Chapter VII: Introduction: J. L. Vives: a Scholar of the Renascence (6)

_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.