Now that the dreaded comps demon is behind me I have time for nonoptional
things, like seeing people, and optional ones, like reading Facebook. And it has come to my attention, in the
course of the latter—shall we say—activity, that certain of my friends were
having quite a discussion about a certain post in The New York Times entitled “27 Ways to
Be a Modern Man.” (Admittedly, this was about a week ago.) For the record, if any representative of the Times stumbles across the post,
congratulations: you have succeeded in making a group of highly intelligent
people very confused about whether or not this piece was intended as a
parody. Perhaps we have found the right
wing (by which I really mean, the left wing) answer to Stephen Colbert?
In any case, I don’t mean to argue with the “27 Ways.” Far be it from me, a woman (or girl) of no
particular century (we are ageless and unique, to paraphrase Simon de
Beauvoir), to suggest whether or not these are in fact representative ways of
being manly in the twenty-first century.
I wouldn’t know, and I’m not sure my husband the medieval philosopher
would be much help.
But—probably because I have been so completely immersed in preparation
for my exams—it struck me in reading the Times
piece that this list sounded familiar.
The author was definitely going for a particular overall impression—a
man who is strong, sensitive, knowledgeable, and intelligent. A family man, but suave. A gunless man, equipped with melon
ballers. You get the picture.
It—not the actual picture, but the carefully poised contrasts—reminded me
of something, possibly in a negative way.
Of Sir Thomas More. Of
Castiglione’s Il
Cortegiano as translated by Hoby. Of sprezzatura
which is (in the imperfect English) “the true perfection” of a courtier, “a
grace” which “ought to accompany all his doings, gestures, demeanors, … [and]
motions”; “a sauce to everything, without the which all his other properties
and good conditions were little worth,” which is above all bound up in the
avoiding of that “sharp and dangerous rock, Affectation or curiosity,”
and demands that its possessor
use in everything a certain Recklessness, to cover
art withal, and seem whatsoever he doeth and sayeth to do it without pain, and
(as it were) not minding it. … Therefore that may be said to be a very art that
appeareth not to be art …
The Courtier, as this English translation was called, became the veritable Bible of
the English gentleman: the perfect picture of the Renaissance Man—the original Renaissance Man. (Similar things were happening in Italy,
France, and Spain, but we didn’t take comps in those literatures, so why
bother? No word yet on whether or not
China invented the Renaissance Man first.)
But this is all rather cold and academic compared to the personal
examples and musings of Mr. Lombardi (himself clearly an Italian American—and
with that name, possibly a distant relative of Castiglione’s, since the latter
was born in Lombardy?). So I propose,
rather than elaborating on Castiglione/Hoby’s ”Courtier” at greater abstract
length, to give you a portrait of a real early modern man of the courtier class
who surely, like Sir Philip Sidney, “never
stirred abroad without The Courtier in his pocket.”
27 Ways to Be an Early Modern Man
Early Modern Manhood demands the same virtues we English practiced in the
days of Chaucer: namely, cleaving to whatever monarch seems most like to a true
king, and one not prone to betraying one’s family in the process. Verily doth fashion alter, and the sciences
improve; nor are our manners and mode of discourse unchanged. But the early modern man, imbued with both the
wisdom of the ancients and the truths of Revelation, and bucklered with the New
Learning, is as it were a Renaissance to himself, a little world reflecting
back the great one.
1. When the early modern man fits
shoes for his future spouse, he speaks in pidgin Dutch. That way he can hide from her relatives, who
are seeking to discover their secret love affair.
2. The early
modern man’s confidence does not sink. He one-ups Aeneas. In fact, he has probably translated the Aeneid, in case his acquaintances needed
any light vernacular reading. All in his
spare time, of course.
3. The early
modern man is considerate. At the theater, he finds his ladies a seat above the
stage, where everyone can see them.
4. The early
modern man eats meat. He does not have
heart attacks or cancer, and knows how to get out of town when the plague is in. Pleurisy, however, may be a real concern.
5. The early
modern man knows how to hire and keep a good horse boy.
6. Before the early
modern man retires, he makes sure that his wife and children have blown out the
candles. There’s nothing like a good fire
to get one’s family up before the end of first sleep, and cleaning up the ash
really cuts into second sleep.
7. The early
modern man drinks beer with breakfast, lunch, and dinner, just like Queen
Elizabeth. Preferably double double brew,
until it was outlawed, also by Queen Elizabeth.
Maybe even after that.
8. The early
modern man uses the proper names for things. He will never import a French or
Latin term where the Anglo-Saxon one will do.
9. Having a
daughter die makes the early modern man write a poem. Having a son die has the same effect. Surprisingly, the early modern man likes his
children, even when they die.
10. The early
modern man wipes his dishes with crusts, and eats them, so as not to waste any
food.
11. The early
modern man would not be caught dead publishing his work—unless an error-ridden
edition just so happened to be prereleased by his enemies, in which case it is
clearly his duty, as admonished by his friends, to publish a corrected copy,
which will sell out multiple editions and protect his honor.
12. The early
modern man has lots of clean linen, and changes it every time a miasma arises.
13. The early
modern man writes his own lute melodies, and probably plays them, but only for his
closest friends and family.
14. The early
modern man buys and sells horses and property.
Everything else is his steward’s business.
15. The early
modern man keeps clean rushes on the floor.
The children love playing down there, and it takes longer to notice when
one of the dogs forgets itself.
16. The early
modern man sleeps with his wife so that she won’t freeze to death on cold
winter nights. He doesn’t need to worry
about the door, because even his enemies know that they will DIE if they think
about attacking his family, because he will defend his chamber exactly like
Lancelot did.
17. The early
modern man’s kitchen definitely contains a waffle iron, a deep fryer, twig
whisks, scales, and a cheese grater—how else did you think he was able to pull
off stuffed grouse, fully refeathered?
But he doesn’t know about any of this, because his cook takes care of
things, and won’t stand interference in the kitchen.
18. The early
modern man has seriously bought two shoehorns.
Shoes are too expensive not to take care of.
19. The early
modern man makes sure his wife always has a nosegay to ward off disease,
especially when she is pregnant, which is often.
20. On
occasion, the early modern man writes tormented love lyrics. No one is ever sure whether or not to take
them literally, but that’s all part of the mystique. His wife doesn’t seem to mind. He’s also translated most of the psalms, from
the original Hebrew. In his spare time,
again.
21. The early
modern man admonishes his children for minor mistakes only if he thinks it will
aid in their moral and intellectual development. Usually it will.
22. The early
modern man knows from whom to get the court gossip, and to whom not to tell
it. He is good at writing letters, and
at destroying them. He has friends in
the Tower, and friends who used to be in the Tower, and probably friends who
took a short walk in the Tower.
23. The early
modern man has read everything by Petrarch.
24. The early
modern man fells no need to check his points.
25. The early
modern man has no use for villainous saltpeter. A sword is far more deadly,
provided one knows how to use it (and he does), and hunting is more safely and
sportingly done with the primitive weapons of his ancestors.
26. The early
modern man associates tears with women, except when male friends are saying
goodbye to each other forever, like when one of them gets married.
27. People
aren’t sure if the early modern man is really a player or not. Then he has the nerve to advise the Queen on
her marriage prospects, gets himself kicked out of court, goes to fight the Spanish
oversees, gives his armor to an unequipped man immediately before battle, is
wounded in the thigh as a result, and—lying on the field of battle—passes his
water on to another wounded man, observing that “Thy necessity is greater than
mine.” After about a month, he dies of
gangrene at the age of thirty-one. Let
the legends begin.
