He could not bear to see a child crying for cold or hunger, nor to see men or women sleeping shelterless in the streets, and often he took in under his roof pilgrims and poor wandering gentlemen. On Easter day he never failed to feed eighteen little beggar children at his table. But when he was tired of his visitors, rich or poor, he took refuge with Titian at San Cassian, for Titian was the only human being whom he loved sincerely, and all the resources of his venomous wit and cruel pen were at the disposal of this one friend. As for Titian’s other friends, Aretino spared them, but the artist’s enemies he harassed without mercy.
He was a physical coward, of course, as all such men are. He hated Jacopo Tintoretto for two reasons, first, because his growing reputation was beginning to be a source of anxiety to Titian, and secondly, because he was too poor to be blackmailed and too proud to show himself in Titian’s house with the threadbare clothes which his wife, good soul, made him wear for economy’s sake. Aretino accordingly abused him, and Tintoretto heard of it and determined to put an end to it in his own way.
One day he met Aretino in the street, stopped him, and proposed to paint his portrait. The blackmailer was delighted, as the picture would cost him nothing and would certainly be valuable, and he at once made an appointment to go to Jacopo’s studio. On the appointed day he appeared punctually, and seeing an empty canvas ready for the portrait, sat down in a becoming attitude. But the painter’s turn had come. ‘Stand up!’ he said, and Aretino obeyed. Then Tintoretto pulled out a long horse-pistol. ‘What is this?’ asked Aretino, alarmed. ‘I am going to measure you,’ replied the artist, and he proceeded to measure his adversary by the length of the pistol. ‘You are two pistols and a half high,’ he observed; ‘now go!’ and he pointed to the door. Aretino was badly frightened, and lost no time in getting out of the house; and from that day he neither wrote nor spoke any word that was not flattering to Jacopo Tintoretto.
Aretino received another lesson one day from the famous Andrea Calmo. The latter was an extremely original personage, half man of letters, half actor, whose improvised speeches in the character of Pantaloon were so remarkable as to give rise to the mistaken belief that he had invented that mask. He also wrote open letters to prominent men, as Aretino did, and published them, and as his were quite as libellous as the Tuscan’s, and sometimes even more witty, they had
Love’s Labour’s Lost, Act iv. sc. 2 (Cambridge edition, 1863).
an immense success. In fifty years they went through fifty editions, and there is positive proof that Shakespeare was acquainted with them, for he quotes a line and a half from one of Calmo’s works:—
Venetia, Venetia,
Chi non ti vede non ti pretia.
Calmo’s chief virtue was neither patience nor forbearance, and it appears that Aretino irritated him exceedingly. One day his nerves could
Molmenti, Studi, and Nuovi Studi.
bear no longer with the Tuscan, and he gave vent to his feelings in an ironical open letter addressed to the object of his dislike. Here is a fragment of it:—