India in the Italian Renaissance: Visions of a Contemporary Pagan World 1300-1600 [First Edition] 9781317447689, 1317447689

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India in the Italian Renaissance

India in the Italian Renaissance provides a systematic, chronological survey of early Italian representations of India and Indians from the late medieval period to the end of the sixteenth century, and their resonance within the cultural context of Renaissance Italy. The study focuses in particular on Italian attitudes towards the inhabitants of the Indian subcontinent and questions how Renaissance Italians, schooled in the admiration of classical antiquity, responded to the challenge of this contemporary pagan world. Meera Juncu draws from a wide-ranging selection of contemporary travel literature to trace the development of Italian ideas about Indians both before and after Vasco Da Gama’s landing in Calicut. After an introduction to the key concepts and a survey of inherited notions about India, the works of a diverse range of writers and editors, including Marco Polo, Petrarch and Giovanni Battista Ramusio, are analysed in detail. Through its discussion of these texts, this book examines whether ‘India’ came in any way to represent a pagan civilisation comparable to the classical antiquity celebrated in Italy during the Renaissance. India in the Italian Renaissance offers a new and exciting perspective on this fascinating period for students and scholars of the Italian Renaissance and the history of India. ‘This book offers an original exploration of Italian cultural responses to the Indian subcontinent between 1300 and 1600, focussing upon travel and geographical literature. India in the Italian Renaissance tracks changing representations of Indians over these three centuries through a survey of a remarkably rich range of texts by travel writers, explorers, humanists, Jesuits, and merchant. This is the most comprehensive and wide-ranging treatment of the topic available and it will be of interest to scholars and students working in a range of fields from post-colonial studies to travel writing and from medieval to Renaissance studies.’ Simon Gilson, University of Warwick, UK Meera Juncu received her doctorate in Italian Renaissance studies from the University of Cambridge.

Routledge research in early modern history

In the same series: Penury into Plenty: Dearth and the Making of Knowledge in Early Modern England by Ayesha Mukherjee Violence and Emotions in Early Modern Europe edited by Susan Broomhall and Sarah Finn India in the Italian Renaissance: Visions of a Contemporary Pagan World 1300–1600 by Meera Juncu Forthcoming: The English Revolution and the Roots of Environmental Change: The Changing Concept of the Land in Early Modern England by George Yerby Honourable Intentions? Violence and Virtue in Australian and Cape Colonies, c. 1750 to 1850 edited by Penny Russell and Nigel Worden

India in the Italian Renaissance Visions of a contemporary pagan world 1300–1600

Meera Juncu

First published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2016 Meera Juncu The right of Meera Juncu to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Juncu, Meera. India in the Italian Renaissance : visions of a contemporary pagan world 1300-1600 / Meera Juncu. pages cm. — (Routledge research in early modern history) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Italy—Relations—India. 2. India—Relations—Italy. 3. Italy— Civilization—1268–1559. 4. India—Foreign public opinion, Italian. 5. India—In literature. 6. Italy—Intellectual life. I. Title. DG499.I53J86 2015 303.48′25404509024—dc23 2015009257 ISBN: 978-1-138-86082-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-69673-7 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Swales & Willis Ltd, Exeter, Devon, UK

Contents

List of figures vii Acknowledgements viii   1 Changing representations of pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600)

1

  2 Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300)

23

  3 Transformations of medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione

39

  4 A fourteenth-century religious view of the Indians: Odorico’s relatio and its re‑presentation by Mandeville

63

  5 Gymnosophists, gods and the Greeks: India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti

80

  6 Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation of the Indians

93

  7 India ‘recognita’? The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians

123

  8 Following Da Gama’s wake: Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514)

141

  9 Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario: the Indians of a ‘new Ulysses’

164

10 A polyphony of modern voices: Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians

188

vi  Contents

11 Popularised Jesuit views

212

12 Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives

230

Conclusion 240 Index 249

Figures

  1.1 The ‘Genoese’ portolan of 1457 13   1.2 Detail showing the ‘King of the Indians’ from The ‘Genoese’ portolan of 1457 14   3.1 Marco Polo’s ‘erotic’ Indian nuns in Maabar: counter-textual illustration from the fifteenth-century French manuscript Le Livre des merveilles 52   9.1 The Calicut idol described by Varthema, from Münster’s Cosmographia (Basle: H. Petrus, 1552) 180 10.1 Seconda Tavola with map of India, from Ramusio’s Delle navigationi et viaggi. 3rd edition 189 13.1 An upper-class Indian woman from Cesare Vecellio’s Degli habiti antichi, et moderni di diversi parti del mondo 241

Acknowledgements

The publishers would like to thank the following for their permission to reproduce copyright material: Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale Firenze, Bibliothèque Nationale de France and The British Library Board.

1 Changing representations of pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600)

Introduction Conventional histories of Italian culture tend to categorise the fourteenth to seventeenth centuries as a period of energetic cultural renewal, or ‘Renaissance’, inspired by the revival of classical (i.e. ancient Graeco-Roman) forms and ideas. Although this concept of ‘Renaissance’ is a problematic one,1 it is true that one of the most striking trends of fifteenth-century Italy was the openness of a predominantly and professedly Christian cultural elite towards a particular pagan culture, classical antiquity, which they regarded not simply as their patrimony but as a model of civilisation.2 The attitude is summed up in Leonardo Bruni’s famous recommendation of classical studies, the studia humanitatis, as studies that perfect and adorn a human being.3 Yet the same chronological period which saw classical culture invested with such transformative powers in Italy also witnessed Western Europe’s discovery and re-discovery of vast swathes of the globe. Many of these paesi retrovati or ‘re-discovered lands’ – to borrow a phrase from a popular early sixteenth-century text – had large non-Christian populations. The coincidence of what has been called the ‘re-discovery’ of classical antiquity with the ‘re-discovery’ of the world gives rise to an interesting question, namely: how did Italians over this period respond to the challenge of contemporary pagan cultures? A certain element of patriotism fuelled their admiration for the classical world, but one wonders how receptive Italians in the fourteenth to seventeenth centuries proved to be to pagan cultures, when these were ‘living’ (i.e. contemporary), and ‘other’ (i.e. non-Graeco-Roman). The present study attempts to explore early Italian cultural responses to one particular part of this re-discovered world: the Indian subcontinent, which then, as now, had large Hindu populations. Its first aim is to provide a systematic chronological account of the received ideas about pagan Indians in Italian culture from the late-medieval period to the end of the sixteenth century, analysing how such representations, and the values embedded in them, changed and mutated as actual European encounters with Indians became more intense. The second aim is a complementary one: to establish how the new received images of Indians resonated with their early Italian audiences – not always an easy undertaking given the ravages of time. Finally, by drawing the various threads of our enquiry together

2  Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) at the end, I hope to leave the reader with a better understanding of the ‘global’ interests of Renaissance Italians and to satisfy curiosity as to whether the Indian contemporary pagan world ever came before 1600 to be regarded as on par with classical antiquity. It should be remembered that although the idea of ‘Italy’ was strong in the Renaissance, politically Italy was not then a unified country but a series of independent states, none of which ever became a colonial power in Asia.4 Nevertheless, from late-medieval times Italians were in a relatively privileged position among other western Europeans when it came to acquiring information about the East, an ‘East’ which both included and extended beyond the Islamic world. After centuries of relative isolation, changes in the political situation in the thirteenth century had made overland travel between Europe and the farther parts of Asia more feasible.5 Italian merchants and missionaries were among the first to take advantage of this, reaching India before 1300. Some sixty years later, Petrarch was extolling his countrymen for their wanderlust – ‘nulla natio orbem lustrare curiosior’ (‘no nation is more eager to wander the world’) – and recounting a contemporary tale, not to be found in any merchant or missionary report extant, of a wise Indian sage to whom the peoples and kings of India paid almost divine homage (‘quem per omnia prope divinis venerentur honoribus’).6 There were further contacts between Europeans and Indians in the fifteenth century, some of which resulted in new written accounts of the Indians. The most famous of these texts was based on the experiences of a Venetian merchant by the name of Niccolò Conti. Of course, Europe’s re-discovery of India became definitive only after Vasco Da Gama had successfully sailed around the southern cape of Africa to reach Calicut (in modern-day Kerala) on 20 May 1498.7 This voyage opened up an all-sea route from Europe to the Indian subcontinent, much exploited thereafter, bringing with it new opportunities for new representations of the Indians. Between 1300 and 1600, Italy was a centre for the production and dissemination of texts presenting fresh visions of the re-discovered world. However, the main vehicle in Italy for new representations of the world’s peoples was not literary fiction proper, or even the visual arts, but what might broadly be termed the ‘geographical literature’ of the period.8 This literature could vary greatly in form; it was non-fictional, but might contain fictional elements; some of the texts were classified by contemporaries as ‘history’ (the separation of ‘history’ and ‘geography’ being a later convention); others would be grouped today under the category ‘travel literature’, a term not in existence at the time. Among the most significant Italian sources of new information on India before 1600 were texts as diverse as Marco Polo’s Il milione (c. 1298), the humanist Poggio Bracciolini’s treatise De varietate fortunae (c. 1448), and the adventurer Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario (1510), all of which were widely read in their day. Numerous other texts were produced in Italy on other regions of the world. One might reasonably wonder how it was that so many new representations of the world came to be produced first in Italy, rather than in another region of Europe. Trade channels, church networks, diplomatic channels and spy networks all seem to have played a role, as did more informal scholarly networks.

Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) 3 Without an established Venetian trade with the Levant, a family such as Marco Polo’s might never have ventured far into Mongol territory to bring back stories of exotic oriental peoples (see Chapter 3). The Venetian tradition of seeking one’s fortune further east was still strong enough in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries for Niccolò Conti, Cesare Federici and Gasparo Balbi to pass through India in search of jewels, and they too later left written accounts of their experiences (see Chapters 6 and 12). At the same time, fear of losing her trading empire made Venice require her diplomats and spies to send reports on rival activities back to the Serene Republic. She could also gather information closer to home. Since Venice was the main European port servicing the eastern Mediterranean, the Venetian state was in a position to benefit from what knowledge any visitors heading in or returning from that direction might offer, in addition to what could be gleaned from the various foreign communities resident in the city. In the early sixteenth century, for example, they interviewed an Indian Christian priest who was on his way back to India via Jerusalem; a few years later they paid off a Bolognese visitor for information about Calicut (see Chapters 8 and 9). Another important channel of information was the banking network. Florentine banks in particular had branches in various European cities, whose staff kept their patrons in Florence informed of important developments. Letters from one such banker in Lisbon are among the earliest accounts extant of Vasco Da Gama’s inaugural expedition to India (see Chapter 8). Occasionally, Italian bankers stationed in other parts of Europe might even decide to leave their positions to join the voyages of discovery. One famous example is Amerigo Vespucci, employee of the Medici bank in Spain, who gave up this position to sail under the Spanish and Portuguese flags. Despite working for foreign powers, Vespucci did not fail to send reports home to his native city Florence and to his Medici patron on the voyages he participated in – a pattern followed by a number of other Italian adventurers-for-hire.9 Italy’s traditional place at the bureaucratic and spiritual heart of Latin Christendom also facilitated the production on Italian soil of new visions of the world, especially after the return of the papacy from Avignon to Rome (c. 1377). As both a spiritual and a political leader, the Pope received communications from not only Europe but the wider world. Various European rulers, together with the clergy stationed in their realms, routinely sent letters to the Pope and College of Cardinals informing them of key events; and, after the establishment of printing presses in Rome, news pamphlets deriving from such letters came to be printed in the city (see Chapter 8). Furthermore, the Pope entertained delegations of foreign dignitaries, who could be pumped for useful information – if not by His Holiness in person, at least by one of his numerous papal secretaries. The fifteenthcentury humanist Flavio Biondo, papal secretary to Eugenius IV, records one such interview with a group of Ethiopian visitors, in which the source of the Nile was discussed. Papal representatives were also sent on missions, sometimes quite far afield, as in the case of the Florentine Andrea Corsali, an envoy of Pope Leo X, who was sent to Ethiopia. These ambassadors might report back on their experiences not only to the Pope but to other patrons: Corsali, for instance, sent from

4  Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) Cochin (in modern-day Kerala) a letter to Duke Giuliano De’ Medici, in which he discussed local Indian customs amongst other business. Admittedly, the diplomat Corsali kept things ‘in the family’ since the recipient of his letter was, of course, Pope Leo’s younger brother.10 Information flowed into and around Italy through other church networks too. The Franciscan movement was strong there, as well as strongly intent on missions in the East. Hence, a northern-Italian friar, Odorico, was sent in the fourteenth century to collect the bones of his Franciscan brothers martyred in India, and returned to a convent in Padua to dictate an account of his journey (see Chapter 4). Similarly, numerous eyewitness reports on the world were gathered in Rome in the sixteenth century, after the city became the headquarters of a new missionary Order, the Society of Jesus; some of these were printed in the same century for the edification of a wider public (see Chapter 11). In the meantime, monks from various orders including the Dominicans and Cistercians made translations of important voyage literature and updated their encyclopaedic works on the basis of this newer information. Some of the clergy even tried their hands at cartography, a famous instance being Fra Mauro’s mappamundo c. 1450.11 Of course, many of these information networks overlapped. For instance, the sixteenth-century Venetian civil servant Giovanni Battista Ramusio used his friends in the diplomatic service to track down manuscripts for the massive collection of voyage literature he was editing (see Chapter 10). He was also in business with Gonzalo Fernandez de Oviedo, administrator of Santo Domingo, whose history of the Spanish Indies Ramusio was translated into Tuscan and published.12 Similarly, it was an ecumenical gathering of the Church that brought humanist papal secretary Poggio Bracciolini in contact with knowledgeable Greek scholars who stimulated his interest in geography; the same occasion provided the material for Poggio’s account of the East, by bringing him also into contact with the well-travelled Venetian merchant Niccolò Conti. Conti had some personal business to resolve with the Pope in Florence, but seems to have spent considerable time in conversation about his travels with Poggio and other learned men (see Chapter 5 and 6). Between 1300 and 1600, then, Italians had numerous channels for gathering contemporary information about the entire known world. However, the transformations of Italian images of Indians between 1300 and 1600 are especially interesting as they offer an opportunity to examine the interplay between ‘fact’ and fiction, new ‘knowledge’ and old, in constructions of an ‘Other’ and in their acceptance by a given audience. As opposed to ideas in Italian culture about the Chinese or about the ‘Indians’ of what came to be known as the Americas, in the case of Indians from the subcontinent we are not dealing with a blank canvas. Alexander the Great’s expedition to India had resulted in various exotic tales about India being enshrined in classical literature. These were added to in the Roman period, and passed down throughout the Middle Ages when Latin Christian imaginations about Indians were unlikely to be upset by actual encounters. But from the end of the thirteenth century, the situation becomes complicated first by the advent of new ostensibly ‘eyewitness’ reports of Indians (difficult to verify before the Portuguese established the all-sea route), and then by the recovery of classical

Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) 5 Greek accounts of India through the efforts of the fifteenth-century humanists. Fifteenth-century humanist rejection of contemporary reports in favour of classical authorities and medieval world chronicles has recently been highlighted, in the context of their histories of the Turks.13 The extent to which the Italian humanists adopted a similar attitude to contemporary testimony, or, conversely, regarded classical texts with suspicion, in the context of their knowledge of India, is another interesting question, and one which will be considered in the latter part of this book.

The Global Renaissance As countries have become increasingly more interconnected in our own times, historians have been turning their attention more and more to the international relationships of the past. The area of Renaissance studies is no exception, although the global dimensions of Renaissance culture have perhaps been of more interest to scholars coming from English rather than Italian studies, and to those working in countries that were once (or are currently) great imperial powers.14 Reacting against the enduring nineteenth-century construct of the ‘Renaissance’ as an inward-looking cultural revival, one essentially inspired by European models in the form of classical antiquity, to the exclusion of all outside influences, various scholars over the past decades have signalled an especial need to reincorporate the ‘East’ into understandings of European culture from c. 1300 to c. 1700.15 Much of this work has focused on the trade in material goods, and on Europe’s relationships with the Islamic world(s). Gerald MacLean, for instance, has suggested that without the ‘importation of eastern goods and skills, many of the achievements most commonly associated with the European Renaissance would not have occurred’. Lisa Jardine and Jeremy Brotton have argued that a sense of competitive rivalry with the Ottoman Empire, together with actual artistic exchange, was behind the production of a number of important Renaissance artworks. Various other international experts have been scrutinising the dynamics of European-Ottoman affairs in the Renaissance, from an inter-disciplinary perspective.16 However, far fewer Renaissance scholars – and this is particularly true of Italian Renaissance scholarship – have turned their attention to the European consciousness of the non-Islamic East in this period, a notable exception being the collection of essays in The English Renaissance, Orientalism, and the Idea of Asia.17 The present study hopes to go some way to redressing this continuing imbalance, and to add another section to the global Renaissance jigsaw, by setting out what Renaissance Italians actually thought they knew about the peoples of India. Whilst scholarly attention since the 1960s has been drawn to early European representations of a variety of ‘Others’, including Turks, Jews, New World Indians and (more recently) Black Africans, research into the early Italian visions of India has not been extensive.18 Of the fifty or so contributions to the collection Oriente e Occidente nel Rinascimento (2009), only one article deals specifically with an Italian account of India, that by the fifteenth-century humanist, Poggio

6  Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) Bracciolini. Yet in her analysis, Supriya Chaudhuri appears unfairly dismissive of Poggio’s effort, viewing it as a ‘missed opportunity for humanist scholarship’.19 Some of the Italian texts to be discussed in the following chapters have also been summarised and commented on from an Indological perspective by Alessandro Grossato, but not considered from the point of view of what they can tell us about Italian culture.20 Geneviève Bouchon has also attempted a brief survey of European literature on India from the period of the discoveries in an essay entitled ‘L’Image de l’Inde dans l’Europe de la Renaissance’; still, the subject warrants re-visiting in greater depth.21 More recently, the European reception of early eyewitness accounts of the Indies has been the subject of a book by Marianne O’Doherty. Although the field of enquiry does not extend beyond 1500, O’Doherty’s work is particularly valuable to scholars for her research into marginalia in the manuscripts of Marco Polo and Odorico, as well as Poggio’s account of India (and her findings in this regard have been drawn on in my discussion of the Italian Renaissance reception of these works). Also helpful are the book’s appendices, which describe the manuscripts in detail, ordering them according to language and provenance. As an account of European thought about the Indies, however, the book is rather unsatisfying since it investigates the idea of ‘India’ in too general terms and is hardly at all concerned with what European texts had to say about ‘Indian’ customs and culture.22 Various other studies have brought to light just how intensely interested Italian humanists were in geography, in the period leading up to and beyond the great discoveries.23 Nevertheless, humanist understandings of Asia have rarely been analysed in detail. Finally, worthy of mention for the earlier period is the evocative (if now largely discredited) essay by the influential medievalist Jacques Le Goff: ‘L’Occident médiéval et l’océan Indien: un horizon onirique’. In this essay, Le Goff makes selective use of some fourteenth-century Italian texts, to argue that until 1489 the whole Indian Ocean acted as a receptacle of western medieval fantasies, and represented ‘une anti-Méditerranée, lieu au contraire de civilisation et de rationalisation’.24 Joan-Pau Rubiés is one of the few scholars to have examined the early Italian accounts of India afresh and in depth, in his work on the contribution of travel literature to the transition in Europe from a theological to a secular world-view. His focus, however, is restricted to reports of the South Indian kingdom of Vijayanagar, and his concern is with the growth of an analytical discourse about human diversity. Rubiés seeks not to describe the various images of India but to examine ‘the way travel literature, understood as a set of related genres of undeniable importance in a defining period of early European colonial expansion, informed ethnological, moral and political thought, contributing in ways still poorly understood to the transition from the theological emphasis of medieval culture to the historical and philosophical concerns of the seventeenth century.’25 A considerable portion of his work is dedicated to challenging simplistic notions of a western orientalism, which deny the possibility of genuine cross-cultural exchange. Through comparisons of European travellers’ reports with Muslim and Hindu sources, Rubiés convincingly argues that these reports are not simply

Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) 7 projections of European fantasies, but reports that have often been conditioned by the actual state of the local Indian culture. Without denying the role of actual cross-cultural encounters in generating images of India, the concern in what follows will be with received images and strategies of representation rather than with issues of perception. The aim is to uncover what the texts reveal about their writers’ attitudes to other cultures, and about the Italian cultural world in which their representations of Indians circulated. This cultural world was obviously not a static one, but one subjected to various changes between the first circulation of Marco Polo’s Il milione, and the publication of Balbi’s travels in sixteenth-century Post-Tridentine Italy. In the initial identification of relevant texts for this book, Donald F. Lach’s pioneering study Asia in the Making of Europe has proved an invaluable resource. Undertaken over half a century ago, the aim of his study was to investigate the impact of the discoveries on the development of Western civilisation itself. In particular, Lach sought to demonstrate that ‘there was a period in early modern times when Asia and Europe were close rivals in the brilliance of their civilisations’.26 His volumes of research cover the various European visual images of Asia in, before and after the sixteenth century, as well as listing the orientalist literature of the period. Richly informative and ambitious, this work, however, does not allow for any detailed examination of texts of the sort which shall be attempted here. Moreover, its Europe-wide perspective tends to obscure the specific contributions of the various European regions to ideas about the East and the particular resonance of these ideas for those cultures.

A significant ‘Other’ Early Italian representations of India are also an important witness for the cultural history of European engagement with the East. Since the publication of Edward Said’s Orientalism (1978), the nature of Europe’s engagement with the East has been a subject of intense interest and controversy.27 The bibliography on ‘Orientalism’ – both in its formal academic manifestation and as a mode of pigeon-holing the ‘easterner’ – is now immense, and it would not be helpful to go into all the intricacies of the debate here. Nevertheless, Said’s argument can be summarised in general terms as follows. Said distinguished between a full-blown ‘Orientalism’ tied up with European imperial expansion – ‘Orientalism’ as a ‘corporate institution for dealing with the Orient’ – and a more general ‘Orientalism’: ‘Orientalism’ as a style of thought based, in his view, on a misguided ontological and epistemological distinction made between ‘the Orient’ and ‘the Occident’. The start of corporate ‘Orientalism’ Said tentatively dated to the late eighteenth century, while he regarded the more general ‘Orientalism’ as having pervaded European culture since the times of Aeschylus. According to the Saidian perspective, the ‘Orient’ or ‘East’ is a European construct, representing radical alterity; in their writings about ‘easterners’ Europeans have proven chronically unwilling or unable to look beyond themselves and their prejudices to see the Other as he/she is. Instead, they have tended to create a patronising stereotype of the

8  Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) ‘easterner’, as fundamentally unpredictable, decadent, unstable and ill-suited to democratic government, where the implication invariably is that the ‘Oriental’ is some sort of failed imitation of the superior ‘westerner’. Moreover, this school of thought views any European attempts to represent, write about, or otherwise engage with ‘Oriental’ cultures as intrinsically tainted by the European desire to dominate and control.28 Even though Said’s original work referred mainly to the Middle East (and to Muslims), later commentators have taken up his thesis and applied it to a wider geographical area, and especially to India, one of the main arenas of European imperialism. The application of Said’s theory to various contexts has sparked a strong reaction from historians. Critics of the Saidian perspective adopt two main positions: the first sees in Said’s work and that of his followers a tendency to create a monolithic ‘West’ and ‘western perspective’ whilst paying insufficient regard to historical context. Other critics accept the general thesis that ‘westerners’ have often exoticised and/or demonised ‘easterners’, but question whether this phenomenon was necessarily a way of establishing and reinforcing a position of cultural superiority over rival civilisations. In particular, current revisionist scholarship emphatically cautions against, as Walter Lim expresses it, ‘loosely and retrospectively applying Edward Said’s (post-Enlightenment) model of Orientalism backward to a period when political power in the international arena was not under the superior control of the courts and palaces of the West’. Scholars working in this vein argue that in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, far from seeing themselves as unquestionably superior, Europeans had a ‘healthy respect’ for Ottoman might and could regard a distant land such as China as ‘a powerful empire and civilization’.29 Curiously, while scholars have focused on the way the European colonial powers in India represented Indians, Italian representations of India before 1600 have received relatively little attention.30 Yet the importance of early Italian accounts of India within the context of the Orientalism debate lies not only in the fact that these images span a period both before and after the European colonisation of India, but in the fact that they are Italian (produced in Italy, and largely written or edited by Italians). Thus, they represent a non-colonial perspective on the Indians, in that none of the Italian states ever became a colonial power in the Indian subcontinent – a perspective against which the ‘colonial’ ingredient of later English, say, or French, discourses about the Indians could be fruitfully measured. To describe, however, early Italian ideas about Indians as representing a ‘noncolonial’ perspective is not to say that Renaissance Italians were novices when it came to colonial ambition, both their own and that of the other European rulers. Some knew what it was like to be the ‘colonised’ since, for centuries, substantial regions of the Italian peninsula had been controlled by foreign powers. Others knew what it was like to be in the position of ‘overlord’, since, for the better part of the fifteenth century, the rulers of various Italian states had vied with each other to expand their dominions, subjugating rival territories by force. While most of these states had restricted their ambitions to Italian soil, Venice had also built up a maritime empire that dominated the eastern Mediterranean.

Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) 9 Nor should sixteenth-century Italians be regarded as entirely disinterested spectators when it came to Portugal’s particular empire-building endeavours. Florentine merchants in Lisbon financed Portuguese expeditions to India; Venice kept tabs on events, fearing the loss of her monopoly over the Spice Trade; Italian fortuneseekers sailed to India on Portuguese ships – and some of these, like Ludovico De Varthema, even fought for Portugal against the Indians. Moreover, from the mid-sixteenth century, Italians also featured prominently among the Jesuit clergy entrusted with the evangelisation of India. Bearing these factors in mind, this study will seek to establish whether early Italian portrayals of Indians can be regarded in any way as conforming to the Saidian thesis, through close examination of the representational strategies employed in the Italian texts and of their likely resonance for the culture that received them. A systematic account of how Indians were represented to the Renaissance Italian public before 1600 becomes additionally important when one realises that much of the early Italian material was later incorporated into the cultural vision of European states that were to become imperial powers in India, as well as of those, like Germany, who became renowned for the Orientalist expertise of their academic institutions. At the height of the British Raj, the Hakluyt Society produced English editions of nearly all the texts considered in this book. In the early colonial period, in 1502, Valentím Fernández Alemám produced a Portuguese edition of Marco Polo and Poggio’s eastern accounts; Rodrigo de Santaella’s Castilian version of both texts followed in 1503, upon which John Frampton based his 1579 English translation. There were German, French and Spanish editions of Paesi novamente retrovati in the sixteenth century. Italian representations of Indians were known to scholars in the German-speaking lands through Johann Huttich’s collection, Novus Orbis (first published in Basle, 1532 and reprinted in 1537, 1555 and 1585), which included versions of Polo and Poggio, as well as Varthema’s Itinerario. Moving to English soil, an abridged version of Varthema was contained in Richard Eden’s posthumously published travel literature collection of 1577, while Federici and Balbi’s accounts were published by Hakluyt and Purchas, respectively. Ramusio’s collection Delle navigationi et viaggi as a whole served as a model for the great European travel collections, including the lavishly illustrated effort of Theodore De Bry, and was a reference work for all serious cosmographers of the latter sixteenth century; in the seventeenth the English philosopher John Locke praised the Venetian’s collection for being free from a ‘great mass of useless matter’.31 Italian representations of India were thus absorbed into the cultural horizons of all the European nations that would aspire to imperial power in the modern age. It is my hope that the present book will assist scholars working on Orientalism, in their attempts to understand the ‘archaeology’ of ideas about the ‘East’. With a better understanding of which attitudes were inherited from a non-colonial Italian context, those interested in Orientalism in English culture, for instance, should be better armed to discern which ‘English’ ideas about the Indian ‘Oriental’ are in reality specifically engendered by the English historical and political context (and England’s need to build a sense of nationhood in the ‘Renaissance’), and which derive or were adopted from an earlier and different Italian context. In addition,

10  Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) early Italian ideas of India are part of the necessary background to the later development of a more organised, post-Enlightenment Italian Orientalism.32 Since early Italian images of India belong to a period prior to the postEnlightenment ‘institutionalisation’ of ‘Orientalism’ which Said’s theory is most applicable to, and as they were produced in a region that was not an imperial power in this part of the East, at a time in Italian history also when the states were weak in Italy and could not exercise great control over writers, it would be anachronistic to read these representations of India as necessarily in the service of an overbearing political ideology. Therefore, while I do my best to set the texts in their cultural context, when discussing the Italian representations I have limited the engagement with the Orientalism debate to the most relevant part of the Saidian thesis for our purposes: the question of whether the tropes and attitudes Said identified in later ‘Orientalist’ discourse have any forerunners in the early Italian material. Moreover, since Said’s original argument was concerned with rhetoric, irrespective of that rhetoric’s correspondence or lack thereof to an empirical reality, I have not entered into a discussion of the accuracy or otherwise of the Italian accounts, (which is in any case rather difficult to establish given the relative paucity of extant indigenous, i.e. Indian, records for the period in question).33 Instead, I have opted to take Said on his own terms and to restrict myself to analysing the rhetoric in the ‘factual’ narratives about the Indians presented to Renaissance Italian readers. Exploration of the Saidian perspective will be concerned with the following questions: how far do the Italian representations of Indians encourage the idea that Europeans are superior to the Indians? How far are the Indians portrayed in a classic ‘Orientalist’ fashion as decadent, sensuous, lascivious, unstable, barbaric, prone to tyranny as rulers, and so on? To what extent are the Indians presented as being radically ‘Other’? Is there enough evidence to say that an ‘Orientalist’ discourse about Indians emerged in Italy before 1600?

Map of the book Returning to the main focus of this book, it is an attempt to track the changing representations of Indians in Italian culture over three centuries from 1300, as revealed by some of the most popular (in the sense of widely read) geographical literature of the period. The texts that shall be analysed in detail are the work of a diverse range of writers and editors, namely (in chronological order): Marco Polo, Odorico da Pordenone, Petrarch, Alberti, Poggio Bracciolini, Fracanzano da Montalboddo, Ludovico De Varthema, Giovanni Battista Ramusio, Giovanni Pietro Maffei, Cesare Federici, Gasparo Balbi and Filippo Sassetti. In order to limit the discussion, the focus will be on shifts in the representation of the predominant Indian group in such literature: Indian gentili, the non-Christian, non-Muslim inhabitants of the subcontinent. To re-iterate, as well as being a study of the Indian types and topoi that developed, their relation to inherited traditions and the likely resonance of such ideas to Italian Renaissance audiences, this book examines the question of whether ‘India’ came in any way to represent to Italians before 1600 a pagan civilisation comparable to classical antiquity. In addition,

Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) 11 it seeks to establish the extent to which traditional Christian prejudices against pagans resulted in a negative portrayal of Indian societies. For convenience, the cut-off point for texts considered in this study is 1590, the year Gasparo Balbi’s Viaggio dell’Indie Orientali was published in Venice. This date in some ways brings matters to a logical close: after this, interest in Indian themes shifted firmly towards the Muslim Mughal Court, whilst Catholic Iberian power weakened to the point of being unable to prevent the establishment of rival Dutch and English trading posts in India.34 While this book is primarily concerned with Italian depictions of gentili from the Indian subcontinent, it should be borne in mind that ‘India’ was a somewhat elastic term throughout the period under discussion. Geographical terminology could hardly be standardised before the process of discovery was complete.35 The ancient Greeks had first employed the term ‘India’ to denote a country around the River Indus, the precise bounds of which were unclear to them; in classical literature ‘India’ often simply means a place very far away.36 Thirteenth- and fourteenth-century European documents at times employ ‘India’ as an umbrella term for all distant eastern lands beyond Persia. At other times, they subdivide ‘India’ into three regions on the lines of ‘Lesser’, ‘First’, and ‘Greater India’, (or ‘Lower’, ‘Upper’ and ‘Middle India’). The terms vary, but in general, one ‘India’ comprises Egypt and Ethiopia; the second takes in lands to the east of these including the bulk of the Indian subcontinent; and the third ‘India’ denotes all the lands ‘beyond the Ganges’.37 Such threefold divisions of ‘India’ continued to be employed in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, during which period Portuguese and Spanish voyages added new ‘Indias’ to the old: sixteenth-century Italian printed books refer to Indie di Portugallo, Indie orientali, Indie occidentali and so forth. Generally, Indie orientali denoted the areas of Asia in the Portuguese sphere of influence; Indie occidentali meant those areas under Spanish dominion in what would eventually be recognised as the continent of the Americas; whilst the term Mondo Nuovo (and variations thereupon) was used in a variety of ways, also being applied to Portuguese territories overseas.38 Despite these shifts in geographical terminology, for the purposes of this study it is nevertheless possible to isolate depictions of subcontinent Indians from the rest, since in the principal texts under discussion the regions and kingdoms of the ‘Indias’ are sufficiently differentiated from each other, mainland areas being clearly distinguished from the Indian Ocean islands. Another element which requires some explanation before proceeding further is my focus in the discussion on written representations of Indians, which may seem odd to anyone used to thinking of the Italian Renaissance primarily in terms of a flowering of the visual arts. This choice has simply been determined by necessity: although I live in the hope that art historians will prove me wrong, for the period before Vecellio’s series of woodcuts (1590) the visual record allows only tantalising glimpses of how Renaissance Italian artists may have imagined India and its peoples. A rare fifteenth-century manuscript of Odorico has an illustration of Indians worshipping their idol, and there are some Italian depictions of Indian elephants and plants from the sixteenth century, but nothing that can compare

12  Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) with the illustrations of Indian peoples and customs produced over the Alps by the likes of Hans Burgkmair (1508).39 As fate would have it, some of the most striking illustrations produced in the German-speaking lands were done to accompany a translation of Varthema’s Itinerario. However, it would be unwise to conclude from the paucity of the extant visual record that there was a lack of artistic interest in Italy: not only has too much been destroyed over the years, but a likely place for artistic creations with Indian themes are the sets and costumes for Renaissance plays and pageants, artefacts by nature ephemeral. Moreover, the surviving cartographic evidence shows the Indian subcontinent becoming gradually more and more defined, with more mountains, rivers, cities and regions being marked down, until it seems to crystallise around the mid-sixteenth century more or less into the shape we think of it today. Sadly, the authors of the extant maps, not even Gastaldi who drew up the maps for Ramusio, did not indulge in decorative details as much as one would have liked – although a beturbaned, sword-wielding ‘Indorum rex’ does grace the 1457 ‘Genoese’ portolan (Figures 1.1 and 1.2).40 In order to make sense of the changing representations of Indians in Italian culture from c. 1300 to c. 1600, a brief account of the ‘cultural baggage’ that influenced such representations is necessary. Of the many aspects of this cultural inheritance, the two most relevant for the purposes of this study will be the subject of the following chapter: the images of Indians already current in Italian culture prior to Marco Polo’s book, and the ideological issues involved in any Christian-pagan encounter. The book then launches into the story of the development of Renaissance Italian representations of Indians in detail, with a series of short chapters based around discussion of a few main texts, which consider how Italian ideas about Indians changed both before and in the wake of Vasco Da Gama’s 1498 landing in India. Chapter 3 investigates the revolutionary aspects of Marco Polo’s account of the Indians, while Chapter 4 considers the evidence for contradictory ‘Christian’ interpretations of contemporary pagan culture among religious circles in the fourteenth century. Our attention is then drawn in Chapter 5 to the contribution of early Italian humanism to ideas about India and Indians, from the time of Petrarch to the young Alberti. All this is preparation for an analysis of the first detailed account of the Indians by a major Italian humanist, that given by Poggio Bracciolini in his ground-breaking treatise De varietate fortunae, and of the impact of this description on other writers in Italy in the latter-part of the fifteenth century (Chapters 6 and 7). Starting with a description of the Portuguese embassy to Rome in 1514, which culminated in the presentation of a white Indian elephant to Pope Leo X, Chapters 8 and 9 review how Indian society was portrayed in the earliest reports of India disseminated in Italy after the Portuguese had established their all-sea route to Calicut; here particular attention is drawn to the novel contribution of maverick adventurer Ludovico De Varthema (1510) and to the way in which the early sixteenth-century texts demonstrate confusion over how to identify and interpret what is ‘pagan’. Representations of Indians in Ramusio’s monumental collection Delle navigationi et viaggi (1550–1559) is the subject of the next chapter, while Chapters 11 and 12 bring the chronological narrative to a close

Figure 1.1 The ‘Genoese’ portolan of 1457. su concessione del Ministero dei beni e delle attività culturali e del turismo/Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale Firenze

Figure 1.2 Detail showing the ‘King of the Indians’ from The ‘Genoese’ portolan of 1457. su concessione del Ministero dei beni e delle attività culturali e del turismo/Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale Firenze

Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) 15 with a discussion of popularised Jesuit views and lay merchant perspectives on Indians in late sixteenth-century (Post-Tridentine) Italy. A word should perhaps be said on my selection of texts. Consideration of writings such as Marco Polo’s, or the fourteenth-century Franciscan Odorico’s relatio, for instance, in a discussion of the ‘Italian Renaissance’ may seem perverse (given the conventional habit of beginning accounts of Renaissance literary history with humanism and Petrarch). However, it is my contention that texts have an afterlife and that, even if these particular ones are not ‘humanist’, the evidence for their reception in the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries amply justifies their inclusion here. There are also no doubt many other writings pertinent to this study of Renaissance representations of Indians which I have neglected or which lie unexplored in Italian archives – I know, for one, of a history of the East and West Indies written by a cloistered Florentine nun, Fiammetta Frescobaldi.41 For such shortcomings, I plead human frailty – and encourage other scholars to take up the torch. Nevertheless, I should emphasise that the texts I have chosen to concentrate on were chosen for a good reason: their content, manuscript tradition and printing history allow us to consider them writings that were formative of common perception of the peoples of India, and they continued to be so in Italy over a long period. This is another thing to be remembered when building up an image of ‘Italian Renaissance’ culture: texts could have a long afterlife, resonating, in the case of Il milione, for instance, for centuries beyond the initial point of appearance. This brings us to the thorny problem of reader response. Regrettably, the overwhelming majority of Renaissance Italian readers interested in accounts of contemporary foreign societies did not record their reactions, or if they did, in the case of India, these have not come down to us. An occasional marginal note in a manuscript gives an indication of an individual’s general response to a book or (but, sadly, more rarely) to a particular Indian passage. If we are lucky, as we are for Poggio’s representation of the Indians, citation of an author’s work by a writer later in the period offers more specific insights into Renaissance reader reactions, as do the prefaces Renaissance editors liked to embellish their editions with, and the snippets of texts sometimes reproduced in Italian cartographic representations of India before 1600. Moreover, beyond the obvious method of tallying up numbers of manuscripts, translations, editions and sizes of print runs, it is possible to say something sensible about the status in Renaissance Italian society of the writings in question from what is known of: the people who owned them and their milieu; when and where the books were copied, translated or printed and who by; the nature of any translations (e.g. a transition from Italian vernacular to Latin, or vice versa, indicates the most diverse kind of audience); who the texts were dedicated to at various times; and what sort of privileges an author or editor managed to secure for his book.42 Admittedly, not all this information is available in all cases. On the trail of the impact of the ‘factual’ narratives about pagan Indians discussed in detail in this book, I have followed many leads: I have sifted through works of famous Italian Renaissance writers, especially those known to have possessed a copy of a relevant ‘Indian’ narrative, or, as in the case of Poggio, those with a known connection to the author or his circle; I have waded through

16  Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) romances and humanist tracts, combed the sacre rappresentazioni which have exotic settings; and poured over entries in Renaissance encyclopaedias. Some of these endeavours have yielded interesting results; many were wild goose chases, but no doubt future scholars will be able to discover more. Where my hunt has proved successful, I have incorporated the findings into the relevant chapters. Still, the patchy nature of the material record for reader response should not be allowed to make us feel that this is all we can understand about contemporary reactions in Italy to the various new representations of Indians c. 1300 to c. 1600. Where concrete evidence of reader response is missing (or where I have failed to discover it), I have attempted to fill in the gaps through disciplined use of the historical imagination, drawing upon the increasingly more impressive body of research into everyday life in Italy before 1600 in order to gauge how the ideas about Indians and the values embedded in the major texts may have resonated with their earliest Italian readers and audiences. As will be evident to the reader from what has already been said and from what follows, curiosity for the world well beyond Europe, together with a considerable degree of mental freedom to decide what one thought of it, were characteristic features of the ‘Italian Renaissance’. What we shall also see is that the Renaissance response in Italy to pagan Indian societies was variegated, ranging from mere fascination with the exotic to surprisingly sophisticated perceptions and interpretations. It was also marked from the outset by a striking ambivalence to non-Christian religious ideas and social practices, representations of Indians tending to be remarkably free from bigotry before Jesuit missionary zeal in the late sixteenth century painted the Indians as ‘barbarians’. This is a book for readers who are more interested in facts and in primary sources than in fashionable twenty-first-century debates. It is about a particular region of Europe and the process of creating ‘knowledge’ about one small part of the wider world. This book deliberately eschews the current penchant for grand theories and elaborate pattern-making – the quest for which all too often leads to massaging evidence so as to make it fit an over-arching, pre-fabricated concept. Too many scholars are still prepared to pronounce on the nature of such essentialised phantoms as ‘European’ identity and/or ‘Europe’s’ early modern world; the ‘Europe’ in question – at least in Renaissance studies – invariably consists of just a few geographical regions (usually towards the west and almost never including Greece, Poland, or other regions of ‘Eastern’ Europe). Such ‘phantoms’ tend to be pursued without adequate sensitivity to the differing cultural and regional contexts within Europe, without adequate knowledge of the points of genuine inter-European overlap and, one suspects, without adequate knowledge of the necessary languages. Given the sheer extent of primary source material concerning European visions of the world’s peoples, it would require a polymath of exceptional, Herculean, quality to be up to the task of creating a credible theory single-handedly on a subject such as ‘Europe’s Indians’. On the other hand, what is needed are studies which combine regional cultural historical research with research into a region’s specific cross-cultural relations (within Europe and without). Only when such groundwork has been done properly can credible

Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) 17 interpretative theories emerge, but this calls for a much more disciplined collaborative effort in the research institutes than has been the norm to date. In the meantime, this book offers readers a crucial piece to recalibrate our view of the monumental jigsaw we know as the Italian Renaissance.

Notes   1 The term ‘Renaissance’ and the question of its applicability to the period of Italian and European history between 1300 and 1700 continue to generate much debate. In the body of scholarship that still accepts the term ‘Renaissance’ as a ‘valid construct’, there is increasing emphasis on the variety and complexity of this cultural revival. See Findlen (2002); King (2003); Mackenney (2005); Fantoni (2005) and Goody (2010).   2 Fifteenth-century humanist historians were the first to divide history into the ‘ancient’, ‘medieval’ and ‘modern’, and are largely responsible for the unfair yet resilient notion of the Middle Ages as a period of ‘darkness’; Cochrane (1981), p. 15–16.   3 See the letter of Leonardo Bruni to Niccolò Strozzi in Griffiths, Hankins & Thompson (1987), p. 251–253. The studia humanitatis was a term borrowed from Cicero, which came eventually to denote a course of studies encompassing grammar, rhetoric, poetry, history and moral philosophy; Kohl (1992).   4 An eloquent expression of one Renaissance idea of Italy is Flavio Biondo’s Italia illustrata (c. 1450). For the political background to the era, see Gamberini & Lazzarini (2012).   5 Larner (1999), p. 116–128.  6 De vita solitaria, II. xi; Petrarca (1955), p. 518–520. Internal evidence dates the passage to Petrarch’s stay in Milan, on which period see Wilkins (1958).   7 More details on Da Gama’s voyage in Ravenstein (1898).   8 Although Augsburg artist Hans Burgkmair produced some novel woodcuts of Indians as early as 1508, see Leitch (2009), visual images of pagan Indians were not at all widespread in Italy before the costume-books of the late sixteenth century. Of these, Vecellio’s costume-books of 1590 and 1598 were innovative for having commentaries alongside the illustrations; see Rosenthal & Jones (2008). A survey of oriental influences in European art up to 1600 can be found in volume 2 of Lach (1970); see also Jackson & Jaffer (2004).   9 On Vespucci, see Pozzi (1993) and Rombai (1993). 10 Biondo recorded the interview with the Ethiopian delegation in Book II, Decade IV, sections XXXII–XLVII of his Historiarum ab inclinatione Romanorum imperii decades; Nogara (1927), p. 19–27. Corsali’s letter was printed in Florence in 1517 and later reproduced by Ramusio in his Delle navigationi et viaggi (Venice: Giunti, 1550–1559). An accessible modern edition of the latter is: Giovanni Battista Ramusio, Navigazioni e viaggi, ed. by Marica Milanesi, 6 vols (Turin: Einaudi, 1978–1988). 11 Falchetta (2006). 12 Ramusio (1979), p.962 (Vol II of Milanesi’s edition). 13 Meserve (2008), p.15. On the unsettling effects of the geographical discoveries for sixteenth-century scholars, and on the enduring attraction of classical notions about the world, see Grafton (1995). 14 See for example: Singh (2009); MacLean (2005); Mack (2002); and Jardine & Brotton (2000). 15 The classic exposition of this nineteenth-century view remains Burckhardt’s The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy. 16 MacLean (2005), p.1; Jardine & Brotton (2000), p. 183–184; Contadini & Norton (2013). 17 Johanyak & Lim (2009). 18 On Africans in the Renaissance: Earle & Lowe (2005). On perceptions of the Turks and other Islamic peoples: Merserve (2008); Bisaha (2004); Tolan (2002), Blanks &

18  Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) Frassetto (1999). On Jews: Katz (2008); Busi (2007). For the New World Indians, the following remain authoritative: Elliott (1970); Gliozzi (1977); Pagden (1982). More recent contributions to this field include: Pagden (1993); Greenblatt (1991, 1993); and Abulafia (2008). See also, Elsner & Rubiés (1999). 19 Chaudhuri (2009), p.278. 20 Grossato (1994). 21 Bouchon (1988). 22 O’Doherty (2013). See also O’Doherty (2009) on the English reception of Odorico. 23 On Renaissance geography, of particular interest are: Gentile (1992); Milanesi (1992a); Larner (1998). 24 ‘An anti-Mediterranean, a space opposed to civilization and rationalization’; Le Goff (1977); (reprinted 1999), p.284. Le Goff argues that a change took place in perceptions of the Indian ocean world at the end of the fifteenth century, but his evidence for the period crucial to his thesis is relatively thin: most of the sources used in the essay originate in a period prior to the fourteenth century, fourteenth-century texts are simplistically read and the fifteenth-century ones poorly documented. Moreover, his underlying assumption that it makes sense to speak of such a thing as a ‘medieval imagination’ common to the whole of ‘western’ Europe is problematic. He takes no account of the cultural and historical contexts within which a text was produced and does not consider the possibility of regional difference. 25 Rubiés (2000), p.xii. 26 Lach (1965), I, p.xii. 27 For the better part of fifty years, academics have spent their energies refuting or supporting permutations of Said’s theory. This academic enterprise has descended into a ping-pong match, going over the same questions and issues, and applying the same interpretative grids in nauseatingly predictable fashion. This approach certainly has generated lots of articles for those pressured to meet government research quotas but it does not do much for the cause of truth. 28 See Said (2003) with a new preface by the author (p. 2–3, 12 for definitions of ‘Orientalism’). For an introduction to the debates, see MacKenzie (1995), and Al-Dabbagh (2010). 29 See Lim’s introduction to Johanyak & Lim (2009), p.5. 30 This emphasis is evident for example in Raman (2002); Teltscher, (1995); and Banerjee (2003). 31 Lach (1965), I, p. 158–159, 164–166, 179, 208–213, 469, and 474. 32 On post-Enlightenment Italian Orientalism see De Donno (2010). 33 Rubiés (2000), nonetheless, has made an impressive attempt to construct an empirical reality for South India before 1625, using Muslim sources amongst others. 34 Seventeenth-century accounts of Mughal India are the subject of Nanda (1994). In 1597, the Jesuit Giovanni Battista Peruschi’s account of Akbar’s realm was published in Rome; Lach (1965), I, p.452. On the changing balance of European interests in India, see Lach (1993), III, chapters one and two. 35 ‘India’ is a term of western origin. Traditionally, the Hindu peoples of the Indian subcontinent call their land ‘Bharat’ (as in their great Sanskrit foundation epic, the Mahabharata). 36 See Karttunen (1989, 1997); André & Filliozat (1986) and Parker (2008). On links between India and the ancient Graeco-Roman world, see Thapar (1966), p. 61–62, 104–105, and 112–120. 37 For medieval and later uses of the term ‘India’ see Larner (1999), p.9; Wright (1925), p.272; Phillips (1994), p. 30–31; and Woodward (2004), p.17. 38 See the appendix of book-titles in Donattini (1992); Milanesi (1992b); and Randles (1961). 39 See Leitch (2009) for Burgkmair; MS. Urbinati latini 1013 in the Vatican library has the idol-worshipping Indians illustration, reproduced in Monaco (1990), fig.3, p.26.

Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) 19 40 Biblioteca Nazionale Firenze, Port. I. 41 Lowe (2000), p.113. 42 Richardson (1999) provides a good introduction to the Renaissance book trade, while Nuovo (2013) has a wealth of detail on printers and the commercial outlets for books, and a full bibliography.

References Abulafia, D. (2008) The Discovery of Mankind: Atlantic Encounters in the Age of Columbus. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Al-Dabbagh, A. (2010) Literary Orientalism, Post-colonialism and Universalism. New York: Peter Lang. André, J. & Filliozat, J. (eds) (1986) L’Inde vue de Rome: Textes latins de l’Antiquité relatifs à l’Inde. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Banerjee, P. (2003) Burning Women: Widows, Witches, and Early Modern European Travelers in India. New York: Palgrave. Bisaha, N. (2004) Creating East and West: Renaissance Humanists and the Ottoman Turks. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Blanks, D. R. & Frassetto, M. (eds) (1999) Western Views of Islam in Medieval and Early Modern Europe: Perception of Other. London: Macmillan. Bouchon, G. (1988) L’Image de l’Inde dans l’Europe de la Renaissance. In: WeinbergerThomas, C. (ed.) L’Inde et l’imaginaire. Paris: Editions de L’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Soçiales. Burckhardt, J. (1990) The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy. Trans. from the German by S. G. C. Middlemore. Harmondsworth: Penguin. (Originally published in 1860). Busi, Giulio (2007). L’enigma dell’ebraico nel Rinascimento. Turin: Nino Aragno. Chaudhuri, S. (2009) “India Recognita”: The travels of Nicolò de’ Conti. In: Secchi Tanigi, L. (ed.) Oriente e Occidente nel Rinascimento. Florence: Franco Cesati. Cochrane, E. (1981) Historians and Historiography in the Italian Renaissance. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Contadini, A. & Norton, C. (eds) (2013) The Renaissance and the Ottoman World. Farnham, Surrey/Burlington, VT: Ashgate. De Donno, F. (2010) Italian Orientalism: Nationhood, Cosmopolitanism and Culture. PhD thesis. Cambridge: University of Cambridge. Donattini, M. (1992) Orizzonti geografici dell’editoria italiana (1493–1560). In: Prosperi, A. & Reinhard, W. (eds) Il nuovo mondo nella coscienza italiana e tedesca del cinquecento. Bologna: Il Mulino. Earle, T. F. and Lowe, K. J. P. (eds) (2005) Black Africans in Renaissance Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Elliott, J. H. (1970) The Old World and the New 1492–1650. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Elsner, J. & Rubiés, J. P. (eds) (1999) Voyages and Visions: Towards a Cultural History of Travel. London: Reaktion Books. Falchetta, P. (2006) Fra Mauro’s World Map. Turnhout: Brepols. Fantoni, M. (2005) Storia di un’idea. In: Fontana, G. L. et al. (eds). Il Rinascimento Italiano e L’Europa. I: Storia e storiografia. Vicenza: Fondazione Cassamarca and Angelo Colla. Findlen, P. (2002) Understanding the Italian Renaissance. In: Findlen, P. (ed.) The Italian Renaissance: The Essential Readings. Oxford: Blackwell.

20  Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) Gamberini, A. & Lazzarini, I. (eds) (2012) The Italian Renaissance State. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gentile, S. (ed.) (1992) Firenze e la scoperta dell’America: Umanesimo e geografia nel ’400 Fiorentino. Collana di Studi e Ricerche, 4. Florence: Olschki. Gliozzi, G. (1977) Adamo e il nuovo mondo: la nascità dell’antropologia come ideologia coloniale, dalle genealogie bibliche alle teorie razziali (1500–1700). Florence: La Nuova Italia. Goody, J. (2010) Renaissances: The One or the Many? Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grafton, A. (1995) New Worlds, Ancient Texts: The Power of Tradition and the Shock of Discovery. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Greenblatt, S. (ed.) (1993) New World Encounters. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Greenblatt, S. (1991) Marvelous Possessions: The Wonder of the New World. New York: Oxford University Press. Griffiths, G., Hankins, J. & Thompson, D. (eds and trans) (1987) The Humanism of Leonardo Bruni: Selected Texts. Binghamton, NY: Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies in conjunction with The Renaissance Society of America. Grossato, A. (1994) Navigatori e viaggiatori veneti sulla rotta per l’India: Da Marco Polo ad Angelo Legrenzi. Venice: Olschki. Jackson, A. & Jaffer, A. (eds) (2004) Encounters: The Meeting of Asia and Europe 1500– 1800. London: V&A. Jardine, L. & Brotton, J. (2000) Global Interests: Renaissance Art between East and West. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Johanyak, D. & Lim, W. S. H. (eds) (2009) The English Renaissance, Orientalism, and the Idea of Asia. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Karttunen, K. (1997) India and the Hellenistic World. Studia Orientalia. 83. Helsinki: Finnish Oriental Society. Karttunen, K. (1989) India in Early Greek Literature. Studia Orientalia. 65. Helsinki: Finnish Oriental Society. Katz, D. E. (2008) The Jew in the Art of the Italian Renaissance. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. King, M. L. (2003) The Renaissance in Europe. London: Laurence King. Kohl, B. G. (1992) The changing concept of the studia humanitatis in the early Renaissance. Renaissance Studies. 6. p. 185–209. Lach, D. F. with Van Kley, E. J. (1965–1993) Asia in the Making of Europe (Vols 1–9). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Larner, J. (1999) Marco Polo and the Discovery of the World. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Larner, J. (1998) The Church and the Quattrocento Renaissance in geography. Renaissance Studies. 12. p. 26–39. Le Goff, J. (1977) L’Occident médiéval et l’océan Indien: un horizon onirique. In: Le Goff, J. Pour un autre Moyen Age; temps, travail et culture en Occident. Paris: Gallimard. Reprinted in Le Goff, J. (1999) Un autre Moyen Age. Paris: Gallimard. Leitch, S. (2009) Burgkmair’s Peoples of Africa and India (1508) and the origins of ethnography in print. The art bulletin, 91. p. 134–159. Lowe, K. (2000) History writing from within the convent in Cinquecento Italy: The nuns’ version. In: Panizza, L. (ed.) Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society. Oxford: Legenda.

Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) 21 Mack, R. E. (2002) Bazaar to Piazza: Islamic Trade and Italian Art, 1300–1600. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Mackenney, R. (2005) Renaissances: The Cultures of Italy c. 1300–c. 1600. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. MacKenzie, J. M. (1995) Orientalism: History, Theory and the Arts. Manchester: Manchester University Press. MacLean, G. (ed.) (2005) Re-Orienting the Renaissance: Cultural Exchanges with the East. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Meserve, M. (2008) Empires of Islam in Renaissance History Thought. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Milanesi, M. (1992a) La rinascita della geografia dell’Europa, 1350–1480. In: Gensini, S. (ed.) Europa e Mediterraneo tra medioevo e prima età moderna: l’osservatorio italiano. Collana di Studi e Ricerche. 4. Pisa: Pacini. Milanesi, M. (1992b) Arsarot o Anian? Identità e separazione tra Asia e Nuovo Mondo nella cartografia del Cinquecento (1500–1570). In: Prosperi, A. & Reinhard, W. (eds) Il nuovo mondo nella coscienza italiana e tedesca del cinquecento. Bologna: Il Mulino. Monaco, L. (ed.) (1990) Memoriale Toscano: Viaggio in India e Cina (1318–1330). Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso. Nanda, M. (1994) European Travel Accounts during the Reigns of Shahjahan and Aurangzeb. Kurukshetra: Nirmal Book Agency. Nogara, B. (ed.) (1927) Scritti inediti e rari di Biondo Flavio. Rome: Tipografia poliglotta vaticana. Nuovo, A. (2013) The Book Trade in the Italian Renaissance. Trans. from the Italian by L. G. Cochrane. Leiden: Brill. O’Doherty, M. (2013) The Indies and the Medieval West: Thought, Report, Imagination. Turnhout, BE: Brepols. O’Doherty, M. (2009) The Viaggio in Inghilterra of a Viaggio in Oriente: Odorico da Pordenone’s ‘Itinerarium’ from Italy to England. Italian Studies. 64. p. 198–220. Pagden, A. (1993) European Encounters with the New World from Renaissance to Romanticism. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Pagden, A. (1982) The Fall of Natural Man: The American Indian and the Origins of Comparative Ethnology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Parker, G. (2008) The Making of Roman India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Petrarca, F. (1955) De vita solitaria. In: G. Martellotti et al. (eds). Prose. La Letteratura Italiana Storia e Testi. 7. Milan: Riccardo Ricciardi. Phillips, S. (1994) The outer world of the European Middle Ages. In: Schwartz, S. B. (ed.) Implicit Understandings: Observing, Reporting, and Reflecting on the Encounters between Europeans and Other Peoples in the Early Modern Era. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pozzi, M. (ed.) (1993) Il mondo nuovo di Amerigo Vespucci: scritti vespucciani e paravespucciani. 2nd edn. Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso. Raman, S. (2002) Framing ‘India’: The Colonial Imaginary in Early Modern Culture. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Ramusio, G. B. (1978–1988) Navigazioni e viaggi (Vols 1–6), ed. M. Milanesi. Turin: Einaudi. Randles, W. G. L. (1961) Le Nouveau Monde, l’autre monde et la pluralité des mondes. Actas do Congresso Internacional de História dos Descobrimentos. 4. Lisbon. p. 347–382. Reprinted in Randles, W. G. L. (2000) Geography, Cartography and Nautical Science in the Renaissance: The Impact of the Great Discoveries. Aldershot: Ashgate.

22  Pagan Indians in Italian culture (c. 1300 to c. 1600) Ravenstein, E. G., (ed. and trans.) (1898) A Journal of the First Voyage of Vasco Da Gama 1497–1499. London: Hakluyt Society. Richardson, B. (1999) Printing, Writers and Readers in Renaissance Italy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rombai, L. (ed.) (1993) Il Mondo di Vespucci e Verrazzano: geografia e viaggi: Dalla Terrasanta all’America. Florence: Olschki. Rosenthal, M. F. & Jones, A. R. (eds and trans.) (2008) The Clothing of the Renaissance World: Cesare Vecellio’s Habiti Antichi et Moderni. London: Thames and Hudson. Rubiés, J.-P. (2000) Travel and Ethnology in the Renaissance: South India through European Eyes, 1250–1625. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Said, E. W. (2003) Orientalism. London: Penguin. Singh, J. G. (ed.) (2009) A Companion to the Global Renaissance: English Literature and Culture in the Era of Expansion. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell. Teltscher, K. (1995) India Inscribed: European and British Writing on India, 1600–1800. Delhi/New York: Oxford University Press. Thapar, R. (1966) A History of India. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Tolan, J. V. (2002) Saracens: Islam in the Medieval European Imagination. New York: Columbia University Press. Wilkins, E. H. (1958) Petrarch’s Eight Years in Milan 1353–1361. Cambridge, MA: Mediaeval Academy of America. Woodward, D. (2004) Mapping the World. In: Jackson, A. & Jaffer, A. (eds) Encounters: The Meeting of Asia and Europe 1500–1800. London: V&A. Wright, J. K. (1925) The Geographical Lore of the Time of the Crusades. New York: American Geographical Society.

2 Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300)

The fourteenth century was the century in Italian history that saw the beginning of the developments in the visual arts and classical learning which are now most associated with the Renaissance. It was also the century when new geographical visions of the farthest parts of Asia began to be promulgated in Italy. To understand just how radical these ideas about Asia were, it is first necessary to try and ‘un-think’ most of our twenty-first-century knowledge of the world in order to replace this with an understanding of the world as it would have seemed to a moderately educated person living in Italy around 1300 – on the ‘eve’, metaphorically speaking, of the Renaissance.1 In our case, this process of ‘un-thinking’ needs to address two matters in particular: the first is the significance of the term ‘pagan’ for a fourteenth-century Italian person, as opposed to the highly-negative connotations the word ‘pagan’ tends to have in present-day English. This is the subject of the first part of this chapter. The second issue is the question of what ‘India’ generally meant to an Italian in the early fourteenth century, when there were not many visual representations of it – in contrast to today when films, television and internet inundate us with images of everything. To give the reader a better idea of this, I have chosen in the second part of this chapter to refer not just to one of the most respected encyclopaedic works of the period, but also to recount some of the popular stories in circulation at the time, which would have filled people’s heads with ideas about Indians. What the reader will notice is that the inherited tradition had positive as well as negative categories of ‘pagan’, while in the special case of the Indians, alongside many other associations, there was a strong tradition attributing to the Indians wisdom as well as a sophisticated civilisation.

The problem of the ‘pagan’ Most fourteenth-century Italians were Latin Christians and as such they recognised four basic types of people: Christians, Jews, Muslims (under a variety of names) and Pagans. ‘Pagan’ has come to have some terrible connotations in English, conjuring up images of anything regarded as flagrantly flouting conventional morality, from love-ins to black sabbaths, despite recent neo-pagan attempts to rehabilitate the word. When the English term ‘pagan’ is employed in

24  Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) the present book, however, it should be taken in a technical sense to mean simply ‘non-Christian, non-Jew and non-Muslim’, without any derogatory connotations. The English word ‘pagan’ actually derives from the Latin ‘paganus’, which was initially a much more innocuous word: literally, it meant ‘rustic’, but in the Roman imperial period it also acquired the meaning ‘civilian’. As early as the fourth century, Latin Christians had begun to use the term colloquially when differentiating themselves from the unconverted, whom they considered mere ‘civilians’ as opposed to the Christian, who was a miles or ‘soldier’ of Christ.2 Later, in various European literatures, the Latin ‘paganus’ and its vernacular versions came to be used at times to imply something deeply negative (to denote someone who should be censured for having the wrong religious beliefs), although this was not invariably the case. In the texts under discussion in this study, for instance, ‘paganus’ is only rarely used to refer to a non-Christian, and each time its weighting is rather weak. More common is the term ‘gentilis’ and its vernacular equivalents (derived from the Latin ‘gens’, meaning ‘family’ or ‘nation’), a term which tended to maintain a more neutral force over time. In Jerome’s Vulgate, gentilis is employed in the New Testament to designate those who were neither Jewish nor members of the Church.3 This is also the sense of the term in St. Augustine’s magnum opus De civitate dei contra gentiles: ‘The City of God against the pagans’. Although it was also possible for ‘gentilis’ to be applied to Muslims in a Latin Christian context,4 when the terms ‘gentilis’ and ‘gentile’ occur in the fourteenth- to sixteenth-century Italian texts to be discussed in this book, they do not include Muslims in their meaning. Instead, the writers of these works generally refer to Muslim peoples by phrases such as ‘mori’, ‘Mahometani’ or ‘saraceni’. Because of the teachings of the Church, any encounter with non-Christians and non-Christian culture was potentially fraught with difficulties for an Italian going about their life on the ‘eve’ of the Renaissance, just as it would prove to be for many of the celebrated Italian humanists. To understand the issues facing Renaissance Latin Christians in their approach both to classical and contemporary pagan culture, it is necessary to go back much earlier. From its inception, the missionary nature of the Church had made indifference to pagans unacceptable. In the course of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries it had become abundantly clear to Latin Christians that Christendom was small in comparison to the non-Christian world.5 One of the major preoccupations of those moved to contemplate the sheer number of unbelievers was the question of whether salvation could be attained by those who had not ‘followed Christ’.6 In Paradiso XIX, in the Commedia, Dante Alighieri (c. 1265–1321) put the question in a form characteristic of the period. At the pivotal mid-point of this canto, the poet conjures up an image of an Indian who to all appearances has led a good and sinless life, but who (so the pilgrim understands), as a non-Christian, will be eternally and, it is protested, unfairly damned: [. . .] ‘Un uom nasce a la riva de l’Indo, e quivi non è chi ragioni di Cristo né chi legga né chi scriva;

Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) 25 e tutti i suoi voleri e atti buoni sono, quanto ragione umana vede, sanza peccato in vita o in sermoni. Muore non battezzato e sanza fede: ov’è questa giustizia che ’l condanna? ov’è la colpa sua, se ei non crede?’ (Par. XIX. 70–78). ‘A man is born on the banks of the Indus, and no one is there to speak of Christ or read or write of him, and all his desires and acts are good, as far as human reason can see, without sin in life or in word. He dies unbaptised and without our faith: where is this justice that condemns him? Where is his fault if he does not believe?’ 7 Having floated the idea of a condemned yet morally perfect pagan before the reader, the poet then proceeds to undermine it. Within the rhetorical structure of the canto the Indian scenario is attacked as an artificial construct, an illustration of confused thinking on the subject of pagan salvation for which the questioner is roundly chastised. Ultimately, however, in the long discourse on goodness, justice and the possibility of pagan salvation that follows, the poet affirms two crucial principles: that pagans can be godly (which is the same thing as good for the poet), and that, without physical baptism, they can come to know Christ and hence be saved.8 Dante’s answer to the question of pagan salvation draws on traditional views. Most patristic theologians, including the Latin Fathers of the Church St. Jerome, St. Ambrose and St. Augustine, had a notion of ‘Christians before Christ’, of whose salvation they were confident.9 Into this category they generally placed Old Testament worthies such as Abraham, Noah and the pagan Job. To explain the possibility of pre-Christian pagans or Jews being in reality Christians, patristic theologians had recourse to the notion of Christ as the Logos or ‘Word’ of God. As Logos, Christ was understood to be both the creative power of God and the rational principle immanent and active in the world, sustaining all things since the beginning. The Logos, it was argued, had not only inspired men with knowledge of Himself, but had even appeared to some before the Incarnation.10 However they might go about explaining the possibility of pagan encounters with Christ, the consensus among Christian theologians was nonetheless that worship of the True God constituted the basic pre-requisite for salvation. Uncertainty over the religious practices of certain admired pre-Christian pagans, such as the philosophers Socrates and Plato, led to considerable uncertainty over their eternal fate. Different authorities reached different conclusions. Justin Martyr viewed Socrates like John the Baptist, as a ‘forerunner’ of Christ, and concluded he was saved. Tertullian saw Socrates as an idolater and a pederast, inspired by a demon and damned.11 Related to these doubts about pagan salvation was another concern: whether a pagan, or anything pagan, could truly be good. Given the Biblical precedents it is perhaps surprising that this should have become a contentious issue, as it

26  Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) did particularly in the late-medieval period.12 The Old Testament had provided examples of the virtuous pagan in Job and Melchizedek; the New Testament had virtuous pagans such as Cornelius on whom the Holy Spirit descended, and the Roman centurion praised by Christ for a faith greater than any in Israel. Moreover, St. Paul had affirmed the capacity of pagans to do good when he wrote of those outside the Law doing by nature what the Law requires, thus demonstrating that the law of God was written in their hearts.13 Nonetheless, St. Augustine (354–430) had raised the question of the limits of pagan virtue and this theme was taken up by later Latin Christian theologians. In the City of God, Augustine comes to the reluctant conclusion that true virtue is impossible without true worship.14

Idolatry and spiritual danger Augustine’s conclusion highlights an important step in Christian logic: a connection between ‘true worship’ and ‘goodness’. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, all that is wrong in the world is interpreted as being the result of the severing of a right relationship between Man and God: the doctrine of the Fall. The only way to put right the wrong is for Man to be restored to a correct relationship with God; hence, the importance of ‘true worship’. False worship, i.e. the worship of a god other than the God of Israel, was forbidden under the Ten Commandments, as was the making of images.15 (The latter prohibition was presumably directed at images made for the purpose of worshipping them, although the ambiguity of the text was to cause serious debates on the use of images in Christian worship.) Worship of a false god and worship of a man-made image or ‘idol’ were the two main aspects of the sin the Church termed ‘idolatry’ (literally ‘image adoration’).16 Typically, the sin of idolatry was expressed as giving the status of divine to something that was not divine; or in other terms, as worshipping the created rather than the Creator. Christian tradition was not kind to idolaters: a fourteenth-century Latin Christian could therefore approach contemporary pagan societies with an arsenal of prejudices against any who seemed to worship images. The Bible generally depicts idolaters in an evil light, as insensate people prone to all sorts of nefarious practices from adultery to human sacrifice.17 Moreover, by the very nature of the Judeo-Christian concept of wisdom, an idolater could not be wise since traditionally the wise man was the one who sought the God of Israel.18At worst, the idolater was considered to be one who worshipped not simply a false god, but a demon.19 In most cases, the association of idolatry and moral depravity was commonplace. One popular Christian legend, for instance, claimed that it was the moral corruption of the Greeks that led them to create their pantheon.20 How to regard the accumulated learning of ancient pre-Christian peoples was another concern, since this learning was, on the whole, acquired in an ‘idolatrous’ environment. Although they might abhor the pantheon of Greek gods, many early Church Fathers nonetheless had great sympathy for Greek philosophy, in which they had been trained. Clement of Alexandria (150–c. 211–215), for instance, argued that the best of classical philosophy had served, like Judaism, as a preparation for Christ. For Clement, Plato was ‘Moses Atticans’ (a position Florentine

Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) 27 Neo-Platonist Marsilio Ficino would re-iterate in the fifteenth century).21 Yet a significant number of early Church Fathers were also convinced that pagan wisdom, in all its forms, had either been invented by demons, or was a demonic perversion of the teachings of Moses and the prophets.22 Their authoritative conclusion was that even the ‘best’ of pagan culture was likely to be misleading, if not, spiritually, downright dangerous. Although many books could be written on the subject, for present purposes a few examples should suffice to illustrate the attitudes of the Latin Fathers to pagan culture. Tertullian and Lactantius both considered Christianity to be the primal doctrine, that of Adam and the first human beings; for these Latin Fathers, the whole of pagan philosophy and religion was chronologically subsequent to mankind’s knowledge of the True God, and was therefore corrupt.23 Tertullian famously protested: ‘What does Athens have to do with Jerusalem?’24 Augustine, on the other hand, thought that the best of pagan literature contained some truths dug out of the mines of God’s Providence, but added that on the whole the useful knowledge to be gained from pagan writers was poor in comparison to that which was to be gained from Holy Scripture.25 The most pessimistic about the spiritual usefulness of pagan culture was Jerome, who had once warned: ‘If anyone assures you Christ dwells in the desert of the Gentiles and in the instruction of their philosophers [. . .] do not believe.’26 Despite such warnings about the spiritual dangers of pagan learning, over the centuries Christians found ways to accommodate classical pagan culture within their own world-view. The basic curriculum taught in Latin Christian schools in the late-medieval period derived from the classical program. As Jean Seznec has shown, there were also curious survivals of the classical pagan gods in architecture and art.27 Moreover, rather than abandon the classical pagan myths it became common practice among medieval interpreters to treat such myths as allegories with Christian moral meanings. Idolatry was erroneous and a sin, yet the myths of ancient Greek and Roman idolaters could be interpreted to reveal Christian truths. A relatively late example of this practice is the Ovid Moralisée (c. 1340) written by the friend of Petrarch, Pierre Bersuire.28 Latin Christians at the turn of the fourteenth century were heirs to a theological tradition that was fundamentally confused about how to regard the pagan: whether to regard them as potentially virtuous, potentially enlightened through the right use of reason or by God, and therefore potentially easily saved; or whether to view them as idolaters, caught in the mists of darkness, worshipping the wrong things and so doing the wrong things, and therefore far from salvation. The former position opened the door to Christian appreciation and even adoption of aspects of a pagan society, while the latter warned one off any such undertaking.

Brunetto Latini on India Equally conflicting were the notions late-medieval Latin Christians inherited about specific peoples, most notably the Indians. An idea of the armchair wisdom about ‘India’ circulating among the educated of late thirteenth-century Italy can

28  Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) be gleaned from the mappamundi section of Li livres dou Trésor, a three-part mini-encyclopaedia composed after 1260 by the Florentine politician and pedagogue, Brunetto Latini (1220?–1294).29 Dante commemorates both the man and his book in Inferno XV of the Commedia: sieti raccomandato il mio Tesoro, nel qual io vivo ancora, e piú non cheggio’ (119–120) Let my Treasure be commended to you, in which I live still, and I ask no more. Latini’s was the first compendium of this kind to be written in the vernacular, which suggests an intended readership drawn from the prosperous and literate, but not necessarily Latin-reading, middle and upper classes. According to its modern editors, the popularity of the Trésor in the latter Middle Ages is ‘difficult to exaggerate’: a profusion of manuscripts exist in French and other European vernaculars, and a Tuscan translation of the work, attributed to the Florentine judge Bono Giamboni, appeared soon after the French original.30 Latini divides the inhabited earth into three parts, Europe, Africa and Asia, surrounded by a great sea called the Ocean. Part of the Ocean, the Mediterranean Sea, extends east as far as Asia, and separates Europe from Africa. Asia is thought of as a vast expanse, in the easternmost part of which lies ‘India’, whose limits are somewhat hazily defined: India borders on Persia and Bactria, and extends from the mountains of the Medes to the south sea. A fertile, temperate, evergreen land, India is watered by three great rivers: the Ganges, the Indus and the ‘Ipazio’ – a ‘nobile fiume’ reported to have blocked the advance of Alexander the Great. The region is said to be home to the Earthly Paradise (closed to all since the sin of the first man), to the island of ‘Taprobane’, rich in precious stones and elephants, and to that most indispensable of spices: pepper. India has five thousand densely populated cities, and an impressive array of peoples – from olive-skinned riverbank dwellers along the Indus, to those of more unusual appearance and habits: eaters of fish-only, eaters of sick relatives; people with reversed feet, dog-headed people, no-headed people; people born with white hair that goes black in old age; women whose pregnancy lasts five years but their children only eight; oneeyed people, one-footed people – who run like lightning and use their foot as an umbrella for shade (I, p. 23–25). Such stories about the monstrous races of India had been commonplace for centuries and would take time to die out. They were to be found in the earlier medieval encyclopaedic works of Vincent of Beauvais and Isidore of Seville, in Solinus’ third-century Collectanea rerum memorabilium, and in the most authoritative reference work surviving from the classical period: the Natural History of Pliny the Elder (ad 23–79). Ultimately, these tales derived from ancient Greek writings, lost to Latini’s period.31 Yet one should be wary of extrapolating too much from the mere presence of the monstrous races in medieval literature and art. It is misleading to use passages such as Latini’s on India to suggest, as Le Goff and others have done, that ‘Western’ ‘medieval’ people were somehow

Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) 29 inherently more credulous than other human beings, and more predisposed to project fantasies onto the Other.32 Anthropological studies have demonstrated that most cultures populate the edge of their known world with unusual beings – and in the age of global communications, it is aliens in outer-space.33 Latini’s report on the inhabitants of India is simply a summary of the ‘facts’ recorded in the authoritative scholarship of his day.

Indians in the Alexander Romance The legend of Alexander the Great (356–323 bc) was another source of ideas about Indians in the thirteenth century.34 Preserved in the various medieval Alexander romances, as well as in the histories by the Roman writers Julius Valerius and Quintus Curtius Rufus that people had continued to read, it told of the Macedonian warrior’s expedition to India, where his world-conquering ambitions were eventually defeated by the River Ganges itself. The first Italian vernacular versions of the Alexander Romance date from the early fourteenth century, but numerous Latin versions had been circulating in Italy since the tenth.35 In the romance, Alexander has all the hallmarks of a superhero: he fights giant scorpions, flies to heaven, and dives to the depths of the sea. India is the setting for some of his more bizarre adventures, among which is an ‘interview’ with a pair of prophetic trees. Yet two central episodes involve an encounter between Macedonian Greeks, on the one hand, and Indian peoples, on the other, which is depicted as the clash of fairly evenly matched civilisations. In the first, military strength and technological ingenuity are the issue: Alexander’s forces face the army of the Indian King Porus. The Indians have war elephants which carry towers on their backs manned with armed men, and this gives them the advantage over their enemy. Eventually, Alexander invents a clever ruse to overcome the elephants: heated bronze statues are placed in a chariot; the elephants take them for men and get burnt, and this allows Alexander’s forces to gain the victory. But Indian ingenuity is still something to be admired: when Alexander’s men seize the palace of the defeated Indian King, they find inside things ‘beyond a man’s comprehension’.36 The second episode concerns Alexander’s dealings with a group of Indian sages, and here the battle is clearly on the philosophical plane, a struggle between two radically different approaches to life.37 The Indian sages lead an ascetic life in the forests where, possessing nothing (not even clothes), they feed on herbs and berries, and worship God. The name given to these naked philosophers varies a little from one version of the story to another, but they are most commonly called ‘gymnosophists’ or ‘Brahmins’, and occasionally ‘Oxidraces’. In some versions, the Brahmin king Dindimus (or Didimus) even claims that his people commit no sins, such is the virtue of their life. Alexander the World Conqueror initially demands tribute from the ascetics, threatening war if they fail to oblige. However, when the pacifist philosophers point out that they have nothing he could possess, the princely pupil of Aristotle humbles himself, and goes to pay the sages a visit in order to learn something of their wisdom. There ensues a lively exchange of

30  Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) views, during which Alexander accuses the Brahmins of arrogant otherworldliness, envy, and of choosing a life of imprisonment; whilst the Brahmins chastise the Macedonian prince for war-mongering, thinking himself superior, sensuality and a whole host of other vices. Over the centuries many hands had been at work on the Alexander-Brahmins confrontation, and the texts of these exchanges show signs not only of the influence of Christian ideals, but of the much earlier Cynic and Stoic debates concerning the nature of the Good Life.38 On the whole, however, the bias in the medieval renditions of the tale is in favour of the Indian sages: one version of the incident ends with Alexander the World Conqueror offering gifts to Dindimus, in homage to the Indian’s superior wisdom.39 Nevertheless, the Brahmin victory is not absolute in that one of their kind, a gymnosophist by the name of Calanus, deserts to Alexander’s band. (Later in the tale, Calanus burns himself to death rather than die of an illness – an early example of the European association of Indians with suicide.) Every hero in human history requires worthy adversaries in order to justify their reputation, both their successes and their failures. If the adversary were to be considered naturally inferior, then no great merit would be accorded to the victor: the Duke of Wellington is so greatly honoured by the British for his defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo. In the Alexander legend, Indians likewise fulfil the function of worthy opponent: King Porus and his army, in the military sphere, whose technological superiority requires all Alexander’s wits to overcome; and the Brahmins, in the spiritual sphere, who humble the Macedonian World Conqueror sufficiently for him to desire to hear their philosophy.

Christianised Brahmins The Brahmins of India appear in a slightly different guise in the works of a number of distinguished Latin Christian writers from the twelfth to fourteenth centuries, one which accentuates their supposedly superior qualities.40 These texts invariably represent them as virtuous pagans whose life is an example to Christians. An extreme example of this tendency can be found in the work of Peter Abelard. In his Introductio ad theologiam, Abelard uses ‘Didimus rex Bragmanorum’, the Alexander legend’s ascetic Brahmin king, as his fourth authoritative witness to the universal recognition of God as Trinity prior to the Incarnation (the other three witnesses are the Jewish kings David and Solomon, and the pagan king Nebuchadnezzar). In the same passage, Abelard expressly states that God especially chose the Brahmin people to be inspired with understanding of the holy faith, and that no religious way of life seems comparable in innocence and abstinence to the one they lead.41 On the basis of such passages, it has been argued by Thomas Hahn that in the late-medieval period the Brahmins ‘stood as a symbol of natural goodness; they embodied the possibility, or even the certainty, of salvation without Revelation and outside the institutional Church’.42 Yet Hahn’s interpretation requires some qualifying. Certainly, there is support for his first proposition that the Brahmins came to be regarded as emblems of natural goodness (and it seems highly plausible, as Hahn argues in an earlier essay,

Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) 31 Dante’s sinless Indian was inspired by such medieval traditions about the virtuous Brahmins):43 Vincent of Beauvais’ Speculum historiale, for example, portrays the Brahmins as exemplary followers of the ratio naturae. However, whether or not the Brahmins represented the possibility of ‘salvation without Revelation’ is highly questionable: the point of Abelard’s discussion above is that Brahmins did experience some sort of Revelation inspired by the Word. Abelard thinks of them as the recipients of divine inspiration, if not actually witnesses to the full selfRevelation of the God through the Incarnation of the Second Person of the Trinity. Nevertheless, Hahn is right in stating that the Brahmins came to represent the possibility of salvation outside the institutional Church, if the ‘Latin Church’ is what is meant by ‘institutional Church’. In the Letter of Prester John, the Brahmins appear as a holy people, a community of saints living well beyond papal jurisdiction. One version of this twelfth-century ‘best-seller’ even calls the Indian sages saints living in the flesh who uphold Christianity by their prayers: Sancti sunt in carne viventes. Quorum sanctitate et iusticia universa fere christianitas ubique sustentatur ut credimus, et ne a dyabolo superetur, oracionibus eorum defenditur. Isti serviunt maiestati nostrae solummodo oracionibus suis nec nos aliud ab eis habere volumus. They are saints in living flesh. Through their sanctity and righteousness, Christianity everywhere is almost entirely sustained, so we believe, and lest it be overcome by the devil, it is defended by their prayers. These men serve our Majesty in this manner alone, with their prayers, and we do not desire anything else of them.44 From passages such as this, a less erudite fourteenth-century hearer or reader than a Dante could be forgiven for assuming the Brahmins were top-level Christians, people whose life could be admired and even imitated by the faithful.

Demonic idolaters and virtuous pagans Quite a different vision of Indians was advanced in the legends of the Christian saints: Indians in need of release from the grip of demonic powers. An India given over to idolatry is the setting for the missionary tales of the Apostle Thomas and the Apostle Bartholomew, and for the legend of Saints Barlaam and Josaphat. All three stories were well known in the medieval period, and are related in the Legenda Aurea, the thirteenth-century lives of saints compilation by the Italian Dominican Jacobus De Voragine (c. 1230–1298).45 All these tales emphasise that idolatry leads to other evils. In the legend of Saint Bartholomew, idolatry has caused the Indians to be enslaved to demons, with the result that demon-inflicted illnesses and possession are rife among the locals. Fortunately, the mere presence of the apostle of God renders the demons harmless. Evangelising Indians represents such a horrifying proposition in the legend of St Thomas that he initially refuses the job: ‘Domine, quo uis mitte me

32  Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) preter ad Indos.’ (‘Lord, send me anywhere but to the Indians’!)46 St Thomas’ missionary efforts among the Indian idolaters eventually result in martyrdom at their hands, yet not before he has sown some seeds of Christianity. One idolatrous Indian king (offended by the conversion of his wife) cruelly tortures the apostle, and orders him to worship the Sun God. St. Thomas, of course, refuses to venerate the king’s idol, and instead points out the vanity of worshipping created images. He then successfully orders the demon inhabiting the idol to destroy it. Such idolsmashing incidents are a recurrent motif in the legends of the saints.47 Similarly, in the tale of Barlaam and Josaphat, the powerful Indian king Abenner’s jealousy of God has led to a wholesale persecution of Christians, the destruction of monasteries, and the expulsion of Christian monks from India. (The tale assumes that the first apostolic missions had converted India.) The king has forced idol-worship upon his subjects, and, as a result, such nefarious practices as human sacrifice have returned to the land. However, God causes a virtuous son, Josaphat, to be born to the king, and through the intervention of the hermit Barlaam, this son is converted to Christianity. Prince Josaphat then successfully re-converts his people, turning them from idol-worship to Christ.48 Certain aspects of this legend betray a Buddhist influence: King Abenner’s enclosure of his son in a pleasure palace; virtuous prince Josaphat’s excursion into the outside world, resulting in his discovery of suffering and death; the prince’s consequent spiritual crisis – all of these elements have a clear parallel in the life of Buddha. However, this is as far as the parallel goes: the legend of Barlaam and Josaphat did not serve as a vehicle for the transmission of Buddhist doctrines to the West. On the contrary, in the earliest and lengthiest version of the tale (whose author claims to have heard the story from the eastern Christians) the plot simply serves as a framework upon which to hang a series of Christian catechetical discourses.49

India: a Christian utopia Around 1165, a letter appeared in Western Christendom, which in the following centuries would fuel belief in a Christian kingdom in India. The letter purported to be a message from a certain Presbiter Iohannes (Prester John) to the Byzantine Emperor, Manuel Comnenus (1143–1180). Over 120 manuscripts of this text survive, in Latin and various European vernaculars including Italian – testimony to its immense popularity. The letter declares its author to be a devout Christian priest and king ruling over a vast empire in the three Indias. Prester John challenges the Byzantine Emperor to come under his command, and to join him in a crusade to liberate the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem from the infidels.50 The letter paints an idyllic picture of the Indian emperor’s realm: wealth abounds, everyone is treated equally, and there is no vice or illness of any kind. Prester John’s is an empire nourished by a river of Paradise, a perfect theocracy in which all the government ministers are clergy, and no material or spiritual need is neglected. His dominion extends from the Tower of Babel to the land of the rising sun, encompassing the region where St. Thomas’ body lies buried.

Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) 33 To keep an eye on all these territories he has installed a giant surveillance mirror. Prester John’s army goes into battle behind crucifixes of gold and precious stones. The king himself remains ever mindful of God, and on horse-riding expeditions, he brings with him a simple wooden cross (as a reminder of Christ’s passion), a golden vessel containing earth (to symbolise the return of all flesh to dust), and a silver vessel filled with gold – as a reminder for everyone else that Prester John is the chief.51 There is much hyperbole and much that seems satirical in the Letter of Prester John, and scholars generally agree that the original missive was a clever literary forgery.52 This did not prevent a number of people at the time believing Prester John to be a real historical figure. By the end of the thirteenth century, the mysterious Prester John had also become an established figure in Italian fiction: the first tale in Il novellino (one of the earliest collections of short stories in Italian literature) recounts how ‘Presto Giovanni nobilissimo singniore indiano’ sent an envoy to test the wisdom of the Emperor Frederick. In the story, Prester John has instructed his envoy to ask Frederick to determine the value of three (magic) stones; if the emperor does so correctly he will be permitted to keep them. In the event, Frederick’s professed disdain for material things causes him not to answer to the envoy’s satisfaction, and so he forfeits the magical gift. As in some versions of the exchanges between Alexander and the Brahmins, it is unclear which side, Indian or European, really gains the moral victory.53

A variety of Indians Dante’s quaestio concerning the man born on the banks of the Indus suggests uncertainty in Latin Christendom even after 1300 as to whether news of Christ had reached that far. Brunetto Latini’s mappamundi entry did not mention Christian Indians. Rather, it emphasised a great diversity among the peoples of India, and prepared readers to expect radical differences, which were not just physical (the monstrous races) but also of customs and values. On the other hand, stories about Prester John, together with the legends of the saints, encouraged hopes of Christian Indians. These tales and medieval stories about the Brahmins also kept alive the idea of virtuous Indian pagans, such as the prince Josaphat, whose virtue was natural and/or directly instilled by God. At the same time, the saints’ tales preserved an extremely negative vision of pagan Indians: idolatrous Indians, enslaved to demons, whose worst representatives murdered Christians. Perhaps it is only natural that the most positive portrayal of pagan Indians comes from a story of pre-Christian origin: the Alexander legend presented an India whose inhabitants were by no means easy to dominate. It told of powerful Indian warriors with sophisticated armies and impressive cities. It told of formidable sages whose wisdom could challenge and even humble a ‘World Conqueror’ like Alexander the Great, and whose asceticism made them appear a match for any Christian saint. How these notions were radically transformed and yet, at the same time, reinforced in the fourteenth century will be the subject of the next two chapters.

34  Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300)

Notes   1 The ‘eve of the Renaissance’ idea is strictly a metaphor to aid conceptualisation – it would be nonsense to suggest that there could be a precise starting date for the cultural shifts associated with the term ‘Renaissance’, which inevitably varied in timing, nature and degree according to person, milieu and place.   2 Chadwick (1967), p.152 (n. 1). St Paul also employed military imagery to represent the Church, cf. II Timothy 2.3–4; Philippians 2.25; Philemon. 1.2.   3 John 12.20; Acts 19.10 and 21.28; Romans 15.27 and I Corinthians 12.13.   4 In 1313, for example, a work by Thomas Aquinas (d. 1274) intended to help Christian missionaries in Spain was given the title Summa contra gentiles – even though the ‘gentiles’ in question are actually Muslims; Aquinas (1975), p. 17; 20–22.   5 Southern (1962), p. 43–44.   6 Colish (1996), p. 43–91.  7 For a commentary on Dante’s Indian, see Hahn (1977). All quotations from the Commedia in this chapter are to Sapegno’s edition and all translations are from Durling (1996–2011).  8 Par. XIX. 85–90; 106–108; and Par. XX. 79–129 treat the salvation of two pagans: the emperor Trajan and Trojan Ripheus. While Ripheus’ salvation is a particular case, and seems to be the poet’s own invention, Trajan was popularly believed to have been saved through the intercession of Pope Gregory the Great. For further details, see Whatley (1984), Chapter 8 of Trumbower (2001) and Segato (2012).   9 Colish (1996), p.57. The church historian Eusebius (263–339) writes as if after the Advent of Christ it was only the name ‘Christian’ that was new; cf. Eusebius (1965; repr. 1986), p.46 (Book One, section 4). 10 See Augustine’s letter to Deogratias (Migne, 1844–1864), XXXIII, cols 370–386 (col. 374), cited in Allen (1970), p.18. 11 Allen (1970), p.4, and p.8. 12 Colish (1996), p. 58–68; Porter (2001), p. 96–111. In part, the twelfth- and thirteenthcentury disagreements among Latin theologians were the result of differing understandings of ‘virtue’ (in Medieval Latin virtus), and of the conditions that needed to be fulfilled in order for a person or an action to be deemed ‘virtuous’. In part, they were the result of differing perceptions of the relationship between knowledge of Christian revelation, piety, grace, human effort, reason, and the attainment of ‘virtue’. 13 Romans 2.14–16. 14 V.19; Augustine (1998), p.225. 15 Exodus 20.3–5. 16 From the Greek eidolon, meaning ‘image’, and latreia, meaning ‘adoration’; Camille (1989), p.xxv. According to Augustine, latreia as used by the evangelists denotes the specific sort of honour due only to God; City of God, X. 1 (Augustine (1998), p.391). Rubiés (2006) gives a useful summary of the theological background to idolatry, p. 574–582. 17 cf. Psalm 113.12–14, 16/4–5, 8: idola gentium argentum, et aurum, opera manuum hominum./ Os habent, et non loquentur: oculos habent, et non videbunt [. . .] similes illis fiant qui faciunt ea et omnes qui confidunt in eis. (‘As for their idols, they are silver and gold: the work of a man’s hand. They have mouths, but speak not: they have eyes, but they cannot see . . . Those who make them shall be like them: so shall everyone that trusts in them.’) See also Ezekiel 6.9, 16.39, 23.37–39; Deuteronomy 29.17; Psalm 106.38–39; Romans 1.23–29. Biblical quotations from Stuttgart edition of Jerome’s Vulgate; Psalm translations from Frost, Emerton & Macintosh (1977). 18 cf. Psalm 14. 19 Augustine, City of God, II.10. 20 Woodward & Mattingley (1914; repr. 1967), p.407. 21 Stromateis I.22 in Migne (1857–1866), VIII, cols 685–1382 (col. 895); Allen (1970), p. 9–10; Seznec (1953), p.98.

Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) 35 22 Allen (1970), p. 19–20. 23 Allen (1970), p. 7–8, and 14. 24 ‘Quid ergo Athenis et Hierosolymis?’, De praescriptionibus adversos haereticos in Migne (1844–1864): II, cols 9–74 (col. 20); Allen (1970), p.7. 25 De doctrina christiana, in Migne (1844–1864): XXXIV, cols 14–122 (cols 64–65); Allen (1970), p. 16–17. 26 ‘Si quis promiserit vobis quod in deserto gentilium et philosophorum dogmate Christus moretur [. . .] nolite credere’, Commentaria in Evangelium S. Matthaei, IV.25 in Migne (1844–1864): XXVI, cols 15–218 (col. 179; vers. 25–26); Allen (1970), p.21. 27 Seznec (1953), passim. 28 Seznec (1953), p.174. 29 Latini (1948). 30 Latini (1993), p. xii–xiv. Quotations of Latini are from the Italian vernacular version, Il Tesoro – Latini (1878–1883). 31 Pliny, Natural History, VII. 2. 21–32; C. Iulius Solinus, Collectanea rerum memorabilium, 52. 21–32; Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae, XI.3.15–16 and XI.3.26–27; Vincent of Beauvais, Speculum naturale, XXXI. 126 (col. 2392) and XXXI. 131 (col. 2396). On the transmission and popularity of Pliny and Solinus in the medieval period see Reynolds (1983), p. 307–16 & 391–93. Ctesias of Cnidus (b. c. 416 bc), and Megasthenes (c. 350–c. 290 bc) were the Greek authors principally responsible for the invention of ‘India’ as a land of marvels. For more information on the monstrous races, see Wittkower (1942). 32 Le Goff (1999), p.272. 33 Kartunnen (1989), p.131 (n. 64). 34 The classic study is Cary (1956). 35 Cary (1956), p. 9–16, 50–56 & 67. The only comprehensive study for the largely unedited Italian Alexander Romances remains Storost (1935). For texts, see: Liborio et al. (1997); Iulius Valerius (1993); Curtius Rufus (2009); Pfister (1913); and Telfryn Pritchard (1992). 36 Telfryn Pritchard (1992), p.76 (III. 81). 37 At an early stage in the development of the Alexander Romance, additions were made which noticeably expanded the Indian episodes: these were a fictitious letter from Alexander to Aristotle (which is largely a catalogue of fantastical ‘Indian’ beasts); the Commonitorium Palladii, and the Collatio Alexandri cum Dindimo per litteras facta. The Commonitorium Palladii is an essay upon the Brahmins (originally in Greek), and attributed to Palladius, bishop of Helenopolis (c. 363–c. 430). There exists a Latin version of this work, the De Moribus Brachmanorum which is associated with St. Ambrose (c. 340–397); Cary (1956), p. 12–16; Pfister (1910); Yankowski (1962). 38 Cracco Ruggini (1965), p. 40–41 & p.50; Derrett, (1960). 39 Yankowski (1962), p.34. Curtius Rufus’s History, however, preserved a critical view of the Indian philosophers. 40 Hahn (1978). 41 Introductio ad theologiam, I.22–23, in Migne (1844–1864) CLXXVIII, cols 979–1114 (cols 1032–1033). 42 Hahn (1978), p.213. 43 Hahn (1977). 44 Zarncke (1879): Interpolation D at p.917. Translation mine. For Zarncke’s edition of the Letter, see p. 909–934. 45 Latin edition: da Varazze (1998); English translation: De Voragine (1993). 46 da Varazze (1998), I, 54. 47 da Varazze (1998), I, 53–62, and II, 830–840. 48 da Varazze (1998), II, 1238–1255. 49 Woodward & Mattingley, p. v–vi.

36  Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) 50 Larner (1999), p.10; Slessarev (1959), p. 7–8 & 33–34. See also: Gumilev (1987) and Knefelkamp (1986). 51 Zarncke (1879), p. 909–934. 52 Magro (1999), p.202. 53 An Italian text of the story is in Consoli (1997), p. 16–19.

References Alighieri, Dante (1985; repr. 1993–1994) La Divina Commedia (Vols 1–3) ed. Natalino Sapegno. Rev. edn. Florence: La Nuova Italia. Allen, D. C. (1970) Mysteriously Meant: The Rediscovery of Pagan Symbolism and Allegorical Interpretation in the Renaissance. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins Press. Aquinas, Thomas (1975) Summa contra gentiles. Book One: God. Translated from the Latin by Anton. C. Regis. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. Augustine (1998) The City of God Against the Pagans, ed. and trans. by R. W. Dyson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Camille, M. (1989) The Gothic Idol: Ideology and Image-making in Medieval Art. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cary, G. (1956) The Medieval Alexander, ed. D. J. A. Ross. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chadwick, H. (1967) The Early Church. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Colish, M. L. (1996) The Virtuous Pagan: Dante and the Christian Tradition. In: Caferro, W. and Fisher, D. G. (eds) The Unbounded Community: Papers in Christian Ecumenism in Honor of Jaroslav Pelikan. New York: Garland. Consoli, J. P. (ed. and trans.) (1997) The Novellino or One Hundred Ancient Tales. New York: Garland. Cracco Ruggini, L. (1965) Sulla cristianizzazione della cultura pagana: il mito greco e latino di Alessandro dall’età antonina al medioevo. Athenaeum. 43. p. 3–80. Curtius Rufus, Quintus (2009) Historiae, ed. C. M. Lucarini. Berlin: De Gruyter. da Varazze, Iacopo (1998) Legenda Aurea (Vols 1–2), ed. G. P. Maggioni. 2nd edn. Tavarnuzze: SISMEL, Edizioni del Galluzzo. Derrett, J. D. M. (1960) The History of ‘Palladius on the races of India and the Brahmans’. Classica et Mediaevalia. 21. p. 64–99. De Voragine, Jacobus (1993) The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints (Vols 1–2). Trans. from the Latin by William Granger Ryan. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Durling, R. M. (ed. & trans.) (1996–2011) The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri (Vols 1–3). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Eusebius (1965; repr. 1965) The History of the Church from Christ to Constantine. Trans. by G. A. Williamson. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Frost, D. L., Emerton J. A. and Macintosh, A. A. (1977) The Psalms: A New Translation for Worship. London: Collins. Gumilev, L. N. (1987) Searches for an Imaginary Kingdom: The Legend of the Kingdom of Prester John. Trans. from the Russian by R. E. F. Smith. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hahn, T. (1978) The Indian Tradition in Western Medieval Intellectual History. Viator. 9. p. 213–34. Hahn, T. (1977) I ‘gentili’ e ‘un uom nasce a la riva / de l’Indo’. L’Alighieri. 18 (2). p. 3–8. Iulius Valerius (1993) Res gestae Alexandri Macedonis, ed. M. Rosellini. Stuttgart/ Leipzig: Teubner.

Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) 37 Jerome(-) Biblia Sacra Vulgata. [Online] Available from: http://www.academic-bible. com/en/online-bibles/biblia-sacra-vulgata/read-the-bible-text/ [Accessed 15 October 2014]. Karttunen, K. (1989) India in Early Greek Literature. Studia Orientalia. 65. Helsinki: Finnish Oriental Society. Knefelkamp, U. (1986). Die Suche nach dem Reich des Priesterkönigs Johannes. Gelsenkirchen: Müller. Larner, J. (1999) Marco Polo and the Discovery of the World. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Latini, B. (1993) The Book of the Treasure (Li Livres dou Trésor). Trans. by Paul Barrette and Spurgeon Baldwin. New York: Garland. Latini, B. (1948) Li Livres dou Trésor, ed. by F. J. Carmody. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Latini, B. (1878–1883) Il Tesoro volgarizzato da Bono Giamboni (Vols 1–4), ed. L. Gaiter. Bologna: G. Romagnoli. Le Goff, J. (1977) L’Occident médiéval et l’océan Indien: un horizon onirique. In: Le Goff, J. Pour un autre Moyen Age; temps, travail et culture en Occident. Paris: Gallimard. Reprinted in Le Goff, J. (1999) Un autre Moyen Age. Paris: Gallimard. Liborio, M. et al. (eds) (1997) Alessandro nel medioevo occidentale. Verona: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla/Arnoldo Mondadori. Magro, F. (1999) I volgarizzamenti italiani della Lettera del Prete Gianni. In Carte romanze: serie II. Bologna: Cisalpino. Migne, J.-P. (ed.) (1857–1866) Patrologia Graeca (Vols 1–161). Paris: Migne. Migne, J.-P. (ed.) (1844–1864) Patrologia Latina (Vols 1–221). Paris: Garnier. Pfister, F. (ed.) (1913) Der Alexanderroman des Archipresbyters Leo. Sammlung mittellateinischer Texte, 6. Heidelburg: Carl Winter’s Universitätsbüchhandlung. Pfister, F. (1910) Kleine Texte zum Alexanderroman. Sammlung Vulgärlat. Texte, 4. Heidelberg: Carl Winter. Pliny (1938–1968) Natural History (Vols 1–10). Trans. by H. Rackham et al. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Porter, J. (2001) Virtue Ethics. In: Gill, R. (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to Christian Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reynolds, L. D. (ed.) (1983) Transmission: A Survey of the Latin Classics. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Rubiés, J.-P. (2006) Theology, Ethnography and the Historicization of Idolatry. Journal of the History of Ideas. 67. p. 571–596. San Isidoro de Sevilla (1994–2000) Etimologías: edicion bilingüe (Vols 1–2), ed. J. Oroz Reta and M.-A. Marcos Casquero. Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos. Segato, M. (2012) Dante e la salvezza degli antichi. Rivista di Filosofia Neo-Scolastica.1. p. 49–80. Seznec, J. (1953) The Survival of the Pagan Gods: The Mythological Tradition and Its Place in Renaissance Humanism and Art. Trans. from the French by Barbara F. Sessions. New York: Pantheon. Slessarev, V. (1959) Prester John: The Letter and the Legend. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Solinus, C. Iulius (1958) Collectanea rerum memorabilium, ed. Th. Mommsen. Berlin: Weidmann. Southern, R. W. (1962) Western Views of Islam in the Middle Ages. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

38  Preconceptions of the Indians (c. 1300) Storost, J. (1935) Studien zur Alexandersage in der älteren italienischen Literatur Untersuchungen und Texte. Romanistische Arbeiten, 23. Halle: Max Niemeyer. Telfryn Pritchard, R. (1992) The History of Alexander’s Battles: Historia de preliis – The J’ version. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies. Trumbower, J. A. (2001) Rescue for the Dead: The Posthumous Salvation of NonChristians in Early Christianity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vincent of Beauvais (1624) Bibliotecha mundi, seu speculum quadruplex naturale, doctrinale, morale, historiale (Vols 1–4). Douai: Balthazar Bellerus. Whatley, G. (1984) The Uses of Hagiography: The Legend of Pope Gregory and the Emperor Trajan in the Middle Ages. Viator. 15. p. 25–63. Wittkower, R. (1942) Marvels of the East: A Study in the History of Monsters. Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes. 5. p. 159–197. Woodward, G. R. and Mattingley, H. (eds and trans) (1914; repr. 1967) Barlaam and Ioasaph. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Yankowski, S. V. (ed. and trans.) (1962) The Brahman Episode: St. Ambroses’ Version of the Colloquy between Alexander the Great and the Brahmans of India. Ansbach: Elisabeth Kottmeier and E. G. Kostetzsky. Zarncke, F. (1879) Der Priester Johannes, Erste Abhandlung, Enhaltend Capitel I, II und III. Abhandlungen der Philologisch-Historischen Classe der Königlich Sächsischen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften. 7. p. 827–1030.

3 Transformations of medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione

Just as Giorgio Vasari (1511–1574) placed Giotto (1266/7–1337) at the beginning of his narrative of what he saw as the great rejuvenation of Italian art, Marco Polo (1254–1324) warrants a place at the start of any narrative of the ‘Renaissance’ in Italy of geographical knowledge.1 Giotto’s achievement was to break with what Vasari considered to be the crude, traditional, Byzantine-style of painting prevalent in the Italy of the day, and to introduce a naturalism into his art which would be the inspiration of generations of later Renaissance painters. Marco Polo’s achievement was to produce a book which presented an image of the world and its peoples that challenged over a thousand years of intellectual tradition. In this book, Polo created an image of far-off Asian societies that was subtly subversive – and so enticing that it inspired later Renaissance explorers to seek out these peoples, discovering, almost accidentally, new worlds in the process. The present chapter examines the contribution of Marco Polo’s book to the development of Italian Renaissance ideas about Indians from a dual chronological perspective: in the introductory section, the discussion moves forward in time from the point of the book’s first appearance on the Italian cultural scene in the early fourteenth century, giving an account of the reception of the work in Italy during the centuries when humanistic studies became fashionable. It will be my contention in this section that, although the date of its composition might justify labelling the work ‘late-medieval’, the widespread readership of Marco Polo’s book across a broad social spectrum in Italy between 1300 and 1600 compels us to consider this work as an important cultural artefact for the Italian Renaissance. The second part of this chapter then examines in detail the nature of the appeal of Marco Polo’s representation of the Indians to early Italian readers, through a comparison, backward in time, of his ideas with the conventional wisdom on India c.1300.

Marco Polo and the Italian Renaissance Most versions of Polo’s book, commonly referred to as Le Divisament dou monde or Il milione, begin with an address to readers which sets forth the work’s main claim to distinction, namely that it is the eyewitness testimony of the most-travelled man in the history of mankind:

40  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione né cristiano né pagano, saracino o tartero, né niuno uomo di niuna generazione non vide né cercò tante maravigliose cose del mondo come fece messer Marco Polo (p.103; Chapter 1). No Christian, no Pagan, Saracen or Tartar, nor any other man of any other race whatsoever has seen and explored so many of the wonderful things of the world as has Messer Marco Polo.2 The prologue goes on to present its audience with an elaborate creation narrative for the book they are reading, laying stress on the exceptional, seemingly providential, combination of circumstances leading up to its existence. That Marco’s experiences got written down at all is depicted as the happy result of a chance meeting between Marco and a writer, Rustichello da Pisa, in a Genoese prison.3 The uniqueness of Polo’s experience is portrayed as lying not just in the geographical breadth of his travels, but in their long duration and in his own privileged access to the corridors of power: taken from Venice as a young lad by his father and uncle, Marco becomes special emissary for Kubilai, Great Khan of the Mongols, returning to his native city only in 1295 after an absence of around twenty-four years. Written c. 1298–1299, at the close of the thirteenth century, Marco Polo’s Il milione was in many ways as remarkable as the author of its prologue clearly wanted to present it. A few modern scholars have attempted to obscure this fact, by raising doubts as to whether Polo’s travels were genuine; distinguished scholars have even proposed that he went no farther than the Black Sea. Yet, as Larner points out in his detailed study of Polo’s book and its reception, the theories put forth in denial of Polo’s travels require one to postulate another Polo-type traveller in order to explain the content of Il milione. Moreover, the idea of a young Venetian merchant loitering around a Black Sea trading post, noting down travellers’ tales for over twenty years, with a mind to eventually writing a book with them, seems rather preposterous. One may as well stay with the legend of Polo’s life which the prologue to his book has given us.4 What really matters, however, is not how Polo managed to write this book, but what the book offered its first readers, and what it offered to fourteenth-century readers was an unprecedentedly detailed portrait of the contemporary world stretching east from Armenia to ‘Cattai’ and ‘Mangi’ (Modern China). This included sections on the three ‘Indias’ which diverged to a significant degree from inherited visions (and where the quality of observation in the Greater India section lends credence to the view that Polo travelled where the book says he travelled.)5 There was simply no other book in circulation comparable. Other merchants or missionaries may have travelled the length of the Silk Road before and after Polo, but they mostly did not leave written accounts of peoples encountered or, if they did, their impressions never had popular appeal.6 Most importantly, Polo’s book is credited with opening ‘Cathay’ to the European imagination, as a far-eastern land of unparalleled sophistication. Il milione is one of those rare cultural artefacts which continued to make an impact on the minds of Italian (and European) readers for well over two centuries

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  41 beyond the moment a manuscript of the book was first promulgated. Around 150 manuscripts survive in various European languages. As Larner points out, this is an extraordinarily large number given that the text was neither a poetic masterpiece, nor devotional in appeal; extraordinarily high too is the number of translations done within Polo’s lifetime.7 The original text was either in French or Franco-Italian; Tuscan and Venetian versions appeared at the beginning of the fourteenth century, and by 1314 the Dominican Fra Francesco Pipino da Bologna had started work on a Latin translation commissioned by his Order. Pipino’s translation was widely distributed throughout Europe in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and forms the basis of various early printed editions in several languages: a version printed in Nuremberg in 1477 ranks among the earliest printed books.8 On Italian soil, the first printed edition of the book was the one published in 1496 by Johannes Baptista Sessa (a Milanese printer working in Venice), under the title: Delle maravigliose cose del mondo. In late December 1500, this version was re-published by Baptista Farfengus, a printer-priest in Brescia; it was then reprinted again by the Sessa press in 1508.9 According to Brian Richardson, 1,000 copies was the norm for print runs in Venice in this period, rising to between 2,000 and 3,000 copies if confident of sales.10 Further single editions of Marco Polo’s book were printed in Venice in 1553, 1555, and 1597; and in Treviso in 1590.11 It was also selected for inclusion in the monumental compilation Delle navigationi et viaggi (1550–1559), edited by the Venetian civil servant Giovanni Battista Ramusio. The second volume of this collection, which contained Polo’s book, came out in 1559 and was later reprinted in 1574, 1583 and 1606.12 It is a non-controversial statement, therefore, to say that Il milione was an enormously popular book for the times. To go beyond this and to try to assess the precise nature of the impact of Il milione on its early Italian readers is more difficult, the main reason being that records of individual reader responses are scarce. Nevertheless, the evidence does permit us to make some general observations. First, this was a book which appealed to people in various walks of life: lawyers, merchants, literate servants, clergy, humanists, and lords. Of the thirtythree Italian-origin manuscripts of the book produced before 1500 and examined by Marianne O’Doherty, just over a third are in Latin, while the rest are in a form of Tuscan or Venetian. Thus, it is possible to state that the book was read in the most erudite levels of Renaissance Italian society (which, in this epoch, generally meant the Latin-reading clergy, lay scholars and top civil servants), and it was read by those with a more modest education (a category which could include also members of ruling families and their servants). Moreover, commenting on the material characteristics of the extant vernacular Italian manuscripts of Polo’s book, O’Doherty describes a ‘large minority’ of them as ‘small scruffy, nondescript books’. In other words, Il milione was a book within reach of ‘a broader bourgeois, mercantile, administrative, and lay reading public’.13 Among the owners of the book whose occupations are known to us is the magistrate Amelio Bonagiusi, podestà of Cerreto Guidi near Florence, who, by his own confession, copied out a Tuscan version of the book to alleviate depression: ‘per passare tempo e malinconia’. Just over thirty years later, in 1425, another

42  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione magistrate, this time the podestà of Montaione, Valdelsa, also copied out a Tuscan manuscript of the book; his manuscript later came into the possession of the famous Bardi banking family. Other fifteenth-century owners of the book included: an aide to Pope Eugenius IV; a member of the minor nobility in the Abruzzi; a servant of Borso d’Este, Duke of Ferrara (who owned a Latin manuscript); Cardinal Domenico Capranica (1400–1458); Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa (1401–1464); a certain Donatus, priest of San Clemente in the university city of Padua (c.1469); the Dominicans of Santa Maria Novella in Florence (by 1489); the humanist Giovanni Marcanova (d.1467); the philosopher Pico della Mirandola (1463–1494); the Este rulers of Ferrara; the Sforza of Milan; and the Malatesta of Rimini. Most fatefully, the Genoese explorer Christopher Columbus also possessed and annotated a Latin copy of Polo’s book.14 Besides appealing to a wide cross-section of society, Il milione was a book which readers throughout the fourteenth century could find unsettling due to the novelty of its contents. An often-cited anecdote from the chronicle (c. 1334) of the Dominican Jacopo D’Acqui tells of Marco Polo defending himself on his death bed from the charge that Il milione contained a million lies. This story has sometimes been taken as ‘proof’ that Polo’s book was not taken seriously by his contemporaries, but it is better understood as indicating the kind of shock his very different representation of the world could produce in its first readers. Far from undermining the truth value of Polo’s book, in its context, the anecdote functions rhetorically as a way for D’Acqui to assert the trustworthiness of a source which he himself makes use of in his chronicle: the tale ends with the dying Polo recanting nothing; on the contrary, he proudly declares that he had not even told the half of what he had seen.15 The bewilderment an early reader could experience when faced with Il milione is beautifully captured in a note the aforementioned melancholic podestà, Amelio Bonagiusi, appended in 1392 to his copy of the book. Such a rare instance of an individual working out his reactions as he writes is worth citing at length. As transcribed by Dutschke, it reads: mi paiano cose incredibili epaionomi il suo dire non bugie anzi piu che miracholi ebene potrebbe essere vero quello di che ragiona ma io non ho credo tutta uia perlo mondo li truovano assai isvariate cose duno paese aunaltro ma questo mi pare come chiolo rasen prasse a mio diletto cose dano credere nedi darui fede io dico quanto a me. They seem to me incredible things and what he says seems to me not lies but rather even more than miracles, and even if it could be true what he talks about – still I don’t trust it. Even though in the world, they find there quite different things from one country to another, but this seems to me, as someone who copied it carefully for my entertainment, things not to be believed nor relied on, as far as I’m concerned.16 According to John Larner’s detailed study of the reception of Il milione, this is the only instance on record of an explicit expression of disbelief in the book for

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  43 fourteenth-century Italy. Despite observing how, earlier in the century, Polo was treated as an authority by members of the Dominican order, the philosopher Pietro d’Abano (d.1316) and the chronicler Giovanni Villani (d.1348), Larner nevertheless concludes that until the 1380s, when there is cartographic evidence of Il milione being used in Europe, the appeal of Polo’s book was ‘primarily literary rather than learned’. In Larner’s view, this was because of three main factors: the Black Death, a changed political situation (which meant it was dangerous to travel very far into Asia), and a consequent reduction in eastern trade. These problems combined to make it very difficult from the 1350s to find anyone in Italy who could testify to the truth of Polo’s book.17 However, Il milione came to enjoy more prestige among the learned as time progressed and as more interest was taken in the study of geography. It was accorded an authority on par with ancient classical sources by at least one early humanist interested in geography: Domenico Silvestri (d.1411), writer of a treatise on islands and friend of Coluccio Salutati. Although clearly nervous about using a non-classical text, Silvestri declares Polo worthy of credence on the grounds that what he says is both in line with the best classical sources and recently confirmed by the oral testimony of a Venetian soldier who had travelled to those parts.18 Moreover, in the late 1420s, the Venetian Senate appears to have given a manuscript of Il milione to the Portuguese Prince Pedro, an avid traveller himself.19 By the 1450s, the cartographer Fra Mauro was relying on it heavily for the Asian part of his famous world map (c. 1450).20 Polo’s book appears to have grown in prestige among the learned also as a result of the congruencies between it and the humanist Poggio Bracciolini’s account of the Indies. From the mid-fifteenth century, these accounts begin to appear alongside each other in manuscripts.21 While the three editions printed from 1496 to 1508 indicate increased interest in Polo in the wake of the Spanish and Portuguese voyages of discovery, Venetian patriotism further bolstered Polo’s prestige. By the 1550s, Polo was being celebrated in Venice as one of the pioneering heroes of geographical knowledge, as witnessed in a map attributed to printmaker Matteo Pagano.22 At the same time, with the publication of Ramusio’s elaborate and scholarly discourse maintaining the credibility of Polo’s book in 1559, Il milione can be regarded as having definitively entered a new academic canon of geographical texts.23 The ideas embedded in Marco Polo’s book were, then, an important piece of cultural baggage for a number of people across various sections of society throughout the long period we refer to as the ‘Italian Renaissance’. It is now appropriate to examine in detail what these ideas were in respect to India, and how they may have appeared to Polo’s contemporaries and later Renaissance readers. This subject has to be approached with caution, given that the extant manuscripts vary quite considerably in parts, thus making it unwise to treat any version of the book as a completely accurate reflection of Marco Polo’s views. For the following analysis, I have based my remarks on passages common to the majority of the early versions of Polo’s book.

Elements of a new India Immediately evident from a perusal of Il milione is that the maravigliose cose (‘wonderful things’) the book records frequently challenge what was received

44  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione wisdom c. 1300. This is especially true with regard to medieval legends about India. Prester John, for instance, is demoted from king of kings to vassal status under the Great Khan. The Latin legend of St Thomas’ martyrdom is ‘corrected’ – according to Polo, the saint died accidentally from a hunter’s stray arrow. Indian Christians are represented as few, while ‘ox’-worship is associated with Indians seemingly for the first time in popular western literature. Moreover, gone from India are the monstrous races, and talk of the Earthly Paradise. (As Larner points out, such a revisionist view of the world was seemingly too much for the illustrator of the fifteenth-century Livre des merveilles, who drew some monstrous races for his French patron regardless.)24 The India of Il milione nevertheless remains a vast, wondrous and wealthy land, with various kingdoms, exotic creatures and customs, with Brahmins and idolaters – but the form of the strangeness has changed. The ‘India’ Polo’s book offered readers was also a much more defined one than Latini’s. It subdivided ‘India’ into three broad areas, ‘India maggiore’, ‘India minore’ and ‘mezzana India’, employing new foreign-sounding names for regions. None of these ‘Indias’ included the areas of Cathay and ‘Mangi’, ruled by the Great Khan. In other words, those regions equivalent to parts of Modern China are distinct from Polo’s idea of the ‘Indias’. That Polo’s ‘India maggiore’ broadly corresponds to the Indian subcontinent is evident from the names given to its various realms: ‘Melibar’, ‘Coilu’, ‘Cambaet’, ‘Gufarat’, etc., which are still recognisable Indian place names today.25 Significantly, with regard to the Saidian contention that the ‘East’ is invariably represented as Europe’s inferior, of these Indias, the continental ‘India maggiore’ is singled out as superior, not just in comparison with the other Indias, but in comparison with the rest of the world. ‘Maabar’, its largest and most important province, is praised as ‘la più nobile provincia del mondo e la più ricca’ (‘the most noble province in the world and the richest’; p.258; Chapter 155) – a prosperity seen as owed to pearl fishing and the jewel trade. Throughout Il milione, the ‘nobility’ or otherwise of a realm appears inextricably linked to the assessment of its economic vitality. Whether Polo’s book portrayed the peoples of the subcontinent in an equally noble way is a question this discussion will now address, beginning with the representation of ‘Senderba re de Var’ (p.258; Chapter 155), foremost king of five brothers said to control Maabar, and the only Indian ruler to receive close attention in the book. Senderba also seems to be the first new pagan Indian king character to appear in western literature since Porus and Dindimus. As such, his portrayal in Il milione deserves detailed consideration.

Embryonic orientalism in the portrayal of King Senderba A chain of seemingly contradictory rhetorical signals underpins the book’s portrait of King Senderba of Var. The king’s apparent nakedness and poverty, expressed in having only a loin cloth as apparel, are offset by signs of immense material wealth. The royal loin cloth is studded with jewels; the many gems worn about the royal person ‘vagliono una buona città’ (‘are worth a good city’; p.259;

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  45 Chapter 155). Yet the king’s riches are not used to suggest decadence – the book never treats material wealth as a negative thing. Rather, the passage attaches a spiritual significance to this material wealth: Senderba’s priceless necklace of 104 gemstones is interpreted as a prayer rope, a reminder that the law and traditions of the land require Indian rulers to recite 104 prayers daily to their idols (p.259; Chapter 155). Nevertheless, the piety required by office is not shown to translate into personal morality. True, it is indicated that Senderba dutifully fulfils his religious obligations, just as he manages his wealth well by careful regulation of the jewel trade. Yet he is also portrayed as a habitual wife-snatcher and polygamist whose lusts respect no limits – not even his brothers’ wives are off bounds: ‘Incontanente che egli vede una bella moglie al fratello, sì le glie toglie e tiella per sua’ (‘As soon as he sees his brother with a beautiful wife, he takes her from him and keeps her as his own); p.259; Chapter 155). The portrait of King Senderba is a mixed one. On the one hand, he comes across as a competent and powerful governor; on the other hand, he appears both tyrannical and ensnared to the feminine. A later passage represents all five Maabar kings as perpetually on the brink of war and in need of matriarchal authority. Only the mother royal has been able to maintain peace between the ruling brothers, sometimes resorting to an extreme display of matriarchal manipulative power: showing her breasts and threatening to kill herself (p. 272–273; Chapter 160). This submission of all the Maabar kings to their mother, rather than making war, suggests at the same time filial piety and a certain lack of virility. Some manuscripts also place this bosom-bearing peace-keeping incident immediately after mention of Senderba’s wife-snatching, as if to underline how such behaviour leads to political instability.26 A tyrannical disposition and an effeminacy somehow demonstrated in the unbridled pursuit of sexual appetite are standard features of depictions of the Oriental male in later western literature, but remain embryonic in Il milione’s portrait of King Senderba.27 There is no such simplistic stereotyping of eastern rulers discernible in Marco Polo’s book. For one thing, explicit value judgments are extremely rare in the book. On the few occasions anyone or anything is unambiguously labelled ‘bad’, it is in connection with cannibalism, hunter-gathering or robbery.28 Whether or not a voracious sexual appetite in a ruler is regarded as a reprehensible and unmanly thing depends on other factors: namely, whether it has a negative impact on civic virtues such as order, peace and prosperity. This is true even of the version that elaborates most upon this theme, the text known as ‘R’ (after Ramusio). Ramusio’s version, for instance, turns King Facfur, one-time lord of ‘Mangi’ (in China), into much more of a womaniser than he is in the ‘Ottimo’ text, by dwelling at great length on how this king used to spend time with the young women of his court. Yet even in this more critical version, Facfur is seen as weak, and accused of unmanliness and self-indulgence, not because he indulged in women and hunting per se, but because he allowed his perpetual dalliance (‘trastullo di donne’) to distract him from doing his duty as defender of the realm.29 Kubilai Khan, on the other hand, who also enjoys hunting and a massive harem, is consistently depicted as a great warrior, and the wisest and canniest of governors.

46  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione What early Italian readers of Il milione may have made of its representations of far eastern government is a tantalising question. They did not themselves, after all, live in a region of the world renowned for its political stability. From the thirteenth to mid-sixteenth centuries, wars and civil strife plagued the Italian peninsula.30 At the same time, scholastics and humanists alike wrote advice for Italian magistrates and princes, in which they placed an understandable premium on maintaining peace and the security of the state. With the notorious exception of Machiavelli, most of these aspiring advisors urged a ruler to aim for glory, honour and fame, without neglecting to practise Christian faith and piety in combination with the classical virtues of prudence, temperance, fortitude and (above all) justice.31 Rare was the ruler who could fulfil such a programme. To the seemingly perpetual political turmoil in Italy, the occasional idealist like Dante sought for a solution in the idea of a supreme monarch or emperor who would rule benignly for the common good32: Polo’s Kubilai Khan may have struck readers as a pagan embodiment of such a dream. By the sixteenth century most Italian states had gravitated in actuality and not just theory towards a system of princely rule or signoria, but the process towards the establishment of these regimes, as Machiavelli’s Il principe reminds us, had been riddled with bloodshed and intrigue.33 If we take Machiavelli’s portrait of the power struggles in late fifteenth-century Italy as at all accurate, to readers living through such tumultuous times, life in orderly and prosperous Maabar may have appeared enviable by comparison, and the defects of King Senderba a relatively minor nuisance. Nevertheless, when viewed against medieval and Renaissance ideals of good government, Polo’s Senderba has been attributed one serious flaw: a lack of temperance in sexual matters that is perilous to the peace, however competent he might be as an administrator.

The exoticity of the Indians Baldassare Castiglione (1478–1529) once proclaimed that a prince should aim not simply to be loved but to be adored by his subjects.34 Notwithstanding such a statement from this arbiter of Renaissance courtly life, one imagines that the type of devotion Polo depicts King Senderba as enjoying would have struck him as extreme. In some versions of Polo’s text, although not directly in the ‘Ottimo’, the story of how King Senderba steals his brothers’ wives without their protest is introduced as a ‘wonder’, as is the anecdote immediately following it, which relates how the Indian king’s barons burn themselves alive on their ruler’s death.35 Since fealty alone is given as the reason for the barons’ suicide, the source of wonder in this instance appears to be the idea that any monarch should command such loyalty from beyond the grave: ‘E questo fanno per servillo nell’altro mondo’ (‘And this they do in order to serve him in the other world’; p.260; Chapter 155). Both ‘wonder’ stories, besides being examples of extraordinary political power, also serve to indicate to the reader that alien values operate in India. More than any other factor in the book’s representation of pagan Indians, it is their reported understanding of what is honourable behaviour, together with their attitude to death, which marks them out as different (from the implied Latin Christian

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  47 reader’s culture) and therefore as exotic. Domenico Silvestri thought the suicide of barons in Maabar noteworthy enough to mention it in a work otherwise dedicated to descriptions of islands.36 Not that Polo’s anecdote about Senderba’s barons was entirely without prece­ dent. Rather, it extends to the context of kingship an already existent western tradition associating Indians with a predilection for suicide: sensing the onset of illness, the gymnosophist Calanus, in the Alexander legend, prefers to burn himself to death. Classical writers had also written of Indian widows burning themselves alive on their husbands’ funeral pyres, as had Vincent De Beauvais. This notion, which was not prominent in Latini’s vision of India, is renewed in Polo’s book, but without sentimentality and without dwelling on ceremonial or motivations. Widow-burning is presented simply as a fact of everyday life in Maabar, something the locals find praiseworthy: ‘e queste femmine che fanno questo sono molto lodate dalle genti, e molte donne il fanno’ (‘and these women who do this are much praised by the people, and many women do it’; p.260; Chapter 155). Renaissance readers may have reacted with less equanimity than is displayed in Polo’s book to the funerary customs in Maabar which required the living to burn. Fifteenth-century marginalia in one Italian-origin Latin manuscript bear witness to revulsion at the idea and a sense of its pointlessness.37 While Polo’s book represents the Indians as wondrously brave, almost casual, in the face of death, it also suggests (however clumsily) that they have a radically different theological understanding of the body, soul(s) and the afterlife, and of the relative value of man and other living things. The Indian practice of cremating the dead (as opposed to the Christian practice of burial), for instance, is explained as due to Indian beliefs about worms having souls (p.269; Chapter 158). The Indian logic (as presented in the book) goes something like this: If left unburnt, dead bodies breed worms; these worms die when they finish eating the corpse; since the worms have souls, the dead man’s soul will suffer in the afterlife. Hence, in this ‘Indian’ system, a human being is not the only creature whose soul is considered important. Moreover, even after bodily death, a human can be held responsible for the crimes committed by his or her earthly remains. Other passages in the Greater India section of Il milione reinforce the idea that pagan Indians are people with an alien sense of what is honourable behaviour. Sometimes the narrative endeavours to reduce the disorienting effect such ideas might have on a contemporary reader by giving an Indian custom a logical explanation which would have felt familiar to a Latin Christian. One such instance is the justification for why the Indians see virtue in sitting on the ground, with its echoes of the Christian burial service: ‘dicono che questo fanno perché sono di terra e alla terra debbono tornare, sì che perciò non la possono troppo onorare’ (‘they say that they do this because they are made of earth and to the earth they must return, so for this reason they cannot honour it enough’; p.261; Chapter 155). But the narrative does not always attempt to disarm examples of difference. Quite alarming perhaps for any reader who, like Polo, was a merchant (and disturbing to the sense of private property) is the report that the Indians not only view piracy as acceptable, but that they use a belief in providence to justify it: ‘dicono:

48  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione “Iddio ci ti mandò, perché tu fossi nostra’’’ (‘they say: “God sent you to us, so you would be ours”’; p.274; Chapter 163). A still more compelling indication that the Indians possess a very different world-view is the report that in Maabar drinking alcohol or sailing makes one a disreputable character, whereas sexual indulgence apparently does not: ‘E sappiate ch’egliono non tengono a peccato niuna lussuria’ (‘And you should know that they don’t consider any sensual indulgence a sin’; p.261; Chapter 155). Christian tradition would have led one to expect different ideas and moral practices among pagans: ‘virtuous’ pagans were exceptions not the rule, even if the inherited medieval tradition asserted one should find virtuous pagans in India. A more interesting question is whether Polo’s book ever makes the jump from identifying an alien world-view to assessing this world-view as wicked, depraved, or something else. On this issue, the treatment of pagan sexual mores in the book sheds some light. Twice it is claimed that Indians do not regard lussuria as a sin; once in the passage quoted, and the second time in connection with the custom of men in ‘Coilu’ to marry close female relatives (p.273; Chapter 161). Although in classical Latin ‘luxuria’ had denoted ‘luxuriant living’ and ‘pernicious excess’, in Christian usage ‘luxuria’ had come to have a more specifically sexual connotation: it signified ‘lust’, one of the seven deadly sins.38 In its widest theological sense, ‘luxuria’ embraced whatever forms of sexual pleasure appeared excessive (from the Church’s perspective) – generally, extra-marital, or for some other reason, illicit sex. This is the meaning of the term in the statement ‘non tengono a peccato niuna lussuria.’ For Dante, Polo’s far more eloquent contemporary, the crux of the sin of luxuria lay in allowing one’s reason to be overcome by one’s sexual drives. In Canto V of the Inferno, the lustfuls’ incapacity to bridle their passions is expressed symbolically in the hurricane-strength buffeting they receive as eternal punishment. However, even if the poet remains ostensibly within orthodoxy by condemning ‘carnal sinners’ (‘i peccator carnali’) to Hell, much in this episode of the Commedia suggests an ambivalent attitude to the sin of lust. As is often pointed out, he places this group of sinners in the first circle of Hell, that is, as far from Satan as is possible without actually assigning them to Limbo. This positioning suggests that the poet regards luxuria as the least serious of sins. Suspicious too is the beautiful evocation of the power of Love put into the mouth of the adulteress Francesca, compassion for whom causes the Dante character in the poem to faint. As this famous passage underlines, the Church may have condemned luxuria but chivalric tales and the courtly love tradition militated against their attempts to have this condemnation accepted in practice.39 Turning back to Polo, if we compare his comments on ordinary Indians’ sexual mores with the representation of sexual mores in the rest of his book, it becomes clear that the charge of luxuria against the Indians does not carry an especially negative weighting. To begin with, Indians are not the only people represented as having a more permissive attitude in sexual matters. Certain idolaters under religious rule in ‘Campicion’ reportedly profess that luxuria is not a grave sin, even if they are said to avoid it themselves (p.150; Chapter 54). Moreover, polygamy is

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  49 considered the norm for most pagan peoples in the book, some of whom are said to even lend out their womenfolk to foreigners. However, this practice is depicted as taking place in an orderly manner, without the impetuousness a Dante might insist was the true mark of ‘lust’. Nor are practices that would come under the umbrella of ‘luxuria’ necessarily used in Polo’s book as evidence of moral depravity. Tartar tribesmen, for instance, are said to have many wives, but never to touch other men’s wives (p.156; Chapter 61). Once more, a technically lussurioso group of pagans is represented as showing restraint in sexual relationships, although as we have seen in the case of King Senderba, this is not invariably so in the book. All in all, however, there is a sufficient number of instances in the book when sexual practices prohibited by the Church are presented without further prejudice for it to seem that Polo (like the pilgrim Dante confronting Francesca) was reluctant to view luxuria as especially nefarious. Occasionally, it is even made explicit in a manuscript of the book that the writers (or scribes) did not consider it a particularly serious thing to break Christian codes of sexual morality. The ‘Ottimo’ text glosses the practice in ‘Gaindu’ of lending women out to foreign men, as ‘un bel costume’ (‘a fine custom’; p.210; Chapter 105), while apropos of a similar Tibetan sexual custom, the ‘F’ text remarks: ‘en celle contree auront bien [de] aler les jeune de XVI anz en XXIV’ (‘This country is a good one to go to for young men aged sixteen to twenty-four; p.111; Chapter CXVI).

A humane view of Indian idolatry and idolaters As we have just seen, the identification of alien values among pagan peoples in Il milione does not generally lead to an aggressive condemnation of their ways of life. Moreover, Marco Polo’s book even has a capacity to present the most potentially horrifying customs in a favourable light. Perhaps the most striking example of this is the account of a ritual suicide in Maabar (p.260; Chapter 155). This is the first Indian act of idol-worship to be depicted at any length, and the details are graphic. On one level, it confirms the traditional Christian association of idolatry with evils such as human sacrifice. Yet at the same time, the writer is able to step outside of the traditional Christian optic: this account of Maabar idol-worship is restrained in that there is no suggestion of a demon actually inhabiting the idol and demanding human blood. Rather, the reader’s attention is drawn towards the supposed social function of the custom. Suicide committed in honour of the idol is represented as a way for a condemned man to redeem himself in the sight of the living, to be transformed from ‘malfattore’ (‘wrong-doer’) into ‘prode uomo’ (‘upright man’). It is portrayed not as an ordinary devotional practice among pagan Indians, but as an honourable alternative to the capital punishment that would be inflicted on a serious criminal by the state. The judicial aspect and social function of the event are drawn out: sacrificing oneself to the idol requires the king’s consent; the place of self-execution is described as the ‘luogo ove si de’ fare la giustizia’ (‘the place where the execution must be done’), not as a specifically religious space; the criminal’s death becomes an occasion not for shame but for joy and celebration among family and friends:

50  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione quando alcuno uomo hae fatto malificio veruno, ch’egli debbia perdere la persona, e quel cotale uomo dice che si vuole uccidere egli stesso per amore e per onore di cotale idolo; e il re gli dice che bene gli piace. Allotta gli parenti e gli amici di questo cotale malfattore lo pigliano e pongolo in su ’n una carretta; e dànnogli bene dodici coltella, e portale per tutta la terra, e vanno dicendo: – Questo cotale prode uomo egli si va ad uccidere egli medesimo per amore del cotale idolo – . E quando sono al luogo ove si de’ fare la giustizia, colui che dee morire piglia un coltello, e grida ad alta bocie: – Io muoio per amore di cotale idolo –. Quando hae detto questo, egli si fiede del coltello per mezzo il braccio, e poi piglia l’altro e dàssi nell’altro braccio, e poscia dell’altro per lo corpo, e tanto si dà che s’uccide. Quando è morto, gli parenti l’ardono con grande allegrezza (p.260; Chapter 155). When a man has committed some kind of misdeed, of the sort he’d have to lose his life for, and if that man says that he wants to kill himself with his own hand out of love and devotion to a particular idol, the king tells him he’s fine with that. Then the relatives and friends of this wrong-doer grab him and place him on a little cart; and they give him a good twelve knives, and they drive him all over the land, and they go round saying: ‘This brave man is going to kill himself for the love of this idol!’ And when they get to the place where the execution has to be done, the one who has to die grabs a knife, and yells at the top of his voice: ‘I’m going to die for the love of this idol!’ And this said, he plunges the knife into the middle of his arm, and then he grabs another and thrusts it into the other arm, and after that another into his body, and he does this so much that he kills himself. When he is dead, his relatives burn him with great rejoicing. Contemplating this passage, one wonders whether any of its early readers were drawn to see a parallel between this Indian mode of execution and the rituals of execution prevalent in the Italy of their day.40 Obviously, in Europe, Christianity precluded the state sanctioning a man convicted of a capital offence to conduct his execution himself. Nevertheless, some similarities are apparent, the chief among them being the element of spectacle: in medieval and Renaissance Italy, executions were conducted in public, rather than behind closed doors, both for the gratification of the people and for their admonition. In fifteenth-century Florence as in Maabar, for instance, the condemned were paraded about before their death, albeit in a more sombre atmosphere: the convicted person would be loaded onto a cart, and made to do a tour of the city, before finally being escorted to a meadow outside the city walls where the execution would take place. Executions in Italy also had strong religious overtones, even though the actual killing part could not quite be transformed into the act of devotion it is in Polo’s Maabar. In Italian cities, a member of a specialist confraternity might accompany the condemned person on his journey to the gallows, placing a religious image in front of the convict’s face as an encouragement – most likely an image such as that of the suffering Christ, to Whom the condemned man was expected to identify. On its way

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  51 to the gallows, the condemned man’s cart would also stop at various shrines in the city, where prayers would be offered up, in imitation it seems of the Stations of the Cross. Moreover, at the gallows, the condemned would have a chance to make a final confession, if necessary, before leaving this world forever. Hence, there is a sense in which both the Italian and Indian forms of execution offered an opportunity for the evil-doer to redeem himself in the eyes of the public, and of God, by making a ‘good death’ – which, in the Italian context, meant facing it bravely and with the proper contrition expected of a sinner going to meet his Maker. While the execution episode is extreme in its violence, the other substantial passage in Il milione which depicts religious practices in Maabar shows a distinctly less macabre side to Indian idolatry (p. 261–262; Chapter 155). Here the subject is life in monastic institutions or ‘monisteri d’idoli’ (‘monasteries of the idols’), where women play an important role. Once again the atmosphere is festive, but this time idol-worship takes the form of singing and dancing, and the sacrificial offering is food rather than blood. The passage represents the Indians as having a basically anthropomorphic understanding of their gods: like human beings, the idols require amusement (‘sollazzo’), as well as food; the idol is seen as home to a spiritual being capable of feeding on the ‘sottile’ (the finer – perhaps spiritual – part) of the food. The most elaborate versions of this passage also emphasise how these Indians treat their gods not as impassible figures but as divinities subject to emotions which can be placated by men.41 The passage recounts how parents customarily offer their daughters to these monastic institutions, where they are entrusted with the task of entertaining the idols: E ’l signore del monistero, quando vuole fare alcuno sollazzo agl’idoli, sì richeggiono questi offerti; ed egli sono tenuti d’andarvi, e quivi ballano e trescano e fanno gran festa. Queste sono molte donzelle; e più volte queste donzelle portano da mangiare a questi idoli, ove sono offerte: e pongono la tavola dinanzi agli idoli, e pongonvi suso vivande, e làscialevi istare suso una gran pezza, e tuttaviale donzelle cantando e ballando per la casa. Quando hanno fatto questo, dicono che lo spirito dell’idolo hae mangiato tutto il sottile delle vivande, e ripongolo e vannosene. E questo fanno le pulcelle tanto che si maritano (p. 261–262; Chapter 155). And when the lord of the monastery wants to provide some kind of amusement for the idols, the [girls who have been] offered are sent for; and they are keen to go there, and there they dance and twirl and put on quite a show. There are a great many of these maidens; and several times the maidens bring something to eat to the idols where the girls are dedicated: and they place a table in front of the idols, and they place plates of food on top, and they leave them there a good while, and meanwhile maidens keep singing and dancing throughout the house. When they’ve done this, they say that the spirit of the idol has eaten all the fine part of the food, and then they put it back and leave. And the little girls do this until they get married.

52  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione One can imagine that the employment of dancing girls within a ‘monastery’ precinct must have struck early readers as quite unlike anything to be found in Latin Christendom. Certainly, the Dominican Fra Pipino (responsible for the book’s first Latin translation) appears to have been disturbed by the notion, since his version has an addition precluding the idea that the girls might actually live with monks: ‘puelle tamen habitant in domibus patrum’ (‘the girls, however, live in their father’s house’).42 A similar desire to water down potentially disturbing elements of the text can be discerned in the early fifteenth-century Livre des merveilles manuscript, where the illustrator took this passage as an opportunity to paint asexual nuns in white robes doing a stately dance (Figure 3.1).43 On the other hand, certain versions of Polo’s book display the opposite tendency, playing up the erotic elements perceived in Indian worship.44 For example, the ‘Z’ text and Ramusio’s version dwell on details such as the nakedness of the dancing girls, and the firmness of their thighs. They add that such entertainments are occasioned by the people’s belief that the god and goddess in question have had a lovers’ tiff and are no longer sleeping together; the devotees dance to lift the divine couple’s mood and effect a reconciliation, so that mortals can enjoy the gods’ blessings. Polo’s book points to a sensuality in Indian religion not emphasised in previous accounts, a sensuality which, as we shall see, the book discovers even in Indian ascetic practices.

Figure 3.1 Marco Polo’s ‘erotic’ Indian nuns in Maabar: counter-textual illustration from the fifteenth-century French manuscript Le Livre des merveilles. © Bibliothèque nationale de France

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  53

Indian asceticism remodelled For Polo’s contemporaries, perhaps the most arresting of the breaks with medieval tradition in the Indian section of his book was its portrayal of the Brahmins (p. 267–268; Chapter 158). As remarked earlier, marginal notes with anything amounting to a commentary on a passage are exceptionally rare in Italian-origin manuscripts of the book. Having said that, it is nonetheless intriguing that in the only fourteenth-century Tuscan manuscript where such marginalia are present, it is in reaction to what the text writes about Indian ascetics and the Brahmins.45 Likewise, around the end of the fifteenth century, the good-tempered annotator of BAV, MS Ottoboniani latini 1641, in an elegant humanistic cursive, drew attention to the role of Brahmins in Maabar’s pearlfishing industry.46 In Polo’s book, the most detailed description of Brahmins comes in regard to the ‘bregomanni’ of the western province of ‘Iar’. These Brahmins differ from the inherited model in that they are not secluded ascetics, but successful merchants and householders, identifiable as Brahmins by a thread worn around the upper body. They are also presented as idolaters – not Christian types – who allow astrology and regard for omens to dictate their everyday actions. Several examples encourage the reader to view these Brahmins as supremely conditioned by superstition: business deals agreed according to the length of the purchaser’s shadow; goods bought or refused according to the movements of tarantulas; journeys cut short due to inauspicious sneezes. The idea that the Brahmins are business people, together with their reported dependence on augury in conducting business, seems to have drawn our anonymous fourteenth-century commentator’s attention. He placed a note alongside this section, thus making it easier to find again, but without expressing in the note any explicit value judgment.47 Polo’s transformation of inherited views of the Brahmins is not, however, a total one. They may be idolaters but in their honesty, chastity, abstinence and longevity, this new type of Brahmin recalls the old: E sì vi dico che questi bregomanni sono i migliori mercatanti e gli più leali del mondo, ché giammai non direbbono bugia per veruna cosa del mondo. E non mangiano carne né beono vino, e istanno in molta grande astinenza e onestade, e non toccherebbono altra femmina che la loro moglie, né non ucciderebbono veruno animale, né non farebbono cosa onde credessono aver peccato (p.267; Chapter 158). And so I tell you that these Brahmins are the best and the most trustworthy merchants in the world, for they wouldn’t tell a lie for anything in the world. And they don’t eat meat or drink wine, and they live in great abstinence and virtue, and they wouldn’t touch a woman other than their wife, nor would they kill any animal, nor would they do anything that they believed to be a sin.

54  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione Nevertheless, closer to the inherited medieval image of Brahmin ascetics is Polo’s account of certain men who live according to a religious rule, whom he does not specifically call Brahmins but rather the ‘uomeni regolati’ or ‘congiugati’ of Iar (p.268; Chapter 158). According to the distinguished Polo scholar Leonardo Olschki, Polo’s description of the yogis is the first in western literature.48 Aspects of the gymnosophists of legend are recognisable in this new type of ascetic. Like their fabled predecessors, the yogis go about naked, live long, fast a lot, cremate their dead, sleep on the ground without covers, refrain from killing any living thing, and try not to do anything that would be a sin (p. 268–269; Chapter 158). Both groups insinuate that others cover their bodies with clothes because they commit sin with the body. Polo’s yogis also echo the gymnosophists in their extreme respect for life, to the extent that they will not kill anything with a soul ‘né pulce, né pidocchi né mosca né veruno altro’ (‘not a flea, not lice, not a fly nor any other thing’; p.268; Chapter 158) and this, in the yogis’ case, includes anything green: ‘ancora non mangiano veruna cosa verde, né erba né frutti, infino tanto ch’egliono sono secchi, però che dicono anche che hanno anima’ (‘what’s more they don’t eat anything green, no herb, no fruit, not unless these are dried, for they even say that these have a soul’; p.268; Chapter 158). Such obvious similarities between old and new depictions of Indian ascetics raise the question of the extent to which the Polian account of Indian asceticism has been modelled on the old. Yet the representation of Indian asceticism in Polo’s book introduces several new elements, which make it more than a simple case of borrowing from inherited tradition. First of all, Polo’s ascetics are emphatically presented as idolaters: they are ‘prosperosi a servire loro idoli’ (‘flourishing in the service of their idols’ p.268; Chapter 158); they are attached to pagan monasteries; they worship the ox and wear its symbol around their forehead. Certain yogis even act as guardians of the idols in their temples. Polo’s book also gives new explanations for familiar motifs: the secret of the yogis’ longevity is said to be a special diet of rice, milk and water mixed with quicksilver and sulphur (‘siero vivo e solfo’; p.268; Chapter 158). According to O’ Doherty, our fourteenth-century scribal commentator took exception to the notion of using quicksilver to lengthen one’s life and wrote the word ‘spravita’ (depravity) alongside the account of the ascetics’ diet. Incidentally, the fragment ‘brego’ (short for ‘bregomanni’) is also discernible in the note, an indication that at least one reader identified Polo’s monastics with the ascetics Brahmins of tradition.49 I have not had the opportunity to examine the scribe’s manuscript personally, but it is tempting to imagine that his harsh criticism of the ascetics was motivated primarily by what follows the description of their diet in most versions of the text. By far the most striking departure from inherited representations is Polo’s introduction of an erotic element into Indian asceticism, with voluptuous temple dancers testing the virtue of ascetics: Ancora vi dico ch’egli hanno loro aregolati gli quali guardano gl’idoli. Ora gli vogliono provare s’egli sono bene onesti: e mandano pelle pulcelle che sono offerte agl’idoli, e fannogli toccare a loro in più parte del corpo, ed istare

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  55 co loro in sollazzo; e se ’l loro vembro si muta, sì ’l mandano via, e dicono che non è onesto, e non vogliono tenere uomo lussurioso: e se ’l vembro non si muta, sì ’l tengono a servire gl’idoli nel munistero (p.268; Chapter 158). And again I tell you that they have their own men under a religious rule who guard the idols. Say they want to test if these men are really virtuous: they send for the girls who are offered to the idols, and they get them to touch him in various parts of the body, and he has to stay with the girls and amuse himself; and if his member reacts, they send him away at once, saying that he is not virtuous, and that they don’t want to maintain a lecherous man: and if his member does not react, they keep him on to serve the idols in the monastery. On the one hand, this statement that the Indians would not allow lecherous men to serve in their temples contradicts previous affirmations that they do not consider lussuria a vice. On the other hand, such an erotic (albeit pragmatic) method of testing the holiness of holy men appears to confirm that the Indians take a different view of what constitutes sexual indulgence. The notion of dancing girls testing an ascetic’s virtue appears to have disturbed the more pious readers of Marco Polo’s book. Whilst the ‘Ottimo’ text passes over the passage without further comment, the ‘F’ manuscript adds this sign of outrage: ‘e cesti sunt si crueli et perfidi ydres que je vos di’ (‘and these are such cruel and treacherous idolaters, I can tell you’; p.192; Chapter CLXXVIII).50

Polo’s approach to eastern religions Such censoriousness is not really consonant with the approach to idolaters generally taken in the book, because it seems to imply that the superiority of the Christian religion is self-evident and so those idolaters who think otherwise are being wilfully obtuse. The opposite assumption is actually encouraged by Rustichello’s prologue, which frames what he terms the narrative of the various races of men and the variety of the world’s regions: ‘le diverse generazioni delle genti e le diversità delle regioni del mondo’ (p.103; Chapter 1). Rustichello has the Great Khan challenge the Pope to send him men who can prove by clear reasoning (‘per ragioni’) that the Christian religion is better, that other religions are utterly mistaken and the work of the Devil (p.108; Chapter 6) – a challenge which (as Ramusio’s version later laments) the Latin Christian delegation was unable to meet.51 Whilst it is true that the treatment of idolatrous religious belief within the main narrative is never sophisticated, this is a reflection more of the writers’ level of understanding than of a deliberate attempt to portray idolaters as intellectually inferior. In this regard, it is worth noting that the Cathayans, whom the ‘Z’ text reports as believing in reincarnation and worshipping many gods, are lauded for their sophistication in the same version of the text.52 Nor does the bulk of the book encourage a demonic interpretation of pagan societies: only in specific circumstances are idolaters associated with demonic powers. The incidences are rare, but in almost every case the idolaters in question

56  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione are magicians. A striking example is the report of the Tibetan sages, who are described as knowing more of the devil’s art than all other peoples (‘più d’arte di diavolo che tutta l’altra gente’), and who at the Great Khan’s banquets make cups fly unaided through sorcery – ‘per nigromanzia’ (p.166; Chapter 67). The only occasion outside the context of magic, when idolatry is openly associated with demonic power, is in relation to the animal-headed idols of Cathay and nearby islands. Here there seems to be a certain reluctance to dwell on the notion of idolatry as demonic: Gli fatti di questi idoli sono sì diversi e di tanta diversità di diavoli, che qui non si vuole contare (p.247; Chapter 142). The deeds of these idols are so various and of such a variety of devils that we don’t want to recount them here. It appears that the preferred narrative strategy in dealing with even the most bizarre idolatrous practices is to try not to scandalise the reader. A common means the narrative employs to do so is to imply a parallel between pagan and Christian religious practices. In the context of idolatry in ‘Giandu’ (in China), the respect given to idols is directly associated with that paid to Christian saints: ‘ciascuno idolo hae propria festa, com’ hanno gli nostri santi’ (‘each idol has his own feast day, just as our saints do’; p.167; Chapter 67). Similarly, in the context of the Indian ascetics, their use of ox-powder on their bodies is likened to the Christian devotional act of applying holy water (p.268; Chapter 158). The book extends this familiarising habit even to the Indian pantheon, by dropping into a note on idols and demons a remark which indicates that the Indian idolaters too have a notion of saints (even if the colour symbolism for good and evil may seem reversed): ‘fanno dipingere tutti i loro idoli neri e i dimoni bianchi come neve, ché dicono che il loro iddio e i loro santi sono neri’ (‘they have all their idols painted black and their demons white as snow, for they say that their god and their saints are black’; p.266; Chapter 157). Yet the most daring example of an endeavour to make readers more sympathetic to idolatry comes shortly after the aforementioned episode in which dancing girls test the virtuousness of Indian ascetics. The book diverts from the narrative of mainland Indian customs to give an alternative account of the birth of idolatry, which puts at its origin a saint. Audaciously, the text claims that this pagan holy man, and first god of the idolaters, is a worthy match for any Christian saint. The passage recounts how on the island of ‘Seilla’ there was once a prince called ‘Sergamo Borgani’ who according to the tradition of the idolaters – to their ‘usanza’ and ‘dire’ – was the best man ever to have lived among them and the first that they considered to be a saint (‘il migliore uomo che mai fosse tra loro e ’l primo ch’egliono avessono per santo’, p.271; Chapter 159). The book explains that so great was the prince’s desire for virtue that he abandoned worldly pleasures, and left his father the king in order to seek what would never die nor grow old, and to serve the one who had created and fashioned it. When the virtuous

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  57 Sergamo died, his grieving father reportedly made an idol of him for the people to worship as a god. Flouting the medieval tradition that had put King Ninus’ pride at the origin of idol-worship,53 Polo claims that idol of Sergamo is the precursor of all others: ‘questi fu il primaio idolo che fosse fatto, e di costui sono discesi tutti gl’idoli’ (‘this was the first idol that was made, and from it are descended all the idols’; p.271; Chapter 159). The account of the life of Sergamo Borgani then concludes with the following extraordinary assertion: dimorò poscia tutta la vita sua molto onestamente: ché per certo, s’egli fosse istato cristiano battezzato, egli sarebbe istato un gran santo appo Dio’ (p.271; Chapter 159). He lived then all of his life most virtuously, so much so that for certain, if he had been a baptised Christian, he would have been a great saint with God. Such an appraisal of Sergamo Borgani’s life leaves no doubt that the writers considered virtuousness among the pagans a real possibility. While for modern commentators the parallels between the Polian life of Sergamo Borgani and the life of Buddha are clear, to Polo’s contemporaries a resemblance to the story of Barlaam and Josaphat was probably more evident, as a gloss in the ‘VB’ version of the text demonstrates.54 Yet there is a crucial difference between the figure of Prince Josaphat in medieval legend and the figure of Sergamo Borgani in Polo’s book: the innate virtue of the former leads him to become a baptised Christian after which he flourishes even more as a Christian apologist, whereas the passage in Polo seems adamant to stress that Sergamo reached the heights of virtue without baptism. One might go so far as to say it implies that in such a case baptism is a bureaucratic technicality for entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven. There is no better example of Polo’s capacity to positively evaluate non-Christians than this in the book. Significantly, the Dominican Fra Pipino censored this final comment on the sanctity of Sergamo Borgani, excising it in his translation of Polo’s book. The notion that a pagan could attain a level of holiness parallel to a Christian saint was evidently not one the churchman wished to encourage. Fra Pipino, who had become a member of the Dominican order’s missionary society by 1325,55 also wrote a new introduction to the book, in which he tried to impart to it a threefold didactic and religious purpose: to move the Christian reader to thank God for deliverance from the darkness of error and to pray for the illumination of the pagans; to shame the slothful Christian when confronted with this evidence of how much more ready the unbelievers are to worship their idols; and to inspire the religious orders to missionary activity.56 Pipino’s introduction, which encourages the reader to view the gentiles in the book as trapped in blindness and impurity, is out of harmony with the spirit of Polo’s book as a whole. As Larner points out, to maintain this sterner view of non-Christian practices, Pipino had to add comments such as ‘wretched’, ‘abominable’, ‘wicked’ or ‘insane’ to any dispassionate account of non-Christians religions.57 Yet even with the distortions introduced by

58  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione the occasional over-zealous cleric or layman, the manuscripts of Polo’s book still presented to readers a vision of pagan peoples that was remarkably tolerant of difference, gently suggesting through its positive portrayal of pagan societies that idolatry does not contaminate as much as the Church might believe. To conclude, Marco Polo’s book offered his contemporaries a vision of the Indians that was at the same time familiar and radically transformed. It presented ‘India maggiore’ as prosperous and well-governed, casting it as a thriving commercial world, not the abode of fabulous races. Without condemning them, it portrayed the inhabitants of Maabar as holding other values, and raised to greater prominence the Indians’ legendarily courageous attitude to taking their own life, confirming this with new examples. It placed idolatry, not Christianity, as the main religious practice in India, showing it to have diverse sides (violent, festive, social, ascetic and erotic). It also portrayed idolatry generally in a favourable light, without emphasising any demonic element, but at the same time without ever inviting the reader to think of idolatrous religions as an alternative to Christianity. It identified Brahmins in contemporary India but represented them not as ascetics, but as householders and superstitious idolaters. Yet by insisting on their extraordinary virtue, as well as on the saintliness of Sergamo Borgani, the book re-affirmed the virtuous pagan tradition, and even promoted the view that pagans can attain virtue without the knowledge and True Worship of the Christian God. Finally, the open-mindedness Polo’s book expresses towards (non-Muslim) pagans, and especially the Indians, is unselfconscious – unlike later, humanist appreciation of the classical pagan world, which tended to have an apologetic element. But then, unlike the humanists, Polo’s book did not actually propose that its readers should learn positive lessons from non-Christian cultures but merely about them.

Notes   1 See the biography of Giotto in Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori, ed architettori (Florence: Lorenzo Torrentino, 1550). A revised and enlarged edition was published by the Florentine Giunti press in 1568.  2 Foscolo Benedetto’s critical edition of the Franco-Italian ‘F’ manuscript remains authoritative, hereafter ‘Polo (1928)’. However, for the sake of consistency and because it offers a better idea of what would have confronted a fourteenth-century Italian reader, quotations are from Ruggieri’s critical edition of the early fourteenthcentury Tuscan translation (the ‘Ottimo’ text), hereafter ‘Polo (1986)’, unless otherwise indicated. For a modern edition of the Venetian version of the book, see Polo (1999). Translations in this chapter are mine, unless otherwise indicated.   3 Rustichello specialised in romance tales and his influence seems particularly apparent in the sections on the Tartar wars.   4 Several other areas of Polian studies are controversial, with scholars debating questions such as the work’s authorship or co-authorship; which manuscript is closest to the original; if there was indeed just one ‘original’; what sort of book it is; which title for the book is more accurate; and, especially, whether or not Marco Polo went to China as claimed. For a comprehensive re-examination of all the commonly debated points and a persuasive rebuttal of the ‘never went to China’ theory, see Larner (1999) (esp. p. 58–67). See also, Vogel (2012).   5 On the accuracy of Polo’s Indian observations, see Nilakanta Sastri (1957), p. 111–120.

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  59   6 Larner (1999), p. 116–126. Pegolotti’s La pratica della mercatura written after 1330 was a guide to business along Silk Road with little interest in non-commercial themes. For a translation, see Yule (1914), III.   7 Larner (1999), p.44 & 208 (n.4).   8 Polo (1928), p. ix–ccxxi; Larner (1999), p. 109–114 & 184–85 (appendix I ‘A Note on Manuscripts of the Book’); Polo (2001), p. 9–40. No autograph copy of the original text has survived, and the extant manuscripts vary quite significantly. Nevertheless, it is generally agreed that the Franco-Italian ‘F’ manuscript is closest to the original, with the ‘Z’ manuscript containing some unique passages which are believed to be authentic. For an edition of Pipino’s Latin text, see Prásek (1902).   9 Facsimile editions available in Unit 6 of Hellinga (1995). 10 Richardson (1999), p.21. 11 According to the catalogues of the Biblioteca Marciana and the Vatican Library. 12 See Milanesi’s introduction to Ramusio (1978–1988) and Vol. III (1980), p. 9–297 for the text of Polo. More on Ramusio in Chapter 10. 13 O’Doherty (2013), p. 148–149. O’Doherty’s work on Polo’s reception is heavily indebted to Dutschke (1993). 14 O’Doherty (2013), p. 150–151, 172, 312–313; Larner (1999), p. 142 & 151–153; Lach (1977): II, p. 52 & 76; Polo (1928), p.cxxv & clvii; Gentile (1992), p.42. 15 Polo (1928), p.cxxxi & cxciii–cxciv. On Acqui, see Chiesa (2004). 16 O’Doherty (2013), p.152; comment as transcribed in Dutschke (1993), p. 318. 17 Polo (1928), p.cxxxi, and p. cxciii–cxciv; Larner (1999), p. 119, 131–136, & 180. 18 Silvestri (1954), p.23 (7r–7v). At the same time, he expresses himself reluctant to rely on Odorico’s relatio for lack, it seems, of a similarly reliable contemporary witness to confirm what the Franciscan had said, apropos of which Silvestri adds the cryptic comment: ‘scimus enim quanta sit invidia, et quantum hominum industria virtusque presentium sit in odio nobilitatis quorundam’ (‘For we know how great envy is, and how many men, outstanding in diligence and virtue, hate the renown of certain others’). Silvestri’s De insulis et earum proprietatibus was finished sometime between 1385 and 1406. In the work, Silvestri reports Polo on the ‘Agaman’ islanders (11r), on the Male and Female isles (65v), on ‘Iava’ (70r) and ‘Lava’ (82v), Madagascar (93r), Zanzibar (94r), ‘Pentayn’ (110r), ‘Seylam’ and ‘Maabar’ (133v–134r). According to Pecoraro, Il milione was also reproduced almost in its entirety by Domenico Bandini di Arezzo in the Fons memorabilium universi; Silvestri (1954), p. 16. See Montesdeoca Medina (2000) for a text with a parallel Spanish translation. 19 Larner (1999), p.151. 20 Falchetta (2006). 21 O’Doherty (2013), p. 168–171. 22 Larner (1999), plate 12. 23 See the preface to Volume 2 (Venice: I Giunti, 1559) of Ramusio’s Delle navigationi et viaggi (2r–8v). 24 Larner (1999), p.110 and illustration 4. 25 On the book’s particular three-fold division of the ‘Indias’, see Nilakanta Sastri (1957), p. 113–114, and Polo (1986), p.282 (Chapter 172), p. 327 and 345–347. 26 ‘Z’, ‘V’ and ‘R’ have this comment; Polo (1928), p.180 (note ‘m’ on Chapter CLXXV). 27 Said (2003), p. 102–103. 28 Polo (1986), p.141 (Chapter 42), p.208 (Chapter 103), p.253 (Chapter 148), p.254 (Chapter 149), and p.256 (Chapter 153). 29 Polo (1928), p.151 (note ‘x’ on Chapter CLIII). The ‘Ottimo’ text, which some consider abridged, portrays ‘signore Fafur’ as a good king in many respects, but not a warrior; it describes him as taking fright and fleeing his kingdom in the face of the Mongols’ advance. It mentions women servants at his court, but without suggesting sexual indulgence on the king’s part; Polo (1986), p. 227–228 (Chapter 124) and p.237

60  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione (Chapter 135). The ‘F’ text edited by Foscolo-Benedetto mentions King Facfur’s taste for women, but emphasises his charitable works: ‘Mes si sachiés qu’il n’estoit homes vaillanz d’armes; mes sun delit estoit de fenmes et fasoit bien a povres jens’ (‘But you should know that he was not valiant in arms; rather his delight was in women and in doing good to the poor’; Polo (1928), p.134; Chapter CXL). The ‘F’ text also blames the loss of his kingdom on the fact that neither he nor his people were warriors: ‘se le jens fuissent esté homes d’armes, jamés ne l’ausent perdue; mes, por ce que il n’estoient vaillans ne costumés d’armes, la perderent il’ (‘If his people had been men of arms, they never would have lost it [i.e. the kingdom]; but, precisely because they were neither valiant nor used to war, they lost it’; Polo (1928), p.134; Chapter CXL). 30 Martines (1972). 31 Skinner (1978), p. 56–58, 118, 124–127. 32 Skinner (1978), p. 16–18. 33 Machiavelli (1993), passim, but take for example: VII.4–8, and VIII. 4–6. 34 Il libro del cortegiano, IV. xxxiii, Cordié (1960), p. 318–319; Skinner (1978), p.127. 35 The ‘F’ text introduces these subjects as ‘merveioses choses’ and ‘une autre couse bien fait a mervoiller’ respectively; Polo (1928), p.180 (Chapter CLXXV). 36 ‘In funere regis corpus comburunt ac proceres sponte in accensam lignorum piram se proiciunt dicentes in alia vita cum eo felicitate usuros. Qui ritus non solum in rege, sed etiam in aliis observatus est et quicumque tali se morti sponte disponunt, laudantur. Isidorus De imagine mundi scribit Bragmanorum gentem fore in India que se ultro amore alterius vite mictunt in ignem’ (134r: ‘In the funeral of the king, they burn his body and noblemen voluntarily throw themselves on the burning pyre of wood, saying that they will have the blessing of going with him into the next life. This rite is not only observed for the king, but also for others and whoever is voluntarily disposed to go to such a death, is commended. Isidore writes in On the image of the world that a Brahmin people is found in India who hurl themselves into the fire out of a desire for another life in the hereafter’; Silvestri (1954), p.217). 37 BnF, MS lat. 3195, fol. 55v. The notes next to Maabar funeral practices read: ‘detestabilem’, ‘iterum inanis glorie vana consuetudo’; O’ Doherty (2013), p.189. 38 Curtius Rufus interpreted the golden litters, jewels and incense of Indian kings as evidence of great fleshly indulgence: ‘Regum tamen luxuria, quam ipsi magnificentiam appellant, super omnium gentium uitia’ (‘The decadence, however, of their kings, which they themselves call “magnificence”, exceeds the vice of all other nations’; VIII. 9. 23). In later writers, such as the Jesuit Giovanni Pietro Maffei, ‘luxuria’ also regains its classical force. 39 Readings of Canto V proliferate. For a recent interpretation and bibliography, see Enrico Malato’s reading of Canto V in Malato & Mazzucchi (2014). 40 Edgerton, Jr. (1985), p. 57–58, 131–142 & 180–182. 41 ‘Z’ and ‘R’; Polo (1928), p.185 (note ‘z’ on Chapter CLXXV). 42 Prásek (1902), p.169. 43 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, MS. fr. 2810, fol. 80; Camille (1989), p. 160–161 (& fig.90). 44 Polo (1928), p.185 (note ‘z’ on Chapter CLXXV). 45 O’Doherty (2013), p.158 & n. 122). The manuscript is in Florence: BNCF, MS II.IV. 136, fol. 50r; fol. 52r. 46 O’Doherty (2013), p.184; p. 191–192. The notes are at fol. 94r. There are no moral judgments in the marginalia of this ms. 47 The note is damaged but reads something like ‘di choloro ch u e fanno le mertie adaghere’; O’Doherty (2013), p.158, n.122. 48 Olschki (1937), p.170. 49 O’ Doherty, p.158, n. 122; BNCF, MS II.IV. 136; fol. 52r. 50 At this point, the Penguin translation based on ‘F’ and ‘Z’ reads: ‘so strict are these idolaters and so stubborn in their misbelief’; Polo (1958), p.281.

Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione  61 51 At the end of a long discourse, found only in the ‘R’ text and put into the mouth of Kubilai Khan, comes the comment: ‘Et se dal papa, come è stato detto nel principio, fossero stati mandati huomini atti a predicarli la fede nostra, il detto gran Can s’avria fatto christiano; perchè si sa di certo che n’avea grandissimo desiderio’ (‘And if the Pope, as was said in the beginning, had sent men capable of preaching our faith, the aforementioned Great Khan would have become Christian; because we know for sure that he had a great desire to do so’); Italian as cited in Polo (1928), p.71 (note ‘a’ on Chapter LXXXI). 52 ‘Homines itaque provincie Cathay pre aliis gentibus invenit moribus pulcrioribus et pluribus doctrinatos, quoniam in eorum studio semper intendunt et scientie disciplina’ (‘And so he discovered that the men of the province of Cathay excel other nations in the beauty of their manners and knowledge of many things, since they devote much time to study and to the acquisition of learning’); ‘Z’, as cited in Polo (1928), p.101 (note ‘a’ on Chapter CV). 53 Camille (1989), p. 50–51. Yet in both versions of the origins of idolatry, it is still paternal grief that sparks the first idol to be made. 54 The ‘VB’ text gloss reads: ‘Questo asomeia alla vita de san iosafat’ (‘This resembles the life of Saint Josaphat’); Polo (1928), p.clxxxvii (note 1). 55 The congregation of which Pipino became a member was called ‘Societas fratrum peregrinantium propter Christum inter gentes’; O’Doherty (2013), p.162 and n.2. 56 Prásek (1902), p. 1–2; also Polo (1928), p.CLIV. 57 Larner (1999), p.114; Polo (1928), p.CLV.

References Camille, M. (1989) The Gothic Idol: Ideology and Image-making in Medieval Art. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chiesa, P. (2004) Iacopo da Acqui. In: Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani 62. [Online] Available from: http://www.treccani.it [Accessed 25 October 2013]. Cordié, C. (ed) (1960) Opere di Baldassare Castiglione, Giovanni della Casa, Benvenuto Cellini. Milan: Riccardo Ricciardi. Curtius Rufus, Quintus (2009) Historiae, ed. C. M. Lucarini. Berlin: De Gruyter. Dutschke, C. W. (1993) Francesco Pipino and the Manuscripts of Marco Polo’s Travels. PhD thesis. Los Angeles, CA: University of California. Edgerton, Jr., S. Y. (1985) Pictures and Punishment: Art and Criminal Prosecution during the Florentine Renaissance. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Falchetta, P. (2006) Fra Mauro’s World Map. Turnhout: Brepols. Gentile, S. (ed.) (1992) Firenze e la scoperta dell’America: Umanesimo e geografia nel ’400 Fiorentino. Collana di Studi e Ricerche, 4. Florence: Olschki. Hellinga, L. (ed.) (1995) Incunabula: The Printing Revolution in Europe 1455–1500. Unit 6: The Image of the World. Travellers’ Tales. Reading: Research Publications (1995). Lach, D. F. with Van Kley, E. J. (1965–1993) Asia in the Making of Europe (Vols 1–9). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Larner, J. (1999) Marco Polo and the Discovery of the World. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Machiavelli, N. (1993) Il principe. Milan: Rizzoli. Malato, E. & Mazzucchi, A. (eds) (2014) Lectura Dantis Romana, Cento canti per cento anni: I. Inferno. Volume One: 1. Canti I–XVII. Rome: Salerno. Martines, L. (ed.) (1972) Violence and Civil Disorder in Italian Cities 1200–1500. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

62  Medieval Indian tradition in Marco Polo’s Il milione Montesdeoca Medina, J. M. (ed. and trans.) (2000) Los isolarios de la época del humanismo:el de insulis del Domenico Silvestri. PhD thesis. La Laguna: Universidad de la Laguna. [Online] Available at: ftp://tesis.bbtk.ull.es/ccssyhum/cs103.pdf [Accessed 2 November 2014]. Nilakanta Sastri, K. A. (1957) Marco Polo on India. In: Balazs, É. et al. (eds), Oriente Poliano. Rome: Istituto Italiano Per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente. O’Doherty, M. (2013) The Indies and the Medieval West: Thought, Report, Imagination. Turnhout, BE: Brepols. Olschki, L. (1937) Storia letteraria delle scoperte geografiche. Florence: Olschki. Polo, Marco (2001) Le Devisement du monde, I: Départ des voyageurs et traversée de la Perse, ed. Philippe Ménard et al. Textes littéraires français, 533. Geneva: Droz. Polo, Marco (1999) Il “Milione” veneto, ms. CM 211 della Biblioteche Civica di Padova, ed. A. Barbieri & A. Andreose, with M. Mauro. Venezia: Marsilio. Polo, Marco (1986) Il milione, ed. R. M. Ruggieri. Biblioteca dell’Archivum Romanicum, 200. Florence: Olschki. Polo, Marco (1958) The Travels. Trans. by Ronald Latham. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Polo, Marco (1928) Il milione, ed. L. Foscolo Benedetto. Florence: Olschki. Prásek, J. V. (ed.) (1902) Marka Pavlova z Benátek, Milion. Prague: Nákladem České Akademie. Ramusio, G. B. (1978–1988) Navigazioni e viaggi (Vols 1–6), ed. M Milanesi. Turin: Einaudi. Ramusio, G. B. (1559) Delle navigationi et viaggi. Secondo volume. Venice: I Giunti. Richardson, B. (1999) Printing, Writers and Readers in Renaissance Italy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Said, E. W. (2003) Orientalism. London: Penguin. Silvestri, D. (1954) De insulis et earum proprietatibus, ed. C. Pecoraro. Atti della Accademia di Scienze Lettere ed Arti di Palermo. IV, 14 (II), p. 1–320. Skinner, Q. (1978) The Foundations of Modern Political Thought. Volume One: The Renaissance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vasari, G. (1550) Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori, ed architettori. Florence: Lorenzo Torrentino. Vogel, H. U. (2012) Marco Polo Was in China: New Evidence from Currencies, Salts and Revenues. Leiden: Brill. Yule, H. (ed. & trans.) (1913–1916) Cathay and the Way Thither (Vols 1–4), revised by Henri Cordier. 2nd series. London: Hakluyt Society.

4 A fourteenth-century religious view of the Indians Odorico’s relatio and its re‑presentation by Mandeville

Around the year 1321, four Franciscan monks were executed on the command of a local Muslim overlord, in a place known as ‘Tana’, on the island of Salette, just north of present-day Mumbai. This unfortunate event had several noteworthy effects. Chief among them was that, when news reached Europe, the four Franciscans entered the annals of church history, as the first Latin Christians since apostolic times to be martyred on Indian soil. Another outcome of the event was that a Dominican associate of the martyrs (who had managed to escape Tana unharmed) was inspired to lobby the Pope for a proper mission to the region, and found himself appointed the first Latin bishop of Quilon, in modern-day Kerala. The martyrdom of the four Franciscans also left an artistic legacy: since one of the four friars had hailed from Siena, Ambrogio Lorenzetti (d.1348) was duly commissioned to paint a fresco commemorating the martyrdom for the town’s Chiesa di San Francesco. This fresco was still undamaged and on view to visi‑ tors in the fifteenth century, when the great Lorenzo Ghiberti (d.1455), author of Florence’s celebrated baptistery doors, described the work as a masterpiece.1 Yet more importantly than all these effects for our purposes is that the martyrdom of the four Franciscans in India led to an influential book, by the Italian friar sent to collect the martyrs’ bones – a book which displayed a dramatically new and criti‑ cal vision of the pagans living in the Indian subcontinent. The work in question is known as the ‘relatio’ of Odorico da Pordenone. Whereas Polo’s book had offered Renaissance readers a largely positive view of far-eastern pagan societies, Odorico’s representation of the Indians constitutes the second type of response to the contemporary pagan world bequeathed by the fourteenth century to the later Italian Renaissance. Before delving into the detail of Odorico’s response, this chapter first traces the trajectory of the reception of his relatio in Italy before 1600, highlighting its particular success in the fifteenth century with northern Italian readers. As will become apparent, Odorico’s account added enormously to the bank of ‘factual’ information about India in Renaissance Italy, but was theologically conventional in its condemnation of Indian idolatry. Arguably, this conventionality sprang not from Odorico the missionary’s religious vocation as such, but from his lack of personal implication in this particular mis‑ sionary cause – from playing the role of ‘observer’, rather than ‘protagonist’ in missionary activities in India. Ironically, the implications of the Indian passages

64  Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville of Odorico’s account were later radically transformed by a foreign author known as ‘Mandeville’, whose ‘Travels’ were a printers’ favourite in Italy during the crucial decades of European expansion. Mandeville’s militantly inclusive theo‑ logical interpretation of the contemporary pagan world represents the third type of response bequeathed by the fourteenth century to later Renaissance readers. At the same time, Mandeville’s borrowings from Odorico make it a rare example of a contemporary reader’s reaction to a text, a reaction which is a reminder of the complex mental gymnastics involved in the process of reading – and of the fact that any reader can potentially interpret a text against the grain.

Odorico’s relatio and its audiences Less than a decade after Marco Polo’s death, and shortly before his own, the Franciscan missionary Odorico da Pordenone (d.1331) dictated an account of his eastern travels to a colleague at the convent of Sant’Antonio, Padua.2 Odorico’s relatio re-affirmed the wonders told of Cathay and the empire of the Great Khan in Il milione, whilst adding significantly to received images of far-eastern religions.3 Yet what the missionary text had to say about the Indians was far less favourable than Polo’s account. For the Franciscan, the way of life of the South Indian people of ‘Mibar’ was unsophisticated in the extreme. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, missionary work in the East was primarily entrusted to the Franciscan and Dominican Orders.4 Among these groups, it was common practice for missionaries in the field to compile reports on their work and the peoples they encountered, so that future missionaries could be better informed about the status quo in regions to be evangelised. Frequently, such reports did not circulate much beyond the confines of the mendicant orders. Odorico’s relatio is a notable exception. His account was enormously popular with readers not only in Italy but in the rest of Latin Christendom. It has come down to us in over 100 manuscripts in Latin, Italian, French and German; approx‑ imately a fifth of the extant manuscripts are of Italian origin. The precise manuscript history of this friar’s tale, however, is problematic to untwine since it seems to have circulated in different versions.5 There was a sim‑ ple Latin version produced in 1331 by the Franciscan Guglielmo da Solagna, to whom Odorico had originally dictated his experiences in May 1330. In the same year, the Franciscan Henry of Glatz in Avignon either transcribed or compiled a more formal, Latin version, which he then seems to have reworked in Prague nine years later, adding to it some other friars’ reminiscences. According to Lucio Monaco, both Latin versions contained an account of the martyrdom in India of four Franciscans.6 At least two Italian-vernacular versions descend from these Latin texts. The first Italian version, from the fourteenth century, must have been aimed at a pious audience, possibly clergy, since it includes a highly elaborate version of the martyrdom story and of Odorico’s struggles to deliver the martyrs’ relics to the Franciscans in China. The other Italian version represents a summary, rather than a re-working of the Latin versions: it excludes the martyrdom account but includes details not found in either Guglielmo or Henry of Glatz’ texts.

Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville 65 This version is thought to have been aimed at a lay readership, probably mercantile classes. Most of the manuscripts belonging to this second group (known as ‘Il memoriale toscano’) date from the fifteenth century, and seem to have been distributed mainly in Tuscany and the Veneto.7 Among the original owners of the extant Italian-vernacular manuscripts of Odorico’s relatio were members of a female religious order, a certain Jacobo D’Albo of Verona (whose manuscript is the only illustrated one), the Dominicans of Santa Maria Novella in Florence, as well as the gonfalone of Vaio and a member of the popolo in the same city. Some of the owners of the surviving Italian-origin Latin manuscripts of Odorico have also been identified, among whom are Franciscans in Udine, a priest with humanist interests by the name of Pietro Edo, the Convent of San Bernardino in Aquila, and Donatus, priest of San Clemente, Padua (whose copy of Polo’s book is bound up in the same volume).8 Clearly, Odorico’s book was thus fairly widely read in northern and central Italy, but it appears to have enjoyed less authority than Polo’s book as a source of fac‑ tual information about the East; O’Doherty notes that it was very rare in Italy for manuscripts of Odorico to be bound up with texts of an intellectual nature, with the one exception of the volume owned by Convent of San Bernardino, where Odorico appears alongside a commentary on Al Mansour and a translation of Aristotle’s scientific work.9 Nevertheless, there is some evidence of interest in Odorico among the Italian humanists, for whom the Franciscan’s account seems to have provided a point of comparison with Polo. Domenico Silvestri mentions Odorico alongside Polo in his account of islands (although Silvestri professes to have more trust in Polo as a source).10 Inventory evidence places a manuscript of Odorico in the library of Pico della Mirandola (1463–1494), who also appears to have possessed a copy of Polo’s book.11 While Odorico’s account seems to have flourished in manuscript form, print‑ ers seem to have been slow to become interested in the book. In 1513, the first full edition of Odorico was published in Pesaro, some seventeen years after the first printing of Polo’s book in Italy. Its editor was the controversial humanist Pontico Virunio, who saw Odorico as a kind of reincarnation of Pliny, ‘Plinio redi‑ vivo’, comparing him favourably to Horace, Homer and Virgil for the novelties he described. In what seems to have been part of a bizarre effort to bolster his own (fake) identity, Pontico also turned Odorico into a fellow citizen of ‘Virunius’, reversed the sequence of Odorico’s travels so that it mirrored Il milione, and claimed (erroneously) that the Franciscan had preceded the Venetian.12 For the rest of the sixteenth century, the record is extremely patchy. Nevertheless, it is clear that Odorico’s account of the East was still considered important enough in the late sixteenth century for versions of the text to be added to the 1574 edition of Ramusio’s Delle navigationi et viaggi.13

Bestial and abominable Indians Odorico was sent to the East at a time when the Latin Church’s missionary efforts were directed not simply at saving souls but at creating a strong Christendom able

66  Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville to resist outside attack. Popes instructed missionaries to work for the return of schismatic Christian groups to communion with Rome, as well as for the conver‑ sion of infidels. While severe restrictions on Christian preaching made it difficult to make converts in Muslim states, it was also no easy matter to convince other Christians to accept the Pope of Rome as having supreme authority over the uni‑ versal Church. To some Latin missionaries, it may even have seemed easier to convert the pagans than to bring schismatics and heretics into the fold. Certainly, there were those among the clergy who still harboured the dream that the Tartars would be converted and join forces with the Latins in a crusade against the Turks. Converting the pagan peoples of the East had therefore a dual purpose: the salva‑ tion of peoples ‘in darkness’ and the establishment of more Christian allies to aid in the battle against Islam.14 The hierarchical ranking of peoples discernible in Odorico’s report reflects the religious politics of his day. According to the relatio, Odorico had arrived in the Indian subcontinent not specifically to evangelise the locals but rather to collect the relics of the four Franciscans martyred at Tana. Once collected, Odorico’s mission was to deliver the martyrs’ relics to one of the Franciscan convents which had been established in Cathay, part of the region Odorico calls ‘India Superior’. Understandably under the circumstances, since they are held responsible for the deaths of his colleagues, Odorico’s text is harshest on the Muslims (‘saracini’), who are depicted as irrational and prone to violence, unable to support in a calm manner outsiders discussing their faith (p.20; Chapter XIV). Nestorian Christians do not fare much better; those in India are considered the worst and most iniq‑ uitous of heretics: ‘nequissimi et pessimi eretici’ (p.32; Chapter XXVIII). At the same time, episodes relating Odorico’s religious debates, with Indian Ocean islanders (on eating people) and with a Chinese monk (on reincarnation), demon‑ strate a firm belief in the spiritual and intellectual superiority of Latin Christians.15 However, all this does not prevent a positive appreciation of the power of the Great Khan and the material riches of ‘India Superior’ (China) coming across in the text.16 A lesser place, both in terms of ranking and in the space dedicated to them in Odorico’s account, is reserved for the peoples of South India, a region referred to as ‘Mibar’ (p.30; Chapter XXVI).17 Practically the only thing Odorico’s relatio is concerned with in South India, apart from pepper growing, is the locals’ particular form of idolatry. The mission‑ ary’s text also records the Indian worship of the ox – with an emphasis on local belief in it as a holy thing: ‘una cosa santa’ (p. 30–31; Chapter XXVI). However, where Polo’s book had simply stated that Indians worship the ox because they believe it a good thing, Odorico’s relatio represents ox-worship in such a way as to repel a hygiene-conscious readership. It is claimed that across the full spectrum of Indian society people pay reverence to the faeces and urine of the ‘bue’ (‘ox’), collecting them in vessels of silver and gold to use as part of their daily toilette: ‘così come fa il popolo, così fa el Re e la Reina’ (‘so the people do, and so also the King and the Queen’; p.31; Chapter XXVI). Washing their faces in the urine and daubing their bodies with the manure is reportedly seen by the Indians as a means of sanctification: ‘quando hanno così fatto, sì dicono che sono santificati’ (‘when

Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville 67 they’ve done so, then they say they’ve been made holy’; p.31; Chapter XXVI). In the late-fourteenth century or early fifteenth century, the scribe of what O’Doherty describes as a ‘scruffily written’ Italian-origin Latin manuscript of Odorico seems to have been enthralled by the grotesque elements of the Franciscan’s description since he chose to provide a rubric highlighting the royal use of urine and excre‑ ment.18 A rather more charming and chivalric interpretation of this passage is the line-drawing illustration of Indian ox-worship contained in Jacopo D’Albo’s, ear‑ lier, fourteenth-century manuscript.19 Further anecdotes in Odorico’s text encourage a view of pagan Indian religion as demonic and extreme (p. 32–34; Chapter XXIX). Even when the Indian acts of devotion represented do not end in death, they still largely involve physical torture: ‘la corda al collo’; ‘le mani sopra una tavola legata al collo’; ‘un coltello fitto nel braccio’ (‘a rope around the neck’, ‘hands above a plank tied to the neck’, ‘a knife stuck in the arm’; p.32; Chapter XXIX). If idolatry can be graded, it is idolatry of the worst and most traditional kind that is reportedly to be found in Indian society: the sort that produces the abomination, ‘abominazione’, of human sacrifice (p.31; Chapter XXVII). Three examples of human sacrifice before an idol dominate the account of South India. The first recounts how Indian parents slay their children before an idol that is half-ox, half-man. As if to underline the demonic element, the idol is portrayed not as a powerless block of stone but as a living force that speaks – ‘risponde per bocca’ (‘responds through its mouth’) – and demands the blood of forty virgins (p.31; Chapter XXVII). The second describes how, as part of the annual ‘birthday’ celebrations for another ‘idolo molto maraviglioso’ (‘a most astonishing idol’; p.32; Chapter XXIX), 500 people deliberately kill themselves underneath the wheels of the idol’s processional cart: ‘dicono che vogliono morire per lo Dio loro: et così questo carro andando loro per dosso, sì gli fende per mezzo, sì che incontenente muoiono’ (‘they say they want to die for their God: and so this cart drives over their back and it cuts them in two, and they die at once’; p.33; Chapter XXIX). In the third example, human sacrifice (in the form of knifing oneself to death) is represented as a personal act of devotion, independent of the festive calendar, which can take place whenever an Indian desires: Alcuno viene et dice: Io mi voglio uccidere per lo Dio mio; et sì raccoglie tutti e parenti et gli amici di quella contrada, che venghiano a fare festa a cos‑ tui che vuole morire per lo Dio suo; et sì appiccano al collo di costui cinque coltelli bene aguzzi et taglienti, et sì lo menano inanzi a questo idolo con grandi canti; et quando egli è dinanzi a questo idolo, tole uno di questi col‑ telli, et ad alta voce chiama et dice: Io mi taglio la carne mia per lo Dio mio; et quando l’ae tagliata, sì la gietta ne la faccia di questo idolo, et dice: Io mi lascio morire per lo Dio mio; et a le fine si uccide (p. 33–34; Chapter XXIX). Someone comes along and says, ‘I want to kill myself for my God!’ And then he gathers all his relatives and friends in that district to come and celebrate

68  Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville the one who says he wants to die for his God, and then into his neck they stick five well-sharpened and piercing knives, and then they lead him before this idol with a lot of singing, and when he is in front of the idol, he pulls out one of these knives, and with a loud voice he cries out and says, ‘I’m cutting out my own flesh for my God!’ And when he’s cut it out, he throws it in the face of this idol and says, ‘I’m letting myself die for my God!’ And in the end, he kills himself. What particularly appears to fascinate is the party atmosphere in which the suicides reportedly take place. Great emphasis is laid in the birthday celebrations passage on how the procession sets out in jubilation and returns equally joyful, bodycount notwithstanding: ‘con grandi canti et con molte generationi di strumenti’; ‘molte doncelle [. . .] cantando maravigliosamente’; ‘con questi canti et istru‑ menti di prima’ (‘with a lot of singing and lots of types of instruments’; ‘many maidens singing wondrously’; ‘with the same songs and instruments as before’; p.33; Chapter XXIX). As if to increase the sense of wonder, Odorico’s relatio offers no rationalisation for the suicides at this festival, beyond a suggestion that the Indians view it as a way of attaining sainthood: et dicono che vogliono morire per lo Dio loro [. . .] et poscia tolgono questi corpi morti et ardongli; et dicono che sono santi, perchè sono morti per il Dio suo’ (p.33; Chapter XXIX). And they say they want to die for their God [. . .] and afterwards they take these dead bodies and burn them; and they say they are saints, because they died for their God. The same, purely religious motivation for suicide is given in the knifing episode referred to previously, where the festivity of the occasion is likewise highlighted (p. 33–34; Chapter XXIX). If one compares these representations of ritual suicide in India to the one instance of it in Polo’s book, a subtle difference of emphasis is immediately apparent. The Venetian merchant’s account shows self-mutilation to death only as the sort of thing the Indian equivalent of a person on death-row might do. Odorico the missionary’s account prefers to give the impression that Indians mutilate and kill themselves ordinarily as an act of devotion, as though the people as a whole suffer from a pious death-wish. Had Odorico wished to present Indian religious observances in a less severe light, he might have drawn a parallel between the physical self-torture practised by devotees in India and the voluntary acts of flagellation that were in vogue among certain groups of Latin Christians in the Europe of his day, and that would continue to be a fashionable form of penitence in Italy well into the following centuries.20 Similarly, the Indian willingness to die for their god could have been likened to the heroism displayed by Christian martyrs – a parallel that occurred to at least one later reader, the writer known as ‘Mandeville’. Yet Odorico seems rather to have been set on portraying the Indians of the subcontinent as thoroughly

Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville 69 degenerate. In the course of the narrative, the writer insinuates that there is a lot more to Indian life which the reader would find disagreeable: ‘così molte altre cose fa questo popolo, che a scriverle et udirle sarebbe una abominazione’ (p.31; Chapter XXVII); ‘così molt’altre cose maravigliose si fanno da questa giente, che non sono da scrivere’ (p.34; Chapter XXIX); and again (following a mention of widow-burning), ‘così vi s’osservano molte cose et modi bestiali et maravigliosi, che non è molto bisogno a scrivere’ (p.32; Chapter XXVII).21 Nevertheless, it would be misleading to represent Odorico as someone funda‑ mentally insensitive to the achievements of non-European cultures, on the basis of his reactions to the Indians of ‘Mibar’. He clearly appreciates the peoples of ‘India Superior’, the region of Cathay and Manzi, for the creature comforts their societies offer and for the various technical wonders they are able to perform. However, subcontinent Indian society, it seems, is for Odorico full of cose maravigliose of the sort which invite a negative response: ‘wonder’ in the sense of amazement at what are regarded as atrocities, rather than a ‘wonder’ implying admiration. This is not to say that this India holds no power of attraction at all. Despite the claim that writing about such things is unseemly, the writer is not immune to (what Conrad famously phrased) the ‘fascination of the abomination’: the passages on human sacrifice and holy torture in India are among the longest in the text.22 Whereas Polo’s book made ritual suicide in honour of the idol just one aspect of Indian religious life, Odorico’s relatio makes violence and blood cults central to the Indian experience.

Jordanus’ more sympathetic view of Indian idolatry Yet it would be naive to suppose that the highly negative view of pagan Indian society presented in Odorico’s relatio stems simply from the fact that its source was a Latin Christian missionary. To illustrate this point, it suffices to look at the portrayal of pagan Indians in Jourdain Catalani de Séverac’s Mirabilia descripta, written around 1328. Jordanus, as he is known, was a French Dominican who had been a companion of the four Franciscans martyred in India. Sometime after writ‑ ing his report on the East, he became bishop of Quilon, South India. The Mirabilia descripta was comparatively unknown at the time: it survives in just one manu‑ script.23 Nevertheless, as the work of another Latin Christian missionary and a contemporary, it is useful in establishing whether the relatio’s condemnation of the Indians was inevitably the result of Odorico’s vocation. Jordanus divides ‘India’ into three parts, ‘Minor’, ‘Maior’, and ‘Tertia’, where the first two largely correspond to regions of the Indian subcontinent. Overall, Jordanus displays a greater sympathy than Odorico towards the pagan Indians (although he shares the Franciscan’s poor opinion of Indian Christians).24 He sees pagan Indians as fellow victims of Muslim oppression, lamenting in parallel the destruction by Saracen Turks of churches and of pagan temples (‘templa ydolo‑ rum’): ‘Dolor est audire et penosum videre’ (‘A grief to hear of and painful to see’; p.114). He praises the people of Lesser India, in particular, as clean, truthful

70  Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville and just (although he regards both Lesser India and Greater India as similar), and represents them as ripe for conversion.25 Perhaps rather too optimistically, Jordanus even suggests that the Indian pagans recognise domination by Latin Christians to be their destiny: pagani istius Yndiae habent prophetias suas, quod nos Latini debemus subju‑ gare totum mundum (p.114). The pagans of this India have their own prophecies, namely that we Latins have to subjugate the whole world. On the surface of it, this remark about an Indian prophecy of Latin domination seems to lend support to the Saidian contention that Europeans have tended to view Easterners as both in need of a European overlord and as peoples inclined towards slavery: the Indian voice Jordanus introduces into the narrative is one that admits the inevitability of its own subjugation. It is impossible to know for certain whether such a prophecy was genuinely circulating among the Indians, or whether Jordanus garbled an account of something else or even just made it up. However, he does mention the prophecy also in an earlier letter sent from India – and unless we want to accuse the Dominican of being a shameless liar or severely linguisti‑ cally-challenged, we should probably entertain the possibility that he is reporting something he was told there.26 Why any Indian might have told a Latin missionary such a thing is another mystery. Yet by accepting to mention the prophecy in his missionary reports, Jordanus is sending a clear message to his superiors: Latin mission and Latin rule in India is legitimate because it is sanctioned by divine providence, so much so that even the pagans are aware of it. Interestingly, by pay‑ ing attention to the prophecy, Jordanus covertly aligns himself with those Church Fathers who had maintained that pagans can and do receive revelations from God. With the intention to subjugate the Indians – to Latin-style Christianity in Jordanus’ case – comes a greater sympathy towards their form of paganism. If one concentrates on the Indian customs which are reported by both Odorico and Jordanus, it becomes clear that Jordanus’ text reveals a greater attempt to accommodate pagan Indian idolatry to Christian ideals. Most likely, he did so in order to gain support for a Latin mission in the Indian subcontinent, whereas Odorico’s report is one of an observer just passing through with no especial com‑ mitment to the region. In Mirabilia descripta, Jordanus appears to gloss over the multiplicity of idols and polytheism he reports in mainstream Indian religion, in order to emphasise their (more Christian) belief in an Omnipotent Creator God (p.115). Similarly, he strives to make the Indians’ attitude to the ox more palatable to Christian readers. He does so first by suggesting the Indians simply honour (‘honorant’) it, although he has to concede that the majority actually worship it: ‘vel maior pars eum adorant’ (p.115). Then he supplies a rationalisation for the Indians’ attitude to the beast; this rationalisation almost implies that the Indians’ behaviour accords in spirit with the injunctions to honour one’s parents, and not to kill, given in the Ten Commandments. No pagan Indian would kill an ox:

Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville 71 dicentes quod si non est licitum occidere homini patrem suum, sic nec bovem, [. . .] et insuper habeant de iis lac et butirum, et omnia alia quæque bona (p.115). since they say that if it is not right for a man to kill his father, in the same way neither [is it right to kill] an ox, [. . .] and moreover they get milk and butter and all the other good things from them. Also, whilst Jordanus mentions important lords placing their hands on cows as a protection from evil, there is no suggestion that the Indians have unclean hab‑ its (p.115). Moreover, Jordanus portrays food sacrifice, not a blood cult, as the norm in Lesser India, likening the priest of the idolater’s approach to the altar to the Stations of the Cross (p.115). Only in Greater India is violent ritual suicide presented as a common form of sacrifice. However, even here there is a subtle dif‑ ference in perspective when compared to Odorico’s portrayal of the phenomenon. Jordanus plays down the devotional aspect involved, by depicting ritual suicide less as an expression of the Indians’ love for their idols, and more as an obliga‑ tion imposed in the fulfilment of a bargain: ‘nam cùm infirmi sunt, vel in aliquo gravi casu positi, vovent se ydolo, si eos liberari contingat’ (‘For when they are really unwell, or facing some other serious predicament, they vow themselves to the idol, if it turns out they are delivered’; p.117). Two years after having escaped from the danger threatening them, having fattened themselves up for the event, the devotees decapitate themselves, amid much festivity: ad collum retro ponunt gladium, scindentes fortiter valdè, quia trahunt fortis‑ simè cum duabus manibus, et sic, coram ydolo, suum amputant caput (p.117). they place a sword at their neck from behind; and they sever it with the utmost force, for they pull hard with both hands; and so in this way, in the presence of the idol, they amputate their own head. Although Jordanus may at times strain to read pagan Indian practices and beliefs in a Christian (and therefore, to his intended audience, more positive) light, he nonetheless attempts to do so in most instances. Another form of ritual suicide among the Indians, however, marks the limit of Jordanus’ capacity for accom‑ modation: widow-burning in Lesser India. Here, he is careful to forestall parallels to Christian martyrdom by emphasising that the women’s motivation is worldly: ‘pro gloriâ mundi, et dilectione virorum suorum, atque vitâ æternâ, se comburunt’ (‘they burn themselves for worldly glory, for the pleasure of their husbands, and for life eternal’; p.114). At the same time, as in his other descriptions of pagan Indian rituals, and unlike Odorico who condemns it outright as ‘bestial’, Jordanus still refrains from aggressive condemnation of the practice. Instead, he slips in to the ‘exotic wonder’ mode of viewing the Indian widows’ suicides, emphasising how the women go joyfully to their deaths as though they were going to their wed‑ ding. The result of this change in descriptive strategy is to make widow-burning

72  Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville into a demarcation line which marks the difference between the Indians, and ‘us’, the readers. Curiously, the approach to widow-burning taken by Odorico has a much less distancing effect, despite the Franciscan’s sterner view of the matter. This is par‑ tially because the language employed is more prosaic than Jordanus’: ‘s’egli hanno moglie, sì l’ardono così viva, et dicono ch’ella vada a stare col suo marito nell’altro mondo’ (‘If these men have a wife, then they burn her alive just like that, and they say that she’s going to be with her husband in the other world’; p.31; Chapter XXVII). But it is also because Odorico has more of an eye to social and legal context. He notes, for instance, that there is double-standard at play among the ‘Mibar’ Indians in that no law requires widowers to sacrifice their lives: ‘se la femina morisse, leggie alcuna non è imposta all’uomo, ch’egli ne può torre un’altra, se vuole’ (‘If the woman dies, no law at all is imposed on the man, so he can take another wife if he wants’; p. 31–32; Chapter XXVII). Odorico also notes that widows with children are exempt from the obligation to kill themselves and that this is not considered shameful (p.31; Chapter XXVII). To the extent that he places widow-burning within some kind of legal framework, Odorico brings the phenomenon back into the realm of ‘ordinary’ life and therefore closer to the reader’s own experience. As we have seen, the Dominican Jordanus produced quite a different account of Indian society from Odorico’s even though both men were contemporaries and both missionaries dedicated to their faith. But Odorico and Jordanus were clearly also men of different temperaments, with different immediate aims, and this affected their representation of the pagan Indian world. While he may not be totally successful, Jordanus goes to great lengths to portray Indian idolaters in a positive light, to tone down what might appear sensational, and to suggest that the pagan Indians would be receptive to Christianity. Odorico’s relatio goes to no such trouble, yet his was the only missionary account of India to become widely read in the fourteenth century.27 Scribes and Renaissance readers could naturally react to the text in opposite ways. Some rubrics added to Italian vernacular versions of the text draw attention to ethnographical details and try to induce a particular reaction to them: in the case of Odorico’s account of ox-worship and widowburning, the reaction encouraged by the rubric is a dismissive ‘stolte cose’ (‘stupid things’).28 By contrast, a manuscript annotated at the end of the fifteenth century in an elegant humanist cursive has no rubrics or intertitles, nor any judgmental marginalia of any sort, but simply finding notes consisting of place names – indicative of geographical interest and emotional detachment.29 A final curious feature of the language used in Odorico’s relatio warrants attention: positive Christian terminology and symbols are used to describe Indian idolatry, despite strong reservations about its nature. An Indian god may be referred to as an idol, but its dwelling is called a church, a ‘chiesa’ (p.33; Chapter XXIX). Moreover, the writer seems to have no difficulty likening the idol itself to a Christian saint. The same idol in front of which pilgrims commit mass suicide looks like St Christopher, ‘como Santo Cristofano’ (p.32; Chapter XXIX), the

Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville 73 giant ‘Christ-bearer’ often depicted with a dog’s head.30 Also, the drawing capacity of this idol is likened to that of the holiest shrine in Western Christendom: ad adorare questo idolo vengono le gienti molto da lungi, sì come e cristiani vanno di lungi a Santo Piero (p.32; Chapter XXIX). People come from far afield to worship this idol, just as Christians come from afar to St Peter’s. With similar ease, in a passage on ‘Tibot’ an association is drawn between the head of all its idolaters and the Pope: in questa città dimora lo (Abiffo) cioè lo Papa in sua lingua; et questo si è capo di tutte quelle idole (p.64; Chapter LXVIII). In this city resides the (Abiffo), that means ‘the Pope’ in their language, and this man is the chief of all those idolaters. Yet there are dangers in applying to a different cultural context, terminology and symbols rooted in another. If a writer makes reference to the familiar in order to describe the unfamiliar, he or she does not necessarily mean to suggest sympathy between the two. Given the overall tone of its Indian section, the allusions to Christianity in Odorico’s text were probably not intended to make Indian idolatry appear less frightful. Nevertheless, such references (particularly if left unqualified) can easily suggest inappropriate parallels and equivalences, contrary to an author’s original intention, and spark a radical re-interpretation of a text. This is what happened to Odorico’s account of India, when it was taken up in the latter fourteenth century by the author of the book known in English as Mandeville’s Travels.

Mandeville’s re‑presentation of Odorico’s Indians Mandeville’s Travels purports to be an autobiographical account by an English knight, Sir John Mandeville, of a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and travels farther east.31 Most scholars, however, suspect the book was written in French sometime around 1360 by a monk called Jean Le Long, who had never left France. Whoever the author really was, he gathered the material for his book from legends and from travellers’ accounts such as Odorico’s, shaping these borrowings to fit his own inclusive message about salvation. The technique proved successful: over 250 manuscripts survive of Mandeville’s Travels in various European languages, fiftyfour of these in Latin, and thirteen in Italian. The earliest surviving manuscript in Italian dates to 1432. However, Christiane Deluz’ research has shown that French manuscripts of the work were known in Italy by 1388, when one was copied in Modena.32 The first Italian translation of the book is therefore likely to have been made towards the end of the fourteenth century.33

74  Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville Proof of the appeal of Mandeville’s Travels to fifteenth-century Renaissance luminaries is the inclusion of this book in collections owned by Ercole d’Este (r.1471–1505), Leonardo Da Vinci (1452–1519), and, it seems, Christopher Columbus.34 It was also a favourite of printers, during the period when news of explorations was at its height. Its first printing on Italian soil was in Milan in 1480, followed by another edition in 1488 in Bologna, and then by a further eight‑ een editions printed in Italy between 1491 and 1553.35 Yet the fact that Ramusio excluded it from his monumental compilation of voyages and travels (1550–1559) suggests some doubts as to the authenticity of ‘Mandeville’. Nevertheless, people in sixteenth-century Italy continued to read it. Inspired by the book, the miller Domenico Scandello, known as Menocchio, would be led to proclaim that God had given the Holy Spirit to all, and so all people, regardless of faith, would be saved. The Inquisition burnt him for these universalistic sentiments on 13 November, 1599.36 Menocchio’s was not a wildly distorted reading of Mandeville’s Travels, par‑ ticularly of the passages dealing with the many islands into which, with only the haziest notions of the local geography, the writer had claimed India is divided. On the Brahmin island or ‘isola di Bragmani’, hailed as a land of faith – ‘terra di fede’, Mandeville finds virtuous people who, though they are not perfect Christians (‘perfetti cristiani’), are filled (‘pieni’) with natural law to the extent that they are without sin (II, p.179). Significantly, the claim to be sinless is not put into the mouth of these Brahmins, but endorsed by the writer, who also repre‑ sents them as abiding by the Golden Rule (i.e. do as you would be done by) and upholding all the Ten Commandments (II, p.179). Moreover, Mandeville claims God loves these people on account of their devout life (II, p.180). In some ways, Mandeville’s book represents a return to fables of Christianised Indians. The point that God loves virtuous pagans is made again in connection with the peoples of the next ‘Indian’ isle, the ‘Mesidrata’ and ‘Genosaffa’ (II, p. 183–186). Despite their not having a complete understanding of Christianity (II, p.184), Mandeville professes that God loves them for their goodness. Citing the Biblical example of the pagan Job (‘che fu pagano’; II, p.184), he insists more explicitly still on God’s love for adherents to other religions: E, benchè sieno assai più leggi diverse per lo mondo, io credo che Iddio ami tutti quegli ch’amano e servono lui, cioè in verità, lealtà et umilità, e che dis‑ pregiano la vita di questo mondo a modo che fanno quelle genti, e come Iob faceva’ (II, p. 184–185). And, although there are plenty of different manners and laws throughout the world, I believe that God loves all who love and serve him, that is, in truth, faithfulness and humility, and who disregard the life of this world in the way those people do, and as Job did. There follow two pages of Biblical citations and argument in support of this view, during which the writer tries to impress upon the reader the need to refrain from

Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville 75 making adverse judgements of other peoples because we do not know whom God loves and whom he hates: ‘perchè noi non sappiamo quelli che Dio ama, nè quegli che abia in odio’ (II, p.185). In the course of his argument, Mandeville equates the virtuous pagans he has been describing with imperfect Christians, alleging that, though ignorant of the Gospels, they nonetheless prophesied the Incarnation of Christ and the Virgin Birth, and that they believe in these events (II, p.186). Mandeville’s re-presentation of certain passages lifted from Odorico demonstrates just how a sympathetic reader might go about mitigating the negative impression left by the most extreme pagan practices. Drawing on Odorico’s account of ox-worship, where the missionary saw a bestial prac‑ tice, Mandeville sees evidence of the locals’ ‘semplicità’, simplicity (II, p.38). Moreover, for Mandeville, pagans cannot be blamed for this simplicity since they do not have the benefit of revelation – witness how he deals earlier with ‘erroneous’ pagan beliefs: adunque ora non è da maravigliare, se’ pagani, e quali non ànno altra dottrina che la naturale, e’ per la loro semplicità più largamente le credono (II, p.34). and so now there is nothing to wonder at, if pagans, who don’t have any other doctrine than that of nature, believe more widely in these things on account of their simplicity. The need to tone down negative reactions to paganism is particularly evident in the Italian Mandeville text, which often accentuates points made more tersely in the French or English versions. In a section heavily based on Odorico’s descrip‑ tion of the St Christopher idol’s ‘birthday’ festivities, pointed parallels are made between these pagan Indian suicides and Christian martyrdom. This is an impor‑ tant departure from Odorico’s version of the event; while the missionary’s text represents the suicides as dying for the love of their God, it had not explicitly, let alone favourably, likened Indian ritual suicide to Christian martyrdom. By contrast, Mandeville refers to the suicides’ suffering as ‘tanti martiri’ (‘so many martyrdoms’; II, p.44) and suggests that in their devotion the Indians outdo their Christian counterparts: ‘quasi niuno cristiano arebe ardire portare la centesima parte, per amore di Giesù Cristo’ (‘hardly any Christian would dare to endure a hundredth of that, out of love for Jesus Christ’; II, p.44). Some such comment is found in most versions of Mandeville, but the Italian text expands upon the theme by comparing the importance of saints to pagan Indians with Italian atti‑ tudes to canonisation: E così, come di qua un casato o provincia sarebe onorata per uno santo che fussi stato di quello o vero di quelli fatti, de’ quali si metterebbono in iscritto per farlo canonezare, così tengono di là onorati quegli che s’uccidono per amore del loro Dio; egli gli mettono in iscritto colle loro letanie; e così si vantano l’un co l’altro, e dicono: io ò più santi del mio parentado, che voi non avete del vostro! (II, p. 44–45)

76  Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville And so, just as here a household or a province would be honoured by a saint who had been of that [calibre] or rather [capable] of the sort of deeds that they would register him to be canonised for, so too, over there, they honour those people who kill themselves for the love of their God. They register them, with their own litanies; and then they boast to one another and say, ‘I’ve had more saints in my family, than you’ve had in yours!’ Similarly, in another passage re-fashioning Odorico in Mandeville’s Travels, the Italian version of the text places greater emphasis on the honourable motives for Indian suicides by providing a list of reasons: loyalty, contemptus mundi, and the desire to be among the elect in Paradise (II, p.45). The writer of Mandeville’s Travels subordinated his information to an ideology, whereby all religions share elements of Christianity. Anything the writer found strange or ‘erroneous’ in the ways of other peoples, he looked upon as evidence of ‘simplicity’. Moreover, the book’s Christian readers are exhorted not to judge the ways of others. Yet Mandeville’s rose-tinted vision of a ‘Christian’ world beyond Latin Christendom is, to a large extent, a house of cards, dependent on simple legends of Christian-like pagans, which might only take the vindication of a more complex picture of the contemporary world, such as Polo’s, to come tumbling down. In this respect, it is significant that the author of Mandeville did not take material from Il milione – and if he were Jean Le Long, he had the opportunity to do so.37 Ironically, Polo’s book is an example of the kind of non-judgmental atti‑ tude and restraint that Mandeville advocates in responding to the outside world, revealing in the passage on Sergamo Borgani precisely the sort of willingness to accept the notion of true sanctity among pagans, of which Mandeville approves. Polo, Odorico and Mandeville’s works all became popular in Italy in the cen‑ turies that witnessed the birth of humanistic studies. If we are to judge from the number of Italian-origin manuscripts that have survived, before the arrival of print‑ ing, Polo’s book was the most popular of the three in Italy, followed by Odorico, and only then Mandeville (with around thirty-three, twenty, and thirteen extant manuscripts, respectively). Each book offered Renaissance readers a different type of response to the contemporary Indian world, although all three associated the Indian subcontinent region with idolatry and sacred violence. Polo was enthu‑ siastic about the wonders of Maabar, and toned down even the more macabre aspects of religious practice there. Odorico was severely dismissive of subcon‑ tinent Indian society, regarding the ‘Mibar’ region as trapped in classic demonic idolatry, of the kind described in the legends of the saints. Mandeville offered the most positive view of all, even if his vision of the Indians was in some ways a kind of ‘regression’ to medieval tales which both Polo and Odorico had discarded. Yet Mandeville’s ‘inclusive’ approach to the topic of the Indians allowed readers to entertain some comfortable fantasies, of Christianised Indians or simple pagans not far from Christianity. Such fantasies were very much compatible with the late fifteenth-century fashion in humanistic circles for prisca theologia, the idea that all religions have vestiges of a single Truth. This intellectual fashion, along‑ side the adventure-story qualities of Mandeville’s book, may go some way to

Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville 77 explaining its dramatic rise in popularity from 1480 to the mid-sixteenth century, when it was repeatedly taken up by printers in Italy as the Spanish and Portuguese reported their discoveries of new worlds. However, before we jump so far forward, we must examine the contribution of Italian humanist scholarship to images of the Indians before the watershed of Vasco Da Gama’s 1498 landing in Calicut.

Notes   1 Lorenzetti’s fresco is unfortunately now lost; Rowley (1958), I: p. 79, 83, 91 & 134–135.   2 As yet, there is no complete critical edition of Odorico. Quotations in the discussion are from the fourteenth-century Italian manuscript printed in Odorico Da Pordenone (1982), hereafter ‘Odorico (1982)’. The Latin text printed in this edition closely resem‑ bles the Italian. Translations are mine, unless otherwise indicated. For a full bibliography of Odorican studies, see the recent critical edition of the French transla‑ tion: Andreose & Ménard (2010).   3 Most manuscripts of Odorico’s text do not call it a ‘relatio’ in the title; Monaco (1990), p.22 (n. 3). Van den Wyngaert (1929) established the convention of referring to the text in this way, and I have followed it since it captures the oral element in the genesis of the document, better than ‘itinerario’ or ‘memoriale’.   4 See Richard (1977).   5 O’Doherty (2013), p. 306, 316–317 & 322–324; Monaco (1990), p. 21–79; Monaco (1983, 1978–1979); and Testa (1983).   6 Monaco (1990), p. 40–42.   7 Monaco (1983), p. 106–109; Monaco (1990), p. 67–69 (esp. notes 59 and 60), & p.75; O’Doherty (2009), p. 201–204.   8 O’Doherty (2013), p. 316–317 & 322–324.   9 O’Doherty (2013), p. 171–172. 10 Silvestri (1954), p. 23 (7r–7v). 11 Lach (1977), II: p. 52 & 76. 12 Monaco & Testa (1986), p. 22–27. See also the preface to Monaco (1990), p.5. 13 Ramusio (1983), IV: p. 265–318. 14 For an interesting discussion of missionary policy in this period, see Muldoon (1979), p. 74–86. 15 Odorico (1982), p. 40–41, 47–48, 97 & 102 (Chapters XL and XLVIII of Italian and Latin texts). 16 See for example, Odorico (1982), p. 42–43 (Chapters XLI–XLIII), 46–48 (Chapter XLVIII) & 51–62 (Chapters LX–LXIII). 17 Place names vary between manuscripts. 18 O’ Doherty (2013), p.181. The rubric in Roma, Bibl. Casanatense, MS 276 (fol. 90r) reads: ‘De ciuitate pabulo ubi bos pro deo adoratur. de cuius orina rex et regina illius terre omni mane cum exit de stabulo lauant facies suas et de eius stercore sibi pectus ungentes’. 19 BAV, MS Urbinati latini 1013; the illustration is reproduced in Monaco (1990), p.26. 20 Henderson (1990). 21 ‘And this people does many other things like this, but to write them down or hear about them would be an abomination’; ‘And thus many other astonishing things are done by these people, which are not to be written down’; ‘and so here they observe many other practices, bestial and astonishing customs, that there is little need to write about’. 22 Conrad (1974), p.50. 23 Jourdain Catalani de Sévérac (1925), p. 7–46 (p.45). References are to this edition; English translations mine. For a recent commentary on the Mirabilia descripta, see Gadrat (2005).

78  Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville 24 ‘In istâ Yndiâ, est dispersus populus, unus hinc, alius indè, qui dicit se christianum esse, cùm non sit, nec habeat baptismum, nec sciat illud de fide; ymô, credit sanctum Thomam Maiorem esse Christum’ (‘In this India, here and there, a people is dispersed who claim to be Christian, although they are not – they don’t have baptism, nor do they know anything about the faith; what’s more they believe St Thomas the Elder to be Christ!); Jourdain Catalani de Sévérac (1925), p.114. 25 Jourdain Catalani de Sévérac (1925), p.123. 26 Jordanus mentions this prophecy also in an earlier letter from India; Jourdain Catalani de Sévérac (1925), p.27. 27 The other reports on India by Latin missionaries have survived in no more than two manuscripts, and one was buried in the Bohemian Chronicle. English translations are available in Yule (1914): III. For Latin texts of the Franciscan reports, see van den Wyngaert (1929). 28 O’Doherty (2013), p. 156–157. 29 BAV, MS Vaticani latini 5256b (fols 59r –78v); O’Doherty (2013), p.184, 191–192. 30 Wittkower (1942), p.175 (n. 2). 31 Letts (1953). The following account is derived from: Deluz (1988), p. 271–285, 370–382 & p.420; Seymour, (1993), I, 44 & 59; and Higgins (1997), p.22. 32 Deluz (1988), p. 273–274. 33 To my knowledge, there is still no critical edition of the Italian Mandeville. References are to Zambrini (1968). This text is based on a fifteenth-century Florentine manuscript (Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Cod. Magl. XXXV, 221). Translations of the Italian Mandeville are mine, unless otherwise indicated. 34 Lach (1977), II, p.76. The extent of Columbus’ readings and their influence on him is a highly contentious issue, see Davidson (1997). 35 Donattini (1992), p.102 (supplemented by the British Library Catalogue and the EDIT 16 online catalogue of sixteenth-century books in Italian libraries). 36 Deluz (1988), p. 324–326, citing Ginsburg (1976). 37 Larner (1999), p. 130–131.

References Andreose, A. & Ménard, P. (2010) Le Voyage en Asie d’Odoric de Pordenone traduit par Jean Le Long. Geneva: Droz. Conrad, J. (1974) Heart of Darkness in Youth, Heart of Darkness and the End of the Tether. London: Dent. Davidson, M. H. (1997) Columbus Then and Now: A Life Re-examined. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press. Deluz, C. (1988) Le Livre de Jehan de Mandeville: Une ‘Géographie’ au XIVe siècle. Louvain-la-Neuve: Institut d’Études Médiévales de l’Université Catholique de Louvain. Donattini, M. (1992) Orizzonti geografici dell’editoria italiana (1493–1560). In: Prosperi, A. & Reinhard, W. (eds) Il nuovo mondo nella coscienza italiana e tedesca del cinquecento. Bologna: Il Mulino. Gadrat, C. (2005) Une Image de l’Orient au XIVe siècle. Memoires et Documents De L’École Des Chartes, 78. Paris: École Des Chartes. Ginsburg, C. (1976) Il formaggio e i vermi. Turin: Einaudi. Henderson, J. (1990) Penitence and the Laity in Fifteenth-Century Florence. In: Verdon, T. & Henderson, J. (eds) Christianity and the Renaissance: Image and Religious Imagination in the Quattrocento. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press. Higgins, I. M. (1997) Writing East: The ‘Travels’ of Sir John Mandeville. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press.

Odorico’s relatio and its re-presentation by Mandeville 79 Jourdain Catalani de Sévérac (1925) Mirabilia descripta: Les merveilles de l’Asie, ed. and trans. H. Cordier. Paris: Paul Geuthner. Lach, D. F. with Van Kley, E. J. (1965–1993) Asia in the Making of Europe (Vols 1–9). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Larner, J. (1999) Marco Polo and the Discovery of the World. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Letts, M. (ed. & trans.) (1953) Mandeville’s Travels: Texts and Translations (Vols 1–2). London: Hakluyt Society. Monaco, L. (ed.) (1990) Memoriale Toscano: Viaggio in India e Cina (1318–1330). Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso. Monaco. L. & Testa, G. C. (1986) Odorichus de rebus incognitis: Odorico da Pordenone nella prima edizione a stampa del 1513. Pordenone : Camera di Commercio di Pordenone. Monaco, L. (1983) I manoscritti della “Relatio”: problematica per un’edizione critica. In: Melis, G (ed.) Odorico da Pordenone e la Cina. Pordenone: [n.p.]. Monaco, L. (1978–1979) I volgarizzamenti italiani della relazione di Odorico da Pordenone. Studi Mediolatini e Volgari. 26. p. 179–220. Muldoon, J. (1979) Popes, Lawyers, and Infidels. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. O’Doherty, M. (2013) The Indies and the Medieval West: Thought, Report, Imagination. Turnhout, BE: Brepols. O’Doherty, M. (2009) The Viaggio in Inghilterra of a Viaggio in Oriente: Odorico da Pordenone’s ‘Itinerarium’ from Italy to England. Italian Studies. 64. p. 198–220. Odorico Da Pordenone (1982) Relazione del viaggio in Oriente e in Cina (1314?–1330), ed. Camera di Commercio, Industria, Artigianato e Agricoltura di Pordenone. Pordenone: Camera di Commercio, Industria, Artigianato e Agricoltura di Pordenone. Ramusio, G. B. (1978–1988) Navigazioni e viaggi (Vols 1–6), ed. M Milanesi. Turin: Einaudi. Richard, J. (1977) La papauté et les missions d’Orient au moyen age (XIIIe – XVe siècles). Rome: École Française de Rome. Rowley, G. (1958) Ambrogio Lorenzetti, (Vols 1–2). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Seymour, M. C. (1993) Sir John Mandeville. Authors of the Middle Ages, 1. Aldershot: Variorum. Silvestri, D. (1954) De insulis et earum proprietatibus, ed. C. Pecoraro. Atti della Accademia di Scienze Lettere ed Arti di Palermo. IV, 14 (II), p. 1–320. Testa, G. C. (1983). Bozza per un censimento dei manoscritti odoriciani. In: Melis, G. (ed.) Odorico da Pordenone e la Cina. Pordenone: [n.p.]. van den Wyngaert OFM, A. (ed.) (1929) Sinica Franciscana, I: Itinera et relationes fratrum minorum saeculi XIII et XIV. Quaracchi and Florence: Collegium S. Bonaventurae. Wittkower, R. (1942) Marvels of the East: A Study in the History of Monsters. Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes. 5. p. 159–197. Yule, H. (ed. & trans.) (1913–1916) Cathay and the Way Thither (Vols 1–4), revised by Henri Cordier. 2nd series. London: Hakluyt Society. Zambrini, F. (ed.) (1968) I Viaggi di Gio. Da Mandavilla (Vols 1–2). Scelta di Curiosità Letterarie inedite o rare. Bologna: Commissione per i testi di lingua.

5 Gymnosophists, gods and the Greeks India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti

The rehabilitation of the classical gods In a celebrated passage of Genealogie deorum gentilium, Boccaccio (1313–1375) proclaimed paganism to be a thing of the past: execrabile cunctis gentilicium nomen una cum erroribus suis in exterminium tenebrasque perpetuas compulsum est, et victrix Ecclesia castra possidet hostium The accursed name of pagan has been driven into destruction and perpetual darkness together with all its errors, and the victorious Church is in possession of the enemy camp.1 Paganism had been conquered, so Boccaccio argued, and the spiritual danger of idolatry so effectively neutralised that even pagan myths could be appreciated for their aesthetic qualities.2 The pagan myths Boccaccio had in mind were not, of course, those of the thriving contemporary pagan societies one could read about in Il milione (nor, for that matter, were they those Boccaccio read about in Hayton), but of the ancient Greeks and Romans.3 His aim in declaring paganism dead was to clear the way for a consideration of classical poetry, with its (unacceptably) polytheistic content, which would not entail unduly Christianising that content. It was a bold attempt to topple perhaps the most serious obstacle to a full appreciation of classical culture: its religion. Over 100 years elapsed between the publication of Marco Polo and Odorico’s books and the appearance in Italy of a new account of India. In this time, there was a major change in Italian intellectual culture: humanism, the study of classical civilisation for the purposes of self-enrichment, and, by extension, social renewal. Although a humanist author would not write specifically on India before 1448, this study of classical civilisation had implications for understandings of the region and its peoples. Boccaccio’s writings on classical mythology, for instance, revived the ancient association of India with the god Dionysus.4 At the same time, his ‘defence of poetry’ presented Christian readers with a potential model for dealing with the products of any idolatrous society: an aesthetic approach which ignored religious belief. Moreover, as more classical writings were closely studied

India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti 81 in the fifteenth century, awareness increased of the extent of ancient Roman and Greek dealings with and knowledge of the East. The aim of the following is to give some account of the various other ways in which engagement with the culture of classical antiquity influenced ideas about India, in the period leading up to the first humanist description of India, that in Poggio Bracciolini’s De varietate fortunae (c. 1448).5

Petrarch’s critique of the Brahmins Perhaps the earliest humanist attempt to re-evaluate medieval traditions about India comes in the middle of a Latin work in defence of solitude composed by Petrarch (1304–1374), arguably the greatest classical scholar of his day. What is interesting about this passage, besides the idiosyncratic critique it proffers of Brahmin philosophy, is that it shows Petrarch grappling with the problem of authority: of which sources about Indians – and which interpretations of their way of life – to treat as reliable. Although aware of contemporary reports about India, Petrarch appears unwilling to place his trust in these, nor is he comfortable merely repeating the late-medieval tradition. His solution is to go back to early Christian Latin written sources in order to construct afresh an image of the Brahmins (one which he regards as historically accurate), yet without fully adopting the interpretation of the Brahmins put forth by these ancient writers. Rather, Petrarch draws on Christian as well as classical philosophical values to produce a novel critique of the Indian philosophers’ way of life. In De vita solitaria (II.11), Petrarch introduces his discussion of the Brahmins – or ‘gymnosophists’ – of India, as a means of bolstering the argument he is making for the spiritual benefits of withdrawal from the city.6 The discussion is mainly about the gymnosophists’ way of life and philosophy, as expounded especially in the legendary encounter of Alexander the Great with the Indian sage ‘Dandamus’. Evidence internal to the passage indicates that its likely date of composition was during Petrarch’s stay in Milan from 1353 to 1361, making his reflections subsequent to the widespread promulgation of Il milione. Yet although Petrarch writes of the Brahmins in the present tense in this passage, as if describing a way of life still in existence, he does not appear at all interested here in Polo’s radical re-vision of what contemporary Brahmin life entails. With apparent disregard for Polo’s book, Petrarch describes the Brahmins in a fairly traditional way as naked forest-dwelling ascetics, much of whose philosophy he admits to finding greatly attractive: ‘placet ille contemptus mundi [. . .] placet solitudo, placet libertas, [etc]’ (‘I like their contempt for this world [. . .] I like their solitude, I like their freedom’; p. 516–518). While Petrarch’s description of day-to-day Brahmin life differs little in detail from late-medieval legends, he is concerned to present his account as something grounded in solid research, which (to his mind) meant returning to ancient sources. He cites four ancient texts as the authorities his own account is dependent on, all of which were written by (or attributed to) Church Fathers.7 There is no good reason to doubt that Petrarch really did consult these texts, but his account of

82  India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti the Brahmins is not a simple reproduction of their views. On the contrary, he has filtered his sources significantly. Textual comparison reveals that Petrarch relied most heavily on the Pseudo-Ambrosian treatise De moribus brachmanorum, which he (perceptively) thought should be attributed to Palladius.8 Yet Petrarch differs from his source, and from mainstream medieval tradition, in refusing to cast the Brahmins as models of Christian saintliness: at no stage does Petrarch claim, as Pseudo-Ambrose does, that the spirit of God was in the Indian sage Dandamus.9 Rather, Petrarch condemns the Brahmins for flouting the faith of Christ, finding them at fault on two counts in particular: condoning suicide, and claiming to be without sin. The first he reads as perversity and madness, an act detested (‘detestatur’) not only by the faith of Christ but also by the best of the philosophers. The second he views as a sign of importunate pride and insolence, calling the philosophy of the Brahmins, as a whole, a heresy (p.516). That Petrarch should call the philosophy of these pre-Christian sages ‘heresy’ – with its connotation of departure from orthodox Christian belief – is an interesting choice of words. On the one hand, Petrarch may simply be writing loosely, only meaning to suggest that Brahmin philosophy is a ‘heresy’ in the sense of a ‘false teaching’. On the other hand, he could be implying that the Brahmins have deviated from a previously recognised divine truth, as though he believed that reason – or the universal presence of the Spirit – were enough to lead someone to Christ. In either case, Petrarch shows less clemency towards these ancient Indian pagans than to his classical Roman heroes. Perhaps, patriotic sympathy for those perceived as Mediterranean forebears led him to apply a double-standard. Whereas the Brahmins are considered culpable for their lack of Christianity, both Petrarch and his disciple Boccaccio tended, in apologetic fashion, to imagine their favourite classical leaders and poets as model would-be-Christians. A slightly earlier passage of De vita solitaria sees Petrarch proclaiming that Julius Caesar would lead a crusade to get back Jerusalem were he alive today: ‘Si enim pro terrena patria, vere fidei luce carentes, tanta sunt ausi, quid non ausuros Cristo duce feliciter crediderim pro eterna?’ (‘For if they dared so much for the sake of an earthly homeland, lacking as they did the light of faith, what might we suppose that they would not happily dare, with Christ as their leader, for the sake of eternal life?’; II.9, p.494). Likewise, in Genealogie deorum gentilium, Boccaccio asserts that only lack of opportunity prevented the classical poets from being model Christians: ‘si Christum novissent coluissentque, inter sublimiores christiani nominis haberentur’ (‘if they had known and worshipped Christ, they would be considered among the more exalted ones of Christian name’; XV.9; II, p.773) – sentiments that uncannily echo Polo’s praise of Sergamo Borgani. As a Latin Christian, it was natural for Petrarch to assume Christian values have universal validity, but he also gives the same weight to classical values. Of course, medieval Christians had long before assimilated the classical virtues of prudence, justice, fortitude and temperance into their code of morality, but Petrarch upbraids the Brahmins for infringing a more specifically classical ideal of appropriate behaviour (p.516). The objection is to their ‘nuditas’, as showing insufficient regard for modesty (‘pudor’) and virtue (‘honestas’), and to their

India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti 83 rudimentary sleeping arrangements – a sign of bestial carelessness (‘incuriositas belluina’). Where his source ‘Ambrose’ had found a flatteringly Christian way to represent this, as evidence of the Brahmins’ commendable trust in Providence, Petrarch sees it as an offence against Ciceronian moderation (‘ciceroniana temperies’). He quotes verbatim Cicero’s advice to aspiring statesmen on decorum, and applies it to forest-dwelling ascetics – the assumption being that all men, even far-off Indians, should behave like ancient Roman dignitaries: “adhibenda” inquit “est munditia non odiosa neque exquisita nimis, tantum que fugiat agrestem et inhumanam negligentiam”. He says, ‘an elegance must be employed that is neither offensive nor overstated, just sufficient to avoid boorish and inhuman carelessness’.10 The treatment of the Brahmins in this passage shows Petrarch viewing India through the lens of the ancient world, not just in the sense that his ideas are constructed from ancient texts, but in his employment of classical philosophical values to critique the Indians. Ancient reports, albeit filtered through an idiosyncratic combination of Christian and classical values, are the basis of Petrarch’s understanding of India. Yet although he prefers to give ancient sources authority, he does so with some hesitation in this instance: ‘transeo tamen hinc, velut e regione suspecta, ne diutius insistens tam longinquis in rebus veris forte falsa permisceam’ (‘I depart from here, however, as from a suspect region, lest by dwelling any longer on things so far away I accidentally mingle falsehood with the truth’; p.518). Nor does he dismiss contemporary testimony altogether. Tagged on to the end of the Brahmins discussion (p. 518–520) is a story Petrarch has received from contemporary travellers, about a naked wise Indian sage whom the peoples and kings of India visit, and venerate with honours almost divine (‘prope divinis’). Having told the tale, Petrarch protests that he would not have believed it had not Bardasanes and Jerome also written about such things. Only on the strength of this ancient testimony is Petrarch prepared to consider the contemporary report of a Brahmin sage plausible: ‘qui si olim plures fuerant, quid vetat unum esse hodie?’ (‘If there once were many of them, what stops there being one left today?’; p.520). The authority of ancient accounts of the world would be put under much greater scrutiny by the generations of humanists that followed Petrarch.

The fifteenth-century revival of geographical studies Among his vast and varied literary output, Petrarch (d.1374) produced a geographical work in the form of a guidebook for travel to the Holy Land. Hence, scholars also tend to credit Petrarch with providing the spark for that rebirth of geographical studies which the fifteenth century was to witness, a rebirth which in its turn influenced ideas about India.11 This revival was spurred on by the re-emergence of classical Greek geographical texts last used in Italy during the Roman Empire. A flourishing humanist culture made Florence and Rome centres

84  India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti of the new geographical learning. Around 1397, Manuel Chrysoloras introduced Ptolemy’s Geographiké hyphégesis to his students in Florence. Just over a decade later, a humanist papal secretary Jacopo Angelo de’ Scarperia completed the first Latin translation of this work, claiming in his preface that the ‘new geography’ was the product of a new ‘golden age’.12 From c. 1410, a circle of Florentine humanists began to hold informal symposia on geographical topics: among the early participants were Leonardo Bruni and the classical manuscript collector, Niccolò Niccoli – both close friends of the author of the first humanist account of India, Poggio Bracciolini. Poggio appears to have attended these gatherings when the papal curia was stationed in Florence (1434–1443).13 As the humanists became more interested in geography, the problem of authority once more arose, not only with regard to the trustworthiness of more recent reports such as Polo’s, but also with regard to the reliability of the newly rediscovered ancient accounts of the world. According to Marica Milanesi, the attitude to classical geography within fifteenth-century humanist circles was not uncritical, and there was general acknowledgment that inherited wisdom ought to be tested against personal experience.14 It is true that around the beginning of the century, a scholar such as Domenico Silvestri (as we have seen) might still assume ancient sources were the most reliable, only including the more recent testimony of Marco Polo in his book because it both tallied (in his opinion) with ancient reports and had been corroborated by a living eyewitness. However, by the second decade of the century, the demand for ancient geographical wisdom to be corroborated by a living ‘eyewitness’ was also on the increase. The Florentine priest Cristoforo Buondelmonti, for instance, declares in the introduction to his Liber insularum Archipelagi (1420) that he had not believed what the ancients had to say about these Mediterranean islands before visiting them himself.15 Humanist authors lacking travel experiences of their own had recourse to the ‘eyewitness’ testimonies of others. The Council of Ferrara-Florence (1438–1445) provided an exceptional opportunity for testing ancient geographical knowledge in this way, drawing as it did visitors from all around the world to Italy. The renowned Florentine physician and humanist, Paolo dal Pozzo Toscanelli, for example, questioned Metropolitan Isidore of Kiev about Moscow and Russia, while papal secretary Flavio Biondo interrogated Ethiopian delegates on the source of the Nile, and Poggio quizzed a Venetian merchant returned from India.16 The Council also exposed Italian humanists to contemporary Byzantine geographical thought: Toscanelli is recorded as examining a ‘Map of the North’ together with the Greek delegate, Gemistos Pletho. Pletho’s participation in the Florentine symposia during this period would prove crucial to the development of Italian humanist ideas in two main ways. It is wellknown that Pletho had neo-pagan tendencies and that he cultivated the notion of an original, single and uncontaminated truth to which mankind should return and which he viewed as having been preserved in all its purity in the teachings of a line of ancient sages including Zoroaster, the Magi and Plato; this idea of an ‘ancient philosophy’ or ‘ancient theology’ would have a great influence on late fifteenthcentury philosophical developments in Italy and on the work of the Neo-Platonist

India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti 85 Christian priest Marsilio Ficino in particular.17 Less well-known is that during the Council, Pletho had also debated the relative merits of Ptolemy’s and Strabo’s geographies with his Florentine audience, and by doing so encouraged a critical attitude to these ancient sources. By demonstrating a clear sympathy for Strabo’s approach, Pletho brought this writer to the attention of the Italian humanists for the first time.18 Strabo (64/63 bc–ad 23) and Ptolemy (fl. ad 127–147) represent two ancient but conflicting visions of the ‘proper’ study of geography.19 Where Ptolemy sees geography more as a branch of mathematics (to be concerned with technical matters such as the size and shape of the known world or Oikoumene, and the problem of how to represent it in map form), Strabo’s vision of geographical study is overtly political: ‘the greater part of geography subserves the needs of states [. . .] geography as a whole has a direct bearing upon the activities of commanders’ (I.1.16). He favours the type of geography known as ‘chorography’ – the study of the earth’s particular regions – which Ptolemy dismissed, to borrow Larner’s phrase, as mere ‘chitchat about places’.20 But for Strabo it was precisely in such ‘chitchat’ about peoples and places that the ‘utility’ of geography to the statesman lay. He likened the ruler to a hunter in a wood – the most successful is the one who best knows the terrain (I.1.16–17). After the Council of Ferrara-Florence, there was an increase in Strabonian-style geographical writing among the humanists, one of the first examples being the fourth book of Poggio Bracciolini’s De varietate fortunae (c. 1448).21 Both Ptolemy and Strabo wrote of geography as a very imperfect science. While Strabo acknowledged that ‘the phrase “more or less” was a fault much in evidence in kings and geographers’ (I.1.16), Ptolemy emphasised the need for careful observation and calculations (I.4). That the ancient scholars themselves had recognised their limitations in this field must have made geographical study all the more attractive to the Italian humanists, who were always looking for avenues by which they could equal or surpass the cultural achievements of the classical past. Classical writers had especially recognised their faulty awareness of India, denouncing the fables told (although often repeating them nonetheless).22 As Strabo declared in the Geography, ‘All who have written about India have proved themselves, for the most part, fabricators’ (II.1.9). Since the first humanist account of India was in part a reaction to these ancient ‘fabrications’, freshly restored to memory through the efforts of the humanists themselves, a sketch of their nature might prove useful.

Indians in the ‘new’ classical literature It was the recovery of the Greek tradition that added most to inherited ideas about India; the classical Latin texts recovered in this period added little to the store of received Indian images besides some anecdotes about widow-burning. The main themes of this Greek Indian tradition are exemplified in the works of Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus and Strabo, which came to be known to Italian humanists before 1448.23 Two diverging currents are discernible in the Greek representations: one emphasises topsy-turviness and barbarity; the other, cultural sophistication.

86  India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti Herodotus has only a few stories about Indian peoples, all of which depict them as living according to radically alien ideals: the Padaei who eat sick relatives; others who eat no living thing and go off to the desert to die; others who have intercourse openly like cattle (III.99).24 Such stories of extreme Indian behaviour were favourites in the later classical Latin tradition, which often, like Herodotus, had little more (and little positive) to say about the Indians.25 Pliny, however, was a notable exception, balancing his stories of monstrous races with a portrait of a deeply urbanised and well-organised world. The recovery of Diodorus Siculus’ Library of History and Strabo’s Geography would help fill in the details of this world. Diodorus Siculus gives a far more attractive account of the Indians than Herodotus’.26 He emphasises their civic organisation and achievements, crediting Dionysus and Hercules – heroes revered as gods – with the foundation of numerous Indian cities. Climatic conditions are also held to contribute to the Indians’ high level of sophistication; Diodorus depicts them as skilled in the arts, as they breathe a pure air and drink water of the finest quality. He divides Indian society into seven castes according to profession (philosophers, farmers, herdsmen and hunters, artisans, the military, inspectors, deliberators and councillors), who may not intermarry or change profession. There are utopian elements in Diodorus’ portrait of Indian life: democracy is reportedly the norm throughout India, and, most significantly, he mentions the fact that there are no slaves, since the Indians want everybody to be free and respect the principle of equality in all persons. Moreover, the Indian system as reported fits the Greek ideal of a state governed by a philosopher-ruler, since the caste of philosophers make predictions and advise the people (something they must do well or keep silent for the rest of their life). Strabo gives a more detailed account of India, along similar lines to Diodorus Siculus, although he expresses more reservations about many stories, especially regarding the Hercules and Dionysus traditions.27 He also adds a passage drawn from Megasthenes on the fabulous races, included despite Strabo’s professed scepticism (XV.57). Like Diodorus, there are some utopian elements in his account of Indian peoples, particularly in the description of how the country of Musikanos is run. The Indians are portrayed in a generally positive way, and seen as examples of moderation, the love of truth, and simplicity. He only expresses a few reservations: about their love of adornment, unsociable eating habits and the need to force married women to be faithful. Strabo also gives an extensive account of the various types of Indian philosophers, their customs and beliefs. Widow-burning is mentioned in connection with Kathaia (a city in Strabo’s northern India notable for its cult of beauty) and the city of Taxila. Strabo is not much convinced by the reason given for the establishment of this practice (namely, to stop women poisoning their husbands), and records that widows in Taxila who do not burn themselves are despised. Unlike the classical Latin tradition, Strabo does not portray widow-burning as a noble romantic act (XV.1.39–73).28

India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti 87

Alberti’s gymnosophist fantasy To these ancient fables about India, one humanist added a fabrication of his own. In a flight of fancy intended for the entertainment of dinner guests, Leon Battista Alberti (1404–1472) tells a tale about a magnificently ornate temple dedicated to Good and Ill Fortune which (rumour has it) once stood in the land of the gymnosophists, whom he describes as a very ancient people celebrated for their pursuit of virtue and wisdom: ‘populos vetustissimos, cultu virtutis et sapientie laudibus celeberrimos’.29 As noted earlier, the gymnosophists had been traditionally depicted in Latin Christian literature as an ancient Indian tribe of naked ascetics, who lived simply in the forests, philosophising and eating wild berries. Alberti’s tale (written sometime between c. 1430 and 1440)30 disturbs the austerity of this picture by suggesting that these ancient Indian philosophers also had a passion for intricate art and architecture: ‘intercolumniations’ (‘intercolumnia’), capitals, architraves, pediments and basins of the most wonderful workmanship grace the gymnosophists’ temple, but these are apparently nothing in comparison to the subjects skilfully painted on its walls (‘mira ex arte pictum’). There follows an elaborate description of the iconographical scheme of the temple, wherein Alberti hopes the reader will find pleasing counsel for living wisely. The paintings turn out to be personifications of the various vices and virtues (somewhat idiosyncratically chosen), arranged to show the path to Misery and Calamity, on the one hand, or to Immortality and Happiness on the other. According to the gymnosophist temple scheme, ‘Humanitas’ is the virtue that eventually leads to Happiness via Beneficence, Benevolence, and Peace. In an extraordinary case of serendipity, Alberti gives Humanitas a form reminiscent of the many-armed Hindu mother-goddess, Kali: Namque loco primo mira imago adest picte mulieris, cui plurimi variique unam in cervicem vultus conveniunt: seniles, iuveniles, tristes, iocosi, graves, faceti et eiusmodi. Complurimas item manus ex iisdem habet humeris fluentes, ex quibus quidem alie calamos, alie lyram, alie laboratam concinnamque gemmam, alie pictum exculptumve insigne, alie mathematicorum varia instrumenta, alie libros tractant. Huic superadscriptum nomen: HUMANITAS MATER (p.176). In the first place, there is painted an extraordinary image of a woman, around whose neck are gathered various faces, young, old, happy, sad, joyful, serious, and so forth. Numerous hands extend from her shoulders, some holding pens, other lyres, some a polished gem, others a painted or carved emblem, some various mathematical instruments, and others books. Above her is written: Humanity, mother.31 Of course, the resemblance between the two mother-goddess figures is only superficial, and there is little likelihood that Alberti knew anything about Hindu iconography. Mother Humanity is distinctly less frightening than Kali who wears

88  India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti a necklace of skulls and wields weapons in her many hands with which to destroy. The faces around Humanity’s neck are living faces which remind one not only of the stages of human life, but of the immense variety of character types and the sheer emotional range of human beings; the articles in her hands bring to mind the intellectual and creative capacities of mankind. Alberti’s mother-goddess figure clearly emerged out of an attempt to pin down the originally classical notion of humanitas, an ideal so favoured by Alberti and his fellow intellectuals that it has earned them the name ‘humanists’.32 The Renaissance humanist found in classical culture encouragement for the idea that one can be born human but not humane, and that one’s degree of humaneness is directly related to one’s level of education; Coluccio Salutati (1331–1406), for instance, argued that it was characteristic of man to be taught, the learned being in his view more human than the unlearned, and that for this reason the ancients had appropriately referred to learning as humanitas.33 More specifically, ‘humane learning’ often meant for the humanists the literary and ethical studies recommended by Cicero in his much-read oration Pro archia poeta (62 bc). In the gymnosophist dinner piece, Alberti extends the province of humanitas to include painting, sculpture, mathematics, and all the wisdom contained in books. The ideal also had a political dimension. ‘Possession’ of humanitas, it was thought, impelled one to a life of service to the community. On another occasion Alberti actually defines humanitas as a duty to love one’s fellow men as life is shared with them.34 This aspect is illustrated in Alberti’s gymnosophist temple scheme through the progression from Mother Humanity to Beneficence and then to Benevolence. In the same vision, the end products of humanitas are Peace and Happiness. Alberti is promoting intellectual cultivation, properly harnessed, as the panacea for earthly ills. Humanitas was thus an ideal that privileged intellectual cultivation as the means to a higher state of being and to social renewal. As a virtue thought of as dependent only on the exercise of reason, independent of faith, humanitas was potentially a yardstick universally applicable. By enshrining humanitas in a temple of the gymnosophists, whose mastery of the arts is demonstrated in its workmanship, Alberti affirms the universality of this ideal, whilst playfully suggesting that these ancient Indian philosophers were the forerunners of the Renaissance humanists. The eighty years or so that separate Alberti and Petrarch’s musings on the Brahmins witnessed a host of different reactions to ancient visions not just of India but of the whole known world. Petrarch went back to classical sources and to the Church Fathers in order to produce his own, supposedly more ‘historical’, representation of the Indian sages, which refined and critiqued the inherited medieval Christian tradition. While Petrarch listened to contemporary reports of India with wary interest, the next generation of humanists began to place more trust in the testimony of contemporary travellers, with the result that some were willing to accept the accounts of late-medieval travellers such as Polo as authoritative. Greater acquaintance with the works of the ancient geographers Ptolemy and Strabo seems to have increased awareness in humanist circles of the deficiencies

India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti 89 in ancient knowledge of the world, and of the need for first-hand observation, without dislodging the classical inheritance from its default position of authority. This is most obvious in the cartography of the period, which saw cartographers move to using Ptolemaic techniques, which they combined with information drawn from both ancient and more contemporary witnesses, to redraw the map of the world. In the meantime, greater classical studies also a provided a stimulus towards new fantasies about the Indians like those we witness in Alberti.

Notes   1 XV.9; Boccaccio (1951): II, p.769. References are to this edition. Translations in this chapter are mine unless otherwise indicated.   2 ‘Fateor tamen, religione eorum seposita, quorundam poetarum mores et scripta placuisse’; XV.9 (Boccaccio (1951): II, p.773): ‘I confess, however, that once their religion had been set to one side, the character and writings of certain poets were pleasing’. Of course, the value of classical studies continued to be a hotly debated point, one major early fifteenth-century critic of the studia humanitatis being the Dominican preacher Giovanni Dominici. Dominici essentially maintained the position that it was not necessary for a Christian to study pagan literature and philosophy because these could not lead to salvation. Moreover, in the worse cases, he argued, such studies were detrimental to one’s salvation as they caused confusion and thereby undermined faith. See Hunt (1940), Iohannis Dominici Lucula Noctis; Greenfield (1981), p. 150–160.   3 The ‘gentiles’ Boccaccio has in mind are all ancient: no modern pagans and their gods are mentioned in the book. Yet Boccaccio knew the Armenian Prince Hayton’s Flos historiarum terrae Orientis, several passages of which he copied into his zibaldone (Gentile, 1992, p. 67–69), and hence he must have realised that contemporary paganism was far from dead. The bulk of Hayton’s work concerns the Mongols but there is a brief section on India which mentions St Thomas, Alexander and the idea that now most cities are full of idolaters.   4 Genealogie deorum, II.8.   5 Bracciolini (1993).   6 According to Petrarch, ‘generis nomen esse gignosophistas, bragmanas specei’ (‘the generic name is “gymnosophist”; “Brahmin” is the name of one type’). Foster (1984, p.157) notes that De vita solitaria marks the first time Petrarch drops his ‘pagan mask’ to write as a convinced Christian. See Petrarca (1955), p. 510–521 for the Brahmins passage. An early paper of mine on the present subject, delivered in Kolkata in 2004, has been published by Jadavpur University Press, see Frost (2012).   7 These sources are (1) a treatise under the name of St. Ambrose (i.e. De moribus brachmanorum); (2) a letter of the renegade Brahmin Calanus to Alexander quoted by St. Ambrose (Epist. XXXVII, in Migne’s Patrologia Latina, XVI, cols 1083–1095 (col. 1092–1093)); (3) St. Jerome’s ‘contra Iovinianum’ (Adversus Iovinianum, II, in Patrologia Latina, XXIII, cols 211–337 (col. 304)); and (4) Jerome’s introduction to the Holy Scriptures.   8 On the authorship question, see Cracco Ruggini (1965), and Derrett (1960).   9 Yankowski (1962), p. 32–33. 10 Compare with Cicero, De Officiis, I.36.130. 11 Larner (1998), p.27. In 1358, Petrarch had composed the Itinerarium in Terram Sanctam for Giovanni di Guido Mandelli, as a sort of apology for being afraid to accompany his friend on such a long pilgrimage; Gentile (1992), p.62. 12 Milanesi (1992a), p.35, n.1; Larner (1998), p. 26–39; Bracciolini (1993), p.9; Gentile (1992), passim.

90  India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti 13 Goldstein (1965), p.16 & p.28, n. 24. 14 Milanesi (1992a), p.49. 15 Milanesi (1992a), p. 49–50. 16 Gallelli (1993), p. 79–80). The main study of Toscanelli is still Uzielli (1894). For Biondo’s interview, see Book II, Decade IV, sections XXXII–XLVII of the Historiarum ab inclinatione Romanorum imperii decades in Nogara (1927), p. 19–27. On the Council of Ferrara-Florence (1439–1445), see Gill (1959), Gill (1964) and Viti (1994). Proceedings began in Ferrara, moved to Florence in January 1439 and then to Rome in 1443. 17 Vasoli (1994), p. 8–10. Although Pletho seems to have genuinely thought of himself as a kind of Plato re-incarnate and looked forward to the time when Hellenism and the cult of the pagan gods would be re-established, Monfasani disputes the often-made assumption that Pletho made or even tried to make any converts to his neo-pagan philosophy during his time in Florence. For this and bibliography on Pletho and Ficino, I refer the reader to Monfasani (1992) and Vasoli (1994), n.11, p.8 & n.24, p.17. 18 Greek texts of Strabo’s Geography were circulating in Italy as early as 1423, but were not the focus of attention before Pletho. The first Latin translation of Strabo, by Guarino and Tiferante, was completed in 1458 and printed in 1469; Larner (1998), p. 33–35; Reynolds & Wilson (1974), p.132; Gentile (1992), p. 165–168 & 185–188. Diller (1975), p. 97–134. For Pletho’s geographical studies, see Diller, (1937) and (1956). 19 Larner (1998), p.27, & p. 35–36. References are to Strabo (1917–1969), and Ptolemy (1932). 20 Ptolemy, I.1 and II (Prologue). 21 This was followed by Biondo’s Italia Illustrata (c. 1450) and the various historicalchorographical works of Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini; Milanesi (1992a), p.39, notes 11 & 12. 22 Even Pliny is apologetic when introducing India’s monstrous races, and tries to foist intellectual responsibility for his account on the Greeks (NH VII. 1.8). 23 Poggio Bracciolini was translating Diodorus’ Library of History in 1430s, while his colleague Giovanni Aurispa had completed a Latin translation of the first nine books of Herodotus’ Histories by 1426; Grafton (2002), p.278; Franceschini (1976), p.112. 24 Herodotus, II (1963), p. 124–33: III.97–104. 25 Pomponius Mela (1988): III.7.63–68. 26 Diodorus Siculus, II (1967), p. 2–27: II.35–42. 27 Strabo, XV.1.1–73. 28 Heckel & Yardley (1981). Diodorus Siculus also tends to the romantic interpretation in his account of the widow of the Indian general Ceteus’ self-immolation (XIX.33–34). 29 ‘Picture’, in Alberti (2003), p. 168–179. On Alberti, see Grafton (2002). 30 Alberti (1987), p.1. 31 Translation by Marsh, Alberti (1987), p.56. 32 On the understanding(s) of humanitas, see Stephens (1990), p. 15–22, and Kohl (1992). 33 Burke (1998), p.29. 34 ‘Officio di umanità richiesto da essa incorrutta e ben servata natura, che tu ami qualunque teco sia uomo in vita’ (‘The task required by humanity’s incorrupt and well-executed nature is that you love whatever man is with you in life’ I libri della famiglia, Book Four); Alberti (1960–1973), I, p.312.

References Alberti, L. B. (2003) Intercenales, ed. F. Bacchelli & L. D’Ascia. Bologna: Pendragon. Alberti, L. B. (1987) Dinner Pieces: A Translation of the Intercenales, ed. and trans. David Marsh. Binghamton, NY: Medieval & Renaissance Texts and Studies/Renaissance Society of America.

India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti 91 Alberti, L. B. (1960–1973) Opere volgari (Vols 1–3), ed. C. Grayson. Bari: Laterza. Boccaccio, G. (1951) Genealogie deorum gentilium libri (Vols 1–2), ed. V. Romano. Bari: Laterza. Bracciolini, P. (1993) De varietate fortunae, ed. O. Merisalo. Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia. Burke, P. (1998) The European Renaissance: Centres and Peripheries. Oxford: Blackwell. Cicero (1913; repr. 1968), De Officiis, ed. and trans. Walter Miller. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. Cracco Ruggini, L. (1965) Sulla cristianizzazione della cultura pagana: il mito greco e latino di Alessandro dall’età antonina al medioevo. Athenaeum. 43. p. 3–80. Derrett, J. D. M. (1960) The History of “Palladius on the races of India and the Brahmans’’. Classica et Mediaevalia. 21. p. 64–99. Diller, A. (1975) The Textual Tradition of Strabo’s Geography. Amsterdam: A.M. Hakkert. Diller, A. (1956) The autographs of Georgius Gemistus Pletho. Scriptorium. 10. p. 27–41. Diller, A. (1937) A Geographical Treatise by George Gemistos Pletho. Isis. 27. p. 441–451 Diodorus Siculus (1933–1969) Diodorus of Sicily (Vols 1–12). Trans. by C. H. Oldfather et al. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Foster, K. (1984) Petrarch Poet and Humanist. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Franceschini, A. (1976) Giovanni Aurispa e la sua biblioteca. Medioevo e Umanesimo, 25. Padua: Antenore. Frost, M. (2012) Petrarch and the Brahmins of India. In: Chaudhuri, S. & Chaudhuri, S. (eds) Petrarch: The Self and the World. Kolkata: Jadavpur University Press. Gallelli, C. (1993) Paolo dal Pozzo Toscanelli. In Rombai, L. (ed.) Il Mondo di Vespucci e Verrazzano: geografia e viaggi. Dalla Terrasanta all’America. Florence: Olschki. Gentile, S. (ed.) (1992) Firenze e la scoperta dell’America: Umanesimo e geografia nel ’400 Fiorentino. Collana di Studi e Ricerche, 4. Florence: Olschki. Gill, J. (1964) Personalities of the Council of Florence and Other Essays. Oxford: Blackwell. Gill, J. (1959) Council of Florence. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goldstein, T. (1965) Geography in Fifteenth-century Florence. In: Parker, J. (ed.) Merchants and Scholars: Essays in the History of Exploration and Trade. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Grafton, A. (2002) Leon Battista Alberti: Master Builder of the Italian Renaissance. London: Penguin. Greenfield, C. C. (1981) Humanist and Scholastic Poetics 1250–1500. East Brunswick, NJ: Bucknell University Press Heckel, W. & Yardley, J. C. (1981) Roman writers and the Indian practice of suttee. Philologus. 125. p. 305–311. Herodotus (1920–1969) Herodotus (Vols 1–4). Trans. by A. D. Godley. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hunt, E. (ed.) (1940) Iohannis Dominici Lucula Noctis. Indiana: University of Notre Dame. Kohl, B. G. (1992) The changing concept of the studia humanitatis in the early Renaissance. Renaissance Studies. 6. p. 185–209. Larner, J. (1998) The Church and the Quattrocento Renaissance in geography. Renaissance Studies. 12. p. 26–39. Mela, Pomponius (1988) Chorographie, ed. and trans. A. Silberman. Paris: Les Belles Lettres.

92  India among the humanists from Petrarch to Alberti Migne, J.-P. (ed.) (1844–1864) Patrologia Latina (Vols 1–221). Paris: Garnier. Milanesi, M. (1992a) La rinascita della geografia dell’Europa, 1350–1480. In: Gensini, S. (ed.) Europa e Mediterraneo tra medioevo e prima età moderna: l’osservatorio italiano. Collana di Studi e Ricerche. 4. Pisa: Pacini. Monfasani, J. (1992) Platonic Paganism in the Fifteenth Century. In: Di Cesare, M. (ed.), Reconsidering the Renaissance. Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies, 93. Binghamton, NY: Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies. Nogara, B. (ed.) (1927) Scritti inediti e rari di Biondo Flavio. Rome: Tipografia poliglotta vaticana. Petrarca, F. (1955) De vita solitaria. In: G. Martellotti et al. (eds). Prose. La Letteratura Italiana Storia e Testi. 7. Milan: Riccardo Ricciardi. Pliny (1938–1968) Natural History (Vols 1–10). Trans. by H. Rackham et al. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ptolemy, Claudius (1932) The Geography, ed. and trans. Edward Luther Stevenson. (New York: New York Public Library. Reynolds, L. D. & Wilson, N. G. (1974) Scribes and Scholars: A Guide to the Transmission of Greek and Latin Literature. 2nd edn. Oxford: Clarendon. Silvestri, D. (1954) De insulis et earum proprietatibus, ed. by Carmela Pecoraro. Atti della Accademia di Scienze Lettere ed Arti di Palermo. Series IV. 14 (II). p. 5–320. Stephens, J. (1990) The Italian Renaissance: The Origins of Intellectual and Artistic Change before the Reformation. London: Longman. Strabo (1917–1969) The Geography of Strabo (Vols 1–8). Trans. by Horace Leonard Jones. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Uzielli, G. (1894) La vita e i tempi di Paolo dal Pozzo Toscanelli. Rome: Ministero della pubblica istruzione. Vasoli, C. (1994) Dalla pace religiosa alla ‘prisca theologia’. In: Viti, P. (ed.) Firenze e il Concilio del 1439: convegno di studi, 29 novembre–2 dicembre 1989. Biblioteca storica toscana, 29. Florence: Olschki. Viti, P. (ed.) (1994) Firenze e il Concilio del 1439: convegno di studi, 29 novembre–2 dicembre 1989. Biblioteca storica toscana, 29. Florence: Olschki. Yankowski, S. V. (ed. and trans.) (1962) The Brahman Episode: St. Ambrose’s Version of the Colloquy between Alexander the Great and the Brahmans of India. Ansbach: Elisabeth Kottmeier and E. G. Kostetzsky.

6 Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation of the Indians

Commentators frequently represent the first humanist account of India as the fruit of the confessional.1 Pope Eugenius IV (r. 1431–1447), so the story goes, was in Florence negotiating re-unification of the Eastern and Western Church when a Venetian merchant who had converted to Islam arrived, seeking absolution for his apostasy; the Pope granted the man’s desire and imposed a suitably ‘humane’ penance – that the much-travelled penitent, a certain Niccolò Conti, should give an account of his wanderings to one of the papal secretaries. The secretary selected was Poggio Bracciolini (1380–1459), who later ‘wrote up’ Conti’s testimony, and inserted it into one of his own works, De varietate fortunae (c. 1448), a treatise on the fickleness of fortune.2 This version of events, adopted unqualified by many scholars from the sixteenth century to the present, is symbolic of the way in history a plausible story easily becomes ‘truth’. Yet however captivating the penance story may be, it poses certain problems. The chief difficulty, as Francis M. Rogers pointed out, is that the story appears to be apocryphal – a gloss first introduced by a Portuguese translator sometime around 1502, which later found its way into other editions of Poggio’s text.3 Another problem with the penance story, even if it were true, is that it distracts attention from the intellectual climate that led a Pope or humanist secretary to be so interested in a merchant’s tales, whilst doing little to explain why Poggio saw fit to include an account of India in a treatise which is ostensibly about the instability of all things. To fully understand Poggio’s representation of the pagan Indians, one must first reclaim the geographical piece that contains it from the vague category of ‘travel literature’ and restore this piece to the category of ‘humanist literature’; by so doing, it will become clear that the author’s interest in contemporary India was subordinate to his interest in promoting the cultural achievements of the Italy of his era. At the same time, Poggio’s depiction of eastern societies was an extremely audacious one in many respects, a portrayal which flouted classical models and placed the pagan peoples of the Indian subcontinent at a mid-way point on the scale of civilisation – between total barbarity and the ultra-sophisticated societies of Italy and Cathay.

‘An absolute novelty’ Contemporary European history forms the principal subject matter of the first three books of De varietate fortunae. While the fourth book of this treatise is the

94  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation one concerned with geographical matters, the earlier books recount the oscillating fortunes and seemingly inevitable downfall of numerous prominent figures. Introduced by a reflection on the ruins of ancient Rome, the historical narrative begins around 1340 and continues until 1447 – the end of the reign of Poggio’s erstwhile employer, Pope Eugenius IV. Poggio’s vision extends to Eurasian history (there is an account of Timur in Book One) but his especial interest is in recent Italian history, and the turbulent years 1431 to 1447.4 According to Outi Merisalo, this focus on recent times was ‘una novità assoluta’ (‘an absolute novelty’) in the context of Renaissance historical writing.5 At first glance, then, the subject matter of the final book of De varietate fortunae seems out of sympathy with the rest of the treatise. Book Four is dominated by an account of the Indies dependent on Conti, after which Poggio also tells of an encounter with a Nestorian visitor who had come to Rome from the northern part of Upper India (‘a superiori India septentrionem uersus’) and gives a brief description of the man’s far-eastern homeland (IV.556–77); concluding the book (and the treatise) is a description of Ethiopia, reportedly based on interviews with a delegation of Ethiopian monks (IV.578–668).6 Poggio himself recognises a certain awkwardness in the inclusion of this geographical piece in his treatise, signalling that the final book represents a slight departure from its main theme (IV.2), and explaining the new ending as an attempt to lift the mood – to draw his readers away from contemplation of the acerbity of Fortune to contemplation of what he terms the ‘delightful variability of things’ (‘iocundamque rerum uarietatem’) (IV.3–4). Yet Poggio also wishes to impress upon his audience the novelty of his scholarly undertaking. In the opening to the fourth book of De varietate fortunae, he boldly invites the reader to view the account before them as the supreme authority on the subject, against which the veracity of all previous Indian tales must be measured: Multa tum a ueteribus scriptoribus, tum communi fama de Indis feruntur, quorum certa cognitio ad nos perlata arguit quaedam ex eis fabulis quam uero esse similiora (IV.7–9). Many things have been related concerning India, sometimes by ancient writers, sometimes in common report; the definite knowledge of these matters which has been conveyed to us demonstrates that certain of those stories are more similar to fables than to the truth. The invitation is to trust contemporary eyewitness testimony rather than inherited ideas. As Poggio goes on to explain (IV.10–20), the ‘certain knowledge’ he claims to be in possession of is the result of his own first-hand interviews with the far-travelled Venetian ‘Nicolaus’. Against the weight of literary tradition, Poggio wishes to promote not simply contemporary travellers’ tales but direct experience subjected to the personal scrutiny of scholars. Hence, his initial emphasis is on the diligence of his investigations, the probity of his source and Nicolaus’ acceptance

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 95 into the circles of the learned (IV.14–20); the traveller’s personality is only of significance to the writer in so far as it is necessary to portray his informant as a reliable and knowledgeable witness, a purveyor of valuable information: ‘dicta [. . .] cognitione digna’ (‘statements worth knowing’). To write about India was to challenge classical scholarship at one of its weakest points. That Poggio was doing so consciously is more than likely given his association with the circle of humanists studying ancient geography and his presence in Florence at the time of Pletho’s debates on Strabo and Ptolemy.7 He was certainly aware of the limitations of the latter, since in De varietate fortunae he expressly includes Ptolemy among those ancient scholars accused of fantasising in order to compensate for ignorance (IV.580–583). At the time of writing, Poggio knew the Roman tradition on India (largely through Pliny, but also through Cicero, and the accounts of Alexander’s expedition by Quintus Curtius Rufus and Valerius Maximus); he also had direct access to the Greek tradition through his studies of Diodorus Siculus and was possibly familiar with Herodotus’ ideas.8 However, much in the detail of Poggio’s account of the Indians has no precedent in western literature, and there are no direct textual borrowings from any of the classical writings – all of which suggests Poggio did indeed rely on eyewitness reports to challenge classical understandings of the world. The terms in which Poggio phrases Nicolaus’ achievement convey a sense of heroic rivalry between the ‘modern’ era – the Italy of Poggio’s times – and classical antiquity, thought about as two periods in the history of essentially the same people. The way Poggio introduces his Venetian source, as a man tossed about by fortune over land and sea, is reminiscent of the introduction to Virgil’s Aeneid. Compare Poggio’s: in hoc quoque uim fortunae haud paruam licet conspicere, quae hominem ab extremis orbis finibus per tot maria ac terras quinque et uiginti annos iactatum sospitem in Italiam reducem fecerit (IV. 6–7) in this also you can discern the not inconsiderable force of fortune, which after having hurled a man about from the extreme ends of the earth, over every land and sea, for twenty five years, brought him safely to Italy – with Virgil’s opening words on his hero, the Trojan Aeneas: Italiam fato profugus Laviniaque uenit litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto ui superum (I.2–4). A fugitive by fate, he came to Italy and to the Lavinian shores, after having been hurled about greatly over land and sea through the force of the powers above.9 Aeneas’ arrival in Italy was the legendary moment that led to the foundation of Rome. Likewise, Poggio seems to suggest that Nicolaus’ return to Italy is also a landmark event inaugurating a new age of knowledge. Overlooking the

96  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation accomplishments of famous wanderers such as Marco Polo and Odorico da Pordenone, Poggio represents Nicolaus as the first ‘one of us’ ever to have penetrated so far: Eo usque autem profectus est quo ne apud priscos quidem unum aliquem adisse legimus. Nam et Gangem transiit et ultra Taprobanem insulam longissime adiit, quo duobus exceptis, altero magni Alexandri classis praefecto, altero Romano ciue, qui Tiberii Caesaris tempore tempestatibus eo delati sunt, neminem e nostris accessisse, quod litteris constet, compertum est (IV.20–25). But he made his way right up to that region where we read that no one at all among the ancients had ever been. For he even crossed the Ganges and went far beyond the island of Taprobane, a point where there is no evidence that anyone among our ancestors had ever reached, in so far as the records inform us – with two exceptions, one being the commander of Alexander the Great’s fleet; the other being a Roman citizen from the time of Tiberius Caesar, both of whom were swept there by storms. The ‘ancestors’ to which Poggio specifically compares Nicolaus belong to the world of Alexander the Great, and of Imperial Rome, respectively. Moreover, although Poggio does not mention it, the source of his ancient examples is Pliny’s Natural History.10 Just as Nicolaus has excelled the ancient heroes, Poggio implies his geographical account shall supersede Pliny. To Donald Lach, Poggio’s assertion about the uniqueness of Conti’s travels seemed puzzling, given Genoese trade with India and the wide circulation of accounts such as Mandeville’s in the fifteenth century.11 Poggio certainly could have got access to a copy of Polo’s book, which at the time formed part of even a middle-ranking Florentine’s library. Also, as a papal secretary whose everyday business brought him into contact with monks of various orders, he is unlikely to have been ignorant of the extent of the Franciscan missions.12 Moreover, it is known that during the Council of Ferrara-Florence, which Poggio attended in his capacity of papal secretary, the master-doorkeeper of his employer Pope Eugenius IV had a copy of Marco Polo’s book made for him (and appended to this manuscript is a draft decree of the act of Union between the Latin and Greek churches). At the same time, a copy of Odorico was produced for another delegate to the Council, who eventually took the manuscript to Sweden.13 Poggio’s silence on Polo and Odorico is therefore deeply suspicious, and not likely to be a simple matter of ignorance. Rather the reason for the silence is perhaps best sought in Poggio’s own understanding of the propaganda potential of historical writing. As early as 1433, Poggio had been reflecting on the need to write well about contemporary events in order to make the present age appear ‘great’ to future generations. This is what he had to say to Niccolò Niccoli on the subject: Quamvis sciam, mi Nicolae, non admodum probari tibi haec nostri temporis facta, referenti, ut opinor, animum ad illa priscorum virorum gesta, magnifica quidem atque omni laude digna; tamen recentiora etiam minime tibi arbitror

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 97 contemnenda, ea praesertim quae perraro, et cum aliqua aextimatione nominis, ac rerum dignitate fieri solent. Sunt quippe permaximi judicanda illa, quae legimus, quae admirari citius quam imitari nostri homines possunt. Sed tamen nonnihil ad eorum dignitatem atque amplitudinem scriptorum ingenia contulere, qui etiam parva quaedam ita luculenter describunt, ut habeantur pro maximis. Nostra vero, et nos ipsi spernimus, eaque verbis, atque indignatione quaedam animi insectamur, et si qua agantur memoria digna, scriptorum inopia obsolescunt; ut non tam sua culpa, quam nostro vitio, parva ac ridicula videantur. Although I know, dear Nicolaus, that you do not admire what goes on in our generation because, I think, you concentrate on deeds of earlier men, which were indeed magnificent and worthy of the highest praise; still I think that you should not despise some of the more recent happenings, especially those which occur very rarely, and where some thought has been given to the fame and the splendour of the circumstances. The things that we read must certainly be considered of the highest value, and they can be more easily admired than imitated by men of our time. But nevertheless the genius of historians has conferred no little dignity and greatness on our forefathers for they describe even small events so brilliantly that they are accepted as important. We, however, despise our own history and attack it in the telling and with a certain intellectual disdain. If anything is done that is worth remembering, it is forgotten for lack of writers, so that our deeds seem small and ridiculous, not so much by any defect in them as by our own fault.14 A similar point about enduring greatness being in the gift of the writer is made in Poggio’s preface to De varietate fortunae (11–14) so the propaganda potential of historical writing was clearly still prominent in his mind. To have qualified Nicolaus’ achievement by mentioning Polo or Odorico would have detracted from the uniqueness of Nicolaus’ experiences and, hence, from the impression of ‘greatness’ Poggio wished to bestow through his book on his own age. The geographical account and the antiquities section in Book One were late additions to Poggio’s treatise on Fortune.15 If we regard De varietate fortunae as a whole less as an attempt to write a moral history and more as an attempt to write a piece of contemporary history, then their inclusion appears less anomalous. What Poggio gives in De varietate fortunae is an account not only of recent political events but of developments in contemporary culture, especially intellectual culture, of which he has been at the forefront. His treatise on Fortune is a celebration of the cultural achievements of the age: the un-burial of classical antiquity, the revival of historical writing, and the new geography – the product (as Scarperia, the humanist translator of Ptolemy had called it) of a ‘new golden age’.

Poggio’s ‘voice’ Unfortunately, despite Poggio’s consciousness of the rhetorical aspects of historical writing and despite his advocacy of the power of writers to create greatness,

98  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation there has been a strong tendency among scholars to treat the vision of India presented in De varietate fortunae as expressing Niccolò Conti’s unfiltered views, and to dismiss Poggio as a mere amanuensis. Before turning to the fascinating detail of Poggio’s Indian account, it is therefore necessary to deal with this nonsensical point of view. The first serious obstacle to the argument that the ‘voice’ in the Indian section of De varietate fortunae is Conti’s rather than Poggio’s is the fact that Conti himself did not write an account of his travels. A second major problem is that the only other account of India that claims Conti as its source, that presented in the Andanças e Viajes of Pero Tafur (c. 1410–c. 1484), differs significantly from Poggio’s (earlier) account. To give but one instance, where Poggio’s text barely allows an adjectival clause on the character of the Indians, Tafur has Conti express a far-from non-committal opinion of them: ‘gentes bestiales que non se rigen por seso’ (‘bestial people unable to govern themselves’)!16 So great is the disparity between Tafur and Poggio’s accounts that some have accused the Andalusian of fabricating his encounter with Conti. Others argue that the discrepancies between the two accounts are due not to dishonesty on the part of Tafur, but to the different social conditions of the writers, and to different circumstances of composition.17 Either way, the disparity between the two accounts makes assigning responsibility for the attitudes of either of them to Conti highly problematic. The group of scholars to have paid more than superficial attention to Poggio’s account of India is in reality a small one. Yet even the most distinguished among them have fallen prey to the temptation of downplaying Poggio’s part in the creation of his text, so as to ease the making of a ‘scholarly’ argument. Perhaps the most sophisticated example of this is Rubiés’ discussion of the Indian section of De varietate fortunae – which he repeatedly refers to as ‘Conti’s account’, describing Poggio as a ‘mediator’ whose function is one of ‘intervention’ in another’s narrative, that of the traveller Conti.18 With the ostensible aim of determining ‘the actual weight of humanist skills and interests in the reception and transmission of a merchant’s observations’, Rubiés embarks on the imaginative – but impossible – activity of using Poggio’s text to ‘reconstruct the dialogue’ of the humanist’s conversations with the merchant, so as to separate out the ‘different contributions of Conti, Poggio, and their possible sources’ to the text’s portrayal of the South Indian kingdom of ‘Bizengalia’ (Vijayanagara), which is Rubiés’ main interest. In order to lend an aura of credibility to this separation process, he undertakes a comparative analysis of Poggio and Tafur’s texts, viewed as genuine but mutually independent records of an encounter with Conti – an analysis which eventually leads even Rubiés to conclude, somewhat inconsistently, that it was ‘Poggio, rather than Conti, who created Bizengalia for the West.’19 Yet along the way to this more candid conclusion, there have been unreasonable casualties: while items such as ‘an air of detached objectivity’ and ‘a few classical references’ are graciously assigned to Poggio, Rubiés denies the humanist credit for what is perceived to be a non-condemnatory treatment of idolatry: ‘like many other lay travellers without a philosophical education, he [i.e.Conti] does not feel the need to dwell on the definition and implications of idolatry. He knows which are the words most appropriate to publicise what he saw in India and uses them.’20 Rubiés

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 99 does not allocate this feature of the Indian account to the humanist Poggio, not for valid scholarly reasons, but simply because it is not convenient. Had he credited Poggio with responsibility for the portrayal of Indian idolatry in the text, Rubiés would have been unable to suggest a connection between absence of critique and a lack of ‘philosophical education’ – and this would have upset his over-arching theory about the special qualities of the lay traveller. It would be more accurate to regard the portrayal of Indians in De varietate fortunae as Poggio’s view, informed by a reformed apostate (Conti) who could claim considerable experience of Islam and the world outside Christendom. Poggio himself was a committed yet not uncritical Latin Christian. Throughout his many years as a papal bureaucrat, he retained an independent cast of mind, writing provocatively on moral issues, and making the clergy the butt of his acerbic wit. (His scurrilous Facetiae ended up on the Index of Prohibited Books.) Exasperation with the conciliar movement even led him on occasion to question the presence of the Holy Spirit within the Church. At the same time, Poggio had a strongly conservative streak. Evidence of this can be seen in his revised version of De avaritia (c. 1429), which draws on the authority of St. John Chrysostom, St. Paul and St. Augustine to condemn lust for gold as idolatrous and detrimental to love. Zeal for the faith rings out in his impassioned letter to the Prince of Hungary, calling for the expulsion of the Turks. Similarly, Poggio’s bitter disputes with Lorenzo Valla over Biblical translation were motivated by a pious objection that philological techniques are unsuitable for theology, and by a desire to preserve the authority of Scripture and of Jerome’s Vulgate in particular.21 The audacious and conservative streaks in Poggio’s personality are evident in his representation of the subcontinent Indian society.

Subcontinent Indians: between perhumanitas and barbarity Poggio’s portrayal of foreign peoples in the fourth book of De varietate fortunae is remarkably dispassionate. There is barely an adjectival clause expressive of personal opinion; no attention at all is paid to skin colour; and he tends not to use religious terminology as a means to categorise different peoples. Although the focus of the Indian section is overwhelmingly on pagan customs, Poggio prefers to define his ‘Indians’ in the first place as human beings linked to a particular geographical area, and not primarily as ‘pagans’ or ‘idolaters’.22 Whereas, in Marco Polo’s book almost every new entry on an area is accompanied by phrases equivalent to ‘the people are idolaters’ or ‘they are worshippers of Mahomet’, Poggio generally employs neutral terms such as ‘incolae’ (‘inhabitants’), ‘homines’ (‘men’), ‘Indi’ (‘Indians’), or the third person plural ending of the verb. ‘Idolatrae’, ‘idolaters’, appears only once (IV.104) as a means of defining a people. Similarly, ‘gentilis’ appears just once, where the reference is not to contemporary Indians, but to the people of classical antiquity (IV.443). Inspired perhaps by the predominantly neutral tone of Poggio’s reports on foreign customs, together with his emphasis on the natural abundance of foreign lands, the editor of De varietate fortunae, Outi Merisalo, has proposed

100  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation that Poggio intended the fourth book of his treatise to be a critique of European society.23 Merisalo reads this section as an attempt to comment on the Europe of Poggio’s day through a positive description of the Far East and Ethiopia, seeing the same procedure at work in Poggio’s account as in the Letter of Prester John or in Montesquieu’s Lettres persanes. However, the extent to which criticism of Europe is implied in Poggio’s treatise is easily exaggerated, and there is certainly little in the humanist’s text of the consistent idealisation of the East that one finds in the Letter of Prester John. While what one says of another is indicative of one’s own attitudes and interests, to see good in the Other, or to refrain from criticism, does not necessarily imply a condemnation of the Self: as shall be seen, Italy remains Poggio’s ultimate standard for civic life. Nor is Poggio’s representation of the East as uniform or as unequivocally positive as Merisalo’s interpretation suggests: there are grades of civility among Poggio’s ‘Indians’, with those of the subcontinent mainland occupying an enigmatic position between barbarity and his ideal of the civilised life. Poggio’s Indian account falls roughly into two halves, moving from specific descriptions of localities and their inhabitants in the first part (IV.45–319), to a more generalised discussion of the customs in the second (IV.320–555). By linking customs to a very specific locality (such as a city) in the first half, Poggio conveys a sense of diversity and regional variance within this Indian world, which is in keeping with the writer’s general consciousness of varietas, the variability and variety of life. Poggio maintains this impression of diversity even when generalising about Indian customs – ‘de ritu uero moribusque Indorum’ – through frequent pointers towards varietas: ‘pro regionum uarietate’ (IV.343–344); ‘non eadem apud omnes’ (IV.365); ‘uariis [. . .] modis’ (IV.387–388); ‘varium apud eos’ (IV.438); ‘uarie computant’ (IV.500); ‘plurima atque inter se uaria’ (IV.516–517) (‘on account of the variety of the regions’; ‘not the same among all of them’; ‘in various ways’; ‘variable among them’; ‘they calculate it variously’; ‘many and variable amongst themselves’). Nevertheless, a basic three-fold division of ‘India’ operates within the account, which is both a geographical separation and a cultural one. What we understand today as the Indian subcontinent corresponds more or less to Poggio’s second division of ‘India’ from the Indus to the ‘other’ Ganges, which he also calls ‘India interior’ or ‘media India’. Descriptions of this region dominate the text. Though he divides up ‘India’ ostensibly on the basis of physical landmarks, Poggio’s division corresponds to the author’s perception of an acute cultural difference between the regions. As he declares at the commencement of the exposition of Indian customs: Indiam omnem in tres diuisam partes. Vnam a Persis ad Indum flumen, ab eo ad Gangem alteram, tertiam ulteriorem, quae reliquis est opibus, humanitate, lautitia longe praestantior, uita et ciuili consuetudine nobis aequalis. Nam et domos habent admodum sumptuosas, et perpolita habitacula et mundam supelectilem, et cultiori uitae indulgent procul ab omni barbarie et feritate: perhumani homines ac mercatores opulentissimi, adeo ut aliquis quadraginta propriis nauibus quaestum faciat, quarum quaelibet quinquaginta milibus aureis extimatur.

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 101 Hi soli more nostro mensis et mappis argenteis insuper uasis in edendo utuntur, cum reliqui Indi supra terram stratis tapetis edant (IV.320–329). India is divided into three parts: one from the Persians to the Indus River, another from there to the Ganges, and the third, all that is beyond – which far excels the rest in riches, humanity and splendour, and is equal to us in manner of life and civic practices. For they also have extremely sumptuous abodes, refined habitations and elegant furniture, and they indulge in a rather cultured life, far from all barbarity and coarseness. The men are thoroughly humane and the merchants extremely rich, so much so that some will carry out their business in forty of their own ships, any one of which is worth fifty thousand gold pieces. These people alone, in our manner, use tables and tablecloths with silver vessels on top whilst eating, whereas the rest of the Indians eat on carpets strewn upon the ground. Wealth (opes), humanitas, and splendour (lautitia), all very much urban values, are the three factors upon which Poggio bases his judgment that the Third India excels the rest.24 Elsewhere in the text, this region is also referred to as ‘India superior’, a term reflecting not simply its relative geographical position but its place at the top of the cultural hierarchy assumed. This is a distinction it shares (in Poggio’s estimation) with ‘us’ (‘nos’), by which Poggio presumably wishes to suggest cultivated Europeans such as himself: the phrase ‘cultiori uitae indulgent procul ab omni barbarie et feritate: perhumani homines ac mercatores opulentissimi’ might well have been applied to Cosimo de Medici’s Florence. Yet in practice Europe, or more specifically Italy, occupies a superior place in what one might term Poggio’s hierarchy of civilisations, since it is used as the yardstick by which other societies are judged. This is evident, for instance, in the comment on eating habits in the Third India (‘hi soli more nostro mensis [. . .] utuntur’; ‘they alone use tables in our manner’), and in Poggio’s earlier description of ‘Cambaleschia’ and ‘Nemptai’, imperial cities in the province of Cathay (‘Cataium’): utraque in ciuitate domos, palatia, caeteraque urbium ornamenta Italicis similia esse affirmat, homines modestos, urbanos ac caeteris ditiores (IV.202–204). He confirms that in each city there are houses, palaces, and other urban adornments similar to the Italian fashion, and that the men are unassuming, urbane and richer than the rest. Read at a distance of over 500 years Poggio’s remarks on the elegant architecture, interior design and tableware of the Third India may seem rather trivial, but to a fifteenth-century Italian audience, accustomed to debates on the proper use of wealth, they carried a clear message: here was a society that understood and practised the virtue of magnificentia, ‘magnificence’. Promoted from the fifteenth-century pulpit, as well as by the pen of many a Renaissance humanist, magnificentia was the central concept in arguments for the positive uses of wealth throughout Italy in this period, and the motivation behind numerous grandiose

102  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation Renaissance building projects.25 Although classical in origin, when adopted into a medieval and Renaissance Christian context, the virtue of magnificence could serve, as Goldthwaite puts it, as a ‘rationalization for luxury, which was otherwise condemned as sinful and unnatural’.26 Most Renaissance definitions of the virtue ultimately derive from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, a text which Leonardo Bruni had re-translated into Latin in 1416.27 For Aristotle, ‘magnificence’ was a virtue within reach only of the rich since it consisted in the expenditure of vast sums on works considered ‘honourable’, namely those connected with the gods (e.g. religious buildings, votive offerings or sacrifices) or with public-spirited ambition (e.g. sponsoring warships, theatricals, or any other kind of public event).28 Humanist writers in fifteenth-century Italy extended the field of ‘magnificence’ also to the private sphere. Recognising the home as the space where relationships useful in public life were cemented, writers such as Alberti and Giovanni Pontano emphasised that a wealthy man could express his magnificence not only in public-spirited actions such as the sponsorship of buildings and civic entertainments, but in private expenditures on personal possessions and on entertaining friends. In the domestic context, the ‘magnificence’ exercised through extravagant spending on items such as elegant furniture or tableware could also be referred to as ‘splendour’.29 Behind the idea of ‘magnificence’ was the conviction that through conspicuous spending, a rich man could bestow prestige upon himself and his family. Crucially, conspicuous spending could also be read inversely as something that created prestige by making manifest the rich man’s innate personal dignity; in other words, it could be interpreted as a visible sign of invisible qualities. By extension, the expenditures of urban elites on luxurious buildings (both their exteriors and interiors) could also be read in the Renaissance as a symbol of the dignity and power of the society as a whole. In Bruni’s Laudatio florentinae urbis (c. 1403), he imagines visitors to Florence making exactly this connection between sumptuous buildings and the worldly power of the Florentine people: Nam simul atque urbem conspicati sunt, cum occurrat oculis tanta moles rerum, tanta edificiorum collatio, tanta magnificentia, tantus splendor, cum precelsas turres, cum marmorea templa, cum basilicarum fastigia, cum superbissimas domos, cum turritia, cum villarum multitudinem, cum delitias, nitorem, ornatum intuentur: illico omnium mentes animique ita mutantur ut non iam de maximas atque amplissimas rebus ab hac urbe gestis obstupescant, non! As soon as they have seen the city and inspected with their own eyes its great mass of architecture and the grandeur of its buildings, its magnificence and splendour, the lofty towers, the marble churches, the domes of the basilicas, the most superb palaces, the turreted walls and the numerous villas, its charm, brilliance and décor, instantly everyone’s mind and thought changes so that they are no longer amazed by the greatest and most important exploits accomplished by Florence!30

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 103 Poggio’s focus on the interior furnishings and ornate public buildings of ‘India Superior’ are an invitation to readers to be similarly impressed by the power of this eastern nation. Poggio’s treatment of Cathay, brief as it is, is also significant because it suggests that the region had by now begun to acquire a mystique in Latin Christian culture, to whose attraction not even a humanist scholar was immune. According to his own three-fold division of ‘India’, Cathay belongs to the third, superior ‘India’. More than this, Cathay is its best province, ‘omnibus praestantior’ (‘superior to all’; IV.192), impressive not only for its architecture but for the quality of its people as has just been seen. Yet, as modern scholars have pointed out, Poggio commits a serious factual error when he places Cathay under the dominion of the ‘magnus Canis’ (IV.193), or Great Khan: by the fifteenth century the Ming dynasty had ousted Mongol rule in China.31 The error is important because it shows that this part of the account could not have derived from direct contemporary experience of China. Rather, it must have derived either from earlier written reports or from an oral tradition that preserved tales originating in a much earlier era, and associated the grandeur of Cathay with Mongol imperial rule. Superior India, with its material wealth, ornate architecture, luxurious living arrangements and cultivated merchant classes, represents Poggio’s ideal of a civilised, ‘thoroughly humane’ society. The Indians of the subcontinent mainland may not be portrayed as reaching such heights of sophistication, but nor is their way of life equated with the depths of barbarity. Accusations of this sort are reserved for certain groups of Indian Ocean islanders, all of whom are portrayed as having what would seem a warped understanding of the value of human life, by both the standards of Christianity and classical philosophy. This is in keeping with the common fifteenth-century understandings of ‘barbarian’, a multi-valent term which was used to denote not just ‘foreign’ and ‘non-Christian’, but also ‘lacking in Latinitas’ and ‘cruel’.32 Poggio, for example, terms the man-eaters (‘antropofagite’) of ‘Andamania’, ‘immanes barbari’ (‘monstrous barbarians’; IV.98–100), whilst the man-eating inhabitants of ‘Batech’ in ‘Taprobane’ are called ‘uiri crudeles et moribus asperi’ (‘cruel men with harsh customs’; IV.101). The negative estimation of the people of Batech is linked not only to their supposed cannibalism, but also to their reported bellicosity and habit of measuring wealth in human heads: Capita humana in thesauris habent, quae ex hostibus captis abscisa esis carnibus recondunt, iisque utuntur pro nummis, si quid emunt uno aut pluribus, prout res extimatur. Cui plura capita domi sunt ditior habetur (IV.110–114). They keep human heads as treasure; they cut them off from captured enemies and then hoard them (having once eaten the flesh), and they use these for money. If they want to buy something, they do so for one or several heads, according to the article’s value. Whoever has the most heads at home is considered the wealthiest.

104  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation Yet, for Poggio, the most uncivilised society is not one where human beings are the staple food: he reserves his strongest condemnation for another group, albeit also connected with eating habits perceived as ‘unclean’. Occupying the lowest place in the hierarchy of peoples, in complete opposition to Poggio’s perhumani Superior Indians, are the inhabitants of the islands of ‘Jaua’ – condemned by the humanist for extreme ‘inhumanity’. In the portrait painted of Javanese life, their society comes across as an extraordinarily violent one, on the verge of anarchy, where murder is an amusement not a crime: Has homines inhumanissimi omnium crudelissimique inhabitant, mures, canes, catos, et spurciora quaelibet animalia edentes. Crudelitate exuperant omnes mortales. Hominem occidere pro ludo est, nullique supplicio datur. Debitores pro seruis adiciuntur creditoribus, quidam cum mori malint quam seruire arrepto gladio obuios imbeccilliores transfigunt, donec et a ualentiore obuio et ipsi occiduntur. Quem postea creditores in ius uocantes, cogunt pro mortuo satisfacere. Si quis nouum ensem emerit aut gladium, in corpus obuii experitur aciem ferri, neque ulli mors eius hominis noxae est. Transeuntes uulnus inspiciunt, laudantque percussoris peritiam in feriendo si recte gladium adegit (IV.217–226). The most inhuman and cruellest men of all inhabit these [islands], eating mice, dogs, cats, and all kinds of unclean creatures. They outdo all other mortals in cruelty. Killing a man is treated as a game and receives no punishment. Debtors are handed over to their creditors as slaves, but whenever they prefer to die than be enslaved, seizing a sword they stab anyone weaker in their way, until they meet and are themselves killed by someone more powerful. Afterwards, the dead man’s creditors call that man [i.e. the dead man’s slayer] before the law and compel him to satisfy the dead man’s debts. If anyone buys a new sword or dagger, he tries the sharpness of the steel out on the body of someone he meets, and the death of this man is not considered an offence at all. Passers-by inspect the wound, and praise the skill of the one who inflicted it, if he thrust his sword in straight. Overt expressions of opinion, such as those voiced concerning Superior India or the inhumanissimi – ‘thoroughly inhumane’ – Javanese, are almost entirely absent from the rest of Poggio’s portrayal of ‘Indian’ peoples. By default, the mainland peoples of ‘media India’ occupy a place somewhere between these two extremes of perhumanitas and inhumanitas. To better understand Poggio’s complex attitude to the peoples of the subcontinent requires a closer examination both of his generalisations de moribus Indorum, and of his treatment of customs specific to regions in ‘media India’.

Undermining the classical Roman ideal of Indian womanhood It is fitting to begin with the Indian custom that receives the most exhaustive treatment in Poggio’s narrative: the burning of Indian widows (commonly referred

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 105 to today as ‘suttee’). If there is a classicising element in Poggio’s portrayal of India (‘media India’ or ‘India interior’) it is in the emphasis he places on widowburning, although his treatment of the theme remains unique. To Roman writers especially, the Indian widow hurling herself upon her dead husband’s funeral pyre had become the symbol par excellence of wifely devotion: indico tamen rogo nihil eorum praeferes, quem uxoria pietas in modum genialis tori propinquae mortis secura conscendit Yet you will place none of these above the Indian pyre, onto which wifely devotion ascends as into a bridal-bed, sure of a speedy death.33 Cicero had also seen in the Indian widow an example of Stoic self-control. In the Tusculan Disputations he exhorts the reader to overcome the fear of pain and death, commending the barbarian Indians for the willingness even of their women to burn themselves alive.34 From Cicero to Solinus, the depiction of Indian widow-burning among Roman writers had been highly romanticised. Common motifs included a love-contest held among the deceased’s many wives in order to ascertain who had been the husband’s favourite; the extreme happiness of the wife chosen, for her dutiful service, to die; and the sorrow and shame of those wives not selected for death. Propertius even added the detail of a last kiss shared between widow and corpse, before both of them went up in flames.35 Of course, widowburning had also formed part of Latin Christian visions of India. Saint Jerome cites the Indian widow as an example of chastity to all Christian widows, because she (allegedly) prefers the flames to second marriage;36 and as we have seen there are passing mentions in Marco Polo and Odorico’s accounts. Yet Poggio brings the practice into relief in a way unlike any previous Latin Christian author. There are five distinct references in his narrative to the cremation of widows alive, a practice Poggio connects solely with ‘media India’ (IV.52–54; IV.64–70; IV.297– 300; IV.371–387; IV.405); the passage describing the complete ritual is one of the lengthiest in the whole book. Unlike classical Roman treatments of the subject, Poggio’s most detailed exposition of the widow-burning ritual (IV.371–387) has nothing romantic about it, with the possible exception of the promise to the wife of ‘uoluptates cum uiro’ (‘pleasures with her husband’; IV.380–381). Where the Roman writers have Indian widows fighting amongst themselves for the honour of dying, Poggio’s widows are bound to sacrifice themselves by pre-nuptial agreement, ‘prout fuit matrimonii conuentio’ (IV.373), which is a re-iteration of a point made earlier: ‘eo pacto in matrimonium sumptae, ut in domini rogum defuncti se sponte urendas coniciant’ (‘They are taken in marriage on this condition: that they will willingly hurl themselves to be burnt on the funeral pyre of their dead lord’; IV.69–70). Like his Roman predecessors, Poggio explains the Indian practice of widow-burning in terms of ‘honour’. Unlike them, Poggio’s representation of widow-burning is highly ambiguous about whether such a mode of death displays and enhances the nobility of the woman. Rather, Poggio interprets widow-burning as a means of adding prestige to the funeral: ‘ut morte sua funus exornent’ (‘so as to adorn the

106  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation funeral with her death’; IV.375); ‘Vxores quoque comburuntur cum uiris una aut plures quo funus celebrius fiat’ (‘One or more wives are also burnt along with their husbands, to add to the pomp of the funeral’; IV.52–54). Moreover, whilst Roman writers had generally viewed suicide as a glorious thing, Poggio distances himself from the notion. The phrases he employs never state that the widows’ suicide is admirable; they simply state that this is the locals’ opinion: ‘isque maximus habetur honos’ (‘And this is thought to be the highest honour’; IV.69–70) and again, ‘isque haud paruus apud eos honos ducitur’ (‘And among them, this is considered to be no small honour’; IV.375). Poggio’s main treatment of the widow-burning ritual subtly undermines the traditional image of the Indian widow as a noble figure. A choice verb – ‘exornent’ (‘adorn’) – thrown into the beginning of his widow-burning account effectively relegates the self-sacrificing Indian widows to the status of funeral decorations. As the description moves to the centre of the ceremony, Poggio introduces another new element: the presence of religious authority. The Indian widow goes to her death under the supervisory eye of a priest, at whose command she jumps. By doing so, her sacrifice loses nobility because it becomes a response to outside stimulus rather than something borne out of the widow’s own inner desire: she jumps to another’s tune. The prize for detachment should perhaps be awarded to the priest, whose physical and spiritual detachment from the scene is emphasised: sacerdos (hi ‘bachali’ appellantur) eminens in suggesto, uitaeque contemptum ac mortis, [. . .] suadens (IV.379–380). the priest (these are called ‘bachali’) [stands] loftily on a platform, exhorting her to contempt of life and death. Michèle Guéret-Laferté, a French editor of the treatise, interprets the presence of a priest in this representation of suttee as a reflection of Poggio’s general antagonism towards religious authorities who did not practise what they preach.37 Intentionally or unintentionally, the phrase ‘eminens in suggesto’ also parodies Cicero, who uses a comparable image in the Tusculan Disputations when urging the philosopher to adopt a similar distance so as to encourage the populace to overcome their fear of death: Quae cum ita sint, magna tamen eloquentia est utendum atque ita velut superiore e loco contionandum, ut homines mortem vel optare incipient vel certe timere desistant (I.49). Since matters are so, however, great eloquence must be employed and one must address them as though from a higher place, so that men will either begin to choose death or cease actually to fear it. Where the Roman tradition generally presents the Indian widow as voluntarily embracing death out of a sense of duty and love for her husband, Poggio’s widow is lured to her death with promises of sensual pleasure: sex, wealth

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 107 and ornaments – not exactly the things one might expect someone with genuine ‘contempt for life and death’ to be after. Again, Poggio’s slant appears to be an innovation: of the previous Christian writers on the subject, only Jordanus comes close to the suggestion that fleshly desires are behind the Indian widows’ selfsacrifice. Jordanus’ widows, as has been seen, go to their deaths joyfully, and out of affection for their husband, but they are also motivated by worldly considerations: ‘pro gloriâ mundi’. Poggio turns away completely from the idea of widow-burning as joyful sacrifice when he declares that the women are often terrified and forced unwillingly into the fire, ‘facts’ difficult to reconcile with the classical view of the Indian widow as an example of self-control: Si quae timidiores fuerint, fit enim saepius ut ad conspectum aliarum, quae in igne dolere ac reluctari uidentur, stupeant conterritae, ab astantibus in rogum uel inuitae proiciuntur (IV.385–386). If some are more timid, for it often happens that they become stupefied by terror at the sight of others who seem to be in pain and struggling, they are hurled into the fire by the bystanders, whether they consent or not. The evidence suggests that Poggio is the first European writer to make so explicit an assertion of coercion in connection with Indian widow-burning. This aspect of coercion was later picked up on by the author of the Genoese portolan chart of 1457 (Figures 1.1–1.2), who illustrates ‘Combayta’ with a paraphrase of Poggio’s lines on widow-burning: hic uxores virorum suorum exequias ignitas viue comitantur et si que pauide renuunt ad id compelluntur. Here wives accompany the fiery funeral rites of their husbands alive and if any are terrified and refuse, they are forced to do it.38 Nevertheless, it would be misleading to suggest that Poggio’s break with classical tradition of widow-burning is total. The protagonist of Poggio’s main widowburning passage, for instance, still demonstrates some of the traditional gaiety before death, circling the pyre ‘psallentis more alacris’ (‘while singing enthusiastically’; IV.378). Moreover, Poggio returns the Indian widow to the classical Stoic mould in a later passage, when he portrays the wives of ‘bachali’ priests as lying down to be burnt next to their dead husbands without even a sign of pain (IV.405). Nonetheless, Poggio’s Indian widow is not the unequivocal example of wifely pietas that she was for classical Roman writers, or even Christian writers such as Jerome and Jordanus. The uniqueness of Poggio’s interpretation of Indian widow-burning is all the more apparent when compared with that in Tafur’s Andanças é Viajes, which also claims to be derived from conversations with Conti.39 Poggio’s main account of widow-burning is stylistically elegant, placing great emphasis on sensuous

108  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation details that appeal to sight, smell and sound: ‘melioribus ornatus uestimentis’; ‘odoriferis lignis’; ‘inter tubas tibicinesque et cantus’ (‘adorned in fine garments’; ‘with perfumed woods’; ‘amid trumpets, flutes and songs’; IV.376–378). Tafur’s language is much plainer, but the ceremony he describes has a few elements in common with Poggio’s representation of the event: most notably, the festive atmosphere and the clothing of the widow mid-ceremony in a mourning garment. Both writers mark the ritual out into clear stages, yet these stages are either different or in a different order. According to Tafur, for example, there is no priest present, and the pyre is lit at the end of the ceremony – after the widow has joined her husband. Where Poggio has a persuasive priest, Tafur has a dialogue between widow and crowd. Moreover, widow-burning is for the latter a family event, the prelude to a second-wedding, in which relatives of the couple participate. To complicate matters, Tafur mentions an alternative to widow-burning whereby a head-dress is burnt instead of the lady – another element absent from Poggio’s account. Tafur’s interpretation of the rationale behind the custom of widow-burning is also rather different from Poggio’s. Tafur gives much more of a socio-economic explanation of the practice, which emphasises ‘local’ beliefs and social expectations. For Tafur, the practice is tied up with dowry issues and Indian beliefs about a woman’s inferior status: widows are burnt because they do not provide a dowry. He represents the widow to be burnt as sharing the view that a wife is an accessory to the husband, fit to live only as long as he does: dizen que la muger fué fecha por serviçio del ome, é non el ome para el de la muger; é que si peresçe lo prinçipal, de lo açesorio non se deve fazer mençion [. . .] pone su cabeça sobre el braço derecho dél, diziendo muchas cosas, en conclusion, que la muger non deve más bevir de quanto es onrrada é defendida por aquel braço, é fázese poner fuego, é alegre é voluntariamente resçibe la muerte (p. 104–105). They say that woman was made for the service of man, and not man for woman, and that if the principal should perish, the accessory is not worthy even of mention [. . .] She places her head on his right arm, saying many things in conclusion, that the wife ought only to live so long as she is honoured and defended by that arm; and they set fire to them, and cheerfully and willingly, she goes to her death.40 Overall, Tafur gives a messier, more prosaic and at the same time more complicated picture of widow-burning. There is much more emphasis on the social forces at play that might explain why a woman would accept to be burnt. There is no suggestion that the widows ever go unwillingly to be burnt, or betray any sign of fear – those few who do not wish to burn, simply refuse beforehand. Nonetheless, it is a matter of disgrace to outlive one’s husband, as is illustrated by a mention of a widow forced to flee her country because of the stigma attached to living widows. Tafur’s widow is not the voiceless figure she is in Poggio’s

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 109 description but an active participant in the pageant of her own death. She engages in repartee with the crowd, asks if they have any messages for the dead, and claims she is going to a nuptial better than the first (p.104). The discrepancies between Tafur and Poggio’s representations lend weight to the argument that Poggio is responsible for the unique interpretation of widow-burning we find in De varietate fortunae. To the degree that Tafur’s Indian widow enthusiastically participates in her own death, his portrayal of widow-burning is closer to the romanticised classical mould.

Social harmony in lust With Marco Polo and others before him, Poggio shares a curiosity for alien sexual mores – an interest that will become steadily more pronounced in later accounts of India. On Indian sexual mores, Poggio’s verdict is unambiguous and to a mild extent consonant with later ‘orientalist’ attitudes: ‘proni enim sunt ad libidinem Indi omnes’ (‘For all the Indians are inclined to licentiousness’; IV.354). With few exceptions, Indian males are held to be bigamists given over to sexual passion; this passion rather than, for instance, economic reasons, is seen as determining the number of their wives: ‘reliquos maiori ex parte uxorum copia oblectat, quas ad libidinem sumunt’ (‘An abundance of wives for the most part delights the rest, whom they take for their pleasure’; IV.361–362). Likewise, when Poggio describes the singular case of polyandry among the inhabitants of ‘Collicuthia’, he makes sexual appetite alone the factor determining the number of husbands taken on: ‘plures maritos sibi sumunt, ut denos pluresque pro libidine habeant’ (‘They take several husbands, so as to have ten each or more according to their desire’; IV.290–291). Yet unlike the Saidian ‘Orientalist’, Poggio does not encourage the reader to view the sexual mores of the Indians as a sign of inferiority and decadence. Though Poggio may portray Indians generally as sensual creatures, he does not especially censure them for that. Like Polo before him, Poggio does not treat ‘libido’ as a particularly serious moral matter. The sexual antics of the people of ‘Aua’ (IV.136–146), for example, whose men have a little bell-operation performed on themselves before marriage ‘ad explendam mulierum libidinem’ (‘in order to increase the pleasure of their wives’; IV.142), seem only to tickle the author of the Facetiae’s earthy sense of humour: ‘rei quam ioci gratia scripsi’ (‘I’ve written this down for its amusement value’; IV.136).41 However, this practice in no way detracts from the city’s status as ‘ciuitas nobilissima omnium’ (‘the noblest city of all’; IV.134–135). One of Poggio’s most original contributions to the repertoire of Italian ideas about Indians is in the subtle way he uses his account of India to insinuate that sexual immorality does not necessarily have to cause social upheaval. Poggio even suggests that what is ‘immoral’ (from the point of view of the Church) may even have ‘moral’ benefits. Female prostitution, for instance, is presented as a public institution among the ‘Indians’ that has made homosexuality unheard of:

110  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation publice mulieres ubique uolentibus presto sunt [. . .] eoque marium usus apud Indos ignotus’ (IV.352–355). public women are available everywhere for those that want them [. . .], and for this reason the use of males is unknown among the Indians. Again, Poggio’s treatment of life in Collicuthia attests to an interest in the civic organisation of non-Christian sexual practices, and how such practices can be controlled so as not to disturb the fabric of society. Their polyandric social system comes across an example of organised not unbridled lust (IV.288–296). The reader is told that in Collicuthia wives live alone, but when a husband is visiting, he leaves a sign on the front door to alert other passing husbands, who on seeing the mark go away without a fuss: ‘quod conspicatus alter superueniens abit’ (‘when another coming afterwards sees this, he goes away’; IV.294). In the passage, Poggio displays a particular interest in how Collicuthia Indians resolve the practical problems arising from such a practice (e.g. the problems of illegitimate children and of inheritance disputes). It is noted that a father’s inheritance does not descend to his children but to the grandchildren, and that children are allotted to husbands as the wife sees fit. To previous treatments of Indian sexual mores, Poggio brings a non-censoriousness, akin to that in Polo’s book, combined with an interest in social practicalities. One does not have to look far into the social history of a Renaissance Italian city like Florence, to see why contemporaries may have found Poggio’s depiction of Indian sex life interesting: the ‘libido’ Poggio ascribes to the Indians had its counterpart in the everyday reality of fifteenth-century Italy.42 Despite the Church’s condemnation of all sexual intercourse outside marriage, hammered home in the sermons of popular preachers such as Bernadino of Siena, extra-marital sex was commonplace. Prostitutes roamed the streets of fifteenth-century Italian cities, well-off married men impregnated their servant girls, priests and other unmarried men kept mistresses. Poggio himself admitted to fathering fourteen illegitimate children, while Cosimo De’ Medici had his wife raise the illegitimate son he had fathered by a housemaid. Whereas in Poggio’s fifteenth-century India, men were reportedly allowed many wives to satisfy their sex-drive, in the Italy of his day male fornication was officially frowned upon, but tacitly condoned. The promiscuity that was a fact of life in fifteenth-century Italy frequently had unhappy consequences, notably for women and children. Of the children generated out of wedlock, the lucky ones might be recognised by their fathers and raised with their help, but many were aborted or abandoned to fate. Florence’s famous foundling hospital, the Ospedale degli Innocenti, was established in the early fifteenth century, as a way of coping with the growing problem of unwanted children; similar foundling homes existed in other Italian cities. For women, the consequences of extra-marital intercourse could be equally grim. In the sexual code of fifteenth-century Italy, the perception of a woman’s honour was bound up with her chastity. At the same time, a family’s honourable reputation was intrinsically linked to the perceived virtue of their womenfolk. ‘Respectable’ families

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 111 dishonoured by their unmarried womenfolk falling pregnant might seek to restore the family honour through violence and feuds. At best, a woman deemed ‘unchaste’ might be forced into a hasty marriage or into a nunnery; at worst, she faced unemployment (if working), abandonment by kin, public shaming or even death – if this was the only way for the family to restore its wounded honour. The male participants in such illicit affairs were not treated as harshly, a doublestandard evinced in the courts: a woman caught in adultery might be sentenced to public flogging, whereas the male adulterer might merely be fined. By contrast, the ‘Collicuthia’ manner of managing ‘libido’, which allowed women to have multiple partners without public censure and which accepted the mother’s word on paternity issues, may have struck Poggio’s contemporaries as a less brutal way than their own of dealing with lust’s potentially damaging social effects. Poggio also explicitly grants the Indians more success in dealing with another notorious social problem of his age: sodomy among males.43 Fifteenth-century Florence had a Europe-wide reputation as a hotbed of sodomy, a situation encouraged by the limited number of socially acceptable opportunities for teenage men and women to meet, and by the existence of large numbers of workshops staffed exclusively by adolescent males under the supervision of older masters. Male sodomy, more so than heterosexual fornication, was a concern to Florentine civil authorities because it reflected badly on the image of the city-state since it suggested a lack of virile strength among its population. In an attempt to combat this problem by providing a safer outlet for young male sexual urges, the government of Florence established its first public brothel in 1403. Poggio’s report of the Indian situation, where he claims sodomy is unknown due to the provision of public female prostitutes, seems to imply that such a policy works.

Sacred violence Poggio makes another important contribution to the development of representations of Indians, in the emphasis he places on religious rites and on sacred violence in particular. His treatment of Indian suicide differs from classical Roman models, which represent it in heroic terms: as an act of duty or as an example of a brave individual challenging fate, but not as a devotional sacrifice performed for the gods. By contrast, all instances of Indians committing suicide in Poggio’s text are placed in a clear religious context: even the Indian widow’s suicide takes place under the eye of a priest. The prevalence of sacred violence in Poggio’s representation of India brings it more in line with the vision put forth by the missionary Odorico, and later re-packaged by Mandeville. Odorico’s account of the Indians has them devoutly offering their children for sacrifice, indulging in devotional self-torture, slashing themselves to death, and crushing themselves under the wheels of an idol’s processional cart – all for the sake of their god. But where both Odorico and Mandeville seem to regard the Indians as suffering from an innate devotional death-wish, Poggio’s Indians appear less spontaneously fanatical. He mentions Indians torturing themselves before idols as a form of trial by ordeal,

112  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation not simply out of devotion (IV.518–529). Others may commit suicide before the god, but Poggio encourages the reader to believe that it is because the religious authorities actively promote the idea that such deaths are pleasing to the divinity: In Combaita ciuitate sacerdotes ante idolum dei suam orationem habent ad populum, qua et ad cultum inuitant, et quam gratum diis futurum sit disserunt excedere pro his e uita (IV.444–446). In the city of Combaita, standing before the idol of the god, the priests deliver an oration to the people, in which they both invite the people to worship and they discourse on how pleasing it would be to the gods to depart from life for their sake. The form of self-immolation in ‘Combaita’ is particular grisly and has no exact precedent in Italian literature on India: Plures decreta morte adstant ferreo ad collum lato circulo, cuius exterior pars rotunda est, interior acie acutissima. Anteriori ex parte catena ad pectus pendet, in quam sedentes contractis cruribus, deflexo collo pedes inserunt. Tum ad quedam dicentis uerba extentis subito cruribus, simul et erecta ceruice caput abscindunt in idoli sacrificium uitam fundentes, hique habentur sancti (IV.446–451). Several men are present, their death having been decreed, who wear a broad circular piece of iron on their neck, the exterior part of which is rounded, the interior – the sharpest of blades. From the back part, a chain hangs down to the breast, into which, with bent neck and drawn up legs, they insert their feet. Then, on the speaker pronouncing certain words, they suddenly extend their legs, and at the same time lifting their neck upright they cut off their head, pouring out their life as a sacrifice to the idol, and these men are considered saints. Tafur mentions a similar event, but, unlike Poggio, he does not make the practice geographically specific or place it within a religious framework. Tafur’s men who commit suicide with a shear-like apparatus do not do so as a way to sanctification, but rather in order to leave behind them a reputation for valour: Ay otros que, porque dellos quede fama de fuertes é sus fijos sean vistos fijos de buenos, fazen un artefizio como de tiseras de tundidor, é meten la cabeça entre la una é la otra, é tirando con los piés, júntase é córtale la cabeça (p.101). Others there are who, in order to leave behind them a reputation for strength, and that their sons may be known to be the sons of good men, make an apparatus like shears, and putting their heads between the blades, they force them to shut with their feet, and so cut off their heads.44

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 113 Specific killing methods aside, in spirit Poggio’s depiction of suicide in Combaita recalls Il milione’s representation of suicide in Maabar, as a way for condemned men to redeem themselves: Poggio’s phrase ‘decreta morte’ (‘their death having been decreed’) suggests that these men too may be criminals, whose self-decapitation radically transforms their reputation – ‘uitam fundentes, hique habentur sancti’ (‘pouring out their life, they are then considered saints’). Equally gruesome is the description, immediately following the Combaita sacrifices, of a festival in ‘Biçenegalia’. This passage bears a strong resemblance to Odorico’s account of the special celebrations held in honour of the ‘Saint Christopher’ idol, a theme taken up also by Mandeville. In all three accounts, the highlight of festivities is a procession during which people kill themselves beneath the wheels of a cart carrying the god. Poggio this time accords with his predecessors’ treatment of the theme, by ascribing the suicides purely to religious fervour. In Poggio’s version, there are two carriages transporting the idol, each filled with young maidens singing devotional songs: Idolum quoque in Biçenegalia statuto anni tempore in medio duorum curruum in quis ornatae adolescentule ymnum deo canunt, per urbem fertur magna populi celebritate. Multi, feruore fidei ducti, corpora ad terram prostrata rotis subiciunt conterenda ad oppetendam mortem, quam deo acceptissimam ferunt. Alii ad ornandos currus perforato latere, fune per corpus immisso, se ad currum suspendunt, pendentesque et ipsi exanimati idolum comitantur; id optimum sacrificium putant et acceptissimum deo (IV.451–457). In Biçenegalia also, at a certain time of year, an idol is carried through the city, placed in between two chariots in which beautifully adorned young women sing a hymn to the god, amid a great assembly of people. Many, driven by the fervour of their faith, hurl their bodies prostrated along the ground to be crushed under the wheels, in search of death, and this they say is most acceptable to the god. Others, to adorn the chariots, cutting a hole in their side and inserting a rope in their body, tie themselves to the chariot. Thus suspended and breathing their last they accompany the idol; and they think this an excellent sacrifice and most acceptable to the god. Whilst it is possible that Poggio’s account of the Biçenegalia festival owes more to fourteenth-century accounts of sacred violence in India than he acknowledges, his description has additional details, a macabre and original touch being the bodies that swing from the idol’s cart.45 Moreover, the humanist’s overall handling of the subject is distinctly more dispassionate. Unlike the version of Odorico the missionary, Poggio does not dwell on the numbers of dead, nor openly encourage the reader to view the practice as an unspeakable horror. Nor does he try like Mandeville to lessen any potential shock by representing such suicides as a demonstration of faith and abounding love for the god, parallel to Christian martyrdom. Poggio allows himself only to comment that the locals consider such suicides the

114  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation most acceptable kind of sacrifice, before shifting the focus quickly from swinging bodies to other, distinctly less macabre, religious festivals (IV.457–469): a festival marked by days of singing, dancing and feasting; another involving decorating temples and roofs with lit oil lamps; a nine-day festival during which holy men implore the god for favours whilst the people pelt them with oranges and lemons; and finally, street festivals in which passers-by, even the king and queen, allow themselves to be splashed with saffron-water to the delight of all – ‘idque risu ab omnibus excipitur’ (‘and this is received with a laugh by all’; IV.469). The effect of these examples is to offset any potentially negative impression of the Indians left by the graphic descriptions of ritual suicides, by presenting a lighter, more carnivalesque side to Indian religion. Significantly, whereas Poggio makes the festivals entailing ritual suicide regionally specific, these bloodless festivals are not attached to a specific locality. It is as though, having highlighted the sensational, Poggio then wishes to present carnival not blood sacrifice as the norm throughout India.

Humanitas despite violence It is also striking that Poggio’s air of objectivity does not break down when he describes the ritual suicides in Combaita and Biçenegalia. He makes no explicit judgement on the Indians at this point, even though earlier he had labelled the Javanese ‘homines inhumanissimi’ for the pleasure they allegedly experience in taking human life. One might speculate on why one form of violence causes a people to be perceived as ‘inhumane’ whilst the other does not. Certainly, the classical concept of humanitas was not actually a virtue that compelled one to care about the preservation of individual human lives, however much it might denote ‘humane feeling’.46 Humanitas did not require one to place ultimate value on the individual human person; it impelled one to look to the well-being of the group. In a ‘humane’ society, human beings could therefore be expendable if this protected the community as a whole. Suicide, in the right circumstances, was admirable; murder could be justifiable. Cicero, a staunch Republican, considered it perfectly humane to kill a king because he believed that a tyrannus could never have the best interests of the state at heart. Murder per se is not a sign of inhumanity – only murders that are not deemed beneficial to the community.47 One could argue that Poggio represents the Javanese as ‘inhumane’ not so much because they sanction violence but because they do not appear to recognise their solidarity with the group (a basic realisation that, according to Stoic doctrine, one arrived at through the exercise of reason). Whereas the Indian violence is controlled within a clearly delimited religious framework, and managed in such a way that the deaths foster community, the Javanese are pictured as going berserk with their killing. It is because the Javanese violence is seen to be anarchic that they are regarded as ‘inhumane’, whilst the peoples of Combaita and Biçenegalia are not. Poggio is not offended by bloodshed so much as unregulated bloodshed – bloodshed disruptive to the social order.

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 115 Poggio tries in other ways to highlight the ‘humane’ aspects of life among the Indians, to show them as experienced in the breadth of emotion and skills symbolised in Alberti’s Mother Goddess Humanity.48 It is a feature of Poggio’s text that the more extreme practices of the Indians are sandwiched between passages illustrating less extreme aspects of Indian life. A passage on rites of mourning (IV.387–400) follows the account of widow-burning, as if to show that generally the Indians have what one might call a normal response to death: they exhibit grief and display their respect for the dead through the completion of various rituals. Through the detailed passage on local fashions (IV.339–361) that precedes the widow-burning episode, Poggio shows that the Indians have a developed aesthetic appreciation. At another point, he indicates that the Indians are as accomplished as ‘us’ in the arts of music and dance: ‘similia nostris ad canendum psallendumque in usu habent instrumenta’; ‘Cantant ducendo choreas in girum more nostro [. . .] quod aspectu pulcherrimum dicit’ (‘They have similar instruments to own our for making music and singing’; ‘They sing while leading a dance in a circle, after our manner [. . .], which, he says, is an extremely pretty sight’; IV.469–475). On two occasions, Poggio explicitly sees in the contemporary Indian world a reflection of the classical world – in the contexts of fashion and of religion respectively. Indians are said to tie up their sandals ‘prout in priscis statuis uidemus’ (‘as we see in the ancient statues’; IV.349), and to offer feasts to the gods ‘gentilium priscorum more’ (‘in the manner of the ancient pagans’; IV.443). For Poggio, a great admirer of classical monuments and manners, such comparisons are a way of elevating the status of the Indians. Yet even more significantly for this humanist book-hunter, the Indians are represented as a literate people who produce beautiful manuscripts: ‘codices conficiunt admodum uenustos’ (‘they make absolutely charming books’; IV.514–515). Whilst some of the other details about Indian culture selected – the lack of organs, the compass, and baths (IV.469–477) – imply that in some respects the Indians are not quite up to European standards, overall, Poggio presents the world of ‘interior India’ as a rich well-functioning one, whose peoples are blessed with a sense of their own cultural superiority: hi nos Francos appellant, aiuntque cum caeteras gentes caecas uocent, se duobus oculis, nos unico esse, superiores existimantes se esse prudentia (IV.511–513). They call us Franks, and they say that while they call the other peoples blind, they have two eyes, and we have one – since they consider themselves to be superior in practical wisdom.49

Tensions in Poggio’s treatment of pagan Indian religion Despite its demonstrable interest in various Indian customs, there is a certain reticence detectable in Poggio’s narrative when it comes to the subject of theological, or philosophical, ideas: only quite late in the piece is there even an explicit (and, even then, coyly worded) declaration that the Indians are polytheists:

116  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation ‘per uniuersam Indiam dii coluntur’ (‘throughout the whole of India gods are worshipped’; IV.435). The scant interest displayed in Indian beliefs, religious or otherwise, is remarkable given the Indians’ reputation for wisdom in the works of classical writers Poggio knew. If we were to extract what Poggio says in the text about subcontinent Indian beliefs, we would find that he indicates Indian religion is polytheistic, that some consider suicide the most acceptable form of religious sacrifice as well as a means of acquiring sanctification, and that the ‘bachali’ priests consider it a great crime to kill or eat the ‘bos’ (ox) because the animal is very useful to man – and this is about all. Unlike Petrarch, Poggio is hardly concerned at all with the ideas of the Brahmins; he merely mentions the ‘bragmones’ as a set of philosophers dedicated to virtuous living whom people credit with occult powers and who themselves fear the evil eye (IV.92–94; IV.405–416). Only once in the narrative is the subject of theological beliefs broached directly: in the context of the idolaters of ‘Macinus’ (strictly speaking part of ‘Superior India’). Here, Poggio allows the suggestion that the idolatry of this particular group may approach Trinitarian Christian belief: colunt idola omnes. Surgentes autem e lecto ad orientem uersi orant iunctis manibus: ‘deus trinus et lex eius eadem nos tuere’ (IV.173–174). They all worship idols. However, rising from bed they turn towards the east and pray with their hands joined: ‘The three-fold God and his same law protect us’. Similarly, Poggio’s (delayed) declaration of polytheism throughout India is immediately followed by another statement suggesting similarity to Christianity, despite references to idols: Per uniuersam Indiam dii coluntur, quibus templa simillima nostris fiunt uariis intus figuris picta, quae et in solemni die ornant floribus, inque his idola constituta tum lapidea, tum aurea argenteaque et eburnea. Quaedam altitudine pedum sexaginta (IV.435–438). Throughout the whole of India, gods are worshipped, for whom they erect temples very similar to ours, painted on the inside with various figures, and which on solemn days they decorate with flowers, and in these [temples] are housed idols, sometimes of stone, sometimes of gold, silver and ivory. Certain of these are sixty feet high. Humanist writers used the word ‘templum’ not only to refer to classical temples but as a classicising way of denoting Christian churches.50 In the passage above, the parallel Poggio draws is not this time on the level of creed, but in the roles assigned to ornament in worship. Though their temples are full of idols, Poggio suggests that the pagan Indians betray a similar sense of what is an appropriate manner of celebrating the sacred to that enshrined in Christian churches: both make use of paintings, thus assigning a role to human skill – man-made beauty – in

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 117 glorifying the divine; both use natural beauty (flowers) to render homage to the god. The comparison serves to make Indian religious ways appear more universal and familiar to the reader. It is tempting to read Poggio’s two comments on idol-worship as a tentative attempt on his part to portray the Indians as preserving vestiges of what is referred to as the Renaissance concept of prisca theologia – an ‘ancient theology’ thought to be akin to Christianity and known to the virtuous pagans of old either through exposure to Judaism, through the exercise of natural reason, or as a kind of spiritual residue of a pre-diluvian Adamic faith.51 However, it would be unwise to turn Poggio into a religious radical of the sort embodied later in the century by Marsilio Ficino: the papal secretary’s treatment of pagan Indian religion remains guarded, particularly in its coverage of pagan Indian religious iconography. The description of idols is limited to materials and size – there are none of Odorico’s ‘St Christopher’ idols here – and there are even fewer visual details about temple paintings. Poggio has chosen the most neutral and least evocative way of describing the Indian pantheon, whilst at the same time remaining within the Christian tradition. From a Christian perspective, Poggio’s description of the Indian gods is orthodox and traditional: the Psalms repeatedly refer to the gods of other nations as ‘idols’ of clay, stone and wood, the emphasis on materials being a way of highlighting the created-ness of the idol, and its incapacity to give life, since it is itself lifeless. On the one hand, his compact description does not encourage readers to draw even superficial comparisons between depictions of Indian gods and Christian saints, or between pagan ‘idols’ and Christian ‘statues’. On the other hand, Poggio’s choice of details hardly encourages readers to visualise the Indian ‘idols’ as hell-demons. Poggio’s strategy in dealing with religious themes appears to be to draw the reader’s attention away from potentially disturbing considerations of creed by concentrating on the formal aspects of Indian religion. He emphasises variety – ‘varium apud eos orandi sacrificandique genus’ (‘Various are the types of prayer and sacrifice [in use] among them’; IV.438) – and ritual: bathing, the use of bronze vessels instead of bells, incense and food offerings to the gods, prostrations, lighting lamps and so on. Poggio’s interest is in how the Indians worship rather than what they worship and why. Given that Poggio is the author of many provocative dialogues that question the values of his own society, it is surprising that the treatment of Indian thought in De varietate fortunae should have remained at so superficial a level. It could be that Poggio is unwilling to broach the subject of pagan wisdom outside the safety of the dialogue form, where ideas can be freely floated and their implications hammered out, without any one idea in particular being assigned truth value – and without the author appearing responsible for what is said. Too detailed a discussion of contemporary pagan beliefs might also have landed the papal secretary in trouble with his superiors, as encouraging heresy. Speculations aside, there is some evidence in the text that Poggio’s ‘silence’ on the subject of Indian religious beliefs was due to the resurgence of a traditionally Christian fear, the fear of a demonic force behind Indian paganism.

118  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation Although Poggio does far less to encourage the demonic view of pagan Indian religion than the legends of the saints in India, for example, even he cannot entirely escape the idea of a demonic force behind Indian religion. Some Indians are reported to have occult powers, which enable them to predict the future and control storms (IV.411–412). Shortly afterwards, Poggio confirms the idea that contemporary pagans are able to harness demonic power by recounting an episode in which sailors in the vicinity of India summon up the god ‘Muthia’ in order to beg for wind (IV.414–426). This is not only an extraordinary and allegedly eyewitness account of demonic possession but the sole occasion in the book that Poggio explicitly refers to a pagan god as ‘demon’.52

Poggio’s achievement In her consideration of Poggio’s account, Supriya Chaudhuri expresses disappointment and ‘weariness’ at what she regards as a lack of development in the narrative itself, criticising the piece as an ‘assemblage of facts which are only thinly associated with the imagined experience of travel’.53 To appreciate Poggio’s contribution to the development of representations of Indians, one needs to go beyond criticising the author for not writing a travelogue, or for (supposedly) not regarding India as a ‘civilization that might repay new enquiry’.54 In comparison to other humanists of his times, Poggio had a much greater interest in the Far East and, with his three-fold division of the Indias, went much further to representing the Indian subcontinent as a region with a culturally distinct civilisation (albeit a civilisation he regarded as not quite equal in sophistication to the Italian). Similarly misleading is the statement that Poggio viewed India as a ‘collection of phenomena that could be ticked off on a mental map’:55 in the 1440s there was no stable idea of what phenomena the ‘Indies’ should contain. While it is true that Poggio deals with topics commonly associated with ‘India’ in the classical and medieval traditions (the elephant, for example), he also adds a lot that was new to previous representations of its natural history, towns and customs. Moreover, where Poggio deals with a ‘classical’ or ‘medieval’ theme such as widow-burning, his interpretation is also new. Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians was audacious and unique. He disregarded classical authorities to a degree unparalleled in the work of his peers, broaching a subject, the three ‘Indias’, which none of his contemporaries appeared willing to risk, while giving his account of its peoples an almost exclusively pagan focus. Unlike contemporaries, Poggio displayed a greater interest in subcontinent India than in the regions of India beyond the Ganges. He presented a balanced and varied portrait of life in India within the Ganges, highlighting its humane aspects but without shying away from or sensationalising its more violent elements. Most interesting of all is Poggio’s representation of this ‘media India’ as a humane place despite the prevalence of sacred violence, and the way he maintains a non-censorious attitude towards its other manifestations of nonChristian mores.

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 119

Notes   1 References are to Merisalo’s edition: Bracciolini (1993). Unless otherwise indicated, translations in this chapter are mine, prepared for Poggio’s original Latin with the help of J. W. Jones’ translation in Major (1857).   2 Compare with the entry under ‘Niccolò dei Conti’, Encyclopaedia Britannica, 2001; Rubiés (2000), p.85 and p.88; Grossato (1994), p.11.   3 Rogers (1962), p.96.   4 Bracciolini (1993), p. 9–15.   5 Bracciolini (1993), p. 9–10.   6 A will dated 1449 confirms the existence of Niccolò Conti. In the document, Niccolò warns his son against going fortune-seeking in India; Bracciolini (1993), p. 225–226, n.10 and n.11.   7 See Chapter 5.  8 Walser (1914), p. 106–108, 168, & 418–423; Franceschini (1976), p.112; Loomis (1927); Grafton (2002), p.278.   9 Virgil (1969). 10 VI. 24 and VI. 26. 11 Lach (1965): I, p.60. 12 Kent (2000), p.385. On Poggio’s network, see Walser (1914); Gordan (1974), p. 12–14 & 154–158; and Shepherd (1802), p. 175–180. 13 O’Doherty (2013), p.170. 14 Letter to Niccolò Niccoli dated Rome, 6 June, 1433 in Bracciolini (1964–1969): III (1964) – Epistolae, curante Thomas de Tonelli (Liber V, Epistola VI, p.15). Translation: Gordan (1974), p.176, with the slight modification of ‘with some thought . . . given’ to ‘where some thought has been given’. 15 Bracciolini (1993), p.13. 16 Tafur (1982), p.98; Translation: Letts (1926), p.86. 17 See José Vives Gatell’s essay in Tafur (1982), p. 62­­–­74, and Rubiés (2000), p. 117–123. Rubiés’ discussion includes a table comparing the two accounts. 18 Rubiés (2000), p. 85–124 (p.86 & p.97). 19 Rubiés (2000), p.124. 20 Rubiés (2000), p.107. 21 Fubini (1982), p.44; Bracciolini (1994); Bracciolini (1964–1969): III (1964), p. 353–358 (Book IX, Ep. XXV); Camporeale (1982), p. 150–152. 22 Indian Christians barely figure at all in the treatise (IV.75–77; IV.363), Jews even less (IV.78), while Indian Muslims appear to be altogether absent from Poggio’s Indian vision. 23 Bracciolini (1993), p.19. 24 That Poggio should emphasise material wealth as an indicator of the superior society is characteristic. As he would argue in De miseria humanae conditionis (1455), Poggio viewed material riches as a necessary prerequisite for earthly happiness. 25 Goldthwaite (1993), p. 207–208, 220–221. Goldthwaite (1980), p.83; Lindow (2007), p. 1–4, 9–19; Howard (2012); I refer the reader to these authors for a much fuller discussion of ‘magnificentia’ in the Italian Renaissance. 26 Goldthwaite (1993), p.207. 27 On Bruni’s understanding of magnificentia, see Lindow (2007), p. 14–15. 28 Nicomachean Ethics, IV. ii.10–22. 29 Goldthwaite (1993), p. 208 & 249. In De splendore (1498), Pontano defined ‘splendour’ as primarily concerned with the ornament of the household, the care of the person, and with furnishings; Lindow (2007), p.1. 30 Leonardo Bruni, Panegirico della città di Firenze, ed. G. de Toffol. Florence (1974): p. 26–28; trans B. G. Kohl and R. G. Witt, The Earthly Republic. Philadelphia (1978): p.143. As cited in Lindow (2007), p.2 & n.4, p.7.

120  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 31 Yule (1913): I, 175 (n.2). 32 Hay (1960), p. 57–58. 33 Valerius Maximus (2000): II. 6. 14; André & Filliozat (1986), p.43, 339–340, n. 6; Heckel and Yardley (1981), p.307. 34 Cicero (1966), V.77–78. 35 Propertius III.13.15–22, as cited in André & Filliozat (1986), p.33 & p.35. 36 Jerome, Adversus Iovinianum I. 44; cited in André & Filliozat (1986), p.237. 37 Bracciolini (2004), p. 42–43. 38 Florence, BNC, Port. 1; Bracciolini (1993), p.253 (appendix 2). 39 Tafur, Andanças, p. 104–105. 40 Translation: Letts (1926), p. 90–91, with my correction of ‘placing’ to ‘she places’, and of ‘they say many things’ to ‘saying many things’, in line with the original text. 41 ‘Aua’ is probably in modern-day Myanmar (Burma). Poggio does not specifically state whether he classifies this as part of the third India, although the city is said to be on a river beyond the mouth of the Ganges. In a long digression (IV.136–146), Poggio relates how the men of Aua visit special shops (‘tabernae’) to have bells inserted in their penis and how Conti refused to undergo the ‘operation’ though derided ‘a paruitate priapi’ (‘for the smallness of his Priaps’). 42 Rocke (1998); Terpstra (2010), p. 16–18, & 107–110; Hibbert (1974), p. 39–40 & p. 44–46. 43 Rocke (1998) p.163–167; Terpstra (2010), p. 16–18. 44 Translation: Letts (1926), p.89. 45 For comparison, here is the full text of idol’s birthday passage from Odorico (1982), chapter 29: Et in quello die che fue fatto questo idolo, vanno quegli di quella contrada et tolgono questo suo idolo della chiesa et mettonlo su un carro. Et poscia il Re et la Reina et il popolo et gli pelegrini che vi sono, insieme el traggono della chiesa con grandi canti et con molte generationi di strumenti: et quando e’ l’hanno così tratto della chiesa, molte doncelle a una et a due vanno innanti cantando maravigliosamente. Et questi pelegrini che sono venuti a questa festa, si pongono sotto questo carro et fannosilo passare per dosso, et dicono che vogliono morire per lo Dio loro: et così questo carro andando loro per dosso, sì gli fende per mezzo, sì che incontenente muoiono. Et così facendo, questo idolo conducono a uno luogo diputato; et poscia lo ritornano al luogo donde lo tolseno di prima, con questi canti et istrumenti di prima. Et per questo non è anno neuno che non ne muoia bene cinquecento huomini: et poscia tolgono questi corpi morti et ardongli; et dicono che sono santi, perchè sono morti per il Dio suo. 46 Stephens (1990), p.17. 47 De Officiis, III.4.19 and III.6.32. 48 See Chapter 5. 49 The sentiments are not original; we find the same saying attributed to the Cathayans in Hayton and in Mandeville, but Poggio has shifted it to refer to the interior Indians. 50 Marsh points out this was Alberti’s habit; Alberti (1987), p.7. 51 Allen (1970), p. 21–37; Walker (1972), p. 1–62. 52 A similar incident is reported by Tafur (1982), p. 107–108. 53 Chaudhuri (2009), p.277. 54 Chaudhuri (2009), p.278. 55 Chaudhuri (2009), p.278.

References Alberti, L. B. (1987) Dinner Pieces: A Translation of the Intercenales, ed. and trans. David Marsh. Binghamton, NY: Medieval & Renaissance Texts and Studies/Renaissance Society of America. Allen, D. C. (1970) Mysteriously Meant: The Rediscovery of Pagan Symbolism and Allegorical Interpretation in the Renaissance. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins Press.

Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation 121 André, J. & Filliozat, J. (eds) (1986) L’Inde vue de Rome: Textes latins de l’Antiquité relatifs à l’Inde. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Aristotle (1968), The Nicomachean Ethics, ed. & trans. by H. Rackham. Loeb Classical Library. Heinemann: London; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bracciolini, P. (2004) De L’Inde: Les Voyages en Asie de Niccolò De’ Conti, De Varietate Fortunae Livre IV, ed. and trans. M. Guéret-Laferté. Turnhout: Brepols. Bracciolini, P. (1994) De avaritia, ed. and trans. G. Germano. Livorno: Belforte. Bracciolini, P. (1993) De varietate fortunae, ed. O. Merisalo. Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia. Bracciolini, P. (1964–1969) Opera Omnia (Vols 1–4), ed. R. Fubini. Turin: Bottega d’Erasmo. Camporeale, S. I. (1982) Poggio Bracciolini contro Lorenzo Valla. In: Poggio Bracciolini 1380–1980 nel VI centenario della nascita. Studi e Testi, 8. Florence: Sansoni. Chaudhuri, S. (2009) “India Recognita”: the travels of Nicolò de’ Conti. In: Secchi Tanigi, L. (ed.) Oriente e Occidente nel Rinascimento. Florence: Franco Cesati. Cicero (1966) Tusculan Disputations, ed. and trans. J. E. King. Loeb Classical Library London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cicero (1913; repr. 1968), De Officiis, ed. and trans. Walter Miller. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Franceschini, A. (1976) Giovanni Aurispa e la sua biblioteca. Medioevo e Umanesimo, 25. Padua: Antenore. Fubini, R. (1982) Il “Teatro del mondo” nelle prospettive morali e storico-politiche di Poggio Bracciolini. In: Poggio Bracciolini 1380–1980 nel VI centenario della nascita. Studi e Testi, 8. Florence: Sansoni. Goldthwaite, R. A. (1993) Wealth and the Demand for Art in Italy 1300–1600. Baltimore, MD; London: John Hopkins University Press. Goldthwaite, R. A. (1980) The Building of Renaissance Florence: An Economic and Social History. Baltimore, MD; London: John Hopkins University Press. Gordan, P. W. G. (trans.) (1974) Two Renaissance Book Hunters: The Letters of Poggius Bracciolini to Nicolaus de Niccolis. New York: Columbia University Press. Grafton, A. (2002) Leon Battista Alberti: Master Builder of the Italian Renaissance. London: Penguin. Grossato, A. (ed. & trans.) (1994) L’India di Nicolò de’ Conti: Un manoscritto del Libro IV del ‘De Varietate Fortunae’ di Francesco Poggio Bracciolini da Terranova (Marc. 2560). Helios, 4. Padua: Studio Editoriale Programma. Hay, D. (1960) Italy and Barbarian Europe. In: Jacob, E. F. (ed.) Italian Renaissance Studies: A Tribute to the Late Cecilia M. Ady. London: Faber & Faber. Heckel, W. & Yardley, J. C. (1981) Roman writers and the Indian practice of suttee. Philologus. 125. p. 305–311. Hibbert, C. (1974) The Rise and Fall of the House of the Medici. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Howard, P. (2012) Creating Magnificence in Renaissance Florence. Toronto: Centre for Renaissance and Reformation Studies. Kent, D. (2000) Cosimo De’ Medici and the Florentine Renaissance: The Patron’s Oeuvre. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Lach, D. F. with Van Kley, E. J. (1965–1993) Asia in the Making of Europe (Vols 1–9). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Letts, M. (trans.) (1926) The Travels of Pero Tafur. London: Hakluyt Society. Lindow, J. R. (2007) The Renaissance Palace in Florence: Magnificence and Splendour in Fifteenth-Century Italy. Aldershot: Ashgate.

122  Novelty and humanity in Poggio Bracciolini’s representation Loomis, L. R. (1927) The Greek Studies of Poggio Bracciolini. In: Loomis, R. S. (ed.) Medieval Studies in Memory of Gertrude Schoepperle Loomis. New York: Columbia University Press; Paris: Champion, 1927. Major, R. H. (ed.) (1857) India in the Fifteenth Century. London: Hakluyt Society. Mynors, R. A. B. (ed.) (1969) P. Vergili Maronis Opera. Oxford Classical Texts. Oxford: Clarendon. O’Doherty, M. (2013) The Indies and the Medieval West: Thought, Report, Imagination. Turnhout, BE: Brepols. Odorico Da Pordenone (1982) Relazione del viaggio in Oriente e in Cina (1314?–1330), ed. Camera di Commercio, Industria, Artigianato e Agricoltura di Pordenone. Pordenone: Camera di Commercio, Industria, Artigianato e Agricoltura di Pordenone. Rocke, M. (1998) Gender and Sexual Culture in Renaissance Italy. In: Brown, J. C. & Davis, R. C. (eds) Gender and Society in Renaissance Italy. London: Longman. Rogers, F. M. (1962) The Quest for Eastern Christians: Travels and Rumour in the Age of Discovery. Minneapolis, MT: University of Minnesota Press. Rubiés, J.-P. (2000) Travel and Ethnology in the Renaissance: South India through European Eyes, 1250–1625. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shepherd, W. (1802) The Life of Poggio Bracciolini. Liverpool: Cadell & Davies. Stephens, J. (1990) The Italian Renaissance: The Origins of Intellectual and Artistic Change before the Reformation. London: Longman. Tafur, P. (1982) Andanças e viajes de un hidalgo español, Pero Tafur (1436–1439), ed. Marco Jiménez De La Espada et al. Barcelona: El Albir. Terpstra, N. (2010) Lost Girls: Sex and Death in Renaissance Florence. Baltimore, MD: The John Hopkins University Press. Valerius Maximus (2000) Memorable Doings and Sayings, ed. & trans. by D. R. Shackleton Bailey. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Walker, D. P. (1972) The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century. London: Duckworth. Walser, E. (1914) Poggius Florentinus Leben und Werke. Beiträge Zur Kulturgeschichte Des Mittelalters Und Der Renaissance, 14. Leipzig: Teubner. Yule, H. (ed. & trans.) (1913–1916) Cathay and the Way Thither (Vols 1–4), revised by Henri Cordier. 2nd series. London: Hakluyt Society.

7 India ‘recognita’? The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians

The year 1492 now has an aura of grandeur about it: as many a high school textbook will relate, this was the year Columbus first set sail across the Atlantic, his head filled with dreams of the Indies. It was also the year that (well before Columbus had discovered anything) Ulrich Scinzenzeler in Milan printed the first edition of Poggio Bracciolini’s Indian account, under the title: India recognita. This simple title made a grandiose claim: here was ‘India’, not simply made ‘known again’, but ‘investigated’, ‘authenticated’.1 According to its fifteenthcentury editor, Milanese senator Cristoforo da Bollate, the particular achievement of Poggio’s text was to disclose the strength of ‘Indian’ civilisation: ‘claritas Indorum atque potentia’ (‘the renown and power of the Indians’).2 Yet the fact that Poggio’s work could be presented as offering a new perspective, some forty years after its creation, is rather interesting. Bollate himself clearly felt the need to justify his publication of Poggio, a modern author, against imagined detractors who might feel ancient geographical scholarship was enough: the dedicatory epistle begins with the proposal that even if ‘India’ is sufficiently well known (‘satis notam Indiam’) from Strabo, Pliny and Ptolemy, Poggio’s work is still of value on the grounds that more information sheds more light. The present chapter traces the fortunes of Poggio’s representation of the Indians in the fifty years which elapsed between the first promulgation of Poggio’s manuscript and Vasco Da Gama’s epic voyage to Calicut in India. As shall be seen, although readership of Poggio’s account was widespread, this did not lead to a wholesale adoption of his representation of the contemporary pagan world. Rather, where Poggio’s representation of the East did gain recognition before its first edition in 1492, it was a highly selective one, which significantly toned down, if not obliterated completely, the idea of a vibrant, violent, yet humane pagan society in subcontinent India.

The fortunes of De varietate fortunae Research into the early circulation of De varietate fortunae suggests that a number of influential Italian scholars, clerics and lords read Poggio’s geographical piece in the decades following its completion c. 1448.3 It survives in at least fifty manuscripts of Italian origin, dating from the mid-fifteenth to the early sixteenth

124  The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians century. In the latter half of the fifteenth century, readership of the work extended from Rome in central Italy to Florence, Genoa, Padua, Venice and Udine in the north. The text formed part of the libraries of Pope Nicholas V, Cardinal Barbo (probably Pietro Barbo who became Pope Paul II in 1464), the Este rulers of Ferrara, and Federico da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino. The Friulian humanist Guarnerio D’Artegna (d.1469) owned a manuscript, as did Giovanni Marcanova (d.1467), who taught medicine at the University of Padua. It is also clear that Pope Pius II (r. 1458–1464) borrowed from Poggio’s geographical account when writing on Asia, as did the Augustinian friar Jacopo Filippo Foresti da Bergamo when updating his supplement to the chronicles c. 1485. One Venetian and two Tuscan translations were made before 1500, while (as mentioned earlier) Ulrich Scinzenzeler printed a first edition of the Latin original in 1492. A number of religious institutions also came into possession of the account before the end of the century. Among these were the convent of San Marco, Florence, as well as the monastery of S. Giovanni, Padua, and the Collegio Capranica in Rome. While what we know of the circulation of Poggio’s manuscript indicates a widespread readership among the intellectual elite in late fifteenth-century Italy, the reaction of that elite to his vision of Indian life is more difficult to gauge. Once again, the extant manuscripts of Poggio’s Indian account are not especially helpful on the issue of reader response since they are noteworthy for an absence of marginalia. Where glosses do occur they tend to be of a toponymic nature (suggesting they were read for their factual geographical content), moralising marginalia being extremely rare. One exception consists in the brief notes found in Federico da Montefeltro’s manuscript which register revulsion at Indian self-sacrifices, marked out as ‘stultitia’ (‘stupidity’) and ‘crudelitas’ (‘cruelty’), an interesting criticism if the author was indeed Federico, a seasoned man-of-war.4 The other exception comes in a late fifteenth-century manuscript owned by Gianfrancesco Cataldini di Cagli, whose main interest in Poggio’s work seems to have been in using it to update the classical geography of Pomponius Mela. Next to Poggio’s anecdote about sexual surgery in Aua the words ‘ridiculous custom’ (‘[m]or ridiculum’) can be deciphered.5 Such comments give us a tantalising glimpse of contemporary reader reactions, but are too rare to build an argument on. For a more substantial impression of reader responses to Poggio’s representation of India, we should turn to the literary record of late fifteenth-century representations of India, where a different picture emerges. The literary record suggests that there were certain aspects of his representation of the Indians that contemporaries found unpalatable, either because they clashed with utopian religious dreams, or because they contradicted classical wisdom too strongly.

Utopian evasion of the contemporary witness A tendency to avoid details that might upset one’s theological vision is illustrated in a work by one of Poggio’s most distinguished readers, Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa (d.1464), who had a copy of De varietate fortunae made for him in Rome. In September 1453, in the aftershock of the Fall of Constantinople, he wrote

The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians 125 De pace fidei: a meditation on contemporary religious affairs which went beyond the Muslim, Ottoman Empire to take in the whole of the non-Christian world. At the time of writing, Cusa would have been familiar with the geographical ideas circulating in Poggio’s circle: he too had worked with Pope Eugenius IV on the Council of Ferrara-Florence; the doctor-cosmographer Paolo del Pozzo Toscanelli was a close friend; and in all probability he had already read De varietate fortunae’s fourth book, as well as the copy of Il milione he owned. Both Polo and Poggio’s books had significantly revised inherited ideas about Indian religious practice, yet these appear to have had only minimal impact on Cusa’s understanding of the contemporary far-eastern religions.6 De pace fidei is a kind of theological manifesto in dialogue form, framed as a divine vision granted to its author, of an extraordinary meeting of the Council of Heaven. The Council has been called to resolve the repeated problem of humans slaughtering one another; they diagnose religion as the cause of the violence, but decide that the problem is essentially one of education. With God the Father’s assent, philosophers from every nation – the chosen vessels of a proposed reeducation campaign – are called up to heaven for parley. The aim of the parley is to reach agreement on a single faith to be taught to all nations with a mind to achieving world peace: et [Dominus] contentatur omnem religionum diversitatem communi omnium hominum consensu in unicam concorditer reduci amplius inviolabilem (III.9). and [the Lord] is agreeable that henceforth all the diverse religions be harmoniously reduced, by the common consent of all men, unto one inviolable [religion].7 Whereas Poggio’s celebration of the variety of life allowed space for both similarity and difference, Cusa’s impulse is to collapse distinctions. An Indian philosopher intervenes in the debate half-way through the treatise, by which time certain assumptions about non-Christians have been laid bare. One of the main contentions in the treatise is that universally people already agree on a single orthodox faith; they simply fail to recognise their unity of faith because the great variety of religious rites obscures this ‘fact’ (I.6; IV.10). All religions are regarded as essentially true (God’s providential care for all humankind has ensured this) but they may have erroneous accretions that need to be removed in order to uncover this essence. Significantly, non-Christians are not held to blame for any such errors in their religious observance because of the difficulties of the human condition (I.4; II.7; III.8); God himself has contributed to the problem by being a hidden God (I.4–5). Crucially, every nation, regardless of religion, is assumed to have produced philosophers of calibre, able to rise above the restrictions of ordinary life. Hope for world peace lies in their capacity to understand and to teach others the truth. Though utopian, the vision of the state of eastern religions presented in De pace fidei is utopian in a different way from works such as the Letter of Prester John.

126  The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians Cusa’s treatise confirms Poggio and Polo to the degree that it makes idolatry, and not a form of Christianity, the dominant type of religion in India. However, there is a significant difference in representation: from the intervention of the Indian philosopher in the heavenly debate (VII.19–21), it appears that the Indians are to be regarded as monotheistic idolaters. Monotheism is suggested to be so inherent in the Indian style of idolatry – ‘cum ydola suo modo venerentur, haec de uno Deo adorando’ (‘they, in their own way, venerate idols, worshipping these as having to do with the one God’) – that the main missionary challenge will reportedly be to convince them that the doctrine of the Trinity is not polytheism in disguise (VII.20). (Cusa’s one faith to which all other religions will prove reducible is not a simple monotheism but a kind of minimalist Christianity, where sacraments are not essential, but where the doctrine of the Trinity, love, peace and tolerance of differences in ritual are.8) There is little in Polo and Poggio’s descriptions of Indian religious practices to suggest a virulent objection on the Indians’ part to polytheistic ideas, even if Poggio ascribes a kind of Trinitarian idolatry to a specific group of ‘Indian’ idolaters, the Superior Indians of Macinus. The idea of a monotheistic form of idolatry among the Indians owes more perhaps to Varro, to whom Augustine attributes the argument that in ancient times the various images of the gods had functioned as reminders to worshippers of the different qualities of an all-encompassing World Soul.9 Whatever the inspiration, this assertion of a conscious monotheism among the Indians functions also as a commendation of their rationality, since it aligns them with the philosophical ‘proof’ of the impossibility of polytheism, given by the Word of God just moments before (VI.17). It is on the strength of this rationality, on the famed wisdom of the Indians, that Cusa’s Indian philosopher ultimately declares himself optimistic that they will follow other prudent nations, such as the Romans, Greeks and Arabs, in abandoning idolatry: Detectis fallaciis praeapertis atque quod ob illas Romani prudentissimi similiter et Graeci atque Arabes ydola confregerunt, sperandum est omnino ydolatras Indos similiter acturos, maxime cum sapientes sint et necessitatem religionis in cultu unius Dei esse non haesitent (VII.20). Because [these] flagrant deceits have been exposed and because on account of them the very prudent Romans and likewise the Greeks and the Arabs have broken their idols, it is to be fully hoped that the idolatrous Indians will do similarly – especially since they are wise and do not doubt that there is religious necessity for the worship of one God.10 Cusa’s representation of Indian religion is otherwise remarkably vague. One disturbing detail he chooses to deal with is the report that idols give responses to their worshippers. (This feature is found in traditional accounts of idolatry and in Odorico’s account of Indian religion, but not in Polo or Poggio). Significantly, the treatment of this issue in De pace fidei initially involves a rationalist denial of the demonic. The Indian philosopher raises the issue of how to convince his

The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians 127 people to abandon idolatry, when they are used to getting responses from their idols. In reply, the Word of God first vehemently denies the idea that real powers lurk in Indian idols: responses received are the fabrications of priests passed off as the god’s message; if they are ever anything other than totally fallacious, this is because the priest is a good guesser. Having given the rationalist position priority, the writer then concedes the possibility of a demonic explanation. When the Indian philosopher insists that these responses come directly from the idol and not through a mediator, the phenomenon is finally explained as the deceitful work of the devil: ‘finxit se fide per hominem aliquando sed raro statuae alligari et ad responsa cogi, ut sic deciperet’ (‘Sometimes but rarely, so as to deceive, he pretends to be bound to a statue through the man’s faith and to be compelled to give responses’; VII.20). Yet even so, a faith in the power of reason is maintained; the speaker goes on to assert that the phenomenon of speaking idols ceases immediately once experience proves their responses to have been lies. What is striking throughout Cusa’s representation of Indian religion is that he makes no mention of the variety of Indian religious rites Poggio had described in detail (including widow-burning and sacrificial suicide under temple carts). The avoidance of such details must have been deliberate. At the close of the treatise, Cusa has the Council of Heaven direct its attention to the works of Eusebius and Varro, in order to persuade his audience that all present ‘religions’ differ only in ritual not in the worship of One God: ‘quibus [libris] examinatis omnem diversitatem in ritibus potius compertum est fuisse quam in unius Dei cultu’ (‘once these books were examined it was clear that the entire diversity [among the religions] lay in the rites rather than in the worship of one God’; XIX.68). This argument necessitates the downplaying of religious rites; if ritus were to be considered as closely bound to ‘faith’ – as a physical reflection of essential beliefs – then diversity of rites would indicate different beliefs, and Cusa’s thesis would fall. Moreover, had Cusa mentioned such potentially disturbing Indian practices as ritual suicide and widow-burning these might have suggested irrationality, undermining confidence in the natural wisdom of the Indians, upon which Cusa’s dream of India overcoming idolatry rests.

Scepticism of a humanist Pope Textual comparison reveals that Pius II (d.1464) had a copy of Poggio’s account to hand when writing the Asia, a work he had begun in 1461 but left unfinished. The Pope refers to a conversation with the condottiere Federico da Montefeltro, in which they could not agree on the confines of Asia, as his inspiration for the book.11 However, according to Milanesi, the Asia was really an attempt, after the manner of Herodotus, to write a geographical modern history that would explain how hostilities had arisen with the Turks.12 Yet Pius II’s preoccupation with the Turks’ rise is not obvious until after he has described the first and second parts of his six-fold division of Asia. At the end of the section on the first part of Asia, he gives an account of lands beyond the Ganges, which is drawn (without direct

128  The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians acknowledgment) from De varietate fortunae. What is said in the passage (fols. 6r–6v) gives a clear indication of how reluctant this humanist Pope was to trust Poggio’s geographical scholarship. From the outset, Pius II is sceptical in the extreme about his contemporary source, the account of ‘Nicolaus’ the Venetian. As Larner has emphasised, the phrasing casts a double doubt – on the trustworthiness of a traveller’s tales and on the person responsible for reporting them: Nicolaus tamen quidam venetus cognomento comes nostra aetate in haec loca pervenit: si vera sunt quae ab eo narrata feruntur (fol. 6r). However, a certain Venetian Nicolaus, ‘Conti’ by surname, reached those places in our era, if those things are true which are said to have been narrated by him.13 Further doubts are expressed in the summary of Poggio’s passage about Macinus that follows. Difficult to believe – ‘difficile est credere’ – is the report of a river greater than the Ganges (fols. 6r–6v). Similarly unworthy of credence – ‘nec illud dignum fide’ – is the story that the king of Macinus has ten thousand war elephants (fols. 6r–6v). In the first instance, it is the conflict between his modern source and ancient opinion that gives rise to disbelief in Pius II, a diligent student of Strabo’s Geography.14 The ancient writers, the ‘veteres’, he protests, had all pronounced the Ganges the greatest river (fol. 6v). In the second instance, he intimates that distortions of fact are encouraged by distance: ‘longinquitas redargui non facile potest’ (‘What is remote cannot easily be disproved’; fol. 6v).15 That Pius II’s inclination is to try and fit what he reads in the contemporary source into what he ‘knows’ from ancient authorities is clear from his identification of Nicolaus’ Macinus with the region of the Seres (fol. 6v). The summary of Nicolaus’ testimony comes immediately after an account of the first part of Asia based on classical sources, in which Ptolemy, Pliny, Solinus, and Strabo are cited explicitly as authorities. According to the Pope’s own definition, this part of Asia lies far to the east, between the Taurus mountains and the northern ocean, and is a region largely inhabited by Scythian tribes (fol. 5r) – the proverbially rough, wild, nomadic barbarians of classical literature.16 The only other people Pius II places in this region are the Seres, ‘homines inter se mites et quietissimos’ (‘mild men and most silent amongst themselves’; fol.5v), whom Pliny had portrayed as so shy that they bartered their goods with foreigners in silence and without physical approach.17 Since the Seres are the more settled and civilised of the two groups of ancient inhabitants, Pius II naturally identifies the settled people of Macinus with them. Pius II also reproduces almost verbatim Poggio’s description of the imperial cities of Cambaleschia and Nemptai in Cathay, with their Italianate architecture and sophisticated, affluent citizens (fols. 8v–9r). Once more scepticism is the predominant tone. The reported urbanity of the people of Cathay causes the Pope to doubt his source – ‘quod si credimus magna profecto morum mutatio facta est’ (‘if we are to believe this, a great change in customs has certainly taken place’; fol. 9r).

The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians 129 The problem appears to be that ancient sources attest to Scythian shepherds in this region, so he cannot quite believe in their domestication and transformation into the ‘homines modestos atque urbanos’, the humble and urbane men, of modern Cathay (fol. 9r). Influenced by ancient theories about climate,18 which restricted the possibility of civilised life to certain temperate zones, he seems convinced that such enormous and reportedly urbane settlements as Cathay’s Cambaleschia and Nemptai should be located further south: nec horrida septentrionis ora eos admittit mores, quibus vel Graecia olim claruit, vel Italia nunc floret, aut certe Cathaium ipsum quod tantopere laudant minus septentrionale est (fol. 9r). Nor do the bristling-cold shores of the north permit such customs, be they the kind that Greece was once renowned for, or those for which Italy now flourishes, – or at least, that Cathay which they praise so much must be less to the north. Unlike Poggio, Pius II is cautious and conservative, reluctant to trust contemporary sources where they undermine received ideas. The remoteness of Macinus and Cathay, together with elements in their description that clashed too strongly with ancient theories, is perhaps sufficient to explain Pius II’s suspicion of the contemporary report. Yet, as Casella points out, the polemical stance adopted by Pius II towards the testimony of ‘Nicolaus venetus’ is highly unusual.19 No other source is attacked in such a way in the Asia: Pius II usually prefers to present the varying opinions of his sources without proffering his own. Nor is his dismissive attitude in this instance to be explained away stereotypically as a case of the humanist hide-bound by classical authority. He could hold ancient scholarship valid or invalid depending on the context, and did not automatically reject more modern sources. His Europa (c. 1458), for instance, often treated as a companion piece to the Asia, privileges modern sources over ancient, using the latter chiefly for historical details. Even within the Asia, Pius II is respectful towards his two other modern sources, Albert the Great and Giacomo Campore (bishop of Caffa from 1441 to 1459), and accords them the same status as his ancient authorities.20 The Pope seems not to have had the same sort of regard for Poggio. According to Ricardo Fubini, Pius II objected to what he perceived as both a rhetorical and ethical laxness in Poggio’s writings.21 It is possible that in the case of Macinus and Cathay, Pius II found the contemporary report of these regions suspect, simply because he distrusted the character of the man who had written the report – a personal dislike evident in the brief biographical sketch accorded to Poggio in De viris illustribus, where the Pope elegantly insinuates ignorance, hypocrisy and moral corruption.22

The lingering appeal of Cathay Regrettably, the Asia was interrupted before Pius II reached the section which was to contain India, defined as a region extending back from the ‘Sinarum populis’

130  The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians (‘Sinae people’) in the extreme east to the island of Taprobane beyond the equator in the south (fol. 5r). It is perhaps significant that where he did find time to consider Poggio’s account it was in connection with Macinus and urbane Cathay, regions in Poggio’s India Superior. This Third India, particularly the Cathay region (erroneously) understood to be still under the Great Khan, seems to have had more of an appeal to contemporaries than the Indian subcontinent. The letter to Canon Martins, written in June 1474 and attributed to Paolo del Pozzo Toscanelli (1397–1482), underlines the nature of Cathay’s attraction to the humanists. In it, the author gives encouragement to the idea of reaching the land of the Great Khan by sailing west, and speaks of having interviewed ‘unus’ from those parts, whose account of his homeland clearly made a deep impression.23 For the writer, the attraction of India Superior lies not so much in its riches but in its cultural sophistication. He envisages the future Latin encounter with these far-easterners as an opportunity to learn from their philosopher governors: hec patria digna est ut per Latinos queratur, non solum quia lucra ingencia ex ea capi posunt [sic] auri, argenti, gemarum omnis generis et aromatum, que nunquam ad nos deferuntur. verum propter doctos viros philosofos et astrologos peritos et quibus ingeniis et artibus ita potens et magnifica provincia gubernentur [sic], ac etiam bella conducant.24 This country is worthy of being sought out by the Latins, not only since huge profits can be made from there, in gold, silver, and in all manner of gems and spices which never have been brought to us before; but also on account of the learned men, philosophers and skilled astrologers, through whose talents and skills such a powerful and magnificent province is governed, and they even oversee the conduct of wars. It seems that Toscanelli was dreaming of a Cathay ruled, after the manner of Plato’s Republic, by only the wisest and intellectually trained of men.25

Perpetuation of classical motifs As the fifteenth century progressed, the range of classical texts available to writers expanded enormously: the Latin translations made under the patronage of Pope Nicholas V (r.1447–1455) included Ptolemy, Strabo, and Herodotus; by 1475, the bulk of the Latin classics were in print, and other Greek works had been translated including the Indika attributed to Arrian, and Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana, an ancient philosopher famed for travels in India.26 Francesco Berlinghieri’s metrical cosmography Le Septe giornate della geographia is an example of the continued importance of classical visions of the East in the latter fifteenth century. It was one of the first vernacular works based on Ptolemy’s Geography to be printed, and the first to use the neologism ‘geography’ in its title. Berlinghieri (1440–1500/1) was a Florentine diplomat, pupil of Argyropolous and Landino, and frequenter of Ficino’s Platonic Academy. He began composition of the

The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians 131 Geographia in 1465, but it took over a decade to complete, and was eventually printed c. 1482. The published poem was accompanied by thirty-one engraved maps (twenty-seven Ptolemaic charts and four modern maps of Italy, Spain, France and Palestine).27 Although Berlinghieri asserts the superiority of ‘geographia’ to ‘chorographia’ in the opening to the poem (I.2; fol. aa.iir), in what follows he does not entirely fulfil his promise to use Ptolemy as his guide and to eschew chorographic detail. There are some notable digressions in the text, such as the passages on Egyptian religion and burial rites (IV.8–9; fols. b.ir–b.iir), while Book Three has elaborate descriptions of Italy drawn from various sources ancient and modern, including Strabo and Flavio Biondo.28 For Marica Milanesi, Berlinghieri’s Geographia is a remarkable work of synthesis that combines all the various currents in geographical studies of the century.29 Nevertheless, its sections on the Indias ‘dentro’ and ‘fora il gange’, this side of the Ganges and beyond it, read largely as a rhymed list of names with minimal other detail to break up the monotony. Such details when they do occur either indicate the nature of a settlement, commercial or otherwise, or they recall classical versions of the legends about Alexander or Hercules in India, the gymnosophists, the Brahmins, widow-burning or the fabulous races of men.30 Unlike the European and Mediterranean sections of the book, where Berlinghieri has revised information and place names to accord with contemporary writings, the Indian sections have not been updated in the light of contemporary sources.31 In Berlinghieri’s account of India, Poggio’s representation of India has been discarded in favour of the ancient authority of Ptolemy, Strabo, and Pliny. In other humanist literature of the period, Indians were for the most part only of anecdotal interest. This is most obvious in the philosophical dialogues, where Indian customs serve as exempla to help further a discussion or argue a point. Given that such dialogues were also a means to display one’s erudition (and to test the reader’s), it is not surprising that the provenance of an anecdote often goes unmentioned, even though traceable to a classical source. Which particular classical motifs were revived or perpetuated in the fifteenth century of course remained dependent on the immediate creative need of an individual author. In Alberti’s dialogues, Indians appear as illustrations of an alternative morality radically different from the Christian norm. One character in the Libri della famiglia provocatively suggests following the gymnosophists’ alleged method of child-rearing, whereby children are raised according to the advice of a public sage, and infirm children, ‘a’ buoni essercizii deboli e disadatti’ (‘too weak and ill-suited to good instruction’), are to be cast away.32 Further into the same work, Alberti introduces a story about an Indian queen murdering her husband, as a confirmation of the power of adulterous love: ‘non raro si truova a chi più piace uno strano amante che il proprio marito’; (‘not uncommonly one finds women who prefer a lover who is a stranger, to their own husband’; p.90; Book Two). Both stories come from Quintus Curtius Rufus’ History of Alexander.33 A third example of Alberti’s anecdotal use of the Indians comes amidst a discussion of attitudes to death in the Theogenius.34 Here the focus is a class of Indian society noted for voluntarily taking their own lives. (That there is a special class of Indians who do

132  The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians this is also an idea to be found in Quintus Curtius (VIII.9.31–34), among other ancient sources.) The Indians’ habit is roundly condemned by the company who conclude that one should not seek death but endure suffering. In Ducendane sit uxor sapienti (c. 1457), Bartolomeo Scala (1430–1497), a successor to Poggio as Chancellor of Florence, fell back on the romanticised Roman view of Indian widow-burning (encouraged also by St. Jerome), as evidence of a woman’s capacity for modesty and love for her spouse: ‘contendunt itaque inter se de caritate in maritum barbarae uxores; et quae vicerit [. . .] exuritur ignes pudicitiae laude contemnit.’ (‘These barbarian wives compete among themselves over their love for their husband, and the winner [. . .] is burned for the glory of chastity, regarding the flames with contempt.’) Decades later in a dialogue on laws and legal judgments (1483), the same writer drew upon Herodotus’ tales of a far-off Indian Padaei tribe, who eat the sick and the dead, in order to illustrate that the customs of the various peoples of the world are not only different to one another, they may even be totally opposed.35 Scala’s contemporary, the Neo-Platonist Marsilio Ficino, draws on classical sources to present a wholly positive image of Indians, as symbols of wisdom, piety and spiritual power. As is well-known, Ficino was a most active proponent of the doctrine of prisca theologia (‘ancient theology’), the idea that a single true theology was given by God to Man in antiquity and was passed through a line of pre-Christian ancient sages, chief among whom for Ficino were Zoroaster, Hermes Trismegistus and Plato.36 Whereas Petrarch had seriously challenged the virtue of Brahmin wisdom, for Ficino, the Brahmins are dependable ancient sages and transmitters of the ancient theology, whom he uses to illustrate the truthfulness of his own views, as though the reader too would agree that they were embodiments of spiritual perfection. Citing Porphyry as his source in the Platonic Theology, Ficino brings in the Brahmins to support his argument that religious devotion is neither irrational, nor the result of human depravity (as the followers of Lucretius contended). The Brahmins figure alongside the Magi as Ficino’s chief examples of how devotion to wisdom and devotion to prayer go hand in hand. In the same work, the gymnosophists’ legendary habit of pre-empting their death is used to illustrate the admirable eagerness of wise souls to depart from matter. In another piece published in 1489, Ficino uses tales about the opinions and habits of the Indian sages, drawn from Philostratus, to support his astrological theories: these sages are no longer simply prayerful philosophers but experts in the magical manipulation of the planets.37

The sanitisation of Poggio’s portrait of pagan India While late fifteenth-century writers do not seem to have found his vision of eastern peoples good for rhetorical use, the treatment of Poggio’s Indian account at the hands of the Augustinian friar Jacopo Filippo Foresti da Bergamo (1434–1520) leads one to wonder if there may also have been something basically unpalatable to contemporaries about Poggio’s portrayal of idolatry and society in the Indian subcontinent. In 1485, Foresti da Bergamo published a second revised edition

The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians 133 of his Supplementum Chronicarum, a chronological history of the world from Creation and the Flood to the author’s own day. Among those moderns deemed important enough for a biographical sketch was Poggio Bracciolini, to whose entry in the second edition Foresti added a specific reference to an account of India. Another significant change to the Supplementum at this stage was the addition of three passages, on the cities of Nemptai and Cambaleschia respectively, and another on the kingdom of Prester John.38 The last of these substantially paraphrased Poggio’s Indian account, but twisted it significantly to make it refer to the (legendary) Christian emperor’s state. Foresti uses ethnographic and natural historical detail selected from Poggio’s text to enhance an idealised vision of a Christian East, parallel to the one given in the much older Letter of Prester John (a vernacular edition of which had been printed in Venice in 1478).39 The return of Prester John as Christian emperor of India and Ethiopia is out of sympathy with Poggio’s representation of these regions: whilst Poggio gives an account of Ethiopia, he makes no mention at all of Prester John, and hardly encourages readers to expect large numbers of Christians in the Indias. Foresti’s redeployment of his source entails slight but significant adjustments. For instance, he follows Poggio’s division of India into three parts, with the Third India being superior to the rest, and paraphrases Poggio’s comments on table manners, sleeping arrangements, hairstyles and other domestic habits. But whereas in Poggio’s version the Indians under discussion are understood to be pagans (‘per universam Indiam dii coluntur’ – ‘throughout the entire India gods are worshipped’), Foresti emphasises that only some of the Indians are pagans: ‘aliqui Indi varios deos adorant’ (‘some Indians worship various gods’). By doing so, all Poggio’s statements about pagan Indian lifestyle undergo a contextual shift, and become interpretable as descriptions of Christian societies in the Indias. A similar repositioning of comments on the Brahmin astrologerphilosophers places the latter firmly under the control of the Christian hierarchy in Prester John’s empire. Whereas Poggio had put them ‘per universam indiam’, throughout India as a whole, Foresti has the Brahmins inhabit the palace of the Christian patriarchs: in horum autem patriarcharum Indorum aula Bragiones seu Bragmani philosophi et astronomi plurimi habitant but in the court of these patriarchs of the Indians live several ‘Bragiones’ or ‘Bragmani’, who are philosophers and astronomers. Within Foresti’s portrait of an Indian empire abounding in Christians ready to do battle for the cross, a few elements of Poggio’s original representation of a more pagan, Indian world nevertheless surface. Besides Brahmin astrologers who can predict the future, there are pagan ‘bachales’ priests (‘non tamen christaini [sic] sunt’; ‘they are not however Christians’) who are renowned for their asceticism: ‘qui se mirabili [. . .] abstinentia semper quasi affligunt.’ (‘These afflict themselves almost always with incredible fasts.’) As in Poggio’s text, the widows of

134  The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians these priests are said to burn themselves on their husbands’ funeral pyres. Foresti also follows Poggio in noting that the pagan places of worship are ‘nostris similima [sic]’ (‘similar to ours’) and that the polytheist Indians have many types of sacrifice, festivals and elaborate weddings. On the whole, Foresti’s account is a sanitised version of Poggio’s far-eastern world: the more lurid aspects of the latter, such as public prostitution or the ‘adult shops’ of Aua are excluded from the Supplementum. Various sacrifices are mentioned, but none involving shedding of blood. Foresti has no time for sacrificial suicides at the festival of the idol of Biçenegalia nor for self-immolation in Combaita. Man-eaters in Taprobane are referred to – ‘hi carnes hominum pro summis delitiis comedunt’ (‘these people eat the flesh of men, considering it the greatest delicacy’) – but not Poggio’s inhumanissimi Javanese who murder for pleasure. Even the account of widow-burning in the Supplementum, though based on Poggio’s text, is less disturbing: Foresti’s version suggests the practice is something exclusive to priests’ wives and overlooks any suggestion of coercion. Foresti’s picture of ‘India’ is slanted towards supporting the notion of a powerful Christian empire in the East. Anything that might detract from such a hope, by suggesting that paganism in the region is not firmly under control, has been deliberately excluded. Conversely, anything that fosters the dream of enlightened Italian-style urbanity in the East is emphasised. Hence, the cities of Nemptaia and Cambaleschia (in Poggio’s Cathay) receive their own separate entries and even their own woodcut illustration in some editions of the book, whilst Foresti extols the people of the Third India beyond the Ganges as ‘ab omni barbaria feditate [sic] [. . .] alieni. Viri quidem perhumani et mercatores opulentissimi’ (‘Strangers to all barbarous deformity [. . .] Certain thoroughly humane men and the richest of merchants’).40 Meanwhile, the remainder of Poggio’s portrait of the Indians is quietly forgotten.

India ‘recognita’? We have perhaps now arrived at an explanation for how Poggio’s account could be hailed by its editor as containing something ‘new’, when it was finally printed in 1492 under the title India recognita. Bollate’s insistence on the novelty of the work, together with the parallel claim he makes to be saving Poggio’s memory from oblivion by having the account of India printed, is symptomatic of the way scholarly writers had ignored or remodelled Poggio’s eastern vision until this point.41 Bollate’s comparison of Poggio to Strabo, Pliny and Ptolemy is also indicative of the continued weight of classical authority, against which Poggio’s revisionist work inevitably had to struggle. However, Bollate is adamant that Poggio’s account is better than these others (‘auctoribus huberior’; ‘richer than the authoritative writers’) for its exposition of customs and its chorographic detail. Bollate may have wished to promote Poggio’s representation of the Indias but historical events would allow it to be submerged a little longer.42 News of Columbus’ discoveries on his maiden Atlantic voyage reached Europe the following year. A letter announcing Columbus’ successes detailed his encounters with

The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians 135 peoples (erroneously) believed to be islanders in the region of India beyond the Ganges, ‘India supra Gangem’; it abounded in enthusiasm for these ‘Indians’, who were portrayed as innocents, and strangers to idolatry – a people eagerly awaiting baptism. On 15 June 1493, Giuliano Dati (1445–1524), a pious Florentine priest, published a vernacular verse rendition of this letter in Rome.43 The simple, docile ‘Indians’ depicted in Dati’s (relatively faithful) versification were a far cry from the image of the ‘Indians’ Bollate’s reading of Poggio had inspired: ‘Indians’ blessed with such a robust sense of their own cultural superiority, that they regarded even the Italians as their inferiors!44 Similarly distant from Poggio’s vision of the Indies were the two Cantari dell’India which Dati wrote as a kind of follow-up to his Columbus poem.45 Published between 1493 and 1495, they rehearsed the stock tales Poggio had discarded: those of Prester John’s Christian empire and the monstrous races of India, respectively. The first ‘song’ introduces the Indians as one of the world’s ten Christian nations, idealising them as extraordinarily healthy (‘pero di raro vien lor malattia’; ‘for they rarely get ill’; vii), wealthy (‘di ricchezza questa non ha pare’; ‘in wealth they have no equal’; vi) and devout: ‘gl’Indiani / son gran cultori della lege divina, / molto fideli & devoti Christiani’ (‘the Indians are great observers of the divine law, very faithful and devout Christians’; xxiii). In the main, it is an account of the splendour and riches of Prester John, which dwells on pious details, such as the moral instructions on the palace steps: ‘fuggi l’avaritia’, ‘fuggi l’accidia’, ‘fuggi la ’nvidia’ (‘flee avarice’, ‘flee sloth’, ‘flee envy’; xiv). The type of the Christian Brahmins also reappears, in the ‘Bragioni’ or ‘Bragmani’ ‘astronomi, philosophi christiani’ (‘astronomers, and Christian philosophers) attendant at court (xlv). Rounding off his poem, Dati refers the reader to Strabo and Foresti (but not Poggio) for further information (lviii). The fifty-nine stanzas of Dati’s second ‘song’ begin in a more promising fashion with an explanation (along Poggian lines) of the division of India into three parts (vii–x). Once again, the people of the Third India are held to be most civilised: ‘giente di questa molto humana, / simil a noi e richi merchatanti’ (‘the people of this [India] are very humane, similar to us and rich merchants’; x). After this, however, the poem is almost entirely occupied with describing the fabulous creatures reported to inhabit ‘India inferiore’, during the course of which catalogue Augustine, Solinus, Pliny and Book II of Foresti’s Supplementum (which deals with monsters) are cited as sources. Between Dati’s religious fervour and his taste for the fabulous, there is little room for Poggio’s vibrant, and unrepentantly pagan ‘Indian’ societies. Conscious and unconscious censorship prevented Poggio’s vision of contemporary life in the Indian subcontinent being widely adopted. Where it was adopted, Poggio’s portrait of ‘India interior’ was sanitised to remove anything that might suggest that Indian paganism would not easily mould itself to Latin Christian norms. Hence, sacred violence disappears totally from the picture of ‘India’ provided by writers such as Foresti who were dependent on Poggio’s text. Meanwhile, original fifteenth-century literary productions either promoted the dream of a Christian India under Prester John and of an India of wealth, monsters

136  The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians and marvels, or they revived ancient Greek and Roman legends about the Indians, filched from diverse classical texts to suit an author’s particular rhetorical purpose. If writers chose to pay attention to Poggio’s account of the East, it was the Third India, where Cathay was located, that struck a chord – most probably because the Cathayan way of life as represented appeared the most attune to European tastes. From the mid-fifteenth century to the return of Vasco Da Gama’s fleet in the summer of 1499, no other humanist writer expressed an interest equivalent to Poggio’s in the peoples of the Indian subcontinent.

Notes   1 Lewis (1989).   2 From Bollate’s dedicatory letter addressed to a fellow northern-Italian diplomat, Pietro Cara, reproduced in the appendix to Merisalo (1985), p. 101–102. (For an English translation, Jones & Davis Hammond, p. 3–5.) On Bollate and Cara, see Merisalo (1985), p.100. I have been unable to trace the source of the oft-repeated assertion that Cara was planning a visit to India, and that the book was intended as an encouragement. Bollate writes of the book as a distraction from the cares of office – as an invitation to armchair travel.   3 Bracciolini (1993), p. 9–73; Merisalo (1988) & Merisalo (1985). Translations in this chapter are mine unless otherwise indicated.   4 BAV, MS Urbinati latini 224, fols. 49r & 50r; O’Doherty (2013), p. 172, 189 & 191.   5 Oxford, Bodl. Libr., MS. Canon. Misc. 280, fol. 72r ; O’Dohery (2013), p. 186–189.   6 Hopkins (1990), p. 3–13; Gallelli (1993), p.72, Polo (1928), p.cxxxvii and O’Doherty (2013), p.321. De Cusa (1959) p. xi–xii, and p.xxxviii. References are to this edition of De pace fidei.   7 Trans.: Hopkins (1990), p.37.  8 XVI and XVIII.  9 City of God, VII.5–6. 10 Trans.: Hopkins (1990), p.43. 11 Casella (1972 [1974]), p. 43–44. I have consulted the 1509 edition in the University Library, Cambridge: Cosmographia Pii Papae in Asiae et Europae eleganti descriptione. 12 Milanesi, (1992a), p. 39–40, n.13. 13 Larner (1999), p.144. 14 Pius II owned four manuscripts of Strabo’s Geography in Latin translation; Larner, (1998), p.38. 15 Nonetheless, Pius II provides an accurate summary of Poggio’s account of Macinus (4.130–193), its cities, animals and customs – although the report of female sexual tastes in Aua is curtly rendered ‘hic lascivienteis foeminas, et supra modum libidini deditas esse affirmat.’ (‘Here he claims that the women are lascivious and extraordinarily given over to lust’.) 16 Meserve (2008), p. 71–84. 17 Natural History, VI.20 and VI.24. 18 cf. Strabo II.3.1 and Aristotle, Politics, II. Headly (1997), p. 4–8); and Pagden (1982), p. 137–39. 19 Casella (1972 [1974]), p. 77–78 & 82–84. 20 Casella (1972 [1974]), p.50 & 77–78. 21 Fubini (1982), p.5 22 Pius II, De viris illustribus, Stuttgardiae, 1842, p.24; Fubini (1982), p.5 n.7. Poggio’s credibility was still an issue for Erasmus (1469–1536). He saw Poggio as a natural

The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians 137 show-off who was not genuinely learned: ‘Pogius hoc erat animo ut doctissimus haberi mallet quam reddi doctior’ (‘Poggio was the kind of spirit that prefers to be considered most learned rather than to be rendered more learned’); from a letter of Erasmus to Gerard, as cited in Camporeale (1982), p.139 at n.3. 23 Cf Bracciloni (1993): De varietate fortunae IV.556–577. 24 Full text in Uzielli (1894), p. 571–572. The authenticity of the letter has been disputed; Larner (1998), p.34 at n.34. For the evidence establishing the Martins–Toscanelli connection, see Gallelli (1993), p. 83–86. Argument in favour of the traditional attribution to Toscanelli in Caraci, p. 153–171. 25 Plato did not of course exclude women from the possibility of becoming philosopherguardians of the state; Plato (1955), p.224 (Book V). 26 Reynolds (1983), p. 128 & 132; Cochrane (1981), p.32. 27 Almagià (1945): repr. (1961) p. 497–526; Milanesi (1992a), p. 55–57; & Gentile (1992), p.236. See Skelton’s introduction to the facsimile edition of Berlinghieri’s Geographia; Berlinghieri (1966). References are to this edition. 28 Almagià (1945): repr. (1961), p.509. 29 Milanesi (1992a,) p.55. 30 ‘Muziri emporio’ (VII. 1; fol. 1r); ‘Taxilia cicta magna & giusta pone / & liberal verso la fama & lume/ dalexandro el geographo Strabone’ (VII. 2; fol. 2r); ‘Caspiria & qui fu superato poro’ (VII. 2; fol. 2r); ‘dove hercole hebbe troppo chorte piume’ (VII. 2; fol. 2r); ‘achi gente si crede / Sanza boccha esser ne di cosa alchuna / se non dodore & vapore si nutricha / dognaltro cibo e sempre mai digiuna’ (VII. 2; fol.2r); ‘Di questi & inquesta parte che si lassa / orientali son piu Gymnosophiste / savi decti dallindi ove hor si passa’ (VII. 2; fol. 2v); ‘Medura che e dicta / delli iddei’ (VII. 2; fol. 2v); ‘Brachmane magi savi sotto sono’ (VII. 3; fol.3r); ‘La Sippa & Bareuaora ove lieta / corre lamoglie nel rogo funeste / in lucto vive achi questo si vieta’ (VII. 5; fol.4v). Also, after mention of ‘Podoperura’: ‘Le femmine hanno qui questo chostume / che chi dua volte ildi non si lavasse / altutto scelerata si presume’ (VII. 1; fol.1r) ; ‘Gange fu decto dagangaro alquale / in india antichamente fu il suo regno / onde elsuo nome fa il fiume inmortale’ (VII. 1; fol.1v). (‘The emporium of Muziri’; ‘The geographer Strabo places here Taxila, a great and just city, generous towards the fame and light of Alexander’; ‘Caspiria and here was Porus defeated’; ‘Where Hercules had too short feathers’; ‘Here the people are believed to be without a mouth and to nourish themselves on nothing at all, except smells and vapours; they fast from any other food’; ‘Among these easterners and in this part that one is leaving now, are more gymnosophists, called sages by the Indians where now we are passing to’; ‘Medura that is said to be “of the gods”’; ‘Brachmane, the wise magicians, are below’; ‘Sippa and Bareuaora where the wife happily runs on to the funeral pyre; here women living in mourning is forbidden’; ‘The Ganges was named after a certain Gangaro, who of old in India had his kingdom; wherefore his name has made the river immortal’.) 31 Almagià (1945): repr. (1961), p. 509 & 524–525. 32 Alberti (1960): I, p.43 (Book One). 33 IX.1.24–26 and IX.2.6–8. 34 Alberti (1966): II, p.104 (Book Two). 35 Scala (2008), p. 58–59 (2.21) & p. 198–199 (5.36); Translation is Watkins’ with a slight adjustment to include the phrase ‘in maritum’. Cf. Jerome, Adversus Iovinianum, I.44 (in André & Filliozat, J. (1986), p.237); and Herodotus III.99. 36 For a fuller account of Renaissance notions of prisca theologia, see Idel (2002), Walker (1972), Allen (1970) and Curran (2007), p. 90–99. 37 Ficino (2004): IV, p.301 (XIV.10.2); Ficino (2005): V, p.312 (XVI.8.1); Ficino (1989): III.2.63, III.3.2, III.26.34 & III.21.46. 38 Books XIV and XVI of the Supplementum. Subsequent editions of the Supplementum reproduced these accounts with minor alterations only; Rogers (1962), p. 74–76. I base

138  The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians my comments on reading of the Latin edition (Venice, 1503), and of the vernacular edition (Venice, 1508), and on the extracts from Venice, 1486 edition (fols 294r–295r), as reproduced in Achim Krümmel, Das ‘Supplementum Chronicarum’ des Augustinermönches Jacobus Philippus Foresti von Bergamo (1992), p. 385–390 (‘Appendix II’). References are to Krümmel’s reproduction of the 1486 edition. 39 Rogers (1962), p.78. 40 Foresti appears also to have used Pius II’s Asia, which was perhaps the immediate source for his accounts of the Cathayan cities, since he repeats the Pope’s comment about Scythians changing their customs. 41 ‘ne Pogii rhetoris oratorisque non illepidi memoria penitus obsoleret’ (‘lest the memory of Poggio, a not unwitty rhetorician and orator, vanish without a trace’). 42 Printers also had an eye to the market and might promote conflicting visions of the East. For instance, Bollate’s own printer Ulrich Scinzenzeler produced a Mandeville in August, 1496. 43 For texts, Uzielli (1968). 44 ‘Nec uelim existimes quin eadem de nobis apud Indos quae de ipsis apud nos uersetur indagatio [. . .] Ferunt enim Indos uulgo persaepe iactare: omnes nationes orbis praeter se et Italos uisu carere et penitus esse caecas. Sed nobis Italis (tanquam arismaspi nasceremur) unum duntaxat oculum: sibi uero duos naturam tribuisse: quofit ut se nobis eruditiores prudentioresque arbitrentur’; dedication to India recognita. (‘Nor would we wish you to expect the same interest in us among the Indians as we have shown concerning them [. . .] For it is said that the Indians commonly quip: that all nations of the world except them and the Italians lack vision and are totally blind. But we Italians (as if we were born one-eyed monsters) strictly speaking have one eye, while they say nature gave them two – and so they consider themselves cleverer and wiser than us.’) 45 Rogers (1960–1961): IV. p. 387–440.

References Alberti, L. B. (1960–1973) Opere volgari (Vols 1–3), ed. C. Grayson. Bari: Laterza. Allen, D. C. (1970) Mysteriously Meant: The Rediscovery of Pagan Symbolism and Allegorical Interpretation in the Renaissance. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins Press. Almagià, R. (1945) Osservazioni sull’opera geografica di Francesco Berlinghieri. Archivio della R. deputazione romana di storia patria. 68. p. 211–255. Reprinted in: Almagià, R. (1961) Scritti geografici (1905–1957). Rome: Cremonese. André, J. & Filliozat, J. (eds) (1986) L’Inde vue de Rome: Textes latins de l’Antiquité relatifs à l’Inde. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Aristotle (1967) Politics. Trans. by H. Rackham. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Augustine (1998) The City of God Against the Pagans, ed. and trans. by R. W. Dyson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Berlinghieri, F. (1966). Geographia: Florence, 1482. Amsterdam: Theatrum Orbis Terrarum. Bracciolini, P. (1993) De varietate fortunae, ed. O. Merisalo. Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia. Camporeale, S. I. (1982) Poggio Bracciolini contro Lorenzo Valla. In: Poggio Bracciolini 1380–1980 nel VI centenario della nascita. Studi e Testi, 8. Florence: Sansoni. Caraci, I. L. (1989) Colombo vero e falso: La costruzione delle Historie fernandine. Genoa: Sagep. p. 153–171. Casella, N. (1972 [1974]) Pio II tra geografia e storia: la “Cosmographia”. Archivio della Società Romana di Storia Patria. 3rd series. 26. p. 35–112.

The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians 139 Cochrane, E. (1981) Historians and Historiography in the Italian Renaissance. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Curran, B. (2007) The Egyptian Renaissance: The Afterlife of Ancient Egypt in Early Modern Italy. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Cusa, Nicolae De (1959) De Pace Fidei cum epistola ad Ioannem de Segobia, ed. R. Klibansky and H. Bascour. Hamburg: Felix Meiner. Ficino, M. (2001–2006) Platonic Theology, ed. J. Hankins & W. Bowen (Vols 1–6). Trans. from the Latin by M. J. B. Allen. I Tatti Renaissance Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ficino, M. (1989) Three books on Life, ed. and trans. by C. V. Kaske and J. R. Clark. Binghamton, NY: Medieval and Renaissance Texts & Studies in conjunction with The Renaissance Society of America. Fubini, R. (1982) Il “Teatro del mondo” nelle prospettive morali e storico-politiche di Poggio Bracciolini. In: Poggio Bracciolini 1380-1980 nel VI centenario della nascita. Studi e Testi, 8. Florence: Sansoni. Gallelli, C. (1993) Paolo dal Pozzo Toscanelli. In: Rombai, L. (ed.) Il Mondo di Vespucci e Verrazzano: geografia e viaggi. Dalla Terrasanta all’America. Florence: Olschki. Gentile, S. (ed.) (1992) Firenze e la scoperta dell’America: Umanesimo e geografia nel ’400 Fiorentino. Collana di Studi e Ricerche, 4. Florence: Olschki. Headly, J. M. (1997) The sixteenth-century Venetian celebration of the earth’s total habitability: The issue of the fully habitable world for Renaissance Europe. Journal of World History. 8. p. 1–27. Herodotus (1920–1969) Herodotus (Vols 1–4). Trans. by A. D. Godley. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hopkins, J. (1990) Nicholas of Cusa’s De Pace Fidei and Cribatio Alkorani: Translation and Analysis. Minneapolis, MT: The Arthur J. Banning Press. Idel, M. (2002) Prisca theologia in Marsilio Ficino and in some Jewish treatments. In: Allen, M. J. B., Rees, V. & Davies, M. (eds) Marsilio Ficino: His Theology, His Philosophy, His Legacy. Leiden: Brill. Jacobus Philippus Bergomensis (1508) Supplementum supplementi de le chroniche vulgare novamente dal . . . frate Iacobo Philippo . . . primo auctore agionto & emendato: el qual comenza da principio del mo[n]do infino al anno . . . M.ccccciij /& dilige[n] teme[n]te vulgarizato per . . . Fra[n]cesco C. Fiorentino.Venice: Georgio de Rusconi. Jacobus Philippus Bergomensis (1503) Novissime hystoria[rum] omniu[m] repercussiones/ noviter a. . . . Iacobophilippo Bergome[n]se . . . edite: que Supplementum supplementi cronicaru[m] nuncupantur. Incipiendo ab exordio mundi, usq[ue] in annum salutis nostre. mcccccij . Venice: Albertinus de Lissona. Jones, J. W. & Hammond, L. D. (trans.) (1963) Travelers in Disguise. Narratives of Eastern Travel by Poggio Bracciolini and Ludovico De Varthema. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Krümmel, A. (1992) Das ‘Supplementum Chronicarum’ des Augustinermönches Jacobus Philippus Foresti von Bergamo. Herzberg: Bautz. Larner, J. (1999) Marco Polo and the Discovery of the World. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Larner, J. (1998) The Church and the Quattrocento Renaissance in geography. Renaissance Studies. 12. p. 26–39. Lewis, C. T. (1989) An Elementary Latin Dictionary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Merisalo, O. (1988) Aspects of the Textual History of Poggio Bracciolini’s De varietate fortunae. Arctos: Acta Philologica Fennica. 22. p. 99–112.

140  The fifteenth-century reception of Poggio’s portrayal of the Indians Merisalo, O. (1985) Le prime edizioni del De varietate fortunae di Poggio Bracciolini I. Arctos: Acta Philologica Fennica. 19. p. 81–102. Meserve, M. (2008) Empires of Islam in Renaissance History Thought. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Milanesi, M. (1992a) La rinascita della geografia dell’Europa, 1350–1480. In: Gensini, S. (ed.) Europa e Mediterraneo tra medioevo e prima età moderna: l’osservatorio italiano. Collana di Studi e Ricerche. 4. Pisa: Pacini. O’Doherty, M. (2013) The Indies and the Medieval West: Thought, Report, Imagination. Turnhout, BE: Brepols. Pagden, A. (1982) The Fall of Natural Man: The American Indian and the Origins of Comparative Ethnology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Plato (1955) The Republic. Trans. by H. D. P. Lee. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Pliny (1938–1968) Natural History (Vols 1–10). Trans. by H. Rackham et al. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Polo, Marco (1928) Il milione, ed. L. Foscolo Benedetto. Florence: Olschki. Reynolds, L. D. (ed.) (1983) Transmission: A Survey of the Latin Classics. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Rogers, F. M. (1962) The Quest for Eastern Christians: Travels and Rumour in the Age of Discovery. Minneapolis, MT: University of Minnesota Press. Rogers, F. M. (1960–1961) The songs of the Indies by Giuliano Dati. In: Congresso Internacional de História dos Descobrimentos: Actas (Vols 1–6). IV. p. 387–440. Lisbon: Commissão executiva das Comemorações do V centenário da Morte do Infante D. Henrique. Scala, B. (2008) Essays and Dialogues. Trans. from the Latin by Renée Neu Watkins. I Tatti Renaissance Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Strabo (1917–1969) The Geography of Strabo (Vols 1–8). Trans. by Horace Leonard Jones. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Torinus G. (ed.) (1509) Cosmographia Pii Papae in Asiae et Europae eleganti descriptione. Paris: H. Stephanus. Uzielli. G. (ed.) (1968) La lettera dell’isole che ha trovato nuovamente il re di Spagna: Poemetto in ottava rima. Bologna: Commissione per i testi di lingua. Uzielli, G. (1894) La vita e i tempi di Paolo dal Pozzo Toscanelli. Rome: Ministero della pubblica istruzione. Walker, D. P. (1972) The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century. London: Duckworth.

8 Following Da Gama’s wake Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514)

Portugal’s India A visitor to Rome on Sunday, 19 March 1514, would have been greeted by an extraordinary sight: a white Indian elephant could be seen processing through the streets, with its Moorish mahout and Saracen guide, on a route which took it from Piazza del Popolo to Castel Sant’Angelo and back across the Tiber to Campo dei Fiori.1 Accompanying the beast was a veritable zoo: horses, mules, exotic parrots, dogs, a cheetah, as well as cardinals, courtiers, musicians and ambassadors, all sumptuously attired. The occasion was the entry of a Portuguese embassy into Rome, there to render Portugal’s official obedience to the new Pope, Leo X, for whom the trained elephant was a gift. As the procession reached Castel Sant’Angelo where the Pope was waiting, the elephant duly knelt in obeisance, trumpeted, and, filling its trunk with water, drenched both pontiff and crowd. Not since ancient times, as bystanders observed, had the city witnessed such a triumph.2 Triumphant certainly was the tone of the oration delivered by the Portuguese ambassador Diogo Pacheco the following day, in which he promised the subjection of the Indus and the Ganges to papal rule: Dominaberis profecto dominaberis a mari usque ad mare / & a Tyberi usque ad terminos Orbis terrarum. Reges Arabum & Sabae dona adducent / & adorabunt te omnes Principes / & omnes gentes servient tibi.[. . .]ut Indo ac Gange/ Tago ac Tyberi in eundem velut Alveum coactis / tuisque simul auspiciis concorditer fluentibus / fiat unum Ovile & unus Pastor. Thou shalt rule indeed. Thou shalt rule from sea to sea, and from the Tiber unto the ends of the earth. The kings of the Arabians and of Saba shall bring gifts: and all princes shall adore thee, and all nations shall serve thee [. . .] so that, with the Indus and the Ganges, the Tagus and the Tiber, brought together into as it were the same bed, and at the same time flowing in harmony under thy auspices, there may be one fold and one shepherd. 3 The 1514 embassy was intended as a sensational demonstration of Portugal’s new-found grandeur. From the time of Alexander the Great’s legendary clash with King Porus’ war elephants, the elephant had been the symbol of Indian power.

142  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) By offering up an elephant the Portuguese embassy proclaimed the domestication of India and the East. India, so the Portuguese orator made clear, was to be subjected to Latin Christian rule. For his part, Annone the elephant became a much-loved papal pet, and when it died, Pope Leo X commissioned no less an artist than Raphael to create a memorial.4 Much had changed in the twenty years since Giuliano Dati had penned the first of his dreamy Cantari dell’India. New worlds were being discovered and claimed by European powers. Portugal’s thirst for discovery had been fuelled by a series of papal bulls and briefs from the time of Pope Eugenius IV granting her jurisdiction over all lands from Cape Naon on the African coast to the East Indies.5 By the end of the fifteenth century, Portugal succeeded where Columbus had failed, and reached the true India, the Indian subcontinent. Following Vasco Da Gama’s successful voyage (1497–1499), the Portuguese sent annual fleets to the region around Calicut, in the south of India. The first such fleet sailed out from Lisbon in 1500 under Pedro Alvares Cabral, happening on Brazil while en route to Calicut. An expedition under the command of Afonso de Albuquerque established a fortress at Cochin (in modern-day Kerala). In 1505 the rapid development of Portugal’s Indian affairs led King Manuel I to appoint a viceroy, Dom Francisco de Almeida. Four years later, Afonso de Alburquerque succeeded him as viceroy of India, a position he held until his death in 1515. Among Alburquerque’s most enduring martial exploits was the establishment of a trading fort in Goa, 1510.6 Thus, within the first decade of the sixteenth century, annual Portuguese voyages had made it possible for intrepid Latin Christians to experience first-hand the reality of contemporary India. In rare instances, these voyages also succeeded in bringing Indians to Europe, both as visitors (as in the case of Priest Joseph, whom we shall hear more of) and as servants, or perhaps, slaves. Raffaello Maffei da Volterra, writing sometime around 1506, tells readers of a Gujarati boy, who cannot be weaned off his pagan ‘superstition’, living in the household of the Cardinal of Lisbon.7 Less privileged and less intrepid European citizens than cardinals and voyagers could learn about the re-discovered India either from pamphlets containing Portugal’s official communications or by turning to other unofficial tracts printed in Italy. It is the representation of contemporary Indian society in these early reports of Portuguese-Indian encounter that this chapter shall now address.

The crusader spirit of Portugal’s official communications The vision of Annone the elephant offered up to the Pope together with its Moorish mahout and Saracen guide aptly captures the tenor of Portugal’s official communications. For the first decade and a half of her ‘operation India’, Portugal supplied her European neighbours with limited information on her Indian affairs, and what reports she made, painted a rosy picture.8 Diplomatic letters and obedience orations were Portugal’s preferred means of communicating her official vision of the Indies to outsiders. In 1499, Manuel I announced the re-discovery of India in two letters addressed respectively to the King of Castile and the Cardinal

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 143 Protector in Rome, Jorge da Costa.9 These were followed significantly later by Diogo Pacheco’s obedience oration of 1505 to Pope Julius II,10 the first official communication of Portugal’s activities in Southern Asia to be printed.11 Prior to Pacheco’s second obedience oration of 1514 (to Leo X), King Manuel sent another six letters to Rome, generally addressing himself either to the Pope directly or to Portugal’s cardinal protector, who facilitated the publication of these letters in the city.12 After Rome, these pamphlets tended to be quickly republished over the Alps in Cologne, Nuremberg and even Paris. A measure of their interest to Italian rulers is that several such letters appear in Marino Sanuto’s diaries of Venetian State business.13 Throughout the official correspondence, Portugal strives to present herself as the humble servant of God, the Pope and his Church: ‘omnipotens Deus [. . .] vobis [sc. the Pope] subjiciens per nos christianae religioni novas gentes ac terras’ (‘Through us, almighty God is making new lands and peoples subject to the Christian religion and to you’).14 Her letters and orations present Portugal’s dealings in the Indian Ocean area as a continuation of the battle of Christendom against Islam. Laced in the language of the Psalms,15 these documents portray India as a newly opened ‘eastern front’ from which Mecca will be converted and the enemies of the Catholic faith destroyed.16 At the same time, the men of Portugal are represented as conquering heroes, the unstoppable instruments of Divine Providence: ‘quae aliis gentibus fecit [deus] impossibilia, nostris possibilia facit’ (‘What God made impossible for other nations, he’s made possible for us’).17 Portugal’s Indian enterprise is described in sacramental terms as a ‘mysterium’.18 Her conquests in the East are interpreted as works wrought by God for the glory of the Christian name and the confounding of infidels: ‘ad christianis nominis gloriam et infidelium confusionem’.19 They are to bring about the destruction of the Muslims and the conversion of the pagans.20 Any material gain Portugal has enjoyed in the process is seen as a heavenly reward sent to spur them on to further battle against the Muslims. So preoccupied is Portugal with glorifying her crusade against Islam that the pagan inhabitants of the Indian Ocean region hardly figure in these documents. When they do, it is usually as potential allies, sources of wealth or objects for conversion. One exception is perhaps the pagan king of ‘Zeylom’ (an island identified as the legendary Taprobane), who is represented as having a high level of personal sophistication: ‘gratissime audit et humanissime respondit’ (‘He listens most graciously and replies in a most civilised fashion’).21 More characteristic is the mention of the Indian king ‘Narsingue’, singled out because of the extent of his territory and military might.22 Elsewhere, when the pagan inhabitants of India come to the fore, it is to reassure readers of their conversion to Christianity: ‘per universam Indiam plurimi Spiritus Sancti gratia igneque afflati, depositis gentiliciis erroribus, in dies ad nostram religionem conversi, veram Dei fidem agnoscunt’ (‘Throughout the whole of India, many have been inspired by the grace and fire of the Holy Spirit; pagan errors are being put aside every day, and having converted to our religion, they recognise the true faith of God’).23 Yet there is little interest in the so-called ‘gentilicii errori’ themselves.

144  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514)

New visions of India disseminated from Italy For those outsiders interested in eastern customs, Portugal’s official communications had little to offer. Domestically within Portugal, the situation was much the same: nothing original about her Indian operation was printed before the midcentury.24 When Valentím Fernándes attempted to celebrate Portugal’s eastern achievements by printing a volume in Lisbon in 1502, the material he published was by Italians: Marco Polo’s book, Poggio’s account and a brief letter by an illfated Genoese merchant, Girolamo da Santo Stefano (dated 1 September 1499).25 It was printers primarily in Italy, not Portugal, who took the initiative, supplying both the domestic and European markets with fresh information about the Indian world.26 By printing texts in the vernacular, as well as Latin, these Italian-based printers made the new visions of India available to a much wider audience. Three publications printed in Italy between 1505 and 1510 are especially interesting on Indian customs. The first was a letter which purported to be a copy of one sent by King Manuel to the King of Castile, written in the Italian vernacular and published in Rome in 1505. The second was a publication entitled Paesi novamente retrovati et novo mondo da Alberico Vesputio Florentino, compiled by Fracanzano da Montalboddo and published at Vicenza in 1507. The third was the highly original Itinerario of 1510 by the enigmatic adventurer Ludovico De Varthema. Since the first and second of these publications draw on some of the same sources, and present a similar view of contemporary India, I shall discuss them together here and leave consideration of Varthema’s account to the following chapter. Published by the printer Johannes Besicken in Rome, 1505, the Copia de una littera del Re de Portugallo mandata al Re de Castella del viaggio e successo de India was a kind of newsletter summarising Portugal’s first four commercial voyages to India.27 The authorship of the Copia is unknown, although the letter claims to be by the Catholic King, ‘catholico re’, Manuel of Portugal. Internal evidence suggests that whoever the real author was, he relied heavily for his material on two previous accounts of Portugal’s endeavours which had been circulating in Italy in manuscript form. The first was an anonymous account of Cabral’s first voyage (1500–1501), seemingly by a member of the crew, who sees life in terms of encounters between ‘us’ – servants of a catholic king and Pope – and the rest of the world, made up of Moors, gentili, non-Latin Christians and Jews.28 The second presented itself as a resumé of an interview given in Venice by a certain Priest Joseph, an Indian Christian who had reportedly come to Europe with Cabral’s returning fleet; this was the first text seen in Italy since the legendary Letter of Prester John which could claim to represent a local Indian’s views of his own land, not a foreigner’s perspective. Both the Anonymous Narrative and the Priest Joseph interview were printed in full in Fracanzano da Montalboddo’s 1507 collection, Paesi novamente retrovati.

Paesi novamente retrovati To Fracanzano da Montalboddo, a little known humanist scholar from Vicenza, should go the credit for furnishing readers with the most comprehensive vision of

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 145 the world in sixty years. With a view to re-affirming Pliny’s scholarly reputation (hard hit by the criticisms of humanists such as Niccolò Leoniceno who were finding numerous errors in the Natural History), Fracanzano set about collecting accounts of recent voyages.29 The resulting travel compilation, Paesi novamente retrovati, has the distinction of being the first to cover all four points of the compass, using exclusively contemporary sources. It includes accounts of the Spanish and Portuguese explorations under Cadamosto, Da Gama, Columbus and Cabral, together with a report of the ‘new world’ attributed to the Florentine merchantadventurer Amerigo Vespucci.30 Fracanzano’s scholarly effort was immensely popular, achieving six Italian editions in just less than fifteen years. Within a year of its first publication, a Latin translation entitled Itinerarium Portugallensium came out in Milan, the work of a Cistercian monk Arcangelo Madrignano. This translation was re-printed in various forms across the Alps, so that Paesi ended up forming the basis of several European travel collections over the next century.31 The Indian content of Paesi novamente retrovati has been rather neglected in recent scholarship on the Italian Renaissance and the East – one suspects due to over-hasty readings of the document. While it is true that texts relating to what would later be called the Americas occupy a large part of Fracanzano’s collection, it is extremely misleading to affirm (as one Renaissance scholar has repeatedly done) that the emphasis of this book is ‘exclusively westward’ and that its interest in the East consists only in a ‘little note at the end of the book recording an observation about Christians in India’.32 First, it is pertinent to note that the collection deals with sea-voyages and that the only all-sea route out of the Mediterranean basin is west, no matter which direction one might wish to take afterwards. Second, the title page illustration of the first Latin translation of Paesi, which shows boats departing from Lisbon and sailing around Africa to Calicut in India, indicates that at least one contemporary reader interpreted the book as having an eastern emphasis. Moreover, a substantial part of the collection does in reality relate to the Indian subcontinent: besides the anonymous account of Cabral’s first voyage and the Priest Joseph interview (with its detailed observations on Indian Christianity, idolatry, the local ruler, plants, money and boats), there is an account of India written after Da Gama’s first voyage, and a series of letters commenting on Indian affairs, one of which was written by the Venetian envoy in Portugal, Giovanni Matteo Cretico. The Copia and all but the first of the Indian texts in Paesi unambiguously regard the majority of Indians as pagans. Yet identifying the Other as ‘pagan’ had at times posed problems for Latin Christian voyagers to new worlds. The first Portuguese sailors to India, for instance, mistakenly took the majority of the local inhabitants for Christians. An extract from the log-book of Vasco Da Gama’s epic voyage records how Da Gama and his men entered what, from the description of the layout, was clearly a Hindu temple, took part in a ceremony and were given holy ash. Misunderstanding references to quafers (‘qafir’is Arabic for pagan) and interpreting the many-armed statues they encountered as ‘saints’ (notwithstanding their large protruding teeth), the sailors believed they had entered a church.33 Despite Camões’ later romanticisation of the episode, in which he portrays Da Gama’s men as good Christians, baffled and dismayed at such ‘repulsive’ images

146  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) of gods,34 the historical fact is that Da Gama’s crew returned home to report that the Calicut Indians were Christians, albeit strange ones. Acting on their information King Manuel wrote of the Indians as Christians who had lapsed a little, and furnished the commander of his next Indian expedition with instructions that also presumed the Indians he would encounter were Christians.35 It seems the Portuguese king was slower to realise that the Calicut Indians were pagans than a Florentine corresponding from Lisbon after the return of Da Gama’s fleet in 1499. This report, published as the first account of India in Paesi, provides an invaluable insight into how Latin Christian attitudes to an Indian society might change depending on whether it was presumed to be Christian or pagan. Scholars have identified the report’s author as Florentine merchant Girolamo Sernigi (b.1453), who was later to help finance Cabral’s expedition.36 Amalgamated into one account in Paesi, Sernigi wrote two letters on India to an unknown correspondent in Florence. Copies of these letters appear in a common-place book put together by the Florentine merchant Piero Vaglienti, who was connected to various powerful families (including the Marchionni, Medici, Dei and Vespucci), and whose manuscript also includes large excerpts from Polo’s book and a vernacular translation of the Qu’ran.37 The first letter was written when Sernigi was under the impression that the Indians in question were Christians, whilst the second was written after he had revised this view, on the information of a Jew captured by Da Gama’s men in the Red Sea. Fracanzano made no attempt to edit out Sernigi’s confusions.

Shifting perceptions of the Calicut Indians and their religion Sernigi’s account focuses on life in Calicut, Da Gama’s port of arrival in India.38 As the narrative perspective moves from a position where Christianity is projected onto the Indians to a position where the Calicut Indians are ‘recognised’ as pagans, a distinct hardening of attitude can be detected. This hardening of attitude, however, does not lead to a reassessment of his earlier, largely favourable, comments on civic organisation. It is as though the author has chosen not to assume that wrong worship causes a dysfunctional state. Sernigi’s first impressions make Calicut out to be a Christian city comparable to European cities: it is grander than Lisbon, a well-organised commercial centre, with orderly streets ‘dritte come ne la Italia’ (‘straight as in Italy’; II. cliii), and where justice is meted out effectively. Robbers and murderers are ‘impalato al modo de Turchia’ (‘impaled in the Turkish fashion’; II.clix), while those who commit fraud have their merchandise confiscated. There are signs of literacy and skill in the visual arts, but most striking to Sernigi’s mercantile imagination are the signs of wealth. His narrative dwells in particular on the king of Calicut’s wealth, drawing attention to the precious objects he owns, which, by a contemporary reader, would have been easily interpreted as signs of magnificentia: ‘le maze fornite darzento’, ‘veluto verde’, ‘dalmascho de diversi cholori’, ‘una coltra biancha molto fina, lavorata tuta de filo doro’, ‘uno pavion [. . .] molto riccho’ (‘maces embellished with silver’; ‘green velvet’; ‘damask of various

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 147 colours’; ‘a very fine white bedcover, all embroidered with gold thread’; ‘ a very rich pavilion’; II.cliii). Sernigi portrays the king himself as an imposing figure who expects deference – ‘se serve molto altamente’ (‘he is served in high fashion’) – but who can be gracious: he receives, for instance, Da Gama’s petitions kindly, ‘molto benignamente’ (‘most benignly’; II.cliii). However, Sernigi is not all praise for the Calicut king despite his personal dignity and his ‘Christian’ administration. On the contrary, he views the king as a political puppet controlled by Muslim merchants: el dicto re e quasi regiuto & gubernato del tuto per man de dicti mori, o per via de presente che loro li fanno, o per industria (II.[c]liiii). the aforementioned king is almost entirely ruled and governed by the hand of the aforementioned Moors, either because of the presents they make him, or because of their industriousness.39 Turning to religion, Sernigi is initially highly accommodating towards what he perceives to be the oddities of Indian Christianity. Some of these ‘anomalies’, such as the absence of services and priests, are simply observed without further comment: ‘sonno chiesie cum campane ma non vi sonno sacerdoti, ne fanno officii ne sacrificio. Solamente hanno ne le chiesie una pila de acqua amodo de acqua benedecta, & altre pile hanno de balsimo, & batezeno ogni iii. anni una volta in uno fiume quivi appresso la Cita’ (‘There are churches with bells but they don’t have priests; neither do they do services nor sacrifice. In their churches, they just have a vessel with water, like for holy water, and they have some other vessels with balsam, and they baptise every three years all at once in a river here near the city’; II.cliiii). That Sernigi is able to note such differences with apparent equanimity is perhaps indicative of the extent to which Renaissance Latin Christians had become accustomed to expect there to be differences of rite outside the Church of Rome. It is only after Sernigi has become convinced that the Indians are pagans and idolaters that he actually expresses bewilderment at the idea that a people without priests and liturgical rites could have been considered Christians: Dichono che sonno in quelli paesi assai populi zentilli: cioe zente idolatria & che pochi christiani vi sonno, e quelli che diceno esser giese e campane sonno templi al modo de zentil, e glie sonno certe dipenture de idole & non de sancti, e questo me pare piu verisimile, che dire che siano christiani senza fare officii divini, ne sacerdoti ne sacrificii (II.clx). They say that there are a fair number of pagan peoples in those countries, that is, idolaters, and that there are few Christians, and what they say are churches and bells are temples in the pagan style, and these have certain paintings of idols and not of saints, and this seems more like the truth to me, than saying that they are Christians but without doing divine services, nor having priests or sacrifices.

148  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) For other practices divergent from the Latin Christian norm (when still thinking about the Indians as Christians), Sernigi supplies Christianising rationalisations much as Jordanus had done over a century earlier, but in the latter case the Dominican missionary was making allowances for what he took to be Indian idolatry not an odd Christianity. Sernigi explains the vegetarianism of the Calicut king and men of rank, as the consequence of a (garbled) saying of Christ: ‘per che dice che miser iesu christo manda ne la sua legie: chi amaza, si morisse; & per questo non voliano mangiare cose che mora’ (‘because he says that the Lord Jesus Christ commands in his law: whoever kills, in the same way should die; and for this reason they don’t want to eat things that die’; II.clvii). He interprets the people’s novel attitude to oxen, not as idolatry but as a way of showing respect for a useful animal: ‘ma ibovi non manzano: tengono in bon conto che sonno animali di benedictione; & quando passano per una strada, litocchano cum lamano, e poi sila basiano’ (‘but they don’t eat oxen: they highly esteem them as blessed animals; and when they pass along a street, they touch them with their hand, and then they kiss it’; II.clvii). The reverential gesture Sernigi describes has an implicit parallel in the Latin and Greek Christian practice of either kissing icons and relics, or touching them and applying the blessed hand to one’s lips. Such initial reactions to the Indian ‘Christians’ reveal an open disposition, willing to accept as possibly orthodox, what would have been quite unusual practices for a Latin Christian. However, Sernigi’s response to Indian religion becomes measurably more negative once the Indians are revealed as pagans. Once the ‘churches’ become ‘temples’ and the people ‘idolaters’, for the first time terms like ‘diabolical’ and ‘deformed from nature’ are employed: In calichut e uno tempio, che chi ventra certidi di la septimana di mercordi davanti mezodi, more per le cose diaboliche che vede. E cusi aferma questo Iudeo esser fermo & certissimo: che i[n] dicto tempio e uno certo di delanno vi sacendono alchune lampe; paiano due cose molto difforme dala natura (II.lxi). In Calicut there is a temple, and whoever enters it on certain days of the week, on Wednesday before midday, will die from the diabolical things that he sees. And this is what this Jew affirms to be sure and most certain: that in the said temple, on a certain day of the year, some lamps are lit and there appear two things most deformed from nature. It is interesting that at this point Sernigi neither retracts the similarities to Latin Christian practice previously observed in Indian religion (baptism, holy water, obedience to Christ, veneration of blessed things), nor does he proceed to make a connection between the diabolical element now perceived in their religion and the weakness he had earlier attributed to the ‘Christian’ king of Calicut. Unfortunately, we cannot ask him why he did not do so. Perhaps, the absence of a retraction of the ‘Christian’ elements in Indian religion indicates an assumption that pagan religions need not be entirely wrong, or perhaps it indicates an expectation that

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 149 the devil deceives through imitation of the ‘truth’; perhaps neither. The absence of an explicit connection in the text between idolatry and social ills is even more intriguing because it seems to suggest that Sernigi assumed rightness of religion and the quality of civic life to be disconnected issues – an assumption, if he did make it, which would have been quite contrary to the traditional Latin Christian view expressed in the legends of the saints where wrongness of religion – demonic idolatry – is seen to cause wrongs in civic life. Whatever Sernigi’s private views, his report is testimony to the disorientation a Renaissance audience could experience when faced with reports of religious practices in far-off lands.

Political realism For the author of the Anonymous Narrative of Cabral’s expedition, the next piece in Paesi to add significantly to received images of India, religion tends to be important only to the degree that it might be an indicator of political allegiance. Emerging out of the Anonymous Narrative is a far less idealised picture of the Indian political scene than that presented in Foresti’s Supplementum twenty years or so previously. Gone is the idea of an India full of Christians poised to offer themselves as Latin Christian allies. Instead, there is an India divided into various kingdoms, where Muslims exercise an increasingly strong political influence over largely pagan, native populations; a sizeable Christian community appears only in the southern city of ‘Carangallor’ (III.clxxviii); and, from the outset, the inhabitants of Calicut are represented as pagans and idolaters even if some had previously thought otherwise – ‘anchora che altri hanno creduto che sia christiani’ (‘even if others had believed them to be Christians’; III. clxxv). Where Indian kingdoms are still ruled by pagan kings, these kings appear ready to feud with one another, despite their common religion, and to form alliances with outsiders like the Portuguese – if such are their enemies’ enemy. To a large degree, the Indian section of the narrative is a sober account of Portuguese failure: of how Cabral’s mission to establish trade with the kingdom of Calicut resulted in a bloody war. This is not to say that the writer is altogether unbiased. He clearly identifies Muslim antagonism as the root cause of the Portuguese problems, portraying the ‘mori’ as evil-doers – ‘mala zente [. . .] multi contrari a nui’ (‘bad people [. . .] much opposed to us’; III.clxxiiii) – who plot against the new arrivals, preventing their direct access to the pagan king of Calicut, and breaking into the Portuguese factor’s house to slaughter Christians. Meanwhile, the king of Calicut himself comes across in the narrative as a slippery character, willing to break pacts with the Portuguese in order to allow Moorish ships to depart secretly from his harbour, and implicated in the riots which resulted in over fifty Portuguese deaths. Yet while the writer intimates that blame for the outbreak of violence lies with the non-Europeans, the Portuguese are represented as equally violent in their response. Cabral’s retaliation for the slaughter of his men, as reported, might even appear disproportionately ruthless – since it is described as involving not simply capturing Moorish ships and slaughtering the crew, but burning Moors alive, and bombarding the whole city of Calicut with artillery fire.

150  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) The Anonymous Narrative is neither openly critical, nor bombastic in its praise of Portuguese actions in India. Though the Portuguese are depicted as militarily superior, there is no sense in the narrative of revelling in the slaughter of the Indians. Such praise as there is for the Portuguese comes rarely, in the form of acknowledgments (reportedly) by certain pagan Indian kings of Portuguese uprightness: ‘quanto bona gente eravamo’ (‘what good people we were’; III.clxxviii); ‘quanto bona gente e veritade errevamo’ (‘what good and truthful people we were’; III.clxxix). A similar pattern is true of the Copia’s treatment of the first four Portuguese commercial expeditions to India, which even ventures to suggest that the discord in Calicut occurred because there was distrust on both sides.40 On the whole, both narratives detail the bloody birth pangs of establishing a Portuguese trading presence in the region with refreshing sobriety. This attitude is also characteristic of the Italian correspondents, Cretico and others, whose letters, printed in Paesi, are dispassionate in their account of the Calicut conflict.41

Dubious grandeur of a pagan king One of the most significant contributions of the Anonymous Narrative to the store of images of Indians is its portrayal of ‘Gnaffer’, King of Calicut. Whereas other pagan Indian kings remain little more than names in the narrative, the image of the King of Calicut crystallises into a symbol of exaggerated magnificence. Moreover, although Renaissance courts had their own fair share of elaborate ceremonial and displays of obsequiousness to the ruler, what marks out the people and courtiers of Calicut as different is the extreme reverence they display towards their monarch: ‘li fanno piu honore che in niuno re del mondo’ (‘they do him more honour than any other king in the world’; III.clxxv). At the same time, chosen details in the text subtly direct the reader to conclude that both ruler and ruled have a perverted sense of the honour due to royalty. Besides his priceless personal wealth (to which the writer devotes a page and a half (III.clxxiii)), the king appears to receive god-like adulation from his subjects: he is carried about on a litter heralded by musicians; fishermen cannot enter his presence; others must keep their distance and avert their gaze; objects are given to the king on a branch; and when paying their respects the people do so, hands joined over head ‘come che da gratia a nostro signore’ (‘as if to give thanks to Our Lord’; III.clxxv). To maintain this aura of magnificence, the king is described as possessing unnecessary candlesticks for grandeur, as well as an army of womensweepers, who dwell in the palace ‘per piu magnifientia di stado’ (‘to add to the magnificence of state’), sprinkling cow-dung and water before the king whenever he is on the move (III.clxxv). To a Renaissance Italian audience accustomed to the idea of magnificence being expressed in fine buildings and furnishings, not cowdung, this may have seemed strange indeed. The difference in values between Latin Christian and pagan Indian worlds is played out in the text itself. While the Calicut king’s subjects are not allowed to look at him, the European observer breaks the local taboo. His narrative focus on the pagan king contrasts with the averted gaze of the local Indians for whom their monarch is a super-human figure.

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 151 A final point of detail in the narrative’s treatment of Indian kingship could hardly fail to have impressed its sixteenth-century readers with a sense of the radical otherness of Calicut Indian moral values. For an ordinary Latin Christian, priests were supposed to be celibate and chaste, and, for a married man, few things could be more dishonourable than being cuckolded. Yet in Calicut, according to the Anonymous Narrative, the king himself allows the clergy to sleep with his wives, as a sign of respect. To contemporary Italian readers, this must have seemed a stark illustration of perverted pagan morality: el re tien doe mogliere e ognuna di loro e a compagnata da x. preti e cadauno di loro dorme cum elle carnalmente per honorare el re; e per questa causa li figlioli non hereditano lo regno salvo i nepoti figlioli de sorella de re (III. clxxv). the king takes two wives and each of them is accompanied by ten priests and each of these sleeps with the women carnally to honour the king; and for this reason the sons do not inherit the kingdom, but only his nephews, the sons of the king’s sister.42

A prurient interest in sexual mores Politics and sex seem to exercise an equal fascination on the writer of the Anonymous Narrative. Liberality with their womenfolk is presented in the account as a normal part of life among the ordinary pagans of Calicut. Men reportedly marry up to six women and are gratified if their friends sleep with their wives: ‘quelli che sonno piu loro amici li quetano per causa che dormeno cum sua mogliere, in modo che infra loro non e castita ne vergogna’ (‘they content their closest friends by letting them sleep with their wife, in such a manner that there is no chastity nor shame among them’; iii.clxxv). The censoriousness of this last comment, (a rare example of an explicit value judgement), does not prevent a prurient interest in such startling sexual mores. Further examples of sexual permissiveness follow: eight-year-old girls who solicit for a living and young women who entreat men to deprive them of their virginity: ‘perche stando vergine non trovano marito’ (‘because they won’t find a husband if they’re a virgin’; III.clxxv). Nor are such loose sexual mores limited to Calicut. The wives of the ‘Zetieties’ (merchants from another Indian province who do business in Calicut) are also characterised as ‘molto corrote in luxuria cosi come li naturali de la terra’ (‘much corrupted by sensual indulgence as are the natives of the land’; III.clxxvi). The Copia presents almost exactly the same image of pagan Indian ways, with the sole difference that Indian husbands ask other men to sleep with their wives only when the wives are new, this request being given a romantic justification – namely, that they consider it a fault to stain themselves with the blood of one whom they love (p.18). The Priest Joseph interview, the final Indian account in Paesi, displays a similar tendency to portray pagan Indians as polygamous and therefore libidinous. Openly detrimental comments about the pagans are also rare in this text, yet once

152  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) again an exception is made in the context of sexual mores. What is curious is that at this point the text slips into Latin in order to be censorious: ‘el Re gentil o vero Idolatro ha diverse moglier e similiter tuti li altri gentil; nec est castitas seu pudicitia inter eos’ (‘the pagan – or rather idolater – king has various wives and so do all the other pagans; nor is there chastity nor modesty among them’; VI.cxxxii). It may be that prudish comments require a higher linguistic perch, or possibly the shift is to indicate that the opinions are an editor’s, not Priest Joseph’s. The censorious comment is preserved in monk Madrignano’s translation, which at the same time amplifies the message of pagan Indian lechery by making out that prostitution is rife among them: ‘Rex gentilium colit idola, & complures habet coniuges, quibus nullus est pudor, nullave pudicicia. Passim prostituunt corpora’ (‘The king of the pagans worships idols, and has several wives; they have no shame nor any modesty at all. They prostitute their bodies far and wide’; Chapter cxxxii; p.lxxxii). With these early sixteenth-century texts, the sexual permissiveness of pagan Indian men and the sexual availability of pagan Indian women start to emerge as stereotypical features of Calicut society. Marco Polo’s Il milione had told readers that the Indians of Maabar did not consider ‘lussuria’ a sin. Poggio had categorised ‘Indians’ both sides of the Ganges as susceptible to lust, mentioning public prostitution, and giving a light-hearted example of female sexual tastes in Aua. His representation of life in Collicuthia (Calicut) in ‘India interior’ had also centred on its seemingly liberal sexual mores, portraying it (in contrast to the Paesi texts) as a place where women have many men and as exception to what he sees as the Indiawide norm of polygamy. The Paesi texts and the Copia made the Calicut pagans conform to this norm, but added new elements suggestive of sexual depravity (wife-lending and child prostitution) together with a more moralistic tone.

Class tensions The Anonymous Narrative’s account of strange Indian customs goes beyond sexual mores, to represent social interaction among the Calicut pagans as bound by taboos and purity rituals. Not only should no one touch or look directly at the king, but fishermen risk a beating if they happen upon a gentleman; gentlemen must not eat, drink or sleep at sea; and the people should bathe before every meal and if touched by the unwashed: ‘per modo che in questo fanno gran cerimonie’ (‘so much so that they make a great ceremony of this’; III.clxxv).43 Freedom in one regard is balanced by great restrictions in another. For the first time since classical antiquity, an interest begins to be shown in the specific divisions of Indian society. This is most evident in the Priest Joseph interview (and in the Copia’s summary of Indian customs which derives from it). The Priest Joseph text describes life in the Indian Christian’s home town of ‘Caranganor’, some ninety miles east of Calicut, and treats the customs of Caranganor’s pagans as representative also of Calicut ways. In stark contrast to the Greek idealisation of the caste system found in Strabo, where Indian society is portrayed as orderly, peaceful, and even egalitarian, the Priest Joseph account

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 153 depicts Caranganor as a stratified society wrought with inequality and oppression. According to the text, Caranganor has two sorts of people: Christians and pagans (‘do sorte de persone: cioe christiani & zentili’; VI.(c)cxxx). The pagans are then subdivided into three groups. On top are the gentlemen (‘gentil homini’), called ‘patricians’ (‘patricij’) in the Latin version. These are known as ‘naires’. Next are the peasants who are vilified as ‘dogs’: ‘li rustici qual se chiamano canes’ (‘peasants whom they call dogs’). Underneath all of them are the ‘nuirinam’, fishermen habitually abused by the rest: questa generation de pescador e la pezor che sia, & molestada da cadauno quando vanno per la terra & si se incontrano in qualche zentilhomo, glie necessario fuzirli dauanti; altramenti sariano mal menati (VI.cxxxi). This fisherman class is the worst that there is, and is abused by everyone. When they go about on land and if they come across a gentleman, it’s necessary for them to flee immediately; otherwise, they will be badly beaten up. Renaissance Italians were no strangers to street violence, but to a Latin Christian audience accustomed to associating fishermen with the chief of the apostles, such man-handling of their kind in Caranganor and Calicut may have seemed disrespectful at the least. Madrignano’s Latin version of Paesi makes the sense of class tension in Caranganor even more acute by glossing the peasants as ‘homines census fere nullius’ (‘men deemed almost worthless’) and the fishermen as ‘viri nullius census’ (‘men deemed worthless’) who are hated by the nobility – ‘hos adeo odit nobilitas’ (Chapter cxxxi; p.lxxxiii). Both the vernacular and Latin versions of the Priest Joseph account conclude this section on the class system with an indicator (which also appears for the first time) that social divisions among the pagan Indians spill over into a religious apartheid: each social class has a separate temple for worship, men having different temples from women.

The challenge of pagan Indian religion It is curious that the text which emphasises antagonism in a pagan society is also the one to display a much greater attempt at empathy towards that society’s religion. In general, the Priest Joseph interview stands out from the other Indian accounts in Paesi for the degree of attention paid to religious matters, both Christian and pagan. While the discussion of Indian Christianity reveals a willingness on the part of the writer(s) to investigate the Pope of Rome’s traditional claims to supreme authority, an editorial gloss on the meaning of ‘zentili’ indicates that the traditional notions of pagan were also coming under strain.44 The reader is furnished with a definition of the term which makes it appear synonymous with ‘idolater’: ‘azo cadauono sia noto questo nome de zentili: gentili se chiamano quelli che erano al tempo anticho che adorauano li Idoli & diuerse sorte de animali’ (‘and let this term “pagan” be known to everyone: one calls “pagans” those people who existed in ancient times and who adored idols

154  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) and different sorts of animals’; VI.(c)cxxx). But this definition is ambiguous: by introducing a historical element, it leaves open the possibility of contemporary gentili being people descended from ancient idolaters but not necessarily idolaters themselves. This ambiguity is mirrored in the account’s representation of pagan Indian religion. The Caranganor brand of idolatry is regarded both as monotheistic and ‘Trinitarian’: Questi gentil adorano uno solo dio creator de tute le cose, & dicano esser uno & tre & etiam ad similitudinem ipsius hanno facto una statua cum iii teste, qual sta cum le mane zonte & epsi la chiamano Tambram (VI.cxxxi). These pagans worship one god alone, the creator of all things, and they say that he is one and three and also in his very likeness they have made a statue with three heads, which stands with joined hands, and they call it ‘Tambram’.45 In this passage, the problematic term ‘idol’ is notably absent – a significant contradiction given that the local king and his religious sect were defined earlier in the text as idolatrous (‘idolatro’). Both the Italian and the Latin versions of the account consistently call the objects of pagan religious devotion in the passage ‘statues’; in one instance they give an explicitly non-idolatrous interpretation of the way these objects are used: ‘hanno diverse altre statue de animali ma quelle non adorano’ (‘they have various other statues of animals but they do not worship these’; VI.cxxxi).46 The Italian text further blurs distinctions between pagan and Christian religion by repeatedly referring to the Indian temples as churches: ‘quando intrano in le lor ghiesie’; ‘vano tre volte al zorno ala ghiesia’; ‘chiamano a la lor hora a le sue ghiesie’ (‘when they enter their churches’; ‘they go three times a day to the church’; ‘they summon them to their churches at their hour’; VI.cxxxi). Madrignano’s Latin version translates ‘ghiesie’ as ‘templum’ rather than ‘ecclesia’, a translation that brings its own ambiguities since, in the Latin of the time, ‘templum’ could be equivalent to ‘temple’ or be a classicising way of referring to a church. It is perhaps because pagan religion in this area of India is regarded as Trinitarian that the language used to describe it is relatively sympathetic, remaining irenic even when the rituals described might have warranted a stronger reaction. Worship in Caranganor is portrayed as involving some fairly tranquil acts of devotion, such as the offering of first fruits or the smearing of one’s forehead with earth or water. Yet holy torture characterises their central sacrifice. Beginning with music, prayers and responses, the ritual comes to a peak with a naked priest inflicting sword cut wounds on himself and fire-walking in order to speak to the god. Although what is described easily fits into the scheme of demonic possession, it is indicative of the writer’s willingness to represent Indian idolatry positively that the ritual is not actually labelled ‘diabolical’. The pagan deity whose instructions the priest relays in the narrative remains a god not a devil:

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 155 Fanno poi loro certi sacrificii generali inhunc modum. Hanno certi sui deputati cum trombe corni & tamburli chiamano a la lor hora a le sua ghiesie, & convocato el sacerdote vestito de uno certo gran vestimento sta apresso alaltar & comenza acantar diverse oratione sue & unaltro si responde; poi el populo responde ad alta voce, & cosi fanno iii volte; poi esce da una porta un sacerdote nudo cum una grande corona de rose in testa, & ochi grandi & ii corne fictive; porta in mane due spade nude & corre verso qual suo idio, & tira tutta la cortina davanti da una de le spade ne le man del sacerdote existente a lo altare; poi cum laltra epso nudo se perchote de molte ferite, & cosi sanguinolente corre in uno foco accesso li nel tempio saltando per quello dentro & fora tandem cum li ochi revoltadi dicesi haver parlato cum el suo Idio qual ordina che se debiamo far le tal cose & insegna al populo como i hanno a governaresi (VI.cxxxi). They then do certain general sacrifices in this way. They have certain deputies of their own [who] with trumpets, horns and drums summon [the people] at their hour to their churches, and [the crowd] being gathered, the priest dressed in a certain grand vestment stands near the altar and starts to chant various prayers of his own and another responds; then the people respond in a loud voice, and this they do three times; then out of a door comes a priest, naked but with a huge crown of roses on his head, and huge eyes, and two false horns. He carries two bare swords in his hands and runs towards that god of his, and he pulls forward the entire curtain with one of the swords in the hands of the existing priest at the altar; then with the other, nude as he is, he inflicts many wounds on himself, and so dripping with blood he runs into a fire lit there in the temple, jumping through it, in and out, till at last with his eyes rolled back he claims to have spoken with his God, who commands that we ought to do such-and-such things and he teaches the people how to govern themselves.

Old themes re-visited A hint of the idealised Indian ascetics motif returns with the Anonymous Narrative’s account of the ‘Gussurantes’ (III.clxxv). These merchants from the northern region of ‘Combaia’ are the only group of pagan Indians to be differentiated significantly from the rest. Set apart in the text as another class of men, and distinguishable for their paler skin – ‘piu bianchi che li naturali de Calichut’ (‘whiter than the natives of Calicut’), these are also the only group of Indians who meet Latin Christian (theoretical) standards of sexual morality: ‘esse cattano e mariteno cum una donna come nui. Questi sonno molto zelosi: tengono le loro moglier che sonno molto belle e caste’ (‘they take and marry one woman as we do. These are very jealous men: they keep hold of their wives who are very beautiful and chaste’; III.clxxv). Although the Gujaratis are traders not philosophers, and are depicted as idolaters who worship the sun, the moon and the cow, they nonetheless recall

156  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) the figure of the Indian gymnosophist in significant ways. Both have a striking appearance, even if the Gujarati menfolk are clothed, sandal-wearing, longhaired, long-bearded and veiled, rather than naked. Yet the most obvious echo is their pious vegetarianism and unyielding sense of principle: ‘non mangiano niuna cosa che receva morte’ and ‘se uno amazasse una vaccha lo a mazarano per quello’ (‘they don’t eat anything that suffers death’; ‘if someone kills a cow, they kill him for that’; III.clxxv). In particular, the Gujaratis’ alleged treatment of those who accidentally eat meat parallels the extreme behaviour of the legendary ascetics. Carnivore transgressors, regardless of rank, are cast out from Gujarati society and left to God’s mercy: ‘lo mandano fora a domandare per la more de dio per questo mondo’ (‘they cast him out to beg for the love of God throughout this world’; III.clxxv).47 Whilst the Gujaratis represent an old theme in a distinctive new guise, the Anonymous Narrative’s account of widow-burning does not offer anything strikingly new. For the Romans, widow-burning was something heroic and romantic. For Strabo it was an irrational custom. Odorico had dismissed widow-burning as bestial, while Poggio had subtly undermined the notion of it being a willing ennobling self-sacrifice. In comparison to these previous treatments of the subject, the Anonymous Narrative’s is distinctive for not encouraging a particular moral interpretation. Widow-burning is described as taking place in the region ruled over by the powerful Indian king ‘Naremega’ (III.clxxvi). As in some prior accounts, the event is represented as a festive family affair, where the widow dresses up and dances before meeting her death by fire, and her family help hasten her end by throwing torches onto the flames. Unlike most previous accounts, there is no attempt to explain either why Indian widows are burned, or to suggest what might motivate the woman to agree; there is certainly no romantic interpretation of the widow’s motives given, nor any suggestion of a religious motivation – priests do not even figure in the ceremony. There is no mention of forced sacrifice, but neither is the woman said to do so voluntarily. The custom is just represented as something that is done in that region. In her imaginative study of the parallels between European representations of widow-burning and the phenomenon of witch-burning in early modern Europe, Pompa Banerjee includes the writer of Anonymous Narrative among those travellers she finds ‘displaced witchcraft discourse in their narratives of India’ and ‘noted in their descriptions of sati many recognisable characteristics of European witch-burning’.48 Since no explicit parallels were made to witchburning in early modern European representations of widow-burning, Banerjee’s discussion of the topic hinges on Freudian notions of ‘spectral haunting’ and ‘failed repression’. Even granting the validity of these concepts, her attempt to include the Anonymous Narrative’s account of widow-burning in the company of the haunted seems strained. Of Banerjee’s list of traits shared between the European and Indian burnings, the Anonymous Narrative has only the two least distinctive: a blaze and the presence of spectators (no executioner’s poles; no officiating priests; no witch’s stake). Moreover, a great deal of significance is attached to the one remark in the narrative connecting an Indian group with

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 157 sorcery and the devil, made not in connection to widow-burning and in a text otherwise remarkable for its indifference to religious themes.49 Finally, when Banerjee comes to discuss the Anonymous Narrative’s representation of widowburning in more detail, the witchcraft/haunting argument is no longer pursued. Rather, the anonymous writer’s treatment of the custom is dismissed as mere interest in commodities – a dismissal which reflects a rather narrow understanding of the cultural horizons of sixteenth-century social groups, be the author a sailor, a merchant or a literate peasant.50

Humanist touches Certain linguistic features and classical references in the treatment of Gujaratis and widow-burning in the Priest Joseph interview are a reminder that the Indian Christian’s attitudes have been filtered through Venetian humanist culture. An allusion to Greek philosophical theories follows the account’s report on ‘Guzerati’ eating habits: ‘el viver suo e de legumi, & herbe che produse la terra, secundo la opinion de Pitagora’ (‘their diet is of vegetables and herbs that the earth produces, following the opinion of Pythagoras’; VI.cxl). This gloss is important, as an early indication of a tendency, which will become more widespread with time, to credit anything admirable in the pagan Indian world to classical western influence. The most prominent display of humanist erudition in the account comes immediately after its brief mention of widow-burning, a custom not described in detail but which Priest Joseph has reportedly witnessed with his own eyes (‘propriis oculis’; VI.cxxxii). To confirm the reliability of the contemporary report, the writer refers the reader to ancient authority: hanno per consuetidine de brusarse vive & perche porria esser che de zo se ne maravigliaria: non e cosa maravigliosa: perche sempre li Indi hanno habuto questa consideratione: non solum le femene: ma etiam li homini: li pareno a questo modo conseguir certa immortalita: come dice Strabone nel libro xv. due le tracta de li legati, over Ambasiadori del India mandati da porro Re de quella a Cesare Augusto; el Capitulo e tale Refett [sic] enim Nicolaus damascenus se antiochie etc (VI.(c)cxxxix). They have a custom of burning themselves alive and because it could be that some people wonder at this – it isn’t a thing to wonder at, because the Indians have always had this attitude – not only the women but also the men – they think that in this way they will attain immortality as a certainty, as Strabo says in book fifteen, where he discusses the legates, or rather Ambassadors sent from India by King Porrus of that [land] to Caesar Augustus; the Chapter is the one ‘Refett enim Nicolaus damascenus se antiochie’ etc’. This passage turns widow-burning from something perhaps regional and particular to women, into something quintessentially Indian: the burning Indian woman is subsumed into the category of burning Indians. At the same time, the writer

158  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) attempts to diffuse the strangeness of the practice for readers – ‘non e cosa maravigliosa’ (‘it isn’t a thing to wonder at’) – by affirming its antiquity and, more importantly, its explicability within a foreign belief system: ‘li pareno a questo modo conseguir certa immortalita’ (‘they think that in this way they will attain immortality as a certainty’). The proximity of the reference to Strabo makes all this seem to gain its credibility from the ancient text. However, the writer’s anachronistic association of Caesar Augustus with King Porus (the legendary contemporary of the much earlier Alexander the Great) should sound a note of warning. If we turn to the section in question of Strabo’s Geography, we discover that it does not exactly support the writer’s assertion that the Indians believe burning themselves alive is a way of ensuring immortality; this is to twist the original. The passage cited records how an Indian called Zarmanochegàs, part of an embassy to Augustus, set fire to himself at Athens; on his tomb, the Athenians inscribed an epitaph saying that he immortalised himself according to the custom of his ancestors. Strabo’s source treats this mode of death as common among the Indians, but himself gives other reasons for the custom: a desire to escape ill-health or present evils; or conversely, if life has been good, the desire to leave it before anything bad occurs.51 Curiously, but perhaps evidence of the way the writer of the sixteenth-century account encourages readers not to regard burning Indian women as something especially novel or regionally specific, readers are not referred to the earlier passages in Strabo XV, which comment on widow-burning in Kathaia and Taxila.52

Paesi’s contribution Stepping back a moment from the detail of the accounts in Montalboddo’s collection, and focusing instead on circumstances of production, allows us a better view of the ‘Italian’ relationship in this period to Portuguese activities in India. First, it is significant that Paesi was originally printed in Vicenza, a city within the Venetian sphere of influence in 1507: Venice had the most to lose if the Portuguese crown was to be successful in establishing maritime trade with Asia, since Venetians had long had the monopoly in Europe over the Spice Trade. One might expect, therefore, a significant number of merchant families in Northern Italy, whose fortunes depended on the Venetian trade in exotic oriental goods, to have been interested in following the progress of the Spanish and Portuguese voyages through a volume such as Paesi. Another aspect of the ‘Italian’ relationship with ‘Portuguese’ India is highlighted by the diplomatic reports and interviewbased texts present in the collection: while Italian states like Venice remained officially ‘outsiders’, uninvolved in the nitty-gritty of colonial endeavour in India, they still kept a firm diplomatic eye on developments. At the same time, as Sernigi’s letters remind us, individual Italians – and members of the Florentine merchant community in Lisbon, in particular – could be found on the inside of Portugal’s ‘operation India’, performing the dual role of collaborators and spies. Finally, the printing of the collection first in Italian vernacular is indicative of a certain unselfish patriotic self-interest: unselfish in that the vernacular made

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 159 information on the Portuguese and Spanish overseas enterprises available to a much broader spectrum of society than just Latin-reading scholars, diplomats, lawyers and priests; and ‘patriotic self-interest’ in that publishing in Italian vernacular indicates that the editor intended the primary beneficiaries of his efforts to be fellow Italians (even if ‘Italy’ did not yet exist politically as a country as such). With regard to its contribution to Italian images of India, Paesi shone a series of spotlights on contemporary life among the Indians encountered by the Portuguese. It illuminated the difficulties of Portuguese-Indian political relations, and brought the King of Calicut into focus as the dominant figure in this political scene. It provided readers with new variations on familiar themes in the accounts of the Gujaratis and widow-burning, and confirmed India as the site of prosperous commercial centres. Despite muted value judgments, the pagan Indians of Calicut (and Caranganor) begin to emerge in Montalboddo’s collection as symbols of the radically Other, on the basis of their reported sexual mores, sense of the honourable, and social taboos. At the same time, Paesi’s accounts of pagan Indian religion reveal a fundamental confusion about how to classify ‘idolatry’ Indian-style. Montalboddo’s 1507 collection made unofficial visions of contemporary ‘Portuguese’ India available to a wide audience in Italy. The 1508 Latin translation produced in Milan helped release Montalboddo’s collection to the wider European market. An even more colourful vision of India and the East would follow just two years later, with the publication in Rome of the Itinerario of Ludovico De Varthema.

Notes   1 Bedini (1997), p. 44–52. Translations in this chapter are mine unless otherwise indicated.   2 Fulin et al. (1887), XVIII, cols 58–60; Bedini (1997), p.52.   3 Pacecchus ([1514]), bv; translation Rogers (1962), p.130.   4 Bedini (1997), p.80 and p.144.   5 On the papal bulls, Bedini (1997), p.18 (and n.7); Rogers (1962), p. 63–66.   6 Bedini (1997), p. 14–18. On Portugal’s empire, see Bethencourt & Curto (2007). For Italian interest in the Portuguese voyages, see Carnemolla (2000); and on PortugueseItalian cultural interaction in this period generally, see Lowe (2000).   7 In the Commentariorum urbanorum libri XXXVIII originally published in Rome, in 1506, Raffaello Maffei da Volterra comments thus on the difficulty of converting the Indian page: ‘Estque hodie puer Indus in domo cardinalis Ulyxiponensis, ex ea regione advectus, hac adeo obstinatus superstitione, ut nullo pacto abduci queat’; I quote from the Basel, 1559 edition (‘And today there is in the house of the Cardinal of Lisbon an Indian boy come from that region, who is so stubborn in his superstition that no pact can draw him away from it’; I.12; p.278).   8 Rogers (1962), p. 122–132. The phrase ‘indica et orientalis operatio’ (‘Indian and eastern operation’) is employed in Manuel’s 1507 letter to Julius II.   9 Texts reproduced in Pope (1937; repr. 1989), p. 24–25, n.1. 10 Diegus Paccechus, Obedientia Potentissimi Emanuelis Lusitaniae Regis . . . et ad Iulium II. Ponti. Max. ([Rome(?)]: [Eucharius Silber (?)], [after June, 1505]). 11 Penrose (1955), p.276. 12 cf Epistola . . . Responsoria ad Summum Romanum Pontificem ([Rome(?)]: [n.p.], [after June 12, 1505]); Gesta Proxime per Portugalenses in India: Ethiopia: & Aliis Orinetalibus [sic] Terris (Rome: Johann Besicken, 1506); Epistola . . . ad Julium

160  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) Papam Secundum . . . de Victoria contra Infideles Habita, (Paris: Guillaume Eustace, [after 25 September 1507]); Epistole . . . de Victoria contra Infideles Habita. Ad Julium Papam Secundum & ad Sacrum Collegium Reuerendissimorum Dominorum Cardinalium ([Rome (?)]: [n.p.], [n.d]); Epistola de Prouinciis: Ciuitatibus: Terris: & Locis Orientalis Partis: Sue Ditioni Fideique Christiane Nouissime per Eum Subactis ([Rome (?)]: [Stephan Plannck (?)], [after 12 June 1508]); and Epistola . . . de victoriis habitis in India & Malacha (Rome: Jacobus Mazochius; [after June 6, 1513]); Rogers (1962), p. 188–190. 13 See Sanuto’s diaries: Fulin (1882): VII, cols 198–203 – for Manuel’s letters of 1507 ‘de victoria contra Infideles habita’ (‘concerning the victory won against the Infidels’) written from Abrantes to Julius II and to the College of Cardinals and Fulin (1886): XVI, cols 622–626 – for his 1513 letter to Leo X concerning Malacca. 14 Letter of Manuel I to Julius II, 1507. 15 For example: ‘Vident insulae et timent; extremae terrae obstupent’; ‘Exultate . . . qui statis in domo Domini, in atriis domus Dei nostri . . .’ (‘The islands see and are afraid; the ends of the earth are astonished’; ‘Rejoice . . . you who stand in the house of the Lord, in the courts of the house of our God’); Letters from Manuel I to Julius II, and to College of Cardinals, 1507. Compare with Psalms 65.4–7; 77.16; 135.1–2. 16 See the letter from Manuel I to Julius II, 1507, and the letter to Leo X, 1513. 17 Letter from Manuel I to the College of Cardinals, 1507. 18 Letters from Manuel I to Julius II and to the College of Cardinals, 1507. 19 Letter from Manuel I to the College of Cardinals, 1507. 20 Letter of Manuel I to Leo X, 1513. 21 Letter of Manuel I to Julius II, 1507. 22 Letter of Manuel I to Leo X, 1513. 23 Letter of Manuel I to Leo X, 1513. 24 Portugal’s dearth of publications in the first fifty years of her Indian operation was not due to a lack of information; long before the first book of Fernão Lopes de Castanheda’s História do descobrimento e conquista da India pelos Portuguezes came off the press in 1551, extensive documentation on all areas of Asia had been collected in Lisbon. Lach explained this lack of original Portuguese publications as due to an official policy of news control, although this view is disputed by Rubiés. Lach (1965): I, p. 151–154; Rubiés (2000), p.4. The sixteenth-century Portuguese literature bearing upon India is surveyed in Pope (1937; repr. 1989), p. 17–136. 25 Lach (1965): I, p. 64 & 151–181. 26 Randles (1990; repr. 2000). 27 Pacifici (1955). 28 Ramusio identified the author as a ‘piloto portughese’. Scholars have questioned this claim on the basis of that the four extant manuscripts are in Venetian dialect and do not mention the Portuguese pilot. The author could therefore have been either Portuguese or an Italian, even if Francanzano’s edition claims to be a translation from ‘lengua Portogallese’, see Milanesi’s editorial note in Ramusio (1979): I, p.621. Greenlee (1938) discounted the theory that Il Cretico was the author, p. 53–56 & p. 114–117. 29 In 1492, Leoniceno, professor of medicine in Ferrara, attacked Pliny for errors in the medical sections of the Natural History, thus sparking a lively debate; Nauert Jr. (1979), p.81. 30 Unless otherwise specified, references are to Fracanzano da Montalboddo, Paesi novamente retrovati et novo mondo da Alberico Vesputio florentino intitulato (Vicenza: Henrico Vicentino, & Za maria suo fiol, 1507). The chapter numbers given are as printed in the 1507 edition (without correction). Fracanzano’s printed text is the earliest example extant of the Priest Joseph interview. Latin and Italian texts of the interview have also been printed in Vallavanthara (1984). For the debate about the authenticity of this Vespuccian text, see Pozzi (1993), p. 21–22. 31 On the various editions and the European collections dependent on Paesi, see Lach (1965): I, p. 163–164; Randles (1990; repr. 2000), p. 274–275. The library of the

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 161 University of Cambridge houses a first edition of Madrignano’s translation: Itinerarium Portugallensium e Lusitania in Indiam, et inde in occidentem, et demum ad aquilonem (Milan: Joannes Angelus Scinzenzeler, 1508). 32 Howard (2013), p.104. 33 cf. Roteiro da Viajem que Em Descobrimento da India Pelo Cabo da Boa Esperanìa fez Dom Vasco da Gama Em 1497 (Porto: D. Kopke and. A. da Costa Paiva, 1838), as cited in Pope (1937; repr. 1989), p. 19–20 & n.3. 34 de Camões (2001), p.148 (Canto Seven, 47). 35 Translations of Cabral’s instructions and King Manuel’s letter to the king of Calicut in Greenlee (1938), p. 162–190. 36 Navigazioni, I, 605; Greenlee (1938) p.125 (n.4) & p.146. 37 Manuscript copies in the Biblioteca Riccardiana, Florence (cod. 1910 and cod. 2112). Formisano (2006) is a critical edition of this and other Vespuccian texts. According to Formisano (p. 16–17 & 26), Vaglienti was personally linked to the Marchionni and Sernigi banking families, principal financiers of Cabral’s expedition, but fell on hard times later in life and sold his Florentine estate to the Sernigi family. 38 II. Cliii–clxi. 39 Ramusio’s edition adds ‘tutto il governo sta nelle lor mani; perché li cristiani sono gente grossa senza industria’ (‘the whole government is in their hands, because the Christians are rough people who lack industry’). 40 Copy of a letter, Pacifici (1955), p.8. 41 Likewise, the Priest Joseph account avoids the issue of blame: ‘per certe defferentie veneno ale mano cum quelli de terra’ (‘because of certain disagreements they came to fight against those of the land’; VI.(c)cxxix). 42 cf. Copy of a letter, Pacifici (1955), p. 17–19. 43 cf Copy of a letter, Pacifici (1955), p.18. 44 In the account of the origins and practices of the Malabar Church, the authority of its chief spiritual leader is traced to St Peter and Antioch, as well as to the Roman Pontiff (a claim the Latin translator of Paesi, monk Madrignano, found objectionable). cf. Paesi,VI.cxxxiii–cxxxiiii and Itinerarium Portugallensium (Chapter cxxxiii; p.lxxxiv). 45 The monotheism of the pagan Indians is contradicted later in the text when explaining why they do not eat oxen: ‘tuti animali manzano per viver lor excepto li Bo, li qualli li Gentil adorano’ (‘they eat all animals for food, except the ox, which the pagans worship; VI.cxxxvi). 46 cf. Madriganano’s ‘adorant Deum celi eumque trinum credunt: propterea trifrontem pingunt in statuis, complicatis manibus Tambram nuncupant [. . .] Habent etiamnum statuas animalium varias, verum eas minime colunt’ (‘they worship the God of heaven and believe him threefold: therefore they depict him with three-heads in statues, and with hands together; they call him ‘Tambram’ [. . .] Even still they have various statues of animals, but they hardly worship these’; Chapter cxxxi; p.lxxxiii). 47 cf. Copy of a letter, Pacifici (1955), p.19. 48 Banerjee (2003), p.68. 49 Banerjee (2003), p.58 (on the ‘Chettys’); cf Paesi (III.clxxvi) where the ‘Zetieties’ merchants are called enchanters who speak invisibly with the devil. 50 ‘Another item consumed in the index of merchandise’; Banerjee (2003), p. 83–84. 51 Strabo, XV.1.72–73. 52 XV.1.30 and XV.1.62.

References Banerjee, P. (2003) Burning Women: Widows, Witches, and Early Modern European Travelers in India. New York: Palgrave. Bedini, S. A. (1997) The Pope’s Elephant. Manchester: Carcanet.

162  Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) Bethencourt, F. & Curto, D. R. (eds) (2007) Portuguese Oceanic Expansion 1400–1800. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Carnemolla, S. E. (2000) Fonti italiane dei secoli XV–XVII sull’espansione portoghese. Pisa: ETS. da Montalboddo, F. (1507) Paesi novamente retrovati et novo mondo da Alberico Vesputio florentino intitulato Vicenza: Henrico Vicentino & Za maria suo fiol. de Camões, L. V. (2001) The Lusiads. Trans. from the Portuguese by L. White. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Formisano, L. (ed.) (2006) Iddio ci dia buon viaggio e guadagno: Firenze, Biblioteca Riccardiana, ms. 1910 (Codice Vaglienti). Florence: Polistampa. Fulin, R. et al. (eds) (1879–1903) I Diarii di Marino Sanuto (MCCCCXLVI–MDXXXIII) (Vols 1–58). Venice: Visentini. Greenlee, W. B. (ed. & trans.) (1938) The Voyage of Pedro Álvares Cabral to Brazil and India. London: Hakluyt Society. Howard, D. (2013) The role of the book in the transfer of culture between Venice and the Eastern Mediterranean. In: Contadini, A. & Norton, C. (eds) The Renaissance and the Ottoman World. Farnham, Surrey, UK; Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Lach, D. F. with Van Kley, E. J. (1965–1993) Asia in the Making of Europe (Vols 1–9). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Lowe, K. J. P. (ed.) (2000) Cultural Links between Portugal and Italy during the Renaissance. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Madrignano, A. (ed. & trans.) (1508) Itinerarium Portugallensium e Lusitania in Indiam, et inde in occidentem, et demum ad aquilonem. Milan: Joannes Angelus Scinzenzeler. Maffei da Volterra, R. (1559). Commentariorum urbanorum Raphaelis Volaterrani, octo et triginta libri, accuratius quam antehac excusi, praemissis eorundem Indicibus secundum Tomos ut ab autore conscripti fuerunt: quibus accessit novus, res ac voces in Philologia explicatas demonstrans, quo superiores editiones carebant hactenus. Basel: [n.p.]. Manuel I of Portugal ([after 6 June 1513]) Epistola . . . de victoriis habitis in India & Malacha. Rome: Jacobus Mazochius. Manuel I of Portugal ([after 12 June 1508]) Epistola de Prouinciis: Ciuitatibus: Terris: & Locis Orientalis Partis: Sue Ditioni Fideique Christiane Nouissime per Eum Subactis. [Rome?]: [Stephan Plannck(?)]. Manuel I of Portugal ([after 25 September 1507]) Epistola . . . ad Julium Papam Secundum . . . de Victoria contra Infideles Habita. Paris: Guillaume Eustace. Manuel I of Portugal (1506) Gesta Proxime per Portugalenses in India: Ethiopia: & Aliis Orinetalibus [sic] Terris. Rome: Johann Besicken. Manuel I of Portugal ([after 12 June 1505]) Epistola . . . Responsoria ad Summum Romanum Pontificem. [Rome(?)]: [n.p.]. Manuel I of Portugal, (–) Epistole . . . de Victoria contra Infideles Habita. Ad Julium Papam Secundum & ad Sacrum Collegium Reuerendissimorum Dominorum Cardinalium. [Rome(?)]: [n.p.]. Nauert Jr., C. G. (1979) Humanists, scientists, and Pliny: Changing approaches to a classical author. The American Historical Review. 84. p. 72–85. Pacecchus, D. ([1514]) Emanuelis Lusitan: Algarbior: Africae Aethiopiae Persiae Indiae Reg. Invictiss: Obedientia [Rome]: [Marcellus Silber]. Pacecchus, D. ([after June, 1505]), Obedientia Potentissimi Emanuelis Lusitaniae Regis . . . et ad Iulium II. Ponti. Max. [Rome(?)]: [Eucharius Silber (?)]. Pacifici Sergio, J. (ed. & trans.) (1955) Copy of a Letter of the King of Portugal Sent to the King of Castile Concerning the Voyage and Success of India. Minneapolis, MT: University of Minnesota Press.

Italian visions of ‘Portuguese’ India (c. 1500 to c. 1514) 163 Penrose, B. (1955) Travel and Discovery in the Renaissance 1420–1620. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Pope, E. M. India in Portuguese Literature (1937; repr. 1989) New Delhi: Asian Educational Services. Pozzi, M. (ed.) (1993) Il mondo nuovo di Amerigo Vespucci: scritti vespucciani e paravespucciani. 2nd edn. Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso. Randles, W. G. L. (1990) La diffusion dans l’Europe du XVIe siècle des connaissances géographiques dues aux découvertes portugaises. In: Randles, W. G. L. (ed.) La Découverte, le Portugal et l’Europe: Actes du Colloque, Paris, 26–28 mai 1988. Paris. Reprinted in Randles, W. G. L. (2000) Geography, Cartography and Nautical Science in the Renaissance: The Impact of the Great Discoveries. Aldershot: Ashgate. Ramusio, G. B. (1978–1988) Navigazioni e viaggi (Vols 1–6), ed. M Milanesi. Turin: Einaudi. Rogers, F. M. (1962) The Quest for Eastern Christians: Travels and Rumour in the Age of Discovery. Minneapolis, MT: University of Minnesota Press. Rubiés, J.-P. (2000) Travel and Ethnology in the Renaissance: South India through European Eyes, 1250–1625. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Strabo (1917–1969) The Geography of Strabo (Vols 1–8). Trans. by Horace Leonard Jones. Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Vallavanthara, A. (ed. & trans.) (1984) India in 1500AD: The Narratives of Joseph the Indian. Mannanam: St. Joseph’s Press.

9 Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario The Indians of a ‘new Ulysses’

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario (Rome, 1510) was a sixteenth-century best-seller and a most unusual book.1 Its appeal lies in a genre-defying combination of adventure story, autobiography and informative tract. As the title page to the first edition promises, the book attempts to initiate readers into the mysteries of several eastern cultures: Itinerario De Ludovico De Verthema Bolognese ne lo Egypto ne la Suria ne la Arabia Deserta & Felice ne la Persia, ne la India: et ne la Ethiopia. La fede el vivere & costumi de tutte le prefate provincie. The Itinerary of Ludovico De Verthema of Bologna, in Egypt, in Syria, in Arabia Desert and Felix, in Persia, in India and in Ethiopia: the faith, way of life and customs of the aforementioned provinces. Yet much of what follows also has the flavour of romance. In the course of the Itinerario, Varthema, its author-protagonist, gets involved in various escapades: disguised as a Mameluke he enters Mecca; imprisoned by the sultan in ‘Arabia felice’, he feigns madness and wins the love of the queen; reaching India in the company of a Persian merchant, he plays doctor to an unfortunate local, and ‘transforms’ himself into a Muslim saint – all part of a ruse to escape from his Islamic companions. Returning finally to the Christian fold, Varthema takes up arms for the Portuguese, and obtains a knighthood in the process from Viceroy of India, Francisco d’ Almeida. The style and content of Varthema’s Itinerario evidently pleased Renaissance audiences, as it enjoyed a vertiginous success both inside and outside Italy. Between 1510 and 1523, the book achieved at least five Italian vernacular editions, printed in Rome, Milan and Venice.2 Shortly after the first vernacular edition, the monk Arcangelo Madrignano, who had already translated Paesi, made a Latin translation of the Itinerario and dedicated it to Spanish Cardinal Bernardinus Caravaial. In 1512, Angelo Scinzenzeler published Madrignano’s translation in Milan. By 1560, Varthema’s book had been issued on a minimum of thirteen separate occasions in Italy, while Ramusio had also chosen it for inclusion in his celebrated collection of voyage literature. Outside Italy, the story was

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 165 similar: there were three German and two Castilian translations before 1524; the 1515 Augsburg edition was even embellished with forty-six woodcut illustrations. Notable scholars across the Alps also paid attention to the work: Johann Huttich, for instance, inserted Madrignano’s Latin translation of the Itinerario into his Novus Orbis Regionum ac Insularum veteribus incognitarum, which was first published at Basle in 1532 with a preface by Simon Grynaeus, humanist scholar and friend of Luther, Calvin and Melanchthon.3 French, Flemish, English and further German and Castilian editions of the Itinerario followed in the second half of the sixteenth century. Although there is much else of interest in Varthema’s Itinerario besides his tales about India, this chapter will focus on the two issues most relevant to the study of India in the Italian Renaissance: namely, how the author set about manufacturing kudos for his book in early sixteenth-century Italy; and the question of what exactly was new in the vision of contemporary Indian culture that Varthema offered his first readers. As shall become evident, one of Varthema’s most striking contributions to the store of Renaissance Italian ideas about India was his unsettling depiction of Indian holy men and religion – a contribution that demonstrates his considerable degree of concern for religious matters, an aspect of the book which rather undermines the twenty-first-century attempt to regard Varthema as a modern secular spirit.4

Testimonial of a new Ulysses To us, although probably not to the people of his day, Ludovico De Varthema is something of an enigma. Very little is now known about him beyond the biographical information supplied in his book. While even the correct spelling of his name, and whether he was Bolognese or Roman, is in question, one fact is nonetheless certain: that Varthema died sometime between the first edition of the Itinerario in 1510 and June 1518, when the second Roman edition came out, since its preface alludes to the author’s death. Given the connections that Varthema appears to have utilised in the promotion of his book, it is likely that he had been some kind of military man before he left Italy in search of adventure and eastern travel. Moreover, Portuguese sources support the claim Varthema makes in his book, that he was knighted for services in India, and that the King of Portugal confirmed this knighthood on his return to Europe in 1508.5 Scholars have also identified Varthema with the Bolognese whose tales of Indian customs dumbfounded the Venetian senate on 6 November 1508; if this identification is correct, then, more than a year before the publication of his book, Varthema was back in Italy making money out of his traveller’s tales.6 Varthema also appears to have had close ties to important members of the Italian cultural elite, whose help he enlisted in furthering his entrepreneurial ambitions. He had influential friends in the Vatican, since he managed to obtain a special concession from Pope Julius II, which granted him copyright for ten years. Moreover, in the privilegio attached to the first edition of the Itinerario, the Pope’s chamberlain Cardinal Raffaele Sansoni Riario refers to Ludovico as

166  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario a most beloved friend (‘familiaris noster dilectissimus’).7 Varthema was also closely connected to the powerful and military Colonna family, since he dedicated the Itinerario to Agnesina Colonna, Duchess of Tagliacozzo, wife of condottiere Fabrizio Colonna and daughter of the celebrated fifteenth-century military leader, Federico da Montefeltro (from whom she had perhaps acquired an interest in geography).8 Moreover, Varthema seems to have been courting the favour of the duchess’ daughter also, since the only known manuscript copy of his book is that executed for the young Vittoria Colonna. As Brian Richardson reminds us, in the first centuries of printing in Europe, authors might still try to capture the attention of an important patron by presenting him or her with a finely written manuscript of their book, as this was considered a more prestigious object than the printed version.9 A letter from Varthema to the future poetess Vittoria sheds further light on the way the adventurer went about promoting himself and his book: it recalls their meeting at her mother’s court in Marino, where he had entertained the great lady with stories of ‘le remote parti e gente meridionale e orientale, siti e costumi loro’ (‘remote parts, southern and eastern peoples, their locations and customs’). Varthema was clearly a flamboyant character who could gain entrance into courts and ingratiate himself therein by telling a good yarn about his travels. An anonymous wit, most likely Vittoria’s tutor Josiah Fonteio, left for posterity an observer’s impression of Varthema’s charms, in a sonnet attached to Vittoria’s manuscript of the Itinerario. Here, the poet depicts Varthema as a new Ulysses, the difference being, however, that the Italian has had far greater success, both in terms of lands seen and ladies conquered – ‘Quel delus’una, questo mille Circe’ (‘That one disappointed one, but this one a thousand Circes’).10 Varthema himself had employed the Ulysses image in his dedicatory address to Agnesina Colonna. Towards its end, he commends the Itinerario to his erudite and virtuous patroness, as a safe means for her to acquire the experience of Ulysses. However, since the book in question claims to be a record of the author’s own life experiences, Agnesina is clearly being encouraged here to view Varthema as a new embodiment of the ancient Greek hero. Any tributes Varthema makes to Ulysses is thus flattery of himself. The dedication goes on to advise the duchess to read ‘recordandose essere questa vna delle laude data al sapientissimo & facundo Vlysse, molti costumi hauer visti d’ homini, et molti paesi’ (‘reminding herself that this was one of the praises given to the most wise and sharp-witted Ulysses: to have seen many human customs and many countries’; 2v). Varthema promotes a positive, heroic image of Ulysses – not the condemned Dantean Ulysses whose unbridled thirst for exploration led to death, but a new ‘humanist’ Ulysses, whose spirit of enquiry is laudable and virtuous, an attribute of the wise.11 By so doing, Varthema drops a not so subtle hint (which the author of the aforementioned sonnets duly took) as to how he wishes to be regarded by contemporary readers of his book. The figure of Ulysses, in which the curious traveller and the wise man merge, was rhetorically valuable to Varthema, in a culture where humanistic studies were the fashion among the elite, because it lent classical authority to himself and to his methods. As the opening to the preface makes clear, Varthema wanted the

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 167 Itinerario to be taken seriously as a work of scholarship. He writes of his desire to join the ranks of those who have investigated the earth and the heavens; of his natural disinclination for the traditional way of studying and its conjectures (‘conietture’); and of his decision to become an expert on the world through travel, ‘massime recordandome esser piu da estimare vn visiuo testimonio, ch[e] dieci d’audito’ (‘reminding myself especially that one eyewitness testimony is worth ten hearsay reports’; 2r). The Itinerario is represented as the record of firsthand experience, a free-will offering from one learned man to his peers: mi pareua niente hauer fatto, se delle cose da me viste & prouate, meco tenendole ascose, non ne facesse partecipe li altri homini studiosi (2v). I’d feel like I’d done nothing, if, by keeping them hidden within myself, I were not to share the things seen and experienced by me with other studious men. However, although the Ulysses image helped Varthema assert the authority of the contemporary eyewitness account over book-learning, there was still a danger that the studious might reject Varthema’s testimonial on stylistic grounds: as written in a chatty vernacular rather than in Latin, the traditional language of learning. Moreover, Varthema’s vernacular also fell short of the refined literary Tuscan championed in the early sixteenth century by the likes of Pietro Bembo as a tongue fit for expressing the highest ideas.12 To protect oneself from critics, an artist or writer in the Renaissance needed the active support of an important patron of the arts, which is what Varthema sought from the Colonna family. A second sonnet attached to Vittoria Colonna’s copy of the Itinerario shows he was successful. Alluding to the potential difficulty arising out of Varthema’s use of the vulgar tongue, the poet assures the book that under the protection of ‘sì gran colonna’ (‘such a great column/Colonna’), it need not fear a poor reception: Esci nel vulgo, animoso libretto [. . .] senza timore De’ Retico nasuto o Detractore [. . .] Serai da tutti amato, culto et lecto.13 Go out among those of common tongue, spirited little book, without fear of the sniffy little Rhetorician or Detractor. You will be loved, cherished and read by all. Varthema, it seems, was a man without much formal education but who wanted to be appreciated in learned circles as an authority on the world. To get himself and his work accepted by his contemporaries he actively cultivated Italian cultural elites and drew on the humanistically acceptable image of Ulysses to promote the idea of the traveller as a source of wisdom. These ploys appear to have been successful, with only two notable exceptions. Both are from voices outside Italy, one shortly after Varthema’s death and the other from much later in the century.

168  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario Although Varthema swears to have written up his voyage ‘fidelissimamente’ (‘most faithfully’; 2v), the sixteenth-century German cleric and cosmographer Johannes Boemus has been interpreted as accusing the Italian of having been a shameless liar who had simply sought popular adulation.14 Boemus’ view, however, was probably coloured by the fact that his own geographical work, published in 1520, is, by and large, a regurgitation of Strabo and other ancient sources. Potentially more damaging perhaps was the opinion of Portuguese botanist Garcia da Orta, who had actually been to India and a translation of whose work on medicinal plants was published in late sixteenth-century Italy. Writing from Goa in the 1560s, da Orta cast doubt on whether Varthema had actually ever travelled beyond Calicut and Cochin.15 Yet these were isolated voices, whose criticisms, judging from the number of editions of the Itinerario, had little impact on the appeal of Varthema’s book to readers in the latter Italian Renaissance.

Calicut as India ‘India’ was of considerable interest to Varthema for he devoted no less than three ‘books’ of his Itinerario to the subject. These Indian sections cover an area stretching from ‘Combeia’ (Khambhat, Gujarat) in the north-west of the Indian subcontinent, down the coast to Calicut, across the southern tip of the mainland and then up the east Coromandel coast to regions further north, including cities called ‘Tarnassari’ (possibly in Orissa)16 and ‘Banghella’ (in Bengal); they also give an account of ‘Zailon’ (Sri Lanka), ‘Pego’ (in Myanmar), and islands in the Indian Ocean. While Varthema uses the word ‘India’ in a broad sense in the book, to denote also lands and islands beyond the Indian subcontinent, for him one region alone of this ‘India’ epitomises the rest. This region is Calicut (Kozhikode in modern-day Kerala), which had been Da Gama’s port of arrival. Varthema’s most striking contribution to ideas about Indians in the Italian Renaissance is his collapsing of the variety hitherto expected of India, into a graspable form, through his treatment of Calicut society as the cultural norm, valid for all pagan populations from the Indian subcontinent eastwards. The author’s admiration for Indian urban organisation is evident throughout the first section (‘libro’) on India, during which he consistently tantalises the reader with the promise that gentile culture will be considered in depth when he comes to Calicut – an arrival delayed until the second Indian ‘book’. In the first, Varthema gives a rapid, but mostly positive, account of Indian cities, their natural position, fortifications, wealth, faith and quality of rulers, starting with ‘Combeia’ an ‘excellent’ city (‘ottima città’; 33r.) in the Indus River region and proceeding south. The rapidity of the exposition is interrupted only on a few occasions: to give accounts of the poison-eating sultan ‘Soldano Machamuth’, of the Yogi, of the elephant, and of ‘Bisinagar’, capital city in the Kingdom of Narsinga, which Varthema praises as akin to Paradise: ‘dotata de tutte le gentilezze che sia possible [. . .] pare vn’altro paradiso’ (‘graced with all the refinements that are possible [. . .] it seems like another paradise’; 38v). While Varthema generally treats pagan rulers sympathetically, his portrayal of ‘Soldano Machamuth’ is most negative

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 169 and fits the classic ‘Orientalist’ model. Regarding the Muslim ruler as the usurper of a kingdom rightfully belonging to ‘good’ Gujarati natives, Varthema depicts the sultan as a perverted, lecherous, poison-spitting murderer (33r–34r). Although Varthema finds much that is captivating in the other regions of India, he nonetheless represents Calicut as the best of the Indian world – India at its most worthy: ‘nel quale posta è la magior dignita della India’ (‘in which is found the greater worth of India’; 42v). But if one looks at the topics Varthema covers in his second book on India, which is entirely devoted to Calicut, the worthiness of this city seems to lie just as much in the exotic strangeness of its pagan customs as in its wealth, natural resources, good government and business facilities. Varthema introduces the King of Calicut as ‘lo piu degno Re de tutti’ (‘the most worthy King of all’; 41v). Yet the focus of interest in Varthema’s description of the king is not immediately on his military strength, and orderly conduct of war and commerce (topics touched upon later), but on the god-like status the king reportedly enjoys among his people, on his eating taboos and personal piety (43r–43v). In Varthema’s translation, the king’s very name, ‘Samory’, means ‘Dio in terra’ (41v): ‘God on Earth’. Moreover, Varthema’s rating of the city and its king’s worthiness is admirably impartial, unaffected by concern for the likely religious and political affiliations of his European readers: the ‘Samory’ is ‘worthy’ (‘degno’) despite being a pagan, despite his animosity towards the Portuguese, and despite Varthema regarding him as ultimately responsible for the deaths of Portuguese Christians (54v). As a writer, Varthema is skilled in the art of holding his reader’s attention. Every now and then, he balances his accounts of the strange – which might overload a reader because of their novelty, and become wearisome – with a sprinkling of something more digestibly familiar. An example of this is in his description of the class system in Calicut (which perhaps struck a chord with Renaissance readers among the nobility). Here Varthema displays a remarkable degree of empathy for the class values he represents as prevalent among the pagan Indians – an apt reminder, if one needed one, that the society he came from, despite its purportedly Christian ethos, was itself far from egalitarian. Like other writers before him, Varthema recognises a clear social stratification in the pagan Indian world, although he draws the boundaries between classes somewhat differently from the earlier sixteenth-century accounts. According to Varthema, there are six sorts of gentili in Calicut (43v–44r). First are the Brahmins, the priestly class who hold a prestigious position at the top of pagan Indian society: they decide when kings and nobles may eat meat; they mediate between opposing sides in battles; and by their heads are oaths taken.17 Next in the pecking order are the ‘Naeri’, whom Varthema equates to the ‘gentilhomini’ or gentlemen back home. This group are warriors, obliged to carry arms, even in the street; failure to do so means losing their rank of gentleman. The third and fourth groups are the artisans (‘Tiua’) and fishermen (‘Mechna’), respectively. Varthema gives no indication that they suffer maltreatment. Unlike the Paesi accounts which claim that the fishermen are the lowest class, one habitually beaten up by their superiors, in Varthema’s account two different classes of peasants take their place at the bottom of the social scale:

170  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario the ‘Poliar’, responsible for pepper, wine and nuts, and the ‘Hiraua’, who sow and harvest rice. Varthema records that these peasants cannot approach within fifty paces of a Brahmin or gentleman unless summoned, and that the upper classes have the right to kill with impunity any peasant who breaks the rule, even accidentally. Yet the way Varthema chooses to portray these agricultural workers makes him seem to share the distaste that he reports the local upper classes feel for the lowest ranks of pagan Indian society. His choice of imagery is telling. The farmers behave rather like wild beasts: ‘sempre vanno per lochi occulti, & per paduli [. . .] sempre va[n] gridando ad alta voce’ (‘they always go about in hidden places and marshes [. . .], they always go about yelling in a loud voice’; 44r). Even if Varthema gives a pragmatic reason here for the peasants hiding away and yelling (namely to avoid the potentially fatal outcome of an encounter with a gentleman), other passages encourage the reader to view them as mindless and bestial. The Poliar and Hiraua women are said to feed their children in the morning ‘per forza, senza lauarli el viso’ (‘forcefully, without washing their face’; 52v) and to then cast them away for the rest of the day; their offspring are apparently so black they might be mistaken for buffalo, bears, or something more diabolical: ‘pare vna cosa contrafatta, & pare che’l diauolo li nutrisca’ (‘it seems like a deformed thing, and it seems that the devil nourishes them’; 52v). Fittingly, Varthema’s stream of consciousness leads him immediately to the subject of Indian wildlife. On one occasion, Varthema refers to the Poliar and Hiraua specifically as an example of stupid and bestial people, entirely lacking in that heroic quality known in the Renaissance as ‘virtù’:18 sono de quella sorte piu tristi de Calicut, chiamati Poliar, & Hiraua, quali sono molto debili de ingegno, & de forza, non hanno virtu alcuna, ma viueno come bestie (68v). They are of the saddest sort in Calicut, called Poliar, and Hiraua, who are very weak in intelligence, and in physical strength; they don’t have any virtue at all, but they live like beasts. Other passages in the Itinerario reinforce the theme of loose sexual mores among the pagan Indians, a theme by now familiar to Renaissance readers from earlier accounts, but no less sensational. Varthema embroiders this familiar motif through an account of wife-swapping in Calicut. He presents wife-swapping as something practised among pagan merchants and gentlemen, as a proof of close friendship. To give a feel of immediacy to his account of an allegedly typical wife-exchange negotiation, Varthema uses a rather comic linguistic device – flipping between a direct-speech version in the ‘local’ language and an Italian translation: & l’vno mercadante dira a l’altro in questo modo: langal perganal menaton ondo, cioe, tal semo stati longo tempo amici. L’altro respondera: Hognan perga manaton ondo, cioe, siche io son stato gran tempo tuo amico. Dice l’altro: Nipatanga ciolli, cioe, dicitu la verita che sei mio amico? Rispondera

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 171 l’altro, & dice: Ho, cioe, Si. Dice l’altro: Tamarani; cioe, per Dio? L’altro risponde: Tamarani; cioe, Per Dio. Dice l’vno: In penna tonda gnan penna cortu, cioe: Cambiamo donne; dami la tua donna, & io ti daro la mia (45r ; original punctuation adjusted and Italics mine). And one merchant will speak to another in this way: ‘langal perganal menaton ondo’; that is: ‘So-and-so, we’ve been friends for a long time’. The other will reply: ‘Hognan perga manaton ondo’; that is, ‘Yes, I’ve been your friend a long time’. The other one says: ‘Nipatanga ciolli’, that is, ‘Are you telling the truth that you are my friend?’ The other will reply and say: ‘Ho’, that is, ‘Yes’. The other one says: ‘Tamarani’, that is ‘[Swear] by God? The other replies: ‘Tamarani’, that is ‘By God’. The first one says: ‘In penna tonda gnan penna cortu’, that is, ‘Let’s exchange wives; give me your wife, and I’ll give you mine’.19 This sexual transaction, which would have caused moral outrage (and considerable domestic strife) if attempted in the Latin West, is portrayed as being conducted with the utmost ease and simplicity in India. In Varthema’s account, the wives, when they are presented with the prospect of changing husbands as a fait accompli, agree willingly to the idea without much fuss: ‘Perga manno, cioe: Me piace. Gnan poi; cioe: io vo’ (‘“Perga manno”, that is, “I like it”. “Gnan poi”, that is “I’ll go”; 45r). Sexual negotiations among the other social classes are depicted as equally smooth, although the power balance is reversed. Whereas men take the lead in sexual negotiations among merchant and gentlemen classes, in the lower classes women lead because polyandry is the norm. Having up to as many as eight husbands, pagan Indian women of the lower classes reportedly opt to sleep with a different husband every night and assign their children to whichever man they choose. As Varthema concludes, the women command, the men obey: ‘et cosi loro stanno al ditto della donna’ (‘and so they obey the woman’s word’; 45r). Varthema’s interest in Indian sexual mores is largely prurient. He expresses no criticism of them, but rather seems to revel in what (for his culture) was taboo, and to expect a similar response from his readers: the passage describing Brahmin sexual duties is introduced as something ‘delettabile’ (43v), delightful to understand. Nevertheless, it is pertinent to ask whether Varthema’s attitude to non-Christian mores ever approaches relativism. Certainly, on several occasions his narrative highlights the idea that ethical notions vary according to culture. Justifications for behaviour frowned on by the Church are sometimes given, either directly through the mouth of non-Christian characters, or indirectly as reports of what ‘they’ (i.e. the local inhabitants) say about the matter. These devices allow Varthema an authorial distance from such views, whilst at the same time dangling alien values before the reader as possibilities. Occasionally, Varthema allows a character close to his own narrative persona to yield to ethical standards reportedly at odds with his own, without any evil consequences. The effect is to suggest that behaviour deviating from the acceptable Christian standard does not necessarily harm the perpetrator.

172  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario One prime example of this narrative ploy is the episode set in Tarnasseri, where Varthema-protagonist and his companions are prevailed upon to deflower the bride of their local host.20 First, the narrative signals that this local practice should be regarded as morally wrong: the group’s initial reaction to their host’s unexpected request is reported to be shame and sadness. Then comes the insistence that this custom is acceptable locally, a claim put into the mouth of three different sources – an interpreter, a local merchant and a fellow traveller: ‘questa e vsanza dela Terra’; ‘non habbiate melanconia che tutta questa terra vsa cosi’; and ‘cognoscendo al fine noi che cosi era costume de tutta questa terra, si come ce affirmaua vno, el quale era in nostra compagnia’ (‘this is the custom of the land’; ‘don’t be sad, this is what’s done in all the land’; ‘we understood in the end that this was the custom throughout the entire land, according to what was confirmed by one of our company’; 59r–59v). Finally, whilst the others refuse, Varthema’s closest travel companion, the Persian Cogiazenor, agrees to perform this service for their host. The result is that Varthema’s group enjoys warm hospitality in Tarnasseri, ‘perche sono liberalissimi, & molto piaceuoli huomini’ (‘because they are most generous, and most pleasant men’; 59v). Later, there is a hint that the character Varthema also gave in to local morality and slept with Tarnasseri brides, although this may just be another gloss on the Latin lover image of his character.21 Overall, Varthema’s attitude to pagan Indian sexual mores is far from the prudish censoriousness witnessed in the Paesi accounts, but how might his sixteenthcentury Italian audiences have reacted to his accounts of Indian sexual antics? The more pious may have been genuinely shocked, but it is hard to imagine readers who enjoyed the raunchy tales told in Boccaccio’s Decameron being overly disturbed. Adultery was often treated humorously in the novella tradition, while lovers like Lancelot and Guinevere were glorified in the romance. Before the strictures of the Counter-Reformation set in and works such as Poggio’s Facetiae landed on the Index of Prohibited Books, there was clearly a taste among literary audiences for risqué sexual anecdotes – witness the success in the first decades of the sixteenth century of Aretino’s Sei giornate (or Ragionamenti).22 Even after the 1550s, an obscure Ferrarese scholar could raid classical literature for accounts of ancient pagan sexual mores and dedicate the resulting compilation to the Pope.23 Varthema, therefore, had good reason to presume his readers would find his accounts of contemporary pagan sexual mores ‘delettabile’. Also, in some ways those anecdotes which offered men the prospect of sexually freer societies in the East were simply playing to long-standing male fantasies. As we recalled in Chapter 6, sex outside marriage had been a relatively common feature of Italian society in the fifteenth century – and this continued to be the case in the sixteenth, despite the Church’s best efforts to discourage it. While adultery was severely censured in a female, the male participant rarely suffered disgrace in the public eye. Tacit condonement of male sexual liberties was in practice so widespread that in 1563, the Council of Trent would actually have to decree it a grave sin for an unmarried man to take a concubine, while married men who did so were denounced as living in a state of damnation.24 Part of the argument against extra-marital sex and in favour of monogamous marriage was the conviction that

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 173 only the institution of marriage Christian-style could maintain order in society. By showing that in contemporary India breaking Christian sexual taboos has not brought about social disorder, Varthema gives fuel to any Christian reader who might secretly desire more sexual liberty. Nevertheless, one suspects that Varthema’s tales of sexual liberty in India may have sounded a little hollow to others among his audience, particularly courtly women such as Vittoria Colonna, who was one of the Itinerario’s first female readers. If we set aside Varthema’s mention of polyandry among lower-class Calicut ladies, little in his tales of Indian married life is especially emancipating for wealthier women. In India, according to Varthema’s report, upper-class women were still expected to be obedient to the men in the family to the point of changing husbands or committing ‘adultery’ on command. One wonders how familiar this might have seemed to a Renaissance woman like Lucrezia Borgia, married off to various husbands for her family’s political convenience. With the advent of printing in Italy, there was an explosion in the number of conduct books that appeared, with instruction aimed at married women. Varthema depicts Indian women as agreeing to their men’s demands demurely, much as the sixteenth-century conduct books instructed married women to be docile and obedient wives – although admittedly, the pious Christian wife was not supposed to agree to things against her conscience and was enjoined in the literature to admonish her husband if he committed sins. Even so, and somewhat paradoxically, Varthema’s representation of the freer sexual mores in India reinforces sixteenth-century Italian conduct literature notions of the ideal wife, since the Indian woman of any social standing is represented totally submissive to her husband’s will.25 It is unfortunate that Vittoria Colonna does not seem to have recorded her opinion of Varthema’s book and its account of Indian sexual mores. But perhaps dignified silence would have been considered the most appropriate response.

A modern secular spirit? From the easy attitude Varthema displays towards pagan Indian sexual mores and other customs, it might be tempting to regard him, as Rubiés has suggested, as a type of modern secular spirit. In the course of a book whose general thesis is that travel writing contributed significantly to the shift in (western) European culture from a theological to a secular world-view, Rubiés states that ‘the new persona elaborated by Varthema suggests a secular attitude in a more radical way than (let us say) John Mandeville, because the Italian traveller is no longer a pilgrim – he does not even care to visit the Christian holy place’. Rubiés goes on to remark that there is ‘nothing sacred in Varthema’s itinerary either, no search for meaning or transcendence’.26 Both of these statements are rather problematic. The latter statement is logically unsound because it is not at all clear why a supposed absence of religious quest in a narrative should be assumed to be a sign of ‘secularism’; one could just as easily interpret this ‘absence’ as a sign of the author-protagonist’s confidence in his faith: if people already have what they need spiritually, they are unlikely to embark on a quest for meaning. Rubiés’ other statement is factually

174  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario misleading, since it seriously exaggerates Varthema’s alleged lack of interest in Christianity. Although Varthema might not mention visiting Christian shrines in Jerusalem, he does, for instance, give an account of a miracle of St Thomas, and shows concern for the plight of local Indian Christians, persecuted since the arrival of the Portuguese and protected by the pagan king of ‘Narsinga’.27 Moreover, when relating an encounter with eastern Christians in the Indian section of the book, Varthema devotes considerable space to establishing how far their beliefs conform to those taught by the Latin Church. Equally problematic for the ‘secular’ argument are the passages in the narrative where Varthema asserts the superiority of the Christian religion or refers to God’s providential care: the adventures achieved ‘co’l diuino adiuto’ (‘with divine aid’); the portrayal of the Portuguese victory over combined Muslim-pagan forces as god-given; the Indians’ alleged vision of the Christian God in battle.28 There are also numerous other passages in the book which describe non-Christian religious practices. All in all, unless one insists on dismissing such passages as mere ‘rhetoric’, it is difficult to regard Varthema, author-protagonist of the Itinerario, as lacking in religious interest. While ‘secular’ may not the most appropriate word to describe Varthema’s outlook, he is hardly fanatical about his own religion. As Rubiés quite rightly reminds us, in the Itinerario Varthema adopts the persona not of a pilgrim but of an adventurer setting out in search of knowledge of the world: his is a quest for facts not spiritual enlightenment. As a character in his book, Varthema at times appears even cavalier about matters of personal faith. His thirst for knowledge seems to outweigh any concern he might have for the salvation of his own soul, in that his character is willing to enter various (what one might call) spiritually precarious situations for a Latin Christian, such as masquerading as a Muslim for the greater part of the narrative. The use Varthema’s character makes of Islam and Christianity – play-acting a conversion to Islam and then making a pilgrimage to Mecca; reciting Muslim prayers, whilst claiming to be Christian at heart; returning to an open declaration of Christian faith when he needs to return home – these things certainly indicate a rather ambivalent, utilitarian attitude to religion, even if, as writer, Varthema is at pains to prevent allegations of apostasy. (At no stage in the narrative does he encourage the reader to interpret his taking on of a Muslim identity as a genuine conversion.) Yet if, as modern historians such as Aubin believe, the historical Varthema did serve for a number of years as a Mameluke, with other Christian renegades, we should treat the Itinerario as preserving the responses to the contemporary non-Christian world of a very particular category of Renaissance man: those Latin Christians who would convert to Islam in order to profit in the Muslim world, and who then re-converted to Christianity on their return home.29

New representations of Indian holy men Far from being indifferent to religious themes, Varthema’s account of customs in the Indian subcontinent breaks down old – and introduces new – ‘Indian’ models of a holy life. The Brahmins are one familiar group to be presented in a radically

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 175 new light. For the first time in Italian literature, it seems, the Brahmins appear not as philosophers, ascetics, Christian types or even merchants but as idolatrous priests. Varthema defines them as the ‘principal della fede, come a noi li Sacerdoti’ (‘the leaders of the faith, as priests are among us’; 43v). Medieval legends had attributed a priest-like duty to the Brahmins but the difference was that they were generally deemed to be monotheists and not idolaters. By contrast, Varthema links the Brahmins directly to idolatrous worship: they are the ones who perform sacrifices to the ‘Idolo’ (‘idol’; 42v), and officiate at its festivals (54r–54v). Certain duties expected of the Brahmins in Calicut also help to undermine traditional medieval western notions of their holiness. According to Varthema, a Brahmin is given the task of sleeping with the queen of Calicut in the king’s absence from the realm: ‘& el Re haueria per summa gratia che quelli Bramini vsassero con la Regina’ (‘and the King would consider it a great blessing if those Brahmins had their way with the Queen’; 44v). Likewise, he reports that the most worthy and honoured Brahmin deflowers the queen on her wedding night (43v). The Paesi accounts had mentioned similar tasks in connection with priests; Varthema’s contribution is to specifically assign them to the Brahmins. By associating the Brahmins with idolatry and sex in these ways, the Itinerario shatters the medieval image of them as Christian types. Yet the notion of a holy pagan Indian people does not die altogether with Varthema’s re-presentation of the Brahmins: it is simply transferred to another group. Varthema allows the ‘Guzerati’ of ‘Combeia’ to take up the mantle. His depiction of the Gujaratis confirms their reputation for chastity and strict vegetarianism, established already in the Paesi accounts, but does not connect them with idol-worship. For Varthema, the Gujaratis are a morally upright people, severely opposed to the taking of life, whose obedience to the Golden Rule should earn them salvation: Et sono questi tali non Mori non Gentil[i]: credo se hauessero el batismo tutti sariano salui alle opere che fanno perche ad altri non fanno quello che non voriano fosse fatto alloro (33v). And these men are not Moors, nor Pagans: I believe that if they received baptism they would all be saved, judging by the works that they do, because they don’t do to others anything that they would not want to be done to them. This is the most forthright commendation of a pagan people expressed anywhere in the Itinerario. Similar in spirit to Marco Polo’s remark that ‘Sergamo Borgani’ would rank among the great Christian saints had he only been baptised, Varthema’s comments on the Gujaratis show that he too harboured a notion of pagans so virtuous they deserved Paradise, yet he kept within Christian orthodoxy as to the need for baptism. What is curious is that Varthema cannot find a term to classify the Gujaratis adequately: they are not ‘gentili’ and not ‘mori’. He appears at a loss to find an appropriate term to denote the sort of positive image of pagan represented by the Gujaratis, a term to connote pagan and not idolater.

176  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario Andrea Corsali, writing from India six years later, would suggest Leonardo da Vinci as the closest comparison: Non si cibano di cosa alcuna che tenga sangue, né fra essi loro consentano che si noccia ad alcuna cosa animata, come il nostro Leonardo da Vinci. They don’t eat anything which has blood, nor among their own do they allow any living thing to be killed, just like our Leonardo da Vinci.30 Other contemporary accounts reveal a similar difficulty with classifying nonChristians. The Priest Joseph interview, as we have seen, gives an ambiguous historical definition of ‘gentili’ which makes the word synonymous with ancient idolaters. A letter attributed to Amerigo Vespucci also seems to assume that ‘gentile’ and ‘idolatro’ are synonyms. In the letter, the author refrains from terming a newly discovered people ‘gentili’ on the grounds that they seem not to worship anything, and defines them instead as Epicureans: In queste gente non conoscemmo che tenessino legge alcuna, né si posson dire mori né giudei e piggior che gentili, perché non vedemmo che facessino sacrificio alcuno, nec etiam non tenevono casa di orazione. La loro vita giudico essere epicurea. Regarding this people, we did not know if they adhered to any law, nor can they be called Moors nor Jews but they are worse than pagans, because we did not see them make any sacrifice at all, nor even did they have a house of prayer. I judge their life to be Epicurean.31 In this instance, a perceived lack of religious instinct and moral law causes the writer to rate these ‘Epicurean’ pagans as worse than idolaters. In the case of Varthema’s Gujaratis, their perceived obedience to the code of ‘Do as thou would be done by’ causes them to be placed on a higher spiritual level than the rest of the Indians, as contemporary examples of the traditional virtuous pagan type. Varthema introduces a third, much darker, model of Indian holiness in his account of the ‘Re de Ioghe’. Whilst the Gujaratis represent an ideal of life Varthema can approve of, the King of the Yogi is presented very much as embodying a disturbingly pagan notion of holiness (34v–35r). In some ways, Varthema’s representation of the King of the Yogi recalls depictions of the classical god Bacchus: he is itinerant, dressed in skins, and accompanied on the move by a band of bejewelled followers (some dressed ‘allapostolica’ – in apostolic style), and a menagerie of animals including leopards, parrots, monkeys and falcons.32 Sandalwood paste covers the bodies of the king and his noblemen, to add to the impression of wildness. Though Varthema does not draw any overt parallel, there is a similarity between the two figures in their freeness of life and menacing aura. Varthema represents the King of the Yogi as an example of what all pagan Indian rulers consider a holy way of life: ‘da li Re gentili lui col suo popolo e tenuto santo per la loro vita laqual intenderete’ (‘By the pagan kings, he and his people

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 177 are considered holy, on account of their life, about which you will hear’ 34v). This pattern of holiness includes pilgrimage, ascetic acts, begging for alms, as well as (the less saintly pastimes of) carrying weapons and trafficking jewels. Without condemning them outright, Varthema manages to convey scepticism about such ideas of ‘holiness’. His gloss on the yogis’ practice of pilgrimage is acerbic; they travel ‘come peregrino, cioe a spese daltri’ (‘like a pilgrim, that is, at the expense of others’; 34v). The phrasing of his introduction to the ascetic acts of this group is casual in tone, suggesting that their choice is whimsical: Alcuni de questi se piglia per deuotione de non sedere mai in cosa alta. Et alcuni altri hanno per diuotione de non sedere in terra. Alcuni de non star mai destesi in terra. Altri de non parlar mai (34v). Some of these seize upon not ever sitting on something high as their devotion; and some others have as devotion not sitting on the ground; some not ever being stretching out on the ground; others not ever speaking. Likewise, he undermines any holiness one might associate with their alms-seeking (‘elemosyna’) by likening their behaviour to the gypsies: ‘stanno tre giorni in vna Citta ad vsanza de Singani’ (‘they stay three days in a city, the way gypsies do’; 35r). Moreover, he portrays the king and his men as threatening figures ready to extort money from people. They have sinister weapons: clubs fitted with blades and other iron cutting devices (‘taglieri de ferro’) which they use when they want to provoke someone (‘quando vogliono offendere alcuna persona’; 35r). Varthema attributes the welcome accorded to the King of the Yogi and his people to fear rather than reverence: ‘ogni homo gli fa gran piacere, perche se ben amazzassero el primo gentilhomo della Terra non portano pena alcuna, perche dicono che sono Santi’ (‘every man does his best to please them, because even if they were to kill the leading gentleman in the land, they would pay no penalty, because they say that they are holy’; 35r). As we read further, the image of the King of the Yogi and his men darkens even more: they are held responsible for the deaths of two Milanese acquaintances of Varthema, murders reportedly instigated by local Muslims. The Indian holy men become Bacchic assassins of the most ruthless kind: hit-men for hire who drink the blood of their victims (79v).

Indian idolatry as benign devil worship Nowhere is Varthema’s ambivalence towards pagan religion more evident than in his portrayal of Indian idolatry. At first, his response appears unequivocally negative: in stark contrast to the slightly earlier Priest Joseph account, which had represented Indian idolatry as monotheistic and Trinitarian (and thus from a Christian perspective closer to ‘true’ worship), the Itinerario explicitly equates Indian idolatry with devil-worship. Although some previous Italian accounts of India had implied that pagan Indians worshipped the devil, Varthema is the first to say so point-blank. Even Odorico’s account of Indian religion had steered away

178  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario from such frank statement, preferring to talk in terms of Indian ‘idols’ and ‘their god’, despite the Franciscan missionary clearly considering pagan Indian religion to be demonic. Varthema, however, is not one for such niceties. Of the Indian king of Narsinga, he writes: ‘la fede sua si e idolatra, & adorano el Diauolo come fanno quelli de Calicut’ (‘His faith is idolatrous, and they worship the devil, like those in Calicut do’; 40r). Similarly, he describes the prayers of the ordinary people of Calicut as accompanied by ‘diabolical’ facial expressions: ‘fanno certi atti diabolici con li occhi’ (‘they do certain diabolical acts with their eyes’; 46r). However, what is extraordinary about Varthema’s representation of Indian religion is that after he has classified it as ‘devil-worship’, he then goes on to attempt to revise his readers’ preconceptions about ‘devil-worship’, toning down significantly the ‘demonic’ element in his representation of Calicut (India-wide) religion. The beginning of Varthema’s detailed treatment of pagan Indian religion is undeniably laced with references to devils and Satan, ‘diauoli’ and ‘Sathanas’. He describes the King of Calicut’s chapel thus: La Capella sua sie largha doi passi per ogni quadro & alta tre passi con vna porta de legno tutta intagliata de Diauoli de relieuo. In mezo de questa Capella sta vn Diauolo fatto de metallo a sedere in vna sedia pur de metallo. El ditto Diauolo si tiene vna Corona fatta a modo del regno Papale con tre corone, & tiene anchora quattro corna & quattro denti con vna grandissima bocca, naso & occhi terribilissimi; le mani sono fatte a modo de vno rarpino, gli piedi a modo de vn Gallo per modo che uederlo e vna cosa molto spauentosa. Intorno alla ditta capella le picture soe sonno tutte Diauoli. Et per ogni quadro de essa sta vno Sathanas a sedere in vna sedia, laqual sedia e posta in vna fiamma de focho, in el quale sta gran quantita de anime longhe mezo dito, & vno deto della mano. Et el ditto Sathanas con la man dritta tiene vna anima in bocca, & con laltra mano se piglia vna anima dalla banda de sotto (43r–43v). His chapel is two paces wide for each square of ground, and three paces high, with a wooden door all carved with devils in relief. In the middle of this chapel is a devil made of metal, sitting on a throne also of metal. The aforementioned devil has a crown, made in the manner of the Papal Kingdom, with three crowns; and he also has four horns, and four teeth, with an enormous mouth, and the most terrifying nose and eyes; his hands are fashioned like a flesh-hook, the feet like a cock, so that it is a very frightening thing to look at. Around the aforementioned chapel, the pictures are all of devils, and for every square of it there is a Satan sitting on a throne, which is placed in a flame of fire, in which are a great number of souls half-a-finger and one-digit long. And the aforementioned Satan with his right hand holds one soul in his mouth, and with the other hand he seizes a soul from the group below. It is hard not to see a similarity between Varthema’s description of the Calicut chapel’s Sathanas and traditional Latin Christian Last Judgment depictions of Satan devouring souls, such as can still be viewed in the Florentine baptistery.

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 179 An intriguing question is whether Varthema’s account of the chapel’s iconography is purely fantastical or based on empirical reality. Over thirty years ago, the evident similarities between Varthema’s ‘diauoli’ and popular Latin Christian images of devils led Partha Mitter to interpret the chapel passage as an example of Indian gods being dressed up in western iconographical garb.33 Mitter’s argument was essentially that preconceptions and prejudice forced Varthema to substitute ‘a European devil for an Indian god’, a natural thing to do (in the critic’s view) since ‘to Varthema Indian gods could not be anything but demons’.34 Since then, Rubiés has convincingly countered Mitter’s claim that Varthema’s Indian idol ‘owed a great deal more to Western tradition than to the Indian’ by pointing out that ‘much of Varthema’s description of the Calicut gods’ could be applied ‘without excessive violence to representations of Narasimha, the lion-like incarnation of Vishnu Narasimha represented in many temples in Kerala’.35 In identifying the Indian gods with popular images of the devil, it seems that Varthema the eyewitness reporter may not have been going greatly against his own empirical evidence. While Varthema’s account of the physical attributes of the Calicut gods may not be a simple one-way case of Orientalism, his Indian god-devil equation had an undeniable influence on later (non-Italian) representations of Indian life, both literary and pictorial.36 Illustrated editions of the Itinerario were not produced in Italy during the sixteenth century, but the 1515 Augsburg edition was adorned with two woodcuts of the Calicut idol: the first depicts a seated, horned and tiara-wearing figure in the process of devouring souls, while a veiled servant figure distributes incense; the second is a more stately scene showing a horned, claw-footed creature, sitting on a throne and receiving a petition from a kneeling figure, while other half-naked courtiers appear to look on. Later in the sixteenth century, Münster’s Cosmographia would contain its own illustration of the tiarawearing, half-man, half bird-like idol of Calicut inspired by Varthema’s account (Figure 9.1).37 Although aspects of Varthema’s use of imagery do indeed invite readers (and illustrators) to think of Indian gods as hell demons, other elements in the passage on the Calicut gods indicate that its intended effect may have been rather different. If we look at the framing of the chapel passage, the extent to which Varthema attempts to pre-empt and modify potential pre-conceptions about the horrors of devil-worship becomes evident. First, he signals to the reader that not all devilworship is alike; the Indian form, represented by the Calicut king’s practice, is a particular type: ‘adora el diauolo in el modo che intenderete’ (‘they worship the devil in the manner you will hear about’; 43r). Next, Varthema proceeds to define this particularity with an account of pagan Indian theology which dilutes the demonic nature of the ‘devil’ worshipped. The pagan Indians turn out to believe in one Creator God whose deputy is the devil they worship, a spirit sent to mete out justice on earth: Loro confessano che vn Dio che ha creato el cielo & la terra & tutto el mondo, & dicono, che se lui volesse iudicare voi & mi, el terzo, el quarto, che non haueria piacere alcuno de essere signore. Ma che lui ha mandato questo

180  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario spirito suo, cioe el diauolo, in questo mondo a far iustitia e ha chi fa bene li fa bene & a chi fa male li fa male. El qual loro lo chiamano el Deumo; & Dio chiamano, Tamerani (43r).38 They confess that there is one God who created the heaven and the earth, and the entire world; and they say that if he wanted to judge you, and me, the third and the fourth, he would not have any pleasure at all in being Lord. Instead he has sent this spirit of his, that is, the devil, into this world to dispense justice; and to whoever does good, he does good, and to whoever does evil, he does evil. This one they call ‘Deumo’, and God they call ‘Tamerani’. For Varthema, pagan Indian religion has a quasi-Epicurean idea of a distant God, but it is not this God but his spirit – the ‘Deumo’, or devil as Varthema glosses it – whom the Indians worship: the wild-eyed, hook-handed, cockerel-footed figure who takes centre-stage in the Calicut king’s chapel. Terrifying as the appearance of this ‘devil’ might be, his role, according to Varthema, is essentially a good one: to reward the good and punish the bad. Even within the Latin Christian tradition devils had various functions; they were not just tempters but also ministers of God’s wrath (like the devils responsible for keeping (dis)order in

Figure 9.1 The Calicut idol described by Varthema, from Münster’s Cosmographia (Basle: H. Petrus, 1552). Cambridge University Library.

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 181 Dante’s Malebolge). Varthema’s explanation of the pagan Indians’ theological beliefs dresses the devil in his best clothes. Appropriately then, it is the Satan of the Last Judgment, the Satan who dispenses God’s justice on the wicked not the Satan Prince of Darkness active in the world, that the figures on the temple dedicated to the Deumo recall. As Varthema’s depiction of pagan Indian religion continues, it is noteworthy that it has fewer of the traditional trappings of idolatry as devil-worship. There is animal sacrifice – a cockerel is slaughtered and its blood burnt in offering – but no human sacrifice (in contrast to Odorico, Mandeville, and Poggio). There is no suggestion of a demon speaking through the idol (as in Odorico), nor even of a possession-type episode whereby the idolaters communicate with their god, found both in Priest Joseph’s and Poggio’s accounts. Instead, the grand finale of the sacrificial rite Varthema treats as typical has the priest leaving the altar with two handfuls of grain, which he then throws into the air above a special tree (42v–43r). Had Varthema wished to portray pagan Indian religion as thoroughly diabolical, he could have chosen to dwell on more extreme and violent practices. Yet in contrast to virtually all previous accounts of Indian worship, Varthema’s has no suggestion of holy torture. In the course of a sacrifice the priests may make some ritual movements with a knife ‘come colui che vol giocare de scrima’ (‘like one who wants to swordfight’; 42v), but that is all they do with it. Moreover, Varthema’s only report of Indian self-mutilation comes not in a religious context but in a romantic one: a young man proving the greatness of his love for a woman. But this – together with the other ‘horrendous’ (‘horrendo’; 60v) practice of widow-burning – is represented as specific to the city of Tarnasseri, where sexual mores and dress are also said to deviate a little from the Calicut norm. Violence to self is not presented as characteristic of Calicut religious practice, which Varthema treats as standard for the whole of India. Varthema’s ambivalent attitude to Indian ‘devil-worship’ is once more evident in the only account of an Indian religious festival he chooses to give in the Itinerario (54r–54v). Again, instead of devil-worship inspiring violence and disorder, the aim of this festival in honour of the ‘Sathanas’ is purification and reconciliation. People come for purposes of absolution – ‘a pigliare il perdono’ (‘to get a pardon’), and for the three days of the festival blood feuds are forbidden: ‘non se pò far vendetta l’vno con l’altro’ (‘they can’t carry out vendettas against each other’; 54v). Significantly, Varthema dates the start of the festival to 25 December; with the Christmas period, this Indian festival shares the characteristic of being a time of good will. Varthema’s depiction of the Indian event also focuses on harmonious elements in its setting – the classical appearance of the temple ‘fatto a l’antica con due mani de colonne, como e S. Ioanne in Fonte de Roma’ (‘done in the ancient manner with two series of columns, like St John in the spring of Rome [i.e. the Lateran baptistery]’; 54r); its position in a pool of water; the abundance of trees and the innumerable oil lamps. Pride of place in the description goes to purification rituals and not to sacrifices:

182  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario infra ciaschuna delle colonne del circulo de basso stanno alchune nauicelle de pietra, lequale sono longhe dui passi, & sono piene d’vno certo oglio, el qual se chiama Enna [. . .] & prima che facciano il sacrificio tutti se lauano in nel Tancho, & poi gli Bramini principali del Re montano a cauallo delle barchette prenominate doue sta l’oglio & tutto questo popolo viene alli ditti Bramini, liquali a ciascuno ongeno la testa de quello oglio, & poi fanno el sacrificio su quello altare prefato. In capo de vna banda de questo altare sta vn grandissimo Sathanas, loquale tutti vanno adorare, & poi ciascuno ritorna al suo camino (54r–54v). Between each of the columns of the lower circle stand some little ships made of stone, which are two paces long, and they are full of a certain oil, which is called ‘Enna’ [. . .] and before they do the sacrifice everyone washes themselves in the Tank, and then the chief Brahmins of the King mount the aforementioned little boats, where the oil is, and then they do the sacrifices on the altar mentioned earlier. At the top of a section of this altar stands an enormous Satan, which everyone goes to worship, and then each one goes on his way again. A curious episode recounted towards the end of the Itinerario even allows Varthema to suggest that Indians, both pagan and Muslim, are spiritually receptive to Christianity. The point is made indirectly, through the medium of two Muslim Indian acquaintances that come to him after defeat by the Portuguese, to discuss a vision they allegedly had had during the battle. To add a flavour of authenticity to the episode, Varthema once more uses the narrative device of flipping between an account of the original conversation in his version of Malayalam, and Italian translations. The gist of the episode is that, after some initial confusion, Varthema convinces the Indian Muslims that the warrior they had seen in their vision was the Portuguese God. They agree and add that the Naeri, local pagan gentlemensoldiers, had also said the same. The report of the pagan Indians’ confession has them proclaim the superiority of the Latin Christian religion over all others: ‘tutti gli Naeri diceuano, che quello non era Portoghese, ma ch’e el Dio loro, & che era meglio el Dio de Christiani che’l suo’ (‘All the Naeri said that the man was not a Portuguese, but rather he was their God, and that the God of the Christians was better than their own’; 84r).

Widow-burning in a new religious and social context A final contribution of the Itinerario to the store of images of pagan Indians is his novel treatment of the widow-burning motif. Varthema represents widowburning as a regionally and socially specific custom, connected not with Calicut (the norm for Indian behaviour) but only with the city of Tarnasseri. It is not regarded as endemic to all levels of pagan Indian society, but limited to a particular social group, namely the most sophisticated classes: ‘chi fa tal morte sono li piu gentili della terra, & non lo fanno cosi tutti in generale’ (‘those who

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 183 do such a death are the most refined in the land; it is not done by everyone in general’; 60v). (Here, ‘gentile’ is being used not to mean ‘idolater’ but as an adjective equivalent to ‘refined’.) The social standing of the widows is further underlined by the report of the king’s attendance at such occasions. Considering Ania Loomba’s observation that most European accounts of widow-burning fail to grasp ‘the specific social, economic, and ideological framework in which they are embedded’, it is significant that Varthema places such emphasis on suttee’s association with nobility.39 Besides making widow-burning an exclusively upper-class custom, Varthema places the practice more firmly within a religious context than any previous Latin Christian writer. A Calicut-style sacrifice is made to the Deumo; men dressed as devils breathe fire; musical instruments play, whilst the widow dances back and forth asking the devil-men for their prayers. Specifically, she begs them to ask the Deumo to accept her as his: ‘li dice, che preghino el Deumo che la voglia accettare per sua’ (‘She asks them to petition the Deumo to want to accept her as his own’; 60v). Like the missionary Jordanus before him, Varthema insists that the widow goes to her death willingly (‘voluntarosamente’) in expectation of entering heaven: ‘non crediate perho che costei stia de mala voglia: anci pare a lei, ch allhor allhora sia portata in cielo’ (‘Don’t believe, however, that she is there unwillingly: on the contrary, it seems to her that at any moment she’ll be carried off into heaven’; 60v). However, he adds the revelatory detail that the widow is high on betel leaf at the time: ‘mangia assai Bettole, & ne mangia tante che la fanno vscire del sentimento suo’ (‘She eats a fair amount of Betel, and she eats so much of it as to be made insensible’; 60r). Varthema’s description also emphasises the family’s complicity in the death of the widow. As Tafur had in the fifteenth century, Varthema portrays the event as an important family occasion. Fifteen days after her husband’s funeral, the widow summons all her extended family on both sides to a banquet, after which they go to her husband’s cremation spot at the same hour of night when his corpse was burnt. Whilst the widow puts on all her jewels and gold, the relatives are charged with digging a ditch inside which they make a fire of aromatic woods. Later, the widow’s closest relatives will help speed up her death by throwing clubs on her when she jumps into the fire. Ultimately, the widow’s willingness to die such a death is attributed not to religious or even romantic motives but to social pressure: ‘non facendo questo ditta donna saria tenuta fra lor come a noi vna publica meretrice, & li parenti suoi la fariano morire’ (‘if she didn’t do this, the woman in question would be regarded like a public prostitute among them, and her relatives would have her killed’; 60v). It is a case of choosing death before dishonour. The shifting perspective evident in Varthema’s account of widow-burning is characteristic of his approach to pagan Indian society as a whole. Whether Indian holy men, sexual mores or ‘devil-worship’ be the subject, as a writer Varthema seeks to maintain the element of surprise. He continually unsettles previous ideas, both those of inherited tradition and ideas he himself has introduced in the course of the narrative. His most significant contributions to the store of ideas

184  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario about India were his positing of Calicut society as an India-wide norm of behaviour and in his vivid account of Indian religion, where he appears to have been both the first Renaissance author to give a detailed iconographical description of an Indian idol, and the first to venture an explanation, which is not cryptoChristian, of how contemporary pagan Indians see the inter-relationship between God, Man and the Devil (the Calicut ‘Deumo’). In the spirit of restlessness and enquiry which pervades his book, Varthema’s ‘new Ulysses’ reputation seems amply justified.

Notes   1 References to the Itinerario in this chapter are to the Venice, 1535 edition and translations are mine, unless otherwise indicated. The British Library houses a copy of the Rome, 1510 first edition. For a more accessible edition, see Bacchi Della Lega (1969), which is based principally on the 1517 edition printed in Venice.   2 Badger (1863), p. i–xvi; Cordier (1899); Donattini (1992), p.108; and Bacchi Della Lega (1969), p. xxxvi–xxxvii.   3 Compiled in collaboration with Sebastian Münster, Huttich’s Novus Orbis contained no previously unpublished material. For more details, see Lach (1965): I 179–180.   4 I refer to Rubiés (2000), p. 131–132.   5 Aubin (1993), p.44 & n.40.   6 ‘In questo zorno fo in colegio, da poi disnar, uno bolognese, venuto di Coloqut. Referì molte cosse di quelle parte; adeo tutti rimaseno stupidi di li ritti e costumi de India. Et per colegio li fo donato ducati 25 per il suo referir’ (‘On this day, after lunch, there was in the college a Bolognese come from Calicut. He reported many things about those parts; so much so that everyone remained astonished by the rites and customs of India. And 25 ducats were given to him by the college for his report’); Sanuto’s diary: Fulin (1882): VII, col. 662.   7 Bacchi Della Lega (1969), p.xxxviii; Badger (1863), p. 49–51.  8 A conversation with Federico da Montefeltro about Asia is credited with having inspired Pius II’s book on the subject, while the condottiere’s copy of Poggio’s Indian account is one of the rare manuscripts with annotations; Casella (1972 [1974]), p. 43–44; O’Doherty (2013), p.189.   9 Richardson (2009), p.2 & p.88. 10 From one of two sonnets in praise of the author, preceding the manuscript copy of the Itinerario. For full text of the poems and Varthema’s letter to Vittoria Colonna, see Giudici (1928; repr. 1956), p. 25–26 & p. 26–27, n.1. 11 On Ulysses in the classical Latin tradition and Dante, see Durling (1996): I, p. 571–573. 12 Bembo eventually published his views on correct Tuscan as Le Prose della volgar lingua in 1525, but he had made a name for himself as an expert on the subject at least twenty years before; Kidwell (2004), p. 223–224. See also Mazzacurati (1964) for Bembo’s role in the Renaissance questione della lingua debate. 13 Giudici (1928; repr. 1956), p.27, n.1. 14 Rubiés (2000), p.126 (n.5). 15 Garcia da Orta, Coloquios das simples e drogas da India (Goa: 1563), 29v–30r; Lach (1965): I, p.165 (n.62). Modern scholars have likewise questioned the authenticity of several sections of Varthema’s story, especially his alleged travels east of the Indian subcontinent, which do not seem possible within the time frame of the narrative. One response to the problem regards Varthema’s travels as basically authentic, if inaccurate or embroidered in parts, and squeezed to fit narrative demands (Lach (1965): I, p.165 (n.62) and Giudici (1928; repr. 1956), p.41). A much sterner view is taken by Jean

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 185 Aubin for whom the Itinerario is ‘un livre très infidèle’ (‘a very treacherous book’) which nevertheless contains some remarkable observations. He casts doubt not only on the journey east of India but on the Italian’s travels in Iran, in Ceylon, to the north of Malabar and on the Coromandel Coast, further proposing that the Persian merchant who instigates these journeys is a literary creation (Aubin (1993), p. 35–41). A compromise position is held by Rubiés who, whilst agreeing that there are obvious fictional elements in the Arabian sections and inconsistencies in the rest, views the journeys east of India as a ‘sustained and informed fiction’ but sees no need to doubt the authenticity of Varthema’s travels in the Indian subcontinent itself (Rubiés (2000), p.128). The debate over the historicity of Varthema’s travels, however, does not alter the significance of his book as a source of Renaissance attitudes to the contemporary non-Christian world. 16 Rubiés (2000), p. 127 and p.151 (n.61). 17 43v–44r, 45v & 46v. 18 On the concept of virtù, see Skinner (1978), p. 88–101. 19 Varthema’s ‘local’ language is not a complete fabrication but contains some recognisably Malayallam words; Aubin (1993), p.40 (n.36). In Ramusio’s version of this passage, the ‘local’ language element has been edited out. 20 In the city of Tarnassari alone, Varthema claims that the duty of deflowering the queen is given not to Brahmins but to visiting white foreigners. White foreigners similarly initiate ordinary Tarnassari virgins into sex; as a consequence, Varthema, in the spirit of Latin machismo, alleges that the local women cannot get enough of the whites: ‘le donne hariano voluto che la prima notte hauesse durata vn mese’ (‘They wanted the first night to have lasted a month’; 59v). 21 ‘Stracchi gia de simile seruitio che de sopra haueti inteso’ (61v): ‘Shattered already by a similar service about which you’ve heard above’. Women fall for Varthema and men offer their womenfolk to him on several occasions in the book, the most notorious example being the episode with the queen of Arabia felice (23r–25r). 22 Aquilecchia (2000), p. 453–462. 23 Alessandro Sardi, De moribus et ritibus gentium (Venice: Giordano Zilleti, 1557). 24 Richardson (2000), p. 203–204. 25 On Renaissance notions of good conduct in women, see Knox (2000) and Zarri (2000). 26 Rubiés (2000), p. 131–132. 27 55r–55v. 28 2r, 62r, 69v, 84r–84v, 85v. 29 Aubin (1993), p. 42–43; Grossato (1994), n.23. 30 Corsali’s letter as reprinted in Ramusio (1979): II, p.31. On Corsali, see Chapter 10. 31 Lettera di Amerigo Vespucci delle isole nuovamente trovate in quattro suoi viaggi in Pozzi (1993), p.144. 32 On representations of Bacchus in the Renaissance, see Tresidder, (1981) and Freedman (2003). 33 Mitter (1977), p. 17–18. 34 Mitter (1997), p.18. 35 Mitter (1997), p.291, n.44; Rubiés (2000), p.156; p. 158–159. 36 Mitter (1997), p. 18–27. As Mitter (1997) notes (p.23), Sir Thomas Herbert’s early seventeenth-century account of the Calicut idol is clearly modelled on Varthema’s description. 37 See Mitter (1997), figures [11], [12] and [16], p. 19–20 & 27. 38 This passage appears to be a garbled version of various authentic Hindu beliefs. Varthema’s ‘Tamerani’ and ‘Deumo’ may also be bastardisations of words in Malayalam used (respectively) as a title of honour and for a minor god; Rubiés (2000), p.157; Mitter (1997), p.17. 39 Loomba (1993), p.209.

186  Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario

References Aquilecchia, G. (2000) Aretino’s Sei giornate: literary parody and social reality. In: Panizza, L. (ed.) Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society. Oxford: Legenda, 2000. Aubin, J. (1993) Deux chrétiens au Yemen tāhiride. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society. 3rd series. 3. p. 33­–52. Bacchi Della Lega, A. (ed.) (1969) Itinerario di Ludovico di Varthema. Scelta di curiosità letterarie inedite o rare Bologna: Commissione per i testi di lingua. Badger, G. P. (ed.) (1863) The Travels of Ludovico di Varthema in Egypt, Syria, Arabia Deserta and Arabia Felix, in Persia, India and Ethiopia, A. D. 1503 to 1508. Trans. from the Italian by John Winter Jones. London: Hakluyt Society. Casella, N. (1972 [1974]) Pio II tra geografia e storia: la “Cosmographia”. Archivio della Società Romana di Storia Patria. 3rd series. 26. p. 35–112. Cordier, H. (1899) Deux voyageurs dans l’extrême-orient [. . .] Essai Bibliographique: Nicolò de’ Conti – Lodovico De Varthema’. T’oung pao. 10. p. 380–404. Leide. Donattini, M. (1992) Orizzonti geografici dell’editoria italiana (1493–1560). In: Prosperi, A. & Reinhard, W. (eds) Il nuovo mondo nella coscienza italiana e tedesca del cinquecento. Bologna: Il Mulino. Durling, R. M. (1996) Ulysses’ Last Voyage. In: Durling, R. M. (ed. & trans.) (1996–2011) The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri (Vols 1–3). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Freedman, L. (2003) Michelangelo’s reflections on Bacchus. Artibus et Historiae, 24, p. 121–135. Fulin, R. et al. (eds) (1879–1903) I Diarii di Marino Sanuto (MCCCCXLVI–MDXXXIII) (Vols 1–58). Venice: Visentini. Giudici, P. (ed) (1928; repr. 1956) Itinerario di Ludovico de Varthema Bolognese nello Egypto, nella Suria, nella Arabia deserta et felice, nella Persia, nella India et nella Ethiopia. La fede, el vivere et costumi de tutte le prefate provincie. Milan: Alpes/Istituto editoriale italiano. Grossato, A (ed. & trans.) (1994) L’India di Nicolò de’ Conti: Un manoscritto del Libro IV del ‘De Varietate Fortunae’ di Francesco Poggio Bracciolini da Terranova (Marc. 2560). Helios, 4. Padua: Studio Editoriale Programma. Huttich, J. (1532) Novus Orbis Regionum ac Insularum veteribus incognitarum. Basle: Hervagius. Kidwell, C. (2004) Pietro Bembo, Lover, Linguist, Cardinal. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Knox, D. (2000) Civility, courtesy, and women in the Italian Renaissance. In Panizza, L. (ed.) Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society. Oxford: Legenda, 2000. Lach, D. F. with Van Kley, E. J. (1965–93) Asia in the Making of Europe (Vols 1–9). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Loomba, A. (1993). Dead women tell no tales: Issues of female subjectivity, subaltern agency and tradition in colonial and post-colonial writings on widow immolation in India. History Workshop Journal, 36. p. 209–227. Mazzacurati, G. (1964) Pietro Bembo e la questione del ‘volgare’. Naples: Liguori. Mitter, P. (1977) Much Maligned Monsters: History of European Reactions to Indian Art. Oxford: Clarendon. O’Doherty, M. (2013) The Indies and the Medieval West: Thought, Report, Imagination. Turnhout, BE: Brepols. Pozzi, M. (ed.) (1993) Il mondo nuovo di Amerigo Vespucci: scritti vespucciani e paravespucciani. 2nd edn. Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso.

Ludovico De Varthema’s Itinerario 187 Ramusio, G. B. (1978–1988) Navigazioni e viaggi (Vols 1–6), ed. M Milanesi. Turin: Einaudi. Richardson, B. (2009) Manuscript Culture in Renaissance Italy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Richardson, B. (2000) “Amore maritale”: advice on love and marriage in the second half of the Cinquecento. In: Panizza, L. (ed.) Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society. Oxford: Legenda. Rubiés, J.-P. (2000) Travel and Ethnology in the Renaissance: South India through European Eyes, 1250–1625. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sardi, A. (1557) De moribus et ritibus gentium. Venice: Giordano Zilleti. Skinner, Q. (1978) The Foundations of Modern Political Thought. Volume One: The Renaissance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tresidder, W. (1981) The cheetahs in Titian’s Bacchus and Ariadne. The Burlington Magazine. 123. p. 481–485. Varthema, Ludovico De (1535) Itinerario de Ludovico de Varthema Bolognese nello Egitto, nella Soria nella Arabia deserta, et felice nella Persia, nella India et nela Ethyopia. Venice: Bindone. Zarri, G. (2000) Christian good manners: spiritual and monastic rules in the Quattro- and Cinquecento. In: Panizza, L. (ed.) Women in Italian Renaissance Culture and Society. Oxford: Legenda.

10 A polyphony of modern voices Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians

‘Cose alli desiderosi di maggior intelligenza di poco profitto’ (‘Matters for those desirous of more information of little worth’): with these words the Venetian humanist and civil servant Giovanni Battista Ramusio (1485–1557) dismissed the bulk of a recent history of the Portuguese Indies written by its official chronicler, João de Barros (c. 1496–1570). Ramusio’s comment came in an editorial note to the reader, prefacing some extracts from Barros’ Décadas da Ásia that the Venetian had decided to include in his monumental collection of exploration literature, Delle navigationi et viaggi.1 Published in Venice between 1550 and 1559, this three-volume collection, largely of modern travel accounts in Tuscan translation, offered readers the most comprehensive vision of a world which, only relatively recently, had been circumnavigated.2 The Navigationi came complete with maps by the cartographer Giacomo Gastaldi (Figure 10.1), and each volume, broadly speaking, covered a separate geographical region: Africa and Southern Asia in the first, Central Asia and the North in the second, whilst the third was primarily concerned with the Americas. The first of these volumes, which included most of the collection’s material on India, proved particularly successful: a second edition (extended to include the selections from Barros’ history) followed in 1554, just four years after the first. This was reprinted again, with minor changes (such as the disclosure of Ramusio’s identity as editor), in 1563, 1588, 1606 and 1613. Ramusio’s editorial efforts thus continued to have an influence on Italian visions of India, long after his own death in 1557, print runs averaging in this period over 1,000 copies, rising to 2,000–3,000 copies if confident of sales.3 Ramusio’s collection presented readers with a polyphony of modern voices on the shape of the world. One voice that is particularly significant in terms of later developments in attitudes towards India is that of Andrea Corsali, envoy of Pope Leo X to Ethiopia. Corsali wrote his succinct letter on Indian affairs from Cochin in 1516, and addressed it to Duke Giuliano de’ Medici. In the letter to the duke, he expresses urbane appreciation of pagan Indian art and concern over the Portuguese destruction of Indian antiquities (rare sentiments which would find an echo, much later in the century, in the letters of another Florentine, Filippo Sassetti). Corsali shows himself to be a true son of Florence, cradle of Renaissance art, in the way he extols the craftsmanship of an Indian temple while impugning the Portuguese for a lack of sensibility:

© The British Library Board, G.6820, (2nd and after 34).

Figure 10.1  Seconda Tavola with map of India, from Ramusio’s Delle navigationi et viaggi. 3rd edition.

190  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians hanno i Portoghesi per edificare la terra di Goa, distrutto vn tempio antico, detto Pagode, ch’era con marauiglioso artificio fabricato, con figure antiche di certa pietra nera lauorate di grandissima perfettione, delle quali alcune ne restano in piedi ruinate, & guaste, però che questi Portoghesi, non le tengono in stima alcuna (178v). to build the land of Goa, the Portuguese have destroyed an ancient temple, called ‘pagode’, which had been marvellously well-fashioned, with ancient figures of a certain black stone worked to the greatest perfection; of these, some now remain upstanding, ruined and wrecked, because these Portuguese do not have any regard at all for them. As with much of the Indian material printed in Ramusio’s collection, Corsali’s letter had already been published, in Florence in 1517.4 Other previously published works selected to appear in the Navigationi were Poggio’s geographical piece, Varthema’s Itinerario, the Sernigi letter, the Anonymous Narrative of Cabral’s expedition, Marco Polo’s book and two versions of Odorico’s relatio.5 But the first edition of Volume One of the Navigationi (1550) also contained three hitherto unpublished Portuguese accounts of India, by Tomé Lopez, Duarte Barbosa and Tomé Pires, respectively. It was these Portuguese accounts, together with the selections from Barros added in 1554, which contributed something new to the store of images of Indians in Italy. Their inclusion in the Navigationi gave Italian readers in the latter part of the sixteenth century an opportunity to experience the Portuguese perspective(s) on eastern peoples in unprecedented detail, enabling them to assess for themselves whether the Portuguese were in truth so lacking in cultural sensitivity towards the Indians, as Andrea Corsali had implied.6 This chapter examines Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance Italian ideas of Indians from a dual perspective. The first part takes a bird’s eye view of Ramusio’s voyage literature collection in order to examine the nature of the Venetian civil servant’s interest in India, while the second part narrows the focus to the question of what specifically the sixteenth-century Portuguese accounts included in the Navigationi added to previous understandings of contemporary India. While the collection as a whole is a reminder of the profoundly cosmopolitan outlook of sixteenth-century Venetian citizens like Ramusio, the Portuguese accounts he chose to translate reveal that Portugal’s commercial, religious and political interests in the East did not necessarily lead their citizens to adopt a patronising attitude towards pagan Indians, even if Barros’ official chronicle of Portuguese activities in India manifests such a tendency.

Superseding the Ancients Ramusio’s interest in India was subordinate to a number of other desires. What he was concerned to do in the Navigationi, and what determined his sense of the ‘profitable’, was to produce a sourcebook of modern geographical information that would be able to replace the ancient geographies.7 As his publisher, Tommaso

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 191 Giunti, put it in an additional preface to the 1563 edition, the Navigationi aimed to make even Ptolemy and Strabo obsolete: talche non havesse fatto piu dibisogno leggere, ne Tolomeo, ne Strabone, ne Plinio, ne alcun’ altro de gli antichi scrittori intorno alle cose di Geografia. so that one would no more need to read neither Ptolemy, nor Strabo, nor Pliny, nor any other of the ancient writers concerning matters of geography. At the peak of his career, Ramusio was secretary to the Venetian State and Pietro Bembo’s deputy in the administration of the Venetian State’s library. He belonged to an educated humanist circle that had closely followed the explorations, and, while he was respectful of classical antiquity, he also had an acute sense that the geographical discoveries made in his time surpassed anything done in the classical age.8 Unlike the German cleric Johannes Boemus, a Venetian translation of whose Omnium gentium mores had been published in 1542,9 Ramusio did not serve up to readers tales pilfered from Strabo, as though they represented the contemporary state of affairs. The preference in the Venetian’s collection is overwhelmingly for modern, eyewitness reports of the world. Interspersed between these accounts in the Navigationi are numerous discourses where Ramusio repeatedly makes the point that ancient geographical knowledge is faulty and has been surpassed: nè da Greci, nè da Latini, nè da alcun’altra sorte di scrittori, si legga, infino al presente, cosa alcuna degna di consideratione. not in the Greeks, nor in the Latins, nor in any other sort of writer, could one read, until now, anything at all worthy of consideration.10 One motive for Ramusio’s compilation was thus a desire to make up for the failures of ancient geographical accounts. This was a weakness which Poggio had rather audaciously signalled around the mid-fifteenth century, but which over sixty years of maritime explorations now gave Ramusio the confidence to proclaim so forthrightly. Although perhaps the accepted norm in Venetian humanist circles, outside such circles this was still a bold thing to do. In his rejection of classical authority for the study of geography, for example, Ramusio went much further than another distinguished contemporary, the Swiss humanist Sebastian Münster. Münster split the Indian section of his Cosmographia into two parts: one follows Boemus in reproducing an idealised image of the Indians, derived largely from Strabo, to which Münster added the familiar medieval legacy of fabulous creatures and monsters; the second is a condensed version of Varthema’s account of Calicut (illustrated, as noted earlier, with a woodcut based on the Italian’s description of the ‘Deumo’). Münster’s approach irritated the Portuguese humanist Damião de Goís, who reproached the Swiss for writing about places he had never visited.11 By focusing on eyewitness reports, and by leaving them as source materials rather than attempting to write a new cosmography himself, Ramusio could avoid the criticism levelled at his contemporary across the Alps. By producing his

192  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians sourcebook in the vernacular, Ramusio made it accessible to a wide audience, an audience whom Ramusio, who was in correspondence with writers in the Old and New World, envisaged to be a global community of the ‘studious’.12 Any interest in Indians or other peoples in the collection is thus subordinate to the greater design to serve human knowledge. Yet Ramusio was selective about the type of knowledge he wished to further; what he dismissed from Barros’ history gives an indication of his tastes. The parts of Barros’ history Ramusio chose to exclude as ‘unprofitable’ were its accounts of Portuguese military successes abroad. Within the sections he reproduced, there is occasional evidence of further editorial censorship. For example, in one extract on Indian customs, Ramusio cuts an introductory digression in which Barros fulminates against the Protestants and lauds Portugal’s evangelising mission.13 Later in the century, another Italian trained in the studia humanitatis would display similar misgivings about Barros’ history. Writing from India to a correspondent back home, Filippo Sassetti wittily complains about the nationalist lack of sophistication tainting Barros’ history of the Indies: gli inglesi dicono ‘Oh, come sarebbe questo bell’uomo se ‘e fusse inghilese!’ E di questa storia si potrebbe dire: ‘Oh, come sarebbe bella se ella non fusse portoghese!’ E non si referisca questo alla lingua, ma a’ concetti e a’ modi osservati da lui. The English say, ‘Oh, think what this handsome man would be like if only he were English!’ And of this history you could say, ‘Oh, think how beautiful it would be if it wasn’t Portuguese!’ And this applies not only to the language, but to the concepts and style observed by him.14 Returning to Ramusio, it is his fervent desire for his collection to serve humanitas, in the sense of the body of human learning, which explains the frustration he periodically expresses at the Christian princes whom he sees as not doing enough to further geographical knowledge.15 He even reproaches the Portuguese, who are otherwise upheld as a model, for a lack of ambition in not having yet explored Cathay.16 But their most serious offence, in the Venetian humanist’s eyes, is that of not leaving an adequate literary legacy. To Ramusio, who had applied Bembo’s linguistic strictures in order to produce a stylistically uniform collection of voyage literature in elegant literary Tuscan, the Portuguese narratives of their overseas adventures lacked coherence and good style: ‘se fussero piu ordinate, & meglio scritte’ is his lament (‘If only they were more orderly and better written’; 119r).17 More significantly, he not only criticises the Portuguese explicitly for having written poorly about their Indian affairs but also for not writing scientifically enough, for not, for example, having insisted their captains record longitudes and latitudes in their reports ‘per memoria eterna alli posteri del loro glorioso nome’ (‘to preserve for posterity the eternal memory of their glorious name’; 119r). A common-place of much Renaissance history writing is that the aim of historia is to celebrate the deeds of great men and preserve their memory, but Ramusio additionally

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 193 emphasises historia’s role in the preservation of knowledge: he blames Europe’s long lack of awareness of the existence of the Indie Occidentali precisely on an absence of written records. For Ramusio, intellectual curiosity and generosity of spirit are pre-requisites of ‘greatness’. By failing to impart to others sufficiently detailed factual information about the lands they have been exploring, he implies that the Portuguese have put their future reputation at risk. He even complains that the respected Portuguese humanist Damião de Goís’ account of the siege of Diu is but ‘vna minima particella rispetto a quello che l’huomo desidereria di leggere di cosi grandi, & infiniti paesi’ (‘a miniscule part compared to what man would want to read about such great and infinite countries’; 119r). Disappointment with the quality of Portuguese writing on Indian customs also appears at least partially responsible for Ramusio’s inclusion of Varthema’s Itinerario alongside the Portuguese accounts of India (147r). Although Ramusio does not say so explicitly, he was too experienced a civil servant not to have realised that providing readers with trustworthy geographical information about regions of the world beyond Europe would facilitate European trade with and conquest of such regions. Ramusio himself was not at all opposed to the idea of Europeans colonising the rest of the world. Though he may have had reservations about their contribution to scholarship, he took a positive view of Portuguese imperialism, painting the opening up of an all-sea route to India by the Portuguese as a return to an imagined classical Golden Age: auanti la uenuta di detti Barbari, quando fioriua l’imperio Romano, in tutte l’Indie orientali, per mare sicuramente si poteua nauigare (371r). Before the arrival of the aforementioned barbarians, while the Roman Empire flourished, one could safely sail by sea to the entire East Indies. The Spice Trade discourse offers the fullest expression of Ramusio’s vision of European expansion as a fact-finding, civilising and Christianising mission (371r–375r). A speech recounted as the views of an unnamed ‘gentilhuomo, grandissimo philosopho, & mathematico’ (‘gentleman, greatest of philosophers and mathematician’; 373r) favourably compares the Lusitanians to the ancient Romans, seeing their overseas exploits as heroic deeds in the service of Christ, for which all learned men should be grateful. The kings of Portugal are praised for preferring to spend their money on the discovery of the world than on waging wars against their fellow Christians.18 They are lauded for bringing Christianity to these new lands, and other important rulers (‘principi grandi’) are called upon to emulate the Portuguese example and bring all of mankind closer together: ‘far conoscere insieme gli huomini di questo nostro hemispero con quelli dell’altro opposito’ (‘make the men of this our hemisphere acquainted with those of the other opposite [hemisphere]’; 373v). Behind this exhortation may lie a humane desire to deepen humanity’s knowledge of itself, but there is no question of a meeting of equals being envisaged. The anonymous speaker’s vision entails seeing the Latin Christian colonisers as ‘gods’: ‘sariano reputati per Dei, si come

194  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians hebbero gli antichi Hercole, & Alessandro, che passorono solamente nell’India’ (‘They would be taken to be gods, as were the ancients, Hercules and Alexander, who merely passed through India’; 373v). Despite the ignoble behaviour ascribed to the Portuguese in some of the accounts of India that Ramusio edited (Corsali and Lopez), through the nameless speaker he commends the project of Latin Christian empire-building in the new ‘hemisphere’ as a civilising mission on an ancient Roman model: laqual cosa potriano fare facilmente mandando in diuersi luoghi del detto hemispero colonie ad habitarui, nel modo che faceano i Romani, nelle prouincie di nuouo acquistate, lequali à poco à poco andassero scoprendo quelle parti, coltiuandole, & introducendoui la ciuiltà, & da valenti huomini poi farui predicar la fede di nostro Signor Giesu Christo (373v). this thing could be easily achieved by sending colonies to live in various places of the aforementioned hemisphere, as the Romans used to do in newly acquired provinces, and little by little these colonies would come to discover those regions, cultivating them and introducing civilisation, and then they would have worthy men preach the faith of Our Lord Jesus Christ there.

The ‘new’ Portuguese perspectives on the Indians: Lopez, Pires and Barbosa This dream of the easy colonisation of new worlds by Christian Europeans appears far from the experience of Portuguese-Indian encounters depicted in the first of the three Portuguese accounts to be published for the first time by Ramusio. Tomé Lopez’ description of the 1502 expedition to India, a war fleet under the command of Vasco da Gama, is a catalogue of Indian resistance, Portuguese brutalities and eventual failure (133v–145r). Only a few details are known of the author, who worked as a writer first for King Manuel and then on board ship to India, and who was knighted on his return to Lisbon and put in charge of the Torre do Tombo archive.19 Ramusio simply notes that the account was sent in Tuscan translation to Florence at the time of ‘M. Pietro Soderini, Gonfaloniere’ (i.e. 1502–1512), that is, during the period when Soderini was at the head of a restored Florentine Republic, the Medici being (temporarily) exiled from the city. Lopez’ account divides the pagan Indians essentially into two groups: those, such as the Calicut king, whose support of Muslims makes them enemies; and those, like the King of Cochin, who are presented as Christian sympathisers and therefore Portuguese allies. Since Lopez’ preoccupation is with this conflict between the King of Calicut and the Portuguese admiral, his narrative offers little new insight into everyday Indian customs, apart from two observations that stand out. The special respect afforded to the cow in pagan Indian society is explained as being due to the locals’ regarding it not as their god but as an image of their god (140v) – a distinction not dissimilar to the one made between image and prototype in the traditional Christian justification of the use of images in worship. The second

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 195 observation entails a more explicit Christian parallel. To previous images of the Brahmins, whom Varthema had mentioned acting as unassailable negotiators during battles, Lopez adds the idea that the Brahmins are like bishops, who enjoy immunity from harm because of the people’s fear of excommunication: nissuno non osseria toccarli, ne in cosa che vada in lor compagnia, perche di presente si terrebbe per maladetto e scomunicato, e non potrebbe essere assoluto in modo alcuno (141v). No one would dare to touch them, nor anything that is in their company, because they would immediately be considered cursed and excommunicated, and they couldn’t be absolved in any way whatsoever.20 A far more developed view of the Brahmins and Indian societies in general is presented in the accounts of two other Portuguese writers, reproduced by Ramusio: Duarte Barbosa and Tomé Pires.21 Scholars consider the first of these texts, written sometime between 1517 and 1518, to be one of the earliest systematic attempts to describe the Indian Ocean territories known to the Portuguese in the sixteenth century.22 Ramusio likewise recognised the worth of what he called the ‘Libro di Odoardo Barbosa’, citing the information parallel to ancient opinions on the Indies he found in the work as evidence that its author had diligently investigated the truth (‘diligentemente inuestigata la verità’; 287v). Ramusio also ascribed to the book a somewhat grander pedigree than was actually the case, believing its author to have been the Duarte Barbosa who had sailed with Magellan on his epic expedition to circumnavigate the world – an error that has persisted until relatively recently.23 However, as Rubiés points out, the genuine author of the book appears to have been another Duarte Barbosa, one who had sailed to India with Cabral in 1500 and remained there, working as an interpreter and scribe for the Portuguese trading post in Cannanore, where his uncle had been appointed factor.24 Barbosa’s book can thus be rightfully taken as an account of India by someone who had not just passed through India, but had lived and worked there for a considerable time – time spent, according to an ‘authorial’ introduction found only in Ramusio’s version of the text, in daily personal investigation of Indian society.25 Following Barbosa’s book in the Navigationi is the ‘Sommario delle Indie Orientali’, a shorter account along similar lines by Tomé Pires (c. 1468–1524), whom Ramusio describes simply as a ‘gentil’huomo Portoghese, che nauigò per tutto l’oriente’ (‘a Portuguese gentleman who had sailed throughout the entire East’; 287v). In reality, it seems that Pires was an apothecary connected to the Portuguese court, whom King Manuel had sent to India in 1511 as feitor das drogarias. After service also in Malacca, in 1516 he was appointed ambassador to China, where, sometime later, it appears he was imprisoned and died. Two manuscripts survive in Portuguese of the Suma oriental, which Pires is thought to have composed sometime between 1513 and 1515, when he was in Malacca. Ramusio’s text appears to have been based on a manuscript, now lost, but similar to these, although his version is curtailed and does not include Pires’ material on the Moluccas.26

196  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians With Barbosa and Pires comes a much greater sense of regional diversity within India than that found in any of the accounts previously printed in Italy. Both organise their accounts according to political regions as Varthema had, beginning their sections on India with the north-western region of ‘Cambaia’ – glossed ‘chiamato antichamente INDO’ by Pires (‘called “Indus” in ancient times’; 327r), and working southwards to the region of ‘Malabar’, before moving to ‘Bengala’ in the north. However, they do not use Varthema’s technique whereby one region stands for the rest and is treated as the cultural norm. Within each region, the Portuguese writers identify two main groups: mori (‘Moors’ i.e. Muslims) and gentili. Whilst relatively little attempt is made to differentiate between the Muslims, the writers identify various types of Indian gentili, particularly in the regions of ‘Cambaia’, ‘Narsinga’, and ‘Malabar’. Some of these same pagan types cross regional boundaries, yet the sense of regional diversity is carefully maintained: the Brahmins of Malabar, for instance, are represented as having additional sexual duties not ascribed to the Brahmins of Cambaia. Both writers pay special attention to the Malabar region (which contains Calicut), presenting it as a highly significant but culturally distinct area of India. Barbosa and Pires introduce several new themes into the Italian store of images of pagan Indians, and expand on the old. Barbosa’s account is especially interesting for the way it re-images the yogis and Gujaratis of India. In their wild physical appearance and mendicant way of life, Barbosa’s Ioghi resemble those described by Varthema. However, the Portuguese author’s representation of these itinerant pagan ascetics has none of the underlying menace to be found in the Itinerario’s account; on the contrary, the Portuguese author seems to assimilate the yogis much more greatly to Christian models of asceticism. Barbosa’s yogis may wander throughout India, but there is no suggestion that they perpetrate acts of violence under the guise of a holy way of life. Whereas for Varthema the yogis embody an alien notion of holiness, Barbosa interprets their asceticism in recognisable western Christian terms as a penance. Moreover, the reason ascribed for their penance in the narrative encourages its readers to view the yogis as fellow crusaders with the Portuguese and their supporters in the battle against Islam: it is a penance reportedly undertaken for having allowed Muslims to conquer their land. Barbosa is at pains to stress the reliability of this information through an emphasis in the passage on his own first-hand investigations: piu volte loro dimandai perche andauano à questo modo, mi rispondeuano, che portauano quelle catene adosso per penitenza del peccato, che haueuano commesso, lasciandosi far cattiui da cosi mala gente come sono i Mori (303v). I asked them several times why they went about in this manner; they replied that they wore those chains as a penitence for the sin that they had committed: letting themselves be made prisoner by such an evil people as are the Moors. At the same time, Barbosa suggests the yogis share similar attitudes to Christians with regard to the vanity of this world by using language with echoes of the Christian burial service to present their motive for wearing ash on their bodies:

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 197 s’imbrattauano di cenere accioche si ricordassero che di terra erano nati, & in quella doueuano ritornare, & che tutto il resto era vanità (303v). They plastered themselves with ash so that they would remember that there were born of earth and to earth they had to return, and that all the rest was vanity. Just as inscriptions and images in Renaissance Europe urged Christians to remember they die (‘memento mori’), Barbosa represents the ascetics’ ash as functioning similarly for these Indians as a reminder of mortality. Such echoes of Christian sentiments, together with their reported hatred of the ‘Mori’, may have caught the imagination and attracted the sympathy of later sixteenth-century Italian Catholic readers in the atmosphere of heightened religious seriousness generated by the Protestant Reformation and the Council of Trent. Some evidence of this can be seen in an Italian cosmography from the last quarter of the century written by an otherwise obscure priest from the south of Italy, Giovanni Lorenzo D’Anania. In D’Anania’s hands, the Ioghi take on even more attributes of the Christian ascetic type: they are described as followers of the contemplative life, similar to modernday hermits (‘romiti’) and ancient Essenes, and as preachers of the torments of hell, the delights of heaven and the misery of the human condition.27 While Barbosa’s account contradicts Varthema by casting the yogis in a favourable light, it is also in disagreement with the Italian’s representation of the Gujaratis as virtuous pagan types, fit for salvation. For Barbosa, ‘Guzzarat’ is a kingdom whose pagan population can be split into three categories: Bramini (a priestly class), Rebuti (a class of knights) and Bancani (a merchant class). In their vegetarianism and the lengths they will reportedly go to in order to preserve life, these Bancani most resemble previous descriptions of Gujaratis. Unlike Varthema, Barbosa places his ascetic type of Gujarati firmly back within the idolater camp, giving new examples of what he regards as an excessive concern to avoid killing: nè voglion veder che si vccida, perche è lor vietato dalla lor legge idolatra, et custodiscon questa osseruatione in tanto estremo, che è cosa di gran marauiglia (295r). Nor do they countenance killing, because it is forbidden by their idolatrous law, and they observe this practice to such an extreme that it is a greatly astonishing thing. Yet Barbosa’s representation of the Bancani encourages the reader to interpret their desire to preserve life as a sign of weakness, not saintliness. He initially presents these Gujaratis in a seemingly sympathetic manner, as victims of Muslim oppression, casting the ‘Mori’ of ‘Guzzarat’ as overbearing conquerors who perpetrate ‘inhumanità & discortesie grandi’ (‘inhuman acts and great discourtesies’; 291r) against their pagan subjects. However, the examples of inhumane Muslim behaviour Barbosa then gives all illustrate ways in which the Bancani allow themselves to be exploited: mori threaten to kill worms or some other

198  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians creature so that Bancani will pay them a ransom to prevent it; condemned men are similarly ransomed. The Bancani are even represented as falling into the trap of paying off mori who threaten to commit suicide in order to obtain alms from them (‘ottener da lor limosina’; 295r). In the last instance, Barbosa implies that strict observance of their idolatrous religion (‘legge idolatra’), coupled with foolish naivety about human nature, leads to serious financial loss. The remainder of Barbosa’s account of the Bancani lays exceptional stress on how they permit the tiniest form of non-human life to take precedence over their own bodily comfort: changing route so as not to trample on anthills; not eating at night so as not to light lamps that might cause the death of insects; not killing their body lice. If they themselves cannot endure the irritation, the Bancani reportedly summon specialists, ‘i quali essi reputano persone di santa vita’ (‘whom they regard as people of saintly life’; 295v), to take over as bodily hosts for their lice, nourishing them ‘della lor propria carne, per amor de gl’idoli loro’ (‘with their own flesh, for love of their idols’; 295v). Barbosa’s passage suggests that the Bancani have an understanding of holiness linked to the degree to which a person is able to give up their own flesh for the sake of what western philosophy would consider lesser life forms – an understanding of saintliness Barbosa distances himself from, through the phrase ‘essi reputano’ (‘they regard’). In the end, Barbosa openly disparages Bancani notions of holiness as warped religiosity because they do not prevent gross dishonesty in business: & cosi hanno questa legge di non vccidere in grande osservanza, & all’incontro son grandissimi vsurari, & falsarij di pesi & misure, & mercantie, & anchora di monete, bugiardi & barattieri (295v). And so they strictly observe this law of not killing, but on the other hand, they are the greatest usurers and falsifiers of weights and measures and merchandise and even money, liars and conmen.28 Quite a different view of the Gujaratis is presented by Pires. For Pires, ‘Guzzerati’ is the common name for the indigenous pagans of ‘Cambaia’, whom he subdivides (at times inconsistently) into four kinds: temple priests (‘Bancani’), men of religion (‘Bramini’), a higher sort of Brahmin (‘Patamari’), and merchants; all of these Gujaratis share a faith which forbids them killing, or eating anything with blood.29 In contrast to Barbosa, Pires has a great deal of praise for the business acumen of Gujarati merchants: they are referred to as ‘grandissimi pratichi & intendenti’, ‘huomini molto savij, & accorti nel comprare, & vendere’, ‘molto diligenti & resolutì’ (‘the greatest practitioners and connoisseurs’; ‘very knowledgeable men and acute buyers and sellers’; ‘very diligent and determined’; 327v). He even states that the Portuguese ought to learn how to do business from these particular Indian gentili, advocating the study of their commercial techniques on the grounds that it always helps to understand various methods: ‘il sapere diuersi costumi, & modi non impedisce questo nobile essercitio, ma piu presto gli gioua, & fa fauore’ (‘knowing different customs and ways does not impede this noble

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 199 exercise, but rather rapidly benefits and aids it’; 327v). This admiration for the Gujaratis is despite Pires’ conviction that they are actively hostile to Portuguese commerce in the Indian Ocean region and were behind what he refers to as the betrayal, ‘tradimento’, in Malacca (328v). While Pires holds up the Gujaratis as a model for the management of worldly affairs, his view of their religion is inconsistent. In a single passage, his attitude progresses from an initial sweeping condemnation of them on a three-fold count of idolatry, effeminacy and weakness – ‘grandi idolatri, huomini effeminati, & soggetti’ (‘great idolaters, effeminate and submissive men’) – to an admission that some religious among them are virtuous (‘di buona vita’), and finally, to a perception of them as lapsed Christians whose loss of faith is to be blamed on their Muslim conquerors: Vien detto che credono nella nostra donna, & nella Trinità, & non è da dubitare, che per il tempo passato furono Christiani, ma li Mori soggiogandogli leuaron loro la fede (327v). It’s said that they believe in Our Lady and in the Trinity, and it is doubtless true that they were Christians in the past, but when the Moors conquered them, they deprived them of their faith. Here the use of the passive construction ‘vien detto’ (‘it is said’) serves to distance the author from the notion that this group of Indian pagans might preserve vestiges of Christian belief. At a later point, Pires makes the extravagant claim that belief in the Christian Trinity is India-wide: Tutto il paese di Malabar crede nella Trinità, padre, figliuolo, & SpiritoSanto, vn solo vero Iddio: & questo cominciando à Cambaia, fino à Bengala (330v). All the country of Malabar believes in the Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, one true God: this [is true] beginning with Cambay up to Bengal. A similar suggestion that idolatry in India may lean towards Christianity occurs in Barbosa’s treatment of the Brahmins. Having identified the Brahmins of Gujarat as idolatrous priests (‘sacerdoti, & persone che ministrano & gouernano l’Idolatrie’ (295v); ‘priests and people who administer and control the idolatries’), he goes on to present the extent of the affinity of their religion with Christianity: images depicting the Holy Trinity (‘santa Trinità’); reverence for the number three; and prayer to a Trinitarian creator God: il qual confessano vero Iddio creatore, & fattore di tutte le cose, & che la sua deità è tre in vna sola persona (295v). whom they confess to be the true God, creator and making of all things, and that his divinity is three in one sole person.

200  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians Barbosa notes one key difference, however, in that these Brahmins remain polytheist, maintaining that their Trinitarian God has delegated his governing duties to other gods ‘nei quali essi similmente credono’ (‘in whom likewise they believe’; 295v). Nevertheless, the overall tendency in Barbosa’s treatment of Brahminical religion is to try and assimilate it to Christian models. His description places far more emphasis on points of contact than on differences, representing these Brahmins as attracted to Christian churches and their cultic images, as having some awareness of Our Lady, and as believing that there is little difference ‘fra loro, & noi’ – between us and them (295v). Another important nuance to note in Barbosa’s representation of Indian religion is that he perceives pagan Indian religion not as homogenous but as a series of different practices: as ‘idolatries’ rather than a single ‘idolatry’. This is particularly evident in his discussion of Malabar, where he emphasises the point at the outset: ‘tutti tengono costumi separati circa le loro idolatrie’ (‘they all have distinct customs, according to their own idolatries’; 304r). Although he does not go into great detail on the variety of these idolatries, he does express different attitudes towards them. While in the context of the Gujaratis, Barbosa is willing to float the possibility of an affinity between Brahminical and Christian religions, he takes a far more critical view in the case of the Malabar Brahmins. They too are seen to have a special regard for the number three and a belief in a Trinitarian God, but Barbosa finds them ignorant of the coming of Christ and dismisses their religion as nonsensical – ‘molte vanità & pazzie’ (‘many vanities and crazy things’; 308r). Although they may disagree with each other in their assessment of the Gujaratis, the narratives of Barbosa and Pires concur in their representation of the Brahmins as a priestly class, present in various parts of India, who enjoy a prestigious position in society: serving the idols, serving kings, even functioning as bishops. At the same time, the Portuguese writers’ vision of the Brahmins broadly accords with Polo’s account of honest and monogamous householders, a group of vegetarian idolaters identifiable as Brahmins by a special thread worn around the upper body. However, the Portuguese writers note far more regional variations in customs, as well as financial and hierarchical levels of distinction within the Brahmin class. Moreover, their portrayal of the Brahmins frequently returns to one point – the respect accorded to the Brahmins by other pagan Indian groups, to the extent that they are credited with enjoying a kind of diplomatic immunity: ‘in ciascuna parte passano sicuri senza che alcuno gli dia noia’ (‘They can pass safely in every region, without anyone bothering them’; 307r).30 Yet while Barbosa and Pires emphasise the religious role of the Brahmins and the respect accorded to them in Indian society, the Portuguese authors remain non-committal in their attitude to the Brahmins as priests and idolaters. They neither represent them as worshipping the devil, as Varthema had chosen to (albeit an unusual devil), nor do they portray them as slaves to superstition, as Polo had done. Barbosa’s comment on the vanity of some Malabar Brahmin beliefs is balanced by an affirmation of their learning: ‘sono litterati & dotti nelle leggi delle loro idolatrie [. . .] sono molto savij, & sanno far molte arti’ (‘they are literate and learned in the laws of their idolatries

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 201 [. . .] they are very wise and know many arts’; 307r). Pires restricts himself to commenting that the Brahmins are learned in their faith (‘intelligenti nelle cose della lor fede’; 331r). On the whole, the tone is respectful, and free from the stridency found in Jesuit accounts written later in the century, where Brahmins are regarded as a priestly class who deliberately keep the people ignorant of truth. If a sign of sensitivity to another culture is the absence of passionate criticisms of whatever in that culture is different, then Barbosa’s response to pagan Indian customs might rank as relatively sensitive. A striking feature of his account is that the language used to describe Indian religious practices is remarkably detached; in this it resembles Poggio’s earlier geographical piece. Where Barbosa describes religious practices and festivities, the words chosen are rarely emotive. There is also only one explicit example of a negative aesthetic reaction to Indian idolatry. In his account of festivities marking the end of a year of mourning after the death of a king in Malabar, Barbosa expresses revulsion against a particular idol: ‘vn’idolo di forma horribile, & spauentoso’ (‘an idol horrible and frightening in form’; 305v). Similarly, the only occasion when Barbosa openly equates Indian religious practices with the demonic comes in the context of medicine men in Malabar, who go into trances in order to find cures for those suffering. These men are represented as enchanters who allow themselves to be possessed by devils: ‘parlano visibilmente con li diauoli, i quali gli entrano adosso, & gli fanno far cose spauentose’ (‘they speak visibly with devils, who enter into them and make them do frightening things’; 309v). Any healing the medicine men might achieve is interpreted as performed by demonic power: ‘per opera del diauolo, al qual tutti si sono dati’ (‘by act of the devil, to whom they are all given over’; 310r). On other occasions, when he describes extreme acts of violence performed for an idol, his attitude is dispassionate. It is left to the reader to infer from such examples whether or not darker forces are at work in Indian religion. The most chilling example of this feature of Barbosa’s account is the way he narrates how the king of ‘Quilacare’, at the end of his term of office, is required to slaughter himself before a particularly revered idol: se ne viene all’idolo à far la sua oratione, la qual compita ascende sopra il palco & quiui in presenza di tutto il popolo con vn coltello tagliente, si comincia à tagliar il naso, & poi le orecchie, & i labri, & così gli altri membri, & tutta la carne si leua da dosso, la gitta con gran furia verso lo idolo, & vscendogli tanto sangue che gli cominci à mancar la virtù, all’hora egli medesimo si taglia la canna della gola, & fa di se sacrificio all’idolo. Quello che vuol regnar dopo costui altri dodici anni, & soffrire quel martirio, è obligato di star iui presente à veder questa festa, perche compita, subito l’alzano per Re (314v). He goes up to the idol to do his prayers, and once this is over he climbs onto the platform and there, in the presence of all the people, with a sharp knife he starts to cut his nose, and then his ears and his lips and likewise the other parts of his body; and all the flesh that he takes off himself, he hurls towards the idol in a great frenzy; and when he’s lost so much blood that he starts to lose

202  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians strength, then he himself cuts his windpipe and makes a sacrifice of himself to the idol. The man who wants to rule after him for another twelve years and then suffer this torment [martirio], is obliged to be present there and witness this festival because as soon as it’s over they proclaim him king. Besides this extreme example of the sacrifice an Indian king might be expected to make, Barbosa and Pires only add a few other details to notions of Indian kingship, without radically departing from previous representations. One point to note, however, is the tendency in both texts to represent the pagan kings of India as better than its Muslim rulers, who tend to be shown simply as pleasure-seeking and/or bellicose.31 Of the pagan rulers, the King of Narsinga and the kings of Malabar draw most attention.32 The first impresses for the size of his army, for the numbers of his horses, elephants, and wives; for his lavish court and enormous, well-ordered cosmopolitan capital city. Barbosa especially praises this city for being a place where religious freedoms are maintained (a sort of Indian convivencia): ‘ciascuno può viuere in che legge gli piace, ò sia christiano, ò moro [ò] gentile’ (‘everyone can live according to the religion that he likes, be he Christian, or Moor, or pagan’; 301r). The king himself is portrayed as a great warrior, with many lords subject to him, who is frequently at war with neighbouring kingdoms. Nevertheless, Barbosa and Pires’ accounts are not entirely without new insights into Indian kingship. One significant difference in Pires’ portrayal of Indian kingship, compared to earlier sixteenth-century texts, is that he does not suggest the kings of Malabar enjoy any kind of god-like adulation from their people. Varthema had stressed how the King of Calicut was revered like a ‘god on earth’ by his subjects. Quite a different impression is given by Pires, who grades the kings of Malabar according to who is maggior di gente, maggior di gentilezza and maggior di titolo (332r) – greater in terms of people, refinement or title. The king of Calicut may have the grandest title, ‘Comodri, che vuol dir signore di tutti i Malabari’ (‘“Comodri”, which means “Lord of all the Malabari”’; 332v), but his authority is not much respected: ‘non vien però vbbidito se non nel suo regno, & anchora in quello malamente’ (‘he’s not obeyed, however, except in his own kingdom, and even in that, poorly’; 332v). Barbosa, on the other hand, is more concerned in his account of Indian kingship with the succession system in place in Malabar, given the kings do not marry, and with the mourning rituals required on the death of a king.33 He regards the King of Calicut as the most powerful in the region, and describes a considerable amount of pomp surrounding the king’s person. Yet by placing the Indians’ expressions of reverence (‘riuerenza’) for their king within the context of an enthronement ceremony, Barbosa makes the god-like veneration reportedly received by the Indian monarch appear more natural (305r). Another new contribution Barbosa and Pires make to the store of ideas about India in Italy is their interpretation of the cultural significance within India of the city of Calicut and Malabar society in general. To both Portuguese writers (and in stark contrast to Varthema), Malabar, ruled over by the pagan Kings of Calicut, ‘Coulon’ and ‘Cananor’, represents an extraordinary and culturally unique region

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 203 within India – not a region to be taken as indicative of a cultural norm, valid India-wide. Their accounts depict a Malabar society where freedom and fear co-exist. Like other writers before them, these Portuguese writers also cannot resist dwelling on the topic of Indian sexual mores, and much in their portrayal of Malabari life promotes the (increasingly conventional) idea of sexually freer worlds in the East.34 Nair women (i.e. those belonging to the gentry class) are said to have the freedom to take as many lovers as desired, with either side being able to terminate the relationship at will. According to Barbosa, several other classes below the Nair in the pecking order also follow their lead in sexual relations. Wife-sharing, wives taking lovers or prostituting themselves with the husband’s approval are all depicted as common to various Malabari lower classes. Yet while they reinforce the stereotypical view of Indians as prone to luxuria (which we met with as early as in Marco Polo’s book), the Portuguese writers at the same time present a more nuanced picture of pagan Indian sexual mores than any previous accounts (Pires to a lesser extent than Barbosa). Both differentiate between Brahmin women, who are expected to remain loyal to one husband, and other social classes who follow looser sexual codes. Both associate the practice of taking Nair women’s virginity with a particular group of Brahmin men only, and both include an elaborate description of the pseudo-marriage ceremony involved – an example of sexual ‘freedom’ circumscribed by ritual. Barbosa also emphasises that it is only unmarried Brahmin men who have the liberty to sleep around. Most importantly, the Portuguese writers place Nair sexual mores within the context of a martial state (analogous to Ancient Sparta). They develop the image of the Nair men from being simply a patrician class with certain privileges, into a feared class of elite warriors sworn to fight to the death for their bosses.35 They remark that Nair men live apart from the rest of society, and are not expected to look after their own children; while the mother hands any children she might have over to her brothers to be raised. Barbosa seems especially sympathetic to this mode of child-rearing, which he defends on the grounds that this system allows the warriors to be better-tuned for battle because they are freed from parental duties (308v). Without downplaying the laxity of sexual mores among the Malabar pagans, Barbosa, in particular, stresses how rigid social rules govern and limit this apparent sexual freedom: Nair women face the death penalty if they have sexual relations with the lower classes – ‘gente basse’ (307v); similar rules apply for women of the weaver class (309r). Nair men may sleep with the women of the potter and the lavandieri classes, but they become ritually unclean and cannot return home unless they wash away the ‘sin’, changing into other clean clothes (308v; ‘se non si lauano di quel peccato, mutandosi di altre vesti nette’). Even the wine-making classes, whose women prostitute themselves with Muslims and foreigners, publicly and with the permission of their husbands (309r; ‘publicamente, & con licenza delli loro mariti’), are represented as being careful not to have relations with people lower than them (‘gente piu basse di loro’; 309r). The divisions within Malabar society receive particular attention in Barbosa’s account. Previous accounts had given some idea of the stratification of Malabar society but Barbosa’s breakdown is much more meticulous. He identifies around

204  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians eighteen types of ‘gentili’, eleven of which are considered lower classes (306v–310r). Below the Brahmins at the top of the social hierarchy, each class corresponds to a single profession, and some of the lowest classes are designated slaves. Barbosa emphasises these groups are all distinct and like to keep themselves segregated. Pires’ account of Malabar society is less detailed but along similar lines, emphasising the impossibility of social mobility: ‘in Malabar non può il figliuolo esser piu honorato che il padre’ (‘in Malabar, the son cannot be more distinguished than his father’; 331v). However, more so than his countryman Pires, and much more so than previous Italian writers, Barbosa underlines the degree to which fear compels the locals in Malabar to maintain their rigid social hierarchy: ciascuna d’esse è molto diuersa dall’altre, di sorte che vna non si vuol toccare con l’altra sotto pena di morte & disonor, & perdere tutti i beni & tutti tengono costumi separati circa le loro idolatrie, come si dichiarirà (304r). each of these classes is very different from the others, so that one cannot have physical contact with another, on pain of death and dishonour and loss of all goods, and they all have distinct customs, according to their idolatries, as will be made clear.36 Barbosa reports that segregation in Malabar society is so acute that various lower classes may not speak to upper classes unless from a great distance; he goes on to say that physical contact automatically results in the upper class person being polluted, and, frequently, killed as a consequence, ‘come cosa profana’ (‘as a profane thing’; 310r). This is a development on previous pictures of Calicut life, where ‘hatred’ was the most explanation proffered for the habitual beating up of fishermen or peasants by the upper classes. With Barbosa, the tensions and divisions in Malabar society are given a strong religious motivation: the fear of becoming impure – an impurity caught like a disease from mere contact with the lower classes. Barbosa has a final nuance to add to previous accounts of social tensions in Malabar. While both Barbosa and Pires confirm that it is acceptable in Malabar for upper classes to kill members of the lowest classes who cross their path, Barbosa hints at some rebellion among the ‘unclean’. He recounts how Puler peasants, considered ‘scommunicati & maledetti’, excommunicated and accursed, by the rest, deliberately pollute Nair women by invading their houses or throwing stones or sticks at them; a hit being enough for the Nair woman to remain ‘tocca, & persa’ (‘tainted and lost’; 310r). In Barbosa’s representation, the peasants are no longer passive victims of oppression but a resentful and openly rebellious underclass. On the whole, Barbosa and Pires employ emotionally neutral language and maintain a detached attitude to the pagan customs they describe, only occasionally voicing an explicit opinion of their own. But on such occasions, the Portuguese writers can express quite opposing views. A most striking incidence of a difference of opinion between Barbosa and Pires relates to the ‘female question’ (what

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 205 the proper role of women should be), and comes in the midst of their reports of the sexual freedom enjoyed by the Nair women of Malabar, a topic by which both writers are fascinated. In a non-judgmental manner, Barbosa reports that the women set great store by knowing how to caress men (‘il saper ben accarezzar gli huomini’), noting, without further ado, that they consider virginity anything but a virtue: ‘hanno tra loro questa opinione, che donna che muoia vergine, non vadia in paradiso’ (‘Among them they hold this opinion that a woman who dies a virgin does not go to paradise’; 308v). Pires, on the other hand, is harshly critical of the Nair women’s way of life, denying them knowledge of anything useful: ‘niuna vertu sanno le Naire di Malabar, ne alcuno essercitio di cucire, ne lauorare, solamente si dilettano di mangiare, & darsi buon tempo’ (‘The Nair women of Malabar know nothing of worth, not any type of sewing nor work, they merely enjoy themselves eating and having a good time’; 331v). To the store of images of Indian women, Pires and Barbosa make only a few other additions. Besides his comments on the Nair women, Pires is not particularly outspoken about the other women of India, even when he mentions widows being burnt alive in Decam, Goa and Batacala. He praises the women of Goa for their graceful acrobatics, remarks on some talented girl clowns in the city of Bisinagar, and emphasises the purity of Malabar Brahmin women: ‘la Bramina è sempre Bramina’ (‘A Brahmin lady is always a Brahmin’; 331v). Barbosa’s interest in Indian women is generally confined to comment on their beauty, dress and ornaments; to their role as lovers and wives; and to the questions of how many women an Indian man may marry. When he breaks out of this pattern, it is often to describe practices whereby pagan Indian women subject themselves or are subjected to considerable physical pain. Barbosa reads such examples of endurance as evidence of greatness of soul: the ‘delicate’ women of the kingdom of Narsinga impress him for the ‘grandezza, & constantia incredibil dell’animo loro’ (‘greatness and incredible constancy of their soul’; 302v). As an illustration, he tells the story of young girls who cheerfully suspend themselves in the air by hooks attached to their bodies, allowing the blood to pour down, as a thank-offering to the idol for receiving the husband they wanted (302v). In the same kingdom, parents violently sacrifice the virginity of their daughters, once again, as an offering to the idol; amid temple ceremonies and prayers, the reader is told, the parents make the young lass break her virginity on the sharp spike, splattering her blood over the stone (‘fanno che la giouanetta sopra il palo acuto rompe la sua verginità, spargendo il suo sangue sopra la pietra’; 303r). It is, however, questionable whether Barbosa sees the readiness of widows from the same kingdom to burn themselves alive as evidence of virtue. His lengthy treatment of widow-burning has some interesting elements, such as the distinction made between the simple ceremony for the poor widow and the elaborate pageant embarked upon by the rich widow of social standing, and, like many previous writers on the subject, Barbosa underlines the festive and familial nature of the event, as well as the widow’s seemingly happy acquiescence to her fate.37 A few touches add drama to his description, such as the widow’s prayers and

206  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians her admonitions to the men and women in the crowd: the women to take note of what duty requires, and the men to see how beholden they are to their wives. Like Varthema, Barbosa also implies that an element of social pressure is behind the widow’s sacrifice. He notes that those women who refuse to die face an ignominious end, either cast out of their homes by their families or, as a ‘favour’, forced into temple prostitution (a consequence also mentioned by Pires).38 Yet despite his elaborate depiction of widow-burning, and emphasis on the social pressures behind it, Barbosa maintains an air of detachment, making no explicit value judgment on the custom. At most, he hints at feelings of bewilderment and fright when he writes of the number of widows, friends and servants who willingly throw themselves on the pyre at the funeral of their king: ‘il che è cosa maravigliosa, & che da spauento à chi si troua presente’ (‘which is an astonishing thing and one which gives a fright to anyone who finds themselves present’; 302r). Pires, by contrast, is forthright about his disapproval of widow-burning, and remarks sarcastically on the motives of those who persuade widows to kill themselves ‘accio, che cosi bella vsanza non si rompa, & vada in obliuione’ (‘so that such a beautiful practices won’t break down and fall into oblivion’; 329r). The only comparable passage to this in Barbosa’s text (as printed by Ramusio) follows a little later than the widow-burning section and immediately after a report of the burial of widows alive, also in the kingdom of Narsinga. Having expressed a certain reluctance to go into detail, the practice of burying widows alive is decried in the following way: cosa miserabile, & pietosa considerando quanta forza ha in se l’ambitione, & l’opinione in questo mondo, che conduce volontariamente queste tal donne à si horribil fine, non per altro, che per l’honore, e per esser tenute da bene, che mancando di questo debito, non reputeriano di esser piu viue (302v). a wretched and pitiable thing, considering how much force ambition and opinion in themselves have in this world, which leads such women as these voluntarily to such a horrendous end for no other reason than for honour and to be considered reputable, since if they were to default on this debt they could not count on being alive anymore. Pity for the women goes hand in hand with condemnation of them for what is regarded as a reprehensible concern for worldly status. Significantly, this comment is not found in the extant Portuguese version of Barbosa’s text, which suggests that it is perhaps a rare editorial intervention by Ramusio.39 We cannot know for sure whether responsibility lies with Ramusio, or some other interpolator. Nevertheless, Ramusio’s exceptional interest in the subject of Indian widows voluntarily killing themselves is evident; he appended two passages on the subject, one from Strabo and the other from Propertius, to the end of his edition of Pires’ text in the Navigationi. Propertius had interpreted the practice romantically, whilst Strabo had seen it as an irrational law invented to stop Indian women leaving or poisoning their husbands, for love of a younger man.40

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 207 Neither of these classical judgments on widow-burning is seconded by the sixteenth-century commentator. Lopez, Pires and Barbosa’s accounts described India from the perspective of a Portuguese eyewitness in the first two decades of Portugal’s involvement in the region. While their response to contemporary pagan Indians was not entirely uniform, Pires and Barbosa shared a similar sensitivity to regional diversity within India, and did not represent the pagan Indians as naturally inferior to the Portuguese, even if they were occasionally openly critical of some customs. We shall now consider the extent to which the extracts printed in the Navigationi from the work of Portugal’s official historian of the Indies, writing in the midsixteenth century, were similarly lacking in condescension in their representation of Indian life.

Evidence of Orientalism in Barros’ writings In terms of detail, Ramusio’s selections from the Asia of the Portuguese historian João de Barros cannot compare with either Barbosa or Pires’ depictions of Indian life. The first part of Barros’ history, which covered the period up until 1515, had been published in Lisbon in 1552; two years later Ramusio published excerpts from this in a second edition of Volume One of the Navigationi. The extracts from Barros’ history relevant to India appear to have been chosen largely for what they could contribute to the understanding of the region’s physical geography. Alongside erudite references to Ptolemy and the Greeks, for example, Barros provides a ‘finger exercise’ to demonstrate the layout of the various gulfs of India (or ‘Indostan’ as Barros specifies that the locals call it).41 Even in Ramusio’s abridged version, Barros’ descriptions of India contain perceptions of the local pagan peoples that are significant for their clarity and forthrightness. His is perhaps a clarity that comes with distance, but it is not the outcome of ignorance. Though Barros had never been to India, from 1533 he had been feitor das casas de Guiné e India with access to official documents.42 Barros’ history, abridged as it is in Ramusio’s version, is permeated by a passionate crusading spirit. Such fervour is, of course, not surprising if one considers that Barros’ book is one of the few texts selected by Ramusio actually written in the same period as the Council of Trent. As with many writers before him, Barros divides up the peoples of the world into four principal groups based on religion, but he is much more definite about his opinion of them. Asia is written of as a region dominated by Muslims and pagans who have reduced the local Christians and Jews to servile status (391v). Asia-wide, the majority of people are idolaters, whom Barros views as worshipping the devil: ‘adorano il diauolo in figura de suoi idoli’ (‘They worship the devil in the shape of their idols’; 388r). Europe, by contrast, is portrayed as a tiny island of (Roman) Christianity in the deplorable situation of being attacked and consumed by what Barros refers to as the scourge of the Turks. Within Asia, he represents India or ‘Indostan’ as inhabited essentially by two types of people, both suffering from delusion: ‘due generationi di popolo

208  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians in credulità, vna idolatra, l’altra maehomettana’ (‘two types of credulous people, one idolatrous, the other Mahomettan’; 386r). Idolatry and Islam are thus placed on the same level, as the two principal forces at work in Barros’ India, given equal status in misguidedness. Within this basic idolater-Muslim dichotomy, Barros acknowledges a great diversity of rites and customs in India, and numerous political divisions. Few religious customs draw his attention, at least in Ramusio’s selection, but those that do concern situations where Indian idolaters either demonstrate a certain sympathy for Christianity (the veneration of St Thomas in the ‘Maliapor’ district; 390r–390v), or where an affinity is seen between their act of devotion and a Christian practice. Barros draws parallels between Indian and Christian customs: the pilgrimages of pagan Indians to the River ‘Ganga’, and the local custom of bathing in the river, are likened to the Christian use of confession and other sacraments for salvation of soul and remission of sins (390r). In this, he reveals a similar impulse to that of his earlier Portuguese compatriots Pires and Barbosa, to assimilate pagan customs to Christian norms. There is a hint, however, in Barros’ narrative of the patronising Orientalist tendency to see the ‘oriental’ as unstable, unreliable, inherently susceptible to subjugation by despots, and in need of western help to civilise themselves. While Barros seems impressed by the power wielded by certain Indian kings – ‘cosa tanto grande, che la penna non ardisce entrar nella relatione loro’ (‘such a large matter that the pen dare not enter into an account’; 392r), his portrayal of the political scene is far from flattering. The Indians are represented as fighting among themselves and breaking allegiances, ‘popoli fra loro molto bellicosi & di poca fede’ (‘Warlike people among themselves and hardly trustworthy’; 386r). To Barros, only India’s landscape prevents its different peoples being subdued by a single overlord (386r). At another point, he seems to imply that the Portuguese can help the Indians better themselves, as has reportedly been the case with the kingdom of Cochin: ‘hora col fauor nostro’ (‘now with our favour’), the reader is told that they have made ‘vna magnifica città, in tempij, edificij, & case molto suntuose’ ‘gouernando la terra secondo le leggi & statuti del regno di Portogallo’ (‘a magnificent city with temples, buildings and very sumptuous houses’ ‘ruling the land according to the laws and statues of the kingdom of Portugal’; 389v). Ramusio’s editing of the great Portuguese historian’s text spared Italian readers Barros’ more blatant expressions of nationalistic pride and the benefits of Portuguese presence in India (although these would be made available to the Italian audience in 1561, through Alfonso Ulloa’s translation of the Décadas).43 Nevertheless, even from the extracts he printed, Barros’ response to the contemporary Indian world comes across as much more ideologically charged than that of Barbosa or Pires.

Ramusio’s Indian legacy Taken as a whole, Ramusio’s collection asserted the primacy of the new geographical knowledge over the old. Intended for a world-wide community of the ‘studious’,

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 209 the collection presented readers with a variety of modern accounts of Indian life, which both complemented and conflicted with each other. I have tried to draw out the points of accord and dissonance with regard to the Portuguese accounts, but it should be remembered that sixteenth-century readers of the collection also had Polo, Odorico, and Varthema’s representations of Indian life to reckon with, not to mention the letters of Sernigi and Corsali – a sheer mass of detail, which must have been frankly bewildering. The great merit of Ramusio’s Navigationi is that it does not attempt to eradicate contradictions, nor does it favour one particular interpretation. Rather, by introducing his Renaissance readers to a range of views, Ramusio encouraged the ‘student’ to form his or her own picture and opinion of the Indians.

Notes   1 Ramusio (1563), 384r. References in this chapter are to this edition of Volume One of Ramusio’s Navigationi et viaggi and translations are mine, unless otherwise indicated. For a good modern edition, see Ramusio (1978–1988) edited by Milanesi.   2 The remainder of Magellan’s fleet had returned in 1522. In 1536 an account of the circumnavigation of the world based on Antonio Pigafetta’s diary was printed in Venice; Ramusio (1978), p. xvii–xviii; xxix.   3 Ramusio (1978), p. xxiv–xxix and p.xxvi; Parks (1955a) & Parks (1955b); Richardson (1999), p.21.   4 Ramusio (1979), p.11.   5 The Odorico accounts first appeared in second edition of Volume Two (1574) prepared by Ramusio’s son.   6 There seems to have been a lull in the publication of new Italian writing on India between Varthema’s Itinerario of 1510 and Ramusio’s collection (1550–1559). Corsali’s letter and the Aldine Press’ only venture into travel literature, Viaggi fatti alla Tana, etc (1543), appear to have been the only exceptions. The scarcity of printed Italian accounts of India is curious at a time when Portugal was steadily expanding her interests in the East, providing considerable opportunities for the adventurous to go to those parts.   7 cf. Ramusio’s dedication addressed to Ieronimo Fracastoro.   8 Ramusio (1978), p.xvi; Parks (1955b), p. 128–134, and Donattini (1980), 55–100. As a younger man, Ramusio had associated with the so-called ‘accademia aldina’ and counted the renowned humanist Cardinal Pietro Bembo (1470–1547) as a close friend. There is room on the academic shelf for an in-depth study of Ramusio and Venetian humanism.   9 Hodgen (1953), p.285. I have consulted the Paris, 1538 Latin edition of Boemus in Cambridge University Library. 10 ‘Discorso sopra il viaggio della Ethiopia’, (189r). For but a few of the many other examples, see 147r, 175r, 261v, 264r, 283r, 338v & 346v. 11 In the revised edition of his Cosmographia, Münster (1554) defends himself against de Goís’ criticisms. 12 In his dedication to the collection, ‘il mettere insieme le narrationi de gli scrittori de’ nostri tempi’ (‘putting together the accounts of the writers of our times’) is described as being ‘non poco vtile al mondo’ (‘of no little use to the world’). In the foreword to Barros, Ramusio puts his intention another way: ‘che delli paesi scoperti à tempi nostri gli studiosi della Geographia, ne habbino intera cognitione’ (‘so that students of geography may have complete understanding of the lands discovered in our times’); ‘Alli lettori’, 384r.

210  Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 13 Ramusio (1979), p.1075, n.1. Compare Ramusio (1563), 391v with Barros’ Primeira Década, IX.2; Cidade (1945): I, p. 365–366. 14 Sassetti (1970), p.552 (Letter 126). For more on Sassetti, see Chapter 12. 15 189r, 283r, 373r–374r . 16 338v. 17 On the language of the Navigationi, see Romanini (2007). 18 ‘Tutti gli huomini studiosi erano grandemente obligati, & tenuti alli Serenissimi Re di Portogallo stati da cento anni in qua, conciosia che haueuano spesi infiniti tesori, non già in guerra alcuna contra Christiani, ma in discoprir nuoui paesi, che già tanti secoli erano stati nascosti, & far in quelli essaltare la fede di nostro Signor Giesu Christo’ (373r): ‘All studious men were greatly indebted and beholden to the most serene kings of Portugal, starting from a hundred years ago until now, for they had spent infinite treasures not indeed on waging any war at all against Christians, but in discovering new countries that already for so many centuries had been hidden, and on making the faith of Our Lord Jesus Christ exalted in them’. 19 Ramusio (1978), p. 685 & 687 (n.1). 20 cf Varthema’s Itinerario; Bacchi Della Lega (1969), p.142. 21 288r–323v & 324r–337v, respectively. 22 Ramusio (1979), p.539; Rubiés (2000), p.2. 23 Milanesi repeats this mistaken view in her notes, Ramusio (1979), p.539. 24 Rubiés (2000), p. 204–205 (& n.12). 25 288r; Ramusio (1979), p.543. 26 Ramusio (1979), p. 713–714. 27 Giovanni Lorenzo D’Anania, L’universale Fabrica Del Mondo overo Cosmografia (Venice, 1576), p.215. 28 Likewise, D’Anania (1576, p.206) lambasts the Pythagorean ‘Baneani’ of India for blind superstition, and an illicit and unnatural attachment to usury stronger than that of the Jews. 29 327r–327v. 30 cf. .296v, 302v, 327v, 329v, 331r, 332v. 31 299v, 327v, 329r , 333v. 32 301r–302r, 303v–306v, 330r–330v, 331r, 332r–333r. 33 304r–305v. 34 308v–310r, & 331r, 331v. 35 307r–308v & 330v. 36 See also 309r & 310r. 37 302r. 38 329v. 39 Ramusio (1979), p.611 (n.3). 40 338r. The passages are Propertius, Elegiae, III. 13. 15–22 and Strabo Geography, XV. 30. 41 386r & 390r. 42 Ramusio (1979), p.1041; Lach (1965): I, p. 190–192. 43 Alfonso de Ulloa’s translation of the first two volumes of Barros’ Décadas da Ásia came out in Venice, in 1561. The first volume was dedicated to the Duke of Mantua, Guglielmo Gonzaga. Ulloa later translated Fernão Lopes de Castanheda’s history of India, Historia dell’Indie Orientali, scoperte, & conquistate da Portoghesi printed in 1577 and 1578. These translations added little significant to the Italian store of images about the Indians.

References Bacchi Della Lega, A. (ed.) (1969) Itinerario di Ludovico di Varthema. Scelta di curiosità letterarie inedite o rare. Bologna: Commissione per i testi di lingua. Boemus, J. (1538) Omnium gentium mores. Paris: J. Parvus.

Ramusio’s contribution to Renaissance understandings of Indians 211 Cidade, H. (ed.) (1945–1946) Ásia de João de Barros: Dos feitos que os portugueses fizeram no descobrimento e conquista dos mares e terras do Oriente (Vols 1–4). Lisbon: Divisão de Publicações e Biblioteca Agência Geral das Colónias. D’Anania, G. L. (1576) L’universale Fabrica Del Mondo overo Cosmografia. Venice: ad instanza di Aniello San Vito di Napoli. de Ulloa, A. (trans.) (1577–1578) Historia dell’Indie Orientali, scoperte, & conquistate da’ Portoghesi (Vols 1–2). Venice: Giordano Ziletti. de Ulloa, A. (trans.) (1561) L’Asia Del S. Giovanni di Barros, Consigliero del Cristianissimo Re di Portogallo, de’ fatti de’ Portoghesi nello Scoprimento, & conquista de’ Mari & Terre di Oriente (Vols 1–2). Venice: Vincenzo Valgrisio. Donattini, M. (1980) Giovanni Battista Ramusio e le sue Navigationi: Appunti per una biografia. Critica storica. 17. p. 55–100. Hodgen, M. T. (1953) Johann Boemus (fl. 1500): An Early Anthropologist. American Anthropologist. New Series. 55. p. 284–294. Münster, S. (1554) Cosmographiae universalis lib. vi [. . .] Sebast. Munstero. Basel: Henrichus Petri. Parks, G. B. (1955a) The contents and sources of Ramusio’s Navigationi. Bulletin of the New York Public Library. 59. p. 279–313 Parks, G. B. (1955b) Ramusio’s Literary History. Studies in philology. 52. p. 127–148. Ramusio, G. B. (1978–1988) Navigazioni e viaggi (Vols 1–6), ed. M. Milanesi. Turin: Einaudi. Ramusio, G. B. (1563–1574) Delle navigationi et viaggi (Vols 1–3).Venice: I Giunti. Richardson, B. (1999) Printing, Writers and Readers in Renaissance Italy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Romanini, F. (2007) Se fussero più ordinate, e meglio scritte: Giovanni Battista Ramusio correttore ed editore delle Navigationi et viaggi. Rome: Viella. Rubiés, J.-P. (2000) Travel and Ethnology in the Renaissance: South India through European Eyes, 1250–1625. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sassetti, Filippo (1970) Lettere da vari paesi, 1570–1588, ed. V. Bramanti. Milan: Longanesi.

11 Popularised Jesuit views

By the mid-sixteenth century, Italian visions of India had begun to be shaped by a new and dynamic force, in the form of the Jesuit missionary reports. Officially sanctioned as a religious order by Pope Paul III in 1540, the Society of Jesus would loom large in mission both against the Protestants and in the new worlds. Though founded by a Spaniard, Ignatius Loyola, its members originally came from various European countries; in time, membership of the Order would become increasingly international with the establishment of Jesuit colleges in far-flung regions, such as the College of St Paul in Goa. The Spaniard Francis Xavier began the Jesuit mission to India in 1541, but Italian-born Jesuits became prominent in the Indian mission after Xavier’s death in China in 1552.1 Over its period of operation in India, the Society of Jesus amassed vast amounts of information through its missionary activities, which relatively early on included the stealing and translation of Hindu scriptures, by a Brahmin convert.2 Yet most of this information was for circulation among members of the Order, and not released to the general public. Such Jesuit reports of India that were printed were selected (as their modern editor Josef Wicki put it) for the purpose of edifying souls.3 Without claiming to be comprehensive, this chapter will attempt to consider what sort of attitudes to pagan Indians were presented through Jesuit writings to the reading public in sixteenth-century Italy. For this, I shall confine my discussion to the early published letters of Francis Xavier and to Giovanni Pietro Maffei’s Historiarum Indicarum libri xvi (Florence, 1588), one of the first Jesuit attempts at a full account of the Portuguese Indies to be printed in Italy.4

Francis Xavier’s negative appraisal of the Indians Francis Xavier, who would be later beatified and aggrandised with the title ‘Apostle to India and Japan’, largely set the tone for the Jesuit response to pagan India in the decades following his death in 1552. Ramusio had added some of Xavier’s letters to the expanded second edition of Volume One of the Navigationi in 1554. Brief as these are, they give a clear indication of the missionary’s attitudes to the Indians. The pagan Indians are a source of frustration to the missionary, who considers them too bound up in sin to be receptive to the Christian message:

Popularised Jesuit views 213 per suoi grandi peccati non sono niente inchinati alle cose della nostra santa fede, anzi l’hanno in odio e gli rincresce sommamente on account of their great sins they are not in the least inclined to matters of our holy faith, but rather they hate it and it irritates them enormously.5 The Indians’ unwillingness to be converted, what Xavier calls their ‘indisposizione’, is the reason he gives for pursuing his mission in what he believes will prove a more fruitful ground, among the Japanese.6 As a nation, Xavier considered the latter far more morally virtuous than the Indians, rating the Japanese people as possibly the finest non-Christian people that will ever be discovered. In a letter addressed to the Jesuit College in Coimbra and reproduced by Ramusio, Xavier has the following praise for the Japanese people. They are: la miglior che insino adesso si sia scoperta, e fra gli infideli pare che non si troverà un’altra migliore. the best that so far has been discovered, and among the infidels it doesn’t seem that one will find another better.7 In these published letters, the negative view of pagan Indian society is entirely proportional to the degree to which they appear not to be amenable to Christian instruction. In an earlier letter to members of the society, Xavier put the blame for his lack of success on the Brahmins, whom he cast as perfidious liars who deliberately kept the common people of India ignorant of truth, for their own material gain. The common pagan Indians fared little better in Xavier’s estimation, generally being portrayed as illiterate and wicked.8 In the full version of Xavier’s letter to Loyola of January 1549, he summed up the whole race of Indians, as far as he could see, as ‘molto barbara’ (‘very barbarous’): unwilling to learn, adverse to virtue, mendacious and incredibly unreliable (‘incostanti mirabilmente’).9 These comments were omitted by Ramusio in his printed, abridged version of this correspondence, perhaps indicating unwillingness on the part of the Venetian humanist to tar all Indians so thoroughly with the same brush.

Maffei’s response to contemporary pagan societies and to the Indians Giovanni Pietro Maffei’s Historiarum Indicarum libri xvi, published a little less than forty years after Xavier’s death, is similarly dismissive of the Indians. Maffei has only one compliment for them: that some of their temple architecture attains to the magnificence of Ancient Rome.10 Unlike Xavier, Maffei had not formed his views from first-hand experience. Rather, after a distinguished academic career, first as a layman then as a Jesuit teaching rhetoric and eloquence at the Jesuit College in Rome, he had been invited to Lisbon by the Portuguese cardinal and king, Henrique I (r.1578–1580), to write a history of the Portuguese Indies.11 The resulting work, drawn from the available written sources, was not conceived as an

214  Popularised Jesuit views informative treatise for the pleasure and profit of the ‘studious’ (as earlier humanists had often envisaged their writings), but as a work of sacred history. It gives an account of the Portuguese military and religious conquests in Africa and the East, from their beginnings to the entry of the Society of Jesus onto the scene, at the invitation of King João III of Portugal (r.1521–1557), to take over the task of evangelising the East. The Portuguese are cast in Maffei’s prologue as agents of the Roman Church, fulfilling its providential mission to bring the Gospel to the world. The faithful, for whose edification the book was intended, could read it either in the Latin editions published in Florence in 1588, and soon after in Venice and Bergamo, or in the vernacular editions printed in Florence and Venice.12 To understand Maffei’s representation of contemporary pagan Indians, it is first necessary to examine the general contours of his world-view and the cultural forces that combined to produce it, as revealed in various sections of his history of the Indies. The three main elements of the ‘frame’ in which his particular comments on Indian society are set, and according to which they should be interpreted, consist in: Maffei’s understanding of sacred history; his assessment of classical antiquity’s legacy; and his notions of the ‘barbarian’. Maffei’s understanding of sacred history is set out clearly in the prologue to the book. After a brief meditation on the mysteries of divine providence, he launches into an equally succinct account of sacred history from the Flood, ending with the Spanish and Portuguese voyages of exploration in his own century. For the most part, Maffei’s version of the key events runs along lines familiar to Christians since the time of St Paul, and is not dissimilar to the account given in many a medieval chronicle, albeit Maffei couches his in characteristically severe post-Tridentine language. The reader is told that after the Great Flood, mankind fell once more into spiritual degeneration (‘ruinaua in ogni sceleratezza, e malvagità’; ‘it ruined itself in all manner of crime and evil-doing’), abandoned the only true God, and resumed the worship of idols (‘si daua alla servitù degli Idoli’; ‘they enslaved themselves to Idols’); God then decided to select a people to be the custodians of his divine law, and some centuries after this decision, from the dregs (‘feccia’) of humanity, God managed to find a singularly saintly man, Abraham, to be the founder of this chosen people; however, this people rebelled against God on account of their great impiety and treachery (‘per somma impietà e perfidia’) and hence their special spiritual mandate was annulled. So far, Maffei’s rendition of events would seem tolerable to any sixteenth-century Christian reader (Latin, Greek or Protestant), but the next comments make clear his strong ideological allegiance towards the Church of Rome – a bias so strong that Maffei omits any mention of the Incarnation from his summary of early salvation history. Instead, the reader is informed that God next allowed the city of Rome to grow into a great Empire for the sole reason of establishing the world hegemony of the Church of Rome: permise egli, che surgesse la Città di Roma, e da piccioli principi sormontasse al maggiore imperio, che già mai al mondo fosse. E questo à fine di fermare quiui alcuna volta il principato della Chiesa, il seggio della vera religione, & accioche onde tutti i popoli, e tutte le nazioni poco prima havevano appreso e le ragioni ciuili, e nefandi riti, e superstizioni, quindi si distendessero per tutti i

Popularised Jesuit views 215 Regni, e per tutte le Prouincie, senz’alcun sospetto d’errore, e’ sacrosanti decreti de’ Pontefici, le castissime cerimonie, e i verissimi precetti di bene e beatamente vivere. [God] permitted the rise of the City of Rome, and from small princedoms it grew into the greatest empire that there had ever been in the world. And this was done in order to establish there at some time the Principate of the Church, seat of true religion, and so that from whence all the peoples and all the nations had not long before learnt both civil law and unspeakable rites and superstitions, from this place there would spread throughout all Kingdoms, and throughout all Provinces, without any suspicion of error, the sacrosanct decrees of the Popes, most chaste ceremonies and the truest precepts for living well and blessedly. Having cast the Church of Rome as the superior successor to the Roman Empire in its civilising mission, with a god-given responsibility not to make ancient Romans but to teach the world Christian virtue, he then rounds up his account of sacred history by leaping to the present era when, he informs us (with a rhetorical flourish not captured in this paraphrasing) that spirited explorers appeared who managed to reach previously unknown parts of the world, so that alongside commerce, the healing doctrine (‘salutifera dottrina’) of Christ would be brought from the same city of Rome to the most remote nations, who are imagined as either having never received the Gospel or to have somehow lost its light, through negligence, distance or the passing of time. A couple of points are worth highlighting at this juncture. First, it is not so much in the material and political conquests of the Portuguese that Maffei invites the reader to see the hand of Providence, but in the way their secular successes overseas created the conditions whereby it was possible for Catholic priests to go out and evangelise new worlds. Logically then, the implication is that any resistance to these priests is resistance to the divine will. Second, Maffei’s scheme encourages the reader to regard any pagans that might be encountered in the East as falling into one of two categories: those still in the state of post-diluvian spiritual degradation because early Christian missionaries did not manage to reach them; and those who were converted but have now lapsed from the Christian faith. In line with Tridentine reforms, Maffei has no third category of virtuous pagans which might include those who are not failed Christians but who through natural goodness somehow escaped the general post-diluvian second ‘fall’ of mankind which is assumed to have taken place.13 Later passages in the book place the Indians in the second category of remote nations: those believed to have once received the Gospel but who have failed to benefit properly from it. Even if the finding of a cross, for example, amid the ruins of Goa may be hailed by Maffei as evidence of an earlier indigenous Christianity in India with a correct understanding of the use of images,14 he assumes that none of this uncontaminated Christianity has remained. Rather, the fall of the Indian nation from such an initial state of grace is represented as so inevitable an event in salvation history that it was predicted by the first apostle to India himself.

216  Popularised Jesuit views As Jordanus had done centuries earlier, Maffei has recourse to the authority of a Prophecy of St Thomas allegedly known to the local Indians, in this instance Indian Christians rather than pagans, in order to suggest that the conversion of India by the Church of Rome (and, in particular, the Jesuit involvement in it) has divine sanction. Startlingly, the words of St Thomas’ (supposed) prophecy actually propose that the spiritual restoration of India is the white man’s burden: per ordine Divino erano per venire uomini bianchi di paese lontanissimo a rinnovare quei medesimi sacrificj che egli vi aveva portati (I, p.123).15 by Divine command there were to come white men from a most distant land in order to renew those same sacrifices that he had brought there. While Maffei may have felt that the spiritual restoration of India was the duty of European Christians, he was not at all convinced about their ability to fulfil this mission. Towards the end of the prologue, Maffei signals his pessimism through a comment he makes on the current state of religious affairs. As the faithful read his history, Maffei evidently anticipated (or hoped to provoke) two contrasting responses: joy and fear. Joy that remote nations were being Christianised, and fear that Europeans might be losing their hegemony in Christianity to others, or that these events might herald the end of time: La qual cognizione genererà (s’io non sono ingannato) diversi affetti negli animi de’ fedeli, che si rallegreranno per certo che siano tolti via in sì gran parte gli stolti riti de’ Gentili, e ’l detestabile culto de’ vari e bugiardi Iddii; e di nuovo gli traffiggerà, e spaventerà il vedere che la Cristiana religione per li peccati degli uomini, e per li falsi e pestiferi articoli quasi a noi sdegnata si parta dal nostro emispero, e se ne vada ad Isole lontane, come disse Isaia, e all’ultime terre; onde pare, o che per divino giudizio sia tolto ancora a noi il regno, o vero che sendo già da’ raggi della luce Evangelica secondo le divine profezie illuminato tutto l’Universo, s’appressi fra breve tempo il fine alla già stanca ed invecchiata Natura (I, p.5). This knowledge will generate (if I am not mistaken) different emotions in the souls of the faithful, who will rejoice for certain that the stupid rites of the Pagans have been removed to such an extent, together with the detestable worship of various lying Gods; and again they will be struck and frightened by seeing that, because of men’s sins, and because of false and pestiferous tenets, the Christian religion is departing from this our hemisphere, as though disdained by us, and is going to far off Islands, as Isaiah said, and to the ends of the earth. Wherefore, it seems, either that divine judgment has taken away our kingdom once again, or indeed that the entire Universe, having once been illumined by the rays of the light of the Gospel according to the divine prophecies, is shortly heading to the end of an already tired and aged Nature. Although Maffei clearly believed in the Roman Church’s god-given mission to convert the world to Christ, his confidence in this mission is matched by criticism

Popularised Jesuit views 217 of the Church of Rome’s members and their capacity to carry it out. As we have seen, here in the prologue, he suggests that European Christians may no longer be equal to their lofty calling, on account of their sinfulness, a theme which Maffei will return to specifically when trying to explain the difficulties of making converts in India and China.16 Moreover, by insinuating that the Apocalypse may be at hand, Maffei encourages the reader to interpret what the book will recount of events in the East as part of a final battle between the forces of Good and Evil. The implication is that as they hear about the successes in conversion of far away pagans, the godly fear felt by the European Christian reader will inspire him to choose a side also in the spiritual battle raging closer to home. The Jesuits were, of course, heavily involved not just in new world missions but also in the antiLutheran campaign in Europe and the damage control operations of the Church of Rome. ‘Li falsi e pestiferi articoli’ (‘the false and pestiferous tenets’) mentioned in the quote above is a reference to the Lutheran movement, against whom Maffei will sporadically lash out in his book. As is well-known, Lutherans and other sixteenth-century protestant groups attacked a whole host of Roman Catholic doctrines and practices, and were especially riled by the use of images in Christian worship, which they considered idolatry.17 Taking the cross discovered in Goa as a prompt, Maffei fulminates thus against the Lutherans who are trying to get rid of what he calls the salutary use of images (‘salutare uso delle immagini’): ‘questi moderni inimici dell’antica pietà, ed interpreti della divina volontà’ (‘these modern enemies of ancient piety, and interpreters of the divine will’). Elsewhere, he is even more scathing, implying that Japanese ‘Bonzj’ and Lutherans share the same teacher in Satan.18 Maffei’s notion that the present epoch is involved in a potentially apocalyptic struggle is a factor which helps explain the emotionally charged language consistently employed in his narrative of early encounters between European and Eastern peoples. Comparisons of contemporary non-Christian societies to classical antiquity also bear a different weight in Maffei’s history than they do in many other Renaissance writings, because of the Jesuit’s double-edged view of classical civilisation. Loyola’s Constitutiones permitted Jesuit educators such as Maffei to use classical texts in the classrooms so long as spiritually damaging passages were censored; they also recommended banning any classical author whose life had not been morally upright, lest attraction to the author’s writings might lead students to imitate his bad life.19 These recommendations clearly reveal the dual status classical civilisation had for the founder of the Jesuit Order: it was a useful source of training in skills pertinent to public life, but at the same time not a model for moral and spiritual education. Maffei’s assessment of classical civilisation in his history of Portuguese exploits in India is consonant with this view. On the one hand, the Roman Empire may be held up as the epitome of secular grandeur and statecraft, of ‘magnificentia’ – a suitable administrative cradle, as it is represented in the prologue, for the Roman Church. On the other hand, Maffei unambiguously regards Ancient Rome as a spiritually decadent civilisation, culpable in his eyes because it spread ‘unspeakable’ rites and superstitions (‘nefandi riti e superstizioni’) alongside its civil laws (‘ragioni civili’; I, p.3). Whereas for an earlier

218  Popularised Jesuit views author such as Ficino or Pico della Mirandola ancient religions might have been admired as a source of esoteric wisdom,20 Maffei denigrates all pagan religions equally in the prologue, be they classical or contemporary, as stupid, detestable and mendacious (I, p.5). Since classical religion enjoys no special, more positive, status with Maffei, comparison of contemporary pagan religious beliefs with those of the Ancient Romans or Greeks serves rhetorically only to emphasise the antiquity of the presumed error. The final element to bear in mind when considering Maffei’s portrayal of the contemporary pagan Indian world is his classification of practically all nonEuropean non-Christians as ‘barbarians’. With the Jesuit writings comes this fundamental shift in terminology. Before their advent, it is rare, if at all, to find the term ‘barbaro’ – ‘barbarian’ – applied to subcontinent Indians, on the evidence of the texts considered in this study of Renaissance visions of the contemporary world. By contrast, Maffei’s history is riddled with the term. Not surprisingly, given that events in India occupy the greater part of the book, pagan Indians are most frequently referred to as ‘barbari’. Other categories of barbarian present in Maffei’s Asia include Muslims – ‘i Maomettani, eccellenti maestri di tutte le scelleratezze’ (‘Mahomettans, excellent masters of every wicked deed’; I, p.132), Chinese and Japanese. For the latter two groups of Asian ‘barbari’, Maffei has considerable praise as well as criticism. Nevertheless, as a type, Maffei’s ‘barbarian’ has specific traits, chief among them being fickleness and treachery. Take for example, his description of a reaction by the ‘Zamorino’ of Calicut to news of Portuguese deaths: alle quali scelleratezze il Re per la leggerezza e perfidia, che è naturale ne’ barbari, chiudeva gli occhi. The king closed his eyes to their wicked deeds, on account of lack of seriousness and of treachery, natural in barbarians (I, p.90). Similarly, when Maffei is occasionally compelled by the narrative of historical events to describe an act of high moral principle on the part of a pagan Indian, he represents such acts as a deviation from the Indian’s basic nature as a ‘barbarian’. Witness Maffei’s representation of an episode in which the King of Cochin refused to comply with the Zamorin’s demands: con maggior prontezza e libertà, che non pareva si dovesse aspettare da un barbaro, rispose che nè promessa nè spavento alcuno era mai per indurlo a fare così enorme scelleratezza, che violasse insiememente la ragione della natura e delle genti’ (I, p.129). With rather great readiness and freedom, something it seemed one should not expect from a barbarian, he replied that no promise nor any fright at all would ever induce him to commit such a terrible crime, the sort that simultaneously violated the laws of nature and of the nations.

Popularised Jesuit views 219 Such stereotyping of pagan Indians as fundamentally treacherous, to the best of my knowledge, is not found in Italian representations of India prior to the Jesuits. However, it is important to note that being considered as a barbarian by Maffei, in itself, does not necessarily mean wholesale condemnation, even if the Jesuit historian has little esteem for Indian barbarians. Chinese and Japanese ‘barbarians’ fare much better at his hands. Unlike India, China and Japan had been outside the Portuguese sphere of military influence, though within the ambition of Xavier’s Jesuit mission. In Book 6, Maffei discourses for over forty pages on the positive and negative aspects of the ‘regione de’ Sini, chiamata oggi volgarmente la China’ (‘region of the Sini, today popularly called China’; I, p.360). He admires the wealth, order and architecture of the Chinese, favourably comparing their industriousness in road-building with ‘l’antica magnificenza Romana’ (‘the ancient magnificence of Rome’; I, p.368). As we have seen, Ancient Rome symbolises the heights of secular achievement, so this is high praise indeed. Maffei also tacitly acknowledges China’s technological superiority over Europe, with the remark that printing and weapons manufacture – ‘delle quali nuove invenzioni l’Europa tanto si gloria’ (‘in which new inventions Europe glories so much’; I, p.374) – are ancient Chinese traditions. On the other hand, Maffei chastises the Chinese for irreligion (‘i Chini dispregiano gli Dei’ (‘the Chinese despise the Gods’; I, p.368); ‘Quella nazione non tiene alcuna cura della religione’ (‘This nation does not care about religion at all’; I, p. 393–394)), xenophobia, extreme cruelty, sexual depravity, arrogance, self-love, and for a political system that renders the populace base: ‘le leggi e gli statuti sono tali, che rendono i popoli più atti alla servitù ed alla viltà, che alla virtù ed alla grandezza dell’animo’ (‘their laws and statutes are such that they render the people more suitable for slavery and baseness, than for virtue and greatness of soul’; I, p.401).21 In this comment and in the addition of tyrants – ‘tyranni’ – to the categories commonly used for rulers in earlier texts, a strong Aristotelian influence can be detected.22 Maffei devotes approximately half the space to an evaluation of the Japanese nation in Book 12, although he clearly regards them as the most superior type of ‘barbarian’.23 He eulogises the Japanese for what he sees as their unparalleled natural virtues: in universale questa nazione è acuta, sagace e ben disposta dalla natura; avanza di giudicio, di docilità, di memoria non solamente le nazioni Orientali, ma ancora le Occidentali overall, this nation is astute, wise and well-disposed by nature; it surpasses in judgment, teachability, and memory not only the eastern nations but even the western (II, p.259). Nevertheless, as it appears axiomatic for Maffei that the good things about barbarians (‘i beni’) must be outweighed by a great pile of evils – ‘grandissimo colmo dei mali’ (II, p.262), criticisms of the Japanese follow later.24 These are

220  Popularised Jesuit views largely aimed at their religion, where it is found that they err terribly: ‘errano miseramente’ (II, p.262). However, Maffei paints the Japanese priests or ‘Bonzj’ in particular as villains, who, ‘con nequizia molto simile alla Luterana’ (‘with wickedness very similar to the Lutheran’; II, p.263), deceive the good-natured populace; Japanese religious beliefs are viewed as a collection of ugly and ridiculous fables akin to those told by the Greek poets about their false and lying gods (‘Dei falsi e bugiardi’; II, p.263).25 Nor do other Japanese entirely escape upbraiding. Authoritarianism and arrogance are said to afflict both the Japanese king and his princes, who with ‘una certa barbara superbia’ – a certain barbarian arrogance (also identified in the king of China) want to be worshipped and venerated: ‘vogliono essere adorati e venerati’ (II, p.267). Meanwhile, Maffei’s naturally virtuous Japanese populace are depicted as possessing a singular ability to divest themselves of their better judgment –‘si spogliano del magistero della coscienza’ (‘they strip themselves of the command of their conscience’; II, p.264) – in order to commit acts of great cruelty and veniality. If in China and Japan, Maffei finds much to commend, as well as much to criticise, for India he has little other than criticism. Despite India being the setting for the greater part of his history, Maffei accords Indian society significantly less consideration, and less-balanced, than either the Japanese or Chinese. Maffei appears to be aware of the existence of other sorts of Indians, such as the ‘Guzzarati’ of ‘Cambaja’ (viewed as an unmilitary bunch of superstitious businessmen),26 but his focus is on the pagan southern Indians of Malabar. This is natural because struggles against the forces of the Zamorin of Calicut dominated the early period of Portuguese interest in India which Maffei is attempting to chronicle. In his chronicle of these events, Maffei is unabashedly partisan, characterising Indian resistance to the Portuguese as barbarian intransigence: ‘i barbari fecero resistenza [. . .] ma finalmente l’ardore de’ Portoghesi vinse l’ostinazione degli Indiani’ (‘the barbarians put up a resistance [. . .] but finally the burning passion of the Portuguese overcame the obstinacy of the Indians’; I, p.200). Having looked at Maffei’s general attitude to different groups of contemporary pagans, let us now turn to the particulars of his description of the Indians. The only relatively detailed treatment of Indian customs provided by Maffei comes with the first introduction of the ‘Zamorino’, defined as the ‘emperor’ – ‘cioè Imperadore’ – of Calicut. This account begins fairly neutrally with remarks on the division of local society into four ordini, but then launches into an extended ‘exposé’ of the Brahmins.27 The factual information Maffei supplies about the Brahmins can be summarised briefly. Of ancient origin and name, the ‘Bracmani’ form the second highest rank of Malabar society, in which they enjoy an honoured position, and immunity from the law, as priests and custodians (‘curatori’) of holy things. There are essentially two types, married and unmarried; the unmarried Brahmins Maffei calls ‘Giogui’ and identifies them with the people the ancient Greeks called gymnosophists. The Brahmins are renowned for feats of physical endurance, wear three threads in honour of ‘non so qual Dio antichissimo chiamato da essi Parabramma, e tre figliuoli di lui’ (‘I know not which most ancient God, called “Parabramma” by them, and of his three sons’; I, p.80); they worship

Popularised Jesuit views 221 numerous men and beasts (especially elephants and the ox), and believe in the transmigration of souls. They possess painstakingly written religious books which they are careful to guard from the common crowd, and their religious beliefs are to Maffei like a combination of Greek mythology and Tuscan augury.28 Maffei, of course, is a little less temperate in the way he presents this information. He portrays the Brahmins as liars and fraudsters who control a gullible people through hocus-pocus: ‘ingannano le credule menti degli uomini con gran bugie e con varie santocchierie’ (‘they deceive the credulous minds of men with great lies and with various kinds of holy charlatanism’; I, p.79). Through the agency of these deceivers (‘ingannatori’), the Indians are kept in a satanic ignorance: ‘è cosa maravigliosa in quanta oscura caligine, ed in quanta ignoranza della verità il diavolo tenga tutti costoro’ (It’s an astonishing thing how obscure a darkness, and how deep an ignorance of the truth, the devil keeps all of them in’; I, p.80). Similar accusations had been made by the Reformers against the Roman Catholic Church and its priesthood, and it would be interesting, although beyond the scope of this book, to see how far Maffei’s rhetoric with respect to the Brahmins mirrored, or was even directly influenced by, Protestant attacks on the Catholic clergy as obstructers of ‘true religion’. Be that as it may, Brahmin morality, in Maffei’s eyes, had descended to the lowest depths: ‘stanno rinvolti in ogni scelleratezza e malvagità’ (‘they are entangled in every kind of wicked deed and evil’; I, p.80). The detestable and mendacious character of pagan religion, identified in Maffei’s prologue, is transferred to the character of the Brahmins. Throughout Maffei’s history, the Brahmins reappear time and time again as wicked plotters, involved in all sorts of nefarious activities, allies of the Muslims, enemies of the Portuguese and obstructers of true religion.29 Francis Xavier himself will be called to fight great battles against the Brahmins (‘gran battaglie co’ Bracmani’) who reportedly abhor more than death the discovery of their frauds and lies: ‘le fraudi e le menzogne loro’ (II, p.225). Given the position on pagan religion stated in his prologue, it is not surprising that Maffei dismisses Brahminical religious teachings variously as fables, superstition and madness, ‘le pazzie della loro empia falsità’ (‘the crazinesses of their impious falsehoods’; I, p.80). What is interesting is that Maffei claims to have first-hand knowledge of the religion he is so caustic about. As he explains, thanks to a learned Brahmin convert, the Jesuits now possess Portuguese translations of some of the Brahmin scriptures, which Maffei has seen. The experience did not improve his opinion: Brahminical religion is dismissed as old wives’ tales: ‘prette baje e pazzie da vecchierelle, le quali in questo luogo non ho giudicato spediente toccar pure leggiermente’ (‘the typical chatter and mad tales of old women, which I have not deemed expedient to touch on even lightly in this book’; I, p.81). Likewise, Maffei refuses to give details about pagan Indian sacrifices, offerings ‘e gli altri riti nefandi, i quali usano ovvero per placare i falsi Iddii’ (‘and the other evil rites, which they employ really to placate their false Gods’; I, p.81) on the grounds that the task would be unending: ‘sarebbe cosa come soverchia, così quasi infinita’ (‘it would be something excessive, and, as it is, almost infinite’; I, p.81). His dismissal of the subject of pagan Indian religion is the most forthright of all the writers so far treated in this study.

222  Popularised Jesuit views Not just the Brahmins but the whole class system operating in Malabar outrages Maffei’s moral sense; he represents Malabar as a totally vice-ridden society. Maffei’s division of Malabar society into classes is more streamlined than that offered by Barbosa. There are satraps and lords (‘Satrapi e Signori’) called ‘Caimali’; priests (‘Sacerdoti’) or ‘Bracmani’; soldiers and masters of warfare, who are all of the noble classes and are called ‘Nairi’; and finally, artisans and workers (I, p.78). Without specifying it, Maffei automatically thinks of the Zamorin’s realm as a society split into an indigenous pagan part, where these four ranks apply, and the remaining crowd (‘il rimanente volgo’) which consists of foreign shopkeepers, reportedly, for the most part, Arabs, Persians and Egyptians (I, p.78). He bemoans as wretched (‘miserabile’) the plight of the lowest classes, whom he sees as unwilling captives to the station in which they are born: ‘ciascuno è forzato perseverare fino alla morte in quella maniera di vita, che da principio gli è tocca’ (‘each person is forced to persevere until death in the way of life which fell to them in the beginning’; I, p.84). As if to underline how ingrained this Indian social injustice is, Maffei refers to Arrian to support his view that the system is ancient: ‘è ordine antico’ (I, p.84). After the Brahmins, Maffei’s attention is most drawn to the military class, or Nairi, whose battle skills he acknowledges, but whose elite he tends to portray as wild, stubborn, and even terrifyingly mad: con orrende bestemmie maledicono la vita [. . .] Ma la morte del Re vendicano con tanto ostinato impeto d’anime, che senz’alcun riguardo della vita corrono come pazzi e forsennati per mezzo l’armi e le fiamme all’occisione de’ nemici, e per ciò sono di molto terrore’ (I, p.83). With horrendous blasphemies, they curse life [. . .] But they avenge the death of the King with such an obstinate impulsiveness of soul, that without any regard at all for life they run like madmen out of their wits into the midst of battle and flames in order to kill the enemy, and on account of this they are a great source of terror. Maffei then calls into question the nobility of this noble class, citing as evidence the Indian custom that lower classes may not even look on their superiors. He interprets the Nairi’s practice of sending slaves before them to announce their approach (so as to avoid unwelcome encounters) as proof of their unbridled pride, of their opposition to human charity, and therefore, of their opposition to Christianity: tanta superbia e tanto barbara alterigia è nella nobiltà Indiana: e quest’è la cagione che portano grand’odio alla fede e disciplina de’ Cristiani, la cui principal lode consiste nella carità degli uomini e nella moderazione dell’animo’ (I, p.84). so great is the pride and so great the barbarian superciliousness [that exists] in the Indian nobility: and this is the reason why they have such hatred for the faith and teaching of the Christians, for whom the chief source of praise lies in loving men and in moderation of soul.

Popularised Jesuit views 223 To this perceived lack of human charity, Maffei suggests innumerable faults – ‘altri vituperj atti’ (‘other reprehensible deeds’) – could be added, such as what he sees as the bestial way they use their women: ‘come fra le bestie, le donne e congiungimenti carnali sono a comune’ (‘as it is among beasts, women and carnal couplings are communal’; I, p.85). Maffei evidently believed that noble is as noble does (that nobility was not just a matter of bloodline and wealth), and is outraged that anyone with a lack of human charity should call themselves so.30 That the Indian Nairi can do so is, for the Jesuit, yet another sign of hubris: La quale arroganza degli Indiani pare che sia da soffrir tanto meno, quanto più sfacciatamente s’attribuiscono il nome di nobili (I, p.84). this arrogance of the Indians seems even more insufferable, the more they shamelessly attribute the name of ‘noble’ to themselves. It is difficult to avoid the suspicion that the strength of Maffei’s animosity towards the ruling classes of Malabar was due to the fact that pagan Indians had proved very difficult to convert. That Maffei felt disappointed with the results of mission in Asia is evident from the concluding lines of his history, summed up as an account of various, uncertain successes for the Christian cause: ‘questi tanto varj e dubbiosi successi delle cose Cristiane’ (II, p.479). Earlier, he even casts doubt on the sincerity of the conversions that were achieved in India. On the conversion of the Paravi fishermen of Cape Comorin, he remarks that they did so more to please their masters and the Portuguese governor than because they understood the differences between religions and the importance of these differences (II, p.203). Yet it does not appear to occur to Maffei that a lack of sympathy for the indigenous culture may in part be responsible for the failures experienced in converting the Indians. He prefers to fall back on explanations such as barbarian arrogance and wily Brahmins, to which one more is added: India is a natural incubator of vice. He had made a similar suggestion about China, where the abundance and fertility of the land were classified under opportunities for evil, ‘opportunità de’ mali’ (I, p.403). Likewise, according to Maffei, India’s physical conditions, its land and air, encourage fleshy indulgence; so much so that even the most generously endowed spirit (‘generoso ingegno’) may fall victim to its sweetness: ‘estingue colla dolcezza dell’ozio, e con varj allettamenti de’ piaceri qualsivoglia vigore marziale che sia nell’animo degli uomini’ (‘It extinguishes with the sweetness of ease, and with the various enticements of pleasures, whatever martial vigour there is in the soul of men’; II, p.203). In fine, Maffei’s outlook on mission in India is that Christian sanctity and rigour – the ‘santità’ and ‘severità Cristiana’ – have a formidable opponent in what he sees as this ‘lussuria Asiatica’: Asiatic fleshly indulgence (II, p.203).

Authoritative Jesuit support for Maffei’s view of the Indians Maffei’s outspokenness about pagan Indians is unparalleled in any of the Italianauthored accounts of India presented in this study, as is his sweeping dismissal

224  Popularised Jesuit views of pagan Indian religious belief and practice. However, his was in many ways the standard Jesuit view, and certainly one upheld by the then Visitor of the Order to the Indies, Alessandro Valignano (1539–1606).31 A multi-lingual Italian Jesuit from a noble Neapolitan family, Valignano is most renowned for encouraging a radical new missionary policy of accommodatio in Japan and China.32 Valignano’s official opinions on pagan Indians can be found in his Historia de principio y progresso de la compañía de Jesús en las Indias Orientales, which he completed in 1583 and then sent to the Superior General of the Jesuits in Rome.33 Like most of the Jesuits’ research into foreign cultures in this period, this work was intended for the instruction of the Society, not the general public. This explains why it contains considerably more information on the pagan Indian religious rites and beliefs, which Maffei was to censor as spiritually unprofitable for the general public.34 Valignano devotes two chapters of his Historia to a highly unsympathetic description of Indians and Indian culture.35 By ‘India’ he stipulates that he means the stretch of coast on the subcontinent running from the city of Diu to Cape Comorin, and by ‘Indians’, he refers in the main to the pagan population, which he tends to treat as culturally homogeneous. His discussion covers a variety of topics, including the caste system (which he disapproves of as encouraging the worst kind of tyranny),36 the Brahmins, pagan Indian divinities, temples, widowburning, hook-swinging, ‘juggernauting’ and the killing frenzies of Nair warriors. In the extreme ascetic acts practised by some Indians, Valignano recognises a potential source of confusion to the Christian faithful: no es meno espantosa cosa ver las crueles penitencias que muchos hazen de su propria voluntad, que bien nos pueden dar a nosostros materia de mucha confusión y vergüença’ (p.36). Nor is it a less frightening thing to see the cruel torments that many undergo of their own free will, which could easily give us cause for much confusion and shame. The most novel part of Valignano’s Indian account, in terms of detail, is his treatment of Brahminical religious beliefs, their Supreme God ‘Parabramà’ and his three sons ‘Maèso’, ‘Visnù’ and ‘Bramà’.37 Valignano’s view of this religion is that it contains a grain of truth to which the Brahmins have added ‘muchas monstruosidades y chimeras’ (‘many monstrosities and chimeras’; p.32), with which they deceive the people. So great are the monstrosities that Valignano expresses his incredulity that rational men could believe such things, viewing the Indians’ beliefs as more outrageously absurd than anything recounted in Ovid’s Metamorphoses: ‘ridículas y fabulosas, repugnantes a todo sentido y razón’ (‘ridiculous and fantastical, repugnant to all sense and reason’).38 This leads him to the reflection that Europeans have greatly benefited from being Christians. Whereas Valignano could easily credit the Japanese and Chinese (regarded as white nations) with good natural understanding, he was more doubtful about the reasoning capacity of the Indians. Infamously, he rated the Indians as black, base,

Popularised Jesuit views 225 inferior to Europeans, and born to be slaves: ‘como dize Aristóteles, de naturaleza producida para servir’ (‘as Aristotle says, by nature born to be slaves’).39 Their sins had obscured all conscience and the natural light of reason.40 In Valignano’s account, we find made explicit a racism, connected to skin-colour and grounded in Aristotle, which is at best only implied in Maffei’s account. Whilst Valignano finds fault with the Chinese and Japanese too, on the whole he sees them as naturally equal (or even superior) to Europeans. The Indians, on the other hand, are naturally dim-witted (‘comúnmente de poco entendimiento’; ‘generally of little understanding’), although Valignano proves inconsistent on this point: some Indians, particularly the deceptive Brahmins, have a well-honed worldly intelligence, are literate, and learned in some scientific fields.41 In the end, Valignano grudgingly admits that the Indians possess rationality, on the grounds that they have some kind of civil structure, government, and learning: y finalmente es gente que, aunque comparada a los de Europa son viles y baxos, todavía son hombres racionales, que se saben governar y regir bien a su modo, y tienen su maner de saber y policía: y después que se hazen christianos, si son bien cultivados, son capaces de enseñança y doctrina (p.30). and finally, they are a people who, although they are base and low compared to Europeans, even still they are rational men, who know how to govern and rule themselves well in their way, and who have their own kind of knowledge and civil sense. And, once they have become Christians, if they are well nurtured, they are capable of instruction and learning. When set alongside Valignano’s statements, it is clear that Maffei’s opinion of the pagan Indians was simply a more reductive, and hence strident, refashioning of views common at the time within his Order. However, given that for centuries pagan Indians had enjoyed a better reputation among the Italians, it is pertinent to ask what caused the change. A simple answer would be that Tridentine reforms had produced a harsher, more hard-line and assertive Christianity, intolerant of pagan civilisations, whether they be ancient or contemporary. Alternatively, since the Jesuits went to considerable lengths to amass information on the Indians first-hand, it could be a case of greater familiarity with another culture breeding contempt. But perhaps the harsher view of Asian peoples and the greater classification of them as ‘barbarians’ that we see in the Jesuit texts owed more to the great classical erudition of many within the Order, who with their readings may have adopted the prejudices of ancient Greek and Roman world. Valignano had certainly imbibed the racial elitism of Aristotle’s Politics, as his reference to Indians as men ‘born to be slaves’ makes clear. Another factor contributing to Maffei’s zealous condemnation of contemporary pagan Indians must also have been the fact that the role he was playing as author was much more clearly delimited than had been the case with most of his predecessors: as a Jesuit priest commissioned by a cardinal king in the Counter-Reformation period to write a history that would definitely be read by laity, he had an obligation to see that

226  Popularised Jesuit views what he wrote edified souls and did not confuse them. The adventurer Varthema, writing on his own initiative for prestige, financial gain and the entertainment of his readers – and before Luther nailed up any theses – had no such social position of authority to maintain. After centuries of mild appraisal of the pagan Indians and tolerance of differences, Maffei’s negative remarks appear like an explosion of Latin Christian prejudice, explicable within the climate of heightened religious tension in the wake of the Council of Trent (1545–1563), and behind which seem to lie frustrations with the Protestants.42 Arguably, the Jesuits’ public antipathy towards pagan Indian culture, particularly Brahminical culture, would not be broken until the seventeenth century, when the controversial Italian Jesuit Roberto De Nobili (1577–1656) saw fit to apply the policy of accommodatio to his Madurai mission.43 The general reading public in Italy would learn something about De Nobili’s early missionary experiments through the collection Raguagli d’alcune missioni fatte dalli padri della Compagnia di Giesù nell’Indie orientali published in Rome, 1615.44 In the meantime, for those interested in pagan India, besides Maffei’s history, there were only two sources of new information widely available in Italy before the end of the sixteenth century: the travels of the Venetian merchants, Cesare Federici and Gasparo Balbi.

Notes   1 For an overview of Italian missionaries in India, Wicki (1988). On the Jesuit Order and its influence, see O’Malley (1995), and O’Malley et al. (1999).   2 Lach (1965): I, p. 438–439.   3 Wicki (1948–1975): I (1948), p.53.   4 Occasional volumes of Jesuit letters from India and other parts had begun to be published in Italy from c. 1546, although such publications dwindled after the 1560s. Lach (1965): I, p. 314–323 (p.320).   5 Letter of Francis Xavier, written from Cochin, on 14 January 1549; Ramusio (1979), p.1019. Translations in this chapter are mine unless otherwise indicated.  6 Ibid.  7 Letter of Francis Xavier, written from Japan to the Jesuit College in Coimbra, 5 October 1549; Ramusio (1979), p.1024.  8 Letter of Francis Xavier to the Society of Jesus in Rome, 15 January 1544 in Schurhammer & Wicki (1944–1945), I: (1535–1548), p. 152–178 (p. 170–174).  9 Letter of Francis Xavier to Loyola, 14 January 1549 in Schurhammer & Wicki (1944–1945), II: (1549–1552), p. 17–28 (p.22). 10 Tiraboschi (1806): I, p.80. References are to this edition of the 1588 Tuscan translation of Maffei’s history by Francesco Serdonati. 11 di Andretta (2007). Born in Bergamo 1536, Maffei appears to have received an excellent Latin education from his uncles. In 1563, he was teaching rhetoric and eloquence in Genoa and then was appointed secretary of the Genoese Republic. He joined the Compagnia di Gesù as a novice in August 1565 and began teaching for the Collegio Romano; having finished his theological studies, he took his final vows in 1572. Maffei’s translation and re-working of Portuguese Jesuit Manuel da Costa’s history of Jesuit missions in the East, executed in 1571, appears to have given him a reputation as a historian, and brought him to the attention of the Portuguese cardinal-king, Henrique.

Popularised Jesuit views 227 12 Lach (1965) I, p. 325–326. Filippo Giunti was the publisher of the first Florentine editions, Damian Zenaro of the Venetian, and a certain Ventura Comino of the 1590 Bergamo edition. In 1589, the book was also published in Cologne and by the Giunti press in London. 13 The Sixth Session of the Council of Trent had decreed in January 1547 that neither the Gentiles through the power of nature nor the Jews through the law of Moses had been able to be liberated from original sin, and that all men are servants of sin and under the power of the devil and death unless born again in Christ; Waterworth (1848), p. 31–32. 14 Tiraboschi (1806): I, p.292. 15 For Jordanus’s prophecy, see Chapter 3. 16 Tiraboschi (1806): I, p. 203 & 402–403. 17 The canons and decrees issued by the Council of Trent give a good outline of the chief protestant ideas rejected by the Church of Rome as ‘heresies’; see Waterworth (1848). Session 25, December 1563 deals with the question of sacred images. Eire (1986) is a readable account of the Protestant Reformers’ attack on the use of images in Christian worship. 18 Tiraboschi (1806): I, p.292 and II, 263. 19 Carlsmith (2002), p. 222–223. 20 Curran (2007), p. 90–99. 21 Tiraboschi (1806): I, p. 393–403. 22 Aristotle viewed Asiatics as servile barbarians by nature, for whom tyranny is the proper mode of government; Pagden (1982), p. 47 & 131–132. In Politics, VII.7, Aristotle says that the nations of Asia ‘have souls endowed with thought and art, but are lacking in spiritedness; hence they remain ruled and enslaved’; Lord (2013), p.199. 23 Tiraboschi (1806): II, p. 246–269. 24 Tiraboschi (1806): II, p. 262–269. 25 The phrase has a Dantean echo. In Canto 1 of Inferno, Virgil describes himself as having lived in Rome ‘sotto ’l buono Augusto/nel tempo de li dei falsi e bugiardi’ (1.71–72). 26 Tiraboschi (1806): I, p.228. 27 Tiraboschi (1806): I, p. 78–81. 28 A decade earlier, fellow clergy man D’Anania (1576: p. 213) had attributed an Abramic origin to the Brahmins, interpreting their three-fold thread positively as an image of God and as an instance of light shining in the darkness: ‘come riluca fra costoro nelle tenebre tanto tempo la verità di questo inefabile misterio’ (‘how the truth of this ineffable mystery has shone for such a long time amid those in darkness’). 29 cf. Tiraboschi (1806): I, p. 123–125, on St Thomas’ troubles at the hands of the Brahmins; I, p.140, where Brahmins ally with the Maomettani; I, 153, on the nefarious dealings of Calicut Brahmins; and II, p. 204–207 where the Jesuits are summoned to fight errors instilled by Brahmins: ‘ributtare le menzogne già invecchiate e fitte del tutto nelle menti accecate dall’errore della vanità de’ Bracmani e d’altri’ (‘to refute the already engrained lies, totally fixed in minds blinded by the error of the vanity of the Brahmins and others’). 30 Nobility had been the subject of many a discourse in the earlier Renaissance with even Poggio Bracciolini writing a treatise on the subject; Skinner (1978), p. 81–82, 236–238. 31 On Valignano, see Tamburello, Üçerler & Di Russo (2008). 32 Essentially, this accommodatio strategy permitted Jesuit missionaries to adapt their habits to the indigenous culture, instead of expecting converts to adopt European customs. Yet it is doubtful whether Valignano approved of such a policy for India, and no evidence has come to light of him promoting the policy in that region. Scholars are divided on the question of how far Valignano would have supported Roberto De Nobili’s practice of accommodatio in India, had he lived to witness it. 33 Valignano (1944), p.69 (I.10). References are to Wicki’s edition.

228  Popularised Jesuit views 34 It was largely through Protestant efforts (involving theft and plagiarism of Jesuit researches) that the door of Indian idolatry was eventually thrown wide open to the European reading public in the latter part of the seventeenth century. Rubiés points to Athanasius Kircher’s China Illustrata (Amsterdam, 1667) as the ‘only interpretative account of Hinduism publicised by the Jesuits themselves’ in the seventeenth century, although Kircher’s views were unorthodox; Rubiés (2000), p. 308–348 (p. 309, 311–312, 343–346 & n.56, p.345). 35 Valignano (1944), I.4 and I.5. 36 Valignano (1944), p.25 (I.4). 37 Valignano (1944), p. 32–34 (I.5). 38 Valignano (1944), p.34 (I.5). 39 Valignano (1944), p.24 (I.4); Aristotle’s problematic theory of natural slavery is set forth in Politics, I. V–VII. On which, see Pagden (1982), p. 41–48 and Lord (2013), p.11, n.31. 40 Valignano (1944), p.28 (I.4). 41 Valignano (1944), p.30 (I.4). Üçerler (2003) gives a nuanced appraisal of Valignano’s ethnographical writings. 42 On the complexities of the religious climate: Martin (2002) and Jacobson Schutte (2002), p. 127–130. 43 Sanfilippo & Prezzolini (2008) provides a good overview of De Nobili and extensive bibliography. 44 Javier & Baier (1615), p. 108–127. De Nobili’s experiments also received attention in the fifth and last volume (originally published in Portugal in 1611) of Fernão Guerreiro’s series, Relação annual; Rubiés, (200), p.344 (n.53).

References Alighieri, Dante (1985; repr. 1993–1994) La Divina Commedia (Vols 1–3) ed. Natalino Sapegno. Rev. edn. Florence: La Nuova Italia. Carlsmith, C. (2002) Struggling toward success: Jesuit education in Italy, 1540–1600. History of Education Quarterly. 42 (2), p. 215–246. Curran, B. (2007) The Egyptian Renaissance: The Afterlife of Ancient Egypt in Early Modern Italy. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. D’Anania, G. L. (1576) L’universale Fabrica Del Mondo overo Cosmografia. Venice: ad instanza di Aniello San Vito di Napoli. di Andretta, S. (2007) Maffei, Giampietro. Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani. Volume 67. [Online] Available from: http://www.treccani.it [Accessed 11 November 14]. Eire, C. M. N. (1986) War against the Idols: The Reformation of Worship from Erasmus to Calvin. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jacobson Schutte, A. (2002) Religion, spirituality and the post-Tridentine Church. In: Marino, J. A. (ed.) Early Modern Italy (1550–1796). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Javier, J. & Baier, J. W. (eds) (1615) Raguagli d’alcune missioni, fatte dalli Padri della Compagnia di Giesu nell’Indie Orientali, cioe nelle provincie di Goa, e Coccinno, e nell’Africa in capo verde. Rome: Bartolomeo Zannetti. Lach, D. F. with Van Kley, E. J. (1965–1993) Asia in the Making of Europe (Vols 1–9). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Lord, C. (ed. and trans.) (2013) Aristotle’s Politics. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Martin, J. J. (2002) Religion, renewal and reform in the sixteenth century. In: Marino, J. A. (ed.) Early Modern Italy (1550–1796). Oxford: Oxford University Press. O’Malley, J. W. et al. (eds) (1999) The Jesuits: Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts 1540–1773. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Popularised Jesuit views 229 O’Malley, J. W. (1995) The First Jesuits. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Pagden, A. (1982) The Fall of Natural Man: The American Indian and the Origins of Comparative Ethnology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ramusio, G. B. (1978–1988) Navigazioni e viaggi (Vols 1–6), ed. M. Milanesi. Turin: Einaudi. Rubiés, J.-P. (2000) Travel and Ethnology in the Renaissance: South India through European Eyes, 1250–1625. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sanfilippo, M. & Prezzolini, C. (eds) (2008) Roberto De Nobili (1577–1656) missionario gesuita poliziano: Atti del convegno Montepulciano 20 ottobre 2007. Linguaggi e culture: studi e ricerche, 7. Perugia: Guerra Edizioni. Schurhammer S. I., G. & Wicki S. I., I. (eds) (1944–1945) Epistolae S. Francisci Xaverii Aliaque Eius Scripta (Vols 1–2). Rome: Monumenta Historica Soc. Iesu. Skinner, Q. (1978) The Foundations of Modern Political Thought. Volume One: The Renaissance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tamburello, A., Üçerler S. J., M. A. J. & Di Russo, M. (eds), (2008) Alessandro Valignano S I, Uomo del Rinascimento: Ponte tra Oriente e Occidente. Bibliotheca Instituti Historici S. I., 65. Rome: Institutum Historicum Societatis Iesu. Tiraboschi, G. (ed.) (1806) Le Istorie dell’Indie Orientali del P. Gio. Pietro Maffei: Tradotte di Latino in lingua Toscana da M. Francesco Serdonati Fiorentino (Vols 1–3). Milan: Dalla Società Tipografica De’ Classici Italiani. Üçerler, M. A. J. (2003) Alessandro Valignano, Man, Missionary and Writer. Renaissance Studies. 17 (3). p. 337–366. Valignano S. I., A. (1944) Historia del principio y progresso de la compañía de Jesús en las Indias Orientales (1542–64), ed. J. Wicki S. I. Bibliotheca Instituti Historici S. I., 2. Rome: Institutum Historicum S. I. Waterworth, J. (ed. & trans.) (1848) The Canons and Decrees of the Sacred and Oecumenical Council of Trent. London: Dolman. Wicki S. J., G. (1988) Influenze della civiltà europea su quella indiana nel ’500 e ’600. In: Fasana, E. & Sorge, G. (eds) Civiltà indiana ed impatto europeo nei secoli XVI–XVIII: l’apporto dei viaggiatori e missionarii italiani. Milan: Jaca Book. Wicki, J. (ed.) (1948–1975) Documenta Indica (Vols 1–17). Rome: Bibliotheca Instituti Historici.

12 Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives

Even when the Jesuit mission to the East was at its height and the Society of Jesus well-positioned to shape European readers’ opinions through printed accounts of their overseas activities, private individuals did not cease to travel from Italy to India. Merchants, in particular, were still attracted to the region, in search of jewels and exotic plants; a few of these travellers left written accounts of their impressions. These writings provide an interesting counterpoint to the official reports of Indian life promoted in Italy by the Church. The first two accounts considered in this chapter were both printed in Venice towards the end of the sixteenth century and thus reached a wide audience. The final set of writings are of a more personal nature: letters sent home to important officials in Italy by a Florentine merchant with literary aspirations, exiled by fate on Indian shores.

Two Venetian views of Indian culture Some interesting insights into late sixteenth-century lay attitudes to Indian and other eastern cultures are provided by two printed travel accounts, one published slightly earlier than the first edition of Maffei’s history and the other shortly following it. Cesare Federici (c. 1530–c. 1601–1602), a successful Venetian jeweller was responsible for the first of these books (although he employed the services of a clergyman to put his eighteen years of reminiscences in an appropriate form). Published in Venice, in 1587, Federici’s travels would be incorporated into the 1606 edition of Ramusio’s collection. The second book was by Gasparo Balbi (c. 1550–c. 1621–1625), a Venetian nobleman also with an interest in jewels, who published his account of nine years’ eastern experiences in 1590, again in Venice.1 However, Balbi’s report was not incorporated into Ramusio’s collection, possibly because of a few passages rather obviously plagiarised from Federici’s book. Nevertheless, Balbi’s account contains much that was not taken from Federici and remains a valuable source of late-Renaissance attitudes to the contemporary pagan world. The most obvious difference between both Federici and Balbi’s visions of the world and that of Maffei is that they are much less critical of foreign peoples, and much less troubled by the religious observances of non-Christians. Negative comments about pagan peoples rarely appear, and the Venetians are even more

Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives 231 detached in their attitude to Muslims. This is not to say that the writers were in any way lukewarm Latin Christians, or opposed to the Jesuits. On the contrary, their writings display a clear enthusiasm for the Jesuits’ eastern missions and for the spread of Christianity.2 The comparative detachment of their comments on foreign peoples is due to another cause. As jewellers who had sought their fortune in the East, they look on other lands largely from a commercial point of view. Both Venetians give tips on trade routes, tariffs and how to negotiate in the various centres. Balbi’s account is particularly valuable for its sections on currencies and measures. Their main interest in writing about other lands is not missionary, nor is it to promote knowledge of other cultures per se. Rather, their primary purpose is to impart information about where and how best to do business. It is no accident that one of the largest sections on an Indian custom in Federici’s account concerns the use of an intermediary to do business in ‘Cambaia’, a system which he finds most effective.3

Peculiarities of Federici’s account Federici’s account takes its structure from his journey. Thus, the general habit in the text is to see peoples first in relation to a particular place, usually a trading centre, then according to creed. For the Indian subcontinent this commonly amounts to dividing the peoples into ‘gentili’, by which the writer stipulates he means idolaters, and ‘mori’, by which he means ‘Macomettani’, followers of Mohammed.4 Yet throughout his book, Federici displays little interest in non-Christian religions. The idols or pagodi of ‘Pegù’ may gain a mention, but Federici’s comments refer mainly to their dimensions and the precious materials used.5 Particularly noticeable in the sections on India proper is the almost complete absence of reference to pagan Indian temples, gods, festivals or beliefs, although mention is made of the great respect pagans in the San Thomé area have for St Thomas. Even when Federici describes the veneration of the River Ganges, and the pagans’ habit of bathing and cremating the dead in it, he does so without reference to purging of sins or beliefs about paradise. Rather, attention is immediately drawn away from religious considerations, through the comment that the depositing of bodies in the river is the reason the Portuguese will not drink from it.6 Alongside a mass of information on trade, Federici displays a comparatively deep interest in the Indian political scene. His treatment of politics is distinctive in that it frequently goes beyond simple statements of Portuguese allies or enemies, to give an account of recent political history, chronicling the intrigues and battles among Indian rulers that have led to the status quo. In such passages, Federici tends to think in terms of ‘legitimate rulers’ (often gentili), on the one hand, and ‘usurpers’, pagan or Muslim, on the other, who are regarded as tyrants (‘tiranni’).7 Federici’s treatment of Indian peoples otherwise touches on familiar themes: widow-burning; fashion; the splendour of the city of ‘Bezeneger’; Nair warriors, their sexual mores and system of inheritance. Of these, widow-burning is the only thing Federici obviously disapproves of, citing it, together with the

232  Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives live burial of lower-class widows, as indicative of the ‘infinite bestialità’ (‘infinite bestialities’; p.18) practised by the pagans of Bezeneger. Federici’s account of widow-burning in this city is lengthy and detailed, but adds relatively few new elements to previous European descriptions of the ritual: the widow’s carrying of a mirror and an arrow; her bathing to remove sins; the role in the ceremony of the husband’s nearest relative; the crowd’s tearing away of a screen in order to view the spectacle. Federici goes along with previous writers who had seen the event as a festive affair where the widow goes willingly and joyfully to her death, without suggesting any element of coercion. More significantly perhaps, Federici interprets the custom on secular rather than religious lines, as an ancient practice instituted by law to stop women poisoning their husbands – an explanation Federici claims to have had from the Indians themselves. According to Pompa Banerjee, this poisoning-prevention explanation of Indian widow-burning becomes increasingly more common in European travel accounts from the sixteenth century onwards. She traces the origin of this interpretation to the incidence of husband-poisoner trials in Europe during the period, but seems to be unaware that the explanation is one found in Strabo (XV.1.30.) and may be just another instance of the continuing influence of ancient Greek ideas about India.8

Balbi’s ‘crazy customs’ Balbi is less shy of religious themes than Federici, even if he regards many pagan Indian religious customs as crazy: ‘pazze usanze’.9 There is a diary-like quality to his account, which like Federici’s is structured as a journey from one commercial or political centre to another; peoples tend to be classified by centre as well as (broadly) according to faith. There being to his mind little political unity in India, Balbi does not generalise about ‘pagan Indians’ as though they were a homogenous group but discusses gentili according to region. Nevertheless, Balbi’s choice in these various places to dwell only on pagan customs which are violent or sexually deviant (from a Latin Christian perspective) produces a sense of homogeneity: the deflowering of Canarese virgins on an idol in Goa; the deflowering of virgins by Brahmins in Cochin; the organisation of Nair sex life in the same city; the astonishing (‘maravigliosa’) custom of widow-burning in ‘Negapatan’; prostitution and suicides in service of the idol of the same city; indulging in fleshly delights (‘piaceri carnali’) then slitting one’s throat as an act of devotion to the idol or ‘pagodo’ in the San Thomé region; hook-swinging (often to the death) for the same; drowning oneself to attain paradise in the River ‘Cange’ (Ganges).10 Listed under the ‘pazze usanze’, crazy customs, of the San Thomé gentili are also: the live burial of widows; marrying only into the same profession; worshipping various things from animal statues to heavenly bodies; applying cow excrement to oneself as a devout act (‘per divotione’); and throwing food behind one to feed the devil – ‘dar da mangiar al diavolo’.11 Despite his focus on violent or sexually deviant Indian practices, it is noteworthy that Balbi’s language only once becomes scathing: when he describes the system of temple prostitution in Negapatan. Whereas at other times, Balbi

Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives 233 is content to describe alien customs simply as ‘craziness’, in this instance he speaks openly of sin and uncompromisingly takes the moral high ground: temple prostitutes (‘le puttane del pagodo’), he writes, maintain the temple through the unchastity of their life (‘con la dishonestà della lor vita’), while devout parents give away their daughters to be sent, when ripe for earnings (‘buone da guadagno’), to give their bodies as prey to sin – ‘a dar in preda i corpi loro al peccato’ (p.159). With the sole exception of this passage, while it is true that Balbi has few words of actual praise for Indian customs, his criticisms are generally phrased in a tolerant fashion as ‘strange’ or ‘crazy’ habits, rather than ‘bestial’ (as Odorico, for example, had regarded them). Although Balbi may find many Indian ways difficult to make sense of, he does make some attempt to do so. Hook-swinging is explained as an act of devotion done by people in desperate circumstances.12 He explains the rationale behind the cremation of the dead and the dispersal of the deceased ashes to the four elements as a matter of repaying the elements what is owed to them.13 Once again, widow-burning is interpreted along Strabonian lines, as the consequence of an ancient law instituted to prevent wives poisoning their husbands.14 Federici had given the same reason, to which Balbi adds also the fear of social stigma.15 Balbi’s comments on Canarese idol-worship, in particular, reveal a sophistication of understanding, not met before in the texts under consideration. He is at pains to explain that the Canarese do not consider a man-made object their god: sono alcuni habitanti detti Canarini, i quali adorano una statua nuda di pietra, che la tengono per loro idolo. Et avvertiscasi che questo nome d’idolo, non è da loro preso in significato di Dio, perchè queste genti credono anch’essi che vi sia un dio che regge e governa la machina di questo mondo; ma adorano l’idolo come noi adoriamo nelle immagini quello che ci rappresentano (p. 141–142). There are some inhabitants called ‘Canarini’, who worship a naked statue of stone, which they take as their idol. But one must be aware that this term ‘idol’, is not taken to mean ‘God’ by them, because these peoples also believe that there is one god who rules and governs the machine of this world; but they worship the idol as we worship in images that which is represented in them. Balbi’s explanation of Canarese idol-worship brings it in line with traditional Christian pronouncements on the correct use of images in worship, re-iterated not that much earlier in the decrees of the Council of Trent.16 Yet it is remarkable that Balbi should be so open-minded and prepared to see such similarities in Canarese worship to Christian use of images and belief, given that the idol in question is one to whom pagan girls sacrifice their virginity. Similarly, he does not condemn sexual practices among the Nair of ‘Cocchì’, nor see (as Maffei had done) the physical distance kept between lower classes and Nair as evidence of the latter’s barbaric lack of nobility. His wording suggests that the lower classes impose this restriction on themselves out of a sense of their own unworthiness:

234  Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives ‘riputandosi indegno di andar appresso detti nairi e passar vicino a quelli’ (‘considering themselves unworthy of going up to these Nairi and of passing close by them; p.217). On the whole, Balbi does not share quite the same sweeping distaste for pagan Indian ways as his contemporary, Maffei. Neither Federici nor Balbi are of a particularly analytical cast of mind. They do not attempt to give the Indians a ranking in the world, according to some notion of civility; they do not treat the gentili of the Indian subcontinent as a single people, and they attach no particular significance to their skin-colour. While Federici has a clear appreciation of the quality of Chinese merchandise and therefore regards it as an important country, his opinions on foreign peoples – at least those expressed in print – do not go much deeper than that.17 He is more interested in what a businessman can get out of a country than in the inhabitants themselves. This is clear from his rather prosaic final summing up of ‘India’ as ‘paesi molto buoni’ (‘very good lands’; p.68), good for doing business in if you are a good person yourself. In the end, with the exception of Balbi’s interpretation of Canarese idol-worship, neither text offered readers any radically new perspective on Indian gentili. Those customs they chose to dwell on reinforce the image of India as a land full of people prone to self-harm, a safe theme for the writers as it confirmed that it was dangerous not to be a Christian.

India as a reliquary of a pre-Christian world: a Florentine merchant’s letters A curious comment by Balbi on the temple of ‘Alefante’ (the temple of Elephanta near Mumbai) suggests that he unconsciously set a limit on the quality of pagan Indian cultural achievement, above which it could not rise. Confused by the sheer skill involved in the creation of this building, Balbi jumps to the anachronistic conclusion that it was a temple of the ancient Romans built by Alexander the Great!18 The printed texts under discussion so far in this book have demonstrated that there was certainly curiosity for pagan Indian culture in Italy, but the writers give little sign of believing there might be anything very much worth deeper investigation. To put it another way, pagan Indians have generally been treated as subjects to learn about, but not as people to learn from – as though the writers assumed pagan Indian culture did not have anything more fruitful to offer. A series of letters by a Florentine merchant, sent from India between 1583 and 1588, reveal that there was at least one Latin Christian in the period who believed otherwise. Filippo Sassetti (1540–1588), who belonged to a family long-connected to the Medicis, had received a humanist education at the Studio di Pisa.19 He knew Latin and Greek, had a lively interest both in philology and natural science, and was well-acquainted from childhood with Ramusio’s collection. He had also been an active member of the Florentine and Alterati academies for some time, when a change in financial circumstances forced him to pursue his fortune in Spain, Portugal and finally, India. From all three countries he wrote letters home, largely to distinguished connections, and probably, given the letters’ stylistic qualities and Sassetti’s earlier literary ambitions, with their eventual print publication in mind.20

Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives 235 An early death in India prevented this event, and Sassetti’s letters first appeared in print in the eighteenth-century anthology Raccolta di Prose Fiorentine. Sassetti’s most interesting Indian letters are addressed variously to scholarly associates in Florence, to its ruler, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Francesco dei Medici, and to Cardinal Ferdinando dei Medici, ‘protector’ of the Church of Rome’s Ethiopian province.21 For the latter two, Sassetti was acting as a buyer of exotic goods and plants. His communications from India range in theme, as presumably befitted the interests of the recipient: more about wildlife and religion for the cardinal, more about the political situation for the grand duke; cosmographical notes for some, impressions of the pagan Indians for all. As he spent his time between Cochin and Goa, Sassetti’s experience of Indians was limited to the coastal regions where the Portuguese were most powerful. His letters cover a lot of familiar ground: Brahmins; Nair warriors, their sexual mores and obligation to fight to the death; the caste system; the Zamorin of Calicut; temples for deflowering virgins. Like others before him, Sassetti comments on the bewildering variety, both of people and customs.22 What is most remarkable, however, about Sassetti’s communications, is his attempt to become acquainted with pagan Indian intellectual culture. In many ways, Sassetti views the Indian intellectual inheritance as on a par with his own. He sees Sanskrit (‘sancruta’) as a language of learning equivalent to Latin and Greek, praising its aesthetic merits and comprehensive conceptual range.23 He has a particular enthusiasm for Indian medicine, writing to Grand Duke Francesco of its empirical basis, of knowledgeable if secretive pagan doctors, gentili medici, and of impressive past masters: ‘ho trovato tra questi gentili altri Ipocrati, Galeni e Dioscoridi’ (‘I’ve found among these pagans other Hippocrates, Galens and Dioscorides’). Among these Indian authorities, Sassetti cites an ancient treatise by a certain ‘Niganto’, an excerpt from which he is sending to the grand duke in translation.24 This is not to say that Sassetti sees no deficiencies in what he has learnt of pagan Indian intellectual culture; for one thing he finds contemporary reasoning methods disorderly. Whilst maintaining a critical eye, Sassetti displays sufficient respect for the body of pagan Indian wisdom to suggest that a younger man, better grounded in philosophy and science, would benefit greatly from coming to India.25 Sassetti’s intellectual interest also extends to pagan Indian religion.26 In a letter to Cardinal Ferdinando, he offers an account of a temple complex near Goa, which contains perhaps the most visually detailed description of an Indian idol since Varthema. Significantly, Sassetti chooses to refer to the many-armed figures he came across in the temple not as gods, devils or even idols but as ‘due statue al naturale’ (‘two statues in naturalistic manner’) – they are, for the Florentine, works of art. The temple complex, a fabulous thing (‘cosa fantastica’), intellectually excites rather than spiritually disturbs Sassetti. His attention is drawn to its iconographical elements; he lists the objects held by the statues, and expresses intense frustration at not being able either to observe or to decode the symbolism of the temple adequately. In all this, Sassetti’s conviction that there is deep meaning behind the form is most striking, as is his passion to get at it – to uncover, as

236  Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives he puts it, the significance of those hieroglyphs placed there for the future, with much understanding and deep significance (‘il significato di quei ieroglifici posti quivi per ventura con molto intendimento e molta significazione’).27 Just as Italian humanists from the fifteenth century onwards had been fascinated by ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, convinced that ancient sages had hidden secrets about the universe within them to be revealed only to the elect, so Sassetti interprets the Indian inscriptions as mysterious vessels of ancient wisdom.28 Nevertheless, the past participle (‘posti’) in the above is revealing. The letters show that Sassetti had little admiration for what he knew of current pagan Indian religious practices and belief. He found much of the contemporary religious teaching ridiculous (‘cosa da cercarla d’intenderla per ridersi della vanità loro’ – ‘something to try and understand only to laugh at their emptiness’), though he credited the Brahmins with possessing some good moral precepts, which were not, however, followed. He wrote of Indian temples as places where the gentili go to their damnation: ‘a farsi schiavi del nabisso’ (‘to make themselves slaves of the abyss’).29 What drives Sassetti to wish to explore pagan Indian religious and intellectual culture more deeply was more an antiquarian interest than esteem for a contemporary civilisation. He sees India as a kind of reliquary of the ancient world.30 His mental habit is to see parallels between the contemporary pagan Indian world and what his classical studies had taught him of the classical world. Hence, Indian idolatry is seen as a combination of ancient Egyptian and westernAsiatic superstitions; the many-armed Indian idol prompts Sassetti to observe that Apollo had been worshipped under a similar guise in ancient Rhodes; the Brahmins are Pythagoreans and mentioned by Pliny; the killing frenzy embarked on by Nair ‘amocchi’ is likened to a Roman consul’s sacrifice on defeat in battle; the erstwhile wealth of ‘Bisnagar’ is paralleled to that of the Crassi.31 The allure of the contemporary pagan Indians lies for Sassetti in their being regarded as a key to an ancient pre-Christian world, knowledge of whose customs he claims not everyone in Italy would wish to see revived: se si avesse comodità e tempo di potere vedere ogni cosa particolarmente, sarebbe un gusto infinito, e si ritroverebbono le reliquie sparse per tutto questo Oriente d’ogni costume antico. Ma l’avere a combattere con fere inumane e * * * e con i nostri medesimi che non amano che ritornino a luce la più parte di queste cose. and if one had the ease and time to be able to investigate each matter in detail, it would be an infinite pleasure, and one would find the reliquaries of every ancient custom scattered all throughout this East. But having to fight against inhuman beasts and [text damaged] against our own people who do not relish the idea of the greater part of these things return to light.32 Sassetti also clearly came to regard India as home to a great pagan intellectual culture; he even countenanced the idea that the Indians may have taught the West.33 However, it is at the same time clear that he felt India’s age of greatness was

Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives 237 long past, and that contemporary pagan culture represented a serious corruption.34 In Sassetti’s eyes, the blame for this deterioration lies not with the Indian gentili themselves but with Muslim invaders in the first place, and then with the Portuguese. The Muslims are blamed for having had for 500 years no need of learned men, and the Portuguese for having forced the remainder of learned gentili out of their Indian provinces through their intolerance of non-Christian ways.35 Sassetti’s frustration is that of a scholar denied access while the library goes up in flames: El venire in cognizione de’ costumi di queste genti per poterne scriver qualcosa, è stato reso difficile e quasi impossibile, dall’assoluto dominio che hanno auto i portoghesi di quest’isola di Goa, donde la maggior e la miglior parte de’ gentili che ci abitavano, che erano molti e molto dotti per esser terra di studio, si sono andati in altre parti [. . .] Causa della partita di queste genti è stata la pretensione della conversione loro. Però che essendo stato loro proibito leggere le loro scienze, far loro sacrifizi e devozioni, essendo loro stati rovinati i loro tempi [. . .] i migliori di loro se ne sono andati a vivere in altre parti, rimanendo la feccia di tutta quella gente, e quella alla quale poco importa vivere più in questa che in quella maniera [. . .] tutto vada alla destruzione.36 The attempt to understand the customs of these peoples in order to be able to write something about them has been rendered difficult and almost impossible, by the absolute dominion that the Portuguese have had over this island of Goa, from which the greater and best part of the pagans who used to live there has left for other parts; these men were many and very learned, as this was a land of learning [. . .] The reason for the departure of these people was the presumption of converting them. Since they were forbidden to read their learned books and to perform their sacrifices and devotions, and since their temples were destroyed [. . .] the best of them left to live in other parts, leaving behind all the dross of the people, those who cared little about whether they lived in one manner or another [. . .] everything heads for destruction. These words recall, in a much more vehement form, similar regrets about the destruction of pagan culture voiced some seventy years previously by another Florentine, Andrea Corsali.37 As a man of learning himself, he feels sympathy for what he sees as the persecution of the learned Indian classes. Sassetti’s is a poignant lament for a precious, but apparently dying, pagan culture, whose loss he attributes to crass Portuguese methods of evangelism. For Sassetti, ancient India represents a pagan culture comparable to the best of classical antiquity.

Notes  1 Pinto (1962), p. xxii–xxx. References are to this edition of Federici and Balbi. Translations in this chapter are mine, unless otherwise indicated.   2 Pinto (1962), p.25 & 34 (Federici); and p. 214–216 (Balbi).   3 Pinto (1962), p. 10–11.

238  Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives   4 Pinto (1962), p.38.   5 Pinto (1962), p. 49 & 55.   6 Pinto (1962), p.38.   7 Pinto (1962), p. 11, 15–16, 28, 29–30 & 36–37.   8 Banerjee (2003), p. 137–173.   9 ‘E questo potrà bastare quanto alle pazze usanze di queste genti’ (‘And this may suffice for the crazy customs of these peoples’). Balbi is referring to the people of San Thomé region; Pinto (1962), p.167. Balbi appears more interested in the religion of ‘Pegù’ than that of the Indian subcontinent, spending over three pages on Pegù’s festivals (p. 197–201). 10 Pinto (1962), p. 142, 150, 158–159, 165–167 & 209. 11 Pinto (1962), p. 165–167. 12 ‘Desiderano di liberarsi da qualche travaglio o malattia, e però fanno voto al pagodo d’inganzarsi’ (‘They desire to free themselves from some travail or illness, and so they make a vow to the idol to swing themselves on a hook’); Pinto (1962), p.166. 13 ‘Dicendo che si come sono stati partecipi di quelli, così sia giusto, che ogn’uno habbia il suo dopo la morte’ (‘Saying that since they were parts of those things, so it’s right that each one has his own bit back after one’s death’); Pinto (1962), p.134. 14 ‘Dicono che le vedove lo fanno per leggi fatte in quel paese, per ovviar che le donne satie dell’amor de’ mariti, non gli avvelenino, ma gli amino in vita e ancora dopo morte’ (‘They say that the widows do this because of laws made in that country in order to avoid women getting fed up with their husbands and poisoning them, and so that they will love them in life and also after death’); Pinto (1962), p.158. 15 ‘E quelle donne, che ciò non facessero, sariano tenute per impudiche e svergognate come meretrici’ (‘And those women who did not do this, would be considered unchaste and shameless, like prostitutes’); Pinto (1962), p.134. 16 Session 25, December 1563 of the Council of Trent had dealt with the question of sacred images; Waterwoth (1848). 17 Pinto (1962), p.34. 18 ‘Nel quale luogo si vede un tempio de Romani antico, cavato dalla pietra viva [. . .] Detto tempio è detto Alefante ed è adornato di molte figure e habitato da gran quantità di nottole, e quivi si dice esser arrivato Alessandro Magno e per memoria haverci fatto fabricar quel tempio, nè esser passato più avanti’ (‘In this place you can see an ancient temple of the Romans, dug directly out of the stone [. . .] This temple is called “Alefante” and it is adorned with many figures and inhabited by a great number of bats, and here it’s said that Alexander the Great arrived and had this temple built as a memorial, not having passed any further’); Pinto (1962), p.136. 19 The biographical account follows Bramanti’s introduction to Filippo Sassetti, Sassetti (1970), p. 12–27. 20 Among Sassetti’s literary contributions were a Discorso contro l’Ariosto, a Vita di Francesco Ferrucci and an unfinished translation of Aristotle’s Poetica; Sassetti (1970), p.15. 21 Letters 103 (to Pier Vettori), 116 (to Bernardo Davanzati), 102 and 115 (to Baccio Valori), 100 and 113 (to Pietro Spina), 111 (to Michele Saladini), 118 (to Alessandro Rinuccini); 99 and 107 (to Ferdinando dei Medici), and 98, 108 and 119 to (Francesco I dei Medici, Granduca di Toscana) following the numbering in Bramanti’s edition. 22 Letter 107, p. 442 & 444; Letter 116, p.502. 23 Letter 103, p. 420–421; Letter 107, p.444; Letter 116, p. 501–502. 24 Letter 119, p. 525–526. See also Letter 108, p.448; Letter 115, p. 489–490; and Letter 116, p. 500–502. 25 Letter 115, p. 489–490, and Letter 119, p. 525–526. Assessments of Indian intellectual culture in Letter 103, p.421; Letter 107, p.444; Letter 116, p. 500–502. 26 See especially Letters 107 and 103.

Late sixteenth-century merchant perspectives 239 27 The full passage is in Letter 107, p.443. See also Letter 103 (to Pier Vettori), p. 421–424. 28 Curran (2007), p.93. 29 Letter 103 (to Pier Vettori), p. 421–422; and Letter 100, p.409. 30 Letter 102, p. 414–415. 31 Letter 103, p.423; Letter 100, p.409; Letter 103, p. 419–420; Letter 107, p. 442–443; Letter 116, p. 492–493. 32 Letter 102, p. 414–415. 33 Letter 116, p.502. 34 ‘In questa terra d’India da cent’anni addietro, dove erano tutte l’arti in estrema sottigliezza, come dimostrano i dottori gentili, medici, astrologi, filosofi e teologi a modo loro; le quali arti vanno mancando, perché li mori che occupano la terra quasi tutta non vogliono a consiglio letterati’ (‘In this land of India a hundred years ago, all the arts were extremely sophisticated, as is demonstrated by the pagan learned men, doctors, astrologers, philosophers and theologians in their manner; now these arts are being lost, because the Moors who occupy the land almost entirely do not want lettered men as counsellors’); Letter 113, p.479. 35 Letter 113, p.479; Letter 116, p.492. 36 Letter 116, p. 492–494; cf. Letter 118, p.511. 37 See Chapter 10.

References Banerjee, P. (2003) Burning Women: Widows, Witches, and Early Modern European Travelers in India. New York: Palgrave. Curran, B. (2007) The Egyptian Renaissance: The Afterlife of Ancient Egypt in Early Modern Italy. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Pinto, O. (ed.) (1962) Viaggi di C. Federici e G. Balbi alle Indie Orientali. Rome: Istituto Poligrafico dello Stato. Sassetti, F. (1970) Lettere da vari paesi, 1570–1588, ed. V. Bramanti. Milan. Waterworth, J. (ed. & trans.) (1848) The Canons and Decrees of the Sacred and Oecumenical Council of Trent. London: Dolman.

Conclusion

In 1590, Cesare Vecellio produced the first edition of his celebrated costume book illustrating the peoples of the world and their apparel. The Asian section has four illustrations of what Vecellio terms East Indians, one being a woodcut of an upper-class Indian woman (Figure 13.1).1 She is sturdily built, but bejewelled and elegantly draped, carrying one child on her shoulder while another is entwined around her leg. The image exudes fecundity together with a certain classical dignitas. In the accompanying text, Vecellio continues his prose commentary on the Indians, for which he cites as authorities Varthema and personal conversations with a high-ranking Franciscan who had travelled throughout the East. The result is an idiosyncratic mishmash of earlier Indian themes. Behaviour that was regarded not as the India-wide norm by Varthema, but as regionally specific to Tarnasseri, has become generalised: all upper-class Indians, we are told, invite foreigners to deflower their brides. Meanwhile, according to Vecellio, the middle-class Indian lady loves her husband so much she will burn herself for him on his death, while Indian men show their devotion to their lovers by enduring pain. There are also vagabond Christian gypsy women throughout Vecellio’s India whose lord is the pagan king of Calicut who worships the devil saying that God sent him to administer justice. It is as though the result of all the previous Renaissance efforts to re-discover India has been to make available a wealth of information from which anyone can create their own composite hybrid image of an Indian. As we have seen, for the better part of three centuries (c. 1300 to c. 1600), Italy was the place from which new ideas about Indians radiated out to the rest of Europe. Before Vasco Da Gama landed in Calicut, Italian writers (Marco Polo, Odorico and Poggio) were responsible for the most original of these new visions. For half a century after Da Gama’s landing, Italian writers and editors (Varthema and Corsali; Montalboddo and Ramusio), together with printers based in Italy, remained primarily responsible for the dissemination of new ideas about Indians; those early eyewitness Portuguese accounts of India which were not discovered by Italian editors before 1550 remained buried in Portuguese archives for centuries. From the mid-sixteenth century, Portugal began to print her own official histories of the Indies, reducing Italy’s importance as a promulgator of new visions

Conclusion 241

Figure 13.1 An upper-class Indian woman from Cesare Vecellio’s Degli habiti antichi, et moderni di diversi parti del mondo © Bibliothèque nationale de France

of India. With the notable exception of Federici and Balbi’s accounts, the new reports of India published in Italy from this point (translations of Portuguese histories and Jesuit accounts) appear to have been more subservient to a cause than those printed earlier in the century. At the same time, the re-publication in Venice of Ramusio’s collection several times until 1616 kept alive older, less-streamlined views of the Indians. The remarkable capacity of Filippo Sassetti (d.1588) to appreciate other cultures may have been influenced by his exposure to Ramusio’s collection at an early age. The story of Renaissance Italian response to the challenge of contemporary pagan worlds is one of many contradictions, twists and turns, inevitably, perhaps, because the image of those worlds was in a state of flux. Over the period c. 1300–c. 1600, many new motifs were added to Italy’s store of ideas about Indians. Subject to the most permutations was the image of the Brahmins: from medieval notions of them as virtuous, prayerful, naked ascetics, they became honest but superstitious idolaters who were businessmen in Polo’s book, philosophers credited with occult

242  Conclusion powers in Poggio, priests of the idolaters with additional sexual duties to perform in Varthema, idolaters with possible Trinitarian leanings in Barbosa, and a priestly caste wickedly deceiving the people in Maffei’s history. New models of Indian asceticism and holiness were proposed, rejected, re-proposed and re-rejected in waves. The yogi represent one new ascetic type: they appeared in various guises beginning with Polo’s naked fruitarian men under a religious rule (whose virtue is tested by voluptuous temple dancers), and reached their most extreme form in Varthema’s wandering Bacchic assassins. The Gujarati are another ascetic type: in Montalboddo’s Paesi, they were upright pious vegetarian idolatrous merchants, followers of Pythagorean doctrines; Varthema did not know how to classify them, except as a people so virtuous they only needed baptism to be saved; their respect for living creatures reminded Corsali of Leonardo da Vinci; Pires admired their business skill, while Barbosa rejected them as dishonest. Nevertheless, certain constants did emerge as India came to be seen as a predominantly pagan world. Widow-burning, and other acts of violence to self (usually in connection with idol-worship), came to the fore in representations of India after 1300, in a way they had not been previously. These acts were interpreted in different ways by the various writers, who in their representations placed varying degrees of emphasis on the social pressures and religious convictions involved. Indian ox-worship also came to be remarked upon. While many new regions and cities were added to the understanding of India by the sixteenth century, Malabar (and the city of Calicut in particular) drew the most attention: for its sexual freedoms, for its rigid social system, for its fierce Nair warriors, and for its king, the ‘Zamorino’, enemy of the Portuguese. Before hazarding an answer to the question of the significance of the rediscovery of India that we have been tracing in these pages to our understanding of the Italian Renaissance, it might be useful to summarise the contribution of each of the texts under discussion in turn. Marco Polo’s book and Odorico’s relatio broke with inherited notions of India, by introducing an India peopled overwhelmingly with pagan idolaters, and not with monstrous races or Indian Christians. At the same time, these books differed greatly from each other in their depiction of Indian society and in their attitudes towards pagan Indian ways. Il milione offered the more complex portrait of Indian life, emphasising how Indian society was underpinned by alien values, whilst managing to maintain a non-judgmental attitude to this non-Christian morality. Potentially disturbing elements of pagan Indian culture were made more palatable through context or analogy: suicide for the idol was represented as a condemned criminal’s way to social redemption; the wearing of ox-ash by Indian ascetics was likened to the Christian use of holy water. Il milione also recognised the potential for pagan idolaters to be truly virtuous. However, the Dominican Fra Pipino’s Latin translation of the book toned down its open-minded message: by attaching a new preface to the work, Fra Pipino encouraged the reader to view all that followed as evidence of the evils to which idolatry was supposed to lead. Odorico’s attitude to pagan Indian life was more consonant with Fra Pipino’s view of foreign customs. Odorico’s relatio dwelt on violent sacrifices offered up

Conclusion 243 to Indian idols, and interpreted the society at large as full of bestial and abominable practices. This negative view of the pagan Indians was not necessitated by the Franciscan’s missionary vocation, as the much more sympathetic portrayal of the Indians by Jordanus, a Dominican contemporary, reveals. In the latter part of the fourteenth century, the author known as Mandeville re-interpreted Odorico’s graphic account of Indians committing suicide in honour of the ‘St Christopher’ idol, in order to see a parallel with Christian martyrdom. Other aspects of pagan Indian society which Odorico had viewed as ‘bestial’, Mandeville recast as evidence of an admirable ‘simplicity’. Mandeville also brought back Indian themes discarded by Polo and Odorico, such as the notion of the Brahmins as Christian types, subordinating all his material to an overarching thesis that virtue is everywhere and that God loves people of different faiths. Polo, Odorico, and Mandeville’s representations of India failed to influence Petrarch’s view of the Brahmins. Although aware of contemporary contacts with India, he remained suspicious of travellers’ tales, unless supported by an ancient authority. His image of the Brahmins was one constructed from readings of texts attributed to Church Fathers, but which essentially kept to the medieval stereotype of the Brahmins as naked, vegetarian, philosopher ascetics. However, Petrarch offered a novel critique of the Brahmins that was unprecedented for its assessment, and ultimately condemnation, of their way of life on the basis of both Christian and Ciceronian standards of morality. Poggio Bracciolini was the only fifteenth-century humanist to risk writing a detailed account of contemporary India. He did so at a time of intensified interest in geographical studies in Italy, a revival spurred on by the recovery of works by Ptolemy and Strabo. By writing on India, Poggio was deliberately challenging classical scholarship at one of its weakest points. His approach was audacious in its rejection of classical authorities in favour of eyewitness reports. Aware of the power of writers to create the great, Poggio promoted the travels of his source, Niccolò Conti, as unique, surpassing anything achieved in, and since, classical antiquity. Passing over the travels of Marco Polo and Odorico in this way enabled Poggio to represent his own scholarly endeavour in turn as unique, as an epic advance in the history of knowledge. The universalistic ideal of humanitas governs Poggio’s evaluation of eastern societies in De varietate fortunae. The values contained in the concept are taken for granted by Poggio, but they are articulated in his contemporary Alberti’s image of the gymnosophist Mother-goddess Humanitas. Humanitas encompasses humane learning, the cultivation of arts and sciences, humane feeling and benevolence, all of which result in a healthy, cohesive and happy society. On Poggio’s humanitas scale, the peoples of the Indian subcontinent occupy a mid-position between the superior peoples of the ‘Third India’, with its perhumani inhabitants and the Italianate cities of Cathay, and the inhumanissimi Javanese, whose society is murderous and anarchic. Where India proper is concerned, graphic descriptions of violent acts, such as widow-burning and ritual suicides for the idol, are tempered by accounts of other activities which would conform to the ideal of humanitas: music, dance, book-production, fun-filled festivals, and even the art of mourning.

244  Conclusion Some kind of conscious or unconscious censorship appears to have prevented contemporaries from adopting Poggio’s vision of a violent, yet flourishing pagan Indian society. Where Poggio’s geographical piece was used as a source, its portrait of eastern lands was sanitised to remove anything that might suggest a society that could not easily mould itself to Latin Christian norms. Original fifteenth-century literary productions tended either to promote the dream of a Christian India under Prester John and of an India of wealth, monsters and marvels (Dati), or they revived ancient Greek and Roman legends about the Indians, filched from diverse classical texts to suit the author’s particular rhetorical purpose (Alberti, Della Scala, Ficino). If writers chose to pay attention to Poggio’s account of the East, it was the Third India, where Cathay was located, that struck a chord – most probably because the Cathayan way of life as represented appeared the most attuned to European tastes and to the Renaissance understanding of the virtue of ‘magnificentia’. The various accounts of India compiled in Paesi novamente retrovati (1507) introduced new themes into the store of Indian images, such as the chaste, strictly vegetarian Gujarati merchants of ‘Combaia’ – a new type of honourable pagan Indian. The Sernigi account resolved the question of whether the Indians were predominately Christians or pagans. Focusing on the Malabar cities of Calicut and Caranganor, the Anonymous Narrative and the Priest Joseph ‘interview’ portrayed the social system operating amid the pagan populations of these cities as oppressively stratified. Through reports of loose sexual mores among these pagans, and of the startling ways the locals demonstrate respect for their king, these accounts affirmed that Malabar Indian society was based on radically non-Christian values, but made no open critique of these values. To these elements, the Priest Joseph ‘interview’ added a violent yet sympathetic account of pagan Indian worship, while the Anonymous Narrative presented readers with a relatively impartial picture of the violence involved in Portuguese-Indian encounter. Varthema’s Itinerario (1510) was possibly the most ambitious attempt at a description of eastern peoples since Marco Polo. In the Indian sections of his book, Varthema displays considerable interest in religious themes, a feature which runs counter to the recent contention that his outlook is secular. Without falling into a simplistic condemnation of pagan Indian religion, Varthema indirectly asserts the superiority of his own Christian faith. While he explicitly identifies Indian idolatry with ‘devil-worship’ (the first of our writers to do so), he takes pains to pre-empt and assuage adverse reactions to this ‘devil-worship’: he interprets the Indian ‘devil’ in a relatively benign fashion as the dispenser of justice, and dwells on harmonious aspects of Calicut religious practice, rather than the reports of ritual suicide that dominate, for example, Odorico’s account. Whereas this can be seen as an attempt to tone down the evil nature of what is presented as ‘devil-worship’, the reverse is the case in his treatment of the band of holy people known as yogis. A portrait that initially looks innocuous, gradually builds up to become an image of menacing blood-drinking Bacchic assassins. When Varthema develops the motif of the strange sexual mores of Calicut, which he treats as the cultural norm for India, his attitude is non-censorious. Likewise, he offers no

Conclusion 245 adverse critique when he recounts the oppressive aspects of the social stratification in Calicut. On the contrary, he appears to share the local nobility’s contempt for the lowest classes. Ramusio’s Delle navigationi et viaggi (1550–1559) was a polyphonic collection of voices and attitudes on the world beyond Europe, knowledge of which he felt had expanded within his own lifetime far beyond anything imagined in the classical age. In its first edition, the texts connected to India largely looked back to an earlier period, from Marco Polo to the first two decades of Portugal’s Indian enterprise, when the writers on the whole appear tolerant of cultural difference. When Ramusio brought Volume One of his collection up to date in 1554, the additions he made (Barros’ history and Xavier’s letters) displayed a far more critical and superior attitude to the pagan Indians. This critical note became strident in the Jesuit Maffei’s history, which portrayed the pagan Malabar Indians as the worst sort of barbarian, a gullible people kept in satanic ignorance by their priests, and party to an oppressive social system which was encouraged by an arrogant pseudo-nobility, and which offended against basic human charity. While Maffei’s view appears to have been one supported by high-ranking members of the Society of Jesus, contemporary accounts by Italians who travelled eastwards for trade exhibit a much lesser degree of moral outrage towards Indian society. On the contrary, the outrage expressed by the cultivated merchant Filippo Sassetti was directed at the Portuguese, for what he perceived as their destruction of a valuable ancient culture. Many of our writers appear to have been unsettled by what they knew of Indian religion. Towards the end of the fifteenth century, Sernigi interpreted the Calicut Indians first as unusual Christians, and then as gentili. This account, which by its author’s own admission was confusing, encapsulates the two diverging currents in Latin Christian response to pagan Indian religion: to Christianise or to demonise. With the exception of Mandeville, at one end of the stream, and of the Franciscan Odorico and the Jesuits, Xavier and Maffei, at the other, few of the writers considered in this study consistently maintained an extreme position. For most, pagan Indian religion was synonymous with idolatry, but their attitudes towards this idolatry fluctuated. Despite occasional rhetoric about demonic origins, most acknowledged redeeming features within and in spite of idolatry. Barros, for example, who dismissed the whole of Asia as worshipping the devil in their idols, nevertheless found in the Indian custom of ritual bathing in rivers, an equivalent to the Christian sacrament of confession. Varthema saw in the Gujaratis a kind of spirituality, which he was reluctant to call ‘idolatry’, but which he regarded as in need only of baptism to bring about salvation. Though Balbi considered many Indian religious customs crazy, he viewed Canarese idol-worship as akin to the Christian use of cultic images. Others recognised Trinitarian elements in Indian idolatry (the Priest Joseph ‘interview’, Barbosa and Pires), whilst Polo traced the origin of Indian idolatry back to the saintly ‘Sergamo Borgani’ (identifiable as the Buddha). Sassetti wrote of India as a reliquary of the ancient world, but he seems to have sensed that his pursuit of pagan wisdom via India might be regarded by

246  Conclusion some as dangerous. Boccaccio had argued for the pursuit of classical wisdom on the grounds that the Church had triumphed over classical paganism and neutralised its power. However, Indian paganism in the sixteenth century remained a living, as yet unconquered, power. Valignano, the Jesuit Visitor to India, actually acknowledged a spiritual danger in the exploration of Indian beliefs, fearing that the weak might be led astray. Maffei echoed this attitude in his deliberate choice not to disseminate his knowledge of Indian mythology to the public. Yet in the 1580s, when Sassetti was writing from India and when Maffei’s history was published, Ramusio’s polyphonic collection remained the main source about pagan India available to the general public. Containing as it did variegated material from Marco Polo to Xavier, it offered readers a kaleidoscopic perspective on the Indians rather than a narrowly ideological one. Even when accounts dominated by colonialist and militantly missionary agendas began to appear, the spirit of intellectual freedom, hallmark of Renaissance humanism, was kept alive by Ramusio’s collection. When, many years ago, I began research into the topic of images of India in the Italian Renaissance, the most frequent question I was asked, by scholars and non-academics alike, was: ‘Were there any?’ My reply was generally an embarrassed yet indignant, ‘Of course!’ followed by a hasty resumé of the findings-so-far. What invariably I had forgotten on such occasions was my own initial surprise (even after completing a degree in Italian studies) at the notion of a connection between India and Italy during the Renaissance. It was a visit to the Taj Mahal that had first sparked the thought; I remember staring at what looked like Florentine pietre dure work around the tomb of Shajahan’s queen and thinking: ‘What is that doing here?’ Years later, a chance kitchen-table conversation and some frenetic hours in the university library saw a thesis-topic born. As I progressed with my investigations, I realised just how greatly established thought categories hinder, as well as help, our perception of the past. One reason why people responded with such spontaneous incredulity to my research was that in their minds the ‘Italian Renaissance’ had not been connected to the ‘Age of Discovery’; researchers into sixteenth-century Venice and those working on the Italian Renaissance and the Muslim world now more often make this connection, as do specialists in the history of geography, but India or China still hardly even figure on the horizon of most students of the Italian Renaissance.2 Another reason for the surprise was my use of the word ‘image’: I meant not just visual images but the way we imagine and represent things in language; my interlocutors quite understandably were thinking of the celebrated visual legacy of the Italian Renaissance (the grand tableaux that fill the National Gallery) – a legacy dominated by biblical scenes and tributes to classical mythology. The sculpture of Michelangelo, the paintings of a Giotto, Raphael or Veronese – so long as these are promoted as representing the ‘essence’ of the Italian Renaissance, as exhibition guides are in the habit of saying, then any study of the outwardlooking, international dimensions of Italian culture between 1300 and 1600 will continue to appear incongruous. Often to recognise the extent of these dimensions, one has to look beyond the paint, plaster and marble (unless, of course, one is

Conclusion 247 looking at the artwork of the Taj Mahal, for instance, which would lead one back to Florence). One thing I hope to have impressed on readers of this book is that Renaissance Italians had quite a vivid image of the contemporary pagan Indian world. Moreover, most of the books that fed this image were ambivalent about how bad Indian idolatry was, despite highlighting the violence connected with it. Regrettably, by and large, the reactions of the mass of Renaissance readers interested in the accounts of foreign societies selected have passed unrecorded, and we can only guess at what they might have felt while reading, from what we know of other features of Italian society c. 1300 and c. 1600. Parallels to Italian society and practices generally remain implied in the texts. Since there is little explicit commentary except in the Jesuit texts, the others were obviously intended to supply Italian readers with food for thought. Therefore, it is necessary that we recognise just how much curiosity for the world well beyond Italy, as well as a considerable degree of mental freedom to decide what one thought of it, were important features of Italian Renaissance culture. My interest has been particularly in the way what we now called ‘Hindu’ society and culture was represented. It seems that from the initial appearance of innovative accounts of India in the fourteenth century, which to a large extent did away with the old legends, there was a desire to get a more and more accurate picture of this part of the world (even if, as Vecellio did, one might end up creating one’s own new fictions). Although classical legends never entirely disappeared, they were eventually relegated to the realm of history and fable, as the early innovative images, together with fresh reports, came to be acknowledged in humanist circles as supported by reliable contemporary oral testimony. This led to a perception of a contemporary India largely peopled by pagans. While contemporary pagan India was never endorsed by Italian humanist culture as something equal to the grandeur accorded classical antiquity, there are indications that, as the image of contemporary India evolved, so its ancient pagan past began to be mythologised as on par with the classical world. Conversely, only those among the classically educated who also had a poor opinion of ancient Greek and Roman religion, like the Jesuit Maffei, were at ease putting contemporary pagan Indian religion on a par with that of the classical world, albeit in terms of the level of delusion. A word on the Saidian thesis is warranted before bringing matters to a close. It is true that most Italian writers in the period c. 1300 to c. 1600 viewed pagan Indians as exotic and often sensuous, but they were far from seeing them as decadent or so ‘other’ as to be tantamount to another species of humanity. Moreover, in the pre-Tridentine period many writers displayed a marked ability to disregard or even manipulate their Latin Christian ideological inheritance in order to represent otherwise censurable pagan Indian practices in a favourable light. Although the very act of writing about contemporary India and Indians inevitably facilitated later exploitation of Indians by Europeans, the desire to dominate non-European peoples was not what primarily motivated the authors to write: a desire for fame, for intellectual prestige, or to make money by divulging information of interest to merchants, are more probable motives. Maffei’s history is the only Italian text

248  Conclusion we have uncovered in the period that displays a systematic tendency to patronise the Indians and paint them as incorrigible barbarians; this could be regarded as a justification, after the event, of the political status quo. Maffei was commissioned to glorify Portuguese political conquests in India as well as the Jesuits’ spiritual conquests, such as they were, and this, alongside frustration at the lack of conversions, is perhaps the most plausible explanation for his superior attitude. The mere fact of involvement in European colonial activities does not, however, necessarily correlate to a disdain for the Indians: Varthema, Barbosa and Pires all served the Portuguese in India, albeit in different ways, but their reports do not encourage simple stereotyping of the Indians as inferior.

Notes 1 Cesare Vecellio, Degli habiti antichi, et moderni di diversi parti del mondo (Venice: Damiano Zenaro, 1590), p. 465–469. 2 By way of illustration, I refer the reader to the work of Elizabeth Horodowich and to Francesca Trivellato (2010) Renaissance Italy and the Muslim Mediterranean in recent historical work. The Journal of Modern History, 82, p. 127–155.

Index

Abelard, Peter 30–31 Abraham 25, 214 academies 234 accommodatio: 224, 226, 227 (n. 32) Africa 2, 28, 142, 145, 188, 214 Africans 5, 17 (n. 18) Akbar 18 (n. 34) Albert the Great 129 Alberti, Leon Battista 10, 12, 120 (n. 49), 131–132, 243–244; gymnosophist fantasy 87–90; Mother Goddess Humanity 87–88, 115, 243 Albuquerque, Afonso de 142 Aldine Press 209 (n. 6) Alexander Romance: 29–30, 33, 35 (nn. 35 & 37) Alexander the Great 4, 28, 29–30, 33, 81, 96, 141, 158, 234, 238 (n. 18) Alighieri, Dante (see Dante) Almeida, Francisco d’, 142, 164 ambassadors 3, 141, 157, 195 Americas 4, 11, 145, 188 Ancient Rome 1, 80, 94, 193–194, 234; Church compared to 215; magnificence of 213, 217, 219; spiritual decadence 217, 218 ancient theology, see prisca theologia Andamans 103 Andanças e Viajes 98, 107–108 Annone the elephant 142 Anonymous Narrative of Cabral’s First Voyage 144, 149–152, 155–157, 190, 244 Aquinas, Thomas 34 (n. 4) Arabia 141, 164, 185 (nn. 15 & 21) Arabs 126, 141, 222

Aretino, Pietro 172 Aristotle: 29, 35 (n. 37), 65, 102, 136 (n. 18), 238 (n. 20); theory of natural slavery 225, 227 (n. 22), 228 (n. 39) Arrian 130, 222 asceticism 29, 33, 53–58, 81, 83, 87, 133, 155–156, 175, 196–197, 241–243 Asia 127–130, 138 (n. 40), 184 (n. 8) Asia 2, 6–7, 11, 23, 28, 39, 43, 124, 127–128, 143, 158, 160 (n. 24), 185 (n. 8), 188, 207, 210 (n. 43), 218, 223, 225, 227 (n. 22), 236, 240, 245; close rival to Europe 7 Augsburg 17 (n. 8), 165, 179 Aurispa, Giovanni 90 (n. 23) Ava (=Aua) 109, 120 (n. 41), 124, 134, 152 Avignon 3, 64 Bacchus 176, 185 (n. 32) (see also Dionysus) Balbi, Gasparo 3, 7, 9, 10, 11, 226, 230–231, 232–234, 238 (n. 9), 241, 245 Bancani 197–198 Banghella (see Bengal) bankers 3, 42, 146, 161 (n. 37) barbarian 16, 103, 105, 128, 132, 193, 214, 218–220, 222, 223, 225, 227 (n. 22), 245, 248; various understandings of 103, 218–219, 227 (n. 22) Barbosa, Duarte 190, 195; depiction of Indians 196–207, 208, 222, 242, 245, 248 Bardasanes 83 Bardi banking family 42

250  Index Barros, João de 188, 192, 207–208 , 210 (n. 43), 245 Batacala 205 Batech 103 Bembo, Pietro 167, 184 (n. 12), 184 (n. 12), 191, 192, 209 (n. 8) Bengal (=Bangella=Bengala) 168, 196, 199 Bergamo 124, 214, 226 (n. 11), 227 (n. 12) Berlinghieri, Francesco 130–131 Bernadino of Siena 110 Besicken, Johannes (printer) 144, 159 (n. 12) Bezeneger=Biçenegalia=Bisinagar 113–134, 134, 168, 205, 231–232 Biondo, Flavio 3, 17 (nn. 4 & 10), 84, 90 (nn. 16 & 21), 131 Black Death 43 blood cults 69, 71 (see also human sacrifice) Boccaccio, Giovanni 80, 82, 89 (nn. 2 & 3), 172, 246 Boemus, Johannes 168, 191 Bollate, Cristoforo da 123, 134–135, 136 (n. 2), 138 (n. 41) Bologna 41, 74, 164 Bolognese 3, 164, 165, 184 (n. 6) Borgia, Lucrezia 173 Bracciolini, Poggio 2, 4, 6, 10, 12, 138 (n. 41), 240; account of the Indies 43, 81, 93–118, 123, 133, 134, 241–142, 243–244; achievement 118, 243; attendance at Council of FerraraFlorence 84; challenging classical scholarship 95, 191; content of treatise on fortune 93–97; early reception of his portrayal of contemporary Indian life 123–136, 144, 184 (n. 8), 190; other writings 90 (n. 23), 96–97, 99, 119 (n. 24), 172, 227 (n. 30); Renaissance opinions of 129, 134, 136–137 (n. 22); three-fold division of Indias 100; treatment of Cathay 103; understanding of historical writing 96 (see also De varietate fortunae) Brahmins: Alexander romance legacy 29–30; 35 (n. 37); criticised by Petrarch 81–83; depicted as quasi-Christians 30–31, 74; fifteenth-century Italian mentions of 60 (n. 36); 116, 131–132, 135; Jesuit distaste for 213, 220–222,

224–225, 227 (nn. 28 & 29); late sixteenth-century Italian views of 232, 235–236, 241, 243; Polo’s revision of medieval tradition 53–55, 58; sixteenthcentury Portuguese accounts of 195–196, 198, 199–201, 203–205; Varthema’s revision of tradition 174–175, 185 (n. 20) (see also gymnosophists) Brazil 142 British Raj 9 Brunetto Latini 27–28, 33 Bruni, Leonardo 1, 2 (n. 3), 84, 102, 119 (nn. 27 & 30) Buddha 32, 57, 245 (see also Sergamo Borgani) Buondelmonti, Cristoforo 84 Burckhardt, Jacob 17 (n. 15) Burgkmair, Hans 12, 17 (n. 8) Burma 120 (n. 41) Byzantines 32, 84–85, 130 Cabral, Pedro Alvares 142, 144–146, 149, 161 (nn. 35 & 37), 190, 195 Calanus 30, 47, 89 (n. 7) Calicut (=Calichut=Collicuthia=Coloqut) 2, 3, 12, 77, 123, 142, 145–146, 168–169, 175, 184 (n. 6), 191, 196, 227 (n. 29), 242, 244; Cabral’s mission to 149–150; Calicut idol 178–179, 180, 185 (n. 36), 191; class tensions 152–153, 245; King of Calicut 150–151, 159, 169, 194, 202, 218, 220, 235, 240; religion 153–155, 175, 178–182, 185 (n. 38), 244; seen as epitomising India 168, 184; sexual mores 151–152, 170–173, 175, 178, 244; shifting perceptions of inhabitants 146–149, 245; types of gentili in 169–170 (see also Malabar) Calvin 165 Cambay (Cambaia=Cambaja=Combaia= Combeia) 112–114, 134, 155, 168, 175, 196, 198–199, 220, 231, 244 Cambaleschia 101, 128–129, 133–134 Camões, Luis de 145 Campore, Giacomo 129 Canarese 232–234, 245 Cannanore 195, 202

Index 251 cannibalism 45, 66, 86, 103, 132, 134 Cantari dell’India 135, 142 Cape Comorin 223, 224 Cranganore (Caranganor=Carangallor) 149, 152–154, 159, 244 Caravaial, Bernardinus 164 cartography 4, 12, 13, 15, 43, 84–85, 89, 131, 188, 189 Castanheda, Fernão Lopes de 160 (n. 24), 210 (n. 43) caste system 86, 152–153, 169, 222–224, 233, 235, 242 (see also class system) Castiglione, Baldassare 46 Castile 142, 144 Castilian 9, 165 Cataldini di Cagli, Gianfrancesco 124 Cathay (=Cathaium=Cattai) 40, 44, 55, 56, 61 (n. 52), 64, 66, 69, 93, 101, 103, 120 (n. 49), 128–130, 134, 136, 138 (n. 40), 192, 243, 244 Ceylon (see Sri Lanka) China (see also Cathay) 8, 40, 44, 45, 56, 58 (n. 4), 64, 66, 103, 195, 212, 217, 219–220, 223, 224, 246 China Illustrata 228 (n. 34) Chinese 4, 66, 218–219, 220, 224, 225, 234 chorography 85, 90 (n. 21), 131, 134 Chrysoloras, Manuel 84 Columbus, Christopher (Cristoforo Colombo) 42, 74, 78 (n. 34), 123, 134–135, 142, 145 church networks 2, 4 Church Fathers 26–27, 70, 81, 88, 243 Church of Rome 66, 147, 153, 214–217, 227 (n. 17), 235 (see also papacy) Cicero 17 (n. 3), 88, 95, 106, 114, 243; concept of moderation 83; on Indian widows 105 circumnavigation of the world 188, 195, 209 (n. 2) Cistercians 4, 145 class system 86, 152–153, 169–170, 222, 233–234 classical antiquity: classical literary tradition on Indians 11, 28–30, 47, 60 (n. 38), 85–86, 95, 105, 107, 111, 116, 131–132, 206; Indian culture compared to 10, 115, 157, 181, 234, 235–237,

247;‘re-discovery’ of 1, 4–5, 80–81, 83–85, 97, 102–103, 130; Renaissance attitudes to 1, 5, 24–27, 43, 58, 80, 82–83, 88–89; 89 (n. 2), 95, 118, 124, 128–129, 134, 136, 166, 172, 191, 193, 217–218, 243, 246; values 46, 48, 82–83, 88, 102, 107, 114, 225, 240 Clement of Alexandria 26 climate: ancient theories 129; influence on Indians 86 Cochin (=Cocchì) 4, 142, 168, 188, 194, 208, 218, 226 (n. 5), 232, 233, 235 Coilu 44, 48 Coimbra 213, 226 (n. 7) Cologne 143, 227 (n. 12) Colonna, Agnesina 166–167 Colonna, Fabrizio 166 Colonna, Vittoria 166–167, 173, 184 (n. 10) Columbus: letter announcing successes 134–135 Combaita=Combayta 112–113, 114; in Genoese portolan 107 Commentariorum urbanorum libri XXXVIII 142, 159 (n. 7) Comodri 202 Conrad, Joseph 69 Conti, Niccolò 2–4, 93–99, 107, 120 (n. 41), 128, 243; will 119 (n. 6) Copia de una littera del Re de Portugallo mandata al Re de Castella del viaggio e successo de India 144–145, 150–152 Coromandel 168, 185 (n. 15) Corsali, Andrea 3–4, 17 (n. 10), 176, 185 (n. 30), 194, 209, 209 (n. 6), 237, 240, 242; lament over destruction of Indian temples 188–190 cosmography 9, 125, 130, 136 (n. 11), 168, 179, 180, 191, 197, 235 Costa, Jorge da 143 Costa, Manuel da 226 (n. 11) Council of Ferrara-Florence 84–85, 90 (n. 16), 96, 125 Council of Trent 172, 197, 207, 226, 227 (nn. 13 & 17), 233, 238 (n. 15) Counter-Reformation 172, 225 cow 71, 150, 155, 156, 194, 232 (see also ox-worship) Crassi 236

252  Index Cretico, Giovanni Matteo 145, 150, 160 (n. 28) crusade 32, 66, 82, 142–143, 196 Curtius Rufus, Quintus 29, 35 (n. 39), 60 (n. 38), 95, 131–132 Cusa, Nicholas of (Nicolaus Cusanus) 42; De pace fidei 124–127; on Indian religion 127 D’Abano, Pietro 43 D’Acqui, Jacopo 42 Da Gama, Vasco 2, 3, 12, 136, 142, 145–147, 194, 240 D’Anania, Giovanni Lorenzo 197, 210 (nn. 27 & 28), 227 (n. 28) Dandamus (see Dindimus) Dante 24–25, 28, 31, 33, 34 (nn. 7 & 8), 46, 227 (n. 25); devils in 179–180; on ‘luxuria’ 48–49; on Ulysses 166, 184 (n. 11) D’Artegna, Guarnerio 124 Dati, Giuliano: rendition of Columbus letter 135; songs of the Indies 135 Da Vinci, Leonardo 74, 176, 242 De Bry, Theodore 9 De insulis et earum proprietatibus 59 (n. 18) De moribus brachmanorum 35 (n. 37), 82, 89 (n. 7) De Nobili, Roberto 226, 227 (n. 32), 228 (n. 43) De pace fidei 125–127 De varietate fortunae 2, 12, 81, 85; genesis of Indian account in 93; circulation and reception 123–136, 144, 184 (n. 8), 190; novelty 93–97; portrayal of pagan Indians in 99–118; positive attitude to lust 109–111; sacred violence 111–114; strategy in dealing with religious themes 115–118; universalistic ideal of humanitas in 99–104, 114–115, 243; undermining classical ideal of Indian womanhood 104–109;‘voice’ 97–99 De vita solitaria 2, 17 (n. 6), 81–83, 89 (n. 6) Décadas da Ásia 188, 207–208; 210 (n. 43), 245; excerpts censored by Ramusio 192

Deccan (= Decam) 205 Decameron 172 Delle navigationi et viaggi 188–209, 245, 246; circulation 188, 234; legacy 208–209; maps 12, 189; model for European travel collections 9; Portuguese accounts of India in 194–208; scope of Ramusio’s undertaking 188–193; Spice Trade discourse 193–4; texts selected 41, 65, 188–90, 206, 209, 212, 230 demonic forces 25–27, 31–33, 49, 55–56, 58, 67, 76, 117–118, 126–127, 149, 161 (n. 49), 201, 221, 245; Varthema’s dilution of ‘demonic’ idea 178–182; ‘possession’ episodes in India 31, 118, 154, 181 Deumo 180, 180–181, 183, 184, 185 (n. 38), 191 devil-worship (see also demonic forces and idolatry) 200, 207, 232, 240, 244, 245; represented as benign in India 177–181, 244 De Voragine, Jacobus 31 Dindimus (or Didimus) 29–30, 35 (n. 37), 44, 81–82 Diodorus Siculus 85–86, 90 (n. 28), 95 Dionysus 80, 86 (see also Bacchus) diplomats 2, 3, 4, 130, 136 (n. 2), 142, 158, 159 Dominican Order 4, 57; compilation of saints’ legends 31; criticism of humanistic studies 89 (n. 2); interest in Marco Polo & Odorico’s books 41–43, 65; missions 57, 63–64; missionary Jordanus’ view of Indians 69–72, 148, 243; translation of Marco Polo’s book 41, 52, 57, 242 Dominici, Giovanni: criticism of studia humanitatis 89 (n. 2) Ducendane sit uxor sapienti 132 Dutch 11 East: concept of 2 Earthly Paradise 28, 44 ecumenical gathering of the Church 4 Eden, Richard 9 editors: Renaissance 10, 15, 65, 123, 134, 144, 152, 153, 158–159, 188, 192, 206, 240

Index 253 Egypt 11, 164 Egyptian culture: ancient 131, 236 Egyptians 222 Elephanta 234 elephant 11, 28, 29, 118, 128, 141, 168, 202, 221; Pope Leo X’s 12, 141–142 encyclopaedic works: used in medieval and Renaissance period 28, 124, 159 (n. 7) English: editions of early Italian travel accounts 9, 165; in India 11 Epicureans 176 Erasmus 136–137 (n. 22) Essenes 197 Este rulers of Ferrara 42, 74 Ethiopia 3, 11, 94, 100, 133, 164, 188, 235 Ethiopians 3, 17 (n. 10), 84, 94 Eugenius IV 3, 42, 93, 94, 96, 125, 142 Europa 129 Europe: problematic usage of term in scholarship 16, 18 (n. 24) European Renaissance 5, 17 (n. 1) Eusebius 34 (n. 9), 127 explorations: Renaissance Italian interest in 1–4, 74, 144–145, 191 eyewitness reports 4, 6; importance of eyewitness testimony to some Italian humanists 84, 94–95, 191, 240, 243; need for living eyewitness corroboration 84; new reports confirmed on the authority of ancient texts 157; Varthema’s self-promotion as eyewitness 167 Facetiae 99 Federici, Cesare 3, 9, 10, 226, 230; peculiarities of travel account 231–232, 233–234, 241 Frescobaldi, Fiametta 15 Ficino, Marsilio 85, 90 (n. 17), 117, 130, 218, 244; depiction of Indians 132 Florence: executions in Renaissance 50; flourishing humanist culture 83–84, 101; hosts council for union of the Church 84, 90 (n. 16), 93, 96; ‘magnificence’ of 102; social problems in 110–111 Florentines: global interests of 3, 84, 96, 130, 135, 145, 146, 158, 161 (n. 37), 176, 188, 194, 234–235

Fonteio, Josiah 166 Foresti da Bergamo, Jacopo Filippo 124; sanitization of Poggio’s portrayal of Indians 132–134 Fra Mauro: map 4, 43 Frampton, John 9 Franciscans: martyred in India 63; mission to East 4, 64, 27 (n. 78) (see also Odorico da Pordenone) Fra Pipino: translation of Polo’s book 52, 57, 242 Genealogie deorum gentilium 80, 82 Genoa 40, 124, 226 Genoese 42, 96, 144 Genoese portolan: 12, 13–4, 107 gentili (=gentiles): definition of 10, 24; Renaissance confusion over meaning 153–154, 175–176 (see also pagan) geography: conflicting classical visions of discipline 85; fifteenth-century revival of 4, 83–85, 95, 128; imperfect science 85; Italian humanists interested in 6, 43, 72, 83–85, 93–95, 123–124, 127–131, 144–145, 191, limitations of ancient geographical knowledge recognised 88–89, 95, 124, 191; Polo’s contribution to development of 39, 43; Ramusio’s dedication to study of 188, 190, 209 (n. 12); terminology 2, 11, 130; types of geographical literature in Renaissance 10, 18 (n. 23) (see also cosmography; Pliny; Mela, Pomponius; Ptolemy; Strabo) German: early editions of Italian travel accounts 9, 64, 165; illustrated edition of Itinerario 12 Germany: Orientalist expertise 9 Gastaldi, Giacomo 12, 188 Ghiberti, Lorenzo 63 Giotto 39, 246 Giunti Press 17 (n. 10), 58 (n. 1), 227 (n. 12) Giunti, Tommaso 190–191 global Renaissance 5 Goa 142, 168, 184 (n. 15), 212, 215, 217, 232, 235; destruction of temples in 190, 205; destruction of pagan culture 237 gods: Cathayan 55; classical 26, 80, 86, 90 (n. 17), 126, 220, 236; Da Gama’s

254  Index misinterpretation of Hindu gods 145–146; depictions of pagan Indian gods 51–52, 66–68, 70, 75, 111–113, 115–117, 126, 154–155, 178–182, 200, 221, 224, 233, 236; survival of pagan gods in Latin Christian culture 27 Goís, Damião de 191 golden age 84, 97, 193 Gonzaga, Guglielmo 210 (n. 43) Great Khan 40, 44, 45, 55, 56, 61 (n. 51), 64, 66, 103, 130 greatness of soul 205, 219 Greeks 126; ancient 26, 29, 80, 90 (n. 22), 191, 207, 218 Grynaeus, Simon 165 Gujaratis (=Gussurantes=Guzerati) 142, 155–157, 159, 169, 175–176, 196–199, 200, 242, 244–245; compared to Leonardo Da Vinci 176 gymnosophists 29–30, 47, 54, 131, 137 (n. 30), 220; criticised by Petrarch 81–83; imagined forerunners of humanists 87–88; used as positive examples by Ficino 132 (see also asceticism, Brahmins and Indian philosophers and sages) gypsies 177, 240 Hayton 80, 89 (n. 3), 120 (n. 49) Henrique I of Portugal 213 Hercules 86, 131, 137 (n. 30), 194 heresy 82, 117 Hermes Trismegistus 132, Herodotus 85–86, 90 (n. 23), 95, 127, 130, 132 Hinduism 18 (n. 35), 87, 185 (n. 38), 228 (n. 34); Hindu scriptures stolen by Jesuits 212 Historia de principio y progresso de la compañía de Jesús en las Indias Orientales 224–225 Historiarum Indicarum libri xvi 212, 213–223 holiness 55, 57, 175, 176–177, 196, 198, 242 homosexuality 109–111 honour: ‘Indian’ sense of 47, 49, 105–106, 150–151, 183, 204, 206; Renaissance Italian ideals 76, 102, 110–111

human sacrifice: 26, 32, 49, 67, 69 (see also suicide and widow burning) humanism 15, 80, 83, 209 (n. 8), 246, studia humanitatis 1, 17 (n. 3), 89 (n. 2) humanists: attitudes to eyewitness accounts 41, 42, 43, 65, 88, 144–145, 166; attitude to classical pagan world 1, 58, 80; authority of ancient sources for 5, 43, 83–84, 129, 157–158, 191; division of history 17 (n. 2); interest in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs 236; interest in geography 4, 6, 83–85, 95, 144, 191; understandings of Asia and India among 5–6, 12, 85, 93, 99–118, 127–130, 131, 236, 247; values 46, 76, 80, 87–88, 101, 192 (see also humanitas and under names of individual humanists) humanitas 87–88, 114, 192, 243 Huttich, Johann 9, 165, 184 (n. 3) idols 34 (n. 17); Calicut idol 180; illustrations 11–12, 179; physical descriptions of 56, 67, 72, 116, 147, 148, 154, 155, 178–179, 181–182, 201, 205, 231, 232, 235–236 idolaters: in Judeo-Christian tradition 25–26, 31–32, 33, 34 (n. 17), 214, 217; in fourteenth-century missionary texts 63, 66–73; in Mandeville 75; in Polo 45, 48–57; Poggio on 99, 116; Renaissance definitions ambiguous 153–154, 175–176, 231; varied sixteenth-century responses to 147–148, 149, 152, 154–155, 175, 197–198, 200, 207–208 idolatry 26–27, 34 (n. 16), 214; Indianstyle 58, 66–69, 70–71, 75, 111–114, 116–118, 126–127; Poggio’s attitude to 98, 116–118; Polo’s myth of origin 56–57; regarded as not a threat 58, 80–81; sixteenth-century readings of Indian idolatry 148, 154–155, 159, 177–182, 197, 199–202, 204, 205, 207, 221, 232–234, 235–236 Il milione (or Le Divasment dou monde) 39; achievement 40, 242; circulation and reception 9, 15, 39, 40–43, 54, 55, 57, 59 (n. 18), 65, 96, 125, 144, 146,

Index 255 190; portrayal of Indian idolatry and asceticism 49–55; representation of Indian king 44–46; representation of Indian values 46–49; revision of medieval Indian tradition 43–44, 58; sympathetic view of pagan religion 56 (see also Polo, Marco) Il tesoro 28, 35 (n. 30) Index of Prohibited Books 99, 172 India: classical accounts 4, 11, 28–30, 85–86,105, 130; early European contacts 2, 4, 29, 96; elasticity of term 11; evangelisation of 9, 31–32, 64, 65–66, 69, 192, 214; first humanist account of 93; medieval Italian traditions 27; non-colonial perspective of Italian accounts 8–9; Portuguese accounts 141, 160 (n. 24), 189; prophecies about 70, 78 (n. 26), 216; reliquary of a pre-Christian world 236 (see also entries under specific regions) Indians (see entries under themes and specific groups, e.g. Brahmins) Indian Christians 33, 44, 66, 78 (n. 24), 119 (n. 22), 135, 144, 145, 146–149, 152–153, 157, 161 (n. 39), 215–216, 242 Indian Ocean 11, 66, 103, 143, 168; Le Goff’s discredited theory 6, 18 (n. 24) India recognita 123, 134, 138 (n. 44) India Superior 66, 69, 101, 103–104, 116, 126, 130 Indian subcontinent 1, 2, 8, 11 information networks 2–4 Inquisition 74 Isidore of Kiev 84 Isidore of Seville 28 Islam 66, 93, 99, 143, 164, 174 Italy: connections with Portugal 9, 43, 130, 141–142, 158, 159 (n. 7), 213; global information networks 2–4; Italian visual representations of Indians 11–12, 14, 17 (n. 8), 240, 241 Itinerario 144, 159, 164–184, 226, 244, 245; reception 2, 9, 12, 164–168, 190, 191, 193, 240 (see also Varthema, Ludovico De) Itinerarium Portugallensium 145, 161 (n. 44)

Japan 212, 224, 226 (n. 7) Japanese 213, 217, 218, 219–220, 224, 225 Javanese 104, 114, 134, 243 Jerusalem 3, 27, 32, 82, 174 Jesuits: Aristotelian influence on 225; double-edged view of classical civilization 217–218; hierarchical assessment of Asian civilizations 213, 218–220, 224–225; invitation to write history of Portuguese Indies 213; involvement in missions 9, 212, 214, 217, 219, 223–224, 226; narrative of salvation history 214–217; notions of ‘barbarian’ 218–219, 224–225; policy of accommodatio 224, 227 (n. 32); response to pagan Indians 16, 201, 212–226; view of Brahmins 220–222, 224–225, 227 (n. 29); writings 18 (n. 34), 60 (n. 38), 212–213, 218, 224, 226, 226 (nn. 4 & 11), 228 (n. 34) Jews 119 (n. 22), 207, 227 (n. 13), 210 (n. 28); captured by Da Gama 146, 148; in Latin Christian theology 30, 25; Renaissance Europe 5; recognised category of people 23, 144, 176 João III of Portugal 214 Jordanus 69; account of the East 69–72; attempt to read pagan Indian practices as Christian 70–71; Dominican companion of martyred Franciscans 69; Indian prophecy of Latin domination 70, 78 (n. 26); missionary’s view of Indians 243; three-fold division of India 69 Jourdain Catalani de Séverac (see Jordanus) Julius Caesar 82 Julius II 143, 165 Julius Valerius 29 Justin Martyr 25 Kali 87 Kathaia 86, 158 Kerala King of Calicut King Porus 29–30, 44, 137 (n. 30), 141, 158 King Senderba 44–47, 49

256  Index kingship: depictions of Indian pre-1500 14, 29; 44–46, 66–67, 83, 133, 135; early sixteenth century 143, 146–147, 150–151, 176–177, 178; in Portuguese representations 194, 201–202, 208; Maffei’s portrayal of 218, 220, 222; view of Indian rulers in Federici 231 Kircher, Athanasius 34 (n. 34) Kubilai Khan 40, 45–46, 61 (n. 51) Lach, Donald F. 7, 96. 160 (n. 24) Lactantius 27 Latin Christian: ideological issues 23–27; mission to East 57, 63–66, 69, 126, 192, 212–217, 223–226; penitential practice 68; prophecy of domination in India 70; Renaissance converts to Islam 93, 174; pagan Indian religion likened to 56, 70–71,72–73, 75–76, 116, 146–148, 154, 181, 199, 233, 245 Latini, Brunetto (see Brunetto Latini) Le Divasment dou monde (see Il milione) Le Goff, Jacques: problematic ‘medieval mentality’ theory 6, 18 (n. 24), 28–29 Le Long, Jean 73–74 Le Septe giornate della geographia 130–131 Leo X 3, 12, 141–142, 143, 188 Leoniceno, Niccolò 145, 160 (n. 29) Letter of Prester John 31–33, 100, 125, 133, 144 Letter to Canon Martins 130, 137 (n. 24) Levant 3 Li livres dou Trésor 28–29 Liber insularum Archipelagi 84 Library of History 86, 90 (n. 23) Libri della famiglia 90 (n. 34), 131 Life of Apollonius of Tyana 130 Lisbon 144, 145; cardinal 142, 159 (n. 7), 213; Calicut compared to 146; Florentine community 3, 9, 146, 158; information gathered on Asia 160 (n.24), 194; printing 144, 160 (n. 24), 207 Livre des merveilles 44, 52, 52 Locke, John 9, Lopez, Tomé 190, 194–195, 207 Lorenzetti, Ambrogio 63, 77 (n. 1) Loyola, Ignatius 212, 213, 217

L’universale Fabrica Del Mondo overo Cosmografia (see D’Anania) lust 45, 48–49, 99, 109–111, 136 (n. 15), 152 (see also luxuria) Luther 165, 226 Lutherans 217, 220 luxuria (= lussuria) 48–49, 60 (n. 38), 151, 203 (see also sexual mores) Maabar 44, 59 (n. 18); management of kingdom 45–46; other exotic customs 46–49; pagan monasteries 51–52, 52; practice of asceticism 54–55; ritual suicide 49–51, 113; values 58, 152 (see also Mibar) Malabar 161 (n. 44), 185 (n. 15), 196, 199–205, 220–223, 244 (See also Calicut) Machiavelli, Niccolò 46 Macinus 116, 126, 128, 129, 130, 136 (n. 15) Madrignano, Arcangelo 145, 152, 153, 154, 164; objection to Malabar Church’s claims 161 (n. 44) Maffei da Volterra, Raffaello 142, 159 (n. 7), Maffei, Giovanni Pietro 10, 212, 213, 226, 226 (n. 11); luxuria 60 (n. 38); notions of ‘barbarian’ 218–220; response to pagan Indians 220–223, 234, 242, 245, 246, 247–248; representation of salvation history 214–217; support for views with Order 223–225 Magellan 195, 209 (n. 2) Magi 84, 132, 137 (n. 30) magnificentia 101–102, 146, 208, 213, 217, 219, 244 Malabar 196, 199–200, 201–205, 220–223, 242, 244–245; church 161 (n. 44); travels of Varthema 185 (n. 15) (See also Calicut, Cochin & Cranganore) Malacca 160 (n. 13), 195, 199 Malatesta 42 Mameluke 164, 174 Mandeville, Sir John 73, 173 Mandeville’s Travels 64; circulation 73, 96; depiction of Indians 74–76, 113, 243, 245; inclusive religious view 74–76; Italian reception 73–74, 76, 77,

Index 257 138 (n. 41); peculiarities of Italian text 75–76; re-fashioning of Odorico’s relatio 68, 73, 75–76 Manuel I of Portugal 142–143, 144, 146, 161 (n. 35), 194, 195; letters in Sanuto’s diaries 160 (n. 13) Mangi (=Manzi) 40, 44, 45, 69 maps 4, 12, 43, 84, 85, 89, 131, 188; of India 189 Marcanova, Giovanni 42, 124 marginalia 6, 53, 124; reactions to Indian customs 47, 53, 60 (n. 46), 72, 124; reader confused by Polo’s book 42 Marino 166 martyrdom 68, 71, 75, 113, 243; of Franciscans in India 4, 63, 64, 66, 69; St Thomas’ 32, 44 Mecca 143, 164 media India(= India interior) 100, 104–105, 118, 135, 152 Medici 3, 146, 194, 234 Medici bank 3, Medici, Cosimo de’ 101, 101 Medici, Ferdinando de’ 235 Medici, Francesco de’ 235 Medici, Giuliano de’ 4, 188 Mediterranean 3, 8, 18 (n. 24), 28, 84, 131, 145, 248 (n. 2) Megasthenes 35 (n. 31), 86 Mela, Pomponius 90 (n. 25), 124 Melanchthon 165 mendicant orders 64 (see also Franciscans and Dominicans) Menocchio (Domenico Scandello) 74 merchants 2, 3, 4, 9, 40, 93, 230; as readers 41, 158; Renaissance merchant perspectives on Indians 98, 230–237; representations of ‘Indian’ merchants 53, 101, 134, 135, 151, 155, 170, 198–199, 231, 234 Mibar (see also Maabar) 64, 66–69, 72, 76 Michelangelo 246 Middle Ages: humanist idea 17 (n. 2) Milan 42, 81; editions of travel literature 74, 123, 145, 159, 164 Milanese 41, 123; in India 177 Ming dynasty 103 Mirabilia descripta 69–72

mission: 24; challenges 34 (n. 4), 126, 216–217, 223; Dominican society 57; to East 2, 4, 31–32, 63, 64; Jesuit involvement 212–214, 219, 224, 226 (n. 11), 227 (n. 31); Portugal’s evangelising 192; Ramusio’s view of 193–194 missionary reports 4, 40, 64–72, 78 (n. 27), 148, 178, 212, 213, 224–226; Moluccas 195 mondo nuovo (see also ‘new world’) 11 Mongols 3, 40, 59 (n. 29), 89 (n. 3), 94, 103, 130 (see also Great Khan & Tartars) monks 4; possible author of Mandeville 73; transmission of travel literature 41, 64, 124, 132–134, 145, 152, 161 (n. 44), 164 (see also mission & missionary reports) monstrous races 28, 35 (n. 35), 44, 86, 90 (n. 22), 135, 242 Montalboddo, Fracanzano da 10, 144–145; achievement 158–159, 240; voyage literature collection 145 (see Paesi novamente retrovati et novo mondo da Alberico Vesputio Florentino) Montefeltro, Federico da 124, 127, 166, 184 (n. 8) Montesquieu 100 Moors (=Mori; see also Muslims) 147, 149, 196–198; blamed for Indians losing Christianity 199; blamed for ruin of pagan Indian culture 239 (n. 34); conquest of India 196, 199; recognised people category 24, 144, 175, 176, 196, 231 Moscow 84 Mughals 11, 18 (n. 34) Münster, Sebastian Cosmographia 180 Muslims (=Macomettani, Maomettani Saraceni, Mori); absent from Poggio’s India 119 (n. 21); antagonistically depicted 66, 177, 194, 199, 207, 218, 221, 239 (n. 34); conquest of India 196, 199; depicted neutrally or as amenable 182, 231; orientalist depiction of 168–169; terms employed for 23, 24, 34 (n. 4), 99, 196; Portuguese ‘crusade’ against 143; political influence over pagan Indians 149

258  Index Myanmar 120 (n. 41), 168 Mylapore (=Maliapor) 208 Nairs (=Naires=Nairi=Naeri) 153, 169, 182, 203, 204–205, 222–223, 224, 231, 232, 233–234, 235, 236, 242 naked philosophers 29, 243 Narsinga 143, 168, 174, 178, 196, 202, 205, 206 Natural History 28, 96, 145, 160 (n. 29) Negapatan 232 Nemptai 101, 128, 129, 133, 134 Neo-Platonism 27, 84, 132 Nestorians 66, 94 networks 2–4 new world 11, 39, 77, 142, 145, 192; dream of colonisation 194; missions 212, 215 New World Indians 5 news pamphlets 3, 144 Niccoli, Niccolò 84, 96 Nicholas V 124, 130 Nicomachean Ethics 102 Nile 3, 84 nobility: concepts of 44, 223, 227 (n. 30) Novus Orbis Regionum ac Insularum veteribus incognitarum 165 Nuremberg 41, 143 obedience oration 141–143 Odorico da Pordenone 4, 63; account of eastern travels 63; circulation and reception of relatio 59 (n. 18), 64–65, 72, 96, 190, 209 (n. 5); depiction of Indians 66–73, 120 (n. 45), 242–243; illustrated manuscript of relatio 11; missionary activity 65–66; use of Christian terminology 72–73 Omnium gentium mores 191 Orientalism 7 orientalism 6, 7–9, 9–10; in Barros 208; in Italian Renaissance representations of Indians, 44, 109, 169, 179, 218, 223, 225, 248 (see also Said, Edward & Saidian thesis) Orissa 168 Orta, Garcia da 168, 184 (n. 15) Ospedale degli Innocenti 110 Ottomans 5, 8, 125 (see also Turks)

Oviedo, Gonzalo Fernandez de 4 ox-worship 44, 54, 66–67, 70–71, 72, 75, 221, 242; confusions over 148, 161 (n. 45) (see also cow) Pacheco, Diogo 141, 143 Padua 4, 42, 64, 65, 124 Paesi novamente retrovati et novo mondo da Alberico Vesputio Florentino 9, 144–145, 158–159, 244; Indian content of 145; reception 9, 145; representations of pagan Indian life 146–158 (see also Montalboddo, Fracanzano da) pagan 23–24; categories of 23–27; confusion over 145, 147, 153, 175–176; ideological issues involved in Christianpagan encounter 23–27; Renaissance attitudes to classical pagan culture 1, 80, 82–83, 88, 89 (n. 2), 132, 172, 217; teaching of Council of Trent regarding 215, 227 (n. 13); virtuous pagans 26, 30, 57, 74, 117, 215 (see also gentili) Pagano, Matteo 43 papacy 3; grants of jurisdiction 142; papal secretaries 3, 4, 84, 93, 96, 99; 1514 Portuguese embassy to Rome 141 (see also popes and entries under names of individual popes) Paris 143 Paul II 124 Paul III 212 peasants 153, 169–170, 204 Pedro of Portugal, Prince 43 Pego (=Pegù) 168, 231, 238 (n. 9) Peruschi, Giovanni Battista 18 (n. 34) Persia 11, 28, 101, 164 Persian 222; companion of Varthema 164, 172, 185 (n. 15) Petrarch: awareness of contemporary India 2, 83; critique of the Brahmins 81–83, 243; interest in geography 83, 89 (n. 11) Philostratus 130, 132 Piccolomini, Aeneas Sylvius (see Pius II) Pico della Mirandola, Giovanni 42, 65, 218, Pires, Tomé 190, 195; depiction of Indians 196–207 Pius II 124, 127; author of Asia 127; poor opinion of Poggio 129; reluctance to

Index 259 contemporary report of far east 128–129; studied Strabo 136 (n. 14) (see also Asia) Plato 25, 26, 84, 130, 132, 137 (n. 25) Platonic Academy 130 Pletho, Gemistos 84–85, 90 (nn. 17 & 18), 95 Pliny the Elder 28, 35 (n. 31); Odorico as 65; on Indians 28, 86, 90 (n. 22); Poggio’s rivalry of 96, 134; scholarship attacked in Renaissance 145, 160 (n. 29), 191; used as an authority in Renaissance 65, 123, 128, 131, 135, 236 Polo, Marco 3, 39–40; achievement of book 39–42, 242; approach to eastern religions 55–56; celebrated as hero of geography 41; contribution to Renaissance geographical ideas 2, 15, 39; controversies over 40, 58 (n. 4); view of pagan Indians 58 (see also Il milione) Pontano, Giovanni 102, 119 (n. 29) popes 3, 55, 63, 66, 153, 215 (see also ‘papacy’ and entries under individual popes, e.g. Leo X) Porphyry 132 Portugal: blamed for destruction of pagan Indian culture 190, 237; expeditions to India 142; evangelising mission 214; failure to print early Portuguese accounts of India in 160 (n. 24), 240; official communications on India 142–144, 188; overseas activities as reported in Italy 144–145, 149, 150, 188–190, 194–208, 212; Portuguese embassy to Rome 12, 141; Renaissance Italian views of Portuguese imperialism 9, 145, 150, 158–159, 192–194, 220 (see also Da Gama, Vasco and Cabral, Pedro Alvares) Prester John 32–33, 44, 133, 135, 244 Priest Joseph 142, 144; interviewed in Venice 145; portrayal of Indians 151–157, 176, 177, 181, 244, 245 printing: 3, 4, 19 (n. 42), 41, 219; editions of Latin classics 130; editions of Supplementum Chronicarum 137 (n. 38); European editions of Italian travel literature 9, 41, 144, 145, 166–167; geographical interests of printers in

Renaissance Italy 11, 130–131, 138 (n. 42), 159 (n. 7), 188, 209 (nn. 2 & 6); India recognita 123; Italian edition of Letter of Prester John 133; Italian editions of Marco Polo’s book 41; Italian editions of Odorico 65; Italian editions of Paesi novamente retrovati 145; Italian editions of Varthema 164; Mandeville editions 74, 77, 138 (n. 42); new visions of ‘Portuguese’ India disseminated from Italy 142–143, 144–145, 159, 240; Portuguese histories printed in Italy 208, 210 (n. 43), 241; printed Jesuit texts 18 (n. 34), 212, 214, 226; printing of Balbi and Federici 230; Ramusio’s collection 188, 190–191; Vecellio’s costume book 17 (n. 8), 240 prisca theologia 84, 117, 132 Propertius 105, 206 prophecy: of Latin domination in India 70, 70 (n. 26); of white men renewing Christianity in India 216 prostitution: in depictions of India 109, 111, 152, 203, 206, 232–233; in Renaissance Italian cities 110 Protestants 192, 197, 212, 217, 221, 226, 227 (n. 17); acquainted European public with Hinduism 228 (n. 34) Ptolemy: circulation of Geography in Italy 84–85, 97, 130, 243; concept of geography 85; criticism of 88, 95, 191; treated as authoritative on Asia and India 123, 128, 130–131, 134, 207 Purchas, Samuel 9 Pythagoras 157 Pythagoreans: Indian group seen as 157, 210 (n. 28), 236, 242 Qu’ran: early Italian vernacular translation 146 questione della lingua 167, 184 (n. 12), 192 Raguagli d’alcune missioni fatte dalli padri della Compagnia di Giesù nell’Indie orientali 226 Ramusio, Giovanni Battista 4, 188, 191, 209 (n. 8); attitude to Portuguese 192–193, 210 (n. 18); compilation of voyage literature 9, 188; contribution to

260  Index Renaissance understandings of Indians 190, 208–209, 240, 245; motivation 190–192, 209 (n. 12); role as editor 4, 43, 74, 160 (n. 28), 185 (n. 19), 188, 206, 207, 212, 213; Spice Trade discourse 193–194 (see also Delle navigationi et viaggi) Raphael 142, 246 reader response 15–16 Renaissance: applicability of term 1, 5, 17 (n. 17); European converts to Islam during 93, 174; social problems of Italian Renaissance cities 50, 110–111 Renaissance studies 5, 16 Riario, Raffaele Sansoni 165 Roman: ancient writers on India 4, 29, 81, 95, 105; comparisons of pagan Indians to 83, 218, 236; ideal of Indian womanhood undermined 104–109; Portuguese compared to 193–194 (see also Ancient Rome) Rome 3–4, 12, 83–84, 90 (n. 16), 141; Jesuit College 213, 224 Rubiés, Joan-Pau 6–7, 18 (n. 33), 98–99, 173–174, 179, 185 (n. 15) Russia 84 Rustichello da Pisa 40, 55, 58 (n. 3) sacre rappresentazioni 16 sacred violence 49–50, 67–68, 71, 75–76, 106, 111–114, 154–155, 201–202, 205, 224, 233, 238 (n. 12) sacrifice: Indian religious 51, 71, 114, 117, 134, 147, 154–155, 205; late sixteenthcentury views 233, 237; Maffei’s view of pagan Indian 221;Varthema’s depiction of 175, 181–182 (see also human sacrifice and widow-burning) Said, Edward 7–8 Saidian thesis 7–8, 10, 247 Saint Christopher idol 72–73, 75, 113, 243 Saints Barlaam and Josaphat 31, 32; Buddhist influence on tale 32; gloss in manuscript of Polo’s book 57 Salutati, Coluccio 43, 88 Samory (see Zamorin) Santaella, Rodrigo de 9 San Thomé 231, 232, 238 (n. 9) Sanskrit 235 Santo Stefano, Girolamo da 144

Sanuto, Marino 143, 160 (n. 13), 184 (n. 6) Saracens 24, 40, 69, 141 (see Muslims) Sassetti, Filippo 10, 188, 234–235; criticism of Barros 192; Indian letters 235–237; regard for pagan Indian civilization 235–237 satan 48, 178, 181, 182, 217 Scala, Bartolomeo 132, 244 Scarperia, Jacopo Angelo de’ 84, 97 Scinzenzeler, Angelo 164 Scinzenzeler, Ulrich 123, 124, 138 (n. 41) Scythians 128, 129, 138 (n. 40) Seres 128 Sergamo Borgani 56–58, 76, 82, 175, 245 (see also Buddha) Sernigi, Girolamo 146, 158; letters on return of Da Gama’s fleet 146, 190; shifting perceptions of Calicut Indians 146–149, 244, 245 Sessa Press 41 sexual mores 48–49, 109–111, 151–152, 170–173, 203, 231, 235, 244 Sforza 42 Siena 63, 110 Silvestri, Domenico 43, 47, 59 (n. 18), 60 (n. 36), 65, 84 slavery: Aristotle’s theory of natural slaves 227 (n. 22); applied to Indians 225; opposite view in Diodorus Siculus 86 slaves 104, 142, 204, 222 Society of Jesus (see Jesuits) Soderini, Pietro 194 Soldano Machamuth 168–169 (see also Muslims) Solinus 28, 35 (n. 31), 105, 128, 135 Sommario delle Indie Orientali 195 South India 6, 18 (n. 33), 66–67, 69 (see also India and Indians) Spain 3, 4, 34 (n. 4), 234; history of Spanish Indies 4; voyages undertaken for 3, 11, 145, 214 Sparta 203 Spice Trade 9, 158, 193 spies 3 Sri Lanka (=Seilla=Seylam=Zaiolon=Zeylom) 56, 59 (n. 18), 168, 185 (see also Taprobane) St Ambrose 25, 35 (n. 37), 89 (n. 7)

Index 261 St Augustine 24, 25, 26, 27, 34 (n. 16), 126; deferred to by Poggio 99; source for Song of Indies 135 St Bartholomew 31–32 St Jerome 24, 25, 27; authority for Petrarch 83, 89 (n. 7); Poggio’s defence of Vulgate 99; view of widow-burning 105 St Thomas 31–32, 44, 89 (n. 3), 174, 227 (n. 29); Indian Christians accused of worshipping 78 (n. 24); pagan Indian respect for 208, 231; prophecy attributed to 216 St. John Chrysostom 99 St. Paul 26, 34 (n. 2), 99 Strabo: authority in Renaissance 134, 135, 137, 157–158, 168; account of India 86, 152, 156; circulation of Geography in Italy 90 (n. 18), 130; definition of geography 85; interest for Italian humanists 85, 88, 95, 128, 131, 136 (n. 14), 206; obsolete 191 Strozzi, Niccolò 17 (n. 3) studia humanitatis 1, 17 (n. 3); Dominici’s criticism of 89 (n. 2) Suma oriental 195; depiction of Indians 196–207 Supplementum Chronicarum 133–134 suicide: Indians associated with 30, 46–47, 49, 68–69, 71–72, 75–76; Federico da Montefeltro’s reaction to 124; Petrarch on 82; Poggio’s depiction 111–114; Roman view 106, 114; sixteenth-century depictions 198, 201–202, 232 (see also widow-burning) suttee 105 (see widow-burning) Sweden 96 Tafur, Pero 98; depiction of Indians compared 107–109, 112 Taj Mahal 246 Tambram 154, 161 (n. 46) Tamerani 180, 185 (n. 38) Taprobane (see also Sri Lanka) 28, 96, 103, 130, 134, 143 Tarnassari (=Tarnasseri) 168, 172, 181, 182, 185 (n. 20), 240 Tartars 40, 49, 58 (n. 3), 66 (see also Mongols & Great Khan) Taxila 86, 137 (n. 30), 158

temples: Alberti’s gymnosophist temple 87–88; depictions of pagan Indian 54–55, 114, 116–117, 127; 147–148, 153, 154–155, 205; King of Calicut’s chapel 178–181; classical appearance 181, 213; craftsmanship extolled 188, 190, 208, 213, 234, 235–236, 237, 238 (n. 18); lament over destruction of 69, 190, 237; temple dancers 54, 242; temple prostitution 206, 232–233 Tertullian 25, 27 Theogenius 131 Third India: defined and rated by Poggio 101–102; 120 (n. 41); lingering appeal of 130, 133, 134, 135, 244 Timur 94 Torture: Indian practice 67–69,111, 154–155, 181, 205, 233, 234 (see also suicide and widow-burning) Toscanelli, Paolo dal Pozzo 84, 125, 130, 137 (n. 24) trade: Italian with East 2, 3, 5, 9, 43, 96, 231; Venetian interest in Spice Trade 158, 193 travel literature: various genres 2, 6 Turks 5, 66, 69, 99, 127, 146, 207 Tusculan Disputations 105, 106 Ulloa, Alfonso de 208, 210 (n. 43) Ulysses: Varthema’s use of 166–167 Upper India 94 (see also India Superior) Vaglienti, Piero 146, 161 (n. 37) Valentím Fernández Alemám 9, 144 Valignano, Alessandro 224–225, 227 (n. 32) Valla, Lorenzo 99 varietas 100 Varro 126, 127 Varthema, Ludovico De 2, 159, 164–168, 173–174, 184 (n. 10); author of Itinerario 164, 226; extent of real travels 184 (n. 15); Itinerario translations 9, 12, 164–165; notion of virtuous pagans 175; recasting of idolatry 179–182; representation of pagan Indians 168–173, 174–177; 177–182; 182–184 (see also Itinerario) Vasari, Giorgio 39 Vecellio, Cesare 11, 17 (n. 8), 240, 247; woodcut of Indian woman 241

262  Index Venetians 190; civil servants and diplomats 145, 188, 191; travellers 2, 3, 4, 43, 230 (see also entries under individual travellers and Ramusio) Venice 3, 8–9, 41, 143, 158; travellers interviewed in 144, 165, 184 (n. 6) (see also ‘printing’) Veronese 246 Vespucci, Amerigo 3, 145, 176 Viaggio dell’Indie Orientali 11 (see Gasparo Balbi) Vicenza 144, 158 Vijayanagar 6, 98 (see also Bezeneger and Narsinga) Vincent of Beauvais 28, 31 Villani, Giovanni 43 Virunio, Pontico 65 violence (see human sacrifice, sacred violence, suicide, torture, warriors and widow-burning) virtù 170 warriors: Indian 29, 33, 169, 202, 203, 224, 231, 235, 242; Mongol 45; vision of Portuguese God 182 widow-burning 242; classical depictions of 85, 86, 90 (n. 28), 105; Church

Father on 105; depicted in Polo’s book 47; fourteenth-century missionary views of 69, 71–72; fifteenth-century Italian accounts of 104–109, 111, 115, 118, 131, 132, 133–134; sixteenth-century accounts 156–158, 181, 182–183, 205–207, 224, 231–232, 233, 238 (n. 14); Tafur on 107–109 wife-swapping 170–171 wisdom of Indians 23, 29–30, 33, 87, 115, 116, 126–127, 132, 235–236, 245 woodcuts 11, 17 (n. 8), 134, 165, 179, 191, 240 worship: problem of ‘true worship’ 25–27 (see also idolatry) Xavier, Francis 212, 221, 245; negative appraisal of the Indians 212–213 yogis (=Ioghi=Ioghe) 54, 168, 176–177, 196–197, 242, 244 Zailon 168 Zamorin of Calicut (=Samory=Zamorino) 169, 218, 220, 235, 242 Zoroaster 84, 132