the italianist 28 · 2008 · 179-202 ‘Naked’ truth: Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters* Susan Gaylard In a letter to his mother from the Montefeltro court, Baldassarre Castiglione writes in 1504: [V]orei che la M. Vostra facesse sollicitare maestro Bernardino armarolo, per quella mia celata: e non havendo lui hauto veluto per fornirla, prego quella che voglia sub<ito> fargelo dare, e s<i>a negro. E perché’l mi è forza anchor havere una lanza: […] prego la M. Vostra che voglia fare che subito el la dora. Vorei che la fosse tutta dorata e brunita, cussì, senza divisa alcuna: poi al fondo, e cussì apresso el ferro, che la havesse de la franza de seda, bella […] Prego anchor la M. V. che mi voglia mandare quelle sopraveste di brocato d’oro vechio, perché le adoperarò anchor loro. Item vorei vinti braza de corda de seda bianca larga, in questa Cesena non c’è, che Dio l’impichi; se ge ne fosse, non darei già questo fastidio a la M.a <V.>. I would like you to have master Bernardino the armorer beseeched for that ceremonial helmet of mine; and since he did not have any velvet to finish it, I ask that you please get some to him, and it should be black. And I also have to have a lance: […] I ask that you please have him gild it immediately. I would like it to be all gold and polished, plain, without an emblem: then further down, close to the blade, it should have a silk fringe, a pretty one […] I ask too that you send me those robes of old gold brocade, for I will need them too. Also, I would like twenty ells of thick silk cord, in white: in this city of Cesena there isn’t any, may God hang them all; if there were, I would not bother you for this.1 The detail and sense of purpose with which writers like Castiglione (1478-1529) discuss clothes is still frequently overlooked by literary scholars, despite our awareness that appearances are paramount for the courtly elite in the early modern period. In light of recent scholarship highlighting the significance of clothing during the Renaissance, it seems worthwhile to examine the emphasis that Renaissance authors place on clothing in forging their identity as writers. 2 By examining one author’s writing about his clothes, this essay seeks a broader 180 the italianist 28 · 2008 understanding of the connections between early sixteenth-century constructions of authorial identity, patronage, writers’ preoccupation with clothing, and the late sixteenth-century fascination with the impresa – a personal emblem, designed for a specific individual. In the passage above, Castiglione’s attention is entirely devoted to the construction of his outfit: while he specifies that he does not want to include an emblem in his dress, writers in the later part of the century, from Paolo Giovio to Torquato Tasso, would devote entire dialogues to discussing and designing personal emblems. 3 The question is why – and at what point – did emblems gain importance over clothes? Pietro Aretino’s letters offer an unusually clear articulation of the problems involved with clothing, and suggest some answers. Aretino’s Letters of 1538 While Castiglione never intended to publish the letter quoted above, there was a new market for printed collections of correspondence, which Pietro Aretino (1492-1556) exploited thirty years later, when he became the first to publish his own letters in the vernacular. In this volume of correspondence, clothing, printing, and letter-writing converge to support an authorial Aretino. The volume set a fashion for printed collections of letters in the vernacular and helped to construct the author’s public image as a powerful man who, unlike those around him, was not afraid to insult rulers in his frequently scandalous writing. The first edition was printed by Marcolini in 1538 in Venice, Aretino’s adopted city and the centre of Italian print culture. Raymond Waddington’s thorough analysis of the princeps shows that its luxurious large format (106 leaves in folio) helped to project a sense of the author’s wealth and importance.4 The title page contributed to this impression by playing up its visual links with Sebastiano Serlio’s architectural treatise (which Marcolini had printed a few months earlier, also in folio), and by displaying a prominent portrait of the author dressed in fine clothing. The author’s material trappings are equally important in the actual letters, which include frequent descriptions of sumptuous clothes which Aretino allegedly received from patrons. Both the book’s format and the clothing discussions relate to problems of patronage, appearances, and writerly authority. While Waddington has demonstrated that Aretino constructed an authorial and increasingly complex literary identity based on the figure of the satyr, I will show the practical motivation behind this choice of a personal symbol, by exploring Aretino’s early use – and eventual abandonment – of the theme of apparel in his letters. If Aretino’s satyr symbol can be considered an impresa, 5 his early letters suggest that this personal emblem developed, in part, out of an awareness of the failings of clothing. In the correspondence, elaborate descriptions of clothes invest the writer with authority and putative wealth. At the same time, however, Aretino tries to distance himself Gaylard · Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters 181 from gifts of clothing, seeking to project an autonomous identity. The letters eventually resolve this paradox by associating fancy clothing with women and effeminacy, and with pedantic literary imitation. The collection as a whole thus presents an authoritative but ‘undressed’ Aretino, an idiot savant whose literary identity is freed from temporal and societal markers and associated with the phallus, timeless priapic symbol of masculine creativity. In this way, the letters follow the trend of anti-canonical writings which both use and reject traditional models of authority: the author posits his own writings as permanent and timeless by exploiting and then undermining the notion of investiture. The value of clothing The projection of a public identity through displays of riches was accepted, even expected, among Italy’s elite from the fifteenth century onward.6 Exhibitions of wealth were particularly important in Venice, a major centre for trade with the East, but became a contentious issue as sumptuary legislation from the fifteenth century on increasingly focused on dress. While Venetian men’s clothing was relatively egalitarian – the black toga was the standard outfit for all citizens – social hierarchy was clearly marked through colours, rich fabrics, and the cut of the sleeve. Gold or silver cloth, and silks and velvets in black, crimson, or dark purple were evidence of a man’s wealth and status.7 Clothing in the early modern era was not, however, a mere external marker of identity. As Jones and Stallybrass have shown, clothes actually shaped identity, in keeping with the ancient notion of dressing as investiture. Although Renaissance apparel was a fragmentary assemblage of sleeves, collars, lacing, buttons, overskirts, underskirts, and so on, these individual pieces were enduring and inherently valuable. Circulated, re-used, and frequently pawned (by members of all social classes), clothes often stood in for money. Clothing usually comprised a substantial portion of servants’ wages, and the consequent blurring between gifts of clothing and servants’ livery is especially significant as we read Aretino’s letters. Paola Venturelli observes that the offer of clothing was a fundamental tool in the creation and consolidation of social bonds and hierarchies.8 Gifts of old clothes were not, however, confined to servants: Aretino thanks Massimiano Stampa for one of his used shirts (I. 23), and Janet Arnold observes that Queen Elizabeth frequently passed both new and used items of clothing to her ladies-in-waiting.9 Arnold notes that even in the socially exclusive circle of the queen’s ladies-inwaiting, there were gifts of identical gowns to groups of women, suggesting a kind of livery. Clothing, whether payment or gift, ‘was more binding than money, both symbolically, since it incorporated the body, and economically, since a further transaction had to take place if you wanted to transform it into cash’.10 182 the italianist 28 · 2008 The value of clothing – its material worth and its power to invest the wearer with a symbolic identity – comes across clearly in Aretino’s letters. Early in the collection, a letter thanks Duke Federico II Gonzaga of Mantua for a set of clothes: ‘Io mi vestii il dì de l’Ascensione d’una robba di velluto nero fregiata di cordoni d’oro con la fodra di tela d’oro, e d’un saio e d’un giubbone di broccato’ (On the feast of the Ascension I wore a long robe of black velvet trimmed with golden cord, and lined with gold cloth. My tunic and jerkin were brocade) (I. 13, 11 May 1529). This description is a representative sample from the early letters, as it demonstrates both Aretino’s efforts to make himself visible, and the demands he made of patrons: velvet and gold cloth were very valuable, and black and gold were colours reserved for the Venetian upper classes – to which Aretino, a commoner from Arezzo, did not belong. While this kind of outfit might be acceptable for a major feast day, it suits Aretino’s purposes that this feast should be the Ascension: Christ’s miraculous ascent into heaven provides a backdrop for the volume’s ambitious message of Aretino’s own rise from penniless obscurity to political influence. In case this reference is unclear, the letter then highlights the paradigm of investiture, saying, ‘Né mi sono tanto rallegrato del dono per la ricchezza sua, quanto de l’avere voi, che principe sete, giudicatomi degno di portare gli abiti dei principi.’ Clothing and patronage in Aretino’s Letters To clarify the intensity of Aretino’s efforts to construct a powerful public image, and the connections between clothing, printing, and letter-writing, I return briefly to the publication of the letters. The first volume, printed in 1538, set a fashion for printing vernacular correspondence, and was followed by a further five volumes in 1542, 1546, 1550, 1556, and 1557. Deriving from the illustrious Latin tradition of Cicero, Petrarch and Ficino, the collected letters contrasted sharply with Aretino’s prior reputation for writing scurrilous poems, especially the sexually-explicit Modi sonnets which had scandalized the papal court a few years earlier. According to Guido Baldassarri, ‘Aretino […] non solo, evidentemente, seleziona e nel caso corregge o riscrive dal suo privato archivio epistolare, ma scrive, con ogni evidenza, in vista della stampa’.11 Baldassarri argues convincingly that the collection in fact takes precedence over the letters themselves – which convey almost no news, suggesting that Aretino conceives of his letters as public, destined for a broader print audience (p. 169). Thus the printed correspondence, in particular the first and most successful volume, is key to understanding how Aretino constructed his public image. The careful construction of an image is evident in the description, quoted above, of Aretino’s Ascension Day outfit – part of a series of letters dating from Gaylard · Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters 183 1527 to 1535, which thank patrons for gifts and solicit new gifts. The theme of the gift in almost all of the published letters from this period (roughly sixty letters, or one fifth of the collection) marks an editorial choice, according to Giuliano Innamorati, who rightly suggests that the emphasis on gifts signals a concern for self-presentation and a determination to exploit the gift economy. 12 The concern for self-presentation is very evident, considering that the letters about gifts occupy the first part of this expensive volume – the section crucial to establishing the writer’s authority. Innamorati dates Aretino’s decision to publish his letters to June 1536, and argues that preparing the edition helped Aretino overcome an artistic crisis – so the narrow scope of these letters also signals what Innamorati considers to be Aretino’s negative view of his previous work. This may be the case, but since Aretino chose to include a relatively small number of letters from this early period, it is difficult to detect (either here or elsewhere) a genuinely negative tone regarding Aretino’s own work. Rather, the early correspondence both promotes and dissimulates an economy of exchange, as Aretino demands gifts in exchange for published praises, but professes his autonomy as a teller of truths. These repeated assertions are strident and hardly credible, but continue in the later letters, as Aretino’s influence grew exponentially. The resultant tension in the collection epitomizes a moment of transition from a system of patronage – by which a poet was maintained at a court that he was obligated to glorify – to a supply-and-demand economy, in which writers and artists depended on sales for their livelihood.13 The letters convey a sense of ambiguity toward the printing press and the financial benefit from book sales – which, in a letter to the printer Marcolini, Aretino publicly likens to pimping (I. 153).14 This same letter, which reappears at the very end of the January 1538 edition, makes a gift of the letters for Marcolini: ‘vi dono queste poche lettre’, writes Aretino, clarifying, ‘io voglio con il favor di Dio che la cortesia dei principi mi paghi le fatiche de lo scrivere, e non la miseria di chi le compra’ (I. 153 and 325). Yet despite the author’s public disdain for profits, it is through his popularity and wide sales that Aretino transformed himself in Venice from court poet (first in Rome and then for the Gonzaga family of Mantua) into professional writer or poligrafo, a man who lived by his pen – whether directly, from book sales, or indirectly, from benefits accrued by exploiting print. It is clear that Aretino expected to benefit from publishing the letters, since he collaborated closely with the printer, and evidently paid attention to detail in the over-sized, luxury-format published volume.15 The very title page shows that Aretino sought to maximize the effects of publication by performing a complex negotiation between demanding patronage and appearing autonomous: there are, for example, small differences between the author-portraits in the first two authorized editions, of January and September 1538.16 The later portrait suppresses a gold chain which the author wears in the original picture. This necklace had been sent to Aretino by the French king Francis I in 1533, so its 184 the italianist 28 · 2008 appearance is problematic in a volume published six months after Emperor Charles V had granted Aretino a stipend.17 Although Charles and Francis had finally made peace in 1537, Francis’ alliance with the Turks had long been a serious threat to Venice. In contrast with the link to France in the original picture, the later image depicts the author wearing a chain that has not been conclusively identified, over a voluminous lynx-fur collar (probably the lining of a cloak).18 This portrait is smaller and dedicates more space to Aretino’s apparel and less to his actual features, so that the increased volume of clothing and the smaller size of the face augment the author’s consequence and authority. While we cannot know if these portraits faithfully represent Aretino’s own clothes, the rich apparel in both pictures indicates enormous personal wealth and public importance. The gold chains in particular hint at princely favour, but the overall impression of wealth and authority belies any suggestion that Aretino actually needed patronage. By suppressing Francis I’s necklace, the later title page asserts the author’s political autonomy, establishing his distance from the French king. The necklace that Francis I sent to Aretino is worth careful consideration, as Aretino’s reception of it in the Letters links patronage and personal ornament with the problem of writerly truthfulness. The necklace arrived three years after Francis had first promised it to Aretino. In his response, dated 10 November 1533, the author chides Francis for his dilatory generosity, and even suggests that he does not deserve the title ‘most Christian king’ (I. 36). The letter also gives the chain’s motto (which is not visible in the author-portrait), ‘Lingua eius loquetur mendacium’ (His tongue speaks falsehood). Francesco Erspamer points out that this is a parodic citation of Psalms 37.30: ‘Os iusti meditabitur sapientiam, et lingua eius loquetur iudicium’ (The mouth of the righteous man utters wisdom, and his tongue speaks what is just) (Lettere, I, p. 83, n. 4). In his reproof to Francis upon receipt of the necklace, Aretino is indignant at the alleged motto: ‘Adunque, se io dico che sete ai vostri popoli quello che è Iddio al mondo e il padre ai figliuoli, dirò io la menzogna?’ (1.36). Given the social bonds inherent in a gift of clothing, a necklace from Francis I with a motto suggesting that Aretino is a liar both obligates Aretino to the French king and, in the sense used by Jones and Stallybrass, ‘imprints’ the wearer as a liar: a serious charge for a writer who took pains to represent himself as a truth-teller. Yet the wording on the chain from Francis is the subject of scholarly dispute: one manuscript version of a letter to the younger Pier Paolo Vergerio, dated 20 January 1534, praises the French king for his generosity and asserts that the motto on the chain respected the biblical maxim.19 While the actual motto remains a mystery, it is clear that, in the printed letters, Aretino chose to wrong-foot Francis by foregrounding the problem of remaining truthful while receiving patronage. To the man who delivered the necklace, Duke Anne de Montmorency, Aretino later writes, ‘il motto de la catena voleva ch’io stessi sempre queto perché io, secondo lui, lodando sua maestà veniva Gaylard · Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters 185 a dir la bugia’ (I. 144, 8 June 1537). By suggesting that Francis is trying to imprint him as a liar, even while Aretino stresses his truthfulness (as we shall see), the letters give the lie to Francis – and underscore the predicament of being indebted to patrons who are slow to deliver and ungrateful for praises received. Aretino’s attention to the detail of the necklace, in both the title page and the letters themselves, highlights his sensitivity to the power of dress. 20 The significance of clothing received as a gift is particularly evident in the letter, cited previously, which thanks Federico Gonzaga for Aretino’s Ascension Day clothes. This letter is noteworthy as it is the first (and one of very few) in which the writer asserts that he has actually worn garments received: in most cases, Aretino suggests that he is giving the clothes away. The Ascension Day letter emphasizes that Aretino has worn a prince’s clothes, underscoring his social ascent and suggesting that he has assumed some of the prince’s dignity and authority (I. 13). Having begun with Aretino’s investiture in the clothes of a prince, the letter then issues a warning to stingy patrons, which is disguised as an encomium to Federico Gonzaga. The letter uses as negative example Lorenzo Duke of Urbino (dedicatee of Machiavelli’s Prince): E a chi imita Federico Gonzaga non gli intervien ciocché intervenne al signor Lorenzo de’ Medici. Alfonsina, sua madre, poi che egli fu morto, gli vendé a lo incanto fino a la camisce; onde fu visto indosso al boia (mentre al tempo di Leone impiccava Pocointesta, favorito di Pandolfo Petrucci) il più caro saio che avesse, a laude e gloria de la miseria di chi esce de le vie di vostra eccellentissima signoria. Those who imitate Federico Gonzaga are spared the fate of my lord Lorenzo de’ Medici. After he died, his mother Alfonsina sold, at a public auction, all of his belongings, including his undershirts. Thus his best tunic was seen on the hangman’s back (while he was hanging Pocointesta, Pandolfo Petrucci’s favorite, at the time of Leo X), to the praise and glory of the tight-fistedness of those who stray from the ways of your most excellent lordship. A hangman wearing his lord’s tunic (the garment most frequently worn by men in public) is a disgrace, and the very mention of such a possibility threatens that the vestiges of a prince’s public identity (his clothes) may be assumed by the man of lowest social standing and foulest occupation. This anecdote is not mentioned by Guicciardini and seems apocryphal – but the discrepancy of the dates, between the death of Lorenzo de’ Medici in 1519, and that of Pocointesta in 1517, suggests that the author had a specific purpose in juxtaposing Lorenzo’s demise with the hanging of an enemy of the Medici. 21 The implied connection between the executioner and the prince also underscores the arbitrary power of life and death that a lord held over his subjects. By referring to the execution of one of Leo X’s enemies, Aretino’s letter intensifies the link between a stingy 186 the italianist 28 · 2008 prince and the executioner, since the hangman dressed like a Medici duke stands in metonymically for the Medici pope who kills his adversaries. This letter, ostensibly portraying Duke Federico II of Mantua as an example to others, also conveys a threat to the duke – despite the fact that Federico was consistently generous to Aretino (in the face of general disapproval at his own court). We infer that, if the duke fails to continue in his generosity, Aretino may be forced to sell some of the ‘prince’s clothes’ for which he initially thanked Federico. The final recipient of any clothing that Aretino pawns may indeed be the executioner. Within the context of the letter as a whole, the tale suggests that just as Aretino may assume the clothes of a prince, so a prince’s identity may become confused with that of a hangman. The veiled threat to the duke reflects the contradiction between asking people for gifts and asserting autonomy: a tension that Aretino tries to defuse by insisting that he alone is truthful in a world of fickle flatterers. To Antonio de Leyva, Aretino expresses his gratitude for a ‘gran coppa’ made of gold, ‘la quale mi donate non perché io vi laudi ma perché io vi dica il vero’ (I. 41, 6 June 1534). In the following letter, Aretino thanks Cardinal Bernardo Cles for a gift, maintaining that he is the same as ever, even if gratitude to a generous patron makes him appear different: Io vi son quel che vi fui, né più né meno, perché il premio non accresce l’affezione ma la rallegra, e nel rallegrarla par che ella ringrandisca, e pur è tale […] Questa malvagia necessità è cagione ch’io paia quel che io non sono (I. 42, 15 November 1534). The very next letter effusively praises Cardinal Giovanni di Lorena, and then insists, ‘lo dico per dire il vero e non per pagarvi con le lodi’ for money and a very precious robe (I. 43, 21 November 1534). On the whole, the letters try to cultivate a kind of grateful detachment from gifts of clothing, often by touting Aretino’s own generosity – which has the added benefit of emphasizing the author’s supposed independence from his patrons. While Erspamer points out that many, if not most, of the gifts Aretino received were pawned or sold, the letters very rarely mention that the author will wear any of the garments he is given. 22 One early letter thanks Cesare Fregoso for a hat decorated with pins and a medal, saying that he has provided the author with precisely the kind of gift he wanted to give to someone else; the writer also says he is including a copy of the Sonetti lussuriosi, ‘per contracambio’, underscoring that he is under no further obligation to Fregoso (I. 10, 9 November 1527). In a similar vein, Aretino thanks the Duke of Mantua for fifty scudi and a robe embroidered with gold, but reminds him that his patron still owes Titian for a portrait of Aretino, tempering this demand with a promise of images from Iacopo Sansovino Gaylard · Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters 187 and Sebastiano del Piombo (I. 9, 6 August 1527). This reaction undercuts the poet-patron relationship, suggesting that the duke is in Aretino’s debt. Another letter thanks the duke for luxurious clothing, and responds with the offer of fine glassware, crafted to Aretino’s specifications (I. 29, 3 November 1531). Aretino emphasizes his generosity in the abrupt opening of a letter to the Marquis of Monferrato: ‘Io mandai a Padova a donarvi i profumi che chiedeste, e non a venderveli’; the letter then, however, thanks the marquis for both money and ‘la catena d’oro che qui mi poneste al collo’ (I. 19, 12 March 1530). Here, the pose of benefactor in the opening lines is tempered by the investiture with the necklace, supposedly placed on Aretino’s neck by the marquis himself. Yet only three letters later, Aretino is the one wielding the power of investiture, as he announces to Lorenzo Salviati that he is sending him two fine shirts worked with gold thread. Although Aretino then proceeds to thank Salviati for money received, the opening lines of the letter set the tone, so that Salviati, an aristocratic man of letters, becomes the poet clothed by his benefactor, a commoner from Arezzo (I. 22, 26 December 1530). One letter even asks Duke Ercole d’Este to wear a ring that Aretino is sending him ‘per segno di tributo’, reiterating, five times in four short sentences, that he is giving a gift to the duke: ‘vi mando […] ne faccio un presente […] Io la dono […] io ve la do […] vel dona il mio core’ (I. 53, 12 September 1535). In response to one particularly generous gift of clothes and jewels, Aretino ups the ante by literalizing courtly formulae: ‘sendo io facilissimo in donar me stesso, […] mi diedi’ (I. 72, 20 September 1536). This represents a recurrent theme, by which the fruits of Aretino’s genius, his writing, become fair exchange for gifts received, since the writer will provide eternal glory. For example, one letter offers the Duke of Mantua several stanzas of the Marfisa, in praise of the Gonzaga family, barely mentioning, in closing, the duke’s gift of money and a black velvet robe (I. 24, 2 June 1531). To Massimiano Stampa, Aretino promises ‘carte […] per onorarvi’ in return for gifts; another letter metaphorically wrests the power of investiture from Stampa, by comparing his ephemeral gift of clothing with Aretino’s immortalizing prose – which, he says, will clothe Stampa’s name (I. 30, 85). Writing again to Stampa, Aretino uses a lament for the death of Francesco II Sforza as a reminder that fame is the reward of a generous patron: ‘Sia la consolazion vostra la fama che […] fa tromba di voi in ciascun luogo’ (I. 57, 23 November 1535). In contrast with evanescent ‘pompe’ (such as the state funeral he recommends for the duke), the author promises Stampa the ‘stabilità degli inchiostri’. 23 Aretino’s evident diffidence toward the traditional poet-patron relationship helps to explain the author’s frequently ambiguous reception of expensive, wearable gifts. To Giovanni Gaddi, he expresses humble gratitude for embroidered gold cloth (not explicitly worn), but immediately critiques the general avariciousness 188 the italianist 28 · 2008 of the clergy, problematizing the connection between clothing and identity: ‘Ma dove se udì mai che uno, appena vestitosi l’abito di prelato, cominci a dare e non a torre?’ (I. 12, 7 October 1528). In a similar vein, Aretino thanks Guido Rangone for money, an emblem, and a white silk robe, but, in a tongue-in-cheek application of the Christian precept that it is more blessed to give than to receive, irreverently assumes the role of benefactor for himself: Essendo maggior la felicità del donare che quella di ricevere, io ho caro fuor di modo che dal presente […], che mi fate, nasca in voi il sommo grado de la consolazione. […] Per la qual cosa farei ingiuria a la signoria vostra prolungandomi in ringraziarla di quello che, per avere accettato i suoi doni, merito di esser ringraziato io. (I. 16, 12 September 1529)24 Another letter thanks the Bishop of Vaison for ‘la più vezzosa e la più vaga collana […] che si vedesse mai’, but then suggests that it is too beautiful to wear in public (I. 20, 17 September 1530). Further dismissing the investiture paradigm inherent in the gift of a necklace, the letter pokes fun at the bishop’s notion of conferring on Aretino the title cavaliere, and stresses that titles and clothing do not change who he is: ‘io mi contentarei di quel che io sono’. The letter closes with a suggestion that Aretino will pawn the necklace unless the bishop sends more cash. Aretino’s refusal of an identity conferred through investiture is especially clear in a letter, dated 7 January 1531, which thanks Massimiano Stampa for clothing. Apparently, the author has received one handed-down shirt from Stampa himself (which he does not describe), plus two of silk and two embroidered with gold, and a series of hats of velvet, silk, and gold and silver cloth (I. 23). The detailed description impresses upon readers the magnificence of the gift, and, by association, Aretino’s own prestige and monetary value. Aretino, however, says that his friends will enjoy wearing these clothes during Carnival while he himself stays home unmasked and undressed: ‘non che io mi mascari, che a me non piacque mai, ma per fornire gli amici, per amor de i quali rimango dispogliato in casa i sei e gli otto giorni.’ Thus the author’s display of generosity coincides with the literal unveiling of his own true self, free from masks and costumes, and undisguised by the clothing of his patrons. We infer that, unlike everyone else, Aretino is content to be his own (generous) self and does not aspire to a false identity even as part of a social game. While the author here overstates his own public identity as transparent, Aretino also hints that the expensive clothes from Stampa may be worn by people outside his own social circle, as these garments (including Stampa’s own shirt) may end up in pawn. During Carnival, Aretino says, his pawned clothes ‘hanno una gran ventura’: in other words, Stampa’s clothes are likely to be worn by people of lesser social rank – perhaps even by the likes of the executioner, as in the letter to Gonzaga discussed previously. The contrast between the description of rich Gaylard · Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters 189 clothing, and the insouciant tone with which the letter mentions the probable fate of these very expensive garments, highlights the author’s determination to preserve an appearance of autonomy, despite accepting – and indeed soliciting – generous gifts. The letter moreover threatens that if Aretino’s benefactors are stingy, their own clothes will end up being worn by unknown commoners, so that Carnival becomes a literal investiture of the disenfranchised who assume the second skin of their masters. The struggle to be unique The transferability of clothing, which Aretino is at pains to highlight in the early letters, also, however, renders clothing an unfortunate vehicle for literary authority. The problematic nature of clothes as a trope for authority becomes clear in a series of letters from February to April of 1537, in which Aretino defends himself against the false attribution of some correspondence. Since the writer’s claims on his benefactors depend on his uniqueness, the false letters are a serious threat. Defending himself against the attribution, Aretino has recourse to his own immutable and inimitable truthfulness, declaring, ‘Io fui sempre e sempre sarò d’una medesima fede coi miei padroni e con i miei amici’ (I. 97, 8 February 1537). In fact, the writer asserts, it is for his transparency that emperors and kings pay him. Seeking to redeem his reputation, Aretino insists, Io sono uomo verace, e scrivo quel che mi par che sia; e son poltronarie il mandar fuora con la mia ombra le sciocchezze che freddamente vorrien calunniar gli uomini onorati (I. 97). The suggestion that the author’s ‘shadow’ can be misappropriated, is rebutted by assertions of Aretino’s unique material worth: he writes to Luigi Gonzaga, ‘faccisi pure inanzi la perfezion del vostro giudizio, e sentenzi in che modo si possono contrafare i conî de le monete mie’ (I. 97). Increasingly, in the letters about fraudulent ‘Aretino’ pamphlets, the author reasserts his prerogative as political arbiter by referring to himself as guarantor of truth, in a series of material similes: Se le monete ben falsificate e i diamanti ben contrafatti sono scoperti dai zecchieri e dai gioiellieri, chi dubita che da chi sa non si comprenda se il maligno seguita ne l’imitazione il sale dei miei tratti o no? (I. 105, 25 March 1527). Although Aretino compares his letters with objects of great value, it is ultimately the trademark saltiness of the author’s wit which guarantees the inimitability of his writings. This comment returns the responsibility of proving the letters’ 190 the italianist 28 · 2008 authorship to the reader, since anyone duped by the false letters is insufficiently familiar with the genuine article, the true ‘jewel’. Moreover, by characterizing the writer of the false letters as ‘il maligno’, the letter pits Aretino against an adversary whom we may interpret as ‘the Evil One’ himself. This kind of adversarial, goodversus-evil portrayal of the author is also apparent in the first letter defending him as a unique, and inimitable, truthful writer. Here, Aretino sets up a parallel between himself and the famous and beloved condottiere Giovanni delle Bande Nere (friend and patron of Aretino until he died in 1526): ‘Molti Rodamonti e molti Gradassi son parsi Giovanni dei Medici, ma non sono stati; e così chi si sforza di doventar me, ne la fine non è per lui’ (I. 97). The simile asserts that it is impossible for men like the treacherous and violent knights of chivalric poetry to become real-life heroes; such a wishful identification is as futile as lesser writers attempting to pass themselves off as Aretino. Aretino’s comparison of himself with a soldier-hero is in keeping with Paul Larivaille’s observation that the later letters of the volume attempt to portray the author as a ‘condottiere della penna’, a mercenary soldier of the pen. This soldier is pronto a militare al soldo di chiunque lo paghi, con l’enorme vantaggio, […] che il campo di battaglia fittizio in cui si batte non lo obbliga alla fedeltà – fosse anche temporanea – a un solo mandante, ma gli consente di combattere contemporaneamente per la gloria di principi che siano anche irriducibili nemici nella realtà. 25 Larivaille points out that this kind of attitude allows Aretino not to lie, but simply to decide which part of the truth to publish. As a soldier of truth, Aretino explicitly distances himself from the violent and traitorous military commanders with whom Italians had all too much experience: la milizia mia non ruba le paghe, non amuttina le genti, né dà via le rocche; anzi, con le schiere dei suoi inchiostri, col vero dipinto ne le sue insegne, acquista più gloria al principe che ella serve, che gli uomini armati terre (I. 144, 8 June 1537) By offering ‘gloria’ rather than ‘terre’, the author promises something more lasting than lands, which might easily be lost. Yet the soldier of the pen repeatedly threatens to do harm, in metaphorically physical terms. Aretino warns those who are foolish enough to believe that he wrote the false letters, ‘con l’unghia degli inchiostri gli cavarei dal viso del nome gli occhi de la fama’ (I. 97). The use of violence in the service of truth belongs to a pattern that recurs throughout the collection, but becomes particularly apparent in the letters defending Aretino’s uniqueness. As early as 20 September 1530, in a letter to Pope Clement VII, the writer suggests that his ‘lacerating’ the pope is Gaylard · Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters 191 part of an exchange of physical hurts (I. 21) – a reference to Aretino’s attempted assassination, orchestrated in Rome in 1525 by the papal datary, a crime for which Clement never set in motion any judicial process. 26 In pseudo-apologetic mode, the author then asserts that the role of truth-sayer excuses him from treading on toes: ‘in tutte le cose che io mai dissi, o composi, sempre a la lingua fu conforme il core’ (I. 21). The concordance of tongue and heart is carried to extremes in a much later letter, dated 11 November 1537, in which Aretino defends his suggestion that Francis I break an alliance with the Turks to join the pope, Venice, and the emperor against the Turks. Professing himself a loyal servant of Francis, the author asserts his right to express impartial opinions to the king and emperor who pay him: ‘Io non giudico il torto né il dritto de le due maestà nel discorso ch’io faccio, anzi tengo la ragion di Domenedio, e ricordandomi che l’una e l’altra m’ha rallegrato con la cortesia, non sono ingrato né a quella né a questa’ (I. 227). By affirming his possession of ‘God’s reason’ – a not entirely absurd claim, since he is advocating a Christian alliance against the Turks – Aretino exempts himself from conforming to the accepted forms of adulation which the letter condemns. A few lines later, the author extends his appropriation of God’s righteousness, claiming divine inspiration in speaking the truth. 27 This kind of sweeping claim of righteousness, while in keeping with the moralistic tone of the later letters of the first volume, is present even as early as a letter dated 19 December 1533, in which Aretino writes to Cardinal Ippolito de’ Medici that he is forced by penury to move to Constantinople under the protection of the Doge’s son (I. 39). The author then asserts that the role of truth-teller is a physical burden that he, the lone virtuous man on earth, has taken upon himself: E così l’Aretino, uomo verace eccetto nei biasimi che le troppe aspre cagioni mi hanno fatto dare a nostro signore, misero e vecchio se ne va a procacciarsi il pane in Turchia, lasciando fra i cristiani felici i roffiani, gli adulatori e gli ermafroditi (I. 39). The author thus simultaneously pledges his truthfulness and exculpates himself from previous remarks made against Clement VII. At the same time, the portrayal of himself as a wretched old man, exiled to pagan lands, becomes yet another demand for patronage. The letter asserts that the author, a God-given miracle, has – like Christ – paid for truth with his blood: ‘io che ho ricomperato il vero col proprio sangue me ne andrò là; e nel modo che gli altri mostra i gradi, l’entrati e i favori acquistati ne la corte di Roma per i suoi vizi, mostrerò le offese ricevute per le mie vertù’ (I. 39). Rhetorically invoking the incommensurable sacrifice of Christ’s blood, in contrast with the buying and selling of favours (grazie quite unlike God’s grace) at the 192 the italianist 28 · 2008 papal court, the letter threatens quite bluntly that, if forced by poverty to accept patronage in Constantinople, Aretino will publish unpleasant facts about the Roman court. This threat is followed by a suggestion that not only is Christ guiding and watching over him (a dig relating to the assassination attempt he survived in Rome), but that Aretino is himself a living miracle: E quel Cristo che a qualche gran fine mi ha campato tante volte de la morte, sarà sempre meco, perché io tengo viva la sua verità e ancora per esser io non pur Pietro, ma un miracoloso mostro degli uomini. […] Io parlo con l’anima sincera, svelata da la fraude e d’ogni adulazione, le quali fanno me misero per aborrirle e altri beato per osservarle. (I. 39) This hyperbole hints that its author is greater than the pope himself, since Pietro Aretino is not just any ‘Pietro’. Overall, the letter depicts him as a misunderstood, abused, and Dantesque prophet who has been preserved from death by Christ so that he may fulfill some divine plan. Moreover, the telling of truth is part of an exchange in which Aretino’s body acquires immeasurable, Christological value, since the price of truth is Aretino’s blood. Depictions of the author and his supposed integrity, in this and other letters, relate closely to the issue of gifts of clothing. What makes Aretino inimitable is apparently his truthfulness, his blood, and the salt of his wit. However, in depicting himself as unique, the writer faces a double-bind: on the one hand, as a commoner of obscure origin, he needs to assert his material value. He must be worth money, likened to precious stones and gold coins, so that people will pay him and he can keep up a façade of wealth and prestige. On the other hand, jewellery, coins, and rich clothing are outward trappings that are both imitable and imitations of other models, so the author’s uniqueness has to be asserted in non-material terms – thus, the ‘saltiness’ of Aretino’s wit, the violence of his pen, the gift of his blood, and his likeness to the truly inimitable Christ. The many letters about clothing in the early part of the collection resolve one concern: they show that Aretino is a valued and important correspondent of princes. This solution, however, poses a new problem: how to establish a man who is dressed by others – that is, a man over whom others have the power of investiture – as an independent and autonomous teller of truths. While clothing adds value to the writer, it also puts him under an obligation – an obligation that the letters try to neutralize by insisting that he gave the clothes away, and by stressing that his writing has its own material value. Resolving contradictions: vertù dressed-up and rescued A hint as to the significance and resolution of the clothing problem surfaces in the midst of the correspondence about the falsely attributed letters. Dated between Gaylard · Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters 193 8 February and 6 April 1537, the series begins at I. 97 and continues intermittently to I. 111, with only four letters explicitly discussing the falsified correspondence (97, 105, 106, and 107). Four more concern gifts of clothing (100, 102, 103, 108), and the last two letters of the series are about gifts of food (109, 111). By pointing out Aretino’s generosity with what he calls his own ‘vertù’, the letters broach the difficulty of reconciling rich apparel with the author’s vaunted independence and lack of guile. The first time Aretino writes about the faked letters, he signs off, ‘promettendovi de la mia vertù tutto quello che ella può’ (I. 97) – in other words, promising the gifts of his genius to Luigi Gonzaga (I. 97). A few weeks later, he asks Bastiano da Cortona to take advantage of the ‘piccol poter de la vertù mia’ (I. 101, 6 March 1537); and ten days later he offers to an army captain ‘la mia piccola vertù’ before making a grander gesture: ‘me vi do tutto in preda’ (I. 104, 15 March 1537). The letter immediately preceding Aretino’s offer of himself as ‘loot’, also touts the author’s generosity, but concerns a different kind of loot. Here, thanks for clothes received become an opportunity to remind Gian Battista Castaldo that his previous gift of clothing was stolen from one of Aretino’s dependents by a boatman who ‘pontò via con la preda’ (I. 103, 12 March 1537). While the anecdote suggests that Aretino never wore the clothes, and that his dependent in fact pilfered them, the author’s praises of his own generosity become a challenge to the patron he is ostensibly thanking: ‘do a ognuno quel ch’io ho! […] perché io ebbi la prodigalità per dota come la maggior parte degli uomini ha l’avarizia’ (I. 103). The changing of hands of apparel – from Aretino to the other man, and then to the boatman – emphasizes the transferability of clothing, downplaying the ‘material memory’ that links those who share clothes. Quite why Aretino mixes encomiums of his own genius or vertù with details of his generously giving away expensive clothing becomes clearer in this series of letters – in both those concerning false correspondence and those thanking patrons. These letters hint at the superlative material value of Aretino’s genius, noting that ‘il maligno, per aver falsificato la vertù merita altra pena che chi falsifica le stampe de le zecche’ (I. 106, 25 March 1537). Similarly, the following letter begins with a defense of ‘l’oro de la vertù che io ho da Dio’ (I. 107, 3 April 1537). While vertù clearly has a great financial value, it is unlike other valuables in that, as a gift from God, it cannot be fabricated like fake coins – or stolen, like clothing. Alongside the impassioned defense of Aretino’s precious genius, the letters about clothes emphasize their transferability, pointing out in three out of four cases that these gifts have been given away to, or appropriated by, women (I. 100, 102, 108) – an important detail which returns us to the problematic gendering of vertù. The close association between women and clothing is confirmed in a letter addressed to a presumably fictitious person, which seems to be a public declaration 194 the italianist 28 · 2008 of Aretino’s role in patronage politics, and offers an intriguing articulation of the problematic Aretinian term vertù (I. 107, 3 April 1537). Waddington has noted that, for Aretino, vertù etymologically connotes manliness and implies a code of values – in this case, Aretino’s manly creative power and his way of seeing the world. The ancient Latin sense of the feminine noun vertù (or virtù, deriving from Latin virtus, from the masculine vir, man), had been resuscitated by fifteenth-century humanists, so that, for the elite, vertù could suggest masculine heroism and valour. Aretino’s use of the word also belongs to the new, Cinquecento epithet virtuosi for excellent artists, writers and singers. 28 Vertù appears in the letter renouncing financial gain from book sales, in which Aretino asserts that he would rather suffer hardship than degrade his vertù by profiting, like a pimp, from selling books. 29 The feminine noun, while lending itself to such personification, complicates the traditional gendering of intellectual activity as active and male (in the masculine noun ingegno, or Latin ingenium), as does the correspondence asserting Aretino’s uniqueness. The letter to the unidentified ‘Giannantonio da Foligno’ validates genius in material terms, praising Aretino’s ‘oro de la vertù’ as a gift from God (I. 107). Affirming both his identity as a soldier of the pen, and his own power of investiture, Aretino asserts that he has performed a public service, since princes fear the violence of his pen if they are stingy toward artists and writers: Io ho scritto ciò che ho scritto per grado de la vertù, la cui gloria era occupata da le tenebre de l’avarizia dei signori. E inanzi ch’io cominciassi a lacerargli il nome, i vertuosi mendicavano l’oneste commodità de la vita […] Adunque i buoni debbono avermi caro perché io con il sangue militai sempre per la vertù: e per me solo ai nostri tempi veste di broccato, bee ne le coppe d’oro, si orna di gemme, ha de le collane, dei danari, cavalca da reina, è servita da l’imperadrice e riverita da dea; ed è empio chi non dice ch’io l’ho riposta nel suo antico stato. Ed essendo il redentor di lei, che ciancia l’invidia e la plebe? (I. 107) The clothing and bejewelling of vertù looks remarkably similar to the clothing and bejewelling of Aretino which the preceding letters try simultaneously to promote and dissimulate – even to the details of gold cups and brocade. 30 It is no coincidence that the fancy trappings associated with the slippery term vertù are precisely the sort of ‘loot’ stolen in I. 103. Indeed, the affected nonchalance concerning rich clothing, in the letters surrounding I. 107, complicates the claims in this letter. The comparison between vertù and a queen, and the reverence of empresses and goddesses, reinforce vertù’s femininity. Thus the author becomes the more worthy soldier, a saviour who sacrifices his own blood for the reinstatement and investiture of a personified vertù. Aretino is both more masculine (for his attack and rescue operation) and more independent than writers, artists, and others who rely on a courtly system of patronage. Indeed, those at court are perilously Gaylard · Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters 195 like vertù itself – feminized by their passivity and need for a saviour, effeminate through their excessive trappings of beauty which will be their payment at court (as secured by Aretino). Moreover, as the knightly saviour of a feminine vertù, Aretino is responsible for its esteemed (effeminate) position and its investiture. Taking a swipe at scholars who might look down their noses at the upstart from Arezzo, the letter affirms: ‘Caminino pure i dotti per le strade che gli han fatte le mie sicure braccia’ (I. 107). Regardless of their criticisms, scholars owe their position to Aretino’s soldierly strength. The letter immediately following this investiture of a feminized vertù takes pains to underline both Aretino’s distance from clothing, and the connection between clothing and women: no sooner had Aretino given away some clothing from Luigi Gonzaga’s sister-in-law, he says, than more elegant clothes arrived from Luigi Gonzaga’s wife; these last were immediately stolen by the women of Aretino’s household (I. 108, 3 April 1537). While women are the ultimate recipients of clothing gifts as early as June 1535, it is notable that, in the series of letters seeking to prove Aretino’s uniqueness, those that mention gifts of clothing specify that the clothes were given away to women (I. 100, 102); or bemoan the theft of clothes by a menial (I. 103) or by women (I. 108). 31 The close association of women with fancy apparel reinforces the effeminacy of courtly vertù implied by the clothing and bejewelling of vertù. Moreover, if women and servants routinely steal clothes to which they have no right, we infer that certain kinds of literary identity are replicable, and can be appropriated by the weak and unscrupulous. An ambiguity emerges in the author’s definition of his artistic genius, as the rescue and investiture of a personified feminized vertù contrasts with Aretino’s assertions of his own invaluable vertù. The letters seem to suggest that the vertù of others requires resplendent exterior trappings while Aretino’s more active genius is itself authentic ‘gold’ – in other words, his vertù is not merely artistic excellence, but also seems to incorporate the archaizing meaning of manly heroism. The author apparently resolved the clothing issue to his own satisfaction, since after this letter the collection begins to discuss more earthy, and less symbolically weighted gifts: food. A letter dated the very next day thanks Marcantonio Venier for ‘due piccoli vitelli, i gran formaggi e i buoni salami’ which the entire household enjoyed; two days later, proving his mettle as ‘scourge of princes’, the author sharply reproves Manfredo di Collalto for promising a young goat which never materialized (I. 109, 4 April 1537; I. 111, 6 April 1537). It is thus not too surprising that almost the last letter concerning opulent, wearable gifts occurs as early in the collection as a letter dated 20 August 1537, which thanks the Empress Isabella for a gold chain (I. 175). After this encomium and pledge of servitude, the few letters about gifts concern food such as mushrooms, game birds, or sugar (I. 183, 209, 343), or the interruption of the usual delivery of salad (I. 217). Even before the letter thanking Isabella for the necklace, there 196 the italianist 28 · 2008 is a decided change in the discussion of gifts. On 3 June 1537, Aretino thanks Marcolini for food and flowers (I. 137), and two weeks later a note reaffirms the association of fine clothing with women, asserting that a collar received was so beautiful that the writer immediately sent it to a female relative in Arezzo (I. 148). A fortnight later, Aretino thanks Girolamo da Coreggio for some peaches, noting that despite the fact that the peaches were overripe and no longer fresh, ‘mi sono più state a core per esser venute ai miei dì, che i presenti in contanti e in robbe, i quali mi danno i principi’ (I. 158, 29 June 1537). In keeping with previous discussions of gifts, Aretino notes that he immediately gave the peaches away, just as he had done with some pears from Veronica Gambara. While this letter rehearses the themes of the tardiness of princes’ gifts and Aretino’s own generosity, the contrast with the earlier letters describing clothing is stark. The absence of descriptions of rich clothing in the second half of the collection is particularly noticeable when coupled with a tendency to treat letters received as gifts in themselves, as in a note to Luigi Alamanni of 12 September 1537: ‘potendo io spiegare il foglio del mio signor Luigi, non conosco gemma di più stima’ (I. 189; see also I. 58, 69). If letters are intrinsically valuable, then Aretino is both very wealthy and very generous. In a similar vein, the final letter to mention a wearable gift (a jewel), an isolated case at the end of the collection, considers as ‘gifts’ both the jewel and the letter accompanying it: ‘Io ho ricevuto […] in un tempo medesimo due presenti: la turchese legata con l’oro e la lettra chiusa con la cera; […] ne la vertù de l’una consiste la sicurezza de la vita e ne la eleganza de l’altra l’onor de la fama’ (I. 317, 21 December 1537). ‘La sicurezza de la vita’ hints that the jewel may be pawned for hard cash, but the rhetorical parallel between the two gifts, and the idea that letters impart fame, suggest that letters are a more worthy gift, since they offer something more enduring than financial security. 32 A further clue as to the change in the letters appears in a letter of 24 November 1537 to the poet and jurist Antonio Cavallino (I. 248). The letter begins by lamenting the theft of some cloth, and goes on to compare the lot of poverty-stricken poets with that of wealthy lawyers: ‘i poeti gracchiaranno un secolo prima che se gli impeli la beretta e il saio, non vo’ dir la veste’ (poets may croak for a century before they get to wear a cap and tunic, never mind a gown). While this metaphor of investiture sums up the cliché that poets take a long time to gain wealth and authority, the letter continues in Aretino’s self-praise by asserting that Petrarch regretted choosing poetry and the servitude of court life, over law. In the context of the collection, Aretino has clearly done better than Petrarch, since he has already been invested with ‘hat and gown’ and declared himself autonomous of courtly patronage. Unlike even the greatest modern poet, Aretino has not only gained recognition and fame in his own lifetime, but has also superseded investiture by others, becoming the warrior whose efforts have resulted in the investiture of weaker poets and of poetic genius itself. Gaylard · Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters 197 Genius unmasked In turning away from discussions of clothing, the later letters dwell on Aretino’s greatness and innate sense of judgment – either indirectly, as he offers advice and reflections on a variety of topics – or more directly, as the writer dwells on his own brilliance and uniqueness. A letter of 14 June 1537 warns against making an enemy of Aretino: ‘Amimi se vol ch’io nol disami, e apprezzimi se vuol ch’io nol disprezzi; perché quando lo spirto di Pasquino mi pone nel furor poetico, son più orribile che il diavolo’ (I. 146). In other words, the writer’s ability to write satirical pasquinades comes from a poetic fury, the results of which render him dangerous to anyone who displeases him (including, of course, insufficiently generous patrons). A famous letter, dated two weeks later, extends this notion that Aretino is an inspired poet, and clarifies what scholars have considered the writer’s official opinions on poetry. Decrying artificial ornament and slavish copying of predecessors, the letter declares: ‘la natura stessa, de la cui semplicità son secretario, mi detta ciò che io compongo’ (I. 156, 25 June 1537). Aretino thus distinguishes his own ‘naturalness’ from the dominant theories of imitation promulgated by the scholarly ‘pedants’ against whom he repeatedly inveighs. The artificiality of many of the letters belies the assertion of ‘naturalness’, which follows from the traditional humanistic pose of letters as artless outpourings of thought. The idea of Aretino as the secretary of nature is, however, shored up by the careful presentation, in the later part of the volume, of the author as a selftaught visionary. In advising Antonio Gallo on how to write poetry, one letter suggests that an author rely on nature and his own memory while subject to the ‘furor d’Apollo’, since copying others is worthless (I. 172, 6 August 1537). We infer that Aretino’s own writing is the result of a combination of inspiration, memories, and observations of real life. Increasingly, the letters affirm that Aretino is a self-taught commoner, a kind of idiot savant whose ‘hidden genius’ deserves the grateful support of unnumbered scholarly patrons: ‘merito la grazia vostra e d’ogni dotto uomo, perché il sapere di saper nulla che è in me, viene da la modestia d’una occulta vertù’(I. 154, 23 June 1537). Such professions of ignorant humility are most striking in a letter to Lodovico Dolce, dated five months later: la fante de la gloria fa lume al buio del mio nome con una candela di sego e non col torchio; perciò porto l’ignoranza in su la palma de la mano, pregandola che faccia sì che i dotti non mi scomunichino, quando la presunzione […] mi pon la penna ne l’inchiostro sacrato. (I. 250, 25 November 1537) The disingenuousness of this passage is particularly startling: by late 1537, Aretino, far from being ‘excommunicated’ by scholars, was not only paid a regular stipend by Charles V, but was widely courted, since his pen was considered too powerful to ignore. Following this assumption of humility, the letter excuses Aretino’s failings 198 the italianist 28 · 2008 by noting that he attended school barely long enough to learn the alphabet. The note closes with the most outlandish assertion of all: ‘Sì che leggendo le mie coglionerie scusatimi con voi stesso, perch’io son più tosto profeta che poeta’ (I. 250). In other words, readers should forgive any roughness of style or disagreeable content in his writings, since the author is a visionary who must not be judged by the same standards as mere writers bound by convention and tradition. Thus the almost total abandonment of the theme of clothing, after the extended defense of Aretino’s uniqueness, coincides with a change in tone of the letters. Aretino’s praises of his own unpolished style and his genius – ‘hidden’ no longer – emerge in the later part of Lettere I, particularly in condemnations of those ‘pedants’ who adhere to canons of literary production. On 17 December 1537, Aretino claims that he has turned away from the models of Petrarch and Boccaccio, ‘per non perder il tempo, la pazienza e il nome ne la pazzia del volermi trasformar in loro, non essendo possibile’ (I. 300). Thus a writer cannot transform himself by borrowing someone else’s poetic style, as he can by assuming someone else’s clothes. Asserting that his roughness of style has its own pedagogical logic, the letter continues, ‘Io porto il viso de l’ingegno smascarato, e il mio non sapere un’acca insegna a quegli che sanno la elle e la emme’ (I. 300). The unmasking of Aretino’s genius, in conjunction with his rough style, reclaims the rough style as part of that genius. We infer that Aretino’s ingegno will infuse new energy into the pedantry of writing, redefining written expression. The assertion that Aretino is more a prophet than a poet, alongside frequent, spurious claims of ignorance and lack of education, is part of what Larivaille identifies in the later letters as the development of an Aretinian ‘morality’. This is best summarized in a famous letter, dated 11 December 1537, which justifies the publication of the scandalous Modi sonnets: Che male è il veder montare un uomo adosso a una donna? […] A me parebbe che il cotale, datoci la natura per conservazion di se stessa, si dovesse portare al collo come pendente e ne la beretta per medaglia, però che egli è la vena che scaturisce i fiumi de le genti e l’ambrosia che beve il mondo nei dì solenni. Egli ha fatto voi […]. Ha creato me, che son meglio che il pane. Ha prodotto i Bembi, i Molzi, i Fortuni, i Franchi, i Varchi, gli Ugolin Martelli, i Lorenzi Lenzi, i fra Bastiani, i Sansovini, i Tiziani, i Michelagnoli, e doppo loro i papi, gli imperadori e i re. […] Onde se gli doverebbe ordinar ferie e sacrar vigilie e feste, non rinchiuderlo in un poco di panno o di seta. (I. 315) Waddington has pointed out that this eulogy of the phallus connects male sexuality with the creative power of artistry, since the creation of Aretino is linked with – and precedes – that of writers, painters and sculptors (p. 115). My concern is the proposal to display the phallus, symbol of creative male power, Gaylard · Clothing, patronage, and genius in Aretino’s letters 199 which has until now been ‘shut away in a piece of cloth’. In the context of the many letters about clothing, the letter assumes greater significance, as the writer throws off all the ‘clothing’ that disguises his ‘hidden genius’. Evidently received clothes attempt to transform Aretino into something he is not, while obligating him to a system of patronage which (he says) he despises. In place of clothing, Aretino advocates wearing the creative energy of the phallus, in the style of a personal emblem, as an external marker of generative masculine creativity. This unchanging emblem of uniqueness is subject neither to the patronage and investiture system, nor to the inflections inherent in clothing fashions, but is a different kind of external identifier. Aretino’s ambitious and evolving use of satyr images helps to clarify the importance of this letter. In the 1520s, the writer identified himself through satire and licentiousness with satyrs, especially Priapus. 33 Later in his career, Aretino was influenced by Erasmus’ use of Plato’s Symposium – which likens Socrates to the ugly, clay Silenus statues which, when opened, reveal figures of the gods. Since Erasmus compares Christ and the unadorned Christian style with the Silenic Socrates, Aretino gradually tried to associate himself with the more complex and enigmatic figure of Silenus. 34 This link is presaged by the author’s presentation of himself in Lettere I, as a prophetic Christological figure, a fighter for truth, the ‘secretary of nature’ who scorns literary tropes, the genius initially hidden but later uncovered. The unveiling of the phallus, and the assumption of the phallus itself as clothing, thus belongs both to Aretino’s use of satyr images and to a series of letters which glorify the uncovering and display of raw creative energy – associated with vertù and ingegno – in contrast with the effeminacy of imitating others, characteristic of the courtly patronage system. Yet the idea that one might wear the phallus as a badge, hung around the neck or pinned to a hat, is disconcerting, even though it recalls traditional priapic images. The letter tells us that the phallus is usually ‘covered’, so presumably attached to a body, but in order to be worn as a badge must be symbolically ‘cut off’ and reattached. 35 Figurative dismemberment or not, the immediate resumption of clothing in the letter – even clothes decorated in priapic style – is a compromise suggesting both the disingenuousness of the gesture, and the impossibility of escaping the literary and social conventions which Aretino publicly denigrates. The uncovering of an Aretinian vertù – closely associated with the writer’s active male sexuality – and the re-clothing of the poet in symbols of phallic creative power, do however extend the significance of Aretino’s rejection of poetic imitation. The letters first construct Aretino’s identity as authoritative through lengthy descriptions of rich clothing, and then reject the obligation inherent in received clothes, opting instead for a symbol of creative masculinity. In parallel fashion, the first edition of Lettere I takes both humanist correspondence and 200 the italianist 28 · 2008 Serlio’s Architectura as its models, only to make a show of casting them off in favor of a rougher style that claims to be the expression of natural, Christian genius. The simultaneous exploitation and rejection of clothing as a marker of social identity, is a tactic presaging the popularity of personalized emblems in the later part of the sixteenth century: Aretino’s privileging of a timeless symbol over the social specificity of clothing, suggests that the personalized emblem offers more hope to writers needing an autonomous and adaptable public image, since, unlike clothes, an emblem is personal, enigmatic, and can be used in multiple situations. In this way, the letter collection both posits and tries to resolve a problem regarding not just the circulation of clothes, but also the circulation of manuscript letters: just as clothing is transferable, so are letters – and this is their danger. While on the one hand, letters – like clothes – signify an exchange between two people that binds them in a relationship of obligation, on the other hand, letters are short, handwritten texts which – like clothes – rely on models for imitation, and circulate autonomously from their creator. This transferability of clothing and letters clarifies and justifies both the choice to collect the letters into a single, distinctive, and thus authoritative volume, and the need for Aretino to identify himself with something more permanent, more personally unique, and less threatening to his autonomy than clothing: a personal emblem. Alongside the personal emblem – a timeless marker of creative masculinity adopted as clothing – Aretino takes on a signature style, itself a kind of emblem, which he codifies in the form of a book which is identified, unmistakably, with his own face. Notes * I would like to acknowledge the guidance of Albert Ascoli, Fascism: Beyond the Black Shirt (Oxford, Berg, 2004); as well as Dolora Wojciehowski’s thoughtful feedback on Evelyn S. Welch, Shopping in the Renaissance: Consumer an earlier version of this essay. I am, additionally, indebted Cultures in Italy 1400-1600 (New Haven, Yale University to the anonymous Italianist readers for their comments and Press, 2005); and Clothing culture, 1350-1650, edited by suggestions. Catherine Richardson (Aldershot, Ashgate, 2004); as well 1 Baldesar Castiglione, Le Lettere, edited by Guido La as the forthcoming English translation of Cesare Vecellio’s Rocca, Tutte le opere, 2 vols (Milan, Mondadori, 1978), costume book by Margaret Rosenthal and Ann Rosalind I, 17, p. 21, letter from Cesena, dated 7 July 1504. Jones. Paolo Giovio, Dialogo dell’imprese militari e amorose, Translations of complex discussions of clothing are 3 provided for the sake of clarity; however, since fashions edited by Maria Luisa Doglio (Rome, Bulzoni, [1978]); changed over time and differed from place to place, both Torquato Tasso, Il conte, overo de l’imprese, edited by the Italian and the English terms for most items of clothing Bruno Basile (Rome, Salerno, 1993). are generic. 4 2 and Self-Projection in Sixteenth-Century Literature and Art For recent work on early modern clothing, see Ann Raymond Waddington, Aretino’s Satyr: Sexuality, Satire, Rosalind Jones and Peter Stallybrass, Renaissance Clothing (Toronto, Toronto University Press, 2004). My discussion and the Materials of Memory (Cambridge, Cambridge of the printing history and the format of the volume owes University Press, 2000); Eugenia Paulicelli, Fashion under a great deal both to Waddington and to Fabio Massimo Gaylard · Clothing, patronage and genius in Aretino’s letters Bertolo, Aretino e la stampa: Strategie di autopromozione a ottobre 1992), 2 vols (Rome, Salerno, 1995) I, 157-78 Venezia nel Cinquecento (Rome, Salerno, 2003). (p. 163). 5 Waddington, pp. xix, 109. 12 6 See A. D. Fraser Jenkins, ‘Cosimo de’ Medici’s Patronage 201 Giuliano Innamorati, Pietro Aretino: Studi e note critiche (Messina, G. D’Anna, 1957), pp. 239-42. See Natalie of Architecture and the Theory of Magnificence’, Journal of Zemon Davis, The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France (Oxford, the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 33 (1970), 162-70, Oxford University Press, 2000) for an historical analysis for the new conception of visible public magnificence as of the gift economy, and especially for the obligation of a virtue. See also Dale Kent, Cosimo de’ Medici and the reciprocity as a contentious issue for religious reformers. Florentine Renaissance: The Patron’s Oeuvre (New Haven, For reformers’ attempts to restore gratuitousness to the Yale University Press, 2000). gift, and for art as a gift, see Alexander Nagel, ‘Gifts 7 See Patricia Fortini Brown, ‘Behind the Walls: The Material Culture of Venetian Elites,’ in Venice Reconsidered: The History and Civilization of an Italian City-State, edited by John Martin and Dennis Romano (Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000), pp. 295-338 (p. 327). Fortini Brown notes that Venetian sumptuary laws were unusual in that they applied to almost all citizens (excepting the doge and his family, and the cavalieri), thus allowing less wealthy patricians a justification for curtailing expenses (pp. 327-29). For markers of social hierarchy in Venetian dress, see Stella Mary Newton, The Dress of the Venetians: 1495-1525 (Aldershot, Scolar Press, 1988). For a discussion of the body as locus for display and for establishing hierarchies, see Alan Hunt, Governance of the Consuming Passions: A History of Sumptuary Law (New York, St Martin’s Press, 1996), p. 40. See also Catherine Kovesi Killerby, Sumptuary Law in Italy 1200-1500 (Oxford, Clarendon, 2002) for the rise and failure of Italian sumptuary legislation. 8 Paola Venturelli, Vestire e apparire: Il sistema vestimentario femminile nella Milano spagnola (15391679) (Rome, Bulzoni, [1999]), p. 72. See also Jones and Stallybrass, p. 19. 9 All references to Aretino’s Lettere are from Francesco for Michelangelo and Vittoria Colonna’, Art Bulletin, 79 (1997), 647-68. Also see Jacques Derrida, Given Time: I. Counterfeit Money, translated by Peggy Kamuf (Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1992), who argues that gifts inherently resist the possibility of reciprocity; Derrida critiques Marcel Mauss, The Gift: The form and reason for exchange in archaic societies, translated by W. D. Halls (London, Routledge, 1990), who considers gifts in ‘archaic’ societies as part of an economy of exchange. Aretino’s manipulations of gift rhetoric suggest, to varying degrees, these apparently contrasting phenomena: the letters depict Aretino as giving away gifts received, or reciprocating generously; Aretino’s own work becomes the generous passing-on of a gift from God, seeking to place the reader under an enormous obligation to reciprocate directly to Aretino. 13 See Davis for the coexistence of, and blurring between, patronage, gifts, and sales, pp. 73-109. 14 See Waddington’s discussion of this letter, pp. 42-43. 15 See Bertolo and Waddington. 16 For the changes wrought on the format of the entire title page, see Waddington, pp. 62-64. 17 For psychological and material changes effected by Charles V’s stipend of 1537, see Paul Larivaille, Pietro Erspamer’s edition (Parma, Fondazione Pietro Bembo, Ugo Aretino fra Rinascimento e Manierismo (Rome, Bulzoni, Guanda Editore, 1995-); Roman numerals refer to volume, 1980), pp. 313-16. Arabic numerals to letter number. Janet Arnold, Queen Elizabeth’s Wardrobe Unlock’d: The Inventories of the Wardrobe of Robes Prepared in July 1600 (Leeds, Maney, 1988), pp. 99-100. 18 For the sumptuary restrictions on lynx fur, see Fortini Brown, p. 322, and Rosita Levi Piseztky, Storia del costume in Italia, 5 vols ([Milan], Istituto Editoriale Italiano, 1966), III, fig. 67. Levi Pisetzky observes that lynx-fur was popular 10 Jones and Stallybrass, p. 19. in portraits (fig.77); this bears out Jones and Stallybrass’ 11 Guido Baldassarri, ‘L’invenzione dell’epistolario,’ in findings that people commissioning images of themselves Pietro Aretino nel Cinquecentenario della nascita, Atti del were often depicted in clothing above their station or which convegno di Roma-Viterbo-Arezzo (28 settembre-1 ottobre they could not afford. 1992), Toronto (23-24 ottobre 1992), Los Angeles (27-29 202 19 the italianist 28 · 2008 See Erspamer’s note to I. 40 for the validity of the 29 ‘Io voglio, con il favor di Dio, che la cortesia dei principi manuscript version of this letter (pp. 90-93). mi paghi le fatiche de lo scrivere, e non la miseria di chi 20 le compra, sostenendo prima il disagio che ingiuriar la Aretino’s awareness of the power of clothes to fashion identity is also evident in his comedy La Cortigiana, as vertù facendo mecaniche l’arti liberali’ (I. 153). The gender the servant Rosso observes that fine lords would appear confusion here has been spotlighted by Waddington, ‘monkeys and baboons’ if they were less well-dressed (Act who traces the historical association of printing with I, scene 15). Conversely, the fool Messer Maco is mocked prostitution (according to which the author pimps his through changes of clothes in which his identity is equated book at the brothel-bookshop). Waddington examines with his apparel (Act II, scene 26). While the Cortigiana the ‘metamorphic flexibility or sexual confusion’ about belongs to a tradition in which the protagonist has only to Aretino’s ingegno or vertù in a letter to a courtesan of change his cloak to become unrecognizable, it also satirizes indeterminate gender (IV. 374; Waddington, pp. 43- what Alan Hunt calls the problem of ‘recognizability’ in 45). Waddington concludes, ‘his own sexual identity is early modern urban society: one is constantly surrounded confusingly both feminine and masculine’ (p. 45). I would by strangers, whose dress may or may not signal their true similarly argue that Aretino’s own genius, as depicted in social place (pp. 108-141). I. 107, is both active and male and yet constructed by the 21 See Erspamer’s historical note for the characters mentioned in this letter (I. 45, n. 8). 22 See Erspamer, I. 20, n. 7. 23 According to Erspamer, it is unclear which work Aretino intended to dedicate to Stampa (I. 57, n. 15). patronage system as similar to the passive, effeminate vertù over which Aretino – however briefly – claims dominance. 30 See as further evidence especially letters I. 41, 54, 73, 89. 31 For earlier gifts explicitly requested for or given to Aretino’s mistress, Angela Serena, see I. 48, 61. 32 24 Since Aretino associated with groups of reformers, this facetious comment might, for Aretino’s contemporaries, evoke the religious debate about gifts, and especially the Protestant polemic against offering to God the ‘sacrifice’ of bread and wine at mass as ‘an effort to put up ransom to God, to oblige the Lord by a gift’ (Davis, p. 181). While gifts of clothing are associated with investiture, kinship ties, and payment for services, Aretino’s selfinterested attempts to counter this paradigm by valorizing letters and other writings as far more valuable gifts, presage the modern idea, identified by Alexander Nagel as emerging in the circle of Vittoria Colonna and Michelangelo (a few years after Aretino’s Lettere were published), that 25 Larivaille, p. 314. ‘works of art are not like other commodities but are giftlike 26 Aretino’s ‘lacerating’ the pope is probably a reference to in that their value is irreplaceable and incommensurable’ a pasquinade of 1527, the Pax vobis, which labels the pope (p. 651 n. 19). Aretino’s motives, however, situate him in with a series of strong epithets (see Erspamer, I. 21, n. 3). a more traditional gift economy, in that – unlike Colonna 27 and Michelangelo – he hopes to place the recipient under a ‘Così Iddio spiri chi disturba la pace universale, come l’intendimento di ciò ch’io dico o scrivo è sincero e verace’ (I. 227). 28 See Bruno Migliorini, Storia della lingua italiana (Florence, Sansoni, 1988), pp. 271, 360; Waddington, p. 43. greater sense of obligation. 33 Waddington, p. 19. 34 Waddington, pp. 124-29, 144. 35 I thank Albert Ascoli for pointing out the castration issue here. Please address correspondence to: Susan Gaylard, Dept of French and Italian Studies, University of Washington, Seattle, WA 98195-4361, USA © Department of Italian Studies, University of Reading and Department of Italian, University of Cambridge 10.1179/026143408X363514