emphatically Vives speaks with regard to the necessity of a thorough
knowledge of the vernacular by the _teacher_.
“Let the teacher know the mother-tongue of his boys, so that by this
means, with the more ease and readiness, he may teach the learned
languages. For unless he makes use of the right and proper expressions
in the mother-tongue, he will certainly mislead the boys, and the
error thus imbibed will accompany them persistently as they grow up
and become men. How can boys understand anything sufficiently well in
their own language unless the words are said with the utmost clearness.
Let the teacher preserve in his memory all the old forms of vernacular
words, and let him develop the knowledge not only of modern forms, but
also of the old words and those which have gone out of use, and let him
be as it were the guardian of the treasury of his language.”[26]
THE EDUCATIONAL IDEAL OF VIVES
It has been usual to enter to the credit of the Protestantism of
John Sturm and Maturinus Corderius the educational ideal of _pietas
literata_. No doubt the seventeenth-century Huguenots of France and the
Puritans of England were distinguished by this double educational aim
of piety and culture. But it was characteristic also of the earlier
Catholic world of Erasmus and of Vives. Rising above the ordinary level
of the scholars of the Italian Renascence, Erasmus and Vives had higher
sympathy and delight in children. Erasmus dedicated his _Colloquia_ or
Dialogues (in 1524) to the little child John Erasmius Froben, the son
of the renowned publisher Froben of Basle. “You have arrived,” he says,
“at an age than which none happier occurs in the course of life for
imbibing the seeds of literature and of piety.... The Lord Jesus keep
the present season of your life pure from all pollutions, and ever lead
you on to better things.”
So, too, in 1538, Juan Luis Vives dedicated his _School Dialogues_ to a
child, the eleven-years-old boy—Prince Philip.
Both Erasmus and Vives believed in early training in religious
instruction. Vives writes as follows on religious education: “Who is
there who has considered the power and loftiness of the mind, its
understanding of the most remarkable things, and through understanding
love of them, and from love the desire to unite himself with them, who
does not perceive clearly that man was formed, not for food, clothing,
and habitation, not for difficult, secret, and vexatious knowledge,
but to develop the desire to know God more truly, to participate in
His Divine Nature and His Eternity?... Since piety is the only way of
perfecting man, and accomplishing the end for which he was formed,
therefore piety is of all things the one thing necessary. Without the
others man can be perfected and complete; without this, he cannot but
be most miserable.”[27]
In one passage Vives remarks that the strength of religion is
developed by its exercise rather than by any theoretical knowledge.
For this reason, when meals are described in the _School Dialogues_,
we find some form of grace, before and after the meal, duly said.
The tone of the _Dialogues_ is reverential. A. J. Namèche says[28]
that in the _Dialogues_ “Vives brings a sense of decency, respect for
morals, the fear so laudable of doing any violence to the innocence
of young people. We know well enough that Erasmus is far from being
irreproachable in this respect, and that his language is free sometimes
even to the extent of cynicism.” Without wishing to follow Namèche
in the comparison of the moral aspects of Erasmus and Vives in their
dialogues, a claim may be made for both that they were eager advocates
in the joining of piety with culture, and that both Erasmus and Vives,
each in his own way, did valiant work in endeavouring to raise the
standard of manners and morals as well as to promote piety in young and
old.
There can, however, be no doubt that Vives deserved the high reputation
which he received of reverence for the morals of youth. Peter Motta
is full of enthusiasm for Vives in this respect. In the Preface to his
_Commentary on Vives’ School Dialogues_, Motta says: “By reading other
books such as those of Terence and Plautus, you can undoubtedly get
extracts which show the fruit of eloquence. But who can avoid seeing
that in them you will find incitements to vices, and stumbling blocks
to morals? Now, in our author Vives, you will find little flowers of
Latin elegance which he has brought together from various most renowned
authors, whilst there is nothing in his work which does not seem to
suggest even the Christ, or at least the highest morality and sound
education.” This may be regarded as the exaggerated language of an
admirer, but the reverential tone of Vives is clear enough, reminding
one of Vittorino da Feltre, of whom it was said that he went to his
teacher’s desk each day as if to an altar.
VIVES’ LAST DIALOGUE: THE PRECEPTS OF EDUCATION
Vives lays down twenty-four Precepts of Education. Some critics have
thought such precepts out of place in a book written for boys. But
Vives has done all he could to interest boys on their own level. He has
always retained the boy in himself, and has spoken from the fulness of
his heart, as a boy, in the dialogues. And as he parts company with
boys in these dialogues, he wishes, as all true, older human beings
must wish, for once at least to give of his best to the young. He will
give back to the boys who have followed him through the _Dialogues_ (as
a teacher who is a “good sort”) a full reward for their trouble. He
will pay them the compliment of treating them seriously.
This seems a right instinct. It is not priggish (as some seem to think)
to give of a man’s best to a boy or to boys at the right moment. When
once a boy is sure there is “the boy” in any man he knows, there is no
_camaraderie_ he delights in such as that which allows him to see a
little of the man,—to jump, so to say, on the man’s mental shoulders to
catch a better glimpse of the far distance.
When John Thomas Freigius—grown up into the classical scholar—looks
back, in his Preface to his edition of Vives’ _School Dialogues_, he
says: “As a boy, I so loved Luis Vives that not even now do I feel
my old love for him has faded away from my mind.” Perhaps the last
dialogue, with its twenty-four precepts, did not cause the love of
Freigius for Vives, but the love being there, it continued in spite of
having to read the precepts. Anyway, Vives, who had turned aside from
the weighty problems of learning and literature, where he belonged to
the great triumvirate of writers of his day—enthroned by contemporary
judges by the side of the great Erasmus and the great Budaeus—stated
the precepts which, in his view, should guide, not only his book of
dialogues and the schools, but all stages of culture. Boys brought up
on these precepts, and retaining them as principles of education in
their later life, might perhaps have cheered the heart of Vives by
showing that he had abstained from his higher studies to some purpose
when he wrote his _School Dialogues_.
At any rate, for the modern reader, there is the satisfaction of
knowing, when he reads the _School Dialogues_ of Vives, that he is
reading a work which won the approval of children. With all our modern
advance, of which of the writers of our text-books to-day would
present-day children say as much as was said of this sixteenth-century
scholar, who merely wrote a text-book to help boys of the Tudor Age to
_speak Latin_!—“As a boy I so loved Luis Vives that not even now do I
feel my old love for him has faded away from my mind.”
NOTE
The short summaries or headings to each dialogue in
the text are translations from the edition of Vives’
_Dialogues_ by John Thomas Freigius, published at
Nürnberg, 1582. After each dialogue Freigius provides a
commentary, by far the most complete of any commentator
on Vives’ book, giving illustrative quotations and notes
on obscure points, and giving references to the ancient
sources from which technical expressions were taken by
Vives. The headings of the sub-sections of each dialogue
as given in the present translation are taken from
Freigius. They are not a part of the original text of
Vives.
The above is the most scholarly and thorough edition of
the _Dialogues_, but it may be noted that Dr. Bömer[29]
has distinguished over _one hundred_ editions of the
book, showing its popularity not only in the sixteenth
century but its continued interest in still later
generations of the study of Latin speech.
TUDOR SCHOOL-BOY LIFE
I
SURRECTIO MATUTINA—_Getting up in the Morning_
BEATRIX PUELLA, EMANUEL, EUSEBIUS
Dialogue (Latin—_colloquium_, _collocutio_, _sermo_) is so called from
διαλέγεως, in which sort of composition Plato was the first to delight.
In this first dialogue or discourse (_sermone_) there are laid down
five duties, which should be performed carefully in the morning by
youths and boys, viz. to rise betimes (because early morning is the
friend to studies), to dress, to comb the hair, to wash, to pray.
_Beat._ May Jesus Christ awake you from the sleep of all
vice. O you boys, are you ever going to wake up to-day?
_Euseb._ I don’t know what has fallen on my eyes. I seem
to have them full of sand.
I. _Getting Up_
_Beat._ That is always your morning song—quite an old
one. I shall open both the wooden and the glass windows,
so that the morning shall strike brightly on your eyes
from both. Get up! Get up!
_Euseb._ Is it already morning?
II. _Dressing_
_Beat._ It is nearer mid-day than the dawn. Emanuel, do
you want another shirt?
_Eman._ I don’t now need anything. This is clean enough.
I will take another to-morrow. Please give me my
stomacher.
_Beat._ Which? The single thickness or the double
thickness?
_Eman._ Which you like. I don’t mind. Give me the single
thickness so that I may be less heavy for playing ball
(_pila_) to-day.
_Beat._ This is always your custom. You think of your
play before your school-work.
_Eman._ What do you say, you stupid! When school itself
is called play (_ludus_).
_Beat._ I don’t understand your playing with grammar and
logic (_grammaticationes et sophismata_).
_Eman._ Give me the leathern shoe-straps.
_Beat._ They are torn to pieces. Take the silken ones as
your schoolmaster has ordered. What now? Will you have
the breeches and long stockings as it is summer?
_Eman._ No, indeed. Give me only the long stockings.
Please, fasten them for me.
_Beat._ What! Have you arms of hay or of butter?
_Eman._ No, indeed. They are sewn together with threads.
Alas! what straps (_i.e._ points) have you given me,
without supports and all torn!
_Beat._ Don’t you remember that yesterday at dice-playing
you lost the others altogether?
_Eman._ How do you know?
_Beat._ I observed you through a chink in the door as you
were playing with Guzmanulus.
_Eman._ Oh! I beg that you won’t tell the teacher.
_Beat._ No, but I will tell him if ever you call me
“ugly” again, as you are accustomed to do.
_Eman._ What if I call you greedy?
_Beat._ Call me what you will, but not ugly.
_Eman._ Give me my shoes.
_Beat._ Which? Those with the long straps (_i.e._
sandals)?
_Eman._ Those covered against the mud.
_Beat._ Against the dry mud, which they call dust. But
thou doest well, for on the open road the strap gets
broken and the buckle lost.
_Eman._ Put them on, I beg.
_Beat._ Do it yourself.
_Eman._ I cannot bend myself.
_Beat._ You could easily bend, but your laziness makes
it difficult, or have you swallowed a sword as the
mountebank did four days ago? Are you now so delicate?
What will happen to you as you grow up?
_Eman._ Tie a double knot—for it is more elegant.
_Beat._ Certainly not, for then the knot would be
loosened at that point and the shoe would fall from your
foot. It is better either to have a double drawing tight
or one knot and one loop. Take your tunic with long
sleeves and your woven girdle.
_Eman._ No, certainly not that, but the leathern hunting
girdle.
_Beat._ Your mother forbids that; do you wish to have
everything according to your own caprice? And yesterday
you broke the pin of the clasp!
_Eman._ I could not otherwise unbuckle it. Then give me
that red one made of linen cloth.
III. _Using the Comb_
_Beat._ Take it, put your French girdle on. Comb your
head first with the thinner, then with the thicker teeth,
place your cap on your head, so as not to throw it to
the back of your head, as is your custom, or on to your
forehead down to your eyes.
_Eman._ Let us at last go out.
_Beat._ What, without having washed your hands and face!
_Eman._ With your worrying curiosity you would have
already plagued a bull to death, let alone a man. You
think you are clothing not a boy, but a bride.
IV. _Washing_
_Beat._ Eusebius, bring a wash-basin and a pitcher.
Raise it to a fair height; let the water drop out rather
than pour it from the stopple. Wash thoroughly that dirt
from the joints of the fingers. Cleanse the mouth and
use water for gargling. Rub the eyelids and eyebrows,
then the glands of the neck under the ears vigorously.
Then take a cloth and dry yourself. Immortal God! that
it should be necessary to admonish you as to all these
things, one by one, and that you should do nothing of
your own thought.
_Eman._ Ah! you are too much of a boss and too rude!
V. _Prayer_
_Beat._ And you are too shrewd and pretty a boy. Come,
give me a kiss. Kneel down before this image of our
Saviour and say the Lord’s Prayer and the other prayers,
as you are accustomed, before you step out of your
bedroom. Take care, my Emanuel, that you think of nothing
else while you are praying. Stay a moment, hang this
little handkerchief on your girdle, so that you can blow
and clean your nose.
_Eman._ Am I now sufficiently prepared, in your opinion?
_Beat._ You are.
_Eman._ Then not in my opinion since at last I am in
yours. I will dare make a wager that I have taken up a
whole hour in dressing.
_Beat._ Well, what even if you had taken two? Where would
you have gone if you hadn’t? What were you going to do? I
suppose to dig or to plough?
_Eman._ As if there were a lack of something to do.
_Beat._ Oh, the great man! so keenly occupied in doing
nothing.
_Eman._ Won’t you go away, you girl sophist? Go, or I’ll
shy this shoe at you or tear the veil off your head.
II
PRIMA SALUTATIO—_Morning Greetings_
PUER, MATER, PATER—Boy, Mother, Father
In this dialogue there are three parts: the first
contains the mutual salutations expressed in the morning
when the little charms of early childhood are skilfully
displayed. The second part contains the sport of a boy
with a dog. The third gives a conversation with this boy
concerning the school, the opportunity for which arises
from the incident with the little dog.
I. _Morning Salutation_
_Boy._ Hail, my father! hail, my mother dear (_salve mea
matercula_)! I wish that this may be a happy day for
you, my little brothers (_germanuli_). May Christ be
propitious to you, my little sisters!
_Father._ My son, may God guard you and lead you to great
goodness (_ingentes virtutes_).
_Mother._ May Christ preserve you, my light. What are you
doing, my darling? How are you? How did you rest last
night?
_Boy._ I am very well and slept peacefully.
_Mother._ Thanks be to Christ! May He grant that this may
be constantly so!
_Boy._ In the middle of the night I was roused up with a
pain in the head.
_Mother._ It grieves me sorely to hear that (_me
perditam et miserrimam_)! What do you say? In what part
of the head?
_Boy._ In the forehead.
_Mother._ For how long?
_Boy._ Scarcely the eighth of an hour. Afterwards I fell
asleep again, nor did I feel anything further of it.
_Mother._ Now I breathe again; for you took away my
breath.
II. _Playing with the Dog_
_Boy._ All good to you! Little Isabel, prepare my
breakfast. Ruscio, Ruscio, come here, jolly little dog!
See how he fawns with his tail and how he raises himself
on his hind legs. What are you doing? How are you? Hullo,
you, bring a bit or two of bread which we may give him,
then you will see some clever sport. Won’t you eat?
Haven’t you had anything to-day? Clearly there is more
intelligence in that dog than in that crass mule-driver.
III. _The Father’s Little Talk with his Boy_
_Father._ My Tulliolus, I should like to have a talk with
you soon.
_Boy._ Why, my father? For nothing more delightful could
happen to me than to listen to you.
_Father._ Is thy Ruscio here an animal or a man?
_Boy._ An animal, as I think.
_Father._ What have you in you, why you should be a man
and not he? You eat, drink, sleep, walk, run, play. So
he does all these things also.
_Boy._ But I am a man.
_Father._ How do you know this? What have you now, more
than a dog? But there is this difference that he cannot
become a man. You can, if you will.
_Boy._ I beg of you, my father, bring this about as soon
as possible.
_Father._ It will be done if you go where animals go, to
come back men.
_Boy._ I will go, father, with all the pleasure in the
world! But where is it?
_Father._ In the school.
_Boy._ There is no delay in me for such a great matter.
_Father._ Nor in me. Isabel, dear, do you hear, give him
his breakfast in this little satchel.
_Isabel._ What shall it be?
_Father._ A piece of bread and butter, and dry figs, or
pressed, not dried, grapes, as an additional dish—for
fresh grapes besmear the fingers of boys and they spoil
their clothes—unless he should prefer a few cherries, or
golden and long plums. Hang the satchel on his little
arm, so that it shall not fall off.
III
DEDUCTIO AD LUDUM—_Escorting to School_
PATER, PUER, PROPINQUUS, PHILOPONUS LUDIMAGISTER—Father, Boy, Relative,
Philoponus the Schoolmaster
_Philoponus._—This name, so worthy of a teacher, has been rightly
and wisely bestowed by the author. For the true teacher ought to
be φιλόπονος, that is, φίλος τοῦ πονοῦ, a lover of labour, and by
his diligence and assiduity to give satisfaction to his pupils. But
Philoponus is, moreover, the proper name of the Greek interpreter of
Aristotle.
_Consultation as to a Teacher_
_Father._ Make the holy sign of the cross.
_Son._ Lead us ignorant ones, O most wise Jesus Christ,
Thou most powerful, lead us most weak!
_Father._ Inform me, I beg, thou who art most versed in
the study of letters, who in this school is the best
teacher of boys?
_Prop._ The most learned is a certain Varro; but the most
industrious and the most upright is Philoponus, whose
erudition, moreover, is not to be despised. Varro has
the best frequented school, and in his house he has a
numerous flock of boarders. Philoponus does not seem to
delight in numbers, but is content with fewer boys.
_Father._ I should prefer him. That must be he walking
into the hall of the school. Son, this is, as it were,
the laboratory for the formation of men, and he is the
artist-educator. Christ be with you, master! Uncover your
head, my boy, and bow your right knee, as you have been
taught. Now, stand up!
_Philoponus._ May your coming be a blessing to us all!
What may be your business?
_Father._ I bring you this boy of mine for you to make of
him a man from the beast.
_Philoponus._ This shall be my earnest endeavour. He
shall become a man from a beast, a fruitful and good
creature out of a useless one. Of that have no doubt.
_Father._ What is the charge for your instruction?
_Philoponus._ If the boy makes good progress, it will be
little; if not, a good deal.
_Father._ That is acutely and wisely said, as is all you
say. We share the responsibility then; you, to instruct
zealously, I to recompense your labour richly.
IV
EUNTES AD LUDUM LITERARIUM—_Going to School_
CIRRATUS, PRAETEXTATUS, TITIVILLITIUM, TERESULA (AN OLD WOMAN, A WOMAN
SELLER OF VEGETABLES)
The names of the interlocutors in this dialogue for the most part
signify something serious and ancient. _Cirrati pueri_ were those boys
who wore their hair curled and crisped. Krausz Haar. For the _cirrus_
is an instrument devised for the curling of hair.
_Martial_:
Nec matutini cirrata caterva magistri.
_Juvenal_: Flavam
Caesariem et madido torquentem cornua cirro.
_Persius_, Satyr, i.:
Ten’ cirratorum centum dictata fuisse
Pro nihilo pendas?
_Praetextatus puer_ is another way of referring to a noble or
patrician, for his outer garment was bordered with purple, and thus
worn by boys up to fourteen years of age, or as others say, up to
sixteen, when such an one assumed the _toga virilis_ in the Capitol.
_See_ Macrob. lib. i. _Satur._ cap. 6. Budae, in prior. annot. ad l.
fin. De senator. Alexand. lib. 2, cap. 25. Baysius, de re vestiment.
Sigonius, lib. 3, de judic. cap. 19. Papirius, a certain Roman, was
called _praetextatus_ because in the _praetextata_ age he showed the
height of prudence. _See_ Macrob.
_Titivillitium_ formerly was a word declaring nothing certain, but just
an exclamation, indicating extreme uncertainty. The word was used by
Plautus. _See_ Proverb, Titivillitium.
_Oluscularia_, a woman selling vegetables. Λαχανοπῶλις.
_Cirr._ Does it seem to you to be time to go to school?
_Praet._ Certainly, it is time to go.
_Cirr._ I don’t properly remember the way; I believe we
have to go through this next street.
_Praet._ How often have you already been to the school?
_Cirr._ Three or four times.
_Praet._ When did you first go?
_Cirr._ As I think, three or four days ago.
_Praet._ Well, now; isn’t that enough to enable you to
know the way?
_Cirr._ No, not if it were a hundred times of going.
_Praet._ Why, if I were to go once, never afterwards
should I miss the way. But you go, against your will, and
as you go, you stop and play. You don’t look at the way,
nor at the houses, nor any signs which would show you
afterwards which way you should turn, or which way you
should follow. But I observe all these points diligently,
because I go gladly.
_Cirr._ This boy lives quite close to the school. Here,
you, Titivillitium, which is the way to your house?
_Tit._ What do you want? Do you come from your mother? My
mother is not at home, nor even my sister. Both have gone
out to St. Anne’s.
_Cirr._ What then is to be done?
_Tit._ Yesterday was dedication festival (_encaenia_).
Today some woman who sells cheese has invited them to a
meal at the house called “Thick Milk” (_lac coagulatum_).
_Cirr._ And why haven’t you gone with them?
_Tit._ They have left me at home to keep house. They
have taken my little brother with them, but they have
promised me that they would bring back something of what
was left for me in a basket.
_Cirr._ But why art thou then not remaining at home?
_Tit._ I shall return immediately, only I will now play
dice a little with the son of this cobbler. Will you also
come with us?
_Cirr._ We will go, please.
_Praet._ Certainly I shall not do so.
_Cirr._ Why not?
_Praet._ We don’t want to get a thrashing.
_Cirr._ Ah! I had not thought of that.
_Tit._ You won’t get thrashed.
_Cirr._ How do you know that?
_Tit._ Because your master lost his rod (_ferula_) to-day.
_Cirr._ Eh! by what means did you get to know that?
_Tit._ To-day we heard him from our house shouting
out—and it was for his ferula he was seeking.
_Cirr._ I beg of you, let us play for a short time.
_Praet._ Play you, if you will; but I shall go on to
school at once.
_Cirr._ I beg of you, don’t report me to the master. Say
that I am kept by my father at home.
_Praet._ Do you wish me to tell a lie?
_Cirr._ Why not, for a friend’s sake?
_Praet._ Because I have heard a preacher in a church
declare that liars are the sons of the devil, but
truth-tellers, sons of God.
_Cirr._ Of the devil, indeed! Get away! By the sign of
the holy cross, may our God free us from our enemies!
_Praet._ Thou canst not be freed to play when thou
oughtest to go and learn.
_Cirr._ Let us go. Farewell.
_Tit._ Oh, I say! these boys dare not stay and play a
moment because otherwise they would get thrashed!
_Praet._ This boy is a waster and will become a bad man!
See how has he slipped away from us without our having
asked him which is the way to the school? Let us call him
back.
_Cirr._ Let him go his evil ways. I don’t wish him again
to invite me to play. We will inquire from this old
woman. Mother, do you know which is the way to the school
of Philoponus?