Select Colloquies of Erasmus

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H. L. CAJSfNOlJi.

r

H. L. CANNOJU.

il. I^. Cxv.------

^-70

Sfxteentb aentuti2 QlnBeics.

SELECT COLLOQUIES

OF

ERASMUS.

w

EDITED BY
MERRICK WHITCOMB,

Proftssor of History ^ University of Cincinnati.

PHILADE
UNIVERSITY Ql^PENNSY

501257

• « « * •
. * »

4
■

• ,

• ■ •>.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

PAOB

INTRODUCTION 5

THE Old Men's Dialogue ■. 13

problems 48

On Early Rising 67

The False Knight 83

Charon 103

The alchemist 116

The Franciscans or Rich beggars ... 136

w-The abbot and the Learned woman . . 172

(3)

INTRODUCTION.

Desiderius Erasmus was born in Rotter-
dam about the year 1467, educated at Deven-
ter, and lived for five years in the monastery
of Steyn. Dissatisfied with the life of the
cloister, he effected his escape by attaching
himself, in the capacity of secretary, to the
retinue of the Bishop of Cambrai. In the last
decade of the fifteenth century Erasmus was
a student in the University of Paris, and went
to England in 1498, where he was cordially
received into the society of English men of
letters. In 1506 Erasmus journeyed^to^Italy
and received the coveted degree of Doctor of
Theology at Turin. He visited Rome and
Venice, making the acquaintance, in the latter
city, of the famous printer, Aldus Manutius.

2 (5)

6 Introduction.

In 1509, with the advent to the throne of
Henry VIII., Erasmus hastened back to Eng-
land. Here he remained five years, teaching
Greek and theology at the Universities of
Oxford and Cambridge. Finally, in order to
carry out certain projects of publication, and

>

because the continental climate pleased him
better, he returned and took up his residence
at Basel, which continued to be his home,
with brief interruptions, until the time of his
death, in 1536.^

Erasmus was a prolific writer. The more
serious results of his literary effort are found
in his Latin rendering of the New Testament
and in his edition of the early fathers of the

^ For a complete account of the life of Erasmus the
reader is referred to E. Emtvton* s I>esiderius Erasmus^
N. Y., 1899, a scholarly and interesting book. Earlier
works are Drummond : Erasmus, his Life and Char-
acter as shown in his Correspondence and Works, 2
vols., London, 1873 » also Froude, Life and Letters of
Erasmus, London and N. Y., 1894,

Introduction. 7

church, notably his St. Jerome. To posterity,
however, he is better known as the author of
the "Praise of Folly," an invective against
the disorders of the church ; the " Adages,**
a hand-book of classical quotations, and the
"Familiar Colloquies," with which we are
immediately concerned.

The Colloquies are said to have been begun
in the year 1500, shortly after the return of
Erasmus from his first visit to England. He
was smarting at the time from the loss of the
money which he had accumulated during his
English residence, and which had been taken
from him by the customs oflScial at Dover, in
accordance with a law forbidding the exporta-
tion of gold from the realm. Deprived of this
capital, with which he had projected a journey
to that land of his desire, Italy, Erasmus set
about the composition of two works, with
which he hoped to replenish his exhausted
purse. These works were the "Adages"
and the "Familiar Colloquies," the latter a

8 Introduction.

collection of conversations for the use of
school-boys, designed to afford them models
of the most approved and elegant Latin of the
day. The Colloquies grew from small begin-
nings into a comprehensive series of essays in
dialogue form, in which the keen analysis
and trenchant wit of Erasmus touched upon
all phases of the life and activity of his time.
The earlier Colloquies bear the mark of the
original design. They are, indeed, little more
than childish exercises, vehicles for the intro-
duction of colloquial terms, incidentally incul-
cating the conventional morals and manners
of the age. Such a text-book was much in
demand at a time when Latin was the inter-
national language of the educated classes, and
when, moreover, the increasing knowledge of
classical models was stimulating a desire on
the part of progressive people to cast out from
the language of the monastery the elements of
linguistic corruption, and to return, in so far
as possible, to the speech of the ancients. No

Introduction. 9

book had ever appeared that received so large
an immediate circulation as did the Colloquies
at the time of their appearance in complete
form in 1524. One Paris publisher is said to
have sold twenty-five thousand copies.

As the Colloquies progressed, however,
from the simple exercises originally projected,
their character suffered a marked change.
From a set of conversational models and for-
mulas of etiquette they developed into a series
of caustic satires upon the follies and vices of
the day. The early characteristics of the
pedagogue gave way to the strong impulses of
the social reformer. V^lt is impossible to resist
the impression, that as Erasmus grew in ex-
perience and fame, he began to develop a
fearlessness which was the legitimate product
of his dominant position in the world of let-
ters ; he came more and more to use the Col-
loquies as a vehicle for the denunciation of
those forms of superstition and hypocrisy, the
elimination of which from that grand repository

lo Introduction.

of religion and morals, the Church, seemed to
him a more feasible scheme of reform than
the schismatic revolution against which he set
his face. ^

The Colloquies of Erasmus constitute a
body of material of unrivaled value for the
study of the manners and customs of the six-
teenth century. Every phase of early modern
life is touched upon. As the dialogues ad-
vance there passes before the mind a proces-
sion of speaking characters, each clothed in
the habit and attributes of his station in life.
Priest, monk and scholar ; merchant, inn-
keeper and sailor; ladies of high and low
degree; saints and tricksters; each tells his
tale and plies his craft. The background
shifts from place to place: the town-house
and the villa, ships, inns and coaches form
the scenes of action. Foibles and fashions,
and those more enduring types of credulity
and superstition are turned toward the light ;
burning questions of the day, of love and mar-

Introduction. 1 1

riage, of trade, politics and religion are touched
upon; sometimes threshed out, it may be,
with a love of disputation for its own sake,
wearisome to the modern reader. But even
on such occasions the keen wit of Erasmus
comes eventually to the rescue and repays
the patience of his auditor.

No writing of its age, it may be truthfully
said, so completely bridges the interval be-
tween the sixteenth and the twentieth cen-
turies. The characters, in the essential ele-
ments of their thinking and living, need only
a change of costume to fit them for the envi-
ronment of our own time. The problems pre-
sented are the ever-present ones. This is
due, no doubt, to the fact, that the characters
of the dialogue are not portrayed in caricature,
but presented always in an atmosphere of
realism. The False Knight is a desperate im-
poster, but always possible ; the Abbot's view
of woman's sphere is perennially character-
istic.

1 2 Introduction.

This realism is not the rule in literary works
of Erasmus' time, and is even exceptional in
his own. Indeed, the Colloquies stand in this
respect quite by themselves. In the case of
popular and humorous writings the tendency
was toward a gross exaggeration of outline.
The '* Narrenschiff** of Sebastian Brant, more
typical of the humor of the Erasmian age,
seems, with its clumsy grotesqueness, to be
separated by centuries from the modernism of
the Colloquies. No doubt, Erasmus' human-
ism, stimulated by the nature of his task, the
interpretation of contemporaneous ideas in
classical diction, contributed much toward the
production of the eternally human.*

* The Colloquies have been repeatedly translated into
the languages of modern Europe. The English trans-
lation of N. Bally, published originally in 172;, and
reprinted by Reeves and Turner, London, 1878, 2 vols.,
has been freely consulted in the preparation of this little
volume.

THE OLD MEN'S DIALOGUE.

EUSEBIUS, PAMPIRUS, POLYGAMUS, GLYCION.

Eusebius. What new faces do I see here ?
Unless my mind deceives me or my sight fails
me, I see three old companions sitting by me :
Pampirus, Polygamus and Glycion. Surely it
is they.

Pampirus. What are you trying to do with
your glass eyes, enchanter ? Pray come up
nearer, Eusebius.

Polygamus. Welcome, Eusebius, welcome I

Glycion. All hail to you, best of men !

Eu. One blessing upon you all, my dearest
friends. What saint, or more than providen-
tial chance has brought us together now, for
no one of us has seen another, I believe, this
forty years. Mercury with his wand could

(13)

14 Colloquies of Erasmus.

not have brought us together more happily.
But what are you doing here ?

Pa. We are sitting.

Eu. I see that, but what for ?

Po. We are waiting for the coach to carry
us to Antwerp.

Eu. Are you going to the fair ?

Po. Yes, indeed ; but rather as sight-seers
than as traders, though each has his special
business.

Eu. Good! I too am going thither. But
what hinders you that'you are not under way ?

Po. We haven't been able to come to terms
with the waggoner yet.

Eu. They are a trying sort of men; but
what do you say to showing them a trick or
two?

Po. With all my heart, if it be possible.

Eu. Let us pretend that we are all going
afoot.

Po. They'll sooner believe that crabs will
fly, than that such heavy fellows as we should
make the journey afoot.

The Old Men's Dialogue. 1 5

Gl. Do you want some good, wholesome
advice ?

Po. By all means.

Gl. Well, they are drinking, and the longer
they keep at it the more danger there is of
our being overturned in the mire.

Po. You must be on hand at dawn, to find
a sober coachman.

Gl. Let us hire a coach for us four alone,
whereby we may come the sooner to Antwerp.
It costs but a little more, nothing to speak of,
and this extra cost will be repaid by the many
advantages : we shall have more comfortable
seats and make the journey much more pleas-
antly, exchanging anecdotes the while.

Po. Glycion is right ; for on a journey a
good companion is of more importance than a
coach ; and according to the Greek proverb,
we shall have more freedom of talking, not
from a wagon, but in a wagon.

Gl. Well, I have arranged it; let us mount.
Come, this seems like living, now that 1 am

1 6 Colloqmes of Erasmus.

so lucky as to see my dear old companions
after so long a separation.

Eu. You seem to be growing young again.

Po. How many years is it, by your reckon-
ing, since we lived togother at Paris ?

Eu. I believe it is not less than two and
forty.

Po. Then we seemed to be pretty much of
an age.

Eu. We were so, very nearly ; or if there
was any difference it was slight.

Pa. But what a great difference there seems
to be now ; for Glycion has nothing of the old
man about him, and Polygamus looks old
enough to be his grandfather.

Eu. Indeed he does. What is the reason
of it?

Pa. The reason ? Why, either one stopped
still in his tracks, or the other has outrun him.

Eu. Alas, the years! They do not stay
their course, however men may loiter.

Po. Come, tell us truly, Glycion; how
many years do you count ?

The Old Men's Dialogue. 1 7

Gl. More than ducats.

Po. Well, how many ?

Gl. Sixty and six.

Eu. Truly, a Tithonus' old age, as they say.

Po. By what arts have you kept off old
age ? You are not gray, nor are there wrinkles
in your skin ; your eyes shine, your teeth are
sound and white, you have a fresh color and
your body is plump.

Gl. ril tell you my arts ; but you in turn
must tell us how you have come to be old so
soon.

Po. Good ; ril do it. But tell us whither
you went when you left Paris.

Gl. I went directly home, and I had been
there about a year when I began to consider
what career I should choose ; a thing which I
believed to have no little bearing upon my
future happiness. 1 sought to discover for
what reason some had been successful and
others not.

Po. I am astonished that you had so much

1 8 Colloquies of Erasmus.

forethought, '^for when you were in Paris no
one could have been more heedless.

Gl. My age excused it then. But, my
good fellow, you must know. I did not do all
this of myself.

Po. Indeed, I thought it strange.

Gl. Before I committed myself to anything,
I consulted a certain citizen, a man of stand-
ing, who had acquired prudence by long ex-
perience, and who enjoyed the esteem of his
fellow-citizens, and who was, moreover, in my
opinion, the happiest of men.

Eu. You did wisely.

Gl. By this man's advice I took a wife.

Po. Had she a good dowry ?

Gl. Only moderate ; but, according to the
proverb, a match for mine. My own circum-
stances were quite modest. The affair, how-
ever, turned out exactly to my mind.

Po. What was your age then ?

Gl. About two and twenty.

Po. O happy man I

The Old Metis Dialogtie. 1 9

Gl. But don't mistake. I do not owe this
all to fortune.

Po. How so ?

Gl. I'll tell you. Some are in love before
they choose ; I made my choice with judgment
first and then loved afterwards. And yet I
married my wife more with a view to poster-
ity than for pleasure. With her I lived most
agreeably, but not more than eight years.

Po. She left you childless ?

Gl. No; four children survive, two sons
and two daughters.

Po. Do you live as a private person, or do
you hold some office ?

Gl. I hold a public office. I might have
risen to something higher, but I chose this,
because it possessed sufficient dignity to raise
me above contempt, and was least liable to
annoyances. Nor is it such that any ane
may object, that I live only for myself. I
have something to spare now and then to
assist a friend. With this I live content and

L

20 Colloquies of Erasmus.

have no further ambition. But I so conduct
the duties of my office, that it receives an
added dignity from me. This I hold to be a
more honorable thing than to borrow my dig-
nity from the splendor of my office.
- Eu. Beyond all doubt.

Gl. So among my fellow-citizens I have
grown old, well liked by all.

Eu. But that is one of the most difficult of
all things; wherefore it has been said: He
who has no enemies has no friends ; and envy
is ever a companion of prosperity.

Gl. Envy is always the companion of an
extravagant prosperity, but mediocrity is safe.
This was always my aim : never to take any
advantage to myself from the disadvantages
of others. I sought, in so far as I was able,
that which the Greeks call airpa^ia. I meddled
with no one's affairs, but especially I kept
myself free from those things which could not
be undertaken without gaining the ill-will of
many. If a friend is in need of myj^assist-

The Old Men's Dialogue. 2 1

ance, I so aid him, as thereby not to raise up
enemies for myself. In case any enmity
arises, I soften it by clearing myself of suspi-
cion, or set it right again by kindness, or let it
die without taking notice of it. I always seek
to avoid strife, but if it comes to pass, I lose
my money rather than my friend. On the
whole, I act the part of Mitio (i) : 1 insult no
man, but am agreeable to all ; I salute them
and return their salutations affably ; 1 find no
fault with anything that is projected or done,
nor do 1 set my own opinion before others, but
let every one enjoy his own. What 1 would
have kept secret 1 entrust to no one, nor am 1
curious of the secrets of others. If perchance
I happen to learn anything, I do not blab it.
As for absent persons, I either say nothing at
all about them, or speak of them with kind-
ness and civility. A great part of the quarrels
that arise among men come from the intem-
perance of the tongue. I never breed quar-
rels in others, nor feed them when they exist ;

3

2 2 Colloquies of Erasmus.

but wherever occasion offers, I either put an
end to them or soften their asperity. By
these methods I have hitherto kept clear of
envy and have retained the affection of my
fellow-citizens.

Pa. Did you not find a single life tiresome ?

Gl. Nothing ever happened to me in the
whole course of my life more bitter than the
loss of my wife. It was my fondest wish that
we might grow old together, enjoying the com-
fort of our common blessing, our children ;
but since Providence saw fit it should be
otherwise, I judged that it was best for us
both and did not think it reasonable that I
should afflict myself with useless grief, partic-
ularly when it would do no good to her who

«

had gone.

Po. Had you then never a desire to marry
again, especially when your first marriage had
turned out so happily ?

Gl. The desire was not wholly absent; but
I had married for the sake of children, and for
the sake of my children I did not marry again.

The Old Metis Dialogue. 23

Po. But 'tis a miserable thing to lie alone
all the long nights.

GI. Nothing is hard for a willing mind.
Then consider what advantage a single man
enjoys. Some people there are, who make
the worst of everything. Such an one Crates
seemed to be, who wrote an epigram summing
up the ills of human life. And the conclusion
is this : that it is best not to be born at all.
Metrodorus pleases me a great deal better,
who discovers everywhere what there is of
good. This makes life sweeter. Thus I
brought my mind to thai temper, that I neither
disliked nor longed for anything. Whence it
is come to pass, that if any good fortune
happen to me, I am neither inflated nor grow
haughty ; and if any good thing come to pass,
I am not much perplexed.

Pa. Truly, if you can do this, you are a
greater philosopher than Thales himself.

Gl. If any sort of trouble comes to my
mind, as often happens in the lives of mortals,

24 Colloquies of Erasmus.

I put it immediately out of my thoughts,
whether it be anger from an affront offered or
something shamefully done to me.

Po. But there are some provocations that
would rouse the anger of the most patient man
alive. Such is often the impudence of ser-
vants.

GI. I suffer nothing to linger in my thoughts.
If I can find a remedy, I cure it ; if not, I
reason thus with myself : What good will it do
me to torment myself about that which will
never be the better for it ? In short, I let
reason accomplish for me at once that which a
little later time itself would bring about, and
no vexation is so great that I suffer it to go to
bed with me.

Eu. No wonder you don't grow old, who
are of that disposition.

Gl. Now, that I may conceal nothing from
my friends, 1 have taken great care not to do
anything that might reflect dishonor either
upon myself or upon my children; for there is

The Old Mens Dialogue. 25

nothing more troublesome than a guilty con-
science. Wherefore, if I have committed a
fault, I do not see my rest until! have recon-
ciled myself with God. To be at peace with
God is the source of true tranquility of mind,
or, as the Greeks call it, Mopiia, For they that
live thus, men can do them no gr-eat injury.

Eu. Are you never tortured with the dread
of death ?

Gl. No more than with the day of my
birth. I know that I must die, and to live in
the fear of death may possibly shorten the days
of my life, but it would surely never make
them longer. So that I leave this to the powers
above, and have no other care but to live
happily and well. A man cannot live happily
that does not live a good life.

Pa. But I should grow old with weariness,
living so long in the same town, even if it
were Rome itself.

Gl. A change of abode has indeed something
of pleasure in it, but as for long travels, they

26 Colloquies of Erasmus.

may perhaps add to a man's experience, but
they are productive of many dangers. 1 seem
to myself to be travelling over the whol^
world when I contemplate a map, and 1 can
see more in histories than if I rambled by sea
and land for twenty years, as did Ulysses. I
have a little country place some two miles
out of town, where, now and then, from a
townsman 1 become a rustic, and thus re-
freshed, return again to the city a new man,
and greet my friends, and am greeted as if 1
had returned from the islands newly found.

Eu. Don't you assist health with medicines ?

Gl. I am not much for doctors. I never
was bled, nor have I taken pills or potions in
all my life. If I feel any weakness coming
upon me, I drive it away with spare diet or
with the country air.

Eu. Do you give some time to study ?

Gl. I do indeed, and in that I find the great-
est pleasure of my life. But I make a diver-
sion of it, and not a task, for I study either for

The Old Men's Dialogue. 27

the pleasure of it, or because it adds value to
my life, but not for show. After a meal 1 take
delight in learned conversation, or else have
somebody read to me, and I never sit at my
books more than an hour at a time. Then I
get up and take my lute, and either walk
about a little in my chamber and sing to it, or
else muse upon what I have read; or if I have
a good companion with me, 1 talk about it,

»

and after a while return to my book again.

Eu. But tell me truly: do you feel none of
the infirmities of old age, which are said to be
so many ?

Gl. My sleep is not so sound, nor my
memory, unless I make a special effort to
retain something, so good. Well, 1 have now
acquitted myself of my promise. 1 have ex-
posed to you those magical arts, by means of
which I have kept myself young, and now let
Polygamus tell us truthfully whence he has
acquired such a fullness of old age.

Po. Indeed, I will hide nothing from such
trusty companions.

28 Colloquies of Erasmus,

Eu. You will certainly tell it to those who
are discreet.

Po. You know yoursefves that when 1 was
at Paris I was no enemy of Epicurus.

Eu. We remember it very well. But we
thought that you had left your manners with
your youth at Paris.

Po. Of the many mistresses 1 had there, 1
took one home, who was big with child.

Eu. What, into your father's house ?

Po. Exactly; but I pretended that she was
the wife of one of my friends, who was to
come to her a little later.

GI. Did your father believe it ?

Po. He smelt the matter out in three or four
days' time, and then there was a quarrel.
However, in this interval I kept on with my
feasting, gaming, and other extravagant diver-
sions. In short, when my father continued to
scold me, saying he would have no such
hussies under his roof, and even threatening
to disown me, at last I took my leave, re-

The Old Metis Dialogue. 29

moved to another place with my pullet, and
she brought me some young chickens.

Pa. Whence had you money all this time ?

Po. My mother gave me some by stealth,
and I ran head over heels into debt.

Eu. Was anybody fool enough to lend you ?

Po. There are some persons who will trust
a spendthrift sooner than any other person.

Pa. And what next?

Po. At last my father proceeded to disin-
herit me in good earnest. Some friends, how-
ever, interposed and made up the breach on
this condition: that 1 should renounce the
French woman and marry out of my own
country.

Eu. Was she your wife ?

Po. Some words had passed between us in
the future tense, but our relations had been in
the present tense.

Eu. How was it possible for you to leave
her then ?

Po. It afterwards came to light that my

30 Colloquies of Erasmus.

French woman had a French husband, from
whom she had eloped some time before.

Eu. So you have a wife now ?

Po. None, except the present one, who is
my eighth.

Eu. The eighth ! Why then you were
named Polygamus by way of prophecy. Per-
haps they all died without children.

Po. Nay, there was not one of them but
left a few youngsters in my house.

Eu. 1 had rather have as many hens in my
house. They would lay me eggs. Are you
not weary of wifeing ?

Po. So weary of it that if this my eighth
should die to-day, I should marry the ninth
to-morrow. Nay, it vexes me that I may not
have two or three at a time, when one cock
has so many hens.

Eu. Indeed I don't wonder, Mr. Cock, that
you are no fatter, and that you have brought
old age upon yourself to this degree, for noth-
ing brings on old age faster than excessive

The Old Men's Dialogue. 3 1

and unreasonable drinking, unbridled love of
women and immoderate venery. But who
maintains your family all this time ?

Po. A small estate came to me by the death
of my father, and 1 work hard with my hands.

Eu. Have you given up your studies then ?

Po. Altogether. 1 have given up horses for
asses, and from a master of seven arts 1 am
become a workman of one art.

Eu. Poor man I So many times you were
obliged to be a mourner, and so many times a
widower 1

Po. 1 never lived single more than ten days,
and a new wife always put an end to the old
mourning. You have in truth the substance
of my life, and I wish Pampirus would give us
a narration of his. He bears his age well
enough, for, if 1 am not mistaken, he is a year
or two older than I.

Pa. Indeed, I'll tell it, if you have the
patience to hear such stuff.

Eu. Nay, it will be a pleasure to hear it.

32 Colloquies of Erasmus,

Pa. When 1 went home, my old father be-
gan to press me earnestly to enter into some
settled course of life, whereby I might add
something to my patrimony, and after long
deliberation a mercantile career was chosen.

Po. 1 wonder that kind of life seemed most
attractive to you.

Pa. 1 was naturally eager to see new things;
the various countries and cities; to hear for-
eign languages, and to note the customs and
manners of men. Trading seemed the best
adapted for this purpose. Moreover, from
these pursuits experience is acquired.

Po. But a wretched one, which is so often
purchased with great hardships.

Pa. That is true. Well, my father counted
out a good share of his means, and with all
things favorable I began my career. At the
same time 1 courted a wife with a good dowry,
but handsome enough to have gone off without
a portion.

Eu. Did you succeed ?

The Old Metis Dialogue. 33

Pa. No. Before I came back home 1 had
lost all, capital and interest.

Eu. Perhaps by shipwreck.

Pa. By shipwreck, indeed, for we ran upon
rocks more dangerous than those of Malea.

Eu. In what sea did you run upon this rock
or what is its name ?

Pa. I cannot tell what sea it is in, but it is
a rock infamous for the destruction of many.
They call it ^^alea*' in Latin. How you call
it in Greek I cannot say.

Eu. Fool that you were !

Pa. Nay, my father was a greater fool to
trust a youngster with such a sum of money.

GI. Well, what did you do next ?

Pa. Nothing at all, but I began to think of
hanging myself.

Gl. Was your father, then, so hard ? The
matter might be remedied; for if allowance is
to be made to one that makes his first attempt,
much more ought to be made for one who
tries all things.

34 Colloquies of Erasmus,

Pa, Perhaps you are right. In the meantime
I lost my wife, for as soon as the maid's par-
ents came to understand my condition, they
renounced the proposed relationship, and to
make the matter worse, I was head over ears
in love.

GI. Alas for you ! What did you propose
after that ?

Pa. To do as is usual in desperate cases. My
father had cast me off, my fortune was gone,
my wife was lost, 1 was everywhere called a
sot, a spendthrift and a prodigal. What was
there to do? I began to deliberate seriously
with myself, whether I should hang myself, or
cast myself into a monastery.

Eu. It was a cruel choice. I know that you
would choose the easier way of dying.

Pa. Nay, that which seemed to me the
crueller, so hateful was I to myself.

GI. And yet many people cast themselves
into monasteries that they may live there
more comfortably.

The Old Men's Dialogue. 35

Pa. Having gotten together a little some-
thing for the journey, 1 stole away from home.

Gl. Where did you go ?

Pa. Into Ireland. There I became a canon
of that order that wear linen on the outside
and woolen next the skin.

Gl. Did you indeed spend a winter with the
Irish ?

Pa. No. By the time I had been among
them two months, I took ship to Scotland.

Gl. What displeased you amongst them ?

Pa. Nothing, except that 1 thought their dis-
cipline too mild for the merits of one who was
not worthy of hanging.

Gl. Well, what happened in Scotland ?

Pa. There 1 changed my linen habit for a
leathern one, among the Carthusians.

Eu. These are the men who are wholly
dead to the world.

Pa. It seemed so to me when I heard them
singing.

Gl. What? Do:the;dead;singj? But how
many months^did you spend withjthe Scotch^?

36 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Pa. Almost six.

Gl. Most wonderful constancy I

Eu. What offended you there ?

Pa. It seemed to me a lazy, effeminate sort
of life, and then I found there many who were
not very sound of brain by reason of their
solitude. 1 had but little brain myself, and I
was afraid I might lose what 1 had.

Po. Whither did you take your next flight ?

Pa. Into France. There 1 found some
clothed all in black, of the order of St. Bene-
dict, who testify by the color of their clothes
that they are mourners in this world, and
amongst them were some who for their upper
garment wore haircloth, like a net.

GI. A grievous mortification of the flesh.

Pa. Here I stayed eleven months.

Eu. What was the matter that vou did not
stay there for good ?

Pa. Because I found there more ceremonies
than true piety. Moreover, 1 heard there were
some much holier, upon whom Bernard had

The Old Men's Dialogue. 37

enjoined severer discipline, the black habit
being changed into a white one. With these
I lived ten months.

Eu. What disgusted you there ?

Pa. Nothing much. I found them very good
company, but the Greek proverb ran in my
mind, "One must either eat turtles or let
them alone." Therefore I made up my mind
either not to be a monk, or to be a monk all
over. 1 heard there were some of the order
of St. Bridget, really heavenly men, and to
them I betook myself.

Eu. How many months did you stay there ?

Pa. Two days — no, not quite that.
^ Gl. Did their kind of life please you no
better than that ?

Pa. They take nobody in but those that
will profess themselves at once; but 1 was not
yet come to that degree of madness to put my
neck so easily into a halter which I could
never put off again. And as often as 1 heard
the nuns singing, the thought of my lost bride
tormented my soul.
4

38 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Gl. Well, and what then ?

Pa. My mind was inflamed with the love of
holiness, but up to that time I had not been
able to satisfy my spirit. At last, as I was
walking up and down, I fell in amongst some
cross-bearers. This badge pleased me at first
sight, but the variety hindered me from mak-
ing a choice, some carrying a white cross,
some a green, some a red, some a party col-
ored cross; some a single, some a double, some
a quadruple cross, and others some of one
form, some of another, and I, that I might
leave nothing untried, carried some of every
sort. But I found in reality that there was a
great difference in carrying a cross on a gown
or on a coat, and carrying it in the heart. At
last, tired with seeking, it came into my mind
that to arrive at universal holiness all at once
I would take a journey to the Holy Land, and
so return home laden with sanctimony.

Po. And did you go there ?

Pa. Yes.

The Old Men's Dialogue. 39

Po. Where did you get the money for the
journey ?

Pa. I wonder it never occurred to ask that
before, and to have made that inquiry a long
time ago. But you know the proverb: A man
of art will make his living anywhere,

Gl. What art do you carry with you ?

Pa. Palmistry.

GI. Where did you learn it ?

Pa. What difference does that make ?

Gl, From what master ?

Pa. From my stomach, which teaches every-
thing. I foretold things past, present, and to
come.

Gl. And did you know anything of the
matter ?

Pa. Nothing at all; but I made bold guesses,
and ran no risk, having secured my money in
advance,

Po. And was so ridiculous an art sufficient
to maintain you ?

Pa, It was, and two servants beside. There

40 Colloquies of Erasmus.

is everywhere such a number of fools, both
men and women. However, when I came to
Jerusalem, I attached myself to the train of a
rich nobleman, seventy years of age, who
vowed he could never die in peace unless he
had first visited Jerusalem.

Eu. Did he leave a wife at home ?

Pa. Yes, and six children.

Eu. O impious, pious old man ! Well, did
you come back holy ?

Pa. Shall I tell you the truth ? I came back
worse than I went.

Eu. So, I am to understand, your love of
religion had cooled.

Pa. Nay, it had grown hotter, for coming
back into Italy, I entered the army.

Eu. What, did you look for religion in war ?
For what can be more impious ?

Pa. It was a holy war.

Eu. Against the Turks, perhaps ?

Pa. Nay, holier than that, as they indeed
preached at the time.

The Old Men's Dmlogue. 41

Eu. What was it ?

Pa, Pope Julius the Second made war
against the French, and the experience of
many things which it gives a man made me
fancy a soldier's life.

Eu. Of many things indeed, but wicked
ones.

Pa, So I found out afterwards. Still 1 lived
harder there than in the monasteries,

Eu, What did you do after this ?

Pa, My mind began to be wavering as to
whether I should return to my business of
trading, which I had laid aside, or press on in
search of religion that fled before me. In the
meantime it came into my mind that I might
unite the two.

Eu. What, be a merchant and a monk
together ?

Pa, Why not? There is nothing more relig-
ious than the order of mendicants, and there
is nothing more like trading. They go every-
where by land and sea; they see much and

42 Colloquies of Erasmus.

hear many things; they enter into the houses
of common people, of noblemen, and of kings.

Eu, Ay, but they do not trade for gain.

Pa. Very often, and with better success
than we do.

Eu. Which of these orders did you choose ?

Pa. I tried them all.

Eu. Did none of them please you ?

Pa. Yes, they all pleased me, if only I
might have gone at once to trading; but I re-
flected that I must sweat for a long time in
the choir before any business would be en-
trusted to me. So now I began to think how
I might get to be an abbot. But, thought I,
Delia does not favor all alike, and the pursuit
is often long; so, having spent eight years in
this manner, hearing of my father's death, I
returned home, and by my mother's advice
married and betook myself to my old business
of trade.

Gl. Pray tell me, when you changed your
coat so often, and were transformed, as it

The Old Metis Dialogue. 43

were, into another sort of creature, how could
you preserve your proper dignity ?

Pa, Why not as well as those who in the
same comedy play several parts ?

Eu. Tell us now, truly, you who have tried
every sort of life, which do you like the best ?

Pa. All of them suited me alike. I liked
none better than this which I am now fol-
lowing.

Eu. But there are many inconveniences
attending trade.

Pa. Indeed there are; but seeing that there
is no state of life entirely free from them, I
make the best of this which is my lot. But
there still remains Eusebius, who will not
deem it a burden to acquaint his friends with
the events of his own career.

Eu. Nay, with the whole of it, if it pleases
you to hear it, for it has not many acts.

Gl. It will be a great favor.

Eu. When I returned to my own country, I
deliberated for a year what mode of living to

44 Colloquies of Erasmus.

select, and examined myself carefully, to deter-
mine toward what employment my inclination
led me, and for what I was fit. In the mean-
time a prebend, as they call it, was offered me.
It was a good fat benefice, and I accepted it.

Gl. That sort of life is not well spoken of.

Eu. To me, as human affairs go, it seemed
a thing well worth accepting. Do you deem
it a slight thing to have such agreeable things
fall out of the sky: a position of dignity; a
fine, well-furnished house; a large revenue;
an honorable society, and thereto a church,
where, when you have a mind to, you may
perform the offices of religion ?

Pa. This luxury is what offends me; this
and the infamy of their concubinage, and be-
cause a great many of that sort of men have
a hatred of letters.

Eu. I do not regard what others do, but
what I ought to do myself; and I attach myself
to the better sort, if perchance 1 may not be
able to render them better.

The Old Men's Dialogue. 45

Po. And is that the life you have always
lived ?

Eu. Always, except four years, when I lived
at Padua.

Po, What did you do there ?

Eu. These years 1 divided as follows: a
year and a half 1 gave to the study of medi-
cine, and the rest of the time to theology.

Po. Why this arrangement ?

Eu. That I might better manage both my
soul and my body, and also be helpful at times
by way of counsel to my friends. 1 preached
sometimes as best 1 could. Thus, up to this
time, 1 have led a very quiet life, content with
a single benefice, not looking about for more,
and I should have refused them had them
been offered me.

Pa. I wish we might learn how the rest of
our old companions have passed their lives,
those who lived in such close intimacy with us.

Eu. I can give you some news of them, but
I see we are not far from the city. Let us

46 Colloquies of Erasmus.

then, if you like, seek the same inn, and
there we will talk over the rest at leisure.

Hugh (a wagoner): Here, you one-eyed
scoundrel, where did you find that load of
trash ?

Harry (a wagoner). Where are you carry-
ing that harlotry, you pimp ?

Hugh. You ought to dump those frozen-up
old fellows somewhere into a bed of nettles to
warm them up again.

Harry. See that you shoot that gang of
yours into a pond, to cool them off; they are
too warm.

Hugh. I am not used to dumping my load.

Harry. No? I saw you, a little while ago,
overturn half a dozen Carthusians into the
mire, so that, although they went in white,
they came out black, and you stood by grin-
ning as if you had done something fine.

Hugh. That was all right. They were all
asleep, and added a dead weight to my wagon.

Harry. But these old gentlemen, by talk-

The Old Metis Dialogue. 47

ing all the way, have made my wagon go
light. I never saw a better lot.

Hugh. Generally you don't like such pas-
sengers.

Harry. But these are good old fellows.

Hugh. How do you know that ?

Harry. Because they made me drink excel-
lent ale three times by the way.

Hugh. Ha ! ha ! ha I Then they are good to
you indeed.

PROBLEMS.

CURIO AND ALPHIUS.

Curio. 1 should be glad to learn something
of you, who are so well informed in many
things, if it would not be burdensome to you.

Alphius, Well, Curio, go on. Propose what
questions you have a mind to, and be in fact
what you are in name.

Cu. I do not mind being called Curio, so
long as you do not add to it for a final syllable
that animal hateful both to Venus and to
Minerva.

Al. Speak out, then, what you wish.

Cu. I should like to know what it is that we
call heavy and light.

Al. By the same token you might ask what
hot and cold is, too. You should put that ques-

(48)

Problems. 49

tion to a porter rather than to me, or, if you
prefer, to an ass, who will tell you whether
the burden is heavy or light by hanging his
ears.

Cu. But I am" looking not for an asinine,
but for a philosophical solution.

Al. Heavy is that which naturally tends
downwards, and light that which mounts
upwards.

Cu. How comes it about then that the Anti-
podes, which are under us, do not fall into the
sky, which is under them ?

AI. They may as well wonder why you do
not fall into the heaven that is not under you
but over you, for the heaven is above all that
are embraced within it; nor are the Antipodes
under you any more than you are above them.
They may be opposite us, but not beneath us.
You might as well wonder why the rocks,
which the land of the Antipodes sustains, do
not fall and break into the heavens.

Cu. What then is the natural center of

50 Colloquies of Erasmus.

heavy bodies? And on the other hand of
light bodies ?

Ah All heavy bodies are by a natural mo-
tion carried toward the earth, and light bodies
toward heaven. We are not speaking now
of a violent or animal motion.

Cu. Is there a motion that is called animal ?

Al. Yes.

Cu. What is it ?

Al. It is that which is carried according to
the four positions of the body: forward, back-
ward, to the right and left, and in a circle, and
in the beginning and end is swifter, and slow-
est in the middle, because in the beginning
strength adds alacrity, and near the end the
hope of coming to what the animal strives for.

Cu. I don't know how it is with other ani-
mals, but I have a maid-servant who is weary
before she begins and tired before she ends.
But let us return to your discussion.

Al. By a natural motion, I say, heavy
things are carried downward, and the heavier

Problems. 5 1

anything is, by so much swifter motion is it
carried toward the earth, and the lighter it is,
by so much swifter motion is it carried toward
heaven. It is quite otherwise with a violent
motion, which is swifter at the start, and
grows slower by degrees, which happens
otherwise in a natural motion, as an arrow
shot into the air and a stone falling from on
high.

Cu. I thought men ran about the globe like
little ants on a great ball; they stick on every-
where and none fall off.

Al. That is to be attributed to the uneven-
ness of the surface of the ball, and a certain
roughness in the feet of the ants, which,
indeed, all insects have in common, and,
lastly, to the lightness of their bodies. If you
don't believe me, make a glass globe very
smooth and slippery, and you will see that
only those ants do not fall that are on the
upper side of it.

Cu. If any god should bore into the middle

5 2 Colloquies of Erasmus.

of the earth, quite down to the Antipodes, in
a perpendicular line through the center, as
cosmographers are accustomed to represent
the structure of the earth with wooden globes,
then if you were to throw a stone into the
orifice, where would it go ?

AI. To the center of the earth; there is the
resting place of all heavy bodies.

Cu. What if the Antipodes should let fall a
stone from their side ?

Al. Then one stone would meet the other
at the center, and each would come to rest.

Cu. But listen. If what you said just now
be true: that a natural motion by its progress
grew more and more violent, then, if nothing
hindered, a stone or lead cast into the hole,
by reason of the violence of its motion, would
pass beyond the center, and having got be-
yond the center, the motion would grow more
violent still.

Al. Lead would never come to the center,
except in a molten condition; but a stone, if it

Problems. 53

did pass the center with so violent a motion,
would go jfirst more slowly, and then return to
the center again, not otherwise than as a stone
thrown up into the air returns again to earth.

Cu. But returning back again by its natural
motion, and again recovering force, it would
go beyond the center, and so the stone would
never come to rest.

Al. It would come to rest at last by running
beyond, and then running back again, until it
came to an equilibrium.

Cu. But if there be no vacuum in nature,
then the hole must be full of air.

PI. I grant that,

Cu. Then a body that is by nature heavy
will be hanging in air.

Al. Why not ? As steel does, held up by
magnets. What wonder is it that one stone
hangs in the very middle of the air when the
whole earth laden with so many rocks hangs
in the same manner ?

Cu. But where is the center of the earth ?

5

54 Colloquies of Erasmus.

AI. Where is the center of a circle ?

Cu. But that is an indivisible point. If the
center of the earth be so small, whosoever
bores through the center will take it away,
and then heavy bodies will have no place to
tend to.

Al. Now you are indeed talking nonsense.

Cu. Don't be angry, I beg of you. What I
say is for the sake of gaining information. If
any one should bore through the earth, and
not through the center itself, say one hundred
furlongs to the side of it, where would a stone
fall then ?

Al. It would pass straight through the hole;
that is, not exactly straight, but toward the
center, and so when it came to the middle, it
would come to rest against the earth on the
left hand if the center were on the left hand.

Cu. But what is it that makes a body heavy
or light ?

Al. That's a question that God must answer
for you: why he made fire the lightest of all

Problems. 55

things, and air next to that; why the earth the
heaviest, and the water next to that.
-^ Cu. Why then do watery clouds hang high
up in the air ?

AI. Because by the attraction of the sun
they conceive a fiery nature, as smoke is
forced by a violent heat out of green wood.

Cu. Why then do they sometimes fall with
such weight that they level mountains into a
plain ?

AI. Condensation and density add a weight
to them, and they may be imagined to be held
up by the air under them, even as a thin plate
of iron is held up on the surface of water.

Cu. Do you think, then, that whatever has
most of the nature of fire is lightest, and that
which has most of the earth heaviest ?

AI. You are not far from the mark.

Cu. But air is not all of a lightness, nor
earth of a heaviness, and it is the same per-
haps with water.

AI. That is not strange, because those things

56 Colloquies of Erasmus,

which you have mentioned are not pure ele-
ments, but combined of various elements, so
that it is probable that that earth is the light-
est which has the most fire or air mixed with
it, and that water the heaviest which has the
most of the heavier earth mixed with it, as, I
think, is the case with sea water, and that out
of which salt is made. In like manner that
air which is nearest to water or earth is the
heaviest, or, at least, it is certainly not so
light as that which is further from the earth.

Cu. Which has most of the nature of earth
in it, a stone or lead ?

Al. A stone.

Cu. And yet lead is heavier in proportion
than a stone.

Al. The density is the cause. That pro-
ceeds from its solidity. A stone is more por-
ous, and so contains more air than lead. Hence
it is that we see a certain kind of dry earth
which, if we throw it into water, will swim
and not sink. So we see whole fields floating,

Problems. 5 7

because they are held up by the hollow roots
of reeds and other marsh herbage, interwoven
with each other.

Cu. Perhaps it is from this cause that a
pumice-stone is so light.

AI. Because it is so full of pores, and, more-
over, very much burnt with fire, for they are
thrown out of burning places.

Cu. Why is it that a cork is so light ?

AI. That has been answered already : its
open texture is the cause.

Cu. Which is heavier, lead or gold ?

AI. Gold, in my opinion.

Cu. But yet gold seems to have more of a
fiery nature.

AI. Because, as Pindar says, it shines by
night, like fire ?

Cu. Yes.

AI. But gold has a greater density.

Cu. How is that known ?

AI. Goldsmiths will tell you that neither
silver, lead nor copper, nor any metal of the

58 Colloquus of Erasmus.

kind, can be hammered out so thin as gold.
And, for the same reason, philosophers reason
that there is nothing more liquid than honey
and oil, because if these be spread out upon a
surface, their moisture will cover most widely,
and be the longest in drying.

Cu. But which is the heavier, oil or water?

Al. If you speak of linseed oil, I take oil to
be the heavier.

Cu. Why, then, does oil^^float on water ?

Al. Lightness is not the cause, but the fiery
nature of the oil, and a peculiar nature in all
fat things, that is antagonistic to water, as is
the case with the herb called ipvTrroc,

Cu. Why then does not iron swim when it
is red hot ?

Al. Because it is not a natural heat, and
therefore the sooner penetrates the water, be-
cause the intensity of the heat dispels the re-
sisting liquid. So an iron wedge sinks sooner
to the bottom than an thin plate.

Cu. Which is the more difficult to endure,
hot iron or cold ?

Problems. 59

Al. Hot.

Cu. Then it is heavier.

Al. It is; if it be easier to carry burning
straw in your hand than a cold flint.

Cu. What is the cause that one wood is
heavier or lighter than another ?

Al. Its density or porosity.

Cu. But I knew one of the King of Eng-
land's household, who showed us some wood
one time at a banquet, which he said was the
wood of the aloes tree. It was so solid that it
seemed to be a stone, and withal so light in
the hand sustaining it that it seemed a reed,
and if anything lighter than a dry reed. Be-
ing put into wine (for he was of the opinion
that it would expel poison), it sank at once to
the bottom, as swiftly as lead.

Al. Neither solidity nor porosity is always
the cause, but there is a peculiar occult asso-
ciation of things, which is the reason why some
things embrace or shun other things, just as a
magnet attracts steel and a vine avoids a cab-

6o Colloquies of Erasmus.

bage, and a flame will reach toward naptha,
set in a lower place, although it be at some
distance. And yet naptha is naturally heavy
and flame light.

Cu. All sorts of money floats in quicksilver.
Gold only sinks, and is enclosed in it, and yet
quicksilver is a very liquid substance.

Al. I can offer no solution for that, except
a peculiar allied quality; then, too, quicksilver
was made for the refinement of gold.

Cu. Why does the river Arethusa run
under the Sicanian sea, and not rather float
upon it, since you say that sea water is
heavier than river water ?

Al. A natural disagreement is the cause,
but it is a secret one.

Cu. Why do swans float when men, going
into the same water, sink to the bottom ?

Al. The cause is not only the lightness and
hollowness of their feathers, but a certain
dryness which the water shuns. Hence it is
that if you pour wine or water into a cloth or

Problems. 6i

piece of linen that is very dry, it draws itself
into a ball; but put it into a wet one, and it
spreads itself out at once. In like manner if you
pour any liquid into a dry cup, or in one the
brim of which is greased, and pour in a little
more than the cup will hold, the liquid at once
rounds up toward the center, and will not run
over the brim.

Cu. Why can't ships carry so much in
rivers as on the sea ?

Al. Because river water is thinner, and for
the same reason birds poise themselves more
easily in a thick air than in one that is much
thinner.

Cu. Why does not the fish called ''flota "
sink ?

Al. Because its skin, having been dried in
the sun, is made lighter, and so resists the
moisture.

Cu. Why does iron that has been drawn
out into a wide plate float while the same in
narrower compass sinks ?

62 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Al. Its dryness is partly the cause, and
partly because of the air that gets in between
the plate and the water.

Cu. Which is the heavier, wine or water ?

Al. I believe wine will not give place to
water.

Cu. How comes it about then that they
that buy wine at the vintner's sometimes find
water instead of wine at the bottom of the
cask?

Al. Because wine has a certain oiliness
which resists water. The reason is plain,
because the richer the wine is, with so much
more difficulty does it mingle with water, and
being set on fire, it burns the more fiercely.
'^~Cu. What is the reason that no living
creature will sink in the lake Asphaltitis ?

Al. I do not profess to be able to furnish a
solution for all the miracles of nature. She
has some secrets which she will have us
admire without understanding.

Cu. Why is a lean man heavier than a fat
one, if both are of equal size ?

Problems. 63

Al. Because bones are more solid than
flesh, and therefore more weighty.

Cu. Why is the same man heavier when he
is fasting than after he has eaten his dinner,
and so added weight to his body ?

Al. Because by eating and drinking the
spirits are increased, and they add a lightness
to the body. Hence it comes that a merry
man is lighter than a sorrowful one, and a
dead man heavier than a living one.

Cu. But how is it that the same man can
make himself heavier or lighter as he chooses ?

Al. By holding in his breath he makes him-
self lighter, and by breathing it out heavier.
So a bladder when blown and closely tied
floats, but when it is burst, it sinks. But
when will Curio cease to croak out his
"Why?"

Cu. I'll leave off if you will tell me just a
few things more. Is heaven heavy or light ?

Al. Whether it is light or heavy, I cannot
say; certainly it cannot be heavy, for it is of
the nature of fire.

64 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Cu. Then what does the old proverb mean:
*' If the heavens should fall ?"

Al. Because an ignorant antiquity, following
Homer, believed the heavens to be made of
iron; but Homer called it iron from the like-
ness of its color, not its weight, as we might
term ashy that which is of the color of ashes.

Cu. Is there any color in the sky ?

Al. Not really; but it appears so to us be-
cause of the air and water that lie between us
and it; just as the sun appears sometimes to
be red, sometimes yellow, and sometimes
white, when, in fact, it has no such changes.
In like manner the colors of the rainbow are
not in the sky, but in the moist air.

Cu. But to come to a close. You confess
that there is nothing higher than the heavens,
which way soever it covers the orb of the
earth ?

Al. I do confess it.

Cu. And nothing deeper than the center of
the earth?

Problems. 65

AI. No.

Cu. Of all things in the world, what is the
heaviest ?

Al. Gold, I should say.

Cu. I differ very much from you in this
point.

Al. Do you know of anything that is heavier
than gold ?

Cu. Yes, I do, and much heavier, too.

Al. Then take your turn and teach me, for
I confess I don't know of anything that is.

Cu. Must not that be the heaviest thing in
the world that forced those fiery spirits down
from the very vortex of heaven to the bottom
of hell ? (and that, you know, is placed in the
center of the earth.)

Al. I confess it; but what is that ?

Cu. Sin, which plunges thither the souls of
men, which Maro calls sparks of pure ether.

Al. If you have a mind to pass over to that
kind of philosophy, I confess that both gold
and lead are as light as feathers when com-
pared with sin.

66 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Cu. How then can they that are hampered
with this sort of burden mount up to heaven ?

Al. Truly I do not see.

Cu. They that prepare themselves for run-
ning and leaping not only lay aside all heavy
things, but make themselves light by holding
their breath. But in this race and leap which
we take to heaven, we do not seek to throw
aside that which is heavier than any stone or
lead.

Al. Yes, but we should do so, if we had but
one grain of sound understanding.

ON EARLY RISING.

NEPHALIUS AND PHILYPNUS.

Nephalius. I wanted to see you this morn-
ing, Philypnus, but your servants said that
you were not at home.

Philypnus. They did not tell you what was
absolutely untrue. I was not at home to you,
it is true, but I was never more at home to
myself.

Ne. What riddle is this ?

Ph. You know the old proverb: I do not
sleep at all. Besides this you cannot have
forgotten the pleasant joke of Nasica. When
he went to visit his old friend Ennius, the
maid, by her master's command, told him her
master was not at home. Nasica saw how
the land lay and departed. Afterwards Ennius,
in his turn, coming to Nasica's house, asked

(67)

68 Colloquies of Erasmus.

the boy whether his master was within,
Nasica shouted out from the inner room, say-
ing, "I am not at home." Ennius, who
recognized his voice, cried, " You rascal, don't
I know you when I hear you speak? "You
are a greater rascal," replied Nasica, "who
won't give credit to me myself, when I was
satisfied to believe your servant."

Ne. Perhaps you were very busy.

Ph. Nay, most agreeably at leisure.

Ne. Again you perplex me with riddles.

Ph. Then I'll speak plainly, and not call a
fig by any other name.

Ne. Say on.

Ph. In short, 1 was fast asleep.

Ne. What do you say ? Why it was after
eight o'clock ! And the sun rises this month
before four.

Ph. The sun is at liberty to rise at midnight,
so far as I am concerned, so that I am per-
mitted to sleep my fill.

Ne. But was this by accident, or is it your
custom ?

On Early Rising. 69

Ph. Well, I am pretty much used to it.

Ne. But the habit of evil is most pernicious.

Ph. Nay, no sleep is so sweet as that which
one gets after sunrise.

Ne. At what hour do you generally leave
your bed ?

Ph. Between four and nine,

Ne. A pretty space of time indeed. Queens
are scarcely so long in dressing. But how
came you to acquire this agreeable custom ?

Ph. Because we spend most of the night in
eating and drinking, games and jollity, and we
repair this dissipation with morning sleep.

Ne, I doubt if I ever saw a man more
desperately spendthrift than yourself.

Ph. It seems to me rather parsimony than
prodigality, for in the meantime I neither burn
my candles nor wear out my clothes.

Ne. Parsimony indeed, to preserve glass,
that you may destroy jewels. The philoso-
pher thought quite otherwise, who, when he

was asked what was the most precious of all
6

70 Colloquies of Erasmus.

things, replied, **Time." Moreover, when it
is evident that the dawn is the best part of the
whole day, you delight in destroying the most
precious part of that most precious thing.

Ph. Is that destroyed which is given to the
body?

Ne. Nay, it is rather taken from the body,
which is most agreeably affected, and thrives
best when it is refreshed by timely and mod-
erate sleep, supplemented by early rising.

Ph. But 'tis sweet to sleep.

Ne. What can be sweet to him who has no
sense of anything ?

Ph. Why that alone is sweet, to have no
sense of trouble.

Ne. At that rate those are most happy who
sleep in their graves, for they are never dis-
turbed with troublesome dreams.

Ph. They say the body is best fed by
sleep.

Ne. Such is the food of dormice, not of men.
The beasts, who are made only to eat, are

\

On Early Rising. 71

rightly crammed with food; but how does it
become a man to heap up fat, merely that he
may trudge on with the greater burden ? Tell
me, if you had a servant, would you have him
fat, or brisk and fit for any employment ?

Ph. But I am no servant.

Ne. No matter; 'tis enough for me that you
had rather have one ready for work than one
well stuffed.

Ph. Certainly 1 should.

Ne. Now Plato says: The mind of man is
the man, and the body nothing more than the
mansion or the instrument. You will admit, I
suppose, that the soul is the principal part of
the man, and the body but the servant of the
mind.

Ph. Let it be so if you wish.

Ne. Since you would not have an unwieldly
servant, but one brisk and agile, why do you
then provide for your mind a servant fat and
slothful ?

Ph. I am overcome with truth.

72 Colloquies of Erasmus,

Ne. Note this other loss. As the mind far
excels the body, so, you will confess, the
riches of the mind far exceed the goods of the
body.

Ph. What you say is very probable.

Ne. But of all the goods of the mind,
wisdom holds the chief place.

Ph. I grant it.

Ne. For obtaining this no time is more fit
than the early morning, when the newly risen
sun gives fresh vigor and life to all things, and
dispels those fumes which are exhaled from
the stomach, and are wont to cloud the man-
sion of the mind.

Ph. All this I don't deny.

Ne. Now just reckon up how much learning
you might obtain in those four hours which
you consume in unseasonable sleep.

Ph. Truly a great deal.

Ne. It is my experience that more may be
done at study in one hour of the morning than
in three of the afternoon, and that without
any detriment to the body.

On Early Rising. 73

Ph. I have heard so.

Ne. Consider further: If you should add
together the loss of each day, what a vast sum
would be the result !

Ph. Vast indeed.

Ne. He who rashly squanders money and
jewels is deemed a spendthrift, and a guardian
is appointed over him. But he who loses
these goods of far greater value, is he not a
spendthrift of far deeper dye ?

Ph. It certainly appears so, if we weigh the
matter carefully.

Ne, Consider further that which Plato
wrote: That there is nothing fairer, nothing
more to be admired, than wisdom, which, if it
could be seen by the corporeal eye, would
draw to itself an incredible number of wor-
shipers.

Ph. But she is not capable of being seen.

Ne, Not with the eyes of the body, I admit,
but she is to be seen with the eyes of the
mind, which is the better part of man. And

74 Colloquies of Erasmus.

where the love is incredible, there must neces-
sarily be the highest pleasure, as often as the
mind has intercourse with such a mistress.

Ph. What you say is very probable.

Ne. Go now, if it seems good to you, and
barter this enjoyment for sleep, that image of
death.

Ph. But in the meantime I lose my even-
ing's entertainment.

Ne. Those things are well lost in exchang-
ing worst for best, shameful for honorable, the
most vile for the most precious. He has hap-
pily lost his lead who has exchanged it for
gold. Nature has appointed the night for
sleep; the rising sun recalls all animals, and
especially man, to their several duties. They
who sleep, says St. Paul, sleep in the night,
and they who are drunken, are drunken in
the night. What, then, is more unseemly,
when all animals rouse themselves with the
sun, some, indeed, before his appearance, and
greet his appearance with song; when the

On Early Rising. 75

elephant adores the rising sun, than that man
alone should lie snoring long after the sun's
rising? As often as his golden splendor floods
your chamber, does he not seem thus to
upbraid you as you lie sleeping: '* Fool, why
are you eager to destroy the best part of your
life ? I shine not for this, that you may hide
yourself and sleep, but that you may attend
to your honest employments," No man lights
a lamp that he may sleep, but that he may
pursue some sort of labor, and for this lamp,
of all the fairest, have you no greeting but a
snore ?

Ph. You declaim well,

Ne. Not well, but truly. But, come, I
doubt not you have heard this saying of Hesiod:
*' 'Tis too late to spare when all is spent,"

Ph. Very often; for "In the middle of the
cask the wine is best."

Ne. But in life the first part, youth, is best.

Ph. So it is in truth.

Ne. And the morning is to the day what

76 Colloquies of Erasmus.

youth is to life. Do not they then act foolish-
ishly who lose their life in trifles and their
morning hours in sleep ?

Ph. So it appears.

Ne. Is there any possession that may be
compared to a man's life.

Ph. No, not the whole Persian treasure.

Ne. And would you not bitterly hate the
man who by evil arts should cut short, by
several years, your life ?

Ph. I'd rather be the one to snatch life from
him.

Ne. But I deem those far worse and more
pernicious who voluntarily render their own
lives shorter.

Ph. I agree to that, if indeed such are to be
found.

Ne. If such there are! Nay, all of your
kind do the same.

Ph. Come, come, that's pretty strong.

Ne. It's true. So judge of yourself whether
or not Pliny has spoken justly when he says :

On Early Rising, 77

** All life is a night of waking." He lives most
who employs the greatest part of his time in
study. For sleep is a kind of death; where-
fore the poets feign it to come from the in-
fernal shades, and it is called by Homer
Death's own brother. Those who sleep can
scarcely be numbered either amongst the liv-
ing or the dead; yet rather, of the two,
amongst the dead.

Ph. 1 am quite of your opinion.

Ne. Now tell me truly how much of life do
those cut off who every day lose three or four
hours in sleep.

Ph. Truly, a great portion.

Ne. Would you not reckon as a god an
alchemist who should be able to add ten years
to the sum of your life, and when you are
advanced in years restore to you the vigor of
youth ?

Ph. Why should 1 not?

Ne. And this divine blessing you are able
to confer upon yourself.

78 Colloquies of Erasmus,

Ph. How so ?

Ne. Because the morning of the day is
youth. Youth flourishes up to mid-day; then
manhood; to which the evening, as old age,
succeeds; thus falls the evening, the day's
death. Frugality is a handsome income, and
never more than here. Has he not made a
great profit, then, who has avoided the loss of
the greatest and best part of his life ?

Ph. You proclaim the truth.

Ne, How insufferably shameless, then,
must he seem who lays the blame upon na-
ture, saying she bounds the life of man in
narrow limits, when they themselves from
that which is given voluntarily cut off so great
a part Life is long enough for him who will
but use it prudently. Nor has he made small
progress who knows how to do everything in
season. After the mid -day meal we are scarce
half men; when the body, laden with food,
burdens the mind; nor is it safe to summon up
to higher things the spirits from the stomach's

On Early Rising. *]^

kitchen, where they are employed in the busi-
ness of concoction. After dinner much less.
But in the morning hours a man is all a man,
when the body is fit for all employments;
when the spirit is alert, and all the organs of
the body serene and tranquil, whilst it breathes
a part of the divine aether, as one has said,
and has a taste of whence it came, and is
borne on to noble deeds.

Ph. Indeed, you declaim with much
elegance.

Ne. Agamemnon, in Homer, tells us: "'Tis
unbecoming a man of wisdom to sleep the
whole night." How much greater, then, the
fault to spend so much of the day in sleep ?

Ph. True, but he speaks of a counsellor. I
am no leader of an army.

Ne. If there is anything dearer to you than
yourself, don't let this sentiment of Homer
move you. A worker in metal rises before
the dawn in the hope of some small gain.
Has not the love of wisdom power to rouse

8o Colloquies of Erasmus.

and stir us up, that we may at least hear the
sun calling us forth to profit inestimable?
Physicians rarely give physic except in the
early morning. They know the golden hours
in which they may assist the body, and shall
we not know them, too, those hours in which
we may enrich and heal the mind ? If these
things have little weight with you, hear how,
according to Solomon, this heavenly wisdom
speaks. "They who watch for me at early
morn shall find me." So in the niystic Psalms
what praise and commendation is there of the
morning time! In the morning the Prophet
extolls the mercy of the Lord; in the morning
his voice is heard; in the morning his prayers
come before God. According to Luke, the
evangelist, the people, seeking from the Lord
cure and instruction, flocked together to him
early in the morning. Why do you sigh,
Philypnus ?

Ph. I can scarce refrain from weeping when
I consider what a waste I have made of my
life.

On Early Rising. 8 1

Ne. It is vain to torment yourself about those
things which cannot be recalled, but may
nevertheless be repaired in the time to come.
Apply youself to this, rather than vainly to
deplore what is past, whereby you lose some
part of the future.

Ph. You advise well, but my daily habit has
me already in its power.

Ne. Nonsense; one nail drives out another,
and habit is overcome by habit.

Ph. But it is difficult to forego those things
to which we have been long accustomed.

Ne. At the start, I grant; but a different
habit first lessens the difficulty, then changes
it into the highest pleasure, so that you will
not be sorry to have undergone a short
discipline.

Ph. I fear it will never succeed.

Ne. If you were seventy years of age, I
should not attempt to draw you from your
wonted course of Jife; but, if I guess aright,
you are scarce sixteen, and what is there that

82 Colloquies of Erasmus,

your age is not able to overcome, if there be
but a willing mind ?

Ph. 1 will attempt it, and I will strive that
from a Philypnus I shall become a Philologus;
from a lover of sleep, a lover of learning.

Ne. If you do this, my Philypnus, I am
quite sure that after a few days you will con-
gratulate yourself, and give me thanks, who
advised you.

THE FALSE KNIGHT.

HARPALUS AND NESTOR.

Harpalus. Can you help me out with your
advice ? If you can, you will find that I am
neither forgetful nor ungrateful.

Nestor. I'll make haste that you shall be
what you wish to be.

Har. But it is not in our power to be born
noblemen.

Nes. If you are not one, strive by virtuous
actions that your nobility may derive its
origin from yourself.

Har. That's a long way about.

Nes. Caesar will sell it to you for a small
sum.

Har. But nobility that is purchased with
money is ridiculed by the vulgar.

(83)

84 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Nes. Since nothing is more ridiculous than
a purchased title of nobility, why are you so
eager for the name of knight ?

Har. There are reasons, and no slight ones
either, which I shall not hesitate to confide to
you, if you will but put me in the way of
making myself honorable in the opinion of the
vulgar.

Nes. The name without the thing ?

Har. Not having the substance, I would still
have the reputation of it. But, come, Nestor,
give me your advice, and when you have
my reasons, you will say it is worth the while.

Nes. Well, since you will have it. Til tell
you. In the first place betake yourself far
from home.

Har. 1 shall remember.

Nes. Then work yourself into the acquaint-
ance of young men of quality.

Har. I understand.

Nes. First of all, by this means, the idea
will arise that you are like the company you
keep.

The False Knight. 85

Har. It will indeed.

Nes. See that you have nothing about you
that is vulgar.

Har. How do you mean ?

Nes. 1 mean your clothes, that they be
made not of wool, but of silk, or, if this be
beyond your cloth, rather of fustian or of
canvas than of cloth.

Har. You are right.

Nes. And take care not to wear anything
that is whole, but slash your hat and your
doublet, your hose and your shoes, and your
nails, too, if you can. Never talk of a thing
that is common. If any traveller come out
of Spain, inquire of him how the Emperor and
the Pope are getting along, how your cousin
the Count of Nassau is doing, and all the rest
of the old acquaintances.

Har. ril do it.

Nes. Wear a seal ring upon your finger.

Har. If my pocket will stand it.

Nes. O, for a little you can get a brass ring,
7

86 Colloquies of Erasmus.

gilded, with false stones. Then you must
have your coat of arms upon it too.

Har. What bearing would you have me
choose ?

Nes. Why, if you like, two milk pails and a
pot of ale.

Har. You are joking. Tell me seriously.

Nes. Were you ever in a battle ?

Har. I never saw one.

Nes. But 1 believe you have beheaded the
farmer's geese and capons.

Har. Ay, many a time, and manfully too.

Nes. Why, then, let your coat of arms be:
three goose heads, or, and a meat axe, argent.

Har. What must the field be ?

Nes. What should it be \i\x\ gules; a monu-
ment of blood, plentifully shed.

Har. Ay, why not; for the blood of a goose
is as red as the blood of a man. But go on, I
beg of you.

Nes. Have this coat of arms carefully hung
over the gate of every inn where you are
lodging.

The False Knight. 87

Har. What shall be added to the helm ?

Nes. A good suggestion. Make it with a
mouth slit from ear to ear.

Har. What's that for ?

Nes. First, to give you air; and, then, it
may suit your dress. But what must the
crest be ?

Har. That's what I want to know.

Nes. A dog's head, with drooping ears.

Har. That's very common.

Nes. Then add two horns to it. That's not
common.

Har. I like that very well. But what beasts
shall I have for supporters ?

Nes. Why, as for bucks, and dogs, and
dragons and griffins, they have been taken up
already by princes. Suppose you put two
harpies there.

Har. Nothing could be better.

Nes. Then your title. In the first place
you must be sure not to suffer yourself to be
called Harpalus Comensis, but Harpalus a

88 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Como; the latter is the manner of the nobility,
the former of low theologians.

Har. Yes, I recollect.

Nes. Is there anything you can call yourself
lord of ?

Har. No, not so much as a pig-stye.

Nes. Were you born in any famous city ?

Har. No, in a sorry village; for a man must
not lie when he is seeking counsel.

Nes. True; but is there no mountain near
that village ?

Har. Yes.

Nes. And is there any rock near that ?

Har. Yes, a very steep one.

Nes. Why, then you shall be Harpalus,
Knight of the Golden Rock.

Har. But it is the custom of great men, 1
have noticed, to have their peculiar mottoes;
as Maximilian had "Keep within bounds."
Philip, " He that will," and Charles, " Further
yet;" some one thing, some another.

Nes. Well, suppose you take: " Let no
stone be unturned ?"

The False Knight 89

Har. You could suggest nothing more fitting.

Nes. Now, in order that the general esti-
mate of you may be confirmed, you must
counterfeit letters sent you from this and that
great personage, in which you must frequently
be styled, " Illustrious Knight," and there
mention must be made of great affairs, as of
estates, castles, many thousands of florins,
great offices, and rich matches, and you must
contrive that these letters shall fall into peo-
ple's hands as being dropped by chance, or
forgotten.

Har. That will be very easy for me, be-
cause I have a knowledge of letters, and by
much practice have acquired such skill that 1
can easily counterfeit any man's hand.

Nes. Good ! Now, either sew them into
your garment, or leave them in your pocket,
so that when you send your clothes to your
tailor to mend, he may find them. He will
make no secret of it, and when it comes to
your knowledge, assume an air of displeasure

90 Colloquies of Erasmus.

and vexation, as if you were much annoyed
at the occurrence.

Har. I have practiced that so long that I can
change my countenance as easily as my dress.

Nes. By this means the artifice will not be
suspected, and the matter will be rapidly
noised abroad.
* Har. I'll take care to look after that.

Nes. Then you must furnish yourself with
companions, and with servants as well, who
shall behave deferentially before you, and call
you " My lord " before everybody. This will
not cost you anything. There are a great
many young fellows who will be glad to play
this part for nothing; and, moreover, this
country is running over with bookish youths
who are strangely infected with the desire — 1
will not say the itch — of writing, and there are
hungry printers who shrink at nothing, if
there be any hope of gain. You must bribe
some of these to give you in their pamphlets
the title of a nobleman of your country, and

The False Knight. 9 1

let it be repeated, every now and then, in
capital letters. Thus they will celebrate you
as a nobleman from Bohemia, and the pamph-
lets secure a wider and more rapid circulation
than tongues or prattling servants.

Har. This method commends itself, but the
servants will have to be maintained.

Nes. That is true; but you must not keep
idle servants that have no hands. Such will
be unprofitable. You must send them hither
and thither, and they will always pick up
something. There will be frequent oppor-
tunities for doing this, as you well know.

Har. Say no more. I know.

Nes. Then there are other arts.

Har. Pray let me hear them.

Nes. Unless you are a good dicer, a skillful
card player, an abandoned libertine, a stout
drinker, a daring spendthrift, and a borrower
and consumer of other people's money, and
have got the French pox to boot, scarce any-
body will believe you to be a knight.

92 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Har. In these matters I have long since be-
come expert. But where shall 1 get the
money ?

Nes. Hold, I was coming to that. Have
you a patrimony ?

Har. A very small one.

Nes. After the notion of your nobility has
been generally confirmed, you will easily find
fools that will give you credit. Some will be
ashamed and others afraid to deny you, and
there are a thousand ways to delude creditors.

Har. 1 am not unacquainted with them.
But they will be very pressing when they
find nothing coming but words.

Nes. There is no easier way to command
than by having many creditors.

Har. How so ?

Nes. First of all, your creditor gives you as
much attention as if he were the person
obliged, and is afraid lest he should give any
occasion of losing his money. No man has
his servants so much in awe as a debtor his

The False Knight. 93

creditor, and if you ever pay them anything,
it is more highly appreciated than if you made
them a present of it.

Har. I have found it so. ^- - CAl-i-.r.

Nes. But you must take care not to deal
with little people, for they make great trage-
dies over small matters. Those who have
more capital are more easily managed. Mod-
esty restrains them, hope leads them on, and
fear deters them; for they know what knights
are capable of. Last of all, when you are head
over heels in debt, then, upon one pretext or
another, migrate, first to one place, then to
another. Nor is there any reason to be
ashamed, for nobody is more deeply in debt
than great princes. If any common fellow
presses you, pretend you are offended at his
impudence. Make a small payment now and
then, but not the whole, nor to all your credi-
tors. You must always take care that no one
suspects you have an empty pocket. Make a
brave show of your money.

94 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Har. But how can a man make a show
when he has nothing ?

Nes. If a friend has placed anything in your
care, show it as your own, but do it artfully,
so that it may seem to be done by chance. It
is also a good plan to borrow money and show
it, even though you pay it back immediately.
Pull a couple of florins, which you have care-
fully placed by themselves, out of your pocket
from a whole pocketfull of coppers. You may
imagine the effect.

Har. Yes, I understand that, but at last I
must of necessity sink under my debts.

Nes. You know what knights can do with
us.

Har. What they please, and no redress.

Nes. Keep servants who are not idle, or
perhaps some of your kindred who must be
kept anyway. Some merchant will come
along whom they may rob on the way; they
will find something in taverns, or in houses,
or in boats, that is left unguarded. Do you

The False Knight. 95

see? They will remember that a man's
fingers were not given him for nothing.

Har. If this could be done with safety.

Nes. You must take care to keep them in
handsome liveries, and send' them frequently
with forged letters to distinguished men. If
they steal anything, even if they are sus-
pected, nobody will dare to charge them with
it for fear of the knight, their master. If
they chance to take a booty by force, it will
be called spoils of war.

Har. That is brave counsel.

Nes. This maxim of knighthood is always
to be sustained: That it is lawful for a knight
on the road to ease a common traveller of his
money; for what can be more disgraceful than
for a common tradesman to have plenty of
money, and a knight at the same time to be in
need of it to spend upon harlots and dice ? Go
as much as you can into the company of great
men, even though you inflict yourself upon
them; and that you may not be abashed at

96 Colloquies of Erasnms.

anything, your forehead must be brazen,
especially in the presence of your host. It
will be best for you to live in some frequented
place, as at the baths, and at the most fre-
quented inns.

Har. I had that in mind.

Nes. In such places fortune will oftentimes
throw something in your way.

Har. How, I beseech you ?

Nes. Say, some one drops a purse; another
leaves the key in the door of his wardrobe.
You grasp my meaning ?

Har. But—

Nes. What are you afraid of ? Who will
dare to suspect a person of such refinement,
who talks so nobly, the Knight of the Golden
Rock ? And suppose there should be some
abandoned fellow audacious enough to point
you out ? In the meantime suspicion will
have been cast upon some other of the guests
that went away the day before. The servants
will be embroiled with the landlord; you will

The False Knight 97

hold yourself perfectly tranquil and indiffer-
ent. If this accident has happened to a man
of modesty, or of brains, he will pass it over
without making words about it, lest, in addi-
tion to his loss, he be covered with shame for
taking no better care of his money.

Har. That is very probable, for I suppose
you know the Count of the White Vulture ?

Nes. Why shouldn't I ?

Har. Well, I heard of a certain Spaniard, a
handsome, genteel fellow, that put up with
him. He carried away a matter of six hun-
dred florins, nor did the Count dare to lodge
complaint against him ; such was the bearing
of the man.

Nes. You have a precedent, then. You
may now and then send out one of your
servants in battle array. He will rifle churches
and monasteries, and return laden with the
spoils of war.

Har. This is the safest plan of all.

Nes. There is yet another way of getting
money.

98 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Har. Pray let me hear it.

Nes. Pick a quarrel with those that have a
good deal of money, particularly with monks
or priests, who are looked upon with much
dislike now-a-days. One of them has laughed
at you, or spit upon your escutcheon; another
has spoken dishonorably of you, and still an-
other has written something that might be
tortured into calumny. Through your heralds
declare an irreconcilable feud. Scatter abroad
terrible threats of murder and destruction.
They will be terrified, and come to you to
make it up. Then see that you set a suffi-
cient price upon your dignity; that is to say,
you must demand the unreasonable in order
to get what is reasonable. If you make a
demand of three thousand florins, they will be
ashamed to offer you less than two hundred.

Har. And I will threaten others with the law.

Nes. That is more like an informer, but yet
it may help in some cases. But hark you,
Harpalus, I had almost forgotten what I should

The False Knight. 99

have mentioned at the start. Some girl with
a good dowry is to be drawn into the noose of
matrimony. You have a certain charm about
you; you are young; you are rather good-
looking; you're a fine braggart, and you smile
well. Give it out that you are called away to
some great office in the court of the Emperor.
Girls are fond of marrying satraps.

Har. I know some that have made their
fortunes in this way. But what if the cheat
should be discovered, and all my creditors
should fall upon me at once ? Then I, the
sham knight, shall become a laughing stock,
for they hate this sort of thing worse than if
you should rob a church.

Nes. Why, in that case, you must remem-
ber to put on a brazen face, and that im-
pudence never passed so readily for wisdom as
it does in these days. You must invent some-
thing for an excuse, and you will always find
some easy people who will believe your story,
and some so civil that they will not betray

icx> Colloquies of Erasmus,

your trick if they have discovered it. Last of
all, if you can do nothing else, you must take
refuge somewhere, either in the army or in
some disturbance, for, as the sea hides all the
evils of men, so is war the cesspool of all ras-
cality, and now-a-days he that bas^-not feeen
trained up in the school of rascality is notjppked
upon as fit to be a commander. This must be
your last card, when all else shall have failed
you, and you must turn every stone before you
come to it. Take care that you are not ruined
by going security for others. Shun little towns
that a man can't sneeze in, but everybody
knows it; in great and populous cities there is
more liberty, unless it be in such a place as
Marseilles. Quietly find out what people are
saying about you, and when you hear the
people begin to talk in this manner: "What is
his business, and why does he tarry here all
these years ?" "Why doesn't he go home ?"
"How can he neglect his castles?" "Who
are his ancestors, and where does he get the

. • t.

• *•.

Tke False Knigho. S . loi

means for his extravagance ?" — ^tKi«' k^nd of
talk, I say, when it begins to spread abpad,
then it is time for you to think of moving^'*
But let your retreat be that of the lion, artti,* ]
not the hare. Pretend you are called away\
to the court of the Emperor on important busi-
ness, and that you will return shortly at the
head of an army. Those that have anything
they are not willing to lose will not dare to say
a word against you when you are gone. But
above all I advise you to have a care of that
peevish, malicious set of men who are called
poets. If anything displeases them, they will
envenom their writings, and the venom of
them will of a sudden be spread all through
the world.

Har. Strike me dead if I am not wonder-
fully pleased with your counsel, and I shall
make it my business to let you see that you
have hit upon a worthy pupil and a young
man that is not ungrateful. The first good
horse I get into my pasture that is equal to
your deserts, I will send you as a gift.
8

» • -

■ • «

. •

•

I02 .. :Cdlloquies of Erasmus.

Ne^..WelI, it only remains for you to carry
out* your promise. But why is it that you
^ .pei^ist in holding such an unflattering opinion
- ' of the nobility ?

Har. For no other reason except that they
do what they please and go unpunished. And
do you think this a matter of little importance ?

Nes. If the worst come, death is a debt that
must be paid to nature, even if you have lived
a Carthusian; and it is an easier death to be
broken on the wheel than to die of the stone,
the gout, or the palsy, for it is like a soldier
to believe that after death nothing remains of
a man but his carcass.

Har. I, too, am of that opinion.

CHARON.

CHARON. ALASTOR.

Charon. Whither are you going with such
unbridled haste, Alastor ?

Alastor. O, Charon, you have come in the
nick of time. I was coming to you.

Ch. Well, what's the news ?

Al. I bring a message to you and to Proser-
pine that is most joyful.

Ch. Out with it then and lighten your
burden.

Al. The Furies have been no less diligent
than successful in gaining their point; there is
not a foot of ground on earth which they have
not infected with their hellish calamities,
seditions, wars, robberies and plagues, so that
they have grown quite bald, having shed all
their snakes and exhausted all their venom.

(103)

I04 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Now they are rambling about in search of such
vipers and asps as they may find, for they are
as bald as an egg, without a single hair on
their heads, nor a drop more of venom in
their breasts. But do you get your boat and
oars ready; you will have such a throng of
ghosts coming to you before long that I fear
you will not be able to carry them all over by
yourself.

Ch. I could have told you that ?

Al. How came you to know it ?

Ch. Ossa brought me that news more than
two days ago.

Al. Nothing is more swift than that god-
dess. But why are you loitering here away
from your boat ?

Ch. I came here on business to get me a
good strong trireme. My boat is so rotten and
leaky with age that it will not carry such a
burden, if it is true what Ossa has told me.
But, indeed, what matters it about Ossa; the
need is evident, for I have suffered shipwreck
already.

Charon. Alas tor. 105

Al. Indeed, you are all dripping. I fancied
you were just come out of a bath.

Ch. No, I swam out of the Stygian pool.

Al. Where did you leave the ghosts ?

Ch. They are swimming among the frogs.

Al. But what was it that Ossa told you ?

Ch. That the three monarchs of the world
were bent upon one other's destruction with
a mortal hatred, and that no part of Christen-
dom was free from the madness of war. For
these three have drawn all the rest with them
into the whirlpool of battle. They are all so
high spirited that no one of them will yield to
the other. Nor are the Danes, the Poles, the
Scots nor the Turks at peace, but they are
preparing dreadful things. The plague rages
everywhere, in Spain, Britain, Italy and
France. Add to this that a new infection is
sprung out of the variety of opinions, which
has so corrupted the minds of all people that
there is no such thing as sincere friendship
anywhere, but brother is at enmity with

io6 Colloquies of Erasmus.

brother, and husband and wife cannot any
longer agree. So that there is hope that there
will soon arise a glorious destruction of man-
kind if these controversies, which are now
carried on with the tongue and the pen, once
come to blows.

Al. All that report has told you is quite
true, for I have with these eyes seen all this
and more, having been a constant companion
and ally of the Furies, who have never at any
time shown themselves more worthy of their
name.

Ch. But there is danger lest some spirit
should arise who might of a sudden exhort
them to peace. Men's minds are variable,
and I have heard that among the living there
is one Polygraphus, who is continually, by
his writing, inveighing against wars and urg-
ing peace.

Al. He has a long time been talking to deaf
ears. He once wrote a Hue and Cry after
Peace Banished and Driven Away, and after

Charon. Alastor. 107

that an Epitaph upon Peace Defunct; but,
then, on the other hand, there are others who
advance our cause no less than do the Furies
themselves.

Ch. Who are they ?

Al. They are a certain kind of animals in
black and white garments, ash-colored gowns,
and various dresses. They are always hover-
ing about the courts of princes, and constantly
instilling into their ears the love of war, ex-
horting the nobility and common people to it,
haranguing them in their sermons, that it is
a just, holy and religious war. And that
which would still more arouse your admiration
of these men is the fact that they cry it on
both sides. In France they preach that God
is on the French side, and that they that have
God for their champion can never be overcome.
In England and in Spain the cry is that the
war is not the king's, but God's; wherefore,
if they do but fight like men, victory is sure,
and that if anyone should chance to fall in

io8 Colloquies of Erasmus,

battle, he will not die, but fly directly up into
heaven, arms and all.

Ch. And all this is believed ?

Al. What cannot a hypocritical religion do ?
Add to this youth, inexperience, thirst for
glory, hatred, inclination and the natural bent
of mind. It is an easy matter to impose upon
such, not more difficult than to overthrow a
wagon already on the point of toppling.

Ch. 1 would do these animals a good turn
with all my heart.

Al. Spread a bounteous banquet. Nothing
will please them so much.

Ch. What ? Of mallows, lupins and leeks ?
For you know we have no other provision
down here.

Al. Nay, of partridges, capons and pheas-
ants, if you would have them look upon you
as a good caterer.

Ch. What is it that moves these people to
be so hot for war ? What do they gain by it ?

Al. They get more from those who die than

Charon. Alastor, 109

from those who live. There are last wills and
testaments, funeral obsequies, bulls, and a
great many other profits not to be despised.
Finally, they prefer to live in a camp rather
than in their cells. War breeds a great many
bishops, who were not thought of any conse-
quence in time of peace.

Ch. Well, they know their business.

Al. But what need is there of a trireme ?

Ch. No need at all, if I had a mind to be
wrecked again in the Stygian lake.

Al. Was that because you had such a crowd ?

Ch. Yes.

Al. But you carry shades, not bodies.
What weight have shades ?

Ch. Let them be water spiders, yet there
may be enough of them to overload a boat,
and then, you know, my boat is but a shadow-
boat as well.

Al. But I remember, once upon a time,
when you had a great company, so many
that your boat would not hold them, I saw

no Colloquies of Erasmus,

three thousand hanging to your rudder, and
you were not conscious of the weight at all.

Ch. I confess there are ghosts of that sort.
They are such as pass slowly out of the body,
attenuated with consumption or with hectic
fevers. But those that are torn suddenly out
of stout bodies bring a great deal of the cor-
poreal substance along with them, such as are
sent hither by apoplexies, pestilences, and
especially by war.

Al. I don't think the French or Spaniards
bring much weight along with them.

Ch. Much less than the others, but for all
that their ghosts are not as light as feathers,
either. As for the well-fed Englishmen and
Germans, they come in such condition that I
recently was in danger of going to the bottom
with only ten aboard, and had I not thrown
overboard some of my cargo, I should have
been lost, boat, passengers, passage money,
and all.

Al. You certainly were in great danger.

Charon. Alastor. 1 1 1

Ch. What shall I do, then, in your opinion,
when so many fat lords, hectors and bullies
come down to us ?

Al. As for those that die in a just war, I
suppose none of them will come to you, for
they say they fly straight up into heaven.

Ch. I can't say where they fly to, but this
one thing I do know: as often as there is a
war, there come to me sb many wounded and
cripples that I wonder there should be any one
left above ground; and they come weighted
down, not only with eating and drinking, but
with bulls, benefices, and a great many other
things.

Al. They don't bring these things with
them, do they? They come naked to you.

Ch. True, but on their arrival they bring
the dreams of all these things.

Al. Are dreams so heavy then ?

Ch. They load down my boat. Load it
down, did I say? Nay, they have sunk it be-
fore now. Then do you think all the half-
pence weigh nothing ?

112 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Al. Yes, I believe they do, if they bring
brass ones.

Ch. Therefore I have made up my mind to
look out for a vessel that shall be equal to my
cargo.

Al. You're a lucky fellow.

Ch. Why so ?

Al. Because you'll get rich at once.

Ch. What, out of a multitude of ghosts }

Al. To be sure.

Ch. Ay, if they did but bring their wealth
along with them. But now they sit in my
boat, bewailing the kingdoms and dignities and
abbacies, and the innumerable talents of gold
they have left behind, and bring me nothing
but a poor half-penny. All I have been scrap-
ing together for these three thousand years
will go for the purchase of a new boat.

Al. You have to spend money in order to
make it.

Ch. But the people in the world have better
trading, 1 am told. If fortune favors them
they can get rich in three years' time.

Charon. Alastor. 113

AI. Ay, and sometimes turn bankrupts too.
Your gain is less, but more certain.

Ch. I can't tell how certain it is. If any
deity should start up, and make peace amongst
the princes, this chance of mine would be
knocked in the head at once.

Al. As for that, I can assure you, you may
sleep soundly. You have no reason to fear a
peace for these ten years. The pope is the
only man who is persuading them to come to
an agreement amongst themselves, but he is
wasting his breath. The cities murmur at
their burden of ills, and some there are, I
can't say who, that whisper about it is an
unreasonable thing that the whole world
should be turned upside down for the private
quarrels and ambitions of two or three per-
sons. But, take my word for it, the Furies
will get the better of these wise counsels,
whatever they may be. But what need is
there for you to seek aid of mortals ? Haven't
we workmen enough amongst ourselves ? We
have Vulcan, have we not ?

114 Colloquies of Erasmus,

Ch. Surely, if I wanted a boat of brass.

Al. At least some one might be sent for.

Ch. I might do that, but I lack materials.

Al. What say you ? Are there no woods
in this country ?

Ch. All the woods that were in the Elysian
Fields are used up.

Al. How is that?

Ch. In burning the ghosts of heretics, so
that, of late, we have been obliged to dig for
coal in the bowels of the earth.

Al. What, could not the ghosts be punished
at a less expense than that ?

Ch. Rhadamanthus ruled it so.

Al. If this be so, when you have got your
boat, where will you get oars?

Ch. It is my business to steer. Let the
ghosts row themselves if they want to get
over.

Al. But some of them have never learned
to hold an oar.

Ch. There are no idlers aboard my craft.

Charon. Alastor. 115

Both kings and cardinals row with me. Every
man takes his turn, the poorest peasant as
well, whether they have learned to row or
not.

Al. Well, use your wits, and get a trireme
as cheap as you can. I won't detain you any
longer. I'll away to hell with my good news.
But, O Charon, I say !

Ch. What's the matter ?

Al. Make haste, and get back as soon as
you can, or the crowd will overwhelm you.

Ch. Nay, you'll find at least two hundred
thousand men on the bank already, besides
those that are paddling in the pool. I'll make
what haste I can, and do you tell them I'll be
there presently.

THE ALCHEMIST.

PHILECOUS. LALUS.

Philecous. What is up that Lalus is smiling
to himself, so that he almost bursts into a
roar, making every now and then the sign of
the cross ? I'll interrupt his felicity. Good-
day, my dear Lalus; you seem to be very
happy.

Lalus. But I shall be much happier when I
have made you a partaker of my joy.

Phi. Prithee, then, make me happy as soon
as you can.

La. Do you know Balbinus ?

Phi. The learned old gentleman who enjoys
such a fine reputation ?

La. The same; but no mortal man is wise

at all times, or is without his weak side. This

man, with all his good qualities, and they are

(ii6)

The Alchemist. 117

many, is endowed with some blemishes. He
has for a long time been bewitched with the
art called Alchemy.

Phi. Do not speak of it as a trifle, but as a
dangerous disease.

La. However that may be, and notwith-
standing he has been so often deceived by
this sort of people, he has lately suffered him-
self to be imposed upon again.

Phi. In what manner ?

La. A certain priest went to him, saluted
him with great respect, and accosted him in
this manner: *'Most learned Balbinus, perhaps
you will wonder that 1, a stranger, should
thus interrupt you, who are, as 1 know, always
deeply occupied with the most sacred studies."
Balbinus gave him a nod, as was his custom,
for he is wonderfully sparing of his words.

Phi. That is an evidence of prudence.

La. But the other, as the wiser of the two,
proceeds: "You will forgive my importunity
when you learn the reason of my coming to

9

1 18 Colloquies of Erasmus,

you." **Tell me, then," says Balbinus,
" but in as few words as possible." " I will,"
says he, '* as briefly as I am able. You know,
most learned of men, that the fates of mortals
are various, and I cannot tell whether I should
class myself in the number of the happy or of
the miserable. When I contemplate my fate
on the one side, I account myself most happy;
but if on the other side, no one is more miser-
able." Balbinus urged him to make the matter
as brief as possible. "1 will have done im-
mediately, most learned Balbinus," said he,
* * and it will be the more easy for me in the
presence of a man who understands the whole
affair so well, that no man understands it
better."

Phi. You are sketching me an orator rather
than an alchemist.

La. You shall hear the alchemist by and by.
**This good fortune," says he, **I have had
from a child, that I learned that most desirable
of arts, alchemy, the very marrow, I call it, of

The Alchemist. 119

all philosophy/* At the very mention of
alchemy, Balbinus raised himself a little with
an involuntary motion, then with a deep sigh
bade him proceed. The priest continued: **But
miserable man that I am," said he, **by not
falling into the right way !" When Balbinus
asked him what way he referred to, he re-
plied: "Good sir, you know (for what escapes
Balbinus, a man of such erudition?) that there
are two ways in this art: one, which is called
Longation; and the other, which is called Curta-
tion. Through my bad fate I have fallen upon
Longation.*' When Balbinus asked him what
was the difference between the ways, he re-
plied: "It would be impudent in me to men-
tion this to a man to whom, as I am very well
aware, all things are so well known that
nobody knows them better. Therefore I come
as a suppliant before you, that you may take
pity upon me, and deign to impart to me that
most happy way of Curtation. And the fact
that you are so expert in this art will make it

1 20 Colloquies of Erasmus.

a much simpler task to impart it to me. Do
not conceal so great a gift from your poor
brother, who is ready to die with grief, and
may Jesus Christ ever enrich you with more
sublime endowments/' When he would make
no end of his entreaties, Balbinus was obliged
to confess that he was utterly ignorant of the
whole matter of Longation and Curtation, and
bade him explain the meaning of the terms.
Then the priest began: "Although, sir, I am
aware that I am speaking to a person better
skilled than myself, yet since you command
me, I will do as you wish. Those that have
spent their whole liv6s in this divine art
change the species of things in two ways: one
shorter, but full of danger; the other longer,
but safer. I count myself unhappy that I
have learned in that way which is not adapted
to my disposition; nor have I been able, up to
this time, to find anybody who would show me
that other way, which I am so desirious of
learning. But at last God put it into my

The Alchemist. 121

mind to apply to you, a man not less pious
than learned* Your learning enables you to
easily grant what I seek, and your piety will
dispose you to help a Christian brother, whose
salvation is in your hands." To make the
matter short, long before the old fox, with
talk of this kind, had cleared himself of all
suspicion of a trick, and had established the
belief that he understood one way perfectly
well, Balbinus' mind was itching with curiosity.
At last, when he could hold out no longer, he
cried: *' Away with your methods of Curtation,
of which I have never before heard even the
name, so far am I from understanding it. Tell
me, sincerely, do you thoroughly understand
Longation.?" '* Pooh !" replied the priest,
"perfectly well. But I don't like the tedious-
ness of it.*' Then Balbinus asked him how
much time it would require. ''Too much,'*
replied the priest, "almost a whole year; but
in the meantime it is the safest way."
"Never mind about that," said Balbinus, "if

122 Colloquies of Erasmus.

it should take two years, if only you can de-
pend upon your art." To shorten the story,
they came to an agreement, that the business
should be set on foot secretly in Balbinus'
house upon this condition: the priest was to
find the art and Balbinus the money, and the
profit was to be equally divided between
them, although the imposter modestly offered
that Balbinus should have the whole gain.
They took an oath of secrecy after the manner
of those who are initiated into the mystic rites,
and money was paid down for the artist to
buy pots, glasses, coal, and other necessary
things for furnishing the laboratory. This
money our alchemist squandered agreeably
upon harlots, dice and drinking.

Phi. That is one way, however^ of chang-
ing the species of things,

La. When Balbinus pressed him to take
vigorously hold of the matter, he replied:
** Don't you know that 'well begun is half
done?' It is of the first importance to have

The Alchemist. 123

the materials well prepared." At last he be-
gan to set up the furnace, and here again was
need for more gold, to be used as a bait for
future gold; for as fish are not caught without
bait, so alchemists must put gold in before
they can take gold out. In the meantime
Balbinus was wholly absorbed in his com-
putations, for he reckoned thus: If one ounce
makes fifteen ounces, what will be the pro-
duct of two thousand ounces ? That was the
sum he had made up his mind to spend.
When the alchemist had spent the money
entrusted to him and two months' time, pre-
tending to be wonderfully busy about the
bellows and the coals, Balbinus inquired of
him how the work was going on. At first he
made no answer, but upon Balbinus' urging
he at length replied: **As all important
matters go, the greatest difficulty is to make a
beginning." A mistake had been made in
buying the coals; he had bought oak coals,
and it was necessary to have fir or hazel.

124 Colloquies of Erasmus.

There was a hundred florins gone, nor did he
on this account betake himself less eagerly to
the dice. The money was given, and new
coals were bought, and the business begun
again with renewed zeal, just as in war sol-
diers, if anything happens in the way of dis-
aster, make it up in bravery. When the
laboratory had been kept hot for some months,
and the golden fruit was expected, and there
was not a grain of gold in the vessels (for the
alchemist had squandered all that), another
pretence was found : that the glasses they
had been using were not rightly tempered.
For just as a Mercury cannot be cut out of
every log, even so gold cannot be made in
every kind of glass; and the more money that
was spent, the more unwilling was Balbinus
to give it up.

Phi. So it is with gamesters, as if it were
not better to lose some than all.

La. Very true. The alchemist swore he
was never so deceived since he was born, but

The Alchemist, 125

now that this error had been detected, the
rest was sure, and he hoped to make up that
loss with large interest. The glasses were
changed, and the laboratory refurnished for
the third time. Then the operator warned
his patron that the work would go on more
successfully if he would send a present of a
few florins to the Virgin Mother who is wor-
shipped by the dwellers on the coast, for the
art was a holy one, and not likely to prosper
without the favor of the saints. Balbinus
liked this advice exceedingly, being a very
pious man, who never let a day pass without
performing some act of devotion. The alche-
mist set out, therefore, upon this pilgrimage,
but spent the votive offering in a bawdy-house
in the next town. Then he came back, and
told Balbinus that he had great hopes the
business would turn out according to their
desires, since the Holy Virgin seemed so to
favor his offerings. When he had labored for
a long time, and not one grain of gold appear-
10

126 Colloquies of Erasmus.

ing, Balbinus expostulated with him, he an-
swered that nothing like this had ever hap-
pened to him in all his life, as often as he had
practiced the art, nor could he imagine what
was the matter. After they had studied over
the matter a long time, it occurred to Balbinus
that perhaps some day he had omitted hearing
the mass, or saying his prayers, for he was
certain that nothing would succeed if these
were omitted. ''You have hit the nail upon
the head," replied the imposter; "I, too,
wretch that I am, have been guilty of the
same crime once or twice through forgetful-
ness, and once of late, rising from the table,
after a long dinner, I forgot to repeat the Salu-
tation of the Virgin." "Why, then," said
Balbinus, "it is no wonder that a thing of
this moment succeeds no better." The rascal
undertook to perform twelve services for two
that he had omitted, and to repay ten Saluta-
tions for the one. When money every now
and then failed this extravagant alchemist.

The Alchemist. 127

and he could find no pretext for asking for
more, he finally hit upon this scheme. He
came home with the air of one terrified to
death, and in a mournful tone cried out:
'^ Alas, Balbinus ! I am lost, totally lost ! I
am in danger of my life !" Balbinus was
stupefied, and sought to learn the cause of the
disaster. **The people of the court," replied
the priest, ** have gotten wind of what we are
about, and I expect nothing else but to be
carried to prison immediately." At this Bal-
binus turned pale in earnest, for you know it
is a capital crime with us for any man to prac-
tice alchemy without permission of the prince.
''Not," continued the priest, "that 1 fear
death for myself. Would that were the worst
thing that could happen ! 1 fear something
more cruel." Being asked what that might
be, he replied: *' I shall be dragged off to some
castle, and there forced to work all my days
for those I have no mind to serve. Is there
any death that would not be preferred to such

128 Colloquies of Erasmus,

a life ?'* The matter was carefully considered,
and Balbinus, who was well versed in the art
of rhetoric, examined every possibility if this
mischief might not in some way be averted.
** Can't you deny the crime ?" he suggested.
"Impossible," replied the priest. "The
matter is known among the people of the
court, and they have proof which cannot be
set aside; nor is it possible to avert the result,
for the law is clear." When many things had
been proposed, and nothing seemed to afford
a certainty of relief, the alchemist, who was
in need of ready money, said, ** Balbinus, we
waste our strength in vain counsels, when the
matter demands an immediate remedy. Al-
ready I think I hear them coming to carry
me away to my cruel fate." Finally, seeing
that Balbinus did not catch the point, he
added: ** I am as much at a loss as you, nor
do I see any way left, but to die like a man,
unless you approve of what 1 am going to pro-
pose, which would be more profitable than

The Alchemist 129

honorable, were not necessity a stern master.
You know that these men are hungry after
money, wherefore they may the more easily
be bribed to secrecy. Although it is indeed
hard to give these rascals good money to throw
away, but as the case now stands, I see no
better way.'* Balbinus was of the same
opinion, and counted out thirty gold pieces to
secure their silence.

Phi. You make Balbinas out to be wonder-
fully liberal.

La. Nay, in an honest cause, you would
sooner have gotten his teeth out of his head
than his money. Well, the alchemist was
provided for, who was in no danger but that
of wanting money for his mistress.

Phi. I wonder Balbinus had no suspicion all
this while.

La. This is the only thing he lacks shrewd-
ness in; he is sharp enough at anything else.
Now the furnace was put to work again with
new money, but first a short prayer was made

1 30 Colloquies of Erasmus.

to the Virgin to prosper their undertaking. By
this time a whole year had been spent, first
with one obstacle, then with another, so that
all the expense and labor was lost. In the
meantime a most ridiculous thing occurred.

Phi. What was that?

La. The alchemist had an intrigue with the
lady of a certain courtier. The husband be-
ginning to be jealous, began to watch for the
man, and, finally, having been informed that
the priest was in his wife's bed-chamber, he
came home unexpected, and knocked at the
door.

Phi. What did he intend to do with him ?

La. What? Why, nothing very agreeable;
either kill or mutilate him. When the hus-
band, being short of patience, threatened to
break down the door if his wife did not open
it, they were in bodily fear within, and looked
about for some means of escape. Circum-
stances suggesting nothing better, the alche-
mist pulled off his coat and threw himself out

The Alchemist. 131

of a narrow window, not without both danger
and injury to himself, and so got away. Such
stories as these, you know, spread rapidly. It
came to the ears of Balbinus, but the artist
was not unprepared for this event.

Phi. So he was caught at last.

La. Nay, he got off better here than he did
out of the bed-chamber. Hear the man's in-
vention. Balbinus said not a word to him
about the matter, but showed it in his gloomy
countenance that he was no stranger to the
talk of the town. The alchemist knew Bal-
binus to be a man of piety, and in some re-
spects, 1 should almost say, superstitious.
Such persons are very ready to forgive a sup-
pliant, no matter how grave his offense.
Therefore the priest purposely began a talk
about the progress of their business, complain-
ing that it had not been exactly successful,
not such as it had formerly been, or as he had
hoped it would be, adding that he wondered
greatly what might be the reason. Upon this

132 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Balbinus, who hitherto had been sunk in
silence, was readily moved. *Mt is not diffi-
cult to see," said he, "what the trouble is.
Sins are the obstacles that stand in the way
of our success, for pure works must be under-
taken by pure persons." At this word the
trickster fell upon his knees, beating his
breast, and with a countenance and voice full
of tears cried: ** O, Balbinus, what you have
said is true indeed. It is sin indeed that
hinders us, but my sin, not yours. 1 am not
ashamed to confess my uncleanness before
you, as 1 would before my most holy father
confessor. The frailty of my flesh o'ercame
me, and Satan drew me into his snares.
Miserable wretch that 1 am; of a priest 1 am
become an adulterer ! And yet the offering
which you sent to the Virgin Mother is not
wholly lost, for 1 had certainly perished if she
had not helped me, for when the husband
broke open the door, and the window was too
little for me, in that moment of danger I be-

The Alchemist. 133

thought me of the blessed Virgin; 1 fell upon
my knees and besought her, that if the gift
had been acceptable to her, she should help
me, and without delay I went to the window
(for the necessity was great), and found it
large enough for my escape.

Phi. Did Balbinus believe this ?

La. Believe it? Yes, indeed, and forgave
him, too, and admonished him religiously not
to be ungrateful to the blessed Virgin. And
more money was paid down upon his giving
his promise that he would thenceforth carry
on the business with purity.

Phi. Well, what was the end of all this ?

La. The story is very long, but 1 will cut it
short. When he had fooled his man long
enough with such inventions, and wheedled
him out of a considerable sum of money, a
certain person happened to come along, who
had known the rascal from a boy. He readily
suspected that he was acting the same part
with Balbinus that he had acted everywhere.

1 34 Colloquies of Erasmus.

and secretly admonished Balbinus, telling him
what sort of a fellow he was harboring in his
house, and advised him to get rid of the rascal
as soon as possible, unless he had a mind to
have him rifle his coffers sometime and then
run away.

Phi. Well, what did Balbinus do then ?
Surely he took care to have him committed to
prison ?

La. To prison ? Nay, he gave him money
for his journey, conjuring him, by all that was
sacred, not to speak of what had happened.
And he was wise, in my opinion, to do this,
rather than to become the subject of an after-
dinner joke, and run the risk of having his
goods confiscated besides. For the impostor
was in no danger. He knew no more of his
art than an ass, and cheating is the breath of
life to people of that sort. If he had charged
him with theft, his cloth would have kept him
from hanging, and nobody would have been
willing to maintain such a fellow in prison.

The Alchemist, 135

Phi. I should pity Balbinus, but that he
took pleasure in being swindled.

La. I must make haste to the court. At
another time I'll tell you stories more ridiculous
than this.

Phi. When you are at leisure, I shall be
glad to hear them, and 1 will give you story for
story.

THE FRANCISCANS OR RICH

BEGGARS.

CONRAD. A BERNARDINE MONK. A PARSON.
AN INN-KEEPER AND HIS WIFE.

Conrad. Hospitality becomes a pastor.

Parson. But 1 am the pastor of sheep. 1 do
not care for wolves.

Con. But perhaps you don't hate a wench
quite so much. What harm have we done
you that you have such a dislike of us, so that
you won't so much as suffer us under your
roof ? We are not putting you to the expense
of a supper.

Par. I'll tell you. If you should so much as

discover a hen or a chicken in my -house,

to-morrow I should be defamed befeie the

people from the pulpit. This is the gratitude

people of your sort show for being entertained.

(136)

Franciscans or Rich Beggars, 1 37

Con. We are not all of that stripe.

Par. Well, be what you will, I'd scarcely
trust St. Peter himself if he came to me in
such a garb.

Con. If that be your resolution, at least tell
us where to find other lodging.

Par. There is a public inn here in town.

Con. What sign has it }

Par. Upon a hanging board you will see a
dog thrusting his head into a pot. This is
what happens in the kitchen, and a wolf sits
at the bar.

Con. That is a promising sign.

Par. Make your "best of it.

Bernardine. What sort of a pastor is this ?
We might starve for all of him.

Con. If he feeds his sheep no better than
he feeds us, they cannot be very fat.

Ber. In evil times we have need of good
counsel. What shall we do }

Con. We must put modesty aside.

Ber. There's little to be gained with modesty
in case of need.

1 38 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Con. Very true, but St. Francis will be
with us.

Ber. Let us try our fortune then.

Con. Let us not stay at the door for the
host's answer, but rush directly into the stove-
room, and we won't be easily put out again.

Ber. O, impudent trick !

Con. T'is better than to lie all night under
the sky and freeze to death. In the mean-
time put modesty in your wallet, to be re-
sumed on the morrow if it seem appropriate.

Ber. Indeed, the case requires it.

Inn-keeper. What sort of animals do 1 see
here ?

Con. We are servants of God, and the sons
of St. Francis, my good man.

Innk. 1 don't know what pleasure God may
take in such servants, but as for me I should
not care to have many of them in my house.

Con. Why so ?

Innk. Because at eating and drinking you
are more than men, but for working you have

Franciscans or Rich Beggars, 1 39

neither hands nor feet. Ha! Ha! You sons
of St. Francis ? You used to preach that he
was a celibate, and has he got so many sons ?

Con. We are children of the spirit, not of
the flesh.

Innk. A very unhappy father, for your
spirit is the worst part of you. Your bodies
are lusty enough, and as for that, it seems to
go better with you than with us, who have to
support a wife and daughters.

Con. Perhaps you think that we are some
of those that depart from the institutions of
our founder. We observe them strictly.

Innk. Then I'll observe you too, that you
do me no damage, for 1 have a mortal hatred
of your breed.

Con. Why so, 1 pray.

Innk. Because you carry teeth, but no
money, and such sort of guests are very
unwelcome to me.

Con. But we labor for you.

Innk. Shall I show you how you labor for
me ?

1 40 Colloquies of Erasmus,

Con. Yes, show us.

Innk. Look at that picture there, just by
you, on your left. There you see a wolf
preaching, and on his back a goose, thrusting
her head out of his cowl. There again you
see a wolf absolving a certain one at confes-
sion, but part of a sheep, hid under his gown,
hangs out. There again you see an ape
seated at a sick bed in a Franciscan's garb.
He holds forth a cross in one hand, and has
the other in the sick man's purse.

Con. We do not deny that sometimes
wolves, foxes and apes are clothed with our
habit ; nay, we confess that oftentimes swine,
dogs, horses, lions and basilisks are concealed
under it, but then the same garment covers
many honest men. As a garment makes
nobody better, so it makes nobody worse. It
is unjust to judge of a man by his clothes; if
so, the garment which you sometimes wear
might be accursed, because it covers many
thieves, murderers, sorcerers and adulterers.

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 141

Innk. Well Til yield in the matter of the
garb, if you'll only pay.

Con. We'll pray to God for you.

Innk. And I'll pray to God for you, and so
we're even.

Con. But there are some persons you must
not take money of.

Innk. How comes it you have scruples
against touching money ?

Con. It is opposed to our profession.

Innk. And it is opposed to my profession to
entertain guests for nothing.

Con. But our rule does not permit us to
touch money,

Innk And my rule commands me quite the
contrary.

Con. What rule is yours ?

Innk. Read these verses :

Guests at this table, when your bellies are full,
Rise not hence before you have first paid your score.

Con. We'll be no expense to you.
II

142 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Innk. But they that are no expense to me
are no profit to me either.

Con. If you do any good oflfice to us here,
God will make it up to you abundantly.

Innk. But 1 cannot keep my family on these
words.

Con. We'll hide ourselves in some corner
of the stove-room, and be no trouble to any-
body.

Innk. My stove-room will not hold such
company.

Con. What, will you thrust us out of doors,
perchance to be devoured by wolves this night?

Innk. Wolf won't eat wolf, nor dog eat dog.

Con. If you do thus, you will be more cruel
than the Turk. Let us be what we will, we
are men.

Innk. I am deaf to your songs.

Con. You indulge your body, and lie naked
in a warm bed behind the stove, and will you
thrust us out of doors to perish in the cold
Right if indeed the wolves should spare us ?

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 143

Innk. Adam lived thus in Paradise.

Con. He did so, but then he was innocent.

Innk. So am I innocent.

Con. Perhaps so, leaving off the first syl-
lable. But take care, if you thrust us out of
your paradise, lest God should not receive
you into his.

Innk. Come, come, no abuse.

Wife. Prithee, my man, make some amends
for all your ill deeds by this small act of kind-
ness. Let them stay under your roof this
night. They are good men, and you'll see
your business will be the better for it.

Innk. Here comes the intercessor. 1 sus-
pect you have arranged this thing between
you. I don't like very well to hear this good
character from a woma^n. " Good men," for-
sooth !

Wife. Pooh, that's not so. But think how
often you have sinned with dicing, drinking
and brawling. At least do this alms for your
soul's sake, and don't thrust these men out of

1 44 Colloquies of Erasmus.

doors. You would like to have them with you
at your death bed. Often enough you harbor
loafers and clowns, and will you thrust these
men out of doors ?

Innk. Whence comes this petticoat-preacher
Into our midst ? Get you in and mind your
kitchen.

Wife. Well, so I will.

Ber. The man softens, and he is putting on
his shirt. I hope all will be well by and by.

Con. And the boys are laying the cloth.
Lucky for us that no guests come, else we
should be sent packing.

Ber. It happens very fortunately that we
brought a bottle of wine from the last town we
were at, and a roast leg of lamb, or else, for
aught I see, he would not have given us so
much as a mouthful of hay.

Con. Now the servants are seated, let us
take part of the table with them, but so that
we discommode nobody.

Innk. I believe I may blame it upon you

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 145

that I have not a guest this day, nor anyone
beside my own family and you good-for-
nothings.

Con. Well, blame it upon us, if it has not
happened to you often before.

Innk. Oftener than I could wish.

Con. Don't be uneasy. Christ lives, and
he will not forsake his own.

Innk. I have heard you were called evange-
lists, and the Evangels forbid the carrying
about of wallet and bread. But I see you
have great sleeves for wallets, nor do you
carry bread alone, but wine, too, and delicacies
in the way of meat.

Con. Take hold with us, if you will.

Innk. My wine is swill compared with that.

Con. Eat some of the meat; there is more
than enough for us.

Innk. O happy beggars! My wife has
cooked nothing to-day but cabbage and a little
rusty bacon.

Con. If you like, let us join our stores. It
s all one to us what we eat.

146 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Innk. Then why don't you carry with you
cabbage and sour wine ?

Con. Because the people where we dined
to-day forced this upon us.

Innk. Did you eat for nothing ?

Con. Yes. Nay, more, they thanked us,
and when we came away they gave us these
things to carry with us.

Innk. Where did you come from ?

Con. From Basel.

Innk. What ? So far !

Con. Yes.

Innk. What sort of men are you that get
about thus without horses, money, servants,
arms or provisions ?

Con. You see in us some survivals of the
evangelical life.

Innk. It seems to me the life of vagabonds
that stroll about with bags.

Con. Such vagabonds the apostles were,
and such the Lord Jesus himself.

Innk* Can you tell fortunes ?

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 1 47

Con. No, indeed,

Innk. How do you live then ?

Con. From Him who hath promised.

Innk. Who is he ?

Con. He who said: " Take no care, but all
things shall be added unto you,"

Innk. He did so promise, but it was to them
that seek the kingdom of God.

Con. That we do with all our might.

Innk. The apostles were famous for mira-
cles. They healed the sick, so that it is no
wonder that food was ever at hand for them;
but you can do nothing of the kind.

Con. We could if we were like the apostles,
and if the matter required a miracle. But
miracles were only given at the time for the
incredulous. There is now no need for such a
thing, only for a religious life. And it is often-
times a greater happiness to be sick than to
be well, and more fortunate to die than to live.

Innk. What do you do then ?

Con. What we can, every man according

148 Colloquies of Erasmus.

to the portion of grace conferred upon him.
We comfort, we exhort, we warn, we reprove,
and, when the opportunity offers, sometimes
we preach, if we find pastors that are dumb.
If we find no opportunity of doing good, we
take care to do nobody any harm, either by
our manners or with our tongue.

Innk. I wish you would preach for us
to-morrow, for it is a holy day.

Con. For what saint ?

Innk. St. Anthony.

Con. He was indeed a good man. But how
came he to have a holy day ?

Innk. ril tell you. This town abounds in
swineherds by reason of a large wood nearby,
which produces plenty of acorns. The people
have the idea that the care of swine is entrusted
to St. Anthony, and so they worship him for
fear that if they neglect him, he might get
angry.

Con. Would that they might worship him
in truth.

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 149

Innk. How's that ?

Con. Whosoever imitates the saints in their
lives, worships them with most holiness.

Innk. To-morrow the town will resound
with drinking and dancing, playing, wrangling
and boxing.

Con. So the heathens once worshipped
their Bacchus. But 1 wonder that this manner
of worship does not make St. Anthony furious
at these men, stupider than the swine them-
selves. What sort of a pastor have you ? A
dumb one or a wicked one ?

Innk. What he is to others, I do not know;
but he is a very good one to me, for he drinks
all day long, and nobody brings me more or
better customers to my great gain. I wonder
he is not here now.

Con. We have found by experience that he
is not very agreeable to us.

Innk. What! Did you go to him then ?

Con. We sought lodging at his house, but
he drove us away from his threshold as if we
had been wolves, and sent us hither.

1 50 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Innk. Ha ! Ha ! Now I understand the
matter. He would not come because he knew
you were here.

Con. But is he a dumb one ?

Innk. Dumb ? There is no one more noisy
in the stove-room, and in the church he roars
loud enough. But I never heard him preach.
But what more need I say ? You yourselves
know, I take it, that he is not dumb.

Con. Is he skilled in the sacred betters ?

Innk. He says he is a very expert scholar,
but what he knows of such things he has
learned in the secret confession, and therefore
it is not lawful to reveal it to others. You
know how it is. I'll tell it to you in a word:
"Like people, like priest." Each dish, as we
say, gets its cover.

Con. It may be he'll not give any one liberty
to preach.

Innk. Yes, he will, I'll warrant, but upon
this condition: that you don't throw any hints
at him, as so many of you are in the habit of
doing.

Franciscans or Rich Beggars, 151

Con. They have bad manners who do this.
If a pastor offends in anything, 1 admonish
him privily; the rest is the business of the
bishop.

Innk. Such birds seldom fly hither. Indeed
you seem to be good men yourselves; but
how do you happen to wear this sort of dress?
For a great many people take you to be bad
men, because you are thus clad.

Con. Why so?

Innk. I cannot tell, except they find a great
many of you to be so.

Con. And many again take us to be holy
men, because we wear this habit. Both are
in error ; but they err less who take us to be
good men than they that take us to be bad.

Innk. Well, let it be so. But what is the
advantage of so many different dresses?

Con. What do you think?

Innk. I see no advantage at all except in
processions or in war. In processions there are
carried about various personages, saints, Jews

152 Colloquies of Erasmus.

and heathen, and we know which is which by
the different dresses. In war as well, a
variety of dress is good, in order that every
one may follow the colors of his troops, so
that there may be no confusion in the ranks.

Con. That is well said. But this, too, is a
military garment; one of us follows one
leader, one another. But we all fight under
one general, Christ. In a garment, however,
there are three things to be considered.

Innk. What are they?

Con. Necessity, use and decency. Why
do we eat?

Innk. That we may not die of hunger.

Con. And for the same reason we take a
garment that we may not perish of the cold.

Innk. I confess it.

Con. This garment of mine is better for
that than yours. It covers the back, neck
and shoulders, where there is most danger.
Use requires various sorts of garments: a short
coat for a horseman, a long one for him who

Franciscans or Rich Beggars, 153

sits still, a thin one in summer, a thick one in
winter. There are some at Rome that change
their clothes three times a day. In the morn-
ing they take a coat lined with fur, about
noon one unlined, and towards night one that
is a little thicker. Every one, however, is not
provided with such a variety; therefore this
garment of ours is so contrived that this one
will serve for various uses.

Innk. How is that?

Con. If the north wind blows or the sun
shines hot, we put on our cowl; if the heat is
troublesome, we let it fall behind. If we are
sitting still, we let down our garment about
our heels; if we are walking, we hold or gird
it up.

Innk. He was no fool, whoever he was, that
contrived it.

Con. It is the chief thing in living happily,
that a man should accustom himself to be con-
tent with few things. Once we begin to in-
dulge ourselves with delicacies and dainties,

154 Colloquies of Erasmus.

there will be no end. No one garment could
be invented that would answer so many pur-
poses.

Innk. I admit that.

Con. Now let us consider the decency of
it. Pray tell me honestly, if you should put
on your wife's clothes would not everybody
say you had acted indecently?

Innk. They would say I was mad.

Con. And what would you say if she were
to put on your clothes?

Innk. I should not say much, but I should
give her a good beating.

Con. Does it then signify nothing what
garment one wears?

Innk. In this case it is very important.

Con. Nor is that strange; for the laws of
the pagans punished either man or woman
that should wear the clothes of the other sex.

Innk. And they were right.

Con. Let us proceed. What if an old man
of fourscore should dress himself like a boy of

Franciscans or Rich Beggars, 1 55

fifteen; or, on the other hand, a young man
dress himself like an old man? Would not
everybody say that he ought to be beaten for
it? Or if an old woman should attire herself
like a young girl, or the contrary?

Innk. No doubt.

Con. In like manner, if a layman should
wear a priest's habit, and a priest a layman's?

Innk. They would both act unbecomingly.

Con. What if a private man should assume
the regalia of a prince, or an inferior clergy-
man that of a bishop? Would he act becom-
ingly or not?

Innk. Unbecomingly.

Con. What if a citizen should dress himself
like a soldier, with a feather and other distinc-
tions of Thrasonic folly?

Innk. He would be laughed at.

Con. What if amongst soldiers an English-
man should wear a white cross in his colors,
a Swiss a red one, and a Frenchman a black
one?

156 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Innk. He would act impudently.

Con. Why then do you wonder so much at
our habit?

Innk. I know the difference between a
private man and a prince, between a man and
a woman; but I don't understand the differ-
ence between a monk and no monk.

Con. What difference is there between a
poor man and a rich one?

Innk. A fortune.

Con. And yet it would be unbecoming in a
poor man to imitate a rich man in his dress.

Innk. Very true, as rich men dress nowa*
days.

Con. What difference is there between a
fool and a wise man?

Innk. Sometimes more than there is be-
tween a rich man and a poor man.

Con. Are not fools dressed in a different
manner from wise men?

Innk. I cannot say how well it becomes
you, but your habit does not differ much from
theirs, if it had but ears and bells.

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 157

Con. These indeed are wanting, and we
are the fools of this world, if we really are
what we pretend to be.

Innk. What are you? I don't know; but
this I do know: that there are a great many
fools that wear caps and bells, who have more
wit than those that wear caps lined with fur,
hoods and other marks of wise men. Where-
fore it seems to me a ridiculous thing to dis-
play wisdom by the dress rather than by the
fact. I saw a certain man, more than a fool,
who wore a gown hanging down to his heels,
a cap like our doctors, and had the counten-
ance of a grave divine. He disputed publicly
with a kind of gravity, and he was as much
made of by great men as any of their fools,
and was more a fool than any of them.

Con. Well, what would you infer from
that? That a prince who laughs at his jester
should exchange coats with him ?

Innk. Perhaps decency would require that

it should be so, if your proposition be true,
12

158 Colloquies of Erasmus.

that the mind of a man should be represented
by his habit.

Con. Your argument comes near to me, in-
deed, but I am still of the opinion, that there
is good reason for giving fools their habits.

Innk. What reason.?

Con. That nobody might injure them if
they say or do anything foolish.

Innk: Well, I am not saying that this very
thing does rather provoke some people to in-
jure them, so that often from fools they be-
come madmen. Nor do I see any reason why
a bull that gores a man, or a dog or hog that
kills a child should be punished, while a fool
who commits graver crimes should be suffered
to live under the protection of his folly. But
I ask you, what is the reason that you are dis-
tinguished from others by your dress? For if
every trifling cause is suflScient to necessitate
a different habit, then a baker should wear a
different dress from a shoemaker, an apothe-
cary from a vintner, a coachman from a sailor.

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 159

And you, if you. are priests, why do you wear
a different habit from other priests? If you
are a layman, why do you differ from us?

Con. In early times monks were only the
purer part of the laity, and there was then
only the same difference between a monk and
a layman as between an honest, frugal man,
that maintains his family by industry, and a
highwayman that gets his living by robbing.
Afterwards the bishop of Rome bestowed
honors upon us, and we ourselves gave some
reputation to the habit, which is neither
simply lay nor sacerdotal. But such as it is,
some cardinals and popes have not been
ashamed of it.

Innk. But [as to the fitness of it, whence
comes that?

Con. Sometimes from the nature of things
themselves, sometimes from the customs and
the opinions of men. Would not all men
think it ridiculous if any one should wear a
bull's hide, with the horns on his head and
the tail trailing behind him on the ground?

1 60 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Innk. That would be ridiculous enough.

Con. Again, if any one should wear a gar-
ment that would hide his face and his hands,
and expose his private parts?

Innk. That would be more ridiculous than
the other.

Con. The very pagan writers have com-
mented upon those who wore transparent
stuffs, indecent even for women. It is more
decent to be naked, as we came upon you in
the stove-room, than to wear a transparent
garment.

Innk. I fancy that the whole of this matter
of apparel depends upon custom and the opin-
ion of the people.

Con. Why so?

Innk. It is not many days ago since "some
travelers lodged at my house, who said that
they had traveled through certain countries
recently discovered, which were wanting in
the maps of the ancient cosmographers. They
said that they came to an island of a very

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 1 6 1

temperate air, where it was held to be the
height of indecency to cover the body.

Con. It may be they lived like beasts.

Innk. On the contrary, they lived a life of
great humanity. They lived under a king,
whom they accompanied in the morning to
the daily labor, which lasted not above an
hour of the day.

Con. What work did they do?

Innk. They dug up a certain kind of root
that served them in the place of bread, and is
more pleasant and more wholesome than
wheat. When this was done, then every one
went away to his own affairs, and did what-
ever he had a mind to. They bring up their
children religiously; they avoid and punish
vices, but none more religiously than the
crime of adultery.

Con. What is the punishment?

Innk. They forgive the women, for this
concession is made to the sex. But for the
men that are taken in adultery this is the

1 62 Colloquies of Erasmus,

punishment: that all his life afterwards he
shall appear in public with his private parts
covered.

Con. A mighty punishment, indeed!

Innk. Custom has made it for them the
greatest of all punishments.

Con. When I consider the force of your
argument, 1 am almost ready to allow it.
For if you would expose a thief or a murderer
to the greatest ignominy, would it not be suffi-
cient if you should cut off his clothes above
the buttocks, and cover the parts thus in-
decently exposed with a wolf's skin; make
him wear a party-colored pair of boots, and
cut away all that part of his doublet that
covers the throat and arms, leaving his breast
and shoulders bare; shave off one side of his
beard, leave one part hanging down, and curl
the other; put a slashed cap upon his head,
with a huge bunch of feathers, and so expose
him publicly? Would not this make him
more ridiculous than to put him into a fool's

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 1 63

cap and bells? And yet soldiers deck them-
selves in this trim every day, and are well
enough pleased with themselves, and find
those who think it beautiful, though there is
nothing more ridiculous.

Innk. Nay, there are honest citizens, too,
who imitate them as much as possible.

Con. But now if a man should attempt to
imitate the dress of the Indians, who clothe
themselves with the feathers of birds, would
not the very boys, all of them, think him a
madman?

Innk. Indeed, they would.

Con. And yet, that which we admire is far
more insane than this. But, although It is
true, that nothing is so ridiculous but custom
will endure it, yet, it cannot be denied that
there is a certain fitness in garments, which
wise and prudent men have ever regarded;
and on the contrary, there is a certain lack of
fitness, which will, to all wise men, seem evi-
dent. Who does not laugh when he sees a

1 64 Colloquies of Erasmus.

woman dragging a long train at her heels, as
if her quality were to be measured by the
length of her tail? And yet some cardinals
are not ashamed to follow this fashion in the
length of their gowns. So masterful is custom,
that there is no altering of a fashion when
once it has been fixed.

Innk. Well, so much for custom. But tell
me what you think; whether you consider it
better for monks to differ from others in their
garb, or not.

Con. 1 think it simpler and more Christian,
not to judge of any man by his habit, if it be
but sober and decent.

Innk. Why don't you cast away your cowls
then?

Con. Why did not the apostles always eat
of all sorts of food?

Innk. 1 cannot tell. Tell me yourself.

Con. Because an invincible custom pre-
vented. Whatsoever is deeply rooted in the
minds of men, and confirmed by long use, has

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 1 65

become, so to speak, a part of their nature,
can never be removed at once, without great
danger to their peace of mind; but must be
done away with by degrees, as a certain one
plucked out a horse's tail, hair by hair.

Innk. I could endure it, if the monks had
all one kind of dress; but who can stand so
many different ones?

Con. Custom has brought this evil, which
brings everything. Benedict did not invent a
new habit, but used the same that he himself
wore and his disciples as well, which was the
habit of a plain, honest layman. Neither did
Francis invent a new dress; it was the dress
of simple country people. Their successors
have by new inventions turned it into a super-
stition. Do we not see some old women at
this day, who keep to the dress of their times,
which is more different from the dress now in
fashion than my dress from yours?

Innk. Indeed, we do.

Con. Therefore, when you see this habit,
you see only the survival of early centuries.

1 66 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Innk. why, then, has your garment no
special sanctity?

Con. None at all.

Innk. There are some of your cloth who
boast that these garments were divinely insti-
tuted by the Virgin Mother.
. Con. These stories are the dreams of men,

Innk. Some despair of being able to recover
from a fit of sickness unless they be wrapped
up in a Dominican's gown. Nay, there are
some who will not be buried unless in a Fran-
ciscan's habit.

Con. They that persuade people to these
things are either fools or cheats, and they that
credit them are superstitious. God will know
a rascal as well in a Franciscan's habit as in a
soldier's coat.

Innk. There is not so much variety in the
feathers of birds as in your gowns.

Con. Well, is it not a good thing to imitate
nature? how much better than to seek to
outdo it.

f

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 1 67

Innk. 1 wish you would outdo it in the
variety of your beaks.

Con. Come, I will be an advocate for
variety, if you will permit me. Is not a
Spaniard dressed after one fashion, an Italian
after another, a Frenchman after another, a
German after another, a Greek after another,
a Turk after another, and a Saracen after
still another?

Innk. Yes.

Con. And then in the same country what
variety of garments is there in persons of the
same sex, age and degree ! How different is
the dress of a Venetian from a Florentine, or
of both from a Roman, and this only within
Italy alone.

Innk. 1 believe it.

Con. Thence came our variety as well.
Dominic took his dress from the honest plow-
man in that part of Spain in which he lived ;
Benedict from the countrymen of that part of
Italy where he dwelt; Francis from a husband-

1 68 Colloquies of Erasmus.

man of a different place, and so on with the
others.

Innk. So that for aught 1 see, you are no
holier than we, unless you live holier.

Con. Nay, we are worse than you, in this,
that if we live wickedly, we are a greater
stumbling-block to the simple.

Innk. Is there any hope of us, then, who
have neither patron, nor gown, nor rule, nor
profession.

Con. Yes, my good man. See that you
hold it fast. Ask your god-fathers what you
professed in baptism, what garment you there
took on. Do you want a human rule, you
who have made a profession of the gospel
rule ? Or do you want a man for a patron,
you who have Jesus Christ ? When you
married, did you make no profession ? Con-
sider what you owe to your wife, to your
children, to your family, and you will find that
you have a greater load upon you than if you
had professed the rule of St. Francis.

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 169

Innk. Do you believe that any inn-keepers
go to heaven ?

Con. Why not ?

Innk. There are a great many things said
and done in this house that are not according
to the gospel.

Con. What are they ?

Innk. One man drinks too much, another
talks bawdy, another brawls, another slanders
his neighbor, and last of all, I don't know
whether they keep themselves pure or not.

Con. You must prevent these things as
much as you can. If you cannot hinder them,
surely you must not, for profit's sake, encour-
age these wicked things.

Innk. Sometimes I am not very honest with
my wine.

Con. How so }

Innk. When I find my guests warming up a
little too much, I put more water into the wine.

Con. That is certainly a smaller fault than
selling wine made out of dangerous drugs.

170 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Innk. But tell me truly: how many days
have you been on this journey ?

Con. Almost a month.

Innk. Who takes care of you all the while?

Con. Are they not well taken care of who
have a wife and children and relations and
kindred?

Innk. Oftentimes.

Con. You have but one wife; we have a
hundred. You have but one father; we have
a hundred. You have but one house; we
have a hundred. You have but a few chil-
dren; we have them without number. You
have but a few kinsmen; ours are infinite in
number.

Innk. How so?

Con. Because the kinship of the spirit is
wider than the kinship of the flesh. Thus
Christ has promised, and we learn the truth
of that which he has promised.

Innk. In truth you have been an agreeable
companion for me. Strike me dead if I don't

Franciscans or Rich Beggars. 171

like this discourse better than drinking with
our parson. Do us the honor to preach to the
people to-morrow, and if you happen to come
this way again, know that there's a lodging
ready for you.

Con. But what if others should come ?

Innk. They shall be welcome if they be
such as you.

Con. 1 hope they will be better.

Innk. But amongst so many bad ones, how
shall 1 know which are good ?

Con. ril tell you in a few words, but in
your ear.

Innk. Tell me.

Con. .

Innk. ril remember it, and do it.

THE ABBOT AND THE LEARNED

WOMAN.

ANTRONIUS. MAGDALIA.

Ant. What sort of furnishings do 1 see about
me ?

Mag. Is it not neat ?

Ant. How neat it is 1 cannot tell, but 1 am
sure it is not very becoming, either to a maid
or to a matron.

Mag. Why so?

Ant. Because here are books lying about
everywhere.

Mag. And have you lived to this age, and
are both an abbot and a courtier, and never
saw any books in a lady's apartment ?

Ant. Yes, I have seen books, but they were
French; but here I see Greek and Latin ones.

(172)

Abbot and Learned Woman. 173

Mag. Why, are there no other books but
French ones that teach wisdom ?

Ant. But it becomes ladies to have some-
thing that is diverting to pass away their
leisure hours.

Mag. Must none but ladies be wise and live
pleasantly ?

Ant. You very improperly connect being
wise and living pleasantly. Women have
nothing to do with wisdom. Pleasure is
ladies' business.

Mag. Ought not every one to live well ?

Ant. I am of the opinion they ought so to do.

Mag. Well, can anybody live a pleasant life
that does not live a good life ?

Ant. Nay, rather, how can anybody live a
pleasant life that does live a good life ?

Mag. But do you approve of living ill if it be
but pleasantly?

Ant. I am of the opinion that they live a
good life that live a pleasant life.

Mag. Well, but whence does that pleasure
13

174 Colloquies of Erasmus.

proceed? From outward things, or from the
mind?

Ant. From outward things.

Mag. O, subtle Abbot, but thick-skulled
philosopher ! Pray tell me in what you sup-
pose a pleasant life to consist.

Ant. Why, in sleeping, and feasting and
liberty of doing what you please; in wealth
and in honors.

Mag. But suppose to all these things God
should add wisdom; should you live pleasantly
then ?

Ant. What is it that you call by the name
of wisdom ?

Mag. This is wisdom: to know that a man
is only happy by the goods of the mind. That
wealth, honor and descent neither make a
man happier nor better.

Ant. If that be wisdom, fare it well for me.

Mag. Suppose now that I take more pleas-
ure in reading a good author than you do in
hunting, drinking or gaming; do I not seem to
you to live pleasantly?

Abbot and Learned Woman. 175

Ant. I would not live that kind of life.

Mag. I am not inquiring what you take most
delight in, but what is it that ought to be
most delighted in ?

Ant. I would not have my monks pay much
regard to books.

Mag. But my husband approves of it. But
what reason have you that you would not
have your monks bookish ?

Ant. Because I find they are not so obedient;
they answer back out of the decrees and de-
cretals, from Peter and from Paul.

Mag. Why then do you command what is
contrary to Peter and Paul?

Ant. I don't know what they teach; but I
cannot endure a monk that answers back, nor
would I have any of my monks wiser than I
am myself.

Mag. You might prevent that well enough if
you but exert yourself to get as much wisdom
as you can.

Ant. I haven't leisure.

176 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Mag. Why so?

Ant. Because I haven't time.

Mag. What, not leisure to be wise?

Ant. No.

Mag. Pray, what hinders you?

Ant. Long prayers, the affairs of my house-
hold, hunting, my horses, and attendance at
court.

Mag. Well, do you think these things are
better than wisdom?

Ant. Custom has made it so.

Mag. Well, but answer me one thing: sup-
pose God should grant you this power, to be
able to turn yourself and your monks into any
sort of animal that you had a mind; would
you turn them into hogs and yourself into a
horse?

Ant. By no means.

Mag. By doing so you might prevent any
one of them from being wiser than yourself.

Ant. It is not much matter to me what sort
of animals my monks are, if I am but a man
myself.

Abbot and Learned Woman. 177

Mag. Well, and do you look upon him to be
a man that neither has wisdom nor desires to
have it?

Ant. I am wise enough for myself.

Mag. And so are hogs wise enough for
themselves.

Ant. You seem to be a kind of sophistress,
you argue so smartly.

Mag. I won't tell you what you seem to be.
But why does this rubbish displease you?

Ant, Because the spindle and the distaff are
a woman's weapons.

Mag. Is it not a woman's business to mind
the affairs of her family and to instruct her
children?

Ant. Yes, it is.

Mag. And do you think so weighty an office
can be executed without wisdom?

Ant. I believe not.

Mag. This wisdom I learn from books.

Ant. I have three-score and two monks in
my cloister, and you will not see one book in
my chamber.

178 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Mag. A pleasant outlook for the monks.

Ant. I could endure books, but not Latin
books.

Mag. Why so?

Ant. Because that tongue is not fit for
women.

Mag. I want to know the reason.

Ant. Because it contributes nothing to the
defence of chastity.

Mag. Why, then, do French books that are
stuffed with the most trifling stories contribute
to chastity?

Ant. But there is another reason.

Mag. Let it be what it will, tell me plainly,

Ant. They are more secure from priests, if
they don't understand Latin.

Mag. Nay, there's the least danger from
that quarter, according to your way of work-
ing, because you take all the pains you can
not to know anything of Latin.

Ant. Popular opinion is with me, because it
is such a rare thing for a woman to under-
stand Latin.

Abbot and Learned Woman. 1 79

Mag. Why do you tell me of popular opin-
ion, which is the worst example in the world
to be followed? What have I to do with
custom, that is the mistress of all evil prac-
tices? We ought to accustom ourselves to
the best things, and by that means that which
was uncustomary would become habitual, and
that which was unpleasant would become
pleasant, and that which seemed unbecoming
would look graceful.

Ant. I hear you.

Mag. Is it becoming a German woman to
learn to speak French?

Ant. Yes, it is.

Mag. Why is it ?

Ant. Because she will then be able to con-
verse with those who speak French.

Mag. And why, then, is it unbecoming for
me to learn Latin, that I may be able daily to
have conversation with so many eloquent,
learned and wise authors, and faithful coun-
sellors?

i8o Colloquies of Erasmus.

Ant. Books destroy the brains of women,
who have little enough at the best.

Mag. What quantity of brains you have left
I cannot tell; as for myself, let me have never
so little, I had rather spend them in study
than in prayers mumbled thoughtlessly, in all
night banquets, or in the draining of huge
bumpers.

Ant. Bookishness makes folks mad.

Mag. And does not the chatter of your pot-
companions, your idlers and your buffoons
make you mad?

Ant. No, they pass the time away.

Mag. How can it be, then, that such pleas-
ant companions should make me mad?

Ant. That's what they say.

Mag. But I by experience find quite the
contrary. How many more do you see grow
mad by hard drinking, unreasonable feasting,
and sitting up all night tippling, which destroys
the constitution and the senses, and has made
people mad?

Abbot and Learned Woman. i8i

Ant. By my faith, I would not have a
learned wife.

Mag. But I bless myself that I have gotten
a husband that is not like yourself. Learning
both endears him to me and me to him.

Ant. Learning costs a great deal of pains to
get, and after all we must die.

Mag. Pray tell me, sir: Suppose you were
to die to-morrow, had you rather die a fool or
a wise man?

Ant. Why, a wise man, if I could come at
it without taking pains.

Mag. But there is nothing to be obtained in
this life without pains, and yet, let us get what
we will, and what pains soever we are at to
attain it, we must leave it behind us. Why
then should we think much to be at some
pains for the most precious thing of all, the
fruit of which will bear us company into an-
other life.

Ant. I have often heard it said that a wise
woman is twice a fool.

1 82 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Mag. That indeed has been often said, but
it was by fools. A woman who is truly wise
does not think herself so, but on the contrary,
one who knows nothing thinks herself to be
wise; and that is being twice a fool.

Ant, I cannot tell how it is, but as pack-
saddles do not become an ox, neither does
learning become a woman.

Mag. But I suppose you cannot deny that
pack-saddles look better on an ox than a mitre
on an ass or a sow. What think you of the
Virgin Mary?

Ant. Very highly.

Mag. Was she not bookish?

Ant. Yes, but not with such books as these,

Mag. What books did she read?

Ant. The canonical hours.

Mag. According to what usage?

Ant. Of the order of Benedictines.

Mag. Indeed? What did Paula and Eusto-
chium do? Did they not converse with the
holy scriptures?

Abbot and Learned Woman. 1 83

Ant. Ay, but that is a rare thing now.

Mag. So was a block-headed Abbot in old
times, but now nothing is more common. In
old times princes and emperors were not less
eminent for learning than for their govern-
ments. And after all it is not so great a rarity
as you think it. There are both in Spain and
Italy not a few women, and noble ones, too,
that are able to vie with men, and there are
the MoriuB in England and the Bilibaldica and
Blaurerica in Germany. So that unless you
take care of yourselves it will come to that
pass that we shall be professors of divinity in
the schools, and preach in the churches and
take possession of your mitres.

Ant. God forbid !

Mag. Nay, it is your business to avert it.
For if you hold on as you have begun, even
the geese themselves will preach, rather than
endure a parcel of dumb shepherds. You see
the world is turned up side down, and you
must either lay aside your dress or perform
your part.

1 84 Colloquies of Erasmus.

Ant. How came I to fall into this woman's
company? If youMI come to see me, Til treat
you more pleasantly.

Mag. After what manner?

Ant. Why, we'll dance and drink heartily,
and hunt and play and laugh.

Mag. I can hardly forbear laughing now.

/

/n. J — i

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