darling of Spain? You would not dare to undertake to
rule in a game, not knowing it, in a game and frivolous
matters, in which a mistake brings no particular danger;
and you are willing seriously to undertake to rule so
many and so great kingdoms, ignorant of the condition of
the people and of the laws of administration, although
uninstructed in all prudence, and only knowing the
ridiculous trivialities, which Morobulus here instils
in your mind? Ah! my boy, tell the Master of the Horse
to lead forth hither that Neapolitan horse, the most
ferocious kicker, and the one given to throw his rider to
the ground, and let Philip ride him!
_Phil._ By no means that one, but another and safer one.
For I have not as yet learned the art of managing a
refractory horse, and I have not the strength for it!
_Third Similitude_
_Soph._ Well, Philip, let me ask you whether you think
that a lion is equally fierce as a horse; or that a horse
will kick and be refractory, and less obedient to the
bridle than people, and the host of men in a country who
come together and congregate from every kind of vice,
passion, crime, and evil deed; from agitations which have
been fanned so as to be incensed, inflamed, burning into
flame? You would not dare to mount a horse, while you
demand that you should rule over a people, more difficult
still to govern and manage than any horse! But let us
dismiss this illustration. Do you see that boat on the
river? The navigation is most pleasant and delightful
between the meadows and the willow-plantings. Come, let
us go down to it. You shall sit at the rudder and guide
the boat.
_Phil._ Yes, indeed! and overturn you and plunge you into
the water, as Pimentellulus lately did!
_Soph._ What! you are not willing to guide a boat, on
a stream so even and so calm, because untrained, and
yet you will commit yourself to that sea, to those
waves and tides, to that tempest of the people, without
knowledge and without experience? Evidently it has
befallen you as it did Phaethon, who was ignorant of the
art of charioteering, and yet, with youthful ardour,
he requested that he might take the management of his
father’s chariot! I think that story is known to you.
Isocrates used to say excellently, that the two greatest
offices in the life of men were those of the prince and
the priest. No one, he said, should seek after them,
unless he were worthy. No one should believe himself able
rightly to rule, unless he were the most prudent man in
the kingdom.
_Phil._ I see that nothing is so necessary for my person
and station as the knowledge of the art and skill of
ruling a kingdom.
_Soph._ Evidently you grasp the matter.
_Phil._ How can I pursue my duty?
_How the Art of Governing is to be Acquired_
_Soph._ Hast thou received the knowledge of governing at
thy birth?
_Phil._ Indeed, no!
_Soph._ By what means, then, canst thou get to know
except by learning?
_Phil._ There is no other way.
_Soph._ With what countenance, then, can Morobulus
advise you, that you should throw away your studies, by
which you may obtain experience in your art, as well as
knowledge of other subjects of the greatest and most
attractive kind?
_Phil._ From whom, then, can knowledge of these subjects
be obtained?
_Soph._ From those who have reflected on them, and
observed them as they have been manifested in the
greatest minds, of whom some are dead, others living.
_Phil._ But how can we learn from the dead? Can the dead
speak?
_Soph._ Have you never in conversation heard the names of
Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, Seneca, Livy, Plutarch?
1. _Teachers no longer Living_
_Phil._ These are great names! I have heard them spoken
of often, and with great admiration and praise.
_Soph._ These very names and many others like them,
already departed from this life, will talk with you as
often and as much as you like.
_Phil._ How?
_Soph._ In books, which they have left behind for the
benefit of posterity.
_Phil._ How is it that these are not already in my hand?
_Soph._ They shall be given to you soon, after you have
learned that language, in which you will be able to
understand what they say. Only wait a little, and go
through with the short burden which must be endured in
receiving the elementary basis of instruction; after that
follow incredible delights. It is no wonder that without
such a preparation the idea of literary studies is
abhorrent. But those who have enjoyed them would sooner
be plucked from life itself than be torn away from books
and intellectual interests.
2. _Living Teachers_
_Phil._ But pray tell me, who are those living people
from whom this wisdom and soundness of mind can be
learned?
_Soph._ If you were about to undertake any journey, from
whom would you earnestly inquire the road? Would it be
from those who had never seen the road, or from those who
had at some time accomplished the journey?
_Phil._ From those, forsooth, who had travelled on that
journey!
_Soph._ Is not this life even as a journey, and is it not
a perpetual starting out?
_Phil._ So it seems.
_Soph._ Who, therefore, have performed this journey the
most thoroughly? Old men or youths?
_Phil._ Old men.
_Soph._ Old men, then, should be consulted.
_Phil._ All indifferently?
_Soph._ That is an acute question; not all promiscuously.
But in the same manner as it is with the journey, so
it is with life. Do those know the way of life, who
have gone along it without reflecting on it, busying
themselves with something else, their minds wandering
no less than their body; or those who have noted things
diligently and attended to them, one by one, and
committed what they have observed to their memory?
_Phil._ To be sure it is the latter.
_Soph._ Therefore, in taking counsel concerning the
method of leading our life, it is not young men to
whom we should listen, for they have not been over the
journey, much less youths, and, what is most foolish and
inappropriate, boys. Nor is counsel to be sought from
foolish, lascivious, demented old men, worse than boys,
whom the divine oracles execrate, because they are boys
of a hundred years of age. Ears should be open to old men
of great judgment, experienced in things, and prudent in
mind.
_Phil._ By what sign shall I know them?
_Soph._ To be sure, at thy age, my son, thou canst not as
yet distinguish them by any sign; but when a greater and
stronger judgment has developed in thee, thou wilt easily
recognise them by their words and deeds, as affording
the clearest of signs. In the meantime, whilst thou hast
not strength in this power of judgment, trust thyself
entirely, and commit the direction, to thy father, and to
those whom thy father has appointed as instructors and
teachers and governors of thy early years—those who, as
it were, lead thee by the hand, along that road on which
thou hast not yet journeyed. For there is a greater care
over thee exercised by thy father (to whom thou art
dearer than he is to thee) than thou couldst have for
thyself, and, in this matter, not only has he his own
experience to guide him, but he makes use of the counsel
of wise men.
_Morob._ For too long I have been silent.
_Soph._ Quite so, though contrary to your custom. For
some time I have felt keen astonishment at the fact.
_The Sort of Leisure to be Shunned—The Assertion of the Similitude
(Protasis)_
_Morob._ Philip, do not your father and the King of
France and other great kings and princes rule their
kingdoms and territories, and hold them in their duty,
without the study of letters, and without that burdensome
labour, which here is imposed mercilessly on your tender
shoulders?
_Soph._ Nothing is so easy that it cannot become
difficult, if it is done unwillingly. Industrious
labour, devoted to learning, is not wearisome to him
who gives his attention to it gladly. But to him who is
unwilling, if indeed it is a game that is in question, or
if it were a case of taking a walk in the most pleasant
spots, it is troublesome and intolerable. To thee,
Morobulus, most eager for trifling and always accustomed
to frivolity, either to do anything serious or even to
hear of it, is as unpleasant as death. Certainly many
others would regard their life as bitter, if the manner
of their living were fixed according to the fashion of
Morobulus. How many there are, especially in courts,
to whom nothing is sweeter than a sluggish and inert
leisure! To move their hands to do work is to put them
on the torture-rack! How many there are, on the other
hand, amongst the people, who would die rather than pass
through all their days with such vacuity, and would get
weary more quickly by doing nothing than by giving their
closest attention to some business! But to answer you
concerning the Emperor and King of France, you shall hear
from me about old men in general, whom I take to be those
who have run over the track of life. If all, whosoever
have made the journey, with unanimity say that they have
fallen on some spot full of difficulty and danger, from
which place they have only got away wounded and broken
down to the last degree; but if they had that journey
to go over again they would take care for nothing more
diligently than against that danger. What do you think,
would it not be the part of a most foolish man, when he
had to take that way again, not to recall the danger and
not to know it was coming?
_Phil._ Not as yet do I grasp what you mean!
_Soph._ I will make it more clear by an example. Imagine
that, over the river yonder, there was a narrow plank as
bridge, and that every one told you that as many as rode
on horseback and attempted thus to cross it, had fallen
into the water, and were in danger of their lives, and,
moreover, that with difficulty they had been dragged out
half-dead. Do you understand this?
_Phil._ Most clearly.
_Soph._ Would not, in such a case, a man seem to you to
be demented who, taking that journey, did not get off
from his horse, and escape from the danger in which the
others had fallen?
_Phil._ To be sure he would.
_Its Explanation (Apodosis)_
_Soph._ And rightly! Seek now from old men, as to what
chiefly they have felt unfortunate in this life, what it
grieves them most and what they bitterly regret to have
neglected. All will answer with one voice, so far as they
have learned anything, it is, not to have learned more.
So far as they have not learned, they will regret that
they did not take pains to acquire the knowledge. Having
entered on this complaint against themselves, they
will tell you over and over again, that their parents
or educators sent them to schools and to teachers of
literature, yet that they, drawn on by vain delights,
either of play, or hunting, or love, or frivolity of some
kind, let drop from their hands the opportunities of
learning; and so they complain of their fate and bewail
their lot, and accuse themselves, condemn themselves,
and, at times, also curse themselves. You see now the
state of slackness and ignorance on the road of life is
especially unsafe and dangerous, and is the one chiefly
to be avoided, since you hear the miserable cries of
those who have fallen there. It is therefore to be
avoided with all care and diligence. It is incumbent on
youth, to reject and despise sluggishness, ease, little
delicacies, and frivolity, whilst the whole mind should
be intent on the study of letters and the cultivation
of goodness of soul. You, then, ask your father on this
matter, although he is yet a young man, and do you,
Morobulus, ask yours, although an old man, and you will
understand from them that my opinion is the true one.
XXI
LUDUS CHARTARUM SEU FOLIORUM—_Card-playing or Paper-games_
VALDAURA, TAMAYUS, LUPIANUS, CASTELLUS, MANRICUS
This Dialogue has two parts: Exordium and the game. The
Exordium is an introduction as to time (_à tempore_).
I. _Introduction on the Weather_
_Val._ What rough weather! How cold and cruel the
heavens! how unfavourable the sun!
_Tam._ To what does this state of the heavens and the sun
point?
_Val._ That we should not go out of the house.
_Tam._ But what are we to do in the house?
_Val._ Study by the lighted hearth, meditate, think on
things—a course which might bring profit and sound morals
to the mind.
_Cast._ This is indeed the chief thing to be done, nor
ought anything to take precedence of it in a man’s
mind. But when a man’s mind is wearied by intentness of
application, how then shall he divert himself, especially
in such weather as this?
_Val._ Some recreations of the mind suit some people;
others, others. I indeed receive delight and recreation
by card games.
_Tam._ And this kind of weather invites in that
direction, so that we hide ourselves in a closely shut
room, and guarded on every side from the wind and cold,
with a shining hearth, and a table set with charts
(_i.e._ maps).
_Val._ Alas! we have no charts.
_Tam._ I mean playing-cards.
_Val._ I should like that.
_Tam._ Then we want some money and stones (_calculi_) for
reckoning.
_Val._ We don’t need stones, if we have some very small
coins.
_Tam._ I have none, except gold and larger silver coins.
_Val._ Change some for small money. Here, boy, take these
coins of one, two, two-and-a-half, and three, stivers and
get us tiny coins from the money-changer—single, two,
three, farthing-pieces, not bigger money.
_Tam._ How these coins shine!
_Val._ Certainly, they are as yet new and unused.
_Tam._ Let us go to the games-emporium, where we shall
find everything ready to hand.
_Cast._ It is not expedient, for we should have such a
number of umpires. We might just as well play in the
public street. It would be better to betake ourselves
into your room, and invite a few of our friends,
especially those likely to put us in good spirits.
_Tam._ Your chamber is more convenient for this, for
in mine, we should be interrupted continually by the
mother’s maidservants, who are always seeking some dirty
clothes in the women’s chests.
_Val._ Let us go then into the dining-room.
_Tam._ So let it be. Let us go! Boy, fetch us here
Franciscus Lupianus and Roderick Manricus and Zoilaster.
_Val._ Stay! By no means let us have Zoilaster, an angry
man, given to quarrelling, a noisy calumniator, one who
often raises fierce tragedies out of the smallest matters.
_Cast._ You certainly advise wisely, for if a young man
of such views of recreation should mix himself in our
company, then there would not be sport but grave strife.
Bring, therefore, Rimosulus instead of him.
_Val._ No, not him, unless you wish whatever we do here,
by way of sport, should be made known before sunset
throughout the city.
_Cast._ Is he so good a herald?
_Val._ Yes, in making things known where no good is done
by the knowledge. As to matters of good report, he is
more religiously silent than the Eleusinian mysteries.
_Tam._ Then Lupianus and Manricus alone are to come.
_Cast._ They are first-rate companions.
_Tam._ And warn them to bring little coins with them,
but whatsoever is of severity and earnestness let them
leave at home with the crabbed Philoponus. Let them come,
accompanied by jests, wit, and agreeableness.
_Lup._ Hail! most festive companions!
_Tam._ What is the meaning of that contraction of your
brow? Smooth those wrinkles. Haven’t you been advised to
lay down all thoughts of literature in the abode of the
Muses?
_Lup._ Our thoughts on literature are so illiterate that
the Muses who are in their abode wouldn’t own them.
_Manr._ All prosperity!
_Val._ Prosperity is doubtful, when you are called to the
line of battle and to warfare, in which, indeed, kings
will be present!
_Tam._ Be of good cheer! Money-purses, not necks, will be
attacked.
_Lup._ The money-purse often is in place of a neck,
and money in place of blood and spirit; as with those
Carians, whose contempt of life is the pretext for kings
to practise their madness on them.
_Manr._ I don’t wish to be an actor in, but the spectator
of, this play.
_Tam._ How so?
_Manr._ Because I am so very unfortunate; I always go
away from playing, beaten and despoiled.
_Tam._ Do you know what dice-players say, in a proverb of
theirs? “You should seek your toga where you lost it.”
_Manr._ True, but there is the danger that, while I seek
the lost toga, I shall lose both my tunic and shirt.
_Tam._ This indeed often happens, but he who risks
nothing does not become rich.
_Manr._ This is the opinion of metal-diggers.
_Tam._ Also of the Janus in the middle of Antwerp.
II. _The Playing—Drawing Lots_
_Val._ It is quite right. We can only play four at a
time. We are five. Let us cast lots as to who shall be
the spectator of the others.
_Manr._ I will be the one, without any casting of lots.
_Val._ No such thing! Wrong should be done to none. No
one’s will, but chance, shall decide this. He to whom
the first king falls in dealing, he shall sit as lazy
spectator, and if any dispute shall arise, he shall be
judge.
_Lup._ Here are two whole packs of cards; one is Spanish,
the other French.
_Val._ The Spanish does not seem to be quite right.
_Lup._ How so?
_Val._ Since the tens are lacking.
_Lup._ They don’t usually have them, as the French do.
Cards, both Spanish and French, are divided into four
suits, or families. The Spanish have gold coins, cups,
sceptres, and swords. The French, hearts, diamonds,
clubs, (little) ploughshares, otherwise called spades or
arrow-points. There are in each suit—king, queen, knight;
ones, twos, threes, fours, fives, sixes, sevens, eights,
nines. The French also have tens. In the Spanish game,
golden pieces and cups are used, but less preferably
swords and sceptres. With the French, the higher numbers
are always considered better.
_Cast._ What game shall we play?
_Val._ The game of Spanish Triumph, in which the dealer
will retain for himself the last card as indication (of
trumps) if it is a one or a picture.
_Manr._ Let us know now who shall be left out of the game!
_Tam._ You advise well. Pray deal the cards. This is
yours, this is his, this for Lupianus. You are umpire.
_Val._ I would rather have you as umpire than as a
fellow-player.
_Lup._ Nice words, I must say. Pray, why do you say so?
_Val._ Because in playing you are so cunning, and such
a caviller. Then they say that you have a knack of
arranging the cards as suits yourself.
_Lup._ My play has no deceit in it. But my activity seems
to your lack of experience like imposture, as often is
the case with the ignorant. However, how does Castellus
please you, who, as soon as he has won a little money,
leaves off playing?
_Tam._ This is rather shirking play than playing itself
(_eludere est hoc, quam ludere_).
_Val._ That is a light evil enough. For if he should be
beaten, he will fasten himself to the game like a nail in
a beam.
_Partners_
_Tam._ We will play by twos, two against two. How shall
we be partnered?
_Val._ I, indeed, knowing nothing of this game, will
stick to you, Castellus, whom I understand to be most
expert in the game.
_Tam._ Add also, most crafty in it.
_Cast._ There is no need of choosing. Lots must divide
everything. Those who get the highest cards play against
those with the lowest.
_Val._ So be it. Deal the cards!
_Manr._ As I wished, Castellus and I are on the same
side. Valdaura and Tamayus are our opponents.
_Val._ Let us sit, as we are accustomed, crosswise.
Give me that reclining chair, so that I may lose more
peacefully.
_a_ _b_
\ /
\ /
×
/ \
/ \
_b_ _a_
]
_Tam._ Place the footstool. Let us sit down in our
places. Draw for the lead.
_Val._ It is my lead. You deal, Castellus.
_Modes of Distribution of Cards_
_Cast._ How? from the left to the right, according to the
Belgian custom? or, on the contrary, according to Spanish
custom, from the right to the left?
_Val._ By the latter custom, since we are playing the
Spanish game and have thrown out the tens.
_Cast._ Yes. How many cards do I give to each?
_The Stake_
_Val._ Nine. But what shall the stake be?
_Manr._ Three denarii each deal and a doubling of the
stakes.
_Cast._ Wait, my Manricus, you are getting on too fast!
That would not be play, but madness, where so much money
would be risked. How could you have pleasure in the
anxiety lest you should lose so much money? One denarius
would be sufficient, and the increase shall be one-half
up to five asses.
_Val._ You counsel rightly. For so we shall not play
without stakes, which would be insipid, nor for what
would grieve us, if we lost, for that is bitter.
_Cast._ Have you all nine cards? Hearts are trumps, and
this queen is mine.
_Val._ What a happy omen that is! Certainly it is most
true that the hearts of women ordinarily rule.
_Cast._ Leave off your reflections. Answer to this: I
increase the stake!
_The Contest_
_Val._ I have a losing hand and haven’t good sequences. I
pass.
_Tam._ And I also. You deal, Manricus.
_Val._ What are you doing? You haven’t shown the trump.
_Manr._ I will first count my cards, so as not to have
more or less than nine.
_Val._ You have one too many.
_Manr._ I will place one aside.
_Val._ That is not the rule of the game. You ought to
lose your turn of dealing, and pass it on to the next.
Give me the cards!
_Manr._ I won’t, since I haven’t yet turned up the trump.
_Val._ Yes, you will. By God (_per Deum_)!
_Cast._ Get away! What has come into your mind, my
Valdaura? You swear oaths on the slightest provocation,
which would scarcely be fitting on the most important
affairs.
_Manr._ What do you say, umpire?
_Lup._ I don’t know really what should be done in this
case.
_Manr._ See what a judge we have appointed over us—one
who has no judgment—a leader without eyes.
_Val._ What, then, is to be done?
_Manr._ What, indeed, unless we send to Paris for some
one to bring this matter of ours forward for a decree of
the Senate.
_Cast._ Mix the cards, and deal again.
_Tam._ Oh! what a good hand I lose! I shall not have
another like it to-day!
_Cast._ Shuffle well those cards and deal them more
carefully, one by one.
_Val._ Again, I increase the stakes.
_Tam._ Didn’t I predict that I shouldn’t have such
a chance in my hands again to-day? I am always most
unfortunate. Why do I so much as even look at a game?
_Cast._ This, indeed, is not playing. It is afflicting
ourselves. Is it recreating ourselves and refreshing our
minds, to get worried like this? Play ought to be play,
not torment.
_Manr._ Be a little patient; don’t throw your cards away.
You are getting into a panic!
_Val._ Then answer if you accept (the amount of the
stake).
_Manr._ I accept, and increase it again.
_Val._ What! do you expect to put me to flight with your
fierce words? I don’t pass.
_Manr._ Declare, once for all, and be quick about it. Do
you agree?
_Val._ Yes, and with the greatest pleasure. My mind
prompts me to contest in such play for a still greater
stake, but this will do amongst friends.
_Tam._ What! don’t you count me amongst the living, so
that you leave me out of consideration?
_Cast._ What, then, do you stake, you man of straw
(_faenee_).
_Tam._ I, for my part, wish to increase the stake.
_Manr._ What do you say, Castellus?
_Cast._ At last you consult me, after you have increased
the stake by your own arrangements. I should not dare, on
my hand, to stake up to such an increase.
_Val._ Give a definite answer.
_Cast._ I haven’t the grounds for doing so. Everything
seems ambiguous and doubtful. Hence I answer
hesitatingly, timidly, diffidently. Isn’t this expressed
sufficiently clearly?
_Manr._ Immortal God, what an abundance of words! The
hail we lately had, did not fall so thickly! But, I beg,
let us risk a little.
_Cast._ Let us make the attempt when you please, but
don’t expect a great stake from me.
_Manr._ But you will bring what assistance you can?
_Cast._ There is no need for you to advise me on that
score.
_Manr._ We have been completely beaten!
_Tam._ We have won four denarii. Shuffle!
_Val._ I go five asses.
_Cast._ I don’t know whether I shall pass, for I am sure
to be beaten.
_Tam._ Five more!
_Cast._ What do you reply to this call?
_Manr._ What am I to say? I let it pass.
_Cast._ You lost the last game. Let me lose this in
accordance with my own ideas. I know that I am of less
skill, but I must hold out as long as I seem to have any
strength.
_Val._ What, then, do you say? Do you refuse?
_Cast._ No, certainly. I agree.
_Tam._ Don’t you know this Castellus, Valdaura? He plays
a better game than you, but he is thus accustomed to lure
on rash challengers into his net. Take care not to go on
rashly, where you will be entangled in a net.
_Val._ God’s faith! how could you guess that I had one
last card left of this suit (_natio_)?
_Cast._ I knew all the cards.
_Val._ That is quite conceivable.
_Cast._ And that, too, without looking at them!
_Val._ Perhaps even from the backs?
_Cast._ You are too suspicious.
_Val._ You make me so, if you will excuse me saying so.
_Tam._ Let us examine if the backs of the cards have
marks whereby they can be recognised.
_End of the Game_