Turd. Yes, concerning Hermogenes, who in all our contests always bore away the chief prizes. By an astounding change from being a man of the highest ability and learning (as his time of life brought about) suddenly he has become most sluggish and boorish.
Nugo. Such a change I have often seen happen with certain keen-witted men.
Bamb. They say that this happens when the sharpness of the wit is not really genuine, like a lancet whose edge is easily blunted, especially if it is used to cut anything a little too hard.
Grac. What, is there an edge in wits, even as there is in steel?
Bamb. I don’t know. I have often seen steel, but never have I seen a man’s wits.
Nugo. What has become of that young countryman (paganus) who some months ago on his arrival entertained us with a lunch consisting of delicacies brought from the country, after whom the teacher has sent four slave-catchers to bring him back from his flight? He was rather a handsome fellow!
Turd. He has become a delightful ass! My aunt’s maid-servant, who is his cousin, met him lately in his village, with bare head, uncombed, shaggy, and bristly, with wooden shoes and a poor, rough coat, selling in a public square paper pictures and horn books, and singing new songs before a circle of sightseers.
Grac. Yet he must be a man sprung from a distinguished family.
Turd. Why so?
Grac. Since his father is of the race of the Coclites.
Nugo. That name does not so much argue a man of noble family as a thrower of the dart. He will take his aim easily.
Turd. Or it betokens a carpenter who directs his red-chalk with one eye.
Nugo. That boy has never pleased me, nor has he ever disclosed to me any sign of ability.
Grac. How so?
Nugo. Because he never loved studies, nor showed any reverence for his teacher. This is the clearest proof of a lost mind. Then, too, he ridiculed old men and mocked at the unfortunate. But who is that man clothed in silk, adorned with neck-chain and with gold decorations?
Grac. He is of a renowned race, and has a mother a most noble and fruitful mother.
Nugo. Who is she?
Grac. The earth,37 and you will scarcely believe what delights he always has. You would say he was a little child up to now in the cradle, crying for his rattle.
Nugo. And yet the down begins to creep over his cheeks.
Bamb. Ah! the overseer (observator) is coming. Get ready your books, open them, and begin to turn over the pages and read them.
There has not been for many weeks a more zealous overseer, one who would rejoice so much to pass on charges against any one to the master.
Bamb. Would that at least he would accuse us of our real faults, but for the most part he brings false witness against us.
Nugo. Let that saying of Horace be a wall of brass to us:
But be quiet! I will immediately put him to rout.
Observ. What do you say, Vacia?
Nugo. What do you say, Vatrax?
Observ. What do you say, Batrachomyomachia? But, joking aside, what are you doing here?
Nugo. What are we doing? What are good scholars and students always doing? We are reading, learning, disputing. Tell us, please, most charming creature,38 what is the meaning of that passage in Vergil’s Eclogues:
Observ. You do well; proceed with your studies as it behoves young men of good abilities. I have now other business in hand. Farewell.
Nugo. We have had sufficient trifling. Let us get back to school. But first let us read over again what the teacher explained, so that we learn something, and give him pleasure, and so that he may approve of us—which must be in our prayers as much as it is in those of the father of each of us.
Philippus, Misippus, Misospudus, Planetes
In this dialogue are contained those matters that pertain to horses and peregrinations, concerning which see as a whole, Grapaldus, lib. 1, cap. 8, and Volaterranus, lib. 25, philologiae. We place the kinds one by one, according to their nomenclature, primarily for the sake of boys.
Lupatum, ein scharpff Gebisz.
Frenum, ein Zaum.
Orea, der Riem unter dem Maul.
Aurea, der Riem über die Ohren.
Antilena, der Brustriem.
Postilena, der hinder Riem. Hinderbug.
Ephippium, Sattel.
Stapes vel stapeda, Steigreiff.
Habena, Zügel.
Calcar, Spor.
Genera Equorum
Asturco gradarius, tollutarius, tieldo, ein Zelter.
Mannus, ein kleines Rösslein.
Cantherius, ein Mönch.
Succussator, ein harttrabender Gaul.
Vector seu ephippiarius, Reitrosz.
Clitellarius, Saumrosz.
Jugalis, helciarius, Ziehrosz. Wagenrosz. Kummetrosz.
Dorsualis, Müllerrosz, das auff dem Rücke trägt.
Meritorius, Lehenrosz. Drei Plappert Rosz.
Currus
| Species | { | Rheda, ein Karr. Sarracum, Lastwagen. Stein. Wagen. |
| Partes | { | Rotae, Reder. Temo, Deichsel. Canthi, Radschinnen. |
The names of the interlocutors are suitably framed. Misippus, the hater of horses, μισῶν τοῦς ἵππους; Philippus, the lover of horses, φιλῶν τοῦς ἵππους; Misospudus, the hater of studies (osor studiorum), μισων τῶν σπυδίων; Planetes erro, vagus, planus, ein Landstreicher, from πλανάομαι, erro, vagor.
Phil. Wouldn’t you like us to set out for Boulogne along the Seine, to cheer our minds?
Misi. and Miso. There is nothing we should like better, especially on a mild day like this, without a sound of wind, and when, again, we are having a holiday from school.
Phil. Why are you not at work to-day?
Miso. Because Pandulfus is going to make all the masters drunk with a great luncheon in honour of his laurels in obtaining his mastership.
Plan. Oh! what a lot they will drink!
Miso. Much more than will satisfy thirst.
Misi. I have an Asturian horse.
Phil. And I have a hired horse which I have got from a one-eyed rogue.
Miso. Planetes and I will go in a travelling carriage; the rest, if it seems good to them, shall follow us on foot, or by strength of arms push a boat against the current of the stream.
Phil. Rather let it be dragged along by horses.
Miso. As you please (ut erit cordi), for we choose to take the journey on foot.
Phil. Eh! boy, bridle my horse and saddle him! Why, in the name of mischief, are you putting on the little steed so sharp-toothed a curb? Give him rather that light little curb with the knobs.
Boy. Alas! he has neither bit nor bridle.
Phil. If I knew who had broken them, I would break him!
Misi. What are you saying in your agitation?
Phil. Put in bread for a meal. Get it where you can, conveniently.
Boy. Certainly, whilst you are at your school classes. You want both horses and their equipment!
Phil. Supply, then, what is lacking out of this cord.
Boy. It will look unsightly.
Phil. Go, fool, who will see us when we get out of the town?
Boy. The body-band is also in two.
Phil. Mend it with some straps.
Boy. It has no tail-band.
Phil. There is no need for it.
Plan. A great and experienced horseman! Why, the the saddle will slide on to his neck and the horse will shoot you over his head.
Phil. What is that to me? The road is muddy rather than stony. I shall take my fill of dirt, but none of my blood will be spilt. If all these preparations have to be made, we shall not set forth from this place before the evening. Bring a horse of some kind, whatever his trappings may be.
Boy. Here he is, ready. Mount him. Eh! what are you doing, putting your right foot first into the stirrup?
Phil. What am I to do then?
Boy. Why, the left, and hold the reins in your left hand; with the right hand take this switch, which will serve in place of spurs.
Phil. I don’t need it. My heels will do for spurs.
Boy. You see Jubellius Taurea, or is it Asellus who entered into a struggle with that famous steed.39
Phil. Have done with your glib stories! Where are the others?
Boy. Off you go! I will accompany you on foot.
Misi. Most abominable, jolting horse. The beast will break all my bones before we reach the town.
Phil. What, in the name of evil, is that horse-covering? It is a pack-saddle, I believe.
Misi. Surely not.
Phil. How much for it? What’s its price?
Misi. Fourteen Turonic40 sesterces.
Phil. I wouldn’t give as much for the horse himself with his fodder and trappings. It seems to me to be neither a draught horse, nor a horse for riding, but a beast of burden, ready for the pack-saddle, or for the yoke, or to carry goods on its back. Note, I beg, how it constantly stumbles. It would trip up over a piece of paper, or a stalk of straw spread out on its way.
Misi. What do you say of it? It is as yet a foal. But chatter on as you like. Do you see this horse? He, whatever he may be, is going to carry me, or I him.
Boy. The poor animal has a very tender hoof.
Phil. What, then, did the one-eyed man so carefully warn you about when he handed the horse over to you?
Misi. He begged, in the most amiable manner, that the two of us should not sit on the beast, one on the saddle and the other on the buttocks, and that I should have him carefully covered when he was put in the stable.
Boy. The poor horse surely needs covering when he has his sides of raw flesh.
Phil. What are you doing? Are you not getting into the carriage?
Plan. You speak to the point. The driver now demands as much again as what we agreed to.
Phil. It is easy to deal with drivers and boatmen; they will do everything to your satisfaction. They tell you you will accomplish everything. This kind of man is soft, gentle, obliging, courteous, respectful. Drivers are the scum of the earth, the boatmen the scum of the sea. Give him the half of what he asks.
Boy. What time do you suppose it is already?
Phil. Guessing by the sun, I should say past ten o’clock.
Boy. Mid-day is near.
Phil. Fancy! Eh! Misippus, let us get along. Follow who can! We shall be found at the “Red Hat,” i.e., the hostelry situated opposite the royal pyramid, not far from the house of the Curio.41
Misi. Which way shall we go?
Phil. Through the Marcelline Gate, on the right. It is a simple and straight road.
Misi. Nay, let us take this lane. It is a pleasant and quiet way.
Phil. By no means. Nothing is easier and safer than the high road, for by cross roads we shall lose our friends, especially since that way, if my memory does not fail me, is full of windings and turnings.
Misi. Who are those men with spears? They seem to be soldiers from the mercenary troops.
Phil. What must we do?
Misi. Let us turn back, so that we don’t get robbed.
Phil. Let us go forward, for on horseback we shall easily escape them, by running through the fields.
Misi. What if they have got handcuffs with them!
Phil. I see nothing of the sort, but only long lances.
Misi. Come nearer, boy.
Boy. What’s amiss?
Misi. Don’t you see those Germans?
Boy. Which?
Misi. Those people coming this way against us.
Boy. They are German42 sure enough, but two Parisian peasants with their sticks.
Misi. Yes, certainly, that is so. A blessing on you! You have restored my courage and vitality. But where are Misospudus and Planetes?
Boy. The driver, enraged at not getting what he had demanded, drove them on a lumpy road. The horses, in struggling with all their might to drag the wheels as they stuck in the deep mud, broke in pieces the pole of the carriage and the horse-collars. Then the tyres, together with the nails, were torn off. The reckless driver, with blind rage, had put the brake on the wheel. He is now angrily repairing the damage and blaspheming all the gods, and cursing the passengers with the most terrible imprecations.
Phil. May his curses recoil on his own head!
Boy. I think they will leave the carriage behind and get into a cart, which is going, unladen, to Boulogne. Glaucus and Diomedes had got on a boat, but the boatman declared that against this wind they could not make way with their oars and poles. Also they say that the horses which pull boats up the stream are all at work, so I know not by what means the boat could be drawn. So they have not yet loosened the stern-rope.
Phil. Is there any news as to the boat fare?
Plan. Absolutely none.
Phil. That is extraordinary. I guess what will happen. They won’t reach Boulogne before nightfall.
Misi. What of that! Let us take all to-morrow for refreshing our minds. But look how softly the river flows by! What a delightful murmur there is of the full crystal water amongst the golden rocks! Do you hear the nightingale and the goldfinch? Of a truth, the country round Paris is most delightful!
Phil. What sight can be equal to this? How placidly the Seine flows in its current, how that small ship with its full sail before a favourable breeze is borne along! It is marvellous how minds are restored by all these things. Oh, how the meadow is clothed as by magic art.
Misi. And, moreover, by what a marvellous Artist!
Phil. What a sweet scent is exhaled!
Misi. Here, here; bend to the left so as to escape the thickest of mud, in which thy steed at once would lose his hoof. How different this field is from the next, covered over with dirt, squalid, withered, bristling thick with straws, and armed with thorns.
Boy. Don’t you see that the field is covered with the waste from the river? and elsewhere it is fruitful.
Phil. Please, sing some verses, as you are wont to do.
Misi. With pleasure.
Phil. Most elegant and matterful verses, whose are they, I beg?
Misi. Don’t you know?
Phil. No.
Misi. They are by Angelus Politian.
Phil. I should have taken them to be from the classics. They have the grace of antiquity. I suspect we have lost our way!
Misi. Ah! good sir, which is the way to Boulogne?
Rustic. You are going out of the way. Turn your beasts to the cross-roads and strike the way there where the river bends. On it you cannot get wrong. The road is straight and plain up to the old oak, then you turn quickly on this side (pointing with his hand).
Misi. We are grateful.
Rustic. May God lead you!
Misi. I would rather run on foot than be shaken as I am by this horse.
Phil. You will have so much the greater appetite.
Misi. I shall, on the contrary, be able to eat nothing, so weary and exhausted I am in all my body. I would rather go to bed than ask for anything to eat.
Phil. Sit down, with knees drawn together, and not stretched apart. You will feel weariness the less.
Misi. That is the custom of women. I would do it were I not afraid of the laughter and grimaces of passers by.
Boy. Stop a moment, Philip, until the smith here has shod thy horse, whose shoe on the right foot has become loose.
Misi. Nay, rather let us stay here, so that if the inn is closed we may sleep out in the open air.
Phil. What is that? Under the open sky? Would it not be more excellent than in a closed room? It would be a more serious matter for us to have to go without a meal.
Manricus, Mendoza, the Teacher
As, above, in the fifth dialogue, Vives taught the method of reading, so here he explains in an elegant manner the method of writing. For it is no small honour for a learned man to form his letters skilfully. But he adds the praise of correct writing and various kinds of writing, also he writes somewhat on pens and their preparation, and concerning different kinds of paper and other adjuncts of writing.
Manr. Were you present to-day when the oration on the usefulness of writing was delivered?
Mend. Where?
Manr. In the lecture-room of Antonius Nebrissensis.
Mend. No, but do you recount what took place, if anything of it remains in your memory.
Manr. What am I to recount? He said so many things that almost everything has fallen from my mind.
Mend. Then it has happened to you what Quintilian said of the vessels with narrow neck, viz., that they spit out the supply of liquid when it is poured down on them; but if it is instilled slowly they receive it. But haven’t you retained anything of it exactly?
Manr. Almost nothing.
Mend. Then at least something.
Manr. Very, very little.
Mend. Then communicate this very, very little to me.
Manr. First of all he said that it was thoroughly wonderful that you can comprise so great a variety of human sounds within so few written characters. Then, that absent friends are able to talk to one another by the aid of letters. He added that nothing seemed more marvellous in these islands recently discovered by the munificence of our kings, whence indeed gold is brought, than that men should be able to open up to one another what they think from a long distance by a piece of paper being sent with black stains marked on it. For the question was asked, Whether paper knew how to speak? He also said this, that, and many other things which I have forgotten.
Mend. How long did he speak?
Manr. Two hours.
Mend. And from so long an oration have you committed to memory so slight a portion as what you have just said?
Manr. I have indeed committed it to the charge of my memory, but my memory would not keep it all.
Mend. Clearly you have the wide-mouthed jar of the daughters of Danaus.
Manr. Nay, I have received the oration into a sieve, not into a jar at all.
Mend. We will summon some one who will bring back to memory those points which you have forgotten.
Manr. Wait a bit! for I am seeking to recall something by thinking it over. Now I have it.
Mend. Speak it out, then! Why didn’t you take notes?
Manr. I hadn’t a pen at hand.
Mend. Not even a writing-tablet?
Manr. Not even a writing-tablet.
Mend. Now tell on.
Manr. I have lost it again; you have shaken it out of mind by interrupting so disagreeably.
Mend. What, so soon!
Manr. Now it comes back to me. He stated on the authority of some writer (I don’t know who it was) that nothing is more fitted as a help to great erudition than to write clearly and quickly.
Mend. Who was the writer quoted?
Manr. I have often heard his name, but it has escaped my memory.
Mend. As have the other things! But the crowd of our nobility do not follow the precept (as to the value of writing), for they think it is a fine and becoming thing not to know how to form their letters. You would say their writing was the scratching of hens, and unless you were warned beforehand whose hand it was, you would never guess.
Manr. And for this reason you see how thick-headed men are, how foolish, and imbued with corrupt prejudices.
Mend. What are the common run of people, if the nobles are so skilless? or are the classes little different from each other?
Manr. Because the common people are not distinguished by their clothes and possessions, they are the more separated by their life and sound judgment in their affairs.
Mend. Do you mean that to vindicate ourselves from the charge of vulgar ignorance we must give ourselves up to the practice of writing?
Manr. I don’t know how it is inborn in me to plough out my letters so distortedly, so unequally and confusedly.
Mend. You have this tendency from your noble birth. Practise yourself—habit will change even what you think to be inborn in you.
Manr. But where does he (the writing-master) live?
Mend. Don’t seek that from me, for I did not hear the man, nor see him, while I understood that you heard him. You would like everything to be brought to your mouth, chewed beforehand.
Manr. Now I remember he said he rented a house near the church of SS. Justus and Pastor.
Mend. So he is our neighbour. Let us go.
Manr. Eh, boy! where is the teacher?
Boy. In that room there!
Manr. What is he doing?
Boy. He is teaching some pupils.
Manr. Tell him that there stand before his doors some who have come to be taught by him.
Teacher. Who are these boys? What do they want?
Boy. They desire conference with you.
Teacher. Admit them straight to me.
Manr. and Mend. We wish you health and all prosperity, teacher.
Teacher. And I, in my turn, wish you a happy entrance here. May Christ preserve you! What is it? What do you wish?
Manr. To be taught by you in that art which you profess, if only you have time and are willing.
Teacher. Certainly, you ought to be boys highly educated, for so you speak and desire with modest mouths. Now, so much the more since a blush has spread over your whole face. Have confidence, my boys, for that is the colour of virtue. What are your names?
Manr. Manricus and Mendoza.
Teacher. The names themselves are evidence of noble education and generous minds. But first then, you will be truly noble if you cultivate your minds by those arts which are especially most worthy of your renowned families. How much wiser you are than that multitude of nobles who hope that they are going to be esteemed as better born in proportion as they are ignorant of the art of writing. But this is scarcely to be wondered at, since this conviction has taken hold of the stupid nobles that nothing is more mean or vile than to pursue knowledge in anything. And therefore it is to be seen that they sign their names to their letters, composed by their secretaries, in a manner that makes them impossible to be read; nor do you know from whom the letter is sent to you, if it is not first told you by the letter-carrier, or unless you know the seal.
Manr. Over this Mendoza and I have grieved already.
Teacher. But have you come here armed?
Manr. Not at all, good teacher, we should have been beaten by our teachers if we had dared to merely look at arms, at our age, let alone to touch them.
Teacher. Ah, ah! I don’t speak of the arms of blood-shedding, but of writing-weapons, which are necessary for our purpose. Have you a quill-sheath together with quills in it?
Mend. What is a quill-sheath? Is it the same as we call a writing-reed case?
Teacher. It is. For the men of antiquity were accustomed to write with styles. Styles were followed by reeds, especially Nile reeds. The Agarenes (i.e. the Saracens), if you have seen them, write with reeds from right to left, as do almost all the nations in the East. Europe followed Greece, and, on the contrary, writes from the left to the right.
Manr. And also the Latins?
Teacher. The Latins also, my sons, but they have their origin from the Greeks. Formerly the ancient Latins wrote on parchment which was called palimpsest because the writing could be wiped out again, and only on one side, for those books written on both sides were called Opistographi. Such was that Orestes of Juvenal which was written on the back of a written sheet and not brought to an end. But as to these matters I will speak some other time; now those which press. We write with goose quills, though some use hen’s quills. Your quills there are particularly useful, for they have an ample, shining, and firm opening. Take off the little feathers with a knife and cut off something from the top. If they have any roughness, scrape it off, for the smooth ones are better fitted for use.
Manr. I never use any unless they are stripped of feathers, and shine, but my instructor taught me how to make them smooth by saliva and by rubbing on the under-side of the coat or stockings.
Teacher. Seasonable counsel!
Mend. Teach us how to make our quills.
Teacher. First of all, cleave the head on both sides, so that it is split into two. Then whilst you carefully guide the knife, make a cutting on the upper part which is called the crena or notch. Then make quite equal the two little feet (pedunculos), or if you prefer to call them the little legs (cruscula); so, nevertheless, that the right one on which the pen rests in writing may be higher, but the difference ought to be scarcely perceptible. If you wish to press the pen on the paper somewhat firmly, hold it with three fingers; but if you are writing more quickly, with two, the thumb and the fore-finger, after the Italian fashion. For the middle finger rather checks the course and hinders it from proceeding too quickly, instead of helping it forward.
Manr. Reach me the ink vessel.
Mend. Ah! I have let the ink horn fall, whilst coming here.
Teacher. Boy, bring me that two-handled ink flask, and let us pour from it into this little leaden mortar.
Mend. Without a sponge!
Teacher. You get the ink thus more flowingly and easily into the pen. For if you dip the pen into cotton, or silk-thread, or linen, some fibre or fluff adheres to the nib. The drawing of this out causes a delay in writing. Or if you don’t draw it out, you will make blurs rather than letters (lituras verius quam literas).
Mend. As my companions advised, I put in either Maltese linen-cloth or thin, fine silk.
Teacher. That is certainly more satisfactory. However, it is much better to pour ink only into a little mortar which stands firmly, for that can be carried about; for this, of course, a sponge is necessary. Have you also paper?
Mend. I have this.
Teacher. It is too rough, and such as would check the pen so that it would not run without being hindered, and this is a nuisance for studies. For whilst you are struggling with roughness of paper, many things which should be written down slip from the mind. Leave this kind of paper, wide, thick, hard, rough, for the printers of books, for it is so called (libraria) because from it books are made to last for a very long time. For daily use, don’t get great Augustan or Imperial paper, which is named Hieratica because employed for sacred matters, such as you see in books used in sacred edifices. Get for your own use the best letter-paper from Italy, very thin and firm, or even that common sort brought over from France, and especially that which you will find for sale in single blocks at twopence each (nummis octonis). In addition, the linden-tree paper, either of the kinds of paper called Emporetica,45 which we call blotting paper (bibula), should be in reserve (pro corollario).
Mend. What do these words mean, for I have often wondered?
Teacher. Emporetica comes from the Greek and means paper used for wrapping goods in, and bibula is so called because it absorbs ink, so that you don’t need bran, or sand, or dust scraped from a wall. But best of all is when the letters dry up of themselves, for by that method they last so much longer. But you will find it useful to place Emporetica paper under your hand so that you may not stain the whiteness of the writing-paper by sweat or dirt.
Manr. Now give us a copy, if it seems good to you.
Teacher. First the A B C, then syllables, then words joined together in this fashion. Learn, boy, those things by which you may become wiser, and thence happier. Sounds are the symbols of minds amongst people in one another’s presence; letters, the symbols between those who are absent from one another. Imitate these copies and come here after lunch, or even to-morrow, so that I may correct your writing.
Manr. We will do so. In the meantime we commend you to Christ.
Teacher. And I, you, the same.
Mend. Let us go apart from our friends, so that we may reflect without interruption on what we have heard from the teacher.
Manr. Agreed! Let us do so!
Mend. We have come to the place we want. Let us sit down on these stones.
Manr. Yes, as long as we are out of the sun.
Mend. Quick! a half-sheet of paper, which I will return to you to-morrow.
Manr. Will this small bit be sufficient?
Mend. Alas! it won’t take six lines, especially of such writing as mine.
Manr. Write on both sides and make the lines more crowded together. What need have you to leave such big spaces between the lines?
Mend. I? I make scarcely any space. For these letters of mine touch one another both above and beneath, especially those which have long heads or feet, such as b and p. But what are you doing? Have you already ploughed out two lines? and how elegant they are! except that they are crooked.
Manr. You write, yourself, and be quiet!
Mend. Certainly with this pen and ink I can by no means write.
Manr. How is that?
Mend. Don’t you see that the pen besprinkles the paper with ink outside the letters?
Manr. My ink is so thick that you would think it was lime. Look there, how it sticks on the top of the nib and won’t flow down so as to form the letters. But we will soon remedy both the inconveniences. Cut off from the top of the pen with your knife so much that it collects what is wanted for the letters; I will instil some drops of water into the ink so as to make it flow more easily. The best thing would be vinegar, if you had it at hand, for this immediately dilutes the thick ink.
Mend. True, but there is the danger lest its acidity enters into the paper.
Manr. You needn’t fear any such danger; this paper is best of all in preventing ink from flowing.
Mend. The extreme edges of this paper of yours are unequal, wrinkled, and rough.
Manr. Then apply the shears to the margin of the paper, for then it will seem more elegant, or write only outside the rough parts. The slightest obstacles seem to you to be a great hindrance to prevent you going on. Whatever you have under your hand, put it on one side.
Mend. Let us now go back to the teacher.
Manr. Does it seem to you to be time already?
Mend. I fear lest the time has already passed by, for he has lunch early.
Manr. Let us go. You enter first, for you have less timidity.
Mend. Nay, rather you, for you have less impudence.
Manr. See that no one goes out from his house and catches us here, joking and frolicking. Let us knock at the door with the knocker-ring, although the door is open, for this would be more courteous. (Tat-tat.)
Boy. Who is there? Come straight in, whoever you are!
Manr. It is we. Where is the teacher?
Boy. In his room.
Mend. May all things befall you propitiously, teacher!
Teacher. You have come seasonably.
Mend. We have imitated your copy five or six times on this paper and bring our work to you to have it corrected.
Teacher. You have done rightly. Show it. In the future let there be a greater space between the lines so that I may be able to alter your mistakes and correct them. These letters are too unequal, an ugly fault in writing. Notice how much greater n is than e and o than the circle you make of it. For the bodies of all the letters ought to be equal.
Mend. Tell us, pray, what do you mean by “bodies”?
Teacher. The middle part of the letters, the part besides the little heads and feet, if they have any; b and l have heads, p and q have feet. In this m the legs (or sides) are not equal in length. The first is shorter than the middle. It has also too long a tail, even as that a has. You don’t sufficiently press the pen on the paper. The ink scarcely sticks, nor can you clearly distinguish what the beginnings of the letters are. Since you have tried to change these letters into others, having erased parts with the pointed end of your knife, you have disfigured your writing. It would have been better to draw a thin stroke through it. Then you should have transferred what remains of the word at the end of one line to the beginning of the next, only preserving the syllables always as wholes, for the law of Latin writing does not suffer them to be cut into. It is said that the Emperor Augustus did not have the custom of dividing words, nor did he transfer the overflowing letters of the end of his lines on to the next, but that he put them immediately under the line and round about it.
Manr. We will gladly imitate that, as it is the example of a king.
Teacher. You may well do so. For how could you otherwise satisfy yourselves that you had any connection with him (lit., that you are sprung from his blood)? But you must not join all the letters, nor must you separate all. There are those which must be ranged with one another, as those with tails, e.g., a, l, u, together with others, and so the speared letters, e.g., f and t. There are others which don’t permit of this, viz., the circle-shaped p, o, b. As much as possible keep your head erect in writing, for if you bend and stoop, humours flow down on to the forehead and eyes, whence many diseases are born and whence too may come weakness of eyes. Now receive another copy and put it on paper for to-morrow, God willing (Deo propitio). As Ovid says (Remedia Amoris, 93):