her letters she advises a youth who was madly in love with her that if he wishes to obtain her favors he must leave off importuning her and devote himself tranquilly to study.  “You know well,” she adds, “that all those who claim to be able to gain my love, and who are extremely dear to me, are strenuous in studious discipline....  If my fortune allowed it I would spend all my time quietly in the academies of virtuous men.”  The Diotimas and Aspasias of antiquity, as Graf comments, would not have demanded so much of their lovers.  In her poems it is possible to trace some of her love histories, and she often shows herself torn by jealousy at the thought that perhaps another woman may approach her beloved.  Once she fell in love with an ecclesiastic, possibly a bishop, with whom she had no relationships, and after a long absence, which healed her love, she and he became sincere friends.  Once she was visited by Henry III of France, who took away her portrait, while on her part she promised to dedicate a book to him; she so far fulfilled this as to address some sonnets to him and a letter; “neither did the King feel ashamed of his intimacy with the courtesan,” remarks Graf, “nor did she suspect that he would feel ashamed of it.”  When Montaigne passed through Venice she sent him a little book of hers, as we learn from his Journal, though they do not appear to have met.  Tintoret was one of her many distinguished friends, and she was a strenuous advocate of the high qualities of modern, as compared with ancient, art.  Her friendships were affectionate, and she even seems to have had various grand ladies among her friends.  She was, however, so far from being ashamed of her profession of courtesan that in one of her poems she affirms she has been taught by Apollo other arts besides those he is usually regarded as teaching: 

“Cosi dolce e gustevole divento,
Quando mi trovo con persona in letto
Da cui amata e gradita mi sento.”

In a certain catalogo of the prices of Venetian courtesans Veronica is assigned only 2 scudi for her favors, while the courtesan to whom the catalogue is dedicated is set down at 25 scudi.  Graf thinks there may be some mistake or malice here, and an Italian gentleman of the time states that she required not less than 50 scudi from those to whom she was willing to accord what Montaigne called the “negotiation entiere.”

In regard to this matter it may be mentioned that, as stated by Bandello, it was the custom for a Venetian prostitute to have six or seven gentlemen at a time as her lovers.  Each was entitled to come to sup and sleep with her on one night of the week, leaving her days free.  They paid her so much per month, but she always definitely reserved the right to receive a stranger passing through Venice, if she wished, changing the time of her appointment with her lover for the night.  The high and special prices which we find recorded are, of course, those