assignment for Essays Guru

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the Decameron. The allegorical undertones are dense, and must not be overlooked, nor

must the work be considered a mere description of the ideal physical traits of a

Renaissance woman. In fact, as Eisenbichler and Murray note in their introduction to the

work, the dialogue moves “from a conceptualization of ideal beauty to the actualization

of such beauty in a specific beautiful woman.” They point out that through such a

process, the participants realize that the product of their creative process, their ideal

woman, is merely a chimera, existing only in their imaginations.17 As with the female

subjects of Renaissance biography, the ideal can never be actualized. It can, however,

serve to bring others to a higher contemplation of God. Firenzuola’s dialogue, in fact,

retains the thematic influences of the Dolce Stil Nuovo, but attempts to emphasize the

female earthly qualities as reflections of heavenly perfection, not heaven-sent.18

Firenzuola makes this aim evident when he gives Celso these important words:

“For a beautiful woman is the most beautiful object one can admire, and beauty is the

greatest gift God bestowed on his human creatures. And so, through her virtue, we direct

our souls to contemplation, and through contemplation to the desire for heavenly

things.19” Important to observe here, is how her female beauty is equated in Neoplatonic

terms with her virtue. If she is beautiful, she is also virtuous. Eisenbichler and Murray

call Firenzuola an “anomaly” in his assertion of the “equality of women and men in every

aspect of life.”20 But they argue that Firenzuola is similar to the majority of Renaissance

Neoplatonic philosophers, who concede to women “an equality of nature,” yet continue

“to espouse and reinforce the Aristotelian notion of women’s social and spiritual

inferiority.21” This is just one example of the paradox inherent to the Renaissance

querelle literature, by which new ideas are negated by their inefficacy to bring about real

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change. Another work with equally strong feminist leanings is Bartolomeo Goggio’s

understudied work De laudibus mulierum (1487).22 Goggio, like Firenzuola, approaches

his subject through a Platonic lens, through which he refutes Aristotle’s theories of

female inferiority with a slew of scientific and theoretical examples, then counters St.

Thomas’ theory of female passivity (Eve’s formation from Adam’s rib) by stating that

Eve’s transmutatione was much more miraculous than Adam’s, which had its origins in

fango (mud), whereas her origins were from a much nobler source: man.23 He proceeds to

outline how women were the catalysts for the formation of all good things in history such

as literacy, music, agriculture, city states, etc, and his seventh and last chapter of the first

book contains a series of biographical sketches.24 Gundersheimer emphasizes that this

work was not commissioned and is, therefore, representative of Goggio’s genuine

opinion regarding the female question. If this is true, Goggio is an anomaly even to

Firenzuola, and his work – composed 54 years prior to Firenzuola’s – represents perhaps

the most genuine and thorough defense of women in Renaissance Italy. The tone of this

work, however, is constantly changing from parody to comedy to earnest moralizing,

perhaps underlying the paradox of intent found in every work related to the querelle, and

leading some to question its efficacy as a pro-feminist text25.

Some, however, argue that paradoxical or not, its impact is equally significant.

Ruth Kelso notes that “lurking satire” has surprisingly little to do with the work’s impact

on the querelle and ideas surrounding women during the Renaissance26. She notes that

while exercises in the “serio ludere” abound in Renaissance, most particularly in regard

to absurd topics (and to many the querelle may have represented the absurd), one must

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nevertheless consider the impact of a work on society and its readers, regardless of

authorial intent.

Joan Kelly-Gadol is perhaps the pioneer of the female Renaissance paradox

theory, though she reaches a different conclusion than Kelso. In her article, “Did Women

Have a Renaissance?” she purports that women did not have a Renaissance, despite the

amassing of treatises, orations, and letters dedicated to defending women.27 In another

article on Renaissance historiography, she discusses the paradox of courtly love: “The

woman, who seems to be elevated to a new height by symbolizing the Ideal, is actually

rendered passive and impotent. The sexual expression of love is forbidden to her, and it is

even doubtful whether she can love at all.”28 Such paradoxes can be seen in Boccaccio’s

De mulieribus claris, whose heroines are lauded not for their feminine traits, but their

masculine ones, and it is their possession of such masculine traits that render them

worthy and deserving of praise. Torquato Tasso likewise presents this inconsistency in

his Discorso della virtù feminile e donnesca.29 Though his Discorso makes room for a

public woman whose duties are equal to those of a man, her prescribed virtues are

different. After discussing the contrasting theories of Aristotle and Plato, and appearing

himself to adhere to the Aristotelian idea of female virtue, he asks:

Ma a chi scriv’io della feminil virtù? non già ad una cittadina o ad una gentildonna privata, nè ad una industriosa madre di famiglia, ma ad una nata di sangue imperiale ed eroico, la qual con le proprie virtù agguaglia le virili virtù di tutti i suoi gloriosi antecessori. Dunque non più la feminil virtù, ma la donnesca si consideri; nè più s’usi il nome di femina, ma quel di donnesco, il qual tanto vale quanto signorile. Onde appresso Dante si legge:

‘Donnescamente disse: vien con nui;’ così signorilmente o imperiosamente.30

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The linguistic implications of the term donnesco are evident in its masculine vowel

ending, and linguistic comparison to the term signorile. A woman who is exercising the

duties prescribed to men loses her identity as female, assuming a new one: donnesco.

The Renaissance concept of female is so intrinsically tied to the societal rubric for

female behavior, that anything outside of such constraints is an exception, or takes

another name entirely. One must not overlook, however, that Tasso was unique among

his contemporaries in attempting to re-categorize the concept of “donna”, granting

women a reality void of masculine comparison, exclusively their own. “Raro esempio tra

i suoi contemporanei, Tasso considera la donna un’entità storica e si propone di mostrare

come la virtù eroica, comunemente considerata di stretta pertinenza maschile, si

confaccia non tanto a tutte le donne, quanto a coloro che, regine o principesse, rivestano

un ruolo di primo piano nel governo di una città o di uno stato.”31

Another scholar to observe the paradoxical element of the querelle is Francine

Daenens, who outlines the paradoxes presented in Sperone Speroni’s “Dialogo della

dignità delle donne” (1542), paradoxes that reveal both the arguments in favor of women

and the inertia with which they are presented: “Elogio e nello stesso tempo critica, sottile

e insidioso, il paradosso rinvia sempre un’altra immagine della donna, diversa e non più

paradossale. Permette di aggirare ciò che nell’elogio o nella critica è troppo apertamente

dichiarato, ma anche di sfidare i luoghi communi su vizi e virtù femminili sui quali si era

costruita una lunga tradizione moralistica.”32 The Conte, the primary advocate of women

in the dialogue, presents women according to the tradition of courtly love as the

“signore” or governors of men’s hearts. Beatrice Obiza, the main female character in this

conversation, summarily refutes this idea, reminding the Conte that a woman’s true goal

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is the satisfaction of her husband and such servitude is what constitutes her happiness.

The female character, then, is the instigator of the paradox, whose preference for the

traditional spousal servant role negates the Conte’s progressive attitudes.

The prevalence of paradox in pro-feminist literature is by necessity intrinsic, but

according to Pamela Benson in her book The Invention of the Renaissance Woman, not

necessarily ineffective.

Because woman’s inferiority to man was assumed, a text that proposed to defend her and praise her excellence or superiority was attempting to defend the indefensible and praise the unpraisable. If, however, the text succeeded in its mission and discovered reasonable topics of defense and praise, then the societal assumption that woman was inferior was undermined. [. . .] Because all absolute and fixed forms are attacked by the mode of paradox, such texts, in their purest form, disrupt the absolute notion of woman’s inferiority without dictating a new orthodoxy of superiority, no matter what they claim to do.33

Readers of the querelle tradition are left, therefore, with three cyclical possibilities,

possibilities which at any given time may mirror or subvert authorial intent: one of

liberality, by which the defenses represent a world brimming with female emancipation; a

second of subverted feminism, by which the author and the absurdities of his discourse

undermine the eulogistic text, and a third by which the paradox still serves to promote

female equality, given the mere existence of the debate in question. As Daenens

acknowledges, the reaction of the Catholic Church to such writings would not have been

so extreme had the paradox of the querelle not altered the female reality in some way:

Se queste tesi fossero state assunte solo per dimostrare bravura retorica non avrebbero certo provocato l’intervento dell’inquisatore, come appare invece nell’atteggiamento censorio di uno degli interlocutori che interrompe un dialogo sulla perfezione delle donne di Nicolò Granucci: “il nostro Padre Inquisitore non vuole di dispute, nè che si scriva di questa materia, se non che la donna sia nel second grado, e n’allega l’autorità di S. Paulo agli Efesi, ove dice: ‘O moglie, sarai suggetta al tuo marito, come a signore.34

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The Inquisition’s heated pursuit of such texts, then, speaks to the progressive movement

of the debate, rather than the apparent inertia of the paradox of the female question.

Another such contributor to this confusing paradox was Henricus Cornelius

Agrippa. In 1509 Henricus Cornelius Agrippa penned his Declamation on the Nobility

and Preeminence of the Female Sex, a work quickly translated into Italian, English,

French, and German and whose influences on the querelle tradition have been immense.

As his translator notes, “His influence throughout the sixteenth century was enormous

and continued into the following century, and his text was plagiarized all over Europe.”35

Using arguments based upon various historical, theoretical, biblical, and medical

precepts, he argues that women have an identical soul to man, “which sexual difference

does not at all affect,” and that in heaven “they will no longer carry out the functions of

their sex, but […] will be similar to angels.”36 Not only does he portray women as equal

to men, he argues for their superiority. As opposed to many of the absurd arguments

made to support female equality throughout the querelle, many of his arguments are

surprisingly reasonable and deductive, such as his theory of completion, by which Eve

was the last thing created, therefore the most perfect:

That is how, at the time of creation, woman was the last in time of all things created; in the conception of the divine mind, however, she was first of all, as much in prestige as in honor, as was written by the prophet: ‘Before the heavens were created, God chose her and chose her first.’ Indeed, it is a commonplace among philosophers to say: ‘the end is always the first in intention and the last in execution.’37

He also makes an assertion unique to the querelle that as mankind was cast out of the

garden only after Adam ate the apple, it was his original sin, not Eve’s, that doomed

mankind, thus instigating the necessity of a male atonement in Jesus Christ: “because we

have been condemned on account of the sin of the man and not of the woman, God

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wished that this sin be expiated by the sex that had sinned and that atonement come

through the same sex that had been deceived in ignorance.”38

Woodbridge and Maclean note, however, that he probably engaged himself in

such rhetorical assertions as a form of jest, primarily to amuse his readers rather than

persuade them.39 In fact, many of his assertions are based on fallacies, such as his

argument that God rested after creating Eve, when any reader of Genesis can refute that

claim upon a first read. The unsupported nature of his arguments is most obvious in a

section in which he tries to use examples of women in the Bible who destroyed or

deceived in some way, as an argument in their favor; an argument thoroughly

unsupported and convoluted, which leaves the reader with more questions than

conclusions. He himself acknowledges this: “someone may say that such facts do not

add to the glory of women but to their censure. Women will respond to that: ‘If it is

necessary that, of the two of us, one loses goods or even life, I prefer that you lose rather

than to be lost myself.’” How this response offers an explanation or defense for his use

of such women as protagonists in his argument is unclear and unconvincing to be sure,

but definitely bears the marking of comedic effect. Maclean and Woodbridge would

likely assert that this was an intentional reversal. Regardless, many of his arguments are

quite reasonable, and the lasting effects of Agrippa’s treaty are evident. His contribution

to the querelle, therefore, significantly adds to an already burgeoning corpus of works

defending women.

There are countless other examples of treatises in defense of women, such as

Cornazzano’s De mulieribus admirandis (1467), Bisticci’s Il Libro delle lode e

commendazione delle donne (1480), Goggio’s De laudibus mulierum (1487), Strozzi’s

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Difensio Mulierum (c.1501), Capella’s Della Eccellenza e dignità della donna (1525),

Castiglione’s Il Cortegiano (1528), and Moderata Fonte’s Il Merito delle donne (1600).40

Such contributions lead one to surmise that the female question was gaining momentum

and the female position in society was progressively undergoing change in some form.

The paradoxes present in such a debate, as we have seen thus far, by no means negate the

reality that the debate itself did represent some form of progress, and, as so aptly stated

by Daenens, the texts of the querelle at least disrupted the notion of women’s inferiority.

Whether or not this had any lasting effect on women’s daily lives or somehow

improved their social standing is, however, unlikely. Pamela Benson argues in her book

that the treatises in defense of women did not conceive a new role for women and did not

do anything to further their ushering into the masculine sphere41. She cites them to be

“profeminist” texts rather than “feminist texts” in that they “short-circuit the logical

political consequences of their praise” and “they defend their society and their own

literary voices against new womankind.”42 Her argument is thoroughly supported in her

investigation into the texts, but I find her approach to be an anachronistic one, placing

modern standards of female equality onto the Renaissance reality. As Ruth Kelso states,

it is the generality of the times, not the intention or actualized influence of a specific text,

that speaks to the trends in literary history.43 Though the movement began to lose

momentum in the early 1600s, its ideas having become saturated and ubiquitous

reproductions, the querelle did represent a baby step towards equality for women.

Alessandro Piccolomini’s work Dialogo dove si ragiona della bella creanza delle

donne (1539), belongs to this corpus of querelle literature, and plays with the inherent

paradox of the tradition. It also directly references the rising genre of female biography,

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while poking fun at the increasingly common conduct manuals. Known to many as La

Raffaella, it is a work that challenges societal prescriptions of female behavior with a

great deal of jocularity. It also offers useful insights into the consumption of

contemporary female literature during the Renaissance. Some may assert that his Dialogo

falls into the later category of satirical misogynist works, which came to a halt in the mid

1500s,44 but I contend that its continual subversion of the female ideals argues for a new

and radical pro-feminist reality.45 I will, therefore, provide a brief summary of the work

as well as outline how it addresses biography, the nascent dominant genre of the 17th

century.

In his later years Piccolomini, in true Boccaccian fashion, denounced his

“Raffaella” as too licentious – an ironic age-based opinion, given the theme of the work,

that of an older woman cajoling a younger woman to sin while young. The elderly

woman Raffaella, maintains it far better to sin and commit various “erroruzzi in

gioventù”, than “errar poi in vecchiezza con maggior danno e vergogna, e pentirsi della

gioventù passata in vano”.46 Piccolomini’s primary source for such a work was Vives’

Education of a Christian Woman (1523) by way of which he quite humorously pokes fun

at society’s female conventions, conventions that Raffaella maintains are easily

overturned or avoided, provided the girl show enough “destrezza” and the ability to

“finger con rossere.”47 A heavily satirical work, it is also one that grants a very clear

picture of the expectations of an Italian Renaissance woman, indirectly. Raffaella tells

Margarita that if she has beautiful hands, she should show them every chance she gets; if

beautiful legs, to show them while fishing or bird-watching; if she be well endowed, to

arrange being seen while bathing, all the while feigning ignorance and, above all,

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“honestà”, because “dove non è honestà non s’apprezza ne considera in una Donna

alcuna opera virtuosa.”48 When Margarita responds that such vanity can be hidden from

men, but not from God, 49 Raffaella emphatically retorts, “”Io t’ho gia ditto Margarita, e

ridico di nuovo, che se fosse possible sarebbe benissimo fatto appresso Dio non far mai

un minimo peccatuzzo, anzi viver come un Romito fra pater nostri, o rosai, e discipline”,

but, she continues, it is not possible, and therefore, it is better to sin while young.50 This

elaboration on the art of secretive rebellion reveals both the societal constraints placed

upon women and what behavior was expected of them, as well as the satirical observation

that such requirements were unattainable. She asserts, again with ironic alacrity, “sarebbe

molto buono, che tu non uscissi quasi mai della camara tua, e che tu andassi brancando

vigilie, & quattro tempora, e disprezzassi il tutto, e fuggissi ogni conversatione, ma non

confidandoti poterlo fare, ti consiglio, che tu hai, salvando sempre la modestia & honestà

tua, da passare tuoi anni giovenili allegramente.”51 These activities expected of a

perfect woman – rarely leaving her room, fasting, fleeing from any conversation, placing

everything worldly in disdain, etc. – are all activities Raffaella views to be unrealistic.

Thus even in jest, Piccolomini observes the extremities and absurdities of Renaissance

rules of conduct placed on women. As a result he gives women an alternative by asserting

that while virtue is impossible to realize, it is relatively easy to perform.

Through such discourse Piccolomini acknowledges the construct of the

“singularissima,” “unica” noblewoman, and refutes the efficacy of the imitative process

by humorously mocking the utter failure that results from attempts at such an impossible

endeavor. Raffaella, for example, tells Margarita about the women from Siena who

unsuccessfully attempted to emulate and imitate the “donne eccellentissime che sono in

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Siena,” noting their humorous but utter failures at doing so. She criticizes one woman in

particular who, while trying to mimic the gait of a notably graceful noblewoman, resulted

in garnering only laughter from onlookers, and another woman who attempted to copy a

noblewoman’s habit of tying her calze above the knees, but was so hindered by

discomfort during a church service that she untied them, and one happened to fall off and

get left behind. Raffaella tells Margherita that she herself picked it up and was repulsed

by the smell – it reeked of urine, she said, probably from falling into the bedpan one too

many times.52 But Raffaella does not place all of the blame upon these vacuous women,

reminding her student that “niuna puo esser da ogni parte perfetta.”53 The Renaissance

model of exemplum is thus negated and rendered inert by Piccolomini, whose character

Raffaella refutes the idea that perfection can be imitated, let alone achieved.

Rather than attain such impossible perfection, Raffaella instead humorously

suggests a deceptive approach that allows the woman to behave as she wishes, while

maintaining appearances: “In somma ella ha da haver sempre avertentia, che ogni suo

minimo passo o parola, o atto sia pieno di quella modestia che tanto si ricerca alle

Donne,” and that should she decide to “pigliar” the opportunities suggested by Raffaella,

to do so in such a way that “altri non s’accorga ch’ella l’habbia fatto avertitamente [e]

con qualche altro finto segno di honestà”54

Piccolomini’s dialogue does more than address the Renaissance trend of

emulation and imitation, however. It pointedly references the hagiographic tradition in

Italy, the habit of reading the lives of saints as tools for rendering one’s heart more pure.

Following Margarita’s protest that such atrocious behavior cannot be hidden from God,

and Raffaella’s remonstrance (I have told you before and will tell you again), Raffaella

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concedes that should Margarita really be unmoved by her arguments and still wish to

“viver senza commetter mai peccato sin alla morte,” then by all means they should

change the topic of conversation to the life of some saint.55 Margarita’s response is

emphatic: “Nò nò.” 56 It is a telling response that demonstrates how contemporary

women received and viewed the biographical tradition of saintly female imitation and

exhortation.

These references to the biographical tradition pervade the humorous timbre of the

work: the Renaissance woman faced a very real expectation of perfection, and the lives of

saints were used as instructive tools to aid women in their ascension to such a lofty goal.

What this work adds to such assertions, is the idea that biographical representations of

female perfection were also regarded as extreme, unattainable, and that the lives of saints

were perhaps not considered such an enjoyable pastime as we might otherwise have

thought. The subtleties lie in the genre of the dialogue, a lighthearted piece intended to

provide amusement by poking fun at societal precepts, and possibly voicing criticism of

such precepts through the use of humor. I say possibly, because the author follows the

typical trend of paradox found in most querelle pieces, in that the limited freedom it

seems to offer the female reality is quickly negated or sidestepped. This ‘sidestep’ reveals

itself in Raffaella’s constant assertion that the woman must take great care never to

appear to be anything other than the female ideal, and that if she be discovered in her

deceptions, she will be unmarriageable or will be a great disappointment to her husband.

As a composer of comedies, this emphasis on reversal (appearance vs. reality) was

commonplace to Piccolomini, who both addresses and engages in the querelle paradox

with ease.

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Such insistence that seeming is everything becomes more evident as the dialogue

continues, when Raffaella speaks of a wife’s relationship to her husband, a relationship

that, according to her, is dependent upon pretence. She tells Margherita that she should at

least pretend to conduct herself as is expected of her, “fingendo di havere desiderio di

compiacere il marito suo in tutto quello ch’ella conosca gli sia a grado, e di tenere ogni

affetione a lui, alla casa sua, alle sustantie, e facoltà, a i figli, e a ogni cosa sua, e se non

lo fa con buon animo, almeno mostri di farlo.”57 Lest we read this passage too literally,

Raffaella concludes that should Margherita do these things, “ella può poi più arditamente

spender nelle vesti, però che vedendola il marito cosi utile nel resto e affetionata alla

casa, non solo le compra queste volontieri, ma essorta spesse volte a farlo.”58 The

primary goal, then, is not goodness itself, but new clothes!

This interchange takes place after a rather lengthy description of Raffaella’s ideal

woman, which aligns strikingly with female prescriptions found in most conduct

manuals. She should not be lazy like most but get up early, observe everything (and

assure that it is in its proper place), command respect from the servants, sew, and never

show herself to be against her husband’s will. The discussion is so lengthy and so specific

in nature that the readers again begin to forget about the comedic paradox at play in the

work, but Piccolomini makes sure to remind them of his satirical goal. Immediately after

the detailed description of a woman who governs her house well, and the humorous

reminder that it is all for material self gain, Raffaella enters into a discussion of how a

woman should act in conversation, governed above all by modestà and honestà. She

should not speak too much, nor slander (“il qual mezzo è oggi quasi in tutte le donne”),

and should show respect and admiration for those deserving it. But of course, following

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this interchange, Raffaella remarks again: “l’honore e il biasimo non consiste

principalmente nel fare ella una cosa o non la fare, ma nel credersi che la faccia.” 59 This

remark is shortly followed by another: “non consiste, come t’ho ditto nel fare o non fare;

che questo importa poco, ma nel credersi.”60 The reader thus experiences a continual,

almost excessive, subversion of the rules of female conduct.

Margherita asks about the obvious contradictions in Raffaella’s statements:

“M’havete ditto poco fa Madonna Raffaella, che il marito e la casa sua ha da esser la

prima cosa che una donna ami in questo mondo, e hora pare che vogliate il contrario, cioè

che l’amor dell’amante passi ogni cosa,” to which Raffaella responds, yet again calling

attention to the pretense of perfection, “con li mariti basta a finger di amarli, e questo gli

basta a loro.”61 And, of course, women must still preserve their honestà: “salvando però

sempre in palese la modestia e l honestà sua, perche oltre che questa cortesia, come t’ho

ditto, rifiorisce tutte l’altre virtù d’una donna.62” It seems remarkable that at this point

Raffaella should speak of honestà, but of course as Piccolomini has emphasized ad

nauseum it is only the “apparenza” of honestà that matters.

In case Piccolomini’s rovesciamenti are still in question, Margherita

communicates her dismay at Raffaella’s truths, citing the Academia degli Intronati as

purporting the opposite: “Hor pur io’ho intesa, & mai l’harei pensato, perche io mi

pensava che questo amore havesse ad essere dell’animo, & honesto, che cosi sentì dire

una sera a una veglia in un giuoco ad un de gli Intronati, che lo chiamano il Garroso,

ostinato, che non me ricordo,” to which Raffaella responds: “Quanti errori fanno certi a

mettere questi rulli, & questi giardini in aria nel capo alle giovani, & sappi che cotestui si

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burlava, e l’intende come io, benche faccia cosi dell’honesto, & che s’empi la bocca

d’honestà, che honestà? La cosa va come ti dico, o tu m’hai fede, o no”63.

At this point the Intronati, his intended audience, have of course thoroughly

enjoyed the pages that make fun of their society along with the many humorous thematic

reversals, such as the treatment of marriage. Raffaella asserts, for example, that arranged

marriages are by no means a hindrance to true love because one can always take a

lover.64 She even suggests that a priest makes an excellent choice of livelihood because

he is not married, and thus has greater freedom to engage in amorous affairs. The

Dialogue concludes with Raffaella becoming Margherita’s mezzana, or procuress, and is

paid well for her services.

It seems obvious, based on the above quotations, that Piccolomini intended his

work to be interpreted in jest, and his advice on marital infidelity to be merely toying

with a literary topos. Such an observation is supported by his later explanation of the text

in his dedication for the Institutione morale, written three years after La Raffaella: “e

insiememente con questa occasione, mi son ritratto di molte cose, che per scherzo scrissi

già in un Dialogo de la Bella Creanza de le Donne; fatto da me più per un certo sollazzo,

che per altra più grava cagione; come molto miei amici ne pon far fede.”65 In chapters

eight and nine of Book nine, he retracts not the Raffaella in its entirety, but its content

that offends the female sex:

e se ben io già intorno a’ due anni sono, dissi alcune cose, che par che offoschin la virtù de la donna, e l’amor di quella al marito, in un Dialogho che domandan la Raffaella, o’ ver creanza delle donne; ritorno indietro e ritratto tutto quello, che io avessi detto quivi contro l’onestà de le donne, già ditto havessi: poscia che fu fatto da me tal dialogo quasi per ischerzo e per giuoco; siccome alcuna volta si fingono delle novelle e de’ casi verisimili più che veri, come fece il Boccaccio sol per dare un certo sollazzo a la mente, che sempre severa e grave non può stare.66

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This recantation is vague in its assertions, especially given the content of the Institutione

morale (1542) in which the retraction is found. Based upon its title, the Institutione

Morale, one might think that this later ethical work is more traditional in style, and

similar to most conduct manuals of the time, but this assumption is false given the

interesting approach Piccolomini takes toward marital infidelity. Unlike most treatises or

conduct manuals, Piccolomini’s Institutione Morale actually approves of the idea of a

“lover”, and stresses the importance that the spouse should not be the object of love:

“Not only is it not necessary for us to take our soul mate as a wife, it is more appropriate

that she not be. It may be for another purpose and from a better law that we love one who

is not ordained to us in marriage.”67

This viewpoint is pointedly different from that of his following works. In his

comedies L’Amor Costante and Alessandro, marriage and love are happily combined,68

an approach that returns in a later edition of the Institutione (1560):

E’ ben vero, che molte volte si vede avvenire, che si disgiungono tra loro tali amori, mentre che quello, che è desiderio di bellezza, si truova tra persone, che non sono consorti, ma questo adviene fuor di quello, che avvenir dovrebbe …. Et poi, che questo disordine occorre per errore, & per colpa de gli huomini; non è mal di sapere … che se con amor di bellezza, il maritale ancora non fie coniunto; allhora il fine a cotali amanti non ha à passar più oltre.69

Evident, therefore, is Piccolomini's personal transformation on moral issues, which leads

the reader to reflect on the paradoxical nature of his earlier and more playful work, during

which time his ideas on love and marriage were more liberal than his later ideals. It is his

later self, in fact, who recants the work and emphasizes its satirical genre. But what of his

younger self? At what point did satire begin and earnestness end? Even more

importantly, when do they end and begin for the reader? The reception certainly varied

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and assuredly contributed to the querelle genre, regardless of its playful origins or

paradoxical components.

All literary corpuses, however, are surpassed or underwritten by subsequent

trends and traditions. The querelle tradition, which gradually faded during the Counter-

Reformation (in both comedic and serious registers), was followed by a literary backlash

in the form of conduct manuals and biographical material, both hagiographic and, more

unique to the 17th century, treating the subject of secular female nobility. An interesting

case in point is the 1622 republication and complete alteration of Piccolomini’s work

which, in its “revised” form, conformed to the new conservative approach. In 1622, Gli

Costumi lodevoli che a nobile gentildonne si convengono by Piccolomini was published.

It appears by title and form to be a conduct manual, and for all intents and purposes it is,

except that it is almost an identical copy of the moral suggestions from the Raffaella.

Parsed into various categories of virtues or womanly duties, the content is merely a

reproduction of a selection of Madonna Raffaella’s words, without the interlocution of

the dialogue participants. In fact, the letter to the “donne che leggeranno” is also an exact

copy, the only changes being that the word “dialogo” is replaced with “discorso.” All

aspects of the dialogue format are missing in the content of the work, as well as most

references to licentious behavior, but it includes all components of the Raffaella that

address issues pertaining to the women of the Renaissance, including dress, make-up and

its excesses, frequency of bathing, jewelry, daily tasks, etc. That Piccolomini plagiarized

himself (or, rather, re-appropriates his work) is unlikely, especially given the publication

date of 1622, 45 years after his death. The unfortunate misrepresentation of Piccolomini’s

text was most likely created by the Venetian editor of the Compendium, Barezzo Barezzi,

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whose Letter to the Readers states only that the texts have been “arricchiti da [lui] di

pastille ne’ margini, di Somarii, di Tavole, e di molte altre gentilezze. If by “gentilezze”

we are to understand that he took the liberty to condense Piccolomini’s dialogue into a

conduct manual arranged according to thematic subject matter and lacking two pages of

his letter to the readers, to make random name changes (Bianchetta to Lucietta, for

example), and leave out any reference to Raffaella whatsoever, then we must surmise that

his “gentilezze” lie in his subtractions, not additions to the text as he intimates. Plausibly

he knew of Piccolomini’s recantation of his original work, thus granting him the apparent

liberty to adjust the subject matter. He omits all vestiges of humor, but does not omit

many passages that are critical of women. In this, he does not attempt in any way to

adhere to Piccolomini’s desires that the text not offend any of his female readers.70

Barezzi’s goal, therefore, was more likely an attempt to make use of a well-

known author’s reputation and titillating content as the impetus for a more palatable

work, one that would be better received by his readership and that, given the new shift

and propensity of literature to expound on ideas of moral rectitude, could avoid the

inevitable censorship that would have followed a republication of the Raffaella. The two

pages he excluded from Piccolomini’s Letter to the Reader, in fact, are the two pages in

which Piccolomini encourages his female readers to take a lover without causing any

suspicion: “se dall’altro canto, donne mie, voi sarete piene di tanta prudenza, e acortezza,

e temperantia, che voi sappiate mantenervi, e godervi l’amante vostro, eletto che ne

l’havete, fin che durano gli anni vostri, così nascosamente, che ne l’aria, ne il cielo ne

possa suspicare mai, in questo caso dico, e vi giuro, che non potete far cosa di maggior

contento, e piu degna di una gentildonna che questa.”71 The shift in focus from the

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theoretical discussions and dialogues of the querelle, full of paradox and humor, to the

17th-century conduct manuals, full of sobriety and practicality, is thus evident in the new

publication of this text. The only vestige of Raffaella that can be found is in Barezzi’s

preservation of the following quote: “Hassi da sapere, che l’honore, o il biasimo non

consiste principalmente nel fare ella una cosa, o non la fare, ma nel credersi che la faccia,

perche l’honore è risposto in altro se nò ne la stimatione appresso a gli huomini.”72

These are of course, the exact words of Madonna Raffaella, though in Barezzi’s

rendition, they are found under the heading of “Honore.” The general “cosa” to which

Piccolomini is here referring, remains undefined whereas in the Raffaella it is, of course,

infidelity. It is immediately after this section on Honor that the work abruptly ends,

asserting that parties and festivities are dangerous places because so many eyes, ears, and

enemies are present, ready to criticize a woman’s reputation.

Most surprising regarding this evident reproduction of a prolifically published text

is the apparent ignorance in the scholarly community that it happened at all. I have found

only one brief reference by Giuseppe Zonta in his notes on “Scrittori d’Italia; Trattati del

cinquecento sulla donna,” published in 1913. He states, “Né ha valora alcuno la scelta dei

Costumi lodevoli spiluccati dal Dialogo del Piccolomini ed editi dal Barezzi in quell

volumetto che contiene varie operette intorno alle donne.”

Piccolomini's Raffaella and questionable republication, however, represent the

center point of the pendulum shift to biography and conduct manuals in the later 1500s

and early 1600s. The republication outlines, in fact, the basic contents of any Renaissance

conduct manual: manner of dress; carriage, hairstyles, hair ornamentation, the use of

make-up, cleanliness, the wearing of jewelry, gloves, bonnets, etc.; movement of the

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body, how to accentuate one's positive attributes, an analysis of each part of the body,

inner virtues such as honesty, modesty, quiet living, goodness, prudence, and piety; as

well as basic duties such as the governance of the home, work ethic, interaction with all

members of society, manner of speech, etc.73 It is a direct link both to the developing

genre of biographies of noblewomen and to the emerging tradition of conduct manuals.

Conduct manuals, in fact, play an essential role in the study of Renaissance

biography as they offer very detailed examples of societal expectations for women of the

Renaissance, many similar to, and many quite different from the biographical portrayals

still extant. In order to establish societal norms for noblewomen of the Renaissance, I will

therefore engage in a brief study of conduct manuals and their contribution to female

Renaissance history. Like the querelle treatises, they do not necessarily contain realistic

expectations for Renaissance women, entrenched as they are within the hagiographic

tradition, but because their composition is devoid of humor and their intent clear, the

reader is free from pondering the cyclical dilemma of the paradoxical issues so prevalent

in the querelle.

As all authors dealing with the querelle will note, the sanctity of marriage and its

integral function in Renaissance society led to a need to prescribe female comportment in

order to preserve the institution of marriage. Treatises on marriage therefore abounded in

the Renaissance with advice for the husband on how to pick a wife and what qualities she

should possess.74 Among such treatises, Leon Battista Alberti’s treatise on Della

Famiglia, in which the interlocutor Lionardo advises the young Battista how to choose a

bride, contains advice on the subject, echoing the traditional stereotypes and

admonishments of the times. The sum qualities of such a worthy woman are beauty,

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appropriate parentage, riches, and proper conduct. As opposed to men, whose virtue was

based upon action and civic responsibility, a woman’s virtue was based upon her

preservation of the family line and its honor. To illustrate this point, Lionardo quotes

Marius, the “illustrious Roman”, who said in a speech to his people: “Of women we

require purity, of men labor.”75 The common idea that such a woman was impossible to

find is voiced by young Alberti: “You have said, I gather, that one should select a

virtuous woman of good parentage, one well dowered and suited to bear a fair number of

sons. All these things are very difficult. Do you think one could easily find them all

combined in one woman?”76 In fact, Alberti’s Lionardo expresses his doubts of female

chastity and virtue and leaves the poor young man perplexed and skeptical that he will

ever find a proper wife.77 Written in the 15th century, this work was not published until

1843, but it is at least indicative of societal views towards women.

There are other works, however, that had a much more profound impact on

contemporary society, such as Juan Luis Vives’ De Institutione feminae Christianae,

published in Latin in 1523, translated into Italian in 1546. Vives’ work enjoyed mass

popularity and was regarded as the most authoritative voice on the proper conduct of

women throughout the sixteenth century.78 Dedicated to Queen Catherine, he writes (as

he indicates in a letter to Erasmus) in a “plainer style so that it would be understood by

the one for whom I was composing the work.”79 Whether or not the Queen was happy

with his work is unknown, but, as Fantazzi points out, she commissioned Erasmus with a

similar work only two years after the completion of Vives’, leading one to surmise that it

did not meet with her satisfaction.

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What many do not know is that Lodovico Dolce’s Dialogo della Institutione della

donna is a loose translation of Vives’ work, modified into dialogue form. Helena Sanson

notes that many consider it to be a plagiarized work, but in her opinion, “Si tratta, in

realtà, di una riscrittura non pedissequa del De Institutione, che godette di un buon

successo editoriale con quattro edizioni a distanza di pochi anni: fu infatti, ristampata,

corretta, e ampliata nel 1547, e successivamente nel 1553, 1559, e 1560.“80 Dolce’s

work would later be published under the title Ammaestramenti pregiatissimi che

appartengono alla educatione honorevole, e virtuosa vita virginale, maritale,e vedovile

(1622) and in this publication, was converted back into a conduct manual by none other

than Barezzo Barezzi, the Venetian printer who took so many liberties with Piccolomini’s

dialogue. Dolce’s Dialogo della institution delle donne (1545), like Vives’, is divided

into three books according to marital state. The most recent edition of Vives by Charles

Fantazzi, however, which does elaborate on the translations of his work, does not

mention Dolce. Though the omission or lack of knowledge regarding his source does

seem to be a result of neglect by the translator, others could equally argue that terming

Dolce’s reproduction as a “loose” translation, or “riscrittura peddisequa” is, in itself, a

very loose observation. Dolce makes significant changes to his source text, and does so as

he sees fit, switching anecdotes at will and removing a large part of Vives’ entertaining

digressions and vituperations against women and customs, while adding his own

philosophical emphasis on pertinent subjects81. Vives’ chapter 6, “On Virginity,” is a

prime example. Dolce uses his own material for this section, making perhaps his most

interesting and pertinent claim for our investigations into biographies. In this chapter,

Vives gives a history of chastity; why it has been praised, the tradition of its importance,

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and a slew of questions about the silliness or stupidity of women. In one paragraph about

girls who lose their virginity to foreign soldiers, he asks questions such as, “What will be

the sorrow of her relatives when they sense that they are all dishonored because of the

base conduct of one girl? What will be their grief? What tears will be shed by parents

and those who nurtured her? Are these the joys with which you repay them in return for

all their anxieties and labors? Is this the reward for your upbringing?”82 He outlines how

chastity is the primary virtue of a woman, and if found lacking in her, leaves her with

nothing: “in femina questa vale per ogni altra eccellentia.”83 He later states that without

chastity she is neither woman nor alive: “chi si lascia di suo honor privare, Ne Donna è

più, ne viva.” This statement is not new, nor unique, but what is unique to Dolce is his

explanation as to why this virtue is more important for women than men. He is one of the

only authors in the querelle debate to acknowledge the incongruity of the call to chastity

for women alone, and who actually attempts to justify it. He does so by first noting a

common anecdote that appears in many querelle writings, in which a girl is assassinated

by her brothers for being pregnant out of wedlock. Dolce elaborates on why such extreme

actions are pardonable and even necessary, given the importance of female chastity as the

predominant and necessary virtue of the female sex, in contrast to the male sex, whose

societal and professional requirements are far more numerous:

Perciò che all'huomo sono insieme necessarie molte cose: come sarebbe a dire prudentia, eloquentia, peritia di governar Repubblica, ingegno, memoria, arte ed industria di regger la vita, giustitia, liberalità, magnanimità, ed altre parti, le quali sarebbe troppo lungo a raccontar tutte. Di queste se alcuna gli manca, non è da esser ripreso: pure, che alcune vene habbia. Ma nella Donna non si ricerca o profonda eloquentia, o sottile ingegno, o esquisita prudentia, o arte de vivere, o amministration di Republica, o Giustitia, o altro, fuori che la Castità. La quale in lei non si trovando, è come se mancassero all'huomo tutte le sopradette virtù.84

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A man, therefore, has many necessary virtues by which he governs, leads, and works in

the public arena. A woman, on the other hand, has no need of such qualities; she needs

only chastity, upon which the patriarchal system is based. Countless querelle authors note

that if female chastity is in question, so therefore is the lineage of her children, thereby

causing the family line to be placed under a veil of suspicion. Chastity is, then, the

primary focus of all conduct manuals.

The influence of Dolce’s text, despite its plagiaristic origins, was immense,

attested to by the number of copies printed in 162285. It is a conduct manual “par

excellence” in that it addresses every aspect of life, from maintaining cleanliness habits,

to treatment of a husband, to adornment, to public behavior and beyond. It will be a

primary text of comparison in the chapters that follow, and will help demonstrate how

biographies differed from or followed the prescribed behavior outlined by Dolce. 86

The majority of the querelle literature on women from the Middle Ages and

Renaissance does not serve as a historical representation of the female reality. The

misogynists and the defenders dealt primarily in generalities and platitudes. For the most

part, the misogynists purport that women are physically weaker, inconstant and more

prone to licentious behavior than men, less active in the civic sphere, do not give semen

or essence of life to their offspring, and are petty, vain, and indiscreet. The defenders

address all of these issues in a similar manner, by quoting the ancient philosophers and

using their rhetoric to refute the claims against women. Some more courageous authors

like Goggio use more modern and practical thought in their arguments, but for the most

part the querelle becomes itself a monumental corpus by which the stereotypes are

refuted with examples of women who defy those stereotypes, women who were entirely

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inimitable. The Virgin Mary is the final defender, representing the divine confirmation of

the equality, or as is sometimes argued, superiority of women.

A few conduct manuals, however, escaped the ebb and flow of literary action and

reaction.87 Written with specific and practical purposes, one in particular offers more

realistic glimpses into the lives of Renaissance women, detailing what was expected from

them on a daily basis, in addition to the more general requirements of chastity and purity:

Ginipedia Overo Avvertimenti Civili per Donna Nobile (1631). Composed by Vincenzo

Nolfi, a nobleman from Fano, the Ginipedia was written for his future wife, whose

upbringing in a convent necessitated a thorough education in the social world outside the

convent. Rather than detailing the expected life of a saintly woman, the Ginipedia is

much more concerned with demonstrations of nobility than it is with demonstrations of

female submission, and whereas most conduct manuals were composed for a larger

audience, this work has an audience of one.88 Gone are the ideals of perfection, of

private space for women, of religious devotion, and the expectation that a woman

somehow embody the virtues of every ancient woman praised in all of Renaissance

literature, or live her life as if in a cloister. His focus is purely self-motivated. He wants to

train his wife in the way of the Roman nobility in order that she bring honor to his house

and family name. This unique perspective contributes much to the genre of the conduct

manual, offering a realistic interpretation of what was expected of noblewomen in the

Renaissance, devoid of philosophical musings regarding the virtue of the female sex.

Whereas the majority of conduct manuals were composed with religious devotion,

and with numerous biblical references, Nolfi never quotes the Bible. He even tells

Ippolita that discussions of faith are not fitting to the female sex: "Non cercherete mai

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quindi voler investigare i divini misterii della nostra fede, o disputar di quelli, poiche ciò

non conviene a vostro stato.”89 His reasons for denying her the possibility of discussing

matters related to Christian faith do not necessary pertain only to her, however, but

perhaps to himself as well. He quotes from Ariosto a passage on the saintly clothes of

"faith", clothes which will become "brutta" with the smallest speck or stain, and which

should remain within the jurisdiction of the "saggie scuole della Theologia."

For Nolfi, church is projected as merely a social space within whose boundaries

the behavior of women should be more circumspect. He does write that recited prayers

(orazioni) are the armor of the female sex, but the chapter dedicated to attending church

is much more concerned with behavior appropriate to and demonstrative of her social

status, than with any religious devotion. This is not to say that his expectations for

Ippolita are diminished; they are quite numerous but with a different emphasis on the

female ideal. Leaving religion aside to be pondered by theologians, Nolfi addresses more

secular themes in his manual, such as aspects of daily life, appropriate topics of

conversation within any given scenario (and he gives many scenarios), dress, beauty,

dancing, drinking, table manners, and various duties of daily life such as the governance

of her house, visiting the sick, receiving guests, etc. His instructions and allusions to

tradition leave the modern reader reeling – from the use of manicotti (506) to the

symbolism and idealization of the chin (312), to the order in which a woman should enter

into a carriage (153), Nolfi seems to address every possible component, social, historical,

and theoretical.

As opposed to most Renaissance conduct manuals, Nolfi grants his future wife

many allowances. Manuals such as Pietro Belmonte's Institutione della sposa, for

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example, place intense restrictions on public appearances, as Helena Sanson notes:

"Questa modestia fra le mura di casa e in casa d'altri doveva essere ancora più

fermamente adottata fuori dalla dimora domestica. Laudomia deve uscire raramente e

comunque non da sola: è un momento per il quale sembra quasi doversi preparare per una

battaglia in cui affrontare un nemico."90 Nolfi's wife, in contrast, is allowed, actually

encouraged, to attend public festivities such as masquerade balls, provided she avoid the

more colorful (smelly, hot and smoky) spots which are not "convenevoli alla conditione

di ben nate Dame.”91 Should she dress up, she should choose a beautiful costume, not a

"maschera schifa, ò di brutta figura", as such attire is not fitting for a noblewoman.92

Dancing is encouraged, so that she may enjoy some freedom: "goder cosi quella libertà,

che il tempo, il luogo, e l'occasione vi concede, havendo però del continuo avanti gli

occhi quella modestia honestà, che dee sempre accompagnare ogni Gentildonna ben

costumata.”93 This concept of freedom (libertà) is not one we find in other conduct

manuals (including those directed toward the nobility). It is a provisional one, bound by

the "conditione" of a noble woman, and confined to the activities of dances and carnivals.

Its mere presence, however, leads one to question whether or not the more severe

restrictions placed upon women in the other more widely read conduct manuals were

truly the universal expectations of most noble women.

His wife is also expected to possess a great amount of intelligence and wit,

despite his frequent references to the inferiority of the female intellect.94 She is expected

to be well-educated and knowledgeable in all literary and artistic subjects, though many

limitations of her mental faculties are presumed, such as inferior knowledge of the

sciences, and apparently, charades: "come vi ho detto, & ultimamente si e' posto

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in'prattica quello di rappresentar una favola, overo Historia nota solamente co i cenni,

senza mai far parola, ma' questo ricchiede intelletti elevati, e troppo fastidioso riuscirebbe

a gl'ingegni delle Dame.”95 He even mentions academy nights, where academic

discussions took place, specifically planned to include female participation. He of course

intimates that the information presented and discussed is simplified according to female

limitations, but the participation by women in these events is notable.96

Among the other qualities he references are purità, gravità, gratia, affabilità,

allegrezza, taciturnità and, on occasion, sobrietà, fecondità, pietà, honestà, pudicitia,

modestà, and leggierezza.97 Her behavior, therefore, was expected to be varied

depending on the occasion. The most enlightening section of Nolfi's manual, however, is

his section dedicated to Laudomia’s future participation in salon games; he describes

each game in minute detail, prescribing his wife's possible responses in any given

instance of each game. In fact, Nolfi dedicates almost a quarter of his work (132/597

pages) to how his future wife should engage in salon games such as the Gioco

dell'Oroscopo, the Gioco dell'Oracolo, the Gioco delle Trasmutationi, the Gioco

dell'Amore, and the Gioco delle Arti.98 Interspersed throughout and following each

game's instructions, Nolfi addresses the concept, common to all games, of giving "i

pegni" in which a participant would be forced to give the master of ceremonies a personal

item, usually of their choice. The symbolism of such an act was prodigious, as made

evident by Nolfi's detailed description of the various pegni that could be offered and what

they would represent, both for the giver and the receiver. A woman should give, for

example, items such as gloves, fans, ribbons, rings, flowers, fans, and the like – items

therefore viewed to possess noble attributes, as opposed to barrettes or hankerchiefs,

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which were too close to the less clean parts of the body and therefore, more profane "pare

che porti sempre seco qualche schifezza.”99 The master of ceremonies also had the

choice to ask a question instead of requesting a "pegno": "e queste consistono o' nel

rispondere a qualche quesito, overo nell'esseguire qualche comandamento, e quindi si

suol dire, a chi ha da riscuotere il pegno, volete, che io vi domandi, o che io vi

comandi?”100 If Laudomia should be issuing a command, she should be careful not to

offend the person to whom the command is directed:"Intorno al comandare, due cose

dovrete principalmente avvertire, l'una di non importare mai cosa, che voi stimiate non

doversi far volontieri, l'altra, che il vostro comandamento, non solo giunga grato a chi dee

esseguirlo, ma dilettevole anche a tutti della vegghia.”101 Decorum was always of

tantamount importance in the playing of such games; telling someone to run around the

room shouting the song of the chimney sweeper, or asking someone to kiss the ground

were not considered noble commands: "Deesi anche la persona guardare da certi

commandamento, che sono fuori de' termini del trattar nobile, e che tendono molto del

plebaico, e del vile, nel cui errore cadono bene spesso alcune poco esperte, le quali

havendo da imporre qualche penitenza, comanderanno, che per la stanza si vada gridando

il verso dello spazzacammino, che si baci la terra,[...].”102 He reiterates that Laudomia

should take great care not to offend or embarass as many woman were wont to do: "nelle

penitenze non si dee comandare, ne' domandar mai cosa, che possa risultare in occulta, o'

palese offesa di chi che sia, ne' che possa generar rossore in alcuno, che si trovi presente,

e percio' io non ho saputo lodar punto quella sorte di penitenza, che suol esser tanto

comune tra di voi Donne.”103

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Nolfi offers countless examples of the discussions that occur while playing

games, and takes great care to make sure that Ippolita be well prepared to engage in such

activity, and be knowledgeable of every subject in order to discuss it in detail.104 He

poses sample questions that might be directed to her, such as in the game of "Vestir

Amore", "why is love always depicted naked?,” and details the myriad of responses that

would be acceptable to such a question, such as "that it makes love appear more

innocent", "that it shows his courage", "that he is ready to swim in the ocean if need

arises, instead of flitting around in the air", and so on. These examples cover three pages

and are among his more simple explanations of possible responses in any given game.105

It is clear by such thorough treatments of salon games, that women were viewed

to be very capable of engaging in intellectual conversations and likewise expected to

have a very thorough background of training in all subjects. The minute attention to detail

that Nolfi employs while describing salon games and all the possible directions they may

take, also reveals to what degree these games contributed to or detracted from the public

opinion of a woman. It was in the act of playing these games that a woman demonstrated

her intelligence, her nobility, her restraint, her patience, her joviality - in more sweeping

terms, her social graces.

Nolfi intimates that these social graces were not common among the female elite;

he takes great pains to remind Ippolita to avoid behaving like the other women in society.

He often gives examples of what not to do, rather than of what to do, a narrative habit

that is perhaps indicative of the lack of decorum among the female nobility, and which

alludes to the possibility that behavior as advocated by conduct manuals and biographies

of the time was not as common as the modern reader might think. But his admonitions

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nowhere attain the excessive limitations placed upon women in most conduct manuals or

biographies. Ippolita is encouraged to attend public festivities, even carnivals. The rules

of decorum placed upon Ippolita during such occasions are therefore more bound by her

female "conditione," a condition that necessitates honorable female comportment. If she

wears a mask, it should be beautiful. When attending public festivities, she should avoid

lowly places. If she is dressed as a peasant girl, she should not imitate peasant behavior.

She is even given permission to dance, with an acknowledgment by Nolfi that she too

should be permitted a little freedom.106 These allowances are surprising, as such activity

is abhorred by almost all other authors of conduct manuals and biographies.

This is the primary difference between Nolfi and his contemporaries; whereas the

female subjects of most conduct manuals are bound to moral perfection, Nolfi's future

wife is bound only by her "conditione", one that allows her certain freedoms:

"nell'andare, e nel parlare non conviene esser dissimile dalla propria conditione, e' ben

vero, che nel modo del ballare, e in quel tratto, che esclude il sussego debito alla nascita,

e allo stato, non mi dispiace, che siano da voi imitate, per godere così quella libertà, che il

tempo, il luogo e l'occasione vi concede."107

Nolfi uses this word "conditione" quite frequently, and noticeably with the same

frequency that other authors of biographies and conduct manuals use the ubiquitous term

"modestà.” Whereas modestà is a more binding term, indicating universally

circumscribed behavior, dictated by specific actions and comportment of a female at all

times, Nolfi's "conditione" instead, is a more fluid term, one that adapts to each occasion

as long as the behavior remains appropriate to her social status. His work, then, offers

what no other conduct manual from the Renaissance does: a prescriptive freedom and in-

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depth instructions for each social situation including an indication of the freedom allowed

during such an occasion.

As is the case with most Renaissance conduct manuals, Nolfi includes a list of

famous women who have excelled in various fields such as poetry, war, art, literature,

and theology. But he avoids, for the most part, the topos of female exception, whereby

the woman and her talents are represented as a deviation from the norm. In fact, in the

premise to his rather short list of illustrious and accomplished women, he argues in

Platonic fashion for the equality of the female soul and intellect, citing the societal

limitations and educational constraints placed upon women as the impediment to female

accomplishment. He observes that females are more given to domestic duties, but also

observes with alacrity that should females be educated in public duties and affairs, they

would be just as likely to succeed and make notable progress in any field:

Stimano alcuni, che gli esercitii proprii delle Donne siano gli aghi, i fusi, e il governo della Casa, e in ciò' veramente non s'ingannano punto, ma non perciò vengono già loro così strettamente limitate quest'opere dalla Natura, che elle non habbiano perfettione tale nell'animo, e attitudine nel corpo da potere con eguale, o' poco minore virtù de gli huomini trattare, e soprastare anche all'opere virili, e di supremo affare, poscia che ha l'anima loro da Dio ricevute l'istesse dispositioni, e i medesimi habiti, che quelle de gli huomini, e perciò sono elleno così atte la perfetta felicita' humana acquistare, che nell'operare dell'animo secondo la virtù consiste, come sono gli huomini stessi più saggi; E se ciò per l'ordinario non apparisce, accade perche esse per la propria modestia, e per l'istitutione de' loro parenti, solo a gli ufficii domestici, e familiari vengono applicate, e disposte, e in quei soli s'allevano, e si nudriscono; Che se a reggere, e governare le Citta' in pace, a comandare, e condurre gli eserciti in guerra, a Filosofare, e poetare ne gli agi delle Scuole attendessero, chi negar vorrebbe, che non notabili progressi, eccellente, e gloriosa riuscita non facessero?108

After more than 500 pages of instruction regarding the behavior conducive to a woman of

her rank in society, such an affirmation presents us yet again with the paradox of the

! 87!

female question. Its impact on modern scholarship is immense. Nolfi’s words tempt one

to question the research of seasoned scholars such as Joan Kelly-Gadol, and to respond to

her famous question with an adamant, “Yes! Women did have a Renaissance – elite

women, that is.” Such a manual also calls into question the legitimacy of Renaissance

biographies as true participants in historical writing, whose female protagonists are never

praised for their behavior in public, rather for their desire to eschew public encounters

and focus instead on the spiritual aspects of womanhood. Such a manual tells us, in

contrast, that women of the elite were, in fact, expected to be participants in their social

circles, and that their participation was scrutinized severely.

By the mid 1600s, biographies of noblewomen were taking the printing press by

storm, putting the female sex in a place of venerated submission. This new genre did not

participate in the querelle; it refuted it entirely. Nowhere are women represented as equal,

let alone superior; their female role is presented according to the author's didactic

purposes, intended to persuade the female reader to adopt similar traditional female

qualities. The increase in female biographies presents a reactive response to the querelle,

leaving behind the philosophical and academic considerations of female value and virtue

in comparison with that of men, appealing rather to a wider female audience seeking a

more simplistic idealization of what a Renaissance woman should be.

Male authorship, especially authorship by clergy, created its own paradox for

biographies; rather than recording the life of a woman and the intricacies of a woman's

life behind closed doors, biographies represented a fleeting glimpse into the female

world, through the filtered windows of the Catholic church and the masculine gaze. The

biographies do not explore traditional female roles of wife and mother, for example; these

! 88!

aspects are largely neglected by the authors, many of them clergymen who were much

more versed in the hagiographic genre. Thus the pendulum swings from the paradoxical

nature of the querelle, to the opposite extreme, whereby female idealization conformed to

a masculine and ecclesiastical perspective. As biographies were on the whole composed

by an ecclesiastic or even the noblewoman’s confessor, they are therefore dense with

spiritual precepts for women, precepts that are devoid of any attempt to change the

traditional role for women, but rather seek to solidify her place in the home, and as a

spiritual column of strength serving to unify the family in Godly accord. From a modern

perspective, one sees only women’s relegation to the private spheres and the

condemnation of any activity that would or could lead to their personal pleasure or

leisure. Yet these biographies extol their protagonists to great heights, praising women

for their faithfulness to the higher cause and the preservation of their families. They

neither represent nor support any of the female sympathizers who assert equality as a

thing to be grasped, nor do they give weight to the misogynistic literature, in which the

female sex is denied any positive qualities. The biographies, in fact, render the querelle

inert, emphasizing the positive attributes of the female sex as long as she maintains her

proper position in society and in her family. The protagonists of Renaissance biographies

are faithful, tireless promoters of the Catholic faith, obsequious orators of daily devotions

and prayers, self sacrificing, self-abusing (at times), void of vanity or pomp, and seeking

in all things to better the position of their family within both society’s and God’s eyes.

For so doing, they are venerated and praised on levels equal to their sisters of the cloth,

and even to the angels. The ensuing biographical investigation will seek to elucidate this

! 89!

aspect of female biography and demonstrate how, for women, the Post-Tridentine

influences supersede the instructional potential of the genre.

! 90!

Notes !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

1 For thorough treatments of this issue, see Ruth Kelso’s still relevant Doctrine for the

Lady of the Renaissance; Women in Italy, 1350-1650, Rogers, Tinagli eds; and Pamela Benson’s

The Invention of the Renaissance Woman: The Challenge of Female Independence in the

Literature and Thought of Italy and England, (University Park, Pa: Pennsylvania State University

Press, 1992). probably the most in depth analysis of the querelle to date.

2 R.H. Bloch, "Medieval Misogyny," Representations. 20 (1987: 1-24) p. 1. See Thomas

Aquinas, Summa Theologiae (New York, 1963), part 1, qu. 92; part 3, qu. 32

3 Aquinas, 6.

4 Aristotle, Generation of Animals 2.3 737a27-28 (Barnes, 1.1144). See Margaret King’s

Introduction to the Other Voice series, which succinctly describes both Aristotle’s views

concerning women, as well as the misogynist tradition as a whole.

5 Republic, 5.

6 www.liberliber.it/mediateca/libri/t/tasso/discorso_della_virtu_etc/pdf/discor_p.pdf.

Italics mine. Trans: Plato believes that the virtue of a man and of a woman, is the same virtue, and

that if any difference exists, it is brought about by cultural practices, not by nature; he also desires

women to be participants in affairs of the Republic and the military, just as men are. [. . . ] But

Aristotle was of a very different mind, because he believed left and right to be different not only

because of cultural practices, but because of nature [. . . ] for in the beginning of Politica Aristotle

concludes, in constrast to Plato, that male virtue and female virtue are not the same, because male

virtue is strength, whereas female virtue is purity. And as Gorgia preferred, silence is a female

virtue as eloquence is a male virtue.” Trans. Mine

7 “the opinion that the woman who is contained within the walls of the home is given

higher praise, is one both cited and refuted by Plutarch in his work on the Illustrious Women; and

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the esteemed writer can place his faith and lean on the ideas of famous past writers, because

Thucydides gives preference to Aristotle, Plato to Plutarch.” Translation mine.

8 Boccaccio’s Corbaccio, for example, follows Juvenal’s denunciation of the use of

make-up, the assertion of female as inconstant, and her licentious behavior. See Juvenal, Satire 6,

66, lines 95-99

9 Jane Barr, “The Influence of Saint Jerome on Medieval Attitudes to Women”, After

Eve, Ed. Janet Martin Soskice (Collins Marshall Pickering, 1990). Reproduced with permissions

at: www.womenpriests.org/theology/barr.asp.

10 Barr. www.womenpriests.org/theology/barr.asp.

11 Jerome, Letter XXII. To Eustochium. 30.

www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf206.v.XXII.html.

12 Barr. www.womenpriests.org/theology/barr.asp.

13 Christine de Pizan. The Book of the City of Ladies. (New York: Persea Books, 1998) 3-

4. See also Christine de Pizan. The book of the city of ladies; translated and with an introduction

and notes by Rosalind Brown-Grant (Penguin classics). London: Penguin, 1999. (xxxix, 283 p.)

Rosalind Brown-Grant's introduction provides an informative summary of the medieval attitudes

toward women and discusses the use of her sources. See also, Women and Writing in Early

Europe: A Sourcebook By Caro Larrington.

14 Boccaccio’s true intent behind the Corbaccio is still being debated among scholars, but

I am of the opinion that his work represents an encyclopedic practice in the art of misogynist

literature. Regardless of the author’s intent, however, the work purports a plethora of negative

stereotypes regarding women and therefore belongs to the corpus of medieval misogynist texts.

15 Fahy, “Three Early Renaissance Treatises on Women,” Italian Studies 11 (1956:30-55)

p. 31.

! 92!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 16 Luigi Tonelli, L’amore nella poesia e nei trattati del rinascimento (Florence: G.C.

Sansoni, 1933) 298. “Il tratatello dell’elegantissimo abate fiorentino rimane, dunque, la più

importante opera della precettistica rinascimentale, riguardante la bellezza muliebre; e anche la

più sicura testimonianza del nuovo tipo estetico, ispirate bensì dal platonismo e dal

petrarchismo.” Translation mine.

17 Agnolo Firenzuola. Konrad Eisenbichler, and Jacqueline Murray, Ed. & Trans. On the

Beauty of Women. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992) xx.

18Agnolo Firenzuola. Konrad Eisenbichler, and Jacqueline Murray xxiii.

19 Agnolo Firenzuola. Konrad Eisenbichler, and Jacqueline Murray 11. Italics mine.

20 based upon the creation story narrated by Aristophanes in Plato’s Symposium.

21 Agnolo Firenzuola. Konrad Eisenbichler, and Jacqueline Murray, xxxii

22 The title is in Latin whereas the work itself is composed in Italian.

23 See Summa Theologica, I, Q. 92, a. I.

24 For a detailed summary of Goggio’s work, see Werner L. Gundersheimer,

"Bartolommeo Goggio: A Feminist in Renaissance Ferrara." Renaissance Quarterly 33.2 (1980):

pp. 175-200.

25 See Gundersheimer’s article, which promotes Goggio’s genuine motives, based upon

the assertion that the work was not commissioned, p. 184. Eisenbichler and Murray however,

counter this opinion, noting that though the work was not commissioned, it is dedicated to his

employer, Eleonora d’Aragona, and therefore calls to question his veritable intent.

26 Kelso, 322.

27 Kelly, Joan. Women, History & Theory: The Essays of Joan Kelly. (Chicago:

University of Chicago Press, 1984).

! 93!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 28 Kelly-Gadol, “Women in the Renaissance and Renaissance historiography,”

Conceptual Frameworks for Studying Women’s History (Bronxville, N.Y.: Sarah Lawrence

College, 1976 ) 6.

29 Torquato Tasso, Prose filosofiche, 2 vols. (Florence: Alcide Parenti, 1847), 2:371.

Beatrice Collina refers to Tasso as perhaps the only author to formulate a theory of the donna

illustre, a theory which supports the exceptional ideal for women of power.

30 Tasso, 5.

31 Zarri, 106.

32 “Both a praise and a criticism, the subtle and insidious paradox always returns another

image of woman, one without paradox. It allows the circumvention of what is declared too openly

in the praise or the criticism, but also to challenge the commonplace perceptions of feminine

virtue and vice upon which the long moralistic tradition has been based.” Translation mine.

Francine Daenens, “Superiore perchè inferiore: il paradosso della superiorità della donna in

alcuni trattati italiani del Cinquecento,” Trasgressione tragica e norma domestica. Esemplari di

tipologie femminili dalla letteratura Europea, ed. Vanna, pp. 11–49: pp. 21-22.

33 Benson, 3.

34 Daenens, 15: “If these texts had been undertaken merely to demonstrate rhetorical

bravado, they certainly wouldn’t have provoke the intervention of the inquisitor, as instead is

evident in the censory attitude of one of the speakers who interrupts Nicolò Granucci’s dialogue

on the perfection of women by saying, “our father the Inquisator does not watch such a subject

being discussed or written about, unless it assigns women a secondary place, and abides by the

authority of St. Paul in his letter to the Ephesians, where he says “Wives, submit to your husbands

as to God.” Trans Mine.

35 Rabil, 3.

36 Ibid, 43. See Mark 12:25, and parallels: Matt. 22:30 and Luke 20:35-36

! 94!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 37 Ibid, 48. Rabil notest that this is Rodriguez’s primary argument for the superiority of

women, and is most likely Agrippa’s immediate source.

38 Rabil, 63.

39 Ian Maclean, Renaissance Notion, The Renaissance Notion of Woman: A Study in the

Fortunes of Scholasticism and Medical Science in European Intellectual Life (Cambridge

England: Cambridge University Press, 1980) 56; Linda Woodbridge, Women and The English

Renaissance, 40. Woodbridge also comments on the paradoxical nature of his work.

40 Moderata Fonte, Ed. & Trans., Virginia Cox. The Worth of Women: Wherein Is Clearly

Revealed Their Nobility and Their Superiority to Men. (Chicago, Ill: University of Chicago Press,

1997). Print. Fonte’s work admittedly has a much smaller publication than the other works listed,

but the dialogue form contains many of the topoi present in other querelle authors of the time, and

the author is a woman herself.

41 Benson. Benson’s work is the most prominent and thoroughly researched book on the

Italian querelle debate, and presents many thought provoking and well-researched insights into

the querelle movement, or perhaps what she would call “inertia.”

42 Benson, 2. Italics mine.

43 For more on the presence of paradox in Renaissance literature, see Rosalie A. Cole,

Paradoxia Epidemmica: The Renaissance Tradition of Paradox (Princeton, 1966).

44 The last of which was Giovanni Battista Modio’s Il convito ovvero il peso della moglie

(1554).

45 Ruth Kelso notes this subversion as well: “If Piccolomini’s intention was satiric, as

some defenders claim, it might as well not have been, both in consideration of the typical

character of its matter and of its later acceptance as a portrait of the ideal” (307).

! 95!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 46 Alessandro Piccolomini, Dialogo Dove Si Ragiona Della Bella Creanza Delle Donne

(Londra: S. Harding, 1750) 46. “little errors of youth” / “erring in old age with greater damage

and shame, and to regret the youth that has passed in vain.” Translation mine.

47Piccolomini, 46 & 45. Vives is not mentioned previously due to its composition in

English, but it must be noted that it was translated into Italian in 1546 and 1561. Its popularity did

not come close to that of Agrippa, or of its subsequent re-adaptations , or plagiarizations, as it

were.

48 Piccolomini, 44-45. "If she has not honesty, neither will any of her actions be

appreciated or recognized as virtuous." Translation mine.

49 “Se ben si tien coperta a gli huomini questa vanità, a Dio non si potrà gia nascondere”,

46.

50 Piccolomini, 47. “I’ve told you before and will tell you again, that if it were possible, if

would be wonderful to never commit the smallest of sins against God, instead, to live like a

hermit amongst “our Fathers”, and rosaries, and disciplines” Translation mine.

51 Piccolomini, 47. “It would be very good if you rarely left your room, if you kept vigils

and observed the four days for fasting, looked down on everything, and fled every conversation,

but not trusting yourself to be capable of such a task, I recommend that you enjoy your youthful

years, while always preserving your [appearance of] modesty and purity” Translation mine.

52 “et era una cintura che puzzava d’urina valentemente, che penso che piu d’una volta

fosse caduta dal capezzale nela conchetta.” Ibid, 42. Translation mine.

53 Piccolomini, 43. “Nobody can be perfect in every way.” Raffaella’s examples of such

unsuccessful attempts are both ribald and comical, and are worthy of a casual and enjoyable

perusing. Translation mine.

54 Piccolomini, 45. “Therefore she should always be cautious that her every step or word,

or act is full of that modesty that is so sought after in women” / “take advantage” / “others do not

! 96!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! realize that she did it purposefully [and] with some other feigned sign of purity.” Translation

mine.

55 Piccolomini, 47. “live without ever committing a sin until death” / “sarà buono ch’io ti

parli in quel cambio della vita di qualche santo": “it will be good to change the subject and speak

of the life of some saint” Translation mine.

56 Piccolomini, 47

57 Piccolomini, p. 48. Pretending to desire her husband’s satisfaction, to care for him as

best she knows how, his home, his duties and basic needs, and to his children, in everything she

does, and if she cannot do it with her full heart, to at least pretend to do so. (Translation Mine)

58 4 Piccolomini, 49-51: “She can then purchase many more clothes, because as the

husband witnesses her practicality and attentions to the rest of the home, he not only happily buys

her clothing, but he frequently urges her to do so.” Translation Mine

59 Piccolomini. “honor and blame do not consist in doing one thing or not doing another,

but in making others believe that she does them. Translation Mine

60 “it depends not on what she does or does not do, as I’ve already told you, but in making

others believe thus.” Translation Mine

61 Piccolomini, 66. “You told me a short while ago that the husband and the home should

be the first thing a woman should love in this world and now it appears that you desire the

opposite, that is, that love for the lover should surpass everything.” / When it comes to husbands,

it is sufficient to pretend to love them, and this is also sufficient for them.” Translation mine.

62 Piccolomini ,75. “reserving, however, in plain sight her modesty and purity, because as

I told you, these outshine all other female virtues.” Translation mine.

63 Piccolomini ,80; L’ostinato was the Prince of Salerno, Ferrante Sanseverino, 1507-

1568 “Now I understand, and I would never have thought so on mine, because I thought love

came from the soul and should be pure, at least that is what I heard one evening at a gathering for

! 97!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! one of the Intronati’s games, by one who they call Garroso the obstinant, as I recall. What

mistakes they make by inserting these ideas into the heads of the young, and you should know

that he was joking, and take it from me, even though he acted with honesty and espoused honesty,

what honesty did he really have? This is show it is: either believe me or don’t.”

64 Piccolomini ,81

65 Piccolomini ,Istitutione Morale, (Venetia: G. Ziletti, 1560) Ch 9, book 10.

66 Piccolomini, p. IX.

67 Piccolomini ,Istitutione Morale, 219. “Non solo non è necessario, che noi debbiam tor

per moglie l’amata donna; anzi è cosa convenevole, che non si tolglia. Conciò sia che ad altro

fine, e da miglior legge, impostoci, sia l’amare, che non si ordinaron le nostre nozze.” Translation

mine.

68 Newbigin, L’Alessandro di Alessandro Piccolomini, 7. “il Piccolomini insiste nelle

commedie sul matrimonio come conseguenza inevitabile dell’amore onesto.”

69 It is certainly true that it often happens that such loves become separated, while the

other love, the love of beauty can often be found among those who are not husband and wife, but

this occurs outside the boundaries of decency. And then, it is important to know that this mess

only occurs out of error, because of the fault of men. . . that if marriage is not joined with the love

of beauty, then such lovers should not pass beyond this love.

70 Alessandro Piccolomini. Gli Costumi Lodevoli Che a Nobile Gentildonne Si

Convengono (Venetia: appresso B. Barezzi, 1622). Barezzi includes many of the satirical

anecdotes on the absurdity of a particular woman’s gait, attire, etc, and preserves the references to

women as “scempie.”

71 Piccolomini, Gli Costumi, 9-10. “If, on the other hand, my ladies, you are in possession

of such prudence, perspicacity, and temperance, as to keep and enjoy your lover (whom you have

chosen) in such a way that no one in heaven or on earth will ever suspect you, as long as you

! 98!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! live, in this case, I tell you and promise you, that you cannot do anything more enjoyable and

more worthy of a noblewoman, than this.” Translation mine.

72 Piccolomini, Gli Costumi, 262

73 In Italian: Vestire; Foggio; Vesti; Portatura; Colori; Commodo; Ornamento di Testa; e

di Faccia; Mani; Nettezza di Corpo; Conciatura di Testa; Scuffia; Ricci; Camicia; Gioie; e

Collane; Guanti; Movimenti; Scegliere il Meglio (for viewing); Mani; Petto; Gamba; e Braccia;

Accorta Honestà e Modestia; Governo di Casa; Dapocaggine; Vigilanza; Viver Quieto; Lavorare ;

Illegible; Conversatione; con Modestia, e honestà; Parlare; Fama; Prudenza; Benignità; Honore.

74 For example: La cura famigliare (1542) di Sperone Speroni, scritto per la giovane

Cornelia Cornaro; o Uffizi della donna maritata (1583) di Orazio Lombardelli.

75 See Rita Belladonna, “Sperone Speroni and Alessandro Piccolomini on Justification”

and p. 115-118 of Alberti.

76 Alberti, 120.

77 Alberti, 120.

78 Fantazzi, 3.

79 Vives, 14.

80 Helena Sanson. Donne, Precettistica E Lingua Nell'italia Del Cinquecento: Un

Contributo Alla Storia Del Pensiero Linguistico (Firenze: Accademia della Crusca, 2007) 17.

81 In Book three, on Widowhood, for example, Dolce omits Vives’ rather long but

humorous depiction of the various women who either mourned their husbands too much or too

little, replacing it with his own discourse on the comparative qualities of the virginal, married,

and widowed state.

82 Vives, 83.

83 Dolce, 34.

! 99!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 84 Such an addition to Vives’ text demonstrates that while a translation of some of Vives,

this is also a work of original creation. Trans: "Many things are necessary for a man: prudence,

eloquence, ability to govern a Republic, intelligence, memory, diligence and creativity in making

a living, justice, liberality, magnanimity, and so on, it being impossible to list them all. If any of

these qualities are found missing in him, he is not to be reprised as long as he has some of them.

But in a woman qualities such as profound eloquence, refined intelligence, exquisite prudence,

manner of living, running a Republic, executing justice, or any others, are not necessary; only

Chastity. If this virtue not be present in a woman, it is as if all the above mentioned virtues are

lacking in a man."

85 Fantazzi notes the Italian translation of Vives by Pietro Lauro of Modena in 1546, but

this edition’s influence in publication is not comparable to that of Dolce’s. See p 32 of Fantazzi’s

introduction.

86 I will only reference Vives if and when he provides examples that are not found in

Dolce.

87 Such as Annibal Guasco’s Ragionamenti per sua figlia (1586). I recommend Peggy

Osborn’s modern critical edition: Discourse to Lady Lavinia, His Daughter: Concerning the

Manner in Which She Should Conduct Herself When Going to Court As Lady-in-Waiting to the

Most Serene Infanta, Lady Caterina, Duchess of Savoy. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,

2003).

88 Vincenzo Nolfi. Ginipedia, Ò Vero Auuertimenti Ciuili Per Donna Nobile. (Heredi di

Gio. Guerigli: Venetia, 1631) .He does, however, in his final chapter, make a comment that if his

work should fall into the hands of others, his readers should be forgiving, and cognizant of his

intended audience, his wife. Another conduct manual intentionally written for one person, is

Pietro Belmonte’s Institutione della sposa.

89 Nolfi, 172.

! 100!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 90 Inst., p. 30.

91 Nolfi, 563.

92 Nolfi, 564.

93 Nolfi, 564.

94 Nolfi, 70, 481, 232, 123.

95 Nolfi, 509, 480.

96 Nolfi, 552.

97 Nolfi, 147, 147, 222, 222, 180, 379, 177, 171, 392, 393, 206, respectively.

98 Nolfi, 412, 420-424, 424-432, 432-441, 441-446, respectively.

99 Nolfi, 448. Many women went long periods without washing their hair, which could

explain why accouterments relating to the head were less appreciated.

100 “which consists of responding to some question, or even obeying a command, and

therefore, it is often said to who is required to give a “pegno”, “would you like me to ask you or

command you?” Translation Mine

101 Nolfi, 449. When commanding, there are two things you principally need to be careful

of, one is to never issue a command that will not be followed willingly, the other, that your

command is not only pleasing to who has to follow it, but enjoyable to all those at the party”

Translation Mine

102 Nolfi, 451.

103 Nolfi, 452. You should not command nor request anything that could result in

offending someone either secretly or openly, nor anything that would make anyone present blush,

and thus I cannot praise the types of penitenze that so commonly occur among you women. Trans

mine.

104 Nolfi, 470.

! 101!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 105 Nolfi, 460-462. His discussions of how to respond to whether painting or

sculpture is more admirable or which profession is nobler, for example, are much more

complex in their prescribed responses. See Nolfi, 473-477, 472-480, respectively.

106 Nolfi, 564.

107 Nolfi, 564. When speaking and walking, your actions should not be unfitting your

social position. Dancing, if done in such a way as is fitting your superior birth and social

standing, will not displease me, so that you may also engage in such activities, in order to enjoy

such freedom that the time, the place, and the occasion allows.

108 Nolfi, 572-573. Some maintain that the duties proper to a woman are the needle and

thread and governance of the home, and in such belief they are not deceived, but they are not

therefore strictly limited to these activies by Nature, as if they do not possess such perfection of

the soul, and disposition of the body to be able to perform and excel in works of masculine

nature with equal or only slightly lesser ability than men. Since woman has received a soul with

the same disposition and the same habits as men, she is thus able to acquire perfect human

happiness, which consists in the soul working according to virtue as well as the wisest men. And

if she does not ordinarily show this, it is only because of her modesty, or as a result of the

formation given her by her parents, who raised her and educated her only for domestic and

family affairs. For who is to say that if they were to rule and govern cities, to command and lead

armies in war, to philosophize, to write and study poetry leisurely in the great schools of old, she

would not make notable progress, and have excellent and glorious success?

!102!

Chapter 3 S a b a d i n o d e g l i A r i e n t i ’ s G y n e v e r a d e l l e c l a r e d o n n e a n d V i t a d i A n n a S f o r z a : C o u r t l y I d e a l s a n d V e i l e d A d m o n i s h m e n t

The majority of Italian female biographies of the sixteenth and seventeenth

centuries were written by clerics of the Catholic Church, intent on displaying lives

worthy of imitation by their female readers. There were a few exceptions to this standard

of authorship, however, such as the biographical works by Sabadino degli Arienti, court

secretary to the Bentivoglio family, and La Vita di Donna Olimpia Maidalchini (1666) by

Gregori Leti, satirist writer and publisher. Arienti, author of Gynevera delle Clare Donne

(1493) and La Vita di Anna Sforza (1500) was employed by both the Bentivoglio and

Este courts as a secretary and letterato, thus his works embrace the Signoria construct

and emphasize the prestige of the family, whereas Leti’s work is full of humorous

criticism of both the Catholic church and Olimpia Maidalchini, sister-in-law to the pope

(known as “la papessa”). As a result of the authors’ professions, their biographies do not

fit thematically into the body of female biographical work because their primary concern

was not with exemplum. These works serve, instead, as bookends to the rest of the female

biographies of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, which adhere to the traditional

standards of didactic life writing. Thus the first focus of our journey into female

biography in the 16th and 17th centuries, is an exception to the norm.

Sabadino degli Arienti was a prolific writer and correspondent with many

prestigious families, but the bulk of his service was to the Bentivoglio court in Bologna,

where he served from his youth until the family was ousted from the city in 1506, at

which point he took up service in the prestigious Este court, with Isabella D’Este as his

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main benefactor.1 Arienti’s Vita di Anna Sforza (1500) is one of the first female

biographies in Renaissance Italy, only one of a few that, before the 1600s, deal with the

life of one secular woman. Compendia of brief biographies and other life writing, such as

eulogies and hagiographies, were much more commonly published.

A decade before this, Sabadino wrote Gynevera delle clare donne, a compendium

of female biographies. This genre was made famous by Boccaccio’s De Mulieribus

Claris, which was then imitated repeatedly throughout the following centuries. But

Arienti’s Gynevera delle clare donne is unique and deserves its place in our study

because Arienti’s vocation as a court letterato greatly alters his intention for the work,

which therefore deviates considerably from the standard of exemplum literature.

Analyzing these deviations as well as the principal themes of the Gynevera will also help

us to better identity the recurrence of such ideas in his Vita di Anna Sforza that might not

otherwise be as apparent.

Unlike most female compendium works that treated female subjects of ancient

Greece and Rome, Arienti’s Gynevera delle clare donne focuses on women of the recent

past, even including a biography of his own wife. Sharon Jansen asserts that the title of

the work gives the indication that it is a response to Boccaccio’s De Mulieribus Claris, as

the Greek noun, “gyne”, means “woman,” and the Latin adjective vera means “true.”2

Jansen therefore interprets Arienti’s work to be a challenge to Boccaccio’s virile heroines

of the past, instead praising contemporary and real women as his subjects, who retain

their female qualities as they rule. In fact, twenty-six of Arienti’s thirty-two biographies

are of women from the fifteenth-century, many of whom at one point served as regents in

their husband’s absences. Though Jansen may be not be incorrect in her assertion, close

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studies of his two works reveal, more than a challenge to his predecessor, an attempt to

set forth a female ideal within the Signoria construct, for which contemporary (and real)

women were a necessary subject choice. But the Gynevera also presents the reader with a

major dilemma: it begins with a dedication to and biography of a woman who was not an

ideal example to her contemporaries, and who was blamed for her family’s entire demise:

Ginevra Sforza, whose name seems especially evoked by the book’s title. In fact, in the

first printed edition of the Gynevera (1888), 300 years after the original manuscripts were

drafted, the editor Corrado Ricci prefaces the work with what is essentially a counter-

biography of Ginevra. This brief life sketch details her perfidious nature and inclination

to dominance, and contributes to the growing representation of Ginevra as a villainous

tyrant.

This study will attempt to demonstrate that though the Bentivoglio family had not

yet met its ruin at the time of composition, Arienti was nevertheless aware of Ginevra’s

shortcomings (those so well documented by Ricci) and therefore imbeds within his text a

constant allusion to them while simultaneously setting forth an image of the ideal

Signoria. We will then place Arienti’s Vita di Anna Sforza into its proper context, as a

biography that bridges the gap between hagiography and female biography, but that will

be forever set apart from its counterparts because of the political agenda of its author, an

agenda made so clear in the Gynevera.

The Bentivoglio family ruled Bologna from 1401 to 1506, during which time the

city experienced peace and prosperity; the university was in ascent, and unrivaled

architecture was erected around the city. Ginevra Sforza Bentivoglio, wife of the most

powerful ruler in the family, Giovanni Bentivoglio, was known during these peaceful

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years of her family’s dominance as the "dama" of Bologna. But as her husband persisted

in his attempts to circumvent the traditional oligarchic structure of diplomacy long

cultivated by the Bentivoglio branches, she and her husband would eventually become

known as tyrants rather than Signori. Ginevra was reputed by some to be an avaricious

and cruel manipulator of power with a proclivity for lavishness, by others an intelligent,

generous, and reserved woman, well versed in diplomacy. The true reality of her life and

person is nebulous, however, largely due to these varying accounts and the skewed

perspectives of those who provided such accounts.3

The Gynevera delle clare donne is a compendium of female biographies

originally penned in 1488 for Ginevra and her court, which includes a biography in her

honor that seems, at first glance, to be quite complimentary.4 But for those aware of her

reputation in history, and certainly those who first read Corrado Ricci’s preface to the

first printed edition of the work (1888), so full of invectives against Ginevra, Arienti’s

following dedicatory biography seems only forced affectation. In his preface Corrado

Ricci’s brief life sketch villainizes her to such a degree that any of the laudatory attributes

found in Sabadino’s following biography are rendered inert; and because his edition of

Gynevera delle clare donne is still the only printed edition available, any modern reader

who chooses to read Sabadino's work is by necessity first faced with Ricci’s scathing

preface.

A summary of Ricci’s derision is necessary at this point, because by reading his

description of Ginevra, we begin to understand many aspects of the Gynevera that we

otherwise might not. Ricci states that Arienti’s praises of Ginevra “fanno temere assai

della sua sincerità”, and that while he was writing her praises, Ginevra “s’abbondonava

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alle più spietate crudeltà!”5 Ricci thus makes the point that Sabadino’s work is full of

empty acclamation, an assertion for which he provides ample historical support, detailing

for instance Ginevra’s lavish nuptial festivities, which apparently incurred great criticism

by the bolognese people, despite the fact that she was only 12 years of age, and therefore

was perhaps innocent of the judgement bestowed upon her. These festivities were so

excessive, the church of San Petronio closed its doors to the procession, which was then

forced to hold the ceremony in another church. A contemporary account of the wedding

festivities attests to this fact, noting that that several buildings were destroyed in order to

widen the streets for the procession.6 Ricci then asserts that the young bride soon showed

herself to be anything but the ideal Renaissance woman: “non tardò troppo a manifestare

un’indole irrequieta, ed avida di ricchezze senza misura e di lotte, la quale alla prima ora

di timore e di sgomento doveva degenerare in ferocia.”7

Ginevra and Giovanni would have many children, as evidenced in Lorenzo

Costa’s 1488 fresco of the family in San Giacomo Maggiore, a painting Ricci references

in his preface (see appendix A). The work was commissioned, according to Ricci, as a

“ringraziamento per aver scampato il pericolo della congiura ordita dalla famiglia

Malvezzi,” a conspiracy that initiated many subsequent years of civic unrest, more

conspiracies, and the family’s eventual ousting by Cesare Borgia and Pope Julius II.

While describing the painting, Ricci observes that Giovanni “ha un volto poco

esprimente, che ben ritrae l’indole sua senza energia”, while Ginevra’s portrait instead

reveals “la risolutezza e [. . . ] la tristezza dell’anima sua.”8 Of her 11 children he says,

“sono tutti volti brutti e antipatici col naso rincagnato, con le manescelle

pronunciatissime e le labbra troppo curve.”9 Ricci, like many Bolognese, believed her

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children were an extension of her evil nature, noting that as the years went by, “s’accorse

del malcontento che serpeggiava fra il popolo, e temette le congiure dei nemici, ruppe il

freno alla sua ira sanguinaria e superstiziosa, e spinse gli stessi suoi figli a vendetta

perfidissime.”10 Ginevra’s daughter Francesca, in fact, was believed to have poisoned

her husband, Galeotto Manfredi of Faenza, in May of 1488, only 4 months prior to the

completion of the painting. History tells us that Giovanni had to go personally to Faenza

in order to pacify Francesca’s subjects, who were so incensed they imprisoned him for a

brief period.11 Atrocities carried out by Ginevra’s sons can also be found in

contemporary historical accounts, her sons Annibale and Ermetes receiving the majority

of blame.12

In Ricci’s invective against Ginevra, he cites many contemporary historians and

poets who documented her power, control, and tactics of revenge, such as Paolo Giovio,

Cherubino Ghirardacci, and a Bolognese diarist, Gaspare Nadi. While Giovio emphasized

her pride and vindictive nature, noting that she was prone to ordering violent acts of

revenge, Ghirardacci highlighted her influence over her husband, who would later blame

her for the fall of the Bentivoglio family. Nadi merely recounted the facts as they

occurred, such as the wedding festivities, and occasional public hangings or burnings; he

writes that she ordered the execution of a woman said to have harmed the Bentivoglio

family (and who was consequently burned at the stake), and later mentions a commoner

who was hanged for killing one of Ginevra’s friends. Ricci uses this as confirmational

support that Ginevra eschewed justice in the pursuit of vengeance. He writes, “Per tal

modo Ginevra si sostituiva al magistrato della giustizia. Voleva; e ciò ch’essa voleva,

Giovanni era costretto a permettere.”13 That public hangings and burnings took place is

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not uncommon to Renaissance Bologna, but the root of Ricci’s displeasure lies in the lack

of judicial involvement by the city’s magistrates, as neither victim received a trial. It is

these actions that reveal why Pope AlexanderVI would eventually label Giovanni a

“tiranno” and would, years later, run them out of Bologna.14

In an attempt to solidify his readers’ opinion of Ginevra, Ricci concludes his

account of Ginevra by reminding his readers not to be swayed by the biography that

follows because other historical accounts confirm his own: “Ma perché la sua parola non

acquisti un po’ di fede allorchè dipinge Ginevra, restano in compenso altri scritti, i quali

provano come il ritratto che abbiam fatto di lei non sia per nulla esagerato.”15 We must

not forget, nor does Ricci let us forget, that Arienti was a letterato of the Bentivoglio

court. In an obvious effort to encourage the reader to read Ginevra’s biography with

suspicion, he states, “Non c’è che dire: Sabadino conosceva perfettamente l’arte del

cortigiano!”16 Later, while recounting the end of the Bentivoglio era, he adds: “Così finì

la gloria di Ginevra e della casa bentivolesca. Che cosa pensasse di tutto ciò Sabadino

degli Arienti non sappiamo. Egli si trovava già a Ferrara ad adulare nuovi padroni e nuovi

protettori.”17

Reading Arienti’s brief 8-page biography of Ginevra following this preface thus

proves to be both amusing, daunting, and confusing. One searches for Ricci’s Ginevra

behind every false note of adulation; obvious gaps appear in the lack of details or

anecdotes, and in the seemingly obvious diversions from her character. The readers

cannot, despite their best intentions, undo the image created in their minds of a Ginevra

whose cruelty eventually caused her family’s ruin and the dismantling of the palace she

had so carefully planned and constructed.18 Arienti’s original and intended readers, of

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course, would not have been subject to Ricci’s influence; nonetheless, an investigation

into the style and lexicon employed by Arienti in Ginevra’s biography demonstrates that

Arienti’s biography does in fact resound with false notes when compared with the 33

biographies that follow, and that allusions to her less-than-exemplary character are

evident even to those who have not first read Ricci’s introduction.

Arienti begins his biography of Ginevra by outlining the purpose of the work,

which is to exalt the memory of famous women and their deeds, as well as to glorify the

female sex. The first indication that Arienti is less than enthused about extolling his

protagonist is in his choice of words when doing so. In his biography of and to Ginevra,

he tells her that women past and present “gridano: Gynevera, Gynevera, tuo odorifero

nome.” These women do not sing her name, nor praise it, they cry out. Nor do they use a

common adjective for her name, such as dolce, glorioso, splendido, or onorabile, rather

odorifero, an adjective with both positive and negative connotations. Arienti then writes

that Ginevra was created in Heaven, which first created her with chaste beauty full of

singular grace, prudence and gentility of manner: “prima li Cieli te hano creata de caste

beleze piene di gratia singulare, prudente et costumate.” The adverb “prima” here subtly

implies a “dopo”- again, one cannot help but wonder if Arienti is alluding to the fact that

though she was first created so, she turned out to be anything but, as time went on. Thus

far, however, these indicators would likely not be noticeable to a reader who had not first

been met with Ricci’s counter-protagonist.

But our second point, that Ginevra’s praise lacks any solid content, is more

discernable. Arienti spends the majority of her biography describing her family members,

most notably the military exploits of her father and husband. This section, which

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continues for an entire page, creates a sizeable digression from the biographical subject

before her praise has even begun. The next three pages are filled with brief descriptions

of her children, including their birth order and other cursory information such as whom

they married, where they lived, etc. Ginevra’s biography, in fact, is marked with a

pointed avoidance of any factual or anecdotal content relating to her own life as the

“dama” of Bologna. She is lauded merely for her familial connections and the actions of

her relatives. Her admirable traits are almost left out in the literary cold; even when

Arienti does begin to praise her, which he does on the second-to-last page of her

biography, he does so quickly, using encomiastic platitudes, devoid of specific references

or events. He uses empty and ubiquitous adjectives such as "costumata," or “prudente,

and descriptive nouns both generic and mundane such as "virtute," "magnifico aspetto,"

"mansuetudine," “gratia," "affabilita,” and "pietate." He does not offer specific actions

that would demonstrate these qualities as he does with the praise of Ginevra’s father and

husband, which is direct, factual, and penned with very much less artistic flair.19

The only act for which Ginevra eventually receives any acclaim is that she had

many children. It is apparently the one thing she physically did that Arienti deems worthy

of mentioning and it must be reiterated that she was quite remarkable in this. She bore 16

children to her 2nd husband, Giovanni Bentivoglio. Considering that she married her

second husband in 1464, when she was 24, and that she was only 43 at the time of

Arienti’s biography, one deduces that she gave birth to a child every year and a half over

the span of 20 years, a result of her "fecundo ventre."20 She lost 5 of these children, a loss

that, according to Arienti, strengthens her ties to heaven: "O quanto questo a ti sia celeste

et divina gratia, per che tu puoi dire havere già' la dextra mano nel regno del cielo!”21

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Her heavenly ties, therefore, are not actually a result of her own merit. His comment is, in

effect, another creative device that indirectly praises the subject, while pointedly avoiding

any concrete praise of her own actions, demonstrating either the apparent lack of

knowledge of Ginevra's character, or, on the other hand, a deep knowledge of her

character and, therefore, an affirmation that she was devoid of laudable traits.

There also exists an underlying sense of irony in what little praise there is of

Ginevra. The only paragraph during which Arienti expounds on Ginevra’s virtues is rife

with possible hidden meanings. It is plausibly ironic, for example, that Arienti praises

Ginevra for her prudent advice, when she was infamous for being nefarious in her

political proddings of her husband, counseling him to carry out bloody vendettas against

families who planned uprisings. It is ironic that he praises her for her discreet pomp,

when she was known for her proclivity to amass clothing and jewelry and to show it off

whenever possible. It is ironic that he acknowledges her regal presence, because of the

inferred reference to the government that was slowly developing the characteristics of a

monarchy more than an oligarchy. It is also ironic, that Arienti says Ginevra’s virtue is in

no way inferior to the ineffable virtues of her husband; as his virtues were very much

being called into question at the time by many Bolognese families, and most certainly by

the papacy, this irony is quite palpable. 22

The concept of exemplum, generally dominant in Renaissance biography, is

mentioned only once in Arienti’s biography of Ginevra and when it is, the syntax is

confusing and distracts the reader. While explaining why women would want to model

their behavior after her, he employs a grammatical inversion of subjects: he turns his

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focus from Ginevra’s example to the future female readers and women in general, who

often indulge in vanities, resulting in their loss of honor:

Che debbo io dunque fare, essendo de tante tue excellentie infiammato, se non afaticare la mano et l’ingegno in cosa gentile, per gratificare la tua benigna mente a tua aeterna laude in exemplo de qualuncha donna vorà conseguire honore, lassando de artificiare li visi loro la continua cura del vano et lascivo spechio, molte volte inquinatore del buon nome, che così facendo, nel termine de sua vita, cum benigna fama lassarano il mortal velo et andarano fra li beati spiriti de le famose donne ad fruire quella sempiterna patria, dove è gaudio senza fine?23

Not only do the Latin influences of this sentence blend poorly with the Italian, the focus

of the sentence is not why Ginevra should be praised, rather behavior women in general

should avoid: pastimes of vanity such as spending time in front of the mirror and putting

on makeup. This question would seem quite fitting to the biography had Ginevra been

praised for her own avoidance of these activities, but she was not, because she (according

to contemporary accounts) did not avoid them herself. Contemporary documentations and

diaries of the time instead emphasize the pomp and excesseses both of the Bentivoglio

court and of Ginevra and her retinue of ladies in waiting.24 Arienti’s awkard syntax

therefore allows him to make the point that these activities should be avoided, without

directly criticizing Ginevra for her engagement in such activities, serving, therefore, as a

nudge of remonstration.

There is one persistent doubt, however, that challenges the assertion that Arienti’s

biography of Ginevra is full of empty praise, and that is the nature and length of the

individual life sketches within the compendium. Ginevra’s biography is only 8 pages

long and certainly begs the questions of whether or not such a lackluster depiction of her

virtues and talents is merely due to the brevity of the biography. This necessitates,

therefore, a comparison of her biography to the 33 (also brief) that follow, in an effort to

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determine whether or not such vague praise is common to Arienti as a writer, or whether

it is unique to Ginevra’s life sketch. Four biographies in particular, those of Theodolinda

de’ Bavari, Maria de Fois, Genevera Nogarola, and Francesca de Bentivoglio (Arienti’s

wife), bear investigation given various aspects of their lives that coincide with Ginevra’s.

Also deserving attention are the four biographies of Ginevra’s close relatives: Battista

Sforza, her sister; Bianca Maria Visconti, with whom she lived from the age of 7 until her

marriage at 12; Caterina Visconti, Bianca Maria’s grandmother; and Zanna (Giovanna)

Bentivoglio, daughter of the first Bentivoglio Signore. These biographies display

Arienti’s true facility with the encomiastic genre, one that reveals characters imbued with

a richer and more detailed fabric of exemplary behavior than his account of Ginevra. But

we also find in them subtle remonstrations of his dedicatee, allusions to Arienti’s

unfavorable treatment by the Bentivoglio family as a court letterato, and a detailed

depiction of his ideal ‘first lady,’ or ‘prima cittadina.’ In fact, though Arienti’s work does

not follow the Renaissance model of female life writing, which incites readers of the

biography to emulate the protagonist, it does still hold steadfastly to the didactic nature of

the genre. Arienti represents, through the cumulation of many ruling ladies’ lives, an

ideal to be followed, to which Ginevra was not adhering. This ideal advocates the

following strengths: gracious hospitality, intelligent diplomacy in speech and letters, the

ability to quell discord, and to elicit public affection through active service to the citizens,

the valiant and virile defense of cities when threatened, and support of and love for their

husbands.

Arienti’s biography of Theodolinda, Queen of the Lombards, is significant

because it directly follows that of Ginevra and is, therefore, set in juxtaposition to it (see

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appendix B). Theodolinda was a woman in power like Ginevra, who, upon the death of

her husband, assisted in fostering the pacification between her people and the

surrounding areas and is even credited with converting the Lombards to Christianity.

Arienti affirms that she reigned "cum parole" and “prudente judicio”, restraining proud

and valiant dukes and many Longobards with more success than kings past who had used

arms and harsh methods. The inferred contrast here is strikingly evident, countering

Ginevra's reputed imprudent influence over her husband Giovanni, and her eschewing of

normal judicial proceedings in favor of swifter capital punishments. Not only is

Theodolinda decorated with illustrious attributes such as beauty, eloquence, chastity,

grace, etc, these nouns are enhanced with adjectives notably superlative in nature such as

“clarissima,” “grandissima,” “singular,” “religiossisma” and “veramente,” superlatives all

conspicuously absent in Ginevra’s biography.

Theodolinda’s biography likewise contains a great quantity of active verbs

supporting her superior skills as a ruling woman. Theodolinda converted her husband,

pacified the warring populations, erected various churchs (such as the monastery of

Monza), repaired cities and castles ravaged by war, gave all her jewels and possessions to

the church (including the crown pictured in appendix B), and, finally, was loved by the

Longobards even more than they loved her husband. As a result of her many virtues, it

was said that she could have ruled “tutto il mondo non che ‘l stato.” At this point, any

reader, astute or obtuse, should notice a difference between the two biographies. Both are

only eight pages long, but Theodolinda’s is dense with activity, superlative praise, and

very little mention of her descendents or husband, in contrast to Ginevra’s biography,

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which contains a plethora of familial digressions, strikingly little biographical

information and only the shallowest of praise.

But another biography begs comparison to Ginevra’s. It is the 18th biography in

the compilation, and is especially noteworthy because it is the biography of a woman

who shares Ginevra’s given name: Genevera Nogarola, a Renaissance humanist who

wrote letters and poetry in Latin. She is most often eclipsed in history by her sister, but in

Arienti’s work, Genevera Nogarola’s biography precedes her sister’s and is equal in

length.25 He begins her biography with only a cursory nod to her family, followed quickly

by the affirmation that her virtues were a light to her parents, “A li quali genitori questa

figlia Genevera per sue virtute fulse molto lume, et a lei gratiosa et etterna fama.” In

direct opposition to this concept, Ginevra Sforza does not bring honor to her family,

rather her family brings honor to her - they are her “gharlands of Jupiter” and “cumulo de

divinio thesauro”, not the other way around.26

Arienti describes Nogarola as affable, beautiful, wise, eloquent, devout, graceful,

and generous - all admittedly generic adjectives of praise, but they are both more frequent

in Nogarola’s biography and endowed with more narrative specificity as he delves into

the specifics of why she was considered to be worthy of these attributes, highlighting

above all her reknown as a gracious hostess: “et sopra l’altre excellentie de virtute fu

molto affabile in recogliere altrui: che mai in quilli tempi fo cognosciuta donna in simili

acti et maniere tanto benigna.”27 Gynevera, in contrast, was most certainly not known for

this. We know that Arienti attended many public festivities at the Bentivoglio house, yet

he never mentions her hospitality in his writings. Other contemporary accounts indicate

that if not proud and haughty, she was at least reserved and taciturn.

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The comparison between the two women is even more conspicuous when Arienti

esteems Nogarola for her gratitude toward those who had done her favors. He asserts

twice, once towards the beginning of her biography, once towards the end, that she was

quick to “rendere honore a quilli, i quali la honoravano,” (168) and “Fu grata e

memoranda di ricevuti servitii.” Such assertions not only act as subtle reminders to

Ginevra Sforza of her responsibilities to do likewise for Arienti, but possibly also of her

neglect in these matters. We know, in fact, that seven years after the composition of the

Gynevera in 1495, when the Bolognese Senate (the “Sedici”) voted to discontinue

Arienti’s stipend, neither Ginevra nor Giovanni came to his defense and he was forced to

look elsewhere, specifically Isabella D’Este, for compensation. His subtle proddings in

this work would, therefore, eventually prove fruitless for Arienti, or even more likely,

were not subtle enough and perhaps caused offense, resulting in his eventual dismissal.

Arienti also places emphasis on what Nogarola was not. She was never disdainful

– with great love and humility she listened to the poor; and unlike other indiscreet

women, she did not turn her nose up in disgust at the poor as if she smelled excrement:

“Non facea come fano alcune indiscrete donne, o per viltà de costume, per essere male

nutrite, che quando gli altri le salute et fazali honore et reverentia, pare li sia de uno

sterco dato per incenso sotto il naso [. . . ] overo sono tante altiere de la loro Gloria vana,

che non degnano altrui.”28 Given that Ginevra was known for her haughtiness, it seems

quite pointed that here, in a biography about another Ginevra, such an affirmation is

made of what not to do. The potential for correlations is too weighty to be ignored.

A similar indirect admonition is found in Arienti’s biography of Maria de Fois, a

woman known for her dedication to her people and for her generosity to the poor. Arienti

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recounts how, when she would go riding in the country, she would give generously to

those who asked, or, if she had no more to give, she would even have the “povera

persona” ride with her until she could obtain appropriate provisions. His acclamation of

such generosity is quite emphatic as he both praises her, then observes how so many in

power do not do the same: “O virtù pietosa et discrete de costei, quanto sia degna de

perpetua laude! Che li piaceri et morbideza del richo stato non la facea oblita del

bisogno di subditi, come fano alcune, tanto dedite a le voluptate et piaceri, che non

curano nè estimano li sinistri altrui, et senza pietade regono li suoi populi!”29 This is yet

another instance where he uses the phrase “come fano alcune”, but here Arienti is

referring not just to other women in general, but to other women in power, narrowing the

playing field of potential comparisons considerably. The inference calls attention to the

fact that the “dama” of Bologna may be one of these “other” women who rule without

pity.

A reference to famine in the city and generosity of women in response to it is

also found in the remarkably unique biography of his own wife, Francesca Bruni. Arienti

recounts how, during the worst famine anyone alive could remember, people would cry

out in the streets, day and night, for bread. His wife would “chiamare in casa quilli che

passavano per la sua contrata, et cibavali de quello poco de pane, che supportava le nostre

substantie.” She would also get up at night and would lead the poor “miseri affamati” to

the fire because it was winter. She would feed them and let them sleep there, often a

surprise to Arienti himself who, upon waking, found strangers in his living room.30 The

incongruity with Gynevera is conspicuous as this famine occurred while the city was

under Bentivoglio rule, but Arienti makes no references to charitable activities by the

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Bentivoglio family whatsoever. His assertion that his own wife gave what little food they

had to the less fortunate implies firstly, that those in power were not adequately assisting

their citizens, and, secondly, that his family was in need of financial support- a support

owed them by the Bentivoglios. Thus we have another subtle plea for patronage and an

inference to the Bentivoglio family’s lack of generosity.

We know that Bologna experienced great famines in Arienti’s lifetime, and that,

during the famine of 1504, he wrote to Isabella d’Este requesting grain to plant on his

property so as to ensure his ability to continue feeding his family, a request Isabella

honored as evidenced in his subsequent letters of gratitude.31 This letter was written two

years before the Bentivoglio family was ousted from the city, so it is quite demonstrative

of the Bentivoglio’s neglect of their court letterato.

As with many other of his biographies, Arienti compares his wife to great women

of the Greek and Roman past (comparisons absent in Ginevra’s biography), and spends a

good deal of time discussing, as in the biography of Gynevera and Maria, what his wife

was not, or did not do: she was not vain or pompous and, when praised, gave God the

credit because we should “never give ourselves airs for our own works.” She rarely

spoke, but when she did, she was prudent. She was not interested in going to parties or

public events, and was quite chagrined at the lavish vanities of other women, often

gritting her teeth over such wastefulness. Here again we have an allusion to Ginevra:

“spesso la vidi per doglia fremire li denti, in dispretio de potente avare femine, le quale

haveano posto la loro felicità in li loro ornamenti disordinati et vane pompe; per che

haverebbeno facto cosa che più gratia et Gloria al mondo et a Dio essere munifice et

liberale, et di proprii panni spogliarse, vestendone le povere et costumate donne et

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donzelle, et li nudi, de quello che li avanza.” 32 Unlike other women, his wife was willing

to give others even her own personal clothes.

In the biographies of Ginevra’s Sforza and Visconti relatives, Arienti’s contrasts

to Ginevra’s character become even clearer, as does his ideal image of a ruling lady. His

family’s lasting connection to the Bentivoglio family is made very apparent in these

biographies and Carolyn James aptly notes that Arienti was inclined to view the “old

days” of the Bentivoglio oligarchic regime with nostalgia. She writes that, in his De

civica salute, Arienti implicitly blames Giovanni II for the political demise of the old

partisans, mourns the dissolution of the former Signorial oligarchy, and continually

upholds civic harmony to be of tantamount importance. Though he is often credited by

Renaissance critics with being a formative participant in the querelle des femmes, I would

instead argue that when he extols these powerful women, his primary intention is not to

engage in the querelle, but to further demonstrate his ideal model for the signoria and for

the women in control of the signoria, while calling to attention Ginevra’s shortcomings in

this regard. His biographies of the Sforza and Bentivoglio women reveal the behavior he

considers necessary towards maintaining both the power and prosperity of the signoria

and the wellbeing of the subjects, behavior Ginevra would be wise to copy.

Before we engage in analysis of their biographies, however, it will be helpful to

give a brief overview of who these women were and how their lives intertwined with

Ginevra’s. Caterina Visconti (1361-1404) was the second wife of Gian Galeazzo

Visconti, first duke of Milan. Her two sons would become the future dukes of Milan, but

not before she acted as regent following her husband’s early death and defeated Facino

Cane’s enemy factions. Her eldest son, Gian Maria, was of poor repute and famous for

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his voracious dogs who were trained to attack and eat humans; history speculates that this

same son imprisoned and poisoned his mother, but Arienti makes no mention of these

events in his biography.

Bianca Maria Sforza (1425-1468) was Caterina’s granddaughter, and through her

marriage to Francesco Sforza (and the lack of Visconti heirs), eventually became the

duchess of Milan. Her marriage to Francesco Sforza, 24 years her senior, was reputed by

all to be a happy one, and she was involved in many of his civic affairs, including

wartime activites. She is most famous for her defense of the city of Cremona, which, in

full armor, she defended from the Venetians. Upon the dissolution of the Visconti reign

in Milan, she and her husband were eventually invited by the citizens to become duke and

duchess of the city. Her reign was marked by public works, strong diplomacy, and even

administration of the Duchy, for she served as co-regent when her husband fell ill. Like

Caterina Visconti’s son Gian Galeazzo, her son Galeazzo was jealous of her power and

eventually banished her from the city. Arienti also refrains from mentioning this detail,

nor does he address the unlikely rumor that she too, was poisoned by her son. Ginevra

Sforza had a personal connection with Bianca Maria – she moved to Bianca Maria’s

residence at age 7, and remained there until she was 12, though the level of their

interaction or depth of their relationship is unknown. What is known, however, is that

Bianca Maria provided a humanist education for both girls.

Ginevra’s sister, Battista Sforza (1446-1472), is the subject of the third biography

with familial pertinence. Battista Sforza was the duchess of Urbino, wife of Federico da

Montefeltro, and half-sister of Ginevra (Ginevra was a child of her father’s mistress).

Similar to Bianca Maria, Battista had a happy marriage, accompanied her husband to the

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battlefield, was known for her intelligence, and was involved in the affairs of state.

Finally, Giovanna (Zanna) Bentivoglio was the daughter of Giovanni I Bentivoglio, first

ruler of Bologna, and sister of AntonGaleazzo, who succeeded his father as “primo

cittadino” and was eventually beheaded by the papacy for treason. History does not tell

her story; the only version of her life is found in Arienti’s compendium, and it is one that

was recounted personally to him by his own father, who served in the family’s employ.

The commonalities shared by these four biographies are almost too many to cite,

so we will instead focus on those that highlight the various intentions Arienti had for his

work. Firstly, as a supporter of the Signoria construct, and a faithful adherent to the ideals

of just governance, Arienti lauds these women for possessing the following essential

attributes of a ruling lady: they dressed in accordance with their station (with reserved

pomp), were magnanimous with their subjects and were therefore loved by them, were

brave and defended their lands when threatened, were merciful with their enemies, and

generous to those in their employ. In all four biographies, through Arienti’s emphasis on

signorial ideals and affirmations of these female characters’s personal strengths, one

glimpses, if not a prominent contrast to Ginevra’s character, at least strong

recommendations that she should emulate their actions. Ginevra’s brief biography also

pales in comparison to these detail-filled and lengthy accounts. While Caterina’s

biography is of more average length (10 pages), Giovanna Bentivoglio’s is 18 pages long,

Battista’s 24, and Bianca Maria’s 25. The only biography in the compendium longer than

Bianca Maria’s is the hagiographical story of St. Catherine of Bologna.

Arienti places special importance upon these women’s love for their subjects, who

in turn loved them with singular devotion. He writes that Battista lived “sempre cum

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publica laude” and states repeatedly that Bianca Maria happily and generously gave

audiences to her subjects: “fu molto benigna in audientia a li suoi populi, da li quali

singularmente fu amata.”33 Ginevra was instead known for being reserved and

inaccessible and, as a result, was viewed by the population with diffidence. Arienti

himself only recounts meeting her twice.

Arienti also spends a good deal of time expounding on the spousal relationships

of his protagonists, most especially Bianca Maria’s. He repeats almost ad nauseum what

a comfort she was to her husband; on page 274 alone, he uses derivations of the word

“conforto” 4 times, and her husband’s praise of her is quite pronounced: “Questo fu

molto augumento de conforto al conte, laudandose de la prudentia de la donna, non

altrimenti facesse il grande re Mitridate de Ipsocratea sua moglie: de la quale prese più

conforto et speranza, che non fece nel molto exercito, che continuamente da lei cum

smisurato amore et fede era persequito.”34 Battista Sforza’s relationship with her husband

is recounted similarly; Arienti writes that she always sought her husband’s advice and

never did anything without his approval.35 Ginevra, however, was famous for her rash

bevavior and for negatively influencing her husband in policy.

In atypical fashion, Arienti does not praise modesty in his protagonists as a typical

biography of the time would have done, rather extols them for their extravagant fashion,

fashion befitting a ruling lady in courtly society. He writes that Bianca Maria dressed

“cum tal pompa et magnificentia, che a quili tempi non havea pari”, that Battista “fu in li

suoi habiti et vestimenti de magnifica pompa” and that Giovanna “hebbe andare pomposo

de grande honestate.”36 Here again Bianca Maria becomes his model, ‘par excellence’,

because she maintains restraint; her manner of dress is imbued “cum tanta gratia et

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honestate, che da picoli et grandi consequìa laude.”37 Battista, instead, had a proclivity

for precious gems and extended her desire for pomp to her children and her ladies in

waiting: “similmente per suo iocundo dilecto volea che le sue figliuole fussero ornate de

varii habiti, de illustre vestimente et di geme [e] havea grandissimo piacere che li suoi

citadini et donne loro andasseno ornate de vestimente.”38 She does compensate for this,

however, by wearing a ‘cilicio” under her clothes during her husband’s absence, and

upon her deathbed tells her husband that all the pomp of life (jewels included) have been

for naught: “Per me tutte le vanità, le pompe, li honori, le glorie, le geme, l’auro et

l’argento del mondo sono passate. Oh quanto è sciocho colui che pone speranza in la

fragilità de questo mondo! Beato colui, che tutti li suoi pensieri pone in la speranza

divina!”39

Recalling Ginevra’s penchant for pompous excesses, begun at her wedding when

the church’s doors were closed to her, and continuing throughout her family’s reign in the

form of lavish festivities and dress, Arienti’s handling of the subject of extravagance is

very carefully managed. Through Bianca Maria’s description he acknowledges the duty

of a Duchess to dress her part, but that she should do so with some form of restraint, or

spiritual discipline (the cilicio), lest she risk sharing in her sister Battista’s regret.

Arienti draws other comparisons between Ginevra and her relatives when

discussing their temperament. In fact, the only negative personality defect of both Bianca

Maria and Battista was one Ginevra shared: an irascible disposition. As none of the other

biographies in discussion contain any hint of criticism, the fact that these women, who

lived in such close contact with Ginevra also possessed fiery tempers infers that it was

perhaps a family trait. Of Bianca Maria, he writes, “le sue ire et li suoi sdegni furono

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sempre cum prudentia temperati, per modo in lei non duravano.” 40 Battista was likewise

“de natura sanguinea” and would, “alcuna volta, per qualche offensione, [adirarsi], ma

presto la ira se partiva.”41 Bianca Maria receives more careful treatment, however, as

Arienti quickly follows his acknowledgment of her temper with the affirmation that “In

ogni loco, tempo et fortuna, hebbe, come devota christiana, timore de Dio.” Regardless,

the only negative quality he assigns his heroines is one Ginevra shared, one that could be

viewed by many to be a familial tendency, either learned or inherited.

Arienti’s heroines are also brave and intensely dedicated to their family’s city,

defending it at all costs, through arms, assistance to those in battle, or through diplomacy.

This occurs first in the story of Giovanna’s life, a life that is quite personal for our author,

as Arienti’s father served in the family’s employ during her reign. Arienti recounts how,

when the family became embroiled in wars with vying factions, Giovanna called

Bolognese citizens to arms, and uses the words “valorosa” and “virile” numerous times to

exemplify her strength of spirit. Before one of these battles, Arienti reminds Ginevra that

Giovanna personally dressed his father, still a teenager, in military garb for his first

battle: “lei cum le proprie mane armò il mio genitore che fu la prima volta prese l’arme

per heredità paterna per la facione bentivoglia essendo anchora doloscente: che più volte

me disse che mai cognobbe donna de più magnitudine de animo de lei.”42 Carolyn James

notes that Arienti wrote the Gynevera for the purpose of “impressing upon Ginevra

Bentivoglio the considerable cost to his father (who, as we have seen was tortured and

exiled by the Canetoli) as a result of his support for the Bentivoglio.”43 The above

inclusion would seem to support that position. James also observes that this was not very

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wise, given the undercurrent of tension between the two branches of the Bentivoglio,

which were constantly at odds for power.

Arienti’s contrasts to the Bentivoglio family’s vendettas are implicit and further

demonstrate how dangerous the biographical waters were becoming for Arienti, and how

bold his attempts to instruct Ginevra. In what is probably the most evident recrimination

of Ginevra in this particular biography, Arienti writes that Giovanna was emboldened by

her family’s success in battle and wanted to immediately take revenge against her

enemies and their friends, so they could never again harm the Bentivoglio family: “ma

volea nel primo furore insieme cum molti amici fusse levato la vita a li superati inimici, a

ciò non molestasseno mai più li Bentivogli.” Her brother AntonGaleazzo, however, was

“magnanimo” and restrained her fervor, “dicendo che solo li bastava la gloria de havere

vincto.” Arienti’s biography of Giovanna is thus more than just an allusion to the

Bentivoglio vendetta against the Malvezzi and Marescotti families; it is a lesson in mercy

for Ginevra, and a remonstrace for her past actions. Bianca Maria was also an exerciser

of mercy; Arienti writes that she would visit prisoners frequently, and freed many from

death or prison or exile: “Molti homini per clementia de ella furono da la morte liberati.

Per opera sua ancora molti nobili et strenui homini furono da lo exilio, de le carcere

liberati.”44 Ginevra, in contrast, was known for sentencing citizens to death without

trial.45

Arienti’s audacity in referencing Ginevra’s vindictive tendencies culminates,

finally, when he tells of Battista Sforza who, while on her deathbed, turned to her 5-

month-old son and told him to be a true prince, not a tyrant: “O figliuolino tanto affectato

(osculandolo teneramente) prego io la pietate de Dio, ad consolatione del tuo patre,

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lungamente te salvi, cum timore de la sua divina maiestà, a ciò sii vero principe appellato,

et non tyranno.” As Ginevra’s husband was accused of tyranny numerous times, by

neighboring families and the Pope himself, this reference would have been quite

prominent and would certainly have pricked Ginevra’s ears, possibly her conscience. But

Arienti is careful and exercises great skill in his task because, while his comparisons hit

their intended mark (Ginevra’s contrasting behavior), his use of direct quotation rather

than his own words, and instructive nature of his work offers him protection.

It cannot be said, however, that Ginevra was not brave; she would eventually,

years after receiving Arienti’s work, demonstrate herself to be steadfast in the face of

adversity, much like the women Arienti praises. Instead of arms, however, she would

employ diplomacy, or at least attempt to do so. When Cesare Borgia and Pope Alexander

VI became enemies of their rule and ordered them out of the city, her whole family fled

but she remained, hopeful to procure a meeting with the Pope. He refused, however, and

she was eventually forced to leave the city. This staunch bravery could have been a direct

result of Arienti’s influence, who set forth quite an array of virile women who likewise

faced danger and endured difficult conditions in order to maintain their family’s

longevity.

With any ideal Signoria, the citizens should be happy and peace should reign

throughout. It is not suprising, then, that the Sforza and Bentivoglio women all possessed

a gift for ingratiating themselves with others and bringing harmony to discord, through

various diplomatic arts, all while maintaining their feminine reserve. Arienti tells us that

Giovanna was remarkable in her letter-writing abilities; through her talents she was able

to counsel and bring about many resolutions that benefited her family: “Usava

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grandissima arte et calidità significare per lettere al fratello come conviene per pigliare li

stati.” He writes twice that she put her female timidity aside in an effort to further her

family’s station: “non come timida donna et priva de alteza de animo, scripse de sua

propria mano a la Sanctità del Papa non desistesse da l’impresa per molte efficace

rasone.” Bianca Maria likewise possessed a talent for peacemaking, although, unlike

Giovanna, she did so without casting aside her feminine attributes. Arienti writes that che

could “pacific[are] ogni homo”, and that “Hebbe, sopra ogni altra cosa, cura, per

consolatione del suo glorioso core, dove era discordia et discensione, pore tranquilità,

unione, et pace.”46 This last sentence demonstrates Arienti’s emphasis upon promoting

peace and unity amidst discord; Bianca Maria held this in highest importance, “above all

else.” As peace and prosperity of the Bentivoglio family were beginning to wane during

the composition of Arienti’s work and rising factions were forming among other families,

Arienti’s continual focus on mercy and effective diplomacy is, therefore, quite plain, and

its frequency in the text, as we have noted, is extremely pronounced. Arienti’s praise of

these women places Ginevra’s irascible governance in relief, while also hopefully setting

forth a model for her to follow in the future.

Arienti uses this technique of contrast in equally conspicuous fashion through his

frequent and less-than subtle pleas for patronage. In his biographies of Giovanna,

Battista, and Biancha Maria, he makes sure to note their generosity and appreciation for

scholars. As is becoming increasingly clear, Bianca Maria is his ideal duchess, whose

behavior is more worthy of emulation than any other protagonist in his compendium. It

does not surprise, then, that his most fervent plea for patronage is found in her biography.

He first writes that she greatly enjoyed the company of courtly scholars: “Pigliava piacere

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degl’huomini virtuosi et literati, di quali fu amatrice et fautrice, et de li loro certamente

havea dilecto.”47 Twelve pages later, his affirmations become more fervent, as he

emphasizes her immense generosity, first towards all, then to those who had been in her

father’s employ. He says she was never ungrateful for gifts (beneficii) given to her, and

that she liberally bestowed benefices on her own servants, “et similmente a li servitor del

patre, quando li erano ricordati.” Arienti had long been a close friend of the Bentivoglio

family, both encouraged by Lodovico Bentivoglio as a young student (who allowed him

to use his library and befriend his son, Andrea), then given employment by this same

Andrea. Here he reminds Ginevra of his long-standing position of secretary within the

family, a position that ended with Andrea’s death, and resulted in his need to seek

monetary compensation for other more literary endeavors. In his comment that Bianca

Maria was never ungrateful for the gifts given her, he is quite likely reminding Ginevra of

her monetary obligation to him upon completion of his Gynevera. As if to insinuate that

she should be especially generous in her compensation, Arienti continues by noting

Bianca Maria’s response to those who criticized her penchant for excessive giving:

Quando altri li dicea, che troppo munificentia et doni usava, respondea, levando le belle et bianche mane, ornate de riche annella, che non potea far tanto, satisfacesse integramente al suo animo, et che molto era meglio così fare, che fare como faceano quilli, che per avaritia ponevano a la fortuna de’ dati uno monte de pecunia, la quale perdevano, et poi negavano con blasfeme la deità de Dio; et che meglio haverebbeno facto auxiliare uno egregio ingegno, overo qualche suo morigerato amico, indigenti de aiuto, che presso Dio ne haveriano conseguito laude, gloria et mercede.48

Thus helping those with an “illustrious intellect” is one of the most praiseworthy

examples of generosity, and would garnish eternal praise by God himself. The image

Arienti creates with this unusually stylistic narration (levando le belle et bianche mane) is

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quite strong, as is the inference that Ginevra should also be generous with him and those

in his position. This aspect is not nearly so potent in his biographies of Battista and

Giovanna, but he does say that Battista favored court letterati: “Li huomini literari et

docti furono sempre cum amore favoriti da lei, et qualuncha altro virtuoso ingegno, et de

varie facultate et exercitii.”49 Giovanna likewise was grateful to those in her service: she

was “liberale” and “Fu grata sempre in quello che possette di beneficii recevuti.” She

was not like others who did not follow through on their words, “come la galina che canta

bene et raspa male.”50

Battista and Bianca Maria are also lauded for their generosity to women who

could not afford to marry. Battista was “liberale in tutto, overo in parte, in maritare

povere donzelle” and Bianca Maria was more so:

Alcuna volta, quando a le sue pietose aurechie pervenia, che qualche costumato citadino fusse oppresso da qualche ira de stelle, o vero da sinistra et scarsa fortuna, overo per altrui peccato impoverito, che avesse figliuole da marito et che maritare non le potesse, le aiutava de dota. Talvolta incognita privatamente andava in casa de qualche persone nobile, che costumate fusseno, che sapea haveano figliuole da marito, li dimandava perchè non le maritava. Respondeano che non potevano. La liberalissima donna, de core magnanimo et clemente, alhora secundo la paterna condictione de le figliuole le dotava, et cum molta gratia li trovava marito.

Arienti had 8 children, and sought dowries for his daughters from whomever he could,

including Isabella D’Este, who eventually gave him 100 gold ducats for his eldest

daughter Angelica’s convent dowry.51 This money was deposited with Ginevra, who also

attended Angelica’s procession a year later. How odd that Isabella d’Este provided the

dowry for the daughter of a Bolognese scholar, and odder still that the money was

deposited with the woman whose family should have been caring for its own with more

generosity. Isabella d’Este therefore rescued Arienti on more than one occasion when the

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Bentivoglio family was shirking its duties to the courtly scholars (recalling to mind the

grain she sent to his family during the famine).

Hidden within Arienti’s suggestion that Ginevra should be helping daughters

without dowries, is also the assertion that she could be doing it incognito. The sentence

before he extols Battista for her generosity with dowries is only three words long: “Fu

elemosinatrice oculta.”52 Bianca Maria, likewise, would go “incognita” to the house of

women who needed dowries. That these women performed these activities secretly could

be a reference to two possible concepts: the first is the Biblical concept that one should

not be ostentatious when serving, rather do so quietly and without vainglory; the second

is (admittedly speculative) that Ginevra gave Bentivoglio the excuse that she could not

help his daughters because it would set a precedent that she would have to maintain for

all. Providing dowries was, in fact, quite a monetary commitment during this time. The

average patrician dowry was around 1,000 ducats, but there was also a tendency to inflate

this number such that the Venetian senate placed a cap of 1,600 ducats on dowries in

1420. This limitation was not effective and the price shot up so high that in the beginning

of the 16th century the ceiling was raised to 3,000 ducats.53 This number would likely not

have been nearly so high for a court secretary’s daughter, but it would have most

certainly been far above the 100 ducats Isabella d’Este provided for his daughter’s

convent dowry. It would therefore be no small commitment for a noblewoman to aid

these women in their marriages, and does give weight to the possibility that Ginevra

made it a practice to avoid giving this aid altogether, such was the cost of just one gift,

and the likelihood that future aid would inevitably be expected. Regardless, the fact that

Arienti places importance on their charitable activities, particularly those of helping

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young girls without dowries, draws pointed attention to the fact that his daughters were in

need of them and likely did not receive dowries sufficient for marriage so instead joined a

convent, for which dowry costs were considerably lower.54

In summary, the biographies of Giovanna Bentivoglio, Caterina Visconti, Bianca

Maria Sforza, and Battista Sforza, all serve to bolster Arienti’s ideals for a reigning lady

of a Signoria court, as well as to call attention to Ginevra’s deficiencies. His ideal lady

loves her subjects; Ginevra is instead recalcitrant and unaccessible. His ideal lady

resolves differences with her acute intellect and skillful rhetoric; Ginevra foments

conflict. His ideal lady extends mercy and gifts; Ginevra is vindictive and uncharitable.

In his biographical treatment of each woman, Arienti navigates the waters of Ginevra’s

character with alacrity and acuity, demonstrating intrepidity in his attempts to highlight

her faults, but always careful to avoid pointing them out directly.

For those still in doubt of the above assertions, a date should help quell any

remaining doubt. The date is 1483, the year Arienti attributes to his work, and a date

preceding the political dissension and Malvezzi plot that would blemish the Bentivoglio

name. Yet according to Arienti’s letters of correspondence, he actually took up this work

after the Malvezzi conspiracy and after the public disgrace previously mentioned, of

Gynevera’s daughter Francesca. The fact that Arienti assigns an earlier date to his work

(a date when he had not even begun the work, let alone finished it) is indicative at least of

a marked attempt to veil the family troubles, implying he was very aware of them – so

aware he thought it better to change the date of his composition entirely, to a more

peaceful time in the Bentivoglio reign. In truth, Ginevra’s contemporary historians (and

those who followed), assign almost all the blame of the Bentivoglio family’s ruin to her,

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and to her alone.55 Their accounts support the assertion that Ginevra was of general ill

repute during the last years of the family’s power, all emphasizing her pride, violence,

and dominance of her husband. Included in many of these accounts is a letter written

from Giovanni to Ginevra following the family’s ousting from the city and the sad

destruction of the Bentivoglio palace. It is a letter rife with anger and blame:

Sogliono dire, i savi huomini di questo mondo che la persona prudente tute le cose sue fa col consiglio degli huomini savi et che non habbino il cuore circondato da varie passioni affinche' (a) il bramato fine possa conseguire: ma l'animo appassionato che fugge i consigli dei prudenti in tutto quello che fa, lo fa in proprio danno et vergogna, perche' (a) condotta dagli appetiti appassionati, operando trabocca nella voragine di ogni pericolo. Cosi' e' accaduto a te, o incauta Ginevra, che sprezzando i consigli degli huomini et seguitando la tua propria passione, te et altri con essi te hai facti cadere nel trabocco di ogni male. Ecco che per tua cagione sono stato gran tempo in questa prigione et ora conduco anche mia vita non al tutto libera et colma di affanni et di cordoglio et Alessandro in Genova nelle mani del Re si sta della vita in forse, ma gli altri tuoi et miei figlioli come stanno condotti dal tuo poco prudente consiglio? Fuori della propria Patria, banditi dal paese di Ferrara et in disgrazia de tutto il mondo. Ma quello che e' peggio et che insino al vivo cuore mi apporta maggior dolore e' che il nostro palazzo in Bologna quasi del tutto e' per terra. Et pure di questi mali sei tu, donna, principale cagione, questi sono i fructi dei tuoi consigli et delle tue proprie passioni. Datti pace al meglio che puoi.

Addio! Giovanni.56

This letter speaks of a Ginevra who was entirely at fault for the ruin of her family and

their beautiful palace, and a woman whose passions led her to commit evil deeds and

incite her sons to commit even more atrocious acts.

History therefore leaves quite an impression of Ginevra Sforza, one that most

certainly was increasingly sensationalized with time but that nevertheless maintained a

common thread of disdain, disdain that can be found in Arienti’s work, who, as history

attests, failed in his attempt to counsel her on the proper actions of a Duchess. It would

seem she only benefited from Arienti’s stories of brave women who defended their

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birthright with virility and adamance. She did not, however, follow his cautious counsel

of restraint imbued in the tales of his heroines, who were always merciful, obedient to

their husbands, generous with their courtly scholars, and who fought for their territories

with such efficacy because they were so loved by their people for their generosity and

careful custodianship. In fact, had the Bentivoglio family been supported by the

Bolognese people, they would have been successful in re-taking the city. But the

Bolognese populace actually fought against Ginevra’s sons in their repeated attempts to

regain control.

Arienti’s continual descriptions of an ideal female ‘first-citizen’ are inextricably

intertwined, then, with the reality of what Ginevra was not. But in Arienti’s biography of

Anna Sforza (1500), only his advocacy for a courtly female ideal is found. Though brief

(a mere 14 pages), La Vita di Anna Sforza is strikingly different from his more polished

Gynevera. It was composed at the request of an old friend (“benigno” and “istretto”),

prior Nicolao Felsineo, and appears to have been written in haste with inattention to form,

containing more informal dialect and lacking the stylistic flair of his Gynevera. His

syntax is more rudimentary (and less clear for the modern reader), while the Bolognese

dialect is much more prominent. In fact, in his dedication to the nuns of St. Vito in

Ferrara, he excuses himself for his use of dialect, and in the body of the work writes, “Io

ho sumpta la pronuncia del mio basso et exile stile come intenderete in la mia

Bononiense lingua parlando familiarmente ad voi.”57 The resulting impression is that he

completed the work without any presumption of compensation, rather wrote it to please

an old friend whose “dolce invito” he could not refuse, and for spiritually didactic

purposes (being commissioned by a cleric and dedicated to the nuns).58 This biography

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is, therefore, quite useful to our previous analysis, because it is a work wholly unaltered

by insinuations and self-promotion. Arienti’s praise of Anna comes from a sincere

attempt to commemorate a life, the life of a woman with whom he had direct contact, as

he mentions in his dedication: “et essendomi io molto compiaciuto di una così bella vita

cum locasione d’haverla molti anni praticata essendo io al servitio del Prencipe Hercule

soo socero et de lo Illustrissimo Alphonso soo marito sin da quando con ella el fece el

conubio servendole da Cameriere segondo.”59

The essential characteristics of a Signorial Duchess remain in Anna’s life, but it

does not address many of the themes found in the Gynevera, such as generosity, mercy,

humility, and matrimonial affection. Their absence further supports the assertion that

these were emphasized in the Gynevera primarily because Ginevra Sforza lacked these

qualities. Anna is depicted simply as affable, smart, religious, and, most importantly for a

reigning woman, kind to her people: “Nel matrimoniale stato se diportava con tanta

felicita et gratia, che ne conseguiva universale benivolentia del Ferrariense populo et de

tutto il Ducal Stato.”60 The importance Arienti places on this is considerable, especially

in light of the short length of the biography and his cursory mention of her other

attributes. When he describes her affability, intelligence, and spirituality, he does so only

briefly, whereas he spends much more time on her interaction and relationship with the

general population. He writes that because of her constant service to the court everyone

(the young and the old, the poor and the rich) would frequently “run to her” for advice

and justice.61 She also listened intently to those upset by some offence and, with

unending patience and wise words, she comforted them.62 Those who sought her counsel

for justice or assistance never left disappointed or disconsolate.63

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Anna did not become pregnant until 7 years into her marriage and, after giving

birth to a daughter who only lived a few hours, she shared her daughter’s fate, dying of

childbirth.64 The population’s love for her was demonstrated in their grief, a prominent

theme of the biography. At her death all members of the curial family cried, screamed,

and wrung their hands, lamenting how she was stolen from them at such a young age.65

She was humbly clothed at death per her request, and her daughter was placed at her side,

in her left arm’s embrace. Arienti depicts the scene with stark visuals, saying that such a

piteous site had never before been seen, and that she was beautiful in death just as in life,

even though her face was frozen in the color of white snow, and that she seemed to be

decorated with the sacred veil: “come certo havendo quella Bambina in bracie, cui parea

de suave somno dormire; mai credo tanta pietosa e flebil cosa se vedesse: cosi come ella

fue in vita bella era morta anchora, benche fusse piu che neve biancha gelata; ma de più

anni et de maggior gravita reverenda pareva per esser ornate de Sacri veli, et vestimenta.”

The people flocked to see her body, such that a steady stream of visitors was seen

throughout the entire day of her viewing. Again Arienti emphasizes that she was loved by

all, by stating that men and women, young and old came to see her. The cries of anguish

were intense: “Le flebile grida erano grande, et li lamenti et il battere dolente de le mane

che facevano le tribulate et le angosciose donne, et le Donzelle de la morta Madonna. Chi

diceva oime Madonna, mia cara dove ne vai, come me lassi, chi diceva etc.” The

lackadaisical syntax of this sentence, and the repeated use of the phrase “chi diceva,”

higlights the lack of care Arienti employed in this biography. He even concludes the

entire biography with the word ‘etc.’: “O Madonna Anna nostra devota benefatrice, la

divina pieta habia de voi mercede etc.”66

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Anna Sforza’s biography is not an exemplum work like those that follow in the

16th century. Many aspects of her character, and elements essential to the proper

foundation of female virtue, are ignored. Strikingly absent is any allusion to her

generosity: though she was kind, Arienti does not discuss her assistance to women in

need of dowries or her assistance of courtly scholars. Again, this absence bolsters the

point made previously that Arienti included these elements because of ulterior motives

and in the hopes of future assistance. Arienti’s primary focus for Anna’s life, rather than

how she could be an ideal model for other women, is how she was an example of a

proper ruling lady. She was educated, lighthearted (as with all his courtly ladies, she

laughed with alacrity), kind, and, above all, accessible and open to her people; as a result

she was greatly loved and revered. This reciprocal love and admiration between the

people and their rulers are at the heart of Arienti’s ideal Signoria, ideals found in

abundance in his De civica and Gynevera.

Arienti’s works demonstrate the integral relationship between authorship and

readership in Renaissance biography, a relationship that would influence both the purpose

of the work, as well as the themes addressed. But biography in Italy was soon to be

influenced by the Counter-Reformation and the vast majority of biographies to follow

had a common authorship and readership: they were written by the clergy or for the

clergy, and their intended audience was women, not men. We will therefore turn our

focus to these biographies and discuss the great leap female biography would take in

style, form, and content, in contrast to its pre-Tridentine siblings.

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Appendix A. “Madonna in trono”, Lorenzo Costa.

Bottom left: Ginevra’s seven daughters, from the left: Camilla, Bianca, Francesca, Violante, Laura, Isotta and Eleonora. Bottom right, Ginevra’s 4 sons, from the left: Ermete, Alessandro, Anton Galeazzo, Annibale. Ginevra kneels above her daughters, her husband, Giovanni II above his sons.

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Appendix B. Theodolinda Barolini, Queen of the Lombards, 570-628 A.D.

One of Theodolinda ’s crowns, which she donated to the church in Monza

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Epilogue

The primary historians to weave Ginevra’s fateful tale, a tale that would continue

to germinate into Ricci’s eventual biography, are Paolo Giovio (1483-1552) and

Cherubino Ghiradacci (1519-1598). A summary of these accounts elucidates just how

villainized Ginevra was by her contemporaries, and how this reputation was recorded

over the centuries, resulting in Corrado Ricci’s disdainful life-sketch. Historical

references to Ginevra’s villainy begin with Paolo Giovio’s work, Gli elogi, vite

brevemente scritte d’huomini illustri di Guerra, antichi et moderni (1545), in which

Ginevra only makes one appearance, but is scathingly described. Giovio says she was a

“donna d’anima virile e talmente ingorda di signoreggiare, ch’ella spingeva il marito di

sua natura piacevole, piu tosto che in alcuna cosa violento, ad ammazzare & mandare a’

confine i Cittadini avversari suoi, & superba insolente sedeva al governo di tutto ‘l

consiglio: e specialmente quando si scoperse la congiura de Malvezzi ella fu quella che

volle che s’usasse contra di loro ogni maniera di crudeltà.”67 Giovio’s compendium of

lives is full of unauthenticated content, yet has greatly influenced historians and is cited

by many, including Burkhardt in his Civilization of Renaissance Italy. Giovio himself

admits that his compendium of brief lives was like “a species of historical fresco-

painting,” and that it is “pleasantly written, with a certain license, for the delight of the

gentler spirit.”68 In fact, this “license” has been the bane of scholars who are unable to

verify details in Gli Elogi that do not appear anywhere else.69 But Giovio’s assertions

would gain steam over time, as evidenced in Cherubino Ghirardacci’s Della historia di

Bologna, published 51 years after Gli Elogi.

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Della historia is an extremely lengthy and voluminous work that inflates Giovio’s

critisisms of Ginevra and her children exponentially. 70 In Ghirardacci’s version of

history, Giovanni Bentivoglio was a just and admirable ruler, whose demise was caused

by his lascivious children and his perfidious wife. Ghirardacci writes that when

Giovanni’s sons attempted to return to Bologna against the Pope’s decrees, Giovanni

denied any involvement, asserting instead, that his sons, in listening to the advice of their

mother, had been “incauti” and “poco prudenti.”71 Ghirardacci affirms that Giovanni

blamed Ginevra continually during this period: “sempre maledì il consiglio di Ginevra

sua consorte, che havesse istigato gli figliuoli a far cosa tale, affermando che esso

giammai diede loro consiglio.”72 Giovanni is found innocent by the Bolognese populace

as a result of his continual denials, while the blame is placed on Ginevra and her sons:

“Trovato adunque Giovanni innocente di questo fatto, il vicerè mandò le lettere regie al

legato et senato di Bologna, et anche scrisse haver trovato Giovanni innocente, a cui

oltremodo dispiaceva quanto li suoi filioli havessero fatto, et che questo era tutto

consiglio della madre loro.”73

Nowhere is his blame of Ginevra so vehement, however, as when Ghirardacci

quotes a letter that Giovanni apparently wrote to her after hearing of the destruction of

their beautiful palace (which apparently eclipsed that of the Medici palace in Florence).74

Giovanni’s tone is acerbic and accusatory as he blames her for all the family’s ills: “Et

pure di questi mali sei tu, donna, principale cagione, questi sono i fructi dei tuoi consigli

et delle tue proprie passioni”.75 In chronicalist style, Ghirardacci writes that upon reading

the letter, Ginevra “fu da sì estremo dolore assalita, che con amendue le mani

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stringendosi le tempia, senza forma parola alcuna, sendo vicina al letto, con la faccia

all’ingiù gettatavisi sopra, di subito rese lo spirito al suo Iddio.”

Ghirardacci continually seeks to absolve Giovanni of any guilt in the Bolognese

affairs, and is the primary reason Giovanni is seen in such a positive light by all

subsequent historians,. Ghirardacci states that Giovanni’s many letters attesting to his

innocence were read in public (“le sue lettere sono lette pubblicamente e se ne fa gran

festa”) and that, for the majority of their reign, the family was well-liked by the

Bolognese people.76 He recounts that when Giovanni was called into the presence of “re

Lodovico” (Ludovico Sforza) to explain his family’s actions (who had “abbrugiata la

casa de’ Caccianemici et morti li Malvezzi et li Marescotti, et che havevano svergognate

molte donzelle et levata per forza et per inganno la robba a molti”), Giovanni

successfully refutes the multitude of accusations of tyranny against him. He does so by

affirming that the 16 (elected governmental officials) were always participants in

deciding what actions to take on behalf of the city: “A queste parole soggiunse Giovanni:

‘che non poco si maravigliava di essere chiamato tiranno, perciochè egli non mai fu

tiranni nella sua patria, attesochè sempre nel governo haveva havuto seco in compagnia li

sedici et con quelli sempre si era consigliato et secondo il parer loro governato.”

Giovanni does confess that he perhaps looked the other way when noble families did

things they shouldn’t have (“ho lasciato passare alcune cose senza cercare di spegnerle et

mandarle a terra, le quali nel vero havrian meritato gran gastigo”) but maintains that he

did his utmost to maintain peace and prosperity in Bologna. Giovanni also repudiates any

accusations of his involvement in the familial massacres and the rapes committed during

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the attacks, rather insinuating that the fault was due to his sons who had grown up into

men who could not quash their appetites:

essendo alcuni de’ miei figlioli divenuti potenti, sprezzando i miei consigli, caminarono secondo il loro appetito, quantunque sempre io ne reclamassi, come anche al presente hanno fatto, venendo contro Bologna [. . . ] Quanto alle donne poi, io con verità posso et potrò sempre dire non haverne giammai forzata veruna, et se ho fatto alcun peccato, è stato con il suo pieno consentimento; sicchè, monsignor reverendo, ardirò dire essere iniquamente accusato di esser stato tiranno.77

In this portion of Ghirardacci’s history, it is important to observe that when stating his

case to Lodovico Moro, Giovanni remains silent about his wife’s involvement in any

affairs of state. This absence seems odd, given Giovanni’s earlier affirmations made

against Ginevra. But we must consider the artistic license Ghirardacci employed here,

given the unlikelihood that he possessed word-for-word transcripts of Giovanni’s plea.

When Ghirardacci writes that Giovanni lamented to others that Ginevra had poorly

advised him and his sons, he does not use direct discourse. Giovanni only accuses

Ginevra in direct discourse when he “speaks” to her in his letter. But when Giovanni is

standing in a room full of men and is pleading his case, Ghirardacci prefers for Giovanni

(his hero of the Bentivoglio family) to make no reference to Ginevra whatsoever.

Admitting that his wife had exerted so much influence over him would have appeared to

be an admission of weakness on his part and Ghirardacci had chosen a different portrayal

for Giovanni. If anything, it demonstrates Ghirardacci’s skill as a persuasive historian. If

Giovanni had complained to the assembly that it was all Ginevra’s fault, imagine what

the contemporary reader’s response would have been to a man who, in the presence of

other men, laid the blame on his wife. Their opinion of him would be immediately

skewed; he would be a man lacking respect and without prudence. Concealing

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Giovanni’s blame for his wife in a letter directly to her, however, Ghirardacci both

maintains Giovanni’s dignity and further inculpates Ginevra.

Ghirardacci’s loose interpretation of events is still the version to which history

adheres, lacking any substantial proof to contradict it. Salvatore Muzzi, in his Annali

della città di Bologna dalle sua origine al 1796 (1840), relies heavily on Ghirardacci in

his representation of Ginevra, including the letter written to her by Giovanni and also

affirming that she died upon reading it. 78 But her story gains momentum in Muzzi’s

text. He fervently writes that history, the enemy of oblivion, would not embellish the

memory of Ginevra with words such as love and glory, though she had dominated hearts

with beauty and quickness of mind and had appeared to be one who would be lauded by

history. He instead insists that her name will be written in letters of blood:

Nelle immutabili sue pagine la nemica dell’oblìo vergò a note di sangue il nome di Ginevra Bentivoglio, di che che nata a dominare sui cuori per la bellezza delle forme, per la svegliatezza della mente, e sovra un generoso popolo per dignità, per la condiscendenza del consorte, pare che in quel gran libro dovuto avesse lasciare il proprio nome fregiato dalle parole amore e gloria.” 79

Ghirardacci maintains some decorum as a historian, in admitting that Ginevra would not

have been recorded in history with such infamy had her family not met its ruin, but

Muzzi instead asserts that history has the ability to penetrate to the heart of truth,

revealing the true character of individuals with an iron stylus, contradicting the opulent

mausoleums and false eulogies: “la storia [. . . ] collo stile di ferro imprime a caratteri

indelebili ne’ suoi volume le azioni de’ viventi; e l’iniquo invano si fa schermo di fastoso

mausoleo, di mendaci elogi, che la storia smentisce; essa è che all’immortalità consegna i

nomi dei giusti e dei grandi, benchè non s’innalzi sovra le loro ceneri cospicua la

tomba.”80 This prophetic assertion of Muzzi would seem to be accurate in Ginevra’s case,

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because Arienti’s brief biography has not swayed history from its Ghirardaccian

perspective of her life, it has rather been subverted, through Ricci’s preface, by

Ghirardacci’s portrayal.

Giovanni Gozzadini’s Memorie per la vita di Giovanni II Bentivoglio (1839) also

assigns all of the blame for the Bentivoglio fall to Ginevra and her children, as evidenced

by the following quote describing Ginevra’s response to hearing of the conspiracy against

her family: “Ginevra il seppe dal consorte, e crudele qual era senza farne motto a

Giovanni, certa non l’avria consentito, nel figlio Ermes, ben degno di tal madre, l’ira sua

dispietata transfuse, e il fe’ ministro di giurata vendetta.”81 Gozzadini calls her son

Ermes an “iniquo sicario”, his companions “sfrenati giovinastri”, and says that all her

sons had “sfrenate libidini.” 82 Not surprisingly, Gozzadini relied heavily on Ghirardacci

and also includes the letter Giovanni wrote to Ginevra, though in more modernized

Italian.83

It is Gozzadini who leads us full circle back to Corrado Ricci, editor of the only

printed edition of the Gynevera. Lest we forget, it is his mordacious introduction to

Ginevra that began our journey into the discovery Sabadino’s veiled attempts to call her

to account. Ricci depended heavily on Gozzadini and Ghirardacci as his primary sources

in his preface and introductory biography of Ginevra. His reliance on Gozzadini is most

glaring in his reproduction, in the same order, of two poems about Ginevra (written by

Casio and Garzoni) that Gozzadini inserts in his footnotes, reproduced here as found in

Gozzadini:84

Fra le poesie del Casio si legge a pag. 52 per M. Ginevra Bentivoglia Genevra Bentivola sforcesca D’animo altier lasciò a Bussè la spoglia,

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Contenta pria morir d’una sol doglia Che viver semper tra il focile, e l’esca

Ed il Garzoni secondo che ne lasciò l’Alberti Vol. 4 pag. 166, e ripetè il Fantuzzi Vol. 4 pag. 94 scrisse:

In Ginevram Bentivolam Epitaphium Iam matron potens, se plus quam Foemina poscet, Impia, avara, tenax, horrida, terribilis. His jaceo infelix sancto private sepulchro, Cui nulla Ecclesiae sacra dedere Patres: Iuniperi mihi nomen erat, sed spina remansit, Ut fuerat multis aspera, amara mihi: Cotempsi superos, qui me sprevere Tyranni, Optima ab exemplo discite quisque meo Quis neget esse Deos, hominum qui fata rependant? Quae fuerit vitae preamia, mors docuit.85 Since these poems were published for the first time in 1596, neither of the poets could

have been influenced by Ghirardacci’s historical account of Ginevra, indicating that the

Bolognese public did, in fact, view her with general distaste, and that Ghirardacci merely

embraced (and embellished) this view of her. The author of the first poem is Girolamo

Pandolfi (1467-1533), better known as Il Casio, who was a contemporary poet to the

Bentivoglio regime. In 1503 he completed a diplomatic mission to Mantova on Giovanni

Bentivoglio’s behalf, and would afterwards become a frequent correspondent and friend

of Isabella d’Este. The possibility then arises that he and Arienti could have actually met

while Arienti was in his service to Isabella d’Este (following the Bentivoglio family’s

demise). How ironic, that Casio could have been further furnished with material for his

satirical poem by none other than the very biographer who sang her praises!

The author of the second poem, most likely Tommaso Garzoni (1549-1589), was

born 43 years after the Bentivoglio family’s exit from Bologna, but still before

Ghirardacci’s publication of his Historia (1596). The date of this poem, which in Ricci’s

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terms is “più severo” than Il Casio’s, demonstrates that distaste for Ginevra increased

with time, but it also reveals that the entire Bentivoglio family was blamed (father and

sons), not only Ginevra. Muzzi confirms that following their demise, many other forms of

satires and poems were written decrying Giovanni, not Ginevra: “‘non solo così miti

canzoni, ma sonetti satirici, madrigali d’obbrobrio e scritti d’ogni guisa dilaceranti

l’onore di Giovanni, si leggevano fra i cittadini, che ridevano dello spirito de’ prezzolati

poeti, i quali indegnamente trattavano il bersaglio moderatore della patria, quasi fosse

stato un Oleggio, un Costa, od un Bozzo, oppressori di popoli.”86 Even Ghirardacci

affirms that the Bolognese people were not kind to Giovanni Bentivoglio following his

escape from the city, and cites verses that were commonly found on Bolognese public

walls:

Bentivole, heus tandem mala sors, sed una, sequuta est, Non bene iam misero, sed male quisque cupit. Bentivola ecce prius fortuna, Malivola nun est, Multivolumque cito, Mortivolum faciet.87

Following this quote, however, Ghirardacci engages in an emphatic defense of Giovanni

Bentivoglio and his Signoria, with Ginevra as his easy scapegoat.88

Though Ghirardacci’s viewpoint is the one predominately adapted by history, a

more moderate view of Ginevra is found in another account of Bologna’s history,

published in the same year as Ghirardacci’s: Pompeo Vizani’s Bolognese Diece Libri

Delle Historie Della Sua Patria (1596). It is a lesser-known work and is cited very little

by posterity, but maintains a healthy dose of objectivity and equilibrium in its approach.89

Vizani recounts the events following the family’s exit from Bologna in quick, succinct

fashion, placing no blame on parties whatsoever. His first reference to Ginevra is when

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she leaves the city and begins to plan a way for the family to return.90 He confirms the

account that she tried to “persuadere” her husband to gather soldiers and return to

Bologna after the Pope’s departure, but Giovanni does not want to accept the “poco

sicuro consiglio della mogliera”, so she acts on her own (“la medesima operò”).91 She

raises funds and sends money to her sons Hermes and Annibal, and tells them to gather

people for the resistance in Parmigiana and Mantova, but the Pope is informed of their

plan and thwarts their efforts at plotting a return. At this point in Vizani’s account,

similarities to Ghirardacci’s work (published the same year) are strong. Almost exactly as

recounted in Ghirardacci’s work, he tells the story that Giovanni was imprisoned as a

result of the attempt to take back the city, then questioned, then pardoned. Following his

pardon he is invited to celebrate with friends, but declines the offer with the statement

that “già era passato il tempo de’ suoi honori.” When he returns home that evening, he

receives the news that his palace had been destroyed and writes the famous letter to his

wife. The only difference in Vizani’s account is that he does not quote the letter directly,

rather summarizes its contents: “per isfogarsi in parte, ne diede per lettere aviso à

Ginevra sua consorte, la quale à Busseto si trovava, & querellolsi di lei, dicendo, ch’egli,

& la sua famiglia pativa tanti travagli, perche ella non havendo mai volute credere à

consigli del marito, haveva indotti i figliuoli à far cose, per le quali si havevano fatto

nimico il popolo di Bologna, & il Pontefice, con tanti altri Prencipi, & Signori.”92 He

then makes a similar statement that Ginevra died shortly after reading the letter, but in his

account she is surrounded by other noblewomen, whereas Ghirardacci makes no mention

of what company she was in when her death occurred.

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The problem with all of these historical accounts of Ginevra, is that none of them

are bolstered by confirmation of those who knew her, nor do they cite specific facts of

her perfidious advice, with the exception of Nadi’s diary, which does detail that she (not

Giovanni) ordered the death of two citizens. They do portray the general public opinion

of her, which was anything but positive, but again, the public’s flame of dissatisfaction

was likely fanned by the Bentivoglio’s demise, and unsuccessful attempt to retake the

city. As with all history, the truth is concealed by the epideictic tendency of all human

stories, present or past, to overly praise the victors, and overly blame the losers. What we

can assert, with conviction, is that Arienti, who served her family personally, did not

view Ginevra with admiration; rather his work reveals a subtle disdain for her

governance.

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Notes !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

1 Carolyn James, Giovanni Sabadino Degli Arienti: A Literary Career, (Firenze: L.S.

Olschki, 1996).

2 Sharon Janson, Debating women, politics, and power in early modern Europe. (New

York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008) 74.

3 See the chapter epilogue for the development of historical sources on Ginevra and her

husband.

4 There are two existing manuscripts of the work, which sank into oblivion until the 1888

reprint by Corrado Ricci, student of Giosuè Carducci. Please note that the date of publication is

discussed in the epilogue of this chapter, and was likely not 1488.

5 Arienti, Gynevera, iv.

6 See Ricci’s preface for his many citations of contemporary sources.

7 Arienti, Gynevera,viii.

8 Arienti, Gynevera, xii.

9 Arienti, Gynevera xiii.

10 Arienti, Gynevera, xiv.

11 Titina Strano, Ginevra Bentivoglio E La Fine Di Una Signoria. (Milano: Treves, 1937)

93.

12 See epilogue.

13 Arienti, Gynevera, xv. I have verified these quotes by consulting the original sources.

14 Though it must also be noted that Pope Alexander VI, father of Cesare Borgia, was

known for his persistence expansion of power, for which he ousted many ruling families, not just

the Bentivoglio family.

15 Arienti, Gynevera, xvii.

16 Arienti, Gynevera, xxii.

17 Arienti, Gynevera, xvii.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 18 The destruction of the Bentivoglio palace is viewed to be one of the greatest

architectural losses ever to occur in Italy. It was described by those who visited it as grandiose,

immense and immaculately constructed.

19 He recounts their military exploits and valor in battle in great detail, for instance.

20 Arienti, Gynevera, 7.

21 Trans my own: "Oh how divine and celestial a grace to you this is, for you can say that

you already have your right hand in the kindgom of paradise!"

22 Corrado Ricci cites many of these sources in his preface, such as Paolo Giovio,

Cherubino Ghirardacci, and a contemporary Bolognese diarist, Gaspare Nadi. See epilogue for

detailed sources and further analysis.

23 Translation in collaboration with Clara Benali (without any attempt to improve the

readability, for the purpose of further demonstrating the point of our argument): “What should I

do, then, since I am inspired by your many excellent qualities, if not engage my hand and my

mind in a noble endeavor, to eternally praise you and your gentle mind, as an example to all the

women who want to be respectable, forgetting about makeup (and forgetting about) obsessing

over the vain and lascivious mirror, many times corrupter of a good name; and in so doing they

(will) have left this world with a good reputation and joined the blessed spirits of the famous

women, to enjoy that eternal homeland where joy is endless?”

24 See epilogue. Ricci also includes many sources on this.

25 According to Jane Stevenson in her book, Women Latin Poets: Language, Gender, and

Authority, from Antiquity to the Eighteenth Century, of the “27 Italian women Latinists

flourishing between 1400 and 1500”, she was the only one who did not marry and did not join a

cloister (164).

26 Arienti, Gynevera, 5.

27 Arienti, Gynevera, 166.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 28 Arienti, Gynevera, 168. Italics mine.

29 Arienti, Gynevera, 163. Italics mine.

30 Arienti, Gynevera, 367.

31 James, Carolyn. 1996. Giovanni Sabadino degli Arienti: a literary career. (Firenze:

L.S. Olschki) 89.

32 Ibid, 356, Italics mine.

33 Arienti, Gynevera, 276.

34 Arienti, Gynevera, 274. Also, on page 273: “La savia donna fu molto amata et reverita

da le gente”

35 Arienti, Gynevera, 295

36 Arienti, Gynevera, 266

37 Arienti, Gynevera, 266.

38 Arienti, Gynevera, 298 &299.

39 Arienti, Gynevera, 301.

40 Arienti, Gynevera, 265.

41 Arienti, Gynevera, 290.

42 Arienti, Gynevera, xxi.

43 James, 77.

44 Arienti, Gynevera, 276.

45 See Gaspare Nadi’s Diario bolognese.

46 Arienti, Gynevera 275 & 278.

47 Arienti, Gynevera, 265.

48 Arienti, Gynevera 277, Italics mine.

49 Arienti, Gynevera, 291.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 50 This proverb is a reversal of what normally is expected, that the hen scratches well, but

sings poorly. It was a proverb used to express the concept that behind one’s words, there was no

action.

51 James, Giovanni Sabadino.

52 Arienti, Gynevera, 295

53 Stanley Chojnacki, "Dowries and Kinsmen in Early Renaissance Venice,” Women,

dowries and agency: Marriage in fifteenth-century Valencia, ed. Dana Lightfoot, p. 572.

Excessive dowries were not only common to Venice, however, but across all of Italy.

54 Chojnacki, 572.

55 For a detailed sweep of Ginevra’s portrayal in Bolognese history, see this chapter’s

epilogue.

56 For more on this letter, see the epilogue.

57 Arienti, Gynevera, 6. Italics mine.

58 Arienti, Gynevera, 6.

59 Arienti, Gynevera, 5.

60 Arienti, Gynevera, 10.

61 Arienti, Gynevera, 10-11.

62 Arienti, Gynevera, 10.

63 Arienti, Gynevera, 10.

64 It is unclear who died first, but she most certainly died of childbirth.

65 Arienti, Gynevera, 11.

66 Arienti, Gynevera, 14.

67 Giovio, 389.

68 T.C. Price Zimmerman, Paolo Giovio: The Historian and the Crisis of Sixteenth-

Century Italy, (Chichester: Princeton University Press, 1995) 206.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 69 Zimmerman, 206.

70 Cherubino Ghirardacci was an Augustinian friar and 16th century historian.

71 Ghirardacci, 373.

72 Ghirardacci, 370

73 Ghirardacci, 370.

74 Ghirardacci, 374. It is impossible to verify the existence of this letter as very little

archival information remains on the Bentivoglio family, largely due to the destruction of the

Bentivoglio palace. In fact the Archivio di Stato in Bologna has no Bentivoglio papers at all (Dr.

Cecilia Ady, as cited in Cecil H. Clough’s article “The Archivio Bentivoglio in Ferrara.”, p 1).

75 Titina Strano, 247-248.

76 Ghirardacci, 373.

77 Ghirardacci, 377.

78 Ghirardacci, 548.

79 Ghirardacci, 549.

80 Ghirardacci, 549.

81 Gozzadini, 123. Ricci also quotes Gozzadini in his preface (p xiii) as observing that

Ginevra’s face seemed to be depicted in the 7-headed hydra figured in the painting across from

her family’s painting in S. Giacomo.

82 Gozzadini, 123 & 66.

83 Gozzadini, 242-3. It should also be pointed out that the family name, Gozzadini,

appears throughout most historical documents detailing the Bentivoglio era. Based upon cursory

searches, it appears they were also involved in the plots to end the Bentivoglio reign.

84 Gozzadini, 243.

85 Gozzadini confirms that these poems were written on parchment paper that date to the

1600s.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 86 Muzzi, 504.

87 Ghirardacci, 354.

88 Ghirardacci sets for the Bentivoglio Signoria as an ideal- with Giovanni at its head,

then the church Legato and Senato of 16 to act as the checks and balances of power.

89 I have found only one reference to Vizani’s history, in Niccola Ratti’s Della Famiglia

Sforza, (1794),Volume 2, p 163.

90 Guicciardini likewise only mentions Ginevra once, when he writes about the family’s

exit from Bologna.

91 Vizani, 469.

92 Vizani, 471.

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Chapter 4

F e m a l e B i o g r a p h y i n R e n a i s s a n c e a n d P o s t - T r i d e n t i n e I t a l y : T y p o l o g i e s a n d I d e o l o g i e s

As the Counter-Reformation’s influence spread across Italy, the standards for

female comportment and appearance became increasingly stringent. Art began to portray

female saints and biblical figures with much simpler attire than the previous century, and

literary representations of the ideal donna illustre were more austere and mystical,

increasingly reflecting their hagiographical counterparts.1 The ubiquitous De mulieribus

claris volumes, mainly composed by court scholars and polygraphs at the bequest of the

nobility, began to be superseded by individual female biographies either written by

clerics or commissioned by them. This change, both in ideals and authorship, drastically

altered the genre, which began to reflect the new Post-Tridentine ideals of female

spiritual behavior, behavior that almost entirely neglected the protagonist’s social and

familial responsibilities. This transition created a new paradox in the construction of a

female life: whereas the compendium pieces of the Renaissance portrayed virile women

operating in masculine spheres, who could not be imitated by their female readers due to

their unique station in life, biographies of the Counter-Reformative period presented an

equally inaccessible model for exemplum based upon spiritual excesses.

The genre’s intention, however, was not to display women whose virtues were

inimitable. It was, in fact, used as a primary tool of the Counter-Reformation to dictate

behavior standards and appropriate models for imitation. Acknowledgement of the

genre’s potential for soliciting emulation and imitation is found in almost every conduct

manual and biographical dedication from the period, including three out of the four

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biographies pertinent to our current study. The first, Sebastiano Morale’s 1577 biography

of Maria D’Avis, the Princess of Parma, engages in a lengthy discussion of the emulative

potential of the genre.2 His main assertion is that a woman’s example can silence those

who assert the impossibility of following the church’s strict standards, or who maintain

that their station in life does not require them to make such sacrifices. As such, he

observes the importance of presenting the readers with exemplary subjects of similar age

and station who are, in fact, able to live virtuously and maintain the new standards:

“dicono le sacre lettere, che l’uno molto efficace sarà in presentarci in faccia altre

persone dell’istessa etade, e conditione di vita che noi siamo, che havranno adempito

tutte quelle cose delle quali à noi in presente pare di poterci con varij protesti escusare.”3

According to Morales, their example entirely refutes any excuses “con le quali noi con

vani colori, e tergiversationi pensiamo poterci difendere.”4

Morales references his literary predecessors by citing many examples from

antiquity who adorn many pages with their exemplary living, but emphasizes their

inability to act as true exampla, due to the passage of time, and the tendency of the

“malitia del cuor nostro” that constantly seeks to shroud our own errors with the excuse

that such greatness was achieved only long ago and is now impossible: “però ha voluto

quell’alta providentia, se ben questa scusa è molto vana, non essengo egli accettatore ne

di tempo, ne di persone, per levarci tutte le difese, produrre continuamente quasi di tempo

in tempo, & in diversi luoghi novelle piante cariche de frutti religiosi, e di vera pietà che

potessero convertire à se gli occhi d’altri à riguardarle, ammirarle, & imitarle.”5

In fact, Morales spends the first seven pages of his work on this concept of

exclusion from the standards of behavior, indignant that many women believe the

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standards do not apply to them. He tells of their “vani protesti”, based mainly on the

excuse that because they have been born in illustrious cities of worldly abundance, they

are not constrained to live in accordance with Christian principles: “per esser nate in città

nobili, e grandi abbondanti di delitie, e lussi, e collocate in famiglie splendide, e

magnifiche giudicano non convenirseli alcuni essercitij Christiani.”6 He views

exemplary literature, therefore, to be of tantamount importance to the lives of all female

citizens, especially those of higher status. The social and political aspect of Counter-

Reformation literature, by which proponents of the movement sought to regularize

behavior and emphasize ecclesiastical obligations of the ruling elite, is made quite

evident in these pages of his dedication.7

This function of biography is also revealed through Morales’ use of metaphors,

which give a visual picture of the exemplum process. Most common, and found

frequently throughout his work, is the image of a plant, laden down with fruit, that is able

to grow in any garden, and displays itself with rigor and beauty. He also employs the

ubiquitous metaphor of the mirror, in which the reader will see the protagonist’s

reflection and will then desire to imitate what she sees. Finally, he employs the metaphor

of clothing, in which the reader will seek to don the elegant clothes of virtue that the

protagonist displays.

Giovanni Battista Petruccini’s 1621 biography of Sestilia Sabolini, a

noblewoman from Siena, likewise uses the metaphor of a plant and emphasizes that

exemplary behavior is possible, even among the noblewomen. He dedicates his

biography to the nuns of Siena: “accioche vedendo che anco tra le spine del Mondo,

possono sorgere fruttifere piante, ripiene di fiori odoriferi di santi, e casti pensieri, e di

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dolcissimi frutti di perfette operatione, impariate da una Gentildonna, posta nel Mondo [.

. . ] e legata di più, con lacci matrimoniali, la vita spiritual, che con l’aiuto Divino, e

potete, e dovereste osservare.” 8 In both of these biographies, we see recurring metaphors

of exemplum, but also the opinion that those living in the world do not often abide by

proper Catholic standards.

Hippolito Porro’s 1624 biography of Cornelia Lampugnana Ro, a Milanese

noblewoman, does not assign such pejorative connotations to the lay-world, most notably

because Porro is a nobleman himself, and therefore is not operating under the post-

Tridentine exigencies of the church.9 His emphasis on exemplum literature is therefore

more rooted in the classical vein of education that states in Latin, “domestica exempla, &

recentia magis movent.”10 He echoes this sentiment, stating that when “si propongono i

fatti heroici”, it is more effective to praise either one’s antecedents or the city’s more

prominent citizens, which inspire one so much more than “qualche impresa lodevole fatta

da uno straniero.”11 He continues that one’s fame is the strongest shortly after one’s

death, as is the desire to “uguagliare quella gloria” felt by the “spettatori” of such fame.

He therefore deems Cornelia Ro a perfect subject: “Impercioche sendo ella vissuta in

questi nostri tempi di così fresca memoria, mi dò a credere, che sia per essere uno stimolo

potente alle persone, le quali entrò al petto nutrono qualche poco di desiderio di vera

Gloria, e timore d’Iddio all’acquisto della perfettione Religiosa, e Christiana.”12 We

therefore see, in these three biographies, the shifting focus of the genre, from Greek and

Roman women of the past, as was common in the early Renaissance compendiums on

illustrious women, to women from contemporary society, whose example (theoretically)

was more easily imitated.

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The last of our four biographies in question, L’Eroina Veneta, overo la vita di

Elena Lucretia Cornara Piscopia (1689), is quite unique and set apart from the first

three, in that its protagonist is, as evident from the title, a heroine of epic proportions, and

its author, Antonio Lupis, a prolific Italian writer, is probably under contract for his work,

which is dedicated to Elena Piscopia’s sister. His dedication contains no reference to the

concept of exemplum because his works seeks to extol the singularity and inimitability of

his protagonist, the first female to receive a doctoral degree in Italy, and a woman

reknowned world-wide for her intellect. He does not use the metaphors of plants or

mirrors, but rather of ships, Greek goddesses, and the powerful sun, whose most refined

ray belongs to Elena. Phrases like “laureata ne i marmi dell’Eternità”, and “splendori

della sua Fama” decorate the pages, in direct contrast to the Christian perfection and

purity of our other three protagonists. This is not to say that Elena Piscopia’s biography

bears no resemblance to the three earlier biographies, nor that Elena Piscopia is not

praised for the typical attributes of the other protagonists. In fact, many aspects of her

biography reflect the others, and demonstrate how prevalent the church’s Post-Tridentine

influence had become in the genre of biography. Despite the authors’ attempts to set forth

noblewomen as worthy of imitation, then, it is not their exemplarity as a noblewoman

that is emphasized, rather their conformity to saintlike behavior. All four biographies bear

pointed resemblance to hagiographies, and the extolled qualities of their protagonists are

quite divergent from the prescribed behavior of a donna illustre in the conduct manuals

of the time.

It is of great pertinence to our study to recall that the authors of conduct manuals

discussed in chapter 2, Lodovico Dolce and Vicenzo Nolfi, despite their disagreements

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on other matters, both affirm that women should avoid spiritual excesses. Dolce

repeatedly mentions the tendencies of women of the time to engage in extreme spiritual

practices, and both observes and discourages the use of the cilicio (uncomfortable

hairshirt generally accompanied by pointed metal objects), praying for long periods of

time, fasting, and depriving oneself of sleep. Many of his references to these extremes are

quite humorous, as when he describes the women “le quali con lunghe fila di pater nostri

in mano, barbottando tra denti, vanno ricercando tutta la casa: & per ogni picciola

fistucca, che loro s’incappa tra piedi, interrompono le santé parole, o gridano, o

maladicono.”13 Nolfi agrees with Dolce’s assessment of religious extremes, writing that

his fiancéee should be careful not to seem excessively virtuous because people will be

suspicious that her affectations of “goodness” are merely concealing her faults: “tutti

sanno che le Donne, che affettano di mostrarsi troppo severe, diventano sospette di poca

bonta, che sotto quella ritiratezza ricoprir disegnano.”14

While Dolce maintains women should only go out to hear God’s words and only

rarely to public festivities, Nolfi disparages the common tendency of women to seek an

excessively secluded life, to the extent that they never even appear at their windows.

Such seclusion, he says, makes them seem “selvatiche.” He therefore counsels a more

moderate approach, neither appearing too frequently nor too seldom, though when

appearing at the window, they should be mindful that it is equivalent to being seen in a

public square.15

The woman’s role in maintaining domestic tranquility is an aspect covered

thoroughly by both authors, who assert the importance of treating her servants well,

keeping a keen eye on domestic affairs, and making sure the house lacks for nothing.

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Dolce spends quite a bit of time on the wife’s ideal relationship with her husband, one

based upon submission and mutual affection. His ideal wife always agrees with her

husband, feels what he feels, serves him diligently when he is sick, is never jealous, lets

him have his own secrets, does not hold him to the same rules of chastity, and if her

husband beats her (not behavior Dolce endorses), she never makes it public because it

would ruin his reputation and he has the potential to change. She should place her

governance of the house above even her spiritual commitment, because if God is where

peace is found, then her home should be peaceful. Nolfi, in contrast, is silent on these

issues.

The disparities between the two authors serve an essential purpose for our study:

together they represent the arch of expectations for women in the Renaissance, Dolce

leaning to the more conservative, religious approach, Nolfi concerned with maintaining

the reputation of the family by properly observing the social (not ecclesiastical) customs

of the nobility. In comparison to the biographies of that time, however, we will see that

their combined approach is still quite liberal. The women of Renaissance biographies are

mainly extolled for their spiritual extremities. They all fast excessively, lose sleep due to

their excessive orations, engage in self mortification, eschew vanities to the point that

their dress could have been considered unkempt, only go out when attending church, and

serve the poor and the sick often through their own personal sacrifices of food or money.

Also prevalent in these biographies is a thematic shift of focus from the woman’s familial

relationships to her spiritual rapport with the clergy. Her role of wife and mother is

obfuscated and replaced by her relationship with the church fathers, mainly her confessor.

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The influence of the Counter-Reformation is, theferefore, strikingly evident in

these biographies, but certain aspects of its influence stand out more than most,

particularly in the protagonist’s observation of Catholic traditions, her obedience to the

church fathers, her abhorrence of the outside world, and her pronounced humility and

self-deprecation. The dominance of these themes leaves little room for any individual

representation of a female life.

Observation of certain spiritual practices was considered of utmost importance to

maintaining one’s salvation and feeding the spiritual Catholic soul. These involved

frequently attending mass, taking confession and communion on a regular basis, serving

the sick and the poor, and embracing an attitude of humility and abnegation. These are

prominently featured in the four biographies, but one spiritual practice stands out from all

others in these biographies: prayer recitations, or orationi. All four women had oratories

constructed in their homes, where they could seek privacy for their prayer practice, and

where the cares of the world could be shut out, and sometimes, spiritual rapture or

ecstasy achieved. The women are praised for the frequency and diligence with which they

applied themselves to this spiritual practice, with special emphasis on the consolation and

rewards they derived from it.

The Princess of Parma went above and beyond the church’s expected frequency

of orations of three times a day (once in the morning, once in the afternoon, and once in

the evening); she added to this frequent little prayers that she would say aloud all day

long, and would retreat to her oratory for two to three hours at a time, especially if she

was in personal difficulty16. When she gave alms to hospitals, she ordered “che

continuassero nell’oratione delle cinque hore, delle sette, delle nove, delle dodici, delle

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trentatre, e delle quaranta hore, à tal che continuamente, hor l’una, hor l’altra stava in

oratione, alle quali concorreva buona parte della Citta.”17 She frequently lost sleep as a

result of her orations, and would retreat to her oratory, sometimes for the entire night,

unbeknownst to her ladies in waiting.18

Sestilia Sabolini recited the entire Rosary and the L’Ufficio della Madonna every

day and towards the end of her life she would spend 7 hours a day in recitations, such that

she seemed a statue.19 She took her rosary to bed every night and would say it while

falling asleep (as did the Princess of Parma). Ippolito Porro was hopeful that his

biography would contribute to the sainthood of his protagonist, a noblewoman from

Milan (it did not), so his investigations into her prayer practice delve even deeper than the

other biographers, noting that her immobility for such long periods of time demonstrated

the marriage between her soul and God: “Argomento più che evidente dell’estatsi

nell’orare, e nel contemplare, e che quella divota anima godeva di quella gratia, che gli

spirituali sogliono chiamare lo sposalitio dell’anima nostra con Dio.”20

Cornelia Ro even wrote her own orations that her biographer, Porro, includes in

the appendix of her biography. He notes that for two years following her husband’s death,

she dedicated herself to recitations, at one point reciting the entire “ufficio grande”,

something her confessor subsequently prohibited her from doing again. She had a

particular order and method for her recitations, which he lists in detail in Chapter 10, an

entire chapter dedicated to her prayer practice. 21 Porro asserts that through such practice

the “anima s’unisce con Dio”, and that though most are easily distracted while praying,

Cornelia easily let her thoughts go (“con facilità lasciava ogni pensiero”) and was able to

stay, like Sestilia, as still as a statue.22 Ro also would spend entire nights reciting prayers,

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but one anecdote in particular demonstrates her excessive practice: when she visited her

brother-in-law Carlo Ro, she would “orare tutto il giorno in Chiesa”, and then, during the

cooler hours, when she would take walks through the forest in the company of others, she

would “recitava ò il Rosario, ò l’officio di nostra Signora.”23 One cannot help consider

how those in her company perceived her diligence, which could easily have been

misinterpreted as poor manners or social awkwardness. We know for certain that both

Dolce and Nolfi did not view such extremities in a positive light.

Even the biography of the first woman laureate, Elena Lucrezia Cornaro Piscopia,

the least traditional of all three, emphasizes her prayer habits. She is represented as a

formidable practitioner of the discipline of orations, spending an hour a day every

morning in her oratory. The author notes that, unlike most women who would begin their

day by running straight to the mirror to apply makeup, she would instead apply spiritual

“blush” by examining her conscience: “si metteva immediatamente in Oratione, con

bellettarsi con i rossori delle sue colpe, accesi cinabrij del pentimento, e minij santificata

dall’erubescenza de proprij mancamenti.”24 She would remain in prayer, “solitaria, e

racchiusa in un Gabinetto” for an hour, not allowing anybody to enter except “l’occhio

del suo amato Giesù.”25 A lover of metaphors and literary embellishment, Porro calls her

prayer room a “Nido fedele della sua pietà, e Segretaria celeste de suoi trattati con Dio,”

and portrays prayer to be a retreat from the world where Elena would “parlamentare nei

remoti congressi delle sue meditationi.”26

The prayer life of these women serves to highlight a concept of double seclusion;

not only do they prefer to stay at home, their prayer life and their oratory room constructs

yet another wall between them and the world. The further they remove themselves from

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the world, the more fervent they are in their prayers, and the more they gain access to the

“remoti congressi” of the spiritual world. This seclusion, so reflective of cloistered nuns,

is sought by all the female protagonists without regard for self-comfort. Elena completed

her orations despite personal illness or bad weather and if, by chance, she were

interrupted, she would wake up at midnight to finish her prayers, “per non interrompere

questo esercitio spirituale.”27 Waking at midnight was apparently a common practice

among devout women, because the very same habit is mentioned in the biography of

Cornelia: “tanto in lei s’avanzò il gusto dell’oratione, che di mezza note levandosi dal

letto, consumava il rimanente orando.”28

These practices are not portrayed only as sacrifices, however; the biographers

make sure to note that they are often accompanied by sweet rewards, such as visions and

joyous raptures.29 Sestilia’s biographer writes that as her practice of orations deepened,

she would wake 2-3 hours before daybreak and stay on her bare knees for hours. During

this practice, she began to discover the “mirabil frutto che da questo esercitio si

raccoglie” and her biographer recounts how her oldest and most astute daughter

witnessed her laughing and sometimes crying in the corner of the church after taking

communion.30 She would stay there, immobile, for a long while and when her daughter

once asked her why she was laughing, she replied, “Figliuola mia io ridevo, e mi

rallegravo perche vedevo chi desidero.”31

Cornelia’s biographer represents this type of joyous vision as the marriage of the

soul with Christ, during which she became so consumed, she could not be disturbed by

anything or anyone: “Ne quantunque si procurasse con violenza di sturbarla, ò rivocarla

dall’oratione, tirandole la veste le compagne, acciò che finisce, s’accorgeva dello sturbo ò

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sentiva. Argomento più che evidente dell’estasi nell’orare, e nel contemplare, e quella

divota anima godeva di quella grazia, che gli spirituali sogliono chiamare lo sposalitio

dell’anima nostra con Dio.”32 She received joy not only in prayer, but in all aspects of

spiritual observation. Note the prevalence of the word sweet in the following passage on

Cornelia’s appreciation for the Sacrements of the church:

in qualunque occasione, che le si appresentava di sentir lodi di Dio, ò ne Sermoni, ò nelle Lettioni della scrittura Sacra, ò ragionamenti famigliari, vedevasi subito dileguare di dolcezza: mentre assisteva à Divini Ufficij con ogni fervor di spirito, & attentione di mente, accompagnando il salmeggiare de Sacerdoti, non così presto sentiva il dolce suono delle Divine lodi, ò del Gloria Patri, ò d’altro, che in lode di Dio ne Salmi si canti, che subito si vedeva rapita in profonda contemplatione, e ripiena d’incredibile dolcezza.33

Elena’s biographer, ever the lover of metaphors, highlights the heavenly gifts gained

from oration, and that Elena was well aware of them: “Sapeva, che l’Oratione ammollisce

i Cieli di bronzo, & che apre i diluvij delle superne benificenze, Cancelleria delle gratie, e

potentissimo Incanto nel fermare le minaccie di qualunque turbolenza.”34

This pursuit of sweet communion and incanto, what Teresa D’Avila called

“soavità e delizie” in her autobiography, was commonplace to the Post-Tridentine

emphasis on the personal and secluded practice of prayer, but its necessarily private

nature would seem to negate its ability to successfully solicit imitation and emulation, as

the witness of such experience should have been rare, had the protagonists been

practicing in private. In all biographies, therefore, the witnesses generally observe the

protagonist unawares. These witnesses are mainly her ladies in waiting, who upon

waking at night, pass the oratory and see their mistress engaged in rapturous prayers.

Sestilia was the least private with her prayers of this type: not only did she experience

sweet raptures in church, but in her own home, even over dinner. The public nature of

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these experience did, however, serve the purpose of prompting imitation; her biographer

writes that her children first marveled at her behavior, then imitated it. Sestilia’s

daughter, at seeing her mother’s joyous rapture in church, asked her to instruct her on

how to “farla innamorare di Giesu”, so that she could have a similar encounter and also

partake in the “dolcezza” of “visioni.”35 This public demonstration of devotion was

necessary, in fact, to encourage others to take up a more fervent prayer practice. Elena

Piscopia’s biographer, Lupis, makes sure to mention that besides reciting secluded

prayers in her oratory, she would also repeat orations “alla presenza delle sue Cameriere,

stimandole alla medema devotione,” by which she was able to encourage those in her

service to maintain a secluded and religious life (“rassegnata, e religiosa”).36 For the

more ubiquitous prayers said throughout the day, she would gather all the women of the

house to do them with her. She is represented, therefore, as a formidable practitioner of

the discipline of private orations, but also a teacher of the practice, and an example to

those around her.

Not only do the biographers portray the joy that results from a strong prayer

practice, they also affirm the terrestrial rewards that resulted. The Princess of Parma, in

fact, was childless for many years of her marriage, but eventually had one daughter and

two sons. Morales writes that her orations gave her great consolation and God rewarded

her for her diligence, crediting the birth of her two sons as a divine reward for her

recitation practice: “questi illustrissimi Signori possono dire d’essere impetrate da Dio,

per mezzo dell’oratione di tal Madre.”37 Cornelia, whose service to the poor and

downtrodden is quite remarkable, said frequent prayers for those she visited, and their

healing is often credited to her. The concept that God listens more intently to the prayers

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of those who diligently serve him is therefore emphasized frequently throughout all four

biographies.

The confessors held strong influence over these women, guiding them towards

Christian perfection, particularly through their orazioni. Obedience to their confessors’

instructions is a prevalent aspect of female Renaissance biography, and a prime

demonstration of the Counter-Reformation’s influence. The Princess of Parma’s

biography was written by her confessor himself, and in it he includes her own personal

guidelines for spiritual life that she had written in her own hand and kept hidden in her

bosom (“accomodata in modo, che si poteva portare nel seno”). These affirmations span

ten pages and are furnished verbatim for the reader, in which each of her promises to

herself begins by using the future tense. Included in these affirmations is the promise to

obey her confessor: “Cercherò d’havere un Confessore, secondo il mio bisogno, e con

riverenza l’ubidirò.”38 Her confessor later notes that her recognition of the confessor’s

spiritual authority is a direct result of her adherence to the Catholic faith or, rather, that it

is an essential component of the faith in general: “Era questa Signora molto gelosa di

conserver la purità della fede catholica in se stessa, e ne gli altri, e di qui veniva, che mai

ella volse dire orationi, ò far’alcuna divotione, che le fosse insegnata, se prima non la

facesse vedere al Padre Inquisitore.”39 The importance of her confessor as spiritual guide

is therefore portrayed in a simple syllogism: if one is an adherent of the Catholic faith,

then one will seek spiritual instruction from the clergy and will always obey.

The limitations that these confessors often impose on their protagonists’ excesses

also demonstrate that their practices were by no means expected of all women, nor

recommended, further obfuscating the exemplary purpose of each work. Cornelia’s

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biographer writes that her confessor was constantly restraining her in her excesses, such

as her use of the cilicio, fasting for long periods of time, and not sleeping. He made her

promise, for example, that she would sleep at least 5 hours a night and would eat soup on

occasion, in addition to her diet of bread and water. She was often reluctant to obey his

commands, worrying that such indulgences would cause her spiritual ascendency to be

slowed, but she always obeyed. When he prohibited her from using her cilicio, she

obeyed, but cried, and said repeatedly, “torno indieto, torno indietro.”40 Yet she always

demonstrated complete resignation to his will, which she received and acted upon as if it

were an inviolable law: “Non minore fù in questa Signora la virtù dell’ubidienza, ne si

vidde già mai, che facesse cosa senza il consiglio del suo Padre spirituale, nelle mani del

quale s’era talmente rassegnata, che puntualmente l’ubidì sempre, e del suo volere si fece

legge inviolabile in qualunque attione.”41 Sestilia’s confessor similarly limited her overly

frequent attempts to take communion, which escalated in her later life, from once a

month to every day: “E se alcuna volta il suo Confessore, per mortificarla, le proibiva la

comunione, se ne tornava à casa piangendo.”42 When asked by her husband why she was

crying, “proróppe in un pianto amarissimo, e disse, Io piango, perche oggi non ho potuto

ricevere il mio Giesu.”43

The influence of the Counter-Reformation is therefore evident in both the

protagonists’ faithfulness in prayer, their obedience to their confessor, and their ever-

increasing extremities. Catholics were under profound scrutiny by the Protestant

movement for their lack of spiritual devotion and the Catholic church was criticized for

its promotion of works-based salvation, by which one was saved through frequent

prayers, communion, confession, and sometimes through the purchase of indulgences.

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Protestantism promoted salvation through faith, and rejected the idea that a spiritual

intercessor (confessor) was needed to obtain forgiveness for one’s sins. The

representation of these women, who wholeheartedly submitted to the superiority of their

confessors and who profited from their observation of the church’s Sacraments, is, in

essence, a rebuttal to Protestant ideals.

This strong atmosphere of conflict that was fomenting in Europe as a result of the

divergent paths of Christianity is most evident in the Princess of Parma’s biography.

When the Princess traveled through Protestant lands, such as Germany and Belgium, it is

noted that she would arm herself before attending mass, fearing she could be harmed for

doing so, and when she was warned that her blatant demonstrations of Catholicism could

potentially garner insults and harm, she responded, “ò beata me, s’io fosse martire.”44

While in Belgium she met a woman with two beautiful children and, as she did not yet

have any of her own, begged the woman to let her adopt them so they wouldn’t be raised

by heretics: “promettendole di tenerli cari, e di haverne cura come madre, [. . . ] non

potendo patire, che quelli angiolini in apparenza, se ne andassero all’inferno, essendo

allevati dalli parenti heretici.”45 But nowhere is her Catholic fervor so strong as when

she refused to meet the Queen of England during her travels to London, despite being

advised to do so: “fermandosi l’Armata in un porto d’Inghilterra, parve al Signor Conte

di Masfelto Generale di quell’Armata, che Sua Altezza mandasse à visitare la Regine;

non lo volse fare per esser’ heretica, e benche le fosse detto, che lo poteva fare, e che vi

era l’occasione; non la volse intendere.”46 Her abhorrence of heretics was so pronounced

that the entire ship crew on this voyage pretended to be Catholics, even though many of

them were not. 47 Petruccini also writes that the people of Belgium and Germany

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profited from her example: “Per questo ad alcuni pareva, e meritamente, che Dio

l’havesse condota in Italia per la Fiandra, e per la Germania, acciòche mostrasse cosi

fatto essempio di virtù, & in tempo, che ne era tanto bisogno in quelle bande.”48

Of equal importance to the expansion and preservation of the Catholic faith, the

biographies emphasize the protagonists’ responsibility to spiritually instruct others in the

Catholic way of life, most importantly their own children. Prior to the Counter-

Reformation, the primary responsibility of education fell to the father or male tutor, but

Gabriella Zarri notes the shift that occurs in the 16th century, whereby a “‘Christian

economy’ was invented in order to moralize the art of maintaining a household’” and

women became the primary “agents in the enforcing of [spiritual] discipline.”49 She

quotes from bishop Agostino Valier’s 1575 Institutione d’ogni stato lodevole delle donne

christiane, which notes the primacy of the female role in the “management of virtuous

living” that represents “not half, as some believe, of the perfection and happiness of

homes, cities, republics, kingdoms, and all states of the world, but almost the entirety.”50

When the Priness of Parma knew her death was imminent, her confessor

overheard her telling her husband to make sure their children were raised “virtuosamente,

e nel timor di Dio.”51 Sestilia’s biographer notes that while she cared little for temporal

things, she made every effort to ensure that “ogn’uno di sua Fameglia vivesse col santo

timor di Dio. In casa non voleva, che si ragionasse di cose cattive, ò vane, ma sempre di

spirito, in modo che non si offendesse mai nè Dio, nè il prossimo.”52 This concept, that

the instruction of (and discussion of) spiritual matters should usurp all other conversation,

is quite commonplace to these biographies, as in the case of Cornelia who, when serving

the sick, would only talk about God and refused to talk about anything else: “Ogni sua

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industria, e vigilanza poneva, e con ogni più destra maniera procurava, che nella visita de

gl’infermi, à quali si trovava presente, d’altro non si ragionasse, che di Dio, della salute, e

dell’eterna Gloria, ne permetteva che s’intromettessero ragionamenti del Mondo, come

alcuni sogliono il più delle volte fare.”53

Even Elena Piscopia’s biography, much more intent upon extolling her for her

worldly intelligence, affirms her preference for spiritual philosophy and disdain for the

public glory of her own studious pursuits: “Oh quanto più ambiva di argomentare in

queste scuole selvaggie, dove non rispondono, che i sordi Echi di una ritirata

Innocenza.”54 Her biographer frequently intimates that she felt limited by the confines of

her sex, not because she could not further pursue her studies, but because she could not

more independently pursue her faith: “Se la Sorte la havesse fatta nascere differente dalla

conformità del suo Sesso, havrebbe variato altri pensieri nelle deliberationi della Sua

Vita, non da pompeggiare ne i Circoli, e negl’affollati garreggiamenti de Virtuosi, mà

solitaria, a Romita in un Deserto studiare le Cause dell’eternità, e tenere continue

Conclusioni, nel diffinire i progetti della sua salute.55” This shift in educational values is

noted by Francesco Sberlati, in his book Castissima donzella: figure di donna tra

letterature e norma sociale, who astutely observes that after the Counter-Reformation,

women were no longer encouraged to engage in philosophical or literary pursuits as they

once were by authors such as Domenichi, Castiglione, and Piccolomini. Instead, citing

Dolce’s Instituzione delle donne, he states that “il libro di Dolce intende allontanare la

figura femminile dalla letteratura, dissociando la donna dall’elite colta,” and that the

predominant reading material of the Post-Tridentine wife becomes “rigorosamente

religioso e spirituale.”56 We must note, however, that Nolfi’s exception to this (recalling

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that he counsels his fiancée to be well read in all types of literature) indicates that though

such a shift was occurring in literature written for women, it was not necessarily the

social reality for women of that time.

The representation of Elena’s distaste for her worldly studies is therefore quite in

keeping with the ecclesiastical expectations of her sex. Her biographer also emphasizes

that much of Elena’s time was devoted to teaching others to ensure their spiritual

rectitude; she frequently met with Jews and attempted to persuade them to join the

Catholic faith, and when she failed, she told her family that she would cut her most

precious veins if it could result in gaining another soul. She also spent a great deal of time

with her neighbor, a German woman who was often ill, and successfully convinced her of

her need for confession.57

Cornelia Ro’s biography provides us with a glimpse of the church’s goals for

expansion through missionary work. She spent much of her time in pursuit of expanding

the Catholic Faith, not just in Milan, but elsewhere. She even discussed the possibility of

becoming a missionary to the heretical lands of Switzerland, a brave consideration, for

which Porro assigns her viril compliments:

non è da tralasciare in silentio, quanto infervorata fosse al propagamento della santa Fede, e Religione Catolica. Nudriva in ciò in petto feminile, maschi, e generosi oltre modo pensieri, e non solo appagavasi della fatica nell’essercitio d’attender in Milano alla Dottrina Christiana, ma più oltre terminavano i suoi pensieri, e fuori ne paesi de gli Heretici, e Grigioni in particolare si sarebbe volontieri trasferita, quando le fosse stato concesso a sparger il sangue per la Fede, e insegnare loro la verità Catolica: In ciò tanto haveva posto il pensiero che s’andò anco imaginando mezzi, co’ quali potesse effettuare il desiderio, al che si pensò d’allevare alcune figlie à spese sue ammaestrandole in casa propria, acciò che potessero inviarsi ne Grigioni, & ivi con introdursi sotto specie di far lavori pian’ piano insinuandosi ne gl’animi, facessero guadagno di qualche anima, ritornandola al grembo della santa Romana Chiesa.58

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Adoption as a method of faith expansion was not rare. We have already noted how the

Princess of Parma wanted to adopt young children to save them from their heretical life,

and here we see that Cornelia wanted to adopt young girls so she could send them into

the world to spread Catholic teaching.

Though it is unclear whether or not the Princess of Parma actually ended up

adopting children, she did ensure the spiritual education of young children in her city,

specifically the education of girls. Her biographer writes that young boys were being

educated in spiritual matters every Sunday by the priests and that the Princess wanted to

make sure that the girls of the city “non rimanessero prive del frutto di così Santa

institutione,”59 so she ordered the establishment of Parocchial schools exclusively for

them. She appointed two noblewomen, “di honorata fama, e timorate di Dio” to take

charge of their education, taking care to “ammaestrarle nel timore divino, e nelle virtù

Christiane.”60 She herself would often visit these schools and reward those who excelled

in learning and memorization of prayers: “ella medesima hor l’una, hor l’altra Parochia

visitava, e tal hora vi assisteva non solo lodando quelle, che meglio imparavano, e

recitavano, ma anco premiandole con diversi doni per animarle a fare maggior

progresso.”61 These noblewomen were also required to attend parties, “per conservare

l’ordine.”62 Spiritual instruction then, was carried out by the mother in the home and by

faithful noblewomen in public spaces. It focused primarily upon comportment, oration,

and, as we read in Sestilia’s biography, the study of the saints and the commentaries on

the Passion of Christ: “Essortava spesso il Marito, & il Figliolo à legger qualche libro

spirituale, & in particolare ogni sera la vita del Santo, che veniva il dì seguente: ma si

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compiaceva assai di leggere, e sentir leggere libri trattanti della Passione di Nostro

Signore.”63

The Princess of Parma also established “un luoco chiamato la Casa delle

Vergini,” which was a school for the daughters of ill-reputed mothers (likely prostitutes):

“sono figliuole de Madri di mala vita, le quali si salvano dal pericolo, e sono

religiosamente ammaestrate nel timore di Dio, e datele delle virtù.”64 At the Princess’

death, she called Father Antonio di Parma, the “benefattore” of the house, to her bed, and

though it was difficult for her to speak, ensured that he would continue to run the house

in perpetuity.65 Her example apparently had a great effect on her city, not only on

women, but on men as well: “col essempio suo, hà incaminato gran parte delle sue donne

à confessarsi, e communicarsi spesso con riverentia, e divotione, e non solo le sue di

corte, mâ gran parte di quelle della Città, e similmente molti huomini, i quali essendo da

lei adoperati nell’opere pie, si sono con l’essempio suo dati alla vita spiritual, e

frequentano i santissimi sacramenti.”66

These examples serve to demonstrate that rigorous spiritual education became one

of the Catholic church’s primary responses to the Reformation, and that women were

given a primary role in carrying this out. The church likewise sought to dispel the

Protestant claim that the church had become corrupt and consumed by the love of power

and money, through the formation or transformation of monastic groups with more rigid

standards of life, such as the Capuchins, Franciscans, and the Benedictines. These groups

were dedicated to asceticism, exemplified in their clothing habits, consisting of a rough

habit and sandals. They would sometimes go barefoot, and the Capuchins often begged

for food, living in make-shift hermitages.67 These new and transformed orders became

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known for their works of charity, specifically in times of plague. The Capuchins are well

known for their efforts in tending to the needs of the plague victims from 1629-1631,

oftentimes succumbing to the illness themselves (efforts made famous in Manzoni’s I

Promessi Sposi). They not only served the sick, they established botteghe di Cristo where

they sold subsidized food, and monti di pietà, where they provided interest-free loans.

The success of these orders lay in their preaching: “To pry loose donations from the rich,

they scourged the conscience of the powerful in sermons. To instill piety in the simple

folks, they embarked on extended preaching tours to rural areas.”68 The public nature of

these movements is important for our study, because all our protagonists would have

heard such sermons while attending mass.

Inherent to this new way of religious life was the thought that personal sacrifice

would bring spiritual gain, and imperative to the success of living such a life was an

attitude of profound humility. Adherents to the new Catholic faith therefore embraced a

practice of humble sacrifice based upon contempt for the world, self-abasement, and the

eschewing of all worldly vanities. The Princess of Parma, Sestilia, Cornelia, and Elena

are the embodiment of this new way of living, and are all equally humble and equally

disdainful of material possessions, a choice that was inherently in conflict with their

station as noblewoman.

The Princess of Parma, in her 10-page list of promises to herself, notes the

noblewoman’s difficulty of maintaining humility while surrounded by riches and wealth:

“Haverò gran cura di acquistare nell’anima mia profondissima humiltà, che è la scala del

Cielo, & a me molto necessaria in questo stato mio, attorniato continuamente da tante e

cosi varie occasioni di superbia.”69 As to disdain for worldly things, she affirms that she

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will constantly seek to maintain “gran disprezzo delle cose di questa vita.”70 She admitted

to her confessor that she had a tendency towards pride and vanity “(Ella si conosceva di

natura altiera, & assai inclinata alle vanità, & alla gloria”), so tried to give alms secretly

thereby avoiding praise. When she was nearing the final days of her painful illness, a

Padre Inquisitore came to visit her, “per darli anima,” and praised her for the reforms she

had brought about in the city as a result of her good works. His words did not comfort her

however; instead, they greatly displeased her: “delle qual parole ella ne mostrò dispiacere

istrinsicamente con segni, e parole.”71

True humility, according to the church, resided in the acknowledgement that the

human condition was inherently fallible and tended towards vanity. Saint Bernard of

Chiaravalle’s De gradibus humilitatis et superbiae (1127) was a primary source of

inspiration for the spiritually devout seeking to embrace this concept. St. Bernard

identifies three steps of ascension to God: humility, charity and contemplation. He cites

the Regola of San Benedetto da Norcia, which outlines its own path to humility, broken

also into steps, 12 to be exact. These are: constant abstinence from sin and fear of God,

abnegation of self-will, obedience to superiors, patient and obedient endurance of

hardship, confession of sins, admission and acknowledgment of one’s unworthiness and

uselessness, belief in and declaration of one’s inferiority to others, submission to the

common monastic rule, being slow to speak, emotional sobriety (abstinence from

frequent and light laughter), restraint in speech, and a constant attitude of bodily and

spiritual prostration. 72 St. Benedict wrote, “we descend by self-exaltation and ascend by

humility.”73 Thus Christian perfection, based on humility and self abnegation, was

attained through a gradual ascent of a metaphorical staircase.

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In compliance with these precepts, our protagonists all share an avoidance and

even abhorrence of praise. Sestilia’s biographer writes, “Se avveniva, che si sentisse

lodare, ne pigliava gran fastidio, e subbito rispondeva, ch’era un’iniqua, una peccatora,

una superba; & haveva pregato tutti di Casa, che non parlassero mai de’ fatti suoi, e più

tosto ne dicessero male, che bene.”74 When Cornelia Ro is commended by a noblewoman

for her holy works, and for her “divote Orationi”, for which, the woman says, God is

greatly pleased, Cornelia responds with emphatic dismay: “s’ammareggiò talmente la

Sig. Cornelia per questa lode, e tanto dolore ne sentì, che copiose lagrime da gl’occhi

versando, hebbe à ripigliare quella Gentildonna in questa maniera. Signora mia, deponete

il concetto, che’havete di me di santità, posciache, se bene mi penetraste, mi scorgereste

nel vero una nefanda peccatrice, un tizzone dell’inferno.”75 In her final days, when she

was ill in bed and could not speak, a lady “di poco senno senza consideratione” placed a

crown on her chest, as many do with a “Corpo santo,” and though Cornelia could not

speak, the glare she gave this woman was enough, and showed just how displeased she

was. The woman was also reprimanded by Cornelia’s confessor, who told her that such

an act could, by subjecting her to the temptation of pride, cause her to lose “tutto

l’acquisto fatto.”76

Elena Piscopia, who was frequently lauded, even by Pope Innocent XI, for her

intellectual abilities, also avoided praise at all costs: “Sfuggiva quelle occasioni, che la

potessero ingrandire nella Fama, confessandosi destituta di meriti, & un Verme della

Terra.”77 Lupis calls her a “nemica giurata” of honors and tells an anecdote of a “celebre,

& eloquentissimo Oratore dell’Ordine Dominicano” who preached a sermon to 7,000

attendees including Elena.78 When he concluded his sermon with an epilogue detailing

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Elena’s “inesplicabili, e preggiatissime Doti,” she was extremely embarrassed and Lupis

writes that she wished she could have been buried alive, never again showing her face in

the city. She even reproved the priest for his lack of prudence because he had attributed

such virtues to a “miserabile Creatura, colma di gravissime imperfettioni.”79 As a result

she did not attend any more of his sermons, “tale fù la confusione, che sentì nella sua

modestia; e’l disgusto che n’hebbe nell’antipatia di quei encomiastici attributi,” and

preferred instead to meditate upon her human deficiencies, the “lordo impasto della sua

origene, scavato dal rosso fango del Campo Damasceno,” which, Lupis writes, causes

man to reflect “continuamente à i rossori della sua creatione, & à i bassi principij della

sua polve.”80

The humility of these four women is not, of course, limited only to their

abhorrence of praise, but is present in almost every aspect of their descriptions. St.

Bernard is quoted as a source on humility in both the Princess of Parma’s biography, and

that of Cornelia Ro, and the biographies of all four women follow his precepts. 81 This

was especially accomplished by avoiding vanities, as in the case of Sestilia who wore a

simple “Zimarra nera, con pochi ornamenti femminili” and washed her face with “acqua

semplice,” using only a “fazzoletto bagnato con saliva.”82 Petruccini writes that she went

ten years without washing her hair: “dieci anni interi è stata senza mai lavarsi capo: solo

il Sabbato mattina di buon’ora si pettinava la testa e si acconciava, non toccandosi più fra

settimana, se non rarissime volte per necessità.”83 She was in the weekly habit of

begging forgiveness on her knees, from her husband, children, and even servants, and

would perform the most “vile” chores in an effort to attain a greater degree of humility:

“Da cinque anni in qua per humiliarsi maggiormente si metteva à fare con le sue Serve

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tutti gl’esercitij più vili della Casa, come rigovernare i piatti, spazzare, fare il pane,

attignere l’acqua, andare per le legna, & altre cose di più repugnanza.”84

Attire is represented in these biographies as a great temptation of the world, one

that could cause one to descend the ladder of humility, rather than ascend it. Elena

Piscopia’s biographer calls fashion a gentle poison: “La mollitie degl’Habiti è un gentile

veleno, che si intesse alla libertà de costume, & una vaga etticia dell’arte, che con i suoi

mortiferi fiati ammorba le menti più sane.”85 He writes that Elena abhorred makeup (“i

minij, e i belletti, i lisci”) and that she never allowed perfumed soaps to touch her face.

Nor was she charmed by “i bissi, e i ricami, gl’ori, e le gemme,” knowing that no other

contagion was as capable of promoting profligacy as that of “lo stare sù le gale, e le

mode, & invogliarsi di fastosi arnesi, e di delicati lavori.”86 Because Elena was aware of

these temptations, she dressed modestly and did not wear jewelry:“la nostra E R O I N A

dispreggiando sì fatti abusi, si contenesse con modesti abbigliamento, e sfugisse un’

vischio cotanto tenace all’impudicitia. Il medemo aborrimento professò nell’adonarsi di

gioelli.”87 Lupis writes that these jewels from far away lands (Eritrea, Cambaia, Idaspe,

and Scitia) were stones that caused the ruin of great houses, and risked violating any

woman’s prudence, reversing the true order of what was to be considered important. He

then engages in his usual metaphorical musings, affirming that she loved sapphires, but

only those whose color contained the reflection of celestial beauty and prompted

meditation of such beauty; she loved rubies, but only those tinted with the contemplation

of the blood of the cross.88

The embracing of more simple attire was not well received by Elena’s family, and

apparently was a source of conflict in her household. When her mother would “obligarla

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ad usare nobili vesti, e pregiatissimi adobbi,” she would strongly protest. She would only

wear “habiti di apparenza” and “seta” when constrained to do so by her “Maggiori,” and

she always shed many tears when forced to do so.89 Lupis follows a lengthy description

of the dangers of elegant dressing with an affirmation of Elena’s desire to seek separation

from the world, in the hopes of discovering instead the divine pleasures. She would often

retreat, he writes, to her secret “Gabinetto” and here would engage in holy

contemplations, contemplations which helped her “distaccarsi da i lacci terreni.”90 These

passages make clear the church’s stance on dress, and the desired behavior of women in

response to worldly pressures of beauty: complete avoidance and spiritual retreat. These

behaviors, in fact, are represented as essential components for spiritual ascension, which,

as we see, created quite a dichotomy of expected behavior for noblewomen.

The difficulties involved for a noblewoman who wished to follow such steps of

spiritual ascendency is also present in the Princess of Parma’s biography, included in her

list of personal resolutions, and referencing the very same dilemma experienced by

Queen Esther:

Quando mi vestirò, non vi saranno presenti se non le donne necessarie, e con silentio passerò per la mente quelle belle considerationi della Regina Ester, e quelle belle parole, ch’ella diceva, Tu scis necessitate meam Domine, & quòd abbominer signum superbia, et Gloria mea, & detester illud quasi pannum menstruate, & non portem in diebus silentij mei, & nunquàm latata sit ancilla tua, ex quo buc translata sit ancilla tua, ex quo buc translata sum usque in prasente diem, nisi in te Domine Deus.91

Cornelia Ro’s biographer states that extravagances in dress “sfiguravano i freggi

dell’Anima,” and that Cornelia felt similar restraints during her marriage to her husband,

going to great lengths to absolve herself of the guilt she felt when forced to attend lavish

festivities where proper dress was expected. Her conversion to this more austere way of

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life was, in fact, brought about by a remonstration she received from a Monaca

Capuccina in response to her lavish dress. Porro writes how on one particular day she

went to San Sepolcro, “ben’addobata, come novella Sposa, da Servitori vestiti a liurea

accompagnata, conforme al costume della nobiltà, & qualità sua,” when a young

Energumena approached her, dressed in the Capuchin habit, and rebuked her for her

“pompa del cussinone, de’ guanti con riccamo, e delle perle”, telling her to look instead

at the image of Jesus, crowned with thorns, and see if he were wearing gloves, if on his

neck were gems, and if his feet had “il cuffinone.” She concluded by telling Cornelia that

on the Day of Judgment, she would personally judge her for her “pompa, e fasto.”92

This caused Cornelia “tale terrore” that as soon as it was permitted her, she put aside all

pomp in her attire (see appendix A). Her mother-in-law and husband were initially

resistant to such changes (“non così facilmente vi acconsentissero”), but due to her

“destra maniera,” Cornelia was slowly able to convince them of her cause, though she

occasionally had to make exceptions to this because of her husband’s position as the

Podestà of Tortona. His elevated position necessitated her occasional appearance at

public festivities, despite her desires to avoid such pompous places. Her biographer

writes, in fact, that her husband commanded her to attend them: “dal commandamento

del Marito fù costretta ad accettar l’invito, & andarvi.”93 Porro writes that these

festivities were wrought with temptations of the Devil, such that Cornelia would have to

arm herself in preparation for his assaults: “Ma prima che vi andasse si preparò,

armandosi contra l’insidie del Demonio, che in simili occorrenze sogliono essere

gagliarde, & inviluppare anco li più costanti petti.”94 Note the similarity in syntax to

Lupis’ admonishments against the dangers of dress, a danger he says can “ammorba le

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menti più sane.”

Against such pervasive temptations Cornelia “arms” herself with a surprising

weapon: garbanzo beans. She places the dry beans in her shoes so that, when forced to

dance in such lavish surroundings, she will experience extreme pain. The pain is so

severe, in fact, that her actions are discovered when she has an “accidente” while dancing

that forces her to “abbandonar il ballo.” She is removed to a bedroom, and when a

servant takes off her shoes, the ceci are discovered so imbedded in her feet, that

extracting them requires the “destra industria di perito Barbiere.”95

Vincenzo Nolfi’s conduct manual, a work uninhibited by ecclesiastical influences,

and focused solely on his wife’s successful acclimation into noble society, gives a more

accurate depiction of what the general expectations of dress were for noblewoman of the

time, which were by no means austere and simple. Nolfi provides his fiancée a history of

clothing and its traditions, and notes that while the ancient philosophers (not the church)

were critical of extravagances (“da alcuni rigorosi Filosofi erano già le pompe delle

Donne molto biasimate, chiamandole, non ornamenti, ma bruttezze”), elegant fashion had

always been held in high esteem by (almost) all nations. He affirms not only that “il

vestir pomposo” is permitted, but that it is recommended, especially on occasions such as

weddings, parties, meetings with Princesses or foreign wives.96 Nolfi’s concern is

instead more focused on her manner of dress being commensurate with the occasion, or

maintaining uniformity within the outfit (that an elegant dress of brocade is not

accompanied by sleeves that are too simple, for example).97 He recommends restraint in

her extravagance only so that she may not be perceived as vain, but references both Ruth

and Esther as biblical examples that elegant dress is often necessary. Both wore their

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“vesti più belle, e gli ornamenti più singolari” when in the presence of their husbands,

and this “non solo non è disdicevole, è permesso, e laudabilissimo sempre.”98 Whereas

the Princess of Parma praises Esther for her distate of opulence, Nolfi praises her

concession to dress extravagantly for her husband.

Nolfi’s fiancée, Ippolita Uffreducci, had been educated in a convent and was

likely exposed to the ideals of dress found in our biographies. It is possible, therefore,

that he felt it necessary to counter such teachings and assure his future bride that the attire

she would be acquiring at her wedding should be seen or worn with not guilt, but pride.

In Renaissance Italy, a new bride’s manner of dress was seen as a representation of her

husband’s social position, and was a vehicle for exhibiting the wealth and status of her

family.99 Her choice to simplify her clothing therefore brought with it various social

ramifications that had the potential to stain her husband’s reputation, thereby causing him

much consternation, as we see in the case of Cornelia Ro.

Gradually coming into focus, in our analysis of these Post-Tridentine biographies,

is the inherent conflict between the church’s reformed life of austerity with that of the

expected life of a donna illustre. Gone are the concessions by biographers like Arienti,

who give noblewomen permission to maintain the standards of dress expected of them,

and where pompa is a positive term rather than a negative one. As Gabriella Zarri aptly

notes, the end of the 15th century was characterized by a much closer link “between the

writings for the clergy and the laity, both distinct states of life, but united in the same

desire for Christian Perfection.”100

This inherent conflict between the social reality of a noblewoman and the spiritual

prescriptions of the Post-Tridentine church is even more prevalent within the context of

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three Reformative themes: the emphasis on marriage as an inhibitor to spiritual

ascendency, the public sphere as a contaminator of spiritual principles, and self-

deprivation or mortification as a vehicle for spiritual enlightenment. Each of these aspects

further highlights the striking paradox that is present when noblewomen are given saint-

like attributes, and illustrate how the Counter-Reformation’s use of life-writing to

promote more stringent and austere ways of living instead creates an inimitable standard

that renders the exemplative purpose of the biographies inert.

The first of these themes, marriage as a barrier to spiritual enlightenment, is

entrenched in the medieval concept of the superiority of virginity. Due to the church’s

desire to promote the vow of celibacy taken by nuns and priests alike, literature extolling

its praises abounds. St. Jerome was a primary source for such ideas, and wrote that while

he did not disdain marriage, the rewards of virginity were exponentially higher than that

of marriage: “the reward of virginity is hundredfold; of widowhood, sixtyfold, and of

married life, thirtyfold.”101 He believed virginity to be natural to a man whereas marriage

and sexual relations were the result of the fall. Cherubino da Spoleto, in the introduction

to his conduct manual on marriage (Regola di vita matrimoniale), both states and agrees

with the church’s stance on virginity and spiritual ascendency: that superior perfection

was achieved by those “’who by divine grace remain immaculate and whole, without

violating or contaminating in any way the most precious treasure of virginity’.”102

In like manner, the protagonists of our study oppose marriage, despite the fact that

three of them did, in fact, marry. The Princess of Parma “hebbe alcune gagliarde

ispirationi d’abbracciare quella religiosa vita” and, after witnessing a wealthy and

beautiful woman take her vows in a Franciscan monastery, “si comosse tanto à

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straordinario desiderio di consecrarsi à Dio” that she begged her mother to allow her to

follow in this woman’s footsteps.103 Sestilia also wanted to become a nun and often told

her husband the story of how a hot chestnut had exploded into her eyes from the fire, and

temporarily blinded her, during which time she prayed she would remain blind so she

didn’t have to marry. One can only imagine how the repetitive account of this story

affected her poor husband, but this is perhaps an anachronistic assumption, because the

biographer would otherwise have left the anecdote out altogether, as our heroines are

only ever portrayed as obedient and loving to their husbands. In fact, the idealization of

virginity in Post-Tridentine Italy was so prominent that the Princess’ desire to remain in

her virginal state, and the pain she experienced “di non essere potuta morire vergine” was

likely lauded by her husband.104 Cornelia, when advising her daughters to choose a

cloistered life, even refers to marriage as “le profane nozze,” but nowhere is the

preference for virginity as prominent as in the account of Elena Piscopia’s life.

Elena was born into a Venetian family of notable wealth; her father, Gianbattista

Cornaro, was for many years the procurator of Venice and therefore controlled the city’s

finances. This was one of the most sought after positions in Italy, second only to that of

the Doge. To obtain such a position required much wealth, as it was a position gained by

open purchase. To do so, Cornaro offered more than 100,000 ducats (the rough

contemporary equivalent of between $500,000 at the low end and $900,000 dollars at the

high end) to procure this position. To say that Elena grew up in an opulent family, then,

would be an understatement. Her family possessed many houses and apartments, as well

as mills, riverboats, ferries, and bridges, but their palace and library were the crowning

jewels of her family’s possessions.105 Their desire for her life was typical of wealthy

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parents: it mainly centered around the potential of contracting a financially and politically

beneficial marriage. But Elena, unbeknownst to her parents, had made a vow of chastity

at the age of 11.

According to Lupis, when her parents first discovered this, they endeavored to

discourage her from her choice, but she eventually convinced them to allow her to enter a

convent and pursue the cloistered life. The convent was selected by the casting of lots and

Elena ended up in a convent of questionable character, from which she quickly made her

exit. Her parents became hopeful at this point that they could once again persuade her to

marry, and did so with a valiant and forceful effort: “Adoprarono tutte le finezze

dell’autorità, e delle persuasive, per indurla al Matrimonio. Quello, che si puo

immaginare l’arte, ò con le lusinghe, ò con le esortationi, ò con le premure, ò con il

calore degl’uffici, fù da essi puntualmente adempito, per tirarla al loro disegno.”106 But

Elena became only firmer in her position, or in Lupis’ words, she was a deafened boulder

and a sickle that would not bend to the pleas of anyone.107 She asserted that her marriage

had already been contracted with Eternity. Her father endeavored to convince her

otherwise, of course: “non mancò il Padre di ribatterle con vigorose ragioni. Le rispose,

che il suo Voto verginale fatto in una Età tenera, e senza il suo consentimento, non era di

alcuno valore, una promessa di volontà, non celebrate con i requisiti della Chiesa, &

un’atto mancante nelle clausole delle sue leggi.”108 He even went so far as to write to the

Pope himself, seeking a special dispensation, which the Pope approved and Elena was

absolved of her childhood promise. Her reaction is not surprising in its hagiographic

tendencies: she sobs, she sighs, and she cries, repetitively. Then she acts: “Temendo, che

in virtù della Bolla non proseguissero i Genitori il trattato di maritarla, mandossi à

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chiamare segretamente il P.D. Cornelio Codanini, Abbate di San Giorgio maggiore.”109

She petitioned this priest with such fervor, in fact, that he agreed, albeit reluctantly, to

give her the Benedictine habit to wear hidden under her clothes, and to renew her vows of

chastity. The cinematic possibilities for such a clandestine meeting are endless and the

narrative here glitters with Elena’s internal fire and resistance in the face of intense

paternal pressures.110

Elena finally writes a letter to her father that lasts only one page of the biography,

but sizzles with a resolute ardor, tinged with intellect and clarity. Elena states her case

plainly and quickly, adding that should the most powerful man of Europe be presented as

her betrothed, she would respond with “una asoluta negativa, e con un fermissimo

rifiuto.”111 She is unyielding to the end. A letter dense with determination, Elena asserts

that though many will trample the will of God rather than contradict the will of someone

in power, or “un Grande” (her father), she is different: “il mio genio è assai differente da

loro. Se il Papa mi hà disciolto dal Voto passato, io l’hò nuovamente rifatto dopo la

Dispensa. Amatissimo Padre concedete questa santa libertà à i miei desiderij, e non mi

sforzate ad una impresa, in cui ricalcitra la coscienza, e’l genio della mia elettione.”112

The image being created of Elena here is not one infused with the humility and

deference so emphasized by the Church. Thus far Elena shows only resolute defiance in

the face of her father’s desires for her future. In the letter she calls him “amatissimo”,

while she indirectly accuses him of trampling God’s will for her life. These are dangerous

waters for a Renaissance text whose genre’s primary purpose is that of exemplum.

Imagine the risks to the patriarchal times if all young girls read such material and began

to resist their father’s will. But Elena (or Lupis) takes care to add this final sentence to

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her letter: “Del resto viverò sempre de vostri cenni, e morirò irrefragabile holocausta

nella devotione della mia riverenza.”113

Elena’s father reluctantly concedes. Her battle is apparently won, her vow of

chastity respected, and the will of her father, unlike her own, has bent to accommodate

her wishes. She thus selects a new convent, which in contrast with the Venetian convent,

was known for its “osservantissime Dame.” But it is in Lombardia and, according to her

parents, too far away. Most likely influenced by her parents, her confessor, Padre Boselli,

tells her that her parents would be “trattati dall’angoscia, di non havere un intramezzato

respire di poterla vedere una volta la settimana”, and that such a distance could even

quicken their death. Her parents were extremely agitated by her desire to move so far

away; they were “oppressi”, “tormentati”, and were enduring “lagrimevoli bersagli di

inconsolabili affani”, such that they seemed “oggetti funesti di una compassionevole

tristezza.”114 They were so upset in fact, that according to Padre Boselli, only death

would have spared them further distress. Her confessor convinces her, therefore, that she

should stay close to home and that, upon her parent’s death, she could go anywhere she

liked.

Elena’s story of paternal pressures and familial resistance demonstrates yet again

how the spiritually driven protagonist of the biographies in question is in intense conflict

with the societal expectations for women. Despite the fact that in the Renaissance

marriage actually represented freedom for many women (whose access to the public

sphere increased tremendously), according to Renaissance biography, marriage was a

barrier, a lock that prevented women from seeking God with every fiber of their being,

and a choice that would render them less pleasing to God. This is made evident in one of

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Elena’s surviving letters to her confessor, in which she writes that virginity is preferred

by God and that, “at the moment of death, the devil doesn’t have the power over virgins

that he has over everybody else.”115 She further asserts that though marriage is considered

freedom, she neither asked for such freedom, nor wants it.116

The biographies of our married women, Princess Maria, Sestilia, and Cornelia,

further contribute to this concept of marriage as a prohibitor of spiritual development,

specifically emphazing the restraints marriage placed upon their spiritual practices.

Cornelia Ro, though she loved her husband and their relationship was one of mutual

affection, said that his death was sent by divine providence, because had he stayed alive,

she would have gone to hell in a carriage (“andata in carozza all’inferno”).117 Despite the

fact that she very sincerely loved him in life, and greatly mourned his passing, his death

is represented as a release; Cornelia is “sciolta” from the marital “legame” and free to

seek an even more austere life. After his death, in fact, she immediately gives up her

carriage (the one that would have apparently transported her to her inevitable infernal

demise) and most of her servants, “restringendosi pian piano ad una vita honestissima,”

eventually wearing only the most “rapezzata” smocks that seemed more like sacks than

shirts.118 Her mother and father immediately begin pressuring her to remarry, noting that

remaining a young widow would lead to “le sospettioni del Mondo.”119 But Cornelia

would not have agreed with Sestilia’s biographer, who wrote that spiritual pursuits were

possible and recommended despite the “lacci matrimoniali,”, and is steadfast and

resolute:

Più d’ogni altra sforzavasi la Madre di persuardergli il rimaritarsi, mà egli fu impossibile il potere abbattere la somma, e ben salda costanza della Sig. Cornelia, la quale vedendosi posta in quella libertà, che desiderava di dedicarsi al serviggio di Dio, non puotè già mai cedere, ò à prieghi, ò a

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riprensioni, ò à minaccie, ò ad allettamenti lusinghieri, e dimostrossi d’animo invitto in ciò, non solo con Parenti, ma insieme contra gli feri assalti li quali quell’istesso tempo gli furono mossi da certo Signore di stima.120

This poor suitor, who would every evening go to San Sepolcro (where she often went to

say her orations) in the hopes of speaking with her, was never even able to “ottenere uno

sguardo solo.” 121

The primary barrier imposed by marriage in these biographies is that it did not

allow women substantial time for spiritual study or religious practices, and that it did not

allow them to make the necessary sacrifices required for spiritual ascendency. The

Princess of Parma, in her list of resolutions, comments that she studied the scriptures with

greater zeal before marriage, and affirms that she would like to study them more:

“ritornerò allo studio della sacra scrittura, della quale tanto mi dilettava avanti, che io mi

maritassi.”122 When her husband was working locally she took communion according to

the current standard of frequency (once a month), but when he took a position in

Montepulciano for 4 years, she would go more often: “si diede à frequentare più spesso i

Sacramenti della Chiesa.”123 Morales also writes that during her husband’s absence she

was freer to practice mental orations in addition to vocal orations, and would rise early,

praying for hours.

Cornelia’s marriage is depicted as limiting her ability to serve the poor, one of her

most fervent desires: “mentre ancora visse il marito, nel quale stato più ristretta l’era la

libertà di usar con poveri amorevolezza, ardeale nondimeno il petto di pietà verso loro,

qual fiamma, anzi qual vampa di carità.”124 Not once, but twice, Porro represents the

marital limitations (and the eventual freedoms from its restriction) using the simile of

fire. He writes that during marriage, Cornelia’s spirituality was an ember covered in ash

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that, when released from matrimonial bondage, began to glow, then flame, then roar with

heat. Porro also uses the metaphor of celebration to elucidate this aspect, writing that

carnal nuptials begin like a party, but lead to tears (“il principio è festa, il fine è pianto)

whereas spiritual nuptials begin mournfully, but end joyfully (“se il principiò è lugubre,

lieto è il fine).125

No protagonist feels these limitations quite as strongly as Sestilia Sabolini,

however, who often said that “se non fosse stato il rispetto maritale, volentieri si sarebbe

spogliata d’ogni commodità.” 126 She eventually feels so suppressed by her matrimonial

commitments that she asks her husband to release her from her commitment to the

marriage bed, so she can live not only with purity of soul, but also of body:

Ancor, che fosse maritata, non hebbe mai fine in lei un desiderio veramente grande di viver non solamente coll’animo puro, ma col corpo ancora. Per questo un’anno e mezzo fa in circa avanti morisse, incitata più gagliardamente da questa voglia, essendo d’anni trentatre si gittò a terra inginocchioni dinanzi al marito, e versando molte lagrime, lo pregò, che si contentasse di menar con secò, per l’avvenire, vita casta, dicendo poi che à Dio non è piaciuto, ch’io muoia vergine, che molto il desideravo, almeno vorrei trapassar questo resto di mia vita in castità. 127

Her husband was initially (and not surprisingly) resistant to her proposal, “dubitando

delle sue forze,” to which she responded that as far as she was concerned, she had already

made her vow of chastity to God, but that she would submit to his will if he constrained

her to. She adds to this one final plea: “ma per l’amor di Dio fatemi questa gratia, perche

non vi sarà difficile, se vi risolverete, essendo cosa, che l’hanno fatta altri, per amor di

Dio.”128 Her husband subsequently seeks the counsel of his confessor, who tells him that

such a vow is a holy one, but unadvisable, due to the unlikelihood of maintaining it. He

tells him that instead of making a vow, he should merely make his best attempt at

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abstention. Sestilia’s husband therefore grants her request (with reservations) and from

that day forward they sleep in separate rooms, he with his son and she with her daughters,

after which she is able to indulge more fully in her mortification practices: “doppo la

separatione dal Marito, aggionse molto alla mortification della carne con discipline,

disciplinandosi almento tre volte la settimana [. . . ] anzi in quest’ultimo si crede, che si

disciplinasse ogni notte.”129 Her husband even attests that during this period he never

once had any “pensiero di senso” and revered his wife for her holy proposal.130

Thus we have a portrait of four women, each portrayed to have varying levels of

resentment to the marital condition. The Princess of Parma, as a result of her marriage,

cannot spend the time she would like studying scripture. Sestilia is “lucky” enough that

her husband frequently worked and lived elsewhere, during which time she could more

fully pursue her spiritual endeavers. She is “lucky” that, after 10 years of marriage, he

releases her from her obligation to carnal relations, at which point she becomes almost as

free as a widow, able to spend hours a day in prayer. Cornelia was “fortunate” enough to

remain a young widow and embraces the freedom of widowhood to such a degree that

she renounces all worldly pleasures and begins to dress so deplorably, that the people

who pass her in the street taunt her and laugh at her. Elena, in contrast, is able to avoid

the strong grasp of conjugal commitment entirely, pursuing instead her earthy studies

(with greater preference for the celestial kind), and engaging in frequent self-

mortifications and deprivations as a result of her “freedom.”

A second factor that makes exemplum difficult for the donna illustre readers of

these biographies is the repeated concept of the world as contaminator that slowly eats

away even the most upright conscience. Though noblewomen were more limited in their

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access to public space than men or even women of the lower classes, they were, however,

expected to make appearances at public events and accompany their husbands to

festivities. Our protagonists, however, cling to the church’s teaching that such spaces are

full of temptations and depravity. Sestilia’s biographer writes that before marriage she

avoided any ”recreationi publiche” where so much “vanità mondana” abounded, and once

married, did not enjoy going out, an activity her biographer calls a sort of vanity: “Era

nimica d’ogni sorte di vanità: Fuor che alle Chiese, & altre devotioni, non si dilettava

d’andare à spasso: alla finestra si faceva rarissime volte, e non mai sola; & in quest’ultimi

anni non s’affiacciava mai per veder cose mundane.”131 Here it is necessary to recall how

greatly this praise conflicted with the social standards of nobility, as evident in Nolfi’s

conduct manual for his fiancée, in which he remonstrates against such excesses and notes

that women who never appeared at their windows were considered to be “wild.” 132 He

does, however, say that there are women who appear there too often, and the church is

likely countering this habit with Sestilia’s extremes.

Echoing this concept of “sin from the window,” Elena’s biographer shares an

anecdote of how, as a little girl, her mother called her over to the window to watch the

carnival processions passing in the streets below. Elena “si sforzò di ubbedirla,” but

repented almost immediately and retreated to her room where she locked herself in and,

“con dirrotti sospiri” she cried about the “vanità del Mondo.”133 Lupis praises her for

such behavior with the following emphatic expression: “Che prodezze di un petto

Evangelico!”134 He equates her, in her innocent, godly imprisonment, whereby she

assails herself with sobs, to a young Teresa D’Avila: “A guisa di una Teresa d’Avila si

struggeva nel pianto, e si macerava nelle angoscie.”135 In her adult life, Elena continued

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in this practice, avoiding public events whenever possible, “stimando per una Donna

meglio il ritiro” and particularly avoiding theatrical plays, “che fanno piangere l’Anima

con le dissolutezze de canti e con la sensualità de Rappresentanti.” Lupis calls them

“recitative pestilenze, facili ad ammorbare i più virili candori,” and says Elena preferred

to go out only to Confession and church.136 True to his metaphorical fashion, Lupis

equates Elena’s seclusion to a painting, writing that she was a “quadro di camera, non di

piazza.”137

The inherent social and familial conflict that results from such “ritiratezza” is

evident not only in Cornelia’s story, whose mother obviously wants to share the

enjoyment of the festivities with her, but also in Sestilia’s husband’s response to her

increased withdrawal from society. Sestilia’s seclusion was so pronounced in church that

she offended other noblewomen by not speaking with them.138 Her husband tells her of

her offense and advises her to be polite and speak with them in church, and that she

should “si addomesticasse come l’altre” to which she responds that she will happily

oblige him outside of church, but that “dentro non voleva cicalare.” Petruccini praises

her for her “ritiratezza,” however, equating it to that of St. Catherine of Siena (whose

biography she had, in fact, read), noting that when she was in Church or walking on the

streets, she even passed her husband and son unawares: “ci stave cõ tanta ritiratezza; &

andava con tanta modestia, che più volte è occorso non haver visto nè il Marito, nè il

Figliuolo, ancor che gli fussero, ò gli passassero d’appresso.”139

In both biographies, the protagonists’ desire for retreat from the world is assigned

hagiographic value by comparing them to two saints: Teresa D’Avila and St. Catherine of

Siena. The biography of St. Catherine, by her Confessor Raymond of Capua, and the

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autobiography of Teresa D’Avila were read with zeal during the Counter-Reformation, as

were many other lives of saints. It is no surprise, then, that the biographies of our

noblewomen in question reflected their hagiographic counterparts, but this aspect negated

the potential efficacy of the biographies to serve as exemplum pieces. In fact, both

demonstrate that such saint-like behaviors placed the protagonists in direct conflict with

their families, whose social standing required certain standard of dress as well as public

interaction.

Further compounding the issue is that these women are represented as deciders of

their fate, regardless of the wishes of their male familial authority, be it husband or father.

Such defiance was not permitted to Renaissance women, either by society or by the

clergy, yet both Sestilia and Elena strongly resist the will of their husband and father

(respectively). Their biographers, as a result, have to make sure to affirm that they are

respectful and obedient wives or daughters and that though their spiritual choices initially

are met with consternation and rejection, eventually those choices are accepted and

admired by the men in their lives. Sestilia’s biographer writes that in spite of the fact that

parties gave her a headache, and though she preferred to be secluded at home or at

Church, she would attend public events to please her husband: “Com’andava à nozze,

banchetti, ò simili ritrovi, alli quali da cinque anni in là andava più per compiacere al

Marito, che à se stessa, sempre tornava à casa con grandissimo dolor di testa; dicendo,

che in questi ritrovi non haveva un gusto al mondo; e ch’il maggior piacere che potesse

havere, era lo starsene ritirata in casa, ò in Chiesa.”140 In fact, Petruccini writes that

Sestilia would get physically ill when she went to parties only to recuperate in church:

“ne’ festini si infermasse, e nelle Chiese ricuperasse la sanità.”141 As a result, he writes

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that her husband does eventually agree to her pleas for seclusion, realizing that her

desires were from God: “il Marito conoscendo che questo era spirito di Dio, le fece la

gratia [di] starsene ritirata in Casa.”142

To save his protagonist from incurring blame for her behavior, Petruccini makes

sure to emphasize that despite her spiritual seclusion, their spousal relationship was one

governed by mutual affection. Sestilia is portrayed to be a “grande aiuto” to her husband

in domestic matters, and when she was sick, she only allowed her husband to touch her

and change her clothes.143 She is portrayed as “obbedientissima, e di natura pacifica,”

such that her husband said after her death that he had lost the company of not a human,

but an angel.144 As a result, despite his initial reluctance to concede to her spiritual

endeavors, he always showed her deference in her spiritual pursuits and showed great

admiration for her. The marriages of all three protagonists are represented as harmonious,

and the women are portrayed as obedient wives, ready to serve and please their husbands

in everything that does not conflict with their spiritual health. Cornelia’s biographer even

mentions how her husband was frequently ill with a condition called “mal di formica,” a

condition of the skin that made one feel as if ants were crawling all over their body. He

tried to hide his condition from her but she disovered it and began caring for him herself,

applying the necessary creams and ointments, actions he observes to be “degne di

esagerationi.”145

Despite the frequent reminders, then, that marriage represents an impediment to

spiritual growth, the women carry out their wifely duties with obedience, diligence, and

patience. Of course, as soon as Sestilia and her husband separate their bedrooms, she

began to increase her “mortificazioni,” disciplining herself at least 3 times a week, and

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some believed she did it every night.146 Cornelia’s spiritual growth after the death of her

husband is compared to St. Bernard and St. Benedict’s concept of an ascending staircase,

and the steps involved in achieving Christ-like perfection. Her husband’s death is

constantly represented as the turning point of her spiritual journey, after which she made

“gran passi nella perfettione,” that eventually became “passi frettolossi”, then “passi di

Gigantessa,” such was her religious fervor in self mortifications and acts of charity.147

These protagonists’ extremism and self-deprivation create yet another conflict

with the ideals of the donna illustre, whose role as wife and mother were increasingly

superseded by their continual bodily mortifications such as fasting and self-harm. This is

seen most prominently in the biographies of Sestilia, Cornelia, and Elena. The basic

theological ideology promoting such measures is rooted in the Passion of Christ; the

biographies emphasize that by sharing in Christ’s suffering, the women achieved

blessings and closeness to Jesus. This suffering is manifested by the protagonists in the

following ways: excessive lamentations in the form of tears and sobs, self deprivations

such as lengthy prayers, fasting or losing sleep, self harm such as the use of the cilicio or

objects for self beating, and increased delirium or rapture, seen to represent more perfect

communion with God. These three women exhibit these aspects in varying levels and

forms, but they are all eventually limited by their confessors for their excesses, and the

readers of their lives cannot help but consider the impact their behavior had on their

families.

The Princess of Parma’s primary vehicle for spiritual ascension was mainly

through her tears and lamentations, born either from her despair about her shortcomings,

or from her contemplation of Christ’s suffering. Her tendency towards tears and

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repentance is so prolific that the eventual image of her life is that of a manic-depressive

woman with occasional thoughts of suicide. When she confessed, she did so accompanied

by an “abbondantia di lacrime” such that Morales says he had difficulty comforting her;

we also know that she confessed every evening and when doing so, wrote down even her

most “minimi mancamenti,” which her confessors considered excessive148. She would

require her confessors to reproach her behavior and when she received their reproach,

would break down in tears, making it necessary for them to console her instead:

“ordinariament era necessario tornarla a consolare tanto s’affligeva.”149 On two separate

occasions Morales found her in her chapel in a deplorable state, saying she could no

longer live: “la trovai molto afflitta, e particolarmente con tanta oppressione di cuore, che

mi disse parole di non poter più vivere.”150 Her consolation was usually gained through

confession, penances, or in the knowledge that she was sharing in Christ’s suffering.

Princess Maria also found comfort in her many relics, which she had continually

brought to her bed as she neared the end of her life. It seems there was no end to her

collection, and Morales spends a great deal of time describing the various efficacy of

each. Of particular consolation to princess Maria was a piece of wood from the cross that

she had inherited from her mother, which occasionally leaked Jesus’ blood and brought

her physical healing, as well as the cord of St. Francis’ robe that offered her courage in

her last days. On one particular occasion she was able to see the swaddling blanket of

Christ (“fascie con che fu fasciato Christo quando nacque”) and told her confessor how

she had bowed down and kissed it repeatedly, then felt a great urge to take a bite of it and

swallow it (“pigliarne un boccone, & inghiottirlo).151

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Sestilia Sabolini’s biography was written in 1621, 43 years after the Princess of

Parma’s biography, during which time the Counter-Reformation had gained momentum.

Sestilia’s behavior then, not surprisingly, eclipses that of her predecessor, most especially

in regard to self-harm and self-deprivation. She would spend hours on her knees, but also

fasted 3 days a week and would have fasted more had it been allowed.152 During her

meditations she would often kneel and rise 100 times over in front of an image of Jesus;

she was so taken in rapture, that she was seen on various occasions licking the floor. She

would go barefoot in winter, disciplined herself at least 3 times a week, and wore a brass

belt with 5 rings of iron, as well as a cilicio under her dress.153 In response to her

behavior, her husband was pained, and worried about her care for him and their children:

“dolendosi il Marito, che ella non si curava più nè di lui, nè delle Figliuole.”154 She

responded, “Come? Io me ne curo, e vi amo; ma s’io mi morissi & andassi in Paradiso

pregarei per voi, e Dio vi aiuterebbe più che io non fo io.”155

She never slept on Holy Thursday, and rose two to three hours before dawn every

day to say her prayers, and generally slept very little, because her guardian angels would

wake her “ogni volta che voleva.” 156 Not only did she deprive herself of many comforts,

Morales writes that she deprived her daughters also: “lei privava se stessa, e le Figliuole,

di molte cose.”157 Her ecstasies, generally lasting for upwards of three hours, generally

involved shaking, crying, and sighing, and her meditations were so frequent, it seemed

that she was continually engaged in them. 158 Her frequent habit of meditation meant also

that she would receive visions and raptures at inopportune moments, such as at the dinner

table, and when her husband, noticing her staring at the ceiling would tell her to eat, she

could not hear him and did not shift her gaze or move a muscle.159

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Sestilia is therefore portrayed not only to be a woman prone to tears, but also to

an excessive religious devotion that obviously compromised her ability to serve her

family. Her biographer is aware of this conflict, and addresses it directly: “Potrebbe

qualche persona dubbitare, se una Donna come questa, ch’haveva sopra di sè il carico

d’una Casa, e Fameglia intera, poiche il Marito occupato nel pubblico reggimento, non

poteva attendere al privato, facesse bene à star così del continuo fissa nelle cose

spirituali.”160 In fact, her biographer notes that many people, who did not live in the

home and see her abilities, would gossip about this very issue. But he asserts that by

God’s grace, she was able to fulfill the roles of both Mary and Martha, such that nobody

in the house ever complained. 161 The obvious contradiction to her husband’s complaint

may have to do with chronology – given her response that she could better serve the

family in heaven, it is possible that her mortifications increased as her illness increased,

and that he complained only when she continued her mortifications while she was ill.

When she was healthy, it would seem she was never lazy, and Petruccini writes that she

was able to accomplish in one hour what would take another four hours. He adds that

though she was generous in her alms, she was very spendthrifty with the household

income, and a natural saver. She was, in fact, a great help to her husband, who never had

to get involved in household affairs “nè punto , nè poco”, such was her ability to manage

the affairs of the home. In fact, “tutto le riusciva bene.”162

What a life portrait! Imagine, for a moment, what a dilemma such a life depiction

would have created for a noblewoman of that time. Unlike the ubiquitous hagiographies

that extolled behavior not required or expected of a donna di corte, behavior that, in its

very nature, was considered inimitable within the context of a worldly life, this biography

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sets forth the image of a noblewoman who was simultaneously able to live the life of a

saint, wife, and mother. The potential reception of such a biography is to be wondered at,

but the implicit ineffectiveness of the biography’s exemplum potential is relatively

obvious, as are the ramifications of such choices on one’s family. Of course, as with all

exemplum literature, the readers did not necessarily have to mimic all behavior and could

have decided to imitate whatever behavior they chose, as one picks a piece of fruit off a

tree. This may be one of the primary reasons for which biographies seem to include all

possible virtues, in the hopes that at least a few of the virtues would be emulated. But

again, the dominance of the hagiographical component found in these biographies makes

most of the extolled behavior inimitable or at least incompatible with normal family life.

Cornelia’s life serves as another example of this incompatibility. Though she did

not begin to engage in spiritual extremities, or “passi da Gigantessa” until after her

husband’s death, her children, in fact, were still very much alive and suffered as a result

of her newfound spiritual fervor. Her biographer writes that she wore a cilicio (hairshirt)

with three nails on it, nails that would pierce her on her right and left shoulder, and the

third on her chest.163 Her confessor at one point told her to desist in her practice of using

such a cilicio, but she could not control her desires for “rigidezza” so she had another

cilicio made, which she considered to be less “rigido” than the first. It was a new

invention, according to Porro, consisting of a belt with four nails that she would wear

around her arm and lumbar area, tightening it by degrees, but her confessor took this

cilicio away as well, telling her that it would eventually lead to her death. Because he

recognized the “gusto” that she experienced during these “macerationi del corpo,” he did,

however, let her use it at specific times.164 She loved her cilicio the way most women

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loved jewelry, and on the days she was allowed to wear it, had a “festosa” and “lieta”

countenance the entire day.165

But the cilicio was just one of the ways that she engaged in “austere attioni,

penitenze, e mortificationi”; Porro notes that they were so numerous, he could not

possibly recount them in chronological fashion. Indeed, her efforts in this regard were

endless. She would never, during winter months, sit close to the fire and she only ever ate

dry bread and water, though she would occasionally, in obedience to her confessor, eat a

little soup.166 Ever a “nemica de gusti”, she would often first roll her bread in ashes

before eating it: “per non sentir compiaccimento in quello.”167 Because of her excesses,

she eventually fell ill: “Caddè ella per le grandi mortificationi, discipline, e digiuni, che

faceva in una grave infermità.”168 Her illness (high fever) caused her to experience

frequent fits of delirium and her doctors ordered that all her “cose spirituali” be taken

away from her, which caused her “incredibile pena.”169

As a result of her frequent deliriums, she was extremely mistreated by her

servants: fatte insolenti le serve malamente l’oltraggiavano.”170 One in particular would

cut her nails past the quick, drawing blood, while others would hit her and pull her hair.

When she regained her senses, “hebbe gran gusto d’esse in tal concetto di Pazza.”171 She

would sleep on tables, hay, or wool mattresses with only a rough cloak to cover her, but

her preferential place to sleep was the floor, where, when exhausted from her orations,

she would fall into slumber, exhausted.172 Her clothing was a mere rough covering that

she wore in all seasons, and would not change even when it was stained, which

particularly annoyed her relatives.173

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All of these acts are represented by her biographer as laudable methods by which

one could achieve union with Christ. He quotes St. Thomas’s idea that by “trascurando la

stanza di questo mortal corpo” one could more easily reach true divine contemplation.174

When a doctor suggested that she should, as the Bible states, treat her body as a temple

that should be cared for, she did not listen, insisting that by inflicting pain on her

“corpaccio” in an attempt to “soggiogarlo allo spirito,” true union with God could be

achieved.175

She increased in these behaviors exponentially following her husband’s death

and, 6 months after his passing, was an emphatic observer of the above practices. Again,

one can only imagine what her young children felt, following the death of their father,

about living in such conditions whereby, as a result of their mother’s occasional insanity

brought about by her sacrifices, the servants no longer respected her and became lazy and

rude. Porro even notes that during her moments of insanity, her children were removed

from her care: “per l’istessa cagione del concetto, che fosse impazzita, gle fu levata la

cura, e governo delle figlie allhora, e la tutela insieme.“176 He does not, however, assign

any blame to his protagonist for her inability to care for her children, instead continues to

praise her to the skies for her self-deprecations and continual service to the poor and sick

of the city.

Elena’s story is not much different, except that she is not encumbered with the

burdens of husband or children. She too engages in continual mortifications, specifically

rigourous fasting that eventually contributes to her death.177 She embraces the concept of

rigid poverty by giving her allowance to the poor, and does anything to suffer in order to

further meditate on the passion of Christ.178 Calling her flesh a wild horse, she frequently

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dominates it with “flagelli,” until she appears dead on the floor, and Lupis writes that the

testament of her joy in suffering (“soavità del patire”) could have been written in the

blood from her wounds.179 To avoid the temptations of sleep, she even injures her eyes,

specifically her pupils: “Si elesse questa tortura visibile, per rimirare più adaggiamente

nelle sue notturne contemplationi I Teatri delle supreme contentezze.”180

Elena too was often limited by her confessor, who adamantly denied her wish to

sleep on the cold floor, because she would often be found the next morning lacking any

color at all, and barely conscious. Creative in her obedience, she then asked him if she

could at least sleep on wooden planks.181 Whereas Cornelia is called a “nemica de gusti”,

Elena is called a “nemica à qualunque riposo” and Lupis writes that she tried to find

every way possible to suffer.182 Thus we see that even Elena, the first woman laureate, is

also lauded for her saint-like qualities of self-mortification and flagellation.

These women’s biographies, in short, represented quite the paradox for their

contemporary female readers. The roles of friend, mother, and wife are not only

subjugated by the protagonists’ extreme practice, they are entirely threatened. Sestilia

goes so far as to completely cease any marital relations with her husband, is gossiped

about by those in her town, reproved by her husband for her rudeness in church, and

reprimanded by him for her inability to care for him and their children. Cornelia’s

gradual transformation is not only unwelcome to her husband and mother-in-law, she is

occasionally reproved by her husband for her behavior. Following his death, she devotes

herself so rigorously to her practices that her children are taken from her. Elena, who

remains unmarried at home, causes her parents intense chagrin in her decision to remain

unmarried, and then causes them and her confessor much concern and worry for her

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health, which is severely compromised by her practices of sleep deprivation and fasting.

All four women, in fact, die young.183

The striking contrast between these biographies and the conduct manuals of the

period, even those strongly influenced by the Counter-Reformation, such as Dolce’s, is

quite evident. The women portrayed in these biographies do not conform to the societal

standards for women, nor even to basic standards for nuns. Their chosen path is one of

singularity and isolation. The first question we must pose in regard to this conundrum is

“why”? Why did the biographers choose protagonists whose extreme austerities made

imitation nearly impossible, and whose austeries were not even supported by the clergy?

It cannot be asserted that they were not intended to be exemplary works, because we have

already established the authors’ hopes that the lives would serve as examples to their

readers.

Moreover, contemporary male biographies of the time did not follow this

typology; in fact, history shows us that from Plutarch forward, men were generally

portrayed as whole beings, capable of great faults, but also great things. In Malaspina’s

Renaissance treatise on biography, the only treatise from the period dedicated solely to

the genre of biography, he is emphatic that overly-extolling one’s protagonist is a severe

defect of any biography that creates distrust in the reader and that even the poets (who

have no obligation to truth) know this to be true: “E però i poeti, tutto che non sieno

obligati alla verità, non ardiscono fingere gli eroi nel colmo di tutte le virtù per non

perdere di credenza.”184 He continues by saying that over-adulation can actually cause

the readers to become nauseated: “le lodi, essendo molte volte reputate adulazioni,

facciano stomaco al lettore.”185 This is exactly what occurs in the biographies of these

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women who are only ever praised, never blamed. True, they are occasionally limited by

their confessors for their spiritual excesses, but are simultaneously praised by the

biographer for these very same habits. And though we know from many sources that

reading hagiographies was considered to be a very positive spiritual pastime – Sestilia

advises her husband and sons to read the lives of saints every night for their spiritual

benefit – it was not considered pleasurable by many.186 In Piccolomini’s dialogue, the

young girl’s reaction to Raffaella’s encouragement to engage in such reading (“no, no!”)

is indicative that the reception of these works was often, as Malaspina predicted it would

be, one of aversion.

The most plausible explanation for such a surprisingly prolific genre is

inextricably intertwined with Post-Tridentine precepts. It pertains to the church’s

restrictions of reading material and to ecclesiastic occupations of either the author or

reader. The index of prohibited books grew steadily during the Reformative period, and

other types of Renaissance reading were either on that list or not recommended for

female consumption, as many worried it would threaten their honestà. Sestilia’s

biographer notes, in fact, that she never read books that had to do with human love, and

had a particular distate for authors like Petrarch and Ariosto: “Non leggeva mai libri, che

tratassero d’amore, & à lei stessa hò sentito dire, che mai haveva letto, nè Petrarca, nè

Furioso, se non una ò due volte venti, ò trenta versi; di quà veniva, che tanto le

dispiaceva.”187 Her avoidance of Ariosto is perhaps not surprising, but Petrarch’s

Canzoniere was founded on the concept of spiritual conversion and enlightenment, as his

earthly love both inspired and led him towards spiritual transformation. That she viewed

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his work with similar disdain to Ariosto’s demonstrates the stringent standards regarding

female reading, standards that rejected the Renaissance ideas of Neoplatonism.

We also know what many of these women did read, and that all their study was

exclusively spiritual in nature. The Princess of Parma, for example, read spiritual books,

especially those that “muovono gli affetti,” such as the books of St. Bonaventure and Luis

de Granada.188 Both Sestilia and Cornelia read the life of St. Catherine, and Elena that of

Luigi Gonzaga, after which she couldn’t help but imitate him: “non potte far di meno, che

ella non si accendesse di un soprafino desiderio nell’imitarlo.”189 Elena, whose study

occupied the greater part of her day, made sure to study things “che nodrivano un fine

sacro, pio, e morale [. . . ] per non contaminare con quelle macchie la sua continenza.”190

In fact, the recommended reading for young women seems to have been prescribed rather

for what it did not do, than for what it did. The reading choices of these women did not

threaten their conscience, or contaminate their desire for chastity. These biographies

promoted extreme spiritual practices, but they also promoted purity of mind and body,

considered to be the foremost virtue of a woman in the Renaissance. Any mother, father,

priest, or nun could feel entirely confident, when recommending these works, that the

girls or women reading them would not be carried away by amorous whims, and would,

if anything, further revere the church and the exemplary men and women devoted to its

Sacraments. The works could also encourage young girls whose families were forcing

them into convents either for lack of dowry funds or for religious prestige.

It will not surprise that the authors of these texts either are men of the cloth, or

dedicate their work to those in service to the church. The works are therefore charged

with the purpose of maintaining the moral purity of Catholic congregants, and promoting

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the Catholic faith. The Princess of Parma’s biography provides a wonderful example of

how drastically a biography is influenced by its author, because we have two surviving

versions of her life, the first (1578) written by her personal confessor, Sebastiano

Morales, and the second (1627) by Ranuccio Pico, court secretary to the Farnese Family

in Parma. The differences between the two works directly reflect the occupations of their

authors.

Morales’ account is, by its very nature, a personal one, as he tells the life of a

woman he saw on a daily basis in a spiritual capacity. The overarching purpose of his

biography is quite clear: he is intent upon defending the practices of the Catholic faith.

He continually references the abhorrence the Princess felt for Protestantism as well as her

affection for relics and the comfort and healing they gave her. Prominent too is the theme

of consolation, particularly the consolatione that the Princess received from her

observations of practices specific to the Catholic Church. Essential to this aspect of

consolation, however, is the need (or desperation) that precedes it and his princess is, as a

result, represented with a fair dose of emotional instability. Morale’s story is of a princess

who was tormented by her own shortcomings, and whose anxiety could only be relieved

through the comfort of Catholic spiritual practices, including the devotion to relics. He

writes how she requested frequent remonstrations from her spiritual superiors and would

then cry at length during and after their reproaches. Her primary consolations after such

moments of despair were communion, the practice of prayer recitation (he cites the

prayers she specifically preferred), meditation on the Passion of Christ (calling her

suffering an avenue to drink of Christ’s calice), and confession. He notes her frequent

affirmation that she would be the most evil woman in the world if she didn’t confess at

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least once a month, and how the act of confession was a great consolation to her.191 Her

many relics also served this consolatory purpose, and Morales writes about them in

detail, such as a thread from the Shroud of Turin, or a bleeding piece of wood from the

cross, or the cord of St. Francis’ robe.

Prominent too is Morales’ emphasis on the theme of death. One can find

references to the Princess’ painful death on almost every page (with phrases like

“nell’infermità” or “”mentre che stava aggravate dal male”), and the actual account of her

death is quite lengthy and detailed. Inherently linked to his tale is, again, how the

Catholic practices eased her pain and gave her consolation or peace. He does not focus,

like most biographers, on her service to the poor or sick; in fact he does not even mention

these aspects of her character until page 35. His first pages are instead primarily about the

Catholic church’s positive influence in her life and anecdotes about her journeys to

heretical lands, during which she demonstrated spiritual fortitude and courage, such as

the time when her ship became engulfed in flames, but she would not follow the maggior

d’omo to safety, insisting upon going back to her cabin for her relics.

Pico’s biography is, in contrast, more refined, stylistic, and chronological than

Morales’ version. Though he cites Morales as his primary source, and his biography is

indeed a formalized re-writing and re-organization of Morales’ more personal, epistolary

form, the changes he makes, by what he includes or omits, and the tone he selects for his

work, are entirely reflective of his position as court secretary. As such, his biography

bears many resemblances to Sabadino degli Arienti’s biographies. Concerned primarily

with honoring the Farnese family, Pico portrays Maria as a humble and penitent devotee

of the Catholic faith and exemplary princess, not a depressed mess. He does mention that

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the priests had to limit her excesses, but does not go into anecdotal detail like Morales,

nor does he mention her incessant lamentations about her own imperfections or her

reliance upon each individual relic. Instead, he emphasizes her perfection, specifically her

Christian perfection, and how she helped influence the Reformation of Parma.

Picos’s princess is also generous from the start – even as a child she freed

prisoners from debt by selling her own handiwork. She is charitable always, and though

she is still overly penitent, she is given an over-arching designation of perfect, both in

faith and in rule. He fulfills his court secretary role well by emphasizing her dedication to

the people and their appreciation of her. He tells how well she developed the art of

peacemaking, and ensured always that justice was administered. He notes that even in her

husband and father-in-law’s absences from court, nobody knew they were gone, so well

did she manage courtly affairs with admirable “affabilità.”192

The authors’ different representations of the princess’ demonstrations of gratitude

are also quite noticeable and in line with personal motivations. Morales tells how she was

always grateful for her relics, once paying a priest twice for a thorn (from Jesus’ crown),

such was her gratitude for the “gift.” Rico instead prefers to emphasize, like Arienti

(fellow court letterato), that she showed gratitude to those in her service. In both cases,

the authors praise the princess for rewarding people who were in their particular

professions. The varying perspectives of both bring into focus the ulterior motives of any

author when composing a biography, specifically a biography intended to exalt its

protagonist and propose the behavior as worthy of imitation. Their hope is obviously that

those who read the biography will show equal gratitude to those in their profession,

perhaps even to them personally.

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Sestilia Sabolini’s biography, written by the clergyman Giovambattista Petruccini

in 1621, is dedicated to the nuns of a convent in Siena, nuns who likely knew Sestilia

personally. It therefore extols Sestilia for qualities that were expected of nuns,

specifically praising her ritiratezza. Petruccini notes in his dedication that the nuns had

been placed under his governance and care by the bishop of Siena, so that he could better

direct them in the “via dello spirito,” and to help them continually remove their affections

for the world from their hearts: “cercar di continuo svellare dal cuor di ciascuna gl’affetti

terreni.”193 His biography, therefore, serves both as an example of how women in the

world are capable of adhering to intense religiosity and how the benefits of the cloistered

life are even sought by those not restrained by its walls.

Sestilia’s biography is therefore dominated by her profound desire for seclusion,

Petruccini specifically that when she moved to Siena, close to the monastery of

Cappucino nuns, she gave herself completely to a secluded life, and that her preference

for seclusion was governed by the principle that God is the only nutrient for the soul, and

that the world is in inherent conflict with the “complessione dell’Anime divote.”194

Petruccini therefore molds his version of Sestilia’s life to conform to that of his

dedicatees, extolling the benefits of a life of rititratezza, away from the distractions of the

world. He writes that the “dolce acquisto” of the holy virtues is reached through spiritual

exercises such as penitence, humble acts, disdain of one’s self, and maintains that

witnessing good examples of this behavior especially “pulls one’s heart” towards this

admirable endeavor.195 He declares Sestilia’s example to be especially representative of

these “new spiritual avenues,” specifically her devotion to bitter penitences, assiduous

orations, abhorrence of the world, denial of self, and spiritual aspirations.196 Of particular

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interest here is his word “nuove”, implying that these spiritual practices (or excesses)

either are newsworthy or are new to faith, the city, or the convent itself.

Cornelia’s biography, written in 1624, only three years after Sestilia’s, is the most

demonstrative of these new changes taking place inside the monasteries and in the public

sphere. It is written by an author of uknown occupation, Hippolito Porro, but is dedicated

to the most well known Cardinal of his time, Cardinal Borromeo. Cardinal Federico

Borromeo was archbishop of Milan from 1595 until his death in 1631, famous for

reforming the discipline of the clergy by turning their focus from worldly pursuits to a

life of humility, service, and study. He is perhaps most known in Italian history (and

literature) for feeding the hungry during the famine that swept through northern Italy in

1627.197 Also pertinent to our study, Cardinal Borromeo wrote a biography of St.

Catherine, first published in 1618, that had great publication success in Italy.198 He

viewed St. Catherine to be a primary example of the contemplative Christian life,

dedicated to the disdain of the world, and intent upon solitary contemplation of God and

his creation.199 Porro thus equates Cornelia to St. Catherine two times in his biography

and makes clear his hopes that Cornelia too will one day be sainted: “Ben spero nel

Signore, che un giorno si compiacerà, che questa sua serva goda di quel fregio, e di quel

titolo di Santa.”200

The biographical waters are even more muddled by two factors regarding the

work’s dedicatee: Ippolito Porro’s deceased father and brother (a lawyer and doctor,

respectively) had once been in service to the Cardinal, and the Cardinal knew Cornelia

personally. Porro writes that his biography is a small gift of remembrance of the service

he owes to the Borromeo family (“l’antica servitù, che tengo con L’Illustrissima Casa

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Borromea”), presenting us with the possibility that this work was either written in

gratitude to the Borromeo family, or written in the hopes of compensation that had

previously been bestowed on his father and brother. We also are aware, through

numerous accounts in Porro’s biography, that not only did the Cardinal know Cornelia,

he admired her. She also had a great respect for him and had various visions of him

during her prayer raptures. It is possible then, that he commissioned her biography

himself.

Porro calls Cornelia the Cardinal’s “figlia spirituale,” implying a very close

relationship (he references at least 5 meetings between the two). When Cornelia asked to

be assigned a “Regola,” to help her further advance in her spiritual pursuits, her confessor

at first declined, but decided instead to entrust the decision to Cardinal Borromeo, who

was a very good judge “in queste cose.”201 The Cardinal examined Cornelia on three

different occasions (once in his own chapel, once in the Monastery of S. Martha, and

once in the monastery of S. Maria) and in all instances she both demonstrated her

“fiamma d’amor di Dio” and greatly impressed the Cardinal: restò ammirato delle vivaci,

& efficaci parole.”202 Porro also writes that during Cornelia’s final illness, the Cardinal

visited her twice and when she heard of his imminent arrival, despite having lost her

senses, she regained them and composed herself for such an honor.203 Finally, Porro

writes that during one of her many raptures, she had two visions of Cardinal Borromeo:

in the first he was in Pontifical robes standing in a pool of blood while debating doctrine

with other scholars, and in the second was holding a bronze communion cup and

defending it from 4 “colonelli” (likely Protestant soldiers).204

!215!

The personal relationship between the protagonist and dedicatee presents us with

the multiplicity of intentions on behalf of the author. Porro is able to ingratiate himself to

Cardinal Borromeo firstly by praising Cornelia’s way of life, which was commensurate

with Cardinal Borromeo’s own teaching of revitalization for the church, secondly, by

praising the Cardinal himself, and thirdly, by praising somebody who the Cardinal

personally held in high esteem, so high, in fact, that he presided over her funeral despite

the violation of the tradition that another should have done so.205 Either way, the

likelihood that such a work would be well received, and perhaps compensated, is high.

Another reason for which Cardinal Borromeo would have likely been pleased

with such a work is present, though not quite so obvious, in Porro’s continual references

to Cornelia’s devotion to the church of San Sepolcro. San Sepolcro was named the seat of

the St. Ambrose and St. Carlo oblates (lay persons who adhere to a particular religious

order), by Cardinal Borromeo’s uncle, St. Carlo Borromeo, and was eventually entrusted

to Cardinal Federico Borromeo’s care. Cornelia’s devotion to this church was quite

notable: she went there every day no matter the weather, attended sermons there every

Wednesday and Friday, called it her home, suffered when she was away, and finally,

requested to be buried there.206 Of her dedication to this church, Porro writes, “Là dove

havendo così ben radicato l’affetto à questa divota Chiesa, deliberò ritornarsene, come

detto habbiamo, alla stanza vicina à San Sepolcro, di cui tant’era inamorata, che sempre

instò, e dimandò d’esser Oblata, & di viver e morir sotto la lor Regola, & obedienza di

Monsignor. Illustriss. Cardinal Arcivescovo Capo di detta Congregatione.”207 This tells

us that she had plans to take up residence there as a Benedictine oblate, under the

guidance of Cardinal Borromeo, though her death prevented her from following through

!216!

on this commitment. Thus Porro’s biography is imbued with many layers of praise that

would have been appreciated by its dedicatee.

Elena Lucrezia Cornaro Piscopia’s biography is the only biography not written by

a clergyman, nor dedicated to someone in the church. It was written in 1689 by Antonio

Lupis, a prolific writer, and dedicated to Caterina Vendramina, Elena’s sister. As such it

defies many of the standards of Renaissance female biography, but it does adhere, in

striking exactitude, to the hagiographical standards of the era. Like the other female

protagonists, Elena was serious as a young girl and did not enjoy the same pleasures as

her friends did; she instead showed a tendency towards spiritual contemplations and

possessed a natural disdain for the worldly possessions of her family, even chastising her

father for his elaborate ceiling décor. She craved the cloistered life, made a vow of

virginity at age 11, and eventually became an oblate. Her spiritual ascent was

characterized by her frequent self-mortifications and deprivations, and her commitment

to prayer mirrored that of our other heroines. She predicted her own death (as did

Princess Maria and Cornelia), and after her death the population flocked to see and touch

her body, which was still fresh after three days, her face beautiful and serene. The only

major hagiographical deviation is that the final pages of her biography contain no

testaments of her ascension to heaven, rather reference her eternal scholarly glory with

metaphorical gusto: “Ella fece nella conformità del Sole, che quando tramonta, escono

incontinente le Stelle nell’adornare la sua Tomba di fiammeggianti honori, e di luminosi

trofei. Volsero le Palestre, e le Muse, le Università, e i Collegij, le Accademie, e i Rostri

celebrare il suo Occidente. Ogni oratore si allestì nell’ingrandire i vanni di questa

!217!

Pallade. Ciaschedun’ Letterato cercò di imprimere il di lei merito, nell’immortalità delle

Stampe.”208

Elena’s hagiographical account is framed by this rhetoric of grandiosity. The first

pages of her biography are full of erudite references to antiquity, the syntax is replete

with splendorous metaphors, and her family’s noble heritage is fervently and elaborately

praised. The hagiographical components of her life are, in fact, at constant odds with the

author’s attempts to praise his protagonist and her family. It is therefore a likely

possibility that the biography was commissioned by her sister or father, who, we know,

fell frequently prey to his own vanities. Though their palace was one of the oldest and

most elegant buildings on the Grand Canal, dating back to the 1200s, and their library

was sought out by many scholars of the day as a haven of resources for study, the family

name had a tainted reputation, for two reasons. Firstly, Elena’s mother was a commoner

and secondly, various members of the Cornaro clan had been involved in questionable

intrigues regarding illegal promotions, the mishandling of public funds, and mysterious

assassinations, leaving quite a stain on the family name.209 The result was that Cornaro’s

sons, Elena’s brothers, were not listed in the “libro d’oro”, a book listing the nobility of

Venice. Cornaro eventually petitioned the Doge for this recognition, and in his petition,

expanded upon the illustrious Cornaro lineage, including four Venetian Doges, a Queen

of Cyprus, and nine Cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church. Cornaro’s hunger for

recognition is notable both in this petition and in his later correspondences about Elena,

for whom he incessantly sought public affirmation and acclamation. He even

commissioned a statue in her honor following her death.

!218!

It is entirely plausible then, that he also commissioned Elena’s biography and that

Lupis was therefore faced with the challenge of incorporating the theme of Elena’s

worldly accomplishments and fame into the only existing form for female biography of

the time, one greatly influenced by the hagiographic tradition. The inherently

dichotomous nature of the two themes likely created quite the conundrum for Lupis who,

if he over-emphasized Elena’s academic pursuits, would risk disapproval from the

church, and, if he understated her intellectual talents, would risk disapproval from her

father (or sister). He therefore attempted a veritable mish-mash of the two, embellishing

both aspects with literary flourishes and exclamatory remarks that also set his biography

apart from the others.

The two elements intermingle surprisingly well, and her saintlike attributes seem

quite plausible, given the constant dissension of her parents. Lupis in fact has to make

frequent attempts to affirm to his reader that Elena continually resisted their desires for

glory and fame. Her resistence and resilience shine brightly through the pages just as the

figure of Elena’s father blazes forth in his blusters of indignation. In fact, Lupis seems so

intent upon casting her father in a negative light, he even uses vivid imagery of the hunter

and his prey to further press this point, writing that towards the end of their dispute

regarding her reluctance to marry, her father finally admits defeat, realizing that his nets

are useless: “tutte le reti, che si stendevano per questa caccia, si spezzavano al varco, e

che sfuggiva di entrarvi la preda, si pose l’Animo in quiete, e non cercò di far altri

tentativi. Si accurse effettivamente, che l’indurre la Figliuola agli Iminei, era il medemo,

che tirare una fiumana in dietro dalla sua corrente, onde determine di non insistere più in

questa materiale.”210

!219!

Cornaro’s negative portrayal would seem to conflict with our previous point that

the biography was written at his bequest. But, imagine for a moment, the conversation

that could have taken place between Lupis and her father, Lupis asserting that

representing her as desirous of pursuing vanglorious honors would not be received well

by either the church or by society, her father responding that the solution was easy – to

make himself the villain and pursuer of honors. Lupis writes, in fact, that upon admitting

defeat regarding her decision not to marry, Cornaro turns his attentions to Elena’s

scholastic abilities, resolute that this daughter, unwilling to increase the rank of the

family through marriage, will bring him glory through her intellect. Whatever the truth,

the representation of Elena’s father as the driving force behind her scholarly pursuits

enables Lupis to better position his protagonist within the hagiographical framework of a

humble and devoted spiritual servant.

Cornaro’s persistence for family glory, though thwarted by Elena’s decision to

remain celibate, merely finds another conduit in her intellect. First, he takes it upon

himself to employ only the most “isquisitissimi Maestri” and Elena begins to study

Humanities, Dialectics, and eventually Philosophy. Her father then endeavors to show her

talents to the world during the Sposalizio Del Mare, a traditional celebration of Venetian

maritime dominance, during which time Elena’s father held a “gara”, or debate between

Elena and another scholar of philosophy, a debate attended by many of the Venetian elite

as well as scholars from all over Europe211. Both performed so well that those present did

not know who was most deserving of the “palma,” Elena or her opponent, a Greek

philosopher.

!220!

Lupis equates Elena’s triumphs with the glorious successes of victorious captains,

evident in the following citation: “Così la nostra EROINA havendo gloriosamente

militato nell’arringo della Virtù, e sofferte cosi dure vigilie nella Metafisica, volle il

Padre, che si addottorasse, e ricevesse nell’Università di Padova le sollennità della

Laurea.”212 The use of the verb “militare” to ascribe masculinity to Elena’s talents is not

new to Italian literature. One needs only consider Virgil’s Camilla, Ariosto’s

Bradamante, Torquato Tasso’s Clorinda, and the entirety of Boccaccio’s De Mulieribus

Claris, whose heroines are praised for their virility and ability to navigate the public and

military spheres reserved for men. The concept of a feminine woman exercising any

influence in the public sphere is, however, nonexistent in female Renaissance biography.

But it must not go unnoticed that it is because her father wills it – “volle il padre” – not

because she wishes it.

In a letter addressed to her father, written 6 years before she receives her

doctorate, Elena references an illness from which she has been recovering and reassures

her father that she will be able shortly to return to her studies: “With the salubrity of the

air, and the diligent care of the physicians, I feel much stronger; therefore, I hope that in

the future I may resume my studies and thus rescue the name of our House from

extinction and oblivion.” 213 Later in the biography, when her participation in the various

Venetian academies is discussed, Lupis writes, “Had she not been urged by the caring

commands of her Father, neither the literary academies nor the Rostra of Rome would

have ever listened to her with such admiration.” 214 We also know that Elena did not

always respond kindly to these “premurosi comandi” of her father, and, in a passage that

perhaps glimmers above all others, Lupis recounts how on one particular day, frustrated

!221!

by the pressures of her father, she muttered that as a result of his search for glory, he

would one day pay an atrocious price in Purgatory.

Lupis therefore wisely chooses his slant of truth for Elena’s life, that of a humble

and modest woman desiring only the cloistered life, who is forced into the public sphere

by the will of her parents. She regards herself as merely an “alunna dell’Humiltà” rather

than a professor, but “per non contrastare ad ogni modo à i replicati, e violenti comandi

del Genitore, constrinse il proprio antigenio alle dispositione dell’altrui volere.”215 She

even attempts to hide her awards and personal letters, but her father, with a “segreta

destrezza,” sneaks them away and conserves them for posterity.

At this point, one may also be considering the possibility that Elena actually

embraced her fame and fortune, but because her foray into the hallowed walls of

academia could be perceived as presumptuous, Lupis decides to lay all the blame on her

father in an attempt to assuage readers’ judgement. Though possible, this is unlikely

because even in her death, Elena eschewed her fame. She included in her will a request

ordering that all of her writings be destroyed. Unfortunately they were, save the select

few her father had preserved.

We are, therefore, very lucky to have such a detailed account of the life of a

woman whose intelligence was remarkable, and a woman whose doctoral ceremony was

flooded with attendees from all over Europe: “apparve la citta di Padova un immenso

Teatro di Studenti, e Virtuosi, oltre quegli, che attratti dalla curiosità, si erano partiti da

lontani Paesi, per guardare un’attione così prodigiosa, e non mai più occorsa nelle

antepassate memorie. Scorrevano per le strade con indicibile stuolo Dame, Religiosi, e

Cavaglieri, concorsi da varij confine, che insieme con la Nobilità Padovana, e della

!222!

Dominante formavano il folto spettacolo di una Fiera.”216 So many people came that

they had to change the location from the University of Padua to the Basilica of St.

Justina, and when the time approached for Elena to walk to the front of the church for her

oral exams, it was so crowded that she was unable to find enough room even to place her

feet as she walked to the front. It is an event that glimmers with narrative truth above all

the others: “Si smarrì, e le sopravenne un gelido timore, nel voler entrare nel Duomo,

giache non vi era Angolo, o Capella, che non stasse ingombrata da strettissima calca di

Spettatori. Durò non ordinaria fatiga nel passare la nave del Tempio, piena di

innumerabile frequenza, ove appena potea slargare il piede, per inviarsi al luogo

assegnato.”217

In a genre encumbered by cultural and ecclestiatical pressures and standards,

narrative glimmers such as this are rare, but not absent. In fact, their rarity makes them

shine all the brighter and though the readers’ task in uncovering them is laborious,

requiring the careful sweeping aside of the genre’s doldrums of perfection and saintly

expectations, when they find them, they behold them from every angle and recognize

their value. Each biography contains one or two of these moments that remain indelibly

in the readers’ minds and make traipsing through the generic typologies of perfection

worth the journey.

In the Princess of Parma’s biography, such a moment occurs when she is nearing

her death and must tell her 8 year-old son that her time is waning. Morales writes that she

loved him deeply, and he likewise loved her with tenderness, coming often to her bedside

to serve her: “come era solito fare con tanto garbo, e tanta diligenza, che più non si

poteva desiderare.”218 A few days before her death he brings her food and she tells him

!223!

that she needs to speak with him before he goes, and to wait until she is done eating.

Morales here uses direct discourse to render the narrative even more alive and poignant.

She says, “Ranuccio, ti voglio dire due parole, come haverò finito di mangiare, non ti

partire.” Her son is perceptive and Morales writes that her words so penetrated his heart,

he understood her meaning immediately and began to cry uncontrollably: “cominciò

dirotamente à piangere.” His pain was so tangible that everyone in the room also began

to cry, marveling about his ability to perceive her intentions at such a young age: “non vi

fu persona nella camera, che non piangesse, e non si meravigliasse dell’acortezza, con la

quale egli cosi presto penetrò quello, che gli volea dire la Madre, ne ci fù mai rimedio per

acquietarlo, fin che l’istessa Madre dissimulò e finse, che gli voleva dire quello, che egli

doveva mandare à dire al Re di Portugallo per il Conte Emilio, che stava per partire.”219

For the first time in her biography, we see a depiction of genuine human love, one

unbridled by ecclesiastical tradition or ulterior motives, and imbued with narrative

qualities that make the readers feel as if they are also in the room with the mourners,

crying along with them. Though the role of mother and child is generally usurped by the

role of spiritual penitent and confessor, here it shines brightly and pierces the heart.

Another occasion in which we unearth a narrative spark in Princess Maria’s

biography is found in Morales’ description of one of her journeys by sea, during which

one of the boats of their fleet strikes their larger ship and is torn in two by the force of the

collision. Morales recounts how the people on board the sundered ship began to scream

and beg for help, knowing the ship would surely sink among the “onde grandi e

spaventevoli.”220 The princess, at hearing the noise, comes out of her chamber and upon

seeing the sight, calls the captain and pleads with him to bring their ship alongside the

!224!

sinking ship in order to save those on board. He resists, saying that such an act would

surely place her and the others on board her ship in peril, which the helmsmen confirm.

But she responds, ever resolute in her faith: “Anzi [. . . ] vedrete, che se proverete di

salvarli, Iddio per questo ci salverà tutti.”221 She was right, Morales writes, and not only

did they obey her wishes, but all aboard the torn ship were saved, except one or two.

Morales’ account is brimming with action and visual descriptions, such that the event

reads in cinematic fashion, as the reader envisions the people screaming for their lives,

and the princess, standing firm among the storm, shouting at the captain to save them,

while they shout back that they cannot, to which she responds in epic fashion that God

will save them all.

Sestilia’s biography is the shortest of all four, and carries with it very few

glimmers, though a pervasive image that remains is that of her daughters and other

women in her home, peeking around the corners to see her engaged in her ecstasies or

mortifications. These women seem to the primary source for Petruccini’s work, possibly

also her husband, and frequently recount how they spied her in her holy pursuits. They

often overheard her speaking with her Jesus doll at length about heaven: “Innamorata di

Cristo teneva nel letto un Giesuino lungo mezzo braccio in circa, col quale passava gran

tempo in conversatione di Paradiso.” 222 This is the only mention of a doll in any of the

biographies and creates quite a picture of youth and of cloistered life. Nuns were often

given Jesus dolls upon their entrance to the convent, and would care for them by dressing

them and holding them. In a sense, these dolls represent the perpetuity of girlhood that

occured behind the closed walls of a convent, walls that, following the Counter-

Reformation, were much more sealed to the outside world.223 In fact, given the short

!225!

nature of Petruccini’s work, and the emphasis on seclusion, it is quite probable that

Petruccini composed it for younger (and reluctant) nuns who needed both consolation and

confirmation that those in the outside world did not esteem the “freedoms” of marriage.

Its pages whisper with youth, in both the images of her daughters catching glimpses of

her, but also in her attachment to her doll and rejection of the marriage bed.

Cornelia’s biography is rather difficult to assess in terms of narrative moments

that stand out in singularity. This is due to the fact that her biography is packed with

anecdotes, anecdotes that both stand out because they represent narrative breaks from the

ubiquitous representations of hagiographic generalities, but also blend in because they

still conform to the saint-like expectations of her character. Probably the most prominent

moments are the stories of how she is mistreated by others, and her joy at such

mistreatment, but again, these anecdotes are so frequent, they quickly begin to lose their

luster. She was, for example, constantly “beffeggiata,” when she went out into public,

mainly because her style of dress was so deplorable that people did not know she was

nobility, also because she constantly prayed while walking the streets.224 People would

therefore cast both insults and objects at her, or would get on their knees in mock prayer.

Her family also disdained her behavior, calling her a “Pitocchiara,” and her servants

disrespected and even beat her. People at church who were waiting in line for confession,

would often push her back and yell at her, unaware of her social station.225 Her confessor

rebuked them, but she responded humbly that she had more time than they.226 In fact,

her responses to these frequent criticisms, fall directly within the hagiographic quality of

humility – the more she is hurt, the more joy she feels: “quanto maggiori erano

gl’affronti, tanto maggiore era il godimento interno.”227 On one occasion however,

!226!

towards the beginning of her widowhood, and during which time she was beginning to

assume a more austere way of life, she is genuinely hurt by such treatment. Porro

recounts how, on a day when Cardinal Borromeo was also present in church, everyone

began to stare at her disdainfully, even people she knew: “nobili da lei conosciute.”228

He says that she “pativa non poco”, and felt “tanta confusione,” and the effect is a

narrative moment that stands out, in relief, from the surrounding passages because, for

the first time, the reader views her with deep empathy instead of incredulity.229

There are also some suprising moments, such as when Porro recounts how, when

treating the sick, she sometimes licked their wounds. When the patients showed surprise

at her actions, she reminded them that St. Catherine was also known to do it.230 One

account even bears with it a certain level of humor, when Cornelia attempts, repeatedly,

to send gifts to her confessors (jams, hankerchiefs, and a religious robe) but they,

repeatedly, send them back, asserting that what she herself refuses should not be given to

her spiritual fathers.231 The reader cannot help but chuckle at the fact that she is being

given a dose of her own medicine, and that her confessors are having a little fun as her

expense.

Finally, Porro tells an interesting story of why she so quickly left the Compagnia

de Vergini that she had entered with her daughters, after so vehemently petitioning for

admittance. In fact, it is a necessary story to spare her from reader criticism regarding her

speedy exit, criticism, which, based upon the adamance with which she petitioned her

confessors to enter the cloistered life, seems to portray a fickle mind. Porro recounts that

during her entire stay in the Company, “squamme” (scales) covered her eyes, that would

only fall away when she would go on her outings to San Sepolcro. She therefore viewed

!227!

it as a confirmation of what her spiritual fathers had been saying to her all along, that it is

better to be in the world, so as to better serve the poor.232 Her biography differs in this

aspect from the others: instead of emphasizing the dangers of the world, it praises the

work that can be done there. Porro therefore extols her for her “moderata ritiratezza” that

unencumbers her from “fastidij domestici” and “incontri,” but also allows her to continue

her public service.233

We see then, that each biography is capable of presenting the reader with an

occasional glimpse of individuality, but that in general, individuality was not considered

essential to the female form of the genre. The biographers instead adhere to Aristotle’s

principles of epideictic praise, by which ideal virtues become the protagonists of the

story. It is these virtues, ones prescribed by the Post-Tridentine church, that take center

stage in female Italian Renaissance biography. Instead of presenting the lives of four

individual women, in fact, these biographies portray one idealized woman, one who

conforms to a standard of conduct and religious fervor being promoted by the Church.

As a result, Renaissance female biography does not separate itself from the genre of

hagiography. Our protagonists are saints in lay-clothing, whose religious fervor presents

itelf in many ways: devotion to one’s confessor, self-discipline, adhering to a time-

consuming prayer practice, the worship of relics, simplicity (or poverty) in attire, and

abhorrence of praise. These attributes, however, were in direct conflict with Renaissance

ideals for the donna illustre who was expected to manage her household, instruct her

children, maintain a social presence, and conform to societal expectations of appearance

and dress. Yes, she was expected to possess a spiritual and religious bent, but not one that

would prohibit her from fulfilling her familial and social obligations.

!228!

What is most striking about the literary trend of biography and hagiography in the

Counter-Reformation is that the behavior extoled does not actually conform to the

depiction of women of the Bible. Female biblical figures are not portrayed as perfect,

rather as deeply human and flawed but who, when it mattered, exhibited bravery and

faith. Rahab, for example, was a prostitute who harbored two Israelite spies and helped

them escape by climbing down the city walls with a rope.234 Her family was later spared

in honor of her action. Esther, a beautiful princess in the King’s harem, is cognizant that

when she presents herself to the King without having first been summoned, her

impertinence could lead to death. Her actions, however, are rewarded and Mordecai’s life

is saved. Jael, a Kenite woman, violated the customs of hospitality and one of the ten

commandments by beheading Sisera in order to save Israel from King Jabin’s troops, yet

she is extolled for her courage and faith.235 In fact, faith, not perfection, is the governing

aspect of most biblical heroes and heroines, as seen in Hebrews 11, where Abraham’s

faith is credited to him as righteousness, despite his many faults.

Likewise, biblical women are not nearly as secluded as these biographical

subjects, nor do they abhor public festivities. Even Mary, Jesus’ mother, is portrayed with

more humanity than the women in our four biographies. She is a concerned mother who

chastises her son for running off to the temple when he should have been with his family,

and a fun-loving participant in social events, who encourages Jesus to perform his first

miracle at a wedding, by changing water to wine (when the good wine had run out).

The genre’s insistence on a spirituality based upon hostility to one’s body then, is one

that derives, not from Biblical examples, but from the Post-Tridentine response that

emphasized works-based salvation, and sought to increase the church’s influence over the

!229!

individual lives of women, and, by extension, their families. These female biographies

were, in essence, instructional tools intended to remind their female readers to submit to

the church and its teachers, to observe its sacraments, and teach others about the faith,

both through instruction and example. The paradox created by the inimitable example,

then, is one that the female reader of the Renaissance would have solved for herself,

either by laughing off the spiritual excesses presented, or by focusing on the basic themes

that she could have applied to her life, applying them as she saw fit. Though of course,

one additional option was available to her, one that the young woman from La Raffaella

chooses: complete avoidance of the genre. This would have been a pity, however,

because by avoiding the genre entirely, she would therefore have missed the glimmers of

life and individuality that resist the genre’s conventional confines and shine through the

veil of idealized perfection.

!230!

Appendix A: Cornelia Ro as depicted in the 1624 printing of Hippolito Porro’s Vita, e Morte della Signora Cornelia Lampugnana Ro, Gentildonna Milanese.

!231!

Notes !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

1 Gabriella Zarri and Lucetta Scaraffia, Women and faith: Catholic religious life in Italy

from late antiquity to the present. (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1999) 159-160.

2 Sebastiano de Morales, Vita et morte della serenissima Prencipessa di Parma &

Piacenza. (Milano: Michel Tini, 1578).

3Morales, 3.

4 Morales, 3.

5 Morales, 5.

6 Morales, 6-7.

7 See also Giuseppe Alberigo, “La riforma dei Principi”, Il Concilio di Trento come

crocevaia, p. 161-177.

8 Giovanni Battista Petruccini, Relazione della vita esemplare della Signora Sestilia

Sabolini, Ne’ Buonaccorsi di Colle di Vald’Elsa: Nella quale, ogni Donna martitata, può

felicemente imparare ottimi ammaestramenti morali, e Cristiani, per condursi, con la Divina

grazia, alla Tranquillità etterna (Siena, Stamperia del Bonetti, 1621).

9 Ippolito Porro, Vita, e morte della sig. Cornelia Lampugnana Rò gentildonna milanese

di gloriosa memoria in bontà, e virtù christiane : esemplare degno d'esser imitato in tutti e tre gli

stati verginale, matrimoniale, e vedouile, come dimostrano le sue pie attioni, & opere

marauigliose in vita, e morte : con l'aggionta d'alcuni suoi esercitij spirituali, & altre oratione,

Per Giouanni Negri, In Pavia, 1624.

10 Petruccini 4.

11 Petruccini ,4.

12 Petruccini, 5.

13 Dolce, 75 (2nd foglio).

14 Petruccini, 544-5.

15 Petruccini, 20.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 16 Morales, 39.

17 Morales, 48.

18 Morales, 60.

19 Petruccini, 8 & 18.

20 Petruccini, 107.

21 In summary, it involved 5 steps: 1) reciting the 12 privileges. 2) Asking the sainters

(her lawyers) for help. 3) Adoring God. 4) Blessing the Virgin. 5) Reciting the symbol of the

Apostles. Porro, 110.

22 Porro, 106-7.

23 Porro, 108.

24 Porro, 61.

25 Porro, 61.

26 Porro, 62.

27 Porro, 62.

28 Porro, 10.

29 Teresa d’Avila’s autobiography spends a great deal of time on her prayer life and her

ecstasies and visions. She writes that the joy and sweetness from her prayer life was so great, she

began to suspect that she was being deceived by Satan and was not, in fact, communing with

God, so sought spiritual confirmation from the clergy (and a spiritual nobleman) that she was in

fact on the right path. This is found in Ch. 23, II of her autobiography.

30 Petruccini, 18.

31 Petruccini, 19.

32 Porro, 107.

33 Porro, 107. Italics mine.

34 Lupis, 110.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 35 Petruccini, 19.

36 Lupis, 62.

37 Morales, 43.

38 Morales, 19.

39 Morales, 19.

40 Porro, 42.

41 Porro, 97.

42 Petruccini, 18.

43 Petruccini, 19.

44 Petruccini, 31.

45 Petruccini, 24

46 Petruccini, 23.

47 Petruccini, 31.

48 Petruccini, 31.

49 Gabriella Zarri, “Christian Good Manners,” Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and

Society. Ed. Letizia Panizza. (Oxford: European Humanities Research Center, 2000) 76-91: p. 87.

50 Zarri, 87.

51 Morales, 68.

52 Petruccini, 13.

53 Porro, 63.

54 Lupis, 90.

55 Lupis, 89.

56 Francesco Sberlati, Castissima Donzella: Figure Di Donna Tra Letteratura E Norma

Sociale (secoli Xv - Xvii) (Bern: Lang, 2007) 138.

57 Sberlati, 77.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 58 Porro, 105, Italics mine.

59 Ranuccio Pico. La Principessa Santa, Ouero La Vita Di Santa Elisabetta, Reina Di

Portogallo ... Con Un Breve Disegno Della Vita Della Serenissima Infante Donna Maria ...

Principessa Di Parma (Venetia, 1627) 63.

60 Pico, 63.

61 Pico, 63.

62 Morales, 50.

63 Petruccini, 23.

64 Morales, 46. The Princess had great concern for the female predicament of the

Renaissance, by which chastity was essential for their reputation, but where men also felt free to

violate that chastity, “cõtro la voglia.” She would order the Governor to summon them and

remonstrate them for their actions, ordering them to desist in their practices. Despite only

receiving verbal warnings, Morales asserts that she was quiet effective in deterring them from

future sins.

65 Morales, 47.

66 Morales, 35.

67 R.P. Hsia. The World of Catholic Renewal, 1540-1770 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge

University Press, 1998) 29.

68 Hsia, 30.

69 Morales, 13. Note the indirect reference to St. Bernard and St. Benedicts steps of

ascension to Christian perfection, all based on humility.

70 Morales, 13

71 Morales, 8.

72 Hunter Blair, The rule of St. Benedict (Abbey Press, Fort Augustus: Scotland, 1948) 43.

73 Blair, 43.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 74 Petruccini, 14

75 Porro, 86-87.

76 Porro, 90.

77 Lupis, 88.

78 Lupis, 89.

79 Lupis, 88.

80 Lupis, 89.

81 Morales (Princess of Parma) 14; Porro (Cornelia Ro) 88.

82 Petruccini, 9.

83 Petruccini, 10.

84 Petruccini, 14

85 Lupis, 15.

86 Lupis, 15

87 Lupis, 15.

88 16. He continues here, referencing the metaphorical symbolism of a crown of Daisies

(for tears) and rubies (desire for divine love). This passage causes some confusion, as the reader

wonders whether or not she actually wore these items, or whether the author is just digressing

into metaphorical poetics. The question is even more prominent because he follows this page with

a discussion of how her mother frequently made her wear noble attire.

89 Lupis, 95.

90 Lupis, 16.

91 Morales, 16. Spelling errors present- original text reads: “superbiae et Gloriae meae.”

Partial translation of Apocrypha text of Esther, Ch 14, 16: I abhor the sign of my high estate,

which is upon mine head in the days wherein I shew myself, and that I abhor it as a menstruous

rag, and that I wear it not when I am private by myself.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 92 Porro, 21-22.

93 Porro, 22.

94 Porro, 22. Italics mine.

95 Porro, 22.

96 Nolfi, 79-82.

97 Nolfi, 83.

98 Nolfi, 85.

99 Caroline Murphy, “Il Ciclo della vita femminile: norme comportamentali e pratiche di

vita.” Monaca, moglie, serva cortigiana (Firenze: Morgana, 2001) 24.

100 Zarri, “Christian Good Manners”, Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society,

ed. Letizia Panizza (Oxford: European Humanities Research Centre, 2000) 82.

101 St. Jerome, Letter XXII to Eustochium

102 Zarri, “Christian Good Manners”, 80. Original quote: “le quali mediante la divina

grazie si conservano immaculate e integer, non violando nè contaminando per alcua via il Tesoro

preziosissimo della verginità.”

103 Morales, 30.

104 Morales, 6 (including story of the chestnut)

105 Jane Guernsey, The Lady Cornaro: Pride and Prodigy of Venice (Clinton Corners,

N.Y: College Avenue Press, 1999) 40.

106 Lupis, 24.

107 Lupis, 25.

108 Lupis, 26.

109 Lupis, 26.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 110 Note here the strong contrast to Angela Tarabotti’s treatise on Paternal Tyranny-

Tarabotti laments the tradition of forcing young women into the cloister, whereas Elena resents

being forced into marriage.

111 Lupis, 27.

112 Lupis, 27.

113 Lupis, 27.

114 Lupis, 29.

115 Guernsey, 28.

116 Guernsey, 28.

117 Porro, 30.

118 Porro, 33& 102.

119 Porro, 33.

120 Porro, 33-34, Italics mine.

121 Porro, 34, & Morales, 4.

122 Morales, 18 (from her list of resolutions that he includes in entirety at the beginning of

her biography). See also p. 36- he reiterates this while describing her intellectual prowess and

knowledge of scripture, that she was able to study “massime” before marriage.

123 Petruccini, 17.

124 Porro, 90. Italics mine.

125 Porro, 35.

126 Petruccini, 13.

127 Petruccini, 15.

128 Petruccini, 15.

129 Petruccini, 25.

130 Petruccini, 16.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 131 Petruccini, 6 & 9.

132 Petruccini, 20.

133 Lupis, 17.

134 Lupis, 17.

135 Lupis, 17.

136 Lupis, 65

137 Lupis, 66.

138 1 Timothy 2:11-15 and 1 Corinthians 14:33-35 have long been a source of doctrinal

discussion regarding women’s silence. 1 Timothy refers to the concept of female submission to

male teaching, whereas the passage in 1 Corinthians refers to the necessity of women being quiet

in church. Its more moderate interpretation is that during the time Paul was writing, chaos and

lack of order in church was rampant, and that women were engaging in common banter rather

than spiritual discussion.

139 Petruccini, 9.

140 Petruccini, 10.

141 Petruccini, 11.

142 Petruccini, 10.

143 Petruccini, 15 & 24.

144 Petruccini, 17.

145 Porro, 24.

146 Petruccini, 25.

147 Lupis, 36, 39, & 72. Lupis makes 5 references to her “passi”, always equating them

with steps torward spiritual perfection.

148 Petruccini, 32 & 21.

149 Petruccini, 21.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 150 Petruccini, 44 & 45.

151 She even asks her confessor if such a desire was a sin, but he does not write what his

response was to her question. The concept is not a foreign one to Catholicism, which emphasizes

the process of transubstantiation during the Eucharist.

152 Morales, 10 & 12.

153 Morales, 21, 25, & 12.

154 Morales, 25.

155 Morales, 25.

156 Morales, 12 & 20.

157 Morales, 14.

158 Morales, 18. & 20.

159 Morales, 20.

160 Morales, 22.

161 Luke 10:38-42. Jesus arrives at the home of Mary and Martha, two sisters. Martha,

who is taking care of all the preparations while Mary sits at Jesus’ feet, becomes angry and asks

Jesus to tell Mary to help her. He responds that Mary has chosen what is better and “it will not be

taken away from her.”

162 Petruccini, 22.

163 Porro, 40.

164 Porro, 41.

165 Porro, 41.

166 Porro, 42.

167 Porro, 42.

168 Porro, 42.

169 Porro, 44.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 170 Porro, 44.

171 Porro, 44.

172 Porro, 45.

173 Porro, 47.

174 Porro, 51.

175 Porro, 51.

176 Porro, 44.

177 Lupis, 101.

178 Lupis, 94,95 & 100.

179 Lupis, 99.

180 Lupis, 100.

181 Her biographer does now mention how her confessor responds.

182 Lupis, 100.

183 Cornelia died at 37, Elena and Sestilia at 38, Princess Maria at 39.

184 Torquato Malaspina, Dello Scrivere Le Vite. (Bergamo: Moretti & Vitali, 1991) 72.

185 Malaspina, 72.

186 Petruccini, 23.

187 Petruccini, 56.

188 Morales, 36 & 60.

189 Lupis, 21.

190 Lupis, 44 & 45.

191 Morales, 34.

192 Rico, 64

193 Petruccini, 3

194 Petruccini, 10 & 11.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 195 Petruccini, 11

196 Petruccini, 11.

197 Manzoni, I Promessi Sposi.

198 I tre libri della vita di suor Caterina, monaca convertita.

199 See also Agostino Valier’s dialogue Philippus sive de laetitia christiana, in which

Cardinal Borromeo is one of the primary interlocutors in the discussion of the source of

Christian joy, in which Cardinal Borromeo represents the side that asserts Christian joy to be

attained only in disdain for the world and its pleasures, coupled with solitary contemplation of

God.

200 Porro, 7, 56, & 73.

201 Porro, 143. The Regola she was requesting was most likely in relation to joining the

oblates of San Sepolcro.

202 Porro, 60-61.

203 Porro, 143.

204 Porro,161.

205 Porro,155. Cardinal Borromeo never became Pope.

206 Porro, 92, 129, 133, & 155.

207 Porro, 133-134.

208 Lupis, 132.

209 Guernsey, 20.

210 Guernsey, 28. Italics mine.

211 The Sposalizio del Mare was a particularly spectacular festivity that took place during

the Festa della Sensa, or Festa dell’Ascenza, during which Venice celebrated both the conquest of

the Dalmations and the signing of the Treaty of Venice by Pope Alessandro III and Federico

Barbarossa in 1177. The debate was attended by “Sei Porporati dell’Ordine Procuratorio,” and

!242!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! almost all the members of the “Eccellentissimo Collegio” who had suspended all their political

obligations to be present at such an event.

212 Lupis, 33.

213 Nicola Fusco, Elena Lucrezia Cornaro Piscopia, 1646-1684 (Pittsburgh: United States

Committee for the Elena Lucrezia Cornaro Piscopia Tercentenary, 197) 30. The letter was

originally written in Latin in 1672.

214 Lupis, 89.

215 Lupis, 33.

216 Lupis, 34.

217 Lupis, 34.

218 Morales, 69.

219 Morales, 69.

220 Morales, 54.

221 Morales, 54.

222 Petruccini, 25.

223 Silvia Evangelisti, A History of Convent Life. (Oxford University Press, 2007)156.

224 Porro, 74.

225 Porro, 106.

226 Porro, 89.

227 Porro, 88.

228 Porro, 49.

229 Porro, 49.

230 Porro, 73

231 Porro, 116.

232 Porro, 129.

!243!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 233 Porro, 129-130.

234 Joshua 2

235 Judges 4: 2

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Chapter 5 S e r i o u s R e p r o a c h a n d C o m e d i c P l a y i n G r e g o r i o L e t i ’ s L a V i t a d i D o n n a O l i m p i a M a i d a l c h i n i

Biography, and particularly Renaissance biography, is often tedious in content,

with endless lists of family lines, political events, and moralizing tendencies. The use of

humor is, therefore, a key element to both Renaissance and Classical male biography,

creating narrative space amidst the broader accounts of historical events. Plutarch, the

most widely read biographer during the Renaissance, was an avid user of humorous

anecdotes in his biographies, and not only employed them as a narrative pause, but also

considered them to be one of the key ways a protagonist’s character was revealed.

Suetonius, a close second to Plutarch in popularity, makes use of direct discourse in the

Life of Julius Caesar to give breath to his narrative, but also to add a satirical and

comedic element as when he cites how the elder Curio called Julius Caesar “every

woman’s man and every man’s woman.” The theoretical discussion of humor was also a

frequent activity of Renaissance scholars, attested to by the sheer number of manuscripts

and books on the subject, with authors such as Bracciolini, Domenichi, Pontano,

Castiglione, and Erasmus contributing to the discussion, as well as numerous other minor

works. 1 Most of these texts leaned heavily on Cicero’s writing on the humorous in De

Oratore; his theories are prevalent in their discussions and the reappropriation of his

jokes even more so.

Humor is, however, completely lacking in most Renaissance biographies treating

female subjects, despite the profound theoretical interest in humor at that time. There are

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many plausible reasons for this marked absence. Women lived a more private existence,

leading to a void of anecdotes or personal accounts by outsiders, and the biographer

usually was not close enough to his subject to bridge this gap.2 The majority of female

biographies composed during the Renaissance were written by authors without a

substantial personal connection to their subjects but who had at least heard of their

reknown, or were commissioned to write their biographies by others who knew them.3

These authors’ intentions were anything but humorous, especially given the female

biographical genre, which focused on the exaltation of the female character and her

superior moral comportment. As previously discussed, female biographies served as a

modus operandi for future female readers, and thus principally followed the epideictic

genre of praise as set out by Plato and Aristotle, a tradition that pervaded Renaissance life

accounts. According to Aristotle, the epideictic’s genre’s principal goal was moral

edification, intended to “make our hearers take the required view of our own characters”4

and “to manipulate his manner of praise to fit the audience.”5 He states: “If the audience

esteems a given quality, we must say that our hero has that quality, no matter whether we

are addressing Scythians or Spartans or philosophers. Everything, in fact, that is esteemed

we are to represent as noble.”6 Idealization, not authenticity, therefore, was the goal of

the ancient encomiasts and panegyrists. Unlike male biographies of the Renaissance,

which were freeing themselves from this limited and archaic mode of praise, female

biographies greatly adhered to this antiquated system, operating within a rubric of

excessive and often fictive praise, demonstrating ad nauseum the virtue and perfection of

their female protagonists. As a result, the weighty dominance of the exemplum and its

potential as magister vitae, so valued in the Renaissance, overshadowed the female

! 246!

protagonist, suffocating any attempt at a real-life portrayal. The comedic element,

therefore found little to no place among such narrative constraints.

Anecdotal material, usually the biographer’s treasure trove for finding comedic

gems to offer the reader some levity, is instead used in these biographies to detail the

protagonist’s religious fervor, discussing which relic the protagonist bought and why,

how often she attended mass and recited her orations, or how she served her community.

This reality is due largely to the expectations for females during the Renaissance; a

respectable, domestic Renaissance woman was not supposed to be witty or gay – she was

to be chaste, reserved, and spiritual. Humor had little place in the recounting of her life,

even the more positive, anecdotal type.

It is only with the Post-Reformation Protestant approach to Catholic subjects that

satire and a heavy dose of humor come into play. Gregorio Leti’s 1665 Vita di Donna

Olimpia is a prime example of this.7 Not surprisingly, it is not a biography that fits

within the general rubric of moral exemplum. It does not extol Olimpia’s female virtues,

rather has a pronounced satirical flair, and follows the Ciceronian comedic objective of

pointing out the dishonorable qualities of one’s adversary, as Seutonius did so well with

his treatment of Caesar.89 According to Cicero, the use of humor in oration helps not

only to win the goodwill of the audience or demonstrate cleverness and refinement in the

speaker, it also has the potential to undermine or even destroy one’s opponent. Leti does

all three with aplomb, especially given the material and subject he had to work with.

Olimpia Maidalchini, known as “la papessa,” was sister-in-law and reputed

mistress of Pope Innocent X, who reigned from 1644 to 1655. She is most infamous for

her later years, during which she supposedly took on many papal duties, including the

! 247!

acceptance and sale of benevolences, by way of which she was able to amass a personal

fortune. Cavalier Giustiniani, Olimpia’s contemporary, said of her: “Donna Olimpia

Maidalchini is a woman of great spirit, but her sole title to influence is that of a rigid

economist. When offices fell vacant at court, nothing was decided without her good

pleasure; [. . . ]if Episcopal sees were to be conferred, it was to her that the candidates

applied; and that which most effectually revolted every upright mind was to see that those

were preferred who were most liberal in giving.”10 In short, Olimpia was not well

regarded by her contemporaries.

Gregorio Leti, or Abbe Gualdi (his penname), writes such a scathing portrait of

Olimpia in his biography that the entire ocean of epideictic blame seems to be at his

disposal, and he takes frequent trips to this port of debasement. Leti was a prolific

historical writer who, as a convert to Protestantism, railed on the church with such

ferocity and frivolity that all his works were eventually placed on the Index Librorum

Prohibitorum.11 He was not known for accuracy, and has been subsequently criticized by

countless historians; he is not helped by the discoveries that a few of his works were

plagiarizations of other works12. But Leti likewise garnished much success with his

reinvention of a genre known for platitudes and repetitious praise. He had a particular

penchant for criticizing the Catholic Church, which allowed for a more playful and witty

approach to the work, eschewing the normal methods of a Renaissance biographer.

In his introductory paragraph to the biography of Olimpia, Leti acknowledges the

current trend in Renaissance biography of setting forth a faultless protagonist for the

purpose of emulation and imitation, what he calls “separating the wheat from the chaff.”

But he also notes that doing so for Olimpia would be a violation of his responsibility to

! 248!

biographical verisimilitude: “Lo scrivere i vizii senza le virtù d’una persona, che per lo

spazio di dieci anni ebbe tanta parte nel governo della Chiesa Catolica, non si potrebbe

fare senza acquistare il titolo di eretico; e lo scrivere le virtù senza i vizii sarebbe un

toccar l’inchiostro senza imbrattarsi.”13 In the very sentence with which Leti denounces

current biographical trends of portraying only one side of the story, he uses humor to

degrade Olimpia’s character. Quintillian categorized this type of humor as dicitatus, or

“language of banter, which is a humorous form of attack,” and it is Leti’s primary method

of employing humor throughout Olimpia’s biography, a biography that would, in fact,

record only her faults and none of her virtues, despite his assertion to the contrary.

Leti is not a “responsible” biographer as he would suggest, but an equal

opportunity satirist, dealing out comical denouncements with ubiquity and flair, to all

parties, and most especially to his villain and heroine, Olimpia Maidalchini. As a convert

from Catholicism to Protestantism, he also targets the church and the clerics as

intellectually clumsy or guilty parties who shamefully allowed Olimpia to gain power. He

uses all types of humor in doing so, especially the simile, as when he comments on the

voting procedure of the papal conclave and how the characters of cardinals, on such

occasions, were as cheap as onions in the market.14 He uses colorful descriptive nouns

and adjectives to create humor, as in his description of the Pope who had an inferior brain

that only Cardinal Panzicolo could influence: “Questo cardinal Panzirolo era l’unico

instromento che faceva ruotare la gran mole del cervello pontificio doppo donna

Olimpia.”15

Leti’s preferred form of humor, however, is the anecdote, thus demonstrating

himself to be a veritable heir of Renaissance models for humor, based so firmly upon the

! 249!

use of facetiae (witty remarks), sententiae (sayings, sometimes humorous in content), and

anecdotes. He also demonstrates a particular fondness for over-exaggeration as in his

description of the conclave following Pope Innocent X’s death and the divisions between

those who supported and opposed Olimpia. He writes: “I cardinali nemici per vederla

ruinata avrebbono dato il voto al diavolo, non che ad un cardinal cattivo, pure che fosse

stato suo nemico, e gli amici non si fossero curati d’escludere un santo se però avesse

mostrato sentimenti contrari a donna Olimpia.”16

However, in the sections of the biography where Olimpia is at her zenith of

power, Leti’s narrative becomes sober and accusatory. Cicero in fact maintained that

humor should never mock the miserable, and likewise should never be used with true

villains, because the audience wants them to be “wounded by a weapon more forceful

than humor.” In his view, “the easiest things to make fun of are those that deserve

neither great hatred nor exceptional pity.”17 In keeping with this precept, Leti constructs a

mutli-layered work whose register changes from blame to humor according to the

influence and dominance of his protagonist in the various stages of her life. This paper

will demonstrate this ebb and flow approach, as well as discuss his humor in its various

forms and how, as a result of his mish-mash approach, his work dabbles in various

genres, such as theater, biography, the chronicle, and the novel. It will also make the

claim that, though Leti’s style differs drastically from that of his biographical

predecessors, the Olimpia he portrays still remains a fixed and flat type, very much like

the other women of our study.

Unlike his biographical predecessors, such as Plutarch, Suetonius and

Machiavelli, who only implemented humor when it could in some way be attributed to

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the words of a first- or second-hand witness, as with anecdotes or quotations, Leti’s

satirical implementation of humor acts as an authorial intrusion into the text, which

makes for a very pleasant read, but undermines his status as a historian. This however,

was probably of no concern to Leti, whose other works are rife with similar disdain for

the Catholic Church. Leti does understand, however, Cicero’s claim that true villains

should be wounded by something more powerful than humor, and that to truly denounce

the church and reveal all her trespasses, gravitas was needed. The biography therefore

begins and concludes with humor, whereas in the portions of the work in which Leti

seeks to release his most poisonous arrows, humor is infrequent. This technique is in

noted contrast to that of Seutonius and Machiavelli. Seutonius, in his biography of Julius

Caesar, refrains from the use of comedic elements in his introductory and concluding

paragraphs, and Machiavelli resists using it at all during his biography of Castruccio

Castracani, preferring the anecdotes of Castracani’s life to be listed after his conclusion

so as not to compromise his historical text. Leti does the exact opposite, preferring to

grab the reader at the outset, promising them entertainment and levity. His choice to do

so gives the reader the sense that his narrative is mock-serious and that what awaits them

is a lively story that bears the marks of theatrical entertainment. His first lines, in fact,

firmly establish the work within the theatrical vein: “Non è mio pensiere di scrivere

esattamente la vita di donna Olimpia, che fu un maschio vestito da donna per la città di

Roma ed una donna vestita da maschio per la Chiesa Romana.”18 In almost every

contemporary comedy, cross-dressing was a key element of all sorts of tricks and

misunderstandings. Leti therefore begins his narrative not only by focusing on Olimpia’s

transcendence of her female role, but also by signaling the comedic tradition.

! 251!

This framing, which emphasizes the fictional process, becomes even more

apparent when he follows the above statement with another that undermines biographical

writing itself. He asserts that he cannot write a biography according to the trends of the

current age, in which fiction becomes fact:

Troppo cattiva impressione ha ricevuto il nostro secolo dall’operazioni di questa donna, onde, quantunque uno scrittore volesse affaticarsi di scegliere il grano dalla mondiglia, cioè metter da parte il buono e tralasciare il cattivo, già che il secolo presente suol metter la mano a tali funzioni quando si tratta della vita de’ grandi, non sarebbe creduto, mentre il mondo ha prima veduto le mondiglie che il grano. Pazzo secolo, sto per dire, che inventasti lo scrivere, se lo scrivere doveva servire nel mondo per far del falso vero e del vero falso! 19

The reader cannot help but glean from both of these passages the allusion to theatric

pretense and literary fabrication, especially evident in the contraposition of such words as

“cattivo” and “buono,” and “vero” and “falso.”

For those who have read the dedication preceding the work, this aspect is even

more visible. The dedication was likely written by Leti’s publisher because it differs so

drastically from Leti’s biographical style, but is, nevertheless, rife with hilarity and a

playful application of misogynist thinking. The author writes that he dedicates his work

“alle vostre gentilezze, nobilissime Signore” because he doesn’t know “a chi meglio

dedicare la vita d’una signora di sì gran fama che al medesimo sesso che n’ha ricevuto

l’onore.”20 The implied insult to Leti’s female readers, who of course have heard of

Olimpia’s perfidy, is spirited and provocative in style, and he continues this approach,

writing in mock disdain, “Vi sarà permesso, o Signore, d’amar gli eclesiastici, e

particolarmente i confessori, ma non già di scordarvi de’ mariti, per amar troppo le robbe

de’ preti. Se ne trovano di quelle che trattengono molto più con il confessore nel

confessionario che con i mariti nel letto.”21 This jocular tone of criticism continues

! 252!

throughout the dedication, as he reminds his female readers that women should never be

in charge of public affairs because woman’s desire to rule is like the leaves of the olive

tree that seem to resist the fire, shrieking all over, but in the end, burn without making a

flame. 22 In other words, women who rule make a lot of noise (political or otherwise),

but do not accomplish much, and eventually fade out of power. This is quite an assertion

to make about the readers to whom he is supposedly dedicating his work, though this is

of course not a guarantee that he actually intended the work for female readership. Much

like Boccaccio in his Decameron, Leti’s dedication to women could just be part of the

fun.

Leti then asserts that a woman’s primary talent is in spending money, not accruing

it, but if she ever does accrue it, she spends it on clothes, thereby robbing from her

children’s inheritance. In his final affirmation the author recommends, with a strong dose

of irony, that they should learn from Olimpia’s example, because she instead stole from

the clergymen, who were rich, to give to the poor, her family. In summary, he first

playfully cautions his female readers to avoid the pitfalls of Olimpia’s life, such as

dalliances with priests, or involving themselves in manly affairs, but then tells them that

they should follow Olimpia’s example by stealing, though, unlike her, they should give

their spoils to the poor.

This dedication therefore sets the tone of the entire work, and the readers settle

back with a smile on their faces, in expectation of the comedy to follow. But its style,

both crude and sensational, bears very little resemblance to the actual biography, whose

misogynist leanings are more varied in style, and cloaked in Olimpia’s blame. I would

venture to agree with the assertion that the dedication was written by the publisher,

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whose intent was to solicit interest in the work. I would also venture to assert that the

note from the publisher, which follows the dedication, was actually written by Leti. It is a

brief note, and its primary purpose seems that of imbuing his pseudonym, Abbe Gualdi,

with more credibility. The “publisher” writes of Gualdi: “Egli amava la verità oltre modo

e sarebbe stato forse cardinale s’all’uso della corte di Roma avesse saputo adulare il

falso.”23 Again, the reader is faced with the contrasting words of truth and fiction. That

the publisher and Leti likely wrote each other’s part is yet another indication that the

beginning of this biography toys with the reader and makes fun of the biographical genre

as a whole.

When Leti criticizes the present age for its awful demonstration of the

biographical genre in the first pages of the work, the reversal of themes (truth and fiction,

good and bad) becomes even more prevalent. He thus questions himself, saying, “Ma

perché biasimo lo scrivere, s’io medesimo pretendo di scrivere?”24 He immediately

replies, “Ah che lo scrivere ciò che veggono gli occhi è una virtù naturale, tanto

conveniente alla natura che, a farne il contrario, sarebbe uno snaturalizare il mondo dal

mondo.”25 Excessive here is the use of the word natural- he uses derivations of the word

three times, “natura, naturale, snaturalizare,” all having to do with the act of writing, and

all signaling the reversal that takes place in historical writing. The word “contrario” and

the phrase “snaturalizare il mondo dal mondo” further communicate this sense of

inversion. Thus, in the first few pages of the work, we have three contrapositions: fact vs

fiction, good vs. bad, and natural vs. unnatural. But nowhere is his emphasis on theater so

clear as when he affirms that he will only tell what he saw with his own eyes, what the

“theater of Rome” put on display for him: “[. . . ] ho promesso di non trattar che di quella

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sola materia che il teatro di Roma m’ha rappresentato negli occhi per lo spazio di 25 e più

anni.”26

The duplicity of Leti’s authorship is at its peak here because, though Leti was

educated in the church, he was never a clergyman as his penname would indicate, though

he did grow up under the care of his uncle who was a Catholic bishop.27 After converting

to Protestantism in his later life, he lived in Geneva, where Protestantism and its

influences were quite strong. Abbe Gualdi supposedly witnessed these events with his

own eyes, but that is something Leti could never have done, given his various locations

of residence as attested to by his personal letters. Gualdi is, therefore, a fictional narrator

who will continually intrude into the text, reminding the reader that he has heard of the

events from someone who witnessed them first-hand, or even that he has seen them

himself. This framing, then, of inversion and invented authorship is reminiscent of the

Boccaccian cornice (not to mention the Boccacian themes of clerical wrongdoings) and

imbues the text with a fictional façade while also calling playful attention to the fact that

it is doing just that.

The readers, whether or not they are aware of Leti’s false penname, at least enter

into the text with the hopes of a lighthearted novelistic biography. They might initially be

disappointed, however, because Leti begins with Olimpia’s younger years and how she

showed herself to be controlling from an early age. He recounts a humorless anecdote of

how, being pressured to become a nun, Olimpia accused her confessor of molestation,

causing him to be sent to prison for many years. He uses this event to forshadow her

future misdeeds: “L’accidente di questo Confessore fu un’inditio chiaro, di quelle

persecutioni, che dovevano ricevere nel Pontificato d’Innocentio, mediante Donna

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Olimpia, tanti poveri Religiosi, e Prelati banditi, perseguitati, e maltrattati

innocentemente, solo per non haver danari da contribuire a questa Donna, che ambiva

tanto l’oro, e l’argento.”28 Leti follows this grim and moralizing story with how Olimpia

met her husband and the love that appeared to grow between the two. Here the reader’s

hopes for a more entertaining read are re-ignited. When introducing the waning of

Olimpia’s affection towards her husband, Leti calls Olimpia’s life a tragi-comedy, again

referencing theater: “la prima Scena, che si rappresentò nel Teatro del Popolo Romano,

sopra il sogetto della vita di Donna Olimpia, che si può dire una Tragicomedia, [. . . ] fu

la mancanza dell’amore verso il suo marito.”29 At this point in the biography, following

this obvious references to the theatrical, Leti’s humor resurfaces.

This portion of the biography contains an abundance of dry wit, such as the

comment that Olimpia bestowed compliments liberally because they cost nothing. Leti

recounts Olimpia’s vices with such aplomb and exaggerations that the readers both laugh

and drop their jaws upon reading such extremes. He likewise fills this portion of text with

a great number of Pasquinades that circulated in and around the city during the papal

conclave and following the eventual election of Olimpia’s brother-in-law to the papacy.

Pasquino was a famous statue, broken and half missing, found buried in front of a

storefront in Piazza Navona in the 15th century, very near Olimpia’s pre-papal residence.

Upon this statue the Romans would paste or hang their satirical and anti-clerical verses

under the cover of night, oftentimes placing the paper directly into his mouth. These

verses were then collected and published under Pasquino’s name, called Pasquinades.30

Papal dismay at such activity made guarding the statue necessary, which served only to

give birth to brother and sister statues throughout the city who would also engage in

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conversations with their elder brother Pasquino. Leti’s last humorous insertions, before a

more lengthy and entrenched serious section of invective against Olimpia, refer to the

many Pasquinades about the Pope’s election, especially targeting his hatred for the

Barbarines who had opposed his election:

Se sarà fatto Panfilio, I Barbarini andranno in esilio. (If the Pope will be Pamphile The Barbarines will be sent into exile)

Se sarà Panfilio papa, Io vi giuro, o Barbarini, Che la nostra Maldachini Vi farà del capo rapa. (If Pamphilio will be the pope I swear to you, o Barbarines That our Maldachin’ Will make of you a dope) 31

Even more humorous were the Pasquinades made in reaction to Pamphilio’s election to

the papacy, which were often accompanied by drawings. One in particular depicted

Pasquino laden down with boots and spurs; the caption is a question from Marforio (one

of Pasquino’s brother statues), asking him where he is going, to which he responds,

“Porto spironi e stivali per li Barbarini, perché se ne vogliono fuggir questa notte di

Roma.” 32 But the final Pasquinian image Leti describes is the most damaging: it depicts

Pasquino carrying a washbasin with the papal crown inside, covered by a female veil.

When asked where he is going, he responds, “Porto un presente che il papa manda a

donna Olimpia.” 33

Leti explains that this Pasquinade shows the transference of Pamphilio’s power to a

woman and that, in the very moment he was named Pope, he began to think immediately

of his sister-in-law, telling one of his confidants to take her the news.34

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Leti pokes fun at this theatrical reversal of gender roles throughout the biography,

perhaps the most amusing example of which is his depiction of a gold medal that was

given to the Pope, depicting Olimpia on one side with the papal cap on and with the keys

to St. Peter’s in her hand, the Pope on the other side wearing a lady’s hat, carrying a

spindle and spinning distaff in his hands. A reproduction of what the medal looked like is

represented in an English translation (1846) of Leti’s work:

Leti writes that a Cardinal showed the Pope the medal, not to humiliate him, but because

he “aspirava alla ruina di questa donna competitrice, giocando senza parer di giocare e

mostrando di far del bene a chi faceva del male.”35 This quote again hints at the theatrical

nature of the work and Olimpia’s life portrayal, in which not everything is what it seems

and the world is often upside down.

The prominent theme of female dominance and role reversals creates a

complexity of representation that becomes hard to dissect because, throughout the whole

biography, Leti both criticizes Olimpia for her feminity while also stripping her of her

female identity. He even says that she was disdainful of her own sex: “più volte confessò,

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che non haveva parole da perder con un sesso del quale non ne conservava altro, che ciò

che non poteva rinunciare.”36 The way Leti tells it, Olimpia bore no maternal instincts

and was an atrocious mother, neglecting her childrens’ education and caring nothing for

her only son, Camillo, who was widely known for his below-average intelligence. She

even convinced the Pope to nominate him to the privileged position of Cardinal Nephew,

despite the consequences this nomination would have for her family’s perpetuation, her

son being the last of the Pamphili heirs: “contentandosi meglio di veder’ estinta la casa

Panfilia, che di scemare un poco della sua autorità, che teneva sovra il Pontefice, come

credeva che potesse succedere, con il matrimonio del figliuolo.” 37

Olimpia’s control over the Pope at this point is firmly rooted in the readers’

minds, but in case they have any doubt, they can expect quotes like the following to

decorate the pages: “Ecco lo Stato misero nel quale si ritrovavano i parenti d’Innocentio,

mediante l’avidità di Donna Olimpia, la quale haveva levato l’adito a tutti non volendo

permettere a chi si sia d’impossessarsi dell’affetto del suo Cognato, che lo tenea quasi

come suo schiavo, mentre bisognava che questo ogni cosa facesse per lei, dove che l’altra

non faceva per lui, che ciò che piaceva a lei.” 38

At the same time, she is assigned another trait quite stereotypical of female

invective, jealousy, which Leti highlights in the relationship between her and the Princess

Rossano, her daughter-in-law, with whom her son Camillo fell deeply in love and for

whom he renounced his Cardinalship after only a few years of service. He claimed that

marriage would be preferable to serving in a post for which he was ill-suited. The couple

was married but immediately sent away, according to Leti, because of Olimpia’s

immense jealousy: “Non s’havrebbe questa Signora tanto scaldato a procurar’ al Prencipe

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l’uscita di Roma, con questo poco d’honore, se non le fosse entrato un Martello di gelosia

nella testa, che bastava a rodere il cuore d’una Donna che pareva nata per li sospetti, e

gelosie.” 39

Again Leti references Olimpia’s lack of maternal instinct and states that this

instance shows how she would “scordare i propri legami naturali del sangue,

andandosene altiera dominando, e torcendo il voler Pontifico a suo beneplacito, e

volontà”40 Despite being sent away, her son received a post as General, but Leti asserts

that Olimpia’s intention for granting him this post was not to honor her son, but to keep

him away from Rome: “Il fine di Donna Olimpia non era d’honorare il suo Genero, con il

Generelato, nè ingrandirlo con il proveccio che da questo gli poteva prevenire, ma solo

perche [lo] voleva con questa occasione tener lontano di Roma.”41 This pun, drawing a

comparison between the words “offspring” and “general” emphasizes, yet again,

Olimpia’s lack of concern for her offspring, and, more to the point, how she commanded

them as a general does his soldiers. Leti even avoids using the word daughter or mother

when referring to Olimpia and her children. Instead of calling Maria Olimpia’s daughter,

he refers to her as Don Camillo’s sister. When he starts a new paragraph about her

daughter’s marriage, he writes: “Delle due sorelle di Don Camillo, la prima fu maritata a

Don Andrea Giustiniani.” 42 This could make narrative sense had Don Camillo been the

subject of the preceding sentence or paragraph, but he is not, and this strange reference

causes the reader to pause and question whether or not Don Camillo had half sisters or

step sisters who are not Olimpia’s children, because otherwise Leti would have used the

more natural choice of “Olimpia’s daughter.”43 Olimpia is therefore stripped of her

positive feminine and maternal qualities, while being criticized for the negative female

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attributes, such as jealousy and desire for mastery, that she apparently possessed to such

high degrees.

The following lengthy citation is just a taste of the mixture of gendered criticism

and praise that Leti employs:

Ebbe però questa signora il dominio sopra il genio e persona del papa gran tempo prima, come già ho detto, perché, essendo ella donna di non mediocre spirito e di buono giudicio, seppe così bene valersi a luogo ed a tempo de’ mezi nicessari e bisognevoli per accattivarsi la volontà del cognato, come quella che antivedeva tutto ciò ch’era per riuscire, che non solo governava la persona di questo a suo beneplacito e la casa a suo modo, mentre era vescovo, cardinale e nunzio, ma di più, anco doppo divenuto pontefice, si seppe così bene mantenere nel posesso delle grazie, tra il colmo delle grandezze, col tener lontano tutto ciò che non dipendeva da lei, che non poté così facilmente esser crollata, non che scossa, né dalla considerazione dell’inconvenienza di vedere che il sopremo capo della Chiesa sogiacesse così volontariamente agli sfrenati appetiti d’un’ambiziosissima donna, né dalle voci comuni di tutta la corte perché, sorpresso l’aiuto che solevano avere i pontefici dall’assistenza de’ nipoti, di necessità bisognò che il maneggio di tutti i negozii rimanesse in potere della discrezione di questa donna, la quale con scaltro giudicio, per inchiodare la ruota alla sua fortuna, precipitò tutti su il bel principio del ponteficato, non permettendo l’ingresso alle stanze pontificie che solo a quelli che volevano entrare col mezo delle sue chiavi. E veramente da chi poteva signoreggiarsi il ponteficato se non da colei che aveva signoreggiato e che signoreggiava la volontà del papa? Meritò questa signora d’esser lodata con il titolo di giudiciosa ed accorta anco da quelli che la biasimavano per avara ed empia, ed è certo che ogni altra donna sarebbe precipitata, in tante congiunture sinistre, prima di sei mesi, e pure ella regnò per più di sei anni, meritando tanto maggiormente d’esser lodata, quanto che non si trovava in lei altra sorte di virtù che un’esatta economia donnesca, con la quale seppe così bene investirsi degli affetti del papa, che non poté fare il meno di darli l’apertura ad ogni sorte di governo, facendosi il tutto lecito, anzi non trovando lecito che il solo suo gusto. 44

Here again, Olimpia is criticized as having fallen prey to the weakness of her sex, yet is

also set apart from her sex, as an exception above the rest, as a result of her resilience.

She is also praised for taking the vices of her sex to such extremes that she is able to

“signoreggiare” with her “economia donnesca.” Leti is not intentional in the way he deals

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out his blame – when it suits him, he both praises and criticizes her for being a woman,

and when it suits him, he praises or blames her for her masculinity. This results in a

narrative that is quite a cacophony of ideas and syntax. The first sentence in the above

paragraph, for example, lasts for more than a page, and attests to this rhetoric of tirade,

which results in a shift of focus from the message to the medium of invective itself. Leti

seems to be having a great deal of fun as he writes, and enjoys dusting Olimpia’s

character with every criticism that comes to mind, whether or not these criticism are

inherently contradictory.

The end result is that this form of vituperio, which throws blame in a haphazard

manner, is not able to offer the reader a concrete vision of Olimpia’s personality and

individuality. Her character remains a type, a transparent representation of a person,

much like other biographies of the time, except, of course, that she becomes the anti-

exemplum of our biographical journey. Leti continues in this vein for quite a few pages,

repeating the same thematic content while neglecting to offer any specific facts. Any

precise image of Olimpia is muddled by the onslaught of criticisms being thrown at her,

calling to mind the image of an angry mob throwing rotten fruit at a faceless statue on a

stage. The mob does not care what the statue looks like, nor whether it moves or breathes,

the fun is in the act of throwing the rotten fruit, or in Leti’s case, the blame.

Together with Olimpia’s masculine dominance and jealousy, her avarice is

another protagonist of her biography. To say that the lines of the biography are rife with

references to this would be a gross understatement. In fact, the main focus of Leti’s

humor is that of placing this aspect of her character in relief. Narrative facetiae are found

generously dappled throughout, mainly in the form of anecdotes. In one particular section

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Leti even lets humor take over entirely, writing one humorous anecdote after another, in

ascending quality of jocularity, all shedding light on Olimpia’s penchant for making

money. In fact, when treating Olimpia’s dominance, Leti generally prefers the serious

register, but in demonstrating her avarice, he makes ample room for humor, specifically

anecdotal in form. For example, Leti tells the story of a man who sent Olimpia a vase

made of pottery that she promptly dropped on the floor, saying “Se foss[e] stato

d’argento non si sarebbe rotto in questa maniera,” to which the servant replied, “Se

foss[e] stato d’argento sarebbe stato di V.E., non già del mio padrone.” 45

Leti also tells how Olimpia received so many bribes, it was rumored that she

eventually stopped looking at her gifts, assuming that if they were sent by lowly priests

they would not be worth enough to keep, and she would systematically send them back

without even opening them. Two priests were discussing this fact, one arguing that she

still did an inventory of everything, the other maintaining she did not. So the one told the

other he should send her his most prized possession, a silver washbowl, and if he were

right he would receive it back, unopened. He complied and subsequently lost: “Ma certo

il povero canonico restò deluso con la perdita del bacile, perché la buona dama guardò

ogni cosa, mandando a dire al signor canonico che aveva inviato il presente che lo

ringraziava non poco della sua civiltà, mostrandosi egli molto più cortese degli altri.”46

This anecdote is immediately followed by another bearing marked Boccaccian

influences, based on the premise of trickery and contrivances of two parties. It is the story

of a merchant who is instructed by Olimpia to procure him a diamond during his travels.

She does so in the hopes that he will instead gift her the diamond, as he is very rich, but

offers nonetheless to reimburse him for it, so as to maintain a proper sense of decorum.

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He realizes his dilemma and eventually hatches his own scheme. He decides to bring her

the diamond as a gift, but to hold onto her letter, which he would then use after her death,

as a type of promissory note. When he offers her the diamond as a gift, she asks for her

letter to be returned, as it contained her declaration that she would, in fact, pay for it,

which of course she is hoping to avoid. He is greatly disappointed at this request and tells

her that he has lost it, to which she responds that she would, then, like a receipt

confirming that the diamond was a gift! The poor man is therefore outwitted in his own

scheme: “La qual cosa non potendo ricusare, ubbidì a’ cenni della donna per non rompere

i buoni principi de’ suoi interessi, restando in questa maniera deluso nello stesso tempo

che credeva deludere.”47 This type of theatrical or novellesque anecdote, in which the

deceiver is himself deceived, is quite amusing, and further contributes to the construct of

fictive reversal, with which Leti toys throughout the entire biography. But in general his

anecdotes are less developed stories that serve merely to add a little flair.

Many of the contemporary humorous attacks made by the citizens of Rome

against Olimpia were visual in form, and Leti describes them in detail. Talented sketch

artists tried their hand at visual depictions of Olimpia’s avarice, sometimes leading to

their imprisonment if they were caught. According to Leti, in fact, the men who crafted

the following Pasquinade met with this fate:

fu un’imagine dipinta sopra tela, di lunghezza di due palmi ed altretanto larga, nella quale si vedeva un camariere (intendo dipinto) che con una mano batteva un certo prete che voleva entrar dentro la casa di donna Olimpia con una borsa vuota e con l’altra ne introduceva un altro che n’aveva una piena e così grande che difficilmente la poteva portare. Di sotto il prete che aveva in mano la borsa vuota v’era scritto: Ite, maledicti, in ignem eternum; e di sotto quello che l’aveva piena: Venite benedicti Patris mei; e ne’ piedi del camariere; Bene veneritis, si portaveritis. Ma di più curioso v’era dipinta, dalla finestra del palazzo che formava il teatro, la signora donna Olimpia che sporgeva solo la testa fuori, in atto quasi

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minaccevole, con il motto di sotto che diceva: Io non ricevo ingrati: perché dunque molestarmi?48

Another Pasquino sketch, depicting Olimpia’s avarice, uses a pun to emphasize its point:

“Li Romani [. . . ] non lasciavano d’inventar pasquinate a pasquinate, onde si finse un

giorno (pure in pittura) che Pasquinio domandava a Marforio dov’era la porta di donna

Olimpia e questo gli rispondeva Pasquinio caro, è segno che tu non porti niente, perché la

porta di donna Olimpia ha un certo segreto, che chi porta la vede e chi non porta non la

può trovare.”49

Leti’s playful style lends itself extremely well to this use of puns, which he

employs frequently throughout the biography to demonstrate the absurdity of her power,

the disdain others had regarding such power, and Olimpia’s perfidy in the management of

papal affairs. At the Pope’s nearing of death, for example, Leti states that she “gives out

benefices with her eyes closed as long as they have their hands open.” In response to

Olimpia’s recommendation that the Cardinals in the conclave (following Innocent’s

death) should make Cardinal Medici the head of affairs, he writes their reply: “che ognun

di loro aveva capo e piedi da caminare senza cercare ad impresto il capo degli altri.” Or

when Cardinal Cherubino (a Cardinal who had connections with Olimpia) is proposed as

Pope, the other Cardinals respond, “Io l’escludo perché non voglio che donna Olimpia

trovi la sua gloria tra i Cherubini.”50 No pun is more obvious, however, than the

following pun using the Pope’s name, here quoted at length to give the reader a taste of

its potency:

La Chiesa non ha l’occasione di lamentarsi di lui come lui, ma si lamenta in lui di donna Olimpia; s’egli avesse fatto vivere donna Olimpia in lui e non lui in donna Olimpia, certo che le sue ceneri meritarebbono il sepolcro dell’eternità e non dell’oblivione, dove bisogna sepellirle per non rinovare la memoria della cognata. Egli non fu innocente, perché donna

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Olimpia fu Innocenzio; ma se donna Olimpia fosse stata innocente, egli meritarebbe il vero nome d’Innocenzio.51

Such a play on words with Innocent’s and Olimpia’s names was commonplace during his

reign. Six months prior to his death, Leti recounts that “alcuni spiriti scapestrati” went

around the city and, wherever the Pope’s name was written, changed his name to

Olimpia’s: “dove diceva INNOCENTIVS X PONTIFEX MAXIMVS loro fecero

OLIMPIA PRIMVS PONTIFEX MAXIMVS,” or just “OLIMPIA PRIMA PAPESSA.”52

Following this occurrence, pamphlets began circulating with the words, “Olimpia primus

pontifex non maximus.”53 These frequent puns traveled throughout the city in the form

of biglietti (pamphlets) or Pasquinades, both so ubiquitous during that time that Leti says

he cannot quote them all. He says that, “i più scaltri cervelli studiavano notte e giorno

satire e pasquinate per dar motivo maggiore al popolo di scandalizzarsi del procedere di

questi due personaggi.”54

Here Leti admits that people were hard at work in the art of character defamation,

yet he accepts these accounts of Olimpia’s life and passes them on to his reader. He does

not attempt to consider that the rumors around Rome were not always true, rather fills his

biography with every possible negative account of her life. Historians in fact say that the

“legenda nera” of Olimpia’s life began with Leti because, despite its sensationalist

content, his text actually becomes a primary source for information on Olimpia’s life for

future historians and biographers.55 This may come as a surprise, given the above

description of his haphazard style of comedy and blame. But there is also another side to

Leti’s narrative. In many sections of his biography, some quite lengthy, he does not delve

into the humorous vein whatsoever, rather recounts with seemingly historical accuracy

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the perfidious influence of Olimpia Maidalchini. His text, as a result, maintains a

semblance of historical authenticity.

As the biography unfolds, in fact, Leti’s humor gives way to an earnest exposition

of Olimpia’s nefarious dealings. The passages in which Leti truly attempts to demean and

degrade Olimpia’s character do not contain any trace of humor; his tone is serious and

direct. In this, he follows the rhetorical exigencies of Aristotle and Cicero, the first who

states that comedy, in dealing mainly with blame, should only do so with actions that are

ridiculous and not painful, and the second that villains should be wounded by a weapon

more forceful than humor. This recommendation is prevalent in all of the treatises on

humor in the Renaissance, yet its premise resides in the natural inclinations of common

sense. If true damage is to be inflicted, humor can be counterproductive. Quintillian

notes, “The chief difficulty which confronts the orator [when implementing the comedic]

lies in the fact that sayings designed to raise a laugh are generally untrue [and] are often

deliberately distorted.”56 In keeping with these premises, the sections of Leti’s biography

in which he truly seeks to convince his reader of Olimpia’s faults are conspicuously

devoid of satire or humor. Leti is in earnest when he writes the following lines:

L’avidità de’ Barbarini nell’accumular danari, che fu la più grande che vedesse mai Roma, in considerazione di quella d’Innocenzio... (ho errato) di donna Olimpia, era picciola. Tutti i giudici criminalisti venivano fatti secondo la racomandazione di detta signora, la quale gli dava instruzzioni barbare, ma profittevoli alla sua avarizia. Gli raccordava che castigassero la borsa, non il sangue, e bene spesso gli scriveva che mandassero il danaro ricevuto da’ rei, perché intendeva d’applicarlo al beneficio de’ poveri. [. . . ]Altro non si sentiva parlare per Roma che dell’avidità di questa donna e pareva strano ad ognuno, perché nel tempo di tanti altri pontefici, carichi d’una infinità di nipoti, che tutti rubavano, per non dire che procuravano d’arrichirsi, non si vedevano tante estorsioni come nel tempo d’Innocenzio, che ogni cosa si ristringeva ad arricchir donna Olimpia.57

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Nor is Leti implementing even the slightest bit of irony or satire when he makes the

following sweeping observation about the reversal of roles in the Papacy:

Le istorie de’ secoli passati non ci hanno mai rappresentato né ci rappresentano simili casi, non dico di pontefici, perché questo fu unico, ma parlo d’altri prencipi e monarchi. È vero che alcuno, anco tiranno, s’è dato in preda di qualche donna, alla quale, se ben dava gli affetti del cuore, non dava il scetro della mano. Se gli permetteva l’ingresso nel suo letto, non le concedeva quello del suo consiglio; se in secreto l’adorava, in publico la biasimava; se gli faceva dono della sua persona, non le faceva però presente del regno; se voleva che comandasse a lui, la privava che s’ingerisse di comandare a’ popoli; [. . . ]. Ma Innocenzio tutto al contrario donò a donna Olimpia e gli affetti ed il cuore e la mano e la persona ed il regno senza limiti, senza misura e senza rispetto ed è più che vero che mai alcun re diede tanta auttorità alla moglie, che mai alcuna regina vedova e regnante comandò con tanta auttorità i suoi consigli con quanta se ne aveva usurpato donna Olimpia e sovra il papa e sovra i consigli e sovra i popoli. Passò tanto oltre l’arrogante dominio di questa donna che volle rompere e che infatti sconquassò tutti gli ordinari divieti de’ sagrati consigli e ridusse i decreti de’ pontefici passati a tal segno che si dubitava di qualche nuova scisma alla Chiesa. Ben è vero che assai scisma era il vedere una donna divenuta papa ed un papa divenuto donna. Mille esempi si potrebbono qui adurre della non intesa auttorità di donna Olimpia, ma sono in vero cose che più tosto inorridiscono le orecchie che consolino l’ingegno. Un solo però ne può restringere molti e sodisfare con la brevità il lettore.58

Though Leti jokes about this role reversal in other parts of the biography, here he is sober

and adamant. Both of these citations strike a pronounced contrast to his more salacious

and witty narrative style. He leaves no room for incredulity. Even more to the point, these

paragraphs are framed by a conspicuous absence of humor in the text both leading up to

and following the citations. The narrative in these sections is noticeably temperate and,

dare I say, historical. The reader of Olimpia’s life is thereby led, almost unknowingly,

from an amusing carnival of satire that pervades the beginning of the biography, into a

somber chamber of truth where her vices are both exposed and condemned.

Leti is systematic and unrelenting in his efforts to persuade the reader of

Olimpia’s two primary faults, avarice and prepotency. He calls her a “modern

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Agrippina,” and when he truly intends to convince the reader of her cunning, jealousy,

and robberies of the church, he is succinct and lugubrious.59 This section occurs about a

quarter of the way through his biography, during which her brother-in-law is about to

become Pope and her hold on him begins to tighten. As soon as the conclave concludes,

Leti turns his focus to Olimpia, saying: “Se fu grande allegrezza di Donna Olimpia, si

lascia considerare à coloro che hanno inteso parlare, della natura ambitiosa di commando,

che possedeva questa Donna, e dell’autorità che teneva sovra lo Spirito del cognate.”60

Here Leti appeals to his contemporary readers to listen to the tidal wave of humorous

derision they have already heard circulated about her, and apply that knowledge to the

information he is about to release with such abundance and gravity, the reader almost

drowns under its weight.

For 177 grim pages, Leti rails against Olimpia, detailing her perfidy and greed,

but also her powerful influence. The first portion of this section details Olimpia’s feud

with the Barbarini family, noting that her first act at court was to ruin the Barbarines. The

Barbarini, particularly Cardinal Antonio Barbarini, had opposed the Pope’s election

because of Olimpia’s known influence over him. During the conclave, Leti quotes

Cardinal Barbarini as saying that “in queste congiunture di tempi non era bene di dar

motivo di scandalo agli eretici, i quali senza alcun dubbio, vedendo il papa cedere i suoi

arbitrii alla volontà d’una donna, avrebbono preso mille pretesti di lacerare la Chiesa con

cento scritture seminate per Roma sotto il nome di Pasquino.” 61

That there existed a feud between the two families is not disputed by history, and

Pope Innocent X, upon his election, almost immediately conducted an investigation of the

widespread nepotism and misuse of church funds by his Barbarini predecessor, Pope

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Urban VIII (Maffeo Barbarini). Pasquino’s premonitions would eventually become

reality as all three Barbarini Cardinals were forced into exile and fled to Paris. Leti places

the blame for this entirely on Olimpia: “Con tutto ciò [il Papa] s’era risoluto solamente di

mortificarlo, ma donna Olimpia l’instigò sempre all’esterminio totale, certa d’appropriare

alla sua casa tutte le abazie ed entrate ch’esso cardinale possedeva dentro lo stato

ecclesiastico.”62 Leti continues his barrage by highlighting the more pressing papal affairs

that bore the mark of Olimpia’s involvement, such as the appointment of Cardinal

nephews, marriages, and her overall extortion of church funds. Her avarice is presented in

a multi-layered fashion, in which the historical facts and details, void of humor and

bolstered by his insistence that his information was provided from first-hand accounts,

intermingle and support one another, forming a narrative web of sincerity. This section is

tinged with frequent misogynistic references, but here they are not playful or reminiscent

of the theatrical element of comedy. For example, he states that after the death of

Cardinal Panzicolo (the only man who had any influence over the Pope), “il governo fu

feminile e scandaloso,”63and he bolsters his accusations of avarice with the ubiquitous

stereotype of female greed: “Le Donne non pensano ad altro, che a quello che veggono

con gli occhi e & a ciò che toccano con le mani.”64 Olimpia is no exception to her sex

and, according to Leti, has “gli sfrenati appetiti d’un’ambitiosissima Donna.”65

Leti paints a picture of this “insatiable appetite” for power in a lengthy description

of how Olimpia first attempted to influence the Pope shortly after he assumed power. Of

pronounced interest to our study, she used the art of biography, by convincing the Pope to

read Pope Alexander VI’s life. Pope Alexander VI, Rodrigo Borgia, is of course, a

surprising choice. He was a pope infamous for his military pursuits and expansion of the

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Catholic Church’s territories, not to mention the infamy of his son, Cesare Borgia, who

was ruthless in these endeavors. Leti writes, “La prima lezione che diede donna Olimpia

al cognato fu barbara (né paia strano se dico lezione, perché un maestro di scola non ha

tanta autorità sopra uno scolare quanta n’aveva questa sopra lo spirito del papa), perché

lo consigliò a farsi leggere la vita d’Alesandro sesto, che fu uno de’ pontefici più barbari

che vedessi mai il Vaticano.”66 Leti asserts that her purpose in doing so was not to induce

the Pope to cruelty, but, on the contrary, to keep him pleasant and simple, so as to more

easily manipulate him (“maggiormente girare e voltare a suo modo”).67 Her reasoning

then, was to remove all possible scruples he may have had about a women in political

control: “faceva questo per levargli ogni sorte di scropolo e fargli vedere che non era cosa

nuova per li pontefici il darsi in preda delle donne.”68 Leti observes that Olimpia drew

particular attention to Pope Alexander’s primary mistress, Vanoccia Romana, mother of

both Lucrezia and Cesare Borgia, children to whom the Pope wanted to give his entire

dominion. He also maintains that Pope Alexander VI’s nepotism and violations of the

Holy See were entirely due to Vanoccia: “Dicono che detto pontefice non avrebbe

commesso tante barbarie se non fossi stato per lo solo fine d’ingrandire i suoi bastardi, né

si sarebbe tanto mostrato indulgente verso di questi se Vannoccia, loro madre e sua

amica, non gli l’avesse stimolato, alla quale avrebbe dato la vita istessa, non che il papato

e la Chiesa, tanto l’amava svisceratamente.”69 Leti then directly quotes Olimpia’s who,

when reproving to the Pope, would use Vanoccia as a comparison: “Alesandro sesto

faceva più per Vanoccia romana sua concubina che voi per me, che son vostra cognata,”

or, “Vanoccia romana trovò maggior fortuna con Alesandro suo amico di quella che io

trovo con Innocenzio mio cognato.”70 Thus the misogynist theme continues.

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Whenever Leti quotes this type of direct discourse, he generally uses the

introduction of “one has heard” or “it has been said that,” relying wholeheartedly on

hearsay. But perhaps in acknowledgement that these methods might be considered with

suspicion by his readers, Leti makes sure to add a veil of veracity by recollecting various

rumors, then drawing his own conclusion about the truth. The most notable occurrence of

this is when he discusses Camillo’s resignation from the Cardinalship and his shocking

exit from Rome. He notes that rumors abounded as to why Olimpia and the Pope sent the

engaged couple away. The first potential reason he gives was that the Pope was angry

with his nephew for renouncing his Cardinalship; the second, that by moving away they

could preserve the Princess’ inheritance by avoiding all the necessary marital festivities

befitting the nephew of the Pope; and the third, that Olimpia Maidalchini was a jealous

woman and worried her new daughter-in-law would detract attention from herself.

Though Leti apparently maintains objectivity by presenting the reader with all three

options, he picks the option that gives more weight to the dominance of Olimpia: the

third option. But he also further bolsters the illusion that he is a discerning historian, by

saying that the second reason was preposterous and was the type of “low” gossip that

circulated in the common houses of commerce: “Questo discorso ebbe origine nelle

botteghe de’ mercanti, dove per l’ordinario si fanno sempre giudicii bassi e mercantile.”71

It is amusing that he rejects their monetary aspirations as vulgar and mercantile, when he

himself frequently makes the assertion that this was their primary motivation. But in so

doing, he separates himself from the lower gossips, and maintains the readers’ credulity.

In this instance however, Leti may have been right about his conclusion. Ignazio Campi,

the only biographer of Pope Innocent, who was relatively forgotten by history, attests to a

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verifiable feud between Olimpia and the Princess Rossano, as documented by numerous

contemporary accounts.72

Despite his technique of discussing public speculation about the papessa’s life,

Leti still violates most rules of historical objectivity, as in the case of the gossip

surrounding the Pope’s neglect of his grand-nephews. When sons were born to Don

Camillo, Olimpia’s son, the Pope did not welcome the family back with open arms,

which surprised many, and the gossip wheels around Rome began to turn again.73 Leti

asserts with verve that Olimpia was the cause of such avoidance, by convincing the Pope

that her son was not actually able to have children:

Persuase il papa che don Camillo suo figliuolo era impotente alla generazione [. . . ] onde, quando poi s’intese la nuova della gravidanza della signora prencipessa e del parto d’un bello maschio, ella prese altre industrie, più diaboliche e maligne. Rese sospetta al papa (la sola memoria di questo fatto mi fa tremar la mano ed inorridire il cuore) la fede congiugale della prencipessa di Rossano sua nuora e l’indusse a credere che quei figliuoli che faceva erano ben suoi, ma non del marito, che per la sua impotenza non era possibile di generare. 74

Leti’s authorial intrusion into the text with words like “my hands” and “my heart” is

nothing new to the biography, but his personal horror is. He generally only implies his

disdain through rhetorical questions or exclamatory remarks. Here, however, it is more

pointed as he briefly shifts his focus onto his own (Abbe Gualdi’s) emotional response.

This personal aspect is also seen in the following passage, when he gives weight to the

popular view that Olimpia had actually bewitched the Pope, by offering a form of

personal speculation. He says that the Pope breathed with her air and that where she

commanded he obeyed, so that there were those who said that the Pope had been

bewitched, to which he adds, “ed io per me lo credo, poiché, per tralasciare tutti gli altri

rispetti e raggioni, come era possibile che un uomo rozzo di faccia e rustico di azzioni si

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sottometta tanto all’amore d’una donna, anzi all’ubbidienza di questa femina, senza che

qualche cosa diabolica non lo sforzasse?”75 By adhering to this belief, Leti indulges the

fancies of the masses, who would have been much more likely to believe tales of

witchcraft than the readers of today, but the reason he gives for his conviction baffles the

modern reader. He asserts, in essence, that men of harsh appearance are so unlikely to

submit to women that, if they do, it must be a result of witchcraft. As a biographer he

misses the mark and drags his readers with him into the quagmire of hearsay, despite his

attempts at maintaining the façade of a historian who weighs all possibilities with caution

and temperance before making a conclusion.

As Leti on the one hand feigns objectivity by drawing on public speculations, yet

on the other betrays biographical responsibility by inserting his own feelings and beliefs,

it is hard to make out how he intended this work to be received. Whereas most biography

violates the code of veracity by representing subjects without stain, Leti charges in the

opposite direction. He gives credence to most rumors, absurd or otherwise, that demean

his protagonist, while discounting sensible speculation as absurd if it frees her from

blame. This brazen approach flies in the face of an earlier promise Leti makes, that he

prefers to believe good gossip over bad. Early on in his work, in reference to the

widespread accusation that Olimpia poisoned her husband, he states, “Per me non ho

voluto mai credere ciò, amando meglio nelle cose dubbiose di scegliere il bene che il

male, e se la maggior parte non lo credevano, sarà bene di tenersi alle più voci e negar

tutto, salvando così la reputazione di questa signora.”76 By asserting towards the

beginning of the biography that he is reluctant to believe all of the bad gossip

surrounding Donna Olimpia, he garnishes the readers’ trust, all the while entertaining

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them with humorous tidbits. The readers, like moths to a flame, are drawn into this

authorial façade by way of his jocularity and promises to be objective, until they reach

the heart of the biography, at which point he captures their attention with an altogether

different style of fervent narration bolstered by incessant and relentess attacks on her

character, attacks that are based principally on a combination of contemporary rumors

and first-hand accounts that he claims he has either heard or witnessed personally. In

essence, his expositions of the supposed first-hand accounts bewitch his readers and hold

sway over their credulity. The biographer of Pope Innocent the X, Ignazio Campi, does

not, in constrast, delve in the rhetoric of blame in his work. Regarding Olimpia’s avarice

he notes that the money she amassed was not unusual and did not exceed those of past

papal relatives.77

It must be noted that the readers at that time had no reason to doubt the veracity of

Leti’s biography, because they believed that he was Abbot Gualdi, a former member of

the Catholic Church, and a man thoroughly engrossed in affairs of the Roman court for

25 years prior to his conversion to Protestantism and, therefore, was privy to many of the

happenings during Olimpia’s life. This has, however, been established by both Danilo

Romei and Franco Barcia to be untrue. Both scholars discuss the improbability, or rather

impossibility, of the assertion that he spent 25 years thoroughly engrossed in the affairs

of the Roman court, but come to very different conclusions, based mainly upon the two

starkly different editions of the biography itself.78 The biography was published first in

1666, then again, in a much more amplified form, in 1667. The second edition is 200

pages longer than the first edition, almost double in length. Barcia, based upon a

suspicious letter to the readers by Gregorio Leti’s brother and the marked difference in

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length, believes Leti did not write the original publication, rather plagiarized and

embellished it. Romei instead concludes (and I am inclined to agree) that Leti is the

author of both editions. He notes that, despite the extreme difference in length, the basic

details and story line are the same: “L’innovazione [. . . ] muta di poco la sostanza del

libro: la quantità reale dell’informazione (i fatti, i dati storici, se così si può dire) resta

pressoché invariata.”79 This supports the hypothesis that the narrative of the second

edition (and our current focus) is full of empty rants, as the verbage in the second edition

doubles, without adding any specific factual content.

Romei attributes the authorial disparities in the works to the conflicts that arise

between the textual intrusions of the real author, Gregorio Leti (historian and satirist),

and his penname, Abbot Gualdi. He notes how the ubiquitous instrusions of the “io

narrante” are strikingly more predominant in the 2nd edition and seem to be additions of

Gregorio Leti the chronicler, rather than Abbot Gualdi, his penname persona. The two

come into conflict with one another, but it is a conflict that is relatively imperceptible to

the casual reader, and a conflict that likely did not arouse their suspicion. The reader

likely believed the author to be Abbot Gualdi, a trustworthy source of information. His

appearances in the text, therefore, bolster the readers’ credulity and serve to give

believability to the more intense diatribes against Olimpia’s character. What reason did

they have to doubt that he was indeed who he said he was? The majority of biographies

written during the Renaissance and Post-Reformation were written by clerics. The only

difference is that in this case, the cleric had converted to Protestantism.

Leti also includes letters in his text to reinforce the impression of authenticity.

Towards the end of the biography the Pope receives an anonymous letter written by “i

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confessori delle cure maggiori della cristianità,” in which they implore him to release

himself from Olimpia’s “governo cattivo” of him and the church. They reference the

many “mormorii penetranti, che corrono per tutte le piazze” and, in fact, the letter is rife

with the words “mormorare,” “mormori” and “mormorazioni” (derivations of the word

occur 7 times). It is extremely sensational in content; the active verbs alone that refer to

Olimpia demonstrate this – Olimpia commands, lords over, robs, afflicts, sells benefices,

even sucks the blood of the populace. Included here is just a small “taste”:

Contra donna Olimpia dall’altra parte si mormora ch’ella rubba senza misura, che fa trasgredire le leggi di Dio senza timore, che afflige gli innocenti prelati senza riguardo, che vende i benefici eclesiastici a gran prezzo, che succhia il sangue de’ popoli con troppo avidità, che ha riempito il Vaticano e la Chiesa di oggetti ignoranti e cattivi, che non pensa ad altro che ad accumular tesori, che ha introdotta la carestia in Roma a solo fine di vender caro il suo grano tolto da questo e da quello senza paga, che comanda con troppo arroganza i cardinali medesimi, che discaccia dalla Corte o perseguita tutti quelli quali non vogliono dipendere da’ suoi cenni, che s’usurpa un’auttorità maggiore della pontificia istessa, che non conosce altro Dio che il danaro, che manda per governare lo stato eclesiastico governatori a suo modo, che ha levato via dalle fortezze la maggior parte de’ soldati per metter nella sua borsa la paga assignata per le guarniggioni, che ha preso molti vasi sagri e gemme preziose dalla sagrestia di San Pietro per applicare il tutto al suo uso e finalmente ch’ella, a guisa d’un’altra maga, ha ammaliato il cuore, chiuse l’orecchie ed accecati gli occhi di V.S. per non poter commiserare lo stato misero nel quale si trova la Chiesa.

The authenticity of the letter, quoted word for word (and lasting seven pages), is

suspicious, especially given the lexicon, so similar to Leti’s own style of writing. This

list-like format is too reminiscent of our own biographer’s writing to be believed as

authentic, nor has it ever been printed as he indicates it eventually was.80 It is entirely

lacking in the pleasantries and gentilities of letter writing of the time, especially when

addressing the Pope himself, and bears Leti’s writing style so acutely that it is at best a

second-hand reproduction of popular complaints.81 But its power and force cannot be

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denied. It fans the flame of Leti’s fancy, and that of his reader, who is by no means bored,

rather fixated upon this imagery of Olimpia and the Pope’s reaction to such news of

perfidy.

Directly following this letter Leti includes another, luckily much shorter than its

predecessor, and much more believable in content. It is a letter supposedly written in

response to a priest of the Dominican order, who has invited his friend (by the name of

Ignazio Girssì) to Rome. Ignazio Girssì thanks him sincerely for his invitation and replies

that he is most desirous to see Rome, but more importantly, to see Donna Olimpia and

see for himself whether or not the rumors are true. This letter was apparently “stuffed up”

the sleeve of this poor priest and just happened to fall out at the Pope’s feet, who was

visiting his church, and who therefore picked it up and read it. In the letter, Girssì writes

that people going to Rome for the Holy Year were primarily going to see Donna Olimpia:

“la maggior parte di quelli che da questa città s’inviano in Roma, non lo fanno tanto per

la divozione di guadagnar l’indulgenza, quanto che per la curiosità di veder donna

Olimpia, della quale tanto si parla per tutto.”82 He continues, “non si sa se vi sia in Roma

il pontefice, così poco si parla di lui, ma si crede bene che donna Olimpia sia un altro

papa, tanto si ciancia della sua auttorità. Ma non è bene mormorare nell’anno santo.”83

This letter, unlike its predecessor, does bear the markings of a different style, though

beyond that its authenticity is just as questionable as the first, and of course we see again

the recurring word, “mormorare.” The plausibility of this letter actually making it into the

Pope’s hands by falling out of the priest’s sleeve is far-fetched, but Leti’s description is

quite detailed and makes one feel as if he had the information from a first-hand account.

He also volunteers that many debated the reality of this occurrence and some maintained

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that the priest had written the letter in a false hand and had purposefully let the letter drop

in the Pope’s presence.

Both of these letters, authentic or not, are used to demonstrate Leti’s main point:

that Roman gossip eventually made it to the Pope’s ears and he began to turn against

Olimpia and eventually ordered her banishment from court. The inclusion of the two

letters bears the mark of sensationalism, which is, ironically, exactly the point Leti is

trying to make with his description of the Holy Year: that it was a sensational event and

everyone’s sole purpose was to see Olimpia for themselves. He writes, “Quasi la maggior

parte de’ pelegrini, e particolarmente le donne, si trattenevano le giornate intiere innansi

il palazzo della signora sudetta, non per altro che per vederla affacciata nelle finestre.”84

The authenticity of the letters is, then, not important. The reader is convinced that during

the Holy Year people flocked to see Olimpia and that all manner of gossip circulated

about her. The year represented a veritable crescendo of hate towards Olimpia. Even

Campi, a trusted historian with an avid affection for citing his sources, comments that her

appearance at the jubilation festivities and opening of the Holy Door enraged the

populace.

What Leti very notably leaves out, however, is an occurrence preceeding the Holy

Year and another reason for which the Romans detested Olimpia. In March of 1649,

while the body of Santa Francesca Romana was being given a more honorable burial site

in Santa Maria Nova, her clavicle was rumored to have been removed surreptitiously and

given to Olimpia as a relic for the church in her castle of San Martino. She had apparently

been wanting a relic to adorn her church for some time, but not only was her action

considered stealing, the nuns at Tor de’ Specchi, who should have had the rights to

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oversee the burial of their founding Saint, were prevented that right.85 The outcry in the

city was considerable. With an arsenal of possibilities at his disposal, one must ponder

why Leti did not include this particular weapon in either edition of his biography of

Olimpia, if the occurrence was common knowledge. Lest we fall into speculation and risk

putting on the guise of a biographer, it will be better to draw a likely conclusion: for Leti

to mention Olimpia’s spirituality, regardless of the fact that it incited her to robbery,

would be wholly uncharacteristic of the character of Olimpia that Leti has thus far

created. Leti’s Olimpia is not remotely chaste or spiritual, and when she engages in

charitable activities it is only for show: “Che però fingeva d’andar visitando l’ospitali a

solo fine di farsi vedere, se pure non mescolasse il pensiere di farsi stimare pietosa e

divota.”86 That she actually helped the hospital raise a great deal of funds, as Campi

asserts, 87 is put aside, or perhaps is information that never reached Leti’s ears because

history has shown that slander spreads far and wide while praise reaches only a few.

Olimpia was, in fact, closely tied to the Chapel and Hospital of Santa Maria, mainly due

to her devotion to Santa Francesca Romana, and she purchased homes, towers, and

granaries for the location. In 1653 she received from Pope Innocent X complete control

over the church, after which she transformed the location into a “casino belvedere” with

incredible gardens and fountains, including the 1652 “Fontana della lumaca” by Bernini.

The readers of Leti’s biography, then, know only that Olimpia was hated for her

control over the Pope and her avarice. They do not know that she was a lover of art and

plays, and a frequent attendee of masses, all aspects attested to by Campi, who quotes

many contemporary sources (such as the diary of the historian and playwright, Teodoro

Ameyden). Leti’s Olimpia is a flat villainess with very few vestiges of humanity, which

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makes Leti’s forays into the humorous register even more vital to the digestion of his

work. Were his work to only deal only in the serious register, the biography would risk

being the antithesis of the typical Post-Reformation biography: biographies of the time

only extolled and praised their subject, while Leti only criticizes and demeans his

protagonist. Either extremity risks eliciting boredom in the reader, which Leti absolutely

must avoid, as his biography is not intended solely for edification (for which boredom

may be considered an unfortunate but necessary by-product), but for entertainment and

sales. His work reads then, as a chronicle or novel, and as such requires some narrative

ingenuity to maintain his readers’ interest.

During the 177-page section that is void of humor, Leti exercises this ingenuity by

introducing a new character onto the scene. No tale of villainy is complete without a

scoundrel sidekick, and in timely fashion Leti introduces the blind Prospero Fagnani,

called by Leti an “Heretico delle Religioni,” and denounced as being motivated only by

capricious desires.88 His character here takes the foreground in Leti’s narrative, serious in

its intent to damage the reputation of its main heroine by damaging also those who were

close to her. Leti blames Fagnani for one of Pope Innocent X’s most drastic decrees

during his time in the papacy, the closure of over 1,513 convents and monasteries.

Whereas more reasonable historians, like Campi, attribute the closure of the convents to

real concern regarding the licentious behavior of the less established, smaller cloistered

religious houses, Leti takes the more inflammatory approach.89 He represents Fagnani as

a man full of hate, whose only desire is to ruin the lives of the clergy: “La natura di

questo uomo era nemica d’i frati, a’ danni de’ quali tramava dalla matina a sera

tradimenti ed insidie, e non avrebbe mancato per lui d’esterminarli tutti; anzi l’odiava a

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tal fatto segno che poco curò di dire più volte che Iddio benedetto l’aveva fatto gran

grazia de levargli gli occhi per non veder le furbarie de’ frati.”90 Leti asserts that Fagnani

was called by many the “flagello dei frati.” He also makes the claim that he heard

Fagnani (“io medesimo gli intesi dire”) talking about the friars one day, saying “Se tutti i

frati fossiro santi, io non vorrei ricever la vista da’ loro miracoli.”91 Whereas Campi

discusses the depravity of said convents and the verifiable concern regarding their

conduct, Leti ignores it completely, preferring to set all of the infamy upon Olimpia and

her trusty “friend” Fagnani. 92 Leti says that the only friends she had were those who

could give advice about making money, and Fagnani did just that.93 Following this 1650

papal bull (calling for the closure of monasteries with less than 6 monks), 6,238

monasteries were subject to closure. In Leti’s account, many remained open only because

they appealed to Olimpia with monetary gifts: “Tralasciati dunque tutti gli altri mezi, si

diedero i frati a batter le porte della conscienza di donna Olimpia a colpi di borsa,

consapevoli già che il vero rimedio di mollificar il cuore di questa signora era il danaro,

del quale aveva formato un idolo, innansi al cui conspetto idolatrava mille volte il giorno

con false preghiere, benché stanziante al Vaticano.”94 Here again, Olimpia’s avarice is

the primary subject, and the character of Fagnani is portrayed to be her henchmen

extraordinare: “Non passava mai giorno che non si facesse portare nella presenza di

donna Olimpia, con la quale si tratteneva a lunghe conferenze intorno al modo di

accumular danari, servendosi questa signora de’ suoi consigli.”95 With colorful flair, Leti

embellishes his narrative even further, stating that Fagnani “even dreamt about it” and

would tell Olimpia of his dream schemes the following day.96 The result of such a

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perfidious character is that Leti’s biographic style reads more like a novel or play than a

biography.

In this 177 page section of severity, Leti only includes one humorous anecdote: he

tells a story of Cardinal San Clemente and Cardinal Pallotta who meet on the street;

Cardinal San Clemente asks Cardinal Pallotta where he is going and he responds, “I am

going to the convocation of the Cardinals,” to which Cardinal San Clemente says, “And I

am going to see Donna Olimpia.” Cardinal Pallotta then retorts, “Let us go together,

then, because we are going to the same place.”97 This well-placed humor, so in contrast

to pages 74-150, serves as the decorative icing on his cake of repugnance.

It is also important to note that Leti’s biography is written chronologically,

another primary reason for which his use of blame and humor alternates so frequently.

Olimpia’s power was not constant, rather gained strength in different moments of time,

and lost strength in others. Leti prefers to dapple his pages with humor when Olimpia’s

power was waning, which it did in multiple instances during her brother-in-law’s reign,

so its presence in the text acts like a rising tide, that then dissipates when she regains

power. This is most apparent during the center of the text. Following Leti’s long section

of vituperio, humor begins to weave its way back in, successfully reeling the reader back

into the web of papal intricacies and common libel, such as the story of a Play in London,

an occurrence that greatly angered the Pope. The play was entitled The Marriage of the

Pope and was performed, it is said, “nella presenza di Cromuele.”98 Leti’s description of

the play is worth quoting in entirety:

tra le altre cose rappresentate in diverse scene di scherzo agli Inglesi e di vituperio a’ catolici, una fu che, volendo il papa maritarsi con donna Olimpia e ricusandolo questa, dicendo di non voler per marito un uomo sì brutto e difforme, egli per arrivare al suo intento l’offerse una chiave, che

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ricusò come picciol presente, onde, risoluto d’averla per moglie, gli le offerse ambidue. Ma qui è da sapere che mentre il papa l’appresentava una delle chiavi, donna Olimpia lo domandava se quella chiave era dell’inferno o del paradiso; alla cui domanda soggiungendole il papa ch’era del paradiso, donna Olimpia ripigliò: Dunque datemi l’altra perché non voglio che quando voi sarete sazio di me comandiate i diavoli che mi portino via nell’inferno. Così, avendogliele date ambidue, si celebrarono le nozze, chiudendosi l’opera con un ballo di frati e di monache che si rallegravano ancor loro d’aversi un giorno a maritare.99

This is just one of many examples of public jest regarding Olimpia that supposedly made

their way back to the Pope’s ear. Another is a remark made by the Emperor of Sweden, in

response to the Papal nuncio’s disapproval of the peace treaty signed between Rome and

Sweden. The nuncio asserted that Rome should always be on her guard against

Protestantism to which the Emperor replied that those in Rome were not that brave, and

that the Pope could not sleep without having a lady to hold his head.100

This brief return of humor does not last long, however, because Cardinal

Panzicolo (considered Olimpia’s primary adversary), dies and Olimpia regains control,

and when Olimpia is in control, Leti does not veer into paths of frivolity. He is instead

serious and disgusted and again her avarice takes the stage, as in the following citation:

Ma non si contentava questa signora di dar le leggi ad ogni sorte di politica dello stato, della chiesa e della corte: voleva anco comandar lo spirituale, conforme faceva prima, onde molte volte le congregazioni si convocavano a casa sua inansi di raunarsi ne’ luoghi ordinari; ben è vero che non curava d’altro se non di quelle cose che potevano renderle qualche profitto della borsa, lasciando le cose appartenenti alla conscienza alla disposizione delle congregazioni, secondo era la mente del pontefice. Sembrarà cosa incredibile all’orecchie degli uditori lo descrivere la vigilanza che usava questa donna nell’accumular danari. 101

She did not maintain this hold for long, however, because her nephew, with whom she

was not on close terms, was appointed to the Cardinalship against her will, a decision that

apparently caused her much anxiety. It is, therefore, a section where Olimpia’s influence

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is in decline, so humor returns. When Leti describes the notably young Cardinal (only

18), he engages in subtle displays of exaggeration, describing him as having “una

fisonomia pecorina, senza presenza o aspetto d’uomo, inesperto a tutte le cose, ignorante