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NL·339 (1,8&'041 c Canada

_ _-
- .. .....
 .•
( ..

THEATRICALITY AND POWER:

POLITICS AND "PLAY-ACTING" IN THE EUROPEAN RENAISSANCE

Jeff Barja Diamond

Department of Political Science
McGill University, Montreal
February 1992

A Thesis submitted to the Faculty of Graduate Studies in partial fulfillment of

the requirements for the degree·of Ph.D.

C Jeff Barja Diamond

National Ubrary Bibliothèque nationale
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 AB5TRACT

In and around the princely courts of Europe, Renaissance

humanists drew upon the teachings of classical antiquity, often
reinterpreting them to suit their own intellectual and ethical
needs. One such need concerned balancing notions of
achievement predicated upon gaining others' favor, with ideals
of constancy and integrity. Evidence of this dilemma can be
found in the works of Niccolè Machiavelli, Desiderius Erasmus,
Thomas More, and Michel de Montaigne. In each of these cases,
the attachment to differing conceptions of accomplishment and
human dignity resulted in contradictions in their writings, and
in their lives.

RE5UMÉ

Durant la Renaissance, les humanistes puisaient dans les '

enseignements de l'Antiquité classique'êt les reinterprétaient
selon leurs besoins. L'un de ces besoins portait sur la nécessité
de réconcilier des conceptions de la !l!ussite, celle-là même qu'on
doit aux faveur des autres, avec des idéaux de l'intégrité. Cette
tension est evidente dans l'oeuvre .-d~ Niccolo Machiavel,
Desiderius Erasme, Thomas More, et Michel de Montaigne, et se
manifeste par des contradictions dans leurs textes, et dans leurs
vies.

:
"
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The first debt 1 would like to acknowledge is that to my family

and a handful of friends, scattered around North America--in
Berkeley, Lawrence, Amherst, and Montreal--who always
encouraged me. Next, 1 would like to thank my supervisors,
Charles Taylor and especially James Tully, who helped to
provide an atmosphere at McGill where the study of political
theory was both serious and interesting. Professors Taylor and
Tully allowed me the freedom to make my own mistakes, a
freedom for which 1 am grateful, and of which 1 made ample
use. Chris Laursen and Brian Walker gave me helpful
comments on the Montaigne chapter, and 1 received useful
references From Jean-Christophe Agnew and Darius Reja!i.
Sami Massoud corrected my resumé. Finally, 1 wish to thank
Molly, for advice on editing, for proof-reading, and for putting
up with my more than occasiona! bouts of self-absorption.
· .. consider these fine Oratours what glavering speeches they
use, and howe they teach men to insinuate, and by coloured
wordes to creepe into mens boosomes, and to winne the favour
of Princes and Magistrates.
Stefano Guazzo
 CONTENTS

l Introduction 1
--

II Theatricality in the Renaissance 14

III Relations of Power in Renaissance Poli lies

and in the Humanist Mind 64
~ --
IV Niccolèl Machiavelli 125

V Desiderius Erasmus 156

VI Thomas More 185

VII Michel de Montaigne 215

VII Conclusion 242

Bibliography 25~
, - " "
 1

1
(
INTRODUCTION

Aninsincere grin? No. That doesn't fool anybody. We know it

;isn',echanical and we resent it. l am talking about a real smile, a
heait-warming smile, a smile that .:omes from within, the kind
of smile that will bring a good price in the market place.
Dale Carnegie

Over the past few decades, metaphol's)~B(f~ocabulary taken from the

-?"..".~

theater have increasingly been employed in the social sciences. Thus for
instance, several pages of the International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences
are devoted to "Dramatism"-described as an approach to social inquiry based
on a theatrical model.l In fact, throughoui the social sciences, theatrical
r:n0clels and language have been put to a variety of different uses. 2 But

1Kenneth Burke, "Oramatism," International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, 1968 00.
2Among the relevant works arc: Robert Abelson, "Psychological status of the script concept,"
American Psychologist 36 (1981): 715-29; George Herbert Mead, Mind, Self, and Society
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1934); Ralph Turner, "Role-taking, Role Standpoint,
and Reference-group Behavior," American Journal of Sociology 61 (1956): 316-28; Dennis
Brisset and Charles Edgley, OOs., Life as Theater: A Dramaturgical Sourcebook (Chicago:
Aldine, 1975); Kenneth Burke, A Grammar of Motives (N.Y.: Prentice-Hall, 1945); Arnold
Buss and Stephen Briggs, "Orama and the self in social interaclion,"Journal of Personality and
Social Psychology 47 (1984): 1310-24; Abner Cohen, The Politics of Elite Culture: Explorations
in the Dramaturgy of Power in a Modern African Society (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1981); James Combs and Michael Mansfield, oos., Drama in Life: The Uses of
Communication in SoCiety (N.Y.: Hastings House, 1976); Clifford Geertz, Negara: The
~'~\éTheatre State in Nineteenth-Century Bali (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980); A.
 2

frequently the point of the theatrical metaphors is to convey something of the

"presented" character of human behavior: ordinary social activity is here
viewed as analogous to theater in that people are seen as adjusting and
modifying their conduct for the benefit of their "co-performers" and "co-
spectators."
Probably the most influential contemporary writer in this vein is
Erving Goffman. The language of the theater pervades Gofiman's writing,
reflecting his view that sociallife consists largely of sorne kind of "play-
acting." Hence in his seminal The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life,
Goffman quotes a contemporary sociologist as saying:

It is probably no mere historical accident that the word person, in

its first meaning, is a mask. It is rather a recognition of the fact
that everyone is always and everywhere, more or less
consciously playing a role. 1

In the theatricar'world Goffman describes, social interaction is a

complex affair; one must constantly and accurately read others'
"performances," and respond,appropriately while conveying one's own
"presentation." Hence according to Goffman, social intercourse requires a

;1

Paul Hare, Social Interactions as Drama: Applications [rom Conf/iet Resolution (Beverly
Hills, Sage Press, 1985); Stanford Lyman and Marvin Scott, The Drama of Sociat Reality
(N.Y.: OJ,ford University Press, 1975); Sheldon Messinger with Harold Dampson and Robert
Towne, "Life as Theater: Some notes on the dramaturgie approach to social reality,"
Sociometry 25 (1962): 98-110; Theodore Sarbin, "Role Theory," Handbook of Social
Psychology, cd. Gardner Lindzey (Cambridge Mass: Addison-Wesley, 1954): 223-58; Vietor
Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society (lthaca: Cornell
University Press, 1!!74); for a more complete bibliography of this material'see especially A.
Paul Hare and Herbert H. Blumenbcrg, cds., Dramaturgical Analysis of Sodal Interaction
(N.Y.: Praeger Publishers, 1988). For discussion of "theatricality" as a concert, see Elizabeth
Burns, Theatricality: A Study of Convention in the Theatre and in Sodal Life (N.Y.: Harper
& Row, 1972). " \"
1Quoted in Erving Goffman, The Presentati~~"ôrSC!fin",Ever:lday Life (Garden City, N.Y:
Doubleday, 1959) 19. ", c '
 3

delicate balance of "perceptiveness and considerateness."l Too little of these

( qualities and "the person ceases to be someone who can be trusted to take a
hint about himself or give a hint that will save others embarrassment."2 This
person Goffman describes as potentially a "real threat to society."3 On the
other hand, toc much perceptiveness, and "the person becomes someone
who is thin-skinned, who must be treated with kid gloves, requiring more
care on the part of others than he may be worth to them."4 And finally, too
much considerateness and "he becomes someone who istoo socialized, who
leaves the others with the feeling that they do not know how they really
stand with him, nor what they should do to make an effective long-term
adjustment to him."s What is required in social situations is someone who is
•:"sympathetically aware of the kinds of things in which the others present can
become spontaneously and properly involved, and then a,~tempt to modulate
his expression of attitudes, feelings, and opinions according to, the company."6

,: At one point Goffman enterlains the question ils to whether the

'1 .'~
inCidence of such "modulated" behavior can be seen to be morepronounced
within 2ertain societies. However his ans~er is sketchy at best, and
'-\
inconclusive. 7 But other social scientists of Goffman's generation have been

11n/eraction Ri/ual (Chicago: Aldine Publishing Co., 1967) 40.

2Ibid.
3lbid. ','\

'. \
4lbid.
SIbid.
6/bid, 116.
7The Presenta/ion of Self in Everyday Life, 244-8. Goffman's discussion is not actually framed
in terms of "modulatcd" or "unmodulatcd" behavior, but rather in terms of "front" and
"backstage." Unfol'lunately, Goffman is not aItogether dear or consistent as to what he means
by this dislinction. At limes he sccms to dislinguish pcrformcd behavior from ils natural and
untheatrical counterpart, a.~jri'the following sentence: ''Throughout Western society"there
tends to be one informai 01 backstage language of behavior, and another language of bellavior
for occasio'}s when a performance is bcing presentcd"(128). But at other limes, "backstage"
appcars to refernotto an unpcrformcd manner ofbcing, but simplya less formai sort of
performance. Goffman's own uncertainty here is suggestcd by the fact that he describes
:'-:'
 4

less hesitant to judge on this matter. For instance, David Riesman and his
collaborators in The Lanely Crowd attempt to associate an "other-directed"
character with modern western societies. 1 According to Riesman, this
increasingly prevalent personality is characterized by an "exceptional
sensitivity to the actions and wishes of others."2 A similar assessment is
made by Daniel Lerner, who writes concerning "empathy," \'.hich he
describes as the "capacity to see oneself in the other fellow's sitl1ation."3 Like
Riesman, Lerner also takes this "empathy" to be particularly pronounced in
his own modern society:

The model of behaviorcteveloped by 1'!10dern' society is

characterized t'Y empathy, a high capacity for rearranging the
self-system on short notice ... an expansive and adaptive self-
system, ready to incorporate new roles ... In modern society

backstage behavior as unperfonned, but puts that word between quotation marks (32). Further
evidence of uncertainty or confusion is given by his remark in this same work that, "Ali the
world is not, of course, a stage, but the crucial ways in whieh it isn't are not easy to specify"
(72). Despile Goffman's re!uctance to state any clear tendency in modern western patterns of
socializing in the passage referred to above, Peter Manning suggests that Goffman is concemed
with, and critica! of, an erosion of traditional forrns of civility-however he does not support
this claim very strongly. See his "The Decline of Civility: a comment on Erving Goffman's
sociology," Canadian Reuiew of Sociology and Anthropology 13 (976): 13-25.
1David Riesman with Nathan Glazer and Reuel Denney, The Lonely Crowd, ~bridged edition
with the 1961 and 1969 prefaces (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1950) 15:8. One crilicism
whieh has been made against Riesman is that he overeslimates the novelty of other-
directedness. Seymour Martin Lipset stresses the similarilies between Riesman's analysis and
those of 19th century observers of America, such as Tocqueville, Martineau, and Bryce.
However, he concedes lhat as the transformation from a collection of small rural communiles
where people had independentlivelihoods and were known to each other and thus were
"judged by their tota! background and persona! history, not by any specifie set of acts," was only
in its early stages, a visitor from 19th century America "woulcl ùndoubtedly note changes in the
direction suggested by Riesman." S. M. Lipset, "A Changing Ameriean Character?" Culture and
Social Character: The Work of David Riesman Reuiewed, cd. S.M. Lipset (N.Y.: The Free
Press of Glencoe, Inc., 1961) 136-71; a similar criticism is given in Talcott Parson and Winston
White, "The Link between Character and Society," also in Culture and Social Character, 89-
135. These criticisms are taken up by Riesman in his 1961 preface, XXX-XXXIII.
2The Lonely Crowd,22.
3Danie! Lerner, The Passing of Traditional Society: Modernizing the Middle East (N.Y.: Free
Press, 1958) 50.
 more individuals exhibit higher empathie capacity than in any
c previous society.l

Both Riesman and Lerner see other-directedness or empathy as deeply

embedded in the social, cultural, and economie conditions of modern western
life. For instance, Riesman emphasizes the importance here of our societies'
occupational structures: not the "old middle-class" of tradesmen, small
entrepreneurs, engineers, etc., but the "new middle-class" of bureaucrats,
salaried employees, managers, etc., exemplify the "other-directed" personality.
Riesman singles out in partieular the growth of service occupations and the
increasingly interdependent and concentrated corporate structure of the
modern economy.2 Moreover, this analysis is shared by a number of other
social scientists. Among them are C. Wright MiIls, who writes:

The shift from skills with things to skills with persons; from
small, informai, to large, organized firms; and from the
intimate local markets to the large anonymous market of the
metropolitan area--these have had profound psychologieal
results in the white-collar ranks. 3 <,

A similar view is given by William H. Whyte, in his influential work,

The Organization Man. But Whyte shows that it is not just the sociologists
who are drawing these conclusions from the structure of the modern
economy. He notes that since the 1930's, teachers of modern business, such as
the Harvard Business School's Elton Mayo, have come to recognize that

1Ibid, 51. For a rcœnt version of this argument and an extensive review of the Iiterature, see
Louis A. Zurcher, Jr., The Mutable Self: A Self-Concept for Social Change (Beverly Hills: Sage
Publications, 1977).
2Riesman,20-1. In the self-i:riticism of his 1969 preface, Riesman regrets the factthat "The
Lonely Crowd contributed to the snobbish deprecalion of business careers, in its discussion of the
shift from craft skill to manipulative skill," where he is refcrring to "conceptual" as weil as
"social" manipulation (XVIII-XIX).
( 3c. Wright Mills, White Collar (N.Y.: Oxford University Press, 1951) 182.
 6

... -"', promoting a harmonious social atmosphere within the workplace is now
every bit as important as rationally organizing the division of labor. 1 Over
the past several decades, schools and departments have been created, and
thousands of books have been written, with th~ purpose of teaching the new
science of "management." Indeed, if compared to its present circumstances,
the teaching and study of management at the time of Whyte's writing was
still in its infancy. The objective of this science is the coordination and
shaping of employee behavior to best serve the needs of the enterprise. One
principle which is virtually inescapable for the modern student of
management is the need to determine others' attitudes or orientations, and to
adjust oneself accordingly. For instance, in one contemporary text, The Art of
Managing People, this skill is described as "behavioral flexibility":

After you have correctly identified the style of the person with
whom you are dealing, you then must plan ways of interacting
effectively with that individual. The ability to be changeable and
adapt in different interpersonal situations is called behavioral
f1exibi/ity.2

In words reminiscent of those quoted earlier from Goffman, the

aspiring manager is cautioned to maintain a careful balance between too
mud,-and too little flexibility.3 By cultivating the proper degree of behavioral
flexibility, the manager will improvg his own managerial efficiency, and
therefore the productivity of his or her firm.

1William H. Whyte, The Organizalion Man (N.Y.: Simon and Schuslcr, 1956). Anolhcr
critique of Mayo and the newly emerging science of managemenl is given by Daniel Bell, who
writes, "we find a change in the outlook of management, parallelto thal which is occurring in
the culture as a whole, from authority to manipulation as a means of excrcising dominion."
Work and its Discontents (Boston: Beacon Press, 1956) 28.
2Philip L. Hunsaker and Anthony J. Alessandra, The Art of Managing People (N.Y.: Simon &
Schuster, 1980) 45. .
3Ibid.
 7

c Somewhat on the fringe of the literature devoted to "management" are

a large number of books, videos, and seminars dealing more broadly with
personal business "success." At the McGill University library, there are over
one-hundred and fifty entries under the heading "success" (sorne are repeat
entries), and many such books frequently make the bestseller lists.l One of
the more popular of these contemporary books is Anthony Robbins'
Unlimited Power: The New Science of Personal Achievement. Robbins
makes use of key words to explain himself, and one of the most important is
"rapport," which he Jescribes as "the magic bond that unites people and
makes them feellike partners."2 According to Robbins, "Rapport is the
ultimate tool for producing results with other people."3 How do we achieve
rapport? Robbins answers:

We do it by creating or discovering things in common. In NLP

[Neuro-Linguistic Programmingllanguage, we calI this process
"mirroring" or "matching"...You can mirror interests--that is,
have a similar experience or style of dress or favorite activity. Or
you can mirror beliefs. These are common experiences. They're
the way we create friendships and relationships.4

1A trip to the psychology section of a local bookstore reveals an ample selection of such works,
most of which are not included in the library collection. Titles here include, Success!, How to
Get People to Do Things, The Magic of Thinking B(<>. The Double Win, and Taking Care of
Business, among others. For discussion of "success" in modem America, sec John Cawelti,
Apostles of the Self-made Man (Chicago: University of Chicago press, 1965) especially ehap.
5; Richard Hubcr, The American Idea of Success (N.Y.: McGraw Hill, 1971); Rex Burns, Success
in America (Amherst, Mass: University of Massachusetts Press, 1976); and the collection of
primary and secondary extracts and articles in The American Gospel of Success, ed. Moses
Rischin (Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1965).
2Anthony Robbins, Unlimited Power: The New Science of Personal Achievement (N.Y.: Simon
& Schuster, 1986) 208.
3Ibid,207.
c 4Ibid,209.
 8

"Mirroring" is show"l1 to be composed of two elements: "there are two

keys to mirroring-keen observation and personal flexibility."l We must
keenly observe how others appear to think and feel, and then flexibly adapt
ourselves to those observations. Indeed Robbins advocates not only
mirroring others' interests and beliefs, but even their physical
comportment. This physical mimickry is supposed subconsciously to
convince the other that you are like him or her--thus creating rapport. In
addition, by an even more mysterious means, it allows us access to that
other person's thoughts and feelings:

When a person mirrors someone else's physiology, he's able to

experience not only the same state, but also the same sort of
internaI experiences and even the same thoughts. Now, what if
you could do that in your daily life? What sort of rapport could
you have then, and what could you do with it? Ifs an awesome
thing to contemplate, but professional communicators do it aH
the time ... you can use it right now and get results. 2

For Robbins, this mystical process of identification clears his teachings

of the charge of manipulation, or at least of its ethical import: "If your
intent were to manipulate someone else, once you begin to mirror, you in
fact begin to feel more like him--so the question becomes, Are you willing to
manipulate yourself?"3
In truth, besides the extra dose of snake oil, there is little in Unlimited
Power that was not said fifty years before in Dale Carnegie's still popular How
to Win Friends and Influence People. Carnegie purports to teach the
"fundamental teclmiques of handling people,"4 and his method is essentiaHy

1lbid, 212.
2~!l!,=212.
""3Ibid, 216. .
4Dale Carnegie, How tçi Win Friends and Influence People (Toronto: Musson,1937) 76.
 9

the same as that of Robbins, and virtually ail the "experts" in this field. It
consists first of overcoming the limitations of one's own naturally
"egocentric" point of view, enabling one to perceive and understand others'
equally self-centered perspectives. Hence Carnegie quotes with approval the
author of How 10 Turn People inlo Gold as saying, "success in dealing with
people depends on a sympathetic grasp of the other man's viewpoint."l
Again, once having discovered the likes, dislikes, or beliefs of that
other person, the next step is to use this information; we must transform our
own self-interested self into one which appears interested in others. But here
Carnegie insists it is not merely the appearance which we must transform, but
our entire being--we must truly refashion ourselves in order to accommodate
views, tastes, and moods at least not originally our own. With a flourish of
academic authority, Carnegie cites William James as providing the necessary
intellectual basis for his own ideas of radical self-formation. According to
James,

Action seems to follow feeling, but really action and feeling go

together; and by regulating the action, which is under direct
control of the will, we can indirectly regulate the feeling, which
is not. 2

As Carnegie puts it, if you do not feellike smiling, "force yourself to

smile"3; the appropriate behavior will generate the desired sentiment. As
with Robbins, Carnegie's extraordinary confidence that we are able to make
ourselves over a certain way simply by behaving in that way rules out the
charges of insincerity. But then this view would seem to undermine the very

1Ibid, 193.
2lbid, 91.
3Ibid.
 10

meaning of the distinction behveen sincere and insincere action. If the

feelings really do accompany the behavior then hypocrisy is actually
impossible. Not surprisingly, Carnegie does not subscribe to this view, but
instead explicitly maintains the conventional distinction, stating that
whereas flattery is "counterfeit," sincerity "cornes from the heart out."l
Carnegie's apparent inconsistency, and Robbins' self-justifications,
might suggest that they are not willing to admit the ethical implications of
what they advocate as a legitimate and virtually necessary means to economic
achievement, or even social acceptance and well-being. Clearly for sorne of
the social scientists previously mentioned, the perceived trend towards more
widespread "social play-acting" represents an increase in shallowness and
institutionalized insincerity. For instance C. Wright Mills immediately
follows the passage previously cited by saying:

One knows the salesclerk not as a person but as a commercial

mask, a stereotyped greeting and appreciation for patronage ...
Kindness and friendliness become aspects of personalized
service or public relations of big firms, rationalized to further the
sale of something. With anonymous insincerity the Successful
Person thus makes an instrument of his own appearance and
personality.2

This critical stance is shared by Whyte and, to a somewhat lesser extent, by

Riesman, who, while not unequivocal, nonetheless condemns other-
directedness as "forced sociability,"3 and as "false even where it is not

1Ibid,47.
2Mills, 182.
3Riesman, 20
 11

intentionally exploitative ... it is a mandate for manipulation and self-

manipulation."1
On the other hand, sorne view such social accommodation much less
harshly--even favorably. Lerner specifically takes Riesman to task for
painting a decid!,!dly grim picture; it is for this reason that he prefers the word
"empathie" to Riesman's "prejudicial" terminology of "other-directedness."2
And while Richard Sennet begins from political premises very different from
those of Lerner, he joins company with the latter at least insofar as he argues
that an unrelenting insistence upon authenticity of expression only
impoverishes our public life. 3
Hence, whether it is in the guides to success, or in the analyses of the
social scientists, a question of central ethical importance is "to what extent,
and in what ways, can we modify ourselves and our conduct to accommodate
others without actually crossing over into reprehensible falsity?" This, and a
series of closely related questions, go far back into the history of western
C'

thought. One important period of this history took place in the European
Renaissance, and it is with these questions and concerns, and with this
historical period that Theatricality and Power will primarily concern itself.

In Chapter II, we begin with a look at the evolution of theater and'

theatrical metaphors in the Renaissance. This is followed by an examination

lrbid, 265; Riesman re-emphasizes the bcnefits as weil as the rosts of the perceived trend in
the 1961 Preface, XXXII.
20aniel Lerner; "Comfort and Fun: Morality in a Nice Society"; American Scholar 27 (1958)
153-165.

" 3Richard Sennet, The Fall of Public Man: On the Social Psych%gy of Capita/ism (N.Y.:

C'- Vintage, 1974). A similar view is expresscd in Lionel Trilling's Sincerity and Authentidty
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971).
 12

."'.'''' of the revived study of classical rhetoric and its conceptions of decorum,
....... artifice, and dissimulation. Chapter III examines the social, economic, and
above all, political context of this thinking--the princely courts.
The next four chapters are "case studies" in the theatrical self-
fashioning of four important Renaissance thinkers: Niccolèl Machiavelli,
Desiderius Erasmus, Thomas More, and Michel de Montaigne. The
orientation of these chapters will differ somewhat from the general practice of
interpretation in political theory. Traditionally, this discipline has
understood its mission as that of discovering the position of a thinker on
sorne chosen topic, be it the best regime, the nature of justice, etc. This
approach tends to minimize the existence of internai conflict or ambivalence.
Seemingly contradictory passages are typically either reconciled as only
apparentlycontradictory, or one side of the contradiction is weighed to be the
lighter, and is thus dismissed as the exception proving the more general rule.
In contrast, the approach of this thesis will focus less on thinkers'
intellectual and ethical "positions," and more on certain problems around
which their thinking turns. In this way inconsistency or ambiguity, which
often occur in peoples' lives concerning matters of importance, can be
brought into relief and understood, instead of treated as insignificant or
explained away. As is consistent with this approach, the thesis itself attempts
to present and clarify a number of complex problems and concerns, rather
than to prove a particular point. It is meant to be more of a discussion than
an argument.
Finally, the thesis conc1udes with a brief look at the 18th century as the
midpoint between the Renaissance and the contemporary world in order to
sketch an outline of certain historical continuities and changes concerning
social theatricality. The intent here is not to evaluate these trends in terms of
 13

social or ethical improvement or decline. It is rather to give sorne of the

( formative cultural context, and thus to historicize certain ethical conflicts, 50

as better to understand the people undergoing them--whether these people

are found in the pages of history or in our own present surroundings.
 14

TI

THEATRICALITY IN THE RENAISSANCE

Why, l can smile, and murder whiles l smile,

And cry "Content!" to that which grieves my heart,
And wet my cheeks wilh. artificial tears,
And frame my face to a11 occasions.
1'11 drown more sailors than the mermaid sha11;
1'11 slay more gazers than the basilisk;
1'11 play the orator as we11 as Nestor,
Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.
l can add colours to the chameleon,
Change shapes with Protheus for advantages,
And set the murderous Machiavel to school.

Henry VI, Part III

Like the modern-day social scientists, the literati of the Renaissance

also made frequent use of theatricallanguage and imagery in their
discussions of the world around them. That the vocabulary of the theater
should have occurred to them is not surprising when one considers that the
Renaissance was a veritable Golden Age of the theater. Indeed, a great
number of Renaissance literati either wrote plays or works touching on the
theater. Apart from those principa11y known as playwrights, there were many
who tried their hand at the art, especia11y in Italy. Among these are: Mussato,
 15

f. Petrarch, Vergerio, Poliziano, Machiavelli, Lorenzo de' Medici, Allessandro

and Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, Della Porta, Bruno,along with many lesser
known figures.l Not only did the Renaissance mark a revival of playwriting,
but also of performance. It is estimated that one person in eight attended the
playhouse at the high point of theater-going in Renaissance London, a city
which alone supported 23 professional companies, who, Iike their
counterparts in the other European cultural centers, played in the courts and
in the first permanent theaters to be built since the faIl of Rome. 2

However, the use of theatrical metaphors long pre-dates the

Renaissance. A tradition of viewing the world as a theater--theatrum mundi
--goes aIl the way back to Pythagoras, Democritus, Plato, Epictetus, Marcus
AureIius, and continues throughout the Middle Ages. The purpose or
meaning of this tradition was nonetheless quite different from modern
theatrical analogies. The intent of the theatnl111 mundi metaphor was to
express the irreality and vanity of the human worId--conceiving of the
existence of mere mortals as the equivalent of an elaborate puppet show.3

1 Patti P. Gillespie and Kenneth M. Cameron, Western Theater: revo/ution and revival (N. Y.:
Macmillan, 1984) 274-5; Vera Mowry Roberts, On Stage: a history of theater, 2nd ed. (N. Y.:
Harper and Row, 1974) 106·7.
2Roberls, 127; Gillespie and Cameron, 246; besides Roberts and Gillespie and Cameron, there
are a number of historical surveys of the theater which 1found useful, inc1uding Jack Mitchley
and Peter Spalding, Five Thousand Years of Theater (N.Y.: Holmes & Meier, 1982); Oscar
Brockett, The History of the Theatre, 2nd ed. (Boston: Allyan & Bacon, 1974); Phyllis
Hartnoll, The Concise History of Theatre (N.Y.: Harry N. Abrams, 1968); Ronald Vince,
Ancient and Medieval Theatre (London: Greenwood Press, 1984), and his Renaissance Theatre
(London: Grccnwood Press, 1984). As these studies largely contain discussions parallel to those
in Roberts and Gillespie and Cameron, 1 will not bother to cite them further.
30n the theatrum mundi, see Jean-Christophe Agnew, Worlds Apart: the market and the
theatcr in Ang/o-American thol/ght, 1550-1750 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,\i986)
14·16; Jackson I. Cope, The Theater and the Dream: from metaphor ta dream in renaissance
drama (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973); Frances Yates, Theater of the
Wor/d (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969); Richard Bemheimer, "Theatrum
Mundi," in Art Bulletin 38 (1956) 225-47.
 16

In antiquity theatricallanguage was used for other ideas as weil. For

instance, the term "hypocrite" in the original Greek of the Hellenic era
literally signified a "play-actor"; by the lime of the New Testament il had
already taken on ils modern non-metaphorical sense of meaning a
"deceiver."l However, it may be that before such parallels could be fully
appreciated in the Renaissance, an understanding of something like the
classical drama needed to be revived.

For more than 500 years after the fall of Rome there is very !ittle
evidence for the existence of any continuing theatricallegacy from the
classical world. The first clear signs of a revived, sustained, and actually
performed drama appears in the Medieval church. This begins around the
ninth century with the singing of different "parts" in the mass, sometimes
accompanied by props and even certain ritualized pantomimes. Thus, at the
Easter service priests went to a part of the altar representing Christ's tomb,
brought out the cross, and placed il on the altar. 2 To this were added
dialogues sung in Latin. In the earliest extant example of liturgical drama, the
tenth century Visitatio Sepulchri, four members of the choir were to be
differentiated from the rest by dress--three were to sing the parts of the three
Marys at the tomb of Christ, and were instructed to carry themselves "in the
manner" of women, while the four th had the role of an ange1. 3
Around the 13th century, liturgical drama appears to have declined,
giving way to a more secularized form of theater. This theater was presented

1An Intermediate Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1883) 844.

2Roberts, 77-8.
30n Iiturgical performances, Karl Young, The Drama of the Medieval Church, vol.1 (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1933) chaps. 9-13 are specifically on the Visitatio; Roberts, 73-80; Gillespie
and Cameron, 163-75; Glynne Wickham, The Medieval Theatre (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1974) 23-54. '/
 17

in the marketplace rather than the church, was mainly spoken r~ther than
( sung, and was in the vernacular rather than in Latin, though the subject
matter continued to be religious.
These forms of theater differred in important ways from modern play-
acting. Insofar as Medieval theater actually consisted of depicting a story or
scene, it did 50 largely by means of a symbolic and emblematic presentation of
itssubject matter. In the liturgical theater, when a monk places the cross
upon the "sepulchre:' this is not intended to be a "realistic" representation,
but rather to communicate with an audience accustomed to understanding
the world by means of symbolism and allegory. Just as the halos painted over
:.:
the heads of saints in Medieval art are not meant as actual representations,
but are meant to indicate a status and relationship with God, 50 the acting of
Medieval drama was intended to make symbolically present certain spiritual
truths and events.
Similarly, the viewers of the vernacular religious drama did not only
see before them a rude mechanic with paper ~ii1gs attached to his back, but
perhaps also an angel from God; and in the presence of a burning hank of·
hemp suspended from a rope accompanied by two figures--either actors, or
painted or carved images--they may have experienced the mystery of the
Trinity.1The presentation of the Medieval drama thus generally follows and
conforms to established conventions employed, for instance, on sculpted
facades and in stained glass, which through images and symbols make present
..:.;.;.c.:-

a transcendent reality.2

IV. A. Kolvc, The Play Called Corpus Christi (London: Edward Arnold, 1966) 26.
2WiIliam Tydcman, The Theatre in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University
( Press, 1978) 215.
 18

This syrnbolic representation of Medieval drama extends also to the

portrayal of characters. Sorne scholars have argued that given the cast of
sacred mIes in this drama, including God himself, acting in the sense of
imitating would have seemed absurd and blasphemous: the actor with the
gilt face was not meant to "get inside" and express His personality, but to
represent His actions) For this reason, it was not viewed as incongruous that
several actors might represent the same "character" at different times in the
play: in sorne mystery cycles Christ might he represented by as many as
twenty-four different actors in the adult episodes alone.2
The profane characters of the Medieval drama were equally
"underdeveloped": they were not individuals with particular personalities 50

much as generalized types, again symbolically represented. Thus, Herod and

Marmorinus are dynamic and energetic characters; however what is revealed
are not the traits of a person, but of a category--tyranny. Just the fact that
Herod's costume includes a sword "conveys meaning about the kind of king
he is: a military tyrant, a worldly power seeker, and an enemy of Christ,"3 and
there is little else that we can or need know of him. Similarly impersonal
and non-representational were the protagonists of the non-Biblical allegories
known as "morality plays" which appeared at the end of the 14th century,
pitting such characters as "Good Deeds" against cnes named "Lechery" and

1Kolve, 24; this argument, advaneed by Kolve, is then further elaborated upon by R. W.
Hanning, '''Vou Have Begun a Parlous Pleye': The Nature and Limits of Dramatie Mimesis as a
Theme in Four Middle English 'FaU of Lucifer' Cycle Plays," The Drama of the Middle Ages:
comparative and critical essays, ed. Clifford Davidson, C. J. Gianakaris, and John H. Stroupe
(N, Y.: AMS Press, 1982) 140-161; sec also Tydeman, 215.
2Kolve, 24.
3Cillespie and Car'1eron, 172.
 19

"Lust," among others.! As William Tydeman observes, psychological realism

( and character development were "neither expected nor sought after."2
But during the course of the late Middle Ages and Renaissance, there
were visible trends towards greater representational realism, partially assisted
by the recovery and revival of classical theater, as well as classicalleaming in
general. Like other art forms of the time, the theater was increasingly made
subject to the criterion of verisimilitude, or "truth-seeming." The principle
of verisimilitude was brought to bear on a number of aspects of the theater,
including the staging and props, the temporal and spatial setting of the
dramatic scene, and in the representation of character. 3
In his important Dialogues on Stage Affairs, Leone di Somi
summarizes the meaning of verisimilitude for the performer by having his
spokesperson, Veridico, state that it is the actor's task "to try as hard as he can
to cheat the spectator into the belief that what he sees on the stage is true. "4
Veridico goes on to say that, "if the actors are as accomplished as they ought to

1Bevington, From "Mankind" to Marlowe:" Growth of a Structure in the Popular Drama of Tudor
England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962) 9; while the characters of the
moralities are in sorne sense "abstract," Natalie Crohn Schmitt cautions that in order to :1
reconstruct the phenomenological experience of medieval drama one must keep in mind that
"the distinction between symbol and allegory was not a clear one for the medieval person and
the distinction between both these modes and the literaI was not as firm as our own," that, for
instance, "the Sins were from their earliest appearance in Christian thought considered
concrete devils or demons, and throughout the Middle Ages they continued, at times, to be so
visualized." "The Idea of a Person in Medieval Morality PIays," in Davidson et al, 307.
2Tydeman,215.
3Qn the general nature and trends of the theater in this period, especially helpful are: Ann
Righter (Barton), Shakespeare and the Idea of a Play (London: Chatto & Windus, 1964) and
Yi-Fu Tuan, Segmented Worlds and Self: Group Life and Individual Consciousness
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Préss, 1982) chap.5. Also useful were M. C. Bradbrook,
The Rise of the Common Player (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1964) and several of
the articles in Davidson, et al. George Kemodle describes the changes in stage scenery and
props in his From Art to Theatre (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1944).
4Leone di Somi, Dialogues on Stage Affairs, in Allardyce Nicoll, The Development of Theatre,
4th ed. (N.Y.: Harcourt, Brace, & Co., 1958) 250; Concems similar to those expresse<! by di Somi
can aIso be found in Giambatlista Geraldi Cinlio, On the Composition of. Comedies and
Tragedies, in Lilerary Criticism: Plato to Dryden, ed. Allan Gilbert (Detioit: Wayne State
( University Press, 1962) 252-62; See also discussion by Yi-Fu Tuan, 112.
 20

be," then as much as "the spectator realizes from the beginning that he is
going to listen to fictional things, yet little by little he voluntarily permits
himself to be cheated until he imagines that he is really looking upon an
actual series of real events. "1 As the dialogue progresses, Veridico spells out
in somewhat more detail how actors should exercise their art:

Veridico: ... In generallet us state that ... it will he his object to

vary his gestures according to the variety of moods and to
imitate not only the character he represents but also the stage in
which that character is supposed to be at the moment.
Massimiano: Could you make that a trifle c1earer, Veridico?

Veridico: Well, to take an example. It will not be enough for a

person taking, say, the part of a miser to keep his hand always on
his purse as if he were constantly in terror lest the key of his desk
should be lost; he must learn as occasion demands to imitate the
frenzy (for instance) he will experience when he learns that his
son has stolen sorne of his money. If the part is that of a servant,
then the actor must learn how, on an occasion of sudden joy, to
break into a lively dance; in a moment of grief to tear his
handkerchief with his teeth; in a moment of despair to pull his
cap to the back of his head, and so on with suitable effects which
give life to the performance .... 2

Hence the ideal actor no longer presents his character symbolically or

mechanically, but enters into and expresses its very spirit--responding
appropriately according to occasion. The interlocutor Massimiano recalls that
there are even sorne actors who are "able to make their cheeks go pale on
. hearing bad news as though in reality they had experienced a great
misfortune."3 Indeed, the accomplished acters of the era were renowned for
this talent. For example, it was said of the great Richarâ Burbage "that he ~as

1Leone di Somi, 251.

2Ibid,252.
3Ibid.
 21

a delightful Proteus, so wholly transforming himself into his part, and

<: putting off himself .with his clothes, as he never ... assum'd himself again
until the play was done."!
It would seem that a conception of play-acting and theater based on

verisimilitude rather than symbolic presentation, might lend itself to a

different kind of analogy than that of the theatrum mundi. By the late
Renaissance, according to Jean-Christophe Agnew, theatrical metaphors were
being used to express not only contempt for the ontological status of the
world, but also to attack the dissembling and dissimulation found there. 2 One
example of this parallel of play-acting and deception appears in the Letter of
Dedication for the English translation of Innocent Gentillet's Anti-Machiavel.
The dedication, dated 1577, begins with a story from Plutarch on the birth of
theater in Greece:

After Solon (right Worshipful yong men) had seene Thespis his
first edition and action of a Tragedie, and meeting with him
before the playe, demaunded, If he were not ashamed to publish
such feigned fables under so noble, yet a counterfeit personage:
Thespis answered, That it was no disgrace upon a stage (merrily
and in sport) to say and do any thing. Then Solon (striking hard
upon the earth with his staffe) replied thus: Yea but shortly, we
that now like and embrace this play, shall find it practised in our
contracts and common affairs. 3

1Quoled in E. K. Chambers, The Elizabethan Stage, Chambers, vol. 4 (Oxford: Oarendon Press,
1923) 370. On the Renaissance actor as a Proteus or chameleon, Righter, 100 and Thomas Hyde,
"Identity and Acting in Elizabelhan Tragedy," Renaissance Drama, New Series 15 (1984) 93-
114.
2Agnew, 14-6, 98-100, and passim.
3Simon Patericke, Letter of Dedication, A, Discourse Upon the Meanes of Weil Governing and
Maintaining in Peace, a Kingdome, or othet Principalitie, trans. Simon Patericke (1602,
reprinted al Amsterdam: Theatrum Orbus Terrarum, 1969). The stary originally appears in
Plutarch's Life of Solon, XXIX. 4.
 22

Moreover, Renaissance theater itself manifested a particulal' interest in

the troubling nature of theatrical powers of dissembling. For instance, in the
English morality plays of the 15th and eariy 16th centuries, the "Vices" played
upon the theme of theatrical deception. The persona of the hypocrite became
increasingly popular during the course of the Renaissance, giving rise to that
"deep dissimuler," Thomas More's Richard III, subsequently enlisted by
Shakespeare, who added those equally sinister artists of deception, Edmund
and Iago. 1 But besides the theater, there were other aspects of Renaissance
culture which expressed and helped to shape contemporary conceptions of
dissimulation--one of which was the revival and interpretation of classical
rhetoric.

The Ideals of Classical Rhetoric

The revival of classical rhetoric was one of the most important

elements in the general revival of classical learning in the Renaissance.
Rhetoric was seen as uniquely important because it deals specifically with
speech--and as the character Crassus asserts in Cicero's De Ora/ore, "the one
point in which we have our very greatest advantage over the brute creation is
that we hold converse one with another, and can reproduce our thought in
words."2 Moreover, the very recognition of this power as our human essence

hllis list could also include Jonson's Volpone, Marlowe's Jew of Malta, and a number of other
such figures. See Agnew, 114-6; Righter,68-96; Julia Briggs, This Stage-Play World (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1983) 170-3. Also on Renaissance theater and deception, see Agnes
Helier, Renaissance Man, trans. Richard Allen (Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1978) 202-
30. On the theatricality of Renaissance culture more generally, see Stephen Greenblatt, Sir
Walter Ralegh: The Renaissance Man and His Roles (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1973) chap. 2.
2De Ora/ore, trans E. W. Sulton and H. Rackam, vol. 1, Loeb C1assical Library (London:
Heinemann, 1952) I. viii. 32.
 23

compels us to develop and cultivate it: "Who therefore would not rightly
( admire this faeulty, and deem it his dutYto exert himself to the utmost ... in
that partieular respect wherein chiefly men are superior to animals?"l
These convictions were constantly repeated throughout the
Renaissance, as for instance by Erasmus in his The Right Way of Speaking,
where he stresses the importance of proper training of the tongue-"there is
no other part of the body 50 quick and 50 pliable and 50 ready to take up
different shapes, nor any other on which a man's acceptability and success 50

much depends ... it is the tongue which distinguishes the human animal."2
In order to fulfill that "duty" of cultivating eloquence, Erasmus and countless
other humanists poured over the works of Cicero, Quintilian, and other
classical authors. 3
Moreover, as Erasmus' reference to "acceptability and success" suggests,
the purpose of perfecting one's manner of speech was not simply aesthetici
the goal and orientation of classical rhetoric had always been thoroughly
practical. That is to say, the primary objective of the study of rhetoric was to
develop the ability to influence others. Thus, for instance, Crassus states that,
"there is to my mind no more excellent thing than the power, by means of
oratory, to get hold of assemblies of men, win their good will, direct their
inclinations wherever the speaker wishes, or divert them from whatever he

lIbid.
2The Right Way of Speaking Latin and Greek: A Dialogue, trans. and annotated Maurice Pope
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985) 370, vol. 26 in The Col/ected Works of Erasmus
(hereafter CWE).
30n the centra\ity of rhetoric and eloquence in Renaissance culture see Hanna Gray,
"Renaissance Humanism: The Pursuit of Eloquence," Journal of the History of Ideas 24 (1963)
497-514; Jerrold Seigel, Rhetoric and Philosophy in Renaissance Humanism (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1968) especially, 3-30; William Woodward, Vitorino da Fel/re and
Other Humanist Educators (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1905), and also his
Desiderius Erasmus Concerning the Aim and Method of Education (N.Y.: Teachers College
Columbia University, 1964), and Studies in Education during the Age of the Renaissance 1400-
1600 (N.Y.: Russel & Russel, 1965).
 24

wishes."l Similarly, the character Antonius quotes the poet Pacuvius in

calling eloquence the "soulbending sovereign of ail things."2
Antonius further explains that "nothing in oratory ... is more
important than to win for the orator the favour of his hearer, and to have the
latter so affected as to be swayed by something resembling a mental impulse
or emotion, rather than by judgement or deliberation."3 To this end the
orator should make a show of his good character and benevolence: "It is very
helpful to display the tokens of good-nature, kindness, calmness, loyalty and a
disposition that is pleasing ... [ail of which] are powerful in winning
goodwill."4 Antonius follows this with the practical consideration that these
qualities of character are "easier to embellish, if only they are real, than to
fabricate where non-existent."s
Not onIy does the art of oratory require that its practitioner excel in
giving the appearance of goodness and virtue, but also in giving the
appearance of whatevcr emotion the orator wishes to reproduce in his
listeners, since "it is impossible .for the listener to feel indignation, hatred or
ill-will, to be terrified of anything, or reduced to tears of compassion, unless
ail those emotions, which the advocate would inspire in the arbitrator, are
visibly stamped or rather branded on the advocate himself."6
At this point Antonius first seems to be going on to defend his integrity
with respect to this matter: "1 give you my word that 1 never

1 De Dra/ore, J. viii. 30.

2lbid, li. xliv. 187; also in the Bru/us, Cicero describes as the "supreme characteristic of the
orator" the ability to sway his listener's feelings "in whatever direction the situation
demanded." Bru/us, trans. G. L. Hendrickson, Loeb Classical Library (London: Heinemann,
1962) xciii. 322.
3De Dra/ore, Il. xlii. 178.
4lbid, II. xliii. 183.

o 5lbid, II. xliii. 182.

6lbid, II. xlv. 189.
 24

wishes."l Similarly, the character Antonius quotes the poet Pacuvius in

(~ calling eloquence the "soulbending sovereign of a1l things. "2
. Antonius further explains that "nothing in oratory ... is more
" .-;:

important than to win for the orator the favour of his hearer, and to have the
latter 50 affected as to be swayed by something resembling a mental impulse
or emotion, rather than by judgement or deliberation."3 To this end the
orator should make a show of his good character and benevolence: nIt is very
helpful to display the tokens of good-nature, kindness, calmness, loyalty and a
disposition that is pleasing ... [a1l of which] are powerful in winning
goodwill."4 Antonius fo1lows this with the practical consideration that these
qualities of character are "easier to embellish, if only they are real, than to
fabricate where non-existent."s
Not only does the art of oratory require that its practitioner excel in
giving the appearance of goodness and virtue, but aise in giving the
appearance of whatever emotion the orator wishes to reproduce in his
listeners, since "it is impossible for the listener to feel indignation, hatred or
ill-will, to be terrified of anything, or reduced to tears of compassion, unless
aH those emotions, which the advocatewould inspire in the arbitrator, are
visibly stamped or rather branded on the advocate himself."6
At this point Antonius at least at first seems to be going on to defend
his own personal integrity in this matter: "1 give you my word that 1 never

1De Dra/ore, I. viii. 30.

2/bid, II. xliv. 187; also in the Bru/us, Cicero describcs as the "supreme characteristic of the
orator" the ability to sway his Iistener's feelings "in whatever direction the situation
dcmandcd." Bru/us, trans. G. L. Hendrickson, Loeb Classical Library (London: Heinemann,
1962) xciii. 322.
3De Dra/ore, II. xlii. 178.
4/bid, II. xliii. 183.
5/bid, II. xliii. 182.
6/bid, II. xlv. 189.
 25

tried, by means of a speech, to arouse either indignation or compassion, either

ill-will or hatred, in the minds of a tribunal, without being really stirred
myself, as 1 worked upon their minds, by the very feelings to which 1 was
seeking to prompt them."l But from what proceeds, it becomes far less than
clear whether Antonius is defending his integrity, or his sense and skill as an
orator, as he immediately follows this by saying:

For it is not easy to succeed in making an arbitrator angry with

the right party, if you yourself seem to treat the affair with
.indifference; or in making him hate the right party, unless he
first sees you on fire with hatred yourself; nor will he be
prompted to compassion, unless you have shown him the
tokens of your own grief by word, sentiment, tone of voice, look
and even by loud lamentation. For just as there is no substance
50 ready to take fire, as to be capable of generating flame without
the application of a spark, 50 also there is no mind 50 ready to
absorb an orator's influence, as to be inflammable when the
assailing speaker is not himself aglow with passion. 2

Thus in the end Antonius' concern seems to have as much to do with

professional expertise in the art of influencing others, as with anything the
modern reader couId identify as pertaining to personal integrity. The case is
much the same in Quintilian. "Virtue" and "sincerity" are subjects of
concern largely, if not mainly, insofar as their appearance contributes to a
convincing and successful performance. Quintilian writes that for the orator,

... it is most important that he should himself possess or be

thought to possess those virtues ... which ... will make his
pleading aIl the more convincing and will be of the utmost
service to the cases which he undertakes. For the orator who
gives the impression of being a bad man while he is speaking, is
actually speaking badly, since his words seem to be insincere

o 1lbid, Il. xlv. 189-190.

2lbid, II. xlv. 190.
 26

owing to the absence of ethos [moral character] which would

otherwise have revealed itself. 1

Quintilian also foUows Cicero in advocating that the orator present·

himself with whatever emotion or manner suits his purposes. The virtuaUy
sole restriction on the orator is that "everything he saysis consistent with his
dignity and the respectability of his character."2 As Quintilian elsewhere puts
it, the ideal orator "will not always be like himself, but he will never be
unworthy of himself."3 Indeep both Cicero and Quintilian frequently
recommend that the student of oratory perfect his skills by studying and
imitating actors. Cicero aUudes to Rome's most renowned actor in describing
the skills of the orator: "This is what l wish for my orator ... laughter when
he wills it, or if he wills, tears; so that a mere passer-by observing from a
distance, though quite ignorant of the case in question, will recognize that he
is succeeding and that a Roscius is on the stage. "4

The problematic of "Decorum"

The principle which governs the shifting conduct of the orator is above
aU given by the notion of decorum, or "propriety," which is discussed at
length in Cicero's De Officiis (On Duties). Cicero defines decorum as "that
which harmonizes with man's superiority in those respects in which his
nature differs from that of the rest of animal creation,"S and elsewhere

lQuintilian, Inslilulio Oraloria, trans. H. E. Butler, Loeb Oassical Library (London:

Heinemann, 1920) VI. ii. 18.
2lbid, VI. iii. 35.
3lbid, XII. x. 71. .
4Brulus, lxxxiv. 290. See Ann Vasaly, "The masks of Rhetoric: Cicero's Pro Roscio Amerino,"
Rhelorica 3 (985)1-20.
5 De Officiis, trans. Walter Miller, Loeb Classical Library (London: Heinemann, 1975) J. xxvii.
( 96.
 27

declares that, "The universal rule, in oratory as in life, is to consider propriety

(quid deceat est considerandum). "1
He explains that the Latin term decorum translates the Greek prepon,
and covers a wide range of meanings. For instance, there is a kind of
decorum which concems the grace of one's physical comportment: "the
propriety (decorum) to which l refer shows itself also in every deed, in every
word, even in every movement and attitude of the body."2 For this reason
he urges that "in standing or walking, in sitting or reclining, in our
expression, our eyes, or the movements of our hands, let us preserve what we
have called "propriety" (decorum).3
There is also a decorum of poetic creation, concerning the consistency
of a fictional subject's actions with his or her recognized character:

... we say that the poets observe propriety, when every word or
action is in accord with each individual character. For example,
if Aeacus or Minos said: "Let them hate if only they fear:' or:
"The father is himself his children's tomb:' that would seem
improper (indecorum videretur), because we are told that they
were just men. But when Atreus speaks those lines, they call
forth applausei for the sentiment is in keeping with the
character.4

But there is also a sense in which decorum is nearly synonymous with

moralityi in fact the difference between the two is "more easily felt than
expressed."S Decorum is in this regard very closely related to what Cicero
calls "considerateness" (verecundiam) and "the approbation of our fellow-
men" (eorum approbationem). Out of propriety and considerateness, he says,

10rator, trans. H. M. Hubbell, Loeb Classical Library (London: Heinemann, 1939) XXI. 71.
2De Officiis, I. xxxv. 126
3Ibid, I. xxxv. 128.

,p. 4Ibid, I. xxviii. 97.

5Ibid, I. xxvii. 94.
·L'
 28

we should "in our dealings with people show what l may almost cal1
( reverence toward al1 men-not only toward the men who are the best, but
toward others as well."l He further il\ustrates the notion of decorum as
considerateness by way of contrasting it with the concept of "justice": "It is
the function of justice not to do wrong to one's fel10w men; of
considerateness, not to wound their feelings; and in this the essence of
propriety (decorum) is best seen."2
Speaking more broadly, decorum has to do with accommodating to
one's circumstances as a whole. It is in this sense of behaving aptly and
appropriately for one's conditions that decorum is of particular relevance to
the orator:

... the orator must have an eye to propriety (quid deceat), not
only in thought but in language. For the same style and the
same thoughts must not be used in portraying every condition
in life, or every rank, position or age, and in fact a similar
distinction must be made in respect of place, time and audience. 3

As Antonius in De Dratore explains, in order to observe this decorum

and generally to succeed as an orator, it is necessary to inform oneself of one's
circumstances--especially the tastes and prodivities of one's listeners. Hence
he maintains that before he begins a speech, he 50 completely studies his
audience "that l scent out with ail possible keeness their thoughts,
judgements, anticipations and wishes,~nd the direction in which they seem
likely to be led away most easily by eloquence."4

11bid, 1. xxviii. 99.

2lbid.
30ra/or, XXI. 71.
( 4De Ora/ore, Il. xliv. 186·7.
 29

However, while Cicero repeatedly emphasizes the need to adapt to

one's circumstances, he also praises the ability to resist the pressures of
circumstance. The jewel in the crown of the cardinal virtues is that high
spiritedness which shows itself as "superior to the vicissitudes of earthly
!ife."1 In fact, Cicero takes constancy and consistency of character to be a part
of decorum --at times even its greatest part: "If there is any such thing as
propriety at aIl, it can be nothing more than uniform consistency in the
course of our life as a whole and aIl its individual actions."2 Hence the legacy
of decorum which Cicero left to his posterity was in some ways self-
contradictory, or at least characterized by a delicate balance.
During the Renaissance the concept of decorum, in its various senses,
played a central role. 3 The developed sensitivity to others' circum~tances and
character played an important part in humanist thought partially because it
was emphasized in humanist education. One example is an educational
technique recommended by Quintilian known as ethopoeisis. 4 Originally,
this exercise was intended to train the orator to put himself in his dient's
place, so as to aid him in presenting that case before the court. In Renaissance
educational practice ethopoeisis consisted of imagining a speech which a

1De Officiis, I. xviii. 61.

2Ibid, J. xxxi. 113.
30n the various sense of decorum in the Renaissance sec Victoria Kahn, Rhctoric, Prudence, and
Skepticism in the Renaissance (Ithaca: Comen University Press, 1985), and also Nancy
Struever, who writes, "Of ail the rhetorical canons, the principle of decorum is probably the
most crucial." Nancy Struever, The Language of History in the Renaissance (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1970) 67.
40n the educationaltechniques such as ethopoeisis and in utramque partem-or arguing a case
from either side-see especially Joel Altman, The Tudor Play of Mind: Rhetoricallnquiry and
the Development of Elizabethan Drama (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978) 31-
106, and Zachary Schiffman, "Montaigne and the Rise of Skeplicism in Early Modem Europe, a
reappraissal: Journal of the History of Ideas 4 (1984) 499-516. Sce also Walter J. Ong, Ramus,
Method, and the Decay of Dialogue (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1958) 159-
62; Stanley F. Bonner, Education in Ancient Rome (London: Metheun & Co., 1977) 250-327;
Aubrey Gwynn, Roman Educationfrom Cicero to Quintilian (N.Y.: Russel & Russel, 1964) 200,
18.
 30

famous figure, taken from scripture, literature, or history, might give under
certain conditions. For instance, Erasmus advocates students devise
appropriate speeches for Penelope exhorting Ulysses to return home, or for
Jonathan consoling David as he hides from the wrath of Saut. Hence one
modern scholar writes that in this way, "the student was taught to imagine
himself in circumstances utterly unlike his own and to see with eyes other
than his own. "1
In fact, the pursuit of decorum and the cultivated appreciation of
differing perspectives characterized many areas of Renaissance culture,
induding history, law, philology, poetry, and the arts. 2 However, perhaps
above ail, the dassical concept of decorum was adopted by the p.ôfessional
descendents of the ancient orators, the Renaissance humanists devoted to
refinement of speech and conduct. Consequently, injunctions to
accommodate oneself to the circumstances of time, place, and person, appear
regularly in the writings of the humanists. For instance, Thomas Elyot, in his
The Book named the Governour, writes "an orator is he that can or may

1Altman, 45.
2Qn decorum and the appreciation of differring perspectives in the Renaissance in the areas of
history, law, philology, and poetry, sec: G. W. Pigman, "Imitation and the Renaissance Sense
of the Past: The Reception of Erasmus 'Ciceronianus:' Journal of Medieval and Renaissance
Studies 9 (1979) 155-77; Peter Burke, The Renaissance Sense of the Past (London: Edward
Arnold, Lld., 1969); Donald Kelley, Foundations of Modern Historieal Scolarship: Language,
Law, and History, in the French Renaissance (N.Y.: Colombia University Press, 1970); Joseph
H. Preston, "Was There an Historical Revolution?," Journal of the History of Ideas 38 (1977)
353-364; George Huppert, "The Renaissance Background of Historicism," History and Theory 5
(1966) 48-60; F. Smith Fussner, The Historical Revolution: English Historical Writing and
Thought 1580-1640 (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1962); Eugenio Garin, !tallan
Humanism: Philosophy and Civic Life in the Renaissance, trans. Peler Munz (Oxford: Basil
B1âckwell, 1965) especially 14-7; Thomas Greene, The Light in Troy: Imitation and Discovery
in Renaissance Poetry (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982). On notions of decorum and
perspective in the arls, sec Rensselaer Lee, "Ut Pictura Poesis: the humanistic theory of
painting," Art Bulletin 22 (1940) 197-269, bul especially 228-35; John R. Spencer, "Ut
Rhetorica Pictora," Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 20 (1957) 26-46; and Joan

c Gadol, Leon Batista Alberti: Universal Man of the Early Renaissance (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1969) 87-91; Erwin Panofsky, Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art
(Stockholm: Almquist and Wiksell, 1960).
 31

speak or reason in every question sufficiently elegantly: and to persuade

properly, according to the dignity of the thing that is spoken of, the
oportunitie of time, and pleasure of them that be hearers."l
Similarly, the concept of decorum in its various senses, but perhaps
especially as "considerateness," is central to Giovanni Della Casa's Galateo.
He states more than once that you must "adapt your manners not according
to your own choices but according to the pleasure of those with whom you
are dealing and act accordingly."2 Della Casa's acute sensitivity to others can
be seen in his recommendation that not only should a gentleman not relieve
himself in anyone's view, nor be seen rearranging his dothing, but
moreover, "when returning from nature's summons, he should not even
wash his hands in front of decent company, because the reason for his
washing implies something disgusting to their imaginations."3
A preoccupation with this sense of decorum is equally apparent in
Baldesar Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier. The character Federico says
that the courtier should be able to "readily vary his conversation a great deal
and adapt himself to the qualities with whom he has dealings."4 This is
especially true in the case of relations between the sexes. For example, the
would-be courtier who is not sufficiently sensitive to the sensibilities of the
opposite sex is held up to ridicule:

1The Book Named the Governor, ed.,·;\th an introduction by S. E. Lehmberg (London: J. M. Dent
& Sons, 1962) 4 6 . "
2Giovanni Della Casa, Galateo, trans. K. Eisenbichler and K. Bartlett (Toronto: Centre for
Refonnation and Renaissance Studies, 1986) 4. For my present purposes 1am ignoring other
senses of decorum reproduced in these texts; for instance, Della Casa does !itlle more than
translate Ciccro's description of "physical decorum ": "It is therefore suitable for well-
mannered persons to be mindful of this balance 1 have spoken of in their walking, standing,
sitting, movements, bearing, and in their dress, in their words and in their silence, in their
repose and in their action~':'(54). \~
3Ibid,5.
4Baldesar Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier, trans. George Bull (N.Y.: Penguin Books,
1967) 140.
 32

c Do you not agree that that friend of ours, of whom l spoke to you
the other day, had completely forgotten whom he was talking to
and why, when, to entertairi a lady whom he had never seen
before, he began their conversation by announcing that he had
slaughtered 50 many men, how fierce he was, and that he knew
how to wield a sword with both hands? And before he left her
he was wanting to teach her how certain blows of the battle-ax
should be parried, both when one was armed and when one was
unarmed, and the various ways of brandishing a sword, until
the poor girl was suffering agonies and every moment seemed
like an etemity till she could make her escape before being cut
down like the others.1

For her part, the lady "should have, above ail else, a certain pleasing
affability whereby she will know how to entertain graciously every kind of
man with charming and honest conversation, suited to the time and the
place."2
But as in Cicero, 50 for màny writers of the Renaissance, the flexibility
implied by the principle of decorum was not without ethical complication.
This is clearly shown in Stephano Guazzo's The Civile Conversation, where
the character Doctor Anniball states "to be acceptable in companie, we must
put of [off] as it were our own fashions and manners, and cloath our selves
with the conditions of others, and imitate them so farre as reason will
permit."3 However, having stated the necessity of adapting and adjusting

1Ibid, 117.
2lbid, 212.
3The Civile Conversation of M. Steeven Guazzo, trans. George Pellie, vol. 1 (London: Constable
and Co., 1925) 105. Guazzo's Civile Conversation was along with Galateo and The Courtier,
one of the most important works to transmit notions of fashionable conduct from Italy to the'l'cst
of Europe; in England it ranked only bchind The Courtier among Italian books, and actually
surpassed it within Italy itself. In the p~st these works have been treatoo together, but ,
recently Daniel Javitch and especially Joryn Lievsay have stressed the differences between
them, and in particular, the Jess courtly ch~racter of Guazzo's work. While 1 agree with
Javitch's critidsms of Lievsay on this counti'and also with his argument that the Civile
.. Conversation is both Jess elitist and aesthetiè',in orientation than is The Courtier, it is not cIear
(
.~.
to me that the former is any more ethically ni'pderate than the Jaller, as both Lievsay and
\/
'\\
 33

ourselves to our various social circumstances, he follows with a different and

opposed consideration: "touching the respect of honestie and vertue, wee
ought to bee alwayes one and the same."l Doctor Anniball only lingers for a
moment on this point, continuing by saying, "But touching the diversitie of
the persons with whom wee shall be conversaunt, wee must alter our selves
into an other: according to that olde saying, The heart altogether unlike, and
the face altogether like to the people."2 The moral reservation is raised, and
then without being explicitly repudiated, is lost amidst the statements whose
implications are contrary.
A similar discussion occurs in Leon Batista Alberti's DeUa Famiglia.
The character Adovardo is encouraged to instruct his interlocutors on the
means by which one may gain friends. He says that we "must have a supple
spirit ... if we would attach the spirit of men to ourselves."3 He illustrates
this point with his own example of having pretended to share interests in
common with important people, on the principle that "any resemblance
among men, even if not praiseworthy, will tend to make mortals of the same
sort friends."4 To succeed in this art requires not only suppleness, but an
"excellent c1everness" and attentiveness:

... to adapt quickly to a situation and to make friends it is

necessary to study the gestures, words, eustoms, and
conversation of others. One must learn what pleases and what

Javitch suggest. See John Lievsày, Stefano Guazzo and the English Renaissance 1575-1675
(Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1961) and Daniel Javitch, "Rival Arts of
Conduct in Elizabethan England: Guazzo's,Civile Conversation and Castiglione's Courtier,"
Yearbook of Italian Studies 1 (1971) 178-198.
libido
2lbid.
3The Family'in Renaissance Florence, trans. Renée Neu Watkins <Columbia, S.c.: University of

o South Carolina Press, 1969) 2 7 3 . '

4Ibid,276.
 34

saddens each one, what moves him to anger, to laughter, to talk,

and to silence.J

This combination of suppleness and astuteness is advised in order to

"avoid appearing in any way unpleasant or ungracious to those whose favor
we wish to keep."2 In all of this we are from time to time reminded that we
should not "fall into flattery or obsequiousness," as these "remain unworthy
of a noble spirit."3 However, after just having said this, Adovardo returns to
his injunctions to accommodate ourselves to others: "as Cicero said ... let us
suit our expression, countenance, words, and gestures to men's desires."4
Adovardo presses the moral considerations more insistently than does
Anniball, yet here too they appear outweighed, and no consistent position is
evident which reconciles the rather extreme recommendations of social
accommodation and the prohibitions of flattery and behavior "unworthy of a
noble spirit."S Furthermore, neither Anniball or Adovardo reveal any
awareness of the irony in their frequeI).t complaints, such as the latter's that,
"People are, as we know, widely versed in the art of pretending friendship
with words, their faces, and their actions ... [theyJ are not friends but false and
fraudulent flatterers."6
This tension or contradiction between a decorous adaptability and an
unprincipled opportunism is addressed more directly by Louis Le Caron in

1Ibid, 277.
2Ibid,311.
3Ibid.
4Ibid. ,',
5Cedl Grayson makes an observation relevant hel'e: "This opposi tion of moral idealism and
reality constitues the principal crux of his thought, and in relation to il we must appreciate his
apparent inconsistencies; in particular that oscillation betwecn a personal virtue and an
intellectual supremacy over material things on the one hand, and ,the desire to sec that same
virtue operative within society and directed toward some practical end." Cecil Grayson, "The
Humanism of Alberti:' ltalian Studies 12 (1957) 54.
6Ibid,286.
 35

the ninth question of his Questions Diverses, entitled "Si celuy q11i sçait se
bien accommoder aux moeurs & conditions diverses des hommes, merite le
nom & tiltre de vertueux."l Indeed, Le Caron turns to Cicero and exposes his
inconsistencyon this matter. He notes that Cicero attacked Catiline for
making use of "un artifice à gaigner les volontez des hommes, & scavoir
changer sa nature, & 1" manier à temps, & çà & là tourner & fle$chir icelle,
vivant avec les tristes severement, avec les gracieux ioyeusement, avec les
anciens gravement, avec la jeunesse courtoisement."2 H6wever Le Ca,ron
then comments, "Mais telle dexterité de nature ne merite d'estre blasmee &
reprise, ayant esté loüee par Ciceron mesme en plusiers grands Capitaines &
Senateurs."3
Moreover Le Caron also points to Cicero's recommendations of
flexibility for the practice of oratory, and specifically refers to the section of Dc
Officiis discussed above. Given these teachings, he wonders, "pourquoy
peuH-on par l'auctorité de Ciceron blasmer celuy qui scait & gravement,
severement, hautement, & modestement, gracieusement & humblement se
comporter & maintenir avec ceux ausquelz il congnoist telles manieres de
faire estre agreables, & leurs personnes, les temps & occasions le requerir?"4
For his part, Le Caron embraces this social dexterity as the "meilleure
adresse pour pai'venir à la felicité civile,"s and yet insists on certain limits:
"Toutes-fois je ne puis èstimer tel homme vertueux, lequel comme
l'o):seleur 6 voulant piper chacun, ne peut estre autre que trompeur ou

lQuestions Diverses el discours (Paris: V. Norment, 1579).

2Ibid,46.
3Ibid.
4Ibid.
5lbid, 45.
6A bird-catcher, known for luring his prey withhis caUs:
 36

flateur. "1 However his attempts to clarify this distinction seem only further
to confuse the matter: "Je n'entens former un homme double & dissimulé,
ains2 accord & subtil à bien comprendre les complexions de chacun, &
s'accorder à icelles: comme un excellent joüer de Tragedie ou Comedies, en
ce theatre de la vie humaine. "3 In the end, the reader of Le Caron, like that of
Alberti, Guazzo, and many other humanists, may be excused for not entirely
grasping at what point a laudable flexibility approaches dishonesty or flattery.

Flattery

The ethical status of "flattery" is itself quite complex when taken

within the context of Renaissance culture. Throughout the Renaissance,
Cicero's sentiment that "the nobler a man is, the more susceptible is he to the
sweets of fame"4 was echoed around Europe. And it is the province of one
particular division of rhetoric--panegyric--to grant that fame sought by al!
noble souls. Petrarch tells of Alexander the Great sighing at the tomb of
Achilles, "Oh fortunate youth, that didst find so great a herald for thy
valor!"S, and he also observes that "Many mighty men and warriors, and
others who have deserved eternal memory have passed into oblivion simply
because they had not the good fortune to be recorded by capable authors."6 It

'1. lbid,47.
2SynOli~mous with mais.
3lbid, 46-7.
4pro Archia Poeta, trans. N. H. Watts, Loeb Classical Library (London: Heinemann,1965) xi.
27.
5"Coronatio'i: Oration," trans. and published in E. H. Wilkins, Studies in the Life and Works of
Petrarch (Cambridge, Mass.: The Medieval Academy of America, 1955) 309; Petrarch also
arrar,ged this story into the first quatrain of a sonnet, which is presented'as thoroughly
familiar to the cultured membcrs of the cour/at Urbino in The Book of the Courtier, 92.
( '".. 6lbid, 308. "•
 37

is a sign of an orator's power and skill to laud his subject so forcefully and
eloquently as to win for him Iife beyond the grave.
Despite the Renaissance valorization ofpraise as generative of fame
and reputation, "flattery" was generally reproved. The condemnation of
flattery and flatterers was an almost obligatory moral commonplace among
the humanists. To this end they repeatedly turned to Plutarch's How ta tell a
Flatterer from a Friend, which supplied many of the Iiterary tropes for
criticizing the overly accommodating. But while humanists attacked flattery,
they also noted that it was not easily distinguished From friendship, as
Thomas Elyot relates, himself here drawing upon Plutarch's essay:

... Iike as the wild corn, being in shape and greatness Iike to the
good, if they be mingled, with great difficulty will be tried out,
but either in a narrow-holed sieve they will issue out with the
other; so flattery From friendship is hardly severed, forasmuch
as in every motion and affect of the mind they be mutually
mingled together.J

It is not merely that it is as a practical matter difficult to discover the

flatterer in the supposed friend, but rather that the two can be conceptually
difficult to differentiate. Many, including Elyot, attempt to distinguish
between "flattery" and something Iike "affability"--by which E1yot says one
"speaketh courteously, with a sweet speech or countenance, wherewith the
hearers (as it were with a delicate odour) be refreshed, and allured to love
him in whom is the most delectable quality."2 Whether or not "flattery" is
specifically mentioned, sorne such distinction is the norm, as, for instance, in

1The Book Named the Governor, 155. On the subject of f1attcry in thc Renaissance, sœ Frank
Whigham, Ambition and Privilege: The Social Tropes of Elizabethan Courtesy Theory,
(Berkeley: University of Califomia Prcss, 1984) especially chap. 4.
2Ibid,107. Similarly, Vives writes that one should not "slidc into merc f1attcry"--"A man can
reach a certain balance which neithcr denies his own dignity nor takcs away another's."
Inroduction to Wisdom, 141-2.
 38

c. Antonio Guevara's Diall of Princes, where after having recommended a

certain degree of social accommodation, he warns that the young gentleman
should not frame himself "to become a hypocrite, but only courteous, honest,
and weIl beloved by other young gentlemen. "1
"--
On the other hand, a few others defy conventional morality by
presenting personnae who efface this differentiation between polite affability
and flattery. Guazzo's Doctor Anniball claims to uphold the distinction,
noting only the practical difficulty of distinguishing: "albeit sorne famous
writers have intreated of the meanes to discerne a friend from a flatterer, yet
is it in my opinion verie harde (that 1 may not say impossible) to attaine to
that knowledge, as weIl for that the worlde is full of these tame beastes, as also
for that it is harde to discerne the evill which resembleth the goOd."2 But for
his part, character Guazzo--William, the author's brother--argues that others,
and even he himself are little interested in the distinction:

Yea, 1wH say more unto you, that if one of these Gnatoes [a
conniving flatterer in Terence's Eunuchus], of whom you have
made mention, should fall to commending mee, and bend him
selfe to set mee foorth in the best colours hee coulde,
undoubtedly 1 shoulde become a very Thraso [the recipient of
Gnatho's flattery], and 1 shoulde willingly listen unto him,
making my selfe beleeve, that though hee used to flatter others,
yet he dealt plainly with mee. Yea, 1 should can him thanke for
it, and wishe that aIl my friends and kinsfolke were present to
heare it. 3

According to William, "flattery" is not only widely accepted, but is also

the very glue holding the social order together: "the worlde (to make it

1Antonio de Guevara, The Diall of Princes, lrans Thomas North and cd. by K. N. Colville
(London: Phillip Allan & Co., 1919) 240.
2Civile Conversation, 83.
3Ibid.
 39

short,) is full of flatterie, and is maintayned by flatterie, and at this day it is

more in fashion then picked beardes, or great ruffes."1 Indeed, he maintains
that its practice is a legitimate art and skill: "Flatterie is the way to make
friends, and winne preferment."2 Mastery of this art, while proper to the
orator above all, should not be ignored by any who would appear cultured
and well-mannered: "1 am perswaded, that hee which knoweth not howe to
glose and flatter, knoweth not howe to behave himselfe in companie."3
William is soon corrected and shown to be taking the appreciation of
sociability and praise (slightly) too far. However, virtually these same
sentiments are expressed in Erasmus' half playful jab at the self-important
clerics and philosophers, In Praise of Fol/y. Here rhetoric is described as "a
part of the art of flattery (assentationnis particula),"4 which is itself composed
of two essential types. On the one hand it is undeniable that "certain traitors
and mockers drive their victims to destruction by employing a baneful kind
of flattery (adulatio)."s But there is another variety of flattery, which is
condemned only by those "who are more concerned about the names of
things rather than the things themselves."6 Thus "Folly" states,

. My flattery raises the dejected spirit, it soothes those who are in

mourning, mollifies the angry, and permanently unites the
bond of love. It attracts childreri'to the study of literature, the
elderly are cheered by it, and un der guise of praise, it cautions

lIbid,79.
2Ibid,78.
3Ibid.
4In Praise of Fol/y, trans. John Dolan, The Essential Erasmus (N.Y.:Mentor-Qmcga Books, 1964)
123. Orignal from Moriae Encomium Id Est Stu1titiae Laus, ed. Clarence H. Miller,
(Amsterdam: North Holland Publishing, 1979) 111, vol. 4, part 3 of Erasmi Opera Omnia. This
passage centers on a discussion of medicine; the reference to rhetoric here was a Jater addition,
making more explicitthe allusion to Plato's Gorgias, see below, 41
5Ibid, 133. Moriait Encomium, 130.
6Ibid,132.
 40

and instructs princes in such a way 50 as not to offend them ...

'-
(- But l shall not go on to tell you what a great part this flattery
plays in your praiseworthy and forceful manner of discourse ...
and in the greatest part of all your poetry. In conclusion, it is the
meat and spice of all human discourse.l

In both In Praise of FoHy and The Civile Conversation the defense of

flattery is given by characters not necessarily identifiable with the authors--by
"Folly" in one case, and by the learned, but sometimes foolish, William in the
other--thus allowing the authors a certain distance from this controversial
view. But in Lorenzo Ducci's Ars Al/lica, the use of flattery is defended in the
author's own voice. In his chapter "Of Praise and Flatterie," Ducci draws
upon the Aristotelian notion that epideictic oratory, or panegyric, may make
use of "amplification" of the literaI truth, and defines flattery as a particular
form of praise: "praise is an honour done with wordes, and under this kinde
flatterie is contained ... supposing it to be a false praise amplified."2 While
maintaining that "an easie flatterie is necessarie to whomsoever serveth,"
Ducci condemns "an abject and base flatterie."3 Immoderate flattery is
rejected as possibly giving offense, since we might interpret it as "an
upbraiding that wee are not such as they would make us seeme to bee."4
Thus with the use of flattery confined largely by this strategic consideration,
Ducci concludes this chapter saying,

And this is 50 much as l hold may be observed in praise and

flatterie, adding this as a note, that true praise when there is
matter and subject for it, is to be preferred, and in defect or want

1lbid, 133.
2Ars Aulica or The Courtier's Art, trans. Edward Blount (London: Meleb. Bradwood, 1607) 157.
On dassica! and Renaissance understandings and justifications of praise, see O. B. Hardison,
The Enduring Monument: A Study of the Idea of Praise in Renaissance Literary Theory and
Practice (Chape! Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1962).
( 31bid, 155.
41bid, 162.
 41

thereof, to have immediate recourse to adulation or flatterie, the

- which consisteth in a little amplifying or enlarging, and is not

altogether disjoyned from perfect commendations: But when
there is no matter at al! to worke on, it is lawful! to helpe your
selfe with that kind which makes an attribute of sorne good parts
where none are, yet with that caution and circumspection which
wee before have signified. 1

Hence within the cultural context of Renaissance humanism, which

creatively draws upon the teachings of classical rhetoric, "flattery" may
actual!y he seen in a positive light--as a sign of urbanity and courtesy, or at
least as a skill necessary for certain kinds of social intercourse.

The Attack From Philosophy: on artifice, deception and dissimulation

However, since virtually the inception of rhetoric as a more or less

formai art and discipline, renegade rhetoricians calling themselves
"philosophers," attacked the "unprincipled" character of oratory. Thus in the
Gorgias, Socrates is seen to expose what he calls the pseudo-art of oratory as
utterly shallow and bankrupt for concerning itself with nothing but
appealing to the feelings, beliefs, and prejudices of its audience. For this
reason Socrates pejoratively labels oratory "a species of pandering."2
For Cicero, Socrates "separated the science of wise thinking from that of
elegant speaking ... from which has sprung the undoubtedly absurd and
unprofitable and reprehensible severance between the tongue and the brain. "3
Cicero is by no means totally insensitive to the charges Socrates lays against
oratory; at least at times, he actually grants to philosophy a place above

llbid,170-1.
2Corgias, trans. Walter Hamilton (Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1960) 44, St # 463
3 De Ora/ore, III. xvi. 60-1.
 42

rhetoric or oratory. But in the end he is too practical and political to maintain
( this position consistently. In speaking of those most "philosophical"
philosophers, the stoics, Cicero admits that their style is "possibly subtle and
undoubtedly penetrating," but nonetheless "bald," "jarring on the ear," and
"devoid of darity, fullness and spirit"--as a consequence, entirely without the
power to produce any beneficial effects. 50 while Cicero appears somewhat
tom by the competing daims of rhetoric and philosophy, both his aesthetic
sensibilities, and his attraction to the practical, draw him to oratory despite his
philosophical interests and pretensions. On the other hand, Quintilian is less
ambiguous in his preference for rhetoric. He cites Cicero with approval in
critidzing the historical rupture of oratory and philosophy,l but goes on to
maintain forthrightly and consistently that the subject matter of philosophy
belongs to the study of oratory, and consequently that the well trained orator
would have "no need to go to the schools of philosophy for the precepts of
virtue,"2 or for anything else, for that mattpr.
In the Renaissance, this question of the relative merits of eloquence as
opposed to philosophy was taken up over and over again. Sorne, such as
Valla, followed Quintilian in unambiguously favoring oratory over
philosophy. For Valla, aU philosophy, modern and ancient, was merely a
stepchild and even perversion of oratory. Thus he argues that the "dialectic"
of the philosophers is in fact simply on~:part of the orator's art: "what else is
1
dialectic but one. kind of confutation, the various sorts of which are part of
inventio [one of the five traditional constituent elements of rhetoric]?"3
Moreover, he continues, ..
lIns/i/u/io Oratoria, I. Pro 13.
2Ibid, J. Pro 17.
3Quoled in Jerrold Seigel, Rhetoric and Philosophy in Renaissance Humanism (Princeton:
( Princeton University Press, 1968) 161-2.
 43

-- It falls to the dialectician to use the syllogisrn. Doesn't the orator

do the sarne? ... But look at the difference: the dialectician uses
50 to speak a nude syllogism, the orator uses one which is
clothed and armed, and decorated with gold and purple and
precious gems. 1

For many other humanists, including Petrarch, Salutati, and Bruni,

this was a difficult matter--often issuing in delicate or inconsistent responses.
For instance, Petrarch penned certain works largely hostile to the ends and
rneans of oratory, but for the most part he appears appreciative of both arts for
their respective excellences, and views their unity as an educational goal: in
De studio eloquentie he states that the "care of the soul requires the
philosopher"2 and "the learning of the tongue is proper to the orator"3.-to
which he adds, "Neither should be neglected."4
At the center of these discussions was the status and nature of
rhetorical artifice. According to the philosophers, speech should simply and
straightforwardly convey truth, and for this a natural and unadorned style
was required. However, for Quintilian, that it is a natural and legitimate
objective for speech to charrn and sway an audience is never doubted, and

1Quoted in ibid, 162. While by no means as absolule as Valla, Erasmus-for whom rheloric
consists of "wisdom speaking copiously"--lakes up the defense of eloquence from the
philosophers' attacks, both propounding the value of elegant slyle, and also himself attacking
rhetoric's detractors. Thus in The Antibarbari, Erasmus lurns the charge of unprincipled
inconstancy against the schoolmen themselves: "They are difficull to gel hold of, and most
troublesome on this account. They never make a sland; lhey are more elusive lhan lhe
Parthians, now saying yes and then no; they are always shuffling, getting away with a
quibble, and Iike Proteus, 'Into ail kinds of wondrous shapes lhey change.'" The Antibarbari,
trans. and annotated Margaret Mann Philips (Toronto: University Press, 1978) 43, vol 23 of
CWE.
2Seigel, 47.
3Ibid.
4ibid; full discussions of ail the above namcd humanists on the question of oralory versus
philosophy can he found in Seigel.
 44

consequently he derives authorization to use rhetorical artifice from our very

existence as speaking animaIs. Thus he answers the critics of rhetoric,

If ail that was required of the latter [an eloquent speaker] was
merely to indicate the facts, he might rest content with
literalness of language, without further elaboration. But since it
is his duty to delight and move his audience and to play upon
the various feelings, it becomes necessary for him to employ
those additional aids which are granted to us by that same
nature which gave us speech.l ".
o •

To this he adds, "It is, in fact, as natural to do this as to harden the muscles,
increase our strength and improve our complexion by means of exercise."2
In the Renaissance the argument between rhetoric and philosophy
continued to pose the question as to the character of rhetorical artifice.
Indeed, the very term "artificial" was subject to this debate, for at the time it
could, but need not necessarily, carry a negative, ~onnotation suggesting
,.-" ,\..

falsity. For instance, in his Arte of Rhetorique, \Thomas Wilson defi~~s

'J

rhetoric as the art of setting for th "an artificial declaracion of the mynde, in
the handelyng of any cause, called in contencion, that maie through reason
largely be discussed. "3
Furthermore, because rhetorical artifice included straying from the
"literalness of language," and even sanctioned the orator appearing not "like
himself;' discussion inevitably turned to the nature and status of
"dissimulation" as weil as artifice in general. PE!rhaps the most famous
confrontation of oratory and philosophical dis trust of rhetorical artifice and
dissimulation took place between the accomplished humanist Ermolao

1I ns li/u/io Dra/aria. XII. x. 43.

2Ibid, XII. x. 44.
3Ar/e of Rhetorique, cd. Thomas Derrick (N.Y.: Garland Publishing, 1982) 22.
 45

Barbaro and the equally renowned Pico della Mirandola. This exchange was
initiated by Barbaro, who wrote praising Pico's own elegant style, but
criticizing that of the scholastics, upon whom the eclectic Pico drew
extensively. Hence Barbaro claimed that the philosophers were commonly
held to be "dull, rude, uncultured barbarians."1
Pico responded with a long and impassioned letter in which he
represented one of these "barbarians" as stepping forward to defend his
discipline. Exactly what position Pico, or his "barbarian" spokesperson,
intended to advance with respect to rhetorical eloquence is not entirely clear.
He concludes on a conciliatory note, granting that "eloquence and wisdom
may be closely connected,"2 and is willing to consider the estrangement of
philosophy from rhetoric and rhetoric from philosophy as regrettable
developments. Here he merely insists on the proper order of priority:

We can live without a tongue, though not conveniently; but we

cannot live at ail without a heart. He is not cultured (hllmanlls)
who were alien to polite letters; he is not a man (homo) who
were destitute of philosophy.3

However, throughout the bulk of the letter he is far less optimistic about
the compatibility of these two studies. In fact he begins by stating that, "50
great is the conflict between the office of the orator and the philosopher that
there can be no conflicting greater than theirs."4 In part this conflict derives
from their different spheres of operation: whereas philosophy is conducted
within and for an elite community of scholars, the skills of the orator belong

1"The Correspondence of Picol1ella Mirandola and Ermolao Barbaro conceming the Relation of
Philosophy and Rhetoric," trans. Quirinus Brccn, Journal of the History of Idcas 7(952) 393.
2Ibid, 40l.
3Ibid, 401.
4Ibid,395.
 46

"to those whose business is not in the academy but rather in that
commonwealth where things done and things said are weighed in a public
scale under the eye of one to whom flowers weigh more than fruits."l
Consequently, while philosophy is seen as the search for truth itself, rhetoric
appears to be a much Jess exalted endeavor:

For what else is the task of the rhetor than to lie, to entrap, to
circumvent, to practise sleight-of-hand? For, as you say, it is
your business to be able at will to turn black into white, white
into black; to be able to elevate, degrade, en)arge, and reduce, by
speaking, whatsoever you will; at length you do this to the
things themselves by magical arts as it were, for by the powers of
eloquence you build them up in such a way that they change to
whatever face and costume you please; 50 that they are not what
their own nature but what your will made them; of course they
may not actua11y become what you willed, but if they should not
it may nevertheless appear 50 to your audience. Ali this is
nothing at ail but sheer mendacity, sheer imposture, sheer
trickery; for its nature is either to enlarge by addition or to
reduce by subtraction, and putting forth a false harmony of
words like 50 many masks and likenesses it dupes the listeners'
minds by insincerities. Will there be any affinity between this
and the philosopher, whose entire endeavor is concerned with
knowing the truth and demonstrating it to others?2

. -
Hence, here, and in most of the letter, Pico's position--appears not to be
a mere subordination of rhetoric to philosophy, nor even a disregard for the
former as simply inessential and superfluous, but its condemnation as
positively dishonest and harmful. He maintains that the only legitimate
grounds for persuasion are "the life of the speaker, the truth of his matter,
and soberness of discourse"3; in contrast, ail "colored speech" he equates with

1lbid; however it does not seem that Pico i5 willing to abandon politics to the point of finding
rhetorical deceit intrinsic to, and thus acceptable within, this domain--hc continues: "Who
would not approve a dclicate step, cunning hands, playful eycs in an actor and dancer? In a
fcllow-eitizen ... who would not disapprove, censurc, abominatc them?"(396l.

( ---
2Ibid,396.
3Ibid,401.
 47

"treachery."l Pico employs numerous metaphors for rhetorical

embellishment involving "paint" which obscures truth, or women using
cosmetics--conveying a sense of meretricious falsity. Typical is his caution
"against the writer who, fond of an artificial complexion, lets his reader enjoy
nothing else; he never sees the real thing, nor the vital flush which we have
often perceived beneath the whiting of a powdered face."2
For his part, Barbaro responds with an even longer letter. He too
speaks through an invented character--also a philosopher, though quite
unlike Pico's. Barbaro's philosopher begins by criticizing Pico's
unquestionably eloquent spokesperson--his use of flowery speech, metaphor,
historical allusion, and ail the tropes of humanist rhetoric. This philosopher
denounces the defense of philosophy by these means as posing a greater
threat to its status than the attack itself:

... if we are beaten it will be black, but it will be blackest if we

win: to wit, in the future we will be said to have been saved not
by our own right but by the powers of eloquence, to which we are
and always want to be most hostUe. What greater annoyance, in
fact, can befall a freeman than to owe life and safety to one
whom he wishes to suffer disgrace and ruin?3

Barbaro seems so pleased with this backhanded way of representing

philosophy's helplessness and dependence, that he has his character return to
this matter in conclusion, again refusing the assistimce of eloquence, claiming
that at least "it is more satisfactory to be manfully beaten than to win by a
foul."4 As for the rest of the speech, it becomes quickly apparent that Pico's

1Ibid.
2Ibid,397.

o 3"Barbaro 10 Pico," in ibid, 405.

4Ibid,412.
 48

eloquent anti-rhetorician is now joined by a philosophical defender of

rhetoric. Hence this latter character employs the vocabulary and tools of the
logician to expose the inconsistency of Pico's varying positions on the nature
and value of rhetoric.
Furthermore, he notes that the great philosophers of antiquity were
shining examples of wisdom coupled with eloquence, and invokes
philosophical authority in rejecting the charge that oratory is inherently
deceitful: "to say that philosophy conflicts with eloquence because the
orator's business is but to deceive and lie is dear calumny, savors not at all of
the peripatetic and appears to ignore that there is a difference between an
orator and a sophist, a difference which Aristotle made in his Topics and
Rhetoric, they say."! Thus Barbara attempts to justify the orator by dearly
differentiating his brand of artifice from actual deception, associated not with
rhetoric but rather with sophistry.
The correspondence between Pico and Barbaro lived on past its
authors; in fact, over seventy years after the original exchange, Philip
Melancthon apparently decided thatBarbaro had not exhausted the defenses
of rhetork, and so wrote a response in support and behalf of Barbaro.
Following the humanist practice of addressing a deceased luminary as if he
were a living contemporary, Melancthon speaks directly to his adversary,
reminding him that 'No harmony is sweeter and more agreeable to the
nature of man than discourse full of good things and elegantly put together."2
But, Melancthon argues, the value of rhetoric is more than simply aesthetic.
Drawing upon Cicero's foundation myth, he daims that virtuaIly aIl of
society is dependent upon oratory for its existence:

1Ibid,408.
2"Melanclhon 10 Pico,'· in ibid, 420.
 49

It has been said, with good reason, that when men were still
dispersed and nomadic they were gathered together by
eloquence, and that by it states were founded;by it rights,
religions, legitimate marriage, and the other bonds of human
society were constituted. In fact.. it is by eloquence (aratia) that
these things are maintained in commonwealths. Should we
agree with you and consider this divine power, 50 necessary to
mankind, as nothing but a game or pack of tricks?!

His answer is of course a rcsounding "no": "the business of the rhetor

is notas you say, to play-act and deceive, but to teach men about the highest
affairs."2 However, he then shades his position on rhetorical trickery; thus
he continues, "If now and then the rhetor faces difficult cases and uses sorne
figure a.,d--I use your word--deceives the hearers, this belongs no JI!~S to the
duty of one who governs commonwealths in peacetime than it be1'~ngs to the
general by artifice to circumvent external enemies."3 Hence, Melancthon
justifies rhetorical deception by means of or;ltory's traditional association
with the governing of commonwealths, which~e views as somehow
analogous to warfare--where he sees the legitimacy of deception as self-
evident. 4

1Ibid, 416.
2Ibid,427.
3lbid. A similar politically-mindcd justification is ilintcd at by Barbaro, ambassador for the
,
~-
Venetian republic, when he observes that "the rules of civil discourse and philosophical
discourse are different" (Barbaro 10 Pico, 408), and elsewhere that Ihe firsl duly of any servanl
of a govemment is "to do, say, advise and think whatever may best serve the preservation and
aggrandizement.of his own state"--a statemenl which Garret Mattingly describes as "the voice
of the new age." Garret Mattingly, Renaissance Diplomacy (Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1955)
95.
4During the Renaissance, a sensibilHy was still alive which not only rejected the subtleties of
the orators, but even the premises of their analogies conccrning legHimale artifice in warfare.
HènceMontaigne ",rites that while "skill al arms and ruse" may easily conquer "reckless power
... this is not propcrly valor, since it draws Hs support from skill and has Hs basis in something
other than itself." 1;1~ noies that within his lifetime "the nobilHy avoided the reputation of
good fencers as insulting, and leamcd H furtively, as a cunning lrade, derogating from true and
natural valor," which he follows wilh some lines from Tasso:
 50

Deception or dissimulation in rhetoric is not only admitted but actually

f embraced by George Puttenham in his The Arte of English Poesie. According
to Puttenham, it is the craft of the courtly "maker" of speech or poet (from the
Greek poiein, "to make") to, "50 wisely and discreetly he behave himselfe as
he may worthily retaine the credit of his place ... which is in plaine termes,
cunningly to be able to dissemble."l
Among his instances of laudable dissembling, Puttenham recounts the
following story of potential conflict between the Duke of Guise and his
captain. After a battle the Duke pointedly asked his captain where he had
been during the fighting, to which the impoli tic response was "where ye durst
not go."2 However, the captain rapidly thought better of his answer and thus
continued, "1 was that day among the carriages, where your excellencie would

To dodge, parry, withdraw, they do not scck;

Nor does skill in their combat play a part;
. Their blows are not feints, now full, now oblique,
Fury and rage forbid the use of art.

"Cowardice, Mother of Cruelty:' The Complete ES5IlYs of Montaigne, trans. Donald Frame
(Stanford: Stanford:Jniversity Press, 1943) 527.
lArte of English Poesie (N. p.: Kent State University Press, 1970) 305; while, as the tille
suggests, The Arte of English Poesie addresses itself ch;efly to the art of courlly poetry, it
nevertheless frcquenlly and effortlessly crosses over into the domain of courtly oratory in
genera1. A similar usage is found in other Renaissance writers, inc1uding Sir Philip Sidney in
his A Defense of Poetry, which was written before Puttenham's work, but was publishcd a few
years after. Sidney also derives the word "poet" from the Greek, noting, "wc English have met
with the Greeks in calling him a maker" (22·3). Again Iike other Renaisssance thinkers, he
follows Aristolle in holding that this "making" consists of imitation of naturc-"that is to say,
a reprcscnting, counterfeiting, or figuring forth"(25). As he states at more length: "There is no
art delivercd to mankind that hath not the works of nature for his principal object, without
which they could not consist, and on which they 50 depend, as they bccome actors and players,
as it were, of what nature will have set forth" (23). A Defense of Poetryi cd. J. A. Van Dorsten
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1966). While Sidney, Iike Puttcnham, draws upon the
theory of courtiership in expounding his thcory of poetry, DanÏ1il Javitch argues that the lirst
signs of differentiation bctwccn the two arts, which will be more fully made from the 1790'5 on,
as the status of the former dcclines, was already visible in Sidney's Ap%gy. Poetry and
Courtlincss in Renaissance Eng/and (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978) chap. 3. See
also Whigham, chap. 4.;;
( 2lbid,281.
 51

not for a thousand crownes have bene seene."l Puttenham here remarks that
the initial blunder and lapse of rhetorical decorum was thus "by a wittie
reformation to be made decent againe."2 According to Puttenham, the orator
must "dissemble not onely his countenances and conceits, but also ail his
ordinary actions of behaviour, or the most part of them, whereby the better to
winne his purposes and good advantages."3
But this is not to say that Puttenham openly sanctions ail forms of
hypocrisy and deceit. He scorns those "who spE!~.ke faire to a mans face, and
foule behind his backe,"4 and act in similar such ways. Thus, he argues,
"leaving these manner of dissimulations to ail base-minded men, and of vile
nature 01' misterie, we doe allow our Courtly Poet to be a dissembler only in
the subtilties of his arte."s But for Puttenham, as for many others, it often
seems very difficult to determine where and how to draw the boundaries
separating "the subtilties of his art" from illegitimate deceptions.
However, he does not appear much worried by this problem; his
primary concern is rather to establish the existence of legitimate artifice and
dissimulation in the craft of the "maker" of speech. He attempts to do this by
means of analogies with other "artificers": "our maker may not be in ail cases
restrayned, but that he may both use, and also manifest his arte to his great
praise, and need no more be ashamed thereof, than a shoemaker to have
made a cleanly shoe, or a Carpenter to have buylt a faire house."6 Sorne of his
examples suggest that legitimate artifice may in sorne narrow sense

1Ibid.
2Ibid,282.
3Ibid,305.
4Ibid,307.
Slbid,308.
6Ibid,308.
 52

dissimulate nature: "50 also the Alchimist counterfeits gold, silver, and ail
other mettais, the Lapidarie pearles and pretious stones by glasse and other
substances falsified, and sophisticate by arte."l He continues, "These men also
be praised for their craft, and their credit is nothing empayred, to say that their
conclusions and effects are very artificiall. "2
Other examples suggest a somewhat different relationship between art
and nature, for, "In some cases we say arte is an ayde and coadiutor to
nature,"3 instances of which are "the arte of Phisicke" and that of the
gardener. The latter art in particular he takes as an apt analogy for rhetorical
artifice: in that the speaker "speakes figuratively, or argues subtillie, or
perswades copiously and vehementy, he doth as the cunning gardiner that
using nature as a coadiutor, furders her conclusions and many times makes
her effectes more absolute and strange."4 But to some extent the artifice of
this particular art is unique and cannot be understood by analogy with other
crafts and professions:

But for that in our maker or Poet, which restes onely in devise
and issues from an excellent sharpe and quick invention, holpen
by a cleare and bright phantasie and imagination, he is not as the
painter to counterfaite the naturall by the like effects and not the
':, .c_,same, nor as the gardiner aiding nature to worke both the same
.... and the like, nor as the Carpenter to worke effectes utterly
unlike, but even as nature her selfe working by her owne
peculiar vertue and proper instinct and not by example or
meditation or exercise as ail other artificers do, is then most
admired when he is most naturall and least artificiall. 5

1Ibid, 310.
2Ibid, 310.
3Ibid,308.
4Ibid,312.
( 5Ibid, 312-3.
 53

Puttenham has hit on a distinctive feature of the orator's trade: his

dissembling or artifice is valued the more for not calling attention to itse1f as
artifice, that is to say, for appearing natural. Hence he goes on to say that the
orator should "be more commended for his naturall eloquence then for his
artificial, and more for his artificiall well dissembled, then for the same
overmuch affected and grossely or undiscretely bewrayed."1
The principle that "art should dissemble art" was widely held and
frequë'ltly voiced by the humanists of the Renaissance, and derived from
classical sources. Cicero frequently warned against "affectation" in the
orator's art--that he should disguise the thought and effort which goes into
his performance, 50 as to appear spontaneous and natural. However, with
the subsequent shift in the practice of rhetoric from a performed art to an
essentially literary one, the injunction to dissimulate all artifice was applied
primarily to the use of literary sources, and is known as "dissimulative
imitation."2 This theory derives most directly from Seneca, who writes, "Let
our mind hide [abscondat] an those things which have aided it and reveal
only what it has produced."3 Macrobius takes this advice 50 much to heart
that he reproduces it, along with other passages from this particular letter of
Seneca's--with no acknowledgement of the original. 4

1Ibid, 313.
2See G. W. Pigman, "Versions of Imitation in the Renaissance;' Renaissance Quarterly 33
(1980) 1-32. Also helpful on Renaissance conceptions of literary imitation are: Pigman's
"Imitation and the Renaissance Sense of the Pasto The Reception of Erasmus 'Ciceronianus";
Izora Scott, Controversies Over the Imitation of Cicero (N.Y.: Teachers College, Columbia
University, 1910) 22-3; Dante Della Terza, "Imitatio: Theory and Practice. The Example of
Bembo the Poet;' Yearbook of Italian Studies 1 (1971) 119-41; A. J. Smith, "Theory and
Practice in Renaissance Thcory: Two Kinds of Imitation;' Bulletin of the !ohn Ryland Library
47 (1964) 212-43; Harold Ogden White, Plagiarism and Imitation During the English
Renaissance (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1935).
3Quoted in "Versions of Imitation in the Renaissance;' 10.
4lbid.

"
 54

Petrarch takes up the theory of dissimulative imitation, as can be seen

(
in his letter to Boccaccio, where he expresses the hope that the young
Giovanni Malpaghini will learn to imitate more successfully:

He will strengthen, 1 hope, his mind and his execution, and will
develop from wide reading his own individual style. 1 won't say
that he will avoid ail imitation, but he will conceal it, 50 that his
work won't resemble any particular author but will appear to
bring to Italy something new out of the work of the ancients.
But now, as the way of youth, he delights in imitations; and
sometimes he is 50 enraptured by others' beauties that, contrary
to good poetic practice, he becomes, as Horace says, 50 entangled
in the rules that he cannot extricate himself without revealing
his originals. 1

Part of what is sought by means of this dissimulation is aesthetic

subtlety. Hence Petrarch says, "we may use another man's conceptions and
the color of his style, but not use his words. In the first case the resemblance
is hidden deep; in the second it is glaring."2 The point is not outright denial,
but a rendering that is such that the similarity can be "felt rather than
defined."3 Similarly, subsequent humanists like Joannes Sturmius, held that
between the source and the work we "must hide ail similitude and likeness"4;
Sturmius actually goes on to elaborate a sixfold scheme ofliterary
dissimulation.
For these partisans of dissimulative imitation, it allows them to parade
their knowledge and mastery of the classical sources, but simultaneously
serves as a sign of sophistication, and even more, as a declaration of
independence from the classical fath~rs. Dissimulation is seen as creating a

lLelters from Petrarch, XXIII 19, 198.

2Lelters, XXIII 19, 199.
3Ibid.
4Joannes Sturmius, A Ritch Siorchol/se or Tresl/rie for Nobili/ie and Gentlemen, trans. T. B. Gent
(London, 1570) 38; sec also Pigman,"Versions of Imitation in the Renaissance," 11.
 55

space for the humanist to find and express his or her own voice. This is

- perhaps most clearly seen in Erasmus' The Ciceronian. Almost paradoxically,

Erasmus' spokesperson, Bulephorus, condemns the undissimulated or
mechanical imitation of Cicero as essentially dishonest:

... decent men, even if not particularly blessed with fine

features, don't wish to wear a mask in order to make themselves
look handsome, and wouldn't even agree to be painted with
features other than those nature gave them ... 50 men of letters
are surely right to ridicule those presumptuous fellows who
send packing authors ... [who] express themselves rather than
Cicero. It is after ail a form of imposture not to express yourself
but to perform a kind of conjuring trick and appear as somebody
else.J

Erasmus' remark is meant to apply to nor:-dissimulated imitation in

general, but in particular it recalls the famous exchange between Paolo Cortesi
and Angelo Poliziano, to which Erasmus almost immediately thereafter turns
his attention. Erasmus applauds Poliziano, recommending to his readers the
author who "is not tied down to his models,"2 but instead "consu1ts his own
feelings and the subject on which he proposes to speak."3 He goes on to say,
"Speech reveals the features of the mind much as a mirror reflects the face,
and to change the natural image into something different is surely the same
as appearing in public wearing a mask."4
To this Erasmus' foil, Nosoponus, responds that it would theil seem
that ail imitation was a deceptive masking of oneself. But this criticism is
rebuffed, since not "every feature dependent on imitation is necessarily

1The Ciceronian: A Dialogue on the Ideal Latin Style, trans. and annotated Belly 1. Knoll
(Toronto: University Press, 1986) 440-1, vol. 28 of CWE.
2Ibid,444.

o 3Ibid.
4Ibid, 441.~:::;C:c,
 56

- spurious and fraudulent."l Erasmus offers as analogies the "artifice" of

C"
washing or taking on a pleasant expression, which enhance one's natural
appearance, not by "disguising" it, but rather by better adorning and
presenting it: "if you observe how attractive a person is made by an
unassuming cheerfulness of expres,;ion ... it will be no cheap deception to
model your face on the pattern of his."2
The notion that material should be put in one's own ';~ords, or even
"digested" 50 as not to be only superficially understood by the supposed
author, is of course familiar to the modern student and writer. What is
remarkable is that in the Renaissance this same idea could also be expressed
in terms of "dissimulation." "Dissimulation" was not necessarily seen as
masking oneself, but rather possibly as revealing of one's self--as that "self"
was conceived of by these humanists.

Dissimulation in The Book of the COl/rtier

That dissimulation which dissimulates its own art, among other forms
of dissimulation, is especially notable in Castiglione's The Book of the
Courtier. Castiglione took the notion from the rhetorical tradition just
discussed, but then amplified and disseminated it across'E'{r.0pe; as a
'-";-

consequence the idea of art dissembling art appeared not only in the work of
Puttenham, but in that of countless authors of the period.
Castiglione puts the idea in the mouth of Count Lodovico Canossa, an
accomplished humanist and friend of Erasmus, who, with exactly the sort of

1Ibid, 442.
2Ibid.
 57

casualness which is his subject, alludes to the sources of what he is

expounding:

1 remember once having read of certain outstanding orators of

the ancient world who, among the other things they did, tried
hard to make everyone believe that they were ignorant of letters;
and, dissembling their knowledge, they made their speeches
appear to have been composed very simply and according to the
promptings of Nature and truth rather than effort and artifice. 1

Castiglione is clearly drawing upon the traditional rhetorical notion of

dissimulating artifice. But what was for the ancient authors just one, albeit
important, rule of thumb, takes on much more significance for Castiglione--it
is described as the "universal principle which seems to apply more than any
other in ail human actions or words."2 This principle is then stated as the
necessity "to steer away from affectation at ail costs, as if it were a rough and
dangerous reef, and (to use perhaps a novel word for it) topractise in ail
things a certain nonchalance which conceals ail artistry and makes whatever
one says or does seem uncontrived and effortless."3 The word which
Castiglione coins for this central idea, sprezzatllra,here translated as
"nonchalance," derives from the verb sprezzare--to despise or disdain. Thus

lThe Courtier, 67. The Iink between the orator's dissimulation of "artifice" and that Df the
courtier is also explicitly made by Guazzo's Annibal, who, in a discussion on the advantages
and disadvantages of solilude, addresses his interlocutor: "You have swarved nothing al ail in
this discourse from lhe dutie of a perfect Courtier, whosc protertie il is 10 do alllhings wilh
carefull diligence, and skilfull arl: mary yet so lhat the art is hidden, and lhe whole sœmelh
10 be doone by chaunce, lhat he may lhereby be had in more admiration. And so taking lhal
course, you have here commended solitarinesse, partly by reasons derived from your owne good
wil, and partly by lhe doctrine you have learned of some famous writers, and specially of
Pelrarch and Vida, of whose name and authoritie you have made no mention, because you
would hide lhal glorious doctrine, which some thal are leamed use to discover, in having
alwaies in lheir mou!!. the name, assoone of some Philosopher, assoone of sorne Poel, assoone of
sorne Orator. Bul yel you could not in suche sort cover lhis cunning, bullhalf perceived il, and
was lhereby occasioned greatly to commend your discrete judgemenl" (27).
2Ibid.
3Ibid.
 58

sprezzatura carries a sense of "disdainfulness" beyond mere nonchalance; it

(~ suggests that it would be below one's dignity to concern oneself with the
effort and artifice by which one performs. 1
To illustrate his point Canossa contrasts the dancer whose dancing is
"so labored that he seems to be counting every step;'2 with the distinguished
members of his present company: "in contrast we see in many of the men
and women who are with us now, that graceful and nonchalant spontaneity
[sprezzata desinvoltural (as it is often called) because of which they seem to be
paying little, if any, attention to the way they speak or laugh or hold
themselves."3
The principle that "true art is what does not seem to be art"4 is then
demonstrated to be the key to success in painting, music, and, in fact, "the
same applies whatever one's profession; indeed, it holds good for every
single thing we do or say."s Hence the world of The Courtier is one in which
in every walk of life and circumstance, everyone is studiously attempting to
present an image of effortless naturalness.
As one might weil expect, Castiglione is also forced to confront the
problem we have seen so frequently facing the defenders of rhetorical artifice-
-charges of artificiality and deceit. When Federico Fregoso takes over the
~- ,

discussion from..Çanossa,
'.'
,'_.
he upholds, and even further elaborates upon the
principleof dissimulated artifice. However, the somewhat discredited

IThe concept of sprezzatura is discussed in Eduardo Saccone, "Grazia, Sprezzatura,

Affellazione in the Courtier," Castiglione: the Ideal and the Real in Renaissance Culture, ed.
Robert W. Hanning and David Rosand (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983) 45-67. Sec
also Wayne Rebhorn, Courtly Performances: Masking and Feslivity in Casliglione's Book of
the Courlier (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1978) 35.
2The Courlier, 68. '
3Ibid.
4Ibid,67.
( 5Ibid,69.
 59

Gaspare Pallavicino, who nonetheless plays the useful raie of introducing

important objections to the company's courtly doctrine, remarks that this
sounds "more like crude deception than art," and doubts whether "such
deceit is ever fitting for one who wishes to be a man of honour."l Federico
gives a rather inconsistent and strained response which makes Ilse of many
now familiar tropes and metaphors. He begins by maintaining that, "It is not
a question of deceit ... but of embellishment for whatever one does."2
However, he immediately gives up denying the charge of deceit and attempts
instead to liken his social dissimulation to the cunning of the martially adept:

... even if it isdeception it is not to be censured. In the case of

two men who are fencing would you not say that the one who
defeats the other is deceiving him when he does 50 because he
has more skill than his partner?3

Federico seems oblivious to the implications of comparing his courtly

dissimulation with the art of defeating an opponent. 4 Or perhaps he is_not,
for he quickly drops this defense to now suggest one of the same analogies
between the courtier's and the craftsman's art that Puttenham would employ:

And if you have a lovely jewel without a setting, and it passes

into the hands of a good goldsmith who greatly enhances its
beauty by setting it weil, would you not say that he is deceiving
the eye? And yet he deserves praise for the deception, since with
good judgement and skill his cunning hands often add grace and
adornment to ivory or silver or to a lovely stone by setting it in

1lbid, 149.
2lbid, 150.
3Ibid.
4MartiaI analogies and metaphors were common in Cicero and Quintilian, where they were
somewhat appropriate to the contestatory aspects of c1assical rhetoric, as opposed 10 the more
concilialory nature of courtiership and courtesy in Ihe Renaissance.
 60

fine gold. 50 that we must not say that art (or this kind of deceit,
if you want to calI it so) deserves censure.l

Federico offers other examples of legitimate dissimulation, such as

King Ferdinand hiding his unattractive hands with gloves, and Julius Caesar
disguising his baldness with a laurel wreath. 2 Here, and elsewhere in The
Courtier, discussion and defense of the artistic dissimulation tends to flow in
and out of talk concerning the artistry of other forms of dissimulation. This
is especially the case with what we might cali "polite dissimulation." In the
competitive context where men continually strive for honor and recognition,
the task of impressing others without offending them or inciting jealousy is a
sensitive one. According to Federico, "to be praiseworthy and highly thought
of by everyone, and to secure the goodwill of the rulers whom he serves, the
courtier should know how to order his whole life and to exploit his good
qualities generalIy, no matter with whom he associates, without exciting
envy."3
To this end, the courtier should not openly draw too much attention to
his accomplishments or qualities, but should "dissimulate them politely."4
Conversely, he should "praise the achievements of others with great
kindness and goodwil1; and although he may think himself a man to be
admired and by a long chalk superior to everyone else, he should not reveal
this."5 In fact, the social harmony within The Courtier is generally

1Ibid.
2Ibid.The example of Caesaris particularly interesting in view of the hais which the balding
Castiglione sports in the portraits by his friend Raphael. Sec Rebhom, Courtly Performances,
32. The commonality of Castiglione's conception of idealizing nature through dissimulation
and similar views among Renaissance artisls has been remarked by Rebhom, Courtly
Performances, 64, and Edward Williamson, "The Concept of Grace in the Work of Rapael and
Castiglione," Italica 24 (1947) 316-24.
3lbid, 114.
4lbid.
5Ibid,147.
 61

maintained by an almost constant stream of "polite dissimulations": the

principle speakers continuaUy singthe praises of those around them and
preface any discourse with courteous protestations of their own inadequacy.
As a result of these various dissimulations, the dramatic scene of The
Courtier is both refined and harmonious; Castiglione's miniature society has
been noted for its elegance and gentility, and also for demonstrating how
sometimes sharply differing views and personalities are able to confront each
other in a civil atmosphere which remains not only viable, but as weU
enjoyable to its participants. 1 Nevertheless, there are signs of a disturbing side
to the social intercourse discussed and depicted in The Courtier. Apart from
that the modern reader willlikely experience the courtly civility portrayed
there as just so much annoying affectation, Castiglione's characters
themselves at times reveal reservations concerning the role of dissimulation
in that social and cultural world they inhabit.
This is particularly evident when the conversation turns to those social
relations which demand a greater degree of intimacy and trust, such as that of
friendship. The character Pietro Bembo cornplains that "nowadays there are
very few true friends to be found."2 Bembo derives this conclusion in part
from his ow~, experience: "for my own part 1 have more than once been
deceived by the person 1 loved most and of whose love, above everyone
else's, 1 have been most confident; and because of this 1 have sometimes
thought to myself that it may be as weU never to trust anyone in this world
nor to give oneself as a hostage to a friend, telling him aU one's thoughts
without reserve as if he were one's very self."3

ISee Thomas Greene,"Il Cortigiano and the Choice of a Came," in Hanning and Rosand, 1-15. c•.•·
2The Courtier, 137.
3Ibid, 138.
 62

c Bembo's pessimism stems above ail from the inscrutability of others,

who may always be masking their real thoughts and feigning the t:!xtent of
their actual attachment, since "there are 50 many concealed places and
recesses in our minds that it is humaniy impossible to discover and judge the
pretenses hidden there."l Given this uncertainty as to others' real thoughts
and intentions, Bembo counsels "never to trust 50 much in this tempting trap
of friendship as to have cause to repent of it later on."2 This advice is
countered by Federico, but only in the most cautious terms, concluding only
that he wishes their ideal courtier "to have a sincere and intimate friend of
his own, if possible."3
The estrangement of trust is even more evident in the relations
between men and women, especially those of a romantic nature. According
to the character Giuliano de' Medici, the first thing which a lady must learn
with respect to the subject of love is how "to distinguish between those who
are pretending and those who love her sincerely."4 But then this is no easy
task since "nowadays men are 50 cunning that they are always making false
demonstrations of love, and sometimes they are qui te ready to cry when they
"

reaUy want to burst out laughing."5

Here again, in the absence of any confidence that words truly
correspond to thoughts and intentions, caution, even total skepticism, is
advised. Giuliano recommends that a lady always "refuse to believe that the
man talking amorously to her really loves her."6 The mas! favorable

1Ibid:
2Ibid.
3Ibid, 138-9.
4Ibid,258.
5Ibid.
( 6Ibid,259.
 63

response she should offer to any romantic overture is to raise her own mask
of non-comprehension: "she will pretend not to understand and will take
the words to mean something else, trying al! the timê very modestly, and
with the wit and prudence we have already said she should have, to change
the subject."l If finally this tactic becomes no longer possible,c the lady may
make use of the generalized disengenuousness of courtly civility to al10w her
to draw a further veil of courtesy over the conversation: "Then if what is said
is such that she cannot pretel'',;! not to understand, she will treat the whole
affair as a joke, pretending to believe that the words are meant to flatter rather
than dedare what is true, dbdaiming her own merils, and attributing the
praises she hears to courtesy."2 In this way she will not only be seen,to be
discreet and modest, but also "she will be more secure against deceit."3
Hence in the realms of both friendship and love, the perceived
pervasiveness of dissimulation is responsible for a certain defensiveness, and
consequently, for further recourse to dissimulation. But it is not only in these
- ~.:.:::-

intimate relations that dissimulation appears problematic. This is also the

case with some more impersonal relations--specifically, those relations
essentially mediated by power. This is the subject of the next chapter.

1Ibid.
2Ibid.
3Ibid.
 64

III
(
RELATIONS OF POWER IN RENAISSANCE POUTrCS AND IN THE
HUMANIST MIND

... the towns of Haly are full of tyrants.

The Divine Comedy

During the la ter Middle Ages and Renaissance, concerns over

dissimulation and deception were often associated with certain social trends
of the time. One such trend was the growth of market relations, first
beginning to re-emerge aroulld the eleventh century. Those who made their
.:'.::-=.:.:, ~,-:..

living by means of buying and selling were perhaps always viewed with a
certain amount of distrust, and this period was no different. For instance, one
student of Florentine social history reports that the merchants there were
" r~~ __ ../

"famous for their gréa(cunning" and "ail manner of wily tricks."l In fact, ail
acrbss Europe writers and preachers denounced merchants for the craftiness
and falsity by which they were thought to extract a profit from a gullible

(~ 1Cuido Biagi, Meil allli Mallllers of G/d Florellce <Londo(" T. Fisher Unwin, 1909) 94.
 65

public.l Typical are sorne lines of English verse which attack both the
duplicity and greed of those professionally engaged in trade:

money to incresse, marchandys neuer to cease

wyth many a sotell wylè;
Men say they wolde for syluer and gol\lc!
Ther owne faders begyle. 2

5imilar views are presented by Alberti, who puts them in the mouth of
his kinsman Lionardo Alberti. Lionardo defends the honesty of the
mercantile Alberti family, although admitting that others consider
occupations consisting in trade to be "never quite c\ean, never untainted by
considerable fraud. They say that ugly intrigues and false contracts are
frequently involved."3
The subject of the market is also briefly treated in Guazzo's The Civile
Conversation. The book opens with William Guazzo in a depressed state "50

weake, leane, and faine away"4 that the sight of him brings tears to his
">-
brother's eyes. However, the almost deathly ill Willia;::::,isJortunate to be
T'"
joined by the goocfa§f,.or Anniball, who advises his palient that if he is to
overcome his present condition he should first recall and reflect upon "the
things that helpe him, and the thinges that hurt him, to the ende to eschewe
the one, and insue the other."s To this the afflicted Guazzo responds:

lRodney Hilton discusses the nervousness conceming the professional integrity ofbakers,
butchers, and especially those petty merchants actually known as "hucksters" in "Lords,
Burgesses and Hucksters," Past and Present 97(982) 3-15; also G. R. Owst, who gives the
example of the homilist who condemns the merchant for taking advantage of the "symple
folk," Iikening him to the fox: for "a fox is a dysseyvable beeste, and ralhere he devowryth
and sleth tame bestys than wylde." Literature and Pu/pit il! Medieval England (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1933) 356-7 ".
2Quoted in V. J. Scattergood, Politics and Poetry in the Fifteenth Century (London: Blanford
Press, 1971) 333.
3 Della Famiglia, 142.
4The Civile Conversation, 14.'
5Ibid,17.
 66

1 remember 1 have plainly noted, that the company of many is

greevous unto me, and that contrariwise, solitarinesse is a great
comfort and ease of my travels ... for 1 feele it a great travell to
my minde, to understand other mens talk, to frame fit answeres
thereto, and to observe suche circumstances, as the qualitie of
the persons, and mine owne honer require: which is nothing els
but paine and subjection. 1

Expressing a sentim~nt familiar to countfess harried intellectuals

during and since the Renaissance, William continues to say that only "when 1
withdrawe my selfe into my lodging either to reade or write, or to repose my
self: then 1 recover my libertie, and let loose the raines thereof, in suche sorte,
that having not to yeeld account of it selfe to any, it is altogether applied to
~\..
•...
~v~
:. , / my pleasure and comfort."2 But to this Anniball answers that Guazzo's
rnalady is aggravated by this pernicious anti-social instinct,\yhich draws him,
- ,~

to his undoing like a moth to the flame. For according to the good doctor,~~ec~
"

"the pleasure of solitarinesse ... is counterfeite"3; man is by nature ac~:'

"compagnable creature," and therefore "loveth naturally the conversation of

other men, and doing the contrarie, he doth offend nature her self."4
Thus;\We should not recoil from doing "our businesse in dealing with
men," even if at the moment we do not feel socially inclined; rather "wee
must force our will"--from w1:iich
::-,.,-.-:~." .
Anniball
. '-'"
demonstrates with his own
--.',

experience of an undesired social engagement "followeth a vertue of

necessity"5:

llbid.
2lbid.
3lliid. 19.
4lbid.20.
5lbid, 21.

~.'

~.
 67

... though at first 1 was in my dumpes, yet afterwarde 1 went

away weil pleased and joyful: seeing that 1 had so weIl framed
l1'Iy selfe to the humours of others, and that 1 had got my selfe ...
verie weIl thought of by the companie when 1 was gone."1

William is easily convinced that his old solitary ways were an

unhealthy mistake, and soon reflects upon the benign necessities which spur
men "forwarde into companie, and make them presse into places where they
see the greatest throng of people."2 Perhaps foremost among these "spurres"
is the "desire to maintaine and increase their wealth."3 And for an example
of this principle at work,

... let us passe only thorow the middest of this Citie, and wee
shall see not only on dayes appointed for travaile, but on those
also whiche are consecrated to the honour and service of God, a
numberlesse multitude walking upp and downe in every place,
keeping a continuall mercate, where there is no other talke but
of buying and selling, of chopping and chaunging, of letting and
taking money to interest, and in summe, there is bargayning for
aIl thinge~(whiche are fit to heale the diseases of povertie, and to
get the hea!th"of riches. And therefore there needeth not muche
labourto perswade men to love conversation, whereto they are
naturally so given. 4 /

: This remarkable passage, in which talk of nothing but "buying and

selling, etc." is held up as promoting not only economic but "spiritual" health
as weIl, inspires the learned physician to reflect upon the general condition of
humanity; he recalls a "place of Pythagoras, where hee sayde that this worlde
was nothing else but a verie mercate."s However, in The

lIbid,22.
2Ibid,117.
3lbid.
4Ibid,118.
~. 5lbid.
V

'.1
 68

Civile Conversation, and other such works of the time, the market is not
<: given primacy of place. While it seems unimaginable that the culture of early
modern Europe was not profoundl)' 3haped by human relations becoming
,.
increasingly mediated by the market, in the life and work of the Renaissance
humanists, the primary means of socio-economic advancement was not
commerce, but patronage: not the market, but the court.l Thus, for instance,
when the recovering Guazzo speaks of how the "desire to maintaine and
increase their wealth
c
... wiIInot suffer men to stande ydle with their handes
at their gyrdels," he immediately continues,

... whiche you shaIl plainely see, if you once set your fcote in
the Court of sorne Prince, where you shaIl see an infinite
number of Courtiers assemble together, to talke and devise of
many matters, to understande the newes oCthe death or
confiscation of the goods of sorne one, to seeke to obtaine of the
Prince, eyther promotions, gcods, pardons, exemption, or
priviledge for them selves or others ....2

Moreover, as AnnibaIl notes, with his scholarly training--a knowledge

of "latin and Tuscane tongue" as weIl as "perfect style in wryting, ,and great
discretioll in handling matters"--William himself appears weIl prepared "to
be Secretarie to a Prince. "3 And, according to AnnibaIl, this is as it should he,
since "a schoUer is weIl worthy to be laughed at, and reprooved, who applying

IThe rather limite<! extentto which a market for Iiterature co-existed with a patronage-based
system during the Renaissance is briefly discusse<! in Peter Burke, Culture and Society in
Renaissance Italy 1420-1540 (London: B. T. Batsford L1d., 1972) 104-5. A convenient set of
articles on Renaissance patronage can he found in Patronage in the Renaissance, e<!. Guy Lytle
and Stephen Orgel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981). Il is on this question of the
relative importance of the court as oppose<! to the market in the humanist imagination that 1
helieve 1 differ with a work from which 1 have learnCcl,much,Tean-ehristophe Agnew's
Worlds Apart. .
- 2The Civile Conversation, 117.
( 3Ibid,40.
 69

him selfe altogether to studie, doeth not frame his learning to the common
life," and remains aloof from "the affaires of the world."l
The theme of these first pages of The Civile Conversation--the debate
over whether a scholar should abandon his sec1usion in order to put his
learned service at the disposaI of a prince--was taken up in other Renaissance
works. For instance, in Thomas Starkey's A Dialogue Between Reginald Pole
& Thomas Lupset, the character Lupset rejects the tradition of contemplative
philosophy, and instructs his fellow humanist, Master Pole:

For though it be so that many of the ancient philosophers, for

the maintenance of their idle and slumbering life, doubted
much therp-of, yet me seemeth you, after so many years had in
the studyof the school of Aristotle, should nothing doubt
therein at ail, insomuch as he teacheth and showeth most
manifestly the perfection of man to stand jointly in both, and
nother in the bare contemplation and knowledge of things
separate from ail business of the world, nother in the
administration of matters of the common weal, without any
further regard and direction thereof: for of them, after his
sentence, the one is the end of the other.2

This "business of the world" and "matters of the common weal," no

less than Anniball's "common life" and "affaires of the world," are actually
and above ail the affairs of princes--and this becomes increasingly so
throughout the late Middle Ages and Renaissance.

The Growth of the Court

lIbid.
2A Dialogue Between Reginald Pole & Thomas Lupset, ed. Kathleen M. Burton (London:
Chatto 8< Windus, 1948) 24. On the dcbate bctwœn the active and contemplative lives in the
Renaissance, see Eugene Riee, The Renaissance}dl!ll of Wisdom (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 1958) and Hans Baron's revièw article, "Secularizition of Wisdom and
Political Humanism in the Renaissance," Journal of the History of Ideas 21 (960) 131-50.
 70

The emergence of the political and cultural dominance of the court, as

weil as the extensive raIe played by intel!ectuals in this development, has a
history which goes back centuries. When in 800 Pope Leo III crowned Charles
emperor, he in part merely acknowledged the de facto political status of the
Frankish king, but he also increased the prestige of what would be the model
for subsequent medieval courts. The hub of Charles' court was a small
number of officers. This group included the Arch Chaplain, who
administered ecclesiastic affairs, which involved a great deal of imperial
legislation; of equal rank and importance ,vere the Chancellor and Count
Palatine, who oversaw a variety of political and secular affairs--although the
Emperor left himself the prerogative to serve as final judge of appeals and
arbitrator. After them came the Seneschal, the Constable, the Chief Butler,
and the Masters of Horse and Wardrobe, al! of whose positions blurred the
boundaries between household and general administration.!
Charles' courtly legacy was taken up and developed by subsequent
princes across western Europe: court and administrative centers flourished
under a few of Charles' imperial descendants, such as Frederick II in Sicily--
but also under Angevin Kings, Avignon Popes, and powerful dukes in France
and Italy. In fact, throughout the later Middle Ages and Renaissance, much of
Europe's elite became increasingly "courtly," as gre~t lords and princes tended
to expand and consolidate their domains--and exp:ess their increasingpower
through more and more lavish courts. 2

1A. G. Dickens, "Monarchy and Cultural Revival," The Courts of Europe, 00. A. G. Dickens
(London: Thames & Hudson, 1977) 8-32; Donald Bullough, The Age of Charlemagne (London:
Elek Books, 1965) chap. 3; F. L. Ganshoff, The Carolingians and the Franlcish Monarchy
(Ithaca: Comell University Press, 1971) chaps. 6 and 8.
( 2A. G. Dickens, "Monarchy and Cultural Revival."
 71

Both the increased resources for courtly expenditure and display, and
the political, economic, and cultural concentration in the royal courts were
closely tied to the broad economic changes of the era. At least in the long run,
the expansion of trade served ,~? augment political centralization. This was
not only because it generated wealth which kings were able to tap for their
own purposes-especiaIly with the greater potential for taxation due to the
more monetized economy-but aIso because it tended to weaken the position
of the nobles, who were often political, economic, and cultural antagonists or
rivaIs of the king.l
Before the revival of trade and the monetized economy, there were few
other means by which to reward service than the distribution of lands and
castIes; but these rewards had the consequence of making their recipient
essentially independent of the prince. In a society with only the most
rudimentary transportation and little economic integration, the lord of a
manor might live off his lands as a king unto himself, with virtually n~

incentive to heed and attend to his sovereign, except in times of crisis or

external danger. Thus this system of binding vassals to the prince was to
sorne extent inherently self-limiting. 2
However, these conditions were to change as transportation and
economic interdependence increased, and as kings had available ta them in
the form of money a more effective means for binding their vassals to them.
Furthermore, the related rise in prices tended to impoverish the nobility--at
least those who either by choice or necessity did not take advantage of the

IOn the\iqcial and economic changes resulting in the concentration of power in the royal courts,
sec NorbèrfElias, Power & Civility, vol. 2 of The Civilizing Process, trans. Edmund )ephcott
(N.Y.: Pantheon, 1982) and his The Court Society, trans. Edmund )ephcott (N.Y.: Pantheon
Books, 1983) chap. 7; also Rice, Foundations, 99-106; on one of the last great noble rivaIs to
royal supremacy, C. A. J. Armstrong, "The Golden Age of Burgundy," in Dickens, 55-76.
2Elias, Power & Civility, 13-30.
 72

growth of the market, but rather remained dependent on a fixed income from
the land.! On the other hand, wealthy or educated commoners were in
greater and greater numbers buying themselves offices or receiving
administrative positions in the emerging state apparatuses, creating the
beginnings of a new nobility, based on administrative_service to the crown.
. ._'~-

Ali of this was vocally protested by those who claimed that noble birthrights
and centuries of tradition uniquely entitled them to their status and to the
roles of royal aids and counsels, but to !ittle avail. 2
':.'

Finally, this weakened condition of the nobility was exacerbated by the

long-term changes in military technology which wele re!}dering the retinues
of medieval knights obsolete: the develppment of superior weapons and of
professional plebeian infantry undercut the noble caste's power and authority
as a martial e!ite. When the noble author of the Harangue pour la noblesse
wrote in 1574 that the three things which kings could wish for were religion,

.,;;

lRice, Foundations, 62; Davis Billon. Fre~ch Nobility in Crisis, 1560-1715 (Stanford: Stanford
University Press, 1969) 2; Michael S. Kimmel, Abso/utism and its Discontents: state and
society in seventeenth century France and Eng/and (New Brunswick, N.J.: Transaction Books,
1988) 39.
2pauline Smith speaks of "the increasingly made distinction betwecn the nobless d'épée,
descendcd from the old chevalerir, and the noblessé'de robe, elevated from the bourgeoisie from
the fourtecnth ccntury onwards. often to be found discharging various funclions at court," noling
also "the scom and contempt shown by the former for the laller." The Anli·Courtier Trend in
Sixteenth Century French Literature (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1966) 43; the greater power of
the monarch over the nobility is indicated by the legalization under Francis 1 of the long
establishcd, but increasing, practice of sellingofficesi' See Mark Grecngrass~,France in the Age
of H6iryj IV: the struggle for stability (N.Y.: Longman,1984) 143·9. For the elevalion of
cominoners in England, and the consequent pinch felt by ire nobility, sec Helen Miller, Henry
VIII and the English Nobility (Oxford: Basil Blackwell,jI986); Fritz Caspari, Humanism and
the Social Drder in Tudor England, 1·24; J. H. Hexter, "Thè\E~falion of the AristocrafY in the
Renaissance" in his Reappraisals in History: New Views on His/ory and Society in Early
Modern Europe. (N.Y.: Harper and Row, 1961); and W. Gordon Zecveld, "Social
Equalitarianism in a TudorCrisis: Journal of the His tory of Id(~s,7 (1946) 35·55.
 73

-...--- justice, and "the Nobility to fight for their defense,"l the military basis of the
nobility was already weil on its way to becoming an anachronism. 2
5ince the late Middle Ages, the nobility watched their former powers
and jurisdiction eroded by the crown. In France from the 13th century on, the
nobles' political and financial autonomy was almost continually encroached
upon. 3 In England, the relatively powerful and centralized monarchy
established from the Norman conquest provided the basis for a fairly
developed court society as far back as the llth and 12th centuries. 4
But for the reasons given above, as weil as others specifie to the
particular country, it was in the era of the Renaissance that royal power and
court grandeur flourished on an unprecedented scale. Lawrence Stone
describes the "enormous expansion of the Court and the central
administration" of around the 16th century as "the most striking feature of

lQuoted in Ellery Schalk, From Valor to Pedigree (princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986)
7.
2The brief discussions by Rice, and the more extensive discussions by Bean, McNeill, and
Kennedy, focus primarily on the mutually reinforcing growth of the centralizeanation-state
and military advances and expansion. See Rice, Foundation, 98-99; Richard Bean, "War and
the Birth of the Nation State," Journal of Economie History 33 (1973) 203-21; William H.
McNeill, The Pursuit Q/ Power (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982) chap.3; Paul
Kennedy, The Rise and Fallu[ the Great Powers (N. Y.: Random House, 1987) 45-6,56,70-2.
On the other hand, Schalk and Elias give greater attention to the changing nature of the once
more independent and militarily based elite: Schalk, passim and Elias, Power & Civility, 258-
69.
3Franklin Ford,'Robe and Sword: the regrouping of the French aristocracy after Louis XIV
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1953) 37-9; Robert Mandrou, Introduction 10
Modern France 1560-1640: an essay in historical psychology, trans. R. E. Hallmark (N.Y.:
Holmes & Meier, 1975) 102-12; R. J. Knecht, French Renaissance Monarchy: Francis 1 & Henry
11 (N. Y.: Longman Inc., 1984) 2,15,22,68-73; Robin Briggs, Early Modern France, 1560-1715
(Oxford: Oxford University Press,1977) 2-10; David Parker, The Making of Frenc;' Absolutism
(London: Edward Arnold, 1983) 2 - 1 3 . '
40ickens, "Monarchy and Cultural Revival," 440-5; Briggs, Early Modern France, 2; Elias,
Power & Civility, 102-3. On legal aspects of the emergence of European absolutism in the later
middle ages from its humble beginnings in the Norman kingdoms and the Church, sec Harold
Berman, Law and Revolution (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1983) and Ernst
Kantorowicz, The King's Two Bodies (princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957) as well as
his "I<ingship under the Impact of Scientific Jurisprudence," Twelfth-Century Europe and the
Foundations of Modern Europe, cds. Marshall Clagett, Gaines Post, and Robert Reynolds
(Madison, Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press, 1961) 89-111.
.'/
 74

the great nation states,"t which he notes was accompanied by a

( transformation in the character of the nobility:

This development was characterized by the acquisition by the

Crown of greatly expanded financial and military resources, the
extension of royal control over outlaying areas, the development
of a self-supporting bureaucracy with a vested interest in the
perpetuation and extension of royal authority, a concentration of
business and pleasure on the capital city, and the efflorescence of
a brilliant and expensive court life. Everywhere the nobility was
sucked into this vortex ... Once formidable local potentates were
transformed into fawning courtiers and tame state pensionaries. 2

ln this vein, Pauline Smith writes of France:

... the acceleration of the trend towards absolutism in the

French monarchy, and its development and consolidation under
Louis XII and François 1er, led, in part, to a further increase in the
royal entourage. For with the consolidation of the central
authority of the monarch that of the nobility declined. Lossof
authority combined with economic decline will explain their
growing dependence upon the monarch and their presence in
large numbers at his court ... In the past the French court had
consisted of vassals, often more powerful than the king to ·0:
whom they owed aUegiance, who discharged a temporary
function, fulfilled a statutory obligation, or transacted occasional
business, before returning to their own domains where their
authority was unquestioned. Now, on the contrary, we have the
j advent of the professional courtier, who regards attendance on
f the monarch as a means of support, livelihood, an end in itself .
_~ . ...3
-v
~'"
--_\~------
1Crisis of /Id
Arislocracy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965) 385.
2lbid..
3Smith,58-9. The notion of allendance at court as an "end in itself," among a nobility
experiencing an otherwise declining status is explained by Elias: "Only Iife at court opened to
individual nobles within this social space access to economic opportunilies and prestige that
could in any way satisfy their daims to a demonstratively upper-elass existence ..• They
therefore not only remained atp:urt because they were.dependent on the king, but they
remained dependent on the kiI{g because ollly Iife amid courUy society could maintain the
distance from others and the prestige on which depended their salvation, their existence as

c members of the upper dass, the establishment or the 'Society' of the country. No doubt, at least
a part of the courUy nobility could not have lived at court had they not been offered many
 75

It was during the reign of Francis I that the word cour took on the non-
jurisprudential meaning of "royal entourage," reflecting the growing
importance of this socio-political phenomenon.1 In 1535 Francis' household,
the nucleus of his court, consisted of over 600 posts costing 214,918 livres--
roughly three times the personnel and cost of only fifty years previously.2
This entourai:\e induded commoners employed as cooks, laundresses,
surgeons, etc., but also a host of noble attendants. Among the highest offices
were the chancelier, connétable, and maréchaux, whose duties consisted of
administering justice and overseeing military affairs. But equally prestigious
were the grand maître, grand chambellan, grand veneur, among others,
whose duties concerned the management of the royal housec,pld, bedroom,
the hunt, and so on. During the 1530's, the privileged position of
respollsibility for the royal bedroom was shared by four first gentlemen, with
over fifty secondary gentlemen, all still of important families, immediately
below them.3 Furthermore, besides the growing personnel and expenditures,
there are other indications of the increasingly courtly atmosphere: in 1515
Francis changed the title of those cOl)cerned with the royal bedroom from
valet de chambre t6 gentilshommes de chambre so as to reflect the greater
dignity which this office was supposed to represent. 4
In Renaissance England and Spain as well, the emerging royal
hegemony was accompanied by expanded and more elaborate retinues at

kinds of economic opportunilies there. But what they sought were not cconomic possibililies as
such ... but possibilities of existence that were compatible with the maintenance of their
dislinguishing prestige, their character as a nobility." Power & Civility, 267
1William Wiley, The Gentleman of Renaissance France (Harvard: Harvard University Press,
1954) 41. ':
2R. j. Knecht, Francis l (Cambridge: Cambridgcbnj~~i'sity Press, 1982) 89.
3Wiley, 9, 54-5.
4Knecht, Francis 1,89.
 76

court,l But to a considerable extent, the courtly ways of the Renaissance were
<: first and foremost the products of Italy.2 And so it is to Italy we must turn to
find the roots of those practices and ideas which were in large part to inspire
and influence tile elites across the Alps.
In the 10th and llth centuries, power in northern Italy passed into the
hands of local magnates, especially ecclesiastics. The German Emperors
maintained whatever influence they could over the region largely by means
of the bishop.s which they appointed--a power which was further attenuated
with the onset of the so-called "investiture controversy" in the late 1lth
century. Given this absence of strong centralized rule, the prospering Italian

.
cities were able to wrest for themselves a considerable share of local
'.
jurisdiction and self-governance. 3
By the 1130's Pisa, Lucca, Milan, Parma, Rome, Pavia, Genoa, Verona,
Bologna, Siena, Florence, and numerous other cities had established
communal governments, although in sorne cases they continued to share
jurisdiction with the pre-existing authorities for sorne time. For example, in
1181 a dispute concerning the contado of Verona wa~ still heard jointly by the
local bishop, count, and elected consuls. 4

1Qn the emergence of Tudor absolutism and court, Stone, Crisis of the Aristocracy, espccially,
385-504; Mary Price and C. E.L. Mather, A Portrait of Britain under the Tudors and Stuarts
1485-1688 (Oxford: Clarendoh Press, 1954) 22-34; D. M. Loadcs, Politics and the Nation 1450-
1660 (Brighton: Harvester Press, 1974) 100-130; Riec, Foundations, 92-106; Neville Williams,
The Tudors: Three contrasts in persona lity, in Dickens, 147-168. In Spain, despite dramatic
political consolidation under Ferdinand and Isabel, the courtlife was actually quite restrained
and almost spartan, if Guicciardini, who Gcrved there as an ambassador, is to be believed.
However, this was to change under Charles V. Sec Rhea Marsh Smith, Spain: a modern
history (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1965) chaps. 12 and 13. On the emergence of
Spanish absolutism, sec also Kimmel, 21-29, and Rice, Foundati~ns, 92-108.
2This should not he overstatcd; the Italian courts were themselves influencedb)doreign
customs and practices-the French culture of chivalry and the Provençal courts were especially
important in this respect; Franco Simone emp!,asizes the mutual influences in the Papal courts
at Avignon. The French Remissance, trans.H. Gaston Hall (London: Macmillan, 1969).
3J. K. Hyde, Society and Polities in MedievalItaly (N. Y.: St. Martin'. Pr~., 1973) 40-8.
4Daniel Walcy, The Itaiian Ciiy Republics (N.Y.: McGraw-HilI, 1969) 57.
 77

However, such arrangements were merely transitional to greater urban

sovereignty; in many cases the de facto relative autonomy of the cities was
recognized by particular de jure concessions on the part of the emperor. In
fact, when ::11. ambitious emperor, Frederick Barbarossa, did attempt forcibly to
reclaim sovereignty over the cities in the 12th century, the result of the final
settlement was only to extend such concessions and deepen the pride and
resolve of the communes as free self-governing communities.l A
contemporary Jewish visitor, Benjamin of Tudela, noted that the cities
"possess neither king nor prince to govern them, but only the judges
appointed by themselves."2
The political organization of the early commune was based first of ail
on the general assembly of ail members. Depending on the size of the
particular town, this "parliament of the whole" could be attended by easily
several hundred people. It is thought to have originally met quite frequently,
and voting was by acclamation--citizens simply indicated approvalor
disapproval of proposed measures. 3 These proposais were presented by the
consuls, who held office for short, usually one year, tenures, for which office-
holders were then ineligible for the next two terms.
Although the 12th century communal nobility was far from a social
monolith--constantly carrying out vendettas from their towering urban
fortresses--they nonetheless generally dominated the political Iife of the cities.
The knights and nobility of the Italian towns were never wholly averse to
engaging in banking and other commercial activities as the opportunity arose,
and also intermarried with the older and more established successful

1Laura Martines, Power and Imagination: City-states in Renaissance lta/y. (N.Y.: Vinlage,
1979) 24-26.
2Waley, 21.
:fl::
~.
3Waley, 62.
 78

<: commercial families. And while certain offices might be held by, or even
specificaIly aIlotted for the less elevated citizens of the commune, it was by
and large the grandi who had the positions of real prestige and power.l
However, in the course of the 12th century, the first "popular"
organization emerged in the form of the merchant and trade guilds. InitiaIly,
the papala lacked the unifying organization, discipline, and experience to
advance their cause effectively. But aided in part by the professional skills of
the notaries, who made up an influential contingent in their ranks, the
papafa constituted itself into sophisticated political and para-military
associations, often patterned after the structure and organization of the
commune as a whole. 2 Consequently, in many towns of the early 13th
cent~ry, the papafa met with sorne success in opening up the restricted
communal political process. For instance, in the 1190's the "simple citizens"
of Milan were the main source of communal revenues; but were entitled to
only ol1e-fifth of the places in the consulate; by 1212 aIl offices of the
commune were to be divideclé<:quaIly between the nobles and papala.
il
l'
Elsewhere throughout the cities at l!lis time similar, if less dramatic, reforms
were legislated.3
The papafa was generaIly led by "turn-coat" nobles, bankers,
merchants; and guild masters, but the breadth of its social composition varied
with time and place. It was nonetheless essentiaIly "middle class"; its
membership often extended to artisans and smaIl tradesmen, but always
excluded those at the bottom of the urban socialladder--the poor, the
unskilled, and whole'categories of artisans who were not aIlowed to form

1Ibid, 29.
2Ibid, 51-55. :,
3Both Martines and Hyde noneth~fuss emphasize the continuing dominance of the leading
landcd and commercial families.,.,Scc Martines, Power and Imagination, 47-48 and Hyde, 146.

-:/
-'~'~:~
 79

their own guilds. Consequently, the opening of the political process which
the papala achieved continued to restrict the majority of the population of
the cities. 1
The political structure of the growing commune underwent other
changes in response to the increasing complexity and "difficulties" in its
political life--the foremost being pressure from the papa!p. Besides becoming
somewhat less restrictive, the communal organization was reshaped such
that the COI1.sulate was replaced by a single post, the padestà. Hence, beginning
in the late 12th century, city after city turned to government by padestà. The
padestà was not a ruler, but more of a top-ranking civil servant, generally
holding a very brief tenure of office. He served as a sort of head administrator
and chief justice, and sometimes as the commune's military commander, but
he was not to take the initiative in making political decisions; these powers
remained with the various communal councils. 2
Nevertheless, the appearance of the padestà foreshadowed the
dissolution of the commune: by the early 14th century, the majority of cities
had come under the control of signari. Thus whereas in the 12th century
Otto of Freising and Benjamin of Tudela had written of the pervasiveness of
the republican form of government in north and central Italy, only just over
a century later Dante lamented that, "the towns of Italy are full of tyrants."3 It

IMartines, Power and Imagination, 59, 67-69; Hyde, 80-2.

2The powers of lhe podestà were carefully circumscrihed 10 guard againsl usurpation,
partiality, and the use of lhe office 10 further his family ralher than the commune's interesls.
The case o.fModena is ilIuslrative. The podestà was to have no relatives living wilhin lhe
city; he wa,~even prohibiled from having a privale meeting or meal wilh any of the city's
citizens. H,;,~;as barred from leaving the city duiïng his time of office wilout the permission of
the General Council and was not allowed to engage in lrade while in office, but was paid a
salary, the last installment of which he rcceivcd after a final review of his terrn. The
commU!le of Pisloia added the stipulation lhal the podestà should not open official
correspondenœ alone, but that such lelters must he read aloud in the presence of certain other
communal officiaIs. See Waley, 66-71.
3Waley, 238.

,i
 80

may be argued that this is a difference without a difference: in even the most
(
"popular" of the republican cities only a small fraction of the population were
admitted to full political citizenship. For the vast majority of people living in
these cities the only issue was whether they would be ruled by an individual
and his family or a somewhat more expansive elite.
But while there is undeniably sorne truth to this way of posi:ag the
matter, it is not the whole truth: the question of "regime" involves more
than just the number of rulers. It involves as weIl the principles and
justifications of rule--attitudes concerninKdeference, hierarchy, and
legitimacy. The signori often did away with the old term "citizen," and
replaced it with that of "subjects" (subditi domini): Giangaleazzo Visconti of
Milan actually forbade the use of the word pop% as subversive) When a
later Duke of Milan traveled to Florence accompanied by 5,000 pairs of
hounds, 200 pack mules, and over 2,000 horses covered in gold trappings and
finery, many Florentines were at first awed--but then scandalized. 2 And the
organization and principles upon which a form of government is based can
even influertce the outlook and reality of those excluded from full
membership in that society. It is perhaps a significant fact that the late 14th
century uprisings of the pop% minuto occurred in cities with still vital
republican institutions. 3
The actual signorial seizure of power often came about by means of an
established political position: the podestà, or a leader of the pop%, such as

1Denys Hay, The ltalian Renaissance in ils Historical Background (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1961) 108.
2Marlines, Power and Imagination, 225.
3Martines, Power and Imagination, 133-6; Federico Chabod discusses the cultural shift which
accompanicd the. rise o(the signori, albcit focusing on the dominant classes. He tells of the
depoliticizalionJbf the formerly polilical classes and their mosttalentcd membcrs, who turned
more exclusiv~ly to private affairs or the service of the signore. Machiavelli and the
Renaissance, loans. David Moore_ J.;(London: Bowes & Bowes, 1958) 55-6.
?,
 81

the captain of the popolo or a rector of a guild. In times of crisis, terms of

office were extended and additional powers were granted. Later a formai
transfer of power might be established through specifie statutes duly passed by
the communal committees, accompanied by the swearing of oaths and
political ceremony. The usurping signore usually maintained at least the
appearance of the old communal structures for at least sorne time. But the
councils which were soon filled with his sympathizers became rubber stamps,
existing only to give more authority to the decisions of the signore.l
Once despotic control was consolidated, the next step was likely to be
establishing the signoria as legitimately hereditary. A final step was to acquire
th~ status of vicar of either the Pope or emperor, as was first done by
Napoleone della Torre of Milan in 1273; the degree to whieh the new signori
felt themselves in need of legitimation is revealed by the sizeable
expenditures they willingly paid in order to receive such honors through the
14th century.2
There are a number of factors which seem to have contributed to
bringing about the rise ofthe signori. But among them was a feudal
mentality and sensibility that in many respects persisted throughout the era
of the communes, and was then tapped and fostered by the signorï.3 Those

lLauro Martines describes how signori continued to use the fonns of communal govemment, in
this case, council selection;while nevertheless determining the outcome: "At Milan, potenlial
members of the large council were reviewed in each parish t:ya commitlcc of parish 'eiders: <~ .
These, in tum, made recommendations to the head of the municipality's chief administrative
body, the Consiglio della Provvisioni, and he made the final choice in consultation with the
twelve members of this consiglio and the approval of his Visconti master. The twelve were
chosen by the lord or by his c10sest collaborators. Controls at Mantua, Verona, and Treviso
entailed similar procedures-review, recommendalion, selL'Ction, and approval. In this way, a
large assortment of citizens secmed to be brought inlo the processes of election, butthere was
complete control from above" Power and Imagination, 104.
2Hyde, 150; Chabod, 51. '
3Certain other economic and polilical pressures were important in the rise of the signori. The
expense of the almost continuai and more costly warfare often put cilies badly in debtto a
leading family. Economie slrain also resulted in social tensions, expressing themselves as

ii
 82

<. cilies which most resisted the emergence of the signari were thus the more
commercially developed, where the nobility had taken on "bourgeois" ways.

In contrast, the easiest targets were towns such as Verona, Mantua, and
Ferrara, where the commercial-industrial base lagged behind the rural and

agricultural economy; here the nobility maintained to a greater extent its

class integrity, remaining principally a class of landowners, aloof from trade

and industry. Ferrara, for instance, never developed guild or popular

institutions of any importance--high political offices were always held by the

two or three most powerful and competing noble families. 1 Feudal traditions

and social structures persisted most on the Northern Plain; there the old

estates and jurisdictions remained largely intact. And also as Machiavelli and

Guicciardini later observed, the habits and mentality of "servitude" were in

that region more deeply ingrained. 2

While sorne signari came to power by means of the papala, it seems

that more often they were raised up by the nobles, and in any case IÎlost of

them were themselves nobles: virtually ail the usurpers who founded

enduring regimes came from powerful and prestigious noble families. 3

,-
Where the signare did find himself originally associated with the papala he

increasingly violent conflicts; consequently, in sorne cases the gavemo d'lm solo appeared to be a
necessary solution to urban strife. Furthermore, the administrative demands of the larger and
more complex political units engendered a corresponding concentration of power in the city. See
Martines, Power alld Imagillatioll, 97-99, Hyde, 148; Ephraim Emerton, HUlIlallislll alld Tyranny
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1925) 48-9; D. M. Bueno de Mesquita
emphasizes sorne of the more benign and practical aspects of the siglwri in his "The Place of
Despotism in Italian Politics," Eurape ill the Late Middle '.4ges, ed. J. R. Hale et al (Evanston,
Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 1965) 301-331. Mesquita also gives an informative account
of ducal authority in his Ludovico Sforza and his Vassals," /talian Renaissance Stl/dies, ed.
E.F. jacob.(London: Faber and Faber, 1960) 184-216. Similarly, on the signoria of the Este in
Ferrara, Werner Gundersheimer, Ferrara: the style of a Renaissance Despotism (princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1973)...:=0:;-
lWaley, 222-3. ~".;::c::=:--::':
( 2Martines, Power alld IlIIagillation;''iOO.
3Martines, P"'-1.~r alld Imagillatioll, lOI, Hyde, 146-7.
 83

generally maneuvered to the side of his "natural allies" in the nobility; a

vital popular party was recognized as antithetical to signorial authority in the
long run.l
Despite the many recuperated feudal aspects of the signorial regimes, it
would be a mistake to think of the signoria as merely a return to sorne former
socio-political condition. Hence J. K. Hyde argues that conceiving of the
signorial government as a return to feudalism "ignores the special nature of
Italian society as it had evolved through two centuries or so of civic life. The
magnates of the thirteenth century were a class of mixed origins who, except
in the fringe areas, had long been mixed up in the life of cilies, where they
had served as podestà and capitani, war leaders and (le heads of parties ...
The signoria was an authentic expression of the mixed Italion vita civile."2 Il
was of course these hybrid signoria which were to cultivate the first
Renaissance courts--and one part of what made them distinctive social forms
was their alliance with revived humanist learning.

The Humanist as Propagandist

The European tradition of employing intellectuals at court goes at least

as far back as the Macedonian, Roman, and in more recent times, the
" Carolingian empire. Charles drew scholarly clerics from Ilaly, Spain, and the
British Isles, who revived classical learning to a degree unprecedented in the
West for centur:es. The most famous of these court scholars was the former

1Martines, Power and I~agination, 97: "Il is true lhat al Verona and Manlua the emergence of
the signory was associated with the popoZo and union of guilds; but as soon as any signore was
able, he eviscerated ail popular organizations and lurncd to ground his regime in the local
nobility, his 'natural' allies. No signory could survive in tandem with a vital guild movement.
One of the two had to die."
'n
....
~ .. 2Hyde, 149.
 84

master of the school at York, Alcuin, who directed the library and palace
school at Aacheri. Charles is reported to have told Alcuin, "1 wish l had a
dozen Jeromes and Augustines in my chancery"Las weil he might since the
clerics he supported were busily demonstrating the divine origins of imperial
rule or the anti-Christian nature of the Byzantine Empire. 2
In the Renaissance, clerics no longer had a virtual monopoly on
li teracy and learning; as a consequence, their place in the new courts were

often taken by non-clerically trained humanists. One important early

example of this alliance of the courts and Renaissance humanism is given by
Giovanni Conversino da Ravenna. Conversino served both as t"acher to
many, if not most, of the top-ranking humanists of the first Quattrocento
generation in North Italy, and as chancellor at the court of the Carrara family
in Padua. 3
Conversino lived for many years in the service of the Carrara, who
were to become involved in an eventualiy unsuccesful struggle with
, "

republican Ve~;;j~~.i-rence the Dramalogia De Eligibili Vitae Genere

(Discussion on the Preferable Way of Life), which was composed shortly after
Conversino left the Paduan court and is written as a dialogue between a
Venetian and a Paduan on tileir respective forms of government. Hans
Baron describes this work as "an unqualified vindication of the superiority of
Tyranny... and an unqualified condemnation of the life in a civic society."4

1A. G. Dickens, "Monarchy and Cultural Revival," 15

2lbid, 14-15; 011 Alcuin and the Carolingian rellovatio, Bullough, chap. 4, and Eleanor Shipley
Duckett, Alcllill, Frielld of Charlemaglle (N. Y.: Macmillan CO.,1951) '83:H5; more
specifically on Alcuin's 'Ole as imperial ideologist, Luitpold Wallach, Alwin and
Charlemagne (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1959) 5-28, and passim.
3Hans Baron, The Crisis of tI!~.Early Italian Rellaissallce, vol. 1 (princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1955) 109-10.-·Conversino's students included Guarino da Verona, P. P.
Vergerio, Villorino da Feltre, and Francesco Barbaro, among others.
4Ba'On, Crisis, 111.

/7.
//
1,(
"~ ...... _-
 85

The Paduan spokesperson for princely government begins his arg~ment with
the conventional religious and cosmic analogy:

... because the more the condition of every created thing is hke
that of its creator, the more beautiful, weU-ordered, and perfect, it
is. Therefore, since there is one creator of ail things and one
heavenly ruler, 1 consider the ruie of one man on earth to be
better in that it conforms to the scheme of the universe. 1

But for the most part, Conversino's argument emphasizes the practical
advantages of princely over republican rule. The a,'gument goes that because
"the people" are always divided, and their government is slow, the advent of
a republic promises the end of public peace and progress. Moreover, the
benefits of princely gl)';ernment especially apply to that area most dear to
Conversino: the new studies and learning in the liberal arts. In this respect
the republics are thoroughly deficient, because where the multitude rules, so
does their desire for materiaLacquisition, generally at the expense of
cultivated leisure and the p'.lrs1.lit of glory: "For since each man either piles
Pl) money or considers valueless any glory beyond his doorstep, since he is
ignorant of poets, he scorns them, and prefers to support dogs rather than a
philosopher or a teacher."2
ln contrast, princes are raised in an atrnosphere of wealth and
magnificence; they are schooled in liberality and the pursuit of glory. Thus
Conversino notes the accomplishments of Vergil, Horace, and Ovid
supported by the generosity of Augustus, as weil modern examples of courtly

1Dramalogia de Eligibli Vile Genere, cd. and lrans. Helen Lanneau Eaker (Lewisburg: Bucknell
University Press, 1980) 109. This, and other arguments on bchalf of princely rule, were already
given in a previous work presented 10 a Carrara lord, "De Dilectione Regnantium," Tlug Courl
'J Trealises, ed. and lrans. Benjamin G. Kohl and James Day (Munich: Wilhelm Fink Vcrlag,
1987).
2Dramalogia, 117.
 86

patronage for the arts. He summarizes by saying, "Certainly never would

poetry, oratory, philosophy, history, and other studies of high attainment
have reached this degree of honor and wealth without the love and
generosity of princes."i
On the other hand, the republican cause had its own humanist
apologists. Indeed, roughly half a century before Conversino's arriva! in
Padua, while that city faced what would be the final and fatal threat to its
republican institutions from Cangrande da Verona, Alberto MU5sato wrote
the first work of humanist tragedy in order to commemorate Padua's
previous escape from théfyranny of Ezzelino. A messenger in Mussato's
Ecerinis addresses the~êople of Padua, "0 dread feuds of the nobility, 0
madness of the people. The longed-for end of your struggles is at hand; At
hand is the tyrant whom your rage created."2 The play then goes on to
recount the brutality and horrors under Ezzelino, who is presented as the
offspring of Satan himself>The story ends with the overthrow and death of
- Ezzelino and his kin, and the re-establishment of the republic, amidst the
thankful prayers of the chorus that "The cruel tyrant'srage has died And
peace has been reborn.3 Ecerinîs is more than the)~elebration
, of one historical
event, but rather an indictment of tyranny in general, and was understood as
such by the republican regime of Paduawhich revived the c1assical ceremony
of crowning the play's author with laurel, and decreed that the work be read
aloud annually to the a:ssembled populace. 4

llbid.
2Alberlino Mussalo, The Tragedy of Ecerinïs, trans. Robert Carrubba et al. (University Park,
~enn.: Departmenl of Classics, Univcr:;ity of PClir\sy\vania, 1972} 24.
"Ibid, 64. .~ ,
{[ 4Skinner, The Foundations of Modern Political Thought, vol 1,39
 87

Similarly, three decades after the writing of Ecerinis, when in 1347 Cola
di Rienzo made a short-lived attempt to rally the Roman populace to re-
establish the ancient Republic and prociaim himself as Tribune, Petrarch
wrote an enthusiastic speech congratulating both Rome and Cola. The latter
is glorified as a modern Brutus--the bestower of liberty, and the former are
exhorted to maintain this victory at ail cost:

Keep your past servitude constantly before your eyes. In this

way, unless l err, your present liberty will be somewhat dearer to
you than life itself. In this way, if at any time it should become
necessary to part with the one or the other, there will be on one
(provided a drop of Roman blood still flows in his veins) who
will not prefer to die a freeman rather than to live a slave ...
Drive from your hearts the ill-deserved love which, through a
long subjection, you may have conceived for your tyrants. Expel
ail memory of this unworthy affection. Even the slave bends the
neck to his haughty mas ter for the time being, and the caged bird
makes sweet music for its jailer. But the former will throw off
his shackles when the occasion offers; and if an outlet be given,
the latter will take wing with eager flight. 1

However, throughout most of the Renaissance, few republics were to

be found, let aJone defended or praised. Florence was a notable exception:
Florentine propagandists argued the advantages of republican rule for the

1"Exhortation to Cola di Rienzo and to the Roman People;' Pelràrch: A hl/manisl among
princes, cd. and in part trans. by David Thompson (N. Y.: Harper & Rowe, Publishers, 1971)
65-81. Petrarch's reference to the music of the caged bird is espccially interesting in view of the
factthat Cola's uprising was directcd against Petrarch's patrons, the Carrara, for whom he
had penned sorne c;::'sequious "songs"-see his eulogy of Francesco Carrara, Howa RI/1er al/ghl 10
Govenl his Siale, trans by Benjamin Kohl, in The Earlhly Repl/blic, cd. Kohl and Ronald Witt
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1978) 35-78. ln fact Petrarch f1uctuated
throughout his career between the courtly and anti-courtly. See Lamer, CI//tl/re alld Society ill
Italy 1290-1420 (London: B. T. Batsford L1d., 1971) 225-7; and his Italy in Ihe Agi: of Daille
alld Petrarch 1216-1380 (N. Y.: Longman Inc., 1980) 252; Hyde, 179; Baron, Crisis, 44-6, 4~; on
Petrarch's legacy to courtly and anti-courtly humanism sec Baron's "Fiftcenth-Century
Civilization North of the Alps and the Italian Quatrocento: Contrast and Confluence" in his ln
Search of F10rentille Civic HllInallism, vol. 2 (princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988) 3-39;
also Martines, Power and ImagillatiQ!I,)19.
~.. -~~
 88

communal welfare in general, but also in particular for the flourishing of the
( arts and letters. These republican spokespersons frequently turned to authors
from the first century of the Roman Empire--not the poets cited by
Conversino-but rather thinkers such as Seneca, "Longinus," and especially
Tacitus, who linked a contemporary dedine of oratory and learning with the
rise of imperial rule: 1 Hence, the Florentine chancellor Leonardo Bruni
argued that, "after the republic had been subjected to the power of a single
head, 'those outstanding minds vanished', as Tacitus says."2
This argument is repeated by one of Bruni's successors as Florentine
chancellor, Poggio Bracciolini. Thus in arguing against Guarino da Verona, a
humanist and court ideologue of the Este at Ferrara, Poggio too says,

From the words of Seneca in which he states that brilliant minds

had been born in the age of Cicero, but later had dedined and
deteriorated; and fromthe testimony of Tacitus who asserts that
th~se brilliant minds disappeared after po~er had been
concentrated in one ha.nd; it is quite obvious how great a
damage Roman letters suffered by the 1055 of liberty.3

1Daniel Javitch, Poetry and Courtliness in Renaissance England (Princeton: Princeton

University Press, 1978) 47, nt. 16; Harry CapIan, "The Decay of Eloquence at Rome in the First
Century," Of Eloquence, ed. A. King and H. North (lthaca: Comell University Press, 1970) 160-
95.
2Bruni, "Panegyric to the City of Florence," trans. Kohl, in The Earlhly Republic, 154. Sec
Baron, Crisis,47-8; also his From Pelrarch 10 Leona,.do Bruni (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1968) 164·71, and Struever, 121-2. Il is an interesling factthat in some forrn the debate
over whether princcly rule slifled or encouraged learning conlinues today. Daniel Javitch
suggests that many of the great rccent historians of the Renaissance, such as Eugenio Garin and
Hans Baron, have suff,ered from a "republican bias," leading them to see the rise of courtly
humanism aS50nslituling a fall into shallowness. In contrast, G. K. Hunter argues thatthe
frustralion of poliliéiil and ethical ideals inculcated in the humanist educalion actually
helpcd to produce new heights in poelic achievement at the Tudor court. Javitch goes further in
arguing thatthe court not only promoted these achievements indircctly, by frustraling other
impulses, but dircctly, as the norrns and theories of courlliness were weil suited to the
developing form of poetry. See G. K. Hunter, John Lyly, The Humanisl as Courtier (London:
Routledge &< Kegan Paul, 1962) and espccially Javitch's Poelry and Courlliness.
3Baron, Crisis, 54-5.
 89

For Bruni and for Poggio, the rise of tyranny in Italy is associated with
the corruption of letters, and also of speech. This is a general feature of the
modern Italian decadence, touching republics as weIl as courtly regimes--but
is much more fundamentaIly implicated in the latter. Poggio, who previous
to accepting the position in Florence served at a number of noble households,
including the Papal Curia, states, "When l survey the other courts as weIl as
the Roman Curia, l see nothing pure, nothing sincere, nothing simple."l In
the courts the specter of deceit and hypocrisy was seen as tainting ail language,
as flattery and guardedness infect the norms of speech. 2
Even outside of republican Florence, the impoverishing effects of
princely rule on letters and speech were commented upon. The mid-16th
century French exile living in Rome, Marc Antoine Muret, observed that
"republics are no longer very numerous: there are hardly any more peoples
who are not dependent on the orders and the will of a single man, who don't
obey a single man, who are not governed by a single man."3 As a
consequence, "Eloquence, as if the privilege of age had won for it a sort of
retirement," must now content itself with a more restricted field of activities. 4
TraditionaIly, rhetoric had consisted of three divisions: besides panegyric, or
"demonstrative" oratory, there was also "deliberative"--concerned with the
efficiency of one's means to obtain a given end, of use in the political forum,

lStruever, 166.
2lbid,166-8; on Bruni and the association of republicanism with open and frcc speech, 118-20.
The propaganda batlles wagOO by humanists on behalf of princely or republican rule are
discussOO in Denys Hay, The 1talian Renaissance in ils historical background, 2nd ed.
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1961) chaps 5 and 6. There is a1so a debate as te
whether republican propagandis!s, and Bruni in parlicular, were mere1y that or actually
committed partisans. See Seigel's '''Ci vic Humanism' or Ciceronian Rhetoric," l'ast and Present
34 (1966) 3':::8; '.md Baron's response, "Leonarûo Bruni;' Past and Present 36 (967) 21-37.
3QuotOO in Marc Fumaroli, "Rhetoric, Poli tics, and Society: From Italian Ciceronianism 10
French Classicism;' Renaissance Eloquence: studies in the Ih~ory and practice of Renaissance
rhetorie, 00. James J. Murphy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985) 257.
4QuotOO in ibid, 258.
 90

and "forensic" oratory--concerned with the determination of law and justice,

.~

of use in the courts. 1 But as the Renaissance progressed, the uses of oratory
became increasingly restricted to preaching the gospel, engaging in scholarly
converse, or praising and serving a prince. 2

Manuals of Courtiership

Indeed, in the Renaissance the teachings of dassical rhetoric were

drawn upon and transformed into the developing contemporary norms of
courtesy and courtliness, as the dassical ideal of the orator gave way to the
Renaissance ideal of the courtier. This debt was remarked by Thomas Hoby,
the 16th century English translator of The Courtier, who notes in his
prefatory epistle that Castiglione "hath folowed Cicero, and applyed to his
purpose sundrie examples and pithie sentences out of him, 50 he may in feat
conveyance and like trade of wryting, be compared to him"--the one in
describing the perfect orator, the other, the perfect courtier. 3 However,
Castiglione's work is in trutl\ too literary a text to be dassified as a manual of
courtiership. This description is more fitting of Della Casa's book translated
into English under the title The Arts of Grandeur and Submission. Here too
the English translator, Henry Stubbe, notes in his prefatory "Advertisement

lQuintilian, Institutio Oratoria, III. iv. 1-16; the thrcc-fold division of rhetoric goes back to
AristoUe's Rhetoric, 1358bl. .
2Muret goes on ta note that the study of fine speech is now essential sa that one may he "in a
position ta write lellers weil, that is ta say eloquently, with prudence, and taking into account
things, persans, and circumstances [and thusl may easily reach the intimacy of Princes, he
entrusted with the most important affairs, and grow from honor ta honor," Quoted in Fumaroli,
258.
3The Book of the Courtier, trans. Sir Thomas Hoby (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1928) 3.
 91

to the Reader" that the author "took for his example Tully: and designs the
worke according to his manner where he treats de Officiis."l
While The Arts of Grandeur and Submission was not nearly as
influential as Galateo, according to Stubbe, it was Della Casa's preferred work,
written not in Italian but in Latin so that he might with greater freedom and
seriousness state "his more attentive thoughts."2 And although this work
does draw upon the ancient works of rhetoric, t.'lere is much that is new. It
begins by setting out the nature of the distinction between social inferior and
superior, and of that bond or relation which may in sorne way join them: "It
is not in this as in other cases, wherein Learning, Age, Nobility, or intrinsique
worth and vertue is considered: no, these are not the grand inducements
unto, and Pillars of this Amity, but only Riches, Dignity, and Power."3 This
truth being recognized, it should not be lamented, on the contrary:

Let us then accustome our selves to yeild that presedence and

quality to Riches and Power, which usage authenticates: let us be
so wise in these friendships, as not to place an undue value
upon Nobility, Learning or Vertue. Let us at length behold ail
such as refuse those termes ... as we would turbulent and
unreasonable persons, who are as troublesome in their
friendships, as the seditious arè in States. 4 .

According to The Arts of Grandeur and Submission, social inferiors

should endure the mistreatment of their patron with patience, refuse to
contradict him, and even study his character and inclination, 50 as better to

1Giovanni Della Casa,The Arts of Grandeur and Submission, trans. Henry Stubbe (London, 1665)
"Adverlisement to the Reader." ln this and ail other quotations from The Arts of Grandeur and
Submission 1am omitling the ilalics found in the original.
2lbid. Stubbe here also daims that Muret discussed above, called this work "the best for its
Stile and management, that had becn wrttten since the lime of Cicero."
3lbid, 9.
4lbid, 14.
 92

conform to it--"For this is the chart they must sayle by: His will and nature is
that rule, according to which they are to frame their speech. "1 Yet in spite of
the fact that many"cecommend it, and many others use it with profit, Della
Casa, Arc:hbishop of Benevento, rejects the practice of "flattery," saying that
no matter "how gainefull a course soever this may seeme, 1 thinke a man
ought not totally to esloigne himself from the regards of honesty and
justice."2 However, he continues in the next sentence, "Though 1 doe not
binde him up to the rules of that exact and imaginary vertue to be found only
in the Books of Philosophers, and the harangues of malecontents."3 Such
strictness of morals is little sought after in the world:

Neither doe the Great, Rich, or ambitious Potentates, employ or

oblige such as are of a severe and inflexible ver tue, but such as
are diligent, industrious, subtile, of a popular not rigid honesty.
A morose integrity with them is as odious as bigotry in Religion:
it make the practicers of it admired at best, rather than employed,
or confided in. 4

Finally, Della Casa specifically considers the conduct proper to the

scholar in the service of his lord:

1 conclude therefore that as in their writings, so in their actions,

the rule they are to order them by, is their Patron's approbation,
and allowance: This is the standard, and measure they are to be
tryed by; it is from him they have their value; as the Kings
stampe and Image makes of any alloy currant silver. They ought
not to be solicitous what is truly the best, nor perplexe
themselves with scruples out of Divinity, Moral1ity, or Politicks:
Their Patrons will is their Oracle: his pleasure makes every
thing just, and reasonable, and prudentiall: who understands

1Ibid, 30.
2Ibid,32.
3Ibid.
4Ibid, 6-7.
 93

this thouroughly, needs no other Casuist, Councellour, or

Confessour: Nor ought he to satisfie himself how weil affaires
f are managedi b'lt how much to his Patrons satisfaction. Let our
client therefore learn his Masters humour and caprichioes, as
weil as interest: let him informe himself of his particular
inclinations, and passions, and the extent of his reason: let him
know the language of his frownes, and smiles; and the dialect of
his eyes, in all circumstances. Then shall he be accomplished for
this Ministery.l

5imilar ideas are expressed in the aforementioned Ars Aulica by

Lorenzo Ducd: Ducd also draws upon Cicero, but especially upon Tacitus-
participating in the late 16th century vogue of that author? One can get the
drift of the Ars Aulica simply by perusing the chapter headings; titles include,
"Meanes how to know the nature and affection of the Prince," "The maner ta
accommodate himselfe to the Princes humor," "Of the subsidiarie aides &
meanes to obteine',::le Princes favor," "How to keepe favor once obteined,"
"What is to be observed with the Prince for the continuing in his favour,"
"The meanes how to obteine of the Prince those favors and graces which are
desired," as weil as separate chapters on ingratiating onesel{\vith the prince's
servants, family, friends, and other courtiers--among other useful topics.
For instance, in the chapter "That the Courtier mu:.\t conceal the
endevor of his proper commoditie, under the apparent desire of the Princes
service," we are told that as courtiers we must follow "the principle of hiding
the appetite of our proper interest, under the vale of apparent desire to do the
Prince service."3 While being careful to maintain this pretense, the courtier

1Ibid, 40.
2ûn the rise of Taciteanism in the Renaissancê;zcc Kenneth Schellhase, Tacitus in Renaissance
Political Thought (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976) and J. H. M. Salmon, "Cicero
and Tacitus in 16th Century France," Renaissance and Revoit (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1989) chap.l.
3Ars Aulica, 35-6.
 94

should not neglect to "observe decorum in himselfe, or in his actions, place

or time, & other circumstances."l Furthermore, as in The Arts of Grandeur
and Submission, the courtier is urged seriously to study the tastes and
character of his patron, 50 as better to accomplish his "work":

If it be necessarie everie artizan have knowledge of the matter

wherein he is to shew the essence and forme of his arte and
occupation; as the Tailor of cloth; of iron the Smith; and
Mason of marble ... and to be short, of everie agent, presuppose
the knowledge of the subject wherein they_ are to worke: we may
also say it is great reason that the Courtier being by his labour
.and industrie to induce and gently wrest into the Princes minde
a love and liking of him, should by 50 much as is possible have a
full and perfect knowledge of him .... 2

Again, as in The Arts of Grandeur and Submission, the purpose ofthis :.,
knowledge is to allow the courtier to "order, rule, and moderate al his
actions,"3 but more spedfically to adopt the ways of his prince. Hence, to what
the prince "is scene to incline, to the same without all questions the Courtier
to enable himselfe, professing armes if the Prince be of nature martiall;
learning & letters, if he delight in knowledge; in holinesse and religion, if he
be devout; [etc.]."4 In fact, Ducci concludes that the courtier should "make
himselfe, if it bee posible, the very portract of his properties and fashions."s
Moreover, this advice is supported by an explicit psychological theory. TIIe
principle underlying the recommended conduct is that "selfe love which is
the roote of all other loves, chiefly extends it selfe unto his like, and more

1Ibid,90. Ifthe illusion of the courtier's dedication to the princc's interest is not maintained
than the observation of decorum is said to indicate a "plebcan and a servile mind."
2Ibid, 99-100.
3Ibid,100.
4Ibid,110-11.
SIbid,111.
 95

towards those who conforme themselves in maners and naturall inclination

thereunto."l
The Arts of Grandeur and Submission and Ars Aulica are distinctive
among Renaissance works by'virtue of the exhaustive and systematic
treatment of their subject. But many of the ideas discussed in these two
writings appear in sorne form or other in numerous works of the period.

The Anti-court Tradition

While books advocating the ideal of the courtier were among the most
popular of their time, the majOlity of works within the tradition of describing
life at court were written in quite a different spirit. 2 Most Renaissance
authors who received a considerable degree of fame also received support
from powerful patrons, whom they served; although these writers were
often deeply implicated in the courts which sustained them, they equa1ly
often expressed resentment or disdain for their courtly circumstances--if not
for their benefactors themselves. As early as the 12th century, William of
Malmesbury deseribed attendance at court as "a death in life, a heU onearth."3
The comparison of the court and he11 is echoed by Walter Map and William
of Blois, who, along with John of Salisbury, a11 expressed anti-aulic
sentiments during the reign of Henry II in the late 12th century.4 For

lIbid,111-12.
2Sidney Anglo, "The Courtier: the Renaissa~ce and the changing ideals: in Dickens, 33·5.
3Ibid,34.
4Ibid,34. The first section, or "distinction" of Walter Map's De Nugis Curialium (Courtiers
Trifles) is hcadcd "A Comparison of the Court with the Infernal Regions." Here Map wrîtes
"for the rolling f1amcs, the blackness of darkness, the stench of the rivers, the loud gnashil)g of
the fiends' tceth, the thin and piteous crics of the frightencd ghosts, the foultrailings of wonns
and vipers, of serpents anJ ail manner of creeping things, the blasphemous roarings, evil smell,
( nouming and horror-wereJ to allegorize upon allthese, it is true thatcorrespondenœs are not
wanting among the things of the court ... the court is a place of punishment." De Nugis /i~;;"'-;
,\
 96

instance, :n the Prologue to book l of Policraticus, John contrasts his

experience at court with his true calling of religion and philosophy:

l despise that which the courtiers embrace, and what l embrace

they despise. It may be greatly surprising that l do not break off
or cut the rope--if it cannot be otherwise untied-which has in
the past held me and even now holds me in obedient servitude
to the frivolities of courtiers. 1

Throughout the later Middle Ages and Renaissance, courtiers were

criticized and ridiculed for their supposed over-refinement, foppish dress,
effeminacy, and homosexuality, among other undesirable traits. One
pronounced and recurring feature of the anti-courtier literature was the
figûr€~ and tropes borrowed from the works of classical Rome, especially

Roman comedy, as the stock characters of legacy-hunters and dinner-seekers

were translated to fit the mold of the modern courtier. The comedies of
Plautus, and especially those of Terence, were available during the Middle
Ages and extremely influential in shaping this genre: the character Gnatho--
from Terence's play, Eunuchus--who prides himself in his success at
shamelessly ingratiating himself with the better-off, became a virtual symbol
of the courtier and his courtly ways. Jean de Montreuil, secretary to Charles
VI, drew frequently and extensively from Terence for his accounts of court

Curialium - -Courtiers Trifles, cd. and trans. M. R. James (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1983) 15;
the anti-eourt writing at the court of Henri II is treatcd in Egbert Turk, Nugae Curialium: le
regne d'Henri II Plantegenet, et l'ethique politique (Geneva: Droz, 1977).
1Polieratieus: Of the Frivolities of Courtiers and the Footprints of Philosophers, cd. and trans.
Cary J. Ncderman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990) 4. The chief "frivolity" of
the courtier criticizcd by John is f1attery, a topie taken up in several chapters of book III, and
elsewhere in the tex!. On John's concern with the court sec Kate Forhan, "A Twelfth-Century
'Bureaucrat' and the Life of the Mind: the Political Thought of John of Salisbury," Proeeedings
of the PMR Conference 10 (1985) 65-74. For a look at his actual expcrience, GUes Constable,
"The Alleged Disgrace of JohI'cof Salisbury in 1159," English Historical Review 69 (1954) 67-
76. ,ft'
 97

life, and both John of Salisbury and Nicolas de Clemanges allude to Gnatho in
(: '

particular.1
But while the late Middle Ages witnessed a stream of anti-aulic
writings, in the Renaissance both the number and intensity of these writings
increased markedly. One of the first and most important Renaissance
critiques of life at court was Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini's De Curialium
Miseriis Epistola, Wlitten in 1444, and first printed sorne 30 years later. The
Epistola purports to be based on Piccolomini's personal experience, but it
borrows heavily from Lucian's De Mercede Conductis Potentium
Familiaribus. 2 Piccolomini also draws upon a pastoral tradition deriving
from Horace and Virgil; however, he did not let his praise for the simple life
.,pta-poor shepherd over that of the man at cour~]<eep him from seeking and
accepting the papal election, aftel",~hich he was known as Pius II.
',~

"
The Epistola was exceeding~YiPôpular; it inspired a number of later
works and was adapted into French, German, Spanish, and into English as the
Eglogu,es of the Miseryes 0lCourtiers. It is comprised of a s~ries of dialogues
over the course of three days be~ween two shepherds--Coridon, who initially
wishes to give up the hard and poor life of tending sheep and seek his fortune
serving a great lord in sorne capacity or other, and Cornix, who had done so
before, and left it. Hence the content of the dialogues consists of Cornix
recounting ail the horrors of the courts, and easily persuading Coridon of the
innumerable advantages of the shepherd's life. 3

-lSmilh, 13; Policraticus, 23.

2Sm ith, 23,', ..._-
(-' ~

30n the ~(.:')f~llhemeand the emergence of romanticism as reflections of nostalgia on the part
of pocts and nobles who had left the countryside of their former days for the life of the court,
see Elias, The Court Society, chap. 8. But also see Raymond Williams, who shows how,

c bcginning in this pcriod. the pastoral theme becomes increasingly conventional and removed
from actual work and life in the countryside. and conscquently blind or indifferent to the real
 98

As in the earlier writings mentioned above, here too the court is

described as hellish, or more specifically, as "the devils mouth"l and "bayting
place of hell."2 This is 50 because among the miseries suffered by the courtier
are those brought on by his privileging worldly ambitions and pleasures
above his spiritual duty as a Christian. The worldliness of the court can only
lead to misery, firstly because it is insatiable--"And though good wines
sometime to thee be brought/ The taste of better shall cause it to be nought"L
and secondly because they are unstable and unreliable, especially at court:
"No state is febler, more weake and incertayne/ Then such as semeth great
with his soverayne."4 But, more importantly, these illusory goods can only
corne at the expense of those which are real and ûltimate:

As when it was asked of Christ our Saviour

What should a man do of penaunce or labour

He saide not: go folowe a prince, or Lorde or king,

But go sell thy riches and other worldly thing:
Despise ail the world and worldly vanity,
For 50 have l done, then come and folowe me.
In this cause our Lorde hath made no mention
Offolowing the court for vayne promotion.s 0'

In addition to this Christian condemnation of courtly worldliness, the

theme of deception and insincere ingratiation is also here emphasized-

oppression and hardships endured there. Raymond Williams, The Country and the City
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 19?3) especially chaps. 2, 3, 4, and 5.
1Eglogues of the Miseryes of Courtiers, published in the Certayne Egloges of Alexander Barclay
(N. Y.: Burt Franklin, 1967) 3. This 1967 reprint appears with Barclay's adaptation of
Mancinus' Liber de Qual/uor Virtutibus et Omnibus Oficiis ad Bene Vivendum as The Myrrour
of Good Manners-a conventional Christian mor,.! tract in the form of an extended renection
upon the cardinal virtues, recommending, among other things, our maintaining decorum while
abstainillg from naltery.
2lbid, 5.
3lbid, 17.
4lbid,8.
5lbid, 21.
 99

c Gnatho is referred to in particularl--and the dictates of court life are seen as

requiring the courtier to disingenuously adapt himself to his company:

In court must a man sayle after every winde,

Himselfe conforming to every mans minde,
Serve every season, conforme him to the time,
Be common with mo[st], though it be in sorne crime.
He must mie nature, and yet he wot not whither,
After the season, nowe hither and nowe thither,_
And in his maner he must direct his life,
With hevy persons him must he shewe pensife,
,: With men at leasure which will them recreate,
':
He must be iocunde after their use and rate.
With aged persons he must him have sadly
With yoùth behave him iocunde and meryly.
With aventerous men which seke on crueltie
He must shewe him bolde and of audicitie.
With livers beastly, insuing carnaIllusl,
Live lecherously forsooth he needes must. .
And who 50,: refuse th, then is his nature wronge,
He shall not\in the court rise nor continue longe.2

Of course, this is nspecially the case in the presence of a prince:

Laugh when he laugheth, aIl if thine heart be sad,

Wepe when he wepeth, be thou never 50 glad.
Laude what he laudeth, though it be not laudable,
Biarne what blameth, though it be commendable
And shortly to speake, thou must aIl thing fulfill
As is his pleasure, and nothing at thy will.
None of thy wittes are at thy libertie,
Unto thy master they needes must agree. 3

Cornix's catalogue of misfortunes and indignities to be suffered at court

covers much more, and at the end of his third day on the subject, he daims to
have only scratched the surface. But this more than suffices for Coridon, who

Ilbid. 8.
2Ibid.20-1.
( 3Ibid. 10.
 100

is quickly convinced that "Better is free will with nede and povertie/ Then in
the court with harde captivitie."l Of course neither the author, nor many of
his contemporaries, were 50 easily persuaded-a fact which suggests the
merely moralizing and conventional side of the anti-court tradition.
An.:>ther example of Italian anti-court v..riting in the Renaissance is the
work of the playwright Pietro Aretino, sometimes known as, il flagello dei
principi--"the scourge of princes." Aretino himself had a stormy career
.
seeking patronage in the great courts of Europe-~among others/'Ïloseof
Francis 1., Charles V, and at Rome und\!r Leo X and Clement VII, where the
playwright wrote.thilt he "wasted seven years in the service of the two Medici
Popes."2 This latter experience provides the scene for LA Cortigiana,
published in 1534.3 The play begins with the arrivaI of Signor Ma,:o, who
announces that he has come to try to have himself made a bishop. He is then
advised by the worldly-wise Andrea that the only way to attain a bishopric, or
beyond, is to become a courtier--which he himself daims to be able to teach.
Not surprisingly, this art consists of various forms of misbehavior, from Iying
to blaspheming. 4
Like many works of the period which are critical of the courts, La
Cortigiana presents their corruption as a particularly modern degeneration;
and thus also like many other such works, the notion of the court as a school
of manners and virtue appears as at best a quaint and antique idea. Here the

1Ibid,4.
2Edward Hutton, Pietro Arelino: the Scourge of Princes (London: Constable & Co., 1922) 20;
also on the career of Aretino, sce Ralph Raeder, The Man of the Renaissance (Cleveland:
World Publishing Co., 1933) chap. 4.
30ther pertinent works by Aretino include his lpocrilo and Ragionamento de le Corli.
4The Courtezan, in The Works of Aretino, trans. Samuel Putnam, vol. 1 (N.Y.. : CoviCÎ Friede
Publishers,1933) 183-5. <'>
 101

elderly Sempronio is questioned by a chamberlain, Flamminio, as to the

wisdom of sending a youth to court:

Flam: What is your idea in putting Camillo to Court?

Sem: 50 that he may learn there virtues and good manners and
by such means be able to come into sorne little useful reputation.

Flam: Good manners and virtues at Court? Oho!

Sem: In my day, virtues and good mar,ners were not to be found

anywhere but at Court.!

But the old man is quickly disillusioned, concluding that "it is better to
be in the Inferno than at Court nowadays,"2 and declaring that he would
rather choke his young charge with his own hands rather than let him go to
court. 3 Subsequently, the falsity of the court is revealed to Valerio, another
chamberlain, when he there suffers a reversaI: "As soon as my Lordchanged
his attitude toward me, the love, the faith, the countenances and the minds of
ail his household dropped that mask which for so long a time had concealed
from me the truth, and now, every vile servant abhors me."4 This experience
leads to a total condernnation of courtly life:

... l used to believe that faces and tongues corresponded to

hearts and minds ... Oh, my credulity, how you have deceived
me! Oh, the perverse, ungrateful, and envious nature of the
Court! Is there any malevolence in the world not to be found in
it?5

lIbid,193.
2Ibid, 197.
3Ibid.
( 41bid,259.
51bid. l\
.r;i
 102

Ann-court writings proliferated outside of Italy as weil. One important

_ such work is the Misaulus by Ulrich von Hutten. Like the Epistol", the
-Misl!ulus draws on Lucian, but it borrows just as much directly From
Piccolomini's work itself--in fact, Hutten was prompted to write his tract by
the German printer of the Epistola, shortly after its publication.1
Another influential anti-aulic work of the Renaissance came From
Imperial Spain, written by the aforementioned Antonio Guevara. Guevara
wrote a number of works concerning life at court--but perhaps the most
important was his Menosprecio de corte y alabanza de aldea, published in
1539, and shortly thereafter translated into English under the rather
,
misleading title A Dispraise of the Courtier's Life and a Commendation of the
Life of the Laboring Man. 2
The Menosprecio is an indictment of life at court, which as Guevara
testifies, he knows only to weil. Guevara spent much of his life in the service
of Charles V, and in his concluding chapters he laments his time at court--
"My life-;gentle reader) has not been a life but a long death"3_-and confesses
'--' ~

his consequent depravity: "1 came to the court innocent, and come From it
malicious."4 -The bulk ofÙie Menosprecio dr<iws upon the familiar
comparison of the pastoral and courtly lives. Guevara recounts ail the ways
\.
that the Iife of the countryside, which the noble residing at court fon'akes, is
more satisfying and wholesome than the life in the palace. At home he may
do as he pleases, go where he pleases, with his comfortable-pld clothes,

1Qn Hulten's work see Smith, 16, 20, 24-5, 32, 39, 72, 152, 167-8 and David F. Strauss, Ulrich VOl!
Hutten: his life and his times, trans. G. Sturge (London: Dalby, Isbiter, & Co., 1874) 154-6.
2Dispraise, tral1's. by Sir Francis Bryant, (London, 1575). As a more accurate translation, Joseph
Jones suggests, "Criticism of the city and praise of the village"; Joseph Joncs, Antonio Guevara
(Boston: G. K. Hall & Co., 1975) 91.

o 3Dispraise, 66.
4Ibid,67.
 103

attending to his daily affairs. Hence, among the "commodities" of the life of
f: the village is that,

... those that be dwellers there may go alone from place to place
without to be noted to fall from gravitie, they nede no mule nor
horse with afoote c1othe, nor page to wayte of my lorde, or
damosell to wayte upon my lady. And that were scornfu11 to do
in the court alone: and without danger one may walke from
neighbor to neighbor, and from land to land, and not thereby
minish any part of his honor.l

Guevara's literary success was tremendous, reaching far beyond his

homeland; three years after the publication of the Menosprecio, the first
French translation appeared--by 1568 the work had gone through 26 French
editions. 2 The Menosprecio was also read in other countries, inc1uding
England, where it was translated by Francis Bryan, one of Henry VIII's
favorites at court. Bryan was not alone among Henry's courtiers in producing
anti-court works: Skelton, Surrey, and especially Wyatt wrote critically of the
court. 3 Thus, for instance, Wyatt's poem Myn Owne John Poynz, itself
patterned after a work by Luigi Alammani, is an emphatic dec1aration of the
author's uncourtly integrity. The poem takes the form of a letter to a friend,
explaining the poet's departure from the court:

Myn owne John Poynz, sins ye delight to know

The cause why that homeward I me draw:
And fie the presse of courts wher 50 they goo ....4

In most of what then follows, the poet pits his uncompromising

honesty against the dictates of life at court: "My Poynz, I cannot frame me

1Ibid, 25.
2pauline Smith, 33
3Julia Briggs, This Stage-Play World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983) 141.
4The Poems of Sir Thomas Wyatt, ed. A. K. Foxwell, vol. 1 (N. Y.: Russell & Russell, 1964) 135.
 104

tune to fayne/ To cloke the trothe for praise withoute desart,"J "1 cannot
crowche nor knelle to do 50 grete a wrong,/ To worship them, lyke Gode on
erthe alone,"2 "1 cannot spzke and loke lyke a saint,"3 "1 am not he suche
eloquence to boste/ To make the crow singing as the swan,"4 and 50 on.
Consequently, Wyatt concludes that for these reasons he can be found
confined to the family estate by royal order, but nonetheless free among his
books and the natural simplicity of life in the countryside.5
Despite Myne Owne John Poynz and other anti-court writings in the
time of Henry, by the reign of Elizabeth, such writings were on the decline, as
the conventions of courtliness were imposed even more thoroughly and
strictly.6 Writers of this later generation continued to criticize the courts and
courtiers, but seemed always to do so only against the standard of the "true"
courtly ideal. This inconsistent or "courtly anti-courtierism" can be seen in

1Ibid, 136.
2Ibid.
3Ibid.
4Ibid, 137. .
SStephen GreenbIatt writes of Wyatt that while he complains of the court and declares his
independence from H~.C.QT!".. pling forces, in truth "he always docs 50 from within a context
governed by the essential values of dominatipn and submission, the values oi a system of power
that has an absolute monarch as head of bol!' church and stale. For ail his impulse to negate,
Wyatt cannot fashion himself in opposition ti> power and the conventions power deploys; on
the contrary, those conventions are precisely whal constitute Wyatt's self-fashioning."
Stephen Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare (Chicago:
University of Chicago, 1980) 120. To somewhat varying exlents, much the same thing could he
said of virtually ail anti-courl wrilers.
6Daniel JavÎtch, "The Philosopher of the Court: A French Satire Misunderslood,"
Comparative Literature 23 (1971) 117.
 IDS

works of Ascham,l Spenser,2 and John Lyly,3 and seems generally

f. representative of English anti-court expression until the Stuarts.
This retreat from anti-court writings in Tudor England is also reflected
in the reception of foreign works of that description. For instance, the
Menosprecio went through only two English editions, despite an English
vogue of Guevara's other works. Moreover, the second English edition,
which .::ame out twenty-seven years. after the first, speaks of the need to
revive the work since it was "Iying as dead, and by tyme worn almost c1eane
away."4 As Daniel Javitch argues, "In Tudor England, where the court
increasingly became the focus of culture, Guevara's proposaI [in the
Menospreciol was too uncompromising to be viable."s
As previously noted, the reception of the Menosprecio was much more
favorable in France, where both foreign and native anti-court writings were
increasingly popular in the Renaissance. France had a long tradition of such
literature: in the 14th century, Jean de Montreuil, Nicolas de Clemanges, and
Eustache Deschamps were among those who attacked the servility and
affectation of courtiers. 6 In the 15th century Jacques le Grand, Martin le Franc:,

1Discusscd in ibid.
2Spenscr's courtly anti-court1incss is discusscd in ibid, and Javitch's Poelry and Courtliness,
chaps. Sand 6; W. D. E\cock arrivcs at a similar conc1usion in comparing Spenscr and du
Bcllay's chafing at thcir disappointmcnls al courl in his "English Indiffcrence to du Bellay's
Regrets:' Modern lAnguage Review 46 (t 9S1) 17S-184.
31n Lyly's play Sapho and Phao, despite dec1arations of the purily of Sapho-the symbolic
tribu le 10 Elizabclh-a character denounces the dissimulations and dishone~ty of those even at
her court. But the subject is quickly droppe<! and is irrelevant to the rest of the play. Sapho
and Phao, in The Plays of John Lyly, e<!. Carter Daniel (London: Associate<! University Press,
1988) 69-108. Lyly's courtly anti-courtliness is discussed in G. K. Hunter, John Lyly, The
Humanist as Courtier, 1-3S, 169.
4Quote<! in Daniel Javitch, "The Philosopher of the Court: A French Satire Misunderstood,"
118.
SIbid, 119.
(
.~.
6Pauline Smith, 38-9; Anglo,34.
. ~
 106

- Pierre Michault, and most importantly, Alain Chartier, were among the
many who attacked the court and courtiers.l
But in the 16th century, under the otherwise largely insignificant last
Valois monarchs, growing lavishness at court was paralleled by an
unprecedented growth in criticism of the court and courtliness. Anti-court
feelings were only strengthened by the ever greater Italian influence in the
French court: courtly Italian customs and a growing army of refined Italian
courtiers were incl easingly privileged, beginning with the first incursions
into Italy at the end of the 15th century, and reaching a peak under Catherine
de' Medici--much to the resentment of many Frenchmen. 2
For these and other reasons, France distinguished itself from other
countries by the intensity. and volume of its anti-court literature, although
many of these French works were strongly influenced by foreign Neo-latin
writers such as Piccolornini, Guevara, and Hutten.3 A great nurnber of the
leading figures in French letters at sorne tirne wrote critically of court Iife:
Baïf, Du Bellay, Le Caron, Jodelle, Du Saix, Bouchet, Gringore, Peletier, La
Borderie, Claude Chappuys, and La Taille are only sorne of the names. 4 Even

1Pauline Smith, 40-54. Chartier's Cl/rial takes the form of a letter written to his brother to
discourage him from coming to court to seck his fortune, and thus contrasts the decent life of the
country with the corruption of the courtiers. William Caxton's English translation of 1484 has
becn reprinted as The Cl/rial made by maystere Alain Chartier Early English Text Society,
Extra Series, #54 1888 (reprinted 1965).
2Anglo,50-1; Pauline Smith, 17.
3For instance, the influence of the above mentioned Neo-latins is clear in Pierre Boaistuau's Le
Theatre dl/ Monde, where he echos Piccolomini: Voilà comme ces pauvres miserables courtisans
vendent leur liberté pour s'enricher. Il fault qu'ils obeissent et obtemperent à tous
commendemens, justes ou injustes, qu'ilz se contraignent de rire quand le prince rit, qu'ilz
pleurrent quand il pleure, approuvent ce qu'il approuve, qu'ilz condemnent ce qu'il condemne. Il
Cault obeyr à tous, alterer et changer du tout sa nature, estre severe avec les severes, triste avec
les tristes, et quasi se transformer en la nature de celuy à qui Hz veulent plaire, ou n'avoir rien."
Following Boaistuau's short passage on courtiers he specifically recommends Piccolomini and
Guevara to his reader. Le Theatre dl/ MOIlde, ed. Michel Simonin (Geneva: Librairie Droz,
1981) 139-42. Discussed in Pauline Smith, 104-5.

o 4Henri Weber describes the resenlment of most of the Pléïade poets: "malgré la conscience qu'il
a de sa dignité, le poète doit toujours pour se procurer des appuis abaisser ses vers à la flatterie."
 107

Ronsard--"le poète du roi"-- who likened his princely patrons to Greek heroes
and gods, nonetheless cursed his occupation: "Maudit est le mettier/Qui
nous acquiert du bien par une hypocrisie,"! and complained of the necessity
to change his "naturel."2 Hence Ronsard and others at times turned their
studied eloquence to venting their frustration and disgust with the court.3
One of the more original and interesting such works is that by an
obscure author, Philibert de Vienne. Philibert's Philosophe de Court draws
on Lucian's De Parasita, and other satirical works from antiquity, which were
influential during the Renaissance. 4 Philibert begins by distinguishing his
modern philosophy from that of the ancient moral philosophers, whose
subject was the morality implicit in Nature--which is here explicitly equated
with the Divinity. The modern philosophy "differeth from the Philosophie
of the Auncientes, in that their vertue ... is to live according to the instinct of
Nature: and ours is to lyve according to the manner of the court."s
According to the philosopher of the court, because our way of living "50

changeth and altereth our nature,"6 the natural, and once universal, moral
instinct can no longer govern our behavior. The search for guides as to how

La Création Poétique au XVI siècle en France (Paris: Nizet, 1955) 79. 1 will not even try to
survey French anti-court writing, as this can already be found in Weber, and especially in
Pauline Smith.
1Isidore Silver, "Pierre de Ronsard: Panegyrist, Pensioner and Satirist of the French Court:
Romanic Review 45 (1954) 94.
2Ulrich Langer, Inventioll, Death, and Self-Definitions in tlle Poetry of Pierre de Ronsard
(Saratoga, Calif.: Anma Libri & Co., 1986) 80; also on Ronsard's anti-courtliness, Wiley, The
Gentleman of Renaissance France, 82, 129, 243.
3Anti-aulic sentiment was also expresscd pictorially: emblem books graphically represented
antipathy to courtiers and courts. In one illustration in an emblem book by Guillaume de la
Perri~re, a courtier is shown with his tongue on a plate before him, and his heart in his hand
behind his back; another, in a work by Alciato, depicts a courtier in fine clothes, but confined
by stocks. Sec Anglo, 44, 49.
4C. A. Mayer, "L'Honnête Homme: Moliere and Philibert de Vienne's Philosophe de Court':
Modern Language Review 46 (1951) 196-217, and Smith, 13-21.
5The Philosopher of the Court, trans. George North, (London, 1575) 17.
( 6Ibid, 12.
 108

........
to conduct our lives must now turn not to a universal moral nature, but to
the various forms of human custom--"the diversitie of countries & people"l_-
and in particular, to

that which is most alIowed, & embraced ... which is Courtly life.
The knowlege wherof, we may aptly calI in these days
Philosophie. And this 1 mind to treate of, bicause that they that
know it & can use it, are counted wise men and Philosophers. 2

Whereas the ancient philosophy had concerned itself with "that which
is only good of it selfe,"3 the courtly philosophy concerns itself with "that
which seemeth to them [men in generall goOd."4 And furthermore, Philibert
optimisticalIy states that this new philosophy can readily be mastered: for as
soon as we undertake "to folIow the fashion of the Court, we shalI become
expert masters in evil: 50 apt & capable we are to learne it."s
Most of the Philosophe de Court is organized into five chapters, each
discussing one of five virtues; the first four are the conventional Aristotelian
virtues of prudence, justice, magnanimity, and temperance. These are joined
by a fifth and alI-important courtly virtue, "Good Grace." Of justice, this
courtly philosophy maintains, "it sufficeth us to holde and keepe oure worde
50 farre as the Judge and Lawe may compelI us to perfourme it."6

lIbido
2Ibid.
3Ibid.
4Ibid.
5lbid. InterestingIy, while this philosophy is defined in terms of the court, Philibert includes
in his doctrine that which might he said to more propcrly helong to the mercantile sphere: "it
is not only sufferable in bargaining, in buying, and selling fOl every man 10 make his most profil,
he it by fraud or otherwise, but also very commendable" (47).
6Ibid, 51. Also, more emphatically: "Is notthat man worthie then to bec notcd an Idiot, and to
he banished a common wealth, who hath apt occasion to dcceyve or bcguile his companion and
mate by any hoseste meane, and will no do il? he leameth il not by our Philosophil!, nor by the
Court. We holde this generally as a great argument of our vertue: that it is tollerable to
 109

Magnanimity derives from the desire for glory, and should be esteemed
higher than the love of God, family or friends. Prudence, which was
described by Cicero as a species of wisdom associated with decorum, is here
said to consist in knowing how to conduct oneself according to "the persons,
place, & time, with the rest of their circumstances."l A definition of
temperance immediately fonows: "And this being knowen, Temperance
entreth our harts, & mollifieth an the parts of it ... not to take collic, or be
offended at anything though the same be imperfect, in such sorte, that partlye
it dissembleth, and partlie it applyeth, and obeyeeth to an these
circumstances."2 The model of temperate and modest man is,

.. ' .
hee that pleaseth every man ... In the contrary, he that doth
arrogantlye impresse in'his sprightes his first opinions and
imaginations, & will not any way yeeld to reasonable chaunge is
hated of an men. And of him it is sayde: Malum cansilium
quad mutari non potest: "The counsel of that man is evill,
which may not be altered': For, although suche advyce bee good
and reasonable, yet it muste bee moderated and masked,
according to the pleasure of others. 3

Thus the central concern of temperance is to control our "immoderate

affections, whiche are 50 blinded & insolent, that they make us subiect &
slaves to our owne proper opinions."4 The reader is here encouraged to study
the behavior of those experienced in the ways of the court: "See how the true
and right Courtiers live: which bende and bowe their owne proper affections

beguiJe, filch, and cogge, and do the worst we can, 50 that neither lawe, Judge, nor iustice may
touch or calch holdof US for il" (48). .
llbid, 92 also: "in allthese actions, he must use a prudence ... regarding why, howe, where &
when, with an other circumstanœs.'· 109.
2lbid,92.
3lbid, 91-2.
(
.~

, .
4lbid,107.
.
~
 110

to foIlowe oure vertue, and be pleasing to aIl men."J Furthermore, this

quality of temperance is seen as constituting a necessary condition of aIl social
existence; for if we remain "obstinate or stoute, and would not yaeld nor
apply our selves one to another, nor supporte and sooth one the other, there
shoulde bee nothing but ... contention, & particularity among men."2 In fact,
such mayhem is visible in the social behavior of those lesser persons to
whom the ways of the court are still totaIly foreign:

1 cannot here forget the ignorance and brutishnesse of the

people, who in feasts, banquettes, and assemblies, governe and
order themselves, not according to the maner of the Court
whiche is the best rule: but according to theyr particular
pleasures and opinions.3

From the union of these four virtues--justice, magnanimity, prudence,

and above all, temperance, "is perfectly seene and proved to come a good
grace,"4 also known as "courtly civilitie," which is the subject of the last
section of the Philosophe de Court, excepting the conclusion. As this virtue
springs from the other four, its nature does not appear much different from
what has been discussed up to this point; but here the emphasis is placed
more strongly on the question of dissimulation and deception.
Dissimulation is held to be the essence of that courtly grace which
distinguishes the accomplished and self-assured courtier. Hence it is affirmed
that,

to be open and simple, is meete for beastes and ydiotes: for this
presumption being still among us, that is, every one to deceyve

lIbid, 108.
2Ibid,92.
3Ibid,102.
4Ibid,96.

, '
i!
 111

other that most cunninglye can: Those that with open hart
declare and shewe themselves not willing to use fraude, are
(: reputed ignorant, and have not the courage to speake to a man.l

However, the philosopher of the court appears to feel himself

compelled to address the ethics of this dissimulation. He notes that the great
moral philosopher, Socrates, gave as a precept "that we should not maske, or
disguise our selves, and that we shoulde be ashamed to seeme otherwise in
deed than we are."2 But, he continues, "To the ende that this appeare not
contrarie to that we have sayde of Dissimulation, which we affirm to be of so
great force in our Philosophie: we must better understand the sentence of
Socrates."3 According to our modern philosopher, Socrates' true intent was
not to condemn ail dissimulation; he meant only to bar that which was
motivated by evil desires--which is not the case with our good grace and
cfvility. On the contrary, the dissimulation involved here may be described
as "but ail good fayth, as it were done not of purpose to shewe our selves
otherwise than we be: but to the end to please the worlde."4 Hence he
condudes this discussion by making a favorable reference to the familiar
figure of Proteus:

This facilitie of the Spirite is not therfore to be blamed which

makes man ... chaunge and transforme hymselfe. For in so
doing he shall be accounted wise, winne honour, and be free of
reprehension every where: which Proteus knewe verie weil, to
whom his diverse Metamorphosis and oft transfiguration was
verie commodious. 5

llbid, 100.
2lbid, 96-7.
3lbid,97.
4lbid, 98.
Slbid, 101.

II
 112

Hence the Philosophe de Court summarizes the proper behavior of the

courtier as uniting his changeability with his receptivity to the impulses and
attitudes not his own:

The Gentleman Courtier is none of those ... so addicted to his

owne desires or so subiect to himselfe, but plyant like waxe, redie
to receyve any honest or frendly impression. For if it be
needefull to laughe, hee reioyceth: If to be sad, he lowreth: If to
be angry, he frowneth: If to feede, he eateth: If to faste he
pyneth. And to conclude, he is ready to doe whatsoever it be,
according to the humors and complexions of his felowship and
Courtly companie, althoughe his affections are c1eane contrary.l

The Philosophe de Court is just one instance of the anti-court writing

which flourished in 16th century France, and in Renaissance Europe as a
whole. For sorne, the topic was perhaps merely conventional--a literary
commonplace, indicating little actual conviction on the authors' part.
However it would be difficult dismiss the entire genre or tradition as not
reflecting sorne real discontent with the prevailing political and cultural
relations.

Anti-courtly Aspects of the Courtly Tradition

Part of what is most interesting about the ethical unease concerning

court life i!\ the Renaissance is that it is even apparent in the works ofthe
greatest advocates of the court, going at least as far back as Conversino. In his

1Ibid, 108-9. Il is pcrhaps not surprising that as javitch,notcs in his "The Philosopher of the .
Court: A French Satire Misunderstood," ·~"e Philosophe de Court was somelimes taken for a
serious, not ironie work: ils recommendalions differ very Iittle from such works as the Ars
Aulica and The Arts of Grandeur and Submission. Conscquently even some rccent scholars have
failed to recognize the salirical nature of Philiberl's work. This sccms to be the case in Mason's
Gentlefolk in the Making, 49.
 113

,r De Primo eius introitu ad au/am (Of his Earliest Introduction to Court),

\. written severa! years before the Drama/ogia, Conversino offers one of the first
humanist accounts of life at court. And in these descriptions based on actual
experience, the court appears in a highly unfavorable light. l
Conversino begins his autobiographical account of the Paduan court by
describing his introduction to Francesco il Vecchio da Carrara. He anxiously
prepares himself for this first meeting, but makes a good impression and is
encouraged to join the household, which he then does. Because within the
courtly context gift~ from the prince are not simply material rewards, but also
indications of status, even the smallest attentions of the lord areinvested
with great significance. Thus Conversino carefully lists the many gifts and
privileges bestowed upon him by the Carrara. Besides lodging, money, and
clothes, he was allotted a yearly supply of wine, provisions, and firewood--
and when not eating in hall,he had twice daily from the commissary "a fowl
and a piece of boiled meat with sauce, two measures of wine, and six rolls of
bread, three of them of fine wheat flour," etc. 2 More importantly, Conversino
"rejoieed in a degree of intimacy"3 with the Carrara lord, who, by his frequent
attentions, "decreed that, on his express orders and forthwith, l was to be
numbered among those he trusted most and saw most often."4 However, this
privileged position came at a priee:

... whether the prince sat to breakfast or to dinner, l was

constantly at hand, to yield him pleasure with my handling of

lit appcars that the work to he discusscd hcrc, De Primo eius introitu ad au/am (Of his Earliest
Introduction to Court), was wrillen by Conversino largely to explain his leaving Padua and in
order to ingratiate himsclf with his ncw bcnefactor, a Venetian noblcman. See the editors'
preface in Two Court Treatises.

" 2De Primo eius introitu ad au/am, 33.

3Ibid.
C'. 4Ibid,29.
 114

various topies of intellectually the most demanding sort-for

these he had the greatest curiosity. And if he should settIe down
for a midday rest, with me talking my way through sorne story
or reading something to him, 1 would be on the lookout for
sleep to overtake him, and woulà stir the heat with a fly-swatter
to make him drowsy, or lightly massage his legs and feet ...
Again, at night, when the army of things to do is ordinarily
under quietus, often until the dead of night, while he played at
diee with a few companions sympathetic to this kind of vigil, 1
was made, to linger the night, exhausted and ail but falling off
my feet; similarly, when he was ready to sleep it was always my
reading or my monologue that laid him to rest. Latest of ail to
leave him, 1 would lie on my bed in my dothes, and as often as
need or choiee set him going again bed had to be quitted.l

Despite the drudgery of much of his service, as Conversino tells his

story, he tended his lord with "such zcàl and earnestness that 1 heard from
my fellow-courtiers, 'What are you trying to do, acting 50 obliging and
willing? Unless you're making out the rest of us are lazy?"'2 At times he is
wistful about the freedom he once knew: "oh the status of a schoolmaster--it
Wi'S lowly, but free and independent. "3 Even the less than Ideal conditions of
his early years appear free in comparison with life at court: "1 grew up . .. in
an orphanage, not wealthy but again not in need, free nevertheless, devoting
my days and nights to myself; in my present circumstances 1 am wholly
devoted to living for somebody else."4
Furtherrnore, possessing as he did, a keen sense of self-worth and
ambition, Conversino could not be altogether content with an elevated status
whieh was often mixed with menial service. Consequently, he eventually
found himselfconsumed with "hope for a more favorable condition of life,
with more scope to it, than this life of dressing the prince, of undressing him,

llbid,35.
2lbid, 35-7.
3Ibid,41.
4Ibid,51.
 115

of standing and waiting in attendance and doing aU the things even the
( lowliestare r'lquired to do. "1
Conversino was to be greatly disappointed. Instead of finding his lot
improved, one day he discovered that his daily ration from the commissary
was diminished: he was deprived of the meat and sauce. The humanist was
filled with resentment and anxiety at his demotion; he scrutinized himself
"to see whether it was something l had done that brought about this result"2,
but discovered no cause. Hence he went on with life at court, grumbling
privately to his friends--or supposed friends--and hoping for a change in his
luck. But after a few months time Conversino experienced "a new grief"--the
servant who brought him his now decreased ration from the commissary
came with only wine, and informed Conversino that he had orders that "you
get no bread from court."3 At this he is thrown into despair: "feeling truly
stricken down by my earlier indignation over the meat and sauce, and not a
whit less by a sense of shame--it would be shamefulthereafter to accept the
wine--I scarcely had it in me to go on like this. "4
Nonetheless, go on like this he does. He sees his privileges restored,
only, along with others, to be removed again. But through it aU, Conversino
appears convinced that the Carrara lord, Francesco il Vecchio, is innocent of
any responsibility for the chumanist's misfortune. In addition, he at least
daims that his~:~fferings have given him a new outlook on himself: he says
\'.

that he now sees how he had been imbued with "the poison of courtly
ambition. "5 This reflection introduces the explicit focus of his resentment

Ilbid,35.
2Ibid,37.
3Ibid,39.

c 4Jbid.
5Ibid,43.
 116

and disgust-the court. It is the court and its host of scheming courtiers that
he blames for his ill fortune. His analysis and condemnation of the court is
not so much aimed at that of the Carrara in particular, though sorne
individual courtiers there do come in for sorne harsh treatment, as it is
directed at the social phenomenon of the court in general. Thus he argues
that in court after court, one will find that "innocence has reared up scarcely
anyone, but crimes have exalted a great many."l The first and greatest
casualty of courtly life is truth: the truth remains unspoken because it is
feared that "it would only be an annoyance."2 Instead the courtiers practice a
certain artfulness--"TI1ey put on the face that mirrors another's feelings."3
And h~re Conversino, like many other humanists steeped in the classical
drama, ~kes as the archetypical courtier the arch-panderer, Gnatho; it is to
this in two senses theatrical character that Conversino alludes when he says
that courtiers "answer coming and going, as that well-known father to his
son: 'They say yes, l say yes; they say no, so do 1."'4
The unctuous disingenuousness which emanates from the prince-
courtier relationship pervades the other relationships of the court--and this
despite the fact that "there is always a spirit of destructive rivalry loosl:: in
court,"S as each courtier "struggles to be advanced ahead of his fellow."6
Conversino explains:

You will want to know, l am sure, that the court has this way
about it ... when fortune brings a ruler into close relaÜonship
with someone, the courtiers are found to repay you for favors

lIbido
2De Dileclione Regnanlium, in Two CaurI Trealises, 219-21.
3Ibid,219.
4Ibid.
5De Primo eius inlroilu ad aulam, 45.
6Ibid,45.
 117

not yet done, and that too most tenderly and solicitously, not
because of any love lost on you, but because they want--desire-to
seem anxious and concerned for others.l

Conversino thus describes certain individuals adept at court life as

having great experience of the deceits bred in court."2 This is especially the
case when he speaks of Niccolè> Curtarolo, among the highest ranking
courtiers and a sort of head administrator for the Carrara--and also the one
Conversino apparently suspects as having brought about his downfall.
Curtarolo is described as ''light in speech and mannel', and easy in
conversation, a person in whom nature had assembled many remarkable
qualities"3; he always received the scholar with a "happy look on his face."4
In fact, Conversino seems almost unable to maintain his suspicions when he

considers that "in his manner of speech, in the utterly pleasant expression on
his face, in the readiest generosity and attendance to my requests he presented
himself as genuine,"s In contrast, Conversino daims that he himself "never
learned to practice the courtly arts"6--and for this reason he finds himself
degraded and in relative poverty.7
But what is more, the virulent attack on court life given here also
appears in Conversino's defense of princely rule and patronage, the
Drama/ogia. Indeed, many of the condemnations used in De Primo eius
introitu ad au/am are simply repeated in the latter work, joined there by new

•.
1Ibid, 51-3.
2Ibid,37.
3Ibid,53.
4Ibid,63.
5Ibid, 75.

c 6Prcfacc to Familie Carrariensis natio, quotcd in Introduction to Two Court Treatises, 13.
7De Dilectione ,Regnantium, 298·9.
 118

ones.! Moreover, Conversino and the Dramalogia are only atypical in the
extent to which their advocacy of the court is mixed with elements of
criticism. Even Castiglione's Book of the Courtier sometimes presents a less
than flattering view of the courts. In book IV, which it seems was not
originally envisioned as a part of The Courtier, the discussion takes a turn
from its previous course. The character Ottaviano rejects his friends'
educational Ideal for the courtier as "vain and frivolous, and in a man of
rank deserving of censure and rather than praise,"2 serving "simply to make
men effeminate,"3 "corrupt the young,"4 and generally bring Haly to ruin and
disgrace. That is, unless these courtly arts are directed to sorne certain higher
goal--in which case they will be "deserving of Infinite praise."S Ottaviano
explains:

In my opinion, therefore, the end of the perfect courtier (which

we have so far left untouched) is, by means of the
accomplishments attributed to him by these gentlemen, so to
win for himself the mind and favour of the prince he serves that
he can and always will tell him the truth about all he needs to
know, without fear or risk of displeasing him. 6

According to Ottaviano, all the courtly skills and grace previously

approved are only of value insofar as they gain for the courtier a reservoir of
favor with his prince, 50 that when the latter errs, the former may "dare to

1Dramalogia,83-107. The discussion in this work includes as weil repctitions of most of the
quotations above taken from works besides De Primo eius introitu ad aulam.
2The Book of the Courtier, 284. The challenge which book IV presents to the unity of the entire
work is discussed in Wayne Rebhom, "Ottaviano's Interruption: Book IV and the Problem of
Unity in 11 Libro deI Cortigiano " Modern Language Notes 87 (1972) 37-59 and Dain Trafton,
"Structure and Meaning in The Courtier:' English Literary Renaisance 2 (1972) 283-97.
3Ibid.
4Ibid.
5Ibid.
6Ibid.
 119

oppose him, and make courteous use of the favour his good qualities have
won to remove every evil intention and persuade him to return to the path
of virtue."1 Hence Ottaviano describes the courtier's true role to be that of a
moral tutor or instructor to the prince; however, he does not pause to ponder
the paradox of how such utter degeneracy, as he describes the courtly arts to
be, can be justified as a means to moral education. But he does give sorne
indication of how difficult and dangerous is speaking openly with the prince
in the decadent world of the modern court. On the one hand, the prince is
always exposed to flatterers, and even his few true friends

... are wary of reproaching him for his faults as freely as they
reproach ordinary people, and often in order to win grace and
favour they think only of suggesting things that are agreeable
and diverting, even though they may be dishonourable and
wicked. In this way, from being friends they become flatterers,
and to benefit from their intimacy they always speak and act in
order to gratify, and they mostly proceed by telling lies that foster
ignorance in the prince's mind not only of the world around but
of himself. 2

As the relations of power within the court corrupt the prince's

associates and friends, naturally enough the prince also morally degenerates:

... apart from never hearing the truth of anything, princes

become drunk with the power they wield, and abandoned to
pleasure-seeking and amusements they become 50 corrupted in
mind that (seeing themselves always obeyed and almost adored,
with 50 much reverence and praise and never a hint of censure
or contradiction) they pass from ignorance to extreme conceit ...
they grow arrogant and with imperious countenance and stern
ways, with sumptuous dress, gold and gems, and rarely letting

c llbid,285.
2lbid, 285-6.
 120

themselves be seen in public, they think to gain authority

among men and to be regarded as gods. 1

The vidous circle completes itself as the prince's growing grandeur and
arrogance further impedes directness and honesty, requiring obsequiousness
and guarded speech from others. Still Ottaviano maintains that if the
courtier possesses ail the "qualities" previously described, "he will succeed in
this purpose without great effort and thus he will always be able to reveal the
true facts on any subject very promptly."2 However, from this point on
Ottaviano talks less about the courtier speaking openly to the prince, than he
does about cleverly and artfully manipulating the prince for beneficial
purposes: he is to practice "a healthy deception like a shrewd doctor who
often spreads some sweet liquid on the rim of a cup when he wants a frai! and
sickly child to take a bitter medicine."3 Moreover, he also makes remarks
seeming to undercut his confident statements of the courtier's ability to
ensure a fair hearing for unwanted truths. For instance, he subsequently
responds to the request to "tell us also everything you would teach your
prince if he needed instruction and assuming you had completely won his
favour and could therefore speak your mind freely,"4 by saying, "If 1 had the
favour of some of the rulers 1 know, and were to speak my mind freely, 1
imagine 1 would soon lose it again."S Even in this most courtly of courtly
works, truth is made to appear a casualty to this way of life.
Similarly, Galateo at times also betrays a certain malaise with the world
of the court. For example, Della Casa expresses ambivalence over courtly

1Ibid,286.
2Ibid,288.
3Ibid, 288-9.
4Ibid,302.
SIbid; on this subject see Daniel ]avitch, "Il Cortigiano and the constrainls of despotism," in
Hanning and Rosand, 17-28.
 121

forms of address and conduct, which he claims are a modern and foreign
influence, misplacing the respect and reverence due to the realm of the sacred
to that of the seeular:

According to what a good man has explained to me several

times, those solemnities which the clergy uses towards God and
sacred things during divine services at the altar are rightly called
ceremonies. But when men first began to pay respect to each
other in artificial, inappropriate ways, and to caU each other Lord
and Sir, bowing and bending and writhing as a sign of respect,
and uncovering their heads, and giving themselves exquisite
tiUes, and kissing each others' hands as if they were sacred likp. a
priest's, someone who did not have a name for this new, silly
habit called it a ceremony.l

These "ceremonies" Della Casa describes as "very liUle removed from

lies and dreams"2_-and furthermore, as "infamies and treacheries."3 He so
classifies these practices for their inherently hypocritical nature: "we appear
to honor those whom we hold in no special reverence and those whom we
sometimes hold in contempt."4 The seemingly worst part of this hypocrisy is
that it has entrenched itself into modern Italian society and become
customarYi it is actually rendering the words of the language meaningless.5

IGalateo, 23. The writers of virtually every country try to explain the most questionable
aspects of civility as of foreign influence-often with some smalI kemel of truth. Thus just as
the English and French blame the Italians for certain newfangled excesses, Della Casa believes
the Spanish brought them with them into Italy. Prior to World War II, certain scholars
recognizcd the Iikelihood that practices of civility were transmilled to Europe from the Arabs
in Spain and the Byzantine East-and drew from this certain racist conclusions. According to
Rudolph von Jhering, "while the social forms of the Aryans are founded on the idea of self-
estœm and equality," our "modem forms of submissiveness in social intercourse are of Oriental
origin"; its "spirit of submission and self-abasement" shows ilto be a "Scmetic growth."
Rudolph von Jhering, "Aryan and Scmitic Civilization" in his The Evolution of the Aryan, (N.
p.,1897) 97. Von Jhering is cited wilhout criticism by ooth Mason (309), and Abraham Smythe-
Palmer, The Ideal of a Gentleman (London: Routledge, n. d.) 3-5.
2Galateo, 23.
3lbid.

c 4lbid.
5lbid.
 122

Thus, while elsewhere Della Casa virtually identifies "custom" and "reason,"
here they are conceived of as opposed: according to reason, "to kiss as a sign
of reverence is.strictly suited only for relics of saints' bodies or other sacred
things."l
But paradoxicaIly, this does not mean that we should abstain from
these irrational and hypocritical practices. While fully admittlng that
ceremonies are only "beautiful and becoming on the outside,"2 and on the
inside "totally empty,"3 consisting in "appearances without substance and in
words without meaning,"4 Della Casa nevertheless insists that it is our first
dutY to obey the prevailing custom. Hence, "when leaving or writing you
must greet and take your leave according to what not reason but custom
dictates, and not as one used to do or should have done, but as one does."s
We are not to be troubled by this deceitfulness, since it is simply the
inescapable way of the worId as we find it·-"it is a fault of the times, not of
ourselves. "6 In fact, Della Casa argues that there is not even any point in
discussing the relative merits of different ways of behaving; he simply states
as a hard and fast rule that "in the land where we dwell we must diligently
assume the gestures and words which usage and modern custom normally
employ."7
However this attitude of resignation with respect to admittedly corrupt
but prevailing practices at times appears to give way to something more
ambivalent and complex. Thus he finds fault with those who would "have

lIbid,26.
2Ibid,24.
3Ibid.
4Ibid.
5Ibid,26.
6Ibid,24.
7Ibid,25.
 123

people begin their letters to emperors and kings in this manner: 'If you and
your children are well, that is fine; 1 am well too."'l This informaI type of
address he associates with the ancient Roman Republic--but he characterizes
it as "rude" and "boorish"; he furthermore adds that "If one followed this
criterion of returning to the past, everyone would revert, little by little, to
eating acorns."2
Again, a similar tension and ambiguity is expressed in The Civile
Conversation. Both the protagonists are in apparent agreement that false
friendship and even treachery are "rife in Courts. "3 In the halls of the great
one always finds certain duplicitous flatterers who "play their part 50 wel"4
that they can convince their hosts "that the Moone is made of greene
Cheese"--or at least "say or doe sorne thing that shalbe acceptable to them."s
And here Guazzo as well refers to the deceitful tricksters from Terence and
other playwrights:

You see likewise the comedies, both of the âme past, and of the
present, furnished with these flatterers alld Gnathoes ... men of
vile condition, and of no valour ... having no honest or
profitable trade to commend themselves by, frame themselves to
delight the eyes and eares of others, b) their owne great shame
and reproch.6

Thus, within the social context of the courts Olle is exposed to a

number of people, sorne of whom "as Christian you ought to flie ... yet as a
Courtier, you cannot keep you from them."7 But not only can you not avoid

1Ibid,26.
2Ibid.
-3Civile Conversation, 70.
4Ibid,76.
Slbid,76.
6lbid, 76-7.
7Ibid,60.
 124

such people, it seems that in fact you can hardly help but become one. For if
one intends to remain at court, the freedom of honest and open expression
will be a necessary and inevitable sacrifice. Hence Anniball states that in the
company of princes, "a man cannot utter his minde freely nor doe any thing
contrarie to their pleasure: if hee doe, hee shalbe no friende of Caesars."l His
partner in discussion then continues:

The conversation of Princes in my judgement is not to bee

avoided, in any other respect, but for that it taketh away that
libertie, which is 50 acceptable in company, and bringeth us into
a certaine kinde of bondage, which we cannot like of long, but
wee must consider on the other side, howe much the being in
the Princes companie doeth countenance us, howe therby wee
take away occasion for men to thinke that through basenesse of
minde, wee abandon the Courte: what honour and profite wee
often reape thereby, and what contentation and pleasure it is to
us to be admitted into our Princes presence ....2

Such is the experience of the courtier: tom between his ambition, on

the one hand, and his sense of dignity and freedom on the other--or, perhaps
more accurately, between conflicting notions of freedom, conflicting notions
of dignity. In order to better understand these conflicts, we now tum to the
lives and writings of four particular humanists.

1Ibid, 210.
2Ibid.
 125

N
f_
NICCOLà MACHIAVELLI

How gentle is deception

When carried to fruition as intended,
For it defies perception
And soothes the blissful dupes we have befriended.
Oh draught by heaven blended,
You show the quickest way to true contentment,
And with your magic power
You comfort those whose wealth we would devour:
And vanquish, by your devious presentment,
Stone walls, and arm'd resentment.

Song from bath Clizia and The Mandragola

In The Art of War Machiavelli describes the actions of a Spartan

, ~,

general who set before his soldiers sorne captured Persians stripped naked, "50

that seeing their delicate limbs, they would not fear them."l Part of the point
of this anecdote hinges upon the Persians' particular reputation for luxury
and decadence rendering them "delicate"--and therefore unintimidating
when seen in the flesh. But the stripping men down to demystify their
differences and reveal their common humanity is for Machiavelli something

1The Art of War, Machiavelli: the chief works and others, trans Alan Gilbert, vol. 2 (Durham,
N. c.: Duke University Press, 1965) 662.
 126

of a recurring theme. For instance, in the History of Florence, Machiavelli

represents a spokesperson for the Ciompi as urging on his fellow proletarian
rebels by putting before them the idea of an essential human unity which
belies the daims to aristocratie superiority. "Strip us ail naked:' dedares the
rebellious woolworker, "you will see us ail alike."l
Similarly, in the exhortation for the liberation of Italy at the end of The
Prince, Machiavelli appears himself to invoke the notion of a common
humanity in order to encourage others to action-in this case the action of
emulating the heroic figures of ancient times. Hence he urges his would-be
Medici patron to take them as his models, saying "These men may be
exceptional and remarkable; they were men nonetheless."2
ln ail of these three examples, the notion that under our dothes, titles,
and reputations we are ail essentially the same is presented as a kind of spur
to military and political action. But there is another kind of action which is
facilitated by the understanding that others are not in principle 50 different
from oneself. In his famous letter to Francesco Vettori, in which Machiavelli
describes his evening retreats to his study, he tells of imagining meeting the
great figures of history and speaking to them as a man to fellow men: "1 enter
the ancient courts of ancient men, where, received by them with affection ...
1 am not ashamed to speak with them and ask them the reasons for their
actions; and they in their kindness answer me ... entirely 1 give myself over
ta them."3

1Chief works and olhers, vol. 3, 1160.

2The Prin,e, trans. George Bun (N.Y.: Penguin Books, 1961) 135; something Iike my point is
made with these examples by Ezio Raimondi, "Machiavelli and the Rhetoric of the Warrior,"
Modern Language Noies 92 (1977) 1·16.
3Letter #135; a11 of Machiavelli's lettcrs, unless otherwisc notcd, arc quotcd from Chief works
and others, vol. 2.
 127

Like other humanists, Machiavelli tries to approach the ancients as

men essentially like himself, and thus intelligible--one could imagine oneself
in their place, reasoning and feeling as they did. In fact, the original Italian
for the last line quotedabove is "tucto mi transferisco in /oro"--"I entirely
transfer myself into them"l; this tendency and capacity to put oneself in
others' places, Ezio Raimondi specifically attributes to Machiavelli as a
"histrionic sensibility."2 This skill is of great use to a writer of dialogues and
plays in the construction of coherent characters; but it is also at the center of
Machiavelli's historical and theorctical writings. In another letter to Vettori,
Machiavelli explains how he analyzes the situation of the Pope. Because, he
says, "1 believe that it is at aIl times the dutYof a prudent man to reflect on
what may harm him, and to foresee things when they are at a distance ... 1
have put myself in the place of the Pope and have examined carefully what 1
should have to fear now, and what means 1 should use against them."3 He
then begins his analysis "If 1 were the Pontiff, 1 should ... ," followed by
several particular observations ail taking this form of "1 should .... "4
Moreover, Machiavelli emphasizes the analytical and political
necessity of taking on a variety of viewpoints, seeing through many eyes. In
an epigram Machiavelli represents Pope Clement VII explaining his
outwitting the Emperor as follows: "Understand that 1 am not Argus, as 1
seem, and these eyes that 1 have never belonged to Argus, but they are truly

10riginal and translation quoted in Wayne Rebhorn, Foxes and Uons: Machiavelli's
Confidence Men (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988) 246.
2"The practice of of the political observer trained to analyze situations of conflict, calculating
the moves of the opponents in accord with their own points of view, is conjoined in Machiavelli
with a mimetic talent and with the histrionic sensibility of an extraordinary theatrical
intelligence"; Raimondi, 12; this is also discussed in Rebhom, Foxes and Uons, 233-4.

c 3Letter #124.
4lbid.
,:,
 128

many eyes that from Christian princes everywhere 1 have extracted."l The
importance of assuming a plurality of viewpoints is again taken up in the
dedicatory letter to The Prince, where Machiavelli says to Lorenzo de' Medici,

Nor 1 hope will it be considered presumptuous for a man of low

and humble status to dare discuss and lay down the law about
how princes should rule; because, just as men who are
sketching the landscape put themselves down in the plain to
study the nature of the mountains and the highlands, and to
study the low-lying land they put themselves high on the
mountains, 50 to comprehend fully the nature of the people, one
must be a prince, and to comprehend fully the nature of princes
one must be an ordinary citizen. 2

In this context, the purpose of the analogy of the artist is merely to

excuse Machiavelli's presumption; but it is nonetheless suggestive that he
should justifY his particular brand of knowledge by means of this metaphor of
the artist putting himself in different places 50 as to assume their differing
vantage-points. This is especially the case given that Machiavelli appeared to
write as naturally of citizens in the lowlands as he did of princes on peaks.
Machiavelli's movable vantage-point, his histrionic sensibility, is a
part of the strength of his thinking--and part of what has most troubled
people about him. But what has troubled readers is not 50 much
Machiavelli's intellectual virtuosity employed for reasons of analysis, as the
uncertainty with respect to his convictions: where is it that he stands, if in
fact he stands in any one place? Most typically, this problem has pitted the
apparently monarchist The Prince, addressed hopefully to a young Medici
lord, and the apparently republican Discourses, addressed to Machiavelli's

1Chief works and others, vol. 3, 1463; sec Hanna Pitkin for this interpretation of the "eycs of
Argus," Fortune is a Woman: Gender & PoUlics in the Thol/ght of Niccolà Machiavelli
(Berkeley: University of Califomia Press, 1984) 35-6.
2The Prince, 30.
 129

aristocratic republican friends. The at least perceived discordance of these

texts has troubled generations of Machiavelli interpreters. According to one
near contemporary, the 16th century anti-Medici republican, Giovanni
Battista Busini, Machiavelli "was a most extraordinary lover of liberty," who
nonetheless wrote The Prince to teach Lorenzo de' Medici to rob his fellow
citizens of their freedom.l Subsequent interpreters have continued to argue
and disagree as to where Machiavelli's true politicalloyalty lay.2 Moreover,
apart from the question of regime, even his vigorously stated Florentine
patriotism has been drawn into question by his more cosmopolitan pan-
Italian sympathies. Thus Alan Gilbert writes that though Florence was
obviously the place of his primary identification,

Other cities that he visited, Verona, Genoa, are his too. When
for a few months he resided in Lucca, he acted as a Lucchese,
interesting himself in her methods of government and writing a
life of her hero, Castruccio Castracani, one of Florence's worst
enemies. Never does he look at Castruccio with the eyes of a
mere Florentine.3

Even when visiting the obviously foreign country of France,

Machiavelli sprinkles his correspondences back home with French words and
Frenchified Italian. 4 But furthermore, beyond the problems that

1Hans Baron, "Machiave11i: the Republican Citizen and the Author of The Prince," English
Historical Review 76 (1961) 217-53.
21n ibid Baron reviews the thinking on this question up until the time of writing. Interpreters of
Machiave11i have tried to solve this problem in several ways: usually either by ignoring one of
the two works, or by arguing that the discrepancy is more apparent than real, or that it is real
and represents a shift in his thinking, or else holding t~at Machiavelli is accommodating
himself to his circumstances largely irrespective of his lrûe. convictions.
3The Lelters of Machiavelli, trans. Alan Gilbert (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961)
44; il has becn observed that part of the success of Machiavèl.li's writings, especially the
Histories derives from the manner in which he is able to sec and recount conflicts from different
sides-incIuding those identifiably opposed to his city of F1oren~~.
4Roberto Ridolfi, The Life of Niccolà Machiavelli, trans. Cecil Greyson (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 1963) 43. !i
li
1/
 130

Machiavelli's "histrionic sensibility," or perhaps that his psychological

division, might pose for the interpreter, he further complicates the job of
discovering his true convictions by admitting (boasting?) in a letter to his
friend Francesco Guicciardini that "Quite a while ago 1 trained myself in such
a way that ... for a long time 1 have not said what 1 believed, nor do 1 ever
believe what 1 say, and if indeed sometimes 1 do happen to tell the truth, 1
hide it among so many lies that it is hard to find."l
Perhaps in part due to this "training," it at times seems that the one
thing that can be asserted with much certainty concerning Machiavelli is his
almost perplexing apparent variability. In another letter to Vettori,
Machiavelli calls attention to exactly this feature of himself and his friend--
establishing a certain intimacy of shared peculiarity:

Anybody who saw our letters, honored friend, and saw their
diversity, would wonder greatly, because he would suppose now
that we were grave men, wholly concerned with important
matters, and that into our breasts no thought could fall that did
not have in itself honor and greatness. But then, turning the
page, he would judge that we, the very same persons, were light-
minded inconstant, lascivious, concerned with empty things. 2

Machiavelli is clearly very self-conscious of this variability,

assimilating the fact of a change of tone and topic in a correspondence to the
more general question of mutability which plays upon his mind; he
concludes the above quoted passage, "And this way of proceeding, if to sorne

lLeller #179; such thinking is far from forcign to Guicciardini, who in his Maxims and
Ref/ections (Ricordi) states that "deception is very useful, whereas your frankncss tends to
profit others rather than you" #104; and admits of himself, "the positions 1 have held under
several popes have forced me, for my own good, to further their interests. Were it not for that, 1
should have loved Martin Luther as much as myseJr'-not for religious rcasons, "butto sec this
bunch of rascals gettheir just deserts" #28, Maxims and Ref/eclions, trans. Mario Domandi

o (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1965).

2Leller #159.
 1.31

it may appear censurable, to me seems praiseworthy, because we are imitating

Nature, who is variable; and he who imitates her cannot be rebuked."l
Hence this inconstancy is not merely a "peculiarity"--it is something
"exceptional"--in the senses both of different from the common run of
humanity, and also exalted and fine.
Machiavelli's thinking on changeability as a quality, especially insofar
as it allows one to accommodate oneself to one's circumstances, appears to
have developed over a number of years. In 1497, shortly before the execution
of Savonarola, Machiavelli wrote a letter in which he reported the frate as
explaining the necessity of retreat by saying,

... we ought with the greatest prudence and observation of the

times (con somma ?rudenzia e osservanzia de' tempO to
preserve His honori and when the time asks us to risk our lives,
to risk them for Him; and when it is time for a man to conceal
himself, to conceal ourselyes .' ..2

1Ibid. The prominence of variability or adaptability in Machiavelli's thought was not rosi on
his contemporaries. For instance, in a treatise written for the young Edward VI, on the topie
"whether it be expedient to vary with the time," William Thomas writes: "Trulyas the
musician useth sometime a flat, and sometime a sharp note, sometime a short, and sometime a
long, to make his song perfeet; sa saith Macchiaveghi, ought man ta frame his proceedings unto
his time." Quoted in Felix Raab, The English Faee of Maehiavelli (Toronto: University of
Toronto Press, 1964) 43. On the other hand, this same idea is attacked by Gentillet in his
point-by-point criticism of Machiavelli. Gentillet conderons the notion of adaptability at
length, writing, for example, "these manners ,ire proper ta the Chamaelion, whieh take ail
colours of the place where hec is, and of the Polypus, whieh alwaies seemes ta bee of the
coulour of the earth, whereupon it shineth: But this is not convenient nor comely for a good man,
who ought alwaies to bee constant in virtue,without changing or varying, no not though the
heavens should fall upon hîm." Meanes of Well Governing, 298. "
2Letter #3; Opere di Niccolà Maehiavelli (Milan: Società Tipografiea de' Classici Italiani,
1804) voL 9, 64; discussedin Martin FIeisher, "A Passion for Politics: The Vital Core of the
World of Machiavelli," MacUavelli and the Nature of Politieal Thought, ed. Martin Fleisher
(NY: Atheneum, 1972) 140; this and the following instances of Machiavelli's own reported
contact with the notion of changing with circumstances and times should be seen on the
background of a more general intelleetual culture stressing this idea, itself deriving at least in
part from the classical sources previously discussed, and whieh shaped Machiavelli's own
humanist education, Thus FIeisher is thinking tao exclusively in terms of the Stoie tradition
when he writes that Machiavelli's "break with dominant Greco-Roman and Christian ethical
(.~'. systems is epitomized in the importance and particular raie assigned to i tempi, l :oecasione, '
etc."(l24).
 132

~"
Machiavelli, who was Iater to refer to the monk as a man of prudence,
concludes this Ietter by observing that bù.vonarola "keeps on working with
the times" (viene secondando i tempi ), and thus maintaining his credibility.2.·.
Six years Iater, on the day of Julius II's election, the young diplomat
Machiavelli reports that Francesco Soderini, the brother of Florence's
gonfaloniere, toid him that the advent of this new Pope holds great promise
for Florence, but only if the Florentines "know how to harmonise with the
times."1 Two years after this, Machiavelli was sent as a representative of the
Florentine government to the lord of Siena, Pandolfo Petrucd, to obtain an
explanation for "ail the tricks and intrigues" which characterized his relations
with the Florentines. 2 Machiavelli was apparently much impres~ed with

Petrucd, who he says boldly told him, "Wishing to make as few mistakes as
possible, l conduct my government day by day, and arrange my affairs hour by
houri because the times are more powerful than our brains."3
One year after the encounter with Petrucd, Machiavelli for the first
time systematically puts forward~s his own similar ideas concerning adapting
oneself to one's times. While witnessing the successes of Julius II's
characteristic aggtzssiveness, Machiavelli reflects on the causes, of victory and
failure. Thus he writes Piero Soderini saying that in order to get his friend's
opinion, he "shall be so presumptuous" as to give his own, to wit that, "that
man is fortunate who harmonizes his procedure with his time, but on the
contrary he is not fortunate who in his actions is out of harmony with his

2Leller #3; Opere, vol. 9, 67.

lQuentin Skinner, Machiavelli (Oxford:Oxford University Press, 1981) 16.
2Ibid.
3Ibid.
 133

time and with the type of its affairs."4 He concludes by echoing the Herculean
vision of a predecessor in the Florentine Chancery, Coluccio SalutatiS--but
replacing the stoic ideal of moral self- (and cosmic) mastery with that of
"adaptation": "certainly anybody wise enough to understand the times and
the types of affairs and to adapt himself to them would have always good
fortune, or he would p:otect himself always from bad, and it would come to
be true that the wise man would rule the stars and the Fates."l
Seven years I"ler, when writing The Prince, Machiavelli virtually
copied out this passage from his letter, and made it a centerpiece of his
political thought. Hence in The Prince he writes that

... if a man behaves with patience and circumspection and the

time and circumstances are such that this method is called for,
.he will prosper; but if time and circumstances change he wi1l be
ruined because he does not change his policy ... Thus a man
who is circumspect, when circumstances demand impetuous
behaviour, is unequal to the task, and 50 he cornes to grief. If he
changed his character according to the time and circumstances,
then his fortune would not chdnge. 2

Machiavelli also here reproduces his observations on the character and

success of the now deceased Julius II, which had prompted his original
reflection: "Pope Julius II was impetuous in everything; and he found the
time and circumstances 50 favourable to his way of proceeding that he always
met with success. "3 But, "If there had come a time when it was necessary for
him to act with circumspection he would have come to grief: he would

4Letler #116.
SSalutali held the more important position of Secretary to the First Chancery, Machiavelli
that of the Jess presligious and powerfuJ Second Chancery.
lLetler #116.
2The Prince, 132.
( 3Ibid,132.
 134

never have acted other than in character."4 The Pope was spared this fate
only by "the brevity of his pontificallife."S
5imilarly, in book III, chapter viii, of the Discourses Machiavelli writes
that "Those who owing to bad judgement or to their natural inclinations are
out of touch with the times are in most cases unfortunate in their life and
unsuccessful in their undertakings,"l which he follows with a chapter
entitled, "That it behoves one to adapt Oneself to the Times if one wants to
enjoy Continued Good Fortune." He begins this chapter by relating that he
has "often thought that the reason why men are sometimes unfortunate,
sometimes fortunate, depends upon whether their behaviour is in
conformity with the times,"2 and goes on to repeat the example of Julius,
among others, to demonstrate how a lack of flexibility of character may bring
one to ruin.
The repeated reference to "fortune" (jortuna) in the above quoted
passages is not without significance; this previously discussed concept is at
the very heart of much of Machiavelli's thought, and specifically that on
accommodation to circumstances. In the Tercets on Fortune, fortune is
described as a "cruel goddess,"3 and is "called omnipotent, because whoever
cornes into this life either late or early feels her power."4 5he is also said to be
"unstable"S and "fickle"6: "5he times events as suits her; she raises us up, she
puts us down without pity, without law or right."7 As was earlier stated of

41bid, 133.
5Ibid.
IThe Discourses, trans. Lcslic Walkcr, cd. Bernard Crick (NY: Pcnguin Books, 1970) 428.
2lbid,430.
3Chief works and others, vol. 2, 745.
4Ibid.
5lbid,746.
6Ibid.
7Ibid.
 135

Machiavelli himself, the one thing that can be counted on from her is her
changeability: "AIways her choice is not to favor one man in every seasoni
she does not always keep afflicting a man at the very bottom of her wheel."B
But nor does she long show favor.
Fortune's association with a wheel, or wheels, is of a long tradition.
However, Machiavelli modifies this conceptualization in ways that are quite
new. He says that within fortune's palace, "as many wheels are turning as
there are varied ways of climbing to those things which every living man
strives to attain"l, but "while you are whirled about by the rim of the wheel
that for the moment is lucky and good, she is wont to reverse its course in
midcircle."2 Yet the fatalism of this picture is mitigated by Machiavelli's own
contribution to the concept of fortune's wheels--"a man who could leap from
wheel to wheel would always he happy and fortunate."3 That is to say, if you
could hop to a different wheel--alter your character and habituai way of
proceeding--whenever fortune chose to reverse the one you were on, you
would succeed in whatever circumstances you foulld yourself.
In fact, this notion of adaptability pervades Machiavelli's thought.
Thus.one of the reasons he gives for preferring the republican form of
government over the princely is because "it is better able to adapt itself to
\
diverse circumstances owing to the diversity found among its citizens than a
prince can dO."4 By the same token, in The Art of War, despite specifying
detailed military guidelines and formations, Machiavelli notes that "you

Slbid.
Ilbid.
2lbid,747.
3lbid; on the novelty of Machiavclli's idca of assuring good fortune by Icaping wheels, see
Pilkin, 146.
4Discourses, 431.
 136

have to vary the form of the army according to the nature of the site and the
nature and number of enemy."5
Indeed it is this doctrine of flexibility of character which is largely
responsible for Machiavelli's "machiavellian" reputation, as he expiicitly
takes his notions on flexibility into the realm of morality; he states that in
order to assure the reputation and survival of himself and his state, a prince
"must learn how not to be virtuous, and to make use of this or not according
to need."l Hence, according to Machiavelli, the prince need not actt!ally
possess the moral virtues--that is to say as fixed intrinsic parts of his character-
oit is enough if he can present their appearance as circumstances warrant, and
still be able to shed them when and if necessary:

A prince, therefore, need not necessarily have ail the good

qualities l mentioned above, but he should certainly appear to
have them. l would even go so far as to say that if he has these
qualities and always behaves accordingly he will find them
ruinous; if he only appears to have them they will render him
service. He should appear to be compassionate, faithful to his
word, guileless, and devout. And indeed he should he 50. But
his disposition should be such that, if he needs to be the
opposite, he knows how ... he should not deviate from what is
good, if that is possible, but he should know how to do evil, if
that is necessary.2

This is of course the meaning of Machiavelli's advice that the prince

"should learn from the fox and the lion"3: when circumstances require,
princes--and other men concerned with great matters--must be able to act like
beasts. Moreover, and more specifically, they should be able to chocse the
animalian character suited to that particular time and place, since "a lion is

SChief works and others, vol. 2, 642.

1The Prince, 91.
2Ibid,100-1.
3Ibid,99.
 137

defenceless against traps and a fox is defenceless against wolves."4 As an

example Machiavelli offers the Roman Emperor Severus as one who "knew
how to act the part of both a fox and a lion."s Through a series of bold
military exploits and unprincipled deceitful schemes, Severus rose from his
unimpressive origins to become uncontested ruler of the entire Roman
empire, leading Machiavelli to the conclusion that "whoever carefully
studies what this man did will find that he had the qualities of a ferocious
lion and a very cunning fox."l
Machiavelli's espoùsal of lion-like behavior has been seen as
sanctioning force and violence--which of course it does; but his preferred
animalian behavior is not that of the lion. 2 He claims that those "who simply
act like lions are stupid,"3 and entit1es one chapter of The Discourses "Men
rise from a Low to a Great Position by Means rather of Fraud than of Force"4,
which repeats a sentiment already expressed in The Prince: "those who have
known best how to imitate the fox have come off best ... one must know
ho:"" to colour one's actions and to be a great liar and deceiver (essere gran
-......:<~:

simu/atore e dissimu/atore)."s Thus Machiavelli seems to lean more to the

crafty fox than the lion. For in the end the lion is not able to play either the

4lbid.
Slbid, 109.
llbid, 110.
2The analogy of lion and fox derives from Cicero, and thus is not of MachiaveIli's devising, but
he still gives sorne indication of what sort of behavior or character the lion represents for him
in The Golden Ass. Here a beautiful guide leads the narrator through Circe's menagerie of once
human animais: '''On the right hand, at the first entrance, are the lions,' she said, taking up
her discourse, 'with sharp tccth and with hooked c1aws. Whoever has a heart magnanimous
and noble is changed by Ciree into that wild beast'." Thus, at least here, the lion represents
somelhing Iike the values of an honor-bound martial nobility; in contrast, "If anyone is
excessive in fury and rage, leading a rude and violent Iife, he is among the bears in the second
house." Chie! works and olhers, vol. 2, 765.
3The Prince, 98.
4The Discourses, 310.
SOp. cit.,lOO; Opere, vol. 1,84.
 138

lion or the fox-othe lion just is a lion; only a fox can play a lion or a fox,
because only the fox can play--that is, change his comportment and
appearance as he desires.
According to Machiavelli, this fox-like variability isnot only made
necessary by the depravity of the real world, but made legitimate too:
"because men are wretched creatures who would not keep their word to you,
you need not keep your word to them."l Machiavelli leamed the lessons of
his brand of "realism" partially by observing the great political events and
actions of his time. 2 But in addition, in the capacity of Second Secretary for
the Florentine republic, he was for a time himself a player in the games of
international politics and intrigue--albeit a minor one. In fact the weakness
of his position as a relatively low status representative of a mainly
insignificant power forced Machiavelli to rely ail the more on his tough-
minded shrewdness. As Pitkin notes, "His work depended . .. on his
personal ability to gain intim?-te, behind-the-scenes access to the great, to see
and understand what they were really up to, and to manipulate, cajole,
dissemble, flatter, and trick them into doing what he could not force them to
dO."3

But not only was Machiavelli obliged to adopt clever and subtle ploys
in his dealings with foreign elites-ohis social inferiority forced him to assume
a similar comportment with his superiors at home as weil. In a letter
advising the young Raffaello Girolami with respect to his first ambassadorial

lThe Prince, 100.

2Garrelt Mattingly's caution that the idea that Renaissance politics were perrnealed with
deceit is partially a malter of contemporary perception is a point weil taken; sec Renaissance
Diplomacy, 35, 143-6.
3Pitkin, 28. The large extent to which Machiavelli rcsentcd and resistcd this role is discusscd
in John M. Najemy, "The controversy surrounding Machiavelli's service to the Republic;
Machiavelli and Republicanism, eds. Gisela Bock, Quentin Skinner, and Maurizio Viroli
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990) 101-18.
 139

appointment, Machiavelli tells him "because to put your judgement in your

own mouth would be offensive ... use such words as these: 'Considering,
then, everything about whieh l have written, prudent men here judge that
the outcome will be such and such,'''! And in fact Machiavelli's own
diplomatie reports make use of exactly this sort of technique. 2
Similar concerns, and similarly artful circumlocutions can also be
found in Machiavelli's scholarly writings. A friend of his reported that he
spoke of composing The History of Florence, commissioned by the Medici
Pope Leo X, saying,

l cannot write this history from the time when Cosimo took
over the government up to the death of Lorenzo just as l would
write it if l were free from all reasons of caution ... l shall relate
the events and the circumstances that came about when Cosimo
took over the government; l shallleave untouched any
discussion of the way and of the me_~ns and trieks with which
one attains such power; and if al}.férie nevertheless wants to
understand Cosimo, let him obsé'rve well what l shall have his
opponents say, because what l am not willing to say as coming
from myself, l shaH have his opponents say,"3

Moreover, as Machiavelli works his way through the drafts of his

History, he further softens the criticisms
:
of the Medici put-?forward in this
\~,

manner. 4 But where Machiavelli is not constrained by social necessity to play

Î i

the fo)e
, '
with such strategie indirection, he often revels in the role by
l'
temperament. Hanna Pitkin has remarked on how trickery has for a long
time been held in special esteem in Mediterranean societies including Italy.
An important concept in this respect is the Italian term furbo. Furbo refers to

lChief works and olhers, vol. 1, 118.

2Sœ Legation 11.40, chief works and others, vol. 1, 130-3.

c 3Chief works and olhers, vol. 3, 1028.

4lbid.
 140

something like "skill in employing ruses that are usual!y, but not necessarily,
dishonest."s Pitkin recounts a recent story of a man living in a hamlet in
southem Italy who dishonestly acquired an American pension, and thereby
received great prestige for being 50 furbo as to cheat such a powerful
govemment. 5he goes on to quote two political scientists' observation that,
"A furbo oHen gets more satisfaction out of taking an unfair advantage in a
single business deal than from making an honest profit in a series of deals
with the same man,"l
While Machiavelli does not use the term furbo, or its contrary fessa, he
does often use different forms of the words ingannare--"to cheat or deceive";
sbeffare and uccellare--meaning "to mock"--which Machiavelli uses to
describe when a clever deceiver tricks and humiliates a rival; and ciurmatori-
-"confidence men."2 Thus, for instance Machiavelli says of Florence that it is
"the lodestone of al! the confidence men (ciurmatori) in the world,"3 Veuori,
Machiavelli's friend and frequent correspondent, offers the fol!owing
reflection after relating the antics of an ingenious beggar:

1 thought to myself with what means, with what deceptions,

with how many varied arts, with what industry a man sharpens
his wits to deceive (ingannar) another . , . In effect, al! the world
is a confidence game (ciurmeria), and it begins with the religious
and continues on to the lawyers, the doctors, the astrologers, the

SPitldn, 33.
llbid; this quote, and the rest of Pilkin's discussion of the notion of furbo is drawn from John
Clarke Adams and Paulo BariJe, The Government of Republican ltaly (Boston: Houghton
Mifflin, 1972). William WiJey briefly discusses the appreciationof trickery in the Italian
culture of Machiavelli's diy in his The Gentleman of Renaissance France, 178-9.
2Rebhom, Foxes and Lions, 13; 1 follow Rebhom's rcndering of ciurmatori "confidence mcn"-
the word derives from the Latin carmen, a poem or charm, and has 10 do with charming somcone

o wilh words. See Rebhorn, Foxes and Lions, 13,

3Ibid.
 141

temporal princes and ail those about them, to ail the arts and
disciplines. 4

Thus the world of Machiavelli and his friends, like that of Italian
Renaissance politics, literature, and drama more generally, is largely
populated by either dupes or deceivèrs,1 Indeed, when compared ~ith tb
works of Boccaccio and other Renaissance story-tellers, Machiavelli's
dramatic and literary works are even more completely and exclusively
comprised of these two types. 2 Moreover, this is not far from his outlook on
the real world: besides the few who distinguish themselves by their savvy
and cleverness, most men "are so simple, and so much creatures of
circumstance, that the deceiver will always find someone ready to be
deceived."3
, ,~-.

,\
For Machiavelli, and perhaps many with whom h~shared a culture, to
"
be vulnerable to the tricks played in the world is a sign of pathetic weakness.
Thus his political and historical writings are full of condemnation for those
who allow themselves to be taken in and despoiled--including at times even
his erstwhile "hero," Cesare Borgia, who allowed himself to be ruined by the
false assurances of Julius II.4 Similarly in his dramatic works: in the
Mandragola, a small-minded elderly lawyer, Nicia, is conned into assisting in
his own cuckolding--and in this way appears as a laughable dupe receiving
his just desserts. In the C/izia, another grasping old schemertries to trick his
way into bed with a young girl--but instead wheÏl the lights corne up, finds
himself having been sodomized by a servant--and consequently humiliated

4Quotcd in ibid, 12-3.

lOn the Renaissance genre of the trickster or confidence man, sec Rebhom, Foxes and Lions, 1-44.
2lbid, 45-6.
3The Prince, 100.
( 4For this, Machiavelli writes, the Duke "deserves censure"; The Prince, 61.
 142

and made a public laughingstock. In Machiavelli's world, to be duped is to

...,' have things done to you, rather than to act, and results not only in being
cheated, but in being shamed. And being gullible enough to allow oneself to
be so manipulated is proof of meriting one's fate.
The vulnerability and innocence which renders one the prey to others'
plots and actions Machiavelli associates with the helplessness of infancy.
Thus, for example, Machiavelli criticizes the feeble tactics of Pope Clement
VII which allowed him to be "captured like a baby."l In a similar vein,
Wayne Rebhorn notes that the paramount gull, Nicia, uses a childish
vocabulary and idioms. 2 And furthermore, immediately following the death
of the former gonfaloniere, Piero Soderini, whose political ineffectiveness
and naivete Machiavelli largely blamed for the collapse of the republic,
Machiavelli wrote the following epigram:

That night when Piero Soderini died, his spirit went to the
mOU':l of Hell. Pluto roared: "Why to Hell? Silly spirit, go up
to Limbo with ail the rest of the babies."3

In contrast to the figure of helpless and infantile innocence is that of

the effective trickster, who often plays a key role in Machiavelli's literary or
dramatic works. This is perhaps especially clear in his most original and
successful work, Mandragola. In sorne sense the real star of the play is a
character who is almost outside of the dimactic action of the plot itself; for it
is not one of the eventual loyers, Callimaco or Lucretia, nor the cuckolded
husband, Nicia, but their social underling--yet intellectual superior--Ligurio.

lChief works and olhers, vol. 2, 1004.

2Rebhom, Foxes and Lions, 60, 64; in fact, bath Rehom and Pilkin discuss the association of the
dupe with infancy, sec among other places, Rebhom, Foxes and Lions, 177, and Pilkin, 36.
3Chief works and olhers, vol. 3, 1463.
 143

Like the playwright himself, Ligurio plots and scripts the action of the other
characters, which they then act out essentially according to his design.4 Not
only is Ligurio the source of the play's action, but as Rebhom notes, the play
is constructed 50 that his power remains concentrated in his hands. For
instance, when Ligurio tells Callimaco that he has a plan to help him, the
latter naturally asks what it is-·but is only told,

You'll find out when the time cornes. For now 1 had better not
tell you, because there is scarcely enough time to act, much less
to talk about it. Go back home and wait for me, and 1 will go get
Messer Nicia. When 1 bring him to you, just listen to what 1 say
and follow my lead.1

Callimaco, like the audience, is held in suspense until Ligurio and

circumstances dictate that the ruse should unfold. Moreover, Ligurio not
only has the clevemess allowing him to conceive of his plot, but also the
power to put it into motion: he plays upon peoples' greed and weaknesses
with the virtuosity of a puppeteer. His power is reflected in his mastery of
language: whereas for the pathetic Nicia, whose own words often have
unintended meanings which the audience recognizes as at his expense, for
Ligurio words are instruments at his control, whose hidden meanings he toys
with and deploys as he likes. Hence when he arranges with Nicia to meet
Callimaco, he says, "when you have talked with him, if he doesn't seem to
you ... to be someone in whose hands you can put your wife, then l'm not
the man you think 1 am"2..-Ligurio's artistry allows him to reassure Nicia at
the same time as joke about that very artistry with the audience.

40n Ligurio's problematic role as bchind-the-scenes hero, see Pitkin, 30-2.

1The Comedies of Machiavel/i, trans. David Sices and James Atkinson (Hanover, N.H.:
University Press of New England, 1985) 179.
2lbid, 183; Nida and Ligurio's relative rnastery over language is discusscd in Rebhom, Foxes
and Lions, 60-6.
 144

"'-.-- Despite his socially inferior status, it is clear that Ligurio in fact
maintains the real power over his betters by virtue of his cunning.
Callimaco is first warned by a servant to be careful that he should not end up
just another victim of Ligurio's scheming. Subsequently, he addresses
himself directly to Ligurio on the subject,saying, "1 believe you, though 1
know that people like you live by tricking others."l To this he is given the
assurance that he will not in turn be tricked and d1eated; but he. has little
with which to protect himself from these potential dangers besides Ligurio's
good will and the threat of withholding his reward. The socially superior
Callimaco is at the mercy of the lowly tricks ter Ligurio.
While Ligurio is the direct descendent of the devious parasites and
slaves in the comedies of Terence and Plautus, Rebhorn notes that the sense
of freedom and power of Machiavelli's character are foreign to his Roman
antecedents. To begin with, the ancient characters tend to be more willing
than able: they are as much buffoons as conmen. Tlfeir exaggerated hunger
and pre-occupation with food marks them as ridiculous figures of social
inferiority. Furthermore, while these trickster /buffoons may deceive their
owners, this is nevertheless only in the service of the latters' embattled sons--
whom they serve with unquestioned loyalty. And finally, in t~e Roman
comedies the final resolution seems almost to require that the slave's
essentially benign machinations be exposed and forgiven by the pater familia,
as the proper social order is reestablished. 2
ln contrast, Ligurio is of lower social standing, but he is not a'slave, nor
is there anything absurd or ridiculous about him. And despite the fact that he
does appear to serve Callimaco faithfully in his exploit, as just shown above,

1The Comedies of Machiavelli, 177.

2Rebhom, Foxes and Lions, 78-81.
 145

this is clearly not something that can simply be taken for granted; Ligurio is
(
his own man, and uses his powers as he ChOOSES. Furthermore, Ligurio's plot
goes undetected by its victim Nicia throughout the play; Ligurio is never
divested of his ability to script and control the actions of his social superiors.1
Perhaps even more revealing of Machiavelli's profound attraction for
the character of the wily trickster is an episode from late in his life. In 1526 he
is sent on a mission for the city of Florence to the Franciscans of Carpi, in
order to arrange for one to preach in Florence for Lent. Delayed by
administrative difficulties within the Florentine government, Machiavelli is
forced to remain in the village with little to do. As a consequence, he writes
his friend, the ambassador Guicciardini, who shares Machiavelli's disdain for
the simple monks, that he has turned to "ruminating on how l can sow 50

much discord among them that either here or elsewhere they may go to
hitting each other with their sandals."2 To this end he asks his friend to send
messengers daily, instructed to arrive in great haste, and to deliver their
"urgent documents" to Machiavelli 50 that he might make a great impression
on the gullible Carpigiani, and amuse himself at their expense. In fact
Machiavelli has already begun his garne with a letter Guicdardini had sent
him that day. Hence he recounts that with the arrivai of the messenger,

... everybody rose up with 50 many signs of respect and such a

noise that everything was turned upside down, and l was asked
by several about the news. l, that its reputation might grow, said
that the Emperor was expected atTrent, and that the Swiss had
summoned new diets, and that the King of France wanted to go
in person to speak with that king, but that his councilors advised
him against it; 50 that they all stood with open mouths and with
their caps in their hands; and white l write l haVE! a circle of

c lSce Rebhom, Foxes and Lions, 80-1.

2Letler #179.
 146

them around me, and seeing me write at length they are

astonished, and look on me as inspired; and 1, to make them
wonder more, sometimes hold my pen stiU and sweU up, and
then they slaver at the mouth, but if they could see what 1 am
writing, they would marvel at it more.l

The like-minded Guicciardini happily complied with the request,

calling his friend's gag "the most outstanding work you have ever done."2
But Machiavelli's fascination with trickery and deceit "pplies first and
foremost to the polirical sphere. Martin Fleisher notes t1':;,t at one point in
\.

The Prince, Machiavelli appears to replace the familiar constructions "0

fraude a torza" and "0 inganno a torza" with that of "0 . .. industria a ...
torza "--essentiaUy equating cheating and trickery with the classical Roman
virtue of industry.3 Moreover, he can scarce:ly hide his resF~ct bordering on
awe for the truly great ciurma tari. For example, he says of a recent pontiff,

Alexander VI was always, and he thought only of, deceiving

people; and he always found victims for his deceptions. There
never was a man capable of such convincing asseverations, or 50
rE'~dyto swear to the truth of something, who wOllld honour his
ward less. Nonetheless his deceptions always nad the result he
intended, because he was a past mas ter in the art. 4

Throughout Machiavelli's writings there are a great number of

,instances of the author's admiration for the artistry and power of the
successful deceiver. 50 glowing were the accounts of the "grandissimo
simulatore," Caesar Borgia, who Machiavelli met and reported on in the

lIbid. .
2Quoted.'n Rebhom, Faxes and Lions, 235.
3FIeisher, "A Passion for Politics: The Vilal Core of the World of Machiavelli:' 139. This
",r~c""",,~ .__
same eq~ation appears in Vellori's rcflcction on the ingcnious bcggar.
"\.Ji' '--"~~' 4The Pnnce, 100.
 147

c service of his city, that he was advised to moderate his cnthusiasm for the
Duke, lest his own allegiance be drawn into question. 5
In a way Machiavelli's entire corpus of political and historical writings
attempt to forge a sense of kinship between these great swindlers and
Machiavelli himself: as historian and theorist he tries to "go beyond" the
conventional beliefs and notions which govern the lives, or at least cloud the
understanding, of the uncomprehending multitude. Thus Machiavelli
wishes to demonstrate his membership in that select and worldly few who
see thro::gh the generally accepted surface of the world and recognize the
"real" workings of its depths--thirst for power, greed, deceit--allowing them to
be actors rather than acted upon. For, just as being trusting and foreign to a
world of deceit and intrigue is stigmatized as infantile, 50 being worldly-wise
and savvy is tied to a view of manhood. Rence on one occasion, Machiavelli
rebuked a foreign statesman for his lack of political insight and discretion,
saying,

Among the many things which prove what a man is, not the
least important is to note how easily he believes what he is told
or how cautious he is in feigning what he wishes others to
believe: 50 that whenever a man believes what he should not or
feigns badly what he would have others believe, he may be said
to be shallow and devoid of ail prudence. 1

For Machiavelli, the inability to analyze and act in the realm of human
affairs betokens not only the superficiality of the many who do not penetrate
down to the real workings of the world, but also an impotence which
contrasts with a notion of manliness and what it is to be a man. The concept
of virtù--in Machiavelli sometimes translated as "vigor," sometimes as

( ..'- SPilkin, 40.

lQUOlc<! in Roeder, 143; reference from Pilkin, 37.
 148

"ability" or "prowess," and derived from vir, the Latin for "man"--played a
central role in Machiavelli's writing, as did the kindred Latin virtus in the
humanist tradition of mirror-of-princes books which Machiavelli both drew
upon and rejected. In these works virtus was understood as that which
allows a prince to attain honor and glory, and as such was identified with the
"virtues" of liberality, fidelity, honesty, etc.! But as Skinner notes, in
Machiavelli, virtù is divorced from any necessary connection with the
princely and cardinal virtues. 2 What seems accentuated in Machiavelli's
notion of virtù is the sense in which it denotes a power to act and bring about
one's ends. 3 It is for the sake of this masculine potency that Machiavelli
daims to dispense with doudy idealistic notions in favor of the "verittl
effettuaIe" of life and politics. And for Machiavelli the "practical truth"
necessary for the accomplishments corresponding to that manly powcr virlù,
indudes truths concerning the use of fraud, deceit, and opportunistic
adaptability.
However, in the context of Machiavelli's writings, questions arise as to
what exactly it is to possess virlù, and what exactly is the verilà effet/uale. To

1Alan Gilbert, in his Maehiavelli's Prince and ils Forenlllllers (NY: Harnes & Noble, 1938)
shows that some of these lexis were pennissive of, for inslance, dissimulation, bul sloppcd for
short of Machiavelli's radieal positions, 118-33; on lhe genre of "mirror-for-princes, sec Alan
Gilberl, and Skinner, FOllndations, 113-138.
2Skinner, Maehiavelli, 39.
3Por lhis observation on Machiavelli's notion of virtJi, sec Skinner, FOll1ldations, 129, 138; J. H.
Hexler, 'The Loom of Language and lhe Pabrie of Imperatives: The Case of Il Principe and
Utopia:' The American Historieal Review 69 (964) 945-968; J. G. A. Pocock, The
Maehiavellian Moment (Princelon: Princelon University Press, 1975) 162-82; Among lhe many
discussions of Machiavelli's concepl of virtJi more generally arc: John Plamenalz, "In Search of
MachiaveIlian Virh;:' in The Politieal CalCIIllls: essays on Maehiavelli's philosophy, cd.
Anthony PareI (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1972); J. H. Whitfield, ''The Doctrine of
Virtu:' !talian Stlldies 3 0946·8) 28-33; Ne!l!-Wood, "Machiavelli's Concept of Virtu
Reconsidered:' Politieal Stlldies 15 (967) 159-;·2i Russel Priee, The Senses of Virtu in
Machiavelli:' Eùropean Stlldies Review 3 (973) 315-45; John Gecrken, "Homer's Image of lhe
Hero in Machiavelli: A Comparison of Arele and Virtu:' /talian Qllarterly 14 (970) 45-90; J.
Hannaford, "Machiavelli's Concept of Virtu in the Prince and the Discollrses Reconsidered:'
Politieal Stlldies 20 (972) 185-9.
 149

begin with the latter question, and specifically with the role here of
adaptability, there is doubt as to whether it is even possible. Machiavelli
starts Chapter XXV of The Prince, entitled, "How far human affairs are
governed by fortune and how fortune can be opposed," with the statement, "1
am not unaware that many have held and hold the opinion that events are
controlled by fortune and by God in such a way that the prudence of men
cannot modify them, indeed, that men have no influence whatsoever."] He
then follows with the admission, "Sometimes, when thinking of this, 1 have
myself inclined to this same opinion. "2 Machiavelli immediately rejects this
conclusion, theorizing instead that perhaps half of men's fate lies in their
own hands, and proposing his theory of adapting to one's times as the means
to exercise what control is permitted us.
Yet while his intention is to offer an optimistic theory of self-
determination, he produces here only the counter-example of Pope Julius,
and moreover wedges between statements of his voluntaristic theory thE!
observation that we do not "find any man shrewd enough to know how to
adapt his policy in this way; either because he cannot do otherwise than what
is in his character or because, having always prospered by proceeding one way,
he cannot persuade
. ,
himself to change."3 This same doubt and the same
reasoning are given in the previously discussed chapter of The Discourses
entitled "That it behoves one to adapt Oneself to the Times if one wants to
enjoy Continued Good Fortune." ln fa ct, in virtually every instance where
Machiavelli introduces his theory of adapting to the times, he also expresses
doubts as to its possibility. For example in the Tercets on Fortune, where

1The Prince, 130.

2Jbid.
( 3lbid,132.
 150

Machiavelli advances the idea of leaping from one "wheel" or character to

another, he actually gives a rather mixed message. He proposes the
adaptabŒty thesis only hypothetically, sandwiching it between statements
which appear to deny its possibility, and concluding with a pessimistic
reversai of the idea that the wise and adaptable man "would rule the stars and
the Fates":

And since you cannot change your character nor give up the
disposition that Heaven endows you with, in the midst of your
journey she abandons YO!!"
Therefore, if this he understood and fixed in his mind, a man
who could leap from wheel to wheel would always be happy and
fortunate,
but because to attain this is denied by the occult force that rules
us, our condition changes with her course. 1

In the case of the discussion in Chapter XXV, Machiavelli again ends

on a skeptical note concerning man's ability' to alter himself according to
circumstances: ;'1 conclude therefore, that as fortune is changeable whereas
men are obstinate in their ways, men prosper 50 long as fortune and policy
are in accord, and when there is a clash they fail."2 But here he continues
with an alternative strategy: "1 hold strongly to this: that it is better to be
impetuous than circumspect; because fortune is a woman and if she is to be
submissive it is necessary to beat and coerce her."3 Here fortune is won over
not by accommodating her whims, but rather by commanding' her with
"audacity."4 At issue here are not just notions of efficacy in acting in the

1Chief works and others, vol. 2, 747.

2The Prince, 133.
3Ibid,133.
4Ibid.
 151

world, but equally, notions of manhood--being as they are inextricably bound

together in Machiavelli's mind.
However, Machiavelli's vision of manhood sometimes has another,
and quite different, aspect. In Chapter XVIII of The Prince, he prefaces his
recommendation that the prince should be able to assume the characters of
the fox or lion according to need, by saying, "there are two ways of fighting: by
law or by force."l He then explains that "The first is natural to men, and the
second to beasts."2 The metaphor of the fox and lion appears frequently in
humanist writings, and derives ultimately from Cicero's De Officiis. 3 But in
Cicero and those subsequent writers, the point of the metaphor is to condemn
unprincipled behavior as "beastly," and approve only moral action as
appropriate for a human being. By arguing as he does that the hard cold
circumstances of the real world justify and necessitate a certain amount of
beastly expediency, Machiavelli overturns the whole ethical point of this
traditional imagery and metaphor. One might even suspect that the cynical
fox within him thrills to throw his iconodasm in the face of such traditional
pieties.
Yet on doser examination, it seems that Machiavelli is perhaps less at
ease with notions of achievement which he associates with the animalian,
than his perfunctory statement at the beginning of this chapter would
indicate. 4 Machiavelli expressly dissociates himself from the brutality of:

1Ibid, 99.
2Ibid.
3De Officiis, I. xiii. 41.
4"Everyone realizcs how praiseworthy it is for a prince ta honour his ward and ta he
straightforward rather than crafty in his dealings" (99). In his "Exhortation ta Penitence,"
MachiaveIIi descrihes what it means for a man ta take the part of a beast: by "brutish deed~- .
man changes himself from a rational animal into a brute anima!." By misuse of God's gifts he
changes "from angeI ta devil, from master ta servant, from man ta beast." Chief works and
( others, va!. 1, 172-3.
!
=
 152

Agathocles and Oliverotto of Fermo, who murdered their fellow citizens and
benefactors1, but in addition at times even shows a lack of enthusiasm for
deceipt and deception more generally. While it is clear that many of
Machiavelli's images of the turbo actor, such as Ligurio, contrast with their
classical counterparts in that they are represented as more powerful and
effectiv~, elsewhere, such as in the Discourses, the need to deceive is
associated with weakness; it is the weapon of the otherwise impotent, and
hopefully only a temporary stage to be passed through on the way to a more
solid standing. 2 In a later chapter of that same work, entitled "That it is a
Very Good Notion at Times to pretend to be a Fool," Machiavelli counsels
that if people are in a position to attack and remove a despot directly, this is
the best and most honorable course--but, "if their position is such that they
have not sufficient forces to make war openly, they should use every
endeavour to acquire the princz's friendship; and to this end should avail
themselves of every opening which they think necessary to attain it, by
becoming obsequious to his wishes and by taking pleasure in everything in
which they see that he takes pleasure."3 Then when the proper moment
arises, the supposed obsequious fool will shed his guise and reveal the true
colors of his manhood--provided that the opportunity does arise.
This, Machiavelli argues, was the case with Junius Brutus, who
instigated the overthrow of the Tarquin kings. In coming to this conclusion,
Machiavelli explicitly differs from his source, Livy; whereas the latter is said
to describe Brutus as initially engaging in dissimulation simply so that "he
might live in greater security and preserve his estates,"4 Machiavelli insists

1The Prince, chap 7.

2The DiscDurses, 310-12.
3Ibid,390.
4lbid, 391. The appropriate passage in Livy's His/ory is I. L1X.
 153

that he was always biding his time so that "he might get a better opportunity
( of downing the kings and liberating his country."l Machiavelli goes out of
his way to attribute to Brutus a long-standing republican public-spiritedness-
whieh although he concealed for a time--nevertheless distinguishes him
from the self-interestedness of that mere beast, the fox.
Furthermore, in the History Machiavelli states in the strongest terms
his disgust for the unprincipled attitudes of his time and place:

The general depravity of ail Italian cities ... has depraved and
continues to deprave our city ... an oath and a pledge are
valuable as far as they are profitable, for men employ them not
with the purpose of observing them, but to use them as means
for deceiving more easily. And the more easily and securely the
deceptions succeeds, the more glory and honor it gains. Rence
pernicious men are praised for their ingenuity, and good men
blamed as foolish. 2

Slightly later in the History, Machiavelli explains the consequences of

this depravity for the historian of the present era: "if in describing the things
that happened in this corrupt world, 1 do not tell of the bravery of soldiers or
the efficiency of generals or the love of citizens for their country, 1 do show
with what deceptions, with what tricks and schemes, the princes, the soldiers,
the heads of the republics, in order to keep that reputation whieh they did not
deserve, carried on their affairs."3 Re then goes on to defend the writing of
this kind of history, but here reverses the pedagogie purpose of the examples
of fraud and deceit he elsewhere presents for emulation: "It is perhaps as
useful to observe these things as to learn ancient history, because if the latter

Ilbid.
2Chie/ works and others, vol. 3, 1145-6.
3Chie{ works and olhers, vol. 3, 1233.
 154

kindles free spirits to imitation, the former will kindle such spirits to avoid
and get rid of present abuses."!
In fact, at one point in the Discourses, Machiavelli's admiration for the
stoic Roman ideal of integrity appears to lead him to differ again from his
doctrine of adaption to Fortune, but in this case without the violence of his
more aggressive conception of manhood and manliness. He draws from Livy
as follows:

Among the other splendid things which our historian makes

Camillus say and do in order to show how an outstanding man
should behave he puts into Camillus' mouth these words: "The
dictatorship did not elate me, nor did exile depress me." One
sees here how great men re:nain the same whatever befalls. If
fortune changes, sc'metimes raising them, sometimes casting
them down, they do not change, but remain ever resolute, so
resolute in mind and in conduct throughout life that it is easy
for anyone to see that fortune holds no sway over them. 2

Machiavelli clearly at times tries to live up to this Ideal in his own life,
<lnd is almost inexpressibly proud of his profoundly unfox-like constancy and
coùrage. Hence, in another of his letters to Vettori, written shortly after the
end of his ordeal of torture and imprisonment, Machiavelli says, "1 want you
to get this pleasure from my distresses, namely, that 1 have borne them so
bravely that 1 love myself for it and feel that 1 am stronger than you
believed."3 Nor is the expression of such a sentiment an entirely isolated

1Ibid.
2The Discourses, 488. In his recent book, Sebastian de Grazia notes Machiavelli's stoic
alternative to the strategy of continuai adaptation. After having remarkcd on Machiavelli's
skepticism with respect to thatlatter strategy, de Grazia writcs: "Depressing though this
seems, it gives NiccoIb a ray of hopc and enabIes him to urge a more dignified and less acrobatie
pose for men, A man should confront fortune with dry-<!yed stoie virtue, and win with glory or
lose without shame." Machiavelli in HeU (princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989) 210.
3Letter #119. In another letter to this same friend with whom Machiavelli œlebratcd their
shared changeabiIity, he offers himself as a modeI of honesty and constancy: "Of my honcsty
there should he no doubt, bccause having always preservcd my honesty, 1 shaH hardly now
 155

phenomenon; as scholars have long noted, even in his conduct toward the
(. Medici, whose patronage he 50 ardently sought, Machiavelli did not accept
the role of shameless sycophant. 1 Thus, for example, in a previously
mentioned letter to Guicciardini lamenting the latter's absence and thus
inability to advise him on the likelihood of offending the Medici with
unflattering accounts in his His/ory, Machiavelli condudes, "1 shall keep on
taking counsel with myself and shall try to act in such a way that, since 1 tell
the truth, nobody will be able to complain."2
Indeed, in view of the critical treatment of Medici ancestors--and
despite considerable softening in the final draft--Machiavelli's English
translator, Alan Gilbert, comments, "That even a weakened form of this
stood in the manuscript put in the hands of Giulio de'Medici, Pope Clement
VII, is astonishing enough, a ctribute to Machiavelli's desire to write a history
that would inspire all lovers of the common good of man in whatever age or
nation."3 All of this is of course not to say that in the end Machiavelli was
really honest, benevolent, and doser to a stoic sage than to an advocate of
trickery and dissimulation. He was both in sorne ways attracted to, and
repulsed by, dissimulation; attracled to, and repulsed by, honesty. Ultimately,
he was caught between different and sometimes even conflicting notions of
dignity and achievement, one element of which involved the desire to
maintain a sense of himself and his integrity, despite difficult circumstances.

leam to break it; he who has bœn honr-st and good for forty-thrcc years, as 1 have, cannot
change his nature" (Leller #137). Il is of course true that Machiavelli makes this statement in
the context of sccking employment with the new Mcdici govemment, which might naturally
dispose him to stress such qualities as honesty and constancy; but it secms to me thatthere is
more to it than that.
1For instance, J.R. Hale, Machiavelli and Renaissance ltaly (London: The English
Universilics Press, 1961) 134.
2Leller #186. l-~
3Chief works and others, vol. 3, 1028.
 156

DESIDERIUS ERASMUS

... in aIl the changes and and chances of my fate l have

always been the same Erasmus who never changes.
Erasmus

Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus was of course the bearer of a

particular individual history and personality--but he was more than that:
perhaps more than any other literary figure of the 16th century, Erasmus
represented a force in the formation of Renaissance culture. To a large extent,
he devoted himself to improving the European inteIlectual milieu--from
designing works of elementary Latin instruction, to a corrected and annotated
New Testament--Erasmus sought to contribute to the cause of cultural-
spiritual advancement.
One smaIl element of the Erasmian legacy has to do with things
"theatrical." While Erasmus is not known to have himself ever composed a
play, many of his writings are in the theatrically derivative form of the
l, dialogue--some of which were in fact acted out by students1. Moreover, from

lHoward Norland, "The Role of Drama in Er:l~mus' Lîlerary Thoughl," Acta Conventus Neo-

o Latini Bononiensis, ed. Richard Schoek <Binghàmplon, N.Y.: Medieval and Renaissance Texls
and Sludies, 1985) 554. jl
/;:Y
;Y
'1\
 157

his earliest youth he was attracted to works of drama; his friend and first
biographer, Beatus Rhenanus, wrote that as a child Erasmus "memorized all
of Terence."1 Late in life Erasmus published an edition of Terence, following
his work on the plays of Plautus, Seneca and Euripides, as well as his
translations of Ludan's satirie dialogues.
One key aspect of Erasmus' attraction to the theatrieal tradition, which
in turn he helped to revive, is pedagogie and moral. He thus lambasts the
critics of the pagan classieal theater, saying, "these fools, these goats, who ...
are at once ignorant and malicious, fail to perceive how much moral
goodness exists in Terence's plays, how much exhortation to shape one's
life. "2 According to Erasmus, the antics of theatrieal characters are depieted
"soc,that we may first see what is seemly or unseemly in human behavior and
then distribute affection or rebuke accordingly."3 As an example of such
moral pedagogy, he spedfieally draws our attention to "that obnoxious
species" of flatterers--of which Terence provides us with "their very type,
Gnatho, the founder of their profession."4
Indeed, these characters, especially Gnatho, are often alluded to in
Erasmus' writing. For instance, he begins a letter to his friend Cornelis
q~rard by saying "if in my letters you come upon a rather flattering phrase,
.~.:::-"

you are to assign it not to the wiles of a Gnatho but to true affection."s And in
this same letter Erasmus goes on to showthat the characters from plays may
not only represent ethieal principles, they may also demonstrate the conflicts
'.

IQuolcd in Norland, 555.

2The Correspondence of Erasmus. lrans. R. A. B. Mynors and D. F. S. Thomson, annolaled
Wallace K. Ferguson (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1974) 59, vol. 1 of CWE.,
3Ibid.

c 4Ibid.
5Ibid,45.
 158

which arise between these principles and the sometimes competing demands
of the social world:

... it was a dever remark of Sosia's in Terence's play, that

"Flattery earns friends, while the truth engenders hatred." On
the other side, that well-known parasite Gnatho, who had made
it his rule to agree with everyone, to say no if anyone else did,
and then again say the opposite if he had a mind to--how easily
he won everyone's good opinion, so that he not unreasonably
thought that that way of making a living was the most
rewarding of ail. Very different was the nature of Demea when,
without any previous acquaintance with civilized life, he tried to
befriend the truth and made himself no friends at ail as a result--
to such an extent that even his children deserted him, and his
life was thenceforth bereft and solitary, so bitter and unacceptable
is truth to most people. 1

Moreover, this combination of ethical concern, awareness of certain

practical necessities, and a theatrical point of reference recurs frequently in
Erasmus' writing. For instance, his Adages--a vast collection of phrases from
dassical sources which served as a textbook of ideas and expressions--contains
a number of such theatrical allusions and metaphors. An example is the
adage Servire scenae--"to serve, the scene"--or as the English translator puts it,
"to be a slave to your theatre."2 The expression is taken from Cicero's
Epistulae ad Brutum, and as Erasmus explains, it means "to serve the time, to
accommodate oneself to the present situation."3 He further explains that this
metaphor "is taken from the actors in plays, who do not behave according to
their own judgement but think of one thing only--pleasing the eyes of the

lIbid, 46-7.
2Adages, trans. Margaret Mann Philips, annotatcd R. A. B. Mynors (Toronto: Toronto
University Press, 1982) 131, vol. 31 of CWE.
3Ibid.
 159

public somehow or other, otherwise they will be slow-clapped and hissed off
the stage."l
While it might seem that the theatrical basis of the expression--people
acting so as to conform to others' tastes and opinions rather than their own--
would give it a pejorative sense, curiously, for Erasmus this is not the case. In
the discussion of this adage he concludes that "To serve the time is indeed the
part of the wise man, as Phocylides warns us: 'Remember, always wary, to
serve the times; blow not once against the wind."'2 And as Erasmus notes,
while this last saying expresses the same idea as his theatrieal dictum, it
derives from the world of sailors, "who once they have set out must be tossed
at the will of winds and tides; it would be vain for them to strive to put up a
resistance."3
The adage Servire scenae introduces a series of other adages al!
Ji expressing roughly the same idea as the theatrieal metaphor, although
( making use of different imagery--but also offering different, or even
apparently conflicting, ethieal implications. For instance there is Uti foro--
"To take the market as you find it"; Erasmus cites Donatus as explaining that
this expression is taken from merchants "who do not set a priee for what they
have brought before they reach the place of sale, but after finding out the
current market priee~:~hey decide whether or not to sel! their wares."4 Despite
the ethical!y questionable flavor of the origin of this expression, Erasmus'
commentary depicts the conveyed message of opportunistic adaptability in an
essential!y favorable light. But there is also Magis varius quam hydra--"As
variable as the hydra"--spo.(~s·')(~"the artful and wily," and "crafty people,
" -. .
'.'.--

lIbid, 131-2.
2Ibid,132.

"('
,~- '.-
..
- 31bid.
41bid.
 160

variable as the hydra"--spoken of "the artful and wily," and "crafty people,
clever at àissimulation, or people who are not consistent with themselves."l
.,"

Or Cothurno versatilior--"As versatile as a buskin"--referring to a type of

sandal which could be worn on either foot.· T.ucian tells how this expression.
was used to describe Theramenes, the Athenian rhetorician who seemed
sometimes to side with the Thirty and sometimes with the people, and was
thus called cothurnus--"likening his inconstant and equivocal behavior to
that kind of shoe."2 And Plutarch "remarks that Nicias the general was
commonly nicknamed the Buskin, owing to the craftiness of his behavior."3
In these latter cases, the skills of adaptation appear to be viewed critically. Yet
in spite of the obviously negative connotations this expression has
traditionally carried, Erasmus ends his commentary on Cotlll/rno versatilior
by noting,

There is no reason ... why we should not use the proverb in a

good sense; one might cali a man a cothuTllus because he had
easy ways, a certain mobility of intellect, and a capacity for getting
on with ail kinds of people. For this reason Homer calls Ulysses
a "man of many turnings" because he could play any part to
perfection--the general, ihe beggar, the head of the house. 4

By far the longes t, and ethically most complex, of these "theal1ical"

entries is Polypi mentem obtine--"Adopt the outlook of the polyp." Erasmus
cites a number of classical authors, going back to Theognis and Pindar, as
using the figure of the polyp, which changes color to match its surroundings,
~':
and goes on to-observe that "This recommends us to take up for the time -
'>'1,'
li
Ilbid,137.
2Ibid.
3Ibid.
4lbid.
 161

subsequently puts it, using another c!assical reference whicl> is further

discussed in a later adage, "to suit ourselves to every contingency of life,
acting the part of Proteus, and changing ourselves into any form as the
situation demands."1 Besides Proteus, Erasmus' commentary on this adage
also mentions the adaptable chameleon, which again he returns to in later
adages. 2 He takes the metaphor of the chameleon from Aristotle, whom
Erasmus cites as describing as "like a chameleon" anyone who "changes his
face and mentality" according to circumstances.3
The figures of the polyp, Proteus, and the chameleon are very common
in the works of the Renaissance humanists--in part due to the influence of
Erasmus. 4 And for Erasmus, as for many other humanist authors, these
figures or expressions, and the discussion of the traits they are meant to
convey, present etllical questions which are made all the more acute by the
, -~

writers' fundam~taI2ambivalence on the subject. Hence, whereas

previously it was the part of the wise man to "serve the times," now, in an
effort to exonerate Polypi mentem obtine from any suspicion of m2ral
)mpropriety, Erasmus says:

1Ibid, 133-4; on Proteus, sec also adage Il ii 74.

2Adages III iv 1 and IV viii 35.
3Elsewhere Erasmus notes that the words for clever or guileful in the c\assic<il languages--
poikilophron and poikilometis in Greek, vafer and versipellis in Latin-arc compound words
formcd from those literally meaning "multi-colored" or "of changed skins," and thus the
conncction betwecn changing colors and mental.iigility is built into these languages; Adages,
vol. 31 of CWE, 399, sec translators note in fooùmte #53.
4The figures of the polyp, the chamelcon, and Proteus appcar with some frcquency in the works
of humanists writing before Erasmus-for instance Alberti, Fieino, and Pico-and are especially
common in the works of his contemporaries and sucœssors-such as Budé, Guicdardini, Ariosto,
More, Elyot, Vives, Montaigne, Marlowe, Spenser, Jonson, Pope, Shakespeare, and, as we have
already seen, Gentillet (above, 131 nt. #3). On the use of Proteus, espccially, sec A. Barllett
Giamatti, "Proteus Unbound: Some Versions of the Sea God in the Renaissance," The

c Disciplines of Critidsm, cd. Peter Dcmelz, et al (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968)
437-75.
 162

Let no one think that by this adage we are taught a disgusting

type of flattery, which assents to everything in everybody, or an
improper changeability in behaviour, of the sort which Horace
eiegantIy castigates in the Satires, and which historians remark
in Catiline and in the emperor Anedius Cassius, and Holy
Scripture in any bad man when it says "the fool is as inconstant
as the moon": the wise man is like the sun, always himself.1

Moreover, not only is this adage not to be taken as condoning an

unprincipled sort of adaptability, it may actually be used as a reproach for such
behavior. Thus, in what perhaps appears again to be a reflection of
ambivalence or ambiguity, the phrase Polypi mentem obtine seems rather
like the buskin, which is worn on either foot; for it can be used as a sign of
approbation and approval, or "when we are observing people's faults, against
the conduct of men endowed with versatile minds who take on the character
of those with whom they have to do, whoever they are."2
While it is difficult to extract any one consistelltposition throughout
the adages and their commentaries, it does seem that Erasmus, like many of
his fellow humanists, is more permissive concerning the ethical bounds of
"adaptability" than sorne of his c1assical sources. We have already noted his
qualification of the adage Cothumo versatilior; in Polypi mentem obtine he
at least implies a similar break with tradition in the case of Alcibiades, the
charming admirer of Socrates who would go on to betray his native Athens,
and was known in the Renaissance as a paradigm of flexible character from
Plutarch's critical assessment. Whereas Plutarch calls Alcibiades "the
greatest" of the "great flatterers and the demagogues,"3 Erasmus is less harsh
and more tentative,saying, "In Alcibiades one may wonder whether this

1Adages, vol. 31 of CWE, 134.

2lbid, 135.
3Moralia,~'o(ol. l, 283 (52E).
 163

changeableness is to be taken a vice or a virtue."l He then quotes directly

( ilS

from Plutarch's account of the adaptable Athenian:

... in Athens he amused himself with jokes and sallies, bred

horses, and lived in pleasant e(egant~tyle, while among the
Spartans he was c1ose-shaved, wore a cloak and took cold baths.
Among the Thracians he was warlike and took to drinking. But
when he came to Tisaphernes, he followed the custom of the
people and enjoyed pleasures, soft living and ostentation.2

Plutarch introduces this passage by noting that "the flatterer, since he

has no abiding-place of character to dwell in, and since he leads a life not of
hisown choosing but another's . .. like water that is poured intoolle
" ~~'::::::::, .._-
receptade after another, he is constantly on the move from place to plac~~"lih(i'
changes his shape to fit his receiver"3; he concludes it by citing the examples
of Plato, and other wise men, who remain constant despite their
circumstances. 4 In contrast, Erasmus introduces the quotation by describing
Alcibiades as having possessed "a happy and enviable dexterity of mind and
character, which made him act the polyp"S; he immediately follows it with a
critique of those who maintain an exaggeratedly uncompromising character:
"There is however a kind of downrightness, edgy and harsh and unsmiling,
among inexperienced people; they require everyone to live solely in his own
way, and whatever pleases others they condemn."6
In this, as in virtually ail else, Erasmus seeks out the "middle-ground"
between what he views as extremes--in this case betwe~l! the overly
." '--0'"'"
.;---:>

1Adages, vol. 31 of CWE, 134.

2Ibid.
3Moralia, vol. 1, 281(52A-B).
4Ibid,285.
SAdages, vol. 31 of CWE, 134.
( 6Ibid. ...
 164

accommodating and variable, and the anti-socially rigid. But this

compromise is as such itself a kind of exercise in accommodation. Between
the positions of the overly rigid and the overly accommodating, Erasmus--the
truly diplomatic accommodator--places his own intermediate ideal: "On the
contrary there is a sensible attitude which makes good men cornply on
occasion with a different mode of conduct, to avoid either being disliked or
being unable to be of use, or else for the sake of rescuing themselves or their
households from great dangers."l And in support of this position, Erasmus
produces a set of progressively more weighty examples:

Ulysses acted like this with Polyphemus, making a great many

pretences and with the suitors, when he âcted the part of a
beggar. Brutus too feigned stupidity, David even pretended to be
mad. And St Paul too congratulates himself, with a kind of
saintly boasting, on having used a pious pretence, and become
all things to all men, that he might win all for Christ. 2

This spirit of accommodation runs deep in Erasmus, and is shown,

among other ways, by his internationalism. In Polypi mentem ohtine, he
associates the skills of the polyp with the saying nomos kai chora--"custom of
the country"--which means "that in every region there are certain established
things, which as guests we should not condemn but do our best to copy and
act on them."3 Indeed, in comparison with this self-proclaimed "citi~en of
the world," the previously discussed cosmopolitanism of Machiavelli looks

lIbid.
2Ibid, 134-5; as we shall see, Erasmus will make repcatcd use of Paul as an illustration of
commendable decorum. Erasmus explains that Paul makes "frcquent and sudden change of
masks, while he considers now the )ews, now the gentiles, now both; at one point he assumes
the role of a weak man, at another of a strong; sometimcs that of a gqdly man, sometimcs of an
ungodly man." Paraphrases on Romans and Galafians, cd. Robert D. Sider, trans. John B. Payne,
Albert Rabil, )r., and Warren S. Sm~th (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1974) 13, vol. 42 of
CWE.
3Adage;) vol. 31 of CWE, 134.
 165

positively parochial. Erasmus maintained a constant and extensive

(
correspondence with men of learning across Europe, and unlike the
Florentine, wrote almost exclusively in the Latin of the international
Republic of letters-the only republic which would receive his undivided
loyalty.
Among the cities where Erasmus lived and worked are Paris, London,
Cambridge, Venice, Basel, and Freiburg, although he was born and raised in
the Burgundian Netherlands--and hence considered himself a Hollander.
However, especially in a time before the establishment of relatively fixed
national boundaries in Western Europe, the meaning of this identification
was not altogether clear: at times he associated his Dutch heritage with the
French--speaking on occasion of "our France"; at other times with Germany--
speaking 8f "my Germany."l At least once he declared that he did not know
whether he was German or French. Moreover, from the time of his youth
Italy held a special attraction as the land of letters and learning, and England,
where he lived for a total of five years, he considered as a "second home." In
. truth, Erasmus seemed always quite happy to settle wherever he could carry
out his work, associate with enlightened company, and be assured of decent
wine.
One Italian correspondent, Ambrogio Leoni, playfully remarked on
Erasmus' changeable nationality and identity, claiming that he himself used
to believe that Proteus was a mythical character, but no longer: for he now
knows that the mutable sea god exists in the person of Erasfuus, who, besides
having undertaken a number of professions--poet, theologian, philosopher,
and orator--has transformed himself "from an Italian to a Frenchman and
, :.
lCraig Thompson, "Erasmus as Inlcmationalisl and Cosmopolita,-,.~·in Archiv für
Reformationsgeschichte 46 (1955) 170. / ..
 166

from a Frenchman into a German."! Leone thus describes Erasmus'

adaptations as "marveUous metamorphoses, which we thought the property
of Proteus and no one else. "2
Erasmus was as unashamed of his cosmopolitanism as he was of his
varied learning and achievements, but the notion that he was protean
appears to have made him uncomfortable. Hence he replies to his Venetian
friend somewhat defensively:

How 1 envy you, growing old in the most honourable pursuits

in what is easily the grandest city of them aU among patricians
and men of learning, while my own destiny has inflicted on me
more mishaps and more wanderings than ever Neptune in
Homer gave Ulysses! You must not think any of this is due to
my own inconstancy; in aU the changes and chances of my fate 1
have always been the same Erasmus who never changes. Nor
have 1 ever been different from what 1 am now; but the plot of
the play took charge and at different times 1 have had different
parts to play. Yet it is reaUy not until you know aU the scenes in
which 1 have had to play my part that you could accuse m20f
being a Pythagoras or Proteus.3

Moreover, at times Erasmus does specificaUy identify his heritage as

Outch, and does 50 with the express purpose of denying the validity of any
daim to (or charge of) a protean sophistication. Thus, for instance, in an
exercise in conventional false modesty, Erasmus professes his inability to
meet certain expectations concerning his powers of self-expression by saying,
"eloquence is demanded from a Outchman, that is, from a more hopeless
person than a Bœotian. "4 He repe~~E!dly associates the Outch with an

lCorrespondence, trans. R. A. B. Mynors and D. F. S. Thomson, annotatcd P. G. Bietenholz

(Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1982) 57, vol. 6 of CWE.
2Ibid.
3lbid, 127.
4Quoted in Johan Huizinga, Erasmus and the Age of Reformation (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1984) 44.

:'
 167

exaggerated crudeness and simplicity; but especially after his first-hand

experience of Italian worldliness, this was not seen as an entirely bad thing. 1
In his adage Auris Batava-~"Batavian Ears"--referring to a Germanie tribe
Erasmus takes to be the ancestors of the modem day Dutch, he says, "Just as
the Greeks say ... the Bœotian ear, meaning dull and gross, 50 Martial in his
Epigrams, book vi, says that Batavam aurem means an ear which is rustic,
untutored, boorish."2 However at this point Erasmus tums this slight back
around on his homeland's Latin detractors, posing the question "when was
the Roman people more praiseworthy than when they knew no arts except
farming and fighting?"3 He continues:

If anyone argues that the criticisms levelled at the Batavi long

ago still hold good today, what better tribute could be paid to my
dear Holland, than to have it said that she recoils from Martial's
pleasantries, which he himself calls vile? ... If you calI that
rusticity, we freely admit the impeachment, in company with
the virtuous Spartans, the primitive Sabines, the noble Catos ...
It is a straightforward nature, without treachery or deceit, and
not prone to any serious vices, except that it is a little given to
pleasure especially to feasting. 4

Similarly, in The Praise of Fol/y, Folly sets sophisticated inconstancy

and duplicity, on the one hand, against simplicity and genuineness:-.?n the
other. According to Folly,

Awise man ... has two tongues as Euripides mentions, one of

which speaks the truth, the other speaking what happeris to be
expedient at the moment. He changes white into black and cold

IOn Erasmus' reaction 10 Italian worldliness, sec James Tracy, Erasmus: the growth of a mind
(Geneva: Librairie Droz. 1972) 83.120-1.
2Margarel Mann Phillips. The "Adages" of Erasmus (Cambridge: CUP,1964) 209.
o 3[bid. .
4lbid, 210-11; the rcference 10 "feasting" is a response on Erasmus' parI 10 rcmarks made by his

c hosls in Italy conœming his considerable appetile-Erasmus preferrcd 10 allribule Ihis "flaw"
10 his nationalily ralher than 10 his individual personality.
 168

into hot in the same breath; and he speaks what is far from
being in his heart.1

But in contrast, she says, "Whatever a fool has in his heart shows itself
in his expression and speech."2 Consequently, Folly attributes to herself this
transparent honesty and simple integrity: "1 have no use for cosmetics. 1 do
not belie the interior of my heart by my outward appearance. 1 am always
myself ...."3 The resemblance between Erasmus' depiction of Foll~"s simple
honesty and that which he daims for himself is both striking and consistent.
For instance, in an autobiographical sketch written fairly late in life, Erasmus
again emphasizes his innocence and lack of guile:

His character was straightforward, and his dislike of falsehood

such that even as a child he hated other boys who told lies, and
in old age even the sight of such people affected him physically.
Among his friends he spoke freely--too freely sometimes, and
though often deceived he never learned not to trust them. 4

1ndeed, there is sorne evidence to support his daim that from the time
of his youth he showed a particularly acute sensitivity to the matter of
openness and sincerity. Among his earliest extant letters are several pleading
with, even badgering, his friend Servatius Rogerus to express himself
"sincerely, not deceptively, as you were wont to do."s Almost incessantly he
prods Rogerus, asking him "what is more alien to true friendship than
concealing anything from a·friend ... 7" and charging hi~ to "speak out
plainly, for nothing, 1 think,is more irritating than coyness."6

1Fol/y, 126. <

2Ibid. -
3Ibid,103.
4Co"espondence, trans. R. A. B. Mynors and D. F. S. Thomson, annolatcd J. K. McConica
(Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1977) 409, vol. 4 of CWE.
5Correspondence, vol. 1 of CWE, 14.
6Ibid,15.
--.:="
'-.:::...~~~;
 169

Besides such rather idiosyncratic features of Erasmus' personality,

(.
there are other, more broadly cultural, aspects of his character which stress the
value of sincerity--one of which is his religious background. Erasmus was
schooled and raised in the devotio moderna of the Brethren of the Common
Life, emphasizing the simplicity and purity of a life modeled on that of Jesus
Christ. 50 thoroughly did ErasI!\Us internalize certain aspects of these
teachings that, like Martin Luther, who was also educated in the schools of
the Brethren, he went on to criticize sorne of the religious practices of his
fellows in light of their own principles. Thus while still a young man, when
he was invited to write a moral tract for the reform of a noble lady's wayward
husband, Erasmus took the opportunity to criticize a kind of empty
formalism, and even hypocrisy, which he believed pervaded many of his
fellow Christians' conduct and beliefs. Hence Erasmus' first published
treatise, the Enchiridion mi/itis Christiani, relentlessly presses a central
theme of the devotio moderna--the dictates of"inwardness" and the sincerity
of religious practice; the Enchiridion emphasizes t~,at outward conformity to
,
Christian principles can only be of value insofar as it truly reflects the inmost
convictions of a faithful heart:

The eyes of God look, not at palpable things but at the hidden;
neither does He judge according to what the eyes see nor rebuke
according to what the ears hear. The foolish virgins, who were
outwardly comely but inwardly empty, He did nota95nowledge.
He did not kr.ow· those who, with their lips, saY·;'Lord;Lord."l 1/
- rIl
It
For Erasmus, as for Thomas à Kempis and other spiritual"'--
Fath~rs of the

devotio moderna, reverence is best served by the emulation of holY~J<amples

c IThe Enchiridion of Erasmus, lrans. Raymond Himelick (Glousler, Mass.: Peler Smith, 1970)
125.

'-'
 170

in the leading of a Christian life. Erasmus takes this attitude so far as to treat
the outer forms and rituals of the faith as essentially concessions to the
spiritually immature, and accords them a general indifference:

You think it is a great thing, do you, to he swathed in a

Franciscan cowl when you are buried? If your character in life
was unlike that of Francis, wearing the same kind of clothing in
death will not do you any good. And, although the exemplar of
all goodness is sought most fittingly in Christ Himself, yet if the
worship of Christ in the person of His saints pleases you 50
much, see to it that you imitate Christ to remove every vice you
have or to embrace every virtue. If this happens, 1 will not
censure those things which are done for show.J

Hence despite the evident stress in Erasmus' creed on sincerity, the

very emphasis on one's "inward" condition can be seen as liberating with
respect to the strictures on the merely "outward." For this reason the dictates
of sincerity and social accommodation are not viewed as necessarily
incompatible. Consequently, long before his efforts to introduce calm and
moderation into the midst of increasingly bitter and heated religious
controversy, Erasmus writes:

When it is not at odds with virtue to do so, be aU things to aU

men 50 that you may gain men for Christ. Adapt yourself to aU
men outwardly, as long as your resolution remains firm
inwardly. Externally, let gentleness, affability, friendliness,
agreeableness influence your brother; better pleasantly to draw
him to Christ than to repel him with your asperity.2

1lbid,l1l.
2lbid, 160. The notion that ceremonies and the outward trappings of religion were inesscntial,
and could therefore he made to accommodate to one's circumstances is sometimcs known as
"spiritualism," and was an important strand of 16th and 17th century "Nicodemism"-the name
given to th~ belief that il was permissable to dissimulate one's religious views in the face of
persecution. See Perez Zagorin, Ways of Lying: Dissimulation, Persecution, and Confonnity in
Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, ,Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1990) and George H.
Williams, The Radical Reformation (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1962).

.J ~,

"
 171

There are here limits, and Erasmus concludes the passage by

reaffirming the necessity of upholding that which does not admit of
compromise; he rejects catering to others "in such a way that you do not dare
to stand up doughtily for truth when the occasion demands. Men should be
improved by your humanity not misled by it."l
Besides the religiously based concems over sincerity and adaptability,
these matters were also given special significance to Erasmus by his socio-
economic background and conditions. Erasmus was bom to middle class and
educated parents--who were not, however, united by the ~aerament of
marriage. Nor was this possible, as Erasmus' father was a priest, which
automatically excluded the son from receiving any benefices fromthe church.
Of even more serious consequence to Erasmus' early life was the death of
both parents by plague while he was in his early teens, leaving him and his
brother under the guardianship of their schoolmaster and two others. As the
small inheritance did not last long, the guardians urged the brothers to enter

/i
-lI-b-id-,-l-6Q--l;-A-k-e-y-i-n-fl.-::«';;;;-; the Enchiridion was Jean Vitrier, the warden of the Franciscan
monastcry at St Omer.:~VJtrier was very probably the single person most highly esteemed by
Erasmus, and twenty years~,fter wriling the Enchiridion, Erasmus paid homage to the deceased
Franciscan by painting a verl)al portrait of his exemplary Chrislian life. Vitrier is described
as atlaching very litlle importance to "ceremonies; and as disdaining emply rituals. But for
Erasmus what most commanded respect in Vitrier was his moral integrily; he did notseek out
impiety and injustice to pronounce upon, but when they presented thernselves, he did not
hesitate to oppose them. Sc, as Erasmus tells it, when Pope Alexander and the local bishop
collaborated in a scheme 10 increase their own profit, Vitrier opposed lhem only indirectly, for
instance, commenling on the neglect of the poor. But when he was approached with a bribe 10
keep him from making even these crilicisms, "as though struck by divine inspiration, he cried:
'Depart from me, ye workers of simony, and take,~'~urmoney with you! Do you think 1 am the
man to suppress the truth of the Gospel for money? The truth, may stand in lhe way of your
gains, but 1mustlhink more of souls than of your profits,''' Correspondence, trans R. A. B.
Mynors, annotated P. G. Bietenholz (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1988) 229, vol. 8 of
CWf. Hence if long bcfore the controversy of the Reformation broke out Erasmus was
counselling moderalion, at a time when moderation-and assuring the Church of his continued
loyalty-had become primary objectives, he could still pay tribute 10 an example of personal
integrity in conflict with church authority.
 172

a monastery. In a later account, Erasmus claimed that he consented

reluctantly, and only for lack of possible alternatives. 1
Erasmus left the monastery in his mid-twenties, first to enter the
service of the Bishop of Cambray, and then, under the Bishop'spatronage, to
study theology at the University of Paris. He found both the studies and
harsh accommodations of his Collège de Montaigu uncongenial.
Furthermore, as the stipend he received from the Bishop was meagre,
Erasmus had little with which to support himself besides his skill of erudite
self-expression as he sought to make his way in the world. With this goal in
mind, Erasmus wasted little time in presenting himself to the Parisian
humanist circle, headed by Robert Gaguin. Gaguin responded cordially to
Erasmus' letter of introduction in which he had tried to win over the eider
scholar with praise. Nonetheless, Gaguin reproved him at length for his
excesses, saying, "1 would wish that you had been more restrained in penning
encomiums upon me, and eschewed extravagance,"2 and advised the young
Erasmus to "Take away all the pretence that lies in flattering words and come
with unveiled face."3
In response to a second, and less effusive letter, Gaguin congratulates
Erasmus on a "style that suits a cleric best, not the frivolous style that uses
language to flatter"4, and continues:

... l have come to believe of you that you combine piety with
integrity of character, and do not in any respect hide behind a

10n this and other aspects of Erasmus' early life sec, Alberl Hyma, The Youlh of Erasmus (Ann
Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1930); and Huizinga, chaps. 1 and 2>"\.
2Correspondence, vol. 1 of CWE, 84. '
3lbid,85; a few years laler Erasmus was 10 play Gaguin with one of his own correspondenls,
asking him 10 "eliminale such attractive exaggerations from your correspondence, and leave
slraighlforward affection 10 lalk its own language" Ibid, 290.
4Ibid,85.

F,
"i,r
 173

façade of flatt~ry or of falsehood. Although l mentioned these

r(.'
.~
things in a previous letter to you, my purpose there was only to
censure those who dishonestly curry favour. l despise such
men's Gnathonical tricks ... for they assume whatever
expression they choose and practise deceit under the guise of
friendship ... 1 swear that there is no dass of mankind 1 dislike
more than flatterers, for nearly a11 other vices are plain to see,
whereas flattery alone conceals its tricks for a long time 50 that it
may practise them upon you when you are off your guard. For
this reason l have always been suspicious when a flatterer gives
me more deference than l am worth, for there is an Italian
proverb lo the effect that if any man pays you unusual honour,
eHher he has deceived you, or he is trying to do so.l

Although Erasmus was thus twice chastened, when Gaguin's history of

France went to print very shortly afler this exchange, the young scholar was
invited to fill up a remaining blank page. The resulting short essay, his first
published work, commended Gaguin and his book in glowing terms, and
helped to establish Erasmus' reputation as a distinguished stylist. Iü a short
period of time he achieved international recognition as a scholar of the first
rank. But while fame came relatively quickly, financial security proved more
elusive. Erasmus' economiè: condition was perhaps never desperate, like that
~ .

'~')f Vives, who is thought to have spent time in debtors' prison when

promised Imperial patronage failed to materialize; nevertheless, for the

better part of twenty years after the publication of Gaguin's commendation
-
Erasmus continued to fret over how he would support himself and his
various iiterary projects. 2

llbid,85-7.
20n Erasmus' frequently lamented poverty, S':!<! tltlizinga, 80-1; 91, and passim. Typical of ti~~é
complaints on this count is the following to More, written by Erasmus when weil into mid-life:
"5uch, my dear More, is my destïny. But 1 wil\ play my part in this last act. ACter that, 1 am
almost determincd to make music to myself and the Muscs, as my age and state of health,
which goes downhil\ day by day, almost demanâ. 5uch is the tyranny here of worthless
fellcws in disguisc. None here makes any money exccpt ir.n-keepcrs, lawyers, and tax-
gatherers" Co"espondence, trans. R. A. B. Mynors and D. P. S. Thomson, annotated P. G.
( Biel,mholz ('I1Îl'(Îrito:,Toronto University Press, 1979) 327, vol. 5 of CWE. Dcspite these
complaints, jean Hoyoux shows that wc must undcrstand Erasmus' "poverty" in relati~e terms;
 174

With sorne justification, Erasmus emphasizes that his economic

hardship is above ail the result of his dedication to the pursuit of letters and
the elucidation of holy texts. Hence he writes from Paris to the kindly prior of
the monastery he left behind telling him of his refusai of a generous offer of
employment as a tutor from an English noble: "the English now understand
that the wealth of ail England means nothing to me. And it was not
heedlessly that 1 dedined, and am still dedining, such offers; it is because 1
have no desire to be diverted from religious studies by any monetary
inducement."l However he condudes the letler with a critical note on his
patron, the Bishop: "His promises are generous, though, to be quite frank, he
does not send generous remittances."2
Moreover, in his frequent communications with his devoted friend
Jacob Batt, Erasmus appears rather less high-minded. Batt, a friend since the
days in the monastery, had taken up service for the noblewoman Anna van
Borselle, and had pledged to atlempt to secure for his friend sorne monetary
assistance. Hence Erasmus wrote him a number of letlers telling how
"necessity, that strongest goad of ail" obliges him to undertake actions "totally
unsuited to my character,"3 and urging Batt to apply himself more earnestly
to the task of procuring money for him. Finally Erasmus writes with a series
of detailed instructions. First, Batt is to enlist his pupil in his cause,
encouraging him to "appeal to his mother's heart by the pious daims of a first
req{"est, but take care that his wish be not for a mere trifle, since it is his

see his "Les Moyens d'existence d'Erasme," Bibliothéque,'d'Humanisme et Renaissance 5 (1944)

7-59.
lCorre~pondence, vol. 1 of CWE, 98.
.~. 2Ibid:_
_.p,~ W:· 3Ib,J;-268.
:..:,...:
 175

assistance too that will enable us to be successful in appealing for quite a large
(: benefaction. "1
Then Batt is to address his Lady in "conciliatory terms, apologizing for
my diffidence as though it had been impossible for me, because of my
disposition, to confess my poverty to her directly."2 Finally, Batt is to "explain
to her how much greater is the glory she can acquire from me, by my literary
works, than from the other theologians in her patronage"3, and that "such a
one as 1 am is scarcelytr',)e found in many generations-unless you are 50
excessively nice in yo ...fscruples that your conscience forbids you to employa
few small fibs in the, interest of a friend!"4
Batt manages to extract small sums of money for his friend, but âlso
insists that Erasmus must do his part by himselfwriting flattering letters to a
.-J ....

wide circle of prospective patrons and offering them ipedicaticns. Erasmus

takes up this "dvice grudgingly, complaining to his f;i~nd, "1 swear 1 never
"

wrote anything 50 much against the grain as the nonsense--indeed the

./
Gnathonisms--I have penned the Lady, the provost, and the abbot."s
Nonetheless, in the years ahead, Erasmus would resign himself to writing
other "Gnathonisms." The most unctuous of these works, the Panegyricus,
was written roughly three years after the above quoted exchange, to
commemorate the return of the Burgundian Duke Philip (the future Austro-
Spanish Emperor) from Spain. TheI)dl1egyricus demonstrates Erasmus' skill
in the art of adulation; he even turns his apparE!nt inability to find material

lIbid,301.
.'-"
2lbid. '.'.
3lbid.
4Ibid,302.

(- ,5Corrcse<'.n.etelléé, trans. R. A.B. Mynors and D. F. S. Thomson, annotatcd Wallace K. Ferguson

(Toro~lo: Toronto University Press, 1974) 19, vol. 2 of CWE.
 176

for praise from his young subject's still short and uneventfullife into a
rhetorical victory:

... something strange has just happened: now I have reached

the point where not even the most carefully chosen words could
have been sufficient, even ordinary language suddeùly fails me.
It seems almost phenomenal, but the richness of my material is
overwhelming my natural talent, the throng of events chokes
and strangles the flow of my eloquence, and this strange and
unwonted force of happiness, which does not permit silence, at
the same time cuts off my power of speech. I have no idea what
this can be, unless it must be what the tragic poet expressed so
elegantly: light feelings can speak, strong feelings have no
voice. 1

Erasmus goes even further than is typical of this genre ta mix his
flattery with daims of complete honesty. Hence he begins his work by
establishing the "social preconditions" of his sincerity; in former times
orations were "extorted by fear, imposed by auttority, or demanded by general
custom."2 For this reason, they "could not quite ring true."3 In contrast,
Erasmus emphasizes his own freedom ta give praise or withhold it as the
guarantee of his sincerity: "a speech of cungratulation can never seem so
sincere or so free from artificial acclamation as when thcre is no necessity ta
make it."4
Erasmus fol1ows thi~·" argument with the most standard of rhetorical
devices--he apologizes for nis "unpolished" prose, hoping that it will be
accepted as the essential1y unretou:hed and spontaneous production of his

1Panegyricus, trans. and annotatcd R. A. B. Mynors (Toronto: Toronto UnivcrsilyPrcss, 1986) 67,
vol. 27 of CWE. Erasmus would latcr wrilc a fricnd that in thc crcation of this work "thrcc
essenlial ingrcdicnts wcrc missing: subjcct-mallcr, cmotion, and lime." Correspondence, vol. 2
of CWE, 83.
2Panegyricus, 9.
3Ibid.
4Ibid.

:'
 177

heart-felt sentiments: "1 would not deny that my tribute may seem somewhat
hastily put together, 50 long as what it lacks in graceful expression it gains in
frankness and honesty; for 1 would prefer to risk appearing ungraceful in
your eyes than insincere in everyone else's, if 1 must choose between the
twO."l

However, it seemed to others that Erasmus had made a different

choice. Thus Erasmus wrote his friend Jean Desmarez, who may have
initially suggested that he undertake the project and helped to arrange the
commission for it, to defend himself against those "who naively and
foolishly describe all enthusiasm of mine for celebrating the prince as
flattery"--criticism which he admits "hurt me rather keenly because it seeks to
cast an aspersion on my character."2 Erasmus argues that his critics have
failed to grasp the "aim of the extremely far-sighted men who invented this
kind of composition."3 What good will it do, he asks, to deal harshly with
~hose whom it will not better?

How much easier it is to lead a generous spirit than to compel it,

a~d how much better to improve matters by compliments rather
tha... abuse. And what method of exhortation is more effective,
or rather, what other method has in fact become habituai to men
of wisdom, than to credit people with possessing already in large
measure the attractive qualities they urge them to cultivate?4

Erasmus again invokes the apostle Paul as "correcting while praising"

in order to justifY his panegyric, and continued to defend it on these didactic

l:bid. "
2Correspondence, vol. 2 of CWE, 81. <::"
3Ibid.> -';'. .__ . ç
4lbid. This dcfcnsc of pancg§i;c oralory is conv~~ti~~1. Sec O. B. Hardison, The Enduring
Monument.

/'>~:::-::::~,
~.~~~~/ '~
 178

grounds throughout his life. 1 In fact, this argument recaUs the previously
mentioned discussion of "good flattery" which Erasmus places in FoUy's
mouth, sorne six years after the Panegyricus. According to FoUy, her brand of
flattery "stems from a certain kindness and candor of mind, and it approaches
virtue more readily than does asperity."2 This flattery "raises the dejected
spirit, it soothes those who are in mourning, mollifies the angry:' and as
weil, "cautions and instructs princes in such a way so as not to offend them.3
However, in his letter to Desmarez, Erasmus does not distinguish
between types of "flattery," but simply maintains that the Panegyricus should
not be considered as such at aIl. l,'fact, here he specificaUy says that his
intention was "to aim at anything but flattery," since, "1 have always been so
averse to this vice that 1 could not flatter anyone if 1 would, nor would 1 if 1
could."4
But in writing to John Colet, Erasmus spoke of the Panegyricus
somewhat differently. Colet was perhaps second only to Jean VitrierS in
Erasmus' estimation; his example of moral courage--for instance in
preaching a sermon in praise of peace to the royal court just as Henry was
preparing to go to war--appears to have especiaUy impressed Erasmus."
/
lAs he docs in the letler of dedication he wrote for the published version. Panegyricus, 7.
Moreover, modem day scholars have tended to agrœ with Erasmus, that within the context of
this genre, his praise was tempered with didacticism, sel' George Faludy, Erasmus (N.Y.: Stein
& Day, 1970) 85,97.
2Folly, 133.
3Ibid.
4Correspondence, vol. 2 of CWE, 83; In his The Education of a Christian Prince, Erasmus goes so
far in his condemnation of flatlery as to propose the death penalty for flatlering a prince, in
order to discourage this practice. He admits that "the novelty of the idea may prevent ils
acceptance," but argues that "il might be possible to construct an example artificially by
finding a man who has already bœn convicted of sorne other capital offenœ and having it
advertised that he was executed for contaminating the mind of the future prince with the
plague of flatlery." The Education of a Christian Prince, trans. and annotated Neil Cher.hire
and Michael J. Heath (Toronto: Toro)lto University Press, 1986) 246, vol. 27 of CWE. ',\
5See above, 171 nt. #1.
6See James Tracy, The Poli/ics of Erasmus (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1978) 33.
 179

However, Colet was of a wealthy background, and was somewhat

( unsympathetic to Erasmus' ethical dilemmas. 1 Surely sensitive to Colet's
opinion of him, Erasmus tells the Englishman that he was "so reluctant to
compose the Panegyricus that l do not remember ever doing anything more
unwillingly; for l saw that this kind of thing could not be handled without
sorne flattery. "2
Erasmus' economic uncertainty forced him to seek support from the
wealthy and powerful, although he could not help but be resentful and
embarrassed to be currying their favor. At times Erasmus' sensitivity to the
subjects of flattery and integrity expresses itself as criticism of courts and
courtiers consistent with the Renaissance tradition of anti-court literature
discussed in an earlier chapter. In fact, sorne of Erasmus' writings and
translations--for instance, his Latin translation of Plutarch's "How to tell a
Friend from a Flatterer," which Erasmus dedicated to Henry VIII-served to
affirm and establish sorne of the commonplaces'and conventions of that
literature. l~, v'ô,)heless, like many of the other authors writing within this
genre, Erasmus at times shows signs of a certain ambivalence towards courts
and courtiers. Hence, when Erasmus went to England in 1499 as the guest of
his pupil and patron Lord Mountjoy, he had his first real taste of aristocratie
life, about which he wrote to a friend back in France, saying:

l too have made sorne progress in England. The Erasmus you

knew has already become .. , quite a skilful courtier, for he is
dislinctly mannerly in his salutations and œ~ciliatory in
address; and in all this, quite at variance.\\'1tr/his own
temperament. But what do Icare? for j{'suits me very welI.3

1Huizinga, 81.
2Ibid,87.
3Corresponde/iêe, vol. 1 of CWE. 193.
 180

At various points in his life Erasmus contemplated accepting a position

within a noble household, and on a couple of occasions actuaIly did 50. Yet,
for the most part, he virulently attacks courts and courtiers. For instance, in
The Complaint of Peace, Erasmus writes that at court "1 see polite greetings,
friendly embraces, cheerful conviviality, and aIl the other courtesies of
civilized conduct," but rejects this appearance as "faIse and counterfeit."l In
The Praise of FoUy, his narrator observes of courtiers that they "desire to be
"

likened as God's foremost creatures, yet the fact is that no group of rrlen is
more sordid, more obsequious, more idiotie, or more contemptible than this
set of men."2 FoUy goes on to criticize courtiers for their uselessness and
laziness. But there are sorne arts to which they apply themselves and in
whieh they take satisfaction:

They are contented with being able to speak of the king as "our
master"; in knowing how to return a compliment in three
words; in knowing on which occasion to use the titles of "Your
Grace," "Your Lordship," imd "Your Majesty"; in not knowing
shame; and in having mastered the art of flattery with
exceptional success. For these are the skills that the nobleman
and courtier take a great deal of pride in. 3

In adüition, his correspondence is littered with condemnations of

courts. He describes the court as a "monster,"4 and the life there as "gilded
misery."s Whenever a friend, such as Batt or More, accepts a position at court
he laments the 1055 of their freedom, and that to the advancement of letters

1A Comp/aint of Peace Spurned and Rejected by the Who/e Wor/d, trans. and annolated Betty
Radiee (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1986) 297, vol. 27 of CWE. Reference from The
Politics of-Erasmus, 67. .
2Folly, 155.
3JUd.
4Correspondence, vol. 8 of CWE, 61.
SCorrespont!ence, vol. 6 of CWE, '63.
 181

and learning. Similarly, he frequently states this priority of values in his own
case, as for instance in the previously mentioned autobiographical profile,
where he says of himself, "For high office and for wealth he had a permanent
contempt, and thought nothing more precious than leisure and liberty."l
Elsewhere he maintains that, "No man on earth refrains from co1\tact with
the court more readily than 1."2
'By the time Erasmus penned this latter disclaimer he was in his early
fifties, certain legal restrictions--stemming from the conditions of his birth--
had been lifted, allowing him to accept prebend8, and in general he enjoyed a
more regular income. However he was still highly sensitive to the subject of
his past procurements. Consequently, when asked for a càtalogue of rus
works, Erasmus included a long and detailed account of his dedications and
the money hereceived thereby. ~}'.hese gifts are generally described as
// '

"unasked for" and "unexpected;~' Furthermore, he concludes his list of noble

pa~,ons by saying, "indeed, that there was nothing sordid in the way 1 wooed
their generosity is clear From this if nothing else, that 50 often it has been
quite hard work to be able to refuse their generosity towards me personally
without hurting their feelings."3 Erasmus is known to have refused certain
gifts, yet it is almost hard not to smile at such a statement when one recalls
some of his letters to BaU.
,j' While Erasmus finally solved the problem of economic uncertainty

and its humiliating remedies, he never escaped From being beset with
."cfrcumstances which challenged both hisdiplomacy and integrity. Shortly
! L_,

after Lu~her posted his 95 theses, both sides of the growing controversy began

lCorrespondence, vol. 4 of CWE, 409.

2Correspondence, vol. 8 of CWE, tOJ.
·~ccc3Co"espondence, trans. R. A. B. Mynors, annotatcd James M. Estes (Toronlo: Toronto Unive~oiiy
( Press,1989) 361, vol. 9 of CWE.
 182

to criticize Erasmus for his reluctance to speak out, while as Erasmus wrote to
Luther in 1519, he preferred to "keep myself uncommitted, so far as 1 can, in
hopes of being able to do more for the revival of good literature."1 ln this
letter to the fiery German monk, Erasmus goes on to counsel him that "one
gets further by courtesy and moderation than by clamour."2
For his part, Erasmus generally refused comment on the substance of
Luther's writings, giving as a pretext that he had not had the time to read
them with any care; until virtually forced to oppose Luther publicly in 1524,
he would criticize only Luther's inflam111 atory "freedom of invective."3 ln
1521 Erasmus wrote a friend of his and sympathizer of Luther's, Justus Jonas,
lamenting the contemporary corruption of the Church, and explaining that
for this reason, many--including himself--were at first hopeful when Luther
appeared on the scene. But Luther's style ar:.d temperament soon made
Erasmus fearful (-'he "danger of remedies wrongly applied making our

lCorrespondence, vol. 6 of CWE, 392.

2Ibid; when finaUy pushed into confronting Luther, in his On Free Will, Erasmus makes every
effort to bc conciliatory-saying against Luther only that his arguments had "not yet convinced
me." Discourse on Free Will, trans. and cd. Ernest F. Win ter (N.Y.: Frcderick Unger Publishing,
1961) 7. He then states his bclief that Luther's views, like his own, were the products of a .
genuine and sincere desire for truth. He also again invokes Ihe prudence of Paul: "Thus Paul,
the prudent disburser of the divine word, frequently consults charity and prefers 10 pursue what
serves the neighbor, rather than what is pennissible. Among the mature he speaks wilh the
wisdom he possesses. But bcforc the weak he displays no other knowlcdge but that of Jesus
Christ, the crucified. Holy Scripture knows how to adjust its language to our human condition.
ln it are passages where God is angry, grievcd, indignant, furious; where he threatens and
hates. Again in other places he has mercy, he regrets, he changes his intentions. This does nol
mean Ihat such changes rcaUy lake place in Ihe nalure of God. These arc ralher modes of
expression, bcnefilling our weakmindcdness and d ullness. The same prudence should, 1bclieve,
adorn aU who have laken up preaching the divine word" (12). Victoria Kahn writes that
Luther, in response, "crilicizes Erasmus for his reliance on the protean rhetorical standard of
_ decorum," and specifically for his idea that God is a sort of rhelorician-or as Luther puts il-
:"nothing but a kind of shallow and ignorant ranter declaiming from sorne platform." Beth
',Luther and Kilhn quotcd from her "Stultitia and Diatribe: Erasmus' Praise of Prudence,"
German Quarterly 55 (1982) 350. The subject of Erasmus' rhetorical adaptibility and prudence
in Ihe context of religious controversy is explorcd in depth in Gary Remer, "Rheloric and the
rErasmian Defence of Religious Toleration:' History of Political Thought 10 (1989) 377-403.
~~n,
,,~~:,
/cc:c:::3Correspondence, vol. 8 of CWE, 202.
,-;r-
 183

il' troubles twice as great."l ln contrast to Luther's confrontational manner, he

'-.. again counsels a conciliatory prudence:

Above everything, 1 think we must avoid the discord which

must be disastrous to every man of good will. We need a sort of
holy cunning; we must be time-servers, but without betraying
the treasure of gospel truth from which our lost standards of
public morality can be restored. 2

As examples of such "holy cunning" ~rasmus produces the now

familiar case of Paul who is "ail things fOAll men"; that of Peter, who
"preaches without upbraiding but in in a mild and affectionate style"3; also
that of Augustine, who showed great "prudence in husbanding the word of
God"4; and in addition, that of the great "mediator"--Christ himself:

That spirit of Christ in the Gos})els has a wisdom of its own, and
its own courtesy and meekness. That is how Christ attuned
himself to'the feelings of the Jews. He says one thing to the
multitudes, who are somewhat thick-witted, and another to his
disciples; and even so he has to bear with them for a long time
while he gradually brings them to understand the celestial /'
philosophy. With this in mind he bids his followers preach first

llbid.
2Ibid,210.
3Ibid,203.
4Ibid,204. Erasmus' use of Augustine as an example of holy cunning is both contentious and
strategie. The argument for Christian dissimulation draws upon the teachings of certain
Church Falhers, Saint Jerome in particular. Jerome broaches this subjcct in discussing Galatioris .
2:11-14 in which Paul crilicizes Peter for pretending to acceptthe Jewish law while in the
company of Jews. According to Jerome ~he entire scene is a charade enacted by the two apostles
in order 10 educale both Jewish and Gentile converts, and he·therefore takes the incident as
justifying the use of dcceil for bcncvolent purposes. AugustL1e, on the other hand, entirely
rejccted this inlerpretation, as well as the legitimacy of any cl~ception, leading to a ralher
acrimonious disagrcement bctween the two men. See The Correspondence (349-419) Between
Jerome and Augustine of Hippo, trans. and cd. Caroline White (Lewiston: The Edwin Mellèn
Press, 1990) Jerome's Epistle 112 and Augustine's Epislles 28,40, and 82. On this debate and ils
subsequenl history including ils influence on Erasmus and Luther, see Zagorin, Ways Of Lying,
chap.1.
 184

repentance and the impending kingdom of God, and keep

silence about Christ. l

It was true that silence presented itself naturally as an option to

Erasmus. He had little taste for conflict and controversy, especially of the
public variety, and as he had first told Luther, his primary interests were
scholarly and literary. He reiterated this attitude in another letter to Jonas,
written a year before the one quoted above, saying: "My heart is set on the
humanities, it is set on truth as truth is found in the Gospel; and there 1 will
pursue it in silence, if 1 may not do so openly.2
But in the later letter, a politic silence is presented as almost a Christian
duty; when the practical requirements of improving the condition of religion
dictate, keeping silence--even silence about Christ-ois Sl<en as a teaching from
the holy exemplar. Hence Erasmus concludes that, "A Christian, 1 admit,
ought to be free of all pretence; but even so an occasion sometimes offers
itself when it is right for truth to remain unspoken."3 Unfortunately for
Erasmus' friend Thomas More, silence was not always capable of satisfying
the com?eting demandÇof prudence and integrity.

IIbid,203.
2Ibid,83.
3Ibid,205. The issue of unspoken lruth also recurs in "On Free Will"; in fact, as Remer and
Kahn note, the real controversy is less about free will--about which Erasmus and Luther
Iargely agree-and more about "prudence." Hence Erasmus returns 10 Paul's distinction between
the permissable and the expedient, and continues, "The lruth may be spoken but it does not
serve everyone at an times and under an circumstances" (11). Luther opposes this view of Paul,
maintaining that, "On the contrary, he would have thc,trulh spokcn cverywherc, at an times,
and in every way,"ând suggcsts that such prudence mighfl:,ring one a cardinal's hat "together
with an the revenues belonging to il," but has nothing to do wilh Christian doctrine. "The
Bondage o~ the Will," Discourse on Free Will, 109-10. 'C-

,;Y
,-
:t'1
,-
J.:

-,.:..:
 185

VI

THOMAS MORE

And 50 they said that these matters be king's games, as it were

stage plays, and for the more part played upon scaffolds. In which
pOOl' men be but the lookers-on. And they that wise be will
meddle no farther. For they that sometime step up and play with
them, when they cannot play their parts, they disorder the play
and do themselves no good.

History of King Richard III

The friendship between Erasmus and More is one of the best known
relationships of the Renaissance. Theil' mutual admiration is expressed in
letters both to each other and to others. Hence, on the pretext of a request .
From Ulrich von Hutten, Erasmus wrote a rather glowing portrait of his
English friend. Among the qualities which Erasmus singles out is More's
particular sociability.Eras!J1Jls says that ail men are charmed by More, for
"such is the skill with which he adapts himself to the mood of anyone."l
Erasmus l'epeats this compliment in his Preface to The Praise of Fol/y, saying
"because of your incredibly affable and easy ways you can play the man of ail

1Corr;~polldellce, trans. R. A B. Mynors, annotated P. G. Bietenholz (Toronto: Toronto

University Press, 1987) 19, vol. 7 of CWE .

"
 186

hours with all men, and enjoy doing 50 (ita pro incredibili mon/III Sl/lHtitate
......
facilitatque cum onmibus omnium horarum hominem agere, et potes et
gaudes)."l
The theatricallanguage of Erasmus' latter comment points to a central
aspect of More's personality.2 Ever since the writing of More's first biography
by his son-in-Iaw, William Roper, interpreters of More have retold Roper's
account of how More, while still a youth serving in Cardinal Morton's
household, would "at Christmastide suddenly sometimes step in among the
players, and never studying for the matter, make a part of his own there
presently among them, which made the lookers-on more sport than aU the
players beside."3
But there is also a more ominous side to what theatrical adaptability
meant to More. As Richard Marius notes, More's History of King Richard III,
"is the first work in Western literature with a dissembling hypocrite as the
major protagonist."4 And under Richard's dissembled appearance of
benevolence lies "evil." Evil is a part of More's moral universe in a way that
it is not for either Machiavelli or Erasmus. However, like them, More
displays a complex moral ambivalence towards the skills of an actor deployed
in social circumstances--especiaUy when those circumstances are
characterized by inequalities of power. In A Dialogue of Comfort Against
Tribulation, which More wrote during the last months of his life while a

1Praise of Folly, trans. Hoyt Hopewell Hudson (N.Y.: Modem Library, 1941) 2. Quoted in
Greenblatt, Re1laissance Self-Fashioning, 32. Original in Moriae Encomillln, 67-8.
2Greenblatt employs these two passages from Erasmus, among othersfrom other sources, in
demonstrating More's theatricalself-fashioning. See Renaissance Self-Fashioning, chap 1.
More's theatricality is also discus,ed in Arthur Kincaid, "The Dramatiê Structure of Sir
Thomas More's History of King Richard III," Essential Articles for the stl/dy of Thomas More,
ed. R. S. Sylvester and G. P. Marc'hadour (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1977) 375-87.
3William Roper, The Life of Sir Thomas More, in Ann Manning,The HOl/schold of Sir Thomas
More iliith Roper's Life of More (N.Y.: E. P. Dutton & Co., 1920) 2. .
4Richard Marius,Thomas More (ï"\i.:Y.: Random House, 1984) 119-20.
 187

prisoner in the Tcwer of London, the character Vincent recounts a story

wnich is generally taken to be based on More's own experience in the
company of his predecessor at Lord Chancellor, Cardinal Wolsey.
The story begins when a "greate man of the church" (Wolsey) asked
his guests at dinner to give their opinion of a speech he had recently given.
At this point, "no man ... ete one morsell of mete more every man was
fallen in so diepe a studye for the findyng sorne exquisite praise" since "he
that shuld have brought out but a vulgare & cornen comendacion, wold
have thought hym selfe shamid for ever."l The narrator then tells how.he
acquitted himself: "Whan it came to my part ... me thought by our lady for
my part 1 quyt my self metely weil ... And 1hopid to be likyd the bettre,
because 1 saw that he that sat next me & shuld say his sentence after me was
an vnlernid prees t. "2
Moreover, he tells how the priest "swet with th~Jabor"3 as those who
spoke before him tread ail the possible avenues of praise. But in the end,
"whan he came forth for his part with my lordes commendacion, the wily fox
had be so weil accustumyd in court with the crafte of flatery"4 that he out-
shone ail. Vincent explains by means of a story about the ancient painter
Apelles: in depicting the death of Iphigenia, the artist exhausted his ability to
convey pain and sadness on the faces of minor figures, before turning to the
grieving father, Agamemnon. The solution Apelles arrived at was to paint
the father holding his face in his hands, so overcome as to be unable to show
himself. Vincent continues,

lA Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation, 00. Louis Marlz and Frank Manley (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1976) 213, vol. 12 of The Complete Works of St. Thomas More (hereafter
CWM).
2Ibid,214.
3Ibid.
4Ibid.
 188

The like pageant in a maner plaid us there this good auncient

honourable flaterer for whan he saw that he could find no
wordes of prayse that wold passe ail that had bene spoken before
ail redy the wily fox wold speke never a word, but as he that
were ravished unlo havyn ward, with the wonder of the
wisedome & eloquence that my lordes grace had uttrid in that
oracion, he fet a long sigh with an oh fro the bottom of his brest,
& held upp both his handes, & lyft upp his hed, & cast upp his
yien into the welkyn, and wept.l

More's Marian biographer, Nicholas Harpsfield, was embarrassed by , :.~

this tale--embarrassed by the shameless admission on the part of More's

persona of his zeal to flatter. Hence Harpsfield wrote a somewhat confused
comment on the episode, saying that More was "in a manner forced, contrary
to his sober and well-known nature, to play a part to accommoda te himself
somewhat to the players in this foolish, fond stage play, yet 1 doubt nothing, if
his answer were certainly known, he played no other part than might beseem
his grave, modest person, and kept himself within reasonable bounds, and
yielded none other than competent praise."2
But if More is not adverse to showing himself a willing flatterer, his
subsequent story emphasizes the almost compulsory aspect of flattery, given
the costs of free and open speech--even when one is assured that that is what
is wanted. More prefaces this story with the lines of Martial from when the
poet was asked his honest opinion of a friend's verses:

The very trewth of me thow doost requere.

The very trewth is this my frend dere: .
The very trewth thow woldeste not gladly here. 3

1Ibid, 215-6. One might recaIl Eramus' strategy in the Panegyricus.

2The Life and Death of Sir Thomas More, Knight, Sometime Lord High Chancellor of England,
in Lives of Thomas More, ed E.E. Reynolds (London: Everyrnan's Library, 1963) 74; on
( HarpsfieId's embarrassment, see GreenbIatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning, 30-1.
3 A Dialogue of Comfort; 217.
 189

The story itself involves the "selfe same prelate" who had asked his
guests to speak their minds concerning his orationi in fhis case he asked a
learned friend to tell "the very trouth" about a treaty he had himself devised.
Consequently, the friend took him in his word:

And in trust therof, he told hym a fawte therin at the herying

wherof; he sware in greate anger By the masse thow art a very
foIe The tother afterward told me, that he wold never tell hym
trowth agayne.J

The response by Vincent's interlocutor seems natural enough: "1 can

not greatly blame hym."2 But what here appears as simply the acceptance of a
certain prudent guardedness, is given a more full theoretical formulation in
Book l of Utopia. The scene is set in Antwerpi the narrator, Morus, cornes
across his friend, Peter Giles, and a worldly stranger named Raphael
Hythloday, who begins to recount sorne of what he has learned from his
many travels. He has only begun to share sorne of his experiences when Peter
Giles wonders aloud that he has not yet found himself a place at court
"because you are capable not only of entertaining a king with this learning
and Experience of men and placesJJut also of furnishing him with examples
and of assisting him with counsel."3 Hythloday responds that he has no wish
to "enter into servitude to kings,"4 and later in the dialogue he returns to
explain why he would not accept a position at court. He here gives an
example of a reform taken from the people known as "Macarians": their king
must swear on the day of his coronation that he will never accumula te more

lIbid, 218.
2Ibid.
3Wopia, ed. J. H. Hexter and Edward Surtz, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965) 55, vol.
in,
~u
4ofCWM.
4Ibid.
 190

than one thousand pounds of gold in his coffers. Because of fuis res triction,
( ',-

,-
he has liule reason to interfere in the lives of his citizens or to commit
injustices. ButHythloday condudes, "if 1 tried to obtrude these and like ideas
on men strongly inclinedto the opposite way of thinking, to what deaf ears
shouhi 1 tell the tale!"l To this Morus answers, "Deaf indeed, and without a
doubt ... Neither, to tell the truth, do 1 think that such ideas should be thrust
on people, or such advice given, asyou are positive will never be listened
to."2 However, Morus doesnot, endcihere--he posits an alternative, a different
"philosgphy":
.~\,

'But there is another philosophy, more practical for statesman,

which knows its stage, adapts itself to the play in hand, and
performs its role neatly and appropriately ( ... sed est alia
philosophia ciuilior, quae suam nouit scenam, eique sese
accommodans, in ea fabula quae in manibus est, suas partes
concinne & cum decoTo tutatur). This is the philosophy which
you must employ. Otherwise we have the situation in which a
comedy of Plautus is being performed and the household slaves;
are making trivial jokes at one another and then you come on
the stage in a philosopher's attire and recite the passage From the
Otavia where Seneca is disputing with Nero. Would it not have
been preferable to take a part without words than by reciting
something inappropriate to make a hodgepodge of comedy and
tragedy? You would hav.e.,spoiled and upset the actual play by
bringing in irrelevant matter--even if your contribution would
have been superior in itself. Whatever play is being performed,
perform it as best you can, and do not upset it aIl simply because ,
you thinkof another which has more interest. 3

llbid, 97. J-I

2lbid,99.
3lbid,98-9; Gennain Marc'hadour notes the resemblance in sentiment between this passage and
one (rom a letter to Erasmus dated October 31, 1516 where More criticizes Latimer for refusing to
. alter his schedule ta accommodate others by saying ''You know how to philosophers of this
type their own decisions are as binding as immutable laws, such is their cult of constancy."
Quoted in ''Thomas More's Spirituality," in St. Thomas More: Action and Contemplation, ed. R.
Sylvester (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1972) 137.
 191

Sorne scholars have noted that the conflict represented here between
an "academic philosophy which thinks that everything is suitable to every
place,"l and a more adaptable approach which accepts and even embraces the
theatricality of its world corresponds to the Renaissance debate between
philosophy and rhetoric discussed earlier. The position of Hythloday is thus
identified with the non-context·.J,allearning of the scholastics, but especially
with the Platonism which spread from Ficino's circle in Florence to
humanists across Europe at the end of the 15th century.2 Hence Hythloday
invokes Plato by name as showing that "philosophers are right in abstaining
from administration of the commonwealth."3 In contrast, Morus' position
draws on that theatrical rhetorical tradition going back to Cicero, and as
Quentin Skinner observes, Morus very closely reproduces the imagery and
wording of Cicero's De officiis.4 -- -

But the initial introduction of the question of counsel is brought about,

as we have seen, not by either of the two major protagonists, but by Peter
Giles. In so doing, he states that by accepting a position with a king,
Hythloday would not only be able to help others, but would also be able to
"serve your own interests excellently"5 rendering "your own condition more
prosperous."6 However, Hythloday rejects the idea that royal service could be
conducive to his greater happiness:

1Ibid,99.
2George Logan also finds support for Hythloday's position in sorne Roman stoic thought-
especially Seneca. See The Meaning of More's "Ulopia" (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1983) 102-3.
3Utopia, 103.
4Quentin Skinner, "Sir Thomas More's Utopia and the Language of Renaissance Humanism,"
The Languages of Po/itica/ Theory in Ear/y-Modem Europe, ed. Anthony Pagden (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1987) 131.
5Utopia, 55.
6Ibid.

(.
 192

Should 1 ... make it more prosperous by a way which my sou!

abhors? As it is, 1 now live as 1 please, which 1 surely fancy is
very seldom the case with your grand courtiers.!

As we have previously seen in considering The Civile Conversation

and the Dialogue between Reginald Pole & Thomas Lupset., the question of
whether human existence is best fulfilled by an active life of negotium or that
of contemplative otium is an important Renaissance theme. However, the
treatment of that question isquite diffèrent in those works and in Utopia. For
instance, Starkey begins his Dialogue by echoing GUes' exchange with
Hythloday: Master Lupset wonders how it is that Master Pole "after 50 many
years spent in quiet studies of letters and learning, and after such experience
of the manners of man, taken in diverse parts beyond the sea, have not before
this settled yourself and applied your mind to the handling of the matters of
the common weal here in
. .
our own nati()n, to the intent that both your
friends and country might now at the lasfreceive and take sorne fruit of your
long studies."2 While Pole is at first unsure, Lupset quickly convinces him
that "the very perfection of man's mind resteth in the use and exercise of ail
virtues and honesty ... in which standeth man's felicity,"3 and to which he is
"by nature most bounden."4 Hence, the essentially Aristotelian and
Ciceronian argument in Starkey's Dialogue weds personal fulfillment or
happiness, and civic duty..

1Ibid,57.
2Dialogue between Reginald Pole & Thomas LlIpset, 21-22. Skinner discusses the Renaissance
debate over otium and negotillln as it pertains to Wopia and the Dialogue between Reginald
Pole & Thomas LlIpset. in "Sir Thomas More's Utopia and the Language of Renaissance
Humanism," 125-8. .
3Ibid,26.
( ".
.. ~
4lbid .
 193

This is net the case in Utopia. By virtue of the Pla tonie paradox that
only those who have no wish to rule are fit to do 50, Morus' views the fact
that Hythloday is "desirous neither of riches nor of power"! as oniy further
"
demonstrating his suitability for a position of authority--from which one may
infer a virtual duty to seek such a position. At this point the real argument
on behalf of royal service begins; there is no more talk of Hythloday's interest
or prosperity--only of duty. Thus More, who always claimed that his public
life was a distraction from his real desire for study and contempla~ion, has

Morus respond to the recalcitrant Hythloday,

... it seems to me you will do what is worthy or>you and this

generous and truly philosophie spirit of yours if you 50 order
your Iife as to apply your talent and industry to the public
interest, even if it involves sorne personal disadvantages to
yourself. This you car. never do with as great profit as if you are
councilor to sorne great monarch and make him follow, as l am
sure you will, straightforward and honorable courses.2

However, ~;:en once the basis of the argument has been defined in
terms of doing vfhaf'ïs worthy of a "generous and truly philosophie spirit,"
Hythloday is notwitJ1out defense. Morus' advocacy of politieal involvement
is inextricably bO\lnd up with his theatrical philosophia ciuilior--to whieh
Hythloday objects as a matter of personal principle: "To speak falsehoods, for
ail l know, may be the part of a philosopher, but it is certainly mt for me."~

Moreover, he appeals to more than merely personal principle; he invokes

the authority of Christ--a very different Christ from that which we have seE!n

1Utopia, 57.

o 2Ibid.
3lbid, 101.
 194

in Erasmus--as rejecting conduct which "adapts itself to the play in hand" by

making certain concessions to prevailing standards and sensibilities:

Truly, if aIl the things which by the perverse morals of men

have come to seem odd are to be dropped as unusual and absurd,
we must dissemble almost aIl the doctrines of Christ. Yet He
forbade us to dissemble them to the extent that what He had
whispered in the ears of His disciples He cornmanded to be
preached openly from the housetops.l

But long before the subject oH10rus' "practical philosophy" and the
contrasting rigid commitment to literaI truth is raised, the central question of
this "Dialogue of Counsel" ha!" already been set: can the enlightened royal
advisor realistically hope to have any beneficial effect upon the
administration he serves? It is primarily on this utilitarian consideration
that the matter of public "duty" t....ms. From nearly the outset of the dialogue
Hythloday maintains that there is no possibility of reforming the present
politiéal conditions, and this for two reasons. First, because:kings are
é'
virtuaIly a~t.icted to the pursuit of territorial aggrandizemellt and warfare, to
~:I -

the neglect of other concerns. And second, men at court are receptive only to
the egos of their superiors.
.-~~:..--.::::>'--.........

Hythloday demonstrates how this latter point undé;cuts-the openness

.;'
and honesty necessary for the success of political reform with a few examples.
For instance, he recounts one experience where, in the company of Cardinal
Morton and his attendants, he suggested a reform for the tre~tment of
criminals, only to be scorned by the Cardinal's entourage--at least until
Morton showed sorne interest in his idea: "When the Cardinal had finished
speaking, they aIl vied in praising what they aIl had received with contempt

libido

,.""
 195

when suggested by me, but especially the part relating to vagrants because this
was the Cardinal's addition."1 Thus Hythloday conc1udes this story by telling
Morus, "From this reaction you may judge what little regard courtiers would
pay to me and my advice."2
According to Hythloday, court is a scene of constant competition,
where ail seek to out-do one another in appearing to serve the royal interest,
regardless of justice and morality--which are thereby banished, except in
name. Hence he presciently describes the relationship of the king's
counsellors to their master's affairs: "There will be no cause of his so patently
unjust in which one of them will not, either from a desire to contradict or
from shame at repeating another's view or to curry favor, find sorne loophole
whereby the law can be perverted . .. a prete"t can never be wanling for
deciding on the king's side."3 Moreover, in an equally prescient passage,
Hythlodayargues that this situation can not be mitigated by Morus'.c
"practical" philosophy:
'-:-

As to that indirect approach of yours, l cannat see its relevancy; l

mean your advice to use my endeavors, if ail things cannot be
made good, at least to handle them tactfully (ut tractelltur
commode) and, as far as one may, to make them as little bad as
possible. At court there is no room for dissembling, nor may one
shut one's eyes to things. One must openly approve the worst
counsels and subscribe to the most ruinous decrees. He would be
counted a spy and almost a traitor, who gives only faint praise to
evil counsels. 4 .

If there is no hope for meaningful reform, there can be no obligation to

trYi the oruy recourse for the enlightened is to stay at home and keep his

1Ibid,81.
2Ibid,85.
3Ibid,93.
4lbid, 102-3.
 196

c integrity intact. This is essentia1ly where the debate ends concerning whether
oinot one should put oneself at the disposai of a prince. However, at the
conclusion of Book II, Morus is shown to be not entirely won over by a1l of
Hythloday's arguments. He finishes by saying, "though in other respects he is
a man of the most.undoubted learning as we1l as of the greatest knowledge of
human affairs, 1 cannot agree with a1l that he said."l Furthermore, by giving
this character the name Hythloday--meaning in Greek "we1l-!earned in
nonsense"--More appears to have meant to distance himself from sorne of
the conclusions of his protagonist. 2
Scholars have held, and continue to hold, differing views a~ to the
meaning of this dialogue and why it was written, coming as it did only a short
.\ime before More reversed a declaration to Erasmus that he would continue
'to refuse a place at co'~rt, and accepted an office from Henry VIII. Sorne have
argued that the point oftJi.~ dialogue was to advance Morus' arguments on
,/i
"'behalf of royal ser~ice; others claim that the moral of the dialogue is
,r,. c; ':::: "

expressed by Hythloday's anti-court sentiment.3

But sorne recent interpreters have suggested that the difficulty of
determining Mor~'s "true voice" inlthe debate may itself be the point. John
Perlette is among those whO~have stressed the relevance here of the
il
,\ humanist training in declaiming in utramque partem--in making the best

1lbid, 245.
20n the other hand, the Greek meaning of "morus:' which Erasmus playcd upon in The Praise
of Fol/y, should not be forgotlen.
3J. H. Hexter argues that Hythloday essenlial1y speaks for More at the lime of wriling. Sec
Hexter, More's Utopia: The Biograp/lY of an Idea (N.Y.: Harper & Row Publishers, 1952) 99-
155. Hexter later defends a more ambiguous interpretalion of the dialogue in 'Thomas More
and the Problem of Counsel:' Qllillcentennia/ Essays on St. Thomas More, cd. Michael Moore
(Boone, N. Carolina: Apalachian Slate University, 1978) 55-66: Brendan Bradshaw argues

c lhal it is Morus who speaks for More. Sec his "More on Utopia:' Historica/ !Olmla/ 24 (1981) 1-
27, also Skinner, "Sir Thomas Mere's Utopia and the Language of Renaissance Humanism."
 197

argument possible for either side of one question.! More, like Erasmus,
continued to engage in these essentially pedagogic exercises in adult life 2, and
as a lawyer had been further trained in exploril1g the different sides of any
one case.
In addition, others have noted in Utapia a tendency to shift point of
view or perspective. So while Stephen Greenblatt, on the one hand, and
Warren Wooden and John Wall, on the other, ultimately differ in their
interpretations cf Utapia, they are agreed in associating More's unresolved
rhetorical positions with the perspectival and anamorphic painting of the
Renaissance. 3 The latter authors observe that More is even able to go the
artists one better: "while Renaissance anamorphic painters were able to gi;v" ..
"

two views of a painted object, one of which corrects the distortions in the
other, More. is.able to combine, in Utapia far more perspectives."4 At the very
least there are thé perspectives of Morus, Hythloday, Giles, and the author or
reader--who need not be in complete agreement with any of the former.
Perhaps More's purpose in writing the dialogue was to formula te the
pros and cons of royal service which he was then contemplating in his own
life. Or maybe it was to show those friends such as Erasmus, who might not

1Perlette, "Irresolution as Solution: Rhetoric and the Unresolved Debate in Book 1 "fMore's
Utopia," Texas Siudies in Lileralure and Language 29 (1987) 28-53. Others who have stressed
the rhetorical basis of Book 1 are Andrew Weiner, "Raphael's Eutopia and More's Utopia:
Christian Humanism and the Limits of Reason," Hunting/on Library Quarlerly 39 (1975) 1-32-
although Weiner nonetheless privileges Morus' position; Arthur Kinney, "Rhetoric as Poetic:
Humanist Fiction in the Renaissance," ELH 43 (1976) 418; and especially Joel Altman, The
Tl/ùor Play of Mind, 79-87. For other essays defending the general thesis of deliberate
inconcIusiveness in Utopia, see J. C. Davis, "More, Morton, and the Politics of Accommodation,"
JoumalofSrilish Siudies 9 (1970) 27-49, and David Bevington, "The Dialogue in Utopia: Two
Sides ta the Question," Siudies in Philology 58 (1961) 469-509.
2See More's reply to Lucian's Tyrannicida, 00. C. R. Thompson (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1974) 94-127, vol. 3,.part 1 of CWM.
3See Greenblatt, Renaissa~ce Self-Fashioning, chap. 1; Warren Wooden and John N. Wall,
., ''Thomas More and thep.,inter's eye: visual perspective and artistic purpose in More's
Utopiu," Journal of Medieval and RenaissaPlce Siudies 15 (1985) 231-63.
4See Wooden and Wall, 237.
 198

approve of his choice, that he had considered and was aware of good and
honorable reasons on both sides of the issue. In any case, More did take a
position as royal counsello~cshortly after writing Book l, although here again
. scholars are divided as to his motivation. According to the orthodox
interpretation--which goes back to Erasmus, Roper, and More himself--he
only reluctantly accepted a position.! However, this thesis has been àrawn
into question by recent "revisionists."2
Whatever the truth of the matter, it is clear that More had a keen sense
of the difficulties which could attend a principled stand at court. In his early
political experiE'nce as a burgess in the parliament under Henry VII, More
"i

.:c.> spearheaded the opposition to a royal request of a large sum of money for the
King's daughter's wedding--apparently resulting in a jail term and a fine for
More's father. 3 According to Roper, and the long tradition which followed
him, More's subsequent political career consisted largely of similar acts of
principled opposition.
For instance, Roper tells of an incident in which Lord Chancellor
Cardinal Wolsey decided to appear before the Commons with great pomp in

10n More's "unwillingness," see his letter ~o John Fisher in St. Thomas More: selected leI/ers,
cd. Elizabeth F. Rogers (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961) 94; Erasmus' letter to
Hutten, Co"espo"dellce, vol. 7 of CWE, 18 and 22; and Roper,5-7. Most subsequent scholarship
has followcd this line; among reœnt works sec Yoshinori Suzuki, "Thomas More's View of
Politics as a Profession," Morealla 93 (1987) 29-40 and "Thomas More on Politics as a
Profession," Morealla 97 (1988) 125-32; Bradshaw takes a similar position in his "More on
Utopia."
2.See Marius, who stresses that while More loudly lamented his political involvements, he
nevertheless accepted every opportunity for advancement which presentcd itself. Marius
makes much of Morc's love of attention: "AIways we sec in him the young boy who used to step
in among the players and make a part for himself while the audience applauded. The
yeaming ta please God on the one hand and an audience on the other must have been one of the
causes of the tension in him" (24); sec also William Nelson, " Thomas More, Grammarian and
Orator," PMLA 58 (1943) 347-8; G. R. Elton, 'Thomas More, Couneillor;' St. Thomas More:
Actioll alld COlltemplatioll, 85-122; and Jerry Mermel, "Preparations for a politic Iife: Sir
Thomas More's entry into the king's service;' JOl/rnal of Medieval alld Renaissallce Stl/dies 7
(19m 53-66.
3Roper,4.
 199

order to intimidate the members into passing a large and unpopular subsidy.
However, the members refused to speak in the presence of the chancellor,
until More, ihe recently chosen spéaker, excused their silence and argued,
"for thenl to make answer was it neither expedient, nor agreeable with the
ancient liberty of the House."l Forced to accept defeat, Wolsey is reported tri
have toldot"fore, "Would to God you had been at Rome, Mr. More, when 1
made you Speaker."2 To which More replied, "Your Grace not offended, so
would 1 too, my Lord."3
But of course, More's true test of moral courage came with the "King's
great matter"--the question of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon. Catherine
had originally been married to Henry's brother, Arthur, the Prince of Wales,
in the year 1501. However, within a year Arthur had left Catherine a widow,
and Henry in line for the succession. Despite sorne questions concerning
'- ~.

propriety, Henry received a dispensation from the Pope allowing him to

marry his deceased brother's wife, and maintain the tie with Spain.
Unfortunately, over the years, no male heir was born to the royal couple,
relations with Spain deteriorated, and Henry became infatuated with a young
woman of the Queen's court--Anne Boleyn. In addition, Henry became
troubled by the pa)age of Scripture prohibiting the marriage to one's
brother's wife-on pain of childles:mess. 4 The King became convinced that
this commandment was a ;matter of Divine law, ,and therefore not revocable
by Papal decree. Consequently, he sounded out a number of learned men,

1Ibid, 13.
2Ibid.
3Ibid; il should he noted that according to Richard Marius, Roper and others have eXdggeratcd
the extentto which More opposed the policy of his Lord Chancellor and his king. Even wilh
respect to Henry's fatuous military adventurism Marius writes, "in this as in most other things,
More was unwilling or unable to oppose his king" Thomas More, 59, see also 205-10.
4Leviticus xviii: 16.
 200

including More, as to the va!idity of his marriage. According to Roper, More

conferred with these others and then submitted to the King that they were
not in his judgement "meet counsellors for your Grace hereini but if YoU!
Grace minds to understand the truth, such counsellors may you have
devised, as neither for respect of their own worldly commodity.. nor for fear of
YoU! princely authority, will be inclined to deceive you."} More then
proceeded to produce for the King his findings:

... he named St Jerome, St Augustine, and divers other holy

doctors, both Greeks and Latins: and moreover showed him
what authority he had gathered out of them, which although the
King did not very welllike of (as disagreeable to his Grace's
desire), yet were they by Sir Thomas More (who in ail his
communication with the King in tha'( matter had always most
. wisely behaved himself) 50 wisely tempered, that he both
present!ytook them in good part, and oftentimes had thereof
conference with him again. 2

Ultimately Henry appealed to the Pope to grant him a divorce on the

grounds that the preceding Pope had not had the authority to allow
Catherine's remarriage. However, for a variety of reasons, the Pope was !ittle
inclined to resolve Henry's difficulty according to his wishes. Largely for lack
of progress in sett!ing the divorce for his king, Wolsey was dismissed as Lord
Chancellor, to which position More acceded in 1529, on the understanding
from Henry that it would be his duty "first to look unto God, and after God to
him [Henry],"3 and furthermore,

... that if he could not with his conscience serve him, he was
content to accept his service otherwise, and use the advice of
'':._"
lRoper, 22-3.
2lbid, 23.

(~
•...

,.
3Roper, 34; Chambers noies lhal Roper's accounl is corroboraled by More's letter 10 Cromwell.
See Chambers, 237.
 201

other ms learned Council, whose consciences could weil cnough

agree thereto, he would nevertheless continue his gracious
favour towards him and never with that matter molest his
conscience after,1

Nonetheless, before long More found himself placed in a delicate

situation. In 1531 he was obliged to report to the Parliament the opinions of
scholars from across Europe as to the King's "great matter." When More was
there asked for his own opinion, he answered that he had already given it to
the king and refused further comment. As a consequence, despite More's
efforts, his opposition to the King's divorce was assumed by many. To make
matters more problematic, throughout this period Henry attempted to
impose a progressively tighter leash on the English clergy, of which More
could not but disapprove. On May 15 1532, the English clergy submitted to the
abolition of their traditional independence and liberties--the English
Church's laws and legal system were to be subordinated to the royal will.
Very shortly thereafter, More, pleading il! health, resigned. 2
Two years la ter, during which time More was subject to intense
pressure to acknowledge the illegitimacy of the marriage to Catherine, an act
was passed determining that Henry's children by Queen Anne would be the
rightful heirs to the crown. More was summoned to Lambeth to sign an oath
confirming the Act of Succession. While More recognized Parliament's right
to fix the succession as it saw fit, the preamble of the Act contained a denial of
the validity of the fil'Gt marriage, and the oath itself included a repudiation of
papal supremacy.3 He was then shown the names of many Eminent men

1Ibid, 34-5.
2According ta the traditional account which we find in Chambers, More resigned the day after
the Submission of the Clergy; however, Marius argues that it must have been slightly later.
Thomas More, 415-6.
3Chambers, 304.
 202

who had already sworn the oath. But, as written, the oath was inacceptable to
More; four days la ter he was conducted to the Tower of London.
From the Tower, More wrote his daughter an account of his refusaI.
He would give no reasons for his refusai, for he would not make any
criticism of the oath, nor of anyone for signing it. He conc1uded the letter,

... as touching the whole oath, l never withdrew any man from
it, nor never advised any to refuse it, nor never put, nor will,
any scruple in any man's head, but leave every man to his own
conscience. And methinketh in good faith that so it good reason
that every man should leave me to mine.!

While More remained in prison, Henry completed his subordination

of the Church to the crown, as Parliament passed the Supremacy Act,
dec1aring, without qualification, the king to be che head of the Church within
his kingdom. Other legislation was subsequently passed which pertained
directly to More's case; at Henry's instigation Parliament passed an act
retroactively justifying More's imprisonment, and also the Act of Treasons,
whereby any effort "maliciously to deprive the king of dignity, tiUe, or name
of his royal estate" constituted treason, punishable by a horrendous series of
tortures, finally ending with the disembowelment of the supposed traitor.
The key word here was "maliciously": in a desperate effort to curb
Henry's appropriation of power, Parliament insisted on the insertion of this
qualification. However, only a few months later, three priors and a
renowned monk of the Carthusians of England were brought to trial for
violating the Act of Treasons by denying Henry the status of Supreme Head of
the Church within his kingdom. The Carthusians pleaded "not guilty" on
the grounds that they did not refuse Henry maliciously. But as William

1Sciee/cd Lellers, 222-3.

 203

Rastell, More's nephew and biographer, recalls, "The judges hereupon

resolved them that whosoever denied the Supremacy denied it maliciously;
and the expressing of the word 'maliciously' in the Act was a void limitation
and restraint of the construction of the words and intention of the oEfender."l
With this safeguard removed, More would have little with which to
defend himself when his tum came to recognize Henry as the Head of the
Church in England. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, More did not
change his tack and either capitulate or run headlong to martyrdom; he
continued instead to keep silent, professing only his good will towards the
King. Hence when, as More shortly after reported in a letter to his daughter,
he was led into a royal council and advised that "it was now by act of
Parliament ordained that his Highness and his heirs be, and ever right have
been, and perpetually should be Supreme Head in yerth of the Church of
England under Christ" and that "the Kings's pleasure was that those of his
Council there assembled should demand mine opinion, and what my mind
was therein," his response was predictable. He answered, "I had weil trusted
that the king's Highness would never have commanded any such question to
be demanded of me"; beyond this he would say only that he would not
"dispute King's titles nor Pope's," and dedared himself "the King's true
. faithful subject. "2
More refused to dedare himself throughout subsequent interrogations,
as weil as finally at his trial, where his defense largely rested upon his daim
to a right, not to speech, but only to silence. Harpsfield reports More's
argument as follows:

lQuoted in Chambers, 323.

2Selected Letters, 246
 204

... l am challenged for that l would not answer Master secretary

and others of the King's Privy Council, nor utter my mind unto
them, being demanded what l thought upon the said Statute,
either in liking or disliking, ... l answer that, for this my
taciturnity and silence, neither your law nor any law in the
world is able justly and rightly to punish me, unless you may
besides lay to my charge either some word or some fact in deed. 1

The discussion of the trial at this point turns to the interpretation and
meaning of silence. The royal attorney answers by saying not only that it is
the part of every loyal subject "without any dissimulation, to confess the
statute to be good, just and lawful," but also that More's silence represents a
"maligning and repining against the statute."2 To this More opposes the
principle of civil law that "silence implies consent," and thus argues that
legally "my silence implieth and importeth rather a ratification and
confirmation than any condemnation of your statute."3 More continues:

For as for that you said, that every good subject is obliged to
answer and confess, ye must understand that, in things touching
conscience, every true and good subject is more bound to have
respect to his world besides, namely, when his conscience is in
such a sort as mine is, that is to say, where the person giveth no
occasion of slander, of tumult and sedition against his Prince, as
it is with me; for l assure you that l have not hitherto to this
hour disclosed and opened my conscience and mind to any
person living in ail the world. 4

Only at the end of the trial, with the outcome already essentially
assured, did More break his silence pertaining to the issue of supremacy,
saying, "seeing that l see ye are determined to condemn me (God knoweth
how) l will now in disc1large of my conscience speak my rnind plainly and

1Harpsfield, 156.
2Ibid.
3lbid, 157.
4Ibid.
 205

--- freely touching my Indictment and your Statute, withal."l Finally free to
speak his rnind openly, More adamantly rejected the Act of Supremacy as
"directly oppugnunt to the laws of God and his holy Church, the supreme
government of which, or of any part thereof, may no temporal prince
presume by any law to take upon him as rightfully belonging to the See of
Rome, a spiritual pre-eminence by the mouth of our Saviour himself,
personally present upon the earth, to St Peter and his successors, bishops of
the same see, by special prerogative, granted. "2 In addition he noted the
Church's guarantee of independence in Magna Charta, and the promise of
protection in the king's own coronation oath. Having completed his
argument, More sought to put the entire issue in its proper light, saying, "it is
not for this supremacy so much that ye seek my blood, as for that 1 would not
condescend to the marriage."3 Five days later, on July 6, 1535, More was
executed.
Nearly haH a millennium later, More's story continues to strike us as a
compelling illustration of dignity and moral courage--which of course it is.
But we are likely to misconstrue More and his stand if we do not take into
account the outlook and beliefs which informed his actions. What perhaps
most immediately differentiates More from many more contemporary
objectors of conscience is that More quite literally understood his
circumstance as a struggle with the devil for the state of his immortal soul. In
A Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation, which More wrote during his
imprisonment, two noble Hungarian kinsmen contemplate their probable
martyrdom as the Turkish army approaches Budapest. The work begins with

1lbid, 161.
2Roper,63.
3Harpsfield, 163.
 206

Anthony, the authoritative protagonist of the Dialogue, explaining that God

sends tribulations to men for a number of reasons: sometimes as a
"medicine," 50 that they will repent of their sins and return to God and
spiritual health, or as a prophylactic against the sickness of future sins. Or,
alternatively, there is that "which is sent a man by god, & not for his synne
neyther committid nor which wold els come and therfor is not medicynable
but sent for exercise of our pacyens & encrese of our meryte, & therfore [isl
better than medicinable."l
Thus, God aHows the devil to run loose among us 50 that we might test
ourselves by combat, in which defeat means succumbing to the temptation of
sin and forsaking God. As Anthony explains, Christians should consider
these trials as great opportunities:

... in aH maner of 50 diuers temptacions, one mervelous

cumfort is this that with the mo we be temptid, the glader haue
we cause to be for as S lames sayth, omne gaudium f:xistimate
fratres quum in tentationes varias incideritis estime it & take it
sayth he my brethren for a thyng of aH ioy whan you faH into
diuers & sundry maner of temptacions And no mervel, for
there is in this world set upp as it were a game of wrestelying,
wherin the people of god come in on the tone side, & on the
tother side come mighty strong wrestelers & wily, that is to wit,
the devilles the cursid prowd dampnid sprites. For it is not our
flesh alone that we must wrestell with, but with the devill to ...
therfor may it be a greate comfort as S lames sayth, to euery man
that seeth hym selfe chalengid & prouokyd by temptacion For
therby percevith he that yt commeth to his course to wrestle
which shalbe but yf he willyng will play the coward or the foIe,
the mater of his eternaH reward. 2

More repeatedly emphasizes that his own conduct is dictated by his

concern for the welfare of his soul, which hangs in the balance of the actions

lA Dia/agile of Comfort, 30.

2lbid 101-2.
 207

he takes. And as Anthony argues in the Dialogue, "of ail the devilles
temptacions, is this temptacion this persecucion for the fayth, the most
perilouse."l In this case Satan

... suffreth hym selfe 50 playnely be percevid by his fierce

malicious persecucion agaynst the faythfull christiens for hatrid
of christes trew catholike fayth that no man havyng fayth, can
doute what he is ... In other of his temptacions he stelith on like
a fox but in this Turkes persecucion for the fayth, he runnyth on
roryng with assawt lyke a rampyng lyon. 2

Oespite the use of the Grand Turk as a thinly veiled allusion to Henry,
the above two passages reveal something of the impersonal character of
More's conflict. The Turk is not the enemy; he is merely the devil's
instrument. Similarly, the "wrestling match" of our tribulations is not
between good and bad men, but between "the people of god" and "the cursid
prowd dampnid sprites." Throughout More's ordeal, he consistently
portrayed his struggle as not with the King and his agents, but as with his
own fears and worldly affections--which for More are seen under the aspect of
diabolical temptation. 3
But if More's fight is not against others, it nonetheless involves placing
himself in opposition, in keeping himself apart from others, including far
more than the immediate circle of the King and his courtiers. The subject of
More's non-conformity is taken up in a long letter from Margaret Roper to
Alice Alington, the daughter of More's second wife.4 Roper tells her step-

1Ibid, 201.
2Ibid,200-1.
30n More's struggle as one against himself, see Marius, 454.
4There is sorne question as to the authorship of this letter: it may have becn written by
Margaret Roper, or else by More himself. Sec OOitors comment on "Margaret Roper to Alice

o Alington," The Correspondence of Sir Thomas More, 00. Elizabeth Rogers (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1947) 514.
 208

sister how she tried to prevail upon her father to sign the oath by citing the
compliance of virtually ail the highly esteemed men of the realm, and how
she also enlisted in her effort a letter by the Lady Alington. This letter reports
a conversation that Alington had with More's successor as Lord Chancellor,
Thomas Audley, who offered the wisdom of two fables. One of the fables tells
how among three animaIs, a lion, a wolf, and an ass, only the morally
scrupulous ass is ill-judged and experiences hardship. The other fable
recounts the story of certain wise men, who when having learned of an
approaching storm which rendered mad ail those who it wet, retreated to a
cave until the rain stopped. After the storm passed, the wise men emerged
and tried to bring order to the multitude who had lost their wits--finally
giving up in despair and wishing they had joined the others in the rain.l
More was not much impressed by these fables and proposed one of his
own. In this story a man is arrested and brought to trial. But as eleven of the
twelve jurors were northernmen, like the accused, ail expected that he would
soon be r~leased. Thus were the eleven jurors surprised when the twelfth
insisted on deba.ting the issue on its merits, prompting one of them to say to
1/
him, "What good felowe ... where wonnes thou? Be not we aleuen here and
you but ene la alene, and ail we agreed? Whereto shouldst you sticke?" and
urged him to go along and be "gude cumpany."2 But to this the twelfth
answered:

Wold God, good maisters ... that ther lay no more weight "
therby. But now when we shall hence and come before God, and'
that he shall sende you to heauen for doing according to your
conscience, and me to the deuill for doing against mine, in
passing at your request here for good cumpany nowe, by God,

1lbid, 518-20
2lbid, 522-3.
 209

Maister Dykonson, (that was one of the northernmens name) if 1

shall then say to ail you again, maisters, 1 went once for good
cumpany with you, which is the cause that 1 go now to hell,
playe you the good felowes now again with me, as 1 went than
for good cumpany with you, 50 sorne of you go now for good
cumpany with me. Wolde ye go, Maister Dikonson? Nay naye
by our Lady, nor neuer one of you aIl. And therfore must ye
pardon me from passinge as you passe, but if 1 thought in the
matter as you doe, 1 dare not in such a matter passe for good
cumpany. For the passage of my pore soule passeth all good
cumpany.l

To this the daughter responds that the story was not apt: she did not
propose that he go along with the others out of fellowship, but "that the
credence that you may with reason geue to their persons for their aforsayd
qualities, shoulde well moue you to thinke the oth such of it selfe, as euery
man may well swere without peryll of their soule."2 But in fact, by this point
More has already expressed his conviction that it is ultimately according to
his own judgement that he must make his decision. As he puts it, "1 neuer
entend ... to pynne my soule at a nother mans backe, not euen the best man
that 1 know tbis day liuing; for 1 knowe not whither he may happe to cary
it."3

At least at first, More appears a partisan of Stoic self-sufficiency--

maintaining his conviction nearly impervious to the views of others. More
expressed something like this idea long before his difficuIties began, when, in
writing his children's tutor, William Gonell, he stressed that the true aim of
learning was a knowledge of virtue which could stand up to the pressures of
others' opinions. By means of such an education his children "will be

1Ibid,523.

o
:..c_"
21bid,524.
3Ibid,521.

;. 1
 210

( inwardly calm and at peace and neither stirred by praise of flatterers nor stung
by the follies of unlearned mockers of learning. "1
But in fact, More's attitudes to others' opinions was a good deal more
complicated than this might suggest. As a nurnber of scholars have noted,
More seems anything but indifferent to his public appearance. William
Roper recounts a conversation with More after one of the initial
interrogations leading up to his imprisonment. Perceiving his father-in-
law's good mood, Roper asked its.cause, and received as an answer, "'In good
faith 1 rejoice, son: (quoth he), 'that 1 had given the devil so fouI a faH, and
that with those Lords 1 had gone so far, as, without great shame, 1 could never
go back again."'2 It has been pointed out that in the world of Wapia, much 'bf
the work of sustaining an ethical order is carried out by employing and
directing the discipline of shame 3; here, in More's own life, he harnesses his
,[ i'

own acutê-->sènsitivity tO(\'ards his pUblii~,image to buttress his moral resolve. 4

Moreover, besides More's "image consciousness:' he has intense
ethical objections to the disregard of "authoritative" opinion. One of More's
most frequent criticisms of Luther is'that he "refuseth to stand to the
judgement of eny folke eiHùüy concernynge the treuth orfalshed of hys

'.:

lSelecled Lellers, 106.

2Roper,47.
3GreenblaU, Renaissance Self-Fashioning, 47-51.
4Marius uses this passage to illustrate the point made above that More's struggle was more
with himself than with any others, but his analysis is pertinent her",_âs weIl: "He [More] had
managed to conquer hirnself during that interview and to give hirnsêlhm inner weapon for the
war yet to be waged. He could now retreat only at the cost of humiliating hirnself before these
wordly [sic] men against whom he had made a valiant stand. Il is easy to see in this story ..
.the man who played a role on a stage of his own making, always putting hirnself in a superior
po,sition, controlling the passions that usuaIly controlled others. Here he spoke rightly, for a
man as conscious of his public image as Thomas More was throughout his life could not retreat
from the role he had cast for himself without marring the play." Thomas More, 454-5.

i,'
l'.
 211

opynyons saue onely hym selfe."! In fact it is this very independence which
practically defines heresy; for the desire to be "syngular among the pepie" is
attributed to "pryde"--which is in turn, "as saynt Austyn sayth the very
mother of all heresyes."2 Hence, ü is absolutely central to More's defense that
it is not he who is choosing to be "syngular among the pepie." Virtually
whenever More is confronted with the long list of his countrymen who have
not refused the King's oaths, his response is as it was at his trial:

If the number of bishops and universities be so material, as your

Lordships seemeth to take it, then see l litHe cause (my Lords)
why that thing in my conscience should make any change. For l
nothing doubt, but that though not in this Realm, yet in
Christendom about they be not the least part, that be of my mind
therein. But if l should speak of those that be already dead (of
whom many be now saints in heaven) l am very sure it is the far
greater part of them, that ail the while they lived, thought in
this case that way that l think now. And therefore am l not
bound (my Lords) to conform my conscience to the council of
one realm against the General Council of Christendom.3

More's daim to being in the company of the "General Council of

Christendom" goes to the very heart of his self-justification and
understanding. More daims fellowship with that Christian community
which, despite certain minor aberrations, extends monolithically over the
vast reaches of time and space. Yet once again, the real point is not simply
"fellowship/" but rather truth. For More it is the established beliefs of
Christendom--institutionalized in the visible and identifiable "Catholic
church of Christ, whose unanimous authority gives everyone certainty about

lA Dialogue Concenzing Heresies, ed. Thomas Lawler (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1966) 360, vol. 6, part l of CWM.
2Ibid, 423; as More was surely aware, the word "heresy" derived from the Greek airesis--"a
choosing"-and thus literally referred to those who differeà, who "chose" a path for
[.....)
~iiJ
.;~
..
themselves.
3Roper,64.
 212

the true scriptures and about necessary articles of faith"l_-which is alone

capable of providing for ail Christians the needed spiritual and moral
foundation. 2
More appears to hold to this one grant of certainty ail the tighter for his
perception that virtually ail else is open to doubt. The sure knowledge given
by the Catholic Church applies only to "the crue scriptures and about
necessary articles of faith"-that is, to questions as to what constitutes
authentic Christian doctrine. Apart from this, little if anything can be said to
be certain. For instance, in A Treatise on the Blessed Body, More writes that
"it will be not onely ryght harde, but also peraduenture impossible" to know
with certainty one's guilt or innocence of sin, at least without "speciall
reuelacion of god."3 And in A Dialogue of Comfort even such divine
communications are drawn into doubti here the problem of distinguishing
between "godes trew revelacion" and the "devilles false delusion" is likened
to that of distinguishing between being awake and dreaming. 4 While our
ability to differentiate them is ultimâtely asserted, it is asserted only in the
probabilistic terms of that which merely "seemeth" true,s
",//
The ethical significance of this issue of truth ,r[id certainty is
demonstrated at More's trial, when he is made to justify the "selectivity" of

1Responsio ad Luthemm, 00. John Headley, trans. Sister Scholastica Mandeville (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1969) 199, vol. 5 of CWM; as the entirety of this passage makes clear,
the certainty of the Church does not abolish the neOO for faith, but rather itself presupposes il.
2Consequentiy, More heaps scom on the Lutheran idea that "each person may mount the
tribunal in his own heart," and he a competent judge of truth. Responsio, 621. With respect to
the social basis of moral trulh, we should recogriize thal il is Lutlier, not More, who represenls
the radical position. As Richard Sylvester observes, the word "conscience" is_'.'etymologically,
and in sixleenlh-eentury usage, a 'kri'lwing with', a full and special awareness of bath oneself
and the world about one." "Roper's)Life of More," Essential Articles, 194.
3A Treatise on the Blessed Body, 00. Gary Haupt (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1963)
194-5, vol. 13 of CWM.

c 4A Dialogue of Comfort, 137.

5lbid, 139.
 213

the right to silence he professes. Here More--who in his capacity as Lord

Chancellor had participated in the prosecution of a number of "heretics"--was
asked by Master Secretary Cromwell to explain his daim to a right he had
refused others:

... he said that l then, as he thought and at the leastwise

Bishops did use to examine heretics, whether they believed the
Pope to be head of the Church and used to compel them to make
a precise answer thereto. And why should not then the King,
sith it is a law made here that his Grace is Head of the Church,
here compel men to answer precisely to the law here as they did
then concerning the Pope. l

To this More answers that "there was a difference between those two
cases because that at that time as weIl here as elsewhere through the corps of
Christendom the Pope's power was recognized for an undoubted thing which
seemeth not like agreed in this realm and the contrary taken for truth in
other realms."2 ThusMore's defense and justification have much less to do
with the sovereignty of the individual conscience than they do with
conformity to truth, as defined by the shared beliefs of the "corps of
Christendom." It was on the basis of this'truth that More had "heretics"
compelled to speak, and finally executed; it was on the basis of this truth that
he dung to a position which ensured his own execution; and thus it was on
the basis of this truth that he differentiated these two cases. But perhaps for
gôod reason Cromwell was not persuaded: the basis of even More's one
island of certainty was becoming increasingly tenuous. As Greenblatt notes,

1Selected Letters, 251.

2Ibid.
 214

at least by the 1530'5, the consensus fidelium was something more to be

hoped for than to be found in the visible world. 3
If More ever did experience any doubts as to the righteousness of his
cause, he never let L"em show. Throughout his ordeal he presented himself
as humble, yet absolutely confident in his convictions. Even as he awaited
execution on the scaffold, he appeared the very image of self-certainty.
Whether or not that appearance actually matched More's experience is
something about which we are left only to speculate and wonder.

3Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning, 70.

 215

VIT

MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE

BThe way of truth is one and simple; that of private profit and
advantage of one's personal business is double, uneven, and
randorn ... CWhat most becomes a man is what is most a part of
him [Cicero]. BI do not want to deprive deceit (la tromperie) of
its proper place; that would be misunderstanding the world. l
know that it has often served profitably and that it maintains
and feeds most of men's occupations.
Essais III: 1

For sorne of his contemporaries, and many who would come I?ter, the
evidence for Thomas More's certainty and his faithfulness to his convictions
is most powerfuUy given by hb unwavering constancy--even at the point of
death. When Michel de Montaigne began his Essais, he believed that the
confrontation of death was by nature a moment of reckoning and self-
revelation. As Lucretius states in a Hne quoted by Montaigne, it is at the
moment of death thal "AThe mask is snatched away, reality is left."1
Montaigne explains:

Il: 19 (55). Ali English translations of the Essais are from The Complete Essays of Montaigne,
trans. Donald M. Frame (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1943). Superscripls A, B, and C
indicate textuaI "strata": material published before 1588, in 1588, or after 1588, respectively.
Ali quotations in French are taken from the Oeuvres complètes de Montaigne, ed. Albert
 216

( AIn everything eise there may be sham: the fine reasonings of

philosophy may be a mere pose in us; or eise our trials, by not
testing us ta the quick, give us a chance ta keep our face always
composed. But in the last scene, between death and ourselves,
there is no more pretending ....1

Consequently, Montaigne argues that we can not rightly judge of

another "Auntil he has been seen ta play the last act of his comedy (joUer le
dernier acte de sa comedie). "2 However, there is something paradoxical about
expecting the revelation of human reality during the course of a "last scene"
or "last act." And Montaigne appears ta corne ta this conclusion. That reality
which death is supposed ta reveal cornes ta look like just another theatrical
performance--in fact, an especially absurd theatrical performance: "BIt is not
my idea ta prove or display my fortitude in this act of dying. For whom?
Dying is not a raIe for society."3 Eisewhere he recommends that we leave
such stoic shows "Cto the actors and the teachers of rhetoric who set 50 much
store by our gestures."4

Thibaudet et Maurice Rat (Bruges: Éditions Gallimards, 1962); page numbers are given in
brackets.
1Ibid.
2Ibid [781.
3I1l: 9 (748).
411: 37 (576). In this case it seems clear and is widely accepted thatthe change in Monlaigne's
thinking constitutes an actual evolution; but for the most part the contradictions or
inconsistencies 1will discuss do not appear to follow any orderly time sequence. In this
conclusion 1differ from a number of authors drawing upon the evolutionary schema first set out
by Fortunat Strowski and Pierre Villey, and more recenlly adapted by Donald Frame,
Monlaiglle's Discovery of Man: The HlIInanizalion of a HlIInanisl (NY: Columbia University
Press,1955). For instance, Joan Lord Hall in her "'To play the man well and duely': Role-
playing in Montaigne and Jacobean Drama," Comparative Literalllre Silldies 22 (1985) 173-185,
suggests that when Montaigne begins the Essais, he is highly critical of aIl "role-playing"
outside the confines of the theater itself, but gradually cornes to terms with the paradox which
pits social role-playing as such against honesty and integrity. In the end, she argues,
Montaigne cornes to lIle conclusion that, provided that it is not actually deceitful, role-playing
may serve as a "vehicle for the genuine realization of the self." A similarly progressive
account is given by Zachary Sayre Schiffman, "Montaigne and the problem of MachiaveIlism,"
(..
~' JOllrnal of Medieval and ReJlaissance Shldies 12 (982) 237-258. 1 believe thatthese
characterizations of Montaigne's thinking on theatrical artifice and the self in terms of phases
 217

Clearly Montaigne's point is to dismiss death-bed heroism not as

revelatory of the true self but rather as social histrionics. However, if for
Montaigne stoic resolve cornes to appear as mere play-acting, and the
moment of death cornes to be seen as no longer necessarily constituting a
moment of truth, then one might reasonably ask: "When and how do we
know what we really are? And what must we do to be true to what we are?"
A good deal of the Essais concerns itself with these questions, and offers
different--and sometimes contradictory--answers.
Sorne of the puzzling or difficult features of Montaigne's thought
concerning human identity are inherited from the tradition of humanist
ideas and conventions. For instance, like Petrarch, Erasmus, and numerous
others, Montaigne's conception of education turns on a theory of literary
imitation which is viewed as legitimate and proper insofar as it dissimula tes
its sources: "CLet him hide al! the help he has had, and show only what he
has made of it."l As we have seen previously, not only is a notion of self
here seen as consistent with dissimulating artifice, but indeed this artifice is
actually contrasted with fakery and the masking of that self. Montaigne
follows Erasmus in condemning those who practice a mechanical imitation
of the great classical models as attempting "Cto present themselves under

and transition simp!ify the Essais throughout. However, 1 will very !ittle argue this point--
the attentive reader may note the existence of the contradictions 1discuss within the same
general periods and strata, as weIl as their continuity across periods and strata. For discussions
critical of the evolutionary hypothesis more gcnerally, see FIoyd Gray, "The Unity of
Montaigne in the Essais," Modem umguage Quarterly 22 (1961) 79-86, and R. A. Sayce, The
Essays of Montaigne: A Critical Exploration (London: Wicdcnfeld and Nicolson, 1972) chaps. 1
and 14.
11: 26 (111). Michel Magnien places Montaigne in the rhetorical tradition represented by
Erasmus, in "Un écho de la querelle cicéronienne à la fin du XVIe siLcIe: éloquence ct imitation
dans les Essais," Rhétorique de. Montaigne, ed. Frank Lestringant (paris: Librairie Honoré
Champion,1985) 85-99, also G. Logan, "l'he Relation of Montaigne to Renaissance Humanism,"
Journal of the History of ldeas 36 (1975) 613-32. On various aspects of Iiterary dissimulation

o found in Montaigne and contemporary authors, Margaret M. McGowan, Montaigne's Deceits

(Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1974) chapters 1 and 2.
 218

false colors."l For Montaigne, as for many humanists, sorne kinds of

(
dissimulation were viewed not only as consistent with one's own being, but
actually generative of a being of one's own.
Moreover, and once again, as we have already seen, Iiterary
dissimulation was simply a particular instance of the more general
injunction to disguise aIl artifice artfuIlY~for the sake of "naturalness."
Hence Montaigne frequently employs the rhetorical trope of denouncing
rhetorical artifice, proclaiming that aIl such "Afine painting is easily eclipsed
by the lus ter of a simple natural truth."2 And as to his own style, Montaigne
repeatedly makes declarations to the effect that,

AEverything 1 write is crude (Tout est grossier chez moy); it lacks

distinction and beauty. 1 do not know how to make things
appear any more precious than they really are; my fashioning is
no help to the matter ... my language has no ease or poIish; it is
harsh cand disdainful, Awith a free and unruly disposition (il est
aspre et desdaigneux, ayant ses dispositions libres et desreglées),3

Yet he appears somewhat toundermine such protestations by explicitly

stating his adherence to the principle of dissimulated unaffectedness: "Bmy
:,~

plan in speaking is to display extreme carelessness (nonchalence) and

unstudied and unpremeditated gestures, as if they arase from the immediate
occasion."4 While Montaigne holds that the idea which Castiglione called
sprezzatura applies most fully to the realm of speech, he finds it pertinent to
aIl manner of self presentation: "BI have been prone to irnitate that disorder

11: 26 (108). Montaigne is confusing here;for he actually condemns those "Cwho want to hide
their borrowings and appropriate them;' but the point scems to be to criticize non-
transformative dissimulation meant merely to deny authorship as opposed to dissimulation
which is part of an actual reworking and integration into one's own judgemcnt.
21: 26 (125). .
311: 17 (483) (621).
4II1: 9 (735) [9401.
 219

in dress which we see in our young men--a doak worn like a scarf, the hood
- over one shoulder, a negiected stocking--which shows a pride disdainful of
these foreign adornments and careless of art ... c we do weil to lean a little in
the direction of naturalness and negligence."l Moreover, it is evident that
the paradox posed by this artifice of naturalness is not entirely invisible to
Montaigne himself, who notes, "AI am quite conscious that sometimes 1 let
myself go too far, and that in the effort to avoid art and affectation, 1 fall back
into them in another direction."2
With respect to the idea of "artful naturalness," and the logical and
existential difficulties it poses, Montaigne is very much a man of his time and
culture. However, there are as weil other matters, more particular to
Montaigne, which complicate his project of self-depiction, as weil as his more
general ideal of being true to himself. One such difficulty involves the
notion of human variability. According to Montaigne, "Athere is no existence
that is constant, either of our being or of that of objects"3_-but especially of the
human being, that "Amarvelously vain, diverse, and undulating object."4

11: 26 (127).
211: 17 (484). Despite his endorsement of "negligcnce," and even his admission of somctimes
going "too far," in a later essay Montaigne dcfends himself againstthe charge of affecting his
naturalism: "BThose who commonly contradict what 1 profess, saying that what 1 cali
frankness, simplicity, and naturalness in my conduct is art and subtlety, and rathcr prudcnce
than goodness, artifice than nature, good sense than good luck, do me more honor than they take
away from me. But surely they make my subtlcty tao subtle." III: 1 (603) Frederick Rider
discusses Montaigne's adherance ta the ideal of "negligence" and the contradictions contained
in that ideal. See his The Dialectic of Selfhooti in Montaigne (Stanford: Stanford Univcrsity
Press, 1973) 72-6. And John C. Lapp, "Montaigne's 'negligence' and some lines from Virgil,"
Romanic Review 61 (1970) 167-81. Marcel Tetel notes the often tcnuous character of
Montaigne's distinction between art and nature in Montaigne (Boston: Twayne, 1990) 25-8. Also
A. Micha, "Art et Nature dans les Essais," BuIletil1 de la Societé des Amis de Montaigne 19
(1956) 50-5.

,.·-
311: 12 (455).
O
"'"'.
'"
' 41: 1 (5).
 220

Indeed Montaigne's conception of human variability ;~ 50 extreme as to draw

f into question the existence of a single, coherent and intelligible self.
Montaigne specifically takes up this matter in the essay entitled "Of the
Inccnsistency of Our Actions." This essay begins with the observation that
"AThose who make a practice of comparing human actions are never 50

perplexed as when they try to see them as a whole and in the same light; for
they commonly contradict each other 50 strangely that it seems impossible
that they have come from the same Shop."l ln a late addition to the essay
Montaigne returns to this thought, commenting that our "Csupple variations
and contradictions" have led sorne to postulate the existence within each of
us of two souls--"for such sudden diversity cannot weIl be reconciled with a
simple subject."2 Montaigne himself seems to attribute our variability chiefly
to our interaction with changing circumstances and to the various
perspectives with which we may view ourselves--as he illustrates with his
own example:

BNot only does the wind of accident move me at will, but,

besides, 1 am moved and disturbed as a result merely of my own
unstable posture ... 1 give my soul now one face, now another,
according to which direction 1 turn it ... AlI contradictions may
be found in me by sorne twist and in sorne fashion. Bashful,
insolent; Cchaste, lascivious; Btalkative, taciturn; tough,
delicate; clever, stupid; surly, affable; lying, truthful; qea~ned,
ignorant; liberal, miserly, and prodigal: BalI this 1 see in rriyself
to sorne extent according to how 1 turn; and whoever studies
himself really attentively finds in himself, yes even in his
judgment, this gyration and discord. 1 have nothing to say about
myself absolutely, simply and solidly, without confusion and
without mixture, or in one word. 3

1II: 1 (239).
2lbid. (242).
(
.. .
'
".
3Ibid (242).
 221

Montaigne cautions that the naive interpreters of character who

assume the existence of a whole and consistent self, when confronted with
human inconsistencies, aU too oHen "Bset them down to dissimulation"l--
which need not be the case. For as he conc1udes, "AWe are aU a patchwork,
and as shapeless and diverse in composition that each bit, each moment,
plays its own game. And there is as much difference between us and
ourselves as between us and others."2 Consequently whatever constancy and
unity there is in us may itself owe as much to imposed "theatrical" artifice
and industry as to any "essential" being. Montaigne quo tes from Seneca:
"cConsider it a great thing to play the part of one single man."3
Related to the problem of human variability and diversity is that of
uncertainty. For Montaigne, as for his eventual hero Socrates, the injunction
to "know yourself" can demand of human beings no more than continuaI
searching--those who believe themselves to have obtained this knowledge
only prove their distance from it: "Bthat everyone thinks he understands
enough about himself, signifies that everyone understands nothing about
it."4 That which mere mortals caH "truth" intrinsicaHy contains an element
of the arbitrary, as nothing can be known by us with real certainty.
At one point Montaigne expresses the arbitrary nature of human truth
by recounting the story of a judge, who, when coming to a question in his law
books that was 50 thorny as to be undeterminable on its merits, would write

11bid (239).
2lbid (244).
3lbid. Jean Starobinski particularly emphasizes Montaigne's diversity and variability, and
the ways in which these features blunt the polarity of the mask/reality metaphors. Jean
Starobinski, MOlltaiglle ill Motion, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1985) especially 83-88. Aiso Alfred Glauser, MOlltaiglle Paradoxal (Paris: A. G. Nizet,
1972) especially chapter 2.
411I: 13 (823) For Montaigne's somewhat selective but enthusiastic appropriation of Sacrates,

o
~'
see Frederick Kellermann, "Montaigne's Socrates,"Rolllanic Review 45 (1954) 170-7, and "The
Essais and Sacrates," Symposium 10 (1956).
 222

"Question for my friend"--by which he meant that he would decide such a

(
matter in favor of whichever side he liked better. Montaigne concludes the
story by adding "AIt was only for lack of wit and competence that he could not
write everywhere: 'Question for my friend."'l Montaigne further argues that
a truly rigorous skepticism would require an actual re-ordering of language:
for even our expressions of doubt are normally formulated as affirmations,
such as "1 do not know" or "1 doubt"-which are themselves not above
questioning or doubt. Consequently Montaigne argues that the "Bidea is
more firmly grasped in the form of interrogation"--as in his motta, "What do
1 know?"2
Because of the pervasive uncertainty concel:ning the self and truth in
general, it might seem that for Montaigne any notion of a deliberate
"authenticity," of choosing a course of action on the basis of what is true to
one's being, would be banished as sheer nonsense. However, this is not the
case. As Montaigne himself asserts, he is not a systematic thinkeri neither he
himself, nor his work, is without contradiction--and the matter of knowledge
is a case in point,3 At times Montaigne's critique of reason and knowledge is
sweeping-destroying all presumption of attaining any certainty. But at other
times his attack is much more narrowly focused: here his target is rather that
particularly presumptuous brand of "knowledge" associated with book-
learning. As in passages of the essay "Of Pedantry," Montaigne simply echoes
certain sentiments and values of an embattled traditional nobility, to which

1Il: 12 (439).
211: 12 (393).
3Recent scholarsbip has stressed that Montaigne's scepticism cannot he confined to any one
essay or period of time, but can instead he found throughout bis work as a whole, although not
as a consistent "doctrine." See R. A. Sayce, The Essays of Montaigne: A Critical Exploration,
chap. 8, and John Christian Laursen, "Michel de Montaigne and the Poiitics of Skepticism,"
Historical Reflections 16 (1989) 99-133.
 223

he had some pretensions: "Cthe pursuit of knowledge makes men's hearts

soft and effeminate more than it makes them strong and warlike."l In other
passages, bookish learning is criticized for its insubstantiality. Of the
practitioners of this learning Montaigne says, "Athese men, through wanting
to exalt themselves and swagger around with this learning that is floating on
the surface of their brain, are perpetually getting confused and tangled in
their own feet."2 In passages like this, it is intellectual sophistication that
causes the world to "teem with uncertainty and quarrels," for as the learned
Quintilian says, "CLearning makes difficulties."3
But this sort of "knowledge" is distinguished from what Montaigne
calls "judgement" (jugement) or "wisdom" (sagesse), as expressed in the
proverb, "Athe greatest scholars are not the wisest men."4 This latter brand of
knowledge is frequently specifically contrasted with the formallearning of
scholars and schools. It is associated with that and those who are simple,
uneducated, common, and above aU near to "Nature." For Montaigne
suggests that there is a basis for truth and knowledge which does not share
that element of arbitrariness to be found in the products of culture, but which
rather constitutes whatever real grounding they themselves possess: "CWhat
1 like is the virtue that laws and religions do not make but perfect and
authorize, that feels in itself enough to sustain itse1f without help, born in us

11: 25 (106) James Supple situates Montaigne's often conflicting views on martial and Iilerary
ideals in the context of the general Renaissance debate on this subject. In addition, he draws
into question the widespread assumption that Montaigne's status as a member of the noblesse de
l'épée was highly tenuous, and his attitude consequently defensive. James Supple, Anns Versus
LeI/ers: The Military and Literary Ideals in the 'Essais' of Montaigne (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1984).
21: 25 (102).
31I1: 13 (816).
41: 25 (98). On Montaigne's notion of "wisdom," and its contrast to "knowledge," sec Hugo

o Friedrich, Montaigne, intro. and ed. Philippe Desan, trans. Dawn Eng (Berkeley: University of
Califomia Press, 1991) chap. 7, especially, 302.
 224

from its own reots, from the seed of universal reason that is implanted in
every man who is not denatured (desnaturé)."l And whereas elsewhere
Montaigne stresses the impossibility of our acquiring knowledge, here he

emphasizes its ease:

CThe philosophers with much reason refeT us to the rules of

Nature: but these have no concern with s1.lch sublime
knowledge. The philosophers falsify them and show us the face
of Nature painted in too high a color, and too sophisticated,
whence spring 50 many varied portraits of 50 uniform a subject.
As she has furnished us with feet to walk with, 50 she has given
us wisdom to guide us in life: a wisdom not 50 ingenious,
robust, and p0D;\pous as that of their invention, but
correspondingly easy and salutary, performing very weil what
the other talks about, in a man who has the good fortune to
know how to occupy himself simply and in an ordèrly way, that
is to say naturally.2

Access to this knowledge is often described less in intellectual or visual

terms than in auditory or tactile ones, as when Montaigne says of the
common and generallaw of the world, "CI shall know it weil enough when 1
feel it" (quand je la sentiray).3 Those who can feel and can hear, will discover
a solid core within the self which provides a grounding for human
authenticity: "BThere is no one who, if he listens to himself, does not
discover in himself a pattern ail his own, a ruling pattern (une forme sienne,

1III: 12 (811) [1037]. As the above quotation suggests, the contrast between wisdom and
knowledge exists in the early essays, however, the formulation of the former as deriving from
the "voice of Nature" belongs chiefly to the laler essays. Nonetheless, one should keep in mind
"Nature's speech" in the early essay 'That to Philosophize is to Leam to Die" 1: 20 (64-7),
which Montaigne concludes by stating "ASuch are the good counsels of our mother Nature,"
2III: 13 (821-2).
3III: 13 (821) [321]. Emphasis in translation myaddition. Montaigne continues with this idiom
of '1istening to one's self': BI would rather be an authority on myseIf than on Ccicero ... BLet
us only lislen: we tell ourselves ail we most need." III: 13 (822).
 225

une forme maistresse), which struggles against education and against the
tempest of the passions that oppose it."l
For Montaigne, the existence and accessibility of this "ruling pattern"
provides guidance and standards within the individual himself apart from
that "Buncertain and shaky"2 foundation based on public opinion:

BThose of us especially who live a private life that is on display

only to ourselves must have a pattern established within us by
which to test our actions, and, according to this pattern, now pat
ourselves on the back, now punish ourselves. l have my own
laws and court to judge me, and l address myself to them more
than anywhere else.3

Not only does Montaigne remove the authority of judgement from the
public arena, but he also views that arena as irrelevant to what is
fundamental in human reality; social roles and occupations are seen as little
more than stage-play, and should be treated as such:

BThe whole world plays a part [Petronius]. We must play our

part duly, but as the part of a borrowed character. Of the mask
and appearance we must not make a real essence, nor of what is
foreign what is our very own. We cannot distinguish the skin
from the shirt. cIt is enough to make up our face, with out
making up our heart. 4

It is in this spirit that Montaigne insists "BThe mayor and Montaigne

have always been two, with a very c1ear separation."S For he maintains that
the measure of what a person really is must be taken from their conduct
outside the glare of public scrutiny. One's true self is more certainly

1III: 2 (615) [7891.

2III: 2 (612).
3III: 2 (613).

o 4III: 10 (773-4).
5III: 10 (774).
 226

discovered and realized in those actions which are ordinary, even mundane,
and above aIl, private in nature:

BAny man can play his part in the side show and represent a
worthy man on the boards; but to be disciplined within, in his
own bosom, where aIl is permissible, where aIl is concealed-·
that's the point. The next step to that is to be 50 in our own
house, in our ordinary actions, for which we need render
account to no one, where nothing is studied or artificial ... To
win through a breach, to conduct an embassy, to govern a
people, these are dazzling actions. To scold, to laugh to seIl, to
pay, to love, to hate, and to deal pleasantly and justly with our
household and ourselves, not to let go of ourselves, not to be
false to ourselves (ne reldcher point, ne se desmentir poinct),
that is a rarer matter, more~difficult and less noticeable.1

Thus Montaigne here reverses Quintilian's precept that we need not be

ourselves, 50 long as we are not less dignified than ourselves. For Montaigne
the self is something we must "hold ourselves to"·-and do 50 in obscurity. In
the essay "Of Solitude" he says that i~order to "Arepossess ourselves,"2 we
require "Areal solitude, which may be enjoyed in the midst of cities and the
courts of kings; but it is enjoyed more handily alone."3 In a much-quoted
passage he expands on this theme:

AWe must reserve a back shop aIl our own, entirely free, in
which to establish our real liberty and our principal retreat and
solitude. Here our ordinary conversation must be between us
and ourselves, and 50 private that no outside association or
communication can find a place ....4

1III: 2 (613-4) (787).

21: 39 (176).
3lbid.
4lbid, (177).
 227

Montaigne's own physical "back shop" is his library, on the third floor
of a tower at his estate, which he says he likes aIl the better for its relative
inaccessibility, and describes as his private kingdom: "CI try to make my
authority over it absolute, and to withdraw this one corner from aIl society,
conjugal, filial, and civil ....Sorry the man, to my mind, who has not in his
own home a place to be aIl by himself, to pay his court privately to himself, to
hide!"l For Montaigne, what we truly are is not revealed by our most heroic
or greatest achievements, but rather by our ordinary everyday conduct, and
our contact with that reality by its very nature requires the shade of privacy.
The danger to our solitude, our privacy, and thus ourselves, is the
desire for glory, which Montaigne caIls "ambition." Ambition would appear
to have been everywhere and always a threat to the realization of one's true
being--and therefore a "vice"--but for moderns there is the additional
disadvantage that it appears positively ridiculous: "BAmbition (L'ambition)
is not a vice for little fellows and for undertakings such as ours."2 Montaigne
actually takes comfort in the unattractiveness of this ideal: "BIt pleases me to
see how much baseness and pusillanimity there is in ambition (Il me plaist
de voir combien il y a de lascheté et de la pusillanimité en l'ambition), by
how much abjection and servility it must attain its goal."3 The poor and
inglorious aspect of ambition--especially for us moderns--may then serve to
buttress our resolve to preserve our true and private selves: "BSince we will
not do 50 out of conscience, at least out of ambition let us reject ambition
.(aumoins par ambition refusons l'ambition). Let us disdain this base and

1III: 3 (629).
211I: 10 (782-3) [1(00).
3I11: 12 (796-7) [l0I8). See also III: 3 (629): "CAmbition pays ils servants weil by keeping them
ever on display, Iike a statue in a market place. Great forlI/ne is great slavery [Seneca)."
 228

beggarly hunger for renown and honor which makes us grovel for it before
ail sorts of people. "1
Of his own case, and despite claiming to derive from a family
"Dambitious above ail for integrity (ambiteuse de preud 'hommie),"2
Montaigne admits "DI sometimes feel rising in my soul the fumes of certain
temptations to'Ward ambition (aucunes tentationes vers /'ambition)."3
However he continues by maintaining, "but 1 stiffen and hold firm against
them ... 1 am seldom summoned to public affairs, and 1 offer myself to them
justas littie."4
These "public affairs" which jeopardize one's integrity are by
Montaigne associated--not exdusively, but paradigmatically--with the affairs
of princes and their courts. This outlook is natural enough given his quite
representative opinion that for the ambitiously minded, the serving of
princes is "Ba more productive traffic than any other."s However, in
Montaigne's time royal centralization and the power of the court was not yet
developed to the point it would subsequently reach. Consequently, for many
contemporary French nobles, princely service and dependence were still to
sorne extent avoidable--at least for those not smitten with ambition. Hence
Montaigne notes that, particularly

1III: 10 (783) [10011.

211I: 10 (782) [999].
311I: 9 (759) [970). The word "aIlC/llle" is here unaccompanied by the negative "ne," and has the
sense of "same or "certain."
ll

4lbid. See also III: 12 (800): "BI have long been preaching to myself to stick to myself and break
away from outside things; nevertheless 1stiIl keep tuming my eyes ta one side. Inclination, a
favorable word from a great man, a pleasant countenance, lempt me. 1stiIl Iisten without
frowning to the seductions that are held out 10 me to draw me into the market place, and 1
defend myself 50 softly that il looks as if 1would prefer to succumb to them. Nowa spirit 50
indocile needs sorne beatings; and we need to knock together and tighten the hoops, with good
maIlet strokes, on this cask thal is splitting its seams, cracking up, and falling completely to
pieces." -;::~::.

511I: 9 (724).
 229

... Bin the provinces remote from the court, lets say Brittany for
example ... a retired and stay-at-home lord ... hears speak of his
master once a year, as if of the king of Persia, and acknowledgès
him only by sorne ancient cousinship of which his secretary
keeps a record. The real and essential subjection is only for
those among us who go seeking it and who like to gain honors
and riches by such service; for anyone who wants to ensconce
himself by his hearth, and who can manage his house without
quarrels and lawsuits, is as free as the Doge of Venice ... ,1

Montaigne generally daims this latter course a~his own. He

congratulates himself on his independence, and dedares that "DThere is no
one who is more absolutely dear of any others,"2 aùd embeJlishes this point
with an adaptation from Virgil: "BThe gifts of prince!tare to me unknown."3
But for those who cannot resist the cali of honors and riches, the result is
virtually certain degradation. Of courtiers Montaigne dedares,

... Blechery has been seen in fashion among them, and every
sort of dissoluteness; as also disloyalty, blasphemy, cruelty; as
also heresYi also superstition, irreligion, laxity, and worse, if
worse there be: an example even more dangerous than the
flatterers of Mithridates, who, because their master was envious
of the honor of being a good doctor, brought him their limbs te
be incised and cauterized. For those others allow their souls to
be cauterized, a nobler and more delicate part.4

In fact, the anti-court flavor of Montaigne's work wo'uld have been

considerably more pronounced had he continued with his initial conception.
At the beginning of the essay "Of Friendship," Moontaigne explains that he
intended to imitate the painter who chooses a spot at th-'! mi.ddle of the wall

11: 42 094-5).
2III: 9 (739).
3Ibid.
4III: 7 (702).
 230

to display his finest art, setting it off from the inferior pictures placed around
it. For his centerpiece Montaigne chose to "borrow" the principle written
work of his deceased friend and soul-mate, Etienne de La Boétie--La
Servitude Volontaire, otherwise known as Le Contre Un. In this way
Montaigne held that de La Boétie's work, which concerned "Aliberty against
tyrants" would "do honor to a11 the rest of this work," i.e., the Essays,1
However, at the end of "Of Friendship" one does not find La Servitude
Volontaire, but rather an explanation why it was not included. Hugenots had
appropriated La Boétie's tract for their own purposes of propaganda against
the hostile monarchy, first publishing it in part in 1574, then in its entirety in
1576. Hence Montaigne concludes "Of Friendship" saying that because La
Boétie's work has now already been brought to light by sorne who "seek to
disturb and change the state of our government without worrying whether
they will improve it," he himself would not print it. In addition, he
dismissed the anti-court writing as a mere product of youth and undertaken
"Aby way of an exercise, as a common theme hashed over in a thousand
places in books."2 Instead of the controversial La Servitude Volontaire,
Montaigne decided to honor his friend by including a collection of his love
poetry as a separate essay.3
Nonetheless, numerous other expressions ,of anti-court sentiment can
be found elsewhere in the Essais. For example, he offers the often repeated
saw attributed to Carneades that the only art princes truly master is

11: 28 (135).
21: 28 (144). On Montaigne's decision not to include La Servitude Volontaire, see David
Maskell, ''The Evolution of the Essais," in Montaigne: Essays in memory of Richard Sayce, ed.
I. D. McFarlane and lan Maclean (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982) 13-34, and Roger Trinquet,
"Montaigne et la divulgation du Contr'un," Revue d'Histoire littéraire de la France 64 (1964)
1-12.
3As these sonnets were eventually published elsewhere, Montaigne finally withheld them as
weil.
 231

horsemanship, since a horse, "Bwho is neither a flatterer nor a courtier, will

-
,
throw the son of a king just as he would the son of a porter."l Another
typical instance is expressed in the voice of the King Hiero, as discussed by
Xenophon: "AThey follow me by countenance and eus tom, or, rather than
me, my fortune, to increase their own. Ali they say to me and do for me is
only powder and paint. Their liberty being bridled on all sides by the great
power 1 have over them, I see nothing around me except what is covered and
masked."2 A number of similarly literary and conventional anti-court
passages appear in the Essais, particularly in "Of the Inequality Between Us"
and "Of the Disadvantage of Greatness."
But Montaigne also attacks courts and courtliness in a somewhat more
personal manner. For instance, of his own life he says he attempts to exdude
courtly ways wherever possible, especially from his private sanctuary:

BAs for me ... I eut out ail ceremony in my house. Someone

takes offense: I can't help it. It is better for me to offend him
once than myself every daYi that would be perpetuaI slavery.
What is the use of fleeing the servitude of courts if we drag sorne
of it right home to our lair. 3

In addition, he at times daims to maintain the same standards of

honesty and informality which he reserves for his private retreat, for life in
general, induding public life among the powerful--despite his awareness of
sorne "impropriety": "BWhen I display to great men the same extreme
freedom of tongue and bearing that I exercise in my own house, I feel how

ll1I: 7 (701).
21: 42 (195).
31: 13 (32) See also III: 3 (625): " ... Bthal indolence of tasle 1have been speaking ofaltachcs
me forcibly ta solitude, even al home ... 1lhere reserve, balh for myself and for olhers, an
unusual freedom. There we have a truce on ceremony, Olt waiting on people and cscorting lhe~
here and away, and olher such troublesome prescriptions of our code of rnanners (oh, whal a .
servile and bothersome practice!) everyone lhere behaves as he pleascs ...."
 232

much it inclines toward indiscretion and incivility."l One reason Montaigne

gives for this informai conduct is that he has litUe choice in the matter--he is
obliged to deal openly and directly by his naturallack of ingenuity. He
follows the above-quoted sentence by saying,

..• BI have not a supple enough mind ta sidestep a sudden

question and escape it by sorne dodge, or to invent a truth, or a
good enough assurance to maintain iti and l put on a bold face
because of weakness. Therefore l give myself up to being candid
and always saying what l think, by inclination and by reason,
leaving it to Fortune to guide the outcome. 2

But if Montaigne believes himse1f virtually incapable of deception, he

does not believe this to be true of his contemporaries. According to him, the
modern French "Aform and fashion themselves for it [deceptionJ as for an
honorable practicei for dissimulation is among the most notable qualities of
this century."3 Montaigne not only feels himse1f incapable of partaking in the
current trend, he also strongly opposes it:

... Aas for this new-fangled virtue of hypocrisy and

dissimulation, which is 50 highly honored at present, l mortally
hate itic and of ail vices, l know none that testifies to 50 much
cowardice and baseness of heart. It is a craven and servile idea to
disguise ourselves and hide under a mask, and not to dare to
show ourselves as we are. 4 .

1Il: 17 (492).
2lbid. Montaigne often attributes the impossibility of bis engaging in deception to his artless
and transparent nature, as when he says that his face immediately betrays his thoughts III: 13
(842). But he also appears to put such statements in doubt, as when he daims that as a youth at
college he "played the leading parts in the Latin tragedies of Buchanan, Guerente, and Muret,
and was "considered a master craftsman," given his "assurance in expression and flexibility in
voiee and gesture, in adaptingmyself to the parts 1 undertook to act" 1: 26 (131).
311: 18 (505). Here, and elsewh~re where Montaigne discusses the subject of dissimulation, the
discussion tends to be fairly free-ranging-induding, although notlimited to, courtly or polite
dissimulation.

c 411: 17 (491). At times Montaigne's daims to truthfulness verge on the comical, as when he
suggests that whatev~.r misrepresentations hé is guilty of are not a maller of forethought and
 233

In contrast to this "baseness of heart," Montaigne invokes the

aristocratie ideal of the "Agenerous heart," which does not "belie its thoughts;
it wants to reveal itself even to its inrnost depths,"1 and supports his
argument by drawing upon Aristotle's conception of "magnanimity":
"cAristotle considers it the function of magnanimity to hate and love openly,
to judge, to speak with complete frankness, and to have no regard for the
approbation or reprobation of others in comparison with truth."2
Hence, besides the rather disingenuous daim that his nature is not
gifted enough to undertake dissimulation, Montaigne also explains his
"incivility" as deriving from his own aristocratie pride:

ANow for my part l would rather be troublesome and indiscreet

than flattering and dissembling. BI admit that a touch of pride
and stubbornness may enter into keeping me sincere and
outspoken without consideration for others; and it seems to me
that l restrain myself a little less whenever it would be
appropriate to restrain myself more, and that l react against the
respect l owe by growing more heated.3

However, Montaigne does not always insist on the necessity or even

the desirability of such unconcerned self-revelation. For instance, at times he
advocates a more moderate yet still principled position similar to that taken

calculation, but rather "e~cape" from him at a moment of surprise-like an involuntary gasp or
cry: "My soul by nature shuns Iying and hates even to think a lie. 1 feel an inward shame and a
stinging remorse if one escapes me, as sometimes it does, for occasions surprise me and move me
unpremeditatedly" Il: 17 (491).
Ilbid.
2lbid.
311: 17 (492). Moreover, if Montaigne's contact with the great were a matter of service, he
would then feel his inclination towards frankness as a duty. TItus in the essay "Of Experience"
he gives a hypothetical account of how he would behave if he were to be a counselor to a king.
He says that he would tell his master "home truths" and would judge him "simply and
(O',
'.~_J
naturally, making him see how he stands in public opinion, and opposing his f1atterers." He
concludes, "1 should have enough fidelity, judgement, and independence for that" III: 13 (825).
 234

by Thomas More. Here he demands that speech be honest, yet reserv'lS the
right to remain silent: "AWe must not always say everything, for that would
be folly; but what we say must be what we think; otherwise it is
wickedness. "1
But quite often Montaigne goes much farther than this in the direction
of permissiveness, and in 50 doing gives expression to a contradiction
between high-minded principles and a worldly appreciation of practical
realities and practical abilities. This appears most clearly in the essay "Of the
Useful and the Honorable." At one point in this essay Montaigne condemns
the dissimulations of contemporary civility, and specifically defends his own
informai and open manner as natural, not artfully dissimulated. However,
he immediately follows this criticism and self-defense by adding, "BI do not
want to deprive deceit (la tromperie) of its proper place; that would be
misunderstanding the world. 1 know that it has often served profitably and
that it maintains and feeds most of men's occupations."2 While a part of
Montaigne is attracted to a rigorous philosophical ideal of truth-saying, from
another angle he sees such commitment as both impractical and even
pretentiously dogmatic.
Something of this latter perspective is reflected in the early essay "Of
Custom," where after having described the falsity and absurdity of many
":':","
prevailing customs,'Montaigne nonetheless delares, "AThese considerations,
however, do not deter a man of understanding from following the common
style ... For it is the rule of rules, and the universallaw of laws, that each
man should observe those of the place he is in."3 ln a later essay, he returns

1Il: 17 (491).

c 211: 1 (604).
31: 23 (86).
 235

to this notion and adds the argument often made in the Renaissance--and
previously seen in Della Casa's Galateo -- that individuals are at least not to
blame for participating in corruption which is characteristic of their place and
age/ and not particular to themselves:

BAn honest man is not accountable for the vice or stupidity of

his trade, and should not therefore refuse to practice it: it is the
custom of his country, and there is profit in it. We must live in
the world and make the most of it such as we find it (Il faut
vivre du monde et s'en prevaloir tel qu'on le trouve»)

Moreover, an important part of that world we must live in, and where
we may legitimately seek profit, is the court--just as an important part of
those customs which must be accepted involves courtly civility. Thus
Montaigne states that "Cin a monarchy every gentleman should be trained in
the manner of a courtier,"2 and specifically of his own country he says,
"BFrance takes as its rule the rule of the court."3 Under these social and
political circumstances, Montaign~ recognizes the utility of courtesy: "Cit is a
very useful knowledge, this knowledge of social dexterity. Like grace and
beauty, it acts as a moderator at the first approaches of sociability and
familiarity."4
And in spite of Montaigne's frequent self-descriptions as crude and
unpolished, at times he admits his relative mastery of courtly etiquette. "CI
was brought up in this carefully enough in my youth, and have lived in good
enough company, not to be ignorant of the laws of our French civility; l

1III: 10 (774) [989].

21: 26 (127).
31: 43 (197).
41: 13 (33).
 236

could run a school of it."l Indeed, Montaigne's acceptance of courts and

courtliness is not always and necessarily a matter of grudging practical
concessions to social reaIity. For example, in one place he declares, "BBy
nature 1 am not an enemy to the bustle of courts; 1 have spent part of my life
in them, and 1 am built to get along cheerfully in large companies"--to which
he joins the sole conditions, "provided it is at intervals and at my own
times."2
Like many enthusiasts of rhetoric or courtliness--and regàrdless of his
many protestations on behalf of constancy--Montaigne sometimes expresses a
high regard for versatility, in and of itself. Thus he writes, "The fairest souls
are those that have the most variety and adaptabiIity,"3 and elsewhere refers
approvingly to the familiar figure of Alcibiades:

AI have often noticed with great admiration the wonderful

nature of Alcibiades, who could change 50 easily to suit such
different fashions, without damage to his health; now outdoing
the Persians in luxory and pomp, now the Lacedaemonians in
austerity and frugaIity; as pure in Sparta as he was voluptuous
in lonia. 4

11: 13 (32). R. A. Sayce expresses Montaigne's complex attitude towards civility and courtiers
by saying that he disapproves of them, "though he sometimes speaks as if he were one of
them." The Essays of MOlltaigne: A Critical Explorati01l, 85-6.
2I11: 3 (625). Despite bis frequent pronouncements ofindependence and detachment, Montaigne's
public and courtly career was considerable. His appearances at court began as early as 1559, at
the age of 26. In the 1570's he received the Order of Saint Michael, and was made gentleman of
King Charles IX's chamber, which honor was subsequently bestowed upon him by Henry III and
then also by Henry of Navarre. He was urged ta defend Raymond Sebond by Margaret of
Valois, congratulated on his Essais by Henry III, chosen to be Mayor of Bordeaux by Catherine
de' Medici, Margaret of Valois, Henry III, and Henry of Navarre, for wbich he served two ./
terms. Furthermore, for much of the last 20 years of his Iife (1572-92), Montaigne participa~d
in political negotiations at the highest level, which at different times involved Henry III, ji
Henry of Guise, and Henry of Navarre. On Montaigne's public Iife, see Donald Frame,
MOlltaigne: a biography (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1984) 266, and passim, but
especially chapters 13 and 15; Géralde Nakam, M01ltaiglle et SOli temps: les évélleme1lts et les
essais (Paris: Librairie A. G. Nizet, 1982) 142-6.
3I11: 3 (621).

c 41: 26 (124). Margaret McGowan illustrates a point conceming Montaigne's changing meaning
according to context by suggesting that Montaigne appears favorably disposed towards
 237

Indeed, Montaigne recognizes a practical and worldly excellence, rather

like the adaptability celebrated by the orators and courtiers--to which the
standards appropriate to religion or private life do not directly apply, yet
which nonetheless remains a "virtue":

BThe virtue assigned to the affairs of the world is a virtu"! with

many bends, angles, and elbows, so as to join and adapt itself to
hurnan weakness; mixed and artificial, not straight, clean,
constant, or purely innocent ... He who walks in the crowd
must step aside, keep his elbows in, step back or advance, even
leave the straight way, according to what he encounters. He
must live not so much according to himself as according to
others, not according to what he proposes to himself but
according to what others propose to him, according to the time,
according to the men, according to the business.!

50 in the essay "Of the Education of Children," Montaigne suggests that

a youth should "Abe made fit for all nations and companies, even for
dissoluteness and excess, if need be."2 On this count he believes that even the
most ethically demanding would agree: "AThe philosophers themselves do
not think it praiseworthy in Callisthenes to have lost the good graces of his
master Alexander the Great by refusing to keep pace wilh him in drinking."3

"flexibility" when the context concerns the development of human powers, but appears critical
when it concerns the moral degeneration of his age. 5he notes, "Flexibility is without virtue if
it is found in the chameleon shape of the courtier ... but it acquires admirable features aS soon
as Montaigne presents it as the only way a man can come to terms with the constant shift of
events in the outside world ...." Margaret M. McGowan, Montaigne's Deceits, 131, see also 18
and 21. However, this seems to overlook the fact that that shifting "outside world" includes
the court, and also what McGowan has elsewhere described as "tensions in Montaigne's courtly
vision." "Montaigne: A Social Role for the Nobleman?" Montaigne and His Age, ed. Keith
Cameron (Exeter: University of Exeter, 1981) 94. See also Antoine Compagnon, "Montaigne ou
la parole donée," Rhétorique de Montaigne, 9-19.
1III: 9 (758).
21: 26 (123).
(} 3lbid.
-'"'
 238

( .--
In contrast to the recalcitrant Callisthenes, Montaigne would have his
prodigy "excel" even in the depravity of court life:

AHe wi1llaugh, he will carouse, he will dissipate with his prince.

Even in dissipation l want him to outdo his comrades in vigor
and endurance ... .1

Yet this is not to say that Montaigne advocates that his imagined charge
entirely embrace the decadence of the courtier. As we have already seen, for
Montaigne what we are in the realm of opiniqr. and appearance--those social
roles which make up our public identities--is nôt of our essence; it is
inherently a charade, and for the sake of our true selves, should be treated
accordingly. But whereas we previously saw how Montaigne contrasted
public raies or actions with ail that is private, he also makes a parallel and
related distinction between an "outward" realm of action and an "inner"
realm of though.t. The point of this distinction is to privilegethe realm of
thought, but also to isolate it from that of action, rendering the laŒ?more or
less insignificant. Thus the injunctions to fas!:\ion oneself according to others
and to the circumstances make up only half of Montaigne's
recommendation. For instance, in that passage from "Of Custom" in which
Montaigne recommends conformity to custom as "the law of law~:' he makes
clear this is merely a matter of "externals"--for at the same time, "Athe wise
man should withdraw hissoul within, out of the crowd, and keep it in
freedom and power to judge things freely."2 The spheres of thought and

llbid.
21: 23 (86). Montaigne was by no means unique in his time for advocating thi,s detachment of
thought and action. The most famous example is Justus Lipsius, who was by many believed to be
Europe's greatest scholar of Montaigne's generation, and who praised an early edition of the
Essais. Lipsius himself altemated between Catholicism and Protestantism according to his
tr· cîrcumstances, and advocated an inner detachment and constancy coupled with an outward
~
 239

.........
action must be separated so that while one may accommodate and adjust in
that latter sphere, the former remains uncompromised.
For this reason Montaigne states that while the tutor should equip his
pupil for the life of the courtier, he should discourage him from too closely
attaching himself to his prince. As he says,

A courtier can have neither the right nor the will to speak and
think otherwise than favorably of a mas ter who among so many
thousands of other subjects has chosen him to train and raise up
with his own hand. This favor and advantage corrupt his
freedom, not without sorne reason, and dazzle him.J

Montaigne's concern is based on his recognition that the confrontation

of power with truth can have even more troubling results than hypocritical
dissembling. Given that weak and unreliable instrument of human reason,
an even greater danger to truth than dissimulation is influence and co-
optation. From this vantage point; the integrity of that magnanimous
"generous heart" appears overly concerned with mere "externals." What is of
real importance is onlYthat within the mindi it is the integrity of thought
which is essential, not thatôf comportment and actions. As Montaigne
" .1
___
,',.-- - ,'i;
_~:'"

argues at one point, the court deserves our complete deference and
submission, except, he adds, "Bthat of our understanding."2 Here Montaigne
not only accepts hypocrisy, but insofar as it constitutes the conscious

indifference and conformity. See Zagorin, 122-4; Jason L. Saunders, fustus Lipsius: The
Philosophy of Renaissance Stoicism (NY: Columbia University Press, 1955); Gerhard
Oestreich, Neostoicism and the Early Modern State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1982). On Montaigne's distinction of "inner" and "outer," see Richard Regosin, The Mailer of
My Book: Montaigne's 'Essais' as the Book of the Self (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1977) 26, 35-6.
11: 26 (114).
2I1I: 8 (714).
 240

( uncoupling of belief or judgment and the corrupting influences of the world,

he rather embraces it.
Consequently Montaigne sees only blameworthiness in a case of
straightforward confrontation with power:

One may reprove the fine candor of those two soldiers who
answered Nero to his beard. One, asked by him why he wished
him ill: "1 loved you when you were worthy of it; but since you
have become a parricide, a firebug, a mountebank, a charioteer, l .
hate you as you deserve." The other, asked why he wanted to
kill him: "Because l find no other remedy against your
continuaI wicked deeds."l

Montaigne then contrasts this unpraiseworthy conduct with a more prudent

course, which nonetheless preserves the truth for history: "But as for the
public and nniversal testimonies to his vile and tyrannical deportment that
were given after his death and will be given for aIl time, what man of sound
understanding can reprove them?"2 Indeed, of himself Montaigne proudly
dedares; "My reason is not trained to bendand bow, it is my knees."3
The ethical vision and sensibility here is less than heroic--it is in fact
anti-heroic--but it is by the same token in sorne ways more real. The
opportunities for heroism generally arise only rarely, and thus as an ethical
paradigm it is at best occasionally relevant, and at worst, serves as a
distraction from more immediate questions. In contrast, the pressures for co-
optation may be virtually everpresent, and therefore the vigilence and self-
scrutiny which they demand could actually be more demanding than the
heroic ideal. Nonetheless, prudent hypocrisy as a consistent philosophy of

11: 3 (9).
21: 3 (9).
3I11: 8 (714).
 241

life is aimost bound to appear unpaiatably mean and cowardlyl_-perhaps it is

for this reason that Montaigne is not consistent.
For again here, in the case of Montaigne, the point is not that an ideai
of aristocratie and philosophieai truthfuiness gives way before an attraction to
worldIy achievement, nor before a commitment to purity of thought as
opposed to the merely "externaI" realm of action. Ail of these are parts of
Montaigne's patchwork, and which of them we see depends on which way
we turn him.

10n the subject of Montaigne's general attitude of acquiesence, Friedrich poses the question
whether this could be considered a "cowardly philistine approach"--which he answers by
saying, "Sometimes it appears to be" (315).
 242

vm
<:
CONCLUSION

... he is not disputatious or contradictorYi

neither is he accornmodating and flattering.
Emile

If one turns from the above-discussed writings of the Renaissance to

sorne works of the 18th century, a certain continuity is evident. This is
perhaps especially the case when one puts down Montaigne's Essais, and
picks up a work by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, such as his First Discourse. Here
Rousseau answers in the negative the question posed by the Academy of
Dijon--Has the restoration of the sciences and the arts tended to purify
morals? One of the sources for his position extends back, through Montaigne,
to a warrior nobility disdainful of the creed of a civilizing refinement through
learning. In fact, Rousseau explicitly draws upon M;n't:i~lle, whom he
describes as that "sensible man,"1 to relate how when the i':;oths laid waste to
Greece they intentionally spared the libraries because they viewed them as

1The Firsl alld Secood Discollrses, ed. Roger D. Masters, !rans. Roger D. and Judith R. Masters
(N.Y.: St. Martin's Press, 1964) 54.
 243

contributing to the degenerate and unmartial character of the Greeks, and that
Charles VIII owed his easy conquests in Italy to similar influences on the
Italians.
But besides the age-old complaint that letters and learning undermine
a peoples' martial and "manly" spirit, in other ways Rousseau also follows a
long tradition that passes through Montaigne in decrying the falsity of
learned refinement and exaggerated dvility: "Before art had moulded our
manners and taught our passions to speak an affected language, oùr customs
were rustic but natural, and differences of conduct announced at first glance
those of character."l According to Rousseau, it was not that ouriess
cultivated ancestOtii were morally superior to their modern descendents, but
rather that the "security in the ease of seeing through each other" and the
consequent lack of mutuai suspicion "spared them many vices."z In contrast,
'1-.

Today, when subt:.er researches and a more refined taste have

reduced the art of pleasing to set rules ... Incessantly politeness
requires, propriety demands; incessantly usage is followed,
never one's own inclinations. One no longer dares appear as he
is ... No more sincere friendships; no more real esteem; no
more well-basedé·onfidence. Suspicions, offenses, fears,
coldness, reserve, hate, betrayal, will hide constantly under that
uniform and false veil of politeness, under that much vaunted
urbanity which we owe to the enlightenment of our century.3

In certain passages it appears as if Rousseau advocates the abstention

From, if not learning'itself, a.t least ail its outward manifestations which
\,.,

engender such suspicion: "The good man is an athlete who likes to compete
in the nude," for he "disdains ail thos.e vile ornaments which would hamper

Ilbid, 37.
fi~ ZIbid.

-
\~ ,Mt _... 3lbid, 37-8.
 244

the use of his strength."l Nonetheless, elsewhere he appears less absolute in

his judgement against some forms of refined cultivation, favoring "natural
yet engaging manners, equally remote from Teutonic simplicity and Italian
pantomime."2 Hence Rousseau's sometime preference for the extremes of
naturalism can best be understood as a response to a society perceived to be far
more threatened by "Italian" theatrieality than by "Teutonie" crudeness.
Moreover, as is apparent to even the casual reader of Rousseau's other
works, his concern with hypocritical "play-acting" is not particular to this
early essay, but rather informs a good deal of his work as a whole. For
instance, among Rousseau's criticisms of the theater given in the Letter ta
Monsieur D'Alembert on the Theatre, is the cultivation of theatrical skills.
He writes that the specifie art of the actor consists of "appearing different than
he is" and "of saying what he does not think as naturally as if he really did
think it."3 Rousseau emphasizes that it is not that he believes that the theater
is actually deceptive--dearly the actor performing on stage is not actually
trying to fool anyone--but this fact does not render the thespian profession
harmless: "1 do not precisely accuse him of being a deceiver but of cultivating
by profession the talent of deceiving men and of becoming adept in habits
whieh can be innocent only in the theatre and can serve everywhere else only
for doing harm. "4

1Ibid, 37.
2lbid.
3polilics alld)h,eArts, trans. Allan Bloom (!thaca, N.Y.: Comell University Press, 1960) 79.
4lbid, 80. sée Davi~, Marshall, The SlIrprîsillg Effects of Sympathy (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1988) 'ch.5; on this theme among other wrilers of lhis general period, see his
The Figllre of the Theater: Shaftsbllry, Defoe, Adam Smith, alld George Elliot (N.Y.:
( Columbia University Press, 1986). .
 245

These concerns over artifice and hypocrisy draw upon a long tradition
of hostility to the theater,l but also upon a more recent tradition which
opposes pastoral simplicity to the world of the court. Again in the First
Discourse he observes that "Il is in the rus tic clothes of a farmer and not
beneath the gilt of a courtier that strength and vigor of body will be found";
to this he adds that virtue is merely "the strength and vigor of the soul,"2
thereby making the familiar association of the rustic and the virtuous, as
opposed to courtly degradation.
However, for the most part Rousseau diverges from the tradition of
anti-courtly writings in that the primary target of his criticism is no longer the
court, but that more vast aristocratie society which has spilled out beyond the
court, to the salons and various corners of Paris. Hence in Rousseau's
epistolary novel The New Eloise, the character Saint-Preux employs a
familiar trope of the courtly humanist literature in now describing the great
city; there he says one "must be more flexible than Alcibiades."3 In Paris, he
continues,

... 1 find only an empty appearance of sentiment and of

sincerity whkh changes every instant and falsifies itself, in
which 1 see only spectres and phantoms which strike the eye for
a moment and disappear as soon as one tries to touch them ...
Until now 1 have seen a great many masks; when shaH 1 see the
faces of men?4

1See Jonas Barish, The Antitheatrical Prejudice (Berkeley: University of California Press,
1981), and also M. Barras, The Stage Contruoersy ill France from Comeille ta Rousseau (N.Y.:
Instilute of French Sludies, 1933).
2Politics and the Arts, 37.
3La Nouvelle Héloïse, Oeuvres Complètes de Jeall-Jacques Rousseau, ed. Henri Goulet and
Bernard Guyon, vol. 2 (Paris: Bibliothèque de la Pléade, 1959) 234.
4La Nouvelle Héloïse: Julie or the New Eloise, trans. and cd. Judith H. McDoweIl (University
Park, Penn.: Pensylvania State University Press,1968) 197. ;C-;.
"
 246

In Saint-Preux's transposition of the criticisms of the court to the city, he

states explicitly that he speaks only of Parisian "high society."l Consequently,
this modification appears of fairly minor sociological significance: the
population concerned is still a relatively minute aristocratic elite. The
continuity with the earlier genre of social critique remains in many respects
striking.
This sense of continuity with certain preoccupations of the Renaissance
is only increased if we cross the Channel and turn our attention to an
influential set of writings from 18th century England: Lord Chesterfield's
letters to his son. In these many letters, Chesterfield recommends and
borrows from sorne of the numerous 17th century French works dedicated to
the cultivation of the honnête homme--exactly the works whose ethos so
outrages Rousseau--and which are themselves the direct descendents of The
Book of the Courtier, Galateo, and other Renaissance manuals of civility and
the court. 2

1The social position of that group to which Rousseau directs his criticism is also suggested by
other works. For instance, his attack on social hypocrisy in the Emile follows the influential
contemporary work by Charles Duclos, the Considerations sllr les moeurs de ce siècle, in which
Duclos specifies exactly who are, and who are not, the objects of his critique: "Mes observations
ne regardent pas œux qui, dévoués à des occupations suivies, à des travaux pénibles." ln
contrast, he conœrns himself with those whose personàlity reflect a life possessing a certain
degrec of "opulence and leisure," to which he adds, "Ces hommes-là forment un peuple dans la
capitale" (13). Like Rousseau, in his more reflective moments, Duclos also refuses to advocate
crudeness and lack of consideration for others; he simply aUempts to draw the proper lirnits for
social accommodation: "Quelle est donc l'espèce de dissimulation permise, ou plutôt quel est le
milieu qui sépare la fausseté vile de la sincérité offensante? ... On ne doit ni offenser ni tromper
les hommes" (34). Charles Duclos, Considérations sllr les moellrs, ed. F. C. Green (Cambridge,
Cambridge University Press, 1946).
2Under Louis XIV, France "rose" to a place of pre-eminence in Europe in the field of civility.
The considerable, but mainly derivative 17th century French courtesy literature includes such
works as L'Honnête Homme 011 L'Art de ~f'laire à la COllr, by Nicolas Faret; Les Devoirs de la
Vie Civile and the Discollrs sllr la Bienséance, by Jean Pic; Le Caractere de l'Honnête Homme,
by Abbé Gerard; De la Scie/zce dll Monde, by François de Callieres; Reflexions sllr ce qlli Pellt
Plaire 011 Déplaire, by Abbé Bellegarde. This literature is discussed in Mason, Gentlefolk in
the Making, chap. 9 and passim, also in Harold Nicolson, Good BehaviOllr (London: Constable,
1955) chap. 9. ~
 247

Moreover, Chesterfield is not content to rely only on modern works,

but rather, just as did the humanists of the Renaissance, looks to the works of
classical antiquity, Quintilian and Cicero especially. For instance, he
specifically approves of Cicero's view "that it is glorious to excel other men in
that very article, in which men excel brutes; speech. "1 It follows that he
should frequently impress upon his son the importance of oratory:

Let us return to Oratory, or the art of speaking well: which

should never be entirely out of your thoughts, since it is so
useful in every part of life : .. The business of Oratory, as 1 have
told you before, is to persuade people; and you easily feel, that to
please people is a great step towards persuading them. 2

Perhaps the single most important notion here is that familiar attentiveness
to circumstances: "One of the most important points in life is decency; which
is to do what is proper and where it is proper; for many things are proper at
one time, and in one place, that are extremely ihlproper in another."3 He
observes that this English word "decency" translates the Latin decorum, and
quotes from Cicero on the subject so that his son may "see how necessary
decency is, to gain the approbation of mankind."4
As with many of the earlier humanist authors, Chesterfield
distinguishes between acceptablp. and base flattery,S legitimate and ignoble

1Lord Chesterfield, Letlers lohis Son and Others (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1929) 134.
2Ibid, 3.
3Ibid, 1.
4Ibid. Eisewhere he urges the young Philip, "Pray read frequently and with the ulmost
attention; nay, get by heart, if you can, that incomparable chapter in Cicero's Offices upon the
la prepon, or the Decon/m. It cantains whatever is necessary for the dignity of manners."(p. 111)
The same lesson appears also to he taken from modem French sources: "Les bienséances are a
most neœssary part of the knowledge of the world. They consist in the relations of persons,
things, time, and place" (238).
Sibid, 36, 111.
 248

dissimulation,l and also maintains that one must seriously study the tastes
and humors of others, so that one may better accommoda te oneself to them.
In this regard he recommends "the qualifications of the cameleon;'2 and
indeed urges that this adaptability should be exercised regardless of one's
opinion of those others and the particular traits in question: "However
frivolous a company may be, still, while you are among them, do not show
them, by your inattention, that you think them so; but rather take their tone,
and conform in some degree to their weakness, instead of manifesting your
contempt for them."3 Furthermore, he emphasizes the power contained in
the ability to submit gracefully:

One must often yield, in order to prevail: one must humble

one's-self, to be exalted; one must, like St. Paul, become ail
things to ail men, to gain some; and (by the way) men are taken
by the same means, mutatis mutandis, that women are gained;
by gentleness, insinuiltion, and subrnission; and these lines of
MT. Dryden's will holèl to a minister as weil as to a mistress.

The prostrate lover, when he lowest lies,

But stoops to conquer, and but kneels to rise. 4

The sum of ail these skills is what Chesterfield knows as "good-

breeding"--which is something learned and practiced above ail at court:
"Courts, alone, teach versatility and politeness; for there is no living there
without them."s Consequently, it is the court which defines the norms of
proper or refined conduct: "the language, the air, the dress, and the manners

l"lt may be objectee!, that 1am now recommending dissimulation to you; 1bath own and justify
it." Chesterfield follows Bacon and Bolingbroke in rejecting only the most extreme forms of
dissimulation under the label "simulation" (104).
2lbid,216.
3lbid, 19-20.
4lbid,215.
( 5lbid,225.
 249

of the Court, are the only true standard des manières nobles, et d'lin honnête
homme) Chesterfield shows little patience for the critics of these norms:
"Let misanthropes and would-be philosophers declaim as much as they
please against the viees, the simulation, and dissimulation of Courts; those
invectives are always the result of ignorance, ill-humour, or envy."2
In truth, the apparent similarity between Chesterfield's world and that
of his courUy Renaissance predecessors is somewhat deceptive. Throughout
Europe, courtly and aristocratie norms were, and would continue to be,
influential for sorne time.3 But while Lord Chesterfield was carefully
grooming his son for a career of royal service and diplomacy, other
occupations were increasingly proving themselves profitable and socially
acceptable to a broader segment of the litera te population. 4
As a result of changing attitudes and opportunities for social and
economic advancement, there emerged a greater interest in acquiring the
skills and knowledge necessary to take advantage of these opportunities--and
consequenUy a literature to answer that demand. Popular guides to
commerce and trade often contained sorne instruction on bookkeeping or
technical matters, but also on proper conduct and behavior. Indeed,
published discussions of these subjects go back at least as far as the
Renaissance, especially in those regions with a commercial tradition. For
instance, the character Giannozzo in Alberti's Della Famiglia gives a number

Ilbid,200.
2Ibid,237.
3The continued importance of the aristocracy in European polilics and culture into the 20th
century is discussed in Arno J. Mayer, The Persistence of the Dld Regime (N.Y.: Pantheon Books,
1981) see especially chap. 2.
40n the early phase of this transformation, see Joyce O. Appleby, Ecollomic Thollght alld
Idealogy in Seventeenth-Centllry England (Princeton: Princeton University Press,1978); on the
18th century, J. G. A. Pocock, Virille, Commerce, alld His/ory (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1985) especially chap. 9, and Milton L. Myers, The Solll of ECOlwmic Mail
f)
--- (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983) especially chapter 2.
 250

of recommendations for one engaging in trade, induding, "Beware that no

one ever, through your roughness or malice, leaves your shop feeling cheated
or discontented ... A sellar who is wellliked always has plenty of
eustomers. "1
At nearly the same time as Alberti was writing these lines, William
Caxton translated into English a medieval tract touching on the exercise of
.,, ,-, prudence in one's affairs, with the intention of encouraging the education of
boys who would saon follow the career of their fathers, as merchants. 2 In the
early 17th century, Thomas Powell's Tom of ail Trades: or the Plaine Path-
way to Preferment briefly discusses the various professional options available
ta younger sons of the nobility. Besides the occupations of courtier, scholar,
minister, lawyer, and soldier, among others, Powell mentions a number of
possibilities in commerce--from a merchant shipper, ta a smith or jeweller.3
However, according to Sylvia Thrupp, there is no known writing of
any significant size in the English language ta exalt a career in business until
the publication of William Scott's An Essay of Drapery in 1635. 4 Scott's essay,
subtitled The Compleate Citizen, is an erudite tract filled with Latin phrases,
Greco-Roman allusions, which quickly betrays its inspiration and sources.
Just as books l and II of Quintilian's Institutio Oratoria take up the subject of
the ethics of rhetoric, conduding that "an orator must be a good man,"s sa in

1Della Famiglia, 196.

2Sylvia Thrupp's Introduction to William Scott, An Essay of Drapery (Boston: The Kress
Library of Business and Economies, 1953) 1. "
3Tom of ail Trades: or the Plaine Path-way ta Prefennent, printed in Tell-Trothes New Yeares
gift. ed. F. J. Fumivall (Vaduz: Kraus Reprint for The New Shakespere Society Publications,
1965) 137-75. Other contemporary books of this sort are mentioned by Mason, Gentlefolk in the
Making, 148.
4Introduction to William Scott, An Essay of Drapery, 1. Scoll's Essay is discussed in Agnew, 79-

c 89.
51nstitutio Oratoria, II. xvi. 11.
 251

the first few pages of An Essay of Drapery, the reader is told, "Hee cannot be a
good Draper which is not first a good man."1
Scott aiso holds that since "speech makes a man more ~xcellent than a
Beast, 50 eloquence will make him more excellent than other men," and that
to do 50 "it must be fitted to the matter and circumstances."2 However, in Ail
Essay of Drapery the classicai teachings have been adapted to new concerns:

... perswading his Customer to the liking of his commodity,

hee must put on the same liking himselfei for putting on the
same passion hee would stir up in others, he is most like to
prevaile: Yet in as much as hee is to deale with men of divers
conditions, let him know that to speake according to the nature
of him with whom he commerceth, is the best Rhetorick.3

Scott aiso draws similarly adapted Iessons for his man of business from
the modern literature on courtesy. Hence he writes:

Except liberality, courtesie is more regarded of men than any

vertue: it payes a great deale, yet is never the poorer: it satisfies
every man, yet lessens not the Stocke ... few men have risen to
great Fortunes, which have not been courteous. These small
ceremonious matters win great commendations, because they

1An Essay of Drapery, 17. "c ,"

2Ibid, 28.
3Ibid. Of course before perfonning such feats of versatility, "a true knowledge of the parties
with whom a man deales, is first necessary." Scott continues, drawing heavily on Bacon's essay
"Of Negociating": "Hec must unùerstand their nature, humour, inclination, designments, and
proceedings: 50 the nature of businesse in hand must bec knowne too. A superficiall knowledge
of it is not enough, a man must penetrate into the inside, and sec things in themselves, with the
acddents and consequents that belong thereunto; joyning bath these together, il will be easy for
him to profit, if according ta divers natures of the persans and afaires, he change his stile, and
manner of proceeding; as a wise 5ea-man, who aceording to the divers state of the 5ea, and
change of winds, doth diversely turne his sayles and rudder; knowing every mans nature and
fashions, hec may lead him; knowing his ends, he may perswade him; knowing his weaknesse
or disadvantage, he may awe him; if the quality of the businesse be understood, to the finding
out of which, every mans oW;le observation must bec set a worke; which if it be diligent, will
bring forth more then the best writer is able to uller" (34).
 252

are continually in use and note; whereas the occasion of a great

vertue commeth but seldome.l

Despite this recommendation, the Essay tries to find sorne middle ground on
the question of the extent of ceremonious courtesy, as it does as well on other
related matters, such as flattery. Here he criticizes the overly indulgent, but
does not hold them fully responsible, since "Sorne Customers will grow dull
and displeased, if they bee not often whetted by a Flatterer; down-right honest
speeches discontent them."2 Consequently Scott concludes, "as the Apostle
said; Be angry but sin not: 50 1 say, Flatter but sin not, if that be possible."3
A number of similar ideas are expressed in the only slightly less erudite
work by Caleb Trenchfield, A Cap of Gray Hairs for a Green Head, published
in 1671. The Cap of Gray Hairs follows in the tradition of advice books
written in the form of a father's counsel for his sono-in this case an apprentice
in London; Yet there is something distinctive in the relatively popular and
commercial outlook of the work. In fact Trenchfield writes that to his
knowledge, he is the first to have "stoopt 50 l~w, to give advice to an
Apprentice" and to write "in the level of the greatest part of persons; to
whom advice was not less needful."4

1lbid, 27. Compare Ga/alro: "And although liberality, courage, or generosity are without
doubt far greater and more praiseworthy !hings than charm and manners, none the less,
pleasant habits and decorous manners and words are perhaps no Jess useful !hose who have
them than a noble spirit and self-assurance are to others. This is so because everyone must deal
with other men and speak to !hem eve-:y day; thus, good manners must aIse be practised many
times daily, whereas justice, fortitude and the other greater and nobler virtues are called into
serviee much more seldom." (3) Scott virtually lifts this passage, while characteristically
omitting sorne of the aristocratie virtues, adding the commercial metaphors and the emphasis
on acquiring wealth.
2Ibid,20.
3lbid. Scott aIse discusses "dissimulation"-denouncing as "servile" and "cowardly" those who
"like the polypus can take ail colours to deceive," and yet in comparison wi!h flatte'Y, finds
dissimulation "a !hing more tolerable with a Citizen" (20); the discussion of the polypus is not
included in Thrupp's edited reprint. "
( 4A Cap of Gray Hairs for a Green Head (London, 1671) 4.
 253

Sorne of his advice consists of recommending not to "concerne thy self

in thy discourses with the public management of affairs of state: For it is a
kinde of serious madness, to interest our selves in the disposure of those
things which are 50 much above us."1 Nonetheless, he elsewhere admits that
"it hath been no impolitick way to wealth and promotion, to be a stout abettor
of the prevailing faction, and great assertor of the opinion in fashion. "2 In
addition to this, he offers the well-worn advice that "the tempers of those
persons you deal with must be carefully observ'd,"3 and also recommends the
"art of conferring courtesies handsomely,"4 which he, like Scott, finds ail the
more attractive since involving no expense.
Despite the attraction o(Trenchfield's homely wisdom and Scott's
erudition, these works did not enjoy great success. Tliis fact is specifically
remarked of An Essay of Drapery by its modern editor. As she notes, the 17th
century readers were far Jess interested in conduct appropriate to business
than they were in learning to behave like gentlemen and women. 5 But by the
18th century, plying a trade was becoming increasingly respectable. The
writers of the Spectator frequently rejoiced in the greatness of commerce, and
the- blessings it was bringing to England. Joseph Addison dec1ares that "There
is no place in the town which 1 50 much love to frequent as the Royal
Exchange," and describes the great scene of mutuaI enrichment. 6 In other
reflections he criticizes those among the nobility "who had rather see their
children starve like gentlemen, than thrive in a trade or profession that is

Ilbid,63.
2Ibid,8.
3Ibid,82.
4Ibid,81.

o 5Introduction to An Essay of Drapery, 4.

6The Spectator, complete in one volume (London: William P. Nimmo, 1877) #69.
 254

beneath their quality"j he suggests that even their dignity and self-worth
( would be increased if they were to be engaged in a useful endeavor,1
One of the most prolific and enthusiastic partisans of commerce was
Daniel Defoe. Hence not only did Defoe author a work entitled The Campleat
EngIish Gentleman, following a number of guides for poIite conduct of
similar titles,2 but also one called The Complete EngIish Tradesman. This
latter work contains advice on a number of subjects potentially of interest to
the man of business or those aspiring to be one; it indudes discussions of the
benefits and dangers of partnerships, the proper use of employees, credit and
borrowing, etc. It also offers counsel on how the merchant is to behave with
his customers: "the man that stands behind the counter must be aIl courtesy,
civiIity, and good manners; he must not be affronted, or any way moved, by
any manner of usage, whether owing to casuaIty or design; if he sees himself
iII-used, he must wink, and not appear to see it, nor any way show dislike or
distaste."3 According to Defoe, this is often a very bitter piII, which must
nonetheless be swallowed. He says of the tradesman that he "must have no
flesh and blood about him;'4 and continues:

It is true, natural tempers are not to be always counterfeited; the

man cannot easily be a lamb in his shop, and a lion in himself;
but let it be easy, or hard, it must be done, and it is done ... the
provocations they have met with in their shops have so irritated
sorne men, that they have gone upstairs from their shop, and
vented their passion on the most innocent objects, their wives,
children, or servants, as they fell in their way; and when their
)'
d

1Ibid, #108.
-~ ,.
-c-~L1his inc1udes the three 17th century works by-John Gailhard, Henry Peacham, and Baltasar
Gracian under the title COInpleat Gentleman (the orignial title of the latter work was El
Lliscreto). '
3The Complete English Tradesman, vol. 1 (N.Y.: Burt Franklin, 1970) 62.
4lbid,6O.
 255

heat was over, would go down into their shop again and be as
humble, as courteous, and as calm as before .... 1
.~.

The tradesman has no recourse but to reconcile himself to the

conditions of his employment, for "when he considers, that he is intending to
get money by those who make these severe trials of his patience; and that it is
not for him that gets money to offer the least inconvenience to them by
whom he gets it."2 Defoe concludes this thought by remarking, "as Solomon
says, the borrower is servant to the lender; 50 the seller is servant to the
buyer."3
Besides patiently enduring abuse--an essentially passive role--the
merchant must also actively work to sell his goods. For this, there is a "shop
rhetoric," which Defoe confesses "is a strange kind of speech. "4 It consists, he
says "of a mass of impertinent flattery to the buyer, filled with hypocrisy,
compliment, self-praises, falsehood, and in short a complication of
wickedness. "5 Defoe recognizes that the strictest requirements of moral
integrity and participation in commerce may not be--in fact, are not--
compatible: "if our yea must be yea, and our nay, nay, why then, it is
impossible for tradesmen to be Christians. "6 In practice, such ethical rigidity
would mean that we would have to "unhinge ail business, act upon new
principles in trade, and go by new rules; in short, we must shut up shop and
leave of trade."7

1Ibid,62.
2lbid, 62-3.
3Ibid, 63.
4Ibid,194.
SIbid.
6Ibid,184.
{) 7Ibid.
 256

In contrast, Defoe seeks a moderate solution, which will both allow the
( tradesman to practice his profession, and yet not bend his conduct so far as to
jeopardize his honesty:

The shopkeeper ought indeed to have a good tongue, but he

should not make a common whore of it ... There is a modest
license which trade allows to ail; but this cannot excuse a witful
lie behind the counter, any more than in any other place; and I
recommend it to ail honest tradesmen to consider what a
scandai it is upon trade to suppose that a tradesman cannot live
without lying. 1

The appearance of works like Scott's An Essay of Drapery and Defoe's

Complete English Tradesman marks a transition in Western culture. Over
the course of the 18th century, the traditional form of writing on civility and
social advancement began to go out of fashion. 2 White both aristocrats and
the imitative middle dass continued to read and approve works derivative of
the courtly humanist literature on conduct, such as Chesterfield's Letters,
writings like those by Scott and Defoe appeared in increasing numbers. Part
of what differentiated these from the former works was simply the changed
economic activity in question: they treated not the courtier but the
shopkeeper or tradesman. But the economic changes reflected in these works
corresponds ,;s weIl to a variety of interrelated changes in eustom, taste, and
"\,\
outlook. As we have seen, in the earlier instances of these writings the
prestige and entrenchment of humanist education was still evident, as
authors drew upon the language of the earlier courtly literature, white
modifying its application. But eventually even these borrowings were
abandonned: the forms of humanism characteristic of the courtier literature--

1Ibid, 195.
( 2S ee Mason, Gentlejolk in the Making, 219.
 257

the prizing of eloquence, praise, and fame as the highest human

achievements; the rough equa tion of learning, social refinemen t, and
morality; the classical tropes of flexibility and dissimulation; etc.--which in
the Renaissance had been variously used and contested, but rarely ignored,
largely disappeared.
By the 20th century, most of those features of Renaissance thought and
expression have become as anô.chronistic as jousting and bloodletting. These
changes betoken just sorne of the considerable cultural distance between
ourselves and inhabi';nts oh;le Renaissance such as Machiavelli, Erasmus,
More, and Montaigne. Nonetheless, insofar as these thinkers all clJHcerned
th~mselves with drawing the proper limits for social accommodation, they
may still be compelling and accessible to the modern reader. Indeed, because
of these concerns they may be especially compelling and accessible to the
modern reader.

'c

i
1'\..
"'- ',
\\
\".
 258

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