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.
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.
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.
Valdaura, Tamayus, Lupianus, Castellus, Manricus
This Dialogue has two parts: Exordium and the game. The Exordium is an introduction as to time (à tempore).
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.
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.
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.
Tam. Place the footstool. Let us sit down in our places. Draw for the lead.
Val. It is my lead. You deal, Castellus.
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?
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!
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.
Val. Let us, please, make an end of playing. This game worries me by all going so wrongly.
Cast. As you will. But perchance the fault is not in the game, but in your lack of skill, for you don’t know how to direct your steps to victory, but you throw away your cards without any reason, as chance happens, thinking that it doesn’t matter what you have played before, or might play later, what and in what place any card should be played.
Tam. Of all things there is satiety, and even of pleasures. I am now weary of sitting. Let us get up for a little time.
Lup. Take this lute and sing something to us.
Tam. What will you have?
Lup. A song on games.
Tam. A song of Vergil’s?
Lup. Yes; or if you prefer one of Vives, the song he lately sang as he wandered along the wall-promenade of Bruges.
Val. With the voice of a goose.
Lup. But you sing it with a swan’s voice!
Tam. This a god would do better, for the swan only sings as death urges him on.
Val. I can assure you the song is well expressed, though it comes as it were from a dry old stick (ex spongia arida).
Lup. Does he compose a song with such great difficulty?
Val. Indeed he does. Whether it is because he writes poetry so rarely, or because he does not do it willingly, or because the inclination of his genius drives him into other regions.
Borgia, Scintilla, Cabanillius
Valencia is a town of Spain, the native town of Vives. To it Ptolemaeus gives 14° longitude, 39° latitude. See the same in the fourth map, Europe. There is another Valencia in France, as to which see the fifth map of Europe. This dialogue contains, to a large extent, the description of the native town of Ludovicus Vives. There are two parts of the dialogue. In the former part he describes two cities: Paris with its games, and Valencia; in the latter part he prescribes the laws of play. Ammianus Marcellinus calls Paris (Lutetia) Parisiorum castellum. The Emperor Julianus in an oration with the title Αντιοχιὸς ἢ μισοπώγων80 calls it των παρισίων την πολιχνὴν;81 where also he shows for what reason he once was driven at Lutetia to vomit his food, viz., when impatient of the French custom, by which they were accustomed to heat their rooms by means of stoves (fornaces). Coal having been taken to the sleeping-chamber of Vives, he was almost killed by the fumes. See Beatus Rhenanus, book 3, rerum Germanicarum, at the end; Aegydius Corrozetus, de antiquitat. Parisiens.; and Zuingerus, book 3, methodi Apodemicae.
Borg. Whence comest thou, most delightful Scintilla?
Scin. From Lutetia.
Borg. What Lutetia is that?
Scin. Do you ask which Lutetia, as if there were many!
Borg. If there is only one, I don’t know what it is, or where it is situated.
Scin. It is the Parisian Lutetia (Lutetia Parisiorum).
Borg. I have often heard the Parisians spoken of, but never Lutetia. It is, then, that Lutetia which we call Paris? This is the reason then why, for so long, no one has seen thee at Valencia, and especially hast thou been missed at the tennis court (sphaeristerium) of the nobles.
Scin. I have seen at Lutetia other tennis courts, other gymnasia, other games, far more useful and more attractive than yours at Valencia.
Borg. What are those, pray?
Scin. There are thirty gymnasia, more or less, in that university (academia), which provides for every kind of erudition, knowledge, and wisdom; learned teachers, and most studious youths, who are thoroughly well-bred.
Borg. Forsooth, a crowd of people!
Scin. What do you call a crowd?
Borg. The dregs of the people, sons of shoemakers, weavers, barbers, fullers, and every kind of operative artificers.
Scin. I see that you people here measure the whole world by your city, and think that all Europe has the same customs which you have here. I can tell you, that the youth there very largely consists of princes, leaders of men, nobles, and the wealthiest persons, not only from France, but also from Germany, Italy, Great Britain, Spain, Belgium, marvellously devoted to the study of letters, obeying the precepts and instructions of their teachers. Their conduct is not formed through simple admonition merely, but by sharp reproof and, when it is necessary, even by punishment, by blows and lashes. All which they receive and bear with modest mind and the most collected countenance.
Caban. I have often heard stories told of the university, when I was acting as ambassador (legatus) of King Ferdinand. But please now leave this topic, or defer it for another time. You see that we have now entered the Miracle Playground (in ludo Miraculi), which lies next to the Carrossi Square. Come, now, let our conversation turn to the pleasurable topic of the playing-ball (pila).
Scin. I should like it as long as we don’t sit down, but go on talking, as we walk about. Then it would be very agreeable. Where shall we go? Shall we take this way, which leads to St. Stephen’s Church, or that way to the Royal Gate, where we then can visit the palace of Ferdinand, Duke of Calabria?
Caban. Don’t let us by any chance interrupt the studies in wisdom of that best of princes.
Borg. It would be better if we were to get mules so that we might ride and talk.
Caban. Don’t let us, I beg, lose the use of the feet and the legs; the weather is clear and bright, and the air cool; it will be more satisfactory to go on foot than on horseback.
Borg. Then let us go this way by St. John’s Hospital to the Marine Quarter.
Caban. Let us observe, by the way, the beautiful objects we pass by.
Borg. What, on foot! This will be a disgrace.
Scin. In my opinion, it is a greater disgrace if men hang upon the judgments of inexperienced and stupid girls.
Caban. Would you like to go straight along Fig Street and St. Thecla Street?
Scin. No, but through the quarter of the Cock Tavern (tabernae gallinaceae). For in that quarter I should like to see the house in which my Vives was born. It is situated, as I have heard, to the left as we descend, quite at the end of the quarter. I will take the opportunity to call upon his sister.
Borg. Let us put aside calling on women, but if you wish to speak with a woman, let us go rather to Angela Zabata, with whom we could have a chat on questions of learning.
Caban. If you wish to do so, would that we met the Marchioness Zeneti!
Scin. If those reports, which I heard of her when I was in France, were true, then we might have a greater subject of discussion than could easily be treated especially by those busied about anything else.
Borg. Let us go up to St. Martin’s or down through the Vallesian Quarter to the Villa Rasa Street.
Caban. From that place to the tennis court (sphaeristerium) of Barzius, or, if you prefer, to that of the Masconi.
Borg. Have you also in France, public grounds for games like ours?
Scin. As to other French cities, I cannot answer you. I know that there is none in Paris, but there are many private grounds, for example, in the suburbs of St. James, St. Marcellus, and St. Germanus.
Caban. And in the city itself the most famous, which is called Braccha.
Borg. Is the game played in the same way as here?
Scin. Exactly so, except that the teacher there furnishes playing shoes and caps.
Borg. What sort are they?
Scin. The shoes are made of felt.
Borg. But they would not be of any use here.
Caban. That is, on a stony road. In France indeed, and in Belgium, they play on a pavement, covered over with tiles, level and smooth.
Scin. The caps worn are lighter in summer, but in winter, thick and deep, with a band under the chin, so that as the player moves about, the cap shall not fall off the head or fall down over the eyes.
Borg. We don’t here use a band, except when there is a pretty strong wind. But what kind of balls do they use?
Scin. Not such light wind-balls as here, but smaller balls than yours, and much harder, made of white leather. The stuffing of the balls is not, as it is in yours, wool torn from rags, but chiefly dogs’ hair. For this reason the game is rarely played with the palm of the hand.
Borg. In what way, then, do they strike the ball? with the fist, as we do the leather ball?
Scin. No, but with a net.
Borg. Woven from thread?
Scin. From somewhat thicker strings, such as are found for the most part on the six-stringed lyre. They have a stretched rope, and, as to the rest, the game is played as in the houses here. To send the ball under the rope is a fault, or loss of a point. There are two signs or, if you prefer, limits. The counting goes fifteen, thirty, forty-five or (advantage), equality of numbers and victory, which is twofold, as when it is said: “We have won a game” or “We have won a set.” The ball, indeed, is either sent back whilst in its flight or thrown back after the first bound. For on the second bound, the stroke is invalid, and a mark is made where the ball was struck.
Borg. Are there no other games there except tennis?
Scin. In the city as many or more than here, but amongst scholars, no other is permitted by the masters. But sometimes, secretly, they play at cards and dice, the little boys with the knuckle-bones (tali), the worse sort of boys with dice (taxilli). We have a teacher Anneus who used to allow card-playing at festival times (obscoeno die). For that and for games in general, he composed six laws written on a tablet which he hung in his bed-chamber.
Borg. If it is not burdensome, may I ask you to tell them to us, in the same way as you have told us of other matters.
Scin. But let us continue our walk, for I am possessed by an inconceivably keen desire to behold my country which I have not seen for so long a period.
Borg. Let us mount mules, so that we may move along pleasantly, as well as with more dignity.
Scin. I would not give a snap of the fingers for this dignity!
Borg. And I, if I may confess the truth, would not move my hand for it. Nor do I know why riding on mules seems to be more becoming for us.
Caban. This is rightly said; we are three, and in the narrow streets or concourse of men we should get parted from one another, whence our talk would necessarily be interrupted, or many remarks made by some one of us would not be thoroughly heard or understood by the others.
Borg. So let it be; let us proceed on foot. Enter through this narrow lane on to the Pegnarogii Street.
Scin. Nothing could be better. Thence by the keysmith’s into the Sweetmeats Quarter (vicum dulciarium), then into the fruit market.
Borg. Nay, rather the vegetable market.
Scin. The market is both. Those who prefer to eat vegetables call it the vegetable market; those who prefer fruit call it the fruit market. What a spaciousness there is of the market, what a multitude of sellers and of things exposed for sale! What a smell of fruit, what variety, cleanliness, and brightness! Gardens could hardly be thought to contain fruit equal to the supply of what is in this market. What skill and diligence our inspector (aedilis) of public property and his ministers show so that no buyer shall be taken in by fraud. Is not he who is riding about so much, Honoratus Joannius?
Caban. I think not, for one of my boys, who met him just now, left him retiring to his library. If he knew that we were here together then he would undoubtedly join us in our conversation and would postpone his serious studies to our play.
Borg. Now at last describe the laws of play!
Scin. We will withdraw from this crowd by the Street of the Holy Virgin the Redeemer, to the Smoky street and to St. Augustine’s, where there are fewer people.
Caban. Let us not go down so far away from the main body of the city. Let us rather ascend through the street of Money-Purses to the Hill, then to the Soldiers’ Quarter and the house of your family, Scintilla, whose walls yet seem to me to mourn over that hero, Count Olivanus!
Borg. Nay, they have now laid aside their grief, and now rejoice in all seriousness that such a youth has stepped into the place of so great an old man.
Scin. Oh, how delightful it is to look into the Senate House (curia) and the fourfold court of the governor of the city (praefectus urbis), which by now seems almost to have become the heritage of your family, Cabanillius—one part of the building for a civil, another for a criminal, court, and this part for the three hundred solidi. What buildings! what a glory of the city!
Borg. In no place could you more rightly enunciate laws than in the forum and curia, so give them forth here! For some other time there will be a more fitting occasion of discoursing on the praise and admiration which our city excites.
Scin. The first law treats of the time of recreation (quando ludendum). Man is constituted for serious affairs, not for frivolity and recreation. But we are to resort to games for the refreshing of our minds from serious pursuits. The time, therefore, for recreation is when the mind or body has become wearied. Nor should otherwise relaxation be taken, than as we take our sleep, food, drink, and the other means of renewal and recuperation. Otherwise it is deleterious, as is everything which takes place unseasonably.
The second law deals with the persons with whom we are to take our recreation (cum quibus ludendum). In the same way as when you are about to take a journey, or to go to a banquet, you look about diligently to see who are to be your future boon companions or fellow travellers, so in considering your recreation, you should reflect with whom you will play, so that they may be men known to you. For there is a great danger with the unknown, and it is a true proverb of Plautus: “A fellow-man is a wolf to a man who does not know what manner of associate he has got.” Companions should be agreeable, festive, with whom there is no danger of quarrelling or fighting, of either doing or saying anything disgraceful or unbecoming! Let them not be blasphemers of God, or users of oaths! Nor should they be impure in speech, lest your morals should be rubbed against by the contagion of what is depraved or profligate. Lastly, they should bring to the game no other purpose than your own, viz., the idea of thorough rest from labour, and the freedom from mental strain.
The third law concerns the kind of recreation. First it should be a well-known game, for there can be no pleasure, if it is not known by player nor colleagues, nor by the lookers-on. Further, it must at the same time refresh the mind and exercise the body, if indeed the season of the year and state of health are suitable. But if not, it must be a game in which mere chance does not count for everything. There must be some skill in it, which may balance chance.
The fourth law is as to stakes. You ought not to play so that the game is zestless, and quickly satiates you. So a stake may be justifiable. But it should not be a big one, which may disturb the mind in the very game itself, and if one is beaten, may vex and torture you. That is not a game; it is rather the rack.
The fifth law treats of the manner of play, viz., that before you settle to play, you recall to mind that you have come for the invigoration of your mind, and for this object you may put a very small coin or two to stake, so as to purchase with them the recuperation from your weariness. Think that it is a chance, i.e., variable, uncertain, unstable, common to all, and that no harm will be done to you through it, if you lose. Thus, you may have equanimity in your loss, so as not to contract your countenance and experience sadness over it—nor break forth into oaths and curses, either against your fellow-player, or any of the spectators. If you win, don’t be insolently loquacious to your fellow-player! Be in all the game, his companion, cheerful, jovial, and mirthful, this side of scurrility and petulancy, nor must there be any trace of deceit, of sordidness or avarice. Don’t be obstinate in contention and, least of all, make use of oaths—when you remember that the whole thing, even if you are in the right, is not so weighty that you need call the name of God to witness. Remember that the spectators are, as it were, the judges of the game. If they make any pronouncement, then give in, and don’t offer any sign of disapprobation. In this manner the game will be both a delight and the noble education of an honest youth will be pleasing to all.
The sixth law has reference to the length of time of playing. Play until you feel the mind renewed and restored for labour, and the hour for serious business calls you. Who does otherwise seems to do ill. “May you be willing to accept these laws; may you decree their keeping, Romans!”82
Borg., Caban. “Even as he proposed” (Sicuti rogavit).
Durerius Pictor (the Painter, Dürer), Grynaeus, Velius
This dialogue has two parts. The former is the Exordium. The second part contains an examination of Dürer’s painting. Albert Dürer was a remarkable German painter, whose works are still extant. Simon Grynaeus was renowned by his knowledge of literature, mathematics, and the sacred writings. He taught at Basle, and was married there. Caspar Ursinus Velius was a poet and distinguished historian. He was tutor to the Emperor Maximilian II., as Jovius writes in his Elogia Doctorum Virorum.
Dürer. Go away from here, for you will buy nothing, as I know full well, and you only remain in the way, and this keeps buyers from coming nearer.
Gryn. Nay, we wish to buy, only we wish you to leave the price to our judgment, and that you should state the limit of time for payment, or, on the other hand, let us settle the time, and you the amount of payment.
Dürer. A fine way of doing business! There is no need for me to have nonsense of this sort!
Gryn. Whose portrait is this, and what price do you put on it?
Dürer. It is the portrait of Scipio Africanus and I price it at four hundred sesterces, or not much less.
Gryn. I pray you, before you favour us with a single word, let us examine the art of the picture. Velius here is half a physicist, and very skilled in knowledge of the human body.
Dürer. For some time I have perceived that I was in for being worried by you. Now whilst there are no buyers at hand, you may waste my time as you will.
Gryn. Do you call the practical knowledge of your art a waste of time? What would you call that of another’s?
Vel. First of all you have covered the top of this head with many and straight hairs when the top is called vertex, as if a vortex, from the curling round of the hair, as we see in rivers when the water rolls round and round (convolvit).
Dürer. Stupidly spoken; you don’t reflect that it is badly combed, following the custom of his age.
Vel. His forehead is unevenly bent.
Dürer. As a soldier he had received a wound at the Trebia when he was saving his father.
Gryn. Where did you read that?
Dürer. In the lost decads of Livy.
Vel. The temples are too much swollen.
Dürer. Hollow temples would be the sign of madness!
Vel. I should like to be able to see the back part of the head.
Dürer. Then turn the panel round.
Gryn. Why does Cato say amongst his other oracles: “The forehead is before the back part of the head?”
Dürer. How stupid you are! Don’t you see in every man the forehead in front of the back part of the head?
Gryn. There are some people whose backs I would rather see than their faces!
Dürer. And I gladly, e.g., such buyers as you, and soldiers!
Vel. Cato was of opinion that the presence of the master was more effective for the oversight of his affairs than his absence. For the rest, why has he such long forelocks?
Dürer. Do you speak of these hairs over the forehead?
Vel. Yes.
Dürer. For many months he had no barber at hand as we have in Spain.
Vel. Why have you covered with hair, the hairless part (glabella)83 against its etymology?
Dürer. Do you pluck out the hairs with pincers!
Vel. The hairs in the nose stand out from the nose. But you, such is your ingenuity, will throw the fault from yourself on to the barber.
Dürer. Ignorant that you are! Don’t you remember that the customs of those times were harsh, horrible, boorish?
Vel. You, too, are ignorant. Have you not read that Scipio was one of the most cultivated and polished of all the men of his age, and a lover of what was elegant?
Dürer. This painting gives his likeness as he was, when an exile, at Liternum.
Gryn. The eyebrows are large, and suitable for Latium; the eyelids too hollow, and the cheeks too much sunk.
Dürer. Naturally, from the camp-watches.
Gryn. You are not only a painter, but a rhetorician, well versed in turning off any criticism of your work.
Dürer. As far as I can see, you are well versed in finding faults.
Vel. The picture has the cheeks and lips too much puffed up.
Dürer. He is blowing the battle-trumpet.
Gryn. And you were blowing on a goblet when you painted this.
Vel. On the contrary, he was blowing into a bag made of skin. For elsewhere you have made him hairy, whilst you have scarcely painted any eyelashes.
Dürer. They have fallen off by disease.
Gryn. What was the disease?
Dürer. Seek that from his physician!
Gryn. Don’t you understand now that you must take off from your price one hundred sesterces for such lack of skill?
Dürer. Nay, for your cavils and bothersome questions I ought rather to add two hundred sesterces to the price.
Vel. You have made the pupils of the eyes grayish and I have heard that Scipio’s were blue.
Dürer. And I have heard that his eyes were blue-gray like those of Minerva Bellatrix.
Vel. You have made the corners of the eyes too fleshy and the hollows too moist.
Dürer. He was weeping because accused by Cato.
Vel. The jaws are too long, and the beard very thick and profuse. You would say the hairs are the bristles of swine.
Dürer. You are beyond measure, chatterers and talkative cavillers. Get away with you. I won’t let you have the opportunity of further criticising the picture.
Vel. Please, my Dürer, since you have no other clients, let us go on criticising here.
Dürer. What is the good to me?
Vel. We will each of us write a distich for you, whereby the picture will be more easily sold.
Dürer. My art has no need of your commendation. For skilled buyers who understand pictures, don’t buy verses, but works of art.
Vel. But your Scipio has his nostrils too much dilated.
Dürer. He was in a state of wrath at his accusers.
Vel. We see no dimple in his chin.
Dürer. It is hidden in his beard. You also don’t see his chin nor the double-chin!
Gryn. You have saved yourself the trouble of drawing those for the sake of painting a big beard.
Vel. The straight and muscular neck pleases me, as also the throat.
Dürer. Thank the Lord that you approve of something!
Vel. But so that I should not leave something to be desired in this, I must also say the figure has not sufficient hollow in the throat. When a physiognomist noted this in Socrates, he pronounced it as a sign of slowness of mind. I should wish those shoulders to be a little more erect, and larger.
Dürer. He was not so much a fighting soldier as a general. Have you not heard of his apophthegm on the point? When certain soldiers were saying of him, that he was not so valiant a soldier as he was a wise general, he answered: “My mother bore me to be a general, not a soldier.” But, depart, if you are not going to be buyers, for I see some tax-farmers approaching.
Vel. Let us go for a walk, and let us talk on the way to one another, concerning the human body without considering Scipio, and this portrait. A flat nose does not befit a noble countenance.
Gryn. What do you think of the noses of the Huns, then?
Vel. Away with such deformities!
Gryn. People with turned-up noses are not less deformed. The Persians honoured eagle-nosed people on account of Cyrus, who, they say, had such a shaped nose.
Vel. The fore-arm and bend of the arm (ancon et campe) are to the arm what the ham of the knee and the knee are to the leg; thence the upper arm (lacertus) down to the hand, from the muscles of which also the legs are called muscular (lacertosa).
Gryn. Is not this the ell (cubitus) as used by those who are measuring?
Vel. Yes, and ancon is another name for it.
Gryn. Is not that the way the Roman king came by his name, Ancus?
Vel. It was by his curved elbow.
Gryn. The hand follows, the chief of all instruments. The hand is divided into fingers, thumb, forefinger, the middle or disreputable finger, the next to the smallest, and the smallest.
Vel. Why has the middle finger a bad name? What crime has it perpetrated?
Gryn. Our teacher said that he knew indeed the cause, yet he was not willing to explain it, because it would be unseemly. Don’t seek, therefore, to know, for it does not become a well-brought-up youth to inquire into disgraceful matters.
Vel. The Greeks named the finger next to the smallest, δακτυλικόν, i.e. to say, the ring-finger.
Gryn. Clearly so, but on the left, not the right hand, because on it, formerly, they were accustomed to wear rings.
Vel. For what reason?
Gryn. They say that a vein stretches from the heart to it. If the finger is encircled by a ring it is as if the heart itself is crowned. The knots on the fingers are called knuckles, and this word is used for a knock of the fist. Between the knots are joints and these are called by the general term, joints (artus) and knots (articuli). It has been handed down to memory, that Tiberius Caesar had such hard knots that he could bore through a fresh apple with his fingers.
Vel. Have you learned chiromantia?
Gryn. I have only heard the name. What is it?
Vel. You would have been able to interpret the lines on the hands by it.
Gryn. I have said I know nothing of it, and so it is. But if now I were to profess to know something and looked attentively on your hand, gladly you would listen willingly to me, and to a man utterly unskilled in this mode of imposture you would not altogether refuse your confidence!
Vel. How so?
Gryn. Because it is the nature of man to listen gladly to those who profess that they will announce secret things or what is about to happen.
Vel. Why are the Scaevolae so called?
Gryn. As if scaevae; from scaea, which is the left hand. They say that there are more of the female sex left-handed than in our sex.
Vel. What is vola?
Gryn. The hollow of the hand in which the lines are.
Vel. What does involare mean?
Gryn. That which you are doing. Gladly to steal, to snatch and hide as if in the hollow of the hand, and as the raving Lucretia did when she snatched at the eyes of her serving-women.
[Then follows the Latin for the different parts of the trunk of the body.]
Vel. Do you know the seat of the virtues in the body?
Gryn. No; where are they placed?
Vel. Modesty in the forehead; in the right hand faithfulness; and sympathy in the knee.
Gryn. The sole of the foot is not itself the base of the foot.
Vel. So many think.
Gryn. Pliny observes that there is a people who make for themselves at mid-day a shadow with the sole of their foot, so great and broad it is! How is it possible?
Vel. Clearly the sole in their case reaches from the thigh-bone to the toes.