As I read through Monsignor Della Casa’s Galateo, I was struck by how different the Renaissance concept of decorum is from our modern interpretation.
These five additional rules invite us to reflect on the profound changes in Western mentality and customs over the centuries—changes that now make these guidelines seem so unusual and even a bit bizarre.
Singin’ In The Rain
A man should refrain from singing, especially alone, if his voice is discordant and unrefined; yet few take heed of this, and indeed, it seems that those least suited to it by nature are the ones who do it most often.
One can only wonder what Monsignor Della Casa would think of the talent shows filling our screens today. Singing in the shower is no longer enough—now that anyone with a “discordant and unrefined” voice has the chance to perform proudly before millions of viewers.
A historical figure who would have eagerly taken the stage at the Sanremo Music Festival was the Roman Emperor Nero. Renowned for his unshakable belief in his artistic genius, Nero’s flair for dramatic self-expression would have undoubtedly clashed with Monsignor Della Casa’s disdain for 'discordant and unrefined' voices.
Suetonius recounts that, despite possessing a weak and husky voice, Nero was so convinced of his talent that he made his singing debut in Naples—and even when an earthquake shook the theater, he refused to halt his performance.
Peter Ustinov as Nero from the 1951 movie Quo Vadis, directed by Mervyn LeRoy.
Wine tasting
It is an improper custom for someone to put their nose over the glass of wine that another person is to drink, or over the food that another is to eat, in order to smell it; indeed, I would prefer that they not even sniff what they themselves are to drink or eat, as things might fall from the nose that are unpleasant, even if they do not fall at that very moment. Nor would I advise offering another person a glass of wine you have already sipped from, unless they are more than a close acquaintance; and much less should you offer a pear or other fruit that you have already bitten into. Do not think these matters are trivial, for even light blows, when numerous, are known to kill.
No sniffing the glass or 'courtesy sips' to assess the wine’s quality: for Monsignor Della Casa, any attempt to mimic the refined gestures of modern sommeliers would be, at best, improper.
Interestingly, a contemporary of Della Casa, Sante Lancerio—bottle-bearer to Pope Paul III (pontifex from 1534 to 1549)—is often regarded as the first sommelier in history. Tasked with selecting wines for the Pope’s table and accompanying him on his travels, Lancerio left behind what is considered the first enological treatise. In this work, he meticulously analyzed the qualities of around 50 wines and the occasions best suited for their enjoyment.
One can only imagine how many wines Sante Lancerio might have sniffed - with the Pope’s blessing, of course!
Bacchus, oil painting by Caravaggio (1596-1597).
The Interpretation Of Dreams
Those who continually insist on recounting their dreams, with such affection and wonder, do a disservice, as it is exhausting to listen to them. Especially as these people are often of a sort that listening to their greatest accomplishments, even those achieved while awake, would be a wasted effort! One should therefore not bore others with such trivial matters as dreams, especially when they are as foolish as dreams generally are.
And who knows what Della Casa would have thought of the modern trend of lying on a couch to recount dreams to a stranger—and paying for the privilege! Freud transformed what Della Casa considered a bothersome whim into a science of the unconscious, capable of revealing hidden truths and past traumas.
The only exception Della Casa makes to his rule is for the dreams of wise men (“for the good and the learned, even while they sleep, are better and wiser than the wicked and the fools”), those dreams that ‘resemble more the thoughts of a well-awakened mind’ and reveal precious moral lessons.
All others, including us ‘simple folks,’ would do better to remain silent and keep their past traumas to themselves.
Freud’s sofa - ROBERT HUFFSTUTTER, FREUD'S SOFA, CC BY 2.0
Project Runway
A nobleman should not run along the street or rush too much, as such behavior is fitting for a groom, not a gentleman. Besides, one becomes breathless, sweaty, and panting—all unbecoming traits for a man of dignity. However, one should not walk so slowly or with such affectation as a lady or a bride, nor sway too much while walking. The hands should not dangle loosely, nor should the arms be flung about as if sowing seeds in a field, nor should one fix his gaze on others as though he were marveling at them.
Some people raise their feet so high as they walk that they look like startled horses, pulling their legs out of a narrow space; others stomp so loudly that they make nearly as much noise as a cart. Some fling their feet outward, some swing their legs, some stoop at each step to pull up their stockings, and others shake their hips and strut like peacocks—actions that are not extremely offensive, but still lack elegance.
In the author’s view, a gentleman should glide gracefully through the halls of a royal court—not dash through modern city streets like a sweaty marathon runner. Just imagine his reaction to today’s urban chaos: he would have been horrified by people zigzagging through crowds with the finesse of startled horses or flailing their arms as though sowing seeds in a field. True elegance isn’t just about reaching your destination; it’s about arriving with composed dignity.
If the Renaissance ideal of dignified composure feels out of place in modern life, some historical figures have elevated dramatic entrances into an art form. Gabriele D’Annunzio, renowned for his flamboyant, decadent lifestyle where art and life intertwined seamlessly, mastered the art of grand entrance. On September 12, 1919, in what he himself proclaimed the “Sacra Entrata,” he led a triumphant march into the city of Fiume. This bold act, later known as the “Impresa di Fiume,” saw rebellious units of the Italian Royal Army, under D’Annunzio’s command, occupy the contested city—a flashpoint between the Kingdom of Italy and the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes.
Lucy Hughes-Hallett vividly describes this episode in her biography The Pike - Gabriele D’Annunzio: Poet, Seducer, and Preacher of War (2013):
And then, at last, came the advent of ‘the necessary hero’; of ‘He who must come’. Crowds who had poured out of the city to welcome the marchers, began to flood back into it, singing hymns and patriotic songs, with the armoured cars of the Arditi following behind. D’Annunzio deferred his own arrival until the film crew had come up: this was a show he was staging for a world audience.
He rode into town standing up in an armoured car, wearing the uniform he had abjured earlier in the year, his medals flashing. Lorries full of Arditi followed, all on their feet and yelling ‘Fiume or Death!’ They were welcomed by Fiuman-Italians wild with patriotic ardour and lack of sleep. Women and children were waving laurel branches. D’Annunzio followers describe ‘ovations without end’ and ‘thousands hailing us as saviours’.
(…) D’Annunzio, according to one of his aides, ‘almost disappeared beneath a rain of flowers and laurels: his motor car became a living pyramid: soldiers, citizens clambered onto it from all sides, yelling, weeping, crushing around the condottiero, who was kissed, on his face and his hands, by a thousand mouths’.
Yet, D’Annunzio’s reign over Fiume was short-lived; just over a year later, in December 1920, he and his followers were unceremoniously ousted by the Italian government.
A Christmas Carol
Some people have the habit of twisting their mouths or eyes from time to time, or puffing up their cheeks and blowing, or making similar awkward faces; these people should stop such behavior altogether, for the goddess Pallas — as I was once told by some scholars — once delighted in playing the bagpipes and was a master at it. However, it happened that one day, while she was playing by a fountain, she caught her reflection in the water and, seeing the strange faces she had to make while playing, felt ashamed and threw the bagpipes away. And indeed, she did well, for it is not an instrument suited for women; in fact, it is equally unbecoming for men, except for those of low condition who play it for pay and as their trade.
Monsignor Della Casa sternly warns both women and gentlemen against indulging in a decidedly inelegant pastime: playing the bagpipes. Wind instruments, it seems, are banished from polite society—though perhaps he might have made an exception for the humble zampognaro in the Neapolitan nativity scene, given his “low condition.”
The bagpipes are an ancient wind instrument that evolved into various forms across medieval Western Europe. In central and southern Italy, the zampogna became a cherished symbol of pastoral tradition. Often played by shepherds to while away the long hours of tending their flocks, it was also a highlight of religious and traditional festivities. During Christmas, zampognari would descend from the mountains to perform in village squares, filling the air with melodies celebrating the Nativity.
Remarkably, one man of noble birth with no qualms about playing the ancestor of the zampogna was Emperor Nero (yes, him again!). The Roman emperor is said to have mastered the utriculus, a precursor to the modern bagpipe. Suetonius recounts:
Towards the end of his life, in fact, he had publicly vowed that if he retained his power, he would at the games in celebration of his victory give a performance on the water-organ, the flute, and the bagpipes, and that on the last day he would appear as an actor and dance 'Vergil's Turnus.'
(from The Lives of the Twelve Caesars, C. Suetonius Tranquillus, Loeb Classical Library, 1914)
It seems clear that Nero’s musical obsessions, while legendary, would have made Monsignor Della Casa raise more than an eyebrow—and perhaps suggest that the emperor take some lessons in good manners.
Detail from the 1539 "Dance of Death" fresco in the Church of San Vigilio (Pinzolo, Italy)
In conclusion, the Galateo invites us to reflect on how distant certain Renaissance ideals of composure and dignified restraint are from the values and habits of our modern era.
For Monsignor Della Casa, elegance lay in balance: mastering gestures, voice, and emotions—even at the expense of one’s natural tendencies—was essential to preserving dignity and decorum.
This vision contrasts sharply with today’s supposed celebration of inner authenticity, which champions “being true to oneself,” though the reality we are often shown is shaped by carefully crafted narratives that align more with social expectations than genuine spontaneity.
Ultimately, it always comes down to selling a certain image of oneself, reflecting the values of its time; after all, this is exactly what the “Vate” Gabriele D’Annunzio excelled at—an unrivaled master of “staging” himself in line with the aesthetic trends of his era.
Perhaps, in the end, the only truly timeless rule of style is knowing when to stop performing and simply be yourself.
The excerpts from the Galateo have been translated by myself, aiming to stay as faithful as possible to the original text while making them accessible to the modern reader.
I subscribe to the non-singing rule for off-key singers.