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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 *** |