Chapter III: Introduction: J. L. Vives: a Scholar of the Renascence (2)

It might, with some ground, be urged that Vives and other writers of school dialogues are the precursors of the drama. For not only are there touches of wit and humour in the conversations, but there is a considerable amount of characterisation in the interlocutors. The right person says and does the right thing, and situations are sometimes hit off exquisitely with an epithet. It is clear that a training in following the school dialogues in the generation preceding the Elizabethan dramatists may have had a distinctly preparative place in rendering the dialogue of the drama more familiar and attractive as a literary method. For a preparation in the power of audiences following the dialogues of the Elizabethan drama may be regarded as requiring an explanation, when we remember that the interest in and concentration on the dialogue was more urgent than now, owing to the absence of scenery and the other visual effects to which we are accustomed. The element in the drama which is conspicuous by its absence in the school dialogues is the plot. Yet in the school dialogue there is a definite method of construction observed. In the old methods of Latin composition, wherever there is a thesis, the writer must have regard to the sequence of the introduction, the narration, the confirmation, confutation, and the conclusion.

With regard to the school training towards the appreciation of the drama in the Tudor age, it must be remembered that the school-play was a recognised institution, especially the acting of the old plays of Terence, Plautus, and eventually of Greek tragedies. The school dialogue, it should be noted, was one of the earliest of school text-books, and its object, as already stated, was to train the child in readiness of expression in _the speaking_ of Latin. The study of rhetoric followed, and this included not only the study of apt figures of speech in Latin conversation, but also the accompaniment of right gestures of the face, hands, and body. Hence it will be seen that the grammar schools of the early part of the sixteenth century paved the way for an intelligent appreciation of the Elizabethan drama. For the drama not only requires writers; to some extent an intelligent response is necessary in the spectators, at any rate when the plays involve the intellectual elements characteristic of the later part of the sixteenth-century drama in England.

SOME EDUCATIONAL ASPECTS OF VIVES’ DIALOGUES

It is remarkable that an elementary text-book for teaching boys to speak Latin should raise so many fundamental questions in the theory of education. But any presentation of the _Dialogues_ of Vives would seem to be incomplete which left unconsidered such points as Vives’ _idea of the school_, _of the school-games_, _of nature study_, _of the use of the vernacular in the school_, and Vives’ _view of the relation of religion and education_.

VIVES’ IDEA OF THE SCHOOL

We learn from another book of Vives, the _De Tradendis Disciplinis_ (1531), that the “true academy,” as he calls his ideal school, is “the association together and fellow sympathy of men equally good and learned, who have come together themselves for the sake of learning, and to render the same blessing to others.” Vives suggests that to such a “school” not only should boys go, but also men. He suggests that “even old men, driven hither and thither in a great tempest of ignorance and vice, should betake themselves to the academy as it were to a haven. In short, let all be attracted by a certain majesty and authority.” Further, Vives informs us that in this academy it would certainly be best to place boys there from their infancy, “where they may from the first imbibe the best morals, and evil behaviour will be to them new and detestable.” We thus see that “the academy” combines our so-called elementary, secondary, and university education. The idea of the continuity of education is thus firmly conceived by Vives, and, in addition, the action and reaction of different ages of the individual scholars of the academy on one another. Nowadays, we realise that the association together of those with the same limitations, _e.g._, orphans, the blind, the deaf, may be a necessary evil, but that every progressive educational effort should be made to help all those who suffer from such limitations to become capable of taking their places amongst the normal pupils. But Vives goes much further; with him, it is a defect in education to isolate the young from the old, the old from the young. If all be bent on learning and scholarship, the differences of age disappear as clearly as the differences of rank and wealth.

It is necessary to bear in mind this conception of the academy in reading the school dialogues, for we have in them little children learning their alphabet[13] and the elements of reading[14] and writing,[15] and we have also the youths (at our undergraduate stage) going on their academic journey on horseback from Paris to Boulogne. This reminds us of Milton’s sallying forth of students “at the vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleasant, and it were an injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.”

And we have the student of mature age, in his dressing-gown, at midnight, pursuing his classical meditations. Thus infancy, youth, manhood, all stages, come into the conception of education. Education is a continuous process lasting throughout life, and for Vives the educational institution of “schools” should embody and make facilities for the achievement of that idea. In passing, it should be remarked that John Milton, in his _Tractate of Education_ (1644), and John Dury (1650), in his _Reformed School_, advocate what we may call the Vives-Academy view of school![16] It must occur to every reader of Vives’ _De Tradendis Disciplinis_ as highly probable that Milton’s hurriedly dashed-off and eloquent tractate was written after a fairly recent perusal of Vives’ book.

GAMES

The treatises on education in Tudor times have scarcely been surpassed by any later works in their treatment of physical education and advocacy of games. Particularly is this so in England, for in that period were published Sir Thomas Elyot’s _Gouvernour_ (1531), Roger Ascham’s _Toxophilus_ (1545), and Richard Mulcaster’s _Positions_ (1581). But outstanding in their importance as these works were, Vives in his _School Dialogues_ makes an interesting supplementary contribution.

Vives shows the value of “play” as an underlying spirit of school work, for the school is a form of “ludus” or play.[17] The little child, Corneliola, learns the alphabet “playing,” as indeed children had done at any rate from the days of Quintilian. Indeed, one of the most charming pictures of children provided by Vives is in Dialogue VI., which describes the mother, the boys Tulliolus, Lentulus, Scipio, and the little girl Corneliola, on the return from school of the boys, as they engage in children’s play and discussion of it. The games named in that dialogue are the games of “nuts,” “odd and even,” dice-play, draughts, and playing cards. Vives passes over the question of the moral obliquity of dice-playing and card-playing, though much was said in the Tudor period with regard to them.[18]

Vives represents the school-boys playing dice and cards for counters, and in the case of the cards for money. But substantially he gives the picture of the play without combining a sermon. In passing, perhaps it is permissible to call attention to the pun in Dialogue XXI., where the Latin word _charta_ is taken up ambiguously in the meaning of “map” as well as of “card.” The discovery of America in 1492 was comparatively recent in 1539, and much interest was felt in geographical questions. It is a great mistake to suppose that the classical scholars like Vives were so wrapt up in meditations on antiquity that they did not realise the significance of contemporary events, and that educationalists were not eager to turn current incidents to use in the class-room.[19] An interesting example of the fascination of Vives in geographical discoveries is to be found in the dedication of the _De Tradendis Disciplinis_ to the renowned King John III., King of Portugal, in which he relates the splendid deeds of the Portuguese in travel and discovery, which bring glory to descendants and the obligation to live up to their standard of achievement. In Dialogue XII., in the description of the entrance-hall of a house, a map is referred to in which “you have the world newly discovered by the Spanish navigations.”[20]

But educationally more important than any description of the games of the period described by Vives is the statement made by him of the laws which should regulate all play. The account is given in Dialogue XXII. Vives describes his native city of Valencia by sending three characters, Borgia, Scintilla, Cabanillius, on a promenade through the streets. They come to a public tennis-court, where the game of tennis is described. They proceed to the Town Court of Justice, whereupon one of the characters, Scintilla, is requested to state the laws of play which he has previously mentioned a teacher, by name Anneus, had written on a tablet which he had hung in his bed-chamber.

The six laws of play according to Anneus are:—

1. _Quando Ludendum?_ The Time of Playing.—This should be when the mind or body has become wearied. Games are to refresh the mind and body, not for frivolity.

2. _Cum Quibus Ludendum?_ Our Companions in Play.—These should be those who bring to the game no other purpose than your own, viz., that of thorough rest from labour and freedom from mental strain.

3. _Quo Ludo?_ The Sort of Game.—It must be known well by all the players. It must serve for both bodily and mental recreation. It must not be merely a game of hazard.

4. _Qua Sponsione?_ As to Stakes.—Small stakes are justifiable if they increase interest in exercise without producing excitement or anxiety of mind. Big stakes do not make a game; they introduce the rack.

5. _Quemadmodum?_ The Manner of Play.—Win and lose with absolute equanimity. No game should serve to rouse anger. No oaths, swearing, deceit, sordidness.

6. _Quamdiu Ludendum?_ Length of Play.—Until one is refreshed and the hour of serious business calls.

NATURE STUDY

It has already been mentioned that Vives supplies a dialogue describing an academic journey.[21] Two of the characters thus discourse:—

_Misippus._ Look how softly the river flows by! What a
delightful murmur there is of the full crystal water
amongst the golden rocks! Do you hear the nightingale and
the goldfinch? Of a truth, the country round Paris is
most delightful!

_Philippus._ How placidly the Seine flows in its
current.... Oh, how the meadow is clothed with a magic
art.

_Missippus._ And by what a marvellous Artist!

_Philippus._ What a sweet scent is exhaled.... Please
sing some verses as you are wont to do.

Then Vives introduces some lines by Angelus Politian praising the joy of peaceful, silent days which pass by without the agitation of ambition and the allurement of luxury, with blamelessness, though we work as with the labour of the poor man. Again[22]:—

_Bambalio._ Listen, there is the nightingale!

_Graculus._ Where is she?

_Bambalio._ Don’t you see her there, sitting on that
branch? Listen how ardently she sings, nor does she leave
off.

_Nugo._ (As Martial says) _Flet philomela nefas_. (The
nightingale bemoans any injustice.)

_Graculus._ What a wonder she carols so sweetly when she
is away from Attica where the very waves of the sea dash
upon the shore, not without their rhythm.

Then Nugo tells the story of the nightingale and cuckoo.[23] One more instance. Several boys are out for a morning walk:—

_Malvenda._ Don’t let us take our walk as if in a rush,
but slowly and gently....

_Joannius_ [_after contemplating the view_]. 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?... 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....
In very fact, you have, as it were, the whole study and
school of music in the nightingale. Her little ones
ponder and listen to the notes which they imitate. The
tiny disciple listens with keen intentness (would that
our teachers received like attention!) and gives back the
sound.... Add to this there is a sweet scent breathing in
from every side, from the meadows, from the crops, from
the trees, even from the fallow-land and neglected fields.

WINE-DRINKING AND WATER-DRINKING

There can be little doubt even from the descriptions of feasts in the _School Dialogues_ of Vives, as well as of Mosellanus and Erasmus, that drunkenness was not uncommon even amongst teachers in the Tudor period.[24] Vives distinguished himself by boldly advocating the claims of water against those of wines and beer. In Dialogue XI., “Getting dressed and a Morning Constitutional,” we read [speaking of the food for breakfast, after the walk]:—

_Malvenda._ Shall we have wine to drink?

_Bellinus._ 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.

_Malvenda._ Which do you call the Latin well and the
Greek well?

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

J. T. Freigius, who is always ready to supply what Vives omits, gives in his commentary the reasons for Vives. The Greek well is the well close to the gate, because the Greek language is closer to the sources of language; the “Latin” well, for similar reasons, is further off from the gate.

In Dialogue XVII., called “The Banquet,” we read:—

_Scopas._ Don’t give one too much water (_i.e._ in his
wine). Don’t you know the old proverb, “You spoil wine,
when you pour water into it”?

_Democritus._ Yes, then you spoil both the water and the
wine.

_Polaemon._ I would rather spoil them both than be
spoiled by one of them.

But it is in Dialogue XVIII, on “Drunkenness,” that Vives specially launches his thunderbolts against excessive drinking. With the institution of lessons on temperance in schools under some Local Education Authorities in England, we have a return to the methods of Vives. For in the school dialogue referred to we have the matter put very strongly, and probably Vives’ statements would not prove unacceptable to modern teachers of this recently re-introduced subject. After describing the moral effects of drunkenness, one of the characters says: “Who would not prefer to be shut up at home with a dog or a cat than with a drunkard? For those animals have more intellect in them than the drunkard.” Another character remarks: “When you drink, you treat wine as you like. When you have drunk, it will treat you as it likes.”

THE VERNACULAR

It is surprising to find that though Vives, in 1538, produced his _School Dialogues_ for the purpose of teaching children to _speak_ Latin, and though he regarded early and thorough acquaintance with Latin, both for purposes of speaking and writing, as the very mark and seal of a well-educated man, there was no learned man of his age who went so far in advocacy of the importance of the teaching in the vernacular of the pupil at a still younger age. As this constitutes one of the grounds upon which the pre-eminence of Vives as an educationalist would be rested, as for instance in comparison with Erasmus, it may not be altogether irrelevant to quote here the translation of a passage from the _De Tradendis Disciplinis_ explaining Vives’ views on this subject.

“The scholars should first speak in their homes their mother tongue, which is born with them, and the teacher should correct their mistakes. Then they should, little by little, learn Latin. Next let them intermingle with the vernacular what they have heard in Latin from their teacher, or what they themselves have learned. Thus, at first, their language should be a mixture of the mother-tongue and Latin. But outside the school they should speak the mother-tongue so that they should not become accustomed to a hotch-potch of languages.... Gradually the development advances and the scholars become Latinists in the narrower sense. Now must they seek to express their thoughts in Latin, for nothing serves so much to the learning of a language as continuous practice in it. He who is ashamed to speak a language has no talent for it. He who refuses to speak Latin after he has been learning it for a year must be punished according to his age and circumstances.”[25]

So much for the pupil’s knowledge of the vernacular. Still more emphatically Vives speaks with regard to the necessity of a thorough knowledge of the vernacular by the _teacher_.

“Let the teacher know the mother-tongue of his boys, so that by this means, with the more ease and readiness, he may teach the learned languages. For unless he makes use of the right and proper expressions in the mother-tongue, he will certainly mislead the boys, and the error thus imbibed will accompany them persistently as they grow up and become men. How can boys understand anything sufficiently well in their own language unless the words are said with the utmost clearness. Let the teacher preserve in his memory all the old forms of vernacular words, and let him develop the knowledge not only of modern forms, but also of the old words and those which have gone out of use, and let him be as it were the guardian of the treasury of his language.”[26]

THE EDUCATIONAL IDEAL OF VIVES

It has been usual to enter to the credit of the Protestantism of John Sturm and Maturinus Corderius the educational ideal of _pietas literata_. No doubt the seventeenth-century Huguenots of France and the Puritans of England were distinguished by this double educational aim of piety and culture. But it was characteristic also of the earlier Catholic world of Erasmus and of Vives. Rising above the ordinary level of the scholars of the Italian Renascence, Erasmus and Vives had higher sympathy and delight in children. Erasmus dedicated his _Colloquia_ or Dialogues (in 1524) to the little child John Erasmius Froben, the son of the renowned publisher Froben of Basle. “You have arrived,” he says, “at an age than which none happier occurs in the course of life for imbibing the seeds of literature and of piety.... The Lord Jesus keep the present season of your life pure from all pollutions, and ever lead you on to better things.”

So, too, in 1538, Juan Luis Vives dedicated his _School Dialogues_ to a child, the eleven-years-old boy—Prince Philip.

Both Erasmus and Vives believed in early training in religious instruction. Vives writes as follows on religious education: “Who is there who has considered the power and loftiness of the mind, its understanding of the most remarkable things, and through understanding love of them, and from love the desire to unite himself with them, who does not perceive clearly that man was formed, not for food, clothing, and habitation, not for difficult, secret, and vexatious knowledge, but to develop the desire to know God more truly, to participate in His Divine Nature and His Eternity?... Since piety is the only way of perfecting man, and accomplishing the end for which he was formed, therefore piety is of all things the one thing necessary. Without the others man can be perfected and complete; without this, he cannot but be most miserable.”[27]

In one passage Vives remarks that the strength of religion is developed by its exercise rather than by any theoretical knowledge. For this reason, when meals are described in the _School Dialogues_, we find some form of grace, before and after the meal, duly said. The tone of the _Dialogues_ is reverential. A. J. Namèche says[28] that in the _Dialogues_ “Vives brings a sense of decency, respect for morals, the fear so laudable of doing any violence to the innocence of young people. We know well enough that Erasmus is far from being irreproachable in this respect, and that his language is free sometimes even to the extent of cynicism.” Without wishing to follow Namèche in the comparison of the moral aspects of Erasmus and Vives in their dialogues, a claim may be made for both that they were eager advocates in the joining of piety with culture, and that both Erasmus and Vives, each in his own way, did valiant work in endeavouring to raise the standard of manners and morals as well as to promote piety in young and old.

There can, however, be no doubt that Vives deserved the high reputation which he received of reverence for the morals of youth. Peter Motta is full of enthusiasm for Vives in this respect. In the Preface to his _Commentary on Vives’ School Dialogues_, Motta says: “By reading other books such as those of Terence and Plautus, you can undoubtedly get extracts which show the fruit of eloquence. But who can avoid seeing that in them you will find incitements to vices, and stumbling blocks to morals? Now, in our author Vives, you will find little flowers of Latin elegance which he has brought together from various most renowned authors, whilst there is nothing in his work which does not seem to suggest even the Christ, or at least the highest morality and sound education.” This may be regarded as the exaggerated language of an admirer, but the reverential tone of Vives is clear enough, reminding one of Vittorino da Feltre, of whom it was said that he went to his teacher’s desk each day as if to an altar.

VIVES’ LAST DIALOGUE: THE PRECEPTS OF EDUCATION

Vives lays down twenty-four Precepts of Education. Some critics have thought such precepts out of place in a book written for boys. But Vives has done all he could to interest boys on their own level. He has always retained the boy in himself, and has spoken from the fulness of his heart, as a boy, in the dialogues. And as he parts company with boys in these dialogues, he wishes, as all true, older human beings must wish, for once at least to give of his best to the young. He will give back to the boys who have followed him through the _Dialogues_ (as a teacher who is a “good sort”) a full reward for their trouble. He will pay them the compliment of treating them seriously.

This seems a right instinct. It is not priggish (as some seem to think) to give of a man’s best to a boy or to boys at the right moment. When once a boy is sure there is “the boy” in any man he knows, there is no _camaraderie_ he delights in such as that which allows him to see a little of the man,—to jump, so to say, on the man’s mental shoulders to catch a better glimpse of the far distance.

When John Thomas Freigius—grown up into the classical scholar—looks back, in his Preface to his edition of Vives’ _School Dialogues_, he says: “As a boy, I so loved Luis Vives that not even now do I feel my old love for him has faded away from my mind.” Perhaps the last dialogue, with its twenty-four precepts, did not cause the love of Freigius for Vives, but the love being there, it continued in spite of having to read the precepts. Anyway, Vives, who had turned aside from the weighty problems of learning and literature, where he belonged to the great triumvirate of writers of his day—enthroned by contemporary judges by the side of the great Erasmus and the great Budaeus—stated the precepts which, in his view, should guide, not only his book of dialogues and the schools, but all stages of culture. Boys brought up on these precepts, and retaining them as principles of education in their later life, might perhaps have cheered the heart of Vives by showing that he had abstained from his higher studies to some purpose when he wrote his _School Dialogues_.

At any rate, for the modern reader, there is the satisfaction of knowing, when he reads the _School Dialogues_ of Vives, that he is reading a work which won the approval of children. With all our modern advance, of which of the writers of our text-books to-day would present-day children say as much as was said of this sixteenth-century scholar, who merely wrote a text-book to help boys of the Tudor Age to _speak Latin_!—“As a boy I so loved Luis Vives that not even now do I feel my old love for him has faded away from my mind.”

NOTE

The short summaries or headings to each dialogue in
the text are translations from the edition of Vives’
_Dialogues_ by John Thomas Freigius, published at
Nürnberg, 1582. After each dialogue Freigius provides a
commentary, by far the most complete of any commentator
on Vives’ book, giving illustrative quotations and notes
on obscure points, and giving references to the ancient
sources from which technical expressions were taken by
Vives. The headings of the sub-sections of each dialogue
as given in the present translation are taken from
Freigius. They are not a part of the original text of
Vives.

The above is the most scholarly and thorough edition of
the _Dialogues_, but it may be noted that Dr. Bömer[29]
has distinguished over _one hundred_ editions of the
book, showing its popularity not only in the sixteenth
century but its continued interest in still later
generations of the study of Latin speech.

TUDOR SCHOOL-BOY LIFE

I

SURRECTIO MATUTINA—_Getting up in the Morning_

BEATRIX PUELLA, EMANUEL, EUSEBIUS

Dialogue (Latin—_colloquium_, _collocutio_, _sermo_) is so called from διαλέγεως, in which sort of composition Plato was the first to delight. In this first dialogue or discourse (_sermone_) there are laid down five duties, which should be performed carefully in the morning by youths and boys, viz. to rise betimes (because early morning is the friend to studies), to dress, to comb the hair, to wash, to pray.

_Beat._ May Jesus Christ awake you from the sleep of all
vice. O you boys, are you ever going to wake up to-day?

_Euseb._ I don’t know what has fallen on my eyes. I seem
to have them full of sand.

I. _Getting Up_

_Beat._ That is always your morning song—quite an old
one. I shall open both the wooden and the glass windows,
so that the morning shall strike brightly on your eyes
from both. Get up! Get up!

_Euseb._ Is it already morning?

II. _Dressing_

_Beat._ It is nearer mid-day than the dawn. Emanuel, do
you want another shirt?

_Eman._ I don’t now need anything. This is clean enough.
I will take another to-morrow. Please give me my
stomacher.

_Beat._ Which? The single thickness or the double
thickness?

_Eman._ Which you like. I don’t mind. Give me the single
thickness so that I may be less heavy for playing ball
(_pila_) to-day.

_Beat._ This is always your custom. You think of your
play before your school-work.

_Eman._ What do you say, you stupid! When school itself
is called play (_ludus_).

_Beat._ I don’t understand your playing with grammar and
logic (_grammaticationes et sophismata_).

_Eman._ Give me the leathern shoe-straps.

_Beat._ They are torn to pieces. Take the silken ones as
your schoolmaster has ordered. What now? Will you have
the breeches and long stockings as it is summer?

_Eman._ No, indeed. Give me only the long stockings.
Please, fasten them for me.

_Beat._ What! Have you arms of hay or of butter?

_Eman._ No, indeed. They are sewn together with threads.
Alas! what straps (_i.e._ points) have you given me,
without supports and all torn!

_Beat._ Don’t you remember that yesterday at dice-playing
you lost the others altogether?

_Eman._ How do you know?

_Beat._ I observed you through a chink in the door as you
were playing with Guzmanulus.

_Eman._ Oh! I beg that you won’t tell the teacher.

_Beat._ No, but I will tell him if ever you call me
“ugly” again, as you are accustomed to do.

_Eman._ What if I call you greedy?

_Beat._ Call me what you will, but not ugly.

_Eman._ Give me my shoes.

_Beat._ Which? Those with the long straps (_i.e._
sandals)?

_Eman._ Those covered against the mud.

_Beat._ Against the dry mud, which they call dust. But
thou doest well, for on the open road the strap gets
broken and the buckle lost.

_Eman._ Put them on, I beg.

_Beat._ Do it yourself.

_Eman._ I cannot bend myself.

_Beat._ You could easily bend, but your laziness makes
it difficult, or have you swallowed a sword as the
mountebank did four days ago? Are you now so delicate?
What will happen to you as you grow up?

_Eman._ Tie a double knot—for it is more elegant.

_Beat._ Certainly not, for then the knot would be
loosened at that point and the shoe would fall from your
foot. It is better either to have a double drawing tight
or one knot and one loop. Take your tunic with long
sleeves and your woven girdle.

_Eman._ No, certainly not that, but the leathern hunting
girdle.

_Beat._ Your mother forbids that; do you wish to have
everything according to your own caprice? And yesterday
you broke the pin of the clasp!

_Eman._ I could not otherwise unbuckle it. Then give me
that red one made of linen cloth.

III. _Using the Comb_

_Beat._ Take it, put your French girdle on. Comb your
head first with the thinner, then with the thicker teeth,
place your cap on your head, so as not to throw it to
the back of your head, as is your custom, or on to your
forehead down to your eyes.

_Eman._ Let us at last go out.

_Beat._ What, without having washed your hands and face!

_Eman._ With your worrying curiosity you would have
already plagued a bull to death, let alone a man. You
think you are clothing not a boy, but a bride.

IV. _Washing_

_Beat._ Eusebius, bring a wash-basin and a pitcher.
Raise it to a fair height; let the water drop out rather
than pour it from the stopple. Wash thoroughly that dirt
from the joints of the fingers. Cleanse the mouth and
use water for gargling. Rub the eyelids and eyebrows,
then the glands of the neck under the ears vigorously.
Then take a cloth and dry yourself. Immortal God! that
it should be necessary to admonish you as to all these
things, one by one, and that you should do nothing of
your own thought.

_Eman._ Ah! you are too much of a boss and too rude!

V. _Prayer_

_Beat._ And you are too shrewd and pretty a boy. Come,
give me a kiss. Kneel down before this image of our
Saviour and say the Lord’s Prayer and the other prayers,
as you are accustomed, before you step out of your
bedroom. Take care, my Emanuel, that you think of nothing
else while you are praying. Stay a moment, hang this
little handkerchief on your girdle, so that you can blow
and clean your nose.

_Eman._ Am I now sufficiently prepared, in your opinion?

_Beat._ You are.

_Eman._ Then not in my opinion since at last I am in
yours. I will dare make a wager that I have taken up a
whole hour in dressing.

_Beat._ Well, what even if you had taken two? Where would
you have gone if you hadn’t? What were you going to do? I
suppose to dig or to plough?

_Eman._ As if there were a lack of something to do.

_Beat._ Oh, the great man! so keenly occupied in doing
nothing.

_Eman._ Won’t you go away, you girl sophist? Go, or I’ll
shy this shoe at you or tear the veil off your head.

II

PRIMA SALUTATIO—_Morning Greetings_

PUER, MATER, PATER—Boy, Mother, Father

In this dialogue there are three parts: the first
contains the mutual salutations expressed in the morning
when the little charms of early childhood are skilfully
displayed. The second part contains the sport of a boy
with a dog. The third gives a conversation with this boy
concerning the school, the opportunity for which arises
from the incident with the little dog.

I. _Morning Salutation_

_Boy._ Hail, my father! hail, my mother dear (_salve mea
matercula_)! I wish that this may be a happy day for
you, my little brothers (_germanuli_). May Christ be
propitious to you, my little sisters!

_Father._ My son, may God guard you and lead you to great
goodness (_ingentes virtutes_).

_Mother._ May Christ preserve you, my light. What are you
doing, my darling? How are you? How did you rest last
night?

_Boy._ I am very well and slept peacefully.

_Mother._ Thanks be to Christ! May He grant that this may
be constantly so!

_Boy._ In the middle of the night I was roused up with a
pain in the head.

_Mother._ It grieves me sorely to hear that (_me
perditam et miserrimam_)! What do you say? In what part
of the head?

_Boy._ In the forehead.

_Mother._ For how long?

_Boy._ Scarcely the eighth of an hour. Afterwards I fell
asleep again, nor did I feel anything further of it.

_Mother._ Now I breathe again; for you took away my
breath.

II. _Playing with the Dog_

_Boy._ All good to you! Little Isabel, prepare my
breakfast. Ruscio, Ruscio, come here, jolly little dog!
See how he fawns with his tail and how he raises himself
on his hind legs. What are you doing? How are you? Hullo,
you, bring a bit or two of bread which we may give him,
then you will see some clever sport. Won’t you eat?
Haven’t you had anything to-day? Clearly there is more
intelligence in that dog than in that crass mule-driver.

III. _The Father’s Little Talk with his Boy_

_Father._ My Tulliolus, I should like to have a talk with
you soon.

_Boy._ Why, my father? For nothing more delightful could
happen to me than to listen to you.

_Father._ Is thy Ruscio here an animal or a man?

_Boy._ An animal, as I think.

_Father._ What have you in you, why you should be a man
and not he? You eat, drink, sleep, walk, run, play. So
he does all these things also.

_Boy._ But I am a man.

_Father._ How do you know this? What have you now, more
than a dog? But there is this difference that he cannot
become a man. You can, if you will.

_Boy._ I beg of you, my father, bring this about as soon
as possible.

_Father._ It will be done if you go where animals go, to
come back men.

_Boy._ I will go, father, with all the pleasure in the
world! But where is it?

_Father._ In the school.

_Boy._ There is no delay in me for such a great matter.

_Father._ Nor in me. Isabel, dear, do you hear, give him
his breakfast in this little satchel.

_Isabel._ What shall it be?

_Father._ A piece of bread and butter, and dry figs, or
pressed, not dried, grapes, as an additional dish—for
fresh grapes besmear the fingers of boys and they spoil
their clothes—unless he should prefer a few cherries, or
golden and long plums. Hang the satchel on his little
arm, so that it shall not fall off.

III

DEDUCTIO AD LUDUM—_Escorting to School_

PATER, PUER, PROPINQUUS, PHILOPONUS LUDIMAGISTER—Father, Boy, Relative, Philoponus the Schoolmaster

_Philoponus._—This name, so worthy of a teacher, has been rightly and wisely bestowed by the author. For the true teacher ought to be φιλόπονος, that is, φίλος τοῦ πονοῦ, a lover of labour, and by his diligence and assiduity to give satisfaction to his pupils. But Philoponus is, moreover, the proper name of the Greek interpreter of Aristotle.

_Consultation as to a Teacher_

_Father._ Make the holy sign of the cross.

_Son._ Lead us ignorant ones, O most wise Jesus Christ,
Thou most powerful, lead us most weak!

_Father._ Inform me, I beg, thou who art most versed in
the study of letters, who in this school is the best
teacher of boys?

_Prop._ The most learned is a certain Varro; but the most
industrious and the most upright is Philoponus, whose
erudition, moreover, is not to be despised. Varro has
the best frequented school, and in his house he has a
numerous flock of boarders. Philoponus does not seem to
delight in numbers, but is content with fewer boys.

_Father._ I should prefer him. That must be he walking
into the hall of the school. Son, this is, as it were,
the laboratory for the formation of men, and he is the
artist-educator. Christ be with you, master! Uncover your
head, my boy, and bow your right knee, as you have been
taught. Now, stand up!

_Philoponus._ May your coming be a blessing to us all!
What may be your business?

_Father._ I bring you this boy of mine for you to make of
him a man from the beast.

_Philoponus._ This shall be my earnest endeavour. He
shall become a man from a beast, a fruitful and good
creature out of a useless one. Of that have no doubt.

_Father._ What is the charge for your instruction?

_Philoponus._ If the boy makes good progress, it will be
little; if not, a good deal.

_Father._ That is acutely and wisely said, as is all you
say. We share the responsibility then; you, to instruct
zealously, I to recompense your labour richly.

IV

EUNTES AD LUDUM LITERARIUM—_Going to School_

CIRRATUS, PRAETEXTATUS, TITIVILLITIUM, TERESULA (AN OLD WOMAN, A WOMAN SELLER OF VEGETABLES)

The names of the interlocutors in this dialogue for the most part signify something serious and ancient. _Cirrati pueri_ were those boys who wore their hair curled and crisped. Krausz Haar. For the _cirrus_ is an instrument devised for the curling of hair.

_Martial_:
Nec matutini cirrata caterva magistri.

_Juvenal_: Flavam
Caesariem et madido torquentem cornua cirro.

_Persius_, Satyr, i.:
Ten’ cirratorum centum dictata fuisse
Pro nihilo pendas?

_Praetextatus puer_ is another way of referring to a noble or patrician, for his outer garment was bordered with purple, and thus worn by boys up to fourteen years of age, or as others say, up to sixteen, when such an one assumed the _toga virilis_ in the Capitol. _See_ Macrob. lib. i. _Satur._ cap. 6. Budae, in prior. annot. ad l. fin. De senator. Alexand. lib. 2, cap. 25. Baysius, de re vestiment. Sigonius, lib. 3, de judic. cap. 19. Papirius, a certain Roman, was called _praetextatus_ because in the _praetextata_ age he showed the height of prudence. _See_ Macrob.

_Titivillitium_ formerly was a word declaring nothing certain, but just an exclamation, indicating extreme uncertainty. The word was used by Plautus. _See_ Proverb, Titivillitium.

_Oluscularia_, a woman selling vegetables. Λαχανοπῶλις.

_Cirr._ Does it seem to you to be time to go to school?

_Praet._ Certainly, it is time to go.

_Cirr._ I don’t properly remember the way; I believe we
have to go through this next street.

_Praet._ How often have you already been to the school?

_Cirr._ Three or four times.

_Praet._ When did you first go?

_Cirr._ As I think, three or four days ago.

_Praet._ Well, now; isn’t that enough to enable you to
know the way?

_Cirr._ No, not if it were a hundred times of going.

_Praet._ Why, if I were to go once, never afterwards
should I miss the way. But you go, against your will, and
as you go, you stop and play. You don’t look at the way,
nor at the houses, nor any signs which would show you
afterwards which way you should turn, or which way you
should follow. But I observe all these points diligently,
because I go gladly.

_Cirr._ This boy lives quite close to the school. Here,
you, Titivillitium, which is the way to your house?

_Tit._ What do you want? Do you come from your mother? My
mother is not at home, nor even my sister. Both have gone
out to St. Anne’s.

_Cirr._ What then is to be done?

_Tit._ Yesterday was dedication festival (_encaenia_).
Today some woman who sells cheese has invited them to a
meal at the house called “Thick Milk” (_lac coagulatum_).

_Cirr._ And why haven’t you gone with them?

_Tit._ They have left me at home to keep house. They
have taken my little brother with them, but they have
promised me that they would bring back something of what
was left for me in a basket.

_Cirr._ But why art thou then not remaining at home?

_Tit._ I shall return immediately, only I will now play
dice a little with the son of this cobbler. Will you also
come with us?

_Cirr._ We will go, please.

_Praet._ Certainly I shall not do so.

_Cirr._ Why not?

_Praet._ We don’t want to get a thrashing.

_Cirr._ Ah! I had not thought of that.

_Tit._ You won’t get thrashed.

_Cirr._ How do you know that?

_Tit._ Because your master lost his rod (_ferula_) to-day.

_Cirr._ Eh! by what means did you get to know that?

_Tit._ To-day we heard him from our house shouting
out—and it was for his ferula he was seeking.

_Cirr._ I beg of you, let us play for a short time.

_Praet._ Play you, if you will; but I shall go on to
school at once.

_Cirr._ I beg of you, don’t report me to the master. Say
that I am kept by my father at home.

_Praet._ Do you wish me to tell a lie?

_Cirr._ Why not, for a friend’s sake?

_Praet._ Because I have heard a preacher in a church
declare that liars are the sons of the devil, but
truth-tellers, sons of God.

_Cirr._ Of the devil, indeed! Get away! By the sign of
the holy cross, may our God free us from our enemies!

_Praet._ Thou canst not be freed to play when thou
oughtest to go and learn.

_Cirr._ Let us go. Farewell.

_Tit._ Oh, I say! these boys dare not stay and play a
moment because otherwise they would get thrashed!

_Praet._ This boy is a waster and will become a bad man!
See how has he slipped away from us without our having
asked him which is the way to the school? Let us call him
back.

_Cirr._ Let him go his evil ways. I don’t wish him again
to invite me to play. We will inquire from this old
woman. Mother, do you know which is the way to the school
of Philoponus?

_Old Woman._ I have lived near this school for six years,
just opposite to it where my eldest son and two daughters
were born. You cross this street (the _Villa Rasa_
Street), then comes a narrow lane, then the _Dominus
Veteranus_ Street. Hence you turn to the right, then to
the left, there you must inquire, for the school is not
far from there.

_Cirr._ Ah! we cannot remember all that!

_Old Woman._ My little Teresa, lead these boys to the
school of Philoponus, for the mother of this one here was
she who gave us the thread for combing and spinning.

_Ter._ What in the name of evil have you to do with
Philoponus? What sort of man is this Philoponus? As if I
knew him! Do you speak of the man who mends shoes near
the Green Inn (_cauponam viridem_) or of the herald in
the Giant Street, who keeps horses on hire?

_Old Woman._ This I know well, that you never know those
things which are wanted, but those which have nothing to
do with the matter in hand. Slowest of girls, Philoponus
is that old schoolmaster, tall, short-sighted man,
opposite the house where we used to live.

_Ter._ Ah! now it comes back to my mind.

_Old Woman._ In returning, go across the market and buy
salad, radish, and cherries. Take with you the little
basket.

_Cirr._ Lead us also over the vegetable market.

_Ter._ This way is shorter.

_Cirr._ We don’t wish to go that way.

_Ter._ Why so?

_Cirr._ Because the dog in that street, belonging to the
baker, bit me once. We would rather go with you to the
market.

_Ter._ Returning I will make the journey through the
market (for we are not far from it) and I will buy what I
was told to buy, after I have left you at the school.

_Cirr._ We desire to see how much you give for the
cherries.

_Ter._ We buy them at six farthings a pound; but what is
that to you?

_Cirr._ Because my sister ordered me this morning to
inquire. She particularly mentioned there is an old woman
in the market who sells vegetables. If you buy of her,
I know that she will sell you at a less price than they
will elsewhere, and she will give us a few cherries or
thyrsus of lettuce, for her daughter formerly served my
mother and sister.

_Ter._ I hope that this roundabout way may not let you in
for some lashes.

_Cirr._ Not at all. For we shall have plenty of time.

_Ter._ Let us go. I get so little chance of walks,
wretched that I am, for my time is all taken up sitting
at home.

_Praet._ What do you do? Do you merely sit idly at home?

_Ter._ Idly, indeed! Not at any rate that! I spin, I
gather (wool) into a ball, wind, weave. Do you think our
old woman would let me sit idle? She curses feast-days,
on which there must be a stoppage of work.

_Praet._ Are not feast-days holy? How can she curse what
is holy? Does she wish to curse what has been ordained as
holy?

_Ter._ Do you think that I have learned geometry that I
should be able to explain these things to you?

_Cirr._ What do you mean by geometry?

_Ter._ I don’t know. We had a neighbour who was called
Geometria. She was always either in church with priests,
or the priests were with her at her house. And so she
was, as they said, very wise.—But we have come into the
vegetable market. Where is now your old woman?

_Cirr._ I was looking round about for her. But buy of
her only on the condition that she gives us something as
a present. Ah! great-aunt (_amita_). This girl will buy
cherries of you, if you will give us some.

_Vegetable Woman._ We are given nothing; we have to buy
everything.

_Cirr._ That dirt which you have on your hands and neck
was not given to you, was it?

_Vegetable Woman._ Unless you take yourself off, you
impudent boy, your cheeks will feel some of this dirt on
them.

_Cirr._ How will my cheeks feel, when you have it on your
hands?

_Vegetable Woman._ Give those cherries back, you young
rogue.

_Cirr._ I am merely sampling, for I wish to buy.

_Vegetable Woman._ Then buy.

_Cirr._ Provided they have pleased me. How do you sell
them?

_Vegetable Woman._ A sesterce a pound.

_Cirr._ Ah! they are bitter, you old poisoner! You are
selling here cherries to people to choke them.

_Ter._ Let us go away to the school. For you will get me
involved in difficulties with your subtleties, and you
will detain me too long. Now, as I think, my old woman
is raging at home, on account of my delay in returning.
There is the door. Knock at it.

V

LECTIO—_Reading_

PRAECEPTOR, LUSIUS, AESCHINES, PUERI—Teacher, Lusius, Aeschines, Boys

_Lusius_, so called from playing (_ludendo_).

_Aeschines_, proper name of the Greek orator, who shamelessly declaimed against Demosthenes.

_Cotta_, proper name of a Roman citizen, so called from his anger.

This dialogue contains a division of the letters into vowels and consonants.

_Praec._ Take the A B C tablet in your left hand, and
this pointer in the right hand, so that you can point
out the letters one by one. Stand upright; put your cap
under your arm-pit. Listen most attentively how I shall
name these letters. Look diligently how I move my mouth.
See that you return what I say immediately in the same
manner, when I ask for it again. Attention (_sis mecum_)!
Now you have heard it. Follow me now as I say it before
you, letter by letter. Do you clearly understand?

_Lus._ It seems to me I do, fairly well.

_Letters—Syllables—Vowel—Speech_

_Praec._ Every one of these signs is called a letter.
Of these, five are vowels, A, E, I, O, U. They are in
the Spanish _oveia_, which signifies _sheep_. Remember
that word! These with any letter you like, or more than
one, make up syllables. Without a vowel there is no
syllable and sometimes the vowel itself is a syllable.
Therefore all the other letters are called consonants,
because they don’t constitute sounds by themselves unless
a vowel is joined to them. They have some imperfect,
maimed (_mancum_) sound, _e.g._ _b_, _c_, _d_, _g_, which
without _e_ cannot be sounded. Out of syllables we get
words, and from words connected speech, which all beasts
lack. And you would not be different from the beasts, if
you could not converse properly. Be watchful and perform
your work diligently. Go out with your fellow-pupils and
learn what I have set.

_Lus._ We are not playing to-day.

_Aesch._ No, for it is a work-day. What, do you think
you have come here to play? This is not the place for
playing, but for study.

_Lus._ Why, then, is a school called _ludus_?

_True Leisure_

_Aesch._ It is indeed called _ludus_, but it is _ludus
literarius_, because here we must play with letters as
elsewhere with the ball, hoop, and dice. And I have
heard that in Greek it is called _schola_, as it were
a place of leisure, because it is true ease and quiet
of mind, when we spend our life in studies. But we will
learn thoroughly what the teacher has bidden us, quite in
soft murmur, so that we don’t become a hindrance to one
another.

_Lus._ My uncle, who studied letters some time in
Bologna, has taught me that you better fix anything you
wish in the memory if you pronounce it aloud. This is
also confirmed by the authority of one called Pliny—I
don’t know who he was.

_Aesch._ If, then, any one should wish to learn his
_formulae_, he should go off into the garden or into the
churchyard. There he can shout aloud as if he would rouse
the dead.

_Cotta._ You boys, do you call this learning thoroughly?
I call it prattling and disputing! Up, now go all of you
to the teacher, as he commanded.

VI

REDITUS DOMUM ET LUSUS PUERILIS—_The Return Home and Children’s Play_

TULLIOLUS, CORNELIOLA, LENTULUS, SCIPIO

This dialogue contains an account of different kinds of boys’ games; the names of the interlocutors are taken from appellations of the Romans. Concerning which, _see_ Valer. Maximus and Sigonius.

_Corn._ Welcome home, Tulliolus, shall we have some games?

_Tull._ Not just now.

_Corn._ What is there to prevent us playing?

_Tull._ We must go over again what the master set, and
commit it to memory, as he bade us.

_Corn._ What then?

_Tull._ You just look at this.

_Corn._ I say, what are those pictures? I believe they
are pictures of ants. Mother mine, Tulliolus is bringing
a lot of ants and gnats painted on a writing-tablet.

_Tull._ Be quiet, you silly thing, they are letters.

_Corn._ What do you call this first one?

_Tull._ A.

_Corn._ Why is this first one rather than the next called
A?

_Mother._ Why art thou Corneliola and not Tulliolus?

_Corn._ Because I am so called.

_Mother._ And it is just the same way with those letters.
But go and play now, my boy.

_Tull._ I am putting my tablet and pencil (style) down
here. If anybody disturbs them, he will be beaten by
mother. Won’t he, mammy? (_mea matercula._)

_Mother._ Yes, my boy.

_Tull._ Scipio, Lentulus! Come and play.

_Sci._ What shall we play at?

I. _The Game of Nuts_

_Tull._ Let us play at nuts, at throwing them in holes.

_Lent._ I have only a few nuts and those squashed and
smelly.

_Sci._ Well then, we will play with the shells of nuts.

_Tull._ But what good would they be to me even if I were
to win twenty? There would be no kernels in the nuts for
me to eat.

_Sci._ Why, I don’t eat when I am playing. If I want to
eat, I go to the mater. Nut-shells are good for making
little houses to put ants into.

II. _The Game of Odd and Even_

_Lent._ Let us play odd and even with little pins (lit.
small pins for a head-dress—_acicula_).

_Tull._ Let’s have dice instead.

_Sci._ Fetch them, Lentulus.

_Lent._ Here are the dice.

III. _The Game of Dice_

_Tull._ How grubby and dirty they are. They are not free
from fluff. Nor are they polished. Cast!

_Sci._ For the first throw!

_Tull._ I am first. What are we playing?

_Sci._ We are playing for trousers buttons
(_astrigmenta_—lit. points).

_Lent._ I don’t want to lose mine, for if I did I should
be beaten at home by my tutor.

_Tull._ What are you willing to lose then, if you are
beaten?

_Lent._ Some good raps with the fingers on me.