A day in the life of a Milan duke
Luxuries that would make a modern tycoon feel poor
Dmitri Merezhkovsky, a Russian philosopher and novelist (who died of starvation in Paris during World War II) describes in his book Leonardo Da Vinci the life of a Milanese duke around 1500. His account has special value because it is the result of extensive archive study during a long tour of Greece, Turkey, Europe and the Near East. It is, in fact, a historical document of everyday life among the ruling class of the early years of the European Renaissance.
So, the duke, during an ordinary stroll around the workshops neighbouring his palazzo, where all sorts of artists that he patronised worked, would listen to the hagiographers talk about their art. The wood on which they would paint had to be old beech or fig tree, and it had to be primed with a good rubbing of powdered burnt bone. The bones used for that had to be hen’s wings, capon’s spines, or ram’s ribs and shoulderblades. Otherwise, the wood would not be smooth and glossy enough for a good icon. The paints were made by the artists themselves, using ingredients they collected themselves in nature. Indispensable ingredients were egg yolk, fig sap, water, oil, and wine. There was endless variation in details. If they wanted to paint young faces, the egg had to come from a town-bred hen, and thus have a lighter yolk. The yolk of eggs laid by free range country hens was suitable to colour older and darker faces and bodies.
The duke would continue his stroll, pass through his warehouses, cowsheds and pigsties, and end up in an outbuilding named “the home of giants”, which every respectable aristocratic home had. That was where all the creatures that amused the noblemen and noblewomen of the time lived, locked up in cages. Hounds, monkeys, parrots, dwarves, hunchbacks, negroes, madmen and epileptics, all piled up together in incredible filth. They were taken out according to the masters’ mood for entertainment. Of course, it did not even cross anyone’s mind that, for instance, dwarves or negroes were human creatures too. When a negro child was taken seriously ill, the duke thought of baptising him in order for him not to die a heathen, but then considered it too great an indulgence.
Then the duke and duchess would get to table, which, on an ordinary day, would include no less than thirty people. This is how Merezhkovsky describes an ordinary ducal dinner: “They started with fresh artichokes, brought from Genoa to Milan on horseback, fat eels from Venice, carp from the fisheries of Mantua and jellied capon’s breast. Afterwards, the main course was a huge boar’s head, stuffed with chestnuts and raisins. A whole stuffed peacock followed, with its magnificent feathers stuck again on its roasted body. As soon as the cooks put it on the table, it suddenly started to flutter its wings and tail, to the delight of the table companions. That was achieved through a mechanism hidden inside the peacock’s body, which made the cooked bird act like a living one. Dessert was a huge cake, out of which jumped a dwarf covered in parrot feathers, who was promptly snatched by the servants and locked in a gilded hanging cage in order to amuse the guests with his jokes during dinner.”
There were no forks on the table, only knives. The guests ate using three fingers, although at dessert there was a sort of fork brought in, gold with a crystal handle, which only the ladies would use. There were no napkins either; the guests wiped their hands on the tablecloth. They drank a light Sicilian white wine with the first course, then red Cyprus wine flavoured with cinnamon and cloves to accompany the meats. Before the duke drank any wine, the chamberlain would dip in his cup a special amulet, made by a piece of African rhinoceros horn on a golden chain. If the wine was poisoned, the horn would blacken instantly. There were similar amulets on all salt bowls. If rhino’s horn was not to be found, they used talismans of desiccated frog or snake’s tongue instead. After dinner, the guests would listen to some poetry recitations, eating gilded oranges drenched in aromatic Malvasian wine.
That was an ordinary day in the life of a Milan duke during the early Renaissance, a time when death of starvation, both in the cities and in the ravaged countryside, was a very common fate for the poor.
© Dimitris Kambourakis 2003, All Rights Reserved
Translation from the Greek © M.A.K. 2008, All Rights Reserved
Posted by Mary Contrary 