TUDOR SCHOOL-BOY LIFE (continued 2)

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.

What should be Avoided in Writing

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”?

VIII. Forming Letters in Writing

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):

and as Martial says (de Notario):

Mend. Do you wish that we should imitate this blur?

Teacher. The blurs of correction certainly—and what else is marked.

Mend. In the meantime we wish you the best of health.

XI VESTITUS ET DEAMBULATIO MATUTINA— Getting Dressed and the Morning Constitutional

Bellinus, Malvenda, Joannius, Gomezulus

This dialogue (as its inscription indicates) has two divisions. The earlier part is a paraphrase of the first dialogue, for he treats of almost the same things as there, but more copiously: he describes the manner of putting on one’s clothes or dressing one’s self, and the kinds of clothes. The second part contains the morning constitutional, and includes a noteworthy description of spring as it reveals itself to all the senses.

First Part

Mal.

Nempe haec adsidue? Iam clarum mane fenestras intrat et angustas extendit lumine rimas: stertimus indomitum quod despumare Falernum sufficiat.48 (Persius, iii. 1–1.)

Bell. It is plain to be seen that you are not in possession of your senses, for if you were, you would not be awake so long before morning, nor pour out verses, like a satyr’s, by which you disclose your frenzy.

Mal. Then hear some epigrammatic verses, with no bite in them and yet full of salt (edentulos et salsos).

Bell. The call of breakfast would drive off sleep from me more quickly than any din of thine.

Mal. Most happy jester, I wish you good morning.

Bell. And I wish you good night, and a good brain to be able to sleep as well as you speak with fluent oratory.

Mal. I beg you, answer me seriously, if you are ever able to answer seriously, what o’clock do you think it is now?

Bell. Midnight, or a little after.

Mal. By what clock?

Bell. That in my house.

Mal. Where is your house-clock? You would have to get or see a clock which had every hour for sleeping, eating, and playing, but which had none for studying.

Bell. Yet I have a clock by me.

Mal. Where? Produce it.

Bell. In my eyes. See, such as cannot be opened by any force. I beg of you, fall asleep again, or at least be quiet.

Mal. What in the name of evil is this drowsiness or, more truly, lethargy, and, in a certain sense, death? How long do you think we have slept?

Bell. Two hours, or at the most three.

Mal. Three times three.

Bell. How is this possible?

Mal. Gomezulus, run along to the sun-dial of the Franciscans and see what hour it is.

Bell. Sun-dial, forsooth! When the sun has not as yet risen.

Mal. Risen, indeed! Come here, boy. Open that glass window that the sun with his beams may fall upon this fellow’s eyes. Everything is full of the sun and the shadows are getting less.

Bell. What has the rising or setting of the sun to do with you? Let it rise earlier than you, since it has a longer day’s journey to accomplish than you have.

Mal. Gomezulus, run quickly to St. Peter’s, and there look both on the mechanical clock (horologio machinali), and on the style of the sun-dial to tell what time it is.

Gom. I have looked at both. By the sun-clock the shadow is yet a little distant from the second line. By the mechanical clock the hand points to a little after the hour of five.

Bell. What do you say? What else remains for you to do but fetch me the blacksmith from Stone Street, that he may separate my eye-lids by pincers so firmly stuck together? Tell him, that he has to force a door lever, from which the key has been lost.

Gom. Where does he live?

Mal. The boy will be going in earnest. Leave off joking and get up.

Bell. Well, let us get up, since you are so obstinate in mind. Ah! what a vexatious companion you are! Rouse me up, Christ, from the sleep of sin to the watchfulness of justice! Take me from the night of death into the light of life. Amen.

Mal. May this day proceed happily for you!

Bell. And for you, too, the same, and very many more as joyful and prosperous, i.e., may you so pass through it that you neither harm the virtue of any one, nor may any one harm yours. Boy, bring me a clean shirt, for this one I have already worn for six whole days. There, snatch that flea on the leap. Now leave off the hunt. How small a matter it would be to have killed a single flea in this chamber!

Mal. As much as to take a drop of water out of the river Dilia (at Louvain).

Bell. Or yet from the ocean-sea itself. I won’t have the shirt with the creased collar, but the other one with the smooth collar. For what are these creases otherwise at this time of the year than nests or receptacles for lice and fleas.

Mal. Stupid! You will then suddenly become rich, possessing both white and black stock.

Bell. Property abounding in quantity rather than of value in itself, and companions I would rather see in the neighbourhood than in my house! Order the maid to sew again the side of this shirt, and that with silk thread.

Gom. She hasn’t any.

Bell. Then with flax or with wool, or even if she pleases with hemp. Never has this maid what is necessary; of what is unnecessary she has more than enough. But you, Gomezulus, I don’t want you to be a prophet. Carry out my order and report to me. Don’t foretell what will happen. Shake the dust out of the stockings and then clean them carefully with that hard fly-brush. Give me clean socks, for these are now moist and smell of the feet. φεῦ, take them away, the smell annoys me terribly.

Gom. Do you wish an under-garment?

Bell. No, for by the light of the sun I gather that the day will be hot. But reach me that velvet doublet with the half sleeves of silken cloth, and the light tunic of British cloth with long cloth cords.

Mal. Or rather German cloth. But what is the meaning of all this, whereby you think of making yourself so extraordinarily smart, beyond your custom—especially when it is not a feast-day? And you ask also for country shoe-straps.

Bell. And you? Why have you put on your smooth silk, fresh from the tailor’s, although you have your goat’s-hair clothes and your well-worn clothes of Damascus.

Mal. I have sent them to be repaired.

Bell. I indeed rather consider ease in my clothes than ornament. These little hooks and knobs are out of their place. You always loosen them wrongly and thoughtlessly.

Mal. I rather use buttons and holes, which are more of an ornament, and less burdensome for putting on and taking off one’s clothes.

Bell. Every one has not the same judgment on this any more than on other matters. Put down this breast-covering here in the box, and don’t bring it out again during the whole of the summer. These straps have quite lost their strength. This belt is unsewn and torn to pieces. See that it is mended, but take care that no unshapely knots are sewn on.

Gom. This will not be done for at least an hour and a half.

Bell. Then stick a needle through it, so that it doesn’t hang down. Give me the garters.

Gom. Here they are! I have got ready for you your shoes and the sandals with the long latchets. I have shaken off the dust from them well.

Bell. Rather wipe off the dirt from the shoes and polish them.

Mal. Is the ligula (shoe latchet) in the shoe? Concerning this word there has been a very sharp controversy amongst grammarians, as there usually is about everything, whether it should be called ligula or lingula (a little tongue).

Bell. The strap is sewn on the Spanish shoes over the top of the sole. Here they do not wear it so.

Mal. And in Spain they have given up arranging it so, because they now wear their shoes in the French fashion.

Bell. Let me have your ivory comb.

Mal. Where is your wooden one—the one from Paris?

Bell. Did you not hear me yesterday scolding Gomezulus?

Mal. Do you call beating a person scolding him?

Bell. This was the reason. He had broken five or six of the thick and of the thin teeth of the comb—almost broken them all to pieces.

Mal. I have lately read that a certain author stated that we should comb the head with an ivory comb forty times from the forehead to the top and then to the back of the head. What are you doing? That is not combing but stroking. Let me have the comb.

Bell. Nor is that combing, but shaving or sweeping. I think your head is made of bricks.

Mal. And I think yours is of butter—so that you dare not touch it closely.

Bell. Are you willing, then, that we should have a butting match with our heads?

Mal. I am not willing to have a senseless contest with you, nor to engage my good mind against your witless one. Now at length wash well your hands and face, but especially the mouth, that you may speak more clearly.

Bell. Would that I could cleanse my mind as quickly as my hands! Give me the wash-hand-basin.

Mal. Rub together more diligently the knuckles of your hands, to which there sticks the thickest dirt.

Bell. You are mistaken, for I think it is rather discoloured and wrinkled skin. Pour the water in these hand-basins, Gomezulus, into that sink and give me that net-bag and that striped cap. Bring now my boots (ocreas, lit. greaves).

Gom. Travelling boots?

Bell. No, my city boots.

Gom. Do you wish your Spanish cap and the long mantle?

Bell. Are we going out of doors?

Mal. Why not?

Bell. Bring then the travelling cloak.

Mal. Then at last we will go out, so as not to let slip by the time for having a walk.

Second Part

Bell. Lead us, Christ, in the ways which are pleasing to Thee, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. Oh, how beautiful is the dawn! truly rosy and golden, as the poets call it. How I rejoice to have arisen. Let us go out of the city.

Mal. Yes, let us go. For I have not stepped foot out of the city gate for a whole week. But whither shall we first go, and after that which way shall we take?

Bell. To the citadel, or to the Carthusian Monastery?

Mal. Or to the meadows of St. James?

Bell. No, not there in the morning; rather in the evening.

Mal. To the Carthusian Monastery, then, past the Franciscan Monastery and the Recreation Grounds, thence through the Brussels gate, then we will return by the Carthusian Monastery to divine service. See, here is Joannius. A greeting to you, Joannius!

Joan. The warmest of greetings to you! What an unusual thing is this that you should be stirring so early?

Bell. I was bound in the deepest sleep, but Malvenda here, by shouting and pinching me, tore me from my bed.

Joan. He did rightly, for this walk in the country will revive you and freshen you up. Let us go on the green walk (the Pomerium). O marvellous and adorable Creator of beauty so great; this world is not inappropriately called Mundus and by the Greeks Κόσμος, as if it were decked and made elegant with beauty.

Mal. Don’t let us take our walk as if in a rush, but slowly and gently. Please let us make the circuit of the city walls twice or three times so that we may contemplate so splendid a view the more peacefully and freely.

Description of Spring—1. Sight. 2. Hearing

Joan. Observe, there is no sense which has not a lordly enjoyment! First, the eyes! What varied colours, what clothing of the earth and trees, what tapestry! What paintings are comparable with this view? Here are natural and real things; the representations are artificial and false. Not without truth has the Spanish poet, Juan de Mena, called May the painter of the Earth. Then, the ear. How delightful to hear the singing of birds, and especially the nightingale! Listen to her as she sings in the thicket, from whom, as Pliny says, issues the modulated sound of the completed science of music. Attend accurately and you will note all varieties of sounds. At one time there is no pause in them, but continuously, with breath held equably over a long time without change, the bird sings on. Now it changes tone! Now it sings in shorter and sharper tones! Now it draws in its tones and, as it were, makes its voice tremulous! Now it stretches out its voice and now it calls it back! At other times it sings long and, as it were, heroical verses; at other times, short sapphics, and at intervals very short, as in adonics. In very fact you have, as it were, the whole study and school of music in the nightingale. The little ones ponder and listen to the verses, which they imitate. The little bird listens with keen intentness (would that our teachers received like attention!) and gives back the sound. And then, again, they are silent.

3. Smell. 4. Taste. 5. Touch

The correction by example and a certain criticism from the teacher-bird are closely observed. But Nature leads them aright, whilst human beings exercise their will wrongly. Add to this there is a sweet scent breathing in from every side, from the meadows, from the crops, and from the trees, even from the fallow-land and neglected fields! Whatsoever you lift to your mouth has its relish, as even from the very air itself, like the earliest and softest honey.

Mal. This seems to me to be accounted for by what I have heard said by some, that in the month of May, bees are wont to gather their honey from celestial dew.

Joan. This was the opinion of many. If you wish anything to be offered to the touch, what softer or more healthful than the air we breathe on every side? For by its bracing breath it infuses itself through the veins and the whole body. Some verses of Vergil on spring come into my mind which I will hum to you, if you can listen to my voice, which I am afraid sounds more like that of a goose than of a swan—although, for my part, I would rather have a goose’s voice than that of a swan, who only sings sweetly if he is just approaching his fate.

Bell. I, indeed, as far as I may answer on my own behalf, have a keen desire to hear the verses, with any voice you like, if only you will give us an explanation of the verses.

Mal. My opinion is not otherwise from that of Bellinus.

Joan.

Bell. I have not quite followed it.

Mal. And I still less, as I think.

Joan. Learn the verses thoroughly, or you won’t understand them, for they are taken from the depths of philosophy, as are very many others of that poet.

Mal. We will question the schoolmaster Orbilius about them, for here he is coming to meet us.

The Mind

Joan. He is by no means the man to meet the difficulty. Let us just salute him and let him go his way, for he is a fierce man, fond of flogging (plagosus), imbued with a vast haughtiness, instead of being learned in literature, although he has seriously persuaded himself that he is the Alpha of learned teachers. Moreover, we have only spoken of the body. How greatly are the soul and mind exhilarated and aroused by such an early morning as this! There is no time so suitable for good learning, for observing things, and for attentively listening to what is said, and whatever you read; nor is it otherwise with reflection and with thinking a problem out, whatever it may be. You can give your mind to it. Not undeservedly has it been said: “The dawn (Aurora) is most pleasing to the Muses.”

Bell. But let me tell you I’m famishing with hunger. Let us get back home to breakfast.

Mal. What then will you have?

Bell. Bread, butter, cherries, waxen-coloured prunes, which so greatly seem to have pleased our Spaniards that they call all plums by this name.51 Or should they not have such food at home, we will pluck some leaves of the ox-tongue (buglossa), and we will add some sage in place of butter.

Mal. Shall we have wine to drink?

Bell. By no means—but beer, and that of the weakest, of yellow Lyons, or else pure and liquid water, drawn from the Latin or Greek well.

Mal. Which do you call the Latin well and the Greek well?

Bell. Vives is accustomed to call the well close to the gate the Greek well; that one farther off he calls the Latin well. He will give you his reasons for the names when you meet him.

XII DOMUS—The New House

Jocundus, Leo, Vitruvius

In this dialogue Vives describes the whole house and its parts, one by one, through the logical form of distribution of the whole into its parts. Concerning the details, see the books of Vitruvius on architecture, and Grapaldus.

The interlocutors were distinguished architects. Vitruvius is an author of antiquity; the other two are more recent. The one, Johannes Jocundus Veronensis, wrote, amongst other monuments of a not inelegant mind, a work on the Commentaries of Julius Caesar. The other, Baptista Albertus Leo, distinguished himself in an equally great degree.

Joc. Have you any knowledge of the occupier of this spacious and elegant house?

Leo. Most certainly; for he is a relation of the man-servant of my father.

Joc. We will ask him to open the whole house to us, for they say that nothing could be more pleasant and delightful.

Leo. Let us go to it, and ring the little bell at the door, so as not to burst in unexpected. (Tat-tat.)

Vitruvius Insularius.52 Who is there?

Leo. It is I.

Vitr. Hail! most welcome, sweetest boy! What brings you here now?

Leo. I come from school.

Vitr. But for what reason are you here?

Leo. My friend here and I would very much like to see over your house.

Vitr. Why, haven’t you seen it before now?

Leo. No, not all of it.

The Vestibulum—The Door—The Threshold

Vitr. Come in. Eh! boy, bring me the key for the doors of the house. First, this is the entrance-hall (vestibulum). It stands open the whole day, without guard, for it is not within the house, yet also it is not outside, though it is closed at night. Observe the magnificent door, the leaves of which are of oak and fitted with brass, and both the foot-piece and head-piece of the doorway are made of alabaster marble. In former times Hercules was set up at the door of the house to ward off mischief (ἀλεξίκακος). But here we place Christ, the true God, for Hercules was but a cruel and evil man. With Christ as guard no evil will enter into the house.

Joc. Οὐδὲ οὖν δεσπότης αὐτός (so not even its master).

Vitr. What is that he said in Greek?

Joc. Why should so many evil persons enter in?

Vitr. Well, if evil persons do get in, they can then bring nothing evil in with them.

Leo. Don’t you have any door-angels?

Vitr. The custom has gone out in some nations.

The Door—The Hall

Next comes the door of the entrance hall, which the hall servant (atriensis servus) answers. He is the chief of the servants, as the house-boy (mediastinus) is the least in position. Then comes the spacious hall for walking in, and in it are numerous and varied pictures.

Joc. Please, what are they all about?

Vitr. That is a representation of the foundations of the heavens (coeli facies ichnographica). That shows the plan of the earth and sea. There you have the world newly discovered by Spanish navigations. In that picture you see Lucretia as she is killing herself.53

Joc. Please, what is she saying, for even as she is dying she seems to say something?

Vitr. “Many are astounded at my deed because it is not every one who has suffered such a grief.”

Joc. I understand what she says.

Leo. What is the meaning of this picture delineated with such varied figures?

Vitr. It is a sketch of this house. Draw back the covering from that picture. There!

Joc. What does it represent? A little old man who is sucking his wife’s breast?

The Staircase

Vitr. Hast thou not read of this subject in the chapter on Piety in Valerius Maximus.54

Joc. What does she say?

Vitr. “I do not yet pay back as much as I have received.”

Joc. What does the old man say?

Winding Stairs—The Floor—The Upper Story

Vitr. “I rejoice that I have been born.” Let us step up these winding-stairs. The steps one by one, as you see, are broad and were made of whole pieces of basalt-marble. This first story is the dwelling of the master, the upper story is for guests; not as if my master had a garret on lease far away, but there it is furnished for his guest friends always in order and free, unless filled already with guests. This is the dining-room.

The Dining-Room—The Window

Joc. Good Christ! what transparent window panes these are and how artistically painted they are in shaded outlines! What colours! How life-like! What pictures, what statues, what wainscoting! What is the story pourtrayed on the panes?

Vitr. The fall of Griselda, which John Boccaccio wrote so aptly and skilfully; but my master has decided to add a true story to this fiction, which excels the story of Griselda, viz., that of Godelina of Flanders and the English Queen Catharine of Aragon. The first of the statues is the Apostle Paul.

Joc. What is the inscription of the sculpture?

Vitr. “How much we owe thee, O Christ.”

Joc. What does he say himself?

Vitr. “By the grace of God I am what I am and His grace which was bestowed on me, was not in vain.” The other statue is Mutius Scaevola.

Joc. But he is not mute even if he is called Mutius. What is the inscription on his statue?

Vitr. “This fire will not burn me up because another greater one burns in me.” The third statue is Helen; the writing states: “Oh, would that I always had been such a statue, then should I have wrought less harm.”

Joc. What is the meaning of the old blind bald-headed man who points his finger at Helen?

Vitr. That is Homer, who says to Helen: “Thy ill deed has been well sung by me.”

Joc. Look, the wainscoting is gilded, and here and there decked with pearls.

Vitr. There are all kinds of pearls, but of small worth.

Joc. What do we look on from the windows?

The Summer-house—The Sleeping-room

Vitr. These windows look into the gardens, those into the court. This is the summer-house or garden dining-room. Here you see a sleeping-room or chamber. The sleeping-room is furnished with tapestry, with a pavement wainscoted and covered with rush-mats. There are some pictures of the Holy Virgin, of Christ the Saviour, and there are others of Narcissus, Euryalus, Adonis, Polyxena, who are said to have been of the highest beauty.

Joc. What is written on the upper lintel of the door?

Vitr. “Withdraw from your troubles and enter the haven of peace.”

Joc. What is written inside the door-post?

Vitr. “Bring into this haven no tempest.” The most necessary house utensils are kept in that closed chamber. The other is the winter chamber. As you see, everything there is darker and better covered. Then there is a sweating chamber.

The Sweating Chamber

Joc. It is bigger in my opinion than the dining-room would lead one to expect.

Vitr. Don’t you notice that the inner sleeping-room is heated by the same steam-pipe?

Joc. They say that if sleeping-rooms had no chimney flue they would be warmer.

Vitr. It is not usual to have them in the air-holes.

Joc. What is that room, so elegantly vaulted?

The Chapel

Vitr. It is the chapel (lararium) or sanctuary (sacellum) in which divine service (res divina) is held.

Joc. Where is the latrina?

Vitr. We have it up in the granary out of the way. In the sleeping-rooms my master uses basins, pans, and chamber-crockery.

Joc. How beautifully and artistically made are all these little towers and pyramids and columns and weathercocks!

The Kitchen—Eating Chamber—The Cellar

Vitr. We will now go down. This is the kitchen; this the eating-chamber; here is the wine-cellar and the larder, where we are annoyed by the attempts of thieves to get in.

Joc. How can thieves get in here? It is, as it seems to me, so carefully closed in, and the windows have iron gratings?

Vitr. Through chinks and borings.

Leo. There are also mice and weasels who strip you of all kinds of food!

The Back-door

Vitr. This is the back-door of the house, which, when the master is not at home, is always fastened with two bars, both locked and bolted.

Leo. Why have these windows no iron bars?

Vitr. Because they are only rarely open and they abut, as you see, on a narrow and dark by-street. Rarely any one puts his head out of the window. Therefore my master has decided that he will have them latticed.

Leo. With what kind of bars?

Vitr. Perhaps with wooden bars. It is not yet certain. In the meantime this fastening suffices.

The Portico

Joc. What high columns and a portico full of majesty! See how these Atlantides and Caryatides seem to strive to support the building against falling, whilst really they are doing nothing.

Leo. There are many people like them, who appear to accomplish great things when they are in reality leading leisurely and sluggish lives; drones who enjoy the fruits of the labours of others. But what is that house there below, adjoining this, but badly built and full of cracks?

Vitr. It is the old house. Because it had cracks and had great lack of repair, my master decided to have this new one built, from the foundation. That old one is now a resting-place for birds and the habitation of rats, but we shall soon take it down.

XIII SCHOLA—The School

Tyro, Spudaeus

In this dialogue the school is described in six parts, as teachers, honours, hours of learning and repetition, books, library, the disputation. The name Tyro is that of the crude novice, a metaphor taken from military affairs of those as yet unskilled in war, to whom are opposed the veterani. Spudaeus is in Greek the diligent and industrious person, a name worthy of one who is studious.

I. The Teachers

Tyro. What a delightful and magnificent school! I suppose there is not in the whole academy any part more excellent.

Spud. You judge rightly; add, also, what is of more importance, that elsewhere there are no more cultured and prudent teachers, who with such dexterity pass on their learning.

Tyro. It behoves us then to repay their trouble by attaining great knowledge.

Spud. And this indeed by great shortening of the labour of learning!

Tyro. What does the schooling cost?

Spud. You can at once give up so base and unreasonable a question. Can one in a matter of so great moment inquire as to payment? The very teachers themselves do not bargain for reward, nor is it suitable for their pupils to even think about it. For what reward could be adequate? Have you never heard the declaration of Aristotle that gods, parents, and masters can never be sufficiently recompensed? God created the whole man, the parents gave the body birth, the masters form the mind.

Tyro. What do those masters teach, and for how long?

Spud. Each one has his separate class-room and the masters are for various subjects. Some impart with labour and drudgery the whole day long the elements of the art of grammar; others take more advanced work in the same subject; others propound rhetoric, dialectic, and the remaining branches of knowledge, which are called liberal or noble arts.

Tyro. Why are they so-called?

Spud. Because every noble-minded person must be instructed in them. They are in contrast to the illiberal subjects of the market-place which are practised by the labour of the body or hands, which pertain to slaves and men who have but little wit. Amongst scholars some are “tyrones” and others “batalarii.”

II. Grades or Honours of Scholars—Tyro—Baccalaureus—Licentiates—Doctors

Tyro. What do these names signify?

Spud. Both these names are taken from the art of warfare. “Tyro” is an old word used with regard to the one who is beginning the practice of war. “Batalarius” is the French name of the soldier who has already once been in a fight (which they call a battle) and has engaged in a close fight and has raised his hand against the foe, and so in the literary contests at Paris, “batalarius” has begun to signify the man who has disputed publicly in any art. Teachers are chosen from them, and are called “licentiates,” because it is permitted them to teach, or, better still, they might be termed “designate,” i.e., the men marked out. At least they have taken the doctorate. Before the whole university, a hat is placed on their head as a sign that they have had their freedom conferred on them, and become emeriti. This is the supreme honour and the highest grade of dignity.

Tyro. Who is that with so great a company round him, before whom march staff-bearers with silver staffs?

The Rector

Spud. That is the Principal (Rector) of the Academy. Many are drawn to him because of the honour they bear him in his office.

Tyro. How often in the day are the boys taught?

III. Hours of Teaching and Repetition

Spud. Several times. One hour before sunrise; two hours in the morning; two hours in the afternoon.

Tyro. So often?

Spud. An old custom of the Academy so establishes it. And in addition the scholars repeat and think over what they have received in instruction from their masters, like as if they were chewing the cud of their lessons.

Tyro. With so much noise over it?

Spud. Such is now their practice!

Tyro. To what purpose?

Spud. So as to learn.

Tyro. On the contrary, so as to shout. For they don’t seem to meditate on their studies, but to be preparing themselves for the office of public crier. That one there is clearly raving. For if he had a sound brain, he would neither so call out, nor gesticulate, nor so distort himself.

Spud. They are Spaniards and Frenchmen, somewhat impetuous, and as they hold divers opinions, they contend the more warmly as if for their hearths and altars, as it is said.

Tyro. What! are the teachers here of different opinions?

Spud. Sometimes they teach contradictory views.

Tyro. What authors are they interpreting?

IV. Authors

Spud. Not all the same, but each one as he is furnished with skill and knowledge. The most erudite teachers take to themselves the best authors with the sharpest judgment, those whom you grammarians call classics. There are those who, on account of their ignorance of what is better, descend to the lowest (ad proletarios) and are worthy of condemnation.

V. The Library

Let us enter. I will show you the public library of this school. It looks, according to the precept of great men, to the east.

Tyro. Wonderful! How many books, how many good authors, Greek and Latin orators, poets, historians, philosophers, theologians, and the busts of authors!

Spud. And indeed, as far as could be done, delineated to the life and so much the more valuable! All the book-cases and book-shelves are of oak or cypress and with their own little chains. The books themselves for the most part are bound in parchment and adorned with various colours.

Tyro. What is that first one with rustic face and nose turned-up?

Spud. Read the inscription.

Tyro. It is Socrates and he says: “Why do I appear in this library when I have written nothing?”

Spud. Those who follow him, Plato and Xenophon, answer: “Because thou hast said what others wrote.” It would take long to go through the things here, one by one.

Tyro. Pray what are those books thrown on a great heap there?

Spud. The Catholicon, Alexander, Hugutio, Papias, disputations in dialectics, and books of sophistries in physics. These are the books which I called “worthy of condemnation.”

Tyro. Nay rather, they are condemned to violent death!

Spud. They are all thrown out. Let him take them who will; he will free us of a troublesome burden.

Tyro. Oh, how many asses would be necessary for carrying them away! I am astonished that they have not been taken away, when there is so great an assembly of asses everywhere. Somewhere in that heap the books of Bartolus and Baldus are lying together and others of that quality (hujus farinae).

Spud. Say rather of that coarseness (furfuris). The loss would not be hurtful to the tranquillity of mankind.

Tyro. Look, who are those with those flowing hoods?

VI. The Disputation—1. The Praeses.

Spud. Let us go down. They are “batalarii,” going to the disputation.

Tyro. Please lead us thither.

Spud. Step in, but quietly and reverently. Uncover your head and watch attentively all, one by one, for there is a discussion beginning on weighty matters which will conduce greatly to one’s knowledge. That one whom you see sitting alone in the highest seat is the president (praeses) of the disputation and the judge of the disputes, so to say, the Agonotheta. His first duty is to appoint the place for each of the contenders, lest there should be any disorder or confusion, if one or other should want to take precedence.

Tyro. What is the meaning of the skin-covering of his toga?

Spud. It is his doctor’s robe, the emblem of his position and dignity. He is a man of whom there are few so learned, who, by the choice of the candidates in theology, carried off the first prize, and by the most learned of the faculty is regarded as the first among them.

Tyro. They say that Bardus was the first choice in his year.

Spud. He beat all his competitors by canvassing and craft, not by his knowledge.

Tyro. Who is that thin and pallid man they all rush upon?

2. The Propugnator. 3. The Oppugnator (a smart man)—The Vapid Man—The Smooth Man.

Spud. He is the propugnator, who will receive the attack of all, and who has become thin and pale by his immoderate night-watches. He has done great things in philosophy and is advanced in theology. But now you must be quiet and listen, for he who is now making the attack is accustomed to think out his arguments most acutely and subtly, and presses most keenly the propugnator, and, in the opinion of all, is compared with the very highest in this discipline, and often compels his antagonist to recant. Notice how the latter has tried to elude him, but how the oppugnator has met him effectively by his irrefutable reasoning, and how the propugnator cannot escape him! This arrow cannot be avoided. His argument is like an invincible Achilles. It enters the neck of the opponent. The propugnator cannot protect himself and soon will give in (manus dabit) unless some god suggests a subterfuge to his mind. Behold, the question is brought to an end by the decision of the judge (decretor). Now I loosen your tongue to speak as you wish. For he who now attacks is as vapid wine, and contends as with a leaden dagger, yet he shouts louder than the rest. Notice, and you will see that he grows hoarse from the encounter. Though his weapons are repulsed, he presses on none the less pertinaciously, but without effect; nor does any one wish to have the reversion to his argument, or to have him assuaged by the answer of the defender or the president. He who now enters the contest effeminately begs the judge for his permission, and speaks with courtesy, though he argues ineffectively and always leaves off tired, even gasping, as if he had gone through the unpleasant business with fortitude. Let us depart.

XIV CUBICULUM ET LUCUBRATIO—The Sleeping-room and Studies by Night

Plinius, Epictetus, Celsus, Dydimus

In this dialogue Vives treats of two matters: in the first place he describes night-studies with adjuncts of time, causes, and subjects; then the bed, its apparatus and adjuncts. The assisting causes (causae adjuvantes) of night-study are lights, the night-study gown, Minerva or Christ, table, bookcase, reader (anagnostes), a scribe (exceptor), pens, sand-case (theca pulveraria). The subjects are Cicero, Demosthenes, Nazianzenus, Xenophon. The apparatus of the bed consists in a mattress, a bolster, cushions, sheets, coverlets, curtains, mosquito-curtain, hangings, rugs. Adjuncts are—gnats, fleas, lice, bugs, a striking clock, a folding seat, a pot, a lyre. The names of the persons are aptly allotted, for they were the four most learned and studious men, concerning whom Volaterranus has written in his Anthropologia. Plinius wrote De Historia Naturali, in xxxvii. books. He was the uncle of the other Pliny whose letters are still extant. The latter writes thus to Marcus, of his uncle: “He was sharp-witted, of incredible studiousness, of the highest vigilance, most sparing of sleep. After food (which he used to take in the daytime, of a light and easily digestible kind, according to the custom of the ancients), if he had leisure, often in the summer, he would lie in the sun. Then read his book, annotate it, and make extracts. He never read without making extracts. He was even accustomed to say that no book was so bad as not to be profitable in some part of it. I remember once when a reader had pronounced something wrongly, one of his friends had the man called up and made him repeat it, whereupon my uncle said: ‘You understood, forsooth?’ He nodded. ‘Then why have the passage recalled? We have lost more than ten verses by this interruption.’ So great was his economy of time. This, too, in the midst of his labours in the noise of the town. Even in the retirement of his bath he spent his time in studies. When I say the bath, I speak of the inner parts of the house generally. For whilst he was stretching himself or drying himself, he used to listen to reading or to dictate. On a journey, as if relieved from other cares, he occupied himself in study only. At his side was an amanuensis with a book and writing tablets, whose hands were furnished in winter with gloves, so that by no roughness of weather should any time be snatched from studies. For the same reason, when at Rome, he was carried about in a chair. I recall that I was reproved by him when I went for a walk. ‘Are you not able,’ said he, ‘not to waste your time?’ For he thought all time wasted which was not devoted to studies.” For an account of his death, see an epistle by the same writer to Tacitus.

Epictetus (as the epigram concerning him testifies) was both a slave and lame. He was poorer than Irus.55 But in wisdom and equanimity of mind and constancy (as records about him testify) he was admirable and almost divine. But he was the servant of Epaphroditus the freedman of the Emperor Nero. Celsus was a renowned physician, whose works are still extant, whose excellent dictum was: “That many grave diseases are cured by abstinence and quiet.”

Dydimus, the grammarian, on account of the almost incredible number of books which he is said to have written, is called χαλκέντερος, as if having intestines of brass, i.e., he was remarkably patient and indefatigable in labour. He (as also Origen) was called Adamantinus. On this same matter see Proverb: Adamantinus and Chalcenterus and the lamp of Aristophanes and Cleanthes.

I. Studies by Night

Plin. It is five o’clock in the afternoon. Epictetus, shut me the window and bring me light. I will work with a light.

Epict. What light do you wish?

Plin. For the time being, whilst others are present, tallow or wax candles; when they have retired, take them away and place here for me the lampstand.

Cels. What for?

Plin. For working.

Time

Cels. Don’t you study better in the morning? Then it seems to me the season of the time and the condition of the body invite study, since at that time there is the least exhalation from the brain, digestion having been completed.

Plin. But this hour is very quiet, when every one has gone to rest and everything is silent, and for those who eat at mid-day and morning it is not inconvenient. Some follow the old custom and only eat one meal and that in the evening; others merely at mid-day, according to the advice of the new doctors; and again others both mid-day and evening, according to the usage of the Goths.

Cels. But were there no mid-day meals before the Goths?

Plin. There were, but light meals. The Goths introduced the custom of eating to satiety twice a day.

Cels. On that account Plato condemned the meal-times of the Syracusans, who had two good meals every day.

Circumstances Aiding Studies

Plin. For that very reason you may conclude that people like the Syracusans were very rare.

Cels. Enough of them! Why do you prefer to work with a lamp than a candle?

Plin. On account of the equable flame, which less tries the eyes, for the flicker of the wick injures the eyes and the odour of the tallow is unpleasant.

Cels. Then use wax candles, the odour of which is not displeasing.

Plin. In them the wick is more flickering and the vapour is no more healthy. In the tallow lights the wick is for the most part of linen and not of cotton, as the tradesmen seek to make a profit on all these things by fraud. Pour oil into this lamp, bring a candle and take out the wick and clean it.

Epict. Notice how the lampblack sticks to the needle. They say this is a sign of rain, in the same manner as we find in Vergil:—

Plin. Bring hither also the snuffers and clean this candle. But don’t throw the black on the floor lest it smoke, but press it into the snuffers-box whilst it is held together. Bring me my dressing-gown, that long one lined with skin.

Cels. I will provide you with your books. May Minerva be favourable to you!

Plin. May Paul or, what I should rather have said, may Jesus Christ, the Wisdom of God, be with me.

Cels. Perhaps Christ is adumbrated in the fable of Minerva and that of the birth from Jupiter’s brain.

Plin. Place the table on the supports in the sleeping-chamber.

Cels. Do you prefer the table to the desk?

Plin. At this time, yes; but place a small desk on the table.

Epict. A self-standing one or a movable one?

Plin. Which you like. But where is the Dydimus of my studies?

Cels. I will summon him thither.

Subjects of Study

Plin. Fetch also my boy-scribe. For I should like to dictate something. Give me those reed-pens and two or three feather pens, those with thick stalk, and the sand-case. Bring me also from the chest the Cicero and Demosthenes, and from the desk, the book in which I make all my notes and important extracts. Do you hear? And my extemporaneous MS. book in which I will polish up some passages.

Dyd. I believe the MS. book is not in the desk but in the chest, locked up.

Plin. Do you yourself search for it. And bring me the Nazianzenus.

Dyd. I don’t know it.

Plin. The book is of slight thickness, sewn together and roughly bound in parchment. Bring also the volume, the fifth from the end.

Dyd. What is its title?

Plin. Xenophon’s Commentaries. The book is in finished style. It is bound in leather with fastenings and knobs of copper.

Dyd. I don’t find it.

Plin. Now I remember. I put it in the fourth case. Fetch it. In the same case there are only loose sheets and rough books just as they have come straight from the press.

Dyd. Which volume of Cicero do you want, for there are four?

Plin. The second.

Epict. It is not yet back from the book-gluer, who had it, I believe, five days ago to glue.

Dyd. How do you like that pen?

Plin. On that point I am not very particular; whatever comes into my hand I use it as if it were good.

Dyd. You have learned that from Cicero.

Plin. You just be quiet. Open me the Cicero. Look me up three or four pages of the Tusculan Questions. Seek the passages on gentleness and joy.

Epict. Whose verses are these?

Plin. They are his own translations of Sophocles. This he does with keen pleasure and therefore often.

Epict. He was, I think, sufficiently apt in writing verses.

Dyd. Most apt and facile, and, for his time, not unhappy in his verse, contrary to what very many think.

Epict. But wherefore hast thou left off pursuing the art of poetry?

II. The Bed—Its Equipment

Plin. I hope that we yet at times may take it up again in leisure hours, for there is much alleviation in it from more serious studies. I am already weary of studies, meditation, writing. Stretch out my bed.

Epict. In which sleeping-room?

Plin. In the big square room. Take away the reclining cushion out of the corner, and put it in the dining-room. Place over the feather-bed another of wool. See also that the supports of the bed are sufficiently firm.

Epict. What is it that is troubling you? For you don’t lie on one part or other of the frame-work, but in the middle of the bed. It would be more healthy for you if the bed were harder and one which would offer resistance to your body.

Plin. Take the head-pillow away, and instead of it put two cushions, and in this heat I prefer that lightly woven, to the linen, cloth.

Epict. Without bed-covering!

Plin. Yes.

Epict. You will get cold, for the body is exhausted by studies.

Plin. Then put on a light covering.

Epict. These? And no more?

Plin. No. If I feel cold in bed, then I will ask for more clothes. Take away the curtains, for I prefer a mosquito-net for the keeping off of gnats, a net of fine gauze (conopeum).

Epict. I have noticed but few gnats, though of fleas and lice a pretty fair number.

Adjuncts

Plin. I am surprised that you notice anything particularly, for you sleep and snore so soundly.

Epict. No one sleeps better than he who does not feel how badly he is sleeping.

Plin. None of the insects with which we are troubled in bed in summer disgust me so much as the bugs because of their ghastly odour.

Epict. Of which there is a good supply in Paris and Lyons.

Plin. At Paris there is a kind of wood which produces them, and in Lyons the potter’s earth. Place my alarum-clock here, and place the pointer for four o’clock in the morning, for I don’t wish to sleep later. Take my shoes off, and place here the folding-chair in which I may sit. Let the chamber-crockery be set near the bed on a foot-stool. I don’t know what it is that causes a bad smell here. Fumigate with frankincense or juniper. Sing to me something on the lyre as I go to bed after the custom of Pythagoras, so that I may the more quickly fall asleep, and my dreams may be the more peaceful.

Epict.

XV CULINA—The Kitchen

Lucullus, Apicius, Pistillarius, Abligurinus

In this dialogue Vives describes the matters which concern the kitchen. Nor is it any disgrace for a noble youth to be able to call things, one by one, by their right names, as also the interpreter of Aristophanes thinks in the Acharnians:—

ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο ἀστεῖον καὶ πεπαιδευμένῳ ἀρμόξον, μήδε τῶν κατὰ τὴν οἰκίαν σκευ ῶν τῆς καθημερινῆς χρείας, ἀγνοεῖν τὰ ὀνόματα.58

The names of the interlocutors are aptly chosen, as is always the case. Lucullus and Apicius are fit names of men noted for luxury. As to Lucullus, see Plutarch in his Lucullus and Athenaeus, book xii., who says that he:—

τρυφῆς πρῶτον εἰς ἅπαν Ῥωμαίοις ἡγεμόνα γενέσθαι.59

Also in Book iv. he says:—

τὸν’ Ἀπίκιον περὶ ἀσωτίᾳ πάντας ἀνθρώπους ὑπερηκοντικέναι.60

Pistillarius and Abligurinus are fictitious names; the former from the pounder of a mortar, and as if the epithet for an obtuse man; the latter from a “licking away,” as of a gourmand. This dialogue may be divided into three parts, the management of the kitchen by Apicius, his precepts, and songs.

I. The Hiring of Apicius

Luc. Are you an eating-house keeper (popino)?

Apic. I am.

Luc. Where do you work?

Apic. At the eating-house called the Poultry-Cock (galli gallinacei). Do you want my services?

Luc. Yes, for a wedding.

Apic. Let me then hasten home, so that I may give instructions to my wife how to treat the gourmandisers (whom I know are not wont to be lacking in this city) and their guests who are invited.

Luc. Do you hear? You will find me in the Stone Street—in the shoemakers’ district.

Apic. I will soon be with you.

Luc. Very well. Get to your cook-shop.

II. The Precepts of Apicius

Apic. Hallo! Pistillarius and Abligurinus, make a fire with big logs on the hearth under the flue, and let them be as dry as possible.

Pist. Do you think you are at Rome? Here we have not stalls for the sale of dry wood from which dry logs can be got. But this which I have will be dry enough.

Apic. If you don’t get it dry enough, Abligurinus, you will, by your work of blowing up the flame, lose your eyesight.

Ablig. Then I shall drink so much the more freely. Curse the wine!

Apic. Curse the water! For you shall not touch wine to-day if I keep in my right mind. I am not going to let you overturn the vessels, and break the small pots to pieces, and ruin the food.

Ablig. This fire won’t burn!

Apic. Throw in a small bundle of sticks smeared in brimstone, and kindling-wood, together with some chips.

Ablig. It is quite gone out.

Apic. Run across to the next house with the shovel and bring us a great big firebrand and some good live coal.

Ablig. The master of that house is a metal-worker, nor does he let a single piece of coal be taken from his furnaces but he has his eye on it (citius oculum).

Apic. He is not a metal-worker, but a metal-cutter; go therefore to the oven. What are you bringing there? This is not a firebrand; it is rather a torch (titionem magis quam torrem).

Ablig. They have not got burning coal.

Apic. What bad coal! You should rather call it turf. Move these logs and stir the kindling wood with this poker so that it may gather flame. Use the pyrolabum (the tongs), you ass!

Ablig. What thing does that word signify?

Apic. Forceps ignaria (tongs for the fire), a pruniceps (a fire-stirrer).

Ablig. Why do you give me words in Greek, as if there were not Latin words for the things?

Apic. Are asses also grammarians?

Ablig. What wonder, since grammarians are certainly asses.

Apic. Make an end of wrangling. I want some coals or pieces of turf lighting for me on this hearth, for cooking the cakes baked in earthen cups. Hang the bronze vessel over the fire so that we can have plenty of hot water. Then throw into the cooking-pot that shoulder of mutton with the salted beef; add calf and lamb flesh, and stir the cooking vessel on the fire. In the chytropus61 we will thoroughly boil the rice.

Ablig. What shall we do with the chickens?

Apic. They shall be cooked in brazen pots which are lined with tin, so that they may have a more pleasant taste. But don’t bring them too soon; the meat-spits and the pans should be forthcoming about nine o’clock. Let this pike play about in the water a little, then skin him.

Ablig. Are there to be meat and fish at the same meal?

Apic. Decidedly, according to the German fashion.

Ablig. And is this approved by the doctors?

Apic. It is not in accordance with the art of medicine, but it will please the doctors. I thought this block of a man (stips) was merely a grammarian; he is also a doctor.

Ablig. Have you never heard of that question: Whether there are in a city more doctors or fools?

Apic. Who has thrust you into the kitchen, when you are such a salted herring (saperda)?

Ablig. My adverse fate.

Apic. Nay, what is quite clear,—it is thy sluggishness, carelessness, voracity, thy throat and thy stomach, thy degenerate and debased soul. Therefore must thou now run about with naked feet, half-clothed, in old torn garments which don’t cover you behind.

Ablig. What has my poverty got to do with you?

Apic. Nothing at all, and I should not like it to concern me. But to work! And outside of work let us have no more talk than necessary. Are my orders not sufficient? Nothing apparently can be enough for you in the way of closely laying down and insisting over and over again on what is to be done. Give me my cooking-trousers. I want to go out of doors, but I will soon be back. Give me also, please, the olive-crusher (tudicula), the badge of our art. This is my thunderbolt and trident.

Pist. Hallo, Abligurinus, place those jugs on the urn-table and wash this beef steadily, and give it a good rubbing in the basin.

Ablig. Have you any other orders to give? One commander is sufficient for one camp, but it does not seem to be sufficient for one kitchen. Do it all yourself. You are a sharper exactor of work than the master of the cook-shop himself. For the future I won’t call you Pistillarius (a pounder with the pestle), but a sharp sting (stimulus acutus).

Pist. Nay, rather call me Onocentron (the spur of asses). Cut up then this calf’s flesh on this flesh-board. Also powder the cheese so that we can sprinkle it over this dumpling.

Ablig. How? With the hand?

Pist. No, but with the grater. Pour a few drops of oil in from the cruse.

Ablig. Do you mean from this flask?

Pist. Place here the mortar.

Ablig. Which of them?

Pist. That brazen one with the pestle of the same metal.

Ablig. What for?

Pist. For grinding rock-parsley.

Ablig. This is done more satisfactorily in a marble mortar with a wooden pestle.

III. Songs

Pist. Please sing us a song, as you are wont to do.

Ablig.

Pist. Do you say the Fabii or the fabri?

Ablig. On that point inquire of the bandy-legged schoolmaster and you will get for your Fabii and fabri a sound blow on the cheek or the back.

Pist. Is that the sort of man?

Ablig. He is a determined, courageous man, prompt with blows. He compensates for the slowness of his tongue by the swiftness of his hands.

Pist. Here, bring the beer-jug. My palate, throat, gullet are parched with thirst.

Ablig.

Apic. Where hast thou thus learnt to ῥαψωδεῖν?

Ablig. Lately I served a schoolmaster in Calabria who was a poetaster. He often used to give me no other meal than a song of a hundred verses, in which he used to say there was a wonderful savour. I, indeed, would rather have had a little bread and cheese. There was, however, enough water for the house, and we had permission to drink from the well to our heart’s content. If I then had gone hungry to bed, instead of food I chewed those verses and digested them. Nor did there seem to me to be any other remedy to drive away the keenness of hunger (bulimia) than to betake myself to the art of cookery.

Apic. What services did you render that schoolmaster?

Ablig. Such as Caesar rendered to the Republic. I was everything to him. I was his counsellor, though he had nothing to advise about; he had nothing secret from me, not even in his personal habits. I used to pour water on his hand, which he never used to wash himself. I served him as his treasurer.

Apic. What treasure had he?

Ablig. He had a few sheets of the trashiest poems which the moths used to eat away and barbarian mice gnawed at.

Apic. Nay, say learned mice, since they bit their teeth into bad poems.

XVI TRICLINIUM—The Dining-room

Aristippus, Lurco

This dialogue is connected with the two following dialogues. For this contains descriptions of the master of a feast and his dining-room, the next of the banquet itself, and the third, drunkenness. It has two parts—the introduction and description (narratio). Triclinium is so called from having three dining-couches (lectus). For, of old, those about to breakfast or dine were accustomed to arrange couches for lying on, for the most part three. See Castilionius in book 6; Vitruvius, cap. 5; Baysius de Vasculis. Aristippus was the disciple of Socrates, from whom was derived the Cyrenaic teaching. For he lived in ease, sumptuously, voluptuously. He sought out every luxury of perfumes, clothes, women, and counted life happy in so far as it was full of pleasure.

I. The Introduction (Initium)

Arist. Why are you so late getting up and, indeed, still half-asleep?

Lurc. I am surprised that I have waked up at all the whole of this day, since yesterday we were eating and drinking.

Arist. Nay, as it appears, you were simply gorging, gourmandising, and overwhelming yourself with sumptuous dishes and wine. But where was it you were thus loading your swift-sailing ship?

Lurc. At the house of Scopas, at a banquet (convivium).

Arist. Nay, rather, according to the manner of the Greeks, call it a συμπόσιον than by the Latin word convivium.

Lurc. One brawler aroused another to speech. Olives and sauces pricked and pinched the sated stomach, and would not let the appetite get wearied out.

Arist. Pray tell us all the courses so that by hearing of them I can imagine that I was there, and as if I were drinking with you, as that man who ate two great loaves of bread in a Spanish inn, and enjoyed the exhalation of a roasted partridge, in place of further viands.

Lurc. Who could tell all? This would be a greater undertaking than to have bought the food, or prepared it, or what would have beaten everything in difficulty, to have eaten it all up.

Arist. Let us sit down here in this willow-plantation, by the bank of this little stream, and, since we are tired, let us talk of your yesterday’s dining out, instead of other things. The grass will serve us for bolsters. Lean on that elm-tree.

Lurc. On the grass? Won’t the moisture harm us?

Arist. How stupid! moisture, when the dog-star is rising!

Lurc. Formerly I refused; now my mind desires to tell you yet more than you ask. You inquire from me as to the banquet; you shall also hear as to the host and the dining-room. You asked that I would speak; I will do so that, soon perhaps, you will ask, proclaim, command silence, as was the case with the Arabian flute-player who was induced to sing for an obolus, but was only brought to silence by receiving three.

Arist. Say as much as thou wishest of the feast; I shall not be pained by it, since we are now sitting in a shady place, and the goldfinch there accompanies thy narrative, or at least will bring harmony into it, as the slaves with the flute did into the speech of C. Gracchus.69

II. Narration—Description of Scopas

Lurc. What was that story?

Arist. When you have finished your account of the feast you shall have the story of the Gracchi, of the graculi,70 and the Graeculi.

Lurc. We were going for a walk by chance across the market (forum), Thrasybulus and I. We happened to have got more leisure than is usual with us. Scopas joined us. When he had made his first salutations, and started a suave conversation, Scopas began earnestly to entreat us that we would, on the next day, which was yesterday, go to his house. First we excused ourselves, the one for one reason, the other for another; I, on account of an important engagement with a magistrate (praetor), a very irritable gentleman. But Scopas, a man who likes to boast of his wealth, began an elaborate speech, as if his life were in question. What need of further words? We said yes, so that he should not continue to worry us.

Arist. Do you know why he arranged the banquet?

Lurc. What was it, pray, do you suppose?

Arist. He is indeed himself a rich man, well provided with silver, clothes, and house-provisions. But he had bought three gilded silver phials and six cups. These would have lost their value to him, had he not invited some guests to whom he might show them. For he believes that it is in the ostentation of wealth that its pleasure consists. He is driven on to profuse expenditure by his wife, who calls it magnificence.

Description of the Dining-hall

Lurc. Yesterday, then, about mid-day we came together to his dining-room.

Arist. What kind of a lunch was it?

Lurc. In the open air, in the cool shade. All was splendidly prepared, decorated, polished up. Nothing was lacking in elegance, splendour, and magnificence. Immediately on entrance, our eyes and souls were exhilarated by the most beautiful and most pleasant sights. There was a great sideboard, full of beautiful vases of all kinds, of gold, silver, crystal, glass, ivory, myrrh-wood; also others of more common material, tin, horn, bone, wood, shell, or earthenware, in which art lent a merit to the commonness of the material, for there were very many pieces of embossed work, all brightly cleaned and polished; the glitter almost dazzled the eyes. You might have seen there two great silver wash-hand-basins with gilded borders. The middle part together with the ornaments about it were of gold. Every basin had its outlet whose bung was gilded. There stood there also another water-basin of glass, similarly with gilded pipe, as well as an earthenware wash-basin varnished with red sandarach,71 a piece of work of the Spanish city of Malaca. Besides, there were phials of every kind and two silver ones for the most generous kind of wines.

Arist. From my own experience I prefer flasks of glass or of shells, which they call stone-ware.

Lurc. What are you to do? Such is the nature of man! He does not in these things seek so much convenience as the opinion of being thought rich.

Arist. These very rich people pretty often seem so to others whilst to themselves they seem poor. So there is no end of bringing forward, and presenting, to the eyes of others, their possessions. Especially is this so with those who have no other kind of skill in which they can trust. But proceed.

Lurc. The border of the sideboard was covered with a shaggy carpet brought from Turkey. At a distance from the sideboard there were placed two small tables with quadrants and silver orbs. Every one had his salt-cellar, knife, bread, and napkin. Under the sideboard stood a refrigerator and large wine-decanters. Then they had various kinds of seats, settles, double-seats, benches, and the seat of the lady of the house, arranged so as to fold up, a noteworthy piece of work with silken upholstery, and provided with a foot-stool.

Arist. Lay the table now, and unfold the napkins, for my vitals cry out for hunger.

Lurc. The dining-table was large. It was inlaid with ancient mosaic work. It had belonged to the Prince Dicæarchus.

Arist. O old table, what a different master is yours now!

Lurc. He had bought the table at an auction sale at a sufficiently high price, only because it had belonged to the prince, and he would thus have something that had been his. Water is given for the washing of hands. At first there are great mutual refusings and invitations and yielding by turns.

Arist. The same thing happened in all this yielding of dignity, when each one made himself of less account than the other, and exalted the other with the haughtiest courteousness, whilst in reality every one thought himself more important than all the rest.

Lurc. But the host, by his own right, allotted the seats. Grace was said by a little boy briefly and perfunctorily, but not without rhythm:—

Each one unfolds his napkin and throws it over the left shoulder. Then he cleans his bread with his knife, in case he did not think it had been sufficiently cleaned by the servant, for it had been placed before him with the crust taken off.

Arist. Did you sit in ease?

Lurc. Never with more ease.

Arist. You couldn’t get a poor lunch. For the eatables had been supplied to redundancy, so far as ever the market had them; this I know.

Lurc. In no place has this more certainly happened. But the very abundance palled. The director of the table busied himself with laying knives and forks. Then came in, with great pomp, the chief steward with a long band of boys, younger and older, who bore away the dishes of the first course.

XVII CONVIVIUM—The Banquet

Scopas, Simonides, Crito, Democritus, Polaemon

Concerning Scopas, see Cicero, book 2, de Orat. As to Polaemon, see Val. Max. bk. 6, cap. 11. There are three kinds of banquets, είλαπίνη, a magnificent and splendid banquet; γάμος, a nuptial banquet; and ἔρανος, when each guest came at his own expense and brought his own food. Homer links together those forms of banquets: εἰλαπίνη ἠὲ γάμος· ἐπεὶ οὐκ ἔρανος τάδε γ’ ἐστί (Odyssea, i. 226).

The parts of this dialogue are these: Initium, apparatus, finis. Apparatus contains two courses.

COURSES

First { Cibus { Panis Obsonia { Carnes Pultes Pisces

Potus { Vinum Aqua Cerevisia Pocula

Second { Fructus Casei Tragemata

I. The Beginning (Initium)

Scop. Where is our Simonides?

Crit. He said he would come immediately after he had met a debtor of his in the market.

Scop. He does rightly. He will more easily get away from a debtor than he would from a creditor.

Crit. How is this?

Scop. It is as in a victory, the victor imposes the conditions, not the vanquished. The debtor comes away from the creditor when he will, the creditor when the debtor is willing. But have you not all met, as you arranged, and left the seriousness of home, bringing with you cheerfulness, wit, grace, pleasantness?

Crit. Clearly these things are so, I hope, and we will be as M. Varro advises, an agreeable company.

Scop. Let the rest be my concern.

Crit. Here is Simonides coming!

Scop. Happy event!

Sim. All prosperity to you!

Scop. We have keenly desired you!

Sim. Ah, how boorish it all is! But you see I was invited to lunch, not for a period of detention in business. But have I really kept you waiting long?

Scop. No, indeed not.

Sim. Why did you not set to the meal without me? At least you could have begun with the fruit which I am not much given to eating.

Scop. Courteous words, but how could we sit down without you?

II. First Course—Bread

Crit. Enough of civilities. Let us begin our description. The best and lightest of bread! It is as light in weight as a sponge. The wheat is soft as a medlar. You must have an industrious miller.

Scop. Roscius has the mill in his charge.

Sim. Is he never hurled into it?

Scop. Far be such a fate from such a thrifty servant!

Dem. Pass me the coarse bread (made of unbolted flour).

Sim. And me the bread made of the middle quality of foreign wheat.

Scop. Why do you wish that?

Sim. Because I have both heard and found from experience that I eat less when the bread has not a fine taste.

Scop. Here, boy, bring him common bread, and even the black bread if he prefers. We will have the most pleasant of meals, if every one shall take what most pleases him.

Pol. This bread, which you praise so much, is spongy, watery; I prefer it thicker.

Crit. I indeed don’t dislike it spongy—so long as it isn’t hastily made. But this also has cracks such as cakes baked on the hearth are accustomed to have, although, as is sufficiently clear, this came out of the oven.

Pol. This black bread is both sour and full of chaff; you would say that it was from flour of second-rate wheat.

Scop. So our husbandmen are accustomed to do with all wheat which they bring hither; first to make it pungent with the common, and to mix it with all kinds of seeds; the taste then comes from the leaven being excessive.

Pol. No class of men are more deceptive than husbandmen. They only act wrongly through ignorance.

Crit. This bread is not sufficiently fermented.

Dem. For to-day think thyself a Jew, one of those who, by the ordinance of God, only feed on bread which is unleavened.

Crit. And this, indeed, was because they were such very bad men that the eating of swine was forbidden them, than which nothing is more pleasing to the palate; nor if taken moderately is anything more healthful. With unleavened bread sauces must be eaten together with field lettuce, which is extremely bitter.

Pol. All this has too much depth of meaning. Let us leave the subject.

Scop. Yes, indeed, and the whole discussion about bread! If there is so much difference of opinion about what is eaten with bread, how much discord there will be over every part of the menu of the whole meal!

Crit. It happens, forsooth, as Horace says:—

Fruits

Scop. Bring those dishes and plates with the cherries, plums, pomegranates, ripe fruit, and early ripe fruit.

Pol. Why did Varro say that the number of guests ought not to exceed the number of the Muses, when the number of the Muses is not settled? For some put the number at three; others six; others nine.

Crit. He spoke as if it were established that there were nine, and so it was commonly accepted. Whence Diogenes made his joke at the expense of the schoolmaster, who had only a small number of scholars in the school, whilst he had the Muses painted on the walls. The master, said he, has many scholars, if you reckon in the Muses (σὺν ταῖς μοῦσαις).

Dem. But is it true that the Persians introduced into Greece the fruit which they regarded as so deadly as to be a pestilence to those against whom they were waging war?

Crit. So I have heard.

Dem. How wonderful is the variety of products in the different nature of soils!

Crit. India sends ivory, says Vergil,74 the effeminate Sabaeans their frankincense. Oh! look at those Persian quinces!

Sim. This is a new kind of grafting which the ancients did not know of. Reach me the bowl with the hard-skinned figs, which are, as you know, early ripe.

Scop. Enough of the fruits! Let us be filled with more healthful foods of the body.

Crit. What is, then, healthier?

Scop. Nothing, if to be health-giving and of good taste are the same thing as in a mid-day dream.

Crit. I forgive fruits their harmfulness on account of their pleasantness of taste.

Meats

Scop. Do you remember the verse of Cato?

Give every one a platter of meat with sauce, so that he may swallow it down, and this will warm the intestines and pleasantly wash and so soften the body.

Sim. Here, boy, give me at once some salted pork. Oh! most savoury leg of pork! It is a barrow-hog. If you can hear what I say, return the cabbage and bacon, to the cook, at this season of the year, or preserve it till the winter. Cut me a couple of bits off this sausage, so that the first cup of wine may taste the sweeter.

Crit. Let us follow the advice of physicians that wine be taken with pork. Pour out wine.

Wine

Scop. Now follows action after talk. Surely this is wisest at this time of the year. Look at the necessary preparations for our drinking wine. First of all the keeper of the sideboard (custos abaci) has set out the cups of brightest crystal glass with purest white wine; you would think it water by its mere appearance. It is San Martin wine and partly Rhein wine, but not mixed as they are accustomed to drink it in Belgium, but such as they drink in mid-Germany. The wine-seller to-day has tapped two casks, one of yellow Helvell from the neighbourhood of Paris, and one of blood-red Bordeaux. Others are in readiness kept cool, dark (fuscus) from Aquitaine and black from Saguntum. Let every one choose according to his liking.

Crit. What suggestion could be more delightful? as nothing is harder fortune than to perish of thirst. For myself I should prefer that you had set before us the best water. I would rather have heard such an announcement than that of the wines.

Scop. Nor shall that be lacking.

Sim. Lately when I was in Rome, I drank at a cardinal’s house, the noblest wines of every flavour; sweet, sharp, mild, fruity, and tart. I was indeed extremely friendly with the wine-cellarer.

Dem. I dearly like fiery wine.

Pol. So also do Belgian women. In some places in France they offer you the dregs of wine. They most delight in two and three year old vintage. But these are rather sampling of wine than real wine-drinking, and French wine especially bears neither the addition of water nor years. Therefore soon after it is racked off it is drunk. Indeed, in a year it begins to get worse, and becomes uncertain, then its flavour escapes and it becomes sour. Had it been kept longer it would become mouldy and flat. The Spanish and Italian wines, on the other hand, improve with age, and with the addition of water.

Dem. What do you mean by wine getting “flat”? The casks become shrunken, the wine is enclosed in cells, and the casing of the cask falls in, if need be.

Pol. Like as fruit gets uneatable through decay by age and does not keep, and, as we say commonly, goes bad. The opposite term is “still wine” (consistens).

Dem. Pour me first a half-cupful of water and then pour in the wine, after the old custom.

Crit. Nay, to-day’s custom is yet the same with many people, the French and Germans being exceptions.

Dem. The nations who drink water with wine pour wine to the water; those who will drink wine watered, pour water on to the wine.

Crit. And what do those drink who mix no water with their wine?

Dem. Pure, unmixed wine.

Crit. That is, if the wine-dealer did not first water it himself.

Pol. They call that baptising it, so that the wine should be Christian. This was in my time a fine, philosophical way of speaking.

Dem. They baptise the wine, and themselves are unbaptised (i.e., unwatered or unwashed).

Pol. They do worse to wine who add chalk, sulphur, honey, alum, and other more noisome things than which nothing is more pernicious to one’s body. Against such people the state ought to proceed as against robbers or assassins. For thence are incredible kinds of diseases and especially gout.

Crit. By conspiracy with physicians they can do this. Then both share the profit.

Dem. The cup you reach to me is too full. Empty it a little, I beg, so that there may be a space for water.

Drinking

Crit. Pour me wine in that chestnut-coloured cup. What is that?

Scop. A great Indian nut, surrounded with a silver edge. Won’t you drink out of that bowl of ebony wood? They say that this is the healthiest. But don’t give me too much water. Don’t you know the old proverb: “You spoil wine when you pour water into it”?

Dem. Yes, then you spoil both the water and the wine.

Pol. I would rather spoil both, than be spoiled by one of them.

Scop. Would it not be pleasant, according to the Greek custom, to drink out of the bowls and from the bigger beakers?

Pol. By no means. You reminded us just now of the old proverb. In my turn I remind you of the Pauline precept: “Be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess”; and that of our Saviour: “And take heed to yourselves lest at any time your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting and drunkenness.”

Water

Crit. Whence is this cold water, so pure and pellucid?

Scop. Out of the spring near by here.

Crit. Rather than mixing of wine I prefer cistern water, if it is thoroughly pure.

Dem. What do you think of spring-drawn water?

Crit. It is more appropriate for washing purposes than for drinking.

Pol. Very many people commend flowing water.

Crit. And quite rightly if the streams flow through gold veins, as in Spain, and the water is peaceful and clear.

Beer

Sim. Bring me in that Samian phial some beer which, in this heat, should be very good for refreshing one’s body.

Scop. Which sort of beer will you have?

Sim. The lightest you have, for other kinds muddle the mind too much and make the body too fat.

Pol. Give me some also, but in the round glass.

Scop. Run to the kitchen and see what they are waiting for. Why don’t they send another course? You see that already no one further tastes of this. Bring young cocks cooked with lettuce, garden oxtongue, and endive; also mutton and calf’s flesh.

Crit. Add also a little mustard or rock-parsley in small dishes.

Dem. Mustard seems to me a strong (violenta) food.

Crit. It is not suitable for bilious people, but is not without its usefulness for those who abound in thick and cold humours.

Pol. Therefore are the countries of northern latitudes wise in using it, for whom it is of great service, especially with thick and hard food, e.g., with beef and salted fish.

Pottage

Scop. In this place, I think broth and rice come seasonably, also ash-coloured bread, fine wheaten bread, starch-food, rice, “little worms” (vermiculi). Let every one take according to his taste.

Dem. I have seen those who shuddered terribly at “little worms” because they believed they were out of the earth and from mud, and had previously been alive.

Crit. Such people deserve to have these “worms” come to life again in their stomachs. They say that rice is born in water and dies in wine. Give me, therefore, wine.

Dem. Drink not immediately after warm food. Eat first something cold and solid.

Crit. What?

Dem. A crust of bread, or a rissole or two of meat.

Fish

Sim. Bah! fish and meat at the same sitting! To mix earth and sea. This is forbidden by physicians.

Scop. Nay, rather physicians are pleased by it.

Sim. I think it is because it is profitable to them.

Scop. Why, then, do the physicians forbid it?

Sim. I have made a mistake. I ought to have said that it is prohibited by the art of medicine, not by physicians. But what sort of fish is this?

Scop. Place them in order. The first is roasted pike with vinegar and capers, then turbot cooked with the juice of pointed sorrel, fried soles, a fresh pike and a capito (large-headed fish)—the salted pike serve for yourself—fresh roasted and salted tunny-fish, fresh maenae (small sea fish) fried, pasties, in which are many bearded-fishes, murenae, and trout, with suitable relishes, fried gudgeon and boiled lobsters and crabs. Mingle with them dishes with garlic, pepper, mustard, pounded up.

Sim. I will indeed speak of the fish, but not eat of them.

Crit. If a philosopher begins to conduct a controversy on fish, i.e., on a most uncertain, debatable question, then let us have a bed set up, so that we can sleep here.

Scop. No one is worthy to even taste these dishes. Take them away.

Sim. And yet formerly banquets at Rome were most splendid and they were accustomed to say that sumptuous ones were given which consisted entirely of fish.

Crit. Thus have times changed, although this custom also lasts with some people.

Birds

Scop. Bring up roasted chickens, partridges, thrushes, ducklings, teal, wood-pigeons, rabbits, hares, calf’s flesh, kids, and sauce or flavours, vinegar, oil, fruit penetrating in its medical properties, also citrons, olives from the Balearic Islands, preserved, pressed, and kept in pickle.

Dem. Are no Bethica (district of Spain) olives there?

Scop. Those from the Balearic Islands taste better.

Crit. What will happen to those big animals there, the goose, the swan, the peacock?

Scop. Merely show them, and take them back to the kitchen.

Pol. See there a peacock! Where is Q. Hortensius who held a peacock for such a delicacy?76

Sim. Take the lamb-meat away.

Scop. Why?

Sim. Because it is unsound. They say it does not go out by any other way than that it entered.

Crit. I have seen someone who swallowed olive stones like an ostrich.

Scop. From what meat are those pasties made?

Crit. This here is stag’s flesh.

Scop. This is deer’s flesh; and that there, I believe, is boar’s flesh.

Crit. I prefer the condiments to meat itself.

Sim. And that is clearly right, for spice renders the sourest things sweet.

Crit. What is the spice of the whole of life?

Dem. An equable mind.

Crit. I can name something else, which is of larger scope and more august.

Dem. What can be more important than what I have named?

Crit. Pietas, under which equanimity is included. Moreover, “piety” is the most suitable and pleasant sauce for all things hard and easy, and those things which lie between these extremes.

Scop. Pour white Spanish wine in that beaker and bear it round to the guests.

Dem. What are you preparing to do? When dinner is finished, bring us some strong and generous wine. We can afterwards drink something more diluted, if we wish to take care of our health.

Sim. Thy counsel seems to me good, for it behoves us to have colder food at the end of a meal, which by its weight may thrust down the other food to the bottom of the stomach, and may restrain the vapours from escaping to the head.

III. Second Course

Scop. Take away those things; change the round and square plates, and lay the second table (dessert). For no one is anywhere further stretching forth his hand to the dishes.

Crit. I have eaten so heartily from the beginning that I have quite lost all further appetite.

Dem. I also have no more appetite, but I was led on by the desire of the fruit dishes here, and so have eaten to satiety.

Pol. I have eaten I don’t know how much fish. This has repulsed all my appetite.

Sim. And is there so much of splendid dainties and delicacies before us when there is no longer the desire of eating? Pears, apples, and cheese of many kinds! The most attractive to my palate is the horse-cheese.

Crit. I believe that it is not horse-cheese at all, but Phrygian cheese from asses’ milk, such as is brought from Sicily in the form of columns and squares. When one is broken, it cleaves into layers or, as it were, sheets (of paper).

Dem. This cheese is porous as if it were from England, and will not in my opinion be pleasing to you.

Crit. Nor will this spongy Dutch cheese. This from Parma is thicker and, as it seems, fairly fresh, and that Penasellian (Spanish) will easily vie with it.

Dem. This cheese is not from Parma but Placentia.

Crit. It also is pleasant. Commonly the cheese dearest to the Germans is old cheese, putrid, fried up and wormy.

Sim. He who eats such cheese is hunting for thirst and he eats in order to drink.

Scop. The pastry-cook delays too long with his sweets. Why does he not bring his tarts, his wine-cakes and cup-cakes and the fried cakes made of a concoction thrown into a vessel of boiling oil with honey poured over it?

Crit. Give me a few dates, both some to eat and some to keep by me. Perhaps I shall to-night eat nothing else.

Scop. Then take the whole of this branch of them. Will you have some pomegranates?

Pol. Here, boy, relieve me of these wild dates and give me something eatable.

Scop. I advise you to drink. Don’t you know that it was the opinion of Aristotle that the dessert was introduced into meals to invite us to drinking lest the food should be digested dry?

Crit. The discoverer must have been either a sailor or fish to be so much afraid of dryness.

Scop. Take away those things which are ordinarily called the seal of the stomach, because after them nothing more is to be eaten or drunk, biscuits, quince-cakes, coriander covered with sugar. But such food must be chewed, not eaten. What remains from the portion chewed must be spit out, for it is uneatable. Collect the bits and what remains over in baskets; bring scented waters, of rose, of the flowers of the healing apple (citron), and of musk-melon.

IV. End of the Banquet

Pol. Let us return thanks to Christ.

The Boy.

Agimus tibi gratias, Pater, qui tam multa ad hominum usus condidisti: annue, ut tuo favore ad coenam illam veniamus tuae beatitudinis.77

Pol. Now then let us return thanks to the host.

Crit. Well, you do it.

Pol. Nay, rather Democritus, who is strong on these points.

Dem. I cannot return thanks as in duty bound to thee, deserving well of the republic, for all has been confused by Bacchus, but I will recite what once Diogenes said to Dionysius; I have committed his speech to memory. If I have a lapse of memory or a faltering tongue you will forgive me after so great a soaking of drink.

Scop. Say what you will; it will be written in wine.

Dem. Thou hast, my Scopas, thyself, thy wife, thy man-servants and maid-servants, neighbours, cooks, and pastry-cooks, wearied thyself and themselves, so that we may become yet more wearied by eating and drinking. When Socrates had entered a very crowded market, he exclaimed wisely, “O immortal gods, how many things there are here which I don’t need.” Thou, on the contrary, mightest say, “What a small part is all this of that which I need.” The idea of moderation is pleasing to Nature. Thereon it is formed and supported. This supply of many and manifold things overwhelms Nature, as Pliny rightly observes. Manifoldness of food is injurious to man; yet more injurious is every sauce. We take hence to our homes bodies made heavy by these things, minds oppressed and sunk in food and drinks, so that we cannot duly perform any human duty. Do you yourself point out what thanks we owe you.

Scop. Are these the thanks you have for me? Thus you pay back so splendid a meal!

Pol. Clearly it is so—for what greater benefit is there than becoming wiser? You send us home evidently beasts. We wish to leave you at home a man, so that you may know how to consult your own health and that of others and to live conformably to the desires of Nature, not following fancies caught up from folly. Farewell and learn wisdom.

XVIII EBRIETAS—Drunkenness

Asotus, Tricongius, Abstemius, Glaucia

In this dialogue Vives describes the causes and effects of drunkenness. The occasion of the dialogue is based on Horace, book i. Epist. 5, where firstly is described the desire to cast away care by a splendid feast, to drink the best wines freely and in quantities, for Horace says:

Then he adds the seven effects of drunkenness. It causes the disclosure of secrets, renders men confident, makes them bold, takes away anxiety, brings the fatuous impression of wisdom, makes men garrulous and loquacious, and in the depth of poverty renders men dissolute and lavish.

Here, again, names of interlocutors are aptly applied. Asotus (middle vowel long) is a man given up to luxuries of the palate. In Latin such is called heluo (glutton), nepos (spendthrift), decoctor (bankrupt). The Greek word comes from a privative particle, and σώζω; Latin, servo. See Cicero, book 2, de Finibus: “Nolim asotos, qui in mensam vomant, et qui de conviviis auferantur, crudique nostridie se rursus ingurgitent; qui solem (ut aiunt) nec occidentem unquam viderint, nec orientem: qui consumtis patrimoniis egeant. Nemo istius generis asotos jucunde putat vivere.”

Concerning Tricongius we have spoken in the dialogue “Garrientes.” Abstemius is one who does not drink wine, as if held back, i.e. from wine. There are two parts to the dialogue, the Exordium, which contains the occasion of the dialogue, and Narratio, the telling of the story.

I. Exordium

Asot. What do you say, Tricongius? How splendidly that Brabantian entertained us yesterday!