just opposite to it where my eldest son and two daughters
were born. You cross this street (the _Villa Rasa_
Street), then comes a narrow lane, then the _Dominus
Veteranus_ Street. Hence you turn to the right, then to
the left, there you must inquire, for the school is not
far from there.
_Cirr._ Ah! we cannot remember all that!
_Old Woman._ My little Teresa, lead these boys to the
school of Philoponus, for the mother of this one here was
she who gave us the thread for combing and spinning.
_Ter._ What in the name of evil have you to do with
Philoponus? What sort of man is this Philoponus? As if I
knew him! Do you speak of the man who mends shoes near
the Green Inn (_cauponam viridem_) or of the herald in
the Giant Street, who keeps horses on hire?
_Old Woman._ This I know well, that you never know those
things which are wanted, but those which have nothing to
do with the matter in hand. Slowest of girls, Philoponus
is that old schoolmaster, tall, short-sighted man,
opposite the house where we used to live.
_Ter._ Ah! now it comes back to my mind.
_Old Woman._ In returning, go across the market and buy
salad, radish, and cherries. Take with you the little
basket.
_Cirr._ Lead us also over the vegetable market.
_Ter._ This way is shorter.
_Cirr._ We don’t wish to go that way.
_Ter._ Why so?
_Cirr._ Because the dog in that street, belonging to the
baker, bit me once. We would rather go with you to the
market.
_Ter._ Returning I will make the journey through the
market (for we are not far from it) and I will buy what I
was told to buy, after I have left you at the school.
_Cirr._ We desire to see how much you give for the
cherries.
_Ter._ We buy them at six farthings a pound; but what is
that to you?
_Cirr._ Because my sister ordered me this morning to
inquire. She particularly mentioned there is an old woman
in the market who sells vegetables. If you buy of her,
I know that she will sell you at a less price than they
will elsewhere, and she will give us a few cherries or
thyrsus of lettuce, for her daughter formerly served my
mother and sister.
_Ter._ I hope that this roundabout way may not let you in
for some lashes.
_Cirr._ Not at all. For we shall have plenty of time.
_Ter._ Let us go. I get so little chance of walks,
wretched that I am, for my time is all taken up sitting
at home.
_Praet._ What do you do? Do you merely sit idly at home?
_Ter._ Idly, indeed! Not at any rate that! I spin, I
gather (wool) into a ball, wind, weave. Do you think our
old woman would let me sit idle? She curses feast-days,
on which there must be a stoppage of work.
_Praet._ Are not feast-days holy? How can she curse what
is holy? Does she wish to curse what has been ordained as
holy?
_Ter._ Do you think that I have learned geometry that I
should be able to explain these things to you?
_Cirr._ What do you mean by geometry?
_Ter._ I don’t know. We had a neighbour who was called
Geometria. She was always either in church with priests,
or the priests were with her at her house. And so she
was, as they said, very wise.—But we have come into the
vegetable market. Where is now your old woman?
_Cirr._ I was looking round about for her. But buy of
her only on the condition that she gives us something as
a present. Ah! great-aunt (_amita_). This girl will buy
cherries of you, if you will give us some.
_Vegetable Woman._ We are given nothing; we have to buy
everything.
_Cirr._ That dirt which you have on your hands and neck
was not given to you, was it?
_Vegetable Woman._ Unless you take yourself off, you
impudent boy, your cheeks will feel some of this dirt on
them.
_Cirr._ How will my cheeks feel, when you have it on your
hands?
_Vegetable Woman._ Give those cherries back, you young
rogue.
_Cirr._ I am merely sampling, for I wish to buy.
_Vegetable Woman._ Then buy.
_Cirr._ Provided they have pleased me. How do you sell
them?
_Vegetable Woman._ A sesterce a pound.
_Cirr._ Ah! they are bitter, you old poisoner! You are
selling here cherries to people to choke them.
_Ter._ Let us go away to the school. For you will get me
involved in difficulties with your subtleties, and you
will detain me too long. Now, as I think, my old woman
is raging at home, on account of my delay in returning.
There is the door. Knock at it.
V
LECTIO—_Reading_
PRAECEPTOR, LUSIUS, AESCHINES, PUERI—Teacher, Lusius, Aeschines, Boys
_Lusius_, so called from playing (_ludendo_).
_Aeschines_, proper name of the Greek orator, who shamelessly declaimed
against Demosthenes.
_Cotta_, proper name of a Roman citizen, so called from his anger.
This dialogue contains a division of the letters into vowels and
consonants.
_Praec._ Take the A B C tablet in your left hand, and
this pointer in the right hand, so that you can point
out the letters one by one. Stand upright; put your cap
under your arm-pit. Listen most attentively how I shall
name these letters. Look diligently how I move my mouth.
See that you return what I say immediately in the same
manner, when I ask for it again. Attention (_sis mecum_)!
Now you have heard it. Follow me now as I say it before
you, letter by letter. Do you clearly understand?
_Lus._ It seems to me I do, fairly well.
_Letters—Syllables—Vowel—Speech_
_Praec._ Every one of these signs is called a letter.
Of these, five are vowels, A, E, I, O, U. They are in
the Spanish _oveia_, which signifies _sheep_. Remember
that word! These with any letter you like, or more than
one, make up syllables. Without a vowel there is no
syllable and sometimes the vowel itself is a syllable.
Therefore all the other letters are called consonants,
because they don’t constitute sounds by themselves unless
a vowel is joined to them. They have some imperfect,
maimed (_mancum_) sound, _e.g._ _b_, _c_, _d_, _g_, which
without _e_ cannot be sounded. Out of syllables we get
words, and from words connected speech, which all beasts
lack. And you would not be different from the beasts, if
you could not converse properly. Be watchful and perform
your work diligently. Go out with your fellow-pupils and
learn what I have set.
_Lus._ We are not playing to-day.
_Aesch._ No, for it is a work-day. What, do you think
you have come here to play? This is not the place for
playing, but for study.
_Lus._ Why, then, is a school called _ludus_?
_True Leisure_
_Aesch._ It is indeed called _ludus_, but it is _ludus
literarius_, because here we must play with letters as
elsewhere with the ball, hoop, and dice. And I have
heard that in Greek it is called _schola_, as it were
a place of leisure, because it is true ease and quiet
of mind, when we spend our life in studies. But we will
learn thoroughly what the teacher has bidden us, quite in
soft murmur, so that we don’t become a hindrance to one
another.
_Lus._ My uncle, who studied letters some time in
Bologna, has taught me that you better fix anything you
wish in the memory if you pronounce it aloud. This is
also confirmed by the authority of one called Pliny—I
don’t know who he was.
_Aesch._ If, then, any one should wish to learn his
_formulae_, he should go off into the garden or into the
churchyard. There he can shout aloud as if he would rouse
the dead.
_Cotta._ You boys, do you call this learning thoroughly?
I call it prattling and disputing! Up, now go all of you
to the teacher, as he commanded.
VI
REDITUS DOMUM ET LUSUS PUERILIS—_The Return Home and Children’s Play_
TULLIOLUS, CORNELIOLA, LENTULUS, SCIPIO
This dialogue contains an account of different kinds of boys’ games;
the names of the interlocutors are taken from appellations of the
Romans. Concerning which, _see_ Valer. Maximus and Sigonius.
_Corn._ Welcome home, Tulliolus, shall we have some games?
_Tull._ Not just now.
_Corn._ What is there to prevent us playing?
_Tull._ We must go over again what the master set, and
commit it to memory, as he bade us.
_Corn._ What then?
_Tull._ You just look at this.
_Corn._ I say, what are those pictures? I believe they
are pictures of ants. Mother mine, Tulliolus is bringing
a lot of ants and gnats painted on a writing-tablet.
_Tull._ Be quiet, you silly thing, they are letters.
_Corn._ What do you call this first one?
_Tull._ A.
_Corn._ Why is this first one rather than the next called
A?
_Mother._ Why art thou Corneliola and not Tulliolus?
_Corn._ Because I am so called.
_Mother._ And it is just the same way with those letters.
But go and play now, my boy.
_Tull._ I am putting my tablet and pencil (style) down
here. If anybody disturbs them, he will be beaten by
mother. Won’t he, mammy? (_mea matercula._)
_Mother._ Yes, my boy.
_Tull._ Scipio, Lentulus! Come and play.
_Sci._ What shall we play at?
I. _The Game of Nuts_
_Tull._ Let us play at nuts, at throwing them in holes.
_Lent._ I have only a few nuts and those squashed and
smelly.
_Sci._ Well then, we will play with the shells of nuts.
_Tull._ But what good would they be to me even if I were
to win twenty? There would be no kernels in the nuts for
me to eat.
_Sci._ Why, I don’t eat when I am playing. If I want to
eat, I go to the mater. Nut-shells are good for making
little houses to put ants into.
II. _The Game of Odd and Even_
_Lent._ Let us play odd and even with little pins (lit.
small pins for a head-dress—_acicula_).
_Tull._ Let’s have dice instead.
_Sci._ Fetch them, Lentulus.
_Lent._ Here are the dice.
III. _The Game of Dice_
_Tull._ How grubby and dirty they are. They are not free
from fluff. Nor are they polished. Cast!
_Sci._ For the first throw!
_Tull._ I am first. What are we playing?
_Sci._ We are playing for trousers buttons
(_astrigmenta_—lit. points).
_Lent._ I don’t want to lose mine, for if I did I should
be beaten at home by my tutor.
_Tull._ What are you willing to lose then, if you are
beaten?
_Lent._ Some good raps with the fingers on me.
_Mother._ What is that lying on the ground? You are
spoiling all your clothes and boots on the dirtiest of
the ground. Why don’t you first sweep the floor and then
sit down? Bring the broom here!
_Tull._ What have we decided on?
_Sci._ One needle for each point in the game.
_Tull._ Certainly it should be two.
_Lent._ I have no needles. If you like I will deposit
cherry-stones instead of needles.
_Tull._ Get away. Let me and you play, Scipio.
_Sci._ I will risk it—to cast my needle on luck.
_Tull._ Give me the dice in my hand, so that I may cast
first. Look, I have won the stake.
_Sci._ You haven’t. For you were not playing then in
serious.
_Tull._ Whoever _plays_ seriously? It is as if you spoke
of a white Moor.
_Sci._ You may cavil as much as you like. At any rate you
are not going to have my nuts.
_Tull._ Come now, I will let you have the throw. Let us
play now for the stake, and may you have good luck!
_Sci._ You are beaten.
_Tull._ Take it.
_Lent._ Let me have the dice.
_Tull._ Let’s stake all on this throw.
_Lent._ I don’t mind.
_A Servant._ To your meal, boys. Will you never make an
end of your games?
_Tull._ Now just as we are getting started, she talks of
stopping!
IV. _The Game of Draughts_
_Corn._ I am sick of this game. Let us play with the
two-coloured draughtsmen.
_Tull._ You paint for us squares on this surface with
charcoal and with white lime.
_Sci._ I prefer to go and have my supper to playing any
more, and I go with all my needles collared by your fraud.
_Tull._ Don’t you remember that yesterday you plundered
Cethegus. “There is no one who can always have luck in
play.”
V. _Playing Cards_
_Corn._ Please get the playing cards which you will find
on the left hand under the writing table.
_Sci._ Some other time. Now I haven’t time. If I delay
any longer, I fear that my teacher will send me to bed,
in his anger, without food. You get the cards ready for
to-morrow evening, Corneliola.
_Corn._ If mother permits, it would be better to play now
when we have the chance.
_Sci._ It is better to go to eat when we are called.
_Servant._ And don’t you give me anything for looking on?
_Corn._ We would give you something if you had acted as
umpire. You ought rather to give us something, as things
are, for having had the enjoyment of our play.
_Servant._ You boys, then, when are you coming? The
meal-time is half over; soon we shall take the meat away,
and set the cheese and fruit on the table.
VII
REFECTIO SCHOLASTICA—_School Meals_
NEPOTULUS, PISO, MAGISTER, HYPODIDASCALUS
In this dialogue Vives treats of a banquet. The division into five
parts:—
Jentaculum }
Prandium } An enumeration
Merenda } of different kinds.
Coena }
Comessatio }
_See_ Grap. lib. 2, cap. 3.
He describes convivial disputations.
_Nepotulus_ is a diminutive from nepos, used for one who drinks.
_Piso_ is a young nobleman.
_Hypodidascalus_, ὁ ὑπώ τὲ διδασκαλον, provisor, cantor.
In the beginning of this dialogue there are three αμφιβολίας or
ambiguities. The first is in the adverb _lautè_, the signification of
which is twofold, one proper, the other improper and metaphorical.
_Nep._ Are you bathed in luxury (_vivitisne lautè?_)
living here?
_Piso._ What do you mean by that? Do we wash ourselves
(_an lavamur_)? Every day, hands and face, and indeed,
frequently, for cleanliness of body is conducive to
health and to nurture.
_Nep._ That is not what I ask—but whether you get food
and drink to your mind?
_Piso._ We don’t eat according to our desire, but
according to the call of the palate.
_Nep._ I ask, if you eat, as you wish.
_Piso._ Certainly, forsooth, as hunger dictates. Who
wishes to eat, eats; who does not wish, abstains.
_Nep._ Do you go from the table hungry?
_Piso._ By no means sated. For this is not wise. For it
is the part of beasts, not men, to glut themselves. They
say that a certain wise king never sat down to table
without hunger, and never stood up sated.
_Nep._ What do you eat, then?
_Piso._ What there is.
_Nep._ Oh! I was thinking that you eat what you hadn’t
got! But what is there, then?
_Piso._ Troublesome questioner! What they give us.
_Nep._ But what do they give you, then?
I. _Breakfast_
_Piso._ We have breakfast an hour and a half after we
have got up.
_Nep._ When do you get up?
II. _Lunch—Food—Drink_
_Piso._ Almost with the sun, for he is the leader of
the Muses and the Muses are gracious to the dawn. Our
early breakfast is a piece of coarse bread and some
butter or some fruit as the time of the year supplies.
For lunch, there are cooked vegetables or pottage in
pottage-vessels, and meat with relishes. Sometimes
turnips, sometimes cabbages, starch-food, wheat-meal, or
rice. Then on fish-days, buttermilk from butter which has
been turned out in deep dishes, with some cakes of bread,
and a fresh fish, if it can be bought fairly cheap in the
fish-market, or if not, a salt-fish, well soaked. Then
pease, or pulse, or lentils, or beans, or lupines.
_Nep._ How much of these does each get?
_Piso._ Bread as much as he wishes; of viands as much
as is necessary not for satiety, but for nourishment.
For elaborate feasts, you must seek elsewhere, not in
the school, where the aim is to form minds to the way of
virtue.
_Nep._ What, then, do you drink?
III. _Afternoon Meal_
_Piso._ Some drink fresh, clear water; others light
beer; some few, but only seldom, wine, well diluted. The
afternoon meal (_merenda_) or before-meal consists of
some bread and almonds or nuts, dried figs and raisins;
in summer, of pears, apples, cherries, or plums.
IV. _Chief Meal_
But when we go into the country for the sake of our
minds (recreation), then we have milk, either fresh or
congealed, fresh cheese, cream, horse-beans soaked in
lye, vine-leaves, and anything else which the country
house affords. The chief meal begins with a salad with
closely-cut bits, sprinkled with salt, moistened with
drops of olive-oil, and with vinegar poured on it.
_Nep._ Can you have nut or turnip oil?
_Piso._ Ugh! the unsavoury and unhealthy stuff! Then
there is in a great vessel a concoction of mutton broth
with sauce, and to it, dried plums, roots, or herbs as
supplements, and at times a most savoury pie.
_Nep._ What sort of sauces do you have?
_Piso._ The best and wisest of sauces, hunger. Besides,
on appointed week-days we get roasted meat—as a rule,
veal; in spring sometimes, some young kid. As an
after-dish a little bit of radish and cheese, not old
and decayed, but fresh cheese, which is more nourishing
than the old, pears, peaches, and quinces. On the days
on which no meat may be eaten, we have eggs instead of
meat, either broiled, fried, or boiled, either singly by
themselves or mingled in one pan with vinegar or oil, not
so much poured on as dropped in; sometimes a little fish,
and nuts follow on cheese.
_Nep._ How much does every one get.
_Piso._ Two eggs and two nuts.
V. _Sleeping Draught_
_Nep._ What! do you never have a sleeping draught after
supper?
_Piso._ Pretty often.
_Nep._ What do you have, I beg? for that is most
delightful.
_Piso._ We prepare a banquet such as that of Syrus
mentioned by Terence, or of one of the lordly people
mentioned by Athenaeus or of the like, of which the
record has been handed down in history. Do you think
us swine or men? What stomach would preserve its
soundness of health if after four meals it were to add
a drinking-bout? Observe you are in a school, not in an
eating-house. For they say there is nothing more ruinous
to health than to drink immediately before going to bed.
_Nep._ May I be allowed to be present at meal-time?
_Piso._ Certainly. Only I must first beg permission
from the teacher, who will, I am sure, give it without
difficulty, as is usual with him.
To take you to the banquet, without the master’s
permission, would be ill breeding; and he who should so
bring you would draw on himself from his fellow-disciples
nothing less than reproach and shame. Stop a minute. Will
you, sir, permit with your good favour, that a certain
boy known to me should be present at our meal?
_Praec._ Certainly. There will be no harm in it.
_Piso._ Thank you. He whom thou seest there, who has a
napkin in place of a neck-cloth is the feast-master of
the dining-room (_architriclinus_) this week—for here we
have weekly feast-masters, like kings.
_Feast-Master._ Lamia, what time is it?
_Lamia._ I have not heard the hours since the third,
being intent on the composition of a letter. Florus will
know this better than I, for he has not seen book or
paper the whole of the afternoon.
_Florus._ This is friendly testimony, and if the teacher
were angry, it would have great weight. But how couldst
thou observe me, being immersed, as thou sayest, in the
composition of a letter? Clearly ill-will has driven
thee to telling a lie. I rejoice, indeed, that my enemy
is held to be a liar. If after this he shall wish to say
evil of me, such statements will not be believed.
_Feast-Master._ Can I not then, elsewhere, get to know as
to the time? Anthrax, run across to St. Peter’s and look
at the time.
_Anthrax._ The pointer shows that it is now six o’clock.
_The Cups_
_Feast-Master._ Six? Eh! boys, eh! Come, rouse
yourselves; throw your books aside, even as the stag
seeks a corner to hide his horns. Prepare the table,
cover it, place seats, napkins, round and square plates,
bread; fly, quicker than the word. Let not our teacher
complain of our slowness. Bring beer, one of you;
another, draw water from the well and place the cups.
What is the meaning of this—bringing them so unclean?
Take them back into the kitchen so that the maid may rub
them clean and wipe them thoroughly, whereby they may be
bright and shining.
_Piso._ Never will you accomplish this, so long as we
have that monkey of a kitchen-maid. For she never dares
to rub determinedly so as to clean, for she is afraid of
her fingers. Nor does she rinse things more than once and
that with tepid water.
_Arch._ Why don’t you report this to the teacher?
_Piso._ It would be better to ask the housekeeper
(_famulam atriensem_) for it is in her hands to change
the kitchen-maids. But there is the teacher. Do you
yourself wash these cups out, and rub them with a fig
or nettle-leaf, or with sand and water, so that our
schoolmaster to-day shall have no cause for blame.
_Praec._ Is all ready? Is there anything to delay you?
_Arch._ Nothing at all.
_Praec._ So that afterwards between the courses we need
not have to make any break!
_Feast-Master._ Between the courses! Rather say _the_
course and that a meagre one.
_Praec._ What are you murmuring?
_Feast-Master._ I say that you should sit down, that it
is meal-time, and that the food will soon get spoilt!
_Praec._ You boys, wash your hands and mouth. Eh! what
napkin is this? When did they clean themselves who wiped
themselves dry on this? Run, fetch another cleaner than
this. Let us sit down in our usual order. Is this the boy
who is to be our guest?
_Piso._ Yes, this is he.
_Master._ Of what country is he?
_Piso._ A Fleming.
_Master._ Of what city in that province?
_Piso._ From Bruges.
_Master._ Let him sit in the seat close to you. Let every
one take his knife and clean his bread, if there should
stick any ashes or coal on the crust. Whose turn is it
this week to say grace (_sacret mensam_)?
_Grace Before Meat_
_Florus._ Feed our hearts with Thy love, O Christ, who
through Thy goodness nourishest the lives of all living
beings. Blessed be these Thy gifts to us who partake of
them so that Thou who providest them may be blessed.[30]
Amen.
_Master._ Sit as far apart as possible, so as not to
press against one another’s sides, since there is
sufficient room for each. And you, Brugensian, have you a
knife?
_Piso._ This is a wonder! A Fleming without a knife, and
he, too, a Brugensian, where the best knives are made.
_Nep._ I don’t need a knife. I can part my food into
pieces by biting it with the teeth, and tear it into bits
by my fingers.
_Usher._ They say that biting is very useful both for the
gums and also for the surface of the teeth.
_Master._ Where didst thou receive early instruction in
the Latin tongue, for thou appearest to me not badly
taught?
_Nep._ At Bruges, under John Theodore Nervius.
_Master._ An industrious, learned, and honest man. Bruges
is a most elegant city, but it is to be regretted that
owing to the changing of the population from day to day,
it is going down. When did you leave it?
_Nep._ Six days ago.
_Master._ When did you begin to study?
_Nep._ Three years ago.
_Master._ You have not got on badly.
_Nep._ Deservedly; for I have had a master I am not
ashamed of.
_Master._ But what is _our Vives_ doing?
_Nep._ They say that he is training as an athlete, yet
not by athletics.
_Master._ What is the meaning of that?
_Nep._ He is always wrestling, but not bravely enough.
_Master._ With whom?
_Nep._ With his gout (_morbo articulari_).
_Master._ O mournful wrestler, which first of all attacks
the feet.
_Usher._ Nay, rather cruel victor which fetters the whole
body. But what are you doing? Why do you stop eating? You
would seem to have come here not to eat, but to stare
around. Let nobody during the meal disturb his cap lest
any hair fall into the dishes. Why don’t you treat your
guest as a comrade? Nepotulus, I drink to you.
_Nep._ Sir, your toast is most welcome.
_Usher._ Empty your cup, since so meagre a draught
remains in it.
_Nep._ This would be new to me.
_Praec._ What! not empty it? But you, Usher, what do you
say? What have you new to give us at our meal?
_Grammatical Questions_—1. _On Genders._ 2. _On Tenses_
_Usher._ I say nothing indeed, but I have thought much
during the last two hours on the art of grammar.
_Master._ And what of that now?
_Usher._ On very hidden things and the penetration of
learning: first, why the grammarians have placed in their
art three genders when there are merely two in nature?
again, why nature does not produce things of the neuter
gender as it does of the masculine and feminine? I cannot
find out the cause of this great mystery. So, too, the
philosophers say that there are three tenses, but our art
demands five, therefore our art is outside the nature of
things.
_Master._ Nay, rather thou art thyself outside of the
nature of things, for art is in the nature of things.
_Usher._ If I am outside the nature of things, how can
I eat this bread and meat, which are in the nature of
things?
_Master._ Thou art so much the worse to belong to another
nature whilst you eat what belongs to this our nature.
_Nep._ Παράφθεγμα ἀπροσδιόνυσον. I would wish another
solution of my questions. Would that we had now some
Palaemon or Varro who could resolve these questions.
_Master._ Why not rather another, an Aristotle or Plato?
Have you not something further to say?
_Pronunciation_