The Merits of Women: Wherein Is Revealed Their Nobility and Their Superiority to Men
129
The Merits of Women: Wherein Is Revealed Their Nobility and Their Superiority to Men
129eBook
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Overview
You would as well look for blood in a corpse as for the least shred of decency in a man . . .
Without help from their wives, men are just like unlit lamps . . .
Just think of them as an unreliable clock that tells you it’s ten o’clock when it’s in fact barely two . . .
These are but a small selection of the quips bandied about at this lively gathering of women. Yet this dialogue unfolds not among ironically misandrist millennials venting at their local dive bar, but rather among sixteenth-century women—variously married, widowed, single, and betrothed—attending a respectable Venice garden party. Written in the early 1590s by Moderata Fonte, pseudonym of the Renaissance poet and writer Modesta Pozzo, this literary dialogue interrogates men and men’s treatment of women, and explores by contrast the virtues of singledom and female friendship.
A new introduction by translator Virginia Cox and foreword by Dacia Maraini situate The Merits of Women in its historical context, written as it was on the cusp of Shakespeare’s heyday, and straddling the centuries between the feminist works of Christine de Pizan and Mary Wollstonecraft. Elegantly presented for a general audience, this is a must-read for baby feminists and “nasty women” alike, not to mention the perfect subtle gift for any mansplaining friend who needs a refresher on the merits of women . . . and their superiority to men.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780226550770 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | University of Chicago Press |
| Publication date: | 12/22/2022 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 129 |
| File size: | 391 KB |
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Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
First Day
THE MOST NOBLE CITY OF VENICE lies wondrously situated on the farthest shores of the Adriatic Sea; and not only is this city founded on the sea, but the walls that surround her, the fortresses that guard her, and the gates that enclose her are nothing other than that same sea. The sea, divided up and channeled into canals between the houses, forms a convenient thoroughfare, whereby people are ferried from one place to another with the aid of little boats. The sea is the high road of the city and the open countryside around it, through which pass all the goods and traffics that arrive there from various parts.
So this city is utterly different from all others and a novel and miraculous example of God's handiwork. Venice exceeds all other ancient and modern cities in nobility and dignity, so that it may in all justice be called the Metropolis of the universe. Its pomp and glory are beyond calculation; its riches are inexhaustible; and the splendor of the buildings, the sumptuousness of the clothes, the remarkable freedom enjoyed by its inhabitants are things that cannot be imagined or described. It is quite remarkable how everyone loves living there, for it seems as though all newcomers, as soon as they have tasted the sweetness of life there, find it impossible to leave. And this means that there are people of every nationality in the city, and, just as the limbs and arteries of our body are all connected to the heart, so all cities and all parts of the world are connected to Venice. Money flows here as nowhere else and ours is a city as free as the sea itself. And what is most marvelous of all is that although the city harbors such a great diversity of races and customs, nonetheless an incredible peace and justice reign there.
Well then, in this truly divine city, there was once not long ago a group of noble and spirited women, all from the most respected families of the city, who, despite their great differences in age and marital status, were so united by breeding and taste that a tender bond of friendship had formed between them. These women would often steal time together for a quiet conversation; and on these occasions, safe from any fear of being spied on by men or constrained by their presence, they would speak freely on whatever subject they pleased. Sometimes one of them, who was fond of music, taking up her lute or tempering her sweet voice with the notes of a harpsichord, would provide a charming entertainment; or another, whose tastes inclined to poetry, would recite some novel and elegant composition to entertain that judicious audience in a fresh and pleasing manner.
The women were seven in number. The first was Adriana, an elderly widow; the second, a young daughter of hers, of marriageable age, called Virginia; the third, a young widow called Leonora; the fourth, an older married woman called Lucretia. The fifth woman, Cornelia, was a young married woman; the sixth, Corinna, a young dimmessa. The seventh, Helena, a young bride, had temporarily left the group, for she had gone to stay with her new husband in a nearby villa on the mainland, and since the wedding none of the others had seen her.
Now this most worthy group of friends, hearing that the young widow Leonora had recently inherited a house with a very lovely garden, decided to pay her a visit there at the first opportunity. And so one day they went in a party to pay a visit on this charming young hostess; and after the usual greetings had passed between them, they repaired at her invitation to a light and airy room (for it was the height of summer). There some — the older ones — went out onto a balcony overlooking the Grand Canal, and lingered there for a while enjoying the fresh air and watching the gondolas flying past below. The others, led by Virginia, drew up to a window that overlooked the garden and stood there larking about as young girls do when they are together, affectionately teasing one another.
After a while, a gondola was seen pulling up to the quay; and, as the women looked at it, wondering whose it could be, they suddenly realized that it belonged to Helena. The young bride had just returned from the country and, hearing that all her friends were assembled at Leonora's, she had come there at once to see them all, and in particular Virginia, who before her marriage had been her closest friend. When the women saw it was Helena arriving, their happiness was complete, for she was a very charming young woman; and she had hardly got up the stairs before they all flocked around her, embracing her and smothering her with kisses. Then they led her into the drawing room, where they all sat down and feasted their eyes upon her; until finally Virginia spoke up and asked her how she had been all this time and whether she was happy.
Before Helena could reply, Leonora, who had a keen wit, cut in with these words: "My dear Virginia, how can you ask such a thing, when everyone already knows the answer? For popular opinion dictates that no new bride can be anything other than happy."
"Well, let's not say happy," added Lucretia. "Rather, as well as can be expected."
"When I think about it," said Helena, "I'm not sure I can say yet whether I'm happy or not. I greatly enjoy my husband's company, but there is one thing about him that dismays me a little. He is quite insistent that I should not leave the house, whereas I long for nothing more than to go to all the weddings and banquets to which I am invited — partly because this is my time for diversion, but also because I'm concerned to keep up my own and my husband's reputation by letting the world see that he is treating me well and that I can dress as befits a gentlewoman, as you can see."
"I hope to God," Cornelia interjected, "that you'll never have anything worse to complain of! But you have yet to learn how quickly a wedding cake can go stale."
"Our 'young married,'" said Lucretia, "is still unconvinced of this truth; she can't make up her mind to believe it. And she's quite right, of course, for everything is lovely when it has the charm of novelty."
"What you mean is that everything seems lovely when it has the charm of novelty," said Leonora.
"As to that," replied Lucretia, "seeming good in such cases is much the same as being good. For if something I eat, for example, seems good to my palate, even if it isn't, it's as good as if it were."
"Don't make me laugh," rejoined Leonora. "If that's the case, then we shouldn't wonder at the bakerwoman who, after toiling all day over her hot oven, ran outside to strip off her little ones' clothes, in the belief that they too must be suffering from the heat, without considering that it was the depths of winter!"
Cornelia laughed at Leonora's joke and exclaimed, "Praise God that we are free to do just as we please, even tell jokes like that to make each other laugh, with no one here to criticize us or put us down."
"Exactly," said Leonora. "If a man could hear us now, laughing together like this, how he would scoff! There'd be no end to it!"
"To tell the truth," said Lucretia, "we are only ever really happy when we are alone with other women; and the best thing that can happen to any woman is to be able to live alone, without the company of men."
"Indeed," said Leonora. "For my part, I derive the greatest happiness from living in peace, without a man. For we all know what a marvelous thing freedom is."
"But surely men can't all be bad?" Helena said.
"Would that they weren't!" replied Cornelia. "And please God that you won't soon be in a position to bear witness to it from your own experience!"
"Who knows?" said Virginia. "What if Helena turns out to be lucky?"
"Well, she just might," said Lucretia. "Don't let's lose all hope."
"However badly you speak of men," Helena rejoined, "I don't believe that you will put Virginia off trying out what it's like to have a husband."
"If it were up to me," said Virginia, "I'd prefer to do without one. But I have to obey the wishes of my family."
"When it comes to that, dear child," said Adriana, "I'd be quite happy to respect your opinion, but your uncles have decided you must marry, because you've inherited such a fortune and it needs to be in safe hands, so I really don't know what else I can do with you. But, anyway, keep your spirits up and don't be afraid. Not all men can be the same, and perhaps you may have better luck than the rest."
"Oh, that really is quite a lifeline you're holding out!" cried Leonora. 'That kind of vain hope, which so rarely comes true, has been the ruin of many a poor girl."
"Our boundless hopes often lure us to destruction," said Corinna. "But this vain hope you're talking about doesn't fool me. I'd rather die than submit to a man! My life here with you is too precious for that, safe from the fear of any great rough man trying to rule my life."
"O happy Corinna!" cried Lucretia. "What other woman in the world can compare her lot with yours? Not one! Not a widow, for she cannot boast of enjoying her freedom without having suffered first; not a wife, for she is still in the midst of her suffering; not a young girl awaiting betrothal, for she is waiting for nothing but ill (as the proverb says, 'husbands and hard times are never long in arriving'). Happy, thrice-happy Corinna, and all that follow your example! All the more so since God has endowed you with such a soaring intelligence that you delight in the pursuit of excellence, and devote your every lofty thought to the study of letters, human and divine, so that one might say that you have already embarked on a celestial life while still surrounded by the trials and dangers of this world. Though such trials barely touch you; for, by rejecting all contact with those falsest of creatures, men, you have escaped the tribulations of this world and are free to devote yourself to those glorious pursuits that will win you immortality. But perhaps you should devote that sublime intelligence of yours to writing a volume on this subject, as an affectionate warning to all those poor simple girls who don't know the difference between good and evil, to show them where their true interests lie; for in this way you would become doubly glorious, fulfilling your duties to God and to the world."
"It certainly would be a worthwhile thing to do," said Corinna, "and I must thank you for bringing it to my notice; perhaps one day I shall indeed write such a work."
"But in the meantime, surely you must already have written something on the theme: some sonnet, perhaps?" suggested Adriana.
"Well, yes," she replied, "but not, I fear, with much success."
"Oh come!" exclaimed Adriana. "Give us a little something! It would give us all such pleasure."
At this, all the others gathered around Corinna and pleaded with her so earnestly that finally, to appease them, she recited the following sonnet, with a pleasing air of modesty:
The heart that dwells within my breast is free:
The judicious ladies were utterly charmed by the sonnet, both on account of its sentiments, which all applauded, and the ease and dignity of its style. So they all heaped praises on Corinna and begged for a copy of the poem; and Virginia, who was particularly struck by it, entreated Corinna to sing it to them, accompanying herself on the harpsichord; which she did, to universal applause, following it with other songs.
Meanwhile, realizing that the sun had retreated behind some little clouds, they all agreed to go down and enjoy the lovely garden for a while; and so they set off gaily, taking each other by the hand and going down the stairs. When they got to the garden, words could not express how utterly charming they found it. For there were rows of little emerald-green espaliered shrubs, in all kinds of different shapes — some in the form of pyramids, others mushroom-shaped or melon-shaped, or some other shape — alternating with carefully pruned and beautifully intermingled laurels, chestnuts, box trees, and pomegranates, all cut to precisely the same height, without a leaf out of place. There were the loveliest orange trees and lemon trees to be seen, with such sweet-smelling flowers and fruit that they gladdened the heart with their scent as much as they delighted the eyes. I shall not attempt to list the countless lovely and varied carved urns filled with citrus trees and the daintiest flowers of all kinds, nor the quantities of slender myrtles and the fresh lawns of tiny herbs, cut into triangles, ovals, squares, and other charming conceits. There were jasmine arbors, labyrinths of bright ivy, and little groves of shaped box trees that would have astounded any connoisseur. And the fruit! I shall not attempt to describe it, for there were vast quantities of fruits of all kinds, according to the season; and the useful plants, mingled charmingly with the purely decorative, made up such a lovely sight that the women could not rest from exploring.
And in this way, wandering on from one place to the next, they came upon a lovely fountain which stood in the middle of the garden, constructed with indescribably rare and meticulous workmanship. All around this fountain, at each of its sides, there stood the statue of a very beautiful woman with braided hair, from whose breasts, as from a double fountain, there artfully flowed streams of clear, fresh, sweet water. Each of these statues wore a garland of laurel on her head and carried a slender olive branch in her left hand, with a little scroll with writing on it wrapped around the branch; while, in her right hand, each carried a different emblem. So that one of them was holding a little snow-white ermine over her shoulder, holding it away from her breast to keep it dry; and the scroll she held in her left hand bore the following verse:
Let this body rather perish than suffer any stain.
The next carried in her right hand an image of the phoenix, who lives unique in the world; and in her left hand she bore the message:
Alone I live for all time; I die and am reborn.
The third carried a sun and her motto read:
Alone and unique, I illuminate myself and all around.
The next was holding a lantern, in whose flame a little butterfly could be seen burning to death; and her scroll bore the words:
Victim of a vision of beauty, I burn through my own doing.
The fifth had as her device a peach, with a leaf from a peach tree and a verse that read:
All too different is the message of the heart from that of the tongue.
But the sixth carried a crocodile and her scroll read:
I first kill my victims and then, when they are dead, mourn them.
The statues as a whole were so precisely carved and so divinely turned that they seemed rather a natural, living thing than something artificial and a product of human skill. And as the women gazed on and marveled at now this thing, now that, in the lovely garden, filled with rapture and wonder, Adriana said to Leonora, "Come, Leonora, what paradise is this? Who could fail to be charmed by this place?"
"It seems to me," added Cornelia, "that since this is a paradise in which food and drink are also on offer, you may be seeing rather a lot of us here." For in the meantime Leonora's maids had arrived on her orders with the finest wines and sweetmeats as refreshments for the group.
"I am only sorry you have not been before," replied Leonora, "and I hope now you will all wish to return soon."
"I shouldn't make too much of a point of inviting us," said Lucretia. "For the place is so delightful that we shan't need much persuading."
"You are all forgetting the best bit in your praises of the garden," said Corinna. "You haven't mentioned that among its other charms there's the very important fact that there are no men here."
"And you've forgotten an important thing, too," Helena added, "that the lady of the house is so kind and charming that that alone would be enough to make us wish to come back often."
"That's true," said Adriana. "Charming, sweet, lovely — no one could deny it. But it's a pity that you don't think of remarrying, Leonora, young and lovely as you are."
"Remarrying, eh?" replied Leonora. "I'd rather drown than submit again to a man! I have just escaped from servitude and suffering and you're asking me to go back again of my own free will and get tangled up in all that again? God preserve me!"
And all the others agreed that she was talking sense and that she was fortunate to be in the position she was. And Cornelia, kissing her, said, "Bless you, my sister! You're a wiser woman than I knew."
"Come, that's enough of all that," said Leonora. "Will you not all take some refreshment while the wine is cool?"
And so they went and ate some fruit and diverted themselves for a while, safe in the knowledge that there was no one there to see them or overhear them. When they had finished eating, Cornelia asked Leonora whether she knew what the figures around the fountain represented and, if so, whether she would be kind enough to explain it to them.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Merits of Women"
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