Tudor school-boy life_ the dialogues of Juan Luis Vives Juan Luis Vives 836 downloads.pdf

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tudor school-boy life: the
dialogues of Juan Luis Vives
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
will 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]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56286

Credits: 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)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TUDOR
SCHOOL-BOY LIFE: THE DIALOGUES OF JUAN LUIS VIVES ***

TUDOR SCHOOL-BOY LIFE

All rights reserved.

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

LONDON

J. M. DENT & COMPANY

MCMVIII

v

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

vii

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 otherviii 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
ix
“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, xhe
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.xi 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 xiithat 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
knowledgexiii 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.xiv 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 developxvment. 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 travellingxvi 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.
xvii
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.

xviii

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 thexix 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 xxEurope, 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 andxxi 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,xxii 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.).xxiii 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 xxivlittle 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 xxvthe 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 thexxvi 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 schoolxxvii 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,xxviii 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 xxixorder, 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.”
xxx
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 twoxxxi 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.”
xxxii

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 furtherxxxiii 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 manyxxxiv 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.
xxxv

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 interpretaxxxvition 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 xxxviiwork, 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 xxxviiiElizabethan 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.
xxxix

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 togetherxl 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
alphabet13 and the elements of reading14 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 xlito
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
xlii
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 statexliiiment 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.
xliv

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. Again22:—
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....
xlv
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 xlvilanguage 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 inxlvii 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 xlviiibecome
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 xlixremarkable 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 says28 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 lof 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 atli 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.”
lii

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. Bömer29 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.

1

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?
2

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?
3
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.
4
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.

6

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.

9

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.

11

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.
12
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!
14
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.

18

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.

21

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?
22
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.

23

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.
24
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.

26

VII

REFECTIO SCHOLASTICA—School Meals
Nepotulus, Piso, Magister, Hypodidascalus

In this dialogue Vives treats of a banquet. The division into five parts:—
Jentaculum
Prandium
Merenda
Coena
} An enumeration
of different kinds.
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?

27
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.
30
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?
31
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.
32
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?
33
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.
35
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.

39

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?
40
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)?
41
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?
42
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?
43

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 shown33 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).
46
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 cimici35 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.
51
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?
52
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?
53

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.
54
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.

55

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.
56
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.
57
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.
58
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 Turonic40 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.
59
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?
60
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 German42 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!
62
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

63
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.

65

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.
66
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.

67
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.
68
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.
69
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?
73

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?
75
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.
76
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.
77

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):
79

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.

80

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?
82
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.
83
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.
85
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?
86
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).

87
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.

93

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.
94
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?

96

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.”
98
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.

101

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?
104
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.
105

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!
106
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.
107
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.

109

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.
111

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.
113
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.
114
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.
116
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.

117

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.
118
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.
119
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 chytropus61 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.
122
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.
123
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.

125

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.
126
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.

132

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
Carnes
Cibus { Panis
Obsonia { Pultes
Pisces
First { Vinum
Potus { 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.
133
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.
135
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.
136
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.
140
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.
143

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.
145
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.
147
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.
148
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.

150

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.
151

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.
153
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?
154

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.
158
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.

161
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.
162
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!

163

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!
168
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.
169

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.

172

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
Sophobuli
de arte
{ ostendit tribus similitudinibus
Doctrina: ubi ostendit,
Sint
gubernandi Quomodo comparanda sit
{ quinam Consulendi Ocii
fuga
{ Non
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.
174
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?
176

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.
178
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?
180
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.

185

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.
187
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.
189

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.
191
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.
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.
192
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.
193
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).
194
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!
195
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.
196
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).
197
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.

198

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 μισοπώγων80 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!
199
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.
201
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.
202
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.

205

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.
208

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).

210

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.
211

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.
214
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).
216
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?
218
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.

219

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.
220

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.
224
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?
228
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?
229
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.
230
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.

234

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, 88-9
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;