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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Tudor school-boy life - the dialogues of Juan Luis Vives - -Author: Juan Luis Vives - -Translator: Foster Watson - -Release Date: January 2, 2018 [EBook #56286] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TUDOR SCHOOL-BOY LIFE *** - - - - -Produced by Clarity, Turgut Dincer and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - -TUDOR SCHOOL-BOY LIFE - -_All rights reserved._ - - -[Illustration: _Juan Luis Vives._] - - - - - TUDOR - SCHOOL-BOY LIFE - - THE DIALOGUES - - OF - - JUAN LUIS VIVES - - TRANSLATED FOR THE FIRST TIME INTO ENGLISH - TOGETHER WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY - - FOSTER WATSON, M.A. - - Professor of Education in the University College - of Wales, Aberystwyth - - [Illustration] - - LONDON - - J. M. DENT & COMPANY - - MCMVIII - - - - -CONTENTS - - - INTRODUCTION— PAGE - - J. L. Vives: A Scholar of the Renascence vii - - The Significance of the _Dialogues_ of J. L. Vives xviii - - The Dedication of the _School-Dialogues_ of Vives xxi - - Contents of the _Dialogues_ xxii - - Home and School Life xxiii - - Subject-matter and Style xxxii - - Popularity xxxiv - - The Greek Words in Vives’ _Dialogues_ xxxv - - Euphrosynus Lapinus xxxvi - - Style xxxvi - - Characteristics of Vives as a Writer of _Dialogues_ xxxvii - - Vives as a Precursor of the Drama xxxvii - - Some Educational Aspects of Vives’ _Dialogues_ xxxix - - Vives’ Idea of the School xxxix - - Games xli - - Nature Study xliv - - Wine-drinking and Water-drinking xlv - - The Vernacular xlvi - - The Educational Ideal of Vives xlviii - - Vives’ Last _Dialogue_: The Precepts of Education l - - - - -DIALOGUES - - I. SURRECTIO MATUTINA—_Getting up in the Morning_ 1 - - II. PRIMA SALUTATIO—_Morning Greetings_ 6 - - III. DEDUCTIO AD LUDUM—_Escorting to School_ 9 - - IV. EUNTES AD LUDUM LITERARIUM—_Going to School_ 11 - - V. LECTIO—_Reading_ 18 - - VI. REDITUS DOMUM ET LUSUS PUERILIS—_The Return Home - and Children’s Play_ 21 - - VII. REFECTIO SCHOLASTICA—_School Meals_ 26 - - VIII. GARRIENTES—_Students’ Chatter_ 39 - - IX. ITER ET EQUUS—_Journey on Horseback_ 55 - - X. SCRIPTIO—_Writing_ 65 - - XI. VESTITUS ET DEAMBULATIO MATUTINA—_Getting Dressed - and the Morning Constitutional_ 80 - - XII. DOMUS—_The New House_ 93 - - XIII. SCHOLA—_The School_ 101 - - XIV. CUBICULUM ET LUCUBRATIO—_The Sleeping-room - and Studies by Night_ 109 - - XV. CULINA—_The Kitchen_ 117 - - XVI. TRICLINIUM—_The Dining-room_ 125 - - XVII. CONVIVIUM—_The Banquet_ 132 - - XVIII. EBRIETAS—_Drunkenness_ 150 - - XIX. REGIA—_The King’s Palace_ 163 - - XX. PRINCEPS PUER—_The Young Prince_ 172 - - XXI. LUDUS CHARTARUM SEU FOLIORUM—_Card-playing - or Paper-games_ 185 - - XXII. LEGES LUDI—_Laws of Playing_ 198 - - XXIII. CORPUS HOMINIS EXTERIUS—_The Exterior of - Man’s Body_ 210 - - XXIV. EDUCATIO—_Education_ 219 - - XXV. PRAECEPTA EDUCATIONIS—_The Precepts of - Education_ 234 - - INDEX 243 - - - - -INTRODUCTION - -J. L. VIVES: A SCHOLAR OF THE RENASCENCE - -1492–1492 - - -Erasmus was born in 1466, Budé (Budaeus) in 1468, and Vives in 1492. -These great men were regarded by their contemporaries as a triumvirate -of leaders of the Renascence movement, at any rate outside of Italy. -The name of Erasmus is now the most generally known of the three, but -in one of his letters Erasmus stated his fear that he would be eclipsed -by Vives. No doubt Erasmus was the greatest propagandist of Renascence -ideas and the Renascence spirit. No doubt Budé, by his _Commentarii -Linguae Graecae_ (1529), established himself as the greatest Greek -scholar of the age. Equally, without doubt, it would appear to those -who have studied the educational writings of Erasmus, Budé, and Vives, -the claim might reasonably be entered for J. L. Vives that his _De -Tradendis Disciplinis_ placed him first of the three as a writer on -educational theory and practice. In 1539 Vives published at Paris the -_Linguae Latinae Exercitatio_, _i.e._, the _School Dialogues_ which are -for the first time, in the present volume, presented to the English -reader. - -Juan Luis Vives was born, March 6, 1492 (the year of Columbus’s -discovery of America), at Valencia, in Spain. His father was Luis -Vives, of high-born ancestry, whose device was _Siempre vivas_. -Similarly his mother, Blanca March, was of a good family, which had -produced several poets. Vives himself has described his parents, their -relation to each other and to himself, in two passages in his _De -Institutione Feminae Christianae_ (1523). This work was translated into -English (_c._ 1540) by Richard Hyrde. As the two passages contain all -that is known of the parents, and give a short but picturesque idea of -the household relations, I transcribe them from Hyrde’s translation: -“My mother Blanca, when she had been fifteen years married unto my -father, I could never see her strive with my father. There were two -sayings that she had ever in her mouth as proverbs. When she would say -she believed well anything, then she used to say, ‘It is even as though -Luis Vives had spoken it.’ When she would say she would anything, she -used to say, ‘It is even as though Luis Vives would it.’ I have heard -my father say many times, but especially once, when one told him of a -saying of Scipio African the younger, or else of Pomponius Atticus (I -ween it were the saying of them both), that they never made agreement -with their mothers. ‘Nor I with my wife,’ said he, ‘which is a greater -thing.’ When others that heard this saying wondered upon it, and the -concord of Vives and Blanca was taken up and used in a manner for a -proverb, he was wont to answer like as Scipio was, who said he never -made agreement with his mother, because he never made debate with her. -But it is not to be much talked in a book (made for another purpose) of -my most holy mother, whom I doubt not now to have in heaven the fruit -and reward of her holy and pure living.” - -Vives states that he had the intention of writing a “book of her acts -and her life,” and no one who reads the foregoing passage will be -otherwise than regretful that he failed to carry out this purpose. As -it is, we must content ourselves with another passage.[1] - -“No mother loved her child better than mine did; nor any child did ever -less perceive himself loved of his mother than I. She never lightly -laughed upon me, she never cockered me; and yet when I had been three -or four days out of her house, she wist not where, she was almost sore -sick; and when I was come home, I could not perceive that ever she -longed for me. Therefore there was nobody that I did more flee, or -was more loath to come nigh, than my mother, when I was a child; but -after I came to man’s estate, there was nobody whom I delighted more to -have in sight; whose memory now I have in reverence, and as oft as she -cometh to my remembrance I embrace her within my mind and thought, when -I cannot with my body.” - -Vives went to the town school of Valencia. The outlines of the -history of this school have been sketched by Dr. Rudolf Heine.[2] -The foundation of the school dates back to the time of James I. of -Aragon, when Pope Innocent IV. gave privileges to the newly founded -school in 1245. The school, Dr. Heine says, was first a _schola_, then -a _studium_, then a _gymnasium_, and in the fifteenth and sixteenth -centuries was known as an _academy_, the name by which Vives describes -schools in the _Colloquies_. In 1499 new statutes were drawn up for the -Valencia Academy, ordaining the teaching of grammar, logic, natural and -moral philosophy, metaphysics, canon and civil law, poetry, and “other -subjects such as the city desires and requires.” - -The spirit of scholasticism reigned supreme in the Valencian Academy -when Vives was a pupil. The dominant subject of study was dialectic, -and the all-controlling method of education was the disputation. Vives -thus received a thorough drilling in dialectic and disputation. When -Vives became a convert to the Renascence interest of literature and -grammar, he was thus well prepared by his experience in the Valencian -Academy for an effective onslaught on the old disputational methods. -How deeply interwoven these methods were in the school instruction may -be seen in Vives’ own words:— - -“Even the youngest scholars (_tyrones_) are accustomed never to keep -silence; they are always asserting vigorously whatever comes uppermost -in their minds, lest they should seem to be giving up the dispute. -Nor does one disputation or even two each day prove sufficient, as -for instance at dinner. They wrangle at breakfast; they wrangle -after breakfast; before supper they wrangle, and they wrangle after -supper.... At home they dispute, out of doors they dispute. They -wrangle over their food, in the bath, in the sweating-room, in the -church, in the town, in the country, in public, in private; at all -times they are wrangling.” - -The names of two of Vives’ schoolmasters are preserved, Jerome -Amiguetus and Daniel Siso. Amiguetus was a thorough-going scholastic, -teaching by the old mediæval methods, and a stalwart opponent of the -Renascence. Spain generally resisted the Revival of Learning, and -wished to have a ban placed even on the works of Erasmus. But in the -person of Antonio Calà Harana Del Ojo, better known as Antonio de -Lebrijà (or Antonius Nebrissensis), a doughty champion of classicism -appeared and raised a Spanish storm. In 1492, the year of Vives’ -birth, Antonio published a grammar and a dictionary, and had the -hardihood to present his learning in the Spanish language. About 1506 -it was proposed to introduce Antonio’s _Introductiones Latinae_ into -the Valencian Academy. This suggestion was strenuously opposed by -Amiguetus. With the enthusiasm of a school-boy of fourteen years of -age, Vives espoused the side of his teacher, and by declamation and by -pen supported the old methods. But when he published his _De Tradendis -Disciplinis_ (1531) more than a quarter of a century afterwards, -he paid Lebrijà the praise which as a school-boy he had withheld, -recognising his varied and broad reading, his intimate knowledge of -classical writers, his glorious scholarship, and his modesty in only -claiming to be a grammarian. - -Of Vives’ school-life little more can be gathered, except indeed -what in his writings may be surmised to be the reminiscences of his -own boy-life. We find glimpses of this kind in the _Dialogues_. For -example, in the twenty-second Dialogue—which expounds the laws of -school games—he describes his native town and early environment. - -In 1509 Vives went to Paris to continue his studies. Amongst the -teachers under whom he studied here was the Spanish John Dullard. Vives -tells us that Dullard used to say: Quanto eris melior grammaticus, -tanto pejus dialecticus et theologus![3] Nevertheless, Paris had -awakened Vives to the unsatisfactory nature of a one-sided training -in dialectic. In 1512 he proceeded to Bruges. He became tutor in a -Spanish family, by name Valdaura. One of the daughters, Margaret, whom -he taught, he afterwards (in 1524) married. He speaks of the mother of -the family, Clara Cervant, in the highest terms, and regarded her—next -to his own mother—as the highest example of womanly devotion to duty he -had ever known, for she had nursed her husband, it is said, from their -marriage day for many years through a severe and obstinate illness. -Whilst at Bruges his thoughts gathered strength in the direction of -the Renascence. In 1514 he suggests that Ferdinand of Spain would do -well to get Erasmus as tutor in his family, for he says Erasmus is -known to him personally, and is all that is dear and worthy. It is thus -certain that Vives was confirmed by Erasmus in the study of classical -literature as transcending all the old mediæval educational disciplines. - -From 1512 onwards, with breaks, Vives’ main quarters were in Flanders, -at Bruges or Louvain, at the former of which was the residence of many -of his Spanish compatriots. One of these breaks of residence was in -1514 at Paris, another at Lyons in 1516. In 1518 Vives was at Lyons, -where he was entrusted with the education of William de Croy, Cardinal -designate and Archbishop of Toledo. The course of instruction which -he gave was founded on a thorough reading of the ancient authors -and instruction in rhetoric and philosophy. At Lyons, too, Vives -met Erasmus. “Here we have with us,” writes Erasmus in one of his -letters, “Luis Vives, who has not passed his twenty-sixth year of -age. Young as he is, there is no part of philosophy in which he does -not possess a knowledge which far outstrips the mass of students. His -power of expression in speech and writing is such as I do not know -any one who can be declared his equal at the present time.” In 1519 -Vives was at Paris, where he became personally acquainted with the -great William Budé. Of him Vives, in one of his letters to Erasmus, -writes, “What a man! One is astounded at him whether we consider his -knowledge, his character, or his good fortune.” But more interesting -to English readers, is a letter about this time (1519) of Sir Thomas -More on seeing some of the published work of Vives himself. He says: -“Certainly, my dear Erasmus, I am ashamed of myself and my friends, who -take credit to ourselves for a few brochures of a quite insignificant -kind, when I see a young man like Vives producing so many well-digested -works, in a good style, giving proof of an exquisite erudition. How -great is his knowledge of Greek and Latin; greater still is the way in -which he is versed in branches of knowledge of the first rank. Who in -this respect is there who surpasses Vives in the quantity and depth -of his knowledge? But what is most admirable of all is that he should -have acquired all this knowledge so as to be able to communicate it to -others by instruction. For who instructs more clearly, more agreeably, -or more successfully than Vives?” - -At this point may be stated the chief works which Vives so far had -written:— - - 1507. The boyish _Declamationes in Antonium Nebrissensem_ - (not extant). - - 1509. _Veritas Fucata_, in which he designates the - contents of the classics as “food for demons.” - - 1514. _Jesu Christi Triumphus._ - - 1518. _De Initiis, Sectis et Laudibus Philosophiae_, - perhaps the first modern work on the history of - philosophy. - - 1519. _In Pseudo-dialecticos._ This famous treatise pours - its invective and indignation against the formalistic - disputational dialectic of the schools of Paris, and - marks Vives’ complete break with scholastic mediævalism, - and his acceptance of the Renascence material of - knowledge and methods of inquiry. - - 1519. _Pompeius Fugiens._ - - 1519. _Praelectio in Quartum Rhetoricorum in Herennium._ - - 1519. The Dialogue called _Sapiens_. - - 1519. _Praelectio in Convivia Philelphi._ - - 1519. _Censura de Aristotelis Operibus._ - - 1519. Edited _Somnium Scipionis_, the introduction to - which was afterwards known as _Somnium Vivis_. Vives here - regards Plato as the herald of Christianity. - - 1520. _Sex Declamationes._ - - 1520. _Aedes Legum._ In this book Vives made important - suggestions founded on Roman law for the improvement of - law in his own times. - -At the beginning of 1521 Vives’ old pupil and patron, Cardinal de -Croy, died. It was at this time he took in hand his great work, the -commentary on St. Augustine’s _Civitas Dei_. Erasmus suggested the -work to him, so that Vives might do for St. Augustine what Erasmus -himself had done for the works of St. Jerome. Vives’ edition of -St. Augustine’s _Civitas Dei_ was dedicated to King Henry VIII. of -England. The writing of this commentary was a huge labour, and it -marks two crises in Vives’ life—firstly, he fell ill with a tertian -fever, and, secondly, he gave up his teaching of youths, work which he -had hitherto strenuously pursued along with his literary labours. In -1522 he wrote a pleading letter to Erasmus, begging him forgive his -slowness in despatching the _Civitas Dei_. In it he confesses that -“school-keeping has become in the highest degree repulsive,” and that -he would rather do anything else than any longer continue “_inter has -sordes et pueros_.” It appears that at the time Vives was giving three -lectures daily in the University of Louvain as well as teaching boys. - -In the autumn of 1522 Vives came to England for a short visit, and -in the following year he was offered the Readership in Humanity -in the University of Oxford. Whilst at Oxford he lived in Corpus -Christi College. He had for patron Queen Catharine of Aragon, to -whom he dedicated his _De Institutione Feminae Christianae_, which -was published in 1523. Vives was entrusted with the direction of the -Princess Mary (afterwards Queen Mary I.), for whose use was written -_De Ratione Studii Puerilis ad Catharinam Reginam Angliae_, 1523. In -the same year Vives also wrote _De Ratione Studii Puerilis ad Carolum -Montjoium Guilielmi Filium_. These two tractates present an excellent -account of the best Renascence views on education, in Tudor times, of a -girl and a boy respectively. - -The _De Institutione Feminae Christianae_ already mentioned is one of -the earliest and most important Tudor documents on women’s education. -It marks the transition from the old mediæval tradition of the -cloistral life as the highest womanly ideal to that of training for -domestic life, in which the mother should be distinguished by the -deepest culture of piety and all the intellectual education conducive -to religious development. It may be described as typical of Catholic -Puritanism in the education of women in the Tudor times. - -From 1522 onwards, till after the divorce of Catharine of Aragon, Vives -appears to have spent a portion of the year in England, and to have -earned enough money to keep him for the rest of the year in Flanders -or elsewhere, where he continued his literary career. Although he -sometimes lectured in Oxford his time seems principally to have been -spent at the court of Henry VIII. and his wife, Catharine. He had times -of great weariness in England. He writes in one of his letters of his -London life: “I have as sleeping place a narrow den, in which there -is no chair, no table. Around it are the quarters of others, in which -so constant and great noise prevails that it is impossible to settle -one’s mind to anything, however much one may have the will or need. In -addition, I live a distance from the royal palace, and in order not to -lose the whole day by often going and coming back, from early morning -till late evening I have no time at home. When I have taken my mid-day -meal I cannot once turn round in my narrow and low room, but must waltz -round and round as on a cheese. Study is out of the question in such -circumstances. I have to take great care of my health, for if I became -ill they would cast me like a mangy dog on a dung-hill. Whilst eating -I read, but I eat little, for with so much sitting I cannot digest, as -I should do if I walked about. For the rest, life here is such that I -cannot hide my ennui. About the only thing I can do, is to do nothing.” - -Vives enjoyed allowances both from the king and from the queen, and he -had other sources of earnings. In 1524 he was back in Flanders to marry -his pupil Margaret Valdaura. Soon after his marriage, which appears to -have been a very happy one—though with Vives’ frequent travelling the -two were often separated—he wrote one of his widest circulated works, -the _Introductio ad Sapientiam_, which presents the grounds of the -Christian religion and the right fashioning of life by intelligence and -temperance. - -Vives next turned his attention to great European military contests, -and was a warm advocate of international peace between Christian -powers together with combined warfare against the Turks. These views -he elaborated in 1526 in his _De Europae Dissidiis et Bello Turico_. -More remarkable still, in the same year, was his treatise, _De -Subventione Pauperum_, in which he is the first advocate of national -state provision for the poor. He would require those who are poor by -their own fault to submit to compulsory labour, and even to help in the -provision for other poor people. - -In 1528 Vives wrote his _De Officio Mariti_, a companion volume to the -_De Institutione Feminae Christianae_. In this year he had to leave -England for good, since Henry VIII. was determined to divorce Catharine -of Aragon. Vives was a strong supporter of Catharine. It is said that -the queen wished to have Vives as her counsel before the judges on the -case, but Henry cast Vives in prison for six weeks, and only freed him -on the condition that he left the court and England. Vives retreated to -Belgium. - -In 1529 Vives wrote the _De Concordia et Discordia in Humano Genero_, -another large-hearted discourse on the value of peace. In 1531 appeared -his great pædagogical work, the _De Disciplinis_.[4] In 1539 he wrote -the _De Anima et Vita_, one of the first modern works on psychology, -and the _De Veritate Fidei Christianae_. And in the same year appeared -the _Linguae Latinae Exercitatio_ or the _School Dialogues_. Vives died -May 6, 1540. - -The _De Disciplinis_, with the two divisions _De Causis Corruptarum -Artium_ and the _De Tradendis Disciplinis_, and the _Exercitatio_ are -the great pædagogical works of Vives, the first a most comprehensive -theoretical work of education, probably the greatest Renascence book -on education. The _Exercitatio_ is perhaps the most interesting -school-text-book of the age. - - -THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE _DIALOGUES_ OF J. L. VIVES - - -THE POVERTY OF THE VERNACULAR LITERATURE BEFORE THE TUDOR PERIOD - -It is difficult to realise the position of the student of literature in -England in the first half of the sixteenth century. The whole wealth -of the Elizabethan writers, and all their successors in the Ages of -Milton, of Dryden and Pope, of Samuel Johnson, of Charles Lamb, of -Shelley, Byron, and Wordsworth, and the large range of Victorian -literature, all this had to come. The modern man, therefore, must -confess that it was not to English literature that the Tudor student -could look for the material of education. Even if it be justifiable -to claim that modern literature is a more fruitful study than ancient -literature, for the ordinary man, the question remains: How was the -ordinary educated man to be trained in the earlier Tudor Age, when the -time of great modern literature was “not yet”? - -Before we can understand the function served by a Latin text-book of -boys’ dialogues like the work of Vives translated in this volume, we -must, therefore, first realise the poverty of the vernacular literature -of periods anterior to the sixteenth century, and the consequent -delight of scholars in finding Latin and Greek literature ready to hand. - -“There is every reason to believe that the English language, before -the invention of printing, was held by learned or literary men in very -little esteem. In the library of Glastonbury Abbey, which bids fair -to have been one of the most extensive in the kingdom in 1248, there -were but four books in English, and those upon religious subjects, all -beside _vetusta et inutilia_. We have not a single historian in English -prose before the reign of Richard II., when John Trevisa translated -the _Polychronicon_ of Randulph Higden. Boston of Bury, who seems -to have consulted all the monasteries in England, does not mention -one author who had written in English; and Bale, at a later period, -has comparatively but an insignificant number; nor was Leland so -fortunate as to find above two or three English books in the monastic -and other libraries which he rummaged and explored under the King’s -Commission.”[5] - -The classical writers of Greece and Rome, however, have always drawn -towards them a large proportion of the well-trained scholarly men of -each generation. _Before the vernacular literature existed, necessarily -it was to the ancient classical languages that the literary scholar -turned._ In Greek, Plato and Aristotle had written; so, too, Aeschylus, -Sophocles, Euripides, as dramatists, and the historians Thucydides, -Herodotus, Xenophon, and the “divine poet” Homer. Amongst the Latin -prose writers were Cicero, Terence, Livy; and amongst the poets, Horace -and Vergil. On any showing, such classical writers hold their own high -place even if brought into comparison with the greatest of the moderns. -The intellectual discipline received by reading their works in the -original Greek and Latin had its value. Hence the sixteenth-century -English student was trained on those ancient Greek and Latin authors, -all unconscious of the great awakening that was to be of modern English -literature, into which the twentieth-century reader so lightly enters. - -The whole of the well-educated, scholarly, learned men of the sixteenth -century, in England and on the continent of Europe, all entered into -the _same_ classical heritage. They all honoured the same great names -of Greek and Latin authors. Latin was the learned language, as the -language of Latin literature, as well as the starting-point for the -study of Greek. Latin, too, was spoken in every country amongst the -learned, and even amongst many who were not regarded as learned. Latin -was, it is to be clearly understood, not only a dead language, but -a current, live language. It is said that beggars begged in Latin; -shopkeepers and innkeepers, and indeed all who had to deal with the -general public of travellers, are credited with a knowledge of some -colloquial Latin. Church services, of course, were all in Latin, and -youths were taught for the most part in the chantries of the churches, -and even elementary education provided sufficient knowledge of Latin to -enable the pupil to help the priest to say mass, _i.e._, a minimum of -Latin and of music. - -Latin, therefore, at least occupied the place in the Mediæval Ages -which French holds to-day as an international language. When Laurentius -Valla, about 1440, wrote his epoch-making _Elegantiae Latinae Linguae_, -his aim was not to induce people to speak Latin—all well-conducted -persons, of course, did so—but to give them the facilities for speaking -_correct and well-chosen_ Latin phrases, such as Cicero or Terence -would have used. The complaint of the writers of the Renascence times -was not that students and the ordinary educated people did not speak -Latin, but that they spoke it so inaccurately that the Latin was spoken -differently, not only in pronunciation but also in construction, in -different countries, and even in different parts of the same country. -Text-book after text-book was written to expose and correct the -barbarisms in Latin which had become current. For this reason, in our -own country, Dean Colet enjoined the reading of good literature in -Latin and Greek. Colet requires “that filthiness and all such abusion -which the later blind world brought in, which much rather may be called -blotterature than literature,” shall be absent from the famous school -of St. Paul’s, which he founded. - -The Renascence influence, then, attempted on the educational side to -bring the pupils of the schools away from the jargon and barbarism -of current Latin to the classical Latin of Terence and Cicero. The -Renascence leaders had the courage to hope to bring this reform even -into the ordinary conversation of educated men and women in their -speaking of Latin. - -Into this aim Vives entered with the keenest enthusiasm. This will -become evident by reference to the Dedication of the _Dialogues_ which -I give in full. - - -THE DEDICATION OF THE SCHOOL-DIALOGUES OF VIVES: - -“Vives to Philip, son and heir to the august Emperor Charles, with all -good will. - -“Very great are the uses of the Latin language both for speaking and -thinking rightly. For that language is as it were the treasure-house of -all erudition, since men of great and outstanding minds have written on -every branch of knowledge in the Latin speech. Nor can any one attain -to the knowledge of these subjects except by first learning Latin. -For which reason I shall not grudge, though engaged in the pursuit of -higher researches, to set myself to help forward to some degree the -elementary studies of youth. I have, in these Dialogues, written a -first book of practice in speaking the Latin language as suitable as -possible, I trust, to boys. It has seemed well to dedicate it to thee, -Boy-Prince, both because of thy father’s goodwill to me, in the highest -degree, and also because I shall deserve well of my country, that is, -Spain, if I should help in the forming of sound morals in thy mind. -For our country’s health is centred in thy soundness and wisdom. But -thou wilt hear more fully and often enough on these matters from John -Martinius Siliceus, thy teacher.” - -It will be noted that the expressed aim of Vives is to help boys -_who are learning to speak the Latin language_. For this purpose, -Vives realised that the method must be conversational, that the style -of speech must be clear, correct, and as far as possible based on -classical models, and that the subject-matter must consist of topics -interesting to children and connected with their daily life. The Prince -Philip, to whom the Dialogues are dedicated, it should be noted, was -afterwards Philip II., the consort of the English Queen Mary I., -daughter of Catharine of Aragon. - - -CONTENTS OF THE DIALOGUES - -The German historian of Latin School-Dialogues, Dr. Bömer, speaks of -the characteristic power of Vives in introducing, in relatively short -space, the ordinary daily life of boys, and tracking it into the -smallest corners. “If a boy is putting on his clothes, we learn every -single article of clothing, and all the topics of toilettes and the -names of each object (Dialogues I. and XI.). When two school-boys pay -a visit to a stranger’s house, we have shown to us its whole inner -arrangement by an expert guide (XII.). Interesting observations are -made on the different parts of the human body by a painter, Albert -Dürer (XXIII.). With a banquet as the occasion, we are introduced to -the equipment of a dining-room (XVI.), with ordinary kinds of foods -and drinks (XVII.), and if we like we can betake ourselves to the -cook in the kitchen and watch the direction of operations (XV.). We -are told in another Dialogue (XVIII.) of a man’s fear to go home to -his wife after too liberal a banquet, and how she would entertain him -with longer homilies than those of St. Chrysostom. When a company of -scholars wish to make a distant excursion, all kinds of horses and -carriages, with their trappings, are presented to the notice of the -reader (IX.).”[6] Then, to show us life under the most favourable of -circumstances, Vives gives a dialogue on the King’s Palace (XIX.). - -Whilst the general environments of boys’ lives are thus pourtrayed in -considerable detail, Vives is particularly careful to show boys the -general features and significance of home and school life, and regards -it as part of his duty to expound, in the last two dialogues, some -general guiding principles of education for the boys, their teachers, -and readers of the book to ponder over. - - -HOME AND SCHOOL LIFE - -The first dialogue treats of getting up in the morning. The girl -Beatrice tries to rouse the two boys Emanuel and Eusebius, the latter -of whom makes the excuse, “I seem to have my eyes full of sand,” to -which Beatrice replies, “That is always your morning song.” Then the -boys dress. Beatrice enjoins them, “Kneel down before this image of our -Saviour and say the Lord’s Prayer, etc. Take care, my Emanuel, that you -think of nothing else while you are praying.” The interchange of wit -between the boys and the maid is an interesting picture of child-life. -In the second dialogue, after family morning greetings, which include -playing with the little dog Ruscio, the father teaches his -little boy the difference between the little dog and a little boy. -“What have you,” he asks his child, “in you why you should become a man -and not he?” He suggests to him that the difference really is contained -in the magic word “school.” The boy says: “I will go, father, with all -the pleasure in the world.” Whereupon the boy’s elder sister gets him -his little satchel and puts him up his breakfast (_i.e._, lunch) in -it. The father takes the boy to the school, and (in III.) discusses -with a neighbour the comparative merits of the schoolmasters Varro and -Philoponus. The father is told that Philoponus has the _smaller_ number -of boys, and at once decides: “I should prefer him!” Then as Philoponus -comes into view, he turns to his boy, saying: “Son, this is as it -were the laboratory for the formation of men, and Philoponus is the -artist-educator. Christ be with you, Master! Uncover your head, my boy, -and bow your right knee.... Now stand up!” - - _Philoponus._ May your coming to us be a blessing to all! - What may be your business? - - _Father._ I bring you this boy of mine for you to make of - him a man from the beast. - - _Philoponus._ This shall be my earnest endeavour. He - shall become a man from the beast, a fruitful and good - creature out of a useless one. Of that have no doubt. - - _Father._ What is the charge for the instruction you give? - - _Philoponus._ If the boy makes good progress it will be - little; if not, a good deal. - - _Father._ That is acutely and wisely said, as is all you - say. We share the responsibility then; you to instruct - zealously, I to recompense your labour richly. - -It will thus be seen that the idea of co-operation and consultation -of parents and teachers is no new one.[7] But the enthusiasm of the -parent, depicted by Vives, to recompense the teacher “richly” can -hardly be said to have continued, if it existed in the Tudor age, -outside of Vives’ generous heart. - -The next dialogue (IV.) shows how boys loitered on the way to school, -their difference in powers, and in the practice of observations and -the self-training of the senses and wits in the streets, such as made -R. L. Stevenson wonder if the truant from school did not gain more by -his self-chosen though casual wanderings than if he had gone orderly to -school. - -An account of actual school-work in the subjects of reading (V.) and -writing (X.) is given, and the _raison d’être_ of school instruction -in these subjects suggested. The boys go home (VI.) and a most -pleasing picture is given of home-life, with the mother, the boys, the -girls, and the serving maiden, introducing children’s games and the -interference of meals with games. - -Dialogue VII. deals with school-meals, and we plunge at once right -into the heart of school interests and life. The sort of foods and -drinks, the different kinds of banquets and feastings, mentioned in -older writers, the preparation of the table, moderation in eating and -drinking, the necessity of cleanliness in all the stages of a meal, -including washing up, become topics of the dialogue as it proceeds. -Then comes the fitting device of introducing a guest to the boys’ -table, of another boy, a Fleming from Bruges. He is asked if he -has brought his knife. He has not. “This is a wonder!” exclaims an -interlocutor. “A Fleming without a knife, and he too a Brugensian, -where the best knives are made!” The conversation proceeds _in Latin_, -since boys were required to speak _in and out_ of school in Latin, at -least in all self-respecting establishments. - -The Brugensian boy has been under John Theodore Nervius, and this -becomes the occasion for a compliment to that schoolmaster. Bruges, -too, we have seen, was the town in which Vives himself spent a -considerable portion of his adult life. He does not hesitate to -introduce himself, humorously, into this dialogue on school-boys’ meals. - - _Master._ But what is our Vives doing? - - _Nepotulus._ They say he is in training as an athlete, - but not by athletics. - - _Master._ What is the meaning of that? - - _Nepotulus._ He is always wrestling, but not bravely - enough. - - _Master._ With whom? - - _Nepotulus._ With his _gout_. - - _Master._ O mournful wrestler, which first of all attacks - the feet. - - _Usher._ Nay, rather cruel victor, which fetters the - whole body! - -In this dialogue of school-boy meals, Vives has given samples of -conversational topics, and their due treatment, in the presence of -masters and in regular daily routine. In the next dialogue (VIII.), -called “Pupils’ Chatter,” boys are out of doors, and a series of -nineteen “stories” or topics of conversation get started. The subjects -are of interest in showing the type of incidents which boys were -supposed to introduce into conversation, and though didactic in -tendency, certainly do not favour the supposition that school-boys were -supposed to be absorbed in the study of recondite classical subtleties, -or even in purely Ciceronian subjects. - -Dialogue IX., “Journey on Horseback,” contains the record of what -modern educationalists call “the school journey.” The idea of studying -geography and history by taking journeys, in which instruction shall -arise naturally out of the places of interest seen in the course of -the journey, is not a new one, as is often supposed. Vittorino da -Feltre, for instance, used to take his school in the summer months -for excursions from Mantua to Goito. Vives represents his Parisian -pupil as journeying from Paris to Boulogne. The occasion of holiday -for the pupils is that Pandulphus, their teacher, has “incepted” in -the university, and having thus become a “Master of Arts” (with the -right to teach school on his own account), according to university -custom he is performing his duty of giving a great feast to the other -masters in honour of his laurels, and as a matter of fact, as these -boys recognise, is making them drunk. This dialogue of the “Journey on -Horseback” contains a full account of different kinds of locomotion. -It is especially distinguished by the love that is shown for natural -objects of the country, the river, the sweet scent of the fields, the -nightingale, and the goldfinch. - -In Dialogue XIII. the school is described. Each type and grade of -scholar is discussed. Vives’ conception of a school was afterwards -followed by Milton. It was an academy, in which the pupil remained from -early years up to and including the university stage. In this dialogue -is the account of a disputation, with description of the _propugnator_ -of a thesis, and several types of oppugnators. - -Dialogue XIV. describes a scholar burning the midnight oil. Vives -describes the extensive preparations of the scholar for his work of -reading authors. The account is almost a supplement to Erasmus’s famous -picture of the Ciceronian scholar setting himself to his composition. -The dialogue ends with the scholar going to bed whilst one of his -attendants sings to the accompaniment of the lyre the lines of Ovid -beginning: _Somne, quies rerum, placidissime somne deorum_. - -It has already been stated that Vives devoted a dialogue to an account -of the King’s Palace. Similarly, in speaking now of Vives’ treatment -of school life, careful notice should be taken of the fact that one -dialogue (XX.) is concerned with the education of the boy-prince. -This dialogue is of especial interest, since the boy-prince is Philip -himself, the son of the Emperor Charles V., the child to whom Vives -dedicates the _Dialogues_. Philip was born at Valladolid, May 21, -1527, and was therefore eleven years of age when Vives completed the -writing of the _Dialogues_ and was twelve years old when they appeared. -It will be remembered that in 1554 Philip came to England to claim as -his bride the English Queen Mary I., the “bloody” Mary, daughter of -Catharine of Aragon, the first queen-consort of Henry VIII., whose -coming to England was probably to some degree the ground of its -attraction to Vives when he paid his first visit to England, in the -autumn of 1522. It is interesting to note that Vives wrote, in 1523, a -short treatise on the education of the Princess Mary, probably at the -request of Queen Catharine of Aragon, and at any rate dedicated to that -ill-fated queen. Vives, thus, is in the remarkable position of having -prescribed, as consultant-educationalist, for the Spanish Philip in one -of his dialogues (in 1538) and for the English Mary in 1523.[8] - -In this dialogue, “The Boy Prince,” are the interlocutors, Prince -Philip and the two counsellor-teachers, Morobulus and Sophobulus. -Morobulus is a fawning sycophant, who advises Philip to “ride about, -chat with the daughters of your august mother, dance, learn the art of -bearing arms, play cards or ball, leap and run.” But as for the study -of literature, why, that is for men of “holy” affairs, priests or -artisans, who want technical knowledge. Get plenty of fresh air. Philip -replies that he cannot follow all this advice without opposing his -tutors, Stunica and Siliceus. Morobulus points out that these tutors -are subjects of Philip, or at any rate of Philip’s father. Philip -observes that his father has placed them over him. Morobulus advises -resistance to them. Sophobulus urges, on the contrary, that if Philip -does not obey them, he will become a “slave of the worst order, worse -than those who are bought and sold from Ethiopia or Africa and employed -by us here.”[9] - -Sophobulus then shows, by three similitudes, that safety in actions -and in the events of life depends upon knowledge and study. First, he -proposes a game in which one is elected king. “The rest are to obey -according to the rules of the game.” Let Philip be king. But Philip -inquires as to the nature of the game. If he does not know the game, he -inquires, how can he take the part of king in it? - -Secondly, Philip is invited to ride the ferocious Neapolitan steed, -well known for its kicking proclivities. Eleven-year-old Philip -declines, because he has not as yet learned the art of managing a -refractory horse, and has not got the strength to master such a horse. - -Thirdly, Philip is offered, and declines, the rôle of pilot of a boat, -which has lately been overturned by an unskilled helmsman. - -The young prince is thus led to recognise that for playing games -rightly, for riding properly, for directing a boat safely, in all these -cases adequate knowledge and skill is necessary. He himself is led to -suggest (in true pedagogical method) that for governing his kingdom -it will be necessary for him to acquire the knowledge of the art and -skill of sound government, and that this knowledge can only be gained -by assiduous study and learning. Sophobulus leads the young prince, -further, to the recognition that helpful wisdom can be learned from -“monitors” like Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, Seneca, Livy, Plutarch. -Philip asks: “How can we learn from the dead? Can the dead speak?” -“Yes,” is the reply. “These very men and others like them, departed -from this earth, will talk to you as often and as much as you like.” - -Surely Vives has chosen an attractive and reasonable way of presenting -the significance of literature to the child. He uses a further -illustration in urging the study of the words and writings of wise -men. “Imagine that over the river yonder there was a narrow plank as -bridge, and that every one told you that as many as rode on horseback -and attempted thus to cross it had fallen into the water, and were in -danger of their lives, and, moreover, with difficulty they had been -dragged out half dead.... Would not, in such a case, a man seem to you -to be demented, who, taking that journey, did not get off from his -horse and escape from the danger in which the others had fallen?” - - _Philip._ To be sure he would. - - _Sophobulus._ And rightly. Seek now from old men, as to - what chiefly they have felt unfortunate in this life, - what negligence in themselves they most bitterly regret. - All will answer with one voice, so far as they have - learned anything, their regret is “not to have learned - more.” - -In two points the young Prince Philip seems to have risen to meet -Vives’ hopes. When Philip came to England in 1554 and married Queen -Mary, he is reported to have announced that he wished to live like -an Englishman. He asked for beer at a public dinner, and “gravely -commended it as the wine of the country.” He evidently had acquired -courteous bearing. Still more clearly, in accordance with the wishes -expressed in the Dedication, is the statement of the fact that Philip -addressed in Latin a deputation of the council which he received -at Southampton, on landing, and further that it was decided that -reports of proceedings of the council should be made in Latin or -Spanish. Whether Philip had learned to speak Latin from Vives’ _School -Dialogues_ is not recorded, but it is not unlikely. - -The Dedication of the _Dialogues_ shows how earnestly Vives had -sought to influence Prince Philip. The last two dialogues (XXIV. and -XXV.) endeavour to lay down sound principles of education. The boys -(and Prince Philip amongst them) who had read through the preceding -dialogues were not to be dismissed until Vives had declared to them -the whole gospel of education, as he conceived it. Learning Latin, -even to speak it eloquently and to write it accurately, is not of -itself education; even to read the sayings and writings of the wise and -experienced dead, and to listen to the exhortations and suggestions -of the noblest and most learned of living men, is not necessarily the -essence of education. The underlying impulse of the student, the roots -of his will, must be taken into account. Education is not the adornment -of mental distinctions for the sake of popularity or reputation. It is -not the acquisition of an additional charm to a particular grade of -nobility. It is no artificial appanage. It is not a class distinction. -The real argument for education is that it makes a man a _better_ man. -If you use the word better it implies the _good_. Vives shows “the -good” does not consist in riches, honours, position, or in learning -merely, but in a keen intellect, wise mature judgment, religion, piety -towards God, and in performance of duties towards one’s country, -one’s dependants, one’s parents, and in the cultivation of justice, -temperance, liberality, magnanimity, equability of mind in calamity and -brave bearing in adversity. It is in the acquisition of these qualities -(for which learning is of high service) that we get “real, solid, -noble education.” Such training to the man of court-life will bring -“true urbanity,” and make him “pleasing and dear to all. But even this -thou wilt not set at high value, but wilt have as sole care—to become -acceptable to the Eternal God.” - - -SUBJECT-MATTER AND STYLE - -In studying a work like the _School-boy Dialogues_ of Juan Luis -Vives the modern reader is likely to be attracted much more by the -subject-matter than by the literary style of the author. Were the -chief interest in Vives’ style, it would be difficult to plead any -justification for presenting an English translation. But the fact is -that these _School Dialogues_, in the course of time, have become, as -it were, historical documents, serving a purpose which was certainly -far from being present in the mind of the author. Vives, no doubt, -wished his book to be regarded as good and pure Latinity, and would -have been hurt to the quick if he had been charged with the barbarisms -and inaccuracies which it was the very object of the book to supplant. -But as for the subject-matter, he wanted it to contain the Latin -expressions for all sorts of common _things_ which entered into the -notice of, and required mention from, the young student of Latin. Vives -is thus the forerunner of Comenius, and when he treats of subjects -such as clothes, the kitchen, the bed-chamber, dining-room, papers and -books, the exterior of the body of man, and supplies the Latin for -all the terms used in connection with these subjects, he is exactly -on Comenius’s ground in the _Janua Linguarum_ and the _Orbis Pictus_. -But Vives is to be distinguished in two ways from Comenius:—(1) he is -constantly in touch with the real interests of boys; (2) he is greatly -concerned as to his methods of expression. - -It is partly because Vives’ _Dialogues_ are intrinsically attractive -that we are content to believe they are a true picture of boys’ -manners, habits, and life in the Tudor period. By their realistic -sincerity the dialogues bring with them their own evidence of -unconscious reality. But further evidence is to be found in the great -success and popularity of the dialogues. For had the details been -inaccurate and _invraisemblables_, and had there been a wrong emphasis -of educational spirit, it is not likely that the book would have -had its extensive vogue. It must be remembered that there were many -competing collections of dialogues. Vives’ _Dialogues_ may therefore -be regarded as being amongst the survivals of the fittest. Probably -the Latin dialogues for schools which have actually had the widest -circulation are those of Erasmus, Maturinus Corderius, and Sébastien -Castellion. Of these undoubtedly the dialogues of Vives (1538) and of -Corderius (whose dialogues were first published in 1564) throw the most -light upon the school-life of boys and the conditions of the schools. - -An amiable feature of the _School Dialogues_ of Vives is the -introduction, not uncommon in school dialogue-books, of well-known -persons, ancient and contemporary, amongst the interlocutors. In this -way Vives brings before the boys people like Prince Philip, Vitruvius, -Joannes Jocundus Veronensis, and Baptista Albertus Leo, all famous -architects (Vitruvius being an author of antiquity, the other two -nearer Vives’ time), Pliny, Epictetus, Celsus, Dydimus, Aristippus, -Scopas, Polaemon, and personal friends like Valdaura (one of the -Bruges family into which Vives married), Honoratus Joannius, Gonzalus -Tamayus; the painter Albert Dürer, the scholar Simon Grynaeus, and the -poet Caspar Velius, and the great Greek scholar and educationalist -Budaeus. Vives delights in devoting one of the dialogues to describe -his native town Valencia, and in introducing local references of -persons and places there. He also (in Dialogue X.) refers to Antonius -Nebrissensis, the first to use Spanish vernacular in connection with -Latin text-books. His references to schoolmasters are very numerous, -and include many types. They are probably founded upon teachers known -to him. - -One point further should be mentioned. Vives wishes to supply details -in the richest profusion in his various subjects, if for no other -reason at least so as to increase the vocabulary of the pupils. -Accordingly for his subject-matter he quotes and borrows from many of -the old writers. J. T. Freigius, in his Nürnberg edition of 1582, not -only names the various ancient authors on technical subjects whom Vives -has consulted, but also suggests further reading of authors, whom he -might with advantage have also quoted. Looking on the _Dialogues_ as -a whole, it is remarkable that so many interests were conciliated, -as if by instinct—_e.g._, the schoolboy, the schoolmaster, the -general reader, even in some cases the readers desirous of technical -instruction. But the unifying factor was the desire of all those and -others to learn to speak Latin, and to know the Latin terms for all -useful objects. - - -POPULARITY - -J. T. Freigius, in the preface to his edition of 1582, tells us that -the dialogues of Vives were read in his time “in well-nigh every -school.” Bömer quotes orders for the government of ten grammar schools -in Germany, between 1564 and 1661, in which the dialogues of Vives were -prescribed. In England they were required to be read at Eton College in -1561, at Westminster School about 1621, at Shrewsbury School 1562–1562, -at Rivington Grammar School 1564, and Hertford Grammar School 1614. -These ascertained and official instances are probably typical of very -many others, both in England and abroad, of which the traces are lost. - - -THE GREEK WORDS IN VIVES’ DIALOGUES - -One of the criticisms frequently urged against Vives is that he used -Latinised Graecisms very frequently. It is not improbable that this -very fact helped to secure the success of the book, for though there -was by 1538 considerable enthusiasm in the aspiration of learning -Greek, there was little knowledge of that language as yet even amongst -the learned. To know even a small vocabulary of Greek words was a -distinction, and to have such knowledge whilst learning to speak Latin -was the basis for acquiring at least a smattering of Greek knowledge -later on. Sir Thomas Elyot in his _Gouvernour_ (1531) wishes the -child “to learn Greek and Latin authors at the same time, or else -to begin with Greek. If a child do begin therein at seven years of -age, he may continually learn Greek authors three years, and in the -meantime use the Latin as a familiar language.” It was, no doubt, the -desire of Vives, as of Sir Thomas Elyot, that children should learn -as much as possible of Greek at the same time as Latin, and although -the introduction of Greek words into the dialogues would not help the -systematic study of Greek, it helped to create the atmosphere into -which the study of Greek would find its place naturally enough in time. - -The introduction of Greek words and phrases by Vives into his _School -Dialogues_ did not at any rate prevent the book from being in great -demand, whilst the acknowledged difficulty of school teachers in -translating the Greek terms brought about a series of expositions and -commentaries on the _School Dialogues_ that almost raised the book to -the dignity of an ancient classical work. Issued first in 1538, in 1548 -an edition was produced at Lyons with a commentary by Peter Motta and -a Latin-Spanish index by Joannes Ramirus. In 1552, at Antwerp, Peter -Motta’s interpretation of Greek words, together with the old and -somewhat obscure points in Vives, was supplemented by an alphabetical -index of the more difficult words rendered into Spanish, French, and -German. In 1553 Aegidius de Housteville published at Paris an edition, -especially prepared for French boys, which gave the French for all -difficult Latin words and included the commentary of Peter Motta. - - -EUPHROSYNUS LAPINIUS - -In 1568 was published by Euphrosynus Lapinius at the Junta Press -in Florence, an edition of Vives’ _School Dialogues_. This also -included the commentary of Peter Motta and, in addition, an index of -certain words in Vives’ _Dialogues_, with a translation of them into -Etruscan.[10] - -Vives’ _School Dialogues_, we have seen, had a circulation, with -vernacular vocabulary, in Spain, France, Germany, Italy (there does -not seem to have been any edition with an English vocabulary). The -inclusion of the Greek words, it is not unreasonable to suppose, met a -need amongst learned schoolmasters, and since sufficient translations -of the hard words, both Greek and Latin, were forthcoming, the book -was made available even in those cases where schoolmasters had not -sufficient knowledge to translate all the passages in which the pupils -might stick. - - -STYLE - -Erasmus in his _Ciceronianus_ thus describes the style of Vives: “I -find lacking in Vives neither innate power, nor erudition, nor power of -memory. He is well provided with luxuriance of expression even when, in -the beginning of a work, he is a little hard; day by day his eloquence -matures more and more as he proceeds.... Daily he overcomes himself, -and his genius is versatile enough for anything. Yet sometimes he has -not achieved some portion of the Ciceronian virtues, especially in the -direction of charm and mildness of expression.” (Quoted by Namèche, -_Mémoire sur la vie et les écrits de J. L. Vives_.) - - -CHARACTERISTICS OF VIVES AS A WRITER OF DIALOGUES - -Vives’ characteristics have been well described by Bömer, who says: “In -the dialogues of Vives we constantly have the pleasure of listening to -conversations rich in thought, made spicy at the right moments with -pointed wit, so that we are obliged to make an effort to understand the -separate words.” It may be added that Vives is always desirous to help -forward the cause of learning, yet, on occasion, he can detach himself -from his learning and become a boy among boys. He has a strong sense of -humour. He can tell a joke against himself, as for instance about his -gout,[11] or again about his singing.[12] - - -VIVES AS A PRECURSOR OF THE DRAMA - -It might, with some ground, be urged that Vives and other writers of -school dialogues are the precursors of the drama. For not only are -there touches of wit and humour in the conversations, but there is a -considerable amount of characterisation in the interlocutors. The right -person says and does the right thing, and situations are sometimes -hit off exquisitely with an epithet. It is clear that a training -in following the school dialogues in the generation preceding the -Elizabethan dramatists may have had a distinctly preparative place in -rendering the dialogue of the drama more familiar and attractive as a -literary method. For a preparation in the power of audiences following -the dialogues of the Elizabethan drama may be regarded as requiring an -explanation, when we remember that the interest in and concentration on -the dialogue was more urgent than now, owing to the absence of scenery -and the other visual effects to which we are accustomed. The element in -the drama which is conspicuous by its absence in the school dialogues -is the plot. Yet in the school dialogue there is a definite method -of construction observed. In the old methods of Latin composition, -wherever there is a thesis, the writer must have regard to the sequence -of the introduction, the narration, the confirmation, confutation, and -the conclusion. - -With regard to the school training towards the appreciation of the -drama in the Tudor age, it must be remembered that the school-play -was a recognised institution, especially the acting of the old plays -of Terence, Plautus, and eventually of Greek tragedies. The school -dialogue, it should be noted, was one of the earliest of school -text-books, and its object, as already stated, was to train the child -in readiness of expression in _the speaking_ of Latin. The study of -rhetoric followed, and this included not only the study of apt figures -of speech in Latin conversation, but also the accompaniment of right -gestures of the face, hands, and body. Hence it will be seen that the -grammar schools of the early part of the sixteenth century paved the -way for an intelligent appreciation of the Elizabethan drama. For the -drama not only requires writers; to some extent an intelligent response -is necessary in the spectators, at any rate when the plays involve -the intellectual elements characteristic of the later part of the -sixteenth-century drama in England. - - -SOME EDUCATIONAL ASPECTS OF VIVES’ DIALOGUES - -It is remarkable that an elementary text-book for teaching boys to -speak Latin should raise so many fundamental questions in the theory of -education. But any presentation of the _Dialogues_ of Vives would seem -to be incomplete which left unconsidered such points as Vives’ _idea -of the school_, _of the school-games_, _of nature study_, _of the use -of the vernacular in the school_, and Vives’ _view of the relation of -religion and education_. - - -VIVES’ IDEA OF THE SCHOOL - -We learn from another book of Vives, the _De Tradendis Disciplinis_ -(1531), that the “true academy,” as he calls his ideal school, is -“the association together and fellow sympathy of men equally good and -learned, who have come together themselves for the sake of learning, -and to render the same blessing to others.” Vives suggests that to -such a “school” not only should boys go, but also men. He suggests -that “even old men, driven hither and thither in a great tempest of -ignorance and vice, should betake themselves to the academy as it were -to a haven. In short, let all be attracted by a certain majesty and -authority.” Further, Vives informs us that in this academy it would -certainly be best to place boys there from their infancy, “where they -may from the first imbibe the best morals, and evil behaviour will be -to them new and detestable.” We thus see that “the academy” combines -our so-called elementary, secondary, and university education. The -idea of the continuity of education is thus firmly conceived by Vives, -and, in addition, the action and reaction of different ages of the -individual scholars of the academy on one another. Nowadays, we realise -that the association together of those with the same limitations, -_e.g._, orphans, the blind, the deaf, may be a necessary evil, but that -every progressive educational effort should be made to help all those -who suffer from such limitations to become capable of taking their -places amongst the normal pupils. But Vives goes much further; with -him, it is a defect in education to isolate the young from the old, the -old from the young. If all be bent on learning and scholarship, the -differences of age disappear as clearly as the differences of rank and -wealth. - -It is necessary to bear in mind this conception of the academy in -reading the school dialogues, for we have in them little children -learning their alphabet[13] and the elements of reading[14] and -writing,[15] and we have also the youths (at our undergraduate stage) -going on their academic journey on horseback from Paris to Boulogne. -This reminds us of Milton’s sallying forth of students “at the vernal -seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleasant, and it were an -injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches -and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.” - -And we have the student of mature age, in his dressing-gown, at -midnight, pursuing his classical meditations. Thus infancy, youth, -manhood, all stages, come into the conception of education. Education -is a continuous process lasting throughout life, and for Vives the -educational institution of “schools” should embody and make facilities -for the achievement of that idea. In passing, it should be remarked -that John Milton, in his _Tractate of Education_ (1644), and John -Dury (1650), in his _Reformed School_, advocate what we may call the -Vives-Academy view of school![16] It must occur to every reader of -Vives’ _De Tradendis Disciplinis_ as highly probable that Milton’s -hurriedly dashed-off and eloquent tractate was written after a fairly -recent perusal of Vives’ book. - - -GAMES - -The treatises on education in Tudor times have scarcely been surpassed -by any later works in their treatment of physical education and -advocacy of games. Particularly is this so in England, for in that -period were published Sir Thomas Elyot’s _Gouvernour_ (1531), Roger -Ascham’s _Toxophilus_ (1545), and Richard Mulcaster’s _Positions_ -(1581). But outstanding in their importance as these works were, -Vives in his _School Dialogues_ makes an interesting supplementary -contribution. - -Vives shows the value of “play” as an underlying spirit of school work, -for the school is a form of “ludus” or play.[17] The little child, -Corneliola, learns the alphabet “playing,” as indeed children had -done at any rate from the days of Quintilian. Indeed, one of the most -charming pictures of children provided by Vives is in Dialogue VI., -which describes the mother, the boys Tulliolus, Lentulus, Scipio, and -the little girl Corneliola, on the return from school of the boys, as -they engage in children’s play and discussion of it. The games named -in that dialogue are the games of “nuts,” “odd and even,” dice-play, -draughts, and playing cards. Vives passes over the question of the -moral obliquity of dice-playing and card-playing, though much was said -in the Tudor period with regard to them.[18] - -Vives represents the school-boys playing dice and cards for counters, -and in the case of the cards for money. But substantially he gives the -picture of the play without combining a sermon. In passing, perhaps it -is permissible to call attention to the pun in Dialogue XXI., where the -Latin word _charta_ is taken up ambiguously in the meaning of “map” as -well as of “card.” The discovery of America in 1492 was comparatively -recent in 1539, and much interest was felt in geographical questions. -It is a great mistake to suppose that the classical scholars like Vives -were so wrapt up in meditations on antiquity that they did not realise -the significance of contemporary events, and that educationalists were -not eager to turn current incidents to use in the class-room.[19] -An interesting example of the fascination of Vives in geographical -discoveries is to be found in the dedication of the _De Tradendis -Disciplinis_ to the renowned King John III., King of Portugal, in -which he relates the splendid deeds of the Portuguese in travel -and discovery, which bring glory to descendants and the obligation -to live up to their standard of achievement. In Dialogue XII., in -the description of the entrance-hall of a house, a map is referred -to in which “you have the world newly discovered by the Spanish -navigations.”[20] - -But educationally more important than any description of the games of -the period described by Vives is the statement made by him of the -laws which should regulate all play. The account is given in Dialogue -XXII. Vives describes his native city of Valencia by sending three -characters, Borgia, Scintilla, Cabanillius, on a promenade through the -streets. They come to a public tennis-court, where the game of tennis -is described. They proceed to the Town Court of Justice, whereupon -one of the characters, Scintilla, is requested to state the laws of -play which he has previously mentioned a teacher, by name Anneus, had -written on a tablet which he had hung in his bed-chamber. - -The six laws of play according to Anneus are:— - -1. _Quando Ludendum?_ The Time of Playing.—This should be when the mind -or body has become wearied. Games are to refresh the mind and body, not -for frivolity. - -2. _Cum Quibus Ludendum?_ Our Companions in Play.—These should be those -who bring to the game no other purpose than your own, viz., that of -thorough rest from labour and freedom from mental strain. - -3. _Quo Ludo?_ The Sort of Game.—It must be known well by all the -players. It must serve for both bodily and mental recreation. It must -not be merely a game of hazard. - -4. _Qua Sponsione?_ As to Stakes.—Small stakes are justifiable if they -increase interest in exercise without producing excitement or anxiety -of mind. Big stakes do not make a game; they introduce the rack. - -5. _Quemadmodum?_ The Manner of Play.—Win and lose with absolute -equanimity. No game should serve to rouse anger. No oaths, swearing, -deceit, sordidness. - -6. _Quamdiu Ludendum?_ Length of Play.—Until one is refreshed and the -hour of serious business calls. - - -NATURE STUDY - -It has already been mentioned that Vives supplies a dialogue describing -an academic journey.[21] Two of the characters thus discourse:— - - _Misippus._ Look how softly the river flows by! What a - delightful murmur there is of the full crystal water - amongst the golden rocks! Do you hear the nightingale and - the goldfinch? Of a truth, the country round Paris is - most delightful! - - _Philippus._ How placidly the Seine flows in its - current.... Oh, how the meadow is clothed with a magic - art. - - _Missippus._ And by what a marvellous Artist! - - _Philippus._ What a sweet scent is exhaled.... Please - sing some verses as you are wont to do. - -Then Vives introduces some lines by Angelus Politian praising the -joy of peaceful, silent days which pass by without the agitation of -ambition and the allurement of luxury, with blamelessness, though we -work as with the labour of the poor man. Again[22]:— - - _Bambalio._ Listen, there is the nightingale! - - _Graculus._ Where is she? - - _Bambalio._ Don’t you see her there, sitting on that - branch? Listen how ardently she sings, nor does she leave - off. - - _Nugo._ (As Martial says) _Flet philomela nefas_. (The - nightingale bemoans any injustice.) - - _Graculus._ What a wonder she carols so sweetly when she - is away from Attica where the very waves of the sea dash - upon the shore, not without their rhythm. - -Then Nugo tells the story of the nightingale and cuckoo.[23] One more -instance. Several boys are out for a morning walk:— - - _Malvenda._ Don’t let us take our walk as if in a rush, - but slowly and gently.... - - _Joannius_ [_after contemplating the view_]. There is - no sense which has not a lordly enjoyment! First, the - eyes! what varied colours, what clothing of the earth and - trees, what tapestry! What paintings are comparable with - this view?... Not without truth has the Spanish poet, - Juan de Mena, called May the painter of the earth. Then - the ear. How delightful to hear the singing of birds, - and especially the nightingale. Listen to her (as she - sings in the thicket) from whom, as Pliny says, issues - the modulated sound of the completed science of music.... - In very fact, you have, as it were, the whole study and - school of music in the nightingale. Her little ones - ponder and listen to the notes which they imitate. The - tiny disciple listens with keen intentness (would that - our teachers received like attention!) and gives back the - sound.... Add to this there is a sweet scent breathing in - from every side, from the meadows, from the crops, from - the trees, even from the fallow-land and neglected fields. - - -WINE-DRINKING AND WATER-DRINKING - -There can be little doubt even from the descriptions of feasts in the -_School Dialogues_ of Vives, as well as of Mosellanus and Erasmus, -that drunkenness was not uncommon even amongst teachers in the Tudor -period.[24] Vives distinguished himself by boldly advocating the claims -of water against those of wines and beer. In Dialogue XI., “Getting -dressed and a Morning Constitutional,” we read [speaking of the food -for breakfast, after the walk]:— - - _Malvenda._ Shall we have wine to drink? - - _Bellinus._ By no means,—but beer, and that of the - weakest, of yellow Lyons, _or else pure and liquid water_ - drawn from the Latin or Greek well. - - _Malvenda._ Which do you call the Latin well and the - Greek well? - - _Bellinus._ Vives is accustomed to call the well close to - the gate the Greek well; that one further off he calls - the Latin well. He will give you his reasons for the - names when you meet him. - -J. T. Freigius, who is always ready to supply what Vives omits, gives -in his commentary the reasons for Vives. The Greek well is the well -close to the gate, because the Greek language is closer to the sources -of language; the “Latin” well, for similar reasons, is further off from -the gate. - -In Dialogue XVII., called “The Banquet,” we read:— - - _Scopas._ Don’t give one too much water (_i.e._ in his - wine). Don’t you know the old proverb, “You spoil wine, - when you pour water into it”? - - _Democritus._ Yes, then you spoil both the water and the - wine. - - _Polaemon._ I would rather spoil them both than be - spoiled by one of them. - -But it is in Dialogue XVIII, on “Drunkenness,” that Vives specially -launches his thunderbolts against excessive drinking. With the -institution of lessons on temperance in schools under some Local -Education Authorities in England, we have a return to the methods -of Vives. For in the school dialogue referred to we have the matter -put very strongly, and probably Vives’ statements would not prove -unacceptable to modern teachers of this recently re-introduced -subject. After describing the moral effects of drunkenness, one of the -characters says: “Who would not prefer to be shut up at home with a dog -or a cat than with a drunkard? For those animals have more intellect in -them than the drunkard.” Another character remarks: “When you drink, -you treat wine as you like. When you have drunk, it will treat you as -it likes.” - - -THE VERNACULAR - -It is surprising to find that though Vives, in 1538, produced his -_School Dialogues_ for the purpose of teaching children to _speak_ -Latin, and though he regarded early and thorough acquaintance with -Latin, both for purposes of speaking and writing, as the very mark -and seal of a well-educated man, there was no learned man of his -age who went so far in advocacy of the importance of the teaching -in the vernacular of the pupil at a still younger age. As this -constitutes one of the grounds upon which the pre-eminence of Vives -as an educationalist would be rested, as for instance in comparison -with Erasmus, it may not be altogether irrelevant to quote here the -translation of a passage from the _De Tradendis Disciplinis_ explaining -Vives’ views on this subject. - -“The scholars should first speak in their homes their mother tongue, -which is born with them, and the teacher should correct their mistakes. -Then they should, little by little, learn Latin. Next let them -intermingle with the vernacular what they have heard in Latin from -their teacher, or what they themselves have learned. Thus, at first, -their language should be a mixture of the mother-tongue and Latin. -But outside the school they should speak the mother-tongue so that -they should not become accustomed to a hotch-potch of languages.... -Gradually the development advances and the scholars become Latinists -in the narrower sense. Now must they seek to express their thoughts -in Latin, for nothing serves so much to the learning of a language -as continuous practice in it. He who is ashamed to speak a language -has no talent for it. He who refuses to speak Latin after he has been -learning it for a year must be punished according to his age and -circumstances.”[25] - -So much for the pupil’s knowledge of the vernacular. Still more -emphatically Vives speaks with regard to the necessity of a thorough -knowledge of the vernacular by the _teacher_. - -“Let the teacher know the mother-tongue of his boys, so that by this -means, with the more ease and readiness, he may teach the learned -languages. For unless he makes use of the right and proper expressions -in the mother-tongue, he will certainly mislead the boys, and the -error thus imbibed will accompany them persistently as they grow up -and become men. How can boys understand anything sufficiently well in -their own language unless the words are said with the utmost clearness. -Let the teacher preserve in his memory all the old forms of vernacular -words, and let him develop the knowledge not only of modern forms, but -also of the old words and those which have gone out of use, and let him -be as it were the guardian of the treasury of his language.”[26] - - -THE EDUCATIONAL IDEAL OF VIVES - -It has been usual to enter to the credit of the Protestantism of -John Sturm and Maturinus Corderius the educational ideal of _pietas -literata_. No doubt the seventeenth-century Huguenots of France and the -Puritans of England were distinguished by this double educational aim -of piety and culture. But it was characteristic also of the earlier -Catholic world of Erasmus and of Vives. Rising above the ordinary level -of the scholars of the Italian Renascence, Erasmus and Vives had higher -sympathy and delight in children. Erasmus dedicated his _Colloquia_ or -Dialogues (in 1524) to the little child John Erasmius Froben, the son -of the renowned publisher Froben of Basle. “You have arrived,” he says, -“at an age than which none happier occurs in the course of life for -imbibing the seeds of literature and of piety.... The Lord Jesus keep -the present season of your life pure from all pollutions, and ever lead -you on to better things.” - -So, too, in 1538, Juan Luis Vives dedicated his _School Dialogues_ to a -child, the eleven-years-old boy—Prince Philip. - -Both Erasmus and Vives believed in early training in religious -instruction. Vives writes as follows on religious education: “Who is -there who has considered the power and loftiness of the mind, its -understanding of the most remarkable things, and through understanding -love of them, and from love the desire to unite himself with them, who -does not perceive clearly that man was formed, not for food, clothing, -and habitation, not for difficult, secret, and vexatious knowledge, -but to develop the desire to know God more truly, to participate in -His Divine Nature and His Eternity?... Since piety is the only way of -perfecting man, and accomplishing the end for which he was formed, -therefore piety is of all things the one thing necessary. Without the -others man can be perfected and complete; without this, he cannot but -be most miserable.”[27] - -In one passage Vives remarks that the strength of religion is -developed by its exercise rather than by any theoretical knowledge. -For this reason, when meals are described in the _School Dialogues_, -we find some form of grace, before and after the meal, duly said. -The tone of the _Dialogues_ is reverential. A. J. Namèche says[28] -that in the _Dialogues_ “Vives brings a sense of decency, respect for -morals, the fear so laudable of doing any violence to the innocence -of young people. We know well enough that Erasmus is far from being -irreproachable in this respect, and that his language is free sometimes -even to the extent of cynicism.” Without wishing to follow Namèche -in the comparison of the moral aspects of Erasmus and Vives in their -dialogues, a claim may be made for both that they were eager advocates -in the joining of piety with culture, and that both Erasmus and Vives, -each in his own way, did valiant work in endeavouring to raise the -standard of manners and morals as well as to promote piety in young and -old. - -There can, however, be no doubt that Vives deserved the high reputation -which he received of reverence for the morals of youth. Peter Motta -is full of enthusiasm for Vives in this respect. In the Preface to his -_Commentary on Vives’ School Dialogues_, Motta says: “By reading other -books such as those of Terence and Plautus, you can undoubtedly get -extracts which show the fruit of eloquence. But who can avoid seeing -that in them you will find incitements to vices, and stumbling blocks -to morals? Now, in our author Vives, you will find little flowers of -Latin elegance which he has brought together from various most renowned -authors, whilst there is nothing in his work which does not seem to -suggest even the Christ, or at least the highest morality and sound -education.” This may be regarded as the exaggerated language of an -admirer, but the reverential tone of Vives is clear enough, reminding -one of Vittorino da Feltre, of whom it was said that he went to his -teacher’s desk each day as if to an altar. - - -VIVES’ LAST DIALOGUE: THE PRECEPTS OF EDUCATION - -Vives lays down twenty-four Precepts of Education. Some critics have -thought such precepts out of place in a book written for boys. But -Vives has done all he could to interest boys on their own level. He has -always retained the boy in himself, and has spoken from the fulness of -his heart, as a boy, in the dialogues. And as he parts company with -boys in these dialogues, he wishes, as all true, older human beings -must wish, for once at least to give of his best to the young. He will -give back to the boys who have followed him through the _Dialogues_ (as -a teacher who is a “good sort”) a full reward for their trouble. He -will pay them the compliment of treating them seriously. - -This seems a right instinct. It is not priggish (as some seem to think) -to give of a man’s best to a boy or to boys at the right moment. When -once a boy is sure there is “the boy” in any man he knows, there is no -_camaraderie_ he delights in such as that which allows him to see a -little of the man,—to jump, so to say, on the man’s mental shoulders to -catch a better glimpse of the far distance. - -When John Thomas Freigius—grown up into the classical scholar—looks -back, in his Preface to his edition of Vives’ _School Dialogues_, he -says: “As a boy, I so loved Luis Vives that not even now do I feel -my old love for him has faded away from my mind.” Perhaps the last -dialogue, with its twenty-four precepts, did not cause the love of -Freigius for Vives, but the love being there, it continued in spite of -having to read the precepts. Anyway, Vives, who had turned aside from -the weighty problems of learning and literature, where he belonged to -the great triumvirate of writers of his day—enthroned by contemporary -judges by the side of the great Erasmus and the great Budaeus—stated -the precepts which, in his view, should guide, not only his book of -dialogues and the schools, but all stages of culture. Boys brought up -on these precepts, and retaining them as principles of education in -their later life, might perhaps have cheered the heart of Vives by -showing that he had abstained from his higher studies to some purpose -when he wrote his _School Dialogues_. - -At any rate, for the modern reader, there is the satisfaction of -knowing, when he reads the _School Dialogues_ of Vives, that he is -reading a work which won the approval of children. With all our modern -advance, of which of the writers of our text-books to-day would -present-day children say as much as was said of this sixteenth-century -scholar, who merely wrote a text-book to help boys of the Tudor Age to -_speak Latin_!—“As a boy I so loved Luis Vives that not even now do I -feel my old love for him has faded away from my mind.” - - -NOTE - - The short summaries or headings to each dialogue in - the text are translations from the edition of Vives’ - _Dialogues_ by John Thomas Freigius, published at - Nürnberg, 1582. After each dialogue Freigius provides a - commentary, by far the most complete of any commentator - on Vives’ book, giving illustrative quotations and notes - on obscure points, and giving references to the ancient - sources from which technical expressions were taken by - Vives. The headings of the sub-sections of each dialogue - as given in the present translation are taken from - Freigius. They are not a part of the original text of - Vives. - - The above is the most scholarly and thorough edition of - the _Dialogues_, but it may be noted that Dr. Bömer[29] - has distinguished over _one hundred_ editions of the - book, showing its popularity not only in the sixteenth - century but its continued interest in still later - generations of the study of Latin speech. - - -TUDOR SCHOOL-BOY LIFE - - - - -I - -SURRECTIO MATUTINA—_Getting up in the Morning_ - - -BEATRIX PUELLA, EMANUEL, EUSEBIUS - -Dialogue (Latin—_colloquium_, _collocutio_, _sermo_) is so called from -διαλέγεως, in which sort of composition Plato was the first to delight. -In this first dialogue or discourse (_sermone_) there are laid down -five duties, which should be performed carefully in the morning by -youths and boys, viz. to rise betimes (because early morning is the -friend to studies), to dress, to comb the hair, to wash, to pray. - - _Beat._ May Jesus Christ awake you from the sleep of all - vice. O you boys, are you ever going to wake up to-day? - - _Euseb._ I don’t know what has fallen on my eyes. I seem - to have them full of sand. - - -I. _Getting Up_ - - _Beat._ That is always your morning song—quite an old - one. I shall open both the wooden and the glass windows, - so that the morning shall strike brightly on your eyes - from both. Get up! Get up! - - _Euseb._ Is it already morning? - - -II. _Dressing_ - - _Beat._ It is nearer mid-day than the dawn. Emanuel, do - you want another shirt? - - _Eman._ I don’t now need anything. This is clean enough. - I will take another to-morrow. Please give me my - stomacher. - - _Beat._ Which? The single thickness or the double - thickness? - - _Eman._ Which you like. I don’t mind. Give me the single - thickness so that I may be less heavy for playing ball - (_pila_) to-day. - - _Beat._ This is always your custom. You think of your - play before your school-work. - - _Eman._ What do you say, you stupid! When school itself - is called play (_ludus_). - - _Beat._ I don’t understand your playing with grammar and - logic (_grammaticationes et sophismata_). - - _Eman._ Give me the leathern shoe-straps. - - _Beat._ They are torn to pieces. Take the silken ones as - your schoolmaster has ordered. What now? Will you have - the breeches and long stockings as it is summer? - - _Eman._ No, indeed. Give me only the long stockings. - Please, fasten them for me. - - _Beat._ What! Have you arms of hay or of butter? - - _Eman._ No, indeed. They are sewn together with threads. - Alas! what straps (_i.e._ points) have you given me, - without supports and all torn! - - _Beat._ Don’t you remember that yesterday at dice-playing - you lost the others altogether? - - _Eman._ How do you know? - - _Beat._ I observed you through a chink in the door as you - were playing with Guzmanulus. - - _Eman._ Oh! I beg that you won’t tell the teacher. - - _Beat._ No, but I will tell him if ever you call me - “ugly” again, as you are accustomed to do. - - _Eman._ What if I call you greedy? - - _Beat._ Call me what you will, but not ugly. - - _Eman._ Give me my shoes. - - _Beat._ Which? Those with the long straps (_i.e._ - sandals)? - - _Eman._ Those covered against the mud. - - _Beat._ Against the dry mud, which they call dust. But - thou doest well, for on the open road the strap gets - broken and the buckle lost. - - _Eman._ Put them on, I beg. - - _Beat._ Do it yourself. - - _Eman._ I cannot bend myself. - - _Beat._ You could easily bend, but your laziness makes - it difficult, or have you swallowed a sword as the - mountebank did four days ago? Are you now so delicate? - What will happen to you as you grow up? - - _Eman._ Tie a double knot—for it is more elegant. - - _Beat._ Certainly not, for then the knot would be - loosened at that point and the shoe would fall from your - foot. It is better either to have a double drawing tight - or one knot and one loop. Take your tunic with long - sleeves and your woven girdle. - - _Eman._ No, certainly not that, but the leathern hunting - girdle. - - _Beat._ Your mother forbids that; do you wish to have - everything according to your own caprice? And yesterday - you broke the pin of the clasp! - - _Eman._ I could not otherwise unbuckle it. Then give me - that red one made of linen cloth. - - -III. _Using the Comb_ - - _Beat._ Take it, put your French girdle on. Comb your - head first with the thinner, then with the thicker teeth, - place your cap on your head, so as not to throw it to - the back of your head, as is your custom, or on to your - forehead down to your eyes. - - _Eman._ Let us at last go out. - - _Beat._ What, without having washed your hands and face! - - _Eman._ With your worrying curiosity you would have - already plagued a bull to death, let alone a man. You - think you are clothing not a boy, but a bride. - - -IV. _Washing_ - - _Beat._ Eusebius, bring a wash-basin and a pitcher. - Raise it to a fair height; let the water drop out rather - than pour it from the stopple. Wash thoroughly that dirt - from the joints of the fingers. Cleanse the mouth and - use water for gargling. Rub the eyelids and eyebrows, - then the glands of the neck under the ears vigorously. - Then take a cloth and dry yourself. Immortal God! that - it should be necessary to admonish you as to all these - things, one by one, and that you should do nothing of - your own thought. - - _Eman._ Ah! you are too much of a boss and too rude! - - -V. _Prayer_ - - _Beat._ And you are too shrewd and pretty a boy. Come, - give me a kiss. Kneel down before this image of our - Saviour and say the Lord’s Prayer and the other prayers, - as you are accustomed, before you step out of your - bedroom. Take care, my Emanuel, that you think of nothing - else while you are praying. Stay a moment, hang this - little handkerchief on your girdle, so that you can blow - and clean your nose. - - _Eman._ Am I now sufficiently prepared, in your opinion? - - _Beat._ You are. - - _Eman._ Then not in my opinion since at last I am in - yours. I will dare make a wager that I have taken up a - whole hour in dressing. - - _Beat._ Well, what even if you had taken two? Where would - you have gone if you hadn’t? What were you going to do? I - suppose to dig or to plough? - - _Eman._ As if there were a lack of something to do. - - _Beat._ Oh, the great man! so keenly occupied in doing - nothing. - - _Eman._ Won’t you go away, you girl sophist? Go, or I’ll - shy this shoe at you or tear the veil off your head. - - - - -II - -PRIMA SALUTATIO—_Morning Greetings_ - - -PUER, MATER, PATER—Boy, Mother, Father - - In this dialogue there are three parts: the first - contains the mutual salutations expressed in the morning - when the little charms of early childhood are skilfully - displayed. The second part contains the sport of a boy - with a dog. The third gives a conversation with this boy - concerning the school, the opportunity for which arises - from the incident with the little dog. - - -I. _Morning Salutation_ - - _Boy._ Hail, my father! hail, my mother dear (_salve mea - matercula_)! I wish that this may be a happy day for - you, my little brothers (_germanuli_). May Christ be - propitious to you, my little sisters! - - _Father._ My son, may God guard you and lead you to great - goodness (_ingentes virtutes_). - - _Mother._ May Christ preserve you, my light. What are you - doing, my darling? How are you? How did you rest last - night? - - _Boy._ I am very well and slept peacefully. - - _Mother._ Thanks be to Christ! May He grant that this may - be constantly so! - - _Boy._ In the middle of the night I was roused up with a - pain in the head. - - _Mother._ It grieves me sorely to hear that (_me - perditam et miserrimam_)! What do you say? In what part - of the head? - - _Boy._ In the forehead. - - _Mother._ For how long? - - _Boy._ Scarcely the eighth of an hour. Afterwards I fell - asleep again, nor did I feel anything further of it. - - _Mother._ Now I breathe again; for you took away my - breath. - - -II. _Playing with the Dog_ - - _Boy._ All good to you! Little Isabel, prepare my - breakfast. Ruscio, Ruscio, come here, jolly little dog! - See how he fawns with his tail and how he raises himself - on his hind legs. What are you doing? How are you? Hullo, - you, bring a bit or two of bread which we may give him, - then you will see some clever sport. Won’t you eat? - Haven’t you had anything to-day? Clearly there is more - intelligence in that dog than in that crass mule-driver. - - -III. _The Father’s Little Talk with his Boy_ - - _Father._ My Tulliolus, I should like to have a talk with - you soon. - - _Boy._ Why, my father? For nothing more delightful could - happen to me than to listen to you. - - _Father._ Is thy Ruscio here an animal or a man? - - _Boy._ An animal, as I think. - - _Father._ What have you in you, why you should be a man - and not he? You eat, drink, sleep, walk, run, play. So - he does all these things also. - - _Boy._ But I am a man. - - _Father._ How do you know this? What have you now, more - than a dog? But there is this difference that he cannot - become a man. You can, if you will. - - _Boy._ I beg of you, my father, bring this about as soon - as possible. - - _Father._ It will be done if you go where animals go, to - come back men. - - _Boy._ I will go, father, with all the pleasure in the - world! But where is it? - - _Father._ In the school. - - _Boy._ There is no delay in me for such a great matter. - - _Father._ Nor in me. Isabel, dear, do you hear, give him - his breakfast in this little satchel. - - _Isabel._ What shall it be? - - _Father._ A piece of bread and butter, and dry figs, or - pressed, not dried, grapes, as an additional dish—for - fresh grapes besmear the fingers of boys and they spoil - their clothes—unless he should prefer a few cherries, or - golden and long plums. Hang the satchel on his little - arm, so that it shall not fall off. - - - - -III - -DEDUCTIO AD LUDUM—_Escorting to School_ - -PATER, PUER, PROPINQUUS, PHILOPONUS LUDIMAGISTER—Father, Boy, Relative, -Philoponus the Schoolmaster - -_Philoponus._—This name, so worthy of a teacher, has been rightly -and wisely bestowed by the author. For the true teacher ought to -be φιλόπονος, that is, φίλος τοῦ πονοῦ, a lover of labour, and by -his diligence and assiduity to give satisfaction to his pupils. But -Philoponus is, moreover, the proper name of the Greek interpreter of -Aristotle. - - -_Consultation as to a Teacher_ - - _Father._ Make the holy sign of the cross. - - _Son._ Lead us ignorant ones, O most wise Jesus Christ, - Thou most powerful, lead us most weak! - - _Father._ Inform me, I beg, thou who art most versed in - the study of letters, who in this school is the best - teacher of boys? - - _Prop._ The most learned is a certain Varro; but the most - industrious and the most upright is Philoponus, whose - erudition, moreover, is not to be despised. Varro has - the best frequented school, and in his house he has a - numerous flock of boarders. Philoponus does not seem to - delight in numbers, but is content with fewer boys. - - _Father._ I should prefer him. That must be he walking - into the hall of the school. Son, this is, as it were, - the laboratory for the formation of men, and he is the - artist-educator. Christ be with you, master! Uncover your - head, my boy, and bow your right knee, as you have been - taught. Now, stand up! - - _Philoponus._ May your coming be a blessing to us all! - What may be your business? - - _Father._ I bring you this boy of mine for you to make of - him a man from the beast. - - _Philoponus._ This shall be my earnest endeavour. He - shall become a man from a beast, a fruitful and good - creature out of a useless one. Of that have no doubt. - - _Father._ What is the charge for your instruction? - - _Philoponus._ If the boy makes good progress, it will be - little; if not, a good deal. - - _Father._ That is acutely and wisely said, as is all you - say. We share the responsibility then; you, to instruct - zealously, I to recompense your labour richly. - - - - -IV - -EUNTES AD LUDUM LITERARIUM—_Going to School_ - - -CIRRATUS, PRAETEXTATUS, TITIVILLITIUM, TERESULA (AN OLD WOMAN, A WOMAN -SELLER OF VEGETABLES) - -The names of the interlocutors in this dialogue for the most part -signify something serious and ancient. _Cirrati pueri_ were those boys -who wore their hair curled and crisped. Krausz Haar. For the _cirrus_ -is an instrument devised for the curling of hair. - - _Martial_: - Nec matutini cirrata caterva magistri. - - _Juvenal_: Flavam - Caesariem et madido torquentem cornua cirro. - - _Persius_, Satyr, i.: - Ten’ cirratorum centum dictata fuisse - Pro nihilo pendas? - -_Praetextatus puer_ is another way of referring to a noble or -patrician, for his outer garment was bordered with purple, and thus -worn by boys up to fourteen years of age, or as others say, up to -sixteen, when such an one assumed the _toga virilis_ in the Capitol. -_See_ Macrob. lib. i. _Satur._ cap. 6. Budae, in prior. annot. ad l. -fin. De senator. Alexand. lib. 2, cap. 25. Baysius, de re vestiment. -Sigonius, lib. 3, de judic. cap. 19. Papirius, a certain Roman, was -called _praetextatus_ because in the _praetextata_ age he showed the -height of prudence. _See_ Macrob. - -_Titivillitium_ formerly was a word declaring nothing certain, but just -an exclamation, indicating extreme uncertainty. The word was used by -Plautus. _See_ Proverb, Titivillitium. - - _Oluscularia_, a woman selling vegetables. Λαχανοπῶλις. - - _Cirr._ Does it seem to you to be time to go to school? - - _Praet._ Certainly, it is time to go. - - _Cirr._ I don’t properly remember the way; I believe we - have to go through this next street. - - _Praet._ How often have you already been to the school? - - _Cirr._ Three or four times. - - _Praet._ When did you first go? - - _Cirr._ As I think, three or four days ago. - - _Praet._ Well, now; isn’t that enough to enable you to - know the way? - - _Cirr._ No, not if it were a hundred times of going. - - _Praet._ Why, if I were to go once, never afterwards - should I miss the way. But you go, against your will, and - as you go, you stop and play. You don’t look at the way, - nor at the houses, nor any signs which would show you - afterwards which way you should turn, or which way you - should follow. But I observe all these points diligently, - because I go gladly. - - _Cirr._ This boy lives quite close to the school. Here, - you, Titivillitium, which is the way to your house? - - _Tit._ What do you want? Do you come from your mother? My - mother is not at home, nor even my sister. Both have gone - out to St. Anne’s. - - _Cirr._ What then is to be done? - - _Tit._ Yesterday was dedication festival (_encaenia_). - Today some woman who sells cheese has invited them to a - meal at the house called “Thick Milk” (_lac coagulatum_). - - _Cirr._ And why haven’t you gone with them? - - _Tit._ They have left me at home to keep house. They - have taken my little brother with them, but they have - promised me that they would bring back something of what - was left for me in a basket. - - _Cirr._ But why art thou then not remaining at home? - - _Tit._ I shall return immediately, only I will now play - dice a little with the son of this cobbler. Will you also - come with us? - - _Cirr._ We will go, please. - - _Praet._ Certainly I shall not do so. - - _Cirr._ Why not? - - _Praet._ We don’t want to get a thrashing. - - _Cirr._ Ah! I had not thought of that. - - _Tit._ You won’t get thrashed. - - _Cirr._ How do you know that? - - _Tit._ Because your master lost his rod (_ferula_) to-day. - - _Cirr._ Eh! by what means did you get to know that? - - _Tit._ To-day we heard him from our house shouting - out—and it was for his ferula he was seeking. - - _Cirr._ I beg of you, let us play for a short time. - - _Praet._ Play you, if you will; but I shall go on to - school at once. - - _Cirr._ I beg of you, don’t report me to the master. Say - that I am kept by my father at home. - - _Praet._ Do you wish me to tell a lie? - - _Cirr._ Why not, for a friend’s sake? - - _Praet._ Because I have heard a preacher in a church - declare that liars are the sons of the devil, but - truth-tellers, sons of God. - - _Cirr._ Of the devil, indeed! Get away! By the sign of - the holy cross, may our God free us from our enemies! - - _Praet._ Thou canst not be freed to play when thou - oughtest to go and learn. - - _Cirr._ Let us go. Farewell. - - _Tit._ Oh, I say! these boys dare not stay and play a - moment because otherwise they would get thrashed! - - _Praet._ This boy is a waster and will become a bad man! - See how has he slipped away from us without our having - asked him which is the way to the school? Let us call him - back. - - _Cirr._ Let him go his evil ways. I don’t wish him again - to invite me to play. We will inquire from this old - woman. Mother, do you know which is the way to the school - of Philoponus? - - _Old Woman._ I have lived near this school for six years, - just opposite to it where my eldest son and two daughters - were born. You cross this street (the _Villa Rasa_ - Street), then comes a narrow lane, then the _Dominus - Veteranus_ Street. Hence you turn to the right, then to - the left, there you must inquire, for the school is not - far from there. - - _Cirr._ Ah! we cannot remember all that! - - _Old Woman._ My little Teresa, lead these boys to the - school of Philoponus, for the mother of this one here was - she who gave us the thread for combing and spinning. - - _Ter._ What in the name of evil have you to do with - Philoponus? What sort of man is this Philoponus? As if I - knew him! Do you speak of the man who mends shoes near - the Green Inn (_cauponam viridem_) or of the herald in - the Giant Street, who keeps horses on hire? - - _Old Woman._ This I know well, that you never know those - things which are wanted, but those which have nothing to - do with the matter in hand. Slowest of girls, Philoponus - is that old schoolmaster, tall, short-sighted man, - opposite the house where we used to live. - - _Ter._ Ah! now it comes back to my mind. - - _Old Woman._ In returning, go across the market and buy - salad, radish, and cherries. Take with you the little - basket. - - _Cirr._ Lead us also over the vegetable market. - - _Ter._ This way is shorter. - - _Cirr._ We don’t wish to go that way. - - _Ter._ Why so? - - _Cirr._ Because the dog in that street, belonging to the - baker, bit me once. We would rather go with you to the - market. - - _Ter._ Returning I will make the journey through the - market (for we are not far from it) and I will buy what I - was told to buy, after I have left you at the school. - - _Cirr._ We desire to see how much you give for the - cherries. - - _Ter._ We buy them at six farthings a pound; but what is - that to you? - - _Cirr._ Because my sister ordered me this morning to - inquire. She particularly mentioned there is an old woman - in the market who sells vegetables. If you buy of her, - I know that she will sell you at a less price than they - will elsewhere, and she will give us a few cherries or - thyrsus of lettuce, for her daughter formerly served my - mother and sister. - - _Ter._ I hope that this roundabout way may not let you in - for some lashes. - - _Cirr._ Not at all. For we shall have plenty of time. - - _Ter._ Let us go. I get so little chance of walks, - wretched that I am, for my time is all taken up sitting - at home. - - _Praet._ What do you do? Do you merely sit idly at home? - - _Ter._ Idly, indeed! Not at any rate that! I spin, I - gather (wool) into a ball, wind, weave. Do you think our - old woman would let me sit idle? She curses feast-days, - on which there must be a stoppage of work. - - _Praet._ Are not feast-days holy? How can she curse what - is holy? Does she wish to curse what has been ordained as - holy? - - _Ter._ Do you think that I have learned geometry that I - should be able to explain these things to you? - - _Cirr._ What do you mean by geometry? - - _Ter._ I don’t know. We had a neighbour who was called - Geometria. She was always either in church with priests, - or the priests were with her at her house. And so she - was, as they said, very wise.—But we have come into the - vegetable market. Where is now your old woman? - - _Cirr._ I was looking round about for her. But buy of - her only on the condition that she gives us something as - a present. Ah! great-aunt (_amita_). This girl will buy - cherries of you, if you will give us some. - - _Vegetable Woman._ We are given nothing; we have to buy - everything. - - _Cirr._ That dirt which you have on your hands and neck - was not given to you, was it? - - _Vegetable Woman._ Unless you take yourself off, you - impudent boy, your cheeks will feel some of this dirt on - them. - - _Cirr._ How will my cheeks feel, when you have it on your - hands? - - _Vegetable Woman._ Give those cherries back, you young - rogue. - - _Cirr._ I am merely sampling, for I wish to buy. - - _Vegetable Woman._ Then buy. - - _Cirr._ Provided they have pleased me. How do you sell - them? - - _Vegetable Woman._ A sesterce a pound. - - _Cirr._ Ah! they are bitter, you old poisoner! You are - selling here cherries to people to choke them. - - _Ter._ Let us go away to the school. For you will get me - involved in difficulties with your subtleties, and you - will detain me too long. Now, as I think, my old woman - is raging at home, on account of my delay in returning. - There is the door. Knock at it. - - - - -V - -LECTIO—_Reading_ - - -PRAECEPTOR, LUSIUS, AESCHINES, PUERI—Teacher, Lusius, Aeschines, Boys - -_Lusius_, so called from playing (_ludendo_). - -_Aeschines_, proper name of the Greek orator, who shamelessly declaimed -against Demosthenes. - -_Cotta_, proper name of a Roman citizen, so called from his anger. - -This dialogue contains a division of the letters into vowels and -consonants. - - _Praec._ Take the A B C tablet in your left hand, and - this pointer in the right hand, so that you can point - out the letters one by one. Stand upright; put your cap - under your arm-pit. Listen most attentively how I shall - name these letters. Look diligently how I move my mouth. - See that you return what I say immediately in the same - manner, when I ask for it again. Attention (_sis mecum_)! - Now you have heard it. Follow me now as I say it before - you, letter by letter. Do you clearly understand? - - _Lus._ It seems to me I do, fairly well. - - - _Letters—Syllables—Vowel—Speech_ - - _Praec._ Every one of these signs is called a letter. - Of these, five are vowels, A, E, I, O, U. They are in - the Spanish _oveia_, which signifies _sheep_. Remember - that word! These with any letter you like, or more than - one, make up syllables. Without a vowel there is no - syllable and sometimes the vowel itself is a syllable. - Therefore all the other letters are called consonants, - because they don’t constitute sounds by themselves unless - a vowel is joined to them. They have some imperfect, - maimed (_mancum_) sound, _e.g._ _b_, _c_, _d_, _g_, which - without _e_ cannot be sounded. Out of syllables we get - words, and from words connected speech, which all beasts - lack. And you would not be different from the beasts, if - you could not converse properly. Be watchful and perform - your work diligently. Go out with your fellow-pupils and - learn what I have set. - - _Lus._ We are not playing to-day. - - _Aesch._ No, for it is a work-day. What, do you think - you have come here to play? This is not the place for - playing, but for study. - - _Lus._ Why, then, is a school called _ludus_? - - -_True Leisure_ - - _Aesch._ It is indeed called _ludus_, but it is _ludus - literarius_, because here we must play with letters as - elsewhere with the ball, hoop, and dice. And I have - heard that in Greek it is called _schola_, as it were - a place of leisure, because it is true ease and quiet - of mind, when we spend our life in studies. But we will - learn thoroughly what the teacher has bidden us, quite in - soft murmur, so that we don’t become a hindrance to one - another. - - _Lus._ My uncle, who studied letters some time in - Bologna, has taught me that you better fix anything you - wish in the memory if you pronounce it aloud. This is - also confirmed by the authority of one called Pliny—I - don’t know who he was. - - _Aesch._ If, then, any one should wish to learn his - _formulae_, he should go off into the garden or into the - churchyard. There he can shout aloud as if he would rouse - the dead. - - _Cotta._ You boys, do you call this learning thoroughly? - I call it prattling and disputing! Up, now go all of you - to the teacher, as he commanded. - - - - -VI - -REDITUS DOMUM ET LUSUS PUERILIS—_The Return Home and Children’s Play_ - - -TULLIOLUS, CORNELIOLA, LENTULUS, SCIPIO - -This dialogue contains an account of different kinds of boys’ games; -the names of the interlocutors are taken from appellations of the -Romans. Concerning which, _see_ Valer. Maximus and Sigonius. - - _Corn._ Welcome home, Tulliolus, shall we have some games? - - _Tull._ Not just now. - - _Corn._ What is there to prevent us playing? - - _Tull._ We must go over again what the master set, and - commit it to memory, as he bade us. - - _Corn._ What then? - - _Tull._ You just look at this. - - _Corn._ I say, what are those pictures? I believe they - are pictures of ants. Mother mine, Tulliolus is bringing - a lot of ants and gnats painted on a writing-tablet. - - _Tull._ Be quiet, you silly thing, they are letters. - - _Corn._ What do you call this first one? - - _Tull._ A. - - _Corn._ Why is this first one rather than the next called - A? - - _Mother._ Why art thou Corneliola and not Tulliolus? - - _Corn._ Because I am so called. - - _Mother._ And it is just the same way with those letters. - But go and play now, my boy. - - _Tull._ I am putting my tablet and pencil (style) down - here. If anybody disturbs them, he will be beaten by - mother. Won’t he, mammy? (_mea matercula._) - - _Mother._ Yes, my boy. - - _Tull._ Scipio, Lentulus! Come and play. - - _Sci._ What shall we play at? - - -I. _The Game of Nuts_ - - _Tull._ Let us play at nuts, at throwing them in holes. - - _Lent._ I have only a few nuts and those squashed and - smelly. - - _Sci._ Well then, we will play with the shells of nuts. - - _Tull._ But what good would they be to me even if I were - to win twenty? There would be no kernels in the nuts for - me to eat. - - _Sci._ Why, I don’t eat when I am playing. If I want to - eat, I go to the mater. Nut-shells are good for making - little houses to put ants into. - - -II. _The Game of Odd and Even_ - - _Lent._ Let us play odd and even with little pins (lit. - small pins for a head-dress—_acicula_). - - _Tull._ Let’s have dice instead. - - _Sci._ Fetch them, Lentulus. - - _Lent._ Here are the dice. - - -III. _The Game of Dice_ - - _Tull._ How grubby and dirty they are. They are not free - from fluff. Nor are they polished. Cast! - - _Sci._ For the first throw! - - _Tull._ I am first. What are we playing? - - _Sci._ We are playing for trousers buttons - (_astrigmenta_—lit. points). - - _Lent._ I don’t want to lose mine, for if I did I should - be beaten at home by my tutor. - - _Tull._ What are you willing to lose then, if you are - beaten? - - _Lent._ Some good raps with the fingers on me. - - _Mother._ What is that lying on the ground? You are - spoiling all your clothes and boots on the dirtiest of - the ground. Why don’t you first sweep the floor and then - sit down? Bring the broom here! - - _Tull._ What have we decided on? - - _Sci._ One needle for each point in the game. - - _Tull._ Certainly it should be two. - - _Lent._ I have no needles. If you like I will deposit - cherry-stones instead of needles. - - _Tull._ Get away. Let me and you play, Scipio. - - _Sci._ I will risk it—to cast my needle on luck. - - _Tull._ Give me the dice in my hand, so that I may cast - first. Look, I have won the stake. - - _Sci._ You haven’t. For you were not playing then in - serious. - - _Tull._ Whoever _plays_ seriously? It is as if you spoke - of a white Moor. - - _Sci._ You may cavil as much as you like. At any rate you - are not going to have my nuts. - - _Tull._ Come now, I will let you have the throw. Let us - play now for the stake, and may you have good luck! - - _Sci._ You are beaten. - - _Tull._ Take it. - - _Lent._ Let me have the dice. - - _Tull._ Let’s stake all on this throw. - - _Lent._ I don’t mind. - - _A Servant._ To your meal, boys. Will you never make an - end of your games? - - _Tull._ Now just as we are getting started, she talks of - stopping! - - -IV. _The Game of Draughts_ - - _Corn._ I am sick of this game. Let us play with the - two-coloured draughtsmen. - - _Tull._ You paint for us squares on this surface with - charcoal and with white lime. - - _Sci._ I prefer to go and have my supper to playing any - more, and I go with all my needles collared by your fraud. - - _Tull._ Don’t you remember that yesterday you plundered - Cethegus. “There is no one who can always have luck in - play.” - - -V. _Playing Cards_ - - _Corn._ Please get the playing cards which you will find - on the left hand under the writing table. - - _Sci._ Some other time. Now I haven’t time. If I delay - any longer, I fear that my teacher will send me to bed, - in his anger, without food. You get the cards ready for - to-morrow evening, Corneliola. - - _Corn._ If mother permits, it would be better to play now - when we have the chance. - - _Sci._ It is better to go to eat when we are called. - - _Servant._ And don’t you give me anything for looking on? - - _Corn._ We would give you something if you had acted as - umpire. You ought rather to give us something, as things - are, for having had the enjoyment of our play. - - _Servant._ You boys, then, when are you coming? The - meal-time is half over; soon we shall take the meat away, - and set the cheese and fruit on the table. - - - - -VII - -REFECTIO SCHOLASTICA—_School Meals_ - - -NEPOTULUS, PISO, MAGISTER, HYPODIDASCALUS - -In this dialogue Vives treats of a banquet. The division into five -parts:— - - Jentaculum } - Prandium } An enumeration - Merenda } of different kinds. - Coena } - Comessatio } - -_See_ Grap. lib. 2, cap. 3. - -He describes convivial disputations. - -_Nepotulus_ is a diminutive from nepos, used for one who drinks. - -_Piso_ is a young nobleman. - -_Hypodidascalus_, ὁ ὑπώ τὲ διδασκαλον, provisor, cantor. - -In the beginning of this dialogue there are three αμφιβολίας or -ambiguities. The first is in the adverb _lautè_, the signification of -which is twofold, one proper, the other improper and metaphorical. - - _Nep._ Are you bathed in luxury (_vivitisne lautè?_) - living here? - - _Piso._ What do you mean by that? Do we wash ourselves - (_an lavamur_)? Every day, hands and face, and indeed, - frequently, for cleanliness of body is conducive to - health and to nurture. - - _Nep._ That is not what I ask—but whether you get food - and drink to your mind? - - _Piso._ We don’t eat according to our desire, but - according to the call of the palate. - - _Nep._ I ask, if you eat, as you wish. - - _Piso._ Certainly, forsooth, as hunger dictates. Who - wishes to eat, eats; who does not wish, abstains. - - _Nep._ Do you go from the table hungry? - - _Piso._ By no means sated. For this is not wise. For it - is the part of beasts, not men, to glut themselves. They - say that a certain wise king never sat down to table - without hunger, and never stood up sated. - - _Nep._ What do you eat, then? - - _Piso._ What there is. - - _Nep._ Oh! I was thinking that you eat what you hadn’t - got! But what is there, then? - - _Piso._ Troublesome questioner! What they give us. - - _Nep._ But what do they give you, then? - - -I. _Breakfast_ - - _Piso._ We have breakfast an hour and a half after we - have got up. - - _Nep._ When do you get up? - - -II. _Lunch—Food—Drink_ - - _Piso._ Almost with the sun, for he is the leader of - the Muses and the Muses are gracious to the dawn. Our - early breakfast is a piece of coarse bread and some - butter or some fruit as the time of the year supplies. - For lunch, there are cooked vegetables or pottage in - pottage-vessels, and meat with relishes. Sometimes - turnips, sometimes cabbages, starch-food, wheat-meal, or - rice. Then on fish-days, buttermilk from butter which has - been turned out in deep dishes, with some cakes of bread, - and a fresh fish, if it can be bought fairly cheap in the - fish-market, or if not, a salt-fish, well soaked. Then - pease, or pulse, or lentils, or beans, or lupines. - - _Nep._ How much of these does each get? - - _Piso._ Bread as much as he wishes; of viands as much - as is necessary not for satiety, but for nourishment. - For elaborate feasts, you must seek elsewhere, not in - the school, where the aim is to form minds to the way of - virtue. - - _Nep._ What, then, do you drink? - - -III. _Afternoon Meal_ - - _Piso._ Some drink fresh, clear water; others light - beer; some few, but only seldom, wine, well diluted. The - afternoon meal (_merenda_) or before-meal consists of - some bread and almonds or nuts, dried figs and raisins; - in summer, of pears, apples, cherries, or plums. - - -IV. _Chief Meal_ - - But when we go into the country for the sake of our - minds (recreation), then we have milk, either fresh or - congealed, fresh cheese, cream, horse-beans soaked in - lye, vine-leaves, and anything else which the country - house affords. The chief meal begins with a salad with - closely-cut bits, sprinkled with salt, moistened with - drops of olive-oil, and with vinegar poured on it. - - _Nep._ Can you have nut or turnip oil? - - _Piso._ Ugh! the unsavoury and unhealthy stuff! Then - there is in a great vessel a concoction of mutton broth - with sauce, and to it, dried plums, roots, or herbs as - supplements, and at times a most savoury pie. - - _Nep._ What sort of sauces do you have? - - _Piso._ The best and wisest of sauces, hunger. Besides, - on appointed week-days we get roasted meat—as a rule, - veal; in spring sometimes, some young kid. As an - after-dish a little bit of radish and cheese, not old - and decayed, but fresh cheese, which is more nourishing - than the old, pears, peaches, and quinces. On the days - on which no meat may be eaten, we have eggs instead of - meat, either broiled, fried, or boiled, either singly by - themselves or mingled in one pan with vinegar or oil, not - so much poured on as dropped in; sometimes a little fish, - and nuts follow on cheese. - - _Nep._ How much does every one get. - - _Piso._ Two eggs and two nuts. - - -V. _Sleeping Draught_ - - _Nep._ What! do you never have a sleeping draught after - supper? - - _Piso._ Pretty often. - - _Nep._ What do you have, I beg? for that is most - delightful. - - _Piso._ We prepare a banquet such as that of Syrus - mentioned by Terence, or of one of the lordly people - mentioned by Athenaeus or of the like, of which the - record has been handed down in history. Do you think - us swine or men? What stomach would preserve its - soundness of health if after four meals it were to add - a drinking-bout? Observe you are in a school, not in an - eating-house. For they say there is nothing more ruinous - to health than to drink immediately before going to bed. - - _Nep._ May I be allowed to be present at meal-time? - - _Piso._ Certainly. Only I must first beg permission - from the teacher, who will, I am sure, give it without - difficulty, as is usual with him. - - To take you to the banquet, without the master’s - permission, would be ill breeding; and he who should so - bring you would draw on himself from his fellow-disciples - nothing less than reproach and shame. Stop a minute. Will - you, sir, permit with your good favour, that a certain - boy known to me should be present at our meal? - - _Praec._ Certainly. There will be no harm in it. - - _Piso._ Thank you. He whom thou seest there, who has a - napkin in place of a neck-cloth is the feast-master of - the dining-room (_architriclinus_) this week—for here we - have weekly feast-masters, like kings. - - _Feast-Master._ Lamia, what time is it? - - _Lamia._ I have not heard the hours since the third, - being intent on the composition of a letter. Florus will - know this better than I, for he has not seen book or - paper the whole of the afternoon. - - _Florus._ This is friendly testimony, and if the teacher - were angry, it would have great weight. But how couldst - thou observe me, being immersed, as thou sayest, in the - composition of a letter? Clearly ill-will has driven - thee to telling a lie. I rejoice, indeed, that my enemy - is held to be a liar. If after this he shall wish to say - evil of me, such statements will not be believed. - - _Feast-Master._ Can I not then, elsewhere, get to know as - to the time? Anthrax, run across to St. Peter’s and look - at the time. - - _Anthrax._ The pointer shows that it is now six o’clock. - - -_The Cups_ - - _Feast-Master._ Six? Eh! boys, eh! Come, rouse - yourselves; throw your books aside, even as the stag - seeks a corner to hide his horns. Prepare the table, - cover it, place seats, napkins, round and square plates, - bread; fly, quicker than the word. Let not our teacher - complain of our slowness. Bring beer, one of you; - another, draw water from the well and place the cups. - What is the meaning of this—bringing them so unclean? - Take them back into the kitchen so that the maid may rub - them clean and wipe them thoroughly, whereby they may be - bright and shining. - - _Piso._ Never will you accomplish this, so long as we - have that monkey of a kitchen-maid. For she never dares - to rub determinedly so as to clean, for she is afraid of - her fingers. Nor does she rinse things more than once and - that with tepid water. - - _Arch._ Why don’t you report this to the teacher? - - _Piso._ It would be better to ask the housekeeper - (_famulam atriensem_) for it is in her hands to change - the kitchen-maids. But there is the teacher. Do you - yourself wash these cups out, and rub them with a fig - or nettle-leaf, or with sand and water, so that our - schoolmaster to-day shall have no cause for blame. - - _Praec._ Is all ready? Is there anything to delay you? - - _Arch._ Nothing at all. - - _Praec._ So that afterwards between the courses we need - not have to make any break! - - _Feast-Master._ Between the courses! Rather say _the_ - course and that a meagre one. - - _Praec._ What are you murmuring? - - _Feast-Master._ I say that you should sit down, that it - is meal-time, and that the food will soon get spoilt! - - _Praec._ You boys, wash your hands and mouth. Eh! what - napkin is this? When did they clean themselves who wiped - themselves dry on this? Run, fetch another cleaner than - this. Let us sit down in our usual order. Is this the boy - who is to be our guest? - - _Piso._ Yes, this is he. - - _Master._ Of what country is he? - - _Piso._ A Fleming. - - _Master._ Of what city in that province? - - _Piso._ From Bruges. - - _Master._ Let him sit in the seat close to you. Let every - one take his knife and clean his bread, if there should - stick any ashes or coal on the crust. Whose turn is it - this week to say grace (_sacret mensam_)? - - -_Grace Before Meat_ - - _Florus._ Feed our hearts with Thy love, O Christ, who - through Thy goodness nourishest the lives of all living - beings. Blessed be these Thy gifts to us who partake of - them so that Thou who providest them may be blessed.[30] - Amen. - - _Master._ Sit as far apart as possible, so as not to - press against one another’s sides, since there is - sufficient room for each. And you, Brugensian, have you a - knife? - - _Piso._ This is a wonder! A Fleming without a knife, and - he, too, a Brugensian, where the best knives are made. - - _Nep._ I don’t need a knife. I can part my food into - pieces by biting it with the teeth, and tear it into bits - by my fingers. - - _Usher._ They say that biting is very useful both for the - gums and also for the surface of the teeth. - - _Master._ Where didst thou receive early instruction in - the Latin tongue, for thou appearest to me not badly - taught? - - _Nep._ At Bruges, under John Theodore Nervius. - - _Master._ An industrious, learned, and honest man. Bruges - is a most elegant city, but it is to be regretted that - owing to the changing of the population from day to day, - it is going down. When did you leave it? - - _Nep._ Six days ago. - - _Master._ When did you begin to study? - - _Nep._ Three years ago. - - _Master._ You have not got on badly. - - _Nep._ Deservedly; for I have had a master I am not - ashamed of. - - _Master._ But what is _our Vives_ doing? - - _Nep._ They say that he is training as an athlete, yet - not by athletics. - - _Master._ What is the meaning of that? - - _Nep._ He is always wrestling, but not bravely enough. - - _Master._ With whom? - - _Nep._ With his gout (_morbo articulari_). - - _Master._ O mournful wrestler, which first of all attacks - the feet. - - _Usher._ Nay, rather cruel victor which fetters the whole - body. But what are you doing? Why do you stop eating? You - would seem to have come here not to eat, but to stare - around. Let nobody during the meal disturb his cap lest - any hair fall into the dishes. Why don’t you treat your - guest as a comrade? Nepotulus, I drink to you. - - _Nep._ Sir, your toast is most welcome. - - _Usher._ Empty your cup, since so meagre a draught - remains in it. - - _Nep._ This would be new to me. - - _Praec._ What! not empty it? But you, Usher, what do you - say? What have you new to give us at our meal? - - -_Grammatical Questions_—1. _On Genders._ 2. _On Tenses_ - - _Usher._ I say nothing indeed, but I have thought much - during the last two hours on the art of grammar. - - _Master._ And what of that now? - - _Usher._ On very hidden things and the penetration of - learning: first, why the grammarians have placed in their - art three genders when there are merely two in nature? - again, why nature does not produce things of the neuter - gender as it does of the masculine and feminine? I cannot - find out the cause of this great mystery. So, too, the - philosophers say that there are three tenses, but our art - demands five, therefore our art is outside the nature of - things. - - _Master._ Nay, rather thou art thyself outside of the - nature of things, for art is in the nature of things. - - _Usher._ If I am outside the nature of things, how can - I eat this bread and meat, which are in the nature of - things? - - _Master._ Thou art so much the worse to belong to another - nature whilst you eat what belongs to this our nature. - - _Nep._ Παράφθεγμα ἀπροσδιόνυσον. I would wish another - solution of my questions. Would that we had now some - Palaemon or Varro who could resolve these questions. - - _Master._ Why not rather another, an Aristotle or Plato? - Have you not something further to say? - - -_Pronunciation_ - - _Usher._ Yesterday I saw committed a crime of deepest dye - (_scelus capitale_). The schoolmaster of the Straight - Street (_vicus rectus_), who smells worse than a goat, - and instructs his threepenny classes in his school, which - abounds in dirt and filth, pronounced three or four times - _volucres_ with the accent on the penultimate. I indeed - was astounded that the earth did not at once gulp him up. - - _Praec._ What otherwise ought one to expect such a - schoolmaster to say? He is in other parts of the - grammatical rules thoroughly worn out (_detritus_). But - you are disturbed over a very small matter and make a - tragedy out of a comedy, or still more truly a farce. - - _Usher._ I have finished my task. Now it is your turn. - You now keep the conversation going. - - _Praec._ I don’t wish to give you the chance to answer - me what I don’t ask (παραφθέγγης). This broth is getting - cold. Bring a table fire-pan. Heat it up a little before - you dip your bread in it. This radish is not eatable, it - is so tough—and so are the rootlets in the broth. - - _Usher._ They certainly have not brought the toughness - from the market, but they have acquired it here in our - store-room in which the pantry is quite unsuited for - provisions. I don’t know why it is we always have brought - to us here bones without marrow in them. - - _Praec._ Bones have but little marrow in them at the new - moon (_sub lunam silentem_). - - _Usher._ What when it is full moon? - - _Praec._ Then there is plenty. - - _Usher._ But our bones have little, or more truly no, - marrow. - - _Praec._ It is not the moon that bereaves us of marrow - but our Lamia. She has here put in too much pepper - and ginger, and in the soup and particularly in the - salad there is also too much mint, rock-parsley, sage, - cole-wort, cress, hyssop. Nothing is more harmful to - the bodies of boys and youths than foods which make the - stomach hot. - - _Arch._ What kinds of herbs then would you wish to be - used for food? - - _Praec._ Lettuce, garden-oxtongue, purslain, mixed with - some rock-parsley. - - -_Manners at Table—The Clearing of the Table_ - - Here, you, Gangolfus, don’t wipe your lips with your - hand or on your cuff, but wipe both lips and hands - with your napkin, which has been provided you for the - purpose. Don’t touch the meat, except on that side which - you are about to take yourself. You, Dromo, don’t you - observe that you are putting your coat-sleeves into the - fat of the meat? If they are open, tuck them up to the - shoulders. If they are not, turn them or fold them to - the elbow. If they slip back again, fix them firm with - a needle, or what would be still more suitable for you, - with a thorn. You, delicate little lordling, you are - reclining on the table. Where did you learn to do that? - In some hog-stye? Eh! you there, put him a little cushion - for him to lean on. Prefect of the table, see that the - remains of the dinner don’t get wasted. Put them away in - the store-room. Take away first of all the salt-cellar, - then the bread, then the dishes, plates, napkins, and - lastly the table-cloth. Let each one clean his own knife - and put it away in its sheath. You there, Cinciolus, - don’t scrape your teeth with your knife, for it is - injurious. Make for yourself a tooth-pick of a feather or - of a thin sharp piece of wood, and scrape gently, so as - not to scar the gum or draw blood. Stand up all of you - and wash your hands before thanks are returned. Move the - table away, call the maid that she may sweep the floor - with the broom. Let us thank Christ. Let him who said - grace return thanks. - - -_Grace after the Meal_ - - _Florus._ For this timely meal, we render Thee timely - thanks, Lord Christ. Grant that we may for eternity - render immortal thanks. Amen. - - _Praec._ Now go and play, and have your talk, and walk - about wherever you please, whilst the light permits. - - - - -VIII - -GARRIENTES—_Students’ Chatter_ - - -NUGO, GRACULUS, TURDUS, BAMBALIO - -In this dialogue Vives puts forth nineteen little narratives suited to -the age of childhood and as it were the progymnasmata of eloquence. The -names also of the interlocutors are neatly fabled. - -_Nugo_ is so called from _nugae_, as if a small retailer of trifles -(_nugivendulus_). - -_Graculus_ and _Turdus_ are feigned names from the loquacity of those -birds. Compare the Proverbs, _Graculus graculo assidet_ (one jackdaw -resembles another),[31] _surdior turdo_ (deafer than a thrush). - -_Bambalio_ is a man of worthlessness and of stammering speech as Cicero -interprets it. Philip. 3. Compare the Proverb _Bambylius homo_. - - -I. _Story of the Trunk_ - - _Nugo._ Let us sit on this trunk, and you, Graculus, - on that stone facing us, so that without anything to - hinder us we may observe all who pass by. We shall keep - ourselves warm near this wall, which is excellently - exposed to the sun. What a fine trunk is this and how - enjoyable it is! - - _Turd._ For us to sit on it! - - _Nugo._ It must have been a very high and thick tree from - which it was cut. - - _Turd._ Such as there are in India. - - _Grac._ How do you know! Have you been in India with the - Spaniards? - - _Turd._ As if one could know nothing of a district - without having been in it! But I will give you my - authority. Pliny writes that trees in India grow to - such a height that a man cannot shoot a dart over them, - and the people there are not to seek in shooting their - arrows, as Vergil says. - - _Nugo._ Pliny also says that a company of horsemen could - be hidden under the branches. - - _Turd._ No one can wonder at that who considers the - rushes of that district, which the infirm people, at any - rate the rich, use to support them in walking. - - _Grac._ Eh! what hour is it? - - -II. _The Hour-Bells_ - - _Nugo._ No hour at all, for the hour-bell is now thrown - down to the ground. Haven’t you been to see it? - - _Grac._ I did not dare, for they say that it is dangerous. - - _Nugo._ I have been there and saw no end of women with - child spring across the channel for the molten metal, - which is dug in the earth. - - _Turd._ I heard that this was beneficial for them. - - _Grac._ This is distaff philosophy, as they say, but I - was inquiring as to the hour. - - -III. _The Timepiece_ - - _Nugo._ What need have you to know the time? If you wish - to do anything, while there is opportunity, there is - the time for it. But where is your watch (_horologium - viatorium_)? - - _Grac._ I let it fall lately, when I was escaping the dog - belonging to the gardener, whose plums I had plucked. - - _Turd._ From the window I saw you running, but I could - not see where you fled because the view was blocked by - the fruit garden, which my mother has planted there, - against the will of my father, and in spite of his many - protests. But my mother, indeed, in the beginning was - persistent in getting her own way, so that it could - scarcely be borne. - - _Nugo._ What is amiss with you? You are becoming silent. - - _Turd._ I was weeping and said nothing, for what should I - otherwise do when my dearest ones disagree? To be sure my - mother ordered me to stand by her as she called lustily; - but I had not the heart to mutter a word against my - father. Therefore I was sent to school four days running - without breakfast by my enraged mother, and she swore - I was not her son, but had been changed by the nurse, - for which she would have the nurse summoned before the - _Praetor capitalis_. - - _Nugo._ Who is the _Praetor capitalis_? Hasn’t every - _Praetor_ got a head on? - - _Turd._ How am I to know? So she said. - - _Grac._ Look there! Who are those people with mantles, - and armour for the legs. - - -IV. _The French_ - - _Nugo._ They are Frenchmen. - - _Grac._ What, is there then peace? - - _Turd._ They said that there was to be war and a dire war - too. - - _Grac._ What are they carrying? - - _Turd._ Wine. - - _Nugo._ Then they will give pleasure to many. - - _Grac._ Of a surety. For not only does wine cheer in - drinking, but there is also the thought and recollection - of it. - - _Nugo._ At any rate for wine-drinkers. It matters nothing - to me, for I drink water. - - _Grac._ Then you will never write a good poem. - - -V. _The Deaf Woman_ - - _Turd._ Do you know that woman there? - - _Grac._ No, who is she? - - _Turd._ She has her ears stopped up against gossip. - - _Grac._ Why so? - - _Turd._ So as to hear nothing; because she hears ill of - herself.[32] - - _Nugo._ How many “hear ill of themselves” who have - unstopped and normal ears? - - _Turd._ I believe that it is to the point to quote the - passage in Cicero’s _Tusculanae Quaestiones_. M. Crassus - was somewhat deaf—but what was worse, he “heard ill.” - - _Nugo._ There is no doubt that this must be traced back - to slander. But, I say, Bambalio, have you found your - _Tusculanae Quaestiones_? - - -VI. _The Lost Book_ - - _Bamb._ Yes, at the huckster’s, but so interpolated that - I did not at first recognise it. - - _Nugo._ Who had stolen it? - - _Bamb._ Vatinius. And may he be repaid for his misdeed! - - _Grac._ Ah! that man with the hook-like and pitch-black - hands! Never let such a man have access to your - book-cases, nor to your manuscript-boxes if you wish all - your things to be safe and sound. Don’t you know that - every one holds Vatinius for a thief of purses and he - has been accused of thieving purses before the Principal - (_gymnasiarcha_). - - -VII. _The Twins_ - - _Nugo._ The sister of the girl there yesterday gave birth - to twins. - - _Grac._ What is there wonderful in that? A woman living - in Salt Street at the Helmeted Lion six days ago had a - triplet. - - _Nugo._ Pliny says that there have been as many as seven - at a birth. - - _Turd._ Who of you has heard of the wife of the Count - of Holland who is said to have had at a birth as many - children as there are days in the year, owing to the - curse of a certain beggar? - - _Grac._ What was the story of this beggar? - - _Turd._ This beggar was laden with children and begged an - alms of the countess. But when she saw so many children, - she drove the beggar away by her reproaches, calling her - a harlot. She said she could not possibly have had from - one man so great a family. The innocent beggar prayed - the gods that as they knew she was chaste and pure, they - would give the countess from her husband at one birth - as many children as there are days in the year. So it - happened, and the numerous posterity is shown[33] in a - certain town in that island to-day. - - _Grac._ I will rather believe this than investigate it. - - _Nugo._ All things are possible with God. - - _Grac._ And, moreover, easy of accomplishment. - - -VIII. _Mannius the Hunter_ - - _Nugo._ Don’t you know that man there laden with nets - accompanied by dogs? He wears a summer hat and soldier’s - boots, and rides on the lankest of mules. - - _Turd._ Isn’t it Mannius the verse-maker? - - _Nugo._ Clearly it is. - - _Turd._ Why has he made such a metamorphosis? - - -IX. _Curius the Dicer_ - - _Nugo._ From Minerva he has gone over to Diana, _i.e._, - from a most honourable occupation to an empty and foolish - labour. His father had increased his possessions by his - ability in business. He thinks his father’s skill is - a dishonour to himself, and turns himself to keeping - horses and following the chase, having thought that - not otherwise than by hunting can he acquire nobility - of race. For if he were to do anything useful, he would - not be held of noble family. Curius follows him to the - hunt—with dice. He is a very accomplished man, a very - well-known dice-player, who understands how to throw the - dice in the right way for himself. At home he has for - companion Tricongius. - - _Turd._ Say rather an amphora.[34] - - _Grac._ Or indeed a sponge. - - _Nugo._ Better still, the driest sand of Africa. - - _Bamb._ They say that he is always thirsty. - - _Nugo._ Whether he is always thirsty or not, I don’t - know. But certainly he is always ready to drink. - - -X. _The Nightingale and the Cuckoo_ - - _Bamb._ Listen, there is the nightingale! - - _Grac._ Where is she? - - _Bamb._ Don’t you see her there, sitting on that branch? - Listen how ardently she sings; and how she goes on and on! - - _Nugo._ (As Martial says) _Flet Philomela nefas._ (The - nightingale weeps at injustice.) - - _Grac._ What a wonder she carols so sweetly when she is - away from Attica where the very waves of the sea dash - upon the shore not without rhythm (_non sine numero_). - - _Nugo._ Pliny observes that they sing with more - exactitude when men are near them. - - _Turd._ What is the reason for that? - - _Nugo._ I will declare unto you the reason. The cuckoo - and the nightingale sing at the same time, that is, from - the middle of April till the end of May or thereabouts. - These two birds once met in a contest of sweetness of - song, when a judge was sought, and because it was a - trial concerning sound, an ass seemed the most suitable - for this decision, since he of all the animals had the - longest ears. The ass rejected the nightingale, because - he could not understand her harmony, and awarded the - victory to the cuckoo. The nightingale appealed to men, - and when she sees a man she immediately pours forth her - song, and sings with zest so as to approve herself to - him, so as to avenge the wrong which she received from - the ass. - - _Grac._ This is a subject worthy of a poet. - - -XI. _Our Masters_ - - _Nugo._ Why, don’t you think it worthy of a philosopher? - Ask the question of our new masters from Paris. - - _Grac._ Many of them are philosophers in their clothes, - not in their brains. - - _Nugo._ Why do you say on account of their dress? For - you should rather say that they seem to be cooks or - mule-drivers. - - _Grac._ I say so because they wear clothes which are - clumsy, worn out, torn, muddy, dirty, and full of lice - in them. - - _Nugo._ Why this almost constitutes them cynic - philosophers! - - _Grac._ Nay, they are rather _cimici_[35] but not what - they desire to seem, viz., _peripatetics_, for Aristotle, - the leader of this sect, was a most polished man. But - I have long since bidden farewell to philosophy, if I - cannot any other way than theirs become a philosopher. - For what is more comely and worthy in a man than - cleanliness and a certain refinement in bearing and in - dress? In this respect I consider the Lovanians are - superior to the Parisians. - - _Turd._ But don’t you think that too much attention to - cleanliness and elegance is a hindrance to studies? - - _Grac._ I certainly believe in cleanliness, but I don’t - think there should be an anxious and morose absorption in - it. - - _Nugo._ Do you then condemn elegance, on which Laurentius - Valla has written so diffusely and which our teachers so - diligently commend to us? There is an elegance, _e.g._, - of words, in speaking, and there is an elegance of - clothes in dressing. - - _Turd._ Do you know what was told me by the - letter-carrier at Louvain? - - _Nugo._ What was that? - - _Turd._ That Clodius fell in love madly with some - girl and Lusco transferred himself from letters to - merchandise, that is, from horseback to mule-back. - - _Nugo._ What do I hear? - - -XII. _Clodius the Lover_ - - _Turd._ You all knew Clodius, full of vigour, rubicund, - well-clothed, cheerful, with shining countenance, - affable, genial teller of stories. Now it is said of him - that he is without vigour, bloodless, of pallid colour, - sallow, witless, wild-looking, stern, taciturn, one who - shuns the light and human society. No one who knew him - formerly would now recognise him. - - _Nugo._ O wretched young man! Whence has this evil - befallen him? - - _Turd._ He is in love. - - _Nugo._ But whence his love? - - _Turd._ As far as I could gather from the speech of the - letter-carrier he had given up solid and serious studies - and had devoted himself entirely to the looser Latin - poets—those of the vernacular; thence he got the first - preparation of his mind. So that if by any means any - spark of fire, however slight it might be, should fall on - him he was as kindling-wood ready for it and would flare - up suddenly like lit flax. So he gave himself up to sleep - and idleness. - - _Nugo._ What need is there further to relate more or - greater causes of his falling in love? - - _Turd._ Now he is beside himself, going about here, - there, and everywhere alone, but always either silent, - or singing something and dancing, and writing verses in - the vernacular. - - _Nugo._ Which, forsooth, his Lycoris herself may read. - - _Grac._ O Christ, preserve our hearts from so pernicious - a disease! - - _Turd._ Unless I am deceived as to the character of - Clodius, he will return some time to a better and more - fruitful life. His mind wanders into the foreign lands of - evil; it does not take up its residence in them. - - -XIII. _Lusco the Merchant_ - - _Grac._ And that other one—what is the kind of commerce - in which he engages? - - _Turd._ He has sent his father a letter written in a - weeping strain concerning the sad state of his studies. - The letter-carrier himself read the letter since it - was left open. The father, a man impervious to culture - (_crassae Minervae_), has handed him over from MSS. to - wools, cloths, dyes, pepper, ginger, and cinnamon. Now - girt as to his arms, wonderfully diligent and sedulous in - his odorous shop, he invites his customers, receives them - blandly, climbs up and comes down most unsafe ladders, - produces his goods, shows them this way and that, tells - lies, perjures himself. Everything is easier to him than - studying. - - _Nugo._ From a boy I have known him intent on business, - and to delight in money, and so he has held business in - higher esteem than letters, and he has preferred filthy - lucre to the excellency of erudition. Some time he will - repent it. - - _Turd._ But too late! - - _Nugo._ Without doubt. May he take care that it does not - happen to him as it did to his cousin. - - _Turd._ Which? - - -XIV. _Antony the “Cook”_ - - _Nugo._ Antonius in Fruit Lane, near the Three Jackdaws. - Haven’t you heard that in a former year he “cooked”?[36] - - _Grac._ What did he cook, please? Is this so great an - evil? Doesn’t it go on in every kitchen daily? - - _Turd._ He “cooked” his accounts (_rem decoxit_). - - _Grac._ What accounts? - - _Turd._ His business with others, and couldn’t meet his - creditors. - - _Grac._ Hasn’t he paid back his creditors? - - _Turd._ He has betaken himself to a place of retreat, and - made over his books one by one at a quarter of their cost - price. - - _Grac._ Is this what you call “cooking,” when nothing - could be more raw. But how did he lose the money? - - _Turd._ I have heard lately from his father with regard - to that, but I have not yet fully understood the - matter. The father said that he had made most prodigal - borrowings, which would skin him and swallow him up to - the bones. - - _Grac._ What do you mean by “borrowings” and what by - “skinning”? - - _Turd._ I don’t quite know, but I believe it has - something to do with theft. - - -XV. _The Tumbler_ - - _Nugo._ Do you see, there, that fat man? You would - scarcely think it possible to move him. Yet he is a - tumbler and rope-dancer (_funambulus_). - - _Grac._ Ah! be quiet! You are saying something which is - incredible. - - _Turd._ He does not indeed dance with his body, but he - makes drinking-cups dance. - - _Grac._ Did the letter-carrier bring any news of our - companions? - - -XVI. _Hermogenes_ - - _Turd._ Yes, concerning Hermogenes, who in all our - contests always bore away the chief prizes. By an - astounding change from being a man of the highest ability - and learning (as his time of life brought about) suddenly - he has become most sluggish and boorish. - - _Nugo._ Such a change I have often seen happen with - certain keen-witted men. - - _Bamb._ They say that this happens when the sharpness - of the wit is not really genuine, like a lancet whose - edge is easily blunted, especially if it is used to cut - anything a little too hard. - - _Grac._ What, is there an edge in wits, even as there is - in steel? - - _Bamb._ I don’t know. I have often seen steel, but never - have I seen a man’s wits. - - -XVII. _The Boorish Youth_ - - _Nugo._ What has become of that young countryman - (_paganus_) who some months ago on his arrival - entertained us with a lunch consisting of delicacies - brought from the country, after whom the teacher has sent - four slave-catchers to bring him back from his flight? He - was rather a handsome fellow! - - _Turd._ He has become a delightful ass! My aunt’s - maid-servant, who is his cousin, met him lately in his - village, with bare head, uncombed, shaggy, and bristly, - with wooden shoes and a poor, rough coat, selling in a - public square paper pictures and horn books, and singing - new songs before a circle of sightseers. - - _Grac._ Yet he must be a man sprung from a distinguished - family. - - _Turd._ Why so? - - _Grac._ Since his father is of the race of the Coclites. - - _Nugo._ That name does not so much argue a man of noble - family as a thrower of the dart. He will take his aim - easily. - - _Turd._ Or it betokens a carpenter who directs his - red-chalk with one eye. - - _Nugo._ That boy has never pleased me, nor has he ever - disclosed to me any sign of ability. - - _Grac._ How so? - - -XVIII. _The Man with the Neck Chain_ - - _Nugo._ Because he never loved studies, nor showed any - reverence for his teacher. This is the clearest proof of - a lost mind. Then, too, he ridiculed old men and mocked - at the unfortunate. But who is that man clothed in silk, - adorned with neck-chain and with gold decorations? - - _Grac._ He is of a renowned race, and has a mother a most - noble and fruitful mother. - - _Nugo._ Who is she? - - _Grac._ The earth,[37] and you will scarcely believe what - delights he always has. You would say he was a little - child up to now in the cradle, crying for his rattle. - - _Nugo._ And yet the down begins to creep over his cheeks. - - -XIX. _The Overseer of Studies_ - - _Bamb._ Ah! the overseer (_observator_) is coming. Get - ready your books, open them, and begin to turn over the - pages and read them. - - There has not been for many weeks a more zealous - overseer, one who would rejoice so much to pass on - charges against any one to the master. - - _Bamb._ Would that at least he would accuse us of our - real faults, but for the most part he brings false - witness against us. - - _Nugo._ Let that saying of Horace be a wall of brass to - us: - - Nihil conscire sibi, nulla pallescere culpa. - - But be quiet! I will immediately put him to rout. - - _Observ._ What do you say, Vacia? - - _Nugo._ What do you say, Vatrax? - - _Observ._ What do you say, Batrachomyomachia? But, joking - aside, what are you doing here? - - _Nugo._ What are we doing? What are good scholars - and students always doing? We are reading, learning, - disputing. Tell us, please, most charming creature,[38] - what is the meaning of that passage in Vergil’s - _Eclogues_: - - ... transversa tuentibus hirquis. - - _Observ._ You do well; proceed with your studies as it - behoves young men of good abilities. I have now other - business in hand. Farewell. - - _Nugo._ We have had sufficient trifling. Let us get back - to school. But first let us read over again what the - teacher explained, so that we learn something, and give - him pleasure, and so that he may approve of us—which must - be in our prayers as much as it is in those of the father - of each of us. - - - - -IX - -ITER ET EQUUS—_Journey on Horseback_ - - -PHILIPPUS, MISIPPUS, MISOSPUDUS, PLANETES - -In this dialogue are contained those matters that pertain to horses and -peregrinations, concerning which see as a whole, Grapaldus, lib. 1, -cap. 8, and Volaterranus, lib. 25, philologiae. We place the kinds one -by one, according to their nomenclature, primarily for the sake of boys. - - _Lupatum_, ein scharpff Gebisz. - _Frenum_, ein Zaum. - _Orea_, der Riem unter dem Maul. - _Aurea_, der Riem über die Ohren. - _Antilena_, der Brustriem. - _Postilena_, der hinder Riem. Hinderbug. - _Ephippium_, Sattel. - _Stapes vel stapeda_, Steigreiff. - _Habena_, Zügel. - _Calcar_, Spor. - -GENERA EQUORUM - - _Asturco gradarius, tollutarius, tieldo_, ein Zelter. - _Mannus_, ein kleines Rösslein. - _Cantherius_, ein Mönch. - _Succussator_, ein harttrabender Gaul. - _Vector seu ephippiarius_, Reitrosz. - _Clitellarius_, Saumrosz. - _Jugalis, helciarius_, Ziehrosz. Wagenrosz. Kummetrosz. - _Dorsualis_, Müllerrosz, das auff dem Rücke trägt. - _Meritorius_, Lehenrosz. Drei Plappert Rosz. - -CURRUS - - _Species_ {Rheda, ein Karr. - {Sarracum, Lastwagen. Stein. Wagen. - - {Rotae, Reder. - _Partes_ {Temo, Deichsel. - {Canthi, Radschinnen. - -The names of the interlocutors are suitably framed. Misippus, the hater -of horses, μισῶν τοῦς ἵππους; Philippus, the lover of horses, φιλῶν -τοῦς ἵππους; Misospudus, the hater of studies (_osor studiorum_), μισων -τῶν σπυδίων; Planetes erro, vagus, planus, ein Landstreicher, from -πλανάομαι, erro, vagor. - - _Phil._ Wouldn’t you like us to set out for Boulogne - along the Seine, to cheer our minds? - - _Misi. and Miso._ There is nothing we should like better, - especially on a mild day like this, without a sound of - wind, and when, again, we are having a holiday from - school. - - _Phil._ Why are you not at work to-day? - - _Miso._ Because Pandulfus is going to make all the - masters drunk with a great luncheon in honour of his - laurels in obtaining his mastership. - - _Plan._ Oh! what a lot they will drink! - - _Miso._ Much more than will satisfy thirst. - - _Misi._ I have an Asturian horse. - - _Phil._ And I have a hired horse which I have got from a - one-eyed rogue. - - _Miso._ Planetes and I will go in a travelling carriage; - the rest, if it seems good to them, shall follow us on - foot, or by strength of arms push a boat against the - current of the stream. - - _Phil._ Rather let it be dragged along by horses. - - _Miso._ As you please (_ut erit cordi_), for we choose to - take the journey on foot. - - _Phil._ Eh! boy, bridle my horse and saddle him! Why, - in the name of mischief, are you putting on the little - steed so sharp-toothed a curb? Give him rather that light - little curb with the knobs. - - _Boy._ Alas! he has neither bit nor bridle. - - _Phil._ If I knew who had broken them, I would break him! - - _Misi._ What are you saying in your agitation? - - _Phil._ Put in bread for a meal. Get it where you can, - conveniently. - - _Boy._ Certainly, whilst you are at your school classes. - You want both horses and their equipment! - - _Phil._ Supply, then, what is lacking out of this cord. - - _Boy._ It will look unsightly. - - _Phil._ Go, fool, who will see us when we get out of the - town? - - _Boy._ The body-band is also in two. - - _Phil._ Mend it with some straps. - - _Boy._ It has no tail-band. - - _Phil._ There is no need for it. - - _Plan._ A great and experienced horseman! Why, the the - saddle will slide on to his neck and the horse will shoot - you over his head. - - _Phil._ What is that to me? The road is muddy rather - than stony. I shall take my fill of dirt, but none of my - blood will be spilt. If all these preparations have to - be made, we shall not set forth from this place before - the evening. Bring a horse of some kind, whatever his - trappings may be. - - _Boy._ Here he is, ready. Mount him. Eh! what are you - doing, putting your right foot first into the stirrup? - - _Phil._ What am I to do then? - - _Boy._ Why, the left, and hold the reins in your left - hand; with the right hand take this switch, which will - serve in place of spurs. - - _Phil._ I don’t need it. My heels will do for spurs. - - _Boy._ You see Jubellius Taurea, or is it Asellus who - entered into a struggle with that famous steed.[39] - - _Phil._ Have done with your glib stories! Where are the - others? - - _Boy._ Off you go! I will accompany you on foot. - - _Misi._ Most abominable, jolting horse. The beast will - break all my bones before we reach the town. - - _Phil._ What, in the name of evil, is that - horse-covering? It is a pack-saddle, I believe. - - _Misi._ Surely not. - - _Phil._ How much for it? What’s its price? - - _Misi._ Fourteen Turonic[40] sesterces. - - _Phil._ I wouldn’t give as much for the horse himself - with his fodder and trappings. It seems to me to be - neither a draught horse, nor a horse for riding, but a - beast of burden, ready for the pack-saddle, or for the - yoke, or to carry goods on its back. Note, I beg, how it - constantly stumbles. It would trip up over a piece of - paper, or a stalk of straw spread out on its way. - - _Misi._ What do you say of it? It is as yet a foal. - But chatter on as you like. Do you see this horse? He, - whatever he may be, is going to carry me, or I him. - - _Boy._ The poor animal has a very tender hoof. - - _Phil._ What, then, did the one-eyed man so carefully - warn you about when he handed the horse over to you? - - _Misi._ He begged, in the most amiable manner, that the - two of us should not sit on the beast, one on the saddle - and the other on the buttocks, and that I should have him - carefully covered when he was put in the stable. - - _Boy._ The poor horse surely needs covering when he has - his sides of raw flesh. - - _Phil._ What are you doing? Are you not getting into the - carriage? - - _Plan._ You speak to the point. The driver now demands as - much again as what we agreed to. - - _Phil._ It is easy to deal with drivers and boatmen; they - will do everything to your satisfaction. They tell you - you will accomplish everything. This kind of man is soft, - gentle, obliging, courteous, respectful. Drivers are the - scum of the earth, the boatmen the scum of the sea. Give - him the half of what he asks. - - _Boy._ What time do you suppose it is already? - - _Phil._ Guessing by the sun, I should say past ten - o’clock. - - _Boy._ Mid-day is near. - - _Phil._ Fancy! Eh! Misippus, let us get along. Follow - who can! We shall be found at the “Red Hat,” _i.e._, the - hostelry situated opposite the royal pyramid, not far - from the house of the Curio.[41] - - _Misi._ Which way shall we go? - - _Phil._ Through the Marcelline Gate, on the right. It is - a simple and straight road. - - _Misi._ Nay, let us take this lane. It is a pleasant and - quiet way. - - _Phil._ By no means. Nothing is easier and safer than the - high road, for by cross roads we shall lose our friends, - especially since that way, if my memory does not fail me, - is full of windings and turnings. - - _Misi._ Who are those men with spears? They seem to be - soldiers from the mercenary troops. - - _Phil._ What must we do? - - _Misi._ Let us turn back, so that we don’t get robbed. - - _Phil._ Let us go forward, for on horseback we shall - easily escape them, by running through the fields. - - _Misi._ What if they have got handcuffs with them! - - _Phil._ I see nothing of the sort, but only long lances. - - _Misi._ Come nearer, boy. - - _Boy._ What’s amiss? - - _Misi._ Don’t you see those Germans? - - _Boy._ Which? - - _Misi._ Those people coming this way against us. - - _Boy._ They are German[42] sure enough, but two Parisian - peasants with their sticks. - - _Misi._ Yes, certainly, that is so. A blessing on you! - You have restored my courage and vitality. But where are - Misospudus and Planetes? - - _Boy._ The driver, enraged at not getting what he had - demanded, drove them on a lumpy road. The horses, in - struggling with all their might to drag the wheels as - they stuck in the deep mud, broke in pieces the pole - of the carriage and the horse-collars. Then the tyres, - together with the nails, were torn off. The reckless - driver, with blind rage, had put the brake on the wheel. - He is now angrily repairing the damage and blaspheming - all the gods, and cursing the passengers with the most - terrible imprecations. - - _Phil._ May his curses recoil on his own head! - - _Boy._ I think they will leave the carriage behind and - get into a cart, which is going, unladen, to Boulogne. - Glaucus and Diomedes had got on a boat, but the boatman - declared that against this wind they could not make way - with their oars and poles. Also they say that the horses - which pull boats up the stream are all at work, so I know - not by what means the boat could be drawn. So they have - not yet loosened the stern-rope. - - _Phil._ Is there any news as to the boat fare? - - _Plan._ Absolutely none. - - _Phil._ That is extraordinary. I guess what will happen. - They won’t reach Boulogne before nightfall. - - _Misi._ What of that! Let us take all to-morrow for - refreshing our minds. But look how softly the river - flows by! What a delightful murmur there is of the full - crystal water amongst the golden rocks! Do you hear the - nightingale and the goldfinch? Of a truth, the country - round Paris is most delightful! - - _Phil._ What sight can be equal to this? How placidly the - Seine flows in its current, how that small ship with its - full sail before a favourable breeze is borne along! It - is marvellous how minds are restored by all these things. - Oh, how the meadow is clothed as by magic art. - - _Misi._ And, moreover, by what a marvellous Artist! - - _Phil._ What a sweet scent is exhaled! - - _Misi._ Here, here; bend to the left so as to escape the - thickest of mud, in which thy steed at once would lose - his hoof. How different this field is from the next, - covered over with dirt, squalid, withered, bristling - thick with straws, and armed with thorns. - - _Boy._ Don’t you see that the field is covered with the - waste from the river? and elsewhere it is fruitful. - - Hyberno pulvere, verno luto, magna farra Camille metes.[43] - - _Phil._ Please, sing some verses, as you are wont to do. - - _Misi._ With pleasure. - - Felix ille animi, divisque simillimus ipsis, - Quem non mendaci resplendens gloria fuco - Sollicitat, non fastosi mala gaudia luxus: - Sed tacitos sinit ire dies, et paupere cultu - Exigit innocuae tranquilla silentia vitae.[44] - - _Phil._ Most elegant and matterful verses, whose are they, - I beg? - - _Misi._ Don’t you know? - - _Phil._ No. - - _Misi._ They are by Angelus Politian. - - _Phil._ I should have taken them to be from the classics. - They have the grace of antiquity. I suspect we have lost - our way! - - _Misi._ Ah! good sir, which is the way to Boulogne? - - _Rustic._ You are going out of the way. Turn your beasts - to the cross-roads and strike the way there where the - river bends. On it you cannot get wrong. The road is - straight and plain up to the old oak, then you turn - quickly on this side (pointing with his hand). - - _Misi._ We are grateful. - - _Rustic._ May God lead you! - - _Misi._ I would rather run on foot than be shaken as I am - by this horse. - - _Phil._ You will have so much the greater appetite. - - _Misi._ I shall, on the contrary, be able to eat nothing, - so weary and exhausted I am in all my body. I would - rather go to bed than ask for anything to eat. - - _Phil._ Sit down, with knees drawn together, and not - stretched apart. You will feel weariness the less. - - _Misi._ That is the custom of women. I would do it were I - not afraid of the laughter and grimaces of passers by. - - _Boy._ Stop a moment, Philip, until the smith here has - shod thy horse, whose shoe on the right foot has become - loose. - - _Misi._ Nay, rather let us stay here, so that if the inn - is closed we may sleep out in the open air. - - _Phil._ What is that? Under the open sky? Would it not be - more excellent than in a closed room? It would be a more - serious matter for us to have to go without a meal. - - - - -X - -SCRIPTIO—_Writing_ - - -MANRICUS, MENDOZA, THE TEACHER - -As, above, in the fifth dialogue, Vives taught the method of reading, -so here he explains in an elegant manner the method of writing. For it -is no small honour for a learned man to form his letters skilfully. But -he adds the praise of correct writing and various kinds of writing, -also he writes somewhat on pens and their preparation, and concerning -different kinds of paper and other adjuncts of writing. - - _Manr._ Were you present to-day when the oration on the - usefulness of writing was delivered? - - _Mend._ Where? - - _Manr._ In the lecture-room of Antonius Nebrissensis. - - _Mend._ No, but do you recount what took place, if - anything of it remains in your memory. - - _Manr._ What am I to recount? He said so many things that - almost everything has fallen from my mind. - - _Mend._ Then it has happened to you what Quintilian said - of the vessels with narrow neck, viz., that they spit out - the supply of liquid when it is poured down on them; but - if it is instilled slowly they receive it. But haven’t - you retained anything of it exactly? - - _Manr._ Almost nothing. - - _Mend._ Then at least something. - - _Manr._ Very, very little. - - _Mend._ Then communicate this very, very little to me. - - -I. _The Usefulness of Writing_ - - _Manr._ First of all he said that it was thoroughly - wonderful that you can comprise so great a variety of - human sounds within so few written characters. Then, that - absent friends are able to talk to one another by the aid - of letters. He added that nothing seemed more marvellous - in these islands recently discovered by the munificence - of our kings, whence indeed gold is brought, than that - men should be able to open up to one another what they - think from a long distance by a piece of paper being - sent with black stains marked on it. For the question - was asked, Whether paper knew how to speak? He also said - this, that, and many other things which I have forgotten. - - _Mend._ How long did he speak? - - _Manr._ Two hours. - - _Mend._ And from so long an oration have you committed to - memory so slight a portion as what you have just said? - - _Manr._ I have indeed _committed_ it to the charge of my - memory, but my memory would not keep it all. - - _Mend._ Clearly you have the wide-mouthed jar of the - daughters of Danaus. - - _Manr._ Nay, I have received the oration into a sieve, - not into a jar at all. - - _Mend._ We will summon some one who will bring back to - memory those points which you have forgotten. - - _Manr._ Wait a bit! for I am seeking to recall something - by thinking it over. Now I have it. - - _Mend._ Speak it out, then! Why didn’t you take notes? - - _Manr._ I hadn’t a pen at hand. - - _Mend._ Not even a writing-tablet? - - _Manr._ Not even a writing-tablet. - - _Mend._ Now tell on. - - _Manr._ I have lost it again; you have shaken it out of - mind by interrupting so disagreeably. - - _Mend._ What, so soon! - - _Manr._ Now it comes back to me. He stated on the - authority of some writer (I don’t know who it was) that - nothing is more fitted as a help to great erudition than - to write clearly and quickly. - - _Mend._ Who was the writer quoted? - - _Manr._ I have often heard his name, but it has escaped - my memory. - - -_Nobles_ - - _Mend._ As have the other things! But the crowd of our - nobility do not follow the precept (as to the value of - writing), for they think it is a fine and becoming thing - not to know how to form their letters. You would say - their writing was the scratching of hens, and unless you - were warned beforehand whose hand it was, you would never - guess. - - _Manr._ And for this reason you see how thick-headed men - are, how foolish, and imbued with corrupt prejudices. - - _Mend._ What are the common run of people, if the nobles - are so skilless? or are the classes little different from - each other? - - _Manr._ Because the common people are not distinguished - by their clothes and possessions, they are the more - separated by their life and sound judgment in their - affairs. - - _Mend._ Do you mean that to vindicate ourselves from the - charge of vulgar ignorance we must give ourselves up to - the practice of writing? - - _Manr._ I don’t know how it is inborn in me to plough out - my letters so distortedly, so unequally and confusedly. - - _Mend._ You have this tendency from your noble birth. - Practise yourself—habit will change even what you think - to be inborn in you. - - -II. _The Writing-master_ - - _Manr._ But where does he (the writing-master) live? - - _Mend._ Don’t seek that from me, for I did not hear the - man, nor see him, while I understood that you heard him. - You would like everything to be brought to your mouth, - chewed beforehand. - - _Manr._ Now I remember he said he rented a house near the - church of SS. Justus and Pastor. - - _Mend._ So he is our neighbour. Let us go. - - _Manr._ Eh, boy! where is the teacher? - - _Boy._ In that room there! - - _Manr._ What is he doing? - - _Boy._ He is teaching some pupils. - - _Manr._ Tell him that there stand before his doors some - who have come to be taught by him. - - _Teacher._ Who are these boys? What do they want? - - _Boy._ They desire conference with you. - - _Teacher._ Admit them straight to me. - - _Manr. and Mend._ We wish you health and all prosperity, - teacher. - - _Teacher._ And I, in my turn, wish you a happy entrance - here. May Christ preserve you! What is it? What do you - wish? - - _Manr._ To be taught by you in that art which you - profess, if only you have time and are willing. - - _Teacher._ Certainly, you ought to be boys highly - educated, for so you speak and desire with modest mouths. - Now, so much the more since a blush has spread over your - whole face. Have confidence, my boys, for that is the - colour of virtue. What are your names? - - _Manr._ Manricus and Mendoza. - - -_True Nobility_ - - _Teacher._ The names themselves are evidence of noble - education and generous minds. But first then, you will - be truly noble if you cultivate your minds by those - arts which are especially most worthy of your renowned - families. How much wiser you are than that multitude of - nobles who hope that they are going to be esteemed as - better born in proportion as they are ignorant of the art - of writing. But this is scarcely to be wondered at, since - this conviction has taken hold of the stupid nobles that - nothing is more mean or vile than to pursue knowledge - in anything. And therefore it is to be seen that they - sign their names to their letters, composed by their - secretaries, in a manner that makes them impossible to - be read; nor do you know from whom the letter is sent to - you, if it is not first told you by the letter-carrier, - or unless you know the seal. - - _Manr._ Over this Mendoza and I have grieved already. - - _Teacher._ But have you come here armed? - - _Manr._ Not at all, good teacher, we should have been - beaten by our teachers if we had dared to merely look at - arms, at our age, let alone to touch them. - - _Teacher._ Ah, ah! I don’t speak of the arms of - blood-shedding, but of writing-weapons, which are - necessary for our purpose. Have you a quill-sheath - together with quills in it? - - _Mend._ What is a quill-sheath? Is it the same as we call - a writing-reed case? - - -III. _Modes of Writing_ - - _Teacher._ It is. For the men of antiquity were - accustomed to write with styles. Styles were followed by - reeds, especially Nile reeds. The Agarenes (_i.e._ the - Saracens), if you have seen them, write with reeds from - right to left, as do almost all the nations in the East. - Europe followed Greece, and, on the contrary, writes from - the left to the right. - - _Manr._ And also the Latins? - - _Teacher._ The Latins also, my sons, but they have their - origin from the Greeks. Formerly the ancient Latins - wrote on parchment which was called palimpsest because - the writing could be wiped out again, and only on one - side, for those books written on both sides were called - Opistographi. Such was that _Orestes_ of Juvenal which - was written on the back of a written sheet and not - brought to an end. But as to these matters I will speak - some other time; now those which press. We write with - goose quills, though some use hen’s quills. Your quills - there are particularly useful, for they have an ample, - shining, and firm opening. Take off the little feathers - with a knife and cut off something from the top. If they - have any roughness, scrape it off, for the smooth ones - are better fitted for use. - - _Manr._ I never use any unless they are stripped of - feathers, and shine, but my instructor taught me how - to make them smooth by saliva and by rubbing on the - under-side of the coat or stockings. - - _Teacher._ Seasonable counsel! - - _Mend._ Teach us how to make our quills. - - -IV. _The Making of (Quill) Pens_ - - _Teacher._ First of all, cleave the head on both sides, - so that it is split into two. Then whilst you carefully - guide the knife, make a cutting on the upper part which - is called the _crena_ or notch. Then make quite equal - the two little feet (_pedunculos_), or if you prefer to - call them the little legs (_cruscula_); so, nevertheless, - that the right one on which the pen rests in writing - may be higher, but the difference ought to be scarcely - perceptible. If you wish to press the pen on the paper - somewhat firmly, hold it with three fingers; but if you - are writing more quickly, with two, the thumb and the - fore-finger, after the Italian fashion. For the middle - finger rather checks the course and hinders it from - proceeding too quickly, instead of helping it forward. - - _Manr._ Reach me the ink vessel. - - _Mend._ Ah! I have let the ink horn fall, whilst coming - here. - - -V. _Ink_ - - _Teacher._ Boy, bring me that two-handled ink flask, and - let us pour from it into this little leaden mortar. - - _Mend._ Without a sponge! - - _Teacher._ You get the ink thus more flowingly and easily - into the pen. For if you dip the pen into cotton, or - silk-thread, or linen, some fibre or fluff adheres to the - nib. The drawing of this out causes a delay in writing. - Or if you don’t draw it out, you will make blurs rather - than letters (_lituras verius quam literas_). - - _Mend._ As my companions advised, I put in either Maltese - linen-cloth or thin, fine silk. - - _Teacher._ That is certainly more satisfactory. However, - it is much better to pour ink only into a little mortar - which stands firmly, for that can be carried about; for - this, of course, a sponge is necessary. Have you also - paper? - - -VI. _Paper_ - - _Mend._ I have this. - - _Teacher._ It is too rough, and such as would check the - pen so that it would not run without being hindered, - and this is a nuisance for studies. For whilst you are - struggling with roughness of paper, many things which - should be written down slip from the mind. Leave this - kind of paper, wide, thick, hard, rough, for the printers - of books, for it is so called (_libraria_) because from - it books are made to last for a very long time. For daily - use, don’t get great Augustan or Imperial paper, which - is named Hieratica because employed for sacred matters, - such as you see in books used in sacred edifices. Get - for your own use the best letter-paper from Italy, very - thin and firm, or even that common sort brought over from - France, and especially that which you will find for sale - in single blocks at twopence each (_nummis octonis_). In - addition, the linden-tree paper, either of the kinds of - paper called Emporetica,[45] which we call blotting paper - (_bibula_), should be in reserve (_pro corollario_). - - _Mend._ What do these words mean, for I have often - wondered? - - _Teacher._ _Emporetica_ comes from the Greek and means - paper used for wrapping goods in, and _bibula_ is so - called because it absorbs ink, so that you don’t need - bran, or sand, or dust scraped from a wall. But best - of all is when the letters dry up of themselves, for by - that method they last so much longer. But you will find - it useful to place _Emporetica_ paper under your hand so - that you may not stain the whiteness of the writing-paper - by sweat or dirt. - - -VII. _The Copy_ - - _Manr._ Now give us a copy, if it seems good to you. - - _Teacher._ First the A B C, then syllables, then words - joined together in this fashion. Learn, boy, those things - by which you may become wiser, and thence happier. - Sounds are the symbols of minds amongst people in one - another’s presence; letters, the symbols between those - who are absent from one another. Imitate these copies and - come here after lunch, or even to-morrow, so that I may - correct your writing. - - _Manr._ We will do so. In the meantime we commend you to - Christ. - - _Teacher._ And I, you, the same. - - _Mend._ Let us go apart from our friends, so that we may - reflect without interruption on what we have heard from - the teacher. - - _Manr._ Agreed! Let us do so! - - _Mend._ We have come to the place we want. Let us sit - down on these stones. - - _Manr._ Yes, as long as we are out of the sun. - - _Mend._ Quick! a half-sheet of paper, which I will return - to you to-morrow. - - _Manr._ Will this small bit be sufficient? - - _Mend._ Alas! it won’t take six lines, especially of such - writing as mine. - - _Manr._ Write on both sides and make the lines more - crowded together. What need have you to leave such big - spaces between the lines? - - _Mend._ I? I make scarcely any space. For these letters - of mine touch one another both above and beneath, - especially those which have long heads or feet, such as - _b_ and _p_. But what are you doing? Have you already - ploughed out two lines? and how elegant they are! except - that they are crooked. - - _Manr._ You write, yourself, and be quiet! - - _Mend._ Certainly with this pen and ink I can by no means - write. - - _Manr._ How is that? - - _Mend._ Don’t you see that the pen besprinkles the paper - with ink outside the letters? - - _Manr._ My ink is so thick that you would think it was - lime. Look there, how it sticks on the top of the nib and - won’t flow down so as to form the letters. But we will - soon remedy both the inconveniences. Cut off from the top - of the pen with your knife so much that it collects what - is wanted for the letters; I will instil some drops of - water into the ink so as to make it flow more easily. The - best thing would be vinegar, if you had it at hand, for - this immediately dilutes the thick ink. - - _Mend._ True, but there is the danger lest its acidity - enters into the paper. - - _Manr._ You needn’t fear any such danger; this paper is - best of all in preventing ink from flowing. - - _Mend._ The extreme edges of this paper of yours are - unequal, wrinkled, and rough. - - _Manr._ Then apply the shears to the margin of the paper, - for then it will seem more elegant, or write only outside - the rough parts. The slightest obstacles seem to you to - be a great hindrance to prevent you going on. Whatever - you have under your hand, put it on one side. - - _Mend._ Let us now go back to the teacher. - - _Manr._ Does it seem to you to be time already? - - _Mend._ I fear lest the time has already passed by, for - he has lunch early. - - _Manr._ Let us go. You enter first, for you have less - timidity. - - _Mend._ Nay, rather you, for you have less impudence. - - _Manr._ See that no one goes out from his house and - catches us here, joking and frolicking. Let us knock at - the door with the knocker-ring, although the door is - open, for this would be more courteous. (Tat-tat.) - - _Boy._ Who is there? Come straight in, whoever you are! - - _Manr._ It is we. Where is the teacher? - - _Boy._ In his room. - - _Mend._ May all things befall you propitiously, teacher! - - _Teacher._ You have come seasonably. - - _Mend._ We have imitated your copy five or six times on - this paper and bring our work to you to have it corrected. - - -_What should be Avoided in Writing_ - - _Teacher._ You have done rightly. Show it. In the future - let there be a greater space between the lines so that - I may be able to alter your mistakes and correct them. - These letters are too unequal, an ugly fault in writing. - Notice how much greater _n_ is than _e_ and _o_ than the - circle you make of it. For the bodies of all the letters - ought to be equal. - - _Mend._ Tell us, pray, what do you mean by “bodies”? - - -VIII. _Forming Letters in Writing_ - - _Teacher._ The middle part of the letters, the part - besides the little heads and feet, if they have any; _b_ - and _l_ have heads, _p_ and _q_ have feet. In this _m_ - the legs (or sides) are not equal in length. The first - is shorter than the middle. It has also too long a tail, - even as that _a_ has. You don’t sufficiently press the - pen on the paper. The ink scarcely sticks, nor can you - clearly distinguish what the beginnings of the letters - are. Since you have tried to change these letters into - others, having erased parts with the pointed end of - your knife, you have disfigured your writing. It would - have been better to draw a thin stroke through it. Then - you should have transferred what remains of the word at - the end of one line to the beginning of the next, only - preserving the syllables always as wholes, for the law of - Latin writing does not suffer them to be cut into. It is - said that the Emperor Augustus did not have the custom - of dividing words, nor did he transfer the overflowing - letters of the end of his lines on to the next, but that - he put them immediately under the line and round about it. - - _Manr._ We will gladly imitate that, as it is the example - of a king. - - _Teacher._ You may well do so. For how could you - otherwise satisfy yourselves that you had any connection - with him (lit., that you are sprung from his blood)? - But you must not join all the letters, nor must you - separate all. There are those which must be ranged with - one another, as those with tails, _e.g._, _a_, _l_, - _u_, together with others, and so the speared letters, - _e.g._, _f_ and _t_. There are others which don’t permit - of this, viz., the circle-shaped _p_, _o_, _b_. As much - as possible keep your head erect in writing, for if you - bend and stoop, humours flow down on to the forehead and - eyes, whence many diseases are born and whence too may - come weakness of eyes. Now receive another copy and put - it on paper for to-morrow, God willing (_Deo propitio_). - As Ovid says (_Remedia Amoris_, 93): - - Sed propera, nec te venturas differ in horas, - Qui non est hodie, cras minus aptus erit.[46] - - and as Martial says (_de Notario_): - - Currant verba licet, manus est velocior illis, - Nondum lingua suum, dextra peregit opus.[47] - - _Mend._ Do you wish that we should imitate this blur? - - _Teacher._ The blurs of correction certainly—and what - else is marked. - - _Mend._ In the meantime we wish you the best of health. - - - - -XI - -VESTITUS ET DEAMBULATIO MATUTINA—_Getting Dressed and the Morning -Constitutional_ - - -BELLINUS, MALVENDA, JOANNIUS, GOMEZULUS - -This dialogue (as its inscription indicates) has two divisions. The -earlier part is a paraphrase of the first dialogue, for he treats of -almost the same things as there, but more copiously: he describes the -manner of putting on one’s clothes or dressing one’s self, and the -kinds of clothes. The second part contains the morning constitutional, -and includes a noteworthy description of spring as it reveals itself to -all the senses. - - -First Part - - _Mal._ - - Nempe haec adsidue? Iam clarum mane fenestras intrat et - angustas extendit lumine rimas: stertimus indomitum quod - despumare Falernum sufficiat.[48] (_Persius_, iii. 1–1.) - - _Bell._ It is plain to be seen that you are not in - possession of your senses, for if you were, you would not - be awake so long before morning, nor pour out verses, - like a satyr’s, by which you disclose your frenzy. - - _Mal._ Then hear some epigrammatic verses, with no bite - in them and yet full of salt (_edentulos et salsos_). - - Surgite iam pueris vendit ientacula pistor - Cristataeque sonant undique lucis aves.[49]. - - MARTIAL, 223. - - _Bell._ The call of breakfast would drive off sleep from - me more quickly than any din of thine. - - _Mal._ Most happy jester, I wish you good morning. - - _Bell._ And I wish you good night, and a good brain to be - able to sleep as well as you speak with fluent oratory. - - _Mal._ I beg you, answer me seriously, if you are ever - able to answer seriously, what o’clock do you think it is - now? - - _Bell._ Midnight, or a little after. - - _Mal._ By what clock? - - _Bell._ That in my house. - - _Mal._ Where is your house-clock? You would have to get - or see a clock which had every hour for sleeping, eating, - and playing, but which had none for studying. - - _Bell._ Yet I have a clock by me. - - _Mal._ Where? Produce it. - - _Bell._ In my eyes. See, such as cannot be opened by any - force. I beg of you, fall asleep again, or at least be - quiet. - - _Mal._ What in the name of evil is this drowsiness or, - more truly, lethargy, and, in a certain sense, death? How - long do you think we have slept? - - _Bell._ Two hours, or at the most three. - - _Mal._ Three times three. - - _Bell._ How is this possible? - - _Mal._ Gomezulus, run along to the sun-dial of the - Franciscans and see what hour it is. - - _Bell._ Sun-dial, forsooth! When the sun has not as yet - risen. - - _Mal._ Risen, indeed! Come here, boy. Open that glass - window that the sun with his beams may fall upon this - fellow’s eyes. Everything is full of the sun and the - shadows are getting less. - - _Bell._ What has the rising or setting of the sun to do - with you? Let it rise earlier than you, since it has a - longer day’s journey to accomplish than you have. - - _Mal._ Gomezulus, run quickly to St. Peter’s, and - there look both on the mechanical clock (_horologio - machinali_), and on the style of the sun-dial to tell - what time it is. - - _Gom._ I have looked at both. By the sun-clock the shadow - is yet a little distant from the second line. By the - mechanical clock the hand points to a little after the - hour of five. - - _Bell._ What do you say? What else remains for you to - do but fetch me the blacksmith from Stone Street, that - he may separate my eye-lids by pincers so firmly stuck - together? Tell him, that he has to force a door lever, - from which the key has been lost. - - _Gom._ Where does he live? - - _Mal._ The boy will be going in earnest. Leave off joking - and get up. - - _Bell._ Well, let us get up, since you are so obstinate - in mind. Ah! what a vexatious companion you are! Rouse me - up, Christ, from the sleep of sin to the watchfulness of - justice! Take me from the night of death into the light - of life. Amen. - - _Mal._ May this day proceed happily for you! - - _Bell._ And for you, too, the same, and very many more as - joyful and prosperous, _i.e._, may you so pass through - it that you neither harm the virtue of any one, nor may - any one harm yours. Boy, bring me a clean shirt, for this - one I have already worn for six whole days. There, snatch - that flea on the leap. Now leave off the hunt. How small - a matter it would be to have killed a single flea in this - chamber! - - _Mal._ As much as to take a drop of water out of the - river Dilia (at Louvain). - - _Bell._ Or yet from the ocean-sea itself. I won’t have - the shirt with the creased collar, but the other one with - the smooth collar. For what are these creases otherwise - at this time of the year than nests or receptacles for - lice and fleas. - - _Mal._ Stupid! You will then suddenly become rich, - possessing both white and black stock. - - _Bell._ Property abounding in quantity rather than of - value in itself, and companions I would rather see in the - neighbourhood than in my house! Order the maid to sew - again the side of this shirt, and that with silk thread. - - _Gom._ She hasn’t any. - - _Bell._ Then with flax or with wool, or even if she - pleases with hemp. Never has this maid what is - necessary; of what is unnecessary she has more than - enough. But you, Gomezulus, I don’t want you to be a - prophet. Carry out my order and report to me. Don’t - foretell what will happen. Shake the dust out of the - stockings and then clean them carefully with that hard - fly-brush. Give me clean socks, for these are now moist - and smell of the feet. φεῦ, take them away, the smell - annoys me terribly. - - _Gom._ Do you wish an under-garment? - - _Bell._ No, for by the light of the sun I gather that the - day will be hot. But reach me that velvet doublet with - the half sleeves of silken cloth, and the light tunic of - British cloth with long cloth cords. - - _Mal._ Or rather German cloth. But what is the meaning - of all this, whereby you think of making yourself so - extraordinarily smart, beyond your custom—especially - when it is not a feast-day? And you ask also for country - shoe-straps. - - _Bell._ And you? Why have you put on your smooth - silk, fresh from the tailor’s, although you have your - goat’s-hair clothes and your well-worn clothes of - Damascus. - - _Mal._ I have sent them to be repaired. - - _Bell._ I indeed rather consider ease in my clothes than - ornament. These little hooks and knobs are out of their - place. You always loosen them wrongly and thoughtlessly. - - _Mal._ I rather use buttons and holes, which are more - of an ornament, and less burdensome for putting on and - taking off one’s clothes. - - _Bell._ Every one has not the same judgment on this any - more than on other matters. Put down this breast-covering - here in the box, and don’t bring it out again during the - whole of the summer. These straps have quite lost their - strength. This belt is unsewn and torn to pieces. See - that it is mended, but take care that no unshapely knots - are sewn on. - - _Gom._ This will not be done for at least an hour and a - half. - - _Bell._ Then stick a needle through it, so that it - doesn’t hang down. Give me the garters. - - _Gom._ Here they are! I have got ready for you your shoes - and the sandals with the long latchets. I have shaken off - the dust from them well. - - _Bell._ Rather wipe off the dirt from the shoes and - polish them. - - _Mal._ Is the _ligula_ (shoe latchet) in the shoe? - Concerning this word there has been a very sharp - controversy amongst grammarians, as there usually is - about everything, whether it should be called _ligula_ or - _lingula_ (a little tongue). - - _Bell._ The strap is sewn on the Spanish shoes over the - top of the sole. Here they do not wear it so. - - _Mal._ And in Spain they have given up arranging it so, - because they now wear their shoes in the French fashion. - - _Bell._ Let me have your ivory comb. - - _Mal._ Where is your wooden one—the one from Paris? - - _Bell._ Did you not hear me yesterday scolding Gomezulus? - - _Mal._ Do you call beating a person scolding him? - - _Bell._ This was the reason. He had broken five or six of - the thick and of the thin teeth of the comb—almost broken - them all to pieces. - - _Mal._ I have lately read that a certain author stated - that we should comb the head with an ivory comb forty - times from the forehead to the top and then to the back - of the head. What are you doing? That is not combing but - stroking. Let me have the comb. - - _Bell._ Nor is that combing, but shaving or sweeping. I - think your head is made of bricks. - - _Mal._ And I think yours is of butter—so that you dare - not touch it closely. - - _Bell._ Are you willing, then, that we should have a - butting match with our heads? - - _Mal._ I am not willing to have a senseless contest with - you, nor to engage my good mind against your witless - one. Now at length wash well your hands and face, but - especially the mouth, that you may speak more clearly. - - _Bell._ Would that I could cleanse my mind as quickly as - my hands! Give me the wash-hand-basin. - - _Mal._ Rub together more diligently the knuckles of your - hands, to which there sticks the thickest dirt. - - _Bell._ You are mistaken, for I think it is rather - discoloured and wrinkled skin. Pour the water in these - hand-basins, Gomezulus, into that sink and give me - that net-bag and that striped cap. Bring now my boots - (_ocreas_, lit. _greaves_). - - _Gom._ Travelling boots? - - _Bell._ No, my city boots. - - _Gom._ Do you wish your Spanish cap and the long mantle? - - _Bell._ Are we going out of doors? - - _Mal._ Why not? - - _Bell._ Bring then the travelling cloak. - - _Mal._ Then at last we will go out, so as not to let slip - by the time for having a walk. - - -_Second Part_ - - _Bell._ Lead us, Christ, in the ways which are pleasing - to Thee, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy - Spirit. Amen. Oh, how beautiful is the dawn! truly rosy - and golden, as the poets call it. How I rejoice to have - arisen. Let us go out of the city. - - _Mal._ Yes, let us go. For I have not stepped foot out - of the city gate for a whole week. But whither shall we - first go, and after that which way shall we take? - - _Bell._ To the citadel, or to the Carthusian Monastery? - - _Mal._ Or to the meadows of St. James? - - _Bell._ No, not there in the morning; rather in the - evening. - - _Mal._ To the Carthusian Monastery, then, past the - Franciscan Monastery and the Recreation Grounds, thence - through the Brussels gate, then we will return by the - Carthusian Monastery to divine service. See, here is - Joannius. A greeting to you, Joannius! - - _Joan._ The warmest of greetings to you! What an unusual - thing is this that you should be stirring so early? - - _Bell._ I was bound in the deepest sleep, but Malvenda - here, by shouting and pinching me, tore me from my bed. - - _Joan._ He did rightly, for this walk in the country will - revive you and freshen you up. Let us go on the green - walk (the _Pomerium_). O marvellous and adorable Creator - of beauty so great; this world is not inappropriately - called Mundus and by the Greeks Κόσμος, as if it were - decked and made elegant with beauty. - - _Mal._ Don’t let us take our walk as if in a rush, - but slowly and gently. Please let us make the circuit - of the city walls twice or three times so that we may - contemplate so splendid a view the more peacefully and - freely. - - -_Description of Spring_—1. _Sight_. 2. _Hearing_ - - _Joan._ Observe, there is no sense which has not a - lordly enjoyment! First, the eyes! What varied colours, - what clothing of the earth and trees, what tapestry! - What paintings are comparable with this view? Here - are natural and real things; the representations are - artificial and false. Not without truth has the Spanish - poet, Juan de Mena, called May the painter of the Earth. - Then, the ear. How delightful to hear the singing of - birds, and especially the nightingale! Listen to her - as she sings in the thicket, from whom, as Pliny says, - issues the modulated sound of the completed science of - music. Attend accurately and you will note all varieties - of sounds. At one time there is no pause in them, but - continuously, with breath held equably over a long time - without change, the bird sings on. Now it changes tone! - Now it sings in shorter and sharper tones! Now it draws - in its tones and, as it were, makes its voice tremulous! - Now it stretches out its voice and now it calls it back! - At other times it sings long and, as it were, heroical - verses; at other times, short sapphics, and at intervals - very short, as in adonics. In very fact you have, as - it were, the whole study and school of music in the - nightingale. The little ones ponder and listen to the - verses, which they imitate. The little bird listens with - keen intentness (would that our teachers received like - attention!) and gives back the sound. And then, again, - they are silent. - - -3. _Smell_. 4. _Taste_. 5. _Touch_ - - The correction by example and a certain criticism from - the teacher-bird are closely observed. But Nature leads - them aright, whilst human beings exercise their will - wrongly. Add to this there is a sweet scent breathing in - from every side, from the meadows, from the crops, and - from the trees, even from the fallow-land and neglected - fields! Whatsoever you lift to your mouth has its relish, - as even from the very air itself, like the earliest and - softest honey. - - _Mal._ This seems to me to be accounted for by what I - have heard said by some, that in the month of May, bees - are wont to gather their honey from celestial dew. - - _Joan._ This was the opinion of many. If you wish - anything to be offered to the touch, what softer or more - healthful than the air we breathe on every side? For by - its bracing breath it infuses itself through the veins - and the whole body. Some verses of Vergil on spring come - into my mind which I will hum to you, if you can listen - to my voice, which I am afraid sounds more like that of - a goose than of a swan—although, for my part, I would - rather have a goose’s voice than that of a swan, who only - sings sweetly if he is just approaching his fate. - - _Bell._ I, indeed, as far as I may answer on my own - behalf, have a keen desire to hear the verses, with any - voice you like, if only you will give us an explanation - of the verses. - - _Mal._ My opinion is not otherwise from that of Bellinus. - - _Joan._ - - Non alios prima crescentis origine mundi - Inluxisse dies, aliumve habuisse tenorem - Crediderim: ver illud erat: ver magnus agebat - Orbis, et hybernis parcebant flatibus Euri, - Quum primae lucem pecudes hausêre, virumque - Terrea progenies duris caput extulit arvis, - Immissaeque ferae sylvis et sidera caelo. - Nec res hunc tenerae possent perferre laborem - Si non tanta quies iret frigusque caloremque - Inter, et exciperet caeli indulgentia terras.[50] - - _Georgics_, ii. 336–336. - - _Bell._ I have not quite followed it. - - _Mal._ And I still less, as I think. - - _Joan._ Learn the verses thoroughly, or you won’t - understand them, for they are taken from the depths of - philosophy, as are very many others of that poet. - - _Mal._ We will question the schoolmaster Orbilius about - them, for here he is coming to meet us. - - -_The Mind_ - - _Joan._ He is by no means the man to meet the difficulty. - Let us just salute him and let him go his way, for he - is a fierce man, fond of flogging (_plagosus_), imbued - with a vast haughtiness, instead of being learned in - literature, although he has seriously persuaded himself - that he is the Alpha of learned teachers. Moreover, we - have only spoken of the body. How greatly are the soul - and mind exhilarated and aroused by such an early morning - as this! There is no time so suitable for good learning, - for observing things, and for attentively listening to - what is said, and whatever you read; nor is it otherwise - with reflection and with thinking a problem out, whatever - it may be. You can give your mind to it. Not undeservedly - has it been said: “The dawn (_Aurora_) is most pleasing - to the Muses.” - - _Bell._ But let me tell you I’m famishing with hunger. - Let us get back home to breakfast. - - _Mal._ What then will you have? - - _Bell._ Bread, butter, cherries, waxen-coloured prunes, - which so greatly seem to have pleased our Spaniards that - they call all plums by this name.[51] Or should they not - have such food at home, we will pluck some leaves of the - ox-tongue (_buglossa_), and we will add some sage in - place of butter. - - _Mal._ Shall we have wine to drink? - - _Bell._ By no means—but beer, and that of the weakest, of - yellow Lyons, or else pure and liquid water, drawn from - the Latin or Greek well. - - _Mal._ Which do you call the Latin well and the Greek - well? - - _Bell._ Vives is accustomed to call the well close to the - gate the Greek well; that one farther off he calls the - Latin well. He will give you his reasons for the names - when you meet him. - - - - -XII - -DOMUS—_The New House_ - - -JOCUNDUS, LEO, VITRUVIUS - -In this dialogue Vives describes the whole house and its parts, one -by one, through the logical form of distribution of the whole into -its parts. Concerning the details, _see_ the books of Vitruvius on -architecture, and Grapaldus. - -The interlocutors were distinguished architects. Vitruvius is an author -of antiquity; the other two are more recent. The one, Johannes Jocundus -Veronensis, wrote, amongst other monuments of a not inelegant mind, -a work on the _Commentaries of Julius Caesar_. The other, Baptista -Albertus Leo, distinguished himself in an equally great degree. - - _Joc._ Have you any knowledge of the occupier of this - spacious and elegant house? - - _Leo._ Most certainly; for he is a relation of the - man-servant of my father. - - _Joc._ We will ask him to open the whole house to us, - for they say that nothing could be more pleasant and - delightful. - - _Leo._ Let us go to it, and ring the little bell at the - door, so as not to burst in unexpected. (Tat-tat.) - - _Vitruvius Insularius._[52] Who is there? - - _Leo._ It is I. - - _Vitr._ Hail! most welcome, sweetest boy! What brings you - here now? - - _Leo._ I come from school. - - _Vitr._ But for what reason are you here? - - _Leo._ My friend here and I would very much like to see - over your house. - - _Vitr._ Why, haven’t you seen it before now? - - _Leo._ No, not all of it. - - -_The Vestibulum_—_The Door_—_The Threshold_ - - _Vitr._ Come in. Eh! boy, bring me the key for the - doors of the house. First, this is the entrance-hall - (_vestibulum_). It stands open the whole day, without - guard, for it is not within the house, yet also it is - not outside, though it is closed at night. Observe the - magnificent door, the leaves of which are of oak and - fitted with brass, and both the foot-piece and head-piece - of the doorway are made of alabaster marble. In former - times Hercules was set up at the door of the house to - ward off mischief (ἀλεξίκακος). But here we place Christ, - the true God, for Hercules was but a cruel and evil man. - With Christ as guard no evil will enter into the house. - - _Joc._ Οὐδὲ οὖν δεσπότης αὐτός (so not even its master). - - _Vitr._ What is that he said in Greek? - - _Joc._ Why should so many evil persons enter in? - - _Vitr._ Well, if evil persons do get in, they can then - bring nothing evil in with them. - - _Leo._ Don’t you have any door-angels? - - _Vitr._ The custom has gone out in some nations. - - -_The Door_—_The Hall_ - - Next comes the door of the entrance hall, which the hall - servant (_atriensis servus_) answers. He is the chief - of the servants, as the house-boy (_mediastinus_) is - the least in position. Then comes the spacious hall for - walking in, and in it are numerous and varied pictures. - - _Joc._ Please, what are they all about? - - _Vitr._ That is a representation of the foundations of - the heavens (_coeli facies ichnographica_). That shows - the plan of the earth and sea. There you have the world - newly discovered by Spanish navigations. In that picture - you see Lucretia as she is killing herself.[53] - - _Joc._ Please, what is she saying, for even as she is - dying she seems to say something? - - _Vitr._ “Many are astounded at my deed because it is not - every one who has suffered such a grief.” - - _Joc._ I understand what she says. - - _Leo._ What is the meaning of this picture delineated - with such varied figures? - - _Vitr._ It is a sketch of this house. Draw back the - covering from that picture. There! - - _Joc._ What does it represent? A little old man who is - sucking his wife’s breast? - - -_The Staircase_ - - _Vitr._ Hast thou not read of this subject in the chapter - on Piety in Valerius Maximus.[54] - - _Joc._ What does she say? - - _Vitr._ “I do not yet pay back as much as I have - received.” - - _Joc._ What does the old man say? - - -_Winding Stairs_—_The Floor_—_The Upper Story_ - - _Vitr._ “I rejoice that I have been born.” Let us step up - these winding-stairs. The steps one by one, as you see, - are broad and were made of whole pieces of basalt-marble. - This first story is the dwelling of the master, the upper - story is for guests; not as if my master had a garret on - lease far away, but there it is furnished for his guest - friends always in order and free, unless filled already - with guests. This is the dining-room. - - -_The Dining-Room_—_The Window_ - - _Joc._ Good Christ! what transparent window panes these - are and how artistically painted they are in shaded - outlines! What colours! How life-like! What pictures, - what statues, what wainscoting! What is the story - pourtrayed on the panes? - - _Vitr._ The fall of Griselda, which John Boccaccio wrote - so aptly and skilfully; but my master has decided to add - a true story to this fiction, which excels the story of - Griselda, viz., that of Godelina of Flanders and the - English Queen Catharine of Aragon. The first of the - statues is the Apostle Paul. - - _Joc._ What is the inscription of the sculpture? - - _Vitr._ “How much we owe thee, O Christ.” - - _Joc._ What does he say himself? - - _Vitr._ “By the grace of God I am what I am and His - grace which was bestowed on me, was not in vain.” The - other statue is Mutius Scaevola. - - _Joc._ But he is not mute even if he is called Mutius. - What is the inscription on his statue? - - _Vitr._ “This fire will not burn me up because another - greater one burns in me.” The third statue is Helen; the - writing states: “Oh, would that I always had been such a - statue, then should I have wrought less harm.” - - _Joc._ What is the meaning of the old blind bald-headed - man who points his finger at Helen? - - _Vitr._ That is Homer, who says to Helen: “Thy ill deed - has been well sung by me.” - - _Joc._ Look, the wainscoting is gilded, and here and - there decked with pearls. - - _Vitr._ There are all kinds of pearls, but of small worth. - - _Joc._ What do we look on from the windows? - - -_The Summer-house_—_The Sleeping-room_ - - _Vitr._ These windows look into the gardens, those - into the court. This is the summer-house or garden - dining-room. Here you see a sleeping-room or chamber. - The sleeping-room is furnished with tapestry, with a - pavement wainscoted and covered with rush-mats. There are - some pictures of the Holy Virgin, of Christ the Saviour, - and there are others of Narcissus, Euryalus, Adonis, - Polyxena, who are said to have been of the highest beauty. - - _Joc._ What is written on the upper lintel of the door? - - _Vitr._ “Withdraw from your troubles and enter the haven - of peace.” - - _Joc._ What is written inside the door-post? - - _Vitr._ “Bring into this haven no tempest.” The most - necessary house utensils are kept in that closed chamber. - The other is the winter chamber. As you see, everything - there is darker and better covered. Then there is a - sweating chamber. - - -_The Sweating Chamber_ - - _Joc._ It is bigger in my opinion than the dining-room - would lead one to expect. - - _Vitr._ Don’t you notice that the inner sleeping-room is - heated by the same steam-pipe? - - _Joc._ They say that if sleeping-rooms had no chimney - flue they would be warmer. - - _Vitr._ It is not usual to have them in the air-holes. - - _Joc._ What is that room, so elegantly vaulted? - - -_The Chapel_ - - _Vitr._ It is the chapel (_lararium_) or sanctuary - (_sacellum_) in which divine service (_res divina_) is - held. - - _Joc._ Where is the _latrina_? - - _Vitr._ We have it up in the granary out of the way. - In the sleeping-rooms my master uses basins, pans, and - chamber-crockery. - - _Joc._ How beautifully and artistically made are all - these little towers and pyramids and columns and - weathercocks! - - -_The Kitchen_—_Eating Chamber_—_The Cellar_ - - _Vitr._ We will now go down. This is the kitchen; this - the eating-chamber; here is the wine-cellar and the - larder, where we are annoyed by the attempts of thieves - to get in. - - _Joc._ How can thieves get in here? It is, as it seems - to me, so carefully closed in, and the windows have iron - gratings? - - _Vitr._ Through chinks and borings. - - _Leo._ There are also mice and weasels who strip you of - all kinds of food! - - -_The Back-door_ - - _Vitr._ This is the back-door of the house, which, when - the master is not at home, is always fastened with two - bars, both locked and bolted. - - _Leo._ Why have these windows no iron bars? - - _Vitr._ Because they are only rarely open and they abut, - as you see, on a narrow and dark by-street. Rarely any - one puts his head out of the window. Therefore my master - has decided that he will have them latticed. - - _Leo._ With what kind of bars? - - _Vitr._ Perhaps with wooden bars. It is not yet certain. - In the meantime this fastening suffices. - - -_The Portico_ - - _Joc._ What high columns and a portico full of majesty! - See how these Atlantides and Caryatides seem to strive to - support the building against falling, whilst really they - are doing nothing. - - _Leo._ There are many people like them, who appear to - accomplish great things when they are in reality leading - leisurely and sluggish lives; drones who enjoy the fruits - of the labours of others. But what is that house there - below, adjoining this, but badly built and full of cracks? - - _Vitr._ It is the old house. Because it had cracks and - had great lack of repair, my master decided to have this - new one built, from the foundation. That old one is now a - resting-place for birds and the habitation of rats, but - we shall soon take it down. - - - - -XIII - -SCHOLA—_The School_ - - -TYRO, SPUDAEUS - -In this dialogue the school is described in six parts, as teachers, -honours, hours of learning and repetition, books, library, the -disputation. The name _Tyro_ is that of the crude novice, a metaphor -taken from military affairs of those as yet unskilled in war, to whom -are opposed the _veterani_. _Spudaeus_ is in Greek the diligent and -industrious person, a name worthy of one who is studious. - - -I. _The Teachers_ - - _Tyro._ What a delightful and magnificent school! I - suppose there is not in the whole academy any part more - excellent. - - _Spud._ You judge rightly; add, also, what is of more - importance, that elsewhere there are no more cultured and - prudent teachers, who with such dexterity pass on their - learning. - - _Tyro._ It behoves us then to repay their trouble by - attaining great knowledge. - - _Spud._ And this indeed by great shortening of the labour - of learning! - - _Tyro._ What does the schooling cost? - - _Spud._ You can at once give up so base and unreasonable - a question. Can one in a matter of so great moment - inquire as to payment? The very teachers themselves do - not bargain for reward, nor is it suitable for their - pupils to even think about it. For what reward could - be adequate? Have you never heard the declaration of - Aristotle that gods, parents, and masters can never be - sufficiently recompensed? God created the whole man, the - parents gave the body birth, the masters form the mind. - - _Tyro._ What do those masters teach, and for how long? - - _Spud._ Each one has his separate class-room and the - masters are for various subjects. Some impart with labour - and drudgery the whole day long the elements of the art - of grammar; others take more advanced work in the same - subject; others propound rhetoric, dialectic, and the - remaining branches of knowledge, which are called liberal - or noble arts. - - _Tyro._ Why are they so-called? - - _Spud._ Because every noble-minded person must be - instructed in them. They are in contrast to the illiberal - subjects of the market-place which are practised by the - labour of the body or hands, which pertain to slaves and - men who have but little wit. Amongst scholars some are - “tyrones” and others “batalarii.” - - -II. _Grades or Honours of -Scholars_—_Tyro_—_Baccalaureus_—_Licentiates_—_Doctors_ - - _Tyro._ What do these names signify? - - _Spud._ Both these names are taken from the art of - warfare. “Tyro” is an old word used with regard to the - one who is beginning the practice of war. “Batalarius” - is the French name of the soldier who has already - once been in a fight (which they call a battle) and - has engaged in a close fight and has raised his hand - against the foe, and so in the literary contests at - Paris, “batalarius” has begun to signify the man who - has disputed publicly in any art. Teachers are chosen - from them, and are called “licentiates,” because it is - permitted them to teach, or, better still, they might - be termed “designate,” _i.e._, the men marked out. At - least they have taken the doctorate. Before the whole - university, a hat is placed on their head as a sign that - they have had their freedom conferred on them, and become - _emeriti_. This is the supreme honour and the highest - grade of dignity. - - _Tyro._ Who is that with so great a company round him, - before whom march staff-bearers with silver staffs? - - -_The Rector_ - - _Spud._ That is the Principal (_Rector_) of the Academy. - Many are drawn to him because of the honour they bear him - in his office. - - _Tyro._ How often in the day are the boys taught? - - -III. _Hours of Teaching and Repetition_ - - _Spud._ Several times. One hour before sunrise; two hours - in the morning; two hours in the afternoon. - - _Tyro._ So often? - - _Spud._ An old custom of the Academy so establishes it. - And in addition the scholars repeat and think over what - they have received in instruction from their masters, - like as if they were chewing the cud of their lessons. - - _Tyro._ With so much noise over it? - - _Spud._ Such is now their practice! - - _Tyro._ To what purpose? - - _Spud._ So as to learn. - - _Tyro._ On the contrary, so as to shout. For they don’t - seem to meditate on their studies, but to be preparing - themselves for the office of public crier. That one there - is clearly raving. For if he had a sound brain, he would - neither so call out, nor gesticulate, nor so distort - himself. - - _Spud._ They are Spaniards and Frenchmen, somewhat - impetuous, and as they hold divers opinions, they contend - the more warmly as if for their hearths and altars, as it - is said. - - _Tyro._ What! are the teachers here of different opinions? - - _Spud._ Sometimes they teach contradictory views. - - _Tyro._ What authors are they interpreting? - - -IV. _Authors_ - - _Spud._ Not all the same, but each one as he is furnished - with skill and knowledge. The most erudite teachers - take to themselves the best authors with the sharpest - judgment, those whom you grammarians call classics. There - are those who, on account of their ignorance of what is - better, descend to the lowest (_ad proletarios_) and are - worthy of condemnation. - - -V. _The Library_ - - Let us enter. I will show you the public library of this - school. It looks, according to the precept of great men, - to the east. - - _Tyro._ Wonderful! How many books, how many good authors, - Greek and Latin orators, poets, historians, philosophers, - theologians, and the busts of authors! - - _Spud._ And indeed, as far as could be done, delineated - to the life and so much the more valuable! All the - book-cases and book-shelves are of oak or cypress and - with their own little chains. The books themselves for - the most part are bound in parchment and adorned with - various colours. - - _Tyro._ What is that first one with rustic face and nose - turned-up? - - _Spud._ Read the inscription. - - _Tyro._ It is Socrates and he says: “Why do I appear in - this library when I have written nothing?” - - _Spud._ Those who follow him, Plato and Xenophon, answer: - “Because thou hast said what others wrote.” It would take - long to go through the things here, one by one. - - _Tyro._ Pray what are those books thrown on a great heap - there? - - _Spud._ _The Catholicon_, Alexander, Hugutio, Papias, - disputations in dialectics, and books of sophistries in - physics. These are the books which I called “worthy of - condemnation.” - - _Tyro._ Nay rather, they are condemned to violent death! - - _Spud._ They are all thrown out. Let him take them who - will; he will free us of a troublesome burden. - - _Tyro._ Oh, how many asses would be necessary for - carrying them away! I am astonished that they have not - been taken away, when there is so great an assembly of - asses everywhere. Somewhere in that heap the books of - Bartolus and Baldus are lying together and others of that - quality (_hujus farinae_). - - _Spud._ Say rather of that coarseness (_furfuris_). The - loss would not be hurtful to the tranquillity of mankind. - - _Tyro._ Look, who are those with those flowing hoods? - - -VI. _The Disputation_—1. _The Praeses_. - - _Spud._ Let us go down. They are “batalarii,” going to - the disputation. - - _Tyro._ Please lead us thither. - - _Spud._ Step in, but quietly and reverently. Uncover your - head and watch attentively all, one by one, for there - is a discussion beginning on weighty matters which will - conduce greatly to one’s knowledge. That one whom you - see sitting alone in the highest seat is the president - (_praeses_) of the disputation and the judge of the - disputes, so to say, the Agonotheta. His first duty is to - appoint the place for each of the contenders, lest there - should be any disorder or confusion, if one or other - should want to take precedence. - - _Tyro._ What is the meaning of the skin-covering of his - toga? - - _Spud._ It is his doctor’s robe, the emblem of his - position and dignity. He is a man of whom there are few - so learned, who, by the choice of the candidates in - theology, carried off the first prize, and by the most - learned of the faculty is regarded as the first among - them. - - _Tyro._ They say that Bardus was the first choice in his - year. - - _Spud._ He beat all his competitors by canvassing and - craft, not by his knowledge. - - _Tyro._ Who is that thin and pallid man they all rush - upon? - - -2. _The Propugnator._ 3. _The Oppugnator (a smart man)—The Vapid -Man—The Smooth Man._ - - _Spud._ He is the _propugnator_, who will receive the - attack of all, and who has become thin and pale by his - immoderate night-watches. He has done great things in - philosophy and is advanced in theology. But now you must - be quiet and listen, for he who is now making the attack - is accustomed to think out his arguments most acutely and - subtly, and presses most keenly the _propugnator_, and, - in the opinion of all, is compared with the very highest - in this discipline, and often compels his antagonist to - recant. Notice how the latter has tried to elude him, - but how the _oppugnator_ has met him effectively by - his irrefutable reasoning, and how the _propugnator_ - cannot escape him! This arrow cannot be avoided. His - argument is like an invincible Achilles. It enters the - neck of the opponent. The _propugnator_ cannot protect - himself and soon will give in (_manus dabit_) unless - some god suggests a subterfuge to his mind. Behold, the - question is brought to an end by the decision of the - judge (_decretor_). Now I loosen your tongue to speak - as you wish. For he who now attacks is as vapid wine, - and contends as with a leaden dagger, yet he shouts - louder than the rest. Notice, and you will see that he - grows hoarse from the encounter. Though his weapons are - repulsed, he presses on none the less pertinaciously, - but without effect; nor does any one wish to have the - reversion to his argument, or to have him assuaged by - the answer of the defender or the president. He who now - enters the contest effeminately begs the judge for his - permission, and speaks with courtesy, though he argues - ineffectively and always leaves off tired, even gasping, - as if he had gone through the unpleasant business with - fortitude. Let us depart. - - - - -XIV - -CUBICULUM ET LUCUBRATIO—_The Sleeping-room and Studies by Night_ - -PLINIUS, EPICTETUS, CELSUS, DYDIMUS - - - In this dialogue Vives treats of two matters: in - the first place he describes night-studies with - adjuncts of time, causes, and subjects; then the bed, - its apparatus and adjuncts. The assisting causes - (_causae adjuvantes_) of night-study are lights, the - night-study gown, Minerva or Christ, table, bookcase, - reader (_anagnostes_), a scribe (_exceptor_), pens, - sand-case (_theca pulveraria_). The subjects are Cicero, - Demosthenes, Nazianzenus, Xenophon. The apparatus of - the bed consists in a mattress, a bolster, cushions, - sheets, coverlets, curtains, mosquito-curtain, hangings, - rugs. Adjuncts are—gnats, fleas, lice, bugs, a striking - clock, a folding seat, a pot, a lyre. The names of the - persons are aptly allotted, for they were the four most - learned and studious men, concerning whom Volaterranus - has written in his _Anthropologia_. Plinius wrote _De - Historia Naturali_, in xxxvii. books. He was the uncle - of the other Pliny whose letters are still extant. - The latter writes thus to Marcus, of his uncle: “He - was sharp-witted, of incredible studiousness, of the - highest vigilance, most sparing of sleep. After food - (which he used to take in the daytime, of a light and - easily digestible kind, according to the custom of the - ancients), if he had leisure, often in the summer, he - would lie in the sun. Then read his book, annotate it, - and make extracts. He never read without making extracts. - He was even accustomed to say that no book was so bad as - not to be profitable in some part of it. I remember once - when a reader had pronounced something wrongly, one of - his friends had the man called up and made him repeat - it, whereupon my uncle said: ‘You understood, forsooth?’ - He nodded. ‘Then why have the passage recalled? We have - lost more than ten verses by this interruption.’ So great - was his economy of time. This, too, in the midst of his - labours in the noise of the town. Even in the retirement - of his bath he spent his time in studies. When I say the - bath, I speak of the inner parts of the house generally. - For whilst he was stretching himself or drying himself, - he used to listen to reading or to dictate. On a journey, - as if relieved from other cares, he occupied himself in - study only. At his side was an amanuensis with a book and - writing tablets, whose hands were furnished in winter - with gloves, so that by no roughness of weather should - any time be snatched from studies. For the same reason, - when at Rome, he was carried about in a chair. I recall - that I was reproved by him when I went for a walk. ‘Are - you not able,’ said he, ‘not to waste your time?’ For - he thought all time wasted which was not devoted to - studies.” For an account of his death, see an epistle by - the same writer to Tacitus. - - Epictetus (as the epigram concerning him testifies) was - both a slave and lame. He was poorer than Irus.[55] - But in wisdom and equanimity of mind and constancy (as - records about him testify) he was admirable and almost - divine. But he was the servant of Epaphroditus the - freedman of the Emperor Nero. Celsus was a renowned - physician, whose works are still extant, whose excellent - _dictum_ was: “That many grave diseases are cured by - abstinence and quiet.” - - Dydimus, the grammarian, on account of the almost - incredible number of books which he is said to have - written, is called χαλκέντερος, as if having intestines - of brass, _i.e._, he was remarkably patient and - indefatigable in labour. He (as also Origen) was - called Adamantinus. On this same matter _see_ Proverb: - Adamantinus and Chalcenterus and the lamp of Aristophanes - and Cleanthes. - - -I. _Studies by Night_ - - _Plin._ It is five o’clock in the afternoon. Epictetus, - shut me the window and bring me light. I will work with a - light. - - _Epict._ What light do you wish? - - _Plin._ For the time being, whilst others are present, - tallow or wax candles; when they have retired, take them - away and place here for me the lampstand. - - _Cels._ What for? - - _Plin._ For working. - -_Time_ - - _Cels._ Don’t you study better in the morning? Then it - seems to me the season of the time and the condition of - the body invite study, since at that time there is the - least exhalation from the brain, digestion having been - completed. - - _Plin._ But this hour is very quiet, when every one has - gone to rest and everything is silent, and for those who - eat at mid-day and morning it is not inconvenient. Some - follow the old custom and only eat one meal and that in - the evening; others merely at mid-day, according to the - advice of the new doctors; and again others both mid-day - and evening, according to the usage of the Goths. - - _Cels._ But were there no mid-day meals before the Goths? - - _Plin._ There were, but light meals. The Goths introduced - the custom of eating to satiety twice a day. - - _Cels._ On that account Plato condemned the meal-times of - the Syracusans, who had two good meals every day. - - -_Circumstances Aiding Studies_ - - _Plin._ For that very reason you may conclude that people - like the Syracusans were very rare. - - _Cels._ Enough of them! Why do you prefer to work with a - lamp than a candle? - - _Plin._ On account of the equable flame, which less tries - the eyes, for the flicker of the wick injures the eyes - and the odour of the tallow is unpleasant. - - _Cels._ Then use wax candles, the odour of which is not - displeasing. - - _Plin._ In them the wick is more flickering and the - vapour is no more healthy. In the tallow lights the wick - is for the most part of linen and not of cotton, as the - tradesmen seek to make a profit on all these things by - fraud. Pour oil into this lamp, bring a candle and take - out the wick and clean it. - - _Epict._ Notice how the lampblack sticks to the needle. - They say this is a sign of rain, in the same manner as we - find in Vergil:— - - Scintillare oleum et putres concrescere fungos.[56] - - _Plin._ Bring hither also the snuffers and clean this - candle. But don’t throw the black on the floor lest it - smoke, but press it into the snuffers-box whilst it is - held together. Bring me my dressing-gown, that long one - lined with skin. - - _Cels._ I will provide you with your books. May Minerva - be favourable to you! - - _Plin._ May Paul or, what I should rather have said, may - Jesus Christ, the Wisdom of God, be with me. - - _Cels._ Perhaps Christ is adumbrated in the fable of - Minerva and that of the birth from Jupiter’s brain. - - _Plin._ Place the table on the supports in the - sleeping-chamber. - - _Cels._ Do you prefer the table to the desk? - - _Plin._ At this time, yes; but place a small desk on the - table. - - _Epict._ A self-standing one or a movable one? - - _Plin._ Which you like. But where is the Dydimus of my - studies? - - _Cels._ I will summon him thither. - - -_Subjects of Study_ - - _Plin._ Fetch also my boy-scribe. For I should like to - dictate something. Give me those reed-pens and two or - three feather pens, those with thick stalk, and the - sand-case. Bring me also from the chest the Cicero and - Demosthenes, and from the desk, the book in which I make - all my notes and important extracts. Do you hear? And my - extemporaneous MS. book in which I will polish up some - passages. - - _Dyd._ I believe the MS. book is not in the desk but in - the chest, locked up. - - _Plin._ Do you yourself search for it. And bring me the - Nazianzenus. - - _Dyd._ I don’t know it. - - _Plin._ The book is of slight thickness, sewn together - and roughly bound in parchment. Bring also the volume, - the fifth from the end. - - _Dyd._ What is its title? - - _Plin._ Xenophon’s _Commentaries_. The book is in - finished style. It is bound in leather with fastenings - and knobs of copper. - - _Dyd._ I don’t find it. - - _Plin._ Now I remember. I put it in the fourth case. - Fetch it. In the same case there are only loose sheets - and rough books just as they have come straight from the - press. - - _Dyd._ Which volume of Cicero do you want, for there are - four? - - _Plin._ The second. - - _Epict._ It is not yet back from the book-gluer, who had - it, I believe, five days ago to glue. - - _Dyd._ How do you like that pen? - - _Plin._ On that point I am not very particular; whatever - comes into my hand I use it as if it were good. - - _Dyd._ You have learned that from Cicero. - - _Plin._ You just be quiet. Open me the Cicero. Look me up - three or four pages of the _Tusculan Questions_. Seek the - passages on gentleness and joy. - - _Epict._ Whose verses are these? - - _Plin._ They are his own translations of Sophocles. This - he does with keen pleasure and therefore often. - - _Epict._ He was, I think, sufficiently apt in writing - verses. - - _Dyd._ Most apt and facile, and, for his time, not - unhappy in his verse, contrary to what very many think. - - _Epict._ But wherefore hast thou left off pursuing the - art of poetry? - - -II. _The Bed—Its Equipment_ - - _Plin._ I hope that we yet at times may take it up - again in leisure hours, for there is much alleviation - in it from more serious studies. I am already weary of - studies, meditation, writing. Stretch out my bed. - - _Epict._ In which sleeping-room? - - _Plin._ In the big square room. Take away the reclining - cushion out of the corner, and put it in the dining-room. - Place over the feather-bed another of wool. See also that - the supports of the bed are sufficiently firm. - - _Epict._ What is it that is troubling you? For you don’t - lie on one part or other of the frame-work, but in the - middle of the bed. It would be more healthy for you if - the bed were harder and one which would offer resistance - to your body. - - _Plin._ Take the head-pillow away, and instead of it put - two cushions, and in this heat I prefer that lightly - woven, to the linen, cloth. - - _Epict._ Without bed-covering! - - _Plin._ Yes. - - _Epict._ You will get cold, for the body is exhausted by - studies. - - _Plin._ Then put on a light covering. - - _Epict._ These? And no more? - - _Plin._ No. If I feel cold in bed, then I will ask for - more clothes. Take away the curtains, for I prefer a - mosquito-net for the keeping off of gnats, a net of fine - gauze (_conopeum_). - - _Epict._ I have noticed but few gnats, though of fleas - and lice a pretty fair number. - - -_Adjuncts_ - - _Plin._ I am surprised that you notice anything - particularly, for you sleep and snore so soundly. - - _Epict._ No one sleeps better than he who does not feel - how badly he is sleeping. - - _Plin._ None of the insects with which we are troubled in - bed in summer disgust me so much as the bugs because of - their ghastly odour. - - _Epict._ Of which there is a good supply in Paris and - Lyons. - - _Plin._ At Paris there is a kind of wood which produces - them, and in Lyons the potter’s earth. Place my - alarum-clock here, and place the pointer for four o’clock - in the morning, for I don’t wish to sleep later. Take - my shoes off, and place here the folding-chair in which - I may sit. Let the chamber-crockery be set near the bed - on a foot-stool. I don’t know what it is that causes a - bad smell here. Fumigate with frankincense or juniper. - Sing to me something on the lyre as I go to bed after the - custom of Pythagoras, so that I may the more quickly fall - asleep, and my dreams may be the more peaceful. - - _Epict._ - - Somne, quies rerum, placidissime, somne, deorum, - Pax animi, quem cura fugit, qui corpora duris - Fessa ministeriis mulces, reparasque labori.[57] - - OVID, _Metamorph._ book xi. ll. 623–623. - - - - -XV - -CULINA—_The Kitchen_ - -LUCULLUS, APICIUS, PISTILLARIUS, ABLIGURINUS - - - In this dialogue Vives describes the matters which - concern the kitchen. Nor is it any disgrace for a noble - youth to be able to call things, one by one, by their - right names, as also the interpreter of Aristophanes - thinks in the _Acharnians_:— - - ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο ἀστεῖον καὶ πεπαιδευμένῳ ἀρμόξον, μήδε τῶν - κατὰ τὴν οἰκίαν σκευ ῶν τῆς καθημερινῆς χρείας, ἀγνοεῖν - τὰ ὀνόματα.[58] - - The names of the interlocutors are aptly chosen, as is - always the case. Lucullus and Apicius are fit names of - men noted for luxury. As to Lucullus, see Plutarch in his - _Lucullus and Athenaeus_, book xii., who says that he:— - - τρυφῆς πρῶτον εἰς ἅπαν Ῥωμαίοις ἡγεμόνα γενέσθαι.[59] - - Also in Book iv. he says:— - - τὸν’ Ἀπίκιον περὶ ἀσωτίᾳ πάντας ἀνθρώπους - ὑπερηκοντικέναι.[60] - - Pistillarius and Abligurinus are fictitious names; the - former from the pounder of a mortar, and as if the - epithet for an obtuse man; the latter from a “licking - away,” as of a gourmand. This dialogue may be divided - into three parts, the management of the kitchen by - Apicius, his precepts, and songs. - - -I. _The Hiring of Apicius_ - - _Luc._ Are you an eating-house keeper (_popino_)? - - _Apic._ I am. - - _Luc._ Where do you work? - - _Apic._ At the eating-house called the Poultry-Cock - (_galli gallinacei_). Do you want my services? - - _Luc._ Yes, for a wedding. - - _Apic._ Let me then hasten home, so that I may give - instructions to my wife how to treat the gourmandisers - (whom I know are not wont to be lacking in this city) and - their guests who are invited. - - _Luc._ Do you hear? You will find me in the Stone - Street—in the shoemakers’ district. - - _Apic._ I will soon be with you. - - _Luc._ Very well. Get to your cook-shop. - - -II. _The Precepts of Apicius_ - - _Apic._ Hallo! Pistillarius and Abligurinus, make a fire - with big logs on the hearth under the flue, and let them - be as dry as possible. - - _Pist._ Do you think you are at Rome? Here we have not - stalls for the sale of dry wood from which dry logs can - be got. But this which I have will be dry enough. - - _Apic._ If you don’t get it dry enough, Abligurinus, you - will, by your work of blowing up the flame, lose your - eyesight. - - _Ablig._ Then I shall drink so much the more freely. - Curse the wine! - - _Apic._ Curse the water! For you shall not touch wine - to-day if I keep in my right mind. I am not going to let - you overturn the vessels, and break the small pots to - pieces, and ruin the food. - - _Ablig._ This fire won’t burn! - - _Apic._ Throw in a small bundle of sticks smeared in - brimstone, and kindling-wood, together with some chips. - - _Ablig._ It is quite gone out. - - _Apic._ Run across to the next house with the shovel and - bring us a great big firebrand and some good live coal. - - _Ablig._ The master of that house is a metal-worker, nor - does he let a single piece of coal be taken from his - furnaces but he has his eye on it (_citius oculum_). - - _Apic._ He is not a metal-worker, but a metal-cutter; go - therefore to the oven. What are you bringing there? This - is not a firebrand; it is rather a torch (_titionem magis - quam torrem_). - - _Ablig._ They have not got burning coal. - - _Apic._ What bad coal! You should rather call it turf. - Move these logs and stir the kindling wood with this - poker so that it may gather flame. Use the _pyrolabum_ - (the tongs), you ass! - - _Ablig._ What thing does that word signify? - - _Apic._ _Forceps ignaria_ (tongs for the fire), a - _pruniceps_ (a fire-stirrer). - - _Ablig._ Why do you give me words in Greek, as if there - were not Latin words for the things? - - _Apic._ Are asses also grammarians? - - _Ablig._ What wonder, since grammarians are certainly - _asses_. - - _Apic._ Make an end of wrangling. I want some coals - or pieces of turf lighting for me on this hearth, for - cooking the cakes baked in earthen cups. Hang the bronze - vessel over the fire so that we can have plenty of hot - water. Then throw into the cooking-pot that shoulder - of mutton with the salted beef; add calf and lamb - flesh, and stir the cooking vessel on the fire. In the - _chytropus_[61] we will thoroughly boil the rice. - - _Ablig._ What shall we do with the chickens? - - _Apic._ They shall be cooked in brazen pots which are - lined with tin, so that they may have a more pleasant - taste. But don’t bring them too soon; the meat-spits and - the pans should be forthcoming about nine o’clock. Let - this pike play about in the water a little, then skin him. - - _Ablig._ Are there to be meat and fish at the same meal? - - _Apic._ Decidedly, according to the German fashion. - - _Ablig._ And is this approved by the doctors? - - _Apic._ It is not in accordance with the art of medicine, - but it will please the doctors. I thought this block of - a man (_stips_) was merely a grammarian; he is also a - doctor. - - _Ablig._ Have you never heard of that question: Whether - there are in a city more doctors or fools? - - _Apic._ Who has thrust you into the kitchen, when you are - such a salted herring (_saperda_)? - - _Ablig._ My adverse fate. - - _Apic._ Nay, what is quite clear,—it is thy sluggishness, - carelessness, voracity, thy throat and thy stomach, thy - degenerate and debased soul. Therefore must thou now - run about with naked feet, half-clothed, in old torn - garments which don’t cover you behind. - - _Ablig._ What has my poverty got to do with you? - - _Apic._ Nothing at all, and I should not like it to - concern me. But to work! And outside of work let us - have no more talk than necessary. Are my orders not - sufficient? Nothing apparently can be enough for you - in the way of closely laying down and insisting over - and over again on what is to be done. Give me my - cooking-trousers. I want to go out of doors, but I will - soon be back. Give me also, please, the olive-crusher - (_tudicula_), the badge of our art. This is my - thunderbolt and trident. - - _Pist._ Hallo, Abligurinus, place those jugs on the - urn-table and wash this beef steadily, and give it a good - rubbing in the basin. - - _Ablig._ Have you any other orders to give? One commander - is sufficient for one camp, but it does not seem to be - sufficient for one kitchen. Do it all yourself. You are a - sharper exactor of work than the master of the cook-shop - himself. For the future I won’t call you Pistillarius (a - pounder with the pestle), but a sharp sting (_stimulus - acutus_). - - _Pist._ Nay, rather call me _Onocentron_ (the spur - of asses). Cut up then this calf’s flesh on this - flesh-board. Also powder the cheese so that we can - sprinkle it over this dumpling. - - _Ablig._ How? With the hand? - - _Pist._ No, but with the grater. Pour a few drops of oil - in from the cruse. - - _Ablig._ Do you mean from this flask? - - _Pist._ Place here the mortar. - - _Ablig._ Which of them? - - _Pist._ That brazen one with the pestle of the same metal. - - _Ablig._ What for? - - _Pist._ For grinding rock-parsley. - - _Ablig._ This is done more satisfactorily in a marble - mortar with a wooden pestle. - - -III. _Songs_ - - _Pist._ Please sing us a song, as you are wont to do. - - _Ablig._ - - Ego nolo Caesar esse, - Ambulare per Britannos, - Scythicas pati pruinas.[62] - - FLORUS.[63] - - Ut sapiant fatuae Fabiorum prandia betae, - O quam saepe petet vina piperque coquus.[64] - - MARTIAL’S _Epigrams_, 13, 13. - - _Pist._ Do you say the _Fabii_ or the _fabri_? - - _Ablig._ On that point inquire of the bandy-legged - schoolmaster and you will get for your _Fabii_ and - _fabri_ a sound blow on the cheek or the back. - - _Pist._ Is that the sort of man? - - _Ablig._ He is a determined, courageous man, prompt with - blows. He compensates for the slowness of his tongue by - the swiftness of his hands. - - _Pist._ Here, bring the beer-jug. My palate, throat, - gullet are parched with thirst. - - _Ablig._ - - Et gravis attrita pendebat cantharus ansa.[65] - - VERGIL, _Eclogue_, 6, 17. - - Claudere quae coenas lactuca solebat avorum, - Dic mihi, cur nostros inchoat illa dapes?[66] - - MARTIAL, _Epigram_, 13, 14. - - Filia Picenae venio Lucanica porcae, - Pultibus hinc niveis grata corona datur.[67] - - MARTIAL, _Epigram_, 13, 35. - - _Apic._ Where hast thou thus learnt to ῥαψωδεῖν? - - _Ablig._ Lately I served a schoolmaster in Calabria who - was a poetaster. He often used to give me no other meal - than a song of a hundred verses, in which he used to say - there was a wonderful savour. I, indeed, would rather - have had a little bread and cheese. There was, however, - enough water for the house, and we had permission to - drink from the well to our heart’s content. If I then - had gone hungry to bed, instead of food I chewed those - verses and digested them. Nor did there seem to me to be - any other remedy to drive away the keenness of hunger - (_bulimia_) than to betake myself to the art of cookery. - - _Apic._ What services did you render that schoolmaster? - - _Ablig._ Such as Caesar rendered to the Republic. I was - everything to him. I was his counsellor, though he had - nothing to advise about; he had nothing secret from me, - not even in his personal habits. I used to pour water on - his hand, which he never used to wash himself. I served - him as his treasurer. - - _Apic._ What treasure had he? - - _Ablig._ He had a few sheets of the trashiest poems which - the moths used to eat away and barbarian mice gnawed at. - - _Apic._ Nay, say learned mice, since they bit their teeth - into bad poems. - - - - -XVI - -TRICLINIUM—_The Dining-room_ - -ARISTIPPUS, LURCO - - - This dialogue is connected with the two following - dialogues. For this contains descriptions of the master - of a feast and his dining-room, the next of the banquet - itself, and the third, drunkenness. It has two parts—the - introduction and description (_narratio_). Triclinium is - so called from having three dining-couches (_lectus_). - For, of old, those about to breakfast or dine were - accustomed to arrange couches for lying on, for the most - part three. _See_ Castilionius in book 6; Vitruvius, cap. - 5; Baysius de Vasculis. Aristippus was the disciple of - Socrates, from whom was derived the Cyrenaic teaching. - For he lived in ease, sumptuously, voluptuously. He - sought out every luxury of perfumes, clothes, women, and - counted life happy in so far as it was full of pleasure. - - παριόντα ποτε αὐτὸν λάχανα πλύνων Διογένης - ἔσκωψε καί φησιν: εἰ ταῦτα ἔμαθες προσφέρεοθαι - οὐκ ἂν τυράννων αὐλὰς ἐθεράπευες. Ὁ δέ, καὶ σύ, εἶπεν, - εἴπερ ᾔδεις ἀνθρώποις ὁμιλεῖν, οὐκ ἂν λάχανα ἔπλυνες.[68] - - DIOG. LAERT. i. 68. - - -I. _The Introduction (Initium)_ - - _Arist._ Why are you so late getting up and, indeed, - still half-asleep? - - _Lurc._ I am surprised that I have waked up at all the - whole of this day, since yesterday we were eating and - drinking. - - _Arist._ Nay, as it appears, you were simply gorging, - gourmandising, and overwhelming yourself with sumptuous - dishes and wine. But where was it you were thus loading - your swift-sailing ship? - - _Lurc._ At the house of Scopas, at a banquet - (_convivium_). - - _Arist._ Nay, rather, according to the manner of the - Greeks, call it a συμπόσιον than by the Latin word - _convivium_. - - _Lurc._ One brawler aroused another to speech. Olives and - sauces pricked and pinched the sated stomach, and would - not let the appetite get wearied out. - - _Arist._ Pray tell us all the courses so that by hearing - of them I can imagine that I was there, and as if I were - drinking with you, as that man who ate two great loaves - of bread in a Spanish inn, and enjoyed the exhalation of - a roasted partridge, in place of further viands. - - _Lurc._ Who could tell all? This would be a greater - undertaking than to have bought the food, or prepared it, - or what would have beaten everything in difficulty, to - have eaten it all up. - - _Arist._ Let us sit down here in this willow-plantation, - by the bank of this little stream, and, since we are - tired, let us talk of your yesterday’s dining out, - instead of other things. The grass will serve us for - bolsters. Lean on that elm-tree. - - _Lurc._ On the grass? Won’t the moisture harm us? - - _Arist._ How stupid! moisture, when the dog-star is - rising! - - _Lurc._ Formerly I refused; now my mind desires to tell - you yet more than you ask. You inquire from me as to - the banquet; you shall also hear as to the host and the - dining-room. You asked that I would speak; I will do - so that, soon perhaps, you will ask, proclaim, command - silence, as was the case with the Arabian flute-player - who was induced to sing for an _obolus_, but was only - brought to silence by receiving three. - - _Arist._ Say as much as thou wishest of the feast; I - shall not be pained by it, since we are now sitting in - a shady place, and the goldfinch there accompanies thy - narrative, or at least will bring harmony into it, as - the slaves with the flute did into the speech of C. - Gracchus.[69] - - -II. _Narration—Description of Scopas_ - - _Lurc._ What was that story? - - _Arist._ When you have finished your account of the - feast you shall have the story of the _Gracchi_, of the - _graculi_,[70] and the _Graeculi_. - - _Lurc._ We were going for a walk by chance across the - market (_forum_), Thrasybulus and I. We happened to have - got more leisure than is usual with us. Scopas joined - us. When he had made his first salutations, and started - a suave conversation, Scopas began earnestly to entreat - us that we would, on the next day, which was yesterday, - go to his house. First we excused ourselves, the one for - one reason, the other for another; I, on account of an - important engagement with a magistrate (_praetor_), a - very irritable gentleman. But Scopas, a man who likes to - boast of his wealth, began an elaborate speech, as if his - life were in question. What need of further words? We - said yes, so that he should not continue to worry us. - - _Arist._ Do you know why he arranged the banquet? - - _Lurc._ What was it, pray, do you suppose? - - _Arist._ He is indeed himself a rich man, well provided - with silver, clothes, and house-provisions. But he had - bought three gilded silver phials and six cups. These - would have lost their value to him, had he not invited - some guests to whom he might show them. For he believes - that it is in the ostentation of wealth that its pleasure - consists. He is driven on to profuse expenditure by his - wife, who calls it magnificence. - - -_Description of the Dining-hall_ - - _Lurc._ Yesterday, then, about mid-day we came together - to his dining-room. - - _Arist._ What kind of a lunch was it? - - _Lurc._ In the open air, in the cool shade. All was - splendidly prepared, decorated, polished up. Nothing - was lacking in elegance, splendour, and magnificence. - Immediately on entrance, our eyes and souls were - exhilarated by the most beautiful and most pleasant - sights. There was a great sideboard, full of beautiful - vases of all kinds, of gold, silver, crystal, glass, - ivory, myrrh-wood; also others of more common material, - tin, horn, bone, wood, shell, or earthenware, in which - art lent a merit to the commonness of the material, - for there were very many pieces of embossed work, all - brightly cleaned and polished; the glitter almost - dazzled the eyes. You might have seen there two great - silver wash-hand-basins with gilded borders. The middle - part together with the ornaments about it were of gold. - Every basin had its outlet whose bung was gilded. There - stood there also another water-basin of glass, similarly - with gilded pipe, as well as an earthenware wash-basin - varnished with red _sandarach_,[71] a piece of work of - the Spanish city of Malaca. Besides, there were phials of - every kind and two silver ones for the most generous kind - of wines. - - _Arist._ From my own experience I prefer flasks of glass - or of shells, which they call stone-ware. - - _Lurc._ What are you to do? Such is the nature of man! He - does not in these things seek so much convenience as the - opinion of being thought rich. - - _Arist._ These very rich people pretty often seem so to - others whilst to themselves they seem poor. So there is - no end of bringing forward, and presenting, to the eyes - of others, their possessions. Especially is this so with - those who have no other kind of skill in which they can - trust. But proceed. - - _Lurc._ The border of the sideboard was covered with a - shaggy carpet brought from Turkey. At a distance from - the sideboard there were placed two small tables with - quadrants and silver orbs. Every one had his salt-cellar, - knife, bread, and napkin. Under the sideboard stood a - refrigerator and large wine-decanters. Then they had - various kinds of seats, settles, double-seats, benches, - and the seat of the lady of the house, arranged so as - to fold up, a noteworthy piece of work with silken - upholstery, and provided with a foot-stool. - - _Arist._ Lay the table now, and unfold the napkins, for - my vitals cry out for hunger. - - _Lurc._ The dining-table was large. It was inlaid with - ancient mosaic work. It had belonged to the Prince - Dicæarchus. - - _Arist._ O old table, what a different master is yours - now! - - _Lurc._ He had bought the table at an auction sale at a - sufficiently high price, only because it had belonged to - the prince, and he would thus have something that had - been his. Water is given for the washing of hands. At - first there are great mutual refusings and invitations - and yielding by turns. - - _Arist._ The same thing happened in all this yielding - of dignity, when each one made himself of less account - than the other, and exalted the other with the haughtiest - courteousness, whilst in reality every one thought - himself more important than all the rest. - - _Lurc._ But the host, by his own right, allotted the - seats. Grace was said by a little boy briefly and - perfunctorily, but not without rhythm:— - - Quod appositum est et apponetur, Christus benedicere dignetur.[72] - - Each one unfolds his napkin and throws it over the left - shoulder. Then he cleans his bread with his knife, in - case he did not think it had been sufficiently cleaned by - the servant, for it had been placed before him with the - crust taken off. - - _Arist._ Did you sit in ease? - - _Lurc._ Never with more ease. - - _Arist._ You couldn’t get a poor lunch. For the eatables - had been supplied to redundancy, so far as ever the - market had them; this I know. - - _Lurc._ In no place has this more certainly happened. - But the very abundance palled. The director of the table - busied himself with laying knives and forks. Then came - in, with great pomp, the chief steward with a long band - of boys, younger and older, who bore away the dishes of - the first course. - - - - -XVII - -CONVIVIUM—_The Banquet_ - -SCOPAS, SIMONIDES, CRITO, DEMOCRITUS, POLAEMON - - - Concerning Scopas, _see_ Cicero, book 2, _de Orat._ As to - Polaemon, _see_ Val. Max. bk. 6, cap. 11. There are three - kinds of banquets, είλαπίνη, a magnificent and splendid - banquet; γάμος, a nuptial banquet; and ἔρανος, when each - guest came at his own expense and brought his own food. - Homer links together those forms of banquets: εἰλαπίνη ἠὲ - γάμος· ἐπεὶ οὐκ ἔρανος τάδε γ’ ἐστί (_Odyssea_, i. 226). - - The parts of this dialogue are these: Initium, apparatus, - finis. Apparatus contains two courses. - - -COURSES - - { _Cibus_ { Panis { Carnes - { { Obsonia { Pultes - { { Pisces - FIRST { _Potus_ { Vinum - { { Aqua - { { Cerevisia - { { Pocula - - { Fructus - SECOND { Casei - { Tragemata - - -I. _The Beginning (Initium)_ - - _Scop._ Where is our Simonides? - - _Crit._ He said he would come immediately after he had - met a debtor of his in the market. - - _Scop._ He does rightly. He will more easily get away - from a debtor than he would from a creditor. - - _Crit._ How is this? - - _Scop._ It is as in a victory, the victor imposes the - conditions, not the vanquished. The debtor comes away - from the creditor when he will, the creditor when the - debtor is willing. But have you not all met, as you - arranged, and left the seriousness of home, bringing with - you cheerfulness, wit, grace, pleasantness? - - _Crit._ Clearly these things are so, I hope, and we will - be as M. Varro advises, an agreeable company. - - _Scop._ Let the rest be my concern. - - _Crit._ Here is Simonides coming! - - _Scop._ Happy event! - - _Sim._ All prosperity to you! - - _Scop._ We have keenly desired you! - - _Sim._ Ah, how boorish it all is! But you see I was - invited to lunch, not for a period of detention in - business. But have I really kept you waiting long? - - _Scop._ No, indeed not. - - _Sim._ Why did you not set to the meal without me? At - least you could have begun with the fruit which I am not - much given to eating. - - _Scop._ Courteous words, but how could we sit down - without you? - - -II. _First Course—Bread_ - - _Crit._ Enough of civilities. Let us begin our - description. The best and lightest of bread! It is as - light in weight as a sponge. The wheat is soft as a - medlar. You must have an industrious miller. - - _Scop._ Roscius has the mill in his charge. - - _Sim._ Is he never hurled into it? - - _Scop._ Far be such a fate from such a thrifty servant! - - _Dem._ Pass me the coarse bread (made of unbolted flour). - - _Sim._ And me the bread made of the middle quality of - foreign wheat. - - _Scop._ Why do you wish that? - - _Sim._ Because I have both heard and found from - experience that I eat less when the bread has not a fine - taste. - - _Scop._ Here, boy, bring him common bread, and even the - black bread if he prefers. We will have the most pleasant - of meals, if every one shall take what most pleases him. - - _Pol._ This bread, which you praise so much, is spongy, - watery; I prefer it thicker. - - _Crit._ I indeed don’t dislike it spongy—so long as - it isn’t hastily made. But this also has cracks such - as cakes baked on the hearth are accustomed to have, - although, as is sufficiently clear, this came out of the - oven. - - _Pol._ This black bread is both sour and full of chaff; - you would say that it was from flour of second-rate wheat. - - _Scop._ So our husbandmen are accustomed to do with all - wheat which they bring hither; first to make it pungent - with the common, and to mix it with all kinds of seeds; - the taste then comes from the leaven being excessive. - - _Pol._ No class of men are more deceptive than - husbandmen. They only act wrongly through ignorance. - - _Crit._ This bread is not sufficiently fermented. - - _Dem._ For to-day think thyself a Jew, one of those who, - by the ordinance of God, only feed on bread which is - unleavened. - - _Crit._ And this, indeed, was because they were such very - bad men that the eating of swine was forbidden them, - than which nothing is more pleasing to the palate; nor - if taken moderately is anything more healthful. With - unleavened bread sauces must be eaten together with field - lettuce, which is extremely bitter. - - _Pol._ All this has too much depth of meaning. Let us - leave the subject. - - _Scop._ Yes, indeed, and the whole discussion about - bread! If there is so much difference of opinion about - what is eaten with bread, how much discord there will be - over every part of the menu of the whole meal! - - _Crit._ It happens, forsooth, as Horace says:— - - Tres mihi convivae prope dissentire videntur, - Poscentes vario multum diversa palato.[73] - - -_Fruits_ - - _Scop._ Bring those dishes and plates with the cherries, - plums, pomegranates, ripe fruit, and early ripe fruit. - - _Pol._ Why did Varro say that the number of guests ought - not to exceed the number of the Muses, when the number - of the Muses is not settled? For some put the number at - three; others six; others nine. - - _Crit._ He spoke as if it were established that - there were nine, and so it was commonly accepted. - Whence Diogenes made his joke at the expense of the - schoolmaster, who had only a small number of scholars in - the school, whilst he had the Muses painted on the walls. - The master, said he, has many scholars, if you reckon in - the Muses (σὺν ταῖς μοῦσαις). - - _Dem._ But is it true that the Persians introduced into - Greece the fruit which they regarded as so deadly as to - be a pestilence to those against whom they were waging - war? - - _Crit._ So I have heard. - - _Dem._ How wonderful is the variety of products in the - different nature of soils! - - _Crit._ India sends ivory, says Vergil,[74] the - effeminate Sabaeans their frankincense. Oh! look at those - Persian quinces! - - _Sim._ This is a new kind of grafting which the ancients - did not know of. Reach me the bowl with the hard-skinned - figs, which are, as you know, early ripe. - - _Scop._ Enough of the fruits! Let us be filled with more - healthful foods of the body. - - _Crit._ What is, then, healthier? - - _Scop._ Nothing, if to be health-giving and of good - taste are the same thing as in a mid-day dream. - - _Crit._ I forgive fruits their harmfulness on account of - their pleasantness of taste. - - -_Meats_ - - _Scop._ Do you remember the verse of Cato? - - Pauca voluptati debentur; plura saluti.[75] - - Give every one a platter of meat with sauce, so that he - may swallow it down, and this will warm the intestines - and pleasantly wash and so soften the body. - - _Sim._ Here, boy, give me at once some salted pork. Oh! - most savoury leg of pork! It is a barrow-hog. If you can - hear what I say, return the cabbage and bacon, to the - cook, at this season of the year, or preserve it till the - winter. Cut me a couple of bits off this sausage, so that - the first cup of wine may taste the sweeter. - - _Crit._ Let us follow the advice of physicians that wine - be taken with pork. Pour out wine. - - -_Wine_ - - _Scop._ Now follows action after talk. Surely this is - wisest at this time of the year. Look at the necessary - preparations for our drinking wine. First of all the - keeper of the sideboard (_custos abaci_) has set out - the cups of brightest crystal glass with purest white - wine; you would think it water by its mere appearance. It - is San Martin wine and partly Rhein wine, but not mixed - as they are accustomed to drink it in Belgium, but such - as they drink in mid-Germany. The wine-seller to-day - has tapped two casks, one of yellow Helvell from the - neighbourhood of Paris, and one of blood-red Bordeaux. - Others are in readiness kept cool, dark (_fuscus_) from - Aquitaine and black from Saguntum. Let every one choose - according to his liking. - - _Crit._ What suggestion could be more delightful? as - nothing is harder fortune than to perish of thirst. - For myself I should prefer that you had set before - us the best water. I would rather have heard such an - announcement than that of the wines. - - _Scop._ Nor shall that be lacking. - - _Sim._ Lately when I was in Rome, I drank at a cardinal’s - house, the noblest wines of every flavour; sweet, sharp, - mild, fruity, and tart. I was indeed extremely friendly - with the wine-cellarer. - - _Dem._ I dearly like fiery wine. - - _Pol._ So also do Belgian women. In some places in France - they offer you the dregs of wine. They most delight in - two and three year old vintage. But these are rather - sampling of wine than real wine-drinking, and French - wine especially bears neither the addition of water nor - years. Therefore soon after it is racked off it is drunk. - Indeed, in a year it begins to get worse, and becomes - uncertain, then its flavour escapes and it becomes sour. - Had it been kept longer it would become mouldy and flat. - The Spanish and Italian wines, on the other hand, improve - with age, and with the addition of water. - - _Dem._ What do you mean by wine getting “flat”? The casks - become shrunken, the wine is enclosed in cells, and the - casing of the cask falls in, if need be. - - _Pol._ Like as fruit gets uneatable through decay by age - and does not keep, and, as we say commonly, goes bad. The - opposite term is “still wine” (_consistens_). - - _Dem._ Pour me first a half-cupful of water and then pour - in the wine, after the old custom. - - _Crit._ Nay, to-day’s custom is yet the same with many - people, the French and Germans being exceptions. - - _Dem._ The nations who drink water with wine pour wine to - the water; those who will drink wine watered, pour water - on to the wine. - - _Crit._ And what do those drink who mix no water with - their wine? - - _Dem._ Pure, unmixed wine. - - _Crit._ That is, if the wine-dealer did not first water - it himself. - - _Pol._ They call that baptising it, so that the wine - should be Christian. This was in my time a fine, - philosophical way of speaking. - - _Dem._ They baptise the wine, and themselves are - unbaptised (_i.e._, unwatered or unwashed). - - _Pol._ They do worse to wine who add chalk, sulphur, - honey, alum, and other more noisome things than which - nothing is more pernicious to one’s body. Against such - people the state ought to proceed as against robbers or - assassins. For thence are incredible kinds of diseases - and especially gout. - - _Crit._ By conspiracy with physicians they can do this. - Then both share the profit. - - _Dem._ The cup you reach to me is too full. Empty it a - little, I beg, so that there may be a space for water. - - -_Drinking_ - - _Crit._ Pour me wine in that chestnut-coloured cup. What - is that? - - _Scop._ A great Indian nut, surrounded with a silver - edge. Won’t you drink out of that bowl of ebony wood? - They say that this is the healthiest. But don’t give me - too much water. Don’t you know the old proverb: “You - spoil wine when you pour water into it”? - - _Dem._ Yes, then you spoil both the water and the wine. - - _Pol._ I would rather spoil both, than be spoiled by one - of them. - - _Scop._ Would it not be pleasant, according to the Greek - custom, to drink out of the bowls and from the bigger - beakers? - - _Pol._ By no means. You reminded us just now of the old - proverb. In my turn I remind you of the Pauline precept: - “Be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess”; and that - of our Saviour: “And take heed to yourselves lest at - any time your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting and - drunkenness.” - - -_Water_ - - _Crit._ Whence is this cold water, so pure and pellucid? - - _Scop._ Out of the spring near by here. - - _Crit._ Rather than mixing of wine I prefer cistern - water, if it is thoroughly pure. - - _Dem._ What do you think of spring-drawn water? - - _Crit._ It is more appropriate for washing purposes than - for drinking. - - _Pol._ Very many people commend flowing water. - - _Crit._ And quite rightly if the streams flow through - gold veins, as in Spain, and the water is peaceful and - clear. - - -_Beer_ - - _Sim._ Bring me in that Samian phial some beer which, in - this heat, should be very good for refreshing one’s body. - - _Scop._ Which sort of beer will you have? - - _Sim._ The lightest you have, for other kinds muddle the - mind too much and make the body too fat. - - _Pol._ Give me some also, but in the round glass. - - _Scop._ Run to the kitchen and see what they are waiting - for. Why don’t they send another course? You see that - already no one further tastes of this. Bring young cocks - cooked with lettuce, garden oxtongue, and endive; also - mutton and calf’s flesh. - - _Crit._ Add also a little mustard or rock-parsley in - small dishes. - - _Dem._ Mustard seems to me a strong (_violenta_) food. - - _Crit._ It is not suitable for bilious people, but is not - without its usefulness for those who abound in thick and - cold humours. - - _Pol._ Therefore are the countries of northern latitudes - wise in using it, for whom it is of great service, - especially with thick and hard food, _e.g._, with beef - and salted fish. - - -_Pottage_ - - _Scop._ In this place, I think broth and rice come - seasonably, also ash-coloured bread, fine wheaten bread, - starch-food, rice, “little worms” (_vermiculi_). Let - every one take according to his taste. - - _Dem._ I have seen those who shuddered terribly at - “little worms” because they believed they were out of the - earth and from mud, and had previously been alive. - - _Crit._ Such people deserve to have these “worms” come to - life again in their stomachs. They say that rice is born - in water and dies in wine. Give me, therefore, wine. - - _Dem._ Drink not immediately after warm food. Eat first - something cold and solid. - - _Crit._ What? - - _Dem._ A crust of bread, or a rissole or two of meat. - - -_Fish_ - - _Sim._ Bah! fish and meat at the same sitting! To mix - earth and sea. This is forbidden by physicians. - - _Scop._ Nay, rather physicians are pleased by it. - - _Sim._ I think it is because it is profitable to them. - - _Scop._ Why, then, do the physicians forbid it? - - _Sim._ I have made a mistake. I ought to have said - that it is prohibited by the art of medicine, not by - physicians. But what sort of fish is this? - - _Scop._ Place them in order. The first is roasted pike - with vinegar and capers, then turbot cooked with the - juice of pointed sorrel, fried soles, a fresh pike and - a _capito_ (large-headed fish)—the salted pike serve - for yourself—fresh roasted and salted tunny-fish, fresh - _maenae_ (small sea fish) fried, pasties, in which are - many bearded-fishes, _murenae_, and trout, with suitable - relishes, fried gudgeon and boiled lobsters and crabs. - Mingle with them dishes with garlic, pepper, mustard, - pounded up. - - _Sim._ I will indeed speak of the fish, but not eat of - them. - - _Crit._ If a philosopher begins to conduct a controversy - on fish, _i.e._, on a most uncertain, debatable question, - then let us have a bed set up, so that we can sleep here. - - _Scop._ No one is worthy to even taste these dishes. Take - them away. - - _Sim._ And yet formerly banquets at Rome were most - splendid and they were accustomed to say that sumptuous - ones were given which consisted entirely of fish. - - _Crit._ Thus have times changed, although this custom - also lasts with some people. - - -_Birds_ - - _Scop._ Bring up roasted chickens, partridges, thrushes, - ducklings, teal, wood-pigeons, rabbits, hares, calf’s - flesh, kids, and sauce or flavours, vinegar, oil, fruit - penetrating in its medical properties, also citrons, - olives from the Balearic Islands, preserved, pressed, and - kept in pickle. - - _Dem._ Are no Bethica (district of Spain) olives there? - - _Scop._ Those from the Balearic Islands taste better. - - _Crit._ What will happen to those big animals there, the - goose, the swan, the peacock? - - _Scop._ Merely show them, and take them back to the - kitchen. - - _Pol._ See there a peacock! Where is Q. Hortensius who - held a peacock for such a delicacy?[76] - - _Sim._ Take the lamb-meat away. - - _Scop._ Why? - - _Sim._ Because it is unsound. They say it does not go out - by any other way than that it entered. - - _Crit._ I have seen someone who swallowed olive stones - like an ostrich. - - _Scop._ From what meat are those pasties made? - - _Crit._ This here is stag’s flesh. - - _Scop._ This is deer’s flesh; and that there, I believe, - is boar’s flesh. - - _Crit._ I prefer the condiments to meat itself. - - _Sim._ And that is clearly right, for spice renders the - sourest things sweet. - - _Crit._ What is the spice of the whole of life? - - _Dem._ An equable mind. - - _Crit._ I can name something else, which is of larger - scope and more august. - - _Dem._ What can be more important than what I have named? - - _Crit._ _Pietas_, under which equanimity is included. - Moreover, “piety” is the most suitable and pleasant sauce - for all things hard and easy, and those things which lie - between these extremes. - - _Scop._ Pour white Spanish wine in that beaker and bear - it round to the guests. - - _Dem._ What are you preparing to do? When dinner is - finished, bring us some strong and generous wine. We can - afterwards drink something more diluted, if we wish to - take care of our health. - - _Sim._ Thy counsel seems to me good, for it behoves us - to have colder food at the end of a meal, which by its - weight may thrust down the other food to the bottom of - the stomach, and may restrain the vapours from escaping - to the head. - - -III. _Second Course_ - - _Scop._ Take away those things; change the round and - square plates, and lay the second table (dessert). For - no one is anywhere further stretching forth his hand to - the dishes. - - _Crit._ I have eaten so heartily from the beginning that - I have quite lost all further appetite. - - _Dem._ I also have no more appetite, but I was led on by - the desire of the fruit dishes here, and so have eaten to - satiety. - - _Pol._ I have eaten I don’t know how much fish. This has - repulsed all my appetite. - - _Sim._ And is there so much of splendid dainties and - delicacies before us when there is no longer the desire - of eating? Pears, apples, and cheese of many kinds! The - most attractive to my palate is the horse-cheese. - - _Crit._ I believe that it is not horse-cheese at all, but - Phrygian cheese from asses’ milk, such as is brought from - Sicily in the form of columns and squares. When one is - broken, it cleaves into layers or, as it were, sheets (of - paper). - - _Dem._ This cheese is porous as if it were from England, - and will not in my opinion be pleasing to you. - - _Crit._ Nor will this spongy Dutch cheese. This from - Parma is thicker and, as it seems, fairly fresh, and that - Penasellian (Spanish) will easily vie with it. - - _Dem._ This cheese is not from Parma but Placentia. - - _Crit._ It also is pleasant. Commonly the cheese dearest - to the Germans is old cheese, putrid, fried up and wormy. - - _Sim._ He who eats such cheese is hunting for thirst and - he eats in order to drink. - - _Scop._ The pastry-cook delays too long with his sweets. - Why does he not bring his tarts, his wine-cakes and - cup-cakes and the fried cakes made of a concoction thrown - into a vessel of boiling oil with honey poured over it? - - _Crit._ Give me a few dates, both some to eat and some to - keep by me. Perhaps I shall to-night eat nothing else. - - _Scop._ Then take the whole of this branch of them. Will - you have some pomegranates? - - _Pol._ Here, boy, relieve me of these wild dates and give - me something eatable. - - _Scop._ I advise you to drink. Don’t you know that it was - the opinion of Aristotle that the dessert was introduced - into meals to invite us to drinking lest the food should - be digested dry? - - _Crit._ The discoverer must have been either a sailor or - fish to be so much afraid of dryness. - - _Scop._ Take away those things which are ordinarily - called the seal of the stomach, because after them - nothing more is to be eaten or drunk, biscuits, - quince-cakes, coriander covered with sugar. But such food - must be chewed, not eaten. What remains from the portion - chewed must be spit out, for it is uneatable. Collect - the bits and what remains over in baskets; bring scented - waters, of rose, of the flowers of the healing apple - (citron), and of musk-melon. - - -IV. _End of the Banquet_ - - _Pol._ Let us return thanks to Christ. - - _The Boy._ - - Agimus tibi gratias, Pater, qui tam multa ad hominum usus - condidisti: annue, ut tuo favore ad coenam illam veniamus - tuae beatitudinis.[77] - -_Pol._ Now then let us return thanks to the host. - -_Crit._ Well, you do it. - -_Pol._ Nay, rather Democritus, who is strong on these points. - -_Dem._ I cannot return thanks as in duty bound to thee, deserving well -of the republic, for all has been confused by Bacchus, but I will -recite what once Diogenes said to Dionysius; I have committed his -speech to memory. If I have a lapse of memory or a faltering tongue you -will forgive me after so great a soaking of drink. - -_Scop._ Say what you will; it will be written in wine. - -_Dem._ Thou hast, my Scopas, thyself, thy wife, thy man-servants and -maid-servants, neighbours, cooks, and pastry-cooks, wearied thyself -and themselves, so that we may become yet more wearied by eating and -drinking. When Socrates had entered a very crowded market, he exclaimed -wisely, “O immortal gods, how many things there are here which I don’t -need.” Thou, on the contrary, mightest say, “What a small part is -all this of that which I need.” The idea of moderation is pleasing -to Nature. Thereon it is formed and supported. This supply of many -and manifold things overwhelms Nature, as Pliny rightly observes. -Manifoldness of food is injurious to man; yet more injurious is every -sauce. We take hence to our homes bodies made heavy by these things, -minds oppressed and sunk in food and drinks, so that we cannot duly -perform any human duty. Do you yourself point out what thanks we owe -you. - -_Scop._ Are these the thanks you have for me? Thus you pay back so -splendid a meal! - -_Pol._ Clearly it is so—for what greater benefit is there than becoming -wiser? You send us home evidently beasts. We wish to leave you at home -a man, so that you may know how to consult your own health and that of -others and to live conformably to the desires of Nature, not following -fancies caught up from folly. Farewell and learn wisdom. - - - - -XVIII - -EBRIETAS—_Drunkenness_ - - -ASOTUS, TRICONGIUS, ABSTEMIUS, GLAUCIA - -In this dialogue Vives describes the causes and effects of drunkenness. -The occasion of the dialogue is based on Horace, book i. Epist. 5, -where firstly is described the desire to cast away care by a splendid -feast, to drink the best wines freely and in quantities, for Horace -says: - - Potare et spargere flores - Incipiam patiarque vel inconsultus haberi. - -Then he adds the seven effects of drunkenness. It causes the disclosure -of secrets, renders men confident, makes them bold, takes away anxiety, -brings the fatuous impression of wisdom, makes men garrulous and -loquacious, and in the depth of poverty renders men dissolute and -lavish. - - Quid non ebrietas designat? operta recludit: - Spes jubet esse ratas, in praelia trudit inermem. - Sollicitis animis onus eximit, addocet artes. - Foecundi calices quem non fecêre disertum? - Contractâ quem non in paupertate solutum? - -Here, again, names of interlocutors are aptly applied. Asotus (middle -vowel long) is a man given up to luxuries of the palate. In Latin -such is called _heluo_ (glutton), _nepos_ (spendthrift), _decoctor_ -(bankrupt). The Greek word comes from a privative particle, and σώζω; -Latin, _servo_. _See_ Cicero, book 2, _de Finibus_: “Nolim asotos, qui -in mensam vomant, et qui de conviviis auferantur, crudique nostridie -se rursus ingurgitent; qui solem (ut aiunt) nec occidentem unquam -viderint, nec orientem: qui consumtis patrimoniis egeant. Nemo istius -generis asotos jucunde putat vivere.” - -Concerning Tricongius we have spoken in the dialogue “Garrientes.” -Abstemius is one who does not drink wine, as if held back, _i.e._ from -wine. There are two parts to the dialogue, the Exordium, which contains -the occasion of the dialogue, and Narratio, the telling of the story. - - -I. _Exordium_ - - _Asot._ What do you say, Tricongius? How splendidly that - Brabantian entertained us yesterday! - - _Tric._ A curse on him, for I could not rest the whole - night! I was sick, with all due respect to you let me say - it (_sit habitus honos vestris auribus_), and then tossed - myself about all over the bed, now on the inner, then - on the outer, frame of the bed. It seemed to me as if I - should vomit forth throat and stomach. Even now I cannot - use my eyes or ears for headache. It is as if I had heavy - bars of lead lying on my forehead and eyes. - - _Asot._ Fasten a band round your forehead and temples, - and you will seem to be a king. - - _Tric._ Much rather like Bacchus himself, from whom the - institution of diadems on kings was derived. - - _Asot._ Go home, then, and sleep off the soaking. - - _Tric._ Home, indeed! There is no place I should shun - so much as my home. I should feel too much aversion to - meet my shrieking wife. For if she were to see me now she - would entertain me with longer homilies than Chrysostom. - - _Abstem._ And this is what you call being treated - splendidly! - - _Glauc._ Clearly so; for your throat and stomach have - been well washed! - - _Abstem._ And the hands too? - - _Glauc._ Not even once. - - _Asot._ Nay, on the contrary, often with wine and milk, - whilst we dipped our hands in one another’s bowls - (_pateras_). - - _Glauc._ What could be said more splendidly? Fancy the - fingers sticking with the fat of meat and with sauces. - - _Abstem._ By the gods, keep quiet! Who could listen - without nausea to the unclean business, much less look - upon it, or taste of such wine or milk. - - _Asot._ By your faith, ye gods! are you so delicate a - man, Abstemius, that you cannot swallow this even with - your ears? What would you do with your palate, if you - were like us? But listen to me, Tricongius, sweetest - fellow-wine-bibber, let us send some boy to fetch us - some of the same wine in that clay vessel. There is no - surer antidote against this poison. - - _Tric._ Has this been tried? - - _Asot._ Why should it not be so? Don’t you remember the - verses which Colax sings:— - - Ad sanandum morsum canis nocturni, - Sume ex pilis eiusdem canis.[78] - - PLAUTUS. - - _Glauc._ Tell us, I beg you, all about the banquet. - - _Abstem._ Nay, don’t! unless you wish me to part with all - I have in my stomach, and even the vitals themselves. - - _Glauc._ Then go away for a short time. - - _Asot._ I will tell you as frankly as possible, but so as - nowhere to go beyond the limits of decency. - - _Glauc._ Begin, I beseech you. Give your attention, - Abstemius. - - _Asot._ My dear Glaucia, before everything, I am of - opinion that there is no class of men which can be - likened to festive and liberal hosts at banquets. Some - show knowledge of all kinds of things, _i.e._, of mere - trifles; others show with pride, experience, and wisdom - gathered from practice. And what of this? There are - people who indeed have wealth, but, wretched that they - are, they don’t dare to spend it. What they have, they - take pleasure in storing up. A kindly host is everywhere - of use, everywhere is welcome. The very sight of him is - sufficient to heal the sadness of the mind and scatter - it; and if a man has any wretchedness, the memory of - the feast takes it away. So, too, does the hope and - expectation of a coming feast. All the other so-called - mental blessings I don’t care to look on; they are, to - me, slight and unfruitful. - - _Abstem._ I ask you, Asotus, who is the author of such a - fine sentiment? - - _Asot._ I and all like me, _i.e._, a host of people - from Belgic France, from the Seine to the Rhine. There - are only a few poor and very sparing men who think - differently, who envy Abstemius his name, and wish to be - called frugal, or else certain distinguished people who - are puffed up with a great opinion of their own wisdom, - _i.e._, an empty word, whom we (_i.e._, the greatest and - chief part of mankind) simply laugh at. - - _Abstem._ What do I hear? - - -_Digression_ - - _Glauc._ He is quite right, though he is drunk. For - nowhere has scholarship less estimation than in Belgium. - A distinguished man in scholarship is not otherwise - esteemed than one who is occupied in shoe-making or in - weaving. - - _Abstem._ And yet there are many students here who make - not altogether unsatisfactory progress. - - _Glauc._ Yes. Little boys are led by their parents to - the schools as to an operative shop, by which afterwards - they can derive a living. The very teachers themselves, - incredible to say, as little as the pupils, cherish the - occupation they follow with such slight honour and with - such meagre reward, so that illustrious teachers of the - first rank can scarcely maintain themselves. - - _Asot._ This has nothing to do with the subject of our - conversation. Let us return to the banquet. - - _Glauc._ Yes, I would rather hear about that, but dismiss - this talk about studies, which are certainly unfruitful. - I know not how you Italians think about scholarship. - In my eyes, it seems to me not only useless but even - pernicious (_damnosa_). - - _Abstem._ So it seems to an ox and a pig, as it does to - you. We, too, should think the same if we had not more - intelligence than you. - - -II. _The Exposition (Narratio)_ - - _Asot._ If we let you go on, there would be no end. - Therefore, listen. First, we all of us reclined, severe - and serious. Grace was said, and everywhere was silence - and quiet. Every one began to get his knife ready. We put - on the appearance not of eagerness but of restraint (_non - invitatorum sed invitorum_), so that you would have said - that we were compelled to eat, and in the act of eating, - did it as if reluctantly, for our mind had not as yet - warmed with the ardour of spontaneity. Each one placed - his napkin over his shoulders; some indeed in front of - their chests. Others spread the tablecloth over their - knees. One takes bread, looks at it, cleans it, if there - is any coal or cinders lining it. All these things are - done gently and lingeringly (_cunctabunde_). - - -_Cause_ - - Some began the meal by drinking; others, before they - drank, took a little salad and salted beef to arouse - their sleeping appetite and to stimulate their languor. - The first cup was of beer, so that there might be a cold, - firm foundation underlaid for the warmth of wine. Then - that holy liquor was brought first in narrow and small - cups, which should rather irritate than assuage thirst. - The host was a very festive man, than whom there was none - better in the whole neighbourhood, nor even his equal, - _i.e._, in my opinion (which may be said without injury - to any one). He then orders the largest of cups to be - brought and a beginning was made of drinking liberally, - after the Greek fashion, as a certain Philo-Greek said, - who once had studied at Lyons. Then we began to talk, - and then to get warm. Everywhere joviality and laughing - became general. Oh, feasts and nights of the gods! We - drank to one another’s health, and returned like for - like, with great equity. It would have been unjust to - gain a point over one’s companion, especially at such a - time. - - _Abstem._ Rightly, if it were merely a question of a - chalice of wine, but it is one’s senses and intellect - which are in question, the chief possessions of man. But - if we are to talk over so copious and festive a subject, - first I must ask of you whether you are drunk? - - _Asot._ No, certainly not. This you can easily and truly - see from the connectedness of my talk. Do you think, if - I were drunk, that I could relate all this in such an - orderly fashion? - - _Abstem._ Then it is well, for otherwise I should be - contending with an absent opponent, according to the - verse of Mimus. But tell me now, first, why don’t you - erect a temple in these parts to Bacchus, the discoverer - of this celestial liquor? - - _Asot._ This is your business; you, who have a temple - at Rome of Sergius and Bacchus. It is sufficient for us - daily to follow his rites, wherever we are. And perchance - we should erect a temple for him if it were settled he - was the discoverer, for I have heard certain students - debate the question. There are some who think that Noah - was the first who drank wine and was intoxicated by it. - - _Abstem._ Let us leave that point! Tell us what wine you - had. - - _Asot._ What concerns us is what sort of wine it is and - whence it came. Let it only have the name and colour of - wine, that is sufficient for us. For these delicacies in - wines let the Frenchman and the Italian seek. - - _Abstem._ What enjoyment can there then be if you don’t - at all taste what you are pouring into your body? - - _Tric._ Perchance some taste something at the beginning - with the palate whole. But when it becomes palled from so - great a superfluity, things lose all their taste. - - _Abstem._ If thirst has been quenched, no pleasure - remains. For this consists only in the satisfaction - of natural needs. So it is a kind of torment to go on - drinking when there is no thirst, or to eat when there is - no hunger. - - _Tric._ Don’t you think, then, Abstemius, that we drink - for pleasure or because it is pleasant? - - _Abstem._ Then you are so much worse than beasts, who are - controlled by natural desires, whilst reason does not - govern you, nor nature exercise a control over you. - - _Tric._ Good fellowship leads us to that point; and in - spite of reason we get drunk little by little. - - _Abstem._ How often have you been drunk? how often do you - see others drunk? - - _Tric._ Every day, very many. - - _Abstem._ Don’t then so many experiments satisfy you so - as to put you on your guard against so disgraceful an - event? Even one such experience would suffice for an - animal! - - _Glauc._ But do you know also how dear our companions - are, for whose sake men become beasts? Whilst drinking - they would give their very hearts for them. When they - meet afterwards, they hardly know them! Their very life - and soul they would not redeem for the sum of a sesterce. - - _Abstem._ Out of what sort of cups and how did you quaff - the wine? - - _Asot._ In the first place there were brought glass cups; - a little time afterwards, on account of the danger, - these were taken away and silver ones presented. In the - wine at first we put herbs, which the season of the year - provided, a little time afterwards, flesh-broth, milk, - butter, and pap. - - _Abstem._ Oh, filth, which would not be borne by animals! - - _Tric._ How much more tragically (τραγικὼτερον) you would - call out if you knew that they plunged their dirty hands - into one another’s wine and cast in the shells of eggs, - fruit and nuts, and the stones of olives and prunes. - - _Abstem._ Cease from this description, if you don’t wish - me to take myself off hence to some woods. - - _Tric._ Listen to me, Glaucia. I will speak in your ear. - Some people carry a hunting-bugle when taking a journey, - which is full of dust, straws, fluff, and other dirty - things. Out of this we drank. - - _Glauc._ What? - - _Tric._ What, indeed? wine? - - _Glauc._ Nay, rather say your understanding. - - _Tric._ Clearly it is so. And after we had drunk the - understanding we took pots (_matuli_), not altogether - clean, from off a stool and used them for cups. - - -_Effects_ - - _Abstem._ How ended the banquet—the story of which sounds - like a fable? - - _Asot._ The floors swam with wine. We were all drunk, - especially the host, a strong man. Two or three were - lying down under the table, overcome by a great victory. - - _Abstem._ O glorious victory, and in a very beautiful and - glorious conflict! But did wine overcome every one? - - _Asot._ Even so. - - _Abstem._ Wretched man, what do you think drunkenness is? - - _Asot._ A fine thing! It is to give oneself up to one’s - genius. - - _Abstem._ Yes, but which genius, your good one or your - bad one? - - _Glauc._ If you will rightly look into all these matters, - you will never find which genius they give themselves up - to. For it is neither to the heart, nor to pleasure, - nor any other cause for which others indulge, who follow - vices and the depraved desires of the mind. To be drunk - is different. It is to lose the power of the senses, - to go away from the power of reasoning, of judgment; - clearly, from being a man to become either cattle or, - indeed, a stone. What follows afterwards I can easily - imagine, had I never seen a drunkard; to speak, and not - to know what you are saying; if any secret, of especial - importance not to be divulged, is committed to you, - to blab it out, and to say things which may lead into - grave danger yourself, your people, and often your whole - province and fatherland, to have no discrimination of - friend and foe, of wife and mother—and it leads to - quarrels, contentions, enmities, snares, wounds, maiming, - killing! - - _Tric._ Even without sword and blood, for not a few pass - on from drunkenness to death. - - _Glauc._ Who would not prefer to be shut up at home with - a dog or a cat than with a drunkard? For those animals - have more intellect in them than the drunkard. - - _Abstem._ After the drunkenness follows indigestion, - weakening of the nerves, paralysis, the tortures of gout, - heaviness in the head and the whole body, dulness of all - the senses; memory is extinguished; the sharpness of the - intellect is stunned; thence there is a stupor in the - whole mind which precludes intelligence, wisdom, and - eloquence. - - _Asot._ Now I begin to understand what a serious evil - drunkenness is; henceforward, I will take the keenest - pains to drink up to the point of cheerfulness, not to - that of drunkenness. - - _Glauc._ Joviality is the gate of drunkenness. No one - comes to be drunk with the idea in his mind that he will - get drunk; but he is exhilarated by drinking; then going - on and on, drunkenness follows afterwards, for it is - difficult to place the bounds of joviality and to remain - in it. Slippery is the step from joviality to drunkenness! - - _Abstem._ So long as thou hast the wine in the beaker, it - is in thy power; when thou hast it in thy body, thou art - in the power of the wine. Then you are held and do not - hold. When you drink, you treat wine as you like. When - you have drunk, it will treat you as it likes. - - _Asot._ What then? Are we never to drink? - - _Abstem._ When fools avoid their vices, they run into the - opposite extremes. We must, indeed, quench thirst, but - not be “drinkers.” Nature on this point teaches beasts - alone. The same nature will not teach man, because he - possesses reason. You eat when you are hungry; you drink - when you are thirsty. Hunger and thirst will warn you how - much, when, to what extent, we must eat and drink. - - _Asot._ What if I am always thirsty, and if I cannot - assuage my thirst except by getting drunk? - - _Abstem._ Then drink what cannot possibly make you drunk. - - _Asot._ The constitution of my body won’t permit that. - - _Abstem._ If then you had such hunger that by no amount - of food you could satisfy it unless you were to burst - yourself, what then? - - _Asot._ That indeed would not be hunger, but disease. - - _Abstem._ There would surely be need of medicine, not - meals, to take away that hunger, wouldn’t there? - - _Asot._ Certainly. - - _Abstem._ So needest thou for such a thirst a physician, - not an inn-keeper, and a drug from the chemist, not one - fetched from the providers of banquets. What you describe - is not thirst but disease, and a perilous one, too! - - - - -XIX - -REGIA—_The King’s Palace_ - -AGRIUS, SOPHRONIUS, HOLOCOLAX - - - In this dialogue, the Royal Dwelling or Palace and its - parts, persons, and functions are described, as to which - see Vincentius Lupanas, in his book _de Magistratibus - Francorum_. For our Vives here chiefly describes the - palace of a French king. The persons represented in the - dialogue are fitly named from the Greek. For Agrius is - with them a country rustic, unskilled in court-life. - Sophronius is a prudent, modest, and cautious man. - Holocolax is altogether a flatterer, and one who (as - Terence says) has commanded himself to agree to - everything, of which sort of men there is always so - large an assembly in courts. There are two parts of the - dialogue, the Exordium and Narratio. - - -I. _Introduction (Exordium)_ - - _Agri._ Why is it so many accompany the king in such - varied styles of dress? - - _Soph._ Nay, rather look on their countenances than on - their finery. For their faces are more varied and diverse - than their decorations and clothes. - - _Agri._ What reason is there for this difference also of - bearing? - - -_Apparel—The Countenance_ - - _Soph._ They are clothed differently according to their - means; differently according to their rank or family, - often even according to their ambitions or vanity. - Many also use elegancy of dress as an angle and net - for catching the favour of the king or of his chief - officers, and, not rarely, for winning the maids of his - court. But the expression of outward countenance follows - the stirrings of the mind, and such outward expression - is nearly always such as is prompted by the inner - disposition of the mind. - - _Agri._ But why do so many men meet here together? - - _Holo._ Is it not fitting that very many people should - come where the capital and government of the whole - province are seated? - - _Soph._ Quite so. But most people regard not so much - the commonwealth as their private good. They follow the - government, not because it has the country in its hand, - but because it has fortunes to bestow. - - _Holo._ Why not? Since all things are sold for money. - - _Soph._ So they think who don’t possess any soul and - mind, but whose health and gifts of body are only common. - - _Agri._ What need is there in this tumult of the court - to hold so great a philosophical speculation? I indeed - should prefer to understand from you what sort of - people these are in such great numbers, in such varied - appearances and fashions. - - _Holo._ I will tell you of them all, in their rank. For - Sophronius, as far as I know, is not so well versed in - royal matters. But I have been in royal company of all - kinds; I have penetrated, inspected, and seen thoroughly - their courts, and I have always been acceptable and - pleasing to them all. - - _Soph._ Thence I suppose it is that you have gained that - name of yours, Holocolax. - - -II. _Exposition (Narratio)—The King_ - - _Holo._ You suppose rightly. But do you, Agrius, listen - to me. He yonder, on whom every ear, eye, mind, is - intent, is the king, the head of the kingdom. - - _Soph._ Truly the head, and so the health when he is - wise and honest, but the ruin when he is bad or rash - (_demens_). - - -_The Dauphin—Dignitaries—Prefects_ - - _Holo._ The little boy who follows him is his son, his - heir, whom in the Greek court they called despot, that - is, lord (_dominus_). In Spain they call him prince, in - France the dauphin. There with a neck-chain, like that - of Torquatus, in clothes all of silk, or all of gold, - are the leaders of the kingdom, with the decorations of - names of military dignitaries, princes, dukes, lords of - the marches, who are called _marchiones_, counts, men who - are named barbarously, barons, knights. This one is the - master of the horse, whom they call by the vulgar term - of _comes stabilis_, a name taken from the Greek court, - when the great Comestabulus (Constable) was, as it were, - the prefect of the sea, the admiral. Further, he was - supreme over the palace, and also was at the head of the - guards. In the time of Romulus they named such an one - _praefectus celerum_, and the guards themselves _celeres_. - - _Agri._ Who are those in robes reaching to the ankles, - and with faces of great severity? - - -_Counsellors_ - - _Holo._ They are the counsellors of the king. - - _Soph._ Those whom the prince calls to his council. It - behoves them to be the most prudent of men, of great - experience, of the greatest weight and moderation in - their discernment. - - _Agri._ Why so? - - _Soph._ Because they are the eyes and ears of the prince, - and so of the whole kingdom, and so much the more if the - king should be blind or deaf, enslaved by his senses, or - by ignorance, or by enjoyment of pleasure. - - _Agri._ Are that one-eyed man and that other deaf man - eyes and ears of the king? - - _Soph._ Worse still is blindness and deafness of the - heart! - - -_Secretaries_ - - _Holo._ The secretaries follow the counsellors, nor - are they few in number or of one rank; then those who - deal in money matters for the king, or those who get it - in, farmers of the taxes, treasury-tribunes, prefects, - procurators, and advocates of the treasury. - - _Agri._ Who are those luxuriously decked and festive - young men who always follow the king and stand at his - side, some laughing at him and others with open mouth, - full of wonder at what he says? - - -_Courtiers_ - - _Holo._ These are a band of intimate friends, the delight - and joy of the king. - - _Agri._ Why are the two who are entering there followed - by so many men full of grimaces? - - -_Chancellor—Secretary—Litigants—Prefect of the Bed-chamber_ - - _Holo._ Because the king has in them especial confidence. - The one is the prefect of the sacred writings, or chief - secretary; the other the keeper of the secret archives, - amongst which are the official statistics (_regni - breviarium_). He has to remind the king of everything. - Therefore daily so many come to him, so that they may - rub up and renew his memory, since that is the keeping - of the memory of the prince. Those who draw in their - countenances are litigants, who are prosecuting their - suits. Their business never finds an end, through the - long series of procrastinations which are kept up. Those - two who keep walking up and down the hall are prefects, - the one of the sleeping-chamber, the other of the royal - stables. These have under them very many other chamber - and stable attendants. But let us enter the royal - dining-hall. - - _Agri._ Ah, how great a crowd solicitous and stately in - their pomp! - - _Soph._ You would observe these with still greater - amazement if you knew how small a matter they are - attending to. It is, forsooth, this: it is how a sick man - may suck up a single egg and drink a little wine. - - -_Master of the Feast_ - - _Holo._ That man is the master of the feast for this - week. There he is with an Indian who has a plait of - rushes on him. That young man is the cup-bearer. The - carver has not yet entered. - - _Agri._ Who are about to have their breakfast - (_pransuri_) with the king? - - _Holo._ You mean who is so lucky as to take part in this - feast of the gods? - - _Soph._ Formerly guests were invited to the royal table, - sometimes experienced military commanders, sometimes men - of high lineage, or sometimes those distinguished either - by experience in affairs, or by their learning, by whose - discourse the king would become better and wiser. But the - pride of Goths and other barbarians has invaded this our - custom. - - _Holo._ The chief followers have their grown-up - armour-bearers and their boy-followers, boys on foot and - spurred boys. Amongst these are quite magnificent, rich - people, who most of them take their meals in correct - fashion, or if this seems to them wearisome, they send - basketfuls to their friends. This latter custom is more - useful to their poorer friends. But the correct fashion - of feasting has more distinction in it. - - _Agri._ I seem to see quite another sort of people in - that eating-chamber. - - -_Ladies’ Quarters_ - - _Holo._ Those are the ladies’ quarters, where the queen - lives with her matrons and girls. Look how they enter and - go out from the hall (_ex parthenone_) like as bees from - a hive—young lovers and slaves of Cupid! - - _Soph._ Often old people have a second childhood. - - _Holo._ There is no greater pleasure than to hear the - keenly thought-out sayings, or poems, songs, early - morning (_antelucanus_) melodies, and chat of these - girls, to see their briskness, their walking in and out, - varieties of colour in their dress, their clothing and - shapes of garments. They have boys as amanuenses, through - whom they send and return messages. With what zeal and - what industry, what breeding, they announce and bring - back messages, hither and thither. By the faith of the - gods! with uncovered heads, with bent hams and bowed - knees. Every day there is something new to be heard, - seen, and pondered over; something which has been acutely - or subtly thought out or said, or done with spirit, or - dexterously, or without restraint. - - _Soph._ Nay, rather in a négligé way. - - _Holo._ What greater happiness? Who could tear himself - away from such delight? - - _Soph._ Colax, Colax, without being in love you - are raving, and without wine, you are drunk. What - foolishness could be greater than what has been described - by you? - - _Holo._ I don’t know how it happens that you see heaps of - people depart from the schools quite young, but let them - once enter the court, they become old in it. - - _Soph._ So also those who drank from the cup of Circe - would be unwilling to yield and return to their human - nature and condition, having once lost their reason, and - having degenerated into the nature of beasts! - - _Agri._ But what do all these do when they go home, and - with what actions do they occupy themselves to pass the - time, at least? - - -_Leisure Time—Flattery_ - - _Soph._ The most of them do nothing more serious than - what you now observe them doing, and then their leisure - is for them the parent and nurse of many vices. Some play - at dice, cards, the gaming-board, at disputations; others - pass the afternoon hours in secret slander and artful - calumny, that is to what they degenerate at home. Many - also are wonderfully taken up with buffoons and jugglers, - towards whom those who are at other times niggardly and - sordid, to them they are most lavish. But the chief - corruption of the court is the flattery of each to all - the others, and, what is still worse, towards himself. - This brings it about that no one ever hears salutary - truths either from himself nor from his companions unless - when at strife. And though he receives then all too - little of truth, he takes it as insult. - - _Holo._ This employment is now by far the most - profitable. _You_ may hunger and thirst after the love of - speaking and truth. _I_ have become rich by my smiling, - blandishments, and by approving and praising everything. - - _Agri._ Could not the kings alter these unsatisfactory - matters? - - _Soph._ Very easily, if they only wished to do so! But - these fashions are pleasing; they are similar to their - own. Others are precluded by their preoccupations, on - account of which they never have leisure for doing - anything which is right or thinking anything which - is sane. There are also not lacking those who, with - indulgent minds and careless themselves, don’t think - the morality of their own homes, and that of their - dependants, any concern of theirs. And those things - trouble them less than the private home of each of us - troubles any of us. - - - - -XX - -PRINCEPS PUER—_The Young Prince_ - -MOROBULUS, PHILIPPUS, SOPHOBULUS - - - This dialogue is entirely “political,” for Vives lays - down the precepts to the boy prince, and teaches the - art of good government. The names are aptly bestowed. - Morobulus is a foolish counsellor, _à_ μωρὸς, foolish, - βουλὴ, counsel; Sophobulus, a prudent counsellor. There - are two parts of the dialogue. - - - INSTITUTIO - - - _Morobuli de_ { Inutilitate studiorum - { Praeceptoribus - - { Quod principi sit necessaria: idque ostendit - { tribus similitudinibus - _Sophobuli_ { - _de arte_ { Quomodo { Doctrina: ubi { Sint - _gubernandi_ { comparanda { ostendit, quinam { - { sit { Consulendi { Non - { Ocii fuga { sint - - -I. _The Teaching of Morobulus—The Study of Literature_ - - _Morob._ What has your highness in hand, Philip? - - _Phil._ I read and learn with zeal, as you can see for - yourself. - - _Morob._ I see only too well, and am pained that you - weary yourself, and that you are making that little body - of yours quite lean! - - _Phil._ What then should I do? - - _Morob._ That which other nobles, princes, and rich men - do—ride about, chat with the daughters of your august - mother, dance, learn the art of bearing arms, play cards - or ball, leap and run. Such, you see, are the studies - in which young nobles most delight. If now people, who - scarcely are worthy to be received in your family, enjoy - these pleasant occupations, why is it suitable for you to - do as you are doing, when you are the son and heir of so - great a prince? - - _Phil._ What! is the study of letters no good? - - _Morob._ It is indeed of good, but rather for those - who are initiated in holy affairs, _i.e._, priests, or - for those who, by useful knowledge of their art, are - about to earn their living, such as the shoemaker’s - art, the weaving art, and the other arts necessary for - money-making. Rise, I beg of you, put away your books - from your hands. Let us go out for a walk, so that for - some short time you may get fresh air! - - _Phil._ I may not do so just now, because of Stunica and - Siliceus. - - _Morob._ Who are these Stunica and Siliceus? Are they not - your subjects, over whom you have the command, not they - over you? - - -_Teachers_ - - _Phil._ Stunica is my educator, while Siliceus is my - literary tutor. Subjects of mine indeed they are, or to - speak more exactly, of my father; but my father, to whom - I am subject, placed them over me, and subjected me to - them. - - _Morob._ What then! Did your father give your highness - into servitude to these men? - - _Phil._ I don’t know. - - _Morob._ Oh! most unworthy deed! - - -II. _The Teaching of Sophobulus_ - - _Soph._ By no means, my son! Certainly he made them thy - servants; he wished them to stick close to thee, as eyes, - ears, soul, and mind, to be always engaged on thy behalf, - each of them to put aside his own affairs, and to make - thy affairs his sole business, not so as to vex thee by - imperiousness; but that those good and wise men should - transform thy uncultivated manners into the virtue, - glory, and excellence of a man; not so as to make thee a - slave, but truly a free man and truly a prince. If thou - dost not obey them, then wilt thou be a slave of the - lowest order, worse than those here amongst us who are - employed, bought and sold from Ethiopia or Africa. - - _Morob._ Whose slave, then, would he be, if he did not - mould his morals after his educators? - - _Soph._ Not of men certainly, but of vices, which are - more importunate masters, and more intolerable than a - dishonest and wicked man! - - _Phil._ I don’t quite understand what you say. - - _Soph._ But did you understand Morobulus? - - _Phil._ Most clearly, everything. - - _Soph._ Oh, how happy men would be, if they had the sense - and intelligence for good and satisfactory things which - they have for frivolous and bad things! Now indeed, - on the contrary, at your time of life, it happens that - you understand with ease what is trifling, what is - inept, nay, even what is insane, such things as those to - which Morobulus has exhorted you, and then you regard - what I would say on virtue, dignity, and every kind of - praiseworthy thing, as if I were speaking Arabic or - Gothic. - - _Phil._ What, then, are you of opinion I ought to do? - - _Soph._ You should at least suspend your judgment. - Neither acquiesce in the opinions of Morobulus, nor in - mine, until you are able to judge as to both. - - -_The Act of Governing_ - - _Phil._ Who will give me this power of judgment? - - _Soph._ Ah! that will come with age, teaching, and - experience. - - _Morob._ Alas! that would require long weariness of - waiting! - - -_First Similitude_ - - _Soph._ Morobulus advises well. Throw away your books. - Let us go and play! Let us play a game in which one is - elected king. He will prescribe to the others what should - be done. The rest obey, according to the laws of the - game. You shall be king. - - _Phil._ How shall the game be? For if I don’t know the - game, how shall I be able to take the part of king in it? - - -_Second Similitude_ - - _Soph._ What are you saying, sweetest little Philip, the - darling of Spain? You would not dare to undertake to - rule in a game, not knowing it, in a game and frivolous - matters, in which a mistake brings no particular danger; - and you are willing seriously to undertake to rule so - many and so great kingdoms, ignorant of the condition of - the people and of the laws of administration, although - uninstructed in all prudence, and only knowing the - ridiculous trivialities, which Morobulus here instils - in your mind? Ah! my boy, tell the Master of the Horse - to lead forth hither that Neapolitan horse, the most - ferocious kicker, and the one given to throw his rider to - the ground, and let Philip ride him! - - _Phil._ By no means that one, but another and safer one. - For I have not as yet learned the art of managing a - refractory horse, and I have not the strength for it! - - -_Third Similitude_ - - _Soph._ Well, Philip, let me ask you whether you think - that a lion is equally fierce as a horse; or that a horse - will kick and be refractory, and less obedient to the - bridle than people, and the host of men in a country who - come together and congregate from every kind of vice, - passion, crime, and evil deed; from agitations which have - been fanned so as to be incensed, inflamed, burning into - flame? You would not dare to mount a horse, while you - demand that you should rule over a people, more difficult - still to govern and manage than any horse! But let us - dismiss this illustration. Do you see that boat on the - river? The navigation is most pleasant and delightful - between the meadows and the willow-plantings. Come, let - us go down to it. You shall sit at the rudder and guide - the boat. - - _Phil._ Yes, indeed! and overturn you and plunge you into - the water, as Pimentellulus lately did! - - _Soph._ What! you are not willing to guide a boat, on - a stream so even and so calm, because untrained, and - yet you will commit yourself to that sea, to those - waves and tides, to that tempest of the people, without - knowledge and without experience? Evidently it has - befallen you as it did Phaethon, who was ignorant of the - art of charioteering, and yet, with youthful ardour, - he requested that he might take the management of his - father’s chariot! I think that story is known to you. - Isocrates used to say excellently, that the two greatest - offices in the life of men were those of the prince and - the priest. No one, he said, should seek after them, - unless he were worthy. No one should believe himself able - rightly to rule, unless he were the most prudent man in - the kingdom. - - _Phil._ I see that nothing is so necessary for my person - and station as the knowledge of the art and skill of - ruling a kingdom. - - _Soph._ Evidently you grasp the matter. - - _Phil._ How can I pursue my duty? - - -_How the Art of Governing is to be Acquired_ - - _Soph._ Hast thou received the knowledge of governing at - thy birth? - - _Phil._ Indeed, no! - - _Soph._ By what means, then, canst thou get to know - except by learning? - - _Phil._ There is no other way. - - _Soph._ With what countenance, then, can Morobulus - advise you, that you should throw away your studies, by - which you may obtain experience in your art, as well as - knowledge of other subjects of the greatest and most - attractive kind? - - _Phil._ From whom, then, can knowledge of these subjects - be obtained? - - _Soph._ From those who have reflected on them, and - observed them as they have been manifested in the - greatest minds, of whom some are dead, others living. - - _Phil._ But how can we learn from the dead? Can the dead - speak? - - _Soph._ Have you never in conversation heard the names of - Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, Seneca, Livy, Plutarch? - - -1. _Teachers no longer Living_ - - _Phil._ These are great names! I have heard them spoken - of often, and with great admiration and praise. - - _Soph._ These very names and many others like them, - already departed from this life, will talk with you as - often and as much as you like. - - _Phil._ How? - - _Soph._ In books, which they have left behind for the - benefit of posterity. - - _Phil._ How is it that these are not already in my hand? - - _Soph._ They shall be given to you soon, after you have - learned that language, in which you will be able to - understand what they say. Only wait a little, and go - through with the short burden which must be endured in - receiving the elementary basis of instruction; after that - follow incredible delights. It is no wonder that without - such a preparation the idea of literary studies is - abhorrent. But those who have enjoyed them would sooner - be plucked from life itself than be torn away from books - and intellectual interests. - - -2. _Living Teachers_ - - _Phil._ But pray tell me, who are those living people - from whom this wisdom and soundness of mind can be - learned? - - _Soph._ If you were about to undertake any journey, from - whom would you earnestly inquire the road? Would it be - from those who had never seen the road, or from those who - had at some time accomplished the journey? - - _Phil._ From those, forsooth, who had travelled on that - journey! - - _Soph._ Is not this life even as a journey, and is it not - a perpetual starting out? - - _Phil._ So it seems. - - _Soph._ Who, therefore, have performed this journey the - most thoroughly? Old men or youths? - - _Phil._ Old men. - - _Soph._ Old men, then, should be consulted. - - _Phil._ All indifferently? - - _Soph._ That is an acute question; not all promiscuously. - But in the same manner as it is with the journey, so - it is with life. Do those know the way of life, who - have gone along it without reflecting on it, busying - themselves with something else, their minds wandering - no less than their body; or those who have noted things - diligently and attended to them, one by one, and - committed what they have observed to their memory? - - _Phil._ To be sure it is the latter. - - _Soph._ Therefore, in taking counsel concerning the - method of leading our life, it is not young men to - whom we should listen, for they have not been over the - journey, much less youths, and, what is most foolish and - inappropriate, boys. Nor is counsel to be sought from - foolish, lascivious, demented old men, worse than boys, - whom the divine oracles execrate, because they are boys - of a hundred years of age. Ears should be open to old men - of great judgment, experienced in things, and prudent in - mind. - - _Phil._ By what sign shall I know them? - - _Soph._ To be sure, at thy age, my son, thou canst not as - yet distinguish them by any sign; but when a greater and - stronger judgment has developed in thee, thou wilt easily - recognise them by their words and deeds, as affording - the clearest of signs. In the meantime, whilst thou hast - not strength in this power of judgment, trust thyself - entirely, and commit the direction, to thy father, and to - those whom thy father has appointed as instructors and - teachers and governors of thy early years—those who, as - it were, lead thee by the hand, along that road on which - thou hast not yet journeyed. For there is a greater care - over thee exercised by thy father (to whom thou art - dearer than he is to thee) than thou couldst have for - thyself, and, in this matter, not only has he his own - experience to guide him, but he makes use of the counsel - of wise men. - - _Morob._ For too long I have been silent. - - _Soph._ Quite so, though contrary to your custom. For - some time I have felt keen astonishment at the fact. - - -_The Sort of Leisure to be Shunned—The Assertion of the Similitude -(Protasis)_ - - _Morob._ Philip, do not your father and the King of - France and other great kings and princes rule their - kingdoms and territories, and hold them in their duty, - without the study of letters, and without that burdensome - labour, which here is imposed mercilessly on your tender - shoulders? - - _Soph._ Nothing is so easy that it cannot become - difficult, if it is done unwillingly. Industrious - labour, devoted to learning, is not wearisome to him - who gives his attention to it gladly. But to him who is - unwilling, if indeed it is a game that is in question, or - if it were a case of taking a walk in the most pleasant - spots, it is troublesome and intolerable. To thee, - Morobulus, most eager for trifling and always accustomed - to frivolity, either to do anything serious or even to - hear of it, is as unpleasant as death. Certainly many - others would regard their life as bitter, if the manner - of their living were fixed according to the fashion of - Morobulus. How many there are, especially in courts, - to whom nothing is sweeter than a sluggish and inert - leisure! To move their hands to do work is to put them - on the torture-rack! How many there are, on the other - hand, amongst the people, who would die rather than pass - through all their days with such vacuity, and would get - weary more quickly by doing nothing than by giving their - closest attention to some business! But to answer you - concerning the Emperor and King of France, you shall hear - from me about old men in general, whom I take to be those - who have run over the track of life. If all, whosoever - have made the journey, with unanimity say that they have - fallen on some spot full of difficulty and danger, from - which place they have only got away wounded and broken - down to the last degree; but if they had that journey - to go over again they would take care for nothing more - diligently than against that danger. What do you think, - would it not be the part of a most foolish man, when he - had to take that way again, not to recall the danger and - not to know it was coming? - - _Phil._ Not as yet do I grasp what you mean! - - _Soph._ I will make it more clear by an example. Imagine - that, over the river yonder, there was a narrow plank as - bridge, and that every one told you that as many as rode - on horseback and attempted thus to cross it, had fallen - into the water, and were in danger of their lives, and, - moreover, that with difficulty they had been dragged out - half-dead. Do you understand this? - - _Phil._ Most clearly. - - _Soph._ Would not, in such a case, a man seem to you to - be demented who, taking that journey, did not get off - from his horse, and escape from the danger in which the - others had fallen? - - _Phil._ To be sure he would. - - -_Its Explanation (Apodosis)_ - - _Soph._ And rightly! Seek now from old men, as to what - chiefly they have felt unfortunate in this life, what it - grieves them most and what they bitterly regret to have - neglected. All will answer with one voice, so far as they - have learned anything, it is, not to have learned more. - So far as they have not learned, they will regret that - they did not take pains to acquire the knowledge. Having - entered on this complaint against themselves, they - will tell you over and over again, that their parents - or educators sent them to schools and to teachers of - literature, yet that they, drawn on by vain delights, - either of play, or hunting, or love, or frivolity of some - kind, let drop from their hands the opportunities of - learning; and so they complain of their fate and bewail - their lot, and accuse themselves, condemn themselves, - and, at times, also curse themselves. You see now the - state of slackness and ignorance on the road of life is - especially unsafe and dangerous, and is the one chiefly - to be avoided, since you hear the miserable cries of - those who have fallen there. It is therefore to be - avoided with all care and diligence. It is incumbent on - youth, to reject and despise sluggishness, ease, little - delicacies, and frivolity, whilst the whole mind should - be intent on the study of letters and the cultivation - of goodness of soul. You, then, ask your father on this - matter, although he is yet a young man, and do you, - Morobulus, ask yours, although an old man, and you will - understand from them that my opinion is the true one. - - - - -XXI - -LUDUS CHARTARUM SEU FOLIORUM—_Card-playing or Paper-games_ - -VALDAURA, TAMAYUS, LUPIANUS, CASTELLUS, MANRICUS - - - This Dialogue has two parts: Exordium and the game. The - Exordium is an introduction as to time (_à tempore_). - - -I. _Introduction on the Weather_ - - _Val._ What rough weather! How cold and cruel the - heavens! how unfavourable the sun! - - _Tam._ To what does this state of the heavens and the sun - point? - - _Val._ That we should not go out of the house. - - _Tam._ But what are we to do in the house? - - _Val._ Study by the lighted hearth, meditate, think on - things—a course which might bring profit and sound morals - to the mind. - - _Cast._ This is indeed the chief thing to be done, nor - ought anything to take precedence of it in a man’s - mind. But when a man’s mind is wearied by intentness of - application, how then shall he divert himself, especially - in such weather as this? - - _Val._ Some recreations of the mind suit some people; - others, others. I indeed receive delight and recreation - by card games. - - _Tam._ And this kind of weather invites in that - direction, so that we hide ourselves in a closely shut - room, and guarded on every side from the wind and cold, - with a shining hearth, and a table set with charts - (_i.e._ maps). - - _Val._ Alas! we have no charts. - - _Tam._ I mean playing-cards. - - _Val._ I should like that. - - _Tam._ Then we want some money and stones (_calculi_) for - reckoning. - - _Val._ We don’t need stones, if we have some very small - coins. - - _Tam._ I have none, except gold and larger silver coins. - - _Val._ Change some for small money. Here, boy, take these - coins of one, two, two-and-a-half, and three, stivers and - get us tiny coins from the money-changer—single, two, - three, farthing-pieces, not bigger money. - - _Tam._ How these coins shine! - - _Val._ Certainly, they are as yet new and unused. - - _Tam._ Let us go to the games-emporium, where we shall - find everything ready to hand. - - _Cast._ It is not expedient, for we should have such a - number of umpires. We might just as well play in the - public street. It would be better to betake ourselves - into your room, and invite a few of our friends, - especially those likely to put us in good spirits. - - _Tam._ Your chamber is more convenient for this, for - in mine, we should be interrupted continually by the - mother’s maidservants, who are always seeking some dirty - clothes in the women’s chests. - - _Val._ Let us go then into the dining-room. - - _Tam._ So let it be. Let us go! Boy, fetch us here - Franciscus Lupianus and Roderick Manricus and Zoilaster. - - _Val._ Stay! By no means let us have Zoilaster, an angry - man, given to quarrelling, a noisy calumniator, one who - often raises fierce tragedies out of the smallest matters. - - _Cast._ You certainly advise wisely, for if a young man - of such views of recreation should mix himself in our - company, then there would not be sport but grave strife. - Bring, therefore, Rimosulus instead of him. - - _Val._ No, not him, unless you wish whatever we do here, - by way of sport, should be made known before sunset - throughout the city. - - _Cast._ Is he so good a herald? - - _Val._ Yes, in making things known where no good is done - by the knowledge. As to matters of good report, he is - more religiously silent than the Eleusinian mysteries. - - _Tam._ Then Lupianus and Manricus alone are to come. - - _Cast._ They are first-rate companions. - - _Tam._ And warn them to bring little coins with them, - but whatsoever is of severity and earnestness let them - leave at home with the crabbed Philoponus. Let them come, - accompanied by jests, wit, and agreeableness. - - _Lup._ Hail! most festive companions! - - _Tam._ What is the meaning of that contraction of your - brow? Smooth those wrinkles. Haven’t you been advised to - lay down all thoughts of literature in the abode of the - Muses? - - _Lup._ Our thoughts on literature are so illiterate that - the Muses who are in their abode wouldn’t own them. - - _Manr._ All prosperity! - - _Val._ Prosperity is doubtful, when you are called to the - line of battle and to warfare, in which, indeed, kings - will be present! - - _Tam._ Be of good cheer! Money-purses, not necks, will be - attacked. - - _Lup._ The money-purse often is in place of a neck, - and money in place of blood and spirit; as with those - Carians, whose contempt of life is the pretext for kings - to practise their madness on them. - - _Manr._ I don’t wish to be an actor in, but the spectator - of, this play. - - _Tam._ How so? - - _Manr._ Because I am so very unfortunate; I always go - away from playing, beaten and despoiled. - - _Tam._ Do you know what dice-players say, in a proverb of - theirs? “You should seek your toga where you lost it.” - - _Manr._ True, but there is the danger that, while I seek - the lost toga, I shall lose both my tunic and shirt. - - _Tam._ This indeed often happens, but he who risks - nothing does not become rich. - - _Manr._ This is the opinion of metal-diggers. - - _Tam._ Also of the Janus in the middle of Antwerp. - - -II. _The Playing—Drawing Lots_ - - _Val._ It is quite right. We can only play four at a - time. We are five. Let us cast lots as to who shall be - the spectator of the others. - - _Manr._ I will be the one, without any casting of lots. - - _Val._ No such thing! Wrong should be done to none. No - one’s will, but chance, shall decide this. He to whom - the first king falls in dealing, he shall sit as lazy - spectator, and if any dispute shall arise, he shall be - judge. - - _Lup._ Here are two whole packs of cards; one is Spanish, - the other French. - - _Val._ The Spanish does not seem to be quite right. - - _Lup._ How so? - - _Val._ Since the tens are lacking. - - _Lup._ They don’t usually have them, as the French do. - Cards, both Spanish and French, are divided into four - suits, or families. The Spanish have gold coins, cups, - sceptres, and swords. The French, hearts, diamonds, - clubs, (little) ploughshares, otherwise called spades or - arrow-points. There are in each suit—king, queen, knight; - ones, twos, threes, fours, fives, sixes, sevens, eights, - nines. The French also have tens. In the Spanish game, - golden pieces and cups are used, but less preferably - swords and sceptres. With the French, the higher numbers - are always considered better. - - _Cast._ What game shall we play? - - _Val._ The game of Spanish Triumph, in which the dealer - will retain for himself the last card as indication (of - trumps) if it is a one or a picture. - - _Manr._ Let us know now who shall be left out of the game! - - _Tam._ You advise well. Pray deal the cards. This is - yours, this is his, this for Lupianus. You are umpire. - - _Val._ I would rather have you as umpire than as a - fellow-player. - - _Lup._ Nice words, I must say. Pray, why do you say so? - - _Val._ Because in playing you are so cunning, and such - a caviller. Then they say that you have a knack of - arranging the cards as suits yourself. - - _Lup._ My play has no deceit in it. But my activity seems - to your lack of experience like imposture, as often is - the case with the ignorant. However, how does Castellus - please you, who, as soon as he has won a little money, - leaves off playing? - - _Tam._ This is rather shirking play than playing itself - (_eludere est hoc, quam ludere_). - - _Val._ That is a light evil enough. For if he should be - beaten, he will fasten himself to the game like a nail in - a beam. - - -_Partners_ - - _Tam._ We will play by twos, two against two. How shall - we be partnered? - - _Val._ I, indeed, knowing nothing of this game, will - stick to you, Castellus, whom I understand to be most - expert in the game. - - _Tam._ Add also, most crafty in it. - - _Cast._ There is no need of choosing. Lots must divide - everything. Those who get the highest cards play against - those with the lowest. - - _Val._ So be it. Deal the cards! - - _Manr._ As I wished, Castellus and I are on the same - side. Valdaura and Tamayus are our opponents. - - _Val._ Let us sit, as we are accustomed, crosswise. - Give me that reclining chair, so that I may lose more - peacefully. - - _a_ _b_ - \ / - \ / - × - / \ - / \ - _b_ _a_ -] - - _Tam._ Place the footstool. Let us sit down in our - places. Draw for the lead. - - _Val._ It is my lead. You deal, Castellus. - - -_Modes of Distribution of Cards_ - - _Cast._ How? from the left to the right, according to the - Belgian custom? or, on the contrary, according to Spanish - custom, from the right to the left? - - _Val._ By the latter custom, since we are playing the - Spanish game and have thrown out the tens. - - _Cast._ Yes. How many cards do I give to each? - - -_The Stake_ - - _Val._ Nine. But what shall the stake be? - - _Manr._ Three denarii each deal and a doubling of the - stakes. - - _Cast._ Wait, my Manricus, you are getting on too fast! - That would not be play, but madness, where so much money - would be risked. How could you have pleasure in the - anxiety lest you should lose so much money? One denarius - would be sufficient, and the increase shall be one-half - up to five asses. - - _Val._ You counsel rightly. For so we shall not play - without stakes, which would be insipid, nor for what - would grieve us, if we lost, for that is bitter. - - _Cast._ Have you all nine cards? Hearts are trumps, and - this queen is mine. - - _Val._ What a happy omen that is! Certainly it is most - true that the hearts of women ordinarily rule. - - _Cast._ Leave off your reflections. Answer to this: I - increase the stake! - - -_The Contest_ - - _Val._ I have a losing hand and haven’t good sequences. I - pass. - - _Tam._ And I also. You deal, Manricus. - - _Val._ What are you doing? You haven’t shown the trump. - - _Manr._ I will first count my cards, so as not to have - more or less than nine. - - _Val._ You have one too many. - - _Manr._ I will place one aside. - - _Val._ That is not the rule of the game. You ought to - lose your turn of dealing, and pass it on to the next. - Give me the cards! - - _Manr._ I won’t, since I haven’t yet turned up the trump. - - _Val._ Yes, you will. By God (_per Deum_)! - - _Cast._ Get away! What has come into your mind, my - Valdaura? You swear oaths on the slightest provocation, - which would scarcely be fitting on the most important - affairs. - - _Manr._ What do you say, umpire? - - _Lup._ I don’t know really what should be done in this - case. - - _Manr._ See what a judge we have appointed over us—one - who has no judgment—a leader without eyes. - - _Val._ What, then, is to be done? - - _Manr._ What, indeed, unless we send to Paris for some - one to bring this matter of ours forward for a decree of - the Senate. - - _Cast._ Mix the cards, and deal again. - - _Tam._ Oh! what a good hand I lose! I shall not have - another like it to-day! - - _Cast._ Shuffle well those cards and deal them more - carefully, one by one. - - _Val._ Again, I increase the stakes. - - _Tam._ Didn’t I predict that I shouldn’t have such - a chance in my hands again to-day? I am always most - unfortunate. Why do I so much as even look at a game? - - _Cast._ This, indeed, is not playing. It is afflicting - ourselves. Is it recreating ourselves and refreshing our - minds, to get worried like this? Play ought to be play, - not torment. - - _Manr._ Be a little patient; don’t throw your cards away. - You are getting into a panic! - - _Val._ Then answer if you accept (the amount of the - stake). - - _Manr._ I accept, and increase it again. - - _Val._ What! do you expect to put me to flight with your - fierce words? I don’t pass. - - _Manr._ Declare, once for all, and be quick about it. Do - you agree? - - _Val._ Yes, and with the greatest pleasure. My mind - prompts me to contest in such play for a still greater - stake, but this will do amongst friends. - - _Tam._ What! don’t you count me amongst the living, so - that you leave me out of consideration? - - _Cast._ What, then, do you stake, you man of straw - (_faenee_). - - _Tam._ I, for my part, wish to increase the stake. - - _Manr._ What do you say, Castellus? - - _Cast._ At last you consult me, after you have increased - the stake by your own arrangements. I should not dare, on - my hand, to stake up to such an increase. - - _Val._ Give a definite answer. - - _Cast._ I haven’t the grounds for doing so. Everything - seems ambiguous and doubtful. Hence I answer - hesitatingly, timidly, diffidently. Isn’t this expressed - sufficiently clearly? - - _Manr._ Immortal God, what an abundance of words! The - hail we lately had, did not fall so thickly! But, I beg, - let us risk a little. - - _Cast._ Let us make the attempt when you please, but - don’t expect a great stake from me. - - _Manr._ But you will bring what assistance you can? - - _Cast._ There is no need for you to advise me on that - score. - - _Manr._ We have been completely beaten! - - _Tam._ We have won four denarii. Shuffle! - - _Val._ I go five asses. - - _Cast._ I don’t know whether I shall pass, for I am sure - to be beaten. - - _Tam._ Five more! - - _Cast._ What do you reply to this call? - - _Manr._ What am I to say? I let it pass. - - _Cast._ You lost the last game. Let me lose this in - accordance with my own ideas. I know that I am of less - skill, but I must hold out as long as I seem to have any - strength. - - _Val._ What, then, do you say? Do you refuse? - - _Cast._ No, certainly. I agree. - - _Tam._ Don’t you know this Castellus, Valdaura? He plays - a better game than you, but he is thus accustomed to lure - on rash challengers into his net. Take care not to go on - rashly, where you will be entangled in a net. - - _Val._ God’s faith! how could you guess that I had one - last card left of this suit (_natio_)? - - _Cast._ I knew all the cards. - - _Val._ That is quite conceivable. - - _Cast._ And that, too, without looking at them! - - _Val._ Perhaps even from the backs? - - _Cast._ You are too suspicious. - - _Val._ You make me so, if you will excuse me saying so. - - _Tam._ Let us examine if the backs of the cards have - marks whereby they can be recognised. - - -_End of the Game_ - - _Val._ Let us, please, make an end of playing. This game - worries me by all going so wrongly. - - _Cast._ As you will. But perchance the fault is not - in the game, but in your lack of skill, for you don’t - know how to direct your steps to victory, but you throw - away your cards without any reason, as chance happens, - thinking that it doesn’t matter what you have played - before, or might play later, what and in what place any - card should be played. - - _Tam._ Of all things there is satiety, and even of - pleasures. I am now weary of sitting. Let us get up for a - little time. - - _Lup._ Take this lute and sing something to us. - - _Tam._ What will you have? - - _Lup._ A song on games. - - _Tam._ A song of Vergil’s? - - _Lup._ Yes; or if you prefer one of Vives, the song he - lately sang as he wandered along the wall-promenade of - Bruges. - - _Val._ With the voice of a goose. - - _Lup._ But you sing it with a swan’s voice! - - _Tam._ This a god would do better, for the swan only - sings as death urges him on. - - Ludunt et pueri, ludunt juvenesque senesque - Ingenium, gravitas, cani, prudentia, ludus, - Denique mortalis sola virtute remota, - Quid nisi nugatrix, et vana est fabula, vita.[79] - - _Val._ I can assure you the song is well expressed, - though it comes as it were from a dry old stick (_ex - spongia arida_). - - _Lup._ Does he compose a song with such great difficulty? - - _Val._ Indeed he does. Whether it is because he writes - poetry so rarely, or because he does not do it willingly, - or because the inclination of his genius drives him into - other regions. - - - - -XXII - -LEGES LUDI—_Laws of Playing_ - -A VARIED DIALOGUE ON THE CITY OF VALENCIA - -BORGIA, SCINTILLA, CABANILLIUS - - - Valencia is a town of Spain, the native town of Vives. To - it Ptolemaeus gives 14° longitude, 39° latitude. _See_ - the same in the fourth map, Europe. There is another - Valencia in France, as to which _see_ the fifth map - of Europe. This dialogue contains, to a large extent, - the description of the native town of Ludovicus Vives. - There are two parts of the dialogue. In the former part - he describes two cities: Paris with its games, and - Valencia; in the latter part he prescribes the laws - of play. Ammianus Marcellinus calls Paris (Lutetia) - _Parisiorum castellum_. The Emperor Julianus in an - oration with the title Αντιοχιὸς ἢ μισοπώγων[80] calls - it των παρισίων την πολιχνὴν;[81] where also he shows - for what reason he once was driven at Lutetia to vomit - his food, viz., when impatient of the French custom, - by which they were accustomed to heat their rooms by - means of stoves (_fornaces_). Coal having been taken - to the sleeping-chamber of Vives, he was almost killed - by the fumes. _See_ Beatus Rhenanus, book 3, _rerum - Germanicarum_, at the end; Aegydius Corrozetus, _de - antiquitat. Parisiens._; and Zuingerus, book 3, _methodi - Apodemicae_. - - -PART I. _Lutetia_ - - _Borg._ Whence comest thou, most delightful Scintilla? - - _Scin._ From Lutetia. - - _Borg._ What Lutetia is that? - - _Scin._ Do you ask which Lutetia, as if there were many! - - _Borg._ If there is only one, I don’t know what it is, or - where it is situated. - - _Scin._ It is the Parisian Lutetia (_Lutetia Parisiorum_). - - _Borg._ I have often heard the Parisians spoken of, but - never Lutetia. It is, then, that Lutetia which we call - Paris? This is the reason then why, for so long, no one - has seen thee at Valencia, and especially hast thou been - missed at the tennis court (_sphaeristerium_) of the - nobles. - - _Scin._ I have seen at Lutetia other tennis courts, - other gymnasia, other games, far more useful and more - attractive than yours at Valencia. - - _Borg._ What are those, pray? - - _Scin._ There are thirty gymnasia, more or less, in that - university (_academia_), which provides for every kind of - erudition, knowledge, and wisdom; learned teachers, and - most studious youths, who are thoroughly well-bred. - - _Borg._ Forsooth, a crowd of people! - - _Scin._ What do you call a crowd? - - _Borg._ The dregs of the people, sons of shoemakers, - weavers, barbers, fullers, and every kind of operative - artificers. - - _Scin._ I see that you people here measure the whole - world by your city, and think that all Europe has the - same customs which you have here. I can tell you, that - the youth there very largely consists of princes, leaders - of men, nobles, and the wealthiest persons, not only from - France, but also from Germany, Italy, Great Britain, - Spain, Belgium, marvellously devoted to the study of - letters, obeying the precepts and instructions of their - teachers. Their conduct is not formed through simple - admonition merely, but by sharp reproof and, when it is - necessary, even by punishment, by blows and lashes. All - which they receive and bear with modest mind and the most - collected countenance. - - -_Valencia_ - - _Caban._ I have often heard stories told of the - university, when I was acting as ambassador (_legatus_) - of King Ferdinand. But please now leave this topic, or - defer it for another time. You see that we have now - entered the Miracle Playground (_in ludo Miraculi_), - which lies next to the Carrossi Square. Come, now, let - our conversation turn to the pleasurable topic of the - playing-ball (_pila_). - - _Scin._ I should like it as long as we don’t sit down, - but go on talking, as we walk about. Then it would be - very agreeable. Where shall we go? Shall we take this - way, which leads to St. Stephen’s Church, or that way to - the Royal Gate, where we then can visit the palace of - Ferdinand, Duke of Calabria? - - _Caban._ Don’t let us by any chance interrupt the studies - in wisdom of that best of princes. - - -_Walk through the City of Valencia_ - - _Borg._ It would be better if we were to get mules so - that we might ride and talk. - - _Caban._ Don’t let us, I beg, lose the use of the feet - and the legs; the weather is clear and bright, and the - air cool; it will be more satisfactory to go on foot than - on horseback. - - _Borg._ Then let us go this way by St. John’s Hospital to - the Marine Quarter. - - _Caban._ Let us observe, by the way, the beautiful - objects we pass by. - - _Borg._ What, on foot! This will be a disgrace. - - _Scin._ In my opinion, it is a greater disgrace if men - hang upon the judgments of inexperienced and stupid girls. - - _Caban._ Would you like to go straight along Fig Street - and St. Thecla Street? - - _Scin._ No, but through the quarter of the Cock Tavern - (_tabernae gallinaceae_). For in that quarter I should - like to see the house in which my Vives was born. It is - situated, as I have heard, to the left as we descend, - quite at the end of the quarter. I will take the - opportunity to call upon his sister. - - _Borg._ Let us put aside calling on women, but if you - wish to speak with a woman, let us go rather to Angela - Zabata, with whom we could have a chat on questions of - learning. - - _Caban._ If you wish to do so, would that we met the - Marchioness Zeneti! - - _Scin._ If those reports, which I heard of her when I - was in France, were true, then we might have a greater - subject of discussion than could easily be treated - especially by those busied about anything else. - - _Borg._ Let us go up to St. Martin’s or down through the - Vallesian Quarter to the Villa Rasa Street. - - _Caban._ From that place to the tennis court - (_sphaeristerium_) of Barzius, or, if you prefer, to that - of the Masconi. - - -_Games—Ball_ - - _Borg._ Have you also in France, public grounds for games - like ours? - - _Scin._ As to other French cities, I cannot answer you. - I know that there is none in Paris, but there are many - private grounds, for example, in the suburbs of St. - James, St. Marcellus, and St. Germanus. - - _Caban._ And in the city itself the most famous, which is - called Braccha. - - _Borg._ Is the game played in the same way as here? - - _Scin._ Exactly so, except that the teacher there - furnishes playing shoes and caps. - - _Borg._ What sort are they? - - _Scin._ The shoes are made of felt. - - _Borg._ But they would not be of any use here. - - _Caban._ That is, on a stony road. In France indeed, and - in Belgium, they play on a pavement, covered over with - tiles, level and smooth. - - _Scin._ The caps worn are lighter in summer, but in - winter, thick and deep, with a band under the chin, so - that as the player moves about, the cap shall not fall - off the head or fall down over the eyes. - - _Borg._ We don’t here use a band, except when there is a - pretty strong wind. But what kind of balls do they use? - - _Scin._ Not such light wind-balls as here, but smaller - balls than yours, and much harder, made of white leather. - The stuffing of the balls is not, as it is in yours, wool - torn from rags, but chiefly dogs’ hair. For this reason - the game is rarely played with the palm of the hand. - - _Borg._ In what way, then, do they strike the ball? with - the fist, as we do the leather ball? - - _Scin._ No, but with a net. - - _Borg._ Woven from thread? - - _Scin._ From somewhat thicker strings, such as are found - for the most part on the six-stringed lyre. They have a - stretched rope, and, as to the rest, the game is played - as in the houses here. To send the ball under the rope is - a fault, or loss of a point. There are two signs or, if - you prefer, limits. The counting goes fifteen, thirty, - forty-five or (advantage), equality of numbers and - victory, which is twofold, as when it is said: “We have - won a game” or “We have won a set.” The ball, indeed, - is either sent back whilst in its flight or thrown back - after the first bound. For on the second bound, the - stroke is invalid, and a mark is made where the ball was - struck. - - _Borg._ Are there no other games there except tennis? - - _Scin._ In the city as many or more than here, but - amongst scholars, no other is permitted by the masters. - But sometimes, secretly, they play at cards and dice, the - little boys with the knuckle-bones (_tali_), the worse - sort of boys with dice (_taxilli_). We have a teacher - Anneus who used to allow card-playing at festival times - (_obscoeno die_). For that and for games in general, he - composed six laws written on a tablet which he hung in - his bed-chamber. - - _Borg._ If it is not burdensome, may I ask you to tell - them to us, in the same way as you have told us of other - matters. - - _Scin._ But let us continue our walk, for I am possessed - by an inconceivably keen desire to behold my country - which I have not seen for so long a period. - - _Borg._ Let us mount mules, so that we may move along - pleasantly, as well as with more dignity. - - _Scin._ I would not give a snap of the fingers for this - dignity! - - _Borg._ And I, if I may confess the truth, would not move - my hand for it. Nor do I know why riding on mules seems - to be more becoming for us. - - _Caban._ This is rightly said; we are three, and in the - narrow streets or concourse of men we should get parted - from one another, whence our talk would necessarily be - interrupted, or many remarks made by some one of us would - not be thoroughly heard or understood by the others. - - _Borg._ So let it be; let us proceed on foot. Enter - through this narrow lane on to the Pegnarogii Street. - - -_The Market_ - - _Scin._ Nothing could be better. Thence by the keysmith’s - into the Sweetmeats Quarter (_vicum dulciarium_), then - into the fruit market. - - _Borg._ Nay, rather the vegetable market. - - _Scin._ The market is both. Those who prefer to eat - vegetables call it the vegetable market; those who prefer - fruit call it the fruit market. What a spaciousness - there is of the market, what a multitude of sellers and - of things exposed for sale! What a smell of fruit, what - variety, cleanliness, and brightness! Gardens could - hardly be thought to contain fruit equal to the supply - of what is in this market. What skill and diligence - our inspector (_aedilis_) of public property and his - ministers show so that no buyer shall be taken in by - fraud. Is not he who is riding about so much, Honoratus - Joannius? - - _Caban._ I think not, for one of my boys, who met him - just now, left him retiring to his library. If he knew - that we were here together then he would undoubtedly join - us in our conversation and would postpone his serious - studies to our play. - - _Borg._ Now at last describe the laws of play! - - _Scin._ We will withdraw from this crowd by the Street of - the Holy Virgin the Redeemer, to the Smoky street and to - St. Augustine’s, where there are fewer people. - - _Caban._ Let us not go down so far away from the main - body of the city. Let us rather ascend through the - street of Money-Purses to the Hill, then to the Soldiers’ - Quarter and the house of your family, Scintilla, whose - walls yet seem to me to mourn over that hero, Count - Olivanus! - - _Borg._ Nay, they have now laid aside their grief, and - now rejoice in all seriousness that such a youth has - stepped into the place of so great an old man. - - _Scin._ Oh, how delightful it is to look into the Senate - House (_curia_) and the fourfold court of the governor - of the city (_praefectus urbis_), which by now seems - almost to have become the heritage of your family, - Cabanillius—one part of the building for a civil, another - for a criminal, court, and this part for the three - hundred solidi. What buildings! what a glory of the city! - - -PART II. _The Laws of Play—The First Law_ - - _Borg._ In no place could you more rightly enunciate laws - than in the _forum_ and _curia_, so give them forth here! - For some other time there will be a more fitting occasion - of discoursing on the praise and admiration which our - city excites. - - _Scin._ The first law treats of the time of recreation - (_quando ludendum_). Man is constituted for serious - affairs, not for frivolity and recreation. But we are - to resort to games for the refreshing of our minds from - serious pursuits. The time, therefore, for recreation - is when the mind or body has become wearied. Nor should - otherwise relaxation be taken, than as we take our - sleep, food, drink, and the other means of renewal - and recuperation. Otherwise it is deleterious, as is - everything which takes place unseasonably. - - -_The Second Law_ - - The second law deals with the persons with whom we are to - take our recreation (_cum quibus ludendum_). In the same - way as when you are about to take a journey, or to go to - a banquet, you look about diligently to see who are to - be your future boon companions or fellow travellers, so - in considering your recreation, you should reflect with - whom you will play, so that they may be men known to you. - For there is a great danger with the unknown, and it is - a true proverb of Plautus: “A fellow-man is a wolf to a - man who does not know what manner of associate he has - got.” Companions should be agreeable, festive, with whom - there is no danger of quarrelling or fighting, of either - doing or saying anything disgraceful or unbecoming! Let - them not be blasphemers of God, or users of oaths! Nor - should they be impure in speech, lest your morals should - be rubbed against by the contagion of what is depraved - or profligate. Lastly, they should bring to the game no - other purpose than your own, viz., the idea of thorough - rest from labour, and the freedom from mental strain. - - -_The Third Law_ - - The third law concerns the kind of recreation. First - it should be a well-known game, for there can be no - pleasure, if it is not known by player nor colleagues, - nor by the lookers-on. Further, it must at the same time - refresh the mind and exercise the body, if indeed the - season of the year and state of health are suitable. But - if not, it must be a game in which mere chance does not - count for everything. There must be some skill in it, - which may balance chance. - - -_The Fourth Law_ - - The fourth law is as to stakes. You ought not to play so - that the game is zestless, and quickly satiates you. So a - stake may be justifiable. But it should not be a big one, - which may disturb the mind in the very game itself, and - if one is beaten, may vex and torture you. That is not a - game; it is rather the rack. - - -_The Fifth Law_ - - The fifth law treats of the manner of play, viz., that - before you settle to play, you recall to mind that you - have come for the invigoration of your mind, and for this - object you may put a very small coin or two to stake, - so as to purchase with them the recuperation from your - weariness. Think that it is a chance, _i.e._, variable, - uncertain, unstable, common to all, and that no harm - will be done to you through it, if you lose. Thus, you - may have equanimity in your loss, so as not to contract - your countenance and experience sadness over it—nor - break forth into oaths and curses, either against your - fellow-player, or any of the spectators. If you win, - don’t be insolently loquacious to your fellow-player! Be - in all the game, his companion, cheerful, jovial, and - mirthful, this side of scurrility and petulancy, nor must - there be any trace of deceit, of sordidness or avarice. - Don’t be obstinate in contention and, least of all, make - use of oaths—when you remember that the whole thing, - even if you are in the right, is not so weighty that - you need call the name of God to witness. Remember that - the spectators are, as it were, the judges of the game. - If they make any pronouncement, then give in, and don’t - offer any sign of disapprobation. In this manner the game - will be both a delight and the noble education of an - honest youth will be pleasing to all. - - -_The Sixth Law_ - - The sixth law has reference to the length of time of - playing. Play until you feel the mind renewed and - restored for labour, and the hour for serious business - calls you. Who does otherwise seems to do ill. “May you - be willing to accept these laws; may you decree their - keeping, Romans!”[82] - - _Borg._, _Caban._ “Even as he proposed” (_Sicuti - rogavit_). - - - - -XXIII - -CORPUS HOMINIS EXTERIUS—_The Exterior of Man’s Body_ - -DURERIUS PICTOR (the Painter, Dürer), GRYNAEUS, VELIUS - - - This dialogue has two parts. The former is the Exordium. - The second part contains an examination of Dürer’s - painting. Albert Dürer was a remarkable German painter, - whose works are still extant. Simon Grynaeus was renowned - by his knowledge of literature, mathematics, and the - sacred writings. He taught at Basle, and was married - there. Caspar Ursinus Velius was a poet and distinguished - historian. He was tutor to the Emperor Maximilian II., as - Jovius writes in his _Elogia Doctorum Virorum_. - - -I. _Introduction (Exordium)_ - - _Dürer._ Go away from here, for you will buy nothing, as - I know full well, and you only remain in the way, and - this keeps buyers from coming nearer. - - _Gryn._ Nay, we wish to buy, only we wish you to leave - the price to our judgment, and that you should state the - limit of time for payment, or, on the other hand, let us - settle the time, and you the amount of payment. - - _Dürer._ A fine way of doing business! There is no need - for me to have nonsense of this sort! - - _Gryn._ Whose portrait is this, and what price do you put - on it? - - _Dürer._ It is the portrait of Scipio Africanus and I - price it at four hundred sesterces, or not much less. - - -II. _Criticism_ - - _Gryn._ I pray you, before you favour us with a single - word, let us examine the art of the picture. Velius here - is half a physicist, and very skilled in knowledge of the - human body. - - _Dürer._ For some time I have perceived that I was in for - being worried by you. Now whilst there are no buyers at - hand, you may waste my time as you will. - - _Gryn._ Do you call the practical knowledge of your art a - waste of time? What would you call that of another’s? - - _Vel._ First of all you have covered the top of this - head with many and straight hairs when the top is called - _vertex_, as if a vortex, from the curling round of the - hair, as we see in rivers when the water rolls round and - round (_convolvit_). - - _Dürer._ Stupidly spoken; you don’t reflect that it is - badly combed, following the custom of his age. - - _Vel._ His forehead is unevenly bent. - - _Dürer._ As a soldier he had received a wound at the - Trebia when he was saving his father. - - _Gryn._ Where did you read that? - - _Dürer._ In the lost decads of Livy. - - _Vel._ The temples are too much swollen. - - _Dürer._ Hollow temples would be the sign of madness! - - _Vel._ I should like to be able to see the back part of - the head. - - _Dürer._ Then turn the panel round. - - _Gryn._ Why does Cato say amongst his other oracles: - “The forehead is before the back part of the head?” - - _Dürer._ How stupid you are! Don’t you see in every man - the forehead in front of the back part of the head? - - _Gryn._ There are some people whose backs I would rather - see than their faces! - - _Dürer._ And I gladly, _e.g._, such buyers as you, and - soldiers! - - _Vel._ Cato was of opinion that the presence of the - master was more effective for the oversight of his - affairs than his absence. For the rest, why has he such - long forelocks? - - _Dürer._ Do you speak of these hairs over the forehead? - - _Vel._ Yes. - - _Dürer._ For many months he had no barber at hand as we - have in Spain. - - _Vel._ Why have you covered with hair, the hairless part - (_glabella_)[83] against its etymology? - - _Dürer._ Do you pluck out the hairs with pincers! - - _Vel._ The hairs in the nose stand out from the nose. But - you, such is your ingenuity, will throw the fault from - yourself on to the barber. - - _Dürer._ Ignorant that you are! Don’t you remember that - the customs of those times were harsh, horrible, boorish? - - _Vel._ You, too, are ignorant. Have you not read that - Scipio was one of the most cultivated and polished of - all the men of his age, and a lover of what was elegant? - - _Dürer._ This painting gives his likeness as he was, when - an exile, at Liternum. - - _Gryn._ The eyebrows are large, and suitable for Latium; - the eyelids too hollow, and the cheeks too much sunk. - - _Dürer._ Naturally, from the camp-watches. - - _Gryn._ You are not only a painter, but a rhetorician, - well versed in turning off any criticism of your work. - - _Dürer._ As far as I can see, you are well versed in - finding faults. - - _Vel._ The picture has the cheeks and lips too much - puffed up. - - _Dürer._ He is blowing the battle-trumpet. - - _Gryn._ And you were blowing on a goblet when you painted - this. - - _Vel._ On the contrary, he was blowing into a bag made of - skin. For elsewhere you have made him hairy, whilst you - have scarcely painted any eyelashes. - - _Dürer._ They have fallen off by disease. - - _Gryn._ What was the disease? - - _Dürer._ Seek that from his physician! - - _Gryn._ Don’t you understand now that you must take off - from your price one hundred sesterces for such lack of - skill? - - _Dürer._ Nay, for your cavils and bothersome questions I - ought rather to add two hundred sesterces to the price. - - _Vel._ You have made the pupils of the eyes grayish and I - have heard that Scipio’s were blue. - - _Dürer._ And I have heard that his eyes were blue-gray - like those of Minerva Bellatrix. - - _Vel._ You have made the corners of the eyes too fleshy - and the hollows too moist. - - _Dürer._ He was weeping because accused by Cato. - - _Vel._ The jaws are too long, and the beard very thick - and profuse. You would say the hairs are the bristles of - swine. - - _Dürer._ You are beyond measure, chatterers and talkative - cavillers. Get away with you. I won’t let you have the - opportunity of further criticising the picture. - - _Vel._ Please, my Dürer, since you have no other clients, - let us go on criticising here. - - _Dürer._ What is the good to me? - - _Vel._ We will each of us write a distich for you, - whereby the picture will be more easily sold. - - _Dürer._ My art has no need of your commendation. For - skilled buyers who understand pictures, don’t buy verses, - but works of art. - - _Vel._ But your Scipio has his nostrils too much dilated. - - _Dürer._ He was in a state of wrath at his accusers. - - _Vel._ We see no dimple in his chin. - - _Dürer._ It is hidden in his beard. You also don’t see - his chin nor the double-chin! - - _Gryn._ You have saved yourself the trouble of drawing - those for the sake of painting a big beard. - - _Vel._ The straight and muscular neck pleases me, as also - the throat. - - _Dürer._ Thank the Lord that you approve of something! - - _Vel._ But so that I should not leave something to be - desired in this, I must also say the figure has not - sufficient hollow in the throat. When a physiognomist - noted this in Socrates, he pronounced it as a sign of - slowness of mind. I should wish those shoulders to be a - little more erect, and larger. - - _Dürer._ He was not so much a fighting soldier as a - general. Have you not heard of his apophthegm on the - point? When certain soldiers were saying of him, that he - was not so valiant a soldier as he was a wise general, - he answered: “My mother bore me to be a general, not a - soldier.” But, depart, if you are not going to be buyers, - for I see some tax-farmers approaching. - - _Vel._ Let us go for a walk, and let us talk on the - way to one another, concerning the human body without - considering Scipio, and this portrait. A flat nose does - not befit a noble countenance. - - _Gryn._ What do you think of the noses of the Huns, then? - - _Vel._ Away with such deformities! - - _Gryn._ People with turned-up noses are not less - deformed. The Persians honoured eagle-nosed people on - account of Cyrus, who, they say, had such a shaped nose. - - _Vel._ The fore-arm and bend of the arm (_ancon et - campe_) are to the arm what the ham of the knee and the - knee are to the leg; thence the upper arm (_lacertus_) - down to the hand, from the muscles of which also the legs - are called muscular (_lacertosa_). - - _Gryn._ Is not this the ell (_cubitus_) as used by those - who are measuring? - - _Vel._ Yes, and _ancon_ is another name for it. - - _Gryn._ Is not that the way the Roman king came by his - name, Ancus? - - _Vel._ It was by his curved elbow. - - _Gryn._ The hand follows, the chief of all instruments. - The hand is divided into fingers, thumb, forefinger, the - middle or disreputable finger, the next to the smallest, - and the smallest. - - _Vel._ Why has the middle finger a bad name? What crime - has it perpetrated? - - _Gryn._ Our teacher said that he knew indeed the cause, - yet he was not willing to explain it, because it would - be unseemly. Don’t seek, therefore, to know, for it - does not become a well-brought-up youth to inquire into - disgraceful matters. - - _Vel._ The Greeks named the finger next to the smallest, - δακτυλικόν, _i.e._ to say, the ring-finger. - - _Gryn._ Clearly so, but on the left, not the right hand, - because on it, formerly, they were accustomed to wear - rings. - - _Vel._ For what reason? - - _Gryn._ They say that a vein stretches from the heart - to it. If the finger is encircled by a ring it is as if - the heart itself is crowned. The knots on the fingers - are called knuckles, and this word is used for a knock - of the fist. Between the knots are joints and these are - called by the general term, joints (_artus_) and knots - (_articuli_). It has been handed down to memory, that - Tiberius Caesar had such hard knots that he could bore - through a fresh apple with his fingers. - - _Vel._ Have you learned chiromantia? - - _Gryn._ I have only heard the name. What is it? - - _Vel._ You would have been able to interpret the lines on - the hands by it. - - _Gryn._ I have said I know nothing of it, and so it - is. But if now I were to profess to know something and - looked attentively on your hand, gladly you would listen - willingly to me, and to a man utterly unskilled in this - mode of imposture you would not altogether refuse your - confidence! - - _Vel._ How so? - - _Gryn._ Because it is the nature of man to listen gladly - to those who profess that they will announce secret - things or what is about to happen. - - _Vel._ Why are the Scaevolae so called? - - _Gryn._ As if _scaevae_; from _scaea_, which is the left - hand. They say that there are more of the female sex - left-handed than in our sex. - - _Vel._ What is _vola_? - - _Gryn._ The hollow of the hand in which the lines are. - - _Vel._ What does _involare_ mean? - - _Gryn._ That which you are doing. Gladly to steal, to - snatch and hide as if in the hollow of the hand, and as - the raving Lucretia did when she snatched at the eyes of - her serving-women. - - [Then follows the Latin for the different parts of the - trunk of the body.] - - _Vel._ Do you know the seat of the virtues in the body? - - _Gryn._ No; where are they placed? - - _Vel._ Modesty in the forehead; in the right hand - faithfulness; and sympathy in the knee. - - _Gryn._ The sole of the foot is not itself the base of - the foot. - - _Vel._ So many think. - - _Gryn._ Pliny observes that there is a people who make - for themselves at mid-day a shadow with the sole of their - foot, so great and broad it is! How is it possible? - - _Vel._ Clearly the sole in their case reaches from the - thigh-bone to the toes. - - - - -XXIV - -EDUCATIO—_Education_ - -FLEXIBULUS, GRYMPHERANTES, GORGOPAS - - - The last two dialogues are παραινετικοὶ or ethical, in - the former of which he instructs the boy prince, in the - second any one in general. - - Flexibulus is a name borrowed from Varro, who uses the - word _flexibula_ (pliant, flexible). Gorgopas is a name - derived from the idea of a stern countenance, such as - that of Gorgon is said to have been. Hence γοργωπὸς, - having the eyes or face of Gorgon. Eurip. in _Hercules - furens_. The precepts in this dialogue of Vives are - sacred and most wise. They should be known thoroughly - by all sons of princes, for without doubt they would - act much better in human affairs if they kept them in - view. There are three parts in this dialogue, Exordium, - Contentio, and Epilogus. The Exordium contains the - “occasion” and “final cause.” - - -I. _Introduction (Exordium)_ - - _Flex._ Wherefore did your father send you here to me? - - _Grym._ He said that you were a man unusually well - instructed, wisely educated, and for that reason - well-pleasing to the state. He desired that I, walking in - your steps, might reach a like popularity. - - _Flex._ How do you think that you will secure this? - - _Grym._ Through the noble education which all say that - you have yourself. My father added that this education - would become me better than any other person. - - -II. _The Controversy_ - - _Flex._ Tell me, my boy, how you came to be instructed on - this matter by your father? - - _Grym._ It was not so much my father who instructed me - by his precepts as my uncle, an old man, versed in many - things, and long in the counsels of kings. - - _Flex._ What then did they teach you, my son and friend? - - _Gorg._ Most wise man, look to it that by chance you - don’t slip through ignorance into some foolish word or - deed, or into something boorish, by which you would lose - that name of being educated in the best manner. - - _Flex._ What! is that name so lightly lost by you? - - _Gorg._ Even through single words, with the single - bending of the knee, with a single inclination of the - head. - - _Flex._ Ah! you have matters too delicate and feeble with - you—but with us we have much more robust and vigorous - standards! - - _Gorg._ Our judgments are like our bodies, which can put - up with no tripping. - - _Flex._ On the contrary, as is easily seen, it is your - bodies, rather than your minds, which can bear labour. - - _Gorg._ Perhaps you don’t know who it is whom you call - son and friend. - - _Flex._ Are not these honourable names, and full of - benevolence? - - _Gorg._ Full of benevolence, perhaps, which we don’t - count much of, but not of dignity and respect, which - we seek as being important. For this gentleman is - not accustomed to be called “friend.” And don’t you - understand that he has the prefix of “sir” (_domine_) - when he is addressed, and that he has a retinue of - varied-coloured liveried men? Have you not further - noticed that there were so many wax-tapers, so many - badges of honour, so many mourners at the parental - ceremonies of his grandfather’s funeral? - - _Flex._ What then? Do you aim at being a lord over - everybody and to have no friends? - - _Grym._ So my relations have taught me! - - _Flex._ Then may your excellence, my lord (_mi domine_), - present some overwhelming proof of the right teaching of - your relatives! - - _Gorg._ You seem to me to sneer at this boy. He is not a - common boy, so don’t treat him so! - - -_Family Teaching_ - - _Grym._ In the first place, they have taught me that I - am of most honourable lineage, which yields to none in - this province, and, on that account, I must take care - diligently, and strive earnestly, not to degenerate - from the rank of my ancestors; that they have won great - honour to themselves by yielding to no one in position, - dignity, authority, in name, and that I ought to do the - same. If any one should wish to detract from that honour, - immediately I must fight him. It behoves me to be lavish - with money, and even profuse, but sparing and frugal - in paying honour to others. That it behoves me, and - those like me, by no means to rise up in the presence of - others, nor to make way for them, nor to let them lead - me, hither and thither, nor to bare the head or bow the - knee to them; not as if any one could deserve to be shown - such honours from me, but that so I shall conciliate - to myself the favour of men, shall catch the breeze of - popularity, and shall obtain that honour which we always - so greatly have borne in men’s mouths and hearts! It is - in this education that the difference exists between - those who are nobles, and those who are not; since the - noble has been rightly accustomed to be educated to - excel in all these matters, whilst the common people - (_ignobiles_), trained to rustic manners, in none of - these things. - - _Flex._ And what thinks your excellency, my lord, of such - a method of education? - - _Grym._ What indeed! Why, it is by far the highest, and - worthy of my race. - - _Flex._ What else then do you seek to learn from me? - - _Grym._ In my opinion, nothing further would remain to be - learned, had not my father hurried me hither to you. My - father ordered me, or rather rigidly enjoined me, to come - to you; so that if there was anything of a more hidden - kind, and more sacred as if of mysteries, by which I - might get more honour for myself, then that you might, as - a favour to him, not feel it a burden to expound it, that - thus our family, so honourable and exalted, may ascend - still higher, since there are not a few new men who, - relying on their opulence, have come to light, and seized - upon dignities and honours so that they even dare to vie - with the old standing and honours of our race. - - _Flex._ Shameful thing! - - _Grym._ Is it not? - - _Flex._ This would be visible to a blind man! - - _Grym._ Certainly. These new men march about with a long - company of followers, themselves in gold-decked clothes - or clothes of flowered velvet, or clothes gay as those - of Attalus, so that we seem nothing before them, for we - are clothed in velvet to hide our poverty. If you will - undertake this labour, the reward for thy labour will be - that thou wilt be received by my father in the number of - our family, and wilt be admitted to his favour and mine, - and in process of time, wilt receive some promotion from - us. Thou wilt always be amongst our clients and, as it - were, under our protection. - - _Flex._ What could be a greater reward or more to be - desired? But tell me now, if thou uncoverest the head or - givest way or addressest any one blandly, why art thou - pleasing to them with whom thou hast dealings? - - _Grym._ Just because I meet them in this way. - - _Flex._ All these externalities are only the signs - which denote that there is something in the heart, on - account of which they love you, for no one loves them for - themselves. - - _Grym._ Why should not everybody love those things which - are of honourable bearing, especially in my grade of - nobility? - - _Flex._ Thou hast not yet advanced to that degree that it - should be permitted to thee to say so, and thou thinkest - that thou hast arrived at the very highest. - - _Grym._ I have no necessity to get knowledge and - education. My forefathers have left me enough to live - upon. And even if this were lacking, I should not seek my - living by those arts, or by any means so low, but with - the point of the lance and with drawn sword. - - _Flex._ This is high-spirited and fierce, as if indeed - because you are of noble rank you would not be a man. - - _Grym._ Fine words, those! - - _Flex._ Which part of you is it that makes you a man! - - _Grym._ Myself as a whole. - - _Flex._ Is it by your body, in having which you don’t - differ from a beast? - - _Grym._ By no means. - - _Flex._ Not then yourself as a whole, but therefore by - your reason and your mind? - - _Grym._ What then? - - _Flex._ If, therefore, you permit your mind to be - uncultivated and boorish but cherish your body and - take thought for it alone, don’t you transfer yourself - from the human, into the brute, condition? But let us - return to the topic on which we began to speak, for this - digression, if I gave way to it, would lead us a long - way from our purpose. If thou, therefore, yieldest place, - and uncoverest thy head, for what do others take you? - - _Grym._ For a noble, nobly instructed and brought up. - - _Flex._ You are too uncouth. Did you hear nothing at - home about the mind, about honesty, about modesty, and - moderation? - - _Grym._ In the church, sometimes, I have heard of these - things from preachers. - - _Flex._ When those who meet you see what is done by you, - they judge that you are a modest, honest young man, - approving of your actions towards them, judging modestly - and thinking humbly of yourself. Thence the opinion of - benevolence and graciousness is formed of you. - - _Grym._ Please be more explicit. - - _Flex._ If people knew that you were so proud that you - looked down on them all with contempt, that you bared - your head and bent your knee to them, not because that - honour was due to them, but because it redounded to your - honour to do it, do you think there would be any one who - would take pleasure in you, or would love you for your - honours sprung from such false dissimulation? - - _Grym._ For why? - - _Flex._ Because you do honour to yourself, and take - pleasure in it—not to them. For who will consider himself - indebted to you for that which you do for your sake? - Or shall I receive your honour not for itself, but as - an outlay which thou offerest for a good opinion of - thyself, not as due to my merits? - - _Grym._ So it seems. - - -_The Teaching of the Better View of Education—Right Government of -Oneself_ - - _Flex._ Therefore, benevolence is won if people believe - that honour is paid to _them_, not that _thou_ shouldst - be held more courtly and noble. This will not happen, - unless they have the opinion of thee, that thou esteemest - them higher than thyself and holdest them worthy of thy - honour. - - _Grym._ But this does not happen. - - _Flex._ If it does not happen, then they must be deceived - on this point, or else thou wilt never obtain what thou - so keenly desirest. - - _Grym._ By what way can you persuade me to think so? - - _Flex._ Easily. Apply your mind carefully to what I say. - - _Grym._ Go on, I beg. For I am sent on this very account - to you, and you shall always be amongst our _clientèle_. - - _Flex._ Ah, that apple is too raw for me! - - _Grym._ What do you whisper? - - _Flex._ I say the only way will be for you _to be_ what - you wish to be thought to be. - - _Grym._ How so? - - _Flex._ If you wish to make anything warm, do you then - bring it to an imaginary fire? - - _Grym._ No, but to a real fire. - - _Flex._ If you wish to cleave anything in two, will you - use a picture of a sword depicted on tapestry? - - _Grym._ No, an iron sword. - - _Flex._ Is there not the same strength with real things - as with artificial ones? - - _Grym._ Apparently there is a difference. - - _Flex._ Nor wilt thou effect the same with a simulated - moderation as with real modesty, for falsity at some time - or other shows itself for what it is; truth is always the - same. In fictitious modesty you say something sometimes - or do something, publicly or privately, when you forget - yourself (for you are not able always and everywhere - to be on your guard), whereby you are caught in your - pretences. And as formerly men loved you, since they - did not yet know you, afterwards, and for a long time - afterwards, they hate you when they have got to know you. - - _Grym._ How shall I note this modesty so as to be able to - appropriate it as thou teachest? - - _Flex._ If thou wilt persuade thyself of what is actually - the case, that other people are better than thou art. - - _Gorg._ Better indeed! Where are these people? I suppose - in Heaven, for on earth there are very few equal; better, - no one! - - _Grym._ So I have heard often of my father and my uncle. - - _Flex._ The circumstance that you do not understand the - significance of words leads you far from the knowledge - of truth. Tell us, what do you call good, so that we may - know if there is a better than thyself? - - _Grym._ What do I know of the good? The good comes from - being the offspring of good parents. - - -_The Real “Good”_ - - _Flex._ This, therefore, is not yet known to thee, what - it is to be good, and yet you talk about what being - “better” means. How hast thou reached to the comparative, - when as yet thou hast not learned the positive? But how - dost thou know that thy forefathers were good? By what - mark canst thou make that clear? - - _Grym._ What! do you deny that they were good? - - _Flex._ I did not know them! How can I then assert - anything of their goodness either way? By what method of - reasoning canst thou prove that they were good? - - _Grym._ Because every one says so of them; but why, I - beg, do you ask me all these vexatious questions? - - _Flex._ These questions are not vexatious, but necessary, - so that thou canst understand what thou art inquiring - from me. - - _Grym._ Confine your answer, I beg, to a few words. - - _Flex._ Many words are necessary to explain that of which - you have so crass an ignorance. But since you are so - fastidious, I will speak more briefly than the matter, - in itself so great, demands to have said of it. Look at - me whilst I expound it. Who are the people who are to be - called learned? Are they not those who have learning? or - are they the rich? or those who have money? - - _Grym._ Undoubtedly, those who have learning. - - _Flex._ Who, then, are the good? Are they not those who - have what is good? - - _Grym._ Clearly so. - - _Flex._ Let us dismiss now the idea of riches, for they - are not in themselves really good. If they were, then - many people would be found to be better than your father. - Merchants and usurers would then surpass honest and wise - men in goodness. - - _Grym._ Thus it seems, as you say. - - -_The Statement of the Problem (Propositio)_ - - _Flex._ Now, further, weigh what I am about to add in - points one by one. Is there not something good in a keen - intellect, a wise, mature judgment, whole and sound; in - a varied knowledge about all kinds of great and useful - affairs; in wisdom; and in carrying into practice these - qualities; in determination; in dexterity in pursuing - one’s business. What do you say of these things? - - _Grym._ The very names of these qualities seem to me - beautiful and magnificent. So much more are the things - themselves great! - - _Flex._ Well, then, what shall we say of wisdom, what - of religion, piety towards God, to one’s country, - parents, dependants, of justice, temperance, liberality, - magnanimity, equability of mind towards calamity in human - affairs, and brave minds in adversity? - - _Grym._ These things also are most excellent. - - _Flex._ These things alone are _the good_ for men. All - the remaining “goods” which can be mentioned are common - to the good and to the bad, and therefore are not true - “goods.” Observe this, please, well! - - _Grym._ I will do so. - - -_Assumptio (Hypothesis)—Complexio (Conclusion)_ - - _Flex._ I wish thou wouldst, for thy disposition is - not bad, but is not well cultivated—as yet. Think now - well over this matter, whether thou possessest those - goods, and, if thou dost, how few thou hast, and in what - slender proportions! And if thou examine this question - acutely and subtly, then wilt thou eventually see that - thou art not yet adorned and provided with goods, great - and many, and that no one amongst the mass of people - is less provided with them than thyself. For among the - multitude are old people, who have seen and heard much, - and persons experienced in most things. Others there are, - devoting themselves to studies, who sharpen their wits - by learning, and become cultured men; others engage in - public affairs; others occupy themselves with authors, - who will give them the knowledge they want. Others are - industrious fathers of families. Others follow various - arts and excel in them. Even peasants themselves—how many - of the secrets of nature they possess! Sailors, too, know - of the course of day and night, the nature of winds, - the position of lands and seas. Some of the people are - holy and religious men, who serve the Deity with devotion - and worship Him. Others enjoy success with moderation - and bear adversity with bravery. What dost thou know of - these? What energy like theirs dost thou practise? In - what dost thou excel? In nothing at all except that “No - one is better than me: I am of a good stock.” How canst - thou be better, when as yet thou art not _good_? Neither - thy father nor thy relations or ancestors have been good, - unless they had these things which I have recounted. If - they had them, you can tell. But I doubt it much. You - certainly will not be good, unless you become like those - I have described. - - _Grym._ You have quite given me a shock, and made me - ashamed. I cannot find anything to even mutter in reply! - - _Gorg._ I have understood none of these things. You have - cast darkness before my eyes. - - _Flex._ Naturally. For you came to these considerations - too uncouth, too long infected and enslaved in contrary - opinions. But you are a young man. How do you think you - are going to be classed? as a master (_dominus_) or as a - slave? - - _Grym._ As a slave. For if it is as you have expounded, - and I know nothing which seems truer than what you say, - there are very many much greater and more distinguished - than I am, who are slaves. - - _Flex._ Don’t be lightly disgusted at what I have said. - Betake yourself home. Alone, think over what I have - said. Examine my statements, ponder over them. The more - you turn them over in mind, the more you will recognise - they are true and certain. - - _Grym._ I beseech you proceed, if you yet have further to - add, for I feel that at this moment I am a changed man. - For the future I shall seem to be another person from my - former self. - - _Flex._ Would that it may happen to thee as it did to the - philosopher Polaemon! - - _Grym._ What happened to him?[84] - - _Flex._ Owing to a single oration of Xenocrates, from - being one of the worst and most incorrigible, he turned - out most studious of wisdom and the seeker of every - virtue, and was the successor of Xenocrates in the - Academy. But thou, my son, now openly hast recognised to - how great a degree is lacking in thee the goodness, which - others have in an overflowing measure. Now truly, and of - thine own good will, thou yieldest place to others and - honourest the good in them where thou seest them well - furnished, and where thou seest thyself to be deficient. - And if thou thus humblest thyself, and seemest to be of - slight attainments, thou wilt meet no one for whom thou - feelest abject contempt, and whom thy conscience in thy - heart does not place before thyself. For thou wilt not - be led away to believe any one to be worse than thyself, - unless his badness and malice manifest themselves - openly, whilst thine own evil carefully skulks within and - is ashamed. - - _Grym._ And what follows? - - -III. _Epilogue_ - - _Flex._ If thou doest these things, then wilt thou - get the real, solid, noble education itself, and true - urbanity; and if, as we are supposing now, thou followest - after a courtly life, thou wilt be pleasing to all and - dear to all. But even this thou wilt not set at high - value, but what will then be the sole care to thee will - be, to be acceptable to the Eternal God. - - - - -XXV - -PRAECEPTA EDUCATIONIS—_The Precepts of Education_ - -BUDAEUS, GRYMPHERANTES - - - There are three parts to this dialogue: Exordium, - Narratio, and Epilogus. - - -I. _Introductory (Exordium)_ - - _Bud._ What is this so great and so sudden a change in - you? It might be included in Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_. - - _Grym._ Is it a change for the better or the worse? - - _Bud._ For the better, in my opinion, at least, if one - may argue and estimate as to the goodness of a mind from - outward countenance, bearing, words, and actions. - - _Grym._ Can you then, my most delightful friend, - congratulate me? - - _Bud._ I do indeed congratulate you and exhort you to go - on, and I pray God and all the saints, that you may have - just increase day by day of such fruitfulness. But please - don’t grudge so dear a friend as I am, to impart the art - so distinguished and glorious, which could in so short a - time infuse so much virtue in a man’s heart. - - -II. _The Exposition (Narratio)_ - - _Grym._ The art and the fountain of this stream is that - very man who is so fruitful in goodness—Flexibulus, if - you know him. - - _Bud._ Who does not know the man? He, as I have heard - from my father and my cousins, is a man of great wisdom - and experience of things, not only known to this city, - but also generally beloved and honoured as only few - are. Oh, fortunate that you are! to have heard him more - closely and to have conversed with him familiarly, and - thereby to have gained so great a fruit in the forming of - manliness! - - _Grym._ By so much the happier art thou, to have had all - this born with you in your home, as they tell me, and to - be able, not once and again as I, but every day, as often - as you pleased, to listen to such a father, holding forth - wisely on the greatest and most useful topics. - - _Bud._ Stop this, please, and let the conversation - proceed, with which we started, about thee and Flexibulus. - - _Grym._ Let us then be silent with regard to your father - since this is your desire: let us return to Flexibulus; - nothing is sweeter to me than his discourse, nothing - more sagacious than his counsels, nothing more weighty - than his precepts, or more holy. So by this foretaste - of himself which he has provided me, the thirst has - been stimulated and increased in a wonderful degree, to - draw further from that sweet fountain of wisdom. Those - who describe the earth tell us that the streams are of - wonderful formation and nature; some inebriate, others - take away drunkenness; some send stupor, others sleep. I - have experienced that this fountain has the property of - making a man of a brute, a useful person of a wastrel, - and of a man an angel. - - _Bud._ Might I not be able also to draw something from - this fountain, though it be with the tip of my lips? - - _Grym._ Why shouldst thou not? I will show you the house - where he dwells. - - _Bud._ Another time! But do thou, whilst we are walking - along (or let us sit down, if you like), tell me - something of his precepts, those which thou considerest - to be his best and most potent. - - -_The Precepts_ - - _Grym._ I will gladly recall them to memory as far as I - am able if it will give you pleasure and be of use. First - of all he taught me that no one ought to think highly - of himself, but moderately or, more truly, humbly; that - this was the solid and special foundation of the best - education, and truly of society. Hence to exercise all - diligence to cultivate the mind, and to adorn it with - the knowledge of things by the knowledge and exercise of - virtue. Otherwise, that a man is not a man but as cattle. - That one should be interested in sacred matters and - regard them with the greatest attention and reverence. - Whatsoever on those matters you either hear, or see, to - regard it as great, wonder-moving, and as things which - surpass your power of comprehension. That you should - frequently commend yourself to Christ in prayers, have - your hope and all your trust placed in Him. That you - should show yourself obedient to parents, serve them, - minister to them and, as each one has power, be good - and useful to them. That we should honour and love the - teacher even as the parent, not of our body but (what is - greater) of our mind. That we should revere the priests - of the Lord, and show ourselves attentive to their - teaching, since they are to us in place of the Apostles - and even of the Lord Himself. That we should stand up - before the old, uncovering our heads, and attentively - listen to them, from whom, through their long experience - of life, wisdom may be gathered. That we should honour - magistrates, and that when they order anything we should - listen to what they say—since God has committed us to - their care. That we should look for, admire, honour, - and wish all good to, men of great ability, of great - learning, and to honest men, and seek the friendship - and intimacy of those from whom so great fruits can be - obtained, and that we attend to it especially that we - turn out like them. And in the last place, that reverence - is due to those who are in places of dignity, and - therefore it should be given freely and gladly. What do - you say as to these precepts? - - _Bud._ So far as I can form a judgment regarding them, - they are taken out from some rich storehouse of wisdom. - But tell me if many people do not come to honour, who - don’t deserve it, _e.g._, priests who don’t act in - accordance with so great a title, depraved magistrates, - and foolish and delirious old men? What is the opinion of - Flexibulus of these? Are they to be honoured as greatly - as the more capable men? - - _Grym._ Flexibulus knew very well that there are many - such, but he did not allow that those of my age could - judge in matters of this kind. We had not yet obtained - such insight and wisdom, that we could judge with regard - to them. That forming of opinion in these matters must - be left over to wise men, and to those who are placed in - authority over us. - - _Bud._ Therein he was right, as it seems to me. - - _Grym._ He used to add: that a youth ought not to be - slow in baring his head, in bending his knee, nor in - calling any one by his most honoured titles, nor remiss - in pleasant and modest discourse. Nor does it become him - to speak much amongst his elders or superiors. For it - would not otherwise agree with the reverence due from - him. Silent himself, he should listen to them, and drink - in wisdom from them, knowledge of varied kinds, and a - correct and ready method of speaking. The shortest way - to knowledge is diligence in listening. It is the part - of a prudent and thoughtful man to form right judgments - about things, and in every instance of that about which - he clearly knows. Therefore a youth ought not to be - tolerated, who speaks hastily and judges hastily, nor - one who is inclined to asserting and deciding hastily; - that he ought to be reluctant to argue and judge on even - small and slight questions of any kind, or, at any rate, - rather timid, _i.e._, conscious of his own ignorance. But - if this is true in slight matters, what shall we say of - literature, of the branches of knowledge? of the laws of - the country, of rites, of the customs and institutions - of our ancestors? Concerning these, Flexibulus said, it - was not permissible in the youth to urge an opinion or - to dispute or to call in question; not to cavil, nor to - demand the grounds, but quietly and modestly, to obey - them. He supported his opinion by the authority of Plato, - a man of great wisdom. - - _Bud._ But if the laws are depraved in their morality, - unjust, tyrannical? - - _Grym._ As to this Flexibulus expressed himself as he - had done with regard to old men. “I know full well,” - said he, “there are many customs in the state which are - not suitable, that whilst some laws are sacred, some - are unjust, but you are unskilled, inexperienced in the - affairs of life, how should you form an opinion? Not as - yet have you reached that stage in erudition, in the - experience of things, that you should be able to decide. - Perchance, such is your ignorance or licence of mind, you - would judge those laws to be unjust which are established - most righteously and with great wisdom. But who could - render manifest those laws which should be abrogated - without inquiring, discussing, and deciding on points - one by one? For this, you are not yet capable.” - - _Bud._ That is clearly so. Go on to other points. - - -III. _Epilogue_ - - _Grym._ No ornament is more becoming or pleasing in the - youth than modesty. Nothing is more offensive and hateful - than impudence. There is great danger to our age from - anger. By it we are snatched to disgraceful actions, of - which afterwards we are most keenly ashamed. And so we - must struggle eagerly against it, until it is entirely - overcome, lest it overcome us. The leisurely man, badly - occupied, is a stone, a beast; a well-occupied man is in - truth a man. Men, by doing nothing, learn to do evil. - Food and drink must be measured by the natural desire of - hunger and thirst, not by gluttony, and not by brute-lust - of stuffing the body. What can be more loathsome to be - said than that a man wages war on his own body by eating - and drinking, which strip him of his humanity, and hand - him over to the beasts, or make him even as it were a log - of wood. The expression of the face and the whole body - show in what manner the mind within is trained. But from - the whole exterior appearance, no mirror of the mind is - more certain than the eyes, and so it is fitting that - they should be sedate and quiet, not elated nor dejected, - neither mobile nor stiff, and that the face itself - should not be drawn into severity or ferocity, but into - a cheerful and affable cast. Sordidness and obscenity - should be far absent from clothing, nurture, intercourse, - and speech. Our speech should be neither arrogant nor - marked by fear, nor (would he have it by turns) abject - and effeminate, but simple and by no means captious; - not twisted to misleading interpretations, for if that - happens, nothing can be safely spoken, and a noble nature - in a man is broken, if his speech is met by foolish and - inane cavils. When we are speaking, the hands should not - be tossed about, nor the head shaken, nor the side bent, - nor the forehead wrinkled, nor the face distorted, nor - the feet shuffling. Nothing is viler than lying, nor is - anything so abhorrent. Intemperance makes us beasts; - lying makes us devils; the truth makes us demigods. Truth - is born of God; lying of the Devil, and nothing is so - harmful for the communion of life. Much more ought the - liar to be shut out from the concourse of men than he who - has committed theft, or he who has beaten another, or he - who has debased the coinage. For what intercourse in the - affairs or business of life or what trustful conversation - can there be with the man, who speaks otherwise than - as he thinks? With other kinds of vices, this may be - possible; but not with lying. Concerning companions and - friendship of youths he said much and to the purpose, - that this was not a matter of slight moment to the - honesty or else the shame of our age, that the manners - of our friends and companions are communicated to us as - if by contagion, and we become almost such as those are, - with whom we have intimate dealings; and therefore in - that matter, there should be exercised great diligence - and care. Nor did he permit us to seek friendships and - intimacies ourselves, but that they should be chosen by - parents or teachers or educators, and he taught that - we should accept them, and honour them as they were - recommended. For parents, in choosing for us, are guided - by reason, whilst we may be seized by some bad desire or - lust of the mind. But if, by any chance, we should find - ourselves in useless or harmful circumstances, then it - behoves us as soon as possible to seek advice from our - superiors, and to lay our cares before them. He said, - from time to time, indeed, very many other weighty and - admirable things, and these things also he explained with - considerable fullness and exactness. But these points - which I have already stated were, on the whole, the most - important on the subject of the right education of youth. - - BREDA, IN BRABANT; _the Day of the Visitation of the Holy - Virgin_, 1538. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] From the same _Institution of a Christian Woman_ (Richard Hyrde’s -translation). - -[2] J. L. Vives: _Ausgeswählte pädagogische Schriften_. Leipzig. - -[3] _De Causis Corruptarum Artium_, book ii. - -[4] The _De Disciplinis_ consists of two parts—1. _De Causis -Corruptarum Artium_, in seven books; 2. _De Tradendis Disciplinis_ in -five books. - -[5] _Dissertation on Romance and Minstrelsy_, by Joseph Ritson, 1891. - -[6] Bömer, _Die Lateinischen Schülergespräche der Humanisten_ (1899), -p. 182. - -[7] Vives deals with this question in his _De Tradendis Disciplinis_, -and it is highly probable that Mulcaster had read that book before -he treated on the subject of conferences of parents and teachers. -(_Positions_, p. 284). - -[8] It should be remembered, in connection with these dates, that Queen -Mary was eleven years older than Philip. Mary was Philip’s second wife; -his first wife was Mary of Portugal, whom he married in 1543. She died -in 1546. - -[9] _See_ p. 174. - -[10] This edition is not mentioned by Bömer. - -[11] _See_ p. xxvi. - -[12] _See_ p. 196–196. - -[13] p. 21. - -[14] p. 18. - -[15] p. 65. - -[16] In the eighteenth century, the Nonconformist academies, which are -of the first significance as educational institutions, probably, in -many cases, already associated the stages of elementary, secondary, and -university education in one institution. - -[17] The grammar school was called in Latin _Ludus literarius_. - -[18] _E.g._, John Northbrooke: _Treatise wherein Dicing, etc., ... -are reproved ... Dialogue-wise_, 1579 (Reprinted by the Shakespeare -Society); Gilbert Walker: _A Manifest Detection of the most Vyle and -Detestable Use of Dice-play_, 1552 (Reprinted by the Percy Society); -and by educational writers, _e.g._, Roger Ascham: _Toxophilus_ (1545), -and Laurence Humphrey: _The Nobles_ (1560). William Horman, headmaster -of Eton College School, in his _Vulgaria_ (in 1519) holds the opinion: -“It is a shame that young gentlemen should lose time at the dice and -tables, cards and hazard.” - -[19] As to charts, _e.g._, Sir Thomas Elyot, in the _Gouvernour_ -(1531), says: “I cannot tell what more pleasure should happen to a -gentle wit than to behold in his own house (_i.e._, in pictures and -maps) everything that within all the world is contained.” - -[20] _See_ p. 95. - -[21] Dialogue IX. - -[22] Dialogue VIII. - -[23] Which J. T. Freigius duly notes is taken from Ovid: -_Metamorphoses_, liber vi., and Vergil: _Eclogues_, vi. - -[24] Vives gives an example in Pandulphus (Dialogue IX.). - -[25] _De Tradendis Disciplinis_, book iii. chap. 3. - -[26] _De Tradendis Disciplinis_, book iii. chap. 3. - -[27] _De Tradendis Disciplinis_, book i. chap. 2. - -[28] _Mémoire sur la vie et les écrits de J. L. Vives_, p. 87. - -[29] _Die lateinischen Schülergespräche der Humanisten_, pp. 163–163. - -[30] Pasce animos nostros Christe caritate tua, qui benignitate tua -alis vitas animantium: sancta sint, Domine, haec tua munera nobis -sumentibus, ut tu, qui ea largiris, sanctus es. Amen. - -[31] In John Conybeare’s _Collection of Proverbs_ (1580–1580) the -following rendering is given: “One knave will kepe another companye, -one pratteler wille with another, like will to like.” _Letters and -Exercises of John Conybeare_, p. 42. London: Henry Frowde, 1905. - -[32] _Audire male._ To have an evil reputation. Lewis and Short aptly -quote from Milton’s _Areopagitica_: “For which England hears ill -abroad.” - -[33] On a tombstone. Dr. Bröring quotes from Guicciardini, _Belgicae -Descriptio_, 1635, where an account is given of the tombstone to a -daughter of the Countess Mathilde of Holland in a Cloister near the -Hague. - -[34] _Amphora_ is a measure for liquids. It was equal to six gallons -seven pints. The _congius_, in the _Tri-congius_, was a measure of -one-eighth of an _amphora_. - -[35] _I.e._ of the nature of bugs. - -[36] _Decoxisse_ from _decoquere_—which means both to cook and to -become bankrupt. - -[37] Dr. Bröring quotes from Erasmus’s _Adages_, Chil. I. Cent. viii. -Prov. 86, to show that formerly men of obscure birth were termed -_terrae filii_. - -[38] _Capitulum lepidissimum_—a term of endearment used by Terence. - -[39] Freigius notes that Jubellius Taurea was by far the strongest -horse of the Campanians, whilst Claudius Asellus was a horseman of -equally renowned horsemanship. The steed challenged the rider to a -contest. _See_ Livy, Bk. 3, Decad. 3. - -[40] Of the town of Tours, in France. - -[41] It is explained by Vives, as a note in the margin, that Curio is -the priest of the parish, commonly called curate. - -[42] As Dr. Bröring remarks, “German” is used in the sense of -“brethren.” - -[43] With dust in winter and mud in spring, you will reap great grain, -Camillus. Macrobius, _Satur._ v. 20; cf. Vergil, _Georgics_, i. 101. - -[44] Happy is the man in his heart, and approaching to the happiness -of the gods themselves, whom glory does not agitate, dazzling with its -lying gloss, nor the evil allurements of haughty luxury, but who lets -the days pass peacefully by and silently, and with the labour of the -poor man wins the peace of the blameless life. - -[45] _I.e._, shop packing-paper. - -[46] But dispatch now, don’t put off to future hours. Who does not do a -thing to-day may be less able to do it to-morrow. - -[47] Let words run, the hand is quicker than they; not as yet has the -tongue done its work until the right hand has accomplished its task. - -[48] Is this always the order of the day, then? Here is full morning -coming through the window-shutters, and making the narrow crevices look -larger with the light; yet we go on snoring, enough to carry off the -fumes of that unmanageable Falernian.—(Conington’s Translation.) - -[49] Arise, already the baker sells breakfast to boys. On every side, -already, the birds announce the dawn by their chirping. - -[50] - - “Such days, I trow, at the infancy of earth, - Shone forth, and kept the tenor of their birth; - True spring was that, the world was bent on spring, - And eastern breezes check’d their wintry wing: - While cattle drank new light, and man was shown, - A race of iron from a land of stone; - Then savage beasts were launch’d upon the grove, - And constellations on the heaven above; - Nor could young Nature have achieved the birth, - Unless a period of repose so sweet - Had come to pass, betwixt the cold and heat, - And heaven’s indulgence greeted the new earth.” - - R. D. Blackmore’s Translation. - -[51] As did Columella, _i.e._, _pruna cereola_. Pliny calls them -_cerina_. - -[52] Freigius’s note: _Insularius_ is equivalent to French _concierge_. - -[53] Livy, book i. - -[54] Book v. cap. 4, de Cimone; Ovid, _Fasti_, book ii. - -[55] _I.e._, the beggar in the house of Ulysses at Ithaca. See Martial, -5, 41, 9. - -[56] _Georgics_, i. 392. The oil (of lamps is seen) to sparkle and -crumbling fungus to form. - -[57] Sleep, the rest of things, sleep, most gracious of the gods, peace -of the mind, whom anxiety shuns, thou who soothest the weary bodies -from their hard duties and restorest them for their labour. - -[58] This is a mark of refinement and seemly in one who is cultured—not -to be ignorant of the names of the utensils that are in daily use in -the house. - -[59] _Athen._ 12. That he was the first to set the Romans the example -of luxury in all things. - -[60] That Apicius exceeded all men in prodigality. - -[61] Cooking vessel with feet for coals. - -[62] I am not willing to be Caesar, to march through the Britons and to -suffer Scythian frosts. - -[63] So says Aelius Spartianus in _Life of Hadrian Florus_ as quoted by -Freigius. See _Crinitus_, book 15, cap. 5. - -[64] How often the cook seeks pepper and wine for the breakfasts of the -Fabii to smack of the simple beet. - -[65] And heavily used to hang on his arm a bowl with a worn-out handle. - -[66] Tell me why does the lettuce, which used to finish off the meals -of our ancestors, now begin _our_ meals? - -[67] When I, the Lucanian sausage, come, daughter of the swine of -Picenum, then will the crown be given gladly to the snowy pottage. - -[68] As he passed by one day, Diogenes, who was washing vegetables, -scoffed at him and said: “If you had learnt to live on these, you would -not frequent the courts of kings;” and he said: “If you knew how to -associate with your fellow men, you would not be washing vegetables.” - -[69] _See_ Cicero, _De Oratore_, iii. (near the end); Quintilian, i. -10; Gellius, _Noctes Atticae_, i. 11. - -[70] _Graculus_ is a jackdaw. Aesop has a story of the jackdaw with -borrowed plumes. Juvenal iii. 78 refers to the _Graeculus_, the Roman -attempting to play the Greek. - -[71] A red colouring matter. - -[72] On what has been set and is set before us, may Christ deign to -give his blessing. - -[73] Even with three guests, each seems to me to have a different -taste, each requiring quite different foods with his quite different -palate. HORACE, _Epistles_, ii. 2, 61, 62. - -[74] _Georgics_, i. 57. - -[75] We should give little to pleasure, as its due; but all the more to -health. CATO, _Disticha de Moribus_, ii. 28. - -[76] _See_ Varro, _De re rustica_, III. vi. 6. - -[77] We render thanks to Thee, Father, who has provided so many things -for the enjoyment of men: Grant that, by Thy good-will, we may come to -the feast of Thy Blessedness. - -[78] For getting well from the bite of dog at night, take from the -dog’s hair your remedy. - -[79] Boys play, and play, also, youth and age. Play is the wit, -seriousness, and wisdom of old age. Also human life, what is it but -trifling and empty fable, when virtue is not its sole guiding principle? - -[80] Viz., _The Antiochian; or, The Beard-hater_. - -[81] _I.e._, the small town of the Parisians. - -[82] Vives uses the Roman formula for the passing of laws: “_Velitis, -Quirites, jubeatis._” The response of acceptance being: “_Uti rogas._” - -[83] Dr. Bröring renders _glabella_, “the space between the eyebrows.” -_Glabellus_ is derived from _glaber_, the root of which is γλαφ—cf. -_scalpo_, to hollow out—_i.e._, smooth, without hair (Lewis and Short). - -[84] _See_ _Valerius Maximus_, book vi. chap. vi. - - - - -INDEX - - - [_Large Roman numerals refer to the number of the - Dialogue; small Roman numerals refer to the pages of the - Introduction; Arabic numerals refer to the pages of the - text._] - - A B C tablet, 18 - - Academy, the, xxxix. - - Agonotheta, 106 - - Alarum-clock, 116 - - Anneus, a teacher, xliii., 204 - - Apparel, court, 163 - - Architriclinus (feast-master), 30 - - Aristotle, 36, 47, 102, 147 - - Ascham, Roger, xli. - - Atlantides, 98 - - - Bacchus, 151, 156 - - Baldus, 106 - - Banquet, 126, 132 - - “Baptising” wine, 139 - - Bardus, 107 - - Bartolus, 106 - - Batalarii, 102, 103, 106 - - Beer, 92, 141 - - Beggar, 43 - - Bird, the teacher, 89 - - Birds, different kinds of, 144 - - Blacksmith, 82 - - Boatmen, the scum of the sea, 59 - - Boccaccio, 96 - - Bömer, Dr., xxii. - - Book-gluer, 114 - - Books, 179 - - Boorish youth, 52 - - Boulogne, 56 - - Bread, different kinds of, 134 - - Breakfast, 8, 27 - - Bruges, 33, 34 - - Budaeus (William Budé), vii. - - Buffoons, 170 - - Busts of authors in library, 105 - - - Candles, 110 - - Card-playing, XXI. - - Catharine of Aragon, xv., xvi., xxviii., 96 - - _Catholicon, The_, 105 - - Cato’s distichs quoted, 137 - - Caryatides, 98 - - Cervent, Clara, mother of Vives’ wife, xi. - - Chancellor, the, 167 - - Characteristics of the _Dialogues_, xxxvii. - - Charts or maps, 186 - - Cheese, 12, 145 - - Cherries, buying of, 17; - cherry-stones as stakes, 23 - - Child, and rattle, 53 - - Chrysostom, homilies of, 151 - - _Chytropus_, 120 - - Cicero, 113; - _Tusculanae Questiones_, 42, 114 - - Circe, cup of, 170 - - Clock, 81; mechanical, 82 - - Clothes, 84 _sqq._ - - Comb, 4; - ivory, 85 - - Constable, the, 165 - - “Cooking” accounts, 50 - - Cook-shop, 118 - - Copies, writing, 74 - - Copper-knobs on books, 113 - - Counsellors of the king, 166 - - Courtiers of the king, 167 - - Cuckoo, the, 46 - - Cups, 31, 51, 128 - - - Dauphin, the, 165 - - Dead men can speak, 178 - - Deafness, 42 - - de Croy, Cardinal, Vives’ pupil, xii. - - Dedication of Vives’ _School Dialogues_, xxi. - - Delights of Sight, 88; - of Hearing, 89; - of Smell, 89; - of Taste, 89; - of Touch, 90 - - Demosthenes, 113 - - Dialectic, 102 - - Dice-player, Curius the, 44 - - Dignitaries of the court, 165 - - Dilia, river, 83 - - Dining-room, 96, 128 - - Diogenes, 125, 136 - - Discovery of the New World, 95 - - Disease of thirst, 161 - - Disputing, 20 - - Dog, 7, 15, 41, 44 - - Door-angels, 94 - - Drama, and the _Dialogues_, xxxvii. - - Drawing lots, 189 - - Dressing, 2 _sqq._ - - Drinking, 27, 28, 30, 45; - water, 28, 42; - wine, 28, 42; - beer, 31 - - Drivers, the scum of the earth, 59 - - Drunkenness, xlvi., XVIII.; - effects of, 160 - - Dullard, John, xi. - - Dürer, Albrecht, 210 - - Dury, John, and the Academy, xl. - - - Earth, the, a fruitful mother, 53 - - Eating, 27 - - Education, XXIV.; - noble, 233 - - Elegance of clothes as well as words, 47 - - Elyot, Sir Thomas, xxxv., xli. - - Erasmus, vii., xi. - - _Exercitatio_, the Latin title for the _Dialogues_, vii. - - - Fish, different kinds of, 143 - - “Flat” wine, 139 - - Flea, 83, 115 - - Fleming, 33; - without a knife, 33 - - Florus quoted, 122 - - Foods, 37, VII., 92, XV. - - Freigius, J. T., editor of _Dialogues_, xxxiv., li. - - Frenchmen, 104 - - Friendships arranged for children by parents, 242 - - Fruits, 135 _sqq._ - - - Games, xli.; - ball, 2; - dice-playing, 2, 13, 23; - nuts, 22; - odd and even, 22; - draughts, 24; - playing-cards, 24; - tennis, 202 - - Genders, number of, 35 - - German, 120 - - Geometry, 16 - - Getting up, 1 - - Godelina of Flanders, 96 - - Goldfinch, 127 - - Good, the real, 228 _sqq._ - - Governing, art of, 177 - - Grace before meat, 33, 131; - after meat, 38, 148 - - Grammar, 2, 35, 102 - - Grammarians, asses, 119, 120 - - Greek in the _Dialogues_, xxxv. - - Greetings, morning, 6 - - Griselda, 96 - - Guest, school-boy, 32 - - - Helen, 97 - - Holiday from school, 56 - - Holocolax, 165 - - Home and school life, xxiii. - - Homer, 97 - - Horace quoted, 53, 135 - - Horses, and their trappings, IX. - - Host, a kindly, 153 - - Hour-bells, 40 - - Hours of teaching, 103 - - House, the new, 93; - keeper, 32 - - Housteville, Aegidius de, xxxvi. - - Hugutio, 105 - - Hunter, Mannius the, 44 - - - Ink, 72 - - Inscriptions in houses, 97 - - Intemperance, 241 - - Isocrates quoted, 177 - - - Joannius, Honoratus, learned man of Valencia, 205 - - Joviality, the gate of drunkenness, 161 - - Jugglers, 170 - - - Keeper of Archives, the, 167 - - King, the, 165; - the palace of the, 163 - - Kitchen, the, XV., 31; - maid, 31 - - - Ladies’ quarters in the court, 169 - - Lapinius, Euphrosynus, xxxvi. - - Latin speaking, xxx., 34 - - Laws of play, xliii., 206–9 - - Lebrija (or Nebrissensis), Antonio de, x., 65 - - Lecture-room, 65 - - Letter-carrier, 51, 70 - - Letters, 18, 21 - - Library, school, 105 - - Licentiates, 103 - - Lie-telling, 13 - - Life, a journey, 179 - - Literature out of the class-room, 188 - - Litigants of the king’s court, 167 - - Livy, lost decads, 211 - - Logic, 2 - - Louvain, inhabitants of (Lovanians), 47 - - Lover, the, 48 - - Lucretia, picture of, 95 - - _Ludus literarius_, a playing with letters, the Latin for a school, 19 - - Lunch, 27 - - Lutetia (Paris), 199 - - Lying, 241 - - Lyons, 116 - - - Magistrates, honour due to, 237 - - Maid-servants, I., VI., VII., 52, 83 - - Manners, at table, 37 - - Maps, xlii. - - March, family name of Vives’ mother, vii. - - Market, the, at Valencia, 205 - - Martial quoted, 45, 79, 81, 122, 123 - - Master of the feast, the king’s, 168 - - Master of the horse, 165 - - Market, 36 - - Meals, 24 - - Meats, 137 - - Mena, Juan de, quoted, xlv., 88 - - Merchant, the, 49 - - Miller, the, 134 - - Milton, John, xxvii., xl. - - Mimus quoted, 156 - - Modesty, real and fictitious, 227 - - Monastery, Carthusian, 87; - Franciscan, 87 - - Moor, a white, 23 - - Morning best for learning, 92 - - Mortar, 122 - - Mosquito-net, 115 - - Motta, Peter, xxxv., xxxvi. - - Mountebank, 3 - - Mulcaster, Richard, xxiv., xli. - - Muses, number of the, 136 - - Music of birds, 89 - - Mysteries, study of, by nobles, 222 - - - Names of Vives’ friends in the _Dialogues_, xxxiii. - - Napkin, 32, 130, 131 - - Nature, in the _Dialogues_, xliv. - - Nazianzenus, 113 - - Neapolitan horse, 176 - - Nebrissensis, Antonius, _see_ Lebrija - - Nightingale, the, 45, 88–88 - - Night-studies, 110, 111, 112 - - Noah, 157 - - Nobility, ignorance of writing, 67; - contempt of knowledge, 69 - - Nobles and education, XXIV. - - Nut-shells, used by boys for ants’ houses, 22 - - - Obedience to the laws, 239 - - Occupation of courtiers, 170 - - Old men, 180, 228 - - One-eyed carpenter, 52 - - Opinions of Vives held by Budé, Erasmus, xii.; - and Sir Thomas More, xiii. - - Oppugnator, 107 - - Orbilius, the schoolmaster, 91 - - Ovid quoted, 78, 116, 234 - - - Painting, XXIII. - - Palimpsist, 71 - - Pantry, 36 - - Paper, 73 - - Papias, 105 - - Paris, 116; - University of, 199 - - Parts of the body, XXIII. - - Pastry-cook, 147 - - Paul, the Apostle, 96 - - Pauline precept, 141 - - Persians, 136, 215 - - Persius quoted, 80 - - Pestle, 122 - - Philip, Prince, xxii., xxvii., xxviii., XX.; - “the darling of Spain,” 176 - - Philosophers, 46 - - Physicians and wine, 140 - - Pictures, 95 - - _Pietas literata_, ideal of, xlviii. - - Piety, 145 - - Plato, 36, 105; - authority of, 239 - - Plautus quoted, 152, 207 - - Play of being king, 175 - - Playing with dog, 7 - - Pliny, 20, 40, 46, 88, 149 - - Points, 2, 23 - - Polaemon, 232 - - Popularity-hunting, 222 - - Pottage, 142 - - Prayer, 5; - the Lord’s, 5; - morning, 1, 83, 87; - to the saints, 234; - to Christ, 237 - - Preachers in churches, 225 - - Precepts of education, l., XXV. - - Priests and literature, 173 - - Principal (_gymnasiarcha_), 43 - - Propugnator, 107 - - Pythagoras, 116 - - - Quills, 70; - quill-sheath, 70; - goose-quills, 71; - hen’s quills, 71; - making of quill-pens, 71 - - Quintilian quoted, 65 - - - Reading, 18 _sqq._ - - Recreation, grounds, 87; - in bad weather, 185 - - Reeds (pens), 70, 113 - - Respect to the old, 237 - - Reverence of priests, 237 - - Rhetoric, 102 - - River, 61, 183 - - Rome, 118 - - Rope-dancer (_funambulus_), 51 - - Rush-mats, 97 - - - Saviour, our, quoted, 141 - - Scaevola, Mutius, 97 - - Scaevolae, 217 - - Scholarship ill-esteemed in Belgium, 154 - - School, 2, 8, 9, 10, 11, 19; - Vives’ idea of the, xxxix. - - School-fees, 10 - - Schoolmasters, 9, 15, 36, 122, 123, 136 - - Scipio Africanus, 210 - - Seal, of letters, 70 - - Secretaries to nobles, 70 - - Silence before elders and superiors, 238 - - Siliceus, literary tutor of Prince Philip, 173 - - Sister, Vives’, 201 - - Sky, the open, 64 - - Slavery of ignorance, 174 - - Sluggishness, danger of, 184 - - Socrates, 105 - - Sophocles, 114 - - Spaniards, 92, 104 - - Spanish cap, 87 - - Spanish inn, 126 - - Spanish navigations, 95 - - Spanish triumph (in cards), 189 - - Spring, 88 - - Stakes, 23, 191 - - Statues in a house, 96 _sqq._ - - Statutes of schools enjoining Vives’ _Dialogues_, xxxiv. - - “Still” wine, 139 - - Stories, nineteen, told by students, VIII. - - Stunica, educator of Prince Philip, 173 - - Style of _Dialogues_, xxxvi. - - Styles (pens), 70 - - Subject-matter and style of _Dialogues_, xxxii. - - Suits in cards, names of, 189 - - Summer-house, 97 - - Sun-dial, 82 - - Syracusans, 111 - - - Tapestry, 97 - - Teacher, 54, 101; - choice of, 9, 19, 25, 31 - - Teachers in Belgium, 154; - Pandulfus, 56; - the best living, 179; - clients of nobles, 223 - - Tennis in France and Belgium, 202; - in Valencia, 203 - - “Thanks” to a host, 148–148 - - Thrashing by teachers, 70 - - Tongs, 119 - - Trunk, story arising from the, 39 - - Truth and flattery at court, 170–170 - - Truth-speaking, 241 - - Tumbler, the, 51 - - Turkey-carpets, 130 - - Twins, 43 - - Tyrones, 102 - - - Umpire, 25 - - Urbanity, 233 - - Ushers’ conversation at school-meal, 35 _sqq._ - - - Valdaura, Margaret, wife of Vives, xi., xxxiii. - - Valencia, city of, XXII. - - Valerius Maximus, 95 - - Valla, Laurentius, xx., 47 - - Vegetables, selling of, 15 - - Vergil, 40, 54, 91, 112, 123, 136 - - Vernacular, in education, xlvi.-xlviii. - - Vernacular literature before the Renascence, xviii. - - Verse-maker, Mannius the, 44 - - Verse-making, 123 - - Vives, J. L., at school at Valencia, ix.; - his schoolmasters, x.; - one of the Renascence triumvirate, vii.; - his parents, vii.-ix.; - and scholasticism, ix.; - at Paris, xi.; - at Bruges, xi.; - at Louvain, xi.; - at Lyons, xi.; - and Princess Mary, xiv.; - life in London, xv.; - his wife, Margaret Valdaura, xv.; - and boys, xxxvii., l.; - his _De Tradendis Disciplinis_, vii., x., xvi.; - his _De Institutione Feminae Christianae_, viii., xiv.; - commentary on St. Augustine’s _Civitas Dei_, xiii.; - his _Introductio ad Sapientiam_, xv.; - his _De Officio Mariti_, xvi.; - his _De Europae Dissidiis et Bello Turico_, xvi.; - his _De Veritate Fidei Christianae_, xvi.; - his _De Anima_, xvi. - - Vives, J. L., references to himself in the _Dialogues_: a sufferer - from gout, 34; - names wells in the city of Louvain, 92; - his verse-writing, 196–196; - his father’s house in Valencia, 201 - - - Wainscoting, 97 - - Wash-basins, 129 - - Washing, 4, 86 - - Watch (_horologium viatorium_), 40 - - Water, 92, 141 - - Water-drinking, xlv. - - Well, the Latin and the Greek at Louvain, 92 - - Whist, French and Spanish, 189 - - Wife of a drunkard, 151 - - Winding-stairs, 96 - - Window-panes, 96 - - Windows, wooden and glass, 1 - - Wine, 137 - - Wine-cellar, 98 - - Wine-drinking, xlv. - - Writing, X.; - usefulness of, 66; - writing-master, 68 - - Writing-tablet, 21 - - - Xenocrates, 232 - - Xenophon, 105, 113 - - - Zabatta, Angela, learned lady of Valencia, 201 - - -THE END - - -THE TEMPLE PRESS, PRINTERS, LETCHWORTH - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Tudor school-boy life, by Juan Luis Vives - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TUDOR SCHOOL-BOY LIFE *** - -***** This file should be named 56286-0.txt or 56286-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/2/8/56286/ - -Produced by Clarity, Turgut Dincer and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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