim was to act under the shadow of a +husband as little in her way as she in his. + +Of all the species of husbands, the dead husband is the one who would +require the most special monograph. However little heroic his life +may have been, his widow made it her business to sing his praises in +public. A woman whose married life had notoriously been one of discreet +indifference, if not of discord, would spend her nights and days in +celebrating the glory and the memory of the dead man. So profoundly would +she identify herself with him in heart that ere long she would develop +into the widow of a great man and rise into a superior atmosphere. The +greatnesses which the deceased perhaps never possessed she first gave +him and then appropriated herself, and in the fire of this love she was +gradually consumed. Besides, sometimes she happened actually to have got +past the age for love. + +Margaret of France consoled herself frankly enough for the loss of the +Duke of Alençon; but Vittoria Colonna never ceased to address sonnets +to her captain, and when she was urged to marry again, her reply was +simple: “My husband Ferdinand, who to you seems dead, is not dead to me.” +Diana of Poitiers manipulated this principle of “beyond the grave” with +wonderful dexterity: she never was a widow. Her husband was dead, to be +sure, but she displayed as her device an evergreen tree-stem springing +from a tomb, with the words: “Left alone, she lives in him.” As late +as 1558, at the moment of her greatest worldly triumphs, she remained +faithful to him. + +Here, then, we have reached a second and a very important point: a woman +of the world, so to speak, had her husband’s soul packed in straw (like +her china), and in principle she always considered herself as a wife. + +In regard to the employment of their widowhood the widows fall into two +classes. First there was the widow of the classical traditional school, +who no longer belonged to the world, but buried herself in her maternal +duties or in charitable work. She was only a survival of the old-style +housewife, of whom a good many were produced even in the sixteenth +century. For example there was Anne of Polignac, who, in her retreat +at Verteuil, where she divided her time between her children and a +splendid library, amazed the Emperor Charles V. with her well-regulated +and dignified life. Again, there was Charlotte d’Albret, the widow of +Caesar Borgia; she was a little more worldly, and by nature fond of show, +splendid plate, magnificent jewels, and a large retinue. + +These widows were administrators of the first order; so far as the +interests of the family were concerned, it was an advantage, as a proverb +ran, “for the husband to go first to earth.” They excelled in getting +full value for their money; sometimes even they were not averse to +dabbling in usury: Charlotte d’Albret rather liked it. It would certainly +not have been safe to reckon on their alleged feebleness; some of them +were of mettle enough to mount the ramparts like Catherine Sforza. After +the death of Grisegonelle Frottier, various relatives of his conspired +to capture by force of arms the manor of Blanc which belonged to him. +His widow, Françoise d’Amboise, learning of their plot, immediately +appealed to the “picaulx,” a brotherhood of Poitevin knights who were +vowed to protect widows and orphans; and instead of leaving her cause to +the halting march of justice, she organised an expedition and overthrew +her adversaries. In spite of the rather energetic character of the +proceeding, Louis XI. was touched, and willingly gave his pardon. + +The most of these good widows spent a part of their life in convent +chapels, and it was in this direction that a breach was made in their +spirit of economy, for, according to pious authors, the devil worms his +way through the vestry door. They would meet there a lay brother, charged +with the duty of nurturing simple souls into fruitfulness. Beginning by +sending some delicious tarts in exchange for a _De Profundis_, the ladies +would by degrees make up their minds to found a chapel, then to have it +decorated, then to endow it. + +Or they received charming letters from the good nuns: “We are poor women +whom your departure has left in distress, and we may say that we have +lost all the good of life.... We are still wearing the cloaks you made +for us, and we are going without pelisses, as our custom is. The convent +has not changed since you left us ... except it be that we suffer cruelly +from cold during the winter.”[118] + +Many grave and strong-minded widows, after having mingled in affairs, +took advantage of their widowhood only to forget a world in which their +heart had not found sustenance. So soon as they had fulfilled unavoidable +duties, it was a pleasure to them to distribute their property and retire +from the world. We can hardly realise how the vision of a few sweet, +peaceful years consecrated to the soul haunted the hearts of women whom +the evil star of too high birth had flung into political affairs. + +Such was the end Margaret of Austria[119] would have desired. + +Such was actually the end of two exquisite princesses of the house of +Lorraine: Margaret of Lorraine, duchess of Alençon, who first connected +herself with a hospital, then with the strict order of the Poor Clares; +and Philippa of Gueldres, who entered the same sisterhood when her son +ascended the throne. She lived with them for twenty-seven years in the +deepest humility, styling herself “a worm of the soil,” though her +companions might continue to call her “our reverend Mother the Queen.” + +The new generation was to see little of these sublime modesties. The +majority of widows lived in the world; but what liberty they enjoyed +they bought very dear, and on the whole they had less liberty than +wives. They were gay and did not darken too often the vestry-door; +they did not flaunt the time-honoured widow’s cap, still dear to +Englishwomen—headgear that would disgust anybody with widowhood. Was that +a crime? By no means; and yet the slightest slip or suspicion of a slip +was in them unpardonable. Men saw in every widow either a naughty woman +or a hypocrite, and they did not shrink from saying so. A physician was +once bargaining for a mule in the presence of a fair widow, and said +he: “I want one that’s a widow”: and as the dealer did not understand +him, he added: “Yes, a widow, that is, plump, and light on her heels, +and a good feeder.” The saying ran: “If a man thinks his wife a little +too thin, he had better make her a widow.” A widow was regarded only as +so much raw material; and from the moment when “Goodman Danger” was no +longer at hand, sin itself seemed to lose its sweetness. Widows were +recommended to frequent none but deserted chapels, to contemplate the +crucifix during the night. This condescending pity sprang sometimes from +good-heartedness; but it was often odious to them, and all the more so +because everyone, even the most confidential servants, fancied they +had a right to throw in their sympathetic suggestions. Anne of France +was indignant at this universal treason, which shocked her sense of +right.[120] + +And yet society added one more tyranny. For a widow to marry again was +scarcely tolerated.[121] She would have been just as severely chided +for finding a second husband as she would have been for not finding a +first.[122] She would be sooner forgiven for a frailty, a yielding to +temptation, than for contracting a new tie. What woman was this who had +not had too much of one husband, and was not amply satisfied? Among +the people she was favoured with a sort of skimmington ride. Margaret +of France defied the prejudice and married again: it was in sooth the +deed of a philosophic woman. But in general, widows were still chained +to their widowhood by various considerations; in the first place, the +practical difficulty of finding another husband. Men were quite ready to +court a widow, but very few would make the sacrifice involved in marrying +her. A woman no longer young, a “shelled peascod,” who no longer had +anything to give and had settled habits of her own, was the antipodes +of the little maiden of twelve so much in request. Besides, the widow +herself was enjoying a large and tranquil life, thanks to the jointure +of which a second marriage would deprive her; sometimes the whole of +her husband’s fortune had come to her on condition that she devoted +herself to the children. She held in all matters the authority which had +belonged to the dead man, and indeed it was not uncommon for the husband +expressly to bequeath her this authority in his will.[123] The drawback +to this life of business management is precisely that a woman loses in it +something of the bloom of her grace and sweetness, she no longer needs +to employ persuasiveness and love since she has force at her disposal, +and the result is that she becomes a sort of man, and acquires some +of the defects by which she has suffered at the hands of her husband. +We can thus understand quite well that a woman who wishes to remain a +woman will do her best, for her own security and charm’s sake, to live +under the fostering wing of a precious memory, and will cherish with the +utmost devotion her (so to speak) posthumous husband. There lies her real +strength. + +The Renaissance woman, then, a woman of essentially fine grain, and well +versed in everything it was her business to know, was a woman of absolute +sincerity, and we must believe her when she speaks well of marriage. She +considered that institution as perfectly reconcilable with the fulfilment +of a mission in the world, indeed as favourable, almost indispensable, to +it. She had no more reason to give up marriage than to give up eating and +drinking: it is not this that enchains the soul. The idealists differed +from the utilitarians solely in the belief that one marriage is enough: +the former covered their faces if a widow, not ethereal enough to satisfy +them, went by on the arm of a new husband; the latter applauded, and +fancied that by this transaction the animal nature was held in check. But +this is of little interest to us. The only result important to note is +that a woman, without ceasing to be a woman, could win freedom for her +affections and her activities as well as a man. When she had attained +that condition of liberty, she ascribed all the honour to marriage, and +blessed it instead of thinking that she owed everything to herself. +Marriage, like many human inventions, is a contrivance capable of +producing either liberty or tyranny, and women had simply altered its +direction. + +They wielded intimate and domestic powers. Their rival was not the +husband, they came to terms with him; it was the man who looked after +their body or their soul, and to whom, out of weakness or indolence, +they were led to attach themselves like an anaemic ivy-plant. To mark +their place in this world they had themselves to learn how to obtain +what brings happiness: health of body and of soul. Respected in regard +to the body, it remained for them to gain self-respect in regard to the +soul, and to show that true Christianity consists in bestowing power and +liberty, not in withdrawing them. + + + + +BOOK II. LIFE IN THE WORLD + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE + + +Margaret of France said, very incisively: “The defect of women is +timidity.” They are born to fear. + +Women had become habituated to a passive and secondary part. They desired +to escape from it, they felt the need of activity and a freer air, their +wings were growing and they adored intellectual liberty, at any rate +they said so—and they had in fact already snapped many of their chains; +but when you come to close quarters and exchange confidences with them, +you perceive that they are still held fast by a multitude of secondary +diffidences, by tenuous invisible threads starting often enough from +social conventions of little or no importance. They are unable to wing +their flight, or they require a man to go first and shew them the way; or +an absolute necessity, an enthusiasm, an impulse of devotion is necessary +to start them off. + +They move at last, not through reasoning, but as the result of the more +or less vague sentiment that while their home-life has brought them no +love, yet they are made for love and have a love mission to fulfil. +A modern aesthetic writer—but a man after all and only moderately +sensible—has thus explained the appeal of grace as it affected himself: +“I had nothing to love. For me my parents were in some sort only the +visible powers of Nature.”[124] How much more does this apply to women! +They want something to love! Separated from her family the wife finds in +her husband the incarnation, in the fullest sense of the word, of the +visible power of Nature, and so it is that the ardent instinct drawing +her towards the light is very complex, much interwoven with pain and +passion; it is a thirst for love almost cruel in its intensity. Just as +the husband wins honour for himself by means of external activity and +public service, so the wife hears destiny making a similar appeal to +her. Around her there is a life to diffuse, a sweetness to sow, hungry +folk to feed, wounds to dress, a great cry of distress and hardship to +soothe; and act she must. A tradesman’s wife may shut herself up in the +narrow egotism of her back shop. Could a woman of heart shut her eyes to +the profound unrest of society? Ought she to remain a helpless pawn on +the board, a mere victim? Was she not called to take her share, as an +intelligent and free creature? Willy nilly, she must step forth from her +house—burst her shell and wing away! At twenty it is excusable to confuse +one’s ideals with life; ten or fifteen years later this illusion has +dissolved. One feels then the need of setting one’s heart upon some firm, +sure, noble spot out of reach of the swirling tide of existence; and a +day thus arrives when every woman capable of reflecting and of loving +throws a questioning look on what is around her. + +And then, what answer does she get from the great mystery of life? +She sees a gigantic system of force and matter in interaction, set +in motion, working, displaying itself under the silent impulse of an +invisible power, and having neither existence nor beauty apart from an +end external to itself. The governor of this world is man, endowed with +an intelligence more potent than matter, so that he finds himself placed +here below as the ambassador of life and the type of beauty. He himself +obeys practically one only motive power, love; he cannot be strongly +stirred save by passion. Thus the whole world obeys the law of beauty +and of love. Truth and goodness form, so to speak, its skeleton; beauty +is its life; love, the instrument of its life. Certain modern aesthetes, +seeking to establish an antinomy between man and Nature, represent man +as a foe who in employing Nature necessarily violates and deforms her, +whereas left to herself she would be always lovely.[125] To subordinate +man to Nature in this way seems to us untrue and disastrous. Surely the +contrary is the case: we may put anything to wrong uses, but material +forces cannot but gain if we direct them aright. Our part is to live in +harmony with Nature, conformably to the magnificent and universal law +that love grows by spending itself. “Go and give all your goods to feed +the poor,” says the Gospel: that is nobility! Sow, give: give always! +Give the labour of the arm to the fields as yet sterile; give your heart +to hearts that are dull and dead! Beauty and niggardliness cannot live +together. At one end of the scale there are those who are incapable of +giving, frozen hard, as it were, against love: at the other are those who +in a splendid profusion of generosity pour out their gifts without taking +count of them: and the whole world lies between. From the pebble sensible +only to mechanical attraction, to the flower that scents the air, one +profound idea holds good, one great song rises, all mortal things cry +in unison, and the burden of their united voices is, love. Every moving +thing tends to entwine itself about something else, to unite inextricably +with it; all life tends to pour itself into another, to surrender itself, +and thereby it has a second birth, and all individual vibrations coalesce +into one grand note. And, above this symphony of material things, the +heart of man outpours itself in similar strains in the spiritual spheres +of true life which stretch up to God. The love of man, to adopt the +phrase in the _Imitation_, is a cry flung out towards God. + +Love, then, is the ruling principle of the world, a noble, superb, +necessary thing; extending its broad wings it easily dominates the +littlenesses and conventions of life, responds to all needs, whether of +the individual soul or of society, sets frail hearts athrob with life. +But it is obvious, too, what a strife it is sure to excite, by its double +nature, between spirit and matter—a strife wonderful and delightful and +fierce. + +Women are so constituted as to understand this sharp antagonism between +material love and spiritual love—women, who, at a certain crisis of +life, feel so strongly the contrast between the cruelties and ironies +of material things and the refinements of the heart. They drag about a +body often feeble, suffering, wretched, a misshapen, bleeding, shamefast +body, a pain-stricken body, born for love and worship, but subdued to +the surgeon. There comes a time when they would fain forget the animal +and wash it of its impurities if possible; their soul has become more +intensely spiritual. If they shudder at the recollection of certain +physical necessities, through that very fact the secret of happiness +appears to them simpler, more luminous, less clogged with matter; +branded by life, as certain mystics bore the brands of divine love, with +sides pierced and limbs explored and broken by the hands of men, they +are athirst for love, enthusiasm and worship, they understand that no +intellectual hair-splitting, no doctrinal analysis, is worth a snatch of +love. They know the sweetness of things. I will go farther: they know the +extraordinary influence of moral forces on physical health; the body, +like society at large, needs to be reinvigorated by soul and heart. + +The truth strikes upon them vividly by a sort of intuition. But it is far +from being the case that all women are able to profit by it, because they +have to reckon with a thousand practical obstacles: they require great +liberty of mind and a large share of energy if they are to avoid being +restrained by a host of more or less respectable prejudices, conventions, +and usages. After all, timidity, indifference and frivolity are very +natural things. + +Particularly in France, women needed genuine courage to assert their +resolution to act and take part in social work, in the midst of a society +essentially constituted to prevent them from giving effective expression +to their ideas—a society that was strenuous, Philistine, utterly strange +to philosophy and imaginative thinking, hidebound to traditions of very +rudimentary common-sense and a proud simplicity, composed of families +desirous of living in their own fashion under the direction of their +head, with no grand notion of forming parts of one stupendous whole. The +king was the head of the principal family; on this account, men showed +the most artless veneration for his person, but so long as the army was +duly organised and the frontiers properly defended at the least possible +expense, they troubled themselves very little about their sovereign’s +existence. So the despotic power of the husband was not merely domestic, +but political: the man was lord of the lands and the village as he was +of his wife, and he administered the whole without stirring up many +ideas, in intimate communion with his oxen and his oaks. Again and +again we find in portraits the rubicund faces of these honest-eyed +country squires. There was nothing extraordinary or gigantic about such +a man; he was a man of iron, that was all; and beside this substantial +creature vegetated, half-stifled, that fine and precious flower his wife, +sometimes a frail delicate thing with liquid eyes charmingly veiled, all +compact of concentrated passion, placid tenderness, and impressionability. + +On the other hand, in strange contrast with this individualistic society +which lived in isolation as a matter of principle, there then flourished +at court, in the cities, and in certain great châteaux an extremely +active society, that of the salons. Effervescent, noisy like fresh +arrivals, ceremonious, gilded, of a refined and factitious elegance, +it represented what many writers called the “theatre of the world”: +marvellous stage scenery, which underwent remarkable transformations +under the shifting play of the side-lights, forming a background against +which the players strutted through their parts. Who were these actors? +Whence came they, whither were they going? These were questions about +which often enough there was little information and less concern; +sometimes it was thought best to ignore them altogether, for, thank +heaven! it was not to grow mouldy in the depths of the country that a +man intrigued, nor was assassination a means towards opening a grocer’s +shop. Occasionally, and usually when the curtain fell on a financial +act, someone disappeared, but without tragic accompaniments, and then +(except Semblançay,[126] who was hanged) he reappeared and went on with +the pantomime. There was nothing but praise for the noble use Admiral +de Graville made of his princely fortune, which was the object of some +discussion. Du Plessis so cleverly extricated himself from the toils of +justice that he could bequeath to us the admirable Cardinal Richelieu. +The Bohiers, Briçonnets, Robertets, Duprats,[127] and many another, +small or great, erected in all security their splendid châteaux, triumphs +of art, but a sort of affront to the old machicolations crumbling in cold +neglect under the moss. In those days Gold was king. + +All this splendour and grace, this brilliant life, which seemed bound +to make everything around dim by comparison, nevertheless by no means +dazzled the common herd, but at first aroused a feeling of repulsion, +if not of jealousy. Outcries arose. Wealth was apparently losing its +character of a kindly and patriarchal simplicity, to bring into greater +prominence the figures of proud and self-important men who believed their +wealth would purchase everything—virtue, wit, honour, as easily as a +rare picture. A poor man accordingly was set down as a “soulless body”; +the virtuous man was one who lived in a palace, while the man who gave a +dinner-party was a master-mind. + +To tyranny of this sort there was added the individual or social +misfortunes of a society naturally unstable and continually recruiting +itself by means of speculation. Thence arose outcries: “You make so many +poor folk cry alack! alack! that we long to see you fall headlong in the +dust!”[128] + +Gold and pleasure were the deities to whom we owe the charming eighteenth +century. But they lead to revolutions. This fact came out clearly, too +clearly in fact, in Italy, and compelled men to endeavour to restrain +these two great world forces within wholesome limits. In the fifteenth +century Christian socialism reared its head high at Florence and Rome, +and under stress of its menaces a science of philosophy came to birth. + +In presence of this social peril, certain men, compelled to issue +from their egotism, pointed out the road for timid women to follow +to avoid vengeful reprisals. Men of affairs, bankers, notaries and +others banded themselves together with the firm resolution of forgoing +business, interests, ambitions, even their for the most part despotic +hopes in state intervention, of seeking to practise self-devotion, and +of borrowing, if necessary, something of the idealism of philosophers +and artists, so that they might give a practical sanction to their high +station by working to raise others. The Florentine people swallowed +the bait; at once ardent and refined, they admirably blended practical +reasoning with ideal aspirations. And so the first step was taken. + +However, it was more particularly at Rome that this idea, still +rudimentary and ill-defined, of purifying life and pursuing social +happiness by means of the tender charm of the Beautiful made progress. +It found there a well-prepared soil. Intellectual culture and elegance +of speech did not represent at Rome, as they did elsewhere, a mere +ornamentation, they were the very substance of the state. Money was +intellectualised as regards its origin and its end, and nowhere had men +a better conception of an oligarchical society, a republic regulated by +absolute power. The heads of the church formed a unique world of their +own, as little tainted by the military or frivolous character with +which certain aristocracies were reproached as by the taste for coarse +pleasures natural to some self-made men. They showed indeed a living +example of a true aristocracy, in the exact signification of the word, +that is to say, a body of men of varied degrees of rank, raised high +above the common run of men by some eminent gift—some by high political +position or distinguished birth, others by a large fortune, others by +great accomplishments, renowned virtue, profound learning, striking +talents. They abhorred cliques and their pettinesses; to greatness +of position should correspond greatness of ideas. And this splendid +aristocracy, thus composed of the choice flower of society, delighted +in tracing its descent from remote ancestors. It set no store either on +high ancestry (though some were of brilliant descent), or on a display +of wealth (though some had enormous fortunes); it ventured to connect +itself with all the most illustrious and conspicuous names in the past +history of the human race from the time of the Greeks and Romans: Plato, +Socrates, Archimedes, and Cicero were its ancestors. And thus, with a +strange persistence, it constantly tended to lift into its own ranks by +its example, its doctrines and its easy accessibility all men who felt +within themselves a spark of genius or talent, or even ambition merely. + +This atmosphere was very favourable to the development of the theory +of social aesthetics of which Castiglione has etched the principal +features. “Luxury must be opposed, even if we have recourse to +law; social life must be given a moral and governmental goal; to +keep the appetites under, the laws must find effectual support in +custom. The power of a single ruler fosters corruption; but it has +this advantage—that wisdom, goodness and justice are more easily +found in a single individual supported by strong traditions than in +a fortuitous assemblage of obscure citizens.” What is wanted is to +institute a kingship in the world for which justice and beauty are the +qualifications, and which is thus more real and of a diviner right than +any other. Mammon, that is, the love of gold, the love of power and +pleasure, can only reign in a world of night, when we have eyes but +cannot see, when we have lips from which no human cry issues, when we +are dead to enthusiasm, and when our whole life consists in eating and +drinking. + +In France the socialist danger, presenting itself in a much less acute +form, could not produce the same effects. The people who were to show +their teeth fifty years later were as yet silent, and there was no +anxiety about the future except among the cultivated classes. Moneyed +people bore themselves with becoming modesty, and remained on the best +of terms with the most notable representatives of the old nobility. But +the nobility, being no longer feudal, was no longer of much account, +and a moral crisis of exceeding gravity took place in the ranks of this +aristocracy based wholly on birth and fortune. Sheer vanity took the +place of pride; the “smoke”[129] of titles became a more powerful motive +than the love of glory. + +The great financiers almost all became barons, in order to get above +finance; the holders of fiefs became barons, counts and marquises. +Ordinary mortals came to hold fiefs; the most insignificant dovecot +was transformed into a château. Society moved on a step, and everybody +was satisfied. It was quite a steeplechase in the Italian style. +Pontanus,[130] for all his malicious ridicule of it, had himself +vainly solicited the title of baron. The good duke of Urbino, a great +philosopher whose elevation was of very recent date, employed the +assassin’s knife to put out of the way a girl of the lesser nobility whom +his eldest son loved and wished to marry, and Louise of Savoy warmly +approved of this magnificent implacability.[131] + +Pedigrees assumed wonderful proportions. Only those who had the moral +simplicity of Margaret of Austria were content with the ancient +kings of Germany for ancestors; every Scottish archer, no matter how +insignificant, claimed descent from the ancient kings of Scotland. Louise +of Savoy made a beginning by modestly connecting the French house with +the most ancient of royal dynasties, that of Babylon. + +Some went even farther. They dived into the remote and shadowy depths +of history, the ages of stone and iron, when some wild girl became +their ancestress through a chance meeting with a savage in a wood, and +when five minutes’ rain instead of sunlight would have been enough to +wash a whole race of men from the page of immortality. Anne of Brittany +was descended from one of the giants sprung direct from mother Earth. +Rabelais with great gravity presents his hero to us in his exact style as +son of one of the original sons of Earth: “Would to God,” he adds, “that +everyone was as well acquainted with his pedigree from the time of the +Flood!” + +But in reality, under cover of these novel and pedantic vanities, money, +with its brutality and vulgarity and appeal to vulgar minds, led the +dance and dragged the pick of the nation pellmell after it. The Balsac of +the time, Robert de Balsac, fills a good many pages with examples of the +crowd of worldlings who, as he expresses it, hurried in unbridled, almost +frantic haste on the road to beggary.[132] There are voluptuaries, +debauchees, spendthrifts, men gorged with gold, yet athirst for more, +tumultuously dashing on and upwards in frightful torment and agitation +towards a will o’ the wisp; one after another they fall headlong into +the gulf, while the foreground is filled with the eternal procession +moving on with slow pace and clockwork regularity. Alongside of this mad +insolent triumph of gold fierce hatreds develop, and men begin to speak +under their breath of the horrible triumph of wretchedness approaching, +and can foretell the hour when materialism from below will make its awful +response to materialism from above. + +Women ought to have remedied this state of things. They ought to have +prevented men from becoming besotted and ruining themselves. Anne of +France dared not suggest to all these idle nobles that they might occupy +themselves with intellectual things, but she was anxious at least to +brace them up by a life of physical endurance. Without military courage, +she declares, the nobility resembles “a withered tree,” without valour +“it is nothing worth.” + +What she was losing hope of, a fraction of the clergy set themselves +to win. There was, among the mass of cassocked peasants and rochetted +aristocrats, a small group of cultivated men drawing its inspiration from +the Cardinal of Amboise,[133] less audacious than Rome, less retrograde +than Germany. These recognised the traditional merits of military glory, +birth, and money, but would have liked to reconcile them with the newer +virtues, blend them together into one radiance, homogeneous like the +sunbeam, which is composed of colours so various; they would have liked +to see all these glories combining, as at Rome, into one rainbow-like +effulgence. A monk of Cluny, Clichtoue, begs, beseeches well-born young +men to shun the enervating paths of infatuation, idleness and vice. He +has endless examples showing the possibility of alliance between literary +tastes[134] and the military life; he reveres the principles of rank +so highly as to discern them in application everywhere, even among the +metals; but he longs ardently to bind into one sheaf all the vital +forces of society; he is a philosopher, one may even say a sort of John +the Baptist. He proclaims Plato; he is more scriptural than Luther, and +has as much antique culture as any Roman prelate;[135] to him the future +seems to outline itself clearly. “After virtue,” he says, “a noble can +have no comelier ornament than letters. Philosophy is not the recipient, +but the source of nobility.” He adjures distinguished men to pay real +attention to the social obligations incumbent on them, under penalty of +losing their rank. He does not disavow the natural pleasure a man takes +in the thought that he has had ancestors and will have descendants, but +to him this does not seem a sufficient though an honourable aim in life. +If no means are found of uniting the two nobilities, that of the body and +that of the mind, no doubt (in his opinion) the nobility of the mind will +get the upper hand; Solomon, who is not generally considered a modern or +even a socialist, had already said so long ago: “I myself also am mortal, +like to other men, and am sprung from the terrestrial lineage of the +first man. And in the womb of a mother was I moulded into flesh. And I +also, when I was born, drew in the common air and fell upon the kindred +earth, uttering, like all men, for my first voice the self-same wail: in +swaddling clothes was I nursed, and with watchful cares. Who among the +kings had any other beginning? All men have one entrance into life, and a +like departure.” + +Clichtoue, however, as well as his friends the Lamennais and +Montalemberts of the period, confined himself to counsels and +prognostics, which indeed the future was in great part to justify; he had +not yet discovered the exact formula. He had it at the tip of his tongue, +but could not give it utterance; it seemed as though in France the words +‘beauty’ and ‘love’ were no words for a man or a churchman. These noble +and lofty words were to come from a higher sphere, and from women’s lips. + +It was Margaret of France who at last uttered them, and they were echoed +around her. + +Here we find the remedy so ardently sought for against materialism, as +Jean Bouchet explains it on Margaret’s behalf: “To purify the world, to +eliminate its coarser elements; to give wealth only the lowest place as a +source of social distinction, and even then only on condition that the +plutocrat lives nobly, that is to say, unselfishly, and makes noble deeds +his constant study.” True nobility is not a cockade, a label, a name, but +a moral reality; “it springs from the soul, and not from wealth.” Noble +and lofty spirits are recognised precisely by their innate simplicity; +they leave the gildings, the pompous blazonments, to “the sons of +swineherds, sempsters, stockingers, and other mechanical folk. But +those who are illustrious by long descent reveal their nobility beyond +possibility of mistake, for they have in them something, I know not +what, of naïve goodwill that manifestly separates them from the arrogant +assumptions of false nobles.” Spirited, showy, a genuine blue-blood, +restive under marital authority, but quivering to her inmost fibres at +the slightest appeal of a refined sentiment, Margaret of France remained +obstinately faithful to these principles, finding in them the pole-star +that guided her steps throughout life. The words we last quoted were +uttered in circumstances which give them a special force, namely, in the +funeral oration of Scaevola de Sainte-Marthe, who thought he could cast +upon the princess’s tomb no sweeter flowers, none more likely to blossom +eternally. Margaret herself never lost an opportunity of emphasising with +all her force the terrible fear she had of the power of money. + + Aimer l’argent, + Sinon pour s’en aider, c’est servir les idoles![136] + +In regard to those who deal with humanity like brokers, and believe that +happiness is purchasable, she gives vent to passionate apostrophes worthy +of the most ardent Christian socialists: + + Ilz ont plaisirs tant qu’ils en veulent prendre, + Ilz ont honneurs s’ilz y veulent prétendre, + Ilz ont des biens plus qu’il ne leur en fault.[137] + +And this was precisely what men were aiming at. The military framework of +society was broken; to replace it by a financial framework would have +been considered almost criminal; and that was where the great danger lay. +To employ a comparison approved by Francis I., two cars are running the +world’s course side by side; a choice must be made between them. One is +the car of Plutus, filled with gold, lechery, vice; the other is the car +of Honour and Love, thronged about by all the virtues.[138] The choice is +clear: for its own happiness, for its own glory, the world must reject +the worship of money, trample on the power of money, and proclaim the +power of virtuous love. + +Thus, little by little, the formula sought for emerges into view. A +wonderful light is thrown on the problem when it is admitted that to +be happy it is necessary to rise above material things, and establish +society upon a philosophy of love. Life and beauty, they are the true +riches! The feeblest of men, the most hopeless invalids, the vilest +outcasts, woman with her feeble body and ardent soul, are richer than a +nugget of gold, more eternal than the Alps, greater than the sea and the +vast realm of nature, for this very reason that they have in them life, +the true life, that is, consciousness of life, confidence in life, and +love of life. + +And the same idea that happiness must be sought through true life, led +men to recognise the necessity of considering the ‘hygiene’ of this +life. Medicine, care and pity had been up to that time only for the ills +of the body, for the gaping, gory wounds that came under the eye; the +wounds of heart and spirit had been forgotten. To render life sumptuous +and brilliant, to fritter it away in a sort of giddy excitement or +intoxication, was the utmost of men’s achievement. The heart cannot be +bought; there is no specific for healing its wounds; they must heal +themselves. + +The art will consist then, in realising as far as may be the plenitude of +life; in other words, in extracting from Christianity, which is Hope and +Charity, an aesthetic philosophy. “I am the God of the living,” said the +Master. If we combine the sayings on life scattered through the gospels +we obtain a true code of aestheticism, while the sayings on love form +the warp and woof of the doctrine. On the morrow of the Resurrection, +when the rude fishers chosen to disseminate the sacred tidings are in +utter ignorance of the event, the Master shows Himself first of all +to Love; He appears at the gates of a mysterious garden by which Mary +Magdalene is about to pass—Mary, a woman pardoned, glorified, because she +loved much, because she sinned through superabundant kindliness. + +This doctrine of love had not prospered in the world, where it found +briers too deeply rooted, thorns too cruel; it had become a supernatural +and sacred thing, so sublime that it fled the world and took refuge in +the cloister, like a sickly plant in a hothouse, leaving a free field +for vice. Tenderness seemed to come only from feebleness; every form of +art seemed immoral, all love a degenerate and ill-balanced thing, and no +one realised the need goodness has of intelligence. The pettinesses of +feminine religiosity, encouraged, unhappily, by a section of the clergy, +tended to make divine love itself ineffectual and almost ridiculous. Yet +the author of the _Imitation_ has defined love as the true source of +activity: + +“Nothing is there in Heaven or earth sweeter than love, nothing stronger, +broader, higher, fuller, better, or more winsome, for love is of God, +nor can it rest but in Him, above the world created. The lover runneth +and flieth, and is alive with joy; he is free, and nothing restraineth +him; he giveth all for all, hath all in all, because he resteth above all +things in the one sovereign good whence all other goodnesses proceed and +flow. He looketh not to gifts, but raiseth himself above all to look only +to the giver. Love often knoweth no limit, but its fervour carrieth it +far above measure. Love feeleth no weight, making light of toil, would +do more than it is able, pleadeth no impossibility, because it thinketh +it may and can do all. Wherefore it is strong for anything, and where +he that loveth not doth faint and fail, love doeth and achieveth many +things.”[139] + +Why then had not this beautiful religion, this beautiful philosophy +become the religion and philosophy of the world? Why had they not sent +their streams of activity flowing in ever-widening channels? Men wished +to solve this problem, and restore to the world the philosophy it had +so misunderstood—to interpret love as it should be interpreted, through +impressions and sensibility, and not through the intellect. Hence +Castiglione’s saying, “God is only seen through women.” + +This saying, it is clear, does not apply to all women; it has reference +to those who are worthy to exercise an active influence. + +Natural obstacles oppose themselves to this mission of philosophically +raising the world to nobler ideas by the social religion of beauty. The +French are a matter-of-fact, practical, sceptical people; between the +peasant and his cattle, the lord and the peasant, there exists a solid +and after all a pleasant relationship. Further, the French are specially +hostile to ideas of an intellectual hierarchy, they lack sensibility, +the beautiful displeases and shocks them, and when a revolution gives +them what they call a moment’s freedom, they amuse themselves by defacing +as many statues as possible, destroying their cathedrals, burning their +historical monuments with all the enthusiasm of hate a personal grievance +can inspire. Likewise, in regard to love, modesty, the ideal, and all +refined and aesthetic sentiments, we experience a certain pleasure in +scouting them; when we have won any sort of diploma, that is the use we +make of it. + +And yet, do what we may, lofty things alone can elevate us: on the +mountain-top we breathe a different air from that in the valley. + +We must raise on heights above us eminent women who will crucify +themselves, if need be, to draw soil-stained men to them, according to +Christ’s words, “I will draw all things unto me”—women endowed with all +that glorifies—money (to scorn money is the luxury of the rich); a noble +blood clarified on stricken fields, or through intellectual wrestlings, +a spirit original and pure. Christ was at once the son of kings and the +Son of God! This is the consecration of happiness through a philosophy of +emotion and sentiment. Plato said that what was needed for the happiness +of humanity, was “philosophers who rule, or kings who philosophise.” +Do not believe it! What is wanted is kings who govern, and women who +philosophise. Men will always imagine that liberty and equality are +established by act of Parliament; philosophy is to them only a means of +livelihood. Cremonini, a famous professor, but a wit, said when he took +leave at the close of his lectures: “All that I have taught you is true +according to Aristotle, but not in an absolute sense: you might as well +believe St. Roch or St. Anthony.” Nifo[140] contradicted himself with +charming serenity, though he allowed no one else to contradict him. In +truth, how were these excellent professors of philosophy to know that, +three and a half centuries later, a Mabilleau, a Fiorentino, or a Ferri +would doggedly set themselves to unearth their unpublished lucubrations +from the dust of libraries, and throw on them the searchlight of +criticism? + +Men had reached that stage of lassitude and of wisdom when one +understands perfectly how vain, how unworthy of occupying a thoughtful +man, are the vagaries of logic-chopping. There are only two vital forces: +ambition and love. Anne of France reckons four: beauty, youth, wealth, +and ambition; but these four terms are reducible to the former two. A +doctrine of love, therefore, was necessary, and it was discovered in +Plato. + +Thus there were two masters in opposition, Plato and Machiavelli. + +Plato is as much a poet as a philosopher, as worthy of admiration for +his impressions and intuitions as for his ideas. He believes in beauty. +It had been said that beauty was of no account, that it had no place in +the gospels, that form signified nothing except perhaps by way of symbol, +that truth was metaphysical. That error had to be dismissed. Beauty has +a real existence, and plays a supreme part in this world. God has not +disowned it, Scripture reveals Him as bestowing life bountifully, and as +taking pleasure in man as His own image. Plato in effect develops this +same theory; what is more, he sings the praises of aestheticism in one +of the finest languages ever lisped by human tongue. It was he then who +furnished the desired formula. With him, men thought only of loving their +fellows, of expelling evil passions by means of pure love. A sweet breath +of spring fanned men’s hearts; it was philosophical and Christian. Did +Luther conceive a reform as trenchant, as vital as that? Men went back to +that blessed time when, without employing the quiddities of the Sorbonne +and of German science, Heaven spoke the simple words to us: “Love one +another.” They believed they had found the secret of rejuvenescence, +of re-birth, and there were men so intoxicated that they went so far +as to ask themselves whether Charity countenanced trade or taxes. The +whole idea is summed up in a single line: power results in barbarism, +civilisation is the product of beauty. + +This formula suits both strong and weak, everyone, indeed; it belongs +neither to men nor to women, hails neither from north nor from south. The +northern peoples, however, looking at Plato with a purely philosophical +and technical eye, failed to discover it; at Venice, the headquarters +of perfect editions of Plato, and at Paris, where he was acclaimed as a +prophet, an ancestor of Christianity, where Florentine commentaries on +him poured fast from the press, and where even a neglected commentary +of Ficino[141] was published, no one dreamed of seeking the recipe for +happiness in Plato’s philosophy. So greatly was he distrusted that the +Italian Vicomercati, appointed in 1542 to the professorship of philosophy +at the College of France, thought it his duty by way of returning thanks +to immolate Socrates in his inaugural lecture. + +It was the Florentines, with their keen appreciation of the good things +of life, who discovered the artistic side of the platonic life. Women did +not count for nothing in their first deduction, which consisted in so +linking the objects of nature to the human personality that they should +form thenceforth nothing but one long procession of the affections. At +Florence this new religion was observed with tender and pleasing rites. + +On the anniversary of Plato’s death, the master’s bust was crowned with +laurel by invited guests, and then at a magnificent banquet spread +under the pleasant shade, _laudes_ and _canzoni_ were sung in honour of +the new spirit. Almost all were poets, and Lorenzo de’ Medici chiefest +among them. They maintained a strict conformity with Christian ideas. +The young Giovanni de’ Medici, the future Leo X., who was brought up +among them, received at the age of seven valuable benefices with the +ecclesiastical tonsure, and at thirteen was given the cardinal’s hat. All +the leaders of the movement, Ficino, Pico della Mirandola,[142] Politian, +were honoured with pontifical patronage. Rome also was the centre of a +similar movement; there the academy of Pomponius Laetus[143] resuscitated +the grand days of the republic; there men breathed as at Florence an +intellectual air, light, keen and eminently free. To the _Facetiae_ of +Poggio, babbled out in a room at the Vatican before a select circle of +jovial monsignors, corresponded the joyous atrocities of Panormita, the +boon companion of Lorenzo the Magnificent. Everyone smiled, everyone +was happy: the very _bezants_ or golden pieces, the glory of the Medici +escutcheon, sparkled in the sun like flashes of their wit. + +The luscious warmth of the air, shady groves, birds, gardens, statues, +antique marbles, thus played an indispensable part in the platonic +philosophy. A banquet in honour of the nine Muses served us as a map of +this new world; Marzilio Ficino, chosen by lot, chanted to the glory of +the divine character of love a superb song whose echoes were long to +resound. + +Learned critics have sometimes reproached Ficino with not sticking close +enough to the text of the master, and with permitting himself outbursts +of virtuosity tinctured (so they say) with Alexandrinism. Likely enough; +Ficino was Ficino, a man, independent, enthusiastic, no fanatic; he +steered for happiness, and whatever his admiration for Socrates, he +did not imagine that that great man had necessarily said the last word +about everything, any more than he believed men eternally committed to +Corinthian capitals. His dream was of a human dwelling-house, noble, +comfortable, habitable for us all, a living shelter for life! While +pushing out glorious reconnaissances along the roads to heaven, Plato had +clearly left men’s minds undecided on some points of great importance to +their happiness, and it seemed wise to supply his deficiency by accepting +with closed eyes the explanations furnished by Christianity. + +A thousand voices exclaim, like Montaigne and Charron, that the +immortality of the soul cannot be proved by sheer force of reasoning. +In any case, how long we have to wait! cries Margaret of France. For +how many centuries have some who have fallen asleep looked for their +awakening! + +The Middle Ages replied to this question with their own terrible logic. +They set us on the edge of the abyss, and there told us that in this +world there is no happiness, but merely consolations; they linked us with +a supreme life lying beyond us, like those hard, emaciated, immovable +statues incorporate with the stone of cathedrals and themselves of the +same stone. We live, they told us, with another life than our own, and +love with another love; if we lose one dear to us we may cast flowers on +the vacant chair or the needless cradle, altars of true life! Platonism +prefers to take us for what we are. Not supposing that Providence sets +man upon the earth to struggle against its own blessings, the platonists +believed that in making religion more lovable they would make the world +less pagan, and that in giving it a philosophical cast they would make +it acceptable to unbelievers. Love seemed to them to be a reservoir of +life, like those noble springs which leap down in some shady nook of a +park, and flow on through a network of arteries more or less conspicuous, +to give life even to the desert. Soon we shall no longer be; the hours +of our life are sacred: what is the good of ruffling them with so many +disquietudes? It is a law of our life to yearn for Paradise, and there is +nothing to hinder us desiring it in this present world. + +The study of Plato, then, was entered upon freely, with the addition +of anything that could throw light upon the doctrines which that great +man had founded—the Bible, for instance, which in the Roman world men +prided themselves on consulting directly; then Arabic and even Mussulman +philosophy, with which it was fashionable to claim acquaintance. And it +was well understood that a quest pursued with so subtle a magnificence, +in scorn of realities and brutal sensualism, demanded a keen and +eminently free intelligence, a soul at leisure, and a great loathing +of the flesh; otherwise all hope of falling under the exquisite +fascinations of love at once terrestrial and quasi-divine must be +abandoned. That explains why from the outset this philosophy addressed +itself to women and to the salons. Plato began to be talked about as we +in our day have heard Schopenhauer and other eminent thinkers talked +about by persons who have been at little pains to read them. It was known +that Plato harped on the necessity of love, that his smile was less +forbidding than that of S. Francis of Assisi, and that his method was +dialogue, so naturally dialogues and conversations became the methods +of the new platonists. From these tender colloquies the vulgar were +excluded; they could make nothing of them; one could not expect common +folk to apprehend the delicate devices by which love is etherealised and +rendered impalpable; from these they would only have got a theme for +gross perversions. Those who had the gift of knowledge and understanding +ascended the Acropolis like M. Renan, to chant their canticles in a +little temple of their own, whose dimensions seemed to them sufficient; +the aristocratic mystery replaced the old priestly mystery; so Cataneo +whispered, as it were under his breath, his book on love addressed only +to the priests and temple choristers. Bembo took great care not to +name the interlocutors male and female of the _Asolani_, “so as not to +scandalise the populace”; all were agreed in religiously respecting the +ignorance of the people, as to-day we respect the ignorance of young +girls. And for the same reason, again, they made too prodigal a use of +that strange mythological jargon which appears to us in these days so +entirely pathetic. Mythology has its aesthetic advantages; it is an +incarnation of the passions; but that would not suffice to explain its +sickening vogue in a society full of taste, scepticism and levity, if +it had not presented the one special advantage of furnishing a sort of +technical slang by which the initiated recognised one another, and which +sifted out the vulgar. The princes of wit felt so strongly the need of +such distinctions that before adopting this garb for their works they +began by muffling their own identity in an antique livery: a Greek or +Latin name served them as a uniform,[144] as when San Severino called +himself Pomponius Laetus, the old aristocratic pride yielding before +this new-fangled vanity. Artistic glory donned the conventional garb; no +one had the preposterous notion of lamenting in Raphael the exquisite +interpreter of Madonnas; what was deplored was the rival of Nature, the +painter after the antique. “Raphael has resuscitated ancient Rome,” +exclaims Castiglione, “he has recalled to life and glory that Rome of +old, that corpse devoured by sword and fire and time.” That was the +language of the courts, the ladies and the princes of the church; they +had said all when they compared Raphael to the painters of the Augustan +age (with whose works we are not very well acquainted), and when they +remembered that the new Rome was only a degenerate if not a moribund Rome. + +We dwell at some length on a state of mind of such peculiarity and +complexity as this, and from which contradictory deductions were +sometimes drawn, because we find in it the only possible explanation of +the movement about to arise in France. Platonism was an impression, an +essence of free-thought, purely aesthetic, Christian in principle though +sometimes pagan in its results, warranted platonic in label and origin +though somewhat eclectic in composition; a mystic incense in the worship +of Venus, a subtle aroma floating in the air both of churches and of +theatres; breathed in assemblies in the city; dominating the effluences +of Nature under the shadow of country villas; open a book, and one caught +a breath of it; even painting and music strove to interpret it fittingly; +at the dinners and dances and in the thousand avocations of fashionable +life it filled the air; it exhaled as it were an immortal savour of +orange blossoms; this was what they called a philosophy. + +The platonist spirit, as Plato understood it, was often exactly the +opposite. The women and the poets whom Plato condemned,[145] the prelates +who were the heads of Christendom, were its propagators. They were not +greatly enamoured of Plato’s somewhat socialistic theories. They went +to Plato as we go to Nice, to obtain a little sunshine and escape the +incessant din of controversy. It is a profound saying of Plato that +“those who see the absolute and eternal and immutable may be said to +know, and not to have opinion only.” That is what men desired: they would +have run after illusions and even errors if only they made for happiness. +What is the good of pursuing mutabilities? The wise man clings to that +which tranquillises. Others may wear themselves out with anxiety and +restlessness, but he enjoys his life of placid ease; in the end they die +and he dies, and there is nothing to choose between them. + +Before it could be turned to profitable account, platonism thus underwent +a long and difficult preparation to bring it into line with the tastes +of the day. The work was accomplished in Italy, whence the product was +sent to us in a finished state. Good Plato, with his rather old-fashioned +eyes, had seen beauty only in man; from one man he passed to the species, +then from the species to the soul, that is, to intellectual beauty, which +to him appeared the only true beauty. It was necessary to bring this +doctrine into line with the practical doctrine of the special attraction +exercised on man by the beauty of woman. Now Plato, besides giving +man the beauty and woman the love, attributed to love the secondary +character of a sensual and egoistic phenomenon in which no spiritual +element was discoverable save perhaps the instinct of immortality. Of +this very instinct, however, Plato had an imperfect appreciation, for the +immortality we might hope to gain by replacing our decayed bodies with +the fresh young lives of our offspring, if it serves the interests of the +human race, does not much serve those of the individual; at any rate, +Plato considered it at once vulgar—everyone or nearly everyone being able +to aspire to it—and incomplete, for transmission and conservation of life +are not the same thing, and only a person very barren of intellectual +resources could content himself with so modest a glimmer of immortality. +A man only survives through his thoughts. The last shreds of the thoughts +of Homer or Hesiod will live long, and will long cause temples to spring +from the earth; what child of flesh and blood is likely to bear his +father’s glory thus on through the ages? + +The earliest interpreters of Plato, Ficino and Politian, had departed +with no little timidity from his teaching; the one eclectic and cautious, +the other adventurous, they went nevertheless not much beyond formulating +a general doctrine of love. Ficino exalted love as the supreme wisdom, +the creator and preserver _par excellence_; the link binding earthly +things together, and the earth itself with heaven; the inspirer of great +deeds and noble thoughts, a necessary element of life. He preached the +love of love itself: “The man who loves, loves love above all; love is +sufficient unto itself and finds its goal within itself; it is true and +good and pure.” But in order to bring himself into conformity with the +new spirit, Ficino admitted as derived from Plato (though as a matter of +fact it is not to be found in his works)[146] a capital distinction upon +which the platonism of the Renaissance was entirely to rest: there are +two loves, different in degree, the one heaven-born and fixing its gaze +upon heaven, the other born of Jupiter and seeking only to produce a form +like him. + +Francesco Cataneo insisted strongly on this invaluable distinction. +Analysing man, he found in him a mind, the source of true spiritual love, +and a sort of intermediate force hard to define, a “soul or life” whence +sensual or, if the term be preferred, profane love has its being. Cataneo +moreover dealt hardly with profane love, representing it as bare-footed +to indicate its foolishness, lean for lack of nourishment, and winged, +for it is evanescent, dependent on physical beauty, on “worthless dross”; +and it was because the world knew no other love that the preaching of +a Reformation became necessary. As to women, Cataneo never ceased to +consider them as stones of stumbling; inheriting all the old prejudices +of the schoolmen, he saw in women nothing but imperfect men created for +the sole end of perpetuating the race, and man ever seemed to him the +perfect type. + +But with what warmth, with what passion Bembo, the Roman prelate and +future cardinal, expounds the modern principles before the charming +coterie of Urbino, and, flinging away the swaddling bands of early days, +confesses himself frankly a feminist![147] + +“The terrestrial beauty that excites love,” he says, “is an inflowing +(_influsso_) of divine beauty irradiating all creation. It rests like a +beam of light on regular, graceful and harmonious features; it beautifies +this countenance, shining in it, attracting all eyes to it, and through +them penetrating, stirring, delighting the soul and bringing desire to +birth therein. Love is thus really born of a ray of divine beauty, caught +through the medium of a woman’s face. Unhappily the senses interpose: a +man sees in the body itself the source of beauty and longs to enjoy it. +How deceived he is! It is not beauty that is thus enjoyed; an appetite +is appeased, and soon comes satiety, weariness and often aversion. These +deceptions and regrets abundantly prove what an error has been made, for +a man must needs have found joy and restfulness if he had sought the true +end, whereas on the contrary love gives rise to a thousand ills—griefs +and torments, vexation and sullen fits, despondency, catastrophes even; +the heart never attains the limit of its desires, or perhaps the man is +so sunk in sensual love, declines so far towards the level of the beasts, +as to become incapable of comprehending the supreme radiance. All these +experiences are dearly purchased. Knowledge how to love comes only in +ripe manhood: only the old indeed really have it, and their skill lies in +eluding the impulse of the senses, in fleeing from all that is vulgar. If +he can do no otherwise, a man must set his face steadfastly towards love +divine, taking reason for his guide.” + +True love, then, is a disinterested love inspired in man by woman. And +therefore Bembo, who was the more knowing in these things because he +had loved deeply, was still young, and had not yet heard his own clear +call towards love divine, lifts up his voice in a passionate prayer: “O +love, most good, most beautiful, most wise, thou that comest from divine +goodness and wisdom, and returnest thither again, O thou cord binding us +poor terrestrial and mortal folk one to another, thou bendest the higher +virtues to dominate the lower! Thou dost unite the elements, thou dost +perpetuate the life that perisheth, thou makest imperfection perfect, +thou bringest discords into harmony, thou turnest foes into friends, thou +givest fruit to the earth, peace to the waves, and to heaven its light of +life! O father of true pleasures, of grace and peace, of lowliness and +goodwill, O enemy of wildness and pride and slothfulness, thou art the +alpha and omega of all good! + +“Thou dost reveal thyself in terrestrial beauty! Hear our prayers, +lighten our darkness, guide us through the mazes of this world, rectify +the falseness of our senses. Humbly we beg of thee balmy breath from the +spiritual world, a touch of celestial harmony, an inexhaustible fount +of true contentment! Purge our eyes of ignorance, and make us to see in +its perfection the beauty of on high! Love is communion with the divine +beauty, the banquet of the angels, immortal ambrosia!” + +It is now time to answer an objection which the reader has no doubt +formulated long ago, and which Bembo very clearly perceived. + +Assuredly it is woman’s mission among us to represent beauty, and +consequently love, and love is the inspiration of noble thoughts and +great actions. But these are such old truths that to find them hardly +needed so much intellectual and poetic effort, or the harking back to +Plato. + +The learned book _On the Nature of Love_, in which Equicola essays +simply an enumeration of the different species of love known since the +thirteenth century, resembles a collection of butterflies. Every colour +is there, brilliant or dull; the sentimental view is there represented +in almost infinite shades, from the magnificent love of Boucicaut, who +served all women for the love of one, the Holy Virgin, to the art of +loving for love’s sake, always fashionable in the salons, and sedulously +cultivated as an excellent prescription for innocuous emotions and a +cheap renown. Men well knew how to love, to be sure! + +But love is rarely reciprocal; as someone has said, one loves and the +other takes the kisses. So far, it was the woman who was recognised as +the beauty, and consequently as the loved one, and who took the kisses. + +The novelty of Plato’s system was to transfer the beauty to men, which +ran counter to all accepted notions. To Bembo this theory seemed +intolerable. That women are capable of loving he firmly believed and +rejoiced to believe. But to give up loving women appeared to him too +cruel. He would much rather give platonism the go-by and acknowledge the +reciprocity of beauty and love. In short, he fell back on Petrarchism. + +Michelangelo proclaimed the true modern platonism with extraordinary +ardour in professing a love at once virile and pure. “I have often heard +him reason and discourse on love,” writes Condivi, “and I learnt from +persons present that he spoke of it no otherwise than may be read in +Plato. I do not know what Plato says, but I know well, having long had +intimate intercourse with Michelangelo, that I never heard issue from his +mouth aught but the most becoming words, apt to repress the lawless and +unbridled desires that might spring up in the hearts of young men.” + +Michelangelo said more than once that God is seen in terrestrial beauty; +love is only a hymn to the Creator; “for if every one of our affections +is displeasing to heaven, to what end would God have created the world?” +A great love makes only for the highest morality, it provides man with +wings for a sublime flight:[148] + + Thy wondrous beauty, image of the grace + That fills all heaven with glory, to us shown + By the Eternal Artist’s hand alone, + When time and age have worn it from thy face, + Nor age nor time can from my heart displace, + But ever deeplier graven shall it be; + For in my thought that beauty I shall see + Which Time’s cold finger never can erase. + +If the soul were not created in the image of God it would seek after +nothing but external beauty; but it does in truth penetrate beyond +this deceptive outer form, to fix itself on the essential, to rise +until it attains the ideal or universal form: _Transcende nella forma +universale_.[149] Thus beauty elevates and quickens us into the world of +spirits and the elect. Many of Michelangelo’s verses convey the same idea +under different forms: + + The fount that feeds my love is not my heart, + For though I love thee, yet my love withal + Is not to heart of flesh and blood in thrall, + But ever yearneth toward a goal apart, + Where no base mortal passion dare intrude, + Nor any guilty thought nor impulse rude. + +A love without heart! Here indeed is the formula of the new +platonism![150] + +Unfortunately, Michelangelo is a striking and titanic exception. He can +scarcely be considered the head of a school: and platonism became for +the most part nothing more than a fashionable science, the antidote to +marriage; an intellectual union between a hard-headed, lusty-armed man +and a woman all tenderness and wisdom; the formula of the government +of man by woman. Its origin and its end remained equally philosophic; +in short, it was a sentimental sociology. If it had been a question +of philosophy, no one could better have represented Plato than +Savonarola.[151] But Savonarola did not represent the intellect of +society; behind him men thought they caught a whiff of all the wretched +tatterdemalions in revolt at Rome against the Academy of Laetus, at +Florence against the Medici. On the other hand, Tullia d’Aragona, a +courtesan, exercised a platonic influence through her excellent book _On +the Infinity of Perfect Love_. Others unceremoniously dismissed Socrates +and Plato as liars and knaves, and yet passed for good platonists since +they extolled the religion of beauty, and woman as essentially its +priestess; and since they saw in love the chain binding earth to heaven, +and the bulwark against socialism. In short, platonism and feminism are +one and the same. It is quite possible to believe implicitly in the +dogma of love without splitting love in two and pinning ourselves on an +impossible dilemma—matter without spirit or spirit without matter. This +latitude of appreciation is not to be called materialism, but merely the +need of a material perception in order to arrive at the idea of beauty. + +This explains why the platonist spirit was so coldly received in France. +Platonism was the art of rendering virtue pleasant and contagious; but in +France it was the conviction that virtue needed to defend itself like the +fretful porpentine.[152] + +No one troubled about spiritualising love; the inferior clergy, parish +parsons, applying in every matter a rough-and-ready system of ethics, +drew no distinction between sentiment and sensation, but proscribed +everything. They summed up the religious life in a multitude of +observances all having for result the subjection of women—a contracted +morality which gave rise to startling inconsequences. It was pretended +that the mere sight of a lady fidgeting about on her balcony was enough +to tell you she was a Frenchwoman.[153] + +Anne of France forbade lovemaking between fiancés, the best, most +innocent, most legitimate in the world, just as strictly as the grossest +intrigue; but Louise of Savoy was as little shocked at the one as the +other. + +There was bitter hostility between the two camps. + +Madame de Taillebourg remorselessly turned her back on her nieces, Louise +of Savoy and Margaret of France, as being tainted with the new spirit. +Queen Anne personally led the crusade in favour of the old ideas; Antony +du Four, her almoner, published semi-officially a collection of the lives +of ninety-one pious women, as a counterblast to the Italian collections; +and he implored ladies not to succumb to the new contagion, not to run +out of their salutary groove, for, he said, France had never produced +“more wise and good women than at present,” beginning with Queen Anne, “a +bottomless well of virtue.” “Under the mask of science and philosophy” +all these “prating and scribbling fellows” who wished to give women a +great part to play were only seeking, declared Du Four, to sap their +modesty and wreck their good name. + +In these criticisms there was certainly a modicum of truth. But they went +too far in anathemising the good and the evil without distinction. + +France, like Italy, had its “primitive” women—philosophers, apostles of +the philosophy of love; but their numbers and above all their influence, +owing to the opposition we have just indicated, were very small. They +were women of admirable endowments and sterling qualities, highly +educated, afire with energy of that somewhat melancholy cast necessarily +developed by contact with a stern world. It is natural to cite, by way of +example, that sometime lady of Beaujeu, Anne of France, a figure after +Michelangelo’s own heart, grand and severe as a cathedral. + +We picture her always in her capacity as regent—the politician, soldier, +and diplomate upholding the fortunes of France, and displaying in the +greatest difficulties her incomparable genius. And yet her heart was +not in this work; she filled her part as a family duty, she devoted +herself to it entirely, but it was the cross of her life. As soon as +she could she forsook her toilsome life of affairs, for no other reason +than to return to the life of the affections. She shirked neither toil +nor responsibilities, and understood perhaps more fully than anyone +else the profound and mysterious joy experienced by lofty souls in +impressing their own individuality widely upon others. But she was only +too conscious that in plying a man’s trade she was acting like a widow or +an elder sister, not like a free woman or a princess, and that neither +politics nor military service was directly conducive to happiness. She +knew that in crushing rebels she would not make them happy, and that she +herself would be the first victim of her devotion. + +She was right. We know how, in the swing of the political pendulum, she +fell beneath the strokes of Louise of Savoy,[154] who owed everything to +her. Wounded in her liveliest interests, in her dearest affections, in +the sentiment of dignity she held so high, she died proudly, as Caesar +died, with her mantle wrapped about her: + + Elle attendoit venir l’heure opportune + Que la justice ou Dieu y mist la main,[155] + +as a servant of Francis I. wrote. + +Her coldness then was assumed, but she kept up the appearance of Stoicism +so well that many a man, even among her friends and admirers, really +believed in this lamentable insensibility. Again, Anne of France had +no love for the vanities, the whole trivial round of court life; “she +dismissed Cypris to Paphos,” for which some persons found it difficult +to forgive her, particularly Octovien de Saint-Gelais, who nevertheless +has extolled her sweetness, calling her “a second Semiramis, a new Queen +of the Amazons, come to life again to establish peace.” Her vigorous +intellect, her frank and remorselessly sincere disposition, her way of +treating everything on broad and general lines, puzzled the rude yet +feeble folk around her. The only thing she lacked, as one of her friends +said, was love: + + S’elle avoit un peu de cella, + Ce seroit la plus accomplye + A qui Dieu donna oncques vie.[156] + +She had a large, indeed an immeasurable quantity of “that,” but she took +it seriously; it might well be said that she did not set “her whole +imagination spinning round problems of sentiment.” She had no idea of +bringing imagination into her affections, but distrusted it; it was +through the soul and the real needs of the soul that she caught glimpses +of the ideal life of which we have just spoken. But having faith in, +rather than enthusiasm for, these ideas, and considering as she did +that the heart’s activities were perfectly reasonable, beneficent and +necessary, she saw no reason for ruffling, gilding or engarlanding +them. She was somewhat lacking in suppleness, self-sacrificing, of +unbounded good-heartedness, staid in demeanour, firm in resolution, +but also warm, passionate, loving to devote herself to others and not +doing so by halves. In her heart of hearts she adored all that a good +woman adores—her son, a poor child whose death almost killed her, her +daughter, her son-in-law, whom she loved as a son; she took an ardent +delight in friendship, and above all in that special, delicate, tender, +profound affection which is only established between a man and a woman; +to win love was her sole ambition.[157] She buried deep down in her heart +an innocent romance which no historian has related and which even her +intimates appear never to have suspected—a reserve which paints her to +the life! Till the day of her death she wore a ring on her finger. We +have discovered her secret: the ring was the pledge of her betrothal to +a young duke of Calabria from whom her father had separated her, who had +soon afterwards died, but whom she was never able to forget. + +This certainly was one of the women most likely to understand and to +promulgate throughout France the programme of the quest for happiness. +She did not believe with Du Four that a sort of passive naïveté was +the ultimate expression of virtue; she sought another goal, anxious, +doubtless, that love should give a powerful stimulus to woman’s +activities, as it had done for the women of Spain, whose imagination was +filled with Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra. Her friend Champier has rounded +off her thought by recalling Plato’s saying that “the lover is dead to +himself and lives in another.” Deeply read in the church fathers and the +philosophers, she hailed with joy the principle of platonic love, “the +love of which the philosopher speaks, that is, a love founded on purity.” + +For all her lofty station, however, Anne of France never found herself +able to popularise her ideas in a country where an idea only succeeds +when it becomes a fashion; the new philosophy had perforce to come like +a flood, sweeping good and evil along with it, and imposing itself by +the authority of the court. That is what happened around Francis I.; as +soon as it became a mark of good taste to talk philosophy and occult +sciences,[158] Hellenism,[159] and above all Italianism, and to adopt +ultramontane fashions wholesale, people chattered about Plato. The king +dearly loved the ladies, and could not despise anything that glorified +the sex. He set some store by “Noble-Heart,” “Feminine Noblesse,”[160] +and other subtle evocations of the old chivalry; he hoped that platonism +might succeed in renewing them, and requested Castiglione, the oracle of +the new school, to furnish a pendant to his _Courtier_, to be called +“The Courtesan.” Castiglione declined this flattering invitation. + +When Francis I. ascended the throne it was as a member of a sort of +triumvirate, the other two being ladies—“a single heart in three bodies.” + +Louise of Savoy, aged and old-fashioned, reserved politics as her +sphere, as far as possible; Francis retained the pageantry, the money, +the passages at arms, the material satisfactions of power; Margaret of +France, in the Italian style, assumed the direction of men’s minds and +souls; she was far more queen of intellectual France than Duchess of +Alençon or Queen of Navarre. + +She so completely identified herself with her brother as avowedly to +borrow from him her whole status, and particularly her name. People +have called her by the most various names without really understanding +why, owing to the fact that she usually adopted her brother’s name, +which frequently changed. As sister of the count of Angoulême she called +herself Margaret of Angoulême; under Louis XII., as sister of the Duke of +Valois and the heir to the throne, she called herself Margaret of Valois +or of Orleans; as sister of the king she became Margaret of France, her +definitive name, under which she accomplished her mission. + +For thirty years she presided thus over an amazing intellectual movement; +the whole thinking soul of France hung upon her smile. She was the +incarnation of platonism. + +In one of the galleries of Chantilly, that sanctuary of the Renaissance, +her grand face, with its long, severe, clean-cut, distinguished features, +somewhat hard as though chiselled out of alabaster, continually smiles +upon us and encourages us. Her eyes are clear and full of fire; her +mouth is fine, intellectual, with something of irony, of benevolence +and of reserve; something at once yielding and defensive, acerbated +and enthusiastic, a singular sibylline countenance, the enigma of a +spiritual governance—the rule of mind and heart; a woman to the core, +attractive and wishing to attract, but two personalities in one, each +interpenetrating the other, concealing her real self within two or three +inner entrenchments after the old feudal tactics, like St. Theresa in her +“fortresses of the soul.” + +She reigned with undivided sway, with all the powers of her affection, +with her infinite womanly delicacy, with triumphant skill. + +She was in very truth a woman of fire, this woman who wrote to her +brother while a prisoner in Spain: “Whatever may be required of me, +though it be to fling to the winds the ashes of my bones to do you +service, nought will be strange, or difficult, or painful to me, but +solace, ease of mind, honour.” + +And she was loved; men never tired of praising her. Her name became a +household word, and lives on even in our own day in charming books, like +that devoted to her by a lady of rare genius, chosen by Nature to revive +the traditions of woman’s influence—the Countess d’Haussonville. And +yet we are always wondering what is behind that smiling countenance at +Chantilly. + +Margaret is doubly complex, first as a woman, and then as a typical woman +of the sixteenth century. She is essentially a woman of her period, and +that is why she cannot but interest us. Her thoughts, somewhat hazy, +and sometimes wrapped in rather odd garbs, are difficult to co-ordinate +because, unlike those of Anne of France, they have no spontaneity or +originality. Almost all of them are derived from without. Her lovable +mind is like a mountain peak of fair height, with nothing rugged or +bleak about it: it promises no sublime effects, no Pisgah sights; it +pleases and interests us precisely because we can reach its summit by +an easy road, for which many of us are grateful. Is not that better for +poor tired folk than lofty masculine heights profitless and perilous to +scale? It springs gently from the landscape, like the pleasant mountains +in the heart of France, and while enabling us to take observation of +the sky, keeps in touch with the earth, and from this standpoint we +can contemplate, spread out like a map, a smiling country and highly +decorative craters. It is the “Belvedere” _par excellence_. Nowhere could +we judge her period better than from the vantage ground of her mind. + +But it is very clear that it would be a mistake persistently to look for +in her the peaks and abysses she does not possess. It has been proved +to demonstration that, given certain circumstances—if, for example, he +had only been killed at the siege of Toulon—Napoleon would have died a +captain of artillery; and doubtless Margaret of France, but for the +accession of her brother, the wave of feminine Italianism, and possibly +many other circumstances, would have died wife of the Duke of Alençon +or the King of Navarre, or even less. Yet we can realise better than +ever to-day how vastly important her leadership was. Her generation was +that from which we are sprung, to which we owe our blood and sinews. +Our society is experiencing almost the same uncertainties and the same +attacks; it needs intelligent and active women as much as ever. Margaret +was less bent on being an exceptional woman than on fulfilling her part +as first lady of France. She played her part very well; she had her +Pléiade.[161] And at her side she brought up as her successor another +Margaret, her niece, the future Duchess of Berry and of Savoy, who did in +fact continue the tradition—not less amiable, not less distinguished, but +coming later and consequently more charming still, and above all, more +calm and self-contained. + +Margaret of France had never read Plato until towards the end of her +life, and then, when she discovered him, she believed she had found +her guiding star. On the other hand, she did not permit Boccaccio to +be forgotten. Her philosophy, then, was not very psychological, but +it was eminently social. The theories of Bembo seemed to her to endow +women with a large and beneficent measure of power; and that was enough. +It must be confessed, however, that she looked at social questions +themselves from a somewhat superior standpoint, and with a necessarily +discriminating favour. She knew but one person, her brother, who even in +the most manifest errors appeared to her the ideal of perfection, “the +true Christ.” Apart from him she loved none but God, and she adopted as +her emblem a marigold turned towards the sun, indicating her purpose to +live and breathe only “for high, celestial and spiritual things”; other +things, husbands included, seemed to her paltry and mean. And thus, as a +woman of intelligence, she hoped to reign through the affections; her +most assiduous flatterers only extolled her heart; even after her death a +pious respect continued to watch over her works, of which a selection was +published. And yet she gave only her intelligence to the world. + +Her theory of love is peculiar enough. Love of course appears to her the +corner-stone of the social edifice: in itself it is always good, only +becoming bad by the use made of it. Margaret is eminently platonist in +the sense that she proclaims the existence of two loves, a good and a +bad; but to her the distinction between them is simplicity itself: the +one is man’s love, the other, woman’s; men love with an evil, earthly +love, women alone can love celestially. Sometimes they chance to allow +themselves to be caught in the snares of men; let them flee then, for +“briefest follies are always the best.” Thus loving is for women. The +love of a woman, established firmly in God and on honour, the same love +that Henri d’Albret styles “hypocrisy or covert malice,” forges a divine +and holy chain. Margaret never tires of expatiating on the virtues of +women’s love, a pure and ardent love, the instrument and the end of +civilisation, the highest form of human activity, the prayer admirable +beyond all other prayers that a living creature can address to the +Creator. In the nineteenth tale of the _Heptameron_ she gives this love a +very catholic definition, borrowed almost word for word from Castiglione: + +“I call perfect lovers those who seek some perfection, either goodness, +beauty or grace, in the object of their love, those who incline always +to virtue and have so lofty and refined a heart that, even at the price +of death, they would not aim at base things that honour and conscience +condemn. The soul was created but to return to the supreme good, and +so long as it is encased in the body, it can only long and strive for +holiness. But the sin of our first parent has rendered dark and sensual +the senses, the soul’s inevitable intermediary; seeing only through them +the visible objects which approach perfection, the soul hastens to find +in outward beauty, in visible grace and the moral virtues, the sovereign +beauty, grace, and virtue. It seeks them, and finds them not, and passes +by; it essays to mount higher, like children who, as they grow bigger, +must needs change their dolls. And when at length mature experience +shows that neither perfection nor felicity is to be met with in this +world, the soul pants after the great Author and the very source of the +beautiful. But then may God open its eyes! otherwise it must speedily +stray into the paths of false philosophy. For faith alone can reveal and +bestow what is good, which carnal, natural man by himself never could +attain.” + +Thus the worship of beauty is not necessarily mystical, but it is a true +religion. We come from God, and we return to God through hope and love +much more surely than through any sort of reasoning. The holy love of the +beautiful, of perfection, purifies the soul better than any practical +efforts, and little by little raises it to the ideal perception of +perfect beauty. The soul then wings its flight towards God, sustained by +faith above unfathomable abysses. + +And so it is necessary to proclaim happiness, peace, gentleness, joy to +men of good will, and even to others, if they are to be lifted above +themselves, their ambitions, their hatreds, their coarsenesses. What +a mistake it is to preach a religion of terror to poor creatures too +wretched as it is! + + Oh, que je voy d’erreur la teste ceindre + A ce Dante, qui nous vient icy peindre + Son triste Enfer et vieille Passion.[162] + +Let women learn their duty! + +They are priestesses in the religion of Beauty. + +They must win love, they must themselves love! They must be balm poured +upon aching wounds, the beauty that soothes, the love that accomplishes +a new Passion, taking upon itself all the sorrows of others. Of old, a +great noble had been recognised by his knowing how to give, and by his +giving, not of his superfluity, but a portion of himself—his blood to +his country, his strong arm or his affection to his brethren. It only +remained to feminise and spiritualise this superb tradition. Women +will give their hearts, in other words, they will diffuse happiness, +fellowship in the supreme life, life itself! “Love is that which really +makes a man, and without which he is nought.” + +Life! Alas! at this word Margaret shudders. She longs to penetrate the +great secret of our destiny. She stoops over one of her gentlewomen +lying at the point of death, to see if she can catch the passing of her +soul! She receives a lover at the tomb of the lady he came to meet, +and with a tragic gesture cries “She is there!” She loves and preaches +nothing but life. She knows that death is inevitable, but hopes that this +accident may come to her without lingering in long “suburbs,” and she +casts herself with confidence upon the God of platonism whom she believes +in, whom she feels to be all love. From terrestrial love she expects to +escape at one bound into the arms of the other, the Great Love; “from +the felicity which alone in this world can be called felicity, to fly +suddenly to that which is eternal.”[163] And thus in her eyes man’s +natural end is enfolded in love and hope resting on faith. There, in the +heart of the villages, covered with moss and honeysuckle, are the humble +tombs, the sacred shelter of those we have loved, clothed all about with +life hard by the radiant crucifix! A sunbeam floods them in light, like a +stream of love from on high. The same ray penetrates our hearts, telling +us that all is not ended, and that a little joy is still blossoming upon +this spot of earth. Let us leave God to count the flying moments—leave it +to Him in full confidence and peace! + +Like all human things, platonism cannot attain perfection; it necessarily +has little to say in regard to man’s birth and death. To complete +the reformation it would perhaps be necessary, as Goethe suggests +in the second part of _Faust_, to discover a means of manufacturing +_homunculus_, in other words, of effecting human reproduction in some +other way than the old; moreover, instead of being allowed to die, +men might comfortably be translated to other worlds. But, meanwhile, +platonism is the philosophy of the living, and in truth it is remarkable +to see a secular movement basing itself on such lofty systems, and +turning to such noble account, intellectually, morally and religiously, +the natural desire which the world always has of amusing itself. + +A strange generation was arising. Between 1483 and 1515 Luther, Calvin +and St. Ignatius, Rabelais and St. Theresa, were born pell-mell. And +yet, thanks to this philosophy, everyone wore the livery of happiness. +Dagger and poison hid themselves in the shade. Never were the most +agitating problems more cheerfully discussed. Yes; women know the real +value of the visionary and the immaterial, of something higher than +hoards of mere gold and silver—the value of the riches of the soul. The +Latin world was at this moment becoming a vast workshop of beauty, the +real worker being no longer the digger or the merchant, the mason or +the hodman, but whatever man lived a life of thought and love. There +was extension and broadening out in all directions; material barriers +were being overthrown; the religion of Beauty was bringing nations +as well as individuals together. And the women, the ministers of the +affections, had for their mission to watch, to judge, to temper, to +develop the faculties of men. They thought it a beautiful mission. Can +we wonder at it? They burned with the ardour of paladins; they fancied +themselves knights-errant, and displayed devices—_Non inferiora secutus_, +a masculine hemistich which men had relinquished, but which Margaret of +France resumed, to show that she bore high her white petals and her heart +of gold: “Love and Faith,” in other words, “Women and God,” the motto of +Madame de Lorraine—a motto full of joy and charm, for if men love because +they believe, and believe because they love, life becomes an unalloyed +delight. + +Between mysticism and debauchery a middle term had been found, namely, +love. + +When women know how to attach men to them by means of pure love, all +individual forces gain vigour, a nation flourishes, and the people are at +peace. + +That, at any rate, was the new conviction. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE SCIENCE OF PLATONISM + + +The doctrine we have just indicated never excited any very determined +opposition as a theory; its adversaries reserved their objections for +its practical working. The New Law, it is true, had redeemed us in love; +but the politicians held the same opinions as the moralists of Du Four’s +school. From Machiavelli to Calvin, many men thought the bludgeon a +simpler and more effectual guide for humanity than sentiment. At best +they would have favoured a sort of sentimental sociology. They regarded +everything else as a mere philosophic dream—Eden, of which barely a +glimpse had been caught before it was guarded by the angel with the +terrible sword; the burning bush from which issued the voice of God, but +near which Moses dared not kneel for fear his garments should take fire +and the flame scorch his flesh. + +Assuredly, the practical science of platonism is more difficult than its +metaphysic; it assumes that women have the knack of cleverly taming men +by means of love’s blandishments, without getting scratched themselves. +The cleverest lion-tamers are sometimes clawed, but they have been +known to die in their beds. Here is the question in a nutshell: Are +women capable of following this tamer’s vocation and making themselves +sufficiently invulnerable? and secondly: Are men tamable? + +On the first point the friends of the beautiful displayed the utmost +confidence. They made their appeal to women, sensitive—more than +sensitive, refined—fortified by marriage against materialities, and +inspired only with disgust by the vulgar vice that came under their +eyes and even in their own circle. As Du Bellay says, Cato’s manners +harmonised perfectly with Plato’s discourses. Margaret of France +unhesitatingly descended into the den and grappled with her friend +Bonnivet.[164] She believed in the invulnerability of women, as also +did Castiglione and many others. The platonists found no difficulty in +justifying their position; they cited heroic examples of feminine virtue +even in the remotest antiquity, and they met other admirable examples in +the ordinary intercourse of life. Castiglione and Dolce show us women who +in the vilest environments were angels of chastity. In most cases they +were young girls, for instance a poor girl of Capua (very often cited) +who flung herself into a river to escape a troop of Gascons; a poor +peasant girl of Mantua, who, betrayed by a scoundrel, drowned herself +with a sort of frenzy, flinging away all the ropes held out to her—a +tragic suicide, anti-Christian as such, yet so Christian in its grandeur +of despair that the Bishop of Mantua proposed to erect a statue to this +noble woman of the people. Unhappily he died before he could carry out +his idea; in those days people fought shy of inartistic statues. + +Such examples of virtue were not met with only among the lower classes, +which are naturally the most exposed to danger. All Rome was stirred to +its depths by the dreadful fate of a young gentlewoman who, having been +decoyed into the catacombs of St. Sebastian with the connivance of a +maidservant, strangled herself rather than yield to the violence of the +miscreant who devised the snare. She might well have been left to rest +in the dim twilight of those silent vaults, where so many pure victims +sleep under the seal of a cross and a dove; but Rome could not leave this +flower of virtue to be forgotten, even in so sacred a spot: the poor body +was crowned with laurel and borne in triumph like a trophy through the +thronged streets of the city, the same fever of enthusiasm infecting both +hovel and palace. + +No, women are not naturally sensual; animalism is utterly abhorrent to +them, and however much their education may have been neglected, their +deepest feelings are won by a man’s intellectual qualities, his moral +authority, much more than by his physical beauty, a beauty often hard +to trace. When they love deeply, even when they yield themselves, it +is still with a sentiment of reserve and modesty; it would also seem +as if they cannot dispense with the additional refinement of respect. +Man, on the contrary, as all the world knows, has no sense of shame, +and to get every possible enjoyment, love or no love, is his only aim. +It is to singularly terrestrial Venuses that peoples and kings, judges +and culprits, flock pell-mell. Is this a reason for despair? Cannot +the obvious feebleness of women, their delicacy, the almost religious +character of their love, become an element of attraction and power? +Women, we are told, deliberately expose themselves to sharp tussles. That +is true. But if men were platonic, what merit would women have in being +platonic too? And surely no one would impose on men, as the first rule +of intercourse, the obligation of remaining in marble coldness beside +beautiful creatures of passion, whose very nature is to set their pulses +throbbing! “Ah! impossible!” cries Margaret of France, to whom the mere +idea seems almost an insult. It is wise to recognise danger, but it +would be disgraceful to flee from it! In France, a country hostile to +the beautiful and to sentiment, the women who preached the gospel of +love were, as we have said, high-born dames, whose very position made +them wardens of men’s souls, and whose nobleness constituted part of +the public patrimony. Maybe they did not believe themselves predestined +to impeccability; but while enjoying a wonderful store of goodness and +benevolence, they were at the same time proud, high-strung, courageous. +Far from terrifying, peril inspirited them; to shrink from it would +have appeared disgraceful to Anne of France, who represents prudence +incarnate. Women are not so frail as people are pleased to say. They are +only frail when they wish to be; and then it is duty that guides their +steps. + +The real difficulty, then, does not lie in this direction. The difficulty +is to discover a sure method of capturing men. We have already outlined +the two theories; there are likewise two practical systems. + +The first consists in really devoting heart and soul to the matter, the +second in the mere playing of a part. The first is concrete, actual, +full of zest and energy; the second is nothing but abstractions, +coquetry, poses, and never extends beyond mere sentimentality. Anne of +France, manifestly wedded to the first system, speaks of it with a warmth +and yet with a wealth of circumlocution that show, not only how much the +question interested her, but how troublesome she found it. + +A woman, she thinks, should not push enthusiasm so far as to run to meet +love; she may wait for it, it comes soon enough unsought. In spite of her +very real simplicity, she always impresses us as having a touch of pride; +and besides, she was writing for her daughter. But what a noble heart is +hers, how ardent and how generous! She distrusts the love excited merely +by physical beauty, because she regards it as imperfect, undistinguished, +commonplace, of little stability, subject to all sorts of disappointments +and regrets; but no less—accustomed as she is to deal with things broadly +and grandly—does true love, that which wells up from the heart and mind, +and is only strengthened and sanctified with increasing years, seem to +her precious and firm. When a man can analyse his love and tell himself +that it depends on some definable beauty, however exquisite—that of the +eyes, perhaps, or that of a charming manner or an uncommon mind—in this +case the love is slight. But when it takes entire possession of him, when +he knows not how to describe it nor to what to attribute it, when it +surprises him in the plenitude of his vigour, and keeps him in subjection +to another person of whose will he becomes the mere echo; above all, +when it inspires him with the overpowering consciousness that henceforth +his life may be bounded by no other horizon: then it has a superb range; +it possesses soul and heart; the rest is merely supplementary—a more +complete intimacy, a pledge of affection. The woman a man most loves is +not the one he covets most. At twenty it is easy to confuse sensations +with sentiments; and that is why true love is not known till later. It +is a gradual unfolding; and then it becomes so ardent as to bring into +play all the impulsive forces of the mind. It is by this new emotional +fruitfulness, by this responsiveness, so to speak, to the spur, that a +man’s worth is measured. Externally, on their commonplace side, all men +are alike; their souls alone have different physiognomies: a time comes +when they are stirred to the depths, shaken out of themselves, and then +it is seen that there are great souls and small. Not too great, however, +nor too small; but quite human! We cannot expect miracles, or look for +the perfection God has reserved for Himself. But sometimes the reality +is better than appearances promise: “’Tis not the cowl that makes the +monk.” We should not be too ready to take fright at an inconsistency, or +to despair of men who err by excess of genuine sensibility. These are the +easiest to convert. + +Anne of France believes in a method of princely candour. She objects to +any woman, with the best intentions in the world, appearing to promise +what she is firmly resolved never to grant; in this regard it would be +better to retreat at once, with no false shame, and quietly await another +occasion for giving battle. + +If, on the other hand, love presents itself under reassuring aspects, it +may be accepted. Honourable love is so beautiful, so full of “benefits +and honours”! But precisely because it is so delightful a condition it is +rare, and the devil leaves nothing undone to poison it, and therefore it +is well to advance with much practical prudence, even with distrust! The +world is so vile! Sweet love has often come to a bad end! In discussing +this tender and mournful psychology, the great princess would seem, under +her mask of impassibility as a philosophical woman, to utter a cry of +pain as though bleeding from an internal wound: “I have known a knight,” +she says, “who heaped oath on oath of the most sacred character, even +on the holy altars, on the gospel, and who did not keep them even till +the evening.” She is one of those who, giving the heart, give it wholly, +and how perilous that is is manifest. A genuine platonist, however, she +acknowledges no degrees in honour; there is no splitting it up; it must +be preserved in its entirety: and the primitive, strenuous, almost naïve +lady concludes that chastity does not consist solely in “saving oneself +from the overt act.” Among the women who skate more venturously near the +danger point there is not one in a thousand, she thinks, but has lost +something of her honour or of her illusions. + +Of this sculptural view of love—majestic, holy, like certain of Wagner’s +harmonies, but necessarily very rare—Michelangelo is a practical +exemplification. + +Madly smitten, at the age of fifty-one, with a lady of thirty-six, whom, +however, he did not see till twelve years later; so mastered by his +agitation as to pen two extraordinary letters—which, incomprehensible +as they appear, Messieurs Milanesi, Gotti and Mézières have succeeded +in interpreting—writing one letter three times over without making +up his mind to send it (it never was sent)—that was the man known as +Michelangelo. + +Why did he love the Marchioness of Pescara! For her beauty? No. For +her wit? No. He loved her because he loved her: there is no more to be +said. He asked nothing of her. She was the woman of his heart; to her he +dedicated all the fibres of his being. He saw with her eyes, acted by her +inspiration, “no longer conscious of aught but the memory of her.” And he +was happy, and unhappy. What energy of expression there is in his sonnets +when his vigour bursts out in passionate laments! But for the most part +this vigour seems itself to yield to respect and enthusiasm. + +A genuine patrician, sweet and unaffected, the marchioness understood +with wonderful intuition the man who was addressing her, and proved what +in such a case a woman may do with a man. Condivi, who had seen her +correspondence, described it as full of a grave and profoundly moving +love; the fragments which have come down to us indicate a thousand little +tendernesses: “Our friendship is stable, and our affection very sure; it +is tied with a Christian knot.” And here is the address outside a letter: +“To my more than magnificent and more than very dear Messer Michelangelo +Buonarotti.” + +It was the same with their talks together; love only served to give +their conversation an elevated tone. A certain François de Hollande, +who happened one day to be in their company, has preserved some +characteristic fragments of their conversation. The marchioness was +formulating quite a scheme of splendid idealism: “Painting,” she said, +“better than any other means, enables us to see the humility of the +saints, the constancy of the martyrs, the purity of the virgins, the +beauty of the angels, the love and charity with which the seraphim burn; +it raises and transports mind and soul beyond the stars, and leads us +to contemplate the eternal sovereignty of God.... If we desire to see +for ourselves a man renowned for his deeds, painting shows us him to +the life. It brings before our eyes the image of a beauty far removed +from our experience, and Pliny held this to be a service of priceless +value. The widow in her affliction finds solace in gazing every day +upon her husband’s picture; young orphans owe to painting the happiness +of recognising, when they have come to man’s estate, the features of a +beloved father.” + +Is not this true love, to love the beautiful, the object of love to so +many besides ourselves? Is not this the enchanting joy dreamed of by Anne +of France, so sweet for a woman, and lifting a man “beyond the stars”? +But this love is terribly individual and exclusive! + +Twenty years later Michelangelo lost the lady of his soul. He stood by +her death-bed. With reverence and pity he pressed a long kiss upon her +hand, not daring, even at that tragic moment when Death purifies all +things, to touch ever so lightly that pale cold brow; though many a time, +in truth, he regretted the timidity of his farewell. Condivi tells us +that he was frantic with grief. Night had closed her wings upon his life; +he could never hear the marchioness mentioned without tears starting in +his eyes: “We had a great mutual regard,” he said; “Death has snatched +from me a great friend.” A great friend! He became religious; in his +robust old age his soul maintained its fire, like some deep pool which, +in the blackness of night, still reflects the sunset glow. He died at +the age of ninety, and among his papers were found the letters of the +marchioness, and the sonnets he wrote for her—though cunning pilferers +had carried off a portion of these, which, unhappily, they kept for +themselves. + +The other, and more numerous, school of platonists started from an +absolutely different principle. It was much less individual, and much +more sociological. It was cultured, to all appearance without enthusiasm, +keenly sensitive, wholly of this world, or if it moved at all toward +the ideal it was by many tortuous, obscure and labyrinthine paths of +which it would sometimes be difficult to draw an accurate map. It was +philosophical; its method was to coax the human animal, to converse +with him, to lure him with smiles and soft words, and to wind about him +a multitude of slender cords till he was reduced to helplessness. The +method was considered eminently laudable, and indeed it demanded infinite +tact, time and patience; for what was involved was nothing less than the +training of “the other partner” in habits of refinement and discretion—to +content himself with a few tit-bits of love or kindliness, to refrain +from constantly showing teeth and claws with a cry for his “reward”—the +wolfish cry, the roar of the beast of prey! A light hand was needed. Men, +snared in cold blood, appeared so commonplace, so much alike! + +The little favours by which men were held captive were in no way open +to censure; they were virtue itself, for the end justified the means. +The art which regulated the dispensation of these favours may justly +be regarded as a complicated one. It grew out of long habit, and was +not learnt from books; it was the Machiavelism of a special charity, a +supreme devotion, very often the immolation of self; and it was precisely +this admirable feature which distinguished platonism from coquetry: “O +Love!” cried Bembo, “it is by thee that the higher virtues rule the +lower.” How many of these strange, admirable women might be mentioned, +who devoured men like veritable Minotaurs, and who, after devouring them, +would have liked to resurrect them for another meal! + +The Marchesa Scaldasole, of Pavia, was one of these terrible harpies; +yet she acted with absolute frankness. One day, at a ball, she said to a +young protonotary named De Lescun, who was losing his head a little: “You +see, I do as your guards do, who fix a tassel to their horses’ cruppers, +to warn people not to go too near,” and she pointed to her sky-blue +dress: in Italy, blue denoted heavenward aspirations. Lescun was devoured +like the rest. By a strange freak of fate, he happened to be severely +wounded beneath the walls of Pavia in the famous battle of Francis I. +When he was picked up, covered with blood, he asked to be carried to +the house of his “dear lady and patroness.” The marchesa received these +quivering shreds of humanity with transports of tenderness, and it was in +her arms, sustained by her loving look and consoled by her pious words, +that Lescun breathed his last. + +I know not how La Rochefoucauld could say: “The first lover is kept long +when no second is taken.” It is the vice of men not to know when to +stop. Nothing grieved Margaret of France like the thought that a man, +to qualify as a “man of honour” and a “pleasant companion,” was expected +to kill someone for giving him the lie, and to love a dozen women. She +objected strongly to a happily settled man, as she says, going prowling +over the world, were it ever so platonically: “it is wisest to remain +satisfied where love has once attached us.” + +The women, on the contrary, anxious to fulfil their social duty, +thought themselves bound to sow love broadcast, to distribute their +favours widely; by that means they protected themselves against the +tongue of malice, though at the cost of desperately hard work and many +embarrassments. For every man of intelligence and breeding who knows +better than to display too much whimsicality, how many jealous, touchy, +tiresome men there are! A princess could do no less than be kind to a +number of favourites; Margaret of France loved not far short of a dozen, +and the number was only so small because of the difficulty of finding +recruits for platonism. + +We must remember the idea from which these women started, which was +absolutely the reverse of that which now prevails. In these days +women are careful not to generalise; they prefer to personalise +everything—medicine in the doctor, religion in the priest, the family +in the husband, love in the lover. The women of the sixteenth century, +we cannot repeat too often, had an ardent faith in things, but none at +all in men; they had no intention whatever of being in bondage to a man, +whoever he was, but preferred to go straight to the idea, and then to +make its interpreter their apostle, or what they pleased. They were in +love with love, but were unquestionably prone to regard the lover as of +secondary importance, or at the most as the minister of their cult, not +their master. Trustfulness and self-surrender struck them as delightful, +desirable, religious, almost necessary, when based on a broad principle +of liberty, and when they furnished a goal at which the affections might +aim. + +We must insist also on another most important consideration, which the +reader will already have suspected. These ladies did not labour for their +personal happiness; in most cases they had no hope of ever attaining +it. They discovered a means of giving life to others, but lacked it for +themselves; they had known either too much or too little of existence. +They were dissatisfied—out of conceit—with everything, perhaps with +themselves; they had been mothers, and were yet maids. For the soul, like +the body, needs to give itself, and on this condition depends its life +and fruitfulness. Now many of these women had shadowy and inscrutable +souls—souls whose pages no one had troubled to turn; they smothered their +feelings, but they had suffered much, and still suffered. Hitherto they +had given only their body, the poorest part of them, the contaminated +part, the part that is lost in the giving; while the soul is ennobled +and purified by self-surrender. They had perforce to cut themselves in +two, and as maidens to look on at the ruin of one part of themselves, and +nothing was more painful than this cleavage; philosophers even maintained +that it was an impossible one, and that, when a woman yielded her body, +under obligation or necessity, sometimes with disgust, she gave nothing, +but remained immaculately a virgin, because the true virginity is that +of the heart. Indeed, a favourite idea of that time was that whatever +vicissitudes the bodily mechanism might undergo, only the soul could +endorse them. + +Here, then, were unhappy dilettanti of love, who, regarding animal +passion as the antipodes, almost the negation, of true passion, +rigorously safeguarded their purity, and adopted platonism as the +channel through which to bestow their souls on mankind, with a smiling +disenchantment, almost happy in possessing at least the assurance that +in this harmless game there would be only occasional outbursts of the +violence of love. They chose the good part, sowing broadcast, in a soil +often ungrateful, the seeds of a love of which they had been harshly +deprived, and the fruits of which they hoped probably that others would +gather. Many of them had lovers, but true love comes only once, and +among these charming women, all fire in appearance, there were some who +bore, deep down in their hearts, an unsuspected burden of sorrow which +oppressed and overwhelmed them. With some of them passion had never +ceased to rumble; some had been seen to become desperately attached to +a man (maybe their own husband), or even to fling themselves into a +nunnery. The most of them, more sick than those they wished to cure, and +faltering inwardly under the outward charms of their devotion, went +their way, vainly seeking in life’s desert the heart, the one only heart, +sensitive enough to comprehend them. They steered their way composedly +among the billows, in complete security, alas! and without adventuring +anything but their good sense, at most their good nature, which Anne +of France severely calls their hypocrisy. Ah! how they smart for this +hypocrisy! How much of their life-blood it costs them! We yearn to strip +off their veils, to beseech them to take thought for themselves and +put some faith in passion! But no, they lead our woful procession like +singing children, and, forcing back their tears like Margaret of France, +they strew a few rose-leaves in our doleful path: + + De petits amours à fleurettes, + D’autres petites amourettes, + Mesmement de vieilles amours,[165] + + —_Voiture._ + +and the sole benefit is reaped by us, or at least by men capable of +enjoying an illusion. Sometimes, in their infinite goodness, they may +give us divine moments that compensate for the painfulness of life; they +succeed in thrilling us with that magnetic influence which quickens our +faculties, sends our life into a wider channel, makes commonplace actions +seem interesting to us, gives higher relief and brighter colour to all +our surroundings. They do a good work, a pious work, a social work. And +that is why this loveless love fell especially to the lot of princesses. +At first sight the idea of making love so excessively aristocratic +appears somewhat singular, if not repugnant. What is the value of +distinctions of birth in such a matter? To sincere hearts they can only +raise obstacles to genuine happiness. This was especially the opinion of +Anne of France. Could it be right to dignify with the name of love or +platonism a wretched coquetry which consisted in attaching oneself to +the most conspicuous women, whoever they were?—for some were plain, and, +what was worse, influential!—so that this so-called love would oscillate +between snobbishness and solicitation of the kind nowadays practised +upon a minister of state—whose ugliness does not matter. Assuredly it is +possible to love a plain woman with all one’s heart; such love, indeed, +is said to be the strongest. But how difficult it must have been in +those days for a princess to believe in a disinterested love! And even +supposing such happiness were hers, could she ever have relied upon it? + +So the love of princesses, which was an essential characteristic +of platonism, sprang in reality from a very special principle. The +princesses (and other great ladies) had no experience whatever of the +sentiment (very masculine and somewhat modern) that everything was theirs +by right, and that a certain lofty egotism was the natural complement +of a lofty station. On the contrary, they imagined themselves to be the +property of society, so to speak, and not their own—and further, as they +realised that a great name is just as isolating and paralysing as a large +fortune, if not more so, they considered themselves specially bound to +keep their activities in full play. Their efforts were sweetened by their +pride. That the woman should have the castle and the man the cottage, +that she should be rich and he poor, seemed to them a good thing: it was +the subversion of old ideas, but the consecration of the idea that was +to be. They found a special charm in material inequalities of position; +it was often distressing to have to raise a man morally, but it was +delightful to raise him in a material sense; as Balzac has said, “No man +has ever been able to raise his mistress to his own level, but a woman +always places her lover as high as herself.” + +This explains why, in the eyes of all the friends of the Beautiful at +that epoch, every princess was beautiful, in other words, she piloted +the world towards the idea of the Beautiful. Failing a princess, or a +lady of title, or an eminent woman,[166] a man might content himself +with a simple maid-of-honour; but it would be almost to fail in respect +towards princesses of the blood-royal not to fall in love with them, +since they were born for that end; and indeed a certain accent of ardour +did not displease them, for, as they told themselves, “everybody knows +that a fortress is only stormed when it seems hopeless to expect weakness +or treachery.”[167] Nothing flattered them more; in the admirable words +of Alfred de Vigny: “In the purest relationships of life there are +nevertheless things which are only poured into one single heart, as +into a chosen vessel.” This chosen vessel must be rare and delicately +fashioned, all compact of idealism, intellectuality and tenderness. + +The love of princesses, therefore, however sincere and intoxicating, +manifested itself with crystal purity. When a poet makes extravagant +boast of the beauty of his mistress, who is sometimes of mature years, +we may be quite sure he means beauty of soul, “which is all-sufficient,” +as Margaret ingenuously says. The only misfortune of the princesses was +often their scant knowledge of the human heart; they saw too much of the +worldly, showy, conventional exterior, and it was that usually which made +them pessimists. But they exerted a powerful sway. And as their favours, +coming whence they did, had no important sequels, they were not niggardly +in bestowing them. Of what is not a woman capable who has nothing to +fear, either from herself or from others? In such a case there is danger +only for the man. Certain ladies took men and stirred them up, shook them +as you shake a tree whose fruit you desire to bring down. And, to tell +the truth, they were even taunted with carrying this science of theirs +too far. Margaret of France in particular has been generally regarded as +a consummate virtuoso; unquestionably she often puzzles us, and gives us +the uneasy feeling that she is making fools of us. She herself boasted of +juggling with the hearts of men, of “winning her devoted servants,” and +of managing them so well that literally they no longer knew what to make +of her. “The most daring,” she says, “were reduced to despair, and the +most down-hearted saw a ray of hope.”[168] So, while those who know her +story most intimately—Madame d’Haussonville, M. Anatole France, Madame de +Genlis—come forward as guarantees of her absolute virtue, those who, like +Brantôme, peep at her through the window regard her as a coquette, which +indeed was her mother’s opinion. Shall I confess it? I myself, during +the years, now no small portion of my life, which I have devoted to the +service of these adorable women, during the many long hours spent in +delightful intimacy with them, wholly absorbed in deciphering the enigma +of their hearts, have known and felt these singular perplexities. One day +the ladies have enchanted me, almost given me wings; another, they have +crushed me into the dust: one day I would fain kiss their hands with all +the ardour of a loyal worshipper; another, long to obliterate their very +footprints. Sometimes I have glowed with pride, fancying myself master +of this fervent love of which they used to speak so well; and thrilled +through and through with their overflowing enthusiasm I have seen the +world become transfigured behind them, our pale northern mists dissolve +in radiant colour, our sky become translucent—and next day I would trudge +mechanically behind them in utter mystification. Passion and irony have +in turn moved my pen, and having mutually slain each other, I know not +whether anything is left. And to-day even, when I am seeking earnestly +to lisp the praises of these ladies, when as the prize of serious and +constant effort I beseech of them some positive pledge of their thought, +they flit like butterflies before me! + +Yet they had hearts, large hearts, it is impossible to doubt,—hearts +staunch and ardent; but they shrank from employing them. They dallied +in a dim twilight sensibility, like that noble lady of Genoa, Thomasina +Spinola, who had broken all material ties with her husband in order +to devote her thoughts to King Louis XII. One day the rumour spread, +falsely, that Louis was dead, and soon it was reported at Blois that +Thomasina was dead also. Thereupon the official poet recited an +interminable elegy. Happily, both Louis XII. and Thomasina had many years +to live. No one durst smile at matters so eminently respectable, though +Anne of France was indignant; in her opinion love was dishonoured by such +proceedings, and she would readily have forgiven men for not taking these +pleasant comedies too seriously. + +Strange women! Perhaps they themselves dared not probe their souls! +The artists who painted them must have dropped their brush and peered +into the heart of their idol, and asked themselves whether it was a +Beatrice or a Venus they were painting. A strange veil covers their +features; as a skilful artist contents himself with vague suggestions +where a perfect rendering is impossible, so their souls have deliberately +blotted themselves in mist, blurring their outlines, and throwing us +into uncertainty. These women are frank, and reserved; they attract, and +repel; embrace us, and hold us at arm’s length; allure us, and alienate +us. Now they are like virgin soil, now like paths too many feet have +trod. Their contemporaries were baffled by them; we too may well fail to +comprehend this platonism—we who see it from afar. + +Such is the magic haze in which Leonardo has enwrapped his Gioconda. +Everything is there, but he tells us nothing save that this is she. +He barely hints at her subtle mind, her soft, pure flesh; you seem to +catch a delicate perfume floating in the air. The world around her seems +sunk in torpor; the landscape fades away in indefinite and fantastic +suggestions. And the woman dominating it all pursues us with her complex +look—the look that all these women have; she seems to be several women +superimposed—a succession of appetites, a mingling of languors, thoughts +crowded on thoughts, an encumbrance of flesh. Voluptuousness and +intelligence are there too, held in reserve. She terrifies us, for she is +too richly endowed; she will give nothing: she is a woman of brains. + +And yet we err in not trying to understand these women! We do not +understand them because we set them apart, picture them as solitary in +their defensive attitude, shutting our eyes to what engrosses their +mistrustful looks—the cruel welter of humanity around them. + +With Anne of France and Vittoria Colonna we met Michelangelo. But +whom shall we find flocking about these gracious priestesses of love? +Contemptible drones, ambitious men, empty-headed fools, young fops, +youths anxious to push their way in the world, society clowns, scholars +in the sere and yellow leaf, a whole herd of men who have their reasons +for liking the tame cat’s rôle, and certainly would never think of love +unless someone mentioned it. Is it in any real sense cheating to cheat +such men? There are sceptics like the excellent Montaigne, who love in +order to find relief from their worries; others who love for a wager, +like Nifo, who went sweethearting because it amused Cardinal Pompeo +Colonna. There are pedants and hair-splitters; men who analyse and refine +and talk of social duty—speak too of their love for humanity at large, +for irrational things, for the All-in-all, for supernatural beings, for +the angels. They make love an amusement like dicing and racing. They tell +off on their fingers the various species of love. + +Nifo amused himself by cataloguing the motives leading to love or +“re-love.” He found fifteen chief motives: (1) Youth. (2) Nobility (since +aristocracy springs from love, and love from aristocracy). (3) Wealth, +a tainted source, but abundant. (4) Power. It is to this last that he +maliciously ascribes the love of princesses, the best and most practical +of all. Ambitious by destiny, he says, princesses necessarily yearn for +glory; wherefore they are more accessible than others, and no one renders +love graver, loftier, more substantial. (5) Beauty, a very stimulating +factor, but secondary. (6) The mere rapture of the senses. Alas! many +women, even in the highest stations, must have owed shameful connections +to this cause! (7) Fame. The thought of hearing themselves sung about, +of seeing themselves in pictures and statues, of being analysed and made +the subject of dissertations, is a strong incentive to love: women love +posterity in this guise. (8) The love of love, the artistic pleasure +in knowing themselves loved, adored. (9) Elegant love, a matter of gay +doublets and a good stable. (10) Obsequious love, not very amusing, but +practical and very common; a love made up of little attentions, little +symbolic presents, balls and banquets; Nifo had seen Prince Ferdinand +of Salerno win his lady by means of a ball. And after these principal +categories, there come secondary inducements to love, which, in spite of +their commonness, are constantly successful; fine melodramatic rages, +comprising disdain, jealousy, frenzy—all excellent investments; or the +more peaceable and rudimentary means, such as entertainments (provided +they are intellectual), flattery (highly recommended), prayer, this too, +excellent, according to the maxim of Martial— + + Nor prayer nor incense e’er did Jove despite. + +Lovers have only too many methods to choose from, and the advantage of +these sentiments (generally feigned), is that thanks to them anybody, +however modest his resources, can find something to suit him; it is the +bazaar of love. + +And thus raw individualism, the mainspring of human energy, was to become +transformed and to tend towards a collective end. + +Poor women! they were under no illusion about the superficial effect they +for the most part produced; they knew that perhaps it would all amount +to no more than an outward show of improvement, and that at bottom man +would remain the vulgar and self-seeking creature he was.[169] This +thought confirmed them in their platonism and their virtue; if there was +no better result, they told themselves that, after all, to awaken mere +sensibility was not an absolute waste of time; that it was a merit to +refine vice, to “polish it up,” to drape it with hypocrisy, to rule men +and impress their intelligence even by indirect means: they found the +occupation every whit as interesting as piling up household linen or +polishing the furniture. They hoped that the future would justify their +devotion. After all their love was only a means; the end was to pour +upon life a little joy, a little balm, light, power, happiness—to shower +happiness everywhere. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE MISSION OF BEAUTY + + +Before we can make others happy we must draw upon the sources of +happiness in our own nature and in the world around. It is reason’s +ungracious way to show us the realities of life in the mass, and even in +their darker aspects; it is aestheticism that turns their bright side to +us. Absolute ugliness does not exist, any more than absolute beauty, and +a careful analysis detects an element of beauty and love in everything. +The quest for this element is women’s work. In moulding us into beings +sensitive to the least manifestation of happiness, they restore us to +health. + +Their first duty is to exhibit in themselves every loveable quality, +physical and moral; for platonism is not the art of loving, but the art +of guiding men towards happiness through love. Their second duty is to +make good use of the elements at their disposal, and force life to yield +the very pith and essence of the Beautiful. Or we may liken them to +conductors of orchestras, who draw unexpected tones out of space. How +noble, how difficult is the task! Surely there is enough in it to fill a +lifetime! What intelligence, what knowledge, what skill, even to charming +sympathetic accents from a stone, are needed! Platonism would be narrow +and inadequate indeed—would be indistinguishable from the most hackneyed +sentiments—if it were satisfied with the triumph of feminine coquetry, +and did not extend its mission to the whole of nature. + +To render themselves beautiful and admirable, therefore, women will have +to make the most of their resources. Whatever their occupation, they can +always mingle with it something of the ideal, or turn it to the glory +of their sex, even if it is a mere matter of dining or of walking in a +meadow; how much more so if it is a question of the manifold usages of +social life, and more especially of its intellectual occupations! Through +their fostering care all things should become imbued with a sentiment of +peace and love, and tend in common towards happiness. That is where their +talent lies. + +Clearly the method employed will vary according to circumstances, +situation, possibilities, temperaments. Different women will pursue +different aims, and avail themselves of different weapons; but, in the +long run, none was neglected. While therefore we cannot hope to produce +a thoroughly accurate picture, we shall pass in review the principal +circumstances which provide a lady with her means of action, starting in +logical order with the material and proceeding to the intellectual facts. + +In the material universe, it is woman’s capital duty to possess what +pleases men; for here we are entering a purely practical field, and the +quest of the ideal is of much less moment than the skilful dressing of +the hook! + +Physical beauty is not an indispensable condition of pleasing; on +the contrary indeed, a certain homely plainness does not come amiss, +platonically speaking. If many of the celebrated women whom we know only +in their portraits were to come to life again, perhaps we could not +resist their fascinations; but they are dead, and to us they are plain; +their plainness served them as a sort of lightning-conductor. We may go +even farther; true beauty was held suspect. As Anne of France severely +says, it is the most prejudicial and least valuable grace that God +can bestow on a woman, especially a princess. It is made too much of; +it inevitably jumbles the sentiments, mixing with the purest an alloy +of instability; there is always a risk of its upsetting the best-laid +schemes. A princess acknowledged as a beauty cannot choose her servitors; +she knows neither how far they will go nor perhaps how far she will go +herself. She seats her empire on very precarious foundations, since the +less sensual love is, the longer it endures. In fine, women are what +they are, and it is impossible to ask them to change. But any woman who +knows her duty may be asked to practise the feminine art, and this art is +called charm. + +Many men do not know the meaning of the word “charm”; they speak of +beauty as savants or as grocers might, not as faithful worshippers. +If you pull women to pieces, if you judge them as you would a yard of +calico, a donkey or a slave, you will see naturally but a form of flesh; +you may estimate its geometrical dimensions, count on your fingers +thirty or thirty-six special beauties; if you profess an intellectual +standpoint, you will perhaps go so far as to measure the cranium, +and that will be all. You will be content as an artist to produce a +“semblance of life,” by dint of scrupulous attention to detail; you will +not perceive what it is that speaks to us, fascinates us. Charm is not +expressed in terms of arithmetic or algebra: it is an art, perhaps the +highest of all arts, because more than any other, more even than poetry +or music, it speaks from soul to soul; it is a sort of witchery, a +woman’s knack, as it were, of enveloping all around her in an invisible +net. It is not purely intellectual, but avails itself of physical means +and disdains everything in the way of formulae. The Italians, adoring +this delightful art, have vainly devoted innumerable and often very +prolix writings to the attempt to fathom it. All their reasonings are +condensed in this vague sentence of Firenzuola:[170] “A beautiful woman +is one who is universally pleasing”; and Firenzuola is no better able +than the rest to say why she is pleasing. If we were speaking of a good +housewife, it would be easy to catalogue her virtues: the talents of a +managing woman, a woman who can look after one’s health, keep the books +and train the children, have often been computed. Of a charming woman, +never! Each one has her own secret. And yet the art of charming is very +widespread. To that art the Italian women owed their positions as queens +of the world (or, to satisfy Montaigne, let us say the “regents”); they +were not superior to Frenchwomen in beauty of form or in originality +of soul, but among them there were more “beautiful women,” that is to +say, captivating women, than elsewhere. They were imbued with platonic +sweetness, had acquired an indescribable magnetism, a perfume of human +graciousness, so holy, so all-pervading that it seemed to purify the air +and make the world a temple instead of a hospital: like the precious +spikenard poured long ago upon the feet of the Saviour, all soiled with +the dust of the world. + +Like all other arts, charm is a gift of nature. The first rule for a +woman is to know herself thoroughly, so that she may bring her individual +gifts discreetly into play, especially those which affect the man she has +in view. It will not do to let her art appear. A woman’s charm depends +upon her acting spontaneously, even though imperfectly; it is impossible +to insist too strongly on this principle, which of itself explains the +evolution of women’s power in the sixteenth century. So long as women +frankly assert their personality in their actions, taking counsel only +of themselves, their power never ceases to grow, and produces excellent +results; but when, whether from indifference, timidity, the instinct of +submission, or a mistaken education, they no longer see in platonism +anything but an art to learn, a lesson to rattle off, a conventional +pose, all is over; men of real virility escape their influence, and +deride their charm as a puerile thing, and the women find no men to +govern but the insignificant herd whom they do not care a straw for, +and who are distinguished one from another only by the colour of their +pantaloons. This is the practical result of the parallel instituted +between true platonism and the platonism of convention, between +Michelangelo and Bembo, between the vigorous Anne of France, who was +willing to assimilate certain delightful principles of the new spirit so +long as no sacrifice of character or caste was involved, and the amiable +Margaret of France, who was much more inclined to go over bag and baggage +to the Italian methods, in order to obtain in France the same results as +in Italy. + +Nevertheless, apart from originality, which is indispensable, and +diversity, which is essential, it is possible to mention some elements +that go to the making of charm, consecrated, apparently, by experience +or tradition. Of these, some are physical, some intellectual; for the +present we shall speak only of the former. + +It is a general rule (if we may speak of rules) that the physical charm +of a woman springs entirely from whatever accentuates her feminine, +arch-feminine character. Thus it must above all express the completest, +most absolute sweetness. + +For a long time this characteristic sweetness appeared to spring from +gracefulness of form and feature: a face of aristocratic oval; a swan +neck, a wasp waist; in short a general effect of reed-like slightness +and fragility, a veritable mantel ornament, so delicately balanced that +to touch it was more than one dared, and that one was puzzled how so +frail a thing had ever managed to stand on such tiny feet, to hold out +such a poor little hand—a virginal figure of fifteen years.[171] This +wonderfully pure ideal persisted in Spain; but in Italy one of the +first signs of decadence was the preference for more sensual forms. +The Florentines, with their fastidious ideal of elegance, were almost +alone in resisting the current; good Firenzuola did not yield to it to +any extent, and at most there was at Florence a small section in favour +of muscle and robustness, of whom Michelangelo is the representative. +But at Venice, a fine opulence of flesh, luminous and warm, wonderfully +substantial and soft, “full of a delicious comfortableness,” carried all +before it—a beauty such as the pagans have celebrated in their lyrics and +such as the East adores: nothing seemed more charming. + +In France, the national spirit, always eclectic and vacillating, was +neither idealistic nor materialistic enough to take any side in this +dispute. + + Autant me plaist la grassette, + Comme me plaist la maigrette.[172] + + —_Ronsard._ + +The great goddesses who ruled and dominated the classical epoch, Madame +de Chateaubriand, Madame de Canaples,[173] Diana of Poitiers, were +representatives of vigorous stocks; an old lusty blood coursed visibly +enough through their veins; but they mastered it as they mastered +everything, diluting it with an effeminacy which had, however, a charm of +its own. + +The colour of the hair and eyebrows always appeared a characteristic +factor in a woman’s expression; without fair hair there was no charm. +According to a twelfth-century chronicler, the sweet Saint Godeliva +of Bruges was called a “horrid crow” by her hag of a stepmother on +account of her dusky hair; it was to her hair indeed that she owed +the tribulations that won for her the aureole of sainthood. In all +probability the dukes of Burgundy, when they created the order of the +Golden Fleece, were thinking rather of the charming women with heads like +a golden harvest-field than of the exploits of Jason. It is impossible to +imagine Botticelli crowning Spring with black, or Raphael representing +his Virgins as goddesses of night. The blonde had it all her own way. +And yet even in this matter the fastidious Florentines did not commit +themselves, and had something to say for the pretty dainty little dark +heads that were to be met in the fields of Umbria. In France the chestnut +locks which set off so many charming faces were greatly admired. + +But there was absolute unanimity in favour of a soft complexion of +creamy white. All men, whatever their nationality, whether idealists +or not—poets and aesthetes, dandies, elegant or melancholy men, as +Firenzuola and Tibaldeo[174] called themselves—united in praise of the +charm and sweetness of the lily and the rose. + +As for the eyes, they are the very fount of charm; by their aid heart is +linked with heart in exquisite communings, in them the soul ranges the +whole compass of its utterance. The Italians were particularly fond of +speaking eyes, black, velvety, dreamy or deep; the French, while by no +means insensible to the charm of languorous Creole eyes, much preferred +eyes full of animation and intelligence, and these were usually of a +light grey or brownish colour. On one point they were almost unanimous: a +French girl of piquant expression and mobile features, all sparkle from +eyes to lips, was the top of admiration. + +Such are the few summary and exceedingly vague notions of charm, from the +physical point of view, to which women could look for inspiration. + +They could choose among these various characteristics, or they could at +least go some way towards them. There is no mystic virtue in the advice; +the important thing is to succeed; but if a woman lacks any one of the +recognised instruments of charm, it is better to look for another than to +attempt the impossible. Women have been known to delight men merely by +the beauty of a wide intellectual brow: Mademoiselle de Vieilleville’s +charm lay in a sweet little lisp, and the fair Chanteloup’s in her +delicious little mouth. A pretty pout, a little wanton laugh, lips fine +and so red that a man asks himself “which is the cherry and which is the +mouth?” the carriage of the body, the play of the features—all these and +many other things may become the “fount of amorous sweets.” All that is +necessary is that in one way or another a woman should enwrap herself +with her sweetness, as with a goddess’s veil. + +Leonardo da Vinci sometimes painted good housewives, frank and precise in +countenance, but he took no pleasure in them; he hardly regarded them as +women: a bold look, he said, only suits women who are no longer women. +Whenever he was in love with his model he has given her a modest port, +one arm shielding her breast, and he has half submerged her in a kind +of penumbra. In France a trim, sprightly, noticeably handsome woman was +obliged to disguise herself in an air of languorous affability. The most +stony-hearted of Frenchmen surrendered to “a sweet and gentle face,” “a +sweet look, a sweet bearing, a sweet countenance.” + +Another quality which idealists regarded as conducive to charm was a +certain stiffness and reserve of manner. Woman, like the ark of the +covenant, was to be worthy of all respect. She was not thought the worse +of if, like a mimosa, she shrank within herself when the sun’s rays were +no longer there to warm her, and if she was afraid of the dark. The woman +chary of her smile was considered a delightful creature. In platonist +circles they would scarcely even admire the beauty of the shoulders, and +indeed there were no longer seen flaunted in the streets or churches, +under the eyes of the common herd, certain liberties in costume, from +time immemorial the despair of preachers—low-cut dresses, like that of +good Isabel of Bavaria, whom the monk Jacques Legrant admonished from +the pulpit for showing everything “down to her navel”: robes scalloped +at the sides; long-pointed shoes so much in the way that a woman had to +lift her petticoats very high to be able to walk. Castiglione goes into +raptures about the simple little velvet boot of a lady who, on going +to mass one morning, fancied she had to spring lightly across a brook. +Aretino, naturally an expert in such a matter, declares that no one has +a greater horror of a gratuitous display of her charms than a courtesan! +Refinement and delicacy seemed to make women more fastidious and more +shy, because they realised their value, and because they wished to be +loved, principally at least, for their soul. And then great ladies, like +everyone else, come in time to the verge of forty, and their taste and +discretion are remarkable. Persuaded that perfection is always rare in +this poor world, they appreciate the importance of a good appearance, +especially in a blasé society, and they are not unaware how much they owe +to the skill of the dressmaker. + +Here, however, there arises a question on which a few words must be said, +for it not only occupies a certain place in the history of art, but it +commonly leads to what appears to us a not very correct estimate of the +aesthetic rôle of the women of the Renaissance: the mistake has perhaps +been made of not treating it as seriously as it deserves. + +It is well known that the sixteenth century displayed an immoderate fancy +for Venuses, delighting in them, going into ecstasies over them, setting +them here, there and everywhere with a sort of intoxication,—like a man +issuing from a too long seclusion into fresh air. + +It must indeed be confessed that the grave, austere art of the Middle +Ages had erred a little in the opposite direction. The influence of +asceticism had generated the absurdly exaggerated desire to put out +of sight the existence of matter; artists attenuated corporeal forms +until on their canvases the body represented merely a thought; and the +raiment, consequently, in which the body was delicately and gracefully +draped, served as vesture to this thought, and contributed, so to speak, +to immaterialise it. The influence of Greek art was needed to effect a +reversion and to set upon physical beauty the stamp of a living art. +The platonist aesthetics contributed in large measure to strengthen this +movement, since it brought into favour the theory that the human body +is the perfect type of terrestrial beauty, just as the human soul is +the queen of the universe. Thanks to Plato, man, full of wit and love +and liberty, appeared in his single self more intelligent, more free, +more worthy of worship than all the rest of nature; and as the Bible +reveals him also as the image of God, it seemed right to pay him honour. +It cannot then be said, even on this matter, that to break with the +aesthetic traditions of the Middle Ages necessarily involved breaking +with their traditions in psychology and morals; platonism believed it +was merely developing and amplifying Christian art, gaining for it all +the superb expansion of which it was capable; and consequently, in the +early days, it was often with perfect good faith and highly spiritual +intentions that artists deified the vital forces of the world in the +nude. Michelangelo is there to prove to us that it was possible to +glorify the human figure fearlessly and unblushingly without weakening +in any way the general conception of vigour and chastity. Whether he +paints men or women, the result is the same: in bringing his wrestlers +upon the scene he seems to fling at them this old apostrophe of a mystic: +“I love you, not because of your fine garments, but because you have +suffered much.” Who would ever say that his Eve in the Sistine chapel +is yielding, through any languor whatever, to the suggestions of the +serpent! This woman of his has assuredly strength enough to withstand a +serpent unaided! She goes resolutely to meet the knowledge of good and +evil, with the perfect freedom of an accomplished athlete, with more +determination than curiosity, because she feels that her body is capable +of every endurance; and besides, no one has yet told her that children +are brought forth in anguish. Michelangelo has clothed with purity even +the lamentable mother of mankind! + +And assuredly when an artist of the same school pushes the audacity of +realism so far as to stretch openly on the royal tomb in the cathedral +of St. Denis nude effigies of Louis XII. and Anne of Brittany, of Henri +II. and Catherine de’ Medici, he is giving a lesson in morality, lofty, +stern, admirable, and of splendid eloquence. + +From this standpoint, the sight of the human form appeared absolutely +conformable to aesthetics and philosophy, so much so that a whole +generation of well-intentioned tutors, at whom Ulrich von Hütten pokes +a little fun, set themselves ingeniously to explain to young people the +religious significance of nudities. It was on the same principle that +François de Moulins, the excellent cleric specially entrusted with the +moral instruction of young Francis I., inserted in his manuscripts a +picture of the Graces, and taught his young pupil that Charity is rightly +represented as a nude figure, in order to symbolise her generosity, or +rather to bring it more vividly home to one. + +It is hardly necessary to add that if the spiritualistic and platonist +school derived these noble effects from the new aesthetic idea, there was +another school of artists and amateurs, much more numerous, which saw +in the exhibitions of the academies only an entertainment of a wholly +different order. We cannot know (and we do not ask) what was Dürer’s +secret feeling when he thought, as even he did, to imitate Michelangelo; +but what can be affirmed is that he is not altogether successful; he +cannot get away from domesticity; the good ladies he presents to us have +nothing superhuman about them; far from it, they are women just escaped +from their shop-counters (and their corsets!), or very matter-of-fact +bathers, or a statuesque “Fortune,” who, despite her broad wings, yet +appears ill at ease in what Montaigne calls her “animal’s costume.” The +Italian artists, except for a few of the early ones, have not in similar +cases allowed a like embarrassment to appear. By their own account, they +moved with the greatest ease among these physical beauties, like perfect +aesthetes. Undoubtedly many of them believed men, and more especially +women, to be the loveliest of created things, and in fact they display +them to us everywhere, with striking ability. Salons, public resorts, +promenades, even the walls of churches and cathedrals in those days +looked more or less like a pseudo-paradise. The triumph of the flesh was +pealed forth with a brave clarion call. And we must not forget that this +sort of painting formed a capital trade, which brought in both money and +honour. + +By degrees, however, this licence evoked murmurings, which grew stronger +day by day, and as Michelangelo more than anyone else had ennobled +the practice, by inscribing above the private altar of the popes the +sublimest and most terrible page of philosophy ever written by painter’s +brush, he was specially marked out for attack. Undoubtedly he was +generally recognised as the responsible enunciator of this new principle +of art, and it is a clear proof of the general and almost unopposed +onslaught on him that the man most keenly alive to the drift of fashion, +Aretino, ventured to indulge in virulent invective against him upon this +subject. After the Council of Trent, a veritable crusade was organised +with the noble end of purging the churches of too lifelike anatomies. It +is the correct thing, in the _Joanne_,[175] to make merry at the expense +of Pope Paul IV., dubbed by facetious and satirical people with the +humiliating sobriquet of the “breeches maker,” because he caused some +veracious but really unessential details in the work of Michelangelo to +be timidly covered with gauze, and because he generously presented the +Holy Virgin with the dress she badly wanted. At the risk of incurring the +same reproaches and of becoming a by-word to guide-books past, present, +and future, we shall here confess that it seems difficult to blame him. +The _Last Judgment_, though absolutely pure in intention, became for +the popes quite a stumbling-block from the moment they entered upon the +highly legitimate crusade of artistic purification; when in 1573 Veronese +was reproached for introducing into _Last Suppers_ details little tending +to edification, he did not fail to plead the example of the Sistine +chapel. There is not a doubt but that Calvin would have shown himself +much more rigorous than Paul IV. + +This fascination for the symphonic harmonies of the body was not only +an anxiety to the popes; it distressed also the noble women who wished +to constitute themselves directors of the aesthetic movement, or rather +to become the very incarnation of beauty and love. How far these women, +possessed by the desire of securing the triumph of intellectual beauty, +found themselves compelled to make certain concessions, is a knotty +question to which, as it seems to us, people have as a rule furnished +somewhat too liberal answers. So far as the men were concerned, there is +no possible doubt about their materialistic tastes; we have, in a by no +means small number of records and anecdotes, not to speak of legends, +excellent evidence of their partiality for lifelike representations; they +demanded them, insisted on having them. To satisfy them, art set itself +to picture the unclothed; it is plain that the platonist women had no +option but to rise in revolt. But there exist some Venuses, sculptured +or painted, to which the artist undoubtedly intended to give the spicy +attractiveness of portraits. The figures show realistic touches, +sometimes positive deformities; there are hump-backed Venuses, emaciated +Venuses, Venuses of mountainous bulk. They invariably wear beautiful +jewellery, a necklace, for example, and have their little dog beside +them. A characteristic detail is that their hair has been the object of +the most sedulous painstaking; it is a masterly scaffolding of crimped +and waved and curled locks, interspersed with jewels in such a way as +to make quite clear that this is no shy woodland nymph, but a woman of +fashion, a woman of wealth, and even, as far as that can be shown, of +birth and breeding. This class of figure is admirably represented on +certain of Titian’s canvases, and it is an almost immemorial tradition +to take them as the painter seems to intend, namely, as portraits of +distinguished women. + +Are we to believe that the religion of beauty, in purifying all things, +led women to adopt so extreme a custom? We do not believe it. + +That would have been the total failure of all their tactics, and on this +point Plato was beaten out and out. Even in that coterie at Urbino where +to cultivate the purest platonism was the delightful occupation of life, +there was a general smile when one of the company, smiling discreetly +himself, reminded them of the Master’s recommendation that young girls +should practise gymnastics in a costume of primitive simplicity. Ladies +were not at all enamoured of a troglodytic beauty, and anyone who fancied +that the contemplation of Michelangelo’s or Signorelli’s, works would +turn their heads would have been greatly mistaken. Julian de’ Medici, +on being bantered by his friends about the way he kept his fair lady +out of sight, humorously replies: “Madam, if I thought her beautiful +I would show her without her finery, as Paris insisted on seeing the +Three Goddesses; but in that case she would need to be attired by those +divinities themselves; and since ’tis thought she is pretty, I prefer to +take care of her.”[176] + +Platonist women felt extreme repugnance for anything resembling publicity +or vulgarisation—anything likely to come under the common gaze. One day, +at a ball, a young girl seemed a prey to a gloomy pre-occupation from +which nothing could rouse her, and her friends wore themselves out in +vainly conjecturing the reason. At last they got the key to the mystery: +“I was pondering,” she said, “a notion which haunts and worries me, and I +cannot rid my heart of it. All our bodies have to rise at Judgment Day, +and stand naked before the judgment seat of God, and I cannot bear the +distress I feel at the thought that I too must appear stark naked.”[177] + +It cannot be denied, of course, that there exists a certain number of +Olympian portraits. But these have nothing to do with platonism, and +further, many of them were executed without assistance from the model. + +When a fashionable woman was having her portrait painted, she did not +pretend to patience, and would not sit. Proof enough, surely! The +artist had to dash off a hurried sketch with the speed of a present-day +photographer; the portrait was afterwards worked up from this sketch in +the studio, and a succession of replicas was made from it. It is obvious +that, getting possession of fashionable ladies’ heads in this way, the +artists had every opportunity of making an ill use of them, and supplying +them with a costume not bargained for. + +Nowadays the fun would strike us as in rather doubtful taste; but women +were in those days so good-natured and quick-witted that they were the +very first to laugh at a sorry jest of this kind, especially if their +personal rank placed them above suspicion, and still more if the portrait +was pretty and flattering. + +The poet Michel d’Amboise relates how he gallantly offered the lady +he idolised a portrait of herself as Venus. The fair damsel looked at +the object with not a little pleasure; but as it was necessary for the +sake of principle to reprimand the painter, she asked him where he had +managed to see her in this unusual guise. He replied, like a genuine +courtier: + + J’ay ta façon sceue par celuy + Qui est à toy trop plus qu’il n’est à luy.[178] + +“Indeed!” she cried. “But he has never seen me either.” + +We owe to Ronsard, to whom it was an every-day affair to be in love, a +description of the lover’s method. He goes to Janet Clouet,[179] and +requests a portrait of his lady-love with every possible charm. Actually +he has seen no more of her than the graceful oval of her face and her +lithe swan-neck, but that does not prevent his describing the rest of +her, and bespeaking for the portrait, with the fullest confidence, the +most ravishing details. Clouet sets to work there and then on a very +charming portrait, which will perhaps not be a very striking likeness +after all. + +In such a case (from a sentiment that sufficiently explains itself), +when the desire was to do homage in some way to the presumptive beauty +of some particular lady, the most elementary idea of discretion prompted +the artist to idealise her features a little, with the result that, +the features being all there is to guide us, we may say that pictures +of this kind are not, strictly speaking, portraits; they are ideas, +_arrière-pensées_, illusions more or less transparent. If tradition +could be trusted, how many portraits should we have, for instance, of +Diana of Poitiers? That noble lady herself commissioned a fair number of +Dianas, which may pass for symbols, for the glorification of her name and +work. But, without speaking of likenesses that are more than doubtful, +among all those which M. Guiffrey has so ably catalogued, even those +signed by the most illustrious names, we do not find one that is really +a likeness. This defect might be pardoned in the enamels, even those +signed by Leonard Limosin,[180] but what excuse can be made for Jean +Goujon?[181] Look for instance at the superb Diana in the Louvre: done +for Anet, it triumphantly challenged all heaven to surpass this human +beauty, synthetised in one vigorous woman, one true divinity, monumental, +imposing, of commanding port between her deer and her hounds, in no wise +voluptuous—a remote cousin of Michelangelo’s Eve, though degraded to rule +over forests and dogs and men. Clearly it was the châtelaine’s own wish +to glorify her creed, her ideal, her patroness; Jean Goujon has deified +her, sung her praises, interpreted her; and yet we have no difficulty in +recognising, from certain realistic touches, how careful he is to remind +us that he was celebrating a terrestrial divinity. Is this a portrait? +No. It is enough to compare this statue with the authentic likeness of +Diana of Poitiers on medallions. If Jean Goujon has suggested anything of +the duchess’s beauty in the head, it is with a restraint well calculated +to baffle us. + +Besides the portraits on canvas or in marble there were also others, +pen portraits, which were all the rage; and indeed in after years we +find painters complaining of the competition thus set up against them by +writers. Though portraits of this kind were necessarily less agitating, +people amused themselves by seeking physical details in them; it was +a feast for fine wits to “blazon,” as they said, this or that part of +the body, and it may be that certain _blasons_[182] were less anonymous +than they seem. This special art has given us one celebrated portrait +which has not ceased to pique the curiosity and stimulate the sagacity +of critics. The philosopher Nifo, a welcome guest in the house of the +young Jeanne of Aragon, where he justified his presence by platonically +courting one of the ladies-in-waiting, wished to offer the princess, +with the orthodox dedication, a concise treatise on the Beautiful, and, +to give his folio a certain piquancy, he inserted in it a portrait, +complete, circumstantial, ruthless, a study in pathology and anatomy, +of all the endowments visible and invisible of the young lady to whom +the book was dedicated. In accepting the dedication, the princess +took upon her shoulders the responsibility for the work. How could she +approve of this dedication?—a remarkable problem which commentators have +endeavoured to solve in every way but the right one. To us, at any rate, +the explanation is very simple. + +All the critics have set out with the idea that Nifo was rashly +indiscreet—a position difficult enough to defend, since a liberty +officially sanctioned is one no longer, and, if fault it was, there +is no trace of absolution. Now what was this alleged impudent fellow? +A fortunate and braggart lover, say some. Can we conceive this old +simpleton, forsooth, hideous, gouty, a mountain of flesh, a trifle +ridiculous—who was overjoyed at courting a waiting-maid (who laughed +in her sleeve at him)—boasting thus publicly of a conquest over the +impeccable virtue of a young girl of eighteen, the pearl of Italy! That +would have been no occasion for self-glorification: if the conquest had +been really his, the book would have appeared without dedication. + +Bayle has offered another explanation, still more amusing: he has simply +translated by “médecin” Nifo’s honorary appellation of “Medici,” and +founding on this little slip of his, he takes occasion to thunder against +physicians who abuse the confidence of their fair clients. Even so, there +would still have been no liberty! Besides, Nifo was not a physician, and +even if he had been, he would not have found himself much further on; for +ladies, as we have shown, had no belief in the neuter sex of the experts +who tended them, and were wonderfully ready to regard them as veterinary +surgeons rather than philosophers. They always drew a distinction between +the nude and the unclothed! Nifo simply ventured on the same pleasantry +as Michel d’Amboise and Ronsard and all the second-rate idealists, ready +to pay intellectual adoration to a woman, and yet susceptible to her +physical charms—if only like a fish on a baited hook. He ascribes to +his platonic princess, but in an aesthetic and abstract sense, a beauty +well calculated to increase the number of her courtiers and shed lustre +upon her philosophical activity; he acts like a good lieutenant and +henchman, rendering her a philosophical service of which she cannot but +show herself sensible. Those who have the patience to read Nifo will +find later in his book an explicit corrective, the strict necessity of +which, however, is by no means obvious. In another chapter, to remove +all misapprehension, he enlarges with fervour on the moral virtues of +Jeanne of Aragon, putting in the forefront the two which seem to him the +most salient—the beauty which attracts, enflames, enraptures, elevates +men; the modesty which serves her as breastplate and armour: “In these +two points,” he cries, “you eclipse all other women!” Poor Nifo! Even of +Phausina Rhea, the waiting-maid to whom he declared his love without any +beating about the bush, he knew nothing but her chignon! And it was just +this perfect, if a little vexatious, security that gave such a zest to +his pleasantry about the princess. + +In the seventeenth century also, a century of masculine predominance, +people fancied they were deifying men, and especially princes, by +representing them nude. La Bruyère was compelled to laugh when at a +street corner he contemplated the head of the state, the grave Louis +XIV., posed as a stone Apollo. The idea may be as ridiculous as you +please, but who would ever dream of being disturbed at the sight? Did La +Bruyère himself imagine for a single moment that Louis XIV. had taken the +trouble to leave an authentic torso to posterity? + +Margaret of France, however, who was all soul, had a singular idea in +regard to this subject. She was patently shocked at the mere thought that +anyone could say he had admired some Italian princess or duchess lying in +the most voluptuous simplicity in the midst of a beautiful landscape, set +off by drapery that only half covers her. To this fascinating, but as she +thought degrading, spectacle she resolved to oppose another—the spectacle +of the soul. The project occurred to her, it is true, at an age when all +her charms but those of the soul were dead; she had herself painted, +therefore, like the others, before a landscape on which the sun is rising +(or setting), and in front of a curtain; but instead of lying at length, +she stands erect. She is clothed in her shift, transparent enough indeed, +but carefully fastened about the neck, and, to give greater point to +the interpretation, she is admiring herself in a little hand-glass, in +allusion no doubt to her book _The Mirror of the Soul_. She wears neither +necklace nor jewels; a few ordinary trinkets negligently placed on her +toilet-table alone indicate her quality. Her whole body in its tender +austerity is a revelation of her soul. And the moral effect of this +representation appeared so lofty that this little portrait was treasured +in the princess’s family as her true likeness, the portrait at once +authentic and piously esoteric.[183] Margaret thus drew from art its +ethical teaching, and gave a lesson to ladies who rely too much on mere +beauty of form. + +Such is, we believe, the key to the enigma. To win their triumph +platonist women do not fling away their weapons, as someone has wittily +said; they lay them by. + +On the other hand, in the second half of the century, when platonism had +disappeared along with feminism, the scruples of the women underwent +considerable modification. A compromise was effected; the body was, +so to speak, cut in two. The lower part remained inferior, but the +upper, the bust namely, was regarded as superior and of a beauty that +might fitly be exhibited. At the end of the century we have portraits +of great ladies conforming to this new fashion. Perhaps also, out of a +spirit of mischief, people amused themselves by distributing under this +form portraits of ladies who enjoyed almost a public reputation for +beauty, such as Gabrielle d’Estrées and her sister. The more masculine +society becomes, the more do women become fleshly. And we should only +have to point out another instance of this phenomenon if we were not +convinced that the fashion of which we speak sprang up in an atmosphere +of semi-platonism. Diana of Poitiers, apparently, was delighted to +exhibit her bust, and indeed it is this peculiarity which led M. Vitet +to believe that he recognised her in a family portrait of Henri II., at +present in England, which includes all the royal family, namely, Henri +II., Catherine, his official wife, Diana, spouse of his heart, and his +children. We have not had the opportunity of seeing this portrait, and +consequently cannot verify M. Vitet’s conjecture. But we think we have +sufficiently proved that, even from the purely aesthetic standpoint, the +platonist ladies did not depart from the practical principles of conduct +they deemed the best and most profitable; the solitary example of Diana +of Poitiers, who cannot be cited as a thorough platonist, does not strike +us as sufficient to prove the contrary. + +It is true that sometimes the ladies had to yield to the exigencies of +their time, and tolerate, on the part of the men about them, customs and +a style of talk in which they could take no pleasure. They had to do so +or risk being neglected and causing often worse evils. + +The intimacies of family life sanctioned in those days truly astonishing +liberties. Thus, on the morning of Innocents’ Day in December, a man +would consider himself entitled to surprise in her bed a lady of the +family, or a woman of the household (generally a young woman), and to +administer a slap with the open hand, which was called “giving the +innocents.”[184] + +In one of the stories of the _Heptameron_,[185] a husband gravely +announces to his wife “that he means to go at daybreak and give the +innocents to her waiting-maid, to teach her not to be so lazy,” and the +good lady is blissfully unsuspicious. + +In vain did the women most liable to such treatment have recourse to all +sorts of subterfuges—sleeping elsewhere that night, or rising at dawn; +escape was almost impossible. Margaret of France knew all about it; for +all her demureness, Clément Marot wrote a scrap of verse expressly to +threaten “to give her the innocents” and “see that comely body.” Her +nephew Charles of Orleans made merry at her expense because, “having +risen too late” on Innocents’ Day, he impudently made up for it next day +with his poor aunt and another lady: “I won’t tell you just now,” he +wrote, “all that I saw.” His letter tells a good deal as it is. It is +not surprising that a princess habituated to such buffooneries strove at +least to raise their level a little. + +As there was no help for it but to exercise their charm on man the +brute by such proceedings, the women displayed neither pedantry nor +affectation. Besides, if the sensualists thought only of the body, women +thought only of the soul; and here, under a new form, we again trace the +idea that in giving heart and mind and soul to the man of her choice +a woman had really given him all that was dearest, most precious to +her, all that constituted her personality, and that the rest had only a +secondary importance. She had lent her material person to a husband who +had not troubled himself about fathoming her soul: why then should she +think of refusing favours of no consequence to the man who had really +gathered the early blossom of that soul? Just as the most trifling +familiarity disgusted her when it sprang from a vulgar material motive or +was forced, so the greatest seemed to her legitimate and even pleasant +if it was spontaneous, if it consecrated a genuine affection. The lady +who, while taking her bath, would have thought it more seemly to dismiss +her maid, did not fear to receive there in all honour a visit from a +gentleman. + +Why should distinguished ladies have deprived themselves, at the levee +they held on rising and retiring, of the pleasure of an intimate bedside +conversation with their lover? In their eyes it had exquisite advantages: +first, the very intimacy of the conversation; then the intellectual and +emotional relish it imparted to the purely physical operations of the +toilet; finally, for the favoured visitor, there was the tiny reward of +platonic love, the little personal token, the special bond which no one +else had. Margaret of France tells us explicitly that she could not have +insulted a man of position and a friend of the king, like Bonnivet, by +excluding him from her “dressing and undressing”; that, further, there +was no harm in Bonnivet’s “taking this opportunity to increase his +affection,”[186] seeing that platonic love consists precisely in loving +up to the very verge of the forbidden. + +In short, women genuinely platonic used their physical beauty as a +first means of developing their charm. In this respect they were at +odds with the mystics, who regarded the body as a negligible quantity +and an encumbrance; but they were still more sharply divided from the +sensualists. Their idea was to deify the body, enshrine it, so to speak, +and glorify it as the vesture of the soul, the servant of the heart. +Platonists of a lofty flight pushed this idea as far as possible: +Michelangelo so closely identified soul and body as not even to admit +that the face could have wrinkles when the soul had none; so great was +his enthusiasm for the beauty and youthfulness of Vittoria Colonna’s +soul, that he had that strange artist fancy never to perceive a line +on her face. He himself, when a scarred and battered octogenarian, +never felt withered; to his last day he never ceased to ascend with +shining countenance the altar of the Beautiful, like those priests who +bow hoary heads before the altar of the Eternal Beauty, the Eternal +Sacrifice, as they invoke “the God who rejoiced their youth.” He has +sometimes been twitted with having represented the Virgin as a woman +of thirty, even after the death of Christ; he did so, it is true, and +to him nothing appeared more natural. To him such a woman was always +thirty. On this point Anne of France did not quite agree with him; it +was one of her favourite maxims that a woman had much better accept +the inevitable with a stout heart; conceal nothing, dress to suit her +age, and persuade herself that wisdom is worth as much as beauty. But +Margaret of France could not bring herself to believe that a few marks +of physical deterioration dim the radiance of a woman’s moral beauty or +impair her charm. That such is not the case was the assured conviction +of these noble princesses. Unhappily it was not easy to persuade men +so. La Rochefoucauld retorts: “There are few women whose worth survives +their beauty.” To men a woman no longer exists if she can say: “When I +was younger”; every possible defect is then laid to her charge; she is +found to be ugly, jealous, washed out, viperous. Wisdom may be worth as +much as beauty, but what can she do with her wisdom? In Italy a woman was +reckoned to have reached the wisdom stage at thirty, and Anne of France +only consented as a great favour to allow her another ten years. + +Apart from any sort of notion of coquetry, it was therefore of the +greatest importance to a woman, from a mere sentiment of her duty and +her mission, never to be forty; the theory of charm would not have been +complete without the addition of the science of never growing old. + +This accessory science was, so to speak, a traced copy of that of love; +it also had its two schools: the school of truth and candour, the +“honest skill” which consists in keeping old age at bay; and the school +of cleverness and subtlety, which seeks to recover the lost youth, to +employ a little trickery, to repair time’s ravages—“a perpetual optical +illusion,” as Erasmus calls it. + +The first demanded much forethought and prudence. From the earliest years +of wedlock, with no immediate cause for alarm, it was an unremitting +mortal struggle against a foe as yet imaginary. The wife found her +weapons in solemn tomes and in the prescriptions she herself had +collected. A firm opposition to her husband formed part of her scheme. As +to special modes of treatment, they comprised aromatic baths, massage, +and so forth, means which were very restrictive and mundane and tiresome, +but wonderfully effective. + +A lady of that period could write in all pride and truthfulness, “Women +remain almost always young.” There were some who, when close upon +seventy, still merited the good opinion of connoisseurs. + +Others allowed themselves to be lulled asleep in the joy of youth, and +only awoke under the stroke of some sharp warning; but then they sprang +erect to their full height like a wounded tiger, and there was no act of +unquenchable courage they did not accomplish. They had their teeth drawn, +their skin scraped till it bled, they reduced their colour by dint of +gulping down sand or cinders. They were heroines of unselfishness! + +But if, alas! decay proved in the end irresistible, and they had to +resort to sham, how disastrous was the result! Around a made-up face +ill-natured folk saw nothing but shams—sham tapestry, sham bronzes, sham +conversation; art and platonism alike were banished: + + Ostez luy le fard et le vice, + Vous luy ostez l’âme et le corps.[187] + + —_Ronsard._ + +The dressing-room became like a universal factory of pinchbeck. On the +door might have been written the dictum, in general so utterly false, +of Cennino Cennini:[188] “Art consists in creating, or at least in +persuading men that that which is not, is.” Let us drop the subject. + +It is evident, on the contrary, that the honest art of dressing played +an important part in practical platonism, so long as it was not carried +too far. + +Since women were messengers of joy to the world, it followed that this +mission must be declared by outward signs. What more natural than to +give a princess a magnificent trousseau! It was not a luxury, it was the +implement of her profession. Anne of France was sure that simplicity had +been formerly pushed too far: everyone, she said, ought to maintain his +rank and perform his duty in it; the world has a right to what belongs +to it, that is, to everything save a woman’s heart: to neglect to study +appearances, to cultivate false simplicity, is to commit an “unseemly and +most dishonest” act. To dress must be considered a duty. + +A simple little “mirror of the soul,” like that of Margaret of France, +was not sufficient for an apostle of beauty. Mirrors of every kind and +style, hollow or pyramidal like factory chimneys, circular, angular, in +columns or spirals, rightly absorbed her attention every morning and gave +her a philosophical and serious conception of her person. It is not at +all to be wondered at that the lady whose appearance was to thrill the +world should begin by setting all this machinery in motion. + +The care of the complexion, and especially of the hands, naturally took +some time to begin with, not to speak of hygienic attentions. A delicate +little touch with the brush on the face is quickly given, but it demands +wonderful skill: it is nothing, and it is all. + +But the hair required an exemplary patience. Remember what we have said +about the infallible charm of light hair. At Venice Veronese never met +a brunette! When a brunette was mentioned everybody understood that +she was a woman who had given up dyeing and all pretensions to beauty! +That is why the Roman ladies, whom Tertullian reproached with flaunting +“barbarous colours,” and why our modern artists in hair-dressing, have +never discovered any more beautifully effective recipes for golden +tresses than those furnished by Marinello[189] or Cennini to many a +convinced devotee of platonism. The Venetian blonde, with her beautiful, +glossy, golden-brown locks, enjoys even to-day a renown so much the more +legitimate in that Nature has never succeeded in imitating her.—When the +hair had received its golden hue, it was spread at length in the sunlight +to dry, and then began the real operation of the day—the grand masterly +operation of hair-dressing. + +In France, singular customs in regard to this matter had long prevailed. +A lady would run a comb through her hair, probably quite perfunctorily, +slip on a hood, which she would keep on the whole day, and trip off to +Mass. This was still common as late as Anne of Brittany’s time: that good +queen herself was faithful to the hood to her dying day. + +By Heaven’s favour, Mary of England brought Louis XII. beautiful fair +locks, quite genuine too, and the fashion of wearing hats. Then, despite +the invectives of a few insignificant people like the poet Coquillart, +the feminine head-dress attained altitudes more and more complicated: +crimpings came in, and curling irons, paddings of false hair, huge coils +stuck with jewels in the Italian fashion. The quest of intellectual charm +displayed itself in some ladies by an artificial broadening of the brow; +to become philosophic, it sufficed slightly to shave off the hair in +front and pile it up high behind. The hair-dressers, who had now become +men of substance and repute, lengthened their showcases, and invented +those charming wooden heads which we have not ceased to admire. + +That the hair-dressing operation lasted three hours need not surprise us; +but how mortally tedious these hours would have appeared without the help +of conversation! The fair patient settled herself accordingly, garbed +in a chemisette of fine linen, cut pretty low at the neck and in no way +impeding her movements; and that was the hour when she showed her heart +to her friends. + +She had then only to dress herself, that is, to put on a wide-sleeved +cloak of damask, with a very low, square-shaped opening in which the +waiting-women slipped a plastron, usually red; this they laced with care +so as to fit the figure exactly; if necessary they inserted an artificial +bust, and remorselessly tightened the waist. + +In the great old-world houses, the last of these evolutions was +superintended by the master of the robes in person. Saluting with a low +bow, he announced the costume for the day. The serving maids, aided by +the squires, busied themselves about the lady, and packed her into a +doughty accoutrement of crimson and cloth of gold, a sort of clumsy +casing, a veritable strait-jacket, treacherously supported since the +close of the fifteenth century by busks or whale-bones, the furtive +origin of the corset. Around her neck was thrown a necklace of gold, +rubies, emeralds or diamonds, and on her head was set a sort of tiara. + +Not one of these details is unimportant, since the whole performance had +a lofty aim. And this is just the opportunity we have been waiting for +to judge the women; or rather, their dress passes judgment upon them. +Will they, we ask, have the courage to make their clothing expressive of +their own individuality, to render their garments in some sort living +and personal, or will they, with mere vulgar coquetry, copy and wear the +costume that may be seen trailing in any street? The courage to indulge +an individual taste in dress seemed a thing of no consequence; it is, +really, a great and a rare virtue; it stamps a woman at once, shows +if she has a soul above her tailor, if she has self-knowledge, if she +reflects, if she has a feeling for art, if she is determined to show the +world her own intelligence, her own beauty. Hands all round for liberty +and truth! Anne of France and many others rebelled against the craze +for a slim figure, stifling in summer, freezing in winter, regardless +of the claims of physical health, and even seeking to conceal the signs +of motherhood. How they wished that aestheticism would lead them back +to the Greek art, that is to say, to wide flowing garments, dignified, +comfortable, healthy, elegant! Or, as Louise Labé[190] poetically +besought, that women, instead of fastening themselves in a strait-jacket, +would condescend to resemble a leaf-cone, which opens spontaneously to +bear its fruit! But no; the only approach they made to Greek art was that +they sought to indicate the lines of the figure through close-fitting +casings, but the casings were whalebone and artificial. Health, even life +itself, was of no account; to graces which, however imperfect, had all +the attractions of naturalness they preferred a stuffed and padded ideal. +For alas! with the majority of women, a dialogue of Plato could not hold +a candle to a conversation with a dressmaker. Fashion was omnipotent; +under Louis XII. there was nothing but high-starched neck-ruffs; under +Francis I. nothing but low-necked dresses cut square in front, and boldly +gored to a point behind. + +The philosophic spirit, untrammelled by physical barriers, manifested +itself in the internationalisation of fashions. + +It was known throughout western Europe that a fashion adopted by Isabella +of Mantua was one to be followed, and that the ladies of Paris were +adepts in matching bright colours, and ridiculously concealed their faces +under thick veils. It was the acme of good style to dress one day like a +Frenchwoman, the next like a German, Italian or Greek. + +The platonists somewhat resented this vulgar application of their ideas; +that was not their conception of cosmopolitanism. To weld the minds of +men, to introduce into men’s hearts far and wide the truly refining +leaven of affection, fraternal concord and tenderness, by means of the +common love of the beautiful—that they could applaud. But masquerades +like these—what a mockery! In this matter, however, their authority was +ineffectual; a stronger was required. Francis I. knit his brows when +Spanish mantillas made their appearance at his court; he had his own +reasons for not being fond of them. He said that he believed himself +among a rout of devils. This one saying accomplished what no arguments +would ever have succeeded in doing: the Spanish frippery was packed away +in the wardrobes until the political sky changed. + +Nevertheless, the intellectual preoccupation made its way, and people +were willing to pay regard, up to a certain point, to Plato’s principle +that the soul rather than the body is to be clothed: in other words they +proclaimed a correlation between the colour of the petticoats and the +state of the soul. Everybody knew that there are physical harmonies which +hold absolutely; that sober tints suit the pale, dull colours people of +bilious complexion, and bright tones faces inclined to ruddiness. But +people rarely thought—they did not trouble to think—that there might be +for souls a similar harmony, much loftier, of much greater importance, +and much more necessary to observe; for the complexion may be improved +by a touch of the paint-brush, while the soul must be kept as it is. M. +Jules Lemaître, whose genius is thoroughly French and whose opinion it +is always a pleasure to quote in matters of good sense, has in our own +time this quaint idea: “Our fathers, who wore lace and feathers, coats +red, blue, dove-coloured, apple-green, and soft-hued lilac, could not but +feel more disposed to joy, seeing each other blooming like flower-beds. +If fashion should some day make us walk the streets in purple silks, we +should forthwith be rescued from doubt and despair.” + +That is philosophically true. It must be remembered that we cannot +isolate ourselves; we are dependent in a high degree on the world around +us. The inward joy we seek to create needs an external joy for its +support; the sun, the blue sky, the luxuriance of flowers, the clearness +of the air, the boundless gaiety and infinite cordiality of Nature +quicken and penetrate us; a grey sky and a dull horizon will never kindle +glowing reflections in our soul. + +It is needful and right that men, and above all women, should display +an infectious joy and vitality also, that we should not have to puzzle +out the real person under the tasteless guise of a vulgar fashion-plate, +cut from a price list and flung over the shoulders. Everyone should make +his dress a palpable expression of his life and joy, like the flowers +and birds and fruits. The Catholic religion intuitively seized on this +profound truth; it retained and developed, with the pageantry of its +ceremonies, the gold-embroidered copes flashing with sombre brilliance, +and all this red and white and blue the purpose of which is to make +us forget that these celebrants singing as they move are men, and to +represent them to us as the very flower of our ideas, as the essence +of our tenderest prayers and affections. Of this admirable demand for +the embellishment of life we have preserved only one melancholy symbol, +mourning. Men, with their customary suits of solemn black, may be said +to carry everywhere with them the idea of disenchantment, of the awful +paltriness and the perpetual mournfulness of the soul: there is nothing +of a man about them; they go about the streets like the scattered parts +of one huge machine. + +And this self-abnegation has nothing to do with material questions +of comfort or economy; there is no woman so poor that she cannot, if +she wishes, rise above her wretchedness by means of these external +symbols. Such at least was the opinion of the sixteenth-century women. +To them every colour spoke of the soul and to the soul; it was the +ensign of one’s spiritual fatherland, or, to use a modern metaphor, a +railway signal-light; white, the line is clear! it signifies a heart +free as air, a soul unappropriated or at any rate overflowing with +youthfulness; green, it is springtime with the soul, in the full vigour +of sweet acknowledged hopes; red, an utter despair! The cloth of gold, +the golden jewels then so much in vogue, represented the rich glow of +sunlight, the spacious joy of life! Whoever wished might approach and +find warmth and gladness. Celestial blue meant to the Italians soft +ethereal happiness; to the French, a tender and fortunate love. Black was +regarded as melancholy: yet this colour, incapable of fading, symbolised +constancy, firmness, and had its friends in consequence. Why restrict +it to mourning, as though our feelings for our dead are alone eternal? +Margaret, who loved and encouraged the use of black, protests: + + Le noir, souvent, se porte pour plaisir, + Et plus souvent que pour peine et tourment.[191] + +However, people generally preferred not to take their pleasure in black. +Rabelais allowed in the Abbey of Thelema none but brilliant costumes: he +wished to have one colour a day, and that the days should be told off as +white, pink, yellow, red, green—never black. + +Thus the sartorial art, in spite of little encouragement, itself came at +last to exhale a perfume of life and the ideal. Unhappily it had a cruel, +powerful foe, which was incessantly to check its aspirations and keep it +in perpetual bondage to materialism. This foe was the vulgar passion for +sumptuous display, the terrible taste that substituted a mere ostentation +of wealth for a garb expressive of art and sentiment. + +The French never recovered from that fever. + +When Charles VIII. found himself face to face with the court of Ludovico +Il Moro,[192] sinking under the weight of golden shoulder-knots and +jewellery, a thrill shot through the French army. + +From that time it was vain for the preachers to join hands with the +philosophers and demonstrate the infinite vulgarity of luxuriousness and +its deplorable moral effects; it was vain for the legislators to enact +laws; the die was cast. + +People were dazzled, fascinated by wealth: they knew not nor wished +to know what wretchedness it cloaked, how many women, and some of the +noblest of them, ruined themselves in their vanity, how many others lived +by expedients that would not bear the light.[193] + +Assuredly, magnificence had a glory of its own: there was no lack of +gazetteers to applaud to the echo the marvels seen on great occasions: +“Signorina Bulcano, in white cloth with gold trimmings and a golden +girdle; her Excellency the Countess Maddaloni in red velvet; her +Excellency the Countess du Rugo, in red cloth with large gold necklace.” +There is this to be said, indeed, that these chroniclers, superior in +this respect to some of ours, were destined to come down to posterity. + +Nevertheless, this was inevitably the death of platonism, the ruin of +all it loved and all it desired. A fine thing to characterise a lady by +the cloth or velvet with which she garbed her bust or limbs! In this +profound decadence of taste people came to see some good in the general +worship of close-fitting garments, for, now that women were nothing but +dolls, it was certainly better that they should appear jointed. And +what seriousness could be expected of, what noble idea or worthy aim +could be suggested to, a woman who was a slave to her gloves, her hats, +her jewels, who spent part of her day in close confabulation with her +dressmaker or jeweller? + + Cest anneau est du temps passé, + Ce ruby est mal enchassé, + Ce saintureau n’est pas fort gent. + Ma troussoire n’est que d’argent, + J’en veuil une batue en or....[194] + +and so on indefinitely: that was how she talked; she was no longer her +own, she was a slave. Satan in the pit of hell was bewailing, it seems, +the fact that he no longer saw rustling about, as formerly, dresses +“open down to the waist”; and he cursed platonism! He might make himself +easy, there were still most melting sights for him! And his colleague +Lucifer sets himself to cheer him, showing him the league of vanity +mounting to the assault of the Beautiful, the almost invincible might +of money, combated and proscribed above, triumphing and swarming on all +sides under the most pitiful forms of jealousy and coquetry: among good +housewives, who have neither grasped nor retained anything of the new +ideas but an instinct for rigging themselves out to play the countess +or the duchess—among kitchen wenches who deck themselves in fallals and +furbelows in apish imitation of their mistresses. + +Unhappily, the king went over to the side of vanity; official France +allied itself with the most dangerous adversaries of Roman philosophism +and intellectual splendour: with the Milanese, whose tinsel and +fripperies amused all Italy; and the Venetians, a people of large +expense. The struggle was thus fought out between sensuous gratification +and aestheticism. It did not alarm the platonists: they were prepared for +it; as Castiglione says: “There are fools everywhere.” + +But this was of all battles the most arduous, because the dividing line +between coquetry and a woman’s duty to be pleasant was not always very +clearly marked. A few exceptional persons had the gift of admirably +combining the two tendencies; these as a rule were Italian women. At a +celebrated ball given by the court of France in 1518, two ladies, Italian +both, were queens—queens of beauty and of charm; the one, Clara Visconti +Pusterla, devoted to white, made a brilliant figure with her silver +embroideries and ropes of pearls; the other, a sister of Count Borromeo +of Milan, was a dazzling apparition in cloth of gold and diamonds. Yet +it was felt how secondary and precarious were successes of this external +kind, and how wrong it would be for women to regard them as the real +basis of their influence. They were only one means. + +The fashion in regard to dwelling-house and furniture followed almost the +same rules as that of costume; for in a well-ordered house everything +harmonised with the people inhabiting it. The house is, so to speak, a +magnificent garment, the garment defending our existence against the +weather, the night, the intrusions of external life. Here, too, symmetry +of arrangement and studied designs are of little moment: the house should +exercise a charm, and there are ugly houses which are infinitely pleasing. + +A house is pleasing when its appearance is original and homogeneous; +when its inhabitant has lovingly put into it something of his own +individuality, when it is not merely a classical and regular arrangement +of stones erected on some vacant spot, or a gimcrack toy with pretentious +and purposeless decorations; it pleases if serious thought has gone to +the arrangement of its parts, if it has projections, angles, recesses +judiciously contrived, and making it, so to speak, a living, breathing +thing. This is the first rule: a masculine purposefulness. + +The second and the feminine rule is that the house should present a +great aspect of pleasantness, an appearance of amiability. It is of vast +importance that it should not clash with the landscape; it should fuse +with it, espouse in some sort circumambient nature, so as to radiate an +influence far beyond its actual site. This harmony results as a rule from +mutual accommodations; a gloomy house, for instance, will not be planted +in a smiling landscape; in a wooded or rugged but spacious locality a man +will set an extensive abode, without fantastic decorations, a house which +dominates outbuildings and approaches; no gildings, no polychrome effects +will be thrown up against a leaden sky: a church will not be constructed +in the style of a hammam, nor a stock-exchange in the form of a Greek +temple. The house, whatever it be, must smile, with a frank and loyal +smile, speaking through its façade and its approaches to the good folk +who pass, and beaming on them a look of friendliness. + +In the interior, to furnish it, that is to say, to render it habitable, +all smiles and happy memories,—this again is to enlarge oneself, +to complete oneself: and it is here that woman’s art is absolutely +indispensable. A human dwelling in the nature of the case can make no +claim to a proud immortality. Every passing season attacks and tends to +destroy it; whilst the objects of nature renew themselves unceasingly +by the automatic movement of their latent vitality, it is needful for +us at every moment more or less to reconstruct our shelter, under pain +of seeing it crumble and fall before our eyes. It is like one of the +fruits of our life. Thus, while it should be as solid as possible, while +reminding us of the persons with whom it has successively lived, it must +show itself supple and give expression to our present life, if only by +fleeting suggestions, corresponding to the various impressions of our +existence, and dying when we die. + +It was in this direction that the fine taste of prelates and ladies gave +itself free and glorious scope. A lover of the beautiful is so keenly +conscious that everything about him ought to be the manifestation of +some flash of thought! A chair, a couch, a piece of tapestry, all must +speak to us and exhort us to live the life of the heart, without allowing +ourselves to be crushed or numbed. At Rome, the home of this dominant +spirit, and even at Naples, the rays of its influence extended almost +inimitably; and it so well attained its object that a people wonderfully +sensitive, amiable, enthusiastic, ignorant of physical wants, became +enamoured of these glories of high culture of which, however, it barely +caught the reflection, and attuned itself to them. Men hoped the time +was at hand when all mankind would delight in beauty, they fancied +that they were born to live under glorious ceilings, among palm-trees, +gushing fountains and marvels of art. To this day the humblest of flymen +dilates with pride in the artistic treasures of his city. And how +diplomatically Isabella of Mantua went to work to surround herself with +splendid objects! What care Vittoria Colonna took in the mere ordering +of a casket! They appreciated equally the charm of collecting antiques, +diamonds, pictures, pottery, plate; the sole desideratum was that the +object of their quest should be beautiful or rare, the expression of an +artistic idea or an evocation of the past, that it should add to the +Attic charm of life, play its part in the cultivation of taste; in a +word, that it should be loved. Life thus, in its superb radiance, assumed +a grandeur and delightfulness of which we too caught the secret, in those +days when the palaces at Rome still had their galleries, the villas their +delightful rows of oleanders, the ruins their majesty. It was a genuine +and glorious sumptuousness, well calculated to elevate men’s minds! No +wonder that the desire of sharing in it spread through the world, and +that, unchecked by natural divisions, men’s hearts were simultaneously +possessed by one grand impulse towards beauty. This embroidery of life +contributed in large measure to the sentiment of the brotherhood of man +which then declared itself, and which appeared so singular; to-day we +do not truly realise its importance, because, thanks to the mechanical +lessening of distances, all men have become neighbours (and unpleasant +neighbours at that): a varnish of uniformity has spread itself over +everything; milkmaids and princesses often read the same books, wear +almost the same hats, marry at the same age and with the same ideas. But +in those days it was an absolutely new thing, when national diversities +and individual liberties were so strongly accentuated, to create a +harmony of ideas and a fellowship in love, of which the women were the +natural harbingers. + +Enter the palace of Margaret of Austria at Brussels, and, if you do not +find yourself back in Rome or Florence, yet you will at once perceive +that the remarkable mind of a princess has there gathered together all +that gives charm to life: a vast library, well supplied with romances, +history and poetry; furniture of priceless value, stately busts, +brilliant mirrors, portraits of all the princes and princesses of the +time, and by their side the portraits of notorious fools: a medley of +life and ideas; various pedigrees of the house of Austria, a trophy of +Indian feathers of brilliant colours, fierce shaggy heads of wolves, +broad fans, glistening armour, crystals, priceless caskets, medallions, +majestic chandeliers, articles in jasper and adamant; on the walls, +admirable Flemish tapestries spangled with gold or silver; on the floor, +warm, thick-piled carpets; here and there valuable pictures in profusion. +The visitor’s curiosity, solicited on all sides, knows not at first where +to stop to admire. And these various objects, individual as they are, +become animate and dwell together in a sort of high, grand, collective +existence: the one mind which discovered their affinities seems to +permeate them, sets them vibrating in unison, and thus penetrates the +soul of the visitor. + +Through this great science of intellectually adorning the material +conditions of life a first result was obtained: men loved life. Sadness +concealed itself, joy kept the whole world dancing to its merry pipe. It +was impossible to be anything but gay and amiable. If it chanced that +someone was to be buried, it was with full orchestral accompaniment, +amid the twinklings of a thousand tapers, and with a ceremony quite +lyrical. If perchance a man desired a melancholy funeral, he would do +well to say so in his will and prescribe the number of candles; but most +often men set their hearts on dying gallantly, and did not dream of +depriving their friends of an honourable entertainment or of economising +on behalf of their heirs. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE EMBROIDERY OF LIFE + + +Meanwhile, there is a life to live, there are things to do! A woman must +get happiness from the exercise of all her activities, both spontaneous +and enforced—even more than from her drawing-room or her jewels. We +propose to pass in review as large a number of these occupations as +possible, to show that, small or great, there is not one but appears to a +woman a source of joy and glory if she mingles love with it. Everything +she does, however infinitely humble, be it kneading bread for her husband +or washing his feet, is vivified with a transfiguring radiance whenever +the spirit of abnegation animates her toil, whenever she reflects that +this husband is not the sole man existing in the world, nor a sort of +domestic drill-sergeant, but represents the eternal idea sounding in +every heart. We have already seen these noble women in days of trouble +quivering with devotion at the bedside of their sick husbands; it is +the same in days of happiness. They find strength in abstraction; the +things that surround us so marvellously change their aspect, contract, +expand, according as we take them for what they are or glorify them with +thoughts of higher things—thoughts, not idle fancies, whether roseate or +gloomy, whether too brilliant in prospect or too distressing in reality. +It is chiefly in domestic life that abstraction is useful. The woman must +steep her hands in beauty, fill her eyes with love, and then look at +things courageously and truthfully. Everything, even vice itself, appears +frigid, vulgar, and commonplace to materialists; women ought (yes, ought, +not merely can) to render everything warm and gay—even virtue. + +Let us take haphazard some of the doings which most strikingly exhibit +them—their eating, walking, country habits, Sunday occupations. From +each of these they are able to strike the sacred spark. We shall see how +everything is transfigured in their hands. + +First then, their eating. Nothing is more material in itself, and nothing +better lends itself to spiritualisation. + +A house was characterised by the way in which a formal dinner was +managed; this was the touchstone of true style. On the table was placed +the massive and weighty silver plate, the family treasure which the +mistress of the house kept under lock and key, and which was worth a +fortune. The plate of some families was valued at a million francs. On +days of high festivity the table blazed with ponderous gold, but they +were content with silver for private dinners. + +The regulation of the menu was rightly regarded as a matter of such +difficulty and importance that men of the highest merit made it their +study to lay down fixed principles on the subject. Fulvio Orsini[195] has +acquainted us with all the best traditions of ancient Rome. Platina,[196] +the Raphael of the tribe, published under the auspices of Cardinal +Roverella a treatise which may be cited as a perfect model. + +In countries strange to the new ideas, men thought only of their palates, +_os sublime_, in the ironical phrase of Brandt.[197] In Germany guzzling, +at rare intervals but in enormous quantities, was the only joy. So +late as the end of the century Montaigne asked a former ambassador in +Germany how often he had been obliged to get drunk in the service of his +sovereign, and the ambassador reckoned up with all gravity, and declared +that he had got off with three occasions, all told. + +The French traditional practice was the same. Fairs, markets, +pilgrimages, weddings, baptisms, funerals, anniversaries, meetings of +gilds or corporations all served as pretexts for village gourmandisings +characterised by enthusiastic drunkenness, and often enlivened with +brawls in which both sexes took part. At the end of one of these feasts +we find the wife of the gild president dealing most energetically with +a toper who had called her an “old witch.” The châteaux were no less +fond of high feeding.[198] Historians ought to consult the kitchen +account-books! Without them they will never succeed in arriving at +well-founded judgments; we know no human document more convincing, none +which enables us with more certainty to reconstruct a bygone mode of +life. Unhappily the old kitchen books of France reveal a deplorable +spectacle; it is one long procession of herds of oxen and flocks of +sheep, innumerable poultry, rabbits and partridges by the dozen, small +game in hundreds, and pigs in disgusting profusion. The whole of the +delicacies consists, even in the most distinguished houses, of a few +cloves or sticks of cinnamon to make hippocras of. As to the wine, it is +wine of the current vintage drawn from the cask! Caesar Borgia must have +been greatly surprised one Friday, in the winter of 1498, while staying +with Madame de la Trémoille, to see filing in a course of two hundred +and fifty fish. The next day, again a fast day, the avenues leading to +the château were thronged with carts loaded with fish, in honour of the +visit of King Louis XII.; in particular there arrived seven hundred and +fifty eels. This was in Rabelais’ country. Further, in regard to tutelary +geniuses of the table, they were acquainted with none but appalling +spectres—Dame Gout,[199] Madam Gravel, or my Lady Apoplexy, to whom they +gaily made their salutations.[200] + +Then comes philosophy to preside at their feasts with salutary effect. +It teaches men that dining is a spiritual function. The table becomes +idealised. Much thought is devoted to its decorations, to regaling the +eyes with the sight of beautiful birds in their charming many-hued +plumage—peacocks, storks, or small and pretty birds strung on skewers. +The mistress of the house shows her art in having the daintiest courses +served on gold and crystal—things which while tickling the palate +content the mind; first dessert, composed of fruits and sweetmeats, then +compounds of eggs or fish, light dishes, in which pistachios, pepper, +ginger, rosemary, thyme, peppermint—everything that has sweetness or +aroma insinuates itself and figures in manifold combinations. Just as in +Plato’s _Symposium_, people take their places at table not to eat but +to talk, because conversation can have no warmer, more cheerful, more +restful setting. Often in the platonist system some incomparable lady +presided, and everything centred in her; from her eyes “rained love,” +that is, in the words of the guests, “meat and drink, ambrosia and +nectar.” She set the pitch; there was a cross-fire of witticisms flashing +over the table like fireworks, or else wit fluttered lightly about amid +a subdued hum of laughter. With one consent these were voted delightful +hours. Men fuddled themselves with talk: “’Tis my greatest vice,” +confesses Erasmus. + +This art became so well acclimatised at the court of Francis I. that it +soon became the joy of France. Margaret of France writes enthusiastically +about those dinners at which they used to “fill themselves with words +more than with meat.” French wit, which always owes a little to good +cheer, sparkled quite naturally. + +In Italy they were at fault in using aesthetic means too freely to +support the dinner. They durst not trust simply to conversation, but +employed music, a proceeding which appeared rank heresy in France. King +Alfonso of Naples, indeed, long regarded as the pastmaster of good +living, complicated his dinners with all sorts of refinements; after the +first courses, the ears were enchanted with harmonies soft as the breeze +of Capri blowing over the sparkling, rippling sea; or else there were +mimes, the _pulcinella_,[201] and roars of laughter. Then his guests +returned to the table and remained till the moment when, their heads +swimming with the strong and generous fumes of Falernian, they removed +the plate and withdrew. + +In Germany the whole day was spent at the table, with a licence that +was often gross, and with all that old mediaeval gaiety of which the +_Table-talk_ of Luther has preserved an excellent specimen. Yet the Rhine +is not so broad nor the Alps so high but that such customs soon appeared +disgusting and lamentable when compared with the politer modes which +were spreading through the world. Many writers endeavoured to polish +these table manners by publishing manuals of etiquette and collections of +_bons mots_. If they did not establish the complete art of conversation +they indicated its rudiments, and indeed their success was sufficient to +necessitate in 1549 a recasting of the fourth edition of the classical +collection of Gastius,[202] and the suppression of a certain number of +pleasantries which seemed out of place “in view of the distresses of the +time.” Thus the art of table-talk became so popular that even in Germany +people endeavoured to cultivate it; but sprightliness, which is its very +salt, remained till further orders a distinctively French quality. + +The ball and the dance, though much more aesthetic in themselves, +were a great deal more difficult to idealise, because in them the +sensuous element bulks more largely. Here, however, there was no need +to exaggerate, and to proscribe dancing would have been absurd. What +could be more ridiculous than the jealousy of certain husbands (husbands +do not stand sufficiently in awe of ridicule!). And it was so useless, +too. A woman who has her wits about her is never at a loss for a pretext +for going to a rout; there is always a young girl at hand who needs +chaperoning. Someone, indeed, mentions a young matron of Louise of +Savoy’s own court, who, to save an old husband an apoplectic fit, had the +heroism to immure herself at home; but this is dead against the spirit +of sociability. Why forge useless chains? Vivès himself, who is not open +to suspicion, agrees that “dancing is a very natural accompaniment +to the pleasures of society and the table.” But there is dancing and +dancing. The ideal of platonist joy and happiness would be a free and +thoroughly intellectual dance with a calm and delicious rhythm, a dance +that would add a pleasure to life, the dancer in light floating drapery, +bare-footed, bare-headed, ungirt, in the sweet air of springtime, on a +smooth, soft lawn among jasper and coral, under the long-leaved palms, +amidst the scent of roses and pine-trees—an intoxicating dance the pure +motion of which harmonises with the vast music of Nature, the cooing of +doves, the mighty arpeggios of the sea. The woman who, alone or hand +in hand with her companions, abandons herself to this exquisite charm, +this magical sweetness, who associates herself with all things in this +imponderable rhythm—does she not represent a goddess of happiness, and +does she not come to incarnate for us the divine charm of Nature? + +In practice the dance hardly attains this ideal; yet, even confined +within the walls of a room and reduced to a social art, it can still meet +the high demands of moral fellowship and become for women an instrument +of the most legitimate charm. The Italians especially excelled in +giving it a solemn air of sentimental gravity; some of their fêtes are +remarkable in history—for example, the ball given at Milan by Francesco +Bernardino Visconti on October 15, 1499, in honour of the conqueror, +Louis XII., or, in point of magnificence, the subscription ball got up by +the household servants of Venice in February, 1524. These were memorable +triumphs of art. But this high significance of the ball was never +understood in France. When people gave a ball they troubled themselves +very little about posterity, but a great deal about a certain number of +trifling present joys; and these made women descend a little from their +pedestal. + +There was in particular one peculiar custom, eminently pleasant in +itself, but not very celestial, and lending itself to abuses. This was +the custom of kissing. + +Well-bred men in every country used respectfully to kiss a lady’s +hand.[203] The Italians did so with fervour; if required they would have +kissed the feet; and a man had to be a German to stigmatise as idolatry +the kiss applied to the toes of the Pope! Italian women disported with +this kissing with perfect grace and all sorts of little refinements. At +a casual meeting they confined themselves to a pleasant handshake; but +tête-à-tête with a man they wished to honour, they would be the first +to kiss his hand, fondly, and without any of those affectations of +bashfulness which sometimes inspire such bitter afterthoughts. It was a +charming and very natural custom; but in France it took quite another +complexion. Men, being the masters, knew nothing of fine shades and nice +distinctions; the having to greet or take leave of an agreeable woman was +sufficient pretext for kissing her lips, and the motive they alleged for +this proceeding was that it struck them as being “amiable and sweet.” +In the ballroom it was another story; every dance-figure ended in a +kiss, and if we must add that it was complicated with wild and giddy +horse-play, it must be remembered that a French ball was racy of the +soil. Like a genuine Frenchman, Louis XII. felt it his duty at Bernardino +Visconti’s ball to kiss one after another all the ladies presented to +him, in other words, every woman in Lombardy. + +Ah! if the platonists and the true friends of women had been heeded, +things would have been different! They were scandalised at such +spectacles, which poisoned their intellectual joys. Years before, +Petrarch had risen against customs that much less affected their +position: what would he have said if he had come to life again! The worst +of it was that these French manners were like the little leaven, and +Castiglione notes that the leaven was creeping into Italy—Castiglione, +who had seen the time when a man durst not even take the hand of his +partner! As to Vivès, he dashes off a picture of dances and kisses +with his Spanish impetuosity: “What is the meaning of so many kisses? +Of old time it was lawful to give a kiss only to one’s relatives; now +’tis a general custom, in Burgundy and in England, to kiss whomsoever +a man pleases.... As for me, I would fain know what means so much +osculation.... What is the use of these many leaps that girls make, held +by their companions under the arms so that they may kick the higher? What +pleasure do these grasshoppers take in torturing themselves thus and +remaining the greater part of the night without wearying of the dance +body and soul?” + +The question was more than once raised as to what extent good manners +authorised, or rather obliged, well-born women to offer their lips to all +and sundry, and to lend themselves to promiscuous capering.[204] This +question was much debated: in general the most sensible folk considered +that they could not absolutely avoid the custom, accepted as it was in +good society, but that it was possible to practise some reserve; for +example, to present the cheek instead of the mouth. Montaigne pities with +all his heart the women “who have to lend their lips to any Jack with +three lackeys in his suite”; but so trivial a subjection seemed to him, +by its very triviality, to be of no consequence: “A high price adds a +flavour to meat!” He holds rather with those who saw in it a simple act +of courtesy, to which an honest woman could have no possible objection, +or at most so insignificant a favour that there was nothing to make a +fuss about. We are bound to add, however, that this was not everyone’s +opinion; and there were not wanting dilettantes who by no means regarded +this favour as so unimportant; Ronsard in all frankness considered +it delightful and took infinite pleasure in it.[205] As to Melin de +Saint-Gelais, on one occasion when he had won a dozen kisses at forfeits, +he swore that it was not half enough: “Twelve is too few, compared with +the infinite.” + +Here again fashion was more than a match for philosophy; and, barring a +few isolated exceptions, kissing and dancing carried all before them. +Examples come from all sides: from the court with its licentious masked +balls, and from the heart of the provinces; witness that singular strike +of the ladies of Aix in Provence. The courts having interdicted, on the +score of modesty, the dance known as the _volta_ (a sort of cancan), +these ladies at once threatened to betake themselves _en masse_ to +the pope at Avignon, and their affrighted husbands had to obtain the +annulment of the decree. + +The platonists and their friends knew the world too well deliberately +to open a campaign against abuses they could not destroy. They confined +themselves to bewailing them. It struck them as deplorable to see men +amusing themselves hour after hour in cutting their clownish capers at +the expense of honest women. They considered it absolutely ridiculous to +pretend to forbid men in the ordinary intercourse of life to smirch by +word, look or gesture a lady who pleased them, while at a ball everything +was permissible. + +The remedy, they thought, would be found in giving women more serious and +more elevated tastes; they believed that a woman habituated to really +noble ideas would know how to set herself high enough to win love without +yielding to the caprice of the first comer. + +The Huguenots pursued a different policy, and did not shrink from +attacking with all their force every kind of dancing: it would seem that +they did not dance at all. They spoke of animals coupling, of disastrous +confidences: “Look,” cries the good Daneau[206] with horror, “look at +this lady with her head high, vaulting, whirling, swinging herself about, +making a clatter with her feet.” That was what you saw at the ball: could +anything be more ridiculous? But what most strikes him is that she leaves +her modesty and her mantle together in the-hands of the lackeys in the +cloak-room. “There any man may run his eye over the ladies as they stand, +even with their husbands or mothers, and may choose any woman he pleases, +in other words, the woman who excites his lust: those whom the eyes have +chosen the hands clasp, and the men, as though already in the thrill +and enjoyment of their desires, kiss them, hug them, lead them through +the room; the young fellows exert themselves to appear lively and gay, +so as to entertain and caress with a thousand tricks and approaches the +girls they hold, and the girls show no reluctance to respond in kind. In +the _volta_ there are regular tricks for making one’s partner bound and +rise so high that the calves, even the thighs are shamelessly exposed +and prostituted to the eyes of the throng. The dancers go up and down, +lose sight of each other, then find themselves close together again; and +when they meet there are oglings and caperings, redoubled gaieties, all +showing how their hearts are bounding with joy at seeing themselves once +more so near the accomplishment of their desires. Every kind of dance +gives opportunity for discovering ways of pleasing, seeing, touching one +another more familiarly; and all this goes on to the strains of all sorts +of instruments.” + +The Huguenots, it will be seen, did not mince their words. But dancing +was never a whit the worse. According to the feminists it was in itself +neither evil nor ridiculous; the art consisted in idealising the play +of the limbs, as the work of the digestion had been idealised; and they +were agreed that, the brain being in this case farther away, the task was +obviously more difficult. + +On the other hand, women readily gave up anything that was not congenial +to sensibility: gaming, for instance. With their husbands gaming was a +frenzy; mature men, boys, busy men, idle men, everybody gambled. At the +gaming table all distinctions of rank disappeared; a great lord would +borrow a hundred crowns from his barber. What was a gaming-hall? A place +where not a word was uttered save as an exclamation or an oath. The +ladies permitted a game of draughts, chess or trictrac, but would hear of +nothing else. They preferred the embraces of which Daneau, Vivès and the +husbands complained. + +For ladies of middle station a usual means of exercising their charm to +the best advantage was to go to mass, especially on a Sunday, to the +“church parade”; that served them instead of a drawing-room. + +We have nothing to do here, of course, with their religious sentiments, +but only with their visible devices for captivating men. They went to +church as to a common haunt or a family reunion. God is the good Father +who collects His children about Him once a week. Sunday is the day +consecrated to lofty impressions, to the enjoyment in common of the +things that constitute life—the day of beauty, the day of music, lovely +frescoes, and displays of the latest fashion. The sanctuary was treated +with an affectionate familiarity, against which the preachers had long +been protesting in vain. + +In the northern parts indeed this familiarity was accompanied with very +objectionable scenes, and the clergy were at great pains to restrain its +abuses. At Tournay, for example, it appeared very disagreeable to the +cathedral clergy to serve every year as lay figures in the grotesque +procession of the Holy Innocents, and afterward to be abbots of misrule +in taverns; they obtained the suppression of the festival in 1489. +But the coarse merriment was not scotched; everybody, the principal +personages of the town included, made common cause with the children +dispossessed of so venerable a privilege; and in 1498 the agitation took +the shape of a nocturnal kettle-drumming which gave great concern to the +Parliament of Paris. + +In the south there was no need to fear such eccentricities; the church +was the temple of the Beautiful because it belonged to the women. +The congregation gathers in a motley, swaying, chattering crowd; it +takes some time for every lady to succeed in settling her finery on +her cushion, in a convenient place for seeing and hearing well. Then +there arises a confused hum of gossip more or less discreet, a sound of +stifled laughter, a rustling of cushions: “There is no better place for +a chat than church”; it is for all the world like a concert of “magpies +caught in a snare.” Ladies call each other by name, “Jeanne, Catherine, +Françoise.” A lady who comes late tries to skip in before another who +arrived early. The orchestra can barely drown all these noises; the +opening prayer is delayed. Many men standing in the aisles fancy they +are on ’change, and talk over their affairs; at one time dandies used to +come hawk on fist or dog at heel: others, motionless like machines, are +meditating—who knows what? Nothing at all, probably. Some are watching +the many-coloured undulations in the nave—the crimped hair, the dainty +hats. They quiz a handsome blue bodice with yellow strings and green +sleeves, cut very low. The ladies have a wonderful talent for sitting +stiffly erect, posing in such a way that they show their profile or +half-profile to the best advantage, their eyes sparkling, and sometimes +stealing a wicked little side-glance. That is what they call high mass; +those are the accessories of a fashionable confessional. + +In this way a fine philosophic equality establishes itself with the +utmost perfection at the steps of the altar, far more successfully than +in any palace; all cliquishness even disappears; a woman who has toiled +all the week at her spinning-wheel displays her charms by the side of the +lady of rank, moved by the same sentiment of elegance, idleness, and art. +For anyone with the least spark of sensibility or love of the beautiful, +church becomes the land of dreams, the starting-point for every elevating +influence. The Gothic church, with its lofty, light, graceful columns, +lifts the soul into a sort of mystic accord; there is something warmer, +more human, more genuinely intimate about the Italian church; women +high or humble experience there a sensation of unmixed delight. They +contemplate with tender trustfulness the imperturbable Madonna who has +already seen the passage of many generations, and who continues to regard +them from her nook in the wall with her woman’s smile—that smile of +infinite sweetness, of lingering and universal pity, directed towards the +children and the dead, towards all who suffer and love, weep and laugh, +a smile like a sweet-savoured incense of purification and grace. The +Italians loved the magnificence of their temples—the marbles bathed in +sunlight, the shadowy arches where the soul could unbosom itself without +blasphemy, and all those little secluded chapels in which every man +found his own saint, and came to offer up his poor, trembling, fainting +heart as the whole _ex-voto_ of life. In these hidden splendours, in the +charm of mystic music soaring amidst paintings and sculptures, gilded +ornaments and exquisite perfumes, midway between the past and the future, +there is a wonderfully soft and voluptuous pleasure. It is with profound +philosophy that Caviceo lays the scene of the first interview between +his hero and heroine in the shade of an altar; assuredly, in wrapping +itself with this veil of refinement and modesty, love puts on a sacred +character. So the church becomes, in its wealth of compassion, the haven +of refuge for pure and sensitive souls, and even for some others. Anne +of Rohan gave tryst to her lover in the chapel of Amboise;[207] a young +girl of Orleans with Machiavelian cunning made a Franciscan friar her +catspaw to attract the student she loved.[208] Pontanus depicts the +prolonged meditations of the Neapolitan ladies, long after the last of +the candles had been extinguished in the dusky nave.[209] A thousand +incidents of this sort might be cited: Francis I. in the church of +Amboise pursuing a charming girl with his devotion;[210] Panurge, whom +Rabelais sets to dog the footsteps of a noble lady, piously offering +her holy water, slipping inflammatory love-letters into her hand during +mass, and playing the most impudent tricks to attract her attention; the +poet Crétin, furious because at Lyons the church services are turned to +account almost exclusively by young fops and paunchy bankers. + +Pilgrimages also were capable of becoming a source of exquisite emotions +for artists in happiness. The author of the _Imitation_ has said that to +be often on pilgrimage is seldom to be a saint. Indeed, at the moment +when the indulgences were pronounced, the church porches were quite +invisible behind the smoke from the cookshops or the booths in the fair, +and an old author complains that you could not even catch sight of +your friends. But how these gross indulgences were transfigured by the +aesthetic spirit! What ravishing effects it derived from them! + +It was no longer paintings or sculptures that troubled hearts and pure +hearts gazed upon: they penetrated the clear heavens above. Blessed are +the pure! + +The sweet, tender Isabella d’Este set out thus to transport her soul +across the plains of Umbria, towards the calm and glorious homes of peace +and art, Loretto and Assisi. It was early spring, when the days were +clear and sunny; every morning after mass the little caravan resumed its +march with its picturesque escort, piously, tranquilly, ideally. During +the Easter festival it made a halt with the Duke and Duchess of Urbino +in the delightful palace of Gubbio, smiling down from amongst its gardens +and fountains. + +The woman who has been able to live these hours of pure enthusiasm is +conscious of accomplishing a large part of her dream. She is within +sight of reconciling two opposing forces, the forces of Nature and the +forces of the human heart, and forming out of them a love in harmony with +Plato’s thought and Raphael’s brush. + +In their dealings with Nature, the platonists sought above all to elevate +and sentimentalise it; they did not care for it masculine and stern, but +wished it feminine. + +They did not ask it to express itself in vast horizons, in a display +of wild vigour. Untamed Nature displeased them; it struck them as a +tyrannical mechanism which would keep moving and straining itself without +definite purpose, whilst it should be influenced and controlled by human +thought. On the contrary, the more supple Nature became,—the more docile, +urbane, almost affectionate—the better she answered their expectations. +They did not appreciate the _objects_ of Nature; but they valued a +beautiful sunny day, a beautiful horizon, the flowers which scent the +air, the glistening, rippling, soothing sea, the buds bursting with +sap and life, because this life is one with man’s. Plato has indicated +the need he felt of such a setting in the celebrated prologue of the +_Phaedrus_, where Socrates and his friend, strolling along the bank of +the Ilissus, seat themselves near a temple of the Muses, in the shade of +a lofty plane-tree, on one of those velvet swards in which every footstep +leaves its trace. Stirred by the fierce heat of the glowing sun, life +buzzes and sings on all sides; the murmur of water mingles with the +chirp of grasshoppers and innumerable confused dronings; odours of all +kinds fill the air, and life is quaffed in deep draughts; but amid all +these myriad voices blending into one grand symphony the mind of the +philosopher reigns supreme. + +Man, then, must in no way be considered the enemy of Nature; he is her +friend and master. Nature speaks to us, and we speak to her, and are +subject to her influence in the highest degree. Not merely do climate, +temperature, the beauties of the scenery exercise a paramount influence +upon us, as the monks so well understood who loved extensive horizons +and noble summits, but it may be said that there is not a tree or a plant +but influences us by its vicinage. The love of Nature emits a radiance +like the love of a woman, like all love, though in a less degree. It is +good then and right not to neglect so important a source of emotion. +Nature herself delights us because she smiles on us and we feel she +loves us,—because a higher power settles her proud rocks and governs her +volcanic fires. How pleasant it is (especially in warm countries) to +shape for ourselves in the broad world, too vast for us, a private and +particular nook: to send our very selves, as it were, out through the +woods by straight paths which make our will felt far away; to give the +flowers what forms and tints we please; to impress our character upon +everything; thus we banish all savour of imperfection and ugliness and +allow nothing to be seen but uniformity and affection; for, in the words +of a man of that time, if you go into the country, it is not to “descend +from light into the gloom.” + + Salut! palais, jardins, paradis de délices, + Dont les beaultez font ignorer les vices.[211] + +Under these circumstances, ladies, philosophers, and prelates considered +the country a perfect setting for the intellectual life. They there +got deeper, intenser spiritual enjoyment than in the city (though city +life in those days was not such a rush and bustle as it is to-day). The +dread hours of solitude will themselves contribute to this pleasure if +you know how to bring a delightful egotism unobtrusively into play; +they will enable you to recall many fleeting thoughts, to ruminate on +them, feast on them for your sole pleasure, in the spirit of the sublime +preoccupation of Lucullus when he chanced one day to be dining alone: +“Is not Lucullus entertaining Lucullus to-day?” We find, then, in the +country the same _mise-en-scène_ as in the town—the same furniture, the +same plate, but ranged under the luminous ceiling of a summer sky; the +same dances, but by the light of torches and the stars.[212] All Nature +breathes and thinks: the trees, artistically shaped, hang their sombre +drapery behind statues; charming walks wind or disappear among labyrinths +of laurel, thyme, and rosemary; a cascade leaps lightly and with musical +bickering from a tiny artificial rock, and speeds away swiftly but +noiselessly into the miniature presentment of a well-mown meadow. Or if +the owner’s wealth is equal to measuring itself royally against Nature, +he adorns the landscape with splendid villas, the glory of Rome, like +the Este villa at Tivoli, a sort of proof before letters of Versailles, +so moving still in the spectral life of its deserted groves, its silent +fountains, its shattered marbles. + +We must note, too, the singular phenomenon that the urbanity and +bountifulness of Nature appeared to these lovers of beauty a thing of +course. Nature is loved for herself only in countries where she plays the +step-dame. Lombards, Frenchmen, Englishmen, on leaving the smoky scenes +of their daily toil, did not shrink from a life in the depths of a dull +place in the country, or from intercourse with the rustics; they might +be seen any day chatting and whiling away an idle hour with the farmers +on the village green. At Paris people were passionately fond of natural +flowers, the annual consumption of which was valued by statisticians at +fifteen thousand golden crowns; even the University preferred them to +paper garlands.[213] The people of the south, on the contrary, spoilt +children of a soil which yields fruit of itself, trampled roses and +violets beneath their feet with never a thought of gathering them. The +Italian painters used to adorn manuscripts with elaborate golden scrolls; +the ladies framed their faces in gold and pearls, and valued flowers +only for the delicate softness of their perfume; many of them strewed +lilies and roses and violets about their bowers, as the quintessence of +sweetness. But everyone abhorred a country life. Castiglione has only one +word for the existence of gentlemen-farmers: “It is indecent.” As for +Margaret of France, she could find no stronger abuse, no more expressive +appellation for a froward heart than: “O rough heart, rural and bucolic.” + +Nor would one expect to find a liking for animals among the platonists. +Ladies valued only the boudoir pet, the little affectionate, obedient +animal, their very own, which meekly took their kisses and upon which +they lavished without misgiving a portion of their tenderness: a bird +for instance, or a pug. I say _a_ pug, for there was seldom more than +one. What was the good of a troop of shaggy animals however graceful, +like those which fill the canvases of Veronese? A lady much preferred +her one little lapdog, which she carried on her arm against her heart, +took to bed with her, and had painted in her own portrait. “Love me, +love my dog.” Titian’s Venus of the Prado is nude, but she keeps the +indispensable ornaments—a pearl necklace, a musical instrument, and a +little dog. Margaret in writing to M. de Montmorency[214] tells him gaily +that she is looking after her niece’s “belongings,” that is, “her parrot +and her daughters.” The death of the darling bird or the little pug was +a cruel event. What tears were shed! So faithful a little dog! How many +men might have learned a lesson from him! Friends could hardly venture +to speak of the fleas of the demised, or the hair that he dropped all +around, or the other objects which his mistress might perhaps find for +her affection. + +People did not care for flocks and herds, except perhaps as a distant +ornament of the landscape. The King of Naples and the Cardinal of Amboise +kept peacocks and stags. Anne of France founded a sort of Zoological +Garden in which she acclimatised turkeys and bred parrots. But that had +nothing to do with aesthetics. + +From country life we naturally proceed to the grave question of the +utility of physical exercises for women—a question much more difficult +to decide than appears at first sight. Suppose a number of old-style +French châtelaines, sun-baked, inured to the inclemencies of the weather, +dashing huntswomen, had been asked to relinquish violent exercises like +hunting, fencing, boxing, tennis, on the ground that to indulge in +them was to waste their charm? They would have ridiculed the idea. And +yet, after mature deliberation, the Urbino coterie decided that these +exercises were altogether incompatible with the feminine temperament. + +One had to come to Lyons to find a pretty and clever woman like Louise +Labé posing as Bradamante or Marphise, and boasting of her riding and her +skill with the lance. Every well-born Italian woman detested such mannish +ways. When Charles VIII. arrived at Naples, the princess of Melphi, +to humour the barbarian’s tastes, presented to him her daughter on +horseback, but mounted in such a manner “as not to do wrong to her sex.” +Here there is a problem in pure aesthetics. Not that women like Isabella +d’Este and others are deficient in energy; when need arises they will +give proof of an extraordinary vigour; Margaret of France, in her passion +for serving her brother, bestrode a horse and galloped to the Spanish +frontier with a speed and endurance that the postal service has rarely +attained. But if, impelled by strong feeling, they accomplished feats +like this, they did not boast of them. What charm would Margaret with +all her heroism have for us if we had to see her flying with loose rein +astraddle on her nag? It is impossible to cite a military woman of a more +energetic temperament than Catherine Sforza: when did she shrink from +sleeping on the bare ground and passing her nights in the open air? Yet +this was the lady who, when she had a minute’s peace, solemnly dispatched +a Jewish old-clo’ man to her neighbours, to discover for her a certain +down for bed-ticks which was reputed exceptionally soft. + +The very decided disfavour in which physical exercises were held by women +had its counterpart among the men, and very largely diminished their +ardour for anything in the way of sport or athletics. Even at the court +of Julius II. a young cardinal was mercilessly chaffed because, instead +of showing his visitors his books, coins, or pictures, he hurried them +off to a jumping-match in his garden! In France the taste for violent +exploits utterly died out, at least in court circles. When ladies were +by, there was much talk, in language borrowed from the romances, about +the virtue of arms and the nobility of valour, and as they spoke the +striplings brandished inoffensive swords. Tournaments were in favour as +a show adapted to captivate ladies’ eyes, and purely decorative—barring +accidents! Some in silver habits, others in red, green, and blue, +the combatants would make a few passes, and when they had done, the +victor, followed by his pages, galloped all round the fine-sanded +lists, to receive his meed of applause. After all, the ladies had +little appreciation for this relic of barbarism; they did not see the +philosophic necessity of equipping oneself with lance and steed to run +the _grand prix_ of life; in their view that prize was called “repose and +sovereign joy”; and that is not won at a gallop. + +The question of the chase gave rise to somewhat various opinions. +Hunting, like war, gave man pleasure; to him it was a noble and sacred +occupation, since its end was the shedding of blood,—a point in which it +displeased the platonists. But, on the other hand, man is a born fighter, +and he should only be encouraged to work off his combativeness against +animals created precisely to be slaughtered by him. There is nothing +criminal in the trade of butcher, and it is far better to kill an ox than +a man, a boar than an ox. The chase was thus a valuable expedient. + +But in an age of such exquisite refinement, when the infinite sweetness +of the Beautiful came at length to penetrate men to the very marrow, +people became more fastidious, and asked themselves if any brilliant idea +could be derived from the chase, or if it was not a sufficient concession +to the animal spirits to ramble about casually, to take the air without +excuses, and to go out riding under the eyes of the ladies, even though +too manifestly like a groom exercising his cob. Perhaps that would have +been better. + +But the chase was popular at Rome. + +The hunts in the Roman Campagna were of old renown. The deer there was +reputed very fleet, and the boar a particularly tough customer; the +hounds belonged to those idolised and sagacious breeds which could not be +bought at any price, and whose whelps were begged for by princesses and +potentates with absolute servility.[215] Further, in default of military +pomp, the glory of the chase, material as it was, seemed essential to the +political interests of the papacy,—and consequently to the interests of +religion,—with respect to certain eminent personages more accessible to +such arguments than to those of theology; and it must not be forgotten +that the Roman prelates, unfortunately for themselves, were politicians +as well as devotees of art. While closely allying themselves with women, +they had to reckon with men. The hunt organised by Paul II. for Borso +d’Este in 1471 has remained justly celebrated in the annals of the +church. It was therefore less a question of slaying animals than of +saving souls, and it may be said that in this respect the chase conduced +towards a spiritual end. + +The great Popes of the Renaissance, however, were somewhat lukewarm +in cultivating it. Alexander VI., though an excellent horseman, was +but an infrequent and inexpert huntsman. Julius II. went out into the +rich vinelands rarely, if at all; for, born of a sea-faring stock, he +preferred to cast his nets into the deep like St. Peter. Leo X. rode +more, owing to threatenings of obesity; he hunted with application and +brilliance, and with his habitual love of perfection, but without that +quality which makes hunting an art, that indefinable something which +hunters call the “sacred fire” or the “devil may care” spirit, and the +friends of the Beautiful call love. He was a Florentine, and manifestly +did not regard the hunter’s rôle as a fine one; he could not imagine that +to spur a horse was to stimulate one’s ideas. To men of his stamp Nature +was, so to speak, truly feminine; they would have liked to put her under +glass. On the other hand, a number of prelates revived the chase with +their enthusiasm; they portrayed it in their poetry; they brought to it +all their gravity, urbanity, and decorum. When the ancient walls of pagan +Rome or the limestone benches of the Coliseum were blushing under the +first rays of dawn, or when the old triumphal arches were looking young +again under the smile of the Sabine mountains, a brilliant procession +set the pontifical flagstones ringing under their horses’ hoofs. Look at +these great figures who are passing. Here is the proud Catherine Sforza; +Tebaldeo, the poet skilful in following the forest tracks; Pontanus, the +methodical huntsman, the taciturn philosopher; the pride of Venice, the +sprightly Bembo, somewhat excited, for he wishes to “stick” the boar +and cut off its head, and therewith to do honour to the Virgin of the +woods, “in verses which will go down to posterity.” Here is the fair +Lucretia Borgia, “the glory of her race,” and, in close attendance, +Ercole Strozzi, just writing for her his great poem called _The Chase_, a +medley of venery and politics. Who next? Here is the omnipotent Ascanio +Sforza, vice-chancellor of the Roman church, all impetuosity, full of the +boyish animation which he will retain through the most cruel trials till +that day when he goes to his long rest in the church of Santa Maria del +Popolo. Behind him comes cardinal Adriano Castelli, the witty diplomatist +who wins all hearts, the admirable humanist who is going to celebrate +this chase. These ladies and prelates sing the praises of Diana; it seems +to them that the noble goddess in person is guiding their long cavalcade +among the tombs, in the impressive silence of this great Roman desert +where long aqueducts (odd vegetation!) lend sombre decoration to the +landscape. + + Her broidered chlamys she has raised; + Her golden locks float in the breeze, + The purple buskins reach her knees; + Her gilded quiver’s ringing sound + Wakes echoes in the woods around. + Ascanio, courteous, debonair, + Rides close to show her every care; + Collects the troop, on Lybian steeds, + And harks them forth to doughty deeds. + +View halloo! The boar is started at the foot of the hills, the hounds are +off, the hunters scatter and gallop up hill and down dale, dogged and +indefatigable. Presently, shouts, bayings, howls of wounded dogs! All is +over. Cardinal Ascanio appears, with flaming eye and flaming cheeks, his +coat red, his knife redder still, near the boar dripping red. This is +the epical, the intoxicating moment. The hounds tumble over each other, +the whippers-in bestir themselves, the hunters come panting up from all +directions. Suddenly all is hushed; as if by magic an exquisite repast +is served; the sweet measured tones of guitars, the voices of singers, +the plaudits of the banqueters alone wake the languid echoes, while huge +flagons of a generous wine go round. Then Cardinal Castelli rises, and +in his elegant Latin recites a Pindaric ode in honour of the victorious +huntsman, “the empurpled senate’s glory and grace.” Nothing could be more +piously orthodox or more delightful than this hunting ode. The Cardinal +recalls how the Redeemer, “true religion’s lord and emperor,” has put +vain deities to flight and given solace to perishing humanity, bringing +life and strength and joy. Ascanio responds with this invocation: + + O Dian, virgin goddess of the woods and groves, + Or whether it behoves + To hail Proserpina, light of the glooming sky, + Lucina, Hecate, or e’en + Of the dim nether world the woful queen, + Dictynna else, or Trivia—whosoe’er + Dost to my swinking hours apply + Thy constant care, + Thee in my heart I hold eternally! + +Evening creeps on, and the shadows extend. Soon the joyous clatter of +hoofs is re-echoing along the Sacred Way; these are the masters of Rome, +whom the shades of Tiberius and Constantine salute in the darkness. + +While at Rome the chase was thus allying itself with poetry, in France, +as may be surmised, it followed no such bent. The good Louis XII., +ruling with circumspection, would not have been hard put to it to give +his exploits a character of seriousness and tranquillity, for his +health obliged him to hunt in a litter, and more often with hawks than +with hounds; indeed, even at the kennels of Blois the spirit of poetry +modestly crept in; the court poets, not having at their disposal the +Roman mythology, or the shades of Tiberius and Constantine, extolled +the royal hawks and hounds. They honoured with a charming epitaph the +venerable Chailly, doyen of the pack, and a model of probity and honour, +who, after having followed the king even to war, had peacefully finished +his course at the feet of Queen Anne. They sang also of the famous +falcon Muguet, the terror of herons, “little of body but wondrous full +of courage”: + + Trois passetemps parfaits a eu Louis douzième: + Triboulet et Chailly, et je fus le troisième.[216] + +But all this fine poetry only celebrated the mettlesomeness of the +animals; it did not protect the game from slaughter; it left hunting +with its primitive characteristics, which continued to wound the finer +feelings, and snuffed out the faintest glimmer of the spiritual life. + +One man was found, with the heroic determination to reform the French +style of hunting in the Roman direction. This man was Guillaume Budé, +generally known as the founder of the College of France, but as good a +hunter as a Hellenist, and in this regard as worthy of renown. + +Budé is a brilliant example of the intellectual development of many men +of his generation. Come of a line of high officials, he went through +the usual experiences: a tutor, fashionable masters, a special Greek +tutor, one George Hermonymos, brought direct from Lacedaemonia to teach +him to lisp the Greek alphabet at the remuneration of five hundred +crowns monthly; but Lefèvre d’Etaples[217] did not succeed in making +a philosopher of him, nor Fra Giocondo[218] a mathematician. Then, +after lolling for a while on the long-suffering benches of the Orleans +University of Law, Budé resigned himself to run in the paternal grooves; +apart from hunting, he was not known to have any accomplishment or +passion except fishing. So he went to Rome as secretary to an embassy +at the time of the election of Julius II. This proved the turning-point +of his life. The aesthetic splendour of Rome struck him and held him +spellbound; he experienced the electric shock, the complete change of +view which the sudden revelation of the spirit of beauty has from all +time occasioned in choice minds. He came back a changed man. He became +an apostle of beauty; he resigned his diplomatic appointments, and his +office as secretary to the king; he even refused a comfortable retreat on +the bench, in order to devote himself to that noble intellectual life, +the radiance of which had filled his soul. + +He gave up everything except hunting. And it was then that he had to face +the trying problem that rose in his mind with peculiar intensity—how to +spiritualise the chase. + +The solution he arrived at was of the most original kind. He has +communicated it to us in the form of a conversation, real or imaginary, +between himself and King Francis I. This dialogue attained a measure of +popularity; written in Latin (following the Roman fashion), it had the +honour of being translated by the great court translator, Louis Le Roy, +and in our time has been re-published by M. Chevreul. + +Budé’s idea was wonderfully simple, and nicely calculated, he thought, +to make an impression on Francis I. The king was not very clever, but he +was very willing to learn, and had great confidence in the new ideas, +particularly those of his friend. + +Budé merely suggested the adoption of Latin as the language of venery. At +first sight, Francis did not quite catch the piquancy of this proposal; +however, he made no opposition; and discovered on reflection, indeed, +that it hit the mark admirably. Certain persons were agitating for the +suppression of Latin in law proceedings, with the professed object of +rendering them more comprehensible: here was an excellent means of +silencing the agitators, by showing them that Latin, if it can serve for +the slang of the turf, can serve for anything. + +History does not relate whether Francis halloed his hounds in Latin +verse; but the seed dropped by Budé was not lost, and another scholar, +Michelangelo Blando, the commentator on Aristotle and Hippocrates, took +up the same subject as a second study. In a learned Latin treatise on +hunting, Blando shows how important it is for the huntsmen to be men +of literary culture; for their benefit he investigates every branch +of canine lore from the earliest times: breeds, regimen, maladies, +training—on all these points he admirably collects the various threads +of tradition. Nor does he forget the lives of the most illustrious of +hunters down to and including Francis I. Among these, naturally, he makes +honourable mention of a number of noble ladies who were ardent devotees +of the chase, and with whom the sport almost always meant a dedication of +their virginity; for example, the fair Atalanta, who disdained marriage; +Calixto, daughter of a king of Arcadia; Arethusa, daughter of the Centaur +Hippochrome; Amimone, a Breton nymph, daughter of Danaus; and a thousand +other vestals whom it is unnecessary to recall, says he, “being household +words with all hunters worthy of the name.” After such an enumeration, +one might indeed be tempted to believe that, for women at any rate, the +chase elevates the soul and has platonic virtues. + +But, all this notwithstanding, the lady artists in charm did not think +it deserved either encouragement or sympathy on their part. In what +respect had this sport any moral efficacy? It had, on the contrary, +the disadvantage of giving a woman a somewhat masculine appearance, +of diluting in her all that constitutes the essence of platonic +sweetness.[219] + +Riding to hounds was no longer indulged in, except by some few +over-energetic and rather old-fashioned ladies like Margaret of Austria, +who was so proud of her stuffed wolves’ heads; or Anne of France, a +passionate and classical huntress, whom one of her faithful henchmen, the +seneschal of Normandy, enthusiastically styles the “grand mistress” of +this “glorious trade”; but whom he calls also its last representative. +Anne hunted in the same way that she did everything; coldly and +methodically she with her own eyes examined the trail, and gave the word +to hark forward; then she set off with her dogs, and suddenly warming +to the work, grew animated and vociferous, and smartly handled her +hunting-spear. Such ways as these have caused her to be always wrongly +judged, even by her closest friends, and have given her a reputation for +mannishness, whereas in her heart of hearts she was infinitely feminine, +and femininely philosophic. + +The large majority of her contemporaries would have been careful not to +imitate her, and if they resigned themselves to the chase, it was for +some good reason. Personally they went in for little else than hawking. +It was indifferent to them whether men rode out and effected more or less +slaughter; but they loved the associations of the hunt—the delightful +evenings, favourable to flirtation (when the hunters were not too hungry +or sleepy); the succeeding days of tranquillity, when the unconstraint +of country life allowed them to rise early and come down into the fresh +air without stopping to do up their hair or their complexions, but with +clear, rosy cheeks; to hurry through a hunter’s mass, and then start +gossiping in the shade on the respective merits of dogs and birds until +it was time for breakfast. In short, to platonist ladies, the less +hunting there was, the more genuine and admirable the chase appeared. If +men absolutely insisted on spilling blood, why not get it over quickly? +Why not fill their parks with tame stags and one fine morning go out and +massacre a few? But for pity’s sake let there be no more talk of their +Red Indian stratagems, or of competing in instinct with the animals! +“Tell me,” cries Margaret of France, “is the capture of a stag fit work +for a prince?”—he might as well turn mason or hind! + +They came to the conclusion that, if they did not wish to live in the +kennel, there was nothing for it but to give up hunting, and this was +more logical than Budé’s or Blando’s attempt to imbue huntsmen with lofty +and fantastic ideas which would never make a good sportsman. + +Like all human things, the charming theories we have just indicated +had their dark side. The habit of suppressing nature, of making her +all grace and attractiveness, of embellishing and transfiguring her, +is pretty sure to lead to the loss of any real knowledge of nature. A +landscape is transformed into a drawing-room. Lemaire de Belges and +others discourse to us of nothing but branches gently swaying, rustling +leaflets, the waning autumn, huts in which mock shepherds in sham +goat-skins listen to the moaning of the winter wind with a ravishment +which it is difficult not to fancy humbug too. If only this mawkish +sentimentality always led to the ideal! But no; the coy Phillises sport +their demure little tricks at all hours but the lover’s hour, when +perhaps they would not be out of place. + +The fleshly Venetian school, with its feeling for colour and its somewhat +pagan naturalism, much more successfully expressed man’s relations with +Nature. It opens for us not a mere garden bower, but a huge factory of +sensuous pleasure, whence ascend a thousand high-soaring aspirations and +a penetrating effluence. Giorgione and Titian have wonderfully rendered +the poetry of these love-filled horizons. From the smooth sea, or the +foaming billows, or the flowery meadows depicted by their pencils, loud +voices speak to us; and nothing but the old, imaginative mythology is +wanted to personify all the unknowable and unknown unions whence we +feel that the physical world is every day drawing its life and its +overmastering thirst for renewal. The epicureans let themselves drift +along aimlessly, resting on their oars,[220] and do no more than sing +their little part, hardly audible in this colossal orchestration. The +platonists, on the other hand, will not allow themselves to be seduced, +and combat nature even while caressing her, preferring to keep her too +much in subjection rather than to yield her too much obedience. Nature +untamed or sensual would slay man, they think. She is a slave, meant +to be subject to us, meditating revenge, and eager to suck or shed our +blood; and she is set among the slaves. + +Finally, a word must be said about a life which held a place +midway between country life and city life, namely, the life of the +watering-places, both inland and by the sea. In France the fashion +was difficult to introduce, good society preferring the large and +comfortable existence of the country house; but to take the waters was +all the rage in Italy. + +Except at church, there was no scene where people could better meet +together, or take one another more seriously without hypocrisy. A +public bath represented the ideal of equality. You go in, cut a figure, +and come out again, and Jack is as good as his master. It is an open +drawing-room, in which people who elsewhere are strangers to one another, +acquaintances, and bosom friends all have one idea—to distil their soul +drop by drop into the ears of kindred spirits, like the neighbouring +spring. + +The difficulty with which the custom became acclimatised in France has +been attributed to very various causes. Following an old tradition, many +preachers so late as the 16th century inveighed against the habit of +bathing. Out of thirty women who go bathing, says one, not one can call +herself pure. “O fatal laving, prolific in elements of death!” exclaims +another. “Ye women who stew yourselves,” says Oliver Maillard,[221] “I +summon you all to the stewpots of Hell!” The Calvinists went to still +greater lengths of indignation, and more than one physician, even, +thought well to adopt a cautious attitude. At the end of a long treatise +on hygiene, Gazius says: “I have still to speak about the baths, and I +shall do so briefly, for the custom of bathing does not exist among us, +and further, it is a pleasure which is not devoid of danger; perhaps it +would be better not to speak of it, lest I should appear to recommend +it. For myself, I have never taken a bath, and I am none the worse for +it, thank God!” However, Gazius, not to come to logger-heads with the +ancients, or the Arabs, or his colleagues, goes so far as to acknowledge +that cold water is in use “in very distinguished countries”; for his +part, he sees nothing objectionable in a douche followed by brisk +friction or massage. + +But we must get to the bottom of this matter, a question of morals rather +than hygiene. + +We have unexpectedly come upon principles which we recognise as old +acquaintances. Neither preachers nor Calvinists were willing to admit +that any consideration of utility could induce a self-respecting woman +to strip herself of all, or nearly all, her clothes, either in the open +air as in ancient times, or in one of those public bathing establishments +which were cried every day in the market-places between the artichokes +and the cheese,[222] and where the authorities winked at certain +familiarities. Many historians have concluded outright that Calvinists +and preachers had a horror of water; but this is not strictly accurate; +they recommended baths at home. Thus the council of Basle passed a canon +inviting persons to set bath-rooms in their houses. The platonists fell +in the more heartily with the council’s recommendation in that they +treated their bodies with sacerdotal attentions, so to speak, and that +no refinement appeared to them unreasonable in forging the weapon of +delightful love. Some discriminating women preferred dry methods to +water—powders, pastes, scraping of the skin, which enabled them to say +“that they did not wash their hands”; but the majority owed a great +deal to water, and the room devoted to this work of regeneration was a +sanctuary. The little bath-rooms of the 18th or the beginning of the 19th +century, hung all round with mirrors, are familiar to us. The idolatry of +the 16th century was less blatant but not less ardent; Raphael himself +decorated Bibbiena’s bath-room, and, as we know, the subject chosen by +the charming prelate for his frescoes was the story of Venus and Cupid. + +In one of her most amusing letters Madame de Sévigné bewails the +necessity of taking shower-baths at Vichy, which she regarded as a +“humiliating” situation to be in. To give herself courage, she conceived +the singular idea of keeping her two maids with her, so that she might +“see familiar faces.” At the same time, she got her physician, a man of +parts, to conceal himself behind a curtain, so that she might chat with +him during the operation. + +We do not know what the impressions of Madame de Sévigné’s descendants +are, but we know that her ancestresses were on this point extremely +fastidious. Margaret of France, not to lose sight of the story of the +chaste Susanna, had it embroidered on a table-cover. + +We get an idea, then, of the cautious attitude adopted in regard to +hydrotherapeutics. But on the other hand the friends of antiquity +restored water to a place of honour; scholars proved that the Romans had +been devoted to it; the higher clergy became its apostles. George of +Amboise and his brothers multiplied the spas at Rouen, Blois, Gaillon, +Clermont, as the pope did at Rome. + +In regard to mineral springs, there appeared, under the auspices of the +pope and the Venetian senate, a large folio official guide,[223] which +explained that there were waters for all sick bodies as there were saints +for all sick souls,[224] but that no one should venture to them without +seeking advice in the proper quarter. + +A person wishing to go to the waters would consult a physician. If he was +a specialist like Savonarola, he would look at everything with aquatic +prepossessions, and commence his patient’s initiation at home with baths +of various kinds—baths of oil, of wine, of milk, of fire, of compressed +air. One fine morning he would announce that mineral waters were spoilt +in transit, that he was tired of making the patient drink stale water, +and he would then dispatch him to some natural spring. + +Most of the Italian springs, at any rate such as were much frequented, +had the good taste to flow in or near a city, and thus people were +likely to meet familiar faces, if only among the regular visitors. Under +Louis XII., the city of Genoa revolted because its French captain, +the Sire de Roquebertin, instead of attending to business, tiresome +certainly, passed his life at the waters of Acqui. + +A lady of distinction, however, first of all secured a good escort to +keep her company; Margaret of France, for instance, carried her whole +party off to Cauterets. Then she had to listen to the parting exhortation +of her doctor, a punctilious and intelligent man, who apparently had +no excessive confidence in his colleagues or his fair client, and who +catechised her and made her read the folio. He mentioned eight enemies +lying in wait for her—headache, insomnia, and the rest;—he instructed +her how, by watchfully studying her little secret vices and never for a +moment forgetting her digestion, and so on, she would put them to rout. +Then he carefully consulted the horoscope, the direction of the wind, +the temperature, his chart of epidemics; he assured himself as to the +character of the year (for there were some years in which the waters +killed off the invalids or made them worse), and finally he pronounced +the _exeat_. + +Flinging off this wet blanket with his terrestrial visions, the patient +sped away. Pity if it was towards Porretta, near Bologna, a very popular +haunt but dreadfully purgative. However, the spirit of Beauty can +idealise everything, and an agreeable poet, Battista of Mantua, undertook +to show all the moral and aesthetic satisfaction to be got in drinking +three glasses of a laxative water, and then leaving Nature to herself. + +He describes this regimen in admirable verses: + + “Far from the bed and all its joys, + You go and come and eke advance + In the slow measure of a stately dance,” + +and so on. + +In fact, the idea of becoming young again, the thought of gaining new +freedom of mind, new warmth of heart, new suppleness of the bodily frame +by sacrifices so slight, of seeing the wrinkles vanish of themselves, +in short the pursuit of beauty as a bounden duty, threw the glamour of +poetry over many things, and was well worth the self-imposition of +twenty-one days of hardship. For all that, fashionable people preferred +the bathing-places to the spas. + +Life at such places presented the admirable advantage that people +could there enjoy the most perfect liberty. Nowhere were there better +opportunities for seeing one’s friends, for intimate conversation, for +deriving real profit from companionship. It was that which made this +life so precious. A man who had followed in the train of the princess he +loved had absolutely nothing to do but to devote himself to her, for he +put up with the rubbings and purgings only as a sop to his conscience. +What delightful opportunities between two glasses of water to improve +the mind or tell stories! Many collections of _Novelli_ originated near +a spring. It was during a season at Lucca, in April 1538, that Vittoria +Colonna made the acquaintance of Carnesecchi, the adventurous theologian, +and launched out with him into the abstrusest religious speculations. +Everyone followed his own bent, and the gentlemen who did not love +husbands were less irked there than elsewhere. + +We shall not go so far as to say that platonism exercised undivided sway +over the bathers;[225] but to have a place at all was something gained. +There is no indication that a much purer virtue reigned north of the Alps +among the virtuous races. The goings-on at Baden in Aargau scandalised +even Brantôme. A Florentine,[226] who thought life at Florence pleasant +enough, has related his impressions at Baden with a naïve stupefaction; +he was dumbfounded the very moment he arrived. The beautiful platonism of +his own province, flanked always by jealous husbands and _impedimenta_ +of all sorts, appeared to him mere food for babes, a phantom, a faded +flower, an unsubstantial pageant, beside those Piccadilly manners. But +they did not offend him: “Bravo!” he cries, “who wouldn’t be platonic, +since Plato preaches the community of women? Here the husbands take +everything, absolutely everything, in good part! How wonderfully sensible +of them! These Germans don’t rack themselves for suspicions, they enjoy +the present.” And then, Florentine as he is, he goes on to describe +the charms of Baden with genuine enthusiasm: the handsome streets in +which never a sign of infirmity is to be seen (Baden was recommended to +childless women); exquisite fine ladies; men in cloth of gold and silver; +somewhat exotic beauties sprung from God knows where, attended by a +lackey and one or two waiting-maids; here and there a few noble abbesses +of reasonable piety.... What a whirl! It is one mad race for pleasure! + +Serious people who take care of themselves and desire a cure, have two or +three baths a day, living like so many ducks. For ordinary folk there are +common swimming-baths of wonderful picturesqueness, but every respectable +hostel possesses one bath for men, and another for women, with a gallery +to which men are admitted in their dressing-gowns. To describe the gaiety +that reigns there is impossible. There is chatting and laughter, eating +and drinking, dancing in a ring; the gentlemen fling down coins which +the fair bathers catch with the tips of their fingers or in their linen +chemisettes, with much contortioning and struggling. Sometimes, when the +company are on intimate terms, they end by fraternising in a single tank, +which is much more amusing, and pleases the physicians, because nothing +ensures more conscientious bathing. _Honi soit qui mal y pense!_ + +In the evening a broad meadow serves as a casino; there is more dancing +and singing: and these amusements are mingled with various pastimes +such as the game of _balle à grelots_,[227] which leads to all sorts of +horse-play. + +That is Baden. + +One singular fact is brought out. Platonism was regarded as nothing if +not complex and elaborate, and indeed it believed itself to be such; +antiplatonism, on the contrary, affected airs of the most complete +simplicity: yet whenever the two are confronted, it is platonism that +proves the more ingenuous. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +INTELLECTUAL RESOURCES + + +It is all very well for a woman to be beautiful, to lend grace to the +world, to diffuse sweetness and light; but this would be but a vain show +if she did not with jealous care nourish in herself the flame of love of +the Beautiful. Castiglione, who liked to give a mathematical precision +to his definitions, tells us: “Woman must nourish herself on the life +of the world and the life of the arts”—thus in appearance relegating +the aesthetic life to a second place; but he is very careful to add: +“She must occupy herself with literature, music, painting, dancing, +and entertaining”; in other words, the heart must reverse the parts, +and in the conscience secret preoccupations must come before visible +occupations, His view is logical. How could women govern the world if +they were in reality its slaves? The first necessity for a lighthouse is +a light. + +Further, we ourselves have a right to ask where these ladies think of +leading us. Their art consists in pleasing us and in indoctrinating us +with their principles. To please is their secret, with which we do not +meddle; it is of little consequence to know if Lucretia Borgia cut out +her own dresses, where and by whom Mary Stuart had her hats made, or if +women always please by what pleases their husbands. But when they speak +of ruling our intelligence, it becomes of very great importance to know +how they will deal with us. + +The intellectual provision of the Renaissance women consisted chiefly +of impressions of art, in accordance with Castiglione’s prescription. +In this, painting (still more the inferior manual arts—lace-making, +embroidery, tapestry) held the lowest rank, on the principle +universally accepted in the platonic world that the less an art needs +the co-operation of the senses to touch the soul, the greater is its +excellence. Music stood higher than painting, because it directly +transmits an impression; vocal music in particular represents almost +the speech of soul to soul, with but an insignificant admixture of +materiality. Poetry was the supreme art, the truly aristocratic thing; no +one would have dreamt of comparing it to painting or any manual art. The +poet with one stroke paints soul and body; in Ronsard’s words, “he paints +in the heavens.” + +To lay in her stock of happiness, a woman will begin by living in close +communion with the Beautiful. Sciences are useless to her; she has little +taste, and still less time, for their cultivation. But just as she finds +breakfast a necessity, so she ought every morning to give her soul +nourishment, if it be only one sip of the beautiful. Louise of Savoy on +rising used to read a psalm, “to perfume her day,” as she put it. These +few moments’ reading were sufficient to flood her soul with a radiance to +light her through the day. + +Further, reading is a duty having special claims on women. Not only is +there always some new thing to learn, some new chord to touch, but the +intellectual life demands a constant outgoing of energy,—I will venture +to say, a continual “education.” Could a tree flourish and bear fruit if +it refused to suck up its sap? How long would it be before it stood a +bare skeleton against the sky? + +Thus, with complete independence of mind, as great as her material +liberty but much more difficult to acquire, a woman will supply herself +with spiritual food; she will seek Beauty in truth stripped of all +conventions. The real foe to women’s freedom is not this or that man, +but themselves, because of their frivolity, their inconsequence, and +their innate passion for the superficial; in other words, for the +conventional or fashionable. They need a real force of soul to go deeply +into anything; they are perfectly happy in yielding to the glitter of +a thought which, though obscure at bottom, is dazzling on the surface. +When the taste for precision has not been carefully instilled into them +in childhood, they run a great risk of wasting their minds in habits of +cursory curiosity, like many men of the world. + +Books played a prominent part in the psychology of the Renaissance. They +were regarded as the highest type of luxury; a house was characterised as +much by its library as by its plate. Among the ladies, Anne of Brittany, +Louise of Savoy, and many others are essentially deserving of the name of +bibliophiles, nobly loving the beautiful books with beautiful miniatures +produced for them. They were even accused of reading them. In that epoch, +the artistic aroma exhaled from a fine edition seemed necessarily to +accentuate the written thought, just as music accentuated the uttered +thought. We have become wiser; we have discovered that beautiful books +are herbariums in which ideas must be left to dry, for their better +preservation. + +There was no lack of scoffers to make mock of this “bookish sufficiency.” +“What a heap of books!... These folk must surely mean to carry the world +on their backs! What a frittering away of intellectuality!” And, indeed, +Margaret of France not only believed in books, but doted on them; to her +a library seemed a sanctuary. + + “Tant y en a que le seul remembrer + Et les nommer n’est pas en ma puissance, + Mais il faisoit beau voir leur ordonnance ... + Et du scavoir qui est dedans + J’en laisse aux folz craindre les accidens ... + Des livres fiz ung pillier, et sembloit + Que sa grandeur terre et ciel assembloit.”[228] + +We writers think it natural enough that people should buy our books, +keep them, and even cut a few pages; if it is women who show us this +attention, we do not complain. We dig away in darkness under the soil, +labouring like a miner with his pick; why should we complain that above +us, in the bright sunshine, someone sifts and mints our metal, and +circulates part of it through the world? + +It is even a not wholly disagreeable surprise to meet in an odd place +here and there one’s own ideas, which have flitted away and found warm +foster-parents in people who have so far adopted them as to believe them +their own. Sometimes it is another writer who is good enough to saddle +himself with them thus, and in that case our feeling is not perhaps +unalloyed pleasure; but if it is a reader, man or woman, we are well +rewarded. Often, too, our idea as it goes round has altered in feature, +and if it now and then appears to us enfeebled, it also happens sometimes +to have gained strength. + +Everyone cannot be a writer! ‘Amateurs’ have a rôle of their own, which +is not that of ‘stickit’ authors—a rôle of synthesis, generalisation, +criticism, support, sanction! + +The end we pursue—thought, namely, and truth—can only be attained by the +aid of conversation,—only if distinguished and enthusiastic women set +themselves to distil from our books any good they may contain, and to +diffuse its essence around them. + +From this almost indispensable collaboration between pure learning +and its popular interpretation results a vigorous life. As Madame +d’Haussonville has so well said: “An eager desire for knowledge possessed +the entire sixteenth century. The quick and supple intellect of the women +was carried away in the general current. Erudition was the passion of +the age, not that cold and microscopic erudition which arises in ages +of decadence, and which is often only the useless lumber of scholastic +pedantry, but an erudition living, intelligent, and animated”—animated, +that is by aestheticism. + +By the side of exquisites like Bembo, laborious students like Lefèvre +d’Etaples, Hebraists, and exegetists cultivating their little patch with +dogged tenacity, there were brilliant minds, perhaps more brilliant +than profound, but unprejudiced, who synthetised particular studies and +started them on an unlooked-for career. For the Hebraists, exegetists, +philosophers, and historians of every description, the spread of +intelligence would of course have been fatal; but it was the _raison +d’être_ of a lady whose mission was to put in circulation the results of +her individual study. + +Thus the aim which women had to set before themselves in their reading +was twofold: first, a personal, aesthetic aim, the reinvigoration and +refreshment of their own souls; secondly, an aim relating to their +apostolic mission, the art of understanding men’s souls, then of +charming and leading them by means of conversation. + +But it is impossible, by merely scanning a man’s bookshelves, to form +an idea of the man. In great houses, the king’s, for example, some of +the books were inherited, others were presents, others were books that +no gentleman’s library could have been without. Francis I. bought the +Italian novelties, Bembo, Pontanus, and Politian. In reality his chief +reading was the Arthurian romances. + +The princesses had also, besides the books of the hour, books that +they had been obliged to buy or accept, books left to them—those which +were kept “for their backs,” as Montaigne said. The bookshelves made +a brilliant display in a spacious gallery adorned with the choicest +objects of art. The bulk of the library usually consisted of books on the +elements of religion, history, and morals; it also contained romances, +poetry, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and books with engravings, which too often +replaced those charming manuscripts of which Louise of Savoy was one of +the last protectors. + +The books that were read were treatises on history, especially Roman +history, and on practical medicine.[229] But custom varied. + +Certain ladies, like Anne of France, browsed on the early fathers, the +philosophers, and the moralists. Many, while loving studies of this kind +and calling themselves highly philosophic, preferred to have their food +peptonised, and to be furnished with ready-made convictions which only +required ventilating and disseminating in conversation. A number of +Italian treatises proffered themselves for this little service, the best +of which was Castiglione’s book, _The Courtier_. To name Castiglione is +to name the Bible of platonism, the code of aestheticism, the Machiavelli +of anti-machiavelism; Castiglione was in the hands of every woman who +meditated on the ideal. + +From a purely aesthetic standpoint the classics were in favour, except +Virgil, to whom only the Mantuans remained faithful, probably from +local feeling. Ovid, who speaks so well and so much about women, ranked +very high. He had been popularised in France by the translations of +Octovien de Saint-Gelais and André de la Vigne; illustrated editions went +off rapidly, even though the engravings were old. In the very highest +artistic spheres, people swore by Cicero.[230] In Margaret of France’s +circle the favourite names were Terence and Cicero, Castiglione and +Boccaccio. + +On the reading days, which were principally (we are bound to say) the +grey days of existence, when one feels abandoned by God and men, when +one is left to “one’s own devices,” people rather sought for light +entertainment, if possible gently emotional, or at any rate lively, +cheering, affecting. The Bible was very useful for getting glimpses of +Heaven without having to run to a monk or a parson, for an intelligent +woman cared for nothing lower than a bishop. If they wanted psychology, +they went to poetry, novels, romances. A mere sonnet, a little story, +very short but with movement and savour, would suffice to cure a casual +fit of dumps; in more complicated cases they took up some voluminous +romance, which engrossed the attention for long hours and reflected life +for the nonce in warm and sunny hues. + +The literature of the Renaissance was well provided with _Nouvelles_ and +_Facéties_, answering all the demands for spiced and piquant reading made +even by the platonist ladies. + +They revelled in such works with no touch of coyness; it was a mark of +breeding to discuss them, laugh at them, and quote from them. Often some +courtly abbé, the spiritual director of these ladies, and soon to be a +full-blown bishop, undertook explanation or translation. + +Some persons have questioned whether the custom of reading narratives +so strongly spiced did not in the long run obliterate the moral sense, +especially among women. Brantôme maintains that this was the cause of +all moral obliquities. Margaret of France did not believe it; her faith +in art was so ardent that she regarded it as a proof of mental vigour to +face all sorts of literature without blenching. Her friend Marot told her +so with a smile, for in the contest between flesh and spirit he held +with the flesh; he mentions a select list of the works reputed the most +naughty, and adds: + + Tout cela est bonne doctrine, + Et n’y a rien de deffendu![231] + +Margaret, brought up on Saint-Gelais and Boccaccio, was in truth +inoculated. Further, like some other women of narrow mysticism, she was +not afraid of contrasts;—soul and body in opposite pans of the scale, +Petrarch as a corrective to Boccaccio, and vice versa. Good humour and +gaiety were part of the platonist hygiene, and ladies took them where +they found them. Coarse pleasantries did not amuse, as a German[232] +who had spent great pains in writing a _Eulogy of Baldness_ frankly +confessed. “We are ridiculous even when we write of serious things, but +we are never gay. When we try to be jocular it is, in the words of the +proverb, like setting an elephant to dance.” Professed humorous writers +are such bores!—a crusty old philosopher like Nifo, to wit, or that +excellent La Perrière, a friend of Margaret, who dedicated his lascivious +verses, his _Hundred Considerations of Love_, to a clerk in the Woods and +Forests! + +There was no help for it, ladies had to return to Boccaccio, since +amusement was his monopoly! The chance discovery of a by no means +remarkable unpublished fragment of Boccaccio covered Claricio of Imola +with glory, and was published at the expense of a Milanese Maecenas, +Andrea Calvi, under the auspices of Leo X. and Francis I. Castiglione +and Margaret were not disposed to attack such a renown: their ambition +was to eclipse it. Margaret had a fresh translation of Boccaccio made. +She herself, as we know, was ambitious to imitate the master; and to +do so was really a profitable business: by donning Boccaccio’s mantle +Firenzuola became a dignitary of the church, and Bandello became bishop +of Nérac; while a common saddler, Nicolas, gained the favour of the king. +The test of skill was to tell true stories under transparent pseudonyms. +Yet Louise of Savoy was almost as fond of the Acts of the Apostles. + +The Facétie had a less brilliant fate. Poggio and Cornazano, always +dear to the ladies, handed down many of their stories to imitators like +Domenichi, Delicado, Boistuau, who in their turn passed them on to +Shakespeare, La Fontaine, and others. + +The old romance continued in high favour—a favour that was so far +merited in that the romance combined with the sentimentalism of chivalry +sufficient spiciness to induce a good lady to leave it lying on her +table. Women doted on the venerable romance of cloak and sword,[233] +long, diffuse, and heroic; it had long ago captured Italy. It delighted +princesses by its idealism, and peasant girls by its flavour of mystery +and marvel. When the efflorescence of humanism, aestheticism and the new +ideas was at its height, the _Romaunt of the Rose_ made its reappearance, +and year in, year out men saw defiling past, as though resuscitated by +some terrible incantation, all the old knights of ecstatic or sorrowful +countenance, the champions of the Holy Grail and of Melusina—Lancelot of +the Lake and Perceforest, Fier-à-bras and Percival, Ponthus, Meliadus, +Pierre de Provence, all that Gothic world which was believed to be dead +and buried. With them they brought their friends and relatives—_The Fair +Elaine_, _Theseus_, _The Destruction of Troy_, _The Doughty Hector_, +_Oedipus_, _Alexander the Great_, these worthy, up to a certain point, of +rubbing shoulders with Plato; but also _Baudouin_, _Le Grant Voyage de +Jherusalem_, _La Conqueste de Trébisonde_, in an age when people troubled +themselves very little about Crusades! Even the Italians went mad over +Charlemagne. It was like an electric spark—a reciprocal attraction. +France lost her heart to Italy, and Italy opened wide her arms to France; +the women of the south, the men of the north. In vain did the platonist +men ridicule the event; in vain did their spokesman, Pulci, at the court +of Lorenzo de’ Medici, the sanctuary of platonism, empty the vials of +their wrath and give the paladins a terribly hot time of it; nothing +could stem the tide, and a romance—a shockingly bad one—entitled _I reali +di Francia_, became the germ of a whole new literature. + +Men succumbed to this craze because the women drove them to it. Besides, +nations, like widows, love the dear departed. Since chivalry had +ceased to exist, people naturally swore by nothing else. The more our +activities decline, the more we gloat over the memory of past excesses. +Charlemagne, then, filled the horizon; doting looks were cast at rusty +old sword-blades, and while works of quite charming beauty left women +almost unmoved, spectres had only to appear, to vanquish them. Sometimes +these showed themselves naked and unadorned, in all the strange dignity +of their powerful frames; at other times an intelligent editor paid some +attention to their toilet, smartened them up, decked them with little +rosettes of pink or blue. How many times was _Amadis_, perhaps the most +famous of these romances, thus tittivated! No one remembered that France +had given it birth; it was re-imported into France by way of Spain and +Italy through a translation of Herberay des Essarts, with fabulous +success: “Any one who spoke ill of the Amadis romances would have been a +hissing and a by-word.” Out of four books it grew into a dozen; it might +well have lengthened itself indefinitely, like some law-suits in our own +time. + +These old romances are to-day scarcely known except by scholars. If we +open any one of them at hazard—_Lancelot of the Lake_ for instance, one +of the most classic[234]—we find that the colouring is crude. Side by +side with mystic virginities we see the reek of coarse appetites. Wives +and maidens have blood in their veins, and, like all persons of rather +primitive education, do nothing by halves; her husband has only to turn +his back for a moment and queen Guinevere is feeling her way towards a +reconciliation with Lancelot (bearded like the pard), and the gallant +knight has no need to supplicate to get the window opened. Sir Gawain +holds very brief parley with the daughter of the king of North Wales, +when he surprises her extended on her ermine couch in a virginal but +ravishing deshabille! Arthur very quickly forgets Queen Guinevere amid +the solace brought him in his cell by a damsel “courteous and fair of +speech.” + +As it mixed in the best platonist society, the old romance of chivalry +picked up more refined manners. King Arthur ends by gathering about him a +noble enough company; Roland leaves Charlemagne in the lurch, to hasten +after his well-beloved; and (horror of horrors!) Angelica philanders +prettily with a Saracen page! The old torrential romance ended like the +Rhone—fell into a tranquil lake. + +And yet the dignitaries of the church invariably denounced it, and had +the courage to break with the women on this point. They countenanced +neither the old masters nor the new—the eloquent Cataneo, the gay +Boiardo. Nothing disarmed their opposition—neither the success of +romances like _La Célestine_,[235] nor blandishments. When Ariosto +offered to Cardinal d’Este his masterpiece packed with dithyrambs in +honour of all the Estes past, present, and to be, the amiable prelate +said to him: “Where on earth did you get all this nonsense?”[236] + +In short, women who read, read what spoke of love: that was what they +set store by. Philosophy spoke of love—they were philosophers; romances, +facéties, novels, poetry spoke of love—they sipped also of that +philosophy. But in some cases it was philosophy that bred the spirit +of love, in other cases it was the spirit of love that led them to +philosophy; and from this wide differences resulted. + +The first class were coldly sentimental,—but no real sway is exerted +through coldness; they lived in the absolute,—but the absolute lends no +governing force. They lost touch with things, they had nothing of the +communicable warmth which makes apostles. They were princesses, sacred +beings, to be admired but not touched. + +Plato had not evolved a practical rule for happiness, and his best +friends agreed that his social ideas presented many chimerical sides. + +But the ladies who learnt their philosophy from love were the ardent, +active women who knew that the world is swayed by passions, good or bad, +and that the secret of feminine power lies far more in that than in any +amount of reasoning. Reason may produce an artless blissfulness, but +passion has lynx eyes. Love is not reasoned out or manufactured, it is +a give and take; life also is only a perpetual exchange, and happiness +comes from life, while Plato seeks it in self-contemplation and egoism. +To act on another, one must be acted on; to make others happy we must +gain happiness through others. An illogical process? What if it is? +Nothing is more illogical and more relative than happiness, since it has +to do with us. That is for many women the science of life, and they love +romances as a pictorial philosophy—not cold precept, but a living force—a +philosophy in which the heart cries out instead of patiently suffering +dissection. + +Books appealed to the feelings. Poggio tells the story of a worthy man, +a merchant and a Milanese, and therefore doubly unemotional, who almost +died of grief after reading about the death of Roland: yet Roland had +been dead seven hundred years! Much more were women justified in showing +their sensibility! + +So, when they read, they attached the highest value to the external forms +which produce impressions: they were affected more by these than by +ideas. The wife of Guillaume Budé declared that she loved her husband’s +books, not for their contents, but because she regarded them as his +offspring. Women adored magnificence of expression—the rhetoric, the +rhythm, the “gay trimmings” of style; poetry seemed to them the supreme +enchantment, because it answered at once to their personal craving for +“sensibility” and to their mission, which consisted precisely in sowing +a little charm in life, that is, in garnishing life externally with a +little poetry. + +However, what they called poetry we should rather call music. Poetry in +those days was only a perpetual libretto; there was rhythm and cadence in +the arrangement of the words, and the impression they gave was a musical +one. Perfect clearness was not insisted on; the thought was allowed to +remain in semi-obscurity, like a melody flowing uncertainly through a +strain of music, rather betrayed than revealed by the harmony. Our great +Lamartine, with his lofty but indefinite thought, has been regarded +even by us as the first of poets. On the other hand, the aim of musical +melody was boldly to seize all these words, to give them a precise +value, intensity, brilliance, and force. The employment chiefly, or +indeed exclusively, of human voices brought this quality still further +into prominence; the delicate modulations of the voice, thrown out with +matchless skill, seemed to outline the very soul of the singer, like +traceries against the sky. + +The admirable inspirations of Vittoria and her predecessors will never +cease to touch us. In that old idealistic music there lies a whole +intangible world; our vows, our love, our poignant sorrows, our prayers +gush forth in it like a fountain, flash like a bursting rocket in the +sky: “God has given us nothing more pleasant, nothing more sweet,” +exclaimed a poet: “music is a messenger from heaven, the solace of all +our woes.”[237] + +The sonnets of Petrarch were set to music and sung; they had indeed been +composed for that purpose. Teodoro Riccio furnished an accompaniment +to the famous romance, _Italia mia_, and Ciprian van Rore one to the +sonnet, _Fontana di dolore, Albergo d’ira_. Ronsard, too, wrote his +sonorous rhymes for music; Baïf, as is well known, went so far as to +propose to turn writing into a sort of notation, and when his academy +was instituted, composers of music and even mere singers were admitted +on equal footing with poets. The art of music consisted in giving to +thought all the external beauty of which it was capable. Philosophers +counted metrical music (in other words, poetry) or vocal music as a part +of philosophy. The art thus intellectualised became quite a religion. In +his painting of Parnassus at the Vatican, Raphael shows us Apollo singing +like an ancient bard. In all the pictures of Paradise that we have seen +we have never found a palette, or a sculptor’s point, or even a rostrum +or an inkstand; nothing but direct and pure communion with God through +contemplation and music. And what could be more delicious than the little +choirs of angels which Giovanni Bellini’s imagination placed at the feet +of his Madonnas, like an incense of homage from the world! Melozzo gives +a queen an organ as her emblem,[238] and Titian one to his Venuses. Music +would seem to have been the very breath of happiness. + +The common people themselves were strangely enamoured of intellectual +harmonies. In Italy a number of poets spent their life in the +market-places, like Homer. Aurelio Brandiolini, for example, who sang in +the squares of Verona the praises of antique heroes, went on, stimulated +by popular applause, to execute veritable _tours de force_, such as +singing in verse the thirty-seven books of Pliny’s _Natural History_. The +celebrated Bernardo Accolti wandered from town to town giving recitals +in the principal squares. The moment he arrived, people flocked about +him, business was suspended, far-distant shops were shut, lights began to +appear on the balconies, and the police hastened up to keep order. Making +way through the crowd by favour, the notables formed up round the poet +as a guard of honour; and then, under the lamp of some sleeping Madonna, +amid breathless silence, the poet’s voice arose towards the starry sky, +singing love to the accompaniment of a guitar. + +Nothing more truly characterises the period than this popular passion for +musicians, poets, and buffoons. Far from becoming degraded by contact +with the mob, poetry seemed thereby to gain in breadth. A pure Virgilian +named Andrea Marone (Virgil’s surname) never felt at ease unless sitting +on a stone post; in that position inspiration seized him like an ancient +sibyl or a fakir; his veins dilated, drops of sweat stood on his brow, +his whole being expressed itself in gestures which gave emphasis to his +song, lightning flashed from his eyes; it seemed as though a part of his +individuality left him and shed itself upon his audience like a rain of +fire. + +Almost all women were fond of music, for men were very accessible to +ear-charming sound. Even in France, in spite of the poverty of aesthetic +education, the villages harboured a surprising number of harpists and +taborers. The duchess of Orleans patronised at Blois a crowd of more or +less official “gitternists,” fiddlers, and trumpeters, without reckoning +strolling guitarists, always sure of a warm welcome. Like all the +princesses she had her private band, and also two taborers, magnificent +in their crimson badge,—so magnificent that during her lyings-in she had +them to play at the foot of her bed. It was a great sorrow to her to have +to dismiss, from a prudent motive of economy, the ducal choir and even +one of the taborers; Pierre de Vervel, once her master of music, always +remained her friend. + +We have in a former volume shown Louise of Savoy, a cithara in her hand, +surrounded by a harp, an organ, and a complete orchestra. Louise Labé +approved of young girls devoting to music the best part of their time. +It was incomprehensible how any lady who possessed this divine means of +fascination[239] could neglect it; when a Mademoiselle de Hauteville had +to be pressed to display her magnificent voice, her false modesty was +censured as a sort of professional error. Mary of England, accompanying +herself on a guitar, used to sing of a morning to Louis XII., her +doddering old husband, and the poor prince felt himself revived, such +“wondrous pleasure did he take therein.” Margaret of France, who has left +us thousands of verses, evidently betook herself to poetry as nowadays we +go to the piano, to let her thoughts wander at large; instead of singing +with her lips, she sang with her pen. It is highly probable that many +ladies abandoned themselves thus to their inspirations, half music, half +poetry. + +Sometimes people had too much of it. It was irritating to meet certain +people perpetually humming a refrain. As soon as you entered a +drawing-room, you saw an instrument looming menacingly before you, and +you had to perform. And then, how many amateurs would do better to muzzle +themselves than to go quavering out their little songs! + +Music also was charged with enervating effects; some went so far as to +call it an art of decadence, and maintained that the ancient Medes had +perished through love of music. Castiglione almost gets into a passion +on this subject. “What! Music effeminating! But, I ask you, were not +Alexander, Socrates, Epaminondas, Themistocles musicians? Lycurgus was +almost one! Did the harp prevent Achilles from shedding blood—if that is +what you are driving at? Effeminating! Why, without music how can you +praise God? What would comfort the sunburnt labourer at his plough, the +peasant woman at her wheel, the sailor in the storm, the traveller on +his weary way, the nurse in her tiring night-watches by a cradle? Music, +on the contrary, is the charm of life—its light, its sunny grace! No +art responds better to the demands of our emotional nature, none more +liberally brings us vivid and various impressions. It softens, calms, +penetrates us, it moves, indeed enraptures us; it raises us to heaven +with the rapid, vehement, urgent beating of its wings!” + +Castiglione almost regards music as love itself: they were to him such +nearly related terms that we cannot be sure but that in his opinion song +was more excellent than love. + +In regard to what was expected of it, namely, a little happiness, music +was a performance of feeling rather than of skill. Notes a little +venturesome or even imperfect were pardoned if they blended, and had +resonance and passion. People would boldly attack and smoothly carry to +its conclusion a two-part fugue. The ideal was to hear in a drawing-room +a pure and mellow voice, supported by a single lute; or rather to see the +voice, for the lute, not an ungraceful instrument like the piano, seemed +a living thing, and became one body with the fair singer; it was one +personality thrilling with song. + +To idealists of the very highest order, Flemish, French, and German +music was far superior to Italian music, because it expressed ideas, +whilst Italian music barely went beyond sentiment or even sensation. Rome +herself fell a willing victim to the northern races.[240] Among many +distinguished and often admirable artists, the great figure of John of +Ockeghem,[241] who died at Tours in 1495, stands out as that of the old +master who more than anyone else ennobled his art. + +His successor, Josquin Desprez, a Fleming trained in the same school +(the very name of which has been lost in the loss of its tradition), and +a member of the choir of Sixtus IV., became a Roman by adoption, and +only left Rome in 1508 to proceed to Ferrara. Josquin was a stickler for +correctness and perfection, skilful in linking discords and in combining +independent parts. From the dim arcana of a sanctuary his profound +inspiration rose into the clear light of day, blossoming out in soft and +brilliant colours. His phrases are like many-coloured curves of light +shot into space, describing their several parabolas without confusion and +without clashing; there is white and green and red, but they all spring +from the same flame. + +Many Italians censured, as fit for dreamers and doctrinaires, the +exclusive employment of the human voice. They wished to have at least one +instrument: the bass viol (developed into our violoncello), or the viol, +from which the famous Amati, about 1540, derived the violin. It is a viol +that Raphael places in the hands of his singers, who seem to identify +themselves with the instrument with a passionate ardour.[242] + +In the smaller courts chamber-music was cultivated. Happy states! Nothing +took precedence of the quest for a good musician; dilettantism reigned +supreme. The court of Ferrara was practically a conservatoire; it had a +celebrated orchestra, from which Caesar Borgia borrowed violinists when +starting for France. Care was taken that the performance of music should +take place in the most favourable circumstances and amid the profoundest +respect; there was no question of being stacked in a hall, too hot or too +cold, of being tight wedged and sitting askew to hear music by the hour. +Lorenzo Costa depicts a very different concert-hall. Peacefully reclining +on a grassy lawn, beneath the shade of light-foliaged trees, sheltered +from sun and breeze, the ladies form the centre; they are discoursing +of pure love. Their own sweetness seems to envelop everything. They are +crowning a lamb or an ox with flowers; the landscape seems to spread +life out into almost boundless space, intersected by a sheet of limpid +water as blue as the sky. In the middle some persons are unobtrusively +performing music or writing verses. No one pays any attention (so +profound is the spell!) to a troop of soldiers in the distance repelling +an incursion, nor to a handsome chevalier, a solitary and elegant figure, +occupied in daintily killing a reptile, nor to certain groups which have +wandered away beneath the leafy shade, towards the extreme verge of +platonism. + +Purely instrumental music, the music of a full orchestra, appealed to the +commoner feelings; it served for dinners and dances, as in the banquets +depicted by Veronese. It represented the voices of nature. It was best +understood on the water, and then the most staid and stolid of people +found it one of the joys of life. It was the delight of pleasure-loving +nations: “Abolish music, and we must e’en fall to prayers.”[243] At +Venice, as soon as the old cupolas, the tall statues and the long +façades—decorations for a dance in motley—became blurred in the evening +haze, the city seemed to swim in music: a thousand bells chimed out +the _Ave Maria_; jangled sounds of serenades and concerts rose from +the palaces, the alleys, every nook and cranny; the sea sent back its +response; noisy parties lightly skimmed the glistening surface of the +Grand Canal; illuminated barges splashed their oars under a window, +with an orchestra or band of singers. Strange intoxication! Many pious +Italians, like Alberto Pio, thought it so delightful that they loved to +transfer it into the churches. Why not? These thrilling symphonies did +not follow the sacred texts very closely, it was said; they were not +always of the highest class. “You hear the boys whinnying, the tenors +bellowing, the counters braying, the altos bawling, the basses scraping +the bottom of a well,” and in all this the Puritans could see no trace +of deep religious feeling, “no well-modulated pronunciation, the perfect +enunciation which brings the words home to the soul.”[244] It was a +deafening, stupefying music. But if it is necessary for our happiness +that senses and emotions should be appealed to simultaneously, why say no? + +Even dance music may ennoble the dance and become an element of +enthusiasm, peace, and joy. This was admirably expressed by one Madame +de Sillé. A canon sitting beside her was laughing at the sight of men +leaping about, while another was bursting his lungs blowing into a hollow +stick. “What!” she said, “aren’t you aware then of the power of music? +The sound from this stick penetrates the mind, the mind directs the +body, and these buffooneries are the expression of the soul! Would you +prefer to play at tennis?” The canon held his tongue, more especially +as he caught oblique glances in his direction, and had premonitions of +being dragged into the dance by way of reprisal. Even from all this +racket of the dance—from the harps, lutes, organs, manichords, checkers, +psalteries, rebecks, guitars, tabors, bass viols, flageolets—a measure of +expression was demanded. The harpist whom Mantegna shows us setting the +Muses to dance is throwing his whole soul into his work; he is leading +the dance.[245] + +Here we should properly say something about the drama, but we shall treat +it briefly, seeing that in those days it was very far from displaying +the same activity as at present. In particular, the women’s share in the +drama was only that of a section of the public. It was above all the +art of the prelates, who devoted as much care to altering its character +as the women did to preserving the old romances. Thus the two great +forces of platonism were pitted against each other—the prelates eager to +advance, the women anxious to hang back. + +The drama with its modern tendencies took possession of Italy in the +15th century, and Rome was almost its birth-place. Pomponius Laetus, +officially licensed to produce the plays of Plautus and Terence, died a +few days after Savonarola. The ashes of the monk had been scattered to +the winds; but all Rome was eager to accompany the remains of Laetus to +Ara-Coeli, since it was a work of true piety to increase the joy of life. + +The palm for dramatic art was, with one consent, awarded to Bernardo +Dovizio da Bibbiena, who had the happy notion to shake off the yoke +of translation and to write a new piece in imitation of Plautus—the +_Calandra_. + +Bibbiena[246] is one of the best types of this prelatic world, which +after all cannot be dissociated from the world of women. He belonged to +the inner circle of Leo X.’s friends, having been brought up with him, +though the son of a peasant. He had a spirit and verve which, according +to Paul Jove, “carried the gravest of people off their feet.” He was +supremely in his element at the table. Moreover, he was one of those +astonishing men who live at the same time a life of toil and of pleasure. +On becoming a cardinal he displayed vast activity—acted as legate, +preached a crusade, and died at fifty. He has left a goodly number of +treatises, poems, and letters; but it was the drama that made him famous. + +It is impossible to describe the stir the first representation of his +_Calandra_ made at Urbino, the home of platonism. Everything was planned +with the care and skill of perfect “amateurs.” + +The stage represented stucco monuments and other scenic illusions +executed by such artists as that age afforded. The auditorium, which was +not marked off from the scenery, represented fortifications, and the +spectators lolled there at their ease on excellent carpets, amid lustres +and garlands of flowers. The orchestra, placed out of sight, was heard +now on one side, now on the other. + +Nor had the organisers neglected any means of strengthening the play +itself by a great variety of spectacles—a prelude played by children; a +prologue; four pantomimes between the acts, representing the story of +Jason, with bulls made of stuffed hides, their nostrils flaming, Venus +surrounded by Cupids, Neptune drawn through the flames by fantastic +monsters, Juno encircled by a flight of birds so natural that even +Castiglione, who had had them made, for a moment believed them to be +real. These pantomimes were danced through in the cleverest fashion, with +wonderful mechanical effects. At the close a Cupid recited some verses, +concealed viols gave forth a ‘song without words,’ and a quartette of +voices concluded with a hymn to Cupid. + +And after all, if the ladies had not actually the direction of this +platonic entertainment, they lost nothing thereby; it was dedicated to +them, and the whole performance had for its aim the glorification of +ideal love. Such a representation assumed an elevated and almost solemn +character, similar in kind to the performances at Bayreuth in these days. + +Was the _Calandra_ a masterpiece? No. The plot turned upon the difficulty +of distinguishing between two twins, brother and sister, who changed +clothes as circumstances demanded; from this Bibbiena derived risky +situations, broad jokes, and a complicated dénoûment. But it achieved +an immense success. It was represented again at Urbino in 1513, and +afterwards at the Vatican on the occasion of a visit from Isabella +d’Este. On that supreme stage its licenses came under the fierce light +of criticism, and scandalised some of the cardinals; but on the other +hand it was so magnificently interpreted, it was so excellent “in +dramatic elegance, in wit, well-knit construction, and gaiety,” that the +enthusiasm was unbounded. The marchioness Isabella did not rest till she +had organised a similar performance, an event which took place in 1520. +From that time innumerable editions popularised the _Calandra_, which was +chosen many years afterwards by the town of Lyons for its festivities in +honour of Catherine de’ Medici. + +The drama of the time attained its highest perfection at the Vatican +under Leo X. The skill of the actors, all men of fashion, their sober +Attic style, without a trace of the mere craftsman, made the drama an +artistic delight. As yet no women appeared on the stage. Their parts were +sustained by men, and in this connection we must present to our fair +readers a young prelate named Tommaso Inghirami, who was the coryphaeus +of female parts at the court of Leo X. A Florentine and an intimate +friend[247] of the pope, who, as everyone knows, had his own portrait +painted along with Inghirami by Raphael,—so perfect a writer that Erasmus +calls him “the Cicero of the age,”—Inghirami could have taken one of the +most notable positions in this illustrious generation if his amiable and +indolent dilettantism had not led him to believe that writing books was +carried to excess. He was satisfied with shining in conversation, and in +that he was inimitable: Bembo and Sadoleto constantly speak of him with +enthusiasm, and, moreover, in one of the most appreciative but critical +societies that ever existed, he won for himself as a conversationalist +a European renown. If he had not the extraordinary gaiety of Bibbiena, +he spoke with dazzling passion, wit, and fire; his large coal-black eyes +have an astonishing power: looking at them, one feels light flashing from +his soul. + +He had an ardent love for the theatre. One day, when playing the part +of Phaedra in the _Hippolytus_ of Seneca before Cardinal St. George, he +so captivated the spectators by his distinction, and especially by his +passion, that the name of “Phaedra” became inseparably fastened to him. +He was a preacher, the learned librarian of the Vatican, the dignified +Bishop of Ragusa; but, for all that, from one end of Europe to the other +he was no longer known except as “Phaedra,” or at most “Thomas Phaedra.” +Only, the name was masculinised: thus Erasmus wrote: “I knew and loved +_Phaedrum_.” + +Unhappily, about 1505, letters from Rome spread a deplorable piece of +news: Phaedra is putting on flesh, Phaedra is big. “So much the better,” +retorts Bembo in Greek, “we wish she may have twins!” The portrait in +the Pitti Palace shows him to us, indeed—this superb platonist type of +the pseudo-woman—as by no means a slender man. There is no doubt he had +been handsome! His eyes continue to flash and throw their unabated fire +towards the ceiling; he still has his fair, plump hand, his fine mouth; +and yet, seated at his table, he no longer looks anything but a handsome +prelate. + +Radiating from Rome under the auspices of ladies like Isabella d’Este +or connoisseurs like Ludovico Gonzaga, bishop of Mantua, the dramatic +art reigned nobly in the courts and castles of Italy, without losing +anything of its elegant and artistic cachet. It adapted itself to all +circumstances with marvellous flexibility, ranging from the opera-ballet +played in the open air[248] to genuine comedy and tragedy. But, like the +Novels and Romances, it assumed a licentious and even cynical character, +which everybody regarded as natural. Thus at Turin, in the early days of +Lent in the year 1537, a comedy of the most daring kind was performed: +“How warmly the ladies here received it!” exclaims an eye-witness. At +Foligno, the pontifical prefect, a certain Orfino, superintended in +person the staging of _Marescalco_, an extremely light production of +Aretino; and soon after the performance this worthy pillar of pontifical +“tyranny” wrote to the author, begging another piece of the same stamp. +The _Ruffiana_ of Salviano and many other pieces of a salacious turn won +tempestuous applause. Some people took alarm and declared the theatre to +be a hotbed of immorality. The Senate of Venice, by decree of December +29, 1509, forbade any performance, even the recitation of an eclogue in a +private drawing-room, under penalty of a year’s imprisonment and exile, +“irremissible,” in the wording of the decree. (However, in a secret +addendum, the Senate reserved the right of pronouncing the penalty, and +by a large majority.) In spite of this, the _Calandra_ was performed at +Venice in 1524 without any difficulty arising. + +The Italian drama, lacking the support of the ladies, had little success +in France.[249] + +They lived there on the old Mysteries. The performance of these was +usually got up in a convent, or by a city; and, unlike the Italian drama, +it retained a character of patriotic and moral instruction rather than +of a work of art.[250] Thus we find Louis XII. bestowing a pardon on +an _impresario_ guilty of some criminal peccadillo, on account of his +excellence in his profession. + +Italianists and French platonists respected this tradition. In 1506 +the town of Amboise got up a performance before Louise of Savoy of the +Mystery of the Passion, “the most beautiful that could be discovered.” +A priest played the part of Christ; the performance lasted a week, and +was so successful that two years afterwards M. de Longueville wished +to repeat it at Châteaudun, and engaged in a somewhat acrimonious +correspondence on the subject with the functionaries of Amboise, whom +he accused of purloining the copy. This performance was very costly; +the town took five years (which seemed an enormous period in those +days) to liquidate a debt of four thousand livres contracted on the +occasion. It does not appear that Louise of Savoy, who was then residing +at the château, contributed in any way towards the expenses, as M. de +Longueville did at Châteaudun; but she certainly did not disapprove of +it; and towards the middle of the century it was again in the presence +of a thoroughly platonist woman, the second Margaret of France, that the +last known representations of the art of the Mysteries are said to have +taken place. + +With all her daring on other points, the first Margaret maintained a +remarkable attitude of reserve in regard to the theatre. She contented +herself with experiments in an intermediate style of drama,—religious +comedies, a sort of Italianised ‘morality,’ easier to produce and not so +long-drawn-out as the ancient Mysteries, yet neither very pious, nor very +amusing, nor much calculated to take the public by storm. The result was +that the drama long retained traces of its original character. So late +as the 18th century Voltaire dedicated a tragedy to the pope, and fumed +at not being able to get it performed at Geneva. The only cosmopolitan +kind of piece was that of the farces, knockabouts,[251] harlequinades, +carnival drolleries, to which the most illustrious platonists of Florence +attached their names.[252] Harlequin and Punch were always a success +in France: “They have something that sets you laughing without being +amused”; but they introduced nothing new. The French farce had long been +flourishing on the boards; the Italian was only a competitor. + +To sum up, the women of the Renaissance, as we see, did not try to be +savants or blue-stockings. They skimmed the cream off books and works of +art so as to get what suited their mission, that is, something to talk +about and to go into raptures over. They did not rise to what was called +“humanism,” like the prelates; they stopped short at loving intellectual +beauty more than plastic beauty; they cultivated a literature of +sentiment and passion, and took a keen delight in beauty of form. They +behaved as instructed women, and above all as women of feeling, as women +who wished to please, nobly faithful to their single-eyed pursuit of +elevated love. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +CONVERSATION + + +We come at last to conversation. + +This was the goal, the sanctuary of happiness, nay, bliss itself. All +that we have hitherto spoken of led up to this all-engrossing object, for +love was the supreme end, and speech is the vehicle of love. A circle +of men about a lady, and she talking or making them talk,—this was the +supreme and final formula of life. + +Conversation, then, was the great art of the platonists, infinitely +greater than painting or sculpture, greater than music, poetry or +oratory, because it alone established real communication between soul +and soul, it alone was privileged to body forth a whole realm of +unexpressed emotions which would freeze at the end of a pen or pencil, +and which music itself would render but ill. Words that well up with the +eloquence of spontaneity possess an indescribable vital force impossible +to analyse; innumerable details contribute to it—the inflection of the +voice, the gesture, the expression of the eyes, the movement of the lips, +the play of all the features. A mineral water taken at its source has, as +every one knows, singular virtues which are impoverished if it is carried +to a distance, and which the most skilful chemist cannot restore. So also +the fount of human intelligence must be drunk at its source. If need be, +it is well worth a journey. + +Without women there would be no conversation. For a man who thinks he +can converse without wearing the feminine yoke there is nothing but to +go off by himself like Cardan, that intolerable chatterbox, who, though +the author of two hundred and fifty-five volumes, had the audacity to +publish a book _In Praise of Silence_. “Never,” he exclaims, “am I more +truly with those I love than when I am alone.” Our opinion would rather +coincide with that of the amiable emigré whom his friends urged to marry +the object of his passion, and who answered, “But then, where should I +spend my evenings?” To draw a man out and show him what he is capable +of, it is necessary for a woman to throw out the bait; an ambition to +please, an instinct of sympathy, a thousand fleeting intangible nothings, +veritable microbes of sentiment, will do the rest. But we do not hesitate +to add that, without men, women would hardly know how to talk. Men have +often inveighed against the loquacity,[253] the backbiting,[254] the +imprudence, the frivolity, the paltry and scandalmongering spirit of +the rudimentary and inartistic conversations that women engage in when +left to themselves; this kind of conversation can no more be called +conversation than certain intrigues can be called love, or than daubing a +house front can be called painting a picture. + +Certain of women’s little defects remain defects or become virtues +according as the women know or do not know how to make use of them. +Gossips, the women who can think and talk certainly are, and they plume +themselves on the fact. That can only be called a defect in those who +have nothing to say. Margaret of France confesses that when she opened +her mouth, it was long before she shut it again.[255] Sometimes, however, +women are troubled with a certain intellectual timidity arising either +from their education, as their friends say, or from their temperament, as +their enemies maintain. They easily make up their minds, but can seldom +give you their reasons; their intellect clings like ivy to some principle +reputed substantial, in other words, one that is affirmed by their +neighbours, or is traditional, or is ingrained from childhood; and the +slightest breath of raillery only attaches them to it the more closely. + +This disposition would be fatal to a writer. To write one needs the +power to think for oneself and to give virile expression to one’s +thoughts, at the risk of getting a name for paradox or eccentricity; +but for conversation nothing is less necessary; on the contrary, the +trite is eminently serviceable. Conversation serves to test current +ideas; it gives them so to speak a stamp, a hall-mark, a label, and +women understand its utility all the better because they largely avail +themselves of it and acquire their convictions through it. On the other +hand they possess as the gift of Nature that which is the very life of +conversation,—facility of assimilation without the necessity of going +to the root of the matter; the ability to express quickly, clearly and +copiously the impression of the moment; a feeling for fine shades; +skill in fitly garbing their thoughts, and in maintaining them with the +necessary unction, grace, and warmth. No more is needed. + +The age in which we live, priding itself on its practical spirit, has +neglected this art of conversation. We have almost entirely lost the +feeling for it because of its unpretentiousness, and we declare it +unimportant on the ground that we are no longer platonists and can no +longer find in mere phrases the supreme felicity of life. Yet it is an +art of eminent utility in regard to the charm of existence,—a genuine and +highly intellectual art, an art that in the 18th century was one of our +national glories. By their witty conversation the ladies of the house of +Mortemart did more to make their race illustrious than all the artists +and all the soldiers. Saint-Simon has given us an excellent description +of the talent of three of them, who boasted neither of mysticism nor +perhaps of philosophy—Mesdames de Montespan, de Fontevrault, and de +Thianges: “Their court was the centre of wit, and wit of so special and +fine a savour, yet withal so natural and pleasant, that it came to be +noted for its unique character.... All three possessed it in abundance, +and appeared to impart it to others. This charming sympathy of theirs +still delights us in the survivors of those whom they bred up and +attached to themselves; you could tell them among a thousand in the most +miscellaneous company.” That was the goal aimed at by the 16th-century +women, since it made men immortal, and gave them a full life on earth +meanwhile—since, in a word, it was happiness. + +We could scarcely realise the empire certain women exercised if we +neglected to take into account their wonderful conversational powers, +and judged them merely by their writings, or by their letters even. +Justly or unjustly, the writings of Margaret of France met with no +success. Marot, in complimenting his dear princess on them, had recourse +to an evasion of no little ingenuity: “When I see your poems only, I +marvel that people do not admire them more; but when I hear you speak, +I veer completely round, amazed that anyone is so foolish as to marvel +thereat.” Like many others, Margaret held sway through conversation. + +Some cross-grained people imagine that to women talking is the easiest +thing in the world, that friends spring up around them spontaneously, +that the art reduces itself to finishing their toilette by lunch time +and then letting their tongues wag till evening. It is extremely simple, +they say. Simple! They think it sufficient then to fling their doors open +on certain days, and to deal out here and there among their guests a few +formal and chilling inanities! “Men are so scarce that when you have +them you should rate them very high,” said Anne of France, very justly. +Simple, not to rest satisfied with the mere glitter of small talk, but to +take full possession of one’s visitors, to form a warm nest of friends! +It is a heavy task. If in these days women no longer exercise any serious +influence, is it not to some extent their own fault? A superficial and +cramped education has often rendered them incapable of effort. They +are afraid of a conversation on broad, serious lines; they will not be +bothered with it. But to form a set, a woman must belong to herself no +longer, she must belong to her friends; conversation is her bread of +life, to adopt an expressive phrase, and she does in fact become so +habituated to her part that she cannot do without it; she _must_ talk, if +only with her husband. Mary of England used to talk to Louis XII.— + + Soubz le drap couvert d’orfebvrerie, + Qui reluisoit en fine pierrerie, + Passions temps en dictz solatieux + Et en propos plaisans et gratieux.[256] + +Bereavements and misfortunes only render conversation more necessary. +Emilia Pia,[257] proscribed, stripped of her all, and persecuted, could +not appear in the streets of Rome without an adoring throng of prelates +and admirers, just as there was never more laughter and gossip than in +the crowded cells of the Reign of Terror. + +A well-bred man considered himself literally entitled to command the +conversational abilities of women. In this connection a very curious +misadventure befell some judges of the Parliament of Paris who in the +course of their duty went to hold assize at Poitiers. In the heart of the +16th century, when everybody went the pace, and the air was charged with +moral electricity, there was still found one town where the women would +have believed, as they did three hundred years earlier, that they were +lost if they opened their doors. Jean Bouchet,[258] loyal Poitevin as he +was, has described the boisterous amusement with which France heard that +some bashful ladies answered these poor judges through a peep-hole with a +_Non possumus_. The ladies of Paris themselves sent a petition to their +“colleagues” at Poitiers, begging them not to let their husbands die of +dulness. The ladies of Poitiers replied with blushing cheeks: “’Tis not +our way at Poitiers.” They hugged the tradition of dulness. + +At Lyons, which on the contrary was a modern town, squire Sala, +chancing to be at his window one fine spring morning, perceived in the +street three ladies to whom he was related, going on pilgrimage to St. +Irenaeus. To dash after them and make them promise to call in on their +way back was the affair of a moment; and then he was a happy man, sure +of a pleasant day. We are no longer, you perceive, at Poitiers. The +ladies return; they dine gaily with their cousin, and pass into the +library; and then, during a desultory conversation, one of the fair +guests mechanically opens a Bible at the book of Kings. Nothing more +is needed. What a charming subject! The lady avows that she loves to +lie back in a cosy chair and read the history of the kings of France; +everyone joins in the conversation and cites some notable fact about +royalty; and thus the procession defiles past—Alexander, Agis, Brennus, +Caesar, the Merovingians, the classic heroes (Charlemagne, Godfrey of +Bouillon), divers kings of France, Louis surnamed the Fat, Philip the +August, the noble St. Louis, all the princes of the 15th century; finally +Sala promises to relate a story of Francis I. Unhappily it is long past +the hour for separating, for tearing themselves from this intoxicating +pastime; and, to tell the truth, when they got home these ladies found +that their husbands had put the lights out. + +If this was bondage the ladies took it in very good part, and the men +left nothing undone to soften it for them. We have all known men expert +in the manipulation of feminine conversations, and deriving from them a +large measure of influence; for instance (to speak only of the dead), +Monsignor Dupanloup,[259] or in a different kind M. Mérimée, that waif +from the 16th century, who combined with extraordinary scepticism an +incurable impressibility, and, while free in mind and heart, was always +leaning on a woman! The men of the 16th century became charmers. A +political exile from Milan, fresh from a milieu of women—the physician +Marliano—acquired an unprecedented influence in the Low Countries by the +mere attractiveness of his conversation; people vied with each other +in praising its suavity, its “heavenly ambrosia,” its “honey,” its +“sweetness.” + +Men moulded by the hands of Italian ladies could be distinguished among a +thousand; they could talk about anything and everything. Many writers of +eminent ability would have gained much by being less serious. + +No one could help succumbing to this charm; and in truth it is easy to +believe that the platonists sought happiness from conversation, futile as +it was reputed to be, since they were constantly saying: “I was happy, we +are all happy.” Cardan himself recalls with enthusiasm the time when he +was supposed to be studying medicine at Venice: “I was happy.”[260] Ever +the same word! People cultivated their happiness. + +“Ferrara,” says Lamartine, “resembled a colony from the court of +Augustus, Leo X., or the Medici; cultured princes—princesses who +were heroines of love, poetry, or romance,—cardinals aspiring to the +papacy—scholars—artists—poets half knights, half bards—met there every +evening, in the splendid halls of Ercole d’Este, in town or country.” + +At Urbino, the conversations were broken by riding-parties, hawking +expeditions, balls, sports, music; life resembled a kaleidoscope, but +wit slipped into every pattern as the necessary element of beauty. The +duke was in bad health and used to retire early. After his departure the +evening flew by delightfully: the young duchess “seems a chain holding +us all pleasantly together,” said Castiglione. There was no standing on +ceremony; she was always the centre of a circle composed of men or women +alternately as chance directed. In addition to the regular group, the +company pretty often included some accomplished stranger, some scholar +or artist who happened to be passing through. They spoke freely to the +ladies on a footing of friendliness. As the evening drew on, some went +off for dancing or music, the others continued to start discussions +or tell stories enlivened with transparent allegories. In summer this +brilliant reunion was held in the garden. + +Our pictures of society in olden times may often give the impression that +only wolves, lions, wild beasts, or else strutting cocks and clucking +hens served as models. But to paint this polished society of Urbino, so +enthusiastically bent on happiness, we should need colours no palette +contains,—transparencies of the Grecian sky, the indigo of certain seas, +the liquid azure of certain eyes. For more than a century the court of +Urbino was regarded as the supreme exemplar; in the 17th century the +Hôtel de Rambouillet was still striving to make itself a copy of it; +unluckily such things as these are not easily copied. + +It would be difficult enough to deduce from the conversations at Urbino +a series of rules for the art. No programme was pasted on the walls. +But still we may note certain principles: a remarkable good-fellowship, +ranging from perfect courtesy to affectionate familiarity; a real +sentiment of equality, genuine equality, springing from an exact +appreciation of the various degrees of worth, and consequently in that +sense aristocratic; finally and especially, freedom, the most absolute +openness of mind, the absence of ambitions and pretensions, at any rate +so far as appeared; a joyous skilfulness in playing on the surface of +things, or in striking out into the vastest regions of thought without +effort or constraint. + +Throughout Italy a somewhat Ciceronian and Attic beauty of form played +a highly important part in conversation. Men were distinguished by +their dignity of style and by a high-bred refinement free from the +slightest taint of the stable. We can only judge of their manner of +talk indirectly, through their letters; but an idea of it may be gained +from the letters of Bembo, Castiglione, and others, in which a lady +could see how to win men’s hearts while retaining all womanliness of +style, and how much affection—whether it be called love, friendship, +or simply a good understanding—gains by displaying itself delicately. +Women played the part of judges: they were permitted, if need were, to +stand on their dignity, to be silent or to speak freely at pleasure; +but no man could succeed without a highly suave manner; merit had to be +shown by some external mark: “Merit is not enough unless prolific in the +outward graces on which the praiseworthiness of actions depends.” But +appearances were sometimes sufficient. Even in their portraits, men like +Castiglione retain a something infinitely engaging and attractive—a bloom +on the lips, a softness in the eyes.[261] When at Venice we come upon +portraits of men all energy and self-assertion, the inference is that the +women must have lost their empire; and we do in fact see opposite them +portraits of passive women, all softness and sensuousness. + +And these tender lips that opened only to speak to women, these caressing +eyes, do not deceive us. The prattle of these men was impregnated with +a dove-like gentleness, an adoration, in appearance wholly spiritual, +for the beautiful. Castiglione, an eminently graceful, caressing, and +persuasive talker, spoke with fluency, with something of flabbiness and +redundance, perhaps—a sort of perfumed talk, with nothing of “French +filthiness,” as he said. Vittoria Colonna wrote a charming letter to +Paul Jove, in which she spoke with great enthusiasm of “her” divine +Bembo. Paul Jove lost no time in passing this letter on to Bembo. “I send +you,” he writes, “a letter from your lady-love, the most illustrious +marchioness. It is very pretty, and speaks of you, and I send it you at +once without any of that resentment which rivals are so apt to feel, for +I am fully assured that Her Excellency’s love for your lordship is in all +points like to my own love for her, that is, celestial, holy, altogether +platonic. Her Excellency is come from Ischia to Naples with the other +noble dames; I mean the serene Amalfia and the superb Vasta, with the +Francavila, a mirror of virtue and verily a matchless beauty.” + +Apart from the graces of manner, the charm of these relations between +the ladies and the prelates sprang from their perfect skill in effacing +their own personality, in suggesting that what they were giving was +pure soul—for suggestion was enough. A boor will strut about, listen +to his own voice, arrange his smile, select his words with a view to +effect—little absurdities, much less easy to endure than a really serious +fault. It was by their overweening though unconscious self-conceit that +the inferior clergy made themselves so odious in Renaissance society; +the monk would talk of nothing but his order, the parish parson fancied +that no service was so attractive as his, and that good music was not +to be heard except in his church.[262] They had better have been less +virtuous—and less fatiguing. + +Conversation can glide along like a shallow stream. A pleasant talker +is not always capable of writing or painting profundities; there is +something more beautiful than a picture, and that is the face of +the woman watching him and enjoying his talk. In those days they +ridiculed—and not without cause—certain brilliant talkers clever +enough to win a wide-spread renown (without ruining their health by +profound study of Horace or Virgil) by nothing in the world but talking +on every subject in the same airy way—appearing to have forgotten half +they knew and to know half they had forgotten—able to bring in without +false modesty a stanza pat to the occasion. Such talkers are in reality +very second-rate, and it is not long before they get into difficulties. +Sometimes abstruse subjects crop up without warning in a drawing-room, +and then the conversation takes a course which gives opportunity for +judging men. At the instant when it appears to be merely disporting +itself on the surface, shining in full view, it takes a sudden plunge, +rises again, starts on another flight and again plunges; to follow it +demands an intellectual force and suppleness that cannot be improvised. +We can see this from the portrait Castiglione draws of the duke of +Urbino. The duke, notwithstanding his habit of keeping early hours, was +a good talker, like his guests; his speech was bland, polished, fluent, +and picturesque; he brought down his bird with one shot. But under +this appearance of ease and readiness he possessed an unequalled fund +of information. He could reel off long passages from all the classical +writers, particularly from Cicero. He spoke ancient Greek perfectly, and +lived by choice in intimate fellowship with the Greeks—with Lucian, and +more especially with Xenophon, whom he called “the Siren of antiquity.” +“We used to call the duke,” adds Castiglione, “a second Siren.” + +Ancient and modern history, geography, the learning of the East, were +familiar to him. He died at thirty-six, after a long and very painful +illness; he had studied his complaint, and watched the slow-paced +approach of death, knowing perfectly that neither the pleasant climate +of Urbino nor the most assiduous attentions would retard it by an hour. +And yet, even under the burden of his last anguish, he retained full +possession of his intellect, with its charm and flame and serenity. His +friends pretended not to have given up hope: “Why envy me so desirable +a blessing?” he said to them gently. “To be freed from this load of +terrible suffering—tell me, is not that a blessing?” At the very last he +turned to Castiglione and recited to him one of the finest passages in +Virgil. He died talking. Thus, with noble colloquies like these, radiant +with natural kindliness, men lulled even pain asleep. + +Philosophy and love were naturally frequent subjects of conversation. +People sought by their means to refine their sentiments, to analyse +themselves, to set themselves ingenious problems to be investigated at +leisure, to spiritualise love. For example: + +“Is it easier to feign love than to dissemble it?—_Answer_: Yes, because +a voluntary act is always easier than an involuntary one.” + +“Is it more meritorious for love to lead the wise to folly than fools to +wisdom?—No; it is better to build up than to destroy, and you can build +nothing on folly.” + +“Is excess of love fatal?—Galen says yes; indirectly, through disease.” + +“Who loves the more easily?—Woman, because of her fickle nature.” + +“Who can best dispense with love?—Woman.” + +“Which is easier, to win love or to keep it?—To keep it.” + +“After perseverance, what is the best proof of love?—The sharing of joys +and sorrows.” + +“Which is the stronger, hate or love?—Love.” + +“Can a miser love?—Yes, love can destroy avarice.” + +And so on. + +Bembo, in a little book dedicated to Lucretia Borgia (for three years the +object of his passionate admiration), has left us an account of three +days of conversation which followed a wedding. After a charming fête, in +which young maidens furnished with tuneful viols had chanted hymns for +and against love in turn, three noble damsels remained in discourse with +three gentlemen on a flowery lawn, amid marble fountains and well-trimmed +groves. + +One of their number, selected as the detractor of love, conscientiously +makes the most of its bitternesses, despairs, tears, revolts, +catastrophes. A discussion ensues, so searching, so touching, that at +times real tears are shed. The people who are perpetually at a white +heat and flaunt a salamander as their emblem come in for some ridicule. +But with what warmth the friends of love take up the defence of this +divinity, who is represented as nude because he is devoid of reason; as +a child, because like Medea he inspires eternal youthfulness; and torch +in hand, because in his school there is much burning of fingers! It is +towards this little torch that the whole world flits and gravitates like +a swarm of moths, while the divine archer speeds his shaft at the heart +of his victim. + +Love, they add, is strength and life. When a man loves, he has no fear +of death. One of the company even declares in his excitement that he +invites death, and when the rest twit him with being beside himself, he +persists, and explains his subtle languor; he invites death, but does not +desire that most miserable condition! In spite of the extreme gravity and +conviction with which these questions of the heart were always handled +in Italy, the company cannot here repress a smile. But the speaker sees +nothing and waxes warm; his martyrdom is only too serious; the flame of +love can only be extinguished in a “lake of tears.” And another makes +answer: “When you see in famous sanctuaries a heap of votive offerings +bearing witness to the innumerable perils of the sea, do you go and deny +that these perils exist, or resign yourself never to set foot on a boat? +You do not, I trow. Well, we must likewise accept love’s crosses with +resignation.” And thereupon he glowingly describes its advantages. + +At the end of three days, a hermit closes the discussion with a short and +sedative discourse on the vanity of the world! + +Naturally conversation, even in Italy, did not always soar to such +altitudes. It passed easily from a vast subject to a pin’s point; to +make bricks without straw was a mark of talent! It was not everyone who +had the wit to frame an original remark about the weather, and follow +it up with a brilliant firework display of paradox! What did the idea +matter, so long as the shaft flew home? They would just as soon concern +themselves about the canvas a picture was painted on! They expatiated at +leisure on a large subject; but no one dwelt on trifles; they laughed, +wept, sparkled, they were pleasant and gay, elegant, coquettish, +artistic;[263] and all that they said was excellently expressed, with a +sure, keen, delicate touch. Conversation took a feminine stamp which it +had never had in olden times; it was the art of paying honourable court +to a lady. + +The French did not approve of conversation taking this sentimental and +emotional turn. They talked to amuse themselves, for laughter’s sake. To +laugh was their chief concern; it was a mark of taste to take everything +with a laugh, even affairs of the heart; and any genuineness of sentiment +was sure to appear ridiculous, whereas in Italy a false sentiment strove +to appear genuine. Moreover, to speak of serious things, to appear in +any other character than that of an absolutely useless and incapable +man, far above (or below) everything literary, was unfashionable. On the +other hand the French appreciated the unexpected, a crispness of phrase, +the sword-play of wit, smart retorts.[264] Conversation was a duel. The +Frenchmen of that time were inimitable in verve and wit; they had a +really unrivalled ease and sprightliness of manner. When the Italians +tried to imitate them, they only succeeded in losing their suavity and +making themselves look foolish. + +At the court of Francis I. talking and flirting were subdued to no +platonic considerations. If a man was inspired with a good thing, he said +it frankly and bluntly and with much gesturing. As La Bruyère observes: +“It costs women little to tell what they do not feel; it costs men still +less to tell what they do feel”;[265] and the more crudely the latter +expressed themselves, the more they were looked upon as right good +fellows. A woman of the world would listen to anything, and reply with +her “yes” or “no,” without ever taking offence. + +The more the domination of man asserted itself, the more pronounced this +liberty in word and action became, and women came to think that they +could employ no better means of getting even with men than to adopt the +language of the barrack-room, and make frequent quotations from the +grossest books. They made men a present of their garters. Naturally the +men were very well pleased, by no means detesting women of so facile a +disposition. A German would entertain the young lady next him at table +with tomfoolery of the coarsest description, prating, for instance, about +heavy drinking, or low-necked dresses, or a woman showing her leg or +hunting for fleas: or perhaps, to appear intellectual, he would maintain +that evil has no real existence, but is only a human invention. Another +would allow fun to be poked at his wife or fiancée. Rabelais and Hütten +were the shining lights of this class of talkers. Even Savonarola, in his +character of a monk of the people, sometimes went very near the border +line; here and there in his sermons there are phrases at which a salted +skipper would blush. + +Italian platonism was no enemy to laughter; it was quite the other way. +In the evening after dinner (the time when in these days men are lighting +their cigars), men who had wit and gaiety and no cares (three conditions +for which the cigar alone would hardly be a sufficient substitute), +laughed without stint and told pretty warm stories as a relaxation from +the ideal; but as the ladies were present and no one would have dreamt +of doing without them, form was always more carefully studied. Platonism +was nothing if not fastidious, correct, and ceremonious; and a platonist, +even when retailing a broad joke or when there was no occasion to put +himself about, did not cease to employ exquisite phraseology. + +The French, on the contrary, laughed somewhat boisterously after dinner, +or on one of those oppressive afternoons when the dull sky seems to seize +us like mice in a trap. Our passion for broad wit has never allowed +itself to be cooled by the exhortations of moralists[266] or preachers. +Nor were ladies more successful in selecting subjects for conversation; +they had either to leave us to our own devices and be regarded as +nuisances, or to pitch their tune to the same key. An awkward dilemma +for them! They faced the music, and contented themselves with declining +to laugh when the jest displeased them; but in their hearts they +preferred a lady’s man who knew how to show them tenderness and respect. + +Conversation is naturally composed of dialogues. Whenever it attains a +certain height, contradiction is necessary to keep the ball rolling. Some +one has said that contradiction is woman’s forte, and in this connection +La Fontaine retold the old fable about the drowned woman whose corpse, +from sheer perversity, insisted on floating up stream. + +That may be true of worn, untutored women, good housewives to whom the +artifices of taste are a sealed book. The woman of fashion, preferring +to profit by all her privileges, hovers over a conversation, mingling +with it only to throw out a suggestion, a criticism, a reflection, an +argument, or to give a finishing touch. Margaret, for instance, launched +this aphorism in the midst of a discussion on love: “Women of large +heart yield rather to the spirit of vengeance than to the tenderness of +love.”[267] + +It was often a man who had to devote himself to this duty of +contradiction; intellectual epicures took rather kindly to the little +amusement, and acquitted themselves with at least every appearance of +conviction. It was even a mark of genuine dilettantism to maintain +now one idea, now the contrary, like Filippo Beroaldo,[268] who has +recorded two of his declarations, one in favour of drunkenness, the other +against it. The question of the merits and defects of women furnished in +France an inexhaustible theme for social debate, and there was no lack +of disputants on either side. In Italy this subject was less popular, +because the ranks of the anti-feminists were thinner. At Urbino, however, +Fregoso[269] threw himself into the ungrateful task of attacking women, +and valiantly depicted them as imperfect animals of no intrinsic value, +whom it was impossible to compare with men, upon whom only modesty and +self-respect had any restraining power, and whose few merits were a +purely artificial endowment. + +Yet, as it was impossible to be always engaged in dialogues or debates, +there was a large field for clever retailers of anecdotes and stories +grave and gay, and the talent was cultivated to perfection by certain +men of the world. Among these witty story-tellers we find another member +of the Mortemart family, Aimery de Mortemart, and the name of Germain de +Bonneval used also to be cited. + +Story-telling in Italy was conducted with the same gravity and method +that were carried into everything. A “queen” was first elected,[270] +and she called upon each member of the company in turn. The stories +very easily verged towards salaciousness, but art ennobles everything! +Firenzuola dedicated a collection of such stories to the memory of an +idolised lady whom he calls his Diotima, his Monica, his Vittoria Colonna. + +In France, story-telling ranked high among social amusements, filling up +the interval between mass and vespers. Everyone had fair notice of his +turn to speak, and made provision accordingly, whetting his own invention +on what fell from the lips of others. The _Heptameron_ is, so to speak, +nothing but a succession of conferences (without the platform and the +glass of water), at which each person present contributes his mite to the +discussion. Sometimes the remarks are rather free; when the anecdote is +likely to overstep the recognised limits, the speaker saves himself by a +gentle preliminary precaution: + + Si ce n’estoit que j’ay peur d’offenser + La netteté de vos chastes oreilles. + + _Des Périers._[271] + +Margaret of France, who was not specially bashful, “could tell a capital +story, and could laugh, too, when she heard one.” + +Another art which was still highly appreciated—a very elegant, charming, +and widely cultivated art—was that of impromptu verse-making—a pastime +for prelates and men of keen literary tastes. Leo X.[272] and Octavien de +Saint-Gelais[273] practised it with eminent success. + +Boutrimés, or “_ventes d’amour_,” though somewhat antiquated, contributed +a share to the entertainment. A man gave a lady, or vice versa, the name +of some flower, and a response had to be made in verse of as epigrammatic +or complimentary a turn as possible. As aids to improvisation, manuals of +polite rhymes were published. + +Such was happiness! Conversation in its various forms was the port to +which the barque of life made under full sail, trimmed with all the +safeguards, manœuvred with all the dexterities which we have described! +And the difficulties were compensated by the satisfaction derived from +bringing souls into communion one with another, from closely uniting +them, welding them in one enthusiasm of affection. Such a result is +beyond the attainment of writing. Genuine exquisites like Inghirami +thought writing was overdone, and if they employed the pen it was from +necessity, or at most to preserve for posterity the conversations, +the tales, the sonnets that pleased them; when a work involving time +and labour was asked of them, they wrapped themselves in an air of +austere solemnity, like people going to a funeral. All these brilliant +talkers lived quiet lives out of the public eye, seldom shifting their +quarters, with none of that moral trepidation in which the railway and +the telegraph keep us: they were light-hearted but not shallow, with +something of oriental insouciance, never forgetting that man has but +one life on this nether world, squandering their wealth of wit in lavish +profusion, with no attempt to economise it in order to sell specimens to +an innominate mob. They enjoyed to the full the exquisite pleasure of +letting their ideas float off at the mercy of chance; their thoughts took +flight and were seen no more, it is true; they burst like bubbles in the +air; but there remained the wherewithal to shape others like them. + +And here was the great sphere of women. Their mission was to cause this +happiness to blossom, to tend it, nurture it, turn it to fitting use—to +make these bubbles a source of good. + +This duty like every other had stern laws. It was not enough to be a +“queen” by election, or even by birthright, to fancy that the goal was +attained. + +Women’s sway only imposed itself by dint of patience, tact, and a nice +regard for detail, and above all at the cost of genuine self-denial. +How many little trials and crosses had to be endured! To make herself +agreeable to the starched Spaniard and the boastful Neapolitan; to listen +resignedly while a Frenchman discoursed about his hunting and his limited +income, or while a Milanese or Genoese prated about his business; and +then with all gentleness, with a woman’s instinctive subtlety, almost by +stealth, to select among these men—to hold by an unconstrained and loyal +welcome those in whom she perceived some merit, and to bind them to her +by speaking their own tongue—wisdom to the wise, piety to the pious, +practical interests to the practical, gaiety to the young—and thus to +set them all on the path towards the desired perfection—what a task for +a woman! However, all that she needed in the rudimentary stages of this +education was to plant herself securely on her own rudimentary gifts—in +other words, to avoid scandal and tittle-tattle. But how difficult her +task became when she had to deal with men of parts, of warm affections, +of ardent temperament! Then, no doubt, it became interesting, and the +woman herself was reaping a profit which amply repaid her trouble. +“Ladies,” cries Champier, “if you must take pleasure in hob-nobbing with +men, choose at least those who can improve you and guide you.” There was +no question now of retiring to the Aventine, and fancying themselves +constantly in mortal peril[274]; a lady had to hold herself erect and +tighten the rein on these unruly men—to know the power of a word, a +gesture, a flash of silence.[275] + +To retire to the Aventine! That would be criminal! Speech is necessary to +one who would minister to a mind diseased. + +Conversation was not merely a pleasure. If they strove earnestly after +the Beautiful, it was because the reign of beauty is the most effectual +assurance of the reign of truth and goodness. Does anyone imagine that +a woman can shut herself in her drawing-room, and that all she need do +is to show herself beautiful, amiable, sweet, intelligent, tender to the +men worthy of forming her circle? No one thinks so. Woman rules because +she redeems. To direct or actively to engage in works of charity, to +send money to the wretched, without looking out of doors to see what +men are actually suffering or dying—this would be the absolute negation +of the social aim of conversation. Through conversation a woman comes +into living touch with realities. She must show herself as real flesh +and blood to the wretched; she owes them her smile, her beauty and her +grace; aye, it is her bounden duty to be beautiful, amiable, gentle, +intelligent, tender for the sake of those whose lot is solaced by no ray +from heaven. She must welcome the poor and lowly, and though she may not +be able to speak to them in Plato’s language, she must none the less +tend them with the supreme medicine of the Beautiful, enter into their +interests and their troubles, talk with them, shower on them her manna of +hope and patience, and—if she have it—light. + +Perhaps we shall now be asked how many women attained to these altitudes +in the apostleship of beauty, and if we can cite many who attempted +to put their ideas into practice. Assuredly, we can. In spite of the +somewhat too artistic cast into which social intercourse was thrown +by platonism, more than one woman found in her own heart a commentary +which neither Ficino nor Bembo ever knew. In France we may mention +Anne of France as one who was thoroughly convinced that conversation +was a duty to society at large. In Italy, ladies of the highest rank, +like Isabella d’Este and Vittoria Colonna, slightly intoxicated with +Beauty, consorted almost exclusively with princes and prelates and men of +culture, and in this regard the Renaissance is perhaps rightly accused +of over-refinement; yet they possessed in a rare degree the talent of +diffusing around them an atmosphere of sweetness. At Urbino, a provincial +court of no little exclusiveness, even the stalls of the handicraftsmen +were lapped in a delicious air; Raphael grew up like a natural plant; a +thousand trivial incidents in the life of the place give us glimpses of +grace and amiability. The influence was indirect, but very powerful. + + +CORRESPONDENCE. + +It would seem logical to consider correspondence as the complement of +conversation—as talk between persons at a distance. But it was not so; +talk it might be, but in writing, and consequently no one was very fond +of it; people distrusted it because of the risks involved. Yet certain +intellectual women of the 16th century displayed amazing activity as +letter-writers. While one might have supposed them to be wholly engrossed +with their rouge-pots or their friends, their intelligence and vivacity +actually carried them away; the pen appeared too lumbering a vehicle for +their impatient thought. In the letters of Julia Gonzaga, for instance, +it is often evident that the lady took the pen from her secretary at +the third or fourth line and finished the letter herself, rapidly, and +without troubling her head about grammar, handwriting, or decorum.[276] + +To the student of handwriting, letters betray many little philosophic +secrets which are well worth attention. The handwritings of the 16th +century (for the most part illegible, particularly in France) are large +and free, highly nervous and characteristic of the writers, released from +the methodical and commonplace style of former days. The strokes are fine +and distinguished, sometimes a little angular, displaying all sorts of +vagaries, abbreviations and flourishes. What a “mirror of the soul” is +the close and tangled handwriting of Margaret of France, or the gaunt, +nervous, firm, aristocratic, jerky, disorderly style of the duchess of +Etampes![277] + +The style of Vittoria Colonna is clear and plain, somewhat masculine +in character, but equally nervous and irregular, with a multitude of +abbreviations and splotches. A mere glance at the letters of these +influential women fills one with pity. Poor souls! At what a cost +of secret torment, distress, and agitation did they mould happiness +and peace for men! Looking at these human documents, these nervous +handwritings, one asks oneself if those sages are right who assure us +that to bestow happiness on others one must needs possess it oneself. +Was it at the cost of His happiness, or at the cost of His blood, that +Christ redeemed us? I may be deceived, but I sometimes fancy that I see +in these handwritings as it were a drop of blood. It was otherwise with +the men: they were happy. Castiglione’s writing has a graceful, tranquil +movement; his pen ran lightly and cursively; and if sometimes the strokes +seem laboured, it is due to an affectation in his manner of joining +the letters. Bembo placidly retains the old style, stunted, heavy, and +sprawling. + +The tone of the letters confirms the casual glimpses we have already +obtained into the social relations of the time. People troubled little +about family letters; these were simple and short, of the “dutifully +affectionate” order, and composed of almost stereotyped commonplaces. +Hardly anything is referred to in them except the material affairs of +life—business, medicine, health, domestic events;[278] the sentimental +part is dismissed very briefly—probably because family sentiments are +necessarily sincere. + +On the other hand, letters written to friends, which were very numerous +in Italy, were charming, tender, and graceful, ending often most +prettily: “Your little sister ... who loves your lordship as her own +soul—Isabella, with her own hand.” + +These last words, “with her own hand,” were not unnecessary, for a +fashionable lady, not pluming herself on a telegraphic style, was +obliged on principle and out of regard for her dignity to leave as much +as possible to the pen of her secretary. Unhappily the secretary, not +caring to serve as a mere scribe, pays attention to style, and touches +up his periods, so that, failing an actual autograph, it is impossible +to be sure what in a lady’s letter was really her own. Moreover, a lady +of any position knew that her letter would be shown about, perhaps even +transcribed or published. Bernardo Tasso, Aretino and many another were +not startled when they saw books made out of their letters or of letters +written to them; and the most interesting letters of Vittoria Colonna +appeared early in the 16th century. It may be said then that letters +came midway between conversation and books. In a lady’s letter there +was nothing directly from the writer but the signature and the one or +two autograph words preceding; in spite of which, the letters of the +marchioness of Pescara and of Isabella d’Este form very pleasing and +characteristic collections. + +After a visit from Isabella, the duchess Elizabeth of Urbino addressed +this note to her: “I know not how to cure myself of the regret your +ladyship’s departure has left me in. Methinks I have not only seen a +dearly loved sister leave me, but that my very soul is gone. I must needs +write you ever and anon, and make shift to say on this paper what I would +fain say with my lips; if therein I could clearly express my sorrow, +I am very sure ’twould be so potent as to cause your highness out of +compassion to turn back. If I feared not to be a burden to you, methinks +I should not hesitate myself to follow you. Neither thing is possible; my +sole resource is to beg your highness to think of me as often as I bear +you in my heart.” + +Many examples of this delicate and sweet—almost too sweet—graciousness +might be cited. Emilia Pia, for instance, one of the Urbino set, writes +almost as she speaks, with great liveliness and humour, and always with +equal vivacity whether the subject be toilet specifics or philosophy. +The men have the same charm, and sometimes think themselves entitled +to employ the same exquisitely tender formulas. Brocardo calls Marietta +Myrtilla “my very sweet and dear little sister ... my sweet and matchless +little sister, loved as my own soul,” and signs himself: “Thy sweetest, +sweetest Brocardo.” + +The terms in which a well-bred man could, indeed was expected to, address +a fashionable lady, may be seen from a letter from Castiglione, then +ambassador in Spain, to Vittoria Colonna. + +“I have felt,” he says, “so much joy in the victories of the marquis +that at first I would not write a letter—a letter is so vulgar a thing! +One writes letters about events of no importance. I had thought of +fireworks, fêtes, concerts, songs, and other vigorous demonstrations, but +reflection has shown me that these are inferior to the concert of my own +affections; and so I am come back to the idea of a letter, convinced that +my marchioness will be able to see what I have in my soul, even though my +words fail to express it.” And he dilates on this talent of the divine +marchioness for penetrating hearts, and for reading there what the lips +fail to utter, and then congratulates her on the delight which she cannot +but feel. “And as to my duty towards your highness, seek, I beseech you, +the testimony of your own heart, and give it credence, for I am sure your +heart will not lie to you on what not only yourself, but the whole world, +sees shining through my soul, as through the purest crystal. And thus +I remain, kissing your hands and humbly commending myself to your good +favour. Madrid, March 21.” + +Two years afterward he wrote in regard to the death of her husband: +“Calamity has fallen upon you like a deluge. I durst not write to your +highness at first, for I deemed you had died with the marquis; to-day in +all verity and admiration I hold that the marquis still liveth in you.” + +Do we need other specimens of these gracious and somewhat ultra-refined +letters? Here is a letter from Castiglione to the famous Marchesa +Hippolyta Florimonda Scaldasole: “Most excellent lady, if your ladyship +were as pleased to know you dwell eternally in my memory, as ’twould +be infinitely delightful for me to dwell in yours, I should be keenly +desirous of giving you proof of it in this letter, since for the moment +I can do it in no other way. But as your ladyship has shown the world, +along with your many other wondrous gifts, that you are a woman valiant +in fight, and not only beautiful, but warlike also like Hippolyta of +old, I fear me lest you be somewhat puffed up with pride, and somewhat +forgetful of your servitors—and I would not have it so. Therefore have I +made bold to write to you, and to pray Messer Camillo Ghilino, my very +dear friend, to speak on my behoof, and to tell you that in Spain, as at +Milan and at Pavia, I am your man; and that, when I had come to Pavia, +whither the army led me, those walls, those ramparts, those towers, that +artillery, all those things spoke to me of your highness, knowing that +behind them you were all aglow with the thought of combatting so great +a prince as the King of France. You have gotten the victory, and now +and henceforth no one will be so daring-hardy, I trow, as to fight with +you. Deign to believe him, lady, as myself; and I beseech you, if you +be not of all ladies the least loving, bid me to be at Milan and where +you are. Messer Camillo will be able to tell how different it is to be +in such sweet company as your ladyship’s and to be in Spain. I kiss your +hands, and ever commend myself to you, deeply desiring to know that this +_benedictus fructus_ be reaped by a husbandman worthy of it. Toledo, June +21, 1525.” + +After all, there was a necessary resemblance between a letter and a +conversation. In Italy, the note of tenderness is always dominant, +flattering and caressing even when gay. Some of Bibbiena’s letters are +full of deep feeling, and yet it is impossible to mention a more jovial +man: his fun bubbled over at the slightest provocation. Isabella d’Este +once scolded him for no longer visiting Mantua. “How,” retorts he with +affected indignation—“how have they managed to drop into those dainty +little ears so many gross accusations against me?... Here I see your +daughter, who appears to me the very image of that serene highness her +mother. Tell me again I am a lecher, and by God it shall be true as +Gospel! Would you have me swear otherwise?... Most devoutly do I kiss +your hands, and to my dear lady Alda I commend myself a thousand times.” +The amiable prelate was at that time assiduously courting Signorina Alda +Boiarda, maid of honour to the marchioness; and, as usual, the mistress +was not altogether pleased. + +Another charming custom in Italy was for a lady to recall herself to +the recollection of her friends by means of a little present. Vittoria +Colonna sent her portrait to Bembo, accompanied by a few verses from her +own hand: “Verses pure and dainty!” cries Bembo, “that touch the heart +far more than a mere letter.” On another occasion she charged one of her +friends, who was going to Mantua, to convey to the marquis “a friendly +and sympathetic” greeting, with some small token of her regard. The +friend thought he was doing right in offering a basket of roses, and the +marquis lost no time in sending his respectful thanks direct to the fair +donor. And then Vittoria formally apologised in very affectionate terms +that her messenger had “honoured him so little” as to offer so modest a +souvenir. + +Truth to tell, Frenchwomen showed much less feminine grace in this +matter, which explains our dwelling on the charm of their Italian +neighbours. The most Italianised of them could not attain this seductive +charm. In all the correspondence of Margaret of France you will not find +one letter recalling those we have just quoted almost haphazard. Margaret +did indeed sedulously strive to attain that charm, as we cannot but +perceive, but her languishings resulted in little else than prolixity. It +will not do to strain one’s talent. + +Renée of France, though she became duchess of Ferrara, never acquired +the Italian trick; she continued to write with French brevity. Diana of +Poitiers and the duchess of Etampes amaze us by the almost arid precision +of their style; they might have given points to the most dry-as-dust +of attorneys; there is never a sign of a gust of passion or of love’s +finesse. The rising generation of Henri II.’s time came nearer the +attainment of a pleasant style. The king’s two daughters, Madeline and +Margaret, wrote excellent hands—easy, graceful, even, with a uniform +slope, the letters broad and clear, the whole style very distinguished; +and they employed pleasant and engaging forms, phrases of genuine +affection, especially in their family correspondence.[279] But they too +were at their best in short notes, and their most pleasing letters are +always very brief. The higher charm remained the secret of Italy. + + + + +BOOK III. THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN + + + + +CHAPTER I + +POLITICAL INFLUENCE + + +The foregoing pages will have enabled the reader to see how little +the platonist women sought to exert a direct influence in affairs. +They aimed rather at moral and social influence. In no sense were they +women of action, believing likely enough that the course of events +would become modified naturally when men had changed. Conforming to the +aphorism, “Woman is supreme only as woman,” they devoted themselves to +the skilful development of the sources of their superiority, leaving +their inferiorities carefully in the shade. They avoided all masculine +modes—the rustic sort of sexless unattractive women, most at home in +the stables, strong-minded creatures who looked for a love they never +inspired; they studiously left to men the keen-edged activities of +life—law, politics, military service, all the needful barriers against +social inundation. Louise of Savoy was almost the only woman who so far +cherished the old ideas as to regret that she was a woman; who loved to +play a part in politics, and whose intelligence and energy won praise +in terms that recalled the great women of the past, notably Blanche of +Castile. She was a realist of the old type, who had lovers as a matter of +course, but gave scant thought to winning hearts: thus wholly differing +from the new order of women. And yet, by a singular chance in the working +of the old laws of monarchical succession, the world has perhaps never +seen more women called to till the places of men in the sphere of +statecraft. After all, monarchy is not a principle of pure reason: it +is incapable of mathematical demonstration: it is a principle springing +wholly from sentiment. Its advantage lies in this—that in a world of +tragic pettiness it gives a nation something to love. + +Many women played important parts in these masculine struggles, among +which they were thrown in their own despite. The period was one of +constant turmoil, and they had no opportunity of enjoying a life of quiet +secluded happiness. + +Among them was that unhappy mother, Isabella of Aragon, who was +persecuted by Ludovico il Moro, the uncle, and, as some said, the +assassin of her husband, and held captive in France by Louis XII.—a +luckless, warm-hearted, valiant figure who, in the effort to win Milan +back for her son, maintained a desperate struggle with the whole of +Europe. + +Then too there was Jeanne of Aragon, that beautiful sunny-haired woman, +with features of rare distinction and sweetness, in her day the idol of +Nifo and the prototype of beauty. She had married Ascanio Colonna, a +soldier of fortune who had brought his affairs to a desperate pass. Poor +woman! On every side she saw blank desolation. She had just lost her +eldest son by a sudden death when creditors began to harass her and drive +her second son to ruin; and from the magnificent windows of the Colonna +palace, where she was imprisoned by order of Pope Paul IV., she saw the +pontifical troops marching by on the way to seize her castles. She could +endure it no longer. One morning she disappeared, no one knows how, but +probably in disguise: at one of the gates of Rome she found a horse ready +saddled, and she performed the astonishing feat of riding to Naples +without drawing rein. At Naples she became the centre of a cruel strife: +her husband had her son arrested, and the son denounced the father. +Ascanio fell, struck by an unknown dagger. And when his charming wife, +whose golden hair had never a fleck of grey, came in her turn to die, +they must bury her with her husband, and could find for the shuddering +tomb no inscription but the touching words: “A great-hearted woman, a +very loving wife.” + +In a higher sphere even Margaret of Austria was but a genuine woman, an +admirable mother who never had any children. Compelled by family duty +to rule the Netherlands during the long minority of her nephew Charles +the Fifth, through all those years of toil and difficulty she set but +one aim before her, the preservation of peace. She was good, benevolent, +intelligent, but not happy: “Twice married and yet a maid,”[280] as she +said, then the widow of the handsome Philibert of Savoy, she would have +preferred the ‘tiniest grain’ that satisfied her heart’s craving to the +dignities that were poisoning her life; and she made no secret of it. On +her tomb she ordered to be set this striking emblem of disillusionment: +‘_Fortune, Infortune!_’[281] + +And the great Anne of France, ‘the lady of Beaujeu,’ condemned to an +attitude of ‘knitted brows’ and drawn sword as a means of reassuring +her good subjects and keeping the bad in awe, that haughty, ambitious, +close-fisted, masculine woman, as she was called by those whom she had +reduced to a proper sense of the duty of prompt obedience—no one was +in reality less like the cold statue she appeared in official life. It +was enough to watch her features in the hour of strife, and of triumph +even; they twitched and quivered, and were only controlled by a visible +effort.[282] A modest, it might almost be said a humble woman, she +was constantly a prey to self-distrust, never acting without advice, +almost heart-broken at her victories, for her one dream was of quenching +animosities; caring for nothing but peace, justice, and a well-ordered +State, and carrying her loathing of extreme ideas to the point of +appearing obtuse. + +When her brother was able to assume the government she disappeared from +the scene, quietly, with the least possible display, happy to seek +retirement at her splendid place at Moulins, amid all she held dear. +She had conceived so little taste for political life that she gave her +daughter a forcible recommendation to avoid its mazes: “Mind your own +business,” she said; in other words, keep strictly to your own part, and +if duty demands a temporary withdrawal, resume it as quickly as possible, +and be egoistic enough to make the winning of love your sole quest. + +Such was the attitude towards civil emancipation and the careers proper +to men that was taken up by women of the highest distinction, whom glory +might well have led off in the wrong direction. La Rochefoucauld could +hardly have had them in mind when he enunciated the unsound maxim: “There +is no renouncing ambition for love.” To renounce ambition was all that +these women desired, or rather their ambition was love itself; when the +chances of life forced them upon the stage, their one desire was for a +man to lean upon. Diplomatists, of necessity psychological folk, were +under no delusion in the matter; when they had dealings with a princess, +forthwith we see them on the look-out for the man or men behind. “Giacomo +Feo appears to me the pivot of the State,” wrote Prudhomme, ambassador at +the court of Catherine Sforza; the poor man had just made the discovery +that Feo’s will was law. The great trouble of Anne of France was that she +could find no support in her husband, a man of complete integrity and +excellent disposition, but unstable as water. + +On the other hand, among women of but average intelligence, there were +busy bodies with a lust for notoriety, parade, admiration, always ready +to interfere in anything and everything, to the utter despair of serious +workers. Of these Renée of France, duchess of Ferrara, may serve as an +example. Born a daughter of France, she considered that her insignificant +husband had been too highly honoured in wedding her, denied him her bed, +lived in her own circle, and entered into diplomatic relations on her own +account. Not that she had any definite political aims: her method was +the simple one of pulling in opposite directions to her husband, which +at a distance gives her conduct a look of inconsistency. Did she hold +with Rome, or Geneva? She would receive Ignatius Loyola in the morning, +Calvin in the afternoon, and anyone else when the fancy took her. To her +France was all in all; but the French government had only to request +someone to cross the frontier for her to receive the exile with open +arms. In somewhat limping verse Marot acknowledged her grant of a pension +(diminutive, it is true) which entailed upon him no duties but those of +a lover: + + Mes amis, j’ai changé ma dame; + Une autre a dessus moi puissance, + Née deux fois, de nom et d’âme.[283] + +Re-born indeed both were, and it may even be said that their life was +a constant succession of re-incarnations, in creeds and amours of hues +as shifting as the chameleon’s; for Marot notoriously proved faithful +to nothing but his pensions. Neither of them had any part or lot in +platonism. Marot chose to become its recognised flouter; Renée was merely +a woman of a restless spirit, without any solid abilities. In public +ceremonies she appeared at her husband’s side; within their own doors she +was perpetually at odds with him: an exasperating woman indeed, dead to +the finer feelings. The duke of Ferrara was not master in his own duchy. +One day he banished one of the most obnoxious of his wife’s ladies, a +Madame de Soubise: the lady instantly proceeded to arrange an interview +between the duchess and the King of France, and it was with the utmost +difficulty that this menacing combination was prevented from becoming an +accomplished fact. + +The duchess had a lover, by no means of the platonic order, in the +son-in-law of this Madame de Soubise. He was a M. de Pons, a scion of +a family which enjoyed the singular privilege of rendering services of +this nature to royal ladies. Again the duke of Ferrara had much ado to +stifle scandal in this direction. Having recourse to the time-honoured +method, he sent M. de Pons on a mission to France, with sufficiently +general instructions, which found a natural reflection in the vagueness +of the official despatches. But the private letters of the duchess to +the ambassador were explicit enough in all conscience. She tells him, +for instance, that she is giving the hospitality of her bed to the +little poodle he had left behind at Ferrara, fondling it and kissing +it, “since,” she adds, “I have no one else here now.” Now, mark the +complexity of this feminine diplomacy! Attached to the service of our gay +ambassador was a spy in the duchess’s pay. But this was matched by the +fact that her own letters were intercepted and read in the “dark closet” +of Ferrara, with the result that the duke lost whatever remnant of doubt +he may perchance have nourished, but had the charming consolation of +locking up in his archives the journal in which she set down her doings +and secret thoughts for the sole benefit, as she imagined, of her absent +lover. The inevitable outcome of this game of cross purposes was the +impossibility of foreseeing when the mission of M. de Pons would be +concluded. But it would argue great simplicity not to imagine that the +duchess also had her “dark closet”; and in fact, she had arranged for the +interception and perusal of letters addressed to the lucky Pons by one of +her own ladies of honour, letters which, like hers, embodied a private +diary, and were as ardent as her own. It remains only to add that Pons +had left at Ferrara a lawful wife (the inspiration of Giraldi’s muse) +who loved him with equal warmth and devotion, and bore him beautiful +children. But all things come to an end, even diplomacy when there are +more reasons for concluding negotiations than for commencing them. So it +came about that M. de Pons returned, and the duke philosophically shut +his eyes and stopped his ears until the day when he took the liberty +of turning the key on the daughter of France whom he had been so much +honoured in espousing. + +The duchess of Ferrara belonged to a school which was unhappily of large +extent, and was in great measure the cause of the ruin of feminism: the +school namely of women who were somewhat intoxicated with their power, +and who forced their way by hook or crook into politics and life. In +France more than one woman of this sort might be cited from the reign of +Henri II. + +Serious women, however, very clearly saw that if they were to avoid a +fall they must take only an indirect part in affairs. When the great +sculptor Sansovino appeared on the point of sinking under a moral crisis, +it seemed quite natural that Aretino should appeal to his young wife +to come to his aid! There you have the woman’s rôle! Vittoria Colonna, +likewise, restrained her husband in the flush of an intoxicating +and perhaps perilous triumph, by a letter which has justly remained +celebrated: “Not by the greatness of your domains or titles, but by your +virtue, will you win the honour which your descendants may make their +boast. For my part I have no desire to be the wife of a king; I am the +wife of the great captain who has vanquished all kings, not by his valour +merely, but by his magnanimity.” + +Such was the language of a philosophical woman, accustomed to take +lofty views of things, and to live in the atmosphere of the Beautiful, +that is to say, a life of mingled serenity and strength. Her reserve of +energy, lying hid under a wealth of kindliness, could only show itself +in times of difficulty: “The tongue is feminine, the arm is masculine,” +said an old Italian proverb.[284] The tongue directs the arm; there are +circumstances in which the tongue may sustain the arm, but that is not +its chief duty. + +Woman’s part, it is admitted, is to act as a moderating influence in +joy or grief. We shall therefore not dwell upon that point, but confine +ourselves to answering a question of some delicacy. Women have been +reproached with misusing their powers, and with holding men too much +under their thumb. + +To loathe war, to advocate perpetual peace, conciliation, hatred of +everything resembling an appeal to force, is admirable enough; but this +advocacy itself has its limits. Is not war also a salutary thing? Does it +not brace up nations sunk in the torpor of bourgeois materialism? War has +a nobleness and beauty of its own. And indeed, are we to degrade men into +carpet knights, jousting in cap and feather before a court deliciously +feminine? Horses, standards, heraldic devices, the sheen of armour, +the clash of weapons, the din of clarions and trumpets, of flutes and +hunting-horns and all the instruments that stir the blood,—inspiriting +as all these are supposed to be, and well as they may symbolise courage, +are they sufficient to preserve the masculine virtues? Love is often +enervating. Where will the army be,[285] what will become of the country, +if women carry us up with them into the clouds? Mantegna replies by +showing us Samson and Delilah,[286] Botticelli with his picture of +the cupids stripping Mars of his armour as he lies sleeping by Venus’ +side.[287] + +But we have already given the true answer. + +Certainly woman’s place is not in the camp. The virago has no vogue: +men do not fight women nor take them prisoners. Women do in truth +loathe war. But when the war is noble they become its advocates. War is +a noble thing when it is waged in self-defence, when honour and life +and liberty are at stake. Then, be sure, women are not lagging in the +rear. Beatrice d’Este with a stout heart dragged Ludovico il Moro to the +camp facing the French; and there, showing him an army quaking for all +its cheers at that solemn hour the eve of battle, she set the feeble +heart of her husband beating in time with her own. In November 1502 the +ladies of Urbino besieged the ducal palace with offers of their jewels +for the purpose of repelling Caesar Borgia. At Sienna, the women, led +by ladies of the highest rank, set to work to carry baskets of earth +upon their heads, and, what is still more extraordinary, they agreed +to perform this service systematically under the orders of three lady +captains recognisable by their satin petticoats. One young girl pushed +her enthusiasm to such a length as to disguise herself in a soldier’s +uniform in order to pass the night on the ramparts. Monluc[288] himself, +that hardened old warrior, waxed enthusiastic in praise of such notable +courage, and promised eternal glory to these fair ladies. And was not +Anne of France familiar with the camp? Have we not told the story of that +Françoise d’Amboise who raised a troop to repel a band of brigands! + +But to fire a woman’s heart a just cause is needed, otherwise she +execrates war. Clever people may talk as they please,—praise the Amazons +of Georgia, the ancient Ligurian women who tilled their fields, or recall +the visions of Plato in the fifth book of the _Republic_ or the seventh +of the _Laws_ on the military and political aptitudes of women: these +are paradoxes which influence no one. Maria Puteolana, who attained the +rank of captain in the Italian army, was laughed at; and, to tell the +truth, the military inspiration of certain heroines at critical moments +was regarded as purely adventitious. It came to St. Catherine of Sienna +“by the riches of grace”; to Joan of Arc “by divine grace, by mystery +divine.” So strong was the belief in Joan’s saintship that it brought her +to the stake. She resembled Deborah and Judith; her story was repeated in +the most insignificant hamlets, and all France gave ceaseless thanks to +God for so clearly manifesting Himself through the feeble arm of a woman, +a shepherd-lass: “_sicut populum tuum per manum feminae liberasti_.” +But this was only an additional stanza in the love litany (long enough +already) lisped by poets and the faithful to the Virgin of Virgins: a +love-poem, but at the same time a malediction on war and the spirit of +conquest. + +When men spoke, even in favourable terms, of the women who had been +thrown by the force of circumstances among tragic incidents like these, +it was as though they were celebrating a sort of suicide. Castiglione +has devoted verses charged with real emotion to the memory of a young +girl who was mortally wounded at the storming of Pisa in 1499, at the +moment when she was leading on the defenders. She was carried away dying, +he says, and as she lay upon her mother’s bosom, she exclaimed that her +country owed her no other bridal! “Virago,” he adds, wiping his eyes. +The last word on these military women was said by a woman, the charming +Isabella Villamarina, who was resolved to don man’s clothes and start for +the army like the wife of Mithridates, with no thought of fighting, but +to be with her husband, the prince of Salerno, whom she madly loved. But +the prince insisting on her staying at home, it occurred to her to pass +the whole of the day in bed, hoping to see her husband in her dreams! + +It was not simply by dint of philosophical reasoning that women avoided +active and masculine occupations. They were well aware that they had +everything to lose if they lived the life of men. Men rode rough-shod +over them. Such women as an evil star did actually fling into the +vortex—and these were rare—were invariably women of a robust and sensuous +type. + +Could a more striking example be cited than Catherine Sforza, a luckless +princess perpetually condemned to stand on the defensive, and on this +account fated to remain on the outskirts of the world in which she might +have played so lofty a part? A notable woman, endowed with nature’s most +prodigal and magnificent gifts; tall, strong, good-looking enough, with a +clear, superb complexion; in speech warm, forceful, impulsive, her voice +ringing out for the most part like a trumpet call, but capable also of +enchanting caresses. There was nothing theatrical in her wonderful force +of mind, which asserted itself in grand outbursts on all occasions, as +when, for instance, she wrote to her sons from the depth of her dungeon +in the castle of Sant’ Angelo, bidding them not to be concerned for her. +“I am habituated to grief,” she said; “I have no fear of it.” Or on that +other occasion, the day of the storming of her capital, when the boldest +of the French, forcing their way into the innermost entrenchments, +succeeded finally, after unheard-of exertions, in capturing her, like +a lioness caught in a snare. Here we have the reverse of the medal: +strip her of her armour and she is a woman, one of the feeblest of her +sex. Catherine exhausted all her vigour in politics: she was swayed by +her senses; almost unknown to herself she imparted to all about her +the unquenchable thirst for sensual pleasure by which she was herself +devoured. Her first three husbands died by the assassin’s knife. The +magnificent Ordelaffi, one of her foes, would never have wrested the +county of Imola from her by mere force of arms; but to vanquish the +woman herself by the magnetism of the senses was but the sport of an +afternoon. And when Catherine, hopelessly entangled in these toils, heard +the people discussing her, the lioness roared: sentences of imprisonment +and the strappado were the outward and visible signs of her love. The +scene changes; the amiable Ordelaffi gives place to a lover more worthy +of her. Before the virile force of this man, threatening constantly to +sell his soul to the devil, and (a more serious matter) the state to the +Turks, Catherine is subjugated: she marries him. Feo becomes an odious +tyrant: denunciations, persecutions, tortures are his wedding gifts. As +was to be expected, Feo fell stabbed to the heart under the very eyes of +his sovereign, and then Terror spread her vampire wings, and the silent +prisons swam with holocausts of blood. + +Were we wrong in saying, at the outset, that under the exquisite charm +of life’s manifestations, the brute in man was struggling all the +time! Possibly it was imagined that in muzzling the brute, women were +obeying a natural instinct, and that there were certain sensualities and +bestial horrors little to be feared in regard to women brought up in an +atmosphere refined almost to rarefaction. According to Nifo and others, +all that was wanted was to encourage recourse to the platonist theories. +And yet here we see, in appalling contradiction, this great figure of +Catherine Sforza dominating her epoch, as though to show to what a pitch +the intoxication of masculine women could rise. For at bottom she was a +woman of an excellent heart—this Catherine who died under the name of +Medici; a genuine sister of mercy, thoughtful, generous, diligent in +feeding the poor in time of famine, and, when an epidemic was raging, +marvellous as a sovereign and a sick-nurse! And how lovely she was! +How well she knew, in the intervals of her frenzied existence, how to +enjoy life, when she gave herself up to the beauty of her flowers, +the charm of her gardens, the delight of seeing her splendid drove of +cattle peacefully grazing in her parks! Dogs never had a more tender +protectress. She evoked her people’s enthusiasm and applause when, riding +in a red skirt at the head of her huntsmen, like a legendary fairy, and +reining up her horse with her delicate scented hand, she smiled upon them +all, her beautiful white teeth flashing between her full ruby lips. + +What did she lack, then, to make her in very truth a woman? Only +womanliness, and the exquisite power of using love as a quickening +instead of a destroying spirit. With her, it was quite useless to assume +airs of ethereality. The style she needed is that which we find in the +letters of one of the men she loved, Gabriele Piccoli. This Piccoli +served her as ambassador, and one day Catherine scolded him for making +too free a use of poetry in his despatches. Upon that, he lost his head; +he felt that his heart was all aflame, “boiling over” he says; he was +beside himself with exultation, speaking of his Divinity, his Hope, +anxious to take flight and abandon everything in order to live “under +the shadow and in the confidence of his princess”; then, with a sudden +transition, he reports in the most precise terms various diplomatic +schemes, not a little complicated. In reality, the letter is that of a +man speaking to a woman of forty, and seeing her as she was, good-hearted +and tender, yet vigorous and virile. Why did he love her? Because, all +said and done, she intoxicated men. In the evening she would dance like +a mad thing,[289] and next morning go on a pilgrimage: a strange wild +creature. She ended by marrying a Medici, a man of delicate, idealistic, +almost effeminate temperament. There is nothing so strange as the +colloquy which took place between her and Savonarola. She had written to +the monk to request his prayers, and he replied in a charming letter, of +mingled serenity and strength, in which he takes high ground in rebuking +her life. This letter is dated June 18, 1497, the very day on which all +the churches in Florence were thundering with the papal proscription +launched against him. Ah! how tragic, how impressive an encounter was +this, between two souls equally belated, though in a different sense: the +pure monk face to face with death: the woman, born too soon or too late, +the prey of destiny! The French formed an excellent judgment of this +woman of bronze and thunder, who had ceased to be a woman: they called +one of their most formidable pieces of artillery “Madame de Forli.” + +There was one woman, perhaps, who diffused through the camps a real +chivalrous enthusiasm: but this was in Spain, and faith and fatherland +were concerned. Isabella the Catholic ordered that she should be buried +on the battlefield of Grenada, wrapped in the broad folds of her royal +mantle, as though to preach lessons of valour even after her death. To +this day her great soul appears to hold sway in Spain. + +She was a wonderful mixture of different kinds of heroism. She was +brave and resolute without a touch of the virago. After a night spent +in dictating orders, she would tranquilly resume a piece of church +embroidery, or, like Anne of France, the practical education of her +daughters. In her own private affairs she was plain and simple, in +public she was all ostentation. She was a conversationalist of the first +order, and loved to attack high philosophical questions, here and there +dropping into a discussion some original phrase, some bold and clear-cut +thought, while her deep blue eyes lit up and darted upon her company a +certain glance of warmth and loyalty the renown of which still clings +to her name. A strange woman! ardent like Anne of France, guileless, +straightforward, somewhat starched perhaps, but all heart for her +friends, so fond a mother that she died of the loss of her children, so +thorough a woman that she declared she knew only four fine sights in the +world: “a soldier in the field, a priest at the altar, a beautiful woman +in bed, a thief on the gibbet.” + +No king could ever have exercised the same ascendancy. Spain is too +proud a country! A Spaniard to whom you speak of an army will tell you +with perfect coolness that it consisted of 3000 Italians, 3000 Germans, +and 6000 soldiers, that is to say, 6000 Spaniards. Isabella and Anne +of France were of a style which could only succeed in Spain or France. +Castiglione himself shrinks in awe before such figures, declaring that he +knows nothing like them in Italy. + +Michelangelo showed himself to be less pessimistic, and has constantly +endowed his women with ideal traits of greatness of soul. His _Virgin_ of +the Casa Buonarotti, with the profile of a Roman matron, holds herself +erect and looks straight before her with the forceful eye of a woman who +would dare anything in defence of her treasure, this feeble little man +to be, gathered so close to her breast that but little of his back is +visible: in very truth, _fructus ventris tui_. + +Every lady must have seen the exquisite _Pietà_ in St. Peter’s at +Rome.[290] It is the finest monument ever erected to the honour of the +sex. Overwhelmed by the tragedy of Savonarola, Michelangelo has given +utterance in that picture to the cry of his soul: he makes his appeal to +women in the name of Christ. + +On her knees, with simplicity, without sensible effort, the Mother bears +her dead Son—a cruel burden! Her wide-flowing drapery, her beautiful +form, the purity of the lines of her face, all reveal so great a force +of soul that the fact of her appearing as youthful as her son causes no +surprise. But the Christ is not, for His part, pressing heavily upon her. +Though He is dead, one feels that He still lives, from the love which +speaks forth from His wan, worn features: by the power of love He has +vanquished divine Death, a death He sought, and almost loved. And the +pure, grave mother, filled with a profound compassion, seems yearning to +bring Him forth a second time, into a complete imperishable life: hers +is an impersonal type, not representing this or that woman, this or that +mother: + + Le corps, enfin vaincu, recule devant l’âme, + Et la terre, ayant vu cette Vierge et ce Dieu, + Va comprendre l’Amour et respecter la Femme.[291] + +Michelangelo exalts the eternal woman, sustaining the Man of Sorrows by +the strength of love. He has left us as his final bequest, as it were, +the symbol of all the strenuous women of the fifteenth century, who had +just run so glorious a race in Italy, and who saw from serene heights +the suffering they themselves never felt—the ancestors of Vittoria +Colonna and Margaret of France. And yet he had no wish to exaggerate. +When he came to paint the _Last Judgment_, he no longer set woman in the +foreground, like the naïve old masters; he placed her respectfully in the +rear, giving her an attitude of humility, suppliance, and compassion, +because, even for him, woman was before all things the incarnation of +sweetness and kindliness, and because, in those dread hours when it is +for power and justice to pronounce the final doom, every woman must needs +stand in the shade. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MORAL INFLUENCE + + +The moral purification of society is assuredly one of the conditions of +happiness; hence it was one of the chief ends of platonism. The 16th +century, unfortunately, was one of the most corrupt periods known to our +history, an undisputed fact from which some people have concluded that +art was the cause of moral decadence, because art in itself is unmoral, +and never acts otherwise than as “a stimulus to debauchery.” These +good paradoxical souls had ancestors as long ago as the 15th and 16th +centuries—ancestors who held the same theory and saw in aestheticism a +fatal blight to humanity. They refused to acknowledge the idea of the +beautiful: and the belief that a careful observation discovers some +trace of beauty everywhere—that even in the mind of a criminal there +are sometimes uncommon, indeed splendid faculties, unhappily turned to +evil—seemed to them, as it seems to their successors to-day, a miserable +error calculated to lead mankind to perdition. Platonist women and the +Roman world saw in it, on the contrary, a pledge of regeneration and +civilisation. + +We have already said that the world needed no further urging on the +downward path; love was only understood apart from marriage, and all that +remained to settle was whether this love should remain material or might +possibly become spiritual. + +All the contemporaries of platonism who regretted the “good old times” +(and in France they were many)—Marot, Rabelais, Collérye nicknamed Roger +Bontemps, Coquillart the sworn foe of the fashionable world, “bucks” as +he called them—all these clearly explain their position; they lamented +the disappearance of love “_à la française_,” a whole-hearted love +without qualifications and periphrases; a love that was very pleasant if +not very moral. And as to the folk who believed that virtue was corrupted +by the salons, they had only to stroll through the fairs, look in at the +rustic festivities and balls, and chat with one or two tavern wenches +or a village “old wife,” or even to penetrate into some of the country +houses. In Germany, where morals retained their antique savour, it cannot +be pleaded that Dr. Faustus, with the little crippled love who waits +on him, or the coarse bourgeois Venuses of Wohlgemüth or Albert Dürer, +existed only in imagination! + +The first contact with Italy, so far from purifying these manners, only +brought about the exaltation of sensualism; one of the most popular of +French writers, Octavien de Saint-Gelais, had no scruple in raising a +statue to “Sensuality.” The French saw in Italy only the pagan side +of the Renaissance, that of the Malatestas[292] and others, and, as +often enough happens when the field of contemplation is so narrow, they +perceived nothing but the more striking and startling phenomena—the flash +of daggers, the poison bowl; so much that an excellent young man, Louis +de Beauvau, who had wedded a young person of humble rank against the +wishes of his family, and repented of it, profited by the expedition of +Charles VIII. to get together a fine collection of poisons as he went +from town to town. Certain Italians who had come to France were regarded +as so many jinnish heralds of moral anarchy. “The only way to escape +women is not to see them at all,” exclaims one of them, Andrelini. In +truth, it was not long before Italian society presented a lamentable +spectacle of decomposition; observers felt painful heart-burnings and +overwhelming disgust. “This is too much,” cries Palingenius, dubbed the +Star of the Renaissance: “let me flee away to some peaceful, solitary +shore.” + +From the year 1515 onwards the court of France advanced boldly along +the same path, dragging the country with it. “Paris is a fair city to +live in, but not to die in.” What a pass things had come to! When five +years had elapsed, Lemaire, who had been one of the prophets of the new +order, paints the situation in terrible colours, demanding as remedy +a convocation of the Courts of Love. Charming tribunals, indeed: but +what good would they serve? In the forefront of this corrupt and putrid +society the official poet shows us his young king, with his coarse +sensual lips wrinkled in a hideous smile, “consumed by women” body and +soul. + +Free love flourished. The saying, “In case of love, one dame doth not +suffice,”[293] answered to the accepted axiom on the fickleness of women. +The noblest of ladies declared themselves “lieutenants of Venus.” It +was love in its basest form, a matter of trade and barter, cold as ice; +nothing was wanting to its degradation—diplomatic husbands, women who +were “merchandise for kings,” but a merchandise which proffered itself! +It is alleged that Louis XII. in his decrepitude knew not in Italy how to +defend the virtue of which he was so tenacious. The excellent Margaret +of France was amazed when a young girl of good family did not rush to +sacrifice herself to a caprice of her brother.[294] Young or old, it +made no difference. Women were known to get up bogus law-suits for the +pleasure of corrupting the judges. Others, with greater attractions, +flocked to the favourite or the minister of the day; others, more +numerous, threw themselves at the moneyed men, as rivers rush to the sea. +No one would guess what shameful shifts masked some lives that seemed +a brilliant round of music and receptions and play; or what a singular +population of waiting-maids, pimps, and procuresses of all ranks, forced +their unwelcome services upon a respectable man— + + Piteulx comme ung beau crucifix![295] + +Vice was everywhere the same, except for some trifling shades. If an +Italian and a Frenchman told the same story of an honest woman seduced +by means of gold, they practically differed in nothing but the tariff; +the Italian lady exacts a thousand crowns and disappoints the purchaser, +the Frenchwoman asks only a hundred and faithfully keeps her word. When +the matter comes to light, the Italian husband is very deferential to the +seducer, but poisons the lady; the French husband contents himself with +sending her home to her parents for a time. + +We must not be understood to believe that honest women no longer existed: +on the contrary, there were still many. The only difficulty was to find +them, because they kept out of sight, or, at any rate, were too apt to +regard the exercising of an influence as beneath them. + +Good women are often passive, incredulous, or at least resigned in regard +to evil. Many of them, brought up on the ancient principle of subjection +and abnegation, would ask nothing better than to shut eyes and ears +with the quasi-felicity of mummies petrified in an eternal sleep, and +to decline to believe in evil. There the evil is, under their own roof, +touching them closely, wounding them: yet still they smile and smile, +wishing to appear crowned with roses, and doing their best to fancy they +are happy.[296] What delightful reasoning, and how precious to feeble and +timid women who would fain eschew strife, and love always! + +Vittoria Colonna, for instance, feigned sleep one night while her +husband, by her side, indulged in wild antics that pained her deeply. +Nifo relates, with the perfect serenity of an egoist, an incident that +happened to himself. He had shut himself up in his study to write a +_Thesserologia astronomica_. After some days his wife grew anxious, and +employed all kinds of stratagems to induce him to relax the rigour of +his seclusion. Not succeeding, poor woman! she went in search of a young +lady in the neighbourhood, of whom she knew her husband was enamoured, +and whom, after she had given her a piece of her mind, she brought back +with her. She shut the two up together, with the simple happiness of a +faithful dog, flattering herself on having discovered the solution of the +puzzle. But no, Nifo remained glued to his _Thesserologia_. Then the good +woman lost her head, vowed herself to saints innumerable, made pilgrimage +after pilgrimage, and gave many a votive offering. Three months +afterward, Nifo, when he had written his last line, issued tranquilly +from his tomb, and condescended (so he assures us) to raise his wife from +her depression. + +Devotion of this kind was apparently not rare among the women of old. +There was indeed a classical little story which passed from hand to hand +about a Madame de Varambon. Monsieur de Varambon (so the story ran: we +must do him at least this justice) was a thrifty fellow, and his wife +was grieved to know that his mistress’s apartments were rather poorly +furnished. She ended by going herself to look after the furnishing, in +profound secrecy. This story excited the hilarity of men every time it +was told; some of them regarded Madame de Varambon as an old humbug; +others, as a poor godly old soul;[297] and that was the sole reward of +her virtue! + +Apart from this bent of women themselves for submission and seclusion, we +must note also that Frenchmen formed themselves into a sort of league, +by no means chivalrous, against women who got “talked about.” If a +woman was talked about, it seemed a necessary deduction that there was +something bad to say about her, and the mere fact of a lady acquiring +any sort of public reputation, though entirely to her honour, apparently +gave everyone the right to fling mud at her. This was one of the most +formidable obstacles to the moral influence of women. It seemed to many +people, in short, that there was no choice between virtue starched, +prosaic and wearisome, or no virtue at all: that it consisted for women +in the simple devotion to an ideal of family duty—in which, however, +they did not always find happiness, and which religion did not always +succeed in beautifying, for the family affections are terrestrial, and +doubtless will not survive the earth. Husbands maintained this position, +finding it convenient. Vice and virtue in all their coarseness (there is +a coarseness of virtue) were each shut up, so to speak, in a water-tight +compartment: “to each his calling”; no compromise, no nuance, no degree +was acknowledged; virtue is always represented by Titian and others with +harsh malevolence as uncouth and ill to look upon, while opposite her +they represent the true woman as an embodied caress. + +Untrue and untenable as this distinction was, no one cared to seek a +way out of the dilemma, not even the moralists. Lotto as well as Titian +represents the virtuous woman as a goose-girl, in conflict with Venus! +And indeed the singular comparison in course of time penetrated to the +core of platonist society, though it was softened down like a much +attenuated echo. Raphael, then a charming boy of twenty, fresh moulded by +the tender hands of two princesses, was conscious of the same thing in +his _Vision of a Knight_ in the National Gallery. + +To him also the grave woman holding a sword and a book seems a timid +creature; he leaves her in the background as though unwilling to show +herself, and limns behind her only a rocky steep and a church spire +soaring into the sky. The other lady, on the contrary, graceful in form +and feature, stands out distinctly before lovely meadows sloping down +to a swift-flowing stream. What does she hold? A flower, no more. This +is love indeed, but eminently tender, eminently reasonable, almost +ineffectual. Raphael was so young! + +Why then, even in the eyes of this delicate-minded stripling, does virtue +keep this character of ungainliness and frigidity? Were there in his day +none of those women of sound mind and steadfast soul who, while knowing +how to leave men undisturbed in their pride, how (so to speak) to respect +them, knew also how to stimulate them to set happiness above the woes of +life? It is not even the lash of passion we are speaking about; great +love has some trenchant quality that cleaves a way through materialities; +it is purification _par excellence_; it would remove mountains and still +the waves. Happy the woman who has once encountered it, thrice happy she +who has been able to recognise it and seize it ere it passed! For it has +but one defect, its exceeding rarity; and if the moral regeneration of +society were absolutely dependent on it, a woman would do better to fling +up the struggle, encase herself in triple brass, mystically shut her eyes +to evil, await a miracle, and hope for nothing on this earth but the +repentant tears of her husband! + +We are speaking merely of women of vigour, made to support and guide +men—the women whom men style “dragons.” They are a species which +achieves little success in the world; men regard them as somewhat too +masculine, and are constantly making fun of them, especially when there +are good reasons for so doing. At Naples, for instance, one of these +dragons—Doña Maria d’Aragona, a respectable mother of seven—created no +little amusement because (so the story ran), in her desire for a large +experience, she had wished to live with her husband three years as a +wife, three as a sweetheart, and three as an enemy. Men do not understand +such women; it is a sense they are deficient in. These women were out +of date,—women of the 15th century, of the time before Savonarola. They +remind one of those old, high, rugged ramparts which perforce crumble +away, and to which we prefer a spick-and-span, vulgar boulevard, blocked +up with gingerbread stalls. + +And yet the moral influence of women, from a social and general +standpoint, did make itself felt, especially in Italy. “You must not +judge men from the crust,” as Anne of France very well said. The opposing +parties were so little divided from each other that it is not easy to +distinguish them; there were materialists who did not scorn the ideal, +and idealists by no means unsympathetic to the material, and it was that +which gave an opening to the moral preacher. + +For instance, Nifo, whom we have mentioned as a personal foe to Plato, +had begun by fighting against Thomas of Aquinas in the materialist camp; +but on being shown his folly by the Bishop of Padua, a prelate of parts, +he changed sides with a great flourish of trumpets, fell lustily upon his +master Pomponazzi, and became a Roman count with the name and the arms of +the Medici: to his own satisfaction and delight, for logical minds love +success. And by and by we discover him, folios in hand, falling at the +feet of female beauty with surprising agility,—quite eclipsing Victor +Cousin, whose passions were of the mere milk-and-water order and very +much behind the times. Renan, who has left us an excellent appreciation +of Nifo, reproaches him with the somewhat wobbly character of his +doctrine; but this is the very thing that interests us. If men were not +inconstant, platonism would have no further utility. Nifo, in short, was +a converted character. If men are bent on fighting, we must not complain +that a woman’s hand can sometimes draw them into the crack regiments. + +This means, someone will say, that the conscience and the lofty +deductions of a serious or even a distinguished man depend on the rustle +of a petticoat or the colour of certain eyes? Even so; if the woman +stands for more than a petticoat and two bright eyes, if she really has +a heart, ardent and vigorous affections in which the man’s spirit finds +refreshment, what could be more natural or moral? + +Look at Nifo again. Ugly, hideous, untractable as he was, he completely +changed his tune under the influence of a few artificial (perhaps too +artificial, indeed!) courtesies; if he retained some of the claws of the +primitive man, some thorns of the wild stock which it was so difficult to +graft, what does that prove but that under a woman’s fingers the roughest +bushes burst into brilliant flower? Nifo even came to wear almost the +same moral livery as Bembo. He speaks of Plato only with respect, and +of materialism only with disdain as a not very formidable doctrine from +which good taste and spiritual refinement cannot but preserve women; +he pretends to go as far as the “imaginatives” in the direction of +sociological love; he adopts in principle Plato’s theory of love as +an intermediary between the Creator and the creature; “beauty—aye, I +gladly confess it—is that which produces love.” His only weakness (a +very natural one) is that he cannot arrive at the Absolute, as Socrates +understood it, without traversing this earth; that he prefers to vague, +immaterial, supersensual dallying with love the personal encounter of two +living beings. On this head the meanest logicians do not allow themselves +to be silenced. They unreservedly, enthusiastically recognise the +religion of beauty and love, and its admirable effects on society and the +world; but at the same time they are not quite at one about definitions. +They pause in a sort of numb fascination before a pretty little piece +of piety who suddenly pretends she forgets her body and is only a soul; +they are like Dante in Purgatory, when he opened his arms and clasped +nothing but air. They do not prostrate soul and body in adoration before +a shadow, a reflection, a transient gleam of beauty; it seems good to +them to love a particular woman in virtue of a special affinity, or a +need of settling down; and in these circumstances they would in good +sooth think it great folly to torture themselves under the fallacious +plea that sweet love if gratified is slain. Love, they say, is one and +indivisible, not too base nor too divine: “You may cite me your heroes, +your saints, your angels: you may explore the whole realm of antiquity +to unearth types like Socrates and Anaxarchos (or, if you please, +Xenocrates, who spent a whole night in tranquil admiration of Phryne): +everything is possible. I myself furnish a magnificent example in loving +Fulvia without any base desire. But these are masterly achievements of +saints or philosophers, and St. Jerome shows a keen insight into humanity +when he ordains that men shall either regard all the Lord’s virgins with +a generic affection, or shall not love any of them. Horace maintained +that with greybeards the flesh is dead; St. Jerome replies: ‘You say that +the flesh is dead, and I tell you that the devil is eternal.’ Love must +be distinguished from friendship.”[298] + +In France it was another story. Men were much more self-assertive. We do +not find them appealing to these circumlocutions or these tender ironies. +The annihilation of matter would have struck them as almost an outrage. +Among them things took an entirely different complexion from that which +we have indicated in the feminist society of Italy. Being the masters, +they regarded love as indispensable, and beauty as always good: “If we +thought ladies were without love, we should long for death”; only, adds +Erasmus, “they grant women nothing but from love of sensual pleasure”; +and the more highly placed they happened to be, the more natural it +seemed to them to degrade love. “To gratify a prince”—we know what that +means; there is no question here of an elevated love like the love which +fills princesses’ dreams. + +The moral conflict on this point was in France acute. When Margaret +essayed to purify the society of her court by a leaven of beauty, her +entourage checked her, refusing to allow any effort towards embellishing +human life with the ideal. These men held too closely to the old logical +and realist spirit. They loved Plato, but truth still more. They did not +realise that their brutal realism had the effect of throwing women off +at a tangent, for a religion of some sort is always necessary; to save +themselves from men, women of high birth and noble bearing, carried away +by an enthusiasm in some sort heroic, attained to a mystic conception of +a life of pure sensibility. + +But then what is the beginning and what the end of the dream? Without +touching on the cruel questionings of philosophy about the reality of +our physical perceptions, or on many of the ambiguous phenomena, where +does the vision begin in the moral life, if life involves so many +fancies, illusions, loves, gleams, which act upon us but have no real +existence?—so many vague aspirations, admirable but unsubstantial? To +fall headlong from a height into an abyss is a violent experience which +kills too quickly; the mystic vision is only possible on condition of +coddling the soul within the four walls of a convent; out in the world it +falls and is lost: that was the opinion of the logicians. When Margaret +relates with what energy of virtue she escaped the realistic assaults +of Bonnivet, and how, at the cost of a few scratches, she has reduced +him to the cold comfort of the Ideal, her husband is the first to laugh, +saying: “If I had got so far, I should think myself disgraced to fail of +attaining my goal.”[299] + +It is a cynical saying, and raises a general protest; but Henri d’Albret +explains it very placidly, and we cannot give the gist of his retort +better than in the following sentence of M. Bourget: “You have the +morality of life, without having the morality of the heart.” Henri +rejoices to see his wife keep up appearances, but, from the moral +standpoint, he finds no great difference between her and himself, except +in practical conduct: “She and I are both children of Adam and Eve.” +He laughs and sneers at the nebulous philosophical aspirations of the +princess, and is not the only man who has got this strange impression +that the sins of the spirit and the sins of the flesh are equipollent. “A +fortress which parleys is half won,” says with feigned good-humour one of +the speakers in the _Heptameron_, appearing to forget that Margaret as an +inveterate gossip had readily accepted the sobriquet of Parlamente.[300] + +Not merely did the adversaries of platonism accuse it of being only +moral in appearance, but this very semblance of morality, resting on a +misapprehension, seemed to them an hypocrisy that aggravated the fault. +They regarded platonism as evil and wanting in seriousness; Louise of +Savoy, an inveterate kill-joy, at once sour and sympathetic in regard +to pleasures she is past enjoying, inveighs bitterly against love that +is only skin-deep—the vanities and tricks, the husk and chaff of love +that is simply a comedy in which two actors show their skill; she prefers +a fault without scandal to a scandal without fault. However, the issue +seems to her perfectly clear: “Either you love, or you do not. If you +love, why impose on yourself the torment of Tantalus? If you do not, why +impose it on others?” She would rather succeed in a piece of folly than +fail in a virtuous action, however logical and practical. + +She has a way all her own of squelching the fancies of her daughter; +she allows them to swell and swell, and then gives the merest little +pin-prick. Someone speaks, for instance, of a queen clever enough to +impose seven years’ preliminary probation on her lover: “Then she didn’t +wish to love or be loved!”[301] If someone feelingly exclaims: “When love +is strong, the lover knows no meat and drink but the look and voice of +the loved one,” she retorts that she would much like to see how he looked +on such fare![302] At the conclusion of a droll story, a maid of honour +who is a little over-excited declares that she would rather be flung into +the river than live in intimacy with a Franciscan; and Louise replies +with her placid smile: “Then you can swim well?” The other retorts in +great irritation: “I know some who have resisted more prepossessing men +than a Franciscan, without blowing their own trumpets about it.” Louise, +laughing more than ever, replies, “Still less do they beat the drums +about what they have done and granted.”[303] She is a sceptic and a +logician; with all her boldness of speech, she is never over-paradoxical. +Moreover, she applied her principles to herself, and had such a way of +encouraging her daughter’s lovers that they quite naturally paid their +addresses to her. At the opening of the _Heptameron_, for instance, one +of Margaret’s numerous admirers, furious to see his princess receive a +passionate declaration with laughter, hies him to the mother. + +Almost everybody in France shared the views of Henri d’Albret and +Louise of Savoy. Platonism sprang up among thorns. And so far from +there being any bias in its favour, there awoke a reaction against the +finnikin absurdities of bygone days,—for instance, against the “bashful +knights” who sported furs in summer, and summer cloaks in winter, in +order to give ocular demonstration that “love was all-sufficient.” +That sort of mysticism struck men as sickly. They preferred frankness +and vivacity,—the frothy sparkle of champagne to the sugared liqueur, +golden, soft, limpid, heavy, old in bottle, which bore the Italian +label. Rabelais, who is our Michelangelo, takes great care not to dive +into the mysteries in Ficino’s way, or to pile up a heap of folios after +the example of Nifo. Look at him, with his learning and his consummate +intellect, sitting before a dish of peas fried in fat, seized with +inextinguishable laughter as he thinks of the “celestial and priceless +drug” of Plato’s _Symposium_, and deriding all the Picos della Mirandola +past and future in the person of Messire Pantagruel, who maintains +against all opponents 9764 conclusions, some of them highly platonic, on +“the philosophical cream of encyclopaedic questions,” on “the platonic +idea, hovering dexterously under the orifice of chaos.” Rabelais +dedicates his _Life of Gargantua_ to topers and the gouty. + +And then you hear the loud chant, the babel noise, of gold, of Plutus, +rising above and drowning all other sounds. Artists no longer cling to +the old shabby studio in which they strove after the ideal: they have +now come to dwell in palaces, and some there are whose art consists in +coining false money or running after the philosopher’s stone—if not in +worse occupations. Even where men are wistful and dream, in the heart of +melancholy Brittany, the poor human soul, compared by a preacher to a +runner started upon the long race for eternal life, halts and stoops at +every moment like Atalanta, to pick up apples of gold.[304] + +Thus the battle was joined on all sides at once, and the struggle was +fierce. Among so many ingratitudes, so many keen-pointed shafts, women +needed a proud courage to continue imperturbably spreading through the +world the spirit of love, the religion of beauty. + +They did not succeed in subduing mankind at large, nor in directing +their moral energies. That dream had to be relinquished. They resigned +themselves to the thankless task of individually doing what little they +could do through their sympathy and tenderness. This was all they could +give, and it cost them dear, for it too often involved concessions, many +bitter and secret tears, a love mingled with disgust, an unavoidable +duplicity! + +They had perforce to content themselves, then, with this measure of +success. To show clearly in what this success consisted, we shall divide +our brief account into two parts; for their sensibility was exerted in +two directions. Under their influence virtue and vice became each an +art: their defects and excesses were moderated. On the one hand the over +harsh virtues were softened, or, if we may coin a word, de-austerified, +and endowed with a cheerfulness of aspect they had formerly lacked; on +the other, vice was ennobled, and the gap between vice and virtue thereby +diminished. In brief, women tried to make life beautiful rather than +good, and piously to rehabilitate everything which had possibilities +of beauty, in virtue of the principle that the Beautiful _is_ good and +purifies all things. + + +1. THE SOFTENING OF VIRTUE. + +The principles already established are, briefly, as follows: happiness +resides in love, love consists in self-surrender. Of this there are +several modes: one may surrender body and soul, or soul alone—or nothing +at all! To give the soul is the true platonism; to give nothing is the +false. The surrender of the body is the time-honoured sacrament of +marriage. + +How did they set about reconciling these various elements? In a manner +that was simplicity itself. + +We have said that marriage had become a human and reciprocal contract, +concluded with a definite object between two fellow-creatures; and +logically there was no reason why it should not have ended as it began, +by mutual consent, that is, in the community of women[305] according to +Plato’s idea. + +But on the contrary the platonists, who looked for no poetry in the prose +of wedlock, regarded one marriage as quite sufficient, if not excessive. +Further, the institution was an ancient one; it was a matter of use and +wont. To maintain the organisation of society and the foundations of +aristocracy, it was necessary to retain the formula and merely to draw +from it the moral consequences implied in the principle of equality of +rights. + +Up to that time the morality of marriage had been regulated by the +authority or even the caprice of the husband. A bastard (provided he was +begotten by the husband) had almost the status of a legitimate child; +in many cases he was bred at the paternal hearth, away from his mother, +under the charge of his father’s wife; and in Italy he very easily +secured legitimation,[306] and, if other heirs failed, carried on the +family. What was much worse than deceiving his wife, the husband believed +he had the right to neglect her. From that time forward retaliation +appeared to be the guiding principle; instead of remaining head-nurses, +of adopting children from heaven knows where, of toiling to efface all +signs of the caprices of their lords and masters, women “unhappily +married” no longer saw the necessity of fettering themselves, of refusing +their share of happiness, of carefully guarding what was despised. + +Luther gave material fixity to this principle by permitting divorce; +he maintained marriage, but at the same time allowed re-marriage; in +other words, he retrograded as far as possible towards the manners of +the past. In case of default, even involuntary, on the part of one of +the contracting parties, he thought it quite right to replace “Vashti by +Esther.” We know what fortune attended these ideas. Melander,[307] when +blessing a “duplicate” marriage of the Landgrave of Hesse, proceeded to +say that everything in this world wears out, and that monogamy had had +its day. A book of extremely liberal views attributed to Bugenhagen[308] +adduced examples of bigamy among the early Christians. Polygamy met with +some support; near the end of his life, Ochino[309] became its advocate. + +The platonists, however, allowed no retouching. The ancient doctrine that +the body, with all its weaknesses and infirmities, received with marriage +an indelible brand, as in former days convicts were marked, after all +seemed to them to be salutary, since the end of marriage was obedience to +the physical law “increase and multiply.” But, the law once fulfilled, +by what strange aberration did they wish to bind souls to this abandoned +body, truly a derelict of life? So far as heart and soul were concerned, +the community of women (or rather, the community of men) seemed a moral +reality, constituting indeed the clearest distinction that could be +drawn between mankind and the animals. This “spiritual libertinage” was +condemned. Calvin flouted it and preferred divorce—a singular taste, +not very refined, eminently worthy of countries where fleshly love was +cultivated, with rope-ladders and without platonism.[310] Wedlock has its +good points, but, as everyone knows, it is never supremely delightful; +love ought to be a delight and a religion. The wife, stepping forth in +her turn into life, has a right to think a little about herself and +her highest needs, to cultivate her heart and soul, to blossom out and +complete herself. “Complete herself!” some one will say: “then ’tis a +question of a subsidiary marriage?” Yes, but of a marriage wholly moral, +in which the carnal concessions are purely aesthetic and ostensible,—in +which she boasts (so far as essential points are concerned) of a +platonism as perfect in regard to her lover as in regard to her husband. + +In the year of grace 1523, a young lady of the Roman aristocracy, whom +history names Costanza Amaretta, pretty, refined, and pious, made a +journey of devotion to Florence for the Easter festivals, and there met +her ideal in the shape of a cultivated and distinguished man named +Celso. They lived together under the same roof in perfect chastity. +When Easter was past, they set out with four kindred spirits for a +country house of Celso’s, and there, in the joyous spring weather, +among the cypresses and tufted pines and early flowers, this idyllic +society of platonists gave themselves up to the delights of poetising +and philosophising at large. Costanza, elected queen of the coterie, +unbosomed herself to them. She had been married when very young, as +the custom was, to a man of business with little of the ethereal in +his composition—a man of eminently practical mind, and manners almost +intolerable. With him she had contracted no real moral ties. “But for +this man’s desire of having children by me—for he thought me beautiful—we +should have felt nothing but hatred for each other.” In Celso’s company, +however, the path of virtue seems to Costanza covered with roses instead +of thorns, and hence to-day her eyes are opened to the truth, she +perceives with perfect clearness the moral utility of the platonist +distinction between the two kinds of love, the one bestial, matrimonial, +fraught with peril, a thing of this world, perishable,—the other +celestial, life-giving, a foretaste of Paradise, a love that enraptures +the soul and fills it in truth with a radiance divine. + +Perfect lovers thus found perfect pleasure in making an offering, but +not a sacrifice, of their flesh—in deliberately lifting themselves +above gross physical rules and living delicately as angels incarnate. +Castiglione with extravagant eulogy reminds us of the wonderful feat +accomplished by two of these dilettanti of love, who spent six months in +conjugal intimacy and perfect continence; that was what he calls love, +the ideal existence, pure beauty! There was even, at Milan, a religious +order devoted to the mutual edification of the sexes on these lines, but +after a time the archbishop decreed its dissolution.[311] + +Truth to tell, we do not know exactly how far this species of platonism +extended; it is a land difficult to map out; in such matters no +statistics are available, and even in these days when we can reel off the +number of bushels of wheat or dozens of eggs France can produce in any +month, there is no official return on the virtue of women. + +But we are not indisposed to believe that the platonic life _à deux_ +numbered more adepts than might be imagined. So many women of loveless +heart aspired to the happiness of finding for it some safe repository, +and regarded the body as so much dross, infinitely inferior. The example +of Judith struck them as not only above criticism, but sublime. If one +had groaned under the burden of the first marriage, surely it was all the +more needful to set the second upon a pedestal, and so to preserve above +everything the illusions, the dreams, the anticipations, however vague, +which bring us out of moral and physical distress into light and life! +The young platonist lady, all soul, who lived in the arms of her lover +and relinquished nothing but her soul, fancied that she was realising a +holy and religious dream; love, which purifies all things, wafted her +in peace and confidence towards the celestial spheres; for faith, hope, +love—what are they but the sheet anchors of the soul? That was her whole +position. If by this means she could enter into fulness of life, was she +so very foolish in availing herself of it? + +Unhappily, love sought as a rule only its own abasement, and the mission +of these fair apostles declared itself rather in aggressive sallies than +in spiritual edification. Platonism had to come down a peg, and to meet +the demands of men it had to turn distrustful, descend to trivialities +and deceit,—to place reliance on artifice. Thus was born a new species of +platonism—more popular, and more open to criticism in point of morality. + +This secondary art of platonism was hardly known beyond the borders of +Italy; it demanded a patience and a consummate suppleness which we do not +possess. The impatience of Frenchmen in matters of love was proverbial; +they would rather seize than woo; they would boil and chafe, utterly +unable to appreciate the wily tactics of Ovid or Martial, very often +expecting to begin at the end without any preliminary finessing, and +making flirtation altogether impossible. And Frenchwomen, too,—must we +confess it?—were but poor hands at the game. Some of them caught fire +instead of winning love without loving, and there were young girls like +Mademoiselle de Piennes who wrung their hands before the whole Court in +despair at a lover’s desertion. The French were so constituted; they +applied principles they did not possess, while the Italians excelled in +holding principles without applying them. And thus, whatever else they +did, the former were not very successful in finding salvation through +chimerical ideals, and virtue had infinite trouble to convince them of +her intoxicating charm: they could not manage to persuade themselves that +stones and arabesques are man’s proper sustenance, but remained faithful +to the realities they knew through the senses. Everything else was only +ridiculed, and, as few women are insensible to mockery and a cutting +phrase, the ladies were sometimes led where their own hearts would not +have taken them. + +Platonic love, then, was regarded in France as a complicated business. +The women had to confess that no means had yet been discovered of +crystallising the things of life apart from the dispensation of +Providence which has given us bodies, nor of curbing men by the mere +vision of the ideal. + +So, as we have seen, Margaret of France strove to make her body the +transparent vesture of her soul. We have seen, too, what tender +familiarities the ladies authorised at their morning toilet, and at other +times. + +Modesty to them consisted not in the more or less brutal systems of the +“all in all or not at all,” but simply in remaining women. + +Chary of making a confidant of doctor or chaplain, because unwilling +to subject themselves to either, they valued the man who regarded them +as women and had eyes only for them; as a reward for his exclusive +attentions they certainly thought they owed him some little privilege +beyond what they allowed to others. It was they who were the doctors, the +confessors, or rather the rescuers; they sprang into the water to save +the drowning man. To save him by bestowing on him the true gift, a little +of themselves, appeared to them a good, a moral, a meritorious work! This +was far, you perceive, from the commonplace, masculine handshake which +women nowadays grant to all and sundry! Seriously, they fancied they were +thus winning heaven; their own hearts constantly heard echoes of the +sweet strains of Plato’s _Phaedo_ or _Crito_; his exquisite distinction +between soul and body made music in their ears, and the familiar spirit +of Socrates bound them to an immaterial world, whispering his counsels +and intuitions.[312] They saw no harm in bestowing their indulgent +favour, their smile, and a little more. It was enough for them “to hold +fast unto the end,” and to remain firm as rock on the essential; they +were innocent of “false scruples,” and would have thought it cruel and +ridiculous to torture a man by refusing him “familiarities that Nature +has permitted to beauties,” now that this small change cost them so +little, and above all touched them so little. Ah! that was not where the +temptation lay! At the bottom of their hearts, how they despised the +shallow, insignificant men who, with their large and canting talk of love +and sentiment, could be caught like gudgeon with this paltry physical +lure! + +The critics of a certain lady went so far as to accuse her of “losing all +shame,” because when receiving one of her friends, as she lay in bed in +the morning, she tolerated not a few familiarities, “without any offence +to my honour,” as she observed. She replied with heat that she saw in +her conduct nothing but what was excellent; her friend would esteem +her doubly for having seen body and soul united in her “in one strain +of chaste beauty.” As to the danger of this familiarity, listen to her +subtle and delicious reply: “The man I love, the man I dread is not he; +it is another who has laid siege, not to my body, but to my soul. Ah! if +I did not keep a rein on my heart, it would long ago have spoken to me +in favour of the other man!”[313] This is the cry of the fastidious woman +who dreads only the rape of the mind! We do not discuss her moral scheme, +we pass no judgment; we confine ourselves to relating.[314] Her end was +to make herself loved, and in a manner which would be worth the trouble. + +It is not hard to believe that the bounds were sometimes overstepped: +some men abused their privileges, especially with regard to princesses +of literature like Louise Labé;[315] and sometimes it happened, indeed, +that cries a little too genuine broke from the lips of women, and were +heard above this tender, philosophic poetry, and this scorn of earth. Yet +many women, in their devotion for spreading pure happiness, for holding +men captive lest they sold themselves, would often have preferred that +conversation should be the sum total of their intercourse, and that their +friends should be content to dip in their eyes and their soul. + +Their aim was to reduce everything to conversation; they had little +love for a contemplative silence, for songs without words: conversation +allowed opportunities of probing, caressing, penetrating the soul, +turning it inside out without the least inconvenience and with many +benefits. Among close friends they showed their art by getting someone +to sing to them the old cantilena, “I die of thirst beside the gushing +fount”; sometimes they held under their eyelids a large unsuspected tear. +They made a hungry man forget his food; “they contented their lovers with +words, promised a reward, and deferred it till to-morrow.” + +The Italians, as we have said, delighted in tasting love thus at leisure +in little sugared sips; they were not gluttons like the French: they +appeared born, not to construct railways or to inflate balloons, but +simply to love, to love loving, to nourish themselves on futilities and +surprises, to sing always the same meaningless song. They cut marvellous +figures at the feet of those women “before whom desire burnt away like +candles at a shrine”; they glossed over realities, as if they really +believed more in happiness that came from the unknown than from the +known, as the great scorner of women, La Rochefoucauld, has well said; +to such an extent that the inexhaustible springs of the heart were +sufficiently depleted, so far as they were concerned, to spare them the +risk of embarrassment from love, and to enable them safely to find the +recreation necessary to the overtaxed human mind. Happy creatures, these +men without a care! The narrow world in which they fluttered seemed too +big for them, and their long wings touched the ground; they were young, +yet old; they were gay with brilliant, yet faded colours; a woman could +take their arm in complete confidence that all would end where it began. +Life was for them one aimless flirtation, a mere battle of flowers. + +Love, as thus carried to extreme perfection in society, came in for no +little mockery. No one was under any illusion as to the impossibility +of finding in it a secret source of strength and life; it was a mere +avocation, a little intellectual pastime—with no overpowering demand on +the intellect. + +The Italian “cicisbeo” or “death of love” became a sort of amiable +spectre, a harmless necessary cat; he was practically non-existent to his +friends, and had the right of not answering his letters. Sweetly scented, +with a well-hosed leg, a rose in his hand and a flower at his ear, his +lips pursed up, his bearing graceful and gallant, at his heels a lackey +whose duty was to flick off the least speck of dust—there you have him, +always the same, whoever the object of his passion. All he troubled about +was rightly to place his glances and sighs, his nods and salutations, and +when he had been rewarded with a gracious smile or an arch look, he would +go off humming to indite a sextain or a madrigal. + +The mawkish execrable creature! more womanish than women, a woman +spoilt in the making, a half-woman! Sticking like a shadow to the +lady of his thoughts, his functions were to carry her lapdog, her +prayer-book, or what else she pleased. At her house he installed himself +as the centrepiece of her receptions, kept the conversation alive, and +overwhelmed the husband with affectionate attentions. + +He was a hypocrite, a rakish fop! In the Roman aristocracy he usually +took the shape of a sanctimonious recluse; at Naples he was a man of +energy and go; at Venice a man of mystery; in Lombardy he had the joyous +self-assurance of the North;[316] at Florence he was a vivacious talker, +responding to the challenges of silvery voices with audacious quips. +He took everything as it came; he had not an ounce of sincerity: his +cleverness consisted first in adapting himself entirely to the beloved +object, in abdicating all individuality, in being hers and hers alone; +secondly, in proceeding platonically and without passion, with extreme +prudence, trusting to suavity and tenderness, always securing a line of +retreat, and striving above all to melt the obdurate heart. In all this +part of the programme the eyes often were better servants than the tongue. + +This point rounded, every man for himself! An eclectic, a hot lover, an +abstract philosopher, a symbolist, an idealist—let him be any of these if +his heart bids him. He is a fine talker; well, ’tis a great talent, which +will permit him to turn to account a thousand little incidents, but will +often (let him not deceive himself) lead to only superficial successes. A +wary woman holds fine talkers in awe; with them, she thinks, there is all +the making of domestic broils; she knows how indiscreet they are, and she +smiles on them and keeps them at a distance, knowing that this is the way +to set them proclaiming her virtue abroad. Often she prefers a taciturn, +above all a bashful man, “a lenten lover,” as someone said, easy to +feed.[317] + +But it is impossible to enumerate all the eccentricities that were part +and parcel of this flirtation. The ridiculous became the rule: it was +an afflicting spectacle for human dignity. Old men cut capers, young +men lost their heads, the witty turned imbecile, the imbecile set up +for wits. What a masquerade! The lugubrious blubbered about their love, +sighed in prose and verse; the sincere embraced a whimsey—adopted a +colour, for instance. One of these, having vowed himself to green, so +strictly embargoed the rest of the spectrum that not only was everything +on him green, even to his shirt-buttons, but he ate out of none but green +plates, drank out of none but greenish glasses, never rested till he had +discovered green bread, and made green meadows and groves the exclusive +burden of his song. + +Happily, conversation somewhat raised the level of this extravagant +and lamentable affectation. Surrounded by a circle of friends, a man +would amuse himself by launching a graceful declaration concealed in an +aphorism or a double entendre; it sometimes happened that a lady who +had never entered the speaker’s head fancied that hers was the heart +aimed at, and that was provocative of fun. Or perhaps they would linger +out the pleasure of a tête-à-tête reel off their witticisms[318] and +amiable compliments, and unravel little puzzles in sentimental casuistry. +Sometimes they reached the stage where the tête-à-tête that was really +delightful was one in which neither said a word. + +Here some one will stop us and ask whether all this did not have an end. +Bless you, no! An end was in no wise necessary; genuine platonic romances +never end.[319] And what years and years they may last! A clever woman +excels precisely in spinning them out; if she feels that the fire is +burning low, she has a thousand means of fanning it into flame—a word, +a tender gesture,[320] a little present, a gracious act here, a secret +gentleness there, a touch of jealousy; and then she suggests that you +should recommence the little game—church, the park, sighs, tears, oaths. +And thus you may go on for ever. + +There are, however, some romances which do end, well or ill. As a rule +the event is announced by rolling clouds and a lightning-flash. The +majority of men only enter the platonic life with the idea of an early +departure, and implicitly believe that in the life of every woman—even +though she be a “dragon”—there is one inevitable, irrefragable hour. +Psychologists, philosophers, poets, preachers[321] all have repeated +_ad nauseam_ the saying of Ovid: “A chaste woman is she whom none has +tempted,”[322] or, as La Rochefoucauld and La Bruyère will phrase it +later: “An insensible woman is she who has not yet found the man she must +love.” + +The lady affects not to see the storm brewing; she bears up against it +gallantly; gentle banter is her cue; she declares that talk of love is +very pleasant to her, but ’tis well known among decent people what that +word signifies; there is no question of a coarse, sensual love, but only +of amorous discourses. The man gives himself up to demonstrating his love +anew; his plaints become louder, his tears more copious; his lady-love +never gets to sleep o’ nights without hearing serenades or “Spanish +lamentations” beneath her window, or sighs that would seem belled out +by some familiar spirit, but which are really a performance got up by +obliging neighbours, for a consideration. All day, at church, in the +ballroom, in the street, under the thin disguise of masks, he is here, +there and everywhere, never out of her sight. + +One morning the maid announces to her mistress that the gentleman is +at the door with something most urgent to say—here he is, indeed, +pushing past the girl; and he will be eloquent, you may be sure. Or +he resorts to the grand means of melodrama—false keys, rope-ladders, +narcotics, sorcery, lying confessions of apostate monks; or to the +stale and hackneyed devices of comedy; he enlarges eloquently on his +high qualities, proffers a thousand services, and even opens his purse; +full of promises the while, erecting beautiful castles in the air. One +will employ menace, another will boldly haggle and argue with father +or husband. What a warmth of language, what sighing and sobbing, what +fretting and fuming! “Fulvia being come on horseback to see me, I +straightway feigned a superb wrath, as though her action seemed to me +that of too forward a minx. And this fine choler of mine was of great +avail in my courting.” There are some who carry the fortress by dint of +lavish praises, superlative verses, outbursts of jealousy. Others by +continual dropping wear away the stone. + +If a princess had the idea that her rank would prove a sufficient rampart +against this final assault, she had to find out her mistake, especially +in France. Why should not the man she loved—the dear good fellow!—after +so many labours, and discreet frenzies, and stratagems, and covert +approaches, expect an advancement he so well deserved? + + A bien servir et loyal estre, + De serviteur on devient maistre![323] + +“Madam,” proudly says one of the young nobles of Margaret of France, +“when our mistresses stand on their dignity in halls and assemblies, +seated at their ease as our judges, we are on our knees before them; +we lead them out to dance with fear and trembling; we serve them so +sedulously as to anticipate their requests; we seem to be so fearful of +offending them and so desirous of doing them service that those who see +us have pity on us, and very often esteem us more simple than foolish,” +and sing the praises of ladies able thus to win service. “But when we +are by ourselves, and love alone doth mark our looks, we know right well +that they are women and we are men, and then the name of liege lady is +converted into sweetheart, and the name of servitor into lover.”[324] + +And it need not be supposed that in such circumstances they remained +satisfied with words or menaces, even in dealing with ladies of the most +exalted station. There were violent characters who stuck at nothing, +like Bonnivet! It also happened at critical moments, even in the most +platonic of circles, that love turned into rage. “Unico Aretino,” one of +the Urbino talkers, upset by what he thought a piece of base ingratitude +on the part of the charming duchess Elizabeth, got so beside himself +with anger as to call his sovereign lady “Urbino’s traitress, witch, +trickster.” (Aretino was an exceedingly clever man, but after all he was +only the fourth part of a prelate; he filled at Rome the fourth-rate +office of “apostolic abbreviator,” and pretty badly at that; but as +he afforded the Sacred College a deal of amusement he was licensed to +indulge in all sorts of jocularities.) He never forgave the duchess, and +even after her death pursued both her and her daughter with persistent +rancour.[325] + +The ideas of men in these matters simply beggar imagination. They fancied +that they erred on the side of bashfulness, that they suffered wrong when +ladies suggested “reckonings,” to use their term. They thought it would +be ridiculous to die of despair like the heroes of romance, and that it +was “folly and cruelty” to praise the beauty of a fountain to a poor, +thirsty fellow and then kill him because he wished to drink.[326] “Whom +will you get to believe,” cries Henri d’Albret, “that we ought to die +for women, who were made for us, and that we should hesitate to require +of them what God bids them give us?”[327] That was the conclusion that +must be expected: everyone knows, in Calvin’s words, whither “all roads” +lead. So a woman was neither surprised nor panic-stricken in the hour of +battle. She had taken or ought to have taken her precautions; her first +care, as we have said, was to distribute her favours. She went forth to +the fight with a gallantry which some old fogies called impudence; her +sins were no longer sins of omission, like those of her grandmothers. +And that she often triumphed there is no manner of doubt. Margaret of +France, at the turning-point of the battle, is found as firmly fixed on +principles as Anne of France. Billon assures us that in Normandy, a land +of pretty women, where he would not care to go bail for a single man, he +would not hesitate to name a very large number of women whose virtue he +could guarantee with every confidence. Assuredly there existed stainless +women,—just the women to play with fire! + +But did they always come off scatheless? No one will believe it. + +Further, it must be remarked that the point of view of casuistry had +changed. The body was, so to speak, the sign-manual of the soul; just as +the base, passionless, sensual vice prevalent in the world seemed ignoble +and disgusting, so it was remembered that love had a purifying power. The +merciful words of the Gospel were recalled, and, remarkably enough, it +was those who were most rigorous in regard to themselves who showed the +most indulgence towards an error springing from sincere affection. + +Margaret of France spreads her nets, like the Gioconda, but for the good +of others, for she knows whither the mist-enveloped paths lead; she +cannot tear her eyes from the vast and gloomy background of life, and all +that passes in front of it inspires her at times with cruel loathing. +She loves mankind, but without the least touch of fetishism; to look +aloft and not believe in any individual man is the condition of her +love; her sole consolation is the thought that Italian morals are worse +than French. Her approval of a German husband, who had the fantastic +notion of locking his wife up along with the skeleton of her lover,[328] +was so exaggerated that all her friends were compelled to laugh. And +yet, when pulled up short about the ethics of love, and asked if the +sin is venial or worse, she gets a little muddled. Assuredly, nothing +is more “untuneable and harsh” among the joyous strains of the divine +concert than the frailty of the flesh: “truth compels us to condemn it”; +but is there any need to get huffy, to decline to see any extenuating +circumstances, because the spiders web that has been centuries aweaving +is rent by one dab of the paw—because, in spite of all the cooings and +flutings, no one has succeeded in turning men into big babies instead of +villains, or even (I go this length) because in the heat of the battle +some women may have lost their heads and gone over to the enemy? Is +the conclusion inevitable that the outcome of platonism is necessarily +evil—more evil than anything else? + +How stood the fashionable ladies who rebelled against platonism?... On +the principle that “the honour of a man and that of a woman are the +same,” and that a wife, whether from love or vengeance, has a right +to the same independence as her husband, it was the husbands’ game to +wink at things. Far from making an outcry and playing the Othello, they +meditated philosophically on their own position[329] and the virtue +of silence, and, drawing in their horns with something of fatalism, +could not find fault with their wives for “using their power” as they +themselves did. It was rare for a husband to kill his wife; wedlock had +become a stagnant pool of mutual indulgence, in which unlawful love +was but an incident so long as it left no more trace than a pebble +cast into the surface slime, or a bird flitting through the air. As to +believing that Lauras or Beatrices could still exist, not only did the +sceptics deny it outright, but they even declared that if Laura or +Beatrice were to revisit the glimpses of the moon, great would be her +disillusionment.[330] + +The only matter that Louise of Savoy troubled about was to keep things +dark.[331] + +Can we wonder that, in an atmosphere so saturated with immorality, many +even of the best-intentioned women allowed themselves to drift with the +tide, or that Salel, the Attic friend of Margaret, represents them even +on the shore of Acheron as still enchained to ungovernable love, and +imploring pardon for their tyrant? + +When they succumbed, it was with a sublimity of passion which the world +almost always misconstrued. “The fortress of the heart, where honour +dwells, was so battered that the poor lady granted what she was never +a whit inclined to refuse.”[332] “You mean to say, then,” says a lady, +“that all is lawful to those that love, provided no one knows?” “In good +sooth,” replies the other, “’tis only fools who are found out.”[333] +Their love, fashioned out of dreams, thus dissolves into reality. Pure +women, platonists armed at all points, let themselves go from a spirit +of gentleness (“for pity in their spirits rules”), from a tenderness of +compassion, out of charity toward others, if not for themselves. They are +almost martyrs of love or kindliness, since their kindliness goes such +lengths as to be taken for love, just as their love, reserved as it is, +may be taken for kindliness. Unlike the anti-platonists, though they may +perchance be surprised into a fault, they surprise no one, they commit +no follies. It is the fault of poor human nature that platonic love does +not remain always a “stork love,”[334] as Montaigne calls it. There is +never a battle but some dead and wounded are left on the field. Pity the +dead by all means, but the survivors are already inviting those who have +never sinned to cast the first stone! + +A woman “so cozened,” concludes Castiglione philosophically, +unquestionably merits such indulgence as is accorded to _messieurs les +assassins_. She was toiling, as Michelangelo said, “to lift souls to +perfection. Sensuality slays the soul.” + +And hence Margaret of France, in her profound yearning to blot out and +pardon the sins of the world, is herself inspired with a tender, helpful +tolerance. Assuredly the wounds she observes are deplorable, but they do +not necessarily point to absolute frowardness of heart; they may result +from a “naïve folly,” from “the misfortune of loving not wisely but too +well”; in other words, from an over-abundance of natural goodness, the +very consequence of our organisation. The perfect being would clearly be +an androgyne; but we are imperfect beings, an odd mixture, godlike, and +yet profoundly, lamentably human. The power of love + + vient de la divinité, + Et son tourment de nostre humanité.[335] + +We seem to hear this spotless woman crying to God: “O Christ, Christ of +the Magdalene, gasping and crucified, how Thou didst suffer, how Thou +didst love! This streaming blood, these wounds gaping eternally,—these +are the handiwork of the hate of men, whom Thou didst bid to love one +another with a pure heart. Thou wilt not pardon their hate! Thou wilt not +pardon their fierce lust of wealth, nor their pride and naughtiness of +heart, nor their wild anger, nor their shameful sloth of soul. Thou wilt +pardon nothing but the error of love, the error of a moment, since this +is but the overflow of the goodness Thyself hast given, the wofulness of +too great love!” + + +2. THE ENNOBLEMENT OF VICE. + +The second moral effect of the theory of beauty and love was still more +pertinent than the first. It consisted in an extraordinary levelling up +of purely terrestrial and unlawful loves. From the principle, with which +we are already acquainted, that the virginity of the heart survives +the professional ordeals in which the heart has no concern, we shall +find that moral deductions were drawn, in Italy and even in France, so +important that we cannot pass them by in silence. + +In Italy, among the women whose trade was pleasure, there was formed an +aristocracy so real that some of them presided over salons, were part and +parcel of the court world, and truly merited the name of “courtesans.” +Their bearing was irreproachable, their distinction extreme; we are bound +to say, indeed, that, apart from their origin, they were absolutely +indistinguishable from virtuous women—except that perhaps their manners +were a trifle more correct. + +Their high influence is explained by the fact that in the official world +of Rome there was a plentiful lack of women. Etiquette required that +none but birds of passage should be seen at court, a restriction which +gave cruel but entirely honourable pain to the heart of more than one +platonic prelate. It was believed for a moment that the half-sister +of Leo X., Philiberta of Savoy, was about to take up her abode at the +Vatican: “God be praised!” cried Bibbiena exultantly, “all we lack is a +court with women!” This happiness was not realised; women continued to +be conspicuous by their absence. We see how it was that, in the supreme +sanctuary of human glory, in the Eternal City that served as beacon +to the world, the Ninons de l’Enclos,[336] for want of better women, +fulfilled in their own way a singular apostolic mission by playing the +part of court ladies, and by magnificently entertaining the pick of +poets, savants, artists, prelates and diplomatists, at a period when +every man plumed himself on bearing one of those labels and on sporting +it about some petticoat. + +Bewitching pictures of the receptions of these ladies have been +bequeathed to us; many a poet who knew the world chiefly in this quarter +has vaunted with enthusiasm the aroma of grace pervading their noble +salons, the honour of admission to them, the relations established there, +the superb fêtes which consecrated their charm and set a seal upon the +connection. This was no new thing; Socrates and Pliny testify how keenly +the society of ancient Greece and Rome had felt the need of guidance +by women more deeply experienced in life and more naturally active +than high-born ladies are likely to be. To name these ladies Ninons de +l’Enclos, however, would be to give a very imperfect and mean idea of +them, for their influence was at once moral and intellectual. Doubtless +they could pretend to no virginity but that of the heart, but since that +was the better part, they honoured pure love quite as conscientiously, +if not more than others did. Energy of a very special and sincere kind +impelled them to react strongly against the scorn of a world they had an +equal right to scorn; and further, they felt the necessity of stopping +their ears if they were to save themselves from blank hopelessness, and +of setting up noble illusions about themselves. + +Several of them were genuine patricians, whose only possible reproach was +a tincture of pride. One would flaunt her descent, which she possibly +traced back to the Colonna or even the Massimo[337]; another would +modestly sign herself “Roman patrician.” The entrée to their salons +was particularly difficult; some of them imposed somewhat rigorous +conditions, insisting for instance that a man should mount guard for +two months with the Swiss at the palace gate, or should pay his devoir +on his knees. The style of their houses and appointments left nothing +to be desired; they maintained an extreme decorum. It is not for us to +boast of their virtue: their talent consisted in being as virtuous as +possible and getting rich more particularly by way of legacies; it would +have been a great mistake to deal with them cavalierly. Tullia d’Aragona, +who thoughtlessly allowed some rather broad pasquinades to be addressed +to her, was unfortunate enough, on a visit with which she honoured the +court of Ferrara, to turn all the gentlemen’s heads. But the most diverse +ordeals found her inflexible; she rejected with indignation the miserable +offer of a golden necklace worth three hundred crowns. The daughter of +another of these ladies had been so excellently brought up that she has +a place among the martyrs of virtue and patriotism; she slew herself to +escape the importunities of the governor of Sienna. + +They were queens of elegance, and never a brunette among them. At their +houses people discoursed most excellent music. They were great dancers. +They were the happy owners of fine jewels, fine pictures, fine statuary; +on their tables might be seen the newest books, choice editions, +sometimes adorned with a manuscript dedication in verse. They knew Greek +and Latin; they corresponded with their absent friends in gracious and +affectionate letters, Ciceronian in style, and with no lack of wit. In +conversation it required very little pressure to tap a bountiful spring +of elegant extracts from the classics—most often got second-hand from +Petrarch or Boccaccio—or even, on occasion, a learned disquisition on +Roman archaeology. Sometimes they shot out a phrase in the high pietistic +fashion of the day. What lady of recognised position could have written +more charming sonnets than Imperia or Veronica Franco? + +They excelled in keeping wit in play: Aretino confesses that, without an +incentive of this sort, he would have been good for nothing. Occasionally +some poor devil was graciously permitted to give a taste of his quality, +but, as a rule, the mistress of the house preferred to inspire men who +had well-lined purses. Yes, it was a grave and distinguished society, +and if sometimes the conversation touched on subjects but indifferently +mystical, what immaculate drawing-room but was open to the same reproach? + +On saints’ days these ladies went to pay their devotions at the +neighbouring basilica, and if they were not very devout they were at +any rate beautifully dressed. Their accustomed air of good breeding and +conscious dignity, which drove many ladies to despair, gave them genuine +rank, and made them the indispensable ornaments of important festivities. +Thus several of them lent lustre to the magnificent reception given in +1513 by the Cardinal of Mantua to young Federico Gonzaga, then in his +fourteenth year, as he passed through on the way to Rome. In truth, +there were some who behaved exactly like high-born dames, and were +pre-eminent in all deeds of devotion, whole-hearted love, and even +disinterestedness. Poets innumerable have vouched for their virtue. +Vittoria Colonna and Michelangelo dedicated sonnets to them. + +Not infrequently they ended their days in the odour of piety, and were +buried in the churches[338]; to this day prayers are offered in the +shadow of their tombs. Michelangelo wrote an epitaph for one of them. +Others prosaically married men of the world, and these ladies, as a rule, +took rather a superior pride in their virtue and their coat-of-arms. A +clever woman of the time philosophically hit off the subject: “Life is a +comedy: so long as the last act is successful, the whole piece is fine.” + +Nevertheless these interesting creatures necessarily had their +detractors. They have been accused of trickery and deception. With all +allowance for the prejudice of their enemies, it cannot be denied that +eccentricities here and there gave a handle to the slanderers. The lady, +for instance, who wore slippers covered with diamonds, and made men +kiss her feet (like the pope), alleging that her foot too was beautiful +enough to merit adoration, was considered to have overstepped the +bounds. But with the general public, and even with connoisseurs, such +dainty exactions did not produce the same astonishment that they would +produce to-day. The religion of beauty touched such deep chords that the +beautiful appeared always beautiful under all forms, so much so that in +certain Italian collections of “Lives of illustrious women,” saints and +courtesans stand cheek by jowl. + +Men professed for these ladies the same veneration and idolatrous respect +as for a princess; they plied them with the same sighs, the same verses, +the same little tendernesses. The game cost a little dearer, but in +reality they were not unwilling to regard a courtesan’s drawing-room as +more moral than certain reputable drawing-rooms, since a man was not +likely to meet a ridiculous husband there, or embarrassing young cousins +of both sexes, or certain fashionable girls whose tongues had a tang. And +it was much less compromising. + +Was there a moral advantage in elevating what had till then been so +degraded? For a long time it was sincerely believed there was, and +this belief was held almost throughout Italy. On this point it is +sufficient to read a very curious letter addressed by some unknown +person, concealing himself under the pseudonym “Apollo,” to the witty and +eminently virtuous Isabella d’Este. It is dated Ferrara, June 13, 1537, +and refers to a visit then being paid to the city by Tullia d’Aragona. +It runs: “There has just arrived here a very pretty lady, so staid in +deportment, so fascinating in manner, that we cannot help finding in her +something truly divine. She sings all sorts of airs and motets at sight; +her conversation has matchless charm; she knows everything, and there +is nothing you cannot talk to her about. There is no one here to hold +a candle to her, not even the Marchioness of Pescara.” An ambassador +exceeded even these rhapsodies, and wrote gravely to his government that +he was composing his despatches under the eye of this pretty woman, who +assisted him with her advice. + +Tullia d’Aragona, who was, we may remark, very proud of the noble blood +in her veins, thus played Egeria to the most exalted personages, and +they had no hesitation in comparing her to a mother of the church like +Vittoria Colonna, or in placing her even higher. She justified this +enthusiasm, not only by her physical beauty and her wit, but by real +moral qualities. She proved that the spirit of the beautiful elevates the +basest things, and if she did not turn Trappist, if she continued to live +the life she was born to, she brought to it a contempt of money which was +itself a purifying virtue. This admirable creature, after holding all +Italy spellbound by the charm of her velvety eyes, died in destitution; +she gave instructions that she should be buried in the quietest way +beside her poor mother in the church of Sant Agostino, where she had +endowed masses; her belongings had to be sold by auction, and they +realised twelve crowns and a half. + +Imperia attained even a higher place than Tullia, and we are compelled +to believe that the aegis of virtue, like charity, can cover a multitude +of sins, since we find Sadoleto, the type of sincere piety, singing the +praises of this amiable woman, and Raphael setting her, so it is said, at +the foot of his Parnassus in the apartments of Julius II. + +We do not know (and it is almost better so) what Imperia had done to +excite so general an enthusiasm: she died at twenty-six! All that we know +is that August 15, 1511, the day of her death, was observed at Rome as a +day of public mourning. On her tomb was engraved an epitaph in the purest +lapidary style. The poets, maybe with a very subtle irony, lauded her to +the skies as a new goddess of Latium: we hardly need to repeat these fine +phrases. “Our fathers mourned the Empire (_Imperium_); we mourn Imperia. +They had lost the world: we have lost our hearts, our very selves.” “The +whole city was moved when this young deity was snatched away on Tiber +banks,” exclaims Vitalis—“the whole city, even the old pagan walls, even +the _fasti_ of the consuls!” “No longer is she beneath this marble,” +cries Silvanus; “henceforth she holds her place among the constellations, +she will guide our fleets.” But Silvanus becomes a little mixed in his +mythology, and in connection with the new star unaccountably couples the +names of Julius II. and Jupiter. + +For all this glory and honour, Imperia and her kind inevitably became +rather burdensome, and the most aesthetic of the popes, Leo X., struck +them a fatal blow when he expelled them from Rome in 1520. They took +refuge at Venice, despite the heroic opposition of the senate. + +But at Venice they lost all their peculiar charm: Venice, the metropolis +of pleasure, “the foam of the sea,” set its stamp upon them. Venice +was the earthly paradise of matter-of-fact folk like Brantôme and +Aretino. The latter wrote to an amiable lady: “You cannot picture these +water-parties in the open air, these coaching expeditions on _terra +firma_, these secluded groves, these banquets, these unaccustomed +consolations.... From your windows you will have a panorama of musicians, +singers and buffoons,” a tempest of pleasure. “You would fancy yourself a +queen.” But at Venice such queens did not govern, as at Rome; men added +them to their collection, that was all. + +Thus disappeared one of the most striking curiosities of the platonist +society,—the one which has left the most vivid memories. It was only +possible under the caressing warmth of the Roman sky. + +Leo’s decree evoked loud cries of distress, and the loudest of all +came from the French, who, though they had never understood this art +of harlotry and had made great fun of it, thought it a capital thing +all the same. Rome, they as good as said, was no longer Rome: “How +doleful the Jubilee will be!” cries a pilgrim: “what shall I do in +Rome now?” Du Bellay, while a melancholy guest of the gloom-beclouded +city, apostrophised this new ruin in well-known verses. (O Rome, sad, +tender Rome, to whom every passing generation must needs bequeath a +new triumphal arch, new catacombs!) Many years later, distinguished +travellers like Henri III. and Montaigne did their best to hunt up the +last of the courtesans. + +We cannot but confess that the attempt to rehabilitate the demi-monde +and to employ it in the heavenward voyage strikes us as extremely +venturesome; the younger Dumas, like a true Frenchman, was not bold +enough to persevere. Our ancestors felt the same qualms: unhappily, it +was not from virtuous scruples. They recognised the work accomplished by +platonism, so bent were they on transfiguring love through coquetry,[339] +and so hopeful, in the interests of humanity, of rendering virtuous women +more come-at-able. But when it was suggested to them, as necessary to +complete their work, that they should render come-at-able women more +virtuous, they were steadfast as rock. + +They discovered another way of giving an aristocratic stamp to things +that could not be spiritualised. We are bound to touch upon it, because +this also throws back a vague reflexion of platonism; besides, in +approaching these delicate problems in morality, which it is so expedient +to look at dispassionately, we have no intention of dedicating our work +to girls. + +It was sought to blend the idea of an immaterial union of hearts—an +idea borrowed from platonism, and one whose beauty and importance were +not disputed—with the other idea that such a compact must necessarily +be sealed by an absolute and unreserved intimacy, or it would remain +chimerical and oppressive. This idea the French could not part with; +and consequently there arose the notion of what may be called a second +marriage, supplementary to the authorised marriage—a union _de facto_, +recognised, acknowledged, declared, and so highly honoured that one would +be tempted to call it an eighth sacrament. Similar unions, recognised +by the world, were still known at the end of the 18th century, and even +under the Restoration during the early years of the 19th, having survived +the worst trials of the Revolution, the Emigration, penury, and exile, to +say nothing of the still more ruthless test of time. + +This custom of giving publicity to secret unions was not a direct +outgrowth of platonism; yet platonist women looked on it by no means +unfavourably. In the first place, they thought it rather lucky that their +husbands, enjoying an irregularity in some sort regularised, more highly +respected their wives’ dignity, quiet and health.[340] Secondly, we have +already shown how little platonism there was in morals under Francis +I., and what unbridled licence reigned at court. Melin de Saint-Gelais +portrays the king as a cock in a hen-run—or as a sun in a firmament of +stars, amid Canaples, star of the morning; the lovely Saint-Paul, star of +evening; Diana, the crescent-moon; and many other stellar beauties eager +to shine—Helly, Rieux, Tallard, Lestrange—who, if their names were not +mentioned, “would have thought it strange.” + +Francis I. said plainly that a man without a mistress was only a +nincompoop. In that case was it not a mark of progress to arrive at +the institution of a regular mistress, recognised and with no rivals? +Margaret of France would have been only too glad to see her brother fix +his affections prudently on some eminent lady, who would rank next the +queen and might be called the queen and “mirror of all propriety.” That +explains, no doubt, the affectionate, obsequious, humble welcome she gave +to the duchess d’Etampes, whose reign seemed for a moment likely to be +lasting. She wrote for this noble lady the _Coche_ or _Débat d’Amour_, a +little treatise intended to prove that, apart from pure platonism, there +can still exist a laudable love; and in the presentation copy Margaret, +the king’s sister, had herself represented, in complete black, before the +queen of the day in all the brilliance of her beauty and her jewels, and +saying to her: “_Plus vous que moy_”; in other words, “You are more than +I.” + +With a like feeling of feminine delicacy, perhaps somewhat exaggerated, +Veronica Gambara, who was probably virtuous and quite certainly platonic, +went into raptures over the good fortune of the “siren” who succeeded in +holding for some time the volatile heart of Aretino; the words of Laura +and Beatrice rose instantly to her lips, as if the ideal were on the +point of attainment. + +Henri II. showed himself a platonist in this sense; his double +establishment did not constitute an infidelity. He was faithful to two +wives, one official, responsible for perpetuating his dynasty and acting +for him in affairs, after the old tradition; the other personal, to +satisfy his heart as a man. + +Diana of Poitiers, it must be admitted, besides her beauty which +long retained its ripeness, had all the qualities for beguiling and +captivating a lofty heart—birth almost as good as the queen’s (who was +only a Medici), wit, warm-heartedness, self-devotion. She has herself +explained, in excellent verse, how her position, false as it seems to us, +was born of a genuine passion. One fine morning, she tells us, a young +Cupid in all his fresh, light-footed, bashful youth came roaming in her +neighbourhood, filling her mantle with marjoram and jonquilles, casting a +spell upon her. She resisted, shutting eyes and ears against him, though +she felt her heart melting; she would listen to no promises, no oaths. +He held out to her a wonderful laurel wreath, a queen’s crown. “No,” she +replied, “better far be good than a queen,” and yet she felt herself +“thrilling and trembling.” + + Et comprendrez sans peine + Duquel matin je prétends reparler.[341] + +Love did not speak her false: he offered her a kingdom, a great part to +play, and kept his word, as the walls of the Louvre testify. To all her +contemporaries the position of Diana appeared magnificent, divine. Du +Bellay has sung of it as the most beautiful of marriages, the marriage of +true minds: + + Dieu vous a fait entre nous + Comme un miracle apparoistre, + Afin que de ce grand Roy, + D’une inviolable foy, + Vous peussiez posséder l’âme, + Et que son affection, + Par vostre perfection, + Brulast d’une sainte flamme. + Les Roys monstrent aux humains + De Dieu l’exemple et l’image.[342] + +To the French, this was the perfect type of platonism, at once practical +and sacred. + + Vous avez acquis le cœur de toute la France.[343] + +And Ronsard is not less explicit: + + Seray-je seul, vivant en France de vostre âge, + Sans chanter vostre nom, si craint et si puissant? + Diray-je point l’honneur de vostre beau croissant? + Feray-je point pour vous quelque immortel ouvrage?[344] + +In spite of all these dithyrambs, it is very clear that the platonism of +Diana of Poitiers is a sign of decadence. It was the ideal of platonist +women to be loved for their soul; men’s ideal being the opposite, there +had been a compromise.[345] + +The compromise, indeed, was greater than they were willing to admit, even +in Italy, and in the purest centres of platonism. Our readers are already +acquainted with the charming Bembo, the quintessence of platonism, the +admirable chiseller of phrases, the secretary of Leo X., the friend of +everything beautiful, noble and aesthetic, the magnificent collector, +the apostle of Plato and Petrarch, of Boccaccio and Dante, the idol +of the ladies, in short, one of the men who clung to the skirts of +princesses, parading their everlasting sentimentalities under the most +perfect, exquisite, elevated form. We have a moving letter of his. Among +that numerous bevy of princesses who nourished him on ethereal glances +from their bright eyes, there was one he loved, the Morosina, a pure +and charming woman, to whom, as Monsignor Beccadelli has said, “he had +the good sense to devote himself,”[346] and who had given him, in the +most common, everyday fashion, a goodly number of children. He lost her. +The unhappy man was stricken to the core; his whole being bled. What a +state in which to find the divine Bembo, the prophet of the celestial +felicities! Death has plunged a knife into his heart. Love—yes, he too +had loved. He unbosoms himself to one of his friends, Gabriele Trifon. +We were struck with surprise when we first came upon the letter; it was +the intimate revelation of a soul; a Bembo of real flesh and blood, +grief-stricken, palpitating. “You,” he writes, “have softened the anguish +which overwhelms me, in speaking to me as a man, not as a philosopher +platonic and divine.” + +He adds that he has sought to reason with himself, to preach himself +lessons of wisdom, to find relief in his passion for work; but the most +delightful book slips from his hand. Between the book and his eyes the +sweet image re-appears to him in a mist of tears; and as he makes this +confession, tears gush out afresh and soil the paper, his heart is +stripped bare; the whole man is before us. “I have lost the dearest heart +in the world, a heart which tenderly watched over my life, which loved +it and sustained it neglectful of its own; a heart so much the master +of itself, so disdainful of vain embellishments and adornments, of silk +and gold, of jewels and treasures of price, that it was content with the +single and (so she assured me) supreme joy of the love I bore it. This +heart, moreover, had for vesture the softest, gracefulest, daintiest of +limbs; it had at its service pleasant features, and the sweetest, most +graciously endowed form that I have ever met in this country. I cannot +forbear lamenting, I cannot but curse the stars that have deprived us of +enjoying each other in so innocent a life.” + +What a singular underside of platonism! What a warmth of grief! Where +is all the platonic paraphernalia—the beautiful ladies all smiles and +ice, the careless disdain of physical beauty, the adoration of social +life, the horror of solitude? Where are the many-faceted phrases, the +philosophic dissertations? Bembo has turned pious like all the unhappy; +he will not accuse Providence unjustly; though it has snatched happiness +from him, he gives thanks for the happiness enjoyed. But sentiments +are not snapped in a moment—sentiments “which with time have rooted +themselves so deeply in our humanity that ’twould seem impossible to +eradicate them.” He writes, effusively, thanking the friend whom he knew +to have been bound by genuine friendship “to this beautiful and precious +lady.” He speaks of the children; he will care for them, since he is +their father, and because ere she died the Morosina, having fulfilled her +religious duties, had faintly whispered these words, which pierced his +soul like a hot iron: “‘I commend our sons to you, and beseech you to +have care of them, both for my sake and for yours. Be sure they are your +own, for I have never done you wrong; that is why I could take our Lord’s +body just now with soul at peace.’ Then after a long pause she added: +‘Rest with God,’ and a few minutes afterwards closed her eyes for ever, +those eyes which had been the clear-shining faithful stars of my weary +pilgrimage through life.” + +Ah, these tears! They had hearts, then, these fashionable platonists. +Never in any of his fine discourses has Bembo touched us, nor even (if +we may say so) rejoiced us as by this simple stifled cry, these tears +of solitude. He is prone upon the earth, having lost the wings that +bore him on from flower to flower.... Four years after the death of the +Morosina, we find that, despite his good resolutions and the counsels of +his friends, he is as profoundly crushed as on the first day. He seeks +consolation from poetry; he has begun a canzone on the death of his “fair +and good Morosina”; he has finished the first strophe and sketched out +the second, and he sends these still formless attempts to his intimates, +to show them all that his feeble faltering hand can accomplish. + +To sum up, the great moral movement of platonism resulted in a wide +dissemination of sensibility, and a general softening—a softening of +virtue and vice, of women and men. This was no small thing; there is +certainly an advantage in cutting the claws of men but scantly idyllic, +and in doing nothing rather than in doing ill. + +This softening was often only external, and not without an admixture +of hypocrisy. But why deplore it? For men to appear worse than they +are is no proof that they are better. Men showed signs of sensibility, +even though they knew little of love. Under a mask of amiability and +tenderness their egotism remained intact; they talked of contemplation, +of devotion, of the worship beauty required,—without conviction, it +may be; but then they might have employed their time worse, and they +unconsciously contributed to spread salutary ideas. One of those +ridiculous creatures who spent their lives in haunting their idols like a +shadow, perceived with horror that on entering a church his lady refused +alms to a beggar. He was so deeply shocked that one of his friends had +much ado to prove to him, while chafing him back to life, that the beggar +was ill-bred, importunate, impudent, and unworthy of assistance. Here at +any rate was a man of sensibility. + +But an untoward thing happened. In cultivating sensibility to the +utmost, women enfeebled men instead of forming them. Anne of France +undoubtedly foresaw this danger when she so ardently commended vigorous +and matter-of-fact occupations, and uttered a warning against the abuses +of the religion of beauty. Many other ladies, unhappily, genuine artists +in refinement, took a complacent pleasure in the very perfection of +their conduct, with the result that always ensues in such cases: their +art became degraded, and in sinking into a matter of routine, came to +ruin. In true love there is, as it were, an outpouring of one’s nature, a +vivifying joy, a sort of intense feeling which strengthens; but in love +in the more vulgar sense there is a spurious and meretricious poetry +which enervates. An old French proverb ran: “When the woman rules the +man, he hasn’t much will of his own.” This the anti-feminists repeated, +with too much reason. “Ah yes!” cries Nifo, “’tis in good sooth a fine +dream of yours. What a magnificent moral state if all men loved one +another! No more war, no more crime!... But is that the result you have +obtained? You have distilled I know not what mawkishness. Where are the +energetic, young-witted, happy, high-minded men born of your affections?” +And what was the age of love which was to spring from this generation? + +We cannot impute to platonism the creatures of watery blood and hang-dog +look who were to form the nucleus of the court of the Valois—these +Panurges, false from top to toe, who had early wasted their substance +physical and moral—these young tired-eyed voluptuaries whom Lotto paints +so well, too weak to pluck the petals of a rose, their hand on their +heart as though to point out the source of the mischief. But alas! +we cannot but ascribe to sheer gallantry the mob of carpet knights, +pale-faced, gilded cap-a-pie, gay ornaments of tourneys, sleek and +fawning, ready like Ariosto to sing imaginary exploits, “provided that +beauty, which every hour robs them of some fresh portion of intelligence, +leaves them enough for the fulfilment of their promise.” They are rigged +out as elaborately as the ladies, if not more elaborately (save that +instead of displaying the bosom they display the leg), with flying +plumes; in winter, smothered under furs; in summer all unbraced, not +being able to endure even a loose garment; loaded with diamonds, so that +you would take them for walking showcases of the king of Naples or the +duke of Berry. They are philosophical, in the sense that they soar high +above ideas of patriotism, and prove it by disguising themselves in +costumes of all nations, the Turks included. They are learned, that is to +say, they think it smart to stuff the French language with heteroclite +words, as though eager to tear from it its pith and heart, and make this +also a delusion and a snare, as universally acceptable as blonde wigs and +padded busts. + +The great, wonderful reform effected by platonism in the higher ranks of +society was—that the men, copying the ancient sages and the orientals, +let their beards grow! Up till then, no man could pretend to style unless +he shaved, or even, for the sake of greater perfection, depilated his +chin; there had been one cry of horror when Cardinal Bessarion appeared +with his beard at the court of Louis XI. But now that Castiglione, the +Roman prelates, and the high platonist society sported the philosophic +beard, there was a sudden craze for going unshorn among the young snobs +of Louis XII.’s court,—the Bonnivets and others. + +This reform, strange to say, excited between the higher and lower clergy +one of the most acrimonious disputes with which we are acquainted. Vicars +and curates belaboured the bishops with texts against the beard. The +prelates parried with abstruse disquisitions; they claimed that a good +beard did no offence to honour and probity; they sifted the sentiments of +the ancient Romans in regard to the beard and found them in sympathy with +their own; they made out that the apostles had never dreamt of shaving, +and proved to demonstration that a decree of a council of Carthage, +appealed to by the lower clergy, was an interpolation, and in any case +was of no authority, the infallibility of the Church not dating back +so far; and a decree of Alexander III., which they were also clamorous +about, applied only to the hair of the head. + +For the other part, to say nothing of the beard of Julius II.,[347] one +only had to turn over the leaves of church history to find on every page +bearded saints, sometimes of high eminence; bearded hermits, strangers +alike to the care of the body, to Plato, and to women. The dispute +occasioned a terrible waste of eloquence, erudition, vivacity, irony +and earnestness. It was of the highest importance, and bore on the most +sacred interests of what some eminent personages called platonism. + +And now it cannot fail to be asked by what strange and cruel logic a +century, cradled at its birth in the idea of the beautiful, of love and +happiness, was to become a hotbed of hatred, the arena in which the most +savage animosities were implacably to contend. Must we believe that in +throwing down the barriers of a rigorous code and invoking liberty we +must inevitably bruise ourselves against force, rendered thereby freer +and more ferocious? That would be a sad and disheartening conclusion, +for then we should have to consider human progress as a perpetual +recommencement, seeing that, though the lawless rise insurgent against +tender hearts, though gospel wisdom warns us of the eternal despotism +of the violent, there are still found and will ever be found among us +incorrigible wretches, hungering for sympathy, and unable to live without +a ray of love. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +INTELLECTUAL INFLUENCE + + +Women approached intellectual questions in the same dilettante spirit +as questions of affairs; and this dilettantism was their chosen method. +It was waste of time to speak to them of discoveries, creations, +speculations, ventures, struggles—of the scientific furniture of life, of +all the irksome material tasks on which the intellectual existence itself +is based. They sought only to crown the edifice with happiness, which +does not concern those who clear the ground.[348] La Bruyère fancied he +was saying a very cutting thing when he declared that “women are cured +of idleness by means of vanity and love”; it is really very amiable; +would to heaven the same might be said of certain men! Women are cured +of idleness by sentiment; they reason with their feelings. You must not +ask them to pry and delve into the stubborn heart of things; they look +at the bright surface, and penetrate what yields to the touch. And by +this simple method they perceive things that escape the microscope, +things that defy analysis, thanks to an intuitive impressionability +which enables them to see rather than to know, and which would be wholly +admirable if it were never misused. Further, they have a marvellous and +mysterious talent for expressing their enthusiasm; a phrase feelingly +quoted by a lady strikes our mind with a quite peculiar force when we +afterwards come upon it in the pages of a book. Again, they love the men +who love what they love. How strong and firm a bond is a common love! +And how delightful to make mind the handmaid of love, and perhaps even +to make love the handmaid of mind! To live happy, what does it matter +whether you have an exact knowledge of a peacock’s or a nightingale’s +anatomy? Similarly women do not want you to pull words to pieces and +set them in accurate alphabetical order, but to place them in a living +order, so as to draw from them their vital force. As they ascribe +everything to love, and believe the establishment of a balance in human +affairs absolutely necessary, so they think also that their duty in +intellectual matters is to foster men’s productivity, their beautiful +art is concerned with men. Hence they do not trouble to investigate very +profoundly the secret significance of surrounding nature; it is of little +moment to them whether an artist seeks to reproduce natural forms with +photographic fidelity—which is in any case impossible—but they insist on +a general resemblance, they require the artist to indicate how a tree or +a landscape reflects itself in man, and what impression it produces. In +a word, they charge themselves with the mission of elevating our views, +whether by developing by means of artistic sensibility the ideas that lie +in germ in material nature, or by constantly renewing our thoughts by +means of a liberal philosophy. + +The Italian women who at the end of the 15th century devoted themselves +to this intellectual programme were legion; or rather, they all did so. +There was no maiden, however modest her station, who did not consider +herself in a measure responsible for the future, and who did not make +real preparation for becoming the intellectual queen of a salon, or +of some sort of home of her own, while her husband attended to his +external occupations. And when her parents were happy enough to detect +in their little daughter the mysterious spark of the beautiful, far +from mistrusting it, they welcomed it with rapture as a sacred gift of +Providence and left nothing undone to develop it. Signorina Trivulzi, a +spoilt child of fortune, was in all seriousness thus “consecrated” to the +Muses at the age of fourteen. + +Impressionability is a gift of nature; but that does not imply that there +is no need to strengthen it by means of an earnest intellectual culture. +People were only too well convinced of the necessity of this precaution +when they saw women who were impressionable and nothing else spinning +round like weathercocks. The Italian ladies of the classic generation +had known how to take a firm stand and a steady hold on life, so that +they united to perfection the eminently becoming qualities of solid +intelligence and modesty with an ardent impulse towards beauty in its +philosophic, religious, or artistic form. + +If examples were necessary, our only difficulty would be to choose among +women like Cassandra Fideli, Costanza Varano, Isotta Nugarola, and many +another worthy of honour. There is little risk in our indicating among +the queens of the period Isabella d’Este, marchioness of Mantua. + +Isabella, who was born in 1474, and died in 1525, belongs in time to +the earlier generation, of whose characteristics she was thoroughly +representative; that is to say, along with a transparent soul, a heart +full of passion, and a quick intelligence, she retained virtues which +were to become rare—individuality of mind and sureness of taste. She was +not one of those impressionable women who are inevitably caught by the +glamour of established reputations, and who urge men on to achieve a +noisy notoriety; she could form her own estimate of things, and become +the originator rather than the follower of a movement. She travelled +frequently and to good purpose; her friends and agents, scattered as +far as the East, kept her informed of every event which might have any +bearing on the cult of beauty, such as the bringing-out of notable books +or fine editions, the works issued from great studios, excavations, +sales of collections. At the sale of the celebrated Vianelo collection +at Venice in 1505, she followed with the liveliest emotion the bidding +for a certain _Passage of the Red Sea_ by Jean de Bruges, which she +passionately coveted, and which Andrea Loredano remorselessly ran up +to a hundred and fifteen ducats. An antique Venus which much occupied +her thoughts happened unluckily to be in too good hands—those of Caesar +Borgia; but Caesar was not immortal, and one day the Venus rejoiced the +heart of a new owner, the duke of Urbino. Before long Cardinal d’Este +had willy-nilly to gird up his loins in pursuit of it. (What a lucky +windfall the sack of Rome in 1527 was to collectors!) The marchioness, +at the moment, emptied her purse, indeed, rather more than emptied +it,—always pretty easy to her; she had to charter a boat to carry off all +her treasures, but alas! the boat was seized by some rascally pirates, +and was never heard of again! For all these little vexations, those +were glorious days! One person’s calamity was another’s opportunity, +and as the result of the growth of culture, a stone newly unearthed, a +well-turned verse seemed diamonds of happiness. + +Isabella was a royal, frank, delicate patroness of the human intellect. +She cherished in undisturbed harmony around her the _Sleeping Cupid_ of +Michelangelo and a choice collection of antique statues; she covered +her walls with the works of Mantegna, Costa, and Correggio; Leonardo da +Vinci and Titian were her portrait painters; she herself painted her soul +in two words: “Neither by hope nor by fear.” As an ideal for life and +an emblem for her house, she commissioned of the great idealist master +Perugino a _Combat between Love and Chastity_,[349] and wished to arrange +its composition to the minutest details; but poor Perugino, whose soul +was as simple and unspoiled as his head was thick, got a little befogged +in so intricate a scheme, so utterly unlike his usual Madonnas; and +for all his good will, perhaps he did not on that occasion produce his +masterpiece. + +In France, the notable women of the generation of Isabella d’Este did +not plume themselves on playing a similar part; they rather avoided +it, whether because as partisans of physical activity they feared to +carry too much dilettantism into life, or because circumstances did +not strike them as favourable. Queen Anne of Brittany, in spite of her +surname of “refuge of learned men,” never regarded art as anything but +a royal and magnificent superfluity. Anne of France made her court a +veritable nursery-garden of literary men and artists; many works of +real magnificence were added to the library at Moulins; but Moulins did +not radiate an influence like Mantua. It was only the next generation +that saw the appearance of women of the Italian type, those queens +of the intellect of whom Mary Stuart was to leave us the enchanting +memory—Mary, to whom Ronsard could say without undue exaggeration— + + Le jour que vostre voile aux vagues se courba, + Et de nos yeux pleurans les vostres deroba, + Ce jour, la mesme voile emporta loin de France + Les Muses qui souloient y faire demourance. + Depuis, nostre Parnasse est devenu stérile; + Sa source maintenant d’une bourbe distile ... + Son laurier est séché, son lierre est destruit![350] + +Then the taste for pure art and the influence of the South towards +preciosity came in with a flourish of trumpets. The first French +Renaissance, in close contact with rural traditions, had devoted itself +mainly to the development of force of intellect. It had attached only a +secondary value to the worship of form and to external beauty; persons +who composed verses, like Charles of Orleans, did not proclaim the fact. +Classical relations were established with ancient Rome, the city which +drove its iron into the soul and left indestructible landmarks on the +soil of France. A ready assent would have been given to the saying of +Seneca: “There is only one art that is truly liberal and makes a man +free, and that is the study of wisdom; all other arts are base and +puerile.... I cannot give the name of liberal arts to painting, statuary, +and the decorative arts.” + +This prejudice was persistent, with the result that, even while yielding +unreservedly to the religion of beauty, people could not bring themselves +to grant the plastic arts the same pre-eminence as in Italy. Moreover, +even in Italy, painting had had much difficulty in securing a footing: +many people at any rate gave sculpture the preference, that being plastic +indeed, but less decorative, more scientific, durable, and complete. The +comparison served as a theme for _jeux d’esprit_. Some people amused +themselves with defending the superiority of painting, by calling God +the first of painters, the sublime decorator; others carried the paradox +to the point of demonstrating that painting is necessary to war, if only +for drawing up plans or making sketches; that it evoked the enthusiasm +of the greatest conquerors, like Alexander the Great, and Demetrius, +who relinquished the siege of Rhodes rather than risk setting fire to a +district of the city where a picture by Protogenes might have perished +in the flames. In reality the Italians were fond of painting because +they found in it one of the most tender and delightful forms of poetry. +Castiglione well expressed this feeling to the sculptor Cristoforo +Romano: “It is not my friendship for Raphael that leads me to prefer +painting: I know Michelangelo, I know you, I know all these masters! +But I find in painting a marvellous charm; it has its plays of light, +its chiaroscuro; it demands as much skill in design as sculpture, and +offers special difficulties in regard to foreshortenings and perspective. +It gives us the colours of reality; it renders more satisfactorily the +flesh, the eyes, the sheen of armour, the delicious golden hues of hair, +the radiance of love. It alone can speak to us of Nature, reproduce for +us the starry skies, the hurricanes and tempests, the rosy dawn, the +earth and sea, hills and woods, meadows and gardens, rivers, cities and +houses.” + +Among the French, on the contrary, the triumph of aestheticism led to +the lowering of the plastic arts in general esteem; painters, sculptors +and architects no longer received the same personal and affectionate +support from high-born ladies as formerly from Anne of France or Anne of +Brittany; they lost caste at the court of Francis I., and gained nothing +but higher wages; they were treated rather like house-decorators or +upholsterers. People applied to art the general principle: Seek ye first +intellectual beauty. All were agreed that thought must be worshipped in +its highest possible purity; and as thought nevertheless needs a material +vesture, poetry was its fitting garb, as “daughter of the skies”; and +consequently the movement followed a bent almost exclusively literary +and philosophico-poetical. It is hardly necessary for us to say that we +are here confining ourselves to the sphere of feminine illusions. No one +disputes the beneficial effect of mountain air on certain complaints; +but it would be exceedingly tiresome if all mankind were condemned to +live on the summit of the Righi. + +Margaret of France set herself in opposition to these Alpine ladies, who +took such delight in the ever-receding altitudes of the intellect. She +was driven to adopt this attitude of temerity partly by her position. As +sister of the king, she had to fill the part of “queen of the sex,” and +so far as higher matters were concerned, it appeared natural and right +that her brother should follow her advice.[351] This explains why the +poets so decorously did homage to her: “heroine of the age,” they called +her, “mind and knowledge in person ... flower of flowers, the choicest of +the choice ... less human than divine.” + +Apart from the inconveniences of too lofty a station, Margaret suffered +from those arising from her training, having like many women the +misfortune of being particularly sensible to influences; her flights are +often those of someone else. She remained unswervingly faithful to the +habits of her childhood, in other words, to a brilliant and sceptical +environment, in which ready wit was regarded as the supreme gift, and +liberty consisted in seeing everything, reading everything, hearing +everything from a detached eminence, superficially, and without caring +for anything in particular except the satisfaction of a sense of form. +The only dogma tenaciously held was the pre-eminence of women, and it was +an accepted maxim in that society that one woman of real accomplishment +conduces more effectually to human happiness than all the lumber of +sciences and all the litter of books. + +Margaret was thus a philosopher, generous and variable, sceptical and +enthusiastic, somewhat visionary, because the speculative spirit spells +freedom and distinction. But she was lacking in that ballast of serious +studies[352] which, after all, alone permits the development of one’s +personality. + +Thus lost in the clouds, unstable and vacillating, in reality she took +no one intellectual party under her wing; she smiled on everything that +was beautiful or pleasant, in other words, on every means of acting on +men. She was fond of the music of that period, a wholly psychological +art with very little to tickle the ears of the groundlings, but speaking +to the soul; she loved any product of the intellect provided the setting +was worthy of the gem—ribald stories if they were witty, the drama, +lofty speculations on the emotional life, thoughts of divine love, the +religious contemplation of God. All these manifestations of the soul, +so little alike, she regarded as forming a single philosophic chain, a +chain of beauty leading up to God. This idea enabled her to link together +conceptions which appear to us disconcerting in juxtaposition, and which +her contemporaries themselves were at a loss to reconcile. + +Her patronage was above all an art, the art of playing upon the human +intelligence as on the finest of keyboards, as on a magnificent and +genuinely divine instrument, and of drawing from it the grand harmonies +of which it is capable, the tones with which the Supreme Artist has +endowed it. Here she strikes a grave and profound note, there a note +shrill or thin; she sets men vibrating. “What!” she seems to say, “they +say that love deadens! No, no! People of feeling may find their joy in +their own natures, but that does not hinder them from finding it outside +themselves.” Bouchet and Rabelais, two men of the traditional school, +were dependents of Margaret, as well as Charbonnier and Marot, the poets +of the day, or Du Bellay and Ronsard, the poets of the morrow. Surrounded +by Catholic prelates, herself the intellectual lieutenant of a king +hostile to the Reformers, the princess interested herself in everything: +Lefèvre d’Etaples and Vatable discussed the Bible with her, Nicolas +Mauroy translated the Psalms for her; Jean Brèche translated Plutarch, +and Le Masson, Boccaccio. Her own intellect volatilised itself, and was +content to perfume the atmosphere. + +It was the same in regard to persons; she admitted to intimate fellowship +with her the most diverse personages provided they were able to love; +and freedom of sentiment was apparently the essential condition of life. +Moreover, the intellectual life had not yet assumed the rectangular and +rigid forms under which we know it; and as people were particularly +eager for impressions, they were on their guard against all the checks +by which we so cleverly destroy them. A ruined wall was a ruin, moss +and neglect were part of its being; no one dreamt of scraping it, +ticketing it, surrounding it with an iron fence and a ring of pebbles. +An ancient monument showed itself as it was, covered with all the +vegetation which gave, so to say, artistic expression to the life of +succeeding generations; no one dreamt of rebuilding it as it originally +stood; objects of art _were_ objects of art, which people left in the +places they were made for, well in view and fittingly displayed, instead +of carting them away and piling them up in gold frames and lifeless +desolation on the walls of a museum. + +To understand the intellectual dilettantism of Margaret we must steep +ourselves in these ideas of liberty and life, which are so alien to our +modes of thought, and which even then were on the point of disappearing. +Margaret loved to make an emotional impression on others, but she was +not at all anxious to guide their reason, any more than she was anxious +to be guided herself. Her zest for liberty, pushed to its extreme limit, +went almost as far as anarchy. What a singular intellectual harem was +hers! Here was a gay dog whose humour had a touch of obscenity; there +was a dear friend, the protonotary D’Anthe, author of witty trifles +particularly wanton, for instance the _Blason d’une jeune fille_, which +we could hardly venture to reproduce; or again, in an entirely different +direction, the oppressively virtuous Lavardin, a mighty fang-extractor, +whose special duty was to expurgate improper books; or the squeamish La +Perrière, who was a century behind the times, apologised for employing +the names of mythology, and had the worst of all defects, that of being +a bore. These various minds, working symmetrically, produce somewhat the +same effect as those many-paned mirrors set revolving by an invisible +hand, which might flash for ever without luring an eagle, but are very +serviceable for catching larks. The defect of this society was that +it attracted second-rate personages, pushing men, notoriety hunters. +Moreover, platonist society had always a strong tendency to degenerate +into snobbery; it had too much worldliness of character not to suit +drawing-room intriguers and men who knew how to get on in the world. +Platonism knew nothing of the modest and intelligent men who kept in the +background to enjoy the human comedy. This defect amused Castiglione: “To +be learned,” he said, “you must belong to the learned set.” The result +was sometimes amusing blunders; through being attributed to the wrong +author a poem or a piece of music would be received with hearty applause, +but afterwards, when better informed, the applauders would hiss, or vice +versa. It is the same with everything: wine is good or bad according to +the label; Castiglione guarantees he will present you any fool and get +you to believe him a genius.[353] + +Margaret of France had a taste for notoriety, and sought to bring +together all the men who could voice the various opinions of France. She +showed them so much affectionate attention that each believed himself +to be the favourite, and every cause looked on her as an adherent; to +this day, after three centuries and a half, the witchery of the princess +remains so potent that everyone loves her and lays claim to her; the +platonic think she was a platonist, Rabelaisians rank her as one of +themselves, Protestants call her a Protestant. She contented herself with +disseminating love, with reconciling and discreetly moderating bitter +differences without ever bemoaning those which had brought suffering to +herself. It is a singular thing that at a distance she is sometimes taken +for a domineering, masculine blue-stocking, one of those women who shake +men as the wind shakes the trees, stripping them of leaf and blossom; +whereas near at hand she was all softness and loving-heartedness. The +most ardent declarations brought no frown to her brow (and left her heart +untouched); she pardoned them, laughed at them, sometimes received +them with a smile of pleasure. Thus a nobody named Jacques Pelletier +permits himself to call her “the half of my soul,” and boasts of her +“bitter-sweet favours,” by which he means tender and coy. But Margaret +for all her bashfulness does not care for bashful men; she prefers +energetic and robustious men who set the pulses beating, who even make +themselves tiresome and are not incapable of follies. A certain M. de +Lavaux swears he will die if she does not take pity on his martyrdom; +she promises him an admirable _De Profundis_. The amiable Hugues Salel +praised her pretty hand in extremely graceful little verses;[354] she +sends him a pair of scented gloves and a bracelet. But she never forgets +Marot; beyond the tomb, when all follies are over, she still proves her +sympathy for him. + +Apart from this spirit of love you will probe the depths of her soul in +vain; there is nothing else to be found. + +Margaret has photographed herself in her dressing-gown, surrounded by +her intimate friends, in the _Heptameron_;[355] the authenticity of the +portrait is guaranteed by herself and her daughter. And what strikes +one most forcibly in her doctrine is a pretty style and an excellent +solicitude to avoid dulness. + +Her gospel was, in heaven God, on earth Francis I.; after them the +Beautiful, in which she believed with all her heart as the source of all +goodness and all truth. So far as happiness was concerned, she boldly +steered for love, which she regarded as the port for the Good and the +True. But she had little faith in passion, and confined herself to +drawing a most careful distinction between sentiment, which she praised, +and sensation, which she condemned; her system was built up on casuistry. +She thought that a woman might frankly accept the offer of a virtuous and +perfect love; if the man secretly harboured any carnal design, so much +the worse for him! Having never loved deeply herself, while on the other +hand she had heard so much talk of love, she believed that love was not +fatal and that a woman was by no means bound to push charity to the point +of absolute self-sacrifice. But remember, she did not commingle the ideas +of love and marriage, which were absolutely distinct. As no one can love +God without first loving one of His creatures, her design was to lure +men thus towards the perfect love of God, and then towards a mystic and +philosophical contemplation of the Godhead. + +Unluckily, she did not reach her goal, or even get within sight of it. +Not for want of ardour: it may well be said of her: “Woman is a flame +flaming for ever.” For Bonnivet, “even in their ashes” lived her “wonted +fires,” lighting up in him the happy memories of youth. She spoke with +fervour, overwhelmed the sceptics with biting taunts or lofty deductions, +stimulated the timid by a cheering word, a flight of sentiment. But she +wore herself out in this perpetual skirmishing; what she lacked was the +will and the intellectual power to effect a sharp, decisive stroke. + +As for those on whose conversion to the system of beauty and love she +uselessly spent her strength, she got little satisfaction from them. + +Attached to her car she dragged along two lovers, who ought to have been +the apostles of her philosophy. In reality these very men resisted her. + +One of them, the steward Jean de Montausé,[356] an excellent type of +official, gallant, frank of speech, amiable in manner, and infinitely +courteous, never succeeded in realising the transcendent and virtuous +object she had in view. Learning, he finds, is turned to bad uses: +religion he respects on principle, without studying it deeply, and +laughing in his sleeve at certain mysteries; but virtue he recognises in +Madame de Montausé (he is married), not elsewhere. How Margaret exclaims +at him may be imagined! Louise of Savoy takes Montausé under her wing. + +The other lover, Nicolas Dangu, bishop of Seez, possesses all the +princess’s affection. He follows her to watering-places, sentiment oozing +at every pore. He has good sense, modesty, and so eminently conciliatory +a spirit that he does not deny intelligence to monks and the common +people; he even has a profound admiration for the genius of certain +malefactors. What a delightful creature is the genuine platonic prelate, +so polished, so amenable! How tender, how honeyed, how bland! But he too +opposes an almost insurmountable obstacle to her philosophy in practice; +he dares not love her love, think her thoughts; he _does_ think, but it +is of dying of love, and he has a thousand ways of doing that. He is +always dying; he would die rather than say a foolish thing or betray a +secret; he dares not put woman’s love to the test, for fear of finding it +wanting; if it proved real, he would die of joy. He gets angry with Henri +d’Albret, but personally seems quite content with what he has _not_ got; +he is the perfection of wisdom and prudence! Yet he gently insinuates +that too coy a virtue may become cruel. Margaret is a little troubled; +she replies that before she can trust men she requires good sureties, +and meanwhile she forgives Dangu’s rash speech because he speaks well +of women. That is all she has been able to get out of him, the perfect +platonist! But that also is all she gives him. + +This social governance, then, does not go to the heart of the question at +issue, and does not even convert those who from the first were apostles +of the dawn, still less the indifferent, the soi-disant serious men of +the world who are met with almost everywhere. The _Heptameron_ presents +us with several types, eminently true to life, who clearly show that +conversation is not to be relied on to propagate the philosophy: a trim +little widow, Madame de Longray, infatuated about her dead husband and +very bewitching to other women’s husbands, a veritable scatter-brain +in all purity and honour; Mademoiselle Françoise de Clermont,[357] a +plump little soul, a bit of a goose, who loves naughty anecdotes, but +is extremely shocked at the naturalistic theories of Henri d’Albret and +Louise of Savoy; the hoary Burye, who has lost all his illusions with his +teeth, convinced by experience of the necessity of platonism, without +feeling the want of a brand-new deity expressly manufactured for him; +Mademoiselle de Clermont calls him “Old Father Virtue.” Then there is the +mother of the famous Brantôme, Anne of Vivonne,[358] the _fin de siècle_ +woman, a friend of canons, but a foe to monks; virtuous in principle, but +so kind, so very kind! She cannot understand how a woman can live without +being loved; she can refuse nothing to anybody; she has a warm affection +for St. Magdalene. + +“Saffredent,” a well-preserved white-headed beau, cannot make head or +tail of all the new theories, and does not mean to. They humiliate +him. Do people take him for a mummy, a valetudinarian, a blown-out +salamander—for one of those golden-tongued Italians who are all +tongue and nothing else? For a dull student with no wants beyond his +water-bottle and his cook? He is a knight, esteems only valour and +daring and integrity. His speech is like a clarion-call; true virtue, he +maintains, consists in loving according to the law of nature,—in loving +one woman with all one’s heart rather than in idolising thirty-six on +paper. Use is better than abuse. At this unkind and clinching phrase +there is a general outcry, and Madame de Longray sighs. + +Philosophy limits itself to these extremely superficial passages at arms. +Margaret takes pleasure in them; she resembles a blue, transparent sea, +chafed and rippled by the sportive breezes, every moment glistening and +changing form; but the wind is not set nor the sunlight steady. + +She has left us a large number of writings, in which we might at least +hope to find or to seek for a more definite groundwork of ideas. + +M. Le Franc has devoted himself to the difficult task of examining +them all, and in these, again, he has found something of +everything—philosophical mysticism, solemn farces, pious impieties, +moralities half moral, aristocratico-democratic diversions. The only note +common to all is a profound sense of the emptiness of things—which has +nothing in common with happiness! Sometimes through the most magnificent +fantasies one catches sight of a big rolling tear. Margaret tells us that +she knew three lives: a life of love, an intellectual life, and a life of +contemplation. But she is lost, as it were, in the desert of her thought, +and when her god on earth, the big, jovial, sensual Francis I., dies, she +breaks down altogether, and falls back almost desperately upon religion +with its terrors. + +Life is an instrument of vulgar joy, which exalts only those who humble +themselves; Margaret’s mistake was in wishing to remain always on the +heights. + +Her maxim was to distinguish flesh from spirit, “darkness from light,” +and to love love for love’s sake: “Thy love loves thee.” But, apart from +the fact that these ideas were not absolutely her own, and that the +second already denotes a declension from platonism, we are disturbed on +perceiving here and there a strange finger-mark. Margaret had for her +private secretary and collaborator a sort of scoundrel, a demon of wit, +but one who believed in nothing, not even in his “Minerva.” On reading +the _Mirror of the Soul_, her first work, and one which betrays the +prentice hand, Bonaventure des Périers at once perceived that there was +a place to be filled about the author; he plied her with entreaties, and +with puns, and thus became a lieutenant of platonism. The princess showed +him infinite kindnesses; in his _Cymbalum_, in which he flouted the only +principles on which men were still at one—the existence of God and a few +truths of elementary morality—Des Périers was mean enough to hold her up +to ridicule; he represented her as seeking to imbue poets with a “chaste +and divine” spirit, and sending to Pluto (with a _u_) to ask at once for +news of the painter Zeuxis and for patterns of tapestry.[359] Margaret +forgave everything; she granted the villain a “prison” in her house, +and tried again to improve him by setting him to translate the Dialogues +of Plato. But Des Périers, not finding in them the secret of happiness, +escaped for good and all by suicide in 1544, and Margaret once more +showed her pity by patronising a posthumous edition of his works. That +was the man who had doubtless a most intimate part in the composition +of writings which he heartily despised, and which he called a “Pactolus +of verse and prayer.” He boasted of being their “miscreator,” and in +offering one of them to the author he said, with matchless impudence, +“Here is your immortal book, and you will find my faults there.” + +Thus, if you come near Margaret of France, who appears to govern +everything, you find nothing but a mere dilettantism, a manifestation of +intellectual epicurism, which influences either ideas or the expression +of them. She fixed her eyes not on truth, but on happiness. + +As a guiding force Diana of Poitiers showed more precision and vigour. + +Having innumerable reasons for leaning less towards the Medici, with +more physical beauty than Margaret, more highly endowed in respect of +will, she did not devote herself exclusively to the cultivation of the +intellect; she loved all the arts, the plastic included, in the good old +way. She had a pretty skill in poetry, and appreciated books, especially +beautiful manuscripts and fine bindings. She had in her library the +Bible, the church Fathers, and books on mystic theology, alongside of +her favourite romances, particularly the _Amadis_, which she recommended +to the King; to these, as an eminently practical woman, she added books +on medicine and natural history; no philosophy to speak of; a copy of +Politian, a few treatises on history and geography, a Plutarch, a fair +amount of poetry. For her, Philibert Delorme built Anet, Jean Goujon +wrought sculptures for it, Jean Cousin, Leonard Limosin, and Bernard +Palissy decorated it. She was in fact a French counterpart of Isabella +d’Este, a marvellous type of the “lady art patron.” Without aiming at +the quintessences of pure love, she really and practically laboured to +elevate the cult of beauty. + +Women who feel within themselves the power to bear on the sacred torch +and to draw minds directly towards the idea of the beautiful certainly +ought not to hesitate. But after all, to appreciate art in its practical +results, to criticise it, to support it by one’s approbation, is a +very noble end, and one suited to any woman, however retiring. History +and experience show that these practical influences are often the most +effective. This secret society, that religious association accomplish +more by simply living their creed day by day than by all your dogmatic +teaching. What extraordinary power might not women wield if they were all +animated by one spirit urging them towards a common end! And what a noble +end—to sustain in the world the healthful principles of beauty, to fill +the life of men really and truly with things they can love! To assign to +art this social mission, to carry out in regard to it this magnificent +part of “patron,” would be to vivify it! Vivify! Let us say rather save +it from itself and its abuses! Art would speedily come to ruin if the +whims, fads, and prejudices which creep into the studios were not held +in check by the necessity of reckoning with the individual and original +judgment of experts. + +Alas! this is an evil of our present-day society,—this awful slough of +commonplace in which we are floundering—a cause or an effect of our +moral degeneration and our utter depravity of taste. Big houses built to +a specification, decorated at so much a yard, invisibly heated on some +patent system you never heard the name of, peopled by lackeys whom you +don’t know and only see when they open the doors! Dolly women, clothed by +their tailors, a pattern or a copy of their neighbours, with the habits +of their callers, the ideas of the men they know, and the conversation of +their grooms,—with nothing of their very own; not women at all! People +in olden days were so thoroughly persuaded of the real social necessity +of forming “amateurs” that the old Italian educators of the fifteenth +century wished men to be brought up with that end. How much more women, +who have leisure and an inborn refinement! It is very easy to demand that +an object, however simple and unpretentious one may suppose it, should +bear a stamp of originality and good taste. Is it not at least possible +to insist on simplicity in all things, to banish tinsel and brummagem +and all our horrible pretentious magnificence?—to seek breadth instead +of narrowness?—to give ourselves the pure free air of the Beautiful?—and +further, to put writers and artists in a position to express wholesome +things with sincerity, in other words, to see things healthily? It +would be foolish, deplorable, fatal to ask them to express what they do +not feel; but they must be made to feel what they are to paint. There +is here an important task to accomplish, and, to a certain extent, an +easy one. Everyone knows how sensitive mental toil, particularly if +excessive, makes the man who devotes himself to it. Taine goes so far as +to consider us the direct products of the influences that encompass us! +It is certain that we borrow much from our environment, that the dulness +or cheerfulness of the sky, for instance, tinges our thoughts with very +different colours; how much more does the sadness or joy of those whom +we love? We must create then for art a good moral atmosphere. And when +Castiglione writes: “God is only seen through women,” he is not wrong in +crying up this spy-glass of his, he understands the need of which we have +just spoken; it is as if, on entering a cathedral, he were inviting us to +look into the _bénitier_, as if he were showing us a picture in a mirror. +There are women’s souls, clear, thrilling, passionate, which reflect +things with a distinctness and a vividness of colour that would otherwise +be unsuspected. And without launching out into speculations as lofty as +those of Margaret of France, mere “women amateurs” can play an artistic +part of the first order. + +As a rule, Egerias have less need of a transcendent intellect than of an +ample provision of good sense, tact, and above all patience, for they may +look forward to struggling against terrible temptations. + +The intellectual and artistic tribe of the Renaissance was no better +than any other. It teemed with crotchety species; it included the usual +specimens—the pedant, the man with a grievance, the ingenuous prig, the +strutting peacock, the matter-of-fact aesthete always on the look-out +for a place or a pension. The proud were always the best, and the least +troublesome. Play their cards never so carefully, women found this +society difficult to rule; in general, to govern well you have only to +make your subordinates discontented, but here you can only reign on +condition of satisfying them. + +The first step in the intellectual tutelage consisted sometimes in doing +little material services, in a quite friendly and natural way (for you +can’t live on love). To give “a few crumbs from her table,” to aid the +friends of her friends, to look after orphans,—nothing was simpler or +less remarkable in a lady: many men would have done as much. Bembo, +badly treated by a farmer who owed him two hundred and thirty ducats in +“broad gold,” did not hesitate a moment to tear Vittoria Colonna from her +celestial preoccupations, to beg her to deal with this little matter. +To venture on this ground, however, demanded no little caution. Aretino +has shown how easy it was to make a simple expression of friendliness an +opportunity for self-advertisement and extortion. What a perfect master +he was! Titian applied to him for assistance in disposing of a certain +_Annunciation_ which was hanging fire. This was how Aretino proceeded. +He issued a flaming advertisement, which fairly hooked the Empress +Isabella of Portugal, who raked up from her husband’s cash-box the sum +demanded, two thousand crowns. Aretino instantly unmasked and offered to +her “sacred and renowned Majesty his inkpot and pens”; in plain English, +asked for a pension. What a fine tooth-puller he would have made! + +This Aretino fluttered about Vittoria Colonna, whom he sought to capture +through her vanity. “Read my books,” he writes to her; “read the +_Courtesan_: you will see if your praises were not always at the point of +my pen.” + +Everybody knows how deeply impressed Aretino always was by the honours +of the marchioness, and when his style is defective, there is abundance +of will to make up for it. “I have always known you to be of a generous +spirit, a magnanimous nature, an active mind, an absolute virtue, a noble +faith, a good life. If it were not so, I would have told you.” + +That was the beginning of the oddest of correspondences. The lady naïvely +thought that she could content the monster with fair words; but he +undeceived her by the present of a highly seasoned book, with an explicit +request for commendation and money. So far as commendation was concerned, +Vittoria thought the request very natural; but the excuse for asking +money she thought rather thin. However, she promised sixty crowns, and +even fancied she was only acting the great lady in at once sending him +thirty, accompanied by some gentle advice. Aretino, in his turn deeply +wounded, did not quarrel with “the most excellent lady”; he confined +himself to dotting the i’s. “I have to consider the tastes of our +contemporaries,” he said; “amusement and scandal are the only things that +pay; people burn with concupiscence, as you burn with an inextinguishable +angelic flame; for you sermons and evensong, for them music and the +play!” Why write serious books? He had sent one to Francis I. five years +before, and was still awaiting acknowledgment; he had just addressed his +_Courtesan_ to the king, and by return of post received a gold chain: +“after all, I write for my bread.” + +Vittoria’s purse remained shut. Our fine gentleman would have liked to +return the thirty crowns; unluckily he had spent some of them, and he +sent back only some epigrams. The marchioness suggested that he should +give the balance to the poor, hinting that no worldly pelf was worth as +much as the love of God. In consideration of a recommendation to the +duchess of Urbino, Aretino condescended to keep what was not already +spent. “I too,” he writes with his habitual impertinence,—“I too am a +virtuous and Christian beggar, and deserving of your alms; I do not think +the poor of Ferrara, of whom you speak, so poor that you cannot assist +one of the poor here, since for you it suffices to be rich in spirit +through the grace of Christ.” + +This little dialogue will show whether women needed an angelic soul to +influence for good rarely-gifted men on whom pure love had no hold. But +lofty motives must have sustained them; there was really some truth in +Aretino’s plea; yes, fortune and glory are only reached by devious paths. +Little sketches and dialogues in the taste of the day paid Aretino very +well, without great labour on his part; a bookseller in the Rue St. +Jacques at Paris made his fortune merely by retailing them, and in the +simplest way. He would sell to a lady a book more or less licentious, and +as such books are never lent, by and by another lady was sure to pay him +a visit. “Madam, here’s one that’s much worse,” whispers the good man in +his half Italian jargon, slipping into her hand another very expensive +book. It was just the same in the artists’ studios; Ledas and Venuses +went off like hot cakes, but Titian’s _Annunciation_ gathered dust on the +easel, and Carpaccio had infinite difficulty in selling at so much a foot +a religious picture which he considered one of his best. + +In France, the position was for a long time not quite so bad, in the +sense that the men of letters, excellent fellows who mixed little +with the world, esteemed themselves infinitely lucky to receive after +solicitation an ecclesiastical benefice which made them independent. +One historian becomes incoherent in pouring out his gratitude because a +good book, the fruit of many years’ toil and travel, has secured him a +life-annuity. But this patriarchal simplicity also disappeared in the +end. Publishers had to cater for the public, and one curious affair shows +us how they taught authors their trade. + +Vérard, the famous publisher whose magnificent productions are still +a joy to connoisseurs, had agreed to publish in 1500 a book by Jean +Bouchet, entitled _The Foxes traversing the Perilous Ways_. The author +was already received at court, the book had an excellent title, piquant +and suggestive. Nevertheless, Vérard began by erasing the name of +Bouchet, and substituting that of Brandt, a German as well known to the +French as the Scandinavians are to-day, and whom, moreover, Bouchet had +sought to imitate. + +The young poet durst not complain; however, when he read the volume +in print, he noticed that Vérard had unceremoniously cut out entire +passages, replacing them with passages pillaged from right and left. +Bouchet seized the occasion and commenced an action: whereupon Vérard, +utterly surprised at so much virtuous indignation, came to terms like a +lord; he paid over a good round sum, and asked for no receipt. + +Still, this sort of thing was rudimentary, and, apart from the question +of private morals, harmless. What was much less inoffensive was the +passion of the authors themselves, once they had learnt their cue, for +the novel, obscene, or sensational effects which alone secured the +attention of the public. They speedily got level with the Italians. +Ulrich von Hütten gave an admirable send-off to his _Epistles of Obscure +Men_ by surreptitiously putting manuscript copies in circulation. +Bonaventure des Périers almost attained to Aretino’s skill. The alleged +official destruction of his _Cymbalum_ justified a clandestine second +edition, which of course was priceless. “Let us write some vile thing,” +he says in one of his dialogues, “and we shall find a bookseller who’ll +give us ten thousand crowns for the copy.” That is true; the public only +buys and circulates and really cries up the books it contemns. Many +notorious books of that time, which we take seriously to-day, probably +had no other origin. + +An author, indeed, has a perfect right to desire to live at the expense +of his readers. But, after all, he must beware, in matters of art, +of commercial inducements, and the more indifference, weakness, and +unconcern the good public displays, the more one ought to thank the +distinguished women who undertake to oppose the high bids of naturalism +or extravagance. They do not always succeed; they are sometimes the +dupes of noise and fashion; let us forgive them for what they have given +us, for the sake of what they have spared us. In these days, people are +ready enough to abuse the old system of patronage, which they charge with +subverting the dignity of man; to seek something from the State, from a +member of the Government, seems natural enough, but many writers would +think themselves humiliated by submission to any social patronage—which, +however, society is not eager to offer. In the 16th century, among +intellectual circles, men were republicans even in a monarchy: they +were not enamoured of the idea of the State. And private patronage, +in spite of its imperfections, often served as a home for meditation, +a shelter for independent men who preferred high thinking to popular +applause; if it proved deadening, it was only on mediocre minds. When we +see what circumlocution, and what subtle diplomacy the most influential +princesses had to employ to gain admission to Raphael’s or Giovanni +Bellini’s studio, we have no further misgiving as to the disadvantages +of patronage. For a lady to send a poet in distress “a little sugared +solace” as Des Périers said, and with so much discretion that the source +of the gift remains unknown, or to express her sympathy in the form of +a costly present—in this we see nothing to impair the dignity of man; +indeed, to be frank, it appears to us delightful. + +Moreover, patronage did not confine itself to a purely material and +administrative support, as the State necessarily does. Besides sending +a present in season, the ladies were still more ready to distribute the +small but not less precious coin of tendernesses and compliments. We are +here returning into their proper domain, and an intellectual man capable +of withstanding this influence would be a rarity. The lady author who +praises a writer smacks a little of her trade; Veronica Gambara, after +overwhelming Aretino with rhapsodies, cries naïvely, “Praised by you, I +shall live a thousand years!” It was “Kae me, I’ll kae thee.” But from a +genuine lady of rank, eminent and bountiful, who asks for nothing, one +charming phrase, even though it be qualified and far from flattering, is +glory, and a glory that can be solicited without humiliation. “They say +I am an aristocrat,” wrote Taine, and he was, as we all are who pretend +to lead men’s minds. That is why we need this sybaritism,—need to be +sustained and perchance guided by a smile. There is hardly a philosopher +or poet of the 16th century whose pages are not illuminated and gladdened +by the smile of some high-born lady. + +How can we analyse this smile? We could not without seeing it, and +we only know it very indirectly. We divine it under an infinitely +caressing word; in a pretty diminutive, “my little sister,” “wifie”; in +an affectionate superlative; Vittoria Colonna calls her friend Dolce +“Dolcissimo,” and speaks to him, with a quite natural grace and without +apparent exaggeration, of his “divine sonnets,” for which she has not +words enough to thank him; with her friend Bembo she permits herself to +gush forth familiarly in artless enthusiasm. What a curious litany is +the correspondence addressed to that “very magnificent” rogue Aretino, +who highly valued the honour done him, and took all possible advantage +of it! The writers are the marchioness of Mantua, with her grace and +reserve; Mary of Aragon, “the sovereign marchioness of Avalos,” on +particularly good terms with him because she has not altogether given up +hope of turning him into a monk; the duchess of Urbino, warm, gushing, +who calls him “my magnificent most loving lover”; then the good ladies +who have lost their hearts to the man of the hour, who take him as he is, +a scoundrel but famous, and who write to him as the “fount of eloquence, +astonishing, admirable, miracle of nature, most virtuous, (yes, you are!) +most wise, my father, my brother.”[360] + +The relations of a lady with her protégés were established by slow +degrees, or simply through her chancing to hear of a work that bespoke +her practical interest. The lady learns through her secret agents that +a book is about to appear, in prose perhaps, perhaps a history; she +wishes to have the first peep at it; the author, taken by surprise, makes +excuses with profound modesty, but sends his manuscript all the same; and +the ice is broken, the circuit is complete. The connection will continue +under various forms; the writer tells her in confidence of his various +works, then in his turn begins to beat the coverts for talents of hers +that are lying concealed. In return the lady announces his work _urbi +et orbi_, and takes his friends to her heart. A real intimacy is set up +between them, sometimes so entirely spiritual that they never even see +each other. Thus, before publishing his _Courtier_, Castiglione submitted +the manuscript to Vittoria Colonna under the seal of the profoundest +secrecy. Vittoria kept it rather a long time, and when at last she had +to return it, she excused herself very prettily, being still, as she +says, only half-way through the second part: she omits to add that +she had lent it rather indiscreetly. She has no suggestion to make, +except perhaps that he should not give the names of the ladies whose +beauty he is praising in a book intended for the public. Otherwise she +applauds everything with all her soul: the freshness of the subject, the +refinement, elegance and animation of the style. She is horribly jealous +of the persons whose words are quoted in such a book, even if they are +dead. As to the passages on the virtue and impeccable chastity of women, +she adores them and considers herself, as a woman, honoured by them; but +on this point she prefers not to say all that is in her mind. + +With Michelangelo she exercises the same supervision; she begs him, in a +charming note, to send her a crucifix he is working at, and to come and +have a chat.[361] + +Far from dissembling the patronage of which they were the objects, +the writers and artists boasted of it. In all sincerity they believed +women to have been created and sent into the world to inspire them +with intelligence. If they had their portraits painted seated in their +studies, it was not in the midst of a litter of books, weapons, or +carpets, nor even with an air of deep thought or abstraction; it was +simply as natural men, writing beside a little Cupid who serves them as +tutelary deity. It was accepted without question that a woman’s hand +must shake the bough to set the mind winging its flight. “My mind, +my strength, my Pallas, is Lydia,” exclaims Catti.[362] Antonio de +Gouvea[363] declares that he had no suspicion of what was in him till the +fair-haired Catherine of Bauffremont discovered him as one discovers a +treasure under the snow: “I should have thought the snow cold, but lo! +it was fire.” Michelangelo sings the same song in every key: “Through +your fair eyes I see a tender light which my blinded eyes could not have +seen.... Wingless, I fly with your wings; through your quick spirit I am +unceasingly uplifted towards heaven.... I have no other will than yours; +in your soul my thought has birth; my words are moulded in your mind. +I am like the moon, who never shines in the sky but as reflecting the +brilliance of the sun;” and he adds this profound saying: “O Lady, who by +fire and water refinest and purgest the soul for happy days, ah! grant me +to return never more to myself!” That was the simple method by which many +women in those days directed the minds of men. + +We must not exaggerate: we do not pretend that you must everywhere +_chercher la femme_, that without her nothing is possible, that she has +confiscated the key to all human learning. On the contrary, she has done +little for the exact sciences; she has contented herself with piercing +the heavens or clambering in somehow or other. But the great kindred of +impressionable beings, every man who has lived by beauty and sought after +happiness, from philosopher to artist, from talker to poet, every man +capable of feeling an emotion, has owed much to women. “Emotion, which is +only an accident in the life of man, is it not woman’s whole existence?” +And in such a matter, can a better judge be found? Woman is freer from +prejudice than man: “she does not need to give abstract reasons for her +enthusiasms: her passion, her pity well up spontaneously while man is +still discussing and deliberating. And in so doing, she almost always +sees more truly.”[364] + +Women are the eternal guardians of the Beautiful, and it cannot be said +that in this respect the Renaissance introduced any absolutely new idea. +Long before, noble châtelaines used frequently to shelter under their +roofs the churchman employed to illuminate their Books of Hours, and +princesses encouraged the ballad-monger and the image-vendor. Women have +always cultivated their souls! But it was a new thing to devote this +fervour and enthusiasm to a religion of beauty. In other directions, +the women have been condemned; but their aesthetic influence has seemed +legitimate; and, in a word, “the works they patronised, the châteaux +built for them, have endured, when the doughty deeds of knights on the +battlefield have hardly left a trace.” + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +INTELLECTUAL INFLUENCE (_Continued_) + + +The influence of women declared itself in certain well-marked results. +In the first place, it led to the germination of what may be called a +technical literature: that is, of works intended to prove the legitimacy +and necessity of feminine sway. + +The classical type of this literature is Boccaccio’s book, _Of +Illustrious Women_. Boccaccio lived in a backward age, which is the +excuse for certain epigrams of his; but he remained none the less the +women’s favourite writer, because he had had the courage to ransack +antiquity, to quarrel with Virgil, to extol Dido, and to collect for +the first time a multitude of immortal examples—Cleopatra, Lucrece, +Semiramis, Sappho, Athaliah. Nothing, therefore, was safer than to +republish, amplify, and imitate his work in every shape and form, and the +opportunity was not lost, God knows! + +In addition to this Boccaccian literature, which was already extensive, +we must note the appearance of a numerous family of semi-philosophical, +semi-historical writings, devoted to the glorification of the reigning +sex; winning causes never lack defenders. The names of Bruni, Portio, +Lando, Domenichi, and many others would certainly merit a page in the +annals of feminism; Benedetto da Cesena specially demonstrates the honour +and virtue of women, Capella their excellence, Luigini their beauty. The +feature common to the most of these works is that while claiming to be +very lofty, abstract and impersonal speculations, they are all the time +aimed more or less covertly at the heart of one woman in particular. +If Firenzuola discourses like Plato himself, it is because he has the +countess of Vernio as his ideal. Nifo compiled his treatise _On the +Court_ under the auspices of the prince and princess of Salerno, but +his ardour was more especially inspired by the charms of Phausina Rhea. +Ravisius Textor wrote his _Memorable and Illustrious Women_ because there +happened to be one Jeanne de Vignacourt, wife of President Gaillard. +We ourselves ought to have conformed to this fascinating custom and to +have inscribed a lady’s name on the title-page of this book; but we are +writing for fair readers of the 20th century. + +Except in size, the books we allude to were as like as two peas. Chénier +might well have called them “old thoughts new versified.” To see one is +to see a thousand. The upshot of them all is the equality, if not the +superiority, of woman in regard to man. To give an idea of them it will +be enough to mention one, of no great renown (it has never been printed, +and no complete manuscript exists, to our knowledge), but linking the +names of two personages of the first rank. It was written for Vittoria +Colonna by her cousin the famous Cardinal Pompeo Colonna, vice-chancellor +of the Church of Rome. + +The Cardinal begins by very gravely preparing to crush under a weight +of learning various anti-feminist propositions, almost all drawn from +the antiquated repertoire of the Middle Ages; for instance, is woman an +imperfect animal, an inferior being, unfit for public duties, good for +nothing but to gad about and commit indiscretions? Is it not the custom, +even in everyday talk, to say “men” when meaning the human species? Are +not the Bible and Plato agreed in teaching that man is the prototype of +creation, the receiver and the transmitter of life? Having settled these +and a few other questions, the cardinal proceeds to his demonstration of +the merits of womankind. + +He finds it much to the point to invoke evidence from the pagan world. +He sets defiling before us the Sauromathian women, the warrior Amazons, +the women of the Balearic isles, every one of them esteemed equal to +three or four men in the exchanges of war; the Lycian dames, through +whom nobility was transmitted, and the Celtic ladies, who exercised the +functions of diplomatists and arbitrators. On this evidence he declares +himself an out-and-out feminist; an advocate for the admission of women +to all occupations; gymnastics and military service, commended by Plato, +have no terrors for him; he would have been an enthusiastic apostle of +cycling for both sexes. If some timorous objector hints at the moral +perils of launching women into public life, he almost angrily laughs the +objection to scorn, zestfully seizing the occasion to show what men are +good for when left entirely to themselves. His type is the strong woman, +sure of herself and cased in the armour of her modesty, the energetic +woman who fends off the light strokes of stratagem as well as the heavy +strokes of violence, the woman who is generous and just, with something +of that young Spartan captive who had the force of soul to feign love for +her vanquisher and to persuade him with her caresses that she was endowed +with a marvellous secret of invulnerability, and who thus got her head +cut off. “Heaven above!” ends the cardinal suddenly, “where could one +find a more accomplished type of strength and magnanimity than yourself, +O Vittoria! It is you, you, O ideal of noble virtues, who sustained your +husband, guided him, exalted him!” Pompeo has so many things to attend +to that he excuses himself from here working out this theme; he begs the +marchioness to accept his modest little work, the homage of an ardent and +sincere affection. + +We are bound to add that women showed themselves duly grateful; this +kind of literature was not love’s labour lost, and many insignificant +men found in it the road to success. A Bohemian, half magian and wizard +(common enough in those days), a soldier as well as a “doctor in both +faculties,” Cornelius Agrippa, was elected professor of Cabala at the +University of Dole. Not long afterwards he dedicated to his sovereign, +Margaret the regent of the Netherlands, a bulky book on the _Preëminence +of the Feminine Sex_, a learned and convincing work, though in places +somewhat gross. The chaste Margaret was no more shocked than Vittoria +Colonna appeared to be angered at some indecorous details in the work of +cardinal Pompeo. She obtained a good appointment for Agrippa, and later +on, though a good deal had happened in the interim, she gave him the +title of imperial historiographer to Charles V. + +Apart from these special productions, which in date almost all belong +to the early days of the decadence, the influence women exercised on +intellectual productivity ran through two very different channels. + +The primitive Frenchwomen, who loved breadth and vigour, the women of +passion, mistrusted works of mere imagination; they sought for truth. +Philosophy and history were their intellectual pabulum, owing to their +taste for the clear light of truth, however solidly, even heavily +expressed. To become wrapped up, entangled, lost in art and mawkish +sentiment appeared to them the proof of inferior minds; to them the +supreme art was to be without art; they loved the beautiful simplicity +and impressiveness natural to minds that have mastered the subjects with +which they are dealing, and are masters of themselves. + +But these women were not numerous, and are soon lost sight of. Nor were +there many men capable of meeting their views. + +History and philosophy had their charlatans who brought discredit on them +sooner or later—pedants, perpetrators of futile and vapid euphuisms, not +to speak of fantastics and high genealogists like Féron, who carefully +describes the armorial bearings of Adam. + +Lemaire de Belges, who worked constantly under the eye of grave women +and dedicated to them all his writings of whatever description, even a +_Treatise on Ancient and Modern Funeral Ceremonies_, is one of those who +carried erudition too far. He has a superb equipment of learning, which +he displayed with a magnificent and conscientious tediousness; how could +Margaret of Austria, Anne of Brittany, and Claude of France distrust a +person of so excellent an appearance! Lemaire loses no opportunity of +rendering homage to the sex; if none occurs naturally, he invents one. +He cites only women of beauty and intelligence. In the service of Anne +of France he extols honour and virtue: with Anne of Brittany he sings +the past history of her realm;[365] and when all is said and done he was +nothing but a dull courtier. And yet he made his mark. + +Philosophy comes better out of the ordeal. It was not divorced from +literature, and, like the literature, it wore a pleasing and cheerful +aspect. Laughter was then the fashion, even in the most serious clubs. +The Florentine academy flourished under the title of the “Academy of +the Damp,” each of its members bearing the name of some fish; and +when, as pretty generally happens, its founder, Lasca, was expelled, +he established another academy, under quite as facetious a name, the +“Academy of Bran,” the Dellacrusca.[366] + +We have shown what an unrivalled position philosophy obtained in the +society of that epoch; many people preferred it to history because they +fancied they were more certain of finding truth in it. They found it +also of very practical utility; thanks to some familiarity with the +ideal, more than one philosophical husband could say, “All is lost, save +honour.” From the moment when the women began to subsist on philosophy, +there was a run upon theoretical wisdom. Happy the man whose academic +discourses suggested a comparison with Plato, or merely with Pythagoras! +Philosophy bore everywhere the torch of happiness; it gave props to +faith, and represented Paradise as the sum and crown of aesthetic joy; +the noble bishop Guevara exclaims with enthusiasm, “God was the first +lover in the world; it is from him that we have learnt to love”; and +grave professors on formal occasions waxed eloquent on the mystery +of love. Cornelius Agrippa opened a course of lectures on Plato’s +_Symposium_ with this declamation: “I come to expound to you the doctrine +set forth by the divine Plato in his _Symposium_, on love. My discourse +has Love for its author and cause; I myself, inflamed by the beams of +love, preach Love to you. Far from here, far from this respectable +lecture-room, let others, stuck fast in the miry paths of the world, +creatures of Bacchus or of the god of gardens, trample this divine gift, +love, in the mud, like dogs or swine. You, my pure men, votaries of Diana +and Pallas, hail to you! Come and lend attentive ears to this divine +mystery.” + +Filippo Beroaldo goes farther; he undertakes “without false shame” +to expound to his young pupils the philosophy of Propertius: “Yes,” +he exclaims with fervour, “we shall give praise to love, the one god +laudable above all things, pre-eminently laudable; we shall show you that +the poetry and the poets of love consort with the gravest professors, +and that this sort of poem is worthy to serve as subject for a public +and complete course in a university of letters.” And forthwith we see +him occupied for a whole year in drawing a distinction between the work +and the writer, conformably to the aphorism of Catullus, that a poet +may perfectly well pass for a decent, chaste, and pious man, though his +works may not have the same reputation, provided they have salt and wit. +Ovid also had said: “My pen is lascivious, but my life is not.” Beroaldo +insists very strongly on this tutelary principle, and to add force to his +demonstration he casually reads the broadest passages in Plato and the +Scriptures: “Yet,” he adds proudly, “everybody reads the Bible.” + +In addition to disseminating thus the doctrine of Love, the religion of +the Beautiful naturally delighted in beauty of form, and gave a very +decided lead on this point also. + +In the first place, it brought into high favour a kind of literature +which, for brevity’s sake, we shall call the literature of conversation. +There is nothing surprising in this, since conversation served at once +as a means and an end, and appeared to be the realisation of Platonic +happiness. Those who had the misfortune to be writers took at least all +possible precautions not to show it, and certainly many authors of the +dialogues, novels, and various narratives of the time committed them to +paper only to keep a permanent record of actual conversations, or at +any rate because, in temporary distress for want of someone to talk to, +they found themselves reduced to taking up their pens to keep themselves +in practice. The critics of our day, who prefer to say their say by +themselves, in the form of lectures or articles, are disposed to see in +this dialogical method a trick of rhetoric; they regard the dialogues +of Plato in the same light, and we see very learned platonists quoting +indifferently the thoughts of the various speakers as the thoughts of +Plato himself, without remarking that in the same dialogue the different +speakers give sincere expression to different ideas. The majority of +16th century dialogues are real conversations,[367] and claim to be +more or less accurate notes of both sides, with the perfect liberty of +movement impossible in didactic exposition. Bembo, in his capacity as +an eminent talker, has accepted the responsibility for more than one +written dialogue. And thus, the practice was quite the reverse of that +which obtains in our drawing-rooms to-day, where, if the conversation +happens to rise above the commonplace, we borrow our ideas from the +morning’s leading article or the last successful play; in those days the +drawing-room made the book—a system extremely favourable to the influence +of women. + +The masterpiece of this literature of conversation is unquestionably +the _Courtier_ of Castiglione, of which more than eighty editions or +translations are known, and which retained almost undiminished popularity +for more than a century. + +In proportion, however, as women fell into mere fashionable sensibility, +the literature they inspired became an art of form rather than of +thought, and soon there was no longer room for anything but poetry. +Poetry flooded everything. We are not speaking here, of course, of the +high heroic poetry intended for robust appetites: people revelled in the +luxury of a beautiful musical phrase which soothed without awakening +emotion, in a sort of splendid unreality, in glittering frivolities +calculated to give a fillip to conversation. + +There was high honour for the improvisatore who, in the decorated hall +of the château, whilst in the streets there arose a vague hubbub of +music, song, or passing feet, could on the spur of the moment chisel or +crystallise a happy thought, and shoot out his little verse, light as +an arrow, brilliant as a sky-rocket. Such a man was fêted everywhere, +and saw a welcome smiling in every eye. Into a goblet of rare crystal he +poured, as it were, but one drop of elixir, but it was an elixir that +exhilarated; he was master of his world. With a tender or witty verse a +man could do anything. A phrase of Bembo’s is very typical. When Vittoria +Colonna had just lost her husband, he told her that the flood of sonnets +on that occasion had reconciled him to the age! Vittoria Colonna herself, +whose ideas were of quite a different order in theological matters, +wrote to a prelate: “I received your letter this morning, and in your +madrigals I saw the force of truth.” Poetry was so much a maid of all +work that a luckless ambassador, at his wit’s end for a new way of asking +for his arrears of salary, ended by addressing a dispatch in verse to +his sovereign, Margaret of Austria. Another dropped into poetry in his +dispatches with the simple object of paying court to his princess. A +business agent, instructed to send some information to Vittoria Colonna, +declares that, writing to so illustrious a lady, he hardly knows what he +is about, and that he cannot refrain from writing in verse: hitherto, +he says, his higher faculties have been dormant, and the name of the +marchioness has roused them to activity. Admirable effect of feminine +influence, galvanising even auctioneers’ clerks! Ladies wrote in verse +to their children, sent their friends verses—sometimes, it must be +confessed, borrowed.[368] + +In all this wealth of poetical production the sonnet ranked as the most +profitable, because, thanks to its terse and sparkling form, it did +well in a glass case among a woman’s little love trophies. It admirably +hit the tastes of the ladies; it was short and concise, it centred on +one idea, and allowed the most diverse and fugitive sentiments to find +expression. + +In these days we cannot really understand the success which certain +occasional verses met with, for example, the rhapsodies of Molinet[369] +whenever Margaret of Austria took her walks abroad. These gems of other +days have the same effect on us as pearls removed from their settings, +lying robbed of all their lustre on a dealer’s counter. For that matter, +they never had the glow of passion; all that was asked of them was to +show a certain uniformity of sparkle, and they were strung one after +another in the belief that so many languidly gleaming brilliants would +in the long run form a pretty set. What charming and unexceptionable +ornaments were the waggeries of Saint-Gelais or of Michel d’Amboise, +or the “Hundred and Five Love Rondeaux” published by M. Tross, or the +_Hecatomphile_ (_i.e._ the hundred loves), and so many more![370] Such +writers had ringing in their ears an air from Ovid[371] or Petrarch, +a mawkish air, with all the sublimity of commonplace, already utilised +a thousand times; and they continued to grind out the song of the +“exquisite” bard of Laura, to steal from it, comment on it, torture it, +raising their eyes to heaven like Greuze’s girls; and so they thought +themselves deities. “I hope,” cries Aretino, with a burst of laughter, +“that the soul of Petrarch is not tormented in the other world as it is +in this!” They were a long way from the vigorous inspirations craved by +Pompeo Colonna. Some repining souls made secret reservations against +the seductive force of this sensibility. Vittoria Colonna and Isabella +d’Este kept a corner of their heart for Dante; but what could they do to +stem the tide? They tried, very clumsily. In France a league of terrible +pedants was formed,—“skimmers of Latin,” who, to separate themselves +from the vulgar, employed a sort of pretentious and intolerable jargon. +In Italy, Spagnuoli shouted himself hoarse in thundering against the +Franco-Italian alliance, and all in vain. Capilupi,[372] still less +adroit, committed the unpardonable folly of finding fault with the women. +At bottom he was right. + +It was women’s duty to warn the world off so disastrous a reef. +Unhappily, in consequence of that eternal timidity and that want of +energy which were to kill their influence, they allowed themselves to be +utterly bewitched. It was written that they should be able to conquer, +but not to profit by victory: that, once mistresses of the world, +feebleness would regain the upper hand; that being no longer under the +spur of passion, they would come to a stand before a sweetstuff shop. + +The masterpiece of these pretentious confectioneries was a monument of +verse erected to the glory of some particular lady. + +Jeanne of Aragon was during her lifetime the object of a deification of +this sort, in which the Academy _de’ Dubbiosi_[373] at Venice proceeded +according to the forms employed at Rome in the ceremony of canonisation. +There was first a preliminary decree, then a discussion on the proposal +made by some member to share the apotheosis between the exquisite Jeanne +and her sister the Marchesa dal Vasto; then a decree, based with great +parade of learning on the opposition of Roman pontiffs in bygone days +to Marcellus’ project of dedicating a temple to Glory and to Virtue in +conjunction, and enacting that the honour was to be reserved for Jeanne +alone, and that it would be enough to offer incense to the Marchesa dal +Vasto in sundry allusions. + +The temple was erected. It was in the purest Renaissance style; +cosmopolitan, artistic, feminist. Its contents were pretty enough: +Ruscelli celebrated the charming, adorable and divine Jeanne in +respectable verse. But that only shows how the finest things suffer most +when reality is replaced by sham. Miscellaneous heaps of poems in all +languages known or unknown, Hungarian, Hebrew, Syriac, Slavonic—what was +it but sham? In reality, the truly artistic idea was absent. + +There was also, especially in France, a whole literature dealing with +poodles and little birds, which was not lacking in charm, and above all +in sensibility, for it was generally elegiac. Saint-Gelais, Eustorg de +Beaulieu and Marot, like Catullus, mourned sparrows, such as that of the +unfeeling Maupas: + + Las, il est mort (pleurez-le, damoyselles), + Le passereau de la jeune Maupas; + Ung aultre oiseau, qui n’a plume qu’aux aisles, + L’a dévoré: le congnoissez-vous pas? + C’est ce fascheux amour ... + ... Par despit, tua le passeron, + Quand il ne sçeut rien faire à la maistresse.[374] + +Vert-Vert,[375] whose misfortunes touch us to this day, was a direct +descendant of the parrot of Margaret of Austria, which, having been +allowed to die during the absence of its mistress, was consequently +regarded as having died of despair. Du Bellay has devoted some of his +most exquisite verses to the memory of a little dog.[376] In short, as we +see, all these writings were inspired by a sentiment of tenderness, in +the manner of Berquin[377] or Florian. The Cardinal de’ Medici loved to +style himself “the knight errant.” Under the dainty hand leading them, +men seemed like meek and gentle sheep, somewhat emasculate perhaps, +incapable of a strong diet, but polished, sweet, gracious! Twit them with +losing their claws, they reassure you! If their interests or their pride +are ever so little touched, they are still masters of a pungent rhetoric! +Listen, behind the scenes (or even before), to Politian, that charming +angel,[378] calling an obscure antagonist named Mabillius, “scurvy knave, +carcase, lousy dog,” and so on. + +But let us finish our portrait of women from the intellectual point of +view. + +They did more than rub their faithful friends to a fine polish: they were +gradually drawn on and impelled to take up the pen themselves, cherishing +the secret idea of enabling the public to profit by the treasures of +their sensibility. + +To write a book, even in verse, is not a crime. But how was it that the +women did not understand that in coming like professionals before the +public they were precisely breaking away from their own system? + +They could, it is true, invoke the example of Spain, where women +displayed their learning openly and unabashed. But the position of Spain +was altogether different; there the women in question were ladies of +lofty imagination, who threw themselves with extraordinary energy into +regions of pure erudition; brilliant and famous women of high rank—the +marchioness of Monteagudo, Doña Maria Pacheco de Mendoza, the pretty +Isabel of Cordova, far richer in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew than in worldly +possessions; Catherine Ribera, the bard of love and faith; the two +“professors” of rhetoric at the Universities of Salamanca and Alcala; +Beatrice of Galindo, who taught the queen Latin; Isabella Rosera, who +preached in Toledo cathedral and went to Rome to convert the Jews and +to comment on Scotus Erigena before an array of dumbfounded cardinals; +Loysa Sygea, again, the most illustrious of them all, an infant prodigy +to begin with, then a Father of the Church, who could speak the most +outlandish tongues. These were women full of sap and energy, whom no one +was astonished to see taking by main force the first rank in the spheres +of literature, philosophy and theology; but were they really and truly +women? or rather, did they bring any new thing to humanity? Were they +apostles of happiness? No, they advocated the claims of reason as men +did, perhaps better, perhaps worse—that is all. The ideal of France and +Italy was different: it demanded more discretion. Women might be quite +as accomplished; the knowledge of Latin was so widely diffused among +them, even in the depth of the country,[379] as to be quite a matter +of course; many grappled with Hebrew; some people went so far as to say +that rhetoric was a virtue as necessary to them as chastity, if not +more so. Only, everybody was steadily faithful to the maxim that women +ought to rule by charm rather than intellectual accomplishment; and if +it was necessary to arm them for the strife, their supreme skill would +always lie in appearing unarmed, in keeping their minds free and winsome, +preserving unsoiled all the bloom of their excellent education, remaining +great ladies and “amateurs.” + +Ought the women, at the time when the ultra-refined shrank from appearing +in print as a lapse from taste, as what Montaigne called an “idle +business,” to have descended into the arena and addressed themselves to +the heart of the commonplace and heedless man in the street? Ought they +to have done violence to their thought by printing it? You may address +the public in regard to the stern things of life, draw your logical +deductions from truth, hammer out your arguments, discuss history, +philosophy, theology, everything that is of iron and rock. But sentiment +has graces which only flourish well under glass; the true women of the +Renaissance were like orchids, choice and rare and delicately perfumed, +which close their petals at the first breath of air. The same modesty +which defended the purity of their bodies against every indiscreet +eye, and which smiled only on friends, seemed to envelop their souls. +They were not displeased to hear themselves called the depositaries +of “good doctrine,” or even to see jestingly attributed to them some +pretty work which obviously they had not written: Aretino was a very +clever and amusing flatterer when he made the actor in the prologue of +one of his most spicy comedies ask if the author of the piece were not +Vittoria Colonna or Veronica Gambara. But the most accomplished and +instructed woman of the world, Margaret of Savoy for example, never +tired of boasting of her “divine goodness.” Noble ladies did not take up +the pen, any more than a good housewife needs to handle a broom; they +readily dictated even private letters, with the splendid indifference of +Talleyrand, who, we may say in passing, knew his business very well. If +they are ever caught writing, it was for mere amusement, when they were +tired of painting, carving, working tapestry, playing the harp, singing, +maybe of dancing and riding; then they thought of their souls, if they +had time; they would read a psalm or a story; or to “escape idleness,” +to banish an idea that oppressed and persecuted them, they would +artistically chisel their idea in the form of a sonnet. Thus understood, +poetry is the divine art, and very few women have been able to resist it +from the moment when it appears to them the same thing as painting a fan! + +Margaret of Austria delighted in etching in little poems her +recollections of the trials of her life, and (in absolute privacy) did +not even disdain to address some epistles in verse to her devoted friends +or her functionaries. The amiable Graville, the fair Chateaubriand, so +dear to Francis I., excelled in this pastime, and when we see Suzanne +de Bourbon herself contributing her share, we may well believe that the +fashion was general. But between that and proclaiming oneself a poet +there was a wide gulf, and when this was crossed, it was the beginning of +decadence, because the exquisite freshness and simplicity of the art soon +gave place to affectation. To women of simple artless charm succeeded +blue-stockings like Madame de Morel and her three daughters, or Madame +des Roches. Women writers arose, and the Academy of the Valois found it +quite natural to admit them. + +Lyons was the capital of feminine poetry, and certainly it is there that +we can best appreciate how and why the women fell into the unfortunate +mistake of becoming professional writers. It was not wholly their fault: +they only succumbed to the temptation when they could no longer exert +their influence otherwise. + +Lyons was the city of wealth and pleasure and elegance, the rival of +Paris in fashion, the “Florence of France.” It was often the headquarters +of the court. + +Anne of France, as sovereign of the surrounding country, had at first +exercised there a very direct influence; and afterwards Margaret of +France went there more than once, and gladly, as into a friendly land. + +The ladies of Lyons, envious of the “great and immortal praise” their +neighbours of Italy had acquired, were desirous of making their +influence also felt on men, and of doing honour to France in the +present and the future. It was nothing but music and poetry, poetry +and music.[380] Margaret of France smiled broadly at the universal +babblement. Up to a certain point, save for the somewhat excessive +development of sensibility, nothing was more legitimate or natural: the +husbands acted as archivists, piously classifying their wives’ papers +and cultivating their reputations. But a time came when it appeared +calamitous to leave to husbands alone the care of so many treasures. Du +Moulin, Margaret’s secretary, ventured to aim a blow at feminine modesty: +at the express request of her husband he published the works of Madame +Pernette du Guillet, recently deceased, taking good care to indicate his +intention of thus paying collective homage to “so many fair and virtuous +ladies of Lyons.” He encouraged others to make similar confidences. + +The somewhat tame and sublunary verses of Pernette du Guillet were not +particularly flattering to the husband who had so well preserved them. +Pernette avows in all sincerity that she had never known happiness; how +could she have known it? She divided her abilities among so many things. +She spoke all languages, played every instrument, and was beautiful +in addition. The sentiments she expressed oscillate between a tender +sensuousness and bitterness of soul. + +Louise Labé, the glory of Lyons, did better service for her cause. The +list of her virtues would fill several pages. Fair, rich, and well-bred, +a singer, a dancer, a horsewoman, and an Italianist, she drew in her +train such a flock of admirers, commentators, panegyrists, biographers, +and glossarists that her death did not quench the enthusiasm, but +occasioned a perfect mausoleum of poetry. + +There has been endless discussion in regard to this fascinating woman. +Many a lance has been broken in regard to her virtue, of which the late +M. de Ruolz was formerly the self-constituted guarantor and paladin, but +against which, since his time, two erudite writers, themselves natives +of Lyons, Messieurs Gaullieur and Gonon, have brought heavy batteries +to bear. But that little concerns us, for we do not claim Louise Labé, +even theoretically, as one of the glories of pure platonism; she is +too self-confident and cock-a-hoop, has such airs of swagger and mock +languor; she smacks of decadence. And yet, though she did not, like +Pernette du Guillet, make the slight effort needed to defer publication +till she was dead, she does affect a modesty which is itself unpleasing. +It was not her husband who impelled her to appear before the world, it +was her friends; they insisted, swore to “drink the half of the shame”; +and then, “not to take the plunge alone,” she dedicated her book to +another lady, Clémence of Bourges. + +These simpering affectations apart, Louise was sincerely convinced of +the benefits of feminine domination, and one feels that in boldly facing +publicity she was obeying a sentiment of duty. She resolutely encounters +the enemy, like a brave captain who dashes out of cover to rally his +disordered troops. She conjures women not to allow themselves to be +despoiled of the “honest liberty” so painfully acquired—liberty to know, +to think, to work, to shine. Happiness!—she no longer deludes herself +with the idea that she can promise it with certainty, or at least she has +awakened from the dream of attaining the absolute; but she tells herself +that “one can at least sweeten the long voyage.” She does not lose sight +of the fact that it is women’s function to diffuse sweetness and poetry, +to mitigate unsociabilities, to inspire men with energy. The experience +already gained does not strike her as discouraging; quite the reverse; +the intellectual life takes from day to day a more splendid amplitude, +and this amplitude results from the action of women. The moments of all +great intellectual vitality are marked by love. So said Louise Labé. + +Tullia d’Aragona, who sustained the same theory in other terms, was +one of the few Italian women who did not fear to be reputed authors, +probably because her place was already only on the fringe of society. +In general she employs few circumlocutions, but goes straight to the +point with a vigorous eloquence. Her poems, almost all addressed to men, +deal with subjects of the gravest kind, particularly with religion. +Tullia had the inestimable advantage of knowing humanity from top to +bottom. Beside her, Calvin and Ochino are as innocent as babes, and she +taunts them, not unfairly, with dealing their blows blindly without +distinguishing between what is serious and what is harmless. Her own +wisdom is wonderful! The poet Arrighi cannot help exclaiming, “Vittoria +Colonna is a moon, Tullia a sun.” She celebrates pure love in the true +lyrical and forceful strain, as “the magnificent, the admirable madness +which alone produces great enterprises.” Whilst immaculate women like +Vittoria Colonna and Veronica Gambara too often stifle us with languorous +sensibility (“When I was a happy lover, I exhaled the harmonies of my +heart in calm and pious accents”), Tullia, who has long ago lost this +tranquillity and these religious illusions, knows that will and action +are needed; she does not ask for the impossible, but on the other hand +she valiantly excommunicates Boccaccio with his “villanous novels,” +before whom the coy ladies of fashion bow their faces to the earth. In a +dialogue with two gentlemen, she discourses on love in quite a platonist +key; she investigates its casuistry: “Is the end of love its limit? Is +it better to love or to be loved?” She prefers to be loved, this fair +artist, because in loving we are acted on by the motive force, while in +being loved we exert it. Women who have really loved will perhaps be of +a different opinion; nevertheless there in one line we have stated the +great contention of the time. The art of women ought to have been to make +themselves loved and to constrain men to love; they were often caught in +their own toils; they loved, and consequently instead of receiving they +gave. “The heart has reasons reason never knows.” + +These few notes on the literary work of women suffice to show that, on +the whole, feminine literature, except in Spain, sprang from love, to +return to love again. No great influence in the intellectual crisis +of the Renaissance can be attributed to these various writings; they +scarcely did more than develop more or less intuitively the platonist +philosophy. + +On the other hand, women exercised an enormous intellectual influence +through their individual and personal action, especially in Italy. They +carried their charm into quarters which the mediaeval theologians, +so ready to style themselves the “doctors of the poor,” never +penetrated,—namely, among the poverties of the heart. They overlaid life +with that varnish of wonderful, singular sweetness which has never been +wholly rubbed off; they intellectualised society, and, in a country +essentially marked out as a prey for gold and luxury, they delayed the +moment when men were to be estimated merely by the gilding of their +ceilings or the thickness of their carpets. + +The effects of their work north of the Alps are not very easily measured. +Resistance there was too strong; the masculine world was not easily +won over; men growled, for it seemed to them that women were plucking +their souls out, or wishing to degrade them, in proposing that they +should submit to—what? a sort of intellectual goodness. They refused to +hear women and intellect spoken of together. The Germans recognised no +intelligence in them apart from their domestic duties. What the Italians +called intelligence a German would call tittle-tattle, trickery, the +spirit of contradiction. They rejected such gratifications, and had no +intention of allowing Delilah to shear them. They would readily have +declared, like an arrogant character of M. de Curel, that there is +nothing in the world but egotism, and that the egotism which creates life +is of more worth than that which employs itself in providing life with +consolations. As to poetry, forsooth, they were tempted to receive love +serenades with a bucket of water. And if the Italians sneered at them +as barbarians, “brainless people,” they would answer them on the day of +battle by demonstrating how far mere brains and sensibility served a +nation. Erasmus dubbed “any man who was honest and learned” an Italian; +precisely, but what had the Italians come to with their beautiful ideas? +They wrangled, but they no longer fought.[381] “Don’t talk to me of the +Venetians,” said Louis XII.; “they don’t know how to die.” To know how to +die—that is life. + +Virile, stern, frugal, poor, rustic often to boorishness, Germany in this +way kept up against the intellectual paradox the old disdainful warfare +of the empire against the priesthood, and once more the gulf was dug out +between body and mind, between matter and spirit, force and liberty. From +the banks of the Rhine a furious hail of missiles was directed against +the fragile aspirations of Italianism. Brandt published his famous _Ship +of Fools_,[382] reissued seventeen times between 1494 and 1520, a work as +much translated, copied and imitated in the Germanic world as Petrarch +was in the Latin world; a pungent and unjust work in which defile, as +in a booth at the fair, all the little grotesques which bring joy to +mind and heart—not merely, needless to say, old Turk’s heads like the +physician or the astrologer, but new types—the spectacled scholar, busy +nursing his own reputation under colour of Plato or Menander; the man of +the world, oiled and curled indeed, but a wit, a lover, a giddy-pate, +and a firm believer in the black art; no one is missing, not even the +explorer, at a period when the world was dreaming of free exchanges and +the demolition of frontiers, the age of Columbus and Vasco da Gama. In +the greater part of these adventurers the old German sees only arm-chair +travellers or tap-room oracles, and among the genuine travellers he +anticipates Sterne in distinguishing idle loungers, curiosity hunters, +liars, braggarts, conceited puppies, windbags, travellers in their own +despite, travellers fleeing from justice, felons, the innocent and +unfortunate traveller, the traveller for his own amusement. Hardly any is +forgotten but the sentimental traveller. + +As to the poets, needless to say whether a genuine German scoffs at these +“gentlemen in _-us_,” a sort of intellectual Tartarins, who in actual +life lead old and even wealthy women to the altar.[383] + +And thereupon heads grew hot, and men pointed to the decadence of morals, +the desertion of the country, the flocking of people into the towns, +and they laid the blame on Rome, the head of the movement—Rome without +a rudder, without a compass, drawn helplessly along by the new spirit +through which she was to perish. + +Some years later, when in spite of everything the rising tide at last +made its force felt, the opposition changed front. People began to +twit Italian learning with superficial ostentation. A love for books +was laughed at. Ptolemy Philadelphus was a wonderful man, to be sure, +to collect forty thousand volumes at Alexandria! An ass might just as +well load himself with guitars and set up for a musician! That may be +admitted; but they did not stop there; and, notwithstanding all we +know of the violences of party spirit, we cannot help feeling somewhat +astonished when we hear a man like Marot contemptuously flinging the +epithet of “ignoramus” at the Rome of Leo X., or Melanchthon talking of +Italy as “Egyptian darkness, a prey to the worst enemies of literature +and study.” That seems the very last accusation that might have been +expected. + +These German ideas were half French too, and consequently, in the hot +give-and-take of battle, imperial Germany and papal Italy, in spite of +some shrewd blows, maintained their positions well enough, whilst France, +caught between two fires, was shattered. At the very gates of Lyons, the +sweet city of feminism, the Germanists and Huguenots brutally replied to +all the poetry of the women with the jest of D’Aubigné: “When the eggs +are hatched, the nightingale stints his song.” + +In addition to many earnest men and almost all politicians, believers +in authority and even in force, Italian dilettantism found other ardent +adversaries in France in the champions of the old _gauloiserie_, who +continued to dote on naturalism naked and unadorned, the syntheses or +analyses of the flesh. They felt insulted that anyone should wish to +impose on them a strained and uncomfortable Petrarchism with the idea of +toning them down. However, Petrarchism did not effect very much, and it +was assuredly not guilty of softening certain crudities and of replacing +by its mawkishness the twaddle of illustrious nobodies like Jean Picart, +Etienne Clavier and others. + +Hence, in so disturbed an atmosphere as France then was, we should be led +to conclude that the influence of women was negative, in the scientific +sense of the word. Their work was like M. Pasteur’s. The soul of man was +stirred, agitated, overwhelmed by a host of imperceptible microbes; the +women did not furnish an infallible specific for preserving the health, +but sought to sterilise the noxious germs, to make the air pure and the +water clear. + +Even after the squalls of the 16th century it cannot be said that no +vestige of their effort remained. For it is the characteristic of France +to be a complex and accommodating country, where nothing triumphs, but +everything succeeds, where nothing abides, but nothing is lost. To this +very day, an hour’s carriage drive through Paris takes you through the +last four or five centuries of our history. The feminism of the 16th +century brought down and deposited a new stratum of traditions: nothing +more could be expected. + +The violence of the opposition prompts us also to find some excuses for +the timidity we have pointed out in high-placed women. Women genuinely +frank and fearless could only be found in humbler life. We have seen how +much difficulty Margaret of France, called to live in a circumscribed and +select society, had in determining her precise whereabouts, since she +met with nothing but contradiction around her. When her scared platonism +came at last, about 1540, to formulate as in Italy definite principles +of guidance through the pen of Héroët de la Maisonneuve, and a heated +contention was the result, Margaret prudently tacked about, and smiled, +now upon Héroët, now upon his adversary La Borderie.[384] And yet the +rein was felt,[385] and in her circle it became necessary to sing of love +in a more philosophic key. The fierce Des Périers himself, type of the +man who loves to bite, saw himself reduced to translating the _Lysis_ of +Plato, under the insipid title, “The Quest of Friendship.” + +The victory thus remained a moderate and indecisive one, somewhat out +of proportion to the great enthusiasm displayed. The fine triumphant +treatises on the excellence and transcendent merit of women, those sacred +stones, relics of a forgotten worship, deserted dolmens, were almost all +Italian. Margaret showed some displeasure when she heard women ill-spoken +of; but she did not inspire glorious rhapsodies, like Vittoria Colonna +and many others. In France free discussion on the merits and demerits of +women continued rife. + +Such wrangling was indeed an old French social pastime: everyone said his +say, with perfect liberty to change his mind, and a host of well-worn +sentiments more or less amusing were bandied about: “Eve was a woman, God +made himself man! There are no women among priests. It is very seemly +to sleep alone. I have never been in love or married, thank God!” In +the 15th century people succeeded for a moment in believing that the +intellectual level of their little pastime might be raised till it at +last attained the Italian perfection; a Norman named Martin Le Franc, +whom his duties as secretary to Felix V. had made half a pontiff, at one +moment threw out the grand phrase which was to set Italy on fire: “Women +are the apostles of happiness, because they are the apostles of universal +and necessary love.” A few little academies or _puys d’amour_,[386] +scattered here and there in Picardy and Flanders, caught eagerly at the +idea, but without deriving from it anything better than an encouragement +to the flowery verbosities of dead-and-gone chivalry, which they plumed +themselves on continuing. Then came the wild outbreaks in Germany to give +the finishing stroke, and when Brandt and Geyler[387] became the idols +of public opinion the French feminists blushed and turned tail. No more +monuments were erected to the glory of women, and even a masterpiece of +our art of engraving, an absolutely charming _Ship_[388] that appeared +about 1500, was devoted to their disparagement. It is a series of little +pictures, representing, to begin with, the inevitable Eve, and then +coquetry, music, dinners, perfumes, love. The author does not go so far +as to say that all these things are unutterably wearisome to him, but he +insinuates that in his opinion it is useless to look for any serious idea +among such frivolities. + +The French were quite ready to admit that women had certain moral +qualities, like goodness and devotion; a woman who had only one shift +would give it away, they knew. A writer puts into Eve’s mouth a cry of +sublime self-sacrifice at the moment of her expulsion from the garden: +“Slay me,” she cries to Adam: “perhaps God will restore you to Paradise!” +And yet it was to her that he owed his expulsion. But the great +majority of Frenchmen very unjustly believed frivolity, inconstancy, +lack of originality to be defects inherent in the sex, and not merely +the result of an unfortunate education. If accomplished women quoted +Plato or St. Thomas they were laughed at, no one would believe that +they had an opinion of their own, but declared that they had got some +one to coach them, that “the doctrine was no deeper than their lips, +that they had no naturalness, that they disappeared under art.” A woman +was believed to be afflicted with the radical incapacity to acquire an +individual idea. Montaigne, who nevertheless boasts of being platonic and +anti-epicurean,[389] sums up all these old prejudices in flatly refusing +to regard woman as anything but a pretty animal. Virtue (the woman’s, +that is; Montaigne has different ideas) is corporeal fidelity: his ideal +is Anne of Brittany weaving tapestry in the conjugal bedroom. Montaigne +reluctantly admits that feminine coquetry may end in ennobling love, +but without changing its destination: “You can do something without the +graces of the mind, but nothing without bodily graces.” Thus, when Roman +and papal society claimed for women the absolute right to have done with +paint and powder, it fell foul of a host of preconceived ideas. + +Frenchwomen did not firmly enough assert themselves. Their services +were accepted for domestic tasks, often delicate and difficult, which +necessitated much intelligence, but were considered servile or at least +inferior. Further, when they endeavoured to rise above this state of +bondage, they were checked, sent back to their idleness and frivolity, +persuaded that it was no duty of theirs to defend the great causes men +too often deserted; and they believed it. Here is a mass of useless +men, says the world: go to, let us match them with useless women! But +was it not a mistake thus to bury them alive, so as to prevent their +being too much in evidence? Was it right to inflict on the half of the +human species a malaise the more terrible because for the most part +the victim was unable to account for it? A woman who had all that is +apparently necessary for perfect happiness, and who nevertheless was +sick and unhappy by reason of the emptiness of her life, exclaimed: +“I feel I lack something. In my soul there are faculties stifled and +useless, too many things that are undeveloped and of no service to +anyone.” How many like her have there been at all times—women of deep, +vacant, ever virgin souls, who suffer through not giving themselves, and +live in maiden meditation, fancy free! And why? For the sole profit of +the selfishness of men! “No, this ought not to be,” warmly rejoined a +convinced spiritualist: “if men complain of seeing themselves equalled +or surpassed, more’s the pity: they have only themselves to blame. ’Tis +that they are unworthy of their women!” This was not the speech of a +Frenchman, but of a Roman prelate, Giovanni Monti, secretary to the pope. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE + + +The great effort that we have sought to portray resulted finally in a +profound religious revolution; starting from a crisis in belief, it led +to a transformation of Christianity through the ministry of women. + +In reality, feminism exalted the soul rather than the woman. Woman is +born to cling to somebody; if man fails her she seeks a stay in God. +It was thus inevitable that her religion of beauty should end in a +mystic marriage, in a great dramatic act of religious sensibility, in a +development of charity and hope on the basis of definite dogma, in the +skilful interpretation of impressions of the unseen by means of external +signs. + +That women would fling themselves passionately into religious sensibility +was only to be expected. This is their way.[390] Leaving out of account +those who are never happy out of church, women love to fancy themselves +queens by the grace of God. The incomprehensible, which irritates men, +fascinates them, and they experience a singular joy in rummaging the +mysteries. As we have already said, at the moment of the religious crisis +a courtesan proffered the most judicious advice on the direction of +ecclesiastical affairs. + +In the Church, to mistrust the intrusion of women was a peremptory +tradition, and indeed the ecclesiastical world may well be considered the +citadel of anti-feminism. Religion had taken a logical and theological +bent; it recognised only one morality, applying to noble ladies and +eminent intelligences the rules taught to plainer folk. Erasmus repeats +approvingly the maxim of St. Paul: “Christ is the head of man, man the +head of woman; man is the image and glory of God; woman the glory of +man.” With the Church Fathers it had been a long-established custom +(going back to the wisest of the wise, Solomon) to compare women, and +even the Virgin, to the moon. From sacred literature this comparison +passed into profane literature, which employed it in season and out. +Rabelais declares that women play hide and seek with their husbands, as +the moon with the sun; Boccaccio and Brantôme revive the old proverb +about the virtue of women needing to renew itself every month like the +moon. One poet decries the moon, pale like woman’s love; another adores +her, pure like his well-beloved. + +The platonists were well content with this phantasmagoric comparison, +which represented to them in all likelihood a whole world of freshness +and domestic joys. + +Dolce himself deems that the moon is feminine. “At night,” he says, “she +streams through every chink and cranny, spite of blinds and shutters; she +inspires the imagination of husbands.” In France, during the period of +the fair Diana’s ascendency, the moon quite eclipsed the sun; the king +sported a device of interlaced crescents.[391] But the Church did not +go so far. It excluded women from the priesthood; its tradition granted +them nothing except personal piety, or at most heroism like that of St. +Catherine of Sienna of unfading memory. In order, therefore, to secure a +place in an absolutely new order of ideas, women had to wash their hands +once for all of eminent dogmaticians and subtle moralists, and to effect +a complete change. + +Many enlightened minds in the Church itself called for this renovation. + +The weariness and disgust generally felt in regard to certain +trivialities in religious observance, to the apologetics and the frigid +ethics of the time, had caused the spirit of faith and faith itself +almost entirely to disappear; and thus the Beautiful easily became the +guiding principle of theology. Only, some people sought their theology +in abstractions, others in the joys of art. The fall of Savonarola +precipitated the movement in the direction of art. His friends were +downhearted. Michelangelo clave to the Man of sorrows, the crucified +Christ, “as a skiff to the harbour”; his faith became confidence, and +dogmatic theology had no further interest for him. + +So far from feeling itself harmed by this breath of philosophy, Rome, +ancient and eternal, regarded itself as invigorated thereby. “I am a +Christian platonist,” had been the saying of the early platonists. +Too proud to have any love for the petty arguments and the material +extravagances of every-day religion, these philosophical prelates wished +to establish the authority of the Church on the liberty, not the anæmia, +of the conscience. + +The new philosophy declared itself to be more Christian than that of +Aristotle, and bowed before the official dogmas, like the priest before +the altar, declaring itself “unworthy”—before dogmas of almost insolent +authority, stern, inexorable, but modified by tenderness. The new +religion was the philosophy of the Lord’s Prayer. It sufficed to recite +the Paternoster in the spirit of love harmonising with it; regarding God +as the good Father, who gives life because He is life,—God, the celestial +and ideal, whose will should be done because it is the very essence of +love to seek its motives in the will of the beloved one. We love, not the +idols of the world, silver and gold, but love and mercy; our daily bread +is sufficient for us, love has loosened in us the springs of ambition; +filled with tenderness and dignity, foes to intrigue, we have to spread +abroad in the world this same tenderness and the tolerance it implies; +may God in like manner pardon the evil we may do. We beseech Providence +not to put temptation in our way, so that we may be saved from falling! + +God is all love and all life. It is not His will to betray us by laying +snares for us; His religion can be only the perfect manifestation of +natural law. Goodness and piety do not mean pessimism and self-abdication. + +The positive side of religion, namely, the creed, may well be left to +reasoners and theologians, for it gives rise to insoluble problems. But +religion also includes principles of practical morality, which have for +object the happiness of man. + +In regard to the second point, the Gospel leaves us great liberty. +It lays down no dogmas in regard to beauty; it confines itself to +bequeathing us love, not a love more or less alloyed with selfishness, +vanity or interest, but a general love for God and our neighbours, +resulting from an inward spirit of devotion. + +That being so, what is the good of quirks and quiddities? What is +the good of tight fetters? Love, and go straight on your way—that is +the new formula,—a very effective one, since it converts dogmas into +sentiments, and consequently gives them a direct bearing upon life; +a very philosophical one, for nothing is so personal, so individual +as sentiment. And, as Montaigne says, “it is a most excellent and +commendable enterprise properly to accommodate and fit to the service of +our faith the natural helps and human implements which God hath bestowed +upon us.... Had we fast hold on God by the interposition of a lively +faith; had we fast hold on God by Himself, and not by us; the love of +novelty, the constraint of princes, the good success of one party, the +rash and casual changing of our opinions, should not then have the power +to shake and alter our belief.”[392] + +Faith is the best and almost the only guarantee of liberty of thought. + +That explains why, in the official apartments of the pope, the _School +of Athens_, an eclectic homage to the philosophic spirit, is a companion +picture to the _Controversy on the Holy Sacrament_, the synthesis of +the spirit of faith, and why the _Parnassus_ appears to unite them. No +one found anything to object to in this alliance. Erasmus insists on +the fact that Christianity and Plato are in wonderful accord in regard +to happiness; Cornelius Agrippa himself, who ventured to call Plato a +“master of errors,”[393] attributes to Socrates inspiration from on high. + +Leo X. acted as pope in countenancing Plato. + +Mitigating circumstances have been urged in his favour; as the Roman +tradition excels in accommodating itself to the needs of each successive +age, some Catholic writers have thought that the alliance between +Roman prelates and the new aesthetic cult was a prudent concession to +circumstances. Our opinion, on the contrary, is that Rome, under the +influence of a century and a half of ardent study, deliberately placed +herself at the head of the movement. Rightly or wrongly, she believed +that religion is the art of living freely and in peace. “The soul is far +above the intellect.” + +In virtue of this maxim there appeared, closely leagued with the prelates +for the purpose of reforming the Christian practice and restoring to it +its primitive motive force, the women, whether platonist or not, who +have been called _bibliennes_, but whom we would rather call Mothers of +the Church. In these days we stick pretty closely to the external and +picturesque features of the Bible; we read it as a story that has come +true, and love a realistic illustration. The _bibliennes_, too, after +their fashion, sought impressions, rather than a doctrine; for what they +called “my religion” was the doctrine of others, on which they drew their +own patterns, like figure-skaters. What concerned them in the Gospel was +its philosophy.[394] They wished to profit by it on their own system, +that is, by intuition, by inspiration from on high. Faith in witchcraft +flourished more than ever, and it seemed quite natural to regard women +as the special interpreters of the unseen.[395] The bloody persecutions +of the 16th century did not succeed in uprooting the belief in witches, +who sometimes indulged in horrid midnight abominations, but who were the +more habitually consulted by people who wanted to have their fortunes +told, to have their ailments treated,[396] to obtain good weather, +etc.[397] The boundless ambition of Julius II. sprang, it was said, from +the prediction of a sorceress, who had told him to be of good cheer, +for he would obtain the tiara and world-wide sway. The witches loosed +or bound the devil at pleasure. Their power was evil, but supernatural. +People said “witch”; in some parts the word “wizard” did not even exist. +If the witch was to credulous people the incarnation of women’s special +aptitude for medicine and religion, there was a good deal of truth in the +idea, and women might well be supposed capable of exercising supernatural +power. It was fashionable to extol the ancient sibyls in the same terms +as the prophets. These celebrated beings formed the connecting link +between antiquity and Christianity; instead of doing as Julius II. +wished, and painting the twelve apostles, in other words, the active +ministers of faith, Michelangelo boldly and triumphantly displayed on +the vaulted arches of the Sistine chapel seven prophets and five sibyls, +that is, the ministers of intuition. + +Thus women substituted themselves for priests as they did for doctors, +from a horror of materialism and professionalism, from a sense of duty, +an idea of liberty, a spirit of charity, making no professions of +profound study, but with the wholesome aim of protecting the youthfulness +and beauty of their souls. Apostles of the religion of love and joy, they +addressed themselves to the miseries that befall especially those whom +the world calls happy; the unfortunate doubtless have no time to think of +their woes; it has always been much more difficult to convert the rich, +the healthy, and the young. + +The idea of the feminine priesthood very easily made headway in Italy: +“God is only seen through women.” Women addressed themselves to chosen +spirits—philosophers, writers, preachers, men of action—who wished to see +God, but were too short-sighted. In the religious as in the other arts, +every prelate of importance had one woman, if not several, behind him. +Bembo was the friend of Olympia Morata[398]—what could be more natural? +A fiery, proud, austere monk like Ochino, with his large, bloodless face +and long, shaggy white beard, hardly seemed likely to prove a grand +master in the feminine freemasonry; yet he came in the end to lean upon +a bevy of ardent women, with Caterina Cibo, one of the pope’s ladies, as +their brilliant head. The pope himself came to terms with the ladies: +Paul III. displayed his deference for them on various occasions, and +especially by a visit to Ferrara, the notable seat of a feminist council. + +Vittoria Colonna shines in the front rank of these Mothers of the Church; +she is the classical woman _par excellence_. She got up lectures at +Naples and Rome. She sustained and consoled prelates of the highest +eminence. “Since the hatred of others, the price I pay for my devotion, +has not bereft me of your Excellency’s good-will,” wrote Giberto from the +chancellery at Rome, “every other loss seems to me but a trifle. Your +Excellency can do me no more singular favour than to command me.” + +Bishop Selva wrote to Cardinal Pole: “Thanks for the copy of your letter +to the marchioness of Pescara on recent events; it is worthy of that +Christian lady.” And the good Sadoleto, writing also to Pole, said: “I +have read the letter addressed to you by the very saintly and prudent +lady the marchioness of Pescara, in which she speaks of me and appears to +approve of our staying here; it is an indescribable pleasure to me to see +my counsels approved by so much virtue and wisdom.” + +The holy passion of the marchioness for Cardinal Pole burned with a +highly mystical glow. Vittoria wrote to this beloved prelate “as the +intimate friend of the Bridegroom, who will speak to me through you, and +who calls me to Him, and whose will it is that I should converse on this +subject for my own encouragement and consolation.” + +Religious feminism acclimatised itself in France with considerable +difficulty, through the fault of the women themselves. They were +habituated to tread unswervingly the authorised paths to Paradise—fasts +and abstinences, indulgences and pardons, relics, vows and pilgrimages. +To follow in the procession of Corpus Christi among their lackeys bearing +torches emblazoned with their arms, to wash the feet of the poor on +Good Friday and hand the poor a basket of provisions, never to miss a +sermon, to have a mass said every morning at a private altar, to purchase +indulgences—that was the religion of the great ladies of France. This +religion was accused of proceeding from a somewhat mechanical severity, +and of proving nothing; and indeed there were among those old-style +ladies some who were virtuous without purity, and some who were devout +without piety. Among the middle classes it was still worse: “angels +at church, devils at home, apes in bed!” How many husbands lost their +tempers at finding dinner not ready, and learning that Madame was at +her prayers or “slobbering over images”! An old writer declares that +there is no mean with religious women; they are either sour-tempered, +peevish or disagreeable, or adulteresses. And yet the same preachers +whom we have already seen obstinately bent on preserving the dead level +of morality vaunted equally the dead level of religion; they were +desperately afraid of getting above it. They liked women to remain +little girls, incessantly tormented by infinitesimal scruples; their +narrowness of thought, their passive and minute obedience were precisely +what the preachers praised, such were the traits they pretended to admire +in the Clotildes and Theodelindes.[399] And if the Saviour after His +resurrection went first of all to knock at the gate of the Magdalene’s +garden, that boon, according to them, was motived solely by the purely +passive and docile spirit of women. At Paris, where women were said to be +deficient in high philosophy, “there were more works of charity done and +more masses said than were done or said between Paris and Rome.” However, +certain flatterers saw virtue everywhere, and went so far as to cite +Charles VIII. as an angel, and the boulevards of Paris as a sanctuary. +Such reasonings naturally ended _in statu quo_. + +At Rome the exact contrary was the case; liberty was especially rife +among the mob of functionaries, and their contempt for the easy-going +government they served was unmistakeable. Far back in the 15th century +Lorenzo Valla, to hasten his advancement, declared publicly that this +government rested on a usurpation and a lie. It was all so peaceful +and happy! More than one man, like Burckhardt, would kiss the pope’s +toe in the morning, and in the evening utter blasphemies. The dogma of +infallibility served as a shelter and defence. Just as Titian sent to +the Emperor a _Trinity_ and a _Venus_ together; or Sigismundo Malatesta +had a portrait painted showing him on his knees before madonnas; or +the irreverent Poggio destined his sons to the priesthood: so Aretino, +speaking of Saints and Venuses, lumped them all as “these ladies,” and +confessed before he died. + +Far from being disturbed by theological attacks or stale criticisms, Rome +thought of nothing but displaying her Atticism and rescuing antiquity +from its submergence by medievalism, as she had already saved it from its +submergence by the barbarians. + +The Spirit of God bloweth where it listeth![400] + +As said the father of one of the cardinals, no man was a gentleman unless +he hazarded some heresy or other. The sceptic represented by Raphael +in the _Miracle of Bolsena_ is a man of high distinction. Ideas, men, +nothing was safe from ridicule. Two cardinals were chaffing Raphael for +having, as they said, given S. Peter and S. Paul rather too ruddy a +complexion. “Bah!” retorted the painter, “they are blushing to see you +ruling the Church.” Castiglione one day asked ‘Phaedra’ Inghirami, with a +smile, why on Good Friday, when heathens and Jews, heretics and bishops +are prayed for, there is no prayer for the cardinals. “Because,” replied +Inghirami with great readiness—“because they are included in the prayer +for heretics and schismatics.” The same Castiglione found the Duke of +Urbino’s chaplain to be rather long over mass, and begged for a more +expeditious celebrant. “Impossible,” replied the chaplain, and stooping +to the ear of his critic added: “Why, man, I don’t say a third part of +the _secretae_.” + +The Lateran council in 1512 had, indeed, prescribed canon law and +theology as part of the course of study for priests. It recommended them +also to believe in the immortality of the soul. But these were only very +light fetters on liberty of thought. When Pomponazzi denied in set terms +the immortality of the soul, the Venetians, who had the logical minds +of the northern peoples, condemned his book to the flames; but Leo X. +did not even reply to the demand for his excommunication. Were there not +many like him at the Vatican? Were ceremonial and dogma spoken of much +otherwise there? The judgment we can pass on Rome is that of Talleyrand: +the man who does not know Rome does not know the sweetness of life. + +At one time Adrian VI. was anxious to restore severer modes of thought, +but his aim did not please the prelates, and Clement VI. hastened to +bring back the spirit of the Medici, a “sentimental deism,” to adopt +the apt phrase of M. d’Haussonville, and to send “the imbeciles, +the ninnies,” as Bembo called them, about their business. The pope +supported the Protestants against Charles V. He was quite willing to +hear Firenzuola, in his Benedictine’s gown, read him fragments of his +dissertations on love. Paul III. plumed himself on continuing this +charming system. Bembo became a sort of patriarch; his _Asolani_ served +as well for a religious breviary as for a philosophic formulary. + +Delightful age, in which nothing was hopelessly stranded in mediocrity! +in which the religion of beauty seemed to sum up all aspirations human +and divine, all the sanctities! + +The cardinals displayed a reasonable magnificence because princes and +lords were essential to the kingdom of God on earth. + +These were Christian prelates, charged with the duty of guiding a +somewhat pagan world. Among them we necessarily meet again the learned +doctors of love and wit—Bibbiena, for instance, his Plautus in his +pocket, always smiling, always amusing, and philosophising with gusto on +the oddities of the moment. “What folly!” is his incessant exclamation. +A priest, but one of the fashionable variety! Steeped to the lips in +mythology, and so refined, so delicate, that the naïve emotions of +a primitive Madonna leave him untouched! Wishing with his exquisite +politeness to offer a royal present to Francis I., he ordered, not a +Madonna, but a portrait of the beautiful Jeanne of Aragon. That is the +man who in the portrait of Leo X. stands near the pope’s chair as the +heart of his heart. + +And Bembo, who invokes Olympus and speaks of the supreme Beauty, how +does he regard the sacred hierarchy? He writes to Isabella d’Este that +he “desires to serve her and please her as if she were the pope.”... +“Far better to speak like Cicero than to be pope.” And he adds this +postscript: “Isabella, my dear, my dear, my dear, I kiss thee with all +my heart and soul, and beg thee to remember me, as my big, big love for +thee merits.” That was his interpretation of charity! But people were +not particularly scandalised at these youthful sallies, any more than it +occurred to them to be shocked at finding a bishop’s palace peopled with +mythological personages,[401] or the Corso, on a carnival day, gay with +masked cardinals. + +This intellectual indifference would have had graver consequences if, +knowing theology so badly as they did, the clergy had attempted to +expound it; but as a matter of fact they only scratched the surface of +dogmas; they were far too sensible to speak of things they knew nothing +about. The watchword was to render religion lovable. In what respect was +Sadoleto, for example—that Fénelon of the 16th century—a worse priest +because he was so passionately devoted to the humanities and the arts! +Take liberty away, and the degeneracy of Catholic countries was assured. + +To-day everything is changed; if Leo X. or Bembo returned to the world, +they would be utterly nonplussed by the complete alteration that has +taken place. It is in Germany, among their whilom adversaries, that they +would recognise the doctrine dear to them, and a freedom of mind that +allows a man to call himself a Christian though rejecting the divinity of +Jesus Christ. To many present-day Germans, the kingdom of God stands for +the whole community of those who believe in the principle of love. God +is love: the kingdom of God—that is, a state in which everyone’s actions +would be prompted by love—is the final end of God, and at the same +time the most universal moral ideal, the sum and crown of morality and +religion. Singularly enough, people are apt to imagine—not, of course, +that the founders of the Reformation professed this doctrine (the mistake +would be too glaring), but—that they opened the door, cut the first notch +in the tree, by starting the private reading of the Scriptures. Thus +Protestant orthodoxy, which holds by a priestly and quasi-infallible +tradition, would appear as a pseudo-catholicism, whilst liberal +Protestantism, which pushes forward with open mind in a boundless field +of thought, would represent the logical outcome of the work of Luther and +Calvin. + +On the other hand, it is believed by some that the armour of authority, +the spirit of narrowness and officialism sometimes adopted by +Catholicism since the struggles of the 16th and 18th centuries, are +indispensable to it, and that the Reformation was calculated to rid it of +that spirit. + +On the contrary, it was at Rome that liberal ideas with the utmost +audacity secured a footing. They were vanquished, it is true, and +disappeared; but if Luther and Calvin had the glory of defeating them, +time in its turn has brought in its revenges, and, of Luther as of +Calvin, there is very little now remaining. + +The liberal Protestantism of the present day is the antithesis of the +primitive spirit of the Reformation. + +The Reformation had political and social sides, of which this is not +the place to speak; in matters religious, the reformers felt a need of +disciplinary reorganisation, very natural, but not peculiar to them; +but their essential aim was to create a reaction against free thought, +to return as far as possible towards the Middle Ages, to rescue the +world from the Roman idealism, which was the work of prelates and women, +and had sunk into an intellectual dilettantism. Old Germany desired +matter-of-fact, or at any rate well-advertised virtues, a quasi-military +pietism, and theological reasoning. It revolted against life in the +sunlight. + +Frenchwomen were not thwarted by their husbands in regard to their +patronage of the aesthetic cult, as they were in matters of morality. +The majority of men professed a benevolent scepticism, which made them +what we call “moderates,” that is, not warm partisans of moderate ideas, +but moderate or even negative partisans of any idea whatever; and +consequently they were open to any sort of impulsion, even from women. +Montaigne wanted but one thing to make him a mystic—namely, mysticism: +and the Montaignes are legion; only we do not come across them; in their +characters of moderates they keep in the shade. + +In this case the obstructors were the clergy, the mass of whom in France, +as in England or Germany, made common cause with the nation, instead of +the nation making common cause with them, as at Rome. They possessed +about a fifth part of the land, and found themselves tied to it. The +village parson, sprung from the soil, and presented to a benefice on +leaving school, did his duty there without hope of advancement, in the +same spirit that the lord performed his feudal duties—rather like a +superior farm-hand, much less accomplished in theology or in platonism +than in mixing a sauce for a choice carp, or in roasting to a turn the +pullet he brought home under his arm on his return from administering the +last rites to a dying parishioner; a jolly good fellow, and a capital +gossip, but as far from a mystic movement or a crusade on behalf of the +ideal as the poles. If there was to be a Reformation, the only one that +would have struck him as useful would have been to authorise him to +marry; and French statesmen, although very good Catholics, were very much +of the same opinion. Obviously it was still more impossible to depend, +for upholders of the ideal, on a mob of artisans, tradesmen, peasants +even, highly practical people, who had got their poles shaven in order to +come under the jurisdiction of the church courts, and who, though clerks +only in name, still helped to root the Church among the people. + +To meddle with this obscure and doltish mass with the idea of implanting +in it the germ of the beautiful was the last thing women would have +thought of. + +There remained the world of distinguished abbés, the higher clergy, the +court prelates; but, as benefices served to reward merit of the most +various kinds rather than to encourage a philosophic system, the upper +ranks of the French clergy showed a curious mixture—eminent priests, +venerable monks, younger sons or merrybegots of great nobles, professors, +judges, men of letters. No one who did not know would ever have suspected +that Melin de Saint-Gelais was an abbé. + +Fausto Andrelini was not at all ashamed to publish a letter to his +mistress side by side with an address to the Cardinal of Amboise, in +which he solicited ecclesiastical preferment. + +The _bibliennes_ put themselves at the head of this motley crew of +great churchmen; they were “clergywomen,” as someone satirically said, +and formed the new priesthood, the Salvation Army of that time. Their +simple ambition was to raise these men, these priests, by one stroke +of their pinions, into the empyrean, as in Italy. Convinced doubtless +that—to adopt the phrase of a distinguished lady—“the law of sex and its +pious mysteries lead to great sanctity,” they saw shining in the supreme +light various groups united by sympathy and tenderness—old St. Jerome +sustained by young Paula, Francis of Assisi by sweet Clara; following +their example, Francis de Sales and Jeanne de Chantal, Vincent de Paul +and Louise de Marillac were going to lend each other mutual support, +obedient to the eternal law—to say nothing of innumerable holy maidens +who were lovers of Christ “in His sacred humanity,” like St. Theresa, or +who encircled their finger with the ring of a mystic marriage, as Jeanne +de France did when founding the Annunciade.[402] Faith must needs become +love and diffuse a thrilling charm:[403] the priest must cease to fancy +himself a policeman. How many poor souls, athirst for love, have fallen +very low simply from want of an ideal! There are sick ones who might +become artists in sensibility! Women stretch out beseeching hands to God, +that He may help them to regard life with confidence, with joy, with love. + +Margaret of France was, in the highest degree, one of these French +_bibliennes_, no debater and indeed sceptical as to the existence +of absolute truth and goodness in this world, but a woman of quick +intuitions and contemplative mind. She had faith; she believed in the +sacraments,[404] and did not deny purgatory; she in no manner sought with +the ladders of reasoning to scale the verities that tower far above our +reach; she preferred to take to herself wings and fly aloft. Men appeared +to her so petty, so feeble, such ants, that a few merits more or less on +their part were but insignificant stages in the long road between them +and perfect goodness; she represented God to herself as pure kindliness, +indulgence and love, wherefore it was necessary to fly towards him on +wings of love. She clung to St. Catherine of Sienna, not as a theologian, +but because “nothing but love was her argument.” + +This simple explanation of their principles will clearly show in which +species of clergy the women would seek their allies; they loved those +who loved them. They did not appreciate the courtier bishop who played +the hunter or the warrior. Their friends were the scholarly prelates; +they knew well that platonic love had little hold, alas! on the brilliant +youth of France, and that divine love would not easily subdue them; yet +by dint of tenderness they did not despair of success. The protonotary +D’Anthe fell sick, and Margaret at once sent him the following +prescription—a decoction of “pleasant recollections and sure hope of +love,” a little “powder of laughter,” a drop of “true felicity,” an +extract of “apple of love,” in short, remedies not in the least heroic. +The gay Bandello’s cure was effected with a rich bishopric, that of Agen. + +Grave charges have often been brought against this combination of piety +and love, and naturally, anyone who does not understand platonism +will see a multitude of more or less deplorable _arrière-pensées_ in +these “spiritual gallantries.” In the 17th century indeed the grave +Nicolle[405] found a happy phrase to describe ecclesiastics who dangled +about the petticoats; he calls them “half-married priests.” “Marriage” +would be an inept name for the unions of which we speak. It is very +natural, surely, that women of feeling should seek their friends and +fellow-workers among feeling souls! Besides, experience proves that you +can do nothing with reasoners except by force; only the sensitive are +converted; only St. Augustines have capabilities for good. + +The practical programme of the women consisted first of all in their +attaching an extreme value to the development of the sensuous elements +in worship; the severity of the Reformers, crudeness and bareness of +ceremonial, could never attract them; they loved pomp and decorum. +Religion to them was the very essence of art; art in becoming elevated +shaded off into religion; only the inexplicable thrill of the awakening +aesthetic sense can waft the soul from the expressed to the unexpressed. +Pleasure is not the end of art; it is only its vehicle. The end of art is +God. + + Eglises viz, s’écrie Marguerite, belles, riches, anticques, + Tables d’autelz fort couvertes d’ymaiges + D’or et d’argent.... + Je prins plaisir d’ouyr ces chants nouveaulx, + De veoir ardans cierges et flambeaulx, + D’ouyr le son des cloches hault sonnantes + Et par leur bruyt oreilles estonnantes: + C’est paradis icy, me dis-je alors....[406] + +One Good Friday, at Brionne, a Norman châtelaine was highly scandalised +at the fantastic manner in which the parson rendered the Litany of the +Passion; and on leaving the church, she sent for him and the following +dialogue ensued: “My dear sir, I don’t know where you learnt to officiate +on such a day as this, when people should be in the depths of humility; +but to hear you render the service, all our devotional thoughts have been +put to flight.” “What do you mean, Madam?” said the parson. “Mean! you +have sung the Passion all the wrong way. When our Lord speaks, you bawl +as if you were in a market; and when ’tis Caiaphas speaking, or Pilate, +or the Jews, you speak as gently as any blushing bride. A fine sort of +parson! If you had your deserts, you’d be unfrocked!” The parson wriggled +out of the difficulty like a true Norman, with a gibe at the Jews: “My +dear lady, I wanted to show that with me Christ is master and the Jews +are subject to Him.”[407] + +A sort of external sensuousness in worship, therefore, formed an integral +part of the feminist religion. As to the substance of that religion, it +varied according to the women, and even according to the days, for it was +a matter of impressions. + +It was fed principally by the reading of the Scriptures. + +It is a common error to believe that Luther’s great reform consisted in +inculcating the direct and free reading of the Scriptures. The study of +the Bible was, one may say, carried to excess among Catholic women. Vivès +went so far as to make it one of his principal rules for the education +of young girls.[408] And some people even vigorously protested against +the abuse of such reading. Before Luther’s time, about 1504, the French +satirist Gringoire, as well as certain preachers, denounced it as a +positive scourge.[409] Later, Brantôme waxed indignant at seeing the +Bible in the hands of children, and Montaigne at finding it discussed at +street corners or in back-shops. + +But the women in their turn were irritated at the attempts to curb their +zeal. These criticisms of men recalled to them that contemptible sneak +Adam, who made excuses for himself and shuffled on to his wife the +responsibilities of their common thirst for knowledge. + +Was their imagination distrusted? they asked. Were they thought incapable +of distinguishing between “ancient rubbish and modern trash”? They +found in the Old Testament rare beauties, to be sure, but they were +very far from admiring everything blindly—the exploits of some of the +patriarchs—the inconsistencies even of the Deity himself, who forbids +slaughter and yet slew! No, no, the Bible is not the book of love; it +is the first of books, but one mustn’t go there to find the secret of +“changing all strifes into sovereign charity.” + +The Old Testament pleased the friends of the religion of +terror—Savonarola, and some French ladies of the old style, devout and +mystical at certain moments, but in reality highly materialistic in their +tastes and their practical ideas. + +Others criticised the Bible as they did everything else. In the Bible, +as in other things, what struck them most was the light it threw on +life. An artist stops before a landscape, not to analyse the chemical +action of the trees, or to discourse on the species of grasses, but to +seize the charm of an effect of light, of a picturesque undulation of +the ether; at another time, when the light falls differently, the very +same landscape would not even attract his attention, because its garb +would be less striking. We do not well understand the synthetic religion +of these women, we men of “fluid and curt speech,” habituated to analyse +everything with mathematical precision—and not to look for grand opera at +St. Paul’s. The practised eye of a Renaissance princess allowed itself +to be caressed by tints, while our own seeks geometrical outlines. For +the Italians and their friends to love was to pray:[410] so that in the +_Heptameron_ conversations half philosophic, half ribald, come naturally +between mass and vespers, and Louise of Savoy mingles with them a feeling +homily, or reads a passage from St. John, “meat so tender ... full of +love.”[411] + +The reader will understand how difficult it is to state with any +exactitude the developments of such a doctrine; they were different with +different people, and are to be felt rather than explained. We have not +to do here with students shut up in a smoke-filled hall to construct +their theses; it is a question of ladies, very great ladies, habituated +to the most perfect liberty of action, and permitted by their rank and +intelligence to hold direct communion with God, by vision, by intuition +of love. They are recognisable by this characteristic. In her work the +_Adoration of the Magi_ (a subject well worthy of her pen) Margaret +of France gives us her formula: “To initiate oneself into the divine +verities, first by philosophy, then by intuition, then by inspiration.” +Do not mistake, this is not illuminism or pride: it is simply candour. +These noble ladies do not grudge their pity to human misery, though +the sight of wretchedness is shocking to their nerves; but they set +themselves high above these miseries, just as they do above discussion. +Their religion is distinguished. They live on sovereign heights, where +they have no trouble from men and are in touch with their goal. God is +the first link in a chain, and man the last. As Gerbert said: “In matters +of action, mankind holds the first place: in pure speculation, God comes +first.” It is meet to follow God rather than man. And those who are +able to mount high are compelled by conscience to go to the fount and +origin of things, and look ideas square in the face. In this respect the +truly primitive women of the 16th century are sharply distinguished from +their daughters of the 18th, whom it is natural to compare to them. The +exquisite and delightful woman of the 18th century was very superficial: +she loved life and the world for their own sake. A few hours before she +died Madame Geoffrin,[412] hearing at her bedside a discussion on the +best means of securing general happiness, roused herself once more to +exclaim: “Add the diligent quest of pleasure, a thing not sufficiently +attended to.” A profound and true saying, remarks D’Alembert, and one +that Plato himself might have envied. The 16th-century women had a less +sparkling wit, but a much more strongly marked temperament. They were +concerned only with brotherly love, and instinctively recoiled from +intolerance in any form; they wished to fuse the church with the ideal; +to them every idealist was religious; but they also carried into the +world the pursuit of this high aim of their aesthetic religion—to live +for the soul, for God, to live a secret inward life along with the actual +life. We may justly praise their piety, their charity towards the poor; +and yet they were a mixture: external observances were repugnant to them +as being material and obligatory; they loved the large philosophical +faith, God and His works. + +Here there is more than ever reason to speak of a “stork-love.” What +platonism had attempted, religious idealism effected—the superposition +of two different worlds. It was vain to expect these great ladies to +throw any ardour into terrestrial controversies: Renée of France made her +protégé Richardot a Calvinist or a Catholic bishop, indifferently. The +material mechanism of divine grace appeared to them to have been devised +for the vulgar, and to be of a quite relative truth. They did not see why +the delicate ray of grace, the impalpable word of consolation, before it +could penetrate into the dark haunts of wretchedness, should necessarily +have to borrow the form of a bearded monk or an unkempt parson splashed +to the chin. They would rather hear with their own ears that still small +voice which said to St. Theresa: “I will not henceforth that ye commune +with men, but only with angels.” + +Priests were men appointed to the service of the Church, and not +demi-gods. Some were pleasant and cultured, just as there were excellent +abbesses; but to spend one’s life in the vestries, or not to be able +to move a finger without referring to one’s clergyman, struck Margaret +as sheer insanity. For herself, she would rather talk with a sceptic +or a clever atheist than with a vulgar parson, because after all the +atheist would aid her to accomplish her end, namely, to draw near to God +through the Beautiful. Nothing was more natural than to love God and +abase oneself in deed and in truth before Him, God being intelligence and +King of kings; but what was the good of intermediaries, often so gross? +Clément Marot, who saw through Margaret with wonderful acumen, defines +her as “woman in body, man in heart, angel in head.” The friends of +the princess declare that “from the age of fifteen she seemed directly +inspired by the spirit of God, in eyes and features, in gait and speech, +in all her actions.” + +The Bishop of Meaux assures her that by reading a translation of the +Gospels he offers her she will be as a holy apostle and will receive +directly the Spirit of God, just as well, he adds, “as when we” (that is, +the common herd) “receive Him in the Eucharist.” + +Thus the women aimed at being angels and the word of God. In this lofty +mysticism, they exhibited a striking contrast to the easygoing and +lukewarm Catholicism of the mob. + +Some of their writings permit us to recognise how, little by little, this +great religious work was accomplished in their emotional life. + +Vittoria Colonna has left us the type of the final prayer of the +Renaissance: a petition for peace and happiness in this world and the +next.[413] It is an aspiration, a strain of sweet and tender music, +a melody of Gounod, rather than a doctrine: it is the result of the +co-operation of souls in one common striving toward the most perfect joys. + +We have under our eyes the works of three Frenchwomen who, though +contemporaries, show us the progressive stages of this co-operation. + +The first, Gabrielle de Bourbon, Dame de la Trémoille, still preserves +in her _Château_, “a feminine work,” as she says, a character of +morality rather than art. The spirit which will renew everything, chisel +everything, which is gaily to open doors and windows, has not yet come +by. Within, no doubt, there are ravishing delights—apostolic visions, +prophets and sibyls on the vaulted arches as at the Sistine; angel’s food +distributed amidst a floating radiance of light! But all is regular, +inflexible, and severe; the contemplative heart has begun by employing +the besom of discipline. + +And externally this castle of the Christian soul, somewhat resembling the +Alhambra, shows a rugged and bristling front. Love fires the cannon on +the ramparts, whilst Inspiration surveys the country round, and in the +tiny garden of Felicity where flows the stream of Pity, good souls gather +exquisite white flowers, luscious fruits, and leafy branches. + +In another work, the _Spiritual Journey_, a story of the adventures of +a soul wandering upon the earth, Gabrielle undisguisedly raises her +standard against the new divinities—Presumption who loves flowery paths; +Self-love, hostile to terrible dogmas; Vain-glory, uncommonly like +Margaret of France. Poverty and Virginity are still her friends, and she +gives a naïve, heart-breaking, monstrous description of the world—a giant +with innumerable hands, each quivering tentacle of which, at odds with +the rest, brandishes some weapon, a book or a sword. Charity defeats this +monster, Faith triumphs. Gabrielle de Bourbon, as she herself said, wrote +for the simple; she did not plume herself on “understanding Holy Writ.” + +But ere long comes a genuine noblewoman, Catherine d’Amboise, lady of +Beaujeu, who in her _Devout Epistles_ utters this loyal cry: + + J’ay transgressé tous les commandemens ... + Pour abréger, aucun je n’en excepte.[414] + +She has only one noble thing left to her—her heart; and that she offers +to God. Then follow effusions in a lofty strain, full of antiquity, +biblical allusions, “sibyl songs,” a plea for mercy and love; and Christ +puts on her finger the ring of peace, benediction, and remission of sins; +He becomes her spouse and lover, and for guardian gives her an angel. +With Catherine d’Amboise we win to a wondrous pleasant and aristocratic +paradise, composed of “fair manors and castles.” To the 15th-century +woman has succeeded the _biblienne_. + +Margaret gives the last upward impulse above the anonymous and often +ill-thought-out work of the crowd: to prove her independence, she adopts +an abstract and lofty aim. + +Not that everything is admirable or even comprehensible in her mystical +works. Her correspondence with Briçonnet, where, in interminable +letters of eighty or a hundred pages, she twaddles about “confection of +tribulations,” “old skins” of the spirit; various writings of hers—_The +Mirror of the Sinful Soul_, the _Strife between Flesh and Spirit_, the +_Orison to Jesus Christ_, the _Orison of the Faithful Soul_—these are +very curious, precisely as types of incomprehensibility and the despair +of reason. They do not evidence a very placid psychology: “Worse than +dead, worse than sick”—such is the author, according to her mottoes; +there were days when she hated doctrine of any kind, the Bible, the +Gospels included.[415] + +She learnt the death of her brother intuitively, in a dream. From that +time the world crushed her; mystics know that thus “the incorporate soul +makes her course for the port of salvation.” Margaret’s mysticism became +a blind infatuation,[416] a drunkenness of love, in which divine and +human elements were commingled,[417] and which manifestly had for object +to banish from sight many of the miseries of life. + +It is in the book entitled _The Triumph of the Lamb_ that we see best +delineated the Christ of her heart, her divine Saviour and emancipator, +shedding a radiance above the grimy factory of life. Death itself becomes +lovely, and, like a “courteous friend,” opens the gates of heaven to +well-nigh all mankind.[418] + +Mankind has a right to clemency, unstinted, immeasurable; in fashioning +us of a somewhat coarse clay, Heaven did not mean to make us all unhappy. +Margaret has a horror of death.[419] But Love reassures her, helps her +to pierce the mystery. Not as an avenger, but as a lamb will Christ +render justice at the Judgment Day. Men were complaining of the facility +of indulgences; Margaret settles the question off-hand; she proposes a +general pardon. + +Of mysticism, as well as of love, there were already innumerable +varieties known. Perugino, Averulino,[420] the preachers of the royalty +of Christ, St. Bernardin of Sienna, Savonarola, and many another, +carried on the great traditions of Italy. France too, though more +stubborn, had her mystics, especially at Rouen and in Picardy, where the +palinodists,[421] elects souls, magistrates, municipal counsellors, had +long been singing praise to the Virgin and reviling the body: + + La chair, quoy? nourriture mortelle! + L’esprit d’amour nourrit le cueur fidèle![422] + +These palinodists were men of intelligence and ardour. Asking nothing of +the clergy, whom they riddled with pungent epigrams, they had recourse to +worldly means to spread their ideas, such as competitions and dramatic +performances. They resembled the women in their excessive cult of the +intellect, their unceasing itch for writing and speaking, their taste for +mystery and incognito. It was the same in regard to their impressions: +they desired to bring into relief the true life of Christ, that is, +the mystic and inward life which they held the rude apostles to have +overmuch neglected. Assuredly theirs was a noble aim. Margaret was on +excellent terms with the palinodists. Yet the mysticism of platonism was +different, implying a much more general abstraction: it mistrusted the +senses, the material form, desirous of seeing the reality of things, +the essence of God. Among the prelates it gave rise to that exquisite +academy of devotion and prayer, the Oratory of the Divine Love, which met +at Rome in the church of SS. Silvester and Dorothea Transtevera during +the pontificate of Leo X., and which numbered among its members sixty +priests and prelates, Sadoleto being one of the chief. They gave all +their thoughts to the reformation of morals, and among them prayer rose +delicately to Heaven, like those wreaths of fire the Bible shows us on +altars pleasing to the Lord. + +Feminine mysticism was broader: its aim was to develop happiness, in +other words, to lead us to the summit of an ideal world, full of love +and purity. Love, having lost the egotistic and licentious character +without which the French mind refused to understand it, having become an +aspiration for the French as well as for the idealist races, represented +the very substance of the world; it was divine and eternal; it gathered +up all things, even men, into the heart of God. The Gospel was only the +practical expression of this high natural law, of which the pagans long +ago had caught glimpses, and to which Seneca ventured darkly to allude +when he wrote, “When, tell me, will you love one another?” The Gospel +was the sum and crown of human wisdom. Hence Erasmus wished to canonise +Virgil, and to add to the Litany a new response—“St. Socrates, pray for +us.” Plato was quoted in the pulpit; Anne of France, who was orthodoxy +itself, took pains to mingle the philosophers with the Fathers. Trajan +was regarded as a model; Louis XII. and Guevara, the tutor of Charles V., +lived on the maxims of Marcus Aurelius. + +They aimed at a sort of natural mysticism, the object of which would be +to express the essence of mundane things. “It is God,” said Rivio,[423] +“who giveth to the sky its splendours, to the trees their shade, to the +cheering vines their clusters and fruit. It is He who clotheth the earth +with fruitful crops, who causeth the trees to bud and the crystal streams +to gush forth, who covereth the meadows with a carpet. Wherefore to hunt +and fish and reap, to fulfil all the conditions of life,—this is to be a +Christian.” + +No one had any bent towards naturalism, or imagined that everything that +is natural should be regarded as good or beautiful; on the contrary, men +wished to elevate and improve Nature, even to excess. Your vineyard, say, +always yields bad wine; M. Zola would tell you to drink it, Rousseau to +drink water: but these folk of the Renaissance would tell you to distil +it into brandy. From Nature they wished to borrow certain quasi-mystical +powers which exist in her in force. Hence this mysticism did not, like +that of St. Theresa, lead to the deliberate rejection of all earthly +satisfactions, to the adoration of death, suffering and humiliation. +_Carpe diem_ was their motto, as it was of Horace and Lorenzo de’ Medici. +They left to Albert Dürer and other Germanic artists the monopoly of +dances of death and maidens carried off in the arms of skeletons. + +“For loss of servitors we need not despair, for many others are to be +had”: so spoke the fair ladies, not out of indifference, but out of fear +lest the mournful idea should trouble their hearts: for “there is none +of us, if she regards her loss, but has occasion for deep sorrow.”[424] +When we ask history or romance or the drama to carry us for a time out of +ourselves, do not we too seek, in reality, the satisfaction of forgetting +death—perchance, of forgetting life? + +That was the very human root of this mysticism. In turning back to the +page of love, no one wished to feel under the fingers the page of death. +Far from forgetting life, they affirmed it: the secret of life was life +itself. They mocked at death. A skeleton at the feast, a spectre at the +ball, were subjects for laughter. Like Boccaccio, Machiavelli sets his +gayest stories in a horrible framework of pestilence; rich folk laugh +and make love under cool leafy shades; and their excuse is that, but a +few paces off, death is grinning at them. Such is the key to this novel +mysticism. It is a tragic dance of fragilities; but the dancers see +nothing fragile. They forge for themselves an artificial weapon, they +prefer beauty to truth. + +It followed from the same ideas that they held direct communion with +God. The tender worship of the Virgin, fallen a little out of use, no +longer throve except stealthily in a corner, like the beautiful plant +which the Flemish painters loved to represent in a crystal vase.[425] +Communication with heaven was opened by means of conspicuous semaphores, +though these unhappily were irregular and far apart. St. Theresa, like +a genuine freelance, might speak of storming heaven, and carrying its +successive redoubts one by one; but the philosophic idea was different—a +simple canter in a friendly country. On some beautiful day in May, when +Nature, overflowing with love, scatters her gifts in careless profusion, +a certain Knight, Beau-Doulx by name, sets off among the flowery meadows +to conquer this “noble and delectable castle of Love,” all sapphires and +emeralds from base to turret. He bears with him no cannon, no scaling +ladders. Arrived beneath the walls, he sinks on his knees and declares +his love. That is all. That is “the realm of Paradise, wherein is love +divine.” + +Nature hails God in us, and reveals God to us. The song that rises +from the sea soars even to the stars; the luxuriant warmth of the air +is a symbol of mercy. Such a temple was better loved than the frantic +mysticism of certain northern cathedrals. As for the rites of this +worship, they were those of platonism. Salvatorio wrote a _Treasury +of Holy Scripture after the Poems of Petrarch_: Fra Feliciano Umbruno +offered to the ladies of Rome a _Dialogue on the sweet death of Jesus +Christ_, this too inspired by Petrarch. Fra Malipiero presented the +famous _Spiritual Petrarch_, which appeared at Venice in 1536 and ran +into the tenth edition. The spiritualisation of sonnets was effected +easily enough: but anyone who wished to amend the _canzoni_ and +miscellaneous poems had a troublesome task. + +The religion of love found an incomparable interpreter in Correggio. +Correggio is _the_ painter of women. How wonderfully he translates their +dream of love and confidence, in harmony with the code of aesthetic +Christianity! In his _Saint Jerome_, the Virgin is beautiful to look +upon, of a human, piquant, smiling beauty; but the whole effect of the +picture is derived from the face of the Magdalene, and her intensely +caressing attitude: it is the apotheosis of the caress! Never, perhaps, +has love all-embracing, soft as velvet, been so warmly expressed: prayer, +passion, all is cast into the shade by this contemplation of pure love, +this contact, enchanting, radiant, of two beings united by a magnetic +tenderness. The child Jesus has behind Him an angel representing heaven; +before Him St. Jerome holds an open book; but He turns about, bestowing +His gracious smile upon the Magdalene, whom He prefers to all human +learning because she is Love. + +At the Louvre, too, the _Mystic Marriage_ fills one’s heart with a +golden, sunny vision. “It is impossible,” says Vasari, “to see more +beautiful hair, lovelier hands, a more natural and charming colouring.” +In this ardent “conversation” life seems to be suspended: “The will +is changed to love, the memory appears to have vanished, and the +understanding has ceased to act.” + +Devotion is often accused of being tiresome. It is true that God has +no revelation to make to Himself; He is the immortality of the known. +The women who lived on such lofty ideas readily assumed a profound and +pensive air, an expression of intelligence and trenchancy rather than +tenderness. Like the wounded soldier at Austerlitz of whom Tolstoï +speaks, they awoke in the vast silence of the night, alone with the clear +bright stars. + +Where men would have brought their pride, women brought their sweetness. +Their language was a little involved and “precious.” + +Yet we can see from the correspondence of Margaret of France and Vittoria +Colonna, how sincerely they thought themselves happy. These two ladies +never saw each other. Vittoria writes that while awaiting the infinite +happiness of a meeting, she ventures to reply to the “high and religious” +words of the princess, so as to act as balance-weight to that celestial +timepiece. “In our day, the long and difficult journey of life compels +us to have a guide; it seems to me that everyone can find in his own sex +the most appropriate models.... I turned towards the illustrious ladies +of Italy to find examples for imitation, and though I saw many virtuous +among them ... yet one woman alone, and she not in Italy, seemed to me +to unite the perfections of the will with those of the intellect; but +she was so high placed and so far away that my heart was filled with the +gloom and fear of the Hebrews when they perceived the fire and glory +of God on the mountain-top, and durst not draw near because of their +imperfection.” + +In this first letter the marchioness contents herself with glorifying the +humility and charitableness of her noble correspondent, whose daughter +she humbly calls herself, or better, her John Baptist, her Forerunner: +these personal compliments always play an important part in feminine +diplomacy, full of splendid courtesy. She speaks of her group of friends; +she often enjoys, she adds, the conversation of Pole, who “is always in +the heavens, and only descends to earth to do service to others,” and +that of Bembo, one of the labourers of the eleventh hour, perhaps, but +eminently worthy, by reason of his ardour, of the wages of the first; and +all these friends of hers unite in contemplating from afar this queen of +gems, so rich in radiance that she enriches others. + +In another letter Vittoria grapples more closely with the burning +questions of the day. She affirms her respect for reason, but she prefers +religion, “the supreme perfection of our soul,” the perfect beauty. For +the better unfolding of her theme she encloses a copy of her sonnets. + +This copy, though addressed to the sister of the king, was intercepted +in the post by order of the Constable de Montmorency. Whether he read +the sonnets or not is very doubtful; in any case he judged them to be +pernicious stuff, and seized the opportunity of indulging in the luxury +of an explosion. He only gave up the book after a stormy scene at the +king’s table. + +Vergerio,[426] the amiable prelate who was the pope’s nuncio in France, +had great difficulty also in meeting Margaret. How ample was his reward +when he succeeded! His first audience, which lasted not less than four +hours, seemed to him far too short to satisfy his “spiritual enthusiasm.” +He lost not a moment in committing to paper all that had been said, in +order to show to what altitudes of Grace and divine Love “mounts the +spirit of the queen.” But how was it possible to transfer to paper so +much spontaneous eloquence, so much fervour, so potent a charm?... It was +not a very comfortable conversation. Margaret could speak no language +but French, and as Vergerio was hardly at home in it, she spelt out her +words, so to speak, mingling with them as much Latin and Italian as she +could. For all this, when Vergerio took his leave, in his ravishment he +fancied he saw the glaciers of the human heart melting under the hot +beams of faith, and breathed the wonderful breath of God. Whence came +this miracle? “Praise be to Jesus Christ, who in our troublous times +hath raised up such intelligences—here the queen of Navarre, of whom I +speak; at Ferrara the lady Renée of France; at Urbino the lady Leonora +Gonzaga,[427] both of whom I have seen here, with whom I conversed for +several hours, and who seemed to me endowed with eminently lofty minds, +filled with charity, all on fire with Christ; at Rome the lady Vittoria +Colonna—to speak of none but your own sex.” And he repeats that the +thorns in the Saviour’s vine are fast disappearing; thanks to women, he +sees the radiance of light and peace. + +Vergerio continued to converse with the queen of Navarre with +ever-renewed joy. One is almost ashamed to transcribe with a cold pen +phrases so ardently trustful and palpitating: “I have in sooth no greater +wealth, no greater consolation than this queen; she has words of infinite +warmth, and marvellous means for uplifting to the service of God hearts +that are cold and dead. It happens that for eighteen days I did not +appear at court, but dwelt in sweet retirement, busy cultivating my soul +and sowing within myself the word of God. Then went I where the queen’s +glowing charity was found, and I felt that she caused the seed to spring +up and wax strong and bring forth fruit, in other words the knowledge of +God and the fervent desire to serve Him, and Him alone.” + +Such were these lofty spirits, so enthusiastic for the beautiful. They +lived on poetry in a sphere apart, cheering one another, mutually calmed +and comforted; it was after her interviews with Vergerio that Margaret +declared herself a platonist and shook off the yoke of the court. No one +hoped, of course, that the whole world would chime in tune; they well +knew that when these abstractions filtered down to the mob they would +become materialised, and love itself would ofttimes become tainted. +But was it not a beautiful thing to sow love broadcast with no hope of +reaping, and to go forth like angels of God to pour a little dew on the +parched ground? + +This was not destined to prevent the wars and massacres of the 16th +century; but a glance at the map will show that Catholicism triumphed +in the countries where women triumphed; fog and beer and men turned +Protestant. + +Further, these ideas, crushed as people fancied them, reappeared by +degrees everywhere, as from the effect of a resistless germination. From +them sprang the 18th century; with them our own age also, for all its +matter-of-fact bent, is still entirely impregnated. + +And Sadoleto the friend of Melanchthon, the liberal-minded Contarini, +the amiable Reginald Pole so much influenced by Vittoria Colonna, +Flaminio,[428] Vergerio, would all smile at certain reconciliatory +schemes of to-day. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE (_Continued_) + + +“I would a thousand times rather believe in and pursue an ideal, even +though too high, than miss or betray it,” said Montalembert. Many persons +in the 16th century were of a different opinion. They deemed aesthetic +religion too frivolous or too worldly a thing, above all, too chimerical. +The adversaries of the religion of beauty split up into two categories: +some opposed it from reasoned conviction, others from social jealousy and +incompatibility of temper. + +The first, of whom Alberto Pio[429] and Budé,[430] eminent and estimable +men, may serve as specimens, scouted the very idea of any connection +between philosophy and religion, between aesthetics and morals; in their +opinion religion did not tend to satisfy the reason, nor beauty to purify +the conduct. The suggested reconciliation was to them an ill-disguised +reversion to paganism, and in practice led to scandals like the +representation of Machiavelli’s _Mandragora_[431] at the Vatican. + +As we have seen, persons of this same opinion had already demonstrated +the irrationality and inadequacy of reasoning; they had thereby relieved +the world of a serious embarrassment; sensibility was henceforth to be +the sole guide of life. But now we find others wishing to destroy this +sensibility also, and to strip us of everything. At the idea that love is +born of beauty such people veil their faces, and beg us to take away this +thing they cannot bear to look upon, that is neither moral nor religious! + +Assuredly it is impossible to commend everything in the Roman movement. +Far from it! There is only too large a scope for criticism. Aestheticism +was carried too far: it was, for example, a singularly wild notion to +consider the building of St. Peter’s at Rome a social necessity of the +first importance, and to sacrifice a part of the Catholic world to the +desire of completing the Vatican. Antiquity, to be sure, evoked a quite +exclusive enthusiasm, and it was singular to see the headquarters of +Christianity going crazy about Pomponius Laetus, calling him “the glory +of the age,” “Caesar,” because he was unearthing pagan catacombs. Not +that mythology, as then cultivated, aimed at bringing back a real, +lively faith in the Olympian deities! Isis, Apollo, Venus, on the walls +of the Vatican or the churches, stood only for symbols and types of +philosophy: Jean Bouchet very happily styled them “the aristocracy of +the world.” Men thought, with Plato, that the beauty of things can only +be gauged by comparing them with an eternal type; as Margaret of France +said: “The Beautiful is seen in all forms of beauty.” Further, morality, +without divorcing itself officially from Christianity, sometimes was +pretty completely disjoined from it; to many people virtue consisted in +wearing a good coat and keeping up a good style. Montaigne, Aretino, and +Benvenuto Cellini, for example, passed for virtuous men. + +To protest against this paganism was a right and proper thing. But was +it necessary to forbid Christianity to secure a rational appreciation, +and even to win our love by working upon our emotions? An ineradicable +instinct prompted the Latin races to believe through love; “Italy will be +un-christianised, not Calvinised,” as Azeglio admirably said. To invest +worship with mundane pomp and circumstance is as profoundly human an idea +as it is to keep the clock at a railway station a few minutes behind time. + +The Middle Ages, however, kept strict time: materialistic as they +were, they erected cathedrals, the baser instincts avenging themselves +by affixing to the cornices, or even to the porches, in full view, +ornamental details cynically human. The Renaissance, for all its +mysticism, was not partial to the dim religious light, or the mysteries +shadowed in lofty arches far out of eyeshot; it loved clearness, +daylight, illumination. It built only châteaux, even to the glory of God. +St. Peter’s at Rome is a château; the eye detects nothing abnormal in it; +and there man feels himself at home. + +It was thus with the religion of prelates and women. It was lofty, +sometimes loftier than Gothic arches, but so broad, so clear, so full of +unity, of so human a hospitality that no one felt he had to do with the +unknown, the unfathomable. It was a reflection of life itself, but with +added brilliance and decoration; it aimed at attracting man, when he had +performed his material functions in eating, drinking, loving his wife, +to a banquet of spiritual fare and spiritual love. We look to women to +quicken our perception. In spiritual concerns the parts are reversed. + +Now, men spent their lives in an atmosphere of materialism and unbridled +sensuality. Melin de Saint-Gelais declared nudities “heavenly objects, +worthy of altars.”[432] Coyness was unknown. “Happy the people who have +only God to deal with,” cries a young lady: “with men it is enough to +save appearances.”[433] In the view of many, morality found only an +insufficient sanction in religion; the third Margaret of France wrote, +with a modesty unhappily too well justified: “Some consider that God +holds the great in his special protection.” And on the other hand, the +laws of society did not always oppose a very solid barrier: it was easy +to a noble lady to override them. Renée of France took a manifest +pleasure in running atilt against popular conventions; Marot had only to +set the mob against him as “a lascivious pagan,” to merit her indulgence. +Apparently she was even tempted to believe a daughter of France so +superior to humanity at large that she could have only lovers. + +However, it was sincerely believed that, for people of refinement and +distinction, good style and good taste rendered many artistic things +inoffensive. So (to select one example among a thousand) no one was +shocked when the Abbé de Maupas gave his approval to some neat verses in +which Gilles d’Aurigny boasted his conquest of a “sweet pale Margaret.” +The gentle spotless Vergerio very gaily accepted the title of “bishop +of Aretino.” Margaret compliments her brother on retaining his faith +through all his sin. Does she praise the sin? Not at all: but she praises +the king for what is praiseworthy, the remaining a Christian. Vergerio +would have shrunk with horror from certain of Aretino’s books, but he +considered the man as a force, of as much importance as any diocese, +while many of the episcopal boroughs contained as many vices with less +wit. And he tries to coax some good thing out of this diocese. On the +same principle Margaret set Vauzelles to translate some of Aretino’s +devotional works. Indulgence thus shown in practice had no modifying +effect on principles, and besides, men were particularly careful not to +extend it to the masses. Among them, as everybody knows, there is no such +thing as sentiment, but only sensations, and with them, consequently, the +fetters of a material morality were still found serviceable. The same +Caterina Cibo who highly approved Firenzuola’s book on love, severely +reproached the bishop of Camerino for his slackness in reforming the +morals of his clergy, and succeeded in obtaining from the pope a rigorous +brief on the subject. + +In society it happened that pagan sensation and Christian sentiment +all but touched; it seemed prudent, advantageous, and politic not to +accentuate the difference between them. Many people, like true gourmets, +let themselves swing gently between mysticism and materialism; perhaps +it was just as well not to compel them to decide one way or the other. +It has been well said that “faith has this peculiarity, that when it has +vanished, it influences still: grace survives by force of habit from +a once living sentiment.”[434] The logical Germans proceeded to deduce +from this spiritual condition the system of “faith without works.” But +folk remained satisfied with “confidence without works.” It was in these +practical considerations that an answer was found to Budé’s objections. + +However, Budé was a friend, and sought only to point out abuses. The real +and invincible adversaries of the religion of beauty, those who hoped +to destroy it, came from below. They were such as society scouted—the +vulgar, the superstitious, the material-minded, the street as against +the salon: in short, the men. When Vergerio went to Germany to discourse +of love, he was answered in a strain that disconcerted him: the Germans +talked politics to him. “I am tortured,” he cries, “to see the cause of +Jesus Christ treated with so much indignity; it appears to me that to-day +this is not the real explanation of the immense trouble taken with so +many people: it is assuredly only a pretext. The main thing considered +under the cloak of zeal for Christ is, I believe, nothing but the private +interests of a few individuals.” + +The clergy did not follow the religious lead of the prelates. The whole +of the middle or lower orders among them, the country parsons, the monks, +made common cause, some in a materialist direction,[435] others as +visionaries, against the philosophic group, the higher prelacy, and the +priesthood of women. + +The monk was a man of different stamp. Margaret petting Rabelais +resembles, if we may be allowed the expression, a hen mothering a duck. +Look at the man of fustian, whom one pious author liked to call “God’s +nightingale,” there in his pulpit, fist on hip, vulgar, impassioned, +ranting, preaching terrible doctrines with sonorous voice. The antagonism +between him and the platonist women is easily realised. He did not +bother his head about beauty or love; instead of an amiable liberality +which would suit a sceptical audience, it seemed as though with his +wild declamations he had no other aim than to quench the embers still +smouldering. It was more than a treason, it was a folly. He did not mince +matters; he reviled the bishops and great ones of the earth; talk to +him of love, he replied with retribution, toil, eternal torments, the +glories of poverty, the agonies of the animal man. Savonarola himself, +so warm and passionate, so much loved and worthy of love, brandished +with scriptural fervour the great popular weapons, the prophecies and +the wrath to come. In France, Oliver Maillard, Ménot, Rabelais himself +(though misguided) possessed a breezy eloquence, rugged, turbid, +picturesque, censorious, verbose, nowhit metaphysical, the opposite of +the official Ciceronianism: + + Il presche en théologien; + Mais pour boire de belle eau claire, + Faites-la boire à vostre chien, + Frère Lubin ne le peult faire.[436] + +Maillard went so far as to sing songs of his own in the pulpit! Others +indulged in wearisome or tasteless jests, in the most aristocratic of +churches,[437] and before a queen. + +Ignorant of the world and its refinements, the monks and parsons applied +to distinguished consciences the casuistry of the suburbs: their morality +smacked of the natural man. It proscribed refined joys: a man should +be “an ox or an ass,” as Savonarola said. Not that the monks were +ill-natured: they were hospitable; they would console an unhappy wife; +they would assist a widow to find a gem of a son-in-law. But there their +understanding of the feminine nature stopped. For the rest they saw in +women only Satanic lures, false chignons, perfumes, all the fripperies +of which Savonarola had made so magnificent a holocaust in the great +square of Florence! Amiability was quite beyond them. Fra Inigo, in one +of the streets of Toledo, happened to be walking behind some ladies whose +trains were raising clouds of dust. They good-naturedly stopped to let +him pass. Fancying he was the very pink of courtesy he said: “I kiss your +hands, ladies; proceed, I beg you: the dust raised by the sheep doesn’t +annoy the wolf.” In the pulpit it was the same; if they spoke of social +necessities, it was like the peasants they were; they preached poverty +and chastity without qualification; they had no eye for fine shades, but +bedaubed the most delicate façades with their garish colours. “Are you +in fit state to die? You women who display your beautiful bosoms, your +necks, your throats, would you wish to die in your present condition? And +you priests, would you like to die with your conscience burdened with the +masses you have said? Not four out of a thousand, I believe, would be +found ready. If the last trump here assailed our ears, we should then see +who would respond to its appeal!”[438] + +The monastic spirit was indestructible; Spagnuoli[439] and Du Four +carried it into the courts. Adrian VI., coming between two Medicean +popes, cherished this spirit at the Vatican.[440] During three reigns +Francis de Paul remained faithful to it at the court of France. Once +before, as he passed through Rome, St. Francis had ventured to upbraid +a cardinal lolling in a sumptuous equipage, and the prelate, bending +forward over the door, had replied with a fine and courtly smile that +it was very necessary to inspire the children of that generation with +respect. How much St. Francis was idolised by the ladies it is beyond us +to tell: in all circumstances of gravity they claimed his intercession, +and yet he did not flatter them. He would never give audience to them. +Women and wealth, said he, are the two scourges of the Church—and +especially devout women: them he called “vipers.” + +How the world flung back these invectives! Ladies and prelates vied +with one another in mocking at the lower monastic orders—those shaven +scurvy bald-pates who stood in the way of all spiritual regeneration; +ill-bred, material-minded fellows, uneducated, coarse, fat, full-blooded, +brimming over with a hot, carnal vitality, gay to the core and therefore +prompt to sin, much “more attentive to the life active than to the life +contemplative”—those easy-going vagabonds who, awaiting eternity, “do +not weary their minds overmuch by perusal of a heap of books,” for fear +lest the lore they might imbibe from them should puff them out with +pride, like Lucifer, and “make them decline from monastic learning.” The +pallid platonists, “crushed under their trappings,” called them fanatics, +hypocrites, misers, gluttons, and above all filthy and disgusting +wretches. It was a singular idea the Prince da Carpi had—to be buried in +a monk’s fustian frock, and thus “turn monk beyond the tomb.” That was +clean contrary to the mode! + +Margaret lampooned the monks. Alexander VI. called them tyrants, and +declared he would much rather offend the greatest of kings than the least +of these mendicants. At a carnival at Rome, Bibbiena, galloping along +under his mask, caught sight of a monk, and swooped down on him like a +hawk upon its prey. “I know you,” he cries tragically: “the provost is +after you to arrest you, but I will save you; I will carry you off to the +chancellor’s”; and thereupon he grabs the unlucky monk, hoists him on to +the crupper all shivering and shaking, and off they go amid the hoots and +yells and gibes of the mob, under a shower of eggs! Soon Bibbiena was +yolk of egg from head to heel,—and was privately accusing the people of +uncommonly bad marksmanship. At last, when the city had had its fill of +laughter, he deigned to yield to the supplications of his victim and set +him down. Then the other broke a few more eggs over him, flung off his +frock, and with a low bow said, “I am your groom.” Bibbiena galloped on. + +We need not, of course, take literally the jests of that period against +the monks. There were good and bad monks; the good were those least +in evidence. But Guy Juvenal, who was an active and honest worker for +monastic reform, winds up his enquiry[441] with a phrase as old as St. +Augustine: “You find in the convents the best and the worst.” + +However, the adversaries of the monks do them justice themselves, +unintentionally. The company in the _Heptameron_, for instance, are much +amused at the idea that some monks may possibly have overheard their +ribald talk. One of the Urbino coterie traces a portrait of the monks +from the outside which leaves us musing. Gross and plump, he says, they +were hypocrites: little mortification of the flesh there! Emaciated and +unkempt, they were false hounds who distinguished between sins secret +and sins open. Elegant, well-trimmed, scented—these were everything that +was vilest and most antagonistic to platonism! But what then ought their +style to have been? + +Trithemius, however, defined the monastic life in a highly platonist +phrase: “To love is to know.” How came, then, the idea that monks could +not actively mingle in the life of the world, since St. Ignatius proved +the contrary when he founded an order in harmony with the new spirit? +The convents of old were peopled with distinguished intellects; Luther, +Calvin, Erasmus, Jean Thenaud, André Thevet,[442] and a thousand others +sprang from these decried lower clergy. How can we believe that the +monks were by their tenets at odds with aestheticism, when the Italian +Dominicans monopolised the charming art of mosaic in wood and almost +monopolised also that of painting on glass—when St. Mark’s at Florence, +impregnated with the fragrant inspirations of the Fra Angelicos and the +Fra Bartolomeos, stands forth to this day, in the profound simplicity of +neglect, one of the most delightful refuges of human thought? + +Certain of the more cultured orders had a bent for learning. And these +were expelled; the Jacobins were harried away by the cardinal of Amboise +because they lived outside their convent walls in order to dance +attendance at court, and neglected the offices of the church. There was +a striking repetition of this quarrel in the 17th century, between Dom +Mabillon, who advocated a learned monkhood, and the fiery abbé of Rancé, +who wished to maintain the monasteries in the simple practice of piety; +and in this contest also a woman (the duchess of Guise) took part. + +Yet many of the monks, from a godly desire for success, strove earnestly +to suit themselves to the fashion; they freely cited the Olympian deities +and quoted Ovid and Virgil; in spite of the counsels of Savonarola, they +exerted themselves to please, even though at the expense of “the divine.” +One preacher draws an ingenious parallel between the Virgin and Isis. +Others discourse on beauty or coquetry, its benefits and perils. Some +maintain that the Virgin was not pretty, because she was lowly and not +in society; others, on the contrary, nourished on the _Song of Songs_ +and other aesthetic authorities, depict her as “clothed with the sun” +according to the phrase in the Apocalypse—dark-skinned perhaps, being a +Jewess, but a woman to be admired nevertheless! + +But the monks, do what they might, scatter a thousand flowers of +mythology and rhetoric as they pleased, never acquired the lightness of +touch the least of the sonneteers possessed. + +Rabelais opens with a polemic on the merit of women, a stale subject, but +impossible to avoid. He loves the world and mocks at the “molish monk”; +he extols, on the other hand, the monk “young, gallant, dexterous, bold, +adventurous, resolute, tall, lean, voluminous in chaps, well-favoured +in nose, who smartly patters his prayers and polishes off his masses +... moreover, a clerk to the finger-tips in point of the breviary.” He +admits both sexes to his abbey of Thelema, on proof of perfect beauty. +It is laved and perfumed, this modern abbey—full of gold and jewels, of +beauteous garments, of music, of things sumptuous and comfortable, of +books: nothing is wanting there: it has nine thousand three hundred and +thirty-two chapels, and a single swimming bath under the watchful eye of +a statue of the Three Graces. No one there is irked by theology! + +And yet Rabelais was absolutely at sea in regard to the platonist +spirit, to these mystic abstractions: “To have a woman is to have her +for the use wherefor Nature created her ... for the delectation of man.” +If anyone speaks to him of the “devotion of love” he laughs and sets +himself down at the table: “Drink,” cries the Sibyl in his ear, “drink!” +Drunkenness—that is mysticism enough for him! He leaves the convent to +become a physician. He commends none but the natural sciences, and the +only one he cannot away with is the only one that women accept—prophetic +astrology. He was bound to end as a parson! + +Even in Italy, the monk always smacked of his convent. Folengo[443] +spent his life in going in and out of it. His works also are nothing +but one everlasting buffoonery. In his _Moscheid_, he appears to depict +the conspiracy of monks against fine ladies—an epic complot of all +creeping things—ants, bugs, spiders—against the winged race of bees and +butterflies. The royal head of the chancellery, Spingard, sets off on a +lean-ribbed mare, bearing splendid letters under the great seal of the +Senate (an image of Liberty and Justice), in order to entice men into a +spider’s web. + +But the Italian monks accepted their rout; they derided the antiquated +“subtleties of St. Thomas,” as well as visions of God without +intermediaries, and hatred of indulgences. Their solace was a splendid +ignorance, Neapolitan, epicurean. + +In Germany, on the contrary, they triumphed. Despite the recommendations +of Leo X. and the passionate objurgations of Erasmus, the Germans refused +to admire the works of the hour, the _Epistles_ of Eoban,[444] for +instance, in which the holy women of the New Testament are represented +as writing in the style of Ovid. They waged implacable war against +aestheticism and dilettantism, and the bitterness of the struggle was +only accentuated every time they came in contact with Rome. Burckhardt, +writing his memoirs day by day about a splendid epoch, is incessantly +bemoaning its corruption: does he perceive the existence of a spiritual +movement at Rome? He sees nothing of liberty but the scandals; he does +his duty like a painstaking but muddle-headed corporal. Erasmus himself +is blind to all but the humanities, while Luther finds only horrors. +They spoke with different tongues. When Hoogstratten, a German monk, +impeached Reuchlin, who had ventured to defend certain Jewish books on +scientific grounds, Rome was utterly unable to make out the bearings of +this Teutonic quarrel: she procrastinated, and let the matter drop. + +Ulrich von Hütten tried to Italianise himself at the little court of the +archbishop of Mayence, which claimed to be a copy of Urbino, but all they +did there was to play billiards and abuse the monks behind their backs. +He returned to Rome in 1516, one of the years of triumph; and there, son +of a sturdy and poor country where the lord ruled and even robbed people +at his pleasure, and where woman was emphatically the weaker vessel, he, +the old and unknown student, found himself excluded from that superb +court,[445] from those “false gods” as he called them, and relegated to +the society of a German financier of low degree; he had no recommendation +but his birth; and he could barely succeed in finishing his studies in +law. He took his revenge in abuse. “I have human feelings,” he wrote to +Luther. + +With lofty eloquence and burning zeal he preached the necessary war. +The apostles of love had called war a brigandage. Hütten denounced as +brigands the non-combatants—merchants, advocates, and priests. His motto +was: a beautiful woman, gold, and indolence. In 1522 he took up arms, and +with a magnificent gesture pointed out the splendid churches to the mob. + +Luther, too, protests against the philosophic spirit. He checks liberty +at a certain point, forbidding the mind to emancipate itself further. +From a thinker he becomes a man of action, and joins hands with the great +lords. + +There was an explosion of anti-feminist and anti-liberal sentiments—war +to the knife. It took place, like all great moral outbursts, under the +banner of religion, because religion possessed organised battalions, a +force ready at call, and, above all, excellent pretexts with which to +veil struggles entered into on behalf of selfish interests. + +“Talk of household concerns is women’s affair,” said Luther: “they are +mistresses and queens there, and more than a match for Cicero and the +finest orators.... But take them from their housewifery and they are good +for nothing.... Woman is born to manage a household: ’tis her lot, her +law of nature: man is born for war and polity, to administer and govern +states.” As a model for the sculptor woman delighted Luther; but that +was all; he denied her physical and moral vigour; the less her moral +strength, the more he congratulates her. Evidently the intellectual +pretensions of feminism constituted in his eyes an absurdity and a peril. +Calvin went still farther. Whatever was pleasing to women he proscribed, +even aesthetic emotions however inoffensive, however religious in +character. He would hardly deign to believe that women are really good +hands at puddings! Some ladies, in their noble devotion to his cause, +had found a common prison in the Châtelet; he sent them somewhat grim +felicitations. “If men are frail and easily shaken, the frailty of your +sex is still greater.... God hath chosen the foolish things of the world +to confound the wise, and the weak things of the world to confound the +things which are mighty, and base things of the world, and things which +are despised, to bring to nought those that are great and of high worth.” + +There was nothing for Luther to invent. Everyone desired a reformation, +like himself. The cardinal of Amboise and the traditional school wished +to try back and restore discipline; the philosophic women and the Roman +world were for pushing ahead, and saw salvation in the rejuvenescence of +faith through liberty.[446] But neither party was eager for a schism, +above all the Liberals of Rome, who not only stood for unity, which was +their breath of life, but also gladly washed their hands of pure theology. + +Luther invented nothing. All that he said, and even more, had been said +at Rome for fifty years before him. He caught certain floating ideas, and +fixed those which had passed into current morality. This was to attack +dilettantism. The gentle feminist and Latinist prelates, with their +tolerance, their openness of mind and intellectual freedom—Sadoleto, +the friend of Melanchthon, Contarini, Pole, the kindly scholar ruled +by Vittoria Colonna, Flaminio, Vergerio—all deplored the degradation +of their handiwork: they felt as a Raphaelite painter would feel if he +found his dreams copied in a picture by Espinal. Yet, while lamenting +this use made of liberty, they respected it; at bottom they considered +Zwingle and Melanchthon as two of themselves, and they did not despair of +achieving the triumph of freedom by freedom itself. Such was, as we know, +the policy of Pole at Ratisbon, and of Vergerio at Worms; but despite +the support of Vittoria Colonna, Margaret of France, and a whole band of +enthusiastic and ardent women, they did not succeed; they were caught +between two fires. + +Women threw themselves into the fray with enthusiasm. + +We might fancy ourselves looking at the Sabine women of David’s famous +picture: daughters of the Roman Church, very devoted, very judicious (at +least in their own opinion), and yet ready in the name of freedom to +defend and love their adversaries. + +Vittoria Colonna always believed herself as orthodox as the Holy See +itself, and more clever, even when in the heat of the battle she put +forth opinions somewhat questionable. + +She sang the barque of Peter triumphing over all the billows of the +world’s vileness and ill-will, and she received the papal benediction. +But yet, in the great religious struggle of the 16th century, she could +never realise that genuine difficulties of doctrine were involved; she +saw nothing but a medley of personal intrigues, rivalries, jealousies, +offended susceptibilities, good intentions bungled; excellent judges +have shared her impressions. Entirely new circumstances had to arise, +the fiercest moment of the battle had to come, before the court of Rome +at last repudiated retrospectively all fellowship with Vittoria. And yet +events seemed to justify the thesis of love—a thesis neither Protestant +nor strictly Catholic. + +Attached to a religion of intuition and sentiment, the women aimed at +saving the guilty by the love of the innocent; they put into practice a +doctrine rather divine than religious; their scheme was that of Henri +IV.: “Those who unswervingly follow their conscience are of my religion, +and I am of the religion of all who are brave and good.” + +Vittoria Colonna took a very special interest in a celebrated Capuchin, +the ardent and eloquent Ochino, who had formed at Naples a sort of +liberal triumvirate. Somewhat intoxicated with his popularity and the +warm sympathies of the feminist group, Ochino bitterly attacked Paul III. +about certain measures of reform directed against the Capuchins. The +marchioness hastened to prevent a rupture; she issued a great liberal +manifesto addressed to Contarini, and at the same time urged Ochino +to come to Rome. Paul smiled at the manifesto, and sent the author a +pilgrim’s passport, for herself and a Capuchin. Ochino, however, made +a rancorous reply. Women put forth indescribable efforts to bring back +to the fold this sheep who was threatening to wander away! Thanks to +the feminine freemasonry, Ochino, though openly at odds with the pope, +still occupied with brilliance the principal pulpits of Verona, Venice, +Bologna and Mantua, until at last he took to flight. Vittoria never lost +sight of him; at Venice, she got secret information as to his welfare +from Bembo, who had just been raised to the cardinalate.[447] Later, by +means of anonymous letters in which she told her old protégé that she +was buying his books and getting insight into his views, flattering him, +calling herself his “very obedient daughter and disciple,” she did her +utmost to bring him to reason. Vain illusion! Ochino was a monk, Vittoria +a noble lady; they belonged to two jarring worlds. + +Margaret of France wished to play the same part, but she found herself in +a more embarrassing situation, and understood still less, if possible, +the real bearing of the struggle. She dreamed of reforming humanity, not +dogmas; she left to God the task of winning the victory and causing the +“word of truth” to shine forth. Why limit the range of these dreams? “The +Church is a living and active voice, which is its own explanation, and +can always express itself anew and more abundantly.” Why this procreation +of rigorous dogmas, to the ruin of the feminine apostleship? Margaret +pressed towards synthesis; she wished to know, to co-ordinate, to +succeed. Briçonnet wrote to her smilingly: “If there were at the end of +the earth a learned doctor who, by means of a single compendium, could +teach the whole art of grammar, besides rhetoric, philosophy and the +seven liberal arts, you would rush to him as a cold man rushes to the +fire.” + +Where then was she to seek the illumination of love and faith if not +in that religious philosophy towards which she had always inclined? In +regard to faith, still more than in social matters, she felt how good it +was to soar into the heights of abstraction, to go direct to the verities +without troubling about men. How cramping it would have seemed to her to +embody all theology and all faith, both Paradise and Hell, in one man, +in one priest! She smiled on men, provided they were men of good-will, +even if they burnt others, as Francis I. did, but still more if they were +burnt or in danger of burning, like “that poor Berquin,” or the chaplain +Michel, or the canons of Bourges, or Farel, Vatable, Gerard Roussel.[448] +A man might translate the Thomist work the _Mirror of Ladies_; might +call himself Lefèvre d’Etaples, _faber ingeniorum_, or Dolet; might be +a witty libertine like Pocques or Duval—no matter, he had claims on her +affection, if he was well disposed. She delighted in hearing Erasmus and +Luther discuss the question of free-will. She looked on at these passages +at arms with the same satisfaction as others witnessed a tourney. In +concert with a lady of influence, she dragged the king to St. Eustace, to +hear a sermon by a whirlwind of a parson who preached peace and _sursum +corda_. She was anxious to arrange at Paris a controversial meeting +with Melanchthon, but the Faculty of Theology was not agreeable. The +theologian really after her own heart was the amiable prelate Nicolas +Dangu, who followed her everywhere like a perfect lover. + +There was yet another man able to please her; a sort of magian, +remarkable in spite of his wild notions, who carried feminine theology to +the pitch of absurdity. This was Guillaume Postel, a workhouse foundling, +a nobody, a village brat and then a lackey, half oriental, half Italian, +though a Frenchman: a man of eminent learning and enlightened mind, +the fine essence of eclecticism. He wrote in twelve languages on the +most various subjects, in support of the most diversified theses. He +advocated a universal monarchy which he offered to Francis I., and a +universal religion, genuinely catholic and Roman, the papacy of which he +reserved for himself. He based it upon the doctrine of infinite love (if +need be, a somewhat sensual love), and upon an aesthetic philosophy which +should solve all mysteries by applying the formula of the Beautiful. +According to this religion, it was for women to regenerate the world; +wherefore he salutes with ardent sympathy the Mothers of the Church whom +he sees budding forth almost everywhere—More’s daughters in England; +Isabella Rosera in Spain; in Portugal Loysa Sygea who at the age of +twenty-two honoured Pope Paul III. with her advice in five little-known +languages. Paul replied in Latin, Greek and Hebrew, but excused himself +in regard to Chaldean and Arabic, and instructed Postel to take the pen. + +Postel’s strange work[449] appeared after the death of Margaret of +France, under the auspices of Margaret of Savoy. Postel announced the +discovery of a new Eve, whom he extolled above all other women, even +above Vittoria Colonna. She was an aged sorceress of Venice, endowed with +second sight, who read through paper as if she had the Röntgen rays at +her disposal. Unhappily the Venetians sent her about her business. + +To sum up, the women believed and maintained that, in dealing with the +people, the only language they understood must be employed—that of force; +but that for the elect there was only one real weapon—the matchless +one, liberty. The first of liberties is that of talking nonsense. It +was needful, then, to be able to tolerate freedom in others, one’s own +friends included. + +The practical result of women’s intervention was in France insignificant +enough. + +The long-standing hostility of the French clergy to the court of Rome had +burst out so glaringly in the reign of Louis XII., it displayed itself +so vigorously in the more or less official dithyrambs of Andrelini, +Villebresme, De Mailly, Gringoire, Jean d’Auton, Seyssel, against the +“Roman profligacy,” that Leo X. became alarmed and very prudently +abandoned in 1515 the real bone of contention, the right to dispose of +benefices. From that moment the Church, fused with the State, became a +national machine, and no philosophic argument could in future shake an +organisation so solid. Luther gave wide application to the same system +in secularising the property of the clergy. The ruck of men left the +business of dealing with these religious questions to the higher powers; +they held to their creed either out of a taste for ignorance or from +scepticism; the learned were quite content to smile and call theology +a “poesy”—like vine-growers who sell a certain doctored wine, but keep +the genuine locked up in their cellars—the wine they alone are sure of +because they cut the grapes. + +Liberalism was supported, then, by only a few timid and affectionate +voices, like that of Longueil, the friend of Bembo and Pole, who said in +his _Letter to the Lutherans_: “I take no side in the struggle: a simple +citizen of the Christian republic, neither gratitude, nor hate, nor +ambition impels me to one side or the other.” Unhappily, it is not with +lofty language like this that you can rouse a mob! + +Is it necessary to recall what followed? It was at all points the reverse +of what the feminists had hoped. “Our adversaries say of us,” wrote +Calvin, “that we have begun a sort of Trojan war, on account of women, +_mulierum causa_.” And in truth, as in the wars of the past, women had +again become to a certain extent the gage of battle. Religion declared +war on platonism, just as platonism had declared war on religious +virginity; instead of draping women in inaccessibility, people contented +themselves with making matrimony easier. That was a simple solution of +the difficulty. And yet it took longer than might be supposed to get +back to this solid ground of matter-of-fact. The first woman espoused by +an Archbishop of Canterbury was obliged, it appears, to travel like an +animal in a chest pierced with holes, so as to escape the buffooneries of +the mob; the second went to court; but when Queen Elizabeth saw her she +bit her lips: “What am I to call you? Madam I cannot, and Mistress I dare +not.” + +Catholicism, roused to action, henceforth asked for nothing except to +condemn. It was a sudden drop from the ideal back again to earth, a +dreadful battle of personalities, a life and death struggle with mythical +or literal methods of exegesis for weapons. Erasmus was already writing: +“These interpreters of the language of Heaven go off like gunpowder, +they frown most terribly. What is Hütten to me? Shall I prefer the +authority of Luther to that of the pope? If we had not received a pope +from Christ, we should have to invent one.” “They scream and scuffle and +insult one another,” sneers Des Périers, who no longer believed even in +the existence of God. Blessed are the poor in spirit, concludes Agrippa; +blessed are illiterate people like the apostles; blessed is the ass! + + + + +CONCLUSION + + +Nothing now remains but to relate the conclusion of the dream. + +A dream indeed—all these schemes of happiness which had flashed across +the gloomy background of realities like dissolving views on the wall of a +lecture-room: the blue sea, the blazing sun, appearing but for a moment, +left the blackness deeper still. + +Margaret, the great organiser of happiness, never found the secret of +happiness for herself. Her last days were vexed with the most poignant +sorrows: the court, Calvin, the people, well-nigh the whole world, cast +her off and treated her as a Utopian dreamer: her husband went the +length of striking her, her daughter was torn from her, and Henri II. +sent her into exile; several of her friends, such as Ramus and Dolet, +were persecuted, alas! from motives far from sincere: it was, in truth, +what she called “the suburbs of death.” By divine mercy her heart, +incessantly a prey to anxieties, at length parted company with a life +that was anything but love. She perished, poor duchess, at her post as +charitable vendor of love—perished in flames, like the salamander! No +man came to her aid, none even paused to mourn her. Three young English +maidens named Seymour erected to her a frail monument of verse under the +auspices of her niece; but save for one devoted friend, Sainte-Marthe, +whose enthusiastic funeral oration nevertheless provoked the liveliest +criticisms, men maintained a remarkable silence. The princess had greatly +erred in scattering her affections and seeking to create a sociology of +the heart. Men do not care for love, they wish to fear and obey! There is +no true love but the love of an individual. + +The Saint-Gelais, the Héroëts, the Salels, all those exquisite hearts +bubbling over with sentiment when a smile from Margaret could lead them +to fortune, now remained mute; the drum had to be set a-beating, and +then at length there appeared a volume of elegies, a subtle fantasia in +many tongues, which would have been cold as ice but for the vigorous +beam Ronsard shot into the midst of the medley—a tiny volume, brilliant, +ingenious, perverse, like the princess’s soul, full of pretty verses all +alike—alike in expression, with the same silvery veneer of tenderness—the +very image of the somewhat phantasmagoric and unreal romanticism in which +some mystic women delighted: brightness, but no warmth or life. Yes, +Margaret was too fond of these intense lights and shades. A thousand +causeless murmurings woke echoes in her soul. She sustained herself +upon the subtle aroma wafted on certain nights upon the breath of the +quickening world. She never heard the full, resounding roar of the sea in +the darkness, but was content to see the fringe of foam. + +At the moment when Margaret disappeared, the power of women in France +seemed at its apogee; in reality, it was on the wane. It was attacked +more especially on the moral side. According to so-called Puritans like +Agrippa, the influence of women resulted in the declension of morals; and +what a declension! Everything converged towards the joys of the senses; +painters could no longer paint anything but boudoir scenes, architects +could only open doors or pierce balconies, husbands only speculate on the +exploits of their wives, Luther only recommend the reading of stories +(sometimes astonishing) from the Bible. + +Unquestionably, feminine influences, even the purest, seemed soft and +enervating. The energetic spirit of old France, of the time before +Francis I., sprang suddenly to life again. A country gentleman, Du +Bellay, sounded the charge against Roman cosmopolitanism by claiming +France for the French. At one stroke, as J. M. de Heredia has said, his +clear and picturesque style clean obliterated Marot, Saint-Gelais, and +the whole of Margaret’s school. Du Bellay would have loved Savonarola: +he speaks the same tongue as the friends of Anne of France; he has sworn +implacable hatred against platonism with its cloying sweetness, against +the languors of petrarchism: “He has not breathed in the ardour that +sets Italy in flame.” Though he has seen Rome, decadent Rome, he has not +caught her infection; it is she that he blames, and yet the “bashful +squires,” the “exiles from joyance,” and other vulgar “fantasticals,” +whom he flagellates and sends packing along with the Round Table, were +very often French. He has in his veins the proud and lusty blood of a +soldier. Like Anne of France he worships truth, and candour, and lucidity. + +Ronsard too, of like blood and ancestry, advocates truth: “I love not +the false, I love the true.” He overwhelms with his vigorous eloquence +all sham loves, “Cupids with curled love-locks, but broken arrow”; all +the platonic cant, so virtuous in show and so little virtuous in fact: +and all these refinements, and hypocrisies, and conceits on twofold +incorporeal love! + + Aimer l’esprit, Madame, c’est aimer la sottise.[450] + +The voices of these two men stirred up no little commotion among a large +number of the lesser nobility or quasi-nobility, men of middling station, +less sensible to high-falutin’ than to the spirit of frankness and +independence—“gaillards,” as they styled themselves, who loved women as +they loved “daylight and the sun,” but as men, by no means with an idea +of “playing lackey to a mistress,” particularly one who was wrinkled, +painted, or terribly accomplished. + + De Junon sont vos bras, des grâces vostre sein, + Vous avez de l’aurore et le front et la main, + Mais vous avez le cœur d’une fière lionne.[451] + +That was their type. And they laughed at the Vadiuses and Trissotins[452] +of their day, at all the fine carollings that Du Bellay amused himself +by imitating, forgotten tunes of long ago, the faded frippery of the +ballroom. What merriment there is when a belated poet returns from Italy +with another _Amadis_! Neither Olivier de Magny nor Baïf will take the +moon for the sun, or love for a mere ornamentation. + +The men of the Pléiade had no love for patronage or the Medici species. +They hated and abhorred the Jews. Ronsard would have liked to see a fine +St. Bartholomew butchery of them, and could not forgive Titus for wasting +his chances: his gorge rises at the thought of a Leo the Hebrew[453] +figuring among the sages of platonism. Good decent fellows, they drape +themselves in their somewhat rustic free-and-easiness. From their modest +snuggeries they proudly tell the king “Nature has made us of the same +flesh and blood as you”;[454] they do not hesitate to write to a Medici +lady that the finest royalty is to be “king of oneself.”[455] They vie +with one another in launching their epigrams against the court, the +salons, the ruling women;[456] they sing of woods and dales, even of the +wild untrammelled life— + + O bienheureux le siècle où le peuple sauvage + Vivoit, par les forêts, de gland et de fruitage.[457] + + —_Ronsard._ + +They sing praise to Nature their mother, not an abstraction, an +infinity, but immeasurable:[458] the lines of the horizon, it would +seem, spring from their hearts, and like an outspread fan gather up the +whole immensity of life. How remote this from the gardens of philosophy +ordered so delicately, with their shimmering fountains, their shivering +Venuses![459] + +When under a clear Roman sky Du Bellay is sauntering in pleasant +indolence amid all the pomp and luxury of cultured prelates, enjoying +the serene life of country villas; when, as a background to the picture, +behind carriages and laurels, fashionable women and noble statues, he +sees flushed in a golden haze the forest of towers, and pediments, and +obelisks, and St. Peter’s in all its majesty, the glory of the world, +what does his heart say to him? + + Quand reverray-je, hélas! de mon petit village + Fumer la cheminée?[460] + +Such was the sentiment of the Pléiade. + +Social philosophy had changed all at once. People were weary of the idea +of the beautiful, and henceforth the wind was to set towards scepticism: +no longer an airy, Ciceronian, superficial scepticism, the scepticism +of Cardan, or of Erasmus, the jabberer of Latin, the flouter of monks, +often madder than the madmen he derides, but a masculine aggressive +scepticism, which believes in nothing in this world, not even in love, +and is incredulous about the other world and the immortality of the soul. +Yet it feels an “impression” of the unseen: deprived of an ideal for this +life, it must willy-nilly suppose another apart from mortal men, and +thus yearningly, gropingly, unawares, it takes a step towards Christ. + +And then those who are still reasoning in this untoward generation +laugh or weep. What a harsh harrowing laugh is that of Boistuau,[461] +who had nevertheless been a friend of Margaret! Boistuau speaks to us +of love, and tells us that it is a distressing malady of the mind, +characterised by symptoms of agitation and disorder, and exhausting +all its energies, physical and moral. You hear those attacked by it +groaning and dropping words like “coral, alabaster, roses, lilies”; they +have lost all individuality; they sob and abase themselves and are a +continual supplication. The cause of the malady is obscure; some speak of +magnetism, others of microbes, others of the influence of the stars. + +It was this kind of scepticism which was destined to lead us to the +morality of Charles IX.’s court. + +Then it was seen how fatal had been the disease of sensibility, and the +profound soul-weariness which resulted from imaginative pleasures, from +the mirage which overlay the things of life since women had undertaken to +interpret everything through the affections. It had been a woful error +to create an art of sensibility! Sensibility serves to attract men, but +cannot hold or guide them. Women believe in sensibility because they +always consider the heart of a man as a reservoir of moral strength. It +is the other way about; men for the most part err through weakness; it +is that which renders them inconstant and vicious. They would gain in +steadfastness and goodness if women, less timid and more active, had +strength rather than tenacity, and a real energy under an appearance of +tenderness. + +An attempt was made, but too late, to show that the feminist spirit could +display energy as well as tenderness. + +A certain Almanque Papillon[462] proposed a new formula of love, more +robust than platonism, and bound, as he thought, to render men truly +“virtuous and not effeminate.” François Billon, one of the royal +secretaries, wandering one evening amid the ruins of Rome, felt the +touch of grace within himself. He dreamed of writing a book entitled +_The Impregnable Fortress of the Female Sex_. He descried and saluted +among the shadows a number of vigorous women—Catherine de’ Medici and +Jeanne d’Albret, more valorous than any man; Mesdames de Berry and de +Nevers, surpassingly witty; Anne d’Este, duchess of Guise, the eloquence +of fleshly beauty. Billon made his book, but not his fortune. Under the +Valois, many women were not anxious to be too well defended. + +Ronsard and Du Bellay triumphed, then: and yet, to all appearance, their +triumph troubled them; they hankered after ideas they had gone about to +destroy; they mistrusted themselves, their friends, their principles. +Ronsard had an admirable genius, but he hesitated between an attempt to +satisfy the popular naturalism with the crudities so much in request, +and an instinctive thirst for an aristocratic spiritualism. He followed +rather than led the movement; both he and Du Bellay, in spite of their +robust breezy energies, remained more sensitive than they cared to +acknowledge to the charm of classical art and the graciousness of the +salons. + +Further, an eminent woman kept a tight rein on the Pléiade, and showed +them that graciousness was not necessarily tameness, that there were +women’s hearts at once ardent and strong, that it is possible to retain +practical views of life while “rising wholly towards spiritual things.” +This woman was the niece and goddaughter of Margaret of France, her +spiritual daughter and the faithful guardian of her fame—the second +Margaret of France, duchess of Berry and afterwards duchess of Savoy. + +She pursued a totally different method from her aunt. She abandoned +philosophy, intuitions, mystic professions of faith: instead of wearing +black she dressed fashionably, tricking herself out with jewels +and brightly-coloured materials: thus (pardon the detail) she used +handkerchiefs of crimson silk: that formed part of her psychology. Her +household was maintained on a very princely scale, and directed by the +solemn Madame de Brissac, who never shifted her quarters without taking +with her a huge pile of dresses and especially a terribly big bed, which +alone required several mules to carry it; the moment the destination +was reached, Madame de Brissac’s bed had to be set up with infinite +precautions, as though it were a shrine. One can guess how the treasurer, +among many other people, grumbled; but the princess was so kind! + +With this system of simplified morals and external complexity, Margaret +of Savoy exercised extraordinary fascination over men’s affections. She +had adopted as emblem an olive branch guarded by serpents, with the +motto, “_Sagesse, gardienne des choses!_” She resembled, as a poet tells +us, “a rose-bud, nourished on celestial dew,” and received the nickname +of Pallas. She was just the woman to govern vigorous men: a woman of +taste and intelligence, who had a passion for winning love, but with much +breadth and dignity, and without recourse to the spiritual and material +experiments of her aunt. Her secret she had not gone far to seek, but +had found simply in her woman’s heart; her Machiavelism consisted in +a kindliness carried to perfection, intelligent, active, ingenious—a +refined good-heartedness, which embraced both rich and poor. Des Périers +himself could not refrain from speaking of it in a tone of respect and +sympathy quite unusual in him; Brantôme has painted the princess in one +magnificent phrase: “She was _the_ goodness of the world.” + +And we must not forget that life had not spared her hard lessons. The +poor woman’s greatest ambition was to root and ground herself in the +family affections, and these affections had been torn from her one by +one with her heart’s blood. Her father Francis I. had as little to do +with her as possible, indeed, but scantily appreciated her. She lost her +brother Charles miserably enough; at that period it was not the custom +to care for life’s halt and maimed, yet Margaret sedulously watched over +servants who were out of employment. Her heart was wrapped up in her +sister Madeleine. Madeleine coveted a crown; she went to Scotland, and +six months afterwards came news of her death. Margaret was so grievously +stricken that she remained in utter prostration, and it was doubtful +for some time whether her health would recover from the shock. Her aunt +Margaret had to intervene to insist on her taking care of herself, and +going for long morning walks in the park of Fontainebleau. + +Thus, instead of “devouring her heart,” in the forcible phrase of +Pythagoras, this noble princess made existence a song of grave and warm +passion, not a song of love. + +Her disappointments were no fewer, it is true, since it is a natural +law for the heart to be deceived in its hopes, like the reason; but she +found less bitterness and more grief; the wholesome contact with real +suffering, in bringing out the true power of sympathy, saved her from +social and intellectual extravagances, and bred in her that perfection of +tenderness which no one could resist; for the world itself loves to be +treated seriously. + +The passion Du Bellay felt for her in no way resembles either the flowery +sentimentalism to which princesses had till then been accustomed, or the +coarse freedom of Marot’s school: it was a constant, sincere, and lasting +passion. On returning from Italy, he exclaims with the same emotion as at +his departure: + + Alors, je m’aperçus qu’ignorant son mérite, + J’avois, sans la connoistre, admiré Marguerite, + Comme, sans les connoistre, on admire les cieux.[463] + +And these are not mere idle words. Many years afterwards, when it came to +Margaret’s turn to leave her country, the poor poet, struck, no doubt, +with presentiments of an imminent death, shed real tears, “the truest +tears that e’er I shed.” + +The great sense of truth and constancy that Margaret carried into the +concerns of the heart she applied also to the concerns of the mind. She +showed, like Anne of France, how women were slandered, how they slandered +themselves when they fancied they were incapable of a genuine effort; +instead of pouring out a stream of conversation and writings like her +aunt, and of trusting to her impressionability merely, she applied +herself with all the force of a fine intellectual health to the most +rigorous tasks involved in the discipline of truth. Many scholars by +profession would not have pushed solicitude for the niceties of truth +so far. She got her reader, for instance, to buy for her at Paris three +different editions of Cicero’s _Offices_; she read Aristotle’s _Ethics_ +simultaneously in Greek and in a Latin translation; she collated six +commentaries on Horace. + +Although entirely French—she was much more French than her aunt—she +set herself to stem the somewhat too violent tide of reaction setting +in against Italy. Like Louis XII. before her, she thought there was +much in Italy and the classics that was worth adopting; while she read +Aristotle she proclaimed Urbino the “school of knowledge,” and Du Bellay +had to draw in his horns and, under her gentle guidance, acknowledge the +charm which he did not feel spontaneously. He not only translated Bembo +and Naugerius,[464] but went so far as to agree that time would never +extinguish the fame of Boccaccio, and that the laurels of Petrarch would +remain for ever green. + +She did more (for the words “art” and “patriotism” cloaked in reality +questions infinitely smaller, and larger—questions of personal +jealousies); she had the courage to keep by her side an Italian, Baccio +del Bene, an enthusiastic worshipper of the “pearl of the West,” who +declared he had been saved by her bright eyes, “his stars,” from the +direst of shipwrecks. Ronsard undertook, against wind and tide and his +own convictions, to rehabilitate this relic of the past, and to proclaim +that Del Bene was the only Italian for two centuries who was worth +consideration. + +Margaret long remained the tutelary “virgin,” the spirited “unbacked +colt,” running where frolic fancy led her, unfretted by the “spurs of +love.” Whatever the inevitable malignity of mankind may have said, she +was a perfect type of platonism, basking in her many warm friendships +with men, and in no hurry to be married. Too much attached to France +to go far away, too thoroughly a princess to wed one of her brother’s +subjects, she fixed her choice on the heir of Savoy. On one occasion +she did not hesitate to accompany her aunt to Nice and present herself +in person, in defiance of the elementary rules of etiquette; but as +politics, the bane of sentimental princesses, threw obstacles in the way, +she possessed her soul in patience, and waited twenty-one years. She was +married in 1559. + +The king of France ordered a magnificent trousseau, an exact copy of that +of Madame de Lorraine—gold-embroidered dresses, laces, jewels; he chose +for the bridal dress a robe of yellow satin with bodice embroidered in +gold, a regal mantle trimmed with lace a foot wide, an evening cloak in +silver cloth, lined with lynx fur. He commanded splendid entertainments. +Everyone knows what followed—Henri II. mortally wounded in the official +tournament; this long-desired marriage consecrated at midnight beside a +bed of anguish. Here truly was something to amaze and strike with awe. +Anyone with a touch of superstition would have attributed to the princess +the evil eye. + +They knew better, to be sure. + +If she was loved, it was because she had the very uncommon talent of +loving her friends. + +No sooner was she in Piedmont than she seemed to have thoughts only for +them. She wrote to Catherine de’ Medici commending Ronsard to her notice, +and the poet, much moved, hastened to reply with a noble apostrophe to +the royal house of France, “happy and fruitful ... mother of such a line +of kings.” + +From time immemorial France and Piedmont had played in the world the +somewhat ungrateful part of quarrelsome lovers. Margaret, like a true +woman, patched up this quarrel; while she lived there was no open +rupture. Still more, every Frenchman who visited Turin was conscious of +being anticipated by a gentle and invisible protecting hand. Presented to +the duchess, often lodged and entertained at her cost, he would receive +in addition, anonymously, a purse to defray his travelling expenses. + +France did not, therefore, lose Margaret altogether; but she planted +in Savoy the sweetness of Urbino with the sparkling brilliance of her +own land. At the gates of Geneva she caused the most perfect religious +peace to flourish; it was there that Francis de Sales was born. Without +flinging heart and mind piecemeal to the winds, like her aunt, we see her +in a corner of that violent 16th century, a radiant centre of kindliness +and spiritual illumination, surrounded by testimonies of gratitude as by +a modest and glorious retinue. She often received thanks at that supreme +moment when all men speak the truth. In his last hour Du Bellay wept for +her; an ambassador of France at Constantinople left her his fortune; +L’Hôpital declared in his will that to her he owed his whole career. +She herself on her deathbed heaved, so to speak, the last breath of the +feminist spirit. + + Il ne restoit rien d’entier de la France, + De pur, de saint, d’une antique bonté, + Que Marguerite, humaine déité.[465] + +And now what more is to be said? The hateful orgies of the 16th century +were unchained! Here and there in the turmoil some few feeble shoots +of platonism continued to appear[466] under the form of preciosity or +literary feminism, till we come to the hôtel de Rambouillet.[467] Women +of energy and activity were still seen. But fate willed that the 17th +century, magnificent, wholly masculine,[468] should be ushered in with +terrible convulsions. It was a momentous and appalling epoch, and bore +out the prediction of the _Heptameron_: “The best things are those from +which, when abused, result the worst ills.”[469] What a spectacle is the +court of the Valois![470]—all these sly, knowing women, talking in a way +to make the shades of their grandmothers blush, running after men who +wish them further! How little the third Margaret of France, the first +wife of Henri IV., resembles her earlier namesakes! She was as highly +gifted, prettier, as accomplished, as witty, as fascinating, as noble, as +thoroughly a princess—so princely indeed that she thought herself quite +entitled to love gipsies and let prejudices go hang! Fair as a lily, too, +polished, wonderfully polished, bathed and perfumed! All she saw was that +platonic love had broken down, and of the other love she said: “Nothing +could be so sweet, if it were not so short.” + +Even in Spain platonism perished, or rather it winged its flight towards +God with zest and ardour, often worthy of the Song of Songs:[471] “A +love redeemed from all terrestrial things, and having only God for its +object,” exclaims St. Theresa, “is like an arrow shot by man’s will +towards his God with all the force of which he is capable.” Or else it +was flung out of window. When the cook and the niece of Don Quixote make +a bonfire of the _Amadis_ romances and other illustrious annals of pure +love and valiant exploits, the good Spanish curate, who assists at the +auto-da-fé, momentarily hesitates before a volume bearing the name of +Ariosto. He opens it, to burn it if it is a Spanish translation, to kiss +it if it is the Italian text. O relic of old Spain! O son of the Cid! + +In Italy the crisis could not take a tragic development, as in Germany, +but men felt the need of returning to anonymity, to placid affection, to +love without any twaddle. “The learned are so mad after love,” writes +Nelli, “they have so pounded and minced and dissected it, that it is +altered out of all knowing.” Petrarch was blasphemed: everyone was eager +to revile him as a flashy rhetorician, to sneer at his so-called purity. +They declared that they preferred to the sighs of love-sick princesses +and the sentimental romances, the bold, frank love of a coster-wench. + +Farewell to the dream! It dissolved in a religious crisis. Rome herself +recovered from her intoxication, and no longer existed as the nursery of +sentimental philosophy and the liberal-minded instructress of mankind. + + La paix et le bon temps ne règnent plus icy; + La musique et le bal sont contraints de s’y taire.[472] + +Attacked, Catholicism had stood to the defence in the armour of +authority. It was fighting for life, and was bent only on self-discipline +and purification. One good soul devoted himself to the task of +spiritualising the writings of Bembo. + +The tender imaginings of art disappeared. The time was coming for art +itself to return to scenes of domestic commonplace, as in Holland, or of +pure reason, as in France. The sole impression Brantôme received as he +viewed the Coliseum was that its ruined condition was most strikingly +apparent at the top—as was seen also with women. + +The mortification would have been less acute if people had not really +expected to find happiness, and if they had begun by looking painful +realities square in the face as they did afterwards. The 17th century +left philosophy to the philosophers; it believed in suffering as a gift +of God: Pascal coldly investigated only the secret of the anxieties which +hold us by the throat; and so that admirable time of vigorous action and +patient endurance led us to philosophy. + +Platonist tenderness resulted in nihilism. And then how sad a spectacle +was the spiritual Sahara! And how well men understood, as soon as women +had disappeared, that they were right in believing them necessary! Our +great Montaigne, who arises at this moment, is a splendid eulogist of the +cold and colourless in life. He is the perfect son of this respectable +land of France, where wisdom consists in settling down in a benevolent +neutrality, without hating, and without loving: life being such, without +restraints, without illusions, nothing is left, surely, but to die. + +Montaigne, in his cool, common-sense way, delights in making mincemeat +of everything that has given women faith and enthusiasm and an object in +life. + +The heart! what a dangerous organ, essentially a thing to keep under +restraint! Better forgive a folly than a victory! + +Love! After having distilled out its quintessence, after having +discovered “three, four, or five degrees of superior things” external to +ourselves capable of producing it, is it not found that wisdom lies in +looking after one’s own interests, in loving as little as possible, in +loving one’s children perhaps, but even then with sufficient tranquillity +“to live comfortably after their loss”? + +Goodness!—that does not exist in the pure state, but contains always +some taint of corruption, a savour of mortality, which Plato should have +discerned: “Man is but patchwork and motley.” + +The quest for the Beautiful! How conventional! Let us hear no more of +Bembo or Equicola! “When I write, I do very well without the company and +the stay of books!” + +Fame! A mere bubble, at the mercy of every puff of wind, dissolving under +our own eyes, ere we reach the grave! Fame!—for books or ideas which are +fated to disappear as everything has disappeared!—a name which changes +and will pass to others! + +The charm of original thought! Ah! the ridiculous pretension of wishing +to transcend the current opinions, the common sense of one’s fellows, and +to fancy oneself “capable of all things.” It is on this head that we must +hear Montaigne; he has no more illusions about the mind than about the +heart: he warms up, and celebrates in Shakespearian accents the immensity +of the human void. + +And is he wrong when he tells us that we are our own deceivers?—that +we are unwilling to confess our ignorance lest we scare our children? +“Overmuch knowledge is harmful, as in virtue. Keep in all points to the +common highway: ’tis not good to be so subtle and nice.... Shun all +novelty and oddity.... All extravagant ways vex me.... In my time, those +who have some rare excellence beyond others, and some extraordinary +sprightliness of mind, we see as it were overflowing into license in +opinion and morals.... We are right to set upon the human mind the +rigidest barriers we can.”[473] + +The traitor! How he laughs at himself and his friends! At bottom he is +a son of women[474] and of love, but he has lost women and love. The +shallow epicurism with which his doctrine may be reproached is also the +weak side of feminism, which had already shown us the madness and error +of the idea of saddling the few years we have to spend on earth with +fatigue, tribulation, vanities. And yet, while inheriting this need for +living the easy impressionist life, Montaigne revolts with characteristic +feeling and vigour against women, because he belongs to a disillusioned +generation which feels constrained to wreak personal vengeance against +those who had been confounding the religion of beauty with the religion +of happiness. Religion consists in resignation to unhappiness, while +beauty and happiness are in truth somewhat loosely connected. The keeper +of a museum who spends his life among masterpieces will acknowledge, if +you put it to him, that one can be very unhappy there. Further, perched +in his rustic turret, between his few books and a large farmyard, +Montaigne is one of those peaceable and self-satisfied country folk who +have not succeeded in understanding what all the pother is about, or how +women could ever pass for priests or physicians. He considers them as +objects serviceable, even necessary, to men, but socially speaking he +chants their _De Profundis_. + +His bile is moved at the sight of the grand duchess taking the head of +the table in the ducal palace at Florence. What a rage he flies into! +“She has wheedled the prince”; is it by “her pleasant and commanding +features,” or her beautiful bosom? Don’t talk to him of the ideal. Take a +peep into this dressing-room—rouge-pots, false teeth, second-hand lures, +perfumes like musk derived from the “discharge of animals,” and all the +rest: this is the ideal, forsooth, you think of making the axis of life! +To him (the phrase will serve, it is homely but exact) platonism is the +art of palming off paste for diamonds. + +Yet the same scoffer Montaigne has for aide-de-camp a simple maiden, +Mademoiselle de Gournay; and, after all, his whole system comes to +this—that we should do well to be women, nay children; and that the best +thing for us would be to live like the bird on the bough, with no other +care than the due round of the seasons. + +But no: this is an impossibility! There are no seasons for us, we have +no right to expect seasons! or rather, we have only a summer,—life; only +a winter,—death! And this winter lies hungrily in wait for us! It comes +to this—that the science of life is the science of death! “The continual +work of our life is to build up death.” Since there is neither beauty +nor love, in other words no life, we are but animated corpses: our life +plunges into the stream of death, emerges, and disappears again; we live +on death as a tulip lives in its water, or corn in its refuse. Then, like +the tulip and the corn, we go through the inverse process: “Your death +is part of the order of the universe, a piece of the life of the world.” +From your disintegrated flesh the vital energy will spring up and pass +into the larva, into the sap of plants, to die yet again and nourish +afresh the butterfly or the bird or the ox, continuing thus its endless +transmigrations. Without hailing death as it passes, like the mystics, +Montaigne is continually brooding upon it, and holds it “in particular +affection,” since that is the only sure conclusion and all the rest is +chimera. Wherever he goes, a grinning spectre seems to go before to show +him the way. Of what account are the fashionable quintessences beside +the clear and insistent spectacle of a bed “surrounded by physicians and +parsons, by creatures all mazed and quaking, by pale-faced lackeys ... +and the room without daylight, the candles lit!” It is just that! And +“the leap to be made with lowered head and dazed brain ... into a depth +of silence and obscurity!” Yes, that is death, as said (merely adding a +word of immortality and hope) those humble monks of the early days of the +century, so violently excluded from philosophic religion; men had stopped +up their ears so as not to hear them, and yet now return soberly to their +scheme of morality, which grips one round like a ring of iron! What does +Ménot say?— + +“We die all of us, and like water sink into the earth and return no more +to the surface. Yea, Lord, we all step on towards death. The water of the +Loire ceases not to flow, but is it the water of yestereve that passes +under the bridge to-day? The folk who to-day dwell in this town were not +here a hundred years ago. Now, I am here; next year you will have another +preacher. Where is king Louis, but late so dread a monarch, and king +Charles, who in the flower of his youth set Italy aquake? Alas! the earth +has already rotted his corpse. Where are all these damsels of whom we +have heard so much? Have you not the Romance of the Rose, and Melusina, +and many another far-famed beauty? Behold, we all die, and like the water +we enter into the earth, to return no more for ever.” + +Montaigne is right. Whether we like it or not, we have to live in contact +with the enemy, that is, with reality. Only, is it absolutely necessary +to look at reality so mistrustfully, and to ask of it but gloomy +impressions? All the enemies of faith maintain that faith cannot but be +sombre and melancholy; in making itself pleasant and speaking of a God +of Love, religion, it seems, would lie and do them wrong, would trench +on their domain, would go beyond its part, which consists in expiation +and sacrifice. Material joy—that is their creed; and at the same time +they believe it is a great mistake to wish to rule the world by love; men +are not held by spiritual systems; you buy them, crush them, oppress and +coerce them. + +Nevertheless, all was not false in the delicious dream of prelates, +women, platonists. Pure love is too exquisite a thing ever to exist in +this world. But it is the business of women to strive towards it, and to +show that we have need of it. The idea of dividing the world, of leaving +bodies to men and souls to women, had something to be said in its favour. +Men are sometimes too philosophical, women never philosophical enough. + +The convulsions which broke out every time men wished to turn the tables +on women, in the 16th century, and in the 18th, are not sufficient to +convince us that the unmitigated employment of force is the ideal of +politics. What human being is there, even with all the sentiment crushed +out of him, who does not feel an unquenchable thirst for happiness! +Nations also feel this thirst. No, it cannot be said that the need of +happiness is but an empty dream: it is a real need, sincere, imperious, +natural, a moral and physical need which takes entire possession of us, +in which all things are summed up—this need in which we live and die. + +We live and die in it! We should have to remain always children, or +strangely to shut our eyes, not to see falling around us the victims of +life’s ironies, felled by Montaigne’s philosophy as surely, as clearly, +as by a dagger-thrust. + +A proverb says that one does not die of love: perhaps; but what we know +with absolute certainty, what stares us everywhere in the face in letters +of fire and blood, is that one dies of the absence of love, one dies of +inanition. + +Hence it will always be necessary to ascend to the source of life, to +fix ourselves firmly at the fountain-head: in other words, to nourish +ourselves on beauty. Philosophically, “beauty” and “life” are synonymous +terms; so we have already said, and we shall not cease to revert to this +thought, because it appears to us clear and salutary. All the possible +definitions of beauty apply also to life; life and beauty are one and the +same thing. + +Beauty and life generate love and are themselves born of love, so that +love does no more than forge links in the immeasurable chain of life and +beauty. And what men call happiness is the perfect joy of life. + +Why did they fail in their schemes of love and peace—these timid women +of the 16th century, who had all that was necessary for success—a heart, +boundless, bottomless ocean of kindliness; an admirable intelligence; +and in many cases knowledge, beauty, wealth? They lacked the courage to +be themselves; they were wanting in passion. Instead of taking their +rightful place they fell back into obedience,—half-hearted dilettanti, +caught in their own snares. Why? + +Medieval Christianity was not hostile to the idea of the beautiful, but +it had unduly neglected it, for the purely scholastic and traditional +reason that, strictly speaking, no theory of the beautiful is to be found +in the Gospels. + +No, you will not find a theory of the beautiful there. But the +Renaissance unquestionably was right in saying that you find assurances +of life. And how many assurances of love? Christianity is of hope and +love all compact. Love speaks on every page of its early lessons, and +at every moment of its history. The Magdalene, St. Augustine, and many +another—have they not marked stages on the road to heaven? St. Francis +of Sales, Fénelon—were they not yet to cheer by affection the victims of +pure reason? + +The Renaissance, then, accomplished a very great advance when, with +Plato’s aid, it instituted the religion of beauty, and in this respect we +certainly cannot reproach the platonists of the 16th century with having +followed a wrong bent. They were right to believe that happiness and +peace can only be effectually secured if men can be induced to turn their +eyes towards the beautiful, to adopt beauty as the beacon of their lives, +to believe through love, act through love, live through love. That, in +truth, is the common substance underlying both Christianity and platonism. + +But how then are we to explain the phenomenon we have noted? + +Plato, so far as theory and literary style are concerned, is admirable; +why does his teaching end in negative results whenever it is enforced? +Why could he himself deduce from it only a sociology embroidered with +Utopian dreams? Why are those who live familiarly with him and upon him +tortured by the consciousness of the emptiness of things, as was seen in +the 16th century, and as we may see still? + +The platonism of the Renaissance had a strange fate. It found a society +in the plenitude of vigour, and save for a few elect souls it left it +dead. As a philosophy, it resulted in perfect scepticism; as a social +panacea, in the wars of religion. It slew art, it slew literature through +the idea of seeking beauty in itself, in other words, by academism, by +art for art’s sake: the aesthetic Utopia alongside of the philosophic +Utopia! Still further, in place of the exquisite, enthusiastic, ardent, +adorable women who were the queens of the world, it gave us, as time +went on, women without energy, without activity, case-hardened with the +idea of a selfish happiness; it left behind it a progeny of coquettes, +_précieuses_, or else of Delilahs and sensual women. The woman of +vigorous and irradiant affection, the woman who used to shed life and +happiness around her, has disappeared. And, finally, we observe that at +the very moment of Plato’s greatest glory, few women steadfastly pursued +the path of happiness: with some, goodness had disappeared in feebleness, +with others intelligence had evaporated in reasoning. They ought to have +saved us from sensualism and metaphysics, and they ran aground on both +reefs. How bitterly they have been reproached! We have done them the +high honour of throwing upon them and their ideas the blame of all our +calamities, as though they were exclusively at fault. As if it would not +have been allowable, after all, to combine common sense with the spirit +of kindliness and love! + +If there were, then as always, silly women, profligate women, insatiate +cormorants, why take platonism to task, why blame women alone? + +Certain personages of that time, and some of the most notable, refused +to admit any division of responsibility. To them, all that had happened +was bound to happen; the origin was patent, the year 1515; when women of +high rank, admitted to court, determined to devote themselves personally +to the apostolic mission of love, all France took the cue, so that the +idea of love, which issued to begin with from a source insufficiently +philosophic, as it flowed downwards gained nothing and became no +purer. It is very curious to find this line of argument proceeding +from Brantôme’s pen; he is not generally a preacher of virtue, and has +indeed enunciated this eminently courtier-like maxim: “The cast-offs of +great kings could not but be excellent.” According to Brantôme and his +friends, men had undergone an irresistible infatuation for which they +were not to be blamed: thus, he says, no one would regard Francis I. as a +Heliogabalus or accuse him of having employed violence: he was a victim. +All men are victims. It is very true that the frightful demoralisation +of the 16th century sprang from the court, which set the example and +persistently dragged the nation after it. But we shall be permitted to +think that Francis I. and the other victims among his circle, without +being Heliogabaluses, were not anchorites either; which is capable of +demonstration. In any case, it seems to us very difficult to characterise +the doings of the court as platonic: platonism, on the contrary, was a +barrier, and the only reproach we can bring against it is that it was +often leaped. + +But the real question is not to know whether there were women of +average or cheap virtue at the court of France, and whether they gave +the tone to others. We want to know whether women like Anne of France, +Vittoria Colonna, Margaret of France, Margaret of Savoy, and their likes +were wrong to strive after high ideals, and whether they did what was +necessary to succeed. This question is much more delicate than the first, +because it really touches platonism and shows how it came to grief. + +Women can be reclaimed from sensualism; their necessarily refined +feelings, the passive part they play, the disparity between the advantage +and the disadvantage, conduce easily to disgust. But they never revert +from mysticism to love. The Gospels mention no Jewesses converted by +mysticism, whilst the Magdalene, the Woman of Samaria, the Woman taken +in Adultery, see Heaven’s light while in the full flush of sensualism. +Men, on the contrary, often get the better of mysticism, because their +instincts scarcely lie that way, and moreover the throng and press of +realities only too easily brings them down to earth. + +Now, Plato, even when rendered practical by the theory of two loves, +which sanctioned curious concessions, represented the algebra of the +beautiful; but you cannot make algebra your daily bread. + +Women of the highest distinction, and especially those we have named, +lived with Plato as it were in a balloon: there was no more actual +communication with the world, no more really practical energy, no +more heat and flame! The rope was cut; they were adrift in the clear +and rarefied atmosphere of an altitude of thousands of feet. What an +illusion, and how disastrous! Instead of elevating the world, this was +the very means of abandoning it to itself. How many strange visions this +dizzy height brought before their eyes! + +First, the idea of living face to face with the absolute, and of +importing the absolute into life—pride of thought of the vainest kind! +To adopt St. Augustine’s figure, you might as well shut up the ocean in +a hole in the sand! As De Musset said: “My glass is small, but from my +glass I drink.” The realms of space do not furnish a substantial love, +and it is vexatious enough to leave that love grovelling on the earth. + +Secondly, along with this supramundane mysticism, platonism developed +the exclusive contemplation of self, another deplorable mistake. We +live in virtue of a continual exchange, as physiological and moral laws +equally prove. God alone can rejoice in perfect independence of life and +happiness; the condition of us men is to be happy through give and take; +we have to receive everything, but also to give everything. To search for +happiness within oneself allows no room for enthusiasm or an enlarged +current of life, nor, consequently, for life itself: one withers up like +a tree which should forbid its roots to imbibe moisture from the soil, +its branches to breathe. + +The poor dear women, once isolated in the boundless tracts of their +imagination, became giddy, fell a prey to needless torments, lost the +precious gift of simplicity, which was so natural to them in their +capacity as great ladies—that excellent and wise simplicity of mind +which assigns us our place in the vast sequence of things, according to +the will of God. They hovered too far out of touch with realities, they +generalised, wished to grasp too much, they grew restless and uneasy, +which rendered them a prey to intriguers: their sensibility had no +ballast. To influence humanity, they had first to influence the human +beings they had at hand. So long as their mission remained individual, +private, concrete, intimate, it produced satisfactory results. How many +men did they carry up with them into the heights! But when they wanted +to act upon mankind at large, the game was up. Trying to influence +everybody, they ended by influencing nobody. Thus Vittoria Colonna gave +to her beloved Michelangelo forces which he turned to admirable account; +but in her abstract efforts towards public regeneration she completely +failed. + +Let us add that Frenchwomen had a much more difficult mission to fulfil +than the Italian women. Spell-bound by the example of Italy, they fancied +that what had succeeded there was sure to succeed here, and they did +not even see (so great was their taste for blind imitation) that they +were behind the fair, that they were importing among us the imitation +of a decadent art, the imitation of an imitation, a counterfeit love, a +counterfeit curiosity, a counterfeit scheme of life. What they should +have done was to inspire robust activities, to cause, no matter whence +or how, a gush of ideas beautiful, striking, original, soul-stirring; +instead, they refined and subtilised and complicated, they wasted their +ingenuity in seeking to discover which was the more aesthetic, poetry or +painting; complication seemed to them to be art, and not the apprentice +stage of art: they never attained that noble logic which is art itself. +Truly strong souls know well that you cannot nourish the world on +sweetstuffs merely, that a decided will is needed in life, and that the +beautiful becomes one with the true when truth has all its potency. Happy +are those who skilfully draw love from truth!—the ploughman who loves +his furrow, the poor man who loves his poverty, the maiden who loves her +purity! We find among women many valiant souls of the stamp of Anne of +France, able thus to lay hold of life. As to those who allow themselves +to be led astray by the obsession of an abstract and too lofty ideal, +they die. + +Platonism, then, marked a great advance towards the idea of beauty, +but it did not accomplish any striking progress towards the idea of +happiness, and Nifo was not far wrong in predicting that the doctrine +of two loves, the one celestial, immaterial, good, and desirable, the +other terrestrial and carnal, would result in mere negation, by setting +men between impossible alternatives—a colloquy of angels, or, as M. +France says, a colloquy of chimpanzees. We may regret our condition, +but how escape from it? Natural law (that is, divine law) bids us +disdain none of the gifts of God, but to obtain from each its particular +beauty. Happiness consists really in loving what we have round about +us, in appropriating therefrom all that is beautiful and congenial, +and in affectionately conforming to Nature without coercing her, so as +to nourish ourselves upon her spiritual and physical forces, and to +assimilate her warmth and energy and her universal harmony. + +In our own day John Ruskin has been one of the apostles of happiness +under this aspect, and though his doctrine may be difficult to define, +he has unquestionably carried the idea of platonism a stage further, in +harmony with the saying of Plato which we have already quoted: “Those who +know have impressions.” + +The impressions on which he lived were often inconsistent, and still more +often nebulous, one might almost say musical. He has been taunted with +his apparent lack of logic, though the glitter of his thought by its very +brilliance often conceals a logic that is sufficiently real. But, after +all, he has unduly neglected the spiritual side of Nature, in particular +the human soul. While we cannot shut our eyes to the existence of the +body and the utility of earthly possessions, it is at the same time good +and necessary for happiness to keep the body and material well-being on +the lower plane. The body is essentially localised, wealth is limited, +and, for both, giving spells exhaustion; only the soul can spend itself +unceasingly, and grow the richer thereby. And thus social happiness +results, so to speak, from the socialism of souls. + +Ruskin belongs to the old Venetian school, materialistic, and pagan; his +heart has echoed to physical harmonies, and to him a certain material +socialism would not have been unpleasing. Yet he has well shown what we +ought to feel in our communion with Nature, he has glorified the worship +of beauty and happiness, which consists in guessing at God, in seeing +Him, in acclaiming Him in the beauty of mountains as in the beauty of a +heart overflowing with tenderness and love, in all that is beautiful, +and beautiful for us. His essential idea is that everything around us +produces an impression upon us, and that we ourselves have a duty to +our environment. Gardens are no longer a mere setting of life, they are +alive. Ruskin goes so far as to extol the idea of sacrificing ourselves +for posterity—to plant forests under whose shade our descendants may +live, to build cities in which future nations will be able to dwell. + +It is a far cry from these undulatory but noble theories to the egoistic +enjoyment of oneself; yet it is very certain that to carry them into +practice in reasonable measure is the way to find happiness. + +That is essentially the moral system which women ought to teach—women +born for impressions, for devotion, generosity, the higher life. + +Unhappily, Ruskin, little conversant with love and altogether +unacquainted with the domestic affections, never showed in his own life +a really high appreciation of women’s rôle, nor has he less misconstrued +it from the theoretical standpoint. Apart from some sonorous phrases +in which he recommends them to be queens, but in submission to their +husbands, or to practise good social economy in relation to their +dressmakers, it may be said that he did not understand the charm of +women, and that he felt no attraction for their particular beauty. When +he speaks of beauty, whether in regard to modern painters or to the +Greeks, it is always in general terms, without indicating in any way +whether the feminine expression of the beautiful has for him a special +signification. In his enthusiasm for the aesthetics of the Middle Ages +he even admires masculine beauty above all: his type in that case is the +beauty of a stalwart knight. + +M. Bourget, for example, has more clearly conceived and accurately +interpreted the necessity of harmony with Nature; his sensations or +sentiments approximate to the philosophy of the Renaissance, and reflect +the spirit of penetrating sweetness which women had undertaken to develop. + +“The sincere acceptance of the inevitable,” he says, “supposes a love +for the inevitable, the consciousness, and not merely the idea, that +this obscure universe has a mysterious and kindly signification. In the +depths of our sensibility there exists an indestructible craving that +this world shall contain something wherewith to satisfy our heart, since +this heart is the world’s own child; and the pure and guileless men +whose ever young and tender spirits speak to us across the ages—Francis +of Assisi, Savonarola, those who believed in this bountiful kindness of +the universe, as they breathed, as they lived, with the whole of their +being—these appear to us in a state of unanswerable protest against the +nihilism with which we are stifled. They become the accomplices in us of +a faith which is hardly conscious of itself, and sometimes seeks its way +with tears. ‘Thou wouldst not seek me,’ says the Saviour in the beautiful +_Mystery of Jesus_, ‘if thou hadst not found me.’ Is this phenomenon far +from that other mysterious one which true believers call prayer?” + +We can, we must love Nature, because God has placed her all about us, and +because happiness consists in living with what we love. We love things +that are not ideally perfect, in other words, which are not superlatively +beautiful, because happiness presents itself to us under an essentially +relative aspect, and because there is no one but lays claim to it. It is +not even a question of loving beautiful things, then, but, as we said, of +loving what is beautiful in things. + +In real life, to be sure, unpleasant things are as common as +blackberries, while pleasant things are few and far between. Nevertheless +the truth of the system of happiness through love is proved by its +efficacy. Just as the pure platonist, penetrated by his glorious ideal, +is cold, unprofitable, and unhappy, the man who loves is conscious +of being filled with strength and light. To love is to have real and +ardent emotions instead of locking oneself in the icy sentimentalism +of reasoning or of false mysticism; it is to become a wellspring of +sweetness, kindliness, activity, a mainstay of the world: it is to sow +life with flowers, to bestow happiness and to possess it. Though placed +by birth in a refractory medium, Ruskin, in spite of his insufficiencies, +contradictions, weaknesses, lacunae, has exercised a profound influence, +while the platonism of Ficino and Bembo, in a land of high sensibility, +amongst incomparable artists and charming women, stifled everything and +throttled itself. + +There are, spread over the world, two unequal races which, living +continually side by side, yet never understand each other and never +blend—the race of pride, and the race of vanity. Pride tends to +enthusiasm and advancement; it would be well to have proud women. +Unhappily men, no matter who they are, do not love them, but much prefer +the feeble and the vain. + +Yet the efforts of the Renaissance women have not been wholly wasted. +Those noble women sowed for the future, and the germ subsists. + +Nor can it be said that their defeat was absolute. To form a sound +judgment on the question we should have to be able (failures being +invariably more noticeable than successes) to gauge the mysterious, +secret operations of their grace; to number the despondent men cheered by +a kind word or a glance of pity or affection; to fathom the resources, +in truth unfathomable, possessed by the spirit of love even when pure, +and possessed by it alone. Women of great soul, the Vittoria Colonnas of +the world, have drawn from it results almost miraculous; and many others, +without turning themselves into a sort of celestial dancing-mistresses, +or becoming lost in worthless caprices, have given us reason to hope +that, what with labour and earnestness and dignity, the end of their +usefulness will not be seen for many a long day. + +In short, they took the lead in the profoundest revolution we have ever +experienced; from Louis XI. they led us to the boudoirs of the 18th +century. + +We can give their work neither unqualified praise nor condemnation. But +we can praise many of these high-souled women—praise them for having +seen and followed their star, though they at first sight may not have +recognised the more excellent way. With all our reservations, we feel +their spell upon us, because they were interesting, sincere, devoted, +eminently tender, eminently feminine. We can commend them to the sympathy +of those many ladies of our own day who, as we know, are also seeking +their path, and even their star. + +Some of my readers may not approve of this conclusion: some will think it +optimistic, others pessimistic: in such matters contradiction is easy. +Will they allow me to reply in advance that such criticisms would not +surprise me? More than once I myself have recast this book, now in the +optimistic direction, now in the pessimistic: a simple historian, in +contact with subtle, fleeting, elusive shades, with women I sought to +see through; as independent as a man may be, in presence of beauties for +three centuries in the grave, when he is grey with years, sated with the +two great spectacles which, according to Montaigne, quiet the soul—the +sight of government, the sight of death,—I would ever and anon catch +myself understanding their witchery, enthralled to their charm, or else +hating their charm, unjustly; and then, at the moment when I fancied I +could at last write my _veni, vidi, vici_, the ideas slipped from my +book like water through a sieve. It is thus I have acquired the right of +loving these dear ghosts. + +And now adieu, princesses, cease to tempt us beyond our powers! Only +continue to live amongst us! Our age is very masculine, your spiritualism +pays us but angel visits now!—you have been driven in a thousand ways to +learn what a soulless commercialism is like. And yet, in your better, +spiritual part, you are with us always. We have lovable and accomplished +women, we have women in a true sense aristocratic, whose hearts are +capable of enthusiasm and heroic charities; there have been some whose +names even live after them as synonyms of intelligence and goodness. We +have our Margarets of Savoy, and, in goodly numbers, women whose moral +bearing surpasses that of men; we have even women of energy, and also, it +is said, of tenderness. The day when they proudly resume the motto _Non +inferiora secutus_, and when to their eminent good qualities they add the +talent of being themselves, the will to speak in their own true accents +rather than a borrowed tongue, they will give us back our illusions, and +with them what was not illusion. + +Let them renounce public life! But let them take complete possession +of the home life. Let mannish women, if they must, turn doctors, and +womanish women turn priests! Let all be philosophers, comforters, +ministers of love human and divine; let them work through love, and love +through love! Let them have what we lack, let them excel us, enlighten +us, encourage us! And in our hearts we Latins shall bless them, as we +bless the sun. Passion is a warrant-royal of life. + +The moral of our book is that good women should love the beautiful, and +that virtue can be neither tiresome nor torpid. + +There is no need to be always a maiden of twelve. True sweetness, +true goodness, true love come, not of naïveté or feebleness, but of +intelligence and personal force. + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +[1] Madame Vincent has reminded us, in an interesting memoir, that ladies +at one time sat as peers of France. + +[2] As administrative authority depended on territorial possessions, it +was quite natural that women should exercise it on occasion. The village +gilds, though composed of men, sometimes elected a woman as president. + +[3] “The history of marriage is the history of a relation in which women +have gradually triumphed over the passions, prejudices, and selfish +interests of men: that is the picture of true progress.” (F. Brunetière.) + +[4] An Italian caricature of about the year 1450 (repeated by the French +in the sixteenth century) gives a satirical representation of women +violently struggling to wear trunk-hose. + +[5] [The manual of religious instruction given to French girls on +attaining the age of twelve.] + +[6] Clément Marot on the motto of Madame de Lorraine: + + [If love fail, faith is surely slain; + If faith die, love flies hence amain; + So in one motto link the twain— + _Faith and love_.] + +[7] One of the most distinguished women of Italy to-day, the Countess +Pasolini, assures us that the great influence still exercised by women +in Italy springs from their approximating more closely than men to +fifteenth-century ideas. + +[8] We may say, in passing, that the Italianism of the end of the +fifteenth century, usually regarded as originating with the Italian +expedition of Charles VIII., really goes back to Louis XI. Louis was +Italian in education and tastes. Italians flocked into France during his +reign. + +[9] Cornelius Vitelli, styled Corythius by the public, came to France in +1482, for the simple reason that his own country had become unsafe for +him. We have not many details about him or about his colleague, Girolamo +Balbi, a pompous and quarrelsome character. A third Italian, Fausto +Andrelini, made his appearance in 1488, under the auspices of the Marquis +of Mantua. Andrelini, who lived very comfortably at Paris till his death +in 1518, had no other effects than the memories of a little love-affair, +which he confided to us in three books of verses, his “pages of youth,” +as we should say to-day. Exiled, penniless, almost naked, but a poet, he +was, as soon as he arrived, petted, adopted, and idolised, the favourite +of Chancellor Guillaume de Rochefort and of fortune. + +[10] Fausto Andrelini was the object of incredible adulation; Erasmus, +wise man, simply calls him “divine,” but some did not hesitate to +proclaim that “he alone had rendered France filled instead of famishing, +cultivated instead of waste, verdant instead of barren, Latin instead of +barbarous.” One of the noblest characters of the time, Guillaume Budé, +actually dedicated to him this amazing epitaph: “Here lies Fausto. If +the Fates had not given him to us, Gaeta herself would not have been +more barbarous than France.” But he was no sooner buried than everyone +regarded him as a knave. + +[11] John Ruskin. + +[12] [The most prolific and popular eclogue writer of the fifteenth +century (1436-1516). + + “As the moste famous Baptist Mantuan, + The best of that sort since Poetes first began.” + + —_Alexander Barclay._ + +Erasmus went so far as to match him with Virgil.] + +[13] [The celebrated cabalistic philosopher (1486-1535). He stayed for a +time with Dean Colet in London. He wrote a book _De Nobilitate feminei +sexus_.] + +[14] An extract from the marriage of Peregrino will give an idea of the +Romance (Book I., cap. i., p. 32): + +“There standing and awaiting the wished-for end, I heard the voice of a +minister of Jupiter, who, regarding both of us, thus spake: ‘Peregrino, +and you Geneva, are you clear and free from every manifest or secret +bond?’ ‘We are free, nor anywhit bounden?’—_Minister_: ‘Are you not +conjoined in affinity?’ _Peregrino and Geneva_: ‘Naught in affinity, and +little in amity!’ _Minister_: ‘Have you promised marriage or betrothal to +any other man or woman?’ _Peregrino and Geneva_: ‘No, never.’ _Minister_: +‘Are you by common consent disposed to celebrate this present holy +sacrament of matrimony?’ _Peregrino and Geneva_: ‘We wish it heartily and +in faith.’ _Minister_: ‘Thee, woman, give I to him, and Peregrino will +put on the ring.’ + +“Having done his bidding, as it is the wont, we sat ourselves down,” and +a tender conversation ensues between the two spouses. + +“O matchless eloquence!” cries Peregrino, “O thrice lucky hour! O blessed +day! O my hope in the sovran guerdon vouchsafed to me! With thee, sweet +my dame, love, and gentleness, and discretion, and prudence have their +habitation, in thee every good thing doth lie hid. Thou art very music, +of all discords the harmony. In all parts I find thee whole and perfect. +Thou art abundant in all humanity and sweetness, and in thy making the +lord and maker of heaven hath created the true copy and sovran revelation +of all things.” The couple dream their souls away in these platonic +effusions. The bride is bedded there and then, and the author omits no +detail. The sun is already high when a young maidservant ventures to come +in and light a fire of twigs. + +[15] [The quotation is taken from the _Heptameron_, Tale 40. There the +lady is named Nomerfide, whom the author identifies with a certain Mlle +de Clermont.] + +[16] “_Anna_: The maiden invokes with all her prayers the sweets of +wedlock, and yet with the first amorous intoxication begin the woes of +the conjugal bed; the woman is scarce nestled upon the heart of the man +than with one consent they long for separation. _Phyllis_: Anna, little +it recks me that thou decriest the bonds of wedlock and the crabbed sour +race of men; my heart is a-fire with love and I am tormented with thirst +for marriage.... I deem it better far to marry betimes; wedlock is a +refuge where modesty may shelter herself.”—(J. Cats, pp. 6, 7, 16.) + +[17] _Heptameron_, Tale 21. + +[18] [As these royal ladies are constantly cited in subsequent pages, the +reader will allow us to remind him once for all of their relationships. +Louise of Savoy was the wife of Charles, Count d’Angoulême, cousin-german +of Louis XII., and the mother of Francis I. and of Margaret of Valois. +She was a passionate and masterful woman and completely ruled her son, +and her greed and intriguing spirit brought disaster upon France. Anne of +France, also known as Anne of Beaujeu, was the eldest daughter of Louis +XI., and wife of Pierre II. of Bourbon. She was virtual ruler of France +during the first eight years of the reign of her brother Charles VIII.: +see further Book III., chapter i. She is connected with English history +in so far as it was largely her money that financed Henry of Richmond’s +successful enterprise against Richard III.] + +[19] No law in the world had yet authorised them to marry “without the +knowledge, advice, and consent of their fathers” (Rabelais). + +[20] The good Anne of France, married to a husband much older than +herself, had in her life a romance which has escaped notice. She was fond +of her first fiancé: + + “Le prédit duc de Calabre, famé, + En l’espousant luy donna ung aneau, + Non de grant pris; mais si fut il amé + De par la dame et plus chier estimé + Qu’or ny argent, ne bague, ne joiau + Qu’elle garda, mieulx que plus riche et beau, + Jusque a la mort, c’est vérité patente....” + + [“Calabria’s foresaid duke, a prince of fame, + Plighted his troth and gave his bride a ring, + Of no great price, I wot, but yet the dame + Loved him so dear, so high esteemed his name + As never gold nor any precious thing, + Silver nor gem, did her more pleasure bring, + Until her death. ’Tis very truth I tell.”] + +The duke died six years after the betrothal, + + “Qui fust ung deul qui bien tost ne passa, + Mais grefvement poingnit et trepersa + Le noble cueur de la jeune espousée. + Par quoy, tost fust la chose disposée + Qu’aultre mari prendroit notable et bon, + Ung sien prochain, feu Pierre de Bourbon.” + + [“And ’twas a sorrow that not soon did pass, + But smote fell sore and heavily, alas! + The noble heart of this young winsome bride. + Nathless, ere yet her brimming tears were dried, + Another mate was found her, good and high, + Pierre de Bourbon, of her own family.”] + +But the princess clung to the ring of her former lover, symbol of + + “Loyalle amour dont estoit anoblie ... + ... En cest aneau que luy avoit doné + Son amy mort, voullut Pierre espouser.” + + [“Of loyal love’s ennobling influence. + And with this ring, gift of her lover dead, + Would she her husband Pierre de Bourbon wed,”] + +in order to preserve the memory of him whom God, in his unfathomable +designs, had seen fit to take from her— + + “Pour petit cueur, d’une jeune pucelle, + Bien garde est d’amour honneste + C’est quant jamais ne varie ou chancelle ...” + + —_Poème inédit de La Vauguyon._ + + [“To the sweet guileless heart of tender maid + ’Tis surety of a chaste and noble love + That changeth never, nor will ever fade.”] + +The princess was as pure a woman as any of whom we have any account, but +the author dwells on this innocent romance in order to keep her memory +alive in the hearts of lovers. + +[21] [Vittoria Colonna (1490-1547) was the most illustrious member of +an old and illustrious Roman family said to derive its name from the +_column_ to which Christ was bound for His scourging. At the age of +seventeen she married the Marquis of Pescara, and when he died of wounds +received at Pavia (1525) she refused many offers of marriage, and devoted +herself to literature and works of piety. She wrote poems in imitation of +Petrarch.] + +[22] [Tiraqueau was the learned and genial seneschal of Fontenoy who +released Rabelais from the tender mercies of the Franciscans, for which +kindness he was eulogised in _Pantagruel_. He had a large family, wrote +many books, and was a water drinker; whence an anonymous epigram which, +roughly rendered in English, reads: + + Tiraqueau, fruitful as the vine, + Got thirty sons, but drank no wine; + Not less prolific with the pen, + Produced as many books as men. + And had not water sapped his strength, + So strenuous a man at length + Had filled this world of ours—who knows?— + With books and little Tiraqueaux.] + +[23] [A famous physician of Lyons (1471-1540), who founded the College of +Medicine there. He was also a man of action and a writer, and his _Nef +des dames vertueuses_ made him so popular with the ladies that he had to +choose back ways to avoid affectionate mobbing.] + +[24] + + “Ainsi, comme j’ayme m’amye, + Cinq, six, sept heures et demye + L’entretiendray, voyre dix ans, + Sans avoir paour des médisants, + Et sans danger de ma personne.” + + —Clément Marot, _Dialogue nouveau_. + + [Thus, as I love my doxy dear, + Five, six, seven hours, nay full ten year + I’ll court her, free from fear of slander: + And scatheless—for I but philander.] + +[25] [The great general (1460-1525) who served Charles VIII., Louis XII., +and Francis I. He conquered Lombardy for Charles, and was killed at +Pavia.] + +[26] [See Book II., cap. v.] + +[27] [_i.e._ Catherine Sforza, the natural daughter of Galeazzo Sforza, +Duke of Milan. She married the prince of Forli, and on his assassination +by rebels was thrown into prison with her children. But hearing that +Rimini held out for her against all assaults, she offered to carry in +person an order for its capitulation. On arriving before the city, +however, she bade the rebels lay down their arms, and cowed them by sheer +force of character. She married later Giovanni de’ Medici, father of +Cosimo. She defended Forli against Caesar Borgia, but was captured, and +imprisoned in S. Angelo; thence escaping, she retired to Florence, and +soon afterwards died there.] + +[28] The countess’s lover. + +[29] [Egnazio, a fellow-pupil of Leo X., teacher of eloquence and editor +of Ovid and Cicero, etc.] + +[30] _Heptameron_, Tale 25. + +[31] _Heptameron_, Tale 25. + +[32] [The Yorick of French literature: see Victor Hugo’s _Le Roi +s’amuse_. When Panurge has vainly sought advice from everyone else on +the momentous question, ‘to marry or not to marry?’ he tries Triboulet, +who sends him to consult the oracle of the Divine Bottle (Rabelais, +_Gargantua_, Book III.). Triboulet was court jester to Louis XII. and +Francis I.] + +[33] [Of the early part of the 17th century. Her chief work is the +_Angoisses douloureuses qui procèdent l’amour_.] + +[34] A large number of these _cassoni_ exists. One of the most beautiful +that can be mentioned represents the story of Esther (Chantilly gallery). +The author possesses one that represents Filippo Maria Visconti before +the Emperor. + +[35] Two days after his marriage, Girolamo Riario sent his bride a +casket containing diamond necklaces and robes of gold brocade and of +velvet, embroidered with fine pearls; one robe alone carried nearly 3000 +pearls; there was also a purse of gold, silver-embroidered girdles, +etc.—(Pasolini.) + +[36] _Anna Karenina._ + +[37] + + “Y cuidez-vous avoir repos + En mariage, mes mignons? + Ouy dea!” + + [“And think you then to find repose + In marriage bonds, my jolly joes? + Heigh ho!”] + +chuckles Roger de Collérye, addressing himself here, however, to men. + +[38] “It ought to be a voluptuousness somewhat circumspect and +conscientious.... Is not a man a miserable creature? He is scarce come to +his own strength by his natural condition, to taste one only complete, +entire and pure pleasure, but he laboureth by discourse to cut it off: he +is not wretched enough except by art and study he augment his misery.” +(_Montaigne_, bk. i. cap. xxix. [Florio’s translation]). + +[39] [Elder sister (1492-1549) of Francis I., and head of the Renaissance +party in France. Her character is elaborately analysed in subsequent +pages of this book. The quotations under her name are from the +_Heptameron_, and the poems of which she is the reputed author.] + +[40] _Heptameron_, Tale 40. + +[41] [Baldassare Castiglione (1478-1529), the author of the famous +_Book of the Courtier_, Hoby’s translation of which has been recently +added to Mr. Henley’s ‘Tudor Translations.’ This book is frequently +quoted from and alluded to in the following pages. It purports to be a +record of conversations held at the Court of Guidobaldo, Duke of Urbino +(1472-1508), upon the qualities that make up the perfect courtier, +and many other subjects incidentally. The chief interlocutors who are +mentioned in these pages, are the duchess, Elizabeth Gonzaga; Cardinal +Pietro Bembo (1470-1547), of so fastidious a taste as to revise his works +forty times, the author of _Gli Asolani_, dialogues on platonic love; +Bibbiena; and the coarse and dissolute Pietro Aretino, called Unico +(1492-1557), who alternately satirised and sponged on the great; he wrote +several witty and indecent comedies, and his letters throw much light +on the social life of his time. The reader will find some specimens of +his work _La Cortigiana_ (the Courtesan) quoted in Burton’s _Anatomy of +Melancholy_.] + +[42] The abate Serassi has preserved it: “My dear husband, I have got a +little daughter, for which I think you will not be sorry. I have been +much worse than last time, and, as I wrote you, I have had three attacks +of very high fever. To-day, however, I am feeling better, and hope to +have no more trouble. I will not try to write any longer, lest I be over +bold. With all my heart I commend myself to your lordship. Your wife, who +a little _starocca_ with pain. Mantua, August 20, 1520.” + +[43] [The duke’s health was ruined by early excesses; Castiglione says +‘gout.’] + +[44] [Paolo Giovio, Italian historian (1483-1552), an interesting but +untrustworthy writer. As Brantôme puts it, he used two pens, one of gold, +the other of iron, according as the princes he served treated him!] + +[45] _Heptameron_, Tale 68. + +[46] _Heptameron_, Prologue and Tale 45. + +[47] By ‘amateurs’ we mean men who, while not professionally qualified, +have leisure to devote to extended scientific study. In our own day, as +is well known, M. Pasteur and M. Claude Bernard would not be entitled to +give professional advice. + +[48] [Mistress of Henri II., an imperious and avaricious woman, but a +generous patron of the arts. See Hugo’s _Le Roi s’amuse_.] + +[49] “I affirm not but I may one day be drawn to such fond opinions, +and yield my life and health to the mercy, discretion, and regimen of +physicians,” says Montaigne. “I may haply fall into this fond madness; I +cannot answer for my future constancy. But even then, if any ask me how I +do, I may answer him as did Pericles, ‘You may judge by that.’” (Bk. II. +chap, xxxvii.) + +[50] “O heavenly physician!” cries St. Theresa, “thou dost resemble +only in name these physicians on earth! Thou visitest the sick without +summons, and more gladly the poor than the rich.” + +[51] Doctors, further, had to take orders and were not allowed to marry. + +[52] [An Italian writer (1508-1568) who “wrote in all styles but excelled +in none.” He wrote two dialogues on matrimony and the misadventures of +husbands.] + +[53] Savonarola, who fought in vain against the vogue of astrology (_Opus +singulare contra l’astrologia_: a woodcut represents him disputing with +an astrologer), ridicules the Roman prelates who never moved a step +without consulting their astrologer. The great soldiers and sovereign +princes, such as Lodovico Sforza and Francesco di Gonzaga, were no whit +different. In princely houses a physician who would not condescend +to practise astrology led a sorry life. He points to his phials in +vain; “against death he has no medicine”; while the astrologer, a man +of position, handsome, fat, well-fed, rich, gazes into the boundless +heavens (_Dance of Death_); there was no profession more lucrative than +astrology, none more tempting to ambition. It lent itself to dramatic +effects. First the astrologer was usually a foreigner, no man having +honour in his own country—an Italian or German, or, better still, a Moor +or Gipsy. He puts on airs and keeps his clients waiting. If someone sends +him a birth date, to have his horoscope cast, he sends no reply; his eyes +are so fatigued by constant watching! he is so tired! And the awestruck +princesses in the waiting-room say to one another that patience is +necessary with “such geniuses.” And the stars were put to marvellous uses. + +Bonaventure des Périers relates the amusing story of a physician of +Paris, who, alleging high astrological reasons, never showed any +amiability to his wife except on rainy days. The despairing lady at +last hit upon a very simple expedient: every evening she had a tub of +water emptied on the roof so as to produce the sound of a shower in +the gutter-spout, and it rained every day! At this game the physician +came off second-best and died; and his widow, who found herself very +well off, was besieged with numerous offers. She incontinently sent +all the physicians packing, then asked her other suitors if they were +familiar with the moon and stars. Everyone thought it well to make solemn +affirmation that he was, and received his _congé_. There was only one who +was simple enough to confess that his science was limited to taking moon +and stars to witness when he went to bed. He gained the day (_Contes et +Récréations_, Tale 95). No glory was wanting to astrology; physicians +and savants practised, defended, and taught it; great nobles gave it +their patronage. Marshal Trivulce accepted the dedication of Pirovano’s +_Defence of Astrology_. The science numbered eminent adepts. Luther +made use of it in support of his doctrines. Michel Servet, after vainly +trying theology and medicine, began to profess transcendental astrology; +he foretold eclipses, plagues, wars, and the deaths of potentates; he +achieved a very great success, pupils drank in his instruction. Unhappily +the jealous Faculty directed him to return to the natural sciences and +give up the “Almanac.” Servet then turned geographer, and it was not long +before he went back into the religious mêlée. The _Atlas of Astrologers_, +one of the most curious monuments of moral derangement, enumerates a +crowd of astrologers, among them the Sibyls of the Vatican and King +Alfonso of Naples. + +[54] + + Wing’d spirits, who the middle space + ’Twixt earth and highest heaven possess, + God’s scouts, the outposts of his grace. + +[55] + + Unnumbered cords, frail strands full fraught with pain, + That join the soul to things of time and sense. + +[56] + + The body’s ruled by your command, + Like clay beneath the potter’s hand. + +[57] + + And this your will and pleasure, stars! + ... + In vain doth man at eve and morn + Torment you with his useless prayer; + Fate sweeps him on, he knows not where, + As billows on the stream are borne. + +[58] _Les Evangiles des quenouilles_ promise to a wife a son or a +daughter according as she loves battle stories or has longings for +dancing and music. + +[59] One of the greatest ladies of the time, Marie de Luxembourg, +Countess of Vendôme, lived on an annual income of 16,000 livres. + +[60] Book III. + +[61] [“To the Mistletoe! the New Year!” The cry of Breton peasants, +“begging small presents or New-Year’s gifts, an ancient tearm of +rejoycing derived from the Druides, who were wont, the first day of +January, to go into the woods, where having sacrificed and banquetted +together, they gathered mistletow, esteeming it excellent to make beasts +fruitful, and most sovereign against all poyson” (Cotgrave). From a +patois corruption the Scots _Hogmanay_ is said to be derived.] + +[62] She provided for so many maidens “by way of marriage, and had so +great care of them, that she deserved to be named their mother.”—_La +Vauguyon._ + +[63] + + Quattuor sunt que mulieres summe cupiunt: + A formosis amari juvenibus, + Pollere filiis pluribus, + Ornari preciosis vestibus, + Et dominari pre ceteris in domibus. + + —_Tractaculi sive opusculi._ + +[“Four things there are that women eagerly covet: to be loved by handsome +youths; to be good for many sons; to be decked out in costly array; and +to rule the roost.”] + +[64] Montaigne relates that he was put out to nurse with peasants, “and +brought up in the humblest and most ordinary way of life.” + +[65] Montaigne, Bk. II., cap. iii. + +[66] + + [Daughter and son gave her obedience, + Stored full of wit and virtue and good sense.] + +[67] Maffeo Vegio, a disciple and the biographer of St. Bernardin of +Sienna, secretary of Pope Martin V., was a very eminent humanist at the +beginning of the 16th century. He added a supplementary book to the +_Aeneid_. He was ranked much higher than Petrarch. The book cited, _De +educatione liberorum et eorum claris moribus_, often republished since +1491 and issued in a French translation in 1508, is a very remarkable +work, and exercised a great influence. It seems, however, to have escaped +the researches of the historians of education. + +[68] [Jean Lemaire de Belges (1475-1548), historian and poet. His chief +works quoted from in these pages are: _Illustrations et singularités des +Gaules_ and _Le Temple d’honneur et de vertus_.] + +[69] Montaigne. + +[70] [A friend of Calvin, and a professor, who reduced himself to beggary +by his unselfish efforts to improve the educational methods of his day +(1479-1559).] + +[71] [A cardinal, and an ardent humanist (1477-1547). He took Cicero for +his model, and wrote moral philosophy and poetry. The work here alluded +to is his _Paedotropia_.] + +[72] [Vivès accompanied Catherine of Aragon to England as her tutor and +chaplain. Siding with her on the divorce question, he had to leave the +country. His works were published at Basle in 1555.] + +[73] He admits astrology among the exact sciences. + +[74] [Ulrich von Hütten (1488-1523), friend of Luther and one of the +most energetic of the Reformers, by turns soldier, poet, theologian, and +politician. He is alluded to _passim_.] + +[75] _Heptameron_, Tale 18. + +[76] [A 16th century scholar who in an amusing book called _Apologie pour +Hérodote_ made an elaborate attack on the clergy of his day.] + +[77] “My pupils do just as they please; most of the time they are digging +the soil,” writes an unlucky tutor, referring to the dauphin of France; +“I have grave doubts whether they’ll be fit for anything better.” + +[78] Numerous Latin dialogues were written for children in France and +Germany. + +[79] Montaigne. + +[80] “My daughter is of the age wherein the laws excuse the forwardest to +marry. She is of a slow, nice, and mild complexion, and hath accordingly +been brought up by her mother in a retired and particular manner, so that +she beginneth but now to put off childish simplicity.” (Montaigne.) + +[81] + + Quid tibi praecipiam molles vitare fenestras? + Ad culpas aditum laxa fenestra facit. + Libera mens, captiva tamen sint lumina, quando + Hanc animo invenit saeva libido viam. + Cogite fallaceis, animus ne peccet, ocellos, + Cogite, libertas ne peritura cadat. + Pellite materiam, primasque extinguite flammas. + + (Pontanus, _De Liberis_.) + +[“Why should I admonish thee to shun the seduction of windows? An +unbolted casement is the door to vice. Keep the mind free, but the eyes +in durance, since concupiscence discovers this way to the soul. Restrain +thy eyes from tricks lest thy soul sin; yea, lest thy liberty fall and +perish. Thrust away the fuel, and extinguish the beginnings of flame.”] + +[82] [A disciple of Thomas Aquinas: he died in 1316.] + +[83] [The famous mystic and theologian (1363-1429), who so stoutly +opposed scholasticism, astrology and magic. The _Imitation of Christ_ has +been ascribed to him.] + +[84] “Take care of your daughters; let them be always at home, gentle, +pious, scorning money and outward adornments. And thus you will preserve +not only these young girls, but the men who will one day wed them, and +you will assure a good posterity from a healthy stock.” + +[85] “From a braying mule and a girl who speaks Latin, good Lord, deliver +us.” (Bouchot.) + +[86] It was to an expert in high culture that Renée of France entrusted +her daughters, in the person of Olympia Morata, who was noted for the +eloquent Latin and Greek discourses she delivered as a precocious +child of thirteen. While still under fifteen, Olympia’s pupils were +sufficiently advanced to act a comedy of Terence before the pope. This +education by means of the theatre was completed with serious readings in +Ovid and Cicero, and the final polish was given by a Greek monk of known +liberal views, Francesco Porto. There was no idleness or melancholy here. + +[87] [An Italian poet, pupil of Pontanus (1488-1530). The _Arcadia_, his +chief poem, ran into sixty editions.] + +[88] Montaigne (who, however, deduces from these premises altogether +different conclusions). + +[89] “Let us retard the age of marriage,” cries M. Legouvé, “if we wish +girls to exercise free choice and live free lives.” + +[90] [_Praeter naturam est, feminam in masculos habere imperium._ +(Erasmus.) “’Tis against nature for a woman to have rule over males.”] “I +allow woman to learn; to teach, never.” (Bruno.) + +[91] [A poet of Lyons, who lived about the middle of the sixteenth +century.] + +[92] [One of the most active of the Italian humanists (1380-1459). He +brought many ancient MSS. to Rome, and translated Xenophon and other +Greek writers. His _conti_ are as obscene as some of Boccaccio’s.] + +[93] + + Nil est simplicitate prius. + Haec placet; haud ulla est quaesitae gratia formae, + Quae studio peccas, simplicitate places, + Nulla est ornandi, nulla est, mihi crede, parandi + Gloria, naturae est forma, nec artis opus; + Ars odio digna est, ubi nullo fine tenetur. + + (Pontanus, _De amore conjugali_.) + +[“Nothing comes before simplicity. That is pleasing; there is no grace +in artificial beauty. By artifice thou wilt err, by simplicity thou wilt +please. There is no glory in adornment, none, believe me, in farding +oneself; beauty is the work of nature, not of art. Art is hateful when +not kept within bounds.”] + +[94] [A vigorous and witty social satirist (1421-1510).] + +[95] + + [Some maidens, in their modest way, + With fools their garters stake at play.] + +[96] Nifo sincerely admires princesses who go to their husbands _virgines +intactae_. + +[97] [A doctor of the Sorbonne and a Dominican (1443-1514). In one of +his sermons occurs the story of the church bells, repeated by Rabelais à +propos of the marriage of Panurge.] + +[98] + + [A woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, + The more you beat ’em, the better they be.] + +[99] In the long run the best things become wearisome: men at last +believe they are sacrificing themselves. “Christ died only once for +His church; we die every day for our wives,” is the heartfelt cry of a +husband; to which a lady retorts: “Go to the wars, then, and lie for a +month on the bare ground; and you won’t be sorry to get back to your +good bed! Men only appreciate their comforts when they’ve lost them.” +(_Heptameron_, Tale 54.) + +[100] + + Femme bonne qui a mauvais mari + A souvent le cœur marry. + ... + Femme aime tant comme elle peut, + Et homme comme il veut. + + —_L. de Lincy._ + +[A good woman with a bad husband has often a sore heart.... Woman loves +as much as she can; man as much as he will.] + +[101] A woman, irritated at her husband reading in bed, calls out to the +servant: “Ah well! Bring me my distaff!” (Billon, _Le Fort inexpugnable +de l’honneur du sexe féminin_). + +[102] “He who loves not him by whom he is loved is regarded as a +homicide, and not merely a homicide, but a committer of sacrilege and a +thief.” (Champier, _De vraye Amour_). + +[103] + + Il se commence à soucyer + Et à chagrin s’associer. + Il plaint la teste, puis les dents, + Et a les oreilles pendans + Ne plus ne moins comme un lymier. + + —_R. de Collérye._ + + [He begins to fume and fret, + Becomes sworn brother to regret; + Headache, toothache he bemoans, + Chapfallen he sighs and groans.] + +[104] _Dialogus de matrimonia._ + +[105] “You have been to seek a little school-miss, an angel who dared +not lift her eyes, and who to all appearance was candour to the +finger-tips.... She was thinking things over: she was enticing you into +her trap, because your rank and fortune suited her, but determined at the +bottom of her soul to give you a ‘combing’ later: she says in confidence +to her friends, ‘randy steeds need breaking in’.” (Jean d’Ivry: _Les +Secretz et Loix de mariage_). + +[106] [Title of a brilliant comedy by Emile Augier and Jules Sandeau, +produced in 1854. M. Poirier is a wealthy retired cloth merchant who has +married his daughter to a spendthrift marquis in the hope of getting a +peerage through his influence.] + +[107] [Charles had been solemnly betrothed to the daughter of Maximilian +of Austria, and Anne of Brittany had been wedded by proxy to Maximilian +himself. Both repudiated their contracts, and their alliance united +Brittany to the crown of France.] + +[108] Cf. the following ballad by Alione: + + Qui veut ouir belle chanson + D’une fillette de Lyon + Qui d’amour fut requise, + Ale houe! + En venant de l’église. + Mais elle en fut reprise! + Ale houe! + + Un bon copain lui voulut donner + Cent florins pour la marier, + Mais (_Pourvu_) qu’elle fût s’amie. + Ale houe! + Prenez-les, je vous prie; + De cœur les vous octroie. + Ale houe! + + A sa mère s’en conseilla, + Qui lui dit que bien la gardera + De cette maladie. + Ale houe! + Il peut bien dire pie, + Car il ne l’aura mie. + Ale houe! + + “Les amoureux du temps présent + Font des promesses largement, + Et montrent main garnie. + Ale houe! + Mais folle est qui s’y fie: + Trop coûte la folie! + Ale houe!” + + La fillette ne voulut pas + Son conseil croire, en celui cas; + Car elle eut plus grant joie, + Ale houe! + De gagner sa monnaie, + Cent florins de Savoie. + Ale houe! + + Cent florins sont beaux et luisants; + S’elle eust fillé vint et cincq ans, + Voire toute sa vie, + Ale houe! + Toute sa fillerie + N’en vaudrait la moitié. + Ale houe! + + [Who lists to hear a famous ditty + All on a maid of Lyons city, + Who as she came from church one day + (Hey nonny!) + Was sought in love the usual way— + And sore she smarted, gossips say— + (Hey nonny!) + + The jolly youth would give, he said, + A hundred florins her to wed + If she would first his leman be. + (Hey nonny!) + “Prithee, take them, dear,” says he, + “With all my heart I give them thee.” + (Hey nonny!) + + The hussy home did straight repair: + Her mother counselled her: “Beware! + Lest it repent thee by and by; + (Hey nonny!) + For though he speak thee fair and sigh, + His precious gold is all my eye! + (Hey nonny!) + + “The young men of the present day, + Promise more largely than they pay, + And though their purse well filled appear, + (Hey nonny!) + The girl who trusts to it, I fear, + Will find her folly cost her dear.” + (Hey nonny!) + + Alack! the hussy tossed her head, + Heedless of what her mother said, + For ’twas to her a greater joy + (Hey nonny!) + To get the money from her boy— + Those hundred florins of Savoy. + (Hey nonny!) + + A hundred! how they gleamed and shone! + Had she sat spinning on and on + Full twenty year, till worn and old, + (Hey nonny!) + Not all the thread she’d spun and sold + Had brought her half that shining gold. + (Hey nonny!)] + +[109] One of the friends of Margaret of France, the worthy La Perrière, +thunders against marriages for money or beauty, which only end in putting +“a fox into a hermitage.” + +[110] _Heptameron_, Tale 37. + +[111] [See Book III. chapter iii.] + +[112] Vittoria Colonna’s bed, preserved in the Pescara palace at Naples, +is extraordinarily wide. + +[113] A lady of Florence, Alessandra Bardi, on learning of the sudden +death of one of her sons, wrote to another the following beautiful +letter, so touching in its resignation: “My sweet son, I have learnt how, +on the 23rd of last month, it pleased Him who gave me Matteo to recall +him to Himself, in complete consciousness, in full possession of grace, +with all the sacraments necessary to a good and faithful Christian. +I have felt the bitterest grief at being deprived of such a son, and +methinks his death has done me great affliction apart from filial love, +and likewise to you two, my sons, now reduced to so small a band. I +praise and bless the Lord for all that is His will” (Müntz, _History of +the Renaissance_, i. 18). + +[114] The story is given in Nifo’s _De Amore_, cap. cii. + +[115] [Sister of Henry VIII. She was Louis’ third wife: he was in his +decrepitude, and died three months after the marriage. She at once +married the handsome Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, who had escorted +her to France.] + +[116] The diplomatic agent of Mantua thus reports his visit of condolence +to the Duchess of Urbino: “I found her in her room among her ladies, +all in black, the shutters closed, the apartment lighted by a single +torch placed on the floor. She was seated on a cushion, a black veil on +her head, and wore a high-necked dress, or at any rate her bosom was +covered with a veil as high as her chin.... She held out her hand and +burst into tears; a moment passed before her sobs and mine permitted us +to speak. I handed her your lordship’s letter, and dispatched my visit, +my condolences, and my attempts at solace in a few words, so as not +to prolong her grief. I imparted to her also the recommendations and +offers with which I was charged by my most illustrious lord. Both were +well received.” Then they talked of Mantua and the Gonzaga family: the +Duchess kept the ambassador for more than two hours. Next day, there was +another visit of three hours; this time, her spirit got the upper hand, +an interesting discussion ensued, and the ambassador succeeded in making +her laugh. + +[117] Montaigne, bk. ii. cap. xxxv. He himself desires no tears, no +funeral oration: “I renounce henceforth the favourable testimonies men +may will to give me, not because I am worthy of them, but because I am +dead.” + +[118] June 8, 1508. Sisters Domicella and Elena, from Forli, to Catherine +Sforza. + +[119] [Daughter of Maximilian of Austria, and regent of the Netherlands. +She was affianced as a child to the Dauphin of France (Charles VIII.), +then married to the Infant of Spain, who died in a few months: finally +at the age of twenty-one married Philibert of Savoy, who died after four +happy years of wedlock. She was a great patroness of agriculture and the +arts, and a poetess.] + +[120] She herself, however, employed on occasion the most convincing +arguments. She had confiscated the jewels of her cousin, the Countess of +Montpensier, who was regarded as rather too hot-headed for a widow, and +she refused to restore them to her. + +[121] The _Fifteen Joys of Marriage_ include among domestic calamities to +return from war after a long captivity and to find one’s wife wearing the +finery of a new lord and master. + +[122] “There’s no man will have you!” is an insult flung by a peasant at +a woman during a squabble. + +[123] “Be obedient to your mother, show her honour and reverence, and +take care to please her in everything you can, as is her due, as much +because it is God’s commandment as that I know she merits it, and that +you ought so to do if you wish to succeed, for having known her, I know +that she will advise you so well that you will be therewith content” +(Instructions of a Duke of Nemours to his sons). + +[124] Ruskin. + +[125] Ruskin’s favourite theory. + +[126] [Minister of finance to Francis I., a faithful and honourable +servant of the crown. Lautrec, governor of Milan, having asked for +400,000 crowns as arrears of pay for his troops, the queen-mother, Louise +of Savoy, who had a grudge against him, seized all the money in the +treasury on the pretext that it was owing to her, and even intercepted +what little coin Semblançay was able to get together. The result was that +Lautrec’s army melted away and Milan was lost. Louise made Semblançay +the scapegoat, and when Francis, after his defeat at Pavia, was carried +a prisoner to Spain, she threw Semblançay (he was 72 years old) into the +Bastille, had him tried on trumped-up charges, and brought about his +execution.] + +[127] [Bohier was a jurisconsult, Briçonnet, bishop of Lodève and Meaux, +and an insincere persecutor of the Reformers; Robertet was treasurer of +France under Louis XII. and Francis I.; and Duprat a venal minister of +Francis I. and a partisan of Louise of Savoy.] + +[128] Coquillart. + +[129] “Have you never reflected, then,” says an old author, “what this +smoke is worth?” (Baltazar Gracian). + +[130] [Italian poet and historian (1426-1503), the most ‘elegant’ writer +of the sixteenth century. He wrote _Amorum libri ii._, on conjugal love.] + +[131] _Heptameron_, Tale 51. + +[132] Gallants, ambitious men, fashionable men late abed and late up, +those who live on credit, litigious fellows, spendthrifts, poor devils +who marry for love without a penny, loafers, philosophers who live from +hand to mouth, soldiers who run through a quarter’s pay in a month, +husbands ruined by their wives’ dressmakers’ bills or their servants’ +guzzling, men who keep no accounts, who, without being princes or lords, +put eighteen yards of velvet into one costume, who spend much and get +little, who let their horses starve, their tapestries and furniture +moulder, who leave their orchards to be robbed, who would not spend a +penny but fling away a shilling, who endow their daughters too largely, +who toil without rhyme or reason, who accept financial responsibilities +... weak-kneed men who back out of their lawsuits, who are led by the +nose by those about them, who are always singing a _gaudeamus_ and never +a _requiem_, braggarts, giddypates, boasters, “Roger Goodfellows,” +gormandisers, debauchees. + +[133] [George of Amboise, the wealthy Archbishop of Rouen: a great +builder and art-patron, who brought many painters and sculptors and +architects into France from Italy. When he died Pope Julius II. “thanked +God he was now Pope alone”! The cardinal’s tomb in Rouen Cathedral is one +of the finest pieces of Renaissance work in France.] + +[134] Which included, we may say in passing, music and gymnastics. + +[135] But he did not mean to be absorbed by either the one or the other. + +[136] + + To love money + Save for its use, is rank idolatry. + +[137] + + They have what pleasures they desire, + Honours whereto they dare aspire, + And wealth much more than they require. + +[138] Almanque Papillon’s _La Victoire et Triomphe d’argent_ (Lyons, +1537). A copy belonging to Baron Pichon includes two miniatures: (1) +the Triumph of Money, (2) the Triumph of Honour and Love, represented +by Francis I. in a car drawn by two unicorns, and led by Diligence, +Sapience, Sobriety and Virtue. + +[139] _Imitation of Christ_, book iii., chap. v. + +[140] [Italian scholastic philosopher (1453-1538). His lectures attracted +lords and ladies who came to laugh at his ugly grimaces and ungainly +antics, and at his amusing anecdotes and witticisms. His works include +treatises on Beauty, on Love, _De Principe_, etc.] + +[141] [The leading Italian humanist (1433-1499); the first professor +in Cosimo de’ Medici’s Florentine Academy. He translated Plato under +Cosimo’s auspices]. + +[142] [A prodigy of learning who wasted his energies in attempting to +reconcile theology and philosophy, and died young. He knew twenty-two +languages]. + +[143] [An illegitimate scion of the house of the Sanseverini (1425-1477). +He founded an academy for the study of antiquity, and pushed his +enthusiasm so far as to worship at an altar erected to Romulus, and to +roam the streets garbed as Diogenes]. + +[144] So that nothing should be wanting, a Diogenes started running about +the streets with his lantern and his tattered cloak (Paul Jove). + +[145] Erasmus archly observes: “When Plato appeared uncertain whether to +set woman among rational animals or among the brutes, he did not mean +that woman is merely an animal; he merely intended to point out the +stupidity of this charming animal.” + +[146] To this day this theory of two loves is commonly attributed to +Plato, even in philosophical treatises. + +[147] His ardent oration has been reported in the _Courtier_ of +Castiglione, which became the breviary of the new society; we know that +Castiglione faithfully reproduced his words, and, for greater accuracy, +first submitted the manuscript to Bembo. [It may be as well to state that +the passage quoted here is not a continuous quotation, but an admirable +condensation of several pages of Castiglione. See pp. 343-363 of Hoby’s +translation in Mr. Henley’s “Tudor Translations.”] + +[148] Sonnet viii. + +[149] Sonnet lii. + +[150] Distinguished as she necessarily was, the lady who inspired such +accents had herself nothing so tragic or so sublime. She wrote: + + Amor, tu sai, che mai non torsi il piede + Dal carcer tuo soave, nè disciolsi + Dal dolce giogo il collo, nè ti tolsi + Quanto dal primo dì l’alma ti diede. + + Tempo non cangiò mai l’antica fede; + Il nodo è stretto anchor, com’io l’avvolsi; + Nè per il frutto amar, ch’ognihor ne colsi, + L’alta cagion men cara al cor mi riede. + + Visto hai quanto in un petto fido, ardente + Può oprar quel caro tuo più acuto dardo, + Contro del cui poter Morte non valse, + + Fa homai da te, che’l nodo si rallente, + Che a me di libertà già mai nol calse, + Anzi di ricovrarla hor mi par tardo. + + [Thou knowest, Love, I never sought to flee + From thy sweet prison, nor impatient threw + Thy dear yoke from my neck; never withdrew + What, that first day, my soul bestowed on thee. + + Time hath not changed love’s ancient surety; + The knot is still as firm; and though there grew + Moment by moment fruit bitter as rue, + Yet the fair tree remains as dear to me. + + And thou hast seen how that keen shaft of thine, + ’Gainst which the might of Death himself is vain, + Smote on one ardent, faithful breast full sore. + + Now loose the cords that fast my soul entwine, + For though of freedom ne’er I reck’d before, + Yet now I yearn my freedom to regain.] + +[151] “Ye women who glory in your ornaments, your hair, your hands, I +tell you you are all ugly. Would you see the true beauty? Look at the +pious man or woman in whom spirit dominates matter: watch him, say, when +he prays, when a ray of the divine beauty glows upon him, when his prayer +is ended; you will see the beauty of God shining in his face, you will +behold it as it were the face of an angel.” (_28th Sermon on Ezekiel_). + +[152] “Monsieur, si vous estiez aseuré de la prudence et discrétion que +vous dictes estre en moy, vous ne prendriez peine de m’escripre courte ne +longue lettre, car ou deux telles vertuz consistent, une n’a lieu: qui +servira de briefve response à tout ce que m’escripvez. De mon vouloir, +il est tel, sans jamais changer propos, que je seray telle que je doibz +estre, et que ne m’estimez estre si bonne par vostre lettre; ouy bien +autant qu’il me sera possible, et quelque jeune d’aage que je soye, si +cognois je bien que en suyvant ces deux devant dictes vertuz, l’on ne +se peult desvoyer. Quant à l’audience que me demandez, je ne puis, et +ne veulx; et, sans plus m’escripre, à Dieu prenez en gré et ne vous +desplaise.” (_La Fleur de toutes joyeusetez_). + +[Here is the letter of a woman of the old style: “Sir, if you were +assured of the prudence and discretion you say are in me, you would not +waste your time writing letters, whether long or short, for where two +such virtues are conjoined, a letter is but vain: which will serve as a +brief response to all you write to me. My will is such that I am firmly +resolved to be good, as I ought to be, though from your letter you do not +think I am; ay, so far as lies in my power: and though I may be young in +years, yet know I well that in seeking after the two aforesaid virtues +one cannot go astray. As to the interview you ask of me, I cannot and I +will not; and, without writing further, I pray God you may take it in +good part and not be huffed.”] + +[153] + + La Françoise est entière et sans rompeure: + Plaisir la meine: au proffit ne regarde. + Conclusion: qui en parle ou brocarde, + Françoises sont chef-d’œuvre de nature ... + Pour le desduict (_le plaisir_). + + —Marot, _Rondeau 13_. + + [Our ladies flawless are and all complete: + ’Tis pleasure leads them; they look not for gain: + Conclusion: men will talk and scoff in vain, + For pleasure they are Nature’s master-feat.] + +[154] Cornelius Agrippa furnishes a curious piece of evidence on this +point. Disgraced by Louise of Savoy, he asked himself what had caused the +princess’s hatred. While pondering the matter he mechanically opened his +Bible and lit upon the passage where Ahab says in regard to the prophet +Micaiah, “I hate him, because he doth not prophesy good concerning me.” +“That’s my very own case,” cries Agrippa, and remembers that one day +he had foretold a victory for M. de Bourbon. What victory?—he did not +say, and for good reasons: but that was enough. So he takes his pen, and +writes a long address to prove that he is not, has not been, and will not +be of the Bourbon party, in spite of the overtures made to him. He got +nothing by his prose; some time afterwards Bourbon was killed at Rome, +and, adds Agrippa, “Jezebel possesses his vineyard. The angel of the Lord +has warned me and saved me from the evil woman. Nothing remains but to +fling Jezebel headlong and give her carcase to the dogs.” + +[155] + + Awaiting thus the seasonable hour + For justice or for God to interpose with power. + +[156] _L’aisnée Fille de fortune._ [“If she had a little of that, she +would be the most accomplished lady God ever gave life to.”] + +[157] La Vauguyon describes with emotion the sorrow of her servants and +vassals: “What will become of us now?... Death has seized our mother.” + +[158] + + Bonnet entendoit la magie + Aussi bien que l’astrologie: + Bonnet le futur prédisoit, + Et de tout présages faisoit.... + Bonnet sçeut la langue hébraïque + Aussi bien que la caldaïque; + Mais en latin le bon abbé + N’y entendoit ny A ny B. + Bonnet avoit mis en usage + Un barragouin de langage + Entremeslé d’italien, + De françois et ... savoysien. + Bonnet fut de l’Académie, + De ceux qui souflent l’alchumie. + + —Du Bellay, _Epitaphe de l’abbé Bonnet_. + + [Bonnet knew astrology + As well as demonology. + Bonnet the future could foretell + And cast your horoscope as well. + Bonnet knew the Hebrew tongue, + And in Chaldee spake and sung, + But, good soul, in Latin he + Could not say his A B C. + Bonnet used with good intention + A jargon of his own invention— + Words from France he would employ, + From Italy and from—Savoy. + And in academic state + Of alchemy Bonnet would prate.] + +[159] Montaigne, bk. iii. cap. x. + +[160] A naïve French poet, with the words ‘grace’ and ‘hope’ ever on +his lips, somewhat scornfully depicts the French court guarded military +fashion by two Italians, Pasquil and Aretino, whom he styles Bohemians of +sinister aspect. ‘Diligence’ and ‘Bon Vouloir,’ old deities of the past, +had much difficulty in approaching. “Noble Cœur,” says a poet, “found his +‘temporal joy’ in chatting with and serving ladies; Nature encourages +Noblesse-Féminine to rule men, who include good and bad. In a delightful +garden the tree of Humanity flourishes; this splits into two equal +branches, that is, between the two sexes ‘one in being, one in substance, +one in dignity,’ and differentiated only by accident. Vilain-Cœur and +Malebouche have long been devising mischief against Noblesse-Féminine; +at the instigation of Nature, Noble-Cœur at length arms himself in her +defence.” + +[161] [In reference to the group of seven literary men who banded +themselves together to reform and classicise the French language and +literature. Ronsard, Du Bellay, and Baïf were three members of the +Pléiade who reappear in the following pages. But as the manifesto of +this coterie was issued in 1549, the year of Margaret’s death, the name +Pléiade is anticipated for the literary court she maintained, the most +notable members of which were Marot and Bonaventure des Périers.] + +[162] Margaret to the King, 1534. + + [Ah, with what error Dante’s head is crowned, + Who comes to paint his Passion, antique tale, + And with his gloomy Hell our souls astound.] + +[163] _Heptameron_, Tale 40. + +[164] [French admiral (1488-1525), who after the defeat at Pavia +deliberately threw his life away. He rivalled Francis I. in gallantry, +paid sedulous court to Margaret, and is said to have been the luckless +(and well-scratched) hero of the nocturnal escapade described in the 4th +Tale of the _Heptameron_.] + +[165] + + [Loves like little budding flowers, + Loves to sweeten idle hours, + Likewise old amours.] + +[166] + + Amoureux suis d’une paintresse, + Qui est belle en perfection. + Son geste plein d’affection + La fait juger demie princesse. + + —_Gilles d’Aurigny._ + + [I adore a painter dear, + Perfect grace and beauty she, + And her loving ways to me + Make her half princess appear.] + +[167] _Heptameron_, Tale 18. + +[168] _Ibid._, Tale 58. + +[169] _Heptameron_, Tale 14. + +[170] [Poet and translator (1493-1545), friend of Aretino. He wrote +‘amorous discourses’ in imitation of Boccaccio; comedies in imitation of +Plautus; a translation of the _Golden Ass_ of Apuleius; and a prose work +on the beauty of women.] + +[171] + + Son âge estoit d’envyron les quinze ans, + Qui est le temps que désirent amans. + La taille en fut longue, menue et droicte, + Espaulle platte, et par les flancs estroicte. + + (Anne de Graville.) + + Toutes les nuyctz, je ne pense qu’en celle + Qui a le corps plus gent qu’une pucelle. + + (Marot.) + + [Her age was fifteen, as I guessed, + The age that pleases lovers best; + Her figure long, slim, straight as arrow, + Her shoulders broad, her haunches narrow.] + + [I lie awake o’ nights, and my thoughts are sure to go + To the maid whose body’s comelier than any maid’s I know.] + +[172] + + Is she plump, or is she lean? + My pleasure is the same, I ween. + +[173] [Both these ladies were mistresses of Francis I.] + +[174] [A poet (1463-1537) who having lost his all in the sack of Rome was +succoured by Bembo. He wrote sonnets and pastorals.] + +[175] [The French Baedeker.] + +[176] Castiglione, _Courtier_ [(Tudor Translations, pp. 212, 213.)] + +[177] Castiglione, _ibid._, p. 166. + +[178] + + “Thy shape! Ah, lady! ’tis to me well known + Through him whose soul is thine, no more his own.” + +[179] [Jean Clouet (1485-1545), painter to Francis I.: Janet was his pet +name at court. The reference is to Ronsard’s lines— + + Peins-moy, Janet, peins-moy, je t’en supplie, + Sur ce tableau les beautés de ma mie.] + +[180] [A master in portraiture in enamel (1505-1575.) As many as 1840 of +his works are known, all signed. Specimens may be seen in the Louvre.] + +[181] [Sculptor to Francis I., born 1515, killed in the St. Bartholomew +massacre, Aug. 24, 1572. His statue of Diana adorned the front of Diana +of Poitiers’ palatial château of Anet. Diana is represented nude, +reclining upon a stag, with a bow in her hand, and surrounded by dogs.] + +[182] [The _blason_ was a short poem celebrating a single feature, or +some small possession of a lady—an eyebrow, a rose, or a jewel, for +instance.] + +[183] This portrait, painted by an Italian, no longer exists, but an +excellent miniature copy, executed in Henri IV.’s time, is to be found in +the rare manuscript known as the _Book of Hours of Catherine de’ Medici_. +The other miniatures in this manuscript are made after French portraits, +and do not admit of so extravagant an interpretation. Louise of Savoy is +represented as a widow, in the classical severe and ungainly costume. + +[184] Night-dresses, by the way, were not yet in use. + +[185] Tale 45. + +[186] _Heptameron_, Tale 4. + +[187] + + Washed of her paint, of her vices bereft, + Body and soul there is nought of her left. + +[188] [A painter of the Florentine school (died 1440) about whom nothing +is known but a treatise on painting discovered in 1820, and some frescoes +at Volaterra.] + +[189] [Author of _Gli ornamenti delle donne_ (the ornaments of ladies), +published at Venice in 1574.] + +[190] [A poetess of Lyons, author of some remarkable sonnets.] + +[191] + + For pleasure oft my black I wear, + More often than for woe or care. + +[192] [Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan, one of the most vigorous opponents +of the French king’s Italian expeditions. The surname “Il Moro” came from +his cognisance, a mulberry-tree.] + +[193] Alione, in one of his farces, has related the amusing story of a +Lombard lady (and she was not the only one) who gave herself to a French +soldier passing through, on the mere promise of a dress of Venetian +velvet, and to whom the rogue afterwards sent six crowns, with the excuse +that an everyday dress was good enough for a casual lady. + +[194] + + This ring is old and out of date, + This ruby’s badly cut: + This girdle’s precious ugly—wait, + This casket’s silver, but + I wish for one of beaten gold— + +[195] [Librarian to Cardinal Farnese (1529-1600), a great authority on +antiquities, especially coins; he spent the greater part of his modest +income on pictures and bronzes.] + +[196] [Historian and member of the academy of Pomponius Laetus +(1421-1481). He was Vatican librarian under Sixtus IV., wrote a history +of the popes, and a curious work on hygiene entitled _Opusculum de +obsoniis ac honesta voluptate_—the work here referred to.] + +[197] [Sebastian Brandt (1438-1521), jurisconsult and poet of Strasburg, +author of the famous _Ship of Fools_, referred to in subsequent pages.] + +[198] On ordinary days, the household of Marie of Cleves easily disposed +of half a calf, a quarter of an ox, five or six sheep, and dozens of +fowls. + +[199] “Gout,” cries Cardan, “is queen, gout is noble! She is a synthesis +of ills! She is discreet and courteous; she attacks only the showable +parts of the body. There is nothing hideous about her as about leprosy. +She purifies man and raises his moral worth, as all pain does, but more +than any other pain. Why is she the enemy of grand dinners, and of +midnight toil, and of all the charming occupations of mind and body?” +(_De malo medendi usu._) A German song was dedicated to her: + + O Gout my goddess, Gout my queen, + What mortal wight but fears thee? + Earth, sea and sky have ever been + Thy subjects: Jove reveres thee. + O mighty goddess, hear the prayer + Of those that now implore thee: + Give peace to every gouty toe, + And grant to all who limping go + Freedom from pain, release from care, + And perfect health before thee. + + (_Podagrae Laus._) + +[200] Gout was very common. Louise of Savoy suffered from it. + +[201] [A sort of farcical comedy.] + +[202] [Jean Gast, Swiss Protestant theologian (died 1553): author of +_Convivalium sermonum liber, meris jocis ac salibus refertus_.] + +[203] Entering a lady’s house, a man would kiss her hands; and to recall +to mind a first presentation the graceful formula frequently employed +was: “The first time I kissed her hands.” + +[204] To civilise his dominions, Peter the Great required his subjects +of both sexes to learn dancing, and he directed the performance, like a +general directing manœuvres. He insisted on the gentlemen kissing the +ladies on the lips. + +[205] + + “Ou soit d’un baiser sec, ou d’un baiser humide, + D’un baiser court ou long, ou d’un baiser qui guide + L’âme dessuz la bouche et laisse trespasser + Le baiseur ... + Ou d’un baiser donné comme les colombelles.” + + [Dry kiss or wet kiss, + Long kiss or short kiss— + Kiss that lures the kisser’s soul, + Leading him to sin and dole— + Kiss that seals the purest loves, + Innocent as kiss of doves.] + +[206] [One of the earliest of French theologians who accepted the +Reformed faith, born in 1530. He wrote a tractate on dancing.] + +[207] _Heptameron_, Tale 21. + +[208] Bonaventure des Périers, Tale 114. + +[209] + + Templa pudicitiam maculant, ni rite peractis + Rebus abis: templi noxia saepe mora est. + + (_De Liberis._) + +[The temples stain thy modesty unless when service is over thou +departest: to delay in the temple is often hurtful.] + +[210] _Heptameron_, Tale 42. + +[211] Margaret of France. + + All hail! ye gardens, mansions, Edens of delight, + Whose comeliness and beauty put your vices out of sight! + +[212] See the frescoes in the Borromeo palace at Milan. + +[213] [In allusion to the wreaths used at the ceremony of laureation.] + +[214] [Anne de Montmorency, the coarse, violent Constable of France, +who mumbled his prayers and his orders to his men together, because, as +Brantôme says, “he was so conscientious that he always tried to combine +the two duties.”] + +[215] “Most illustrious and excellent lady, most respected madam,” wrote +the countess of Forli to the duchess of Ferrara: “the credible accounts +and perfect information brought in by innumerable persons about the +extreme kindliness and rare munificence of your excellency, inspire me +with the boldness to address you in confidence. I know that the most +illustrious lord your spouse and your most illustrious ladyship adore +hunting and birds, and that you always have in abundance dogs of all +kinds, excellent, perfect. I beseech your excellency very earnestly that +you would deign to make me a very beautiful and very precious present, +namely, a pair of greyhounds, well trained and fleet-footed, for the deer +of the Campagna, which are very swift: a couple of good deer-hounds and +a couple of handsome pointers, so good that I may hope to say regarding +their exploits when they catch their quarry, ‘these are the dogs the most +illustrious duchess of Ferrara gave me.’ I know that your excellency will +not send me anything but what is really good.” She cordially recommends +to the duchess the falconer she is sending, to fetch the hounds, and +probably to choose them. (Letter of Catherine Sforza to the duchess of +Ferrara, 1481). + +[216] + + King Louis Twelfth had perfect pastimes three: + Triboulet first, then Chailly, lastly me. + +The author has collected the various pieces, still unpublished, in which +these hounds and hawks of Louis are celebrated. + +[217] [Professor of mathematics and philosophy at the Cardinal Lemoine +college at Paris (1455-1537): a broad-minded man, the quarry of a heresy +hunt: chosen by Francis I. as tutor to his son Charles.] + +[218] [Architect and antiquary of Verona (1445-1525). He spent eight +years in France at the invitation of Louis XII., designing bridges and +buildings: he was afterwards one of the architects of St. Peter’s at +Rome.] + +[219] + + Kathin alloit bien montée a la chasse, + Portant espieu. Cupido la pourchasse + Avecques son arc, et luy dit: “Combatons, + Puisqu’ainsi est que nous avons bastons.” + Elle respond: “Amour, que penses tu? + Longtemps y a que je t’ay combatu + Sans estre armée: a présent, je le suis; + Retourne-t-en, et plus ne me poursuis, + Car seure je suis que tu seroys batu.” + + (Michel d’Amboise.) + + [Kitty well mounted to the hunt was hying, + Holding a spear; Dan Cupid her espying, + Loosing his bow, gave chase and caught her. Said he: + “Come let us fight, since both are armed and ready.” + Then answered she: “Love, art thou then so daring? + Long have I fought thee, weapon never bearing; + Now am I armed, turn, never more pursue me, + For I would beat thee, ere thou couldst undo me.”] + +[220] _Ship of Fools_, sixth engraving. Critics almost always represent +epicurism in a boat. + +[221] [A Franciscan friar (1440-1508) and a vigorous and racy preacher. +His sermons were larded with buffooneries.] + +[222] + + C’est a l’image saincte Jame + Ou se vont baigner ces femmes; + Et baignez, et estuvez, allez. + Bien servies vous y serez + De varletz, de chambrière, + De la dame bonne chère. + Allez tost, les baings sont prestz. + + (_Les Cris de Paris._) + + [To the image of St. James + Go for bathing these fair dames. + Haste ye, ladies, bathe and stew, + Maids and varlets wait for you, + Service good, delightful fare; + The baths are ready: speed ye there.] + +[223] “A work, for our epoch, in which the use of mineral waters is so +common, very useful to physicians, but still more to all other persons, +and very entertaining.” + +[224] For example, _Le Bain de St Barthélemy_: “A man of Feltre named +Petrarch, after an accident to his knee, having been attended by a +series of, I will not say bone-setters but, bone-breakers, experienced +the keenest anguish; a flux resulted: astringents and cold remedies were +applied; and an induration ensued, which compelled him always to walk +with a stick or a crutch. At the end of two years, he came to see me; I +prescribed the baths. They did him so much good that after a fortnight he +left for home without his crutch.” (_De Balneis_, 1563). + +[225] Gregorovius gives in his _Lucretia Borgia_ an account of an +extremely free fête got up at Sienna for fair bathers, from which +husbands and brothers were excluded. + +[226] Poggio. + +[227] [The _balle à grelot_ was a hollow ball of metal containing +something that caused a jingle when the ball was moved or thrown—like our +horse-bells.] + +[228] + + So many books there are, my memory fails + To number or to name them; but to see + Their fair array’s a pleasant sight to me. + ... + And as for fearing what they have inside, + ’Tis a mere folly I may not abide. + ... + I piled a pillar of them, and methought + It heaven and earth together brought. + +[229] Lucretia Borgia took to Ferrara for her personal use only +beautifully decorated Books of Hours, a few devotional books, a manual of +history, a collection of songs, a Dante, and a small Petrarch. + +[230] Especially Castiglione, who borrowed entire passages from Cicero. +A translation of the _De Officiis_ was published at Lyons on Feb. 11, +1493-94. + +[231] + + All this is excellent good lore, + And none of it locked in the cupboard. + +[232] [Rheinauer (Latinised as Rhenanus), a famous German philologist, a +friend and correspondent of Erasmus.] + +[233] The duchess of Orleans was so fond of them that her husband could +find no finer present to give her than the romance of _Troilus and +Cressida_, and one day she sent a messenger in hot haste after a lady of +the court who had borrowed a _Cleriadus_ and forgotten to return it—as +often happens. + +[234] The reading of _Lancelot of the Lake_ inspired Dante, as is well +known, with the exquisite passage on Francesca da Rimini. + +[235] [“In which there are divers relations of the deceptions of servants +towards their masters, and of pimps towards lovers, translated from +Italian into French.” Paris: 1527.] + +[236] He had got it in the library of the Palace. + +[237] A woodcut, thrice repeated in the _Illustrations des Gaules_ (1528) +represents France on a throne, with Ill-hap at her feet; on her right +is Noblesse, represented as a maiden playing a violin; on her left, the +People, depicted as a young man playing a guitar. + +[238] National Gallery. + +[239] So well interpreted by Giovanni Bellini in his _Girl Singing_ in +Hampton Court Palace. + +[240] Charles VIII. was even obliged to threaten serious consequences in +order to secure the restitution of a singer and a lute-player who had +been enticed away when he passed through Florence. + +[241] Ockeghem, it has been said, “breathes into his music the soul of +song, envelops it in a vigorous harmonic body, and clothes it with a fine +tissue of ingenious thematic developments, imitations more or less close +and more or less extended. One finds in his pieces, often in their inner +parts, phrases of great melodic beauty, and full of an extraordinary +sweetness and depth of expression. His harmonies are often enough +peculiar and archaic, but they are striking and rich. He also brings his +pieces to a close in a manner sometimes surprising and odd, but certainly +very interesting.” (R. Eitner.) + +[242] _Harmony_, by Paul Veronese (fresco at Masera): _Parnassus_, the +_Crowning of the Virgin_, by Raphael (Vatican). + +[243] Neapolitan proverb. + +[244] Erasmus. + +[245] In the Louvre. + +[246] The Madrid museum possesses a magnificent portrait of him by +Raphael. + +[247] He was born, like Leo, in 1470. + +[248] An opera-ballet was got up in the open-air by Bergonza di Botta, +in his park at Tortona, on the occasion of the marriage of Isabella of +Aragon. + +[249] At Metz, in 1502, the public violently interrupted and rendered +impossible the representation of one of the comedies of Terence which +were constantly played at Rome; the performance had to be postponed till +next day, when it was continued before a select audience, composed in +great part of clergy. + +[250] _E.g._ The Mystery of the Passion; of the Three Gifts, played in +1509; of St. Andrew, played in 1512; of St. Barbara, and St. Eustache, +played in 1504. + +[251] [_Pochades_] + +[252] Lorenzo de’ Medici, Pico della Mirandola, Agnolo Dovizio da +Bibbiena, Bernardo Ruccellai [see George Eliot’s _Romola_], Machiavelli, +and others: it was a singular, incoherent, burlesque procession of +characters of all sorts and sizes—devils, deaths, nymphs, courtiers, old +husbands, young wives, merry nuns, hunters and huntresses, pages, winds, +furies. + +[253] “With the tongue seven men are not a match for one woman” (Erasmus, +_Colloquies_). + +[254] “He who keeps his mouth shut knows no care” (P. Meyer). + +[255] _Heptameron_, Tale 10. + +[256] + + Beneath the broidered sheets we lay— + Sheets flashing with gems and gold— + And whiled the dreary hours away + With comfortable tales of old, + And converse debonair and gay. + +[257] [One of the Urbino coterie.] + +[258] [A lawyer of Poitiers who is said to have composed a hundred +thousand verses, mostly dull. He called himself _Le Traverseur des +voies périlleuses_ (the traverser of perilous ways), and wrote moral +and familiar letters and _Les Regnars_ (foxes) _traversant les voies +périlleuses_.] + +[259] [The brilliant Bishop of Orleans (1802-1878), noted equally for his +eloquence, his pugnacity, and the huge blue umbrella he carried on sunny +days. It was said of him that he was “a journalist who had strayed into a +bishopric.” He wrote _Letters on the Education of Girls_, and especially +opposed the opening of university courses to girls: he did not wish them +to go “from the bosom of the Church to the arms of the University.”] + +[260] He adds: “We gambled, played music, took walks, supped, and worked +(not often that): no cares, no anxieties! We were often with the Venetian +nobles: my life flourished like a growing plant. Nothing could be more +pleasant than that life, which lasted five years and a half (September, +1526-February, 1532): we used to chat with the prefect, whose palace was +our kingdom and rostrum.” + +[261] Raphael’s portrait of Castiglione in the Louvre. + +[262] Like the good curé who, seeing a lady shedding hot tears at the +conclusion of a superb _exaltet_, charitably approached her to console +her for what he believed to be the effect of the music, and stopped +aghast when the good dame replied, “Ah! I fancied I heard my poor dead +donkey!” + +[263] + + O liberté aujourd’hui clairsemée + Et cher vendue, on te doit bien servir, + Car en tous lieux souvent est réclamée. + + (Alione.) + + [O liberty, to-day so rare + And dear sold, we must serve thee well, + For thou art asked for everywhere.] + +[264] Here is an example: “Why, Dagoucin,” says Simontaut, “don’t you +yet know that women have neither love nor regret?”—“I don’t yet know +it,” he replies, “for I have never dared try for their love, for fear of +finding less than I hope for.”—“You live on faith and hope, then,” says +Nomerfide, “as the plover lives on wind? You are very easy to feed.” +(_Heptameron_, Tale 32.) + +[265] “When women confess, they always tell what they have not done.” +(Old Italian proverb.) + +[266] + + Rusticus est vere, qui turpia de muliere + Dicit, nam vere sumus omnes de muliere. + + (_Facetus._) + +[He is truly a boor who speaks ill of women, for verily we are all of +woman born.] + +[267] _Heptameron_, Tale 62. + +[268] [Filippo Beroaldo (1453-1505), professor of ancient literature at +Bologna, so learned that Pico della Mirandola called him the ‘Living +Library.’ His most curious work is _Declamatio ebriosi, scortatoris et +aleatoris_, in which three brothers, a drunkard, a lecher, and a dicer, +dispute among themselves which of them, being the most vicious, their +father will disinherit.] + +[269] [Italian poet (1445-1515) attached to the court of Ludovico il Moro +at Milan. When Ludovico was captured by the French, Fregoso went into +seclusion and became known as the Friend of Solitude.] + +[270] An attempt was made to revive this system in certain notable salons +of the 18th century. The rules for the _Lanturelus_ drawn up in Madame +Geoffrin’s salon included the obligation of being just, loyal, cheerful +and kindly; they forbade one to grow old, that is, to become peevish and +misanthropical. The sittings held under the direction of a “queen” were +divided into two parts, one devoted to song, poetry and _facéties_, the +other to philosophy. + +[271] + + But that I fear to shock beyond forgiveness + The soilless purity of your chaste ears. + +[272] He used to amuse himself with a drunken impromptu-monger, a Roman +named Querno, whom he jestingly called Archipoeta. Querno says to him: + + Archipoeta facit versus pro mille poetis. + + [Arch-poet makes enough verses for a thousand poets] + +Leo replies: + + Et pro mille aliis Archipoeta bibit. + + [And drinks enough for another thousand] + +Archipoeta responds: + + Porrige quod faciat mihi carmina docta, Falernum, + + [Give me some Falernian, to inspire my song] + +and Leo: + + Hoc etiam enervat debilitatque pedes. + + [That also renders your feet weak and shaky] + +[273] [A clerical poet (1466-1502) who translated Ovid’s Epistles into +French.] + +[274] + + “De son cheval on fait une rosse, + Et de sa femme une catin.” + + [Of one’s horse one makes a jade, + And of one’s wife a harlot.] + +[275] _Heptameron_, Tale 52. + +[276] Seventy-five letters of this princess have been collected by M. +Amante. + +[277] [Mistress of Francis I.] + +[278] Anne of Laval, for example, writes to her sister: “J’ay entendu +que Monsieur mon frère ce vante que à son retour j’auré ung petit +neveu. Plust a Dieu qui fust ainsi, d’aussi bon cueur que je le desire. +L’espérance que j’en ay me faict vous envoyer des poix en gousse, qui est +viande de femme grosse.” + +[I have heard that my brother is boasting that on his return I shall have +a little nephew. God grant it may be so, of as good heart as I desire it. +The hope I have induces me to send you some peas in the pod, which is a +food for pregnant women.] + +[279] Here are some samples of these private letters: + +“Monsigneur, tant et si tres humblement que je puis a vostre bonne grace +me recommende. + +Monsigneur, je vous suplie tres humblement croire que la créance que +remais a ce porteur n’est que la plus grande obaissence que james tres +humble fille ne servente vous saroit porter et coume la plus obligée de +ce monde. + +Monsigneur, prie Dieu qui vous dont tres bonne et tres longue vie. + + Voutre tres humble et tres obaissente fille, + + Magdalene. + +_Address_: Au Roy mon souverain seigneur.” + +[My lord, as truly and as humbly as I can I commend myself to your good +favour. + +My lord, I beg you very humbly to believe that the letter of credit I +confide to this carrier is only the greatest obedience that ever humblest +maid and servant could bear to you, and like the most dutiful in the +world. + +My lord, I pray God to give you a very good and very long life. + + Your very humble and very obedient daughter, + + Magdalene.] + +“Ma cousine, je n’ay point voullu que ce porteur soit passé par Chantilli +sans vous porter de mes laitres; je vous en usses plutost envoié, mes les +piteulses nouvelles qu’avons repsues de Hedin m’an onst engardé, car je +n’aime poinct a mander de mauvesses nouvelles, et en cete perte j’ay esté +tres esse d’entendre que Monsieur le conte de Villars vostre frere est +seulement prisonnir (_sic_) avecq tant d’onneur que je suis sure que vos +prieres luy onst beaucoup servi. Vous feres tant pour moy, ma cousine, +de croire que tout ce qui vous touchera que je ceray mervelleucement +esse qu’il soint anci hureulx comme vous le desires et moy anci ce que +je suplie de bien bon cueur Dieu et de vous donner bonne vie et longue +et a moy l’eur de vostre bonne grasse a laquelle de bien bon cueur me +recommande. + + Vostre melieure cousine et amie, + + Marguerite de France. + +A ma cousine Madame la connestable [duc]esse de Montmorency.” + +[My cousin, I would not let this carrier pass through Chantilly without +taking some letters from me for you. I should have written sooner, but +the dreadful news we have received from Hedin has prevented me, for I +do not care to send bad news, and in this loss I was very glad to hear +that the count of Villars your brother is only a prisoner, with so much +honour that I am sure your prayers have much profited him. You will do +so much for me, my cousin, as to believe that, in all that touches you, +I shall be wonderfully glad if all falls out as lucky as you desire, and +myself too, and I pray God so with all my heart, both to give you a good +and long life, and me the bliss of your good favour, to which with all my +heart I commend myself. + + Your best cousin and friend, + + Margaret of France.] + +“Mon pere, je ne voulu leser aler se pourteur sans vous faire savoir de +mes nouvelles, lequeles sont bonnes, pour se que je aeudire souvan des +vostres qai me pabise (?) bien, car s’et au proufit du roy et a vostre +ouneur. Je prie Dieu vous i vouloyr tenir; je ne veus oblier a vous faire +mes reconmandasions bien fort voustre bonne grase. + + Vostre bonne fille, + + Marguerite. + +A Monsieur le grant maistre.” + +[My father, I would not allow this carrier to go without letting you have +news of me, which are good, because I have often had news of you which +please me, for ’tis to the profit of the king and your honour. I pray +that God will keep you in the same; I do not forget to commend myself +very earnestly to your good favour. + + Your good daughter, + + Margaret.] + +“Mon pere, j’ay esté tres esse d’entendre par vostre cegretere presant +porteur du bon partement du Roy et du vostre et aucy que toutes les +afaires continuent de mieulx en mieulx; cant a cele conpagnie, la Royne +et monsieur ce portent tres bien, aucy faict tout le reste. Nous ne +fesons faute de prier bien Dieu tout les jours pour le Roy; après luy, +mon pere, je vous puis assurer que vous estes le prumier (_sic_) en mes +auraisons. Je vous prire (_sic_), mon pere, presanter mes tres humbles +recommandasions au Roy et me tenir en sa bonne grasse et an la vostre. A +laquelle de bien bon ceur me recommande, et prie Dieu vous donner bonne +vie et longue. + + Vostre milieure figle et cousine, + + Marguerite de France. + +A mon pere, Monsieur le connestable.” + +[My father, I was very glad to hear by your secretary the present bearer +of the good departure of the king and yourself, and also that affairs are +going better and better: as to this company, the queen and _monsieur_ +(the king’s brother) are very well, as are all the rest. We do not +neglect to pray God every day for the king: after him, my father, I can +assure you that you are the first in my prayers. I beg you, my father, to +present my very humble greetings to the king and to keep me in his good +favour and in yours. To which with much love I commend myself, praying +God to give you good and long life. + + Your best daughter and cousin, + + Margaret of France.] + + +[280] [She came near perishing by shipwreck on her way to join her young +husband, the Infant of Spain, and composed her epitaph: + + Ci-git Margot, la gente demoiselle, + Qu’eut deux maris, et si mourut pucelle.] + +[281] She died in 1530, barely fifty years old. + +[282] Her portrait is in the Louvre. + +[283] + + Friends, know that I have changed my dame; + Another holds me at her will, + In soul Renée, Renée her name. + +(Renée = re-born: the pun cannot be translated.) + +[284] “I fatti sono maschi, le parole femine.” + +[285] Clément Marot writes: + + Adieu le bal, adieu la dance!; + Adieu mesure, adieu cadence, + Tanbourins, aulboys, violons, + Puisqu’à la guerre nous allons ... + Adieu les regards gracieux, + Messagers des cœurs soucieux; + Adieu les profondes pensées, + Satisfaictes ou offensées; + Adieu les armonieux sons + De rondeaulx, dixains et chansons ... + Adieu la lettre, adieu le page! + (To the court ladies.) + + [Farewell to dance, farewell to ball, + And cadenced measures, farewell all! + Fiddles, hautboys, tambourines, + For we go to warlike scenes. + Sweet looks from ladies’ eyes, that tell + How much they love us, fare ye well! + Farewell to meditation deep, + That gives us joy or mars our sleep; + Farewell to all harmonious strains + Of ballads, rondeaux, and dizains; + Letters and pages, all farewell!] + +[286] National Gallery. + +[287] _Ibid._ + +[288] The brilliant captain whose Memoirs or Commentaries, it is said, +were afterwards called the Soldier’s Bible by Henri IV. + +[289] “Catherine, if you make the dance go thus, Atlas will find the +world a lighter burden,” exclaims a poet. + +[290] Francis I. regarded this as Michelangelo’s masterpiece. + +[291] Emile Trolliet, _La Vie silencieuse_. + + The veil of flesh is rent; the spirit’s light + Pierces and routs the clinging mist of sense; + And Earth, this Virgin and this God beholding, + Learns what Love is, and worships Womankind. + +[292] [The sovereign family of Rimini and Romania, a race of warriors and +cut-throats. Robert, commandant of the troops of Sixtus IV., was poisoned +by Riario in 1483.] + +[293] + + En cas d’amour, c’est trop peu d’une dame, + Car si un homme aime une honneste femme, + Et s’il ne peut à son aise l’avoir, + Il fait très bien d’autre accointance avoir. + + (Melin de Saint-Gelais.) + + [In case of love, one dame doth not suffice, + For if a man loveth one fair of fame, + And cannot have her at an easy price, + ’Tis well for him to have another flame.] + +[294] _Heptameron_, Tale 42. + +[295] Coquillart. + +[296] _Heptameron_, Tale 8. + +[297] _Heptameron_, Tale 38. + +[298] Nifo, _De Amore_, cap. xvi.: _De viro aulico_, Bk. I., caps. +xxx.-xxxiv. + +[299] _Heptameron_, Tale 4. + +[300] _Heptameron_, Tales 18 and 25. + +[301] _Heptameron_, Tale 24. + +[302] _Ibid._, Tale 50. + +[303] _Ibid._, Tale 5. + +[304] Calvin regards his co-workers as “playactors,” worthy of +bespattering with mud. “The future appals me,” he cries: “I dare not +think of it: unless the Lord descends from heaven, barbarism will engulf +us.” (Preface to the Geneva Catechism.) + +[305] Aretino wrote placidly: “I have legitimated my dear girls in my +heart; no other ceremony is needed.” + +[306] Natural children easily obtained recognition by the concession of +the right to bear arms, or their legitimation. In Italy, legitimation +was only a fiscal formality; Innocent VIII. gave his nephew the right of +granting it. + +[307] The Grecised name of Otto Schwartzmann, German jurisconsult +(1571-1670). + +[308] The “Pomeranian doctor” (1485-1558). He married Luther, and buried +him, and was one of his coadjutors in the translation of the Bible. + +[309] Bernardino Ochino of Sienna (1487-1565). He was a monk, and for +three years general of the Capuchins, but turned Protestant and got +into hot water with the Church. He spent a few years in England at the +invitation of Cranmer. A man of rare independence of mind, his opinions +soon verged towards heresy, and his _Diologi_, in which he opposed the +doctrines of the Incarnation, the divinity of Christ, and others, and +spoke in favour of polygamy, brought on him the displeasure and even +persecution of his co-religionists. + +[310] “Difficiles aditu fugias in amore puellas.” (_Celtis_, _Quattuor +libri_.) + +[311] _Heptameron_, Tale 30. + +[312] + + Souvienne-toy, regaignant ta raison, + Que ta maîtresse est de grande maison, + De noble sang, et non pas amusée + A dévider ou tourner la fusée; + Et que son œil, mais plutôt un soleil doré, + Et son esprit, des autres adoré, + Et ses cheveux, les liens de ta prise, + Sa belle main, à la victoire apprise, + Son ris, son chant, son parler et sa voix, + Méritent bien le mal que tu reçois. + + (Ronsard.) + + [Remember, when thou canst regain thy nous, + Thy mistress is of high and famous house, + Of noble blood, nor is she wont to play + At wheel and distaff all the livelong day. + Remember that her eye, a sun of gold, + Her mind, by other worshippers extolled, + Her hair, the bonds of thy captivity, + Her lovely hand, well trained to victory, + Her smile, her song, her speech, her gentle voice + Deserve that for thy smart thou shouldst rejoice.] + +[313] + + Et, si l’on dit que le privé toucher + Faict près du feu le tison approcher, + Je respondray: Il y ha ja longtemps + Que, si l’honneur, où tousjours je prétens, + N’eust en moy deu faire plus de demeure, + Un, que nommer je ne veux pour ceste heure, + Par les effors de sa langue diserte + Auroit plus tost tiré gaing de ma perte, + Que par baisers, ne par approchements + Qui de la chair ne sont qu’attouchemens. + + Héroët (one of Margaret’s friends). + + [And if one says the intimate caress + Is fire to tinder, then will I confess + That if the honour hitherto my pride + Within my soul no longer would abide, + Long, long ere now a man I will not name + (Lest at this hour it bring us both to shame), + Would by his tongue’s delicious eloquence + Have won his profit at my dear expense + Far speedier than by kiss or dalliance hot, + That titillates the flesh, and is forgot.] + +[314] The ancient Valentinians went much farther, and maintained that it +is impossible to the witty to become corrupt, whatever their actions. + +[315] + + Qu’eust fait ce grec, si ceste image nue + Entre ses bras fust Vénus devenue? + Que suis-je lors, quand Louize me touche + Et, l’accollant, d’un long baiser me baise? + L’âme me part, et, mourant en cet aise, + Je la reprens ja fuiant en sa bouche. + + [What would that Greek of old have done if in his clinging arms + His naked statue had become Venus with all her charms? + And when Louisa touches me, ah! what is then my bliss, + When all my body tingles with the thrill of her long kiss? + In that sweet agony I die, my soul then from me slips; + But I catch it as it passes ’twixt my lady’s burning lips.] + +[316] There are some rather lively and amusing letters of Bibbiena. On +February 7, 1516, he wrote to the Marchioness of Mantua: “The compliments +your Excellency has been good enough to pay me on behalf of Isabella +have given me supreme pleasure, for I have always loved and still love +Isabella more than myself. I am wholly Isabella’s, body and soul; so +that, whether loving or not loving Isabella Mario, I am wholly hers, and +desire above all things in the world to be loved by her.” + +[317] _Heptameron_, Tales 20, 25, 14. + +[318] Here are specimens of Phausina’s talk, that Nifo found so +delightful. “Phausina,” said he, “since it befell me to love you, you +have become an Aurora, superb, resplendent! How happy it makes me!”—“Near +such a sun as you,” she replies, “ought I not to become the finest dawn +ever seen?” + +“One day I asked her how it was that with her sixteen years and her charm +she could love an old fellow like me, reciprocity of love resulting +philosophically from a certain similarity.”—“True, we are different,” she +replied prettily, “yet we are wholly at one in the basis of our mutual +love” (she meant beauty of soul). + +“Who is the true lover?” he said. “The idolater,” she replied, “is he who +adores the image and not the divinity; the false lover, he who loves the +face of a girl, but does not respect her modesty.” + +“Phausina, how can you love a man with one foot in the grave?” “’Tis not +the dotard I love so warmly, but he whom neither age nor anything can +affect; he who, after his death, will come to life again.” + +“One day I was teasing Phausina: to provoke her I said, ‘Come now. +Phausina, when you are quite old, do you think I shall still love you?’: +‘Why, of course,’ she said: ‘what you love in me will not grow old. +Petrarch loved Laura ardently, young, mature, living, dead: he saw no +mark of age, which nevertheless he might have earnestly desired, so +that he might enjoy her beauty without any suspicion.’ And I then asked +Phausina what would be the reward for such a love. ‘That you will not be +a liar when you shower your praises on me.’” + +[319] “One day, among the group of girls, someone set the little problem +of guessing what gave me the greatest pleasure in my relations with +Phausina. One of them said it was to gaze at so pretty a woman, another +that her conversation was very sweet, another swore that in reality it +was because we wrangled so pleasantly, and that she knew it. Phausina +smiled and said: ‘We all know, my dear Nifo, that all those things go to +produce my pleasure: but my deepest satisfaction is to be able to enjoy +everything, frequently, freely, without fear of material seductions, +because of your age.’” + +[320] + + Ma dame, un jour, daigna tant s’abaisser, + Parlant à moy, de doucement me dire: + ‘Je ne te veux, amy, rien escond[u]ire + Qui soit en moy, je te pry le penser.’ + Et pour encor du tout récompenser + Mon triste cueur de l’enduré martire, + Sa blanche main hors du gand elle tire + Et me la tend pour la mener danser. + + (Magny, p. 7.) + + [My fair did condescend one day + Sweetly to speak to me, and say: + “My friend, nothing will I deny thee + Of all I have, come prithee, try me.” + And for to recompense my heart + For all its grievous dole and smart, + From out her glove she drew her lily hand, + To lead her forth to dance did then command.] + +[321] “And you, Madam, if you succumb to the flesh, beat your breast, +for you do not shun temptation. Why do you stand at your window? why +chat with young men?... Why go to the ball and give yourself to so many +idle conversations? Shun temptation, and the devil will leave you in +peace. Resist him and he will flee from you!” Woman’s tongue is one of +the greatest of the devil’s instruments: “I did that because the devil +seduced me:” it is Eve over again: “The serpent beguiled me.” (Baraleta.) + +[322] “Casta est quam nemo rogavit.” + +[323] + + The servant that is brisk and trusty + Becometh master ere he be rusty. + +[324] _Heptameron_, Tale 40, and prologue of first day. + +[325] “Most illustrious and wicked girl. When the terrible duchess +Elizabeth was alive, she made me her martyr and protomartyr; and you +perhaps, nay certainly, with your angel’s face and your serpent’s +heart, were her perfidious counsel to my detriment; and now look at me, +compelled by aid of medicine to support as best I can the miserable +remnant of a life thus exhausted. Through that pity which you know not, +either in life or in fiction, you will condescend to do me the favour to +send me a _baratollo_ or rather a little tree of _barbe di calcatrepuli_, +a specialty of Urbino, so that I may boast of once having had a prayer +granted by the flinty ladies of the house of Gonzaga. I do not commend +myself to your highness, not wishing to waste my words on the air. I only +pray Heaven to keep you long in health and happiness, so that you may +long make mincemeat (_macello_) of your servitors.—Your servant for life, +Unicus.” + +[326] _Heptameron_, Tale 8. + +[327] Tales 9, 10. + +[328] One of the ladies replies tranquilly: “I should prefer all my life +long to see the bones of all my servitors in my room than to die for +them: for everything can be amended but death.” (_Heptameron_, Tale 32.) + +[329] + + “Je le sçay bien, mais point ne le veux croire, + Car je perdrois l’aise que j’ai reçeu.” + + (Clément Marot.) + + [I know it well, but will not it believe, + For I should lose the comfort I receive.] + +[330] Hütten writes: “What shall I say of Samson, who while all but in +the arms of a woman received the inspiration of the Holy Ghost?... And of +Solomon, who had 300 queens and an infinite number of concubines, till +his death, and who nevertheless in the eyes of the divines passes for +saved? What is the inference? I am not stronger than Solomon, nor wiser, +and one must sometimes have a little joy. The doctors say ’tis necessary +to cure melancholy. Well, what do you say of these grave authors? +Ecclesiastes says: ‘There is nothing better than that a man should +rejoice in his own works.’ So I say to my love, with Solomon: ‘Thou hast +wounded my heart, my sister, my spouse, thou hast wounded my heart with +one of thy hairs. How fair is thy breast, my sister, my spouse! How much +better is thy breast than wine!’ and so on.” + +[331] _Heptameron_, Tale 15. + +[332] _Ibid._, Tale 18. + +[333] _Ibid._, Tale 13 and end of First Day. + +[334] [Referring to the fable of the Stork and the Fox, versified later +by La Fontaine. “The stork with his long neck could not pick up a bit.”] + +[335] + + Comes from divinity, + And its torment from our humanity. + +[336] [Ninon was the celebrated courtesan who, without any great beauty, +retained her ascendancy over men through a long life (1616-1706). +She was well-born, wealthy and witty, and capricious in the bestowal +of her favours. She is the original of Clarisse in Mlle de Scudéry’s +interminable romance _Clélie_. Herself a writer and a lover of +literature, she left Voltaire 2000 francs to buy books.] + +[337] [An ancient princely family of Rome which claimed descent from +Fabius Maximus the Dictator.] + +[338] Panormita, who died in 1471, had already employed his muse in +lamenting departed courtesans; for example: + + Hoc jacet ingenuae formae Catharina sepulcro; + Grata fuit multis scita puella procis, etc. + +[In this tomb lies Catharine of noble beauty: pleasing was the fair girl +to many a wooer.] + +[339] Women “may accept of our service unto a certain measure, and make +us honestly perceive how they disdain us not; for the law which enjoineth +them to abhor us, because we adore them, and to hate us forasmuch as we +love them, is doubtless very cruel.... A queen of our time said wittily +that to refuse men’s kind summons is a testimony of much weakness, +and an accusing of one’s own facility, and that an unattempted lady +could not vaunt of her chastity.... If rareness be in any thing worthy +estimation, it ought to be in this.” And again: “In my time, the pleasure +of reporting and blabbing what one hath done (a pleasure not much short +of the act itself in sweetness) was only allowed to such as had some +assured, trusty and singular friend; whereas nowadays the ordinary +entertainments and familiar discourses of meetings and at tables are the +boastings of favours received, graces obtained, and secret liberalities +of ladies. Verily it is too great an abjection and argueth a baseness of +heart, so fiercely to suffer those tender, dainty, delicious joys to be +persecuted, pelted and foraged by persons so ungrateful, so indiscreet, +and so giddy-headed.” (Montaigne, Bk. III., cap. v.) + +[340] Vice was incredibly base and ignoble at the courts of Charles VIII. +and Louis XII. Ragged and loathsome wretches went everywhere in the train +of the court, to whom the princes gave alms on fête days. + +[341] + + [Nor will you find it hard to tell + On what fair morning this befell.] + +[342] + + [God hath sent you to this place + Like some miracle of grace, + That you may both have and hold + Our great sovreign’s heart of gold, + And that like a holy fire, + Purified in all desire + His affection light may shed, + By your true perfections fed. + Kings to mortal men below + God’s own form and image show.] + +[343] [And you have won the whole great heart of France.] + +[344] + + [Shall I alone of all this age in France + Forbear to sing thy dread and puissant name, + Nor tell the glory of thy crescent flame, + Nor by some deathless rime thy praise enhance?] + +[345] Some historians have maintained that the love of Henri II. for +Diana was purely platonic. + +[346] As a prelate and an aspirant to the purple Bembo was tied to +celibacy; but he was only in the lower ranks of the clergy so far as +actual _orders_ were concerned. + +[347] Before becoming pope Julius had shaved. It was during his +pontificate that the discussion waxed bitter. Clement VII. lent his name +to the tractate _Pro sacerdotum barbis_ of Piero. + +[348] “Well may a piece of marble raise your titles as high as you list, +because you have repaired a piece of an old wall, or cleansed a common +ditch, but men of judgment will never do it.” (Montaigne, III. x.) + +[349] In the Louvre. + +[350] + + The day thy sail dipped to the dancing brine, + And from our streaming eyes robbed sight of thine, + That fatal bark bore far from weeping France + The Muses erst who dwelt there—sad mischance! + And now Parnassus thrums a tuneless lyre, + And Helicon distils an ooze of mire; + Our laurel is all parched, our ivy sere, + Our song-birds stint their singing—thou not here! + +[351] + + Prince Françoys, veulx tu, comme seigneur + Supérieur, estre dominateur, + Prans pour faveur, par amour et mérite. + Celle qui est en florée verdeur, + Digne d’honneur, nommée Margarite. + + [Prince Francis, if thou dost desire + To rule indeed as lord and sire, + For love and worth in favour set + Her who is filled with youthful fire, + Deserving honour, Margaret.] + +[352] This is especially noticeable in her first work, _The Mirror of the +Soul_, which she modestly called the work of a woman “who had in herself +neither science nor knowledge.” Besides, she employed a good secretary. + +[353] Another anecdote of the court of Urbino. A Bergamese peasant had +just entered the service of a nobleman. The princesses were told that +there had arrived a retainer of Cardinal Borgia, who was a fine musician, +a dancer, and a great oddity. They fetched him in, welcomed him, sat +him down among them, and lionised him with great respect. Unhappily the +good man spoke an indescribable jargon. The author of the trick made the +princesses believe that he was shamming the Lombard peasant for fun. The +scene lasted a rather long time, while those in the secret were splitting +their sides. + +[354] + + O main polye, main divine, + Main qui n’as ta pareille en terre, + Main qui tient la paix et la guerre ... + Main portant la clef pour fermer + Et ouvrir l’huys de bien aymer, + Main plaisante, main délicate, + Je n’oserois te dire ingrate. + Tu peulx blesser, tu peulx guérir, + Tu peulx faire vivre et mourir. + + [O fair smooth hand, O hand divine, + Hand never match’d on earth before, + The arbiter of peace and war, + That bears the key to lock or loose + The door for happy lover’s use, + O pleasant hand and dainty, ne’er + To call thee thankless could I dare. + ’Tis thine to wound and thine to heal, + And thine both life and death to deal.] + +[355] The question has often been asked whether the _Heptameron_ is a +work of imagination, or whether it should be taken seriously. After +the labours of MM. de Montaiglon, Franck, and Gaston Pâris, to speak +only of the principal authorities, there can be no longer any doubt. +Margaret, like Castiglione, certifies in a general way the veracity of +her stories. She worked at this collection for several years, beginning +probably in 1545, and with so much care that in 1549, when she died, +she left it incomplete. The _Heptameron_ then is not a juvenile work, +but the testament of her court life and her philosophic career, and an +autobiography, since several anecdotes relate to her, her brother, and +her intimate friends. Moreover, among the large number of manuscripts she +left in her portfolios, Boistuau (another strange character, to judge +by his works!) chose this one to publish under the title of _History of +Fortunate Lovers_, with some touching up, and a few excisions he thought +it well to make in certain risky passages. This precaution gave offence, +and Margaret’s own daughter took care to get a new and authentic edition +published, two years later. + +[356] So we identify “Simontault,” [one of the _raconteurs_ of the +_Heptameron_]. + +[357] Thus we identify “Nomerfide.” + +[358] “Ennasuite.” + +[359] Margaret excelled in artistic needlework. She made a piece of +tapestry, representing a high mass as perfectly as a picture could have +done. While she plied her needle, she had near her someone to read to +her, or a historian, poet, or writer of some kind to talk to her. + +[360] Very few poets had the audacity of Clément Marot, who, harassed by +his creditors, went a-begging to the Queen of Navarre, beslavering her +with love the while: she replied with a _dixain_. He acknowledged receipt +of it ironically, saying that on the strength of her verses his creditors +have called him “Monsieur,” and have permitted him to borrow again, which +he proceeded to do. + +[361] “My heart’s friend, I beg you to send me the crucifix for a short +time, even if it is not far advanced, so that I may show it to the +gentlemen of the Most Reverend Cardinal of Mantua. And if you are not +very busy to-day, come and talk to me at any hour that suits you.—Yours +to command, the Marchioness of Pescara.” + +[362] [Usually known as Lydius Cattus. His Latin poems in praise of Lydia +appeared at Venice in 1502.] + +[363] [A Portuguese writer (1505-1566) who spent the most of his life +in France and taught philosophy at Paris. He is chiefly notable for his +crushing reply to Ramus’s attacks on Aristotle.] + +[364] Paul Bourget, address in the French Academy, Dec. 9, 1897. + +[365] He undertook to write for her the _Annals of Brittany_, and had an +idea of a history of the Greeks and Turks for the same princess. + +[366] [So called because their aim was to purify the Italian tongue by +sifting the wheat from the chaff.] + +[367] Castiglione got Bembo to revise the speeches he attributed to him. + +[368] The Spanish _canzone_, inserted by Lucretia Borgia in her letters +to Bembo, are perhaps not her own. + +[369] [Her librarian.] + +[370] Castiglione, that arbiter of taste, devotes six pages of excellent +Latin distiches to dissuade his lady from going to the sea-baths. He +gives a charming description of the sea monsters which advance towards +the girls, not only to fling them as food to the fishes, but to get them +into their embrace, and so on. “Let us go rather,” he sighs, “towards the +gentle river, in the thick shade, among the flowers. Perfumed, crowned +with our favourite colours, we will let the water lave thy snowy feet, +... the zephyr will lay bare thy marble flanks.... O, dear soul of mine, +the woodland gods will feel the sting of my love, the very water of +the river will boil with my flame: let no one know whither we bend our +steps! The crowd strips rocks and woods of their charm.... Let young +scatterbrains go to the sea. We will be mum about the place whereto we +are bound. And if on the billows thou hearest a murmur, ah! my love, at +once bury thy head in my breast!” + +[371] Virgil was much out of fashion, though translations are +occasionally to be met with. + +[372] [A poet of Mantua (1498-1560), writer of extremely free verse on +monks and women.] + +[373] [_I.e._ the Doubtful.] + +[374] + + Young Maupas’ sparrow—he is dead, alack! + Fair maids, lament him. + A thing unfeathered save upon his back + Hath slain and rent him. + Ye know the rogue—that froward wight + Called Love hath done it out of spite, + For when the mistress ’scaped his arrow, + He turned about and slew the sparrow. + +[375] [Lemaire de Belges wrote an elegiac poem on _L’amant vert_, +Margaret’s parrot. A charming poem with the title _Vert-Vert_ was written +by Gresset, a contemporary of Voltaire, recounting the burlesque story of +a parrot which had been the pet of a convent.] + +[376] + + Mon Dieu, quel plaisir c’estoit, + Quand Peloton se grattoit, + Faisant tinter sa sonnette, + Avec sa teste folette! + Quel plaisir, quand Peloton + Cheminoit sur un baston, + Ou, coifé d’un petit linge, + Assis comme un petit singe, + Se tenoit, mignardelet, + D’un maintien damoiselet! + Ou, sur les pieds de derrière, + Portant la pique guerrière, + Marchoit d’un front asseuré + Avec un pas mesuré. + + [Gad, how pleasant ’twas to see + Fluffy scratching prettily, + Making with his silky pate + Toy-bells tintinnabulate! + And what fun to see him ride + On a hobby-horse astride, + Or, bedight in tiny cape, + Squatting like a little ape, + Posing like a proper squire, + Spruce and dainty in attire; + On hind legs erect, perchance, + Shouldering a martial lance, + Marching at a measured pace, + Full assurance in his face.] + +[377] [The French adapter of _Sandford and Merton_, etc.; known as the +Friend of Children.] + +[378] [Alluding to his forename Angelo.] + +[379] In 1500, in the village of Auvilliers in Normandy, a girl of +fourteen named Jeanne la Fournette, as skilled in Latin as the parish +parson, sang the Tenebrae in church. + +[380] “Verse is the clarion, prose the sword.” (L. Veuillot.) + +[381] “Gli Italiani, col lor saper lettere, haver mostrato poco valer +nell’ arme, da un tempo in qua.” (Castiglione.) [The Italians, with their +knowledge of letters, have shown little worth in arms at any time.] + +[382] [The popularity of the _Ship of Fools_ was partly due to its +admirable woodcuts, which are of quite extraordinary excellence, and much +more amusing than the text.] + +[383] Hütten. Though he is joking, Hütten pretty faithfully represents +the opinions of a part of Germany, which did not perceive his sarcasm. + +[384] [Verses by Héroët and La Borderie appeared in _Opuscules d’amour_, +Lyons, 1547. Héroët’s _Parfaite Amie_ is a lady who, having lost her +lover, is content to await a spiritual union in a better world. La +Borderie’s _Amie de Cour_ is a lady of quite contrary proclivities.] + +[385] In 1546 Delahaye, sometime printer of Alençon, now blossomed into +‘Silvius,’ could praise Margaret for the service she had just rendered +to the French mind: A coarse Cupid, he said, was reigning when true +Love descended from heaven to chase him away, found hostelry with the +princess, and “gently settled upon a hedge.” According to him, Margaret +had succeeded in ruling the appetites, and in practically introducing +philosophic love into poetry. + +[386] [The _puy_ was properly a mound or other elevated place on which +competitions in poetry and song were held—eisteddfoddi.] + +[387] [A racy preacher whose sermons on Brandt’s _Ship of Fools_ were +very popular. He preached on “subjects of the day.”] + +[388] _Stultifere naves._ + +[389] Bk. i. cap. li.; bk. iii. cap. v. + +[390] One of the peculiarities of the Albigensian heresy was that it +developed through the apostleship of women. + +[391] With this motto: + + Donnez puissance souveraine + Au croissant de France, tel cours + Qu’il vienne jusqu’à lune plaine + Sans jamais entrer en décours. + + [All sovereign might do ye bestow + On France’s crescent; let it grow + Till a full moon in heaven it reigns + And never from that glory wanes.] + +[392] Bk. ii. cap. xii. + +[393] “Platonis, ceterorumque philosophorum, quos omnes errorum magistros +ostendimus.” + +[394] “Nevertheless it must not be thought, when we make mention of +philosophy, that we speak only of that which is learnt in the writings +of Plato and other philosophers, for we get also from the philosophy of +the Gospel, which is the word of God, the holy and salutary precepts with +which Margaret was so well indoctrinated and instructed by her teachers” +(Sainte-Marthe’s Funeral Oration). + +[395] People still went to witches and “Egyptians” to get antidotes for +love, or love philtres, or simply potions for securing good luck. These +potions were mischievously used, as morphine is to-day: it was what they +called selling the devil in bottles. Rabelais shows us his Pantagruelion: +Porta, Cardan, and other grave occultists or physicians have handed down +several of the prescriptions then current: opium was generally used +to produce delightful dreams; nightshade produced smiling illusions. +The principle of love philtres was derived from remote antiquity, and +apparently M. Brown-Sequard has borrowed something from them. + +[396] For instance, a lady of Blois, attacked with a decline, +“bewitched,” it was said, had a mass said at Notre Dame des Aides; then a +witch lay full length upon the patient, mumbling her wicked charms. The +sick lady was at once cured; it is true that, two months afterwards, she +had a relapse and died, but the witch attributed that accident to her own +unruly tongue. + +[397] Witches were the happy possessors of a number of talents: they +cured diseases by amulets or charms; they brought hail and rain; their +malign power played with the secrets of kings as well as of families. Two +young peasants of Nivernais, stalwart striplings and much in love, one +day married two sisters. On the evening of the wedding day, strange to +say, the newly-married couples, instead of making love, fell to blows. +All at once someone remembered that on the previous Palm Sunday one of +the young fellows had refused to give a piece of consecrated boxwood to +an old witch in that neighbourhood, and that she had simply said: “You +will repent this.” Off they went to the hag, brought her back with them, +gave her a warm welcome and a good meal; she relented and allowed one +of the men to drink from her glass; he recovered immediately and his +wife was satisfied. The other, on the contrary, who had not drunk of the +same cup, fell ill; soon he seemed in imminent danger; the witch, when +summoned, refused to inconvenience herself a second time: all offers +and threats were alike unavailing. The family was in despair, the whole +village at its wit’s end. The witch locked herself in; a hole was made in +the roof, she was dragged out with her husband and carried off. Arrived +at the bedside of the sick man, the husband said: “You are not going to +die”; but the woman refused to utter a syllable. Then the rage of the +bystanders knew no bounds: men who had been in hiding flung themselves +on the malevolent hag as soon as she withdrew, seized her, and flung her +into the fire. Others, more merciful or more apprehensive, managed to +pull her out, her legs horribly burned, carried her home, and tended her. +But the wretched woman, stoically wrapping herself in her pain, shut her +door, refused to send to Nevers for a doctor, and after three months of +agony died in her obstinate solitude. + +[398] [An accomplished lady of the court of Ferrara, who wrote dialogues +and Greek verses, married a German physician, and died at twenty-nine.] + +[399] [Medieval types of the perfect wife. Clotilde was wife of Clovis +I., King of the Franks (475-545); Theodelinde, Queen of the Lombards +(died 625). Both converted their husbands to the Christian faith.] + +[400] + + Le nom de foy et de bonté + A tant mon esprit mesconté, + Que je croy qu’il est en nature + Moins de bons hommes qu’en peinture. + + (Melin de Saint-Gelais, in allusion to the order + of St. Francis de Paul, known as _bonhommes_.) + + [“Goodness” and “faith” and all such cant + With me find sympathy but scant; + Nature doth fewer good men breed + Than live in pictures: that’s my creed.] + +[401] Thus Paul Jove describes the villa on the Lake of Como, in which +he wrote his _Elogia_: a villa fanned by gentle breezes, hung on a +hillside dominating the lake, so rich in classic memories, so pure, so +blue; in the episcopal dining-room, Apollo and the Muses presided; the +drawing-room, dedicated to Minerva, contained busts of several great +writers of antiquity; thence one passed to the library, then into the +Hall of the Sirens, then the Hall of the Three Graces. Large windows +opened upon green flower-bedecked mountains, luxuriant valleys, rugged +granite peaks, a majestic horizon of eternal snow, and indestructible +glaciers, above which hung the beautiful transparent blue sky. + +[402] [A conventual order for ladies of rank founded by the repudiated +queen of Louis XII.] + +[403] “With a cable of love and fidelity welded together, I fasten my +barque to a never-yielding rock, to Jesus Christ the living stone, +whereby I may at any time return to port.” (Vittoria Colonna.) + +[404] All the speakers in the _Heptameron_ begin by taking the communion. + +[405] [The moralist who translated Pascal’s _Lettres provinciales_ into +Latin, and to some extent continued his influence.] + +[406] + + [Churches I saw (cries Margaret), rich, beautiful, and old, + And altars deck’d with images of silver and of gold; + My heart was fill’d with pleasure as I heard new strains of song, + And saw the gleaming tapers and the torches pass along, + And heard the merry clash and clang of bells high overhead, + To mortal ears astounding: oh, ’tis heaven below, I said.] + +[407] Bonaventure des Périers, Tale 35. + +[408] The Bible was much in request. Editions in the vulgar tongue had +long been popular in Germany and Italy. Lefèvre d’Etaples, who produced +his translation in 1523, had passed his life in expounding the sacred +books. In 1514, Charles de Saint-Gelais dedicated to Francis I., while +still only a prince, a translation of the Book of Maccabees. + +[409] + + Les aucunes sont bibliennes + Et le texte très mal exposent: + Jeunes bigottes, anciennes, + Dessus les Evangiles glosent, + Et tout au contraire proposent + De ce qui est à proposer. + + (Gringoire, _Les folles Entreprises_.) + + [Some are bible-women bold, + And very ill the text expound: + Bigots young and bigots old + Gloss the Gospels round and round, + Preaching doctrine far from sound.] + +[410] M. Gebhardt has well characterised this spirit of Italy: “The +astonishing intellectual freedom with which Italy treated dogma and +discipline; the serenity she was able to preserve in face of the great +mystery of life and death; the art she devoted to the reconciliation +of faith with rationalism; her dallyings with formal heresy, and the +audacities of her mystic imagination: the enthusiasm of love which often +carried her up to the loftiest Christian ideal—such was the original +religion of Italy”—that of the Renaissance as of the Middle Ages. +Alexander II. and Julius II. scandalised everybody beyond the borders of +Italy: in Italy, no one. + +[411] Tale 34. + +[412] [A wealthy _bourgeoise_ who held a literary salon frequented by the +Encyclopaedists—Diderot, D’Alembert, and the rest.] + +[413] “Grant, I beseech thee, Lord, that by the humility that becomes the +creature and by the pride thy greatness demands, I may adore thee always, +and that, in the fear thy justice imposes, as in the hope thy clemency +justifies, I may live eternally and submit to thee as the Almighty, +follow thee as the All-wise, and turn towards thee as towards Perfection +and Goodness. I beseech thee, most tender Father, that thy living fire +may purify me, thy radiant light illumine me; that this sincere love for +thee may profit me in such wise that, never finding let or hindrance in +things of this world, I may return to thee in happiness and safety.” + +[414] + + I have transgresséd all God’s Holy laws; + To stint my story, I except not one. + +[415] + + Las, tous ces motz ne voulois escouter, + Mais encore je venois à douter + Si c’estoit vous, ou si par adventure + Ce n’estoit rien qu’une simple escripture. + + [I would not hear those words, but still + A doubt my wearied soul would fill, + Whether ’twere very you indeed, + Or chance had given me trash to read.] + +[416] In her _Comédie sur le trespas du Roy_ the shepherdess Amarissima +(that is, she herself) mourns the death of the god Pan; she no longer +believes in anything—either human virtue, or human consolations, or +even the old-time constancy. She has lost her philosophy! In the +end, the Paraclete comes to restore our serenity by the assurance +that Pan is tasting Elysian joys in the eternal meadows. At the +carnival of Mont-de-Marsan in 1547, the princess, shaking off mournful +preoccupations, put another comedy on the stage, in which she brought +into opposition a beautiful lady of fashion, a superstitious lady who +speaks of death and paradise, and a wise woman who advocates equilibrium +of soul and body; then the “Queen of God” (we may guess who she is) +upsets it all—the world, superstition, and wisdom—with a philosophic +panacea of divine and human love commingled. We shall not be expected, +however, to follow Margaret in the meanderings of her thought, nor even +in her prayers “of the faithful soul,” or “to Jesus Christ”—earnest +appeals to the love and favour and mercy of the Most High, who can save +us only by love. + +[417] See the close of the _Navire_, a poem devoted to the praise of +love and to the glorification of the beauty and virtues of the late king +Francis I. + +[418] + + “Souvienne toy qu’ilz sont nés imparfaitz, + Et que de chair fragile tous sont faitz.” + + [Remember that imperfect were they born, + And of frail flesh God’s creatures all are made.] + +[419] + + “Priez Dieu pour les trespassez, + Dont le retour est incongneu.” + + [Pray God for sinners whose return + From Death’s far bourn is all unknown.] + +Very few have returned, “the way is long!” + +[420] [The architect and sculptor (1400-1469) known as Philaretes, who +mingled pagan mythology and Christian legend in his designs for the +bronze gates of St. Peter’s, and in his _Treatise, on Architecture_ +taught that a true architect should possess all the virtues.] + +[421] [The _palinod_ was properly a poem in honour of the Immaculate +Conception. Several such poems were recited on a set day, and a prize was +awarded to the best.] + +[422] + + The flesh! ’Tis mortal, fed with mortal food! + Love’s spirit nourishes true hearts and good. + +[423] [Author of _De perpetuo in terris gaudio piorum_. Basle, 1558.] + +[424] _Heptameron_, Prologue. + +[425] This was before Luther, or independently of him. Erasmus pleasantly +scoffs at prayers to the Virgin or to St. Christopher, and is convinced +that the vows of sailors during a tempest are to be traced simply to +paganism, the ancient worship of Venus, “Star of the Seas.” He has +glorified the Virgin in cold but elegantly rhetorical verses, in which +the Styx, Phlegethon, Helicon, and the Castalian fount proclaim the new +spirit. While in former days Louis XI., for the slightest tribulation, +struck a medal to the Virgin or went on a pilgrimage, neither Louis XII. +nor Francis I., who will not be regarded as Lutherans, had any such +idea; in an extreme case, Louis XII. pays his vows direct in the Holy +Eucharist. Sannazaro, who remained faithful to the Virgin, declared +himself of Spanish descent. + +[426] [Disappointed of a cardinalate, he undertook a polemic against +the Reformers, but was led to adopt their views. He had met Luther at +Wittenberg.] + +[427] Heroine of Bandello’s love-poem. + +[428] [One of the best modern Latin poets (1498-1550). He was nominated +by the pope as secretary to the Council of Trent.] + +[429] “Who then has supported these men?” cries Alberto Pio: “the +dignitaries of the church, and the highest of them! They have maintained +at their voluptuous court these men with their half pagan leanings, who +pour contempt on all that is dear to the people, and strive only to +overturn existing things.” + +[Pio was prince da Carpi, and a nephew of Pico della Mirandola.] + +[430] “We,” he says, “nourished and moulded by Christianity, no longer +approach the thought of divine and eternal things except with a heart +full of vanity, a mind deadened and filled with the love of material +things. To the instruction of Scripture, to the responses and prophecies +of the Son of God, it is necessary to find (I am ashamed to say it) an +academic counterpart. We have gone back to the old state of polytheism or +atheism, to the maxims of antiquity.... In this paradise of study it is +necessary for every lover of letters that his philosophic mind, leaving +behind the pastures of philology (very pleasant, but in themselves futile +and of no account for what concerns the present object), should strive +to fill itself with the nutriment of sacred philosophy, the feast of +heavenly wisdom descended among mortals.” + +[431] [A brief criticism of this excellent comedy is given in Macaulay’s +essay on Machiavelli.] + +[432] + + La foy sans amour est morte et endormye, + Aussi l’amour sans effect vient à rien. + + [A loveless faith is slumberous and dead, + And love inactive naught accomplishes.] + +[433] _Heptameron_, Tale 42. + +[434] Renan. + +[435] The art of evoking the spirits which hover about us, and of +entering by their aid into relations with the absent or the dead—an art +largely practised in France and Germany—was quite as pagan as the Italian +mythology. Trithemius, the famous abbot of Spanheim, laid down dogmatic +rules for it. Many spirits came without being summoned. There were +amiable spirits among them, simple domestic goblins who made themselves +useful. At the moment of death Agrippa was thus attended. There were also +troublesome fiends, like those tricksy sprites who visited women in the +darkness of the night. Jean Mansel relates the story of an unhappy woman +tormented every night by a sort of unconscionable husband, who was no +other than a jovial demon. At last, worn out, she consults a hermit, who +directs her to raise her arms at the critical moment towards a sacred +picture; with the result that the demon takes flight, not without cursing +the hermit. + +[436] + + [Theology he will expound; + But as for drinking water pure, + You’d better give it to your hound, + For brother Lubin can’t—be sure.] + +[437] Oliver Maillard declaims at St. Jean de Grêve, Paris: “O women, O +flaunting wenches, bethink ye well. Why fill your time with amusements +and vanities? You will have to answer, not for the conceptions of +Aristotle, nor the learning of idealists or realists, of legists or +physicians, but for your good or evil life.... Lift up your hearts, +ladies; are you good theologians?” That is what he finds to say to women +who patronise and cultivate learning, to platonists penetrated with the +idea of the indulgent mercy of God, and convinced of the great number of +the Elect. (_Sermones de adventu_). A preacher is describing the Virgin +at the moment of the Annunciation: “What was she doing, ladies? Think you +she was occupied in painting and powdering her face? No, at the foot of +the Cross she was reading the Hours of Our Lady”! + +[438] Maillard. + +[439] + + “Nec formæ contenta suæ, splendore decorem + Auget mille modis mulier; frontem ligat auro, + Purpurat arte genas et collocat arte capillos, + Arte regit gressus, et lumina temperat arte. + Currit ut in latebras ludens perducat amantem.” + + (_Egloga_, 4.) + +[Not content with her natural beauty, woman enhances the brilliance of +her charms in a thousand ways. She binds her brow with gold, artfully +colours her cheeks and knots her hair and rules her gait and manages her +eyes. She runs that sportive she may lure her lover into her secret nook.] + +[440] + + Dueil, jalousie, + Puis frénésie, + Puis souspessons, + Mélancolie, + Tours de follie, + Regretz, tensons, + Pleurs et chansons, + Sont les façons + D’amoureuse chevalerie. + Mieulx vauldroit servir les massons + Que d’avoir au cœur telz glassons. + + [Jealous care, + Rage, despair, + Then suspicions, + Melancholy, + Freaks of folly, + Regrets, quarrels, + Tears and carols, + These conditions + Do our love-lorn knighthood bear. + Better to fill a hodman’s part + Than have such icicles chilling the heart.] + +That is how the good prior of Liré, Guillaume Alexis, expresses himself +as he rides with a nobleman along the road from Rome to Verneuil. (_Le +grant Blason des faulces amours._) He continues in the same vigorous and +cutting style. What, replies his companion, disagreeably surprised, you +ask them only to work + + Et de nul plaisir n’avez cure! + Tous pageaulx + Sont-ils égaulx?... + ... Quant on est jeune, + Force est qu’on tienne + Le train des autres jouvenceaulx. + + [And never to have a pleasure in life! + Varlets in hall, + Are they equal all? + When one is young + One needs must along + With other younkers rolling the ball.] + +Nature speaks; Gawain, Arthur, Lancelot + + Qui ne craignoyent ne froit ne chault + ... Toujours estoyent amoureux. + Nous aymerons + Et chanterons + En noz jouvences: + Quant vieulx serons, + Nous penserons + Des consciences, + Menues offenses, + Et négligences. + Quelque jour récompenseront + Force pardons, prou indulgences. + + [Who feared nor heat nor cold a whit, + Were ever in love. + Blithe and gay + With love and lay + Youth we will speed: + When old and gray + ’Twill be time to pray, + Conscience to heed, + Follies to shun, + To rue good undone. + And some day indulgences, pardons galore, + Will help pay the piper and settle the score.] + +The monk replies with a long discourse, flagellating the vices of women +and resulting disasters. + +[441] _Reformationis monasticæ vindiciæ_, 1503. + +[442] [Thenaud and Thevet were both Franciscans who travelled in the East +and published accounts of their adventures.] + +[443] [He eloped with a woman, lived a Bohemian life for ten years, +and then returned to the hair-shirt and piety, wandering from convent +to convent. He was one of the earliest and most successful writers of +macaronic verse (_Opus Merlini Cocaii macaronicorum_).] + +[444] [Noted for an excellent Latin verse translation of the _Iliad_. He +was a German.] + +[445] Maitre Berthold, he relates, who had gone to Rome to seek his +fortune, had only succeeded after two months in finding a place as groom +to an auditor of the rota, to look after his mule. “But,” said I to him, +“that’s not the sort of thing for me, a master of arts of Cologne; I +can’t do things like that.” “Very well, if you won’t, I can’t help it.” +“I think I shall return to my own country.... Am I to currycomb the mule +and scrub the stable? Sooth, everything may go to the devil, for me!” +Again, Conrad Stryldriot writes: “’Tis the devil who brought me here, and +I can’t go back; there is no good fellowship here as in Germany; people +aren’t sociable; if a man gets drunk once a day, they take offence and +call him a pig. What is one to do? The courtesans are very dear, and not +at all pretty. I tell you in all truth, in Italy the women are uncommonly +ill made, spite of all their fine furbelows of silk and camlet.... They +stoop, and eat garlic and are swarthy-hued.... What colour they have is +paint.” (_Epistolæ obscurorum virorum._) + +[446] “Post tenebras ego spero lucem,” wrote Jean Marot in 1415. + +[447] “You cannot imagine anyone more useful or holy,” her friend Bembo +wrote; “I understand why your ladyship is so fond of him!” Again: “Our +brother Bernardino is adored here: men, women, everybody lauds him to the +skies.... I hope some day to converse with your ladyship about him.” + +[448] Lavardin also touched the chords of feeling, and was thereupon +congratulated by Ronsard in a sonnet: he translated for the princess a +dialogue by Mark Antony Natta, on the Nature of God. He acknowledges that +in reality the subject seems to him inaccessible, whether one takes the +wings of an eagle or descends into the depths: in the end he thinks that +the incomprehensible had better be left to faith. But he dedicates this +work to Margaret in excellent verse: + + A quel plus propre autel pourrions-nous présenter + Le sujet immortel de ce précieux livre? + ... O perle, ô Marguerite, + O beau fleuron royal, vostre sang très chrestien, + Et toutes les vertus dont vostre grâce hérite ... + Nous font foy ... + Que des enfans de Dieu vous serez le soutien. + + [To what more seemly altar could we bring + The immortal subject of this precious book? + O pearl, O Margaret, + Fair queenly gem, thy purest Christian ray + And all the virtues by thy grace possest + To us attest + God’s children all will find in thee their stay.] + +[449] _Les très merveilleuses Victoires._ + +[450] + + To love the mind, Madam, is loving folly. + +[451] + + Your arms are Juno’s, and your breast + The Graces have with beauty drest; + Your hand and brow Aurora sent, + A lioness proud your heart has lent. + +[452] [Trissotin is the affected coxcomb and Vadius the pedant of +Molière’s famous comedy, _Les Femmes savantes_ (Act iii. scene v.).] + +[453] [A Jewish physician whose Dialogues on Love were printed at Venice +in 1549.] + +[454] Ronsard to Henri III. + +[455] Baïf to Catherine de’ Medici. + +[456] + + L’homme à la femme y rend obéissance.... + L’esprit bon s’y fait lourd, la femme s’y diffame, + La fille y perd sa honte, la veuve y acquiert blasme. + Tous y sont desguisez: la fille y va sans mère, + La femme sans mary, le prestre sans bréviaire. + + [At court the woman rules the man.... + The brightest wit grows sluggish, and women smirch their fame, + The maid loses her modesty, the widow her good name. + All there is masquerade: the girl without her mother fares, + Wife without husband; and the priest no breviary bears.] + +All they think of there is + + mendier le goust d’une vaine fumée + (Qui s’acquiert à grand’peine, et tost est consumée), + Piaffer, se friser, à faire l’amoureux. + + (Jean de la Taille, _Satires_). + + [to beg a spark of empty praise + (That’s very hard to kindle, and too quickly burns away), + To cut a dash, and dandify, a lover’s part to play.] + +[457] + + [Happy the age when wild in woods + The naked savage ran, + When nuts and apples were his foods, + And man was yet a man.] + +[458] + + Multa tegit sacro involucro Natura; neque ullis + Fas est scire quidem mortalibus omnia; multa + Admirare modo, necnon venerare, neque illa + Inquires quae sunt arcanis proxima. + +[Nature conceals many things within her sacred shrine; nor may any mortal +presume to know all things; many things indeed thou mayst admire, aye, +reverence, without prying into those that lie closest to the mysteries.] + +[459] Yet Ronsard and his friends made the mistake of believing that the +language should be aristocratic, and that it was for writers, not for the +people, to form or reform it. + +[460] + + [Alas! when shall I see again + The smoking chimneys of my village home?] + +[461] [A popular French writer (died in 1566). He translated Bandello +into French, and his _Théâtre du Monde_, in which he discussed “the woes +of humanity and the dignity and excellence of man,” ran into twenty +editions.] + +[462] [His _Nouvel Amour_ appeared along with Héroët’s _Opuscules +d’Amour_.] + +[463] + + [Then I perceived that, ignorant as yet + Of her high worth, I worshipped Margaret, + As, all unwitting, we admire the heavens.] + +[464] [Andrea Navagero, commentator on the classics, author of _Viaggio_.] + +[465] + + [Nothing remained in all the realm of France + Holy and pure, of antique charity, + Save Margaret, a human deity.] + +[466] The 16th century was the golden age of women’s education. + +[467] [The hôtel de Rambouillet was the famous salon held by the marquise +de Rambouillet, where met a crowd of wits, fops, and scholars, to set +fashions for society and for literature. This was the headquarters of +the _Précieuses_, who were anxious to polish the language, and who +introduced, among forms of expression which time has approved, absurd +affectations like the Euphuism of the previous century in England.] + +[468] When women were not supposed to be able to do more than +“distinguish a doublet from trunk-hose.” [A quotation from Molière’s _Les +Femmes savantes_, Act ii. sc. vii.] + +[469] Tale ii., “Corruptio optimi pessima.” + +[470] “Venus has caught the ladies in her toils, and God is tired!” +(Montaiglon). Tavannes asks that someone will shut women’s mouths. + +[471] St. Theresa goes to these words from the Song of Songs: “The milk +of thy breasts is sweeter than wine, and from them riseth a savour more +excellent than precious ointments”; or to these: “I sat down under his +shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.” + +[472] + + Peace and joy in living reign no longer here; + Music and the dance to silence are constrained. + +[473] Cf. the following well-known passage from the _Apology of Raymond +de Sebonde_ (_Essays_, ii. cap. xii.): “The soul, by reason of her +trouble and imbecility, as unable to subsist of herself, is ever and +in all places questing and searching comforts, hopes, foundations, and +foreign circumstances on which she may take hold and settle herself. And +how light and fantastical soever his invention doth frame them unto him, +he notwithstanding relieth more surely upon them, and more willingly, +than upon himself.... It is for the punishment of our temerity, and +instruction of our misery and incapacity, that God caused the trouble, +downfall, and confusion of Babel’s tower. Whatsoever we attempt without +his assistance, whatever we see without the lamp of his grace, is but +vanity and folly. With our weakness we corrupt and adulterate the very +essence of truth (which is uniform and constant) when fortune giveth us +the possession of it.” [Florio.] + +[474] “Nam vere sumus omnes de muliere” (_Facetus_). + + + + +INDEX + + + Accolti, Bernardo, itinerant singer, 273. + + age of marriage, 27, 28, 98. + + Agrippa, Cornelius, his view of marriage, 21; + on Louise of Savoy, 166 _n_; + book on the Pre-eminence of the Female Sex, 400; + lectures on Plato, 402. + + Alexander VI., pope, on Urbino marriage, 52; + his hunting, 247; + on monks, 463. + + Alfonso of Aragon’s wedding, 40. + + Alfonso of Naples’ dinners, 231. + + Alione’s ballad, 121 _n_; + anecdote by, 222. + + almsgiving, 66-69. + + _Amadis de Gaule_, its popularity, 269. + + Amaretta, Costanza, 339, 340. + + ‘amateurs,’ 56, 264, 388. + + Amboise, cardinal of, 146, 257. + + Andrelini, Fausto, 17, 326. + + Anet, château of Diana of Poitiers, 387. + + animals, platonist attitude towards, 244. + + Anne de Graville quoted, 198 _n_. + + Anne of Brittany, 145, 375. + + Anne of France, her first lover, 26 _n_; + as sick nurse, 54; + her charity, 68; + views on education, 85, 89-91; + on girls’ stories, 100-102; + ‘school of manners,’ 103; + on maternal self-sacrifice, 105; + on mourning, 129, 130, 133; + on valour, 146; + on love-making, 165; + her character, 166-168; + idea of charm, 180, 181; + her platonism, 181; + compared with Margaret, 197; + opinion on ‘age of wisdom,’ 214; + on dress, 216, 218; + hunting, 252, 253; + books, 265; + political career, 313, 314; + love of art, 375. + + Anne of Polignac, 131. + + Anne of Vivonne, 385. + + architecture, domestic, 224. + + Aretino, on tutors, 79, 80; + his _Marescalco_, 80, 281; + on duchess of Urbino, 351; + courtesans, 201, 358, 361; + on nudities, 204; + his methods, 370; + relations with Vittoria Colonna, 390, 391; + correspondence, 394, 395. + + art, 377, 380. + + _Asolani_, Bembo’s, 156, 432. + + + Baden in Aargau, 259, 260. + + balls, 232, 236; + Daneau on, 236, 237. + + baths, 254; + Calvinists’ view of, 255, 256; + life at, 259, 260. + + Battista Spagnuoli, his view of marriage, 21; + of baths, 258; + of monks, 460. + + beards, dispute on growing of, 370. + + Beatrice d’Este, _see_ D’Este. + + beauty, platonist idea of, 158, 159, 161; + Bembo’s idea of, 160; + Michelangelo’s, 161; + distrusted, 196; + preservation of, 215. + + Bembo, on Latin for girls, 96; + his _Asolani_, 156, 432; + on love, 159-161; + conversation, 294, 295; + handwriting, 304; + his Morosina, 366-368, 390; + his talk, 403, 404; + idea of poetry, 404; + relations with Olympia Morata, 428; + letter to Isabella d’Este, 432. + + Beroaldo, Filippo, on drunkenness, 298; + on love and Propertius, 402, 403. + + Bibbiena on Catherine Sforza, 29; + his _Calandra_, 79, 278, 279; + decoration of his bath-room, 256; + his letters, 307; + his liberalism, 432; + anecdote of, 463. + + Bible, reading of, 155, 288, 438, 439. + + _bibliennes_, the, 426, 435. + + Billon, 481. + + Blando, Michelangelo, on hunting, 251, 252. + + _blasons_, 208. + + Boccaccio, popularity of, 100, 268, 398. + + Bonaventure des Périers, _see_ Des Périers. + + Boistuau, 480. + + Bonnivet, admiral de, 178, 213. + + books, 88, 263. + + Botticelli’s _Venus and Cupid_, 318. + + Bouchet, Jean, on flirtation, 105, 106; + remedy for materialism, 147; + story of ladies of Poitiers, 288; + _Les Regnars traversant les voies périlleuses_, 392. + + Bourget, Paul, his naturalism contrasted with Ruskin’s, 499, 500. + + boutrimés, 300. + + boys’ education, 75, 76. + + Brandiolini, Aurelio, musician, 273. + + Brandt’s _Ship of Fools_, 416. + + Brantôme on tutors, 99; + on marquis of Pescara’s book, 124; + on spicy literature, 266; + on Mortemart ladies, 286; + on the court, 495. + + Brascha, ambassador, 42, 43. + + Briçonnet, bishop of Meaux, 470. + + Budé, Guillaume, _Livre de l’Institution du prince_, 250, 251; + on religion, 454. + + burial customs, 129. + + Burye, character in _Heptameron_, 385. + + + Calvin on women, 84, 467; + on divorce, 339; + character of Reformation, 467. + + Calvinists, objection to fine weddings, 37; + to baths, 255, 256. + + Cardan on marriage, 32; + on gout, 230; + on talk, 285; + life at Venice, 290 _n_. + + Carnesecchi, 259. + + carpet knights, 369. + + Castelli, Cardinal, his hunting ode, 248, 249. + + Castiglione, relations with his wife, 51; + theory of social aesthetics, 144; + on Raphael, 157; + on intellectual occupations for women, 261; + his _Courtier_, 265, 395, 404, 405 _n_; + on music, 274; + on talk, 292; + on duke of Urbino, 293; + handwriting, 304; + letters to Vittoria Colonna, 306, 395; + letter to Marchesa Scaldasole, 306; + on viragos, 319; + on painting, 377, 381, 431. + + Cataneo, on two loves, 156, 159. + + Catherine de’ Medici, _see_ De’ Medici. + + Catholicism and colour, 220; + relation to philosophy, etc., 456 ff. + + Caviceo, his _Peregrino_, 22, 239. + + _Célestine, La_, 270. + + Chailly, Louis XII.’s hound, 249. + + Champier on marriage age, 28; + _Livre de vraye amour_, 45, 46; + on doctors, 59; + on love, 114, 168; + on women and men, 301. + + charity, 66-69. + + charm, theory of, 195-200. + + chase, the, 246-253. + + Christian socialism, 142. + + churches, mundane use of, 237-240. + + Church’s distrust of women, 422, 423. + + Cibo, Caterina, _papaline_, 428, 457. + + _cicisbeo_, 346, 347. + + classics, respect for, 143, 156, 157. + + clergy, character of, 165, 434-438. + + Clichtoue’s philosophy of life, 146, 147. + + Clouet, Jean, 207. + + college education, 75, 76, 78. + + Collérye, Roger, quoted, 46 _n_, 115 _n_. + + Colonna, Ascanio, 312. + + Colonna, Pompeo, his _Apologia pro mulieribus_ (MS. in M. de Maulde’s + possession), 399, 400. + + Colonna, Vittoria, age of betrothal, 27; + widowhood, 131, 316, 317; + relations with Michelangelo, 163, 182, 183, 395; + on painting, 182; + relations with Carnesecchi, 259; + letter to Paulo Giovio, 292; + handwriting, 304; + letters, 305-308, 450, 451; + character, 316, 317, 328; + relations with Aretino, 390, 391; + with Dolce, 394; + with Bembo, 394; + her poetry, 163, 404, 405; + religion, 428, 469; + relations with Pole, 429; + her prayer, 442; + relations with Ochino, 469, 470. + + colours, 219-221. + + complexions, 199. + + concubinage, 113, 363-366. + + Condivi on Michelangelo, 162, 182, 183. + + Consentana, countess of, anecdote of, 129. + + conversation, 284-302, 345, 347. + + coquetry, 187. + + Coquillart, 105, 325. + + Correggio’s _St. Jerome_, 449; + _Mystic Marriage_, 450. + + correspondence, 304-310. + + Costa, Lorenzo, picture by, 276. + + country life, 242, 243. + + country squires, 64, 140. + + courtesans, 356-362. + + _Courtier_, Castiglione’s, 265, 395, 404. + + Cremonini, 152. + + _Cymbalum_, Des Périers’, 386, 393. + + + D’Albret, Charlotte, 131. + + D’Albret, Henri, 53, 334, 352. + + D’Amboise, Catherine, 444. + + D’Amboise, Françoise, 132. + + D’Amboise, Michel, 206, 252. + + dancing, 233-237. + + Daneau on dancing and balls, 236, 237. + + Dangu, Nicolas, 384. + + Dante, 406. + + D’Aragona, _see_ Tullia. + + De Beaulieu, Eustorg, 99. + + De Bourbon, Gabrielle, expenditure, 66; + lack of dowry, 117; + death of her son, 126; + religious works, 443. + + De Clermont, Mlle, 24, 385. + + De Longray, Mme, 385. + + De’ Medici, Catherine, her ‘flying squadron,’ 103. + + De’ Medici, Julian, 205. + + De Montausé, 384. + + Des Périers, Bonaventure, 59, 386, 387; + his _Cymbalum_, 386, 393, 418. + + De Pons, 315, 316. + + De Soubise, Madame, 315. + + Desprez, Josquin, 275. + + D’Este, Beatrice, 318. + + D’Este, Isabella, setter of fashions, 219; + on pilgrimage, 240; + love of art, 374, 375. + + D’Etampes, duchess, 364. + + dialogues, 156, 403. + + Diana of Poitiers, as widow, 131; + her portraits, 207, 211; + statue of, by Goujon, 208; + relations with king, 364, 365; + love of art, 387. + + divorce, 127, 338, 339. + + doctors, 55-58. + + Dolce on misadventures of husbands, 58; + on education, 94, 95; + the moon, 423. + + domestic letters, 117 _n_, 126, 304-310. + + dowries, 117-119. + + ‘dragons,’ 330, 331. + + drama, 278-283. + + dress, 216-223. + + drinking, 229, 230. + + Du Bellay, 169 _n_, 362, 365, 408, 476, 477, 479, 483, 484. + + Du Four, 165. + + Dürer’s women, 203. + + dwelling house, 223, 224. + + + eating, customs in, 229-231. + + education, 74-78, 86-100. + + Egnatius, 31. + + Eleanor, wife of Francis I., 53. + + Equicola, _Di natura d’amore_, 161. + + Erasmus, on virginity, 32; + on maternity, 48; + education, 82, 97; + husbands, 116; + women’s stupidity, 157 _n_; + church music, 277; + his attitude to reformers, 473. + + Estienne, Henri, 84. + + Eustorg de Beaulieu, 99. + + eyes, 199. + + + _facéties_, 266-268. + + Feo, lover of Catherine Sforza, 30, 321. + + Ferrara, music at, 276; + talk at, 290. + + Ficino, Marzilio, on platonic love, 154, 158, 159. + + Firenzuola, on beauty, 196; + his stories, 299; + his inspiration, 399. + + flirtation, 103-107. + + Florentine worship of Plato, 153, 154; + idea of charm, 198. + + flowers, 243. + + Folengo, 465. + + Francis I., 62, 125, 169, 170, 240, 251, 265; + his mistresses, 363, 364. + + Francis de Paul, St., story of, 461. + + Franco, Veronica, 358. + + free love, 327. + + Fregoso, detractor of women, 298. + + French marriage customs, 37-39; + country gentry, 64-66; + society, 140-142; + worship of rank, 144, 145; + idea of charm, 198; + drama, 282, 283; + conversation, 296, 297; + letters, 308-310. + + + Gambara, Veronica, 364, 394. + + gambling, 237. + + Gastius’ table talk, 232. + + Gazius, _Florida Corona_, treatise on health, 255. + + German girls’ education, 89; + table talk, 297; + opposition to Italy, 415, 416; + liberalism, 433; + narrowness, 434; + monks, 466. + + Gioconda, _see_ _Monna Lisa_. + + girls’ education, 86-100; + tutors, 98, 99. + + Gonzaga, Julia, 52. + + Gonzaga, Leonora, 28. + + Goujon’s statue of Diana, 208. + + + hair, popular colour of, 199. + + hair-dressing, 216, 217. + + handwritings, 303, 304. + + Helysenne de Crenne, 39. + + Henri II., 364. + + _Heptameron_ quoted, 24, 25, 33, 34, 49, 53, 84, 112 _n_, 151, 173, + 175, 189, 212, 213, 296, 298, 299, 329, 334, 335, 351, 353, 354; + realist character of, 382-385. + + Héroët de la Maisonneuve, 344, 418. + + history, 401. + + hood, the, 217. + + households, constitution of, 66. + + Huguenots on dancing, 236, 237. + + hunting, 246-253. + + husbands’ authority, 109, 110. + + Hütten, Ulrich von, 83, 466, 467. + + hydrotherapeutics, 254-258. + + + illegitimacy, 338. + + _Imitation of Christ_, 139, 150. + + Imperia, courtesan, 358, 361. + + impromptus, 300. + + incomes, 64, 68, 117. + + Inghirami, Tommaso, 280, 281, 300; + anecdote of, 431. + + ‘innocents,’ the, 212. + + instrumental music, 276-278. + + interviews, 29. + + Isabella d’Este, _see_ D’Este. + + Isabella of Aragon, 312. + + Isabella the Catholic, 323. + + Italian marriage customs, 34; + education, 94-96; + drama, 278-281; + conversation, 285-296; + letters, 306; + monks, 465. + + + Jeanne of Aragon, 312, 407. + + Jews, hatred of, 478. + + Joanna, wife of Philip the Fair, anecdote of, 114, 115. + + Josquin Desprez, 275. + + Jove, Paul, 52, 292. + + Julius II., anecdote of, 68; + hunting, 247; + beard, 370. + + + kissing, 233-235. + + + Labé, Louise, poetess, on dress, 218; + accomplishments, 245; + on music, 274; + poetry, 412, 413. + + La Bruyère quoted, 115, 210, 296, 372. + + ladies’ letters, 305. + + _Lancelot du Lak_, 269. + + lapdogs, 244. + + La Rochefoucauld quoted, 111, 184, 214, 314. + + La Salle, Antoine de, 79. + + La Trémoille, Louis de, 29, 117; + _see_ Gabrielle de Bourbon. + + Lefèvre d’Etaples, 250, 264. + + Lemaire de Belges, 79, 327, 401. + + Leo X., 247, 280, 300, 362, 425, 431. + + Leonardo’s _Monna Lisa_, 191; + ideal of beauty, 200. + + letters, domestic, 126, 127 _n_. + + letter-writing, 303. + + liberalism at Rome, 430, 431, 433, 434, 473. + + life at spas, 259, 260. + + Limosin, Leonard, 207. + + literature, licentious character of, 391-393. + + Longueil, 473. + + Louis XI., 118. + + Louis XII., 64, 67, 118, 129, 234, 249. + + Louise of Savoy, her views on education, 77, 85, 96; + her sphere, 170, 311; + her reading and books, 262, 265, 267; + her politics, 311; + on mystic love, 335; + her principles, 354. + + Luther on celibacy, 32; + divorce, 338; + on women, 467; + his true relation to Reformation, 468. + + Lyons, headquarters of feminine poetry, 411. + + + Madeleine, sister of Francis I., 309. + + Maillard, Oliver, on bathing, 255; + his preaching, 459, 460. + + _Marescalco_, Aretino’s, 281. + + Margaret of Austria, her collections, 226; + career, 313; + parrot, 408; + poetry, 411. + + Margaret of France (sister of Francis I.), on marriage, 49; + relations with her husband, 53; + on doctors, 53, 58; + influence of stars, 61; + charity, 69; + education, 96-98; + authority of husband, 123; + widow, 131; + remarriage, 134; + defects of women, 137; + remedy for materialism, 147-149; + names and character, 170-172, 245, 418; + her portraits, 170, 210; + theory of love, 173-175; + motto, 176; + platonic love, 189, 352, 353; + compared with Anne of France, 197; + _petit lever_, 213; + on physical decay, 214; + on wearing black, 221; + books, 263, 266, 267; + poetry, 274; + drama, 282, 283; + as a talker, 285; + her failure, 287, 475; + handwriting, 304; + moral scheme, 334; + toleration, 355, 475; + relations with Francis’ mistresses, 364; + intellectual influence, 378-383; + lovers, 384, 385; + writings, 386, 387; + vacillation, 418; + religion, 436, 437, 442-445, 457, 470. + + Margaret of France (wife of Henry of Navarre), 486. + + Margaret of Lorraine, 133. + + Margaret of Savoy, 172, 481-486. + + Marone, Andrea, 273. + + Marot, Clément, 29, 165 _n_, 198 _n_, 212, 287, 315, 317, 353, 407, + 457. + + marriage customs, 37-42; + presents, 72. + + Mary of Cleves, 67. + + Mary of England, 129, 217, 274. + + Mary Stuart, 92, 376. + + materialism, 456. + + matrimony, test questions for, 33. + + Maupas’ sparrow, 407. + + medicine, 54-58. + + men of letters, 392. + + Ménot on death, 491. + + Michelangelo, his nephew’s marriage, 35, 36; + on love, 162; + relations with Vittoria Colonna, 162, 182, 183, 213, 214, 395, 396; + his _Eve_, 202; + _Last Judgment_, 204, 324; + _Virgin_ of Casa Buonarotti, 323; + _Pietà_, 323, 324; + ideal of woman, 324; + sonnets to courtesans, 359; + frescoes, 428. + + _Mirror of the Sinful Soul_, 92, 386. + + mistresses of Francis I., 363. + + money, importance of, 117-121; + worship of, 145, 146, 148, 149. + + monks, 458-466. + + _Monna Lisa_, Leonardo’s, 191. + + Montaigne on marriage, 46; + on capricious treatment of women, 52; + on business, 65; + on peasant nurture, 73 _n_; + on college education, 76, 78; + on women’s ‘policy,’ 86; + on his daughter, 88, 95; + on moneyed wives, 121; + on tears of mourning, 130; + his scepticism, 191, 479, 488-490; + on coquetry, 362 _n_; + on women’s virtue, 420; + on faith, 425; + on death, 491. + + moon, woman compared to the, 423. + + Morosina, Bembo’s mistress, 366, 367. + + Mortemart, ladies of, 286. + + motherhood, 71-74, 77. + + mother-in-law, the, 110. + + mourning, 128. + + Muguet, falcon of Louis XII., 250. + + music, 83, 88, 270-278. + + Mysteries, 282, 283. + + mysticism, varieties of, 446-448, 465. + + mythology, use of, 156, 455. + + + Naples, love of art at, 225. + + Nature and man, 138, 139, 254, 449; + platonist attitude towards, 241-243, 253, 254. + + naturalism, Ruskin’s, 498, 499; + contrasted with Bourget’s, 499, 500. + + needlework, 88. + + Nifo, his changeableness, 152, 331; + catalogue of love-motives, 191, 192; + pen portrait of Jeanne of Aragon, 208, 209; + anecdote of, 327, 328; + platonism, 332, 333; + Phausina Rhea, 348, 399; + feminism, 369. + + _Nouvelles_, 259, 266, 267. + + nudities, 202-209. + + nurses, 73. + + + Ochino, 339, 428, 469, 470. + + Ockeghem, John of, 275. + + Olympia Morata, 94 _n_, 428. + + Ordelaffi, husband of Catherine Sforza, 321. + + Orleans, duchess of, her charity, 66; + love of music, 273. + + Ovid, popularity of, 265, 266. + + + painting, 396, 377. + + _palinods_, the, 446. + + Papillon, Almanque, 149, 480. + + patronage, 393-396, 398. + + Paul II., 247. + + Paul III., 432, 469. + + Paul IV., the ‘breeches-maker,’ 204. + + pen portraits, 208-210. + + _Peregrino_, Caviceo’s romance, 22. + + Pernette du Guillet, 412. + + Perugino, 375. + + Petrarch, 234, 265, 272, 406, 487. + + ‘Phaedra,’ _see_ Inghirami. + + Phausina Rhea, 210, 348. + + Philippa of Gueldres, 133. + + philosophy, love of, 401, 402. + + physical exercise, 244. + + Pia, Emilia, 288, 305. + + Piccoli, Gabriele, 322. + + Pico della Mirandola, 154. + + pilgrimages, 240. + + Pio, Alberto, 277, 454, 462. + + plate, family, 229. + + Plato, theory of love, 151-153; + vogue of, 154, 402, 448; + theory of beauty, 158, 161; + Nature, 241; + relation to Christianity, 425; + negative results of doctrine, 494-496. + + platonic love, 213, 339-344, 348. + + platonism, 154, 157, 164, 177-193, 197, 260, 297, 334, 336; + causes of its failure, 487, 488, 495-498. + + Pléiade, the, 172, 478-481. + + poetry, 262, 271, 404-408; + and hunting, 248-250. + + Poggio, his _facetiae_, 100, 154; + on Baden, 259, 260. + + Poirier, son-in-law of Monsieur, 117. + + Poitiers, three maids of, 102; + ladies of, 288. + + Pole, Cardinal, 429. + + Politian, 154, 265, 409. + + polygamy, 339. + + Pomponius Laetus, 154, 278. + + Pontanus, 88, 104, 144, 240. + + poodles, 244, 407, 408. + + portraits of ladies as Venus, 205-207. + + Postel, Guillaume, 471, 472. + + priesthood of women, 428. + + princesses’ love, 187, 188. + + publicity, writers’ objection to, 376. + + Puritans and music, 277. + + _puys d’amour_, 419. + + + Rabelais, pedigrees, 145; + on colours, 221; + antiplatonist, 325, 336; + his abbey of Thelema, 465; + his mysticism, 465. + + Raphael on marriage, 36, 37; + _Vision of a Knight_, 330; + anecdote of, 431. + + Raulin, Jean, his sermon, 108. + + reading, 88, 262. + + religion and aesthetics, 423, 424; + relations to philosophy and Plato, 425, 426, 479 ff. + + Renée of France, on influence of stars, 61; + letters, 308; + career and character, 314-316, 456. + + Romances, 100, 268-270. + + Roman aristocracy, 143; + idea of beauty, 143; + liberalism, 430-434. + + Ronsard, 60, 198, 215, 235, 343, 365, 376, 477, 478. + + Rosera, Isabella, 409. + + Ruskin, 111; + on nature, 137, 138; + his naturalism compared with Bourget’s, 498-500. + + + Sadoleto, 429. + + ‘Saffredent’ (character in _Heptameron_), 385. + + Saint-Gelais, Melin de, 235, 327, 431. + + Saint-Gelais, Octovien de, 167, 266, 300, 326. + + Saint-Simon on Mortemart ladies, 286. + + Salel, Hugues, 382. + + Savonarola, 163, 164, 278, 297, 322, 459. + + Scaldasole, Marchesa, 184. + + scepticism, 479. + + Semblançay, 141. + + serving maids, 106, 112. + + Sforza, Ascanio, 248, 249. + + Sforza, Bianca, 42, 43. + + Sforza, Catherine, widowhood, 29; + her wedding presents, 40 _n_; + alchemy, 61, 62; + character and career, 245, 246, 320-322. + + _Ship of Fools_, 416. + + slave girls as concubines, 113. + + small families, 71. + + sonnet, popularity of, 405. + + Spagnuoli, Battista, on marriage, 21; + on baths, 258; + on monks, 460. + + Spain, education of girls in, 91-94; + idea of charm, 198. + + spas, 257, 258. + + Spinola, Thomasina, 190. + + stick, the, 110, 111. + + ‘stork-love,’ 355, 441. + + story-telling, 299. + + subsidiary marriage, 339. + + Sygea, Loysa, 409. + + + table-talk, 231, 232. + + Theresa, St., 92, 197. + + Tiraqueau, 27, 35. + + titles, love of, 143. + + topics of conversation, 294. + + tournaments, 245, 246. + + Triboulet, 34. + + Trithemius, 458 _n_, 463. + + Tullia d’Aragona, her book on the Infinity of Perfect Love, 164; + her influence, 357, 360; + a poetess, 413. + + tutors, 78-81. + + + Urbino, court of, 159, 290, 303, 381 _n_. + + Urbino, duke of, 52, 145, 293; + duchess of, 41, 43, 52, 129 _n_, 309. + + + Valois, court of, 369, 486. + + Vegio on tutors, 79. + + Venice, marriages at, 41; + education at, 96; + idea of charm, 198; + music at, 277; + courtesans at, 361. + + Venus, passion for painting, 201-205. + + Vérard, publisher, 392. + + Vergerio, 451, 452, 457, 458. + + Vert-vert, 408. + + Villamarina, Isabella, anecdote of, 320. + + Virgil, unpopularity of, 265. + + virtue represented in painting as repellent, 329, 330. + + Vittoria Colonna, _see_ Colonna. + + Vivès, on education of girls, 92, 98, 100; + on husbands, 111; + on dancing and kissing, 233, 234. + + vocal music, 270-273. + + Voiture, 187. + + _volta_, the, 236, 237. + + + war, 317-319. + + wealth, worship of, 222, 236. + + widows, 128-134. + + witchcraft, 426, 427. + + women as professional writers, 409, 410. + + + Zwingle on education, 82. + + +GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77508 *** diff --git a/77508-h/77508-h.htm b/77508-h/77508-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8c2ef38 --- /dev/null +++ b/77508-h/77508-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,26725 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Women of the Renaissance: a study of feminism | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +a { + text-decoration: none; +} + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +h2.nobreak, h3.nobreak { + page-break-before: avoid; 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+ right: 4%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; +} + +.poetry-container { + text-align: center; +} + +.poetry { + display: inline-block; + text-align: left; +} + +.poetry .stanza { + margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; +} + +.poetry .verse { + padding-left: 3em; +} + +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3.0em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2.0em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1.0em;} +.poetry .indent6 {text-indent: 0.0em;} +.poetry .indent8 {text-indent: 1.0em;} +.poetry .indent12 {text-indent: 3.0em;} +.poetry .indent14 {text-indent: 4.0em;} +.poetry .indent22 {text-indent: 8.0em;} + +.right { + text-align: right; +} + +.smaller { + font-size: 80%; +} + +.smcap { + font-variant: small-caps; + font-style: normal; +} + +.allsmcap { + font-variant: small-caps; + font-style: normal; + text-transform: lowercase; +} + +.titlepage { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 3em; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.tp { + margin: auto; + max-width: 30em; +} + +.transnote { + background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + text-align: center; + font-size: smaller; + padding: 0.5em; +} + +.x-ebookmaker img { + max-width: 100%; + width: auto; + height: auto; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .poetry { + display: block; + margin-left: 1.5em; +} + +.x-ebookmaker blockquote { + margin: 1.5em 5%; +} + + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp53 {width: 53%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp53 {width: 100%;} + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77508 ***</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_i">[i]</span></p> + +<h1>THE WOMEN OF THE RENAISSANCE<br> +<span class="smaller">A STUDY OF FEMINISM</span></h1> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">[ii]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="OPINIONS_OF_THE_FRENCH_PRESS">OPINIONS OF THE FRENCH PRESS.</h2> + +</div> + +<p>“M. de Maulde has exhausted the subject, and gives us a sort of bible +of the feminine life.”—<i>Revue des Deux Mondes.</i></p> + +<p>“Among the numerous writings on feminism which have appeared in +these latter days, none is more complete and entertaining than M. de +Maulde’s.”—<i>Journal des Débats.</i></p> + +<p>“M. de Maulde has written a most captivating volume, which will +remain a definitive monument henceforth indispensable to anyone who +wishes to know the history of the French soul.”—<i>Revue des Revues.</i></p> + +<p>“The question of feminism has been treated in masterly fashion by +M. de Maulde in his fine book on <i>The Women of the Renaissance</i>. And +while he draws the completest picture of French and Italian society in +the 15th and 16th centuries, and groups his finished portraits with +accomplished art, he at the same time marvellously depicts the charm +and the influence of women at that curious epoch.”—<i>République Française.</i></p> + +<p>“It is almost impossible to name a more fascinating book for anyone +interested in history.... We have no idea of attempting to sum it up or +condense it in a few pages; it would suffer too seriously in the process; we +should merely like, without recommending it (which would be superfluous) +to the attention of our readers, to indicate its merit, its charm, and its +opportuneness.”—<i>Correspondant.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Extract from a Review in</span> <i>The Athenaeum</i>.</p> + +<p>“M. de Maulde writes in great detail and with commendable erudition +on the position of women and the feminist movement of the sixteenth +century as it shaped itself in Italy and, later, in France. These studies of +the woman of those days, in all her social relations and in all her activities, +are illustrated with an unceasing flow of anecdote and citation, never more +apt than when employed to characterise that remarkable group who were +imbued with the so-called ‘idées platoniciennes.’... After a really +interesting sketch of the composition of that curious amalgam which finds +its complete expression in the harangue of Bembo ... M. de Maulde +draws many inferences which have a direct application to the feminist +movement of our own day; in contrast, for instance, with the mystical +ardours of Renaissance platonism we hear of the naturalism of John +Ruskin. For this reason the book will, we think, attract a wide circle of +readers; many ... will be delighted by its store of lively and significant +anecdote.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[iii]</span></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp53" id="frontispiece" style="max-width: 31.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">[iv]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="tp"> + +<p class="titlepage larger">The Women of<br> +the Renaissance</p> + +<p class="center mid"><i>A Study of Feminism</i></p> + +<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">By</span><br> +R. de Maulde la Clavière</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smaller">Translated by</span><br> +George Herbert Ely</p> + +<div class="epigram-container"> + +<div class="epigram"> + +<p>“The path of a good woman is indeed +strewn with flowers, but they rise behind +her steps, not before them.”—<span class="smcap">Ruskin.</span></p> + +</div> + +</div> + +<p class="titlepage"><i>With a Portrait of the Author</i></p> + +<p class="titlepage">New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons<br> +London: Swan Sonnenschein & Co., Lim.<br> +1900</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[v]</span></p> + +<p class="dedication"><span class="gothic">To</span><br> +WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY<br> +<span class="allsmcap">EDITOR OF TUDOR TRANSLATIONS<br> +THIS VERSION IS<br> +INSCRIBED</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[vi]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CORRIGENDA">CORRIGENDA</h2> + +</div> + +<div class="transnote">Transcriber’s Note: These corrections have been applied.</div> + +<p><a href="#Page_8">Page 8</a>, line 21, <i>for</i> Women’s <i>read</i> Woman’s.</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_39">Page 39</a>, foot-note, <i>for</i> precèdent l’amour <i>read</i> procèdent de l’amour.</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_148">Page 148</a>, line 20, <i>for</i> Saint-Marthe <i>read</i> Sainte-Marthe.</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_191">Page 191</a>, line 13, <i>for</i> Joconda <i>read</i> Gioconda.</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_191">Page 191</a>, line 22, <i>for</i> exuberance <i>read</i> encumbrance.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[vii]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="TRANSLATORS_PREFACE">TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE</h2> + +</div> + +<p>No mere translator can hope to preserve the style of his +original, and herein M. de Maulde is bound to suffer more +than most writers. There is no one to whom Buffon’s +phrase, <i>Le style est l’homme même</i>, may be more justly +applied. His work is absolutely himself; it derives from +his original personality and his wide and sure learning +an historical value and a literary charm almost unique. +He is a wit with the curiosity and patience of the scholar, +and a scholar with the temperament of the artist. The +sparkle and humour of his conversation are crystallised +in his letters, the charming expression of a large and +generous nature.</p> + +<p>Trained at the École des Chartes, M. de Maulde held +for a few years an appointment in the prefectoral administration. +But his tastes drew him rather to history than +to politics. In 1886 he founded the Société d’Histoire +diplomatique, of which he has been the life and soul, +and which owes its success mainly to his activity and +enthusiasm. He is the founder also of the Congrès internationaux +d’histoire, of which the first was held at the +Hague in the summer of 1898, when official delegates +from all the great countries of the world met amicably +to discuss international relations in the cold light of +scientific history. For many years he has been a member +of our Royal Society.</p> + +<p>But it is above all as a student of the Renaissance +that M. de Maulde takes high rank among contemporary +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span>scholars. He has made a close study of that great movement, +in regard both to the internal politics of France +and the origins of modern diplomacy, and to the general +march of ideas and the evolution of manners. The results +of his studies are embodied in a remarkable series of +works, the earliest being a book entitled <i>Les Origines de +la Révolution française au commencement du xviᵉ siècle</i>—a +brilliant picture of French Society at that critical +epoch. This was succeeded by the first part, in three +volumes, of an <i>Histoire de Louis XII.</i>, and this by the +three volumes entitled <i>La diplomatie au temps de +Machiavel</i>. Other works in the same series are two +volumes on <i>Jeanne de France, duchesse d’Orléans</i> and +<i>Louise de Savoie et François Iᵉʳ</i>. In all these M. de +Maulde shows the profound erudition and the just critical +sense to be expected in an historian of the school of Fustel +des Coulanges, together with a literary grace and a lightness +of touch with which the scientific historian is too +rarely endowed. His brief experience of official politics +seems to have left him with an urbane scepticism, a +benevolent irony, which serve only to set off his radical +enthusiasm for great ideas and for the great conceptions +of art. At bottom an idealist, he has interpreted with +insight and humour the aesthetic and spiritualist revolution +of the Renaissance, nowhere more characteristically +than in the present volume.</p> + +<p>With M. de Maulde’s consent the greater part of his +footnotes are omitted—mainly references to authorities +unknown or inaccessible to the English reader, and +useless without the complete bibliography omitted by +desire of the French publishers, MM. Perrin et Cie. +A few notes are added within brackets: for these and +for the Index the translator is responsible.</p> + +<p>The translator is under great obligations to the Baronne +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[ix]</span>Louise Dupont-Delporte, who, at M. de Maulde’s request, +has compared the proofs of this book with the original +text, and to whose watchfulness and friendly care heartiest +acknowledgments are due. The same task of collation +was undertaken by Mr. David Frew, whose frank, tonic, +kindly criticism has been of the highest value. Thanks +are also tendered to all who in various ways and with +constant kindness have given their assistance in the +course of this work, among whom M. de Maulde himself +has laid the translator under a large debt of gratitude.</p> + +<p class="smaller"><i>August, 1900.</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[x]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[xi]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> + +</div> + +<table> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">PREAMBLE</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Masculinism of Anglo-Saxon countries—Feminism of Latin countries.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#PREAMBLE">Pages 1-5</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">INTRODUCTION</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Italian origin of the Renaissance feminist movement—Protests against + war, force, the materialisation of the religious spirit and the + hollowness of learning—Recourse to the affections—Quest of true + happiness—Idealism: woman chooses the method—“Love and + faith”—Crusade of love—Worship of life and hatred of death—Women + the motive-force of life—Active and tranquillising rôle of + Italian women in the 16th century—Conquest of France by the + new spirit—General sentiment of the new society.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#INTRODUCTION">Pages 6-20</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc2"><i>BOOK I. FAMILY LIFE</i></td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER I<br>MARRIAGE</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Marriage, its realist character and its difficulties—The aim of marriage + not personal satisfaction—The girl married blindfold—The father—Marriageable + age—Interviews—Reflections of the father—Ideas + of the bridegroom elect—His physical and moral criterion—His + uneasiness—Final crisis—Ideas of Michelangelo and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[xii]</span> + Raphael—Marriage ceremonies and festivities—Weddings at + Naples, Florence, and Venice—Behind the scenes—Weddings in + France—Brides’ journeys—Moral aspects.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_I_CHAPTER_I">Pages 21-44</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER II<br>THE MARRIED WOMAN</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>The genius of motherhood—Marriage a physical science—Domestic + difficulties—Platonism in marriage—Semi-wives—Wives in name + only—Vocation of women for medicine—Women as sick-nurses—as + doctors—Enfranchisement of women as regards medicine—Intimacies + between women and doctors—Women’s medical collections—Hygienic + rules—Neurasthenia—Woman as home-ruler—The + châtelaine—Her management of retainers—The science of + charity—Principles of great houses.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_I_CHAPTER_II">Pages 45-69</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER III<br>THE CHILDREN</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>1. <i>Maternity.</i>—Tendency to small families, its various causes—Marital + misfortunes—How new arrivals were received—Unpopularity of + feeding by the mothers—Children educated by the mother till the + age of seven—Old system of hardening—New system based on + reason. 2. <i>The Boys.</i>—Necessity of developing individualism among + them—Paternal education—Growing influence of the mother—College + life—Greatness and decadence of tutors—Understanding + between tutors and mothers—Excessive production of young men + of fashion—Influence of the new ideas—Decline of the spirit of + toil and discipline.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_I_CHAPTER_III">Pages 70-85</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER IV<br>THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Girls brought up solely by their mothers—Old theory of early marriage—Education, + especially physical and moral—Opinion of moralists + and physicians: counsels of Anne of France—Utilitarian system + of Germany—The intensive school: Vivès; St. Theresa; the + Spanish system—The aesthetic school: Dolce; the Italian system—Louise + of Savoy—New theory of late marriage—Protests against<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</span> + the realism of education—Tutors of girls—Moral freedom of girls—Protests + against what they read—The story for girls, after Anne + of France—The flirt—The hunt for a husband—Various ideas + on that matter—Coquetry, intrigue, chambermaids—Jean Raulin’s + sermon—Open-air life.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_I_CHAPTER_IV">Pages 86-108</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER V<br>THE HUSBAND, AND THE VARIOUS WAYS OF SLIPPING HIS YOKE</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>The husband lord and master: his absolute authority—The stick—The + wife’s insignificance—The husband’s grievances against marriage—The + wife’s grievances—Beware love!—<i>Modus vivendi</i>—Women + dowered or not: growth of women’s influence on the dowry system—Practical + philosophy—Unsatisfied affections—Wives separated + or divorced—Widows—Sentimental finery—The wife of a dead + husband—Classical widows: their spirit of order and piety—Gay + widows—Widows’ virtue—Advantages and disadvantages of + widowhood—Re-marriage—Sincerity of women’s praise of + marriage.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_I_CHAPTER_V">Pages 109-135</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc2"><i>BOOK II. SOCIAL LIFE</i></td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER I<br>PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Individualistic and anti-philosophic spirit of France—Flourishing of + the salons—Reign of money: legitimated in Italy—The Roman + programme—French society—Proposed remedies against Christian + socialism—Anne of France—School of Cardinal d’Amboise—Principles + of sentimental sociology—Social <i>raison d’être</i> of platonism—Its + Florentine origin—Development of the doctrine—Intellectual + aristocracy—Platonism a fashionable craze—Discussions on + the real character of love—Cataneo—Eloquent Bembo—Petrarchism—Elevation + of sentiments by platonism—Michelangelo—French + opposition to platonism—Triumph of platonism through + Italianism and feminism—Anne of France—Margaret of France + and her general philosophy.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_II_CHAPTER_I">Pages 137-176</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER II<br>THE SCIENCE OF PLATONISM</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Is platonism dangerous for women?—Double system for catching men: + passion and sensibility—To spread love the end of life and the + secret of happiness—Platonic virtue—Criticism of this virtue in + practice—School of Anne of France—Vittoria Colonna and Michelangelo—Philosophic + school—Multiplication and withdrawal of + favours—Love through duty—Love of princesses—The veil of + mystery—Practical recruiting of platonism—Sources of love or + second love.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_II_CHAPTER_II">Pages 177-193</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER III<br>THE MISSION OF BEAUTY</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Science consists in extracting the element of happiness from everything, + first of all from oneself—Beauty a social duty—Charm + has no physical rules—Women slight or the reverse; blondes; + the skin, the eyes—Corporeal beauty—Michelangelo and Dürer—Portraits + of women as Venus—Prudence of women—Artists and + their fancies—Jeanne of Aragon—Margaret of France—Receptions + in the morning—The ‘Innocents’—Art of retaining youth, or of + restoring youthfulness—A lady’s toilette—Fashion—Spiritual + significance of colours—Luxury—Architecture—Taste for fine + furniture.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_II_CHAPTER_III">Pages 194-227</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER IV<br>THE EMBROIDERY OF LIFE</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>The science of dining—Table-talk—Balls and dancing: custom of + kissing—Protests of the Reformers—Church—Pilgrimages—Gardens + and country life—Flowers—Pugs and parrots—The + horse—Hunting, Roman and platonist—Hunting philosophised; + Budé and Blondo—Park animals—Nature—Life at watering-places; + pure water; gravity and fun.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_II_CHAPTER_IV">Pages 228-260</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xv">[xv]</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER V<br>INTELLECTUAL RESOURCES</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>The library—Curiosity divided and dilettante in character—Taste for + tales, jest-books, romances—The old poets—Music—Instruments, + the human voice—Intellectual music—Harmony—Sacred + music—Chamber music—The orchestra—Discussion on the abuse + of music—The theatre—‘Phaedra,’ Bibbiena—The <i>Calandra</i>—Opposition + to the theatre—French ideas.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_II_CHAPTER_V">Pages 261-283</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER VI<br>CONVERSATION</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Art of conversation: its supreme rôle—Women’s triumph—Tone of + conversation—Philosophical spirit—Variety of form—Subjects of + conversation—French conversation—Quips and cranks—Conversational + dallyings—Stories—Dissertations—Gaieties—Correspondence, + its revival—Family letters—Letters in the grand style—Tone + of letters—Some Italian letters.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_II_CHAPTER_VI">Pages 284-310</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc2"><i>BOOK III. THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN</i></td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER I<br>POLITICAL INFLUENCE</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Women remain strangers to the keener activities: war, justice—Women, + political in spite of themselves—Isabella of Aragon—Jeanne + of Aragon—Anne of France—Return from ambition to + love—Restless women—Renée of France—Purely defensive + heroism of women—Ladies of Sienna and Pisa—Isabella the + Catholic—Catherine Sforza—Woman according to Michelangelo.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_III_CHAPTER_I">Pages 311-324</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER II<br>MORAL INFLUENCE</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>The good old times—Moral degeneration—Ambition, money—Evil, to + be cured homœopathically as in Italy, or allopathically as in + Germany?—Virtue, must it necessarily be tiresome?—Raphael’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</span> + embarrassment—The antiplatonists—Louise of Savoy, Rabelais—The + work of amelioration by two methods. (i) <i>The softening of</i> + <i>virtue</i>—Different systems in regard to marriage; free union; + system of contract; the double marriage—Firenzuola—Marriages + of affection—Secondary platonism, a compromise—Alms without + significance, to lure the human animal—Sipping at love, by + way of Italian dilettantism—The attack—Love a dream—Prayer. + (ii) <i>The ennoblement of vice</i>—Attempt at purification of carnal + love—The Italian courtesans, and their moral influence—Tullia + d’Aragona—Imperia—Venice—Francis I.—French system of the + double household—Diana of Poitiers—Bembo in tears—Infatuation—The + feminising of men—The question of the beard.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_III_CHAPTER_II">Pages 325-371</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER III<br>INTELLECTUAL INFLUENCE</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Conquest of men by mind—Army of intellectual women—Isabella + d’Este—Anne of France—Margaret of France: her theory—The + friends and guests of Margaret—Intellectual headquarters of + France—Egerias —Difficulty of this government—Vittoria Colonna + and Aretino—Flatteries and compliments—Supervision of manuscripts—Affection—Pecuniary + aid—Necessity of feminine patronage.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_III_CHAPTER_III">Pages 372-397</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER IV<br>INTELLECTUAL INFLUENCE (<i>Continued</i>)</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Results of feminine influence—Literature in praise of women—Pompeo + Colonna—Two schools of taste: passion, sensibility—Castiglione—Literature + of conversation—Fugitive poems—Temples of high + poetry—Literature of poodles and birds—The ancestor of Vert-Vert—Spanish + women—France, Lyons—Accusation of frivolity—German + scepticism—The struggle in France—For or against + women—Timidity of Frenchwomen—Spirit of the prelates.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_III_CHAPTER_IV">Pages 398-421</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER V<br>RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Progress of religious sensibility—Women compared to the moon—Entrance + of the sentimental spirit—Free enquiry at Rome and in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</span> + Italy—Philosophic religion—Entrance on the scene of women as + priests, as well as physicians—Religious traditions of women in + France—Decay of faith—Roman liberalism—Situation of the + French clergy—Alliance between women and the aesthetic clergy—Liberal + principles of this alliance—The <i>bibliennes</i>—Aristocratic + religion—Writings of the mystic women: Gabrielle de Bourbon, + Catherine d’Amboise—The mystic writings of Margaret of France, + her ideas—Her relations with the <i>palinods</i>—The mystics—The + mysticism of divided application—Direct communion with God—Smiling + character of the new mysticism—Spiritual petrarchism—Correggio—Vittoria + Colonna—Vergerio.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_III_CHAPTER_V">Pages 422-453</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER VI<br>RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE (<i>Continued</i>)</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Scorners of mystic liberalism—The savants—Reproaches addressed to + the liberal party: paganism, materialism—Women’s struggle + against these tendencies—The monks: the monastic spirit—Struggle + against the monks: the pros and cons—Rabelais—Folengo—The + German monks—Rising of the lower clergy against + liberalism and aestheticism: Luther, Calvin—Struggle of the + Reformers against women and liberty of thought—Vittoria Colonna + and Ochino—Direction of the liberal and aesthetic party in France—Margaret + of France and her active rôle—Feminist theory of + Postel—Replies of Luther, the Sorbonne, the theological parties.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#BOOK_III_CHAPTER_VI">Pages 454-474</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc">CONCLUSION</td> + <td class="tdpg"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Total want of success of the feminist movement—Disappointments of + Margaret of France—Reaction against cosmopolitanism and intellectualism—The + spirit of the Pléiade—Love of free air—Margaret + of Savoy—Fall of the Roman spirit—Montaigne—Last + effects of feminism—The triumph of Death—The mistakes of the + Renaissance feminism—Disappearance of the aesthetic system—Sensualism + of the 18th century—The naturalism of Ruskin.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CONCLUSION">Pages 475-503</a></td> + </tr> + <tr class="pad-top"> + <td>INDEX.</td> + <td class="tdpg"><a href="#INDEX">Pages 504-510</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PREAMBLE">PREAMBLE</h2> + +</div> + +<p>The woman question—what is more absorbing?</p> + +<p>What do women want? What do they demand? They +have been shamefully neglected. To judge by the code, there +never were such beings on earth. But the code has hallowed +iniquities. The education of women is pitiable. They ought +to know every thing—and are taught nothing. They are +deficient in intelligence—they are too intelligent. They +ought to have their separate careers, their separate circles, +their independence—to be the equals of their husbands, +to be men and yet remain women. They ought to have +votes—that, it appears, forms one element of happiness. +Many people in England are even dreaming of suppressing +marriage; and it must be observed that, as Englishmen +largely expatriate themselves, there is no lack of involuntary +spinsters, who are by no means the least ardent in prosecuting +the campaign. In short, it is a very babel. Everyone +has something to say. The press, the stage, the pulpit, +all resound with these questions—to say nothing of public +meetings, private meetings, at-homes, lectures. The subject +is well-nigh done to death; it has, moreover, a +special tendency to lose itself in mist, and there is no sort +of cohesion in outlook or aim.</p> + +<p>Nowhere is this anarchy more patent than in education. +How are you to tell young girls what they ought to be, +what they ought to learn and think and know, when you +are absolutely in the dark as to what you want to make of +them? Are they to play the same part in life as men, or to +perform public duties, equal, perhaps superior, to theirs, but +different? Are they to marry early, or late? Ought they +to see and know, before marriage, all there is to see and +know? Or is it their blissful privilege to enjoy the pleasant +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span>things of life in deliberate ignorance of all the rest, and, in +their piping time of peace, to turn the divine hours of youth +to the best advantage? Once married, what is their mission +to be? How far will it profit them to have learnt the whole +art of household management? Should they exercise any +influence out of doors? If so, what? Will their influence +consist in preserving their good looks and their skill in +dancing? Or is their influence to be a serious thing? Is +it to be intellectual, or religious, or moral, or artistic, or +scientific? These questions jostle one another in some +confusion.</p> + +<p>And the confusion is irritating, because it compels us +to grope our way haphazard. The education of girls has +seriously suffered thereby; it has been frittered away, has +bred a habit of easy contentment with superficial ideas +rather than of resolutely, earnestly, thoroughly mastering +what it is proper to know. The mind, like the body, has +its nervous system, and to obtain its full measure of energy +it is needful to husband its resources.</p> + +<p>Now, we may get some light on this complicated problem +if we refer it to experience, or, in other words, apply the +lessons of the past. We often encounter in the world, in +regard to history, and more especially the history of morals, +a singular prejudice in the form of a certain optimism (or +pessimism) which imbues us with the idea that we are +the first or almost the first denizens of the globe—that +all the generations whose blood flows in our veins, whose +feelings throb in our breasts, whose traditions govern our +thoughts, were composed of beings essentially unlike ourselves, +upon whom things must necessarily have made +different impressions. This idea is not absolutely correct; +in reality, we depend on our ancestors to an almost incredible +degree. We are fettered by innumerable bonds +of their bequeathing—bonds of love and hate, and prejudices +of every kind; they hold us in leash as we ourselves +hold our descendants. The generations flit by so swiftly +that they have barely time to transmit life ere they are +gone.</p> + +<p>Especially in regard to the condition of women, the +questions that are agitated to-day with more or less +airiness or vehemence are almost as old as the hills. At +certain periods they have been investigated more closely +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>than at others, and then learning, philosophy, and experience +have said their say.</p> + +<p>The Renaissance was one of the epochs at which these +questions pushed to the front. Like our own age, it was +a period of transition; its conclusions were often very +different from our own, but in some points it bore a +wonderful likeness to the present day. The position of +women then underwent an almost inevitable transformation, +both material and moral. Up to that time women +had been regarded as inferior to men; opinion was built up +on the practical and utilitarian basis still cherished in the +Anglo-Saxon countries: all modes of activity belonged to +the men, while the women’s duty was to remain at home as +domestic ornaments, precious, but fragile.</p> + +<p>Yet society was not wholly averse to granting women +what we call the right to a career. The Salic law was +exclusively a French invention, and the product of special +circumstances; in the political world there was nothing to +prevent the acceptance of aid from women, even in the midst +of the gravest perils. It was a woman—and a woman to +the finger-tips—Isabel of Bavaria, who all but ruined us; +Joan of Arc was our salvation. It is not too much to say +that, in later years, the honour and might of France were +saved by Anne of Beaujeu and Louise of Savoy. The same +thing holds from top to bottom of the social ladder. In +certain towns women might have been seen taking part +in elections in the public square;⁠<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> in many of the châteaux +the lady of the place, in the absence of her husband, fulfilled +the most trying and masculine of tasks, administering +justice, commanding the men-at-arms. Christine de Pisan +speaks of this, not as a right, but as a rigorous duty.⁠<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Among +the working classes female labour was extensively employed, +at a fairly high rate of pay.</p> + +<p>But no one saw in this, as the opinion of Christine de +Pisan shows, a direct and natural outlet for women’s activities. +A woman was regarded as the subject of her husband, +and his deputy in case of need; hers was not a personal +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>part; she was only the shadow or the extension of another +person—a sort of half-man, or, as caustic folk said, an +<i>homme d’occasion, mas occasionnatus</i>—a man marred in +the making. (It must be confessed that this idea is rather +hard on the ladies, and even on us men, more particularly +because Providence does not take us into consultation in +these matters, and all of us, men and women alike, have +the assurance of remaining to the end of our days male +or female as God made us.) On that system, it was +allowable for women in cases of absolute necessity to +perform the tasks of men, though the men could scarcely +offer to reciprocate; if there was no help for it, women +might adopt a trade or profession, but that appeared +undesirable. All the countries faithful to these ideas were +utilitarian countries, where men had incontestably the +upper hand, and where no great need was felt for lofty +flights.</p> + +<p>In the countries of Latin blood and spirit they start +from a principle absolutely the reverse. Women are not +at all “men for the nonce”; in the picturesque words of +good François de Moulins, addressed to his pupil Francis I., +“Never forget that women came from Adam’s side, not +from his feet.” They are not substitutes for men, but +have their own proper sphere. Castiglione has given us +the typical formula in his famous book <i>The Courtier</i>. +“Man,” says he, “has for his portion physical strength +and external activities; all doing must be his, all inspiration +must come from woman.” She is, in his own words, +the “motive force.” One recalls the smiling remark of +the charming Duchess of Burgundy: “I am always +delighted when it is women who govern, because then +it is men who direct.” But according to Castiglione, the +world ought to show the very opposite: men should +govern and women direct; men act, women think, or +mayhap dream. The former should have the material +tasks of administration and practical affairs; the latter +the spiritual and idealist realm. Looked at in this +way, it is obvious how much larger the woman’s part +suddenly becomes, and what supreme importance it holds +in the life of the world. Instead of serving her husband +merely as the material replenisher of his stock and an +under-manager for his affairs, the woman will carve out +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>her own path and enjoy personal freedom, and will be +the better able to lift up her head at home and in society +for knowing that she represents there something more than +the flesh; she will be the soul, the seeker after noble +thoughts—thoughts necessary to happiness, but which the +practical spirit of men scarcely permits them to pursue. +There will be no question (to the great disappointment +of certain modern aesthetes, who after all profit very +largely by the railways and telegraphs) of declaring a +relentless war against industry, manufactures, the business +of administration; this unpleasing but serviceable sphere +must simply be left to men, and upon this sordid earthly +existence must be erected the frail edifice of general +happiness—the true life—a life of enthusiasm, beauty, +and thought; in other words, we must relax the bonds +of the material life, take time to fetch our breath, and +infuse into realism a new and brighter spirit by means +of the love of the beautiful. That is women’s task; in +the words of Ecclesiastes, “Their hearts are snares and +nets, their hands are as chains.” They are the queens +of happiness, and they must compel us to be happy and +to enjoy the happiness necessary to us.</p> + +<p>With this end in view, the women of the Renaissance +formed a league: they accomplished on behalf of the +rights of the heart a sort of <i>coup d’état</i>, the story of which +we are about to relate. Finally, no one was happy after all. +But it is interesting to know why.</p> + +<p>First, let us explain in a few words how it came about +that in a country like France women were able to assume +so important a part. Then, we shall proceed to show how +vast was their effort, how ardent their quest for happiness, +and we shall see why the formula they discovered has not +come down to us.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</h2> + +</div> + +<p>France is a singular country. We are slightly Greek, +half Latin or Ligurian, very Gallic or very German, and +in the West, the country of an intellectual gulf-stream, +we are dreamers—the Celts of M. Legouvé’s enthusiasm. +All of us, whatever our stock, professed in the Middle +Ages to adore women; the author of an old <i>fabliau</i> +makes the Virgin ask of one of our gallant knights the +subtle and searching question, “Is thy lady fairer than +I?” But in practice—in other words, in our home life—we +treated women like animals, with the whip.</p> + +<p>We must remark also that, during the whole course of +the fifteenth century, France had no time for philosophising: +the Hundred Years War and the awful distresses resulting +from it; the iron hand and heavy taxation of Louis XI., +whose rule was regenerative but very severe; then the +Civil War and the Italian expedition—all these circumstances +left us no breathing-space, and are in some measure +the justification of an aftermath of brutality. It was only +in the last years of the century that peace allowed us to +reflect, and then activity, prosperity, and happiness burst +out like a lightning-flash. Louis XI., who had clear and +definite rights over France, had dealt with her like a +strenuous husband; Louis XII., who wedded her by chance, +treated her with the delicate worship of a lover who has +thrown off the every-day concerns of life.</p> + +<p>By what happy chance did the French, till then so apt, +whatever they professed, to value women only on the +physical side, take under the influence of kindly peace and +individual well-being a step further towards the South, +and come to think that women might serve as social guides? +The genesis of these ideas was very remarkable.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span></p> + +<p>They came from elsewhere.</p> + +<p>During our convalescence, Italy had become transformed. +A great revolution, moral, religious, scientific, and above all +aesthetic, had brought once more upon the arena the two +eternal protagonists—the Roman spiritualists, and the +friends of material force, that is, of imperial Germany.</p> + +<p>Men are in general inclined to the side of force; their +idea of happiness consists in imposing their will upon +others, no matter how brutally, or at any rate in donning a +uniform—they are born fighters or jockeys.</p> + +<p>Women, on the contrary, can only hope to exert direct and +effectual action by the spiritualising of society; and it is +not by handing themselves over to the tender mercies of +men, whoever they may be—husbands, lovers, doctors, +hydrotherapists—or by aping the manners and talk of +men, that they acquire their liberty. They are taken at their +own valuation, provided they accentuate their purely feminine +qualities.</p> + +<p>This was thoroughly understood by the women of Italy, +who managed so well that the crisis turned quite naturally +to their advantage, without any theories whatever.⁠<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> Neither +the accepted classics nor Plato gave them any assistance; +they triumphed of themselves, and often at their own cost, +because they accomplished their own education before +undertaking that of others. Many of them, instructed, +stout-hearted, nobly generous, while men were wasting their +activities abroad, consistently embodied at home the superb +saying of Christ, “Let not your heart be troubled”—the +only prescription yet discovered for the cure of neurasthenia. +People poked fun at them, accused them of “wanting to +wear the breeches.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> Italian husbands were no more inclined +than others to fall at their wives’ feet and proclaim +their divinity: they accustomed themselves to them +gradually, almost unawares. It was natural that the disappointments, +vexations and trials of politics or business +should throw them in this direction; what was more fortunate +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>and less expected was that, women having monopolised +all that made life worth living, men one day awoke to the +fact that women were the glory of all distinguished families, +and that, thanks to them, life had become an art, a passion.</p> + +<p>They began, then, by shedding a domestic radiance; it +was by filling their own home with light and hope and joy +that they began to quicken the world at large. The science +of happiness established itself under a wholly practical and +empirical form, like the science of medicine; for the heart +needs the ministry of healing, a more difficult and perhaps +more delicate art than that of the body. Where can you +apply a thermometer to test the temperature of the soul? +Moral sufferings have the peculiarity of concealing themselves, +even when physical collapse is the result; they are not +easily diagnosed, and no one understands them: and, further, +they manifest themselves oddly. It is in the pride of life, +when one feels strongest, that one is weak and in danger; +peace is more treacherous than strife, health more perilous +than sickness, strength feebler than weakness. Or, if one is +conscious of the mischief, one despairs of finding the remedy, +which consists of compassion and generosity. Woman’s +medicines are love and hate.</p> + +<p>Love—that is to give something derived from herself; to +act, not through that long-armed vulgar charity (though +this, too, has its merits—and is often very tiresome) which +aims at heading a subscription list or presiding at a public +meeting, but through that modest individual charity which +humbly and quietly diffuses a little affection, cheerfulness, +and enthusiasm. These are the real great ladies; to them, +giving is a necessity, a second nature. They are born +generous. They seek their own happiness in the happiness +of others, without stopping to ask themselves if their conduct +is philosophic.</p> + +<p>Hate! They detest and resolutely combat the elements +of force in which men most delight, but which, as women +believe, produce the worst ills; and these are, the power of +money, the power of war.</p> + +<p>The egotism of wealth they regard as the very source of +materialism, against which they cannot but struggle. On +this point the women of the Renaissance bore the brunt of +a long and skilfully fought battle, which we shall follow in +all its phases.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span></p> + +<p>As for war, that is the arch-enemy against which their +first blows are aimed. The little Italian wars of the Middle +Ages did not resemble the vast hecatombs of to-day, but +they bred a swarm of atrocities, tumults and feuds; war is +less cruel, perhaps, when it is not a mere pastime. To +storm a place at the opening of a campaign is regarded as a +humane act and good tactics, since in the long run it +shortens the struggle; but the horror of it! Naturally, +women are the worst sufferers. In vain do they push their +way through the flames to the feet of some cold stone angel +or some Madonna with her eternal smile; you see poor girls +flinging themselves into the water, and noble ladies going +about serenely and deftly to save what can be saved—their +husbands’ lives or their own fortunes. Many centuries had +passed since St. Augustine had offered his tender consolations +to the victims of the barbarians; they might appropriately +have been offered when the French captured Padua +or the Germans Rome, or even at that obscure assault of +Rivolta in 1509, when an Italian captain devoured the +heart of one of his political enemies, disembowelled the +man’s wife, and made horse-troughs of their corpses.</p> + +<p>Even if we ignore gross infamies like these, war was not +more humane. The historian of Bayard cannot find words +to celebrate the magnanimity of his hero in so generously +respecting two high-born maidens of Brescia who had received +him into their house, tended him and healed his +wounds with the devotion of sisters of mercy. And even in +times of peace military habits were commonly so intolerable +that quiet folk fervently prayed for a war to bring +them relief.</p> + +<p>For centuries sages and philosophers had been expatiating +on the evils of war; councils had attempted to intervene; +but war continued to flourish. The idea of suppressing it +seemed a mere Utopian dream.</p> + +<p>They might have tried at least to stem its flood by an +appeal to the co-operation of moral forces; but, singularly +enough, the more brilliant the fifteenth century in Italy +became in art and intellect, the more its moral forces +appeared to decline.</p> + +<p>Christianity, too often sunk into mere mechanical routine, +teeming with abuses, overloaded with observances, had +practically lost all influence. Side by side with a few +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>clergy somewhat above the rank and file in culture, there +was a crowd of empirics who rarely troubled their heads +with thinking things out for themselves; they discoursed, +not of love or hope, but only of faith—a faith which brutish +men wished to destroy, and the more refined few wished to +vivify, and which was thus doubly imperilled. The common +people were indifferent, and allowed themselves still to +be lulled by the old crooning melodies to which they were +accustomed; they remained Christian from sheer indolence, +like many men of quality; but it was open to question +whether the first shock would not set them clamouring for +a more lively tune—an “air of flutes and violins,” as Heine +said; paradise instead of hell.</p> + +<p>As to learning, the cultured were agreed in recognising +its failure; that, indeed, was beyond question. Men were +tired of reasoning, reading, writing, worrying! Learning +in tragic dismay sought only to prostrate itself before faith; +or rather, men asked themselves whether learning really +existed. Tiphernus, an eminent professor at the Sorbonne, +and in high favour at Rome, confesses that all this learning +so much belauded and paraded seemed to him nothing but +a means of earning a living for professors, a combination of +all the vanities, the technical slang of a crowd of pedants, +critics more or less ignorant, and shameless imitators, who +formed little cliques beyond whose pale there was no +salvation. “To believe them,” he exclaimed, “we are not +equal to the ancients”: then lions forsooth have lost their +ferocity, and hares their cowardice, for Providence shines +for the whole world, and it cannot be that man alone has +degenerated! A league of falsehood! he reiterates. Under +cloak of high culture men conceal their vices, and especially +their idleness. Do what we may, we are progressing: +every one of us is conscious of a forward impulsion. The +pontiffs of reason, who have painfully climbed the steep +ascent, wish to keep everything to themselves, and to +set up their books as a balk to the world, but all in vain; +they will never persuade us that their collapse is that of +nature.</p> + +<p>Tiphernus died about 1466. From that time forth +science was flouted. It gave the world, nevertheless, what +it was destined to give—fire-arms, Greece, many admirable +things—everything but happiness, which it had never +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>undertaken to provide. And it was precisely on this point +that the great mistake was made. What, men asked, is the +good of learning, money, labour, or even semblances of joy, +if we are oppressed by a life of contention and heaviness? +Why are we born with wits, why should we rule multitudes, +thrill men’s souls, dwell in palaces, if our hearts are +empty? Suppose we wrest Nature’s secrets from her, work +every vein of ore, crop every blade of grass: suppose the +race of men to form one magnificent herd, fat and flourishing, +and even peaceably inclined—what is the good of it all +if there is no joy? All things live by love; the heart +makes itself heard above the claims of work, above the +intellect, demanding for life a recompense, a goal. We perish +for lack of something to love; out of mere self-pity we +ought to bestow on ourselves the alms of life, which is love. +All is vanity save this vanity, for before our birth, until our +death, throughout our whole existence, it bears in front of +us the torch of life.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it might be better if men could be governed +mechanically and reasonably from an armchair in the library +by dint of syllogisms. Unhappily, they love only what pleases +them; they are big, greedy children, listless and lazy if you +talk to them of reason, but ready to break their necks in +pursuit of an illusion. Hence it is very necessary to choose +one’s illusions well, and well to employ them.</p> + +<p>The eternal illusion is love.</p> + +<p>But what <i>is</i> love? That is the real question. If it is a +Petrarchan flower, we crush it under our steel-tipped boots; +if it is a coarse sensation, it crushes us, and we have to +wrestle with it. Thus we must arrive at a new fact—a love +which is neither a beautiful superfluity nor a vile sensual +thing; which, in short, is a direct outcome of the worship +of beauty.</p> + +<p>We must discover a new sensibility, lofty, strong, fruitful, +spiritual, almost sacerdotal, which serves to link minds +together in their common pursuit of a high ideal. To us +French this intricate problem seemed highly discouraging +and perhaps silly, but its importance was recognised in Italy, +the classic ground of love’s quintessences, where even to-day +a candidate for Parliament had better speak of love than of +the sugar bounties.</p> + +<p>The science of sensibility is to most men a fountain sealed; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>they always fancy themselves to be too robust! They march +straight on in parallel lines; military devotion is their virtue; +women alone can serve as a bond of union, soften and beautify +everything, cover with a varnish of glory and disinterestedness +the things that need it. Hence, besides their mission +at home, they may be said to have a social part of the first +importance to play; the more sensible men become to their +social influence, the higher is man’s civilisation.</p> + +<p>Now at the very period when France decided to move, the +women of Italy had long since shown what could be expected +of women in this direction. They often flaunted sentiments +which are open to the charge of audacity or naïveté, primitive +sentiments, à la Botticelli or Perugino, crude to a +degree; there were manifestly many women of young and +fresh affections who opposed to the simplicity of brute force +that charming form of simplicity, that adorable confidence +in the things of life, which the worship of the beautiful gives +to unsoiled souls. They are to the women of the eighteenth +century what Memling is to Watteau. Properly to understand +their spiritual condition we should have to do as they +did—solve the problem of feminism in the feminine way, +be women, and more than women—arch-women.</p> + +<p>The fulfilment of their natural vocation, namely, to look +after the amenities of life, was a pretty extensive office, in +a country where art and taste had so prominent a place. +But they went farther. They inculcated moral strength +through beauty; they dreamt of raising men, of plunging +into their life like rescuing angels. Some critics say that +the intervention of women is always a proof of men’s +decadence, and that when they save us, we are in parlous +need of saving. Unhappily that is our normal state. +Women assuredly represent the Red Cross of society; it is +the duty of us men to be purblind and case-hardened to the +brutalities of life, or even to find a certain happiness therein, +and to remain cold like a sword-blade; women have no +right to escape wounding by the despicable and shameful +things among us. They would prefer, you say, to remain +quietly gathering flowers behind their park walls; that is +perfectly true; they only act from a sense of duty, because +they no longer wish to serve as the stake of battles, because +there is no misery, no injustice, no disgrace for which a +woman of heart does not feel responsible. In fulfilling this +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>mission they do not humble us; on the contrary, we can +have no higher ambition than to desire peace, no action can +less degrade us than to bend in respect before the noblest +things in the world—weakness and sentiment. It was the +conviction of all the sons of the Renaissance, and of its +great-grandsons (even the last and most sceptical of them, +like M. Mérimée), that sentiment has higher lights than +reason, and that certain intuitions of the heart unfold to us, +as in bygone days to Socrates, horizons hitherto beyond our +ken—a foretaste of the divine. Tired of spinning round in +the vain and narrow circle of reasoning, these men, sceptics +in their own despite, come to place their trust in sentiment, +in hope and love: they lean upon women who see things +with the eyes of love. In this they find a certain +happiness, and at all events the secret of strength. No +doubt the men of the fifteenth century did not attach to +the idea of number the philosophic importance given it since +their time; it was recognised that in the name of the rights +of intelligence a general should command a whole army, a +professor direct his pupils, a master his workmen; three +robbers united against one honest man, though in the majority, +did not appear to have right on their side; but it is none +the less true that intellectual isolation has always created a +situation of difficulty. “The vulgar may judge me as they +please and take me for what they will,” heatedly exclaims +Tiphernus, the professor of whom we have already spoken; +“let others please the multitude! As for me, I pride myself +on pleasing two or three.” All the clever men who speak so +eloquently are sure to be in bondage to some woman; for, +after all, the approbation of two or three men, howsoever +intelligent, would not carry them very far, while with the +enthusiasm of two or three women one can at a pinch be +satisfied. And thus the work of civilisation is accomplished; +vulgarity, even the vulgarity of common sense, is hidden +under a coating of the ideal, women having a horror of force, +of the law of number, of all that is banal and coarse.</p> + +<p>Such was the atmosphere, absolutely new and somewhat +overheated, in which the influence of women developed and +flourished. The revolution was a profound one: hitherto +the social system had turned entirely on the principle of the +good and the true, from which a practical and utilitarian +morality was derived. The idea of the beautiful was utterly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>mistrusted, and, far from believing in its purifying force, +many people saw in it only a cause of moral enfeeblement. +Men had preached a religion of gloom and manifold observances; +it seemed that there was no mean in life between +the virginal precepts of a catechism of Perseverance⁠<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> and the +lowest stages of vice. And now the new generations were +no longer willing to regard earthly happiness as an illusion, +nor the love inculcated by the Gospel as a snare, and flattered +themselves on finding a means of building life upon liberty. +A mysticism, compact of snow and mist, had glorified self-repression, +scepticism in regard to earthly things, the joys of +suffering or at least the quest of happiness through resignation; +and its effect had been to raise a select few to a state +of ethereal perfection, and to unloose the mass of mankind +to an unbridled savagery. The moral pendulum had +oscillated violently between ether and mud, mud and ether, +a condition of instability like that described by M. Huysmans +to-day.</p> + +<p>And on the other hand people wished to live henceforth +under a calm and radiant sky; they talked of taking the +gifts of God as they found them, denying neither body nor +soul, but idealising everything. They contented themselves +with affirming the pre-eminence of the soul; apparently the +science of happiness was to consist in abstracting themselves +from the material and the personal and in going straight +back to ideas. From that time it truly belongs to women +to govern the higher world, the realm of sentiment. They +will lull the appetites to sleep; they will charm men of dull +burdened soul subdued to earth by daily toil; they will +choose out the refined, the buoyant in soul, to form them +into an intellectual aristocracy: the others will at least be +lifted a little above themselves.</p> + +<p>The refined are recognised by their thirst for the ideal. +At first blush one might suppose they will be met especially +among men of the upper classes, or at least among men of +leisure, for these are fortunate in being able to look into +their own hearts and to follow their own bent, and in +opportunities for gaining impressions. They are not deformed +by drudgery, they have bathed their souls in the +great sights of Nature; the Mediterranean, delicious and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>bewitching, has cradled them on her kindly bosom, and has +already accomplished for them half of the task by reflecting +the sky in her feminine smile. But no; for lack of discipline, +the idle tend toward sensuality. Consequently, +women will address themselves more especially to the men +who can work.</p> + +<p>And their scheme will be this. They will interpose, +almost like angels, between heaven and earth; they will +love us and we shall love them; they will gently invert the +order of things, so as to make of life a work of art. They +will efface two of the three blind forces which govern us—Death, +Fortune, and Love. If they do not prevent all failures +and weaknesses, they will cheer and comfort them by means +of a potent elixir, obtained from a God of philosophy, like +physicians who cure by allopathy. So many springs are +creaking and snapping for want of a drop of oil! they will +pour out that drop. So many noble things lack the sap of +life! they will give them that sap, that vitality, that soul. +The sap of love brings grapes from thorns!</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Si l’amour fault, la foy n’est plus chérie;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Si foy périt, l’amour s’en va périe.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pour ce, les ay en devise liez:</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Amour et foy</i>.⁠<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>And thereby the transformation, or at any rate the +amelioration, of the world is to be achieved. Men are not, +perhaps, so intractable and brutal as they pretend; by their +own account they would be quite content to accomplish the +journey of life eating and sleeping behind drawn curtains. +We must not believe them. They have shut themselves up +in a bare workshop: throw open the windows, let the sun +stream broadly in, bringing light and warmth and the balmy +breath of nature. The effects of the old system of morality, +with its bolts and bars, have been seen only too often; the +loathing of vice, the noble pride of virtue and aesthetic +intelligence are also forces; and they alone can make of our +terrible abode a truly sacred dwelling, open, free, dear to our +hearts, the monument of human affection and of happiness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span></p> + +<p>Thus, briefly, the conclusion was reached that women can +transform themselves and become the chief element in +human society, that of happiness. Hitherto they had been +understudies to their husbands; they had believed themselves +bound to take an interest in the work, ideas, and +tastes of a man, with no other recompense than the satisfaction +derived from a duty done. They had to issue forth +like butterflies from the chrysalis, and to become women full +of charm, in order to direct the affairs which men believed +they had in their own hands, and in order to fascinate, to +enfold, to struggle if need be, but without violence or parade. +Then they had to rise a step higher, become objects of love, +propagate love, and bring all things into harmony.</p> + +<p>Thanks to these ideas, Italy at the end of the fifteenth +century had taken a marvellous bound towards the beautiful.⁠<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> + +<p>Spain likewise had leapt towards chivalry; it was like +the raising of a curtain, so sudden was the change: women, +hitherto shut up in their boudoirs, appeared in all their +radiance like goddesses.</p> + +<p>France, on the contrary, viewed these new ideas with +profound mistrust, and long rejected them because of their +Italian origin. We knew Italy, but under very false colours; +she gloried in rising superior to wealth and rank, in the importance +of women, prelates, and artists in her life; while +we only knew her through merchants and soldiers. Her +bankers established in our towns—“Lombards,” as they +were scornfully called—passed in the eyes of the people +for men without a country, for birds of prey akin to the +Jews; our knights, still bewitched by the joys of their expeditions, +spoke carelessly only of a people without weapons +and of defenceless women. The French clergy chimed in +with their note of bitter opposition to Rome. And thus +Italy was readily imagined as a hot-bed of pleasure: but +to go there in quest of the philosophic secret of happiness +seemed absurd.</p> + +<p>In the intellectual point of view, Italy created a wrong +impression among us through the persons she sent us: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>professors more or less broken down,⁠<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> exiles more or less +voluntary;⁠<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> + impecunious, ravenous, and pretentious characters,⁠<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> +not very philosophic in their attitude towards their +rivals: all those also who rang the changes on the honour +we had had in beating them, the Stoas, Soardis, Equicolas, +wonderfully assiduous in making Louis XII. out to be a +second Charlemagne (in those days Charlemagne was still +a Frenchman); Caesar Borgia and his brilliant retinue, at +whose brief passage we looked on in contemptuous unconcern. +Because Caesar Borgia did not take our fancy, or +because some of us had met light women on the highway +to Italy, any Italian idea appeared to us a false one; we +shut ourselves up in what Pontanus, Julius II., and other +Italians remaining in Italy called our “barbarism,” and as +we plumed ourselves on our logic, we only abandoned our +antagonism to adopt all the Italian fashions completely and +indiscriminately. To that end, Louis XII. had to oblige by +dying, and Francis I. by reigning; so at least Castiglione, +the master of the new school, formally declared after the +accession of Francis. So it actually turned out.</p> + +<p>Thus women are queens; they move like fairies. “It is +a small thing to say of a woman that she does not destroy +the flowers on which she sets her foot; she must refresh +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>them. The violets should not droop when she passes, but +burst into flower.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p> + +<p>We do not claim that this system is perfect; our aim +is precisely to examine with the utmost care its strong and +its weak points; but it is certain that, to begin with, by the +side of almost all the illustrious men who then flourished in +such numbers, we see the indispensable woman silhouetting +herself, not as tyrant or even director, but as mentor and +guide—as mother, rather, since she brings them forth into the +higher life; or, still better, as light and sun, as reinvigorating, +vivifying warmth: according to the saying of Schiller, “Love +is the sun of Genius.” “Without women,” says Castiglione, +“nothing is possible—neither military courage, nor art, nor +poetry, nor music, nor philosophy, nor even religion: God is +only truly seen through them.” This was no new observation: +Solomon had already said the same thing; but we +must believe there were new conclusions to be drawn from +it, since men hoped to find in it the answer to that vexed +question of happiness which has been put in vain since the +foundation of the world.</p> + +<p>To realise how women transformed themselves, we must +follow their example and open our minds. They had the +courage so to do: they looked life fairly in the face—with +their woman’s eyes, it is true, fine, subtle, and complex; +they looked, and often they did not really understand +their own impressions, vivid, and rather strong than clearly +defined. Often, also, under the impulse of these impressions, +they acted in the genuine woman’s way, with tricks and +reservations, evading the consequences of their own theories, +going round the obstacle they advanced to attack in front. +Their achievements and thoughts are difficult to determine. +We cannot here, as in an ordinary history, be satisfied with +a mere string of facts; we must play the chemist, analyse +these various and complex elements, and seek to evolve a +general formula.</p> + +<p>That formula is this: to live, that is, to love life, to attain +a mastery of life without allowing it to crush or dominate +us. The attainment of this result is well worth the trouble +of deciphering a few women’s hearts, even though the handwriting +should be less clear than our ordinary manuscripts. +In those days they sincerely studied to love life; they loved +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>it, rejecting all negations and obstructions, all that overwhelms +and paralyses, scouting death itself! Instead of +yielding to scepticism in regard to things, they wished to +push love to the stage of Stoicism, to lift the heaviest +burdens, to gaze upon the star of consolation which speaks +to us of love eternal.</p> + +<p>Every woman will begin with her own redemption. She +is at first thrown out into the world while still a child, +almost in childish innocence: very soon rigorous duties, +material and oppressive in character, seize upon her: she is, +so to speak, battered and rolled out by very rough forces—the +firm authority of her husband, the idea of obedience, the +trials of motherhood, fruitful in joys, but also in hardships +and cares. Whilst her will is annihilated and enslaved, and +her heart often remains an undiscovered country, she assists +with pain and disgust at the downfall of her flesh—that +flesh which has become the abode of pain, a body of death, +to give birth to life.</p> + +<p>How is the sudden thrill brought about, turning the dull, +torpid larva into the bright butterfly? How do women succeed +in drawing from this essentially human condition something +of the divine, passing from physical production to spiritual +production? These above all are the questions we must +seek to determine.</p> + +<p>It must not be expected that we shall present to our +readers fair barristers, or engineers, or professional scholars, +still less pedants. No; these ladies were simply modest +women, who took their share in the humblest duties of +everyday life, but discovered, apart from charity in the +material sense, the absolute necessity of another charity, +moral charity for moral and spiritual penury, for those +destitute of happiness, so numerous and found everywhere, +even within the walls of the Louvre.</p> + +<p>If they accomplished a revolution, it was a peaceful and +internal one. They piled up no barricades, issued no +manifestos, launched no declaration of their rights as women +and citizens. Though the laws were not generally favourable +to them, they demanded no amendment of the laws; +the same magistrates continued as in the past to deliver the +same judgments from the same benches, politicians still made +their fortunes, ploughmen still followed the plough, +engineers continued to construct bridges and make roads, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>notaries to scan the cause-lists. Nothing was changed, in +appearance, in the material course of the world, except that +a moral power had come into being, and that women, like +the goddesses of happiness painted by Nattier, under the +cloak of indifference had taken into their keeping a +mysterious urn, whence life seemed to gush in a spontaneous +stream, without the help of judges, engineers, or notaries, +yet continually sending out the current essential to the +sweetness and fruitfulness of the world.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_I_FAMILY_LIFE">BOOK I. FAMILY LIFE</h2> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_I_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br> +<span class="smaller">MARRIAGE</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>There are two ways of dealing with the heart of a woman. +You may have confidence in it, believe in it, regard it as +a real element of strength and happiness, uplift and +develop it, touching it then to fine issues in love, religion, +philosophy. These are the lines on which the modern +world proceeds. Or you may treat it as a frail organ of the +body, unruly, incapable of good; you may bind it down, +early and with due care, with all sorts of reasonable chains, +the chief of which, marriage, will keep it fast prisoned, and +reduce it to nothingness and oblivion. This, of course, was +the system of former days.</p> + +<p>Singularly enough, these two systems, contrary as they +are, spring from precisely the same practical starting-point, +which indeed remains the sole point of contact between +them: the principle, namely, that marriage and love are +distinct, and must neither be confused nor blended.</p> + +<p>To Battista Spagnuoli of Mantua,⁠<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> poet and monk, in the +solitude of his cloister, marriage shone with a rosy light. +Cornelius Agrippa,⁠<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> with his utilitarian and paradoxical +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>mind, regarded it as a compulsory conscription of the +German type, with no possible exemptions, or almost none, +and fancied that if men would but go in quest of a pretty +woman instead of being so much absorbed with the proprieties +and the main chance, the result would prove far +more satisfactory. With the exception of these two, and +a few more or less ingenuous or eccentric people like them, +no one believed in the utility or the possibility of love in +marriage. Caviceo’s romance <i>Il Peregrino</i> was considered +sheer perversity, for after innumerable intrigues and adventures +it ends—how? With wedding bells! So that, +according to Caviceo, marriage was to turn out a romance of +cloak and sword!⁠<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p> + +<p>It was universally agreed that no idea could be more +absurd, less practical, more detestable, more immoral even. +Marriage was a transaction, an ‘establishment,’ a business partnership, +a grave material union of interests, rank, and social +responsibilities, sanctified by the close personal association +of the partners. To insinuate an idea of pleasure was to rob +it of its noble and honourable character, and to drag it down +into the mire of sensuality. To mingle with it a physical +suggestion was to degrade it; to mingle with it love, the +absolute, great enthusiasms of heart or intellect, was to lay +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>up for oneself disasters, or at least certain disappointment. +“Love-matches turn out badly quite as often as arranged +marriages.” A romance lasts a week, the reality for a +lifetime. No passion can survive the humdrum, the +monotony, the deadweight of matrimonial experience: and +what marriage can hold out against passion? Heart +freedom, the storms, raptures, revulsions to be anticipated +on all sides—what amalgamation is possible between these +and the peaceful domestic life which is looked-to to furnish +forth a very solid, united, and well-ordered existence? A +certain equality is the rule of passion: what it demands is a +perfect union between two persons who are mutually +attracted and whom there is nothing to keep apart. What +would become of married life under these conditions, without +some directing authority, without one to give law to the +other? In regard to marriage, the time-honoured principle, +rigorous though protective, was this: the husband ought +always to take the helm, imbecile, madman or rake though +he be: woman is born to obey, man to command.</p> + +<p>Wedlock then is good solid household bread, not by any +means cakes and ale. It is the modest squat suburban villa +in which you eat and sleep: passion is a church-spire +piercing the sky—the spire we see high above our smoky +roofs, whence on Sundays and festivals our ears are greeted +with the sound of bells.</p> + +<p>To try to import passion into marriage is like trying to +pack a cathedral into one’s bedroom.</p> + +<p>And so marriage is to retain its actual character as a +simple, natural function of the physical life, like eating and +drinking: the husband a domestic animal, presented to the +woman by the usages of society, the accident of birth, and +the terms of the bargain. There is no reason for choosing +him except in so far as he fulfils these conditions. Do +women choose their family affections? Do they select +their father, brother, relatives? The husband also is a +relative, a partner, to whom every possible duty is owing +except that of love. The woman’s duty to him is to keep +house for him, present him with children, nurse him in +sickness, and regard his liberty as sacred.</p> + +<p>In short, at whatever point of view one placed oneself, +marriage excluded every idea of personal fancy; indeed, of +all the contracts of life, marriage was the least tolerant +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>of any such idea. Its traditional character as a business +transaction no one would have dreamed of contesting.</p> + +<p>So far as the woman was concerned, the practical consequences +of this principle were very simple. It was not for +her to seek a husband, but merely to accept the man whom +fate, that is to say, Providence, had destined for her. +Nothing was more ridiculous than here and there to find +some portionless girl, or one who, like Mademoiselle de +Clermont, was no longer in her first bloom, waxing sentimental +and speaking with a sigh of the “unaccustomed +pleasure” of loving the man one married. “This pleasure,” +she says, raising her eyes to heaven like a virgin martyr, +“if it sets at nought human wisdom, is inspired by wisdom +from on high; so fine, so exquisite must it be, that of a +truth it is keener than sorrow at the loss of the loved one—a +commonplace and everyday sorrow.” Whereupon, whatever +sympathy may have been inspired by Mademoiselle de +Clermont’s misfortune, her friends cannot help smiling: +“So you mean to say,” they exclaim, “that a woman has +more pleasure in the embraces of her husband than pain at +seeing him slain before her eyes!”⁠<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p> + +<p>The idea that a young girl should submit passively to be +married was almost the only one on which there was +complete agreement. Everyone was thoroughly convinced +that in adopting any other course she would almost invariably +be committing a folly sure to bring repentance. If +young and unsophisticated, she would allow herself to be +lured and snared by mere illusions from which there would +be a speedy awakening; if she had lost something of her +youth and innocence things were still worse, for then she +inevitably said and thought and did ridiculous things, like +poor foolish Mademoiselle de Clermont. A spinster of +twenty-five or thirty, seized with a yearning for marriage,⁠<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>would be subject to attacks of mental vertigo springing +rather from vanity than from love; one could believe her +capable of the veriest follies and the most surprising +judgments.⁠<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> That was the opinion of all serious women, +from Louise of Savoy to Anne of France,⁠<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> whether they +were of matter-of-fact intellect, spiritual in their affections, +or somewhat wayward in their imagination. The whole +mechanism of life exemplified this fundamental principle: +a young girl should have “no choice, ambition, or wish” of +her own; “experience, failing God and the Law, proves +to girls the necessity of discretion, and of not marrying to +please themselves; their marriage should be left to their +relatives, or in default of relatives, to their friends.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p> + +<p>Very frequently, the “best” marriages were negotiated +by intermediaries more or less obliging, relatives or friends. +Princes and princesses were married through the good +offices of diplomatists. Indeed, ladies and gentlemen of +the Court did quite a respectable trade in match-making, +for a consideration.</p> + +<p>But, after all, the task of marrying his daughter was +essentially and especially one for the father.</p> + +<p>For the most part, the father would be only too glad to +wash his hands of the business. In every case he was in a +hurry to bring matters to a head, and believed that in +losing no time he was acting in the interests of his child. +She was to belong wholly to another household, since it was +a woman’s lot to belong to her husband, and so it was well +for her to enter upon her new life as early as possible, +before she had formed ideas of her own, and at an age when +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>the paternal household would not yet have set its stamp +indelibly upon her.</p> + +<p>In this respect the betrothals, the “marriages for the +future”—marriages, that is, solemnised in infancy for future +consummation—were of great service, and the higher the +position occupied in the social scale, the earlier such marriages +were. Kings have even been known to marry their +daughters two days after birth, but such a compact, it is +true, was in the end declared by the lawyers to be immoral +and hardly serious. Indeed, later on, when the time +for carrying out the bargain came, some princes and princesses +felt constrained to protest against this arbitrary +disposal of their persons. Happily, such engagements were +not of the most stable kind, and, often enough, political +considerations were sufficient to upset them before any harm +was done.⁠<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span></p> + +<p>In distinguished families, betrothal was by no means +unusual at the age of two or three. At this tender age +Vittoria Colonna⁠<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> was betrothed to the Marquis of Pescara.</p> + +<p>Consummation usually took place at the age of twelve. +That was a favourite age with the husbands; though, according +to the best judges, fifteen was the age when the physical +charms were at their best, and the soul was most malleable—a +view dating as far back as Hesiod and Aristotle. +Tiraqueau,⁠<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> the friend of Rabelais, vaunts his exploit in +having wedded a girl of ten. In vain did the French +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>physicians implore the men in mercy to have a little patience, +beseech them to wait at least until the fourteenth year: +they demurred, for it was humiliating for a father to have +a fifteen-year-old daughter on his hands: at sixteen they +would have called it a catastrophe. Champier,⁠<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> one of the +gravest of writers, proposed that after the age of sixteen +young women should be provided with husbands by the State, +on the lines of Plato’s system. Some parents betrayed such +haste to get their girls off their hands that they anticipated the +ceremony, handing them over to their husbands-elect on the +strength of a mere promise of fidelity. It happened at +Milan, among the Sforza family, that a mother, becoming +apprehensive, refused at the last moment to part with her +daughter on such terms, and the matter ended where it +should properly have begun, in a mutual arrangement, the +young lady being formally placed in charge of her husband +to save appearances. But difficulties like these were always +very dangerous. In this case a dispute arose in regard to +the dowry, and blood waxed hot; the bridegroom broke off +the match, and took to wife another girl of the same family, +a child of ten, whom he led off like a horse-dealer returning +with a filly purchased at the fair.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, in great families, the girls were married in +advance by proxy. Certain wives grew to womanhood +without even making their husbands’ acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Urbino is not a great way from Mantua, but the diplomatic +agent of Urbino found it necessary to urge his master, +Francesco Maria della Rovere, a youth of eighteen, to come +on a visit to Leonora Gonzaga, whom he described in the +most alluring terms: “If your Excellency saw Madame +Leonora, and the Marquis’s little mare, you would see the +two loveliest things I ever set eyes on. I do not think +there is in all Italy anyone more beautiful or virtuous than +Madame, and I am sure no king or prince in Christendom +has a mare to match his Excellency’s.” Ultimately La +Rovere yielded like a lord, and set off incognito to see his +wife, a girl of fourteen years and a half, a merry little +creature, pretty, well-bred, and a pupil of the historian +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>Sigismondo Golfo. She was presented to him at the palace +of Mantua, in the Hall of the Sun. He stepped forward to +greet her, and embraced her in the most correct style; then, +on Cardinal Gonzago remarking loudly that this was a +somewhat frigid demonstration, he went forward again, +caught Leonora by the arms and head, and planted a becoming +kiss upon her lips. And then they sat down and began +chatting on the topics of the day, notably a portrait which +had just been finished.</p> + +<p>To find marriages of mutual affection it would have been +necessary to go down among the lower ranks of the people, +in country places; “good matches were made”⁠<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> as they +danced together at the fair or at the village merry-makings. +But in the great world the future spouses were subjected to +a system of “interviews.” Louis de la Trémoille,⁠<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> who conceived +the eccentric idea of escaping the infliction, found no +other means than to introduce himself into the house of his +prospective wife, Gabrielle de Bourbon, disguised and under +a false name, as they do in the comedies. With a widow, +perhaps, a little less ceremony may have been permissible, +and then—! In one of his diplomatic despatches Bibbiena⁠<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> +relates with much humour an interview of this sort:</p> + +<p>“To-day there took place an interview between the Duke +of Calabria and the divine lady of Forli.⁠<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> Needless to say, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>his excellency was admirably groomed and attired in the +height of Neapolitan fashion. His arrival at Bagnara was +welcomed with a salute of musketry, and he stayed to +dinner. He spent two hours here with the countess, but it is +patent to everyone that Feo⁠<a id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> has the lady well under his +thumb. His excellency took his leave very well satisfied; +but he was only moderately taken with the countess: he +told me that they joined hands very gingerly, that he +caught some winking and shrugs. And so we are off again, +like a cricket into its hole.”</p> + +<p>The final scene was enacted between the bride’s father +and the bridegroom or his parents. It was remarkably like +any other sort of bargaining: and on this subject an old +author throws a charming side-light: he urges paterfamilias +to bestow as much care on the choice of a son-in-law as on +the purchase of a dog!</p> + +<p>Ah! if the wife is ever to become an instrument of love, +there is no sign of it here! Her father occupies himself +with calculations of the frankest and most practical kind; +he has lived long enough to understand the importance +of questions of money or worldly interests, and on this score +is usually more than a match for his son-in-law. It is all +very well for the preachers to extol virtue naked and +unadorned! The ideal of a self-respecting father is an +eligible elder son, heir to the paternal dovecot, a man of +leisure, or at any rate a “gentleman,” in other words, well-connected, +moving in good society, with fine friends. Trade +he rather looks down on: he has seen so many failures!—so +many substantial traders have taken to setting up as +“merchant gentlemen,” like the Genoese, and have come to +grief! The law, on the other hand, is extremely popular; +in these days there is nothing better than an alliance with +a lawyer. The young man who is waiting for the death of +his father to buy an appointment in the judicature may +hold up his head in any company.</p> + +<p>Having once come to a decision, the father is at no loss +for excellent reasons both for himself and others. “He +plays the guitar well, is a beautiful dancer, a delightful +singer, an excellent writer, a good-looking decent fellow! +He has the promise of a post as Lord High Whipper-snapper +to the King: ’tis a fine thing, a place at Court! given opportunity +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>and a friend, and your fortune is made.”... “He +is a sensible fellow, keeps a still tongue in his head, answers +you only with nods or Italianate shrugs.”... “Oh! it’s all +the same to me. I am a gentleman myself; here’s to all +gentlemen! Zounds! but ’tis expensive, worse luck! Come +now, I’m as good a gentleman as the king. I don’t keep +up his style, to be sure, but, mark you, I hunt when I +like, come and go as I please, bustle about, flog and bawl at +and curse my people, let ’em know I am master; and the +hundred or two serfs I have under me daren’t stir, egad, +without my leave.”... “Tut tut! a little less gilt and +a little more gingerbread! My girl marry a lord and then +forsooth go footing it in the mud to canvass Jacks-in-office +for a flower-girl’s corner or some twopenny-ha’penny matter! +A fig for your gentlemen!”... and so on, with endless +variations on the same theme of utilitarianism pure and +simple. Perhaps the girl is already smitten with a handsome +officer: no matter, she will have to marry some +surveyor from Paris, especially if he holds a good appointment +on the crown lands, because that provides opportunities +of feathering one’s nest. In such matters the fathers relentlessly +enforce their authority, apparently with every right. +The pleadings in a criminal case reveal to us the Biblical +Machiavelism of a well-to-do peasant who had conceived the +idea of getting gratuitous service for ten years from the +candidate for his daughter’s hand and fortune: the period +expires, and then the father with singular bad faith proposes +to exact another ten years’ service; but this time the future +son-in-law rebels, and has the misfortune accidentally to +kill his prospective father-in-law, and this brings him before +the courts.</p> + +<p>The father’s egotism was only equalled by that of the +bridegroom elect. The man who thought of marrying, that +is to say, of taking a wife, was a man of some thirty years +(Plato proposed thirty, Aristotle thirty-five); he had enjoyed +his youth, and was now shutting the door upon it. Why? +Often he was not very clear himself: because the time had +come, he supposed, for doing what everybody did. Celibacy +was not the vogue: “We are no longer in the age of the +vestals,” as Egnatius⁠<a id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> excellently said. And we discover +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>from various sources that the religious vocation was not +very well understood, even among girls. Luckless preachers +had to toil and sweat to prove that virginity was no crime, +and that a woman might quite fittingly prefer the ideal of a +mystic marriage to the prospect of bearing a man’s yoke +and measuring out the domestic oil. Erasmus writing to +nuns is too courteous not to speak of angels or lilies of the +valley, but in his heart of hearts he thinks it all terribly +old-fashioned, and has not the slightest belief in the virginal +theories of St. Jerome. With still greater reason, celibacy +was not countenanced beyond a certain age. Luther very +honestly regarded it as an intolerable burden, contrary to +nature and the custom of the early church. “It is as +impossible to do without women as without meat and +drink.” And so a man took a wife because he thus fulfilled +part of his duty as a healthy animal; he married because +at thirty years the time had come for making a home and +begetting a family. In reality a man married, in a manner, +impersonally, rather for his family than for himself; and all +that he desired was to complicate his life as little as +possible in marrying, to be able to preserve his tastes, +habits, hobbies, without the incubus of a partner.</p> + +<p>The worst feature of this business of matrimony was that +it was so entirely at the mercy of chance, which made +almost a lottery of it, and it would have been much more +ridiculous for a man than for a woman to yield to a childish +infatuation. The man knew nothing of the girl he was +espousing, either physically or morally. He merely assumed +some likelihood of her resembling her parents, with the +result that he devoted special attention to his prospective +mother-in-law; she was the woman he was wedding. A +young woman without relatives to serve as samples and +guarantees was at a discount in the matrimonial market. +At the best, it is always a leap in the dark, something +like a step into death; it is the burial of the past, the first +sacrifice of one’s life for the preservation of the race; the +Stoic, says Cardan, knows whereabouts he is at his marriage +and his death. A man’s best course is to take comfort +beforehand, to fix his eyes on the object he aims at, to +reflect that the reason, the mind has no great part in it, and +that children are not the offspring of a woman’s brain.</p> + +<p>Moralists had put themselves to much trouble to cheer +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>men along this difficult road, and to provide them with a +series of test questions as an aid to matrimony. They +assured a man that he might be quite easy in mind if he +simply verified eight particulars in regard to the girl he +proposed to marry: physically, her age, health, maternal +aptitudes, beauty; generally, her intelligence, education, +family, and dower. Unhappily, this verification was not +easy.</p> + +<p>Physically, he could verify nothing but the young lady’s +age; for the rest, the physicians advised him to look to +her figure and in general to choose the best-grown girl; +but no one can fail to see how vague and fallacious was +any presumption based on that! True, there were the +attractions of her features to judge by; but those were +precisely what the same moralists urged him to distrust: a +serious man, they said, would never build on that sand. In +married life striking beauty is apt to pall, you come to +loathe it, and a pretty woman is rarely clever enough to +bring grist to her husband’s mill—except maybe in trade, +when she serves as a signboard or a trade-mark. Sensible +men preferred plainness; it was only widowers or wealthy +dotards who gave themselves as a last resource the luxury +of marrying a pretty woman. Poor souls! they would do +better to think of their rheumatism, their indigestion, the +dreadful draughts! Such a match was that of Madame +Dixhomme, a very sprightly young woman well known in +society, who bore the name of an old husband, a shining +light of the Parisian bar, who might have been her father! +There is no help for it. These good patriarchs will listen to +no advice, and always count on coming off well. The +world is content to smile, and to look on their attitude as +courageous, not to say heroic.⁠<a id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a></p> + +<p>So much for the physical aspect. In regard to moral +principles, there was one that was firmly established. The +man who was bringing himself to the marrying point was +haunted by the spectre of feminine independence; the terror +he felt in anticipation of some enforced sacrifice of his tastes +or whims took possession of him and dominated every other +sentiment. So when he set out in quest of a young wife, he +looked for one in his own rank of society, on his own level, so +that she might have nothing to hope for from him, nothing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>to cast in his face, that he might owe her nothing, that +she might have no pretext for riding roughshod over him, +but might resign herself quite contentedly to play second +fiddle, regarding this subordination as natural, just as the +ivy gladly embraces the asperities of the wall it is fixed to. +The husbands wished their wives to take pleasure in resignation +and to fancy that their woes were the source of true +felicity. The first condition towards attaining this end was +that the ladies should not have a higher, nor even a lower +station in society to look back on.</p> + +<p>In a fit of epicurism dashed with respectability you marry +your cook, thinking you are securing careful attentions, a +good table, and a warm bed! Woful mistake! You are +wedding a fishwife, who will treat you after the manner of +fishwives, and overwhelm you with coarse abuse: she will +never tire of telling you you are not man enough for her. +You would not find it much more pleasant to marry a +woman a little too much above you, who, at the critical +moment, would hold you with an admirable curtain lecture, +and, instead of doing her wifely duty, would discourse to +you for the hundredth time on the splendid matches she had +declined, the rage of her family, your poverty,⁠<a id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> and so forth.</p> + +<p>It is easy to understand with what uneasiness and fatalism +all these considerations, not to mention others, fill the mind +of a man who has reached the age of official paternity. He +hesitates long, and makes up his mind at last with his eyes +wide open, knowing that “in the best of marriages one must +expect at least as much pain as pleasure.” Not that he +would maintain that marriage is a mistake for men, but he +does think that “neither joy nor felicity has part or lot in +such brutishness.” He asks advice from one and another, +and always runs counter to it. Someone tells him of a girl +with money—she will want to rule the roost; of a poor girl—she +will be a drag; a pretty girl—so much the better for +his neighbours; a plain girl—ugh! that offends his susceptibilities. +What does he want, then? A good manager, a +strapping well-built wench: if he talks of consulting an +expert, he is referred to Triboulet!⁠<a id="FNanchor_32" href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> He would much rather +have to choose a cow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span></p> + +<p>It is in this frame of mind that he at last makes his +decision. If in later years he attains to some eminence and +is tempted to-write his memoirs, this business of his marriage +will be one of the episodes he will be able to detail, for +his own justification, with perfect composure.</p> + +<p>A dispensation of Providence was often necessary to bring +him to the point. This dispensation manifested itself under +the most diverse forms. The learned Tiraqueau, of whom we +have already spoken, was struck one day with the fact that +the Greeks and Romans had a very poor opinion of celibacy, +and he culled from Valerius Maximus especially a number of +convincing proofs on this head. Whereupon he crossed the +street and demanded in marriage the young girl who lived +opposite; he found that her name was Marie Cailler, that +she was very well-bred, and that her parents were anxious +to get her off their hands. But Tiraqueau was determined +not to suggest a suspicion that a man of his stamp felt a real +need of marriage, and so he dedicated to his father-in-law and +to posterity the unparalleled account of his actual motives.</p> + +<p>The hand of Providence was sufficiently revealed in the +will of the parents, or in the cash of an uncle from whom +one had expectations, and who, not having himself taken the +trouble to perpetuate his stock, was determined that the +duty should be undertaken by another.</p> + +<p>It is curious enough to see Michelangelo in this rôle of +the preachifying uncle. So far as he was concerned, he +had long held such peculiar ideas about marriage that he +would have nothing to do with it. At a time when he had +come to years of discretion he worked himself up into a fine +fury of indignation against his brother, who, to put an end +to an old and vexatious law-suit, thought of marrying the +daughter of the opposite party. Later, however, he took it +into his head that the name of Buonarotti must not be +allowed to disappear: “the world would not come to an end, +but every living being does his best to preserve his species.” +For this reason his nephew was to marry. But marry whom? +Not money, said the uncle, but a girl of good stock: “to wed +a good, well-bred, healthy woman, is to do a good day’s +work,” and to assure peace and quietness at home.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span></p> + +<p>The idea of a good day’s work did not much take the +young man’s fancy: the prospect of a dowry was more +attractive. But the dowry Michelangelo made himself +responsible for, provided they found for him a niece who +was really adaptable and likely to prove a good wife. A +match was proposed, but after dragging on for a time the +negotiations fell through, to be resumed and to fall through +again. The uncle was content to give the nephew a start, +and kept himself in the background, though he was all the +time setting the bishop of Arezzo at work in the matter. +He knew that the distinguished people at Florence were at +that time in sore pecuniary straits, a circumstance at which +he rejoiced, for it might be expected to help forward his +plans. Ere long, however, the bishop of Arezzo offered a +girl who was no beggar-maid to be wed for charity.</p> + +<p>The nephew’s hesitation being at last overcome, he +obtained an introduction to the Guicciardini, one of the +principal families of Florence, rich in the possession of two +daughters. All went so well that the good uncle was soon +exchanging excellent letters with the girl’s father. But on +the very first occasion when serious business was discussed, +the bridegroom elect discovered with dismay that the style +of the house, which indicated a respectable fortune, was all +a vain show. Old Guicciardini, excellent man, was very +careful to avoid a scandal, and there and then offered his +would-be son-in-law the daughter of one of his friends the +Ridolfi. Kept well posted in these various incidents, +Michelangelo at last became rather bewildered; but to +him it mattered little whether his nephew espoused the +Ridolfi or the Guicciardini provided it was one of the two.</p> + +<p>Finally, the nephew wedded the fair Ridolfi in April, +1553, and on May 20th he poured out all his satisfaction in +a letter to his uncle. Ravished, enchanted, and overflowing +with thankfulness, Michelangelo despatched the promised +dowry with a present of jewellery. In April of the following +year a son made his entrance into the world under the +name of Michelangelo Buonarotti; next year another was +expected, and a third the year after. Michelangelo +signified his approval by a present of 600 golden crowns +(about £2000). That was something like a marriage!</p> + +<p>But Raphael, a man of the world, wedded to his independence, +took a far less simple view of the institution. His +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>uncle, a worthy canon, never spoke to him of a dowry; a +stroke of Raphael’s brush was worth a dowry in itself. +Unhappily, the divine poet of maternal love, the exquisite +interpreter of women, weighed and digested the matter like +a man of sense. He does not cease to thank Providence, he +says, that he has refrained from wedding any of the ladies +contemplated up to the present. To-day (1514) he may +marry brilliantly if he likes; the choice is open to him: a +cousin of Cardinal St. Maria in Porticu, offered him by the +Cardinal himself—a lovely creature, of good family, with a +dower of 3000 crowns, or even more. But “he is in no +hurry”; and indeed, that is the sober truth: men are not in +a hurry; and Raphael never married.</p> + +<p>So it was quite with the feeling that he was fulfilling an +impersonal and family duty that a man ended by espousing +a woman whose attitude was as impersonal as his own. +For the same reason, to consecrate the nuptial transaction +and give it due importance in the eyes of the world, the +marriage was surrounded with an ever-increasing ostentation. +The opening scene was as imposing and brilliant as +the subsequent years of married life were to prove sombre +and colourless.</p> + +<p>At a later date we find the Calvinists up in arms against +these idle gawds, which they style scandalous worldliness, a +“villany.” Nevertheless there was evidently no idea of +glozing over the real character of the contract; but aesthetic +taste, however rudimentary, insisted apparently, if not on +idealising the contract, at least on beautifying it.</p> + +<p>Up to the solemn moment everything has been transacted +between men. The young woman appears on this great +day for the first time in her life. If she has been brought +up according to the old method, many people have scarcely +suspected her existence. Unlike her husband, who is taking +a step backwards, subsiding from youth into maturity, she +is being born into life. There she is, at the door or under +the porch of the church, standing beside her husband, +involuntarily, with no desires of her own, passive—an +offering, as it were, to the race. In this strong light of +publicity she alone seems a little ill at ease, blushing at the +exhibition, agitated at this unknown something which the +rest are so joyfully celebrating. The priest comes down +the nave, just as at funerals, receives the young couple’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>whispered “I will,” sprinkles them lightly as they stand +with a little lustral water, censes them; and then the +procession is formed, to wind its way up to the altar where +the nuptial benediction mass will be sung—a long, noisy +procession, ponderous, gothic, all stiff with velvets, monumental +stuffs and gilded draperies; thirty, forty, sometimes +three hundred persons, none but members of the family; +but in these circumstances of parade and pleasure the +family becomes extraordinarily multiplied. At the head of +the procession, buried under trappings of superb finery +representing a fortune, the little bride is scarcely visible; +she is for all the world like the clapper of a bell. And +verily under that golden robe there is after all nothing—but +a woman.</p> + +<p>They leave the church, and there is no crush; the sight +attracts only a few curious folk, a few halt and blind: in +those days there was nothing to draw the overwhelming +throng without which no modern marriage is complete. +And the procession crawls on, displaying through the town +its festal finery drawn from ancestral coffers, with a majesty +which may perhaps give the impression of an official +pageant, but nowhere indicates the crowning incident in a +love-story. All is significant of a serious, authentic, arithmetical +fact, a practical and substantial fact, a performance +got up for the honour of a family.</p> + +<p>It is precisely this which sends a thrill through all who +take part in the ceremony. Under these huge plumes and +massive carcanets there vibrates a delirious but very real +joy—the old family joy in pomp and circumstance, this, too, +drawn, as it were, out of the ancestral coffers. What man +is there who, however poverty-stricken he may be, dispenses +with magnificence at his marriage? Perhaps this is the +only day—or rather, the only period, for one is not married +in a day—when he will know what luxury is. There is +a truce to care; life shows a countenance all joy and +geniality.</p> + +<p>In the rural parts of France the company only rose from +table to sit down again, or to dance under the elms. Deep +drinking, love, quarrels, broad jests, strange customs, such, +for instance, as the <i>jus primae noctis</i>, or the drinking-match +traditional with the country lads—all this developed a +boisterous gaiety. The bridegroom alone groaned under it, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>for among the middle and lower classes it was the correct +thing to invite to one’s wedding as big a crowd as possible. +The poor man spent his time running from fiddler to +purveyor, ruining himself in presents for his friends and the +bridesmaids; he was expected to show everyone a smiling +face, to receive his guests, have a word for all, crack jokes, +be at everybody’s beck and call, think of everyone but +himself, lucky if at an odd moment he could snatch a morsel +to eat. When night came he had not even the right of +taking his rest; ordeals of every kind lay in wait for him; +and in the morning he was bound to go on laughing, to +receive more visits, and profess himself the happiest fellow +in the world. And then comes the turn of the upholsterers +and house-furnishers.</p> + +<p>“Happily,” he says, “one doesn’t get married every day.” +Divorce will never number him among its supporters.</p> + +<p>Helysenne de Crenne,⁠<a id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> the great romance-writer, sketches +a somewhat analogous picture of the doings in the great +world.</p> + +<p>On some fine sunny morning, when the birds are enlivening +all things with song, the groomsmen set out in procession +to fetch the bridegroom, and the bridesmaids to escort the +bride. She arrives in a blue robe adorned with pearls, a +diamond coronet on her head. The festivities, extraordinarily +magnificent, last the whole day, concerts and dances +forming part of them; the men hover solicitously about the +ladies; some of them get up a tilting match, ironically +inviting the bridegroom to enter the lists, and his refusal +lets loose a flood of pleasantries.</p> + +<p>At nightfall the couple are solemnly bedded. At this +moment, in France, the fun is only just beginning. The house +seems verily bewitched: not a bolt catches, not a window +but is under a spell; at the most unexpected moment an +avalanche of troublesome visitors bursts into the nuptial +chamber; the couple spring out of bed; the intruders wax +hilarious on the slightest pretext. In her precipitation the +bride has perhaps torn a little rent in her shift; a court is +at once constituted to try the case, and we may imagine the +full-flavoured jests that are bandied about, becoming +indeed a little wearisome.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span></p> + +<p>In Italy the marriage was a more solemn and complicated +affair. The law indeed was compelled to intervene with a +view to limiting the expenditure, in spite of which certain +Florentine marriages cost some £20,000, without reckoning +the presents—and the presents made a heavy item. At Venice +the witnesses, sometimes numbering forty, could not escape +for less than two hundred ducats apiece. The marriage set +the artistic world in motion. Men of letters came flocking +up with inflictions in the shape of epithalamiums, more or +less new, descanting in Grecian style on the theme “is +marriage a necessity?” or farragoes of pedantry, crammed +with allusions to the ancients, full of names like Lycurgus +and Plato, lauding the families of the young couple to the +skies, and comparing the bride and bridegroom to Philip of +Macedon, Mithridates, Dido; eclogues were rained on them, +and apologues, and declamations in Latin verse. All these +were printed, and constituted an authentic memorial of the +event. A painter of repute would be commissioned to +decorate the trunk for the brides trousseau; he would +depict on it a story from Scripture or mythology, or a genre +scene,⁠<a id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> and this formed another memorial, often charming +and always worth keeping.⁠<a id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>In the pages of history we find descriptions of so many +weddings that it would be no easy matter to make a +selection. King Alfonso of Aragon, hardly serious as a +husband but a very splendid prince, was married with +a magnificence that was long remembered. On the shores +of the sea, the glorious sea of Naples, tables were set up for +a company of thirty thousand, amid fountains running wine +and pavilions flashing with light. In the neighbouring +forest a hunt was organised for the Court. The Neapolitans +in their enthusiasm invoked the sun to witness that nothing +more beautiful could ever be seen.</p> + +<p>The wedding of Eleanor of Toledo to the Duke of Florence +in 1539 is described with abundant details in a little book +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>compiled for the occasion. There you may read a description +of the triumphal arches, the statues, the dramatic +performances, and find the complete text of the stanzas, +the madrigals and the comedy. The music was printed +separately.</p> + +<p>One may read also the details given by M. Molmenti of +the dazzling pageants at Venice: the official proclamation +in the court of the Doge’s palace, the prolonged and +sumptuous preparations for the festive entertainments, the +canals <i>en fête</i>, the façades of the palaces hung with bunting, +the gondoliers in red silk hose skimming the waves, the +armies of servants in gold-embroidered liveries, the bonfires, +the fireworks, the fifers and trumpeters, the serenades, +dramatic performances, balls, banquets with lavish displays +of gold plate and decorations flashing with all the colours of +the rainbow—it is all like a dream; even Veronese would +have despaired of painting the thousand extravagances of +this feverish life.</p> + +<p>But nowhere do we catch sight of the woman: it is the +man who predominates and plays the leading part. Suddenly +the curtain falls. The girl has become a wife, and +then what crudities! what realism! even in those circles +where delicacy is as a rule pushed to the utmost limits of +refinement.</p> + +<p>Details on so intimate a matter appear to elude the +historian. But though confidences are lacking, we may +surmise the real feelings, the profound degradation of certain +young brides, from the very circumstantial reports of the +ambassadors charged with superintending the arrangements +of royal marriages. These reports, it is true, relate to a very +special society, but it was the highest society, and precisely +that which set the fashion. No one would imagine what +singular details are to be found in these letters.</p> + +<p>Take for instance an incident that happened at the +charming Court of Urbino, perhaps the most exquisite of +all courts. On the morrow of her son’s marriage, the +Duchess-dowager had the door of the bridal chamber flung +open at dawn, and approaching her daughter-in-law, who +bashfully tried to hide under the bedclothes, said to her: +“Well now, my daughter, isn’t it a fine thing to sleep with +the men!” What a compliment from the Queen of +Platonism! No one after this will deny that marriage is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>everywhere stamped with the character of unredeemed +prose.</p> + +<p>That phrase “fine thing” in particular, which on the lips +of the duchess so often denoted the ideal, startles us here +with a singular irony.</p> + +<p>Or again, what a curious chapter of adventures was that +of Bianca Sforza, who as heiress to an immense fortune had +become by proxy the wife of the Emperor Maximilian! +Ambassador Brascha was deputed to the delicate mission of +proceeding to Innsprück to hand the princess over to her +husband, but lo! on arriving they found no one to meet +them but an archduchess. How was he to extricate the +lady from this embarrassing situation?</p> + +<p>Brascha wrote to Vienna, striving in the meantime to put +a good face on the matter, giving balls, and so forth.</p> + +<p>Maximilian was in no hurry to reply, but wrote at length, +asking to see the ambassador. Brascha set out instantly, +taking with him this charming but singular note:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="noindent">“Most serene King,</p> + +<p>My lord, I find myself under such obligations +towards your Majesty that I am quite dazed at the love you manifest +for me. I could not if I tried express the joy which floods my soul. +Being unable to testify to it sufficiently in writing, I send Messer +Erasmus Brascha to speak on my behalf: and I beseech your Majesty +to believe him, and I commend myself to you.</p> + +<p>Innsprück, December 26, 1493.</p> + +<p class="center">From Your Majesty’s handmaid,</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Blanca Maria</span>, with her own hand.”</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>It was two months before Brascha returned: he was +determined not to return alone. The Emperor was very +much occupied: he entertained the ambassador handsomely, +invited him to festivities, waxed eloquent in praise of the +Sforza family, and even mentioned Innsprück with much +urbanity; but all this did not answer the purpose of the +unlucky Brascha, whose exertions, uneasiness, and distress +of mind may be imagined. At last the imperial procession +began to move: for Brascha it was a moment of poignant +emotion. Poor Bianca had no prudish reluctance in quitting +Innsprück, where she had been so long eating her +heart out, and the union took place on March 9 at Ala. +And on the 10th Brascha wrote, with a sounding sigh of +satisfaction: “At last, thank God, we have got to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>consummation of the marriage, to the confusion of our +enemies. I spent yesterday evening with the king and +queen, and we were deep in conversation up to the time +when, the Court having broken up, their Majesties decided +to go to bed.” Brascha was resolved to make quite sure, +continuing for several nights in succession to assure himself. +At last he breathed freely! Ah! such missions as this +were no sinecures!</p> + +<p>But when the time came for reappearing in public, life +glowed with a new heat and resumed all its exquisite +charm. If by some chance a young bride of princely rank +had to cross Italy to rejoin her husband, she saw along her +whole course nothing but demonstrations of joy, smiling +faces, charming freaks of fancy; to give her pleasure these +affectionate people used their one resource—invention. At +Milan the poet Bellincione and Leonardo da Vinci welcomed +the young wife of Giovanni Galeazzo in a sort of firmament, +in which animated planets circled round her, loading her +with compliments the while. Plato in his raptest moods +never imagined anything sweeter or lovelier than certain +tokens of homage paid by the Italians to a new sovereign +lady. On returning to their domains the Duke and Duchess +of Urbino found, ranged upon a hill-slope, the ladies of the +city exquisitely dressed, and the children bearing olive-branches +in their hands. As soon as the bridal party came +in sight a screen of mounted choristers rose up before them, +accompanied by nymphs in antique garb; dogs started +off in pursuit of hares let loose for them; the hills resounded +with the strains of a cantata specially composed; the +Goddess of Mirth in person descended the slope and offered +the duchess her congratulations and good wishes.</p> + +<p>These affectionate welcomes, this show of cordiality at +least warmed the sick and sad heart of a young wife, and +indicated at the outset her path of safety. Yes, it was a +pious and salutary work to envelop in an ideal world this +timid child of nature who was being consigned to a lord +and master. It would have been barbarous to check this +joy in external things; to show the poor girl from the very +first the cutting of bread-and-butter as the be-all and end-all +of a woman’s life; to shut out from her view all that +lends brightness and colour to the world. On the contrary, +thanks to the smiles with which heaven and earth greeted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>her, a woman of intelligence and sensibility entered upon +her mission with a stout heart, in the vague anticipation +that fortune was bound to smile upon her still. Where was +the harm? There was nothing in her hopes to prevent her +from treading the stoical path of destiny and lending herself +to the material functions that devolved upon her. But her +eyes were opened, she perceived the dawn for her of a life +which her husband had long known. It was now her turn +to blossom out; she became conscious of her soul, and +understood that she too was to be entitled to her youth.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_I_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br> +<span class="smaller">THE MARRIED WOMAN</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>“Woman, in my judgment, is the stumbling-block in a man’s +career. To love a woman and yet do anything worth doing +is very difficult, and the only way to escape being reduced +by love to a life of idleness is to marry.” There is nothing +new in this reflection, put by Tolstoï into the mouth of one +of his characters.⁠<a id="FNanchor_36" href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> Such was the theory of the Middle Ages—fatal +love! The new-fledged husband was under no illusion +in the matter: he had married to cure himself of love, or +rather to have done with it for ever, to turn from woman +and towards higher things; he would never have imagined +any connection between his marital duties and his soul. +First and last, wedlock had no romance for him. Marriage +was the worn and dusty highway of materialities.</p> + +<p>Nor did the expectations of the young girl soar any +higher. Shown the simple truth by the solemn personages +to whom she owed her upbringing, sedulously guarded +against any kind of illusion, she knew all there was to know +about her new duties, and in regard to these it was thought +peculiarly necessary to arm her against errors and enthusiasms +that might bring disappointments in their train. +Marriage she had always looked upon as a natural function +with excellent precedents, and she had studied its rules, in +their rudiments at least, so as to be able to guide her steps +intelligently in a career that had necessarily its technical side.</p> + +<p>This was why Champier the physician compiled expressly +for Suzanne de Bourbon—that peerless flower among noble +maidens—a little treatise quite foreign in its nature to what +is in these days called “literature for young people.” Yet +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>it must be confessed that this treatise, frankly physiological +as it is, constituted the best imaginable safeguard against +being swept away on a flood-tide of passion and folly. +Champier lays down, as rigorously as though stating an +astronomical law, various rules for his lady’s guidance in +the most intimate relations of wedded life; prudence, +moderation, and regularity are his text, and he gives point +to his precepts by setting against them a menacing array of +human ills—gout, anæmia, dyspepsia, enfeeblement of the +sight.⁠<a id="FNanchor_37" href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> Prosing preachers of this sort, let us add, addressed +themselves chiefly to the women, and their exhortations +were felt to be necessary and moral in the extreme.</p> + +<p>Marriage being a partnership to perpetuate a stock and +beget children, the wife was naturally expected to accept +without wincing the consequences of the contract—consequences +it was as unreasonable to decry as to extol. All +around her she saw reminders of the high sacredness and +dignity of her vocation: genealogical trees spread their vast +ramifications over the walls, and, while invoking the past, +gravely, almost solemnly shaped for her that gigantic note +of interrogation in regard to the future which distinguishes +man from the brutes: the whole taking deeper significance +and impressiveness from the emblematic figures of Wisdom, +Honour, Reason, with which some artist had illustrated +them. “Marriage is a holy and religious bond; and the +pleasure a man hath of it should be a moderate, staid, and +serious pleasure, and blent somewhat with severity.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_38" href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> To +attach oneself to this pleasure, to make it the axis of one’s +world, would have seemed beneath contempt. By the favour +of Heaven, a wife could still retain her self-respect and become +a moral and religious soul.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span></p> + +<p>On these lines the straight path was marked out: in +regard to circumstances, neither revolt nor rapture; between +the two partners, neither love nor hate, but an amicable +understanding, a little stiff perhaps, and wholly practical. +To stray from this path was only to fall into difficulties and +mistakes.</p> + +<p>To what extent this wary walking really availed is a +question upon which opinions have always been pretty +evenly divided. Marriage was the time-honoured target at +which everyone had a prescriptive right to discharge the +shafts of his wit; for all that, marrying and giving in +marriage proceeded apace, and the institution went on perpetuating +itself imperturbably. It may well be believed +that, at an epoch when conversation, free discussion, and a +mania for philosophising were in vogue, no one lost an +opportunity of airing his views on the surprises and the +advantages of wedlock; and indeed it is at this time that +we see the first indication that the shafts of irony were +taking effect, and that the target, after all, was showing +signs of wear.</p> + +<p>Here, too, there emerges more clearly into view a truth +which the reader will already have seen faintly suggesting +itself in the careful and impartial sketch we have endeavoured +to draw of the beginning of life for women: the +truth, namely, that the ascendency of man developed in him +strange principles of egotism. It might be supposed that +married women, handed over, as we have shown, like so +many sheep, would pitifully cry out against their sacrifice, +while the husbands would be abundantly satisfied with the +results of a “deal” (if the word may be allowed) effected at +so little cost to themselves. But such was not the case: +humanity is so constituted that, sunk in abject slavery, with +no glimpse of anything beyond, it will hug its chains; while +the more freedom it enjoys, the keener grows its appetite +for freedom. So long as we are sure of a to-morrow, and +believe that somehow or other our lot may yet improve, the +present does not count: but, for us to love the present, the +future must stretch out before us into the gloom of the unknown, +and this, no doubt, is why Providence imposes on +us the great enigma of death. So it was with marriage. +While the women were content, the husbands railed at it. +Monogamy irritated them. Despite all possible precautions +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>monogamy almost inevitably endows the wife with a certain +influence. Polygamy alone, in virtue of the classic principle +<i>divide et impera</i>, can assure to a husband an undisputed +authority, and that is why, at bottom, to many men who +dared not avow it, polygamy appeared the most natural of +luxuries. There are savants, too, who will prove to you +that in many countries it was easy to slacken the marriage +bond, turn it, even, to profitable account; that it was regularly +let on lease for a month or a year. The Babylonians +would rather have lent a wife than an ass.</p> + +<p>With women, on the other hand, we remark a resignation +springing largely from the code of perfect realism by +which their marriage was regulated.</p> + +<p>They find themselves face to face with a fact; what is +done cannot be undone, nor can it be done over again. The +transaction is completed: all that remains is to pay the +price. Once they can think themselves quit of that obligation, +the problem of liberty will present itself to them too, +though not, of course, under the forbidding aspects of those +ideas of divorce, remarriage, polygamy, that are floating in +the air. In the eyes of the women marriage kept its +character as a sacrament: the view that it was a contract +freely entered into between their husbands and themselves +appeared hard to accept, for several reasons. In the first +place, little faith was put in that system of social contracts +of which we are so enamoured to-day. Life was incomprehensible +without a large admixture of fatalism. We are +not, we cannot be, parties to a contract when we come into +the world; but certain laws have already had their way +with us, and to them we continue subject. In marriage, +one of those laws, there is nothing irrational in the accessory +notion of a contract, and yet, even in marriage, with every +imaginable liberty of choice, the real substance of a contract +is not found. Is not this contract specially complicated +with latent circumstances of time, place, motive, which act +unequally upon the two parties? In its very nature it +involves so much that is unknown, so much that is fortuitous, +admits of so many causes of error and instability, +that it barely comes into the category of reasonable presumptions, +much less of contracts.</p> + +<p>Erasmus is astonished that women are still to be found +willing to submit to all the trials of maternity; and indeed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>it would perhaps have been difficult to find such women, if, +before venturing out upon so perilous a sea, they had not +been able to insure themselves against the selfishness of men +by a high conception of duty, stronger and, above all, more +durable than the idea of a contract. They needed no persuasion +to beware of self-delusion, to contemplate marriage +under its most leaden hues; but yet they wished to retain +for it its character as a refuge, rude but trustworthy. They +derided the chimerical theories of Plato on free union; in +short, all things considered, not one of them regretted having +been married in the time-honoured way, since no other means +had yet been discovered of assuring an honourable motherhood. +Unions of policy and position, they very well knew, +do not bring about a fusion of hearts; too often they become +“suburbs of hell.” But what is to replace them? Marriages +of passion and love? As a matter of fact, says a caustic +critic, since as mere men we are no longer of any importance, +or at any rate are all of equal value in the eyes of +women, the question is becoming much simpler: a princess +will be able to marry after her own heart, to wed a prince, +or a peasant, as there is not a pin to choose between them. +Where is the advantage? retorts a sage: love matches turn +out as ill as the others. The only philosophy of marriage +which women must cling to is that in this matter there is +no philosophy. It is useless to attempt to sublimate it; +what they have to do is to make the best they can of it, +and satisfy themselves with a sort of virtuous affection, +in accordance with the unfathomable designs of Providence. +“Marriage,” says Margaret of France,⁠<a id="FNanchor_39" href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> “should not admit of +any objective either of pleasure or of self-interest: all the +same, it is not a perfect state; let us be satisfied with wisely +accepting it for what it is, a make-shift, but reputable.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_40" href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a></p> + +<p>Thus the conclusion to which women tend to arrive in +their cogitations on married life—and who have a better +right to cogitate?—is that though they may submit to a +husband, they no longer think themselves bound to adapt +themselves to him, to identify themselves with him at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>every moment and in every caprice, or to worship this +fellow-mortal with the same superstitious veneration as of +yore. They see him as he is, a man, with certain qualities, +human, in the nature of things, and certain defects, naturally +far from divine: a physical creditor, whose claim they do not +contest, but are well able to measure.</p> + +<p>At the risk of appearing rash in a matter wherein mathematical +proofs are so difficult to produce, we think we are +justified in asserting that the majority of married women +(we are speaking of women of position) desired to render +their physical subjection as light as possible, regarding this +obligation almost as the seamy side of life, an error of Providence. +And they had so much the better of the position +that, as rumours of the little domestic dramas always got +abroad sooner or later, the ladies were almost certain to +have the laughers on their side, especially in France. The +French refused all rights to the married woman, but they +always took her part, even when she was in the wrong, +precisely because, as they looked at marriage, the husband +represented the government and the wife the opposition. +Domestic squabbles fed the stage, furnishing certain types +which were very popular—to wit, the man who married +too young, or the man who married too old, the latter a +special favourite since the time when good King Louis XII., +sacrificing himself to a dynastic ambition, espoused the lady +he called his “torment.” The husband’s part, then, is in +truth difficult enough to play. If he is intellectual, platonic, +there is no pity for him, people are all so busy finding +excuses for his wife. In regard, also, to a husband who +puffs and blows and is irritably jealous, the “new right” +grants to the wife the fullest absolution. Everyone knows +that a silk dress is not enough for happiness!—and because +a husband is pleased to be deaf or blind, it is not to be expected +that the whole world is to be blind and deaf too.</p> + +<p>On her side, a wife had the right to stand on her dignity +and play the prude. In general, the average worthy man, a +little vulgar perhaps, but a good father and an excellent man +of business, is not a great success in his domestic relations, +and in insisting on what he regards as his wife’s mission, the +bearing of children, he wofully deceives himself. My lady’s +mission is to be the lady of the house: as for him, let him go +to his office and “think himself too much honoured that God +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>has blessed him with such a wife.” If it is a question of receiving +fine fashionable friends, people from Court, madam +has incomparable graces; but any tender approaches on the +good man’s part are sure to bring on a fit of the megrims.</p> + +<p>There were a multitude of good, excellent marriages +which were only half marriages. Appearances were saved +in the eyes of the world, and even in the eyes of the married +couple themselves; they both had the good taste to drift +along without undue strain, gathering merely the natural +fruits of their association. Both enjoyed their liberty: the +wife was unmolested and her own mistress; the husband +travelled, sailed the seas, or went on embassies, striking up +flirtations in his progress from court to court, and doing his +household honour by his successes. Castiglione,⁠<a id="FNanchor_41" href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> a perfect +type of the man of the world, saw his wife at intervals, and +was always on the best of terms with her; evidently it never +occurred to him to take her about with him, but he always +showed her in the most delicate manner how much he +valued her. At Rome he amused himself by putting into +verse a letter he was addressing to her. It was at Rome, +too, in August 1520, that he learnt of her death in giving +birth to a daughter; just before she died the tender-hearted +woman mustered strength to smile for the last time, and to +dictate one more charming little letter.⁠<a id="FNanchor_42" href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span></p> + +<p>Montaigne has a good deal of pity for the women who +were subjected to these capricious humours: “They are +verily in worse condition than maids and widows. We +want them at the same time hot and cold.” He does not +remark that, for some reason or other—disgust of too pronounced +a materialism, longing for peace and quietness, +coquetry, scorn of sensuality, or what not—the majority of +women only accepted wifehood for the sake of motherhood, +and would be more than satisfied if they could be virgin-mothers; +some considered themselves almost as idols sacred +from human touch. Pope Alexander VI., for all his humour +and his nimble wit, was very far from understanding all +these refinements, and this singular loathing of the flesh. +In 1502 he expressed himself pithily and forcibly, but +vainly, about the amusing opposition of the Duchess of +Urbino, who, when she was offered urgent and incontestable +reasons for the annulment of her marriage,⁠<a id="FNanchor_43" href="#Footnote_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> absolutely +refused to exchange her husband for a French husband of +unimpaired vigour, whilst the duke, the cause of this +contention, accepted a cardinal’s hat. Laugh as Alexander +might, with all his keen sense of humour, at what he called +“fraternal magnanimity,” this simple incident at Urbino +contained the germ of an entirely new code. Other ladies +carried the sentiment of ‘fraternity’ to preposterous lengths. +Paul Jove⁠<a id="FNanchor_44" href="#Footnote_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> himself, who belonged body and soul to the +philosophic world, gives vent to his feelings when he records +the remarkable feat of Julia Gonzaga, Countess of Fondi, +who was left a widow after many years of marriage without +having ever yielded on the essential point. Marriage so +understood becomes a mere matter of policy or business.</p> + +<p>We have no wish to dilate on this delicate problem of +bodily emancipation; but it so constantly comes before us, +and it is especially of such vast importance in regard to the +further development of the ideas current in society, that it +is hardly possible to avoid doing so. The preachers, who at +one time had ardently urged the severing of family ties as +inexorably demanded by religion, are now seen proclaiming +from their pulpits, with the same appeal to religion, a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>totally different doctrine, and inculcating mortification of +the flesh of quite a novel kind. We know the story of an +excellent pharmacist of Pau “who never had anything to do +with his wife except in Holy Week,⁠<a id="FNanchor_45" href="#Footnote_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> by way of penance.” +Even in remote country places it became the vogue to +occupy separate rooms. There was no attempt at disguising +the fact, and a good deal of joking on this casuistical refinement +went on in polite circles. It was one of the points on +which Henri d’Albret was not backward in rallying his wife +Margaret. She flung back the half-laughing, half-angry +retort: “Henri, perhaps the lady whom you think so much +to be pitied might find some solace if she pleased. But let +us dismiss the pastimes in which only two can share, and +speak of what should be common to all.” Then Henri, +taking as was proper a higher tone above these trivialities, +addresses humanity at large: “Since my wife has caught so +well the drift of my remark, and takes no pleasure in a +pastime for the individual.... I give in.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_46" href="#Footnote_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a></p> + +<p>We have often read the eulogies on Margaret of France, +sister of Francis I., and the compliments paid to her +conjugal virtue. There is no reason to gainsay them, but +it is well to note of what stuff her virtue was made. +Henri II. could write: “Without me, she would never have +returned with her husband.” And, in truth, she made no +secret of it.</p> + +<p>One day when someone was relating a scandalous freak +on the part of a faithless husband, Henri d’Albret said to +her with affected tenderness: “I assure you that I shall +never undertake so great or so difficult an enterprise. I +shall not have spent my day badly if I succeed in making +you happy.” And Margaret made the somewhat dry and +aesthetic reply: “If mutual love does not satisfy the heart, +all else will fail to do so.” Towards the end of a certain +December the Princess happened to be a little out of sorts; +whereupon she wrote boldly to her brother: “I got this on +St. Firmin’s day (September 25), as likely as not.” This +recalls a certain bet that M. de la Rochepot made with +Queen Eleanor, wife of Francis I. La Rochepot maintained +that the queen was drawing the long bow—that she was +not really so free with her favours as she gave people to +understand. However, he forbore like a gallant gentleman +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>to insist, and surrendered to the contrary testimony of men +who had the best reasons for knowing.</p> + +<p>But now, in the midst of this cold, nicely balanced existence, +or these serious misunderstandings even, a heavy +blow falls suddenly in the shape of illness: the husband is +struck down. Instantly a change comes over everything. +Womanly kindness gushes forth as from a natural spring. +The wife’s concern is still, as is always the case in matrimonial +questions, only with the bodily realm, but the soul +breaks through. For the first time the wife asserts herself, +less perhaps out of affection for a man from whom only +yesterday she held aloof, than in obedience to a natural +instinct for combatting material things, pain and disease. +Differences of temperament, character, position, philosophical +views, all drop out of sight: sensibility alone shines forth +triumphant. The house is in commotion, messengers scour +the country in search of distant physicians, the chaplain +sets off to arrange for masses and votive candles. See, at +the bedside of Pierre de Bourbon, the great Anne of France, +once the haughty regent of the kingdom, now fixing her +eyes steadfastly on the sick man, taking no rest day or +night, declining aid from anyone, measuring out potions and +remedies with her own hand, administering the doses herself, +warming the bed, doing for the patient little offices of +infinite delicacy without a touch of constraint; an eye-witness +goes so far as to say that she “made it her delight.” +The wedded wife is not a love-sick girl, a scribbler of verses; +she has no need of imagination, of airs and graces, of +enthusiasm: here she is seen in all her grave nobility. She +is a sister of mercy. The woman who could not pardon a +cross-grained husband resigns herself without hesitation to +a future of poultices, cooling draughts, and rheumatism. +Some there are who endure this lot for long years without +flagging, some who encounter it at the very outset of their +married life. It is their natural vocation.</p> + +<p>The attraction exercised on women by suffering is one of +the most singular phenomena in the realm of psychology. +It is as evident as the attraction of the magnet for iron. +Women are born nurses and doctors, with a passion for +tending the sick, for dedicating themselves with all their +wealth of tenderness, for devoting their delicate fingers to +the binding up of wounds. Between this passion and the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>passion of love there is an intimate relationship; in both +is involved the bestowing of life on man; but in this case +the problem is very simple, presenting none of the moral +complications of love. Matter-of-fact and practical women +are not the least strongly convinced of the vocation of their +sex for medicine.</p> + +<p>So general was the impression in regard to this that a +certain pious author advised that the doors of the medical +school should be thrown open freely to women, that they +should be taught all that men were taught, indeed a little +more (Greek and Arabic), and that they should then be sent +off to the Holy Land to aid in the conversion of the infidels.</p> + +<p>But why not keep in France women so well-instructed? +The reader no doubt has an inkling of the reason: the +physicians are to be reckoned with, jealous guardians of +their monopoly, already exasperated against the surgeons, +apothecaries, and women, “nonentities,” who are meddling +with the care of the children. They are masculine, these +physicians, men to their finger-tips: to kill, or at any rate +to physic one’s fellows, one must needs wear breeches. +“The woman who meddles with our trade is a silly +creature.”</p> + +<p>Women did meddle with it, nevertheless, out of devotion, +and above all out of self-respect. And on this matter we +must take note of ideas absolutely the reverse of those +which prevail to-day.</p> + +<p>To women it would have appeared the deepest humiliation +and the basest servitude to depend on men for the thousand +intimate and special attentions which they so often found +necessary in regard to their health. Undoubtedly they +held that modesty is to some extent a relative term, and +that “intentions” count for something in it. So they +willingly permitted all sorts of friendly, spontaneous, personal +familiarities, so long as they were in good taste; but +even when sick and suffering they were determined to +remain women; and the idea of surrendering their womanhood, +of passing like cattle under the hands and eyes of a +horse-doctor on the mere pretext that the modesty of a girl +or a woman is a remnant of savagery, and that all stand-offishness +in this respect appears almost an insult towards a +practitioner, did not strike them as a matter of course; they +repudiated it absolutely; and, moreover, the Roman, Greek, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>and Arabic ideas, then so fashionable, strengthened their +resistance.</p> + +<p>So far from believing that a man had more rights because +he was paid, or because his senses had become deadened by +constant wear and tear, they regarded both these circumstances +as adding to their humiliation and confusion. For +their special maladies they had recourse to women only, +and the very fact that in such cases physical pain is complicated +with moral pain and weariness of soul, led women +of the world, great ladies, to take up a work of charity of +real delicacy and refinement, to devote themselves to a +thorough study of this class of maladies, so that they might +spare their sisters the unpleasantness of mercenary attentions.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be more gracious or more natural.</p> + +<p>Science at this period was science, and a man was a man. +He was as much entitled to study medicine, and to practise +it, even without a diploma, as to study any other branch of +knowledge—history, mathematics, or chemistry. To have +dragged out a few years on the benches of a school is +assuredly not a bad means of learning, but it is not the only +one, and it ought not to be regarded as warranting for the +rest of a man’s life a positive presumption of his universal +knowledge and impeccability. In medicine, as in other +things, so-called amateurs⁠<a id="FNanchor_47" href="#Footnote_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> have been known occasionally +to bear the palm over professionals. Now, what science can +women more naturally cultivate, what answers better to +their requirements in regard to refinement and equality, +what more legitimately emancipates them? The practice +of medicine was their first conquest, the “great charter” of +their freedom. A number of women, particularly women +of distinction who had charitable hearts and leisure for +study, in a certain sense practised medicine. A celebrated +savant, while gently expressing his regret, dedicated to +Diana of Poitiers,⁠<a id="FNanchor_48" href="#Footnote_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> as to a colleague, with a thousand professions +of scientific esteem, a treatise on the diseases of +women.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span></p> + +<p>Except that they watched for the propitious moment for +regaining the upper hand, the physicians gave in; they left +the patient in the hands of a woman, contenting themselves +with writing a prescription on the particulars reported to +them, thus securing at least formal recognition—and their +fees. Even from professorial chairs medicine was +extolled as a lovely and philosophic thing; and in an +official ceremony at Paris a “prince of science” (to adopt +a modern term) declared to a large audience that Nature +has a certain feminine complexion, that she has been +specially bountiful to women and endowed them more +highly than men.</p> + +<p>It should be remarked that if the physicians had the +good sense not to quarrel with the formidable power of +women, but to come to terms, that result was probably +due to the fact that they were themselves in the throes +of a crisis which could not but inspire them with great prudence. +People were up in arms against them; they were +no longer content with rehashing stale jokes;⁠<a id="FNanchor_49" href="#Footnote_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> the sick +expected to be cured. Further, complete discord reigned +in the scientific world; men vied with each other in flinging +about opprobrious epithets like “fool,” “mountebank,” and +“specialist.” Paris remained faithful to the traditional and +philosophic spirit, while Paracelsus burnt the works of Galen +and Avicenna. Many men dismissed medicine as a purely +empirical science with no theory behind it, and capable of +being mastered in six months. The activity in scientific +circles only added to the intellectual confusion. Opinion +went so far as to hold doctors responsible for their actions, +and to maintain that their repute should be strictly proportionate +to their merits.⁠<a id="FNanchor_50" href="#Footnote_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> There were not wanting sceptics, +even among women. Margaret of France, in one of her +comedies, brings on the scene a sick man who, after +being tossed about like a shuttlecock between his doctor +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>and his wife, is ultimately cured through the prayers of +the cook.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, a real bond of friendship and brotherhood +was in most cases established between the lady and this +stranger who called himself a doctor. It was a sort of +domestic and personal intimacy. Women, as we all know, +are greatly in need of a directing authority; they love also +to be made much of, as certain doctors understood wonderfully +well; like that doctor who never met a woman without +attempting to worm out of her some confidences as to her +health, and when someone expressed his astonishment, +“Aha!” said he, waggling his head, “even well-corked +bottles sometimes have cracks.” In reality, he fancied that +his solicitude would be highly appreciated.</p> + +<p>The doctor who won a lady’s esteem became her friend. +He would write to her asking how she was, and addressing +her as “my sweet princess”; if he learnt of her illness, +he flew to her; if she died, he mourned her. His sentiments +sometimes outran his interests; a noble lady died, +and among her effects were found formidable doctor’s bills +she had forgotten to settle. If in special cases there were +limits to the confidence patients placed in their doctor’s +skill, there remained still a vast enough field for private +friendship, which lent itself only too well to scandal.</p> + +<p>Official recommendations to hold medicine in respect “on +account of its necessity” came from the pulpit. Priests +and doctors gave each other mutual support and divided +the empire between them.⁠<a id="FNanchor_51" href="#Footnote_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> Scholars unearthed the old +story of a medical student who bore himself like an angel +while attending an Aspasia. But in spite of these little +testimonials, ill-natured folk like Ronsard, Brantôme and +others continued with more or less virtuous indignation +to make doctors their butt. Dolce⁠<a id="FNanchor_52" href="#Footnote_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> amuses himself by +relating the misadventure of a young husband, who, having +confided to his physician his intense longing to become a +father, was ere long lodging with the courts a complaint +that he had too speedily obtained his wish. The public +was always ready to laugh at stories of this kind. Medical +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>science was often considered as an instrument of corruption. +Champier, who practised at Lyons, in good set terms +accuses his fellow-physicians of becoming veritable agents +of demoralisation, and of perverting their patients’ moral +sense.</p> + +<p>So far as medicine was concerned, women showed a +becoming modesty in their ambition. Many medical women +were women of the old school, who acknowledged the +superiority of men. They confined themselves to a well-defined +field of study. As soon as she marries, a woman +will join battle with sickness; by and by she will have +children to take care of, then it will be her duty to preserve +her beauty and charms. Here is a medical field well +marked out for her. On other points she remains subordinate +to men, leaving to them in particular all lofty speculations.</p> + +<p>An eminent, if not the foremost place in the medicine of +the schools was then held by astrology, to which the +physicians, wise in their generation, owed a great part of +their prestige.⁠<a id="FNanchor_53" href="#Footnote_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> Assuredly it was not hard to believe, with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>Plato and the Christian church, that the universe does not +end with man, and that above us there is a hierarchy +of supernatural beings, imperceptible to our senses, on +whom we depend, and whose wings sometimes seem to +brush us as they pass: those beings whom Ronsard has +invoked, in verses of so much beauty, as witnesses of his +love:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ailés démons, qui tenez de la terre</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et du haut ciel justement le milieu,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Postes divins, divins postes de Dieu.⁠<a id="FNanchor_54" href="#Footnote_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Many physicians held that the noblest part of their art +consisted in penetrating if possible the mystery of the +influence of these supernatural forces.</p> + +<p>Further, how could they but discover, even in the natural +order of material things, a universal harmony, intimate +relations between the health of women and the ocean tides +and the revolutions of the heavens, a thousand bonds—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">D’innombrables liens, frêles et douloureux,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui vont dans l’univers entier de l’âme aux choses.⁠<a id="FNanchor_55" href="#Footnote_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">as M. Sully-Prudhomme sings? People who had lost all +belief in the saints had in those days the strongest faith in +heaven and the stars. They believed readily enough that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>though the spirit, coming from God, is free, the vile physical +body depends wholly on the stars—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Aux corps vous donnez vostre loy,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Comme un potier à son argile.⁠<a id="FNanchor_56" href="#Footnote_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">These celestial torches govern the universe. In vain man +struggles, suffers, battles, strains all his powers; he is in the +grip of a mysterious destiny.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2">Ainsi vous plaist, estoilles!...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">En vain l’homme de sa prière</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Vous tourmente soir et matin;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Il est traîné par son destin,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Comme est un flot de la rivière.⁠<a id="FNanchor_57" href="#Footnote_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>Ronsard.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Women, particularly sensitive to the mystery of things, +could not close their ears against such lofty scientific +preoccupations. Renée of France implores the aid of the +stars. Margaret exclaims, “their effects are felt in human +bodies.” Yet the surrender was not complete, as one might +be disposed to expect: it is a very remarkable fact that in +spite of their natural impressibility and their genius for +imaginative flights, they did not readily ascribe to medicine +so supernal a glory. To them medicine was a science of +the earth earthy, a practical and experimental science. The +only metaphysical principle they associated with it came +from without; and that was, charity.</p> + +<p>On the other hand they were wonderfully credulous.⁠<a id="FNanchor_58" href="#Footnote_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> +One of their passions was to collect strange exotic recipes of +any and every kind. Catherine Sforza, statesman as she +was, spent hours in a private laboratory, receiving a Jewess +who had brought her a universal salve, or verifying formulae +for a celestial water, a cerebrine made of the marrow of an +ass, a magnet intended to compose family squabbles, and a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>thousand other prescriptions of like virtue. One of her +ambassadors sends her a drug chiefly compounded of eggs +and saffron, of which he sings the virtues with a frenzy of +enthusiasm: “I wish to be present when you test it.... +I would not change places with the King of France, so happy +am I in contemplating so admirable a thing; and besides, +your Excellency would not find another man like me: for +courage is required, not to be afraid of spirits; faith, to believe; +secrecy, to betray nothing; and, finally, you need the +instruments that I have; the Universities of Bologna, +Ferrara, Paris, and Rome possess nothing like them.” At +the very moment of going to war Catherine does not forget +to write an order for the jars she needs for her experiments. +Nevertheless, in all these strings of formulae, often so +puerile and collected for collecting’s sake, we detect more +than a collector’s mania: we cannot but see in them the +thirst for the unknown—an attempt to pierce the impenetrable +beyond. This effort, it may be admitted, was not +very scientific. But was that of the most highly accredited +physician any more so? Women accepted the doctrine that +the sun governed the heart and nerves, Jupiter the liver, and +Venus the rest of the organism; but they were superior to +it in so far as they drew no conclusion from it, making +hygiene their chief aim, and limiting their ambition to the +preservation of health and youthfulness.</p> + +<p>In this respect they were successful; women have rarely +been known to retain their beauty in so much freshness up +to an advanced age as these women of the first years of the +sixteenth century. Their activity was unceasing, they +drank deep of life, but never to excess: therein lay their +great secret—a secret that was simplicity itself, and of +inestimable value, as the next generation was to find when, +by dint of defying nature, by crushing themselves under +busks and baubles, exposing the bosom, turning night into +day, or carrying everything to extremes, the world became +peopled with pale-faced, forbidding, white-lipped women. +Ere long a cruel procession of maladies appeared—nervous +attacks, fits of hysteria, stabbing pains at the heart, agonising +births of puny creatures—signalising the return of neurasthenia, +which had seemed buried, but which was to +revive in triumph, and for which no other remedies were to +be found than a return to the life of nature, fresh air, repose, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>renunciation of the habits of the fashionable world, uninterrupted +vegetation.</p> + +<p>In brief, the woman whom marriage has started upon a +physiological career is bent on defending her body and remaining +her own mistress, in face of her husband, her physician—the +whole world.</p> + +<p>She has her work cut out for her. Further, she is beset +under various forms by an irruption of materialities, which +would speedily overwhelm her if she did not know how to +cope with them. She has still to govern the household, to +regulate day by day its eating, drinking, sleeping—the +whole domestic organisation.</p> + +<p>Husbands are all alike; it is in great measure to secure a +house which “goes like clockwork,” that they marry. They +consider it the most natural thing in the world for a woman +to consecrate herself to rounding off their life, to yoke +herself in unmurmuring submission to thankless tasks, like +the domestic drudge described by Solomon, necessary to the +world as food or light: “She seeketh wool and flax, and +worketh willingly with her hands.... She riseth also +while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household and +a portion to her maidens.... She girdeth her loins with +strength.... Strength and honour are her clothing.... +Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman that +feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”</p> + +<p>The preachers take pains to show that she shall indeed be +praised, that her ideal is glorious though her lot will be +obscure, and that there is a happiness in housewifely +duty—in feeling that the whole household moves by her +impulse alone. “The wise woman has exalted her house”; +on her wisdom and rectitude has depended the greatness or +the decay of a family. To pull down is the work of fools. +The wise build up, and is not to build up a splendid mission, +say the preachers with growing ardour—to build up happiness +for those one loves, and one’s own happiness in this +world and the world to come? “Favour is deceitful and +beauty is vain!” Look at this massive woman, probably +happy in her own way, a marvel of plumpness, with firm-set +lips and a look of energy and masterfulness, unpoetic but +very wholesome—this matron of Lotto, blind to all indications +that ironical moonbeams are grimacing behind her; +or this superb large-limbed creature, burdened with a cluster +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>of children, whom Holbein presents to us as his wife. These +good ladies, we may be sure, rise at six and retire at ten, and +from dawn till dark their only aim in life is to take the air, +to go to church, to cook and dust and darn. No Utopia +worries them, no philosophic idea ruffles the calm monotony +of their lot.</p> + +<p>The majority of French women were sprung from this +type in its most pronounced form, the rural form, and it was +practically impossible for them to alter. In France men of +rank almost all belonged to the class of landed proprietors, +and the affairs of these proprietors had been for several +years passing through a crisis. Even if their income were +below the moderate figure of three or four thousand livres,⁠<a id="FNanchor_59" href="#Footnote_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a> +they had to submit to being eaten out of house and home by +a number of traditional functionaries, while on the other +hand the growing needs of luxury and the depreciation of +money seriously embarrassed them. More than one noble, +believing he saw a mine of gold opening in Italy, had joyously +buckled on his sword again, only to return impoverished, +if not in debt, worn out, and soured in temper.</p> + +<p>The country squire bore his straitened circumstances with +rather an ill grace. Rubbing shoulders with the peasants +(and the humblest peasant was a lord in his own eyes) and +with the village authorities; a determined foe to Jews, +financiers, and monopolists; a democrat, persuaded that all +men are equal, or nearly so; resigned moreover to figure as +head of his village, since a head it was bound to have, but +troubling himself very little about the other social magnates; +he shut himself up in his estates like his father and grandfather +before him, among the sons and grandsons of the +people by whom those respectable personages had been surrounded. +He was an excellent man, of bluff manners and +healthy appetite, determined to keep his eldest son waiting +for his inheritance as long as possible, and to disperse the +rest of his family, sending the boys into the Church or the +army, and marrying the girls to his neighbours. He had a +grudge against Louis XII. for giving the landed interest +nothing but fair words: Francis I., who multiplied court +appointments and paid handsome salaries, appeared to him +the right sort of king for agriculturists.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span></p> + +<p>That was the kind of man with whom and for whom the +majority of the women of French society lived. At bottom, +this husband is an idealist; he despises money, and +plumes himself on the fact with a certain smug satisfaction; +but in his home life he frequently acts as an absolute +realist, a cold-blooded calculator. He will readily and +with the utmost chivalrousness admit that women in +general are superior beings, worthy of much liberty; but he +insists on his particular woman remaining on a lower plane +and occupying herself with practical matters. He relinquishes +to her the honour of keeping the accounts, he even +authorises her to negotiate a bargain, or to secure payment +of a due, while he himself hunts, settles disputes among his +peasants, potters about, or does nothing. Montaigne is +eager to avow that he has no concern with business; in his +view it is ridiculous and unjust “that the idleness of our +wives should be fostered with our sweat and maintained by +our toil.” He admits in the most liberal manner the right +of women to work, and does so from pure goodness of heart, +since women delight in managing, and a woman who works +wants no pity! While Madame de Montaigne is keeping +his accounts, planting, reaping, looking after the masons, her +intellectual husband is good-naturedly gossiping about mankind +at large, or tranquilly contemplating the backs of his +books, or dawdling through Italy, on the principle that +travel is the salt of wedlock, poking his nose into everything +on the way, halting at the watering-places, visiting interesting +young ladies; all the time reverencing his wife, oh, so +deeply! He feels that when he returns and finds her among +the haymakers, his love will take a new lease of life: +“These interruptions fill me with a new kind of affection +towards mine own people, and make my house so much +pleasanter a place.... I am not ignorant that true amity +hath arms long enough to embrace, to clasp and hold from +one corner of the world unto another.... The Stoics say +that there is so great an affinity and mutual relation between +wise men that he who dineth in France feedeth his companion +in Egypt.... If I be at Rome ... I hold, I survey +and govern my house ... I even see my walls, my trees +and my rents to grow.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_60" href="#Footnote_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a></p> + +<p>In those days the direction of a household was an admirable +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>apprenticeship to philosophy, since it was a point of +honour to maintain a great number of idle people. Thus +Madame de la Trémoille had to rule, feed, and place forty +men, four of whom were attached to her personal service +(chaplain, tailor, groom, and steward), and only three women, +of whom one was a nurse.</p> + +<p>She had to maintain this retinue and give it a stamp of +high respectability and discipline, which was all the more +difficult because the servants were people of some consequence, +there for life, holding places that had been hereditary +for several generations; in other words, the house belonged +to them, in virtue of some indefinable family collectivism.</p> + +<p>Further, people had an ingrained propensity to regard +generosity as the special mark of an aristocrat; and as this +virtue was expected to grow in proportion to rank, it +invariably had the drawback of straitening their means. +Out of an enormous total expenditure, Madame de la Trémoille +had at her disposal only two hundred livres for her +personal use. A prince was often worse off than those who +lived on his bounty.</p> + +<p>Further, this “generosity” did not manifest itself only in +money: it declared itself in affectionate and gracious actions, +which after all involved expense. Thus at Blois no domestic +event took place in the household without the cognizance of +the Duchess of Orleans; she interested herself in the +weddings and gave each couple a present: her children acted +as sponsors; she even looked after her servants’ love-children; +she watched over the aged; any of her servants +or even of their friends who were in trouble were sure of +her sympathy; she interceded with the king to obtain +pardon for a criminal or the remission of a tax: “You will +do both great charity and alms,” she wrote to him, “and to +me a singular pleasure.” Here and there in her modest +accounts there is a little space vacant, importing a surrender +of feudal dues to distressed tenants, a remission of rent, a +cancelling of debt.</p> + +<p>In the account-books of the leading French families there +always occurs a very suggestive chapter, under the heading +of alms. In vain does the charitable spirit in its shrinking +from ostentation draw a veil over the few lines in which the +facts are intentionally summarised. You breathe in passing +an aroma of sweetness, just as in going by a dead wall you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>divine, from whiffs of their scent, the roses and violets on +the other side. It was the women’s duty to dispense the +alms, and in so doing they obtained, across the arid waste +of material preoccupations, grand outlooks towards the +ideal. A lady of that period was good from pure goodness +of heart; she could let her charity shed its radiance spontaneously, +without effort. She lived in the very heart of +wretchedness: the filthy hovel, instead of shrinking from +her sight and entrenching itself in hateful and inaccessible +suburbs, hung upon the walls of the castle, like a parasitic +plant. What woman could shut her ears against the cries +of wretchedness so near? And charity also was recognised +by the State. Louis XII. devoted to it a total of six +thousand livres, which he increased in 1509 by one thousand +six hundred and forty-two livres; and to ensure a +more conscientious distribution he even appointed, in +addition to his confessor and almoner, a special functionary, +Jacques Acarie, who received the title of “treasurer of the +offerings, alms, and devotions.”</p> + +<p>This fondness for almsgiving the king inherited from his +mother, Mary of Cleves, who was generosity itself. She +did not confine herself to the charitable doles that were +traditional, or almost obligatory, such as the offerings at +Easter or All-Hallows: the present of a robe to the “King +of the château” on Twelfth Night; New-Year’s presents to +a whole village of improvised musicians who came deafening +her with drums, clarions, carols, and cries of “<i>Au guy l’an +neuf!</i>”⁠<a id="FNanchor_61" href="#Footnote_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> She went farther afield, to seek out the poor, and +in secret she spent her pin-money in succouring them. +But these private resources were far from inexhaustible. +Like many women, she had a strong predilection for +one special work of charity—the care of women in child-bed. +She organised for them a regular supply of food, +besides giving occasional assistance in money or in kind.</p> + +<p>She took a personal interest also in the Hospital, and +worked with her own hands in a Dorcas society which she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>founded, and which distributed every year in the little town +of Blois five hundred shirts and five hundred dresses.</p> + +<p>In addition to all this there was a long list of “good +works” in a more special sense: little dowries of fifty or +sixty sous bestowed on poor girls, who sometimes bore +notable names, like “Jeanne the Fair,” “Lawrence and +Jeanne de Saint-Prest”; pensions to needy students; alms +to convents; subscriptions to churches. The family of Joan +of Arc had a special right to the bounty of the faithful: +“Perrette de Lys” used to receive fifty sous “to bring up +her own children.”</p> + +<p>Truly charity flourished in France, becoming almost a +new chivalry. Certain men of the world became self-constituted +alms-collectors for a convent or nunnery, under +the name of its “spiritual friends.”</p> + +<p>It cannot be said that France owed anything in this +regard to the example of Italy. The Italians enjoyed large +incomes, much larger than the average Frenchman of +ancient and sometimes crippled fortune; but their expenses +were heavier; they had to give fêtes and buy pictures and +villas. Without wishing to exaggerate the significance of +an anecdote, it is curious enough to compare with the excellent +practices of the French Court a characteristic action +on the part of Julius II. In the course of the expedition +against Bologna, the Pope was told that one of the old +court servants had just lost his only mule. “What did it +die of?” was the Pope’s curt response. “Of the bad water +of Perugia.” “Send the stud-master to me.” Everyone +believed that he was sent for to replace the defunct mule, +but Julius simply said: “Take care they drink nothing but +boiled water.”</p> + +<p>Many great charitable schemes were in operation in Italy, +where refinement and compassion were highly developed; +but the wealthy people of Italy had no great love for anonymous +almsgiving. This was due, no doubt, to the fact that +poverty bears itself more light-heartedly under an azure +sky. In France, where, unhappily, the stars could not fill +hungry mouths, the old traditions, in spite of the seductions +of luxury, were nobly preserved by the women. Anne of +France and Anne of Brittany both received the nickname +of “Mother of Maidens,” in allusion to the dowerless girls +they befriended. Anne of France, who has sometimes been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>taxed with avarice, contrived to dispense her benefactions +quietly, as cleverly as others trumpeted theirs. At her +expense intelligent children of the lower classes were kept +at their studies until they had taken their degree; orphans +learnt needlework or some trade; widows, cripples, beggars, +poor folk too proud to beg, the broken-hearted, saw unexpected +manna fall from heaven; deserving people were +encouraged, sustained, uplifted, “cherished and nourished” +by an unseen providence.⁠<a id="FNanchor_62" href="#Footnote_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a></p> + +<p>How beautiful, how rare is the art of giving! In our +day we see organised innumerable charitable schemes, “collections” +without number, harvests of good works. But +how many people give for love of giving?</p> + +<p>Margaret of France, too, like a true princess, was generous, +and loved to do good by stealth. In her anxiety not to +appear to curry favour with the people, she refused—in the +blunt phraseology of one of her biographers—to act “like a +mountebank capering on a platform.” “She was wont to +say that kings and princes are not masters and lords of the +poor, but only their ministers.”</p> + +<p>The writer of a moral history must needs explore all +these sweet recesses of a woman’s soul, where so mysterious +a work is accomplished. Later on we shall see the women +bustling about on the public stage, giving the world what it +demands of them. Here, in the silence of the heart, they +act only for themselves; yet, even from the social standpoint, +they will never do a loftier or more efficacious work. +On the rugged path on which so many of the unhappy are +apt to lose their philosophy, is it not well to spread a +soft thick carpet, so that the wayfarers may step more +lightly and be less roughly jolted? This of itself is surely +a genuine work of love, in full accord with the words of +Christ: “To her much shall be forgiven, for she loved +much!” From the very outset of their life, painfully +spelling out the meaning of wedlock, women are, almost +unknown to themselves, winging their flight towards the +ideal, towards love. Here, love calls itself charity, that is +to say, love for the sick, love for the poor, love for all who +are weak and all who suffer.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_I_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br> +<span class="smaller">THE CHILDREN</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>Their mission as mothers, thanks to the precautions of +which we have spoken, did not weigh very heavily upon +the women. The tide was set against large families; in +the country, six children were thought an enormous encumbrance, +and as a rule the higher the rank the smaller +the family. There were not a few houses which had no +children at all. Somewhere in Lombardy, indeed, there was +an old law granting exemption from taxes to families of +twelve children, but it did not result in an embarrassed +exchequer.</p> + +<p>The physicians questioned on this phenomenon return +only evasive explanations. Placing themselves as they did +at a special standpoint, they held the women more especially +responsible, accusing the detestable experiments some of +them indulged in with a view to preserving their figure, +such as drinking water or vinegar, eating sour foods, never +setting foot to ground; or a life at high pressure, well +calculated to develop morbid germs and increase nervous +over-excitement; the sort of St. Vitus’s dance which affects +some people; and the thousand other causes of moral and +cerebral derangement. Evidently, in their view, nothing +would be so likely to facilitate motherhood as a life spent +in feeding the pigs and the poultry.</p> + +<p>Yet women resign themselves better than men to the +trials that a family brings upon them.</p> + +<p>When they first recognise their condition, even those who +do not feel called upon to make too much of their duty +heroically accept their lot. No one pities them; it is natural +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>to them to love children,⁠<a id="FNanchor_63" href="#Footnote_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> and if there are moments of +anguish to fear, there are also blissful moments to look forward +to. The husband, on the other hand, is disconsolate; +he regrets everything; he sees in the cold light of reason +the consequences of the event, and his friends agree that he +will reap nothing but worries. A man of fashion collects +pictures, antiques, not children. Some charitable souls +suggest that children assure a kind of survival, are a pledge +of immortality, a security for the continuance of the race; +but, for that matter, a much simpler, surer and more comfortable +way of achieving immortality is simply to write a +sonnet. Hardly any but poor drudges, “chestnut eaters,” +can afford the luxury of being fruitful and multiplying, +because for them, in their kind of work, with their rigorous +enforcement of paternal authority, a swarm of children +represents an immediate increase of earning-power and tools +at very little cost. A middle-class householder, who loves +his ease or is ambitious only to swell his banking account, +has nothing to gain by a large family.</p> + +<p>Among the middle class, then, the budding father is the +subject of sincere commiseration. What cares, what vexations +will be his! He regards himself as bound for some +time to consider the slightest whim of his wife as sacred. +With a flutter at the heart he hies him to the astrologer +to ascertain at least if it is a boy or a girl; and when the +unfeeling stars announce a girl, he still manages to smile.</p> + +<p>One fine day (or fine night, for Nature is whimsical in her +choice), see him, lantern in hand, chilled to the marrow, +shivering, running off to find the nurse; and then what +terrible, what wearing hours follow! In very truth it is +he who demands pity, for Providence, having failed to +foresee these moments for the man, has forgotten to give +him strength equal to them. How ardently he wishes it +were all over! “There is no saint in the calendar,” he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>cries, “but shall have his candle!” The first wail of the +newcomer pours balm on the mother’s heart; but what of +the husband? Can he spare time to admire this shapeless, +unsightly little creature? He seeks nurses for mother and +child, he has the room hung with red, covers the floor with +velvet rugs; if by good luck he falls asleep in a corner, it is +only in his dreams to see a spectral balance-sheet dancing a +frantic saraband. No, he has not his wife’s strength.</p> + +<p>The red room becomes for the young mother a palace of +delight. It was a charity to visit a relative, friend, or +neighbour when recovery was assured, and very few women +would risk losing paradise for such a trifle. And so the room +is never empty. There the lady holds a “regal court,” or +what we, with less enthusiasm, should call a woman’s club. +We may fancy how they chatter, how often the husband is +hauled over the coals, how they cry shame on him. “What! +this shabby dress! He wouldn’t give you this or that? +Ah, the old skinflint!”</p> + +<p>There prevailed in Italy the very amiable practice of +sending all sorts of little presents—flowers, fruit, trinkets, +nicknacks. The young mother was entitled also to a little +tray, painted or chased, of which charming specimens exist, +real works of art. All these presents came in a heap. With +his grave and masculine brush, Domenico Ghirlandajo has +depicted for us a scene at Santa-Maria-Novella: a maidservant +is presenting a cordial on the tray, a friend is +amusing herself with the baby, a high-born dame is making +her entry in great dignity, a message-girl is bringing in a +superb basket of fruit. It is a constant stream of visitors, +wonderfully picturesque.</p> + +<p>As to the husband, he has disappeared among his occupations +and his worries; he reappears a fortnight later, to +return these civilities with a grand dinner.</p> + +<p>The child is to belong to the mother until the eighth year; +an exquisite period in which the heart will expand. It +is as she clasps in her arms this feeble little creature, this +messenger from a new world, that a woman comprehends +love; life appears to her all bathed in a mysterious light, +golden, and warm, and glad. All women, whether cultivated +or illiterate, have this sensation.</p> + +<p>For some time, perhaps for several years, a mother can +thus find the restfulness that springs from happiness, and, in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>making all things minister to her inward joy, she steeps her +soul in a felicity to which she foresees no end.</p> + +<p>No woman, then, ought to deprive herself of the first +smiles of her child, his first prattlings, his divine fondlings, +which Raphael has depicted and which Erasmus considered +so beautiful a thing that he made them a theme for rhetorical +exercises.</p> + +<p>But from the very first the world interposed with tyrannous +hand. In old times a woman had been permitted to +nurse her child; suckling constituted a part of the maternal +functions, approved by moralists and physicians. But now +the fashion had changed; the cry of milk-sellers offering +milk for the nursery was added to the morning din in the +streets of Paris. The smaller gentry and even a certain +number of country magnates⁠<a id="FNanchor_64" href="#Footnote_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> sent their children out to +nurse; and to meet this need, human cattle-rearing became +a recognised agricultural industry, which flourished exceedingly, +though it was rather speculative for those engaged in +it, for the children were sometimes left in settlement of the +bill.</p> + +<p>In the great houses, or those of middle station, a nurse +was employed, after satisfying moral and medical tests—a +stout respectable person from twenty to thirty years of age. +She entered the family, and there represented the life of +nature, occupying, to the end of her days if she pleased, +a privileged situation about her foster-child.</p> + +<p>Not infrequently, we must admit, the husband was +heartily at one with the ancient principles, and would very +readily have authorised his wife to dispense with a nurse. +But then some fair friend would take him aside and put him +to shame: “What, he actually means to impose that bondage +upon his wife! Does he not see already how worn out she +is! Ah, he means to compel her to it, and we very well +know why, the miser! Really, who would have thought a +husband had a soul black enough to inflict such thraldom on +a woman, who, thank God, still possesses some attractions!”</p> + +<p>And in that last word there is a world of meaning. A +wife of fifteen or sixteen years, after a year or two of +marriage, had every reason to think that life was not over +for her, and that she still had need of her beauty.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span></p> + +<p>Further, etiquette, and in princely houses even politics, +intervened: the convenances were opposed to a mother +taking too personal a part in her children’s upbringing, for +in that case it would not have been worth while to own a +whole regiment of servants. There they were, however, and +their allotted functions must be respected; and so the mother +had to limit her solicitude to a careful superintendence.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, many women ventured to set etiquette at +defiance. The Princess of Orange appears just like any +other woman when she writes so joyfully to her sister-in-law, +Anne of France, that she has just seen her “fair +niece,” who called her “mummy and daddy,” and “gave +her as sweet a welcome in her little baby-talk as such a +baby could.” So, too, Louise of Savoy, when, in 1520, in +the midst of preoccupations of every kind, she recalls that, +thirty-five years before, Francis I. had cut his first teeth +quite unnoticed, “and was not the least little bit ill.”</p> + +<p>Up to the age of seven, the children remained under their +mother’s fostering wing, in a pure state of vegetation. +Moralists and physicians taught that they must be allowed to +develop freely, without having to learn anything, and without +bothering about anything but good air and a regular life.</p> + +<p>The grand principle of education is to let children grow +up of themselves, alone, unaided, without grand theories, +without dogmatism; and to habituate them to rely on nothing—neither +neither fear nor love; to be themselves; and this from +the very earliest infancy. Every being entering life brings +to it his own individuality for development; he has the free +use of his faculties; he observes much, instinctively using +eyes and ears, and his soul reflects his environment like a +celestial mirror. So the mother has only to help him, direct +him, set him good examples.</p> + +<p>This careful attention in early days appears of capital +importance, because then or never is the time to root up any +little weeds one by one as they appear. No strenuous effort +is needed; it is work to be done by a woman’s hand, gently.</p> + +<p>Hitherto it had been imagined that the first thing needful +was to secure a maximum of physical strength, and consequently +to harden a child by means almost cruel, such as an +exemplary self-repression, a life in the open air, freely +exposed to all inclemencies of the weather. If a child wept +he was allowed to weep. He was taken sometimes to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>church, or to see very near relatives, but never to places of +amusement, to the theatre, or to the houses of the wealthy. +To become ever so little accustomed to comfort, idleness, or +an artificial life was considered fatal. People feared to make +a mollycoddle of him, and said to themselves that the army +and the gymnasium in later years would never eradicate ill +habits formed in childhood. They thought only of the +children; the mothers were left out of account.</p> + +<p>The women regarded this system as much too severe, and +one of the first results of their influence was its modification. +Why martyr the children under pretext of hardening them? +What was the good of exposing them half naked to the +cold, or of making little monks of them, and assuming towards +them the airs of a policeman? Was it so great a crime +to show these poor little creatures some affection, to admit +them to some share with their elders in the life they were +bound to know, to form their minds and their manners by +allowing them a place at the card table, or to give them +companions—even at the cost of a black eye?</p> + +<p>The old moralists regarded such proceedings as premature +and far too unsystematic, and refused to hear of anything +but muscle, maintaining that entrance into the world always +came soon enough. Women were to divert education into +another channel. When they come to gain greater power in +the home, we shall find them demanding the right to love +their children, enter into their concerns, live with them, +take pleasure in them, at least until they attain the classic +age of seven.</p> + +<h4>THE BOYS.</h4> + +<p>When the seven years were past, a boy became for his +mother only an object of anxiety or tribulation. He came +under the direct and exclusive authority of his father, who +aimed at moulding him on large lines and turning him at +fourteen, not into a bookish don, nor perhaps a mere ‘pass-man’ +even, but into a man of backbone and individuality, +armed at all points for the battle of life. Our ancestors +had a particular horror of everything resembling enlistment +into brigades, reduction to a uniform pattern. The collegiate +system seemed to them detestable, a make-shift in the worst +sense; Louis XI., though he took care to send the princes of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>the younger branch to college, just as carefully avoided +sending his son there. College, as Montaigne said, was a +“factory of Latinizers,” a “house of preventive correction,” +where men worked like day-labourers (of that period) fourteen +or fifteen hours a day, until their brains were completely +addled and they hated the sight of books; and what, if you +please, was the magnificent result? A smattering of Greek +and Latin, a certain facility in prating about Jupiter, Venus, +Pyramus—without too minute an enquiry, happily, into what +those august names stood for. As to ideas, they did no more +than stuff the boys with a few stock notions to serve for +intelligence,⁠<a id="FNanchor_65" href="#Footnote_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> instead of vigorously developing the creative +and original faculties.</p> + +<p>Thus there was general agreement that college was to be +avoided as much as possible, and that a boy should remain +at home. But then came the tug-of-war. If he remained +at home, the mother, who had in all probability centred precisely +on this son all her affection, would claim him as her +care, which is just what the father did not wish; he mistrusted +her, her kindness, her “shows of love.” It was an +axiom that boys must be subjected to thoroughly masculine +management, a life of birching, under the firm hand of the +father; the father had a perfect right to forbid them to see +their mother. How could he succeed in “hardening the soul +and the muscles” of a boy, in giving him a physical and +moral robustness depending largely on the “thickness of the +skin,” if the mother was always at hand, interfering, discovering +that her son had been too hot or too cold, petting +him, commiserating his slightest hardships? That was not +the way to make a man!</p> + +<p>Nowhere was the battle against feminism fought more +resolutely than on this ground. The adversaries of women +may be almost infallibly recognised by this mark, that they +insist above all things on keeping in their hands the education +of men, because they regard this as the direction in +which the influence of women is most manifestly fatal.</p> + +<p>They fear family life because of the freedom which reigns +there, and because they know nothing worse for a man than +a precocious impulse towards sensibility. “When I was +twenty,” growls an old man, “I knew nothing about women; +in these days, infants in arms are further advanced.” That +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>is a proof, someone will say, of superior intelligence, a +guarantee of their virtue. Not at all. Any system, even +college, was preferred to the education of men by women. +From the moment when tenderness and sympathy become +paramount in a house, there is no course open but to get rid +of the boys at any cost.</p> + +<p>But is not this to push rigour a little too far, and uselessly +to lacerate the mother’s heart, this aching heart which +thought it had at last found something to fill its void? The +mothers are not lacking in arguments to support their +claims. They refuse absolutely to acknowledge that kindness +necessarily spells weakness. Has it not been understood +from time immemorial, by people who could least be +suspected of sentimentalism, how important it is to preserve +for a man his refuge in the affection of his mother? Have +not the names of Saint Monica and so many other devoted +mothers always been cited with delight? A rational +education ought not to rely solely on the principle of fear: +it should be the express image of life; and if brutality and +coarseness are to be banished from the world, it will not do +to begin by sowing them broadcast. How many men, nobly +fashioned by the hands of women, have been brought, by +means of love’s training alone, to a perfect perception of +authority, reverence, discipline! Affection has a wisdom of its +own, secret agencies of its own; a mother’s heart can see as +clearly, and obtain as many practical results, as the reason and +the despotism of the father. In this, as in other things, force +is not everything, and another regimen is possible than that +of the “birch,” or indeed of the “filliping,” dear to Montaigne.</p> + +<p>Margaret of France offers us on this subject a pertinent +object-lesson; she cites herself. Her mother, Louise of Savoy, +left a widow, indulged to the utmost the luxury of freely +loving her children. When someone spoke to her of handing +her son over to men, she made answer by installing the bed +of the young Francis in her own room. And the result?</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Fille et filz eut, à elle obéyssans,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rempliz d’esprit, de vertuz et bon sens.⁠<a id="FNanchor_66" href="#Footnote_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>We can understand what deep chords were struck by this +dispute between the fathers and the mothers, and what +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>echoes it set sounding in the whole life of the women. +Separated as they were from their sons by force of custom, +it was natural indeed that, eager to imbue the stern spirit +of men with love and tenderness, they should turn passionately +to the love of their children.</p> + +<p>In the first engagement they were often worsted. The +son went off to college. Montaigne deplores it. It is within +the four walls of a class-room, he says, and by doses of +Greek syntax, that a young fellow is to be taught the +science of life and given that clear philosophic outlook +which comes through history and experience! What professor +will teach him the wisdom of holding aloof from the +world’s Vanity Fair, swarming with upstart mountebanks +and overweening buffoons? His mother would have liked +to extract for him the essence of life, the secret of happiness, +to impart to him the sacred spark of love. But Montaigne +is one of those who regard this as very dangerous; he +believes, in short, that “seeing the world” would be still +more fatal than “preventive imprisonment.”</p> + +<p>In other cases, the father would select a tutor to train his +son, and then the crisis lay below the surface.</p> + +<p>The father always has some hesitation in determining his +course. To begin with, he thinks of the expense, and +though enthusiasts represent that there is no better investment, +he knits his brows. Then he would like to find a +perfect man: a difficult matter. As a rule, he decides on +the recommendation of friends, who have seen their nominee +at work, and are loud in praise of his tact, his manner, his +method, his knowledge; they do not explain that their man +finds it necessary to expatriate himself, but he is still young +(thirty or thirty-five), and is anxious to make a position.</p> + +<p>The candidate himself takes up his pen to speak with +becoming modesty of his humble accomplishments. He +promises to ride out with his pupil, and “engage in any +other exercise that may be desired”; all that he asks is +that he may sleep outside the château and not have to dine +in the kitchen, like some of his colleagues. This is not +enough for the anxious mother; she would like to know if +he is a man of honour and a gentleman. Her mind is set +at rest.</p> + +<p>For a long time these tutors maintained a certain attitude +of reserve.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span></p> + +<p>In his <i>Calandra</i>, Bibbiena gives an example of one who +is completely uninteresting, speaking, acting, and dressing +like the rest of men. But these young fellows were men, +and what is more, men of education, not so foolish as, after +tasting of a life of refinement, to fail long to recognise its +advantages. Sometimes, under a guileless demeanour, they +suffered temptations the reverse of philosophic: Vegio⁠<a id="FNanchor_67" href="#Footnote_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> calls +them, without mincing matters, “abominable bucks.” They +learnt by experience how hard it is to get on by zeal and +earnestness, and how easy by other means. They cultivated +literature to some purpose. No one thought any the worse +of Antony de la Salle, the austere tutor of the house of +Anjou in the 15th century, for writing <i>The Fifteen Joys of +Marriage</i> or <i>The Hundred Novels</i>, or of Lemaire’s⁠<a id="FNanchor_68" href="#Footnote_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> notion of +elevating the ideas of the young Charles V. by offering him +delicate nourishment in the shape of a <i>Judgment of Paris</i> +of photographic realism—a picture of the future reserved by +heaven for princes and the great ones of the earth. Such +things were read: dissertations on Aristotle were not.</p> + +<p>In proportion as the women posed as patrons of literature, +the tutor type appears in higher relief. The torrent +of invective let loose against them leaves no room for doubt +that the tutors had red-letter days. The dramatists and +the writers of novels do not condone the airs of proprietorship +they assumed in regard to mothers or cousins. They +show you a poor devil of a pedagogue, a dried-up anatomy, +void of personal merit, ill-featured, grotesque, boorish, dying +for love of some fair, rich and distinguished girl, whom he +pesters with glowing love-letters, or with sonnets spiced +with epicureanism. What peals of laughter there are when +he, like many others, comes in due course to taste the rod in +pickle!</p> + +<p>From the moment when Aretino, in his <i>Marescalco</i>, which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>appeared in 1533, revealed the dramatic possibilities of such +a part, the type was fixed.</p> + +<p>Before the tutor appears on the scene you know what you +are going to see: a spectacled pedant, ungainly, loutish, +pretentious, a twaddling bore, full of philology and quotations. +His very features have acquired a mechanical cast +betraying his habit of holding forth on the obvious, as +Montaigne says, or of extinguishing youth by his stupidity, +his “hoggish wisdom,” to adopt the words of Rabelais.</p> + +<p>Then, in virtue of a law of fate, the glory of the tutor +waned and fell. The impulse that went forth towards +liberal studies brought so many rivals into the field that, +unless he opened a private seminary or obtained a professorial +chair, the tutor was ruined. His salary became +diminutive, and, as we know, the man who is poorly paid is +thought little of. He may take all the pains imaginable, +set impositions, rap knuckles, pull ears, but no one is +satisfied.</p> + +<p>“I know no worse blockhead in the world than the +scholar, except it be the pedant.”</p> + +<p>And then the poor “pedant,” full of gall and bitterness, +withdraws into his shell. After a long day of toil and +drudgery, his only pleasure in life is to get back to his +solitary room, and there spend the night in collating notes, +collecting rare phrases, happy turns of expression, or +hammering out verses, love poems addressed to a beauty +whom luckily he does not know, or lyrical verses at a white +heat of passion. And these productions of his heart (such +of them, at least, as Fortune has deigned to preserve) lie to +this day, bundles of them, in the dust of archives.</p> + +<p>Needless to add that the tutor considers himself martyred +by the father. The father, who does not profess to love +him, treats him indeed, more or less openly, as a tradesman +and a nuisance, and interferes when the whim takes him, +finding fault with this and that—the boy’s talkativeness, +his pranks, his bad companions. He would like on the one +hand less severity, on the other more progress. And then +this youngster, who calls him “Sir,” and whom he always +regards as a child, assumes mannish ways and threatens to +follow at his heels: another serious drain upon his purse! +Besides, what is the good of so many courses of study, of +this “bookish swagger”? Can’t he learn everything without +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>such a fuss? What, here is a child we are going to +launch into actual life, and you stuff him with syllogisms, +dates, a world of mere lumber! Did Alexander the Great +learn all these things? He had, grant you, a tutor named +Aristotle; ay, and with a few good moral principles for his +whole kit he conquered the world! True, he respected the +arts and sciences, he praised their “excellence and elegance,” +but was he ever seen to grow pale and bite his nails over a +problem in dialectics? No, indeed!⁠<a id="FNanchor_69" href="#Footnote_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a></p> + +<p>The tutors were never safe from these annoyances, except +perhaps in the houses of princes or kings, because then they +were important personages, high functionaries, and a numerous +body.</p> + +<p>The mother, on the contrary, made herself the friend of +the tutor, and by this means exercised a perceptible influence +upon him. She surrounded him with affectionate attentions. +They were two natural allies, two feeble and down-trodden +creatures who sought support in high communings which +the husband did not understand. As a man of culture the +tutor leant towards feminism, and he tasted doubly, for +himself and for his pupil, the attentions, the solicitous +benevolence, which a mother throws about the work of +education. The palace of Louise of Savoy at Amboise thus +saw a succession of special tutors who came to imbue +Francis I. with aesthetic principles, and they retained the +pleasantest recollections of their stay. The young princess +indeed spoilt them, pampered them, almost; she had them +at her own table, instead of leaving them to the society of +chamberlains and playactors: she made them talk, and +talked with them.</p> + +<p>In spite of all opposition, the education of men thus +underwent a gradual transformation in cultivated countries. +Instead of maintaining their former attitude of grave +reserve, hardly distinguishable from bashfulness, and of +regarding everybody, especially persons well on in years, +with a distant respect; instead, notably, of showing in their +intercourse with women all the shades of respect from profound +reverence to profound courtesy, the majority of these +young men made their entrance into life without embarrassment +and with the most charming manners. They put off +the armour of social etiquette, they were docile, pleasant, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>graceful in bearing, proficient in the art of pleasing. A +multitude of books on “civility,” an excellent specimen of +which came from the pen of Erasmus, instructed them in +the science of good-breeding, formerly somewhat neglected. +Moreover, as education is always the great objective of men +who desire to exercise a serious influence on thought, they +vied with one another in propounding theories and advocating +each his own system in regard to the direction of +youth, a task which engrossed such men as Cordier,⁠<a id="FNanchor_70" href="#Footnote_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> +Sadoleto,⁠<a id="FNanchor_71" href="#Footnote_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> Vivès,⁠<a id="FNanchor_72" href="#Footnote_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> + Luther, Calvin, Erasmus, to mention only +the chief. We need not follow here their far-reaching discussions, +which are but the development of the struggle +entered upon between the idealistic and the matter-of-fact +spirits. On the extreme frontier of the two realms Zwingle, +established so to speak as a mainguard, defends the German +tactics. Without denying the amenities of aestheticism, he +declares for an education of cloistral severity, for curricula of +the exact sciences and logic, and prefers Hebraists or erudite +Hellenists to elegant Latinists.</p> + +<p>Erasmus, on the contrary, marks out the Roman frontier. +He considers that any effort to direct the intelligence of +children into one rigid channel only has the effect of drying +it up. He appreciates neither the exhibition of truth in its +skeleton state, the system which flourished in the schools of +the Middle Ages, nor the pure apprenticeship to utilitarianism +to which Zwingle inclines. The sentiment of the +beautiful, in his view, offers an immense advantage in life—that +of sustaining and consoling the spirit; in education +there is no other process for widening, refining, elevating +the faculties.⁠<a id="FNanchor_73" href="#Footnote_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> The new movement has his entire approval.</p> + +<p>Indeed, he is ready to go very far. Instead of banishing +all thoughts of women from their minds, he is surprisingly +ready to explain to young men that there are two loves, a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>good and a bad, and to set them such subjects for composition +as the question “ought a man to marry or not?” +Hütten⁠<a id="FNanchor_74" href="#Footnote_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a> pokes great fun at the coy professors who so +carefully expurgate the mythology, who would fain drape +the Muses and turn them into angels, or who compare +Diana to the Virgin Mother.</p> + +<p>In reality, as everybody had his own programme of +education, dependent on no one’s theories or whims, all this +fine ardour produced little but modifications of detail. So +men remained faithful to gymnastics and all the sports—riding, +hunting, fishing, tennis, perhaps even to sober +philosophic deambulations in the style of St. Gregory of +Nazianzen. But they held dancing in less abhorrence, and +the love of gaming worked havoc.</p> + +<p>Music triumphed over its detractors, who had been wont +to represent it as directly tending towards effeminacy and +voluptuous impressibility. Now, on the contrary, it was +regarded as a child’s most ennobling avocation and a +precious resource for forming his mind. Instruction in +the principles of design seemed a necessity for men who +were called to live among objects of art, and who, without +some practical experience, would infallibly fall a prey to +pinchbeck.</p> + +<p>However, it is impossible to deny that a too exclusive +development of the emotional side of their nature did +produce, among certain young men, untoward and even +disastrous results. Education had become very wide-spread; +everybody sought after it, rather out of <i>amour-propre</i> +than to supply needs they really felt; and the +result was that there was less anxiety to equip solidly +a few choice minds than to give the mass a superficial +polish. The world was overrun with amiable young men, +patterns of social accomplishment, knowing how to bow, +dancing well, of excellent table manners, primed moreover +with a few tags of Latin or Greek, living in elegant +idleness, and thus the pride of the good merchant who had +the honour of begetting them and keeping the pot boiling. +Their weak point was that they knew too much of life in +their beardless youth: aestheticism had brought them +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>neither illusions nor enthusiasm; but they were past-masters +in the commercial valuation of some fashionable +young lady and her belongings.</p> + +<p>At the age of fifteen or sixteen, all these young fellows, +good or bad, took flight in the most diverse directions, and +escaped from their mother for good and all.</p> + +<p>She sees them go! Some, the smartest of them, go to +Court as brilliant pages, all ablaze with gold and velvet: +the others into some château, where they combine the +duties of head-huntsman and stud-groom, and dine in +the kitchen, hoping to be mentioned in their master’s will.</p> + +<p>Others, maintained by a more subtle father, are commissioned +“to attain unto the virtue and honour that knowledge +gains for gentlemen.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_75" href="#Footnote_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> Ah! the gay young sparks! +They proceed, at great expense, to establish themselves at +Padua, Bologna, or elsewhere, and there the lore they +gather comes from profound study of Signora Angela’s +ankles or Signora Camilla’s bright eyes. One of these +pious youths, the son of a councillor of Paris, dismissed +post-haste the private tutor accompanying him. So long +as the lad’s purse holds out, the father proves indulgent, +and indeed is secretly not a little proud of his heir’s +escapades. Boys will be boys. One facetious father +addresses a letter to his son “studying at Padua—or +sent to study.”</p> + +<p>Many people attributed the wildness of young men to the +fact that their education was not directed by women.</p> + +<p>Calvin considers that the young men were thrown too +much into women’s society; Henri Estienne⁠<a id="FNanchor_76" href="#Footnote_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a> charges upon +aesthetic education all the vices of the age. This is going a +little too far: it would be just as reasonable to make the +vices of the age responsible for the bad results of education. +As a matter of fact, notwithstanding a certain measure of +progress, the education of the sixteenth century did commit +errors for which it had to pay. Discipline was relaxed.⁠<a id="FNanchor_77" href="#Footnote_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a> +It was a common complaint that studies lost tone as they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>became more general;⁠<a id="FNanchor_78" href="#Footnote_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> the new education took its pupils +too young, forced them remorselessly through too extensive +curricula, encouraged them to be content with a smattering, +gave them the habit of not going deep into anything, and +made shallow and paradoxical men.</p> + +<p>Two women who were the products of the most opposite +principles, Louise of Savoy and Anne of France, were on +their guard against this error. The one determined to +have her son educated under her own eyes, the other +undertook the education of her future son-in-law—a clear +proof that all women cannot be charged with particular faults.</p> + +<p>However paradoxical the idea may appear, it seems that +the system of education ought to have been more completely +revolutionised. Either the old principle of bringing boys +up so as to make men of them should have been maintained, +or a new one should have been boldly and frankly enunciated, +namely, that it would be well for a boy to be brought +up by his mother, since he is to live with a woman, and a +girl by her father, since she is to live with a man. Of this +principle, however, we nowhere find the slightest hint.</p> + +<p>In this education there would have been something more +intimate, more just, more natural, and perhaps more +profitable. You can tell among a thousand the men who +have been brought up by a serious mother, and the women +brought up by a careful father.</p> + +<p>Unhappily, the social customs of the time raised an +insurmountable obstacle. In addition to the fears of excessive +sensibility of which we have spoken, the rigid family +principle ordained that the son should belong to the family +and not to his mother. He was a man: therefore let him +ride and hunt and be a soldier! It was better to err +through brutality than through tenderness.</p> + +<p>In reality, many mothers exercised but an indirect and +ineffective influence on their sons. The sons were too much +separated from them and left them too soon. Were the +mothers made for the children or the children for the +mothers? Judging from the number of households which were +only held together by the children, one might think they +were made for the mothers; and yet a woman who relied too +much on this support was sure to remain in cruel loneliness.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_I_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br> +<span class="smaller">THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>If the sons were destined almost inevitably to disappoint +their mothers’ hopes, the daughters were to compensate for +that disappointment. We must crave pardon for entering +into all these details. It is impossible to set forth the story +of a woman’s heart without first of all plumbing as deeply +as possible the secret of those holy passions which move +women as mothers and as daughters. We started from the +solid ground of marriage after the old style, a mere physical +and rational fact. The sensibility of women begins to +blossom out on coming into contact with physical wretchedness; +it creates the sick-nurse and the alms-distributor; it +is then that the mother is born. Her love for her sons has +nothing but separation to look forward to; but in the love +of mother for daughter a woman’s heart finds another stay. +Here there is no interference to be feared from a third party. +The daughter belongs to the mother, and the father does +not even seek any share in their intimacy: “Women’s +policy hath a mystical proceeding; we must be content to +leave it to them.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_79" href="#Footnote_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> Let the father provide the girl’s dowry, +that is all that is required of him. In the formal and somewhat +Philistine society which was the outcome of the Middle +Ages, the several shares of the parents were very clearly +defined.</p> + +<p>But these things which the father knew nothing about +are of the greatest interest for us. We want to know what +went on between mother and daughter, and how the women +of the future were being formed, for then we shall know also +whether the mother was able to fashion for herself a lasting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>joy in her home, and whether she was so well satisfied with +the principles on which she herself had been brought up as +to apply them to her daughter. Later on we shall have to +treat of more momentous questions, of ideas much more +highly artistic and philosophic, but we shall meet with none +from which a more thorough knowledge of the inner workings +of feminine souls is to be gained. In the slightest +question of education all the social questions have their +echoes, as we hear the roar of the ocean in a shell.</p> + +<p>Historians are very far from agreement in the information +they give us as to the manner in which young girls were +educated in those days. An old, but false, proverb runs: +“The mother feeds, the father instructs”; which signifies in +plain language that the mother never instructed, suckling +being the top of her capacity. On the other hand, as the +treatises on education speak only of the boys, or at most of +“children,” and practically never use the word “daughters,” +some historians have concluded that the girls were left to +vegetate and that their education was never considered, +while others, on the contrary, and these not the least important—such +as Burckhardt and Minghetti—have believed +that the girls merely followed the same course as the boys.</p> + +<p>We shall not traverse these two opinions, contradictory +as they are, because they both appear true to a certain +extent.</p> + +<p>The question of education really depends on another +question, of much greater moment, which we have set ourselves +to answer in this book: What ought women’s life to +be? Where ought they to seek their happiness? And at +the outset we are brought face to face with a very troublesome +problem. Is a woman to continue to be married +passively, as we have seen her married—to be left almost a +slave? or is she to be put into a condition of self-defence? +Is she to be made an obedient tool, a mirror of the ideas of +others, destitute of all mind of her own, and all the happier +in knowing nothing beyond the narrow bounds of her bedroom? +or does it seem better to render her an active, +educated creature, with an individuality of her own, capable +of reasoning and acting? Is the mother to remain merely a +temporary guardian, charged with watching over a little girl +for a master of undisputed title, who will form her and train +her after his own fancy, and to whom she will belong at the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>earliest moment, even in her first flower? or is the mother +to be at perfect liberty to link herself closely with her +daughter, and, precisely because the girl is one day to be +given to another, to arm her with independence and intelligence, +even although she knows that sooner or later some +portion of this armour must be dropped on the way? There +is the whole question. And on that question depends the +education of girls.</p> + +<p>In the first case (that is if we adopt the time-honoured +theory) the mother was preparing a blank page. She had +little to do except to promote as hardy a vegetation as possible, +a blossoming out into strength and beauty, to maintain +absolutely unbroken quietude, to respect and even prolong +the days of childhood.⁠<a id="FNanchor_80" href="#Footnote_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a> There is no need here for lengthy +dissertations: the system consisted in proscribing everything +that involved the slightest mental exertion, even in +the form of little pastimes; in preserving an absolute simplicity, +a cloistral existence;⁠<a id="FNanchor_81" href="#Footnote_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> in shunning even physical +exercises if they were at all energetic. From the intellectual +standpoint it allowed, on the artistic side, some trifling pieces +of needlework (tapestry, netting, or the like); music, not +suggestive or light, but classical music; as recreative reading, +some elementary books of religion or morality; in +science, some notions of physics, agriculture, medicine, some +philosophical expositions of great moral questions, such as +original sin, the Redemption, the immortality of the soul, +and the Creed in general. That was what had gone to form +the little bride, the robust, sedate, matter-of-fact, shy little +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>creature whom at the beginning of this book we saw led to +the altar. She was ignorant, but so much the better: she +was only being born into life, but she brought as her stake +a solid health and a well-balanced character generally; and +at thirteen years, that was a good deal. The husband would +do the rest.</p> + +<p>And it must not be imagined that this system, barbarous +as it may seem to some, was regarded as at all ill-conceived. +It had numerous friends. The learned of the Middle Ages, +from the venerable Egidio Colonna⁠<a id="FNanchor_82" href="#Footnote_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> to the illustrious +Gerson,⁠<a id="FNanchor_83" href="#Footnote_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a> had formed no other idea of women’s needs. Gerson +even enunciated the aphorism (which, however, must not +be pressed): “All instruction for women should be looked +at askance.” In this the philosophers were at one with the +physicians, whose advice was to err on the side of caution. +In support of their position, they invoked the great name +of St. Chrysostom,⁠<a id="FNanchor_84" href="#Footnote_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a> and that of Lycurgus also, who wished +to prolong the childhood of young girls to the eighteenth +year (and this in Greece), and to devote the whole period to +the care of the body.</p> + +<p>On this system, the mothers could not form close ties +with their daughters, still less enter into their life. One +mother, however, inspired by her ardent devotion to an +only daughter, and at the same time thoroughly conversant +with the actual necessities of life—Anne of France—has +shown to what good account these apparently rudimentary +opportunities might be turned, while paying due respect to +the advice of Gerson and the physicians. She set down her +views in a little work, of a purely practical and intimate +character, designed for her daughter’s use, and written day +by day with a certain desultoriness, according to the line +her reflections or her reading happened to take, and without +the slightest intention of supporting a thesis. This book +imparts to us <i>ex abrupto</i> the secret of her thoughts.</p> + +<p>She pinned her faith to education, not to instruction; she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>desired an education that was spontaneous and in some sort +automatic, which would result, not from a perfect intimacy +between mother and daughter, still less from a sentiment of +equality, but solely from a kindly, frank, and affectionate +association, of such a nature that the mother would colour +her child’s character “as good wine colours its cask.”</p> + +<p>This gentle prescription assumes a wide mental culture to +begin with, and a certain robustness of intelligence. Anne +of France intended the moral and philosophic education of +the girl to be carried out with the aid of Boethius, Plato, +the fathers of the church, the ancient philosophers, and, it +need hardly be said, in conformity with the “Instructions of +St. Louis.”</p> + +<p>On the other hand she did not trouble to develop the +imagination or the emotions: she had a horror of affectation, +of all that appeared to her to smack of the studied, the +conventional, the theatrical: she would not permit it anywhere, +either in dress, in which she rejected false simplicity +and false elegance alike, or in conversation, studies, or +conduct. She loved only the splendour of truth, the +glorification of the real in its noble aspects. It was her aim +to temper the young girl’s soul by instilling into her the +habit of searching enquiry and deep thought, and of building +her reasoning always on clear premises like the certainty of +death or the existence of God.</p> + +<p>From these principles there resulted, not a critical +scepticism like that of Montaigne, Pascal, or Descartes, but, +if one may say so, a vigorous and affirmative scepticism, +that is to say, the absolute, perhaps even harsh determination +to look the facts of life fairly in the face, as serious but +ephemeral matters; and to abstain from giving them +colours, shapes, an import which do not belong to them, +from throwing a false halo about them. As a drowning +man clings to a rope, so Anne of France clung to a precise +and objective morality, which, firmly anchored on religious +faith, defied discouragements and fatigues as well as illusions. +Beyond the restless sea of mundane realities in all their +nakedness, it pointed to other realities, which appeared to +her just as clear, just as positive, and in which she found a +steadfast beacon light.</p> + +<p>In thus basing feminine education on individualism and a +severe conception of the True, Anne feared rather than +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>desired the intrusion of aestheticism. What was required, +in her opinion, was to form strong women, vigorous in body +and mind: she wished to develop strength of will and +stability of character, which are practical virtues. Assuredly +she had no personal scorn for the beautiful: she gave proof +enough to the contrary. She loved an art full of sap and +zest; she was a subtle connoisseur, a royal patron! Delight +in beautiful things was so natural to her that she counted +on transmitting the taste to her daughter. And she was +accomplished in philosophy; she read Plato, a first step +which some of the most confirmed lady platonists neglected. +But she was persuaded that the period of struggle was only +opening for women, and that they must arm themselves to +maintain the fight. She had no bent towards German +utilitarianism—she could not have contented herself with +the studies Luther sanctioned, nor with the elementary +programme of virtue which Calvin found all-sufficient: at +the same time, she had no greater confidence in the +idealism of Rome. The world was not yet perfect enough! +She joyfully hailed the dawn, but did not believe that +the day was yet fully come. Women must not be content +with a dilettante reliance on impressions; they must +make what they love an object of thought, and having +formed their reasoned conception, must seek to realise it. +For them to be queens would be admirable indeed; but +for the present it is enough for them to escape crushing. +What they need is will, and, as a consequence, intellect and +individuality.</p> + +<p>This was a clear enough scheme of life. In Spain the +same ideas obtained so striking a success that people were +not satisfied with the compromise devised by Anne of +France, and with this wholly moral education which would +leave the daughter for a few short years to her mother. +Circumstances were urgent; there was no time to waste; +ideas were at boiling-point: a part of the ancient principles, +the physical and moral repose recommended by the +physicians, was sacrificed, and the children were flung +headlong into the whirlpool. Little girls sucked in Latin +with their mother’s milk; then, the soul being expropriated, +so to speak, for the public good, they were given a tutor at +an age when they ought to have been learning nothing but +how to walk; at seven they were expected to be able to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>maintain a conversation, and at thirteen to have finished +their studies and be ripe for matrimony.</p> + +<p>This programme, so vigorous that at first blush one would +be tempted to think it a mere figment of the imagination, +was not only propounded but largely practised by one of +the most conspicuous men of the time—Vivès, the tutor of +Isabella the Catholic’s daughters. Vivès went to England in +the train of Catherine of Aragon, and in that country of +matter-of-fact aspirations he could still have believed himself +in Spain, so successful was he in rousing the same fire +and enthusiasm for his ideas. His fervour led to a revolution, +or rather, as Erasmus said with a smile, to a “topsy-turvydom” +in high society; the men, who continued to +scour the seas and do business in great waters, fell quite +to the rear, while the young ladies, stepping to the front, +engaged with a brisk rivalry in marvellous exhibitions of +precocity. At thirteen, Lady Jane Grey read Plato in the +original, and Mary Stuart delivered in public her first Latin +speech; at fourteen, Queen Elizabeth translated a work by +Margaret of France, <i>The Mirror of the Sinful Soul</i>. These +wonderfully clever children were not confined to any +particular country, and the same breeze fanned the same +flame from John o’ Groats to Gibraltar. Saint Theresa, who +was born in 1515, is an excellent type of her contemporaries. +Bereft of her mother, and one of a family of twelve, she was +certainly not the object of any special training, but kept +pace with girls of her age; yet at six years she was already, +to use her own expression, “swept away by a violent movement +of love,” and had to be prevented from hurrying to +Africa in the hope of being massacred and winning heaven +cheaply. What singular girls!</p> + +<p>The thing that urged them on was the general fear in +which the husband was held, the pressing need of attaining, +ere it was too late, a good condition of defence and even of +superiority. The rising spectre of marriage fascinated +teacher and taught alike. At ten years of age, to tell the +truth, such personages as Anne of France and Margaret of +France had already disposed of their heart! so that to +overwhelm them with work was believed the best way to +protect them against themselves. “The craters of Etna, +the forge of Vulcan, Vesuvius, Olympus cannot compare +their fires to those of the temperament of a young girl +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>inflamed by high feeding,” cries Vivès. The more effectually +to extinguish these flames Vivès reinforces the regimen of +work with a course of cold water and a vegetable diet, and +this he austerely names “the perpetual fast” of the +Christian life; he proscribes dancing, and counts on serious +studies to preserve them from vanity and to widen the +scope of their intellectual activities. In short, while more +sharply accentuating the scientific note than Anne of +France, he has the same end in view. Like her, he is +convinced, passionately convinced indeed, that it is right to +set a straight course for marriage, having now only a half-hearted +belief in the old ideal of virginity: he has, further, +so rooted a horror of vain sentimentalities, affectations, +romances, poetry, all sensibility real or affected, that he +throws overboard Italian and French for his pupils: he +wishes them to have wills and energies of their own. But +like a true Spaniard, an enthusiast and yet a Stoic, he loves +these warm, ardent natures. He is a little like that lord-justice +who in his official tone interrupted a too pertinacious +advocate, but under his breath bade him continue. He +shrinks from the flames, but sees in them the instrument of +regeneration. These little girls of thirteen, inured to the +reading of Scripture, tricked out with history and ethics, +with Xenophon and Seneca, he sends forth to the conquest +of the world, to fulfil their vocation as women. He hopes +that their initiation into Biblical exegesis will lead them to +construct a philosophical religion for themselves, and that +they will attain a rational appreciation of Catholicism as +the source of justice and knowledge, and the sole panacea +for society. That is the gist of his preaching to the +daughters of Isabella the Catholic. Did Luther himself +probe nearer the heart of the matter, or outline a scheme +more novel and more magnificent?</p> + +<p>Let us complete our portrait of Vivès, and at the same +time that of many a young woman of the new generation, +by adding that he by no means looked down on the practical +knowledge of plain cooking, of domestic economy or the +common medicines. It might be thought that he had no +ardour but for the Bible, and there is no lack of ill-natured +jesters who cast a stone at his Latinist ladies;⁠<a id="FNanchor_85" href="#Footnote_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a> whereas, on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>the contrary, he spoke up for the kitchen, though to the +detriment of dress and dolls. “What,” he cries, “is not a +hand smutted with coal as good as a snow-white hand that +is open to everyone?” It only needs a father or mother to +fall ill, and he is perfectly happy, for then you will see his +fair Latinist in neat white apron, bringing a cooling draught +she herself has mixed, and bestowing one of those smiles for +which one would gratefully gulp down a whole druggist’s +shop. Here, according to him, is the distinguishing mark of +his system; a practically useful intelligence, and a physical +as well as moral devotion.</p> + +<p>The Italian school drew its inspiration much more directly +from the need of the ideal; it rejected passion as full of +peril and made mere sensibility its goal. But it too pretended +to take its stand on conceptions of absolute truth, +though more elementary ones; and these it did not represent +as intellectual acquirements, because it regarded, not +knowledge, but feeling and judgment, as the end a woman +ought to set before her. The education dear to this school +was above all an education of impressions and enthusiasm, +in which scientific truth only came in to supply ballast and +to prevent an exaggerated serenity, or an over-confidence in +life. In its refinement and elegance this school preserved +as it were an after perfume from the noble city of Rome, +where fastidious and ceremonious prelates, gourmets but not +cooks, let money flow into their pockets through immense +spiritual aqueducts, and set about pouring it away again +in perfect cascades of ostentation. Hands smutty with coal +indeed! A lazzarone would blush at the thought! There +are none but princesses in Italy.</p> + +<p>Dolce, a supreme example of the Italian, took, for the +formation of an Italian woman, the recognised elements: +chastity, modesty, reserve, composure, and a regular study +(this was to be particularly free, with no expurgation) of the +classics and the church fathers;⁠<a id="FNanchor_86" href="#Footnote_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a> and from all this he would +fashion for you the sweetest creature imaginable.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span></p> + +<p>Idleness and melancholy were his two great foes: he had +no hostility to love. What reason was there to abstain from +carefully cultivating a young girl’s capacity for loving, +seeing that as a woman she would find in it her chief +resource? To reject the thought of love, to avoid the very +utterance of the word, and then, like Vivès, to rack your +brains to create infinite derivatives, was, according to Dolce, +a childish and an untrustworthy proceeding; it would be +much better to face the ordeal frankly, and deaden its +shocks beforehand by anointing oneself with the healing +balm of platonic doctrine, by exhibiting, on the one hand, +the body in its wretchedness, the vileness of earthly love, +and on the other the beauty of love divine and pure. +Women may fall through passion, but they can win salvation +through sensibility, and therefore Dolce nourished them on +the appropriate classics: Virgil, parts of Horace, Dante, +Petrarch, Bembo, Sannazaro,⁠<a id="FNanchor_87" href="#Footnote_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> and, more especially, Castiglione. +To his opponents, however, this system seemed over-venturesome; +they reproached him with going half-way to +meet danger, with putting into hands still weak the two-edged +sword which so often wounds lustier hands. To this +objection Dolce returned on behalf of the beautiful the same +answer that Vivès made on behalf of the true. He was convinced +that a liberal education was most surely calculated to +form strong souls, citing in support of his contention Corinna +and a thousand other old-world heroines rendered impeccable +by culture, and, of his own time, the four daughters of queen +Isabel, pupils of Vivès; all four, indeed, equally accomplished +and yet equally unfortunate—but could anyone begrudge +them their misfortunes?</p> + +<p>Thus, according to Dolce, abstract or severe studies were +not for girls: “vain and futile quackeries” he called them, +which could only bring them in subjection to men. “All that +is needed is to awaken and foster the faculties which are in +women.” To rule as with a rod of iron, women need only +remain as they are, with the talents given them by nature.⁠<a id="FNanchor_88" href="#Footnote_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a> +What is the good of teaching them, for example, the dates +and the nice problems of history? They should be taught +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>to read history, to derive from the accurate narrative of facts +an impression of the poignant emotions and moral struggles +which the historian necessarily indicates with a more or less +light touch, and then, linking these events together in their +minds, to get at the heart of them, deduce the lofty moral +principles controlling them. In philosophy they have no +need of great metaphysical principles; but what is important +for them is to understand that misery exists, that there +is suffering everywhere, often hidden away and yet only too +real. Woman is a fellow-worker with God! It suffices to +lop off the thorns which cumber her; she will shoot up +naturally towards the light, sucking, like a flower, the +earth’s sap, which is love. The corn which is to go to the +mill and make bread needs the plough’s rude toil, a lovely +delicate flower often asks no more than a handful of earth +and a bountiful sky.</p> + +<p>And it was in this way that so many sweet Italian +women blossomed out, almost spontaneously, delighting in +life, themselves the joy and felicity of the world, all compact +of poetry, archaeology, rhetoric, and philosophy—Attic +through and through at thirteen years. The efflorescence +was universal save at Venice, a country half-Germanic, half-Oriental, +where they insisted on keeping the girls immured +until their wedding-day, showing nothing of them but +bundles of millinery on Sundays. And yet there do not +appear to have been more angels at Venice than elsewhere, +and no one succeeded there in resuscitating the type +(henceforth unknown) of matrons hypnotised, as it were, +by their husbands’ frown or the idea of death. Italy +was peopled with fairy-like creatures, who thought nobly +of all men and wore to admiration the double ornament of +fine jewels and a fine intellect. “A little girl,” said Bembo, +“ought to learn Latin: it puts the finishing touch to her +charms.”</p> + +<p>Louise of Savoy brought up her daughter Margaret +according to these Italian principles at a period when +France as yet did not understand them. Margaret blossomed +like a flower: she knew something of everything (too +much indeed), notably of philosophy and theology: she +learnt Latin, Hebrew, Italian, and Spanish; but she could +speak nothing but French.</p> + +<p>At nine years of age, she was wonderfully clever and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>accomplished; at thirteen, she inspired so much admiration +as to be considered “rather Persian than French.”</p> + +<p>The defects of the system were not at once perceived, +though these were developing in women a thirst like that of +Tantalus, exciting a state of restless agitation and nervousness, +which the old doctors of Gerson’s school professed to +guard against and which Vivès fancied he had avoided by +directing their activity towards a definite end. People +were struck only with the immediate advantages. Erasmus +uttered heart-rending plaints about the little girls he was +ever meeting in the Low Countries, poor ignorant little +creatures, thick-lipped, podgy, stuck on high heels so as to +appear grown-up, over-dressed, rigged out with a load +of ribbons and feathers, with all the airs of innocent little +baggages: “I ask myself,” he cries, “if these are dolls, or +monkeys, or girls.” How he would have liked to tear off all +that flummery, and fill their beaks with a little Greek or +French, or even a little Latin!</p> + +<p>A simple fellow said to Margaret: “Men and women +have different functions, but their virtues ought to be equal.” +He was making a mistake; the virtues of women ought to +be superior.</p> + +<p>But if women believe that it is their mission to rule +instead of to obey, or, at any rate, that the obedience +they owe has well-defined limits; if they are no longer +the burden which a father used to get rid of as soon as +possible, and which a husband received as his absolute +property, body and soul; if they desire to count for something; +if marriage is regarded as the union of two persons +equally free, as the close and not the commencement of +education; if the wife is no longer the pupil of her husband, +and it is considered better for her to come to him fully +instructed: then a very natural consequence will inevitably +ensue, whatever may be thought or said: women will marry +later, will insist on exercising a choice as men do, and on +laying down their own conditions: they will in this way +imagine that they have greater freedom and are probably +making a better bargain, for they have become women of +sense.</p> + +<p>The fortunate discovery was made that Lycurgus, in the +main, considered twenty years the best age for marriage: +with the result that in the most aristocratic families, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>those most swayed by tradition, they waited with the most +perfect resignation until the seventeenth year,⁠<a id="FNanchor_89" href="#Footnote_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> while ladies +of exceptional courage held that it was “modern style” to +marry much later. Margaret of France was not married till +she was thirty-seven.</p> + +<p>This reform, important as it was, did not end in making +what we should regard as a happy girlhood possible.</p> + +<p>However the Italian theory might wreathe life with roses +and preserve a happy ignorance of physiological problems, it +was not easy for a French girl to reach that point and retain +this beautiful innocence, surrounded as she was by people +who called a spade a spade, idealising things no more than +in the days when she was married as soon as born.</p> + +<p>Girlhood was not a delightful fiction which permits infinite +hopes to be cherished, and keeps realities hidden; it was rather +an apprenticeship; and after all, since the wife has a personal +mission to accomplish in the world, which will consist, so to +speak, in patching and renovating hearts that are rent, this +apprenticeship seems as necessary to her as to a laundress +or a dressmaker.</p> + +<p>The art cannot be learnt more successfully than in maidenhood.</p> + +<p>From the moment this was admitted, it is correct to say, +girls received the same education as men: with this qualification, +that their education was more thorough, because +they made a later beginning in life.</p> + +<p>In the first place, they had male teachers, or even a tutor. +Margaret of France, like her brother, was taught only by +tutors—a singular anomaly at a time when women plumed +themselves on their superiority, and one which we shall not +seek to explain. Humanists with the highest admiration for +woman’s intellect held governesses in horror,⁠<a id="FNanchor_90" href="#Footnote_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> and allowed +no discussion about the monopoly of instruction; even in +Spain, the country of learned women, Vivès insisted on +instruction by men.</p> + +<p>And yet the market was not overstocked with women’s +tutors; the part usually fell to more or less second-rate +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>persons, who accepted it light-heartedly enough; even in +princely houses there was considerable difficulty in keeping +a man of real earnestness.</p> + +<p>These young fellows readily transformed themselves into +friends and comrades: Brantôme accuses them of a thousand +irregularities, and goes so far as to match them with the +physicians and apothecaries. Some of them were known, +it appears, to elope with their pupils, but that we must +believe to have been purely casual, and their gaiety to +have taken, as a rule, a more delicate form. Eustorg +de Beaulieu⁠<a id="FNanchor_91" href="#Footnote_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a> smilingly reminds one of his pupils, now a +staid wife and mother at Tulle, of the time when she raved +about her lessons, and said she would rather go to the +clavecin than to confession. Another pupil of his, the +young Helen Gondy of Lyons, called him in fun “her +Hector,” a title which he accepted on the distinct understanding +that he was not stupidly to die for her, “like the +other Hector.” A third, Mademoiselle de Tournon, conceived +the idea of making a bishop of this excellent, jovial, +amiable professor; but this time Eustorg raised objections, +and declared flatly that he was sure his skull was too thick.</p> + +<p>And so Dolce’s advice was followed; melancholy was +banished. But I am not sure that very fine distinctions +were drawn between the two kinds of love, or that the +young masters possessed the delightful art of developing +only the fancy and the softer qualities. In France and +elsewhere, to all appearance, they rather treated their fair +pupils in masculine fashion, with a fearless handling of +ideas; that at least is the impression we get from +Erasmus’ dialogues, <i>The Girl and the Lover</i>, <i>The Youth +and the Courtesan</i>. Brantôme taunts them with a certain +tendency to make special use of the risky passages in the +Bible and their authors for teaching theology and an elegant +style.</p> + +<p>In this way the young girls attained a perfect independence +of mind. They cannot even be compared with +the American girl of to-day, for the old hardy, somewhat +wild French stock had undergone a wonderful grafting +with Italian refinement. Many of them, having reached +a certain age, pursued their studies with marvellous gusto; +Petrarch and Erasmus they thought rather poor stuff, preferring +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>to work at Poggio⁠<a id="FNanchor_92" href="#Footnote_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> and Boccaccio. Their style of +talk was intrepid! Ah! there was no standing on ceremony +with them! Fun was fast and furious.</p> + +<p>They devoured romances, novels and plays: these fine +intrigues, these riotous passions seemed to them to constitute +the ideal life. They were <i>demi-vierges</i>. “With +all these lascivious romances, spotless virginity will be +unknown.”</p> + +<p>To describe the indignation and grief of old-fashioned +people at this sight is impossible. “I would rather see a +girl deaf or blind,” cries Vivès, “than thus overstimulated +to pleasure.” Of course it was pleaded that the artistic +instincts were being satisfied! But all these romances bore +but little likeness to the subtle analyses of our days, which +are sometimes masterpieces of philosophy: they were a +tissue of adventures all equally untrue to life. Vivès did +not understand how, if only from the point of view of taste, +girls of any intelligence could go into raptures over such +extravagances: a knight who is left for dead, but comes to +life on the next page; a hero who massacres a hundred foes +single-handed; nor how they could worship as a demi-god +the author of such trash. He begs the mothers for pity’s +sake to interfere, to take the trouble to glance through a +book before leaving it to their girls; but the mothers are +accustomed to live their own life, and besides, a lady of +fashion has so many occupations! He beseeches the +preachers for help, waxing almost indignant when he hears +them pompously stringing together their platitudes on +dogma instead of boldly attacking questions of living +interest and condemning books that are absurd or of evil +tendency. But the preachers go on preaching.</p> + +<p>Anne of France took a more dispassionate view: she saw +clearly enough that girls ought sometimes to put aside the +church fathers, if only for the pleasure of going back to +them, and she did not despair of finding a practical solution +of the difficulty. Her dream was a very simple one—the +dream that recurs again and again and yet remains but a +dream: namely, to have good romances for young girls, +pure, high-toned stories, replete with the practical philosophy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>of life, and at the same time interesting, dramatic, thrilling. +She has left us a specimen, somewhat archaic indeed, of +what she desired: a historical romance founded on a passage +in Froissart about an unfortunate captain of Brest, one +M. du Chatel, whose son is, with flagrant bad faith, +threatened with death by the English if he does not betray +the town into their hands. This eminently patriotic subject +is the groundwork of a little story, short, simple, illustrated +with a fair number of pictures, and in every way innocuous. +In the opening scene, Madame du Chatel swoons; further +on, however, it is she who, like a true woman, has all the +strength of character, and cheers her trembling husband +with words worthy of a Roman matron, or with magnificent +appeals to the divine mercy, “although,” as she says, +“children are in a special sense the sons and daughters of +their mothers.” (How touching is this claim, interpolated +quite incidentally!) So the story proceeds with alternations +of strength and weakness. On coming to after a long +swoon, the poor mother learns that her son is dead. “God’s +will be done!” she says, without a tear; “may our Lord +receive his soul!” And then she goes and dons her mourning, +and, as soon as she is alone, weeps!</p> + +<p>And here, so please you, you have a story for young girls!</p> + +<p>Unluckily, for a girl of eighteen or twenty life is no +longer “such stuff as dreams are made on,” and as a rule +the romances, good or bad, are at last thrown into the shade +by a certain practical romance in which she must needs play +her part, and which demands her whole attention.</p> + +<p>Not, assuredly, that all this led the young ladies to gild +the pill or modify their first conception of marriage; on the +contrary, the more they considered the matter, the more +they weighed, in as just a balance as men, the advantages +against the disadvantages. Very often, princesses of the +blood royal loved simple noblemen, or even men of lower +rank: they never married them. It was too well known +that love and marriage were two different terms, and that +certain old books, preserved in the libraries, maintained the +theory that married women, “possessing what maids seem +to seek,” should remain at home and never again exhibit +themselves for the pleasure of others, or even for their own. +Formerly a girl of ten years, repressed and secluded, could +picture marriage as a source of “liberty and pleasure”; and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>these blessings once secured are sedulously guarded. You +must be grateful to men for giving you their name and +fortune, of course; but some men are so odd! It is impossible +to take too many precautions. Many an excellent +young man, pleasant enough to all appearance, may turn +out an insufferable husband.</p> + +<p>And so it was with mingled prudence and dilettantism +that these fair sixteenth-century Americans set out in quest +of the Golden Fleece. Little hampered by parents who +thought their whole duty was done when they paid over +the dowry, they learnt how pleasant it was to take life into +their own hands, to show themselves in society, to talk, +laugh, dance, frolic—live, in a word, without a by-your-leave +to anyone. And yet the Latin delicacy and grace +betray themselves in various prejudices: to practise archery, +to pad themselves for a pass with the foils, or merely to +have their photographs taken as naiads—these resources +were not yet open to them! The poor things could only +triumph by their charm and enthusiasm, quite in the Latin +way, at the risk of rubbing off a little of their bloom here +and there.</p> + +<p>Outcries came from the dowagers: What! throw themselves +at men’s heads in that way! how scandalous! and +how silly! Do they think then that men are so stupid as +not to consider serious qualities? For their amusement +indeed they like the coming-on disposition, but not for +marriage: it is Cinderella that attracts Prince Charming. +Anne of France cites an illustration in point: three young +Germans of the highest distinction arrived one day from the +heart of their distant wilds with the sole object of wedding +the three maids of Poitiers, of whom marvellous tales were +told. It was a terrible shock when they found themselves +each face to face with his own fair damsel. The first had +so squeezed her waist that she well-nigh fell inanimate into +the arms of her wooer, who was thoroughly put out; the +second chattered like a very magpie; the third rather +naïvely displayed a sentimentality in the latest mode; and +the upshot was that, with never a word to one another, the +three Germans were soon stride for stride footing it back to +Germany. And Anne’s conclusion is very reasonable: +“Would it not have been better to cultivate a staider +manner?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span></p> + +<p>But it remained to be proved whether a staider manner +would be right after all, and whether a princess, of however +high descent, could indulge in the luxury of waiting at the +chimney-corner until the man of her dreams was pleased to +appear. Unhappily the contrary was the general belief. +Someone has remarked that if men do not often marry the +girl who pleases them, they do not always marry the girl +who displeases them. And that is just the reason flirtation +held its own.</p> + +<p>The art of flirting is a very subtle one, and yet it is +incredible how little time was required to bring it to perfection. +Everybody had to do with it: even princesses +wanted to fancy that they chose their husbands.</p> + +<p>The young girl “came out” into the world in two ways. +If she had no mother, or her parents found it convenient +to separate themselves from her, there was in France a +patriarchal custom, peculiar to that country, which consisted +in the girl’s entering the service of a “dame” or “demoiselle” +of good repute. So highly was this custom esteemed, that +Anne of France recommended her daughter to conform to it +should occasion arise, although the heiress of the duchy of +Bourbon had certainly no need of entering anyone’s service +to push her way in the world.</p> + +<p>Anne herself, and Anne of Brittany, thus kept “schools of +manners”—a sort of fashionable boarding-school, where the +young men never addressed the girls but on bended knee in +the ancient style, and where the somewhat cloistral austerity +seemed mitigated by the belief that so excellent a place and +so well guaranteed a virtue could not fail to tempt the most +fastidious husbands. But this institution, intended to serve +as a bulwark against the new manners, floated along, on the +contrary, in their current: Catherine de’ Medici’s “flying +squadron,” as it was called, completely lost the character of +a boarding-school, and discharged its functions with freelance +recklessness.</p> + +<p>For the most part, it was at her mother’s side that a girl +set off in quest of a husband. The plan of operations varied +so greatly that no one will expect us to unravel its principles. +All these young girls matched one another in <i>chic</i>. They +never spoke to their mothers without bleating “Madame +ma mère,” or lisping “By your favour, madam,” like so +many well-behaved silly sheep. Many of them were for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>ever showing their teeth: they had a laugh for anything—a +phrase, a fly, a gentleman with a bald head. One laughing +sent the others into fits too, and that was thought remarkably +witty. They were experts in the “sedate management +of their green-blue eyes, full of softness and opened neither +too little nor too much.” They wore lovely dresses—monumental +robes which yet seemed rather an accompaniment +than a vesture for their limbs. Some old folk (Vivès, for +example) professed horror at their ring-loaded fingers, their +pierced ears (a barbarous custom, to be sure!), those light, +delicate touches of the brush with which they did up the +face, and those subtle perfumes wafted from no one knows +where: in all this they saw woful error, and even worse, +rank folly. They sharply reprimanded the mothers, reproaching +them for a multitude of things: for withering +the natural goodness and charitableness of their daughters +by fostering expensive habits; for inciting them to a false +luxury, all vulgarity and tinsel, which is neither comely +nor virtuous, and helps not a whit towards matrimony—at +least it is to be hoped so, for it would be a great +imprudence to depart so far from reality, and to entice a +man into marriage by means of the rouge-pot and sham +charms.⁠<a id="FNanchor_93" href="#Footnote_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a></p> + +<p>But materfamilias is a lady of fashion, accustomed to +shine in society, and seeing no harm in it; further, she +is too good a mother not to desire success for her offspring, +not to applaud a venturesome flight. She, too, has dreams +of a Prince Charming; she has her enthusiasms, which take +clear and definite shape in her mind as positive hopes. As +for the father, he becomes cantankerous, and considers only +the expense of the game; he is quite of the dowagers’ +opinion, and thinks well enough of men to believe that they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>pay most attention to serious qualities. And so, in order +to compose once for all this perpetual domestic wrangle, +a great wag, Coquillart,⁠<a id="FNanchor_94" href="#Footnote_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> proposes to clothe the girls in +parti-coloured dresses, one colour for the father, another for +the mother.</p> + +<p>When a girl makes a successful start, certain mothers are +seized with a sort of fanaticism; we are wrong in calling +it fanaticism: it is really a new outburst of good-heartedness +and the passion for self-sacrifice of which women are +possessed, for, if they reflected, they would clearly realise +that personally they have nothing to gain by a brilliant +match for their daughters.</p> + +<p>Some of them push self-sacrifice to the point of servility; +they efface themselves, walk in the rear, with the meek and +deprecating bearing of a waiting-maid. That is a form of +goodness which the women of former days would not have +understood—Anne of France choked at the mere mention +of it. She had commanded armies, bearded diplomatists, +made men her puppets, checkmated her judges, manipulated +her States-general, set her whole country in a ferment +without a sign of feeling: but here she lost command of +herself: “It is tomfoolery ... it is overweening presumption +in the daughter, and in the mother sheer madness.”</p> + +<p>Kisses, caresses, secret trysts, presents, love-letters, +showers of rondeaus and ballads, stolen glances, songs +more than gay—all this made French flirtation an exquisite +pastime, essentially intoxicating in its charm. The +good, modest young damsel, who would cast down her eyes +in the street, was not a whit shocked at a pretty broad +jest in the company of men:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Aucunes sont, qui, en humbles manières,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Avec les folz jouent leurs jarretières.⁠<a id="FNanchor_95" href="#Footnote_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>Bouchet.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">In the evening by candle-light, ensconced in some nook of +the spacious fire-place, young men and girls would sit unceremoniously +on one another’s knees, laughing and talking +nonsense. People who have got past these maidenly frolics +themselves find it more and more difficult to become reconciled +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>to them. Jean Bouchet feelingly describes them in his +book, <i>Les Regnars traversant les voies périlleuses</i>, at a period +when the art was still in its infancy. Young men easily get +absolution: they naturally profit by opportunities of amusing +themselves; and, besides, theirs is the passive part. But the +girls! how venturesome they are, how light-heartedly they +chip, at least in spirit, the poor remnant of their semi-virginity!</p> + +<p>It would be a mistake to suppose that flirtation will in +time lead to the introduction of the love element into +marriage. These damsels are by no means anxious to allow +the principle of earthly love—that is to say, a germ of divorce—to +steal into their married life. Their ideal consists in +falling in love with a man of wealth and established position, +and so far it has a reassuring character, worthy of respect. +At this stage of their life they are working for themselves, +as later they will have to work for humanity. M. Bourget +has discovered in America the different varieties of the +sixteenth-century flirt: the professional beauty; the girl +of ideas, who stumps a platform and stands for the parish +council; the “jolly good fellow”; the girl of well-balanced +philosophical mind; the coquette; the girl of ambitions; all +are ambitious and to some extent coquettish, and even the +philosophical girl gives the ideal only a secondary place.</p> + +<p>But amid this charming round of coquetting and artless +sensibility, passion sometimes flashes out—passion, at once +the great peril of the Latin races and their eternal charm. +One may be convinced that the heart has been subdued by +cold calculation, and that love is laid under a spell by means +of philosophy; but they burst their bonds! And here the +parts are not distributed as one would wish: this generation +is about to inflict a wound on platonism! Often it is the +wife who, instead of serving as an idol, gives herself to love. +In the terrible veins of French and Spanish women there +flows a blood which they do not always succeed in mastering, +the old blood of knights or peasants; they bruise +themselves against the invisible mail-armour of modern +life.</p> + +<p>In the second act you would almost invariably see the +serving-maid appear on the scene—the “confidante” of the +plays, a good soul, as indulgent to everyone as she is to +herself, devoted, and not more thick-headed than becomes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>her, thoroughly convinced that she has something to gain +from every intrigue. The mother has her own affairs and +her dignity to attend to, which keeps her in ignorance of +what is going on; whilst with the maid there are private +conversations, mutual unbosomings, a companionship in +study of the facts of life. Lucky, indeed, if some smart +lackey, let in on the strength of his ingenuous manner, +does not put in his word!</p> + +<p>Saint Theresa thus plunged with masterful strokes into +the swirling tide of existence, with the aid of a serving-maid, +at the age of fifteen. Her father placed her in a +convent, but the walls were no barrier to her: she performed +unheard-of feats, broke through the roof, wrenched away +the gratings. She had to be despatched to a more reposeful +situation—to an uncle stuffed with the fathers of the church, +a man after Vivès’ own heart; from his care she returned +with a passion for religion, and escaped once more, this time +to enter a Carmelite convent in the teeth of opposition. +She was now in her nineteenth year, and her trials, repentances, +revolts were only just beginning; eighteen more years +of struggle were required ere this tempestuous character +was at last soothed definitively into mildness.</p> + +<p>Unhappily, the girls’ little love affairs sometimes had +graver consequences. Plays and novels show us situations +awkward enough: in one of Parabosco’s comedies, the +mother arrives a little behind the fair.</p> + +<p>Laughing, boisterous, pitch-forked into life, the poor +children do not pretend to have the ferocious virtues that +men have not.⁠<a id="FNanchor_96" href="#Footnote_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> Is that their fault, since they have been +brought up like men? If they go wrong, it is not from +a bent towards wrong; it is as the birdling errs, buffeted +by the storm on its first escape from the nest. To avoid +risk altogether, they would have to remain for ever under +the mother’s wing, as the early educators wished.</p> + +<p>In the sixteenth century, there were still good people +who wished girls to become deaf-mutes again, and constitute +Our Lady “the guardian and warder of their hearts.” But +such talk was not very effective.</p> + +<p>Wise counsellors and practical preachers who advocated +“retreats,” and knew the world, addressed themselves +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>directly to the girls and sought to touch the chord of self-interest. +The grave Jean Raulin,⁠<a id="FNanchor_97" href="#Footnote_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a> from the eminence of one +of the most fashionable pulpits in Paris, reasoned with them +somewhat as follows: “To wed a widow, well and good! +There is no fuss, no golden ring, no benediction, but withal +it is a marriage: whilst with a counterfeit young maid +presenting herself at the altar—! Ah! fair ladies, guard +your purity to the very hour of your espousals, whether +you be earthly or spiritual brides! That is the precious +treasure you must at all costs save, and for many reasons: +because of human frailty, according to the words of the +2nd Epistle to the Corinthians, ‘We have our treasure in +earthen vessels’; because of its inestimable value, according +to the words of Ecclesiasticus, chapter xxvi., ‘There is no +price worthy of a continent soul’; because of the irreparability +of the mischief, according to the words of St. Jerome, +‘God can do all things save restore a lost virginity.’”</p> + +<p>Many could not help regretting the free country life, and +fancied that fidelity to a more rigorous system of education +would have yielded better results. Of a truth it would +have been better to make women frank creatures of passion +than coquettes or mere worldlings. But an honest glance +at the life of rural folk was enough to assure the observer +that utilitarianism does not elevate the manners. Yes, seen +from a distance, the ways of country folk seem compact +of smiles and caresses, love and candour: pigs and cows +meet in the meadow or at the fair; lovers too meet, at +church, at a dance, after those winter parties so hotly +denounced by the preachers, nay, every morning and evening +if their hearts bid them; and they can exchange little +presents, meet to scrape the fiddle or twang the guitar, +without anyone finding fault, save perhaps a rival with +whom they are quits for a few rounds at fisticuffs, or at +most a thrust with a knife. A fashionable young girl, you +may be sure, would not be horrified at the exchange of +a few good swashing blows for her; she is apt to regard +life as too tame. It remains to discover whether to reduce +life to its primitive simplicity is really to elevate it. The +idealists thought not.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_I_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br> +<span class="smaller">THE HUSBAND AND THE VARIOUS WAYS OF SLIPPING HIS YOKE</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>The most troublesome question to be settled in regard to +feminism is that of the authority of the husband. Legally, +the husband was head of the household, an idea which +found ready acceptance among the lower ranks of society, +and which the people applied with its habitual logic. It +won warm approval from Rabelais. Nothing struck men +as more grotesque than a husband suspected of having +allowed his wife to get the upper hand. An artisan of +Bourges, at whom some unpleasant neighbours hummed a +refrain about a woman who thrashed her husband, on that +ground alone brought against them an action for slander.</p> + +<p>In all sincerity, the husband considered himself an absolute +owner, the lord and master, the head and soul of his +wife, that “feminine and feeble creature” whom he condescended +to take to his hearth, and who owed him, in the +name of God and the law, “perfect love and obedience.” +As to the wife, she was, so to speak, stepping into a railway +train driven without her assistance. She had paid her fare, +and wedlock stretched itself rigidly in front of her like +the driver’s footboard, a place for manliness and nerve, but +unromantic in the extreme. What matters to her the +scenery along the line? The rippling sea may chant its +amorous strains, the spring sun may dot the wilds with +flowers, the tempest may sweep through the gorges, but the +track stretches on and on in its direct unswerving course, +with never a thrill, never a smile, unfaltering, unreflecting, +mathematically.</p> + +<p>What was the wife but the principal servant, or the eldest +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>of the children? She only addressed her master with the +most profound respect. “Sir,” she would say to him, or +“My good friend.” She was his “wife and subject”; if she +wrote to him she signed, “your humble obedient handmaid +and friend.” But her husband spoke to her stick in hand.</p> + +<p>The stick! that was the only argument the women understood.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Bon cheval, mauvais cheval, veut l’esperon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bonne femme, mauvaise femme, veut le baston.⁠<a id="FNanchor_98" href="#Footnote_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Preachers spoke of the thrashings with a smile. Needless to +say, the police did not interfere. Margaret of France did +indeed think it a little vexatious that a lady honoured with +the king’s attentions like the beautiful Madame de Chateaubriand +should still receive correction of this sort under her +husband’s roof-tree.</p> + +<p>But this was not all: the authority of the husband was +often coupled with the tyranny of the mother-in-law. The +husband’s mother, especially if she was a widow, rendered +life horribly galling and difficult.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, the married woman, no matter to what +lengths her husband might carry his ill-usage, knew well +that there was no redress for her anywhere. Unhappy wives +sometimes in the madness of despair fled from their homes +in the most shocking plight, only to be remorselessly dragged +back by their father, brother, or cousins, as a result of the +appalling freemasonry between men. To rely on her own +mother was out of the question for a wife; the two women +belonged to two distinct houses, with a barrier, a great +gulf fixed between them. In the early days of wedlock a +husband, not to appear a tyrant, and because he was in no way +inconvenienced, would allow his wife now and then to visit +her mother; but he contrived that these visits became gradually +rarer, and when he was not at home, a wife careful +of her repose and dignity would never cross her mother’s +threshold without first writing to him: “If it be your good +pleasure, I would fain go.”</p> + +<p>That was a woman’s life. As it was not all smiles and +rosewater, there was good reason for marrying the girls off +early, before they had learned to care one way or another, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>their equipment being a few simple maxims inculcating +obedience, and some odds and ends of medical knowledge. +Wives who owed their training to Vivès could not but +be very unhappy, according to the principles of marriage held +by Vivès himself. For Vivès not merely approved of early +marriages, he was also one of those who believed that the +wife was created for the husband, and an irresponsible and +inferior being; he looked at the husband as someone to bring +her out. Erasmus, Bouchet, Dolce himself, nay, everybody +had much the same impression.</p> + +<p>The supremacy of the husband was the sacred ark; bold +indeed would be the person who dared lift a hand to it! +So in modern times we have seen aesthetes, like Ruskin, +capable of every possible audacity but that. Ruskin does +not understand women, and yet he has gone out of his way +to exalt their rôle in the world; but, as soon as he comes +face to face with the husband, he loses countenance, his +candour vanishes, his words become cold and colourless.</p> + +<p>How is one to explain this singular phenomenon, that so +many good and even generous-minded men, after expressing +a heart-felt sympathy with the sufferings of women, after +proclaiming their intelligence and their right to live, falter +and hide their heads when the question of liberty at home is +raised? It is not because they believe there is no more +to be said. La Rochefoucauld declares that “there are few +good wives but are tired of their calling,” to which it would +be easy to reply, “There are few good wives whose calling is +not tiring.” But what is to be done? No one is inclined +to go like Plato to the root of the matter and suppress +marriage altogether. Marriage obviously necessitates a +husband; it is a vexatious, clogging, disagreeable necessity, +maybe, but there are no visible means of escaping it. A +wife too is necessary; well, once a man and woman are +united in wedlock, one of the two must needs hold the reins. +There are many reasons, even physical ones, why a woman +should not undertake to earn bread for the family and to +flog the husband. And so the husband retains that right.</p> + +<p>But if we go a little deeper into the psychology of +domestic life in the sixteenth century, we shall note other +important phenomena, pointing to a different conclusion.</p> + +<p>To begin with, investigating facts from the outside, who +was it that complained of marriage? The man; always the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>man. In actual working the woman found compensations, +or at least advantages in it. For her it was a state leading +to boundless possibilities if only she cared to open the door. +The more ardent paladins of feminism, indeed, were often +disconcerted by her outwardly conciliatory attitude towards +it. But the husband, married though he was, could not +forget that setting up an establishment had involved the +turning his back upon life. His chains appeared to him, if +not heavy (to him they were not heavy), at any rate the +sign of a monotonous, unvarying servitude. In the words +of an old ballad, the monk may change his order, the canon +his stall, the official his functions,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But we that be poor married men</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Can neither go up nor down.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>If we enquire of the spouses themselves, we find that the +disagreements and difficulties rarely sprang from the larger +facts—those that were regarded as irreparable.</p> + +<p>Heaven seems to have taken care to arm us, in regard +to important questions, with a veritable long-suffering. +There are fools, it is true, who seriously think of keeping +their wives under lock and key, not reflecting that no better +means could be devised for making them desperate and +leaving them at the mercy of Tom, Dick or Harry—the first +passing officer. Such men only get their deserts. But +there are also shrewd men who keep their eyes shut to +what it is best not to see: everybody advises them to do +so, or, what is better, gives them every assistance. There +must be a special providence, even, watching over the wives.⁠<a id="FNanchor_99" href="#Footnote_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a> +A wife, on the contrary, can hardly remain in ignorance +of her husband’s laxities, for these most often manifest themselves +in the broad daylight, and sometimes under his own +roof. Many stories might be told about chambermaids such +as we read of in Scripture, but a little too mercenary, to +be sure: for the courts showed so much generosity in +assessing the damages due in such circumstances that artless +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>little Chloes have been known to bamboozle the judges and +profit handsomely by a mishap that was wholly imaginary.</p> + +<p>In Italy, men of the world had a sure and simple custom, +which consisted merely in buying a young slave-girl. In +the market of Venice, a pretty Russian, a fair Circassian, a +well-built Tartar girl between twenty-five and thirty years +of age would fetch from six to eighty-seven ducats. It +needs no showing how well this institution was suited to +platonism; the most eminent platonists did not disdain it. +The mother of Carlo de’ Medici was a lovely Circassian girl, +purchased in this way by the grave and aesthetic Cosimo. +It would never have occurred to a wife to desert her home +for such a grievance as this; to do so would have made her +a general laughing-stock. She might feel keen inward +suffering; perhaps her heart would close a little more +towards the earth and open out towards heaven; but this +experience would be of use to her, and a woman who was +genuinely an idealist would almost rejoice at it. It would +teach her to show a firm and lofty front to the world, to +live among her ideals, to form a low estimate of men.</p> + +<p>Domestic quarrels really spring from the crabbed sour +virtues, the insufferable respectabilities. Men are hard to +please. One moment they find a wife in the way: the next +they expect her to be perfect. She ought every morning, +as an old author explains, to put on the slippers of humility, +the shift of decorum, the corset of chastity, the garters of +steadfastness, the pins of patience, and so on; but it is by +no means proved that in such a case a husband would not +think his wife a little over-dressed.</p> + +<p>The wife, too, is up in arms about mere trifles—her +husband’s commonplace soul, his narrowness, his materialism, +his egotism, his gross old-bachelor ways. Her real +grievances, to say nothing of her fancied ones, are innumerable. +One woman finds, instead of the “morning dew” of +her dreams, that she has espoused a lumpish lout.⁠<a id="FNanchor_100" href="#Footnote_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a> Another, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>brought up in a part of the country where hunting was the +stock topic of conversation, feels aggrieved if her husband +tries to engage her practical interest in literature or music, +the result of which is so complete a discord that the +husband at last packs her off to her father, who promptly +sends her back again. Another lady is wretched because +her good man loses his appetite, and in bed does nothing +but sigh; on this foundation she builds a whole world of +suppositions, and finishes by making life impossible to the +poor man, who is all the time at a loss to know why: as a +matter of fact, he has been worried about an investment. +There are some women odious because of their incessant +chattering, their tempers, their vanity. Many women are +desperately fond of contradicting their husbands, tormenting +them with pin-pricks. At table a husband inadvertently +poured water into his wife’s glass. The lady handed the +glass to a footman, saying hotly: “When it is dry, I will +ask for it back.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_101" href="#Footnote_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a> These are the things which destroy +domestic happiness, which poison a man’s life (“wine and +women have their poison,” says an old proverb), which +disgust and shrivel the heart of a woman and drive her to +a life away from her home, in pilgrimages or what not. A +man does not need to be a saint to bear with a woman of +easy virtue, but only a saint can endure a wearing woman.</p> + +<p>And so what is wanted in domestic life is a great deal of +prudence and wisdom, and as little as possible of illusions +and passion. Marriage is the most sacred bond in the +world, but only so long as it is not strained. To yield to +the temptation of loving would be fraught with great peril; +that is the forbidden fruit. Champier, a philosophical +physician of the time, calls it fatal: it kills. Leaving out +of account the physical vicissitudes of life, the spirit of man +is too fickle to permit him safely to stake his life on one +head.⁠<a id="FNanchor_102" href="#Footnote_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a> Of this, Europe had a terrifying proof.</p> + +<p>Philip the Fair was a notorious lady-killer; and his wife +Joanna, like a genuine Spaniard, loved him to distraction. +On one occasion when he was travelling in the Netherlands, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>she worried herself into a sort of prostration. One wild, +bitter night, as November nights are in Navarre, this poor +Joanna, seized with a sudden hallucination, rushed out half-clad +into the courtyard of the castle of Medina del Campo. +People hurried up to her, and the governor stopped her and +ordered the gate to be shut; but the unhappy woman, her +eyes starting from her head, clung to the gate, and no +human strength could tear her away. When morning +came she was still there, panting and shivering, with wild, +sunken eyes. Her mother, Queen Isabella, who was lying +ill at Segovia, despatched an admiral and an archbishop in +hot haste to the castle, but neither the archbishop nor the +admiral succeeded in getting the poor mad thing away from +her gate. They only managed, with great difficulty, to +induce her to enter an adjacent shelter for the following +night. Only the Queen was able to put an end to this +distressing scene, the memory of which thrills Spain to this +day. Yes, La Bruyère has well said: “Women go to +extremes! They are better or worse than we.” There lies +their danger. They would assuredly do well to beware of +their ecstasies, and to keep above or below the husband +with whom it is their lot to live.</p> + +<p>If they are reasonable and resigned, like those of whom +we have to speak, not believing in the necessity of a matrimonial +passion, then the humanists resume their dulcet +strains. They have no intention of bringing about a violent +rupture, but make their appeal to finesse.</p> + +<p>The old type of the hectoring husband, even with his +bludgeon, is no longer a terror. No one is so likely to play +a puppet’s part as the man who fancies he is monarch of all +he surveys. The foolish fellow is so convinced of his +superiority that he never perceives the slender cords by +which he is led. He works like an ox,⁠<a id="FNanchor_103" href="#Footnote_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a> and his wife calls +him a selfish beast and curmudgeon. She croaks of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>workhouse if things are not going well with him, while if +everything is going smoothly she “cockers and cossets him,” +and then gets, not a beating, but a dress or a blouse. She +has tears or smiles as occasion serves, and, if need be, +practises her blandishments on the friends of the dear man. +She wheedles even Heaven itself, for all that is required to +ensure peace is to bring the shirt that her lord and master +is to wear on Sunday into contact with the altar during +Friday’s mass, and there is no difficulty in that. It is +commonly said that “a woman is easy to manage provided +’tis a man that takes the trouble”; a man is still easier to +manage provided a woman is good enough to take him in +hand. In short, the women had long before this quietly +juggled away this harassing domestic problem. That is +why, despite the bogey of principles, the women thought +highly of marriage. They reconciled themselves to obedience, +so long as they did not obey. For the same reason +the warmest friends of women found no better means of +combating marriage than to defend it. The men alone +girded at it, because, accustomed in their bachelor days to +eat their own cake, they did not easily get into the habit of +working for a little community.</p> + +<p>Erasmus has very cleverly summed up the situation in the +form of a dialogue between a young bride and a matron of +sense and sobriety.⁠<a id="FNanchor_104" href="#Footnote_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a></p> + +<p>The former makes loud outcry. “What a hell is marriage!” +she exclaims, “what a slave’s business! And for +whom, ye gods! For a gambler, a brute, a rake! ’Twould +be better far to sleep with a pig!”</p> + +<p>The other soothes her. She must take her husband as she +finds him, that is to say, a coarse animal, a sort of elephant, +to be tamed with a lump of sugar.⁠<a id="FNanchor_105" href="#Footnote_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> She must appear to give +in to him about trifles, to put up with some of his whims and +eccentricities, and above all to lay in a large stock of good +temper and never be idle or dull, for the husband has a +perfect horror of being bored, perhaps because he is such a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>bore himself, and sulkiness upsets him, especially if he is +sulky. What she must do is to leave him what he has, and +give him what he lacks, those charming possessions with +which the new system of civilisation has endowed women. +She may even add a little affection, and then, one fine day, +she will be struck with astonishment (for men do not shine +at finesse) to see this rough husband of hers at her feet, and, +instead of considering her a nonentity, taking her for the +image of God. From that moment she possesses the affection +she has sought; and the task is not very difficult.</p> + +<p>Truth compels us to add, however, that, apart from this +moral recipe, another circumstance contributed to give the +women greater importance in conjugal life. In France, as in +every country where men are the ruling spirits, they were +not fond of giving the girls a dowry, or at all events they +gave them the smallest possible allowance. When the girls +married, they received a sum representing in a way what +would some years before have been called their “night-cap,” +but what was then styled a “chaplet of roses,” and they +renounced all claim on the inheritance. Accordingly a rich +man did not think it at all extraordinary to wed a girl without +a fortune, since that was the usual thing. Louis de la +Trémoille married Gabrielle de Bourbon on those terms. +Further, there was not the same difference between large, +middling and small fortunes as there is to-day. With an +income of three or four thousand livres, equal to £3000 or +£4000 to-day, a man was thought a nabob. The husband, +then, brought the money, and in addition he guaranteed a +contingent jointure on his own property, so that it was really +a home of his providing that the woman entered. A man in +those days knew nothing of that pride now universally felt +in wedding a millionaire’s daughter from Cincinnati, or even +from Paris.</p> + +<p>To marry money struck people as shameful, almost infamous. +A husband supported on his wife’s income was the +object of heartfelt commiseration, and an establishment so +organised seemed unworthy of the name. No sarcasm was +keen enough for the classical “son-in-law of Monsieur Poirier,”⁠<a id="FNanchor_106" href="#Footnote_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>the dapper lordling, all genealogy and sport, whose sole +accomplishment is a knack of plunging deep into debt, from +which his worthy father-in-law (who made his money in +treacle) toils behind the scenes to extricate him.</p> + +<p>On the contrary, Monsieur Poirier was highly esteemed in +industrial countries—the Low Countries, for example, while +as to the Italians, they, openly and unashamed, regarded big +dowries as at once legitimate and desirable. They had the +courage of their opinion—for instance, that physician of +Pistoja who had to choose between two girls, one of whom +was warranted a sensible creature, while the other was less +sensible, but richer by three hundred crowns. The doctor +did not hesitate an instant in choosing the richer, for in his +opinion the risks were equal, and the difference pointed out +between them was not worth a few crowns. No Italian was +at all loth to marry a woman who brought him a dowry +large enough to live on. At Florence fifty crowns a year +would almost keep a household of moderate tastes, and a +woman of the lower middle-class as a rule received a dowry +of two or three thousand florins, which yielded an income +of at least a hundred and fifty florins. The Visconti and +the Sforza, by means of dowries which were by all accounts +colossal, got their daughters into the principal royal houses +of Europe. In short, the Italian system continued to exercise +a wonderful fascination even over outsiders, and in starting +on the expeditions to Italy more than one French noble +fancied that a rich wife would be the reward of his prowess.</p> + +<p>It is not very surprising that these ideas at length overcame +all resistance in France. Louis XI., who was a pupil +of the Sforza, did much in this as in other things to snap the +chains of the old traditions. We have elsewhere related how +lightheartedly he made and unmade marriages, with the sole +object of rewarding various adventurers at the expense of +the most honourable families.</p> + +<p>Louis XII., on the contrary, set himself passionately to +oppose these new manners. Although he plumed himself on +his chivalry as much as anyone, he did not admit that the +heat of passion could excuse the abduction of a young girl, +even if she were rich—and in such cases she was almost +always rich. His firmness did not prevent some picturesque +exploits; but the authority of the church, with its strong +weapon the canon laws, lent him aid.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span></p> + +<p>We have moreover had occasion to show elsewhere how +much difficulty Charles VIII. had, after the event, in getting +the legitimacy of his marriage with the heiress of Brittany +acknowledged.⁠<a id="FNanchor_107" href="#Footnote_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a></p> + +<p>And so it is that, at the epoch of women’s triumph, we find +in France two distinct species of husbands. The first, without +shutting their eyes to the importance of money, refused +to make it the principal question in marriage. Undoubtedly +it was unfortunate if the wife came quite empty-handed, and +in such a case a girl ran some risk of the “pain” of remaining +an old maid or falling into an unhappy plight. The most +insignificant workgirl set her heart on getting a little dower +together, even by methods not altogether innocent,⁠<a id="FNanchor_108" href="#Footnote_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>we know that the purses of princesses dribbled out a beneficent +response to this desire. But many marrying men +were quite content to be fobbed off with some sort of +equivalent. Thus Louis XII. created François de Melun +Count of Epinay to induce him to marry Louise de Foix; +and Louis de la Trémoille gave twelve hundred livres to his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>servant, Robert Suriete, to compensate him for the portionless +condition of a pretty girl, Marie de Briethe.</p> + +<p>The other kind of husband, which was destined more and +more to outnumber the first, saw in money, on the contrary, +the real, substantial element of wedlock. Anyone who +thought that a woman would appreciate a sacrifice made to +marry her struck them as egregiously simple. The richer +women are, the better they are, as Montaigne says: there is +no reason why a man should sacrifice positive “commodities” +to uncertain (and not particularly useful) quantities such as +birth, beauty, virtue, wit.</p> + +<p>The ball once set rolling spun along merrily. Especially +in Italy, the exploitation of marriage attained imposing +proportions. Indignant fathers of families protested; the +Venetian senate, composed mainly of fathers, passed various +decrees more and more restrictive, contemptuous and scathing, +but all in vain. The whole class of idle young men of +fashion, and it was a numerous one, avowedly regarded +marriage as a unique means of enriching themselves and +assuring an idle life, a charmingly easy means, too, not +above the level of the meanest intelligence. Guez de Balsac +likened it to a fat prebend which does not require the holder +to become actually a canon, but which does unhappily +necessitate occasional residence.</p> + +<p>This custom does not perhaps indicate very warm feelings +on the part of the young men, but it cannot be denied that +it satisfied the secret wishes of the women and gave a +sanction to the evolution of their ideas.</p> + +<p>From the day when they pay the household expenses, +women consider the parts reversed, and begin by assuming +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>the most perfect liberty. Henceforth no more constraint, +no more subterfuges, no more Judas kisses. They are now, +mark you, equal⁠<a id="FNanchor_109" href="#Footnote_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> or superior to their husband in those +material concerns which are the essence of domesticity; +and as moreover they fancy that morally they excel the +men, that they are at once more affectionate, more chaste +and more steadfast; as they are reminded on all sides of the +example of paragons like Cleopatra, they make up their +minds to be Cleopatras too. They consent, out of goodness +of soul, to try their prentice hand on their husbands. They +make him happy, sometimes even in his own despite; they +are going to transform him “from a battered ingot or a base +coin into a new crown piece.” In his heart of hearts the +husband may fret and fume, call to mind the old-time ways, +wonder at his wife’s continual absences from home and her +choice of friends, and at times even try to interfere; but he +is quickly given to understand that my lady is not going to +be held in a leash or shut up in a band-box, that seraglios +exist no longer. She will devote herself to his happiness, +provided he shows himself docile and recognises his incapacity +and helplessness. Ay, and let him reflect: how +could he get on without so virtuous a wife? He would +go into a consumption. She is there, regulating his expenses, +his pleasures, the frets and sallies of his temperament; she +watches like a sister of mercy over his physical and moral +well-being, and it is by this means that the household +represents henceforth a unity, sound, robust, with two bodies, +four arms, and two souls.</p> + +<p>Obviously (to repeat it once more), we have no intention +of enunciating an absolute rule. In speaking of households, +we do not mean that all the households in France were cast +in the same mould, and that everywhere at the same moment +they were all acting precisely in the same way. No two +were alike.</p> + +<p>The truth is that, one way or another, a very large +number of women no longer suffered themselves to be +snuffed out, “trodden under foot,” to use the current phrase. +As to the manner in which their controlling influence +showed itself, that depended on events, tastes, how the wind +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>blew, circumstances. A favourite idea of Margaret of +France, and one which it would have been difficult to get +out of her head, was that women always err by their meek +and quiet spirit, their excess of long-suffering. In vain is +the reply made that more than one woman makes a virtue +of necessity, and that, face to face with a violent creature +threatening to break every bone in her body, a woman +needs all her patience; Margaret protests that she would +rather be flogged than despised. This magnificent declaration +sets some of the company smiling, and enraptures the +women. One pert widow alleges that she loved her husband +so much that if he had beaten her she would have killed +him. “In other words,” retorts Henri d’Albret, “you mean +to rule the roost. Well, I am agreeable, but you would have +to get all the husbands to agree.” Margaret winces under +this intellectual cut; she is put out, for natural as she would +regard it for her husband to take her orders, she dares not +say so. Even she falters, and admits that the man is the +natural head, but not that he has a right to desert or +maltreat his wife.⁠<a id="FNanchor_110" href="#Footnote_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a> Can this be Margaret? Yes, the words +are her own, and are exactly to the point. Women do lack +decision—and she was the very first to show it!</p> + +<p>Some young ladies, to elude this difficulty, thought it well +to marry a ninny—if not an absolute fool. Worthy folk +were amazed and sang the praises of mind and its attractions, +“the treasures of knowledge,” and asked them what +pleasure they promised themselves. What a question to +ask! Why, since a husband was in question, they promised +themselves precisely no pleasure; nothing but money, or a +name! That was how the Duchess of Medina-Sidonia +married; she espoused an income of sixty-thousand ducats, +with a grandee of Spain. True, this grandee, when paying a +visit to the archbishop, asked very politely to see the +children! There was nothing here to hinder the duchess +from having as much mind as she wanted. But it must be +confessed that this was an extreme remedy, and it would +be preferable for a woman to feel and believe herself able +to mate with a man of intelligence.</p> + +<p>Domestic manners thus underwent a profound transformation. +In humble homes the wife continued perforce to +cook, to make the beds, to wash her husband’s head and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>feet, with no loss of dignity. But in the great houses, it +was no longer common to find hard inelegant matrons who +rose with the sun, were continually chevying the children +and servants, and knew no pleasure but the joy of piling up +well-bleached and well-darned linen on Saturday, the housewife’s +field-day. As Fourier has pointedly observed, disdain +of such mole-eyed habits is the test of a people’s progress in +civilisation.</p> + +<p>It is much more delightful to float through life with +a smile on the lips, and to govern imperceptibly, by means +of a languorous Creole grace.</p> + +<p>Such grace abounded, and many instances of it might be +given. Here is a specimen which seems to us characteristic; +it is a simple little note from Isabella d’Este⁠<a id="FNanchor_111" href="#Footnote_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a> to her husband, +dictated to a secretary:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="noindent">“My Lord,</p> + +<p>Prithee mock not at my letter, nor say that all women +are poor things and ever smitten with fear, for the malignity of others far +exceedeth my fear and your lordship’s mettle. I should have written +this letter with my own hand, but ’tis so hot that, if it last, we are +like to die. The little knave is very well and sendeth a kiss to your +lordship, and as for me, I do ever commend myself to you.</p> + +<p class="center">Longing to see your lordship,</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Isabella</span>, with my own hand.”</p> + +<p>Mantua, July 23rd.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>“With my own hand,” the signature and no more. It is +so hot! But does not this very air of fragility convey a +charm exactly of the kind to subjugate even a husband?</p> + +<p>This charm does enfold him—and it keeps husband and +wife apart! Seen at a distance these distinguished women, +genuinely Stoic at heart under a mask of <i>abandon</i>, in reality +overawed their lords and masters, and, even in their private +intercourse with them, kept themselves shrouded in mystery +and the unknown. Vittoria Colonna’s husband, who took +little pains to be agreeable at home,⁠<a id="FNanchor_112" href="#Footnote_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a> became so devoted a +lover of his lawful spouse when far away as to compose +in her honour a whole volume of charming verses entitled +<i>A Book of Loves</i>. This book was never published, and has +disappeared. Brantôme keenly regrets its disappearance, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>because, he says, it would have given us an opportunity to +see the poetry of conjugal love, and to know if that ought +to draw its inspiration from platonic sentiments or not—from +celestial love or from love legitimately terrestrial.</p> + +<p>Poor Brantôme! We think we can solve the question +which troubles him. The women of that time were waxing +philosophic, they had set their minds towards acquiring a +good deal of knowledge and yet remaining alive, instead of +minimising themselves, humbling themselves, following behind +like a boat in tow. They had become vestals (if we +may put it thus) in regard to marriage, and considered that +their true mission was to shed abroad the love which +welled over from their quivering hearts; for it is always +the lack of men that turns women into feminists. In the +world they were going to become “goddesses,” and it would +be impossible any longer to live without them.</p> + +<p>Francis I., in a court without women, found himself +getting too proud and despotic; his gardens appeared to +him “flowerless,” so he summoned and enticed young women +to him, and treated them “like goddesses in heaven.” He +shewed them their new mission.</p> + +<p>And yet, what unsuspected depths of loathing rose to the +lips of those divine women! I do not know whether the +number of women sick of their husbands was larger than at +present, but it was large enough. Pride and a high sentiment +of duty in the gaze of the world long watched over +them, like those grand statues of splendid, almost menacing +virtues which the sculptors of former days were fond +of setting before a tomb, at either end of the grave. But +after they had accomplished, unostentatiously, devotedly, +the mission for which men married them, namely, kept the +house in order, loyally studied the master’s comfort, poulticed +and physicked him, borne him children, replenished the +stock (pardon the expression) like good brood-mares, and +humbly occupied the foot of the table, there came a time +when this primary duty was done, and then they sprang up +as though from a sleep, and looking at the sun, enquired of +him whither they must fly to find life. They were born to +sow flowers behind them. Their children were these flowers, +painfully plucked out of their very vitals and flung into the +future. It remained yet to pluck from their hearts, with a +more vivifying joy, immaterial flowers, flowers of love, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>flowers of happiness, children of the soul, their real children, +for if the woman is a passive being in physical conception, +in spiritual conception she plays another part, she becomes +the active being. The seed is hers to sow.</p> + +<p>By this time they were no longer at the “angelic age,” +as Alfred de Vigny called it, namely, fifteen years. As a rule, +they might confess to thirty, the age when women have “a +spice of the devil,” the age at which one ought to know how +to deal with soul and heart.</p> + +<p>The sort of revolution they brought about was no new +thing. There always had been and always will be women +of thirty years, quite aware of their age; but these were in +addition keen-sighted, psychological women, who meant to +get to the bottom of the phenomenon and measure its intensity +with the eye of a connoisseur, for it seemed to them +that they were entering into life.</p> + +<p>The children, who had been the <i>raison d’être</i> of the home, +were about to go out into the world, or had already gone. +As soon as he could, the first-born son, that dear little boy +whom the mother loved, asked and obtained a little money +and disappeared. Henceforth he was hardly mentioned; he +now had his own affairs, his own pleasures, and when he wrote +it would be a postscript, affectionate but rather concise: +“Madam, I had forgotten to write and say I have learnt +that you have given me a little brother named Guy. I +beseech you, Madam, see him well nourished, for I love him +well.” Sometimes news came that, far away, Death had +rudely snapped the last remaining tie, and from the truly +heroic words which then burst from certain courageous +mothers’ hearts, we see how hardened their souls had become, +and how the noblest and most dearly loved of them +had been compelled, in their thorny life, to form the painful +but admirable habit of sacrificing their affections to the +very uttermost. Gabrielle de Bourbon was announcing to +her officers the death of her only son, killed at Marignan. +Aloud she said: “in this battle that the King has won”; +but in a whisper she added: “which has brought such +heavy woe upon us.”</p> + +<p>That sweet women whose very nature is to love should +go out, when all fails them thus, into the world, like the +bees of God, to gather a little honey and labour for the +common hive, is not very surprising. They prefer “a little +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>love from many to a great deal from one,”⁠<a id="FNanchor_113" href="#Footnote_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a>—especially +when that one does not love them!</p> + +<p>And so marriage comes to serve them as a refuge when on +their honey-quest. It is like the lodge in which hunters +take up their quarters, to be nearer their game and to shelter +themselves from the weather. The women rejoice at having +it. Nevertheless, before studying these emancipated women +as they play their part manlike away from home, we have +still to examine a final objection of principle, which was +strong enough to hold some of them back.</p> + +<p>Many moralists, even without bias against feminism, reproach +the women with owing their philanthropy to a +horror of marriage; according to them, the mission to the +world upon which the women wished to enter was for them +a means of evading their domestic duties.</p> + +<p>That is not the fact. Without appealing to the obvious +arguments, we wish for no other proof of the women’s good +intentions than their very manifest desire not to carry their +separation from their husbands beyond a certain point. +They did mean to render their bonds lighter, and even +elastic. But, as we have already seen, they defended the +institution of marriage and affectionately tended their +husbands in sickness; and it is certain that they had no +wish to lose them.</p> + +<p>Divorce originated in the masculine countries. It appeared +a step in advance, because hitherto public opinion +had shown itself singularly cruel in regard to separated +wives. There was neither pity nor justice for them. The +husband had no shame in deserting his wife, and it was +always she who was blamed.</p> + +<p>To put a stop to separations, the Senate of Venice, evidently +convinced that as men they were not there for nothing, +prescribed in 1543 a system which was simplicity itself. +All separated women were metaphorically to be buried in a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>heap; they were forced to wear a special costume like lepers, +and were forbidden access to any public place. The clergy +revolted. In the end, the august Senate contented itself +with a milder punishment; it placed the unfortunate women +under the surveillance, not of the state police, but of their +ex-husbands.</p> + +<p>But a time came when the Venetian measures no longer +appeared feasible, and then in the countries where men +ruled opinion it was generally admitted that woman, being +a secondary creature, needed an owner and employer. +Instead of trampling upon her when she found herself +without a master, they deigned to do her so much justice +as to provide her with a new lord. Calvin, generous soul, +permitted her, in case of proved desertion, to take another +mate.</p> + +<p>In the Roman countries, deserted wives were objects +of compassion. But marriage remained indissoluble; there +was no remarriage; and a woman in a country where +women were a force had nothing to gain by placing herself +in a false position. All that Roman charity could do was +to throw open houses of refuge where she might find a +retreat in honour and solitude. The true way of getting +rid of a husband was to keep him.</p> + +<p>Nor did the women, even the more philosophic of them, +find any substantial advantage in being widows.</p> + +<p>Certainly we must make some deductions from the rather +theatrical demonstrations customary at death-beds. The +custom was an old one, dating from the time when it +was agreed that in losing her master a woman lost her +all; these poor women were stricken to the heart-core, and +thrilled with an emotion half comic, half touching. That +was their manner of receiving their liberty; it seemed as +though they had nothing left them but to die themselves, +especially if they were young, and for some time everyone +seemed of that opinion. In lugubrious and lachrymose tones +their friends would remind them of overpoweringly wonderful +examples: Artemisia, who drank her husband’s ashes in +a cup of water; Portia, Cato’s daughter and wife of Brutus, +who, on learning of her husband’s death, finding no knife +at hand, did not seek one but swallowed live coals. Those +who had simply opened a vein or cut their throat, or who had +without ado plunged a dagger in their heart, were past +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>numbering. We can realise what delicacy, what aristocratic +charm there was in the Indian widow’s suttee.</p> + +<p>But for her children, who after reconciling her to marriage +reconciled her to life, Louise of Savoy would have died +on the corpse of her husband; so, at least, Jean de Saint-Gelais, +her chamberlain, assures us, and he was suspected, +only too reasonably, of over-familiarity with the secret +tastes of his mistress. But for her religious scruples the +beautiful Isabella Richisentia had killed herself on the body +of Raymond de Cardoña.⁠<a id="FNanchor_114" href="#Footnote_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a> Bouchet and Moncetto, nicknamed +Lycurgus, deliberated in great distress of mind whether +they should persuade Mary of England⁠<a id="FNanchor_115" href="#Footnote_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> to live, after the +death of Louis XII.; they reminded her of Lucrece, Penelope +and others, and Moncetto wore himself out in speaking +of them to her in every known language and in verse. +But for the young Englishman she espoused only a fortnight +later, Mary, perhaps, would have died.</p> + +<p>As a rule these widows, like reasonable creatures, at last +made up their minds to live, under pressure from those +about them; but it was also customary for them to display +at least gorgeous mourning finery.⁠<a id="FNanchor_116" href="#Footnote_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a></p> + +<p>Let us first see how they buried their husbands.</p> + +<p>There were quiet women like Anne of France who contented +themselves with the celebration of a very impressive +service, and to all appearance shed no tears, for they spoke +neither of drinking the powdered bones of the dead man nor +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>of spending the rest of their life in the bed of the dear +departed. Anne of France indeed considered these proceedings +as “useless, unworthy and detestable follies”; the +only mourning that appealed to her was simple, silent and +lasting. But more than once people were staggered at the +quantity of tears women’s eyes could contain. “Vainly do +they tear their cheeks and dishevel their hair; I go off and +enquire of a chambermaid or of a secretary how they were, +how they lived together. We would much rather they +laughed at our death, if they would but smile on us while +we live.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_117" href="#Footnote_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a></p> + +<p>A Spanish lady, the Countess of Consentana, in officially +notifying her vassals of the death of her husband, signed +herself, “The sad and unfortunate countess,” and, the better +to indicate her distress, she dropped two ink-blots where +her name should have come. The facetious vassals replied +to their “sad and more than very unfortunate countess” in +an address which, in their agitation, they all signed with +enormous daubs and flourishes. Spain smiled, from Bilbao +to Gibraltar.</p> + +<p>So a widow left nothing undone to show how much she +deplored her solitary condition. To this first conclusion we +must add a second not less manifest: almost every widow +strove earnestly to regard her husband as alive, so true is it +that her aim was to act under the shadow of a husband as +little in her way as she in his.</p> + +<p>Of all the species of husbands, the dead husband is the +one who would require the most special monograph. +However little heroic his life may have been, his widow +made it her business to sing his praises in public. A woman +whose married life had notoriously been one of discreet +indifference, if not of discord, would spend her nights and +days in celebrating the glory and the memory of the dead +man. So profoundly would she identify herself with him +in heart that ere long she would develop into the widow of +a great man and rise into a superior atmosphere. The +greatnesses which the deceased perhaps never possessed she +first gave him and then appropriated herself, and in the fire +of this love she was gradually consumed. Besides, sometimes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>she happened actually to have got past the age for +love.</p> + +<p>Margaret of France consoled herself frankly enough for +the loss of the Duke of Alençon; but Vittoria Colonna never +ceased to address sonnets to her captain, and when she was +urged to marry again, her reply was simple: “My husband +Ferdinand, who to you seems dead, is not dead to me.” +Diana of Poitiers manipulated this principle of “beyond the +grave” with wonderful dexterity: she never was a widow. +Her husband was dead, to be sure, but she displayed as her +device an evergreen tree-stem springing from a tomb, with +the words: “Left alone, she lives in him.” As late as 1558, +at the moment of her greatest worldly triumphs, she +remained faithful to him.</p> + +<p>Here, then, we have reached a second and a very important +point: a woman of the world, so to speak, had her +husband’s soul packed in straw (like her china), and in +principle she always considered herself as a wife.</p> + +<p>In regard to the employment of their widowhood the +widows fall into two classes. First there was the widow of +the classical traditional school, who no longer belonged to +the world, but buried herself in her maternal duties or in +charitable work. She was only a survival of the old-style +housewife, of whom a good many were produced even in +the sixteenth century. For example there was Anne of +Polignac, who, in her retreat at Verteuil, where she divided +her time between her children and a splendid library, +amazed the Emperor Charles V. with her well-regulated +and dignified life. Again, there was Charlotte d’Albret, the +widow of Caesar Borgia; she was a little more worldly, and +by nature fond of show, splendid plate, magnificent jewels, +and a large retinue.</p> + +<p>These widows were administrators of the first order; so +far as the interests of the family were concerned, it was an +advantage, as a proverb ran, “for the husband to go first to +earth.” They excelled in getting full value for their money; +sometimes even they were not averse to dabbling in usury: +Charlotte d’Albret rather liked it. It would certainly not +have been safe to reckon on their alleged feebleness; some +of them were of mettle enough to mount the ramparts like +Catherine Sforza. After the death of Grisegonelle Frottier, +various relatives of his conspired to capture by force of arms +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>the manor of Blanc which belonged to him. His widow, +Françoise d’Amboise, learning of their plot, immediately +appealed to the “picaulx,” a brotherhood of Poitevin knights +who were vowed to protect widows and orphans; and +instead of leaving her cause to the halting march of justice, +she organised an expedition and overthrew her adversaries. +In spite of the rather energetic character of the proceeding, +Louis XI. was touched, and willingly gave his pardon.</p> + +<p>The most of these good widows spent a part of their life +in convent chapels, and it was in this direction that a +breach was made in their spirit of economy, for, according +to pious authors, the devil worms his way through the +vestry door. They would meet there a lay brother, charged +with the duty of nurturing simple souls into fruitfulness. +Beginning by sending some delicious tarts in exchange for +a <i>De Profundis</i>, the ladies would by degrees make up their +minds to found a chapel, then to have it decorated, then to +endow it.</p> + +<p>Or they received charming letters from the good nuns: +“We are poor women whom your departure has left in +distress, and we may say that we have lost all the good of +life.... We are still wearing the cloaks you made for +us, and we are going without pelisses, as our custom is. The +convent has not changed since you left us ... except it be +that we suffer cruelly from cold during the winter.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_118" href="#Footnote_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a></p> + +<p>Many grave and strong-minded widows, after having +mingled in affairs, took advantage of their widowhood only +to forget a world in which their heart had not found sustenance. +So soon as they had fulfilled unavoidable duties, +it was a pleasure to them to distribute their property and +retire from the world. We can hardly realise how the vision +of a few sweet, peaceful years consecrated to the soul haunted +the hearts of women whom the evil star of too high birth +had flung into political affairs.</p> + +<p>Such was the end Margaret of Austria⁠<a id="FNanchor_119" href="#Footnote_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a> would have desired.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span></p> + +<p>Such was actually the end of two exquisite princesses of +the house of Lorraine: Margaret of Lorraine, duchess of +Alençon, who first connected herself with a hospital, then +with the strict order of the Poor Clares; and Philippa of +Gueldres, who entered the same sisterhood when her son +ascended the throne. She lived with them for twenty-seven +years in the deepest humility, styling herself “a +worm of the soil,” though her companions might continue +to call her “our reverend Mother the Queen.”</p> + +<p>The new generation was to see little of these sublime +modesties. The majority of widows lived in the world; but +what liberty they enjoyed they bought very dear, and on the +whole they had less liberty than wives. They were gay +and did not darken too often the vestry-door; they did +not flaunt the time-honoured widow’s cap, still dear +to Englishwomen—headgear that would disgust anybody +with widowhood. Was that a crime? By no means; and +yet the slightest slip or suspicion of a slip was in them +unpardonable. Men saw in every widow either a naughty +woman or a hypocrite, and they did not shrink from saying +so. A physician was once bargaining for a mule in the +presence of a fair widow, and said he: “I want one that’s +a widow”: and as the dealer did not understand him, he +added: “Yes, a widow, that is, plump, and light on her +heels, and a good feeder.” The saying ran: “If a man +thinks his wife a little too thin, he had better make her +a widow.” A widow was regarded only as so much raw +material; and from the moment when “Goodman Danger” +was no longer at hand, sin itself seemed to lose its sweetness. +Widows were recommended to frequent none but deserted +chapels, to contemplate the crucifix during the night. This +condescending pity sprang sometimes from good-heartedness; +but it was often odious to them, and all the more so because +everyone, even the most confidential servants, fancied they +had a right to throw in their sympathetic suggestions. Anne +of France was indignant at this universal treason, which +shocked her sense of right.⁠<a id="FNanchor_120" href="#Footnote_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a></p> + +<p>And yet society added one more tyranny. For a widow +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>to marry again was scarcely tolerated.⁠<a id="FNanchor_121" href="#Footnote_121" class="fnanchor">[121]</a> She would have +been just as severely chided for finding a second husband as +she would have been for not finding a first.⁠<a id="FNanchor_122" href="#Footnote_122" class="fnanchor">[122]</a> She would be +sooner forgiven for a frailty, a yielding to temptation, than +for contracting a new tie. What woman was this who had +not had too much of one husband, and was not amply +satisfied? Among the people she was favoured with a +sort of skimmington ride. Margaret of France defied the +prejudice and married again: it was in sooth the deed of a +philosophic woman. But in general, widows were still +chained to their widowhood by various considerations; in +the first place, the practical difficulty of finding another +husband. Men were quite ready to court a widow, but +very few would make the sacrifice involved in marrying +her. A woman no longer young, a “shelled peascod,” who +no longer had anything to give and had settled habits of her +own, was the antipodes of the little maiden of twelve so +much in request. Besides, the widow herself was enjoying +a large and tranquil life, thanks to the jointure of which a +second marriage would deprive her; sometimes the whole +of her husband’s fortune had come to her on condition +that she devoted herself to the children. She held in all +matters the authority which had belonged to the dead man, +and indeed it was not uncommon for the husband expressly +to bequeath her this authority in his will.⁠<a id="FNanchor_123" href="#Footnote_123" class="fnanchor">[123]</a> The drawback +to this life of business management is precisely that a woman +loses in it something of the bloom of her grace and sweetness, +she no longer needs to employ persuasiveness and love since +she has force at her disposal, and the result is that she +becomes a sort of man, and acquires some of the defects by +which she has suffered at the hands of her husband. We +can thus understand quite well that a woman who wishes +to remain a woman will do her best, for her own security and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>charm’s sake, to live under the fostering wing of a precious +memory, and will cherish with the utmost devotion her (so +to speak) posthumous husband. There lies her real strength.</p> + +<p>The Renaissance woman, then, a woman of essentially fine +grain, and well versed in everything it was her business to +know, was a woman of absolute sincerity, and we must +believe her when she speaks well of marriage. She +considered that institution as perfectly reconcilable with +the fulfilment of a mission in the world, indeed as +favourable, almost indispensable, to it. She had no more +reason to give up marriage than to give up eating and +drinking: it is not this that enchains the soul. The idealists +differed from the utilitarians solely in the belief that one +marriage is enough: the former covered their faces if a +widow, not ethereal enough to satisfy them, went by on the +arm of a new husband; the latter applauded, and fancied +that by this transaction the animal nature was held in +check. But this is of little interest to us. The only result +important to note is that a woman, without ceasing to be a +woman, could win freedom for her affections and her activities +as well as a man. When she had attained that condition of +liberty, she ascribed all the honour to marriage, and blessed +it instead of thinking that she owed everything to herself. +Marriage, like many human inventions, is a contrivance +capable of producing either liberty or tyranny, and women +had simply altered its direction.</p> + +<p>They wielded intimate and domestic powers. Their rival +was not the husband, they came to terms with him; it was +the man who looked after their body or their soul, and to +whom, out of weakness or indolence, they were led to attach +themselves like an anaemic ivy-plant. To mark their place +in this world they had themselves to learn how to obtain +what brings happiness: health of body and of soul. Respected +in regard to the body, it remained for them to gain +self-respect in regard to the soul, and to show that true +Christianity consists in bestowing power and liberty, not in +withdrawing them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_II_LIFE_IN_THE_WORLD">BOOK II. LIFE IN THE WORLD</h2> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_II_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br> +<span class="smaller">THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>Margaret of France said, very incisively: “The defect of +women is timidity.” They are born to fear.</p> + +<p>Women had become habituated to a passive and secondary +part. They desired to escape from it, they felt the need of +activity and a freer air, their wings were growing and they +adored intellectual liberty, at any rate they said so—and +they had in fact already snapped many of their chains; but +when you come to close quarters and exchange confidences +with them, you perceive that they are still held fast by a +multitude of secondary diffidences, by tenuous invisible +threads starting often enough from social conventions of +little or no importance. They are unable to wing their +flight, or they require a man to go first and shew them the +way; or an absolute necessity, an enthusiasm, an impulse of +devotion is necessary to start them off.</p> + +<p>They move at last, not through reasoning, but as the result +of the more or less vague sentiment that while their home-life +has brought them no love, yet they are made for love +and have a love mission to fulfil. A modern aesthetic +writer—but a man after all and only moderately sensible—has +thus explained the appeal of grace as it affected himself: +“I had nothing to love. For me my parents were in some +sort only the visible powers of Nature.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_124" href="#Footnote_124" class="fnanchor">[124]</a> How much more +does this apply to women! They want something to love! +Separated from her family the wife finds in her husband the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>incarnation, in the fullest sense of the word, of the visible +power of Nature, and so it is that the ardent instinct drawing +her towards the light is very complex, much interwoven +with pain and passion; it is a thirst for love almost cruel in +its intensity. Just as the husband wins honour for himself +by means of external activity and public service, so the wife +hears destiny making a similar appeal to her. Around her +there is a life to diffuse, a sweetness to sow, hungry folk to +feed, wounds to dress, a great cry of distress and hardship to +soothe; and act she must. A tradesman’s wife may shut +herself up in the narrow egotism of her back shop. Could a +woman of heart shut her eyes to the profound unrest of +society? Ought she to remain a helpless pawn on the +board, a mere victim? Was she not called to take her +share, as an intelligent and free creature? Willy nilly, she +must step forth from her house—burst her shell and wing +away! At twenty it is excusable to confuse one’s ideals +with life; ten or fifteen years later this illusion has dissolved. +One feels then the need of setting one’s heart upon +some firm, sure, noble spot out of reach of the swirling tide +of existence; and a day thus arrives when every woman +capable of reflecting and of loving throws a questioning look +on what is around her.</p> + +<p>And then, what answer does she get from the great +mystery of life? She sees a gigantic system of force and +matter in interaction, set in motion, working, displaying +itself under the silent impulse of an invisible power, and +having neither existence nor beauty apart from an end +external to itself. The governor of this world is man, +endowed with an intelligence more potent than matter, so +that he finds himself placed here below as the ambassador +of life and the type of beauty. He himself obeys practically +one only motive power, love; he cannot be strongly stirred +save by passion. Thus the whole world obeys the law of +beauty and of love. Truth and goodness form, so to speak, +its skeleton; beauty is its life; love, the instrument of its +life. Certain modern aesthetes, seeking to establish an +antinomy between man and Nature, represent man as a foe +who in employing Nature necessarily violates and deforms +her, whereas left to herself she would be always lovely.⁠<a id="FNanchor_125" href="#Footnote_125" class="fnanchor">[125]</a> To +subordinate man to Nature in this way seems to us untrue +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>and disastrous. Surely the contrary is the case: we may +put anything to wrong uses, but material forces cannot but +gain if we direct them aright. Our part is to live in +harmony with Nature, conformably to the magnificent and +universal law that love grows by spending itself. “Go and +give all your goods to feed the poor,” says the Gospel: that +is nobility! Sow, give: give always! Give the labour of +the arm to the fields as yet sterile; give your heart to +hearts that are dull and dead! Beauty and niggardliness +cannot live together. At one end of the scale there are +those who are incapable of giving, frozen hard, as it were, +against love: at the other are those who in a splendid profusion +of generosity pour out their gifts without taking +count of them: and the whole world lies between. From +the pebble sensible only to mechanical attraction, to the +flower that scents the air, one profound idea holds good, one +great song rises, all mortal things cry in unison, and the +burden of their united voices is, love. Every moving thing +tends to entwine itself about something else, to unite +inextricably with it; all life tends to pour itself into another, +to surrender itself, and thereby it has a second birth, and all +individual vibrations coalesce into one grand note. And, +above this symphony of material things, the heart of man +outpours itself in similar strains in the spiritual spheres +of true life which stretch up to God. The love of man, to +adopt the phrase in the <i>Imitation</i>, is a cry flung out towards +God.</p> + +<p>Love, then, is the ruling principle of the world, a noble, +superb, necessary thing; extending its broad wings it easily +dominates the littlenesses and conventions of life, responds +to all needs, whether of the individual soul or of society, sets +frail hearts athrob with life. But it is obvious, too, what a +strife it is sure to excite, by its double nature, between spirit +and matter—a strife wonderful and delightful and fierce.</p> + +<p>Women are so constituted as to understand this sharp +antagonism between material love and spiritual love—women, +who, at a certain crisis of life, feel so strongly the +contrast between the cruelties and ironies of material +things and the refinements of the heart. They drag +about a body often feeble, suffering, wretched, a misshapen, +bleeding, shamefast body, a pain-stricken body, +born for love and worship, but subdued to the surgeon. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>There comes a time when they would fain forget the animal +and wash it of its impurities if possible; their soul has +become more intensely spiritual. If they shudder at the +recollection of certain physical necessities, through that very +fact the secret of happiness appears to them simpler, more +luminous, less clogged with matter; branded by life, as +certain mystics bore the brands of divine love, with sides +pierced and limbs explored and broken by the hands of men, +they are athirst for love, enthusiasm and worship, they +understand that no intellectual hair-splitting, no doctrinal +analysis, is worth a snatch of love. They know the sweetness +of things. I will go farther: they know the extraordinary +influence of moral forces on physical health; the +body, like society at large, needs to be reinvigorated by soul +and heart.</p> + +<p>The truth strikes upon them vividly by a sort of intuition. +But it is far from being the case that all women are able to +profit by it, because they have to reckon with a thousand +practical obstacles: they require great liberty of mind and a +large share of energy if they are to avoid being restrained by +a host of more or less respectable prejudices, conventions, +and usages. After all, timidity, indifference and frivolity +are very natural things.</p> + +<p>Particularly in France, women needed genuine courage +to assert their resolution to act and take part in social +work, in the midst of a society essentially constituted +to prevent them from giving effective expression to their +ideas—a society that was strenuous, Philistine, utterly +strange to philosophy and imaginative thinking, hidebound +to traditions of very rudimentary common-sense and a proud +simplicity, composed of families desirous of living in their +own fashion under the direction of their head, with no grand +notion of forming parts of one stupendous whole. The king +was the head of the principal family; on this account, men +showed the most artless veneration for his person, but so +long as the army was duly organised and the frontiers +properly defended at the least possible expense, they troubled +themselves very little about their sovereign’s existence. So +the despotic power of the husband was not merely domestic, +but political: the man was lord of the lands and the village +as he was of his wife, and he administered the whole without +stirring up many ideas, in intimate communion with his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>oxen and his oaks. Again and again we find in portraits +the rubicund faces of these honest-eyed country squires. +There was nothing extraordinary or gigantic about such a +man; he was a man of iron, that was all; and beside this +substantial creature vegetated, half-stifled, that fine and +precious flower his wife, sometimes a frail delicate thing +with liquid eyes charmingly veiled, all compact of concentrated +passion, placid tenderness, and impressionability.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, in strange contrast with this individualistic +society which lived in isolation as a matter of principle, +there then flourished at court, in the cities, and in certain +great châteaux an extremely active society, that of the salons. +Effervescent, noisy like fresh arrivals, ceremonious, gilded, +of a refined and factitious elegance, it represented what many +writers called the “theatre of the world”: marvellous +stage scenery, which underwent remarkable transformations +under the shifting play of the side-lights, forming a background +against which the players strutted through their +parts. Who were these actors? Whence came they, whither +were they going? These were questions about which often +enough there was little information and less concern; sometimes +it was thought best to ignore them altogether, for, +thank heaven! it was not to grow mouldy in the depths of +the country that a man intrigued, nor was assassination a +means towards opening a grocer’s shop. Occasionally, and +usually when the curtain fell on a financial act, someone +disappeared, but without tragic accompaniments, and then +(except Semblançay,⁠<a id="FNanchor_126" href="#Footnote_126" class="fnanchor">[126]</a> who was hanged) he reappeared and +went on with the pantomime. There was nothing but +praise for the noble use Admiral de Graville made of his +princely fortune, which was the object of some discussion. +Du Plessis so cleverly extricated himself from the toils +of justice that he could bequeath to us the admirable +Cardinal Richelieu. The Bohiers, Briçonnets, Robertets, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>Duprats,⁠<a id="FNanchor_127" href="#Footnote_127" class="fnanchor">[127]</a> and many another, small or great, erected in all +security their splendid châteaux, triumphs of art, but a sort +of affront to the old machicolations crumbling in cold neglect +under the moss. In those days Gold was king.</p> + +<p>All this splendour and grace, this brilliant life, which +seemed bound to make everything around dim by comparison, +nevertheless by no means dazzled the common herd, +but at first aroused a feeling of repulsion, if not of jealousy. +Outcries arose. Wealth was apparently losing its character +of a kindly and patriarchal simplicity, to bring into greater +prominence the figures of proud and self-important men who +believed their wealth would purchase everything—virtue, +wit, honour, as easily as a rare picture. A poor man +accordingly was set down as a “soulless body”; the virtuous +man was one who lived in a palace, while the man who gave +a dinner-party was a master-mind.</p> + +<p>To tyranny of this sort there was added the individual or +social misfortunes of a society naturally unstable and continually +recruiting itself by means of speculation. Thence +arose outcries: “You make so many poor folk cry alack! +alack! that we long to see you fall headlong in the dust!”⁠<a id="FNanchor_128" href="#Footnote_128" class="fnanchor">[128]</a></p> + +<p>Gold and pleasure were the deities to whom we owe the +charming eighteenth century. But they lead to revolutions. +This fact came out clearly, too clearly in fact, in Italy, and +compelled men to endeavour to restrain these two great +world forces within wholesome limits. In the fifteenth +century Christian socialism reared its head high at Florence +and Rome, and under stress of its menaces a science of +philosophy came to birth.</p> + +<p>In presence of this social peril, certain men, compelled to +issue from their egotism, pointed out the road for timid +women to follow to avoid vengeful reprisals. Men of affairs, +bankers, notaries and others banded themselves together +with the firm resolution of forgoing business, interests, +ambitions, even their for the most part despotic hopes in +state intervention, of seeking to practise self-devotion, and +of borrowing, if necessary, something of the idealism of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>philosophers and artists, so that they might give a practical +sanction to their high station by working to raise others. +The Florentine people swallowed the bait; at once ardent +and refined, they admirably blended practical reasoning +with ideal aspirations. And so the first step was taken.</p> + +<p>However, it was more particularly at Rome that this +idea, still rudimentary and ill-defined, of purifying life and +pursuing social happiness by means of the tender charm of +the Beautiful made progress. It found there a well-prepared +soil. Intellectual culture and elegance of speech did not +represent at Rome, as they did elsewhere, a mere ornamentation, +they were the very substance of the state. Money +was intellectualised as regards its origin and its end, and +nowhere had men a better conception of an oligarchical +society, a republic regulated by absolute power. The heads +of the church formed a unique world of their own, as little +tainted by the military or frivolous character with which +certain aristocracies were reproached as by the taste for +coarse pleasures natural to some self-made men. They +showed indeed a living example of a true aristocracy, in the +exact signification of the word, that is to say, a body of +men of varied degrees of rank, raised high above the common +run of men by some eminent gift—some by high political +position or distinguished birth, others by a large fortune, +others by great accomplishments, renowned virtue, profound +learning, striking talents. They abhorred cliques and their +pettinesses; to greatness of position should correspond +greatness of ideas. And this splendid aristocracy, thus +composed of the choice flower of society, delighted in tracing +its descent from remote ancestors. It set no store either on +high ancestry (though some were of brilliant descent), or on +a display of wealth (though some had enormous fortunes); +it ventured to connect itself with all the most illustrious +and conspicuous names in the past history of the human +race from the time of the Greeks and Romans: Plato, +Socrates, Archimedes, and Cicero were its ancestors. And +thus, with a strange persistence, it constantly tended to lift +into its own ranks by its example, its doctrines and its +easy accessibility all men who felt within themselves a +spark of genius or talent, or even ambition merely.</p> + +<p>This atmosphere was very favourable to the development +of the theory of social aesthetics of which Castiglione +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>has etched the principal features. “Luxury must be +opposed, even if we have recourse to law; social life must +be given a moral and governmental goal; to keep the +appetites under, the laws must find effectual support in +custom. The power of a single ruler fosters corruption; but +it has this advantage—that wisdom, goodness and justice +are more easily found in a single individual supported by +strong traditions than in a fortuitous assemblage of obscure +citizens.” What is wanted is to institute a kingship in the +world for which justice and beauty are the qualifications, +and which is thus more real and of a diviner right than any +other. Mammon, that is, the love of gold, the love of power +and pleasure, can only reign in a world of night, when we +have eyes but cannot see, when we have lips from which no +human cry issues, when we are dead to enthusiasm, and +when our whole life consists in eating and drinking.</p> + +<p>In France the socialist danger, presenting itself in a much +less acute form, could not produce the same effects. The +people who were to show their teeth fifty years later were +as yet silent, and there was no anxiety about the future +except among the cultivated classes. Moneyed people bore +themselves with becoming modesty, and remained on the +best of terms with the most notable representatives of the +old nobility. But the nobility, being no longer feudal, was +no longer of much account, and a moral crisis of exceeding +gravity took place in the ranks of this aristocracy based +wholly on birth and fortune. Sheer vanity took the place +of pride; the “smoke”⁠<a id="FNanchor_129" href="#Footnote_129" class="fnanchor">[129]</a> of titles became a more powerful +motive than the love of glory.</p> + +<p>The great financiers almost all became barons, in order to +get above finance; the holders of fiefs became barons, +counts and marquises. Ordinary mortals came to hold +fiefs; the most insignificant dovecot was transformed +into a château. Society moved on a step, and everybody +was satisfied. It was quite a steeplechase in the Italian +style. Pontanus,⁠<a id="FNanchor_130" href="#Footnote_130" class="fnanchor">[130]</a> for all his malicious ridicule of it, had +himself vainly solicited the title of baron. The good duke +of Urbino, a great philosopher whose elevation was of very +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>recent date, employed the assassin’s knife to put out of the +way a girl of the lesser nobility whom his eldest son loved +and wished to marry, and Louise of Savoy warmly approved +of this magnificent implacability.⁠<a id="FNanchor_131" href="#Footnote_131" class="fnanchor">[131]</a></p> + +<p>Pedigrees assumed wonderful proportions. Only those +who had the moral simplicity of Margaret of Austria were +content with the ancient kings of Germany for ancestors; +every Scottish archer, no matter how insignificant, claimed +descent from the ancient kings of Scotland. Louise of Savoy +made a beginning by modestly connecting the French house +with the most ancient of royal dynasties, that of Babylon.</p> + +<p>Some went even farther. They dived into the remote +and shadowy depths of history, the ages of stone and iron, +when some wild girl became their ancestress through a +chance meeting with a savage in a wood, and when five +minutes’ rain instead of sunlight would have been enough +to wash a whole race of men from the page of immortality. +Anne of Brittany was descended from one of the giants +sprung direct from mother Earth. Rabelais with great +gravity presents his hero to us in his exact style as son of +one of the original sons of Earth: “Would to God,” he adds, +“that everyone was as well acquainted with his pedigree +from the time of the Flood!”</p> + +<p>But in reality, under cover of these novel and pedantic +vanities, money, with its brutality and vulgarity and appeal +to vulgar minds, led the dance and dragged the pick of the +nation pellmell after it. The Balsac of the time, Robert de +Balsac, fills a good many pages with examples of the crowd +of worldlings who, as he expresses it, hurried in unbridled, +almost frantic haste on the road to beggary.⁠<a id="FNanchor_132" href="#Footnote_132" class="fnanchor">[132]</a> There are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>voluptuaries, debauchees, spendthrifts, men gorged with +gold, yet athirst for more, tumultuously dashing on and +upwards in frightful torment and agitation towards a will +o’ the wisp; one after another they fall headlong into the +gulf, while the foreground is filled with the eternal procession +moving on with slow pace and clockwork regularity. +Alongside of this mad insolent triumph of gold fierce +hatreds develop, and men begin to speak under their breath +of the horrible triumph of wretchedness approaching, and +can foretell the hour when materialism from below will +make its awful response to materialism from above.</p> + +<p>Women ought to have remedied this state of things. +They ought to have prevented men from becoming besotted +and ruining themselves. Anne of France dared not suggest +to all these idle nobles that they might occupy themselves +with intellectual things, but she was anxious at least to +brace them up by a life of physical endurance. Without +military courage, she declares, the nobility resembles “a +withered tree,” without valour “it is nothing worth.”</p> + +<p>What she was losing hope of, a fraction of the clergy set +themselves to win. There was, among the mass of cassocked +peasants and rochetted aristocrats, a small group of cultivated +men drawing its inspiration from the Cardinal of +Amboise,⁠<a id="FNanchor_133" href="#Footnote_133" class="fnanchor">[133]</a> less audacious than Rome, less retrograde than +Germany. These recognised the traditional merits of military +glory, birth, and money, but would have liked to +reconcile them with the newer virtues, blend them together +into one radiance, homogeneous like the sunbeam, which is +composed of colours so various; they would have liked to +see all these glories combining, as at Rome, into one rainbow-like +effulgence. A monk of Cluny, Clichtoue, begs, beseeches +well-born young men to shun the enervating paths of +infatuation, idleness and vice. He has endless examples +showing the possibility of alliance between literary tastes⁠<a id="FNanchor_134" href="#Footnote_134" class="fnanchor">[134]</a> +and the military life; he reveres the principles of rank so +highly as to discern them in application everywhere, even +among the metals; but he longs ardently to bind into one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>sheaf all the vital forces of society; he is a philosopher, one +may even say a sort of John the Baptist. He proclaims +Plato; he is more scriptural than Luther, and has as much +antique culture as any Roman prelate;⁠<a id="FNanchor_135" href="#Footnote_135" class="fnanchor">[135]</a> to him the future +seems to outline itself clearly. “After virtue,” he says, “a +noble can have no comelier ornament than letters. Philosophy +is not the recipient, but the source of nobility.” He +adjures distinguished men to pay real attention to the social +obligations incumbent on them, under penalty of losing +their rank. He does not disavow the natural pleasure a +man takes in the thought that he has had ancestors and +will have descendants, but to him this does not seem a +sufficient though an honourable aim in life. If no means +are found of uniting the two nobilities, that of the body and +that of the mind, no doubt (in his opinion) the nobility of +the mind will get the upper hand; Solomon, who is not +generally considered a modern or even a socialist, had +already said so long ago: “I myself also am mortal, like to +other men, and am sprung from the terrestrial lineage of the +first man. And in the womb of a mother was I moulded +into flesh. And I also, when I was born, drew in the +common air and fell upon the kindred earth, uttering, like +all men, for my first voice the self-same wail: in swaddling +clothes was I nursed, and with watchful cares. Who among +the kings had any other beginning? All men have one +entrance into life, and a like departure.”</p> + +<p>Clichtoue, however, as well as his friends the Lamennais +and Montalemberts of the period, confined himself to counsels +and prognostics, which indeed the future was in great +part to justify; he had not yet discovered the exact formula. +He had it at the tip of his tongue, but could not give +it utterance; it seemed as though in France the words +‘beauty’ and ‘love’ were no words for a man or a churchman. +These noble and lofty words were to come from a +higher sphere, and from women’s lips.</p> + +<p>It was Margaret of France who at last uttered them, and +they were echoed around her.</p> + +<p>Here we find the remedy so ardently sought for against +materialism, as Jean Bouchet explains it on Margaret’s +behalf: “To purify the world, to eliminate its coarser +elements; to give wealth only the lowest place as a source +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>of social distinction, and even then only on condition that +the plutocrat lives nobly, that is to say, unselfishly, and +makes noble deeds his constant study.” True nobility is +not a cockade, a label, a name, but a moral reality; “it +springs from the soul, and not from wealth.” Noble and +lofty spirits are recognised precisely by their innate simplicity; +they leave the gildings, the pompous blazonments, to +“the sons of swineherds, sempsters, stockingers, and other +mechanical folk. But those who are illustrious by long +descent reveal their nobility beyond possibility of mistake, +for they have in them something, I know not what, of +naïve goodwill that manifestly separates them from the +arrogant assumptions of false nobles.” Spirited, showy, a +genuine blue-blood, restive under marital authority, but +quivering to her inmost fibres at the slightest appeal of a +refined sentiment, Margaret of France remained obstinately +faithful to these principles, finding in them the pole-star that +guided her steps throughout life. The words we last quoted +were uttered in circumstances which give them a special force, +namely, in the funeral oration of Scaevola de Sainte-Marthe, +who thought he could cast upon the princess’s tomb no +sweeter flowers, none more likely to blossom eternally. +Margaret herself never lost an opportunity of emphasising +with all her force the terrible fear she had of the power of +money.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Aimer l’argent,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sinon pour s’en aider, c’est servir les idoles!⁠<a id="FNanchor_136" href="#Footnote_136" class="fnanchor">[136]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>In regard to those who deal with humanity like brokers, +and believe that happiness is purchasable, she gives vent +to passionate apostrophes worthy of the most ardent +Christian socialists:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ilz ont plaisirs tant qu’ils en veulent prendre,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ilz ont honneurs s’ilz y veulent prétendre,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ilz ont des biens plus qu’il ne leur en fault.⁠<a id="FNanchor_137" href="#Footnote_137" class="fnanchor">[137]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And this was precisely what men were aiming at. The military +framework of society was broken; to replace it by a financial +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>framework would have been considered almost criminal; +and that was where the great danger lay. To employ a +comparison approved by Francis I., two cars are running +the world’s course side by side; a choice must be made +between them. One is the car of Plutus, filled with gold, +lechery, vice; the other is the car of Honour and Love, +thronged about by all the virtues.⁠<a id="FNanchor_138" href="#Footnote_138" class="fnanchor">[138]</a> The choice is clear: for +its own happiness, for its own glory, the world must reject +the worship of money, trample on the power of money, and +proclaim the power of virtuous love.</p> + +<p>Thus, little by little, the formula sought for emerges into +view. A wonderful light is thrown on the problem when it +is admitted that to be happy it is necessary to rise above +material things, and establish society upon a philosophy of +love. Life and beauty, they are the true riches! The +feeblest of men, the most hopeless invalids, the vilest outcasts, +woman with her feeble body and ardent soul, are +richer than a nugget of gold, more eternal than the Alps, +greater than the sea and the vast realm of nature, for this +very reason that they have in them life, the true life, +that is, consciousness of life, confidence in life, and love +of life.</p> + +<p>And the same idea that happiness must be sought through +true life, led men to recognise the necessity of considering +the ‘hygiene’ of this life. Medicine, care and pity had +been up to that time only for the ills of the body, for the +gaping, gory wounds that came under the eye; the wounds +of heart and spirit had been forgotten. To render life +sumptuous and brilliant, to fritter it away in a sort of giddy +excitement or intoxication, was the utmost of men’s achievement. +The heart cannot be bought; there is no specific for +healing its wounds; they must heal themselves.</p> + +<p>The art will consist then, in realising as far as may be +the plenitude of life; in other words, in extracting from +Christianity, which is Hope and Charity, an aesthetic philosophy. +“I am the God of the living,” said the Master. If +we combine the sayings on life scattered through the gospels +we obtain a true code of aestheticism, while the sayings on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>love form the warp and woof of the doctrine. On the +morrow of the Resurrection, when the rude fishers chosen +to disseminate the sacred tidings are in utter ignorance of +the event, the Master shows Himself first of all to Love; He +appears at the gates of a mysterious garden by which Mary +Magdalene is about to pass—Mary, a woman pardoned, +glorified, because she loved much, because she sinned +through superabundant kindliness.</p> + +<p>This doctrine of love had not prospered in the world, +where it found briers too deeply rooted, thorns too cruel; it +had become a supernatural and sacred thing, so sublime that +it fled the world and took refuge in the cloister, like a sickly +plant in a hothouse, leaving a free field for vice. Tenderness +seemed to come only from feebleness; every form of art +seemed immoral, all love a degenerate and ill-balanced +thing, and no one realised the need goodness has of intelligence. +The pettinesses of feminine religiosity, encouraged, +unhappily, by a section of the clergy, tended to make divine +love itself ineffectual and almost ridiculous. Yet the author +of the <i>Imitation</i> has defined love as the true source of +activity:</p> + +<p>“Nothing is there in Heaven or earth sweeter than love, +nothing stronger, broader, higher, fuller, better, or more winsome, +for love is of God, nor can it rest but in Him, above +the world created. The lover runneth and flieth, and is alive +with joy; he is free, and nothing restraineth him; he giveth +all for all, hath all in all, because he resteth above all things +in the one sovereign good whence all other goodnesses proceed +and flow. He looketh not to gifts, but raiseth himself +above all to look only to the giver. Love often knoweth +no limit, but its fervour carrieth it far above measure. +Love feeleth no weight, making light of toil, would do more +than it is able, pleadeth no impossibility, because it thinketh +it may and can do all. Wherefore it is strong for anything, +and where he that loveth not doth faint and fail, love doeth +and achieveth many things.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_139" href="#Footnote_139" class="fnanchor">[139]</a></p> + +<p>Why then had not this beautiful religion, this beautiful +philosophy become the religion and philosophy of the +world? Why had they not sent their streams of activity +flowing in ever-widening channels? Men wished to solve +this problem, and restore to the world the philosophy it had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>so misunderstood—to interpret love as it should be interpreted, +through impressions and sensibility, and not through +the intellect. Hence Castiglione’s saying, “God is only seen +through women.”</p> + +<p>This saying, it is clear, does not apply to all women; it +has reference to those who are worthy to exercise an active +influence.</p> + +<p>Natural obstacles oppose themselves to this mission of +philosophically raising the world to nobler ideas by the +social religion of beauty. The French are a matter-of-fact, +practical, sceptical people; between the peasant and his +cattle, the lord and the peasant, there exists a solid and +after all a pleasant relationship. Further, the French are +specially hostile to ideas of an intellectual hierarchy, they +lack sensibility, the beautiful displeases and shocks them, +and when a revolution gives them what they call a moment’s +freedom, they amuse themselves by defacing as many +statues as possible, destroying their cathedrals, burning +their historical monuments with all the enthusiasm of hate +a personal grievance can inspire. Likewise, in regard to +love, modesty, the ideal, and all refined and aesthetic sentiments, +we experience a certain pleasure in scouting them; +when we have won any sort of diploma, that is the use we +make of it.</p> + +<p>And yet, do what we may, lofty things alone can elevate +us: on the mountain-top we breathe a different air from +that in the valley.</p> + +<p>We must raise on heights above us eminent women who +will crucify themselves, if need be, to draw soil-stained men +to them, according to Christ’s words, “I will draw all things +unto me”—women endowed with all that glorifies—money +(to scorn money is the luxury of the rich); a noble blood +clarified on stricken fields, or through intellectual wrestlings, +a spirit original and pure. Christ was at once the +son of kings and the Son of God! This is the consecration +of happiness through a philosophy of emotion and sentiment. +Plato said that what was needed for the happiness of +humanity, was “philosophers who rule, or kings who +philosophise.” Do not believe it! What is wanted is +kings who govern, and women who philosophise. Men +will always imagine that liberty and equality are established +by act of Parliament; philosophy is to them only +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>a means of livelihood. Cremonini, a famous professor, but a +wit, said when he took leave at the close of his lectures: +“All that I have taught you is true according to Aristotle, +but not in an absolute sense: you might as well believe St. +Roch or St. Anthony.” Nifo⁠<a id="FNanchor_140" href="#Footnote_140" class="fnanchor">[140]</a> contradicted himself with +charming serenity, though he allowed no one else to contradict +him. In truth, how were these excellent professors of +philosophy to know that, three and a half centuries later, a +Mabilleau, a Fiorentino, or a Ferri would doggedly set +themselves to unearth their unpublished lucubrations from +the dust of libraries, and throw on them the searchlight of +criticism?</p> + +<p>Men had reached that stage of lassitude and of wisdom +when one understands perfectly how vain, how unworthy of +occupying a thoughtful man, are the vagaries of logic-chopping. +There are only two vital forces: ambition and +love. Anne of France reckons four: beauty, youth, wealth, +and ambition; but these four terms are reducible to the +former two. A doctrine of love, therefore, was necessary, +and it was discovered in Plato.</p> + +<p>Thus there were two masters in opposition, Plato and +Machiavelli.</p> + +<p>Plato is as much a poet as a philosopher, as worthy of +admiration for his impressions and intuitions as for his +ideas. He believes in beauty. It had been said that +beauty was of no account, that it had no place in the +gospels, that form signified nothing except perhaps by way +of symbol, that truth was metaphysical. That error had to +be dismissed. Beauty has a real existence, and plays a +supreme part in this world. God has not disowned it, +Scripture reveals Him as bestowing life bountifully, and as +taking pleasure in man as His own image. Plato in effect +develops this same theory; what is more, he sings the +praises of aestheticism in one of the finest languages ever +lisped by human tongue. It was he then who furnished the +desired formula. With him, men thought only of loving +their fellows, of expelling evil passions by means of pure +love. A sweet breath of spring fanned men’s hearts; it was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>philosophical and Christian. Did Luther conceive a reform +as trenchant, as vital as that? Men went back to that +blessed time when, without employing the quiddities of the +Sorbonne and of German science, Heaven spoke the simple +words to us: “Love one another.” They believed they had +found the secret of rejuvenescence, of re-birth, and there +were men so intoxicated that they went so far as to ask +themselves whether Charity countenanced trade or taxes. +The whole idea is summed up in a single line: power +results in barbarism, civilisation is the product of beauty.</p> + +<p>This formula suits both strong and weak, everyone, +indeed; it belongs neither to men nor to women, hails +neither from north nor from south. The northern peoples, +however, looking at Plato with a purely philosophical and +technical eye, failed to discover it; at Venice, the headquarters +of perfect editions of Plato, and at Paris, where +he was acclaimed as a prophet, an ancestor of Christianity, +where Florentine commentaries on him poured fast from the +press, and where even a neglected commentary of Ficino⁠<a id="FNanchor_141" href="#Footnote_141" class="fnanchor">[141]</a> +was published, no one dreamed of seeking the recipe for +happiness in Plato’s philosophy. So greatly was he distrusted +that the Italian Vicomercati, appointed in 1542 to +the professorship of philosophy at the College of France, +thought it his duty by way of returning thanks to immolate +Socrates in his inaugural lecture.</p> + +<p>It was the Florentines, with their keen appreciation of +the good things of life, who discovered the artistic side of +the platonic life. Women did not count for nothing in their +first deduction, which consisted in so linking the objects +of nature to the human personality that they should form +thenceforth nothing but one long procession of the affections. +At Florence this new religion was observed with tender and +pleasing rites.</p> + +<p>On the anniversary of Plato’s death, the master’s bust +was crowned with laurel by invited guests, and then at a +magnificent banquet spread under the pleasant shade, <i>laudes</i> +and <i>canzoni</i> were sung in honour of the new spirit. Almost +all were poets, and Lorenzo de’ Medici chiefest among them. +They maintained a strict conformity with Christian ideas. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>The young Giovanni de’ Medici, the future Leo X., who was +brought up among them, received at the age of seven +valuable benefices with the ecclesiastical tonsure, and at +thirteen was given the cardinal’s hat. All the leaders of +the movement, Ficino, Pico della Mirandola,⁠<a id="FNanchor_142" href="#Footnote_142" class="fnanchor">[142]</a> Politian, were +honoured with pontifical patronage. Rome also was the +centre of a similar movement; there the academy of Pomponius +Laetus⁠<a id="FNanchor_143" href="#Footnote_143" class="fnanchor">[143]</a> resuscitated the grand days of the republic; +there men breathed as at Florence an intellectual air, light, +keen and eminently free. To the <i>Facetiae</i> of Poggio, +babbled out in a room at the Vatican before a select circle of +jovial monsignors, corresponded the joyous atrocities of +Panormita, the boon companion of Lorenzo the Magnificent. +Everyone smiled, everyone was happy: the very <i>bezants</i> or +golden pieces, the glory of the Medici escutcheon, sparkled +in the sun like flashes of their wit.</p> + +<p>The luscious warmth of the air, shady groves, birds, +gardens, statues, antique marbles, thus played an indispensable +part in the platonic philosophy. A banquet in honour +of the nine Muses served us as a map of this new world; +Marzilio Ficino, chosen by lot, chanted to the glory of +the divine character of love a superb song whose echoes +were long to resound.</p> + +<p>Learned critics have sometimes reproached Ficino with +not sticking close enough to the text of the master, and +with permitting himself outbursts of virtuosity tinctured (so +they say) with Alexandrinism. Likely enough; Ficino was +Ficino, a man, independent, enthusiastic, no fanatic; he +steered for happiness, and whatever his admiration for +Socrates, he did not imagine that that great man had necessarily +said the last word about everything, any more than +he believed men eternally committed to Corinthian capitals. +His dream was of a human dwelling-house, noble, comfortable, +habitable for us all, a living shelter for life! While +pushing out glorious reconnaissances along the roads to +heaven, Plato had clearly left men’s minds undecided on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>some points of great importance to their happiness, and +it seemed wise to supply his deficiency by accepting with +closed eyes the explanations furnished by Christianity.</p> + +<p>A thousand voices exclaim, like Montaigne and Charron, +that the immortality of the soul cannot be proved by sheer +force of reasoning. In any case, how long we have to wait! +cries Margaret of France. For how many centuries have +some who have fallen asleep looked for their awakening!</p> + +<p>The Middle Ages replied to this question with their own +terrible logic. They set us on the edge of the abyss, and +there told us that in this world there is no happiness, but +merely consolations; they linked us with a supreme life +lying beyond us, like those hard, emaciated, immovable +statues incorporate with the stone of cathedrals and themselves +of the same stone. We live, they told us, with +another life than our own, and love with another love; if +we lose one dear to us we may cast flowers on the vacant +chair or the needless cradle, altars of true life! Platonism +prefers to take us for what we are. Not supposing that +Providence sets man upon the earth to struggle against +its own blessings, the platonists believed that in making +religion more lovable they would make the world less +pagan, and that in giving it a philosophical cast they would +make it acceptable to unbelievers. Love seemed to them to +be a reservoir of life, like those noble springs which leap +down in some shady nook of a park, and flow on through a +network of arteries more or less conspicuous, to give life +even to the desert. Soon we shall no longer be; the hours +of our life are sacred: what is the good of ruffling them with +so many disquietudes? It is a law of our life to yearn for +Paradise, and there is nothing to hinder us desiring it in +this present world.</p> + +<p>The study of Plato, then, was entered upon freely, with +the addition of anything that could throw light upon the +doctrines which that great man had founded—the Bible, for +instance, which in the Roman world men prided themselves +on consulting directly; then Arabic and even Mussulman +philosophy, with which it was fashionable to claim +acquaintance. And it was well understood that a quest +pursued with so subtle a magnificence, in scorn of realities +and brutal sensualism, demanded a keen and eminently free +intelligence, a soul at leisure, and a great loathing of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>flesh; otherwise all hope of falling under the exquisite +fascinations of love at once terrestrial and quasi-divine must +be abandoned. That explains why from the outset this +philosophy addressed itself to women and to the salons. +Plato began to be talked about as we in our day have heard +Schopenhauer and other eminent thinkers talked about by +persons who have been at little pains to read them. It was +known that Plato harped on the necessity of love, that his +smile was less forbidding than that of S. Francis of Assisi, +and that his method was dialogue, so naturally dialogues +and conversations became the methods of the new platonists. +From these tender colloquies the vulgar were excluded; +they could make nothing of them; one could not expect +common folk to apprehend the delicate devices by which +love is etherealised and rendered impalpable; from these +they would only have got a theme for gross perversions. +Those who had the gift of knowledge and understanding +ascended the Acropolis like M. Renan, to chant their +canticles in a little temple of their own, whose dimensions +seemed to them sufficient; the aristocratic mystery replaced +the old priestly mystery; so Cataneo whispered, as it were +under his breath, his book on love addressed only to the +priests and temple choristers. Bembo took great care not +to name the interlocutors male and female of the <i>Asolani</i>, +“so as not to scandalise the populace”; all were agreed in +religiously respecting the ignorance of the people, as to-day +we respect the ignorance of young girls. And for the same +reason, again, they made too prodigal a use of that strange +mythological jargon which appears to us in these days so +entirely pathetic. Mythology has its aesthetic advantages; +it is an incarnation of the passions; but that would not +suffice to explain its sickening vogue in a society full of +taste, scepticism and levity, if it had not presented the one +special advantage of furnishing a sort of technical slang by +which the initiated recognised one another, and which sifted +out the vulgar. The princes of wit felt so strongly the need +of such distinctions that before adopting this garb for their +works they began by muffling their own identity in an +antique livery: a Greek or Latin name served them as a +uniform,⁠<a id="FNanchor_144" href="#Footnote_144" class="fnanchor">[144]</a> as when San Severino called himself Pomponius +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>Laetus, the old aristocratic pride yielding before this new-fangled +vanity. Artistic glory donned the conventional +garb; no one had the preposterous notion of lamenting in +Raphael the exquisite interpreter of Madonnas; what was +deplored was the rival of Nature, the painter after the +antique. “Raphael has resuscitated ancient Rome,” exclaims +Castiglione, “he has recalled to life and glory that Rome of +old, that corpse devoured by sword and fire and time.” That +was the language of the courts, the ladies and the princes of +the church; they had said all when they compared Raphael +to the painters of the Augustan age (with whose works we are +not very well acquainted), and when they remembered that the +new Rome was only a degenerate if not a moribund Rome.</p> + +<p>We dwell at some length on a state of mind of such +peculiarity and complexity as this, and from which contradictory +deductions were sometimes drawn, because we find +in it the only possible explanation of the movement about +to arise in France. Platonism was an impression, an essence +of free-thought, purely aesthetic, Christian in principle +though sometimes pagan in its results, warranted platonic +in label and origin though somewhat eclectic in composition; +a mystic incense in the worship of Venus, a subtle aroma +floating in the air both of churches and of theatres; breathed +in assemblies in the city; dominating the effluences of +Nature under the shadow of country villas; open a book, +and one caught a breath of it; even painting and music +strove to interpret it fittingly; at the dinners and dances +and in the thousand avocations of fashionable life it filled +the air; it exhaled as it were an immortal savour of orange +blossoms; this was what they called a philosophy.</p> + +<p>The platonist spirit, as Plato understood it, was often +exactly the opposite. The women and the poets whom Plato +condemned,⁠<a id="FNanchor_145" href="#Footnote_145" class="fnanchor">[145]</a> the prelates who were the heads of Christendom, +were its propagators. They were not greatly enamoured of +Plato’s somewhat socialistic theories. They went to Plato +as we go to Nice, to obtain a little sunshine and escape the +incessant din of controversy. It is a profound saying of +Plato that “those who see the absolute and eternal and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>immutable may be said to know, and not to have opinion +only.” That is what men desired: they would have run +after illusions and even errors if only they made for happiness. +What is the good of pursuing mutabilities? The +wise man clings to that which tranquillises. Others may +wear themselves out with anxiety and restlessness, but he +enjoys his life of placid ease; in the end they die and he +dies, and there is nothing to choose between them.</p> + +<p>Before it could be turned to profitable account, platonism +thus underwent a long and difficult preparation to bring it +into line with the tastes of the day. The work was accomplished +in Italy, whence the product was sent to us in a +finished state. Good Plato, with his rather old-fashioned +eyes, had seen beauty only in man; from one man he passed +to the species, then from the species to the soul, that is, to +intellectual beauty, which to him appeared the only true +beauty. It was necessary to bring this doctrine into line +with the practical doctrine of the special attraction exercised +on man by the beauty of woman. Now Plato, besides giving +man the beauty and woman the love, attributed to love the +secondary character of a sensual and egoistic phenomenon +in which no spiritual element was discoverable save +perhaps the instinct of immortality. Of this very instinct, +however, Plato had an imperfect appreciation, for the +immortality we might hope to gain by replacing our decayed +bodies with the fresh young lives of our offspring, if it +serves the interests of the human race, does not much serve +those of the individual; at any rate, Plato considered it at +once vulgar—everyone or nearly everyone being able to aspire +to it—and incomplete, for transmission and conservation of +life are not the same thing, and only a person very barren +of intellectual resources could content himself with so modest +a glimmer of immortality. A man only survives through +his thoughts. The last shreds of the thoughts of Homer or +Hesiod will live long, and will long cause temples to spring +from the earth; what child of flesh and blood is likely to +bear his father’s glory thus on through the ages?</p> + +<p>The earliest interpreters of Plato, Ficino and Politian, had +departed with no little timidity from his teaching; the one +eclectic and cautious, the other adventurous, they went +nevertheless not much beyond formulating a general +doctrine of love. Ficino exalted love as the supreme wisdom, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>the creator and preserver <i>par excellence</i>; the link +binding earthly things together, and the earth itself with +heaven; the inspirer of great deeds and noble thoughts, a +necessary element of life. He preached the love of love +itself: “The man who loves, loves love above all; love is +sufficient unto itself and finds its goal within itself; it is +true and good and pure.” But in order to bring himself +into conformity with the new spirit, Ficino admitted as +derived from Plato (though as a matter of fact it is not +to be found in his works)⁠<a id="FNanchor_146" href="#Footnote_146" class="fnanchor">[146]</a> a capital distinction upon which +the platonism of the Renaissance was entirely to rest: there +are two loves, different in degree, the one heaven-born and +fixing its gaze upon heaven, the other born of Jupiter and +seeking only to produce a form like him.</p> + +<p>Francesco Cataneo insisted strongly on this invaluable +distinction. Analysing man, he found in him a mind, the +source of true spiritual love, and a sort of intermediate +force hard to define, a “soul or life” whence sensual or, +if the term be preferred, profane love has its being. Cataneo +moreover dealt hardly with profane love, representing it as +bare-footed to indicate its foolishness, lean for lack of +nourishment, and winged, for it is evanescent, dependent on +physical beauty, on “worthless dross”; and it was because +the world knew no other love that the preaching of a +Reformation became necessary. As to women, Cataneo never +ceased to consider them as stones of stumbling; inheriting all +the old prejudices of the schoolmen, he saw in women nothing +but imperfect men created for the sole end of perpetuating +the race, and man ever seemed to him the perfect type.</p> + +<p>But with what warmth, with what passion Bembo, the +Roman prelate and future cardinal, expounds the modern +principles before the charming coterie of Urbino, and, flinging +away the swaddling bands of early days, confesses himself +frankly a feminist!⁠<a id="FNanchor_147" href="#Footnote_147" class="fnanchor">[147]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span></p> + +<p>“The terrestrial beauty that excites love,” he says, “is an +inflowing (<i>influsso</i>) of divine beauty irradiating all creation. +It rests like a beam of light on regular, graceful and harmonious +features; it beautifies this countenance, shining in +it, attracting all eyes to it, and through them penetrating, +stirring, delighting the soul and bringing desire to birth +therein. Love is thus really born of a ray of divine beauty, +caught through the medium of a woman’s face. Unhappily +the senses interpose: a man sees in the body itself the +source of beauty and longs to enjoy it. How deceived he +is! It is not beauty that is thus enjoyed; an appetite +is appeased, and soon comes satiety, weariness and often +aversion. These deceptions and regrets abundantly prove +what an error has been made, for a man must needs have +found joy and restfulness if he had sought the true end, +whereas on the contrary love gives rise to a thousand ills—griefs +and torments, vexation and sullen fits, despondency, +catastrophes even; the heart never attains the limit of its +desires, or perhaps the man is so sunk in sensual love, +declines so far towards the level of the beasts, as to become +incapable of comprehending the supreme radiance. All +these experiences are dearly purchased. Knowledge how to +love comes only in ripe manhood: only the old indeed really +have it, and their skill lies in eluding the impulse of +the senses, in fleeing from all that is vulgar. If he can +do no otherwise, a man must set his face steadfastly towards +love divine, taking reason for his guide.”</p> + +<p>True love, then, is a disinterested love inspired in man +by woman. And therefore Bembo, who was the more +knowing in these things because he had loved deeply, was +still young, and had not yet heard his own clear call towards +love divine, lifts up his voice in a passionate prayer: “O +love, most good, most beautiful, most wise, thou that comest +from divine goodness and wisdom, and returnest thither +again, O thou cord binding us poor terrestrial and mortal folk +one to another, thou bendest the higher virtues to dominate +the lower! Thou dost unite the elements, thou dost perpetuate +the life that perisheth, thou makest imperfection +perfect, thou bringest discords into harmony, thou turnest +foes into friends, thou givest fruit to the earth, peace to the +waves, and to heaven its light of life! O father of true +pleasures, of grace and peace, of lowliness and goodwill, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>O enemy of wildness and pride and slothfulness, thou art +the alpha and omega of all good!</p> + +<p>“Thou dost reveal thyself in terrestrial beauty! Hear +our prayers, lighten our darkness, guide us through the +mazes of this world, rectify the falseness of our senses. +Humbly we beg of thee balmy breath from the spiritual +world, a touch of celestial harmony, an inexhaustible fount +of true contentment! Purge our eyes of ignorance, and +make us to see in its perfection the beauty of on high! +Love is communion with the divine beauty, the banquet +of the angels, immortal ambrosia!”</p> + +<p>It is now time to answer an objection which the reader +has no doubt formulated long ago, and which Bembo very +clearly perceived.</p> + +<p>Assuredly it is woman’s mission among us to represent +beauty, and consequently love, and love is the inspiration +of noble thoughts and great actions. But these are such +old truths that to find them hardly needed so much intellectual +and poetic effort, or the harking back to Plato.</p> + +<p>The learned book <i>On the Nature of Love</i>, in which +Equicola essays simply an enumeration of the different +species of love known since the thirteenth century, resembles +a collection of butterflies. Every colour is there, brilliant +or dull; the sentimental view is there represented in almost +infinite shades, from the magnificent love of Boucicaut, who +served all women for the love of one, the Holy Virgin, to +the art of loving for love’s sake, always fashionable in the +salons, and sedulously cultivated as an excellent prescription +for innocuous emotions and a cheap renown. Men well +knew how to love, to be sure!</p> + +<p>But love is rarely reciprocal; as someone has said, one +loves and the other takes the kisses. So far, it was the +woman who was recognised as the beauty, and consequently +as the loved one, and who took the kisses.</p> + +<p>The novelty of Plato’s system was to transfer the beauty +to men, which ran counter to all accepted notions. To +Bembo this theory seemed intolerable. That women are +capable of loving he firmly believed and rejoiced to believe. +But to give up loving women appeared to him too cruel. +He would much rather give platonism the go-by and +acknowledge the reciprocity of beauty and love. In short, +he fell back on Petrarchism.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span></p> + +<p>Michelangelo proclaimed the true modern platonism with +extraordinary ardour in professing a love at once virile and +pure. “I have often heard him reason and discourse on +love,” writes Condivi, “and I learnt from persons present +that he spoke of it no otherwise than may be read in Plato. +I do not know what Plato says, but I know well, having +long had intimate intercourse with Michelangelo, that I +never heard issue from his mouth aught but the most becoming +words, apt to repress the lawless and unbridled +desires that might spring up in the hearts of young +men.”</p> + +<p>Michelangelo said more than once that God is seen in +terrestrial beauty; love is only a hymn to the Creator; “for +if every one of our affections is displeasing to heaven, to +what end would God have created the world?” A great +love makes only for the highest morality, it provides man +with wings for a sublime flight:⁠<a id="FNanchor_148" href="#Footnote_148" class="fnanchor">[148]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy wondrous beauty, image of the grace</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That fills all heaven with glory, to us shown</div> + <div class="verse indent2">By the Eternal Artist’s hand alone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When time and age have worn it from thy face,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor age nor time can from my heart displace,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But ever deeplier graven shall it be;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For in my thought that beauty I shall see</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which Time’s cold finger never can erase.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">If the soul were not created in the image of God it would +seek after nothing but external beauty; but it does in truth +penetrate beyond this deceptive outer form, to fix itself on +the essential, to rise until it attains the ideal or universal +form: <i>Transcende nella forma universale</i>.⁠<a id="FNanchor_149" href="#Footnote_149" class="fnanchor">[149]</a> Thus beauty +elevates and quickens us into the world of spirits and the +elect. Many of Michelangelo’s verses convey the same +idea under different forms:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The fount that feeds my love is not my heart,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For though I love thee, yet my love withal</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Is not to heart of flesh and blood in thrall,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But ever yearneth toward a goal apart,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Where no base mortal passion dare intrude,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Nor any guilty thought nor impulse rude.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span></p> + +<p class="noindent">A love without heart! Here indeed is the formula of the +new platonism!⁠<a id="FNanchor_150" href="#Footnote_150" class="fnanchor">[150]</a></p> + +<p>Unfortunately, Michelangelo is a striking and titanic +exception. He can scarcely be considered the head of a +school: and platonism became for the most part nothing +more than a fashionable science, the antidote to marriage; +an intellectual union between a hard-headed, lusty-armed +man and a woman all tenderness and wisdom; the formula +of the government of man by woman. Its origin and its +end remained equally philosophic; in short, it was a sentimental +sociology. If it had been a question of philosophy, +no one could better have represented Plato than Savonarola.⁠<a id="FNanchor_151" href="#Footnote_151" class="fnanchor">[151]</a> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>But Savonarola did not represent the intellect of society; +behind him men thought they caught a whiff of all the +wretched tatterdemalions in revolt at Rome against the +Academy of Laetus, at Florence against the Medici. On +the other hand, Tullia d’Aragona, a courtesan, exercised a +platonic influence through her excellent book <i>On the +Infinity of Perfect Love</i>. Others unceremoniously dismissed +Socrates and Plato as liars and knaves, and yet passed for +good platonists since they extolled the religion of beauty, +and woman as essentially its priestess; and since they saw +in love the chain binding earth to heaven, and the bulwark +against socialism. In short, platonism and feminism are +one and the same. It is quite possible to believe implicitly +in the dogma of love without splitting love in two and +pinning ourselves on an impossible dilemma—matter without +spirit or spirit without matter. This latitude of appreciation +is not to be called materialism, but merely the need of a +material perception in order to arrive at the idea of beauty.</p> + +<p>This explains why the platonist spirit was so coldly +received in France. Platonism was the art of rendering +virtue pleasant and contagious; but in France it was the +conviction that virtue needed to defend itself like the fretful +porpentine.⁠<a id="FNanchor_152" href="#Footnote_152" class="fnanchor">[152]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span></p> + +<p>No one troubled about spiritualising love; the inferior +clergy, parish parsons, applying in every matter a rough-and-ready +system of ethics, drew no distinction between +sentiment and sensation, but proscribed everything. They +summed up the religious life in a multitude of observances +all having for result the subjection of women—a contracted +morality which gave rise to startling inconsequences. It +was pretended that the mere sight of a lady fidgeting about +on her balcony was enough to tell you she was a Frenchwoman.⁠<a id="FNanchor_153" href="#Footnote_153" class="fnanchor">[153]</a></p> + +<p>Anne of France forbade lovemaking between fiancés, the +best, most innocent, most legitimate in the world, just as +strictly as the grossest intrigue; but Louise of Savoy was as +little shocked at the one as the other.</p> + +<p>There was bitter hostility between the two camps.</p> + +<p>Madame de Taillebourg remorselessly turned her back on +her nieces, Louise of Savoy and Margaret of France, as being +tainted with the new spirit. Queen Anne personally led the +crusade in favour of the old ideas; Antony du Four, her +almoner, published semi-officially a collection of the lives of +ninety-one pious women, as a counterblast to the Italian +collections; and he implored ladies not to succumb to the +new contagion, not to run out of their salutary groove, for, +he said, France had never produced “more wise and good +women than at present,” beginning with Queen Anne, “a +bottomless well of virtue.” “Under the mask of science and +philosophy” all these “prating and scribbling fellows” who +wished to give women a great part to play were only seeking, +declared Du Four, to sap their modesty and wreck their +good name.</p> + +<p>In these criticisms there was certainly a modicum of +truth. But they went too far in anathemising the good and +the evil without distinction.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span></p> + +<p>France, like Italy, had its “primitive” women—philosophers, +apostles of the philosophy of love; but their numbers +and above all their influence, owing to the opposition we +have just indicated, were very small. They were women of +admirable endowments and sterling qualities, highly educated, +afire with energy of that somewhat melancholy cast necessarily +developed by contact with a stern world. It is natural +to cite, by way of example, that sometime lady of Beaujeu, +Anne of France, a figure after Michelangelo’s own heart, +grand and severe as a cathedral.</p> + +<p>We picture her always in her capacity as regent—the +politician, soldier, and diplomate upholding the fortunes of +France, and displaying in the greatest difficulties her incomparable +genius. And yet her heart was not in this work; +she filled her part as a family duty, she devoted herself to it +entirely, but it was the cross of her life. As soon as she +could she forsook her toilsome life of affairs, for no other +reason than to return to the life of the affections. She shirked +neither toil nor responsibilities, and understood perhaps more +fully than anyone else the profound and mysterious joy +experienced by lofty souls in impressing their own individuality +widely upon others. But she was only too conscious +that in plying a man’s trade she was acting like a widow or +an elder sister, not like a free woman or a princess, and that +neither politics nor military service was directly conducive to +happiness. She knew that in crushing rebels she would not +make them happy, and that she herself would be the first +victim of her devotion.</p> + +<p>She was right. We know how, in the swing of the +political pendulum, she fell beneath the strokes of Louise of +Savoy,⁠<a id="FNanchor_154" href="#Footnote_154" class="fnanchor">[154]</a> who owed everything to her. Wounded in her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>liveliest interests, in her dearest affections, in the sentiment +of dignity she held so high, she died proudly, as Caesar died, +with her mantle wrapped about her:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Elle attendoit venir l’heure opportune</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Que la justice ou Dieu y mist la main,⁠<a id="FNanchor_155" href="#Footnote_155" class="fnanchor">[155]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">as a servant of Francis I. wrote.</p> + +<p>Her coldness then was assumed, but she kept up the +appearance of Stoicism so well that many a man, even +among her friends and admirers, really believed in this +lamentable insensibility. Again, Anne of France had no +love for the vanities, the whole trivial round of court +life; “she dismissed Cypris to Paphos,” for which some +persons found it difficult to forgive her, particularly Octovien +de Saint-Gelais, who nevertheless has extolled her sweetness, +calling her “a second Semiramis, a new Queen of the +Amazons, come to life again to establish peace.” Her +vigorous intellect, her frank and remorselessly sincere +disposition, her way of treating everything on broad +and general lines, puzzled the rude yet feeble folk +around her. The only thing she lacked, as one of her +friends said, was love:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">S’elle avoit un peu de cella,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ce seroit la plus accomplye</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A qui Dieu donna oncques vie.⁠<a id="FNanchor_156" href="#Footnote_156" class="fnanchor">[156]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>She had a large, indeed an immeasurable quantity of “that,” +but she took it seriously; it might well be said that she +did not set “her whole imagination spinning round problems +of sentiment.” She had no idea of bringing imagination +into her affections, but distrusted it; it was through the +soul and the real needs of the soul that she caught glimpses +of the ideal life of which we have just spoken. But having +faith in, rather than enthusiasm for, these ideas, and considering +as she did that the heart’s activities were perfectly +reasonable, beneficent and necessary, she saw no reason +for ruffling, gilding or engarlanding them. She was +somewhat lacking in suppleness, self-sacrificing, of unbounded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>good-heartedness, staid in demeanour, firm in +resolution, but also warm, passionate, loving to devote herself +to others and not doing so by halves. In her heart of +hearts she adored all that a good woman adores—her son, a +poor child whose death almost killed her, her daughter, her +son-in-law, whom she loved as a son; she took an ardent +delight in friendship, and above all in that special, delicate, +tender, profound affection which is only established between +a man and a woman; to win love was her sole ambition.⁠<a id="FNanchor_157" href="#Footnote_157" class="fnanchor">[157]</a> +She buried deep down in her heart an innocent romance +which no historian has related and which even her +intimates appear never to have suspected—a reserve which +paints her to the life! Till the day of her death she +wore a ring on her finger. We have discovered her secret: +the ring was the pledge of her betrothal to a young duke +of Calabria from whom her father had separated her, who +had soon afterwards died, but whom she was never able to +forget.</p> + +<p>This certainly was one of the women most likely to understand +and to promulgate throughout France the programme +of the quest for happiness. She did not believe with Du +Four that a sort of passive naïveté was the ultimate expression +of virtue; she sought another goal, anxious, doubtless, +that love should give a powerful stimulus to woman’s +activities, as it had done for the women of Spain, whose +imagination was filled with Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra. +Her friend Champier has rounded off her thought by recalling +Plato’s saying that “the lover is dead to himself and +lives in another.” Deeply read in the church fathers and +the philosophers, she hailed with joy the principle of +platonic love, “the love of which the philosopher speaks, +that is, a love founded on purity.”</p> + +<p>For all her lofty station, however, Anne of France never +found herself able to popularise her ideas in a country +where an idea only succeeds when it becomes a fashion; the +new philosophy had perforce to come like a flood, sweeping +good and evil along with it, and imposing itself by the +authority of the court. That is what happened around +Francis I.; as soon as it became a mark of good taste to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>talk philosophy and occult sciences,⁠<a id="FNanchor_158" href="#Footnote_158" class="fnanchor">[158]</a> + Hellenism,⁠<a id="FNanchor_159" href="#Footnote_159" class="fnanchor">[159]</a> and above +all Italianism, and to adopt ultramontane fashions wholesale, +people chattered about Plato. The king dearly loved the +ladies, and could not despise anything that glorified the +sex. He set some store by “Noble-Heart,” “Feminine +Noblesse,”⁠<a id="FNanchor_160" href="#Footnote_160" class="fnanchor">[160]</a> and other subtle evocations of the old chivalry; +he hoped that platonism might succeed in renewing them, +and requested Castiglione, the oracle of the new school, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>to furnish a pendant to his <i>Courtier</i>, to be called +“The Courtesan.” Castiglione declined this flattering +invitation.</p> + +<p>When Francis I. ascended the throne it was as a member +of a sort of triumvirate, the other two being ladies—“a +single heart in three bodies.”</p> + +<p>Louise of Savoy, aged and old-fashioned, reserved politics +as her sphere, as far as possible; Francis retained the +pageantry, the money, the passages at arms, the material +satisfactions of power; Margaret of France, in the Italian +style, assumed the direction of men’s minds and souls; she +was far more queen of intellectual France than Duchess of +Alençon or Queen of Navarre.</p> + +<p>She so completely identified herself with her brother as +avowedly to borrow from him her whole status, and particularly +her name. People have called her by the most +various names without really understanding why, owing to +the fact that she usually adopted her brother’s name, which +frequently changed. As sister of the count of Angoulême +she called herself Margaret of Angoulême; under Louis XII., +as sister of the Duke of Valois and the heir to the throne, +she called herself Margaret of Valois or of Orleans; as sister +of the king she became Margaret of France, her definitive +name, under which she accomplished her mission.</p> + +<p>For thirty years she presided thus over an amazing +intellectual movement; the whole thinking soul of France +hung upon her smile. She was the incarnation of platonism.</p> + +<p>In one of the galleries of Chantilly, that sanctuary of the +Renaissance, her grand face, with its long, severe, clean-cut, +distinguished features, somewhat hard as though chiselled +out of alabaster, continually smiles upon us and encourages +us. Her eyes are clear and full of fire; her mouth is fine, +intellectual, with something of irony, of benevolence and of +reserve; something at once yielding and defensive, acerbated +and enthusiastic, a singular sibylline countenance, the +enigma of a spiritual governance—the rule of mind and +heart; a woman to the core, attractive and wishing to +attract, but two personalities in one, each interpenetrating +the other, concealing her real self within two or three +inner entrenchments after the old feudal tactics, like St. +Theresa in her “fortresses of the soul.”</p> + +<p>She reigned with undivided sway, with all the powers of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>her affection, with her infinite womanly delicacy, with +triumphant skill.</p> + +<p>She was in very truth a woman of fire, this woman who +wrote to her brother while a prisoner in Spain: “Whatever +may be required of me, though it be to fling to the winds +the ashes of my bones to do you service, nought will be +strange, or difficult, or painful to me, but solace, ease of +mind, honour.”</p> + +<p>And she was loved; men never tired of praising her. +Her name became a household word, and lives on even in +our own day in charming books, like that devoted to her +by a lady of rare genius, chosen by Nature to revive the +traditions of woman’s influence—the Countess d’Haussonville. +And yet we are always wondering what is behind +that smiling countenance at Chantilly.</p> + +<p>Margaret is doubly complex, first as a woman, and then +as a typical woman of the sixteenth century. She is +essentially a woman of her period, and that is why she +cannot but interest us. Her thoughts, somewhat hazy, and +sometimes wrapped in rather odd garbs, are difficult to +co-ordinate because, unlike those of Anne of France, they have +no spontaneity or originality. Almost all of them are +derived from without. Her lovable mind is like a mountain +peak of fair height, with nothing rugged or bleak +about it: it promises no sublime effects, no Pisgah sights; +it pleases and interests us precisely because we can reach +its summit by an easy road, for which many of us are +grateful. Is not that better for poor tired folk than lofty +masculine heights profitless and perilous to scale? It +springs gently from the landscape, like the pleasant +mountains in the heart of France, and while enabling us +to take observation of the sky, keeps in touch with the +earth, and from this standpoint we can contemplate, spread +out like a map, a smiling country and highly decorative +craters. It is the “Belvedere” <i>par excellence</i>. Nowhere +could we judge her period better than from the vantage +ground of her mind.</p> + +<p>But it is very clear that it would be a mistake persistently +to look for in her the peaks and abysses she does not +possess. It has been proved to demonstration that, given +certain circumstances—if, for example, he had only been +killed at the siege of Toulon—Napoleon would have died a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>captain of artillery; and doubtless Margaret of France, but +for the accession of her brother, the wave of feminine +Italianism, and possibly many other circumstances, would +have died wife of the Duke of Alençon or the King of +Navarre, or even less. Yet we can realise better than ever +to-day how vastly important her leadership was. Her +generation was that from which we are sprung, to which we +owe our blood and sinews. Our society is experiencing +almost the same uncertainties and the same attacks; it +needs intelligent and active women as much as ever. +Margaret was less bent on being an exceptional woman than +on fulfilling her part as first lady of France. She played +her part very well; she had her Pléiade.⁠<a id="FNanchor_161" href="#Footnote_161" class="fnanchor">[161]</a> And at her side +she brought up as her successor another Margaret, her +niece, the future Duchess of Berry and of Savoy, who did in +fact continue the tradition—not less amiable, not less +distinguished, but coming later and consequently more +charming still, and above all, more calm and self-contained.</p> + +<p>Margaret of France had never read Plato until towards +the end of her life, and then, when she discovered him, she +believed she had found her guiding star. On the other hand, +she did not permit Boccaccio to be forgotten. Her philosophy, +then, was not very psychological, but it was eminently +social. The theories of Bembo seemed to her to endow +women with a large and beneficent measure of power; and +that was enough. It must be confessed, however, that she +looked at social questions themselves from a somewhat +superior standpoint, and with a necessarily discriminating +favour. She knew but one person, her brother, who even in +the most manifest errors appeared to her the ideal of +perfection, “the true Christ.” Apart from him she loved +none but God, and she adopted as her emblem a marigold +turned towards the sun, indicating her purpose to live and +breathe only “for high, celestial and spiritual things”; +other things, husbands included, seemed to her paltry and +mean. And thus, as a woman of intelligence, she hoped to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>reign through the affections; her most assiduous flatterers +only extolled her heart; even after her death a pious +respect continued to watch over her works, of which a +selection was published. And yet she gave only her +intelligence to the world.</p> + +<p>Her theory of love is peculiar enough. Love of course +appears to her the corner-stone of the social edifice: in +itself it is always good, only becoming bad by the use made +of it. Margaret is eminently platonist in the sense that she +proclaims the existence of two loves, a good and a bad; but +to her the distinction between them is simplicity itself: the +one is man’s love, the other, woman’s; men love with an evil, +earthly love, women alone can love celestially. Sometimes +they chance to allow themselves to be caught in the snares of +men; let them flee then, for “briefest follies are always the +best.” Thus loving is for women. The love of a woman, +established firmly in God and on honour, the same love that +Henri d’Albret styles “hypocrisy or covert malice,” forges a +divine and holy chain. Margaret never tires of expatiating +on the virtues of women’s love, a pure and ardent love, the +instrument and the end of civilisation, the highest form of +human activity, the prayer admirable beyond all other +prayers that a living creature can address to the Creator. +In the nineteenth tale of the <i>Heptameron</i> she gives this +love a very catholic definition, borrowed almost word for +word from Castiglione:</p> + +<p>“I call perfect lovers those who seek some perfection, +either goodness, beauty or grace, in the object of their love, +those who incline always to virtue and have so lofty and +refined a heart that, even at the price of death, they would +not aim at base things that honour and conscience condemn. +The soul was created but to return to the supreme good, and +so long as it is encased in the body, it can only long and +strive for holiness. But the sin of our first parent has +rendered dark and sensual the senses, the soul’s inevitable +intermediary; seeing only through them the visible objects +which approach perfection, the soul hastens to find in +outward beauty, in visible grace and the moral virtues, the +sovereign beauty, grace, and virtue. It seeks them, and finds +them not, and passes by; it essays to mount higher, like +children who, as they grow bigger, must needs change their +dolls. And when at length mature experience shows +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>that neither perfection nor felicity is to be met with +in this world, the soul pants after the great Author and the +very source of the beautiful. But then may God open its +eyes! otherwise it must speedily stray into the paths of +false philosophy. For faith alone can reveal and bestow +what is good, which carnal, natural man by himself never +could attain.”</p> + +<p>Thus the worship of beauty is not necessarily mystical, +but it is a true religion. We come from God, and we return +to God through hope and love much more surely than +through any sort of reasoning. The holy love of the +beautiful, of perfection, purifies the soul better than any +practical efforts, and little by little raises it to the ideal +perception of perfect beauty. The soul then wings its flight +towards God, sustained by faith above unfathomable abysses.</p> + +<p>And so it is necessary to proclaim happiness, peace, +gentleness, joy to men of good will, and even to others, if they +are to be lifted above themselves, their ambitions, their +hatreds, their coarsenesses. What a mistake it is to preach +a religion of terror to poor creatures too wretched as it is!</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, que je voy d’erreur la teste ceindre</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A ce Dante, qui nous vient icy peindre</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Son triste Enfer et vieille Passion.⁠<a id="FNanchor_162" href="#Footnote_162" class="fnanchor">[162]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Let women learn their duty!</p> + +<p>They are priestesses in the religion of Beauty.</p> + +<p>They must win love, they must themselves love! They +must be balm poured upon aching wounds, the beauty that +soothes, the love that accomplishes a new Passion, taking +upon itself all the sorrows of others. Of old, a great noble +had been recognised by his knowing how to give, and by +his giving, not of his superfluity, but a portion of himself—his +blood to his country, his strong arm or his affection to +his brethren. It only remained to feminise and spiritualise +this superb tradition. Women will give their hearts, +in other words, they will diffuse happiness, fellowship in +the supreme life, life itself! “Love is that which really +makes a man, and without which he is nought.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span></p> + +<p>Life! Alas! at this word Margaret shudders. She longs +to penetrate the great secret of our destiny. She stoops +over one of her gentlewomen lying at the point of death, to +see if she can catch the passing of her soul! She receives a +lover at the tomb of the lady he came to meet, and with a +tragic gesture cries “She is there!” She loves and preaches +nothing but life. She knows that death is inevitable, but +hopes that this accident may come to her without lingering in +long “suburbs,” and she casts herself with confidence upon +the God of platonism whom she believes in, whom she feels +to be all love. From terrestrial love she expects to escape +at one bound into the arms of the other, the Great Love; +“from the felicity which alone in this world can be called +felicity, to fly suddenly to that which is eternal.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_163" href="#Footnote_163" class="fnanchor">[163]</a> And +thus in her eyes man’s natural end is enfolded in love and +hope resting on faith. There, in the heart of the villages, +covered with moss and honeysuckle, are the humble tombs, +the sacred shelter of those we have loved, clothed all about +with life hard by the radiant crucifix! A sunbeam floods +them in light, like a stream of love from on high. The same +ray penetrates our hearts, telling us that all is not ended, +and that a little joy is still blossoming upon this spot of +earth. Let us leave God to count the flying moments—leave +it to Him in full confidence and peace!</p> + +<p>Like all human things, platonism cannot attain perfection; +it necessarily has little to say in regard to man’s birth and +death. To complete the reformation it would perhaps be +necessary, as Goethe suggests in the second part of <i>Faust</i>, +to discover a means of manufacturing <i>homunculus</i>, in other +words, of effecting human reproduction in some other way +than the old; moreover, instead of being allowed to die, men +might comfortably be translated to other worlds. But, +meanwhile, platonism is the philosophy of the living, and in +truth it is remarkable to see a secular movement basing +itself on such lofty systems, and turning to such noble +account, intellectually, morally and religiously, the natural +desire which the world always has of amusing itself.</p> + +<p>A strange generation was arising. Between 1483 and +1515 Luther, Calvin and St. Ignatius, Rabelais and St. +Theresa, were born pell-mell. And yet, thanks to this +philosophy, everyone wore the livery of happiness. Dagger +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>and poison hid themselves in the shade. Never were the +most agitating problems more cheerfully discussed. Yes; +women know the real value of the visionary and the +immaterial, of something higher than hoards of mere gold +and silver—the value of the riches of the soul. The Latin +world was at this moment becoming a vast workshop of +beauty, the real worker being no longer the digger or the +merchant, the mason or the hodman, but whatever man +lived a life of thought and love. There was extension and +broadening out in all directions; material barriers were +being overthrown; the religion of Beauty was bringing +nations as well as individuals together. And the women, +the ministers of the affections, had for their mission to watch, +to judge, to temper, to develop the faculties of men. They +thought it a beautiful mission. Can we wonder at it? +They burned with the ardour of paladins; they fancied +themselves knights-errant, and displayed devices—<i>Non +inferiora secutus</i>, a masculine hemistich which men had +relinquished, but which Margaret of France resumed, to +show that she bore high her white petals and her heart of +gold: “Love and Faith,” in other words, “Women and +God,” the motto of Madame de Lorraine—a motto full of joy +and charm, for if men love because they believe, and believe +because they love, life becomes an unalloyed delight.</p> + +<p>Between mysticism and debauchery a middle term had +been found, namely, love.</p> + +<p>When women know how to attach men to them by +means of pure love, all individual forces gain vigour, a +nation flourishes, and the people are at peace.</p> + +<p>That, at any rate, was the new conviction.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_II_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br> +<span class="smaller">THE SCIENCE OF PLATONISM</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>The doctrine we have just indicated never excited any +very determined opposition as a theory; its adversaries reserved +their objections for its practical working. The New +Law, it is true, had redeemed us in love; but the politicians +held the same opinions as the moralists of Du Four’s school. +From Machiavelli to Calvin, many men thought the bludgeon +a simpler and more effectual guide for humanity than +sentiment. At best they would have favoured a sort of +sentimental sociology. They regarded everything else as a +mere philosophic dream—Eden, of which barely a glimpse +had been caught before it was guarded by the angel with +the terrible sword; the burning bush from which issued +the voice of God, but near which Moses dared not kneel for +fear his garments should take fire and the flame scorch his +flesh.</p> + +<p>Assuredly, the practical science of platonism is more +difficult than its metaphysic; it assumes that women have +the knack of cleverly taming men by means of love’s +blandishments, without getting scratched themselves. The +cleverest lion-tamers are sometimes clawed, but they have +been known to die in their beds. Here is the question in a +nutshell: Are women capable of following this tamer’s +vocation and making themselves sufficiently invulnerable? +and secondly: Are men tamable?</p> + +<p>On the first point the friends of the beautiful displayed +the utmost confidence. They made their appeal to women, +sensitive—more than sensitive, refined—fortified by marriage +against materialities, and inspired only with disgust by +the vulgar vice that came under their eyes and even in their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>own circle. As Du Bellay says, Cato’s manners harmonised +perfectly with Plato’s discourses. Margaret of France unhesitatingly +descended into the den and grappled with her +friend Bonnivet.⁠<a id="FNanchor_164" href="#Footnote_164" class="fnanchor">[164]</a> She believed in the invulnerability of +women, as also did Castiglione and many others. The +platonists found no difficulty in justifying their position; +they cited heroic examples of feminine virtue even in the +remotest antiquity, and they met other admirable examples +in the ordinary intercourse of life. Castiglione and Dolce +show us women who in the vilest environments were angels +of chastity. In most cases they were young girls, for +instance a poor girl of Capua (very often cited) who flung +herself into a river to escape a troop of Gascons; a poor +peasant girl of Mantua, who, betrayed by a scoundrel, +drowned herself with a sort of frenzy, flinging away all the +ropes held out to her—a tragic suicide, anti-Christian as +such, yet so Christian in its grandeur of despair that the +Bishop of Mantua proposed to erect a statue to this noble +woman of the people. Unhappily he died before he could +carry out his idea; in those days people fought shy of inartistic +statues.</p> + +<p>Such examples of virtue were not met with only among +the lower classes, which are naturally the most exposed to +danger. All Rome was stirred to its depths by the dreadful +fate of a young gentlewoman who, having been decoyed +into the catacombs of St. Sebastian with the connivance of +a maidservant, strangled herself rather than yield to the +violence of the miscreant who devised the snare. She +might well have been left to rest in the dim twilight of +those silent vaults, where so many pure victims sleep under +the seal of a cross and a dove; but Rome could not leave this +flower of virtue to be forgotten, even in so sacred a spot: the +poor body was crowned with laurel and borne in triumph +like a trophy through the thronged streets of the city, the +same fever of enthusiasm infecting both hovel and palace.</p> + +<p>No, women are not naturally sensual; animalism is +utterly abhorrent to them, and however much their education +may have been neglected, their deepest feelings are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>won by a man’s intellectual qualities, his moral authority, +much more than by his physical beauty, a beauty often hard +to trace. When they love deeply, even when they yield +themselves, it is still with a sentiment of reserve and +modesty; it would also seem as if they cannot dispense +with the additional refinement of respect. Man, on the +contrary, as all the world knows, has no sense of shame, +and to get every possible enjoyment, love or no love, +is his only aim. It is to singularly terrestrial Venuses +that peoples and kings, judges and culprits, flock +pell-mell. Is this a reason for despair? Cannot the +obvious feebleness of women, their delicacy, the almost +religious character of their love, become an element of +attraction and power? Women, we are told, deliberately +expose themselves to sharp tussles. That is true. But if +men were platonic, what merit would women have in being +platonic too? And surely no one would impose on men, as +the first rule of intercourse, the obligation of remaining in +marble coldness beside beautiful creatures of passion, whose +very nature is to set their pulses throbbing! “Ah! impossible!” +cries Margaret of France, to whom the mere idea +seems almost an insult. It is wise to recognise danger, but +it would be disgraceful to flee from it! In France, a +country hostile to the beautiful and to sentiment, the women +who preached the gospel of love were, as we have said, +high-born dames, whose very position made them wardens +of men’s souls, and whose nobleness constituted part of the +public patrimony. Maybe they did not believe themselves +predestined to impeccability; but while enjoying a wonderful +store of goodness and benevolence, they were at +the same time proud, high-strung, courageous. Far from +terrifying, peril inspirited them; to shrink from it would +have appeared disgraceful to Anne of France, who represents +prudence incarnate. Women are not so frail as people +are pleased to say. They are only frail when they wish to +be; and then it is duty that guides their steps.</p> + +<p>The real difficulty, then, does not lie in this direction. +The difficulty is to discover a sure method of capturing men. +We have already outlined the two theories; there are likewise +two practical systems.</p> + +<p>The first consists in really devoting heart and soul to the +matter, the second in the mere playing of a part. The first +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>is concrete, actual, full of zest and energy; the second is +nothing but abstractions, coquetry, poses, and never extends +beyond mere sentimentality. Anne of France, manifestly +wedded to the first system, speaks of it with a warmth and +yet with a wealth of circumlocution that show, not only +how much the question interested her, but how troublesome +she found it.</p> + +<p>A woman, she thinks, should not push enthusiasm so far +as to run to meet love; she may wait for it, it comes soon +enough unsought. In spite of her very real simplicity, she +always impresses us as having a touch of pride; and besides, +she was writing for her daughter. But what a noble heart +is hers, how ardent and how generous! She distrusts the +love excited merely by physical beauty, because she regards +it as imperfect, undistinguished, commonplace, of little +stability, subject to all sorts of disappointments and regrets; +but no less—accustomed as she is to deal with things +broadly and grandly—does true love, that which wells up +from the heart and mind, and is only strengthened and +sanctified with increasing years, seem to her precious and +firm. When a man can analyse his love and tell himself +that it depends on some definable beauty, however exquisite—that +of the eyes, perhaps, or that of a charming +manner or an uncommon mind—in this case the love is +slight. But when it takes entire possession of him, when he +knows not how to describe it nor to what to attribute it, +when it surprises him in the plenitude of his vigour, and +keeps him in subjection to another person of whose will he +becomes the mere echo; above all, when it inspires him with +the overpowering consciousness that henceforth his life may +be bounded by no other horizon: then it has a superb +range; it possesses soul and heart; the rest is merely supplementary—a +more complete intimacy, a pledge of affection. +The woman a man most loves is not the one he covets most. +At twenty it is easy to confuse sensations with sentiments; +and that is why true love is not known till later. It is a +gradual unfolding; and then it becomes so ardent as to +bring into play all the impulsive forces of the mind. It is +by this new emotional fruitfulness, by this responsiveness, +so to speak, to the spur, that a man’s worth is measured. +Externally, on their commonplace side, all men are alike; +their souls alone have different physiognomies: a time comes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>when they are stirred to the depths, shaken out of themselves, +and then it is seen that there are great souls and +small. Not too great, however, nor too small; but quite +human! We cannot expect miracles, or look for the perfection +God has reserved for Himself. But sometimes the +reality is better than appearances promise: “’Tis not the +cowl that makes the monk.” We should not be too ready to +take fright at an inconsistency, or to despair of men who err +by excess of genuine sensibility. These are the easiest to +convert.</p> + +<p>Anne of France believes in a method of princely candour. +She objects to any woman, with the best intentions in the +world, appearing to promise what she is firmly resolved +never to grant; in this regard it would be better to retreat +at once, with no false shame, and quietly await another +occasion for giving battle.</p> + +<p>If, on the other hand, love presents itself under reassuring +aspects, it may be accepted. Honourable love is so beautiful, +so full of “benefits and honours”! But precisely because it +is so delightful a condition it is rare, and the devil leaves +nothing undone to poison it, and therefore it is well to advance +with much practical prudence, even with distrust! The world +is so vile! Sweet love has often come to a bad end! In +discussing this tender and mournful psychology, the great +princess would seem, under her mask of impassibility as a +philosophical woman, to utter a cry of pain as though +bleeding from an internal wound: “I have known a knight,” +she says, “who heaped oath on oath of the most sacred +character, even on the holy altars, on the gospel, and who +did not keep them even till the evening.” She is one of +those who, giving the heart, give it wholly, and how perilous +that is is manifest. A genuine platonist, however, she +acknowledges no degrees in honour; there is no splitting it +up; it must be preserved in its entirety: and the primitive, +strenuous, almost naïve lady concludes that chastity does not +consist solely in “saving oneself from the overt act.” +Among the women who skate more venturously near the +danger point there is not one in a thousand, she thinks, but +has lost something of her honour or of her illusions.</p> + +<p>Of this sculptural view of love—majestic, holy, like certain +of Wagner’s harmonies, but necessarily very rare—Michelangelo +is a practical exemplification.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span></p> + +<p>Madly smitten, at the age of fifty-one, with a lady of +thirty-six, whom, however, he did not see till twelve years +later; so mastered by his agitation as to pen two extraordinary +letters—which, incomprehensible as they appear, +Messieurs Milanesi, Gotti and Mézières have succeeded in +interpreting—writing one letter three times over without +making up his mind to send it (it never was sent)—that +was the man known as Michelangelo.</p> + +<p>Why did he love the Marchioness of Pescara! For her +beauty? No. For her wit? No. He loved her because +he loved her: there is no more to be said. He asked nothing +of her. She was the woman of his heart; to her he +dedicated all the fibres of his being. He saw with her eyes, +acted by her inspiration, “no longer conscious of aught but +the memory of her.” And he was happy, and unhappy. +What energy of expression there is in his sonnets when his +vigour bursts out in passionate laments! But for the +most part this vigour seems itself to yield to respect and +enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>A genuine patrician, sweet and unaffected, the marchioness +understood with wonderful intuition the man who was addressing +her, and proved what in such a case a woman may +do with a man. Condivi, who had seen her correspondence, +described it as full of a grave and profoundly moving love; +the fragments which have come down to us indicate a +thousand little tendernesses: “Our friendship is stable, and +our affection very sure; it is tied with a Christian knot.” +And here is the address outside a letter: “To my more than +magnificent and more than very dear Messer Michelangelo +Buonarotti.”</p> + +<p>It was the same with their talks together; love only +served to give their conversation an elevated tone. A certain +François de Hollande, who happened one day to be in their +company, has preserved some characteristic fragments of +their conversation. The marchioness was formulating quite +a scheme of splendid idealism: “Painting,” she said, “better +than any other means, enables us to see the humility +of the saints, the constancy of the martyrs, the purity +of the virgins, the beauty of the angels, the love and +charity with which the seraphim burn; it raises and +transports mind and soul beyond the stars, and leads us to +contemplate the eternal sovereignty of God.... If we +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>desire to see for ourselves a man renowned for his deeds, +painting shows us him to the life. It brings before our +eyes the image of a beauty far removed from our experience, +and Pliny held this to be a service of priceless value. The +widow in her affliction finds solace in gazing every day +upon her husband’s picture; young orphans owe to painting +the happiness of recognising, when they have come to +man’s estate, the features of a beloved father.”</p> + +<p>Is not this true love, to love the beautiful, the object of +love to so many besides ourselves? Is not this the enchanting +joy dreamed of by Anne of France, so sweet for a +woman, and lifting a man “beyond the stars”? But this +love is terribly individual and exclusive!</p> + +<p>Twenty years later Michelangelo lost the lady of his +soul. He stood by her death-bed. With reverence and +pity he pressed a long kiss upon her hand, not daring, even +at that tragic moment when Death purifies all things, to +touch ever so lightly that pale cold brow; though many a +time, in truth, he regretted the timidity of his farewell. +Condivi tells us that he was frantic with grief. Night had +closed her wings upon his life; he could never hear the +marchioness mentioned without tears starting in his eyes: +“We had a great mutual regard,” he said; “Death has +snatched from me a great friend.” A great friend! He +became religious; in his robust old age his soul maintained +its fire, like some deep pool which, in the blackness of +night, still reflects the sunset glow. He died at the age of +ninety, and among his papers were found the letters of the +marchioness, and the sonnets he wrote for her—though +cunning pilferers had carried off a portion of these, which, +unhappily, they kept for themselves.</p> + +<p>The other, and more numerous, school of platonists +started from an absolutely different principle. It was much +less individual, and much more sociological. It was cultured, +to all appearance without enthusiasm, keenly sensitive, +wholly of this world, or if it moved at all toward the +ideal it was by many tortuous, obscure and labyrinthine +paths of which it would sometimes be difficult to draw an +accurate map. It was philosophical; its method was to coax +the human animal, to converse with him, to lure him with +smiles and soft words, and to wind about him a multitude +of slender cords till he was reduced to helplessness. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>The method was considered eminently laudable, and indeed +it demanded infinite tact, time and patience; for what was +involved was nothing less than the training of “the other +partner” in habits of refinement and discretion—to content +himself with a few tit-bits of love or kindliness, to refrain +from constantly showing teeth and claws with a cry for his +“reward”—the wolfish cry, the roar of the beast of prey! +A light hand was needed. Men, snared in cold blood, +appeared so commonplace, so much alike!</p> + +<p>The little favours by which men were held captive were +in no way open to censure; they were virtue itself, for the +end justified the means. The art which regulated the dispensation +of these favours may justly be regarded as a +complicated one. It grew out of long habit, and was not +learnt from books; it was the Machiavelism of a special +charity, a supreme devotion, very often the immolation of +self; and it was precisely this admirable feature which +distinguished platonism from coquetry: “O Love!” cried +Bembo, “it is by thee that the higher virtues rule the +lower.” How many of these strange, admirable women +might be mentioned, who devoured men like veritable +Minotaurs, and who, after devouring them, would have +liked to resurrect them for another meal!</p> + +<p>The Marchesa Scaldasole, of Pavia, was one of these +terrible harpies; yet she acted with absolute frankness. +One day, at a ball, she said to a young protonotary named +De Lescun, who was losing his head a little: “You see, I +do as your guards do, who fix a tassel to their horses’ +cruppers, to warn people not to go too near,” and she pointed +to her sky-blue dress: in Italy, blue denoted heavenward +aspirations. Lescun was devoured like the rest. By a +strange freak of fate, he happened to be severely wounded +beneath the walls of Pavia in the famous battle of Francis +I. When he was picked up, covered with blood, he asked +to be carried to the house of his “dear lady and patroness.” +The marchesa received these quivering shreds of humanity +with transports of tenderness, and it was in her arms, +sustained by her loving look and consoled by her pious +words, that Lescun breathed his last.</p> + +<p>I know not how La Rochefoucauld could say: “The first +lover is kept long when no second is taken.” It is the +vice of men not to know when to stop. Nothing grieved +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>Margaret of France like the thought that a man, to qualify +as a “man of honour” and a “pleasant companion,” was +expected to kill someone for giving him the lie, and to love +a dozen women. She objected strongly to a happily +settled man, as she says, going prowling over the world, +were it ever so platonically: “it is wisest to remain satisfied +where love has once attached us.”</p> + +<p>The women, on the contrary, anxious to fulfil their social +duty, thought themselves bound to sow love broadcast, to +distribute their favours widely; by that means they protected +themselves against the tongue of malice, though at +the cost of desperately hard work and many embarrassments. +For every man of intelligence and breeding who +knows better than to display too much whimsicality, how +many jealous, touchy, tiresome men there are! A princess +could do no less than be kind to a number of favourites; +Margaret of France loved not far short of a dozen, and the +number was only so small because of the difficulty of finding +recruits for platonism.</p> + +<p>We must remember the idea from which these women +started, which was absolutely the reverse of that which now +prevails. In these days women are careful not to generalise; +they prefer to personalise everything—medicine in the +doctor, religion in the priest, the family in the husband, +love in the lover. The women of the sixteenth century, we +cannot repeat too often, had an ardent faith in things, but +none at all in men; they had no intention whatever of +being in bondage to a man, whoever he was, but preferred +to go straight to the idea, and then to make its interpreter +their apostle, or what they pleased. They were in +love with love, but were unquestionably prone to regard +the lover as of secondary importance, or at the most as the +minister of their cult, not their master. Trustfulness and +self-surrender struck them as delightful, desirable, religious, +almost necessary, when based on a broad principle of +liberty, and when they furnished a goal at which the +affections might aim.</p> + +<p>We must insist also on another most important consideration, +which the reader will already have suspected. These +ladies did not labour for their personal happiness; in most +cases they had no hope of ever attaining it. They discovered +a means of giving life to others, but lacked it for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>themselves; they had known either too much or too little +of existence. They were dissatisfied—out of conceit—with +everything, perhaps with themselves; they had been +mothers, and were yet maids. For the soul, like the body, +needs to give itself, and on this condition depends its life +and fruitfulness. Now many of these women had shadowy +and inscrutable souls—souls whose pages no one had troubled +to turn; they smothered their feelings, but they had suffered +much, and still suffered. Hitherto they had given only +their body, the poorest part of them, the contaminated part, +the part that is lost in the giving; while the soul is +ennobled and purified by self-surrender. They had perforce +to cut themselves in two, and as maidens to look on at the +ruin of one part of themselves, and nothing was more +painful than this cleavage; philosophers even maintained +that it was an impossible one, and that, when a woman +yielded her body, under obligation or necessity, sometimes +with disgust, she gave nothing, but remained immaculately +a virgin, because the true virginity is that of the heart. +Indeed, a favourite idea of that time was that whatever +vicissitudes the bodily mechanism might undergo, only the +soul could endorse them.</p> + +<p>Here, then, were unhappy dilettanti of love, who, regarding +animal passion as the antipodes, almost the negation, of +true passion, rigorously safeguarded their purity, and +adopted platonism as the channel through which to bestow +their souls on mankind, with a smiling disenchantment, +almost happy in possessing at least the assurance that in +this harmless game there would be only occasional outbursts +of the violence of love. They chose the good part, +sowing broadcast, in a soil often ungrateful, the seeds of a +love of which they had been harshly deprived, and the +fruits of which they hoped probably that others would +gather. Many of them had lovers, but true love comes +only once, and among these charming women, all fire in +appearance, there were some who bore, deep down in their +hearts, an unsuspected burden of sorrow which oppressed +and overwhelmed them. With some of them passion had +never ceased to rumble; some had been seen to become +desperately attached to a man (maybe their own husband), +or even to fling themselves into a nunnery. The most of +them, more sick than those they wished to cure, and faltering +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>inwardly under the outward charms of their devotion, went +their way, vainly seeking in life’s desert the heart, the one +only heart, sensitive enough to comprehend them. They +steered their way composedly among the billows, in complete +security, alas! and without adventuring anything but +their good sense, at most their good nature, which Anne of +France severely calls their hypocrisy. Ah! how they smart +for this hypocrisy! How much of their life-blood it costs +them! We yearn to strip off their veils, to beseech them +to take thought for themselves and put some faith in +passion! But no, they lead our woful procession like +singing children, and, forcing back their tears like Margaret +of France, they strew a few rose-leaves in our doleful path:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">De petits amours à fleurettes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">D’autres petites amourettes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mesmement de vieilles amours,⁠<a id="FNanchor_165" href="#Footnote_165" class="fnanchor">[165]</a></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>Voiture.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">and the sole benefit is reaped by us, or at least by men +capable of enjoying an illusion. Sometimes, in their infinite +goodness, they may give us divine moments that compensate +for the painfulness of life; they succeed in thrilling us with +that magnetic influence which quickens our faculties, sends +our life into a wider channel, makes commonplace actions +seem interesting to us, gives higher relief and brighter colour +to all our surroundings. They do a good work, a pious +work, a social work. And that is why this loveless love +fell especially to the lot of princesses. At first sight the +idea of making love so excessively aristocratic appears +somewhat singular, if not repugnant. What is the value of +distinctions of birth in such a matter? To sincere hearts +they can only raise obstacles to genuine happiness. This +was especially the opinion of Anne of France. Could it be +right to dignify with the name of love or platonism a +wretched coquetry which consisted in attaching oneself to +the most conspicuous women, whoever they were?—for +some were plain, and, what was worse, influential!—so that +this so-called love would oscillate between snobbishness and +solicitation of the kind nowadays practised upon a minister +of state—whose ugliness does not matter. Assuredly it is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>possible to love a plain woman with all one’s heart; such +love, indeed, is said to be the strongest. But how difficult +it must have been in those days for a princess to believe in +a disinterested love! And even supposing such happiness +were hers, could she ever have relied upon it?</p> + +<p>So the love of princesses, which was an essential characteristic +of platonism, sprang in reality from a very special +principle. The princesses (and other great ladies) had no +experience whatever of the sentiment (very masculine and +somewhat modern) that everything was theirs by right, and +that a certain lofty egotism was the natural complement of +a lofty station. On the contrary, they imagined themselves +to be the property of society, so to speak, and not their own—and +further, as they realised that a great name is just as +isolating and paralysing as a large fortune, if not more so, +they considered themselves specially bound to keep their +activities in full play. Their efforts were sweetened by +their pride. That the woman should have the castle and +the man the cottage, that she should be rich and he poor, +seemed to them a good thing: it was the subversion of old +ideas, but the consecration of the idea that was to be. +They found a special charm in material inequalities of +position; it was often distressing to have to raise a man +morally, but it was delightful to raise him in a material +sense; as Balzac has said, “No man has ever been able to +raise his mistress to his own level, but a woman always +places her lover as high as herself.”</p> + +<p>This explains why, in the eyes of all the friends of the +Beautiful at that epoch, every princess was beautiful, in +other words, she piloted the world towards the idea of the +Beautiful. Failing a princess, or a lady of title, or an +eminent woman,⁠<a id="FNanchor_166" href="#Footnote_166" class="fnanchor">[166]</a> a man might content himself with a simple +maid-of-honour; but it would be almost to fail in respect +towards princesses of the blood-royal not to fall in love with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>them, since they were born for that end; and indeed a +certain accent of ardour did not displease them, for, as they +told themselves, “everybody knows that a fortress is only +stormed when it seems hopeless to expect weakness or +treachery.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_167" href="#Footnote_167" class="fnanchor">[167]</a> Nothing flattered them more; in the admirable +words of Alfred de Vigny: “In the purest relationships of life +there are nevertheless things which are only poured into one +single heart, as into a chosen vessel.” This chosen vessel +must be rare and delicately fashioned, all compact of +idealism, intellectuality and tenderness.</p> + +<p>The love of princesses, therefore, however sincere and +intoxicating, manifested itself with crystal purity. When +a poet makes extravagant boast of the beauty of his mistress, +who is sometimes of mature years, we may be quite sure he +means beauty of soul, “which is all-sufficient,” as Margaret +ingenuously says. The only misfortune of the princesses +was often their scant knowledge of the human heart; they +saw too much of the worldly, showy, conventional exterior, +and it was that usually which made them pessimists. But +they exerted a powerful sway. And as their favours, +coming whence they did, had no important sequels, they +were not niggardly in bestowing them. Of what is not a +woman capable who has nothing to fear, either from herself +or from others? In such a case there is danger only for the +man. Certain ladies took men and stirred them up, shook +them as you shake a tree whose fruit you desire to bring +down. And, to tell the truth, they were even taunted with +carrying this science of theirs too far. Margaret of France +in particular has been generally regarded as a consummate +virtuoso; unquestionably she often puzzles us, and gives us +the uneasy feeling that she is making fools of us. She +herself boasted of juggling with the hearts of men, of +“winning her devoted servants,” and of managing them so +well that literally they no longer knew what to make of +her. “The most daring,” she says, “were reduced to +despair, and the most down-hearted saw a ray of hope.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_168" href="#Footnote_168" class="fnanchor">[168]</a> So, +while those who know her story most intimately—Madame +d’Haussonville, M. Anatole France, Madame de Genlis—come +forward as guarantees of her absolute virtue, those +who, like Brantôme, peep at her through the window +regard her as a coquette, which indeed was her mother’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>opinion. Shall I confess it? I myself, during the years, +now no small portion of my life, which I have devoted to +the service of these adorable women, during the many long +hours spent in delightful intimacy with them, wholly +absorbed in deciphering the enigma of their hearts, have +known and felt these singular perplexities. One day the +ladies have enchanted me, almost given me wings; another, +they have crushed me into the dust: one day I would fain +kiss their hands with all the ardour of a loyal worshipper; +another, long to obliterate their very footprints. Sometimes +I have glowed with pride, fancying myself master +of this fervent love of which they used to speak so well; +and thrilled through and through with their overflowing +enthusiasm I have seen the world become transfigured +behind them, our pale northern mists dissolve in radiant +colour, our sky become translucent—and next day I would +trudge mechanically behind them in utter mystification. +Passion and irony have in turn moved my pen, and having +mutually slain each other, I know not whether anything is +left. And to-day even, when I am seeking earnestly to +lisp the praises of these ladies, when as the prize of serious +and constant effort I beseech of them some positive pledge +of their thought, they flit like butterflies before me!</p> + +<p>Yet they had hearts, large hearts, it is impossible to doubt,—hearts +staunch and ardent; but they shrank from employing +them. They dallied in a dim twilight sensibility, like +that noble lady of Genoa, Thomasina Spinola, who had +broken all material ties with her husband in order to devote +her thoughts to King Louis XII. One day the rumour +spread, falsely, that Louis was dead, and soon it was +reported at Blois that Thomasina was dead also. Thereupon +the official poet recited an interminable elegy. Happily, +both Louis XII. and Thomasina had many years to live. +No one durst smile at matters so eminently respectable, +though Anne of France was indignant; in her opinion love +was dishonoured by such proceedings, and she would readily +have forgiven men for not taking these pleasant comedies +too seriously.</p> + +<p>Strange women! Perhaps they themselves dared not +probe their souls! The artists who painted them must +have dropped their brush and peered into the heart of their +idol, and asked themselves whether it was a Beatrice or a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>Venus they were painting. A strange veil covers their +features; as a skilful artist contents himself with vague +suggestions where a perfect rendering is impossible, so +their souls have deliberately blotted themselves in mist, +blurring their outlines, and throwing us into uncertainty. +These women are frank, and reserved; they attract, and +repel; embrace us, and hold us at arm’s length; allure +us, and alienate us. Now they are like virgin soil, now like +paths too many feet have trod. Their contemporaries were +baffled by them; we too may well fail to comprehend this +platonism—we who see it from afar.</p> + +<p>Such is the magic haze in which Leonardo has enwrapped +his Gioconda. Everything is there, but he tells us nothing +save that this is she. He barely hints at her subtle mind, +her soft, pure flesh; you seem to catch a delicate perfume +floating in the air. The world around her seems sunk in +torpor; the landscape fades away in indefinite and fantastic +suggestions. And the woman dominating it all pursues us +with her complex look—the look that all these women +have; she seems to be several women superimposed—a +succession of appetites, a mingling of languors, thoughts +crowded on thoughts, an encumbrance of flesh. Voluptuousness +and intelligence are there too, held in reserve. She +terrifies us, for she is too richly endowed; she will give +nothing: she is a woman of brains.</p> + +<p>And yet we err in not trying to understand these +women! We do not understand them because we set them +apart, picture them as solitary in their defensive attitude, +shutting our eyes to what engrosses their mistrustful looks—the +cruel welter of humanity around them.</p> + +<p>With Anne of France and Vittoria Colonna we met +Michelangelo. But whom shall we find flocking about +these gracious priestesses of love? Contemptible drones, +ambitious men, empty-headed fools, young fops, youths +anxious to push their way in the world, society clowns, +scholars in the sere and yellow leaf, a whole herd of men +who have their reasons for liking the tame cat’s rôle, and +certainly would never think of love unless someone mentioned +it. Is it in any real sense cheating to cheat such +men? There are sceptics like the excellent Montaigne, +who love in order to find relief from their worries; others +who love for a wager, like Nifo, who went sweethearting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>because it amused Cardinal Pompeo Colonna. There are +pedants and hair-splitters; men who analyse and refine and +talk of social duty—speak too of their love for humanity +at large, for irrational things, for the All-in-all, for supernatural +beings, for the angels. They make love an amusement +like dicing and racing. They tell off on their fingers +the various species of love.</p> + +<p>Nifo amused himself by cataloguing the motives leading +to love or “re-love.” He found fifteen chief motives: (1) +Youth. (2) Nobility (since aristocracy springs from love, +and love from aristocracy). (3) Wealth, a tainted source, +but abundant. (4) Power. It is to this last that he +maliciously ascribes the love of princesses, the best and +most practical of all. Ambitious by destiny, he says, princesses +necessarily yearn for glory; wherefore they are more +accessible than others, and no one renders love graver, loftier, +more substantial. (5) Beauty, a very stimulating factor, +but secondary. (6) The mere rapture of the senses. Alas! +many women, even in the highest stations, must have +owed shameful connections to this cause! (7) Fame. The +thought of hearing themselves sung about, of seeing themselves +in pictures and statues, of being analysed and made +the subject of dissertations, is a strong incentive to love: +women love posterity in this guise. (8) The love of love, +the artistic pleasure in knowing themselves loved, adored. +(9) Elegant love, a matter of gay doublets and a good +stable. (10) Obsequious love, not very amusing, but practical +and very common; a love made up of little attentions, +little symbolic presents, balls and banquets; Nifo had seen +Prince Ferdinand of Salerno win his lady by means of a +ball. And after these principal categories, there come +secondary inducements to love, which, in spite of their +commonness, are constantly successful; fine melodramatic +rages, comprising disdain, jealousy, frenzy—all excellent +investments; or the more peaceable and rudimentary means, +such as entertainments (provided they are intellectual), +flattery (highly recommended), prayer, this too, excellent, +according to the maxim of Martial—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor prayer nor incense e’er did Jove despite.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Lovers have only too many methods to choose from, and +the advantage of these sentiments (generally feigned), is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>that thanks to them anybody, however modest his resources, +can find something to suit him; it is the bazaar of love.</p> + +<p>And thus raw individualism, the mainspring of human +energy, was to become transformed and to tend towards a +collective end.</p> + +<p>Poor women! they were under no illusion about the +superficial effect they for the most part produced; they +knew that perhaps it would all amount to no more than an +outward show of improvement, and that at bottom man +would remain the vulgar and self-seeking creature he was.⁠<a id="FNanchor_169" href="#Footnote_169" class="fnanchor">[169]</a> +This thought confirmed them in their platonism and their +virtue; if there was no better result, they told themselves +that, after all, to awaken mere sensibility was not an absolute +waste of time; that it was a merit to refine vice, to +“polish it up,” to drape it with hypocrisy, to rule men and +impress their intelligence even by indirect means: they +found the occupation every whit as interesting as piling up +household linen or polishing the furniture. They hoped +that the future would justify their devotion. After all +their love was only a means; the end was to pour upon life +a little joy, a little balm, light, power, happiness—to shower +happiness everywhere.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_II_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br> +<span class="smaller">THE MISSION OF BEAUTY</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>Before we can make others happy we must draw upon +the sources of happiness in our own nature and in the world +around. It is reason’s ungracious way to show us the +realities of life in the mass, and even in their darker +aspects; it is aestheticism that turns their bright side to +us. Absolute ugliness does not exist, any more than absolute +beauty, and a careful analysis detects an element of +beauty and love in everything. The quest for this element +is women’s work. In moulding us into beings sensitive to the +least manifestation of happiness, they restore us to health.</p> + +<p>Their first duty is to exhibit in themselves every loveable +quality, physical and moral; for platonism is not the +art of loving, but the art of guiding men towards happiness +through love. Their second duty is to make good use of +the elements at their disposal, and force life to yield the +very pith and essence of the Beautiful. Or we may liken +them to conductors of orchestras, who draw unexpected +tones out of space. How noble, how difficult is the task! +Surely there is enough in it to fill a lifetime! What intelligence, +what knowledge, what skill, even to charming +sympathetic accents from a stone, are needed! Platonism +would be narrow and inadequate indeed—would be indistinguishable +from the most hackneyed sentiments—if it +were satisfied with the triumph of feminine coquetry, and +did not extend its mission to the whole of nature.</p> + +<p>To render themselves beautiful and admirable, therefore, +women will have to make the most of their resources. +Whatever their occupation, they can always mingle with it +something of the ideal, or turn it to the glory of their sex, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>even if it is a mere matter of dining or of walking in a +meadow; how much more so if it is a question of the manifold +usages of social life, and more especially of its intellectual +occupations! Through their fostering care all things should +become imbued with a sentiment of peace and love, and tend +in common towards happiness. That is where their talent lies.</p> + +<p>Clearly the method employed will vary according to +circumstances, situation, possibilities, temperaments. Different +women will pursue different aims, and avail themselves +of different weapons; but, in the long run, none was neglected. +While therefore we cannot hope to produce a thoroughly +accurate picture, we shall pass in review the principal circumstances +which provide a lady with her means of action, +starting in logical order with the material and proceeding +to the intellectual facts.</p> + +<p>In the material universe, it is woman’s capital duty to +possess what pleases men; for here we are entering a purely +practical field, and the quest of the ideal is of much less +moment than the skilful dressing of the hook!</p> + +<p>Physical beauty is not an indispensable condition of +pleasing; on the contrary indeed, a certain homely plainness +does not come amiss, platonically speaking. If many +of the celebrated women whom we know only in their +portraits were to come to life again, perhaps we could not +resist their fascinations; but they are dead, and to us they +are plain; their plainness served them as a sort of lightning-conductor. +We may go even farther; true beauty was +held suspect. As Anne of France severely says, it is the most +prejudicial and least valuable grace that God can bestow on +a woman, especially a princess. It is made too much of; +it inevitably jumbles the sentiments, mixing with the purest +an alloy of instability; there is always a risk of its upsetting +the best-laid schemes. A princess acknowledged as a +beauty cannot choose her servitors; she knows neither how +far they will go nor perhaps how far she will go herself. +She seats her empire on very precarious foundations, since +the less sensual love is, the longer it endures. In fine, +women are what they are, and it is impossible to ask them +to change. But any woman who knows her duty may be +asked to practise the feminine art, and this art is called charm.</p> + +<p>Many men do not know the meaning of the word +“charm”; they speak of beauty as savants or as grocers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>might, not as faithful worshippers. If you pull women to +pieces, if you judge them as you would a yard of calico, a +donkey or a slave, you will see naturally but a form of +flesh; you may estimate its geometrical dimensions, count +on your fingers thirty or thirty-six special beauties; if you +profess an intellectual standpoint, you will perhaps go so +far as to measure the cranium, and that will be all. You +will be content as an artist to produce a “semblance of life,” +by dint of scrupulous attention to detail; you will not perceive +what it is that speaks to us, fascinates us. Charm is +not expressed in terms of arithmetic or algebra: it is an art, +perhaps the highest of all arts, because more than any other, +more even than poetry or music, it speaks from soul to +soul; it is a sort of witchery, a woman’s knack, as it were, +of enveloping all around her in an invisible net. It is not +purely intellectual, but avails itself of physical means and +disdains everything in the way of formulae. The Italians, +adoring this delightful art, have vainly devoted innumerable +and often very prolix writings to the attempt to fathom +it. All their reasonings are condensed in this vague sentence +of Firenzuola:⁠<a id="FNanchor_170" href="#Footnote_170" class="fnanchor">[170]</a> “A beautiful woman is one who is +universally pleasing”; and Firenzuola is no better able than +the rest to say why she is pleasing. If we were speaking of +a good housewife, it would be easy to catalogue her virtues: +the talents of a managing woman, a woman who can look +after one’s health, keep the books and train the children, +have often been computed. Of a charming woman, never! +Each one has her own secret. And yet the art of charming +is very widespread. To that art the Italian women owed +their positions as queens of the world (or, to satisfy Montaigne, +let us say the “regents”); they were not superior to +Frenchwomen in beauty of form or in originality of soul, +but among them there were more “beautiful women,” that +is to say, captivating women, than elsewhere. They were +imbued with platonic sweetness, had acquired an indescribable +magnetism, a perfume of human graciousness, so holy, +so all-pervading that it seemed to purify the air and make +the world a temple instead of a hospital: like the precious +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>spikenard poured long ago upon the feet of the Saviour, all +soiled with the dust of the world.</p> + +<p>Like all other arts, charm is a gift of nature. The first +rule for a woman is to know herself thoroughly, so that she +may bring her individual gifts discreetly into play, especially +those which affect the man she has in view. It will not +do to let her art appear. A woman’s charm depends upon +her acting spontaneously, even though imperfectly; it is +impossible to insist too strongly on this principle, which +of itself explains the evolution of women’s power in the +sixteenth century. So long as women frankly assert their +personality in their actions, taking counsel only of themselves, +their power never ceases to grow, and produces +excellent results; but when, whether from indifference, +timidity, the instinct of submission, or a mistaken education, +they no longer see in platonism anything but an art to +learn, a lesson to rattle off, a conventional pose, all is over; +men of real virility escape their influence, and deride their +charm as a puerile thing, and the women find no men to +govern but the insignificant herd whom they do not care +a straw for, and who are distinguished one from another +only by the colour of their pantaloons. This is the practical +result of the parallel instituted between true platonism +and the platonism of convention, between Michelangelo +and Bembo, between the vigorous Anne of France, who +was willing to assimilate certain delightful principles of +the new spirit so long as no sacrifice of character or caste +was involved, and the amiable Margaret of France, who +was much more inclined to go over bag and baggage to +the Italian methods, in order to obtain in France the same +results as in Italy.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, apart from originality, which is indispensable, +and diversity, which is essential, it is possible to +mention some elements that go to the making of charm, +consecrated, apparently, by experience or tradition. Of +these, some are physical, some intellectual; for the present +we shall speak only of the former.</p> + +<p>It is a general rule (if we may speak of rules) that the physical +charm of a woman springs entirely from whatever accentuates +her feminine, arch-feminine character. Thus it must +above all express the completest, most absolute sweetness.</p> + +<p>For a long time this characteristic sweetness appeared to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>spring from gracefulness of form and feature: a face of +aristocratic oval; a swan neck, a wasp waist; in short a +general effect of reed-like slightness and fragility, a veritable +mantel ornament, so delicately balanced that to touch it was +more than one dared, and that one was puzzled how so frail +a thing had ever managed to stand on such tiny feet, to +hold out such a poor little hand—a virginal figure of fifteen +years.⁠<a id="FNanchor_171" href="#Footnote_171" class="fnanchor">[171]</a> This wonderfully pure ideal persisted in Spain; but +in Italy one of the first signs of decadence was the preference +for more sensual forms. The Florentines, with their fastidious +ideal of elegance, were almost alone in resisting the current; +good Firenzuola did not yield to it to any extent, and +at most there was at Florence a small section in favour +of muscle and robustness, of whom Michelangelo is the +representative. But at Venice, a fine opulence of flesh, +luminous and warm, wonderfully substantial and soft, “full +of a delicious comfortableness,” carried all before it—a beauty +such as the pagans have celebrated in their lyrics and such +as the East adores: nothing seemed more charming.</p> + +<p>In France, the national spirit, always eclectic and vacillating, +was neither idealistic nor materialistic enough to take +any side in this dispute.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Autant me plaist la grassette,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Comme me plaist la maigrette.⁠<a id="FNanchor_172" href="#Footnote_172" class="fnanchor">[172]</a></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>Ronsard.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The great goddesses who ruled and dominated the classical +epoch, Madame de Chateaubriand, Madame de Canaples,⁠<a id="FNanchor_173" href="#Footnote_173" class="fnanchor">[173]</a> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>Diana of Poitiers, were representatives of vigorous stocks; +an old lusty blood coursed visibly enough through their +veins; but they mastered it as they mastered everything, +diluting it with an effeminacy which had, however, a charm +of its own.</p> + +<p>The colour of the hair and eyebrows always appeared a +characteristic factor in a woman’s expression; without fair +hair there was no charm. According to a twelfth-century +chronicler, the sweet Saint Godeliva of Bruges was called a +“horrid crow” by her hag of a stepmother on account of +her dusky hair; it was to her hair indeed that she owed the +tribulations that won for her the aureole of sainthood. In +all probability the dukes of Burgundy, when they created +the order of the Golden Fleece, were thinking rather of the +charming women with heads like a golden harvest-field +than of the exploits of Jason. It is impossible to imagine +Botticelli crowning Spring with black, or Raphael representing +his Virgins as goddesses of night. The blonde had it +all her own way. And yet even in this matter the fastidious +Florentines did not commit themselves, and had something +to say for the pretty dainty little dark heads that were to +be met in the fields of Umbria. In France the chestnut locks +which set off so many charming faces were greatly admired.</p> + +<p>But there was absolute unanimity in favour of a soft +complexion of creamy white. All men, whatever their +nationality, whether idealists or not—poets and aesthetes, +dandies, elegant or melancholy men, as Firenzuola and +Tibaldeo⁠<a id="FNanchor_174" href="#Footnote_174" class="fnanchor">[174]</a> called themselves—united in praise of the charm +and sweetness of the lily and the rose.</p> + +<p>As for the eyes, they are the very fount of charm; by +their aid heart is linked with heart in exquisite communings, +in them the soul ranges the whole compass of its utterance. +The Italians were particularly fond of speaking eyes, black, +velvety, dreamy or deep; the French, while by no means +insensible to the charm of languorous Creole eyes, much +preferred eyes full of animation and intelligence, and these +were usually of a light grey or brownish colour. On one +point they were almost unanimous: a French girl of piquant +expression and mobile features, all sparkle from eyes to lips, +was the top of admiration.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span></p> + +<p>Such are the few summary and exceedingly vague +notions of charm, from the physical point of view, to +which women could look for inspiration.</p> + +<p>They could choose among these various characteristics, or +they could at least go some way towards them. There is +no mystic virtue in the advice; the important thing is to +succeed; but if a woman lacks any one of the recognised +instruments of charm, it is better to look for another than +to attempt the impossible. Women have been known to +delight men merely by the beauty of a wide intellectual +brow: Mademoiselle de Vieilleville’s charm lay in a sweet +little lisp, and the fair Chanteloup’s in her delicious little +mouth. A pretty pout, a little wanton laugh, lips fine and +so red that a man asks himself “which is the cherry and +which is the mouth?” the carriage of the body, the play of +the features—all these and many other things may become +the “fount of amorous sweets.” All that is necessary is +that in one way or another a woman should enwrap herself +with her sweetness, as with a goddess’s veil.</p> + +<p>Leonardo da Vinci sometimes painted good housewives, +frank and precise in countenance, but he took no pleasure +in them; he hardly regarded them as women: a bold look, +he said, only suits women who are no longer women. +Whenever he was in love with his model he has given her +a modest port, one arm shielding her breast, and he has half +submerged her in a kind of penumbra. In France a trim, +sprightly, noticeably handsome woman was obliged to +disguise herself in an air of languorous affability. The +most stony-hearted of Frenchmen surrendered to “a sweet +and gentle face,” “a sweet look, a sweet bearing, a sweet +countenance.”</p> + +<p>Another quality which idealists regarded as conducive to +charm was a certain stiffness and reserve of manner. +Woman, like the ark of the covenant, was to be worthy of +all respect. She was not thought the worse of if, like a +mimosa, she shrank within herself when the sun’s rays were +no longer there to warm her, and if she was afraid of the +dark. The woman chary of her smile was considered a +delightful creature. In platonist circles they would scarcely +even admire the beauty of the shoulders, and indeed there +were no longer seen flaunted in the streets or churches, +under the eyes of the common herd, certain liberties in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>costume, from time immemorial the despair of preachers—low-cut +dresses, like that of good Isabel of Bavaria, whom +the monk Jacques Legrant admonished from the pulpit for +showing everything “down to her navel”: robes scalloped +at the sides; long-pointed shoes so much in the way that a +woman had to lift her petticoats very high to be able to +walk. Castiglione goes into raptures about the simple little +velvet boot of a lady who, on going to mass one morning, +fancied she had to spring lightly across a brook. Aretino, +naturally an expert in such a matter, declares that no one +has a greater horror of a gratuitous display of her charms +than a courtesan! Refinement and delicacy seemed to +make women more fastidious and more shy, because they +realised their value, and because they wished to be loved, +principally at least, for their soul. And then great ladies, +like everyone else, come in time to the verge of forty, and +their taste and discretion are remarkable. Persuaded that +perfection is always rare in this poor world, they appreciate +the importance of a good appearance, especially in a blasé +society, and they are not unaware how much they owe to +the skill of the dressmaker.</p> + +<p>Here, however, there arises a question on which a few +words must be said, for it not only occupies a certain place +in the history of art, but it commonly leads to what appears +to us a not very correct estimate of the aesthetic rôle of the +women of the Renaissance: the mistake has perhaps been +made of not treating it as seriously as it deserves.</p> + +<p>It is well known that the sixteenth century displayed an +immoderate fancy for Venuses, delighting in them, going +into ecstasies over them, setting them here, there and +everywhere with a sort of intoxication,—like a man issuing +from a too long seclusion into fresh air.</p> + +<p>It must indeed be confessed that the grave, austere art of +the Middle Ages had erred a little in the opposite direction. +The influence of asceticism had generated the absurdly +exaggerated desire to put out of sight the existence of +matter; artists attenuated corporeal forms until on their +canvases the body represented merely a thought; and the +raiment, consequently, in which the body was delicately +and gracefully draped, served as vesture to this thought, +and contributed, so to speak, to immaterialise it. The +influence of Greek art was needed to effect a reversion and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>to set upon physical beauty the stamp of a living art. The +platonist aesthetics contributed in large measure to +strengthen this movement, since it brought into favour the +theory that the human body is the perfect type of terrestrial +beauty, just as the human soul is the queen of the universe. +Thanks to Plato, man, full of wit and love and liberty, +appeared in his single self more intelligent, more free, more +worthy of worship than all the rest of nature; and as the +Bible reveals him also as the image of God, it seemed right to +pay him honour. It cannot then be said, even on this matter, +that to break with the aesthetic traditions of the Middle +Ages necessarily involved breaking with their traditions in +psychology and morals; platonism believed it was merely +developing and amplifying Christian art, gaining for it all +the superb expansion of which it was capable; and consequently, +in the early days, it was often with perfect good +faith and highly spiritual intentions that artists deified the +vital forces of the world in the nude. Michelangelo is +there to prove to us that it was possible to glorify the +human figure fearlessly and unblushingly without weakening +in any way the general conception of vigour and +chastity. Whether he paints men or women, the result is +the same: in bringing his wrestlers upon the scene he seems +to fling at them this old apostrophe of a mystic: “I love +you, not because of your fine garments, but because you +have suffered much.” Who would ever say that his Eve in +the Sistine chapel is yielding, through any languor whatever, +to the suggestions of the serpent! This woman of his +has assuredly strength enough to withstand a serpent +unaided! She goes resolutely to meet the knowledge of +good and evil, with the perfect freedom of an accomplished +athlete, with more determination than curiosity, because she +feels that her body is capable of every endurance; and +besides, no one has yet told her that children are brought +forth in anguish. Michelangelo has clothed with purity +even the lamentable mother of mankind!</p> + +<p>And assuredly when an artist of the same school pushes +the audacity of realism so far as to stretch openly on the +royal tomb in the cathedral of St. Denis nude effigies of +Louis XII. and Anne of Brittany, of Henri II. and Catherine +de’ Medici, he is giving a lesson in morality, lofty, stern, +admirable, and of splendid eloquence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span></p> + +<p>From this standpoint, the sight of the human form +appeared absolutely conformable to aesthetics and philosophy, +so much so that a whole generation of well-intentioned +tutors, at whom Ulrich von Hütten pokes a +little fun, set themselves ingeniously to explain to young +people the religious significance of nudities. It was on the +same principle that François de Moulins, the excellent cleric +specially entrusted with the moral instruction of young +Francis I., inserted in his manuscripts a picture of the +Graces, and taught his young pupil that Charity is rightly +represented as a nude figure, in order to symbolise her +generosity, or rather to bring it more vividly home to one.</p> + +<p>It is hardly necessary to add that if the spiritualistic and +platonist school derived these noble effects from the new +aesthetic idea, there was another school of artists and +amateurs, much more numerous, which saw in the exhibitions +of the academies only an entertainment of a wholly different +order. We cannot know (and we do not ask) what was +Dürer’s secret feeling when he thought, as even he did, to +imitate Michelangelo; but what can be affirmed is that he +is not altogether successful; he cannot get away from +domesticity; the good ladies he presents to us have nothing +superhuman about them; far from it, they are women just +escaped from their shop-counters (and their corsets!), or +very matter-of-fact bathers, or a statuesque “Fortune,” who, +despite her broad wings, yet appears ill at ease in what +Montaigne calls her “animal’s costume.” The Italian +artists, except for a few of the early ones, have not in similar +cases allowed a like embarrassment to appear. By their +own account, they moved with the greatest ease among these +physical beauties, like perfect aesthetes. Undoubtedly +many of them believed men, and more especially women, to +be the loveliest of created things, and in fact they display +them to us everywhere, with striking ability. Salons, +public resorts, promenades, even the walls of churches and +cathedrals in those days looked more or less like a pseudo-paradise. +The triumph of the flesh was pealed forth with a +brave clarion call. And we must not forget that this sort +of painting formed a capital trade, which brought in both +money and honour.</p> + +<p>By degrees, however, this licence evoked murmurings, +which grew stronger day by day, and as Michelangelo more +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>than anyone else had ennobled the practice, by inscribing +above the private altar of the popes the sublimest and most +terrible page of philosophy ever written by painter’s brush, +he was specially marked out for attack. Undoubtedly he +was generally recognised as the responsible enunciator of +this new principle of art, and it is a clear proof of the +general and almost unopposed onslaught on him that the +man most keenly alive to the drift of fashion, Aretino, +ventured to indulge in virulent invective against him upon +this subject. After the Council of Trent, a veritable crusade +was organised with the noble end of purging the churches +of too lifelike anatomies. It is the correct thing, in the +<i>Joanne</i>,⁠<a id="FNanchor_175" href="#Footnote_175" class="fnanchor">[175]</a> to make merry at the expense of Pope Paul IV., +dubbed by facetious and satirical people with the humiliating +sobriquet of the “breeches maker,” because he +caused some veracious but really unessential details in the +work of Michelangelo to be timidly covered with gauze, +and because he generously presented the Holy Virgin with +the dress she badly wanted. At the risk of incurring the +same reproaches and of becoming a by-word to guide-books +past, present, and future, we shall here confess that it seems +difficult to blame him. The <i>Last Judgment</i>, though +absolutely pure in intention, became for the popes quite a +stumbling-block from the moment they entered upon the +highly legitimate crusade of artistic purification; when in +1573 Veronese was reproached for introducing into <i>Last +Suppers</i> details little tending to edification, he did not fail +to plead the example of the Sistine chapel. There is not a +doubt but that Calvin would have shown himself much +more rigorous than Paul IV.</p> + +<p>This fascination for the symphonic harmonies of the body +was not only an anxiety to the popes; it distressed also the +noble women who wished to constitute themselves directors +of the aesthetic movement, or rather to become the very +incarnation of beauty and love. How far these women, +possessed by the desire of securing the triumph of intellectual +beauty, found themselves compelled to make certain +concessions, is a knotty question to which, as it seems to us, +people have as a rule furnished somewhat too liberal +answers. So far as the men were concerned, there is no +possible doubt about their materialistic tastes; we have, in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>a by no means small number of records and anecdotes, not +to speak of legends, excellent evidence of their partiality for +lifelike representations; they demanded them, insisted on +having them. To satisfy them, art set itself to picture the +unclothed; it is plain that the platonist women had no +option but to rise in revolt. But there exist some Venuses, +sculptured or painted, to which the artist undoubtedly +intended to give the spicy attractiveness of portraits. The +figures show realistic touches, sometimes positive deformities; +there are hump-backed Venuses, emaciated Venuses, +Venuses of mountainous bulk. They invariably wear +beautiful jewellery, a necklace, for example, and have their +little dog beside them. A characteristic detail is that their +hair has been the object of the most sedulous painstaking; +it is a masterly scaffolding of crimped and waved and curled +locks, interspersed with jewels in such a way as to make +quite clear that this is no shy woodland nymph, but a +woman of fashion, a woman of wealth, and even, as far as +that can be shown, of birth and breeding. This class of +figure is admirably represented on certain of Titian’s +canvases, and it is an almost immemorial tradition to take +them as the painter seems to intend, namely, as portraits of +distinguished women.</p> + +<p>Are we to believe that the religion of beauty, in purifying +all things, led women to adopt so extreme a custom? We +do not believe it.</p> + +<p>That would have been the total failure of all their tactics, +and on this point Plato was beaten out and out. Even +in that coterie at Urbino where to cultivate the purest +platonism was the delightful occupation of life, there was +a general smile when one of the company, smiling discreetly +himself, reminded them of the Master’s recommendation +that young girls should practise gymnastics in a +costume of primitive simplicity. Ladies were not at all enamoured +of a troglodytic beauty, and anyone who fancied +that the contemplation of Michelangelo’s or Signorelli’s, +works would turn their heads would have been greatly +mistaken. Julian de’ Medici, on being bantered by his +friends about the way he kept his fair lady out of sight, +humorously replies: “Madam, if I thought her beautiful I +would show her without her finery, as Paris insisted on +seeing the Three Goddesses; but in that case she would +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>need to be attired by those divinities themselves; and +since ’tis thought she is pretty, I prefer to take care of +her.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_176" href="#Footnote_176" class="fnanchor">[176]</a></p> + +<p>Platonist women felt extreme repugnance for anything +resembling publicity or vulgarisation—anything likely to +come under the common gaze. One day, at a ball, a young +girl seemed a prey to a gloomy pre-occupation from which +nothing could rouse her, and her friends wore themselves out +in vainly conjecturing the reason. At last they got the key +to the mystery: “I was pondering,” she said, “a notion +which haunts and worries me, and I cannot rid my heart of +it. All our bodies have to rise at Judgment Day, and stand +naked before the judgment seat of God, and I cannot bear +the distress I feel at the thought that I too must appear +stark naked.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_177" href="#Footnote_177" class="fnanchor">[177]</a></p> + +<p>It cannot be denied, of course, that there exists a certain +number of Olympian portraits. But these have nothing to +do with platonism, and further, many of them were executed +without assistance from the model.</p> + +<p>When a fashionable woman was having her portrait +painted, she did not pretend to patience, and would not sit. +Proof enough, surely! The artist had to dash off a hurried +sketch with the speed of a present-day photographer; the +portrait was afterwards worked up from this sketch in the +studio, and a succession of replicas was made from it. It is +obvious that, getting possession of fashionable ladies’ heads +in this way, the artists had every opportunity of making an +ill use of them, and supplying them with a costume not +bargained for.</p> + +<p>Nowadays the fun would strike us as in rather doubtful +taste; but women were in those days so good-natured and +quick-witted that they were the very first to laugh at a +sorry jest of this kind, especially if their personal rank +placed them above suspicion, and still more if the portrait +was pretty and flattering.</p> + +<p>The poet Michel d’Amboise relates how he gallantly +offered the lady he idolised a portrait of herself as Venus. +The fair damsel looked at the object with not a little +pleasure; but as it was necessary for the sake of principle +to reprimand the painter, she asked him where he had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>managed to see her in this unusual guise. He replied, like +a genuine courtier:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">J’ay ta façon sceue par celuy</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui est à toy trop plus qu’il n’est à luy.⁠<a id="FNanchor_178" href="#Footnote_178" class="fnanchor">[178]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">“Indeed!” she cried. “But he has never seen me either.”</p> + +<p>We owe to Ronsard, to whom it was an every-day affair +to be in love, a description of the lover’s method. He goes +to Janet Clouet,⁠<a id="FNanchor_179" href="#Footnote_179" class="fnanchor">[179]</a> and requests a portrait of his lady-love +with every possible charm. Actually he has seen no more +of her than the graceful oval of her face and her lithe swan-neck, +but that does not prevent his describing the rest of +her, and bespeaking for the portrait, with the fullest confidence, +the most ravishing details. Clouet sets to work +there and then on a very charming portrait, which will +perhaps not be a very striking likeness after all.</p> + +<p>In such a case (from a sentiment that sufficiently explains +itself), when the desire was to do homage in some way to +the presumptive beauty of some particular lady, the most +elementary idea of discretion prompted the artist to idealise +her features a little, with the result that, the features being +all there is to guide us, we may say that pictures of this kind +are not, strictly speaking, portraits; they are ideas, <i>arrière-pensées</i>, +illusions more or less transparent. If tradition +could be trusted, how many portraits should we have, for +instance, of Diana of Poitiers? That noble lady herself +commissioned a fair number of Dianas, which may pass for +symbols, for the glorification of her name and work. But, +without speaking of likenesses that are more than doubtful, +among all those which M. Guiffrey has so ably catalogued, +even those signed by the most illustrious names, we do not +find one that is really a likeness. This defect might be pardoned +in the enamels, even those signed by Leonard Limosin,⁠<a id="FNanchor_180" href="#Footnote_180" class="fnanchor">[180]</a> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>but what excuse can be made for Jean Goujon?⁠<a id="FNanchor_181" href="#Footnote_181" class="fnanchor">[181]</a> Look +for instance at the superb Diana in the Louvre: done +for Anet, it triumphantly challenged all heaven to surpass +this human beauty, synthetised in one vigorous woman, +one true divinity, monumental, imposing, of commanding +port between her deer and her hounds, in no wise voluptuous—a +remote cousin of Michelangelo’s Eve, though degraded +to rule over forests and dogs and men. Clearly it was the +châtelaine’s own wish to glorify her creed, her ideal, her +patroness; Jean Goujon has deified her, sung her praises, +interpreted her; and yet we have no difficulty in recognising, +from certain realistic touches, how careful he is to +remind us that he was celebrating a terrestrial divinity. +Is this a portrait? No. It is enough to compare this +statue with the authentic likeness of Diana of Poitiers on +medallions. If Jean Goujon has suggested anything of the +duchess’s beauty in the head, it is with a restraint well +calculated to baffle us.</p> + +<p>Besides the portraits on canvas or in marble there were +also others, pen portraits, which were all the rage; and +indeed in after years we find painters complaining of the +competition thus set up against them by writers. Though +portraits of this kind were necessarily less agitating, people +amused themselves by seeking physical details in them; it +was a feast for fine wits to “blazon,” as they said, this or +that part of the body, and it may be that certain <i>blasons</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_182" href="#Footnote_182" class="fnanchor">[182]</a> +were less anonymous than they seem. This special art has +given us one celebrated portrait which has not ceased to +pique the curiosity and stimulate the sagacity of critics. The +philosopher Nifo, a welcome guest in the house of the young +Jeanne of Aragon, where he justified his presence by platonically +courting one of the ladies-in-waiting, wished to offer +the princess, with the orthodox dedication, a concise treatise +on the Beautiful, and, to give his folio a certain piquancy, +he inserted in it a portrait, complete, circumstantial, ruthless, +a study in pathology and anatomy, of all the endowments +visible and invisible of the young lady to whom the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>book was dedicated. In accepting the dedication, the +princess took upon her shoulders the responsibility for the +work. How could she approve of this dedication?—a +remarkable problem which commentators have endeavoured +to solve in every way but the right one. To us, at any +rate, the explanation is very simple.</p> + +<p>All the critics have set out with the idea that Nifo was +rashly indiscreet—a position difficult enough to defend, +since a liberty officially sanctioned is one no longer, and, if +fault it was, there is no trace of absolution. Now what was +this alleged impudent fellow? A fortunate and braggart +lover, say some. Can we conceive this old simpleton, forsooth, +hideous, gouty, a mountain of flesh, a trifle ridiculous—who +was overjoyed at courting a waiting-maid +(who laughed in her sleeve at him)—boasting thus publicly +of a conquest over the impeccable virtue of a young girl of +eighteen, the pearl of Italy! That would have been no +occasion for self-glorification: if the conquest had been +really his, the book would have appeared without dedication.</p> + +<p>Bayle has offered another explanation, still more amusing: +he has simply translated by “médecin” Nifo’s honorary +appellation of “Medici,” and founding on this little slip of +his, he takes occasion to thunder against physicians who +abuse the confidence of their fair clients. Even so, there +would still have been no liberty! Besides, Nifo was not a +physician, and even if he had been, he would not have found +himself much further on; for ladies, as we have shown, +had no belief in the neuter sex of the experts who tended +them, and were wonderfully ready to regard them as +veterinary surgeons rather than philosophers. They always +drew a distinction between the nude and the unclothed! +Nifo simply ventured on the same pleasantry as Michel +d’Amboise and Ronsard and all the second-rate idealists, +ready to pay intellectual adoration to a woman, and yet +susceptible to her physical charms—if only like a fish on a +baited hook. He ascribes to his platonic princess, but in an +aesthetic and abstract sense, a beauty well calculated to +increase the number of her courtiers and shed lustre upon +her philosophical activity; he acts like a good lieutenant +and henchman, rendering her a philosophical service of +which she cannot but show herself sensible. Those who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>have the patience to read Nifo will find later in his book an +explicit corrective, the strict necessity of which, however, is +by no means obvious. In another chapter, to remove all +misapprehension, he enlarges with fervour on the moral +virtues of Jeanne of Aragon, putting in the forefront the +two which seem to him the most salient—the beauty which +attracts, enflames, enraptures, elevates men; the modesty +which serves her as breastplate and armour: “In these two +points,” he cries, “you eclipse all other women!” Poor +Nifo! Even of Phausina Rhea, the waiting-maid to whom +he declared his love without any beating about the bush, +he knew nothing but her chignon! And it was just this +perfect, if a little vexatious, security that gave such a zest +to his pleasantry about the princess.</p> + +<p>In the seventeenth century also, a century of masculine +predominance, people fancied they were deifying men, and +especially princes, by representing them nude. La Bruyère +was compelled to laugh when at a street corner he contemplated +the head of the state, the grave Louis XIV., posed as +a stone Apollo. The idea may be as ridiculous as you +please, but who would ever dream of being disturbed at the +sight? Did La Bruyère himself imagine for a single +moment that Louis XIV. had taken the trouble to leave +an authentic torso to posterity?</p> + +<p>Margaret of France, however, who was all soul, had a +singular idea in regard to this subject. She was patently +shocked at the mere thought that anyone could say he had +admired some Italian princess or duchess lying in the most +voluptuous simplicity in the midst of a beautiful landscape, +set off by drapery that only half covers her. To this +fascinating, but as she thought degrading, spectacle she +resolved to oppose another—the spectacle of the soul. The +project occurred to her, it is true, at an age when all her +charms but those of the soul were dead; she had herself +painted, therefore, like the others, before a landscape on +which the sun is rising (or setting), and in front of a curtain; +but instead of lying at length, she stands erect. She is clothed +in her shift, transparent enough indeed, but carefully fastened +about the neck, and, to give greater point to the interpretation, +she is admiring herself in a little hand-glass, in allusion +no doubt to her book <i>The Mirror of the Soul</i>. She wears +neither necklace nor jewels; a few ordinary trinkets negligently +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>placed on her toilet-table alone indicate her quality. +Her whole body in its tender austerity is a revelation of her +soul. And the moral effect of this representation appeared +so lofty that this little portrait was treasured in the +princess’s family as her true likeness, the portrait at once +authentic and piously esoteric.⁠<a id="FNanchor_183" href="#Footnote_183" class="fnanchor">[183]</a> Margaret thus drew from +art its ethical teaching, and gave a lesson to ladies who rely +too much on mere beauty of form.</p> + +<p>Such is, we believe, the key to the enigma. To win their +triumph platonist women do not fling away their weapons, +as someone has wittily said; they lay them by.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, in the second half of the century, when +platonism had disappeared along with feminism, the scruples +of the women underwent considerable modification. A +compromise was effected; the body was, so to speak, cut in +two. The lower part remained inferior, but the upper, the +bust namely, was regarded as superior and of a beauty that +might fitly be exhibited. At the end of the century we +have portraits of great ladies conforming to this new fashion. +Perhaps also, out of a spirit of mischief, people amused +themselves by distributing under this form portraits of +ladies who enjoyed almost a public reputation for beauty, +such as Gabrielle d’Estrées and her sister. The more +masculine society becomes, the more do women become +fleshly. And we should only have to point out another +instance of this phenomenon if we were not convinced that +the fashion of which we speak sprang up in an atmosphere +of semi-platonism. Diana of Poitiers, apparently, was +delighted to exhibit her bust, and indeed it is this peculiarity +which led M. Vitet to believe that he recognised her in a +family portrait of Henri II., at present in England, which +includes all the royal family, namely, Henri II., Catherine, +his official wife, Diana, spouse of his heart, and his children. +We have not had the opportunity of seeing this portrait, and +consequently cannot verify M. Vitet’s conjecture. But we +think we have sufficiently proved that, even from the +purely aesthetic standpoint, the platonist ladies did not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>depart from the practical principles of conduct they deemed +the best and most profitable; the solitary example of Diana +of Poitiers, who cannot be cited as a thorough platonist, +does not strike us as sufficient to prove the contrary.</p> + +<p>It is true that sometimes the ladies had to yield to the +exigencies of their time, and tolerate, on the part of the +men about them, customs and a style of talk in which they +could take no pleasure. They had to do so or risk being +neglected and causing often worse evils.</p> + +<p>The intimacies of family life sanctioned in those days +truly astonishing liberties. Thus, on the morning of +Innocents’ Day in December, a man would consider himself +entitled to surprise in her bed a lady of the family, or a +woman of the household (generally a young woman), and +to administer a slap with the open hand, which was called +“giving the innocents.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_184" href="#Footnote_184" class="fnanchor">[184]</a></p> + +<p>In one of the stories of the <i>Heptameron</i>,⁠<a id="FNanchor_185" href="#Footnote_185" class="fnanchor">[185]</a> a husband +gravely announces to his wife “that he means to go at +daybreak and give the innocents to her waiting-maid, to +teach her not to be so lazy,” and the good lady is blissfully +unsuspicious.</p> + +<p>In vain did the women most liable to such treatment +have recourse to all sorts of subterfuges—sleeping elsewhere +that night, or rising at dawn; escape was almost impossible. +Margaret of France knew all about it; for all her demureness, +Clément Marot wrote a scrap of verse expressly to +threaten “to give her the innocents” and “see that comely +body.” Her nephew Charles of Orleans made merry at her +expense because, “having risen too late” on Innocents’ Day, +he impudently made up for it next day with his poor aunt +and another lady: “I won’t tell you just now,” he wrote, +“all that I saw.” His letter tells a good deal as it is. It is +not surprising that a princess habituated to such buffooneries +strove at least to raise their level a little.</p> + +<p>As there was no help for it but to exercise their charm +on man the brute by such proceedings, the women displayed +neither pedantry nor affectation. Besides, if the +sensualists thought only of the body, women thought only +of the soul; and here, under a new form, we again trace the +idea that in giving heart and mind and soul to the man of +her choice a woman had really given him all that was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>dearest, most precious to her, all that constituted her +personality, and that the rest had only a secondary importance. +She had lent her material person to a husband who +had not troubled himself about fathoming her soul: why +then should she think of refusing favours of no consequence +to the man who had really gathered the early blossom of +that soul? Just as the most trifling familiarity disgusted +her when it sprang from a vulgar material motive or was +forced, so the greatest seemed to her legitimate and even +pleasant if it was spontaneous, if it consecrated a genuine +affection. The lady who, while taking her bath, would +have thought it more seemly to dismiss her maid, did not +fear to receive there in all honour a visit from a gentleman.</p> + +<p>Why should distinguished ladies have deprived themselves, +at the levee they held on rising and retiring, of the +pleasure of an intimate bedside conversation with their +lover? In their eyes it had exquisite advantages: first, the +very intimacy of the conversation; then the intellectual +and emotional relish it imparted to the purely physical +operations of the toilet; finally, for the favoured visitor, +there was the tiny reward of platonic love, the little personal +token, the special bond which no one else had. Margaret +of France tells us explicitly that she could not have insulted +a man of position and a friend of the king, like Bonnivet, +by excluding him from her “dressing and undressing”; that, +further, there was no harm in Bonnivet’s “taking this +opportunity to increase his affection,”⁠<a id="FNanchor_186" href="#Footnote_186" class="fnanchor">[186]</a> seeing that platonic +love consists precisely in loving up to the very verge of the +forbidden.</p> + +<p>In short, women genuinely platonic used their physical +beauty as a first means of developing their charm. In this +respect they were at odds with the mystics, who regarded +the body as a negligible quantity and an encumbrance; but +they were still more sharply divided from the sensualists. +Their idea was to deify the body, enshrine it, so to speak, +and glorify it as the vesture of the soul, the servant of the +heart. Platonists of a lofty flight pushed this idea as far as +possible: Michelangelo so closely identified soul and body +as not even to admit that the face could have wrinkles +when the soul had none; so great was his enthusiasm for +the beauty and youthfulness of Vittoria Colonna’s soul, that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>he had that strange artist fancy never to perceive a line on +her face. He himself, when a scarred and battered +octogenarian, never felt withered; to his last day he never +ceased to ascend with shining countenance the altar of the +Beautiful, like those priests who bow hoary heads before +the altar of the Eternal Beauty, the Eternal Sacrifice, as +they invoke “the God who rejoiced their youth.” He has +sometimes been twitted with having represented the Virgin +as a woman of thirty, even after the death of Christ; he did +so, it is true, and to him nothing appeared more natural. +To him such a woman was always thirty. On this point +Anne of France did not quite agree with him; it was one of +her favourite maxims that a woman had much better accept +the inevitable with a stout heart; conceal nothing, dress to +suit her age, and persuade herself that wisdom is worth as +much as beauty. But Margaret of France could not bring +herself to believe that a few marks of physical deterioration +dim the radiance of a woman’s moral beauty or impair her +charm. That such is not the case was the assured conviction +of these noble princesses. Unhappily it was not easy +to persuade men so. La Rochefoucauld retorts: “There +are few women whose worth survives their beauty.” To +men a woman no longer exists if she can say: “When I +was younger”; every possible defect is then laid to her +charge; she is found to be ugly, jealous, washed out, +viperous. Wisdom may be worth as much as beauty, but +what can she do with her wisdom? In Italy a woman was +reckoned to have reached the wisdom stage at thirty, and +Anne of France only consented as a great favour to allow +her another ten years.</p> + +<p>Apart from any sort of notion of coquetry, it was therefore +of the greatest importance to a woman, from a mere sentiment +of her duty and her mission, never to be forty; the +theory of charm would not have been complete without the +addition of the science of never growing old.</p> + +<p>This accessory science was, so to speak, a traced copy of +that of love; it also had its two schools: the school of truth +and candour, the “honest skill” which consists in keeping old +age at bay; and the school of cleverness and subtlety, which +seeks to recover the lost youth, to employ a little trickery, +to repair time’s ravages—“a perpetual optical illusion,” as +Erasmus calls it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span></p> + +<p>The first demanded much forethought and prudence. +From the earliest years of wedlock, with no immediate +cause for alarm, it was an unremitting mortal struggle +against a foe as yet imaginary. The wife found her weapons +in solemn tomes and in the prescriptions she herself had +collected. A firm opposition to her husband formed part of +her scheme. As to special modes of treatment, they comprised +aromatic baths, massage, and so forth, means which +were very restrictive and mundane and tiresome, but +wonderfully effective.</p> + +<p>A lady of that period could write in all pride and truthfulness, +“Women remain almost always young.” There +were some who, when close upon seventy, still merited the +good opinion of connoisseurs.</p> + +<p>Others allowed themselves to be lulled asleep in the joy +of youth, and only awoke under the stroke of some sharp +warning; but then they sprang erect to their full height +like a wounded tiger, and there was no act of unquenchable +courage they did not accomplish. They had their teeth +drawn, their skin scraped till it bled, they reduced their +colour by dint of gulping down sand or cinders. They were +heroines of unselfishness!</p> + +<p>But if, alas! decay proved in the end irresistible, and they +had to resort to sham, how disastrous was the result! +Around a made-up face ill-natured folk saw nothing but +shams—sham tapestry, sham bronzes, sham conversation; +art and platonism alike were banished:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ostez luy le fard et le vice,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Vous luy ostez l’âme et le corps.⁠<a id="FNanchor_187" href="#Footnote_187" class="fnanchor">[187]</a></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>Ronsard.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>The dressing-room became like a universal factory of +pinchbeck. On the door might have been written the +dictum, in general so utterly false, of Cennino Cennini:⁠<a id="FNanchor_188" href="#Footnote_188" class="fnanchor">[188]</a> +“Art consists in creating, or at least in persuading men that +that which is not, is.” Let us drop the subject.</p> + +<p>It is evident, on the contrary, that the honest art of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>dressing played an important part in practical platonism, so +long as it was not carried too far.</p> + +<p>Since women were messengers of joy to the world, it +followed that this mission must be declared by outward +signs. What more natural than to give a princess a magnificent +trousseau! It was not a luxury, it was the implement +of her profession. Anne of France was sure that simplicity +had been formerly pushed too far: everyone, she said, ought +to maintain his rank and perform his duty in it; the world +has a right to what belongs to it, that is, to everything +save a woman’s heart: to neglect to study appearances, to +cultivate false simplicity, is to commit an “unseemly and +most dishonest” act. To dress must be considered a duty.</p> + +<p>A simple little “mirror of the soul,” like that of Margaret +of France, was not sufficient for an apostle of beauty. +Mirrors of every kind and style, hollow or pyramidal like +factory chimneys, circular, angular, in columns or spirals, +rightly absorbed her attention every morning and gave her +a philosophical and serious conception of her person. It +is not at all to be wondered at that the lady whose +appearance was to thrill the world should begin by setting all +this machinery in motion.</p> + +<p>The care of the complexion, and especially of the hands, +naturally took some time to begin with, not to speak of +hygienic attentions. A delicate little touch with the brush +on the face is quickly given, but it demands wonderful skill: +it is nothing, and it is all.</p> + +<p>But the hair required an exemplary patience. Remember +what we have said about the infallible charm of light hair. +At Venice Veronese never met a brunette! When a +brunette was mentioned everybody understood that she was +a woman who had given up dyeing and all pretensions to +beauty! That is why the Roman ladies, whom Tertullian +reproached with flaunting “barbarous colours,” and why our +modern artists in hair-dressing, have never discovered any +more beautifully effective recipes for golden tresses than +those furnished by Marinello⁠<a id="FNanchor_189" href="#Footnote_189" class="fnanchor">[189]</a> or Cennini to many a convinced +devotee of platonism. The Venetian blonde, with her +beautiful, glossy, golden-brown locks, enjoys even to-day a +renown so much the more legitimate in that Nature has +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>never succeeded in imitating her.—When the hair had +received its golden hue, it was spread at length in the +sunlight to dry, and then began the real operation of the +day—the grand masterly operation of hair-dressing.</p> + +<p>In France, singular customs in regard to this matter had +long prevailed. A lady would run a comb through her +hair, probably quite perfunctorily, slip on a hood, which she +would keep on the whole day, and trip off to Mass. This +was still common as late as Anne of Brittany’s time: that +good queen herself was faithful to the hood to her dying +day.</p> + +<p>By Heaven’s favour, Mary of England brought Louis XII. +beautiful fair locks, quite genuine too, and the fashion of +wearing hats. Then, despite the invectives of a few insignificant +people like the poet Coquillart, the feminine +head-dress attained altitudes more and more complicated: +crimpings came in, and curling irons, paddings of false hair, +huge coils stuck with jewels in the Italian fashion. The +quest of intellectual charm displayed itself in some ladies +by an artificial broadening of the brow; to become philosophic, +it sufficed slightly to shave off the hair in front and +pile it up high behind. The hair-dressers, who had now +become men of substance and repute, lengthened their showcases, +and invented those charming wooden heads which we +have not ceased to admire.</p> + +<p>That the hair-dressing operation lasted three hours need +not surprise us; but how mortally tedious these hours +would have appeared without the help of conversation! +The fair patient settled herself accordingly, garbed in a +chemisette of fine linen, cut pretty low at the neck and in +no way impeding her movements; and that was the hour +when she showed her heart to her friends.</p> + +<p>She had then only to dress herself, that is, to put on a +wide-sleeved cloak of damask, with a very low, square-shaped +opening in which the waiting-women slipped a +plastron, usually red; this they laced with care so as to fit +the figure exactly; if necessary they inserted an artificial +bust, and remorselessly tightened the waist.</p> + +<p>In the great old-world houses, the last of these evolutions +was superintended by the master of the robes in person. +Saluting with a low bow, he announced the costume for the +day. The serving maids, aided by the squires, busied +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>themselves about the lady, and packed her into a doughty +accoutrement of crimson and cloth of gold, a sort of clumsy +casing, a veritable strait-jacket, treacherously supported +since the close of the fifteenth century by busks or whale-bones, +the furtive origin of the corset. Around her neck was +thrown a necklace of gold, rubies, emeralds or diamonds, +and on her head was set a sort of tiara.</p> + +<p>Not one of these details is unimportant, since the whole +performance had a lofty aim. And this is just the opportunity +we have been waiting for to judge the women; or +rather, their dress passes judgment upon them. Will they, +we ask, have the courage to make their clothing expressive +of their own individuality, to render their garments in some +sort living and personal, or will they, with mere vulgar +coquetry, copy and wear the costume that may be seen +trailing in any street? The courage to indulge an individual +taste in dress seemed a thing of no consequence; it +is, really, a great and a rare virtue; it stamps a woman at +once, shows if she has a soul above her tailor, if she has +self-knowledge, if she reflects, if she has a feeling for art, if +she is determined to show the world her own intelligence, +her own beauty. Hands all round for liberty and truth! +Anne of France and many others rebelled against the craze +for a slim figure, stifling in summer, freezing in winter, +regardless of the claims of physical health, and even seeking +to conceal the signs of motherhood. How they wished that +aestheticism would lead them back to the Greek art, that +is to say, to wide flowing garments, dignified, comfortable, +healthy, elegant! Or, as Louise Labé⁠<a id="FNanchor_190" href="#Footnote_190" class="fnanchor">[190]</a> poetically besought, +that women, instead of fastening themselves in a strait-jacket, +would condescend to resemble a leaf-cone, which +opens spontaneously to bear its fruit! But no; the only +approach they made to Greek art was that they sought to +indicate the lines of the figure through close-fitting casings, +but the casings were whalebone and artificial. Health, even +life itself, was of no account; to graces which, however imperfect, +had all the attractions of naturalness they preferred +a stuffed and padded ideal. For alas! with the majority +of women, a dialogue of Plato could not hold a candle to a +conversation with a dressmaker. Fashion was omnipotent; +under Louis XII. there was nothing but high-starched neck-ruffs; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>under Francis I. nothing but low-necked dresses cut +square in front, and boldly gored to a point behind.</p> + +<p>The philosophic spirit, untrammelled by physical barriers, +manifested itself in the internationalisation of fashions.</p> + +<p>It was known throughout western Europe that a fashion +adopted by Isabella of Mantua was one to be followed, and +that the ladies of Paris were adepts in matching bright +colours, and ridiculously concealed their faces under thick +veils. It was the acme of good style to dress one day like +a Frenchwoman, the next like a German, Italian or Greek.</p> + +<p>The platonists somewhat resented this vulgar application +of their ideas; that was not their conception of cosmopolitanism. +To weld the minds of men, to introduce into men’s +hearts far and wide the truly refining leaven of affection, +fraternal concord and tenderness, by means of the common +love of the beautiful—that they could applaud. But masquerades +like these—what a mockery! In this matter, +however, their authority was ineffectual; a stronger was +required. Francis I. knit his brows when Spanish mantillas +made their appearance at his court; he had his own reasons +for not being fond of them. He said that he believed himself +among a rout of devils. This one saying accomplished +what no arguments would ever have succeeded in doing: +the Spanish frippery was packed away in the wardrobes +until the political sky changed.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, the intellectual preoccupation made its +way, and people were willing to pay regard, up to a +certain point, to Plato’s principle that the soul rather than +the body is to be clothed: in other words they proclaimed +a correlation between the colour of the petticoats and the +state of the soul. Everybody knew that there are physical +harmonies which hold absolutely; that sober tints suit the +pale, dull colours people of bilious complexion, and bright +tones faces inclined to ruddiness. But people rarely thought—they +did not trouble to think—that there might be for +souls a similar harmony, much loftier, of much greater +importance, and much more necessary to observe; for the +complexion may be improved by a touch of the paint-brush, +while the soul must be kept as it is. M. Jules Lemaître, +whose genius is thoroughly French and whose opinion it is +always a pleasure to quote in matters of good sense, has in +our own time this quaint idea: “Our fathers, who wore +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>lace and feathers, coats red, blue, dove-coloured, apple-green, +and soft-hued lilac, could not but feel more disposed to joy, +seeing each other blooming like flower-beds. If fashion +should some day make us walk the streets in purple silks, +we should forthwith be rescued from doubt and despair.”</p> + +<p>That is philosophically true. It must be remembered that +we cannot isolate ourselves; we are dependent in a high +degree on the world around us. The inward joy we seek to +create needs an external joy for its support; the sun, the +blue sky, the luxuriance of flowers, the clearness of the air, +the boundless gaiety and infinite cordiality of Nature quicken +and penetrate us; a grey sky and a dull horizon will never +kindle glowing reflections in our soul.</p> + +<p>It is needful and right that men, and above all women, +should display an infectious joy and vitality also, that we +should not have to puzzle out the real person under the +tasteless guise of a vulgar fashion-plate, cut from a price +list and flung over the shoulders. Everyone should make +his dress a palpable expression of his life and joy, like the +flowers and birds and fruits. The Catholic religion intuitively +seized on this profound truth; it retained and +developed, with the pageantry of its ceremonies, the gold-embroidered +copes flashing with sombre brilliance, and all +this red and white and blue the purpose of which is to make +us forget that these celebrants singing as they move are +men, and to represent them to us as the very flower of our +ideas, as the essence of our tenderest prayers and affections. +Of this admirable demand for the embellishment of life we +have preserved only one melancholy symbol, mourning. +Men, with their customary suits of solemn black, may be +said to carry everywhere with them the idea of disenchantment, +of the awful paltriness and the perpetual mournfulness +of the soul: there is nothing of a man about them; they go +about the streets like the scattered parts of one huge machine.</p> + +<p>And this self-abnegation has nothing to do with material +questions of comfort or economy; there is no woman so poor +that she cannot, if she wishes, rise above her wretchedness +by means of these external symbols. Such at least was the +opinion of the sixteenth-century women. To them every +colour spoke of the soul and to the soul; it was the ensign +of one’s spiritual fatherland, or, to use a modern metaphor, a +railway signal-light; white, the line is clear! it signifies +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>a heart free as air, a soul unappropriated or at any rate +overflowing with youthfulness; green, it is springtime with +the soul, in the full vigour of sweet acknowledged hopes; +red, an utter despair! The cloth of gold, the golden jewels +then so much in vogue, represented the rich glow of sunlight, +the spacious joy of life! Whoever wished might approach +and find warmth and gladness. Celestial blue meant to the +Italians soft ethereal happiness; to the French, a tender and +fortunate love. Black was regarded as melancholy: yet this +colour, incapable of fading, symbolised constancy, firmness, +and had its friends in consequence. Why restrict it to mourning, +as though our feelings for our dead are alone eternal? +Margaret, who loved and encouraged the use of black, +protests:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Le noir, souvent, se porte pour plaisir,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et plus souvent que pour peine et tourment.⁠<a id="FNanchor_191" href="#Footnote_191" class="fnanchor">[191]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">However, people generally preferred not to take their +pleasure in black. Rabelais allowed in the Abbey of +Thelema none but brilliant costumes: he wished to have +one colour a day, and that the days should be told off as +white, pink, yellow, red, green—never black.</p> + +<p>Thus the sartorial art, in spite of little encouragement, +itself came at last to exhale a perfume of life and the ideal. +Unhappily it had a cruel, powerful foe, which was incessantly +to check its aspirations and keep it in perpetual bondage to +materialism. This foe was the vulgar passion for sumptuous +display, the terrible taste that substituted a mere ostentation +of wealth for a garb expressive of art and sentiment.</p> + +<p>The French never recovered from that fever.</p> + +<p>When Charles VIII. found himself face to face with the +court of Ludovico Il Moro,⁠<a id="FNanchor_192" href="#Footnote_192" class="fnanchor">[192]</a> sinking under the weight of +golden shoulder-knots and jewellery, a thrill shot through +the French army.</p> + +<p>From that time it was vain for the preachers to join +hands with the philosophers and demonstrate the infinite +vulgarity of luxuriousness and its deplorable moral effects; it +was vain for the legislators to enact laws; the die was cast.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span></p> + +<p>People were dazzled, fascinated by wealth: they knew +not nor wished to know what wretchedness it cloaked, how +many women, and some of the noblest of them, ruined themselves +in their vanity, how many others lived by expedients +that would not bear the light.⁠<a id="FNanchor_193" href="#Footnote_193" class="fnanchor">[193]</a></p> + +<p>Assuredly, magnificence had a glory of its own: there +was no lack of gazetteers to applaud to the echo the marvels +seen on great occasions: “Signorina Bulcano, in white cloth +with gold trimmings and a golden girdle; her Excellency +the Countess Maddaloni in red velvet; her Excellency the +Countess du Rugo, in red cloth with large gold necklace.” +There is this to be said, indeed, that these chroniclers, +superior in this respect to some of ours, were destined to +come down to posterity.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, this was inevitably the death of platonism, +the ruin of all it loved and all it desired. A fine thing +to characterise a lady by the cloth or velvet with which +she garbed her bust or limbs! In this profound decadence +of taste people came to see some good in the general worship +of close-fitting garments, for, now that women were nothing +but dolls, it was certainly better that they should appear +jointed. And what seriousness could be expected of, what +noble idea or worthy aim could be suggested to, a woman +who was a slave to her gloves, her hats, her jewels, who +spent part of her day in close confabulation with her dressmaker +or jeweller?</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Cest anneau est du temps passé,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ce ruby est mal enchassé,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ce saintureau n’est pas fort gent.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ma troussoire n’est que d’argent,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">J’en veuil une batue en or....⁠<a id="FNanchor_194" href="#Footnote_194" class="fnanchor">[194]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">and so on indefinitely: that was how she talked; she was +no longer her own, she was a slave. Satan in the pit of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>hell was bewailing, it seems, the fact that he no longer +saw rustling about, as formerly, dresses “open down to +the waist”; and he cursed platonism! He might make +himself easy, there were still most melting sights for him! +And his colleague Lucifer sets himself to cheer him, showing +him the league of vanity mounting to the assault of the +Beautiful, the almost invincible might of money, combated +and proscribed above, triumphing and swarming on all sides +under the most pitiful forms of jealousy and coquetry: among +good housewives, who have neither grasped nor retained +anything of the new ideas but an instinct for rigging +themselves out to play the countess or the duchess—among +kitchen wenches who deck themselves in fallals and furbelows +in apish imitation of their mistresses.</p> + +<p>Unhappily, the king went over to the side of vanity; +official France allied itself with the most dangerous adversaries +of Roman philosophism and intellectual splendour: +with the Milanese, whose tinsel and fripperies amused all +Italy; and the Venetians, a people of large expense. The +struggle was thus fought out between sensuous gratification +and aestheticism. It did not alarm the platonists: they +were prepared for it; as Castiglione says: “There are fools +everywhere.”</p> + +<p>But this was of all battles the most arduous, because the +dividing line between coquetry and a woman’s duty to be +pleasant was not always very clearly marked. A few +exceptional persons had the gift of admirably combining +the two tendencies; these as a rule were Italian women. +At a celebrated ball given by the court of France in 1518, +two ladies, Italian both, were queens—queens of beauty and +of charm; the one, Clara Visconti Pusterla, devoted to +white, made a brilliant figure with her silver embroideries +and ropes of pearls; the other, a sister of Count Borromeo of +Milan, was a dazzling apparition in cloth of gold and +diamonds. Yet it was felt how secondary and precarious +were successes of this external kind, and how wrong it +would be for women to regard them as the real basis of +their influence. They were only one means.</p> + +<p>The fashion in regard to dwelling-house and furniture +followed almost the same rules as that of costume; for in a +well-ordered house everything harmonised with the people +inhabiting it. The house is, so to speak, a magnificent +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>garment, the garment defending our existence against the +weather, the night, the intrusions of external life. Here, +too, symmetry of arrangement and studied designs are of +little moment: the house should exercise a charm, and there +are ugly houses which are infinitely pleasing.</p> + +<p>A house is pleasing when its appearance is original and +homogeneous; when its inhabitant has lovingly put into it +something of his own individuality, when it is not merely +a classical and regular arrangement of stones erected on +some vacant spot, or a gimcrack toy with pretentious and +purposeless decorations; it pleases if serious thought has +gone to the arrangement of its parts, if it has projections, +angles, recesses judiciously contrived, and making it, so to +speak, a living, breathing thing. This is the first rule: a +masculine purposefulness.</p> + +<p>The second and the feminine rule is that the house should +present a great aspect of pleasantness, an appearance of +amiability. It is of vast importance that it should not +clash with the landscape; it should fuse with it, espouse in +some sort circumambient nature, so as to radiate an influence +far beyond its actual site. This harmony results as a rule +from mutual accommodations; a gloomy house, for instance, +will not be planted in a smiling landscape; in a wooded or +rugged but spacious locality a man will set an extensive +abode, without fantastic decorations, a house which +dominates outbuildings and approaches; no gildings, no +polychrome effects will be thrown up against a leaden sky: +a church will not be constructed in the style of a hammam, +nor a stock-exchange in the form of a Greek temple. The +house, whatever it be, must smile, with a frank and loyal +smile, speaking through its façade and its approaches to the +good folk who pass, and beaming on them a look of +friendliness.</p> + +<p>In the interior, to furnish it, that is to say, to render it +habitable, all smiles and happy memories,—this again is to +enlarge oneself, to complete oneself: and it is here that +woman’s art is absolutely indispensable. A human dwelling +in the nature of the case can make no claim to a proud +immortality. Every passing season attacks and tends to +destroy it; whilst the objects of nature renew themselves +unceasingly by the automatic movement of their latent +vitality, it is needful for us at every moment more or less +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>to reconstruct our shelter, under pain of seeing it crumble +and fall before our eyes. It is like one of the fruits of our +life. Thus, while it should be as solid as possible, while +reminding us of the persons with whom it has successively +lived, it must show itself supple and give expression to our +present life, if only by fleeting suggestions, corresponding +to the various impressions of our existence, and dying when +we die.</p> + +<p>It was in this direction that the fine taste of prelates and +ladies gave itself free and glorious scope. A lover of the +beautiful is so keenly conscious that everything about him +ought to be the manifestation of some flash of thought! A +chair, a couch, a piece of tapestry, all must speak to us and +exhort us to live the life of the heart, without allowing +ourselves to be crushed or numbed. At Rome, the home +of this dominant spirit, and even at Naples, the rays of its +influence extended almost inimitably; and it so well +attained its object that a people wonderfully sensitive, +amiable, enthusiastic, ignorant of physical wants, became +enamoured of these glories of high culture of which, however, +it barely caught the reflection, and attuned itself to +them. Men hoped the time was at hand when all mankind +would delight in beauty, they fancied that they were born +to live under glorious ceilings, among palm-trees, gushing +fountains and marvels of art. To this day the humblest of +flymen dilates with pride in the artistic treasures of his +city. And how diplomatically Isabella of Mantua went to +work to surround herself with splendid objects! What care +Vittoria Colonna took in the mere ordering of a casket! +They appreciated equally the charm of collecting antiques, +diamonds, pictures, pottery, plate; the sole desideratum was +that the object of their quest should be beautiful or rare, +the expression of an artistic idea or an evocation of the +past, that it should add to the Attic charm of life, play its +part in the cultivation of taste; in a word, that it should be +loved. Life thus, in its superb radiance, assumed a grandeur +and delightfulness of which we too caught the secret, +in those days when the palaces at Rome still had their galleries, +the villas their delightful rows of oleanders, the ruins +their majesty. It was a genuine and glorious sumptuousness, +well calculated to elevate men’s minds! No wonder +that the desire of sharing in it spread through the world, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>and that, unchecked by natural divisions, men’s hearts were +simultaneously possessed by one grand impulse towards +beauty. This embroidery of life contributed in large +measure to the sentiment of the brotherhood of man which +then declared itself, and which appeared so singular; to-day +we do not truly realise its importance, because, thanks to +the mechanical lessening of distances, all men have become +neighbours (and unpleasant neighbours at that): a varnish +of uniformity has spread itself over everything; milkmaids +and princesses often read the same books, wear almost the +same hats, marry at the same age and with the same ideas. +But in those days it was an absolutely new thing, when +national diversities and individual liberties were so strongly +accentuated, to create a harmony of ideas and a fellowship +in love, of which the women were the natural harbingers.</p> + +<p>Enter the palace of Margaret of Austria at Brussels, and, +if you do not find yourself back in Rome or Florence, yet +you will at once perceive that the remarkable mind of a +princess has there gathered together all that gives charm to +life: a vast library, well supplied with romances, history +and poetry; furniture of priceless value, stately busts, brilliant +mirrors, portraits of all the princes and princesses of +the time, and by their side the portraits of notorious fools: +a medley of life and ideas; various pedigrees of the house of +Austria, a trophy of Indian feathers of brilliant colours, +fierce shaggy heads of wolves, broad fans, glistening armour, +crystals, priceless caskets, medallions, majestic chandeliers, +articles in jasper and adamant; on the walls, admirable +Flemish tapestries spangled with gold or silver; on the +floor, warm, thick-piled carpets; here and there valuable +pictures in profusion. The visitor’s curiosity, solicited on +all sides, knows not at first where to stop to admire. And +these various objects, individual as they are, become animate +and dwell together in a sort of high, grand, collective existence: +the one mind which discovered their affinities seems +to permeate them, sets them vibrating in unison, and thus +penetrates the soul of the visitor.</p> + +<p>Through this great science of intellectually adorning the +material conditions of life a first result was obtained: men +loved life. Sadness concealed itself, joy kept the whole +world dancing to its merry pipe. It was impossible to be +anything but gay and amiable. If it chanced that someone +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>was to be buried, it was with full orchestral accompaniment, +amid the twinklings of a thousand tapers, and with a ceremony +quite lyrical. If perchance a man desired a melancholy +funeral, he would do well to say so in his will and prescribe +the number of candles; but most often men set their hearts +on dying gallantly, and did not dream of depriving their +friends of an honourable entertainment or of economising +on behalf of their heirs.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_II_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br> +<span class="smaller">THE EMBROIDERY OF LIFE</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>Meanwhile, there is a life to live, there are things to do! +A woman must get happiness from the exercise of all her +activities, both spontaneous and enforced—even more than +from her drawing-room or her jewels. We propose to pass +in review as large a number of these occupations as possible, +to show that, small or great, there is not one but appears to +a woman a source of joy and glory if she mingles love with +it. Everything she does, however infinitely humble, be it +kneading bread for her husband or washing his feet, is +vivified with a transfiguring radiance whenever the spirit +of abnegation animates her toil, whenever she reflects that +this husband is not the sole man existing in the world, nor +a sort of domestic drill-sergeant, but represents the eternal +idea sounding in every heart. We have already seen these +noble women in days of trouble quivering with devotion at +the bedside of their sick husbands; it is the same in days of +happiness. They find strength in abstraction; the things +that surround us so marvellously change their aspect, contract, +expand, according as we take them for what they are +or glorify them with thoughts of higher things—thoughts, +not idle fancies, whether roseate or gloomy, whether too +brilliant in prospect or too distressing in reality. It is +chiefly in domestic life that abstraction is useful. The +woman must steep her hands in beauty, fill her eyes with +love, and then look at things courageously and truthfully. +Everything, even vice itself, appears frigid, vulgar, and +commonplace to materialists; women ought (yes, ought, not +merely can) to render everything warm and gay—even virtue.</p> + +<p>Let us take haphazard some of the doings which most +strikingly exhibit them—their eating, walking, country +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>habits, Sunday occupations. From each of these they are +able to strike the sacred spark. We shall see how everything +is transfigured in their hands.</p> + +<p>First then, their eating. Nothing is more material in +itself, and nothing better lends itself to spiritualisation.</p> + +<p>A house was characterised by the way in which a formal +dinner was managed; this was the touchstone of true style. +On the table was placed the massive and weighty silver +plate, the family treasure which the mistress of the house +kept under lock and key, and which was worth a fortune. +The plate of some families was valued at a million francs. +On days of high festivity the table blazed with ponderous +gold, but they were content with silver for private dinners.</p> + +<p>The regulation of the menu was rightly regarded as a +matter of such difficulty and importance that men of the +highest merit made it their study to lay down fixed principles +on the subject. Fulvio Orsini⁠<a id="FNanchor_195" href="#Footnote_195" class="fnanchor">[195]</a> has acquainted us with all +the best traditions of ancient Rome. Platina,⁠<a id="FNanchor_196" href="#Footnote_196" class="fnanchor">[196]</a> the Raphael +of the tribe, published under the auspices of Cardinal +Roverella a treatise which may be cited as a perfect model.</p> + +<p>In countries strange to the new ideas, men thought only +of their palates, <i>os sublime</i>, in the ironical phrase of Brandt.⁠<a id="FNanchor_197" href="#Footnote_197" class="fnanchor">[197]</a> +In Germany guzzling, at rare intervals but in enormous +quantities, was the only joy. So late as the end of the +century Montaigne asked a former ambassador in Germany +how often he had been obliged to get drunk in the service +of his sovereign, and the ambassador reckoned up with all +gravity, and declared that he had got off with three +occasions, all told.</p> + +<p>The French traditional practice was the same. Fairs, +markets, pilgrimages, weddings, baptisms, funerals, anniversaries, +meetings of gilds or corporations all served as +pretexts for village gourmandisings characterised by enthusiastic +drunkenness, and often enlivened with brawls in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>which both sexes took part. At the end of one of these +feasts we find the wife of the gild president dealing most +energetically with a toper who had called her an “old +witch.” The châteaux were no less fond of high feeding.⁠<a id="FNanchor_198" href="#Footnote_198" class="fnanchor">[198]</a> +Historians ought to consult the kitchen account-books! +Without them they will never succeed in arriving at well-founded +judgments; we know no human document more +convincing, none which enables us with more certainty to +reconstruct a bygone mode of life. Unhappily the old +kitchen books of France reveal a deplorable spectacle; it is +one long procession of herds of oxen and flocks of sheep, +innumerable poultry, rabbits and partridges by the dozen, +small game in hundreds, and pigs in disgusting profusion. +The whole of the delicacies consists, even in the most +distinguished houses, of a few cloves or sticks of cinnamon +to make hippocras of. As to the wine, it is wine of the +current vintage drawn from the cask! Caesar Borgia must +have been greatly surprised one Friday, in the winter of +1498, while staying with Madame de la Trémoille, to see +filing in a course of two hundred and fifty fish. The +next day, again a fast day, the avenues leading to the +château were thronged with carts loaded with fish, in +honour of the visit of King Louis XII.; in particular +there arrived seven hundred and fifty eels. This was in +Rabelais’ country. Further, in regard to tutelary geniuses +of the table, they were acquainted with none but +appalling spectres—Dame Gout,⁠<a id="FNanchor_199" href="#Footnote_199" class="fnanchor">[199]</a> Madam Gravel, or my +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>Lady Apoplexy, to whom they gaily made their salutations.⁠<a id="FNanchor_200" href="#Footnote_200" class="fnanchor">[200]</a></p> + +<p>Then comes philosophy to preside at their feasts with +salutary effect. It teaches men that dining is a spiritual +function. The table becomes idealised. Much thought is +devoted to its decorations, to regaling the eyes with the +sight of beautiful birds in their charming many-hued +plumage—peacocks, storks, or small and pretty birds strung +on skewers. The mistress of the house shows her art in +having the daintiest courses served on gold and crystal—things +which while tickling the palate content the mind; +first dessert, composed of fruits and sweetmeats, then compounds +of eggs or fish, light dishes, in which pistachios, +pepper, ginger, rosemary, thyme, peppermint—everything +that has sweetness or aroma insinuates itself and figures in +manifold combinations. Just as in Plato’s <i>Symposium</i>, +people take their places at table not to eat but to talk, +because conversation can have no warmer, more cheerful, +more restful setting. Often in the platonist system some +incomparable lady presided, and everything centred in her; +from her eyes “rained love,” that is, in the words of the +guests, “meat and drink, ambrosia and nectar.” She set +the pitch; there was a cross-fire of witticisms flashing +over the table like fireworks, or else wit fluttered lightly +about amid a subdued hum of laughter. With one consent +these were voted delightful hours. Men fuddled themselves +with talk: “’Tis my greatest vice,” confesses Erasmus.</p> + +<p>This art became so well acclimatised at the court of +Francis I. that it soon became the joy of France. Margaret +of France writes enthusiastically about those dinners at +which they used to “fill themselves with words more than +with meat.” French wit, which always owes a little to +good cheer, sparkled quite naturally.</p> + +<p>In Italy they were at fault in using aesthetic means too +freely to support the dinner. They durst not trust simply +to conversation, but employed music, a proceeding which +appeared rank heresy in France. King Alfonso of Naples, +indeed, long regarded as the pastmaster of good living, +complicated his dinners with all sorts of refinements; after +the first courses, the ears were enchanted with harmonies +soft as the breeze of Capri blowing over the sparkling, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>rippling sea; or else there were mimes, the <i>pulcinella</i>,⁠<a id="FNanchor_201" href="#Footnote_201" class="fnanchor">[201]</a> and +roars of laughter. Then his guests returned to the table and +remained till the moment when, their heads swimming with +the strong and generous fumes of Falernian, they removed +the plate and withdrew.</p> + +<p>In Germany the whole day was spent at the table, with a +licence that was often gross, and with all that old mediaeval +gaiety of which the <i>Table-talk</i> of Luther has preserved an +excellent specimen. Yet the Rhine is not so broad nor the +Alps so high but that such customs soon appeared disgusting +and lamentable when compared with the politer modes +which were spreading through the world. Many writers +endeavoured to polish these table manners by publishing +manuals of etiquette and collections of <i>bons mots</i>. If they +did not establish the complete art of conversation they +indicated its rudiments, and indeed their success was +sufficient to necessitate in 1549 a recasting of the fourth +edition of the classical collection of Gastius,⁠<a id="FNanchor_202" href="#Footnote_202" class="fnanchor">[202]</a> and the suppression +of a certain number of pleasantries which seemed +out of place “in view of the distresses of the time.” Thus +the art of table-talk became so popular that even in +Germany people endeavoured to cultivate it; but sprightliness, +which is its very salt, remained till further orders a +distinctively French quality.</p> + +<p>The ball and the dance, though much more aesthetic in +themselves, were a great deal more difficult to idealise, +because in them the sensuous element bulks more largely. +Here, however, there was no need to exaggerate, and to +proscribe dancing would have been absurd. What could be +more ridiculous than the jealousy of certain husbands +(husbands do not stand sufficiently in awe of ridicule!). +And it was so useless, too. A woman who has her wits +about her is never at a loss for a pretext for going to a rout; +there is always a young girl at hand who needs chaperoning. +Someone, indeed, mentions a young matron of Louise of +Savoy’s own court, who, to save an old husband an apoplectic +fit, had the heroism to immure herself at home; but this is +dead against the spirit of sociability. Why forge useless +chains? Vivès himself, who is not open to suspicion, agrees +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>that “dancing is a very natural accompaniment to the +pleasures of society and the table.” But there is dancing +and dancing. The ideal of platonist joy and happiness +would be a free and thoroughly intellectual dance with a +calm and delicious rhythm, a dance that would add a pleasure +to life, the dancer in light floating drapery, bare-footed, bare-headed, +ungirt, in the sweet air of springtime, on a smooth, +soft lawn among jasper and coral, under the long-leaved +palms, amidst the scent of roses and pine-trees—an intoxicating +dance the pure motion of which harmonises with the +vast music of Nature, the cooing of doves, the mighty +arpeggios of the sea. The woman who, alone or hand in +hand with her companions, abandons herself to this exquisite +charm, this magical sweetness, who associates herself with +all things in this imponderable rhythm—does she not +represent a goddess of happiness, and does she not come to +incarnate for us the divine charm of Nature?</p> + +<p>In practice the dance hardly attains this ideal; yet, even +confined within the walls of a room and reduced to a social +art, it can still meet the high demands of moral fellowship +and become for women an instrument of the most legitimate +charm. The Italians especially excelled in giving it a solemn +air of sentimental gravity; some of their fêtes are remarkable +in history—for example, the ball given at Milan by +Francesco Bernardino Visconti on October 15, 1499, in +honour of the conqueror, Louis XII., or, in point of magnificence, +the subscription ball got up by the household +servants of Venice in February, 1524. These were memorable +triumphs of art. But this high significance of the ball +was never understood in France. When people gave a ball +they troubled themselves very little about posterity, but a +great deal about a certain number of trifling present joys; +and these made women descend a little from their pedestal.</p> + +<p>There was in particular one peculiar custom, eminently +pleasant in itself, but not very celestial, and lending itself to +abuses. This was the custom of kissing.</p> + +<p>Well-bred men in every country used respectfully to kiss +a lady’s hand.⁠<a id="FNanchor_203" href="#Footnote_203" class="fnanchor">[203]</a> The Italians did so with fervour; if required +they would have kissed the feet; and a man had to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>be a German to stigmatise as idolatry the kiss applied to +the toes of the Pope! Italian women disported with this +kissing with perfect grace and all sorts of little refinements. +At a casual meeting they confined themselves to a +pleasant handshake; but tête-à-tête with a man they +wished to honour, they would be the first to kiss his hand, +fondly, and without any of those affectations of bashfulness +which sometimes inspire such bitter afterthoughts. It was +a charming and very natural custom; but in France it took +quite another complexion. Men, being the masters, knew +nothing of fine shades and nice distinctions; the having to +greet or take leave of an agreeable woman was sufficient +pretext for kissing her lips, and the motive they alleged for +this proceeding was that it struck them as being “amiable +and sweet.” In the ballroom it was another story; every +dance-figure ended in a kiss, and if we must add that it +was complicated with wild and giddy horse-play, it must +be remembered that a French ball was racy of the soil. +Like a genuine Frenchman, Louis XII. felt it his duty at +Bernardino Visconti’s ball to kiss one after another all the +ladies presented to him, in other words, every woman in +Lombardy.</p> + +<p>Ah! if the platonists and the true friends of women had +been heeded, things would have been different! They were +scandalised at such spectacles, which poisoned their intellectual +joys. Years before, Petrarch had risen against +customs that much less affected their position: what would +he have said if he had come to life again! The worst of it +was that these French manners were like the little leaven, +and Castiglione notes that the leaven was creeping into +Italy—Castiglione, who had seen the time when a man durst +not even take the hand of his partner! As to Vivès, he +dashes off a picture of dances and kisses with his Spanish +impetuosity: “What is the meaning of so many kisses? +Of old time it was lawful to give a kiss only to one’s +relatives; now ’tis a general custom, in Burgundy and +in England, to kiss whomsoever a man pleases.... As for +me, I would fain know what means so much osculation.... +What is the use of these many leaps that girls make, held by +their companions under the arms so that they may kick the +higher? What pleasure do these grasshoppers take in +torturing themselves thus and remaining the greater part +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>of the night without wearying of the dance body and +soul?”</p> + +<p>The question was more than once raised as to what extent +good manners authorised, or rather obliged, well-born women +to offer their lips to all and sundry, and to lend themselves +to promiscuous capering.⁠<a id="FNanchor_204" href="#Footnote_204" class="fnanchor">[204]</a> This question was much debated: +in general the most sensible folk considered that they could +not absolutely avoid the custom, accepted as it was in good +society, but that it was possible to practise some reserve; +for example, to present the cheek instead of the mouth. +Montaigne pities with all his heart the women “who have +to lend their lips to any Jack with three lackeys in his +suite”; but so trivial a subjection seemed to him, by its +very triviality, to be of no consequence: “A high price adds +a flavour to meat!” He holds rather with those who saw +in it a simple act of courtesy, to which an honest woman +could have no possible objection, or at most so insignificant +a favour that there was nothing to make a fuss about. We +are bound to add, however, that this was not everyone’s +opinion; and there were not wanting dilettantes who by +no means regarded this favour as so unimportant; Ronsard +in all frankness considered it delightful and took infinite +pleasure in it.⁠<a id="FNanchor_205" href="#Footnote_205" class="fnanchor">[205]</a> As to Melin de Saint-Gelais, on one occasion +when he had won a dozen kisses at forfeits, he swore that it +was not half enough: “Twelve is too few, compared with +the infinite.”</p> + +<p>Here again fashion was more than a match for philosophy; +and, barring a few isolated exceptions, kissing and dancing +carried all before them. Examples come from all sides: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>from the court with its licentious masked balls, and from +the heart of the provinces; witness that singular strike of +the ladies of Aix in Provence. The courts having interdicted, +on the score of modesty, the dance known as the <i>volta</i> (a +sort of cancan), these ladies at once threatened to betake +themselves <i>en masse</i> to the pope at Avignon, and their +affrighted husbands had to obtain the annulment of the +decree.</p> + +<p>The platonists and their friends knew the world too well +deliberately to open a campaign against abuses they could +not destroy. They confined themselves to bewailing them. +It struck them as deplorable to see men amusing themselves +hour after hour in cutting their clownish capers at the +expense of honest women. They considered it absolutely +ridiculous to pretend to forbid men in the ordinary intercourse +of life to smirch by word, look or gesture a lady +who pleased them, while at a ball everything was permissible.</p> + +<p>The remedy, they thought, would be found in giving +women more serious and more elevated tastes; they believed +that a woman habituated to really noble ideas would know +how to set herself high enough to win love without yielding +to the caprice of the first comer.</p> + +<p>The Huguenots pursued a different policy, and did not +shrink from attacking with all their force every kind of +dancing: it would seem that they did not dance at all. +They spoke of animals coupling, of disastrous confidences: +“Look,” cries the good Daneau⁠<a id="FNanchor_206" href="#Footnote_206" class="fnanchor">[206]</a> with horror, “look at this +lady with her head high, vaulting, whirling, swinging herself +about, making a clatter with her feet.” That was what you +saw at the ball: could anything be more ridiculous? But +what most strikes him is that she leaves her modesty and +her mantle together in the-hands of the lackeys in the +cloak-room. “There any man may run his eye over the +ladies as they stand, even with their husbands or mothers, +and may choose any woman he pleases, in other words, the +woman who excites his lust: those whom the eyes have +chosen the hands clasp, and the men, as though already +in the thrill and enjoyment of their desires, kiss them, hug +them, lead them through the room; the young fellows exert +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>themselves to appear lively and gay, so as to entertain and +caress with a thousand tricks and approaches the girls they +hold, and the girls show no reluctance to respond in kind. +In the <i>volta</i> there are regular tricks for making one’s +partner bound and rise so high that the calves, even the +thighs are shamelessly exposed and prostituted to the eyes +of the throng. The dancers go up and down, lose sight +of each other, then find themselves close together again; +and when they meet there are oglings and caperings, +redoubled gaieties, all showing how their hearts are bounding +with joy at seeing themselves once more so near the +accomplishment of their desires. Every kind of dance gives +opportunity for discovering ways of pleasing, seeing, touching +one another more familiarly; and all this goes on to the +strains of all sorts of instruments.”</p> + +<p>The Huguenots, it will be seen, did not mince their words. +But dancing was never a whit the worse. According to the +feminists it was in itself neither evil nor ridiculous; the art +consisted in idealising the play of the limbs, as the work of +the digestion had been idealised; and they were agreed +that, the brain being in this case farther away, the task +was obviously more difficult.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, women readily gave up anything that +was not congenial to sensibility: gaming, for instance. With +their husbands gaming was a frenzy; mature men, boys, +busy men, idle men, everybody gambled. At the gaming +table all distinctions of rank disappeared; a great lord +would borrow a hundred crowns from his barber. What +was a gaming-hall? A place where not a word was uttered +save as an exclamation or an oath. The ladies permitted +a game of draughts, chess or trictrac, but would hear of +nothing else. They preferred the embraces of which Daneau, +Vivès and the husbands complained.</p> + +<p>For ladies of middle station a usual means of exercising +their charm to the best advantage was to go to mass, especially +on a Sunday, to the “church parade”; that served them +instead of a drawing-room.</p> + +<p>We have nothing to do here, of course, with their religious +sentiments, but only with their visible devices for captivating +men. They went to church as to a common haunt +or a family reunion. God is the good Father who collects +His children about Him once a week. Sunday is the day +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>consecrated to lofty impressions, to the enjoyment in common +of the things that constitute life—the day of beauty, the +day of music, lovely frescoes, and displays of the latest +fashion. The sanctuary was treated with an affectionate +familiarity, against which the preachers had long been +protesting in vain.</p> + +<p>In the northern parts indeed this familiarity was accompanied +with very objectionable scenes, and the clergy were +at great pains to restrain its abuses. At Tournay, for +example, it appeared very disagreeable to the cathedral +clergy to serve every year as lay figures in the grotesque +procession of the Holy Innocents, and afterward to be +abbots of misrule in taverns; they obtained the suppression +of the festival in 1489. But the coarse merriment was not +scotched; everybody, the principal personages of the town +included, made common cause with the children dispossessed +of so venerable a privilege; and in 1498 the agitation took +the shape of a nocturnal kettle-drumming which gave great +concern to the Parliament of Paris.</p> + +<p>In the south there was no need to fear such eccentricities; +the church was the temple of the Beautiful because it +belonged to the women. The congregation gathers in a +motley, swaying, chattering crowd; it takes some time for +every lady to succeed in settling her finery on her cushion, +in a convenient place for seeing and hearing well. Then +there arises a confused hum of gossip more or less discreet, a +sound of stifled laughter, a rustling of cushions: “There is no +better place for a chat than church”; it is for all the world +like a concert of “magpies caught in a snare.” Ladies call +each other by name, “Jeanne, Catherine, Françoise.” A +lady who comes late tries to skip in before another who +arrived early. The orchestra can barely drown all these +noises; the opening prayer is delayed. Many men standing +in the aisles fancy they are on ’change, and talk over their +affairs; at one time dandies used to come hawk on fist or +dog at heel: others, motionless like machines, are meditating—who +knows what? Nothing at all, probably. Some are +watching the many-coloured undulations in the nave—the +crimped hair, the dainty hats. They quiz a handsome blue +bodice with yellow strings and green sleeves, cut very low. +The ladies have a wonderful talent for sitting stiffly erect, +posing in such a way that they show their profile or half-profile +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>to the best advantage, their eyes sparkling, and +sometimes stealing a wicked little side-glance. That is what +they call high mass; those are the accessories of a fashionable +confessional.</p> + +<p>In this way a fine philosophic equality establishes itself +with the utmost perfection at the steps of the altar, far +more successfully than in any palace; all cliquishness even +disappears; a woman who has toiled all the week at her +spinning-wheel displays her charms by the side of the lady +of rank, moved by the same sentiment of elegance, idleness, +and art. For anyone with the least spark of sensibility or +love of the beautiful, church becomes the land of dreams, +the starting-point for every elevating influence. The Gothic +church, with its lofty, light, graceful columns, lifts the soul +into a sort of mystic accord; there is something warmer, +more human, more genuinely intimate about the Italian +church; women high or humble experience there a sensation +of unmixed delight. They contemplate with tender +trustfulness the imperturbable Madonna who has already +seen the passage of many generations, and who continues +to regard them from her nook in the wall with her woman’s +smile—that smile of infinite sweetness, of lingering and +universal pity, directed towards the children and the dead, +towards all who suffer and love, weep and laugh, a smile +like a sweet-savoured incense of purification and grace. +The Italians loved the magnificence of their temples—the +marbles bathed in sunlight, the shadowy arches where +the soul could unbosom itself without blasphemy, and all +those little secluded chapels in which every man found his +own saint, and came to offer up his poor, trembling, fainting +heart as the whole <i>ex-voto</i> of life. In these hidden +splendours, in the charm of mystic music soaring amidst +paintings and sculptures, gilded ornaments and exquisite +perfumes, midway between the past and the future, there is +a wonderfully soft and voluptuous pleasure. It is with +profound philosophy that Caviceo lays the scene of the +first interview between his hero and heroine in the +shade of an altar; assuredly, in wrapping itself with this +veil of refinement and modesty, love puts on a sacred +character. So the church becomes, in its wealth of compassion, +the haven of refuge for pure and sensitive souls, and +even for some others. Anne of Rohan gave tryst to her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>lover in the chapel of Amboise;⁠<a id="FNanchor_207" href="#Footnote_207" class="fnanchor">[207]</a> a young girl of Orleans +with Machiavelian cunning made a Franciscan friar her +catspaw to attract the student she loved.⁠<a id="FNanchor_208" href="#Footnote_208" class="fnanchor">[208]</a> Pontanus +depicts the prolonged meditations of the Neapolitan ladies, +long after the last of the candles had been extinguished in +the dusky nave.⁠<a id="FNanchor_209" href="#Footnote_209" class="fnanchor">[209]</a> A thousand incidents of this sort might +be cited: Francis I. in the church of Amboise pursuing a +charming girl with his devotion;⁠<a id="FNanchor_210" href="#Footnote_210" class="fnanchor">[210]</a> Panurge, whom Rabelais +sets to dog the footsteps of a noble lady, piously offering her +holy water, slipping inflammatory love-letters into her hand +during mass, and playing the most impudent tricks to attract +her attention; the poet Crétin, furious because at Lyons the +church services are turned to account almost exclusively by +young fops and paunchy bankers.</p> + +<p>Pilgrimages also were capable of becoming a source of +exquisite emotions for artists in happiness. The author of +the <i>Imitation</i> has said that to be often on pilgrimage is +seldom to be a saint. Indeed, at the moment when the +indulgences were pronounced, the church porches were +quite invisible behind the smoke from the cookshops or the +booths in the fair, and an old author complains that you +could not even catch sight of your friends. But how these +gross indulgences were transfigured by the aesthetic spirit! +What ravishing effects it derived from them!</p> + +<p>It was no longer paintings or sculptures that troubled +hearts and pure hearts gazed upon: they penetrated the +clear heavens above. Blessed are the pure!</p> + +<p>The sweet, tender Isabella d’Este set out thus to transport +her soul across the plains of Umbria, towards the calm +and glorious homes of peace and art, Loretto and Assisi. +It was early spring, when the days were clear and sunny; +every morning after mass the little caravan resumed its +march with its picturesque escort, piously, tranquilly, ideally. +During the Easter festival it made a halt with the Duke and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>Duchess of Urbino in the delightful palace of Gubbio, +smiling down from amongst its gardens and fountains.</p> + +<p>The woman who has been able to live these hours of pure +enthusiasm is conscious of accomplishing a large part of her +dream. She is within sight of reconciling two opposing +forces, the forces of Nature and the forces of the human +heart, and forming out of them a love in harmony with +Plato’s thought and Raphael’s brush.</p> + +<p>In their dealings with Nature, the platonists sought +above all to elevate and sentimentalise it; they did not care +for it masculine and stern, but wished it feminine.</p> + +<p>They did not ask it to express itself in vast horizons, in +a display of wild vigour. Untamed Nature displeased +them; it struck them as a tyrannical mechanism which +would keep moving and straining itself without definite +purpose, whilst it should be influenced and controlled +by human thought. On the contrary, the more supple +Nature became,—the more docile, urbane, almost affectionate—the +better she answered their expectations. +They did not appreciate the <i>objects</i> of Nature; but they +valued a beautiful sunny day, a beautiful horizon, the +flowers which scent the air, the glistening, rippling, soothing +sea, the buds bursting with sap and life, because this life is +one with man’s. Plato has indicated the need he felt of +such a setting in the celebrated prologue of the <i>Phaedrus</i>, +where Socrates and his friend, strolling along the bank of +the Ilissus, seat themselves near a temple of the Muses, in +the shade of a lofty plane-tree, on one of those velvet +swards in which every footstep leaves its trace. Stirred +by the fierce heat of the glowing sun, life buzzes and +sings on all sides; the murmur of water mingles with the +chirp of grasshoppers and innumerable confused dronings; +odours of all kinds fill the air, and life is quaffed in deep +draughts; but amid all these myriad voices blending into +one grand symphony the mind of the philosopher reigns +supreme.</p> + +<p>Man, then, must in no way be considered the enemy of +Nature; he is her friend and master. Nature speaks to us, +and we speak to her, and are subject to her influence in the +highest degree. Not merely do climate, temperature, the +beauties of the scenery exercise a paramount influence +upon us, as the monks so well understood who loved +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>extensive horizons and noble summits, but it may be said +that there is not a tree or a plant but influences us by its +vicinage. The love of Nature emits a radiance like the +love of a woman, like all love, though in a less degree. It +is good then and right not to neglect so important a source +of emotion. Nature herself delights us because she smiles +on us and we feel she loves us,—because a higher power +settles her proud rocks and governs her volcanic fires. +How pleasant it is (especially in warm countries) to shape +for ourselves in the broad world, too vast for us, a private +and particular nook: to send our very selves, as it were, out +through the woods by straight paths which make our will +felt far away; to give the flowers what forms and tints we +please; to impress our character upon everything; thus we +banish all savour of imperfection and ugliness and allow +nothing to be seen but uniformity and affection; for, in the +words of a man of that time, if you go into the country, it +is not to “descend from light into the gloom.”</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Salut! palais, jardins, paradis de délices,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dont les beaultez font ignorer les vices.⁠<a id="FNanchor_211" href="#Footnote_211" class="fnanchor">[211]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Under these circumstances, ladies, philosophers, and prelates +considered the country a perfect setting for the +intellectual life. They there got deeper, intenser spiritual +enjoyment than in the city (though city life in those days +was not such a rush and bustle as it is to-day). The dread +hours of solitude will themselves contribute to this pleasure +if you know how to bring a delightful egotism unobtrusively +into play; they will enable you to recall many fleeting +thoughts, to ruminate on them, feast on them for your +sole pleasure, in the spirit of the sublime preoccupation of +Lucullus when he chanced one day to be dining alone: “Is +not Lucullus entertaining Lucullus to-day?” We find, +then, in the country the same <i>mise-en-scène</i> as in the town—the +same furniture, the same plate, but ranged under the +luminous ceiling of a summer sky; the same dances, but by +the light of torches and the stars.⁠<a id="FNanchor_212" href="#Footnote_212" class="fnanchor">[212]</a> All Nature breathes and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>thinks: the trees, artistically shaped, hang their sombre +drapery behind statues; charming walks wind or disappear +among labyrinths of laurel, thyme, and rosemary; a cascade +leaps lightly and with musical bickering from a tiny +artificial rock, and speeds away swiftly but noiselessly into +the miniature presentment of a well-mown meadow. Or if +the owner’s wealth is equal to measuring itself royally +against Nature, he adorns the landscape with splendid +villas, the glory of Rome, like the Este villa at Tivoli, a sort +of proof before letters of Versailles, so moving still in the +spectral life of its deserted groves, its silent fountains, its +shattered marbles.</p> + +<p>We must note, too, the singular phenomenon that the +urbanity and bountifulness of Nature appeared to these +lovers of beauty a thing of course. Nature is loved for +herself only in countries where she plays the step-dame. +Lombards, Frenchmen, Englishmen, on leaving the smoky +scenes of their daily toil, did not shrink from a life in the +depths of a dull place in the country, or from intercourse +with the rustics; they might be seen any day chatting and +whiling away an idle hour with the farmers on the village +green. At Paris people were passionately fond of natural +flowers, the annual consumption of which was valued by +statisticians at fifteen thousand golden crowns; even the +University preferred them to paper garlands.⁠<a id="FNanchor_213" href="#Footnote_213" class="fnanchor">[213]</a> The people +of the south, on the contrary, spoilt children of a soil which +yields fruit of itself, trampled roses and violets beneath +their feet with never a thought of gathering them. The +Italian painters used to adorn manuscripts with elaborate +golden scrolls; the ladies framed their faces in gold and +pearls, and valued flowers only for the delicate softness of +their perfume; many of them strewed lilies and roses and +violets about their bowers, as the quintessence of sweetness. +But everyone abhorred a country life. Castiglione has only +one word for the existence of gentlemen-farmers: “It is +indecent.” As for Margaret of France, she could find no +stronger abuse, no more expressive appellation for a froward +heart than: “O rough heart, rural and bucolic.”</p> + +<p>Nor would one expect to find a liking for animals among +the platonists. Ladies valued only the boudoir pet, the +little affectionate, obedient animal, their very own, which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>meekly took their kisses and upon which they lavished +without misgiving a portion of their tenderness: a bird for +instance, or a pug. I say <i>a</i> pug, for there was seldom more +than one. What was the good of a troop of shaggy animals +however graceful, like those which fill the canvases of +Veronese? A lady much preferred her one little lapdog, +which she carried on her arm against her heart, took to bed +with her, and had painted in her own portrait. “Love me, +love my dog.” Titian’s Venus of the Prado is nude, but +she keeps the indispensable ornaments—a pearl necklace, +a musical instrument, and a little dog. Margaret in writing +to M. de Montmorency⁠<a id="FNanchor_214" href="#Footnote_214" class="fnanchor">[214]</a> tells him gaily that she is +looking after her niece’s “belongings,” that is, “her parrot +and her daughters.” The death of the darling bird or the +little pug was a cruel event. What tears were shed! So +faithful a little dog! How many men might have learned +a lesson from him! Friends could hardly venture to speak +of the fleas of the demised, or the hair that he dropped all +around, or the other objects which his mistress might +perhaps find for her affection.</p> + +<p>People did not care for flocks and herds, except perhaps +as a distant ornament of the landscape. The King of +Naples and the Cardinal of Amboise kept peacocks and +stags. Anne of France founded a sort of Zoological Garden +in which she acclimatised turkeys and bred parrots. But +that had nothing to do with aesthetics.</p> + +<p>From country life we naturally proceed to the grave +question of the utility of physical exercises for women—a +question much more difficult to decide than appears at first +sight. Suppose a number of old-style French châtelaines, +sun-baked, inured to the inclemencies of the weather, +dashing huntswomen, had been asked to relinquish violent +exercises like hunting, fencing, boxing, tennis, on the ground +that to indulge in them was to waste their charm? They +would have ridiculed the idea. And yet, after mature +deliberation, the Urbino coterie decided that these exercises +were altogether incompatible with the feminine temperament.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span></p> + +<p>One had to come to Lyons to find a pretty and clever +woman like Louise Labé posing as Bradamante or Marphise, +and boasting of her riding and her skill with the lance. Every +well-born Italian woman detested such mannish ways. +When Charles VIII. arrived at Naples, the princess of +Melphi, to humour the barbarian’s tastes, presented to him +her daughter on horseback, but mounted in such a manner +“as not to do wrong to her sex.” Here there is a problem +in pure aesthetics. Not that women like Isabella d’Este +and others are deficient in energy; when need arises they +will give proof of an extraordinary vigour; Margaret of +France, in her passion for serving her brother, bestrode a +horse and galloped to the Spanish frontier with a speed and +endurance that the postal service has rarely attained. But +if, impelled by strong feeling, they accomplished feats like +this, they did not boast of them. What charm would +Margaret with all her heroism have for us if we had to see +her flying with loose rein astraddle on her nag? It is +impossible to cite a military woman of a more energetic +temperament than Catherine Sforza: when did she shrink +from sleeping on the bare ground and passing her nights in +the open air? Yet this was the lady who, when she had a +minute’s peace, solemnly dispatched a Jewish old-clo’ man +to her neighbours, to discover for her a certain down for +bed-ticks which was reputed exceptionally soft.</p> + +<p>The very decided disfavour in which physical exercises +were held by women had its counterpart among the men, +and very largely diminished their ardour for anything in +the way of sport or athletics. Even at the court of Julius +II. a young cardinal was mercilessly chaffed because, instead +of showing his visitors his books, coins, or pictures, he +hurried them off to a jumping-match in his garden! In +France the taste for violent exploits utterly died out, at +least in court circles. When ladies were by, there was +much talk, in language borrowed from the romances, about +the virtue of arms and the nobility of valour, and as they +spoke the striplings brandished inoffensive swords. Tournaments +were in favour as a show adapted to captivate ladies’ +eyes, and purely decorative—barring accidents! Some in +silver habits, others in red, green, and blue, the combatants +would make a few passes, and when they had done, the +victor, followed by his pages, galloped all round the fine-sanded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>lists, to receive his meed of applause. After all, the +ladies had little appreciation for this relic of barbarism; +they did not see the philosophic necessity of equipping oneself +with lance and steed to run the <i>grand prix</i> of life; in +their view that prize was called “repose and sovereign +joy”; and that is not won at a gallop.</p> + +<p>The question of the chase gave rise to somewhat various +opinions. Hunting, like war, gave man pleasure; to him +it was a noble and sacred occupation, since its end was +the shedding of blood,—a point in which it displeased +the platonists. But, on the other hand, man is a born +fighter, and he should only be encouraged to work off his +combativeness against animals created precisely to be +slaughtered by him. There is nothing criminal in the +trade of butcher, and it is far better to kill an ox than a +man, a boar than an ox. The chase was thus a valuable +expedient.</p> + +<p>But in an age of such exquisite refinement, when the +infinite sweetness of the Beautiful came at length to +penetrate men to the very marrow, people became more +fastidious, and asked themselves if any brilliant idea could +be derived from the chase, or if it was not a sufficient +concession to the animal spirits to ramble about casually, +to take the air without excuses, and to go out riding under +the eyes of the ladies, even though too manifestly like a +groom exercising his cob. Perhaps that would have been +better.</p> + +<p>But the chase was popular at Rome.</p> + +<p>The hunts in the Roman Campagna were of old renown. +The deer there was reputed very fleet, and the boar a +particularly tough customer; the hounds belonged to those +idolised and sagacious breeds which could not be bought at +any price, and whose whelps were begged for by princesses +and potentates with absolute servility.⁠<a id="FNanchor_215" href="#Footnote_215" class="fnanchor">[215]</a> Further, in default +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>of military pomp, the glory of the chase, material as it was, +seemed essential to the political interests of the papacy,—and +consequently to the interests of religion,—with respect to certain +eminent personages more accessible to such arguments +than to those of theology; and it must not be forgotten that +the Roman prelates, unfortunately for themselves, were +politicians as well as devotees of art. While closely allying +themselves with women, they had to reckon with men. The +hunt organised by Paul II. for Borso d’Este in 1471 has +remained justly celebrated in the annals of the church. It +was therefore less a question of slaying animals than of +saving souls, and it may be said that in this respect the +chase conduced towards a spiritual end.</p> + +<p>The great Popes of the Renaissance, however, were somewhat +lukewarm in cultivating it. Alexander VI., though an +excellent horseman, was but an infrequent and inexpert +huntsman. Julius II. went out into the rich vinelands +rarely, if at all; for, born of a sea-faring stock, he preferred +to cast his nets into the deep like St. Peter. Leo X. rode +more, owing to threatenings of obesity; he hunted with +application and brilliance, and with his habitual love of +perfection, but without that quality which makes hunting +an art, that indefinable something which hunters call the +“sacred fire” or the “devil may care” spirit, and the friends +of the Beautiful call love. He was a Florentine, and manifestly +did not regard the hunter’s rôle as a fine one; he +could not imagine that to spur a horse was to stimulate one’s +ideas. To men of his stamp Nature was, so to speak, truly +feminine; they would have liked to put her under glass. +On the other hand, a number of prelates revived the chase +with their enthusiasm; they portrayed it in their poetry; +they brought to it all their gravity, urbanity, and decorum. +When the ancient walls of pagan Rome or the limestone +benches of the Coliseum were blushing under the first rays +of dawn, or when the old triumphal arches were looking +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>young again under the smile of the Sabine mountains, a +brilliant procession set the pontifical flagstones ringing +under their horses’ hoofs. Look at these great figures who +are passing. Here is the proud Catherine Sforza; Tebaldeo, +the poet skilful in following the forest tracks; Pontanus, the +methodical huntsman, the taciturn philosopher; the pride of +Venice, the sprightly Bembo, somewhat excited, for he wishes +to “stick” the boar and cut off its head, and therewith to do +honour to the Virgin of the woods, “in verses which will go +down to posterity.” Here is the fair Lucretia Borgia, “the +glory of her race,” and, in close attendance, Ercole Strozzi, +just writing for her his great poem called <i>The Chase</i>, +a medley of venery and politics. Who next? Here is the +omnipotent Ascanio Sforza, vice-chancellor of the Roman +church, all impetuosity, full of the boyish animation which he +will retain through the most cruel trials till that day +when he goes to his long rest in the church of Santa Maria +del Popolo. Behind him comes cardinal Adriano Castelli, +the witty diplomatist who wins all hearts, the admirable +humanist who is going to celebrate this chase. These ladies +and prelates sing the praises of Diana; it seems to them +that the noble goddess in person is guiding their long +cavalcade among the tombs, in the impressive silence of this +great Roman desert where long aqueducts (odd vegetation!) +lend sombre decoration to the landscape.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Her broidered chlamys she has raised;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her golden locks float in the breeze,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The purple buskins reach her knees;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her gilded quiver’s ringing sound</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wakes echoes in the woods around.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ascanio, courteous, debonair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rides close to show her every care;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Collects the troop, on Lybian steeds,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And harks them forth to doughty deeds.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>View halloo! The boar is started at the foot of the hills, +the hounds are off, the hunters scatter and gallop up hill and +down dale, dogged and indefatigable. Presently, shouts, +bayings, howls of wounded dogs! All is over. Cardinal +Ascanio appears, with flaming eye and flaming cheeks, his +coat red, his knife redder still, near the boar dripping red. +This is the epical, the intoxicating moment. The hounds +tumble over each other, the whippers-in bestir themselves, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>the hunters come panting up from all directions. Suddenly +all is hushed; as if by magic an exquisite repast is served; +the sweet measured tones of guitars, the voices of singers, +the plaudits of the banqueters alone wake the languid +echoes, while huge flagons of a generous wine go round. +Then Cardinal Castelli rises, and in his elegant Latin +recites a Pindaric ode in honour of the victorious huntsman, +“the empurpled senate’s glory and grace.” Nothing could +be more piously orthodox or more delightful than this +hunting ode. The Cardinal recalls how the Redeemer, +“true religion’s lord and emperor,” has put vain deities +to flight and given solace to perishing humanity, bringing +life and strength and joy. Ascanio responds with this +invocation:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O Dian, virgin goddess of the woods and groves,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or whether it behoves</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To hail Proserpina, light of the glooming sky,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lucina, Hecate, or e’en</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the dim nether world the woful queen,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dictynna else, or Trivia—whosoe’er</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dost to my swinking hours apply</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy constant care,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thee in my heart I hold eternally!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Evening creeps on, and the shadows extend. Soon the +joyous clatter of hoofs is re-echoing along the Sacred Way; +these are the masters of Rome, whom the shades of Tiberius +and Constantine salute in the darkness.</p> + +<p>While at Rome the chase was thus allying itself with +poetry, in France, as may be surmised, it followed no such +bent. The good Louis XII., ruling with circumspection, +would not have been hard put to it to give his exploits +a character of seriousness and tranquillity, for his health +obliged him to hunt in a litter, and more often with hawks +than with hounds; indeed, even at the kennels of Blois the +spirit of poetry modestly crept in; the court poets, not +having at their disposal the Roman mythology, or the +shades of Tiberius and Constantine, extolled the royal +hawks and hounds. They honoured with a charming +epitaph the venerable Chailly, doyen of the pack, and a +model of probity and honour, who, after having followed +the king even to war, had peacefully finished his course at +the feet of Queen Anne. They sang also of the famous +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>falcon Muguet, the terror of herons, “little of body but +wondrous full of courage”:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Trois passetemps parfaits a eu Louis douzième:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Triboulet et Chailly, et je fus le troisième.⁠<a id="FNanchor_216" href="#Footnote_216" class="fnanchor">[216]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">But all this fine poetry only celebrated the mettlesomeness +of the animals; it did not protect the game from slaughter; +it left hunting with its primitive characteristics, which +continued to wound the finer feelings, and snuffed out the +faintest glimmer of the spiritual life.</p> + +<p>One man was found, with the heroic determination to +reform the French style of hunting in the Roman direction. +This man was Guillaume Budé, generally known as the +founder of the College of France, but as good a hunter as a +Hellenist, and in this regard as worthy of renown.</p> + +<p>Budé is a brilliant example of the intellectual development +of many men of his generation. Come of a line of +high officials, he went through the usual experiences: a +tutor, fashionable masters, a special Greek tutor, one George +Hermonymos, brought direct from Lacedaemonia to teach +him to lisp the Greek alphabet at the remuneration of five +hundred crowns monthly; but Lefèvre d’Etaples⁠<a id="FNanchor_217" href="#Footnote_217" class="fnanchor">[217]</a> did not +succeed in making a philosopher of him, nor Fra Giocondo⁠<a id="FNanchor_218" href="#Footnote_218" class="fnanchor">[218]</a> +a mathematician. Then, after lolling for a while on the +long-suffering benches of the Orleans University of Law, +Budé resigned himself to run in the paternal grooves; apart +from hunting, he was not known to have any accomplishment +or passion except fishing. So he went to Rome as +secretary to an embassy at the time of the election of +Julius II. This proved the turning-point of his life. The +aesthetic splendour of Rome struck him and held him spellbound; +he experienced the electric shock, the complete +change of view which the sudden revelation of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>spirit of beauty has from all time occasioned in choice +minds. He came back a changed man. He became an +apostle of beauty; he resigned his diplomatic appointments, +and his office as secretary to the king; he even refused +a comfortable retreat on the bench, in order to devote himself +to that noble intellectual life, the radiance of which had +filled his soul.</p> + +<p>He gave up everything except hunting. And it was +then that he had to face the trying problem that rose in his +mind with peculiar intensity—how to spiritualise the chase.</p> + +<p>The solution he arrived at was of the most original kind. +He has communicated it to us in the form of a conversation, +real or imaginary, between himself and King Francis I. +This dialogue attained a measure of popularity; written +in Latin (following the Roman fashion), it had the honour +of being translated by the great court translator, Louis Le +Roy, and in our time has been re-published by M. Chevreul.</p> + +<p>Budé’s idea was wonderfully simple, and nicely calculated, +he thought, to make an impression on Francis I. The king +was not very clever, but he was very willing to learn, and +had great confidence in the new ideas, particularly those of +his friend.</p> + +<p>Budé merely suggested the adoption of Latin as the +language of venery. At first sight, Francis did not quite +catch the piquancy of this proposal; however, he made no +opposition; and discovered on reflection, indeed, that it hit +the mark admirably. Certain persons were agitating for the +suppression of Latin in law proceedings, with the professed +object of rendering them more comprehensible: here was an +excellent means of silencing the agitators, by showing them +that Latin, if it can serve for the slang of the turf, can serve +for anything.</p> + +<p>History does not relate whether Francis halloed his +hounds in Latin verse; but the seed dropped by Budé +was not lost, and another scholar, Michelangelo Blando, +the commentator on Aristotle and Hippocrates, took up the +same subject as a second study. In a learned Latin +treatise on hunting, Blando shows how important it is for +the huntsmen to be men of literary culture; for their benefit +he investigates every branch of canine lore from the earliest +times: breeds, regimen, maladies, training—on all these +points he admirably collects the various threads of tradition. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>Nor does he forget the lives of the most illustrious of +hunters down to and including Francis I. Among these, +naturally, he makes honourable mention of a number of +noble ladies who were ardent devotees of the chase, and +with whom the sport almost always meant a dedication of +their virginity; for example, the fair Atalanta, who disdained +marriage; Calixto, daughter of a king of Arcadia; +Arethusa, daughter of the Centaur Hippochrome; Amimone, +a Breton nymph, daughter of Danaus; and a thousand other +vestals whom it is unnecessary to recall, says he, “being +household words with all hunters worthy of the name.” +After such an enumeration, one might indeed be tempted to +believe that, for women at any rate, the chase elevates the +soul and has platonic virtues.</p> + +<p>But, all this notwithstanding, the lady artists in charm +did not think it deserved either encouragement or sympathy +on their part. In what respect had this sport any moral +efficacy? It had, on the contrary, the disadvantage of +giving a woman a somewhat masculine appearance, of +diluting in her all that constitutes the essence of platonic +sweetness.⁠<a id="FNanchor_219" href="#Footnote_219" class="fnanchor">[219]</a></p> + +<p>Riding to hounds was no longer indulged in, except by +some few over-energetic and rather old-fashioned ladies like +Margaret of Austria, who was so proud of her stuffed +wolves’ heads; or Anne of France, a passionate and classical +huntress, whom one of her faithful henchmen, the seneschal +of Normandy, enthusiastically styles the “grand mistress” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>of this “glorious trade”; but whom he calls also its last +representative. Anne hunted in the same way that she did +everything; coldly and methodically she with her own eyes +examined the trail, and gave the word to hark forward; +then she set off with her dogs, and suddenly warming to +the work, grew animated and vociferous, and smartly +handled her hunting-spear. Such ways as these have +caused her to be always wrongly judged, even by her closest +friends, and have given her a reputation for mannishness, +whereas in her heart of hearts she was infinitely feminine, +and femininely philosophic.</p> + +<p>The large majority of her contemporaries would have +been careful not to imitate her, and if they resigned themselves +to the chase, it was for some good reason. Personally +they went in for little else than hawking. It was indifferent +to them whether men rode out and effected more or less +slaughter; but they loved the associations of the hunt—the +delightful evenings, favourable to flirtation (when the +hunters were not too hungry or sleepy); the succeeding +days of tranquillity, when the unconstraint of country life +allowed them to rise early and come down into the fresh air +without stopping to do up their hair or their complexions, +but with clear, rosy cheeks; to hurry through a hunter’s +mass, and then start gossiping in the shade on the respective +merits of dogs and birds until it was time for breakfast. +In short, to platonist ladies, the less hunting there was, the +more genuine and admirable the chase appeared. If men +absolutely insisted on spilling blood, why not get it over +quickly? Why not fill their parks with tame stags and +one fine morning go out and massacre a few? But for +pity’s sake let there be no more talk of their Red Indian +stratagems, or of competing in instinct with the animals! +“Tell me,” cries Margaret of France, “is the capture of a +stag fit work for a prince?”—he might as well turn mason +or hind!</p> + +<p>They came to the conclusion that, if they did not wish to +live in the kennel, there was nothing for it but to give up +hunting, and this was more logical than Budé’s or Blando’s +attempt to imbue huntsmen with lofty and fantastic ideas +which would never make a good sportsman.</p> + +<p>Like all human things, the charming theories we have +just indicated had their dark side. The habit of suppressing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>nature, of making her all grace and attractiveness, of +embellishing and transfiguring her, is pretty sure to lead to +the loss of any real knowledge of nature. A landscape is +transformed into a drawing-room. Lemaire de Belges and +others discourse to us of nothing but branches gently +swaying, rustling leaflets, the waning autumn, huts in +which mock shepherds in sham goat-skins listen to the +moaning of the winter wind with a ravishment which it is +difficult not to fancy humbug too. If only this mawkish +sentimentality always led to the ideal! But no; the coy +Phillises sport their demure little tricks at all hours but +the lover’s hour, when perhaps they would not be out of +place.</p> + +<p>The fleshly Venetian school, with its feeling for colour +and its somewhat pagan naturalism, much more successfully +expressed man’s relations with Nature. It opens for us not +a mere garden bower, but a huge factory of sensuous +pleasure, whence ascend a thousand high-soaring aspirations +and a penetrating effluence. Giorgione and Titian have +wonderfully rendered the poetry of these love-filled horizons. +From the smooth sea, or the foaming billows, or the flowery +meadows depicted by their pencils, loud voices speak to us; +and nothing but the old, imaginative mythology is wanted +to personify all the unknowable and unknown unions +whence we feel that the physical world is every day +drawing its life and its overmastering thirst for renewal. +The epicureans let themselves drift along aimlessly, resting +on their oars,⁠<a id="FNanchor_220" href="#Footnote_220" class="fnanchor">[220]</a> and do no more than sing their little part, +hardly audible in this colossal orchestration. The platonists, +on the other hand, will not allow themselves to be seduced, +and combat nature even while caressing her, preferring to +keep her too much in subjection rather than to yield her +too much obedience. Nature untamed or sensual would +slay man, they think. She is a slave, meant to be subject +to us, meditating revenge, and eager to suck or shed our +blood; and she is set among the slaves.</p> + +<p>Finally, a word must be said about a life which held a +place midway between country life and city life, namely, +the life of the watering-places, both inland and by the sea. +In France the fashion was difficult to introduce, good +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>society preferring the large and comfortable existence of the +country house; but to take the waters was all the rage in +Italy.</p> + +<p>Except at church, there was no scene where people could +better meet together, or take one another more seriously +without hypocrisy. A public bath represented the ideal of +equality. You go in, cut a figure, and come out again, +and Jack is as good as his master. It is an open drawing-room, +in which people who elsewhere are strangers to one +another, acquaintances, and bosom friends all have one +idea—to distil their soul drop by drop into the ears of +kindred spirits, like the neighbouring spring.</p> + +<p>The difficulty with which the custom became acclimatised +in France has been attributed to very various causes. +Following an old tradition, many preachers so late as the +16th century inveighed against the habit of bathing. Out +of thirty women who go bathing, says one, not one can call +herself pure. “O fatal laving, prolific in elements of death!” +exclaims another. “Ye women who stew yourselves,” says +Oliver Maillard,⁠<a id="FNanchor_221" href="#Footnote_221" class="fnanchor">[221]</a> “I summon you all to the stewpots of +Hell!” The Calvinists went to still greater lengths of +indignation, and more than one physician, even, thought well +to adopt a cautious attitude. At the end of a long treatise +on hygiene, Gazius says: “I have still to speak about the +baths, and I shall do so briefly, for the custom of bathing +does not exist among us, and further, it is a pleasure which +is not devoid of danger; perhaps it would be better not to +speak of it, lest I should appear to recommend it. For myself, +I have never taken a bath, and I am none the worse for +it, thank God!” However, Gazius, not to come to logger-heads +with the ancients, or the Arabs, or his colleagues, goes +so far as to acknowledge that cold water is in use “in very +distinguished countries”; for his part, he sees nothing +objectionable in a douche followed by brisk friction or +massage.</p> + +<p>But we must get to the bottom of this matter, a question +of morals rather than hygiene.</p> + +<p>We have unexpectedly come upon principles which we +recognise as old acquaintances. Neither preachers nor +Calvinists were willing to admit that any consideration of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>utility could induce a self-respecting woman to strip herself +of all, or nearly all, her clothes, either in the open air as in +ancient times, or in one of those public bathing establishments +which were cried every day in the market-places +between the artichokes and the cheese,⁠<a id="FNanchor_222" href="#Footnote_222" class="fnanchor">[222]</a> and where +the authorities winked at certain familiarities. Many +historians have concluded outright that Calvinists and +preachers had a horror of water; but this is not strictly +accurate; they recommended baths at home. Thus the +council of Basle passed a canon inviting persons to set bath-rooms +in their houses. The platonists fell in the more +heartily with the council’s recommendation in that they +treated their bodies with sacerdotal attentions, so to speak, +and that no refinement appeared to them unreasonable in +forging the weapon of delightful love. Some discriminating +women preferred dry methods to water—powders, pastes, +scraping of the skin, which enabled them to say “that +they did not wash their hands”; but the majority owed a +great deal to water, and the room devoted to this work of +regeneration was a sanctuary. The little bath-rooms of the +18th or the beginning of the 19th century, hung all round +with mirrors, are familiar to us. The idolatry of the 16th +century was less blatant but not less ardent; Raphael himself +decorated Bibbiena’s bath-room, and, as we know, the +subject chosen by the charming prelate for his frescoes was +the story of Venus and Cupid.</p> + +<p>In one of her most amusing letters Madame de Sévigné +bewails the necessity of taking shower-baths at Vichy, +which she regarded as a “humiliating” situation to be in. +To give herself courage, she conceived the singular idea of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>keeping her two maids with her, so that she might “see +familiar faces.” At the same time, she got her physician, a +man of parts, to conceal himself behind a curtain, so that she +might chat with him during the operation.</p> + +<p>We do not know what the impressions of Madame de +Sévigné’s descendants are, but we know that her ancestresses +were on this point extremely fastidious. Margaret of France, +not to lose sight of the story of the chaste Susanna, had it +embroidered on a table-cover.</p> + +<p>We get an idea, then, of the cautious attitude adopted in +regard to hydrotherapeutics. But on the other hand the +friends of antiquity restored water to a place of honour; +scholars proved that the Romans had been devoted to it; +the higher clergy became its apostles. George of Amboise +and his brothers multiplied the spas at Rouen, Blois, Gaillon, +Clermont, as the pope did at Rome.</p> + +<p>In regard to mineral springs, there appeared, under the +auspices of the pope and the Venetian senate, a large folio +official guide,⁠<a id="FNanchor_223" href="#Footnote_223" class="fnanchor">[223]</a> which explained that there were waters for +all sick bodies as there were saints for all sick souls,⁠<a id="FNanchor_224" href="#Footnote_224" class="fnanchor">[224]</a> but +that no one should venture to them without seeking advice +in the proper quarter.</p> + +<p>A person wishing to go to the waters would consult a +physician. If he was a specialist like Savonarola, he would +look at everything with aquatic prepossessions, and commence +his patient’s initiation at home with baths of various kinds—baths +of oil, of wine, of milk, of fire, of compressed air. +One fine morning he would announce that mineral waters +were spoilt in transit, that he was tired of making the patient +drink stale water, and he would then dispatch him to some +natural spring.</p> + +<p>Most of the Italian springs, at any rate such as were much +frequented, had the good taste to flow in or near a city, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>thus people were likely to meet familiar faces, if only among +the regular visitors. Under Louis XII., the city of Genoa +revolted because its French captain, the Sire de Roquebertin, +instead of attending to business, tiresome certainly, passed +his life at the waters of Acqui.</p> + +<p>A lady of distinction, however, first of all secured a good +escort to keep her company; Margaret of France, for +instance, carried her whole party off to Cauterets. Then +she had to listen to the parting exhortation of her doctor, a +punctilious and intelligent man, who apparently had no +excessive confidence in his colleagues or his fair client, and +who catechised her and made her read the folio. He +mentioned eight enemies lying in wait for her—headache, +insomnia, and the rest;—he instructed her how, by watchfully +studying her little secret vices and never for a moment forgetting +her digestion, and so on, she would put them to +rout. Then he carefully consulted the horoscope, the direction +of the wind, the temperature, his chart of epidemics; +he assured himself as to the character of the year (for +there were some years in which the waters killed off the +invalids or made them worse), and finally he pronounced +the <i>exeat</i>.</p> + +<p>Flinging off this wet blanket with his terrestrial visions, +the patient sped away. Pity if it was towards Porretta, +near Bologna, a very popular haunt but dreadfully purgative. +However, the spirit of Beauty can idealise everything, +and an agreeable poet, Battista of Mantua, undertook to +show all the moral and aesthetic satisfaction to be got in +drinking three glasses of a laxative water, and then leaving +Nature to herself.</p> + +<p>He describes this regimen in admirable verses:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Far from the bed and all its joys,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You go and come and eke advance</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the slow measure of a stately dance,”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">and so on.</p> + +<p>In fact, the idea of becoming young again, the thought of +gaining new freedom of mind, new warmth of heart, new +suppleness of the bodily frame by sacrifices so slight, of +seeing the wrinkles vanish of themselves, in short the +pursuit of beauty as a bounden duty, threw the glamour of +poetry over many things, and was well worth the self-imposition +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>of twenty-one days of hardship. For all that, +fashionable people preferred the bathing-places to the spas.</p> + +<p>Life at such places presented the admirable advantage +that people could there enjoy the most perfect liberty. +Nowhere were there better opportunities for seeing one’s +friends, for intimate conversation, for deriving real profit +from companionship. It was that which made this life so +precious. A man who had followed in the train of the +princess he loved had absolutely nothing to do but to +devote himself to her, for he put up with the rubbings and +purgings only as a sop to his conscience. What delightful +opportunities between two glasses of water to improve the +mind or tell stories! Many collections of <i>Novelli</i> originated +near a spring. It was during a season at Lucca, in April +1538, that Vittoria Colonna made the acquaintance of +Carnesecchi, the adventurous theologian, and launched out +with him into the abstrusest religious speculations. Everyone +followed his own bent, and the gentlemen who did not +love husbands were less irked there than elsewhere.</p> + +<p>We shall not go so far as to say that platonism exercised +undivided sway over the bathers;⁠<a id="FNanchor_225" href="#Footnote_225" class="fnanchor">[225]</a> but to have a place at +all was something gained. There is no indication that a +much purer virtue reigned north of the Alps among the +virtuous races. The goings-on at Baden in Aargau scandalised +even Brantôme. A Florentine,⁠<a id="FNanchor_226" href="#Footnote_226" class="fnanchor">[226]</a> who thought life at +Florence pleasant enough, has related his impressions at +Baden with a naïve stupefaction; he was dumbfounded the +very moment he arrived. The beautiful platonism of his +own province, flanked always by jealous husbands and +<i>impedimenta</i> of all sorts, appeared to him mere food for +babes, a phantom, a faded flower, an unsubstantial pageant, +beside those Piccadilly manners. But they did not offend +him: “Bravo!” he cries, “who wouldn’t be platonic, since +Plato preaches the community of women? Here the +husbands take everything, absolutely everything, in good +part! How wonderfully sensible of them! These Germans +don’t rack themselves for suspicions, they enjoy the present.” +And then, Florentine as he is, he goes on to describe the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>charms of Baden with genuine enthusiasm: the handsome +streets in which never a sign of infirmity is to be seen +(Baden was recommended to childless women); exquisite +fine ladies; men in cloth of gold and silver; somewhat +exotic beauties sprung from God knows where, attended by +a lackey and one or two waiting-maids; here and there a +few noble abbesses of reasonable piety.... What a +whirl! It is one mad race for pleasure!</p> + +<p>Serious people who take care of themselves and desire a +cure, have two or three baths a day, living like so many +ducks. For ordinary folk there are common swimming-baths +of wonderful picturesqueness, but every respectable +hostel possesses one bath for men, and another for women, +with a gallery to which men are admitted in their dressing-gowns. +To describe the gaiety that reigns there is +impossible. There is chatting and laughter, eating and +drinking, dancing in a ring; the gentlemen fling down +coins which the fair bathers catch with the tips of their +fingers or in their linen chemisettes, with much contortioning +and struggling. Sometimes, when the company are +on intimate terms, they end by fraternising in a single +tank, which is much more amusing, and pleases the +physicians, because nothing ensures more conscientious +bathing. <i>Honi soit qui mal y pense!</i></p> + +<p>In the evening a broad meadow serves as a casino; there +is more dancing and singing: and these amusements are +mingled with various pastimes such as the game of <i>balle +à grelots</i>,⁠<a id="FNanchor_227" href="#Footnote_227" class="fnanchor">[227]</a> which leads to all sorts of horse-play.</p> + +<p>That is Baden.</p> + +<p>One singular fact is brought out. Platonism was regarded +as nothing if not complex and elaborate, and indeed it +believed itself to be such; antiplatonism, on the contrary, +affected airs of the most complete simplicity: yet whenever +the two are confronted, it is platonism that proves the +more ingenuous.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_II_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br> +<span class="smaller">INTELLECTUAL RESOURCES</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>It is all very well for a woman to be beautiful, to lend +grace to the world, to diffuse sweetness and light; but this +would be but a vain show if she did not with jealous care +nourish in herself the flame of love of the Beautiful. +Castiglione, who liked to give a mathematical precision to +his definitions, tells us: “Woman must nourish herself on +the life of the world and the life of the arts”—thus in +appearance relegating the aesthetic life to a second place; +but he is very careful to add: “She must occupy herself +with literature, music, painting, dancing, and entertaining”; +in other words, the heart must reverse the parts, and in the +conscience secret preoccupations must come before visible +occupations, His view is logical. How could women +govern the world if they were in reality its slaves? The +first necessity for a lighthouse is a light.</p> + +<p>Further, we ourselves have a right to ask where these +ladies think of leading us. Their art consists in pleasing us +and in indoctrinating us with their principles. To please is +their secret, with which we do not meddle; it is of little +consequence to know if Lucretia Borgia cut out her own +dresses, where and by whom Mary Stuart had her hats +made, or if women always please by what pleases their +husbands. But when they speak of ruling our intelligence, +it becomes of very great importance to know how they will +deal with us.</p> + +<p>The intellectual provision of the Renaissance women consisted +chiefly of impressions of art, in accordance with +Castiglione’s prescription. In this, painting (still more the +inferior manual arts—lace-making, embroidery, tapestry) +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>held the lowest rank, on the principle universally accepted +in the platonic world that the less an art needs the co-operation +of the senses to touch the soul, the greater is its +excellence. Music stood higher than painting, because it +directly transmits an impression; vocal music in particular +represents almost the speech of soul to soul, with but an +insignificant admixture of materiality. Poetry was the +supreme art, the truly aristocratic thing; no one would +have dreamt of comparing it to painting or any manual +art. The poet with one stroke paints soul and body; in +Ronsard’s words, “he paints in the heavens.”</p> + +<p>To lay in her stock of happiness, a woman will begin by +living in close communion with the Beautiful. Sciences are +useless to her; she has little taste, and still less time, for their +cultivation. But just as she finds breakfast a necessity, so +she ought every morning to give her soul nourishment, if it +be only one sip of the beautiful. Louise of Savoy on +rising used to read a psalm, “to perfume her day,” as she +put it. These few moments’ reading were sufficient to flood +her soul with a radiance to light her through the day.</p> + +<p>Further, reading is a duty having special claims on +women. Not only is there always some new thing to learn, +some new chord to touch, but the intellectual life demands +a constant outgoing of energy,—I will venture to say, a continual +“education.” Could a tree flourish and bear fruit if +it refused to suck up its sap? How long would it be before +it stood a bare skeleton against the sky?</p> + +<p>Thus, with complete independence of mind, as great as +her material liberty but much more difficult to acquire, a +woman will supply herself with spiritual food; she will seek +Beauty in truth stripped of all conventions. The real foe to +women’s freedom is not this or that man, but themselves, +because of their frivolity, their inconsequence, and their +innate passion for the superficial; in other words, for the +conventional or fashionable. They need a real force of soul +to go deeply into anything; they are perfectly happy in +yielding to the glitter of a thought which, though obscure +at bottom, is dazzling on the surface. When the taste for +precision has not been carefully instilled into them in childhood, +they run a great risk of wasting their minds in habits +of cursory curiosity, like many men of the world.</p> + +<p>Books played a prominent part in the psychology of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span>Renaissance. They were regarded as the highest type of +luxury; a house was characterised as much by its library as +by its plate. Among the ladies, Anne of Brittany, Louise +of Savoy, and many others are essentially deserving of the +name of bibliophiles, nobly loving the beautiful books with +beautiful miniatures produced for them. They were even +accused of reading them. In that epoch, the artistic aroma +exhaled from a fine edition seemed necessarily to accentuate +the written thought, just as music accentuated the uttered +thought. We have become wiser; we have discovered that +beautiful books are herbariums in which ideas must be left +to dry, for their better preservation.</p> + +<p>There was no lack of scoffers to make mock of this +“bookish sufficiency.” “What a heap of books!... +These folk must surely mean to carry the world on their +backs! What a frittering away of intellectuality!” And, +indeed, Margaret of France not only believed in books, but +doted on them; to her a library seemed a sanctuary.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Tant y en a que le seul remembrer</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et les nommer n’est pas en ma puissance,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mais il faisoit beau voir leur ordonnance ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et du scavoir qui est dedans</div> + <div class="verse indent0">J’en laisse aux folz craindre les accidens ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Des livres fiz ung pillier, et sembloit</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Que sa grandeur terre et ciel assembloit.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_228" href="#Footnote_228" class="fnanchor">[228]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>We writers think it natural enough that people should +buy our books, keep them, and even cut a few pages; if it +is women who show us this attention, we do not complain. +We dig away in darkness under the soil, labouring like a +miner with his pick; why should we complain that above +us, in the bright sunshine, someone sifts and mints our +metal, and circulates part of it through the world?</p> + +<p>It is even a not wholly disagreeable surprise to meet in +an odd place here and there one’s own ideas, which have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>flitted away and found warm foster-parents in people who +have so far adopted them as to believe them their own. +Sometimes it is another writer who is good enough to +saddle himself with them thus, and in that case our feeling +is not perhaps unalloyed pleasure; but if it is a reader, man +or woman, we are well rewarded. Often, too, our idea as it +goes round has altered in feature, and if it now and then +appears to us enfeebled, it also happens sometimes to have +gained strength.</p> + +<p>Everyone cannot be a writer! ‘Amateurs’ have a rôle of +their own, which is not that of ‘stickit’ authors—a rôle +of synthesis, generalisation, criticism, support, sanction!</p> + +<p>The end we pursue—thought, namely, and truth—can +only be attained by the aid of conversation,—only if distinguished +and enthusiastic women set themselves to distil +from our books any good they may contain, and to diffuse +its essence around them.</p> + +<p>From this almost indispensable collaboration between +pure learning and its popular interpretation results a +vigorous life. As Madame d’Haussonville has so well said: +“An eager desire for knowledge possessed the entire sixteenth +century. The quick and supple intellect of the +women was carried away in the general current. Erudition +was the passion of the age, not that cold and microscopic +erudition which arises in ages of decadence, and which is +often only the useless lumber of scholastic pedantry, but an +erudition living, intelligent, and animated”—animated, that +is by aestheticism.</p> + +<p>By the side of exquisites like Bembo, laborious students +like Lefèvre d’Etaples, Hebraists, and exegetists cultivating +their little patch with dogged tenacity, there were brilliant +minds, perhaps more brilliant than profound, but unprejudiced, +who synthetised particular studies and started them +on an unlooked-for career. For the Hebraists, exegetists, +philosophers, and historians of every description, the spread +of intelligence would of course have been fatal; but it was +the <i>raison d’être</i> of a lady whose mission was to put in +circulation the results of her individual study.</p> + +<p>Thus the aim which women had to set before themselves +in their reading was twofold: first, a personal, aesthetic +aim, the reinvigoration and refreshment of their own souls; +secondly, an aim relating to their apostolic mission, the art +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>of understanding men’s souls, then of charming and leading +them by means of conversation.</p> + +<p>But it is impossible, by merely scanning a man’s bookshelves, +to form an idea of the man. In great houses, the +king’s, for example, some of the books were inherited, others +were presents, others were books that no gentleman’s library +could have been without. Francis I. bought the Italian +novelties, Bembo, Pontanus, and Politian. In reality his +chief reading was the Arthurian romances.</p> + +<p>The princesses had also, besides the books of the hour, +books that they had been obliged to buy or accept, books +left to them—those which were kept “for their backs,” as +Montaigne said. The bookshelves made a brilliant display +in a spacious gallery adorned with the choicest objects of +art. The bulk of the library usually consisted of books on +the elements of religion, history, and morals; it also contained +romances, poetry, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and books +with engravings, which too often replaced those charming +manuscripts of which Louise of Savoy was one of the last +protectors.</p> + +<p>The books that were read were treatises on history, +especially Roman history, and on practical medicine.⁠<a id="FNanchor_229" href="#Footnote_229" class="fnanchor">[229]</a> But +custom varied.</p> + +<p>Certain ladies, like Anne of France, browsed on the early +fathers, the philosophers, and the moralists. Many, while +loving studies of this kind and calling themselves highly +philosophic, preferred to have their food peptonised, and to +be furnished with ready-made convictions which only +required ventilating and disseminating in conversation. A +number of Italian treatises proffered themselves for this +little service, the best of which was Castiglione’s book, <i>The +Courtier</i>. To name Castiglione is to name the Bible of +platonism, the code of aestheticism, the Machiavelli of anti-machiavelism; +Castiglione was in the hands of every +woman who meditated on the ideal.</p> + +<p>From a purely aesthetic standpoint the classics were in +favour, except Virgil, to whom only the Mantuans remained +faithful, probably from local feeling. Ovid, who speaks +so well and so much about women, ranked very high. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>He had been popularised in France by the translations +of Octovien de Saint-Gelais and André de la Vigne; +illustrated editions went off rapidly, even though the +engravings were old. In the very highest artistic spheres, +people swore by Cicero.⁠<a id="FNanchor_230" href="#Footnote_230" class="fnanchor">[230]</a> In Margaret of France’s circle the +favourite names were Terence and Cicero, Castiglione and +Boccaccio.</p> + +<p>On the reading days, which were principally (we are +bound to say) the grey days of existence, when one feels +abandoned by God and men, when one is left to “one’s own +devices,” people rather sought for light entertainment, if +possible gently emotional, or at any rate lively, cheering, +affecting. The Bible was very useful for getting glimpses +of Heaven without having to run to a monk or a parson, +for an intelligent woman cared for nothing lower than a +bishop. If they wanted psychology, they went to poetry, +novels, romances. A mere sonnet, a little story, very short +but with movement and savour, would suffice to cure a +casual fit of dumps; in more complicated cases they took +up some voluminous romance, which engrossed the attention +for long hours and reflected life for the nonce in warm and +sunny hues.</p> + +<p>The literature of the Renaissance was well provided +with <i>Nouvelles</i> and <i>Facéties</i>, answering all the demands for +spiced and piquant reading made even by the platonist +ladies.</p> + +<p>They revelled in such works with no touch of coyness; it +was a mark of breeding to discuss them, laugh at them, and +quote from them. Often some courtly abbé, the spiritual +director of these ladies, and soon to be a full-blown +bishop, undertook explanation or translation.</p> + +<p>Some persons have questioned whether the custom of +reading narratives so strongly spiced did not in the long run +obliterate the moral sense, especially among women. Brantôme +maintains that this was the cause of all moral obliquities. +Margaret of France did not believe it; her faith in +art was so ardent that she regarded it as a proof of mental +vigour to face all sorts of literature without blenching. +Her friend Marot told her so with a smile, for in the contest +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>between flesh and spirit he held with the flesh; he mentions +a select list of the works reputed the most naughty, and +adds:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Tout cela est bonne doctrine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et n’y a rien de deffendu!⁠<a id="FNanchor_231" href="#Footnote_231" class="fnanchor">[231]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Margaret, brought up on Saint-Gelais and Boccaccio, was +in truth inoculated. Further, like some other women of +narrow mysticism, she was not afraid of contrasts;—soul and +body in opposite pans of the scale, Petrarch as a corrective +to Boccaccio, and vice versa. Good humour and gaiety +were part of the platonist hygiene, and ladies took them +where they found them. Coarse pleasantries did not amuse, +as a German⁠<a id="FNanchor_232" href="#Footnote_232" class="fnanchor">[232]</a> who had spent great pains in writing a <i>Eulogy +of Baldness</i> frankly confessed. “We are ridiculous even +when we write of serious things, but we are never gay. +When we try to be jocular it is, in the words of the proverb, +like setting an elephant to dance.” Professed humorous +writers are such bores!—a crusty old philosopher like Nifo, +to wit, or that excellent La Perrière, a friend of Margaret, who +dedicated his lascivious verses, his <i>Hundred Considerations +of Love</i>, to a clerk in the Woods and Forests!</p> + +<p>There was no help for it, ladies had to return to Boccaccio, +since amusement was his monopoly! The chance discovery +of a by no means remarkable unpublished fragment of +Boccaccio covered Claricio of Imola with glory, and was +published at the expense of a Milanese Maecenas, Andrea +Calvi, under the auspices of Leo X. and Francis I. Castiglione +and Margaret were not disposed to attack such a +renown: their ambition was to eclipse it. Margaret had a +fresh translation of Boccaccio made. She herself, as we +know, was ambitious to imitate the master; and to do so +was really a profitable business: by donning Boccaccio’s +mantle Firenzuola became a dignitary of the church, and +Bandello became bishop of Nérac; while a common saddler, +Nicolas, gained the favour of the king. The test of skill +was to tell true stories under transparent pseudonyms. +Yet Louise of Savoy was almost as fond of the Acts of the +Apostles.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span></p> + +<p>The Facétie had a less brilliant fate. Poggio and Cornazano, +always dear to the ladies, handed down many of their +stories to imitators like Domenichi, Delicado, Boistuau, who +in their turn passed them on to Shakespeare, La Fontaine, +and others.</p> + +<p>The old romance continued in high favour—a favour that +was so far merited in that the romance combined with the +sentimentalism of chivalry sufficient spiciness to induce a +good lady to leave it lying on her table. Women doted on +the venerable romance of cloak and sword,⁠<a id="FNanchor_233" href="#Footnote_233" class="fnanchor">[233]</a> long, diffuse, and +heroic; it had long ago captured Italy. It delighted +princesses by its idealism, and peasant girls by its flavour of +mystery and marvel. When the efflorescence of humanism, +aestheticism and the new ideas was at its height, the +<i>Romaunt of the Rose</i> made its reappearance, and year in, +year out men saw defiling past, as though resuscitated by +some terrible incantation, all the old knights of ecstatic or +sorrowful countenance, the champions of the Holy Grail and +of Melusina—Lancelot of the Lake and Perceforest, Fier-à-bras +and Percival, Ponthus, Meliadus, Pierre de Provence, +all that Gothic world which was believed to be dead and +buried. With them they brought their friends and relatives—<i>The +Fair Elaine</i>, <i>Theseus</i>, <i>The Destruction of Troy</i>, <i>The +Doughty Hector</i>, <i>Oedipus</i>, <i>Alexander the Great</i>, these +worthy, up to a certain point, of rubbing shoulders with +Plato; but also <i>Baudouin</i>, <i>Le Grant Voyage de Jherusalem</i>, +<i>La Conqueste de Trébisonde</i>, in an age when people troubled +themselves very little about Crusades! Even the Italians +went mad over Charlemagne. It was like an electric spark—a +reciprocal attraction. France lost her heart to Italy, +and Italy opened wide her arms to France; the women of +the south, the men of the north. In vain did the platonist +men ridicule the event; in vain did their spokesman, Pulci, +at the court of Lorenzo de’ Medici, the sanctuary of platonism, +empty the vials of their wrath and give the paladins a +terribly hot time of it; nothing could stem the tide, and a +romance—a shockingly bad one—entitled <i>I reali di Francia</i>, +became the germ of a whole new literature.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span></p> + +<p>Men succumbed to this craze because the women drove +them to it. Besides, nations, like widows, love the dear +departed. Since chivalry had ceased to exist, people naturally +swore by nothing else. The more our activities decline, +the more we gloat over the memory of past excesses. +Charlemagne, then, filled the horizon; doting looks were +cast at rusty old sword-blades, and while works of quite +charming beauty left women almost unmoved, spectres had +only to appear, to vanquish them. Sometimes these showed +themselves naked and unadorned, in all the strange dignity +of their powerful frames; at other times an intelligent editor +paid some attention to their toilet, smartened them up, +decked them with little rosettes of pink or blue. How +many times was <i>Amadis</i>, perhaps the most famous of these +romances, thus tittivated! No one remembered that France +had given it birth; it was re-imported into France by way +of Spain and Italy through a translation of Herberay des +Essarts, with fabulous success: “Any one who spoke ill of +the Amadis romances would have been a hissing and a by-word.” +Out of four books it grew into a dozen; it might +well have lengthened itself indefinitely, like some law-suits +in our own time.</p> + +<p>These old romances are to-day scarcely known except by +scholars. If we open any one of them at hazard—<i>Lancelot +of the Lake</i> for instance, one of the most classic⁠<a id="FNanchor_234" href="#Footnote_234" class="fnanchor">[234]</a>—we find +that the colouring is crude. Side by side with mystic +virginities we see the reek of coarse appetites. Wives +and maidens have blood in their veins, and, like all persons +of rather primitive education, do nothing by halves; her +husband has only to turn his back for a moment and queen +Guinevere is feeling her way towards a reconciliation with +Lancelot (bearded like the pard), and the gallant knight +has no need to supplicate to get the window opened. +Sir Gawain holds very brief parley with the daughter of +the king of North Wales, when he surprises her extended +on her ermine couch in a virginal but ravishing deshabille! +Arthur very quickly forgets Queen Guinevere amid the +solace brought him in his cell by a damsel “courteous and +fair of speech.”</p> + +<p>As it mixed in the best platonist society, the old romance +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>of chivalry picked up more refined manners. King Arthur +ends by gathering about him a noble enough company; +Roland leaves Charlemagne in the lurch, to hasten after his +well-beloved; and (horror of horrors!) Angelica philanders +prettily with a Saracen page! The old torrential romance +ended like the Rhone—fell into a tranquil lake.</p> + +<p>And yet the dignitaries of the church invariably denounced +it, and had the courage to break with the women +on this point. They countenanced neither the old masters +nor the new—the eloquent Cataneo, the gay Boiardo. +Nothing disarmed their opposition—neither the success of +romances like <i>La Célestine</i>,⁠<a id="FNanchor_235" href="#Footnote_235" class="fnanchor">[235]</a> nor blandishments. When +Ariosto offered to Cardinal d’Este his masterpiece packed +with dithyrambs in honour of all the Estes past, present, +and to be, the amiable prelate said to him: “Where on +earth did you get all this nonsense?”⁠<a id="FNanchor_236" href="#Footnote_236" class="fnanchor">[236]</a></p> + +<p>In short, women who read, read what spoke of love: that +was what they set store by. Philosophy spoke of love—they +were philosophers; romances, facéties, novels, poetry +spoke of love—they sipped also of that philosophy. But in +some cases it was philosophy that bred the spirit of love, in +other cases it was the spirit of love that led them to +philosophy; and from this wide differences resulted.</p> + +<p>The first class were coldly sentimental,—but no real sway +is exerted through coldness; they lived in the absolute,—but +the absolute lends no governing force. They lost touch +with things, they had nothing of the communicable warmth +which makes apostles. They were princesses, sacred beings, +to be admired but not touched.</p> + +<p>Plato had not evolved a practical rule for happiness, and +his best friends agreed that his social ideas presented many +chimerical sides.</p> + +<p>But the ladies who learnt their philosophy from love +were the ardent, active women who knew that the world is +swayed by passions, good or bad, and that the secret of +feminine power lies far more in that than in any amount of +reasoning. Reason may produce an artless blissfulness, but +passion has lynx eyes. Love is not reasoned out or manufactured, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span>it is a give and take; life also is only a perpetual +exchange, and happiness comes from life, while Plato seeks +it in self-contemplation and egoism. To act on another, one +must be acted on; to make others happy we must gain +happiness through others. An illogical process? What if +it is? Nothing is more illogical and more relative than +happiness, since it has to do with us. That is for many +women the science of life, and they love romances as a +pictorial philosophy—not cold precept, but a living force—a +philosophy in which the heart cries out instead of +patiently suffering dissection.</p> + +<p>Books appealed to the feelings. Poggio tells the story of +a worthy man, a merchant and a Milanese, and therefore +doubly unemotional, who almost died of grief after reading +about the death of Roland: yet Roland had been dead seven +hundred years! Much more were women justified in showing +their sensibility!</p> + +<p>So, when they read, they attached the highest value to +the external forms which produce impressions: they were +affected more by these than by ideas. The wife of +Guillaume Budé declared that she loved her husband’s +books, not for their contents, but because she regarded them +as his offspring. Women adored magnificence of expression—the +rhetoric, the rhythm, the “gay trimmings” of style; +poetry seemed to them the supreme enchantment, because +it answered at once to their personal craving for “sensibility” +and to their mission, which consisted precisely in +sowing a little charm in life, that is, in garnishing life +externally with a little poetry.</p> + +<p>However, what they called poetry we should rather call +music. Poetry in those days was only a perpetual libretto; +there was rhythm and cadence in the arrangement of the +words, and the impression they gave was a musical one. +Perfect clearness was not insisted on; the thought was +allowed to remain in semi-obscurity, like a melody flowing +uncertainly through a strain of music, rather betrayed than +revealed by the harmony. Our great Lamartine, with his +lofty but indefinite thought, has been regarded even by us +as the first of poets. On the other hand, the aim of musical +melody was boldly to seize all these words, to give them a +precise value, intensity, brilliance, and force. The employment +chiefly, or indeed exclusively, of human voices brought +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span>this quality still further into prominence; the delicate +modulations of the voice, thrown out with matchless skill, +seemed to outline the very soul of the singer, like traceries +against the sky.</p> + +<p>The admirable inspirations of Vittoria and her predecessors +will never cease to touch us. In that old idealistic +music there lies a whole intangible world; our vows, our +love, our poignant sorrows, our prayers gush forth in it like +a fountain, flash like a bursting rocket in the sky: “God +has given us nothing more pleasant, nothing more sweet,” +exclaimed a poet: “music is a messenger from heaven, the +solace of all our woes.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_237" href="#Footnote_237" class="fnanchor">[237]</a></p> + +<p>The sonnets of Petrarch were set to music and sung; +they had indeed been composed for that purpose. Teodoro +Riccio furnished an accompaniment to the famous romance, +<i>Italia mia</i>, and Ciprian van Rore one to the sonnet, +<i>Fontana di dolore, Albergo d’ira</i>. Ronsard, too, wrote his +sonorous rhymes for music; Baïf, as is well known, went so +far as to propose to turn writing into a sort of notation, +and when his academy was instituted, composers of music +and even mere singers were admitted on equal footing with +poets. The art of music consisted in giving to thought all +the external beauty of which it was capable. Philosophers +counted metrical music (in other words, poetry) or vocal +music as a part of philosophy. The art thus intellectualised +became quite a religion. In his painting of Parnassus at +the Vatican, Raphael shows us Apollo singing like an +ancient bard. In all the pictures of Paradise that we have +seen we have never found a palette, or a sculptor’s point, +or even a rostrum or an inkstand; nothing but direct and +pure communion with God through contemplation and +music. And what could be more delicious than the little +choirs of angels which Giovanni Bellini’s imagination placed +at the feet of his Madonnas, like an incense of homage from +the world! Melozzo gives a queen an organ as her emblem,⁠<a id="FNanchor_238" href="#Footnote_238" class="fnanchor">[238]</a> +and Titian one to his Venuses. Music would seem to have +been the very breath of happiness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span></p> + +<p>The common people themselves were strangely enamoured +of intellectual harmonies. In Italy a number of poets spent +their life in the market-places, like Homer. Aurelio Brandiolini, +for example, who sang in the squares of Verona the +praises of antique heroes, went on, stimulated by popular +applause, to execute veritable <i>tours de force</i>, such as singing +in verse the thirty-seven books of Pliny’s <i>Natural History</i>. +The celebrated Bernardo Accolti wandered from town to +town giving recitals in the principal squares. The moment +he arrived, people flocked about him, business was suspended, +far-distant shops were shut, lights began to appear on the +balconies, and the police hastened up to keep order. +Making way through the crowd by favour, the notables +formed up round the poet as a guard of honour; and then, +under the lamp of some sleeping Madonna, amid breathless +silence, the poet’s voice arose towards the starry sky, singing +love to the accompaniment of a guitar.</p> + +<p>Nothing more truly characterises the period than this +popular passion for musicians, poets, and buffoons. Far +from becoming degraded by contact with the mob, poetry +seemed thereby to gain in breadth. A pure Virgilian named +Andrea Marone (Virgil’s surname) never felt at ease unless +sitting on a stone post; in that position inspiration seized +him like an ancient sibyl or a fakir; his veins dilated, drops +of sweat stood on his brow, his whole being expressed itself +in gestures which gave emphasis to his song, lightning flashed +from his eyes; it seemed as though a part of his individuality +left him and shed itself upon his audience like a rain +of fire.</p> + +<p>Almost all women were fond of music, for men were very +accessible to ear-charming sound. Even in France, in spite +of the poverty of aesthetic education, the villages harboured +a surprising number of harpists and taborers. The duchess +of Orleans patronised at Blois a crowd of more or less +official “gitternists,” fiddlers, and trumpeters, without +reckoning strolling guitarists, always sure of a warm +welcome. Like all the princesses she had her private band, +and also two taborers, magnificent in their crimson badge,—so +magnificent that during her lyings-in she had them +to play at the foot of her bed. It was a great sorrow to +her to have to dismiss, from a prudent motive of economy, +the ducal choir and even one of the taborers; Pierre de +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>Vervel, once her master of music, always remained her +friend.</p> + +<p>We have in a former volume shown Louise of Savoy, a +cithara in her hand, surrounded by a harp, an organ, and a +complete orchestra. Louise Labé approved of young girls +devoting to music the best part of their time. It was +incomprehensible how any lady who possessed this divine +means of fascination⁠<a id="FNanchor_239" href="#Footnote_239" class="fnanchor">[239]</a> could neglect it; when a Mademoiselle +de Hauteville had to be pressed to display her magnificent +voice, her false modesty was censured as a sort of professional +error. Mary of England, accompanying herself on +a guitar, used to sing of a morning to Louis XII., her +doddering old husband, and the poor prince felt himself +revived, such “wondrous pleasure did he take therein.” +Margaret of France, who has left us thousands of verses, +evidently betook herself to poetry as nowadays we go to +the piano, to let her thoughts wander at large; instead of +singing with her lips, she sang with her pen. It is highly +probable that many ladies abandoned themselves thus +to their inspirations, half music, half poetry.</p> + +<p>Sometimes people had too much of it. It was irritating +to meet certain people perpetually humming a refrain. As +soon as you entered a drawing-room, you saw an instrument +looming menacingly before you, and you had to perform. +And then, how many amateurs would do better to muzzle +themselves than to go quavering out their little songs!</p> + +<p>Music also was charged with enervating effects; some +went so far as to call it an art of decadence, and maintained +that the ancient Medes had perished through love of music. +Castiglione almost gets into a passion on this subject. +“What! Music effeminating! But, I ask you, were not +Alexander, Socrates, Epaminondas, Themistocles musicians? +Lycurgus was almost one! Did the harp prevent Achilles +from shedding blood—if that is what you are driving at? +Effeminating! Why, without music how can you praise +God? What would comfort the sunburnt labourer at his +plough, the peasant woman at her wheel, the sailor in the +storm, the traveller on his weary way, the nurse in her +tiring night-watches by a cradle? Music, on the contrary, +is the charm of life—its light, its sunny grace! No art +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span>responds better to the demands of our emotional nature, +none more liberally brings us vivid and various impressions. +It softens, calms, penetrates us, it moves, indeed enraptures +us; it raises us to heaven with the rapid, vehement, urgent +beating of its wings!”</p> + +<p>Castiglione almost regards music as love itself: they were +to him such nearly related terms that we cannot be sure but +that in his opinion song was more excellent than love.</p> + +<p>In regard to what was expected of it, namely, a little +happiness, music was a performance of feeling rather than of +skill. Notes a little venturesome or even imperfect were +pardoned if they blended, and had resonance and passion. +People would boldly attack and smoothly carry to its +conclusion a two-part fugue. The ideal was to hear in +a drawing-room a pure and mellow voice, supported by +a single lute; or rather to see the voice, for the lute, not +an ungraceful instrument like the piano, seemed a living +thing, and became one body with the fair singer; it was one +personality thrilling with song.</p> + +<p>To idealists of the very highest order, Flemish, French, +and German music was far superior to Italian music, because +it expressed ideas, whilst Italian music barely went beyond +sentiment or even sensation. Rome herself fell a willing +victim to the northern races.⁠<a id="FNanchor_240" href="#Footnote_240" class="fnanchor">[240]</a> Among many distinguished +and often admirable artists, the great figure of John of +Ockeghem,⁠<a id="FNanchor_241" href="#Footnote_241" class="fnanchor">[241]</a> who died at Tours in 1495, stands out as that of +the old master who more than anyone else ennobled his art.</p> + +<p>His successor, Josquin Desprez, a Fleming trained in +the same school (the very name of which has been lost +in the loss of its tradition), and a member of the choir +of Sixtus IV., became a Roman by adoption, and only +left Rome in 1508 to proceed to Ferrara. Josquin was a +stickler for correctness and perfection, skilful in linking +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>discords and in combining independent parts. From the +dim arcana of a sanctuary his profound inspiration rose into +the clear light of day, blossoming out in soft and brilliant +colours. His phrases are like many-coloured curves of light +shot into space, describing their several parabolas without +confusion and without clashing; there is white and green +and red, but they all spring from the same flame.</p> + +<p>Many Italians censured, as fit for dreamers and doctrinaires, +the exclusive employment of the human voice. They +wished to have at least one instrument: the bass viol +(developed into our violoncello), or the viol, from which the +famous Amati, about 1540, derived the violin. It is a viol +that Raphael places in the hands of his singers, who seem to +identify themselves with the instrument with a passionate +ardour.⁠<a id="FNanchor_242" href="#Footnote_242" class="fnanchor">[242]</a></p> + +<p>In the smaller courts chamber-music was cultivated. +Happy states! Nothing took precedence of the quest for a +good musician; dilettantism reigned supreme. The court of +Ferrara was practically a conservatoire; it had a celebrated +orchestra, from which Caesar Borgia borrowed violinists when +starting for France. Care was taken that the performance +of music should take place in the most favourable circumstances +and amid the profoundest respect; there was no +question of being stacked in a hall, too hot or too cold, +of being tight wedged and sitting askew to hear music by +the hour. Lorenzo Costa depicts a very different concert-hall. +Peacefully reclining on a grassy lawn, beneath the +shade of light-foliaged trees, sheltered from sun and breeze, +the ladies form the centre; they are discoursing of pure +love. Their own sweetness seems to envelop everything. +They are crowning a lamb or an ox with flowers; the +landscape seems to spread life out into almost boundless space, +intersected by a sheet of limpid water as blue as the sky. +In the middle some persons are unobtrusively performing +music or writing verses. No one pays any attention (so +profound is the spell!) to a troop of soldiers in the distance +repelling an incursion, nor to a handsome chevalier, a solitary +and elegant figure, occupied in daintily killing a reptile, nor +to certain groups which have wandered away beneath the +leafy shade, towards the extreme verge of platonism.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span></p> + +<p>Purely instrumental music, the music of a full orchestra, +appealed to the commoner feelings; it served for dinners and +dances, as in the banquets depicted by Veronese. It represented +the voices of nature. It was best understood on the +water, and then the most staid and stolid of people found it +one of the joys of life. It was the delight of pleasure-loving +nations: “Abolish music, and we must e’en fall to +prayers.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_243" href="#Footnote_243" class="fnanchor">[243]</a> At Venice, as soon as the old cupolas, the tall +statues and the long façades—decorations for a dance in +motley—became blurred in the evening haze, the city +seemed to swim in music: a thousand bells chimed out the +<i>Ave Maria</i>; jangled sounds of serenades and concerts rose +from the palaces, the alleys, every nook and cranny; the +sea sent back its response; noisy parties lightly skimmed the +glistening surface of the Grand Canal; illuminated barges +splashed their oars under a window, with an orchestra or +band of singers. Strange intoxication! Many pious Italians, +like Alberto Pio, thought it so delightful that they loved to +transfer it into the churches. Why not? These thrilling +symphonies did not follow the sacred texts very closely, it +was said; they were not always of the highest class. “You +hear the boys whinnying, the tenors bellowing, the counters +braying, the altos bawling, the basses scraping the bottom +of a well,” and in all this the Puritans could see no trace of +deep religious feeling, “no well-modulated pronunciation, +the perfect enunciation which brings the words home +to the soul.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_244" href="#Footnote_244" class="fnanchor">[244]</a> It was a deafening, stupefying music. But if +it is necessary for our happiness that senses and emotions +should be appealed to simultaneously, why say no?</p> + +<p>Even dance music may ennoble the dance and become an +element of enthusiasm, peace, and joy. This was admirably +expressed by one Madame de Sillé. A canon sitting beside +her was laughing at the sight of men leaping about, while +another was bursting his lungs blowing into a hollow stick. +“What!” she said, “aren’t you aware then of the power of +music? The sound from this stick penetrates the mind, the +mind directs the body, and these buffooneries are the expression +of the soul! Would you prefer to play at tennis?” +The canon held his tongue, more especially as he caught +oblique glances in his direction, and had premonitions of +being dragged into the dance by way of reprisal. Even from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span>all this racket of the dance—from the harps, lutes, organs, +manichords, checkers, psalteries, rebecks, guitars, tabors, bass +viols, flageolets—a measure of expression was demanded. +The harpist whom Mantegna shows us setting the Muses to +dance is throwing his whole soul into his work; he is +leading the dance.⁠<a id="FNanchor_245" href="#Footnote_245" class="fnanchor">[245]</a></p> + +<p>Here we should properly say something about the drama, +but we shall treat it briefly, seeing that in those days it was +very far from displaying the same activity as at present. In +particular, the women’s share in the drama was only that of +a section of the public. It was above all the art of the +prelates, who devoted as much care to altering its character +as the women did to preserving the old romances. Thus the +two great forces of platonism were pitted against each other—the +prelates eager to advance, the women anxious to hang +back.</p> + +<p>The drama with its modern tendencies took possession of +Italy in the 15th century, and Rome was almost its birth-place. +Pomponius Laetus, officially licensed to produce the +plays of Plautus and Terence, died a few days after +Savonarola. The ashes of the monk had been scattered +to the winds; but all Rome was eager to accompany the +remains of Laetus to Ara-Coeli, since it was a work of +true piety to increase the joy of life.</p> + +<p>The palm for dramatic art was, with one consent, awarded +to Bernardo Dovizio da Bibbiena, who had the happy notion +to shake off the yoke of translation and to write a new +piece in imitation of Plautus—the <i>Calandra</i>.</p> + +<p>Bibbiena⁠<a id="FNanchor_246" href="#Footnote_246" class="fnanchor">[246]</a> is one of the best types of this prelatic world, +which after all cannot be dissociated from the world of +women. He belonged to the inner circle of Leo X.’s friends, +having been brought up with him, though the son of a +peasant. He had a spirit and verve which, according to +Paul Jove, “carried the gravest of people off their feet.” +He was supremely in his element at the table. Moreover, +he was one of those astonishing men who live at the +same time a life of toil and of pleasure. On becoming a +cardinal he displayed vast activity—acted as legate, +preached a crusade, and died at fifty. He has left a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span>goodly number of treatises, poems, and letters; but it was +the drama that made him famous.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to describe the stir the first representation +of his <i>Calandra</i> made at Urbino, the home of platonism. +Everything was planned with the care and skill of perfect +“amateurs.”</p> + +<p>The stage represented stucco monuments and other scenic +illusions executed by such artists as that age afforded. The +auditorium, which was not marked off from the scenery, +represented fortifications, and the spectators lolled there at +their ease on excellent carpets, amid lustres and garlands of +flowers. The orchestra, placed out of sight, was heard now +on one side, now on the other.</p> + +<p>Nor had the organisers neglected any means of strengthening +the play itself by a great variety of spectacles—a prelude +played by children; a prologue; four pantomimes +between the acts, representing the story of Jason, with bulls +made of stuffed hides, their nostrils flaming, Venus +surrounded by Cupids, Neptune drawn through the flames +by fantastic monsters, Juno encircled by a flight of birds +so natural that even Castiglione, who had had them made, +for a moment believed them to be real. These pantomimes +were danced through in the cleverest fashion, with wonderful +mechanical effects. At the close a Cupid recited some verses, +concealed viols gave forth a ‘song without words,’ and a +quartette of voices concluded with a hymn to Cupid.</p> + +<p>And after all, if the ladies had not actually the direction +of this platonic entertainment, they lost nothing thereby; it +was dedicated to them, and the whole performance had for +its aim the glorification of ideal love. Such a representation +assumed an elevated and almost solemn character, similar in +kind to the performances at Bayreuth in these days.</p> + +<p>Was the <i>Calandra</i> a masterpiece? No. The plot +turned upon the difficulty of distinguishing between two +twins, brother and sister, who changed clothes as circumstances +demanded; from this Bibbiena derived risky +situations, broad jokes, and a complicated dénoûment. But +it achieved an immense success. It was represented again +at Urbino in 1513, and afterwards at the Vatican on the +occasion of a visit from Isabella d’Este. On that supreme +stage its licenses came under the fierce light of criticism, and +scandalised some of the cardinals; but on the other hand it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span>was so magnificently interpreted, it was so excellent “in +dramatic elegance, in wit, well-knit construction, and gaiety,” +that the enthusiasm was unbounded. The marchioness +Isabella did not rest till she had organised a similar +performance, an event which took place in 1520. From +that time innumerable editions popularised the <i>Calandra</i>, +which was chosen many years afterwards by the town +of Lyons for its festivities in honour of Catherine de’ +Medici.</p> + +<p>The drama of the time attained its highest perfection at +the Vatican under Leo X. The skill of the actors, all men +of fashion, their sober Attic style, without a trace of the +mere craftsman, made the drama an artistic delight. As yet +no women appeared on the stage. Their parts were sustained +by men, and in this connection we must present +to our fair readers a young prelate named Tommaso Inghirami, +who was the coryphaeus of female parts at the court +of Leo X. A Florentine and an intimate friend⁠<a id="FNanchor_247" href="#Footnote_247" class="fnanchor">[247]</a> of the +pope, who, as everyone knows, had his own portrait painted +along with Inghirami by Raphael,—so perfect a writer that +Erasmus calls him “the Cicero of the age,”—Inghirami +could have taken one of the most notable positions in this +illustrious generation if his amiable and indolent dilettantism +had not led him to believe that writing books was carried to +excess. He was satisfied with shining in conversation, and +in that he was inimitable: Bembo and Sadoleto constantly +speak of him with enthusiasm, and, moreover, in one of the +most appreciative but critical societies that ever existed, he +won for himself as a conversationalist a European renown. +If he had not the extraordinary gaiety of Bibbiena, he spoke +with dazzling passion, wit, and fire; his large coal-black +eyes have an astonishing power: looking at them, one feels +light flashing from his soul.</p> + +<p>He had an ardent love for the theatre. One day, when +playing the part of Phaedra in the <i>Hippolytus</i> of Seneca +before Cardinal St. George, he so captivated the spectators +by his distinction, and especially by his passion, that the +name of “Phaedra” became inseparably fastened to him. +He was a preacher, the learned librarian of the Vatican, the +dignified Bishop of Ragusa; but, for all that, from one end +of Europe to the other he was no longer known except +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>as “Phaedra,” or at most “Thomas Phaedra.” Only, the +name was masculinised: thus Erasmus wrote: “I knew +and loved <i>Phaedrum</i>.”</p> + +<p>Unhappily, about 1505, letters from Rome spread a +deplorable piece of news: Phaedra is putting on flesh, +Phaedra is big. “So much the better,” retorts Bembo +in Greek, “we wish she may have twins!” The portrait +in the Pitti Palace shows him to us, indeed—this superb +platonist type of the pseudo-woman—as by no means a +slender man. There is no doubt he had been handsome! +His eyes continue to flash and throw their unabated fire +towards the ceiling; he still has his fair, plump hand, +his fine mouth; and yet, seated at his table, he no longer +looks anything but a handsome prelate.</p> + +<p>Radiating from Rome under the auspices of ladies like +Isabella d’Este or connoisseurs like Ludovico Gonzaga, +bishop of Mantua, the dramatic art reigned nobly in the +courts and castles of Italy, without losing anything of +its elegant and artistic cachet. It adapted itself to all +circumstances with marvellous flexibility, ranging from +the opera-ballet played in the open air⁠<a id="FNanchor_248" href="#Footnote_248" class="fnanchor">[248]</a> to genuine comedy +and tragedy. But, like the Novels and Romances, it +assumed a licentious and even cynical character, which +everybody regarded as natural. Thus at Turin, in the early +days of Lent in the year 1537, a comedy of the most daring +kind was performed: “How warmly the ladies here received +it!” exclaims an eye-witness. At Foligno, the pontifical +prefect, a certain Orfino, superintended in person the +staging of <i>Marescalco</i>, an extremely light production of +Aretino; and soon after the performance this worthy pillar +of pontifical “tyranny” wrote to the author, begging another +piece of the same stamp. The <i>Ruffiana</i> of Salviano and +many other pieces of a salacious turn won tempestuous +applause. Some people took alarm and declared the theatre +to be a hotbed of immorality. The Senate of Venice, by +decree of December 29, 1509, forbade any performance, even +the recitation of an eclogue in a private drawing-room, +under penalty of a year’s imprisonment and exile, “irremissible,” +in the wording of the decree. (However, in a +secret addendum, the Senate reserved the right of pronouncing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span>the penalty, and by a large majority.) In spite +of this, the <i>Calandra</i> was performed at Venice in 1524 +without any difficulty arising.</p> + +<p>The Italian drama, lacking the support of the ladies, had +little success in France.⁠<a id="FNanchor_249" href="#Footnote_249" class="fnanchor">[249]</a></p> + +<p>They lived there on the old Mysteries. The performance of +these was usually got up in a convent, or by a city; and, +unlike the Italian drama, it retained a character of patriotic +and moral instruction rather than of a work of art.⁠<a id="FNanchor_250" href="#Footnote_250" class="fnanchor">[250]</a> Thus +we find Louis XII. bestowing a pardon on an <i>impresario</i> +guilty of some criminal peccadillo, on account of his excellence +in his profession.</p> + +<p>Italianists and French platonists respected this tradition. +In 1506 the town of Amboise got up a performance before +Louise of Savoy of the Mystery of the Passion, “the most +beautiful that could be discovered.” A priest played the +part of Christ; the performance lasted a week, and was so +successful that two years afterwards M. de Longueville +wished to repeat it at Châteaudun, and engaged in a somewhat +acrimonious correspondence on the subject with the +functionaries of Amboise, whom he accused of purloining +the copy. This performance was very costly; the town +took five years (which seemed an enormous period in those +days) to liquidate a debt of four thousand livres contracted +on the occasion. It does not appear that Louise of Savoy, +who was then residing at the château, contributed in any way +towards the expenses, as M. de Longueville did at Châteaudun; +but she certainly did not disapprove of it; and towards +the middle of the century it was again in the presence of a +thoroughly platonist woman, the second Margaret of France, +that the last known representations of the art of the +Mysteries are said to have taken place.</p> + +<p>With all her daring on other points, the first Margaret +maintained a remarkable attitude of reserve in regard to the +theatre. She contented herself with experiments in an +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span>intermediate style of drama,—religious comedies, a sort of +Italianised ‘morality,’ easier to produce and not so long-drawn-out +as the ancient Mysteries, yet neither very pious, +nor very amusing, nor much calculated to take the public +by storm. The result was that the drama long retained traces +of its original character. So late as the 18th century +Voltaire dedicated a tragedy to the pope, and fumed at not +being able to get it performed at Geneva. The only cosmopolitan +kind of piece was that of the farces, knockabouts,⁠<a id="FNanchor_251" href="#Footnote_251" class="fnanchor">[251]</a> +harlequinades, carnival drolleries, to which the most illustrious +platonists of Florence attached their names.⁠<a id="FNanchor_252" href="#Footnote_252" class="fnanchor">[252]</a> +Harlequin and Punch were always a success in France: +“They have something that sets you laughing without +being amused”; but they introduced nothing new. The +French farce had long been flourishing on the boards; +the Italian was only a competitor.</p> + +<p>To sum up, the women of the Renaissance, as we see, did +not try to be savants or blue-stockings. They skimmed the +cream off books and works of art so as to get what suited +their mission, that is, something to talk about and to go +into raptures over. They did not rise to what was called +“humanism,” like the prelates; they stopped short at +loving intellectual beauty more than plastic beauty; they +cultivated a literature of sentiment and passion, and took +a keen delight in beauty of form. They behaved as instructed +women, and above all as women of feeling, as +women who wished to please, nobly faithful to their single-eyed +pursuit of elevated love.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_II_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br> +<span class="smaller">CONVERSATION</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>We come at last to conversation.</p> + +<p>This was the goal, the sanctuary of happiness, nay, bliss +itself. All that we have hitherto spoken of led up to this +all-engrossing object, for love was the supreme end, and +speech is the vehicle of love. A circle of men about a lady, +and she talking or making them talk,—this was the supreme +and final formula of life.</p> + +<p>Conversation, then, was the great art of the platonists, +infinitely greater than painting or sculpture, greater than +music, poetry or oratory, because it alone established real +communication between soul and soul, it alone was privileged +to body forth a whole realm of unexpressed emotions which +would freeze at the end of a pen or pencil, and which music +itself would render but ill. Words that well up with the +eloquence of spontaneity possess an indescribable vital force +impossible to analyse; innumerable details contribute to it—the +inflection of the voice, the gesture, the expression of the +eyes, the movement of the lips, the play of all the features. +A mineral water taken at its source has, as every one +knows, singular virtues which are impoverished if it is +carried to a distance, and which the most skilful chemist +cannot restore. So also the fount of human intelligence +must be drunk at its source. If need be, it is well worth a +journey.</p> + +<p>Without women there would be no conversation. For a +man who thinks he can converse without wearing the feminine +yoke there is nothing but to go off by himself like Cardan, +that intolerable chatterbox, who, though the author of two +hundred and fifty-five volumes, had the audacity to publish +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span>a book <i>In Praise of Silence</i>. “Never,” he exclaims, “am I +more truly with those I love than when I am alone.” Our +opinion would rather coincide with that of the amiable +emigré whom his friends urged to marry the object of his +passion, and who answered, “But then, where should I +spend my evenings?” To draw a man out and show him +what he is capable of, it is necessary for a woman to throw +out the bait; an ambition to please, an instinct of sympathy, +a thousand fleeting intangible nothings, veritable +microbes of sentiment, will do the rest. But we do not +hesitate to add that, without men, women would hardly know +how to talk. Men have often inveighed against the loquacity,⁠<a id="FNanchor_253" href="#Footnote_253" class="fnanchor">[253]</a> +the backbiting,⁠<a id="FNanchor_254" href="#Footnote_254" class="fnanchor">[254]</a> the imprudence, the frivolity, the paltry +and scandalmongering spirit of the rudimentary and inartistic +conversations that women engage in when left to +themselves; this kind of conversation can no more be called +conversation than certain intrigues can be called love, or +than daubing a house front can be called painting a +picture.</p> + +<p>Certain of women’s little defects remain defects or become +virtues according as the women know or do not know how +to make use of them. Gossips, the women who can think +and talk certainly are, and they plume themselves on the +fact. That can only be called a defect in those who have +nothing to say. Margaret of France confesses that when +she opened her mouth, it was long before she shut it again.⁠<a id="FNanchor_255" href="#Footnote_255" class="fnanchor">[255]</a> +Sometimes, however, women are troubled with a certain intellectual +timidity arising either from their education, as +their friends say, or from their temperament, as their enemies +maintain. They easily make up their minds, but can +seldom give you their reasons; their intellect clings like +ivy to some principle reputed substantial, in other words, +one that is affirmed by their neighbours, or is traditional, or +is ingrained from childhood; and the slightest breath of +raillery only attaches them to it the more closely.</p> + +<p>This disposition would be fatal to a writer. To write +one needs the power to think for oneself and to give virile +expression to one’s thoughts, at the risk of getting a name +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>for paradox or eccentricity; but for conversation nothing is +less necessary; on the contrary, the trite is eminently +serviceable. Conversation serves to test current ideas; it +gives them so to speak a stamp, a hall-mark, a label, and +women understand its utility all the better because they +largely avail themselves of it and acquire their convictions +through it. On the other hand they possess as the gift of +Nature that which is the very life of conversation,—facility +of assimilation without the necessity of going to the root +of the matter; the ability to express quickly, clearly and +copiously the impression of the moment; a feeling for fine +shades; skill in fitly garbing their thoughts, and in maintaining +them with the necessary unction, grace, and warmth. +No more is needed.</p> + +<p>The age in which we live, priding itself on its practical +spirit, has neglected this art of conversation. We have +almost entirely lost the feeling for it because of its unpretentiousness, +and we declare it unimportant on the ground +that we are no longer platonists and can no longer find in +mere phrases the supreme felicity of life. Yet it is an art +of eminent utility in regard to the charm of existence,—a +genuine and highly intellectual art, an art that in the 18th +century was one of our national glories. By their witty +conversation the ladies of the house of Mortemart did more +to make their race illustrious than all the artists and all +the soldiers. Saint-Simon has given us an excellent description +of the talent of three of them, who boasted neither +of mysticism nor perhaps of philosophy—Mesdames de +Montespan, de Fontevrault, and de Thianges: “Their court +was the centre of wit, and wit of so special and fine a +savour, yet withal so natural and pleasant, that it came to +be noted for its unique character.... All three possessed +it in abundance, and appeared to impart it to others. This +charming sympathy of theirs still delights us in the survivors +of those whom they bred up and attached to themselves; +you could tell them among a thousand in the most +miscellaneous company.” That was the goal aimed at by +the 16th-century women, since it made men immortal, and +gave them a full life on earth meanwhile—since, in a word, +it was happiness.</p> + +<p>We could scarcely realise the empire certain women +exercised if we neglected to take into account their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span>wonderful conversational powers, and judged them merely +by their writings, or by their letters even. Justly or +unjustly, the writings of Margaret of France met with +no success. Marot, in complimenting his dear princess on +them, had recourse to an evasion of no little ingenuity: +“When I see your poems only, I marvel that people do +not admire them more; but when I hear you speak, I +veer completely round, amazed that anyone is so foolish +as to marvel thereat.” Like many others, Margaret held +sway through conversation.</p> + +<p>Some cross-grained people imagine that to women talking +is the easiest thing in the world, that friends spring up +around them spontaneously, that the art reduces itself to +finishing their toilette by lunch time and then letting their +tongues wag till evening. It is extremely simple, they say. +Simple! They think it sufficient then to fling their doors +open on certain days, and to deal out here and there among +their guests a few formal and chilling inanities! “Men are +so scarce that when you have them you should rate them +very high,” said Anne of France, very justly. Simple, not +to rest satisfied with the mere glitter of small talk, but to +take full possession of one’s visitors, to form a warm nest +of friends! It is a heavy task. If in these days women no +longer exercise any serious influence, is it not to some extent +their own fault? A superficial and cramped education has +often rendered them incapable of effort. They are afraid of +a conversation on broad, serious lines; they will not be +bothered with it. But to form a set, a woman must belong +to herself no longer, she must belong to her friends; conversation +is her bread of life, to adopt an expressive phrase, and +she does in fact become so habituated to her part that she +cannot do without it; she <i>must</i> talk, if only with her +husband. Mary of England used to talk to Louis XII.—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Soubz le drap couvert d’orfebvrerie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui reluisoit en fine pierrerie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Passions temps en dictz solatieux</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et en propos plaisans et gratieux.⁠<a id="FNanchor_256" href="#Footnote_256" class="fnanchor">[256]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span></p> + +<p>Bereavements and misfortunes only render conversation +more necessary. Emilia Pia,⁠<a id="FNanchor_257" href="#Footnote_257" class="fnanchor">[257]</a> proscribed, stripped of her +all, and persecuted, could not appear in the streets of Rome +without an adoring throng of prelates and admirers, just as +there was never more laughter and gossip than in the +crowded cells of the Reign of Terror.</p> + +<p>A well-bred man considered himself literally entitled to +command the conversational abilities of women. In this +connection a very curious misadventure befell some judges +of the Parliament of Paris who in the course of their duty +went to hold assize at Poitiers. In the heart of the 16th +century, when everybody went the pace, and the air was +charged with moral electricity, there was still found one town +where the women would have believed, as they did three +hundred years earlier, that they were lost if they opened +their doors. Jean Bouchet,⁠<a id="FNanchor_258" href="#Footnote_258" class="fnanchor">[258]</a> loyal Poitevin as he was, has +described the boisterous amusement with which France +heard that some bashful ladies answered these poor judges +through a peep-hole with a <i>Non possumus</i>. The ladies +of Paris themselves sent a petition to their “colleagues” at +Poitiers, begging them not to let their husbands die of +dulness. The ladies of Poitiers replied with blushing +cheeks: “’Tis not our way at Poitiers.” They hugged +the tradition of dulness.</p> + +<p>At Lyons, which on the contrary was a modern town, +squire Sala, chancing to be at his window one fine spring +morning, perceived in the street three ladies to whom +he was related, going on pilgrimage to St. Irenaeus. To +dash after them and make them promise to call in on +their way back was the affair of a moment; and then he +was a happy man, sure of a pleasant day. We are no +longer, you perceive, at Poitiers. The ladies return; they +dine gaily with their cousin, and pass into the library; +and then, during a desultory conversation, one of the fair +guests mechanically opens a Bible at the book of Kings. +Nothing more is needed. What a charming subject! The +lady avows that she loves to lie back in a cosy chair +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span>and read the history of the kings of France; everyone joins +in the conversation and cites some notable fact about +royalty; and thus the procession defiles past—Alexander, +Agis, Brennus, Caesar, the Merovingians, the classic heroes +(Charlemagne, Godfrey of Bouillon), divers kings of France, +Louis surnamed the Fat, Philip the August, the noble St. +Louis, all the princes of the 15th century; finally Sala +promises to relate a story of Francis I. Unhappily it is +long past the hour for separating, for tearing themselves +from this intoxicating pastime; and, to tell the truth, when +they got home these ladies found that their husbands had +put the lights out.</p> + +<p>If this was bondage the ladies took it in very good part, +and the men left nothing undone to soften it for them. We +have all known men expert in the manipulation of feminine +conversations, and deriving from them a large measure of +influence; for instance (to speak only of the dead), Monsignor +Dupanloup,⁠<a id="FNanchor_259" href="#Footnote_259" class="fnanchor">[259]</a> or in a different kind M. Mérimée, that waif from +the 16th century, who combined with extraordinary scepticism +an incurable impressibility, and, while free in mind +and heart, was always leaning on a woman! The men of +the 16th century became charmers. A political exile from +Milan, fresh from a milieu of women—the physician Marliano—acquired +an unprecedented influence in the Low +Countries by the mere attractiveness of his conversation; +people vied with each other in praising its suavity, its +“heavenly ambrosia,” its “honey,” its “sweetness.”</p> + +<p>Men moulded by the hands of Italian ladies could be +distinguished among a thousand; they could talk about +anything and everything. Many writers of eminent ability +would have gained much by being less serious.</p> + +<p>No one could help succumbing to this charm; and in +truth it is easy to believe that the platonists sought +happiness from conversation, futile as it was reputed to be, +since they were constantly saying: “I was happy, we are +all happy.” Cardan himself recalls with enthusiasm the +time when he was supposed to be studying medicine at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span>Venice: “I was happy.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_260" href="#Footnote_260" class="fnanchor">[260]</a> Ever the same word! People +cultivated their happiness.</p> + +<p>“Ferrara,” says Lamartine, “resembled a colony from +the court of Augustus, Leo X., or the Medici; cultured +princes—princesses who were heroines of love, poetry, or +romance,—cardinals aspiring to the papacy—scholars—artists—poets +half knights, half bards—met there every +evening, in the splendid halls of Ercole d’Este, in town or +country.”</p> + +<p>At Urbino, the conversations were broken by riding-parties, +hawking expeditions, balls, sports, music; life +resembled a kaleidoscope, but wit slipped into every pattern +as the necessary element of beauty. The duke was in bad +health and used to retire early. After his departure the +evening flew by delightfully: the young duchess “seems a +chain holding us all pleasantly together,” said Castiglione. +There was no standing on ceremony; she was always the +centre of a circle composed of men or women alternately as +chance directed. In addition to the regular group, the +company pretty often included some accomplished stranger, +some scholar or artist who happened to be passing through. +They spoke freely to the ladies on a footing of friendliness. +As the evening drew on, some went off for dancing or music, +the others continued to start discussions or tell stories +enlivened with transparent allegories. In summer this +brilliant reunion was held in the garden.</p> + +<p>Our pictures of society in olden times may often give +the impression that only wolves, lions, wild beasts, or else +strutting cocks and clucking hens served as models. But +to paint this polished society of Urbino, so enthusiastically +bent on happiness, we should need colours no palette +contains,—transparencies of the Grecian sky, the indigo +of certain seas, the liquid azure of certain eyes. For +more than a century the court of Urbino was regarded as +the supreme exemplar; in the 17th century the Hôtel de +Rambouillet was still striving to make itself a copy of it; +unluckily such things as these are not easily copied.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span></p> + +<p>It would be difficult enough to deduce from the conversations +at Urbino a series of rules for the art. No +programme was pasted on the walls. But still we may note +certain principles: a remarkable good-fellowship, ranging +from perfect courtesy to affectionate familiarity; a real +sentiment of equality, genuine equality, springing from an +exact appreciation of the various degrees of worth, and +consequently in that sense aristocratic; finally and especially, +freedom, the most absolute openness of mind, the absence of +ambitions and pretensions, at any rate so far as appeared; a +joyous skilfulness in playing on the surface of things, or in +striking out into the vastest regions of thought without +effort or constraint.</p> + +<p>Throughout Italy a somewhat Ciceronian and Attic +beauty of form played a highly important part in conversation. +Men were distinguished by their dignity of style +and by a high-bred refinement free from the slightest taint +of the stable. We can only judge of their manner of talk +indirectly, through their letters; but an idea of it may be +gained from the letters of Bembo, Castiglione, and others, +in which a lady could see how to win men’s hearts +while retaining all womanliness of style, and how much +affection—whether it be called love, friendship, or simply a +good understanding—gains by displaying itself delicately. +Women played the part of judges: they were permitted, if +need were, to stand on their dignity, to be silent or to +speak freely at pleasure; but no man could succeed without +a highly suave manner; merit had to be shown by some +external mark: “Merit is not enough unless prolific in the +outward graces on which the praiseworthiness of actions +depends.” But appearances were sometimes sufficient. +Even in their portraits, men like Castiglione retain a something +infinitely engaging and attractive—a bloom on the +lips, a softness in the eyes.⁠<a id="FNanchor_261" href="#Footnote_261" class="fnanchor">[261]</a> When at Venice we come upon +portraits of men all energy and self-assertion, the inference +is that the women must have lost their empire; and we do +in fact see opposite them portraits of passive women, all +softness and sensuousness.</p> + +<p>And these tender lips that opened only to speak to +women, these caressing eyes, do not deceive us. The prattle +of these men was impregnated with a dove-like gentleness, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span>an adoration, in appearance wholly spiritual, for the +beautiful. Castiglione, an eminently graceful, caressing, +and persuasive talker, spoke with fluency, with something +of flabbiness and redundance, perhaps—a sort of perfumed +talk, with nothing of “French filthiness,” as he said. +Vittoria Colonna wrote a charming letter to Paul Jove, in +which she spoke with great enthusiasm of “her” divine +Bembo. Paul Jove lost no time in passing this letter on to +Bembo. “I send you,” he writes, “a letter from your lady-love, +the most illustrious marchioness. It is very pretty, +and speaks of you, and I send it you at once without any of +that resentment which rivals are so apt to feel, for I am +fully assured that Her Excellency’s love for your lordship +is in all points like to my own love for her, that is, +celestial, holy, altogether platonic. Her Excellency is +come from Ischia to Naples with the other noble dames; +I mean the serene Amalfia and the superb Vasta, with +the Francavila, a mirror of virtue and verily a matchless +beauty.”</p> + +<p>Apart from the graces of manner, the charm of these +relations between the ladies and the prelates sprang from +their perfect skill in effacing their own personality, in +suggesting that what they were giving was pure soul—for +suggestion was enough. A boor will strut about, listen to +his own voice, arrange his smile, select his words with a +view to effect—little absurdities, much less easy to endure +than a really serious fault. It was by their overweening +though unconscious self-conceit that the inferior clergy +made themselves so odious in Renaissance society; the +monk would talk of nothing but his order, the parish parson +fancied that no service was so attractive as his, and that +good music was not to be heard except in his church.⁠<a id="FNanchor_262" href="#Footnote_262" class="fnanchor">[262]</a> +They had better have been less virtuous—and less fatiguing.</p> + +<p>Conversation can glide along like a shallow stream. A +pleasant talker is not always capable of writing or painting +profundities; there is something more beautiful than a +picture, and that is the face of the woman watching him +and enjoying his talk. In those days they ridiculed—and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span>not without cause—certain brilliant talkers clever enough +to win a wide-spread renown (without ruining their health +by profound study of Horace or Virgil) by nothing in the +world but talking on every subject in the same airy way—appearing +to have forgotten half they knew and to know half +they had forgotten—able to bring in without false modesty +a stanza pat to the occasion. Such talkers are in reality +very second-rate, and it is not long before they get +into difficulties. Sometimes abstruse subjects crop up +without warning in a drawing-room, and then the conversation +takes a course which gives opportunity for judging +men. At the instant when it appears to be merely disporting +itself on the surface, shining in full view, it takes a +sudden plunge, rises again, starts on another flight and again +plunges; to follow it demands an intellectual force and +suppleness that cannot be improvised. We can see this from +the portrait Castiglione draws of the duke of Urbino. The +duke, notwithstanding his habit of keeping early hours, +was a good talker, like his guests; his speech was bland, +polished, fluent, and picturesque; he brought down his bird +with one shot. But under this appearance of ease and +readiness he possessed an unequalled fund of information. +He could reel off long passages from all the classical writers, +particularly from Cicero. He spoke ancient Greek perfectly, +and lived by choice in intimate fellowship with the Greeks—with +Lucian, and more especially with Xenophon, whom +he called “the Siren of antiquity.” “We used to call the +duke,” adds Castiglione, “a second Siren.”</p> + +<p>Ancient and modern history, geography, the learning of +the East, were familiar to him. He died at thirty-six, after +a long and very painful illness; he had studied his complaint, +and watched the slow-paced approach of death, +knowing perfectly that neither the pleasant climate of +Urbino nor the most assiduous attentions would retard +it by an hour. And yet, even under the burden of his last +anguish, he retained full possession of his intellect, with its +charm and flame and serenity. His friends pretended not +to have given up hope: “Why envy me so desirable a +blessing?” he said to them gently. “To be freed from this +load of terrible suffering—tell me, is not that a blessing?” +At the very last he turned to Castiglione and recited to him +one of the finest passages in Virgil. He died talking. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span>Thus, with noble colloquies like these, radiant with natural +kindliness, men lulled even pain asleep.</p> + +<p>Philosophy and love were naturally frequent subjects of +conversation. People sought by their means to refine their +sentiments, to analyse themselves, to set themselves ingenious +problems to be investigated at leisure, to spiritualise +love. For example:</p> + +<p>“Is it easier to feign love than to dissemble it?—<i>Answer</i>: +Yes, because a voluntary act is always easier than an involuntary +one.”</p> + +<p>“Is it more meritorious for love to lead the wise to folly +than fools to wisdom?—No; it is better to build up than to +destroy, and you can build nothing on folly.”</p> + +<p>“Is excess of love fatal?—Galen says yes; indirectly, +through disease.”</p> + +<p>“Who loves the more easily?—Woman, because of her +fickle nature.”</p> + +<p>“Who can best dispense with love?—Woman.”</p> + +<p>“Which is easier, to win love or to keep it?—To keep it.”</p> + +<p>“After perseverance, what is the best proof of love?—The +sharing of joys and sorrows.”</p> + +<p>“Which is the stronger, hate or love?—Love.”</p> + +<p>“Can a miser love?—Yes, love can destroy avarice.”</p> + +<p>And so on.</p> + +<p>Bembo, in a little book dedicated to Lucretia Borgia (for +three years the object of his passionate admiration), has left +us an account of three days of conversation which followed +a wedding. After a charming fête, in which young maidens +furnished with tuneful viols had chanted hymns for and +against love in turn, three noble damsels remained in discourse +with three gentlemen on a flowery lawn, amid marble +fountains and well-trimmed groves.</p> + +<p>One of their number, selected as the detractor of love, +conscientiously makes the most of its bitternesses, despairs, +tears, revolts, catastrophes. A discussion ensues, so searching, +so touching, that at times real tears are shed. The +people who are perpetually at a white heat and flaunt a +salamander as their emblem come in for some ridicule. +But with what warmth the friends of love take up the +defence of this divinity, who is represented as nude because +he is devoid of reason; as a child, because like Medea +he inspires eternal youthfulness; and torch in hand, because +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span>in his school there is much burning of fingers! It is towards +this little torch that the whole world flits and gravitates +like a swarm of moths, while the divine archer speeds his +shaft at the heart of his victim.</p> + +<p>Love, they add, is strength and life. When a man loves, +he has no fear of death. One of the company even declares +in his excitement that he invites death, and when the rest +twit him with being beside himself, he persists, and +explains his subtle languor; he invites death, but does +not desire that most miserable condition! In spite of the +extreme gravity and conviction with which these questions +of the heart were always handled in Italy, the company +cannot here repress a smile. But the speaker sees nothing +and waxes warm; his martyrdom is only too serious; the +flame of love can only be extinguished in a “lake of tears.” +And another makes answer: “When you see in famous +sanctuaries a heap of votive offerings bearing witness to the +innumerable perils of the sea, do you go and deny that +these perils exist, or resign yourself never to set foot on a +boat? You do not, I trow. Well, we must likewise accept +love’s crosses with resignation.” And thereupon he glowingly +describes its advantages.</p> + +<p>At the end of three days, a hermit closes the discussion +with a short and sedative discourse on the vanity of the +world!</p> + +<p>Naturally conversation, even in Italy, did not always soar to +such altitudes. It passed easily from a vast subject to a pin’s +point; to make bricks without straw was a mark of talent! +It was not everyone who had the wit to frame an original +remark about the weather, and follow it up with a brilliant +firework display of paradox! What did the idea matter, so +long as the shaft flew home? They would just as soon +concern themselves about the canvas a picture was painted +on! They expatiated at leisure on a large subject; but no +one dwelt on trifles; they laughed, wept, sparkled, they +were pleasant and gay, elegant, coquettish, artistic;⁠<a id="FNanchor_263" href="#Footnote_263" class="fnanchor">[263]</a> and all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span>that they said was excellently expressed, with a sure, keen, +delicate touch. Conversation took a feminine stamp which +it had never had in olden times; it was the art of paying +honourable court to a lady.</p> + +<p>The French did not approve of conversation taking this +sentimental and emotional turn. They talked to amuse +themselves, for laughter’s sake. To laugh was their chief +concern; it was a mark of taste to take everything with a +laugh, even affairs of the heart; and any genuineness of +sentiment was sure to appear ridiculous, whereas in Italy a +false sentiment strove to appear genuine. Moreover, to +speak of serious things, to appear in any other character +than that of an absolutely useless and incapable man, far +above (or below) everything literary, was unfashionable. +On the other hand the French appreciated the unexpected, +a crispness of phrase, the sword-play of wit, smart retorts.⁠<a id="FNanchor_264" href="#Footnote_264" class="fnanchor">[264]</a> +Conversation was a duel. The Frenchmen of that time were +inimitable in verve and wit; they had a really unrivalled +ease and sprightliness of manner. When the Italians tried +to imitate them, they only succeeded in losing their suavity +and making themselves look foolish.</p> + +<p>At the court of Francis I. talking and flirting were +subdued to no platonic considerations. If a man was +inspired with a good thing, he said it frankly and bluntly +and with much gesturing. As La Bruyère observes: “It +costs women little to tell what they do not feel; it costs +men still less to tell what they do feel”;⁠<a id="FNanchor_265" href="#Footnote_265" class="fnanchor">[265]</a> and the more +crudely the latter expressed themselves, the more they were +looked upon as right good fellows. A woman of the world +would listen to anything, and reply with her “yes” or “no,” +without ever taking offence.</p> + +<p>The more the domination of man asserted itself, the more +pronounced this liberty in word and action became, and +women came to think that they could employ no better +means of getting even with men than to adopt the language +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span>of the barrack-room, and make frequent quotations from the +grossest books. They made men a present of their garters. +Naturally the men were very well pleased, by no means +detesting women of so facile a disposition. A German +would entertain the young lady next him at table with tomfoolery +of the coarsest description, prating, for instance, +about heavy drinking, or low-necked dresses, or a woman +showing her leg or hunting for fleas: or perhaps, to appear +intellectual, he would maintain that evil has no real existence, +but is only a human invention. Another would allow +fun to be poked at his wife or fiancée. Rabelais and Hütten +were the shining lights of this class of talkers. Even +Savonarola, in his character of a monk of the people, sometimes +went very near the border line; here and there in his +sermons there are phrases at which a salted skipper would +blush.</p> + +<p>Italian platonism was no enemy to laughter; it was quite +the other way. In the evening after dinner (the time when +in these days men are lighting their cigars), men who +had wit and gaiety and no cares (three conditions for which +the cigar alone would hardly be a sufficient substitute), +laughed without stint and told pretty warm stories as a +relaxation from the ideal; but as the ladies were present +and no one would have dreamt of doing without them, form +was always more carefully studied. Platonism was nothing +if not fastidious, correct, and ceremonious; and a platonist, +even when retailing a broad joke or when there was no +occasion to put himself about, did not cease to employ +exquisite phraseology.</p> + +<p>The French, on the contrary, laughed somewhat boisterously +after dinner, or on one of those oppressive afternoons +when the dull sky seems to seize us like mice in a trap. +Our passion for broad wit has never allowed itself to be +cooled by the exhortations of moralists⁠<a id="FNanchor_266" href="#Footnote_266" class="fnanchor">[266]</a> or preachers. Nor +were ladies more successful in selecting subjects for conversation; +they had either to leave us to our own devices and +be regarded as nuisances, or to pitch their tune to the same +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span>key. An awkward dilemma for them! They faced the +music, and contented themselves with declining to laugh +when the jest displeased them; but in their hearts they +preferred a lady’s man who knew how to show them tenderness +and respect.</p> + +<p>Conversation is naturally composed of dialogues. Whenever +it attains a certain height, contradiction is necessary to +keep the ball rolling. Some one has said that contradiction +is woman’s forte, and in this connection La Fontaine retold +the old fable about the drowned woman whose corpse, from +sheer perversity, insisted on floating up stream.</p> + +<p>That may be true of worn, untutored women, good +housewives to whom the artifices of taste are a sealed book. +The woman of fashion, preferring to profit by all her +privileges, hovers over a conversation, mingling with it +only to throw out a suggestion, a criticism, a reflection, an +argument, or to give a finishing touch. Margaret, for +instance, launched this aphorism in the midst of a discussion +on love: “Women of large heart yield rather to the spirit of +vengeance than to the tenderness of love.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_267" href="#Footnote_267" class="fnanchor">[267]</a></p> + +<p>It was often a man who had to devote himself to this duty +of contradiction; intellectual epicures took rather kindly to +the little amusement, and acquitted themselves with at least +every appearance of conviction. It was even a mark of +genuine dilettantism to maintain now one idea, now the +contrary, like Filippo Beroaldo,⁠<a id="FNanchor_268" href="#Footnote_268" class="fnanchor">[268]</a> who has recorded two of +his declarations, one in favour of drunkenness, the other +against it. The question of the merits and defects of women +furnished in France an inexhaustible theme for social +debate, and there was no lack of disputants on either side. +In Italy this subject was less popular, because the ranks of +the anti-feminists were thinner. At Urbino, however, +Fregoso⁠<a id="FNanchor_269" href="#Footnote_269" class="fnanchor">[269]</a> threw himself into the ungrateful task of attacking +women, and valiantly depicted them as imperfect animals +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span>of no intrinsic value, whom it was impossible to compare +with men, upon whom only modesty and self-respect had +any restraining power, and whose few merits were a purely +artificial endowment.</p> + +<p>Yet, as it was impossible to be always engaged in +dialogues or debates, there was a large field for clever +retailers of anecdotes and stories grave and gay, and the +talent was cultivated to perfection by certain men of the +world. Among these witty story-tellers we find another +member of the Mortemart family, Aimery de Mortemart, +and the name of Germain de Bonneval used also to be cited.</p> + +<p>Story-telling in Italy was conducted with the same +gravity and method that were carried into everything. A +“queen” was first elected,⁠<a id="FNanchor_270" href="#Footnote_270" class="fnanchor">[270]</a> and she called upon each member +of the company in turn. The stories very easily verged +towards salaciousness, but art ennobles everything! Firenzuola +dedicated a collection of such stories to the memory +of an idolised lady whom he calls his Diotima, his Monica, +his Vittoria Colonna.</p> + +<p>In France, story-telling ranked high among social amusements, +filling up the interval between mass and vespers. +Everyone had fair notice of his turn to speak, and made +provision accordingly, whetting his own invention on what +fell from the lips of others. The <i>Heptameron</i> is, so to +speak, nothing but a succession of conferences (without the +platform and the glass of water), at which each person +present contributes his mite to the discussion. Sometimes +the remarks are rather free; when the anecdote is likely to +overstep the recognised limits, the speaker saves himself by +a gentle preliminary precaution:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Si ce n’estoit que j’ay peur d’offenser</div> + <div class="verse indent0">La netteté de vos chastes oreilles.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right"><i>Des Périers.</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_271" href="#Footnote_271" class="fnanchor">[271]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Margaret of France, who was not specially bashful, “could +tell a capital story, and could laugh, too, when she heard one.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span></p> + +<p>Another art which was still highly appreciated—a very +elegant, charming, and widely cultivated art—was that of +impromptu verse-making—a pastime for prelates and men +of keen literary tastes. Leo X.⁠<a id="FNanchor_272" href="#Footnote_272" class="fnanchor">[272]</a> + and Octavien de Saint-Gelais⁠<a id="FNanchor_273" href="#Footnote_273" class="fnanchor">[273]</a> +practised it with eminent success.</p> + +<p>Boutrimés, or “<i>ventes d’amour</i>,” though somewhat antiquated, +contributed a share to the entertainment. A man +gave a lady, or vice versa, the name of some flower, and a +response had to be made in verse of as epigrammatic or +complimentary a turn as possible. As aids to improvisation, +manuals of polite rhymes were published.</p> + +<p>Such was happiness! Conversation in its various forms +was the port to which the barque of life made under full +sail, trimmed with all the safeguards, manœuvred with all +the dexterities which we have described! And the difficulties +were compensated by the satisfaction derived from +bringing souls into communion one with another, from +closely uniting them, welding them in one enthusiasm of +affection. Such a result is beyond the attainment of +writing. Genuine exquisites like Inghirami thought writing +was overdone, and if they employed the pen it was from +necessity, or at most to preserve for posterity the conversations, +the tales, the sonnets that pleased them; when a +work involving time and labour was asked of them, they +wrapped themselves in an air of austere solemnity, like +people going to a funeral. All these brilliant talkers lived +quiet lives out of the public eye, seldom shifting their +quarters, with none of that moral trepidation in which the +railway and the telegraph keep us: they were light-hearted +but not shallow, with something of oriental insouciance, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span>never forgetting that man has but one life on this nether +world, squandering their wealth of wit in lavish profusion, +with no attempt to economise it in order to sell specimens +to an innominate mob. They enjoyed to the full the exquisite +pleasure of letting their ideas float off at the mercy +of chance; their thoughts took flight and were seen no +more, it is true; they burst like bubbles in the air; but +there remained the wherewithal to shape others like +them.</p> + +<p>And here was the great sphere of women. Their mission +was to cause this happiness to blossom, to tend it, nurture +it, turn it to fitting use—to make these bubbles a source +of good.</p> + +<p>This duty like every other had stern laws. It was not +enough to be a “queen” by election, or even by birthright, +to fancy that the goal was attained.</p> + +<p>Women’s sway only imposed itself by dint of patience, +tact, and a nice regard for detail, and above all at the cost +of genuine self-denial. How many little trials and crosses +had to be endured! To make herself agreeable to the +starched Spaniard and the boastful Neapolitan; to listen +resignedly while a Frenchman discoursed about his hunting +and his limited income, or while a Milanese or Genoese +prated about his business; and then with all gentleness, +with a woman’s instinctive subtlety, almost by stealth, to +select among these men—to hold by an unconstrained and +loyal welcome those in whom she perceived some merit, and +to bind them to her by speaking their own tongue—wisdom +to the wise, piety to the pious, practical interests to the +practical, gaiety to the young—and thus to set them all on +the path towards the desired perfection—what a task for a +woman! However, all that she needed in the rudimentary +stages of this education was to plant herself securely on her +own rudimentary gifts—in other words, to avoid scandal +and tittle-tattle. But how difficult her task became when +she had to deal with men of parts, of warm affections, of +ardent temperament! Then, no doubt, it became interesting, +and the woman herself was reaping a profit which amply +repaid her trouble. “Ladies,” cries Champier, “if you must +take pleasure in hob-nobbing with men, choose at least +those who can improve you and guide you.” There was no +question now of retiring to the Aventine, and fancying +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span>themselves constantly in mortal peril⁠<a id="FNanchor_274" href="#Footnote_274" class="fnanchor">[274]</a>; a lady had to hold +herself erect and tighten the rein on these unruly men—to +know the power of a word, a gesture, a flash of silence.⁠<a id="FNanchor_275" href="#Footnote_275" class="fnanchor">[275]</a></p> + +<p>To retire to the Aventine! That would be criminal! +Speech is necessary to one who would minister to a mind +diseased.</p> + +<p>Conversation was not merely a pleasure. If they strove +earnestly after the Beautiful, it was because the reign of +beauty is the most effectual assurance of the reign of truth +and goodness. Does anyone imagine that a woman can +shut herself in her drawing-room, and that all she need do +is to show herself beautiful, amiable, sweet, intelligent, +tender to the men worthy of forming her circle? No one +thinks so. Woman rules because she redeems. To direct +or actively to engage in works of charity, to send money to +the wretched, without looking out of doors to see what men +are actually suffering or dying—this would be the absolute +negation of the social aim of conversation. Through conversation +a woman comes into living touch with realities. +She must show herself as real flesh and blood to the +wretched; she owes them her smile, her beauty and her +grace; aye, it is her bounden duty to be beautiful, amiable, +gentle, intelligent, tender for the sake of those whose lot is +solaced by no ray from heaven. She must welcome the +poor and lowly, and though she may not be able to speak +to them in Plato’s language, she must none the less tend +them with the supreme medicine of the Beautiful, enter +into their interests and their troubles, talk with them, +shower on them her manna of hope and patience, and—if +she have it—light.</p> + +<p>Perhaps we shall now be asked how many women +attained to these altitudes in the apostleship of beauty, +and if we can cite many who attempted to put their +ideas into practice. Assuredly, we can. In spite of the +somewhat too artistic cast into which social intercourse was +thrown by platonism, more than one woman found in her +own heart a commentary which neither Ficino nor Bembo +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span>ever knew. In France we may mention Anne of France as +one who was thoroughly convinced that conversation was a +duty to society at large. In Italy, ladies of the highest +rank, like Isabella d’Este and Vittoria Colonna, slightly +intoxicated with Beauty, consorted almost exclusively with +princes and prelates and men of culture, and in this regard +the Renaissance is perhaps rightly accused of over-refinement; +yet they possessed in a rare degree the talent of +diffusing around them an atmosphere of sweetness. At +Urbino, a provincial court of no little exclusiveness, even +the stalls of the handicraftsmen were lapped in a delicious +air; Raphael grew up like a natural plant; a thousand +trivial incidents in the life of the place give us glimpses of +grace and amiability. The influence was indirect, but very +powerful.</p> + +<h4>CORRESPONDENCE.</h4> + +<p>It would seem logical to consider correspondence as the +complement of conversation—as talk between persons at a +distance. But it was not so; talk it might be, but in +writing, and consequently no one was very fond of it; +people distrusted it because of the risks involved. Yet +certain intellectual women of the 16th century displayed +amazing activity as letter-writers. While one might have +supposed them to be wholly engrossed with their rouge-pots +or their friends, their intelligence and vivacity actually +carried them away; the pen appeared too lumbering a +vehicle for their impatient thought. In the letters of Julia +Gonzaga, for instance, it is often evident that the lady took +the pen from her secretary at the third or fourth line and +finished the letter herself, rapidly, and without troubling +her head about grammar, handwriting, or decorum.⁠<a id="FNanchor_276" href="#Footnote_276" class="fnanchor">[276]</a></p> + +<p>To the student of handwriting, letters betray many little +philosophic secrets which are well worth attention. The +handwritings of the 16th century (for the most part +illegible, particularly in France) are large and free, highly +nervous and characteristic of the writers, released from the +methodical and commonplace style of former days. The +strokes are fine and distinguished, sometimes a little +angular, displaying all sorts of vagaries, abbreviations and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span>flourishes. What a “mirror of the soul” is the close and +tangled handwriting of Margaret of France, or the gaunt, +nervous, firm, aristocratic, jerky, disorderly style of the +duchess of Etampes!⁠<a id="FNanchor_277" href="#Footnote_277" class="fnanchor">[277]</a></p> + +<p>The style of Vittoria Colonna is clear and plain, somewhat +masculine in character, but equally nervous and +irregular, with a multitude of abbreviations and splotches. +A mere glance at the letters of these influential women fills +one with pity. Poor souls! At what a cost of secret +torment, distress, and agitation did they mould happiness +and peace for men! Looking at these human documents, +these nervous handwritings, one asks oneself if those sages +are right who assure us that to bestow happiness on others +one must needs possess it oneself. Was it at the cost of His +happiness, or at the cost of His blood, that Christ redeemed +us? I may be deceived, but I sometimes fancy that I see +in these handwritings as it were a drop of blood. It was +otherwise with the men: they were happy. Castiglione’s +writing has a graceful, tranquil movement; his pen ran +lightly and cursively; and if sometimes the strokes seem +laboured, it is due to an affectation in his manner of joining +the letters. Bembo placidly retains the old style, stunted, +heavy, and sprawling.</p> + +<p>The tone of the letters confirms the casual glimpses we +have already obtained into the social relations of the time. +People troubled little about family letters; these were +simple and short, of the “dutifully affectionate” order, +and composed of almost stereotyped commonplaces. Hardly +anything is referred to in them except the material affairs +of life—business, medicine, health, domestic events;⁠<a id="FNanchor_278" href="#Footnote_278" class="fnanchor">[278]</a> the +sentimental part is dismissed very briefly—probably because +family sentiments are necessarily sincere.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, letters written to friends, which were +very numerous in Italy, were charming, tender, and graceful, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span>ending often most prettily: “Your little sister ... who +loves your lordship as her own soul—Isabella, with her own +hand.”</p> + +<p>These last words, “with her own hand,” were not unnecessary, +for a fashionable lady, not pluming herself on a +telegraphic style, was obliged on principle and out of regard +for her dignity to leave as much as possible to the pen of +her secretary. Unhappily the secretary, not caring to serve +as a mere scribe, pays attention to style, and touches up his +periods, so that, failing an actual autograph, it is impossible +to be sure what in a lady’s letter was really her own. +Moreover, a lady of any position knew that her letter would +be shown about, perhaps even transcribed or published. +Bernardo Tasso, Aretino and many another were not startled +when they saw books made out of their letters or of letters +written to them; and the most interesting letters of Vittoria +Colonna appeared early in the 16th century. It may be +said then that letters came midway between conversation +and books. In a lady’s letter there was nothing directly +from the writer but the signature and the one or two autograph +words preceding; in spite of which, the letters of the +marchioness of Pescara and of Isabella d’Este form very +pleasing and characteristic collections.</p> + +<p>After a visit from Isabella, the duchess Elizabeth of +Urbino addressed this note to her: “I know not how to +cure myself of the regret your ladyship’s departure has left +me in. Methinks I have not only seen a dearly loved sister +leave me, but that my very soul is gone. I must needs +write you ever and anon, and make shift to say on this +paper what I would fain say with my lips; if therein I could +clearly express my sorrow, I am very sure ’twould be so +potent as to cause your highness out of compassion to turn +back. If I feared not to be a burden to you, methinks I +should not hesitate myself to follow you. Neither thing is +possible; my sole resource is to beg your highness to think +of me as often as I bear you in my heart.”</p> + +<p>Many examples of this delicate and sweet—almost too +sweet—graciousness might be cited. Emilia Pia, for instance, +one of the Urbino set, writes almost as she speaks, +with great liveliness and humour, and always with equal +vivacity whether the subject be toilet specifics or philosophy. +The men have the same charm, and sometimes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span>think themselves entitled to employ the same exquisitely +tender formulas. Brocardo calls Marietta Myrtilla “my +very sweet and dear little sister ... my sweet and matchless +little sister, loved as my own soul,” and signs himself: +“Thy sweetest, sweetest Brocardo.”</p> + +<p>The terms in which a well-bred man could, indeed was +expected to, address a fashionable lady, may be seen from a +letter from Castiglione, then ambassador in Spain, to Vittoria +Colonna.</p> + +<p>“I have felt,” he says, “so much joy in the victories of +the marquis that at first I would not write a letter—a letter +is so vulgar a thing! One writes letters about events of no +importance. I had thought of fireworks, fêtes, concerts, +songs, and other vigorous demonstrations, but reflection +has shown me that these are inferior to the concert of +my own affections; and so I am come back to the idea +of a letter, convinced that my marchioness will be able +to see what I have in my soul, even though my words fail +to express it.” And he dilates on this talent of the divine +marchioness for penetrating hearts, and for reading there +what the lips fail to utter, and then congratulates her on +the delight which she cannot but feel. “And as to my duty +towards your highness, seek, I beseech you, the testimony of +your own heart, and give it credence, for I am sure your +heart will not lie to you on what not only yourself, but the +whole world, sees shining through my soul, as through the +purest crystal. And thus I remain, kissing your hands and +humbly commending myself to your good favour. Madrid, +March 21.”</p> + +<p>Two years afterward he wrote in regard to the death of +her husband: “Calamity has fallen upon you like a deluge. +I durst not write to your highness at first, for I deemed +you had died with the marquis; to-day in all verity and +admiration I hold that the marquis still liveth in you.”</p> + +<p>Do we need other specimens of these gracious and somewhat +ultra-refined letters? Here is a letter from Castiglione +to the famous Marchesa Hippolyta Florimonda Scaldasole: +“Most excellent lady, if your ladyship were as pleased to +know you dwell eternally in my memory, as ’twould be +infinitely delightful for me to dwell in yours, I should be +keenly desirous of giving you proof of it in this letter, since +for the moment I can do it in no other way. But as your +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span>ladyship has shown the world, along with your many other +wondrous gifts, that you are a woman valiant in fight, and +not only beautiful, but warlike also like Hippolyta of old, +I fear me lest you be somewhat puffed up with pride, and +somewhat forgetful of your servitors—and I would not +have it so. Therefore have I made bold to write to +you, and to pray Messer Camillo Ghilino, my very dear +friend, to speak on my behoof, and to tell you that in +Spain, as at Milan and at Pavia, I am your man; and that, +when I had come to Pavia, whither the army led me, those +walls, those ramparts, those towers, that artillery, all those +things spoke to me of your highness, knowing that behind +them you were all aglow with the thought of combatting so +great a prince as the King of France. You have gotten the +victory, and now and henceforth no one will be so daring-hardy, +I trow, as to fight with you. Deign to believe him, +lady, as myself; and I beseech you, if you be not of all ladies +the least loving, bid me to be at Milan and where you are. +Messer Camillo will be able to tell how different it is to be +in such sweet company as your ladyship’s and to be in +Spain. I kiss your hands, and ever commend myself to +you, deeply desiring to know that this <i>benedictus fructus</i> +be reaped by a husbandman worthy of it. Toledo, June 21, +1525.”</p> + +<p>After all, there was a necessary resemblance between a +letter and a conversation. In Italy, the note of tenderness +is always dominant, flattering and caressing even when gay. +Some of Bibbiena’s letters are full of deep feeling, and yet it +is impossible to mention a more jovial man: his fun bubbled +over at the slightest provocation. Isabella d’Este once +scolded him for no longer visiting Mantua. “How,” retorts +he with affected indignation—“how have they managed to +drop into those dainty little ears so many gross accusations +against me?... Here I see your daughter, who appears to +me the very image of that serene highness her mother. +Tell me again I am a lecher, and by God it shall be true as +Gospel! Would you have me swear otherwise?... Most +devoutly do I kiss your hands, and to my dear lady Alda I +commend myself a thousand times.” The amiable prelate +was at that time assiduously courting Signorina Alda +Boiarda, maid of honour to the marchioness; and, as usual, +the mistress was not altogether pleased.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span></p> + +<p>Another charming custom in Italy was for a lady to recall +herself to the recollection of her friends by means of a little +present. Vittoria Colonna sent her portrait to Bembo, +accompanied by a few verses from her own hand: “Verses +pure and dainty!” cries Bembo, “that touch the heart far +more than a mere letter.” On another occasion she charged +one of her friends, who was going to Mantua, to convey to +the marquis “a friendly and sympathetic” greeting, with +some small token of her regard. The friend thought he was +doing right in offering a basket of roses, and the marquis +lost no time in sending his respectful thanks direct to the +fair donor. And then Vittoria formally apologised in very +affectionate terms that her messenger had “honoured him so +little” as to offer so modest a souvenir.</p> + +<p>Truth to tell, Frenchwomen showed much less feminine +grace in this matter, which explains our dwelling on the +charm of their Italian neighbours. The most Italianised of +them could not attain this seductive charm. In all the +correspondence of Margaret of France you will not find one +letter recalling those we have just quoted almost haphazard. +Margaret did indeed sedulously strive to attain that charm, +as we cannot but perceive, but her languishings resulted in +little else than prolixity. It will not do to strain one’s +talent.</p> + +<p>Renée of France, though she became duchess of Ferrara, +never acquired the Italian trick; she continued to write with +French brevity. Diana of Poitiers and the duchess of +Etampes amaze us by the almost arid precision of their +style; they might have given points to the most dry-as-dust +of attorneys; there is never a sign of a gust of passion or of +love’s finesse. The rising generation of Henri II.’s time +came nearer the attainment of a pleasant style. The king’s +two daughters, Madeline and Margaret, wrote excellent +hands—easy, graceful, even, with a uniform slope, the letters +broad and clear, the whole style very distinguished; and +they employed pleasant and engaging forms, phrases of +genuine affection, especially in their family correspondence.⁠<a id="FNanchor_279" href="#Footnote_279" class="fnanchor">[279]</a> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span>But they too were at their best in short notes, and their +most pleasing letters are always very brief. The higher +charm remained the secret of Italy.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_III_THE_INFLUENCE_OF_WOMEN">BOOK III. THE INFLUENCE OF WOMEN</h2> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_III_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br> +<span class="smaller">POLITICAL INFLUENCE</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>The foregoing pages will have enabled the reader to see +how little the platonist women sought to exert a direct +influence in affairs. They aimed rather at moral and social +influence. In no sense were they women of action, believing +likely enough that the course of events would become +modified naturally when men had changed. Conforming +to the aphorism, “Woman is supreme only as woman,” +they devoted themselves to the skilful development of the +sources of their superiority, leaving their inferiorities carefully +in the shade. They avoided all masculine modes—the +rustic sort of sexless unattractive women, most at home +in the stables, strong-minded creatures who looked for a +love they never inspired; they studiously left to men the +keen-edged activities of life—law, politics, military service, +all the needful barriers against social inundation. Louise +of Savoy was almost the only woman who so far cherished +the old ideas as to regret that she was a woman; who loved +to play a part in politics, and whose intelligence and energy +won praise in terms that recalled the great women of the +past, notably Blanche of Castile. She was a realist of the +old type, who had lovers as a matter of course, but gave +scant thought to winning hearts: thus wholly differing +from the new order of women. And yet, by a singular +chance in the working of the old laws of monarchical +succession, the world has perhaps never seen more women +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span>called to till the places of men in the sphere of statecraft. +After all, monarchy is not a principle of pure reason: it is +incapable of mathematical demonstration: it is a principle +springing wholly from sentiment. Its advantage lies in +this—that in a world of tragic pettiness it gives a nation +something to love.</p> + +<p>Many women played important parts in these masculine +struggles, among which they were thrown in their own +despite. The period was one of constant turmoil, and they +had no opportunity of enjoying a life of quiet secluded +happiness.</p> + +<p>Among them was that unhappy mother, Isabella of +Aragon, who was persecuted by Ludovico il Moro, the +uncle, and, as some said, the assassin of her husband, and +held captive in France by Louis XII.—a luckless, warm-hearted, +valiant figure who, in the effort to win Milan back +for her son, maintained a desperate struggle with the whole +of Europe.</p> + +<p>Then too there was Jeanne of Aragon, that beautiful +sunny-haired woman, with features of rare distinction and +sweetness, in her day the idol of Nifo and the prototype of +beauty. She had married Ascanio Colonna, a soldier of +fortune who had brought his affairs to a desperate pass. +Poor woman! On every side she saw blank desolation. +She had just lost her eldest son by a sudden death when +creditors began to harass her and drive her second son to +ruin; and from the magnificent windows of the Colonna +palace, where she was imprisoned by order of Pope Paul IV., +she saw the pontifical troops marching by on the way to +seize her castles. She could endure it no longer. One +morning she disappeared, no one knows how, but probably +in disguise: at one of the gates of Rome she found a horse +ready saddled, and she performed the astonishing feat of +riding to Naples without drawing rein. At Naples she +became the centre of a cruel strife: her husband had her +son arrested, and the son denounced the father. Ascanio +fell, struck by an unknown dagger. And when his charming +wife, whose golden hair had never a fleck of grey, came +in her turn to die, they must bury her with her husband, +and could find for the shuddering tomb no inscription but +the touching words: “A great-hearted woman, a very +loving wife.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span></p> + +<p>In a higher sphere even Margaret of Austria was but a +genuine woman, an admirable mother who never had any +children. Compelled by family duty to rule the Netherlands +during the long minority of her nephew Charles the +Fifth, through all those years of toil and difficulty she set +but one aim before her, the preservation of peace. She was +good, benevolent, intelligent, but not happy: “Twice +married and yet a maid,”⁠<a id="FNanchor_280" href="#Footnote_280" class="fnanchor">[280]</a> as she said, then the widow of +the handsome Philibert of Savoy, she would have preferred +the ‘tiniest grain’ that satisfied her heart’s craving to the +dignities that were poisoning her life; and she made no +secret of it. On her tomb she ordered to be set this striking +emblem of disillusionment: ‘<i>Fortune, Infortune!</i>’⁠<a id="FNanchor_281" href="#Footnote_281" class="fnanchor">[281]</a></p> + +<p>And the great Anne of France, ‘the lady of Beaujeu,’ +condemned to an attitude of ‘knitted brows’ and drawn +sword as a means of reassuring her good subjects and +keeping the bad in awe, that haughty, ambitious, close-fisted, +masculine woman, as she was called by those whom +she had reduced to a proper sense of the duty of prompt +obedience—no one was in reality less like the cold statue +she appeared in official life. It was enough to watch her +features in the hour of strife, and of triumph even; they +twitched and quivered, and were only controlled by a +visible effort.⁠<a id="FNanchor_282" href="#Footnote_282" class="fnanchor">[282]</a> A modest, it might almost be said a humble +woman, she was constantly a prey to self-distrust, never +acting without advice, almost heart-broken at her victories, +for her one dream was of quenching animosities; caring for +nothing but peace, justice, and a well-ordered State, and +carrying her loathing of extreme ideas to the point of +appearing obtuse.</p> + +<p>When her brother was able to assume the government she +disappeared from the scene, quietly, with the least possible +display, happy to seek retirement at her splendid place at +Moulins, amid all she held dear. She had conceived so little +taste for political life that she gave her daughter a forcible +recommendation to avoid its mazes: “Mind your own business,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span>she said; in other words, keep strictly to your own +part, and if duty demands a temporary withdrawal, resume +it as quickly as possible, and be egoistic enough to make +the winning of love your sole quest.</p> + +<p>Such was the attitude towards civil emancipation and +the careers proper to men that was taken up by women of +the highest distinction, whom glory might well have led off +in the wrong direction. La Rochefoucauld could hardly +have had them in mind when he enunciated the unsound +maxim: “There is no renouncing ambition for love.” To +renounce ambition was all that these women desired, or +rather their ambition was love itself; when the chances of +life forced them upon the stage, their one desire was for a +man to lean upon. Diplomatists, of necessity psychological +folk, were under no delusion in the matter; when they had +dealings with a princess, forthwith we see them on the look-out +for the man or men behind. “Giacomo Feo appears to +me the pivot of the State,” wrote Prudhomme, ambassador +at the court of Catherine Sforza; the poor man had just +made the discovery that Feo’s will was law. The great +trouble of Anne of France was that she could find no +support in her husband, a man of complete integrity and +excellent disposition, but unstable as water.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, among women of but average intelligence, +there were busy bodies with a lust for notoriety, +parade, admiration, always ready to interfere in anything +and everything, to the utter despair of serious workers. Of +these Renée of France, duchess of Ferrara, may serve as an +example. Born a daughter of France, she considered that +her insignificant husband had been too highly honoured in +wedding her, denied him her bed, lived in her own circle, +and entered into diplomatic relations on her own account. +Not that she had any definite political aims: her method +was the simple one of pulling in opposite directions to her +husband, which at a distance gives her conduct a look of +inconsistency. Did she hold with Rome, or Geneva? She +would receive Ignatius Loyola in the morning, Calvin in +the afternoon, and anyone else when the fancy took her. +To her France was all in all; but the French government +had only to request someone to cross the frontier for her to +receive the exile with open arms. In somewhat limping +verse Marot acknowledged her grant of a pension (diminutive, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span>it is true) which entailed upon him no duties but those +of a lover:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Mes amis, j’ai changé ma dame;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Une autre a dessus moi puissance,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Née deux fois, de nom et d’âme.⁠<a id="FNanchor_283" href="#Footnote_283" class="fnanchor">[283]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Re-born indeed both were, and it may even be said that +their life was a constant succession of re-incarnations, in +creeds and amours of hues as shifting as the chameleon’s; +for Marot notoriously proved faithful to nothing but his +pensions. Neither of them had any part or lot in platonism. +Marot chose to become its recognised flouter; Renée was +merely a woman of a restless spirit, without any solid abilities. +In public ceremonies she appeared at her husband’s side; +within their own doors she was perpetually at odds with +him: an exasperating woman indeed, dead to the finer +feelings. The duke of Ferrara was not master in his own +duchy. One day he banished one of the most obnoxious +of his wife’s ladies, a Madame de Soubise: the lady instantly +proceeded to arrange an interview between the +duchess and the King of France, and it was with the +utmost difficulty that this menacing combination was +prevented from becoming an accomplished fact.</p> + +<p>The duchess had a lover, by no means of the platonic +order, in the son-in-law of this Madame de Soubise. He +was a M. de Pons, a scion of a family which enjoyed the +singular privilege of rendering services of this nature to +royal ladies. Again the duke of Ferrara had much ado to +stifle scandal in this direction. Having recourse to the +time-honoured method, he sent M. de Pons on a mission to +France, with sufficiently general instructions, which found a +natural reflection in the vagueness of the official despatches. +But the private letters of the duchess to the ambassador +were explicit enough in all conscience. She tells him, for +instance, that she is giving the hospitality of her bed to +the little poodle he had left behind at Ferrara, fondling it +and kissing it, “since,” she adds, “I have no one else +here now.” Now, mark the complexity of this feminine +diplomacy! Attached to the service of our gay ambassador +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span>was a spy in the duchess’s pay. But this was matched by +the fact that her own letters were intercepted and read in +the “dark closet” of Ferrara, with the result that the duke +lost whatever remnant of doubt he may perchance have +nourished, but had the charming consolation of locking up +in his archives the journal in which she set down her +doings and secret thoughts for the sole benefit, as she +imagined, of her absent lover. The inevitable outcome +of this game of cross purposes was the impossibility of +foreseeing when the mission of M. de Pons would be +concluded. But it would argue great simplicity not to +imagine that the duchess also had her “dark closet”; and +in fact, she had arranged for the interception and perusal of +letters addressed to the lucky Pons by one of her own ladies +of honour, letters which, like hers, embodied a private diary, +and were as ardent as her own. It remains only to add +that Pons had left at Ferrara a lawful wife (the inspiration +of Giraldi’s muse) who loved him with equal warmth and +devotion, and bore him beautiful children. But all things +come to an end, even diplomacy when there are more +reasons for concluding negotiations than for commencing +them. So it came about that M. de Pons returned, and the +duke philosophically shut his eyes and stopped his ears +until the day when he took the liberty of turning the key +on the daughter of France whom he had been so much +honoured in espousing.</p> + +<p>The duchess of Ferrara belonged to a school which was +unhappily of large extent, and was in great measure the +cause of the ruin of feminism: the school namely of women +who were somewhat intoxicated with their power, and who +forced their way by hook or crook into politics and life. +In France more than one woman of this sort might be cited +from the reign of Henri II.</p> + +<p>Serious women, however, very clearly saw that if they +were to avoid a fall they must take only an indirect part in +affairs. When the great sculptor Sansovino appeared on +the point of sinking under a moral crisis, it seemed quite +natural that Aretino should appeal to his young wife to +come to his aid! There you have the woman’s rôle! Vittoria +Colonna, likewise, restrained her husband in the flush +of an intoxicating and perhaps perilous triumph, by a letter +which has justly remained celebrated: “Not by the greatness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span>of your domains or titles, but by your virtue, will you +win the honour which your descendants may make their +boast. For my part I have no desire to be the wife of a +king; I am the wife of the great captain who has vanquished +all kings, not by his valour merely, but by his +magnanimity.”</p> + +<p>Such was the language of a philosophical woman, accustomed +to take lofty views of things, and to live in the +atmosphere of the Beautiful, that is to say, a life of mingled +serenity and strength. Her reserve of energy, lying hid +under a wealth of kindliness, could only show itself in +times of difficulty: “The tongue is feminine, the arm is +masculine,” said an old Italian proverb.⁠<a id="FNanchor_284" href="#Footnote_284" class="fnanchor">[284]</a> The tongue directs +the arm; there are circumstances in which the tongue may +sustain the arm, but that is not its chief duty.</p> + +<p>Woman’s part, it is admitted, is to act as a moderating +influence in joy or grief. We shall therefore not dwell upon +that point, but confine ourselves to answering a question of +some delicacy. Women have been reproached with misusing +their powers, and with holding men too much under +their thumb.</p> + +<p>To loathe war, to advocate perpetual peace, conciliation, +hatred of everything resembling an appeal to force, is +admirable enough; but this advocacy itself has its limits. +Is not war also a salutary thing? Does it not brace up +nations sunk in the torpor of bourgeois materialism? War +has a nobleness and beauty of its own. And indeed, are +we to degrade men into carpet knights, jousting in cap +and feather before a court deliciously feminine? Horses, +standards, heraldic devices, the sheen of armour, the clash +of weapons, the din of clarions and trumpets, of flutes and +hunting-horns and all the instruments that stir the blood,—inspiriting +as all these are supposed to be, and well as they +may symbolise courage, are they sufficient to preserve the +masculine virtues? Love is often enervating. Where will +the army be,⁠<a id="FNanchor_285" href="#Footnote_285" class="fnanchor">[285]</a> what will become of the country, if women +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span>carry us up with them into the clouds? Mantegna replies +by showing us Samson and Delilah,⁠<a id="FNanchor_286" href="#Footnote_286" class="fnanchor">[286]</a> Botticelli with his +picture of the cupids stripping Mars of his armour as he +lies sleeping by Venus’ side.⁠<a id="FNanchor_287" href="#Footnote_287" class="fnanchor">[287]</a></p> + +<p>But we have already given the true answer.</p> + +<p>Certainly woman’s place is not in the camp. The virago +has no vogue: men do not fight women nor take them +prisoners. Women do in truth loathe war. But when the +war is noble they become its advocates. War is a noble +thing when it is waged in self-defence, when honour and +life and liberty are at stake. Then, be sure, women are not +lagging in the rear. Beatrice d’Este with a stout heart +dragged Ludovico il Moro to the camp facing the French; +and there, showing him an army quaking for all its cheers +at that solemn hour the eve of battle, she set the feeble +heart of her husband beating in time with her own. In +November 1502 the ladies of Urbino besieged the ducal +palace with offers of their jewels for the purpose of repelling +Caesar Borgia. At Sienna, the women, led by ladies of the +highest rank, set to work to carry baskets of earth upon +their heads, and, what is still more extraordinary, they +agreed to perform this service systematically under the +orders of three lady captains recognisable by their satin +petticoats. One young girl pushed her enthusiasm to such +a length as to disguise herself in a soldier’s uniform in order +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span>to pass the night on the ramparts. Monluc⁠<a id="FNanchor_288" href="#Footnote_288" class="fnanchor">[288]</a> himself, that +hardened old warrior, waxed enthusiastic in praise of such +notable courage, and promised eternal glory to these fair +ladies. And was not Anne of France familiar with the +camp? Have we not told the story of that Françoise +d’Amboise who raised a troop to repel a band of brigands!</p> + +<p>But to fire a woman’s heart a just cause is needed, otherwise +she execrates war. Clever people may talk as they +please,—praise the Amazons of Georgia, the ancient Ligurian +women who tilled their fields, or recall the visions of Plato +in the fifth book of the <i>Republic</i> or the seventh of the <i>Laws</i> +on the military and political aptitudes of women: these are +paradoxes which influence no one. Maria Puteolana, who +attained the rank of captain in the Italian army, was +laughed at; and, to tell the truth, the military inspiration +of certain heroines at critical moments was regarded as +purely adventitious. It came to St. Catherine of Sienna +“by the riches of grace”; to Joan of Arc “by divine grace, +by mystery divine.” So strong was the belief in Joan’s +saintship that it brought her to the stake. She resembled +Deborah and Judith; her story was repeated in the most +insignificant hamlets, and all France gave ceaseless thanks +to God for so clearly manifesting Himself through the feeble +arm of a woman, a shepherd-lass: “<i>sicut populum tuum +per manum feminae liberasti</i>.” But this was only an +additional stanza in the love litany (long enough already) +lisped by poets and the faithful to the Virgin of Virgins: a +love-poem, but at the same time a malediction on war and +the spirit of conquest.</p> + +<p>When men spoke, even in favourable terms, of the women +who had been thrown by the force of circumstances among +tragic incidents like these, it was as though they were +celebrating a sort of suicide. Castiglione has devoted verses +charged with real emotion to the memory of a young girl +who was mortally wounded at the storming of Pisa in 1499, +at the moment when she was leading on the defenders. +She was carried away dying, he says, and as she lay upon +her mother’s bosom, she exclaimed that her country owed +her no other bridal! “Virago,” he adds, wiping his eyes. +The last word on these military women was said by a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span>woman, the charming Isabella Villamarina, who was resolved +to don man’s clothes and start for the army like the wife of +Mithridates, with no thought of fighting, but to be with her +husband, the prince of Salerno, whom she madly loved. +But the prince insisting on her staying at home, it occurred +to her to pass the whole of the day in bed, hoping to see +her husband in her dreams!</p> + +<p>It was not simply by dint of philosophical reasoning that +women avoided active and masculine occupations. They +were well aware that they had everything to lose if they +lived the life of men. Men rode rough-shod over them. +Such women as an evil star did actually fling into the +vortex—and these were rare—were invariably women of a +robust and sensuous type.</p> + +<p>Could a more striking example be cited than Catherine +Sforza, a luckless princess perpetually condemned to stand +on the defensive, and on this account fated to remain on the +outskirts of the world in which she might have played so +lofty a part? A notable woman, endowed with nature’s +most prodigal and magnificent gifts; tall, strong, good-looking +enough, with a clear, superb complexion; in speech +warm, forceful, impulsive, her voice ringing out for the +most part like a trumpet call, but capable also of enchanting +caresses. There was nothing theatrical in her wonderful +force of mind, which asserted itself in grand outbursts on all +occasions, as when, for instance, she wrote to her sons from +the depth of her dungeon in the castle of Sant’ Angelo, +bidding them not to be concerned for her. “I am habituated +to grief,” she said; “I have no fear of it.” Or on that other +occasion, the day of the storming of her capital, when the +boldest of the French, forcing their way into the innermost +entrenchments, succeeded finally, after unheard-of exertions, +in capturing her, like a lioness caught in a snare. Here we +have the reverse of the medal: strip her of her armour and +she is a woman, one of the feeblest of her sex. Catherine +exhausted all her vigour in politics: she was swayed by +her senses; almost unknown to herself she imparted to all +about her the unquenchable thirst for sensual pleasure by +which she was herself devoured. Her first three husbands +died by the assassin’s knife. The magnificent Ordelaffi, one +of her foes, would never have wrested the county of Imola +from her by mere force of arms; but to vanquish the woman +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span>herself by the magnetism of the senses was but the sport of +an afternoon. And when Catherine, hopelessly entangled +in these toils, heard the people discussing her, the lioness +roared: sentences of imprisonment and the strappado were +the outward and visible signs of her love. The scene +changes; the amiable Ordelaffi gives place to a lover more +worthy of her. Before the virile force of this man, threatening +constantly to sell his soul to the devil, and (a more +serious matter) the state to the Turks, Catherine is subjugated: +she marries him. Feo becomes an odious tyrant: +denunciations, persecutions, tortures are his wedding gifts. +As was to be expected, Feo fell stabbed to the heart under +the very eyes of his sovereign, and then Terror spread her +vampire wings, and the silent prisons swam with holocausts +of blood.</p> + +<p>Were we wrong in saying, at the outset, that under the +exquisite charm of life’s manifestations, the brute in man +was struggling all the time! Possibly it was imagined that +in muzzling the brute, women were obeying a natural +instinct, and that there were certain sensualities and bestial +horrors little to be feared in regard to women brought up in +an atmosphere refined almost to rarefaction. According to +Nifo and others, all that was wanted was to encourage +recourse to the platonist theories. And yet here we see, in +appalling contradiction, this great figure of Catherine Sforza +dominating her epoch, as though to show to what a pitch +the intoxication of masculine women could rise. For at +bottom she was a woman of an excellent heart—this +Catherine who died under the name of Medici; a genuine +sister of mercy, thoughtful, generous, diligent in feeding the +poor in time of famine, and, when an epidemic was raging, +marvellous as a sovereign and a sick-nurse! And how +lovely she was! How well she knew, in the intervals of +her frenzied existence, how to enjoy life, when she gave +herself up to the beauty of her flowers, the charm of her +gardens, the delight of seeing her splendid drove of cattle +peacefully grazing in her parks! Dogs never had a more +tender protectress. She evoked her people’s enthusiasm +and applause when, riding in a red skirt at the head of her +huntsmen, like a legendary fairy, and reining up her horse +with her delicate scented hand, she smiled upon them all, her +beautiful white teeth flashing between her full ruby lips.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span></p> + +<p>What did she lack, then, to make her in very truth a +woman? Only womanliness, and the exquisite power of +using love as a quickening instead of a destroying spirit. +With her, it was quite useless to assume airs of ethereality. +The style she needed is that which we find in the letters of +one of the men she loved, Gabriele Piccoli. This Piccoli +served her as ambassador, and one day Catherine scolded +him for making too free a use of poetry in his despatches. +Upon that, he lost his head; he felt that his heart was all +aflame, “boiling over” he says; he was beside himself with +exultation, speaking of his Divinity, his Hope, anxious to +take flight and abandon everything in order to live “under +the shadow and in the confidence of his princess”; then, +with a sudden transition, he reports in the most precise +terms various diplomatic schemes, not a little complicated. +In reality, the letter is that of a man speaking to a woman of +forty, and seeing her as she was, good-hearted and tender, +yet vigorous and virile. Why did he love her? Because, +all said and done, she intoxicated men. In the evening she +would dance like a mad thing,⁠<a id="FNanchor_289" href="#Footnote_289" class="fnanchor">[289]</a> and next morning go on +a pilgrimage: a strange wild creature. She ended by +marrying a Medici, a man of delicate, idealistic, almost +effeminate temperament. There is nothing so strange as the +colloquy which took place between her and Savonarola. +She had written to the monk to request his prayers, and he +replied in a charming letter, of mingled serenity and strength, +in which he takes high ground in rebuking her life. This +letter is dated June 18, 1497, the very day on which all the +churches in Florence were thundering with the papal proscription +launched against him. Ah! how tragic, how +impressive an encounter was this, between two souls +equally belated, though in a different sense: the pure monk +face to face with death: the woman, born too soon or too +late, the prey of destiny! The French formed an excellent +judgment of this woman of bronze and thunder, who had +ceased to be a woman: they called one of their most +formidable pieces of artillery “Madame de Forli.”</p> + +<p>There was one woman, perhaps, who diffused through the +camps a real chivalrous enthusiasm: but this was in Spain, +and faith and fatherland were concerned. Isabella the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span>Catholic ordered that she should be buried on the battlefield +of Grenada, wrapped in the broad folds of her royal mantle, +as though to preach lessons of valour even after her death. +To this day her great soul appears to hold sway in Spain.</p> + +<p>She was a wonderful mixture of different kinds of heroism. +She was brave and resolute without a touch of the virago. +After a night spent in dictating orders, she would tranquilly +resume a piece of church embroidery, or, like Anne of France, +the practical education of her daughters. In her own +private affairs she was plain and simple, in public she was +all ostentation. She was a conversationalist of the first +order, and loved to attack high philosophical questions, +here and there dropping into a discussion some original +phrase, some bold and clear-cut thought, while her deep +blue eyes lit up and darted upon her company a certain +glance of warmth and loyalty the renown of which still +clings to her name. A strange woman! ardent like Anne of +France, guileless, straightforward, somewhat starched perhaps, +but all heart for her friends, so fond a mother that +she died of the loss of her children, so thorough a woman +that she declared she knew only four fine sights in the +world: “a soldier in the field, a priest at the altar, a +beautiful woman in bed, a thief on the gibbet.”</p> + +<p>No king could ever have exercised the same ascendancy. +Spain is too proud a country! A Spaniard to whom you +speak of an army will tell you with perfect coolness that it +consisted of 3000 Italians, 3000 Germans, and 6000 soldiers, +that is to say, 6000 Spaniards. Isabella and Anne of +France were of a style which could only succeed in Spain or +France. Castiglione himself shrinks in awe before such +figures, declaring that he knows nothing like them in Italy.</p> + +<p>Michelangelo showed himself to be less pessimistic, and +has constantly endowed his women with ideal traits of +greatness of soul. His <i>Virgin</i> of the Casa Buonarotti, with +the profile of a Roman matron, holds herself erect and looks +straight before her with the forceful eye of a woman who +would dare anything in defence of her treasure, this feeble +little man to be, gathered so close to her breast that but little +of his back is visible: in very truth, <i>fructus ventris tui</i>.</p> + +<p>Every lady must have seen the exquisite <i>Pietà</i> in +St. Peter’s at Rome.⁠<a id="FNanchor_290" href="#Footnote_290" class="fnanchor">[290]</a> It is the finest monument ever erected +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span>to the honour of the sex. Overwhelmed by the tragedy of +Savonarola, Michelangelo has given utterance in that +picture to the cry of his soul: he makes his appeal to +women in the name of Christ.</p> + +<p>On her knees, with simplicity, without sensible effort, the +Mother bears her dead Son—a cruel burden! Her wide-flowing +drapery, her beautiful form, the purity of the lines +of her face, all reveal so great a force of soul that the fact of +her appearing as youthful as her son causes no surprise. +But the Christ is not, for His part, pressing heavily upon her. +Though He is dead, one feels that He still lives, from the +love which speaks forth from His wan, worn features: by +the power of love He has vanquished divine Death, a death +He sought, and almost loved. And the pure, grave mother, +filled with a profound compassion, seems yearning to bring +Him forth a second time, into a complete imperishable life: +hers is an impersonal type, not representing this or that +woman, this or that mother:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Le corps, enfin vaincu, recule devant l’âme,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et la terre, ayant vu cette Vierge et ce Dieu,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Va comprendre l’Amour et respecter la Femme.⁠<a id="FNanchor_291" href="#Footnote_291" class="fnanchor">[291]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Michelangelo exalts the eternal woman, sustaining the +Man of Sorrows by the strength of love. He has left us as +his final bequest, as it were, the symbol of all the strenuous +women of the fifteenth century, who had just run so +glorious a race in Italy, and who saw from serene heights +the suffering they themselves never felt—the ancestors of +Vittoria Colonna and Margaret of France. And yet he had +no wish to exaggerate. When he came to paint the <i>Last +Judgment</i>, he no longer set woman in the foreground, like +the naïve old masters; he placed her respectfully in the +rear, giving her an attitude of humility, suppliance, and +compassion, because, even for him, woman was before all +things the incarnation of sweetness and kindliness, and +because, in those dread hours when it is for power and +justice to pronounce the final doom, every woman must +needs stand in the shade.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_III_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br> +<span class="smaller">MORAL INFLUENCE</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>The moral purification of society is assuredly one of the +conditions of happiness; hence it was one of the chief +ends of platonism. The 16th century, unfortunately, was +one of the most corrupt periods known to our history, an +undisputed fact from which some people have concluded +that art was the cause of moral decadence, because art in +itself is unmoral, and never acts otherwise than as “a +stimulus to debauchery.” These good paradoxical souls +had ancestors as long ago as the 15th and 16th centuries—ancestors +who held the same theory and saw in aestheticism +a fatal blight to humanity. They refused to acknowledge +the idea of the beautiful: and the belief that a careful +observation discovers some trace of beauty everywhere—that +even in the mind of a criminal there are sometimes +uncommon, indeed splendid faculties, unhappily turned to +evil—seemed to them, as it seems to their successors to-day, +a miserable error calculated to lead mankind to perdition. +Platonist women and the Roman world saw in it, on the +contrary, a pledge of regeneration and civilisation.</p> + +<p>We have already said that the world needed no further +urging on the downward path; love was only understood +apart from marriage, and all that remained to settle was +whether this love should remain material or might possibly +become spiritual.</p> + +<p>All the contemporaries of platonism who regretted the +“good old times” (and in France they were many)—Marot, +Rabelais, Collérye nicknamed Roger Bontemps, Coquillart +the sworn foe of the fashionable world, “bucks” as he +called them—all these clearly explain their position; they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span>lamented the disappearance of love “<i>à la française</i>,” a +whole-hearted love without qualifications and periphrases; +a love that was very pleasant if not very moral. And as to +the folk who believed that virtue was corrupted by the +salons, they had only to stroll through the fairs, look in at +the rustic festivities and balls, and chat with one or two +tavern wenches or a village “old wife,” or even to penetrate +into some of the country houses. In Germany, where +morals retained their antique savour, it cannot be pleaded +that Dr. Faustus, with the little crippled love who waits on +him, or the coarse bourgeois Venuses of Wohlgemüth or +Albert Dürer, existed only in imagination!</p> + +<p>The first contact with Italy, so far from purifying these +manners, only brought about the exaltation of sensualism; +one of the most popular of French writers, Octavien de +Saint-Gelais, had no scruple in raising a statue to +“Sensuality.” The French saw in Italy only the pagan +side of the Renaissance, that of the Malatestas⁠<a id="FNanchor_292" href="#Footnote_292" class="fnanchor">[292]</a> and others, +and, as often enough happens when the field of contemplation +is so narrow, they perceived nothing but the more +striking and startling phenomena—the flash of daggers, the +poison bowl; so much that an excellent young man, Louis +de Beauvau, who had wedded a young person of humble +rank against the wishes of his family, and repented of it, +profited by the expedition of Charles VIII. to get together +a fine collection of poisons as he went from town to town. +Certain Italians who had come to France were regarded as +so many jinnish heralds of moral anarchy. “The only way to +escape women is not to see them at all,” exclaims one of +them, Andrelini. In truth, it was not long before Italian +society presented a lamentable spectacle of decomposition; +observers felt painful heart-burnings and overwhelming +disgust. “This is too much,” cries Palingenius, dubbed +the Star of the Renaissance: “let me flee away to some +peaceful, solitary shore.”</p> + +<p>From the year 1515 onwards the court of France +advanced boldly along the same path, dragging the country +with it. “Paris is a fair city to live in, but not to die in.” +What a pass things had come to! When five years had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[327]</span>elapsed, Lemaire, who had been one of the prophets of the new +order, paints the situation in terrible colours, demanding as +remedy a convocation of the Courts of Love. Charming +tribunals, indeed: but what good would they serve? In the +forefront of this corrupt and putrid society the official poet +shows us his young king, with his coarse sensual lips wrinkled +in a hideous smile, “consumed by women” body and soul.</p> + +<p>Free love flourished. The saying, “In case of love, one +dame doth not suffice,”⁠<a id="FNanchor_293" href="#Footnote_293" class="fnanchor">[293]</a> answered to the accepted axiom on +the fickleness of women. The noblest of ladies declared +themselves “lieutenants of Venus.” It was love in its +basest form, a matter of trade and barter, cold as ice; +nothing was wanting to its degradation—diplomatic +husbands, women who were “merchandise for kings,” but +a merchandise which proffered itself! It is alleged that +Louis XII. in his decrepitude knew not in Italy how to +defend the virtue of which he was so tenacious. The +excellent Margaret of France was amazed when a young +girl of good family did not rush to sacrifice herself to a +caprice of her brother.⁠<a id="FNanchor_294" href="#Footnote_294" class="fnanchor">[294]</a> Young or old, it made no +difference. Women were known to get up bogus law-suits +for the pleasure of corrupting the judges. Others, with +greater attractions, flocked to the favourite or the minister +of the day; others, more numerous, threw themselves at the +moneyed men, as rivers rush to the sea. No one would +guess what shameful shifts masked some lives that seemed +a brilliant round of music and receptions and play; or +what a singular population of waiting-maids, pimps, and +procuresses of all ranks, forced their unwelcome services +upon a respectable man—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Piteulx comme ung beau crucifix!⁠<a id="FNanchor_295" href="#Footnote_295" class="fnanchor">[295]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Vice was everywhere the same, except for some trifling +shades. If an Italian and a Frenchman told the same story +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[328]</span>of an honest woman seduced by means of gold, they practically +differed in nothing but the tariff; the Italian lady +exacts a thousand crowns and disappoints the purchaser, the +Frenchwoman asks only a hundred and faithfully keeps her +word. When the matter comes to light, the Italian husband +is very deferential to the seducer, but poisons the lady; the +French husband contents himself with sending her home to +her parents for a time.</p> + +<p>We must not be understood to believe that honest women +no longer existed: on the contrary, there were still many. +The only difficulty was to find them, because they kept out +of sight, or, at any rate, were too apt to regard the exercising +of an influence as beneath them.</p> + +<p>Good women are often passive, incredulous, or at least +resigned in regard to evil. Many of them, brought up on +the ancient principle of subjection and abnegation, would +ask nothing better than to shut eyes and ears with the +quasi-felicity of mummies petrified in an eternal sleep, and +to decline to believe in evil. There the evil is, under their +own roof, touching them closely, wounding them: yet still +they smile and smile, wishing to appear crowned with roses, +and doing their best to fancy they are happy.⁠<a id="FNanchor_296" href="#Footnote_296" class="fnanchor">[296]</a> What +delightful reasoning, and how precious to feeble and timid +women who would fain eschew strife, and love always!</p> + +<p>Vittoria Colonna, for instance, feigned sleep one night +while her husband, by her side, indulged in wild +antics that pained her deeply. Nifo relates, with the +perfect serenity of an egoist, an incident that happened +to himself. He had shut himself up in his study to write a +<i>Thesserologia astronomica</i>. After some days his wife grew +anxious, and employed all kinds of stratagems to induce him +to relax the rigour of his seclusion. Not succeeding, poor +woman! she went in search of a young lady in the neighbourhood, +of whom she knew her husband was enamoured, +and whom, after she had given her a piece of her mind, she +brought back with her. She shut the two up together, with +the simple happiness of a faithful dog, flattering herself on +having discovered the solution of the puzzle. But no, Nifo +remained glued to his <i>Thesserologia</i>. Then the good woman +lost her head, vowed herself to saints innumerable, made +pilgrimage after pilgrimage, and gave many a votive offering. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[329]</span>Three months afterward, Nifo, when he had written his +last line, issued tranquilly from his tomb, and condescended +(so he assures us) to raise his wife from her depression.</p> + +<p>Devotion of this kind was apparently not rare among the +women of old. There was indeed a classical little story +which passed from hand to hand about a Madame de +Varambon. Monsieur de Varambon (so the story ran: we +must do him at least this justice) was a thrifty fellow, and +his wife was grieved to know that his mistress’s apartments +were rather poorly furnished. She ended by going herself +to look after the furnishing, in profound secrecy. This +story excited the hilarity of men every time it was told; +some of them regarded Madame de Varambon as an old +humbug; others, as a poor godly old soul;⁠<a id="FNanchor_297" href="#Footnote_297" class="fnanchor">[297]</a> and that was +the sole reward of her virtue!</p> + +<p>Apart from this bent of women themselves for submission +and seclusion, we must note also that Frenchmen formed themselves +into a sort of league, by no means chivalrous, against +women who got “talked about.” If a woman was talked +about, it seemed a necessary deduction that there was something +bad to say about her, and the mere fact of a lady +acquiring any sort of public reputation, though entirely to +her honour, apparently gave everyone the right to fling mud +at her. This was one of the most formidable obstacles to +the moral influence of women. It seemed to many people, +in short, that there was no choice between virtue starched, +prosaic and wearisome, or no virtue at all: that it consisted +for women in the simple devotion to an ideal of family duty—in +which, however, they did not always find happiness, +and which religion did not always succeed in beautifying, +for the family affections are terrestrial, and doubtless will +not survive the earth. Husbands maintained this position, +finding it convenient. Vice and virtue in all their coarseness +(there is a coarseness of virtue) were each shut up, so to +speak, in a water-tight compartment: “to each his calling”; +no compromise, no nuance, no degree was acknowledged; +virtue is always represented by Titian and others with +harsh malevolence as uncouth and ill to look upon, while +opposite her they represent the true woman as an embodied +caress.</p> + +<p>Untrue and untenable as this distinction was, no one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[330]</span>cared to seek a way out of the dilemma, not even the +moralists. Lotto as well as Titian represents the virtuous +woman as a goose-girl, in conflict with Venus! And indeed +the singular comparison in course of time penetrated to the +core of platonist society, though it was softened down like a +much attenuated echo. Raphael, then a charming boy of +twenty, fresh moulded by the tender hands of two princesses, +was conscious of the same thing in his <i>Vision of a Knight</i> +in the National Gallery.</p> + +<p>To him also the grave woman holding a sword and a +book seems a timid creature; he leaves her in the background +as though unwilling to show herself, and limns +behind her only a rocky steep and a church spire soaring +into the sky. The other lady, on the contrary, graceful in +form and feature, stands out distinctly before lovely meadows +sloping down to a swift-flowing stream. What does she +hold? A flower, no more. This is love indeed, but eminently +tender, eminently reasonable, almost ineffectual. +Raphael was so young!</p> + +<p>Why then, even in the eyes of this delicate-minded stripling, +does virtue keep this character of ungainliness and +frigidity? Were there in his day none of those women of +sound mind and steadfast soul who, while knowing how to +leave men undisturbed in their pride, how (so to speak) to +respect them, knew also how to stimulate them to set happiness +above the woes of life? It is not even the lash of +passion we are speaking about; great love has some +trenchant quality that cleaves a way through materialities; +it is purification <i>par excellence</i>; it would remove +mountains and still the waves. Happy the woman who +has once encountered it, thrice happy she who has been +able to recognise it and seize it ere it passed! For it has +but one defect, its exceeding rarity; and if the moral regeneration +of society were absolutely dependent on it, a +woman would do better to fling up the struggle, encase +herself in triple brass, mystically shut her eyes to evil, +await a miracle, and hope for nothing on this earth but the +repentant tears of her husband!</p> + +<p>We are speaking merely of women of vigour, made to +support and guide men—the women whom men style +“dragons.” They are a species which achieves little +success in the world; men regard them as somewhat too +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[331]</span>masculine, and are constantly making fun of them, especially +when there are good reasons for so doing. At Naples, for +instance, one of these dragons—Doña Maria d’Aragona, a +respectable mother of seven—created no little amusement +because (so the story ran), in her desire for a large experience, +she had wished to live with her husband three years +as a wife, three as a sweetheart, and three as an enemy. +Men do not understand such women; it is a sense they are +deficient in. These women were out of date,—women of +the 15th century, of the time before Savonarola. They +remind one of those old, high, rugged ramparts which +perforce crumble away, and to which we prefer a spick-and-span, +vulgar boulevard, blocked up with gingerbread +stalls.</p> + +<p>And yet the moral influence of women, from a social and +general standpoint, did make itself felt, especially in Italy. +“You must not judge men from the crust,” as Anne of +France very well said. The opposing parties were so little +divided from each other that it is not easy to distinguish +them; there were materialists who did not scorn the ideal, +and idealists by no means unsympathetic to the material, +and it was that which gave an opening to the moral +preacher.</p> + +<p>For instance, Nifo, whom we have mentioned as a personal +foe to Plato, had begun by fighting against Thomas of +Aquinas in the materialist camp; but on being shown his +folly by the Bishop of Padua, a prelate of parts, he changed +sides with a great flourish of trumpets, fell lustily upon his +master Pomponazzi, and became a Roman count with the +name and the arms of the Medici: to his own satisfaction +and delight, for logical minds love success. And by and by +we discover him, folios in hand, falling at the feet of female +beauty with surprising agility,—quite eclipsing Victor +Cousin, whose passions were of the mere milk-and-water +order and very much behind the times. Renan, who has +left us an excellent appreciation of Nifo, reproaches him +with the somewhat wobbly character of his doctrine; but +this is the very thing that interests us. If men were not +inconstant, platonism would have no further utility. Nifo, +in short, was a converted character. If men are bent on +fighting, we must not complain that a woman’s hand can +sometimes draw them into the crack regiments.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[332]</span></p> + +<p>This means, someone will say, that the conscience and +the lofty deductions of a serious or even a distinguished +man depend on the rustle of a petticoat or the colour of +certain eyes? Even so; if the woman stands for more +than a petticoat and two bright eyes, if she really has a +heart, ardent and vigorous affections in which the man’s +spirit finds refreshment, what could be more natural or +moral?</p> + +<p>Look at Nifo again. Ugly, hideous, untractable as he +was, he completely changed his tune under the influence of +a few artificial (perhaps too artificial, indeed!) courtesies; if +he retained some of the claws of the primitive man, some +thorns of the wild stock which it was so difficult to graft, +what does that prove but that under a woman’s fingers the +roughest bushes burst into brilliant flower? Nifo even +came to wear almost the same moral livery as Bembo. He +speaks of Plato only with respect, and of materialism only +with disdain as a not very formidable doctrine from which +good taste and spiritual refinement cannot but preserve +women; he pretends to go as far as the “imaginatives” in +the direction of sociological love; he adopts in principle +Plato’s theory of love as an intermediary between the +Creator and the creature; “beauty—aye, I gladly confess +it—is that which produces love.” His only weakness (a +very natural one) is that he cannot arrive at the Absolute, +as Socrates understood it, without traversing this earth; that +he prefers to vague, immaterial, supersensual dallying with +love the personal encounter of two living beings. On this +head the meanest logicians do not allow themselves to be +silenced. They unreservedly, enthusiastically recognise the +religion of beauty and love, and its admirable effects on +society and the world; but at the same time they are not +quite at one about definitions. They pause in a sort of +numb fascination before a pretty little piece of piety who +suddenly pretends she forgets her body and is only a soul; +they are like Dante in Purgatory, when he opened his arms +and clasped nothing but air. They do not prostrate soul and +body in adoration before a shadow, a reflection, a transient +gleam of beauty; it seems good to them to love a particular +woman in virtue of a special affinity, or a need of settling +down; and in these circumstances they would in good sooth +think it great folly to torture themselves under the fallacious +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[333]</span>plea that sweet love if gratified is slain. Love, they say, is +one and indivisible, not too base nor too divine: “You may +cite me your heroes, your saints, your angels: you may +explore the whole realm of antiquity to unearth types like +Socrates and Anaxarchos (or, if you please, Xenocrates, who +spent a whole night in tranquil admiration of Phryne): +everything is possible. I myself furnish a magnificent +example in loving Fulvia without any base desire. But +these are masterly achievements of saints or philosophers, +and St. Jerome shows a keen insight into humanity when +he ordains that men shall either regard all the Lord’s +virgins with a generic affection, or shall not love any of +them. Horace maintained that with greybeards the flesh is +dead; St. Jerome replies: ‘You say that the flesh is dead, +and I tell you that the devil is eternal.’ Love must be +distinguished from friendship.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_298" href="#Footnote_298" class="fnanchor">[298]</a></p> + +<p>In France it was another story. Men were much more +self-assertive. We do not find them appealing to these circumlocutions +or these tender ironies. The annihilation of +matter would have struck them as almost an outrage. +Among them things took an entirely different complexion +from that which we have indicated in the feminist society of +Italy. Being the masters, they regarded love as indispensable, +and beauty as always good: “If we thought ladies +were without love, we should long for death”; only, adds +Erasmus, “they grant women nothing but from love of +sensual pleasure”; and the more highly placed they happened +to be, the more natural it seemed to them to degrade +love. “To gratify a prince”—we know what that means; +there is no question here of an elevated love like the love +which fills princesses’ dreams.</p> + +<p>The moral conflict on this point was in France acute. +When Margaret essayed to purify the society of her court +by a leaven of beauty, her entourage checked her, refusing +to allow any effort towards embellishing human life with +the ideal. These men held too closely to the old logical +and realist spirit. They loved Plato, but truth still more. +They did not realise that their brutal realism had the effect +of throwing women off at a tangent, for a religion of some +sort is always necessary; to save themselves from men, +women of high birth and noble bearing, carried away by +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[334]</span>an enthusiasm in some sort heroic, attained to a mystic conception +of a life of pure sensibility.</p> + +<p>But then what is the beginning and what the end of the +dream? Without touching on the cruel questionings of +philosophy about the reality of our physical perceptions, or +on many of the ambiguous phenomena, where does the +vision begin in the moral life, if life involves so many +fancies, illusions, loves, gleams, which act upon us but have +no real existence?—so many vague aspirations, admirable +but unsubstantial? To fall headlong from a height into an +abyss is a violent experience which kills too quickly; the +mystic vision is only possible on condition of coddling the +soul within the four walls of a convent; out in the world it +falls and is lost: that was the opinion of the logicians. +When Margaret relates with what energy of virtue she +escaped the realistic assaults of Bonnivet, and how, at the +cost of a few scratches, she has reduced him to the cold +comfort of the Ideal, her husband is the first to laugh, +saying: “If I had got so far, I should think myself disgraced +to fail of attaining my goal.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_299" href="#Footnote_299" class="fnanchor">[299]</a></p> + +<p>It is a cynical saying, and raises a general protest; but +Henri d’Albret explains it very placidly, and we cannot +give the gist of his retort better than in the following +sentence of M. Bourget: “You have the morality of life, +without having the morality of the heart.” Henri rejoices +to see his wife keep up appearances, but, from the moral +standpoint, he finds no great difference between her and +himself, except in practical conduct: “She and I are both +children of Adam and Eve.” He laughs and sneers at the +nebulous philosophical aspirations of the princess, and is +not the only man who has got this strange impression that +the sins of the spirit and the sins of the flesh are equipollent. +“A fortress which parleys is half won,” says with feigned +good-humour one of the speakers in the <i>Heptameron</i>, +appearing to forget that Margaret as an inveterate gossip +had readily accepted the sobriquet of Parlamente.⁠<a id="FNanchor_300" href="#Footnote_300" class="fnanchor">[300]</a></p> + +<p>Not merely did the adversaries of platonism accuse it of +being only moral in appearance, but this very semblance of +morality, resting on a misapprehension, seemed to them an +hypocrisy that aggravated the fault. They regarded platonism +as evil and wanting in seriousness; Louise of Savoy, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[335]</span>an inveterate kill-joy, at once sour and sympathetic in +regard to pleasures she is past enjoying, inveighs bitterly +against love that is only skin-deep—the vanities and tricks, +the husk and chaff of love that is simply a comedy in +which two actors show their skill; she prefers a fault without +scandal to a scandal without fault. However, the issue +seems to her perfectly clear: “Either you love, or you do +not. If you love, why impose on yourself the torment of +Tantalus? If you do not, why impose it on others?” She +would rather succeed in a piece of folly than fail in a +virtuous action, however logical and practical.</p> + +<p>She has a way all her own of squelching the fancies +of her daughter; she allows them to swell and swell, and +then gives the merest little pin-prick. Someone speaks, +for instance, of a queen clever enough to impose seven years’ +preliminary probation on her lover: “Then she didn’t wish +to love or be loved!”⁠<a id="FNanchor_301" href="#Footnote_301" class="fnanchor">[301]</a> If someone feelingly exclaims: +“When love is strong, the lover knows no meat and drink +but the look and voice of the loved one,” she retorts that +she would much like to see how he looked on such fare!⁠<a id="FNanchor_302" href="#Footnote_302" class="fnanchor">[302]</a> +At the conclusion of a droll story, a maid of honour who +is a little over-excited declares that she would rather be +flung into the river than live in intimacy with a Franciscan; +and Louise replies with her placid smile: “Then you can +swim well?” The other retorts in great irritation: “I +know some who have resisted more prepossessing men than +a Franciscan, without blowing their own trumpets about +it.” Louise, laughing more than ever, replies, “Still less +do they beat the drums about what they have done and +granted.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_303" href="#Footnote_303" class="fnanchor">[303]</a> She is a sceptic and a logician; with all her +boldness of speech, she is never over-paradoxical. Moreover, +she applied her principles to herself, and had such a +way of encouraging her daughter’s lovers that they quite +naturally paid their addresses to her. At the opening of +the <i>Heptameron</i>, for instance, one of Margaret’s numerous +admirers, furious to see his princess receive a passionate +declaration with laughter, hies him to the mother.</p> + +<p>Almost everybody in France shared the views of +Henri d’Albret and Louise of Savoy. Platonism sprang up +among thorns. And so far from there being any bias +in its favour, there awoke a reaction against the finnikin +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[336]</span>absurdities of bygone days,—for instance, against the +“bashful knights” who sported furs in summer, and +summer cloaks in winter, in order to give ocular demonstration +that “love was all-sufficient.” That sort of mysticism +struck men as sickly. They preferred frankness and +vivacity,—the frothy sparkle of champagne to the sugared +liqueur, golden, soft, limpid, heavy, old in bottle, which +bore the Italian label. Rabelais, who is our Michelangelo, +takes great care not to dive into the mysteries in Ficino’s +way, or to pile up a heap of folios after the example of +Nifo. Look at him, with his learning and his consummate +intellect, sitting before a dish of peas fried in fat, seized +with inextinguishable laughter as he thinks of the “celestial +and priceless drug” of Plato’s <i>Symposium</i>, and deriding all +the Picos della Mirandola past and future in the person of +Messire Pantagruel, who maintains against all opponents +9764 conclusions, some of them highly platonic, on “the +philosophical cream of encyclopaedic questions,” on “the +platonic idea, hovering dexterously under the orifice of +chaos.” Rabelais dedicates his <i>Life of Gargantua</i> to topers +and the gouty.</p> + +<p>And then you hear the loud chant, the babel noise, of +gold, of Plutus, rising above and drowning all other sounds. +Artists no longer cling to the old shabby studio in which +they strove after the ideal: they have now come to dwell +in palaces, and some there are whose art consists in coining +false money or running after the philosopher’s stone—if not +in worse occupations. Even where men are wistful and +dream, in the heart of melancholy Brittany, the poor human +soul, compared by a preacher to a runner started upon the +long race for eternal life, halts and stoops at every moment +like Atalanta, to pick up apples of gold.⁠<a id="FNanchor_304" href="#Footnote_304" class="fnanchor">[304]</a></p> + +<p>Thus the battle was joined on all sides at once, and the +struggle was fierce. Among so many ingratitudes, so many +keen-pointed shafts, women needed a proud courage to +continue imperturbably spreading through the world the +spirit of love, the religion of beauty.</p> + +<p>They did not succeed in subduing mankind at large, nor +in directing their moral energies. That dream had to be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[337]</span>relinquished. They resigned themselves to the thankless +task of individually doing what little they could do +through their sympathy and tenderness. This was all they +could give, and it cost them dear, for it too often involved +concessions, many bitter and secret tears, a love mingled +with disgust, an unavoidable duplicity!</p> + +<p>They had perforce to content themselves, then, with this +measure of success. To show clearly in what this success +consisted, we shall divide our brief account into two parts; +for their sensibility was exerted in two directions. Under +their influence virtue and vice became each an art: their +defects and excesses were moderated. On the one hand the +over harsh virtues were softened, or, if we may coin a +word, de-austerified, and endowed with a cheerfulness of +aspect they had formerly lacked; on the other, vice was +ennobled, and the gap between vice and virtue thereby +diminished. In brief, women tried to make life beautiful +rather than good, and piously to rehabilitate everything +which had possibilities of beauty, in virtue of the principle +that the Beautiful <i>is</i> good and purifies all things.</p> + +<h4>1. THE SOFTENING OF VIRTUE.</h4> + +<p>The principles already established are, briefly, as follows: +happiness resides in love, love consists in self-surrender. +Of this there are several modes: one may surrender body +and soul, or soul alone—or nothing at all! To give the soul +is the true platonism; to give nothing is the false. The +surrender of the body is the time-honoured sacrament of +marriage.</p> + +<p>How did they set about reconciling these various elements? +In a manner that was simplicity itself.</p> + +<p>We have said that marriage had become a human and +reciprocal contract, concluded with a definite object between +two fellow-creatures; and logically there was no reason +why it should not have ended as it began, by mutual +consent, that is, in the community of women⁠<a id="FNanchor_305" href="#Footnote_305" class="fnanchor">[305]</a> according +to Plato’s idea.</p> + +<p>But on the contrary the platonists, who looked for no +poetry in the prose of wedlock, regarded one marriage as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[338]</span>quite sufficient, if not excessive. Further, the institution +was an ancient one; it was a matter of use and wont. To +maintain the organisation of society and the foundations of +aristocracy, it was necessary to retain the formula and +merely to draw from it the moral consequences implied in +the principle of equality of rights.</p> + +<p>Up to that time the morality of marriage had been +regulated by the authority or even the caprice of the +husband. A bastard (provided he was begotten by the +husband) had almost the status of a legitimate child; in +many cases he was bred at the paternal hearth, away from +his mother, under the charge of his father’s wife; and in +Italy he very easily secured legitimation,⁠<a id="FNanchor_306" href="#Footnote_306" class="fnanchor">[306]</a> and, if other heirs +failed, carried on the family. What was much worse than +deceiving his wife, the husband believed he had the right to +neglect her. From that time forward retaliation appeared +to be the guiding principle; instead of remaining head-nurses, +of adopting children from heaven knows where, of +toiling to efface all signs of the caprices of their lords and +masters, women “unhappily married” no longer saw the +necessity of fettering themselves, of refusing their share of +happiness, of carefully guarding what was despised.</p> + +<p>Luther gave material fixity to this principle by permitting +divorce; he maintained marriage, but at the same time +allowed re-marriage; in other words, he retrograded as far +as possible towards the manners of the past. In case of +default, even involuntary, on the part of one of the contracting +parties, he thought it quite right to replace +“Vashti by Esther.” We know what fortune attended +these ideas. Melander,⁠<a id="FNanchor_307" href="#Footnote_307" class="fnanchor">[307]</a> when blessing a “duplicate” +marriage of the Landgrave of Hesse, proceeded to say that +everything in this world wears out, and that monogamy +had had its day. A book of extremely liberal views +attributed to Bugenhagen⁠<a id="FNanchor_308" href="#Footnote_308" class="fnanchor">[308]</a> adduced examples of bigamy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[339]</span>among the early Christians. Polygamy met with some +support; near the end of his life, Ochino⁠<a id="FNanchor_309" href="#Footnote_309" class="fnanchor">[309]</a> became its +advocate.</p> + +<p>The platonists, however, allowed no retouching. The +ancient doctrine that the body, with all its weaknesses and +infirmities, received with marriage an indelible brand, as in +former days convicts were marked, after all seemed to them +to be salutary, since the end of marriage was obedience to +the physical law “increase and multiply.” But, the law +once fulfilled, by what strange aberration did they wish to +bind souls to this abandoned body, truly a derelict of life? +So far as heart and soul were concerned, the community of +women (or rather, the community of men) seemed a moral +reality, constituting indeed the clearest distinction that +could be drawn between mankind and the animals. This +“spiritual libertinage” was condemned. Calvin flouted +it and preferred divorce—a singular taste, not very refined, +eminently worthy of countries where fleshly love was cultivated, +with rope-ladders and without platonism.⁠<a id="FNanchor_310" href="#Footnote_310" class="fnanchor">[310]</a> Wedlock +has its good points, but, as everyone knows, it is never +supremely delightful; love ought to be a delight and a +religion. The wife, stepping forth in her turn into life, has +a right to think a little about herself and her highest needs, +to cultivate her heart and soul, to blossom out and complete +herself. “Complete herself!” some one will say: +“then ’tis a question of a subsidiary marriage?” Yes, but +of a marriage wholly moral, in which the carnal concessions +are purely aesthetic and ostensible,—in which she boasts (so +far as essential points are concerned) of a platonism as +perfect in regard to her lover as in regard to her husband.</p> + +<p>In the year of grace 1523, a young lady of the Roman +aristocracy, whom history names Costanza Amaretta, pretty, +refined, and pious, made a journey of devotion to Florence +for the Easter festivals, and there met her ideal in the shape +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[340]</span>of a cultivated and distinguished man named Celso. They +lived together under the same roof in perfect chastity. +When Easter was past, they set out with four kindred +spirits for a country house of Celso’s, and there, in the joyous +spring weather, among the cypresses and tufted pines +and early flowers, this idyllic society of platonists gave +themselves up to the delights of poetising and philosophising +at large. Costanza, elected queen of the coterie, unbosomed +herself to them. She had been married when very +young, as the custom was, to a man of business with little of +the ethereal in his composition—a man of eminently practical +mind, and manners almost intolerable. With him she had +contracted no real moral ties. “But for this man’s desire of +having children by me—for he thought me beautiful—we +should have felt nothing but hatred for each other.” In +Celso’s company, however, the path of virtue seems to +Costanza covered with roses instead of thorns, and hence to-day +her eyes are opened to the truth, she perceives with +perfect clearness the moral utility of the platonist distinction +between the two kinds of love, the one bestial, matrimonial, +fraught with peril, a thing of this world, perishable,—the +other celestial, life-giving, a foretaste of Paradise, a +love that enraptures the soul and fills it in truth with a +radiance divine.</p> + +<p>Perfect lovers thus found perfect pleasure in making an +offering, but not a sacrifice, of their flesh—in deliberately +lifting themselves above gross physical rules and living +delicately as angels incarnate. Castiglione with extravagant +eulogy reminds us of the wonderful feat accomplished by two +of these dilettanti of love, who spent six months in +conjugal intimacy and perfect continence; that was what +he calls love, the ideal existence, pure beauty! There was +even, at Milan, a religious order devoted to the mutual +edification of the sexes on these lines, but after a time the +archbishop decreed its dissolution.⁠<a id="FNanchor_311" href="#Footnote_311" class="fnanchor">[311]</a></p> + +<p>Truth to tell, we do not know exactly how far this species +of platonism extended; it is a land difficult to map out; in +such matters no statistics are available, and even in these +days when we can reel off the number of bushels of wheat or +dozens of eggs France can produce in any month, there is no +official return on the virtue of women.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[341]</span></p> + +<p>But we are not indisposed to believe that the platonic life +<i>à deux</i> numbered more adepts than might be imagined. So +many women of loveless heart aspired to the happiness of +finding for it some safe repository, and regarded the body as +so much dross, infinitely inferior. The example of Judith +struck them as not only above criticism, but sublime. If +one had groaned under the burden of the first marriage, +surely it was all the more needful to set the second upon a +pedestal, and so to preserve above everything the illusions, +the dreams, the anticipations, however vague, which bring +us out of moral and physical distress into light and life! +The young platonist lady, all soul, who lived in the arms +of her lover and relinquished nothing but her soul, fancied +that she was realising a holy and religious dream; love, +which purifies all things, wafted her in peace and confidence +towards the celestial spheres; for faith, hope, love—what are +they but the sheet anchors of the soul? That was her +whole position. If by this means she could enter into fulness +of life, was she so very foolish in availing herself of it?</p> + +<p>Unhappily, love sought as a rule only its own abasement, +and the mission of these fair apostles declared itself rather +in aggressive sallies than in spiritual edification. Platonism +had to come down a peg, and to meet the demands of +men it had to turn distrustful, descend to trivialities and +deceit,—to place reliance on artifice. Thus was born a new +species of platonism—more popular, and more open to criticism +in point of morality.</p> + +<p>This secondary art of platonism was hardly known +beyond the borders of Italy; it demanded a patience and a +consummate suppleness which we do not possess. The +impatience of Frenchmen in matters of love was proverbial; +they would rather seize than woo; they would boil and +chafe, utterly unable to appreciate the wily tactics of Ovid +or Martial, very often expecting to begin at the end +without any preliminary finessing, and making flirtation +altogether impossible. And Frenchwomen, too,—must we +confess it?—were but poor hands at the game. Some of +them caught fire instead of winning love without loving, +and there were young girls like Mademoiselle de Piennes +who wrung their hands before the whole Court in despair at +a lover’s desertion. The French were so constituted; they +applied principles they did not possess, while the Italians +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[342]</span>excelled in holding principles without applying them. And +thus, whatever else they did, the former were not very +successful in finding salvation through chimerical ideals, and +virtue had infinite trouble to convince them of her intoxicating +charm: they could not manage to persuade themselves +that stones and arabesques are man’s proper sustenance, but +remained faithful to the realities they knew through the +senses. Everything else was only ridiculed, and, as few +women are insensible to mockery and a cutting phrase, the +ladies were sometimes led where their own hearts would not +have taken them.</p> + +<p>Platonic love, then, was regarded in France as a complicated +business. The women had to confess that no means +had yet been discovered of crystallising the things of life +apart from the dispensation of Providence which has given +us bodies, nor of curbing men by the mere vision of the +ideal.</p> + +<p>So, as we have seen, Margaret of France strove to make +her body the transparent vesture of her soul. We have +seen, too, what tender familiarities the ladies authorised at +their morning toilet, and at other times.</p> + +<p>Modesty to them consisted not in the more or less brutal +systems of the “all in all or not at all,” but simply in +remaining women.</p> + +<p>Chary of making a confidant of doctor or chaplain, +because unwilling to subject themselves to either, they +valued the man who regarded them as women and had eyes +only for them; as a reward for his exclusive attentions they +certainly thought they owed him some little privilege +beyond what they allowed to others. It was they who +were the doctors, the confessors, or rather the rescuers; +they sprang into the water to save the drowning man. +To save him by bestowing on him the true gift, a little +of themselves, appeared to them a good, a moral, a meritorious +work! This was far, you perceive, from the +commonplace, masculine handshake which women nowadays +grant to all and sundry! Seriously, they fancied they +were thus winning heaven; their own hearts constantly +heard echoes of the sweet strains of Plato’s <i>Phaedo</i> or +<i>Crito</i>; his exquisite distinction between soul and body +made music in their ears, and the familiar spirit of Socrates +bound them to an immaterial world, whispering his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[343]</span>counsels and intuitions.⁠<a id="FNanchor_312" href="#Footnote_312" class="fnanchor">[312]</a> They saw no harm in bestowing +their indulgent favour, their smile, and a little more. It +was enough for them “to hold fast unto the end,” and +to remain firm as rock on the essential; they were innocent +of “false scruples,” and would have thought it cruel and +ridiculous to torture a man by refusing him “familiarities +that Nature has permitted to beauties,” now that this +small change cost them so little, and above all touched +them so little. Ah! that was not where the temptation +lay! At the bottom of their hearts, how they despised +the shallow, insignificant men who, with their large and +canting talk of love and sentiment, could be caught like +gudgeon with this paltry physical lure!</p> + +<p>The critics of a certain lady went so far as to accuse her +of “losing all shame,” because when receiving one of her +friends, as she lay in bed in the morning, she tolerated not +a few familiarities, “without any offence to my honour,” as +she observed. She replied with heat that she saw in her +conduct nothing but what was excellent; her friend would +esteem her doubly for having seen body and soul united +in her “in one strain of chaste beauty.” As to the danger +of this familiarity, listen to her subtle and delicious reply: +“The man I love, the man I dread is not he; it is another +who has laid siege, not to my body, but to my soul. Ah! +if I did not keep a rein on my heart, it would long ago +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[344]</span>have spoken to me in favour of the other man!”⁠<a id="FNanchor_313" href="#Footnote_313" class="fnanchor">[313]</a> This +is the cry of the fastidious woman who dreads only the +rape of the mind! We do not discuss her moral scheme, we +pass no judgment; we confine ourselves to relating.⁠<a id="FNanchor_314" href="#Footnote_314" class="fnanchor">[314]</a> Her +end was to make herself loved, and in a manner which +would be worth the trouble.</p> + +<p>It is not hard to believe that the bounds were sometimes +overstepped: some men abused their privileges, especially +with regard to princesses of literature like Louise Labé;⁠<a id="FNanchor_315" href="#Footnote_315" class="fnanchor">[315]</a> +and sometimes it happened, indeed, that cries a little too +genuine broke from the lips of women, and were heard +above this tender, philosophic poetry, and this scorn of +earth. Yet many women, in their devotion for spreading +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[345]</span>pure happiness, for holding men captive lest they sold +themselves, would often have preferred that conversation +should be the sum total of their intercourse, and that their +friends should be content to dip in their eyes and their +soul.</p> + +<p>Their aim was to reduce everything to conversation; +they had little love for a contemplative silence, for songs +without words: conversation allowed opportunities of +probing, caressing, penetrating the soul, turning it inside +out without the least inconvenience and with many +benefits. Among close friends they showed their art by +getting someone to sing to them the old cantilena, “I +die of thirst beside the gushing fount”; sometimes they +held under their eyelids a large unsuspected tear. They +made a hungry man forget his food; “they contented their +lovers with words, promised a reward, and deferred it till +to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>The Italians, as we have said, delighted in tasting love thus +at leisure in little sugared sips; they were not gluttons like +the French: they appeared born, not to construct railways +or to inflate balloons, but simply to love, to love loving, to +nourish themselves on futilities and surprises, to sing +always the same meaningless song. They cut marvellous +figures at the feet of those women “before whom desire +burnt away like candles at a shrine”; they glossed over +realities, as if they really believed more in happiness that +came from the unknown than from the known, as the great +scorner of women, La Rochefoucauld, has well said; to such +an extent that the inexhaustible springs of the heart +were sufficiently depleted, so far as they were concerned, to +spare them the risk of embarrassment from love, and to +enable them safely to find the recreation necessary to the +overtaxed human mind. Happy creatures, these men without +a care! The narrow world in which they fluttered +seemed too big for them, and their long wings touched +the ground; they were young, yet old; they were gay with +brilliant, yet faded colours; a woman could take their arm +in complete confidence that all would end where it began. +Life was for them one aimless flirtation, a mere battle of +flowers.</p> + +<p>Love, as thus carried to extreme perfection in society, +came in for no little mockery. No one was under any +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[346]</span>illusion as to the impossibility of finding in it a secret +source of strength and life; it was a mere avocation, a little +intellectual pastime—with no overpowering demand on the +intellect.</p> + +<p>The Italian “cicisbeo” or “death of love” became a sort of +amiable spectre, a harmless necessary cat; he was practically +non-existent to his friends, and had the right of not answering +his letters. Sweetly scented, with a well-hosed leg, a +rose in his hand and a flower at his ear, his lips pursed up, +his bearing graceful and gallant, at his heels a lackey whose +duty was to flick off the least speck of dust—there you +have him, always the same, whoever the object of his +passion. All he troubled about was rightly to place his +glances and sighs, his nods and salutations, and when he +had been rewarded with a gracious smile or an arch +look, he would go off humming to indite a sextain or a +madrigal.</p> + +<p>The mawkish execrable creature! more womanish than +women, a woman spoilt in the making, a half-woman! +Sticking like a shadow to the lady of his thoughts, his +functions were to carry her lapdog, her prayer-book, or +what else she pleased. At her house he installed himself as +the centrepiece of her receptions, kept the conversation +alive, and overwhelmed the husband with affectionate attentions.</p> + +<p>He was a hypocrite, a rakish fop! In the Roman aristocracy +he usually took the shape of a sanctimonious recluse; +at Naples he was a man of energy and go; at Venice a man +of mystery; in Lombardy he had the joyous self-assurance +of the North;⁠<a id="FNanchor_316" href="#Footnote_316" class="fnanchor">[316]</a> at Florence he was a vivacious talker, responding +to the challenges of silvery voices with audacious +quips. He took everything as it came; he had not an +ounce of sincerity: his cleverness consisted first in adapting +himself entirely to the beloved object, in abdicating all +individuality, in being hers and hers alone; secondly, +in proceeding platonically and without passion, with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[347]</span>extreme prudence, trusting to suavity and tenderness, +always securing a line of retreat, and striving above all +to melt the obdurate heart. In all this part of the +programme the eyes often were better servants than the +tongue.</p> + +<p>This point rounded, every man for himself! An eclectic, a +hot lover, an abstract philosopher, a symbolist, an idealist—let +him be any of these if his heart bids him. He is a fine +talker; well, ’tis a great talent, which will permit him to +turn to account a thousand little incidents, but will often +(let him not deceive himself) lead to only superficial successes. +A wary woman holds fine talkers in awe; with them, she +thinks, there is all the making of domestic broils; she knows +how indiscreet they are, and she smiles on them and keeps +them at a distance, knowing that this is the way to set +them proclaiming her virtue abroad. Often she prefers +a taciturn, above all a bashful man, “a lenten lover,” as +someone said, easy to feed.⁠<a id="FNanchor_317" href="#Footnote_317" class="fnanchor">[317]</a></p> + +<p>But it is impossible to enumerate all the eccentricities +that were part and parcel of this flirtation. The ridiculous +became the rule: it was an afflicting spectacle for human +dignity. Old men cut capers, young men lost their heads, +the witty turned imbecile, the imbecile set up for wits. +What a masquerade! The lugubrious blubbered about +their love, sighed in prose and verse; the sincere embraced +a whimsey—adopted a colour, for instance. One of these, +having vowed himself to green, so strictly embargoed the +rest of the spectrum that not only was everything on him +green, even to his shirt-buttons, but he ate out of none +but green plates, drank out of none but greenish glasses, +never rested till he had discovered green bread, and made +green meadows and groves the exclusive burden of his +song.</p> + +<p>Happily, conversation somewhat raised the level of this +extravagant and lamentable affectation. Surrounded by a +circle of friends, a man would amuse himself by launching a +graceful declaration concealed in an aphorism or a double +entendre; it sometimes happened that a lady who had +never entered the speaker’s head fancied that hers was the +heart aimed at, and that was provocative of fun. Or +perhaps they would linger out the pleasure of a tête-à-tête +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[348]</span>reel off their witticisms⁠<a id="FNanchor_318" href="#Footnote_318" class="fnanchor">[318]</a> and amiable compliments, and +unravel little puzzles in sentimental casuistry. Sometimes +they reached the stage where the tête-à-tête that was really +delightful was one in which neither said a word.</p> + +<p>Here some one will stop us and ask whether all this did +not have an end. Bless you, no! An end was in no wise +necessary; genuine platonic romances never end.⁠<a id="FNanchor_319" href="#Footnote_319" class="fnanchor">[319]</a> And +what years and years they may last! A clever woman +excels precisely in spinning them out; if she feels that the +fire is burning low, she has a thousand means of fanning +it into flame—a word, a tender gesture,⁠<a id="FNanchor_320" href="#Footnote_320" class="fnanchor">[320]</a> a little present, a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[349]</span>gracious act here, a secret gentleness there, a touch of +jealousy; and then she suggests that you should recommence +the little game—church, the park, sighs, tears, oaths. +And thus you may go on for ever.</p> + +<p>There are, however, some romances which do end, well or +ill. As a rule the event is announced by rolling clouds and +a lightning-flash. The majority of men only enter the +platonic life with the idea of an early departure, and +implicitly believe that in the life of every woman—even +though she be a “dragon”—there is one inevitable, irrefragable +hour. Psychologists, philosophers, poets, preachers⁠<a id="FNanchor_321" href="#Footnote_321" class="fnanchor">[321]</a> +all have repeated <i>ad nauseam</i> the saying of Ovid: “A chaste +woman is she whom none has tempted,”⁠<a id="FNanchor_322" href="#Footnote_322" class="fnanchor">[322]</a> or, as La Rochefoucauld +and La Bruyère will phrase it later: “An insensible +woman is she who has not yet found the man she must +love.”</p> + +<p>The lady affects not to see the storm brewing; she +bears up against it gallantly; gentle banter is her cue; she +declares that talk of love is very pleasant to her, but ’tis +well known among decent people what that word signifies; +there is no question of a coarse, sensual love, but only of +amorous discourses. The man gives himself up to demonstrating +his love anew; his plaints become louder, his tears more +copious; his lady-love never gets to sleep o’ nights without +hearing serenades or “Spanish lamentations” beneath her +window, or sighs that would seem belled out by some +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[350]</span>familiar spirit, but which are really a performance got up by +obliging neighbours, for a consideration. All day, at church, +in the ballroom, in the street, under the thin disguise of +masks, he is here, there and everywhere, never out of her +sight.</p> + +<p>One morning the maid announces to her mistress that the +gentleman is at the door with something most urgent to say—here +he is, indeed, pushing past the girl; and he will be +eloquent, you may be sure. Or he resorts to the grand means +of melodrama—false keys, rope-ladders, narcotics, sorcery, +lying confessions of apostate monks; or to the stale and +hackneyed devices of comedy; he enlarges eloquently on his +high qualities, proffers a thousand services, and even opens +his purse; full of promises the while, erecting beautiful +castles in the air. One will employ menace, another will +boldly haggle and argue with father or husband. What a +warmth of language, what sighing and sobbing, what fretting +and fuming! “Fulvia being come on horseback to see me, +I straightway feigned a superb wrath, as though her action +seemed to me that of too forward a minx. And this fine +choler of mine was of great avail in my courting.” There +are some who carry the fortress by dint of lavish praises, +superlative verses, outbursts of jealousy. Others by continual +dropping wear away the stone.</p> + +<p>If a princess had the idea that her rank would prove a +sufficient rampart against this final assault, she had to find out +her mistake, especially in France. Why should not the man +she loved—the dear good fellow!—after so many labours, +and discreet frenzies, and stratagems, and covert approaches, +expect an advancement he so well deserved?</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A bien servir et loyal estre,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De serviteur on devient maistre!⁠<a id="FNanchor_323" href="#Footnote_323" class="fnanchor">[323]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>“Madam,” proudly says one of the young nobles of +Margaret of France, “when our mistresses stand on their +dignity in halls and assemblies, seated at their ease as our +judges, we are on our knees before them; we lead them out +to dance with fear and trembling; we serve them so +sedulously as to anticipate their requests; we seem to be +so fearful of offending them and so desirous of doing them +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[351]</span>service that those who see us have pity on us, and very +often esteem us more simple than foolish,” and sing the +praises of ladies able thus to win service. “But when we +are by ourselves, and love alone doth mark our looks, we +know right well that they are women and we are men, and +then the name of liege lady is converted into sweetheart, +and the name of servitor into lover.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_324" href="#Footnote_324" class="fnanchor">[324]</a></p> + +<p>And it need not be supposed that in such circumstances +they remained satisfied with words or menaces, even in +dealing with ladies of the most exalted station. There were +violent characters who stuck at nothing, like Bonnivet! It +also happened at critical moments, even in the most platonic +of circles, that love turned into rage. “Unico Aretino,” one +of the Urbino talkers, upset by what he thought a piece of +base ingratitude on the part of the charming duchess +Elizabeth, got so beside himself with anger as to call his +sovereign lady “Urbino’s traitress, witch, trickster.” (Aretino +was an exceedingly clever man, but after all he was only the +fourth part of a prelate; he filled at Rome the fourth-rate +office of “apostolic abbreviator,” and pretty badly at that; +but as he afforded the Sacred College a deal of amusement +he was licensed to indulge in all sorts of jocularities.) He +never forgave the duchess, and even after her death pursued +both her and her daughter with persistent rancour.⁠<a id="FNanchor_325" href="#Footnote_325" class="fnanchor">[325]</a></p> + +<p>The ideas of men in these matters simply beggar imagination. +They fancied that they erred on the side of +bashfulness, that they suffered wrong when ladies suggested +“reckonings,” to use their term. They thought it would be +ridiculous to die of despair like the heroes of romance, and +that it was “folly and cruelty” to praise the beauty of a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[352]</span>fountain to a poor, thirsty fellow and then kill him because +he wished to drink.⁠<a id="FNanchor_326" href="#Footnote_326" class="fnanchor">[326]</a> “Whom will you get to believe,” +cries Henri d’Albret, “that we ought to die for women, who +were made for us, and that we should hesitate to require of +them what God bids them give us?”⁠<a id="FNanchor_327" href="#Footnote_327" class="fnanchor">[327]</a> That was the conclusion +that must be expected: everyone knows, in Calvin’s +words, whither “all roads” lead. So a woman was neither +surprised nor panic-stricken in the hour of battle. She had +taken or ought to have taken her precautions; her first +care, as we have said, was to distribute her favours. She +went forth to the fight with a gallantry which some old +fogies called impudence; her sins were no longer sins of +omission, like those of her grandmothers. And that she +often triumphed there is no manner of doubt. Margaret of +France, at the turning-point of the battle, is found as firmly +fixed on principles as Anne of France. Billon assures us +that in Normandy, a land of pretty women, where he would +not care to go bail for a single man, he would not hesitate +to name a very large number of women whose virtue he +could guarantee with every confidence. Assuredly there +existed stainless women,—just the women to play with fire!</p> + +<p>But did they always come off scatheless? No one will +believe it.</p> + +<p>Further, it must be remarked that the point of view of +casuistry had changed. The body was, so to speak, the +sign-manual of the soul; just as the base, passionless, +sensual vice prevalent in the world seemed ignoble and +disgusting, so it was remembered that love had a purifying +power. The merciful words of the Gospel were recalled, +and, remarkably enough, it was those who were most +rigorous in regard to themselves who showed the most +indulgence towards an error springing from sincere affection.</p> + +<p>Margaret of France spreads her nets, like the Gioconda, +but for the good of others, for she knows whither the mist-enveloped +paths lead; she cannot tear her eyes from the +vast and gloomy background of life, and all that passes +in front of it inspires her at times with cruel loathing. She +loves mankind, but without the least touch of fetishism; to +look aloft and not believe in any individual man is the +condition of her love; her sole consolation is the thought +that Italian morals are worse than French. Her approval +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[353]</span>of a German husband, who had the fantastic notion of +locking his wife up along with the skeleton of her lover,⁠<a id="FNanchor_328" href="#Footnote_328" class="fnanchor">[328]</a> +was so exaggerated that all her friends were compelled to +laugh. And yet, when pulled up short about the ethics +of love, and asked if the sin is venial or worse, she gets a +little muddled. Assuredly, nothing is more “untuneable +and harsh” among the joyous strains of the divine concert +than the frailty of the flesh: “truth compels us to condemn +it”; but is there any need to get huffy, to decline to see any +extenuating circumstances, because the spiders web that +has been centuries aweaving is rent by one dab of the +paw—because, in spite of all the cooings and flutings, +no one has succeeded in turning men into big babies +instead of villains, or even (I go this length) because in the +heat of the battle some women may have lost their heads +and gone over to the enemy? Is the conclusion inevitable +that the outcome of platonism is necessarily evil—more +evil than anything else?</p> + +<p>How stood the fashionable ladies who rebelled against +platonism?... On the principle that “the honour of a +man and that of a woman are the same,” and that a +wife, whether from love or vengeance, has a right to the +same independence as her husband, it was the husbands’ +game to wink at things. Far from making an outcry and +playing the Othello, they meditated philosophically on their +own position⁠<a id="FNanchor_329" href="#Footnote_329" class="fnanchor">[329]</a> and the virtue of silence, and, drawing in +their horns with something of fatalism, could not find fault +with their wives for “using their power” as they themselves +did. It was rare for a husband to kill his wife; wedlock +had become a stagnant pool of mutual indulgence, in which +unlawful love was but an incident so long as it left no more +trace than a pebble cast into the surface slime, or a bird +flitting through the air. As to believing that Lauras or +Beatrices could still exist, not only did the sceptics deny it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[354]</span>outright, but they even declared that if Laura or Beatrice +were to revisit the glimpses of the moon, great would be +her disillusionment.⁠<a id="FNanchor_330" href="#Footnote_330" class="fnanchor">[330]</a></p> + +<p>The only matter that Louise of Savoy troubled about was +to keep things dark.⁠<a id="FNanchor_331" href="#Footnote_331" class="fnanchor">[331]</a></p> + +<p>Can we wonder that, in an atmosphere so saturated with +immorality, many even of the best-intentioned women +allowed themselves to drift with the tide, or that Salel, the +Attic friend of Margaret, represents them even on the shore +of Acheron as still enchained to ungovernable love, and +imploring pardon for their tyrant?</p> + +<p>When they succumbed, it was with a sublimity of passion +which the world almost always misconstrued. “The fortress of +the heart, where honour dwells, was so battered that the poor +lady granted what she was never a whit inclined to refuse.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_332" href="#Footnote_332" class="fnanchor">[332]</a> +“You mean to say, then,” says a lady, “that all is lawful to +those that love, provided no one knows?” “In good sooth,” +replies the other, “’tis only fools who are found out.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_333" href="#Footnote_333" class="fnanchor">[333]</a> Their +love, fashioned out of dreams, thus dissolves into reality. +Pure women, platonists armed at all points, let themselves +go from a spirit of gentleness (“for pity in their spirits +rules”), from a tenderness of compassion, out of charity +toward others, if not for themselves. They are almost +martyrs of love or kindliness, since their kindliness goes +such lengths as to be taken for love, just as their love, +reserved as it is, may be taken for kindliness. Unlike the +anti-platonists, though they may perchance be surprised +into a fault, they surprise no one, they commit no follies. +It is the fault of poor human nature that platonic love does +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[355]</span>not remain always a “stork love,”⁠<a id="FNanchor_334" href="#Footnote_334" class="fnanchor">[334]</a> as Montaigne calls it. +There is never a battle but some dead and wounded are left +on the field. Pity the dead by all means, but the survivors +are already inviting those who have never sinned to cast +the first stone!</p> + +<p>A woman “so cozened,” concludes Castiglione philosophically, +unquestionably merits such indulgence as is +accorded to <i>messieurs les assassins</i>. She was toiling, as +Michelangelo said, “to lift souls to perfection. Sensuality +slays the soul.”</p> + +<p>And hence Margaret of France, in her profound yearning +to blot out and pardon the sins of the world, is herself +inspired with a tender, helpful tolerance. Assuredly +the wounds she observes are deplorable, but they do not +necessarily point to absolute frowardness of heart; they +may result from a “naïve folly,” from “the misfortune of +loving not wisely but too well”; in other words, from an +over-abundance of natural goodness, the very consequence +of our organisation. The perfect being would clearly be an +androgyne; but we are imperfect beings, an odd mixture, +godlike, and yet profoundly, lamentably human. The +power of love</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent14">vient de la divinité,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et son tourment de nostre humanité.⁠<a id="FNanchor_335" href="#Footnote_335" class="fnanchor">[335]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>We seem to hear this spotless woman crying to God: “O +Christ, Christ of the Magdalene, gasping and crucified, how +Thou didst suffer, how Thou didst love! This streaming +blood, these wounds gaping eternally,—these are the handiwork +of the hate of men, whom Thou didst bid to love one +another with a pure heart. Thou wilt not pardon their +hate! Thou wilt not pardon their fierce lust of wealth, nor +their pride and naughtiness of heart, nor their wild anger, +nor their shameful sloth of soul. Thou wilt pardon nothing +but the error of love, the error of a moment, since this is +but the overflow of the goodness Thyself hast given, the +wofulness of too great love!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[356]</span></p> + +<h4>2. THE ENNOBLEMENT OF VICE.</h4> + +<p>The second moral effect of the theory of beauty and love +was still more pertinent than the first. It consisted in an +extraordinary levelling up of purely terrestrial and unlawful +loves. From the principle, with which we are already +acquainted, that the virginity of the heart survives the +professional ordeals in which the heart has no concern, +we shall find that moral deductions were drawn, in Italy +and even in France, so important that we cannot pass them +by in silence.</p> + +<p>In Italy, among the women whose trade was pleasure, +there was formed an aristocracy so real that some of them +presided over salons, were part and parcel of the court +world, and truly merited the name of “courtesans.” Their +bearing was irreproachable, their distinction extreme; we +are bound to say, indeed, that, apart from their origin, they +were absolutely indistinguishable from virtuous women—except +that perhaps their manners were a trifle more +correct.</p> + +<p>Their high influence is explained by the fact that in the +official world of Rome there was a plentiful lack of women. +Etiquette required that none but birds of passage should be +seen at court, a restriction which gave cruel but entirely +honourable pain to the heart of more than one platonic +prelate. It was believed for a moment that the half-sister +of Leo X., Philiberta of Savoy, was about to take up her +abode at the Vatican: “God be praised!” cried Bibbiena +exultantly, “all we lack is a court with women!” This +happiness was not realised; women continued to be conspicuous +by their absence. We see how it was that, in +the supreme sanctuary of human glory, in the Eternal +City that served as beacon to the world, the Ninons de +l’Enclos,⁠<a id="FNanchor_336" href="#Footnote_336" class="fnanchor">[336]</a> for want of better women, fulfilled in their own +way a singular apostolic mission by playing the part of +court ladies, and by magnificently entertaining the pick of +poets, savants, artists, prelates and diplomatists, at a period +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[357]</span>when every man plumed himself on bearing one of those +labels and on sporting it about some petticoat.</p> + +<p>Bewitching pictures of the receptions of these ladies have +been bequeathed to us; many a poet who knew the world +chiefly in this quarter has vaunted with enthusiasm the +aroma of grace pervading their noble salons, the honour of +admission to them, the relations established there, the +superb fêtes which consecrated their charm and set a seal +upon the connection. This was no new thing; Socrates +and Pliny testify how keenly the society of ancient Greece +and Rome had felt the need of guidance by women more +deeply experienced in life and more naturally active than +high-born ladies are likely to be. To name these ladies +Ninons de l’Enclos, however, would be to give a very imperfect +and mean idea of them, for their influence was at once +moral and intellectual. Doubtless they could pretend to no +virginity but that of the heart, but since that was the +better part, they honoured pure love quite as conscientiously, +if not more than others did. Energy of a very special +and sincere kind impelled them to react strongly against +the scorn of a world they had an equal right to scorn; and +further, they felt the necessity of stopping their ears if they +were to save themselves from blank hopelessness, and of +setting up noble illusions about themselves.</p> + +<p>Several of them were genuine patricians, whose only +possible reproach was a tincture of pride. One would +flaunt her descent, which she possibly traced back to the +Colonna or even the Massimo⁠<a id="FNanchor_337" href="#Footnote_337" class="fnanchor">[337]</a>; another would modestly +sign herself “Roman patrician.” The entrée to their salons +was particularly difficult; some of them imposed somewhat +rigorous conditions, insisting for instance that a man should +mount guard for two months with the Swiss at the palace +gate, or should pay his devoir on his knees. The style of +their houses and appointments left nothing to be desired; +they maintained an extreme decorum. It is not for us to boast +of their virtue: their talent consisted in being as virtuous +as possible and getting rich more particularly by way of +legacies; it would have been a great mistake to deal with +them cavalierly. Tullia d’Aragona, who thoughtlessly +allowed some rather broad pasquinades to be addressed to her, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[358]</span>was unfortunate enough, on a visit with which she honoured +the court of Ferrara, to turn all the gentlemen’s heads. But +the most diverse ordeals found her inflexible; she rejected +with indignation the miserable offer of a golden necklace +worth three hundred crowns. The daughter of another of +these ladies had been so excellently brought up that she has a +place among the martyrs of virtue and patriotism; she slew +herself to escape the importunities of the governor of Sienna.</p> + +<p>They were queens of elegance, and never a brunette +among them. At their houses people discoursed most +excellent music. They were great dancers. They were the +happy owners of fine jewels, fine pictures, fine statuary; on +their tables might be seen the newest books, choice editions, +sometimes adorned with a manuscript dedication in verse. +They knew Greek and Latin; they corresponded with their +absent friends in gracious and affectionate letters, Ciceronian +in style, and with no lack of wit. In conversation +it required very little pressure to tap a bountiful spring +of elegant extracts from the classics—most often got second-hand +from Petrarch or Boccaccio—or even, on occasion, a +learned disquisition on Roman archaeology. Sometimes +they shot out a phrase in the high pietistic fashion of the +day. What lady of recognised position could have written +more charming sonnets than Imperia or Veronica Franco?</p> + +<p>They excelled in keeping wit in play: Aretino confesses +that, without an incentive of this sort, he would have been +good for nothing. Occasionally some poor devil was +graciously permitted to give a taste of his quality, but, +as a rule, the mistress of the house preferred to inspire +men who had well-lined purses. Yes, it was a grave +and distinguished society, and if sometimes the conversation +touched on subjects but indifferently mystical, what immaculate +drawing-room but was open to the same reproach?</p> + +<p>On saints’ days these ladies went to pay their devotions at +the neighbouring basilica, and if they were not very devout +they were at any rate beautifully dressed. Their accustomed +air of good breeding and conscious dignity, which +drove many ladies to despair, gave them genuine rank, and +made them the indispensable ornaments of important +festivities. Thus several of them lent lustre to the +magnificent reception given in 1513 by the Cardinal of +Mantua to young Federico Gonzaga, then in his fourteenth +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[359]</span>year, as he passed through on the way to Rome. In +truth, there were some who behaved exactly like high-born +dames, and were pre-eminent in all deeds of devotion, +whole-hearted love, and even disinterestedness. Poets +innumerable have vouched for their virtue. Vittoria +Colonna and Michelangelo dedicated sonnets to them.</p> + +<p>Not infrequently they ended their days in the odour +of piety, and were buried in the churches⁠<a id="FNanchor_338" href="#Footnote_338" class="fnanchor">[338]</a>; to this day +prayers are offered in the shadow of their tombs. Michelangelo +wrote an epitaph for one of them. Others prosaically +married men of the world, and these ladies, as a rule, took +rather a superior pride in their virtue and their coat-of-arms. +A clever woman of the time philosophically hit off the +subject: “Life is a comedy: so long as the last act is +successful, the whole piece is fine.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless these interesting creatures necessarily had +their detractors. They have been accused of trickery and +deception. With all allowance for the prejudice of their +enemies, it cannot be denied that eccentricities here and +there gave a handle to the slanderers. The lady, for +instance, who wore slippers covered with diamonds, and +made men kiss her feet (like the pope), alleging that +her foot too was beautiful enough to merit adoration, +was considered to have overstepped the bounds. But with +the general public, and even with connoisseurs, such dainty +exactions did not produce the same astonishment that they +would produce to-day. The religion of beauty touched +such deep chords that the beautiful appeared always beautiful +under all forms, so much so that in certain Italian collections +of “Lives of illustrious women,” saints and courtesans stand +cheek by jowl.</p> + +<p>Men professed for these ladies the same veneration and +idolatrous respect as for a princess; they plied them with +the same sighs, the same verses, the same little tendernesses. +The game cost a little dearer, but in reality they were not +unwilling to regard a courtesan’s drawing-room as more +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[360]</span>moral than certain reputable drawing-rooms, since a man +was not likely to meet a ridiculous husband there, or +embarrassing young cousins of both sexes, or certain +fashionable girls whose tongues had a tang. And it was +much less compromising.</p> + +<p>Was there a moral advantage in elevating what had +till then been so degraded? For a long time it was +sincerely believed there was, and this belief was held +almost throughout Italy. On this point it is sufficient to +read a very curious letter addressed by some unknown +person, concealing himself under the pseudonym “Apollo,” +to the witty and eminently virtuous Isabella d’Este. It +is dated Ferrara, June 13, 1537, and refers to a visit then +being paid to the city by Tullia d’Aragona. It runs: +“There has just arrived here a very pretty lady, so staid in +deportment, so fascinating in manner, that we cannot help +finding in her something truly divine. She sings all +sorts of airs and motets at sight; her conversation has +matchless charm; she knows everything, and there is +nothing you cannot talk to her about. There is no one +here to hold a candle to her, not even the Marchioness +of Pescara.” An ambassador exceeded even these rhapsodies, +and wrote gravely to his government that he was +composing his despatches under the eye of this pretty +woman, who assisted him with her advice.</p> + +<p>Tullia d’Aragona, who was, we may remark, very proud +of the noble blood in her veins, thus played Egeria to the +most exalted personages, and they had no hesitation in +comparing her to a mother of the church like Vittoria +Colonna, or in placing her even higher. She justified this +enthusiasm, not only by her physical beauty and her wit, +but by real moral qualities. She proved that the spirit of +the beautiful elevates the basest things, and if she did not +turn Trappist, if she continued to live the life she was born +to, she brought to it a contempt of money which was itself +a purifying virtue. This admirable creature, after holding +all Italy spellbound by the charm of her velvety eyes, died +in destitution; she gave instructions that she should be +buried in the quietest way beside her poor mother in the +church of Sant Agostino, where she had endowed masses; +her belongings had to be sold by auction, and they realised +twelve crowns and a half.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[361]</span></p> + +<p>Imperia attained even a higher place than Tullia, and we +are compelled to believe that the aegis of virtue, like +charity, can cover a multitude of sins, since we find Sadoleto, +the type of sincere piety, singing the praises of this amiable +woman, and Raphael setting her, so it is said, at the foot of +his Parnassus in the apartments of Julius II.</p> + +<p>We do not know (and it is almost better so) what Imperia +had done to excite so general an enthusiasm: she died at +twenty-six! All that we know is that August 15, 1511, the +day of her death, was observed at Rome as a day of public +mourning. On her tomb was engraved an epitaph in the +purest lapidary style. The poets, maybe with a very +subtle irony, lauded her to the skies as a new goddess of +Latium: we hardly need to repeat these fine phrases. +“Our fathers mourned the Empire (<i>Imperium</i>); we mourn +Imperia. They had lost the world: we have lost our hearts, +our very selves.” “The whole city was moved when this +young deity was snatched away on Tiber banks,” exclaims +Vitalis—“the whole city, even the old pagan walls, even +the <i>fasti</i> of the consuls!” “No longer is she beneath this +marble,” cries Silvanus; “henceforth she holds her place +among the constellations, she will guide our fleets.” But +Silvanus becomes a little mixed in his mythology, and in +connection with the new star unaccountably couples the +names of Julius II. and Jupiter.</p> + +<p>For all this glory and honour, Imperia and her kind +inevitably became rather burdensome, and the most aesthetic +of the popes, Leo X., struck them a fatal blow when he +expelled them from Rome in 1520. They took refuge at +Venice, despite the heroic opposition of the senate.</p> + +<p>But at Venice they lost all their peculiar charm: +Venice, the metropolis of pleasure, “the foam of the sea,” +set its stamp upon them. Venice was the earthly paradise +of matter-of-fact folk like Brantôme and Aretino. The +latter wrote to an amiable lady: “You cannot picture these +water-parties in the open air, these coaching expeditions on +<i>terra firma</i>, these secluded groves, these banquets, these +unaccustomed consolations.... From your windows you +will have a panorama of musicians, singers and buffoons,” +a tempest of pleasure. “You would fancy yourself a queen.” +But at Venice such queens did not govern, as at Rome; +men added them to their collection, that was all.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[362]</span></p> + +<p>Thus disappeared one of the most striking curiosities of +the platonist society,—the one which has left the most +vivid memories. It was only possible under the caressing +warmth of the Roman sky.</p> + +<p>Leo’s decree evoked loud cries of distress, and the loudest +of all came from the French, who, though they had never +understood this art of harlotry and had made great fun +of it, thought it a capital thing all the same. Rome, they +as good as said, was no longer Rome: “How doleful +the Jubilee will be!” cries a pilgrim: “what shall I do in +Rome now?” Du Bellay, while a melancholy guest of the +gloom-beclouded city, apostrophised this new ruin in well-known +verses. (O Rome, sad, tender Rome, to whom every +passing generation must needs bequeath a new triumphal +arch, new catacombs!) Many years later, distinguished +travellers like Henri III. and Montaigne did their best to +hunt up the last of the courtesans.</p> + +<p>We cannot but confess that the attempt to rehabilitate +the demi-monde and to employ it in the heavenward voyage +strikes us as extremely venturesome; the younger Dumas, +like a true Frenchman, was not bold enough to persevere. +Our ancestors felt the same qualms: unhappily, it was not +from virtuous scruples. They recognised the work accomplished +by platonism, so bent were they on transfiguring +love through coquetry,⁠<a id="FNanchor_339" href="#Footnote_339" class="fnanchor">[339]</a> and so hopeful, in the interests of +humanity, of rendering virtuous women more come-at-able. +But when it was suggested to them, as necessary to complete +their work, that they should render come-at-able women +more virtuous, they were steadfast as rock.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[363]</span></p> + +<p>They discovered another way of giving an aristocratic +stamp to things that could not be spiritualised. We are +bound to touch upon it, because this also throws back a +vague reflexion of platonism; besides, in approaching these +delicate problems in morality, which it is so expedient to +look at dispassionately, we have no intention of dedicating +our work to girls.</p> + +<p>It was sought to blend the idea of an immaterial union of +hearts—an idea borrowed from platonism, and one whose +beauty and importance were not disputed—with the other +idea that such a compact must necessarily be sealed by an +absolute and unreserved intimacy, or it would remain +chimerical and oppressive. This idea the French could +not part with; and consequently there arose the notion of +what may be called a second marriage, supplementary +to the authorised marriage—a union <i>de facto</i>, recognised, +acknowledged, declared, and so highly honoured that one +would be tempted to call it an eighth sacrament. Similar +unions, recognised by the world, were still known at the +end of the 18th century, and even under the Restoration +during the early years of the 19th, having survived the +worst trials of the Revolution, the Emigration, penury, +and exile, to say nothing of the still more ruthless test of +time.</p> + +<p>This custom of giving publicity to secret unions was not +a direct outgrowth of platonism; yet platonist women looked +on it by no means unfavourably. In the first place, they +thought it rather lucky that their husbands, enjoying an +irregularity in some sort regularised, more highly respected +their wives’ dignity, quiet and health.⁠<a id="FNanchor_340" href="#Footnote_340" class="fnanchor">[340]</a> Secondly, we have +already shown how little platonism there was in morals +under Francis I., and what unbridled licence reigned at +court. Melin de Saint-Gelais portrays the king as a +cock in a hen-run—or as a sun in a firmament of stars, +amid Canaples, star of the morning; the lovely Saint-Paul, +star of evening; Diana, the crescent-moon; and many other +stellar beauties eager to shine—Helly, Rieux, Tallard, +Lestrange—who, if their names were not mentioned, “would +have thought it strange.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[364]</span></p> + +<p>Francis I. said plainly that a man without a mistress was +only a nincompoop. In that case was it not a mark of +progress to arrive at the institution of a regular mistress, +recognised and with no rivals? Margaret of France would +have been only too glad to see her brother fix his affections +prudently on some eminent lady, who would rank next the +queen and might be called the queen and “mirror of all +propriety.” That explains, no doubt, the affectionate, obsequious, +humble welcome she gave to the duchess d’Etampes, +whose reign seemed for a moment likely to be lasting. She +wrote for this noble lady the <i>Coche</i> or <i>Débat d’Amour</i>, a +little treatise intended to prove that, apart from pure +platonism, there can still exist a laudable love; and in the +presentation copy Margaret, the king’s sister, had herself +represented, in complete black, before the queen of the day +in all the brilliance of her beauty and her jewels, and +saying to her: “<i>Plus vous que moy</i>”; in other words, +“You are more than I.”</p> + +<p>With a like feeling of feminine delicacy, perhaps somewhat +exaggerated, Veronica Gambara, who was probably +virtuous and quite certainly platonic, went into raptures +over the good fortune of the “siren” who succeeded in +holding for some time the volatile heart of Aretino; the +words of Laura and Beatrice rose instantly to her lips, as if +the ideal were on the point of attainment.</p> + +<p>Henri II. showed himself a platonist in this sense; his +double establishment did not constitute an infidelity. He was +faithful to two wives, one official, responsible for perpetuating +his dynasty and acting for him in affairs, after the old +tradition; the other personal, to satisfy his heart as a man.</p> + +<p>Diana of Poitiers, it must be admitted, besides her beauty +which long retained its ripeness, had all the qualities for +beguiling and captivating a lofty heart—birth almost as +good as the queen’s (who was only a Medici), wit, warm-heartedness, +self-devotion. She has herself explained, in +excellent verse, how her position, false as it seems to us, +was born of a genuine passion. One fine morning, she tells +us, a young Cupid in all his fresh, light-footed, bashful +youth came roaming in her neighbourhood, filling her +mantle with marjoram and jonquilles, casting a spell upon +her. She resisted, shutting eyes and ears against him, though +she felt her heart melting; she would listen to no promises, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[365]</span>no oaths. He held out to her a wonderful laurel wreath, a +queen’s crown. “No,” she replied, “better far be good than +a queen,” and yet she felt herself “thrilling and trembling.”</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Et comprendrez sans peine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Duquel matin je prétends reparler.⁠<a id="FNanchor_341" href="#Footnote_341" class="fnanchor">[341]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Love did not speak her false: he offered her a kingdom, a +great part to play, and kept his word, as the walls of the Louvre +testify. To all her contemporaries the position of Diana +appeared magnificent, divine. Du Bellay has sung of it as the +most beautiful of marriages, the marriage of true minds:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Dieu vous a fait entre nous</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Comme un miracle apparoistre,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Afin que de ce grand Roy,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">D’une inviolable foy,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Vous peussiez posséder l’âme,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et que son affection,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Par vostre perfection,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Brulast d’une sainte flamme.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Les Roys monstrent aux humains</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De Dieu l’exemple et l’image.⁠<a id="FNanchor_342" href="#Footnote_342" class="fnanchor">[342]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>To the French, this was the perfect type of platonism, at +once practical and sacred.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Vous avez acquis le cœur de toute la France.⁠<a id="FNanchor_343" href="#Footnote_343" class="fnanchor">[343]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And Ronsard is not less explicit:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Seray-je seul, vivant en France de vostre âge,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sans chanter vostre nom, si craint et si puissant?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Diray-je point l’honneur de vostre beau croissant?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Feray-je point pour vous quelque immortel ouvrage?⁠<a id="FNanchor_344" href="#Footnote_344" class="fnanchor">[344]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[366]</span></p> + +<p>In spite of all these dithyrambs, it is very clear that the +platonism of Diana of Poitiers is a sign of decadence. It +was the ideal of platonist women to be loved for their soul; +men’s ideal being the opposite, there had been a compromise.⁠<a id="FNanchor_345" href="#Footnote_345" class="fnanchor">[345]</a></p> + +<p>The compromise, indeed, was greater than they were +willing to admit, even in Italy, and in the purest centres of +platonism. Our readers are already acquainted with the +charming Bembo, the quintessence of platonism, the admirable +chiseller of phrases, the secretary of Leo X., the friend +of everything beautiful, noble and aesthetic, the magnificent +collector, the apostle of Plato and Petrarch, of Boccaccio +and Dante, the idol of the ladies, in short, one of the men +who clung to the skirts of princesses, parading their everlasting +sentimentalities under the most perfect, exquisite, +elevated form. We have a moving letter of his. Among +that numerous bevy of princesses who nourished him on +ethereal glances from their bright eyes, there was one he +loved, the Morosina, a pure and charming woman, to whom, +as Monsignor Beccadelli has said, “he had the good sense to +devote himself,”⁠<a id="FNanchor_346" href="#Footnote_346" class="fnanchor">[346]</a> and who had given him, in the most +common, everyday fashion, a goodly number of children. +He lost her. The unhappy man was stricken to the core; +his whole being bled. What a state in which to find the +divine Bembo, the prophet of the celestial felicities! Death +has plunged a knife into his heart. Love—yes, he too had +loved. He unbosoms himself to one of his friends, Gabriele +Trifon. We were struck with surprise when we first came +upon the letter; it was the intimate revelation of a soul; +a Bembo of real flesh and blood, grief-stricken, palpitating. +“You,” he writes, “have softened the anguish which overwhelms +me, in speaking to me as a man, not as a philosopher +platonic and divine.”</p> + +<p>He adds that he has sought to reason with himself, to +preach himself lessons of wisdom, to find relief in his passion +for work; but the most delightful book slips from his hand. +Between the book and his eyes the sweet image re-appears +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[367]</span>to him in a mist of tears; and as he makes this confession, +tears gush out afresh and soil the paper, his heart is stripped +bare; the whole man is before us. “I have lost the dearest +heart in the world, a heart which tenderly watched over +my life, which loved it and sustained it neglectful of its own; +a heart so much the master of itself, so disdainful of vain +embellishments and adornments, of silk and gold, of jewels +and treasures of price, that it was content with the single and +(so she assured me) supreme joy of the love I bore it. This +heart, moreover, had for vesture the softest, gracefulest, +daintiest of limbs; it had at its service pleasant features, +and the sweetest, most graciously endowed form that I +have ever met in this country. I cannot forbear lamenting, +I cannot but curse the stars that have deprived us of enjoying +each other in so innocent a life.”</p> + +<p>What a singular underside of platonism! What a warmth +of grief! Where is all the platonic paraphernalia—the +beautiful ladies all smiles and ice, the careless disdain of +physical beauty, the adoration of social life, the horror of +solitude? Where are the many-faceted phrases, the philosophic +dissertations? Bembo has turned pious like all the +unhappy; he will not accuse Providence unjustly; though +it has snatched happiness from him, he gives thanks for the +happiness enjoyed. But sentiments are not snapped in a +moment—sentiments “which with time have rooted themselves +so deeply in our humanity that ’twould seem +impossible to eradicate them.” He writes, effusively, thanking +the friend whom he knew to have been bound by genuine +friendship “to this beautiful and precious lady.” He speaks +of the children; he will care for them, since he is their father, +and because ere she died the Morosina, having fulfilled her +religious duties, had faintly whispered these words, which +pierced his soul like a hot iron: “‘I commend our sons to +you, and beseech you to have care of them, both for my sake +and for yours. Be sure they are your own, for I have never +done you wrong; that is why I could take our Lord’s body +just now with soul at peace.’ Then after a long pause she +added: ‘Rest with God,’ and a few minutes afterwards +closed her eyes for ever, those eyes which had been the clear-shining +faithful stars of my weary pilgrimage through life.”</p> + +<p>Ah, these tears! They had hearts, then, these fashionable +platonists. Never in any of his fine discourses has Bembo +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[368]</span>touched us, nor even (if we may say so) rejoiced us as by +this simple stifled cry, these tears of solitude. He is prone +upon the earth, having lost the wings that bore him on from +flower to flower.... Four years after the death of the +Morosina, we find that, despite his good resolutions and the +counsels of his friends, he is as profoundly crushed as on the +first day. He seeks consolation from poetry; he has begun +a canzone on the death of his “fair and good Morosina”; he +has finished the first strophe and sketched out the second, +and he sends these still formless attempts to his intimates, to +show them all that his feeble faltering hand can accomplish.</p> + +<p>To sum up, the great moral movement of platonism +resulted in a wide dissemination of sensibility, and a general +softening—a softening of virtue and vice, of women and +men. This was no small thing; there is certainly an +advantage in cutting the claws of men but scantly idyllic, +and in doing nothing rather than in doing ill.</p> + +<p>This softening was often only external, and not without +an admixture of hypocrisy. But why deplore it? For men to +appear worse than they are is no proof that they are better. +Men showed signs of sensibility, even though they knew +little of love. Under a mask of amiability and tenderness +their egotism remained intact; they talked of contemplation, +of devotion, of the worship beauty required,—without conviction, +it may be; but then they might have employed their +time worse, and they unconsciously contributed to spread +salutary ideas. One of those ridiculous creatures who spent +their lives in haunting their idols like a shadow, perceived +with horror that on entering a church his lady refused alms +to a beggar. He was so deeply shocked that one of his +friends had much ado to prove to him, while chafing him +back to life, that the beggar was ill-bred, importunate, +impudent, and unworthy of assistance. Here at any rate +was a man of sensibility.</p> + +<p>But an untoward thing happened. In cultivating sensibility +to the utmost, women enfeebled men instead of forming +them. Anne of France undoubtedly foresaw this danger +when she so ardently commended vigorous and matter-of-fact +occupations, and uttered a warning against the abuses +of the religion of beauty. Many other ladies, unhappily, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[369]</span>genuine artists in refinement, took a complacent pleasure in +the very perfection of their conduct, with the result that +always ensues in such cases: their art became degraded, and in +sinking into a matter of routine, came to ruin. In true love +there is, as it were, an outpouring of one’s nature, a vivifying +joy, a sort of intense feeling which strengthens; but in love +in the more vulgar sense there is a spurious and meretricious +poetry which enervates. An old French proverb ran: +“When the woman rules the man, he hasn’t much will of his +own.” This the anti-feminists repeated, with too much +reason. “Ah yes!” cries Nifo, “’tis in good sooth a fine +dream of yours. What a magnificent moral state if all men +loved one another! No more war, no more crime!... But +is that the result you have obtained? You have distilled I +know not what mawkishness. Where are the energetic, +young-witted, happy, high-minded men born of your affections?” +And what was the age of love which was to spring +from this generation?</p> + +<p>We cannot impute to platonism the creatures of watery +blood and hang-dog look who were to form the nucleus of +the court of the Valois—these Panurges, false from top to +toe, who had early wasted their substance physical and +moral—these young tired-eyed voluptuaries whom Lotto +paints so well, too weak to pluck the petals of a rose, their +hand on their heart as though to point out the source of the +mischief. But alas! we cannot but ascribe to sheer gallantry +the mob of carpet knights, pale-faced, gilded cap-a-pie, gay +ornaments of tourneys, sleek and fawning, ready like Ariosto +to sing imaginary exploits, “provided that beauty, which +every hour robs them of some fresh portion of intelligence, +leaves them enough for the fulfilment of their promise.” +They are rigged out as elaborately as the ladies, if not more +elaborately (save that instead of displaying the bosom they +display the leg), with flying plumes; in winter, smothered +under furs; in summer all unbraced, not being able to endure +even a loose garment; loaded with diamonds, so that you +would take them for walking showcases of the king of +Naples or the duke of Berry. They are philosophical, in the +sense that they soar high above ideas of patriotism, and +prove it by disguising themselves in costumes of all +nations, the Turks included. They are learned, that is +to say, they think it smart to stuff the French language +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[370]</span>with heteroclite words, as though eager to tear from it +its pith and heart, and make this also a delusion and a +snare, as universally acceptable as blonde wigs and padded +busts.</p> + +<p>The great, wonderful reform effected by platonism in the +higher ranks of society was—that the men, copying the +ancient sages and the orientals, let their beards grow! Up +till then, no man could pretend to style unless he shaved, or +even, for the sake of greater perfection, depilated his chin; +there had been one cry of horror when Cardinal Bessarion +appeared with his beard at the court of Louis XI. But now +that Castiglione, the Roman prelates, and the high platonist +society sported the philosophic beard, there was a sudden +craze for going unshorn among the young snobs of Louis +XII.’s court,—the Bonnivets and others.</p> + +<p>This reform, strange to say, excited between the higher +and lower clergy one of the most acrimonious disputes with +which we are acquainted. Vicars and curates belaboured +the bishops with texts against the beard. The prelates +parried with abstruse disquisitions; they claimed that a +good beard did no offence to honour and probity; they +sifted the sentiments of the ancient Romans in regard to +the beard and found them in sympathy with their own; +they made out that the apostles had never dreamt of +shaving, and proved to demonstration that a decree of a +council of Carthage, appealed to by the lower clergy, was +an interpolation, and in any case was of no authority, the +infallibility of the Church not dating back so far; and a +decree of Alexander III., which they were also clamorous +about, applied only to the hair of the head.</p> + +<p>For the other part, to say nothing of the beard of Julius +II.,⁠<a id="FNanchor_347" href="#Footnote_347" class="fnanchor">[347]</a> one only had to turn over the leaves of church history +to find on every page bearded saints, sometimes of high +eminence; bearded hermits, strangers alike to the care of +the body, to Plato, and to women. The dispute occasioned +a terrible waste of eloquence, erudition, vivacity, irony and +earnestness. It was of the highest importance, and bore on +the most sacred interests of what some eminent personages +called platonism.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[371]</span></p> + +<p>And now it cannot fail to be asked by what strange and +cruel logic a century, cradled at its birth in the idea of +the beautiful, of love and happiness, was to become a hotbed +of hatred, the arena in which the most savage animosities +were implacably to contend. Must we believe that in +throwing down the barriers of a rigorous code and invoking +liberty we must inevitably bruise ourselves against force, +rendered thereby freer and more ferocious? That would be +a sad and disheartening conclusion, for then we should +have to consider human progress as a perpetual recommencement, +seeing that, though the lawless rise insurgent +against tender hearts, though gospel wisdom warns us of +the eternal despotism of the violent, there are still found +and will ever be found among us incorrigible wretches, +hungering for sympathy, and unable to live without a ray +of love.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[372]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_III_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br> +<span class="smaller">INTELLECTUAL INFLUENCE</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>Women approached intellectual questions in the same dilettante +spirit as questions of affairs; and this dilettantism +was their chosen method. It was waste of time to speak +to them of discoveries, creations, speculations, ventures, +struggles—of the scientific furniture of life, of all the irksome +material tasks on which the intellectual existence +itself is based. They sought only to crown the edifice with +happiness, which does not concern those who clear the +ground.⁠<a id="FNanchor_348" href="#Footnote_348" class="fnanchor">[348]</a> La Bruyère fancied he was saying a very cutting +thing when he declared that “women are cured of +idleness by means of vanity and love”; it is really very +amiable; would to heaven the same might be said of certain +men! Women are cured of idleness by sentiment; they +reason with their feelings. You must not ask them to +pry and delve into the stubborn heart of things; they look +at the bright surface, and penetrate what yields to the +touch. And by this simple method they perceive things +that escape the microscope, things that defy analysis, +thanks to an intuitive impressionability which enables them +to see rather than to know, and which would be wholly +admirable if it were never misused. Further, they have a +marvellous and mysterious talent for expressing their enthusiasm; +a phrase feelingly quoted by a lady strikes our +mind with a quite peculiar force when we afterwards come +upon it in the pages of a book. Again, they love the men +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[373]</span>who love what they love. How strong and firm a bond is a +common love! And how delightful to make mind the +handmaid of love, and perhaps even to make love the handmaid +of mind! To live happy, what does it matter whether +you have an exact knowledge of a peacock’s or a nightingale’s +anatomy? Similarly women do not want you to pull +words to pieces and set them in accurate alphabetical order, +but to place them in a living order, so as to draw from +them their vital force. As they ascribe everything to +love, and believe the establishment of a balance in human +affairs absolutely necessary, so they think also that their +duty in intellectual matters is to foster men’s productivity, +their beautiful art is concerned with men. Hence +they do not trouble to investigate very profoundly the +secret significance of surrounding nature; it is of little +moment to them whether an artist seeks to reproduce +natural forms with photographic fidelity—which is in any +case impossible—but they insist on a general resemblance, +they require the artist to indicate how a tree or a landscape +reflects itself in man, and what impression it produces. +In a word, they charge themselves with the +mission of elevating our views, whether by developing by +means of artistic sensibility the ideas that lie in germ in +material nature, or by constantly renewing our thoughts by +means of a liberal philosophy.</p> + +<p>The Italian women who at the end of the 15th century +devoted themselves to this intellectual programme were +legion; or rather, they all did so. There was no maiden, +however modest her station, who did not consider herself in +a measure responsible for the future, and who did not make +real preparation for becoming the intellectual queen of a +salon, or of some sort of home of her own, while her +husband attended to his external occupations. And when +her parents were happy enough to detect in their little +daughter the mysterious spark of the beautiful, far from +mistrusting it, they welcomed it with rapture as a sacred +gift of Providence and left nothing undone to develop it. +Signorina Trivulzi, a spoilt child of fortune, was in all +seriousness thus “consecrated” to the Muses at the age of +fourteen.</p> + +<p>Impressionability is a gift of nature; but that does not +imply that there is no need to strengthen it by means of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[374]</span>an earnest intellectual culture. People were only too +well convinced of the necessity of this precaution when +they saw women who were impressionable and nothing +else spinning round like weathercocks. The Italian +ladies of the classic generation had known how to take +a firm stand and a steady hold on life, so that they +united to perfection the eminently becoming qualities +of solid intelligence and modesty with an ardent impulse +towards beauty in its philosophic, religious, or artistic +form.</p> + +<p>If examples were necessary, our only difficulty would be +to choose among women like Cassandra Fideli, Costanza +Varano, Isotta Nugarola, and many another worthy of +honour. There is little risk in our indicating among the +queens of the period Isabella d’Este, marchioness of +Mantua.</p> + +<p>Isabella, who was born in 1474, and died in 1525, belongs +in time to the earlier generation, of whose characteristics +she was thoroughly representative; that is to say, along +with a transparent soul, a heart full of passion, and a quick +intelligence, she retained virtues which were to become rare—individuality +of mind and sureness of taste. She was not +one of those impressionable women who are inevitably +caught by the glamour of established reputations, and who +urge men on to achieve a noisy notoriety; she could form +her own estimate of things, and become the originator +rather than the follower of a movement. She travelled +frequently and to good purpose; her friends and agents, +scattered as far as the East, kept her informed of every +event which might have any bearing on the cult of beauty, +such as the bringing-out of notable books or fine editions, +the works issued from great studios, excavations, sales of +collections. At the sale of the celebrated Vianelo collection +at Venice in 1505, she followed with the liveliest emotion +the bidding for a certain <i>Passage of the Red Sea</i> by Jean +de Bruges, which she passionately coveted, and which +Andrea Loredano remorselessly ran up to a hundred and +fifteen ducats. An antique Venus which much occupied +her thoughts happened unluckily to be in too good hands—those +of Caesar Borgia; but Caesar was not immortal, and +one day the Venus rejoiced the heart of a new owner, the +duke of Urbino. Before long Cardinal d’Este had willy-nilly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[375]</span>to gird up his loins in pursuit of it. (What a lucky +windfall the sack of Rome in 1527 was to collectors!) The +marchioness, at the moment, emptied her purse, indeed, rather +more than emptied it,—always pretty easy to her; she had +to charter a boat to carry off all her treasures, but alas! the +boat was seized by some rascally pirates, and was never +heard of again! For all these little vexations, those were +glorious days! One person’s calamity was another’s opportunity, +and as the result of the growth of culture, a stone +newly unearthed, a well-turned verse seemed diamonds of +happiness.</p> + +<p>Isabella was a royal, frank, delicate patroness of +the human intellect. She cherished in undisturbed +harmony around her the <i>Sleeping Cupid</i> of Michelangelo +and a choice collection of antique statues; she +covered her walls with the works of Mantegna, Costa, and +Correggio; Leonardo da Vinci and Titian were her portrait +painters; she herself painted her soul in two words: +“Neither by hope nor by fear.” As an ideal for life and +an emblem for her house, she commissioned of the great +idealist master Perugino a <i>Combat between Love and +Chastity</i>,⁠<a id="FNanchor_349" href="#Footnote_349" class="fnanchor">[349]</a> and wished to arrange its composition to the +minutest details; but poor Perugino, whose soul was as +simple and unspoiled as his head was thick, got a little +befogged in so intricate a scheme, so utterly unlike his +usual Madonnas; and for all his good will, perhaps he did +not on that occasion produce his masterpiece.</p> + +<p>In France, the notable women of the generation of Isabella +d’Este did not plume themselves on playing a similar +part; they rather avoided it, whether because as partisans of +physical activity they feared to carry too much dilettantism +into life, or because circumstances did not strike them as +favourable. Queen Anne of Brittany, in spite of her surname +of “refuge of learned men,” never regarded art as +anything but a royal and magnificent superfluity. Anne +of France made her court a veritable nursery-garden of +literary men and artists; many works of real magnificence +were added to the library at Moulins; but Moulins did +not radiate an influence like Mantua. It was only the +next generation that saw the appearance of women of +the Italian type, those queens of the intellect of whom +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[376]</span>Mary Stuart was to leave us the enchanting memory—Mary, +to whom Ronsard could say without undue +exaggeration—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Le jour que vostre voile aux vagues se courba,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et de nos yeux pleurans les vostres deroba,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ce jour, la mesme voile emporta loin de France</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Les Muses qui souloient y faire demourance.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Depuis, nostre Parnasse est devenu stérile;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sa source maintenant d’une bourbe distile ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Son laurier est séché, son lierre est destruit!⁠<a id="FNanchor_350" href="#Footnote_350" class="fnanchor">[350]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Then the taste for pure art and the influence of the +South towards preciosity came in with a flourish of +trumpets. The first French Renaissance, in close contact +with rural traditions, had devoted itself mainly to the +development of force of intellect. It had attached only a +secondary value to the worship of form and to external +beauty; persons who composed verses, like Charles of +Orleans, did not proclaim the fact. Classical relations +were established with ancient Rome, the city which drove +its iron into the soul and left indestructible landmarks on +the soil of France. A ready assent would have been given +to the saying of Seneca: “There is only one art that is +truly liberal and makes a man free, and that is the study of +wisdom; all other arts are base and puerile.... I cannot +give the name of liberal arts to painting, statuary, and the +decorative arts.”</p> + +<p>This prejudice was persistent, with the result that, even +while yielding unreservedly to the religion of beauty, +people could not bring themselves to grant the plastic arts +the same pre-eminence as in Italy. Moreover, even in Italy, +painting had had much difficulty in securing a footing: +many people at any rate gave sculpture the preference, that +being plastic indeed, but less decorative, more scientific, durable, +and complete. The comparison served as a theme +for <i>jeux d’esprit</i>. Some people amused themselves with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[377]</span>defending the superiority of painting, by calling God the +first of painters, the sublime decorator; others carried the +paradox to the point of demonstrating that painting is +necessary to war, if only for drawing up plans or making +sketches; that it evoked the enthusiasm of the greatest +conquerors, like Alexander the Great, and Demetrius, who +relinquished the siege of Rhodes rather than risk setting +fire to a district of the city where a picture by Protogenes +might have perished in the flames. In reality the Italians +were fond of painting because they found in it one of the +most tender and delightful forms of poetry. Castiglione +well expressed this feeling to the sculptor Cristoforo +Romano: “It is not my friendship for Raphael that leads +me to prefer painting: I know Michelangelo, I know you, +I know all these masters! But I find in painting a marvellous +charm; it has its plays of light, its chiaroscuro; it +demands as much skill in design as sculpture, and offers +special difficulties in regard to foreshortenings and perspective. +It gives us the colours of reality; it renders +more satisfactorily the flesh, the eyes, the sheen of armour, +the delicious golden hues of hair, the radiance of love. It +alone can speak to us of Nature, reproduce for us the starry +skies, the hurricanes and tempests, the rosy dawn, the earth +and sea, hills and woods, meadows and gardens, rivers, cities +and houses.”</p> + +<p>Among the French, on the contrary, the triumph of +aestheticism led to the lowering of the plastic arts in +general esteem; painters, sculptors and architects no longer +received the same personal and affectionate support from +high-born ladies as formerly from Anne of France or Anne +of Brittany; they lost caste at the court of Francis I., and +gained nothing but higher wages; they were treated rather +like house-decorators or upholsterers. People applied to +art the general principle: Seek ye first intellectual beauty. +All were agreed that thought must be worshipped in its +highest possible purity; and as thought nevertheless needs a +material vesture, poetry was its fitting garb, as “daughter +of the skies”; and consequently the movement followed a +bent almost exclusively literary and philosophico-poetical. +It is hardly necessary for us to say that we are here confining +ourselves to the sphere of feminine illusions. No one +disputes the beneficial effect of mountain air on certain +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[378]</span>complaints; but it would be exceedingly tiresome if all +mankind were condemned to live on the summit of the +Righi.</p> + +<p>Margaret of France set herself in opposition to these +Alpine ladies, who took such delight in the ever-receding +altitudes of the intellect. She was driven to adopt this +attitude of temerity partly by her position. As sister of +the king, she had to fill the part of “queen of the sex,” and +so far as higher matters were concerned, it appeared natural +and right that her brother should follow her advice.⁠<a id="FNanchor_351" href="#Footnote_351" class="fnanchor">[351]</a> This +explains why the poets so decorously did homage to her: +“heroine of the age,” they called her, “mind and knowledge +in person ... flower of flowers, the choicest of the choice +... less human than divine.”</p> + +<p>Apart from the inconveniences of too lofty a station, +Margaret suffered from those arising from her training, +having like many women the misfortune of being particularly +sensible to influences; her flights are often those of someone +else. She remained unswervingly faithful to the habits +of her childhood, in other words, to a brilliant and sceptical +environment, in which ready wit was regarded as the +supreme gift, and liberty consisted in seeing everything, +reading everything, hearing everything from a detached +eminence, superficially, and without caring for anything in +particular except the satisfaction of a sense of form. The only +dogma tenaciously held was the pre-eminence of women, +and it was an accepted maxim in that society that one +woman of real accomplishment conduces more effectually to +human happiness than all the lumber of sciences and all the +litter of books.</p> + +<p>Margaret was thus a philosopher, generous and variable, +sceptical and enthusiastic, somewhat visionary, because the +speculative spirit spells freedom and distinction. But she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[379]</span>was lacking in that ballast of serious studies⁠<a id="FNanchor_352" href="#Footnote_352" class="fnanchor">[352]</a> which, after +all, alone permits the development of one’s personality.</p> + +<p>Thus lost in the clouds, unstable and vacillating, in reality +she took no one intellectual party under her wing; she +smiled on everything that was beautiful or pleasant, in other +words, on every means of acting on men. She was fond of +the music of that period, a wholly psychological art with +very little to tickle the ears of the groundlings, but speaking +to the soul; she loved any product of the intellect provided +the setting was worthy of the gem—ribald stories if they +were witty, the drama, lofty speculations on the emotional +life, thoughts of divine love, the religious contemplation of +God. All these manifestations of the soul, so little alike, +she regarded as forming a single philosophic chain, a chain +of beauty leading up to God. This idea enabled her to link +together conceptions which appear to us disconcerting in +juxtaposition, and which her contemporaries themselves +were at a loss to reconcile.</p> + +<p>Her patronage was above all an art, the art of playing +upon the human intelligence as on the finest of keyboards, +as on a magnificent and genuinely divine instrument, and of +drawing from it the grand harmonies of which it is capable, +the tones with which the Supreme Artist has endowed it. +Here she strikes a grave and profound note, there a note +shrill or thin; she sets men vibrating. “What!” she seems +to say, “they say that love deadens! No, no! People of +feeling may find their joy in their own natures, but that +does not hinder them from finding it outside themselves.” +Bouchet and Rabelais, two men of the traditional school, +were dependents of Margaret, as well as Charbonnier and +Marot, the poets of the day, or Du Bellay and Ronsard, the +poets of the morrow. Surrounded by Catholic prelates, +herself the intellectual lieutenant of a king hostile to the +Reformers, the princess interested herself in everything: +Lefèvre d’Etaples and Vatable discussed the Bible with +her, Nicolas Mauroy translated the Psalms for her; Jean +Brèche translated Plutarch, and Le Masson, Boccaccio. Her +own intellect volatilised itself, and was content to perfume +the atmosphere.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[380]</span></p> + +<p>It was the same in regard to persons; she admitted to +intimate fellowship with her the most diverse personages +provided they were able to love; and freedom of sentiment +was apparently the essential condition of life. Moreover, +the intellectual life had not yet assumed the rectangular and +rigid forms under which we know it; and as people were +particularly eager for impressions, they were on their guard +against all the checks by which we so cleverly destroy them. +A ruined wall was a ruin, moss and neglect were part of its +being; no one dreamt of scraping it, ticketing it, surrounding +it with an iron fence and a ring of pebbles. An ancient +monument showed itself as it was, covered with all the vegetation +which gave, so to say, artistic expression to the life of +succeeding generations; no one dreamt of rebuilding it as it +originally stood; objects of art <i>were</i> objects of art, which +people left in the places they were made for, well in view +and fittingly displayed, instead of carting them away and +piling them up in gold frames and lifeless desolation on the +walls of a museum.</p> + +<p>To understand the intellectual dilettantism of Margaret +we must steep ourselves in these ideas of liberty and life, +which are so alien to our modes of thought, and which even +then were on the point of disappearing. Margaret loved to +make an emotional impression on others, but she was not at +all anxious to guide their reason, any more than she was +anxious to be guided herself. Her zest for liberty, pushed +to its extreme limit, went almost as far as anarchy. What +a singular intellectual harem was hers! Here was a gay +dog whose humour had a touch of obscenity; there was a +dear friend, the protonotary D’Anthe, author of witty trifles +particularly wanton, for instance the <i>Blason d’une jeune +fille</i>, which we could hardly venture to reproduce; or again, +in an entirely different direction, the oppressively virtuous +Lavardin, a mighty fang-extractor, whose special duty was +to expurgate improper books; or the squeamish La Perrière, +who was a century behind the times, apologised for employing +the names of mythology, and had the worst of all +defects, that of being a bore. These various minds, working +symmetrically, produce somewhat the same effect as +those many-paned mirrors set revolving by an invisible +hand, which might flash for ever without luring an eagle, +but are very serviceable for catching larks. The defect of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[381]</span>this society was that it attracted second-rate personages, +pushing men, notoriety hunters. Moreover, platonist society +had always a strong tendency to degenerate into snobbery; +it had too much worldliness of character not to suit drawing-room +intriguers and men who knew how to get on in the +world. Platonism knew nothing of the modest and intelligent +men who kept in the background to enjoy the human +comedy. This defect amused Castiglione: “To be learned,” +he said, “you must belong to the learned set.” The result +was sometimes amusing blunders; through being attributed +to the wrong author a poem or a piece of music would be +received with hearty applause, but afterwards, when better +informed, the applauders would hiss, or vice versa. It is the +same with everything: wine is good or bad according to the +label; Castiglione guarantees he will present you any fool +and get you to believe him a genius.⁠<a id="FNanchor_353" href="#Footnote_353" class="fnanchor">[353]</a></p> + +<p>Margaret of France had a taste for notoriety, and sought +to bring together all the men who could voice the various +opinions of France. She showed them so much affectionate +attention that each believed himself to be the favourite, +and every cause looked on her as an adherent; to this day, +after three centuries and a half, the witchery of the princess +remains so potent that everyone loves her and lays claim to +her; the platonic think she was a platonist, Rabelaisians +rank her as one of themselves, Protestants call her a +Protestant. She contented herself with disseminating love, +with reconciling and discreetly moderating bitter differences +without ever bemoaning those which had brought suffering +to herself. It is a singular thing that at a distance she +is sometimes taken for a domineering, masculine blue-stocking, +one of those women who shake men as the wind +shakes the trees, stripping them of leaf and blossom; whereas +near at hand she was all softness and loving-heartedness. +The most ardent declarations brought no frown to her brow +(and left her heart untouched); she pardoned them, laughed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[382]</span>at them, sometimes received them with a smile of pleasure. +Thus a nobody named Jacques Pelletier permits himself to +call her “the half of my soul,” and boasts of her “bitter-sweet +favours,” by which he means tender and coy. But +Margaret for all her bashfulness does not care for bashful +men; she prefers energetic and robustious men who set the +pulses beating, who even make themselves tiresome and +are not incapable of follies. A certain M. de Lavaux swears +he will die if she does not take pity on his martyrdom; she +promises him an admirable <i>De Profundis</i>. The amiable +Hugues Salel praised her pretty hand in extremely graceful +little verses;⁠<a id="FNanchor_354" href="#Footnote_354" class="fnanchor">[354]</a> she sends him a pair of scented gloves and a +bracelet. But she never forgets Marot; beyond the tomb, when +all follies are over, she still proves her sympathy for him.</p> + +<p>Apart from this spirit of love you will probe the depths +of her soul in vain; there is nothing else to be found.</p> + +<p>Margaret has photographed herself in her dressing-gown, +surrounded by her intimate friends, in the <i>Heptameron</i>;⁠<a id="FNanchor_355" href="#Footnote_355" class="fnanchor">[355]</a> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[383]</span>the authenticity of the portrait is guaranteed by herself +and her daughter. And what strikes one most forcibly +in her doctrine is a pretty style and an excellent solicitude +to avoid dulness.</p> + +<p>Her gospel was, in heaven God, on earth Francis I.; after +them the Beautiful, in which she believed with all her +heart as the source of all goodness and all truth. So far as +happiness was concerned, she boldly steered for love, which +she regarded as the port for the Good and the True. But +she had little faith in passion, and confined herself to +drawing a most careful distinction between sentiment, +which she praised, and sensation, which she condemned; +her system was built up on casuistry. She thought that a +woman might frankly accept the offer of a virtuous and +perfect love; if the man secretly harboured any carnal +design, so much the worse for him! Having never loved +deeply herself, while on the other hand she had heard so +much talk of love, she believed that love was not fatal and +that a woman was by no means bound to push charity to +the point of absolute self-sacrifice. But remember, she did +not commingle the ideas of love and marriage, which were +absolutely distinct. As no one can love God without first +loving one of His creatures, her design was to lure men +thus towards the perfect love of God, and then towards a +mystic and philosophical contemplation of the Godhead.</p> + +<p>Unluckily, she did not reach her goal, or even get within +sight of it. Not for want of ardour: it may well be said of +her: “Woman is a flame flaming for ever.” For Bonnivet, +“even in their ashes” lived her “wonted fires,” lighting up in +him the happy memories of youth. She spoke with fervour, +overwhelmed the sceptics with biting taunts or lofty +deductions, stimulated the timid by a cheering word, a +flight of sentiment. But she wore herself out in this perpetual +skirmishing; what she lacked was the will and the +intellectual power to effect a sharp, decisive stroke.</p> + +<p>As for those on whose conversion to the system of beauty +and love she uselessly spent her strength, she got little +satisfaction from them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[384]</span></p> + +<p>Attached to her car she dragged along two lovers, who +ought to have been the apostles of her philosophy. In +reality these very men resisted her.</p> + +<p>One of them, the steward Jean de Montausé,⁠<a id="FNanchor_356" href="#Footnote_356" class="fnanchor">[356]</a> an excellent +type of official, gallant, frank of speech, amiable in manner, +and infinitely courteous, never succeeded in realising the +transcendent and virtuous object she had in view. Learning, +he finds, is turned to bad uses: religion he respects on +principle, without studying it deeply, and laughing in his +sleeve at certain mysteries; but virtue he recognises in +Madame de Montausé (he is married), not elsewhere. How +Margaret exclaims at him may be imagined! Louise of +Savoy takes Montausé under her wing.</p> + +<p>The other lover, Nicolas Dangu, bishop of Seez, possesses +all the princess’s affection. He follows her to watering-places, +sentiment oozing at every pore. He has good sense, +modesty, and so eminently conciliatory a spirit that he does +not deny intelligence to monks and the common people; he +even has a profound admiration for the genius of certain +malefactors. What a delightful creature is the genuine +platonic prelate, so polished, so amenable! How tender, +how honeyed, how bland! But he too opposes an almost +insurmountable obstacle to her philosophy in practice; he +dares not love her love, think her thoughts; he <i>does</i> think, +but it is of dying of love, and he has a thousand ways of +doing that. He is always dying; he would die rather than +say a foolish thing or betray a secret; he dares not put +woman’s love to the test, for fear of finding it wanting; if +it proved real, he would die of joy. He gets angry with +Henri d’Albret, but personally seems quite content with +what he has <i>not</i> got; he is the perfection of wisdom and +prudence! Yet he gently insinuates that too coy a virtue +may become cruel. Margaret is a little troubled; she replies +that before she can trust men she requires good sureties, +and meanwhile she forgives Dangu’s rash speech because he +speaks well of women. That is all she has been able to get +out of him, the perfect platonist! But that also is all she +gives him.</p> + +<p>This social governance, then, does not go to the heart +of the question at issue, and does not even convert those +who from the first were apostles of the dawn, still less the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[385]</span>indifferent, the soi-disant serious men of the world who are +met with almost everywhere. The <i>Heptameron</i> presents us +with several types, eminently true to life, who clearly show +that conversation is not to be relied on to propagate the +philosophy: a trim little widow, Madame de Longray, +infatuated about her dead husband and very bewitching to +other women’s husbands, a veritable scatter-brain in all +purity and honour; Mademoiselle Françoise de Clermont,⁠<a id="FNanchor_357" href="#Footnote_357" class="fnanchor">[357]</a> a +plump little soul, a bit of a goose, who loves naughty +anecdotes, but is extremely shocked at the naturalistic +theories of Henri d’Albret and Louise of Savoy; the +hoary Burye, who has lost all his illusions with his teeth, +convinced by experience of the necessity of platonism, +without feeling the want of a brand-new deity expressly +manufactured for him; Mademoiselle de Clermont calls +him “Old Father Virtue.” Then there is the mother +of the famous Brantôme, Anne of Vivonne,⁠<a id="FNanchor_358" href="#Footnote_358" class="fnanchor">[358]</a> the <i>fin +de siècle</i> woman, a friend of canons, but a foe to monks; +virtuous in principle, but so kind, so very kind! She cannot +understand how a woman can live without being loved; +she can refuse nothing to anybody; she has a warm affection +for St. Magdalene.</p> + +<p>“Saffredent,” a well-preserved white-headed beau, cannot +make head or tail of all the new theories, and does not mean to. +They humiliate him. Do people take him for a mummy, a +valetudinarian, a blown-out salamander—for one of those +golden-tongued Italians who are all tongue and nothing +else? For a dull student with no wants beyond his water-bottle +and his cook? He is a knight, esteems only valour and +daring and integrity. His speech is like a clarion-call; +true virtue, he maintains, consists in loving according to +the law of nature,—in loving one woman with all one’s heart +rather than in idolising thirty-six on paper. Use is better +than abuse. At this unkind and clinching phrase there is a +general outcry, and Madame de Longray sighs.</p> + +<p>Philosophy limits itself to these extremely superficial +passages at arms. Margaret takes pleasure in them; she +resembles a blue, transparent sea, chafed and rippled +by the sportive breezes, every moment glistening and +changing form; but the wind is not set nor the sunlight +steady.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[386]</span></p> + +<p>She has left us a large number of writings, in which we +might at least hope to find or to seek for a more definite +groundwork of ideas.</p> + +<p>M. Le Franc has devoted himself to the difficult task of +examining them all, and in these, again, he has found something +of everything—philosophical mysticism, solemn farces, +pious impieties, moralities half moral, aristocratico-democratic +diversions. The only note common to all is a profound +sense of the emptiness of things—which has nothing in +common with happiness! Sometimes through the most +magnificent fantasies one catches sight of a big rolling tear. +Margaret tells us that she knew three lives: a life of love, an +intellectual life, and a life of contemplation. But she is lost, +as it were, in the desert of her thought, and when her god +on earth, the big, jovial, sensual Francis I., dies, she breaks +down altogether, and falls back almost desperately upon +religion with its terrors.</p> + +<p>Life is an instrument of vulgar joy, which exalts only +those who humble themselves; Margaret’s mistake was in +wishing to remain always on the heights.</p> + +<p>Her maxim was to distinguish flesh from spirit, “darkness +from light,” and to love love for love’s sake: “Thy +love loves thee.” But, apart from the fact that these ideas +were not absolutely her own, and that the second already +denotes a declension from platonism, we are disturbed on +perceiving here and there a strange finger-mark. Margaret +had for her private secretary and collaborator a sort of +scoundrel, a demon of wit, but one who believed in nothing, +not even in his “Minerva.” On reading the <i>Mirror of the +Soul</i>, her first work, and one which betrays the prentice +hand, Bonaventure des Périers at once perceived that there +was a place to be filled about the author; he plied her with +entreaties, and with puns, and thus became a lieutenant of +platonism. The princess showed him infinite kindnesses; +in his <i>Cymbalum</i>, in which he flouted the only principles +on which men were still at one—the existence of God and a +few truths of elementary morality—Des Périers was mean +enough to hold her up to ridicule; he represented her as +seeking to imbue poets with a “chaste and divine” spirit, +and sending to Pluto (with a <i>u</i>) to ask at once for news of +the painter Zeuxis and for patterns of tapestry.⁠<a id="FNanchor_359" href="#Footnote_359" class="fnanchor">[359]</a> Margaret +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">[387]</span>forgave everything; she granted the villain a “prison” in +her house, and tried again to improve him by setting him +to translate the Dialogues of Plato. But Des Périers, not +finding in them the secret of happiness, escaped for good +and all by suicide in 1544, and Margaret once more showed +her pity by patronising a posthumous edition of his works. +That was the man who had doubtless a most intimate part +in the composition of writings which he heartily despised, +and which he called a “Pactolus of verse and prayer.” He +boasted of being their “miscreator,” and in offering one of +them to the author he said, with matchless impudence, “Here +is your immortal book, and you will find my faults there.”</p> + +<p>Thus, if you come near Margaret of France, who appears +to govern everything, you find nothing but a mere dilettantism, +a manifestation of intellectual epicurism, which +influences either ideas or the expression of them. She fixed +her eyes not on truth, but on happiness.</p> + +<p>As a guiding force Diana of Poitiers showed more +precision and vigour.</p> + +<p>Having innumerable reasons for leaning less towards the +Medici, with more physical beauty than Margaret, more +highly endowed in respect of will, she did not devote herself +exclusively to the cultivation of the intellect; she loved all +the arts, the plastic included, in the good old way. She had +a pretty skill in poetry, and appreciated books, especially +beautiful manuscripts and fine bindings. She had in her +library the Bible, the church Fathers, and books on mystic +theology, alongside of her favourite romances, particularly +the <i>Amadis</i>, which she recommended to the King; to these, +as an eminently practical woman, she added books on medicine +and natural history; no philosophy to speak of; a copy +of Politian, a few treatises on history and geography, a +Plutarch, a fair amount of poetry. For her, Philibert Delorme +built Anet, Jean Goujon wrought sculptures for it, Jean +Cousin, Leonard Limosin, and Bernard Palissy decorated it. +She was in fact a French counterpart of Isabella d’Este, a +marvellous type of the “lady art patron.” Without aiming +at the quintessences of pure love, she really and practically +laboured to elevate the cult of beauty.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">[388]</span></p> + +<p>Women who feel within themselves the power to bear on +the sacred torch and to draw minds directly towards the +idea of the beautiful certainly ought not to hesitate. But +after all, to appreciate art in its practical results, to criticise +it, to support it by one’s approbation, is a very noble end, +and one suited to any woman, however retiring. History and +experience show that these practical influences are often the +most effective. This secret society, that religious association +accomplish more by simply living their creed day by day +than by all your dogmatic teaching. What extraordinary +power might not women wield if they were all animated by +one spirit urging them towards a common end! And what +a noble end—to sustain in the world the healthful principles +of beauty, to fill the life of men really and truly with things +they can love! To assign to art this social mission, to carry +out in regard to it this magnificent part of “patron,” would +be to vivify it! Vivify! Let us say rather save it from +itself and its abuses! Art would speedily come to ruin if +the whims, fads, and prejudices which creep into the studios +were not held in check by the necessity of reckoning with +the individual and original judgment of experts.</p> + +<p>Alas! this is an evil of our present-day society,—this +awful slough of commonplace in which we are floundering—a +cause or an effect of our moral degeneration and our utter +depravity of taste. Big houses built to a specification, +decorated at so much a yard, invisibly heated on some patent +system you never heard the name of, peopled by lackeys +whom you don’t know and only see when they open the +doors! Dolly women, clothed by their tailors, a pattern or +a copy of their neighbours, with the habits of their callers, +the ideas of the men they know, and the conversation +of their grooms,—with nothing of their very own; not +women at all! People in olden days were so thoroughly +persuaded of the real social necessity of forming “amateurs” +that the old Italian educators of the fifteenth century +wished men to be brought up with that end. How much +more women, who have leisure and an inborn refinement! +It is very easy to demand that an object, however simple +and unpretentious one may suppose it, should bear a stamp +of originality and good taste. Is it not at least possible to +insist on simplicity in all things, to banish tinsel and brummagem +and all our horrible pretentious magnificence?—to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">[389]</span>seek breadth instead of narrowness?—to give ourselves the +pure free air of the Beautiful?—and further, to put writers +and artists in a position to express wholesome things with +sincerity, in other words, to see things healthily? It would +be foolish, deplorable, fatal to ask them to express what they +do not feel; but they must be made to feel what they are to +paint. There is here an important task to accomplish, and, +to a certain extent, an easy one. Everyone knows how +sensitive mental toil, particularly if excessive, makes the +man who devotes himself to it. Taine goes so far as to +consider us the direct products of the influences that encompass +us! It is certain that we borrow much from our +environment, that the dulness or cheerfulness of the sky, for +instance, tinges our thoughts with very different colours; how +much more does the sadness or joy of those whom we love? +We must create then for art a good moral atmosphere. And +when Castiglione writes: “God is only seen through women,” +he is not wrong in crying up this spy-glass of his, he understands +the need of which we have just spoken; it is as if, +on entering a cathedral, he were inviting us to look into +the <i>bénitier</i>, as if he were showing us a picture in a +mirror. There are women’s souls, clear, thrilling, passionate, +which reflect things with a distinctness and a vividness of +colour that would otherwise be unsuspected. And without +launching out into speculations as lofty as those of Margaret +of France, mere “women amateurs” can play an artistic part +of the first order.</p> + +<p>As a rule, Egerias have less need of a transcendent intellect +than of an ample provision of good sense, tact, and +above all patience, for they may look forward to struggling +against terrible temptations.</p> + +<p>The intellectual and artistic tribe of the Renaissance was +no better than any other. It teemed with crotchety species; +it included the usual specimens—the pedant, the man with +a grievance, the ingenuous prig, the strutting peacock, the +matter-of-fact aesthete always on the look-out for a place or +a pension. The proud were always the best, and the least +troublesome. Play their cards never so carefully, women +found this society difficult to rule; in general, to govern +well you have only to make your subordinates discontented, +but here you can only reign on condition of satisfying +them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">[390]</span></p> + +<p>The first step in the intellectual tutelage consisted sometimes +in doing little material services, in a quite friendly +and natural way (for you can’t live on love). To give “a +few crumbs from her table,” to aid the friends of her friends, +to look after orphans,—nothing was simpler or less remarkable +in a lady: many men would have done as much. +Bembo, badly treated by a farmer who owed him two hundred +and thirty ducats in “broad gold,” did not hesitate a +moment to tear Vittoria Colonna from her celestial preoccupations, +to beg her to deal with this little matter. To +venture on this ground, however, demanded no little caution. +Aretino has shown how easy it was to make a simple expression +of friendliness an opportunity for self-advertisement +and extortion. What a perfect master he was! Titian +applied to him for assistance in disposing of a certain +<i>Annunciation</i> which was hanging fire. This was how +Aretino proceeded. He issued a flaming advertisement, +which fairly hooked the Empress Isabella of Portugal, who +raked up from her husband’s cash-box the sum demanded, +two thousand crowns. Aretino instantly unmasked and +offered to her “sacred and renowned Majesty his inkpot and +pens”; in plain English, asked for a pension. What a fine +tooth-puller he would have made!</p> + +<p>This Aretino fluttered about Vittoria Colonna, whom he +sought to capture through her vanity. “Read my books,” +he writes to her; “read the <i>Courtesan</i>: you will see if +your praises were not always at the point of my pen.”</p> + +<p>Everybody knows how deeply impressed Aretino always +was by the honours of the marchioness, and when his style +is defective, there is abundance of will to make up for it. +“I have always known you to be of a generous spirit, a +magnanimous nature, an active mind, an absolute virtue, a +noble faith, a good life. If it were not so, I would have +told you.”</p> + +<p>That was the beginning of the oddest of correspondences. +The lady naïvely thought that she could content the monster +with fair words; but he undeceived her by the present of a +highly seasoned book, with an explicit request for commendation +and money. So far as commendation was concerned, +Vittoria thought the request very natural; but the excuse +for asking money she thought rather thin. However, she +promised sixty crowns, and even fancied she was only acting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">[391]</span>the great lady in at once sending him thirty, accompanied +by some gentle advice. Aretino, in his turn deeply +wounded, did not quarrel with “the most excellent lady”; +he confined himself to dotting the i’s. “I have to consider +the tastes of our contemporaries,” he said; “amusement and +scandal are the only things that pay; people burn with +concupiscence, as you burn with an inextinguishable angelic +flame; for you sermons and evensong, for them music and +the play!” Why write serious books? He had sent one +to Francis I. five years before, and was still awaiting +acknowledgment; he had just addressed his <i>Courtesan</i> to +the king, and by return of post received a gold chain: +“after all, I write for my bread.”</p> + +<p>Vittoria’s purse remained shut. Our fine gentleman +would have liked to return the thirty crowns; unluckily he +had spent some of them, and he sent back only some +epigrams. The marchioness suggested that he should give +the balance to the poor, hinting that no worldly pelf was +worth as much as the love of God. In consideration of a +recommendation to the duchess of Urbino, Aretino condescended +to keep what was not already spent. “I too,” he +writes with his habitual impertinence,—“I too am a +virtuous and Christian beggar, and deserving of your alms; +I do not think the poor of Ferrara, of whom you speak, so +poor that you cannot assist one of the poor here, since for +you it suffices to be rich in spirit through the grace of +Christ.”</p> + +<p>This little dialogue will show whether women needed an +angelic soul to influence for good rarely-gifted men on whom +pure love had no hold. But lofty motives must have +sustained them; there was really some truth in Aretino’s +plea; yes, fortune and glory are only reached by devious +paths. Little sketches and dialogues in the taste of the day +paid Aretino very well, without great labour on his part; a +bookseller in the Rue St. Jacques at Paris made his fortune +merely by retailing them, and in the simplest way. He +would sell to a lady a book more or less licentious, +and as such books are never lent, by and by another lady +was sure to pay him a visit. “Madam, here’s one that’s +much worse,” whispers the good man in his half Italian +jargon, slipping into her hand another very expensive book. +It was just the same in the artists’ studios; Ledas and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">[392]</span>Venuses went off like hot cakes, but Titian’s <i>Annunciation</i> +gathered dust on the easel, and Carpaccio had infinite +difficulty in selling at so much a foot a religious picture +which he considered one of his best.</p> + +<p>In France, the position was for a long time not quite so +bad, in the sense that the men of letters, excellent fellows +who mixed little with the world, esteemed themselves +infinitely lucky to receive after solicitation an ecclesiastical +benefice which made them independent. One historian +becomes incoherent in pouring out his gratitude because a +good book, the fruit of many years’ toil and travel, has +secured him a life-annuity. But this patriarchal simplicity +also disappeared in the end. Publishers had to cater for +the public, and one curious affair shows us how they +taught authors their trade.</p> + +<p>Vérard, the famous publisher whose magnificent productions +are still a joy to connoisseurs, had agreed to publish +in 1500 a book by Jean Bouchet, entitled <i>The Foxes +traversing the Perilous Ways</i>. The author was already +received at court, the book had an excellent title, piquant +and suggestive. Nevertheless, Vérard began by erasing +the name of Bouchet, and substituting that of Brandt, a +German as well known to the French as the Scandinavians +are to-day, and whom, moreover, Bouchet had sought to +imitate.</p> + +<p>The young poet durst not complain; however, when he +read the volume in print, he noticed that Vérard had +unceremoniously cut out entire passages, replacing them +with passages pillaged from right and left. Bouchet seized +the occasion and commenced an action: whereupon Vérard, +utterly surprised at so much virtuous indignation, came to +terms like a lord; he paid over a good round sum, and +asked for no receipt.</p> + +<p>Still, this sort of thing was rudimentary, and, apart from +the question of private morals, harmless. What was much +less inoffensive was the passion of the authors themselves, +once they had learnt their cue, for the novel, obscene, or +sensational effects which alone secured the attention of the +public. They speedily got level with the Italians. Ulrich +von Hütten gave an admirable send-off to his <i>Epistles of +Obscure Men</i> by surreptitiously putting manuscript copies +in circulation. Bonaventure des Périers almost attained to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">[393]</span>Aretino’s skill. The alleged official destruction of his +<i>Cymbalum</i> justified a clandestine second edition, which of +course was priceless. “Let us write some vile thing,” he +says in one of his dialogues, “and we shall find a bookseller +who’ll give us ten thousand crowns for the copy.” That is +true; the public only buys and circulates and really cries +up the books it contemns. Many notorious books of that +time, which we take seriously to-day, probably had no other +origin.</p> + +<p>An author, indeed, has a perfect right to desire to live at +the expense of his readers. But, after all, he must beware, +in matters of art, of commercial inducements, and the more +indifference, weakness, and unconcern the good public displays, +the more one ought to thank the distinguished +women who undertake to oppose the high bids of naturalism +or extravagance. They do not always succeed; they +are sometimes the dupes of noise and fashion; let us forgive +them for what they have given us, for the sake of what they +have spared us. In these days, people are ready enough to +abuse the old system of patronage, which they charge with +subverting the dignity of man; to seek something from the +State, from a member of the Government, seems natural +enough, but many writers would think themselves humiliated +by submission to any social patronage—which, however, +society is not eager to offer. In the 16th century, +among intellectual circles, men were republicans even in a +monarchy: they were not enamoured of the idea of the +State. And private patronage, in spite of its imperfections, +often served as a home for meditation, a shelter for independent +men who preferred high thinking to popular +applause; if it proved deadening, it was only on mediocre +minds. When we see what circumlocution, and what subtle +diplomacy the most influential princesses had to employ to +gain admission to Raphael’s or Giovanni Bellini’s studio, +we have no further misgiving as to the disadvantages of +patronage. For a lady to send a poet in distress “a +little sugared solace” as Des Périers said, and with so +much discretion that the source of the gift remains +unknown, or to express her sympathy in the form of a +costly present—in this we see nothing to impair the +dignity of man; indeed, to be frank, it appears to us +delightful.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">[394]</span></p> + +<p>Moreover, patronage did not confine itself to a purely +material and administrative support, as the State necessarily +does. Besides sending a present in season, the ladies were +still more ready to distribute the small but not less precious +coin of tendernesses and compliments. We are here returning +into their proper domain, and an intellectual man +capable of withstanding this influence would be a rarity. +The lady author who praises a writer smacks a little of +her trade; Veronica Gambara, after overwhelming Aretino +with rhapsodies, cries naïvely, “Praised by you, I shall +live a thousand years!” It was “Kae me, I’ll kae +thee.” But from a genuine lady of rank, eminent and +bountiful, who asks for nothing, one charming phrase, even +though it be qualified and far from flattering, is glory, and +a glory that can be solicited without humiliation. “They +say I am an aristocrat,” wrote Taine, and he was, as we all +are who pretend to lead men’s minds. That is why we need +this sybaritism,—need to be sustained and perchance guided +by a smile. There is hardly a philosopher or poet of the +16th century whose pages are not illuminated and gladdened +by the smile of some high-born lady.</p> + +<p>How can we analyse this smile? We could not without +seeing it, and we only know it very indirectly. We divine +it under an infinitely caressing word; in a pretty diminutive, +“my little sister,” “wifie”; in an affectionate superlative; +Vittoria Colonna calls her friend Dolce “Dolcissimo,” and +speaks to him, with a quite natural grace and without +apparent exaggeration, of his “divine sonnets,” for which +she has not words enough to thank him; with her friend +Bembo she permits herself to gush forth familiarly in artless +enthusiasm. What a curious litany is the correspondence +addressed to that “very magnificent” rogue Aretino, who +highly valued the honour done him, and took all possible +advantage of it! The writers are the marchioness of +Mantua, with her grace and reserve; Mary of Aragon, +“the sovereign marchioness of Avalos,” on particularly good +terms with him because she has not altogether given up +hope of turning him into a monk; the duchess of Urbino, +warm, gushing, who calls him “my magnificent most loving +lover”; then the good ladies who have lost their hearts to +the man of the hour, who take him as he is, a scoundrel +but famous, and who write to him as the “fount of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_395">[395]</span>eloquence, astonishing, admirable, miracle of nature, most +virtuous, (yes, you are!) most wise, my father, my +brother.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_360" href="#Footnote_360" class="fnanchor">[360]</a></p> + +<p>The relations of a lady with her protégés were established +by slow degrees, or simply through her chancing to hear +of a work that bespoke her practical interest. The lady +learns through her secret agents that a book is about +to appear, in prose perhaps, perhaps a history; she wishes +to have the first peep at it; the author, taken by surprise, +makes excuses with profound modesty, but sends his manuscript +all the same; and the ice is broken, the circuit is +complete. The connection will continue under various +forms; the writer tells her in confidence of his various +works, then in his turn begins to beat the coverts for talents +of hers that are lying concealed. In return the lady +announces his work <i>urbi et orbi</i>, and takes his friends +to her heart. A real intimacy is set up between them, sometimes +so entirely spiritual that they never even see each other. +Thus, before publishing his <i>Courtier</i>, Castiglione submitted +the manuscript to Vittoria Colonna under the seal of the +profoundest secrecy. Vittoria kept it rather a long time, +and when at last she had to return it, she excused herself +very prettily, being still, as she says, only half-way through +the second part: she omits to add that she had lent it +rather indiscreetly. She has no suggestion to make, except +perhaps that he should not give the names of the ladies +whose beauty he is praising in a book intended for the +public. Otherwise she applauds everything with all her +soul: the freshness of the subject, the refinement, elegance +and animation of the style. She is horribly jealous of the +persons whose words are quoted in such a book, even if +they are dead. As to the passages on the virtue and +impeccable chastity of women, she adores them and considers +herself, as a woman, honoured by them; but on this +point she prefers not to say all that is in her mind.</p> + +<p>With Michelangelo she exercises the same supervision; +she begs him, in a charming note, to send her a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">[396]</span>crucifix he is working at, and to come and have a +chat.⁠<a id="FNanchor_361" href="#Footnote_361" class="fnanchor">[361]</a></p> + +<p>Far from dissembling the patronage of which they were +the objects, the writers and artists boasted of it. In all +sincerity they believed women to have been created and +sent into the world to inspire them with intelligence. If +they had their portraits painted seated in their studies, it +was not in the midst of a litter of books, weapons, or +carpets, nor even with an air of deep thought or abstraction; +it was simply as natural men, writing beside a little Cupid +who serves them as tutelary deity. It was accepted without +question that a woman’s hand must shake the bough to +set the mind winging its flight. “My mind, my strength, +my Pallas, is Lydia,” exclaims Catti.⁠<a id="FNanchor_362" href="#Footnote_362" class="fnanchor">[362]</a> + Antonio de Gouvea⁠<a id="FNanchor_363" href="#Footnote_363" class="fnanchor">[363]</a> +declares that he had no suspicion of what was in him till +the fair-haired Catherine of Bauffremont discovered him as +one discovers a treasure under the snow: “I should have +thought the snow cold, but lo! it was fire.” Michelangelo +sings the same song in every key: “Through your fair eyes +I see a tender light which my blinded eyes could not have +seen.... Wingless, I fly with your wings; through your +quick spirit I am unceasingly uplifted towards heaven.... +I have no other will than yours; in your soul my thought +has birth; my words are moulded in your mind. I am like +the moon, who never shines in the sky but as reflecting the +brilliance of the sun;” and he adds this profound saying: +“O Lady, who by fire and water refinest and purgest the +soul for happy days, ah! grant me to return never more to +myself!” That was the simple method by which many +women in those days directed the minds of men.</p> + +<p>We must not exaggerate: we do not pretend that you +must everywhere <i>chercher la femme</i>, that without her +nothing is possible, that she has confiscated the key to all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">[397]</span>human learning. On the contrary, she has done little for +the exact sciences; she has contented herself with piercing +the heavens or clambering in somehow or other. But the +great kindred of impressionable beings, every man who has +lived by beauty and sought after happiness, from philosopher +to artist, from talker to poet, every man capable of +feeling an emotion, has owed much to women. “Emotion, +which is only an accident in the life of man, is it not +woman’s whole existence?” And in such a matter, can a +better judge be found? Woman is freer from prejudice +than man: “she does not need to give abstract reasons for +her enthusiasms: her passion, her pity well up spontaneously +while man is still discussing and deliberating. And +in so doing, she almost always sees more truly.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_364" href="#Footnote_364" class="fnanchor">[364]</a></p> + +<p>Women are the eternal guardians of the Beautiful, and +it cannot be said that in this respect the Renaissance +introduced any absolutely new idea. Long before, noble +châtelaines used frequently to shelter under their roofs the +churchman employed to illuminate their Books of Hours, +and princesses encouraged the ballad-monger and the +image-vendor. Women have always cultivated their souls! +But it was a new thing to devote this fervour and enthusiasm +to a religion of beauty. In other directions, the +women have been condemned; but their aesthetic influence +has seemed legitimate; and, in a word, “the works they +patronised, the châteaux built for them, have endured, +when the doughty deeds of knights on the battlefield have +hardly left a trace.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">[398]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_III_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br> +<span class="smaller">INTELLECTUAL INFLUENCE (<i>Continued</i>)</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>The influence of women declared itself in certain well-marked +results. In the first place, it led to the germination +of what may be called a technical literature: that is, of +works intended to prove the legitimacy and necessity of +feminine sway.</p> + +<p>The classical type of this literature is Boccaccio’s book, +<i>Of Illustrious Women</i>. Boccaccio lived in a backward age, +which is the excuse for certain epigrams of his; but he +remained none the less the women’s favourite writer, because +he had had the courage to ransack antiquity, to quarrel +with Virgil, to extol Dido, and to collect for the first time +a multitude of immortal examples—Cleopatra, Lucrece, +Semiramis, Sappho, Athaliah. Nothing, therefore, was safer +than to republish, amplify, and imitate his work in every +shape and form, and the opportunity was not lost, God +knows!</p> + +<p>In addition to this Boccaccian literature, which was +already extensive, we must note the appearance of a +numerous family of semi-philosophical, semi-historical +writings, devoted to the glorification of the reigning sex; +winning causes never lack defenders. The names of Bruni, +Portio, Lando, Domenichi, and many others would certainly +merit a page in the annals of feminism; Benedetto da +Cesena specially demonstrates the honour and virtue of +women, Capella their excellence, Luigini their beauty. The +feature common to the most of these works is that while +claiming to be very lofty, abstract and impersonal speculations, +they are all the time aimed more or less covertly at the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">[399]</span>heart of one woman in particular. If Firenzuola discourses +like Plato himself, it is because he has the countess of +Vernio as his ideal. Nifo compiled his treatise <i>On the +Court</i> under the auspices of the prince and princess of +Salerno, but his ardour was more especially inspired by +the charms of Phausina Rhea. Ravisius Textor wrote his +<i>Memorable and Illustrious Women</i> because there happened +to be one Jeanne de Vignacourt, wife of President Gaillard. +We ourselves ought to have conformed to this fascinating +custom and to have inscribed a lady’s name on the title-page +of this book; but we are writing for fair readers of the +20th century.</p> + +<p>Except in size, the books we allude to were as like as +two peas. Chénier might well have called them “old +thoughts new versified.” To see one is to see a thousand. +The upshot of them all is the equality, if not the superiority, +of woman in regard to man. To give an idea of them it +will be enough to mention one, of no great renown (it has +never been printed, and no complete manuscript exists, to +our knowledge), but linking the names of two personages of +the first rank. It was written for Vittoria Colonna by +her cousin the famous Cardinal Pompeo Colonna, vice-chancellor +of the Church of Rome.</p> + +<p>The Cardinal begins by very gravely preparing to crush +under a weight of learning various anti-feminist propositions, +almost all drawn from the antiquated repertoire of +the Middle Ages; for instance, is woman an imperfect +animal, an inferior being, unfit for public duties, good for +nothing but to gad about and commit indiscretions? Is it +not the custom, even in everyday talk, to say “men” when +meaning the human species? Are not the Bible and Plato +agreed in teaching that man is the prototype of creation, +the receiver and the transmitter of life? Having settled +these and a few other questions, the cardinal proceeds to +his demonstration of the merits of womankind.</p> + +<p>He finds it much to the point to invoke evidence from +the pagan world. He sets defiling before us the Sauromathian +women, the warrior Amazons, the women of the +Balearic isles, every one of them esteemed equal to three or +four men in the exchanges of war; the Lycian dames, +through whom nobility was transmitted, and the Celtic +ladies, who exercised the functions of diplomatists and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">[400]</span>arbitrators. On this evidence he declares himself an out-and-out +feminist; an advocate for the admission of women +to all occupations; gymnastics and military service, commended +by Plato, have no terrors for him; he would have +been an enthusiastic apostle of cycling for both sexes. If +some timorous objector hints at the moral perils of launching +women into public life, he almost angrily laughs the objection +to scorn, zestfully seizing the occasion to show what men +are good for when left entirely to themselves. His type is +the strong woman, sure of herself and cased in the armour +of her modesty, the energetic woman who fends off the light +strokes of stratagem as well as the heavy strokes of violence, +the woman who is generous and just, with something of that +young Spartan captive who had the force of soul to feign +love for her vanquisher and to persuade him with her +caresses that she was endowed with a marvellous secret of +invulnerability, and who thus got her head cut off. +“Heaven above!” ends the cardinal suddenly, “where could +one find a more accomplished type of strength and +magnanimity than yourself, O Vittoria! It is you, you, O +ideal of noble virtues, who sustained your husband, guided +him, exalted him!” Pompeo has so many things to attend +to that he excuses himself from here working out this +theme; he begs the marchioness to accept his modest little +work, the homage of an ardent and sincere affection.</p> + +<p>We are bound to add that women showed themselves +duly grateful; this kind of literature was not love’s labour +lost, and many insignificant men found in it the road to +success. A Bohemian, half magian and wizard (common +enough in those days), a soldier as well as a “doctor in +both faculties,” Cornelius Agrippa, was elected professor of +Cabala at the University of Dole. Not long afterwards he +dedicated to his sovereign, Margaret the regent of the +Netherlands, a bulky book on the <i>Preëminence of the +Feminine Sex</i>, a learned and convincing work, though in +places somewhat gross. The chaste Margaret was no more +shocked than Vittoria Colonna appeared to be angered at +some indecorous details in the work of cardinal Pompeo. +She obtained a good appointment for Agrippa, and later on, +though a good deal had happened in the interim, she gave +him the title of imperial historiographer to Charles V.</p> + +<p>Apart from these special productions, which in date +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">[401]</span>almost all belong to the early days of the decadence, the +influence women exercised on intellectual productivity ran +through two very different channels.</p> + +<p>The primitive Frenchwomen, who loved breadth and +vigour, the women of passion, mistrusted works of mere +imagination; they sought for truth. Philosophy and history +were their intellectual pabulum, owing to their taste for the +clear light of truth, however solidly, even heavily expressed. +To become wrapped up, entangled, lost in art and mawkish +sentiment appeared to them the proof of inferior minds; +to them the supreme art was to be without art; they loved +the beautiful simplicity and impressiveness natural to minds +that have mastered the subjects with which they are dealing, +and are masters of themselves.</p> + +<p>But these women were not numerous, and are soon lost +sight of. Nor were there many men capable of meeting +their views.</p> + +<p>History and philosophy had their charlatans who brought +discredit on them sooner or later—pedants, perpetrators of +futile and vapid euphuisms, not to speak of fantastics and +high genealogists like Féron, who carefully describes the +armorial bearings of Adam.</p> + +<p>Lemaire de Belges, who worked constantly under the eye +of grave women and dedicated to them all his writings of +whatever description, even a <i>Treatise on Ancient and +Modern Funeral Ceremonies</i>, is one of those who carried +erudition too far. He has a superb equipment of learning, +which he displayed with a magnificent and conscientious +tediousness; how could Margaret of Austria, Anne of +Brittany, and Claude of France distrust a person of so +excellent an appearance! Lemaire loses no opportunity of +rendering homage to the sex; if none occurs naturally, he +invents one. He cites only women of beauty and intelligence. +In the service of Anne of France he extols honour +and virtue: with Anne of Brittany he sings the past history +of her realm;⁠<a id="FNanchor_365" href="#Footnote_365" class="fnanchor">[365]</a> and when all is said and done he was +nothing but a dull courtier. And yet he made his mark.</p> + +<p>Philosophy comes better out of the ordeal. It was not +divorced from literature, and, like the literature, it wore a +pleasing and cheerful aspect. Laughter was then the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">[402]</span>fashion, even in the most serious clubs. The Florentine +academy flourished under the title of the “Academy of the +Damp,” each of its members bearing the name of some fish; +and when, as pretty generally happens, its founder, Lasca, +was expelled, he established another academy, under quite as +facetious a name, the “Academy of Bran,” the Dellacrusca.⁠<a id="FNanchor_366" href="#Footnote_366" class="fnanchor">[366]</a></p> + +<p>We have shown what an unrivalled position philosophy +obtained in the society of that epoch; many people preferred +it to history because they fancied they were more certain of +finding truth in it. They found it also of very practical +utility; thanks to some familiarity with the ideal, more than +one philosophical husband could say, “All is lost, save +honour.” From the moment when the women began to +subsist on philosophy, there was a run upon theoretical +wisdom. Happy the man whose academic discourses suggested +a comparison with Plato, or merely with Pythagoras! +Philosophy bore everywhere the torch of happiness; it gave +props to faith, and represented Paradise as the sum +and crown of aesthetic joy; the noble bishop Guevara +exclaims with enthusiasm, “God was the first lover in the +world; it is from him that we have learnt to love”; and +grave professors on formal occasions waxed eloquent on the +mystery of love. Cornelius Agrippa opened a course of +lectures on Plato’s <i>Symposium</i> with this declamation: “I +come to expound to you the doctrine set forth by the +divine Plato in his <i>Symposium</i>, on love. My discourse has +Love for its author and cause; I myself, inflamed by the +beams of love, preach Love to you. Far from here, far from +this respectable lecture-room, let others, stuck fast in the +miry paths of the world, creatures of Bacchus or of the god +of gardens, trample this divine gift, love, in the mud, like +dogs or swine. You, my pure men, votaries of Diana +and Pallas, hail to you! Come and lend attentive ears to +this divine mystery.”</p> + +<p>Filippo Beroaldo goes farther; he undertakes “without +false shame” to expound to his young pupils the philosophy +of Propertius: “Yes,” he exclaims with fervour, “we shall +give praise to love, the one god laudable above all things, +pre-eminently laudable; we shall show you that the poetry +and the poets of love consort with the gravest professors, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">[403]</span>and that this sort of poem is worthy to serve as subject for +a public and complete course in a university of letters.” +And forthwith we see him occupied for a whole year in +drawing a distinction between the work and the writer, +conformably to the aphorism of Catullus, that a poet may +perfectly well pass for a decent, chaste, and pious man, +though his works may not have the same reputation, provided +they have salt and wit. Ovid also had said: “My +pen is lascivious, but my life is not.” Beroaldo insists very +strongly on this tutelary principle, and to add force to +his demonstration he casually reads the broadest passages in +Plato and the Scriptures: “Yet,” he adds proudly, “everybody +reads the Bible.”</p> + +<p>In addition to disseminating thus the doctrine of Love, the +religion of the Beautiful naturally delighted in beauty of +form, and gave a very decided lead on this point also.</p> + +<p>In the first place, it brought into high favour a kind of +literature which, for brevity’s sake, we shall call the literature +of conversation. There is nothing surprising in this, +since conversation served at once as a means and an end, +and appeared to be the realisation of Platonic happiness. +Those who had the misfortune to be writers took at least all +possible precautions not to show it, and certainly many +authors of the dialogues, novels, and various narratives of +the time committed them to paper only to keep a permanent +record of actual conversations, or at any rate because, in +temporary distress for want of someone to talk to, they +found themselves reduced to taking up their pens to keep +themselves in practice. The critics of our day, who prefer +to say their say by themselves, in the form of lectures or +articles, are disposed to see in this dialogical method a trick +of rhetoric; they regard the dialogues of Plato in the same +light, and we see very learned platonists quoting indifferently +the thoughts of the various speakers as the thoughts of Plato +himself, without remarking that in the same dialogue the +different speakers give sincere expression to different ideas. +The majority of 16th century dialogues are real conversations,⁠<a id="FNanchor_367" href="#Footnote_367" class="fnanchor">[367]</a> +and claim to be more or less accurate notes of both sides, +with the perfect liberty of movement impossible in didactic +exposition. Bembo, in his capacity as an eminent talker, +has accepted the responsibility for more than one written +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">[404]</span>dialogue. And thus, the practice was quite the reverse of +that which obtains in our drawing-rooms to-day, where, if +the conversation happens to rise above the commonplace, we +borrow our ideas from the morning’s leading article or the +last successful play; in those days the drawing-room made +the book—a system extremely favourable to the influence of +women.</p> + +<p>The masterpiece of this literature of conversation is unquestionably +the <i>Courtier</i> of Castiglione, of which more +than eighty editions or translations are known, and which +retained almost undiminished popularity for more than a +century.</p> + +<p>In proportion, however, as women fell into mere fashionable +sensibility, the literature they inspired became an art of +form rather than of thought, and soon there was no longer +room for anything but poetry. Poetry flooded everything. +We are not speaking here, of course, of the high heroic +poetry intended for robust appetites: people revelled in +the luxury of a beautiful musical phrase which soothed +without awakening emotion, in a sort of splendid unreality, +in glittering frivolities calculated to give a fillip to conversation.</p> + +<p>There was high honour for the improvisatore who, in the +decorated hall of the château, whilst in the streets there +arose a vague hubbub of music, song, or passing feet, could +on the spur of the moment chisel or crystallise a happy +thought, and shoot out his little verse, light as an arrow, +brilliant as a sky-rocket. Such a man was fêted everywhere, +and saw a welcome smiling in every eye. Into a +goblet of rare crystal he poured, as it were, but one drop +of elixir, but it was an elixir that exhilarated; he was +master of his world. With a tender or witty verse a man +could do anything. A phrase of Bembo’s is very typical. +When Vittoria Colonna had just lost her husband, +he told her that the flood of sonnets on that occasion +had reconciled him to the age! Vittoria Colonna herself, +whose ideas were of quite a different order in theological +matters, wrote to a prelate: “I received your letter this +morning, and in your madrigals I saw the force of +truth.” Poetry was so much a maid of all work that +a luckless ambassador, at his wit’s end for a new way +of asking for his arrears of salary, ended by addressing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">[405]</span>a dispatch in verse to his sovereign, Margaret of Austria. +Another dropped into poetry in his dispatches with +the simple object of paying court to his princess. A +business agent, instructed to send some information to +Vittoria Colonna, declares that, writing to so illustrious +a lady, he hardly knows what he is about, and that he +cannot refrain from writing in verse: hitherto, he says, his +higher faculties have been dormant, and the name of the +marchioness has roused them to activity. Admirable effect +of feminine influence, galvanising even auctioneers’ clerks! +Ladies wrote in verse to their children, sent their friends +verses—sometimes, it must be confessed, borrowed.⁠<a id="FNanchor_368" href="#Footnote_368" class="fnanchor">[368]</a></p> + +<p>In all this wealth of poetical production the sonnet ranked +as the most profitable, because, thanks to its terse and +sparkling form, it did well in a glass case among a woman’s +little love trophies. It admirably hit the tastes of the ladies; +it was short and concise, it centred on one idea, and allowed +the most diverse and fugitive sentiments to find expression.</p> + +<p>In these days we cannot really understand the success +which certain occasional verses met with, for example, the +rhapsodies of Molinet⁠<a id="FNanchor_369" href="#Footnote_369" class="fnanchor">[369]</a> whenever Margaret of Austria took +her walks abroad. These gems of other days have the +same effect on us as pearls removed from their settings, +lying robbed of all their lustre on a dealer’s counter. For +that matter, they never had the glow of passion; all that +was asked of them was to show a certain uniformity of +sparkle, and they were strung one after another in the +belief that so many languidly gleaming brilliants would in +the long run form a pretty set. What charming and unexceptionable +ornaments were the waggeries of Saint-Gelais +or of Michel d’Amboise, or the “Hundred and Five Love +Rondeaux” published by M. Tross, or the <i>Hecatomphile</i> +(<i>i.e.</i> the hundred loves), and so many more!⁠<a id="FNanchor_370" href="#Footnote_370" class="fnanchor">[370]</a> Such writers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_406">[406]</span>had ringing in their ears an air from Ovid⁠<a id="FNanchor_371" href="#Footnote_371" class="fnanchor">[371]</a> or Petrarch, a +mawkish air, with all the sublimity of commonplace, +already utilised a thousand times; and they continued to +grind out the song of the “exquisite” bard of Laura, to steal +from it, comment on it, torture it, raising their eyes to +heaven like Greuze’s girls; and so they thought themselves +deities. “I hope,” cries Aretino, with a burst of laughter, +“that the soul of Petrarch is not tormented in the other +world as it is in this!” They were a long way from the +vigorous inspirations craved by Pompeo Colonna. Some +repining souls made secret reservations against the seductive +force of this sensibility. Vittoria Colonna and Isabella +d’Este kept a corner of their heart for Dante; but what +could they do to stem the tide? They tried, very clumsily. +In France a league of terrible pedants was formed,—“skimmers +of Latin,” who, to separate themselves from the +vulgar, employed a sort of pretentious and intolerable jargon. +In Italy, Spagnuoli shouted himself hoarse in thundering +against the Franco-Italian alliance, and all in vain. +Capilupi,⁠<a id="FNanchor_372" href="#Footnote_372" class="fnanchor">[372]</a> still less adroit, committed the unpardonable folly +of finding fault with the women. At bottom he was right.</p> + +<p>It was women’s duty to warn the world off so disastrous +a reef. Unhappily, in consequence of that eternal timidity +and that want of energy which were to kill their influence, +they allowed themselves to be utterly bewitched. It was +written that they should be able to conquer, but not to +profit by victory: that, once mistresses of the world, feebleness +would regain the upper hand; that being no longer +under the spur of passion, they would come to a stand +before a sweetstuff shop.</p> + +<p>The masterpiece of these pretentious confectioneries was +a monument of verse erected to the glory of some particular +lady.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">[407]</span></p> + +<p>Jeanne of Aragon was during her lifetime the object of a +deification of this sort, in which the Academy <i>de’ Dubbiosi</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_373" href="#Footnote_373" class="fnanchor">[373]</a> +at Venice proceeded according to the forms employed at +Rome in the ceremony of canonisation. There was first a +preliminary decree, then a discussion on the proposal made +by some member to share the apotheosis between the +exquisite Jeanne and her sister the Marchesa dal Vasto; +then a decree, based with great parade of learning on the +opposition of Roman pontiffs in bygone days to Marcellus’ +project of dedicating a temple to Glory and to Virtue in +conjunction, and enacting that the honour was to be reserved +for Jeanne alone, and that it would be enough to offer +incense to the Marchesa dal Vasto in sundry allusions.</p> + +<p>The temple was erected. It was in the purest Renaissance +style; cosmopolitan, artistic, feminist. Its contents were +pretty enough: Ruscelli celebrated the charming, adorable +and divine Jeanne in respectable verse. But that only +shows how the finest things suffer most when reality +is replaced by sham. Miscellaneous heaps of poems in all +languages known or unknown, Hungarian, Hebrew, Syriac, +Slavonic—what was it but sham? In reality, the truly +artistic idea was absent.</p> + +<p>There was also, especially in France, a whole literature +dealing with poodles and little birds, which was not lacking +in charm, and above all in sensibility, for it was generally +elegiac. Saint-Gelais, Eustorg de Beaulieu and Marot, like +Catullus, mourned sparrows, such as that of the unfeeling +Maupas:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Las, il est mort (pleurez-le, damoyselles),</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Le passereau de la jeune Maupas;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ung aultre oiseau, qui n’a plume qu’aux aisles,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">L’a dévoré: le congnoissez-vous pas?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">C’est ce fascheux amour ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">... Par despit, tua le passeron,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Quand il ne sçeut rien faire à la maistresse.⁠<a id="FNanchor_374" href="#Footnote_374" class="fnanchor">[374]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">[408]</span></p> + +<p>Vert-Vert,⁠<a id="FNanchor_375" href="#Footnote_375" class="fnanchor">[375]</a> whose misfortunes touch us to this day, was a +direct descendant of the parrot of Margaret of Austria, +which, having been allowed to die during the absence of its +mistress, was consequently regarded as having died of +despair. Du Bellay has devoted some of his most exquisite +verses to the memory of a little dog.⁠<a id="FNanchor_376" href="#Footnote_376" class="fnanchor">[376]</a> In short, as we see, +all these writings were inspired by a sentiment of tenderness, +in the manner of Berquin⁠<a id="FNanchor_377" href="#Footnote_377" class="fnanchor">[377]</a> or Florian. The Cardinal +de’ Medici loved to style himself “the knight errant.” +Under the dainty hand leading them, men seemed like +meek and gentle sheep, somewhat emasculate perhaps, +incapable of a strong diet, but polished, sweet, gracious! +Twit them with losing their claws, they reassure you! If +their interests or their pride are ever so little touched, they +are still masters of a pungent rhetoric! Listen, behind the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">[409]</span>scenes (or even before), to Politian, that charming angel,⁠<a id="FNanchor_378" href="#Footnote_378" class="fnanchor">[378]</a> +calling an obscure antagonist named Mabillius, “scurvy +knave, carcase, lousy dog,” and so on.</p> + +<p>But let us finish our portrait of women from the intellectual +point of view.</p> + +<p>They did more than rub their faithful friends to a fine +polish: they were gradually drawn on and impelled to take +up the pen themselves, cherishing the secret idea of enabling +the public to profit by the treasures of their sensibility.</p> + +<p>To write a book, even in verse, is not a crime. But how +was it that the women did not understand that in coming +like professionals before the public they were precisely +breaking away from their own system?</p> + +<p>They could, it is true, invoke the example of Spain, +where women displayed their learning openly and unabashed. +But the position of Spain was altogether different; +there the women in question were ladies of lofty imagination, +who threw themselves with extraordinary energy into +regions of pure erudition; brilliant and famous women of +high rank—the marchioness of Monteagudo, Doña Maria +Pacheco de Mendoza, the pretty Isabel of Cordova, far +richer in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew than in worldly possessions; +Catherine Ribera, the bard of love and faith; the two +“professors” of rhetoric at the Universities of Salamanca +and Alcala; Beatrice of Galindo, who taught the queen +Latin; Isabella Rosera, who preached in Toledo cathedral +and went to Rome to convert the Jews and to comment on +Scotus Erigena before an array of dumbfounded cardinals; +Loysa Sygea, again, the most illustrious of them all, an +infant prodigy to begin with, then a Father of the Church, +who could speak the most outlandish tongues. These were +women full of sap and energy, whom no one was astonished +to see taking by main force the first rank in the spheres of +literature, philosophy and theology; but were they really +and truly women? or rather, did they bring any new thing +to humanity? Were they apostles of happiness? No, they +advocated the claims of reason as men did, perhaps better, +perhaps worse—that is all. The ideal of France and Italy +was different: it demanded more discretion. Women might +be quite as accomplished; the knowledge of Latin was so +widely diffused among them, even in the depth of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">[410]</span>country,⁠<a id="FNanchor_379" href="#Footnote_379" class="fnanchor">[379]</a> as to be quite a matter of course; many grappled +with Hebrew; some people went so far as to say that rhetoric +was a virtue as necessary to them as chastity, if not more +so. Only, everybody was steadily faithful to the maxim +that women ought to rule by charm rather than intellectual +accomplishment; and if it was necessary to arm them for +the strife, their supreme skill would always lie in appearing +unarmed, in keeping their minds free and winsome, preserving +unsoiled all the bloom of their excellent education, +remaining great ladies and “amateurs.”</p> + +<p>Ought the women, at the time when the ultra-refined +shrank from appearing in print as a lapse from taste, as +what Montaigne called an “idle business,” to have descended +into the arena and addressed themselves to the heart of the +commonplace and heedless man in the street? Ought they +to have done violence to their thought by printing it? You +may address the public in regard to the stern things of life, +draw your logical deductions from truth, hammer out your +arguments, discuss history, philosophy, theology, everything +that is of iron and rock. But sentiment has graces which +only flourish well under glass; the true women of the +Renaissance were like orchids, choice and rare and delicately +perfumed, which close their petals at the first breath of air. +The same modesty which defended the purity of their bodies +against every indiscreet eye, and which smiled only on +friends, seemed to envelop their souls. They were not displeased +to hear themselves called the depositaries of “good +doctrine,” or even to see jestingly attributed to them +some pretty work which obviously they had not written: +Aretino was a very clever and amusing flatterer when he +made the actor in the prologue of one of his most spicy +comedies ask if the author of the piece were not Vittoria +Colonna or Veronica Gambara. But the most accomplished +and instructed woman of the world, Margaret of Savoy for +example, never tired of boasting of her “divine goodness.” +Noble ladies did not take up the pen, any more than a good +housewife needs to handle a broom; they readily dictated +even private letters, with the splendid indifference of +Talleyrand, who, we may say in passing, knew his business +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">[411]</span>very well. If they are ever caught writing, it was +for mere amusement, when they were tired of painting, +carving, working tapestry, playing the harp, singing, maybe +of dancing and riding; then they thought of their souls, if +they had time; they would read a psalm or a story; or +to “escape idleness,” to banish an idea that oppressed and +persecuted them, they would artistically chisel their idea in +the form of a sonnet. Thus understood, poetry is the +divine art, and very few women have been able to resist it +from the moment when it appears to them the same thing +as painting a fan!</p> + +<p>Margaret of Austria delighted in etching in little poems +her recollections of the trials of her life, and (in absolute +privacy) did not even disdain to address some epistles in +verse to her devoted friends or her functionaries. The +amiable Graville, the fair Chateaubriand, so dear to +Francis I., excelled in this pastime, and when we see +Suzanne de Bourbon herself contributing her share, we may +well believe that the fashion was general. But between +that and proclaiming oneself a poet there was a wide gulf, +and when this was crossed, it was the beginning of decadence, +because the exquisite freshness and simplicity of the +art soon gave place to affectation. To women of simple +artless charm succeeded blue-stockings like Madame de +Morel and her three daughters, or Madame des Roches. +Women writers arose, and the Academy of the Valois found +it quite natural to admit them.</p> + +<p>Lyons was the capital of feminine poetry, and certainly it +is there that we can best appreciate how and why the +women fell into the unfortunate mistake of becoming +professional writers. It was not wholly their fault: they +only succumbed to the temptation when they could no +longer exert their influence otherwise.</p> + +<p>Lyons was the city of wealth and pleasure and elegance, +the rival of Paris in fashion, the “Florence of France.” It +was often the headquarters of the court.</p> + +<p>Anne of France, as sovereign of the surrounding country, +had at first exercised there a very direct influence; and +afterwards Margaret of France went there more than once, +and gladly, as into a friendly land.</p> + +<p>The ladies of Lyons, envious of the “great and immortal +praise” their neighbours of Italy had acquired, were desirous +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_412">[412]</span>of making their influence also felt on men, and of doing +honour to France in the present and the future. It was +nothing but music and poetry, poetry and music.⁠<a id="FNanchor_380" href="#Footnote_380" class="fnanchor">[380]</a> Margaret +of France smiled broadly at the universal babblement. Up +to a certain point, save for the somewhat excessive development +of sensibility, nothing was more legitimate or natural: +the husbands acted as archivists, piously classifying their +wives’ papers and cultivating their reputations. But a +time came when it appeared calamitous to leave to husbands +alone the care of so many treasures. Du Moulin, +Margaret’s secretary, ventured to aim a blow at feminine +modesty: at the express request of her husband he +published the works of Madame Pernette du Guillet, +recently deceased, taking good care to indicate his intention +of thus paying collective homage to “so many fair and +virtuous ladies of Lyons.” He encouraged others to make +similar confidences.</p> + +<p>The somewhat tame and sublunary verses of Pernette du +Guillet were not particularly flattering to the husband who +had so well preserved them. Pernette avows in all sincerity +that she had never known happiness; how could she have +known it? She divided her abilities among so many +things. She spoke all languages, played every instrument, +and was beautiful in addition. The sentiments she expressed +oscillate between a tender sensuousness and +bitterness of soul.</p> + +<p>Louise Labé, the glory of Lyons, did better service for her +cause. The list of her virtues would fill several pages. +Fair, rich, and well-bred, a singer, a dancer, a horsewoman, +and an Italianist, she drew in her train such a flock of +admirers, commentators, panegyrists, biographers, and +glossarists that her death did not quench the enthusiasm, +but occasioned a perfect mausoleum of poetry.</p> + +<p>There has been endless discussion in regard to this +fascinating woman. Many a lance has been broken in regard +to her virtue, of which the late M. de Ruolz was formerly +the self-constituted guarantor and paladin, but against +which, since his time, two erudite writers, themselves +natives of Lyons, Messieurs Gaullieur and Gonon, have +brought heavy batteries to bear. But that little concerns +us, for we do not claim Louise Labé, even theoretically, as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">[413]</span>one of the glories of pure platonism; she is too self-confident +and cock-a-hoop, has such airs of swagger and +mock languor; she smacks of decadence. And yet, though +she did not, like Pernette du Guillet, make the slight effort +needed to defer publication till she was dead, she does +affect a modesty which is itself unpleasing. It was not +her husband who impelled her to appear before the world, +it was her friends; they insisted, swore to “drink the +half of the shame”; and then, “not to take the plunge +alone,” she dedicated her book to another lady, Clémence of +Bourges.</p> + +<p>These simpering affectations apart, Louise was sincerely +convinced of the benefits of feminine domination, and one +feels that in boldly facing publicity she was obeying a sentiment +of duty. She resolutely encounters the enemy, like a +brave captain who dashes out of cover to rally his disordered +troops. She conjures women not to allow themselves to be +despoiled of the “honest liberty” so painfully acquired—liberty +to know, to think, to work, to shine. Happiness!—she +no longer deludes herself with the idea that she can +promise it with certainty, or at least she has awakened +from the dream of attaining the absolute; but she tells +herself that “one can at least sweeten the long voyage.” +She does not lose sight of the fact that it is women’s +function to diffuse sweetness and poetry, to mitigate unsociabilities, +to inspire men with energy. The experience +already gained does not strike her as discouraging; quite +the reverse; the intellectual life takes from day to day a +more splendid amplitude, and this amplitude results from +the action of women. The moments of all great intellectual +vitality are marked by love. So said Louise Labé.</p> + +<p>Tullia d’Aragona, who sustained the same theory in other +terms, was one of the few Italian women who did not fear +to be reputed authors, probably because her place was +already only on the fringe of society. In general she employs +few circumlocutions, but goes straight to the point with a +vigorous eloquence. Her poems, almost all addressed to +men, deal with subjects of the gravest kind, particularly +with religion. Tullia had the inestimable advantage of +knowing humanity from top to bottom. Beside her, Calvin +and Ochino are as innocent as babes, and she taunts them, +not unfairly, with dealing their blows blindly without +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_414">[414]</span>distinguishing between what is serious and what is +harmless. Her own wisdom is wonderful! The poet +Arrighi cannot help exclaiming, “Vittoria Colonna is a +moon, Tullia a sun.” She celebrates pure love in the true +lyrical and forceful strain, as “the magnificent, the admirable +madness which alone produces great enterprises.” Whilst +immaculate women like Vittoria Colonna and Veronica +Gambara too often stifle us with languorous sensibility +(“When I was a happy lover, I exhaled the harmonies of +my heart in calm and pious accents”), Tullia, who has long +ago lost this tranquillity and these religious illusions, knows +that will and action are needed; she does not ask for the +impossible, but on the other hand she valiantly excommunicates +Boccaccio with his “villanous novels,” before +whom the coy ladies of fashion bow their faces to the earth. +In a dialogue with two gentlemen, she discourses on love in +quite a platonist key; she investigates its casuistry: “Is +the end of love its limit? Is it better to love or to be +loved?” She prefers to be loved, this fair artist, because in +loving we are acted on by the motive force, while in being +loved we exert it. Women who have really loved will +perhaps be of a different opinion; nevertheless there in one +line we have stated the great contention of the time. The +art of women ought to have been to make themselves loved +and to constrain men to love; they were often caught in +their own toils; they loved, and consequently instead of +receiving they gave. “The heart has reasons reason never +knows.”</p> + +<p>These few notes on the literary work of women suffice to +show that, on the whole, feminine literature, except in Spain, +sprang from love, to return to love again. No great +influence in the intellectual crisis of the Renaissance can be +attributed to these various writings; they scarcely did +more than develop more or less intuitively the platonist +philosophy.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, women exercised an enormous intellectual +influence through their individual and personal +action, especially in Italy. They carried their charm into +quarters which the mediaeval theologians, so ready to style +themselves the “doctors of the poor,” never penetrated,—namely, +among the poverties of the heart. They overlaid +life with that varnish of wonderful, singular sweetness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_415">[415]</span>which has never been wholly rubbed off; they intellectualised +society, and, in a country essentially marked +out as a prey for gold and luxury, they delayed the +moment when men were to be estimated merely by the +gilding of their ceilings or the thickness of their carpets.</p> + +<p>The effects of their work north of the Alps are not very +easily measured. Resistance there was too strong; the +masculine world was not easily won over; men growled, +for it seemed to them that women were plucking their souls +out, or wishing to degrade them, in proposing that they +should submit to—what? a sort of intellectual goodness. +They refused to hear women and intellect spoken of together. +The Germans recognised no intelligence in them +apart from their domestic duties. What the Italians called +intelligence a German would call tittle-tattle, trickery, the +spirit of contradiction. They rejected such gratifications, +and had no intention of allowing Delilah to shear them. +They would readily have declared, like an arrogant character +of M. de Curel, that there is nothing in the world but +egotism, and that the egotism which creates life is of more +worth than that which employs itself in providing life with +consolations. As to poetry, forsooth, they were tempted to +receive love serenades with a bucket of water. And if the +Italians sneered at them as barbarians, “brainless people,” +they would answer them on the day of battle by demonstrating +how far mere brains and sensibility served a nation. +Erasmus dubbed “any man who was honest and learned” +an Italian; precisely, but what had the Italians come to +with their beautiful ideas? They wrangled, but they no +longer fought.⁠<a id="FNanchor_381" href="#Footnote_381" class="fnanchor">[381]</a> “Don’t talk to me of the Venetians,” said +Louis XII.; “they don’t know how to die.” To know how +to die—that is life.</p> + +<p>Virile, stern, frugal, poor, rustic often to boorishness, +Germany in this way kept up against the intellectual +paradox the old disdainful warfare of the empire against the +priesthood, and once more the gulf was dug out between +body and mind, between matter and spirit, force and +liberty. From the banks of the Rhine a furious hail of +missiles was directed against the fragile aspirations of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">[416]</span>Italianism. Brandt published his famous <i>Ship of Fools</i>,⁠<a id="FNanchor_382" href="#Footnote_382" class="fnanchor">[382]</a> +reissued seventeen times between 1494 and 1520, a work as +much translated, copied and imitated in the Germanic +world as Petrarch was in the Latin world; a pungent and +unjust work in which defile, as in a booth at the fair, all the +little grotesques which bring joy to mind and heart—not +merely, needless to say, old Turk’s heads like the physician +or the astrologer, but new types—the spectacled scholar, +busy nursing his own reputation under colour of Plato or +Menander; the man of the world, oiled and curled indeed, +but a wit, a lover, a giddy-pate, and a firm believer in the +black art; no one is missing, not even the explorer, at a +period when the world was dreaming of free exchanges and +the demolition of frontiers, the age of Columbus and Vasco +da Gama. In the greater part of these adventurers the old +German sees only arm-chair travellers or tap-room oracles, +and among the genuine travellers he anticipates Sterne +in distinguishing idle loungers, curiosity hunters, liars, +braggarts, conceited puppies, windbags, travellers in their +own despite, travellers fleeing from justice, felons, the +innocent and unfortunate traveller, the traveller for his +own amusement. Hardly any is forgotten but the sentimental +traveller.</p> + +<p>As to the poets, needless to say whether a genuine +German scoffs at these “gentlemen in <i>-us</i>,” a sort of intellectual +Tartarins, who in actual life lead old and even +wealthy women to the altar.⁠<a id="FNanchor_383" href="#Footnote_383" class="fnanchor">[383]</a></p> + +<p>And thereupon heads grew hot, and men pointed to the +decadence of morals, the desertion of the country, the +flocking of people into the towns, and they laid the blame +on Rome, the head of the movement—Rome without a +rudder, without a compass, drawn helplessly along by the +new spirit through which she was to perish.</p> + +<p>Some years later, when in spite of everything the rising +tide at last made its force felt, the opposition changed front. +People began to twit Italian learning with superficial +ostentation. A love for books was laughed at. Ptolemy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">[417]</span>Philadelphus was a wonderful man, to be sure, to collect +forty thousand volumes at Alexandria! An ass might just +as well load himself with guitars and set up for a musician! +That may be admitted; but they did not stop there; and, +notwithstanding all we know of the violences of party +spirit, we cannot help feeling somewhat astonished when +we hear a man like Marot contemptuously flinging the +epithet of “ignoramus” at the Rome of Leo X., or +Melanchthon talking of Italy as “Egyptian darkness, a +prey to the worst enemies of literature and study.” That +seems the very last accusation that might have been +expected.</p> + +<p>These German ideas were half French too, and consequently, +in the hot give-and-take of battle, imperial Germany +and papal Italy, in spite of some shrewd blows, +maintained their positions well enough, whilst France, +caught between two fires, was shattered. At the very +gates of Lyons, the sweet city of feminism, the Germanists +and Huguenots brutally replied to all the poetry of the +women with the jest of D’Aubigné: “When the eggs are +hatched, the nightingale stints his song.”</p> + +<p>In addition to many earnest men and almost all politicians, +believers in authority and even in force, Italian +dilettantism found other ardent adversaries in France in +the champions of the old <i>gauloiserie</i>, who continued to +dote on naturalism naked and unadorned, the syntheses or +analyses of the flesh. They felt insulted that anyone +should wish to impose on them a strained and uncomfortable +Petrarchism with the idea of toning them down. +However, Petrarchism did not effect very much, and it was +assuredly not guilty of softening certain crudities and of +replacing by its mawkishness the twaddle of illustrious +nobodies like Jean Picart, Etienne Clavier and others.</p> + +<p>Hence, in so disturbed an atmosphere as France then +was, we should be led to conclude that the influence of +women was negative, in the scientific sense of the word. +Their work was like M. Pasteur’s. The soul of man was +stirred, agitated, overwhelmed by a host of imperceptible +microbes; the women did not furnish an infallible specific +for preserving the health, but sought to sterilise the noxious +germs, to make the air pure and the water clear.</p> + +<p>Even after the squalls of the 16th century it cannot be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_418">[418]</span>said that no vestige of their effort remained. For it is the +characteristic of France to be a complex and accommodating +country, where nothing triumphs, but everything succeeds, +where nothing abides, but nothing is lost. To this very +day, an hour’s carriage drive through Paris takes you +through the last four or five centuries of our history. The +feminism of the 16th century brought down and deposited +a new stratum of traditions: nothing more could be expected.</p> + +<p>The violence of the opposition prompts us also to find +some excuses for the timidity we have pointed out in high-placed +women. Women genuinely frank and fearless could +only be found in humbler life. We have seen how much +difficulty Margaret of France, called to live in a circumscribed +and select society, had in determining her precise +whereabouts, since she met with nothing but contradiction +around her. When her scared platonism came at last, about +1540, to formulate as in Italy definite principles of guidance +through the pen of Héroët de la Maisonneuve, and a heated +contention was the result, Margaret prudently tacked about, +and smiled, now upon Héroët, now upon his adversary La +Borderie.⁠<a id="FNanchor_384" href="#Footnote_384" class="fnanchor">[384]</a> + And yet the rein was felt,⁠<a id="FNanchor_385" href="#Footnote_385" class="fnanchor">[385]</a> and in her circle it +became necessary to sing of love in a more philosophic key. +The fierce Des Périers himself, type of the man who loves +to bite, saw himself reduced to translating the <i>Lysis</i> of +Plato, under the insipid title, “The Quest of Friendship.”</p> + +<p>The victory thus remained a moderate and indecisive one, +somewhat out of proportion to the great enthusiasm displayed. +The fine triumphant treatises on the excellence and +transcendent merit of women, those sacred stones, relics of a +forgotten worship, deserted dolmens, were almost all Italian. +Margaret showed some displeasure when she heard women +ill-spoken of; but she did not inspire glorious rhapsodies, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_419">[419]</span>like Vittoria Colonna and many others. In France free +discussion on the merits and demerits of women continued +rife.</p> + +<p>Such wrangling was indeed an old French social pastime: +everyone said his say, with perfect liberty to change his +mind, and a host of well-worn sentiments more or less +amusing were bandied about: “Eve was a woman, God +made himself man! There are no women among priests. +It is very seemly to sleep alone. I have never been in love +or married, thank God!” In the 15th century people +succeeded for a moment in believing that the intellectual +level of their little pastime might be raised till it at last +attained the Italian perfection; a Norman named Martin Le +Franc, whom his duties as secretary to Felix V. had made +half a pontiff, at one moment threw out the grand phrase +which was to set Italy on fire: “Women are the apostles of +happiness, because they are the apostles of universal and +necessary love.” A few little academies or <i>puys d’amour</i>,⁠<a id="FNanchor_386" href="#Footnote_386" class="fnanchor">[386]</a> +scattered here and there in Picardy and Flanders, caught +eagerly at the idea, but without deriving from it anything +better than an encouragement to the flowery verbosities of +dead-and-gone chivalry, which they plumed themselves on +continuing. Then came the wild outbreaks in Germany to +give the finishing stroke, and when Brandt and Geyler⁠<a id="FNanchor_387" href="#Footnote_387" class="fnanchor">[387]</a> +became the idols of public opinion the French feminists +blushed and turned tail. No more monuments were erected +to the glory of women, and even a masterpiece of our art of +engraving, an absolutely charming <i>Ship</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_388" href="#Footnote_388" class="fnanchor">[388]</a> that appeared about +1500, was devoted to their disparagement. It is a series of +little pictures, representing, to begin with, the inevitable +Eve, and then coquetry, music, dinners, perfumes, love. The +author does not go so far as to say that all these things are +unutterably wearisome to him, but he insinuates that in his +opinion it is useless to look for any serious idea among +such frivolities.</p> + +<p>The French were quite ready to admit that women had +certain moral qualities, like goodness and devotion; a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_420">[420]</span>woman who had only one shift would give it away, they +knew. A writer puts into Eve’s mouth a cry of sublime +self-sacrifice at the moment of her expulsion from the +garden: “Slay me,” she cries to Adam: “perhaps God will +restore you to Paradise!” And yet it was to her that he +owed his expulsion. But the great majority of Frenchmen +very unjustly believed frivolity, inconstancy, lack of originality +to be defects inherent in the sex, and not merely the +result of an unfortunate education. If accomplished women +quoted Plato or St. Thomas they were laughed at, no one +would believe that they had an opinion of their own, but +declared that they had got some one to coach them, that +“the doctrine was no deeper than their lips, that they had +no naturalness, that they disappeared under art.” A woman +was believed to be afflicted with the radical incapacity to +acquire an individual idea. Montaigne, who nevertheless +boasts of being platonic and anti-epicurean,⁠<a id="FNanchor_389" href="#Footnote_389" class="fnanchor">[389]</a> sums up all +these old prejudices in flatly refusing to regard woman as +anything but a pretty animal. Virtue (the woman’s, that +is; Montaigne has different ideas) is corporeal fidelity: his +ideal is Anne of Brittany weaving tapestry in the conjugal +bedroom. Montaigne reluctantly admits that feminine +coquetry may end in ennobling love, but without changing +its destination: “You can do something without the graces +of the mind, but nothing without bodily graces.” Thus, +when Roman and papal society claimed for women the +absolute right to have done with paint and powder, it fell +foul of a host of preconceived ideas.</p> + +<p>Frenchwomen did not firmly enough assert themselves. +Their services were accepted for domestic tasks, often +delicate and difficult, which necessitated much intelligence, +but were considered servile or at least inferior. Further, +when they endeavoured to rise above this state of bondage, +they were checked, sent back to their idleness and frivolity, +persuaded that it was no duty of theirs to defend the great +causes men too often deserted; and they believed it. Here +is a mass of useless men, says the world: go to, let us +match them with useless women! But was it not a mistake +thus to bury them alive, so as to prevent their being +too much in evidence? Was it right to inflict on the half +of the human species a malaise the more terrible because +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_421">[421]</span>for the most part the victim was unable to account for it? +A woman who had all that is apparently necessary for +perfect happiness, and who nevertheless was sick and +unhappy by reason of the emptiness of her life, exclaimed: +“I feel I lack something. In my soul there are faculties +stifled and useless, too many things that are undeveloped +and of no service to anyone.” How many like her have +there been at all times—women of deep, vacant, ever virgin +souls, who suffer through not giving themselves, and live +in maiden meditation, fancy free! And why? For the +sole profit of the selfishness of men! “No, this ought not to +be,” warmly rejoined a convinced spiritualist: “if men +complain of seeing themselves equalled or surpassed, more’s +the pity: they have only themselves to blame. ’Tis that +they are unworthy of their women!” This was not the +speech of a Frenchman, but of a Roman prelate, Giovanni +Monti, secretary to the pope.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_422">[422]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_III_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br> +<span class="smaller">RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>The great effort that we have sought to portray resulted +finally in a profound religious revolution; starting from a +crisis in belief, it led to a transformation of Christianity +through the ministry of women.</p> + +<p>In reality, feminism exalted the soul rather than the +woman. Woman is born to cling to somebody; if man fails +her she seeks a stay in God. It was thus inevitable that her +religion of beauty should end in a mystic marriage, in a +great dramatic act of religious sensibility, in a development +of charity and hope on the basis of definite dogma, in the +skilful interpretation of impressions of the unseen by means +of external signs.</p> + +<p>That women would fling themselves passionately into +religious sensibility was only to be expected. This is their +way.⁠<a id="FNanchor_390" href="#Footnote_390" class="fnanchor">[390]</a> Leaving out of account those who are never happy +out of church, women love to fancy themselves queens by +the grace of God. The incomprehensible, which irritates +men, fascinates them, and they experience a singular joy in +rummaging the mysteries. As we have already said, at the +moment of the religious crisis a courtesan proffered the most +judicious advice on the direction of ecclesiastical affairs.</p> + +<p>In the Church, to mistrust the intrusion of women was +a peremptory tradition, and indeed the ecclesiastical world +may well be considered the citadel of anti-feminism. +Religion had taken a logical and theological bent; it recognised +only one morality, applying to noble ladies and +eminent intelligences the rules taught to plainer folk. Erasmus +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_423">[423]</span>repeats approvingly the maxim of St. Paul: “Christ is +the head of man, man the head of woman; man is the image +and glory of God; woman the glory of man.” With the Church +Fathers it had been a long-established custom (going back +to the wisest of the wise, Solomon) to compare women, and +even the Virgin, to the moon. From sacred literature this +comparison passed into profane literature, which employed +it in season and out. Rabelais declares that women play hide +and seek with their husbands, as the moon with the sun; +Boccaccio and Brantôme revive the old proverb about the +virtue of women needing to renew itself every month like +the moon. One poet decries the moon, pale like woman’s +love; another adores her, pure like his well-beloved.</p> + +<p>The platonists were well content with this phantasmagoric +comparison, which represented to them in all likelihood +a whole world of freshness and domestic joys.</p> + +<p>Dolce himself deems that the moon is feminine. “At +night,” he says, “she streams through every chink and +cranny, spite of blinds and shutters; she inspires the +imagination of husbands.” In France, during the period of +the fair Diana’s ascendency, the moon quite eclipsed the sun; +the king sported a device of interlaced crescents.⁠<a id="FNanchor_391" href="#Footnote_391" class="fnanchor">[391]</a> But the +Church did not go so far. It excluded women from the +priesthood; its tradition granted them nothing except +personal piety, or at most heroism like that of St. Catherine +of Sienna of unfading memory. In order, therefore, to +secure a place in an absolutely new order of ideas, women +had to wash their hands once for all of eminent dogmaticians +and subtle moralists, and to effect a complete change.</p> + +<p>Many enlightened minds in the Church itself called for +this renovation.</p> + +<p>The weariness and disgust generally felt in regard to +certain trivialities in religious observance, to the apologetics +and the frigid ethics of the time, had caused the spirit +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_424">[424]</span>of faith and faith itself almost entirely to disappear; and +thus the Beautiful easily became the guiding principle +of theology. Only, some people sought their theology in +abstractions, others in the joys of art. The fall of Savonarola +precipitated the movement in the direction of art. His +friends were downhearted. Michelangelo clave to the Man +of sorrows, the crucified Christ, “as a skiff to the harbour”; +his faith became confidence, and dogmatic theology had no +further interest for him.</p> + +<p>So far from feeling itself harmed by this breath of +philosophy, Rome, ancient and eternal, regarded itself as +invigorated thereby. “I am a Christian platonist,” had been +the saying of the early platonists. Too proud to have any +love for the petty arguments and the material extravagances +of every-day religion, these philosophical prelates wished to +establish the authority of the Church on the liberty, not the +anæmia, of the conscience.</p> + +<p>The new philosophy declared itself to be more Christian +than that of Aristotle, and bowed before the official dogmas, +like the priest before the altar, declaring itself “unworthy”—before +dogmas of almost insolent authority, stern, inexorable, +but modified by tenderness. The new religion +was the philosophy of the Lord’s Prayer. It sufficed to +recite the Paternoster in the spirit of love harmonising with +it; regarding God as the good Father, who gives life because +He is life,—God, the celestial and ideal, whose will should +be done because it is the very essence of love to seek its +motives in the will of the beloved one. We love, not +the idols of the world, silver and gold, but love and mercy; +our daily bread is sufficient for us, love has loosened +in us the springs of ambition; filled with tenderness and +dignity, foes to intrigue, we have to spread abroad in the +world this same tenderness and the tolerance it implies; +may God in like manner pardon the evil we may do. We +beseech Providence not to put temptation in our way, so +that we may be saved from falling!</p> + +<p>God is all love and all life. It is not His will to betray +us by laying snares for us; His religion can be only the +perfect manifestation of natural law. Goodness and piety +do not mean pessimism and self-abdication.</p> + +<p>The positive side of religion, namely, the creed, may well +be left to reasoners and theologians, for it gives rise to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_425">[425]</span>insoluble problems. But religion also includes principles of +practical morality, which have for object the happiness of man.</p> + +<p>In regard to the second point, the Gospel leaves us great +liberty. It lays down no dogmas in regard to beauty; it +confines itself to bequeathing us love, not a love more or +less alloyed with selfishness, vanity or interest, but a +general love for God and our neighbours, resulting from an +inward spirit of devotion.</p> + +<p>That being so, what is the good of quirks and quiddities? +What is the good of tight fetters? Love, and go straight +on your way—that is the new formula,—a very effective +one, since it converts dogmas into sentiments, and consequently +gives them a direct bearing upon life; a very +philosophical one, for nothing is so personal, so individual +as sentiment. And, as Montaigne says, “it is a most excellent +and commendable enterprise properly to accommodate +and fit to the service of our faith the natural helps and +human implements which God hath bestowed upon us.... +Had we fast hold on God by the interposition of a +lively faith; had we fast hold on God by Himself, and not +by us; the love of novelty, the constraint of princes, the +good success of one party, the rash and casual changing of +our opinions, should not then have the power to shake and +alter our belief.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_392" href="#Footnote_392" class="fnanchor">[392]</a></p> + +<p>Faith is the best and almost the only guarantee of liberty +of thought.</p> + +<p>That explains why, in the official apartments of the pope, +the <i>School of Athens</i>, an eclectic homage to the philosophic +spirit, is a companion picture to the <i>Controversy on the +Holy Sacrament</i>, the synthesis of the spirit of faith, and +why the <i>Parnassus</i> appears to unite them. No one found +anything to object to in this alliance. Erasmus insists on the +fact that Christianity and Plato are in wonderful accord in +regard to happiness; Cornelius Agrippa himself, who +ventured to call Plato a “master of errors,”⁠<a id="FNanchor_393" href="#Footnote_393" class="fnanchor">[393]</a> attributes to +Socrates inspiration from on high.</p> + +<p>Leo X. acted as pope in countenancing Plato.</p> + +<p>Mitigating circumstances have been urged in his favour; +as the Roman tradition excels in accommodating itself to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_426">[426]</span>the needs of each successive age, some Catholic writers have +thought that the alliance between Roman prelates and the +new aesthetic cult was a prudent concession to circumstances. +Our opinion, on the contrary, is that Rome, under +the influence of a century and a half of ardent study, +deliberately placed herself at the head of the movement. +Rightly or wrongly, she believed that religion is the art +of living freely and in peace. “The soul is far above the +intellect.”</p> + +<p>In virtue of this maxim there appeared, closely leagued +with the prelates for the purpose of reforming the Christian +practice and restoring to it its primitive motive force, the +women, whether platonist or not, who have been called +<i>bibliennes</i>, but whom we would rather call Mothers of the +Church. In these days we stick pretty closely to the +external and picturesque features of the Bible; we read it +as a story that has come true, and love a realistic illustration. +The <i>bibliennes</i>, too, after their fashion, sought +impressions, rather than a doctrine; for what they called +“my religion” was the doctrine of others, on which they +drew their own patterns, like figure-skaters. What concerned +them in the Gospel was its philosophy.⁠<a id="FNanchor_394" href="#Footnote_394" class="fnanchor">[394]</a> They +wished to profit by it on their own system, that is, by +intuition, by inspiration from on high. Faith in witchcraft +flourished more than ever, and it seemed quite natural to +regard women as the special interpreters of the unseen.⁠<a id="FNanchor_395" href="#Footnote_395" class="fnanchor">[395]</a> +The bloody persecutions of the 16th century did not succeed +in uprooting the belief in witches, who sometimes indulged +in horrid midnight abominations, but who were the more +habitually consulted by people who wanted to have their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_427">[427]</span>fortunes told, to have their ailments treated,⁠<a id="FNanchor_396" href="#Footnote_396" class="fnanchor">[396]</a> to obtain good +weather, etc.⁠<a id="FNanchor_397" href="#Footnote_397" class="fnanchor">[397]</a> The boundless ambition of Julius II. sprang, +it was said, from the prediction of a sorceress, who had told +him to be of good cheer, for he would obtain the tiara and +world-wide sway. The witches loosed or bound the devil at +pleasure. Their power was evil, but supernatural. People +said “witch”; in some parts the word “wizard” did +not even exist. If the witch was to credulous people the +incarnation of women’s special aptitude for medicine and +religion, there was a good deal of truth in the idea, and +women might well be supposed capable of exercising supernatural +power. It was fashionable to extol the ancient sibyls +in the same terms as the prophets. These celebrated beings +formed the connecting link between antiquity and Christianity; +instead of doing as Julius II. wished, and painting +the twelve apostles, in other words, the active ministers of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_428">[428]</span>faith, Michelangelo boldly and triumphantly displayed on +the vaulted arches of the Sistine chapel seven prophets and +five sibyls, that is, the ministers of intuition.</p> + +<p>Thus women substituted themselves for priests as they +did for doctors, from a horror of materialism and professionalism, +from a sense of duty, an idea of liberty, a spirit +of charity, making no professions of profound study, but +with the wholesome aim of protecting the youthfulness and +beauty of their souls. Apostles of the religion of love and +joy, they addressed themselves to the miseries that befall +especially those whom the world calls happy; the unfortunate +doubtless have no time to think of their woes; it +has always been much more difficult to convert the rich, the +healthy, and the young.</p> + +<p>The idea of the feminine priesthood very easily made +headway in Italy: “God is only seen through women.” +Women addressed themselves to chosen spirits—philosophers, +writers, preachers, men of action—who wished to +see God, but were too short-sighted. In the religious as in +the other arts, every prelate of importance had one woman, +if not several, behind him. Bembo was the friend of +Olympia Morata⁠<a id="FNanchor_398" href="#Footnote_398" class="fnanchor">[398]</a>—what could be more natural? A fiery, +proud, austere monk like Ochino, with his large, bloodless +face and long, shaggy white beard, hardly seemed likely to +prove a grand master in the feminine freemasonry; yet he +came in the end to lean upon a bevy of ardent women, with +Caterina Cibo, one of the pope’s ladies, as their brilliant +head. The pope himself came to terms with the ladies: +Paul III. displayed his deference for them on various +occasions, and especially by a visit to Ferrara, the notable +seat of a feminist council.</p> + +<p>Vittoria Colonna shines in the front rank of these Mothers +of the Church; she is the classical woman <i>par excellence</i>. +She got up lectures at Naples and Rome. She sustained +and consoled prelates of the highest eminence. “Since the +hatred of others, the price I pay for my devotion, has not +bereft me of your Excellency’s good-will,” wrote Giberto +from the chancellery at Rome, “every other loss seems to me +but a trifle. Your Excellency can do me no more singular +favour than to command me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_429">[429]</span></p> + +<p>Bishop Selva wrote to Cardinal Pole: “Thanks for the +copy of your letter to the marchioness of Pescara on recent +events; it is worthy of that Christian lady.” And the good +Sadoleto, writing also to Pole, said: “I have read the letter +addressed to you by the very saintly and prudent lady the +marchioness of Pescara, in which she speaks of me and +appears to approve of our staying here; it is an indescribable +pleasure to me to see my counsels approved by so much +virtue and wisdom.”</p> + +<p>The holy passion of the marchioness for Cardinal Pole +burned with a highly mystical glow. Vittoria wrote to +this beloved prelate “as the intimate friend of the +Bridegroom, who will speak to me through you, and +who calls me to Him, and whose will it is that I should +converse on this subject for my own encouragement and +consolation.”</p> + +<p>Religious feminism acclimatised itself in France with +considerable difficulty, through the fault of the women +themselves. They were habituated to tread unswervingly +the authorised paths to Paradise—fasts and abstinences, +indulgences and pardons, relics, vows and pilgrimages. To +follow in the procession of Corpus Christi among their +lackeys bearing torches emblazoned with their arms, to +wash the feet of the poor on Good Friday and hand the +poor a basket of provisions, never to miss a sermon, to have +a mass said every morning at a private altar, to purchase +indulgences—that was the religion of the great ladies of +France. This religion was accused of proceeding from a +somewhat mechanical severity, and of proving nothing; and +indeed there were among those old-style ladies some who +were virtuous without purity, and some who were devout +without piety. Among the middle classes it was still +worse: “angels at church, devils at home, apes in bed!” +How many husbands lost their tempers at finding dinner +not ready, and learning that Madame was at her prayers or +“slobbering over images”! An old writer declares that +there is no mean with religious women; they are either +sour-tempered, peevish or disagreeable, or adulteresses. +And yet the same preachers whom we have already seen +obstinately bent on preserving the dead level of morality +vaunted equally the dead level of religion; they were +desperately afraid of getting above it. They liked women +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_430">[430]</span>to remain little girls, incessantly tormented by infinitesimal +scruples; their narrowness of thought, their passive and +minute obedience were precisely what the preachers praised, +such were the traits they pretended to admire in the +Clotildes and Theodelindes.⁠<a id="FNanchor_399" href="#Footnote_399" class="fnanchor">[399]</a> And if the Saviour after His +resurrection went first of all to knock at the gate of the +Magdalene’s garden, that boon, according to them, was +motived solely by the purely passive and docile spirit of +women. At Paris, where women were said to be deficient +in high philosophy, “there were more works of charity done +and more masses said than were done or said between Paris +and Rome.” However, certain flatterers saw virtue everywhere, +and went so far as to cite Charles VIII. as an angel, +and the boulevards of Paris as a sanctuary. Such reasonings +naturally ended <i>in statu quo</i>.</p> + +<p>At Rome the exact contrary was the case; liberty was +especially rife among the mob of functionaries, and their +contempt for the easy-going government they served was +unmistakeable. Far back in the 15th century Lorenzo +Valla, to hasten his advancement, declared publicly that +this government rested on a usurpation and a lie. It was +all so peaceful and happy! More than one man, like Burckhardt, +would kiss the pope’s toe in the morning, and in the +evening utter blasphemies. The dogma of infallibility +served as a shelter and defence. Just as Titian sent to the +Emperor a <i>Trinity</i> and a <i>Venus</i> together; or Sigismundo +Malatesta had a portrait painted showing him on his knees +before madonnas; or the irreverent Poggio destined his +sons to the priesthood: so Aretino, speaking of Saints and +Venuses, lumped them all as “these ladies,” and confessed +before he died.</p> + +<p>Far from being disturbed by theological attacks or stale +criticisms, Rome thought of nothing but displaying her +Atticism and rescuing antiquity from its submergence by +medievalism, as she had already saved it from its submergence +by the barbarians.</p> + +<p>The Spirit of God bloweth where it listeth!⁠<a id="FNanchor_400" href="#Footnote_400" class="fnanchor">[400]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_431">[431]</span></p> + +<p>As said the father of one of the cardinals, no man was +a gentleman unless he hazarded some heresy or other. +The sceptic represented by Raphael in the <i>Miracle of +Bolsena</i> is a man of high distinction. Ideas, men, nothing +was safe from ridicule. Two cardinals were chaffing Raphael +for having, as they said, given S. Peter and S. Paul rather too +ruddy a complexion. “Bah!” retorted the painter, “they are +blushing to see you ruling the Church.” Castiglione one day +asked ‘Phaedra’ Inghirami, with a smile, why on Good Friday, +when heathens and Jews, heretics and bishops are prayed +for, there is no prayer for the cardinals. “Because,” replied +Inghirami with great readiness—“because they are included +in the prayer for heretics and schismatics.” The same +Castiglione found the Duke of Urbino’s chaplain to be +rather long over mass, and begged for a more expeditious +celebrant. “Impossible,” replied the chaplain, and stooping +to the ear of his critic added: “Why, man, I don’t say a +third part of the <i>secretae</i>.”</p> + +<p>The Lateran council in 1512 had, indeed, prescribed canon +law and theology as part of the course of study for priests. +It recommended them also to believe in the immortality of +the soul. But these were only very light fetters on liberty +of thought. When Pomponazzi denied in set terms the +immortality of the soul, the Venetians, who had the logical +minds of the northern peoples, condemned his book to the +flames; but Leo X. did not even reply to the demand for +his excommunication. Were there not many like him at +the Vatican? Were ceremonial and dogma spoken of much +otherwise there? The judgment we can pass on Rome is +that of Talleyrand: the man who does not know Rome does +not know the sweetness of life.</p> + +<p>At one time Adrian VI. was anxious to restore severer +modes of thought, but his aim did not please the prelates, +and Clement VI. hastened to bring back the spirit of the +Medici, a “sentimental deism,” to adopt the apt phrase of +M. d’Haussonville, and to send “the imbeciles, the ninnies,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_432">[432]</span>as Bembo called them, about their business. The pope +supported the Protestants against Charles V. He was quite +willing to hear Firenzuola, in his Benedictine’s gown, read +him fragments of his dissertations on love. Paul III. plumed +himself on continuing this charming system. Bembo became +a sort of patriarch; his <i>Asolani</i> served as well for a +religious breviary as for a philosophic formulary.</p> + +<p>Delightful age, in which nothing was hopelessly stranded +in mediocrity! in which the religion of beauty seemed to sum +up all aspirations human and divine, all the sanctities!</p> + +<p>The cardinals displayed a reasonable magnificence because +princes and lords were essential to the kingdom of +God on earth.</p> + +<p>These were Christian prelates, charged with the duty of +guiding a somewhat pagan world. Among them we necessarily +meet again the learned doctors of love and wit—Bibbiena, +for instance, his Plautus in his pocket, always +smiling, always amusing, and philosophising with gusto on +the oddities of the moment. “What folly!” is his incessant +exclamation. A priest, but one of the fashionable variety! +Steeped to the lips in mythology, and so refined, so delicate, +that the naïve emotions of a primitive Madonna leave him +untouched! Wishing with his exquisite politeness to offer +a royal present to Francis I., he ordered, not a Madonna, +but a portrait of the beautiful Jeanne of Aragon. That is +the man who in the portrait of Leo X. stands near the +pope’s chair as the heart of his heart.</p> + +<p>And Bembo, who invokes Olympus and speaks of the +supreme Beauty, how does he regard the sacred hierarchy? +He writes to Isabella d’Este that he “desires to serve her +and please her as if she were the pope.”... “Far better to +speak like Cicero than to be pope.” And he adds this postscript: +“Isabella, my dear, my dear, my dear, I kiss thee +with all my heart and soul, and beg thee to remember me, +as my big, big love for thee merits.” That was his interpretation +of charity! But people were not particularly +scandalised at these youthful sallies, any more than it +occurred to them to be shocked at finding a bishop’s palace +peopled with mythological personages,⁠<a id="FNanchor_401" href="#Footnote_401" class="fnanchor">[401]</a> or the Corso, on a +carnival day, gay with masked cardinals.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_433">[433]</span></p> + +<p>This intellectual indifference would have had graver +consequences if, knowing theology so badly as they did, +the clergy had attempted to expound it; but as a matter +of fact they only scratched the surface of dogmas; they were +far too sensible to speak of things they knew nothing about. +The watchword was to render religion lovable. In what +respect was Sadoleto, for example—that Fénelon of the 16th +century—a worse priest because he was so passionately +devoted to the humanities and the arts! Take liberty away, +and the degeneracy of Catholic countries was assured.</p> + +<p>To-day everything is changed; if Leo X. or Bembo +returned to the world, they would be utterly nonplussed +by the complete alteration that has taken place. It is +in Germany, among their whilom adversaries, that they +would recognise the doctrine dear to them, and a freedom +of mind that allows a man to call himself a Christian though +rejecting the divinity of Jesus Christ. To many present-day +Germans, the kingdom of God stands for the whole community +of those who believe in the principle of love. God +is love: the kingdom of God—that is, a state in which +everyone’s actions would be prompted by love—is the final +end of God, and at the same time the most universal moral +ideal, the sum and crown of morality and religion. Singularly +enough, people are apt to imagine—not, of course, that the +founders of the Reformation professed this doctrine (the +mistake would be too glaring), but—that they opened the +door, cut the first notch in the tree, by starting the private +reading of the Scriptures. Thus Protestant orthodoxy, +which holds by a priestly and quasi-infallible tradition, +would appear as a pseudo-catholicism, whilst liberal Protestantism, +which pushes forward with open mind in a +boundless field of thought, would represent the logical outcome +of the work of Luther and Calvin.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, it is believed by some that the +armour of authority, the spirit of narrowness and officialism +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_434">[434]</span>sometimes adopted by Catholicism since the struggles of the +16th and 18th centuries, are indispensable to it, and that the +Reformation was calculated to rid it of that spirit.</p> + +<p>On the contrary, it was at Rome that liberal ideas with +the utmost audacity secured a footing. They were vanquished, +it is true, and disappeared; but if Luther and +Calvin had the glory of defeating them, time in its turn +has brought in its revenges, and, of Luther as of Calvin, +there is very little now remaining.</p> + +<p>The liberal Protestantism of the present day is the antithesis +of the primitive spirit of the Reformation.</p> + +<p>The Reformation had political and social sides, of which +this is not the place to speak; in matters religious, the +reformers felt a need of disciplinary reorganisation, very +natural, but not peculiar to them; but their essential aim +was to create a reaction against free thought, to return +as far as possible towards the Middle Ages, to rescue the +world from the Roman idealism, which was the work of +prelates and women, and had sunk into an intellectual +dilettantism. Old Germany desired matter-of-fact, or at +any rate well-advertised virtues, a quasi-military pietism, +and theological reasoning. It revolted against life in the +sunlight.</p> + +<p>Frenchwomen were not thwarted by their husbands in +regard to their patronage of the aesthetic cult, as they were +in matters of morality. The majority of men professed a +benevolent scepticism, which made them what we call +“moderates,” that is, not warm partisans of moderate ideas, +but moderate or even negative partisans of any idea whatever; +and consequently they were open to any sort of +impulsion, even from women. Montaigne wanted but one +thing to make him a mystic—namely, mysticism: and the +Montaignes are legion; only we do not come across them; +in their characters of moderates they keep in the shade.</p> + +<p>In this case the obstructors were the clergy, the mass of +whom in France, as in England or Germany, made common +cause with the nation, instead of the nation making common +cause with them, as at Rome. They possessed about a fifth +part of the land, and found themselves tied to it. The +village parson, sprung from the soil, and presented to a +benefice on leaving school, did his duty there without hope +of advancement, in the same spirit that the lord performed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_435">[435]</span>his feudal duties—rather like a superior farm-hand, much +less accomplished in theology or in platonism than in mixing +a sauce for a choice carp, or in roasting to a turn the pullet +he brought home under his arm on his return from administering +the last rites to a dying parishioner; a jolly good +fellow, and a capital gossip, but as far from a mystic movement +or a crusade on behalf of the ideal as the poles. If +there was to be a Reformation, the only one that would +have struck him as useful would have been to authorise +him to marry; and French statesmen, although very good +Catholics, were very much of the same opinion. Obviously +it was still more impossible to depend, for upholders of the +ideal, on a mob of artisans, tradesmen, peasants even, +highly practical people, who had got their poles shaven in +order to come under the jurisdiction of the church courts, +and who, though clerks only in name, still helped to root +the Church among the people.</p> + +<p>To meddle with this obscure and doltish mass with the +idea of implanting in it the germ of the beautiful was the +last thing women would have thought of.</p> + +<p>There remained the world of distinguished abbés, the +higher clergy, the court prelates; but, as benefices served to +reward merit of the most various kinds rather than to +encourage a philosophic system, the upper ranks of the +French clergy showed a curious mixture—eminent priests, +venerable monks, younger sons or merrybegots of great +nobles, professors, judges, men of letters. No one who did +not know would ever have suspected that Melin de Saint-Gelais +was an abbé.</p> + +<p>Fausto Andrelini was not at all ashamed to publish a +letter to his mistress side by side with an address to the +Cardinal of Amboise, in which he solicited ecclesiastical +preferment.</p> + +<p>The <i>bibliennes</i> put themselves at the head of this motley +crew of great churchmen; they were “clergywomen,” as +someone satirically said, and formed the new priesthood, +the Salvation Army of that time. Their simple ambition +was to raise these men, these priests, by one stroke of +their pinions, into the empyrean, as in Italy. Convinced +doubtless that—to adopt the phrase of a distinguished +lady—“the law of sex and its pious mysteries lead to great +sanctity,” they saw shining in the supreme light various +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_436">[436]</span>groups united by sympathy and tenderness—old St. Jerome +sustained by young Paula, Francis of Assisi by sweet Clara; +following their example, Francis de Sales and Jeanne de +Chantal, Vincent de Paul and Louise de Marillac were going +to lend each other mutual support, obedient to the eternal +law—to say nothing of innumerable holy maidens who +were lovers of Christ “in His sacred humanity,” like St. +Theresa, or who encircled their finger with the ring of a +mystic marriage, as Jeanne de France did when founding +the Annunciade.⁠<a id="FNanchor_402" href="#Footnote_402" class="fnanchor">[402]</a> Faith must needs become love and diffuse +a thrilling charm:⁠<a id="FNanchor_403" href="#Footnote_403" class="fnanchor">[403]</a> the priest must cease to fancy himself +a policeman. How many poor souls, athirst for love, have +fallen very low simply from want of an ideal! There are +sick ones who might become artists in sensibility! Women +stretch out beseeching hands to God, that He may help +them to regard life with confidence, with joy, with love.</p> + +<p>Margaret of France was, in the highest degree, one of these +French <i>bibliennes</i>, no debater and indeed sceptical as to the +existence of absolute truth and goodness in this world, but +a woman of quick intuitions and contemplative mind. She +had faith; she believed in the sacraments,⁠<a id="FNanchor_404" href="#Footnote_404" class="fnanchor">[404]</a> and did not deny +purgatory; she in no manner sought with the ladders of +reasoning to scale the verities that tower far above our +reach; she preferred to take to herself wings and fly aloft. +Men appeared to her so petty, so feeble, such ants, that a +few merits more or less on their part were but insignificant +stages in the long road between them and perfect goodness; +she represented God to herself as pure kindliness, indulgence +and love, wherefore it was necessary to fly towards him on +wings of love. She clung to St. Catherine of Sienna, not as +a theologian, but because “nothing but love was her +argument.”</p> + +<p>This simple explanation of their principles will clearly +show in which species of clergy the women would seek their +allies; they loved those who loved them. They did not +appreciate the courtier bishop who played the hunter or the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_437">[437]</span>warrior. Their friends were the scholarly prelates; they +knew well that platonic love had little hold, alas! on the +brilliant youth of France, and that divine love would not +easily subdue them; yet by dint of tenderness they did not +despair of success. The protonotary D’Anthe fell sick, and +Margaret at once sent him the following prescription—a +decoction of “pleasant recollections and sure hope of love,” +a little “powder of laughter,” a drop of “true felicity,” an +extract of “apple of love,” in short, remedies not in the least +heroic. The gay Bandello’s cure was effected with a rich +bishopric, that of Agen.</p> + +<p>Grave charges have often been brought against this combination +of piety and love, and naturally, anyone who +does not understand platonism will see a multitude of +more or less deplorable <i>arrière-pensées</i> in these “spiritual +gallantries.” In the 17th century indeed the grave Nicolle⁠<a id="FNanchor_405" href="#Footnote_405" class="fnanchor">[405]</a> +found a happy phrase to describe ecclesiastics who dangled +about the petticoats; he calls them “half-married priests.” +“Marriage” would be an inept name for the unions of +which we speak. It is very natural, surely, that women of +feeling should seek their friends and fellow-workers among +feeling souls! Besides, experience proves that you can do +nothing with reasoners except by force; only the sensitive +are converted; only St. Augustines have capabilities for +good.</p> + +<p>The practical programme of the women consisted first of +all in their attaching an extreme value to the development +of the sensuous elements in worship; the severity of the +Reformers, crudeness and bareness of ceremonial, could never +attract them; they loved pomp and decorum. Religion to +them was the very essence of art; art in becoming elevated +shaded off into religion; only the inexplicable thrill of +the awakening aesthetic sense can waft the soul from the +expressed to the unexpressed. Pleasure is not the end of +art; it is only its vehicle. The end of art is God.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Eglises viz, s’écrie Marguerite, belles, riches, anticques,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tables d’autelz fort couvertes d’ymaiges</div> + <div class="verse indent0">D’or et d’argent....</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Je prins plaisir d’ouyr ces chants nouveaulx,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De veoir ardans cierges et flambeaulx,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_438">[438]</span> <div class="verse indent0">D’ouyr le son des cloches hault sonnantes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et par leur bruyt oreilles estonnantes:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">C’est paradis icy, me dis-je alors....⁠<a id="FNanchor_406" href="#Footnote_406" class="fnanchor">[406]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>One Good Friday, at Brionne, a Norman châtelaine was +highly scandalised at the fantastic manner in which the +parson rendered the Litany of the Passion; and on leaving +the church, she sent for him and the following dialogue +ensued: “My dear sir, I don’t know where you learnt to +officiate on such a day as this, when people should be in the +depths of humility; but to hear you render the service, all +our devotional thoughts have been put to flight.” “What +do you mean, Madam?” said the parson. “Mean! you have +sung the Passion all the wrong way. When our Lord speaks, +you bawl as if you were in a market; and when ’tis +Caiaphas speaking, or Pilate, or the Jews, you speak as +gently as any blushing bride. A fine sort of parson! If +you had your deserts, you’d be unfrocked!” The parson +wriggled out of the difficulty like a true Norman, with a +gibe at the Jews: “My dear lady, I wanted to show that +with me Christ is master and the Jews are subject to Him.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_407" href="#Footnote_407" class="fnanchor">[407]</a></p> + +<p>A sort of external sensuousness in worship, therefore, formed +an integral part of the feminist religion. As to the substance +of that religion, it varied according to the women, and even +according to the days, for it was a matter of impressions.</p> + +<p>It was fed principally by the reading of the Scriptures.</p> + +<p>It is a common error to believe that Luther’s great reform +consisted in inculcating the direct and free reading of the +Scriptures. The study of the Bible was, one may say, +carried to excess among Catholic women. Vivès went so +far as to make it one of his principal rules for the education +of young girls.⁠<a id="FNanchor_408" href="#Footnote_408" class="fnanchor">[408]</a> And some people even vigorously protested +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_439">[439]</span>against the abuse of such reading. Before Luther’s +time, about 1504, the French satirist Gringoire, as well as +certain preachers, denounced it as a positive scourge.⁠<a id="FNanchor_409" href="#Footnote_409" class="fnanchor">[409]</a> +Later, Brantôme waxed indignant at seeing the Bible in the +hands of children, and Montaigne at finding it discussed at +street corners or in back-shops.</p> + +<p>But the women in their turn were irritated at the +attempts to curb their zeal. These criticisms of men recalled +to them that contemptible sneak Adam, who made +excuses for himself and shuffled on to his wife the responsibilities +of their common thirst for knowledge.</p> + +<p>Was their imagination distrusted? they asked. Were +they thought incapable of distinguishing between “ancient +rubbish and modern trash”? They found in the Old Testament +rare beauties, to be sure, but they were very far from +admiring everything blindly—the exploits of some of the +patriarchs—the inconsistencies even of the Deity himself, +who forbids slaughter and yet slew! No, no, the Bible +is not the book of love; it is the first of books, but one +mustn’t go there to find the secret of “changing all strifes +into sovereign charity.”</p> + +<p>The Old Testament pleased the friends of the religion of +terror—Savonarola, and some French ladies of the old style, +devout and mystical at certain moments, but in reality +highly materialistic in their tastes and their practical ideas.</p> + +<p>Others criticised the Bible as they did everything else. +In the Bible, as in other things, what struck them most +was the light it threw on life. An artist stops before +a landscape, not to analyse the chemical action of the trees, +or to discourse on the species of grasses, but to seize the +charm of an effect of light, of a picturesque undulation of +the ether; at another time, when the light falls differently, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_440">[440]</span>the very same landscape would not even attract his attention, +because its garb would be less striking. We do not well +understand the synthetic religion of these women, we men +of “fluid and curt speech,” habituated to analyse everything +with mathematical precision—and not to look for grand +opera at St. Paul’s. The practised eye of a Renaissance +princess allowed itself to be caressed by tints, while our +own seeks geometrical outlines. For the Italians and their +friends to love was to pray:⁠<a id="FNanchor_410" href="#Footnote_410" class="fnanchor">[410]</a> so that in the <i>Heptameron</i> +conversations half philosophic, half ribald, come naturally +between mass and vespers, and Louise of Savoy mingles +with them a feeling homily, or reads a passage from St. +John, “meat so tender ... full of love.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_411" href="#Footnote_411" class="fnanchor">[411]</a></p> + +<p>The reader will understand how difficult it is to state +with any exactitude the developments of such a doctrine; +they were different with different people, and are to be felt +rather than explained. We have not to do here with +students shut up in a smoke-filled hall to construct their +theses; it is a question of ladies, very great ladies, +habituated to the most perfect liberty of action, and permitted +by their rank and intelligence to hold direct communion +with God, by vision, by intuition of love. They +are recognisable by this characteristic. In her work the +<i>Adoration of the Magi</i> (a subject well worthy of her pen) +Margaret of France gives us her formula: “To initiate oneself +into the divine verities, first by philosophy, then by +intuition, then by inspiration.” Do not mistake, this is not +illuminism or pride: it is simply candour. These noble +ladies do not grudge their pity to human misery, though +the sight of wretchedness is shocking to their nerves; but +they set themselves high above these miseries, just as they +do above discussion. Their religion is distinguished. They +live on sovereign heights, where they have no trouble from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_441">[441]</span>men and are in touch with their goal. God is the first link +in a chain, and man the last. As Gerbert said: “In matters +of action, mankind holds the first place: in pure speculation, +God comes first.” It is meet to follow God rather than man. +And those who are able to mount high are compelled by +conscience to go to the fount and origin of things, and look +ideas square in the face. In this respect the truly primitive +women of the 16th century are sharply distinguished from +their daughters of the 18th, whom it is natural to compare +to them. The exquisite and delightful woman of the 18th +century was very superficial: she loved life and the world +for their own sake. A few hours before she died Madame +Geoffrin,⁠<a id="FNanchor_412" href="#Footnote_412" class="fnanchor">[412]</a> hearing at her bedside a discussion on the best +means of securing general happiness, roused herself once +more to exclaim: “Add the diligent quest of pleasure, a thing +not sufficiently attended to.” A profound and true saying, +remarks D’Alembert, and one that Plato himself might have +envied. The 16th-century women had a less sparkling wit, +but a much more strongly marked temperament. They +were concerned only with brotherly love, and instinctively +recoiled from intolerance in any form; they wished to fuse +the church with the ideal; to them every idealist was +religious; but they also carried into the world the pursuit +of this high aim of their aesthetic religion—to live for the +soul, for God, to live a secret inward life along with the +actual life. We may justly praise their piety, their charity +towards the poor; and yet they were a mixture: external +observances were repugnant to them as being material and +obligatory; they loved the large philosophical faith, God +and His works.</p> + +<p>Here there is more than ever reason to speak of a “stork-love.” +What platonism had attempted, religious idealism +effected—the superposition of two different worlds. It was +vain to expect these great ladies to throw any ardour into +terrestrial controversies: Renée of France made her protégé +Richardot a Calvinist or a Catholic bishop, indifferently. +The material mechanism of divine grace appeared to them +to have been devised for the vulgar, and to be of a quite +relative truth. They did not see why the delicate ray +of grace, the impalpable word of consolation, before it could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_442">[442]</span>penetrate into the dark haunts of wretchedness, should necessarily +have to borrow the form of a bearded monk or an +unkempt parson splashed to the chin. They would rather +hear with their own ears that still small voice which said to +St. Theresa: “I will not henceforth that ye commune with +men, but only with angels.”</p> + +<p>Priests were men appointed to the service of the Church, +and not demi-gods. Some were pleasant and cultured, just +as there were excellent abbesses; but to spend one’s life in +the vestries, or not to be able to move a finger without +referring to one’s clergyman, struck Margaret as sheer insanity. +For herself, she would rather talk with a sceptic or +a clever atheist than with a vulgar parson, because after all +the atheist would aid her to accomplish her end, namely, +to draw near to God through the Beautiful. Nothing was +more natural than to love God and abase oneself in deed +and in truth before Him, God being intelligence and King +of kings; but what was the good of intermediaries, often +so gross? Clément Marot, who saw through Margaret with +wonderful acumen, defines her as “woman in body, man in +heart, angel in head.” The friends of the princess declare +that “from the age of fifteen she seemed directly inspired by +the spirit of God, in eyes and features, in gait and speech, in +all her actions.”</p> + +<p>The Bishop of Meaux assures her that by reading a +translation of the Gospels he offers her she will be as a +holy apostle and will receive directly the Spirit of God, +just as well, he adds, “as when we” (that is, the common +herd) “receive Him in the Eucharist.”</p> + +<p>Thus the women aimed at being angels and the word of +God. In this lofty mysticism, they exhibited a striking +contrast to the easygoing and lukewarm Catholicism of the +mob.</p> + +<p>Some of their writings permit us to recognise how, little +by little, this great religious work was accomplished in their +emotional life.</p> + +<p>Vittoria Colonna has left us the type of the final prayer +of the Renaissance: a petition for peace and happiness in this +world and the next.⁠<a id="FNanchor_413" href="#Footnote_413" class="fnanchor">[413]</a> It is an aspiration, a strain of sweet +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_443">[443]</span>and tender music, a melody of Gounod, rather than a +doctrine: it is the result of the co-operation of souls in one +common striving toward the most perfect joys.</p> + +<p>We have under our eyes the works of three Frenchwomen +who, though contemporaries, show us the progressive stages +of this co-operation.</p> + +<p>The first, Gabrielle de Bourbon, Dame de la Trémoille, +still preserves in her <i>Château</i>, “a feminine work,” as she +says, a character of morality rather than art. The spirit +which will renew everything, chisel everything, which is +gaily to open doors and windows, has not yet come by. +Within, no doubt, there are ravishing delights—apostolic +visions, prophets and sibyls on the vaulted arches as at the +Sistine; angel’s food distributed amidst a floating radiance +of light! But all is regular, inflexible, and severe; the +contemplative heart has begun by employing the besom of +discipline.</p> + +<p>And externally this castle of the Christian soul, somewhat +resembling the Alhambra, shows a rugged and bristling +front. Love fires the cannon on the ramparts, whilst +Inspiration surveys the country round, and in the tiny +garden of Felicity where flows the stream of Pity, good +souls gather exquisite white flowers, luscious fruits, and +leafy branches.</p> + +<p>In another work, the <i>Spiritual Journey</i>, a story of the +adventures of a soul wandering upon the earth, Gabrielle +undisguisedly raises her standard against the new divinities—Presumption +who loves flowery paths; Self-love, hostile +to terrible dogmas; Vain-glory, uncommonly like Margaret +of France. Poverty and Virginity are still her friends, and +she gives a naïve, heart-breaking, monstrous description of +the world—a giant with innumerable hands, each quivering +tentacle of which, at odds with the rest, brandishes some +weapon, a book or a sword. Charity defeats this monster, +Faith triumphs. Gabrielle de Bourbon, as she herself said, +wrote for the simple; she did not plume herself on “understanding +Holy Writ.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_444">[444]</span></p> + +<p>But ere long comes a genuine noblewoman, Catherine +d’Amboise, lady of Beaujeu, who in her <i>Devout Epistles</i> +utters this loyal cry:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">J’ay transgressé tous les commandemens ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pour abréger, aucun je n’en excepte.⁠<a id="FNanchor_414" href="#Footnote_414" class="fnanchor">[414]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">She has only one noble thing left to her—her heart; and that +she offers to God. Then follow effusions in a lofty strain, +full of antiquity, biblical allusions, “sibyl songs,” a plea for +mercy and love; and Christ puts on her finger the ring of +peace, benediction, and remission of sins; He becomes her +spouse and lover, and for guardian gives her an angel. +With Catherine d’Amboise we win to a wondrous pleasant +and aristocratic paradise, composed of “fair manors and +castles.” To the 15th-century woman has succeeded the +<i>biblienne</i>.</p> + +<p>Margaret gives the last upward impulse above the +anonymous and often ill-thought-out work of the crowd: +to prove her independence, she adopts an abstract and lofty +aim.</p> + +<p>Not that everything is admirable or even comprehensible +in her mystical works. Her correspondence with Briçonnet, +where, in interminable letters of eighty or a hundred +pages, she twaddles about “confection of tribulations,” “old +skins” of the spirit; various writings of hers—<i>The Mirror +of the Sinful Soul</i>, the <i>Strife between Flesh and Spirit</i>, the +<i>Orison to Jesus Christ</i>, the <i>Orison of the Faithful Soul</i>—these +are very curious, precisely as types of incomprehensibility +and the despair of reason. They do not evidence a +very placid psychology: “Worse than dead, worse than +sick”—such is the author, according to her mottoes; there +were days when she hated doctrine of any kind, the Bible, +the Gospels included.⁠<a id="FNanchor_415" href="#Footnote_415" class="fnanchor">[415]</a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_445">[445]</span></p> + +<p>She learnt the death of her brother intuitively, in a +dream. From that time the world crushed her; mystics +know that thus “the incorporate soul makes her course for +the port of salvation.” Margaret’s mysticism became a +blind infatuation,⁠<a id="FNanchor_416" href="#Footnote_416" class="fnanchor">[416]</a> a drunkenness of love, in which divine +and human elements were commingled,⁠<a id="FNanchor_417" href="#Footnote_417" class="fnanchor">[417]</a> and which manifestly +had for object to banish from sight many of the +miseries of life.</p> + +<p>It is in the book entitled <i>The Triumph of the Lamb</i> that +we see best delineated the Christ of her heart, her divine +Saviour and emancipator, shedding a radiance above the +grimy factory of life. Death itself becomes lovely, and, +like a “courteous friend,” opens the gates of heaven to well-nigh +all mankind.⁠<a id="FNanchor_418" href="#Footnote_418" class="fnanchor">[418]</a></p> + +<p>Mankind has a right to clemency, unstinted, immeasurable; +in fashioning us of a somewhat coarse clay, Heaven +did not mean to make us all unhappy. Margaret has a +horror of death.⁠<a id="FNanchor_419" href="#Footnote_419" class="fnanchor">[419]</a> But Love reassures her, helps her to +pierce the mystery. Not as an avenger, but as a lamb will +Christ render justice at the Judgment Day. Men were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_446">[446]</span>complaining of the facility of indulgences; Margaret settles +the question off-hand; she proposes a general pardon.</p> + +<p>Of mysticism, as well as of love, there were already +innumerable varieties known. Perugino, Averulino,⁠<a id="FNanchor_420" href="#Footnote_420" class="fnanchor">[420]</a> the +preachers of the royalty of Christ, St. Bernardin of Sienna, +Savonarola, and many another, carried on the great traditions +of Italy. France too, though more stubborn, had her mystics, +especially at Rouen and in Picardy, where the palinodists,⁠<a id="FNanchor_421" href="#Footnote_421" class="fnanchor">[421]</a> +elects souls, magistrates, municipal counsellors, had long +been singing praise to the Virgin and reviling the body:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">La chair, quoy? nourriture mortelle!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">L’esprit d’amour nourrit le cueur fidèle!⁠<a id="FNanchor_422" href="#Footnote_422" class="fnanchor">[422]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">These palinodists were men of intelligence and ardour. +Asking nothing of the clergy, whom they riddled with +pungent epigrams, they had recourse to worldly means to +spread their ideas, such as competitions and dramatic performances. +They resembled the women in their excessive +cult of the intellect, their unceasing itch for writing and +speaking, their taste for mystery and incognito. It was the +same in regard to their impressions: they desired to bring +into relief the true life of Christ, that is, the mystic and +inward life which they held the rude apostles to have overmuch +neglected. Assuredly theirs was a noble aim. +Margaret was on excellent terms with the palinodists. Yet +the mysticism of platonism was different, implying a much +more general abstraction: it mistrusted the senses, the +material form, desirous of seeing the reality of things, the +essence of God. Among the prelates it gave rise to that +exquisite academy of devotion and prayer, the Oratory of +the Divine Love, which met at Rome in the church of SS. +Silvester and Dorothea Transtevera during the pontificate +of Leo X., and which numbered among its members sixty +priests and prelates, Sadoleto being one of the chief. They +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_447">[447]</span>gave all their thoughts to the reformation of morals, and among +them prayer rose delicately to Heaven, like those wreaths of +fire the Bible shows us on altars pleasing to the Lord.</p> + +<p>Feminine mysticism was broader: its aim was to develop +happiness, in other words, to lead us to the summit of an +ideal world, full of love and purity. Love, having lost the +egotistic and licentious character without which the French +mind refused to understand it, having become an aspiration +for the French as well as for the idealist races, represented +the very substance of the world; it was divine and eternal; +it gathered up all things, even men, into the heart of God. +The Gospel was only the practical expression of this high +natural law, of which the pagans long ago had caught +glimpses, and to which Seneca ventured darkly to allude +when he wrote, “When, tell me, will you love one another?” +The Gospel was the sum and crown of human wisdom. +Hence Erasmus wished to canonise Virgil, and to add to the +Litany a new response—“St. Socrates, pray for us.” Plato +was quoted in the pulpit; Anne of France, who was orthodoxy +itself, took pains to mingle the philosophers with the +Fathers. Trajan was regarded as a model; Louis XII. and +Guevara, the tutor of Charles V., lived on the maxims of +Marcus Aurelius.</p> + +<p>They aimed at a sort of natural mysticism, the object of +which would be to express the essence of mundane things. +“It is God,” said Rivio,⁠<a id="FNanchor_423" href="#Footnote_423" class="fnanchor">[423]</a> “who giveth to the sky its splendours, +to the trees their shade, to the cheering vines their +clusters and fruit. It is He who clotheth the earth with +fruitful crops, who causeth the trees to bud and the crystal +streams to gush forth, who covereth the meadows with a +carpet. Wherefore to hunt and fish and reap, to fulfil all +the conditions of life,—this is to be a Christian.”</p> + +<p>No one had any bent towards naturalism, or imagined +that everything that is natural should be regarded as good +or beautiful; on the contrary, men wished to elevate and +improve Nature, even to excess. Your vineyard, say, always +yields bad wine; M. Zola would tell you to drink it, +Rousseau to drink water: but these folk of the Renaissance +would tell you to distil it into brandy. From Nature they +wished to borrow certain quasi-mystical powers which exist +in her in force. Hence this mysticism did not, like that of St. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_448">[448]</span>Theresa, lead to the deliberate rejection of all earthly +satisfactions, to the adoration of death, suffering and humiliation. +<i>Carpe diem</i> was their motto, as it was of Horace and +Lorenzo de’ Medici. They left to Albert Dürer and other +Germanic artists the monopoly of dances of death and +maidens carried off in the arms of skeletons.</p> + +<p>“For loss of servitors we need not despair, for many +others are to be had”: so spoke the fair ladies, not out of +indifference, but out of fear lest the mournful idea should +trouble their hearts: for “there is none of us, if she regards +her loss, but has occasion for deep sorrow.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_424" href="#Footnote_424" class="fnanchor">[424]</a> When we ask +history or romance or the drama to carry us for a time out +of ourselves, do not we too seek, in reality, the satisfaction +of forgetting death—perchance, of forgetting life?</p> + +<p>That was the very human root of this mysticism. In +turning back to the page of love, no one wished to feel under +the fingers the page of death. Far from forgetting life, +they affirmed it: the secret of life was life itself. They +mocked at death. A skeleton at the feast, a spectre at the +ball, were subjects for laughter. Like Boccaccio, Machiavelli +sets his gayest stories in a horrible framework of pestilence; +rich folk laugh and make love under cool leafy shades; and +their excuse is that, but a few paces off, death is grinning at +them. Such is the key to this novel mysticism. It is a +tragic dance of fragilities; but the dancers see nothing +fragile. They forge for themselves an artificial weapon, +they prefer beauty to truth.</p> + +<p>It followed from the same ideas that they held direct +communion with God. The tender worship of the Virgin, +fallen a little out of use, no longer throve except stealthily in +a corner, like the beautiful plant which the Flemish painters +loved to represent in a crystal vase.⁠<a id="FNanchor_425" href="#Footnote_425" class="fnanchor">[425]</a> Communication with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_449">[449]</span>heaven was opened by means of conspicuous semaphores, +though these unhappily were irregular and far apart. +St. Theresa, like a genuine freelance, might speak of storming +heaven, and carrying its successive redoubts one by one; +but the philosophic idea was different—a simple canter in a +friendly country. On some beautiful day in May, when +Nature, overflowing with love, scatters her gifts in careless +profusion, a certain Knight, Beau-Doulx by name, sets off +among the flowery meadows to conquer this “noble and +delectable castle of Love,” all sapphires and emeralds from +base to turret. He bears with him no cannon, no scaling +ladders. Arrived beneath the walls, he sinks on his knees +and declares his love. That is all. That is “the realm of +Paradise, wherein is love divine.”</p> + +<p>Nature hails God in us, and reveals God to us. The song +that rises from the sea soars even to the stars; the luxuriant +warmth of the air is a symbol of mercy. Such a temple was +better loved than the frantic mysticism of certain northern +cathedrals. As for the rites of this worship, they were +those of platonism. Salvatorio wrote a <i>Treasury of Holy +Scripture after the Poems of Petrarch</i>: Fra Feliciano +Umbruno offered to the ladies of Rome a <i>Dialogue on the +sweet death of Jesus Christ</i>, this too inspired by Petrarch. +Fra Malipiero presented the famous <i>Spiritual Petrarch</i>, +which appeared at Venice in 1536 and ran into the tenth +edition. The spiritualisation of sonnets was effected easily +enough: but anyone who wished to amend the <i>canzoni</i> and +miscellaneous poems had a troublesome task.</p> + +<p>The religion of love found an incomparable interpreter +in Correggio. Correggio is <i>the</i> painter of women. How +wonderfully he translates their dream of love and confidence, +in harmony with the code of aesthetic Christianity! In +his <i>Saint Jerome</i>, the Virgin is beautiful to look upon, of a +human, piquant, smiling beauty; but the whole effect of the +picture is derived from the face of the Magdalene, and her +intensely caressing attitude: it is the apotheosis of the +caress! Never, perhaps, has love all-embracing, soft as +velvet, been so warmly expressed: prayer, passion, all is +cast into the shade by this contemplation of pure love, this +contact, enchanting, radiant, of two beings united by a +magnetic tenderness. The child Jesus has behind Him an +angel representing heaven; before Him St. Jerome holds an +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_450">[450]</span>open book; but He turns about, bestowing His gracious +smile upon the Magdalene, whom He prefers to all human +learning because she is Love.</p> + +<p>At the Louvre, too, the <i>Mystic Marriage</i> fills one’s heart +with a golden, sunny vision. “It is impossible,” says Vasari, +“to see more beautiful hair, lovelier hands, a more natural +and charming colouring.” In this ardent “conversation” +life seems to be suspended: “The will is changed to love, +the memory appears to have vanished, and the understanding +has ceased to act.”</p> + +<p>Devotion is often accused of being tiresome. It is true +that God has no revelation to make to Himself; He is the +immortality of the known. The women who lived on such +lofty ideas readily assumed a profound and pensive air, +an expression of intelligence and trenchancy rather than +tenderness. Like the wounded soldier at Austerlitz of +whom Tolstoï speaks, they awoke in the vast silence of the +night, alone with the clear bright stars.</p> + +<p>Where men would have brought their pride, women +brought their sweetness. Their language was a little +involved and “precious.”</p> + +<p>Yet we can see from the correspondence of Margaret of +France and Vittoria Colonna, how sincerely they thought +themselves happy. These two ladies never saw each other. +Vittoria writes that while awaiting the infinite happiness of +a meeting, she ventures to reply to the “high and religious” +words of the princess, so as to act as balance-weight to that +celestial timepiece. “In our day, the long and difficult +journey of life compels us to have a guide; it seems to me +that everyone can find in his own sex the most appropriate +models.... I turned towards the illustrious ladies of +Italy to find examples for imitation, and though I saw +many virtuous among them ... yet one woman alone, and +she not in Italy, seemed to me to unite the perfections of +the will with those of the intellect; but she was so high +placed and so far away that my heart was filled with the +gloom and fear of the Hebrews when they perceived the fire +and glory of God on the mountain-top, and durst not draw +near because of their imperfection.”</p> + +<p>In this first letter the marchioness contents herself with +glorifying the humility and charitableness of her noble +correspondent, whose daughter she humbly calls herself, or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_451">[451]</span>better, her John Baptist, her Forerunner: these personal +compliments always play an important part in feminine +diplomacy, full of splendid courtesy. She speaks of her +group of friends; she often enjoys, she adds, the conversation +of Pole, who “is always in the heavens, and only +descends to earth to do service to others,” and that of +Bembo, one of the labourers of the eleventh hour, perhaps, +but eminently worthy, by reason of his ardour, of the wages +of the first; and all these friends of hers unite in contemplating +from afar this queen of gems, so rich in radiance +that she enriches others.</p> + +<p>In another letter Vittoria grapples more closely with the +burning questions of the day. She affirms her respect for +reason, but she prefers religion, “the supreme perfection of +our soul,” the perfect beauty. For the better unfolding of +her theme she encloses a copy of her sonnets.</p> + +<p>This copy, though addressed to the sister of the king, was +intercepted in the post by order of the Constable de Montmorency. +Whether he read the sonnets or not is very +doubtful; in any case he judged them to be pernicious stuff, +and seized the opportunity of indulging in the luxury of an +explosion. He only gave up the book after a stormy +scene at the king’s table.</p> + +<p>Vergerio,⁠<a id="FNanchor_426" href="#Footnote_426" class="fnanchor">[426]</a> the amiable prelate who was the pope’s nuncio +in France, had great difficulty also in meeting Margaret. +How ample was his reward when he succeeded! His first +audience, which lasted not less than four hours, seemed to +him far too short to satisfy his “spiritual enthusiasm.” He +lost not a moment in committing to paper all that had been +said, in order to show to what altitudes of Grace and divine +Love “mounts the spirit of the queen.” But how was it +possible to transfer to paper so much spontaneous eloquence, +so much fervour, so potent a charm?... It was not a very +comfortable conversation. Margaret could speak no language +but French, and as Vergerio was hardly at home in it, she +spelt out her words, so to speak, mingling with them as +much Latin and Italian as she could. For all this, when +Vergerio took his leave, in his ravishment he fancied he saw +the glaciers of the human heart melting under the hot +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_452">[452]</span>beams of faith, and breathed the wonderful breath of God. +Whence came this miracle? “Praise be to Jesus Christ, +who in our troublous times hath raised up such intelligences—here +the queen of Navarre, of whom I speak; at Ferrara +the lady Renée of France; at Urbino the lady Leonora +Gonzaga,⁠<a id="FNanchor_427" href="#Footnote_427" class="fnanchor">[427]</a> both of whom I have seen here, with whom I +conversed for several hours, and who seemed to me endowed +with eminently lofty minds, filled with charity, all on fire +with Christ; at Rome the lady Vittoria Colonna—to speak +of none but your own sex.” And he repeats that the thorns +in the Saviour’s vine are fast disappearing; thanks to +women, he sees the radiance of light and peace.</p> + +<p>Vergerio continued to converse with the queen of Navarre +with ever-renewed joy. One is almost ashamed to transcribe +with a cold pen phrases so ardently trustful and +palpitating: “I have in sooth no greater wealth, no greater +consolation than this queen; she has words of infinite +warmth, and marvellous means for uplifting to the service +of God hearts that are cold and dead. It happens that for +eighteen days I did not appear at court, but dwelt in sweet +retirement, busy cultivating my soul and sowing within +myself the word of God. Then went I where the queen’s +glowing charity was found, and I felt that she caused the +seed to spring up and wax strong and bring forth fruit, in +other words the knowledge of God and the fervent desire to +serve Him, and Him alone.”</p> + +<p>Such were these lofty spirits, so enthusiastic for the +beautiful. They lived on poetry in a sphere apart, cheering +one another, mutually calmed and comforted; it was after +her interviews with Vergerio that Margaret declared herself +a platonist and shook off the yoke of the court. No one +hoped, of course, that the whole world would chime in +tune; they well knew that when these abstractions +filtered down to the mob they would become materialised, +and love itself would ofttimes become tainted. But was it +not a beautiful thing to sow love broadcast with no hope of +reaping, and to go forth like angels of God to pour a little +dew on the parched ground?</p> + +<p>This was not destined to prevent the wars and +massacres of the 16th century; but a glance at the map +will show that Catholicism triumphed in the countries +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_453">[453]</span>where women triumphed; fog and beer and men turned +Protestant.</p> + +<p>Further, these ideas, crushed as people fancied them, +reappeared by degrees everywhere, as from the effect of a +resistless germination. From them sprang the 18th century; +with them our own age also, for all its matter-of-fact bent, +is still entirely impregnated.</p> + +<p>And Sadoleto the friend of Melanchthon, the liberal-minded +Contarini, the amiable Reginald Pole so much +influenced by Vittoria Colonna, Flaminio,⁠<a id="FNanchor_428" href="#Footnote_428" class="fnanchor">[428]</a> Vergerio, would +all smile at certain reconciliatory schemes of to-day.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_454">[454]</span></p> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_III_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br> +<span class="smaller">RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE (<i>Continued</i>)</span></h3> + +</div> + +<p>“I would a thousand times rather believe in and pursue an +ideal, even though too high, than miss or betray it,” said +Montalembert. Many persons in the 16th century were of +a different opinion. They deemed aesthetic religion too +frivolous or too worldly a thing, above all, too chimerical. +The adversaries of the religion of beauty split up into two +categories: some opposed it from reasoned conviction, +others from social jealousy and incompatibility of temper.</p> + +<p>The first, of whom Alberto Pio⁠<a id="FNanchor_429" href="#Footnote_429" class="fnanchor">[429]</a> + and Budé,⁠<a id="FNanchor_430" href="#Footnote_430" class="fnanchor">[430]</a> eminent and +estimable men, may serve as specimens, scouted the very +idea of any connection between philosophy and religion, +between aesthetics and morals; in their opinion religion did +not tend to satisfy the reason, nor beauty to purify the conduct. +The suggested reconciliation was to them an ill-disguised +reversion to paganism, and in practice led to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_455">[455]</span>scandals like the representation of Machiavelli’s <i>Mandragora</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_431" href="#Footnote_431" class="fnanchor">[431]</a> +at the Vatican.</p> + +<p>As we have seen, persons of this same opinion had already +demonstrated the irrationality and inadequacy of reasoning; +they had thereby relieved the world of a serious embarrassment; +sensibility was henceforth to be the sole guide of +life. But now we find others wishing to destroy this +sensibility also, and to strip us of everything. At the idea +that love is born of beauty such people veil their faces, and +beg us to take away this thing they cannot bear to look +upon, that is neither moral nor religious!</p> + +<p>Assuredly it is impossible to commend everything in the +Roman movement. Far from it! There is only too large a +scope for criticism. Aestheticism was carried too far: it was, +for example, a singularly wild notion to consider the building +of St. Peter’s at Rome a social necessity of the first importance, +and to sacrifice a part of the Catholic world to the desire of +completing the Vatican. Antiquity, to be sure, evoked a +quite exclusive enthusiasm, and it was singular to see the +headquarters of Christianity going crazy about Pomponius +Laetus, calling him “the glory of the age,” “Caesar,” because +he was unearthing pagan catacombs. Not that mythology, +as then cultivated, aimed at bringing back a real, lively +faith in the Olympian deities! Isis, Apollo, Venus, on the +walls of the Vatican or the churches, stood only for symbols +and types of philosophy: Jean Bouchet very happily styled +them “the aristocracy of the world.” Men thought, with +Plato, that the beauty of things can only be gauged by comparing +them with an eternal type; as Margaret of France +said: “The Beautiful is seen in all forms of beauty.” +Further, morality, without divorcing itself officially from +Christianity, sometimes was pretty completely disjoined +from it; to many people virtue consisted in wearing a good +coat and keeping up a good style. Montaigne, Aretino, and +Benvenuto Cellini, for example, passed for virtuous men.</p> + +<p>To protest against this paganism was a right and proper +thing. But was it necessary to forbid Christianity to secure +a rational appreciation, and even to win our love by working +upon our emotions? An ineradicable instinct prompted the +Latin races to believe through love; “Italy will be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_456">[456]</span>un-christianised, not Calvinised,” as Azeglio admirably said. +To invest worship with mundane pomp and circumstance is +as profoundly human an idea as it is to keep the clock at a +railway station a few minutes behind time.</p> + +<p>The Middle Ages, however, kept strict time: materialistic +as they were, they erected cathedrals, the baser instincts +avenging themselves by affixing to the cornices, or even to +the porches, in full view, ornamental details cynically +human. The Renaissance, for all its mysticism, was not +partial to the dim religious light, or the mysteries shadowed +in lofty arches far out of eyeshot; it loved clearness, daylight, +illumination. It built only châteaux, even to the +glory of God. St. Peter’s at Rome is a château; the eye +detects nothing abnormal in it; and there man feels himself +at home.</p> + +<p>It was thus with the religion of prelates and women. It +was lofty, sometimes loftier than Gothic arches, but so +broad, so clear, so full of unity, of so human a hospitality +that no one felt he had to do with the unknown, the +unfathomable. It was a reflection of life itself, but with +added brilliance and decoration; it aimed at attracting man, +when he had performed his material functions in eating, +drinking, loving his wife, to a banquet of spiritual fare +and spiritual love. We look to women to quicken our +perception. In spiritual concerns the parts are reversed.</p> + +<p>Now, men spent their lives in an atmosphere of materialism +and unbridled sensuality. Melin de Saint-Gelais +declared nudities “heavenly objects, worthy of altars.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_432" href="#Footnote_432" class="fnanchor">[432]</a> +Coyness was unknown. “Happy the people who have +only God to deal with,” cries a young lady: “with men it +is enough to save appearances.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_433" href="#Footnote_433" class="fnanchor">[433]</a> In the view of many, +morality found only an insufficient sanction in religion; the +third Margaret of France wrote, with a modesty unhappily too +well justified: “Some consider that God holds the great in +his special protection.” And on the other hand, the laws of +society did not always oppose a very solid barrier: it was +easy to a noble lady to override them. Renée of France +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_457">[457]</span>took a manifest pleasure in running atilt against popular +conventions; Marot had only to set the mob against him as +“a lascivious pagan,” to merit her indulgence. Apparently +she was even tempted to believe a daughter of France +so superior to humanity at large that she could have only +lovers.</p> + +<p>However, it was sincerely believed that, for people of +refinement and distinction, good style and good taste +rendered many artistic things inoffensive. So (to select one +example among a thousand) no one was shocked when the +Abbé de Maupas gave his approval to some neat verses in +which Gilles d’Aurigny boasted his conquest of a “sweet +pale Margaret.” The gentle spotless Vergerio very gaily +accepted the title of “bishop of Aretino.” Margaret compliments +her brother on retaining his faith through all his sin. +Does she praise the sin? Not at all: but she praises the +king for what is praiseworthy, the remaining a Christian. +Vergerio would have shrunk with horror from certain of +Aretino’s books, but he considered the man as a force, of as +much importance as any diocese, while many of the episcopal +boroughs contained as many vices with less wit. And he +tries to coax some good thing out of this diocese. On the +same principle Margaret set Vauzelles to translate some of +Aretino’s devotional works. Indulgence thus shown in +practice had no modifying effect on principles, and besides, +men were particularly careful not to extend it to the +masses. Among them, as everybody knows, there is no +such thing as sentiment, but only sensations, and with +them, consequently, the fetters of a material morality were +still found serviceable. The same Caterina Cibo who highly +approved Firenzuola’s book on love, severely reproached the +bishop of Camerino for his slackness in reforming the morals +of his clergy, and succeeded in obtaining from the pope a +rigorous brief on the subject.</p> + +<p>In society it happened that pagan sensation and Christian +sentiment all but touched; it seemed prudent, advantageous, +and politic not to accentuate the difference between them. +Many people, like true gourmets, let themselves swing +gently between mysticism and materialism; perhaps it was +just as well not to compel them to decide one way or the +other. It has been well said that “faith has this peculiarity, +that when it has vanished, it influences still: grace +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_458">[458]</span>survives by force of habit from a once living sentiment.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_434" href="#Footnote_434" class="fnanchor">[434]</a> +The logical Germans proceeded to deduce from this spiritual +condition the system of “faith without works.” But folk +remained satisfied with “confidence without works.” It was +in these practical considerations that an answer was found +to Budé’s objections.</p> + +<p>However, Budé was a friend, and sought only to point out +abuses. The real and invincible adversaries of the religion +of beauty, those who hoped to destroy it, came from below. +They were such as society scouted—the vulgar, the superstitious, +the material-minded, the street as against the salon: +in short, the men. When Vergerio went to Germany to +discourse of love, he was answered in a strain that disconcerted +him: the Germans talked politics to him. “I am +tortured,” he cries, “to see the cause of Jesus Christ treated +with so much indignity; it appears to me that to-day +this is not the real explanation of the immense trouble +taken with so many people: it is assuredly only a pretext. +The main thing considered under the cloak of zeal for +Christ is, I believe, nothing but the private interests of +a few individuals.”</p> + +<p>The clergy did not follow the religious lead of the +prelates. The whole of the middle or lower orders among +them, the country parsons, the monks, made common cause, +some in a materialist direction,⁠<a id="FNanchor_435" href="#Footnote_435" class="fnanchor">[435]</a> others as visionaries, against +the philosophic group, the higher prelacy, and the priesthood +of women.</p> + +<p>The monk was a man of different stamp. Margaret +petting Rabelais resembles, if we may be allowed the +expression, a hen mothering a duck. Look at the man of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_459">[459]</span>fustian, whom one pious author liked to call “God’s +nightingale,” there in his pulpit, fist on hip, vulgar, +impassioned, ranting, preaching terrible doctrines with +sonorous voice. The antagonism between him and the +platonist women is easily realised. He did not bother +his head about beauty or love; instead of an amiable +liberality which would suit a sceptical audience, it seemed +as though with his wild declamations he had no other aim +than to quench the embers still smouldering. It was +more than a treason, it was a folly. He did not mince +matters; he reviled the bishops and great ones of the +earth; talk to him of love, he replied with retribution, toil, +eternal torments, the glories of poverty, the agonies of the +animal man. Savonarola himself, so warm and passionate, +so much loved and worthy of love, brandished with scriptural +fervour the great popular weapons, the prophecies and the +wrath to come. In France, Oliver Maillard, Ménot, +Rabelais himself (though misguided) possessed a breezy +eloquence, rugged, turbid, picturesque, censorious, verbose, +nowhit metaphysical, the opposite of the official Ciceronianism:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Il presche en théologien;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mais pour boire de belle eau claire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Faites-la boire à vostre chien,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Frère Lubin ne le peult faire.⁠<a id="FNanchor_436" href="#Footnote_436" class="fnanchor">[436]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Maillard went so far as to sing songs of his own in +the pulpit! Others indulged in wearisome or tasteless +jests, in the most aristocratic of churches,⁠<a id="FNanchor_437" href="#Footnote_437" class="fnanchor">[437]</a> and before a +queen.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_460">[460]</span></p> + +<p>Ignorant of the world and its refinements, the monks and +parsons applied to distinguished consciences the casuistry of +the suburbs: their morality smacked of the natural man. +It proscribed refined joys: a man should be “an ox or an +ass,” as Savonarola said. Not that the monks were ill-natured: +they were hospitable; they would console an +unhappy wife; they would assist a widow to find a gem +of a son-in-law. But there their understanding of the +feminine nature stopped. For the rest they saw in women +only Satanic lures, false chignons, perfumes, all the fripperies +of which Savonarola had made so magnificent a holocaust +in the great square of Florence! Amiability was quite +beyond them. Fra Inigo, in one of the streets of Toledo, +happened to be walking behind some ladies whose trains +were raising clouds of dust. They good-naturedly stopped +to let him pass. Fancying he was the very pink of +courtesy he said: “I kiss your hands, ladies; proceed, I beg +you: the dust raised by the sheep doesn’t annoy the wolf.” +In the pulpit it was the same; if they spoke of social +necessities, it was like the peasants they were; they preached +poverty and chastity without qualification; they had no eye +for fine shades, but bedaubed the most delicate façades with +their garish colours. “Are you in fit state to die? You +women who display your beautiful bosoms, your necks, +your throats, would you wish to die in your present +condition? And you priests, would you like to die with +your conscience burdened with the masses you have said? +Not four out of a thousand, I believe, would be found +ready. If the last trump here assailed our ears, we should +then see who would respond to its appeal!”⁠<a id="FNanchor_438" href="#Footnote_438" class="fnanchor">[438]</a></p> + +<p>The monastic spirit was indestructible; Spagnuoli⁠<a id="FNanchor_439" href="#Footnote_439" class="fnanchor">[439]</a> and +Du Four carried it into the courts. Adrian VI., coming +between two Medicean popes, cherished this spirit at the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_461">[461]</span>Vatican.⁠<a id="FNanchor_440" href="#Footnote_440" class="fnanchor">[440]</a> During three reigns Francis de Paul remained +faithful to it at the court of France. Once before, as he +passed through Rome, St. Francis had ventured to upbraid +a cardinal lolling in a sumptuous equipage, and the prelate, +bending forward over the door, had replied with a fine and +courtly smile that it was very necessary to inspire the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_462">[462]</span>children of that generation with respect. How much St. +Francis was idolised by the ladies it is beyond us to tell: +in all circumstances of gravity they claimed his intercession, +and yet he did not flatter them. He would never give +audience to them. Women and wealth, said he, are the +two scourges of the Church—and especially devout women: +them he called “vipers.”</p> + +<p>How the world flung back these invectives! Ladies and +prelates vied with one another in mocking at the lower +monastic orders—those shaven scurvy bald-pates who stood +in the way of all spiritual regeneration; ill-bred, material-minded +fellows, uneducated, coarse, fat, full-blooded, brimming +over with a hot, carnal vitality, gay to the core and therefore +prompt to sin, much “more attentive to the life active than +to the life contemplative”—those easy-going vagabonds who, +awaiting eternity, “do not weary their minds overmuch by +perusal of a heap of books,” for fear lest the lore they might +imbibe from them should puff them out with pride, like +Lucifer, and “make them decline from monastic learning.” +The pallid platonists, “crushed under their trappings,” +called them fanatics, hypocrites, misers, gluttons, and above +all filthy and disgusting wretches. It was a singular idea +the Prince da Carpi had—to be buried in a monk’s fustian +frock, and thus “turn monk beyond the tomb.” That was +clean contrary to the mode!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_463">[463]</span></p> + +<p>Margaret lampooned the monks. Alexander VI. called +them tyrants, and declared he would much rather offend the +greatest of kings than the least of these mendicants. At a +carnival at Rome, Bibbiena, galloping along under his mask, +caught sight of a monk, and swooped down on him like a +hawk upon its prey. “I know you,” he cries tragically: +“the provost is after you to arrest you, but I will save you; +I will carry you off to the chancellor’s”; and thereupon he +grabs the unlucky monk, hoists him on to the crupper all +shivering and shaking, and off they go amid the hoots and +yells and gibes of the mob, under a shower of eggs! Soon +Bibbiena was yolk of egg from head to heel,—and was +privately accusing the people of uncommonly bad marksmanship. +At last, when the city had had its fill of laughter, +he deigned to yield to the supplications of his victim and +set him down. Then the other broke a few more eggs +over him, flung off his frock, and with a low bow said, “I +am your groom.” Bibbiena galloped on.</p> + +<p>We need not, of course, take literally the jests of that +period against the monks. There were good and bad +monks; the good were those least in evidence. But Guy +Juvenal, who was an active and honest worker for monastic +reform, winds up his enquiry⁠<a id="FNanchor_441" href="#Footnote_441" class="fnanchor">[441]</a> with a phrase as old as St. +Augustine: “You find in the convents the best and the +worst.”</p> + +<p>However, the adversaries of the monks do them justice +themselves, unintentionally. The company in the <i>Heptameron</i>, +for instance, are much amused at the idea that +some monks may possibly have overheard their ribald talk. +One of the Urbino coterie traces a portrait of the monks +from the outside which leaves us musing. Gross and +plump, he says, they were hypocrites: little mortification of +the flesh there! Emaciated and unkempt, they were false +hounds who distinguished between sins secret and sins +open. Elegant, well-trimmed, scented—these were everything +that was vilest and most antagonistic to platonism! +But what then ought their style to have been?</p> + +<p>Trithemius, however, defined the monastic life in a highly +platonist phrase: “To love is to know.” How came, then, +the idea that monks could not actively mingle in the life of +the world, since St. Ignatius proved the contrary when he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_464">[464]</span>founded an order in harmony with the new spirit? The +convents of old were peopled with distinguished intellects; +Luther, Calvin, Erasmus, Jean Thenaud, André Thevet,⁠<a id="FNanchor_442" href="#Footnote_442" class="fnanchor">[442]</a> and +a thousand others sprang from these decried lower clergy. +How can we believe that the monks were by their tenets at +odds with aestheticism, when the Italian Dominicans +monopolised the charming art of mosaic in wood and almost +monopolised also that of painting on glass—when St. Mark’s +at Florence, impregnated with the fragrant inspirations of +the Fra Angelicos and the Fra Bartolomeos, stands forth to +this day, in the profound simplicity of neglect, one of the +most delightful refuges of human thought?</p> + +<p>Certain of the more cultured orders had a bent for +learning. And these were expelled; the Jacobins were +harried away by the cardinal of Amboise because they lived +outside their convent walls in order to dance attendance at +court, and neglected the offices of the church. There was a +striking repetition of this quarrel in the 17th century, +between Dom Mabillon, who advocated a learned monkhood, +and the fiery abbé of Rancé, who wished to maintain the +monasteries in the simple practice of piety; and in this +contest also a woman (the duchess of Guise) took part.</p> + +<p>Yet many of the monks, from a godly desire for success, +strove earnestly to suit themselves to the fashion; they +freely cited the Olympian deities and quoted Ovid and +Virgil; in spite of the counsels of Savonarola, they exerted +themselves to please, even though at the expense of “the +divine.” One preacher draws an ingenious parallel between +the Virgin and Isis. Others discourse on beauty or +coquetry, its benefits and perils. Some maintain that the +Virgin was not pretty, because she was lowly and not in +society; others, on the contrary, nourished on the <i>Song of +Songs</i> and other aesthetic authorities, depict her as “clothed +with the sun” according to the phrase in the Apocalypse—dark-skinned +perhaps, being a Jewess, but a woman to be +admired nevertheless!</p> + +<p>But the monks, do what they might, scatter a thousand +flowers of mythology and rhetoric as they pleased, never +acquired the lightness of touch the least of the sonneteers +possessed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_465">[465]</span></p> + +<p>Rabelais opens with a polemic on the merit of women, a +stale subject, but impossible to avoid. He loves the world +and mocks at the “molish monk”; he extols, on the other +hand, the monk “young, gallant, dexterous, bold, adventurous, +resolute, tall, lean, voluminous in chaps, well-favoured +in nose, who smartly patters his prayers and polishes off his +masses ... moreover, a clerk to the finger-tips in point of the +breviary.” He admits both sexes to his abbey of Thelema, +on proof of perfect beauty. It is laved and perfumed, this +modern abbey—full of gold and jewels, of beauteous garments, +of music, of things sumptuous and comfortable, of +books: nothing is wanting there: it has nine thousand +three hundred and thirty-two chapels, and a single swimming +bath under the watchful eye of a statue of the Three Graces. +No one there is irked by theology!</p> + +<p>And yet Rabelais was absolutely at sea in regard to the +platonist spirit, to these mystic abstractions: “To have a +woman is to have her for the use wherefor Nature created +her ... for the delectation of man.” If anyone speaks to +him of the “devotion of love” he laughs and sets himself +down at the table: “Drink,” cries the Sibyl in his ear, +“drink!” Drunkenness—that is mysticism enough for +him! He leaves the convent to become a physician. He +commends none but the natural sciences, and the only one +he cannot away with is the only one that women accept—prophetic +astrology. He was bound to end as a parson!</p> + +<p>Even in Italy, the monk always smacked of his convent. +Folengo⁠<a id="FNanchor_443" href="#Footnote_443" class="fnanchor">[443]</a> spent his life in going in and out of it. His works +also are nothing but one everlasting buffoonery. In his +<i>Moscheid</i>, he appears to depict the conspiracy of monks +against fine ladies—an epic complot of all creeping things—ants, +bugs, spiders—against the winged race of bees and +butterflies. The royal head of the chancellery, Spingard, +sets off on a lean-ribbed mare, bearing splendid letters +under the great seal of the Senate (an image of Liberty and +Justice), in order to entice men into a spider’s web.</p> + +<p>But the Italian monks accepted their rout; they derided +the antiquated “subtleties of St. Thomas,” as well as visions +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_466">[466]</span>of God without intermediaries, and hatred of indulgences. +Their solace was a splendid ignorance, Neapolitan, +epicurean.</p> + +<p>In Germany, on the contrary, they triumphed. Despite +the recommendations of Leo X. and the passionate objurgations +of Erasmus, the Germans refused to admire the works +of the hour, the <i>Epistles</i> of Eoban,⁠<a id="FNanchor_444" href="#Footnote_444" class="fnanchor">[444]</a> for instance, in which +the holy women of the New Testament are represented as +writing in the style of Ovid. They waged implacable war +against aestheticism and dilettantism, and the bitterness of +the struggle was only accentuated every time they came in +contact with Rome. Burckhardt, writing his memoirs day +by day about a splendid epoch, is incessantly bemoaning its +corruption: does he perceive the existence of a spiritual +movement at Rome? He sees nothing of liberty but the +scandals; he does his duty like a painstaking but muddle-headed +corporal. Erasmus himself is blind to all but the +humanities, while Luther finds only horrors. They spoke +with different tongues. When Hoogstratten, a German +monk, impeached Reuchlin, who had ventured to defend +certain Jewish books on scientific grounds, Rome was +utterly unable to make out the bearings of this Teutonic +quarrel: she procrastinated, and let the matter drop.</p> + +<p>Ulrich von Hütten tried to Italianise himself at the little +court of the archbishop of Mayence, which claimed to be a +copy of Urbino, but all they did there was to play billiards +and abuse the monks behind their backs. He returned to +Rome in 1516, one of the years of triumph; and there, +son of a sturdy and poor country where the lord ruled and +even robbed people at his pleasure, and where woman +was emphatically the weaker vessel, he, the old and +unknown student, found himself excluded from that superb +court,⁠<a id="FNanchor_445" href="#Footnote_445" class="fnanchor">[445]</a> from those “false gods” as he called them, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_467">[467]</span>relegated to the society of a German financier of low degree; +he had no recommendation but his birth; and he could +barely succeed in finishing his studies in law. He took his +revenge in abuse. “I have human feelings,” he wrote to +Luther.</p> + +<p>With lofty eloquence and burning zeal he preached +the necessary war. The apostles of love had called war a +brigandage. Hütten denounced as brigands the non-combatants—merchants, +advocates, and priests. His motto +was: a beautiful woman, gold, and indolence. In 1522 he +took up arms, and with a magnificent gesture pointed out +the splendid churches to the mob.</p> + +<p>Luther, too, protests against the philosophic spirit. He +checks liberty at a certain point, forbidding the mind to +emancipate itself further. From a thinker he becomes a +man of action, and joins hands with the great lords.</p> + +<p>There was an explosion of anti-feminist and anti-liberal +sentiments—war to the knife. It took place, like all great +moral outbursts, under the banner of religion, because religion +possessed organised battalions, a force ready at call, and, +above all, excellent pretexts with which to veil struggles +entered into on behalf of selfish interests.</p> + +<p>“Talk of household concerns is women’s affair,” said +Luther: “they are mistresses and queens there, and more +than a match for Cicero and the finest orators.... But +take them from their housewifery and they are good for +nothing.... Woman is born to manage a household: ’tis +her lot, her law of nature: man is born for war and polity, +to administer and govern states.” As a model for the +sculptor woman delighted Luther; but that was all; he +denied her physical and moral vigour; the less her moral +strength, the more he congratulates her. Evidently the +intellectual pretensions of feminism constituted in his eyes +an absurdity and a peril. Calvin went still farther. +Whatever was pleasing to women he proscribed, even +aesthetic emotions however inoffensive, however religious +in character. He would hardly deign to believe that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_468">[468]</span>women are really good hands at puddings! Some ladies, in +their noble devotion to his cause, had found a common +prison in the Châtelet; he sent them somewhat grim +felicitations. “If men are frail and easily shaken, the +frailty of your sex is still greater.... God hath chosen +the foolish things of the world to confound the wise, and +the weak things of the world to confound the things which +are mighty, and base things of the world, and things which +are despised, to bring to nought those that are great and of +high worth.”</p> + +<p>There was nothing for Luther to invent. Everyone +desired a reformation, like himself. The cardinal of +Amboise and the traditional school wished to try back and +restore discipline; the philosophic women and the Roman +world were for pushing ahead, and saw salvation in the +rejuvenescence of faith through liberty.⁠<a id="FNanchor_446" href="#Footnote_446" class="fnanchor">[446]</a> But neither party +was eager for a schism, above all the Liberals of Rome, who +not only stood for unity, which was their breath of life, but +also gladly washed their hands of pure theology.</p> + +<p>Luther invented nothing. All that he said, and even +more, had been said at Rome for fifty years before him. +He caught certain floating ideas, and fixed those which +had passed into current morality. This was to attack +dilettantism. The gentle feminist and Latinist prelates, +with their tolerance, their openness of mind and intellectual +freedom—Sadoleto, the friend of Melanchthon, +Contarini, Pole, the kindly scholar ruled by Vittoria +Colonna, Flaminio, Vergerio—all deplored the degradation +of their handiwork: they felt as a Raphaelite painter would +feel if he found his dreams copied in a picture by Espinal. +Yet, while lamenting this use made of liberty, they respected +it; at bottom they considered Zwingle and Melanchthon as +two of themselves, and they did not despair of achieving +the triumph of freedom by freedom itself. Such was, as we +know, the policy of Pole at Ratisbon, and of Vergerio at +Worms; but despite the support of Vittoria Colonna, +Margaret of France, and a whole band of enthusiastic and +ardent women, they did not succeed; they were caught +between two fires.</p> + +<p>Women threw themselves into the fray with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>We might fancy ourselves looking at the Sabine women +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_469">[469]</span>of David’s famous picture: daughters of the Roman Church, +very devoted, very judicious (at least in their own opinion), +and yet ready in the name of freedom to defend and love +their adversaries.</p> + +<p>Vittoria Colonna always believed herself as orthodox as +the Holy See itself, and more clever, even when in the heat +of the battle she put forth opinions somewhat questionable.</p> + +<p>She sang the barque of Peter triumphing over all the +billows of the world’s vileness and ill-will, and she received +the papal benediction. But yet, in the great religious +struggle of the 16th century, she could never realise that +genuine difficulties of doctrine were involved; she saw +nothing but a medley of personal intrigues, rivalries, +jealousies, offended susceptibilities, good intentions bungled; +excellent judges have shared her impressions. Entirely new +circumstances had to arise, the fiercest moment of the battle +had to come, before the court of Rome at last repudiated +retrospectively all fellowship with Vittoria. And yet events +seemed to justify the thesis of love—a thesis neither Protestant +nor strictly Catholic.</p> + +<p>Attached to a religion of intuition and sentiment, the +women aimed at saving the guilty by the love of the +innocent; they put into practice a doctrine rather divine +than religious; their scheme was that of Henri IV.: “Those +who unswervingly follow their conscience are of my religion, +and I am of the religion of all who are brave and good.”</p> + +<p>Vittoria Colonna took a very special interest in a celebrated +Capuchin, the ardent and eloquent Ochino, who had +formed at Naples a sort of liberal triumvirate. Somewhat +intoxicated with his popularity and the warm sympathies +of the feminist group, Ochino bitterly attacked Paul III. +about certain measures of reform directed against the +Capuchins. The marchioness hastened to prevent a rupture; +she issued a great liberal manifesto addressed to Contarini, +and at the same time urged Ochino to come to Rome. Paul +smiled at the manifesto, and sent the author a pilgrim’s +passport, for herself and a Capuchin. Ochino, however, +made a rancorous reply. Women put forth indescribable +efforts to bring back to the fold this sheep who was +threatening to wander away! Thanks to the feminine +freemasonry, Ochino, though openly at odds with the +pope, still occupied with brilliance the principal pulpits of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_470">[470]</span>Verona, Venice, Bologna and Mantua, until at last he took +to flight. Vittoria never lost sight of him; at Venice, she +got secret information as to his welfare from Bembo, who +had just been raised to the cardinalate.⁠<a id="FNanchor_447" href="#Footnote_447" class="fnanchor">[447]</a> Later, by means +of anonymous letters in which she told her old protégé that +she was buying his books and getting insight into his +views, flattering him, calling herself his “very obedient +daughter and disciple,” she did her utmost to bring him to +reason. Vain illusion! Ochino was a monk, Vittoria a +noble lady; they belonged to two jarring worlds.</p> + +<p>Margaret of France wished to play the same part, but she +found herself in a more embarrassing situation, and understood +still less, if possible, the real bearing of the struggle. +She dreamed of reforming humanity, not dogmas; she left +to God the task of winning the victory and causing the +“word of truth” to shine forth. Why limit the range of +these dreams? “The Church is a living and active voice, +which is its own explanation, and can always express itself +anew and more abundantly.” Why this procreation of +rigorous dogmas, to the ruin of the feminine apostleship? +Margaret pressed towards synthesis; she wished to know, to +co-ordinate, to succeed. Briçonnet wrote to her smilingly: +“If there were at the end of the earth a learned doctor who, +by means of a single compendium, could teach the whole +art of grammar, besides rhetoric, philosophy and the seven +liberal arts, you would rush to him as a cold man rushes +to the fire.”</p> + +<p>Where then was she to seek the illumination of love and +faith if not in that religious philosophy towards which she +had always inclined? In regard to faith, still more than in +social matters, she felt how good it was to soar into the +heights of abstraction, to go direct to the verities without +troubling about men. How cramping it would have seemed +to her to embody all theology and all faith, both Paradise +and Hell, in one man, in one priest! She smiled on men, +provided they were men of good-will, even if they burnt +others, as Francis I. did, but still more if they were burnt +or in danger of burning, like “that poor Berquin,” or the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_471">[471]</span>chaplain Michel, or the canons of Bourges, or Farel, Vatable, +Gerard Roussel.⁠<a id="FNanchor_448" href="#Footnote_448" class="fnanchor">[448]</a> A man might translate the Thomist +work the <i>Mirror of Ladies</i>; might call himself Lefèvre +d’Etaples, <i>faber ingeniorum</i>, or Dolet; might be a witty +libertine like Pocques or Duval—no matter, he had claims +on her affection, if he was well disposed. She delighted in +hearing Erasmus and Luther discuss the question of free-will. +She looked on at these passages at arms with the +same satisfaction as others witnessed a tourney. In concert +with a lady of influence, she dragged the king to St. +Eustace, to hear a sermon by a whirlwind of a parson who +preached peace and <i>sursum corda</i>. She was anxious to +arrange at Paris a controversial meeting with Melanchthon, +but the Faculty of Theology was not agreeable. The +theologian really after her own heart was the amiable +prelate Nicolas Dangu, who followed her everywhere like a +perfect lover.</p> + +<p>There was yet another man able to please her; a sort of +magian, remarkable in spite of his wild notions, who carried +feminine theology to the pitch of absurdity. This was +Guillaume Postel, a workhouse foundling, a nobody, a +village brat and then a lackey, half oriental, half Italian, +though a Frenchman: a man of eminent learning and +enlightened mind, the fine essence of eclecticism. He wrote +in twelve languages on the most various subjects, in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_472">[472]</span>support of the most diversified theses. He advocated a +universal monarchy which he offered to Francis I., and a +universal religion, genuinely catholic and Roman, the +papacy of which he reserved for himself. He based it upon +the doctrine of infinite love (if need be, a somewhat sensual +love), and upon an aesthetic philosophy which should solve +all mysteries by applying the formula of the Beautiful. +According to this religion, it was for women to regenerate +the world; wherefore he salutes with ardent sympathy the +Mothers of the Church whom he sees budding forth almost +everywhere—More’s daughters in England; Isabella Rosera +in Spain; in Portugal Loysa Sygea who at the age of +twenty-two honoured Pope Paul III. with her advice in +five little-known languages. Paul replied in Latin, Greek +and Hebrew, but excused himself in regard to Chaldean +and Arabic, and instructed Postel to take the pen.</p> + +<p>Postel’s strange work⁠<a id="FNanchor_449" href="#Footnote_449" class="fnanchor">[449]</a> appeared after the death of Margaret +of France, under the auspices of Margaret of Savoy. Postel +announced the discovery of a new Eve, whom he extolled +above all other women, even above Vittoria Colonna. She +was an aged sorceress of Venice, endowed with second +sight, who read through paper as if she had the Röntgen +rays at her disposal. Unhappily the Venetians sent her +about her business.</p> + +<p>To sum up, the women believed and maintained that, in +dealing with the people, the only language they understood +must be employed—that of force; but that for the +elect there was only one real weapon—the matchless one, +liberty. The first of liberties is that of talking nonsense. +It was needful, then, to be able to tolerate freedom in +others, one’s own friends included.</p> + +<p>The practical result of women’s intervention was in +France insignificant enough.</p> + +<p>The long-standing hostility of the French clergy to the +court of Rome had burst out so glaringly in the reign of +Louis XII., it displayed itself so vigorously in the more or +less official dithyrambs of Andrelini, Villebresme, De Mailly, +Gringoire, Jean d’Auton, Seyssel, against the “Roman +profligacy,” that Leo X. became alarmed and very prudently +abandoned in 1515 the real bone of contention, the right to +dispose of benefices. From that moment the Church, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_473">[473]</span>fused with the State, became a national machine, and no +philosophic argument could in future shake an organisation +so solid. Luther gave wide application to the same system +in secularising the property of the clergy. The ruck of men +left the business of dealing with these religious questions to +the higher powers; they held to their creed either out of a +taste for ignorance or from scepticism; the learned were +quite content to smile and call theology a “poesy”—like +vine-growers who sell a certain doctored wine, but keep the +genuine locked up in their cellars—the wine they alone are +sure of because they cut the grapes.</p> + +<p>Liberalism was supported, then, by only a few timid and +affectionate voices, like that of Longueil, the friend of +Bembo and Pole, who said in his <i>Letter to the Lutherans</i>: +“I take no side in the struggle: a simple citizen of the +Christian republic, neither gratitude, nor hate, nor ambition +impels me to one side or the other.” Unhappily, it is not +with lofty language like this that you can rouse a mob!</p> + +<p>Is it necessary to recall what followed? It was at all +points the reverse of what the feminists had hoped. “Our +adversaries say of us,” wrote Calvin, “that we have begun +a sort of Trojan war, on account of women, <i>mulierum +causa</i>.” And in truth, as in the wars of the past, +women had again become to a certain extent the gage of +battle. Religion declared war on platonism, just as +platonism had declared war on religious virginity; instead +of draping women in inaccessibility, people contented themselves +with making matrimony easier. That was a simple +solution of the difficulty. And yet it took longer than +might be supposed to get back to this solid ground of +matter-of-fact. The first woman espoused by an Archbishop +of Canterbury was obliged, it appears, to travel like an +animal in a chest pierced with holes, so as to escape the +buffooneries of the mob; the second went to court; but +when Queen Elizabeth saw her she bit her lips: “What am +I to call you? Madam I cannot, and Mistress I dare not.”</p> + +<p>Catholicism, roused to action, henceforth asked for nothing +except to condemn. It was a sudden drop from the +ideal back again to earth, a dreadful battle of personalities, +a life and death struggle with mythical or literal methods of +exegesis for weapons. Erasmus was already writing: “These +interpreters of the language of Heaven go off like gunpowder, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_474">[474]</span>they frown most terribly. What is Hütten to me? Shall +I prefer the authority of Luther to that of the pope? If we +had not received a pope from Christ, we should have to +invent one.” “They scream and scuffle and insult one +another,” sneers Des Périers, who no longer believed even +in the existence of God. Blessed are the poor in spirit, +concludes Agrippa; blessed are illiterate people like the +apostles; blessed is the ass!</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_475">[475]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONCLUSION">CONCLUSION</h2> + +</div> + +<p>Nothing now remains but to relate the conclusion of the +dream.</p> + +<p>A dream indeed—all these schemes of happiness which +had flashed across the gloomy background of realities like +dissolving views on the wall of a lecture-room: the blue +sea, the blazing sun, appearing but for a moment, left the +blackness deeper still.</p> + +<p>Margaret, the great organiser of happiness, never found +the secret of happiness for herself. Her last days were +vexed with the most poignant sorrows: the court, Calvin, +the people, well-nigh the whole world, cast her off and treated +her as a Utopian dreamer: her husband went the length of +striking her, her daughter was torn from her, and Henri II. +sent her into exile; several of her friends, such as Ramus +and Dolet, were persecuted, alas! from motives far from +sincere: it was, in truth, what she called “the suburbs of +death.” By divine mercy her heart, incessantly a prey to +anxieties, at length parted company with a life that was +anything but love. She perished, poor duchess, at her post +as charitable vendor of love—perished in flames, like the +salamander! No man came to her aid, none even paused +to mourn her. Three young English maidens named +Seymour erected to her a frail monument of verse under the +auspices of her niece; but save for one devoted friend, +Sainte-Marthe, whose enthusiastic funeral oration nevertheless +provoked the liveliest criticisms, men maintained a +remarkable silence. The princess had greatly erred in +scattering her affections and seeking to create a sociology +of the heart. Men do not care for love, they wish to +fear and obey! There is no true love but the love of +an individual.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_476">[476]</span></p> + +<p>The Saint-Gelais, the Héroëts, the Salels, all those +exquisite hearts bubbling over with sentiment when a +smile from Margaret could lead them to fortune, now +remained mute; the drum had to be set a-beating, and then +at length there appeared a volume of elegies, a subtle +fantasia in many tongues, which would have been cold +as ice but for the vigorous beam Ronsard shot into the +midst of the medley—a tiny volume, brilliant, ingenious, +perverse, like the princess’s soul, full of pretty verses all +alike—alike in expression, with the same silvery veneer of +tenderness—the very image of the somewhat phantasmagoric +and unreal romanticism in which some mystic women +delighted: brightness, but no warmth or life. Yes, Margaret +was too fond of these intense lights and shades. A thousand +causeless murmurings woke echoes in her soul. She sustained +herself upon the subtle aroma wafted on certain nights upon +the breath of the quickening world. She never heard the +full, resounding roar of the sea in the darkness, but was +content to see the fringe of foam.</p> + +<p>At the moment when Margaret disappeared, the power of +women in France seemed at its apogee; in reality, it was on +the wane. It was attacked more especially on the moral side. +According to so-called Puritans like Agrippa, the influence +of women resulted in the declension of morals; and what a +declension! Everything converged towards the joys of +the senses; painters could no longer paint anything but +boudoir scenes, architects could only open doors or pierce +balconies, husbands only speculate on the exploits of their +wives, Luther only recommend the reading of stories +(sometimes astonishing) from the Bible.</p> + +<p>Unquestionably, feminine influences, even the purest, +seemed soft and enervating. The energetic spirit of old +France, of the time before Francis I., sprang suddenly to +life again. A country gentleman, Du Bellay, sounded +the charge against Roman cosmopolitanism by claiming +France for the French. At one stroke, as J. M. de Heredia +has said, his clear and picturesque style clean obliterated +Marot, Saint-Gelais, and the whole of Margaret’s school. +Du Bellay would have loved Savonarola: he speaks the +same tongue as the friends of Anne of France; he has +sworn implacable hatred against platonism with its cloying +sweetness, against the languors of petrarchism: “He has +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_477">[477]</span>not breathed in the ardour that sets Italy in flame.” +Though he has seen Rome, decadent Rome, he has not +caught her infection; it is she that he blames, and yet +the “bashful squires,” the “exiles from joyance,” and other +vulgar “fantasticals,” whom he flagellates and sends packing +along with the Round Table, were very often French. He +has in his veins the proud and lusty blood of a soldier. +Like Anne of France he worships truth, and candour, and +lucidity.</p> + +<p>Ronsard too, of like blood and ancestry, advocates truth: +“I love not the false, I love the true.” He overwhelms with +his vigorous eloquence all sham loves, “Cupids with curled +love-locks, but broken arrow”; all the platonic cant, so +virtuous in show and so little virtuous in fact: and all +these refinements, and hypocrisies, and conceits on twofold +incorporeal love!</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Aimer l’esprit, Madame, c’est aimer la sottise.⁠<a id="FNanchor_450" href="#Footnote_450" class="fnanchor">[450]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>The voices of these two men stirred up no little commotion +among a large number of the lesser nobility or +quasi-nobility, men of middling station, less sensible to +high-falutin’ than to the spirit of frankness and independence—“gaillards,” +as they styled themselves, who loved +women as they loved “daylight and the sun,” but as men, +by no means with an idea of “playing lackey to a +mistress,” particularly one who was wrinkled, painted, or +terribly accomplished.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">De Junon sont vos bras, des grâces vostre sein,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Vous avez de l’aurore et le front et la main,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mais vous avez le cœur d’une fière lionne.⁠<a id="FNanchor_451" href="#Footnote_451" class="fnanchor">[451]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">That was their type. And they laughed at the Vadiuses +and Trissotins⁠<a id="FNanchor_452" href="#Footnote_452" class="fnanchor">[452]</a> of their day, at all the fine carollings that +Du Bellay amused himself by imitating, forgotten tunes of +long ago, the faded frippery of the ballroom. What merriment +there is when a belated poet returns from Italy with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_478">[478]</span>another <i>Amadis</i>! Neither Olivier de Magny nor Baïf will +take the moon for the sun, or love for a mere ornamentation.</p> + +<p>The men of the Pléiade had no love for patronage or +the Medici species. They hated and abhorred the Jews. +Ronsard would have liked to see a fine St. Bartholomew +butchery of them, and could not forgive Titus for wasting +his chances: his gorge rises at the thought of a Leo the +Hebrew⁠<a id="FNanchor_453" href="#Footnote_453" class="fnanchor">[453]</a> figuring among the sages of platonism. Good +decent fellows, they drape themselves in their somewhat +rustic free-and-easiness. From their modest snuggeries they +proudly tell the king “Nature has made us of the same flesh +and blood as you”;⁠<a id="FNanchor_454" href="#Footnote_454" class="fnanchor">[454]</a> they do not hesitate to write to a +Medici lady that the finest royalty is to be “king of oneself.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_455" href="#Footnote_455" class="fnanchor">[455]</a> +They vie with one another in launching their epigrams +against the court, the salons, the ruling women;⁠<a id="FNanchor_456" href="#Footnote_456" class="fnanchor">[456]</a> they sing +of woods and dales, even of the wild untrammelled life—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O bienheureux le siècle où le peuple sauvage</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Vivoit, par les forêts, de gland et de fruitage.⁠<a id="FNanchor_457" href="#Footnote_457" class="fnanchor">[457]</a></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>Ronsard.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_479">[479]</span></p> + +<p class="noindent">They sing praise to Nature their mother, not an abstraction, +an infinity, but immeasurable:⁠<a id="FNanchor_458" href="#Footnote_458" class="fnanchor">[458]</a> the lines of the horizon, it +would seem, spring from their hearts, and like an outspread +fan gather up the whole immensity of life. How remote +this from the gardens of philosophy ordered so delicately, +with their shimmering fountains, their shivering Venuses!⁠<a id="FNanchor_459" href="#Footnote_459" class="fnanchor">[459]</a></p> + +<p>When under a clear Roman sky Du Bellay is sauntering +in pleasant indolence amid all the pomp and luxury of cultured +prelates, enjoying the serene life of country villas; +when, as a background to the picture, behind carriages and +laurels, fashionable women and noble statues, he sees flushed +in a golden haze the forest of towers, and pediments, and +obelisks, and St. Peter’s in all its majesty, the glory of +the world, what does his heart say to him?</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Quand reverray-je, hélas! de mon petit village</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Fumer la cheminée?⁠<a id="FNanchor_460" href="#Footnote_460" class="fnanchor">[460]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Such was the sentiment of the Pléiade.</p> + +<p>Social philosophy had changed all at once. People were +weary of the idea of the beautiful, and henceforth the wind +was to set towards scepticism: no longer an airy, Ciceronian, +superficial scepticism, the scepticism of Cardan, or of Erasmus, +the jabberer of Latin, the flouter of monks, often +madder than the madmen he derides, but a masculine +aggressive scepticism, which believes in nothing in this +world, not even in love, and is incredulous about the other +world and the immortality of the soul. Yet it feels an +“impression” of the unseen: deprived of an ideal for this +life, it must willy-nilly suppose another apart from mortal +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_480">[480]</span>men, and thus yearningly, gropingly, unawares, it takes a +step towards Christ.</p> + +<p>And then those who are still reasoning in this untoward +generation laugh or weep. What a harsh harrowing laugh +is that of Boistuau,⁠<a id="FNanchor_461" href="#Footnote_461" class="fnanchor">[461]</a> who had nevertheless been a friend of +Margaret! Boistuau speaks to us of love, and tells us that +it is a distressing malady of the mind, characterised by +symptoms of agitation and disorder, and exhausting all +its energies, physical and moral. You hear those attacked +by it groaning and dropping words like “coral, alabaster, +roses, lilies”; they have lost all individuality; they sob +and abase themselves and are a continual supplication. +The cause of the malady is obscure; some speak of +magnetism, others of microbes, others of the influence of +the stars.</p> + +<p>It was this kind of scepticism which was destined to lead +us to the morality of Charles IX.’s court.</p> + +<p>Then it was seen how fatal had been the disease of sensibility, +and the profound soul-weariness which resulted +from imaginative pleasures, from the mirage which overlay +the things of life since women had undertaken to interpret +everything through the affections. It had been a woful +error to create an art of sensibility! Sensibility serves to +attract men, but cannot hold or guide them. Women +believe in sensibility because they always consider the +heart of a man as a reservoir of moral strength. It is the +other way about; men for the most part err through +weakness; it is that which renders them inconstant and +vicious. They would gain in steadfastness and goodness if +women, less timid and more active, had strength rather +than tenacity, and a real energy under an appearance of +tenderness.</p> + +<p>An attempt was made, but too late, to show that the +feminist spirit could display energy as well as tenderness.</p> + +<p>A certain Almanque Papillon⁠<a id="FNanchor_462" href="#Footnote_462" class="fnanchor">[462]</a> proposed a new formula of +love, more robust than platonism, and bound, as he thought, +to render men truly “virtuous and not effeminate.” François +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_481">[481]</span>Billon, one of the royal secretaries, wandering one evening +amid the ruins of Rome, felt the touch of grace within +himself. He dreamed of writing a book entitled <i>The +Impregnable Fortress of the Female Sex</i>. He descried and +saluted among the shadows a number of vigorous women—Catherine +de’ Medici and Jeanne d’Albret, more valorous +than any man; Mesdames de Berry and de Nevers, surpassingly +witty; Anne d’Este, duchess of Guise, the eloquence +of fleshly beauty. Billon made his book, but not his +fortune. Under the Valois, many women were not anxious +to be too well defended.</p> + +<p>Ronsard and Du Bellay triumphed, then: and yet, to all +appearance, their triumph troubled them; they hankered +after ideas they had gone about to destroy; they mistrusted +themselves, their friends, their principles. Ronsard had an +admirable genius, but he hesitated between an attempt +to satisfy the popular naturalism with the crudities so +much in request, and an instinctive thirst for an aristocratic +spiritualism. He followed rather than led the movement; +both he and Du Bellay, in spite of their robust breezy +energies, remained more sensitive than they cared to +acknowledge to the charm of classical art and the graciousness +of the salons.</p> + +<p>Further, an eminent woman kept a tight rein on the +Pléiade, and showed them that graciousness was not necessarily +tameness, that there were women’s hearts at once +ardent and strong, that it is possible to retain practical views +of life while “rising wholly towards spiritual things.” This +woman was the niece and goddaughter of Margaret of +France, her spiritual daughter and the faithful guardian +of her fame—the second Margaret of France, duchess of +Berry and afterwards duchess of Savoy.</p> + +<p>She pursued a totally different method from her aunt. +She abandoned philosophy, intuitions, mystic professions of +faith: instead of wearing black she dressed fashionably, +tricking herself out with jewels and brightly-coloured +materials: thus (pardon the detail) she used handkerchiefs +of crimson silk: that formed part of her psychology. Her +household was maintained on a very princely scale, and +directed by the solemn Madame de Brissac, who never +shifted her quarters without taking with her a huge pile of +dresses and especially a terribly big bed, which alone required +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_482">[482]</span>several mules to carry it; the moment the destination +was reached, Madame de Brissac’s bed had to be set up with +infinite precautions, as though it were a shrine. One can +guess how the treasurer, among many other people, grumbled; +but the princess was so kind!</p> + +<p>With this system of simplified morals and external +complexity, Margaret of Savoy exercised extraordinary +fascination over men’s affections. She had adopted as +emblem an olive branch guarded by serpents, with the +motto, “<i>Sagesse, gardienne des choses!</i>” She resembled, as a +poet tells us, “a rose-bud, nourished on celestial dew,” and +received the nickname of Pallas. She was just the woman +to govern vigorous men: a woman of taste and intelligence, +who had a passion for winning love, but with much breadth +and dignity, and without recourse to the spiritual and +material experiments of her aunt. Her secret she had not +gone far to seek, but had found simply in her woman’s +heart; her Machiavelism consisted in a kindliness carried +to perfection, intelligent, active, ingenious—a refined good-heartedness, +which embraced both rich and poor. Des +Périers himself could not refrain from speaking of it in a tone +of respect and sympathy quite unusual in him; Brantôme +has painted the princess in one magnificent phrase: “She +was <i>the</i> goodness of the world.”</p> + +<p>And we must not forget that life had not spared her hard +lessons. The poor woman’s greatest ambition was to root +and ground herself in the family affections, and these +affections had been torn from her one by one with her +heart’s blood. Her father Francis I. had as little to do +with her as possible, indeed, but scantily appreciated her. +She lost her brother Charles miserably enough; at that +period it was not the custom to care for life’s halt and +maimed, yet Margaret sedulously watched over servants who +were out of employment. Her heart was wrapped up in +her sister Madeleine. Madeleine coveted a crown; she went +to Scotland, and six months afterwards came news of her +death. Margaret was so grievously stricken that she +remained in utter prostration, and it was doubtful for some +time whether her health would recover from the shock. +Her aunt Margaret had to intervene to insist on her taking +care of herself, and going for long morning walks in the +park of Fontainebleau.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_483">[483]</span></p> + +<p>Thus, instead of “devouring her heart,” in the forcible +phrase of Pythagoras, this noble princess made existence a +song of grave and warm passion, not a song of love.</p> + +<p>Her disappointments were no fewer, it is true, since it is +a natural law for the heart to be deceived in its hopes, like +the reason; but she found less bitterness and more grief; +the wholesome contact with real suffering, in bringing +out the true power of sympathy, saved her from social +and intellectual extravagances, and bred in her that perfection +of tenderness which no one could resist; for the +world itself loves to be treated seriously.</p> + +<p>The passion Du Bellay felt for her in no way resembles +either the flowery sentimentalism to which princesses had +till then been accustomed, or the coarse freedom of Marot’s +school: it was a constant, sincere, and lasting passion. On +returning from Italy, he exclaims with the same emotion as +at his departure:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Alors, je m’aperçus qu’ignorant son mérite,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">J’avois, sans la connoistre, admiré Marguerite,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Comme, sans les connoistre, on admire les cieux.⁠<a id="FNanchor_463" href="#Footnote_463" class="fnanchor">[463]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">And these are not mere idle words. Many years afterwards, +when it came to Margaret’s turn to leave her country, the +poor poet, struck, no doubt, with presentiments of an +imminent death, shed real tears, “the truest tears that e’er +I shed.”</p> + +<p>The great sense of truth and constancy that Margaret +carried into the concerns of the heart she applied also to the +concerns of the mind. She showed, like Anne of France, how +women were slandered, how they slandered themselves +when they fancied they were incapable of a genuine effort; +instead of pouring out a stream of conversation and writings +like her aunt, and of trusting to her impressionability merely, +she applied herself with all the force of a fine intellectual +health to the most rigorous tasks involved in the discipline +of truth. Many scholars by profession would not have +pushed solicitude for the niceties of truth so far. She got +her reader, for instance, to buy for her at Paris three +different editions of Cicero’s <i>Offices</i>; she read Aristotle’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_484">[484]</span><i>Ethics</i> simultaneously in Greek and in a Latin translation; +she collated six commentaries on Horace.</p> + +<p>Although entirely French—she was much more French +than her aunt—she set herself to stem the somewhat too +violent tide of reaction setting in against Italy. Like Louis +XII. before her, she thought there was much in Italy and the +classics that was worth adopting; while she read Aristotle +she proclaimed Urbino the “school of knowledge,” and Du +Bellay had to draw in his horns and, under her gentle +guidance, acknowledge the charm which he did not feel +spontaneously. He not only translated Bembo and +Naugerius,⁠<a id="FNanchor_464" href="#Footnote_464" class="fnanchor">[464]</a> but went so far as to agree that time would +never extinguish the fame of Boccaccio, and that the laurels +of Petrarch would remain for ever green.</p> + +<p>She did more (for the words “art” and “patriotism” +cloaked in reality questions infinitely smaller, and larger—questions +of personal jealousies); she had the courage to +keep by her side an Italian, Baccio del Bene, an enthusiastic +worshipper of the “pearl of the West,” who declared he had +been saved by her bright eyes, “his stars,” from the direst +of shipwrecks. Ronsard undertook, against wind and tide +and his own convictions, to rehabilitate this relic of the +past, and to proclaim that Del Bene was the only Italian for +two centuries who was worth consideration.</p> + +<p>Margaret long remained the tutelary “virgin,” the spirited +“unbacked colt,” running where frolic fancy led her, unfretted +by the “spurs of love.” Whatever the inevitable +malignity of mankind may have said, she was a perfect +type of platonism, basking in her many warm friendships +with men, and in no hurry to be married. Too much +attached to France to go far away, too thoroughly a +princess to wed one of her brother’s subjects, she fixed +her choice on the heir of Savoy. On one occasion she did +not hesitate to accompany her aunt to Nice and present +herself in person, in defiance of the elementary rules of +etiquette; but as politics, the bane of sentimental +princesses, threw obstacles in the way, she possessed her +soul in patience, and waited twenty-one years. She was +married in 1559.</p> + +<p>The king of France ordered a magnificent trousseau, an +exact copy of that of Madame de Lorraine—gold-embroidered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_485">[485]</span>dresses, laces, jewels; he chose for the bridal dress a robe of +yellow satin with bodice embroidered in gold, a regal mantle +trimmed with lace a foot wide, an evening cloak in silver +cloth, lined with lynx fur. He commanded splendid entertainments. +Everyone knows what followed—Henri II. mortally +wounded in the official tournament; this long-desired +marriage consecrated at midnight beside a bed of anguish. +Here truly was something to amaze and strike with awe. +Anyone with a touch of superstition would have attributed +to the princess the evil eye.</p> + +<p>They knew better, to be sure.</p> + +<p>If she was loved, it was because she had the very +uncommon talent of loving her friends.</p> + +<p>No sooner was she in Piedmont than she seemed to have +thoughts only for them. She wrote to Catherine de’ Medici +commending Ronsard to her notice, and the poet, much +moved, hastened to reply with a noble apostrophe to the +royal house of France, “happy and fruitful ... mother of +such a line of kings.”</p> + +<p>From time immemorial France and Piedmont had played +in the world the somewhat ungrateful part of quarrelsome +lovers. Margaret, like a true woman, patched up this +quarrel; while she lived there was no open rupture. Still +more, every Frenchman who visited Turin was conscious of +being anticipated by a gentle and invisible protecting hand. +Presented to the duchess, often lodged and entertained at +her cost, he would receive in addition, anonymously, a purse +to defray his travelling expenses.</p> + +<p>France did not, therefore, lose Margaret altogether; but +she planted in Savoy the sweetness of Urbino with the +sparkling brilliance of her own land. At the gates of +Geneva she caused the most perfect religious peace to +flourish; it was there that Francis de Sales was born. +Without flinging heart and mind piecemeal to the winds, +like her aunt, we see her in a corner of that violent 16th +century, a radiant centre of kindliness and spiritual illumination, +surrounded by testimonies of gratitude as by a +modest and glorious retinue. She often received thanks at +that supreme moment when all men speak the truth. In +his last hour Du Bellay wept for her; an ambassador of +France at Constantinople left her his fortune; L’Hôpital +declared in his will that to her he owed his whole career. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_486">[486]</span>She herself on her deathbed heaved, so to speak, the last +breath of the feminist spirit.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Il ne restoit rien d’entier de la France,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De pur, de saint, d’une antique bonté,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Que Marguerite, humaine déité.⁠<a id="FNanchor_465" href="#Footnote_465" class="fnanchor">[465]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>And now what more is to be said? The hateful orgies of +the 16th century were unchained! Here and there in the +turmoil some few feeble shoots of platonism continued to +appear⁠<a id="FNanchor_466" href="#Footnote_466" class="fnanchor">[466]</a> under the form of preciosity or literary feminism, till +we come to the hôtel de Rambouillet.⁠<a id="FNanchor_467" href="#Footnote_467" class="fnanchor">[467]</a> Women of energy +and activity were still seen. But fate willed that the 17th +century, magnificent, wholly masculine,⁠<a id="FNanchor_468" href="#Footnote_468" class="fnanchor">[468]</a> should be ushered +in with terrible convulsions. It was a momentous and +appalling epoch, and bore out the prediction of the +<i>Heptameron</i>: “The best things are those from which, +when abused, result the worst ills.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_469" href="#Footnote_469" class="fnanchor">[469]</a> What a spectacle +is the court of the Valois!⁠<a id="FNanchor_470" href="#Footnote_470" class="fnanchor">[470]</a>—all these sly, knowing women, +talking in a way to make the shades of their grandmothers +blush, running after men who wish them further! +How little the third Margaret of France, the first wife +of Henri IV., resembles her earlier namesakes! She was +as highly gifted, prettier, as accomplished, as witty, as +fascinating, as noble, as thoroughly a princess—so princely +indeed that she thought herself quite entitled to love gipsies +and let prejudices go hang! Fair as a lily, too, polished, +wonderfully polished, bathed and perfumed! All she saw +was that platonic love had broken down, and of the other +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_487">[487]</span>love she said: “Nothing could be so sweet, if it were not so +short.”</p> + +<p>Even in Spain platonism perished, or rather it winged +its flight towards God with zest and ardour, often worthy of +the Song of Songs:⁠<a id="FNanchor_471" href="#Footnote_471" class="fnanchor">[471]</a> “A love redeemed from all terrestrial +things, and having only God for its object,” exclaims St. +Theresa, “is like an arrow shot by man’s will towards his God +with all the force of which he is capable.” Or else it was +flung out of window. When the cook and the niece of Don +Quixote make a bonfire of the <i>Amadis</i> romances and other +illustrious annals of pure love and valiant exploits, the good +Spanish curate, who assists at the auto-da-fé, momentarily +hesitates before a volume bearing the name of Ariosto. He +opens it, to burn it if it is a Spanish translation, to kiss it if +it is the Italian text. O relic of old Spain! O son of the Cid!</p> + +<p>In Italy the crisis could not take a tragic development, as +in Germany, but men felt the need of returning to anonymity, +to placid affection, to love without any twaddle. “The +learned are so mad after love,” writes Nelli, “they have so +pounded and minced and dissected it, that it is altered +out of all knowing.” Petrarch was blasphemed: everyone +was eager to revile him as a flashy rhetorician, to sneer at +his so-called purity. They declared that they preferred +to the sighs of love-sick princesses and the sentimental +romances, the bold, frank love of a coster-wench.</p> + +<p>Farewell to the dream! It dissolved in a religious crisis. +Rome herself recovered from her intoxication, and no +longer existed as the nursery of sentimental philosophy +and the liberal-minded instructress of mankind.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">La paix et le bon temps ne règnent plus icy;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">La musique et le bal sont contraints de s’y taire.⁠<a id="FNanchor_472" href="#Footnote_472" class="fnanchor">[472]</a></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Attacked, Catholicism had stood to the defence in the +armour of authority. It was fighting for life, and was bent +only on self-discipline and purification. One good soul +devoted himself to the task of spiritualising the writings +of Bembo.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_488">[488]</span></p> + +<p>The tender imaginings of art disappeared. The time +was coming for art itself to return to scenes of domestic +commonplace, as in Holland, or of pure reason, as in France. +The sole impression Brantôme received as he viewed the +Coliseum was that its ruined condition was most strikingly +apparent at the top—as was seen also with women.</p> + +<p>The mortification would have been less acute if people +had not really expected to find happiness, and if they had +begun by looking painful realities square in the face as they +did afterwards. The 17th century left philosophy to the +philosophers; it believed in suffering as a gift of God: +Pascal coldly investigated only the secret of the anxieties +which hold us by the throat; and so that admirable time of +vigorous action and patient endurance led us to philosophy.</p> + +<p>Platonist tenderness resulted in nihilism. And then how +sad a spectacle was the spiritual Sahara! And how well +men understood, as soon as women had disappeared, that +they were right in believing them necessary! Our great +Montaigne, who arises at this moment, is a splendid +eulogist of the cold and colourless in life. He is the perfect +son of this respectable land of France, where wisdom consists +in settling down in a benevolent neutrality, without +hating, and without loving: life being such, without restraints, +without illusions, nothing is left, surely, but to die.</p> + +<p>Montaigne, in his cool, common-sense way, delights in +making mincemeat of everything that has given women +faith and enthusiasm and an object in life.</p> + +<p>The heart! what a dangerous organ, essentially a thing to +keep under restraint! Better forgive a folly than a victory!</p> + +<p>Love! After having distilled out its quintessence, after +having discovered “three, four, or five degrees of superior +things” external to ourselves capable of producing it, is it +not found that wisdom lies in looking after one’s own +interests, in loving as little as possible, in loving one’s +children perhaps, but even then with sufficient tranquillity +“to live comfortably after their loss”?</p> + +<p>Goodness!—that does not exist in the pure state, but +contains always some taint of corruption, a savour of +mortality, which Plato should have discerned: “Man is but +patchwork and motley.”</p> + +<p>The quest for the Beautiful! How conventional! Let +us hear no more of Bembo or Equicola! “When I write, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_489">[489]</span>I do very well without the company and the stay of +books!”</p> + +<p>Fame! A mere bubble, at the mercy of every puff of wind, +dissolving under our own eyes, ere we reach the grave! +Fame!—for books or ideas which are fated to disappear +as everything has disappeared!—a name which changes +and will pass to others!</p> + +<p>The charm of original thought! Ah! the ridiculous +pretension of wishing to transcend the current opinions, +the common sense of one’s fellows, and to fancy oneself +“capable of all things.” It is on this head that we +must hear Montaigne; he has no more illusions about the +mind than about the heart: he warms up, and celebrates +in Shakespearian accents the immensity of the human void.</p> + +<p>And is he wrong when he tells us that we are our own +deceivers?—that we are unwilling to confess our ignorance +lest we scare our children? “Overmuch knowledge is +harmful, as in virtue. Keep in all points to the common +highway: ’tis not good to be so subtle and nice.... Shun +all novelty and oddity.... All extravagant ways vex +me.... In my time, those who have some rare excellence +beyond others, and some extraordinary sprightliness of +mind, we see as it were overflowing into license in opinion +and morals.... We are right to set upon the human +mind the rigidest barriers we can.”⁠<a id="FNanchor_473" href="#Footnote_473" class="fnanchor">[473]</a></p> + +<p>The traitor! How he laughs at himself and his friends! +At bottom he is a son of women⁠<a id="FNanchor_474" href="#Footnote_474" class="fnanchor">[474]</a> and of love, but he has +lost women and love. The shallow epicurism with which +his doctrine may be reproached is also the weak side of +feminism, which had already shown us the madness and +error of the idea of saddling the few years we have to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_490">[490]</span>spend on earth with fatigue, tribulation, vanities. And +yet, while inheriting this need for living the easy impressionist +life, Montaigne revolts with characteristic feeling +and vigour against women, because he belongs to a disillusioned +generation which feels constrained to wreak +personal vengeance against those who had been confounding +the religion of beauty with the religion of happiness. +Religion consists in resignation to unhappiness, while +beauty and happiness are in truth somewhat loosely connected. +The keeper of a museum who spends his life among +masterpieces will acknowledge, if you put it to him, that +one can be very unhappy there. Further, perched in his +rustic turret, between his few books and a large farmyard, +Montaigne is one of those peaceable and self-satisfied +country folk who have not succeeded in understanding +what all the pother is about, or how women could ever pass +for priests or physicians. He considers them as objects +serviceable, even necessary, to men, but socially speaking +he chants their <i>De Profundis</i>.</p> + +<p>His bile is moved at the sight of the grand duchess +taking the head of the table in the ducal palace at Florence. +What a rage he flies into! “She has wheedled the prince”; +is it by “her pleasant and commanding features,” or her +beautiful bosom? Don’t talk to him of the ideal. Take a +peep into this dressing-room—rouge-pots, false teeth, +second-hand lures, perfumes like musk derived from the +“discharge of animals,” and all the rest: this is the ideal, +forsooth, you think of making the axis of life! To him +(the phrase will serve, it is homely but exact) platonism is +the art of palming off paste for diamonds.</p> + +<p>Yet the same scoffer Montaigne has for aide-de-camp a +simple maiden, Mademoiselle de Gournay; and, after all, his +whole system comes to this—that we should do well to be +women, nay children; and that the best thing for us would +be to live like the bird on the bough, with no other care +than the due round of the seasons.</p> + +<p>But no: this is an impossibility! There are no seasons +for us, we have no right to expect seasons! or rather, we +have only a summer,—life; only a winter,—death! And +this winter lies hungrily in wait for us! It comes to this—that +the science of life is the science of death! “The continual +work of our life is to build up death.” Since there is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_491">[491]</span>neither beauty nor love, in other words no life, we are but +animated corpses: our life plunges into the stream of death, +emerges, and disappears again; we live on death as a +tulip lives in its water, or corn in its refuse. Then, +like the tulip and the corn, we go through the inverse process: +“Your death is part of the order of the universe, a +piece of the life of the world.” From your disintegrated +flesh the vital energy will spring up and pass into the +larva, into the sap of plants, to die yet again and nourish +afresh the butterfly or the bird or the ox, continuing +thus its endless transmigrations. Without hailing death +as it passes, like the mystics, Montaigne is continually +brooding upon it, and holds it “in particular affection,” +since that is the only sure conclusion and all the rest is +chimera. Wherever he goes, a grinning spectre seems to go +before to show him the way. Of what account are the +fashionable quintessences beside the clear and insistent +spectacle of a bed “surrounded by physicians and parsons, +by creatures all mazed and quaking, by pale-faced lackeys +... and the room without daylight, the candles lit!” It is +just that! And “the leap to be made with lowered head +and dazed brain ... into a depth of silence and obscurity!” +Yes, that is death, as said (merely adding a word of immortality +and hope) those humble monks of the early days of +the century, so violently excluded from philosophic religion; +men had stopped up their ears so as not to hear them, and +yet now return soberly to their scheme of morality, which +grips one round like a ring of iron! What does Ménot say?—</p> + +<p>“We die all of us, and like water sink into the earth and +return no more to the surface. Yea, Lord, we all step on +towards death. The water of the Loire ceases not to flow, +but is it the water of yestereve that passes under the bridge +to-day? The folk who to-day dwell in this town were not +here a hundred years ago. Now, I am here; next year you +will have another preacher. Where is king Louis, but late +so dread a monarch, and king Charles, who in the flower of +his youth set Italy aquake? Alas! the earth has already +rotted his corpse. Where are all these damsels of whom we +have heard so much? Have you not the Romance of the +Rose, and Melusina, and many another far-famed beauty? +Behold, we all die, and like the water we enter into the +earth, to return no more for ever.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_492">[492]</span></p> + +<p>Montaigne is right. Whether we like it or not, we have +to live in contact with the enemy, that is, with reality. +Only, is it absolutely necessary to look at reality so mistrustfully, +and to ask of it but gloomy impressions? All the +enemies of faith maintain that faith cannot but be sombre +and melancholy; in making itself pleasant and speaking of +a God of Love, religion, it seems, would lie and do them +wrong, would trench on their domain, would go beyond its +part, which consists in expiation and sacrifice. Material +joy—that is their creed; and at the same time they believe +it is a great mistake to wish to rule the world by love; +men are not held by spiritual systems; you buy them, +crush them, oppress and coerce them.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, all was not false in the delicious dream of +prelates, women, platonists. Pure love is too exquisite a +thing ever to exist in this world. But it is the business of +women to strive towards it, and to show that we have need +of it. The idea of dividing the world, of leaving bodies to +men and souls to women, had something to be said in its +favour. Men are sometimes too philosophical, women never +philosophical enough.</p> + +<p>The convulsions which broke out every time men wished +to turn the tables on women, in the 16th century, and in the +18th, are not sufficient to convince us that the unmitigated +employment of force is the ideal of politics. What human +being is there, even with all the sentiment crushed out of +him, who does not feel an unquenchable thirst for happiness! +Nations also feel this thirst. No, it cannot be said +that the need of happiness is but an empty dream: it is a +real need, sincere, imperious, natural, a moral and physical +need which takes entire possession of us, in which all things +are summed up—this need in which we live and die.</p> + +<p>We live and die in it! We should have to remain always +children, or strangely to shut our eyes, not to see falling +around us the victims of life’s ironies, felled by Montaigne’s +philosophy as surely, as clearly, as by a dagger-thrust.</p> + +<p>A proverb says that one does not die of love: perhaps; +but what we know with absolute certainty, what stares us +everywhere in the face in letters of fire and blood, is that +one dies of the absence of love, one dies of inanition.</p> + +<p>Hence it will always be necessary to ascend to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_493">[493]</span>source of life, to fix ourselves firmly at the fountain-head: +in other words, to nourish ourselves on beauty. +Philosophically, “beauty” and “life” are synonymous +terms; so we have already said, and we shall not cease to +revert to this thought, because it appears to us clear and +salutary. All the possible definitions of beauty apply also +to life; life and beauty are one and the same thing.</p> + +<p>Beauty and life generate love and are themselves born of +love, so that love does no more than forge links in the +immeasurable chain of life and beauty. And what men +call happiness is the perfect joy of life.</p> + +<p>Why did they fail in their schemes of love and peace—these +timid women of the 16th century, who had all that +was necessary for success—a heart, boundless, bottomless +ocean of kindliness; an admirable intelligence; and in many +cases knowledge, beauty, wealth? They lacked the courage +to be themselves; they were wanting in passion. Instead of +taking their rightful place they fell back into obedience,—half-hearted +dilettanti, caught in their own snares. Why?</p> + +<p>Medieval Christianity was not hostile to the idea of the +beautiful, but it had unduly neglected it, for the purely +scholastic and traditional reason that, strictly speaking, +no theory of the beautiful is to be found in the Gospels.</p> + +<p>No, you will not find a theory of the beautiful there. +But the Renaissance unquestionably was right in saying +that you find assurances of life. And how many assurances +of love? Christianity is of hope and love all compact. +Love speaks on every page of its early lessons, and at +every moment of its history. The Magdalene, St. Augustine, +and many another—have they not marked stages on the +road to heaven? St. Francis of Sales, Fénelon—were they +not yet to cheer by affection the victims of pure reason?</p> + +<p>The Renaissance, then, accomplished a very great advance +when, with Plato’s aid, it instituted the religion of beauty, +and in this respect we certainly cannot reproach the platonists +of the 16th century with having followed a wrong bent. +They were right to believe that happiness and peace can +only be effectually secured if men can be induced to turn +their eyes towards the beautiful, to adopt beauty as the +beacon of their lives, to believe through love, act through +love, live through love. That, in truth, is the common +substance underlying both Christianity and platonism.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_494">[494]</span></p> + +<p>But how then are we to explain the phenomenon we +have noted?</p> + +<p>Plato, so far as theory and literary style are concerned, +is admirable; why does his teaching end in negative +results whenever it is enforced? Why could he himself +deduce from it only a sociology embroidered with Utopian +dreams? Why are those who live familiarly with him and +upon him tortured by the consciousness of the emptiness +of things, as was seen in the 16th century, and as we may +see still?</p> + +<p>The platonism of the Renaissance had a strange fate. It +found a society in the plenitude of vigour, and save for +a few elect souls it left it dead. As a philosophy, it resulted +in perfect scepticism; as a social panacea, in the wars of +religion. It slew art, it slew literature through the idea +of seeking beauty in itself, in other words, by academism, +by art for art’s sake: the aesthetic Utopia alongside of the +philosophic Utopia! Still further, in place of the exquisite, +enthusiastic, ardent, adorable women who were the queens +of the world, it gave us, as time went on, women without +energy, without activity, case-hardened with the idea of +a selfish happiness; it left behind it a progeny of coquettes, +<i>précieuses</i>, or else of Delilahs and sensual women. The +woman of vigorous and irradiant affection, the woman +who used to shed life and happiness around her, has +disappeared. And, finally, we observe that at the very +moment of Plato’s greatest glory, few women steadfastly +pursued the path of happiness: with some, goodness had +disappeared in feebleness, with others intelligence had +evaporated in reasoning. They ought to have saved us +from sensualism and metaphysics, and they ran aground +on both reefs. How bitterly they have been reproached! +We have done them the high honour of throwing upon them +and their ideas the blame of all our calamities, as though +they were exclusively at fault. As if it would not have +been allowable, after all, to combine common sense with the +spirit of kindliness and love!</p> + +<p>If there were, then as always, silly women, profligate +women, insatiate cormorants, why take platonism to task, +why blame women alone?</p> + +<p>Certain personages of that time, and some of the most +notable, refused to admit any division of responsibility. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_495">[495]</span>To them, all that had happened was bound to happen; the +origin was patent, the year 1515; when women of high +rank, admitted to court, determined to devote themselves +personally to the apostolic mission of love, all France +took the cue, so that the idea of love, which issued to begin +with from a source insufficiently philosophic, as it flowed +downwards gained nothing and became no purer. It is +very curious to find this line of argument proceeding from +Brantôme’s pen; he is not generally a preacher of virtue, +and has indeed enunciated this eminently courtier-like +maxim: “The cast-offs of great kings could not but be +excellent.” According to Brantôme and his friends, men +had undergone an irresistible infatuation for which they +were not to be blamed: thus, he says, no one would regard +Francis I. as a Heliogabalus or accuse him of having +employed violence: he was a victim. All men are victims. +It is very true that the frightful demoralisation of the 16th +century sprang from the court, which set the example and +persistently dragged the nation after it. But we shall be +permitted to think that Francis I. and the other victims +among his circle, without being Heliogabaluses, were not +anchorites either; which is capable of demonstration. In +any case, it seems to us very difficult to characterise the +doings of the court as platonic: platonism, on the contrary, +was a barrier, and the only reproach we can bring against +it is that it was often leaped.</p> + +<p>But the real question is not to know whether there were +women of average or cheap virtue at the court of France, +and whether they gave the tone to others. We want to +know whether women like Anne of France, Vittoria Colonna, +Margaret of France, Margaret of Savoy, and their likes were +wrong to strive after high ideals, and whether they did +what was necessary to succeed. This question is much +more delicate than the first, because it really touches +platonism and shows how it came to grief.</p> + +<p>Women can be reclaimed from sensualism; their necessarily +refined feelings, the passive part they play, the +disparity between the advantage and the disadvantage, +conduce easily to disgust. But they never revert from +mysticism to love. The Gospels mention no Jewesses +converted by mysticism, whilst the Magdalene, the Woman +of Samaria, the Woman taken in Adultery, see Heaven’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_496">[496]</span>light while in the full flush of sensualism. Men, on the +contrary, often get the better of mysticism, because their +instincts scarcely lie that way, and moreover the throng and +press of realities only too easily brings them down to earth.</p> + +<p>Now, Plato, even when rendered practical by the theory +of two loves, which sanctioned curious concessions, represented +the algebra of the beautiful; but you cannot make +algebra your daily bread.</p> + +<p>Women of the highest distinction, and especially those we +have named, lived with Plato as it were in a balloon: there +was no more actual communication with the world, no more +really practical energy, no more heat and flame! The rope +was cut; they were adrift in the clear and rarefied +atmosphere of an altitude of thousands of feet. What an +illusion, and how disastrous! Instead of elevating the world, +this was the very means of abandoning it to itself. How +many strange visions this dizzy height brought before their +eyes!</p> + +<p>First, the idea of living face to face with the absolute, and +of importing the absolute into life—pride of thought of the +vainest kind! To adopt St. Augustine’s figure, you might +as well shut up the ocean in a hole in the sand! As De +Musset said: “My glass is small, but from my glass I +drink.” The realms of space do not furnish a substantial +love, and it is vexatious enough to leave that love grovelling +on the earth.</p> + +<p>Secondly, along with this supramundane mysticism, +platonism developed the exclusive contemplation of self, +another deplorable mistake. We live in virtue of a continual +exchange, as physiological and moral laws equally +prove. God alone can rejoice in perfect independence of life +and happiness; the condition of us men is to be happy +through give and take; we have to receive everything, but +also to give everything. To search for happiness within +oneself allows no room for enthusiasm or an enlarged current +of life, nor, consequently, for life itself: one withers up like +a tree which should forbid its roots to imbibe moisture from +the soil, its branches to breathe.</p> + +<p>The poor dear women, once isolated in the boundless tracts +of their imagination, became giddy, fell a prey to needless +torments, lost the precious gift of simplicity, which was so +natural to them in their capacity as great ladies—that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_497">[497]</span>excellent and wise simplicity of mind which assigns us our +place in the vast sequence of things, according to the will of +God. They hovered too far out of touch with realities, +they generalised, wished to grasp too much, they grew restless +and uneasy, which rendered them a prey to intriguers: +their sensibility had no ballast. To influence humanity, +they had first to influence the human beings they had at +hand. So long as their mission remained individual, +private, concrete, intimate, it produced satisfactory results. +How many men did they carry up with them into the +heights! But when they wanted to act upon mankind at +large, the game was up. Trying to influence everybody, +they ended by influencing nobody. Thus Vittoria Colonna +gave to her beloved Michelangelo forces which he turned to +admirable account; but in her abstract efforts towards +public regeneration she completely failed.</p> + +<p>Let us add that Frenchwomen had a much more difficult +mission to fulfil than the Italian women. Spell-bound by +the example of Italy, they fancied that what had succeeded +there was sure to succeed here, and they did not even see +(so great was their taste for blind imitation) that they were +behind the fair, that they were importing among us the +imitation of a decadent art, the imitation of an imitation, a +counterfeit love, a counterfeit curiosity, a counterfeit scheme +of life. What they should have done was to inspire robust +activities, to cause, no matter whence or how, a gush of +ideas beautiful, striking, original, soul-stirring; instead, they +refined and subtilised and complicated, they wasted their +ingenuity in seeking to discover which was the more +aesthetic, poetry or painting; complication seemed to them +to be art, and not the apprentice stage of art: they never +attained that noble logic which is art itself. Truly strong +souls know well that you cannot nourish the world on +sweetstuffs merely, that a decided will is needed in +life, and that the beautiful becomes one with the true when +truth has all its potency. Happy are those who skilfully draw +love from truth!—the ploughman who loves his furrow, the +poor man who loves his poverty, the maiden who loves her +purity! We find among women many valiant souls of the +stamp of Anne of France, able thus to lay hold of life. As +to those who allow themselves to be led astray by the +obsession of an abstract and too lofty ideal, they die.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_498">[498]</span></p> + +<p>Platonism, then, marked a great advance towards the +idea of beauty, but it did not accomplish any striking +progress towards the idea of happiness, and Nifo was not +far wrong in predicting that the doctrine of two loves, the +one celestial, immaterial, good, and desirable, the other +terrestrial and carnal, would result in mere negation, by +setting men between impossible alternatives—a colloquy +of angels, or, as M. France says, a colloquy of chimpanzees. +We may regret our condition, but how escape +from it? Natural law (that is, divine law) bids us disdain +none of the gifts of God, but to obtain from each its +particular beauty. Happiness consists really in loving +what we have round about us, in appropriating therefrom +all that is beautiful and congenial, and in affectionately conforming +to Nature without coercing her, so as to nourish +ourselves upon her spiritual and physical forces, and +to assimilate her warmth and energy and her universal +harmony.</p> + +<p>In our own day John Ruskin has been one of the apostles +of happiness under this aspect, and though his doctrine may +be difficult to define, he has unquestionably carried the idea +of platonism a stage further, in harmony with the saying +of Plato which we have already quoted: “Those who know +have impressions.”</p> + +<p>The impressions on which he lived were often inconsistent, +and still more often nebulous, one might almost say +musical. He has been taunted with his apparent lack of +logic, though the glitter of his thought by its very brilliance +often conceals a logic that is sufficiently real. But, after +all, he has unduly neglected the spiritual side of Nature, +in particular the human soul. While we cannot shut our +eyes to the existence of the body and the utility of earthly +possessions, it is at the same time good and necessary for +happiness to keep the body and material well-being on the +lower plane. The body is essentially localised, wealth is +limited, and, for both, giving spells exhaustion; only the +soul can spend itself unceasingly, and grow the richer +thereby. And thus social happiness results, so to speak, +from the socialism of souls.</p> + +<p>Ruskin belongs to the old Venetian school, materialistic, +and pagan; his heart has echoed to physical harmonies, +and to him a certain material socialism would not have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_499">[499]</span>been unpleasing. Yet he has well shown what we ought +to feel in our communion with Nature, he has glorified the +worship of beauty and happiness, which consists in guessing +at God, in seeing Him, in acclaiming Him in the beauty of +mountains as in the beauty of a heart overflowing with +tenderness and love, in all that is beautiful, and beautiful +for us. His essential idea is that everything around us +produces an impression upon us, and that we ourselves +have a duty to our environment. Gardens are no longer a +mere setting of life, they are alive. Ruskin goes so far as +to extol the idea of sacrificing ourselves for posterity—to +plant forests under whose shade our descendants may live, +to build cities in which future nations will be able to dwell.</p> + +<p>It is a far cry from these undulatory but noble theories +to the egoistic enjoyment of oneself; yet it is very certain +that to carry them into practice in reasonable measure is +the way to find happiness.</p> + +<p>That is essentially the moral system which women ought +to teach—women born for impressions, for devotion, +generosity, the higher life.</p> + +<p>Unhappily, Ruskin, little conversant with love and +altogether unacquainted with the domestic affections, never +showed in his own life a really high appreciation of women’s +rôle, nor has he less misconstrued it from the theoretical +standpoint. Apart from some sonorous phrases in which he +recommends them to be queens, but in submission to their +husbands, or to practise good social economy in relation to +their dressmakers, it may be said that he did not understand +the charm of women, and that he felt no attraction +for their particular beauty. When he speaks of beauty, +whether in regard to modern painters or to the Greeks, it is +always in general terms, without indicating in any way +whether the feminine expression of the beautiful has for +him a special signification. In his enthusiasm for the +aesthetics of the Middle Ages he even admires masculine +beauty above all: his type in that case is the beauty of +a stalwart knight.</p> + +<p>M. Bourget, for example, has more clearly conceived and +accurately interpreted the necessity of harmony with Nature; +his sensations or sentiments approximate to the philosophy +of the Renaissance, and reflect the spirit of penetrating +sweetness which women had undertaken to develop.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_500">[500]</span></p> + +<p>“The sincere acceptance of the inevitable,” he says, +“supposes a love for the inevitable, the consciousness, and +not merely the idea, that this obscure universe has a +mysterious and kindly signification. In the depths of +our sensibility there exists an indestructible craving that +this world shall contain something wherewith to satisfy our +heart, since this heart is the world’s own child; and the +pure and guileless men whose ever young and tender +spirits speak to us across the ages—Francis of Assisi, +Savonarola, those who believed in this bountiful kindness +of the universe, as they breathed, as they lived, with the +whole of their being—these appear to us in a state of +unanswerable protest against the nihilism with which we +are stifled. They become the accomplices in us of a faith +which is hardly conscious of itself, and sometimes seeks its +way with tears. ‘Thou wouldst not seek me,’ says the +Saviour in the beautiful <i>Mystery of Jesus</i>, ‘if thou hadst +not found me.’ Is this phenomenon far from that other +mysterious one which true believers call prayer?”</p> + +<p>We can, we must love Nature, because God has placed +her all about us, and because happiness consists in living +with what we love. We love things that are not ideally +perfect, in other words, which are not superlatively +beautiful, because happiness presents itself to us under an +essentially relative aspect, and because there is no one but +lays claim to it. It is not even a question of loving +beautiful things, then, but, as we said, of loving what is +beautiful in things.</p> + +<p>In real life, to be sure, unpleasant things are as common +as blackberries, while pleasant things are few and far +between. Nevertheless the truth of the system of happiness +through love is proved by its efficacy. Just as the pure +platonist, penetrated by his glorious ideal, is cold, unprofitable, +and unhappy, the man who loves is conscious of being +filled with strength and light. To love is to have real and +ardent emotions instead of locking oneself in the icy sentimentalism +of reasoning or of false mysticism; it is to +become a wellspring of sweetness, kindliness, activity, a +mainstay of the world: it is to sow life with flowers, to +bestow happiness and to possess it. Though placed by birth +in a refractory medium, Ruskin, in spite of his insufficiencies, +contradictions, weaknesses, lacunae, has exercised a profound +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_501">[501]</span>influence, while the platonism of Ficino and Bembo, +in a land of high sensibility, amongst incomparable artists +and charming women, stifled everything and throttled +itself.</p> + +<p>There are, spread over the world, two unequal races which, +living continually side by side, yet never understand each +other and never blend—the race of pride, and the race of +vanity. Pride tends to enthusiasm and advancement; it +would be well to have proud women. Unhappily men, no +matter who they are, do not love them, but much prefer the +feeble and the vain.</p> + +<p>Yet the efforts of the Renaissance women have not been +wholly wasted. Those noble women sowed for the future, +and the germ subsists.</p> + +<p>Nor can it be said that their defeat was absolute. To +form a sound judgment on the question we should have to +be able (failures being invariably more noticeable than +successes) to gauge the mysterious, secret operations of +their grace; to number the despondent men cheered by a +kind word or a glance of pity or affection; to fathom the +resources, in truth unfathomable, possessed by the spirit of +love even when pure, and possessed by it alone. Women +of great soul, the Vittoria Colonnas of the world, have +drawn from it results almost miraculous; and many others, +without turning themselves into a sort of celestial dancing-mistresses, +or becoming lost in worthless caprices, have +given us reason to hope that, what with labour and +earnestness and dignity, the end of their usefulness will not +be seen for many a long day.</p> + +<p>In short, they took the lead in the profoundest revolution +we have ever experienced; from Louis XI. they led us to +the boudoirs of the 18th century.</p> + +<p>We can give their work neither unqualified praise nor +condemnation. But we can praise many of these high-souled +women—praise them for having seen and followed +their star, though they at first sight may not have recognised +the more excellent way. With all our reservations, we feel +their spell upon us, because they were interesting, sincere, +devoted, eminently tender, eminently feminine. We can +commend them to the sympathy of those many ladies of +our own day who, as we know, are also seeking their +path, and even their star.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_502">[502]</span></p> + +<p>Some of my readers may not approve of this conclusion: +some will think it optimistic, others pessimistic: in such +matters contradiction is easy. Will they allow me to reply +in advance that such criticisms would not surprise me? +More than once I myself have recast this book, now in the +optimistic direction, now in the pessimistic: a simple +historian, in contact with subtle, fleeting, elusive shades, with +women I sought to see through; as independent as a man +may be, in presence of beauties for three centuries in the +grave, when he is grey with years, sated with the two great +spectacles which, according to Montaigne, quiet the soul—the +sight of government, the sight of death,—I would ever +and anon catch myself understanding their witchery, enthralled +to their charm, or else hating their charm, unjustly; +and then, at the moment when I fancied I could at last +write my <i>veni, vidi, vici</i>, the ideas slipped from my book +like water through a sieve. It is thus I have acquired +the right of loving these dear ghosts.</p> + +<p>And now adieu, princesses, cease to tempt us beyond our +powers! Only continue to live amongst us! Our age is very +masculine, your spiritualism pays us but angel visits now!—you +have been driven in a thousand ways to learn what a +soulless commercialism is like. And yet, in your better, +spiritual part, you are with us always. We have lovable +and accomplished women, we have women in a true sense +aristocratic, whose hearts are capable of enthusiasm and +heroic charities; there have been some whose names even live +after them as synonyms of intelligence and goodness. We +have our Margarets of Savoy, and, in goodly numbers, women +whose moral bearing surpasses that of men; we have even +women of energy, and also, it is said, of tenderness. The day +when they proudly resume the motto <i>Non inferiora secutus</i>, +and when to their eminent good qualities they add the talent +of being themselves, the will to speak in their own true +accents rather than a borrowed tongue, they will give us +back our illusions, and with them what was not illusion.</p> + +<p>Let them renounce public life! But let them take complete +possession of the home life. Let mannish women, if +they must, turn doctors, and womanish women turn +priests! Let all be philosophers, comforters, ministers of love +human and divine; let them work through love, and love +through love! Let them have what we lack, let them excel +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_503">[503]</span>us, enlighten us, encourage us! And in our hearts we Latins +shall bless them, as we bless the sun. Passion is a warrant-royal +of life.</p> + +<p>The moral of our book is that good women should love +the beautiful, and that virtue can be neither tiresome nor +torpid.</p> + +<p>There is no need to be always a maiden of twelve. True +sweetness, true goodness, true love come, not of naïveté or +feebleness, but of intelligence and personal force.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="footnotes"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES</h2> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Madame Vincent has reminded us, in an interesting memoir, that ladies +at one time sat as peers of France.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> As administrative authority depended on territorial possessions, it was +quite natural that women should exercise it on occasion. The village gilds, +though composed of men, sometimes elected a woman as president.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> “The history of marriage is the history of a relation in which women +have gradually triumphed over the passions, prejudices, and selfish interests +of men: that is the picture of true progress.” (F. Brunetière.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> An Italian caricature of about the year 1450 (repeated by the French in +the sixteenth century) gives a satirical representation of women violently +struggling to wear trunk-hose.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> [The manual of religious instruction given to French girls on attaining +the age of twelve.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> Clément Marot on the motto of Madame de Lorraine:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[If love fail, faith is surely slain;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If faith die, love flies hence amain;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So in one motto link the twain—</div> + <div class="verse indent4"><i>Faith and love</i>.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> One of the most distinguished women of Italy to-day, the Countess +Pasolini, assures us that the great influence still exercised by women in +Italy springs from their approximating more closely than men to +fifteenth-century ideas.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> We may say, in passing, that the Italianism of the end of the fifteenth +century, usually regarded as originating with the Italian expedition of +Charles VIII., really goes back to Louis XI. Louis was Italian in education +and tastes. Italians flocked into France during his reign.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> Cornelius Vitelli, styled Corythius by the public, came to France in +1482, for the simple reason that his own country had become unsafe for +him. We have not many details about him or about his colleague, Girolamo +Balbi, a pompous and quarrelsome character. A third Italian, Fausto +Andrelini, made his appearance in 1488, under the auspices of the Marquis +of Mantua. Andrelini, who lived very comfortably at Paris till his death +in 1518, had no other effects than the memories of a little love-affair, which +he confided to us in three books of verses, his “pages of youth,” as we +should say to-day. Exiled, penniless, almost naked, but a poet, he was, as +soon as he arrived, petted, adopted, and idolised, the favourite of Chancellor +Guillaume de Rochefort and of fortune.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> Fausto Andrelini was the object of incredible adulation; Erasmus, wise +man, simply calls him “divine,” but some did not hesitate to proclaim that +“he alone had rendered France filled instead of famishing, cultivated instead +of waste, verdant instead of barren, Latin instead of barbarous.” One of the +noblest characters of the time, Guillaume Budé, actually dedicated to him +this amazing epitaph: “Here lies Fausto. If the Fates had not given him +to us, Gaeta herself would not have been more barbarous than France.” +But he was no sooner buried than everyone regarded him as a knave.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> John Ruskin.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> [The most prolific and popular eclogue writer of the fifteenth century +(1436-1516).</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“As the moste famous Baptist Mantuan,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The best of that sort since Poetes first began.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>Alexander Barclay.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Erasmus went so far as to match him with Virgil.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> [The celebrated cabalistic philosopher (1486-1535). He stayed for a +time with Dean Colet in London. He wrote a book <i>De Nobilitate feminei +sexus</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> An extract from the marriage of Peregrino will give an idea of the +Romance (Book I., cap. i., p. 32):</p> + +<p>“There standing and awaiting the wished-for end, I heard the voice of a +minister of Jupiter, who, regarding both of us, thus spake: ‘Peregrino, +and you Geneva, are you clear and free from every manifest or secret bond?’ +‘We are free, nor anywhit bounden?’—<i>Minister</i>: ‘Are you not conjoined +in affinity?’ <i>Peregrino and Geneva</i>: ‘Naught in affinity, and little in +amity!’ <i>Minister</i>: ‘Have you promised marriage or betrothal to any other +man or woman?’ <i>Peregrino and Geneva</i>: ‘No, never.’ <i>Minister</i>: ‘Are +you by common consent disposed to celebrate this present holy sacrament +of matrimony?’ <i>Peregrino and Geneva</i>: ‘We wish it heartily and in faith.’ +<i>Minister</i>: ‘Thee, woman, give I to him, and Peregrino will put on the ring.’</p> + +<p>“Having done his bidding, as it is the wont, we sat ourselves down,” +and a tender conversation ensues between the two spouses.</p> + +<p>“O matchless eloquence!” cries Peregrino, “O thrice lucky hour! O +blessed day! O my hope in the sovran guerdon vouchsafed to me! With +thee, sweet my dame, love, and gentleness, and discretion, and prudence +have their habitation, in thee every good thing doth lie hid. Thou art very +music, of all discords the harmony. In all parts I find thee whole and +perfect. Thou art abundant in all humanity and sweetness, and in thy +making the lord and maker of heaven hath created the true copy and +sovran revelation of all things.” The couple dream their souls away in +these platonic effusions. The bride is bedded there and then, and the +author omits no detail. The sun is already high when a young maidservant +ventures to come in and light a fire of twigs.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> [The quotation is taken from the <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 40. There the +lady is named Nomerfide, whom the author identifies with a certain +Mlle de Clermont.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> “<i>Anna</i>: The maiden invokes with all her prayers the sweets of wedlock, +and yet with the first amorous intoxication begin the woes of the conjugal +bed; the woman is scarce nestled upon the heart of the man than with +one consent they long for separation. <i>Phyllis</i>: Anna, little it recks me +that thou decriest the bonds of wedlock and the crabbed sour race of +men; my heart is a-fire with love and I am tormented with thirst for +marriage.... I deem it better far to marry betimes; wedlock is a +refuge where modesty may shelter herself.”—(J. Cats, pp. 6, 7, 16.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 21.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> [As these royal ladies are constantly cited in subsequent pages, the +reader will allow us to remind him once for all of their relationships. +Louise of Savoy was the wife of Charles, Count d’Angoulême, cousin-german +of Louis XII., and the mother of Francis I. and of Margaret of +Valois. She was a passionate and masterful woman and completely ruled +her son, and her greed and intriguing spirit brought disaster upon France. +Anne of France, also known as Anne of Beaujeu, was the eldest daughter +of Louis XI., and wife of Pierre II. of Bourbon. She was virtual ruler of +France during the first eight years of the reign of her brother Charles VIII.: +see further Book III., chapter i. She is connected with English history in +so far as it was largely her money that financed Henry of Richmond’s +successful enterprise against Richard III.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> No law in the world had yet authorised them to marry “without the +knowledge, advice, and consent of their fathers” (Rabelais).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> The good Anne of France, married to a husband much older than herself, +had in her life a romance which has escaped notice. She was fond of +her first fiancé:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Le prédit duc de Calabre, famé,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">En l’espousant luy donna ung aneau,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Non de grant pris; mais si fut il amé</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De par la dame et plus chier estimé</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qu’or ny argent, ne bague, ne joiau</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qu’elle garda, mieulx que plus riche et beau,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Jusque a la mort, c’est vérité patente....”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[“Calabria’s foresaid duke, a prince of fame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Plighted his troth and gave his bride a ring,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of no great price, I wot, but yet the dame</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Loved him so dear, so high esteemed his name</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As never gold nor any precious thing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Silver nor gem, did her more pleasure bring,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Until her death. ’Tis very truth I tell.”]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The duke died six years after the betrothal,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Qui fust ung deul qui bien tost ne passa,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mais grefvement poingnit et trepersa</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Le noble cueur de la jeune espousée.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Par quoy, tost fust la chose disposée</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qu’aultre mari prendroit notable et bon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ung sien prochain, feu Pierre de Bourbon.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[“And ’twas a sorrow that not soon did pass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But smote fell sore and heavily, alas!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The noble heart of this young winsome bride.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nathless, ere yet her brimming tears were dried,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Another mate was found her, good and high,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pierre de Bourbon, of her own family.”]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">But the princess clung to the ring of her former lover, symbol of</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Loyalle amour dont estoit anoblie ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">... En cest aneau que luy avoit doné</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Son amy mort, voullut Pierre espouser.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[“Of loyal love’s ennobling influence.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And with this ring, gift of her lover dead,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Would she her husband Pierre de Bourbon wed,”]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">in order to preserve the memory of him whom God, in his unfathomable +designs, had seen fit to take from her—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Pour petit cueur, d’une jeune pucelle,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bien garde est d’amour honneste</div> + <div class="verse indent0">C’est quant jamais ne varie ou chancelle ...”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>Poème inédit de La Vauguyon.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[“To the sweet guileless heart of tender maid</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis surety of a chaste and noble love</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That changeth never, nor will ever fade.”]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The princess was as pure a woman as any of whom we have any account, +but the author dwells on this innocent romance in order to keep her +memory alive in the hearts of lovers.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">[21]</a> [Vittoria Colonna (1490-1547) was the most illustrious member of an +old and illustrious Roman family said to derive its name from the <i>column</i> +to which Christ was bound for His scourging. At the age of seventeen +she married the Marquis of Pescara, and when he died of wounds received +at Pavia (1525) she refused many offers of marriage, and devoted herself to +literature and works of piety. She wrote poems in imitation of Petrarch.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">[22]</a> [Tiraqueau was the learned and genial seneschal of Fontenoy who +released Rabelais from the tender mercies of the Franciscans, for which +kindness he was eulogised in <i>Pantagruel</i>. He had a large family, wrote +many books, and was a water drinker; whence an anonymous epigram +which, roughly rendered in English, reads:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Tiraqueau, fruitful as the vine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Got thirty sons, but drank no wine;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not less prolific with the pen,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Produced as many books as men.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And had not water sapped his strength,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So strenuous a man at length</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Had filled this world of ours—who knows?—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With books and little Tiraqueaux.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">[23]</a> [A famous physician of Lyons (1471-1540), who founded the College of +Medicine there. He was also a man of action and a writer, and his <i>Nef +des dames vertueuses</i> made him so popular with the ladies that he had to +choose back ways to avoid affectionate mobbing.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">[24]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Ainsi, comme j’ayme m’amye,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cinq, six, sept heures et demye</div> + <div class="verse indent0">L’entretiendray, voyre dix ans,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sans avoir paour des médisants,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et sans danger de ma personne.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—Clément Marot, <i>Dialogue nouveau</i>.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Thus, as I love my doxy dear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Five, six, seven hours, nay full ten year</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’ll court her, free from fear of slander:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And scatheless—for I but philander.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">[25]</a> [The great general (1460-1525) who served Charles VIII., Louis XII., and +Francis I. He conquered Lombardy for Charles, and was killed at Pavia.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">[26]</a> [See <a href="#BOOK_II_CHAPTER_V">Book II., cap. v</a>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="label">[27]</a> [<i>i.e.</i> Catherine Sforza, the natural daughter of Galeazzo Sforza, Duke of +Milan. She married the prince of Forli, and on his assassination by rebels +was thrown into prison with her children. But hearing that Rimini held +out for her against all assaults, she offered to carry in person an order for +its capitulation. On arriving before the city, however, she bade the rebels +lay down their arms, and cowed them by sheer force of character. She +married later Giovanni de’ Medici, father of Cosimo. She defended Forli +against Caesar Borgia, but was captured, and imprisoned in S. Angelo; +thence escaping, she retired to Florence, and soon afterwards died there.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="label">[28]</a> The countess’s lover.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_29" href="#FNanchor_29" class="label">[29]</a> [Egnazio, a fellow-pupil of Leo X., teacher of eloquence and editor of +Ovid and Cicero, etc.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_30" href="#FNanchor_30" class="label">[30]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 25.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_31" href="#FNanchor_31" class="label">[31]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 25.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_32" href="#FNanchor_32" class="label">[32]</a> [The Yorick of French literature: see Victor Hugo’s <i>Le Roi s’amuse</i>. +When Panurge has vainly sought advice from everyone else on the momentous +question, ‘to marry or not to marry?’ he tries Triboulet, who sends +him to consult the oracle of the Divine Bottle (Rabelais, <i>Gargantua</i>, +Book III.). Triboulet was court jester to Louis XII. and Francis I.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_33" href="#FNanchor_33" class="label">[33]</a> [Of the early part of the 17th century. Her chief work is the <i>Angoisses +douloureuses qui procèdent l’amour</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_34" href="#FNanchor_34" class="label">[34]</a> A large number of these <i>cassoni</i> exists. One of the most beautiful that +can be mentioned represents the story of Esther (Chantilly gallery). The +author possesses one that represents Filippo Maria Visconti before the +Emperor.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_35" href="#FNanchor_35" class="label">[35]</a> Two days after his marriage, Girolamo Riario sent his bride a casket +containing diamond necklaces and robes of gold brocade and of velvet, +embroidered with fine pearls; one robe alone carried nearly 3000 pearls; +there was also a purse of gold, silver-embroidered girdles, etc.—(Pasolini.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_36" href="#FNanchor_36" class="label">[36]</a> <i>Anna Karenina.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_37" href="#FNanchor_37" class="label">[37]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Y cuidez-vous avoir repos</div> + <div class="verse indent0">En mariage, mes mignons?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ouy dea!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[“And think you then to find repose</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In marriage bonds, my jolly joes?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Heigh ho!”]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">chuckles Roger de Collérye, addressing himself here, however, to men.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_38" href="#FNanchor_38" class="label">[38]</a> “It ought to be a voluptuousness somewhat circumspect and conscientious.... +Is not a man a miserable creature? He is scarce come to +his own strength by his natural condition, to taste one only complete, +entire and pure pleasure, but he laboureth by discourse to cut it off: he is +not wretched enough except by art and study he augment his misery.” +(<i>Montaigne</i>, bk. i. cap. xxix. [Florio’s translation]).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_39" href="#FNanchor_39" class="label">[39]</a> [Elder sister (1492-1549) of Francis I., and head of the Renaissance +party in France. Her character is elaborately analysed in subsequent +pages of this book. The quotations under her name are from the <i>Heptameron</i>, +and the poems of which she is the reputed author.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_40" href="#FNanchor_40" class="label">[40]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 40.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_41" href="#FNanchor_41" class="label">[41]</a> [Baldassare Castiglione (1478-1529), the author of the famous <i>Book of the +Courtier</i>, Hoby’s translation of which has been recently added to Mr. Henley’s +‘Tudor Translations.’ This book is frequently quoted from and alluded to +in the following pages. It purports to be a record of conversations held at +the Court of Guidobaldo, Duke of Urbino (1472-1508), upon the qualities +that make up the perfect courtier, and many other subjects incidentally. +The chief interlocutors who are mentioned in these pages, are the duchess, +Elizabeth Gonzaga; Cardinal Pietro Bembo (1470-1547), of so fastidious a +taste as to revise his works forty times, the author of <i>Gli Asolani</i>, dialogues +on platonic love; Bibbiena; and the coarse and dissolute Pietro Aretino, +called Unico (1492-1557), who alternately satirised and sponged on the +great; he wrote several witty and indecent comedies, and his letters throw +much light on the social life of his time. The reader will find some +specimens of his work <i>La Cortigiana</i> (the Courtesan) quoted in Burton’s +<i>Anatomy of Melancholy</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_42" href="#FNanchor_42" class="label">[42]</a> The abate Serassi has preserved it: “My dear husband, I have got a +little daughter, for which I think you will not be sorry. I have been much +worse than last time, and, as I wrote you, I have had three attacks of very +high fever. To-day, however, I am feeling better, and hope to have no +more trouble. I will not try to write any longer, lest I be over bold. +With all my heart I commend myself to your lordship. Your wife, who +a little <i>starocca</i> with pain. Mantua, August 20, 1520.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_43" href="#FNanchor_43" class="label">[43]</a> [The duke’s health was ruined by early excesses; Castiglione says ‘gout.’]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_44" href="#FNanchor_44" class="label">[44]</a> [Paolo Giovio, Italian historian (1483-1552), an interesting but untrustworthy +writer. As Brantôme puts it, he used two pens, one of gold, +the other of iron, according as the princes he served treated him!]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_45" href="#FNanchor_45" class="label">[45]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 68.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_46" href="#FNanchor_46" class="label">[46]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Prologue and Tale 45.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_47" href="#FNanchor_47" class="label">[47]</a> By ‘amateurs’ we mean men who, while not professionally qualified, +have leisure to devote to extended scientific study. In our own day, as is +well known, M. Pasteur and M. Claude Bernard would not be entitled to +give professional advice.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_48" href="#FNanchor_48" class="label">[48]</a> [Mistress of Henri II., an imperious and avaricious woman, but a +generous patron of the arts. See Hugo’s <i>Le Roi s’amuse</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_49" href="#FNanchor_49" class="label">[49]</a> “I affirm not but I may one day be drawn to such fond opinions, and +yield my life and health to the mercy, discretion, and regimen of physicians,” +says Montaigne. “I may haply fall into this fond madness; I +cannot answer for my future constancy. But even then, if any ask me +how I do, I may answer him as did Pericles, ‘You may judge by that.’” +(Bk. II. chap, xxxvii.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_50" href="#FNanchor_50" class="label">[50]</a> “O heavenly physician!” cries St. Theresa, “thou dost resemble +only in name these physicians on earth! Thou visitest the sick without +summons, and more gladly the poor than the rich.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_51" href="#FNanchor_51" class="label">[51]</a> Doctors, further, had to take orders and were not allowed to marry.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_52" href="#FNanchor_52" class="label">[52]</a> [An Italian writer (1508-1568) who “wrote in all styles but excelled in +none.” He wrote two dialogues on matrimony and the misadventures of +husbands.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_53" href="#FNanchor_53" class="label">[53]</a> Savonarola, who fought in vain against the vogue of astrology (<i>Opus +singulare contra l’astrologia</i>: a woodcut represents him disputing with an +astrologer), ridicules the Roman prelates who never moved a step without +consulting their astrologer. The great soldiers and sovereign princes, +such as Lodovico Sforza and Francesco di Gonzaga, were no whit different. +In princely houses a physician who would not condescend to practise +astrology led a sorry life. He points to his phials in vain; “against death +he has no medicine”; while the astrologer, a man of position, handsome, +fat, well-fed, rich, gazes into the boundless heavens (<i>Dance of Death</i>); +there was no profession more lucrative than astrology, none more tempting +to ambition. It lent itself to dramatic effects. First the astrologer was +usually a foreigner, no man having honour in his own country—an Italian +or German, or, better still, a Moor or Gipsy. He puts on airs and keeps +his clients waiting. If someone sends him a birth date, to have his horoscope +cast, he sends no reply; his eyes are so fatigued by constant watching! +he is so tired! And the awestruck princesses in the waiting-room say to +one another that patience is necessary with “such geniuses.” And the +stars were put to marvellous uses.</p> + +<p>Bonaventure des Périers relates the amusing story of a physician of Paris, +who, alleging high astrological reasons, never showed any amiability to +his wife except on rainy days. The despairing lady at last hit upon a +very simple expedient: every evening she had a tub of water emptied on +the roof so as to produce the sound of a shower in the gutter-spout, and it +rained every day! At this game the physician came off second-best and +died; and his widow, who found herself very well off, was besieged with +numerous offers. She incontinently sent all the physicians packing, then +asked her other suitors if they were familiar with the moon and stars. +Everyone thought it well to make solemn affirmation that he was, and +received his <i>congé</i>. There was only one who was simple enough to confess +that his science was limited to taking moon and stars to witness when +he went to bed. He gained the day (<i>Contes et Récréations</i>, Tale 95). No +glory was wanting to astrology; physicians and savants practised, defended, +and taught it; great nobles gave it their patronage. Marshal Trivulce +accepted the dedication of Pirovano’s <i>Defence of Astrology</i>. The science +numbered eminent adepts. Luther made use of it in support of his doctrines. +Michel Servet, after vainly trying theology and medicine, began to profess +transcendental astrology; he foretold eclipses, plagues, wars, and the +deaths of potentates; he achieved a very great success, pupils drank in his +instruction. Unhappily the jealous Faculty directed him to return to the +natural sciences and give up the “Almanac.” Servet then turned geographer, +and it was not long before he went back into the religious mêlée. +The <i>Atlas of Astrologers</i>, one of the most curious monuments of moral +derangement, enumerates a crowd of astrologers, among them the Sibyls of +the Vatican and King Alfonso of Naples.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_54" href="#FNanchor_54" class="label">[54]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Wing’d spirits, who the middle space</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twixt earth and highest heaven possess,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">God’s scouts, the outposts of his grace.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_55" href="#FNanchor_55" class="label">[55]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Unnumbered cords, frail strands full fraught with pain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That join the soul to things of time and sense.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_56" href="#FNanchor_56" class="label">[56]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The body’s ruled by your command,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like clay beneath the potter’s hand.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_57" href="#FNanchor_57" class="label">[57]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And this your will and pleasure, stars!</div> + <div class="center">...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In vain doth man at eve and morn</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Torment you with his useless prayer;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Fate sweeps him on, he knows not where,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As billows on the stream are borne.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_58" href="#FNanchor_58" class="label">[58]</a> <i>Les Evangiles des quenouilles</i> promise to a wife a son or a daughter +according as she loves battle stories or has longings for dancing and music.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_59" href="#FNanchor_59" class="label">[59]</a> One of the greatest ladies of the time, Marie de Luxembourg, Countess +of Vendôme, lived on an annual income of 16,000 livres.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_60" href="#FNanchor_60" class="label">[60]</a> Book III.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_61" href="#FNanchor_61" class="label">[61]</a> [“To the Mistletoe! the New Year!” The cry of Breton peasants, +“begging small presents or New-Year’s gifts, an ancient tearm of rejoycing +derived from the Druides, who were wont, the first day of January, to go +into the woods, where having sacrificed and banquetted together, they +gathered mistletow, esteeming it excellent to make beasts fruitful, and +most sovereign against all poyson” (Cotgrave). From a patois corruption +the Scots <i>Hogmanay</i> is said to be derived.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_62" href="#FNanchor_62" class="label">[62]</a> She provided for so many maidens “by way of marriage, and had so +great care of them, that she deserved to be named their mother.”—<i>La +Vauguyon.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_63" href="#FNanchor_63" class="label">[63]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Quattuor sunt que mulieres summe cupiunt:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A formosis amari juvenibus,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pollere filiis pluribus,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ornari preciosis vestibus,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et dominari pre ceteris in domibus.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>Tractaculi sive opusculi.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>[“Four things there are that women eagerly covet: to be loved by +handsome youths; to be good for many sons; to be decked out in costly +array; and to rule the roost.”]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_64" href="#FNanchor_64" class="label">[64]</a> Montaigne relates that he was put out to nurse with peasants, “and +brought up in the humblest and most ordinary way of life.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_65" href="#FNanchor_65" class="label">[65]</a> Montaigne, Bk. II., cap. iii.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_66" href="#FNanchor_66" class="label">[66]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Daughter and son gave her obedience,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stored full of wit and virtue and good sense.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_67" href="#FNanchor_67" class="label">[67]</a> Maffeo Vegio, a disciple and the biographer of St. Bernardin of Sienna, +secretary of Pope Martin V., was a very eminent humanist at the beginning +of the 16th century. He added a supplementary book to the <i>Aeneid</i>. He +was ranked much higher than Petrarch. The book cited, <i>De educatione +liberorum et eorum claris moribus</i>, often republished since 1491 and issued +in a French translation in 1508, is a very remarkable work, and exercised +a great influence. It seems, however, to have escaped the researches of +the historians of education.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_68" href="#FNanchor_68" class="label">[68]</a> [Jean Lemaire de Belges (1475-1548), historian and poet. His chief +works quoted from in these pages are: <i>Illustrations et singularités des Gaules</i> +and <i>Le Temple d’honneur et de vertus</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_69" href="#FNanchor_69" class="label">[69]</a> Montaigne.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_70" href="#FNanchor_70" class="label">[70]</a> [A friend of Calvin, and a professor, who reduced himself to beggary +by his unselfish efforts to improve the educational methods of his day +(1479-1559).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_71" href="#FNanchor_71" class="label">[71]</a> [A cardinal, and an ardent humanist (1477-1547). He took Cicero for +his model, and wrote moral philosophy and poetry. The work here alluded +to is his <i>Paedotropia</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_72" href="#FNanchor_72" class="label">[72]</a> [Vivès accompanied Catherine of Aragon to England as her tutor and +chaplain. Siding with her on the divorce question, he had to leave the +country. His works were published at Basle in 1555.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_73" href="#FNanchor_73" class="label">[73]</a> He admits astrology among the exact sciences.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_74" href="#FNanchor_74" class="label">[74]</a> [Ulrich von Hütten (1488-1523), friend of Luther and one of the most +energetic of the Reformers, by turns soldier, poet, theologian, and politician. +He is alluded to <i>passim</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_75" href="#FNanchor_75" class="label">[75]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 18.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_76" href="#FNanchor_76" class="label">[76]</a> [A 16th century scholar who in an amusing book called <i>Apologie pour +Hérodote</i> made an elaborate attack on the clergy of his day.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_77" href="#FNanchor_77" class="label">[77]</a> “My pupils do just as they please; most of the time they are digging +the soil,” writes an unlucky tutor, referring to the dauphin of France; “I +have grave doubts whether they’ll be fit for anything better.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_78" href="#FNanchor_78" class="label">[78]</a> Numerous Latin dialogues were written for children in France and +Germany.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_79" href="#FNanchor_79" class="label">[79]</a> Montaigne.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_80" href="#FNanchor_80" class="label">[80]</a> “My daughter is of the age wherein the laws excuse the forwardest to +marry. She is of a slow, nice, and mild complexion, and hath accordingly +been brought up by her mother in a retired and particular manner, so that +she beginneth but now to put off childish simplicity.” (Montaigne.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_81" href="#FNanchor_81" class="label">[81]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Quid tibi praecipiam molles vitare fenestras?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Ad culpas aditum laxa fenestra facit.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Libera mens, captiva tamen sint lumina, quando</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Hanc animo invenit saeva libido viam.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cogite fallaceis, animus ne peccet, ocellos,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Cogite, libertas ne peritura cadat.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pellite materiam, primasque extinguite flammas.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Pontanus, <i>De Liberis</i>.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>[“Why should I admonish thee to shun the seduction of windows? An +unbolted casement is the door to vice. Keep the mind free, but the eyes in +durance, since concupiscence discovers this way to the soul. Restrain thy +eyes from tricks lest thy soul sin; yea, lest thy liberty fall and perish. +Thrust away the fuel, and extinguish the beginnings of flame.”]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_82" href="#FNanchor_82" class="label">[82]</a> [A disciple of Thomas Aquinas: he died in 1316.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_83" href="#FNanchor_83" class="label">[83]</a> [The famous mystic and theologian (1363-1429), who so stoutly opposed +scholasticism, astrology and magic. The <i>Imitation of Christ</i> has been +ascribed to him.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_84" href="#FNanchor_84" class="label">[84]</a> “Take care of your daughters; let them be always at home, gentle, +pious, scorning money and outward adornments. And thus you will +preserve not only these young girls, but the men who will one day wed +them, and you will assure a good posterity from a healthy stock.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_85" href="#FNanchor_85" class="label">[85]</a> “From a braying mule and a girl who speaks Latin, good Lord, deliver +us.” (Bouchot.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_86" href="#FNanchor_86" class="label">[86]</a> It was to an expert in high culture that Renée of France entrusted her +daughters, in the person of Olympia Morata, who was noted for the eloquent +Latin and Greek discourses she delivered as a precocious child of thirteen. +While still under fifteen, Olympia’s pupils were sufficiently advanced to +act a comedy of Terence before the pope. This education by means of the +theatre was completed with serious readings in Ovid and Cicero, and the +final polish was given by a Greek monk of known liberal views, Francesco +Porto. There was no idleness or melancholy here.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_87" href="#FNanchor_87" class="label">[87]</a> [An Italian poet, pupil of Pontanus (1488-1530). The <i>Arcadia</i>, his chief +poem, ran into sixty editions.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_88" href="#FNanchor_88" class="label">[88]</a> Montaigne (who, however, deduces from these premises altogether +different conclusions).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_89" href="#FNanchor_89" class="label">[89]</a> “Let us retard the age of marriage,” cries M. Legouvé, “if we wish +girls to exercise free choice and live free lives.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_90" href="#FNanchor_90" class="label">[90]</a> [<i>Praeter naturam est, feminam in masculos habere imperium.</i> (Erasmus.) +“’Tis against nature for a woman to have rule over males.”] “I allow +woman to learn; to teach, never.” (Bruno.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_91" href="#FNanchor_91" class="label">[91]</a> [A poet of Lyons, who lived about the middle of the sixteenth century.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_92" href="#FNanchor_92" class="label">[92]</a> [One of the most active of the Italian humanists (1380-1459). He +brought many ancient <span class="allsmcap">MSS.</span> to Rome, and translated Xenophon and other +Greek writers. His <i>conti</i> are as obscene as some of Boccaccio’s.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_93" href="#FNanchor_93" class="label">[93]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent12">Nil est simplicitate prius.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Haec placet; haud ulla est quaesitae gratia formae,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Quae studio peccas, simplicitate places,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nulla est ornandi, nulla est, mihi crede, parandi</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Gloria, naturae est forma, nec artis opus;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ars odio digna est, ubi nullo fine tenetur.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Pontanus, <i>De amore conjugali</i>.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>[“Nothing comes before simplicity. That is pleasing; there is no grace +in artificial beauty. By artifice thou wilt err, by simplicity thou wilt +please. There is no glory in adornment, none, believe me, in farding +oneself; beauty is the work of nature, not of art. Art is hateful when +not kept within bounds.”]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_94" href="#FNanchor_94" class="label">[94]</a> [A vigorous and witty social satirist (1421-1510).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_95" href="#FNanchor_95" class="label">[95]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Some maidens, in their modest way,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With fools their garters stake at play.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_96" href="#FNanchor_96" class="label">[96]</a> Nifo sincerely admires princesses who go to their husbands <i>virgines +intactae</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_97" href="#FNanchor_97" class="label">[97]</a> [A doctor of the Sorbonne and a Dominican (1443-1514). In one of his +sermons occurs the story of the church bells, repeated by Rabelais à propos +of the marriage of Panurge.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_98" href="#FNanchor_98" class="label">[98]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[A woman, a dog, and a walnut tree,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The more you beat ’em, the better they be.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_99" href="#FNanchor_99" class="label">[99]</a> In the long run the best things become wearisome: men at last believe +they are sacrificing themselves. “Christ died only once for His church; +we die every day for our wives,” is the heartfelt cry of a husband; to +which a lady retorts: “Go to the wars, then, and lie for a month on the +bare ground; and you won’t be sorry to get back to your good bed! Men +only appreciate their comforts when they’ve lost them.” (<i>Heptameron</i>, +Tale 54.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_100" href="#FNanchor_100" class="label">[100]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Femme bonne qui a mauvais mari</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A souvent le cœur marry.</div> + <div class="center">...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Femme aime tant comme elle peut,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et homme comme il veut.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>L. de Lincy.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>[A good woman with a bad husband has often a sore heart.... Woman +loves as much as she can; man as much as he will.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_101" href="#FNanchor_101" class="label">[101]</a> A woman, irritated at her husband reading in bed, calls out to the +servant: “Ah well! Bring me my distaff!” (Billon, <i>Le Fort inexpugnable +de l’honneur du sexe féminin</i>).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_102" href="#FNanchor_102" class="label">[102]</a> “He who loves not him by whom he is loved is regarded as a homicide, +and not merely a homicide, but a committer of sacrilege and a thief.” +(Champier, <i>De vraye Amour</i>).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_103" href="#FNanchor_103" class="label">[103]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Il se commence à soucyer</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et à chagrin s’associer.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Il plaint la teste, puis les dents,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et a les oreilles pendans</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ne plus ne moins comme un lymier.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>R. de Collérye.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[He begins to fume and fret,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Becomes sworn brother to regret;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Headache, toothache he bemoans,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Chapfallen he sighs and groans.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_104" href="#FNanchor_104" class="label">[104]</a> <i>Dialogus de matrimonia.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_105" href="#FNanchor_105" class="label">[105]</a> “You have been to seek a little school-miss, an angel who dared not lift +her eyes, and who to all appearance was candour to the finger-tips.... +She was thinking things over: she was enticing you into her trap, because +your rank and fortune suited her, but determined at the bottom of her soul +to give you a ‘combing’ later: she says in confidence to her friends, ‘randy +steeds need breaking in’.” (Jean d’Ivry: <i>Les Secretz et Loix de mariage</i>).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_106" href="#FNanchor_106" class="label">[106]</a> [Title of a brilliant comedy by Emile Augier and Jules Sandeau, produced +in 1854. M. Poirier is a wealthy retired cloth merchant who has +married his daughter to a spendthrift marquis in the hope of getting a +peerage through his influence.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_107" href="#FNanchor_107" class="label">[107]</a> [Charles had been solemnly betrothed to the daughter of Maximilian of +Austria, and Anne of Brittany had been wedded by proxy to Maximilian +himself. Both repudiated their contracts, and their alliance united Brittany +to the crown of France.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_108" href="#FNanchor_108" class="label">[108]</a> Cf. the following ballad by Alione:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui veut ouir belle chanson</div> + <div class="verse indent0">D’une fillette de Lyon</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui d’amour fut requise,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">En venant de l’église.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mais elle en fut reprise!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Un bon copain lui voulut donner</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cent florins pour la marier,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mais (<i>Pourvu</i>) qu’elle fût s’amie.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Prenez-les, je vous prie;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De cœur les vous octroie.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A sa mère s’en conseilla,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui lui dit que bien la gardera</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De cette maladie.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Il peut bien dire pie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Car il ne l’aura mie.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Les amoureux du temps présent</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Font des promesses largement,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et montrent main garnie.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mais folle est qui s’y fie:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Trop coûte la folie!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">La fillette ne voulut pas</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Son conseil croire, en celui cas;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Car elle eut plus grant joie,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De gagner sa monnaie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cent florins de Savoie.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Cent florins sont beaux et luisants;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">S’elle eust fillé vint et cincq ans,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Voire toute sa vie,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Toute sa fillerie</div> + <div class="verse indent0">N’en vaudrait la moitié.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ale houe!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Who lists to hear a famous ditty</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All on a maid of Lyons city,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who as she came from church one day</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Was sought in love the usual way—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And sore she smarted, gossips say—</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The jolly youth would give, he said,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A hundred florins her to wed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If she would first his leman be.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Prithee, take them, dear,” says he,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“With all my heart I give them thee.”</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The hussy home did straight repair:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her mother counselled her: “Beware!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lest it repent thee by and by;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For though he speak thee fair and sigh,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His precious gold is all my eye!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“The young men of the present day,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Promise more largely than they pay,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And though their purse well filled appear,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The girl who trusts to it, I fear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Will find her folly cost her dear.”</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Alack! the hussy tossed her head,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Heedless of what her mother said,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For ’twas to her a greater joy</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To get the money from her boy—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Those hundred florins of Savoy.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A hundred! how they gleamed and shone!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Had she sat spinning on and on</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Full twenty year, till worn and old,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not all the thread she’d spun and sold</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Had brought her half that shining gold.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(Hey nonny!)]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_109" href="#FNanchor_109" class="label">[109]</a> One of the friends of Margaret of France, the worthy La Perrière, +thunders against marriages for money or beauty, which only end in putting +“a fox into a hermitage.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_110" href="#FNanchor_110" class="label">[110]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 37.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_111" href="#FNanchor_111" class="label">[111]</a> [See <a href="#BOOK_III_CHAPTER_III">Book III. chapter iii.</a>]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_112" href="#FNanchor_112" class="label">[112]</a> Vittoria Colonna’s bed, preserved in the Pescara palace at Naples, is +extraordinarily wide.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_113" href="#FNanchor_113" class="label">[113]</a> A lady of Florence, Alessandra Bardi, on learning of the sudden death +of one of her sons, wrote to another the following beautiful letter, so +touching in its resignation: “My sweet son, I have learnt how, on the +23rd of last month, it pleased Him who gave me Matteo to recall him +to Himself, in complete consciousness, in full possession of grace, with all +the sacraments necessary to a good and faithful Christian. I have felt the +bitterest grief at being deprived of such a son, and methinks his death has +done me great affliction apart from filial love, and likewise to you two, my +sons, now reduced to so small a band. I praise and bless the Lord for +all that is His will” (Müntz, <i>History of the Renaissance</i>, i. 18).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_114" href="#FNanchor_114" class="label">[114]</a> The story is given in Nifo’s <i>De Amore</i>, cap. cii.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_115" href="#FNanchor_115" class="label">[115]</a> [Sister of Henry VIII. She was Louis’ third wife: he was in his +decrepitude, and died three months after the marriage. She at once +married the handsome Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, who had escorted +her to France.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_116" href="#FNanchor_116" class="label">[116]</a> The diplomatic agent of Mantua thus reports his visit of condolence to +the Duchess of Urbino: “I found her in her room among her ladies, all in +black, the shutters closed, the apartment lighted by a single torch placed +on the floor. She was seated on a cushion, a black veil on her head, and +wore a high-necked dress, or at any rate her bosom was covered with a veil +as high as her chin.... She held out her hand and burst into tears; +a moment passed before her sobs and mine permitted us to speak. I +handed her your lordship’s letter, and dispatched my visit, my condolences, +and my attempts at solace in a few words, so as not to prolong her grief. I +imparted to her also the recommendations and offers with which I was +charged by my most illustrious lord. Both were well received.” Then +they talked of Mantua and the Gonzaga family: the Duchess kept the +ambassador for more than two hours. Next day, there was another visit +of three hours; this time, her spirit got the upper hand, an interesting +discussion ensued, and the ambassador succeeded in making her laugh.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_117" href="#FNanchor_117" class="label">[117]</a> Montaigne, bk. ii. cap. xxxv. He himself desires no tears, no funeral +oration: “I renounce henceforth the favourable testimonies men may will +to give me, not because I am worthy of them, but because I am dead.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_118" href="#FNanchor_118" class="label">[118]</a> June 8, 1508. Sisters Domicella and Elena, from Forli, to Catherine +Sforza.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_119" href="#FNanchor_119" class="label">[119]</a> [Daughter of Maximilian of Austria, and regent of the Netherlands. +She was affianced as a child to the Dauphin of France (Charles VIII.), then +married to the Infant of Spain, who died in a few months: finally at the +age of twenty-one married Philibert of Savoy, who died after four happy +years of wedlock. She was a great patroness of agriculture and the arts, +and a poetess.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_120" href="#FNanchor_120" class="label">[120]</a> She herself, however, employed on occasion the most convincing arguments. +She had confiscated the jewels of her cousin, the Countess of +Montpensier, who was regarded as rather too hot-headed for a widow, and +she refused to restore them to her.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_121" href="#FNanchor_121" class="label">[121]</a> The <i>Fifteen Joys of Marriage</i> include among domestic calamities to +return from war after a long captivity and to find one’s wife wearing the +finery of a new lord and master.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_122" href="#FNanchor_122" class="label">[122]</a> “There’s no man will have you!” is an insult flung by a peasant at a +woman during a squabble.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_123" href="#FNanchor_123" class="label">[123]</a> “Be obedient to your mother, show her honour and reverence, and take +care to please her in everything you can, as is her due, as much because it +is God’s commandment as that I know she merits it, and that you ought so +to do if you wish to succeed, for having known her, I know that she will +advise you so well that you will be therewith content” (Instructions of a +Duke of Nemours to his sons).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_124" href="#FNanchor_124" class="label">[124]</a> Ruskin.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_125" href="#FNanchor_125" class="label">[125]</a> Ruskin’s favourite theory.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_126" href="#FNanchor_126" class="label">[126]</a> [Minister of finance to Francis I., a faithful and honourable servant of +the crown. Lautrec, governor of Milan, having asked for 400,000 crowns as +arrears of pay for his troops, the queen-mother, Louise of Savoy, who had +a grudge against him, seized all the money in the treasury on the pretext +that it was owing to her, and even intercepted what little coin Semblançay +was able to get together. The result was that Lautrec’s army melted away +and Milan was lost. Louise made Semblançay the scapegoat, and when +Francis, after his defeat at Pavia, was carried a prisoner to Spain, she +threw Semblançay (he was 72 years old) into the Bastille, had him tried on +trumped-up charges, and brought about his execution.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_127" href="#FNanchor_127" class="label">[127]</a> [Bohier was a jurisconsult, Briçonnet, bishop of Lodève and Meaux, and +an insincere persecutor of the Reformers; Robertet was treasurer of France +under Louis XII. and Francis I.; and Duprat a venal minister of Francis I. +and a partisan of Louise of Savoy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_128" href="#FNanchor_128" class="label">[128]</a> Coquillart.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_129" href="#FNanchor_129" class="label">[129]</a> “Have you never reflected, then,” says an old author, “what this +smoke is worth?” (Baltazar Gracian).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_130" href="#FNanchor_130" class="label">[130]</a> [Italian poet and historian (1426-1503), the most ‘elegant’ writer of +the sixteenth century. He wrote <i>Amorum libri ii.</i>, on conjugal love.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_131" href="#FNanchor_131" class="label">[131]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 51.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_132" href="#FNanchor_132" class="label">[132]</a> Gallants, ambitious men, fashionable men late abed and late up, those +who live on credit, litigious fellows, spendthrifts, poor devils who marry +for love without a penny, loafers, philosophers who live from hand to +mouth, soldiers who run through a quarter’s pay in a month, husbands +ruined by their wives’ dressmakers’ bills or their servants’ guzzling, men +who keep no accounts, who, without being princes or lords, put eighteen +yards of velvet into one costume, who spend much and get little, who let +their horses starve, their tapestries and furniture moulder, who leave their +orchards to be robbed, who would not spend a penny but fling away a +shilling, who endow their daughters too largely, who toil without rhyme +or reason, who accept financial responsibilities ... weak-kneed men who +back out of their lawsuits, who are led by the nose by those about them, +who are always singing a <i>gaudeamus</i> and never a <i>requiem</i>, braggarts, +giddypates, boasters, “Roger Goodfellows,” gormandisers, debauchees.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_133" href="#FNanchor_133" class="label">[133]</a> [George of Amboise, the wealthy Archbishop of Rouen: a great builder +and art-patron, who brought many painters and sculptors and architects +into France from Italy. When he died Pope Julius II. “thanked God he +was now Pope alone”! The cardinal’s tomb in Rouen Cathedral is one of +the finest pieces of Renaissance work in France.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_134" href="#FNanchor_134" class="label">[134]</a> Which included, we may say in passing, music and gymnastics.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_135" href="#FNanchor_135" class="label">[135]</a> But he did not mean to be absorbed by either the one or the other.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_136" href="#FNanchor_136" class="label">[136]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent14">To love money</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Save for its use, is rank idolatry.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_137" href="#FNanchor_137" class="label">[137]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">They have what pleasures they desire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Honours whereto they dare aspire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And wealth much more than they require.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_138" href="#FNanchor_138" class="label">[138]</a> Almanque Papillon’s <i>La Victoire et Triomphe d’argent</i> (Lyons, 1537). +A copy belonging to Baron Pichon includes two miniatures: (1) the +Triumph of Money, (2) the Triumph of Honour and Love, represented by +Francis I. in a car drawn by two unicorns, and led by Diligence, Sapience, +Sobriety and Virtue.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_139" href="#FNanchor_139" class="label">[139]</a> <i>Imitation of Christ</i>, book iii., chap. v.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_140" href="#FNanchor_140" class="label">[140]</a> [Italian scholastic philosopher (1453-1538). His lectures attracted +lords and ladies who came to laugh at his ugly grimaces and ungainly +antics, and at his amusing anecdotes and witticisms. His works include +treatises on Beauty, on Love, <i>De Principe</i>, etc.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_141" href="#FNanchor_141" class="label">[141]</a> [The leading Italian humanist (1433-1499); the first professor in Cosimo +de’ Medici’s Florentine Academy. He translated Plato under Cosimo’s +auspices].</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_142" href="#FNanchor_142" class="label">[142]</a> [A prodigy of learning who wasted his energies in attempting to +reconcile theology and philosophy, and died young. He knew twenty-two +languages].</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_143" href="#FNanchor_143" class="label">[143]</a> [An illegitimate scion of the house of the Sanseverini (1425-1477). He +founded an academy for the study of antiquity, and pushed his enthusiasm +so far as to worship at an altar erected to Romulus, and to roam the streets +garbed as Diogenes].</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_144" href="#FNanchor_144" class="label">[144]</a> So that nothing should be wanting, a Diogenes started running about +the streets with his lantern and his tattered cloak (Paul Jove).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_145" href="#FNanchor_145" class="label">[145]</a> Erasmus archly observes: “When Plato appeared uncertain whether to +set woman among rational animals or among the brutes, he did not mean +that woman is merely an animal; he merely intended to point out the +stupidity of this charming animal.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_146" href="#FNanchor_146" class="label">[146]</a> To this day this theory of two loves is commonly attributed to Plato, +even in philosophical treatises.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_147" href="#FNanchor_147" class="label">[147]</a> His ardent oration has been reported in the <i>Courtier</i> of Castiglione, +which became the breviary of the new society; we know that Castiglione +faithfully reproduced his words, and, for greater accuracy, first submitted +the manuscript to Bembo. [It may be as well to state that the passage +quoted here is not a continuous quotation, but an admirable condensation +of several pages of Castiglione. See pp. 343-363 of Hoby’s translation in +Mr. Henley’s “Tudor Translations.”]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_148" href="#FNanchor_148" class="label">[148]</a> Sonnet viii.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_149" href="#FNanchor_149" class="label">[149]</a> Sonnet lii.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_150" href="#FNanchor_150" class="label">[150]</a> Distinguished as she necessarily was, the lady who inspired such +accents had herself nothing so tragic or so sublime. She wrote:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Amor, tu sai, che mai non torsi il piede</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dal carcer tuo soave, nè disciolsi</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dal dolce giogo il collo, nè ti tolsi</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Quanto dal primo dì l’alma ti diede.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Tempo non cangiò mai l’antica fede;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Il nodo è stretto anchor, com’io l’avvolsi;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nè per il frutto amar, ch’ognihor ne colsi,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">L’alta cagion men cara al cor mi riede.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Visto hai quanto in un petto fido, ardente</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Può oprar quel caro tuo più acuto dardo,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Contro del cui poter Morte non valse,</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Fa homai da te, che’l nodo si rallente,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Che a me di libertà già mai nol calse,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Anzi di ricovrarla hor mi par tardo.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Thou knowest, Love, I never sought to flee</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From thy sweet prison, nor impatient threw</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thy dear yoke from my neck; never withdrew</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What, that first day, my soul bestowed on thee.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Time hath not changed love’s ancient surety;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The knot is still as firm; and though there grew</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Moment by moment fruit bitter as rue,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet the fair tree remains as dear to me.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And thou hast seen how that keen shaft of thine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Gainst which the might of Death himself is vain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Smote on one ardent, faithful breast full sore.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Now loose the cords that fast my soul entwine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For though of freedom ne’er I reck’d before,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet now I yearn my freedom to regain.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_151" href="#FNanchor_151" class="label">[151]</a> “Ye women who glory in your ornaments, your hair, your hands, I +tell you you are all ugly. Would you see the true beauty? Look at the +pious man or woman in whom spirit dominates matter: watch him, say, +when he prays, when a ray of the divine beauty glows upon him, when his +prayer is ended; you will see the beauty of God shining in his face, you +will behold it as it were the face of an angel.” (<i>28th Sermon on Ezekiel</i>).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_152" href="#FNanchor_152" class="label">[152]</a> “Monsieur, si vous estiez aseuré de la prudence et discrétion que vous +dictes estre en moy, vous ne prendriez peine de m’escripre courte ne longue +lettre, car ou deux telles vertuz consistent, une n’a lieu: qui servira de +briefve response à tout ce que m’escripvez. De mon vouloir, il est tel, sans +jamais changer propos, que je seray telle que je doibz estre, et que ne +m’estimez estre si bonne par vostre lettre; ouy bien autant qu’il me sera +possible, et quelque jeune d’aage que je soye, si cognois je bien que en +suyvant ces deux devant dictes vertuz, l’on ne se peult desvoyer. Quant à +l’audience que me demandez, je ne puis, et ne veulx; et, sans plus m’escripre, +à Dieu prenez en gré et ne vous desplaise.” (<i>La Fleur de toutes joyeusetez</i>).</p> + +<p>[Here is the letter of a woman of the old style: “Sir, if you were +assured of the prudence and discretion you say are in me, you would not +waste your time writing letters, whether long or short, for where two such +virtues are conjoined, a letter is but vain: which will serve as a brief +response to all you write to me. My will is such that I am firmly resolved +to be good, as I ought to be, though from your letter you do not think I +am; ay, so far as lies in my power: and though I may be young in years, +yet know I well that in seeking after the two aforesaid virtues one cannot +go astray. As to the interview you ask of me, I cannot and I will not; +and, without writing further, I pray God you may take it in good part and +not be huffed.”]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_153" href="#FNanchor_153" class="label">[153]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">La Françoise est entière et sans rompeure:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Plaisir la meine: au proffit ne regarde.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Conclusion: qui en parle ou brocarde,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Françoises sont chef-d’œuvre de nature ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pour le desduict (<i>le plaisir</i>).</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—Marot, <i>Rondeau 13</i>.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Our ladies flawless are and all complete:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis pleasure leads them; they look not for gain:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Conclusion: men will talk and scoff in vain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For pleasure they are Nature’s master-feat.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_154" href="#FNanchor_154" class="label">[154]</a> Cornelius Agrippa furnishes a curious piece of evidence on this point. +Disgraced by Louise of Savoy, he asked himself what had caused the +princess’s hatred. While pondering the matter he mechanically opened his +Bible and lit upon the passage where Ahab says in regard to the prophet +Micaiah, “I hate him, because he doth not prophesy good concerning me.” +“That’s my very own case,” cries Agrippa, and remembers that one day he +had foretold a victory for M. de Bourbon. What victory?—he did not say, +and for good reasons: but that was enough. So he takes his pen, and +writes a long address to prove that he is not, has not been, and will not be +of the Bourbon party, in spite of the overtures made to him. He got nothing +by his prose; some time afterwards Bourbon was killed at Rome, and, +adds Agrippa, “Jezebel possesses his vineyard. The angel of the Lord has +warned me and saved me from the evil woman. Nothing remains but to +fling Jezebel headlong and give her carcase to the dogs.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_155" href="#FNanchor_155" class="label">[155]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Awaiting thus the seasonable hour</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For justice or for God to interpose with power.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_156" href="#FNanchor_156" class="label">[156]</a> <i>L’aisnée Fille de fortune.</i> [“If she had a little of that, she would be +the most accomplished lady God ever gave life to.”]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_157" href="#FNanchor_157" class="label">[157]</a> La Vauguyon describes with emotion the sorrow of her servants and +vassals: “What will become of us now?... Death has seized our +mother.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_158" href="#FNanchor_158" class="label">[158]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Bonnet entendoit la magie</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Aussi bien que l’astrologie:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bonnet le futur prédisoit,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et de tout présages faisoit....</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bonnet sçeut la langue hébraïque</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Aussi bien que la caldaïque;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mais en latin le bon abbé</div> + <div class="verse indent0">N’y entendoit ny A ny B.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bonnet avoit mis en usage</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Un barragouin de langage</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Entremeslé d’italien,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De françois et ... savoysien.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bonnet fut de l’Académie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De ceux qui souflent l’alchumie.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—Du Bellay, <i>Epitaphe de l’abbé Bonnet</i>.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Bonnet knew astrology</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As well as demonology.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bonnet the future could foretell</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And cast your horoscope as well.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bonnet knew the Hebrew tongue,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in Chaldee spake and sung,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But, good soul, in Latin he</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Could not say his A B C.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bonnet used with good intention</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A jargon of his own invention—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Words from France he would employ,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From Italy and from—Savoy.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in academic state</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of alchemy Bonnet would prate.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_159" href="#FNanchor_159" class="label">[159]</a> Montaigne, bk. iii. cap. x.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_160" href="#FNanchor_160" class="label">[160]</a> A naïve French poet, with the words ‘grace’ and ‘hope’ ever on his +lips, somewhat scornfully depicts the French court guarded military fashion +by two Italians, Pasquil and Aretino, whom he styles Bohemians of +sinister aspect. ‘Diligence’ and ‘Bon Vouloir,’ old deities of the past, +had much difficulty in approaching. “Noble Cœur,” says a poet, “found +his ‘temporal joy’ in chatting with and serving ladies; Nature encourages +Noblesse-Féminine to rule men, who include good and bad. In a delightful +garden the tree of Humanity flourishes; this splits into two equal branches, +that is, between the two sexes ‘one in being, one in substance, one in +dignity,’ and differentiated only by accident. Vilain-Cœur and Malebouche +have long been devising mischief against Noblesse-Féminine; at the +instigation of Nature, Noble-Cœur at length arms himself in her defence.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_161" href="#FNanchor_161" class="label">[161]</a> [In reference to the group of seven literary men who banded themselves +together to reform and classicise the French language and literature. +Ronsard, Du Bellay, and Baïf were three members of the Pléiade who +reappear in the following pages. But as the manifesto of this coterie was +issued in 1549, the year of Margaret’s death, the name Pléiade is anticipated +for the literary court she maintained, the most notable members of which +were Marot and Bonaventure des Périers.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_162" href="#FNanchor_162" class="label">[162]</a> Margaret to the King, 1534.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Ah, with what error Dante’s head is crowned,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who comes to paint his Passion, antique tale,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And with his gloomy Hell our souls astound.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_163" href="#FNanchor_163" class="label">[163]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 40.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_164" href="#FNanchor_164" class="label">[164]</a> [French admiral (1488-1525), who after the defeat at Pavia deliberately +threw his life away. He rivalled Francis I. in gallantry, paid sedulous +court to Margaret, and is said to have been the luckless (and well-scratched) +hero of the nocturnal escapade described in the 4th Tale of the +<i>Heptameron</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_165" href="#FNanchor_165" class="label">[165]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Loves like little budding flowers,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Loves to sweeten idle hours,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Likewise old amours.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_166" href="#FNanchor_166" class="label">[166]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Amoureux suis d’une paintresse,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui est belle en perfection.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Son geste plein d’affection</div> + <div class="verse indent0">La fait juger demie princesse.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">—<i>Gilles d’Aurigny.</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[I adore a painter dear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Perfect grace and beauty she,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And her loving ways to me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Make her half princess appear.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_167" href="#FNanchor_167" class="label">[167]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 18.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_168" href="#FNanchor_168" class="label">[168]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, Tale 58.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_169" href="#FNanchor_169" class="label">[169]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 14.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_170" href="#FNanchor_170" class="label">[170]</a> [Poet and translator (1493-1545), friend of Aretino. He wrote ‘amorous +discourses’ in imitation of Boccaccio; comedies in imitation of Plautus; +a translation of the <i>Golden Ass</i> of Apuleius; and a prose work on the +beauty of women.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_171" href="#FNanchor_171" class="label">[171]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Son âge estoit d’envyron les quinze ans,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui est le temps que désirent amans.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">La taille en fut longue, menue et droicte,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Espaulle platte, et par les flancs estroicte.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Anne de Graville.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Toutes les nuyctz, je ne pense qu’en celle</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui a le corps plus gent qu’une pucelle.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Marot.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Her age was fifteen, as I guessed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The age that pleases lovers best;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her figure long, slim, straight as arrow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her shoulders broad, her haunches narrow.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[I lie awake o’ nights, and my thoughts are sure to go</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To the maid whose body’s comelier than any maid’s I know.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_172" href="#FNanchor_172" class="label">[172]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Is she plump, or is she lean?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My pleasure is the same, I ween.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_173" href="#FNanchor_173" class="label">[173]</a> [Both these ladies were mistresses of Francis I.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_174" href="#FNanchor_174" class="label">[174]</a> [A poet (1463-1537) who having lost his all in the sack of Rome was +succoured by Bembo. He wrote sonnets and pastorals.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_175" href="#FNanchor_175" class="label">[175]</a> [The French Baedeker.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_176" href="#FNanchor_176" class="label">[176]</a> Castiglione, <i>Courtier</i> [(Tudor Translations, pp. 212, 213.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_177" href="#FNanchor_177" class="label">[177]</a> Castiglione, <i>ibid.</i>, p. 166.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_178" href="#FNanchor_178" class="label">[178]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Thy shape! Ah, lady! ’tis to me well known</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through him whose soul is thine, no more his own.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_179" href="#FNanchor_179" class="label">[179]</a> [Jean Clouet (1485-1545), painter to Francis I.: Janet was his pet name +at court. The reference is to Ronsard’s lines—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Peins-moy, Janet, peins-moy, je t’en supplie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sur ce tableau les beautés de ma mie.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_180" href="#FNanchor_180" class="label">[180]</a> [A master in portraiture in enamel (1505-1575.) As many as 1840 of his +works are known, all signed. Specimens may be seen in the Louvre.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_181" href="#FNanchor_181" class="label">[181]</a> [Sculptor to Francis I., born 1515, killed in the St. Bartholomew +massacre, Aug. 24, 1572. His statue of Diana adorned the front of Diana +of Poitiers’ palatial château of Anet. Diana is represented nude, reclining +upon a stag, with a bow in her hand, and surrounded by dogs.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_182" href="#FNanchor_182" class="label">[182]</a> [The <i>blason</i> was a short poem celebrating a single feature, or some small +possession of a lady—an eyebrow, a rose, or a jewel, for instance.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_183" href="#FNanchor_183" class="label">[183]</a> This portrait, painted by an Italian, no longer exists, but an excellent +miniature copy, executed in Henri IV.’s time, is to be found in the rare +manuscript known as the <i>Book of Hours of Catherine de’ Medici</i>. The +other miniatures in this manuscript are made after French portraits, and +do not admit of so extravagant an interpretation. Louise of Savoy is +represented as a widow, in the classical severe and ungainly costume.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_184" href="#FNanchor_184" class="label">[184]</a> Night-dresses, by the way, were not yet in use.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_185" href="#FNanchor_185" class="label">[185]</a> Tale 45.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_186" href="#FNanchor_186" class="label">[186]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 4.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_187" href="#FNanchor_187" class="label">[187]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Washed of her paint, of her vices bereft,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Body and soul there is nought of her left.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_188" href="#FNanchor_188" class="label">[188]</a> [A painter of the Florentine school (died 1440) about whom nothing is +known but a treatise on painting discovered in 1820, and some frescoes +at Volaterra.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_189" href="#FNanchor_189" class="label">[189]</a> [Author of <i>Gli ornamenti delle donne</i> (the ornaments of ladies), published +at Venice in 1574.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_190" href="#FNanchor_190" class="label">[190]</a> [A poetess of Lyons, author of some remarkable sonnets.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_191" href="#FNanchor_191" class="label">[191]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">For pleasure oft my black I wear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">More often than for woe or care.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_192" href="#FNanchor_192" class="label">[192]</a> [Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan, one of the most vigorous opponents of +the French king’s Italian expeditions. The surname “Il Moro” came from +his cognisance, a mulberry-tree.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_193" href="#FNanchor_193" class="label">[193]</a> Alione, in one of his farces, has related the amusing story of a Lombard +lady (and she was not the only one) who gave herself to a French soldier +passing through, on the mere promise of a dress of Venetian velvet, and to +whom the rogue afterwards sent six crowns, with the excuse that an everyday +dress was good enough for a casual lady.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_194" href="#FNanchor_194" class="label">[194]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">This ring is old and out of date,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This ruby’s badly cut:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This girdle’s precious ugly—wait,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This casket’s silver, but</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I wish for one of beaten gold—</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_195" href="#FNanchor_195" class="label">[195]</a> [Librarian to Cardinal Farnese (1529-1600), a great authority on antiquities, +especially coins; he spent the greater part of his modest income on +pictures and bronzes.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_196" href="#FNanchor_196" class="label">[196]</a> [Historian and member of the academy of Pomponius Laetus (1421-1481). +He was Vatican librarian under Sixtus IV., wrote a history of the +popes, and a curious work on hygiene entitled <i>Opusculum de obsoniis ac +honesta voluptate</i>—the work here referred to.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_197" href="#FNanchor_197" class="label">[197]</a> [Sebastian Brandt (1438-1521), jurisconsult and poet of Strasburg, +author of the famous <i>Ship of Fools</i>, referred to in subsequent pages.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_198" href="#FNanchor_198" class="label">[198]</a> On ordinary days, the household of Marie of Cleves easily disposed of +half a calf, a quarter of an ox, five or six sheep, and dozens of fowls.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_199" href="#FNanchor_199" class="label">[199]</a> “Gout,” cries Cardan, “is queen, gout is noble! She is a synthesis +of ills! She is discreet and courteous; she attacks only the showable +parts of the body. There is nothing hideous about her as about leprosy. +She purifies man and raises his moral worth, as all pain does, but more +than any other pain. Why is she the enemy of grand dinners, and of +midnight toil, and of all the charming occupations of mind and body?” (<i>De +malo medendi usu.</i>) A German song was dedicated to her:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O Gout my goddess, Gout my queen,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">What mortal wight but fears thee?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Earth, sea and sky have ever been</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thy subjects: Jove reveres thee.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O mighty goddess, hear the prayer</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of those that now implore thee:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Give peace to every gouty toe,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And grant to all who limping go</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Freedom from pain, release from care,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And perfect health before thee.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(<i>Podagrae Laus.</i>)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_200" href="#FNanchor_200" class="label">[200]</a> Gout was very common. Louise of Savoy suffered from it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_201" href="#FNanchor_201" class="label">[201]</a> [A sort of farcical comedy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_202" href="#FNanchor_202" class="label">[202]</a> [Jean Gast, Swiss Protestant theologian (died 1553): author of <i>Convivalium +sermonum liber, meris jocis ac salibus refertus</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_203" href="#FNanchor_203" class="label">[203]</a> Entering a lady’s house, a man would kiss her hands; and to recall to +mind a first presentation the graceful formula frequently employed was: +“The first time I kissed her hands.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_204" href="#FNanchor_204" class="label">[204]</a> To civilise his dominions, Peter the Great required his subjects of both +sexes to learn dancing, and he directed the performance, like a general +directing manœuvres. He insisted on the gentlemen kissing the ladies on +the lips.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_205" href="#FNanchor_205" class="label">[205]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Ou soit d’un baiser sec, ou d’un baiser humide,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">D’un baiser court ou long, ou d’un baiser qui guide</div> + <div class="verse indent0">L’âme dessuz la bouche et laisse trespasser</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Le baiseur ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ou d’un baiser donné comme les colombelles.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Dry kiss or wet kiss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Long kiss or short kiss—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kiss that lures the kisser’s soul,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Leading him to sin and dole—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kiss that seals the purest loves,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Innocent as kiss of doves.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_206" href="#FNanchor_206" class="label">[206]</a> [One of the earliest of French theologians who accepted the Reformed +faith, born in 1530. He wrote a tractate on dancing.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_207" href="#FNanchor_207" class="label">[207]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 21.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_208" href="#FNanchor_208" class="label">[208]</a> Bonaventure des Périers, Tale 114.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_209" href="#FNanchor_209" class="label">[209]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Templa pudicitiam maculant, ni rite peractis</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rebus abis: templi noxia saepe mora est.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(<i>De Liberis.</i>)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>[The temples stain thy modesty unless when service is over thou departest: +to delay in the temple is often hurtful.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_210" href="#FNanchor_210" class="label">[210]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 42.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_211" href="#FNanchor_211" class="label">[211]</a> Margaret of France.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">All hail! ye gardens, mansions, Edens of delight,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose comeliness and beauty put your vices out of sight!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_212" href="#FNanchor_212" class="label">[212]</a> See the frescoes in the Borromeo palace at Milan.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_213" href="#FNanchor_213" class="label">[213]</a> [In allusion to the wreaths used at the ceremony of laureation.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_214" href="#FNanchor_214" class="label">[214]</a> [Anne de Montmorency, the coarse, violent Constable of France, who +mumbled his prayers and his orders to his men together, because, as +Brantôme says, “he was so conscientious that he always tried to combine +the two duties.”]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_215" href="#FNanchor_215" class="label">[215]</a> “Most illustrious and excellent lady, most respected madam,” wrote the +countess of Forli to the duchess of Ferrara: “the credible accounts and +perfect information brought in by innumerable persons about the extreme +kindliness and rare munificence of your excellency, inspire me with the +boldness to address you in confidence. I know that the most illustrious +lord your spouse and your most illustrious ladyship adore hunting and +birds, and that you always have in abundance dogs of all kinds, excellent, +perfect. I beseech your excellency very earnestly that you would deign to +make me a very beautiful and very precious present, namely, a pair of +greyhounds, well trained and fleet-footed, for the deer of the Campagna, +which are very swift: a couple of good deer-hounds and a couple of handsome +pointers, so good that I may hope to say regarding their exploits +when they catch their quarry, ‘these are the dogs the most illustrious +duchess of Ferrara gave me.’ I know that your excellency will not send +me anything but what is really good.” She cordially recommends to the +duchess the falconer she is sending, to fetch the hounds, and probably to +choose them. (Letter of Catherine Sforza to the duchess of Ferrara, +1481).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_216" href="#FNanchor_216" class="label">[216]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">King Louis Twelfth had perfect pastimes three:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Triboulet first, then Chailly, lastly me.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The author has collected the various pieces, still unpublished, in which +these hounds and hawks of Louis are celebrated.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_217" href="#FNanchor_217" class="label">[217]</a> [Professor of mathematics and philosophy at the Cardinal Lemoine +college at Paris (1455-1537): a broad-minded man, the quarry of a heresy +hunt: chosen by Francis I. as tutor to his son Charles.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_218" href="#FNanchor_218" class="label">[218]</a> [Architect and antiquary of Verona (1445-1525). He spent eight years +in France at the invitation of Louis XII., designing bridges and buildings: +he was afterwards one of the architects of St. Peter’s at Rome.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_219" href="#FNanchor_219" class="label">[219]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Kathin alloit bien montée a la chasse,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Portant espieu. Cupido la pourchasse</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Avecques son arc, et luy dit: “Combatons,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Puisqu’ainsi est que nous avons bastons.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Elle respond: “Amour, que penses tu?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Longtemps y a que je t’ay combatu</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sans estre armée: a présent, je le suis;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Retourne-t-en, et plus ne me poursuis,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Car seure je suis que tu seroys batu.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Michel d’Amboise.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Kitty well mounted to the hunt was hying,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Holding a spear; Dan Cupid her espying,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Loosing his bow, gave chase and caught her. Said he:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Come let us fight, since both are armed and ready.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then answered she: “Love, art thou then so daring?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Long have I fought thee, weapon never bearing;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now am I armed, turn, never more pursue me,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For I would beat thee, ere thou couldst undo me.”]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_220" href="#FNanchor_220" class="label">[220]</a> <i>Ship of Fools</i>, sixth engraving. Critics almost always represent +epicurism in a boat.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_221" href="#FNanchor_221" class="label">[221]</a> [A Franciscan friar (1440-1508) and a vigorous and racy preacher. His +sermons were larded with buffooneries.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_222" href="#FNanchor_222" class="label">[222]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">C’est a l’image saincte Jame</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ou se vont baigner ces femmes;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et baignez, et estuvez, allez.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bien servies vous y serez</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De varletz, de chambrière,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De la dame bonne chère.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Allez tost, les baings sont prestz.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(<i>Les Cris de Paris.</i>)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[To the image of St. James</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Go for bathing these fair dames.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Haste ye, ladies, bathe and stew,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Maids and varlets wait for you,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Service good, delightful fare;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The baths are ready: speed ye there.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_223" href="#FNanchor_223" class="label">[223]</a> “A work, for our epoch, in which the use of mineral waters is so common, +very useful to physicians, but still more to all other persons, and very +entertaining.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_224" href="#FNanchor_224" class="label">[224]</a> For example, <i>Le Bain de St Barthélemy</i>: “A man of Feltre named +Petrarch, after an accident to his knee, having been attended by a series of, +I will not say bone-setters but, bone-breakers, experienced the keenest +anguish; a flux resulted: astringents and cold remedies were applied; and +an induration ensued, which compelled him always to walk with a stick or +a crutch. At the end of two years, he came to see me; I prescribed the +baths. They did him so much good that after a fortnight he left for home +without his crutch.” (<i>De Balneis</i>, 1563).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_225" href="#FNanchor_225" class="label">[225]</a> Gregorovius gives in his <i>Lucretia Borgia</i> an account of an extremely +free fête got up at Sienna for fair bathers, from which husbands and brothers +were excluded.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_226" href="#FNanchor_226" class="label">[226]</a> Poggio.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_227" href="#FNanchor_227" class="label">[227]</a> [The <i>balle à grelot</i> was a hollow ball of metal containing something that +caused a jingle when the ball was moved or thrown—like our horse-bells.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_228" href="#FNanchor_228" class="label">[228]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">So many books there are, my memory fails</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To number or to name them; but to see</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Their fair array’s a pleasant sight to me.</div> + <div class="center">...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And as for fearing what they have inside,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis a mere folly I may not abide.</div> + <div class="center">...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I piled a pillar of them, and methought</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It heaven and earth together brought.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_229" href="#FNanchor_229" class="label">[229]</a> Lucretia Borgia took to Ferrara for her personal use only beautifully +decorated Books of Hours, a few devotional books, a manual of history, a +collection of songs, a Dante, and a small Petrarch.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_230" href="#FNanchor_230" class="label">[230]</a> Especially Castiglione, who borrowed entire passages from Cicero. +A translation of the <i>De Officiis</i> was published at Lyons on Feb. 11, +1493-94.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_231" href="#FNanchor_231" class="label">[231]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">All this is excellent good lore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And none of it locked in the cupboard.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_232" href="#FNanchor_232" class="label">[232]</a> [Rheinauer (Latinised as Rhenanus), a famous German philologist, a +friend and correspondent of Erasmus.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_233" href="#FNanchor_233" class="label">[233]</a> The duchess of Orleans was so fond of them that her husband could find +no finer present to give her than the romance of <i>Troilus and Cressida</i>, +and one day she sent a messenger in hot haste after a lady of the court who +had borrowed a <i>Cleriadus</i> and forgotten to return it—as often happens.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_234" href="#FNanchor_234" class="label">[234]</a> The reading of <i>Lancelot of the Lake</i> inspired Dante, as is well known, +with the exquisite passage on Francesca da Rimini.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_235" href="#FNanchor_235" class="label">[235]</a> [“In which there are divers relations of the deceptions of servants +towards their masters, and of pimps towards lovers, translated from Italian +into French.” Paris: 1527.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_236" href="#FNanchor_236" class="label">[236]</a> He had got it in the library of the Palace.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_237" href="#FNanchor_237" class="label">[237]</a> A woodcut, thrice repeated in the <i>Illustrations des Gaules</i> (1528) represents +France on a throne, with Ill-hap at her feet; on her right is Noblesse, +represented as a maiden playing a violin; on her left, the People, depicted +as a young man playing a guitar.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_238" href="#FNanchor_238" class="label">[238]</a> National Gallery.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_239" href="#FNanchor_239" class="label">[239]</a> So well interpreted by Giovanni Bellini in his <i>Girl Singing</i> in Hampton +Court Palace.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_240" href="#FNanchor_240" class="label">[240]</a> Charles VIII. was even obliged to threaten serious consequences in +order to secure the restitution of a singer and a lute-player who had been +enticed away when he passed through Florence.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_241" href="#FNanchor_241" class="label">[241]</a> Ockeghem, it has been said, “breathes into his music the soul of song, +envelops it in a vigorous harmonic body, and clothes it with a fine tissue of +ingenious thematic developments, imitations more or less close and more or +less extended. One finds in his pieces, often in their inner parts, phrases of +great melodic beauty, and full of an extraordinary sweetness and depth of +expression. His harmonies are often enough peculiar and archaic, but they +are striking and rich. He also brings his pieces to a close in a manner +sometimes surprising and odd, but certainly very interesting.” (R. Eitner.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_242" href="#FNanchor_242" class="label">[242]</a> <i>Harmony</i>, by Paul Veronese (fresco at Masera): <i>Parnassus</i>, the <i>Crowning +of the Virgin</i>, by Raphael (Vatican).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_243" href="#FNanchor_243" class="label">[243]</a> Neapolitan proverb.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_244" href="#FNanchor_244" class="label">[244]</a> Erasmus.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_245" href="#FNanchor_245" class="label">[245]</a> In the Louvre.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_246" href="#FNanchor_246" class="label">[246]</a> The Madrid museum possesses a magnificent portrait of him by +Raphael.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_247" href="#FNanchor_247" class="label">[247]</a> He was born, like Leo, in 1470.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_248" href="#FNanchor_248" class="label">[248]</a> An opera-ballet was got up in the open-air by Bergonza di Botta, in his +park at Tortona, on the occasion of the marriage of Isabella of Aragon.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_249" href="#FNanchor_249" class="label">[249]</a> At Metz, in 1502, the public violently interrupted and rendered impossible +the representation of one of the comedies of Terence which were +constantly played at Rome; the performance had to be postponed till next +day, when it was continued before a select audience, composed in great +part of clergy.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_250" href="#FNanchor_250" class="label">[250]</a> <i>E.g.</i> The Mystery of the Passion; of the Three Gifts, played in 1509; of +St. Andrew, played in 1512; of St. Barbara, and St. Eustache, played +in 1504.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_251" href="#FNanchor_251" class="label">[251]</a> [<i>Pochades</i>]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_252" href="#FNanchor_252" class="label">[252]</a> Lorenzo de’ Medici, Pico della Mirandola, Agnolo Dovizio da Bibbiena, +Bernardo Ruccellai [see George Eliot’s <i>Romola</i>], Machiavelli, and others: +it was a singular, incoherent, burlesque procession of characters of all sorts +and sizes—devils, deaths, nymphs, courtiers, old husbands, young wives, +merry nuns, hunters and huntresses, pages, winds, furies.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_253" href="#FNanchor_253" class="label">[253]</a> “With the tongue seven men are not a match for one woman” (Erasmus, +<i>Colloquies</i>).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_254" href="#FNanchor_254" class="label">[254]</a> “He who keeps his mouth shut knows no care” (P. Meyer).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_255" href="#FNanchor_255" class="label">[255]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 10.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_256" href="#FNanchor_256" class="label">[256]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath the broidered sheets we lay—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Sheets flashing with gems and gold—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And whiled the dreary hours away</div> + <div class="verse indent2">With comfortable tales of old,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And converse debonair and gay.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_257" href="#FNanchor_257" class="label">[257]</a> [One of the Urbino coterie.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_258" href="#FNanchor_258" class="label">[258]</a> [A lawyer of Poitiers who is said to have composed a hundred thousand +verses, mostly dull. He called himself <i>Le Traverseur des voies périlleuses</i> +(the traverser of perilous ways), and wrote moral and familiar letters and +<i>Les Regnars</i> (foxes) <i>traversant les voies périlleuses</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_259" href="#FNanchor_259" class="label">[259]</a> [The brilliant Bishop of Orleans (1802-1878), noted equally for his +eloquence, his pugnacity, and the huge blue umbrella he carried on sunny +days. It was said of him that he was “a journalist who had strayed into +a bishopric.” He wrote <i>Letters on the Education of Girls</i>, and especially +opposed the opening of university courses to girls: he did not wish them +to go “from the bosom of the Church to the arms of the University.”]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_260" href="#FNanchor_260" class="label">[260]</a> He adds: “We gambled, played music, took walks, supped, and +worked (not often that): no cares, no anxieties! We were often with the +Venetian nobles: my life flourished like a growing plant. Nothing could +be more pleasant than that life, which lasted five years and a half +(September, 1526-February, 1532): we used to chat with the prefect, +whose palace was our kingdom and rostrum.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_261" href="#FNanchor_261" class="label">[261]</a> Raphael’s portrait of Castiglione in the Louvre.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_262" href="#FNanchor_262" class="label">[262]</a> Like the good curé who, seeing a lady shedding hot tears at the +conclusion of a superb <i>exaltet</i>, charitably approached her to console her for +what he believed to be the effect of the music, and stopped aghast when +the good dame replied, “Ah! I fancied I heard my poor dead donkey!”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_263" href="#FNanchor_263" class="label">[263]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O liberté aujourd’hui clairsemée</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et cher vendue, on te doit bien servir,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Car en tous lieux souvent est réclamée.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Alione.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[O liberty, to-day so rare</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And dear sold, we must serve thee well,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For thou art asked for everywhere.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_264" href="#FNanchor_264" class="label">[264]</a> Here is an example: “Why, Dagoucin,” says Simontaut, “don’t you +yet know that women have neither love nor regret?”—“I don’t yet know +it,” he replies, “for I have never dared try for their love, for fear of finding +less than I hope for.”—“You live on faith and hope, then,” says Nomerfide, +“as the plover lives on wind? You are very easy to feed.” (<i>Heptameron</i>, +Tale 32.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_265" href="#FNanchor_265" class="label">[265]</a> “When women confess, they always tell what they have not done.” +(Old Italian proverb.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_266" href="#FNanchor_266" class="label">[266]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Rusticus est vere, qui turpia de muliere</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dicit, nam vere sumus omnes de muliere.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(<i>Facetus.</i>)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>[He is truly a boor who speaks ill of women, for verily we are all of +woman born.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_267" href="#FNanchor_267" class="label">[267]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 62.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_268" href="#FNanchor_268" class="label">[268]</a> [Filippo Beroaldo (1453-1505), professor of ancient literature at Bologna, +so learned that Pico della Mirandola called him the ‘Living Library.’ His +most curious work is <i>Declamatio ebriosi, scortatoris et aleatoris</i>, in which +three brothers, a drunkard, a lecher, and a dicer, dispute among themselves +which of them, being the most vicious, their father will disinherit.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_269" href="#FNanchor_269" class="label">[269]</a> [Italian poet (1445-1515) attached to the court of Ludovico il Moro at +Milan. When Ludovico was captured by the French, Fregoso went into +seclusion and became known as the Friend of Solitude.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_270" href="#FNanchor_270" class="label">[270]</a> An attempt was made to revive this system in certain notable salons of +the 18th century. The rules for the <i>Lanturelus</i> drawn up in Madame +Geoffrin’s salon included the obligation of being just, loyal, cheerful and +kindly; they forbade one to grow old, that is, to become peevish and misanthropical. +The sittings held under the direction of a “queen” were +divided into two parts, one devoted to song, poetry and <i>facéties</i>, the other +to philosophy.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_271" href="#FNanchor_271" class="label">[271]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But that I fear to shock beyond forgiveness</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The soilless purity of your chaste ears.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_272" href="#FNanchor_272" class="label">[272]</a> He used to amuse himself with a drunken impromptu-monger, a Roman +named Querno, whom he jestingly called Archipoeta. Querno says to him:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Archipoeta facit versus pro mille poetis.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Arch-poet makes enough verses for a thousand poets]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Leo replies:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Et pro mille aliis Archipoeta bibit.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[And drinks enough for another thousand]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Archipoeta responds:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Porrige quod faciat mihi carmina docta, Falernum,</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Give me some Falernian, to inspire my song]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">and Leo:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Hoc etiam enervat debilitatque pedes.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[That also renders your feet weak and shaky]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_273" href="#FNanchor_273" class="label">[273]</a> [A clerical poet (1466-1502) who translated Ovid’s Epistles into French.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_274" href="#FNanchor_274" class="label">[274]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“De son cheval on fait une rosse,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et de sa femme une catin.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Of one’s horse one makes a jade,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And of one’s wife a harlot.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_275" href="#FNanchor_275" class="label">[275]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 52.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_276" href="#FNanchor_276" class="label">[276]</a> Seventy-five letters of this princess have been collected by M. Amante.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_277" href="#FNanchor_277" class="label">[277]</a> [Mistress of Francis I.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_278" href="#FNanchor_278" class="label">[278]</a> Anne of Laval, for example, writes to her sister: “J’ay entendu que +Monsieur mon frère ce vante que à son retour j’auré ung petit neveu. +Plust a Dieu qui fust ainsi, d’aussi bon cueur que je le desire. L’espérance +que j’en ay me faict vous envoyer des poix en gousse, qui est viande de +femme grosse.”</p> + +<p>[I have heard that my brother is boasting that on his return I shall have +a little nephew. God grant it may be so, of as good heart as I desire +it. The hope I have induces me to send you some peas in the pod, which +is a food for pregnant women.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_279" href="#FNanchor_279" class="label">[279]</a> Here are some samples of these private letters:</p> + +<p>“Monsigneur, tant et si tres humblement que je puis a vostre bonne grace +me recommende.</p> + +<p>Monsigneur, je vous suplie tres humblement croire que la créance que +remais a ce porteur n’est que la plus grande obaissence que james tres +humble fille ne servente vous saroit porter et coume la plus obligée de ce +monde.</p> + +<p>Monsigneur, prie Dieu qui vous dont tres bonne et tres longue vie.</p> + +<p class="center">Voutre tres humble et tres obaissente fille,</p> + +<p class="right">Magdalene.</p> + +<p><i>Address</i>: Au Roy mon souverain seigneur.”</p> + +<p>[My lord, as truly and as humbly as I can I commend myself to your good +favour.</p> + +<p>My lord, I beg you very humbly to believe that the letter of credit I +confide to this carrier is only the greatest obedience that ever humblest +maid and servant could bear to you, and like the most dutiful in the world.</p> + +<p>My lord, I pray God to give you a very good and very long life.</p> + +<p class="center">Your very humble and very obedient daughter,</p> + +<p class="right">Magdalene.]</p> + +<p>“Ma cousine, je n’ay point voullu que ce porteur soit passé par Chantilli +sans vous porter de mes laitres; je vous en usses plutost envoié, mes les +piteulses nouvelles qu’avons repsues de Hedin m’an onst engardé, car je +n’aime poinct a mander de mauvesses nouvelles, et en cete perte j’ay esté +tres esse d’entendre que Monsieur le conte de Villars vostre frere est +seulement prisonnir (<i>sic</i>) avecq tant d’onneur que je suis sure que vos prieres +luy onst beaucoup servi. Vous feres tant pour moy, ma cousine, de croire +que tout ce qui vous touchera que je ceray mervelleucement esse qu’il soint +anci hureulx comme vous le desires et moy anci ce que je suplie de bien bon +cueur Dieu et de vous donner bonne vie et longue et a moy l’eur de vostre +bonne grasse a laquelle de bien bon cueur me recommande.</p> + +<p class="center">Vostre melieure cousine et amie,</p> + +<p class="right">Marguerite de France.</p> + +<p>A ma cousine Madame la connestable [duc]esse de Montmorency.”</p> + +<p>[My cousin, I would not let this carrier pass through Chantilly without +taking some letters from me for you. I should have written sooner, but +the dreadful news we have received from Hedin has prevented me, for I do +not care to send bad news, and in this loss I was very glad to hear that the +count of Villars your brother is only a prisoner, with so much honour that +I am sure your prayers have much profited him. You will do so much for +me, my cousin, as to believe that, in all that touches you, I shall be wonderfully +glad if all falls out as lucky as you desire, and myself too, and I pray +God so with all my heart, both to give you a good and long life, and me the +bliss of your good favour, to which with all my heart I commend myself.</p> + +<p class="center">Your best cousin and friend,</p> + +<p class="right">Margaret of France.]</p> + +<p>“Mon pere, je ne voulu leser aler se pourteur sans vous faire savoir de +mes nouvelles, lequeles sont bonnes, pour se que je aeudire souvan des +vostres qai me pabise (?) bien, car s’et au proufit du roy et a vostre ouneur. +Je prie Dieu vous i vouloyr tenir; je ne veus oblier a vous faire mes +reconmandasions bien fort voustre bonne grase.</p> + +<p class="center">Vostre bonne fille,</p> + +<p class="right">Marguerite.</p> + +<p>A Monsieur le grant maistre.”</p> + +<p>[My father, I would not allow this carrier to go without letting you have +news of me, which are good, because I have often had news of you which +please me, for ’tis to the profit of the king and your honour. I pray that +God will keep you in the same; I do not forget to commend myself very +earnestly to your good favour.</p> + +<p class="center">Your good daughter,</p> + +<p class="right">Margaret.]</p> + +<p>“Mon pere, j’ay esté tres esse d’entendre par vostre cegretere presant +porteur du bon partement du Roy et du vostre et aucy que toutes les afaires +continuent de mieulx en mieulx; cant a cele conpagnie, la Royne et monsieur +ce portent tres bien, aucy faict tout le reste. Nous ne fesons faute de prier +bien Dieu tout les jours pour le Roy; après luy, mon pere, je vous puis +assurer que vous estes le prumier (<i>sic</i>) en mes auraisons. Je vous prire (<i>sic</i>), +mon pere, presanter mes tres humbles recommandasions au Roy et me tenir +en sa bonne grasse et an la vostre. A laquelle de bien bon ceur me recommande, +et prie Dieu vous donner bonne vie et longue.</p> + +<p class="center">Vostre milieure figle et cousine,</p> + +<p class="right">Marguerite de France.</p> + +<p>A mon pere, Monsieur le connestable.”</p> + +<p>[My father, I was very glad to hear by your secretary the present bearer of +the good departure of the king and yourself, and also that affairs are going +better and better: as to this company, the queen and <i>monsieur</i> (the king’s +brother) are very well, as are all the rest. We do not neglect to pray God +every day for the king: after him, my father, I can assure you that you are +the first in my prayers. I beg you, my father, to present my very humble +greetings to the king and to keep me in his good favour and in yours. To +which with much love I commend myself, praying God to give you good +and long life.</p> + +<p class="center">Your best daughter and cousin,</p> + +<p class="right">Margaret of France.]</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_280" href="#FNanchor_280" class="label">[280]</a> [She came near perishing by shipwreck on her way to join her young +husband, the Infant of Spain, and composed her epitaph:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ci-git Margot, la gente demoiselle,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qu’eut deux maris, et si mourut pucelle.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_281" href="#FNanchor_281" class="label">[281]</a> She died in 1530, barely fifty years old.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_282" href="#FNanchor_282" class="label">[282]</a> Her portrait is in the Louvre.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_283" href="#FNanchor_283" class="label">[283]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Friends, know that I have changed my dame;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Another holds me at her will,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In soul Renée, Renée her name.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>(Renée = re-born: the pun cannot be translated.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_284" href="#FNanchor_284" class="label">[284]</a> “I fatti sono maschi, le parole femine.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_285" href="#FNanchor_285" class="label">[285]</a> Clément Marot writes:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Adieu le bal, adieu la dance!;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Adieu mesure, adieu cadence,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tanbourins, aulboys, violons,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Puisqu’à la guerre nous allons ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Adieu les regards gracieux,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Messagers des cœurs soucieux;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Adieu les profondes pensées,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Satisfaictes ou offensées;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Adieu les armonieux sons</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De rondeaulx, dixains et chansons ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Adieu la lettre, adieu le page!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">(To the court ladies.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Farewell to dance, farewell to ball,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And cadenced measures, farewell all!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fiddles, hautboys, tambourines,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For we go to warlike scenes.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweet looks from ladies’ eyes, that tell</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How much they love us, fare ye well!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Farewell to meditation deep,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That gives us joy or mars our sleep;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Farewell to all harmonious strains</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of ballads, rondeaux, and dizains;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Letters and pages, all farewell!]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_286" href="#FNanchor_286" class="label">[286]</a> National Gallery.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_287" href="#FNanchor_287" class="label">[287]</a> <i>Ibid.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_288" href="#FNanchor_288" class="label">[288]</a> The brilliant captain whose Memoirs or Commentaries, it is said, were +afterwards called the Soldier’s Bible by Henri IV.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_289" href="#FNanchor_289" class="label">[289]</a> “Catherine, if you make the dance go thus, Atlas will find the world a +lighter burden,” exclaims a poet.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_290" href="#FNanchor_290" class="label">[290]</a> Francis I. regarded this as Michelangelo’s masterpiece.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_291" href="#FNanchor_291" class="label">[291]</a> Emile Trolliet, <i>La Vie silencieuse</i>.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The veil of flesh is rent; the spirit’s light</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pierces and routs the clinging mist of sense;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Earth, this Virgin and this God beholding,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Learns what Love is, and worships Womankind.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_292" href="#FNanchor_292" class="label">[292]</a> [The sovereign family of Rimini and Romania, a race of warriors and +cut-throats. Robert, commandant of the troops of Sixtus IV., was +poisoned by Riario in 1483.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_293" href="#FNanchor_293" class="label">[293]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">En cas d’amour, c’est trop peu d’une dame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Car si un homme aime une honneste femme,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et s’il ne peut à son aise l’avoir,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Il fait très bien d’autre accointance avoir.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Melin de Saint-Gelais.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[In case of love, one dame doth not suffice,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For if a man loveth one fair of fame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And cannot have her at an easy price,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis well for him to have another flame.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_294" href="#FNanchor_294" class="label">[294]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 42.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_295" href="#FNanchor_295" class="label">[295]</a> Coquillart.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_296" href="#FNanchor_296" class="label">[296]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 8.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_297" href="#FNanchor_297" class="label">[297]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 38.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_298" href="#FNanchor_298" class="label">[298]</a> Nifo, <i>De Amore</i>, cap. xvi.: <i>De viro aulico</i>, Bk. I., caps. xxx.-xxxiv.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_299" href="#FNanchor_299" class="label">[299]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 4.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_300" href="#FNanchor_300" class="label">[300]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tales 18 and 25.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_301" href="#FNanchor_301" class="label">[301]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 24.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_302" href="#FNanchor_302" class="label">[302]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, Tale 50.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_303" href="#FNanchor_303" class="label">[303]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, Tale 5.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_304" href="#FNanchor_304" class="label">[304]</a> Calvin regards his co-workers as “playactors,” worthy of bespattering +with mud. “The future appals me,” he cries: “I dare not think of it: +unless the Lord descends from heaven, barbarism will engulf us.” (Preface +to the Geneva Catechism.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_305" href="#FNanchor_305" class="label">[305]</a> Aretino wrote placidly: “I have legitimated my dear girls in my +heart; no other ceremony is needed.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_306" href="#FNanchor_306" class="label">[306]</a> Natural children easily obtained recognition by the concession of the +right to bear arms, or their legitimation. In Italy, legitimation was only +a fiscal formality; Innocent VIII. gave his nephew the right of granting +it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_307" href="#FNanchor_307" class="label">[307]</a> The Grecised name of Otto Schwartzmann, German jurisconsult (1571-1670).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_308" href="#FNanchor_308" class="label">[308]</a> The “Pomeranian doctor” (1485-1558). He married Luther, and +buried him, and was one of his coadjutors in the translation of the +Bible.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_309" href="#FNanchor_309" class="label">[309]</a> Bernardino Ochino of Sienna (1487-1565). He was a monk, and for +three years general of the Capuchins, but turned Protestant and got into +hot water with the Church. He spent a few years in England at the +invitation of Cranmer. A man of rare independence of mind, his opinions +soon verged towards heresy, and his <i>Diologi</i>, in which he opposed the doctrines +of the Incarnation, the divinity of Christ, and others, and spoke in +favour of polygamy, brought on him the displeasure and even persecution +of his co-religionists.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_310" href="#FNanchor_310" class="label">[310]</a> “Difficiles aditu fugias in amore puellas.” (<i>Celtis</i>, <i>Quattuor libri</i>.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_311" href="#FNanchor_311" class="label">[311]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 30.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_312" href="#FNanchor_312" class="label">[312]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Souvienne-toy, regaignant ta raison,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Que ta maîtresse est de grande maison,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De noble sang, et non pas amusée</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A dévider ou tourner la fusée;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et que son œil, mais plutôt un soleil doré,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et son esprit, des autres adoré,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et ses cheveux, les liens de ta prise,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sa belle main, à la victoire apprise,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Son ris, son chant, son parler et sa voix,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Méritent bien le mal que tu reçois.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Ronsard.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Remember, when thou canst regain thy nous,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy mistress is of high and famous house,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of noble blood, nor is she wont to play</div> + <div class="verse indent0">At wheel and distaff all the livelong day.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Remember that her eye, a sun of gold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her mind, by other worshippers extolled,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her hair, the bonds of thy captivity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her lovely hand, well trained to victory,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her smile, her song, her speech, her gentle voice</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Deserve that for thy smart thou shouldst rejoice.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_313" href="#FNanchor_313" class="label">[313]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Et, si l’on dit que le privé toucher</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Faict près du feu le tison approcher,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Je respondray: Il y ha ja longtemps</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Que, si l’honneur, où tousjours je prétens,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">N’eust en moy deu faire plus de demeure,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Un, que nommer je ne veux pour ceste heure,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Par les effors de sa langue diserte</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Auroit plus tost tiré gaing de ma perte,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Que par baisers, ne par approchements</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui de la chair ne sont qu’attouchemens.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">Héroët (one of Margaret’s friends).</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[And if one says the intimate caress</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is fire to tinder, then will I confess</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That if the honour hitherto my pride</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Within my soul no longer would abide,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Long, long ere now a man I will not name</div> + <div class="verse indent0">(Lest at this hour it bring us both to shame),</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Would by his tongue’s delicious eloquence</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Have won his profit at my dear expense</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far speedier than by kiss or dalliance hot,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That titillates the flesh, and is forgot.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_314" href="#FNanchor_314" class="label">[314]</a> The ancient Valentinians went much farther, and maintained that it +is impossible to the witty to become corrupt, whatever their actions.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_315" href="#FNanchor_315" class="label">[315]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Qu’eust fait ce grec, si ceste image nue</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Entre ses bras fust Vénus devenue?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Que suis-je lors, quand Louize me touche</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et, l’accollant, d’un long baiser me baise?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">L’âme me part, et, mourant en cet aise,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Je la reprens ja fuiant en sa bouche.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[What would that Greek of old have done if in his clinging arms</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His naked statue had become Venus with all her charms?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And when Louisa touches me, ah! what is then my bliss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When all my body tingles with the thrill of her long kiss?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In that sweet agony I die, my soul then from me slips;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But I catch it as it passes ’twixt my lady’s burning lips.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_316" href="#FNanchor_316" class="label">[316]</a> There are some rather lively and amusing letters of Bibbiena. On +February 7, 1516, he wrote to the Marchioness of Mantua: “The compliments +your Excellency has been good enough to pay me on behalf of +Isabella have given me supreme pleasure, for I have always loved and still +love Isabella more than myself. I am wholly Isabella’s, body and soul; so +that, whether loving or not loving Isabella Mario, I am wholly hers, and +desire above all things in the world to be loved by her.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_317" href="#FNanchor_317" class="label">[317]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tales 20, 25, 14.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_318" href="#FNanchor_318" class="label">[318]</a> Here are specimens of Phausina’s talk, that Nifo found so delightful. +“Phausina,” said he, “since it befell me to love you, you have become an +Aurora, superb, resplendent! How happy it makes me!”—“Near such a +sun as you,” she replies, “ought I not to become the finest dawn ever +seen?”</p> + +<p>“One day I asked her how it was that with her sixteen years and her +charm she could love an old fellow like me, reciprocity of love resulting +philosophically from a certain similarity.”—“True, we are different,” she +replied prettily, “yet we are wholly at one in the basis of our mutual love” +(she meant beauty of soul).</p> + +<p>“Who is the true lover?” he said. “The idolater,” she replied, “is he +who adores the image and not the divinity; the false lover, he who loves +the face of a girl, but does not respect her modesty.”</p> + +<p>“Phausina, how can you love a man with one foot in the grave?” “’Tis +not the dotard I love so warmly, but he whom neither age nor anything +can affect; he who, after his death, will come to life again.”</p> + +<p>“One day I was teasing Phausina: to provoke her I said, ‘Come now. +Phausina, when you are quite old, do you think I shall still love you?’: +‘Why, of course,’ she said: ‘what you love in me will not grow old. +Petrarch loved Laura ardently, young, mature, living, dead: he saw no +mark of age, which nevertheless he might have earnestly desired, so that +he might enjoy her beauty without any suspicion.’ And I then asked +Phausina what would be the reward for such a love. ‘That you will not +be a liar when you shower your praises on me.’”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_319" href="#FNanchor_319" class="label">[319]</a> “One day, among the group of girls, someone set the little problem of +guessing what gave me the greatest pleasure in my relations with Phausina. +One of them said it was to gaze at so pretty a woman, another that her +conversation was very sweet, another swore that in reality it was because +we wrangled so pleasantly, and that she knew it. Phausina smiled and +said: ‘We all know, my dear Nifo, that all those things go to produce my +pleasure: but my deepest satisfaction is to be able to enjoy everything, +frequently, freely, without fear of material seductions, because of your +age.’”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_320" href="#FNanchor_320" class="label">[320]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ma dame, un jour, daigna tant s’abaisser,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Parlant à moy, de doucement me dire:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">‘Je ne te veux, amy, rien escond[u]ire</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui soit en moy, je te pry le penser.’</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et pour encor du tout récompenser</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mon triste cueur de l’enduré martire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sa blanche main hors du gand elle tire</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et me la tend pour la mener danser.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Magny, p. 7.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[My fair did condescend one day</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweetly to speak to me, and say:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“My friend, nothing will I deny thee</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of all I have, come prithee, try me.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And for to recompense my heart</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For all its grievous dole and smart,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From out her glove she drew her lily hand,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To lead her forth to dance did then command.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_321" href="#FNanchor_321" class="label">[321]</a> “And you, Madam, if you succumb to the flesh, beat your breast, for +you do not shun temptation. Why do you stand at your window? why +chat with young men?... Why go to the ball and give yourself to so many +idle conversations? Shun temptation, and the devil will leave you in peace. +Resist him and he will flee from you!” Woman’s tongue is one of the +greatest of the devil’s instruments: “I did that because the devil seduced +me:” it is Eve over again: “The serpent beguiled me.” (Baraleta.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_322" href="#FNanchor_322" class="label">[322]</a> “Casta est quam nemo rogavit.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_323" href="#FNanchor_323" class="label">[323]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The servant that is brisk and trusty</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Becometh master ere he be rusty.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_324" href="#FNanchor_324" class="label">[324]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 40, and prologue of first day.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_325" href="#FNanchor_325" class="label">[325]</a> “Most illustrious and wicked girl. When the terrible duchess Elizabeth +was alive, she made me her martyr and protomartyr; and you perhaps, nay +certainly, with your angel’s face and your serpent’s heart, were her perfidious +counsel to my detriment; and now look at me, compelled by aid of +medicine to support as best I can the miserable remnant of a life thus +exhausted. Through that pity which you know not, either in life or in +fiction, you will condescend to do me the favour to send me a <i>baratollo</i> or +rather a little tree of <i>barbe di calcatrepuli</i>, a specialty of Urbino, so that I +may boast of once having had a prayer granted by the flinty ladies of the +house of Gonzaga. I do not commend myself to your highness, not wishing +to waste my words on the air. I only pray Heaven to keep you long in +health and happiness, so that you may long make mincemeat (<i>macello</i>) +of your servitors.—Your servant for life, Unicus.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_326" href="#FNanchor_326" class="label">[326]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 8.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_327" href="#FNanchor_327" class="label">[327]</a> Tales 9, 10.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_328" href="#FNanchor_328" class="label">[328]</a> One of the ladies replies tranquilly: “I should prefer all my life long +to see the bones of all my servitors in my room than to die for them: for +everything can be amended but death.” (<i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 32.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_329" href="#FNanchor_329" class="label">[329]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Je le sçay bien, mais point ne le veux croire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Car je perdrois l’aise que j’ai reçeu.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Clément Marot.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[I know it well, but will not it believe,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For I should lose the comfort I receive.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_330" href="#FNanchor_330" class="label">[330]</a> Hütten writes: “What shall I say of Samson, who while all but in +the arms of a woman received the inspiration of the Holy Ghost?... +And of Solomon, who had 300 queens and an infinite number of concubines, +till his death, and who nevertheless in the eyes of the divines passes for +saved? What is the inference? I am not stronger than Solomon, nor +wiser, and one must sometimes have a little joy. The doctors say ’tis +necessary to cure melancholy. Well, what do you say of these grave +authors? Ecclesiastes says: ‘There is nothing better than that a man +should rejoice in his own works.’ So I say to my love, with Solomon: +‘Thou hast wounded my heart, my sister, my spouse, thou hast wounded +my heart with one of thy hairs. How fair is thy breast, my sister, my +spouse! How much better is thy breast than wine!’ and so on.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_331" href="#FNanchor_331" class="label">[331]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 15.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_332" href="#FNanchor_332" class="label">[332]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, Tale 18.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_333" href="#FNanchor_333" class="label">[333]</a> <i>Ibid.</i>, Tale 13 and end of First Day.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_334" href="#FNanchor_334" class="label">[334]</a> [Referring to the fable of the Stork and the Fox, versified later by La +Fontaine. “The stork with his long neck could not pick up a bit.”]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_335" href="#FNanchor_335" class="label">[335]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent12">Comes from divinity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And its torment from our humanity.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_336" href="#FNanchor_336" class="label">[336]</a> [Ninon was the celebrated courtesan who, without any great beauty, +retained her ascendancy over men through a long life (1616-1706). She was +well-born, wealthy and witty, and capricious in the bestowal of her favours. +She is the original of Clarisse in Mlle de Scudéry’s interminable romance +<i>Clélie</i>. Herself a writer and a lover of literature, she left Voltaire 2000 +francs to buy books.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_337" href="#FNanchor_337" class="label">[337]</a> [An ancient princely family of Rome which claimed descent from +Fabius Maximus the Dictator.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_338" href="#FNanchor_338" class="label">[338]</a> Panormita, who died in 1471, had already employed his muse in lamenting +departed courtesans; for example:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Hoc jacet ingenuae formae Catharina sepulcro;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Grata fuit multis scita puella procis, etc.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>[In this tomb lies Catharine of noble beauty: pleasing was the fair girl +to many a wooer.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_339" href="#FNanchor_339" class="label">[339]</a> Women “may accept of our service unto a certain measure, and make +us honestly perceive how they disdain us not; for the law which enjoineth +them to abhor us, because we adore them, and to hate us forasmuch as we +love them, is doubtless very cruel.... A queen of our time said wittily +that to refuse men’s kind summons is a testimony of much weakness, and +an accusing of one’s own facility, and that an unattempted lady could not +vaunt of her chastity.... If rareness be in any thing worthy estimation, +it ought to be in this.” And again: “In my time, the pleasure of +reporting and blabbing what one hath done (a pleasure not much short of +the act itself in sweetness) was only allowed to such as had some assured, +trusty and singular friend; whereas nowadays the ordinary entertainments +and familiar discourses of meetings and at tables are the boastings of +favours received, graces obtained, and secret liberalities of ladies. Verily +it is too great an abjection and argueth a baseness of heart, so fiercely to +suffer those tender, dainty, delicious joys to be persecuted, pelted and +foraged by persons so ungrateful, so indiscreet, and so giddy-headed.” +(Montaigne, Bk. III., cap. v.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_340" href="#FNanchor_340" class="label">[340]</a> Vice was incredibly base and ignoble at the courts of Charles VIII. +and Louis XII. Ragged and loathsome wretches went everywhere in the +train of the court, to whom the princes gave alms on fête days.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_341" href="#FNanchor_341" class="label">[341]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Nor will you find it hard to tell</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On what fair morning this befell.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_342" href="#FNanchor_342" class="label">[342]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[God hath sent you to this place</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like some miracle of grace,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That you may both have and hold</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our great sovreign’s heart of gold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And that like a holy fire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Purified in all desire</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His affection light may shed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By your true perfections fed.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kings to mortal men below</div> + <div class="verse indent0">God’s own form and image show.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_343" href="#FNanchor_343" class="label">[343]</a> [And you have won the whole great heart of France.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_344" href="#FNanchor_344" class="label">[344]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Shall I alone of all this age in France</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Forbear to sing thy dread and puissant name,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Nor tell the glory of thy crescent flame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor by some deathless rime thy praise enhance?]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_345" href="#FNanchor_345" class="label">[345]</a> Some historians have maintained that the love of Henri II. for Diana +was purely platonic.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_346" href="#FNanchor_346" class="label">[346]</a> As a prelate and an aspirant to the purple Bembo was tied to celibacy; +but he was only in the lower ranks of the clergy so far as actual <i>orders</i> +were concerned.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_347" href="#FNanchor_347" class="label">[347]</a> Before becoming pope Julius had shaved. It was during his pontificate +that the discussion waxed bitter. Clement VII. lent his name to the +tractate <i>Pro sacerdotum barbis</i> of Piero.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_348" href="#FNanchor_348" class="label">[348]</a> “Well may a piece of marble raise your titles as high as you list, +because you have repaired a piece of an old wall, or cleansed a common +ditch, but men of judgment will never do it.” (Montaigne, III. x.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_349" href="#FNanchor_349" class="label">[349]</a> In the Louvre.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_350" href="#FNanchor_350" class="label">[350]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The day thy sail dipped to the dancing brine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And from our streaming eyes robbed sight of thine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That fatal bark bore far from weeping France</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Muses erst who dwelt there—sad mischance!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And now Parnassus thrums a tuneless lyre,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Helicon distils an ooze of mire;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our laurel is all parched, our ivy sere,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our song-birds stint their singing—thou not here!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_351" href="#FNanchor_351" class="label">[351]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Prince Françoys, veulx tu, comme seigneur</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Supérieur, estre dominateur,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Prans pour faveur, par amour et mérite.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Celle qui est en florée verdeur,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Digne d’honneur, nommée Margarite.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Prince Francis, if thou dost desire</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To rule indeed as lord and sire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For love and worth in favour set</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her who is filled with youthful fire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Deserving honour, Margaret.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_352" href="#FNanchor_352" class="label">[352]</a> This is especially noticeable in her first work, <i>The Mirror of the Soul</i>, +which she modestly called the work of a woman “who had in herself +neither science nor knowledge.” Besides, she employed a good secretary.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_353" href="#FNanchor_353" class="label">[353]</a> Another anecdote of the court of Urbino. A Bergamese peasant had +just entered the service of a nobleman. The princesses were told that there +had arrived a retainer of Cardinal Borgia, who was a fine musician, a +dancer, and a great oddity. They fetched him in, welcomed him, sat him +down among them, and lionised him with great respect. Unhappily the +good man spoke an indescribable jargon. The author of the trick made the +princesses believe that he was shamming the Lombard peasant for fun. +The scene lasted a rather long time, while those in the secret were splitting +their sides.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_354" href="#FNanchor_354" class="label">[354]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O main polye, main divine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Main qui n’as ta pareille en terre,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Main qui tient la paix et la guerre ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Main portant la clef pour fermer</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et ouvrir l’huys de bien aymer,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Main plaisante, main délicate,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Je n’oserois te dire ingrate.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tu peulx blesser, tu peulx guérir,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tu peulx faire vivre et mourir.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[O fair smooth hand, O hand divine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hand never match’d on earth before,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The arbiter of peace and war,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That bears the key to lock or loose</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The door for happy lover’s use,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O pleasant hand and dainty, ne’er</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To call thee thankless could I dare.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis thine to wound and thine to heal,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thine both life and death to deal.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_355" href="#FNanchor_355" class="label">[355]</a> The question has often been asked whether the <i>Heptameron</i> is a work +of imagination, or whether it should be taken seriously. After the labours +of MM. de Montaiglon, Franck, and Gaston Pâris, to speak only of the +principal authorities, there can be no longer any doubt. Margaret, like +Castiglione, certifies in a general way the veracity of her stories. She +worked at this collection for several years, beginning probably in 1545, +and with so much care that in 1549, when she died, she left it incomplete. +The <i>Heptameron</i> then is not a juvenile work, but the testament of her +court life and her philosophic career, and an autobiography, since several +anecdotes relate to her, her brother, and her intimate friends. Moreover, +among the large number of manuscripts she left in her portfolios, Boistuau +(another strange character, to judge by his works!) chose this one to +publish under the title of <i>History of Fortunate Lovers</i>, with some touching +up, and a few excisions he thought it well to make in certain risky +passages. This precaution gave offence, and Margaret’s own daughter +took care to get a new and authentic edition published, two years later.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_356" href="#FNanchor_356" class="label">[356]</a> So we identify “Simontault,” [one of the <i>raconteurs</i> of the <i>Heptameron</i>].</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_357" href="#FNanchor_357" class="label">[357]</a> Thus we identify “Nomerfide.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_358" href="#FNanchor_358" class="label">[358]</a> “Ennasuite.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_359" href="#FNanchor_359" class="label">[359]</a> Margaret excelled in artistic needlework. She made a piece of tapestry, +representing a high mass as perfectly as a picture could have done. While +she plied her needle, she had near her someone to read to her, or a historian, +poet, or writer of some kind to talk to her.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_360" href="#FNanchor_360" class="label">[360]</a> Very few poets had the audacity of Clément Marot, who, harassed by +his creditors, went a-begging to the Queen of Navarre, beslavering her +with love the while: she replied with a <i>dixain</i>. He acknowledged receipt +of it ironically, saying that on the strength of her verses his creditors have +called him “Monsieur,” and have permitted him to borrow again, which he +proceeded to do.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_361" href="#FNanchor_361" class="label">[361]</a> “My heart’s friend, I beg you to send me the crucifix for a short time, +even if it is not far advanced, so that I may show it to the gentlemen of +the Most Reverend Cardinal of Mantua. And if you are not very busy +to-day, come and talk to me at any hour that suits you.—Yours to command, +the Marchioness of Pescara.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_362" href="#FNanchor_362" class="label">[362]</a> [Usually known as Lydius Cattus. His Latin poems in praise of Lydia +appeared at Venice in 1502.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_363" href="#FNanchor_363" class="label">[363]</a> [A Portuguese writer (1505-1566) who spent the most of his life in +France and taught philosophy at Paris. He is chiefly notable for his +crushing reply to Ramus’s attacks on Aristotle.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_364" href="#FNanchor_364" class="label">[364]</a> Paul Bourget, address in the French Academy, Dec. 9, 1897.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_365" href="#FNanchor_365" class="label">[365]</a> He undertook to write for her the <i>Annals of Brittany</i>, and had an idea +of a history of the Greeks and Turks for the same princess.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_366" href="#FNanchor_366" class="label">[366]</a> [So called because their aim was to purify the Italian tongue by sifting +the wheat from the chaff.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_367" href="#FNanchor_367" class="label">[367]</a> Castiglione got Bembo to revise the speeches he attributed to him.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_368" href="#FNanchor_368" class="label">[368]</a> The Spanish <i>canzone</i>, inserted by Lucretia Borgia in her letters to +Bembo, are perhaps not her own.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_369" href="#FNanchor_369" class="label">[369]</a> [Her librarian.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_370" href="#FNanchor_370" class="label">[370]</a> Castiglione, that arbiter of taste, devotes six pages of excellent Latin +distiches to dissuade his lady from going to the sea-baths. He gives a +charming description of the sea monsters which advance towards the girls, +not only to fling them as food to the fishes, but to get them into their embrace, +and so on. “Let us go rather,” he sighs, “towards the gentle river, +in the thick shade, among the flowers. Perfumed, crowned with our +favourite colours, we will let the water lave thy snowy feet, ... the +zephyr will lay bare thy marble flanks.... O, dear soul of mine, the +woodland gods will feel the sting of my love, the very water of the river +will boil with my flame: let no one know whither we bend our steps! The +crowd strips rocks and woods of their charm.... Let young scatterbrains +go to the sea. We will be mum about the place whereto we are bound. +And if on the billows thou hearest a murmur, ah! my love, at once bury +thy head in my breast!”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_371" href="#FNanchor_371" class="label">[371]</a> Virgil was much out of fashion, though translations are occasionally to +be met with.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_372" href="#FNanchor_372" class="label">[372]</a> [A poet of Mantua (1498-1560), writer of extremely free verse on monks +and women.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_373" href="#FNanchor_373" class="label">[373]</a> [<i>I.e.</i> the Doubtful.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_374" href="#FNanchor_374" class="label">[374]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Young Maupas’ sparrow—he is dead, alack!</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Fair maids, lament him.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A thing unfeathered save upon his back</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Hath slain and rent him.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ye know the rogue—that froward wight</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Called Love hath done it out of spite,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For when the mistress ’scaped his arrow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He turned about and slew the sparrow.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_375" href="#FNanchor_375" class="label">[375]</a> [Lemaire de Belges wrote an elegiac poem on <i>L’amant vert</i>, Margaret’s +parrot. A charming poem with the title <i>Vert-Vert</i> was written by Gresset, +a contemporary of Voltaire, recounting the burlesque story of a parrot +which had been the pet of a convent.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_376" href="#FNanchor_376" class="label">[376]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Mon Dieu, quel plaisir c’estoit,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Quand Peloton se grattoit,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Faisant tinter sa sonnette,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Avec sa teste folette!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Quel plaisir, quand Peloton</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cheminoit sur un baston,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ou, coifé d’un petit linge,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Assis comme un petit singe,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Se tenoit, mignardelet,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">D’un maintien damoiselet!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ou, sur les pieds de derrière,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Portant la pique guerrière,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Marchoit d’un front asseuré</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Avec un pas mesuré.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Gad, how pleasant ’twas to see</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fluffy scratching prettily,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Making with his silky pate</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Toy-bells tintinnabulate!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And what fun to see him ride</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On a hobby-horse astride,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or, bedight in tiny cape,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Squatting like a little ape,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Posing like a proper squire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Spruce and dainty in attire;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On hind legs erect, perchance,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shouldering a martial lance,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Marching at a measured pace,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Full assurance in his face.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_377" href="#FNanchor_377" class="label">[377]</a> [The French adapter of <i>Sandford and Merton</i>, etc.; known as the +Friend of Children.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_378" href="#FNanchor_378" class="label">[378]</a> [Alluding to his forename Angelo.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_379" href="#FNanchor_379" class="label">[379]</a> In 1500, in the village of Auvilliers in Normandy, a girl of fourteen +named Jeanne la Fournette, as skilled in Latin as the parish parson, sang +the Tenebrae in church.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_380" href="#FNanchor_380" class="label">[380]</a> “Verse is the clarion, prose the sword.” (L. Veuillot.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_381" href="#FNanchor_381" class="label">[381]</a> “Gli Italiani, col lor saper lettere, haver mostrato poco valer nell’ +arme, da un tempo in qua.” (Castiglione.) [The Italians, with their +knowledge of letters, have shown little worth in arms at any time.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_382" href="#FNanchor_382" class="label">[382]</a> [The popularity of the <i>Ship of Fools</i> was partly due to its admirable +woodcuts, which are of quite extraordinary excellence, and much more +amusing than the text.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_383" href="#FNanchor_383" class="label">[383]</a> Hütten. Though he is joking, Hütten pretty faithfully represents the +opinions of a part of Germany, which did not perceive his sarcasm.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_384" href="#FNanchor_384" class="label">[384]</a> [Verses by Héroët and La Borderie appeared in <i>Opuscules d’amour</i>, +Lyons, 1547. Héroët’s <i>Parfaite Amie</i> is a lady who, having lost her lover, +is content to await a spiritual union in a better world. La Borderie’s <i>Amie +de Cour</i> is a lady of quite contrary proclivities.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_385" href="#FNanchor_385" class="label">[385]</a> In 1546 Delahaye, sometime printer of Alençon, now blossomed into +‘Silvius,’ could praise Margaret for the service she had just rendered to +the French mind: A coarse Cupid, he said, was reigning when true Love +descended from heaven to chase him away, found hostelry with the princess, +and “gently settled upon a hedge.” According to him, Margaret had +succeeded in ruling the appetites, and in practically introducing philosophic +love into poetry.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_386" href="#FNanchor_386" class="label">[386]</a> [The <i>puy</i> was properly a mound or other elevated place on which competitions +in poetry and song were held—eisteddfoddi.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_387" href="#FNanchor_387" class="label">[387]</a> [A racy preacher whose sermons on Brandt’s <i>Ship of Fools</i> were very +popular. He preached on “subjects of the day.”]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_388" href="#FNanchor_388" class="label">[388]</a> <i>Stultifere naves.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_389" href="#FNanchor_389" class="label">[389]</a> Bk. i. cap. li.; bk. iii. cap. v.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_390" href="#FNanchor_390" class="label">[390]</a> One of the peculiarities of the Albigensian heresy was that it developed +through the apostleship of women.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_391" href="#FNanchor_391" class="label">[391]</a> With this motto:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Donnez puissance souveraine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Au croissant de France, tel cours</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Qu’il vienne jusqu’à lune plaine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sans jamais entrer en décours.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[All sovereign might do ye bestow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On France’s crescent; let it grow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till a full moon in heaven it reigns</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And never from that glory wanes.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_392" href="#FNanchor_392" class="label">[392]</a> Bk. ii. cap. xii.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_393" href="#FNanchor_393" class="label">[393]</a> “Platonis, ceterorumque philosophorum, quos omnes errorum magistros +ostendimus.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_394" href="#FNanchor_394" class="label">[394]</a> “Nevertheless it must not be thought, when we make mention of +philosophy, that we speak only of that which is learnt in the writings of +Plato and other philosophers, for we get also from the philosophy of the +Gospel, which is the word of God, the holy and salutary precepts with +which Margaret was so well indoctrinated and instructed by her teachers” +(Sainte-Marthe’s Funeral Oration).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_395" href="#FNanchor_395" class="label">[395]</a> People still went to witches and “Egyptians” to get antidotes for love, +or love philtres, or simply potions for securing good luck. These potions +were mischievously used, as morphine is to-day: it was what they called +selling the devil in bottles. Rabelais shows us his Pantagruelion: Porta, +Cardan, and other grave occultists or physicians have handed down several +of the prescriptions then current: opium was generally used to produce +delightful dreams; nightshade produced smiling illusions. The principle +of love philtres was derived from remote antiquity, and apparently M. +Brown-Sequard has borrowed something from them.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_396" href="#FNanchor_396" class="label">[396]</a> For instance, a lady of Blois, attacked with a decline, “bewitched,” it +was said, had a mass said at Notre Dame des Aides; then a witch lay full +length upon the patient, mumbling her wicked charms. The sick lady was +at once cured; it is true that, two months afterwards, she had a relapse +and died, but the witch attributed that accident to her own unruly +tongue.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_397" href="#FNanchor_397" class="label">[397]</a> Witches were the happy possessors of a number of talents: they cured +diseases by amulets or charms; they brought hail and rain; their malign +power played with the secrets of kings as well as of families. Two young +peasants of Nivernais, stalwart striplings and much in love, one day +married two sisters. On the evening of the wedding day, strange to say, +the newly-married couples, instead of making love, fell to blows. All at +once someone remembered that on the previous Palm Sunday one of the +young fellows had refused to give a piece of consecrated boxwood to an old +witch in that neighbourhood, and that she had simply said: “You will +repent this.” Off they went to the hag, brought her back with them, +gave her a warm welcome and a good meal; she relented and allowed one +of the men to drink from her glass; he recovered immediately and his wife +was satisfied. The other, on the contrary, who had not drunk of the same +cup, fell ill; soon he seemed in imminent danger; the witch, when summoned, +refused to inconvenience herself a second time: all offers and +threats were alike unavailing. The family was in despair, the whole +village at its wit’s end. The witch locked herself in; a hole was made in +the roof, she was dragged out with her husband and carried off. Arrived +at the bedside of the sick man, the husband said: “You are not going to +die”; but the woman refused to utter a syllable. Then the rage of the +bystanders knew no bounds: men who had been in hiding flung themselves +on the malevolent hag as soon as she withdrew, seized her, and flung her +into the fire. Others, more merciful or more apprehensive, managed to +pull her out, her legs horribly burned, carried her home, and tended her. +But the wretched woman, stoically wrapping herself in her pain, shut her +door, refused to send to Nevers for a doctor, and after three months of +agony died in her obstinate solitude.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_398" href="#FNanchor_398" class="label">[398]</a> [An accomplished lady of the court of Ferrara, who wrote dialogues and +Greek verses, married a German physician, and died at twenty-nine.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_399" href="#FNanchor_399" class="label">[399]</a> [Medieval types of the perfect wife. Clotilde was wife of Clovis I., +King of the Franks (475-545); Theodelinde, Queen of the Lombards (died +625). Both converted their husbands to the Christian faith.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_400" href="#FNanchor_400" class="label">[400]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Le nom de foy et de bonté</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A tant mon esprit mesconté,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Que je croy qu’il est en nature</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Moins de bons hommes qu’en peinture.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Melin de Saint-Gelais, in allusion<br> + to the order of St. Francis de<br> + Paul, known as <i>bonhommes</i>.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[“Goodness” and “faith” and all such cant</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With me find sympathy but scant;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nature doth fewer good men breed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Than live in pictures: that’s my creed.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_401" href="#FNanchor_401" class="label">[401]</a> Thus Paul Jove describes the villa on the Lake of Como, in which he +wrote his <i>Elogia</i>: a villa fanned by gentle breezes, hung on a hillside +dominating the lake, so rich in classic memories, so pure, so blue; in the +episcopal dining-room, Apollo and the Muses presided; the drawing-room, +dedicated to Minerva, contained busts of several great writers of antiquity; +thence one passed to the library, then into the Hall of the Sirens, then the +Hall of the Three Graces. Large windows opened upon green flower-bedecked +mountains, luxuriant valleys, rugged granite peaks, a majestic +horizon of eternal snow, and indestructible glaciers, above which hung the +beautiful transparent blue sky.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_402" href="#FNanchor_402" class="label">[402]</a> [A conventual order for ladies of rank founded by the repudiated queen +of Louis XII.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_403" href="#FNanchor_403" class="label">[403]</a> “With a cable of love and fidelity welded together, I fasten my barque +to a never-yielding rock, to Jesus Christ the living stone, whereby I may +at any time return to port.” (Vittoria Colonna.)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_404" href="#FNanchor_404" class="label">[404]</a> All the speakers in the <i>Heptameron</i> begin by taking the communion.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_405" href="#FNanchor_405" class="label">[405]</a> [The moralist who translated Pascal’s <i>Lettres provinciales</i> into Latin, +and to some extent continued his influence.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_406" href="#FNanchor_406" class="label">[406]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Churches I saw (cries Margaret), rich, beautiful, and old,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And altars deck’d with images of silver and of gold;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My heart was fill’d with pleasure as I heard new strains of song,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And saw the gleaming tapers and the torches pass along,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And heard the merry clash and clang of bells high overhead,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To mortal ears astounding: oh, ’tis heaven below, I said.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_407" href="#FNanchor_407" class="label">[407]</a> Bonaventure des Périers, Tale 35.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_408" href="#FNanchor_408" class="label">[408]</a> The Bible was much in request. Editions in the vulgar tongue had +long been popular in Germany and Italy. Lefèvre d’Etaples, who produced +his translation in 1523, had passed his life in expounding the sacred +books. In 1514, Charles de Saint-Gelais dedicated to Francis I., while still +only a prince, a translation of the Book of Maccabees.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_409" href="#FNanchor_409" class="label">[409]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Les aucunes sont bibliennes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et le texte très mal exposent:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Jeunes bigottes, anciennes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dessus les Evangiles glosent,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et tout au contraire proposent</div> + <div class="verse indent0">De ce qui est à proposer.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Gringoire, <i>Les folles Entreprises</i>.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Some are bible-women bold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And very ill the text expound:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bigots young and bigots old</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gloss the Gospels round and round,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Preaching doctrine far from sound.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_410" href="#FNanchor_410" class="label">[410]</a> M. Gebhardt has well characterised this spirit of Italy: “The astonishing +intellectual freedom with which Italy treated dogma and discipline; +the serenity she was able to preserve in face of the great mystery of life +and death; the art she devoted to the reconciliation of faith with rationalism; +her dallyings with formal heresy, and the audacities of her mystic +imagination: the enthusiasm of love which often carried her up to the +loftiest Christian ideal—such was the original religion of Italy”—that of +the Renaissance as of the Middle Ages. Alexander II. and Julius II. +scandalised everybody beyond the borders of Italy: in Italy, no one.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_411" href="#FNanchor_411" class="label">[411]</a> Tale 34.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_412" href="#FNanchor_412" class="label">[412]</a> [A wealthy <i>bourgeoise</i> who held a literary salon frequented by the +Encyclopaedists—Diderot, D’Alembert, and the rest.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_413" href="#FNanchor_413" class="label">[413]</a> “Grant, I beseech thee, Lord, that by the humility that becomes the +creature and by the pride thy greatness demands, I may adore thee +always, and that, in the fear thy justice imposes, as in the hope thy +clemency justifies, I may live eternally and submit to thee as the Almighty, +follow thee as the All-wise, and turn towards thee as towards Perfection +and Goodness. I beseech thee, most tender Father, that thy living fire +may purify me, thy radiant light illumine me; that this sincere love for +thee may profit me in such wise that, never finding let or hindrance in +things of this world, I may return to thee in happiness and safety.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_414" href="#FNanchor_414" class="label">[414]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I have transgresséd all God’s Holy laws;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To stint my story, I except not one.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_415" href="#FNanchor_415" class="label">[415]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Las, tous ces motz ne voulois escouter,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mais encore je venois à douter</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Si c’estoit vous, ou si par adventure</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ce n’estoit rien qu’une simple escripture.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[I would not hear those words, but still</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A doubt my wearied soul would fill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whether ’twere very you indeed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or chance had given me trash to read.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_416" href="#FNanchor_416" class="label">[416]</a> In her <i>Comédie sur le trespas du Roy</i> the shepherdess Amarissima (that +is, she herself) mourns the death of the god Pan; she no longer believes in +anything—either human virtue, or human consolations, or even the old-time +constancy. She has lost her philosophy! In the end, the Paraclete comes +to restore our serenity by the assurance that Pan is tasting Elysian joys in +the eternal meadows. At the carnival of Mont-de-Marsan in 1547, the +princess, shaking off mournful preoccupations, put another comedy on the +stage, in which she brought into opposition a beautiful lady of fashion, a +superstitious lady who speaks of death and paradise, and a wise woman who +advocates equilibrium of soul and body; then the “Queen of God” (we +may guess who she is) upsets it all—the world, superstition, and wisdom—with +a philosophic panacea of divine and human love commingled. We +shall not be expected, however, to follow Margaret in the meanderings of +her thought, nor even in her prayers “of the faithful soul,” or “to Jesus +Christ”—earnest appeals to the love and favour and mercy of the Most +High, who can save us only by love.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_417" href="#FNanchor_417" class="label">[417]</a> See the close of the <i>Navire</i>, a poem devoted to the praise of love and +to the glorification of the beauty and virtues of the late king Francis I.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_418" href="#FNanchor_418" class="label">[418]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Souvienne toy qu’ilz sont nés imparfaitz,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et que de chair fragile tous sont faitz.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Remember that imperfect were they born,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And of frail flesh God’s creatures all are made.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_419" href="#FNanchor_419" class="label">[419]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Priez Dieu pour les trespassez,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dont le retour est incongneu.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Pray God for sinners whose return</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From Death’s far bourn is all unknown.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Very few have returned, “the way is long!”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_420" href="#FNanchor_420" class="label">[420]</a> [The architect and sculptor (1400-1469) known as Philaretes, who +mingled pagan mythology and Christian legend in his designs for the +bronze gates of St. Peter’s, and in his <i>Treatise, on Architecture</i> taught that +a true architect should possess all the virtues.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_421" href="#FNanchor_421" class="label">[421]</a> [The <i>palinod</i> was properly a poem in honour of the Immaculate Conception. +Several such poems were recited on a set day, and a prize was +awarded to the best.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_422" href="#FNanchor_422" class="label">[422]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The flesh! ’Tis mortal, fed with mortal food!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Love’s spirit nourishes true hearts and good.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_423" href="#FNanchor_423" class="label">[423]</a> [Author of <i>De perpetuo in terris gaudio piorum</i>. Basle, 1558.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_424" href="#FNanchor_424" class="label">[424]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Prologue.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_425" href="#FNanchor_425" class="label">[425]</a> This was before Luther, or independently of him. Erasmus pleasantly +scoffs at prayers to the Virgin or to St. Christopher, and is convinced that +the vows of sailors during a tempest are to be traced simply to paganism, +the ancient worship of Venus, “Star of the Seas.” He has glorified the +Virgin in cold but elegantly rhetorical verses, in which the Styx, Phlegethon, +Helicon, and the Castalian fount proclaim the new spirit. While in former +days Louis XI., for the slightest tribulation, struck a medal to the Virgin +or went on a pilgrimage, neither Louis XII. nor Francis I., who will not be +regarded as Lutherans, had any such idea; in an extreme case, Louis XII. +pays his vows direct in the Holy Eucharist. Sannazaro, who remained +faithful to the Virgin, declared himself of Spanish descent.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_426" href="#FNanchor_426" class="label">[426]</a> [Disappointed of a cardinalate, he undertook a polemic against the +Reformers, but was led to adopt their views. He had met Luther at +Wittenberg.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_427" href="#FNanchor_427" class="label">[427]</a> Heroine of Bandello’s love-poem.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_428" href="#FNanchor_428" class="label">[428]</a> [One of the best modern Latin poets (1498-1550). He was nominated +by the pope as secretary to the Council of Trent.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_429" href="#FNanchor_429" class="label">[429]</a> “Who then has supported these men?” cries Alberto Pio: “the +dignitaries of the church, and the highest of them! They have maintained +at their voluptuous court these men with their half pagan leanings, +who pour contempt on all that is dear to the people, and strive only to +overturn existing things.”</p> + +<p>[Pio was prince da Carpi, and a nephew of Pico della Mirandola.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_430" href="#FNanchor_430" class="label">[430]</a> “We,” he says, “nourished and moulded by Christianity, no longer +approach the thought of divine and eternal things except with a heart full +of vanity, a mind deadened and filled with the love of material things. To +the instruction of Scripture, to the responses and prophecies of the Son of +God, it is necessary to find (I am ashamed to say it) an academic counterpart. +We have gone back to the old state of polytheism or atheism, to the +maxims of antiquity.... In this paradise of study it is necessary for +every lover of letters that his philosophic mind, leaving behind the pastures +of philology (very pleasant, but in themselves futile and of no account for +what concerns the present object), should strive to fill itself with the nutriment +of sacred philosophy, the feast of heavenly wisdom descended among +mortals.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_431" href="#FNanchor_431" class="label">[431]</a> [A brief criticism of this excellent comedy is given in Macaulay’s essay +on Machiavelli.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_432" href="#FNanchor_432" class="label">[432]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">La foy sans amour est morte et endormye,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Aussi l’amour sans effect vient à rien.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[A loveless faith is slumberous and dead,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And love inactive naught accomplishes.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_433" href="#FNanchor_433" class="label">[433]</a> <i>Heptameron</i>, Tale 42.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_434" href="#FNanchor_434" class="label">[434]</a> Renan.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_435" href="#FNanchor_435" class="label">[435]</a> The art of evoking the spirits which hover about us, and of entering by +their aid into relations with the absent or the dead—an art largely practised +in France and Germany—was quite as pagan as the Italian mythology. +Trithemius, the famous abbot of Spanheim, laid down dogmatic rules for it. +Many spirits came without being summoned. There were amiable spirits +among them, simple domestic goblins who made themselves useful. At the +moment of death Agrippa was thus attended. There were also troublesome +fiends, like those tricksy sprites who visited women in the darkness of the +night. Jean Mansel relates the story of an unhappy woman tormented +every night by a sort of unconscionable husband, who was no other than a +jovial demon. At last, worn out, she consults a hermit, who directs her +to raise her arms at the critical moment towards a sacred picture; with the +result that the demon takes flight, not without cursing the hermit.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_436" href="#FNanchor_436" class="label">[436]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Theology he will expound;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But as for drinking water pure,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You’d better give it to your hound,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For brother Lubin can’t—be sure.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_437" href="#FNanchor_437" class="label">[437]</a> Oliver Maillard declaims at St. Jean de Grêve, Paris: “O women, +O flaunting wenches, bethink ye well. Why fill your time with amusements +and vanities? You will have to answer, not for the conceptions of +Aristotle, nor the learning of idealists or realists, of legists or physicians, +but for your good or evil life.... Lift up your hearts, ladies; are you good +theologians?” That is what he finds to say to women who patronise and +cultivate learning, to platonists penetrated with the idea of the indulgent +mercy of God, and convinced of the great number of the Elect. (<i>Sermones +de adventu</i>). A preacher is describing the Virgin at the moment of the +Annunciation: “What was she doing, ladies? Think you she was +occupied in painting and powdering her face? No, at the foot of the +Cross she was reading the Hours of Our Lady”!</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_438" href="#FNanchor_438" class="label">[438]</a> Maillard.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_439" href="#FNanchor_439" class="label">[439]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Nec formæ contenta suæ, splendore decorem</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Auget mille modis mulier; frontem ligat auro,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Purpurat arte genas et collocat arte capillos,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Arte regit gressus, et lumina temperat arte.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Currit ut in latebras ludens perducat amantem.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(<i>Egloga</i>, 4.)</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>[Not content with her natural beauty, woman enhances the brilliance of +her charms in a thousand ways. She binds her brow with gold, artfully +colours her cheeks and knots her hair and rules her gait and manages her +eyes. She runs that sportive she may lure her lover into her secret nook.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_440" href="#FNanchor_440" class="label">[440]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Dueil, jalousie,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Puis frénésie,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Puis souspessons,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Mélancolie,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Tours de follie,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Regretz, tensons,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Pleurs et chansons,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Sont les façons</div> + <div class="verse indent6">D’amoureuse chevalerie.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mieulx vauldroit servir les massons</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Que d’avoir au cœur telz glassons.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">[Jealous care,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Rage, despair,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Then suspicions,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Melancholy,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Freaks of folly,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Regrets, quarrels,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Tears and carols,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">These conditions</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Do our love-lorn knighthood bear.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Better to fill a hodman’s part</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Than have such icicles chilling the heart.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">That is how the good prior of Liré, Guillaume Alexis, expresses himself as +he rides with a nobleman along the road from Rome to Verneuil. (<i>Le grant +Blason des faulces amours.</i>) He continues in the same vigorous and cutting +style. What, replies his companion, disagreeably surprised, you ask them +only to work</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Et de nul plaisir n’avez cure!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Tous pageaulx</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Sont-ils égaulx?...</div> + <div class="verse indent6">... Quant on est jeune,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Force est qu’on tienne</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Le train des autres jouvenceaulx.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[And never to have a pleasure in life!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Varlets in hall,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Are they equal all?</div> + <div class="verse indent6">When one is young</div> + <div class="verse indent6">One needs must along</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With other younkers rolling the ball.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">Nature speaks; Gawain, Arthur, Lancelot</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Qui ne craignoyent ne froit ne chault</div> + <div class="verse indent0">... Toujours estoyent amoureux.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Nous aymerons</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Et chanterons</div> + <div class="verse indent6">En noz jouvences:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Quant vieulx serons,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Nous penserons</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Des consciences,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Menues offenses,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Et négligences.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Quelque jour récompenseront</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Force pardons, prou indulgences.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Who feared nor heat nor cold a whit,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Were ever in love.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Blithe and gay</div> + <div class="verse indent6">With love and lay</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Youth we will speed:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">When old and gray</div> + <div class="verse indent6">’Twill be time to pray,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Conscience to heed,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Follies to shun,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">To rue good undone.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And some day indulgences, pardons galore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Will help pay the piper and settle the score.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">The monk replies with a long discourse, flagellating the vices of women +and resulting disasters.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_441" href="#FNanchor_441" class="label">[441]</a> <i>Reformationis monasticæ vindiciæ</i>, 1503.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_442" href="#FNanchor_442" class="label">[442]</a> [Thenaud and Thevet were both Franciscans who travelled in the East +and published accounts of their adventures.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_443" href="#FNanchor_443" class="label">[443]</a> [He eloped with a woman, lived a Bohemian life for ten years, and then +returned to the hair-shirt and piety, wandering from convent to convent. +He was one of the earliest and most successful writers of macaronic verse +(<i>Opus Merlini Cocaii macaronicorum</i>).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_444" href="#FNanchor_444" class="label">[444]</a> [Noted for an excellent Latin verse translation of the <i>Iliad</i>. He was a +German.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_445" href="#FNanchor_445" class="label">[445]</a> Maitre Berthold, he relates, who had gone to Rome to seek his fortune, +had only succeeded after two months in finding a place as groom to an +auditor of the rota, to look after his mule. “But,” said I to him, “that’s +not the sort of thing for me, a master of arts of Cologne; I can’t do things +like that.” “Very well, if you won’t, I can’t help it.” “I think I shall +return to my own country.... Am I to currycomb the mule and +scrub the stable? Sooth, everything may go to the devil, for me!” +Again, Conrad Stryldriot writes: “’Tis the devil who brought me here, +and I can’t go back; there is no good fellowship here as in Germany; +people aren’t sociable; if a man gets drunk once a day, they take offence +and call him a pig. What is one to do? The courtesans are very dear, +and not at all pretty. I tell you in all truth, in Italy the women are +uncommonly ill made, spite of all their fine furbelows of silk and camlet.... +They stoop, and eat garlic and are swarthy-hued.... What +colour they have is paint.” (<i>Epistolæ obscurorum virorum.</i>)</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_446" href="#FNanchor_446" class="label">[446]</a> “Post tenebras ego spero lucem,” wrote Jean Marot in 1415.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_447" href="#FNanchor_447" class="label">[447]</a> “You cannot imagine anyone more useful or holy,” her friend Bembo +wrote; “I understand why your ladyship is so fond of him!” Again: +“Our brother Bernardino is adored here: men, women, everybody lauds +him to the skies.... I hope some day to converse with your ladyship +about him.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_448" href="#FNanchor_448" class="label">[448]</a> Lavardin also touched the chords of feeling, and was thereupon congratulated +by Ronsard in a sonnet: he translated for the princess a +dialogue by Mark Antony Natta, on the Nature of God. He acknowledges +that in reality the subject seems to him inaccessible, whether one takes +the wings of an eagle or descends into the depths: in the end he thinks +that the incomprehensible had better be left to faith. But he dedicates +this work to Margaret in excellent verse:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A quel plus propre autel pourrions-nous présenter</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Le sujet immortel de ce précieux livre?</div> + <div class="verse indent6">... O perle, ô Marguerite,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O beau fleuron royal, vostre sang très chrestien,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Et toutes les vertus dont vostre grâce hérite ...</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Nous font foy ...</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Que des enfans de Dieu vous serez le soutien.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[To what more seemly altar could we bring</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The immortal subject of this precious book?</div> + <div class="verse indent6">O pearl, O Margaret,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fair queenly gem, thy purest Christian ray</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And all the virtues by thy grace possest</div> + <div class="verse indent6">To us attest</div> + <div class="verse indent0">God’s children all will find in thee their stay.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_449" href="#FNanchor_449" class="label">[449]</a> <i>Les très merveilleuses Victoires.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_450" href="#FNanchor_450" class="label">[450]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To love the mind, Madam, is loving folly.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_451" href="#FNanchor_451" class="label">[451]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Your arms are Juno’s, and your breast</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Graces have with beauty drest;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Your hand and brow Aurora sent,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A lioness proud your heart has lent.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_452" href="#FNanchor_452" class="label">[452]</a> [Trissotin is the affected coxcomb and Vadius the pedant of Molière’s +famous comedy, <i>Les Femmes savantes</i> (Act iii. scene v.).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_453" href="#FNanchor_453" class="label">[453]</a> [A Jewish physician whose Dialogues on Love were printed at Venice +in 1549.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_454" href="#FNanchor_454" class="label">[454]</a> Ronsard to Henri III.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_455" href="#FNanchor_455" class="label">[455]</a> Baïf to Catherine de’ Medici.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_456" href="#FNanchor_456" class="label">[456]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">L’homme à la femme y rend obéissance....</div> + <div class="verse indent0">L’esprit bon s’y fait lourd, la femme s’y diffame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">La fille y perd sa honte, la veuve y acquiert blasme.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tous y sont desguisez: la fille y va sans mère,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">La femme sans mary, le prestre sans bréviaire.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[At court the woman rules the man....</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The brightest wit grows sluggish, and women smirch their fame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The maid loses her modesty, the widow her good name.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All there is masquerade: the girl without her mother fares,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wife without husband; and the priest no breviary bears.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="noindent">All they think of there is</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent14">mendier le goust d’une vaine fumée</div> + <div class="verse indent0">(Qui s’acquiert à grand’peine, et tost est consumée),</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Piaffer, se friser, à faire l’amoureux.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse right">(Jean de la Taille, <i>Satires</i>).</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent22">[to beg a spark of empty praise</div> + <div class="verse indent0">(That’s very hard to kindle, and too quickly burns away),</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To cut a dash, and dandify, a lover’s part to play.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_457" href="#FNanchor_457" class="label">[457]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Happy the age when wild in woods</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The naked savage ran,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When nuts and apples were his foods,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And man was yet a man.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_458" href="#FNanchor_458" class="label">[458]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Multa tegit sacro involucro Natura; neque ullis</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fas est scire quidem mortalibus omnia; multa</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Admirare modo, necnon venerare, neque illa</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Inquires quae sunt arcanis proxima.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>[Nature conceals many things within her sacred shrine; nor may any +mortal presume to know all things; many things indeed thou mayst +admire, aye, reverence, without prying into those that lie closest to the +mysteries.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_459" href="#FNanchor_459" class="label">[459]</a> Yet Ronsard and his friends made the mistake of believing that the +language should be aristocratic, and that it was for writers, not for the +people, to form or reform it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_460" href="#FNanchor_460" class="label">[460]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Alas! when shall I see again</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The smoking chimneys of my village home?]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_461" href="#FNanchor_461" class="label">[461]</a> [A popular French writer (died in 1566). He translated Bandello into +French, and his <i>Théâtre du Monde</i>, in which he discussed “the woes of +humanity and the dignity and excellence of man,” ran into twenty +editions.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_462" href="#FNanchor_462" class="label">[462]</a> [His <i>Nouvel Amour</i> appeared along with Héroët’s <i>Opuscules d’Amour</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_463" href="#FNanchor_463" class="label">[463]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Then I perceived that, ignorant as yet</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of her high worth, I worshipped Margaret,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As, all unwitting, we admire the heavens.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_464" href="#FNanchor_464" class="label">[464]</a> [Andrea Navagero, commentator on the classics, author of <i>Viaggio</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_465" href="#FNanchor_465" class="label">[465]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">[Nothing remained in all the realm of France</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Holy and pure, of antique charity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Save Margaret, a human deity.]</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_466" href="#FNanchor_466" class="label">[466]</a> The 16th century was the golden age of women’s education.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_467" href="#FNanchor_467" class="label">[467]</a> [The hôtel de Rambouillet was the famous salon held by the marquise de +Rambouillet, where met a crowd of wits, fops, and scholars, to set fashions +for society and for literature. This was the headquarters of the <i>Précieuses</i>, +who were anxious to polish the language, and who introduced, among forms +of expression which time has approved, absurd affectations like the +Euphuism of the previous century in England.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_468" href="#FNanchor_468" class="label">[468]</a> When women were not supposed to be able to do more than “distinguish +a doublet from trunk-hose.” [A quotation from Molière’s <i>Les Femmes +savantes</i>, Act ii. sc. vii.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_469" href="#FNanchor_469" class="label">[469]</a> Tale ii., “Corruptio optimi pessima.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_470" href="#FNanchor_470" class="label">[470]</a> “Venus has caught the ladies in her toils, and God is tired!” +(Montaiglon). Tavannes asks that someone will shut women’s mouths.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_471" href="#FNanchor_471" class="label">[471]</a> St. Theresa goes to these words from the Song of Songs: “The milk of +thy breasts is sweeter than wine, and from them riseth a savour more +excellent than precious ointments”; or to these: “I sat down under his +shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_472" href="#FNanchor_472" class="label">[472]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Peace and joy in living reign no longer here;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Music and the dance to silence are constrained.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_473" href="#FNanchor_473" class="label">[473]</a> Cf. the following well-known passage from the <i>Apology of Raymond de +Sebonde</i> (<i>Essays</i>, ii. cap. xii.): “The soul, by reason of her trouble and +imbecility, as unable to subsist of herself, is ever and in all places questing +and searching comforts, hopes, foundations, and foreign circumstances on +which she may take hold and settle herself. And how light and fantastical +soever his invention doth frame them unto him, he notwithstanding relieth +more surely upon them, and more willingly, than upon himself.... It +is for the punishment of our temerity, and instruction of our misery and +incapacity, that God caused the trouble, downfall, and confusion of Babel’s +tower. Whatsoever we attempt without his assistance, whatever we see +without the lamp of his grace, is but vanity and folly. With our weakness +we corrupt and adulterate the very essence of truth (which is uniform +and constant) when fortune giveth us the possession of it.” [Florio.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_474" href="#FNanchor_474" class="label">[474]</a> “Nam vere sumus omnes de muliere” (<i>Facetus</i>).</p></div> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_504">[504]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="INDEX">INDEX</h2> + +</div> + +<ul> + +<li class="ifrst">Accolti, Bernardo, itinerant singer, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">age of marriage, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Agrippa, Cornelius, his view of marriage, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on Louise of Savoy, <a href="#Footnote_154">166 <i>n</i></a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">book on the Pre-eminence of the Female Sex, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">lectures on Plato, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Alexander VI., pope, on Urbino marriage, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his hunting, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on monks, <a href="#Page_463">463</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Alfonso of Aragon’s wedding, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Alfonso of Naples’ dinners, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Alione’s ballad, <a href="#Footnote_108">121 <i>n</i></a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">anecdote by, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">almsgiving, <a href="#Page_66">66-69</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Amadis de Gaule</i>, its popularity, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Amaretta, Costanza, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">‘amateurs,’ <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_388">388</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Amboise, cardinal of, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Andrelini, Fausto, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Anet, château of Diana of Poitiers, <a href="#Page_387">387</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">animals, platonist attitude towards, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Anne de Graville quoted, <a href="#Footnote_171">198 <i>n</i></a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Anne of Brittany, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Anne of France, her first lover, <a href="#Footnote_20">26 <i>n</i></a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">as sick nurse, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her charity, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">views on education, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89-91</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on girls’ stories, <a href="#Page_100">100-102</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">‘school of manners,’ <a href="#Page_103">103</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on maternal self-sacrifice, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on mourning, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on valour, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on love-making, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her character, <a href="#Page_166">166-168</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">idea of charm, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her platonism, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">compared with Margaret, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">opinion on ‘age of wisdom,’ <a href="#Page_214">214</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on dress, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">hunting, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">books, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">political career, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">love of art, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Anne of Polignac, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Anne of Vivonne, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">architecture, domestic, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Aretino, on tutors, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his <i>Marescalco</i>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on duchess of Urbino, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">courtesans, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on nudities, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his methods, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with Vittoria Colonna, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">correspondence, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>, <a href="#Page_395">395</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">art, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_380">380</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Asolani</i>, Bembo’s, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Baden in Aargau, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">balls, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Daneau on, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">baths, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Calvinists’ view of, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">life at, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Battista Spagnuoli, his view of marriage, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">of baths, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">of monks, <a href="#Page_460">460</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">beards, dispute on growing of, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Beatrice d’Este, <i>see</i> <a href="#Beatrice_DEste">D’Este</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">beauty, platonist idea of, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Bembo’s idea of, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Michelangelo’s, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">distrusted, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">preservation of, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Bembo, on Latin for girls, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his <i>Asolani</i>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on love, <a href="#Page_159">159-161</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">conversation, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">handwriting, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his Morosina, <a href="#Page_366">366-368</a>, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his talk, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">idea of poetry, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with Olympia Morata, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">letter to Isabella d’Este, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Beroaldo, Filippo, on drunkenness, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on love and Propertius, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Bibbiena on Catherine Sforza, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his <i>Calandra</i>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">decoration of his bath-room, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his letters, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his liberalism, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">anecdote of, <a href="#Page_463">463</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Bible, reading of, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_438">438</a>, <a href="#Page_439">439</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>bibliennes</i>, the, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_505">[505]</span>Billon, <a href="#Page_481">481</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Blando, Michelangelo, on hunting, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>blasons</i>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Boccaccio, popularity of, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Bonaventure des Périers, <i>see</i> <a href="#Des_Periers">Des Périers</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Boistuau, <a href="#Page_480">480</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Bonnivet, admiral de, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">books, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Botticelli’s <i>Venus and Cupid</i>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Bouchet, Jean, on flirtation, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">remedy for materialism, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">story of ladies of Poitiers, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><i>Les Regnars traversant les voies périlleuses</i>, <a href="#Page_392">392</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Bourget, Paul, his naturalism contrasted with Ruskin’s, <a href="#Page_499">499</a>, <a href="#Page_500">500</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">boutrimés, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">boys’ education, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Brandiolini, Aurelio, musician, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Brandt’s <i>Ship of Fools</i>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Brantôme on tutors, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on marquis of Pescara’s book, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on spicy literature, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on Mortemart ladies, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on the court, <a href="#Page_495">495</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Brascha, ambassador, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Briçonnet, bishop of Meaux, <a href="#Page_470">470</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Budé, Guillaume, <i>Livre de l’Institution du prince</i>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on religion, <a href="#Page_454">454</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">burial customs, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Burye, character in <i>Heptameron</i>, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Calvin on women, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_467">467</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on divorce, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">character of Reformation, <a href="#Page_467">467</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Calvinists, objection to fine weddings, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">to baths, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Cardan on marriage, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on gout, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on talk, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">life at Venice, <a href="#Footnote_260">290 <i>n</i></a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Carnesecchi, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">carpet knights, <a href="#Page_369">369</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Castelli, Cardinal, his hunting ode, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Castiglione, relations with his wife, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">theory of social aesthetics, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on Raphael, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on intellectual occupations for women, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his <i>Courtier</i>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_395">395</a>, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>, <a href="#Footnote_370">405 <i>n</i></a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on music, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on talk, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on duke of Urbino, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">handwriting, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">letters to Vittoria Colonna, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>, <a href="#Page_395">395</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">letter to Marchesa Scaldasole, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on viragos, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on painting, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Cataneo, on two loves, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Catherine de’ Medici, <i>see</i> <a href="#De_Medici">De’ Medici</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Catholicism and colour, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relation to philosophy, etc., <a href="#Page_456">456 ff.</a></li> + +<li class="indx">Caviceo, his <i>Peregrino</i>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Célestine, La</i>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Chailly, Louis XII.’s hound, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Champier on marriage age, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><i>Livre de vraye amour</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on doctors, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on love, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on women and men, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">charity, <a href="#Page_66">66-69</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">charm, theory of, <a href="#Page_195">195-200</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">chase, the, <a href="#Page_246">246-253</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Christian socialism, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">churches, mundane use of, <a href="#Page_237">237-240</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Church’s distrust of women, <a href="#Page_422">422</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Cibo, Caterina, <i>papaline</i>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>, <a href="#Page_457">457</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>cicisbeo</i>, <a href="#Page_346">346</a>, <a href="#Page_347">347</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">classics, respect for, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">clergy, character of, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_434">434-438</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Clichtoue’s philosophy of life, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Clouet, Jean, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">college education, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Collérye, Roger, quoted, <a href="#Footnote_37">46 <i>n</i></a>, <a href="#Footnote_103">115 <i>n</i></a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Colonna, Ascanio, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Colonna, Pompeo, his <i>Apologia pro mulieribus</i> (<span class="allsmcap">MS.</span> in M. de Maulde’s possession), <a href="#Page_399">399</a>, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx" id="Vittoria_Colonna">Colonna, Vittoria, age of betrothal, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">widowhood, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with Michelangelo, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_395">395</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on painting, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with Carnesecchi, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">letter to Paulo Giovio, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">handwriting, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">letters, <a href="#Page_305">305-308</a>, <a href="#Page_450">450</a>, <a href="#Page_451">451</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">character, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with Aretino, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">with Dolce, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">with Bembo, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her poetry, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>, <a href="#Page_405">405</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">religion, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>, <a href="#Page_469">469</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with Pole, <a href="#Page_429">429</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her prayer, <a href="#Page_442">442</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with Ochino, <a href="#Page_469">469</a>, <a href="#Page_470">470</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">colours, <a href="#Page_219">219-221</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">complexions, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">concubinage, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_363">363-366</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Condivi on Michelangelo, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Consentana, countess of, anecdote of, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">conversation, <a href="#Page_284">284-302</a>, <a href="#Page_345">345</a>, <a href="#Page_347">347</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">coquetry, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Coquillart, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_506">[506]</span>Correggio’s <i>St. Jerome</i>, <a href="#Page_449">449</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><i>Mystic Marriage</i>, <a href="#Page_450">450</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">correspondence, <a href="#Page_304">304-310</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Costa, Lorenzo, picture by, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">country life, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">country squires, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">courtesans, <a href="#Page_356">356-362</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Courtier</i>, Castiglione’s, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_395">395</a>, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Cremonini, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Cymbalum</i>, Des Périers’, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">D’Albret, Charlotte, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">D’Albret, Henri, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">D’Amboise, Catherine, <a href="#Page_444">444</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">D’Amboise, Françoise, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">D’Amboise, Michel, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">dancing, <a href="#Page_233">233-237</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Daneau on dancing and balls, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Dangu, Nicolas, <a href="#Page_384">384</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Dante, <a href="#Page_406">406</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">D’Aragona, <i>see</i> <a href="#Tullia_dAragona">Tullia</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">De Beaulieu, Eustorg, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx" id="Gabrielle_de_Bourbon">De Bourbon, Gabrielle, expenditure, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">lack of dowry, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">death of her son, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">religious works, <a href="#Page_443">443</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">De Clermont, Mlle, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">De Longray, Mme, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx" id="De_Medici">De’ Medici, Catherine, her ‘flying squadron,’ <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">De’ Medici, Julian, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">De Montausé, <a href="#Page_384">384</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx" id="Des_Periers">Des Périers, Bonaventure, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>, <a href="#Page_387">387</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his <i>Cymbalum</i>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">De Pons, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">De Soubise, Madame, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Desprez, Josquin, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx" id="Beatrice_DEste">D’Este, Beatrice, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx" id="Isabella_DEste">D’Este, Isabella, setter of fashions, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on pilgrimage, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">love of art, <a href="#Page_374">374</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">D’Etampes, duchess, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">dialogues, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Diana of Poitiers, as widow, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her portraits, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">statue of, by Goujon, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with king, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">love of art, <a href="#Page_387">387</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">divorce, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">doctors, <a href="#Page_55">55-58</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Dolce on misadventures of husbands, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on education, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">the moon, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">domestic letters, <a href="#Footnote_106">117 <i>n</i></a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304-310</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">dowries, <a href="#Page_117">117-119</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">‘dragons,’ <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">drama, <a href="#Page_278">278-283</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">dress, <a href="#Page_216">216-223</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">drinking, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Du Bellay, <a href="#Footnote_158">169 <i>n</i></a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>, <a href="#Page_476">476</a>, + <a href="#Page_477">477</a>, <a href="#Page_479">479</a>, <a href="#Page_483">483</a>, <a href="#Page_484">484</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Du Four, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Dürer’s women, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">dwelling house, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">eating, customs in, <a href="#Page_229">229-231</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">education, <a href="#Page_74">74-78</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86-100</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Egnatius, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Eleanor, wife of Francis I., <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Equicola, <i>Di natura d’amore</i>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Erasmus, on virginity, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on maternity, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">education, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">husbands, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">women’s stupidity, <a href="#Footnote_145">157 <i>n</i></a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">church music, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his attitude to reformers, <a href="#Page_473">473</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Estienne, Henri, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Eustorg de Beaulieu, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">eyes, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst"><i>facéties</i>, <a href="#Page_266">266-268</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Feo, lover of Catherine Sforza, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Ferrara, music at, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">talk at, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Ficino, Marzilio, on platonic love, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Firenzuola, on beauty, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his stories, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his inspiration, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">flirtation, <a href="#Page_103">103-107</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Florentine worship of Plato, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">idea of charm, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">flowers, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Folengo, <a href="#Page_465">465</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Francis I., <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, + <a href="#Page_265">265</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his mistresses, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Francis de Paul, St., story of, <a href="#Page_461">461</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Franco, Veronica, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">free love, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Fregoso, detractor of women, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">French marriage customs, <a href="#Page_37">37-39</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">country gentry, <a href="#Page_64">64-66</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">society, <a href="#Page_140">140-142</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">worship of rank, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">idea of charm, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">drama, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">conversation, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">letters, <a href="#Page_308">308-310</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Gambara, Veronica, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">gambling, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Gastius’ table talk, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Gazius, <i>Florida Corona</i>, treatise on health, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">German girls’ education, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">table talk, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">opposition to Italy, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">liberalism, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">narrowness, <a href="#Page_434">434</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">monks, <a href="#Page_466">466</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_507">[507]</span>Gioconda, <i>see</i> <a href="#Monna_Lisa"><i>Monna Lisa</i></a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">girls’ education, <a href="#Page_86">86-100</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">tutors, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Gonzaga, Julia, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Gonzaga, Leonora, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Goujon’s statue of Diana, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">hair, popular colour of, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">hair-dressing, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">handwritings, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Helysenne de Crenne, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Henri II., <a href="#Page_364">364</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Heptameron</i> quoted, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, + <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Footnote_99">112 <i>n</i></a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, + <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, + <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>, <a href="#Page_335">335</a>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">realist character of, <a href="#Page_382">382-385</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Héroët de la Maisonneuve, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">history, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">hood, the, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">households, constitution of, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Huguenots on dancing, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">hunting, <a href="#Page_246">246-253</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">husbands’ authority, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Hütten, Ulrich von, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_466">466</a>, <a href="#Page_467">467</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">hydrotherapeutics, <a href="#Page_254">254-258</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">illegitimacy, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Imitation of Christ</i>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Imperia, courtesan, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">impromptus, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">incomes, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx" id="Inghirami">Inghirami, Tommaso, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">anecdote of, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">‘innocents,’ the, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">instrumental music, <a href="#Page_276">276-278</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">interviews, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Isabella d’Este, <i>see</i> <a href="#Isabella_DEste">D’Este</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Isabella of Aragon, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Isabella the Catholic, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Italian marriage customs, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">education, <a href="#Page_94">94-96</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">drama, <a href="#Page_278">278-281</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">conversation, <a href="#Page_285">285-296</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">letters, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">monks, <a href="#Page_465">465</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Jeanne of Aragon, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Jews, hatred of, <a href="#Page_478">478</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Joanna, wife of Philip the Fair, anecdote of, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Josquin Desprez, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Jove, Paul, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Julius II., anecdote of, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">hunting, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">beard, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">kissing, <a href="#Page_233">233-235</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Labé, Louise, poetess, on dress, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">accomplishments, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on music, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">poetry, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">La Bruyère quoted, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_372">372</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">ladies’ letters, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Lancelot du Lak</i>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">lapdogs, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">La Rochefoucauld quoted, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">La Salle, Antoine de, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">La Trémoille, Louis de, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><i>see</i> <a href="#Gabrielle_de_Bourbon">Gabrielle de Bourbon</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Lefèvre d’Etaples, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Lemaire de Belges, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Leo X., <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, + <a href="#Page_431">431</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Leonardo’s <i>Monna Lisa</i>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">ideal of beauty, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">letters, domestic, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Footnote_113">127 <i>n</i></a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">letter-writing, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">liberalism at Rome, <a href="#Page_430">430</a>, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>, <a href="#Page_434">434</a>, <a href="#Page_473">473</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">life at spas, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Limosin, Leonard, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">literature, licentious character of, <a href="#Page_391">391-393</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Longueil, <a href="#Page_473">473</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Louis XI., <a href="#Page_118">118</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Louis XII., <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, + <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Louise of Savoy, her views on education, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her sphere, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her reading and books, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her politics, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on mystic love, <a href="#Page_335">335</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her principles, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Luther on celibacy, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">divorce, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on women, <a href="#Page_467">467</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his true relation to Reformation, <a href="#Page_468">468</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Lyons, headquarters of feminine poetry, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Madeleine, sister of Francis I., <a href="#Page_309">309</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Maillard, Oliver, on bathing, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his preaching, <a href="#Page_459">459</a>, <a href="#Page_460">460</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Marescalco</i>, Aretino’s, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Margaret of Austria, her collections, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">career, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">parrot, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">poetry, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Margaret of France (sister of Francis I.), on marriage, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with her husband, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on doctors, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">influence of stars, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">charity, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">education, <a href="#Page_96">96-98</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">authority of husband, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">widow, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">remarriage, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">defects of women, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">remedy for materialism, <a href="#Page_147">147-149</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">names and character, <a href="#Page_170">170-172</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_508">[508]</span>her portraits, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">theory of love, <a href="#Page_173">173-175</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">motto, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">platonic love, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">compared with Anne of France, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><i>petit lever</i>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on physical decay, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on wearing black, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">books, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">poetry, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">drama, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">as a talker, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her failure, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_475">475</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">handwriting, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">moral scheme, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">toleration, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>, <a href="#Page_475">475</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with Francis’ mistresses, <a href="#Page_364">364</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">intellectual influence, <a href="#Page_378">378-383</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">lovers, <a href="#Page_384">384</a>, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">writings, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>, <a href="#Page_387">387</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">vacillation, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">religion, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>, <a href="#Page_442">442-445</a>, <a href="#Page_457">457</a>, <a href="#Page_470">470</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Margaret of France (wife of Henry of Navarre), <a href="#Page_486">486</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Margaret of Lorraine, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Margaret of Savoy, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_481">481-486</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Marone, Andrea, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Marot, Clément, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Footnote_153">165 <i>n</i></a>, <a href="#Footnote_171">198 <i>n</i></a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, + <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>, <a href="#Page_457">457</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">marriage customs, <a href="#Page_37">37-42</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">presents, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Mary of Cleves, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Mary of England, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Mary Stuart, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">materialism, <a href="#Page_456">456</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">matrimony, test questions for, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Maupas’ sparrow, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">medicine, <a href="#Page_54">54-58</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">men of letters, <a href="#Page_392">392</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Ménot on death, <a href="#Page_491">491</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Michelangelo, his nephew’s marriage, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on love, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations with Vittoria Colonna, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, + <a href="#Page_395">395</a>, <a href="#Page_396">396</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his <i>Eve</i>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><i>Last Judgment</i>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><i>Virgin</i> of Casa Buonarotti, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><i>Pietà</i>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">ideal of woman, <a href="#Page_324">324</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">sonnets to courtesans, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">frescoes, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Mirror of the Sinful Soul</i>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">mistresses of Francis I., <a href="#Page_363">363</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">money, importance of, <a href="#Page_117">117-121</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">worship of, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">monks, <a href="#Page_458">458-466</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx" id="Monna_Lisa"><i>Monna Lisa</i>, Leonardo’s, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Montaigne on marriage, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on capricious treatment of women, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on business, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on peasant nurture, <a href="#Footnote_64">73 <i>n</i></a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on college education, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on women’s ‘policy,’ <a href="#Page_86">86</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on his daughter, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on moneyed wives, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on tears of mourning, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his scepticism, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_479">479</a>, <a href="#Page_488">488-490</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on coquetry, <a href="#Footnote_339">362 <i>n</i></a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on women’s virtue, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on faith, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on death, <a href="#Page_491">491</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">moon, woman compared to the, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Morosina, Bembo’s mistress, <a href="#Page_366">366</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Mortemart, ladies of, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">motherhood, <a href="#Page_71">71-74</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">mother-in-law, the, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">mourning, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Muguet, falcon of Louis XII., <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">music, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270-278</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Mysteries, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">mysticism, varieties of, <a href="#Page_446">446-448</a>, <a href="#Page_465">465</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">mythology, use of, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_455">455</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Naples, love of art at, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Nature and man, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_449">449</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">platonist attitude towards, <a href="#Page_241">241-243</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">naturalism, Ruskin’s, <a href="#Page_498">498</a>, <a href="#Page_499">499</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">contrasted with Bourget’s, <a href="#Page_499">499</a>, <a href="#Page_500">500</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">needlework, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Nifo, his changeableness, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">catalogue of love-motives, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">pen portrait of Jeanne of Aragon, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">anecdote of, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">platonism, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Phausina Rhea, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">feminism, <a href="#Page_369">369</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Nouvelles</i>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">nudities, <a href="#Page_202">202-209</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">nurses, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Ochino, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>, <a href="#Page_469">469</a>, <a href="#Page_470">470</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Ockeghem, John of, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Olympia Morata, <a href="#Footnote_86">94 <i>n</i></a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Ordelaffi, husband of Catherine Sforza, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Orleans, duchess of, her charity, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">love of music, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Ovid, popularity of, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">painting, <a href="#Page_396">396</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>palinods</i>, the, <a href="#Page_446">446</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Papillon, Almanque, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_480">480</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">patronage, <a href="#Page_393">393-396</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Paul II., <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Paul III., <a href="#Page_432">432</a>, <a href="#Page_469">469</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Paul IV., the ‘breeches-maker,’ <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">pen portraits, <a href="#Page_208">208-210</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Peregrino</i>, Caviceo’s romance, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Pernette du Guillet, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Perugino, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Petrarch, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_406">406</a>, <a href="#Page_487">487</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">‘Phaedra,’ <i>see</i> <a href="#Inghirami">Inghirami</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Phausina Rhea, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_509">[509]</span>Philippa of Gueldres, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">philosophy, love of, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">physical exercise, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Pia, Emilia, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Piccoli, Gabriele, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Pico della Mirandola, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">pilgrimages, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Pio, Alberto, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_454">454</a>, <a href="#Page_462">462</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">plate, family, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Plato, theory of love, <a href="#Page_151">151-153</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">vogue of, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_448">448</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">theory of beauty, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">Nature, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relation to Christianity, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">negative results of doctrine, <a href="#Page_494">494-496</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">platonic love, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339-344</a>, <a href="#Page_348">348</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">platonism, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177-193</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, + <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>, <a href="#Page_336">336</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">causes of its failure, <a href="#Page_487">487</a>, <a href="#Page_488">488</a>, <a href="#Page_495">495-498</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Pléiade, the, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_478">478-481</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">poetry, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_404">404-408</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">and hunting, <a href="#Page_248">248-250</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Poggio, his <i>facetiae</i>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on Baden, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Poirier, son-in-law of Monsieur, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Poitiers, three maids of, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">ladies of, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Pole, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_429">429</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Politian, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">polygamy, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Pomponius Laetus, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Pontanus, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">poodles, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">portraits of ladies as Venus, <a href="#Page_205">205-207</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Postel, Guillaume, <a href="#Page_471">471</a>, <a href="#Page_472">472</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">priesthood of women, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">princesses’ love, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">publicity, writers’ objection to, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Puritans and music, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>puys d’amour</i>, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Rabelais, pedigrees, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on colours, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">antiplatonist, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_336">336</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his abbey of Thelema, <a href="#Page_465">465</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his mysticism, <a href="#Page_465">465</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Raphael on marriage, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><i>Vision of a Knight</i>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">anecdote of, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Raulin, Jean, his sermon, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">reading, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">religion and aesthetics, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>, <a href="#Page_424">424</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">relations to philosophy and Plato, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>, <a href="#Page_479">479 ff.</a></li> + +<li class="indx">Renée of France, on influence of stars, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">letters, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">career and character, <a href="#Page_314">314-316</a>, <a href="#Page_456">456</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Romances, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268-270</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Roman aristocracy, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">idea of beauty, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">liberalism, <a href="#Page_430">430-434</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Ronsard, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, + <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_477">477</a>, <a href="#Page_478">478</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Rosera, Isabella, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Ruskin, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on nature, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">his naturalism compared with Bourget’s, <a href="#Page_498">498-500</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Sadoleto, <a href="#Page_429">429</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">‘Saffredent’ (character in <i>Heptameron</i>), <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Saint-Gelais, Melin de, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Saint-Gelais, Octovien de, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Saint-Simon on Mortemart ladies, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Salel, Hugues, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Savonarola, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, + <a href="#Page_459">459</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Scaldasole, Marchesa, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">scepticism, <a href="#Page_479">479</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Semblançay, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">serving maids, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Sforza, Ascanio, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Sforza, Bianca, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Sforza, Catherine, widowhood, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her wedding presents, <a href="#Footnote_34">40 <i>n</i></a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">alchemy, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">character and career, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320-322</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>Ship of Fools</i>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">slave girls as concubines, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">small families, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">sonnet, popularity of, <a href="#Page_405">405</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Spagnuoli, Battista, on marriage, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on baths, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on monks, <a href="#Page_460">460</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Spain, education of girls in, <a href="#Page_91">91-94</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">idea of charm, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">spas, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Spinola, Thomasina, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">stick, the, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">‘stork-love,’ <a href="#Page_355">355</a>, <a href="#Page_441">441</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">story-telling, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">subsidiary marriage, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Sygea, Loysa, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">table-talk, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Theresa, St., <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Tiraqueau, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">titles, love of, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">topics of conversation, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">tournaments, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Triboulet, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Trithemius, <a href="#Footnote_435">458 <i>n</i></a>, <a href="#Page_463">463</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx" id="Tullia_dAragona">Tullia d’Aragona, her book on the Infinity of Perfect Love, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">her influence, <a href="#Page_357">357</a>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_510">[510]</span>a poetess, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">tutors, <a href="#Page_78">78-81</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Urbino, court of, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Footnote_353">381 <i>n</i></a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Urbino, duke of, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">duchess of, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Footnote_116">129 <i>n</i></a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Valois, court of, <a href="#Page_369">369</a>, <a href="#Page_486">486</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Vegio on tutors, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Venice, marriages at, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">education at, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">idea of charm, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">music at, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">courtesans at, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Venus, passion for painting, <a href="#Page_201">201-205</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Vérard, publisher, <a href="#Page_392">392</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Vergerio, <a href="#Page_451">451</a>, <a href="#Page_452">452</a>, <a href="#Page_457">457</a>, <a href="#Page_458">458</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Vert-vert, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Villamarina, Isabella, anecdote of, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Virgil, unpopularity of, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">virtue represented in painting as repellent, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Vittoria Colonna, <i>see</i> <a href="#Vittoria_Colonna">Colonna</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Vivès, on education of girls, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on husbands, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>;</li> + <li class="isub1">on dancing and kissing, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">vocal music, <a href="#Page_270">270-273</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Voiture, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx"><i>volta</i>, the, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">war, <a href="#Page_317">317-319</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">wealth, worship of, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">widows, <a href="#Page_128">128-134</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">witchcraft, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>, <a href="#Page_427">427</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">women as professional writers, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>, <a href="#Page_410">410</a>.</li> + +<li class="ifrst">Zwingle on education, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.</li> + +</ul> + +<p class="titlepage">GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO.</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77508 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/77508-h/images/cover.jpg b/77508-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..24e2288 --- /dev/null +++ b/77508-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/77508-h/images/frontispiece.jpg b/77508-h/images/frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..14ac245 --- /dev/null +++ b/77508-h/images/frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the 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