The Art of Living Long

T he A r t of

L IVING L ONG

A NEW AND I M P ROVED ENG L I SH VERSI ON

OF T HE TREATISE BY T HE

CEL EBRATED VENETIAN CENTENARIAN

L U I G I CORNARO

W ITH ESSAYS BY

JOSEP H ADDI SON,L ORD BACON,

AND SI RW I L L I AM T EM P LE

not of an age, but for all time.- Ben J onson .

M IL WAUKEEWIL L IAM F . BUTL ER

1 9 1 7

Against diseases known , the strongest fenceI s the defen si ve vi r tue

,abstin ence.

-Benjamin F rankli n .

OR a people of whom less than a two-hundredth part of

one per cen t . reach an age that Nature in tends all shoul dpass,

*the words of the aged author of

“L a Vi ta Sobria”

possess a deep import . To them this volume i s addressed.

L uigi Cornaro’s own account—written toward the closeof more than a cen tury of life of the means of his completerestoration from an almost hopeless complicat ion of bodilyinfirmi t ies, to the happy state he con t inued so lbng to en joy

,

may be said to form a life story,which, in i ts pecul iar sign ifi

cance, i s without a parallel in history.Not

“By showing conclusively and clearlyThat death is a stupid blunder merely,And not a necessi ty of our li ves,

”

but by demonstrat ing, in a manner most decisive, that the con

di t ion Of perfect health—main tained to the full limit of lifeordained by Nature i s a blessing within the power of everyhuman being to realize, and by indicat ing the path by which allmay at tain i t , did this excellen t man earn his unique posit ion

See Note A

7

6 89 641

THE ART OF LIVING LONG

among the benefactors Of mankind. L et us hope that our posit ive and pract ical age, ever ready to judge a proposit ion by i tsdegree of usefulness

,will perceive that a rule of life which

effected the recovery of a dying man, and en abled him to retain

en t ire men tal an d bodily vigor beyond hi s hundredth year, i sof incon testable merit.

While there are some,who

,though of the number of

Comaro’s most zealous pupils, regret that he permi t ted wine toform a port ion of his abstemious diet ; yet , when his posit ion on

this quest ion i s con trasted with the prevailing custom of his

coun try and age, hi s life i s none the less recogn ized by all , as

one of the most salutary examples of a truly temperate careerthe world hasyet witnessed.

A carefully revised version of his celebrated treat ise, madeby able translators, i s here presen ted. As a result of painstaking researches among ancien t documen ts i n the archives ‘

of

Ven ice and Padua,historical matter relat ing to Cornaro and

hi s family i s also placed before the reader. Much of this isnot to be foun d in any previous edit ion of his works, i n the

var i ous languages in to which they have been rendered.Of the other eminen t writersWhose teachings on the subject

Of longevity we have included in this volume, little need her ebe said. One of them, not many years after the famous cen tenarian had passed away

,emphasized to the world, in the L at in

tongue, the substant ial advan tages Com aro had reaped from the

habit of complete self-restrain t to which he had accustomed himself in earlymanhood, and from which, for the remainder of hi sdays, he had never deviated. A cen tury after Bacon, in thegraceful tr ibute which Addison one of the most pract icalphilosophers of his age

—pays to Corn aro, we have an introduct ion to the work of the illustrious Venetian that is trulyworthy of hi s theme.

Acknowledgmen t for valuable assistance i s grateft madeto Con te Comm. Filippo Griman i

,L L . D. ,

the honored Mayorof Ven ice ; Cav. Prof. Angelo Scr inz i , P h. D. ,

Director of theVenetian CivicMuseum,

and Dr . Ricciott i Bratti, his associate ;

8

P REF ACE

as well asDr . Prof. AndreaMoschett i, Dir ector of the Civi cMu

seum of Padua. Thanks are due, also, to Dr . Prof. Emilio L ovarini

,of Bologna, and Signor Michele Dan esi, Edi tor of

Rome, for their kin d revision of the translat ion of “TheVi llas Erected by L uigi Corna ro,” and for their consent to i tspublicat ion. To Cav. Dr . En rico Ridolfi, Director of the RoyalGalleries and Nat ional Museum of Florence, and to the photogr aphers Signori Fratelli Al inar i , of the same city, this work i sindebted for the copy of the T in toretto pain t ing of L uigi Cornaro. Credit i s accorded, for many helpful courtesies, to MissI da M. Street, author Of “Ruskin ’

s P rinciples ofAr t Cr i ti cism,

”

and Messrs. Willard G. Bleyer, of the U ni versity of Wisconsin ,and John G. Gregory, of Milwaukee.

WI L L I AM F. BUTLER.

Milwaukee, January, 1 91 7 .

Bosom up my counsel

You’

ll find i t wholesome.—Wi lliam Shakespeare.

Deign , reader, to be taught,Wha te’er thy strength of body,

force of thought.

David Garri ck.

Know, prudent , caut i ous, self-con trol

I s wisdom’

s root.

Robert

Wouldst thou enjoya longlife, a healthy body, anda vigorous mi nd, and be acqua in ted also wi th the wonderful works of God, labor i n the first place to bringthy appeti te to reason —Benjamin F ranklin .

CONTENTS

P REF ACEI NT RODU CTION

“T o L u igi Cornaro. John Witt RandallJoseph Addison

,in T he Spectator,

”October 1 3

,

1 7 1 1

P ART I

The L ife and Writ ings of L uigi Cornaro“The A r t of L ivi ng L ong,

” by L uigi Comaro

First DiscourseSecond DiscourseThird DiscourseFourth Discourse

P ART IISelect ions from L ord Bacon ’s “Hi story of L i fe and

Death,”

etc.

Select ion s from Si r William T emple’s “Health and

L ong L ife,” etc

AP P END I XA Short History of the Comaro Fami lySome Accoun t Of Emin en t Corn arosBartolomeo Gamba’s Eulogy upon L uigi Corn aro .

Emi lio L ovar in i’s

“The Vi llas Erected by L uigi

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Joseph AddisonL ord BaconSi r William T empl

THE CORNARO COAT OF ARMS

I f any man can convince me and br ing home to

me tha t I do no t think or act ar ight, gladly wi ll I

change; for I search after truth, by which man never

yet was harmed. But he is harmed who abi deth on stilli n his decepti on and ignorance.

Do n ot think that wha t is hard for thee to masteris impossi ble for man ; but i f a thing is possi ble and

pr oper to man , deem i t attainable by thee.

P ersevere then un ti l thou shalt have

things thy own .

L ike a mari ner who has doubled the promontory,thou wi lt find calm, everythi ng stable, and a waveless

bay.

—Marcus Aureli us An ton i nus

INTRODUCT ION

T O L U I G I C OR NAR O

J OHN W ITT RANDAL L *

0 thou that for an hundred yearsDidst lightly tread the an cestral hall,

Yet sawest thy brethren bathed i n tears,Cut down er e r ipe, and round thee fall,

Well didst thou deem long life the measureOf long enjoymen t to the wise,

To fools alone devoid of p leasure ;Thou wouldst not di e as the fool dies.

Robbed of thy ti tles, lands, and health,Wi th man and fortun e i n disgrace,

I n wisdom didst thou seek thy wealth,

Thy peace i n friendship to thy race.

Wi th thi ne eleven grandchi ldren met,Thou couldst at wi ll become the boy;

And, thine own sorrows to forget,Couldst lose thyself in others’ joy,

See Note B

1 3


Couldst moun t thy horse when past fourscore,And climb steep hi lls, and on dull days

Cheer the longhours with learn ed lore,Or spend thy wi t on tales and plays.

I n summer, thou wast fri end of flowers,And

,when the wi n ter n ights grew long,

And musi c cheered the even i nghours,Sti ll clearest was the old man

’

s song.

Thus, whi le thy calm and thoughtful mindThe ravages of time survived,

T hree generati ons of mankindDropped round thee, joyless and shor t-lived.

Thou sawest the flowers of youth decay,Half dr i ed and wi thered through excess,

T i ll, nursed by virtue’s mi lder r ay,T hygreen age grew to fruitfulness.

Thou sawest li fe’

s barque on troubled seasL ong tossed ; care’s clouds thy skies o

’

er cast

But calm con tent, wi th moderate breeze,Brought thee to wisdom’

s por t at last.

L ife’s even ing, wherein most beholdThei r season of regrets and fears,

Became for thee an age of gold,And gave thee all thy happi est years.

As gen tle ai rs and gen ial sun

Stay wi n ter’

s march when leaves grow sere,And

,when the summer

’

s race i s run ,

Wi th a new summer crown the year ;

14

INTRODUCTION

So temperan ce, like that lingeri ngglowWhi ch makes the October woods so br ight,

Did on thy vale of years bestowA glor i ous autumn of delight.

What useful lessons might our r aceF rom thy so sage experi ence draw !

Earth might become a joyous place,Would man but reverence n ature’s law.

Soar folly, self, and sense above;

Govern each mutin ous desi re;Nor let the sacred flame of love

I n passi on’

s hurr i cane expi re.

No wondrous works of hand or mind

Were thin e ; God bade thee stand and wai t,

A livi ngproof to a ll thy kind

Tha t a wi se man may master fate.

Happy tha t li fe around whose close

The vi rtues a ll thei r rai nbows cast,

Whi le wisdom and the soul’

s reposeMake age more blest than all the past !

HERE“ is a story in the “A rabia n Nights’ Ta lesT Of a king who had long languished under an i l l

habit of body, and had taken abundance of remedies

to no purpose . A t length,says the fable

,a physician

c ured him by the following method : He took a hollowball of wood

,and filled i t with several drugs ; after which

‘ See Note C

1 5


he closed i t up so art ificially that nothing appeared . Helikewise took a mal l ; and

,after having hollowed the

han dle,and that part which strikes the ball

,he i nclosed

in them several drugs after the same manner as in theball itself. He then ordered the sultan

,who was h i s pa

t ient , to exercise himself early in the morning with theseright ly prepared instruments

,t ill such t ime as he should

sweat ; when, as the story goes,the vi rtue of the medi

camen ts perspiring through the wood,had so good an

i nfluence on the sultan’s const itut ion,that they cured h im

of an i ndisposit ion which al l the composit ion s he hadtaken inwardly had not been able to remove . This Eastern a llegory i s finely contrived to show us how beneficialbodily labor is to health

,and that exercise is the most

efiectual physic . I have described in my hun dred and

fifteenth paper,from the general structure and mechan

i sm Of a human body,how absolutely necessary exercise

is for i ts preservat ion ; I shall in this place recommendanother great preservat ive Of health

,which in many

cases produces the same efiects as exercise,and may, in

some measure,supply i ts place

,where opportunit ies of

exercise are want ing. The preservat ive I am speakingOf is temperance ; which has those part icular advantagesabove a l l other means of health

,that i t may be pract iced

by al l ranks and condit ions,at any season or in any place .

I t is a kin d of regimen into which every man may puthimself

,without i nterrupt ion to business

,expense of

1 6

INTRODUCTION

money,or loss of t ime. I f exercise throws ofi al l super

flui t ies, temperance prevents them ; i f exerc ise clear s thevessels

,temperance neither sat iates nor overstra ins them ;

i f exercise raises proper ferments in the humors, and pr omotes the c irculation of the blood

,temperance gives nature

her ful l play, and enables her to exert herself in al l her

force and vigor ; if exercise dissipates a growing di stemper

,temperance starves i t .Physi c

,for the most part

,i s nothing else but the

subst itute of exercise or temperance. Medicines are

i ndeed absolutely necessary in acute distempers,that can

not wai t the slow operat ions of these two great i nst ruments of health ; but did men live in a habitual courseof exerci se and temperance

,there would be but li t t le

occasion for them . Accordingly,we find that those parts

of the world are the most healthy where they subsist bythe chase ; and that men lived longest when thei r l iveswere employed in hunt ing, and when they had li ttle foodbesides what they caught. Blistering

,cupping

,bleeding

,

are seldom of use but to the idle and intemperate ; as al l

those inward applicat i ons whi ch are so much in pract i ceamong us

,ar e for the most part noth ing else but expedi

ents to make luxury consi stent with health . T he apoth

coary is perpetually employed in countermin ing the

cook and the vi ntner. I t is sa id of D iogenes,that

,meet

ing a young man who was going to a feast, he took h imup in the street and carried him home to h is friends

,as

one who was running into imminent dan ger,had not he

1 7


prevented h im. What would that philosopher havesa id, had he been present at the glut tony of a modernmeal? W ould not he have thought the master of a familymad

,and have begged his servants to t ie down h i s hands,

had he seen him devour fowl,fish

,and flesh ; swal low

oi l and vinegar,w ines and spices ; throw down sa lads of

twenty di fferent herbs,sauces of a hundred ingredients

,

confect ions and fruit s of numberless sweets and flavors?What unnatural mot ions and counter-ferment s must sucha medley of intemperance produce in the body ! For mypart

,when I behold a fashionable table set out in al l i ts

magnificence, I fancy that I see gout s and dropsies,

fevers and lethargies,with other innumerable distempers,

lyi ng i n ambuscade amon g the dishes .Nature delight s in the most plain and simple diet.

Every animal,but man

,keeps to one dish . Herbs ar e

the food of this species,fish of that

,and flesh of a third .

Man falls upon everything that comes in his way ; n otthe smallest frui t or excrescence of the earth, scarce a

berry or a mushroom,can escape him .

I t is impossible to lay down any determinate rulefor t emperance ; because what is luxury in one may betemperance in another. But there ar e few that havel ived any t ime in the world, who ar e not judges of theirown const itut ions

,so far as to know what kinds and what

proport ions of food do best agree with them. Were I toconsider my readers as my pat ients, and to prescri besuch a kind of temperance as i s accommodated to a l l per

18

INTRODUCTION

sons,and such as is part icularly suitable to our climate

and way of living, I would copy the following rules ofa very eminent physician : “Make your whole r epast out

of one dish; if you indulge in a second, avoid dr i nk!ing

anyth ing str ong t i ll you have fin ished your meal; at the

same t ime abstain fr om a ll sauces, or at least such as ar e

not the most p lai n and simp le.

” 'A man could not be wellgui lty of glut tony

,i f he stuck to these few

'

obvious andeasy rules . In the first case, there would be no vari etyof tastes to solicit his palate, and occasi on excess ; nor,in the second, any art ificial provocat i ves to relieve sati ety

,

and create a false appet i te . But,because i t i s

impossible for one who lives in the world to di et h imselfalways in so philosophical a manner, I think every manshould have h i s days of abst inence, according as h i s const i tut ion will permi t . T hese are great reli efs to nature

,

as they quali fy her for struggling wi th hunger and

th i rst,whenever any distemper or duty of l i fe may put

her upon such dimcul t i es ; and at the same t ime give heran Opportunity of extricat ing herself from her oppres

sions,and recovering the several t ones and springs of

her d i stended vessels . Besi des that,abst inence wel l

t imed often kills a sickness in embryo,and destroys the

first seeds of an indisposit ion . I t i s observed by two orthree ancient authors, that Socrates, notwithstanding helived in A thens during that great plague, wh i ch has madeso much noise through al l ages

,and has been celebrated

at different t imes by such eminent hands ; I say, not

1 9

THE ART OF L IVING LONG

withstanding that he lived i n the t ime of this devouring

‘ pest ilence, he never caught the least infect i on; wh i chthose writers unanimously ascribe to that uninterruptedt emperance which he always observed .

And here I cannot but ment ion an observat i on whi chI have often mad e

,upon reading the lives of the ph i loso

pher s, and comparing them with any series of kings orgrea t men of the same number. If we consider theseancient sages, a great part of whose philosophy consi stedi n a temperate and abstemious course of life

,one would

thi nk the l i fe of a philosopher and the life of a man wereof two different dates . For we find that the generali tyof these wi se men wer e nearer a hundred than sixtyyears of age at the t ime of thei r respect ive deaths . But

the most remarkable instance of the efficacy of temperance t oward the procuri ng of long life

,is what we meet

with in a li tt le book publi shed by LUIGI CORNAROthe VENETIAN ; whi ch I the rather ment ion, because i tis of undoubted cred i t , as the late Venet ian ambassador

,

who was of the same fami ly, attested more than once i nconversat ion

,when he resided in England . Cornaro

,

who was the author of the l it t le “Tr eat ise ” I am ment ion ing, was of an infirm const itut ion, t i ll about forty ;when

,by obst inately persist ing in an exact course of

temperance,he recovered a perfect state of health ; inso

much that at fourscore he publi shed his book, which hasbeen t ranslated into Engl ish under the t it le of “A Sur e

and Cer tain Method of A t ta in ing a L ong and Hea lthy

20

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Of all tyran ts, custom i s that whi ch to sustain

i tself stands most i n need of the Opi n ion whi ch is en ter

tai ned of i ts power; i ts on ly strength li es i n tha t whi ch

i s at tr i buted to i t. A single attempt to break the yoke

soon shows us i ts fragi li ty. But the chief pr operty ofcustom is to con tract our i deas, like our movemen ts,

wi thin the ci rcle i t has traced for us. I t governs us by

the ter ror i t i nspi res for any new and un tri ed condi tion .

I t shows us the walls of the pr ison wi thin whi ch we ar e

inclosed, as the boundary of the world; beyond that, all

i s undefined, confusi on , chaos; i t almost seems as

though we should not have ai r to breathe.

—F . P . G. Guizot.

THE ART OF L IVING

L U I G I C O R N A R O

PREF ACED BY A SHORT AC COUNT OF HI s

L I F E AND WR I T I NGS

’

T i s in ourselves that we

are thus or thus. Our bodi es are gardens; to the whi chour wi lls are gardeners : so tha t if we wi ll plan t nettlesor sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply

i t wi th one gender of herbs or distract i t wi th many,ei ther to have i t ster i lewi th idleness or manured wi thindustry, why, the power and corrigible author i ty ofthis li es in our wi lls. I f the balance of our lives had

not one scale of r eason to poi se another of sensuali ty,the blood and baseness of our na tures would conduct

us tomost pr eposterous conclusi ons: but we have reasonto cool our ragi ng moti ons, our carnal stings, our nu

bi tted lusts

A Shor t Accoun t of

THE L IFE AND WRITINGS

L U IG I C O RNA R O

T O L U I G I C O RNA R O

F ROM THE I T AL I AN OF H I ERONI MO GU AL DO (C I RCA 1 560)DONE I NT O ENGL I SH VERSE BY

J OHN GOADBY GREGORY

well may F ame to you accord the praiseThat, spi te of adverse stars and na ture’s str i fe,Solely by measured conduct of your life,

Healthy and happyyou gained length of days.Nor steps appr oval there, but also weighsThe pains you spared n ot to set others r ight,Gu idi ng thei r footsteps by your beacon-light

T o long and pleasan t jour neyi ng through li fe’

s maze.

Blest is your lot, who, wi th a steadfast mind,Beneath a load of years whi ch many fear,

Con ten ted and feli ci tous abi de,

25


Your voice i n song upraised robust and clear,Your thoughts wi th noble studies occupi ed.

That good is yours which i s for man design ed.

Weary and woeful is senecti tude

E’

en when from penury and aches’

tis free,Cri es on e,

“

for tha t i t br ings debi li ty,And warns us of the gri sly mona rch rude.

Yet he who holds i n rei n his passi ons crudeNor rends the blossoms from li fe’s growi ng tree,Gathers in age fr uits sweet and fai r to see,

F or Nature i s wi th purpose kind endued.

I f I , now years come on , am weak and i ll,

Not time, but I , am cause of this my woe.

T oo much I heeded headlongappeti te.

And though to save the wreck I bend my wi ll,’

T is vai n , I fear— I ever older grow,

And aged error i s not soon set r ight.

I n hermi t caverns, where the deser t glowers,The anci en t F athers li ved on frugal fareRoots, cresses, herbs— avoiding vi ands rare,

Nor had they pala tes less refined than ours.

F rom thei r example, confirma ti on flowersOf wha t you tell me, and i n mi nd I bearThat feasts whi ch folly spreads on tables fair

Our frames enfeeble and reduce our powers.

26

LIFE OF CORNARO

The wish in man is nati ve to r emain

L ongwi th the li vi ng, for to live is sweet.His wi sh he may by absti nence attai n .

Dame Reason counsels, sober and discreet,T his way that solid pri vi lege to gai n ,

And tardy to the realm of shades r etreat.

U I G I CORNARO,

* Often styled THE VENET I AN CENTENAAN, the aged author of the famous treat ise, “

L a Vi ta

Sobri a” * (literal translat ion , “The T emperate L ife but

better kn own as“T he A r t of L i ving was born I n the

city of Ven ice in the year 1 464.

Although a direct descendan t of the illustrious family of

Com aro, yet , defrauded in some way through the dishonest

in trigues of some of hi s relat ives, —we ar e but imperfectlyacquainted w ith the circumstan ces,

—he was deprived of the

honors and privileges attached to his noble birth,and excluded

from all public employmen t in the State. A man of gr eatperson al and fami ly pride, he felt very keen ly the humiliat ion of this treatmen t ; and

,as a consequence, he withdrew

from his n at ive place and made the city of Padua his homefor the remainder of hi s life, save for brief seasons of summerret irement to his coun try-seats.

Yet that,which, at the t ime, must have seemed to him a

great misfortune, proved even tually a blessing ; and doubtless,during the long course of his remarkable career

,Cornaro

’s

philosophic mind often reverted with thankfulness to thosevery indign ities, but for which, perhaps, he would never havereceived the chief incen t ive of his life ; for may we not believei t was because of them that he resolved to found for himselfa more honorable n ame on e that should rest upon a sounderand more worthy basis than mere family pride. This determin at ion

,whatever may have inspired i t, proved, as we learn

See Note D .

27


i n hi s nar rat ive,to be the crisis of his life

, changing, as if bymagic, i ts en t ire course ; and i t resulted i n the establishmen tof a fame

,not only great i n h is own day, but which con tinues

to increase as t ime rolls on .

In order to accomplish the purpose uppermost in his

mind, the first thing to which he gave hi s constan t and mostin telligen t atten t ion was the securing of perfect health, whichheretofor e he had never kn own

, and which he recogn ized as thebest armor for the warfare of life ; a kn owledge, the importanceof whi ch— in hi s day, as i n ours— few fully realized. At

the details of this glorious work, as well as i ts happy results,we shall here take on ly a hasty glance ; for the picture he haspainted i s by the hand Of a master

,and no one but himself

can do i t just ice.

Born with a very delicate const itution,accompanied uh

fortun ately by a choleric disposit ion , Cornaro furthermore gaveevidence, in early life, of careless habits which fin al ly developedinto those of in temperance ; and, though destined to leave behindhim a name imperishable, because of virtues based upon a

complete subjugation of every passion , was almost destroyed,before he reached the age of forty, by those natural and acquiredinfirmi t ies

,which

, for years, had made hi s days and ni ghts an

almost con t inual martyrdom.

Finally convinced that his unnatural habits would, if persisted in, soon be the cause of hi s death, and possessed of

that determined courage and resolut ion,which

,on a closer

acquain tance,we shall recogn ize and learn to admire as hi s

chief trait , he changed his mann er of life so completely that ,i n a very brief t ime, his diseases disappeared, giving place toa rugged health and seren ity of mi nd hitherto unknown to

him. I n a word, from a despairing and almost helpless invalid,unfit for either work or en joymen t

,he became not only a man

of perfect health, singularly act ive and happy, but also such an

example of complete self-restrain t as to be the wonder and

admirat ion Of all who kn ew him, earn ing and receiving thet itle of T HE T EM P ERATE. T he mildness and sweetness of hi s

altered disposit ion at the same t ime gained for him the fullestrespect and affection.

28


personal part icipat ion in the many indescribable blessings,which

, for so many years, i t had been hi s lot to en joy ; nor hadany one

,after recovering broken health, lived to such an age

to tell the world how he had done so.

The one thought uppermost i n hi s heart was that of gratitude for hi s recovery, and for the coun tless blessings of hi s

long life. Thi s sen t imen t he hoped would ever con t inue tobear substan t ial fruit ; for he l ived and died in the belief thathi s labors i n writ ing a faithful accoun t of h is experience

,would

result,for all t ime, i n benefit ing those who would listen to him

He was convinced that if he, who had begun life under so manydisadvan tages, could attain perfect health and con t inue in i tfor so many years, the possibilit ies of those blessed with a

perfect const itut ion and aided,from childhood, with the tem

perate rule of life, must indeed be almost unlimited. I t w ill bedifficult to find anywhere recorded an instance wherein constitut ional defects, aggravated by unw ise habits of l ife, threateneda more un t imely death ; and if Corn aro, with a constitut ionnaturally weak and apparen tly ruined at the age of forty,could attain such results

,who will presume to set a limi t to

the possibilit ies of longevity for the human famil y, after consecut ive generat ions have fai th q y observed Nature’s wiselaws

L oaded wi th test imoni als of the gratitude and reverenceof many who had profited by h is example and advi ce, —whichknowledge of this benefit to others was, as he assures us, amongthe sweetest of hi s many blessings, he passed the eveni ng ofhi s life honored by all , and in the en joymen t of the friendshipand esteem of the most eminen t of hi s coun trymen, Havingdevoted his best years to the accomplishmen t of what he firmlybelieved to be hi s mi ssion in this world, a consecrated task,that of bringing home to his fellow-men the r ealizat ion of the

inevitable consequences of in temperance, he patien tly waitedfor the end. When death came, i t found him armed w ith theresignat ion of the philosopher and a steadfastly cour ageous faithin the future

,ready and glad to resign hi s life. Peacefully,

as he had expected and foretold,he di ed at his palace in Padua,

April 26, 1 566, in the one hundred and third year of hi s age.

30

LIFE OF CORNARO

(Historians have not agr eed as to the year of hi s birth, someplacing hi s age at one hundred and four, others as low as

n inety-eight . The dates we have given are, however, substantisted by the best authorit ies. )

He was buried on the eighth of the following month, without any pomp, according to the direct ions left in h is wi ll ;and by his side hi s faithful wife

,who survived him and lived

to almost the same age, in due t ime was laid. Her end was

an equally happy one, fin ding her in such perfect seren ity of

soul and ease of body, that those at her bedside were not awarethat her gen tle spirit had taken i ts flight .

The beaut iful home, built by Cornaro on the Vi a Mel

chior re Cesarott i in Padua, and the scene,for so many years,

of the greatest domest ic happiness as well as of the mostgenerous hospitality, i s st ill in existence

, and has always beenknown by his n ame. I t consists

,mainly

,of thr ee buildings ;

the palace—which i s the principal one—and the casino areboth attributed to Corn aro himself ; whi le the celebrated loggiai s known as the work of hi s protégé and friend, Falconetto.

*

The three inclose a courtyard, upon which all face the palaceon one side near the street, the loggia and casino on other sides.

The best portrait extan t of this justly celebrated man iscatalogued as No. 83 i n the famous gallery of the Pitt i Palace,at Florence. I t has

,un til recen tly, been considered one of

T it ian ’s pain tings ; but i t is now known as the work of T in

tor etto, and i s among the masterpieces of that famous art ist .T he canvas measures 44x33 inches, and the photogr aphic copyused i n this work i s declared by the Director of the Pitt i Gallery to be an excellen t one. T he figure, two-thirds in length,i s life size. Cornaro i s represen ted as seated in an armchair,dressed in black

,hi s ‘

coat t rimmed w ith fur . Though thepicture port rays a man well advanced i n years

,there i s a dign ity

of bearing and a keenness of eye that indicate one still physicallyvigorous and men tally alert .

I n other portions of this volume, some of the many

attainmen ts of this remarkable man are made manifest ; weSee Note F

31


will here—wi th this passing men t ion of hi s treatise on the

preservat ion of the lagoons (“T rattato delle Acque,” Padua,1 560 )— n otice

,very briefly, the wr itings for whi ch he is

chiefly kn own.

At the age of eighty-three, after more than forty years ofperfect health and un disturbed t ranquillity of Spirits, duringwhich t ime he had lived a life that con t rasted as much withthat of hi s ear li er days as i t did with that which he saw com

mouly lived by others aroun d him,he wrote the first of the four

discourses which const itute his famous treat ise,

“L a Vi ta

Sobr ia.

”This was followed by the three others, one wri tten

at the age of eighty-six, one at ninety-one, and the last at

ninety-five ; the four complet ing a most instruct ive l ife storyon e with which he earnestly wished all might become familiar,that they might follow hi s example

,and thus en joy the coun tless

blessings which had so filled hi s own cup to overflowing.Cen turies ago, Pythagoras, Herodicus

,Hippocrates

,I ccus,

Celsus, and Galen—as have some in every age—waged a

bitter warfare against unnatural habits of l ife ; and accoun tsOf the attainmen t of ext raordinary age, both in ancient and

modern t imes, are not uncommon . The autobiography of Cornaro

,however

,who, after pat ien t search, discovered in his own

person the curat ive and life-sustaining power of the temperatel ife, and that beyon d ‘

the cen tury mark, and who,wi th

equal diligence, labored to impress upon others the lesson of

hi s own experience,affords an instance without parallel i n all

the ann als of hi story.I n a very brief way—more effect ive, he believed, than

i f writ ten at greater length—does thi s r emarkable man handdown to posterity his convict ion

,both from Observat ion and

experience, of the utter worthlessness Of the kind of life tooOften seen on all sides. At the same time he pictures the

r eward to be reaped every momen t, but especially i n old age,

from a life spen t in con formity with r eason and Nature.

Most part icularly does he emphasize the greater value of

the later years of life as compared with the earlier ones. Bythe t ime men have acquired knowledge

,judgmen t

,and expe

r ience. the necessary equi pmen t of the fullest ci tizenship,

32

LIFE OF CORNARO

they are unable, he observes, because of physical degenerat ion ,consequen t on irrat ional and un n atural methods of living, toexercise these qualificat ions. Such men are then cut off intheir prime

,leaving, at fifty or sixty

,their life work but half

completed ; and yet , as he protests, were they but to at tainextreme age as followers of the life he led

,

“How much morebeautiful would they make the world !”

The first edit ion of“L a Vi ta Sobr i a the work on which

Cornaro’s fame chiefly rests—was published at Padua i n the

year 1 558 ; and few works Of such small dimension have excitedwider or more fervid discussion . F or three hundred yearsthis treat ise has been a classic in hi s n at ive land. T ranslatedinto L at in , as also in to many modern languages

,i t has been

popular wherever studied. Sli ght as the book i s,i t has

,and

w ill con t inue to have, a permanen t place I n general literature ;though we beli eve i t may be quest ioned if many in this count ry,even among the most cultured readers, have had an opportunityof readi ng i t.

To those only imperfectly acquain ted wi th his story, Cornaro is merely a famous valetudin arian , who was enabled, bytemperate living, to pass the age of a hundred. Careful readersof the book, however, will always remember him not only as a

most charmi ng autobiographer, but also as a man , who, havingsuccessfully solved one of li fe’s most difficult problems, laboredto encourage in others those habits which had proved so advan

tageous in his own case. His assurance that, after all,this

world would be a most del ightful place if people would but l ivetemperately, i s the burden of hismessage to mankind ; and who,today

,i s ready to declare him wrong in hi s assert ion that man ,

by the weak indulgence of hi s appetites, has always shorten edhis life and failed to reap the countless blessings within hisreach ? Convi nced that from this source come most of the illsthat flesh i s heir to, Cornaro wr ites wi th the confidence thatthose who l isten to him earnestly will not fail to heed his warning. Thus, also, w ill they not only secure that perfect healthof body andmind, without whi ch complete happiness can neverbe realized

, but will be enabled to prolong, in honorable en

deaver, that envi able condi t ion to the extreme limi t in tended

33


by Nature. He hoped that the faithful following of his counselwoul d tran sform in to a uni versal hymn of joy the strain of

despairing weariness, so evident throughout the recordedthought of all the cen turies, in which men of all nat ions andranks of li fe have deplored the early loss of youth and vigor,and lamen ted the resistless strides of premature old age.

A simple diet was almost exclusively the nourishment ofthe oldest peeples of Syria

,Egypt, Greece, and, i n their most

glorious days, of the Romans ; and when man shall once moretake to heart this lesson of the means of en joying un in ter

rupted health and full length of days, blessings which in ageslong past were almost universally en joyed, andwhich man alone,

and the animals under hi s con trol,now fail to possess, —the

world will everywhere be blessed with the presence of those whowill be considered in their prime at an age now scarcely believedattainable. There will then be no doubt that life i s worth l iving; and, because man will then seek only i ts true and enduringjoys, those problems that for ages have distressed him willvanish of themselves - problems existing only because of the

craving of the unhealthy human brain for those shadows of lifeso long pictured as i ts substance.

The reader will have spen t hi s t ime in vain,however, if

he fails to appreciate ful ly the vital importance of the factthat Corn aro’s own regimen , as he most strongly in sists, wasintended for himself alone that he does not urge upon everyone the ext reme abst inence practiced by himself. All persons,he declares, should observe the temperate life prescri bed as

Nature’s highest law ; but, as the temperance of one man i s

excess in hi s neighbor, each must discover the suitable quant ityand quality of food proper i n hi s own individual case, and thenl ive accordi ngly. I t i s the aim and spirit , not the letter, of hi sexample that he implores mankind to observe.

While Corn aro’s personal dietary habits are n ot, indeed,

applicable in detail to every individual const itut ion , and werenever, as we have just said, in tended by him as such, yet hi sgeneral rules will always be correct . These have had in the

past,and have today

,many followers ; and the number of those

who faithful ly tread in the pathway indicated for them by the

34

LIFE OF CORNARO

venerable writer, constan tly en joying, during a long and happylife, the blessings promi sed them,

w ill con tinue to increase, letus hope, un t il i t includes, in the not remote future

,the vast

majority Of our race. Even in an age of wealth and luxury,such as ours, in which Opportun it ies rapidly mult iply for thegrat ificat ion of every sensuous desire

,we need not fear that

those who choose to be critics of Corn aro and the fundamen talrules of his teachings, will con t inue to find willing listeners.L et us hope that , in t ime, all will take to heart the lesson taughtmankind by the bitter experience of the cen turies : that thephysical

,moral, in tellectual, and social condit ion now so almost

hopelessly un iversal,i s but the inevitable result Of disobedience

Of natural law ; and that man has but himself to blame when hefails to possess the greatest Of earthly blessings perfect healthof body andmind and fullness of years in which to en joy i t .

65

Some, as thou saw’

st, byvi olen t stroke shall die,

Byfir e, flood, fami ne ; by i n temperance moreI n meats and dr inks, which on the Earth shall

Diseases di re, of whi ch a monstrous crewBefor e thee shall appear, that thou may’st knowWhat misery the i nabst inence of Eve

Sha ll br ing on men .

I f thou well observe

The rule of “Not too much,” by temperance taughtI n what thou eat

’st and dr ink

’

st, seeking from thence

Due nour ishment, not gluttonous delight,

Ti ll many years over thy head r eturn ;

80 mayst than li ve, ti ll, like ripe frui t, thou dropI nto thymother’s lap, or be wi th ease

Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature.

Divine Sobr i ety, pleasing to God, the fr iend ofnature, the daughter of reason , the sister of vi rtue, the

compan i on of temperate li vi ng, . . the lovingmother ofhuman life, the true medi cine both of the soul and of the

body; how much should men praise and thank thee for

thy cour teous gifts! for thou givest them the means of

preserving life i n health, that blessing than which i t didnot please God we should have a greater i n this worldlife and existence, so na turally pr i zed, so wi llingly

guarded by every li vi ngcreature —L uigi Corna ro.

THE F IRST DI SCOURSE

WRITTEN AT T HE AGE OF E IGHTY-THREE

W h erein the author detai ls the method by which he correct edhis infirm condit ion , str ength ened h is n aturally weak

const itut ion , and thenceforth con t inued inthe en joymen t of perfect health

T i s certain that habi t , in man , eventual ly becomessecond nature

,compelling him to pract ice that to

which he has become accustomed,regardless Of

whether such a thing be benefic ial or in jurious to him.

Moreover,we see i n many instances— and no one can

call this i nto quest ion—that the force Of habit willt riumph even over reason . Indeed

,i f a man of good

morals frequents the company Of a bad man,i t very often

happens that he will change from good to bad. Yet

somet imes the contrary is equally t rue ; namely, thatwhile good habits Often change readily for the worse

,so

also do bad habit s change to good ones ; since a wickedman who has once been good may st ill, by frequent ingthe society of the good, return to the better ways which he

39


had formerly fol lowed .

'

A l l these chan ges must be at

t ributed solely to the force Of habit, which is t ruly verygreat .

I t is in consequence Of thi s powerful force Of habi t,that Of late

,— indeed during my own lifet ime and

memory,—three evi l cust oms have gradually gained a

foothold in our own Ita ly. T he first Of these is adulat ionand ceremony

,the second is heresy

,and the third is in

temperance. T hese three vices,cruel monsters Of human

li fe as they t ruly ar e,have

,i n our day, prevailed so uni

ver sal ly as to have impaired the sincerity of social l i fe,the religion of the soul

,and the health of the body.

Having long reflected on thi s unfortunate condi ti on,I have now determi ned tO t rea t of the last Of these vicesi ntemperance ; and

,in order to accompli sh al l I can

t oward abolishing i t,I shall prove that i t is an abuse .

W ith regard to the two other Obnoxious habits, I feelcerta in that

,ere long

,some noble mind wi ll undertake

the task of condemning them and removing them fromamong us. T hus do I firmly hope that I shall

,before I

leave this world, see these three abuses conquered and

crushed out of Ita ly, and,consequent ly

,witness the re

turn Of my country to her wi se and beaut iful customs ofyore.Coming

,then

,to that evi l concerning whi ch I pro~

pose to speak,

the vice of intemperan ce, I declare thati t is a wicked thing that i t should preva il to such an extentas to great ly lower, nay, a lmost abolish

,the temperate

life. For though i t is well known by al l that in temperance proceeds from the vice of glut tony, and temperancefrom the vi rtue Of restraint

,nevertheless the former is

exalted as a virtuous thing and even as a mark of dist inct ion

,while temperan ce is st igmat ized and scorned as

di shonorable,and as befit tin g the miserly alone .

40

LUIGI CORNARO’S TREATISE

T hese fal se not ions are due ent irely to the force Ofhabit

,bred by men’s senses and uncontrolled appet ites .

I t is this craving to grat ify the appet ites which has

allured and inebriated men to such a degree that,abandoning the path of vi rtue

,they have taken to follow

ingthe one of vi ce a road which leads them,though th ey

see i t not,to strange and fatal chronic i nfirmi t ies t hrough

which they grow prematurely Old. Before they reach theage of forty their health has been completely worn out

just the reverse of what the temperate life once did forthem. For this

,before i t was banished by the dead ly

habit of intemperance, i nvariably kept all i ts followersstrong and healthy, even to the age of fourscore and

upward.

O wretched and unhappy Italy,canst thou not see

that intemperance kills every year amongst thy people asgreat a number as would perish during the t imc of a mostdreadful pest i lence

,or by the sword or fire Of many

bloody wars ! And these truly immoral banquets Of thine,now so commonly the custom,

— feasts so great and

intolerable that the tables ar e never found large enoughto accommodate the innumerable dishes set upon them

,

so that they must be heaped, one upon another,a lmost

mounta in high,—must we not brand them as so many

destruct ive bat t les ! Who could ever l i ve amid sucha mult itude of di sorders and excesses !

Oh,for the love Of God, I conjure you to apply a

remedy to this unholy condit ion ! for I am certa in therei s no vice more displeasing to H is D ivine Majesty thanthis fatal one of intemperance. L et this new death

,worse

than any pest ilence ever known, be driven out Of Italy ; aswas the case wi th that other epidemic, which, though i tonce caused so much misery

,nowadays does but very

lit t le harm,—indeed, scarcely any,—thanks to the im

41


proved state of affairs brought about by good sanitaryregulat ions.For there i s a remedy by which we may bani sh thi s

fata l vice of i ntemperance— an easy remedy, and one of

which every man may avail himself if he will ; that is, toli ve in accordance with the simplicity of Nature

,which

t eaches us to be sat isfied with lit t le, to follow the ways ofholy self-control and divine reason, and to accustom ourselves to eat nothing but that which is necessary to sustain life .

We should bear in mind that anything more than th i swi ll surely be followed by infirmity and death ; and thatwhile intemperance is merely a grat ificat ion of the

palat e, a pleasure that vanishes in a moment, yet , for

a long t ime afterward, i t causes the body much sufferingand damage

,and finally destroys i t together wi th the

soul .I have seen many Of my dearest fri ends and assoc i

ates,men endowed with splendid gift s Of intellect and

noble qualit ies Of heart,fall

,in the prime of life

,vict ims

of thi s dread tyrant ; men who, were they yet living,would be ornament s to the world

,while their friendsh ip

and company would add to my enjoyment in the sameproport ion as I was caused sorrow by their loss.

T herefore, to prevent so great an evil for the future,

I have decided to point out , in this brief treat i se, what afatal abuse is the vice of intemperan ce, and how easily i tmay be removed and replaced by the temperate habits Of

li f e which were formerly un iversal . And this I undertake al l the more willingly

,since I have been pressed

thereunto by a number of young men Of the brightesti ntellect, who ar e well aware that in temperance is a fatalvi ce ; for they have seen their fathers die from i ts effectsin the flower of manhood

,while

,on the other hand

, they

42

LUIGI CORNARO’s TREATISE

behold me st ill hale and flourishing a t my great age ofeighty-three years .Now, Nature does not deny us the power of l iving

many years . Indeed, Old age, as a mat ter of fact,is the

t ime Of life to be most coveted,as i t is then that prudence

is best exercised, and the fruits Of al l the other virtuesare enjoyed with the least opposit ion ; because, by thatt ime

,the passions ar e subdued

, and man gi ves himself upwholly to reason .

Hence,being desi rous that they l ikewi se may at tain

old age, these young people have besought me that I maybe pleased to tell them the means by which I have beenable to reach this advanced age. And since I perceivethem full of so honest a desire, and as I heart ily wish tobenefit not only them,

but those others also who may wishto read this brief t reatise Of mine, I shall now set forth

,

in writ in g, the cause which induced me to abandon myintemperate habits, and to embrace the orderly and

temperate l ife. I shal l likewise relat e the manner inwhich I went about this reform,

and the good results Iafterward experienced through i t ; whence i t wi l l beclearly seen how easy a mat ter i t is to overcome the habitof excess . And I shal l demonstrate, i n conclusion, howmuch that i s good and advantageous is to be derived fromthe temperate life.I say, then, that the di re infirmi t ies from whi ch I

constant ly suffered , ‘

and which had not only i nvaded mysystem,

but had gained such headway as to have becomemost serious, were the cause Of my renouncing the errorsOf intemperance to which I had been very much addicted .

The excesses of my past life, together w ith my badconst itut ion, my stomach being very cold and moist

,

had caused me to fall a prey to various a ilment s, suchas pains in the stomach, frequent pai ns i n the side

,

43


symptoms Of gout,and

,st ill worse

,a low fever that was

a lmost conti nuous ; but I suffered especially from di s

order of the stomach,and from an unquenchable thirst .

T h i s evil— nay, worse than evil— condit ion left menothing to hOpe for myself, except that death shouldterminate my t roubles and the weariness Of my life—a

life as yet far removed from i ts natural end,though

brought near to a close by my wrong manner Of l iving.

After every known means Of cure had been t ried,without affording me any relief, I was, between mythirty-fifth and fort ieth years

,reduced to so i nfirm a

condit ion that my physicians declared there was but oneremedy left for my ills—a remedy which would surelyconquer them

,provi ded I would make up my mind to

apply i t and persevere pat i ent ly in i ts use.That remedy was the temperate and orderly l ife

,

which,they assured me, possessed as great strengt h and

efficacy for the accomplishment of good result s,as that

other,which was completely i ts opposite in every way,

I mean an i ntemperate and disorderly li fe,—possessed

for doing harm . And of the power of these two oppositemanners Of l ivi ng I should enterta in no doubt ; both byreason of the fact that my i nfirmi ti es had been caused bydisorder

,though, indeed, I was not yet reduced to such

extremity that I might not be wholly freed from them bythe temperate l i fe, which counteract s the eff ects Of an

intemperate one,—and because i t i s Obvious that this

regular and orderly l ife preserves in health even persons of feeble con st itut ion and decrepit age, as longas they Observe i t . I t is equally manifest that the Opposite life

, an irregular and disorderly one, has the powerto ruin

,while in the strength Of early manhood, the con

sti tut ions Of men endowed w ith robustn ess, and to keepthem sick for a great len gth of t ime. Al l this i s i n

44


henceforth l ive t emperately and rat ionally,

and had

realized,as I did

,that to do so was not only an easy

mat ter,but

,indeed, the duty Of every man , I entered upon

my new course so heart ily that I never afterwardswerved from i t , nor ever commit ted the slightest excessin any direct ion . W ithin a few days I began to realizethat this n ew l ife suited my health excellent ly ; and, persevering in i t

,in less than a year— though the fact may

seem incredible to some— I found myself ent irely curedof al l my complaint s.

Now that I was in perfect health,I began to consider

seri ously the power and virtue Of order ; and I said tomyself that

,as i t had been able to overcome so many and

such great i lls as min e,i t would surely be even more

efficacious to preserve me in health,to assist my un

fortunate const itut ion,and to strengthen my extremely

weak stomach .

Accordingly,I began to Observe very diligent ly

what kinds Of food agreed w ith me. I determined,in the

first place, to experiment w ith those which were mostagreeable to my palate

,in order that I might learn i f they

were suited to my stomach and con st itut ion . T he proverb

,

“Whatever tastes good w i l l n our i sh and str engthen ,”

is generally regarded as embodying a truth,and is i n

voked,as a first principle

,by those who ar e sensually i n

cl ined. In i t I had hitherto firmly believed ; but now Iwas resolved to test the mat ter

,and find to what extent ,

if any, i t was t rue.My experience

,however

,proved thi s saying to be

false . For instan ce,dry and very cold W i ne was agree

able to my taste ; as were a lso melons ; and, among othergarden produce

,r aw salads ; a lso fish , pork, tarts, vege

table soups,pastries

,and other similar art icles . A l l Of

these,I say, suited my taste exact ly, and yet I found they

46


were hurtful to me. T hus having,by my own experience

,

proved the proverb i n quest ion to be erroneous,I ever

after looked upon i t as such,and gave up the use Of that

kind Of food and Of that kind Of win e,as well as cold

drinking. Instead,I chose only such win es as agreed

with my stomach, takin g Of them only such a quant ity asI knew i t could easily digest ; and I Observed the samerule with regard to my food

,exercising care both as to

the quant ity and the quality. In this manner,I ac

customed myself to the habit of never fully sat isfying myappet ite

,either w ith eat ing or drinking—always leaving

the table well able to take more . In this I acted according to the proverb : “Not to sat ia te on e’s self wi th foodi s the science of health .

”

Bein g thus r id,for the reasons and in the manner

I have given,Of intemperance and disorder, I devoted my

self ent irely to the sober and regular life. T his had sucha beneficial eflect upon me that , in less than a year as Ihave just said

,I was ent irely freed from al l the i lls which

had been so deeply rooted in my system as to have becomealmost incurable.

Another excel lent resul t which this new life eflectedin me was that I no longer fell sick every year as I hadalways previously done while follow ing my former sen sualmanner of life—Oi a stran ge fever, which at t imes hadbrought me near to death ’s door ; but , under my newregimen

,from this also was I delivered .

In a word, I grew most healthy ; and I have rema inedso from that t ime to this day, and for no other reasonthan that Of my constant fidelity to the orderly life . The

unbounded virtue of this i s, that that which I eat and

drink,

always being such as agrees w ith my const itut ionand

,i n quant ity, such as i t should be,— after i t has im

parted i ts invi gorat ing element s to my body, leaves i t

47


wi thout any difficulty and without ever generat ing w ithini t any bad humors. Whence

,followin g th i s rule

,as I

have already sa id,I have constant ly been, and am now

thank God ! most hea lthy.

I t i s true,however, that besides these two very

important rules which I have always so carefully Ob

served,relat ive to eat ing and drinking

,—namely

,to take

only the quant ity which mystomach can easily digest andonly the kin ds that agree with i t, I have a lso been careful to guard against great heat and cold

,as well as

extreme fat igue or excesses of any nature ; I have nevera llowed my accustomed sleep and rest to be interferedwith ; I have avoided remaining for any length of t ime inplaces poorly vent ilated ; and have been careful not toexpose myself too much to the win d or the sun ; for thesethings

,too

,are great disorders. Yet i t is not a very

d ifficult mat ter to avoid them ; for, i n a being endowedwith reason

,the desire Of lif e and health possesses grea ter

weight than the mere pleasure Of doing things which are

known to be hurt ful .I have also preserved myself, as far as I have been

able, from those other d i sorders from which i t is moredifficult to be exempt ; I mean melancholy, hatred, and

the other passions Of the soul,which al l appear great ly

to affect the body. However,my efior ts in this di rce

t ion have not been so successful as to preserve me whol ly ;since

,on more than one occasion, I have been subject to

ei ther one or the other Of these disturbances, n ot to say

all of them. Yet even this fact has proved useful tome ; for my experience has convinced me that , in reality,these di sorders have not much power over, nor can theydo much harm to

,the bodies Of those whose l ives ar e

governed by the two rules I have already ment ionedrelat ive to eat ing and drinkin g. SO I can say, w ith

48


t ruth,that whosoever Observes these two principal rules

can sufler but lit t le from any di sorder.Galen

,

* the famous physician,bore test imony to thi s

t ruth long before my t ime . He asserts that al l otherd isorders caused h im but very lit t le harm

,because he

had learned to guard against those Of excessive eat ingand drinking ; and that

,for this reason

,he was never

i ndisposed for more than a day. T hat this is indeedt rue

,I can bear living test imony, corroborated by the

statement of everybody who knows me ; for my friends,well aware that I have Often suffered exposure to cold,heat , and other sim i lar disorders, have also seen me disturbed in mi nd on account of various misfortunes thathave befallen me at different t imes. Nevertheless

,they

know that t hese t roubles of mine have harmed me butl it t le ; but they can test i fy to the considerable damagewhich these very things have brought to others who werenot followers Of the temperate and regular li fe.

Among these I may number a brother of mine, andseveral other near relat ives ; who, t rust ing to their goodconst itut ions, di d not follow the temperate life—a factwhich was the cause Of grave harm to them . T hei rperturbat ions Of mind exerci sed great influence overtheir bodies ; and such was the anxiety and melancholywith wh ich they were overwhelmed when they saw me

i nvolved in certain highly important lawsuits broughtaga inst me by men Of power and posit ion

,an d so great

was thei r fear that I should lose, that they were seizedwith the humor Of melancholy, Of which the bodies of

those who live irregularly are always full . T his humorso embit tered their l ives, and grew upon them to sucha degree, that i t brought them to the grave before thei rt ime.

Yet I suffered noth ing throughout i t al l ; for, in me,See Note G

49


this humor was not excessive . On the contrary,encour

aging myself, I t ried to believe that God had permit tedthose lawsuits to be brought against me in order that myown strength and courage might bet ter be made known

,

and that I should win them to my own advantage and

hon or ; as in fact I eventually did,gaining a glorious

and profitable victory. And the very great consolat ionOf soul I then experienced had

,in i ts turn

,no power to

harm me.I t is thus clear that neither melancholy nor any

other d i sorder can seriously in jure bodies govern ed bythe orderly and temperate life. Nay, I shall go st i llfurther

,and assert that even accident s have the power

to do but lit t le harm,or cause but lit t le pain

,to the fol

lowers Of such a. life.The truth Of this statement I learned by my own

experience a t the age Of seven ty. I t happened, one day,while driving at a high rate of speed, I met w ith an acciden t .

“ My carriage was overturn ed, and was dragged qui tea distance before the horses could be stopped . Being umable to extricate myself, I was very badly hurt . My headand the rest of my body were pain fully bruised, whileone Of my arms and one Of my legs received especiallysevere injuries .I was brought home, and my family sent immediately

for the doctors ; who, when they had come and foun d meat my advanced age so shaken and i n so bad a pligh t ,could n ot help giving their opinion that I would di e withinthree days.

T hey suggested two things,however, as their only

hopes for my recovery : one was bleeding, the other waspurging ; i n order, as they said to clean se my systemand thus preven t the altera t ion Of the humors, whichthey expected at any moment to become so much dis

50

JOSEPH ADDlSON

1 6z2 - 1 2 1 9

From the painting by Sir Godfrey KnellerNational Po rtrait Gallery , London

Photograph copynghted by Walker and Cockerel l


affec ti on,Observed how very lit t le I ate

,and, in unison

with my physicians, told me t hat the food I took couldnot possibly be sufficient to sustain a man Of an age soadvanced as mine . T hey argued that I should not onlypreserve

,but rather a im to increase

,my strength and

vigor. And as this could only be done by means Of nourishment

,i t was absolutely necessary

, they sa id, that I shouldeat rather more abundant ly.

I,on the other hand

,brought forward my reasons

to the contrary ; namely, that nature is sat isfied withlit t le ; that my spare diet had been found sufficient topreserve me in hea lth al l these many years ; and that

,

with me,this abstemious habit had long since become

second nature. I maintained,furthermore

,that i t was

in harmony with r eason that,as my age in creased

and my strength lessened,I should dimini sh

,rather than

increase,the quant ity Of my food . T his was t rue ; since

the digest ive powers Of the stomach were also growingweaker in the same proport ion as my vi gor became impaired. Wher efore I could see no reason why I should increase my di et.

To strengthen my argument,I quoted those two

natural and Obviously t rue proverbs : the one, that“Whosoever wi shes to eat much must eat li t t le ” - whichmeans simply that the eat ing Of l it t le lengthen s a man’slife

,and by l iving a long t ime he is enabled to eat a

great dea l ; the other, that “The food fr om wh ich a man

abstain s,after he has eaten hear t i ly, i s of mor e benefit

to him than that wh ich he has eaten .

”

However,nei ther Of these wi se sayings, nor any

other argument I could Ofier,proved effectual ; for my

friends on ly pressed me the harder. Now,I did not

like to appear obst inate or as though I con sidered myselfmore of a doctor than the very doctors themselves ;

54


moreover,I especially wished to please my family, who

desired i t very earn est ly,believing

,as they did

,that

such an increase in my ordinary a llowance would bebeneficial to my strength. SO I at last yielded

,and con

sented to add to the quant ity Of my food . T his increase,however

,was by only two Ounces in weight ; so that ,

while,with bread

,the yolk of an egg

,a l itt le meat

,and

some soup,I had formerly eaten as much as would weigh

in al l exact ly twelve ounces,I now went so far as to

raise the amount to fourteen ounces ; and, while I hadformerly drunk but fourteen ounces Of wine

,I now began

to take sixteen ounces.The di sorder Of th i s i ncrease had

,at the end Of ten

days,begun to affect me so much, that, instead of being

cheerful,as I had ever been

,I became melancholy and

choleric ; everything annoyed me ; and my mood was sowayward that I neither knew what to say to others norwhat to do with myself. A t the end of twelve days Iwas seized with a most vi olent pain in the side

,whi ch

cont inued twenty-two hours . T his was f ollowed by a

terrible fever,which lasted thirty-five days and as many

night s wi thout a moment ’s in terrupt ion ; although,to

t ell the t ruth,i t kept constant ly diminishing after the

fifteenth day. Notwithstanding such abatement,how

ever,during al l that period I was never able to sleep for

even half of a quarter Of an hour ; hence, everybody bel ieved that I would surely die. However

,I recovered

God be prai sed l— solely by returning to my former ruleOf l ife ; although I was then seventy-eight years Of age,

and i t was just in the heart of the coldest season Of a verycold year

, and I as frail in body as could be .I am firmly convinced that noth ing rescued me from

death but the orderly life which I had Observed for somany years ; in al l of which t ime no kind of sickness had

55


ever visited me,unless I may call by that name some

slight indisposit ion last ing a day or two only. T he

steady rule Of li fe I had so long Observed had n ot,as

I have already sa id, a llowed the generat ion Of any evilor excessive humors in my body ; or, if any had beenformed

,i t had not permit ted them to acquire strength

or to become malignant , as is the case in the bodies OfOld person s who live without restrain t . Consequent ly

,as

in my system there was none Of that chronic viciousn essof humors which kills men

,but only that new condit ion

brought about by my recent irregularity, thi s at tack ofillness— a lthough i ndeed very serious—was not able tOcausemy death .

T his,and nothing else

,was the means Of my r ecov

cry ; whence we may judge how great ar e the power andvi rtue Of order

,and how great is the power Of disorder

the lat ter having been able,in a few days

,to bring upon

me a sickness which proved to be so t errible ; whereasthe regular and temperate life had ma intained me i n perfeet hea lth during so many years . And i t seems to memost reasonable that , if the world is maintained by order,and if our life is nothing else— so far as the body isconcerned— but the harmony and order Of the four element s

,i t must follow that only through this same order

can our life be susta ined ; while, on the other han d, i t isruined by sickness or dissolved by death

, according as

this order is not Observed . I t is through order that thesciences ar e more easily mastered ; i t i s order that givesthe victory to armies ; and, finally, i t is due to order that thestability of famil ies

,Of cit ies

,and even Of governments

,

is ma inta ined .

T herefore I conclude that orderly living is the mostposit ive law and foundat i on Of a long and healthy life.We may say i t is the true and only medicine ; and who

56

LUIGI CORNARo’s TREATISE

ever considers al l this deliberately must declare i t is i ndeed so.

When a physician pays a visit to a sick man,he pre

scribes this as the very first con dit ion of recovery,urging

h im,above al l things

,to l ive the orderly l ife. In like

manner,when he bids good-bye to his pat ient upon his

recovery,he recommends

,as a mean s of preserving r e

stored hea lth,that he cont inue this orderly life. And

there is n o doubt that if the one so advised were to act

accordingly,he would avoid a l l sickness in the future ;

because a well-regulated life removes the causes of disease.

T hus,for the remai nder of his days

,he would have no

further n eed either of doctors or Of medicin es .Moreover

,by applying h i s mind to this mat ter which

should so deeply concern h im,he would become his own

physician,and

,i ndeed

,the only perfect one he could have ;

for i t is t rue that “A man cann ot be a perfect physi cian

of any on e save of himself a lone.

”

The reason of this i s that any man may, by dint ofexperiment ing

,acquire a perfect know ledge of his own

const itut ion and of i ts most hidden qualit ies,and find

out what food and what drink, and what quant it ies ofeach

,w il l agree w ith his stomach . I t is impossible to have

equally accurate knowledge of these things in anotherperson ; since i t is only with difficulty that we may discover them in ourselves . And to learn them in our owncases

,grea t at tent ion

,considerable t ime

,and much study

ar e required . Nor must we overlook the fact that variousexperimen ts are absolutely necessary ; for there is not sogreat a variety of features as there i s diversity of temperaments and stomachs among men .

Who would beli eve, for i nstance, that win e over a

year old would be hurt ful to my stomach, while new w in ewould be suitable to i t ? and that pepper

,which is com

57


mon ly considered a heat ing spice,would not act upon

me as such,but that cinnamon would warm and help me?

What physician could have informed me of these twohi dden qual it ies of my nature ; since I myself, after a

long course of observat ion,have barely been able to note

and find them?Therefore

,I say again

,from a l l these reasons i t fol

lows that i t is impossible for anyone to be a perfectphysician of another. Since

,then

,a man can have no

bet ter doc tor than himself,and no bet ter medicine than

the temperat e life,he should by al l means embrace that

I do not mean to say, however, that in the knowledgeand t reatment of the diseases incurred by those who don ot lead orderly lives

,there i s no need of the physician

,

or that he should not be valued highly. For,if a friend

brings comfort when he comes to us in t ime of sickn ess,

- though his visit be merely to manifest sympathy inour suffering and to encourage us to hope for recovery

,

how much the more ought we to appreciate the physicianwho is a friend visit ing us that he may be of service,and who promises to restore our health? Yet

,when i t

comes to a quest ion of preserving health,my opinion is

that we should take, as our proper physician, the regularand temperate l ife . F or

,as we have seen

,i t is the true

medicin e of nature and best suited to man ; i t keeps h imi n hea lth

,even though he be of an un fortunate const i tu

t ion ; i t enables him to retain his strength to the age ofa hundred years or more ; and, fin ally, i t does not sufferh im to pass away through sickness or by any a lterat ionOf the humors

,but simply by the coming to an end of

the radical moisture,which is exhausted at the last .

L earn ed men have Often asserted that similar effect scould be obta ined by means of drinkable gold or the

58

LUIGI CORNARo’s TREATISE

elixir of life” ; yet , though they have thus been soughtby many

,who have foun d them?

L et us be truthful . Men ar e,as a rule, very sensual

and intemperate, and wish to grat ify their appet ites andgive themselves up to the commission of innumerable disorders. When

,seeing that they cannot escape suffering

the unavoidable con sequence of such i ntemperance as oftenas they a r e guilty of i t

,they say

— by way of excusethat i t is preferable to l ive ten years less and to enjoyone’s life. T hey do not pause to con sider what immenseimportan ce ten years more of life

,and especial ly of

healthy life,possess when we have reached mature age,

the t ime,i ndeed

,a t which men appear to the best ad

vantage i n learning and virtue— two things which can

never reach their perfect ion except with t ime. T o ment ion nothing else at present

,I shall only say that

,in

literature and in the sciences,the majority of the best

and most celebrated works we possess were writ tenwhen their authors had at tained ripe age, and duringthose same ten lat ter years for which some men, in orderthat they may grat ify their appet ites

,say they do not

care.Be this as i t may, I have not chosen to imitat e them ;

on the con trary,I have chosen to l ive these ten years .

Had I not done so,I should never have writ ten the t reat

isos,which

,as I have been a l ive and well, I have been able

to write during the last ten years ; and that they willprove useful I have no doubt .Furthermore, the aforesaid followers of sensual ity

will tell you that the temperate and orderly life i s an

impossible one. T o which I answer : Galen,great as a

physician,led i t

,and chose i t as the best medicine. So

,

l ikew ise,did Plat o, Cicero, Isocrates, and many other

famous men in t imes past ; whose names, lest I grow

59


t ed ious,I shall forbear to ment ion . In our own t ime,

we have seen Pope Paul Farnese [ 1 468-1 549 ] and Car

dinal Bembo [ 1 470-1 547 ] lead this life,and for this

reason at tain great age ; the same may be said of ourtwo Doges,‘ L ando [ 1 462-1 545] and Donato [ 1 468Besides these

,we might ment ion many others in humbler

states and condit ions,n ot only in the cit ies

,but in the

country a lso ; for in every place there ar e to be found thosewho follow the temperate life

,and always to their own

considerable advantage.Seeing

,therefore

,that i t has been pract iced i n the

past,and that many ar e now pract icing i t

,the temperate

life is clearly proved to be one easily followed ; and al l

the more so by reason of the fact that i t does not call forany great exert ion . Indeed— as is stated by the abovement ioned Cicero and by a l l who follow i t the only dimculty

,if any there be, consists in making a begi nning.

Plato,himself living the temperat e life, nevertheless

declares that a man in the service of the State cannotlead i t ; because he is Often compelled to suffer heat and

cold and fat igues of various kinds,as well as other hard

ships,al l contrary to the temperate life

,and i n themselves

disorders . Yet,I repeat the assert ion I have a lready

made,that these disorders are not of any great conse

quence, and a r e powerless to cause grievous sickness ordeath

,provided he who is obliged to sufier them leads

an abstemious life, and is never guilty of any excess ineat ing or drinking. Excess is a thing which any man ,even one who i s in the service of the State

,can very

well avoid,and must

,indeed

,necessarily avoid ; since by

so doing he may rest assured,either that he will never

incur those ills into wh ich i t would otherwise be easyfor him to fall while commit t ing disorders which a re

brought upon h im in the discharge of his dut ies,or

See Note H

60


have no fear Of sickness ; for surely be has no reasonto fear an effect , the cause of which i s under his owncontrol .

NOW,since the orderly l i fe i s

,as we have seen

,so

useful,so poten t , so beaut iful, and so holy, i t should be

embraced and followed by every rat ional being ; and thisa l l the more from the fact that i t is a life very easy tolead

,and one that does n ot conflict with the career of

any condit ion of man .

No one need feel obliged to confine h imself to the

small quant ity to which I limit myself ; nor to absta infrom fruit

,fish

,and other things which I do n ot take .

For I eat but litt le ; and, my reason in doing so is thatI find a l it t le sufli ci en t for my small and weak stomach .

Moreover,as fruit

,fish

,and similar foods disagree with

me,I do not use them. Persons

,however

,with whom

these do agree may— nay, should partake of them ; forto such they ar e by no means forbidden . T hat whichis forbidden to them and to everybody else

,is to partake

of food,even though i t be of the kind suited to them

,in

a quan t ity so large that i t cannot be easily digested ; andthe same is true w ith regard to drink . But should therebe a man to whom no kind of food is harmful

,he

,obviously

,

would not be subject to the rule of quality,but must

needs regard only that of quant ity an observance whichbecomes a very easy mat ter.I do not w ish to be told here that among those who

lead the most irregular lives there ar e men,who

,in spite

of this fact,reach, healthy and robust , those furthest

limits of li fe a t tained by the temperate ; for this argument is grounded upon a posit ion uncertain and dangerous

,and upon a fact

,moreover

,which is of so rare

occurren ce that,when i t does occur, i t appears more a

miracle than a natural result . Hence i t should not per

62

L UIGI CORNARO’vS TREATISE

suade us to l ive disorderly lives ; for Nature was merelyunwon tedly liberal to those irregular livers

,and very

few of us can,or should

,hope that she will be as bount i

ful to us .He who

,t rust ing to his youth or his strong con st i tu

t ion and perfect stomach,will n ot take proper care of

h imself,loses a great deal

,and every day is exposed, in

consequence of h i s intemperat e life,to sickn ess and even

death . F or this reason I maintai n that an Old man who

li ves regularly and temperately,even though he be of

poor const itut ion,is more l ikely to live than is a young

man of perfect health if addicted to disorderly habits .T here is no doubt

,of course

,that a man blessed

with a strong con st itut ion w ill be able to preserve h imself longer by living the temperate life than he who hasa poor one ; and i t is also true that God and Nature cancause men to be brought into the world w ith so perfectconst itut ion s that they w ill live for many years in health ,w ithout observing this strict rule of l ife . A case ofthis kind is that of the Procurator‘ T homas Contariniof Venice [ 1 454 and another i s that of the KnightAnthony Capodivacca of Padua [ 1 465 ? But suchinstances ar e so rare that

,i t is sa fe to say, there is n ot

more than one man in a hundred thousand of whom i t

will prove t rue .The universal rule is that they who wi sh not only

con stant ly to enjoy perfect health and to a t ta in theirfull limit of life

,but finally to pass away without pain

or difficulty and of mere exhaust ion of the radicalmoisture

,must lead the temperate life ; for upon this

condit ion,and no other

,will they enjoy the fruits of

such a l ife fruits almost innumerable, and each one tobe infinit ely prized. F or as sobriety keeps the humorsof the body pure and mild, so, likewi se, does i t prevent.

See Note I

63


fumes from arising from the stomach to the head ; andthe bra in of h im who l ives in this manner i s

,as a result

,

constant ly in a clear condit ion,permit t ing h im to main

ta in ent ire the use of reason . T hus,to his own extreme

comfort and contentment,is be enabled to rise above

the low and mean con siderat ions of this world to the

high and beaut i ful contemplat ion of things divine. Inth is manner he considers

,knows

,and understands

,as he

never would have otherwise done,how great ar e the

power,the wisdom

,and the goodn ess of God. Descen d

i ng thence to the realms of Nature, he recognizes in herthe daughter of the same G od ; and he sees and t ouchesthat which at any other age of his life

,or with a less

purified min d,he could never have seen or t ouched .

T hen,i ndeed

,does he fully realize the ugliness of

vice,into which those persons fall who have n ot learn ed

to control their passion s or to bridle those three impor tunat e desires which seem

,a l l three t ogether

,to be born

with us in order to keep us forever troubled and dist urbed—the desires of carnal pleasures

,of honors

,and

of worldly possessions . T hese lusts appear to increasewith age in those who ar e not followers of the t emperatelife ; because, when passin g through the years of earliermanhood

,they did not relinquish

,as they should have

done,either sensuali ty or appet ite

,to embrace in their

stead reason and self-con trol virtues which followers of

the temperate life never abandoned in their years ofstrength .

On the contrary, these more fortunate men, well

knowing that such passions and desires ar e irrat ional,

and having gi ven themselves wholly to reason, were freedboth of their tyran ny and a t the same t ime of a l l othervices, and drawn

,in stead

,to virtue and good works.

By this means, from the vicious men they had once been,

64

LU IGI CORNARO’

S TREATISE

they became t rue and upright . A t length,in process of

t ime and owing to extreme age, their dissolut ion and'

close of life ar e near a t han d . Yet,conscious that they

have,through G od’s specia l grace

,abandoned the ways

of vice and ever afterward followed those of virtue,

and firmly hop ing,moreover

,through the merit s of

Jesus Christ our Redeemer,to die i n His grace

, theyar e not saddened by the thought of the approach of

death, which they know to be unavoidable.T his is especially the case when

,loaded wi th

honors and sat iated with life,they perceive they have

reached that age which scarcely any man— among the

many thousands born into this world—who follows a

different mode of l iving,ever at tains. And the inevi

table approach of death grieves them so much the lessin that i t does n ot. come suddenly or unexpectedly, witha t roublesome and bit ter alterat ion of the humors

, and

w ith sharp pains and cruel fever ; but. i t comes mostquiet ly and mildly. F or

,in them

,the end i s caused

merely by the failure of the radical moisture ; which,con sumed by degrees

,finally becomes completely exhaust

ed,after the manner of a lamp which gradually fails .

Hence they pass away peacefully, and without any kind ofsickness

,from this earthly and mortal life to the heavenly

and eternal one.

0 holy and truly happy T emperate L i fe,most

worthy to be looked upon as such by al l men ! even as

the other, disorderly and so contrary to thee,i s sinful

and wretched as those who will but stop to reflect uponthe Opposite effect s of both must clearly see . T hy

lovely name a lone should be sufficient to bring men toa knowledge of thee ; for thy name, T he Orderly and

T emperate L ife,is beaut iful to speak ; while how

offensive are the words disor der and in temperance!

65


Indeed,between the very ment ion of these two opposites

lies the same difference as between those other two,angel

and devi l.I have so far given the reasons for which I aban

don ed disorder and devoted myself wholly to the tem

perat e life ; a lso the manner i n which I went about i tthat I might accomp li sh my end ; together w ith the sub

sequent effect s of this change ; and, finally, I have at tempted to describe the advantages and blessings which thetemperate life bestows on those who follow i t .

And now,since some sensual and unreasonable men

pretend that long life is not a blessing or a thin g to bedesired

,but that the existence of a man after he has

passed the age of sixty-five cannot any longer be calleda living life

,but rather should be t ermed a dead one

,I

shall pla inly show they ar e much mistaken ; for I havean ardent desire that every man should strive to a t ta inmy age, i n order that he may enjoy what I have foundand what others

,too, will find to be the most beaut iful

peri od of l ife.For this purpose I wi sh to speak here of the pas

t imes and pleasures which I enjoy a t this advanced sea

son of life. I desire,in thi s manner, open ly to bear wi t

ness to al l mankind— and every person who knows mewi l l test ify to the t ruth of what I say that the life whichI am now living is a most vi ta l one, and by no means a

dead one ; and that i t is deemed, by many, a li fe as fullof happiness as this world can give .

Those who know me well wi ll gi ve thi s testimony,in the first p lace

,because they see

,and n ot w ithout the

great est admirat ion and amazement , how strong I am ;that I am able to moun t my horse w ithout assistance ;and wi th what ease and agility I can not on ly ascend a

fl ight of sta i rs,but a lso climb a whole hill on foot .

66


T hey also see how I am ever cheerful,happy

,and con

t ented free from al l perturbat ions of the soul and fromevery vexat ious thought ; instead of these, j oy and peacehave fixed their abode in my heart, and never departfrom i t . Moreover

,my friends know how I spend my

t ime,and that i t is a lways in such a manner that life

does n ot grow tedious to me ; they see that there i s nosingle hour of i t that I am not able to pass wi th thegreatest possible delight and pleasure.Frequent ly I have the opportunity to converse with

many honorable gent lemen ; among them, a number whoar e renowned for their intellect and refinement

,and dis

t inguished by their literary at tainmen ts, or ar e of excellen ce in some other way. W hen their conversat ion failsme

,I enjoy the t ime in reading some good book . Hav

ing read as much as I care to,I write ; endeavoring in

this,as in what other manner soever I may, to be of

assistance to others,as far as i s in my power.

A l l these things I do wi th the greatest ease and at

my leisure,at their proper seasons, in my own residence ;

which,besides being situated in the most beaut iful quar

ter of this noble and learn ed city of Padua, is, in it self,rea lly handsome and worthy of pra ise—truly a home

,

the like of which is no longer built in our day. I t is soarranged that in one part of i t I am protected againstthe great hea t of summer, and in the other part aga instthe extreme cold of winter ; for I built the house according to the principles of architecture, which teach us howthat should be done . I n addit ion to the mansion

,I en

joy my various gardens, beaut ified by running streamsretreat s wherein I a lways find some pleasant occupat ionfor my t ime.I have

,besides this

,another mode of recreat ing

myself. Every year,in April and May, as well as in

67


September and October, I spend a few days at a countryseat of mine

,situated in the most desirable part of the

Euganean H ills .“ I t is adorned with beaut iful gardensand founta ins ; and I espec ially delight i n i ts extremelycomfortable and fine dwelling. I n this spot I also takepart

,at t imes

,in some easy and pleasant hunt ing

,such

as is suited to my age.

For as many days again,I enjoy my villa in the

plain. I t i s very beaut i ful,both on account of i ts fine

street s convergin g into a large and handsome square,i n the center of which stands the church, a st ructure wellbefit tin g the p lace and much honored

,—as also because

i t is divided by a large and rapid branch of the riverBrenta, on either side of which spread large t racts ofland

, al l laid out in fert ile and carefully cult ivated fields .T his district is now God be praised ! exceedi ngly wellpopulated ; for i t i s, indeed, a very differen t place fromwhat i t was formerly, having once been marshy and ofunwholesome atmosphere— a home fit rather for snakesthan for human beings . But, after I had drained off

the waters,the ai r became healthful and people flocked

thither from every direct ion ; the number of the inhabitant s began to mult iply exceedi ngly ; and the country wasbrought to the perfect condit ion in which i t is tod ay.

Hence I can say, with t ruth, that in this place I havegiven to G od an a ltar, a temple, and souls to adore Him.

A l l these ar e things which afiord me infinite pleasure,solace

,and contentmen t every t ime I return thither to

see and enjoy them .

A t those same times every year, I go, as well,to

revisit some of the neighboring cit ies,i n order that I

may enjoy the society of those of my friends whom Ifind there ; for I derive great p leasure from conversingwi th them. I meet

,in their company, men dist ingui shed

‘ See Note J


had scarcely ventured to hope that I should l ive to see

i t,knowing

,as I do

,that republi cs ar e slow to begin

enterprises of great importance. Nevertheless,I have

l ived to see i t. And I was myself present with the

members of the commit t ee appointed to superintend thework

,for two whole months

,at the season of the greatest

heat of summer,i n those swampy p laces ; nor was I ever

disturbed either by fat igue or by any hardship I wasobliged to in cur . So great is the power of the orderlyli fe which accompanies me wheresoever I may go !

Furthermore,I cherish a firm hope that I shal l live

to witness not only the beginning,but also the comple

t ion,of another enterprise

,the success of which is no

less important to our beloved Venice ; namely, the protect ion of our estuary, or lagoon, that strongest and mostwonderful bulwark of my dear coun try. T he preservat ionof this— and be i t sa id not through self-comp lacency

,

but wholly and purely for t ruth’s sake has been advisedby me repeatedly

,both by word of mouth and by care

fully written report s to our Republic ; for as I owe to her,by right

,the fullest means of assistance and benefit that

I can give,so also do I most fondly desire to see her enjoy

prolonged and enduring happiness, and to know that hersecurity i s assured .

T hese are the t rue and important recreat ions, thesethe comforts and past imes

,of my old age, which is much

more to be prized than the old age or even the youth ofother men ; since i t is free, by the grace of God, from al l

the perturbat ions of the soul and the i nfirmi t ies of‘

thebody

,and is not subject to any of those t roubles which

woefully torment so many young men and so many languidand ut terly worn-out old men.

If to great and momentous things i t be proper to

O

LUIGI CORNARU S TREATISE

compare lesser ones,or rather those

,I should say, which

ar e by many considered as hardly worthy of not ice, Ishall ment ion

,as another fruit which I have gathered

from the temperate life,that at my present age of eighty

t hree I have been able to compose a delightful comedy,full of innocent mirth and pleasant sayings a manner ofpoem

,which

,as we al l know

,i s usually the fruit and

product ion of youth only,just as t ragedy is the work of

old age ; the former, because of i ts grace and j oyousness,is more in harmony with the early years of life, while themelancholy character of the latter is bet ter suited to oldage. Now,

if that good old man,a G reek and a poet

[Sophocles ] , was so highly commended for havin g writ tena t ragedy at the age of seventy-three, and was, by reasonof this deed, regarded as vigorous and sound minded,a lthough tragedy

,as I have just said

,is a sad and

melancholy form of poetry, -why should I be deemedless fortunat e or less hale than he, when I have, at an age

greater than his by ten years, writ ten a comedy, which, aseverybody knows, is a cheerful and wit ty kind of composit ion? Assuredly, i f I am not an unfair judge of myself

,I must beli eve that I am now more vigorous and

more cheerful than was that poet when burdened with tenyears less of li fe .

I n order that nothing be want ing to the ful lness ofmy consolat ion, to render my great age less irksome, or toi ncrease my happin ess, I am given the addit ional comfortof a species of immortality in the succession of mydescendants . For, as often as I return home

,I find

await ing me not one or two, but eleven, grandchildren, al lthe offspring of one father and mother, and al l blessedwith perfect health ; the eldest is eighteen years of age,the youngest , two ; and, as far as can now be judged

,al l

ar e fond of study and inclined to good habits . Among

7 1


the younger ones, I a lways enjoy some one as my lit t lej ester ; for, t ruly, between the ages of three and five

,the

lit t le folks are natural merrymakers . The older childrenI look upon as

,i n a certain way, my companions ; and, as

Nature has blessed them with perfect voices, I am delighted w ith their singing, and with their playing on various instruments . Indeed

,I often j oin in their singing ; for

my voice is now bet ter,clearer

,and more sonorous than

i t ever was before.Such, then, ar e the past imes of my old age ; and from

these i t may readily be seen that the l ife I am leading i salive and n ot dead

,as those persons say who ar e ignorant

of what they ar e speaking. T o whom,in order that I may

make i t clearly understood how I regard other people’smanner of living

,I t ruly declare that I would n ot be

willin g to exchange either my life or my great age withthat of any youn g man , though he be of excellent const itut i on

,who leads a sensual life ; for I well kn ow that such

a one i s,as I have already stated

,exposed every day

nay, every hour —to a thousand kinds of infirmity and

death .

T his is a fact so obviously clear that i t has no need ofproof ; for I remember right well what I used to do whenI was l ike them. I know how very thought less that age

is wont to be, and how young men , incited by their inwardfire

,ar e inclin ed to be darin g and confident of themselves

in their act ions,and how hopeful they ar e in every

circumstan ce ; as much on account of the l it t le experien cethey have of things past

,as because of the certainty they

feel of l iving lon g in the future. T hus i t is that theyholdy expose themselves to every kind of peril . Put t ingaside reason

,and giving up the ruling of themselves to

sensuality,they seek w ith eagerness for means by which

to grat ify every one of their appet ites,without perceiving

unfortunate w r etches l— that they ar e bringin g upon

72


‘

themselves the very things which a r e most unwelcomenot only sickness

,as I have sa id many t imes, but a lso

death.Of these evils

,sickness is grievous and t roublesome

to suffer ; and the other,which is death

,is a ltogether

unbearable and frightful certainly to any man who hasgiven himself up a prey to sensual ity

,and especial ly to

young peop le,to whom i t seems that they lose too much i n

dying before their t ime. And i t is i ndeed frightful tothose who reflect upon the errors with which this morta ll ife of ours is filled

,and upon the vengeance which the

j ust ice of God is liable to take i n t he eternal punishmentof the wi cked .

I,on the contrary

,old as I am

,find myself thanks

always to A lmighty God !— en t irely free of both the oneand the other of these two cares : of the one, sickness,because I know to a certai nty I cannot ever fall sick

,the

holy medicine of the temperate life havin g removed fromme forever al l the causes of illness ; and of the other,namely

,of death

,because I have learned

,th rough a prac

t ice of many years, to give full play to reason . Wherefore I n ot only deem i t wrong to fear that which cannotbe avoided

,but I a lso firmly hope that , when the hour

of my passing away is come,I shall feel the consoling

power of the grace of Jesus Christ .Moreover

,a lthough I am ful ly aware that I, l ike

everybody else,must come to that end which i s inevitable

,

yet i t is st ill so far away that I cannot di scern i t . ForI am certa in there is no death in store for me save thatof mere dissolut ion ; since the regular method of my lifehas closed al l other avenues to the approach of death, andhas prevented the humors of my body from waging againstme any other war than that arising from the elements of

wh i ch my body was origin ally formed .

73


I am not so unwise as n ot to know that,having been

born,I must die. Yet beaut iful and desirable

,indeed

,is

that death which Nature provides for us by way of thed issoluti on of the elements ; both because she herself,having formed the bond of lif e

,finds more easily the way

to loose i t,and a lso because she delays the end longer

t han would the vi olence of disease. Such is the dea th,

which, without playi ng the poet , a lone deserves the nameof death

,as arising from Nature’s laws. I t cannot be

otherwise ; for i t comes only after a very long span of life,and then solely as the result of extreme weakness. L it t leby lit t le

,very slowly

,men a re reduced to such a state that

they find themselves no longer able to walk, and scarcelyto reason ; moreover, they become blin d, deaf, and bent

,

and affli ct ed with every other kin d of infirmity. But , sofar as I am concerned

,I feel certa in that not only will my

end,by the blessing of God, be very d i ff erent , but also that

my soul,which has so agreeable a habitat ion in my body

,

where i t finds nothing but peace, love, and harmony, notonly between the humors, but also between the senses andreason, rejoices and abides in i t in a state of such complete contentment , that i t is only reasonable to believe i twill require much t ime and the weight of many yearst o force i t to leave. Wherefore I may fairly concludethere is yet in store for me a long cont inuance of perfecthealth and strength, wherein I may enjoy this beaut ifulworld

,which i s indeed beaut iful to those who know how

to make i t so for themselves,as I have done . And I

t reasure the hOpe that , through the grace of God, I shallalso be able to enjoy the other world beyond . A l l thi s issolely by means of vi rtue, and of the holy life of orderwhich I adopted when I became the fri end of reason andthe enemy of sensuality and appet ite an adopt ion whichmay easily be made by any man who wi shes to li ve asbecomes a man .

74

LUIGI CORNABO’S TREATISE

Now,if the temperate life is such a happy one, if i ts

name is so beaut i ful and lovable, i f the possession of i t

i s so certa in and so secure,there is nothing left for me to

do except to entreat— since by oratorical persuasion Icannot at ta i n my desire every man endowed with gent lesoul and gi fted with rati onal facult ies

,to embrace this the

richest t reasure of lif e ; for as i t surpasses al l the otherriches and treasures of this world by giving us a long andhealthy life

,so i t deserves to be loved

,sought after, and

preserved a lways by al l .

Divine Sobriety,pleasing to God, the friend of nature,

the daughter of reason,the sister of vi rtue

,the companion

of temperate living ; modest, agreeable,contented with

l it t le, orderly and refin ed in al l her operat ions ! Fromher

,as from a root

,spring life

,health

,cheerfuln ess

,in

dust ry, studiousness, and al l those act ions which are

worthy of a t rue and noble soul . Al l laws,both divine

and human, favor her. From her presence flee— as soman y clouds from the sunshine reveling

,disorders

,glut

t ony,excessive humors

,indi sposit ions, fevers, pains, and

the dangers of death . Her beauty at tracts every noblemi nd . Her security promises to al l her followers a graceful and enduring li fe. Her happiness invi tes each one

,

wi th but l itt le t rouble, to the acqui sit ion of her victories .And, finally, she pledges herself to be a kind and benevolent guardian of the l ife of every human being—of the

rich as well as of the poor ; of man as of woman ; of theold as of the young. T o the rich she t eaches modesty,to the poor thrift ; to man cont inence, to woman chast ity ;to the old how to guard against death, and to the younghow to hope more firmly and more securely for length ofdays . Sobriety puri fies the senses ; lightens the body ;quickens the i ntellect ; cheers the mind ; makes the memorytenacious, the mot ions swift , the act ion s ready and prompt .T hrough her, the soul, almost delivered of i ts earthly

75


burden,enjoys to a great extent i ts l iberty ; the vita l

spirits move soft ly in the arteries ; the blood coursesthrough the veins ; the heat of the body, a lways mild andtemperate, produces mild and t emperate effects ; and

,

finally, al l our faculti es preserve,wi th most beauti ful

order,a j oyous and pleasing harmony.

0 most holy and most in nocent Sobri ety, the solerefreshment of nature

,the loving mother of human li fe,

the true medicine both of the soul and of the body ; howmuch should men praise and thank thee for t hy courteousgifts ! T hou givest them the means of preserving lif e inhealth

,that blessing than which i t did not please God we

should have a grea ter in this world— life and existence,so naturally pri zed, so wi ll ingly guarded by every livingcreature !

As i t is not my intent i on to make, at thi s t ime, apanegyric on this rare and excellent virtue, and in orderthat I may be moderate, even in i ts regard, I shall bringth is t reat i se to a close ; not that infinitely more might notyet be sa id in i ts behal f than I have said already, butbecause i t i s my wish to postpone the r emainder of i tsprai ses to another

76


quence of whi ch, by the t ime they r each the age of sixtyor thereabout, they become afflicted wi th various d i st ressi ng il ls. Some suffer with the gout

,some with pains in the

side, and others wi th pains in the stomach or with othercomp laints ; yet wi th none of these would they ever bet roubled were they to lead the temperate li fe. And

,as

they now die of these infirmi ti es before reaching thei reight ieth year

,they would

,in the con trary case

,live to

the age of one hundred, the term of life granted by God,and by our mother Nature

,to us her children ; for i t i s

but reasonable to believe the wish of th i s excellent motheris that every one of us should at ta in that natural limit

,

in order to enjoy the blessings of every period of l ife.Our birth is subject to the revolut ions of the heavens

,

which have great power over i t,espec ially with regard to

the format ion of good and bad con st itut ions . T his is a

condit ion which Nature cannot alter ; for, if she could, shewould provide that al l be born with robust const itut ions .She hopes

,however

,that man

,being gifted with intellect

and reason,will himself supply by ar t that which the

heavens have denied h im ; and that , by means of the temperate life

,he may succeed in freeing h imself of hi s bad

con st itut ion, and be enabled to enjoy a long l ife in the

possession of unvaryi ng perfec t health . And there is nodoubt that man can

,by means of ar t

,fr ee h imself part ia lly

from the control of the heavens, the common Opinion beingthat , whi le they influence, they do not compel us. Hencehave we that sayi ng of the learned : “The Wee man has

power over the stars.

”

I was born with a very choleric di spositi on, insomuchthat i t was impossible for any person to dea l wi th me .

But I recognized the fact,and reflected that a wrathful

man is no less than insane at times ; that i s to say, when


he is under the sway of his furious passions, he is devoidof both intellect and reason . I resolved

,through the

exercise of reason,to rid myself of my passionate tem

per an d I succeeded so well that now though,as I have

sa id,I am naturally inclined to anger— I never a llow

myself to give way to i t,or

,at most

,only i n a slight

degree.Any man , who, by nature, is of a bad const i tuti on,

may similarly, through the use of reason and the help of

the temperate life,enjoy perfect health to a very great

age ; just as I have done, a lthough my const itut ion was

naturally so wretched that i t seemed impossible I shouldlive beyond the age of forty. Wher eas, I am now in myeighty-sixth year

,full of health and strengt h ; and, were

i t not for the long and severe illnesses with which I wasvisited so frequent ly during my youth and which were soserious that the physician s at t imes despai red of savingme

,I should have hoped to reach the above-ment ioned

term of a‘hundred years . But

,through those illnesses

,I

lost a large part of my radical moisture ; and, as this losscan never be repaired

,reason teaches that i t will be im

possible for me to reach the extreme term. Therefore,as

I shall show later on,I never give the mat ter a thought .

I t is quite enough for me that I have lived forty-six yearslonger than I could reasonably have expected ; and that ,at such an advanced age as mine, al l my senses and organ sremain in perfect con dit ion—even my teeth

,my voice

,

my memory,and my heart . And as for my brain

,i t,espe

cial ly, is more act ive now than i t ever was. Nor do thesepowers suffer any declin e w ith the increase of years— a

blessing to be a t tributed solely to the fact of my increasing the t emperateness of my life.

F or,as my years mult iply, I lessen the quant i ty of

my food ; since, indeed , this decrease is absolutely neces

79


sary and cannot be avoided . We cannot l ive forever ;and

,as the end of life draws near

,man is reduced by

degrees to that stat e i n which he is no longer able to eat

anything at al l,save i t may be to swallow, and that with

difficulty,the yolk of an egg each day. T hus

,as I am

confident I shal l do,he closes his career by mere disso

luti on of the element s and without any pa in or il lness .T his

,certainly a most desirable lot

,is one that will be

granted to al l,of what degree or conditi on soever

,who

lead the temperate life,whether they occupy a high

posit ion,or that of the middle class

,or ar e found in the

humblest ranks of life ; for we al l belong to one species,and ar e composed of the same four elements .

And,since a long and healthy life is a blessing to be

highly va lued by man,as I shall hereafter explain

,I

conclude he is i n duty bound to do al l i n his power toat ta in i t . Nor should any hope to enjoy this blessing oflongevity without the mean s of the temperate li fe

,even

though they may have heard i t sa id that some who didnot live temperately

,but

,on the contrary

,ate much of

every kind of food and drank large quant it ies of w ine,

have lived,in the enjoymen t of health

, to see theirhundredth year. For

,i n holding out to themselves the

hope that th i s good fortune will,in like manner

,be vouch

safed to them a lso,they make two mistakes : i n the first

place,there i s scarcely one man in a hundred thousand

,

who,living such a life

,ever at tains that happiness ; and,

secondly,the intemperate sicken and die in consequence

of their manner of living,and can never be sure of death

without ills or infirmity.

T herefore,the only mode of l iving that will render

you secure i n the hope of long years i n hea lth consistsin your ad opt ing

,at least after the age of forty, the

temperate life. T h is is not difficult to observe ; since soc

80


many in the past,as history informs us

,have observed i t ;

and many,of whom I am one

,ar e doing so at the present

t ime— and we ar e al l men ; and man , being a rat ionalan imal

,does much as he wills to do . The orderly and

t emperate li f e consists solely in the observance of tworules relat ive to the quality and the quant ity of our food .

T he first,which regards qual ity

,consists in our eat in g

and drinking only such things as agree with the stomach ;while the lat ter

,which relates to quant ity, consist s in our

using only such an amoun t of them as can be easilydigested . Every man

,by the t ime he has reached the age

of forty,fifty

,or

,at any rate, sixty years, ought surely

to be familiar with the condit ions relat ing to the qualityand quant ity of food suited to his individual const itut ion ;and he who observes these two rules, l ives the orderly andt emperate life— a life which has so much virtue and

power that i t renders the humors of the body most perfect ,harmon ious, and un ited . Indeed

, they ar e brought to so

sat isfactory a condit ion that i t is impossible they shouldever be disturbed or a ltered by any form of disorder whichwe may incur, such as suffering extreme heat or cold

,

extraordinary fat igue, loss of customary sleep,or any

other disorder— unless carried to the last excess .In a word

,the humors of the body, if i t be governed

by these two excellent rules relat ive to eat in g and drinking

,resist weakening changes ; thus fever, from which

proceeds unt imely death, is made impossible. I t wouldseem

,then

,that every man should observe the orderly life ;

for i t is beyond doubt that whoever does not follow i t,but

lives a disorderly and intemperate life,is,on account of

excessive eat ing and drinking as well as of each and everyone of the other innumerable disorders

,constant ly ex

posed to the danger of sickness and of death .

81


I admit i t to be quite t rue that even those who arefaithful to the two rules in regard to eat ing and drinking,the observance of which const itutes the orderly and

temperate l ife,—may, if exposed to some of the otherdisorders

,be ailing for a day of two ; but their i ndisposi

t ion w ill never be able to cause fever. They may, l ikewi se,be influenced by the revolut ions of the heavens . But

neither the heavens,nor those disorders

,are capable of

d isturbin g the humors of those who follow the temperatelife . T his statement is but conformable to reason and

nature ; since the disorders of eat ing and drinking ar e internal

,while al l others ar e external only.

But there are person s,who

,notw ithstanding they are

advanced in years,are none the less sensual . T hese

maintai n that neither the quant ity nor the quality of thei rfood or drink in any way injures them ; therefore theyuse

,without discriminat ion

,large quant it ies of different

viands,and are equally indiscreet with regard to drink,

as if ignorant in what region of the body the stomach issituated. T hus they give proof of their gross sensualityand of the fact that they are the friends of glut tony. To

these be i t set forth, that what they assert is not possibleaccording to nature ; for whoever is born must , necessarily,bring into this world with him either a warm

,or a

cold,or else a moderate temperament . Now to say

that warm foods agree with a warm temperament,that

cold foods agree with a cold one,or that foods which

are not of a moderate qua lity agree with a moderate temperamen t , i s to state something naturally impossible .T herefore each one must choose the qua lity of food bestsuited to his const itut ion . Nor can those addicted tosensuality argue that

,whenever they fall sick, they are

enabled to free themselves of their sickn ess by clearingtheir systems w ith medicines and then observing a strict

82

LUIGI connano’s TREATISE

diet . I t is very evident , thereby, that their t rouble arisessolely from i ndulgence in overmuch food, and that of aquality unsuited to their stomachs .

T here ar e other persons,likewise elderly

,who declare

that they ar e obliged to eat and drink a great dea l tomainta in the natura l warmth of their bodies

,which con

stan t ly dimin ishes as their years increase ; that they musthave whatever food pleases thei r taste

,whether hot

,or

cold,or temperate ; and that

,were they to l ive the tem

perate life,they would soon die . My answer thereto is

that kind Mother Nature,i n order tha t the aged

,whom

she loves,may be preserved to yet greater age, has so

provi ded that they ar e able to l ive with very litt le food,

even as I do ; because the stomachs of the old and feeblecannot digest large quant it ies . T hey need not fear t hattheir lives w ill be shortened by reason of their n ot takingmuch food ; since, by using very lit t le when sick, theyrecover their health— and we know how sparing is thediet by the use of which invalids ar e restored . If

,by

confining themselves to a scanty fare when ill,they ar e

freed of their disorders,why should they fear that

,while

usin g the larger quant ity of food permit ted by the temperate life

,they should not be able to sustai n their lives

when in perfect health?Others, again

,say that i t i s bet ter to suffer three

or four t imes a year with their usua l complaints, suchas the gout , pains in the side, or other ills, rather thansuffer the whole year round by not grat ifying the appe

t ite in the eat ing of those things which please the palate ;sin ce they know that by the med icine of a simple dietthey can speedily recover. T o them I reply that

,with the

i ncrease of years and the consequent decrease of naturalheat

,diet ing cannot always have sufficient power to undo

the grave harm done by overeat ing. Hence they will

83


n ecessarily succumb, at last, to these ailments of theirs ;for sickness short ens life

,even as health prolongs i t .

Others, again, insi st that i t is far better to li ve tenyears less, rather than to deprive one’s self of thepleasure of grat ifying the appet ite. To this, I wouldsay that men endowed with fine ta lents ought to pri ze along life very h ighly. For the balance

,i t mat ters l it t le

that they do not value i t ; and, as they only make theworld less beaut iful, i t is as well

,perhaps

,that they

should die.The great misfortune is that a refined and talented

man should die before he has at ta ined the natural limitof his l ife ; since, if he is a lready a cardinal, when hehas passed the age of eighty he will the more likely become pope ; if he is a public official

,how much greater i s

the possibility of h is being called to the highest dignityin the sta te ; if a man of let ters, he will be looked upon asa god on earth ; and the same is true of al l others, according to their various occupat i ons.

T here ar e others,again

,who

,having come to old age,

when the stomach natura lly possesses less digest ive power,w ill not consent to diminish the quant ity of their food ;nay, on the contrary, they in crease i t . And since

,eat ing

tw ice in the day, they find they cannot digest the greatamount of food with which they burden their stomachs

,

they decide that i t is bet ter to eat but on ce ; for, relyin gupon the long interval thus allowed between meals, theybelieve themselves able to eat

, at one t ime, the same quant ity which they had previously divided into two meal s.But

,in doin g this

,they ar e guilty of a fatal error ; for

they eat such a quant ity that the stomach is overloadedso grievously as to snfier and become sour, convert ingthe excessive food into those bad humors which kill menbefore their t ime.

84


i ndeed, to him who knows how, by thy effectual help, tomake i t so for himself, as thou hast enabled me to do !

At no other peri od of my exi stence, even in mysensual and d i sorderly youth

,could I make li fe so beauti

ful ; and yet , in order to enjoy every port ion of i t , I sparedneither expense nor anything else. For I found that thepleasures of those years were

,after al l

,but vain and filled

with disappointments ; so that I may say I never knew theworld was beaut iful unt i l I reached old age.

0 truly Happy L i fe ! Thou,besides al l the aforesaid

manifold blessings thou gran test to thy old di sciple, hastbrought h is stomach to so good and perfect a condit iont hat he now relishes plain bread more than he ever didthe most del icate viands i n the years of hi s youth . All

this thou dost because thou ar t reasonable,knowing that

bread is the proper food of man when accompanied bya. healthful appet ite . T his natura l company

,so long as

a man follows the temperate life, he may be sure willn ever fai l h im ; since, he eat ing but litt le, the stomachis but l ight ly burden ed and has always

,within a short

t ime, a renewed desire for food . For this reason plain

bread is so much relished . T his I have proved by my ownexperience to be true ; and I declare that I enjoy breadso much that I should be afraid of incurring the vi ce ofglut tony

,were i t not that I am convinced i t i s necessary

we should eat of i t and that we cannot partake of a mor enatural food.

And thou,Mother Nature

,so loving to thy old man ,

preserving h im so long ! T hou,besides providing that

with l itt le food he may mainta in himself, has t moreovershown him—to favor h im more and in order that hisnourishment may be more profitable to him that , whilein youth he partook of two meals a day, now, that he

86

LUIGI CORNARO’

S TREATISE

has at tained old age, his food must be divided into four ;since

,thus divided

,i t will be more easily digested by his

stomach . In this way thou showest h im that, as in youth

he enjoyed the pleasures of the table but twice a day, now,

in h is old age, he may enjoy them four t imes, provided,however

,he diminishes the quant ity of his food as he ad

vances in age.

As thou showest me,so do I observe. In consequence

of which,my spirits

,never oppressed by much food, but

simply susta ined,ar e always cheerful ; and their energy

is never greater than after meals. For I feel,when I

leave the table, that I must sing, and, after singing, thatI must write . T his writ ing immediately after eat ing doesnot cause me any discomfort ; nor is my mind less clearthen than at other t imes. And I do not feel l ike sleepi ng; for the small amount of food I take cannot make medrowsy, as i t i s i nsuffic i ent to send fumes from the stomachto the head .

Oh,how profitable i t is to the old to eat but li t tle !

I, accordingly, who am filled with the knowledge of thi st ruth, eat only what is enough to sustain my life ; and myfood is as fol lows :Fi rst

,bread ; then, bread soup or light broth ! wi th

an egg, or some other nice lit t le di sh of this kind ; ofmeats

,I eat veal, kid, and mut ton ; I eat fowls of al l

kinds,as well as part ridges and birds l ike the thrush . I

also partake of such salt-water fish as the goldney and

the like ; and, among the various fresh-water kinds, thepi ke and others .

As al l these art i cles of food are sui ted to old people,

the lat ter must be sat isfied w ith them and not demandothers ; for they ar e quite sufficient , both in number andvariety. Old person s, who, on account of poverty, cannotafford to indulge in al l of these things

,may maintai n

87


their lives with bread,bread soup

,and eggs—foods that

certai nly cann ot be wan t ing even to a poor man,unless

he be one of the kind commonly known as good-fornothing.

Yet, even though the poor should eat nothing butbread

,bread soup

,and eggs

,they must not take a greater

quant ity than that which can be easily digested ; for theymust

,a t al l t imes, remember that he who i s constan t ly

faithful to the above-ment ioned rules i n regard to the quant ity and quality of his food

,cannot die except by simple

dissolut ion and without illness .Oh, what a d ifference there is between the orderly

and a disorderly life ! T he former blesses a man withperfect health and

,at the same t ime, lengt hens his life ;

while the lat ter,on the other hand

, after bringing infirmit ies upon him

,causes him to die before his t ime.

0 thou unhappy and wretched di sorderly l i fe, thouar t my sworn enemy ; for thou knowest how to do nothingsave to murder those who follow thee ! How many ofmy dearest relat ives and friends hast thou snatched fromme

,because

,for thy sake, they would not listen to my

advi ce ! But for thee,I might at this moment be enjoy

i ng them !Yet thou hast not succeeded in destroying me, though

right wi llingly wouldst thou have done so ; but , in sp iteof thee

,I am st ill li ving and have reached this advanced

age. I rejoice in my eleven grandchildren by whom I amsurrounded

, an d who are a l l of bright i ntellect and noblenature

,healthy

,beaut iful

,fond of their studies, and in

cl ined to good habits. T hem, i f I had listened to thee, I

should never have enjoyed . Nor,had I followed thee,

should I ever have experienced the pleasure now affordedme in the comfortable and beaut iful habitat i ons of myown creat ion

,which I have surrounded with at tract ive

88


gardens that have required great length of t ime to bebrought to their present state of perfect ion .

No ! for thy nature is to murder al l those who fol lowthee, before they have the j oy of w itn essing the comp let ion of their houses and gardens. Whilst I, to thy confusion

,have already enjoyed the comfort of mine for many

years.T hou ar t a vice so pest ilent ial that thou Spreadest

sickness and corrupt ion throughout the world ; for whichreason I have determin ed to use every means in my powerto del iver mankin d from thy clutches, a t least as far as

I am able . I have resolved to work again st thee in sucha manner that my eleven grandchildren, after me, shallmake thee known for that most wretched and viciousthing thou really ar t the mortal en emy of a l l men whoar e born .

I am astoni shed, indeed, that men gifted wi th finein tellect—for there ar e many such—and who havereached a high posit ion either in literature or some otheroccupat ion

,should not embrace and follow the temperate

life,at least when they come to the age of fifty or sixty

and are t roubled with any of the above-ment ioned disorders ; for, by following the temperate life, they couldeasily deliver themselves from these ailment s, which, lateron

,i f allowed to make further progress, will become i n

curable. I do not wonder so much that some young menthose of them,

at least,whose lives and habit s are con

t rolled by sensuality—should neglect sobriety ; but certain ly, after a man has passed the age of fifty, his lifeshould be a ltogether guided by reason, which teaches thatthe grat ificat ion of the tastes and appet ites means i nfirmi ty and death .

If th i s pleasure of the taste were a last ing one,we

might have some pat ience with those who are so ready

89


to yield to i t . But i t i s so short-li ved that i t is no soonerbegun than ended ; while the infirmi t i es which proceedfrom i t ar e of very long durat ion . Moreover

,to the man

who follows the temperate life i t is assuredly a great sat i sfact ion to know, when he has finished eati ng, that thefood he has taken will never cause him any sickness, butwill keep h im in perfect health .

I have now completed the short addi t i on I wi shed tomake to my t reat ise

,

“L a Vi ta Sobr z'

a”—an addi t ion

based on new arguments,though, at the same t ime, i t is

one of few words . F or I have observed that long discourses ar e read by a few only, while bri ef ones are readby many ; and I most heart ily desire that thi s be read bymany

,in order that i t may pr ove useful to many.

THE TH IRD D ISCOURSE

WRITTEN AT T HE AGE OF NI NETY'ONE

A LETTER F ROM THE VENERABLE CORNARO

THE REVEREND DANIEL BARBARO”r xr nrxncn u ser or AQU I L EI A

“

I n wh ich he gives mankind a rule of life that w i ll, if followed,assure a heal thy and happy old age

HE intel lect of man truly partakes, in some degree,of the divine prerogat ives ; for i t was, indeed, something d ivine which led h im to find a way of convers

ing, by means of writ ing, with an other who is at a di s

tance. And a th ing altogether divine, also, is that naturalfaculty which enables him,

when thus separated, to behold,wi th the eye of thought , his beloved fri end ; even as I nowsee you, Si r , and address to you this my discourse on a

pleasant and profitable subject .‘ See Note K “ See Note L

9 1


I t is true that what I shall write will be upon a matter which has already been trea ted at other t imes

,but

never by any man at the age of ninety-one—at whicht ime of life I am now writ ing. On account of my age,

I cannot be at fault ; for the more my years mult iply, themore my strength a lso increases. And I

,who am well

aware from what cause this proceeds,feel compelled to

make i t known, and to show that al l mankind may possessan earthly paradise after the age of eighty— a paradisewith which I myself am blessed . But one cannot at ta ini t otherwise than by means of holy self-restra int and thet emperate life two virtues much loved by the great God

,

because they ar e the enemies of sensuality and the friendsof reason .

Now,Si r

,to begin my discourse, I shall tell you that

I have,within the past few days

,been visited by a number

of excellent professors who lecture in our U niversitydoctors of medicine as well as philosophy. T hese gent lemen are al l well acqua inted with my age, and with mymanner and habits of living, and know how full I am ofcheerfulness and hea lth . T hey know

,too

,that al l my

senses are in perfec t condit ion—as also ar e my memory,

my heart , and my mind— and that th i s is equally trueof even my voice and my teeth . Nor are they ignorantof the fact that I constant ly write, and with my own hand,eight hours a day, and a lways on subjects profitable tothe world ; and, in addit ion to this

,that I walk and sing

for many other hours.Oh

,how beaut i ful and sonorous has my voice become !

If you could but hear me sing my prayers to the aecompanimen t of the lyre, as King David sang to that of theharp, I assure you that you would derive great pleasure .

Among other things, my vi sitors, the doctors, said

92


T his d ifficulty,which cannot be remedied

,because i t is

a natural and hidden property of my const itut ion,con.

sists in this : Every year,from the beginnin g of July and

throughout the whole of August,I cannot dri nk any

kind of wi ne soever, be i t of what variety of grape orof what count ry i t may ; for, during the whole of thosetwo months

,wine

,besides being very unfriendly to my

palate, disagrees with my stomach . So that,being with

out my milk,— for wine is t ruly the milk of the aged,I am left without anyt hing to drink ; for waters, in whatever way they may be doctored or prepared, have not

the vi rtue of wine, and fail to relieve me. My stomachbecomes very much disordered

,and I can eat but very

l it t le in consequence. T hi s scarcity of food and lack ofwine reduces me

,by the lat ter part of August , to a con

dition of extreme mortal weakness. Neither does strongchicken broth nor any other remedy benefit me in the least ;so that , through weakness alone,— not by any ailment ,I am brought very near a dying condit ion . I t was evi

dent to my visitors that , if the new win e, which I am al

ways careful to have ready every year by the beginningof September, were not then forthcomi ng, the delay wouldbe the cause of my death .

But they were yet more amazed at the fact that thi snew wine should have power to restore

,in two or three

days, the stren gth of which the old wine had deprivedme—a thing of which they had themselves been eye-wi tnesses

,and which could not be believed except by those

who have seen i t .

“Some of us,

” the doctors went on to say,“have

observed your strange case for many years in ‘ succession ; and, for the past ten years, i t has been our opinionthat

,considering what a mortal difficulty you ar e under

as well as your increasing age, i t would be impossi ble

94


for you to li ve more than a year or two longer. Yet we

see,th i s year

,that your weakness is less than in previous

years .”

This blessing,associated wi th so many others, forced

them to the conclusion that the union of al l these manyfavors was a spec ial grace bestowed on me at birth byNature or by the heavens. In order to prove this con clusi on t rue

,though as a mat ter of fact i t is false, because

not based upon good reasons and solid foundat ions,but

simply upon their own Op inions,

they found themselvesunder the necessity of giving ut terance to many beaut ifuland lofty things with the finest eloquence. Eloquence

,Si r ,

in men of in tellect,verily has great power ; so much so,

indeed,that i t wi ll persuade some people to believe things

that ar e not and can not be true. Their words,however

,

were to me a great pleasure and quite an amusing past ime ;for i t is certainly highly entertaining to listen to suchtalk from men of their intelligence.

And here I was granted another sat isfacti on ; namely,the thought that advanced age, by reason of i ts experience,is able to confer learning upon the unlearned . T his i snot difficult to understand ; for lengt h of days is the rea lfoundat ion of true knowledge by means of which

,alone

,

I was made aware of the erroneousness Of their conclusions. T hus you see, Si r , how apt men are to err in forming their Opini ons when these ar e not based upon solidfoundat ions.

In order, th erefore, to undeceive them as wel l as tobe of other servi ce to them,

I t old them p lainly that theirconclusion was wrong, and that I would convince themof this by clearly proving that the blessing which I enjoyi s not a spec ial one, conferred upon me alone, but a general one and such as every man may possess i f he

95


choose. F or I am only an ordinary mortal. Composed,

l ike everybody else,of the four element s

,I have in

addit ion to exi stence sense,intellect

,and reason . W ith

the two lat ter facult ies every one of us is born, the greatGod having willed that man

, His creature whom He lovesso well, should possess these gifts and blessings ; for thushas He rai sed him above al l the other creatures Whichhave sense only

, in order that , by means of these facult ies,he may preserve himself in perfect health for many years.

T herefore mine is a universal blessing,granted by God

,

and not by Nature or the heavens.Man is

,in his youth

,however

,more a sensual than

a rat ional creature,and is inclined to l ive accordingly .

Yet , when he has arrived at the age of forty or fifty, hecerta inly ought to reali ze that he has been enabled toreach the middle of life solely through the power of youthand a young stomach

,those natural gi ft s which have

helped h im in the ascent of the hill . Now he must bearin mind that

,burdened wi th the disadvan tage of Old age,

he i s about to descend i t toward death . And,since old

age i s exact ly the opposite of youth, just as di sorder isthe reverse of order, i t becomes imperat ive for him to

change his habits of life with regard to eat ing and dri nki ng, upon which a long and healthy life depends. As hisearlier years were sensual and disorderly, the balance ofthem must be exact ly the contrary, reasonable and or

der ly; because without order nothing can be preservedleast of al l , the li fe of man . For i t i s well proved by exper ience that , while disorder does grievous harm, orderis constant ly beneficial .

I t is necessarily impossible,in the nature of things,

that a man should be determined to sa t i sfy his taste and

appet ite,and yet ,

‘

at the same t ime,commit no excesses ;

so,to be free from t hese excesses

,I adopted the orderly

96

LUIGI CORNABO’S TREATI SE

and temperate li fe when I had once reached the state ofmanhood . I shall not deny that , in the beginning, I exper i enced some d i fficulty in abandoning an i ntemperatelife after l eading i t for so many years . But

,in order that

I might be able to follow the temperate life, I prayed toGod that He would grant me the vi rtue of self-restraint

,

knowing well that,when a man has firmly resolved to

realize a noble enterprise and one which he i s convincedhe can accomp lish

,—though not without difii cul ty,—i t

is made much easier by bendin g al l his energy upon doingi t and actually set t ing to work. Spurred by this resolve

,

I began,l it t le by l it t le

,to draw myself away from my

di sorderly l ife,and

,l it t le by li tt le

,to embrace the orderly

one. In this manner I gave myself up to the t emperatelife

,which has not since been weari some to me ; a lthough,

on account of the weakness Of my const itut ion, I was compel led to be extremely careful with r egar d to the qualityand quant ity of my food and drink .

However, those person s who are blessed with strong

const itut ions maymake use of many other kinds and quali t i es of food and drink, and partake of them in greaterquant it ies, than I do ; so that , even though the li fe theyfollow be the temperate one, i t need not be as stri ct asmine

,but much freer.

After they had heard my arguments and found themgrounded

,as they were

,upon solid foundati ons

,my vis~

i tors admit ted that al l I had sa id was true. The youngestof them, however, wh i le ready to grant that the gracesand advantages wh i ch I enjoyed were general , contendedthat I had had at least one special blessing vouchsafedme

,in being able to relinquish so easily the kind of l ife

I had so long followed, and to accustom myself to leadthe other ; because, although he had found th is change

,

by his own experience, to be feasible, to h im i t had beenvery di fficult .

97


I replied that,being a man l ike h imself

,I had also

found i t no easy mat ter to pass from the one kind of l i feto the other ; but I knew i t was unworthy of a man to

abandon a noble undertaking simply on account of the

difficult ies encountered. For, the more obstacles a man

meets and overcomes, the greater is the honor he gains

and the more pleasing his act ion i n the sight of God .

Our Maker, having ordained that the li fe of manshould last for many years

,is desirous that everyone

should at tai n the extreme limit ; since He knows that ,after the age of eighty, man is wholly freed from the bit terfruits of sensuality and is repleni shed with those of holyreason . Then

,of necessity

,vices and sins ar e left behind.

Wherefore i t i s that God wishes we should al l live toextreme age ; and He has ordained that they who do so

reach their natural l imit of earthly existence,shall ter

minate i t without pain or sickness and by simple dissolut ion. Such i s

,indeed

, the natural way of depart ing fromthi s world

,when we leave the mortal life to enter upon

the immortal one—as i t will be my lot to do ; for I feelcertain that I shall die while singing my prayers.

The awful thought of death does not trouble me inthe least , a lthough I rea li ze, on account of my many years

,

I am nigh to i t ; for I reflect that I was born to die, andthat many others have departed this life at a much youngerage than mine .Nor am I disturbed by that other thought, a com

panion of the foregoing one ; namely, the thought of thepunishment

,which

,after death

,must be sufier ed for sins

commit ted in this life. For I am a good Christ ian ; and,as such

,I am bound to believe that I shall be delivered

from that punishment by virtue of the most sacred bloodof Christ

,which He shed in order to free us, His faithful

servants,from those pa ins . Oh

,what a beaut iful life is

mine, and how happy my end w ill be'

98

LUIGI CORNAno’s TREATISE

Having heard me out , the young man replied that ,i n order to gai n the numerous and great advantages Ihad gained

,he was determined to embrace the temperate

life I had so long pract iced . He further declared he hadalready ga ined a highly important one ; namely, that as hehad always had a l ively wish to live to a very great age,so now he desired to at tain i t as quickly as possible

,in

order to enter sooner into possession of the delights ofthat most enjoyable season .

The great longing I had to converse wi th you, Reverend Sir

,has forced me to writ e at considerable length ;

while that which I st ill wish to say to you obliges me tocon t inue my let ter. But I shall be bri ef.

Dear Si r,there are some very sensual men who

claim that I have only wasted t ime, as well as labor, incomposing my treat ise, “L a Vi ta Sobr ia,” and the addit i ons I have made to i t ; for, as they allege, I am exhort ingmen to adopt habi ts to which i t is impossible for themto conform . T hey assert that my t reat ise will be as vai nas the

“Republic” by Plato

,who labored ‘

to write of

a system which was impract icable—that , as h is work i suseless

,so also will mine be .

I wonder much at such a l ine of argument on the

part of i ntelligent men ; for, i f they have read myt reat ise

,they must have clearly seen that I had led the

temperate l ife for many years before writ ing anythingregarding i t . Nor should I ever have written, had not

my own experience convinced me,wi thout a shadow of

doubt,not only that i t is a pract icable life, and such as

al l men may easily lead, but , furthermore, that i t profitsgreat ly because i t is a life of virtue. I am so muchindebted to i t myself that I felt obliged to writ e of i t ,i n order that I might make i t known to others as the

i nest imable blessing i t truly is. I know of many persons,

99


who, after reading my treat ise, have adopted that life ;

and I know, too, that in past ages, as we read in history,there were many who were remarkable as i ts followers.Hence the object ion which i s urged against Plat o’s “Republ ic ” certa inly does not hold good in the case’ of mytreat ise, “L a Vi ta Sobr ia .

” But these sensual men,enemies of reason and fri ends of i ntemperance, will onlyreceive th eir just deserts if, while seeking to grat ify theirevery taste an d appet ite, they in cur painful sicknesses, andmeet , as many such do, wi th a prematur e death.

1 00

THE FOURTH D ISCOURSE

WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF NINETY-F IVE

THE. BIRTH AND DEATH OF MAN

A L OV I NG EXHORTAT I ON

I n wh ich , by the authority of h is own exper ience, the aged

author strives to persuade all manki nd to follow the

orderly and t emperate life, in order that they, t oo,may reach an advanced age, in whi ch to enjoy all

those graces and blessings that God in Hisgoodness i s pleased to grant t o mortals

N order that I may not fail in the discharge of myduty—a law to which every man is bound— and

,at

the same t ime,that I may not forego the pleasure

I invariably experience in being of service to myfel low-men

,I have determined to write and to make

kn own to those persons who do not know them—becauseunacqua inted with me the things which are known and

seen by those who frequent my company. Certain factsI shall now relate will, to some, appear difficult of bel ief

1 03


and well-nigh impossible ; nevertheless, since they ar e al l

t rue and to be seen in reality, I wil l not refrain fromwri t ing of them, that the knowledge of them may benefitthe world at large .In the first place, I shal l say that I have, through

the mercy of God,reached the age of ninety-five ; that I

find myself,in spite of my great age, healthy, strong,

contented,and happy ; and that I cont i nually praise the

Di vine Majesty for so much favor conferred upon me .Moreover

,in the generality of other old men whom I see,

no sooner have they arrived a t the age of seventy, thanthey are ail ing and devoid of strengt h ; melancholy ; andcont inually occupied with the thought of death. T heyfear

,from day to day, that their last hour will come ; so

much so,that i t i s impossible for anything to rel ieve

thei r minds of that dread . For my part,I do not ex

per i ence the least trouble at the idea of death ; for, as Ishall later on explain more clearly

,I cannot bring my

self to gi ve i t so much as a thought .

In add i t i on to th i s,I shal l demonstrate, beyond

quest ion,the certa inty I enterta in of living to the age of

one hundred years . But,in order that I may proceed

methodically, I shall begin w ith the considerat ion of manat hi s birth, studying him thence

,step by step

,through

every stage of life unti l his death .

I say, then, that some human beings are ushered intothi s world with so l it t le vitality that they l ive but a veryfew days

,months, or years, as the case may be . The

cause of thi s want of vital ity i t is impossible to know to

a certainty,whether i t arises from some imperfect ion of

the father or mother,from the revoluti ons of the heaven s,

or from some defect in Nature . This latt er, however,can happen only when she is subject to the influence ofthe heavens ; for I could never persuade myself to bel ieve


the i ncrease of age, i t becomes necessary for him to decrease gradually, in proport ion, the amount of his foodand drink ; since nature requires very lit t le to mai ntainthe l ife of an old man . A lthough reason should convi ncethem that this is the case

, yet these men refuse to admi ti t, and pursue their usual l ife of d i sorder as heretofore .Were they to act di fferent ly, abandoning their irregularhabits and adopt ing orderly and temperate ones

, theywould live to old age

— as I have—in good condi ti on .

Being, by the grace of God, of so robust and perfect const itut ion s

,they would live unt il they reached the age of a

hundred and twenty,as history point s out to us that other s

born,of course

,with perfect const itut ions have done

,

who led the t emperate l ife.I am certa in I

,too

,should l ive to that age, had i t

been my good fortune to receive a similar blessing at mybirth ; but , because I was born wi th a poor const itut ion,I fear I shall not l ive much beyond a hundred years . Yet

al l those who are born delicate,li ke myself

,would no

doubt reach,in perfec t health, the age of a hundred and

more years,—as I feel will be the case with me,—wer e

they to embrace the temperat e l ife as I have done .T his certai nty of bein g able to l ive for many years

seems to me of great value. Indeed, i t should be highlypri zed ; since no man can be sure of even one single hourof exi stence unless he be one of those who follow the

temperate life. T hese alone have solid gr ound for theirhopes of a long life—hopes founded upon good and t ruenatural reasons which have never been known to fail .For i t is impossible

,in the regular course of nature, that

he who leads the orderly and temperate life should everfall sick ; nor , though death is even tually certa in, needhe ever die a premature or an unnatural death . I t isnot possible that he should die earlier than is occasioned

1 06

LUIGI oonNAno’s TREATISE

by the natural failure of the body ; for the temperate l ifehas the power to remove every cause of sickness ; andwithout a cause

,sickness cannot develop . When the cause

is removed,sickn ess l ikewi se is removed ; and sickness

being removed, an unnatural death is out of the questi on .

I t i s beyond doubt that the orderly and temperat eli fe has the power and stren gth to remove the causesof i l lness ; for i t is that which changes, for the bet ter,the humors of the body upon which—according as theyare good or bad man’s health or sickness

,l ife or death ,

depends. If these humors were bad, the temperate l i fehas the natural power to make them better and, in t ime,perfect ; and, being able to make them so, i t has the furtherpower to maintain

,equal ize

,and unite them so that they

cannot become separated, agitated, or al tered, and cause

cruel fevers and, finally, death .

I t i s true, however, and this no one can reasonablydeny

, that even though they be made ever so good, yet ,as t ime progresses

,consuming al l things, these humors

of the body will also be consumed and dissolved at last .

When they are thus dissolved, man must die a naturaldeath,—without pain or i llness, just as, in the courseof t ime, I shall pass away when the humors of my bodyshal l be final ly consumed.

They are now,however, al l in good condi t ion . I t

is not possible they should be otherw ise ; for I am healthy,cheerful

,and contented ; my appet ite is so good that I

always eat wi th relish ; my sleep is sweet and peaceful ;and

,moreover

, al l my facult ies ar e in a condit ion as

perfect as ever they were ; my mind is more than everkeen and clear ; my judgment sound ; my memory tenacious my heart full of life ; and my voice that which iswont to be the first thing in man to fail is so strong andsonorous that , i n consequence, I am obliged to sing aloud

1 07


my morning and evening prayers, which I had formerlybeen accustomed to say in a low and hushed tone .These ar e true and certain i ndicat ions that the humorsof my body are a l l good and can never be consumed saveby t ime alone, as everybody who i s well acquainted wi thme declares .

Oh, how glorious will have been this life of mine ! sofull of al l the happ iness that can be enjoyed in thi s world,and so free—as i t truly is from the tyranny of sensua li ty

,which

,thanks to my many years

,has been driven

out by reason ! For,where reason reigns, no place is left

for sensual ity,nor for i ts bit ter fruits

,the passions and

anxieti es of the mind accompanied by a well-nigh endlesst rain of afflict ing and sorrowful thought s.

As for the thought of death, i t can have no place inmy mind ; for there is nothing sensual in me . Even thedeath of any of my grandchildren, or of any other relat ives or friends, could never cause me t rouble except thefirst inst inct ive mot ion of the soul, which, however, soonpasses away. How much less could I lose my serenitythrough any loss of worldy wea lth ! Many of my fri endshave witnessed this to their great astonishment . However

,this is the privilege of those only who at ta i n extreme

age by means of the temperat e life and not merely throughthe ai d of a strong const itut ion ; i t is the former, not thelatter

,who enjoy every moment of li fe

,as I do

, amid cont inual consolat ions and pleasures.

And who would not enjoy li fe at an age when, as Ihave already shown

,i t is free from the innumerable mi s

eries by which we al l know the younger ages are afflicted !How wholly mine

,i n i ts happiness

,is free from these

miseri es,I shall now set forth .

To begin,the first of joys is to be of servi ce to one’s

beloved country. Oh,what a glorious enjoyment i t is

,

what a source of infinite pleasure to me, that I am able

108


Yet one more grat ificat ion afforded me i s the abundant evidence I receive that my t rea t i se, “L a Vi ta Sobr ia ,”which I composed to be of service to others, is really doingmuch good . I can enterta in no doubt of this ; since sometell me

,by word of mon th

,that they have derived great

benefit from i t and i t is evident they have ; while othersacknowledge by let ter that , after God

,i t is to me they

owe their very l ives .

Another great consolat ion enjoyed by me i s that ofwrit ing w ith my own han d— and

,to be of use

,I write a

great deal— on various t op ics,especial ly upon architect

ure and agriculture.

Yet another of my pleasures consists in havi ng thegood fortune to converse with various men of fine and

high intellect,from whom

,even at my advanced age, I

never fail to learn something. Oh , what a delight i t isto feel that

,at this grea t age of mine, i t is no labor what

soever to learn,no mat ter how great , high, and diffi cult

the subjects may be !Furthermore, though i t is a thing which to some may.

seem impossible and in no manner to be believed, I wi shto say that

,in this extreme age of mine, I enjoy two

lives at the same t ime : one, the earthly, which I possessin rea li ty ; the other, the heavenly, which I possess inthought . For thought truly has the power of impart inghappiness when i t is grounded upon something we are

confident we shall enjoy, as I do firmly hope and certa inlybeli eve I shall enjoy an eternal life through the infinitegoodness and mercy of the great God . I en j oy this earthlyexistence through the excellence of the orderly and tem

perate life,which is so p leasing to His Majesty because

i t is full of virtue and the enemy of vice . A t the sametime I rejoice i n the heavenly one

,which God has given

1 1 0


me now to enjoy i n thought ; for He has taken from methe power to think of i t diff erent ly

,so sure am I to

possess i t some day.

An d I hold that our departure from this world isnot death, but merely a passage which the soul makesfrom this earthly life to the heavenly one, immortal andinfinitely perfect— a belief which I am sure cannot butbe the t rue one.

Hence my thoughts a r e ra ised to heights so subl imethat they cannot descend to the considerat ion of suchworldly and common occurrences as the death of the body,but

,rather

,are wholly absorbed in living the heavenly

and divine life. In this manner i t comes to pass that,

as I said before,I incessant ly enjoy two l ives . And I

shall not feel any regret on account of the great happ inessI have in this earthly l ife

,when that life shall cease ; for

then my joy will be boundless, know ing, as I do, that theendi ng of this life is but the beginning of another, gloriousand immortal .

Who could ever find weariness in a lot so trulyblessed and happy as the one I enjoy ! Yet this happ in ess would be the port ion of every man if he would butlead a life similar to the one I have led . And

,assuredly

,

i t is in every man’s power to lead such a life ; for I amnothing but a man and not a sa int

,only a servant of

God,to Whom the orderly life is well-pleasing.

There ar e many men who embrace a holy and beant iful

,spiritual and contemplat ive life

,full of prayer. Oh

,

were they fa ithful followers also of the orderly and temperate life

,how much mor e pleasing in the sight of God

would they render themselves,and how much more beau

t i ful would they make the world ! T hey would be esteemedas highly as were those

,who

,in ancient t imes

,added the

pract ice of the temperate life to that of the spiritual .

1 1 1


L ike them,they would live to the age of one hundred

and twenty ; and, by the power of God, they would perform count less miracles, just as those others did . Furthermore

,they would constant ly enjoy a healthy

,happy

,

and cheerful li fe ; whereas they ar e at present , for thegreater part

,unhealthy

,melancholy

,and dissat isfied .

Since some of them believe that these afflict ions ar esent them by the great God for their salvat ion, that theymay, in this life, make reparat ion for their sins, I cannot refrain from sayin g that

,according to my judgment ,

these persons are mistaken ; for I cannot believe Goddeems i t good that man

,whom He so much loves

,should

be sickly,melancholy

,and discontented. I believe, on the

contrary,that He wishes him to be healthy, cheerful, and

contented,prec i sely as those holy men in ancient t imes

were ; who, becoming ever bet ter servant s of H is Maj esty,performed the many and beaut iful miracles of which weread .

Oh,what a lovely and enjoyable place this world

would be even more so than i t was in the olden t imes !For there ar e now many Orders which then did n ot exi st, inwhich

,if the temperate life were followed , we might see so

many venerable Old men ; and a wonderful sight i t wouldbe. Nor would they, in the pract ice of the t emperate life,deviate from the regular rules of living enjoined by thei rOrders ; on the cont rary, they would improve upon them .

For every Order allows i ts members, in the way of fare,to eat bread and drink wine

,and

,in addit ion to that , some

t imes to take eggs . Some Orders allow even meat, besidesvegetable soups

,salads

,fruits

,and pastries made wi th

eggs—foods which Often harm them,and to some are a

cause of death . T hey make use of these because allowedto do so by their Orders, th inking, perhaps, they would bedoing wrong were they to absta in from them . But i t

would not be wrong at al l ; i ndeed, they would act more

0 Dugw ry! thou curst byHeaven’

s decree,How i ll exchang

'd ar e things like these for thee !

How do thy poti ons, wi th insidi ous joy,Diffuse thei r pleasures on ly to destroy!Kingdoms by thee, to si cklygreatness grown ,

Boast of a flor id vigor not thei r ownAt everydraught more large and large theygr ow,

A bloatedmass of rank unwi eldywoe;T i ll sapp

’

d thei r strength, and everypart unsound,Down , down theysi nk, and spr ead a ruin round.

—0 li ver Goldsmi th.

P ART I I

SEL ECT I ONS

F ROM

LORD BACON ’S

HISTORY OF L IFE AND

AND F ROM

SI R W ILLIAM T EMP LE’S

HEAL TH AND L ONG L I FE”

The first physi ci ans by debauch were made;Excess began and sloth sustains the trade.

By chase our long-lived fathers earn ’

d thei r food;Toi l strungthe nerves, and purified the blood;But we thei r sons, a pamper

’

d race of men ,

Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten .

Better to hunt in fields for health unboughtThan fee the doctor for a nauseous draught.

The wise for cure on exercise dependGod never made his work for man to mend.

-J ohn Dryden .


i t wi ll be a token of G od ’s favor toward us in our journeyings through this world’s wilderness

, to have our shoes andgarments I mean those of our frail bod ies li t t le wornor impa ired .

F R. S'r . ALBANS .

Men fear death, as chi ldren fear to go into the dark ;and as that natural fear in children is increased withtales, so is the other. Certainly, the contemplat ion of

death, as the wages of sin, and passage to another world,

is holy and religious ; but the fear of i t , as a tribute dueunto nature, i s weak. I t i s as natural to di e as to be born .

He that dies in an earn est pursuit, is like one that i swounded in hot blood ; who, for the t ime, scarce feels thehurt ; and therefore a mi nd fixed and bent upon somewhatthat i s good, doth avert the dolors of death . I t wi l l behard to know the ways of death, unless we search out anddi scover the seat or house, or rather den , of death .

Tr uth,wh i ch only doth judge i t self, t eacheth that the

inquir y of t ruth,which i s the love-making or wooing of i t ,

the knowledge of t ruth, which is the presence of i t , andthe belief of truth, which is the enjoying of i t, i s the sovereign good of human nature. Certainly, i t is heaven uponearth, to have a man’s mind move in chari ty, rest in providence

,and turn upon the poles of truth .

Man , the servant and interpreter of nature, does andunderstands as much as he has actually or mentallyobserved of the order of nature himself, meanwhile, inclosed around by the laws of nature ; he neither knows norcan do more . The limit

,therefore, of human power and

knowledge i s in the facult ies, with which man is endowedby nature for moving and perceivi ng

,as well as in the

sta te of present things . T hese facult ies, though of themselves weak and inept , ar e yet capable, when properly and

1 1 8

SELECT IONS FROM BACON

regularly managed , of set t ing before the judgment an d use

things most remote from sense and act ion,and of overcom

i ng greater difficulty of works and obscurity of knowledgethan any one hath yet learned to wish .

Men see clearly,l ike owls

,i n the night of thei r own

not ions ; but , i n experience, as in the daylight , they wi nkand ar e but half-sighted . I should wish to have Paracelsus and Severinus for criers

,when

,with such clamors,

they convoke men to the suggest ions of experience.I t appears to me that men know not ei ther thei r ac

qui r emen ts or their powers, and trust too much to the

former,and too l it t le to the lat ter. Hence i t ari ses

,that ,

either est imat ing the arts they have become acquaintedWi th at an absurd value

,they require nothing more ; or,

forming too low an opinion of themselves, they waste theirpowers on t rivial object s

,without at tempt ing anything

to the purpose. T he sciences have thus thei r own p illars,fixed as i t were by fate ; since men are not roused to penetrate beyond them either by zeal or hope. Al l sciencesseem

,even now

,to flourish most in their first authors

Ari stot le, Galen, Euclid, and Ptolemy ; succession havi ngnot efiected , nay, barely at tempted, any grea t matter. Men,therefore, are to be admonished to rouse up thei r spiri ts,and t ry their strengths and turns, and not refer al l to theopinions and brains of a few. Even those who have beendetermined to t ry for themselves, to add thei r support tolearning, and to enlarge i ts l imits, have not dared ent irelyto desert received opinions nor to seek the springhead ofth ings . Yet there have not been want ing some, who, withgreater daring, have considered everyth ing open to them ;and, employing the force of their w i t , have Opened a passage for themselves and thei r dogmas by prostrat ing and

destroying al l before them .

1 19


Power to do good is the true and lawful end of aspi ring; for good thoughts though G od accept themtoward men ar e l it t le bet ter than good dreams

,except they

be put in act .

The greatest trust between man and man is the t rustof giving counsel. Heraclitus saith well in one of hisenigmas

,

“D ry light i s ever the best”; and certain i t is, that

the light that a man receiveth by coun sel from another,is

drier and purer than that which cometh from his own un

der standing and judgment,which is ever infused and

drenched in his affect ions and customs ; so there is asmuchdifference between the counsel that a friend giveth

,and

that a man giveth himself,as there is between the counsel

of a friend and of a fiat ter er ; for there is no such fiat ter eras is a man’s self

,and there is no such remedy against

flatt ery of a man’s self as the l iberty of a friend. T he bestpreservat ive to keep the mind in health is the faithful admonit ion of a friend . I t is a strange thing to behold whatgross errors and extreme absurdit ies many do commit

,for

want of a friend to tell them of them,to the great damage

both of their fame and fortune .The help of good counsel i s that which set teth busi

ness straight . T he wisest princes need not th ink i t any

dimin ut ion to their greatness,or derogat ion to their suf

ficiency, to rely upon counsel . Solomon hath pronouncedthat , “I n counsel i s stabi lity.

” Solomon’s son found theforce of counsel

,as his father saw the necessity of i t .

I t hath been noted that those who ascribe openly toomuch to their own w isdom and policy

,end unfortunate .

He that quest i oneth much, shall learn much and con tentmuch especially if he app ly his quest ions to the skill ofthe persons whom he asketh ; for he shall give them occasion to please themselves in speaking, and himself shallcont inually gather knowledge. Set before thee the best

1 20


which we shall propound,have not been tri ed by us by

way of experiment ,— for our course of life doth not permi t that ,—but are derived

,as we suppose

,upon good

reasons, out of our principles and grounds,— of whichsome we set down

,others we reserve in our mind

,—and

ar e,as i t were

,cut and digged out of the rock and mine

of Nature herself. Nevertheless,we have been careful

,

and that with al l providence and circumspect ion,seeing

the Scripture sa ith of the body of man,that i t is more

worth than raiment,

to propound such remed ies as mayat least be safe

,if peradventure they be not fruit ful .

Al l things in li vi ng creatures are in their youth re

paired ent irely ; nay, they are for a t ime increased in quant ity, bet tered in quality, so as the mat ter of reparat ionmight be eternal

,i f the manner of reparat ion did not fail .

But this is the t ruth of i t : there i s m the declining of agean unequal reparat ion . By which i t comes to pass, that ,in process of t ime

,the whole tends to dissolut ion ; and even

those very parts which, i n their own nature, ar e wi th muchease reparable

, yet , through the decay of the organs ofreparat ion

,can no more receive reparat ion

,but decline

,

and in the end ut terly fail . And the cause of the terminat ion of life is this : the spirit s

,like a gent le flame

,con .

t inual ly preyi ng upon bodies, conspiring with the outwardai r

,which is ever sucking and drying of them,

do,in

t ime,destroy the whole fabric of the body, as also the

part icular engin es and organs thereof, and make them nu~

able for the work of reparation. T hese ar e the t rue waysof natural death

,well and faithfully to be revolved in our

minds ; for he that knows not the way of nature, how can

he succor her or turn her about ?We see the reign or tyranny of custom,

what i t is .Men’s thought s are much according to their inclinat i on ;their discourse and speeches according to their learning

1 22

SELECTIONS FROM BACON .

and infused opinions but their deeds are after as theyhave been accustomed . T herefore

,as Machiavel well

noteth,there is no t rust ing to the force of nature

,nor to

the bravery of words,except i t be corroborate by custom.

Na ture is often hidden, somet imes overcome, seldom ext ingui shed . But custom

,only

,doth alter and subdue

nature . He that seeketh victory over his nature, let himnot set himself too great nor too small tasks ; for the firstwill make him dejected by often failing

,and the second

will make him a small proceeder— though by often prevailing. Where nature is mighty and

,therefore

, the victory hard, the degrees had need be : first , to stay and arrestnature in t ime like to him that would say over the fourand-twenty let ters when he was angry ; then, to go less inquant ity as if one should

,in forbearing wine

,come from

drinking healths to a draught at a meal ; and, last ly, to discont inue a ltogether ; but if a man have the fort itude andresolut ion to enfranchise himself at once, that is the best .But let n ot a man t rust his victory over his nature too far ;for nature wi ll l ie buried a great t ime, and yet revive uponthe occasion, or temptat ion ; l ike as i t was wi th ZEsop’sdamsel

,turned from a cat to a woman

,who sat very de

murely at the board’s end t i l l a mouse ran before her.The predominancy of custom is everywhere vi sible ;

in somuch as a man would wonder to hear men profess,prot est

,engage

,give great words, and then do just as they

have done before, as if they were dead images and engin es,moved only by the wheels of custom . A man’s nature runseither to herbs or weeds ; therefore let him seasonablywater the one, and destroy the other. Neither i s the

ancient rule amiss, to bend nature as a wand to a contraryextreme, whereby to set i t right ; understanding i t wherethe contrary extreme is no vice. Many examples may beput of the force of custom, both upon mind and body ;

1 23


therefore,since custom i s the principal magistrate of

man’s life,let men by al l means endeavor to obtain good

customs. Certainly,custom is most perfect when i t be

gi nneth i n young years ; this we call educat ion, which is,in effect

, but an early custom.

To procure long life,the body of man must be con

sider ed. The ancient s seemed not to despair of a t tainingthe skill, by means and med icines, to put ofi old age, an d

to prolong life ; but this to be numbered rather among suchthings

,having been on ce happ ily at tained unto

,ar e now

through men’s negligence and carelessness—u tterly periehed and lost , than among such as have been alwaysdenied and never granted ; for they signify and show thatthe d ivine bounty is n ot want ing unto men in the oh

taining of such gifts. Surely every medicine is an innovat ion ; and he that will not apply new remedies must expectnew evils ; for t ime is the greatest innovator. And if t ime,of course

,alter things to the worse, and wisdom and coun

sel shall not a lter them to the bet ter, what shall be theend?

The nature of the sp irit s is as the uppermost wheel,which turneth about the other wheels in the body of man ;and

,therefore, in the intent ion of long life, that ought to

be first placed. Age is nothing of itself, being only themeasure of t ime ; that which causeth the effect is the nat ivespirit of bodies, which sucketh up the moisture of thebody

, and then, together with i t , fli eth forth ; and the ai r

ambient,which mult ip lieth itself upon the nat ive sp irit s

and juices of the body,and preyeth upon them . The sp irit s

are the master workmen of al l eff ect s in the body ; thisis manifest by consent , and by infinit e insta nces . The

act ions or funct ions which ar e in the several members,follow the nature of the members themselves,— at traet ion

,reten t ion

,d igest ion

,assimilat ion

,separat ion

, excre

t ion, persp irat ion, even sense itself, according to the

1 24


long life,that the body should never abide long in one

posture ; but that every half-hour, at least , i t change theposture

,saving only in sleep . As for exercise

,an idle

life doth manifest ly make the flesh soft and dissipable ;robust exercise, so i t be wi thout overmuch sweat ing orweariness, maketh i t hard and compact . A lso exercisewithin cold water

,as swimming

,is very good ; and, gen

eral ly, exercise abroad is bet ter than that w ith in houses.

Exercises which st ir up a good strong mot ion, but not

overswift,or to our utmost strength, do not hurt

,but

rather benefit .Men ought to beware that they use not exercise and

a spare diet both ; but if much exercise, then a plent ifuldiet ; and if sparing diet , then lit t le exercise. T he benefits that come of exercise ar e : first , that i t sendeth nouri shmen t i nto the part s more forcibly ; secondly, that i thelpeth to excern by sweat , and so maketh the partsassimilate the more perfect ly ; thirdly, that i t maketh thesubstance of the body more solid and compact , and so

less apt to be consumed and depredated by the sp i rit s.T hat exercise may resolve either the spirit s or the

juices as l it t le as may be, i t is necessary that i t be usedwhen the stomach is not altogether empty ; and, therefore

, that i t may not be used upon a full stomach, whichdoth much concern health,— nor yet upon an emptystomach, - which doth no less concern long life, —i t isbest to take a breakfast in the morning, of plain meat anddr ink ; yet that very light , and in moderat e quant ity.

Both exercise and fr icat ions conduce much to longlife ; for agitat ion doth finel iest difiuse and commix thingsby small port ions. But in exercise and fr icat i ons thereis the same reason and caut ion, that the body may not

persp ire or exhale too much . T herefore, exercise is better in the open a i r than i n the house

,and bet ter in win

ter than in summer. G ent le fr i cat i ons,and moderate

1 26

SELECTIONS FROM BACON

exercises,causing rather persp irat ion than sweat ing, con

duce much to long life. But,generally

,exercise

,if i t be

much,i s no friend to prolongat ion of life ; which is one

cause why women live longer than men,because they st i r

less. ’Refrigerat ion

,or cooling of the body, which passeth

some other ways than by the stomach,is useful for long

life. The reason is at hand : for seeing a refrigerat ionnot temperate, but powerful, especially of the blood,is above al l things necessary to long life

,this can by no

means be effected from within as much as is requisite,without the destruct ion of the stomach and bowels.

The body of man doth regularly require renovat ionby aliment every day, and a body in health can scarceendure fast ing three days together ; notwithstanding, useand custom wi l l do much, even in this case ; but in sickness

,fast ing is less grievous to the body. We would have

men right ly to observe and dist inguish, that those thingswhich ar e good for a healthful life, are not always goodfor a long life ; for there are some things

'which do furtherthe a lacrity of the spirit s, an d the strength and vi gor ofthe funct ions

,which

,notwithstanding

,do cut ofi from the

sum of l ife. I t is har d to dist inguish that which i s general ly held good and wholesome, from that which is goodpart icularly, and fit for thine own body. I t doth no goodto have the aliment ready, in a degree removed, but tohave i t of that kind, and so prepared and supplied, thatthe spirit may work upon i t ; for the staff of a torch alonewill not maintain the flame

,unless i t be fed with wax ;

neither can men live upon herbs alone. Nourishmentought to be of an inferior nature and more simple substances than the thing nourished. Plant s a re nourishedw ith the earth and water, l iving creatures with plants,man with living creatures. T here ar e also certa in creatures

See Note A

1 27


feed ing upon flesh ; and man himself takes plant s int o apart of his nourishment .

The stomach— which, as they say, i s the master ofthe house

,and whose strength and goodness i s funda

mental to the other concoct ion s ought so to be guardedand confirmed that i t may be without intemperatenesshot ; i t i s to be kept ever in appet ite

,because appet ite

sharpens digest ion. T his also is most certain,that the

brai n is in some sort in the custody of the stomach ; and,therefore, those things which comfort and strengthen thestomach, do help the brain by con sent . I do verily conceive i t good that the first draught be taken a t supper

,

warm . I knew a physician that was very famous ; who,i n the beginning of dinner and supper

,would usually eat

a few spoonfuls of very warm broth with much gr eediness

,and then would present ly wish that i t were out again,

saying he had no need of the broth, but only of the warmth .

A pythagorical or monast ical diet , according to strictrules

,and a lways exact ly equal as that of CORNARO was,

—seemeth to be very eff ectual for lon g life. If therewere anything eminent in the Spartans

,that was to be

imput ed to the parsimony of t heir diet . I t is n ot moret rue

,that “Many di shes have caused many diseases — as

the proverb is, —than this is true, that many medicineshave caused few cures.

I t seems to be approved by experience, that a spare

diet,and a lmost a pythagorical,— such as i s either pre

scribed by the strict rules of a monast ical l ife,or prac

t iced by hermits, which have necessity and poverty fortheir rule

,—rendereth a man long-lived. Celsus, who

was not only a learned physician,but a wise man , i s not

to be omit ted,who advi seth in terchanging and alterna

t ion of the diet,but st ill with an inclinat ion to the more

benign. Conservat ion of health hath commonly n eed of

1 28


We see that al l things wh i ch are done by nutri t ionask a long t ime ; but those which are done by embracing ofthe like—as i t is in infusions—require no long t ime.Ther efore, al imentati on from wi thout would be of principal use ; and so much the more

,because the facult ies of

concoct ion decay in old age ; so that if there could besome auxi liary nutri t ions, by bathing, unct ions, or else byclysters, these things in conjuncti on might do much, whichsingle are less available.

A lso, sleep doth supply somewhat to nourishment ; and,on the other side

,exercise doth require i t more abundant ly.

But asmoderate sleep con fer r eth to long l ife, so much moreif i t be qui et and not disturbed.

Assimilat ion is best done when al l local moti on i ssuspended. The act i tself of assimi lat ion is chiefly aecomplished in sleep and rest , especially toward the

’ morning,the di stri but ion being fin i éhed. T hose that are very cold,and espec ial ly in their feet, cannot get to sleep ; the causemay be that in sleep i s required a free respirat ion, whi chcold doth shut i n and hinder. T herefore

,we have nothing

else to advise but that men keep themselves hot in theirsleep.

Sleep i s regularly due unto human natur e once wi thin four-and-twenty hours

,and that for six or five hours

at the least ; though ther e are, even in this kind, somet imes miracles of nature ; as i t i s recorded of Maecenas,that he slept not for a long t ime before his death. The

fable t ells us that Epimenides slept many years t ogetherin a cave, and all that t ime needed no meat ; because thespirits wast e not much i n sleep.

Some noises help sl eep ; as the blowing of the wind,the t rickling of water, humming of bees, soft singing,reading

, etc. The cause is that they move in the spiritsa gent le at tent i on ; and whatsoever moveth at tent ion, without too much labor, st illeth the natural and di scursive

1 30

SELECT IONS FROM BACON

moti on of the spirits . Sleep nourisheth,or at least pr e

serveth, bod ies a long t ime, without other nourishment .T here have some been found who sustained them

selves a lmost to a miracle in nature—a very long t imewi thout meat or drink. L iving creatures may subsistsomewhat the longer without a liment , if they sleep ; now,sleep is nothing else but a recep t ion an d ret irement ofthe l iving spirit into itself. Experience t eacheth us thatcertain creatures, as dormice and bats, sleep in some closeplaces a whole winter together ; such is the force of sleepto restrain all vi tal consumpt ion. That which bees ordrones ar e also thought to do, though sometimes dest ituteof honey ; and likewise but terflies an d other flies. Beaststhat sleep in winter, as i t is noted of wi ld bears, duri ng thei r sleep wax very fat , though they eat nothing. Bat shave been found in ovens, and other hollow close places,mat ted one upon another ; and, therefore, i t is likely thatthey sleep in the winter t ime, and eat nothing. But terflies

,an d other flies

,do not only sleep, but lie as dead al l

wi nter ; and yet with a l it t le heat of sun or fire, reviveagain . A dormouse , both winter and summer, wi l l sleepsome days together, and eat nothing.

Sleep after dinner the stomach sending up no nu

pleasant vapors to the head, as being the first dews of ourmeat is good for the sp irits, but derogatory and hurtfulto al l other points of health. Notwithstanding, i n extr eme old age there is the same reason of meat and sleep ;for both our meal s and our sleeps should be then frequent ,but short and litt le ; nay, and toward the last period of old

age, a mere rest , and, as i t were, a perpetual r eposing,doth best—especially in wint er time.

To be fr ee-minded and cheerful ly di sposed at hoursof meat and of sleep and of exercise, is one of the bes tprecepts of long last ing.


We suppose that a good clothing of the body makethmuch to long life ; for i t fenceth and armeth against theintemperances of the ai r

,which do wonderful ly assa il and

decay the body.

Above a l l things, in youth, and for those that havesufficient ly strong stomachs, i t will be best to take a gooddraught of clear cold water when they go to bed.

Washing the body in cold water i s good for length of

Especial ly,care must be taken that no hot things be

app lied to the head outwardly.Not only the goodness or pureness of the ai r

,but

a lso the equality of the a i r , is materi al to long life . I tis a secret that the healthfulness of ai r

,especially in any

perfect ion, is bet ter found by experiment than by discourse or conjecture. The count ry life is well fit ted forlong life ; i t is much abroad

,and in the open a i r ; i t is

not slothful, but ever in emp loyment . They ar e longerlived

,for the most part , that l ive abroad in the open a i r ,

than they that l ive in houses ; and i t i s certain that themorning ai r is more lively and refreshing than the eve

ning a i r . Change of a i r by traveling, after one be usedunto i t , i s good ; and, therefore, great t ravelers have beenlong-lived. A lso those that have lived perpetual ly i n a

l it t le cot tage,in the same place, have been long livers ; for

ai r accustomed consumeth less, but ai r changed nouri sheth and repa i r eth more.

The heart receiveth benefit or harm most from the

a i r which we breathe, from vapors, and from the afiec

t ions.We must come now to the afiect i ons and passions of

the mind,and see which of them are hurtful to long life,

which profitable.Every noble

,and resolute, and—as they call i t

heroical desire,st r engtheneth and enlar geth the powers

1 32


moderate ease ; and, therefore, old men in honorable placeslay violent hands upon themselves, who ret ire not to theirease. But this thing doth require two caut ions : one, thatthey drive not ofi t ill their bodies be ut terly worn out anddiseased, for in such bodies all mutat ion, though to themore benign, hasteneth death ; the other, that they surrender not themselves to a sluggish ease

,but that they em

brace something which may entertain their thoughts andmind with contentat ion.

Ficino saith— not unwisely— that old men, for thecomfort ing of their sp irit s, ought often to remember andruminate upon the act s of their childhood and youth .

Certainly,such a remembrance is a kind of peculiar recrea

t ion to every old man ; and, therefore, i t is a del ight to mento enjoy the society of them which have been brought uptogether with them,

and to visit the p laces of their educat ion. Vespasian did at tribute so much to this mat ter, that ,when he was emperor, he would by n o means be persuadedto leave his father’s house, - though but mean,— lest heshould lose the wonted object of his eyes and the memor yof his childhood. And, besides, he would drink in a

wooden cup, t ipped with silver, which was his grandmother’s, upon fest ival days .

The spirits ar e delighted both with wonted thingsand with new. Now,

i t maketh wonderfully to the conservat ion of the sp irit s in vigor, that we neither use wontedthings to a sat iety and glut t ing, nor new things beforea quick and strong appet ite. T herefore

,both customs ar e

to be broken ofi with judgment and care,before they

breed a fullness ; and the appet ite after new things to berestrained for a t ime

,unt il i t grow more sharp and jocund .

Moreover, the life, as much as may be, is so to be ordered,that i t may have many renovat ions ; and the spirit s, byperpetual conversing in. the same act ions, may not wax dull.

1 34


F or though i t were no i ll saying of Sen eca’s, “The fool dothever begi n to l ive ”; yet this folly, and many more such, ar egood for long life.

I t is to be observed t ouching the spirits—thoughthe contrar y used to be don e,— that when men perceivetheir spirit s to be in good

,placid

,and hea lthful state,

that which w ill be seen by the t ranquillity of their m ind,

and cheerful disposit ion,—that they cherish them

,and

not change them ; but when in a turbulen t and un towardstate

,which will also appear by their sadn ess

,lumpish

ness,and other indisposit ion of their mind,— that then

they straight overwhelm them and alter them. Now,the

spirit s ar e contained in the same state by a restrainingof the affect ion s

,temperaten ess of diet

,moderat ion in

labor,in d ifier en t rest and repose ; and the contrary to

these do alter and overwhelm the spirits ; as,namely

,

vehement affect ion s,profuse feast ings

,difficult labors,

earnest studies,and prosecut ion of business . Yet men

are wont,when they ar e merriest and best disposed, then

to apply themselves to feast ings, labors, endeavors, business ; whereas, if they have a regard to long life, whichmay seem strange, they should rather pract ice the cont rary. For we ought to cherish and preserve good sp irits ;and for the evil-disposed spirit s, to discharge and alterthem.

G rief and sadness,if i t be void of fear, and afli ict not

too much , doth rather prolong life.G reat joys at tenuate and diffuse the sp irits, and

short en life. G reat fears, also, shorten life ; for thoughgrief and fear do both stren gthen the sp irit s, yet in griefthere is a simple contract ion ; but in fear, by reason ofthe cares taken for the remedy, and hopes intermixed,there is a turmoil and vexing of the spirits.

Whosoever i s out of pat ience,is out of possession of

his soul .

1 35


Envy is the worst of al l passions, and feedeth uponthe spirit s, and they again upon the body. Of al l affec

t ions,envy is the most importun e and cont inual ; there

fore i t was well said, “Envy keeps no holidays,” for i t i sever working upon some or other. I t. i s also the vilest affect ion

,and the most depraved ; for which cause i t is the

prOper at tribute of the devil, who is called “The envi ousman

,that soweth tar es amongst the wheat by n ight .

”

Certainly,the more a man drinketh of the world, the

more i t i n toxi cateth . I cannot call riches bet ter than thebaggage of virtue. The Roman word is bet ter, “impedimen ta

”; for as the baggage is to an army

,so is riches

to virtue ; i t cannot be spared nor left behind, but i t hin

der eth the march ; yea, and the care of i t somet imes losethor di sturbeth the victory.

I t is most certain, that passions always covet and

desire that which experience forsakes. A nd they al l know,who have paid dear for serving and obeying their lusts,that whether i t be hon or

,or riches

,or delight

,or glory

,or

knowledge,or anything else

,which they seek after ; yet

ar e they but things cast off , and, by divers men in al l ages,after experience had

,ut terly rej ected and loathed .

There is a wisdom in this beyond the rules of physica man’s own observat ion

,what he finds good of

, an d whathe finds hurt of, is t he best physic to preserve health .

But i t is a safer con clusion to say,“Thi s agr eeth n ot wel l

wi th me,ther efor e I wi l l n ot con t i nue i t” ; than this, “I

find no oflense of th is, ther efor e I may use i t”; for strength

of nature in youth passeth over many excesses which ar e

owing a man t ill his age. Discern of t he coming on of

years, and th ink n ot to do the same th ings st ill ; for agewill not be defied . Beware of sudden change in any greatpoint of diet

,and

,if necessity enforce i t , fit the rest to i t ;

1 36


except i t be of a very few only. No doubt there are t imesin every country wherein men are longer or shorter lived :longer, for the most part, when they fare less deliciously,and are more given to bodily exercises ; shorter, when theyabandon themselves to luxury and ease. The countrieswhich have been observed to produce long livers are theseA rcad ia, E tol ia

,India on this side Ganges

,Brazil

,Tapr o

bane [Ceylon ] , Britain, Ireland, with the i slands of theOreades [Orkneys ] and Hebrides. We read that the

Esseans [Essenes] , amongst the Jews, di d usually extendtheir l ife to a hundred years. Now, that sect used a singleor abstemious diet , after the rule of Pythagoras. T he

monks and hermit s, which fed sparingly, and upon dry al iment, at tai ned commonly to a great age. Amongst theVeneti ans there have been found not a few long livers

,and

those of the more eminent sort : Francis Donat o,Duke ;

T homas Contar ini, Procurator of St . Mark ; and others .But most memorable is CORNARO the VENETIAN ; who, beingi n his youth of a sickly body

,began first to eat and drink

by measure to a certa in weight , thereby to recover hishealth ; this cure turned by use in to a diet ; that diet toan extraord inary long l ife

,even of a hundred year s and

better , without any decay in his senses, and with a con

stant enjoying of his health .

Being admonished by Ari stotl e’s observat i on touching plants, that the put ting forth of new shoots and

bran ches refresheth the body of the tree in the passage ;we conceive the like reason might be, i f the flesh and

blood in the body of man were often renewed, that therebythe bones themselves, and membranes, and other parts,which in their own nature ar e less reparable, —par t ly bythe cheerful passage of the juices, partly by that newclothing of the young flesh and blood

,might be watered

and renewed . If any man could procure that a young

1 38


man’s spi ri t could be conveyed into an old man’s body,i t is not unlikely but this great wheel of the sp irits mightturn about the lesser wheels of the part s

,and so the course

of nature become retrograde. T he spirit , if i t be not

irritated by the anti pathy of the body inclosing i t , nor fedby the overmuch l ikeness of that body, nor solicited nor i nvi ted by the external body, makes no great st ir to get out .

We denounce unto men that they will give over t rifling,and not imagine that so great a work as the stopping and

turning back the powerful course of nature can bebrought to pass by some morning draught , or the taking ofsome precious drug ; but that they would be assured thati t must needs be that this i s a work of labor, and consi steth of many remedies, and a fit connect ion of themamongst themselves.

I f a man perform that whi ch hath not been at temptedbefore, or at tempt ed and given over, or hath been achieved,but not with so good circumstance

,he shall purchase

more honor than by affect ing a mat ter of greater difficulty,or virtue, wherein he i s but a follower .

Experi ence,no doubt

, w ill both verify and promotethese matters. And such , in al l things, are the worksof every prudent counsel

,that they ar e admirable in their

effects.

1 39

Voluptuous man

I s by superi or faculti es misled;Misled from pleasure even in quest of joy,Sated wi th Nature

’

s boons, wha t thousands seek,

Wi th dishes tor tur ’d from thei r native taste,Andmad vari ety, to spur beyond

I ts wiser wi ll the jaded appeti te !

I s this for pleasure? L earn a juster taste !

And know that temperance i s true luxury.

Know,whate

’

er

Beyond i ts na tural fervor hurr ies onThe sanguine ti de; whether the frequent bowl,High

-season’

d fare, or exer cise to toi lP rotracted; spurs to i ts last stage ti red li fe,And sows the temples w i th un timely sn ow.

—J ohn A rmstrong.


of most common use, or most necessary knowledge ; andwherein, though I may not be able to inform men morethan they know, yet I may, perhaps, give them the occasion to consider mor e than they do. All men would beglad to be thei r own masters, and should not be sorryto be thei r own scholars

,when they pay no mor e for their

learning than their own thoughts,which they have com

mon lymore store of about them than they know what to dowith. Of al l sort s of instruct ions, the best i s gained fromour own thought s as well as experience ; for though a

man may grow learned by other men’s thoughts, yet hewill grow w ise or happy only by his own—the use of

other men’s toward these ends, i s but to serve for one’s ownreflecti ons.

Some writers, in cast ing up the goods most desi rable i nlife

,have given them thi s rank : hea lth, beauty, and riches .

Of the first I find no dispute,but to the two others much

may be said ; for beauty is a good that makes others happyrather than one’s self ; and how riches should claim sohigh a r ank, I cannot t ell, when so great , so wise, and so

good a part of mankind have, in al l ages, preferred povertybefore them. Al l the ancient philosophers what ever elsethey di ffered i n— agreed in this of despising riches

,and

at best esteeming them an unnecessary trouble or encumbrance of l ife ; so that whether they ar e to be r eckonedamong goods or evils is yet left in doubt .

The two great blessings of li fe ar e, in my opinion,hea lth and good humor ; and none contr ibute more to oneanother. W ithout health, al l will allowl ife to be but aburden ; and the several condit ions of fort une to be al lwearisome

,dull

, or disagreeable,without good humor ;

nor does any seem to contribute t oward the true happinessof life, but as i t serves to increase that treasure, or to

1 42

SELECT IONS FROM TEMP LE

preserve i t . Whatever other d ifferences ar e commonly ap

prehended in the several condit ions of fortune, none, perhaps

,will be found so true or so great as what i s made

by those two cir cumstances, so lit t le regarded i n the com

mon course or pursuits of mortal men .

Health i n the body is l ike peace in the State and

serenity in the ai r . Health is the soul that animates a l len joyment s of l ife, which fade and are tasteless

,if not

dead,without i t . A man starves at the best and the great

est tables, and i s poor and wr etched in the midst of thegreatest t reasures and fortunes. With common d iseases,strength grows decrepit ; youth loses al l vigor, and beautyall charms ; music grows harsh, and conversat ion disagreeable ; palaces ar e prisons, or of equal confinement ; richesar e useless ; honor and at tendance are cumbersome : andcrowns themselves are a burden. But if diseases are painful and violent

,they equal al l condit ions of life, and make

no difier ence between a prince and a beggar. The vigorof the mind decays with that of the body, and not onlyhumor and i nvent ion, but even judgment and resolut ion,change and languish wi th ill const itut ion of body and of

health ; and, by this means, public business comes to sufier

by private infirmi t ies,and Kingdoms or States fall into

weaknesses and di stempers or decays of those persons thatmanage them . I have seen the counsels of a noble countrygrow bold or t imorous, according to the fits of his good orill health that managed them ; and the pulse of the government beat high or low with that of the governor. T hus

,

accident s of health grow to be accidents of State ; andpublic const itut ions come to depend, i n a great measure,upon those of parti cular men.

To know that the passi ons or distempers of the m indmake our lives unhappy, in spite of al l accidents and

1 43


favors of fortune,a man

,perhaps

,must be a phi losopher

and requires much thought, and study, and deep r eflec

t ions. To be a Stoic, and grow insensible of pai n,as

well as poverty or disgrace, one must be, perhaps, something more or less than a man

,renounce common nature

,

oppose common truth and constant experience. But thereneeds lit t le learning or study

,more than common thought

and observat ion, to find out that ill health loses n ot onlythe enjoyments of fortune

,but the p leasures of sense

, and

even of imaginat ion ; and hinders the common operati onsboth of body and mind from being easy and free . L et

philosophers reason and differ about the chief good orhapp iness of man ; let them find i t where they can

,and

p lace i t where they p lease ; but there is no mistake so

gross, or opinion so impert inent , how common soever,as to think pleasures arise from what i s without us,rather than from what is within .

But to leave ph il osophy,and return to heal th. What

ever is true in point of happin ess dependi ng upon the

temper of the mind,

’t i s certain that p leasures depend uponthe t emper of the body ; and that , to enjoy them,

a man

must be well himself. Men ar e apt to p lay with theirhealth and their lives

,as they do with their clothes. T o

find any felicity, or take any p leasure in the greatest advantages of honor and fortun e, a man must be in heal th .

Who would not be covetous, and with reason , if th i s couldbe pur chased with gold? who not ambit ious

,if i t were at

the command of power,or restored by honor? But , alas !

a whit e stafi will not help gouty feet to walk bet ter thana common cane ; nor a blue ribbon bind up a wound so wellas a fillet ; the glit ter of gold or of diamonds will but hurtsore eyes, instead of curing them ; and an aching headwill be no more eased by wearing a crown than a commonnightcap .

144


than for their necessary food,by gathering fruits

,herbs

,

and p lant s ; they knew no drink but water ; were not

tempted to eat nor drink beyond common thirst or appet ite ;were not t roubled with either public or domest ic cares ; norknew any pleasures but the most simple and natural . Manyof these were said, at the t ime that country was discoveredby the Europeans, to have lived two hundred, some threehundred years.

From these examples and customs i t may probablybe concluded, that the common ingredients of health andlong life—where births are not impaired from the concept i on by any derived i nfirmi t i es of the race they comefr om— ar e great temperance

,open a i r

,easy labor

,l it t le

care, simp licity of d iet , and water—which preserves theradical moisture without too much increasing the radicalheat ; whereas sickness, decay, and death proceed com

mon ly from the one preying too fast upon the other , andat length wholly ext inguishing i t .

I think temperance deserves the first rank amongpublic virtues

,as well as those of privat e men ; and doubt

whether any can pretend to the constant , steady exerciseof prudence

,just ice

,or fort itude, without i t . T hat which

I call temperance,is a regular and simple diet , limited by

every man’s experience of his own easy d igest ion, and

thereby proport ioning,as near as well can be, the daily

repairs to the daily decays of our wast ing bodies. Tem

perance, that virtue without pride, and fortune withoutenvy ! that gives indolence [repose] of body, and tranquillity of mind ; the best guardian of youth, and supportof old age ; the precept of reason, as well as religion ; thephysician of the soul, as well as the body ; the tutelargoddess of health, and universal medicine of life ; thatclears the head

,and clean ses the blood ; that strengthens

the nerves, enlightens the eyes, and comforts the heart !

146

SELECTIONS FROM TEMP LE

No degree of temperance can , I think, be too greatfor the cure of most diseases to which mankind i s exposed,rather by the viciousness, than by the . frailty, of theirnatures—diseases by which we often condemn ourselvest o greater t orments and miseries of life than have, perhaps, been yet invented by anger or revenge, or inflictedby the greatest tyrant s upon the worst of men. I knownot whether some desperate degrees of abst inence wouldnot have the same efiect upon other men, as they had uponA t t i cus ; who, weary of his life as well as his physi ciansby long and cruel pains of a dropsical gout , and despairing of any cure, resolved by degrees to starve himself todeath ; and went so far , that the physicians found he hadended h i s di sease i nstead of his life.

F or one l ife that ends by mere decay of nature or

age, m i ll ions ar e intercepted by accident s from wi thoutor diseases within ; by unt imely deaths or decays ; fromthe effects of excess and luxury, immoderate replet ion orexercise. Men ar e, perhaps, most betrayed to all thesedangers by great strength and vigor of const itut ion

,by

more appet ite and larger fare, in colder climates ; in the

warm,excesses ar e found more pernicious to heal th, and

so more avoided ; and if experience and reflect ion do not

cause t emperan ce among them, yet i t i s forced upon themby the faintness of appetite. I can find no bet ter accountof a story Si r Francis Bacon tells, of a very old man ,Whose customs and d iet he inquired ; who said he observednone besides eat ing before he was hungry and dri nkingbefore he was dry, for by that rule he was sure never to eatnor drink much at a t ime. I do not remember

,ei ther in

story or modern observat ion, any examples of long l ifecommon to any parts of Europe, which the temper of thecl imate has probably made the scene of luxury and excessesin diet .

147


And,I doubt , pleasures too long cont inued, or rather

too frequent ly repeated, may spend the spirits, and therebylife

, too fast, to leave i t very long ; like blowing a firetoo often

,which makes i t indeed burn the bet ter, but last

the less. F or as pleasures perish themselves in the using,—l ike flowers that fade with gathering, so

’t is neithernatural nor safe to cont inue them long, to renew th em without appet ite

,or ever to provoke them by arts or imaginat ion

where Nature does not call ; who can best tell us when andhow much we need

,or what i s good for us, if we wer e so

wise as to consult her.The faintness of appet i t e

,especially in great ci t i es,

makes the many endeavors to relieve and provoke i t byar t , where nature fails ; and this is one great ground ofluxur y

,and so many

,and var ious

,and extravagant i nven

t ions to heighten and improve i t ; which may serve perhapsfor some refinement in pleasure

,but not at al l for any

advantages of health or of life . On the contrary, al l thegreat cit ies, celebrated most by the concourse of mankind,and by the invent ions and customs of the greatest and

most delicat e luxury, are the scenes of the most frequentand violent plagues, as well as other diseases.

In the course of common life, a man must ei ther oftenexerci se

,or fast , or take physic, or be sick ; and the choice

seems left to everyone as he likes. The first two ar e the

best methods and means of preserving health ; the useof physic is for restoring i t

,and curing those d iseases

which ar e generally caused by the want or neglect of theothers ; but is neither necessary, nor perhaps useful, forconfirming health

,or to the length of l ife

,being gen erally

a force upon nature—though the end of i t seems to berather assist ing nature

,than opposing i t i n i ts course.

Nature knows her own want s and t imes so well, as to needlit tle assistance ; leave her to her course, who is the

148

THE ART OF LI VING LONG

improved by spleen and melancholy apprehensions : a disappointed hope

,a ~blot of honor

,a stra in of con scien ce

,an

unfortunate love,an aching jea lousy

,a repining grief

,will

serve the turn,and al l a like .

I remember an ingenious physician,who told me, in

the fanat ic t imes,he found most of h i s pat ient s so dis

turbed by troubles of con science,that he was forced to p lay

the di vine with them before he could begin the physician ;whose greatest skill

,perhaps

,often lies in the infusing of

hopes,and inducing some composure and t ranquillity of

mind, before he enters upon the other operat ions of hisar t . T his ought to be the first endeavor of the pat ient

,too ;

wi thout which, all other medicines may lose their vi rt ue.In al l diseases of body or mi nd

,i t i s happy to have an

able physician for a friend, or discreet friend for a physici an ; which is so great a blessing, that the wi se man willhave i t to proceed onl y from God , where he says : “A fai th

ful fr iend is themedicin e of li fe, and he that fear s the L or dshal l find him.

”

Greece,having been the first scene of luxury we meet

with in story, and having thereby occasioned more diseases,see-med to owe the world that just ice of providing theremedies. Among the more simple and original cust omsand l ives of other nat ions i t entered late, and was intr oduced by the G recians. In ancient Babylon—how greatand populous soever—no physicians were known, norother methods for the cure of diseases, besides abst inen ce,pat ience, and domest ic care.Whoever was accounted the god of physic

,the prince

of this science must be by al l,I think, al lowed to have

been Hippocrates, whose writ ings ar e the most ancien t ofany that remain to posterity. He was a great philosopherand natura list , before he began the study of physic, towhich both these are perhaps necessary. His rules and

1 50

SIRW I L L lAM TEMPLE

1 6 28 - 1 69 9

From the paint ing by Sir Peter LelyNat ional Portrait Gallery

,London

Photograph copy r ighted by Wa lker and Cockere l l


present enjoyments, by ravi ng after what is to come, byvai n hopes

,or fruit less fears ; so old men reli eve the wants

of their age, by pleasing reflect ion s upon what i s past .T herefore men

,i n the health and vigor of thei r age,

should endeavor to fill their l ives with the worthiest act ions,— either in their publ ic or private stat ions,— thatthey may have something agreeable left to feed on, whenthey ar e Old, by pleasing remembrances. But, as theyare only the clean beast s which chew the cud, when theyhave fed enough ; so they must be clean and virtuous menthat can reflect

,with pleasure

,upon the past accident s or

courses of their l ives. Besides,men who grow old with

good sense, or good fortunes, and good nature, cannot wantthe pleasure of p leasing others

,by assist ing with their gift s,

thei r credit, and their advice, such as deserve i t .Socrates used to say, that ’twas pl easant to grow Old

with good health and a good friend. But there cann oti ndeed live a more unhappy creature than an ill-natur edOld man , who is neither capable Of receiving pleasures, norsensible of doing them to others ; and, i n such a condit ion,i t is t ime to leave them.

T hus have I traced, in thi s essay, whatever has falleni n my way or thought s to Observe concerning life and

health,and which I conceived might be of any public use

to be known or considered ; the plainness wherewith i t i swr i tten easily shows there coul d be no other intent ion ; andi t may at least pass

,like a Derbyshire charm, which is

used among sick cat t le, with these words : “I f i t does theeno good, i t wi ll do thee no harm.

”

1 54

F atal effects of luxury and ease !

We dr i nk our poison , and we eat di sease,

I ndulge our senses at our reason ’

s cost,

T i ll sense is pain , and r eason hurt or lost.

Not so, 0 T emperance bland! when ruled by thee,

The brute’

s obedi en t, and the man i s free.

Soft ar e hi s slumbers,balmy is his r est,

His veins not boi lingfrom themidn ight feast.T ouch

’

d byAurora’

s rosy hand, he wakes

P eaceful and calm, and wi th the world par takes

The joyful dawn ings of r eturn ingday,F or whi ch thei rgrateful thanks the whole creati on pay,All but the human brute:

’

tis he alone,’

Whose works of darkness fly the risingsun .

’

T is to thy rules, 0 T emperance ! that we oweA ll pleasures, whi ch from health and strength can flow;Vigour of body, puri ty of mi nd,Unclouded reason , sen timen ts refined,Unmixt

,un tain ted joys, wi thout remorse,

Th’

in temperate sin!ner ’s never-fai lingcurse.

Mary Chandler.

I would recommend to everyone that admi rable

pr ecept whi ch P ythagoras is said to have given to his“P i tch upon that course of life which is

the most excellen t, and custom wi ll render i t the mostdelightful.” Men whose ci rcumstances wi ll permi t themto choose thei r own way of life are inexcusable if they do

not pursue that whi ch thei r judgment tells them is the

most laudable. The voi ce of reason is more to be re

garded than the ben t of any presen t inclination ,si nce,

by the rule above men ti oned, i nclination wi ll at length

come over to reason ,though we

'

can n ever force reason tocomply wi th i nclination

—J oseph Addison .

Health, brightest visi tan t from heaven ,

Gran t me wi th thee to rest !

F or the shor t term by nature gi ven ,

Be thou my constan t guest !

F or all the pr ide that wealth bestows,

The pleasure tha t from chi ldren flo

Whate’er we court i n regal stateTha t makes men covet to be great ;

Whatever sweets we hope tofindI n L ove

’

s delightful snare ;Whatever good byHeaven assign

’

d,

Whatever pause from care

All flouri sh at thy smi le divine;The spri ngof loveliness is thine,And every joy that warms our hearts,

Wi th thee approaches and departs.

—Rober t Bland.

A SHORT HISTORY

THE ANC I ENT AND ILLU STRIOU S

OF VENI CE

Nor can the ski llful herald traceT he founder of thy anci en t race.

-J onathan Swift.

The noble steeds, and ha rness br ight,

And gallan t lord, and stalwart kn ight,

I n r i ch arrayWhere shall we seek them now? A las!

L ike the br ight dewdrops on the grass,They passed away.

—Manr ique (trans. by L ongfellow) .

EVER was paren t better repaid by the steadfast devot ionof her chi ldren than was that Mistress of the Seas

,who,

cen tury after cen tury, was the wonder and admirat ion of

mankind ; the cen ter of the trade and finan ce of the world, su

1 59


preme as she was in every mart ; the most valian t defender ofcivilization in i ts wars against the Turks ; as well as the exampleto humani ty

, and i ts inspirat ion , in all the ar t s of peace.

Among her patriot ic sons and daughters, none labored i nher service with a more earnest self-den ial than did the membersof the illustrious patrician family of CORNARO, whose n ame

is found in terwoven for cen turies in every honorable part icul arof the remarkable history of the Republic of Ven ice. Almostevery l ine of the annals of this celebrated family shows numistakably that their ambition, their aspiration, their toi l, theircourageous exposur e and often sacrifice of l ife and fortun e,were always for the advancement of their coun try’s safety and

glory, for which their own was coun ted as naught ; determined,as they were, that Venice should excel in virtue, power, and

splendor, any land which presumed to be her rival, and that herchildren should thus enjoy a l ife of happiness and secur ity.

Thi s, for generat ions, was the rul ingpassion and guidi ngprinciple of this proud and noble fami ly.

The Cot nari, the hi story of whom, for generat ions, added

immr i shable fame to thei r illustri ous source, were descended,according to the most authoritat ive t raditions of the chroniclers,from the ancien t and noble race of the Corneli i* of Rome. Hav

ing in remote t imes settled at Rimini, they were subsequentlyamong the first inhabitants Of Rialto, the name by which Venicewasknown in i ts infancy. The orthogr aphy of the name, duringthe family’s long history, was gradually modi fied ; so that , fromCornel i i , i t became successively Cornell i , Coronelli , Coronetti ,Coronarii

,and finally Cornaro, or Corner. The names Corner

and Corn aro ar e iden tical, the fir st being the abridged I talianform of the Venetian Cornaro ; in the 1 8th century some members of the family adopted that of Corner, by which all are now

known. (To be uniform, the ancien t mode—that of Cornarois adhered to throughout this work. )

Having been en rolled among those who compri sed the bodyof the Venet ian nobility, the Cornaros were in cluded among the

See Note M

1 60


Yet, of all thi s illustrious number, to that plain and unassuming gen tleman and true nobleman

, L uigi Cornaro, the vet

eran author of“L a Vita Sobria,” i s due the greatest dist in ci

t ion—the gratitude of all mankind.That the memory of the race of Cornaro i s indelibly pre

served in marble and granite, the palaces, once the homes Ofillustrious members of the family ; many of the churches ofVenice, built by their ai d, and often wholly or i n part at thei rexpense ; and the monumen ts, erected by reveren t descendan ts orby a grateful country to do honor to the memory of individualsof this great family, emphat ically though si lently test ify.

In the Church of San t ’ Apostoli built largely at the expense of the family, and rebuilt in 1 750 i s amagn ificen t Cornaro Chapel, supported by fanciful Corinthian p illars. Thi s

chapel—erected in 1 575 con tains the sepulchral urn of

Marco (Mark) Corn aro, father of Queen Caterin a, and that ofher brother, the famous nobleman Giorgio (George) Corn arothe husband of Elisabetta Morosini —who died July 3 1 , 1 527.In the magnificent Itali an -Gothic Church of Santi Gi o

vanni e Paolo, better known as San Zan i polo, and often calledThe Westmi nster Abbey of Ven ice,—begun in 1 234, but notfini shed un t il 1 430, i s the gorgeous mausoleum of the DogeMarco Corn aro, the sarcophagus decorated with roses, the canopyabove i t adorned with five very beaut iful statues, the work of

themost celebrated Venet ian sculptors of the Middle Ages ; herealsomay be seen the sepulchral urn of Pietro (Peter) Cornaro,who died in 1 361 .

In the Church of San Salvatore, begun in 1 506 and completed about 1 534,—where lie the remains of Queen Caterina,in the cen ter of a Corin th ian port ico there i s a beaut iful monument erected to her memory in the year 1 570, the relief roprasent ing her resign ing her crown to Doge Agost ino Barbar igo(the 74th doge of Ven ice, 1 486- 1 50 1 ) as well as one erected inthe 1 6th cen tury to three Corn aro cardinals, Marco, Francesco(Francis) , and Andrea (Andrew) .

I n the Church of San ta Maria Gloriosa dei Erari—designed about 1 250, and con taini ng the colossal monumen t of T i

162

THE CORNARO F AMILY

tan , unveiled in 1 853 i s the chapel of Angelo Cornaro, sculptured in marble ( 1 5th cen tury) . I n the Church of San ta Mariadella Salute founded i n 1 63 1 as a monumen t of thanksgivingfor the cessation of the great plague, and thus known as one of

The Great Plague Churches of Ven ice i s the sepul chral urn ofAntonio (An thony) Cornaro, rich in carvings ( 1 6th cen tury) .In the Church of San Pietro di Castello—the Cathedral ofVen ice from the earliest days of the Republic unt il 1 807—i s

the urn of Filippo (Philip) Corn aro, very r ich in orn amen ts( 1 6th century) . In the Semi n ary ( I l Semin ario) i s the urn of

another An ton io Cornaro,with bas-reliefs r epresen ting infants

and gr ifii ns ( 1 6th cen tury) . There i s also a Cornaro monumentin the Church of I Tolen t in i .

I t i s impossible to do just ice, in this work, to the beauty

and grandeur, or to the historic associat ions, of the several magn ificen t palaces in Venice, once the homes of members of the

Cornaro family,but now either inhabited by strangers, or else

converted to the use of the public or of the governmen t ; cousequently, we shall allude to them very briefly.

At that part of the venerable ci ty known as Sant’ Apostol i ,i s a Cornaro Palace of the 1 6th cen tury, the whole facade of

which was originally pain ted in fresco. At San Samuele,and

facing upon the Grand Canal, i s an imposing Cornaro Palace,whi ch, in the early part of the 1 8th cen tury, was the home of

the nobleman Girolamo (Jerome) Corn aro. Another, at San

Canciano, was, in the i 8th cen tury, the home of the senator andfamous author Flamini o (Flaminius) Cornaro.

At San Cassiano, in the Street of the Queen , i s the Cornar o Palace of the Queen , the old name of palace and streetbeing still retained ; here was born , in 1 454, Caterina Cornaro,afterward Queen of Cyprus. The ancien t pile, however, doesnot exist, the present one having been erected upon the site of

the old one in 1 724. The new edifice, inelegan t i n style, man ifests the decadence of ar t ; but the en trance from the GrandCanal i s really imposing, and i s said to have cost an immensesum. This structure i s now a Moun t of Piety (Italian , Mante

di pi etd) , a governmen t establishmen t, the object of which i s to

163


lend money, no matter how small in amount , at only a nominalinterest

,to those who are in necessity ; this custom,

originat ingin Italy in the 1 5th century, has since been adopted in vari ouscountries.

Giovanni (John) Cornaro, nephew of Queen Caterina,bui l t, in 1 548, upon an old site in the square of San Polo, whatis now lmown as the great Corn aro-Mocenigo-Revedin Palace, ofwhich Sammichel i was the arch itect. This palace gave to theneighboring street the name of Cornaro. The Cornaro Palaceof the Great House, a massive and magnificen t pile, with a

Doric, Ionic, and Composite front , was erected (by Sansovino)in 1 532, at San Maurizio, by the nephews of Queen Caterina ; i tfaces the Grand Canal, and is now the office of the Royal Prefectof the Province. There are two other Cornaro Palaces on theGrand Canal : one in the Cour t of the T ree, now called the Cornaro-Spinell i Palace, a work of the Renaissance ; the other, atSan Benedetto, at the corner of the Canal of the Mails, i s nowcalled the Cornaro-Mocenigo Palace, and is used as the office ofthe city’s water-works.

The Cornaro-Piscopia Palace at San L uca—later called,and still known as, the L oredan Palace, and now used as the palace (or offices) of themun icipality of Venice was, i n the i 4th

century, the residence of Federico Cornaro, whose guest Peterof L usignan, King of Cyprus, was in 1 363 and 1 364. To showhis grat itude, in addit ion to the gran t of the fief of Piscopia inhi s kingdom,

the King created Cornaro a knight of an ancientCypri an order, having for i ts motto “To maintain loyalty ”(“P our loyaute

’

To perpetuate the memory of

this visit of the King, Cornaro caused to be graven upon thefront of his palace on the Grand Canal, the royal arms of Cy

pms beside those of the Cornaros, together with the knightlyemblem of his order ; there they may be seen to this day. The

exact age and origin of this palace, an early Byzant ine one, arenot known ; but i t i s believed to date back as early as the l othor 1 1 th cen tury. In “The Stones of Ven i ce” Ruskin says of i t :“Though not conspicuous and often passed wi th neglect, theL oredan Palace

,will, I believe, he felt at last , by all who exam

ine i t carefully, to be themost beaut iful of all the palaces in the

164


When Caterina became Queen of Cyprus, the power of theCornaro family i n that kingdom was n aturally increased. I t i s

certai n , however, that they were not only residen ts of the island,but possessed considerable influence there, for a long t ime priorto this even t ; and i t i s kn own that

,in the middle of the 1 4th

century, their wealth and position were such that the king resorted to them for a considerable loan of money. At the courtof Cyprus

,Ven ice was regularly represen ted by a consul ; and

some con temporaneous documen ts go to prove the zeal which theVenet ian Senate showed in having his appoin ted salary paid, andin seeing, at the same t ime, that the debts con tracted by thatcourt with Venet ian merchan ts and bankers shoul d be discharged.

In one of these documen ts, dated September 1 7, 1 455, i t i s deplored that “injustice shoul d have been committed, to the damageof the heirs and claiman ts of G iovann i Cornaro” ; and, furthermore, that “the noble cit izen Marco Corn aro,” father of Caterin a

,

“should have been injured in hi s rights in not receiving

that which the king owed him.

” The tutelage of Ven ice overCyprus was

,indeed, so diligen t as to in terest the king in the

solut ion of a question of water necessary for the good cul tureof the sugar-cane in the fief of the Cornaros.

But with the glory, the power, and the commanding influence of The Queen of the Adriat ic, that , too, of the race of theComari has well-nigh departed. The fortunes and personal ityof a house whose opulence and greatness were seldom, if ever,surpassed by any of their countrymen , and the lives of whosesons and daughters have furn ished themes for an almost endlessnumber of wr iters, are now but a memory. In Venice there are,to-day, five fami lies who bear the name

,and who, as descendants

of the old race,are recogni zed as belonging to the Venet ian

patriciate. Not a Cornaro, however, lives i n the halls of hi s

ancestors. But the patriot ic fire of the lords of generat ions agost ill burns in the breasts of their children ; proud of the historyof their fami ly, they st ill hold Queen Caterina especially dear ;and, in order to perpetuate the memory of that noble woman, acustom was long since inst ituted to give the name of Caterino toa male child, in the even t of the denial , to any family, of a girl

166

THE CORNARO F AMILY

Among the many portraits of the members of this celebrated family not elsewhere ment ioned in this work i s thatof G iorgio Corn aro, i n the collect ion of the Earl of Carlisle ; andThe Corn aro Family, i n Alnwick Castle, the baron ial residenceof the dukes of Northumberland, both by T it ian.

167

Man’

s r ich wi th li ttle, were his judgmen t true ;Nature is frugal, and her wants are few;These few wants, answer

’

d, br ingsincere delightsBut fools create themselves new appeti tes.

At thi r ty, man suspects hi mself a fool,Knows i t at for ty, and r eforms his plan ;At fifty, chides his infamous delay,P ushes his prudent purpose to resolve,I n all the magnan imi ty of thought ;Resolves, and re-r esolves, then di es the same .

And why? Because he thi nks himself immortal.Allmen think all men mor tal but themselves.

—Edward Young.


ancien t structure the fact of her birth and of her subsequen televation to royal power gave the name of the Corn aro Palace of

the Queen , and, to the street in which i t i s located, the name ofthe Street of the Queen.

Her brillian t,though mournful, history has afiorded a

theme for many wr iters in all languages. Giving evi dence‘

at an

early age of rare qualities of mind, character, and person , for

there were few,i f any, of her coun trywomen who excelled her in

charm and grace, she was educated with the scrupulous caredue the daughter of a royal house ; as on her mother’s side shehad an imperial ancestry by reason of her descen t from the Com

neni emperors of T rebizond. She was married July 1 0, 1 468,when not yet fifteen years of age,—with the most gorgeous

and ext raordinary ceremon ies and public rejoicings, to James ofL usignan, King of Cyprus, whose love for her was first arousedon seeing her portrait in the hands of her uncle, Andrea Cornaro at the same t ime she was adopted by the Venetian Senateas THE DAUGHTER OF T HE REPUBLIC

,in order that her rank

might equal that of her husband ; and a dowry of one hundredthousan d golden ducats was presen ted to her .

In 1 473, on the death of her husband in hi s thirty-thirdyear, she succeeded him on the throne as Queen of Cyprus ; inAugust , 1 474, she suffered the loss of the infan t Prince James,her only child born August , 1 473 ; and after a troubled reignof sixteen years,—duri ng which t ime she acquired the welldeserved reputat ion of a very superior, wise, energetic, l iberalwoman,—worried by political jealousies and in trigues, she ah

dicated, February 26, 1 489, in favor of the Venetian Republic.

On her return to Veni ce, she was received with great pomp andconsiderat ion, the reigning doge himself meet ing her i n the celebrated historic Bucen taur.* The beautiful country-seat and

castle of Asolo, n in eteen miles from T reviso and st ill in existence, was given her in sovereignty ; this, together with her palacei n Venice, she made her home for the remain der of her l ife,spending her t ime in works of charity, in the cult ivat ion of herrural retreat

,and in the pleasures of ar t and literature main

tain ing at Asolo a court for poets, scholars, and art ists.

See Note 0 .

1 70

ILLUSTRIOUS CORNAROS

Her death occurr ed at Venice, July 1 0 , 1 51 0 ; and the bodyof the dead Queen was followed by all the dign itaries of Churchand State, as well as by a vast concourse of cit izens, to i ts resting-place in the Cornaro Chapel in the Chur ch of San t ’ Apostoli ; whence i t was removed i n 1 660, and placed in her mausoleum in the right transept of the Church of San Salvatore,where i t now l ies. The inscript ion, in L atin , plainly marks thefinal home of the remains of “Catherine, Queen of Cyprus, Jerusalem, andArmenia.

”

Her eminen t relative, Cardinal Bembo, in his Gli Aso

lan i ,” pays a hi gh tribute to her in tellectual qual it ies, as well as

her many womanly virtues. Her portrait,taken at the age of

eighteen, in her crown and queenly robes, was painted by T it ian ;another, by Veronese, hangs in the Belvedere at Vienn a ; whi lethe one by Pordenone i s i n the Dresden Gallery. A magn ificen tpaint ing of her by Makar t hangs in the Nat ional Gallery at

Berlin ; in i t, as Queen of Cyprus, she i s seen receiving the proffered homage of the Venetian patricians.

EL ENA L UCREZIA (HEL EN L U CRET IA) CORNARO PISCOPIA, one of the most accompli shed and illust r i ous women of her day, was born at Venice, Jun e 5, 1 646, i nthe Cornaro Piscopia Palace—now the L oredan . She was the

daughter of Giovanni Batt ista (John Baptist ) Cornaro, P rocurator of St. Mark

,and of Zanetta Boni , his wife.

Naturally of a very ret iring as well as devotional dispositi on, she wished to en ter some religious order ; but her father’sentreat ies altered her purpose. F or , recognizing, whi le she was

still a child, her ext raordinary gifts, he determi ned that nothingshoul d in terfere with his cherished ambit ion that hi s familyshoul d possess

,in the person of hi s beaut iful daughter,

though so delicate andmodest,and averse to the world or to any

kind of publicity, the most learned woman of her day. Thispurpose he realized, albeit at the early sacrifice of the health,and, indeed, of the life, of the innocent vict im of his paternaland ancestral pride.

1 7 1


Although ent irely devoid of worldly ambition, yet, in orderthat she might not disappoint the parent whose every hope wascentered in hi s daughter’s triumph, she devoted all her energiesto the task assigned her ; so that, such were her wonderfulpowers of mind and memory

,she soon excelled in every branch

of learning. She acqui red a perfect knowledge of many of themodern languages, wr it ing them with ease and speaking themfluen tly, as well as of L at in

,Greek

,Hebrew

,and Arabic.

Her natur al taste for poetry andmusic was so highly cul t ivated,that she sang, in a sweet and flexible voice

,her own verses in

vari ous languages, set to music of her own composit ion, and to

her Own accompanimen t , either on the viol, harp, or harpsichord.

She became a perfect mistress of many of the arts and sciences,and of ancient andmodern hi story, including, of course, that ofher own countr y and family. I n theology

,philosophy, and di a

lect i cs she was no less accomplished. In a word, her response toher father’s appeal was so sincere that, although deaf to the ap

plause of all,—nay, embarrassed by the admi rat ion she con

stan tly excited, distasteful to her as i t was unavoidable, she

became a mi racle of learning.

On a certain occasion , the haughty Venetian Senate wen t sofar as to suspend an importan t session , in order that they mightgo in a body to hear a disputat ion in which, with that eloquencefor which she was noted

,she was engaged in the presence of an

il lustrious gathering,as was the fashion of the t ime. Con trary

to her wishes, she was created a master Of arts and doctor ofphilosophy by the r enowned U n iversity of Padua, foundedear ly in the 1 3th century by the Emperor Frederick I L , re

ceiving the t itle of THE U NALTERABLE. The ceremony, whichtook place Jun e 25

, 1 678, in the Cathedral of Padua, wasattended by illustrious scholars of all coun tries, and was wi t

n essed by an iminense multitude, attracted by the unwon tedspectacle. She was also elected to membership in all the princi pal literary societ ies of Italy. At Rome, she was admitted atthe U n iversity, and was en titled THE HUMBLE ; and princesand representat ives of al l n at ions paid homage to her learningand virtues. Her hand was asked in marriage by some of the

1 72


GIOVANNI (JOHN)— I .—OORNARO

, the 96th

doge of Veni ce, was elected January 4, 1 625, as the successor ofFrancesco Con tarin i (doge, 1 623 During hi s reign theVenet ians defended Man tua against the Imperial army ; aboutwhich period a severe plague raged in Ven ice and throughoutnorthern Italy. At this t ime

,also

,occurred a bitter feud be

tween the powerful Zeno family descendants of Ren ier Zeno,the 45th doge of Ven ice

,1 253-1 268 and hi s own . Cornaro

died December 23, 1 629.

FRANCESCO (FRANCIS) CORNARO,the 1 0 1 st doge

of Venice, was born May 6, 1 585. He was the son of Doge G iovanni ( I .) Cornaro, andwas chosen to hi s exalted oflice May 1 7

1 656. During his very short term he died June 5 of the sameyear the Venet ians con tinued their victories over the Turks.

GIOVANNI (JOHN) II. CORNARO, the 1 1 1 th

doge of Venice,was born August 4, 1 647. Hi smother, Cornelia

Contarini , was of that illustrious family whi ch gave the greatRepubl ic eight of i ts one hundred and twenty doges, a greaternumber than can be claimed for any other fami ly. He was

elected dogeMay 22, 1 709 . During his admini strat ion the Turksmade war on Venice and

,in 1 7 1 5, took the Morea. He conclud

ed these host iliti es by the peace Of P assarowi tz, July 2 1 , 1 7 1 8.

I t was during his term that Ven ice lost her last possessions in theisland of Candi a. He died August 21 , 1 722. He married hi srelat ive, L aura Corn aro, who survived him, dying in May, 1 729 .

He also left three sons, Fran cesco, Nicolo (Nicholas) , and Al

FEDERICO (FREDERICK) CORNARO, one of the

three Venetian commanders in the struggle with the Genoeseknown as theWar of Chioggia ( 1 379 impoverished himself by the volun tary sacrifice of his princely fortune to the useof hi s coun try. I n August, 1 379, when i t was thought theGenoese might attack the city, arms were distributed to the people, and Cornaro was placed in command.

1 74

ILLUSTRIOUS CORNAROS

GIORGIO (GEORGE) CORNARO,nephew of the Doge

Marco Corn aro, held during his lifet ime many posit ions of

trust and responsibility, both civil and military. He was a

nobleman of sterling worth and considerable influence, his exalted patriotism inspiring ceaseless efforts for the welfare of hi scountry ; and such was the exposure consequent to hi s zeal in hisprofession of arms, that i t caused the sacrifice of his health, andfinally of his life

,in her service. He died December, 1 439,

and his remains were followed by the entire populat ion of Venice to their final resting-place in the Cornaro Chapel in theChurch of San t ’ Apostoli .

ANDREA (ANDREW) CORNARO, a Venet ian nobleman , and uncle of Caterin a, Queen of Cyprus, was an extensivetrader in that island. He and his nephew,

Marco Bembo, weremurdered during the pol itical disturbances subsequent to thedeath of Caterina’s husband, King James.

MARCO (MARK) CORNARO, son of Giorgio Cornaroand Elisabetta Morosini h i s wife

, and nephew of Queen Caterina, became Patriarch of Constan t inople. He was a very eminent man and of great servi ce to Venice. He died at that city,July 20

, 1 524.

F RANCESCO (FRANCIS) CORNARO was born in1 488. In early years he followed a military li fe, and becamedist inguished as a leader in the army of Ven ice in the warsin which his country became involved caused by the rival ambitions of Francis L

,King of France

, and CharlesV., Emperorof Germany. When peace was secured he abandoned the profession of arms and devoted himself to politics and li terature,becoming the ambassador of the Republic to the court of CharlesV. He was a man of great learn ing

,and

, in 1 527, was createda cardinal. He died September, 1 543, in hi s fifty-fifth year

, and

was buri ed i n the Church of San Salvatore,where hi s monu

men t may still be seen.

1 75


ALVISE (L OU IS) CORNARO, Kn ight of Malta and

Grand Prior of Cyprus, was born February 1 2, 1 51 6, and diedat Rome, May 1 0 , 1 584.

FEDERICO (FREDERICK) CORNARO, son of the

Doge Giovann i ( I .) Cornaro, was made Patriarch of Ven ice in1 632. He was Grand Prior of Cyprus, and died June 5, 1 653,at the age of seven ty-eight .

GIROL AMO (JEROME) CORNARO was born June 25,1 632 he succeeded the illustrious Francesco Morosini as Captain -General of the Venet ian army when , in 1 688, the latterwas elected the 1 08th doge of the Republic— the last of thatfamily to attain the ducal dign ity. Corn aro

’s valuable services

to hi s country were, however, cut short i n 1 690 by hi s un t imelydeath from fever at Valona, a seaport town in Alban ia

,Eu

ropsen Turkey,—which the Turks had held since 1 464, and

the Venet ians, under his command, had besieged and recovered.Hi s loss was regarded as a great calami ty.

GIORGIO BASIL IO (GEORGE BASIL ) CORNARO,

a younger brother of the Doge Giovann i ( I L ) Cornaro, wasborn August 1 , 1 658. Hi s early yearswere spen t in the militaryservice of his coun try ; abandon ing this, he en tered the field ofpolit ics, holding many oflices of considerable responsibility

,for

which his great learning, and the experience gained by extensive foreign travel , eminen tly qualified him. In 1 692 he represen ted Ven ice at the court of Portugal, and was later tenderedthe office of ambassador to the French king ; this honor, however, he declined, preferr ing to embrace an ecclesiast ical life. He

was a member of the order of Kni ghts of Malta, a religious and

mi litary order inst ituted in the 1 1 th century ; was also GrandPrior of Cyprus, an office hereditary in his family ; and wasmade a cardinal July 22

,1 697. He died August 1 0, 1 722.

FL AMINIO (FL AMINIU S) CORNARO was born at

Ven i ce, February 4, 1 693, where he died December 28, 1 778.

1 76

Health is, indeed, so necessary to all the duties as

well as pleasures of life, that the cr ime of squander ingi t is equal to the folly; and he that for a short gratifica

ti on br ings weakness and diseases upon himself, and forthe pleasure of a few yearspassed in the tumults of diversi on and clamor s ofmerr imen t condemns thema turer andmore exper i enced part of his life to the chamber and thecouch, may be justly repr oached, not on ly as a spend

thrift of his happi ness, but as a robber of the publi c; as awretch that has volun tar i ly disqualified himself for thebusiness of his stati on , and refused that par t whi ch P rovidence assigns him i n the general task of human na

ture. Samuel J ohnson .

A EULOGY

L U IG I CORNARO

BART OL OMEO GAMBA

Delivered on the T en th Day of August , 1 81 7, in the

Royal Academy Of F ine Art s of Ven ice, onT he Occasion of the Annual

Distribut ion of

P rizes

N THISmost impressive occasion, amid these appropriatesurr oundings

,after the dign ified speeches you have

heard, I shrink from addressing you, my L ord Count theGovernor

,supreme magistrates of this city, most learned pro

fessors, worthy scholars all of you, my kind hearers ; but Ispeak in grateful submission to the honorable charge laid uponme

,in obedience to the statutes of this Royal Academy, which

direct that every year shall be renewed the praises of thoseamong our nat ional gen iuses who have so dist inguished themselves as to be most deserving in the three divi ne arts of design.

To-day, since this august temple of the Muses i s more re

splenden t than ever, he should not presume to attempt fulfillingthis noble ofli ce who but imperfectly knows and understands

See Note Q

1 79


their allur ing graces. As for me, to come forth as li ttle inglor iously as possible from this difficult undertaki ng, I in tend to devote my efl

’orts to another object ; and I trust that I shall see

your courtesy smi le upon me, if, leaving aside pencil, rule, andchisel, I look rather toward those who protect art ists, and callyour atten t ion to a most remarkable Maecenas.* I shall thus,overcoming any excessive t imidity

,be able to en tert ain you a l i t

tle regardingthe advan tages which studen ts of the Academymayderive from this kind of tutelage ; and I shall presen t to you, inhi s proper light , a great man of the sixteenth century who helonged to the order of the Veneti an patri ciate.

L UIGI CORNARO i s known to all cul tured nat ions bythe famous abstemiousness of his long career and by the goldenrules he formulated concerni ng the temperate l ife but i t i s not

perhaps so well known how deeply versed he was in the arts, howmuch he loved arti sts, and how faithfully he labored in their lnterest. I shall speak now of these meri ts of his, and I shall doi t with the r apidity of a hasty t raveler who does but lightly ohserve and examine. If I turn my eyes upon Cornaro in preference to so many other great men , who, for the good of the arts,were nurtured upon these shores

,I trust the choice will be ap

proved ; since i t will bear upon a subject honorable to our fellowcit izens, pleasing to our worthy professors, useful to these val iantyouths—one whi ch may, in fine, be heard patiently by everykind and gen tle soul.

Of the youthful years of our Cornaro, spent in Padua, thereis li ttle to say, and that li ttle were better left unsaid. Althoughwell trained in excellen t studies, as became a gen tleman of fine

intellect, he admits that he soon put hi s studies aside, andwastedhi s t ime in thoughtlessness and excesses ; from which cause hecon tracted infirm health and such bad habits that , having arrivedat the age of thirty-five, he had nothing left to hope for but thathe might end in death the sufferings of a worn -out and disconsolate life. L et us not l inger, my dear young men , over thisstate of affairs

,which

,happily, we shall soon see corrected ; but

‘ See Note R

180


of Vicenza, and our own Corn aro—had not l ived, the worldwould perhaps have never seen a T it ian

, a Paolo [Veronese] , aSammi chel i , a Palladio. How many

,indeed

, are the opportun it ies of an in telligent protector ! Besides showing himself liberalof his subst ance, he converses with his learn ed friend, whose inven t ions and fancies are thus fostered ; he goes to the office of therich merchan t , into whom he transfuses the enthusiasm wi thwhi ch he himself i s filled ; . nor does he neglect any occasionwhatsoever that the artsmay gloriously flourish. In Greece

,the

mother of all elegance and phi losophy, the Port icos and the

Piraeus became earth and brambles, once the ages of PericlesandAlexanderwere past ; and in earth and brambles the L aocoonand the Apollo for cen turies lay buried.

Among the many art ists for whom Cornaro entertained astrong aflect ion ,

—proofs of which he has left us,—I shalllimit myself to telling you of one. Giovanni Maria Falconetto*of Verona, who excell ed as painter, architect, and sculptor,flourished in hi s day. Thisman was a good speaker, frank and

pleasan t ; and,after havi ng wandered hither and thither

,he

found a refuge in the hospitable home of our Cornaro, who of

fer ed him the most gen erous recogni t ion. These two soul s weresoon united in close fellowshi p ; and there followedmany learnedand agreeable conversat ions, and themost valued fri endshi p and

A large collect ion of drawings, whi ch Falconetto had

brought with him from Rome, so fascinated Cornaro wi th theat tract ions of that queen ly city that he insisted upon going tovisit i t, in company with hi s friend. .

He departed for Rome,rich in expectat ions ; most rich in knowledge, he r eturned to hi sbeloved Padua. There he erected a magn ificen t loggia, decorated i t with paint ings, statues, and pictures taken from the

designs of Raphael, and inclosed in i ts courtyard a most noble

casino,devoted to music al l under the superin tendence and

according to the di rections of his friend Falconetto. He alsoavailed himself of his assistance in other grand con structions athi s villa at Codovi co, on the Paduan hill, and at L uigi ano, nearTorreglia, among the Euganean Hills. Nor did the happy

See Note F

1 82

A EULOGY UPON CORNARO

alliance between the Maecenas and the artist ever cease ; and thelatter was comforted at his death by the assurance that the mosthospitable kindness would ever be lavished upon his wife, threesons, and six daughters

,the fortunes of all of whom r emained,

i n fact,at the mercy of the credit and authority of their patron

and friend. The candid soul of L uigi bore so great a predilect ion to Falconetto and another happy mind, the Paduan Ruzzante,* that Vasari has related, i n his works, how Cornarow ished that Falconetto and Ruzzan te should be buried together,and that he might be the third to share the same grave—in

order that (says the historian ) “not even after death should theirbodies be separated, whose souls friendship and vi r tue hadunited whilst l iving.

”

I have pointed out some of the edi fices designed and erectedby Cornaro ; and i t will be pleasing to you, gen tlemen , i f I remind you that the magn ificent loggia raised in Padua i s st ill inexistence andmuch admired

,and that the very celebrated archi

teet Sebast iano Serl io proposed the designs of this masterpieceto the studious as a model worthy of imi tat ion. Temanza, in hisaccount of the life of Falconetto, also speaks to us, at length, ofthe bui ldings erected in the villa at Codovi co

,where he still

found remains of perfect i nven t ion and execution ; i t was therehe discovered a portrait of our most honoredMaecenas, one that Ishould like to see decorat ing thismagnificen t hall on this solemnoccasion in which I am striving to recall hi s deeds. T emanza

was not well informed when speaking to us of the palace at

L uigiano, which he believed had been built near the Sile, not farfrom the city of T r evigio, and razed by t ime ; but to the cultureand knowledge of the illustrious Knight Giovanni de L azzara, Iowe andyou do, l ikewise the pleasing news that this strueture, with i ts truly royal stairways, remains standing in thatmost del ightful spot I have spoken of among the Eugan ean Hills.

I t has become the property of the famous Bishopric of Padua,and does not belie the est imate given of i t in his day by ourFrancesco Marcol in i

,who

,in one of hi s dedicat ions

,wrote thus :

“If a gentleman wishes to learn how to bui ld in the ci ty, let himSee Note 8

183


come to the Cornaro Palace at Padua . If he wishes to layout a garden

,let him also find hi s model there. If he wants

to build in the country, let him go and see at Codovi co, at Cam

pagna, and at other places, the structures created by the nobili tyof Corn aro

’sgreat soul. If he wants to build a palace fit for a

prince, out of the city, too, let him go to L uvignano, wherehe will behold a dwelling wor thy to be inhabited by a pon t iff oran emperor ; Corn aro knows all there i s to know in this andin the rest of human undertakings.

” Note,my hearers, that the

engraver Marcol in i was no ordinary man ; but was indeed a

most famous art ist , and so skil led in themechan ical sciences thathe was praised to the ski es by Dani el Barbaro himself.

And here I wish to in terrupt mynarrat ive a while to listento you, gen tlemen , who take pleasure in considering the thingswhich I propound. I t seems to me you would wish to rejoin :“Gran ted

,that thy Cornaro was themi rror of Maecen ases and

who does not know that to them the arts owe both favor and increase ?and wemay add that they owed these same things at onet ime to the majesty of religion

, now enfeebled, . . and also tomany men of wealth grown poor to-day. L et a Corn aro returnnow, and with him a T itian and a Paolo ; let the artists returnin throngs,—what of i t ? Poor father of a family, thou dostspend, and indeed waste, for that son Of thine who i s now a

studious scholar in this Academy, but who runs the risk of r e

maining afterward dest itute,without bread andwithout fortune !

Poor boy, thou burnest themidn i ght oi l in the sweat of thy brow,

but in the future thou wilt, perforce, be inact ive ; and i t wouldbe wrong to dare thee to the field of valor

,where there wi ll be no

palma to gather when thou hast attained thy end 1”

I shall not invoke the shade of the Venetian Maecenas to answer similar whi sperings ; for , if our t imes are not his, i t i s to

ours we must conform. I wish to say, however, that many nufounded difficult i es proceed from vain fears. If religion , thecomforter, seems to have become feeble, or to have lost i ts powerwith some, the neglect of a few i s not a faul t to be laid to themany ; an d all know that a society without religion i s like a shipwithout rudder or sails. Do we not see i t burning bravely i n

184


riches of our nat ional productions thus,in a word, our cit ies

enn obled. Call to mind, gen tlemen , that through the activityand fervor of one of our pastors in these latter days, the templeof San t i G iovanni e Paolo has been t ransformed in to a magni fi

cen t gallery ; that the worthy Kn ight Morelli has there rearranged and enriched, with many relics of the fine arts

, a library,the most Splendid abode Apollo and Minerva could have ; thatthe Prefect of the Seminary, Giann an toni o Moschin i, has con

verted a dilapidated building in to a magn ificen t and ornate lyceum ; that our most illustri ous Presiden t , whom I name not to

flatter but to honor, andwho i s always in tent upon honorable undertaki ngs which nourish the arts and carry their teachings tothe farthest shores

,has obtained for you from our rulers the

means by whi ch thisAcademy now ranks above all others. See

ing all this,let us rejoice and take comfor t—you especially,

most learned professors. Rejoice that you are the fortunateministera who maintain here the sacred fir e of the divine works ofthe intellect, and know all that i s exquisite and hidden in theirstructure. Take comfort in the names of many who were onceyour scholars and who are now the solace and help of their famil ies, their brows wreathed with crowns of honor woven for themby your teachings. And you, dearest youths, who are this dayprepared to receive new and much-desired laurels, never payheed to the reports spread by ignoble fear, but redouble your earneatness in study ; and you will thus become the deli ght of yourfriends and the honor of your country.

L et us return now to L uigi Cornaro, and follow him in whatwe may of hi s long life ; nor let us abandon him unt il i ts lastday. Oh

,how I wish the chroniclers had been less ni ggardly to

us ! F or , hi story having passed over in silence so many of thepersonal acts of that gen tle spi r it , we cannot now kn ow posit ivelyeither all hi s works or many of hi s writ ings ; but must be con

tent with the l ittle we have, which, l ike the plan of a majest icbuilding

,suffices only to make us guess at the grandeur of the

structure and the splendor of i ts decorat ions. The few letterswhich remain to us from h is pen , show how well versed he wasin every noble science ; and, being addressed to great men, such

186

A EULOGY UP ON CORNARO

as Bembo, Speron i, Barbaro, and Fracastoro,they suffice to

show of what excellence were his t ies Of friendship. He leftn othing undone that would promote in tellectual en joymen t . Thecelebrated tragedy, “E dipus,” by G iovann i Andrea dell ’ Angui llara, be caused to be sumptuously presen ted un der his own

roof for the recreation of the Paduans. The“Canace

”of Spe

r oni was also to have been given in Padua with singular magni fi

cence, and to our L uigi was en trusted the direct ion of the performance. Forcellin i

,in h is biography of Speron i, r elates that

Corn aro’s companions in this were Alessandro Piccolomini and

Angelo Beolco, called Ruzzan te ; and that, besides having provided music, costumes, and luxur ious scenery for the beauty ofthe performance, he had prepared a great banquet for forty chosen gentlewomen and their husbands, the academi cians and the

flower of the men of merit who were at that t ime in Padua ; butthe unexpected death of Ruzzante put an end to all these plans.

Finally, we know how deeply he had studied the works of Vi truvins and L eon Batt ista Albert i ; and that he was much praisedby Andrea Palladio, as the inventor of a new kind of stairwayintroduced into his habitat ions. Nor i s that all ; for he dictatedvari ous treat ises concerning painting, architecture, music, and

agriculture. But the only writ ings which were not destroyed bytime, are the discourses upon hi s cherished temperate l ifet ranslat ions of which were published in many foreign tongues

and a learn ed pamphlet upon our lagoons, whi ch he used tostyle “themost strong and holy ramparts” of his dear coun try.

I,who l ike to borrow the words of the aged

,which breathe

candor and simplicity and add faith to speech, beg you to bearwith me how a cultured Tuscan man of letters, AntonmariaGrazian i

,in the l ife he wrote of the celebrated Commendone,

whose secretary he was, poin ts out the many blessings whichour Cornaro was in the habit of receiving from the vi rtuous temper of hi s soul. Hi s words are in the L at in tongue, and this i stheir import in ours : “This most honorable man

,whom the

surname of TEMPERATE became so well, was courted, revered,and respected by all , whether those of emin en t birth or thosedistinguished by great intellect ; and men of all ranks of societywere eager to vi sit him, for the pleasure of hearing his conversa

1 87


t ion,which was alwaysmoderate, pleasan t , an d ingen ious. P ru

dence, w isdom,sagacity, counsel, and liberality formed about

him a most beaut iful and splendid body-guard. NO house inP adua wasmore looked up to than hi s ; and he, always magn ifi

cent and bount iful , n ever ceased to bestow upon all but , in anespecial mann er, upon those conversan t with the fine artsevery favor of a generous andperfect soul .”

But I shall lead you at length, gentlemen, to the last daysof L uigi Cornaro ; and i t wi ll be sweet to you to know that tospend one’s t ime unceasingly for the common good i s to lay up

precious consolat ion for the last hour of our lives. And here Ishall again make use of Grazi ani ’s words, that you may see how

the tranquil and restful end of our gr eat man was as seren e asthe beaut iful sun set of an unclouded day.

“The good oldman”(I follow the faithful translat ion ) “feeling that he drew nearthe end, did not look upon the great transit wi th fear

,but as

though he were about to pass from one house into another. Hewas seated in his little bed he used a small and very narrowone ; and, at i ts side, was hi s w ife, Veronica, almost h i s equal inyears. In a clear and sonorous voice he told me why he wouldbe able to leave this life with a valian t soul ; and he expressed thebest wishes for the happiness of my Commendone, to whom he

insisted upon writ ing with hi s own hand a letter of advi ce and

consolat ion. He told me he thought he might yet survive twodays ; but , feel ing a l ittle later the failure of vital forces, andhaving received anew the assistance of consoling religion, .he

exclaimed : ‘Glad and full of hope will I go with you, my good

God He then composed himself ; and having closed his eyes,as though about to sleep, with a slight sigh he left us forever.”A departure joyful and enviable, but how great a misfortune tothe world ! F or the loss of men of so great wisdom is i rreparable ; nor i s anything left to us but to follow, as far asmay be,their authority and example.

Dear and noble youths, this solemn i ty i s sacred chi efly toyou ; and, addressing you, I shall close my discourse. With thevoice of warmest affection, I urge you to be industrious in winningfor yourselves the patronage of the prince and the assistance

188

0 flower ets of the field ! Sidda rtha said,“Who turn your tender faces to the sun ,

Glad of the light, and grateful wi th sweet breathOf fragrance and these r obes of reverence donned,Si lver and gold and purple, none of ye

Miss perfect living, none of ye despoi l

Your happy beauty. 0 ye palms! which r ise

Eager to pi erce the sky and dr ink the wi ndBlown fromMalaya and the cool blue seas;

What secret know ye that ye grow con ten t,

F rom time of tender shoot to time of frui t,Murmur ingsuch sunf songs from your feathered crowns

Si r Edwin Arno ld

THE VI L L AS ERECTED BY

L U IG I CORNARO”

DR. PROF . EMILIO L OVARI NI "

OF THE

REALE L ICEO MI NGHET T I OF

BOLOGNA**

AMOU S for his treatise, “L a Vi ta Sobri a, which has notonly been translated in to several languages, but has seenmany edi tions, the illustrious Venet ian gen tleman, L uigi

Cornaro,deserves imper ishable renown , l ikewise, for the great

and useful love which he bore for the arts - part icularly forar chitecture.

“He del ighted,” we have from Serl io, in all the noblearts and singular attainmen ts ; and especially was he fond of

architecture.

” I t was in the latter that he acquired his t itleto un dying fame, as even his con temporaries acknowledged.Among these was Ortensio L ando, who, wishing to praise him,

made this merit precede all others when he called him “a great

bui lder, an en thusiast ic hunter,and a man of profound piety.”

See Note T See Note U

1 9 1


Architecture was not for him, as i t is for so many,purely

a luxury, and a means by which he could exhibit his riches tothe envious and wondering eyes of his equals

,and of the world

in general. Rather was i t the object of an arden t worshi p ; somuch so that he became not only a friend, but even a helperand compan ion

,of hi s artist protégés.

He studied the works of Vitruvi us, L eon Battista Albert i ,and other writers, and visited the ancien t and modern architectur al monumen ts ; he originated, according to Palladio, “twokinds of stairways” ; and he composed a work on architecture,which a relat ive of hi s

,in a letter dated January 27 , 1 554,

insisted should be published ; but nothing came of i t , and i t

has never been known.

Fortunately, instead of a treatise on the subject , he leftsomething better to us, in the form of several very handsomebuil dings. Much more woul d he have left had hi s meansallowed i t ; for , as Vasari wr ites, “He was a man of greatgenius and of a truly regal spirit the t ruth of this statementbeing proved by so many of his honored un dertakings.

”This

opini on i s perfectly i n accord w ith that of Pietro Valeriano,who, in a L at in dedicat ion of a work to Cornaro, wrote : “To

day, no private individual understands better than you the

science, beauty, and elegance of construction , or has more art ist ically turned hi s knowledge to pract ical use. Had

,perchance,

a dest iny worthy of your great soul befallen you, our age

would be considered in ferior to no ancient one in the development of such a noble art .

”

What he did accompl ish, however, i s undoubtedly wellworthy of being recorded. The ingeni ous Francesco Marcol ini ,

an expert printer and artist, and designer of the bridge “whenceMurano watches Ven ice,” was the first and last to prepare a

li st , which i s thus the only one we have, of Cornaro’s buildings.

One finds this list in a let ter, dated June 1 , 1 544, in whichthe editor, Marcol in i , dedicat ing to Cornaro the fourthbook of Serlio

,writes To you alone can one give the n ame

of ‘executor’ of true architecture

,as i s attested by the splendi d

1 92


wish that he might be buri ed in one tomb with hi s friend“ao that their bodies might not be separated in death, whose

souls in this world had been uni ted by friendship and virtue.”With these facts before us

,i t does not seem r ight to

accept the Opini on of some, who, like Temanza, see F alconetto’swork wherever Cornaro has built ; or that of others who attr i

bute all to Cornaro ; but, until fur ther proof i s attainable, i twould be wise to abstain from giving any posit ive opinion .

The portico,together wi th other parts of the ci ty palace,

has been described and commended by many ; and, though i ti s not widely known, there are always foreigners who visit i t .But who goes to visit the edifices ment ioned by Marcol in i , and

the others omitted by him, all away from the city ? Not onlyhas very little been written about them, but some of them have,unfortunately, been forever lost.

L ast summer, whi le t raveling through the Venet ian country, I wen t to the scenes of Corn aro’s work, to find how muchhad

,by t ime and man,been left of the buildings. I did not

find all that he had built,or even all that had been seen by

some writers at the end of the last century ; but I clear ly saw

that what yet remains i s well worth illustrat ing and writingabout. Among these remains i s a fine architectural work,whi ch, unt il now,

so far as I am able to learn , had been forgotten ; I also found some useful documen ts in the course of

my r esearches in the archives. Therefore, unit ing the fruitsof my two investigat ions, I deemed i t well to make knownwhat I have myself learned about the works constructed inthe country by the illustrious nobleman.

I t i swell, from the very first, tomake a dist inct ion betweenthe edifices built at Cornaro

’s own expense and for hi s own

use, and those built by him for the account of Cardin al Francesco Pisan i

,- Bishop of Padua from 1 524 to 1 567,

— for

whom Cornaro acted as admi ni strator during several years.T he di st inction i s readily made ; for there still remain the

1 94

OORNARO’S VILLAS

documen ts relat ing to Cornaro’s property, which had been presen ted at differen t t imes to the officials of the Commune of

Padua. They do not register any property at either Campagnaor L uvigliano. Here, therefore, hi s work was for the Bishopricand not for himself. L et us now commence with these twoplaces.

At Campagna L upia, near Dolo, not very far from the

lagoon , i s a large farmhouse which belonged to the Bishop of

Padua, but is now owned by a gen tleman of that city. I t was

thi s house that T emenza recogni zed as the one men tioned byMarcol in i as Corn ar o

’s work ; though he arbitrarily put i t to

the credit of Falconetto, and publ ished i t as such in his biographi cal work, in 1 778.

Twenty-four years later, i t was vi si ted by the publisherPietro Br andolese, a passion ate lover of art ist ic researchesrelat ing to Venice, who described i t mi nutely in an unpub

l ished letter to Count Giovanni de L azzara, as follows : “At a

shor t di stance from the church, or rather just before comi ngto i t, is a country-house belonging to the Bishopric of Padua,built by Falconetto. I t i s the same one to which Temanzarefers, at page 1 38 and the following pages, under the simpledenominat ion of

‘seventeen arches.’ I t i s wholly of a rust ic

style, built of brick and carefully selected stone . The facadei s formed of seven teen arches of slight proport ions, flanked byvery strong pillars. There is no aperture whatever abovethese

,and the facade ends with a simple ban d which serves

as a corn ice. U nder the port ico the building i s divided intothree parts by two stairways which lead to the gran aries, thecen tral section receding a l ittle from the sides. Without a planbefore us, i t is not possible to describe the arrangemen t of theground floor

,which possesses every conven ience for farming

purposes : rooms for the peasan ts ; stables for cattle, horses,and all ki nds of an imals ; cellars ; etc.

,all very cleverly ar

ranged. The vaults are wholly in brick not beams. On the

first floor are the gran aries, which on e can en ter by the stairs,as well as from the terraces by means of an arched bridge

,as

i s clearly seen by what remains near the courtyard door. This

1 95


door,in rust ic style, i s nearly all lost . T he facade of the

port ico i s all of hewn stone,with aper tures cleverly arranged,

corresponding to the uses of the house and to i ts in ternal disposit ion . The en t ire building, in fact, gives evidence of a veryskillful architect . I ts plans would serve

, today, as an ingen iousmodel for a farmhouse, with due allowance

,however, for all the

modern needs which difl’er from those of that age.

”

The Count de L azzara,fifteen years later, in a letter which

was published by Gamba,* warran ts the statemen t that Corn arohad “presided” over the construct ion of this farmhouse, and

that i ts architect was hi s guest . But not even Bishop DondiOrologio

,who hadmade researches for him among the old docu

ments, had been able to fin d the name of this architect,or of

any other. Wherefore he wrote thus : “I f T emanza speaksof the beautiful port ico at Campagna as having been built byL uigi Cornaro

,the author of

‘

L a Vi ta Sobr ia,’ I doubt hi s

being right . Cornaro was the admin istrator of the Bishopricof Padua for many years ; and, under the date of August 1 7,1 546, there i s a wr it ing of Cardinal Pisan i

,in which the

Bishop admits owing the aforesaid Corn aro ducats, forbuildings and improvemen ts made by him on the property of

the Bishopric. The documen t does not say where the buildingswere

,nor where the improvemen ts were made ; perhaps, among

the former, the one at Campagna i s included.The learned Bishop was wise in presuming only that which

was likely,and affirming nothing more. If i t i s probable that

Falconetto may have had something to do with i t, there are

no proofs ; so i t i s useless to men t ion his n ame. We may,indeed, believe that the building was erected during Corn aro’sadministrat ion ; and the fact of i ts having been attributed tohim since 1 544, in a letter publicly addressed to him, ought tobe more than sufli cient proof. U nder such circumstances, doubtis un reasonable.

Certain documents, regarding the adjustmen t of the ao

coun ts of Cornaro and Cardinal Pisan i, test ify that the illusSee Note Q

1 96


park and courtyard, the fountain, the crenelated battlements,

and other things of more or less secondary importance, wereconstructed by the architect Andrea Da Valle, the sculptorAgostino Righetti, and others. In the course of t ime occurredother small additions or restorations ; but always in conformitywith the original design of the villa

,i n which one can admire,

to this day, the happy intellect that created i t.This, l ike the rest of Corn aro

’s buildings, has been at

tributed to his friend without any proof or reason. S elvaticoalone reasoned, after examini ng the palace, that “The style of

architecture, more than any of the historical notes, di sclosesi t to be the work of Falconetto” and he added this Opin ion :“Though not everyone may be con ten ted with all that adornsthis structure

,none can help admiring the beauty and richness

of i ts design.

”

Great astonishment was felt that Cardinal Francesco Pisanivisited only once perhaps in 1 547, and just for a few hours

that superb and exquisite palace which used to fill with pridethe hearts even of those who had merely the good fortune toown property in i ts neighborhood ; as was the case wi th thatchaplain who wr ote, in L at in , this inscript ion on the wall :

“L ANGP RANOUS OANI P ANONA ,

NICKNAMED L I GNEAM I NEU S,

THE SON OF ALEXANDER, CHAPLAIN on THE CHURCH OF THE

F ATHER, HAS PREPARED THIS HOUSE, TOGETHER W ITH THE AD

J OINING HILL OAREP U L L Y CULTIVATED BY H I M AND COVERINGF IF TEEN F I ELDS, NEAR THE VERY BEAUTIF UL P AL AOE AND DE

L I GHT P U L GARDENS OF THE BI SHOP RI O, I N T HE VILLAGE OF

L I VI ANU S, P OR PLEASURE AND F OR THE CONVENI ENCE OP-Hrs

F RI ENDS, I N THE YEAR MDL xI I I .”

In one of his dialogues, publ ished in 1 561 , the emi nentjurist, Marco Man tova Benavides, puts these words in the

mouth of U lisse Bassi an i : “You certainly do the place [ thesuburban villa at Bassanello] a wrong no less than does Cardinal Pisan i

,who has on ly been once to the palace whi ch he

1 98

CORNARO’S VILLAS

has constructed at Covigl iano [si c] at such an enormous ex

pense that i t commands the admi rat ion of all who see i t ; and

even then he did not remain more than a day.

” Oh, what werethe quiet pleasures of a residence in such a place, to the ambit ion of a Cardinal who was eli gible to the papal chair ! He

abandoned even his Bishopric for Rome !

L uigi Cornaro, on the other hand, knew how to, and did,find such pleasures ; and all the things he had built for himself he en joyed both heart ily and for a gr eat length of t ime.

In 1 542, remembering that he had always benefited “l iterati,musicians, architects, painters, sculptors, and others, and thathe had spen t “many and many thousands of crowns in statelybuildings and inmany beaut iful gardens,” to Speroni he pridedhimself that he knew how to en joy every happiness in “

suchwell-arranged habitat ions and beaut iful gardens of hi s own

cr eation.” And, though “many who attain these things do not

generally enjoy them,

” he promi sed himself that , thanks tohis temperate l ife, he would yet con t inue to en joy them manyandmany years which promise he certainly ful filled. L ater,i n his happy and industr ious old age, he again expressed hissatisfact ion over i t ; and he delighted to tell how he divided hist ime between town and coun try. T o this very circumstance we

are indebted to him for some interest ing points on the subjectof our research.I go, he wri tes, “in Apri l and May, and again in Sep

tember and October, to enjoy a country-seat of mi ne in the

Euganean Hills, most beautifully situated, with i ts gardens andfountains, and especially i ts beautiful and comfortable dwell ing.

I somet imes go there, also, to take part in the pleasant and

agreeable hunt ing, of the kind sui table to my age. I enjoy,for as many days

,my vi lla in the plain , which i s beautiful ,

wi th many pretty streets all meet ing in a fine square, in thecenter of whi ch stands i ts church, highly honored, as befits theimportance of the place. The Vi lla is divided by a wide andrapid branch of the river Brenta

,on either side of which the

1 99


coun try extends in cult ivated and fert i le fields ; and i t i s now

—the L ord be thanked !— very well populated,which before

was certain ly not the case, but rather the opposite, as i t wasmarshy and malarial, and more suited to snakes than to menAfter I had drained off the water, the ai r became pure, and

people began to settle ; the inhabitants mult iplied greatly, andthe place grew to the perfect state in which one sees i t to-day.

I can , therefore, truly say that in this place I gave to God an

altar, a temple, and souls to worship Him.

”

This i s the village of Codevigo, about four mi les di stantfrom Piove di Sacco ; here the records of the Paduan Commune indicate

, in addition to the numerous and extensive possessions Of Corn aro

, a house for hi s own use,“with a courtyard,

kitchen-garden,orchard

,and Vin eyard” of about the size of

“five fields.

” On e of his nephews,i n a letter

,describes i t as

follows “Hi s country-seat , both comfortable and adapted toagriculture, i s built according to the finest architecture, and isstronger and more commodious than any other in the n eighborhood. He wished to construct the vaults en t irely of stone,so as to be safe in case of fir e, war , or any other calamity.”Marcol in i also confirms that i t was built by Corn aro.In the same vi llage, according to this nephew, besides

the beautiful chur ch which he transformed from the unattract ivestructure i t had formerly been, and the altar of which Cornarohimself spoke, he also built the bridge over the river Bren ta“a work worthy not only of a single individual but of a

whole communi ty ”as well as many houses for the farmers.

But, in the course of t ime, much of all this was lost ; and thereremains

, at presen t, even less than was seen by Temanza and

Brandolese.

T emanza, who always returned gladly to those places tosee Cornaro’s edi fices, which he judged as works of meritand worthy of being imitated,” wr ote in the foll owing manner :

“At the village of Codev igo in the country round Padua,situated on the r ight bank of the river Bren ta, which, in thatpart , i s called Brentone, Cornaro own ed an enormous estate.

200


I pleaded with the parish priest that i t mi ght be rebuilt as i twas originally, and I t rust I have obtain ed the favor. I Ohserved the archway in the buildings close by, now belongingto the Foscar i family ; and I admired more than ever the wiseinvest igator of the remains of Roman ar t .”

Brandolese’s words were heeded, and the exquisite altar

remains to this day, though wi thout the table and the terr acotta has-relief ; and i t occupies the chapel to the left of the

principal altar.The old br idge

,and the doorway of the Cornaro Palace,

however, exist no longer. The building has been repeatedlymodified

,and now presen ts nothing especially worthy of not ice ;

only a few ston es,which may have formed the base of the

columns of the doorway, still l ie scattered about under thecourtyard port ico. The facade of the church

,which i s Doric

below and Corin thian above, had been recen tly whitened ; andthe old steeple, whi ch leaned so greatly to one side as to threatena collapse, had been supported with a but tress extending nearlyto the belfry.

We have yet to speak of the other vi lla ment ioned byCornaro before he spoke of Codevigo. He does not name

.

i t ,

but only says i t was in the Euganean Hills and “in their mostbeaut iful spot.” Some thought of L uvi gliano, and supposed thathe had there taken to draini ng the marshes, felling the woods,breaking up the ground, and cul tivating the lan ds ; and theysaid that the fact of his having breathed the pure ai r of thatplace was one of the causes which prolonged his li fe to a veryold age. Gamba bel ieved that i t did not become the propertyof the Bishopric of Padua unt il sometime later ; but such, as

we have seen , i t had always been ; and we cannot believe thatthe noble Cornaro considered i t , even during his admini strat ion ,as hi s own property, or l ived there as if i t were hi s own home.

Of which place,then , does he mean to speak? Not one of

the many who have wr itten about him has ever yet told us,

notwithstanding the fact that in 1 842, among the collection ofVenet ian inscript ions edited by Cicogna, was published thelet ter Of Cornaro’s nephew, already ment ioned, which explainsthat th is Villa was at Este.

202

CORNARO’S VILLAS

He created,” wri tes the nephew,

“on a hill near Este, a

del ightful garden , full of divers and delicate fountains and

perfect grapes.” And, cont inuing : “In hi s youth he delightedin hunt ing big game, such as wild boar and the stag ; and, assuch an imalswere not to be foun d in this country [near Padua]but in the territory of Este divided by an arm of the P O

[si c] , he built there a comfortable hun t ing residence ; and an

nually, for many a year, he used to go there, killing a largenumber of these an imals, which he either sen t to some of hi s

friends, or else distributed in Venice or Padua. When the sportwas at i ts end, he had a comedy prepared and given in hi s ownhall

,which he had built in imitat ion of the ancient ones. The

stage wasmade of durable stone ; but the part reserved for theaudience was of wood, so that i t coul d be taken down and re

moved. These performances were all very successful , as he

had l iving wi th him some clever art ists, such as the famous*Ruzzante.”

Furthermore, the P aduan records confirm, wi thout anydoubt, that he owned “a house on the hills outside the gates ofEste

,with an orchard and a vineyard of six fields,” which he

kept for his private use.

Carefully examining all the records, as well as all the histories of Este that have ever been published, I found—and

that in a monogr aph of 1 851 —only the following uncertainallusion to a Corn aro Villa built at that place : “Beyond [theKunkler Palace] to the left, i s a palace, perhaps in old daysthat of Corn aro

,and later belonging to the Farsett i family ; i t

i s built on a beaut iful height, and has been, accordi ng to thedesigns of Jspelli, enlarged and improved with great taste byi ts present owner, Doctor Adolfo Benvenut i.”I then went to Este to find this Villa Benvenut i ; and, to

my surprise and delight , I found at the en trance of the gardena fine archway of classic style, in which I thought I saw no

l ittle resemblance to the architectural works of Cornaro and

Falconetto. The situat ion of the Villa coincides precisely w iththe description in the records of Padua ; for we find, by exam

See Note 8

203


ining old topographical maps,that, in order to get to i t from

the cen ter of the ci ty,i t was necessary to pass the San ta Tecla

gate, which was demolished centuries ago.

The archives of the ci ty of Este contained nothing thatcould convert my supposit ion into certainty ; but a few dayslater, while examini ng the old papers of the Bishopric of Padua,I came U pon a con tract of 1 650, in which the Procurator G iovanni Battista Cornaro had leased to Giorgio Cornaro, Bishopof Padua, for ten years, “hi s palace at Este, near the conventof the Capuchins, with all i ts fields, kitchen -gardens

,orchards,

parks,fountai ns

,vineyards, etc.

” To this contr act was an

nexed a mi nutely detailed inventory of the furn iture in thehouse. Thi s document dispelled all my doubts, asmany detailsmentioned in i t are iden tical with the Views of the Villa F arsett i and i ts garden , drawn by Coronelli in the beginni ng of theeighteenth cen tury ; and other particulars have been preserved,and are not iceable to this day, in the Villa Benvenuti. ThisVilla

,belonging formerly to the Farsett i family, i s therefore

none other than the old Villa Cornaro : i t i s near the conventof the Capuchins, and nearer to i t i s the house of the farmerwho has charge of i t ; just as we know that the palace of theProcurator Corn aro was near the convent, and that nearer st illwas the house of hi s steward.

In the Benvenuti garden there i s running water, which i svery scarce in these hi lls ; this is made to pass through leadpipes. I n . fact , we find recorded in the inventory “eighty-sixpipes of lead, weighing 2080 lbs ,

”to be used for the fountains.

And, furthermore, a historian of Este,in 1 743, published the

following : “There is Cavalier F arsett i ’s villa near the con

ven t of the Capuchins, where the house, being an un preten tiousone, does not arouse gr eat curiosity to see i t ; but the site andthe playing foun tains are worthy to be considered ; and the

place has frequen t visi tors. If we also examine minutely theengravings of Coronell i we shall see a portico of seven archesunder the palace ; i n the garden a large stairway, with manyflower vases on pedestals on each side ; and, close by, two vinetr ellises. The inven tory, furthermore, men tions a porti co below

204

THE ART OF LI VING LONG

The Este archway belongs to the Roman style, of whichthe two were such enthusiast ic admirers ; and i t is, indeed, afree imitat ion of the archway of Janus Quadrifrons, erectedin Rome not earlier than the reign of Caracalla, or that of

Septimi us Severus, or , according to some,as late as the t ime

of Constan t in e. In the treatises on architecture of the six

teenth cen tury i t had al ready taken i ts place among the models.Furthermore, the two architects, Cornaro and Falconetto, mustcertainly have seen and examined i t, during their Visi ts to Rometo study the bui ldi ng art of the ancients.In the modern, as well as in the ancien t arch, there are

small ni ches, with vault ings in the shape of shells ; but in theformer their number was reduced from twelve to eight in thefirst two di visions, and were omitted altogether in the thi rdto the summi t of the arch, on which there was simply an att ic,as on others of F alconetto

’s arches but wi thout inscripti ons

or figures. The style of the l ittle pillars between the n iches isnot varied as in the Roman model ; but only the Composite isUsed, whi ch was also called T r iM phal, from the triumphalarchways. The grand arch itself rests on two protruding sills,the keyston e i s sculptured

,and the panaches are ornamented

by two flying Victories with their torches extended. Theseparticulars, which are wanting in the arch of Janus, are foundin the works of Falconetto and the buildings erected by Cornaro.In fact, thejambs of the famous port ico present the same shapeas the archway—fine or heavy

, as the case may be. Besides,the centr al arch of the port ico bears two sculptured Goddessesof Fame, undoubtedly different and better, but respect ively analogous i n the attitude of the arms ; and the next two parts ofthe archways inclose here, likewise, a head of a satyr wi thram’

s horns an ornament used by the Veronese arti st also onthe exteri or of the gate of Savonarola.

One could find other analogies beyond these, of which thereis, perhaps, no need. L et us observe, instead, a difference whichseems to con tradict. The proport ion between the width and

the height of the Open ing in the Este archway i s less than one

half ; Falconetto, instead, alwaysmade the breadth surpass half

206

CORNARO’ S VI LLAS

of the height . But we must know here that , as Jspell i had tolower the level of the courtyard, he lowered also the groundunder the arch and lengthened the ends of the pillars, as i s

told us by the people of the place, and as i s Visible by thedifference i n the new stone which was used. To him,

therefore,i s due the alterat ion ; and i t does not in the least weaken thesupposition that i t was erected by Cornaro, perhaps with F alconetto

’s aid.

Though my efior t to arr ive at this conclusion may, afterall, appear to some a useless one, surely i t will not be judgedso by those who reflect that I have called the attention of the

learned to a fin e work of the closing period of the Venet ianhad as yet brought to notice.—Emi lo L ovar ini .

This i s the excellen t foppery of the world, thatwhen we are si ck i n for tune often the surfei t of ourown behavior—we make gui lty of our disasters thesun , the moon , and the stars : as if we were vi llains bynecessi ty, fools by heaven ly compulsion ; hnaves,

thi eves, and treachers, by spheri cal pr edomi na ncedrunlcards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obe

di ence of planetary influence and all that we are evi l

in , by a divine thrusting on : an admirable evasion ofman , to lay his goatish disposi ti on to the charge of a

star l—“King L ear .

”


famous pe luta', Irene di Spilimbergo ( 1 540 T he ci ty of Sp i limber go. of which t he populat ion in 1 90 1 was —ou th e T ajamen to,1 4 miles west of Udi ne, was named after this family.

F—G rovam Mama ( J ohn Mary ) one of the mosteminen t of I ta lian architects, was born at Verona, i n 1 458. He studiedar chitecture at Rome, .then returned to Verona , later making hi s homei n P adua. Great ly improving t he sty le of architectur e in the Ven etianstates, he designed an d constr ucted many admirab le bui ldings and otherworks i n P adua, Verona, and elsewhere. Hi s masterpiece, the celebr ated Cornaro Loggia in P adua, suggested to P al ladio .the design of

h is vil la at Vicenza, the famous Rotonda Capra ; t he latt er—once one

of the greatest monumen ts of modern architectural art , and describedby Goethe as a marvel of splendor—has, i n i ts tur n , served as a copyfor others, among .them the beauti ful Chiswick House, the vi l la of the

dukes of Devonshire, at Chiswick, England. I n the Church of San

An toni o, in P adua, the Cappe lla del San to, so remarkable for i ts

grandeur and beauty, was completed by h im. He died in 1 534.

G—Cu nnrus Gammus, common ly known as Galen, the most emi

nent physician , as wel l as one of the most learned and accompl ishedmen , of h is day, was born at P ergamus, in Mysia, Asia Minor, A. D . 1 30 .

At the age of fift een he studied logic and philosophy at h i s native city ;two years later he began the study of medicine, continuing i t at

Smyrna, Corin th, and Alexandria. At the age of thirty-four he re

moved to Rome ; there he gained great fame, and became .the physi cianof the il lustr ious philosopher, Emperor Marcus Aurelius An toninus, as

well as of the Emperors Lucius Verus, Lucius Aurelius Commodus, andLucius

date of his death are uncerta in, occurring, according to some histor ians,at his native city, in th e year 20 1 ; while others place th e date as muchas eighteen years later. There are good reasons for believing the latterto be correct.Galen confessed himsel f great ly indebted to the writings of Hip

pocrates, who preceded him about six cen turies, and who is known as

T h e F ather of Medi cine. He was an ext ensive writer on medici ne and

philosophy, as wel l as on logic and ethics ; of h is works there are st il l

in exi stence eighty-three treatises, besides fifteen commentaries on

the works of Hi ppocr ates. F or t hirteen hundr ed years, throughoutEurope and the East , Galen was th e recogn ized authority in the scienceof medi ci ne.

H—Dosn ( the Venetian modified form of t he Ita l ian duce, fromthe Lat in due , a leader or duke) was the t it le of the chief magistr ate

2 1 0

NOTES

of t he Republic of Venice. T he dignity, or office, was cal led Dogato.

T he incumben t was a lways elected for life, and was origina lly chosenby un iversal suffrage. He con t inued to acquire more and more irresponsib le authority, un t il , i n 1 033 and 1 1 72 , laws were passed which ,i n various ways, great ly reduced h is power. T hese included the asso

ciat i on with h im of a body of 470 councilors, known as the GreatCouncil . At the same t ime un iversa l suffrage was abolished.

I n 1 268, the doge—“King in the forum, senator i n t he legislat iveha ll , prisoner in th e palace”—was elect ed by a peculiarly comp lexmethod, which remain ed in vogue, with but lit t le change, un t il .the fal lof the Repub lic : thirty members of the Great Coun cil , e lected by bal lot ,chose n ine members ; they, i n th eir turn , chose forty ; twelve of thesefort y, selected by lot, chose twenty-five ; t he twen ty-five were reducedto nine ; the n ine elected forty-five ; th e forty-five were reduced to

eleven ; and t he e leven chose the fina l forty-one, i n whose hands lay

th e actua l election of the doge. T he powers of the doge became, int ime, so restricted as to be l i t t le more t han nominal ; and the constant

espionage to which he was subjected, made the office less sought forthan in the past ; indeed, in 1 339 , i t was necessary to forbid, by law,

th e resignation of the incumbent. There were, i n al l , one hundredand twen ty doges ; the first, Paolo Lucio Anafesto, was elected i n 697the last, Lodovi co Manin, in 1 789. Of the whole number , the Cornarofamily furn ished four.

I—Af ter the dignity of Doge, that of P socusaros or Sr . Manx( Italian, P rocurator c di SM Marco ) was the highest. Origi nal ly, therewas on ly one procurator ; but , i n 1 442, the number was increased ton ine. They discharged funct ions of a varied and responsible character ,and were designated as fol lows : the P r ocurator de supr a ( above) , inwhose care was the imposing Basilica of St. Mark one of the most

interest ing churches i n Europe, begun in 828 but not consecrated un tiln i l—as wel l as the revenues at tached to i t ; the P r ocurator de oi tra

( this side) , who had charge of the charitable works on“this side” ;

and the P rocur ator do ul tra ( beyond ) , who had charge of t hem on

“that side,”—of t he Grand Canal . As the ofii ce was bestowed onlyupon the foremost men of the day, i t was occupied by many whosenames form a part of Venetian, and oft en of European , history.Twen ty-two members of the Cornaro family ar e found in this roll ofi llustrious men , which ended with t he fal l of the Republic.

J—Tm: EU GANEAN HILLS ( Italian , ComEuganei ) were so namedfrom the people, who, accordi ng to Livy , occupied this territory untildriven out by t he Veneti . T he highest point i s Monte Venda. Thesehil ls are covered with a luxuriant growth , and the views from theirsummits are the finest i n al l Ita ly. I t was .the red larch, and the

granit ic and porphyrit ic rocks abounding there, that wer e largely used

21 1


in the const ruction of the Doge’s P alace—built original ly about theyear 820—and other famous bui ldings of Venice. Of t he many col

lect ions of prehistoric rel ics found i n these hills, that in the Museumof An tiquities of Man tua is especia l ly in terest ing and valuable. Withlovers of musical verse, Shel ley’s poem,

“L i nes Wr i tten Among the

Euganean Hi lls,”has long been a fami liar favorite.

K—Danw u : (Dan iel ) BABBABO, an Italian ecclesi asti c and Patriarch of Aqui leia, was born at Venice , in 1 51 3. He was an extensivewriter, among his works being a tr eat ise, On E loquence,” and a com

mentary, “On the Archi tecture of Vi t a

”; the latter contributing

largely toward the return to the classica l style of architecture. His

beaut iful residence, a unique specimen of the vi llas of t he Venet iannobil ity of the period, was created and adorned by the un ited geniusof three of the great art ists of the Renaissance,—Andrea Pa l ladi o,P aolo Veronese, and A l lessandro Vit toria ,

—and was a noted center ofarts and letters. He died i n 1 570.

L—Aqmu ru , an ancient city at the head of the Adr iati c, 22 milesnort hwest of Trieste, was colon ized by t he Romans about 1 81 B. C.

A t a later period i t was chosen by J ulius Ce sar as headquarters for

h is forces in Cisa lpine Gaul . I n 1 60 , the Emperor Marcus AureliusAnton inus fort i fied i t so strongly that i t was consi dered the first bulwark of th e Roman Empir e against the nor thern barbarians, and wasca l led T he Second Rome. At one t ime i t was the capital and firstcity of Venetia. I n the 5th century i t had inhabitants ; but,i n 452, i t was destr oyed by Atti la, King of the Huns, and t he inbahi tan ts fled to .the lagoons on which Ven ice now stands. F rom this i tnever ful ly recovered ; yet , rebui lt , i t cont inued to enjoy considerableprosperity. At the council of 556, t he Bishop of Aquileia separatedfrom the Church of Rome and took the t it le of P atriarch. I n 1 420 ,

Venice deprived i t of most of i ts possessions ; and, i n the lat ter ha lfof t he eighteen th cen tury, th e P atr iarchate was abol ished. The cityis said to have derived i ts name from t he Lat in aqui ia, an eagle havingappeared as a favorab le omen to i ts founders ; but i t i s more probab lethat the name owes i ts origin to the fact that t he “

aqui la”was t he

standard of the Romans. The population i s now aboutM—The Cosm n ranked among the most illustrious of the patri

cian famil ies of Rome, and no other house produced a greater numberof individua ls who notably dist in gui shed themselves in war and civilaffairs. T o this fami ly be longed Cornelia,—daughter of the famousScipio, and w ife of Tiberius Sempron ius Gracchus—who i s knownin history not on ly as Cornelia, Mother of the Gracchi, but also as the

purest woman mentioned i n the historica l period of Rome. She was

t he mother of twelve children and lived to extr eme old age, dyingabout 1 30 B . C.

2 12


resort of the literati of Rome. I t was chiefly due to h is aid that thepoets Horace and Virgil were gran ted t he means for .t he enjoymen tof l iterary leisure ; and the lat ter wrote h i s “

Georgies”at the request

of h is benefactor. His death , occurring at Rome, i n the year 8 B . C . ,

was cons idered by al l—especia l ly by Augustus—an irr eparab le loss.

As early as the 1 st cen tury h is name had become proverbial as a patr onof let ters ; indeed, amon g al l the n ames—roya l , noble, or otherw iseeminen t—associa ted w ith t heir patronage, none in ancient or modernt imes i s so familiarly known as that of Maecenas ; a cen tury aft erwhose death the poet Mart ial wrote : “L et there but be Maecenases, andVirgils shall not be lacking.” Maecenas is a famil iar charact er in

Shakespeare’s “An tony and C leopatr a.

”

S—Ruzzam's, a favorite Ita lian dramatic poet, whose true name

was Angelo Beolco, was born at P adua , i n 1 502 . G ifted w ith remarkable talen t , he was t h e author of many dialogues, di scourses, and

various other writ ings i n the rustic P aduan dia lect , which h e had

thoroughly mastered. T he large number of comedies which he com

posed were al l highly applauded wherever heard.A few young men of good family accompan ied him on his travels

as an art ist, reciting, as he did, under t he shelter of a disgui se—con

cea l ing thei r rea l names under others borrowed from t he scenes i n

which they appeared. I n t he recita l of these farces he took the partof the joker or jester ( Ital ian , Ruzzan te ) ; and i t was to this circumstance that he owed h is sobriquet of Ruzzan te, which clung to h im

ever after. Indeed, fr om that t ime on , he used i t instead of hi s fami lyname ; i t even appeared in hi s works, which were publ ished, complete,at Vicenza, i n 1 584, 1 598, and 1 61 7 , under the t it le : “A l l the Wor ks of

the Most F amous Ruzzan te, Newly and wi th the Gr eatest D i l igence

Revised and Cor r ected.

” He died March 1 7 , 1 542.

T—EMIL IO LORENZO L OVABI NI , professor of Italian l iterature in theroya l Liceo (High School ) M i nghetti , of Bologna , was born at Venice,March 7 , 1 866. His youth was passed i n P adua, where he comp letedh i s educa t ion , receiving h i s degree of doctor of philology from t he

University of that city, J uly, 1 889 .

Although sti ll a young man , Dr . L ovar in i has already acquiredconsiderable reputat ion as an authority on various subjects, his t e

searches cover i ng a w ide range. His chief writings pertain to t he

customs, dialect , folk lore, and rust ic literature of ancien t P adua ; t hehabits and past imes of studen ts of the Un iversity i n the 1 6th cen

tury ; etc. He i s the author, a lso, of a biography of Ruzzan te, an i llustr ated crit ica l edi t ion of whose works he is now preparing. He has

published a highly i nterest ing work on gypsy melodi es, and the songsof Taran to.

U—F rom Vol . II Nos. VI .-VII Apri l -J uly, 1 899—of“L ’Ar t e,

of Rome.

The Art of Living Long

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