The Project Gutenberg eBook of Geofroy Tory, by Auguste Bernard, translated by George B. Ives.

Dic age, quæ volucres gignunt animalia foetæe

Et præbent natis ubera plena suis?[196]

BEROSUS BABILONENSIS, DE HIS QUÆ PRÆCESSERUNT INUNDATIONEM TERRARUM; ITEM MYRSILUS, DE ORIGINE TURRENORUM, etc.

To the most distinguished Philibert Babou, Geofroy Tory of Bourges, heartiest greeting.[198]

Last year, when I was attending to the printing of Pope Pius's Cosmography, the idea occurred to me of thoroughly revising and handing to the printer at an early date the Babylonian Berosus's work on the 'Antiquities of the Kingdoms'; but, my mind at that time taking another turn, I determined to postpone this work, for the reason that I had a project of almost divine character on hand; and indeed I should have postponed it for a long time,—as the saying is, to the Greek Calends,—had not Berosus himself, so to speak, and, what is and always will be of no little importance to me, a number of my friends, daily whispering in my ear, as it were, their prayers, demanded of me most earnestly that I should print, along with Berosus, Myrsilus 'De origine Turrenorum,' Cato's fragments, Archilochus, Metasthenes, Philo, Xenophon 'De æquivocis,' Sempronius, Fabius Pictor, and Antoninus Pius's fragments of the 'Itinerarium.' There is a very avaricious class of human beings, which, if it has a book—a book that is hard to find—consisting of three or four short lines, straightway,—like the ants of India, or the griffins, which are fabled to carry gold to a remote spot and there keep watch over it, threatening with dire destruction any one who attempts to touch it,—carries it off and guards it, and loading it with chains and fetters, keeps it imprisoned like a miserable captive. Such people ought to display their officious greed—the greed of possessing something unique all to one's self—in company with the ants and griffins, which other people avoid, rather than to continue their incivility, or perhaps I should rather say immunity, among human beings. We are born not alone for ourselves: we owe something also to our friends, something to our country. Therefore, that it may not seem to be my desire to extinguish the brilliant light of a burning lamp, I the more willingly, under your name, Philibert, most illustrious citizen of Bourges, send forth Berosus's 'Antiquities,' together with the other authors mentioned above, for the common study of all, and I believe that I shall therein be doing an act that will gain the gratitude, in some small measure, of my country. Farewell.

Paris, at the College of Plessis, 2 May, 1510.

CIVIS.

VALERII PROBI GRAMMATICI DE INTERPRETANDIS ROMANORUM LITERIS OPUSCULUM, CUM ALIIS QUIBUSDAM SCITU DIGNISSIMIS, FŒLICITER INCIPIT.—Mark: Marnef's E. I. G. (Silvestre, no. 974.)

Geofroy Tory of Bourges to the most illustrious Philibert Babou and Jean Lallemand, the younger, citizens of Bourges, united in mutual friendship, greeting.[205]

I owe to you, most estimable of men, the fruit of whatever toil I may undertake—even purposely for your sakes—by night or day. Behold! Since you in no slight degree practise and admire the old school of morals, the school, that is, of respectability and true worth, I now, under the protection of your names, ever to be cherished by me, commit to print Probus Valerius, a most diligent collector and accurate interpreter of the old writings and abbreviations which appear, elegantly drawn, on the ancient coins, tombs, and tablets; glad am I to be of even such small service to my country, and hopeful that the slight revision to which I have subjected the work will prove to have been as happily, as it has been carefully, done. Permit, I beg, an author of exceeding merit to come first of all into your hands, which are most fitted for every excellence, and then to go forth brightly and cheerfully into the hands of all other students. Farewell.

Paris, at the College of Plessis, 10 May, 1510.

CIVIS.

Geofroy Tory of Bourges to the Reader, greeting.[206]

When I began, I believe under favourable auspices, to print Valerius Probus, it occurred to me, not wishing a book of one or two codices to be unsuitable as a manual, to print, along with Probus, several articles well worth making the acquaintance of. I have added to Probus, Priscian's treatise 'De ponderibus et mensuris'; likewise Columella's 'Quemadmodum datæ formæ agrorum metiri debeant'; also Georgius Valla's 'Figuras quæ sub dimensionem cadant'; and, further, some dialogues, together with some enigmas, carefully collected, as occasion allowed, from various authors. The enigmas I have designedly left unexplained, so that, when you come to read them (as Gellius says in book xii, ch. 6), you may sharpen your wits by trying to puzzle them out.[207] Give your attention to them, I beg, good reader, so that I may not, as Plautus enigmatically observes in the 'Miles,' throw dust in your eyes. Farewell.

Dialogue by Geofroy Tory, in which the City of Bourges is described in the rôle of a speaking character.[209]

Speakers: MONITOR and CITY.

MON. City, what is your name?

CITY. Bourges.

MON. Now, tell me, what mean those proud buildings that I see?

CITY. Temples, houses, towers, divine palaces you see.

MON. Ah! they overtop the heavens with their piles. What temple is that, I pray?

CITY. The Cathedral of St. Etienne, first of martyrs; it overtops even the lofty marbles of the goddess Trivia.

MON. What is that single house which stands distinguished for its red hearts? Was it built by the hand of Memnon?

CITY. This was built in an earlier time by the mortal Jacques Cœur [Heart],[210] a man of wealth; him envy took from us.

MON. Say! what tower is that that is seen standing higher than the lighthouse of Pharos? I am filled with wonder when I see it fully.

CITY. When the mighty Ambigatus ruled the Celtic peoples, in an earlier time, this great tower was built.

MON. Say, oh, say, that golden palace, is it the Capitol? Answer; why do you not speak, Bourges? You who just now talked with easy speech say nothing. Do you wish to become to me what Harpocrates was of yore?

CITY. No, but, see you, this palace is to be approved for its great art, because the world has not yet produced another like it.

MON. What is this earth that yawns with such an opening?

CITY. It is the place where a tower was to be erected for me.

MON. Have you not another as great as that?

CITY. I have. From two towers I get my name Bourges [Biturix].

MON. By what name is it called in this time of ours?

CITY. The people name and call it 'the fosse of sands.'

MON. What river, what river have you to mention?

CITY. The Auron.

MON. Is it the one Cæsar mentions in describing the Gallic Wars?

CITY. It is.

MON. Are there others?

CITY. There are two: they are the Voiselle and the Yèvre herself, swarming with numberless fishes.

MON. What privileges have you?

CITY. The all-valuable privilege have I, and the hall, that coin money.

MON. Is there nothing else?

CITY. Aquitaine calls me capital and receives her laws from me.

MON. What divinities are with you?

CITY. There are Juno, Jupiter, and Pan, Vesta, Diana, Ceres, Liber, and the Father himself.

LEONIS BAPTISTÆ ALBERTI FLORENTINI ... LIBRI DE RE ÆDIFICATORIA DECEM. (Mark of B. Rembolt.) Venundantur Parrhisiis, in Sole Aureo vici Sancti Jacobi, et in intersignio Trium Coronarum, e regione Divi Benedicti.

Geofroy Tory of Bourges to Philibert Babou and Jean Lallemand, the younger, most illustrious men, heartiest greeting.[213]

Everybody knows, most estimable of men, that our forefathers, contented with their own goodness, practised in the olden times a kind of architecture that had in it little art and little elegance. Satisfied with mediocrity, they built and inhabited houses and dwellings of no great cost or splendour. Matters have finally reached the point that now, men's intelligence having somewhat awakened, new buildings are everywhere being erected which have considerable celebrity. In fact, beginning with the time when the magnanimous King Charles VIII, who was the terror of all Italy, returned, victorious and crowned with glory, from Naples, architecture, certainly a beautiful art, began, not only in its Doric and Ionic forms, but also in its Italian form, to be practised with great elegance throughout this country of France. At Amiens, at Gaillon, at Tours, at Blois, at Paris, and in a hundred other well-known places, one may now see striking buildings, public and private, in the ancient style of architecture. One may now, I say, see many buildings of such beauty and so nicely carved that the French actually seem, and are generally considered, to surpass, not only the Italians, but also the Dorians and the Ionians, who were the teachers of the Italians. Notwithstanding the brilliancy of these performances and these artists, I have thought it best to offer gratefully, and carefully to add, a contribution of some worth. Leo Baptista Albertus, a writer on architecture who is trustworthy and familiar with his subject, was lying stored away in my house as if in his last sleep. It seemed to me that he thoroughly deserved to be printed in France just at this time, for the delight and benefit of other famous artists who are better than he. It seemed to me, I say, that he thoroughly deserved to be printed, and for this reason especially, that the ten books, of which the whole work consists, have been divided into chapters. These chapters were accurately and carefully arranged by Robertus Duræus Fortunatus,[214] a man of education and culture, who was the Head of his College of Plessis at Paris four years ago when I taught there, and they were generously given to me by him to be copied. I copied them, and I furthermore polished up the whole work and cleared it of all the errors possible; I wrote the gist of the text on the margin, and gave the work to the printer to be printed. Permit, I pray, most distinguished citizens of Bourges, that this excellent work come auspiciously into the hands of all good artists and students, and that it be handled and read under the protection of your names ever to be cherished by me. Farewell, you who are the support and the most distinguished glory of your country.[215]

Paris, near the College Coqueret, 18 August, 1512.

CIVIS.

ITINERARIVM PROVINCIARUM OMNIUM ANTONINI AUGUSTI, CUM FRAGMENTO EIUSDEM, NECNON INDICE HAUD QUAQUAM ASPERNANDO.—CUM PRIVILEGIO, NE QUIS TEMERE HOC AB HINC DUOS ANNOS IMPRIMAT.—Venale habetur ubi impressum est, in domo Henrici Stephani, e regione Scholæ decretorum, Parrhisiis.

Geofroy Tory of Bourges to Philibert Babou, most modest of men, heartiest greeting.[216]

The 'Itinerarium,' most illustrious of men, which for many years had lain in almost entire neglect, I first received four years ago from a friend whom I must ever cherish, Christophe de Longueil, who is beyond question a scholar of the highest standing in all branches of polite learning. He gave it to me that I might make a copy of it. It had occurred to me to send to you from Paris to Tours a copy which, though written in my own hand, was not wholly without elegance of form. I had given it to a man to bring to you whose name I purposely spare, but he, regardless alike of both of us and of his trust, quite shamelessly made a present of it to some one else. Thus cheated of the fruit of my labour, I was preparing to make for you another copy, when Longueil himself, who had formerly brought the original from Picardy, and, as I have said, had given it to me, having recently come to Paris from Poictiers, urged me to have the work printed. This I have done, having arranged the names of the towns separately and in order, and also added in the proper places some matter taken from another manuscript. I have also made an index, to facilitate the finding of the name of any town or place in the whole work. Some perhaps will wonder at the style of the work, and also occasionally in places at the Latinity. The style, however, will receive sufficient approval from the student, while the Latinity, in consideration of the early time in which the work was written, will be condoned by the well-disposed reader. I should have been disposed to make a number of emendations, using for the purpose Ptolemy, Strabo, Dionysius, Mela, Pliny, Solinus, and some others who are not at all to be despised, but out of regard for the venerable author and in the desire to keep the manuscript, which is very old, unchanged, I determined to make no alterations. I am waiting for my friend Longueil to subject it some day to his scrutinizing study, or for some Hermolaus to apply his exacting file. One thing there is here which I shall not hesitate to touch: the author's name in the manuscript was, in my judgement, wrong, for it is written 'Antonius Augustus.' Hermolaus, a man of culture withal, calls it in a number of places in his Corrections to Pliny, 'Antoninus.' Those who read will see for themselves. In the text I have followed the manuscript itself; in the title of the book I have followed Hermolaus. The fruit of my labour, such as it is, I dedicate, as in duty bound, to you personally, in a spirit abounding in gratitude. Accept it, I pray, with the favour with which you are accustomed to accept all good things, and allow the studious to pass, under your guidance, with this Itinerary in hand, through a thousand famous cities. Farewell, most cultured patron of my studies.

Paris, near the College Coqueret, August 19, 1512.

CIVIS.

Tory to the Reader, greeting.[217]

In order, gentle reader, that you may be able to use this 'Itinerarium' to better advantage, you must be advised that whatever you find marked with a red virgule was larger in number in the old manuscript than in the other which is more recent. Words which had a different reading in the recent manuscript have small red letters printed above in the proper places. Whenever the sign (˄) occurs between words, a word or number should be marked above or at the side by the same sign. The sign 'mpm.,' so written, also frequently occurs in the text, and signifies 'milia plus minus.' It was written thus so that the reader might not be wearied by the frequent repetition of the long form. In the index you will sometimes find the letter b alone, either following or between the page-numbers: this signifies that the word in question is found at least twice on the same page. Pay attention, therefore, and kindly see to it that in case you notice any who are displeased with my work, you may say to yourself with reference to them that Persian saying: 'that they may see virtue, and pine away leaving it behind.' I write this because at the time of printing there were some who, understanding nothing of this sort, condemned the matter according to their usual practice. Farewell and live long in happiness.

CIVIS.

Hendecasyllabic Poem of the Burgundian Gérard de Vercel, on poor printers.[218]

Therefore hence, away therefore, profane hands of the inauspicious throng of printers; your impure works be off; that by your forbidden coming and impious front you may not stain and soil this heavenly thing. Let no man fail to know: this volume is sacred.

Ah! vile and wretched printers, unskilled to put in print even the trifles of the schools or old women's tales, why do you spoil arts that are holy, and pollute with impure hand the laborious works of the nine [219] sisters?

What do you not put forth from your office that is worthy to be cast forth and buried where the refuse of the stomach is placed?

Therefore hence, away therefore, oh ye profane, ye vile and wretched printers. Be this word enough: sacred is this volume, which our Geofroy, our famous Geofroy, he, I say, of Bourges, taking pity on Pius, unearthed from its Lethæan rust and sleep, employing the guidance and assistance of his friend Longueil.[220]

Tory to the Reader, happiness.[221]

These few corrections, excellent reader, I beg you not to wonder at. I have collected them, such as differ from the readings of the old manuscript, so that you may be able readily to emend the book for yourself. I should lay the burden of the errors on the printers, but the art of printing has this natural peculiarity, that the smallest book cannot be printed from beginning to end without some mistakes. Farewell.

Epigram to the Student by Tory.

If, reader, you are preparing to journey in a fixed course to a hundred towns, to a hundred cities, if you desire to travel, better instructed and on the direct road, to a hundred seaports with their bays, then ever gratefully and carefully hold this little book in your right hand ready to consult.[222]

GOTOFREDI TORINI BITURICI IN FILIAM CHARISSIMAM, VIRGUNCULARUM ELEGANTISSIMAM, EPITAPHIA ET DIALOGI.—IN EANDEM ETIAM QUATOUR ET VIGINTI DISTICHA UNUM ET EUNDEM SENSUM COPIA VERBORUM ET INGENII FŒCUNDITATE PULCHRE REPETENTIA.

Tory to his Book.[224]

Go, book, to the sacred sanctuaries of pious poets; you are light, polished, radiant, and neat. Splendidly arrayed you are, and have nard, and roses, and saffron; the Latin goddesses, gracious divinities, together with Phœbus. Be not afraid lest you do not carry with you the favour of the gods; they will lift you, laurel-scented, above the stars.

Agnes Tory, sweetest and most modest of maidens, addresses the wayfarer from her tomb.

Thou who passest with light foot, beloved wayfarer, stay thy step a little; lo, I wish to say a few words to thee. Live in remembrance of death, free from vices, and, if thou art wise, cast aside that hope of life which thou cherishest. Thou art radiant with beauty to-day, but, when the thread is cut, impious Fate hurries thee straight on to nought. I know this by experience, for, lately but a young girl of ten, I was suddenly snatched away. Like a rose I bloomed, sharer in those virtues which are usually seen in tender maidenhood. But yet I died, overwhelmed by the cruel fates, and now I am food for the flesh-eating worms. Food for the flesh-eating worms I lie, but not so wholly lifeless that I cannot speak the truth to thee. I speak in the Latin tongue, and this is not strange, fair friend, for I am to be named the daughter of a pious poet. Desiring to instruct me in the Ausonian tongue, and also to render me accomplished in the polite arts, he, like a most affectionate father, teaching me night and day, himself laid the foundations, sweet and ample, for my life. I should be accomplished in the learning of the famous Muses, and I should sing beautiful songs in pleasing measure; and then my sire would have given me fond kisses, placing the laurel-wreath upon my head. O pitiful lot of human beings! O hopes doomed to perish! On earth there is nothing that can be lasting. Not only does death show herself face to face to wretched mortals, but with silent step she steals upon them secretly and unbeknown. Ah! beware, therefore, beware, thou who art doomed to die, the world will certainly in a moment's time fall and crash about thee. Thou, while thou still livest, while thou seekest great honours, art with infirm and rapid step steadily approaching thy doom. If thou departest satisfied with this one certain warning, and if thou believest that I speak the truth, bestrew me with flowers, violets and lilies, and nard. Pray for me too, if it please thee, and weep. Me thou wilt cause by thy prayers to mount to the lofty vault of Heaven, where is perpetual light, peace, and grateful rest. This was the little that I wished thee to know. Live in remembrance of death, thou who art destined soon to die. Farewell.

She died where she was born, at Paris, 25 August, A.D. 1522.

She lived nine years, eleven months, about thirty days; the hours are known to none; God alone knows the minutes.

FATHER and DAUGHTER, Speakers.

F. Food for the worms you lie, dearest daughter. Me you leave in perpetual tears and weeping.

D. Dear father, spare your weeping and tears. It is all over with me. Death carries away both young and old.

F. Nor can I refrain from terrible wailing. Alas! I should have more rightly died before you.

D. Such was not the will of the heavenly fates. At your death, believe me, you shall most certainly come to me.

F. In the meantime, with bended head, I will bring with full hands violets and lilies to your tomb.

D. Add your prayers; through prayers I shall fly to the high vault of Heaven. Pious prayers enable us to ascend to the lofty stars.

F. It is as you say; and do you too, my daughter, pray for your father; pray that he may rise with you to the glad Heavens.

D. To the glad Heavens you shall rise, free from bitter cares, and with all the trouble of your mind removed.

F. You speak the truth, and so I will do. The good God calls you to himself in Heaven? Dear daughter, farewell.

F. Alas! my sweet soul, you are dead.

D. Courage, father, no one is immortal.

Twelve distichs to be inscribed on the twelve different sides of an urn.

On the first side.

You wish flowers! violets! you wish lilies! garlands! cyperus! These this earthen urn will give you, take them and be glad.

On the second.

In this urn the deceased maiden Agnes lies; in its centre breathes a delightful odour.

On the third.

Here is Merriment, here Love too, Sport, and Virtue; and here the Graces' selves, beings divine, with the Muses, sit and dwell.

On the fourth.

In this urn are marjoram and sweet-smelling cyperus; here are violets, lilies, garlands, roses.

On the fifth.

Not alone does the maiden Agnes here abide, but, with Phœbus, the Clarian goddesses themselves sit and dwell.

On the sixth.

Gold-leaf joined with gems, and green jewels, are kept with everlasting flowers in this urn.

On the seventh.

Do you wish and long to become acquainted with Agnes' urn? See, where the laurel grows upward to the lofty sky.

On the eighth.

Here lies in death Agnes of memory dear; she could already sing tripping measures with tender voice.

On the ninth.

Here lies the maiden poet ten years of age, an honour to freeborn song and maidenhood.

On the tenth.

If you wish to know where Agnes' ashes really lie, they are here; hesitate not in your belief, but be assured.

On the eleventh.

Do you wish to hear Phœbus and the Muses' selves singing in sweet strains? Approach this urn, and you will straightway hear.

On the twelfth.

A rising poet, deceased in tender years, lies here with laurel-crowned maidenhood.

MONITOR and AGNES, Speakers.

MON. Answer me a few questions, I pray, maiden poet.

A. I will, provided you ask but few.

MON. I will ask but few.

A. Ask.

MON. What is your mind in death?

A. Of gold.

MON. What is your body?

A. Of dust.

MON. What is your spirit?

A. Of air.

MON. Enough; calm repose and peace be for ever yours.

A. And yours in life a full measure of sweet health.

Distichs hanging on written tablets from a laurel-tree near the tomb and urn of Agnes.

On the first tablet.

Here lies a poet, image of distinguished virtue, noble and illustrious type of nature.

On the second.

Here, with drooping quiver, lie the broken arms which freeborn Love once used to carry.

On the third.

Pearl, crystal, magnet, and the green emerald gleam with the virgin poet that lieth here.

On the fourth.

Here will be perpetual spring with various flowers as long as flashing Phœbus drives his golden chariot.

On the fifth.

Here rest Comeliness and Sport, and Laughter, and Merriment; here is Love, unarmed, with the laurel-crowned maid.

On the sixth.

Inside this urn is a treasure; touch it not, countless gems are within it.

On the seventh.

As long as Phœbus shall fill the regions of the heavens with his rays, here will be violets and flowers, here will be the anise.

On the eighth.

Here abide Love, and Sport, and Laughter, and Merriment, and Wit; here abide the Muses and the Graces; here abides Apollo.

On the ninth.

Here dwells, with the honey-dropping Muses, a maiden destined to receive glory and perpetual song.

On the tenth.

Here the earth is green, producing spontaneously marjoram-garlands, and here it is damp and fertile with vernal dews.

On the eleventh.

Here violets, here flowers, here lilies, garlands, crowns grow spontaneously, and spontaneously thrive.

On the twelfth.

Here Genius with cruel hand breaks in twain his standards, seeing that the type of nature has perished.

MONITOR and MAIDENHOOD, Speakers.

MON. Ho there! maiden, beauteous with your rosy face, what do you here, weeping in deep distress?

MA. I am moaning.

MON. What is the reason for your moaning?

MA. The maiden Agnes, whose ashes this earthen urn beside me holds.

MON. Whence comes this sweet odour to my nostrils?

MA. From the urn, an odour placed there by the Graces, beings divine.

MON. What did they place there?

MA. Roses and cinnamon, balsam and nard, flowers and violets, lilies, garlands, and saffron.

MON. Is there marjoram also in the urn, the cyperus with oil of myrrh?

MA. There is in it every fragrant herb and pleasant odour.

MON. Does the urn, beautifully decked, wear a green crown?

MA. As is fitting and right, it wears a laurel-wreath.

MON. What is the reason?

MA. It contains the rejoicing Muses, who celebrate with song the rites of the tender maiden.

MON. Do they sing alone?

MA. Alone? No. Phœbus Apollo in the centre tunes his lyre and performs the mystic rites.

MON. What, then, do you mean, sweetest maid, by this great moaning, and why do the divinities beside you sweetly sing?

MA. I will tell you the truth. I cannot but willingly weep; so nobly gifted was she in intellect. But ten years of age, having followed her father's precepts, she was even then a poet who could sing in tripping measure.

MON. A mighty miracle of nature you recount to me.

MA. Nothing on this earth can be truer.

MON. Who are these whom I see standing here?

MA. Sport, Merriment, then Gesture, Honour, Virtue, and festive Love.

MON. And these shattered arms that lie in great numbers around the urn?

MA. The gods themselves carried them when they were whole.

MON. What will they do now that all these arms have been thus broken?

MA. They will lament and weep and groan for all time.

MON. Shall you too weep?

MA. I shall weep in sorrow all my days.

MON. Have you a name?

MA. I have.

MON. What is it?

MA. Maidenhood.

MON. Dear one, farewell.

MA. Farewell, dearest Monitor, and forget not her who lieth here and was once a beautiful maiden.

MONITOR and AGNES, Speakers.

MON. Little poet, lying here, all-deserving of famous praise, may I speak a few words with you?

A. You may.

MON. Who made for you this urn set with brilliant gems?

A. Who? My father, famed in this art.

MON. Your father is certainly an excellent potter.

A. He practises industriously every day the liberal arts.

MON. Does he also write melodies and poems?

A. He does. He also blesses with sweet words this lot of mine.

MON. Yes, the skill of the man is wonderful.

A. Hardly has any land produced so famous a man.

MON. O maiden happy in such a father!

A. I certainly am so. He also exalts my name to the skies.

MON. I hear the symphony.

A. The Clarian Muses, together with Phœbus, sing their melodies here with me night and day.

MON. Near you I see the Graces.

A. They tender garlands to me.

MON. Whence do they pluck violets?

A. On the Elysian Hills.

MON. Are there others with you?

A. There are also three divinities.

MON. What are they?

A. Sport, and Love, fair Monitor, and Merriment.

MON. What do they?

A. They lay in place for me holy holocausts, and they fill the accustomed hearths with tinder and with fire.

MON. Have you long been a goddess of the upper regions?

A. I am becoming a goddess of the upper regions.

MON. If you are a goddess, why do you not have your dear parents ascend to the heavenly realms?

A. They will both ascend.

MON. But when?

A. When their fates clearly see that it is necessary. Each man has his fixed day, appointed for him by the fates.

MON. Each man, therefore, has his fixed and immovable day?

A. To every man comes death on a certain day.

MON. Meanwhile what will your father and mother do here on earth?

A. What? They will perform their holy, sacred duties, and pray.

MON. Afterwards what will happen?

A. In blessedness they will ascend to the heavenly realms, when the Heavenly Father above so wills.

MON. I will now go back to my duties.

A. When you wish, of course; live in happiness, and a kind farewell.

MON. And may you live with the gods above, as a heavenly intelligence, as a famous constellation, as a benign goddess.

GENIUS and WAYFARER, Speakers.

G. Stay a little, I beg, and go no farther, wayfarer, before looking at this urn and tomb.

W. Who are you?

G. I am Tutelary Genius.

W. What would you have?

G. I wish to converse a little with you here, friend.

W. I am willing.

G. See how a maiden poet, taken away by cruel fate, is contained in this earthen urn.

W. How old was she?

G. Twice five years.

W. And did she, well-skilled, sing poetic measures?

G. She did.

W. 'Tis a wonder that you tell me of.

G. She wrote festive songs in sweet verse, spontaneously playing, spontaneously singing.

W. O rare grace of nature! O manifest glory of the gods! That so tender a maiden should be a poet!

G. 'Twas a song, whatever she by chance wished to utter; whatever she desired to say, 'twas a song.

W. Whence came to her the source of such a power?

G. From the realms above, whence it is used to come.

W. As one divine, therefore, she wrote charming verses?

G. As one divine, following her own and her father's precepts.

W. Does her father too compose melodies?

G. He does, he is a poet fair and proper. He is proper and deft and neat, bright and decent. He is one whom the Muse blesses with divine song.

W. He is certainly well-deserving of some Mæcenas.

G. Few are the Mæcenases that live in the French world. No one to-day either encourages the liberal arts by appropriate gifts or undertakes to encourage them in any way. Uprightness and fair virtue are in no esteem. So powerful is the sway of unhappy Avarice. Treachery, deceit, and vice are in the ascendant. Virtues are put in the background, and every form of wretched evil creeps abroad.

W. What, therefore, does he who is trained by the charming Muses?

G. He takes pleasure in being able to live in his own house.

W. He ought to go with hurried step to the courts of kings.

G. He does not care to, because he has a free heart. Your potentates sometimes take pleasure in looking at songs, but what then? They requite them with nods. Golden songs, drawn from the high heavens, they should reward with jewels and with pure gold. But, frivolous as they are, they foolishly give their grand gifts to fools, spendthrifts, and rogues.

W. Did he educate his own daughter in studies befitting her birth?

G. He did, and in the fine arts besides.

W. And was she earnest to retain her father's precepts?

G. She had no greater wish than to follow her father's words.

W. Oh, what a great honour she would have been to her country and her father, had she lived to undertake the duties of life.

G. Yes, her glory would have excelled that of all other girls in French lands. She was distinguished in appearance, her face was beautiful in its modesty, and she was all compact of golden words and ways. She drew to herself the hearts of men, young and old, and made them follow her wishes with constant loyalty.

W. This is a miracle you tell me of.

G. I tell you the truth, wayfarer. She was a mirror of true-born nobility.

W. Oh, overwhelming grief! Oh, bitter grief and pain! That such a one could die so suddenly! What will her father do in the meantime?

G. Bowed down with grief, he will suffer pain of heart and shed unceasing tears.

W. He would do better to pour forth a flood of prayers to the heavenly gods and to join to his prayers the last rites to the dead.

G. He joins the last rites to his prayers and never ceases. He fills the customary hearths with tinder and fire.

W. O maiden worthy of so deserving a father! O father, too, blessed in such a daughter!

G. She now shines benign in the glad clouds, like a radiance newly-risen, like a golden constellation.

W. May she triumph, shining in the ethereal realms, and may the daughter graciously take her father with her.

G. Go about your affairs, if you will depart, wayfarer. This is what I wished to say. Friend, farewell.

W. Live in happiness, guardian of the tomb and revealer of the urn. I go about my affairs diligently and in haste.

Printed at Paris, near the Law School, A.D. 1523, 15th day of Feb'y.

CHAMP FLEVRY AU QUEL EST CONTENU LART & SCIENCE DE LA DEUE & VRAYE PROPORTIÕ DES LETTRES ATTIQUES, QUŌ DIT AUTREMĒT LETTRES ANTIQUES, & VULGAIREMENT LETTRES ROMAINES PROPORTIONNEES SELON LE CORPS & VISAGE HUMAIN.—Ce Liure est Priuilegie pour Dix Ans Par Le Roy nostre Sire, & est a vendre a Paris sus Petit Pont a Lenseigne du Pot Casse, par maistre Geofroy Tory de Bourges Libraire, & Autheur du dict Liure. Et par Giles Gourmont aussi libraire demourant en la Rue sainct Iaques a Lenseigne des Trois Coronnes.

To the readers of this book, humble greeting.

It is commonly said, and truly said, that there is great natural virtue in plants, in stones, and in words. To offer examples would be superfluous, so certainly is it true. But I would that God might be pleased to give me grace so to prevail by my words and entreaties that I may persuade some persons that, if they will not do homage to our French tongue, they will at the least cease to corrupt it. I find that there be three sorts of men who strive and exert themselves to corrupt and debase it: they are the 'skimmers of Latin,' the 'jesters,' and the 'jargoners.' When the skimmers of Latin say: 'Despumon la verbocination latiale, & transfreton la Sequane au dilucule & crepuscule, puis deãbulon par les Quadrivies & Platees de Lutece, & comme verisimiles amorabundes captiuon la beniuolence de lomnigene & omniforme sexe feminin,'[226] it seems to me that they make sport not of their fellows alone, but of themselves. When the jesters, whom I may fairly call 'slashers [dechiqueteurs] of language,' say: 'Monsieur du Page, si vous ne me baillez vne lesche du iour, ie me rue a Dieu, & vous dis du cas, vo⁹ aures nasarde sanguine,' they seem to me to do as great harm to our language as they do to their coats, by slashing and destroying with contumely that which is of more worth whole than when maliciously torn and defaced. And in like manner when jargoners [227] make their remarks in their malicious and wicked jargon, it seems to me not only that they prove themselves dedicate to the gibbet, but that it would be well if they had never been born. Although Master François Villon was in his day mightily ingenious therein, yet would he have done better to have essayed to do some other more goodly thing.... I consider moreover that there is another sort of men who corrupt our language even more: they are the innovators and forgers of new words. If such forgers are not villains, I deem them little better. Think you that they show great refinement when they say after drinking that they have 'le Cerueau tout encornimatibule & emburelicoque dũg tas de mirilifiques & triquedondaines, dung tas de gringuenauldes & guylleroches qui les fatrouillēt incessammēt?' I would not quote such foolish words, were it not that my scorn in thinking of them forces me to do it. 'Si natura negat, facit indignatio versum....'

Yours in everything,

Geofroy Tory de Bourges.

LA TABLE DE LANCIEN PHILOSOPHE CEBES, NATIF DE THEBES, ET AUDITEUR DARISTOTE. EN LAQUELLE EST DESCRIPTE ET PAINCTE LA VOYE DE LHOMME HUMAIN TENDANT A VERTUS ET PARFAICTE SCIENCE. AVEC TRENTE DIALOGUES MORAULX DE LUCIAN, AUTHEUR JADIS GREC. Le tout pieca translate de grec en langue latine par plusieurs scavans et recommandables autheurs. Et nagueres translate de latin en vulgaire françois par maistre Geofroy Tory de Bourges, libraire, demourant a Paris, rue Sainct Iaques, devant lescu de Basle, a lenseigne du Pot Casse. Sont en ung volume ou en deux qui veult, a vendre audict lieu par ledict translateur, et par Iean Petit, libraire jure en luniversite de Paris, demourant aussi en la rue Sainct Iaques, a lenseigne de la Fleur de Lys.

Geofroy Tory of Bourges doth say and give humble greetings to all studious and true lovers of excellent pastime in reading.

Horace, a poet of old surnamed Flaccus, hath told us in writing in his 'Ars Poetica' that philosophers and poets are wont, under the outer bark of deceitful words, to convey a moral meaning which may profit us in the knowledge of virtue or give us pleasure in the charm of their style and their pleasing invention. Wherefore, seeing this to be true, and reading all day the Table of the ancient philosopher Cebes, likewise the Dialogues of the very learned and graceful Greek author Lucian, methought that it would be well done of me to translate them into our French tongue also, and cause them to be printed, to the end that each one of you, upon reading the said Table, may readily recognize what pure virtue is, and may find honest pleasure in the ingenious and moral Dialogues of the said Lucian. I offer them with a most humble and devout heart to you, O scholars and lovers of pure worth! giving you to know that, in so far as it hath been possible for me so to do, I have followed the true text, adding nothing of my own thereto, neither using nor misusing any modification or stuffing whatsoever. I have most gladly written them down for you in flowing language, in your domestic mother tongue, without attempting to mix therein refinements of phrase, strange words, or such language as Carmentes, mother of Evander, might be unable to understand or decipher. I see some who, if they should write but six words, four will be either out of use, or manufactured, or stretched out longer than a spear. Like him who said in the laments and epitaphs of a king of the Basoche:—

'Au point prefix que spondile et muscule,

Sens vernacule, cartilaige auricule,

DIsis acule, Diana crepuscule,

Et lheure acculle pour son lustre assoupir.'

And a thousand other like sayings which I leave to him. I know not to whom such language gives pleasure; but to me it seems scarce fair or fine. It would seem, and yet I misdoubt, as if such a battery of behorned and overrefined words had come or been hurled down from the Latin language to ours; for there have been, and there are to this day many who think that they have done a wondrous thing if they have written in Latin a strange and unduly long word, like him who said, and ingeniously none the less: 'Conturbabuntur Constantinopolitani innumerabilibus sollicitudinibus.' And that other, Hermes by name, who took such delight in writing long and refined words that he was hoist with his own petard when another ingenious man composed against him, in manufactured words, with an armful of syllables, the distich which follows:—

'Gaudet honorificabilitudinitatibus Hermes,

Consuetudinibus, sollicitudinibus.'

I say this in passing, that you may not expect to find unwonted words in this your little book. I know that there was once a wise man and philosopher who said one day to his friend: 'Loquere verbis presentibus et utere moribus antiquis,' which is to say, 'Speak in ordinary language and live according to the manners of the good old days.' In this your said little book you will, I think, find charm, for it is full of many goodly and ingenious conceits both of Cebes and of Lucian. I have placed first herein, as I have said, the Table of this man Cebes, to the end that you may see at the outset that 'poesis est pictura loquens': a poetical work is a speaking picture. Touching the Dialogues of the learned Lucian, I have not included them all, nor translated all; but I have chosen thirty only of those which in my opinion are the finest and most moral, which you may readily discover to be not only pleasant to read, but most profitable in goodly moral teaching. You will accept them then, if it please you, with kindly face and heart, remembering that with God's help I will shortly make you some other new gift, to the best of my ability. And meanwhile I will pray to our Lord Jesus to have you in his keeping according to your wishes.

From Paris; in all things your devoted servant,

Geofroy Tory.