necessity of transacting the business of the world. When Jupiter was
taking counsel with me I advised him to add a woman to the man--a
creature foolish and frivolous, but full of laughter and sweetness,
who would season and sweeten by her folly the sadness of his manly
intelligence.
When Plato doubted whether or not he should place women in the class
of rational animals, he really only wished to indicate the remarkable
silliness of that sex. Yet women will not be so absolutely senseless as
to be offended if I, a woman myself, the goddess Stultitia, tell them
thus plainly that they are fools. They will, if they look at the matter
aright, be flattered by it. For they are by many degrees more favoured
creatures than men. They have beauty--and oh, what a gift is that! By
its power they rule the rulers of the world.
The supreme wish of women is to win the admiration of men, and they
have no more effectual means to this end than folly. Men, no doubt,
will contend that it is the pleasure they have in women's society, and
not their folly, that attracts them. I answer that their pleasure is
folly, and nothing but folly, in which they delight. You see, then,
from what fountain is derived the highest and most exquisite enjoyment
that falls to man's lot in life. But there are some men (waning old
crones, most of them) who love their glasses better than the lasses,
and place their chief delight in tippling. Others love to make fools
of themselves to raise a laugh at a feast, and I beg to say that of
laughter, fun, and pleasantry, I--Folly--am the sole purveyor.
_II.--The Mockery of Wisdom_
So much for the notion that wisdom is of any use in the pleasures of
life. Well, the next thing that our gods of wisdom will assert is that
wisdom is necessary for affairs of state. Says Plato, "Those states
will prosper whose rulers are guided by the spirit of philosophy." With
this opinion I totally disagree. Consult history, and it will tell you
that the two Catos, Brutus, Cassius, the Gracchi, Cicero, and Marcus
Antoninus all disturbed the tranquillity of the state and brought down
on them by their philosophy the disgust and disfavour of the citizens.
And who are the men who are most prone, from weariness of life, to
seek to put an end to it? Why, men of reputed wisdom. Not to mention
Diogenes, the Catos, the Cassii, and the Bruti, there is the remarkable
case of Chiron, who, though he actually had immortality conferred on
him, voluntarily preferred death.
You see, then, that if men were universally wise, the world would be
depopulated, and there would be need of a new creation. But, since the
world generally is under the influence of folly and not of wisdom, the
case is, happily, different. I, Folly, by inspiring men with hopes
of good things they will never get, so charm away their woes that
they are far from wishing to die. Nay, the less cause there is for
them to desire to live, the more, nevertheless, do they love life. It
is of my bounty that you see everywhere men of Nestorean longevity,
mumbling, without brains, without teeth, whose hair is white, whose
heads are bald, so enamoured of life, so eager to look youthful, that
they use dyes, wigs, and other disguises, and take to wife some frisky
heifer of a creature; while aged and cadaverous-looking women are seen
caterwauling, and, as the Greeks express it, behaving goatishly, in
order to induce some beauteous Phaon to pay court to them.
As to the wisdom of the learned professions, the more empty-headed and
the more reckless any member of any one of them is, the more he will be
thought of. The physician is always in request, and yet medicine, as it
is now frequently practised, is nothing but a system of pure humbug.
Next in repute to the physicians stand the pettifogging lawyers, who
are, according to the philosophers, a set of asses. And asses, I grant
you that, they are. Nevertheless, it is by the will and pleasure of
these asses that the business of the world is transacted, and they make
fortunes while the poor theologians starve.
By the immortal gods, I solemnly swear to you that the happiest men
are those whom the world calls fools, simpletons, and blockheads. For
they are entirely devoid of the fear of death. They have no accusing
consciences to make them fear it. They are, happily, without the
experience of the thousands of cares that lacerate the minds of other
men. They feel no shame, no solicitude, no ambition, no envy, no love.
And, according to the theologians, they are free from any imputation of
the guilt of sin! Ah, ye besotted men of wisdom, you need no further
evidence than the ills you have gone through to convince you from what
a mass of calamities I have delivered my idiotic favourites.
To be deceived, people say, is wretched. But I hold that what is most
wretched is not to be deceived. They are in great error who imagine
that a man's happiness consists in things as they are. No; it consists
entirely in his opinion of what they are. Man is so constituted that
falsehood is far more agreeable to him than truth.
Does anyone need proof of this? Let him visit the churches, and
assuredly he will find it. If solemn truth is dwelt on, the listeners
at once become weary, yawn, and sleep; but if the orator begins some
silly tale, they are all attention. And the saints they prefer to
appeal to are those whose histories are most made up of fable and
romance. Though to be deceived adds much more to your happiness than
not to be deceived, it yet costs you much less trouble.
And now to pass to another argument in my favour. Among all the praises
of Bacchus this is the chief, that he drives away care; but he does it
only for a short time, and then all your care comes again. How much
more complete are the benefits mankind derive from me! I also afford
them intoxication, but an intoxication whose influence is perennial,
and all, too, without cost to them. And my favours I deny to nobody.
Mars, Apollo, Saturn, Phœbus, and Neptune are more chary of their
bounties and dole them out to their favourites only but I confine my
favours to none.
_III.--Classification of Fools_
Of all the men whose doings I have witnessed, the most sordid are men
of trade, and appropriately so, for they handle money, a very sordid
thing indeed. Yet, though they lie, pilfer, cheat, and impose on
everybody, as soon as they grow rich they are looked up to as princes.
But as I look round among the various classes of men, I specially note
those who are esteemed to possess more than ordinary sagacity. Among
these a foremost place is occupied by the schoolmasters. How miserable
would these be were it not that I, Folly, of my benevolence, ameliorate
their wretchedness and render them insanely happy in the midst of their
drudgery! Their lot is one of semi-starvation and of debasing slavery.
In the schools, those bridewells of uproar and confusion, they grow
prematurely old and broken down, Yet, thanks to my good services, they
know not their own misery. For in their own estimation they are mighty
fine fellows, strutting about and striking terror into the hearts of
trembling urchins, half scarifying the little wretches with straps,
canes, and birches. They are, apparently, quite unconscious of the dust
and dirt with which their schoolrooms are polluted. In fact, their own
most wretched servitude is to them a kingdom of felicity.
The poets owe less to me. Yet they, too, are enthusiastic devotees of
mine, for their entire business consists in tickling the ears of fools
with silly ditties and ridiculously romantic tales. Of the services of
my attendants, Philautia [Self-approbation] and Kolakia [Flattery],
they never fail to avail themselves, and really I do not know that
there is any other class of men in the world amongst whom I should find
more devoted and constant followers.
Moreover, there are the rhetoricians. Quintilian, the prince of them
all, has written an immense chapter on no more serious subject than
how to excite a laugh. Those, again, who hunt after immortal fame in
the domain of literature unquestionably belong to my fraternity. Poor
fellows! They pass a wretched existence poring over their manuscripts,
and for what reward? For the praise of the very, very limited few who
are capable of appreciating their erudition.
Very naturally, the barristers merit our attention next. Talk of
female garrulity! Why, I would back any one of them to win a prize for
chattering against any twenty of the most talkative women that you
could pick out. And well indeed would it be if they had no worse fault
than that. I am bound to say that they are not only loquacious, but
pugnacious. Their quarrelsomeness is astounding.
After these come the bearded and gowned philosophers. Their insane
self-deception as to their sagacity and learning is very delightful.
They beguile their time with computing the magnitude of the sun,
moon, and stars, and they assign causes for all the phenomena of the
universe, as if nature had initiated them into all her secrets. In
reality they know nothing, but profess to know everything.
_IV.--On Princes and Pontiffs_
It is high time that I should say a few words to you about kings and
the royal princes belonging to their courts. Very different are they
from those whom I have just been describing, who pretend to be wise
when they are the reverse, for these high personages frankly and openly
live a life of folly, and it is just that I should give them their
due, and frankly and openly tell them so. They seem to regard it to be
the duty of a king to addict himself to the chase; to keep up a grand
stud of horses; to extract as much money as possible from the people;
to caress by every means in his power the vulgar populace, in order to
win their good graces, and so make them the subservient tools of his
tyrannical behests.
As for the grandees of the court, a more servile, insipid, empty-headed
set than the generality of them you will fail to find anywhere. Yet
they wish to be regarded as the greatest personalities on earth. Not a
very modest wish, and yet, in one respect, they are modest enough. For
instance, they wish to be bedecked with gold and gems and purple, and
other external symbols of worth and wisdom, but nothing further do they
require.
These courtiers, however, are superlatively happy in the belief that
they are perfectly virtuous. They lie in bed till noon. Then they
summon their chaplain to their bedside to offer up the sacrifice of
the mass, and as the hireling priest goes through his solemn farce
with perfunctory rapidity, they, meanwhile, have all but dropped
off again into a comfortable condition of slumber. After this they
betake themselves to breakfast; and that is scarcely over when dinner
supervenes. And then come their pastimes--their dice, their cards, and
their gambling--their merriment with jesters and buffoons, and their
gallantries with court favourites.
Next let us turn our attention to popes, cardinals, and bishops, who
have long rivalled, if they do not surpass, the state and magnificence
of princes. If bishops did but bear in mind that a pastoral staff is an
emblem of pastoral duties, and that the cross solemnly carried before
them is a reminder of the earnestness with which they should strive
to crucify the flesh, their lot would be one replete with sadness and
solicitude. As things are, a right bonny time do they spend, providing
abundant pasturage for themselves, and leaving their flocks to the
negligent charge of so-called friars and vicars.
Fortune favours the fool. We colloquially speak of him and such as him
as "lucky birds," while, when we speak of a wise man, we proverbially
describe him as one who has been "born under an evil star," and as one
whose "horse will never carry him to the front." If you wish to get a
wife, mind, above all things, that you beware of wisdom; for the girls,
without exception, are heart and soul so devoted to fools, that you may
rely on it a man who has any wisdom in him they will shun as they would
a vampire.
And now, to sum up much in a few words, go among what classes of men
you will, go among popes, princes, cardinals, judges, magistrates,
friends, foes, great men, little men, and you will not fail to find
that a man with plenty of money at his command has it in his power to
obtain everything that he sets his heart upon. A wise man, however,
despises money. And what is the consequence? Everyone despises him!
GESTA ROMANORUM
A Story-Book of the Middle Ages
The "Gesta Romanorum," or "Deeds of the Romans," a quaint
collection of moral tales compiled by the monks, was used in
the Middle Ages for pulpit instruction. Hence the curious
"Applications" to the stories, two of which are here given as
examples. Wynkyn de Worde was the first to print the "Gesta" in
English, about 1510. His version is based on Latin manuscripts
of English origin, and differs from the first edition, and from
the Latin text printed abroad about 1473. The stories have
little to do with authentic Roman history, and abound in amusing
confusions, contradictions, and anachronisms. But their interest
is undeniable, and they form the source of many famous pieces of
English literature. In the English "Gesta" occur the originals of
the bond and casket incidents in "The Merchant of Venice."
_I.--Of Love_
Pompey was a wise and powerful king. He had one well-beloved daughter,
who was very beautiful. Her he committed to the care of five soldiers,
who were to guard her night and day. Before the door of the princess's
chamber they hung a burning lamp, and, moreover, they kept a
loud-barking dog to rouse them from sleep. But the lady panted for the
pleasures of the world, and one day, looking abroad, she was espied by
a certain amorous duke, who made her many fair promises.
Hoping much from these, the princess slew the dog, put out the light,
and fled by night with the duke. Now, there was in the palace a certain
doughty champion, who pursued the fugitives and beheaded the duke. He
brought the lady home again; but her father would not see her, and
thenceforward she passed her time bewailing her misdeeds.
Now, at court there was a wise and skilful mediator, who, being moved
with compassion, reconciled the lady with her father and betrothed
her to a powerful nobleman. The king then gave his daughter diverse
gifts. These were a rich, flowing tunic inscribed with the words,
"Forgiven. Sin no more"; and a golden coronet with the legend, "Thy
dignity is from me." Her champion gave her a ring, engraved, "I have
loved thee; learn thou to love." Likewise the mediator bestowed a ring,
saying, "What have I done? How much? Why?" A third ring was given by
the king's son, with the words: "Despise not thy nobility." A fourth
ring, from her brother, bore the motto: "Approach! Fear not. I am thy
brother." Her husband gave a golden coronet, confirming his wife in
the inheritance of his possessions, and superscribed: "Now thou are
espoused, sin no more."
The lady kept these gifts as long as she lived. She regained the
affections of those whom her folly had estranged, and closed her days
in peace.
APPLICATION
My beloved, the king is our Heavenly Father; the daughter is the soul;
the guardian soldiers are the five senses; the lamp is the will; the
dog is conscience; the duke is the Evil One. The mediator is Christ.
The cloak is our Lord's wounded body. The champion and the brother are
likewise Christ; the coronet is His crown of thorns; the rings are the
wounds in His hands and feet. He is also the Spouse. Let us study to
keep these gifts uninjured.
_II.--Of Fidelity_
The subject of a certain king, being captured by pirates, wrote to
his father for ransom; but the father refused, and the youth was
left wasting in prison. Now, his captor had a beautiful and virtuous
daughter, who came to comfort the prisoner. At first he was too
disconsolate to listen to her, but at length he begged her to try
to set him free. The lady feared her father's wrath, but at last, on
promise of marriage, she freed the young man, and fled with him to his
own country. His father said, "Son, I am overjoyed at thy return, but
who is the lady under thy escort?"
When his son told him, he charged him, on pain of losing his
inheritance, not to marry her.
"But she released me from deadly peril," said the youth.
The father answered, "Son, thou mayest not confide in her, for she hath
deceived her own father; and, furthermore, although she indeed set
thee free, it was but to oblige thee to marry her. And since it was an
unworthy passion that was the source of thy liberty, I think that she
ought not to be thy wife."
When the lady heard these reasons, she answered thus, "I have not
deceived my parent. He that deceives diminishes a certain good. But my
father is so rich that he needs not any addition. Wherefore, your son's
ransom would have left him but little richer, while you it would have
utterly impoverished. I have thus served you, and done my father no
injury. As for unworthy passion, that arises from wealth, honours, or a
handsome appearance, none of which your son possessed, for he had not
even enough to procure his ransom, and imprisonment had destroyed his
beauty. Therefore, I freed him out of compassion."
When the father heard this, he could object nothing more. So the son
married the lady with great pomp, and closed his life in peace.
APPLICATION
My beloved, the son is the human race, led captive by the devil. The
father is the world, that will not redeem the sinner, but loves to
detain him. The daughter is Christ.
_III.--O Venial Sin_
Julian, a noble soldier, fond of the chase, was one day pursuing a
stag, which turned and addressed him thus, "Thou who pursuest me so
fiercely shalt one day destroy thy parents."
In great alarm, Julian sought a far country, where he enlisted with a
certain chieftain. For his renowned services in war and peace he was
made a knight, and wedded to the widow of a castellan, with her castle
as a dowry.
Meanwhile, his parents sought him sorrowing, and coming at length to
Julian's castle in his absence, they told his wife their story. The
lady, for the love she bore her husband, put them into her own bed, and
early in the morning went forth to her devotions. Julian returned, and
softly entering his wife's apartment, saw two persons therein, and was
filled with terrible alarm for his lady's fealty.
Without pause, he slew both, and hurried out. Meeting his wife in the
church porch, he fell into amazement, and asked who they might be.
Hearing the truth, he was shaken with an agony of tears, and cried,
"Accursed that I am! Dearest wife, forgive, and receive my last
farewell!"
"Nay," she replied. "Wilt thou abandon me, beloved, and leave me
widowed? I, that have shared thy happiness will now share thy grief!"
Together they departed to a great and dangerous river, where many had
perished. There they built a hospital, where they abode in contrition,
ferrying over such as wished to cross the river, and cherishing the
poor. After many years, Julian was aroused at midnight by a dolorous
voice calling his name. He found and ferried over a leper, perishing
with cold. Failing to warm the wretch by other means, Julian placed
him in his own bed, and strove by the heat of his own body to restore
him. After a while he who seemed sick and cold and leprous appeared
robed in immortal splendour, and, waving his light wings, seemed ready
to mount up into heaven. Turning upon his wondering host a look of the
utmost benignity, the visitant exclaimed, "Julian, the Lord hath sent
me to thee to announce the acceptance of thy contrition. Ere long thou
and thy partner will sleep in Him."
So saying, the angelic messenger disappeared, and Julian and his wife,
after a short time occupied in good works, died in peace.
_IV.--Of the End of Sinners_
Dionysius records that Perillus, wishing to become the artificer of
Phalaris, the cruel tyrant of Agrigentum, presented him with a brazen
bull. In its side was a secret door, for the entry of those who should
be burned to death within. The idea was that the agonised cries of the
victim, resembling the roaring of a bull and nothing human, should
arouse no feeling of mercy. The king, highly applauding the invention,
said, "Friend, the value of thy industry is still untried; more cruel
even than the people account me, thou thyself shalt be the first
victim."
There is no law more equitable than that "the artificer of death should
perish by his own devices," as Ovid hath observed.
_V.--Of Too Much Pride_
As the Emperor Jovinian lay abed, reflecting on his power and
possessions, he impiously asked, "Is there any other god than I?"
Amid such thoughts he fell asleep.
Now, on the morrow, as he followed the chase, he separated himself
from his followers in order to bathe in a stream. And as he bathed, one
like him in all respects took the emperor's dress, and arraying himself
in them, mounted the monarch's horse, and joined the royal retinue,
who knew him not from their master. Jovinian, horseless and naked, was
vexed beyond measure.
"Miserable that I am," he exclaimed, "I will to a knight who lives
hard by. Him have I promoted; haply he will befriend me." But when he
declared himself to be Jovinian, the knight ordered him to be flogged.
"Oh, my God!" exclaimed the emperor, "is it possible that one whom I
have loaded with honours should use me thus?"
Next he sought out a certain duke, one of his privy counsellors, and
told his tale.
"Poor, mad wretch," said the duke. "I am but newly returned from the
palace, where I left the emperor."
He therefore had Jovinian flogged, and imprisoned. Contriving to
escape, he went to the palace. "Surely," he reflected, "my servants
will know me." But his own porter denied him. Nevertheless, he
persuaded the man to take a secret sign to the empress, and to demand
his imperial robes. The empress, sitting at table with the feigned
emperor, was much disturbed, and said, "Oh, my lord, there is a vile
fellow at the gate who declares the most hidden passages of our life,
and says he is my husband."
Being condemned to be dragged by a horse's tail, Jovinian, in despair,
sought his confessor's cell. But the holy man would not open to him,
although at last, being adjured by the name of the Crucified, he gave
him shrift at the window. Thereupon he knew the emperor, and giving him
some clothes, bade him show himself again at the palace. This he did,
and was received with due obeisance. Still, none knew which was the
emperor, and which the impostor, until the feigned emperor spake.
"I," said he, "am the guardian angel of the king's soul. He has now
purged his pride by penance; let your obedience wait on him."
So saying, he disappeared. The emperor gave thanks to God, lived
happily after, and finished his days in peace.
_VI.--Of Avarice_
A covetous and wicked carpenter placed all his riches in a log, which
he hid by his fireside. Now, the sea swept away that part of his house,
and drifted the log to a city where lived a generous man. He found the
log, cleft it, and laid the gold in a secure place until he should
discover the owner.
Now, the carpenter, seeking his wealth with lamentations, came by
chance to the house of him that had found it. Mentioning his loss, his
host said to himself, "I will prove if God will that I return his money
to him." He then made three cakes, one filled with earth, the second
with dead men's bones, and the third with some of the lost gold. The
carpenter, being invited to choose, weighed the cakes in his hand, and
finding that with earth heaviest, took it.
"And if I want more, my worthy host," said he, "I will choose that,"
laying his hand on the cake containing the bones. "The third you may
keep for yourself."
"Thou miserable varlet," cried the host. "It is thine own gold, which
plainly the Lord wills not that I return to thee."
So saying, he distributed all the treasure among the poor, and drove
the carpenter away from his house in great tribulation.
_VII.--Of Temporary Tribulation_