Kitabı oku: «The Colloquies of Erasmus, Volume I», sayfa 19

DIVERSORIA

The ARGUMENT

This Colloquy shews the various Customs of Nations and their Civility in treating Strangers. An Inn at Leyden where are nothing but Women. The Manners of the French Inns, who are us'd to tell Stories, and break Jests. The Germans, far more uncivil in treating Travellers, being rude, and wholly inhospitable: The Guests look after their own Horses: The Method of receiving them into the Stove: They provide no Supper, till they know how many Guests they shall have: All that come that Night, sit down to Supper together: All pay alike, tho' one drinks twice as much Wine as another does.

BERTULPH and WILLIAM.

Bert. I wonder what is the Fancy of a great many, for staying two or three Days at Lyons? When I have once set out on a Journey, I an't at Rest till I come to my Journey's End.

Will. Nay, I wonder as much, that any Body can get away from thence.

Bert. But why so?

Will. Because that's a Place the Companions of Ulysses could not have got away from. There are Sirens. No Body is better entertain'd at his own House, than he is there at an Inn.

Bert. What is done there?

Will. There's a Woman always waiting at Table, which makes the Entertainment pleasant with Railleries, and pleasant Jests. And the Women are very handsome there. First the Mistress of the House came and bad us Welcome, and to accept kindly what Fare we should have; after her, comes her Daughter, a very fine Woman, of so handsome a Carriage, and so pleasant in Discourse, that she would make even Cato himself merry, were he there: And they don't talk to you as if you were perfect Strangers, but as those they have been a long Time acquainted with, and familiar Friends.

Bert. O, I know the French Way of Civility very well.

Will. And because they can't be always with you, by Reason of the other Affairs of the House, and the welcoming of other Guests, there comes a Lass, that supplies the Place of the Daughter, till she is at Leisure to return again. This Lass is so well instructed in the Knack of Repartees, that she has a Word ready for every Body, and no Conceit comes amiss to her. The Mother, you must know, was somewhat in Years.

Bert. But what was your Table furnish'd with? For Stories fill no Bellies.

Will. Truly, so splendid, that I was amaz'd that they could afford to entertain their Guests so, for so small a Price. And then after Dinner, they entertain a Man with such facetious Discourse, that one cannot be tired; that I seemed to be at my own House, and not in a strange Place.

Bert. And how went Matters in your Chambers?

Will. Why, there was every where some pretty Lass or other, giggling and playing wanton Tricks? They ask'd us if we had any foul Linnen to wash; which they wash and bring to us again: In a word, we saw nothing there but young Lasses and Women, except in the Stable, and they would every now and then run in there too. When you go away, they embrace ye, and part with you with as much Affection, as if you were their own Brothers, or near Kinsfolks.

Bert. This Mode perhaps may become the French, but methinks the Way of the Germans pleases me better, which is more manly.

Will. I never have seen Germany; therefore, pray don't think much to tell how they entertain a Traveller.

Bert. I can't tell whether the Method of entertaining be the same every where; but I'll tell you what I saw there. No Body bids a Guest welcome, lest he should seem to court his Guests to come to him, for that they look upon to be sordid and mean, and not becoming the German Gravity. When you have called a good While at the Gate, at Length one puts his Head out of the Stove Window (for they commonly live in Stoves till Midsummer) like a Tortoise from under his Shell: Him you must ask if you can have any Lodging there; if he does not say no, you may take it for granted, that there is Room for you. When you ask where the Stable is, he points to it; there you may curry your Horse as you please yourself, for there is no Servant will put a Hand to it. If it be a noted Inn, there is a Servant shews you the Stable, and a Place for your Horse, but incommodious enough; for they keep the best Places for those that shall come afterwards; especially for Noblemen. If you find Fault with any Thing, they tell you presently, if you don't like, look for another Inn. In their Cities, they allow Hay, but very unwillingly and sparingly, and that is almost as dear as Oats. When you have taken Care of your Horse, you come whole into the Stove, Boots, Baggage, Dirt and all, for that is a common Room for all Comers.

Will. In France, they appoint you a separate Chamber, where you may change your Cloaths, clean and warm your self, or take Rest if you have a Mind to it.

Bert. There's nothing of that here. In the Stove, you pull off your Boots, put on your Shoes, and if you will, change your Shirt, hang up your wet Cloths near the Stove Iron, and get near it to dry yourself. There's Water provided for you to wash your Hands, if you will; but as for the Cleanness of it, it is for the most Part such that you will want another Water to wash that off.

Will. I commend this Sort of People, that have nothing of Effeminacy in them.

Bert. If you come in at four a-Clock in the Afternoon, you must not go to Supper till nine, and sometimes not till ten.

Will. Why so?

Bert. They never make any Thing ready till they see all their Company together, that one Trouble may serve for all.

Will. They are for taking the shortest Way.

Bert. You are right; so that oftentimes, there come all together into the same Stove, eighty or ninety Foot-Men, Horse-Men, Merchants, Marriners, Waggoners, Husband-Men, Children, Women, sick and sound.

Will. This is having all Things in common.

Bert. There one combs his Head, another wipes off his Sweat, another cleans his Spatterdashes or Boots, another belches Garlick; and in short, there is as great a Confusion of Tongues and Persons, as there was at the Building the Tower of Babel. And if they see any Body of another Country, who by his Habit looks like a Man of Quality, they all stare at him so wistfully, as if he was a Sort of strange Animal brought out of Africa. And when they are set at Table, and he behind them, they will be still looking back at him, and be staring him in the Face, till they have forgot their Suppers.

Will. At Rome, Paris or Venice, there's no Body thinks any Thing strange.

Bert. In the mean Time, 'tis a Crime for you to call for any Thing. When it is grown pretty late, and they don't expect any more Guests, out comes an old grey-bearded Servant, with his Hair cut short, and a crabbed Look, and a slovenly Dress.

Will. Such Fellows ought to be Cup-Bearers to the Cardinals at Rome.

Bert. He having cast his Eyes about, counts to himself, how many there are in the Stove; the more he sees there, the more Fire he makes in the Stove although it be at a Time when the very Heat of the Sun would be troublesome; and this with them, is accounted a principal Part of good Entertainment, to make them all sweat till they drop again. If any one who is not used to the Steam, shall presume to open the Window never so little, that he be not stifled, presently they cry out to shut it again: If you answer you are not able to bear it, you'll presently hear, get you another Inn then.

Will. But in my Opinion, nothing is more dangerous, than for so many to draw in the same Vapour; especially when their Bodies are opened with the Heat; and to eat in the same Place, and to stay there so many Hours, not to mention the belching of Garlick, the Farting, the stinking Breaths, for many have secret Distempers, and every Distemper has its Contagion; and without doubt, many have the Spanish, or as it is call'd, the French Pox, although it is common to all Nations. And it is my Opinion, there is as much Danger from such Persons, as there is from those that have the Leprosy. Tell me now, what is this short of a Pestilence?

Bert. They are Persons of a strong Constitution, and laugh at, and disregard those Niceties.

Will. But in the mean Time, they are bold at the Perils of other Men.

Bert. What would you do in this Case? 'Tis what they have been used to, and it is a Part of a constant Mind, not to depart from a Custom.

Will. And yet, within these five and twenty Years, nothing was more in Vogue in Brabant, than hot Baths, but now they are every where grown out of Use; but the new Scabbado has taught us to lay them down.

Bert. Well, but hear the rest: By and by, in comes our bearded Ganymede again, and lays on the Table as many Napkins as there are Guests: But, good God! not Damask ones, but such as you'd take to have been made out of old Sails. There are at least eight Guests allotted to every Table. Now those that know the Way of the Country, take their Places, every one as he pleases, for there's no Difference between Poor or Rich, between the Master and Servant.

Will. This was that ancient Equality which now the Tyrant Custom has driven quite out of the World. I suppose Christ liv'd after this Manner with his Disciples.

Bert. After they are all plac'd, out comes the sour-look'd Ganymede again, and counts his Company over again; by and by he comes in again, and brings every Man a Wooden Dish, and a Spoon of the same Silver, and then a Glass; and then a little after he brings Bread, which the Guests may chip every one for themselves at Leisure, while the Porridge is boiling. For sometimes they sit thus for near an Hour.

Will. Do none of the Guests call for Meat in the mean Time?

Bert. None who knows the Way of the Country. At last the Wine is set upon the Table: Good God! how far from being tasteless? So thin and sharp, that Sophisters ought to drink no other. And if any of the Guests should privately offer a Piece of Money to get a little better Wine some where else; at first they'll say nothing to you, but give you a Look, as if they were going to murder you; and if you press it farther, they answer you, there have been so many Counts and Marquisses that have lodg'd here, and none of them ever found fault with this Wine: If you don't like it, get you another Inn. They account only the Noblemen of their own Nation to be Men, and where-ever you come, they are shewing you their Arms. By this time, comes a Morsel to pacify a barking Stomach: And by and by follow the Dishes in great Pomp; commonly the first has Sippits of Bread in Flesh Broth, or if it be a Fish Day, in a Soup of Pulse. After that comes in another Soup, and then a Service of Butcher's Meat, that has been twice boil'd, or salt Meats warm'd again, and then Pulse again, and by and by something of more solid Food, until their Stomachs being pretty well staid, they bring roast Meat or stewed Fish, which is not to be at all contemn'd; but this they are sparing of, and take it away again quickly. This is the Manner they order the Entertainment, as Comedians do, who intermingle Dances among their Scenes, so do they their Chops and Soups by Turns: But they take Care that the last Act shall be the best.

Will. This is the Part of a good Poet.

Bert. And it would be a heinous Offence, if in the mean Time any Body should say, Take away this Dish, there's no Body eats. You must sit your Time appointed, which I think they measure by the Hour-Glass. At length, out comes that bearded Fellow, or the Landlord himself, in a Habit but little differing from his Servants, and asks how cheer you? And by and by some better Wine is brought. And they like those best that drink most, tho' he that drinks most pays no more than he that drinks least.

Will. A strange Temper of the Nation!

Bert. There are some of them that drink twice as much Wine as they pay for their Ordinary. But before I leave this Entertainment, it is wonderful what a Noise and Chattering there is, when once they come to be warm with Wine. In short, it deafens a Man. They oftentimes bring in a Mixture of Mimicks, which these People very much delight in, tho' they are a detestable Sort of Men. There's such a singing, prating, bawling, jumping, and knocking, that you would think the Stove were falling upon your Head, and one Man can't hear another speak. And this they think is a pleasant Way of living, and there you must sit in Spight of your Heart till near Midnight.

Will. Make an End of your Meal now, for I myself am tir'd with such a tedious one.

Bert. Well, I will. At length the Cheese is taken away, which scarcely pleases them, except it be rotten and full of Maggots. Then the old bearded Fellow comes again with a Trencher, and a many Circles and semi-Circles drawn upon it with Chalk, this he lays down upon the Table, with a grim Countenance, and without speaking. You would say he was some Charon. They that understand the Meaning of this lay down their Money one after another till the Trencher is fill'd. Having taken Notice of those who lay down, he reckons it up himself, and if all is paid, he gives you a Nod.

Will. But what if there should be any Thing over and above?

Bert. Perhaps he'll give it you again, and they oftentimes do so.

Will. Does no Body find fault with the Reckoning?

Bert. No Body that is wise. For they will say, what Sort of a Fellow are you? You pay no more than the rest.

Will. This is a frank Sort of Men, you are speaking of.

Bert. If any one is weary with his Journey, and desires to go to Bed as soon as he has supp'd, he is bid to stay till the rest go too.

Will. This seems to me to be Plato's City.

Bert. Then every one is shew'd to his Chamber, and truly 'tis nothing else but a Chamber, there is only a Bed there, and nothing else that you can either make Use of or steal.

Will. Are Things very clean there?

Bert. As clean as they were at the Table. Sheets wash'd perhaps six Months ago.

Will. What becomes of your Horses all this While?

Bert. They are treated after the Manner that the Men are.

Will. But is there the same Treatment every where.

Bert. It is a little more civil in some Places, and worse in others, than I have told you; but in general it is thus.

Will. What if I should now tell you how they treat their Guests in that Part of Italy call'd Lombardy, and in Spain, and in England, and in Wales, for the English have the Manners both of the French and the Germans, being a Mixture of those two Nations. The Welsh boast themselves to be the original English.

Bert. Pray relate it. I never had the Opportunity of travelling in them.

Will. I have not Leisure now, and the Master of the Ship bid me be on board by three a Clock, unless I would lose my Passage. Another Time we shall have an Opportunity of prating our Bellies full.

THE YOUNG MAN AND HARLOT

The ARGUMENT

This is certainly a divine Colloquy, that makes even a Bawdy-House a chaste Place! God can't be deceiv'd, his Eyes penetrate into the most secret Places. That young Persons ought in an especial Manner to take Care of their Chastity. A young Woman, who made herself common to get a Livelihood, is recovered from that Course of Life, as wretched as it is scandalous.

LUCRETIA, SOPHRONIUS.

Lu. O brave! My pretty Sophronius, have I gotten you again? It is an Age methinks since I saw you. I did not know you at first Sight.

So. Why so, my Lucretia?

Lu. Because you had no Beard when you went away, but you're come back with something of a Beard. What's the Matter, my little Heart, you look duller than you use to do?

So. I want to have a little Talk with you in private.

Lu. Ah, ah, are we not by ourselves already, my Cocky?

So. Let us go out of the Way somewhere, into a more private Place.

Lu. Come on then, we'll go into my inner Bed-Chamber, if you have a Mind to do any Thing.

So. I don't think this Place is private enough yet.

Lu. How comes it about you're so bashful all on a sudden? Well, come, I have a Closet where I lay up my Cloaths, a Place so dark, that we can scarce see one another there.

So. See if there be no Chink.

Lu. There is not so much as a Chink.

So. Is there no Body near to hear us?

Lu. Not so much as a Fly, my Dear; Why do you lose Time?

So. Can we escape the Eye of God here?

Lu. No, he sees all Things clearly.

So. And of the Angels?

Lu. No, we cannot escape their Sight.

So. How comes it about then, that Men are not asham'd to do that in the Sight of God, and before the Face of the holy Angels, that they would be ashamed to do before Men?

Lu. What Sort of an Alteration is this? Did you come hither to preach a Sermon? Prithee put on a Franciscan's Hood, and get up into a Pulpit, and then we'll hear you hold forth, my little bearded Rogue.

So. I should not think much to do that, if I could but reclaim you from this Kind of Life, that is the most shameful and miserable Life in the World.

Lu. Why so, good Man? I am born, and I must be kept; every one must live by his Calling. This is my Business; this is all I have to live on.

So. I wish with all my Heart, my Lucretia, that setting aside for a While that Infatuation of Mind, you would seriously weigh the Matter.

Lu. Keep your Preachment till another Time; now let us enjoy one another, my Sophronius.

So. You do what you do for the Sake of Gain.

Lu. You are much about the Matter.

So. Thou shalt lose nothing by it, do but hearken to me, and I'll pay you four Times over.

Lu. Well, say what you have a Mind to say.

So. Answer me this Question in the first Place: Are there any Persons that owe you any ill Will?

Lu. Not one.

So. Is there any Body that you have a Spleen against?

Lu. According as they deserve.

So. And if you could do any Thing that would gratify them, would you do it?

Lu. I would poison 'em sooner.

So. But then do but consider with yourself; is there any Thing that you can do that gratifies them more than to let them see you live this shameful and wretched Life? And what is there thou canst do that would be more afflicting to them that wish thee well?

Lu. It is my Destiny.

So. Now that which uses to be the greatest Hardship to such as are transported, or banish'd into the most remote Parts of the World, this you undergo voluntarily.

Lu. What is that?

So. Hast thou not of thy own Accord renounc'd all thy Affections to Father, Mother, Brother, Sisters, Aunts, (by Father's and Mother's Side) and all thy Relations? For thou makest them all asham'd to own thee, and thyself asham'd to come into their Sight.

Lu. Nay, I have made a very happy Exchange of Affections; for instead of a few, now I have a great many, of which you are one, and whom I have always esteem'd as a Brother.

So. Leave off Jesting, and consider the Matter seriously, as it really is. Believe me, my Lucretia, she who has so many Friends, has never a one, for they that follow thee do it not as a Friend, but as a House of Office rather. Do but consider, poor Thing, into what a Condition thou hast brought thyself. Christ lov'd thee so dearly as to redeem thee with his own Blood, and would have thee be a Partaker with him in an heavenly Inheritance, and thou makest thyself a common Sewer, into which all the base, nasty, pocky Fellows resort, and empty their Filthiness. And if that leprous Infection they call the French Pox han't yet seiz'd thee, thou wilt not escape it long. And if once thou gettest it, how miserable wilt thou be, though all things should go favourably on thy Side? I mean thy Substance and Reputation. Thou wouldest be nothing but a living Carcase. Thou thoughtest much to obey thy Mother, and now thou art a mere Slave to a filthy Bawd. You could not endure to hear your Parents Instructions; and here you are often beaten by drunken Fellows and mad Whoremasters. It was irksome to thee to do any Work at Home, to get a Living; but here, how many Quarrels art thou forc'd to endure, and how late a Nights art thou oblig'd to sit up?

Lu. How came you to be a Preacher?

So. And do but seriously consider, this Flower of thy Beauty that now brings thee so many Gallants, will soon fade: And then, poor Creature, what wilt thou do? Thou wilt be piss'd upon by every Body. It may be, thou thinkest, instead of a Mistress, I'll then be a Bawd. All Whores can't attain to that, and if thou shouldst, what Employment is more impious, and more like the Devil himself?

Lu. Why, indeed, my Sophronius, almost all you say is very true. But how came you to be so religious all of a sudden? Thou usedst to be the greatest Rake in the World, one of 'em. No Body used to come hither more frequently, nor at more unseasonable Hours than you did. I hear you have been at Rome.

So. I have so.

Lu. Well, but other People use to come from thence worse than they went: How comes it about, it is otherwise with you?

So. I'll tell you, because I did not go to Rome with the same Intent, and after the same Manner that others do. Others commonly go to Rome, on purpose to come Home worse, and there they meet with a great many Opportunities of becoming so. I went along with an honest Man, by whose Advice, I took along with me a Book instead of a Bottle: The New Testament with Erasmus's Paraphrase.

Lu. Erasmus's? They say that he's Half a Heretick.

So. Has his Name reached to this Place too?

Lu. There's no Name more noted among us.

So. Did you ever see him?

Lu. No, I never saw him; but I should be glad to see him; I have heard so many bad Reports of him.

So. It may be you have heard 'em, from them that are bad themselves.

Lu. Nay, from Men of the Gown.

So. Who are they?

Lu. It is not convenient to name Names.

So. Why so?

Lu. Because if you should blab it out, and it should come to their Ears, I should lose a great many good Cullies.

So. Don't be afraid, I won't speak a Word of it.

Lu. I will whisper then.

So. You foolish Girl, what Need is there to whisper, when there is no Body but ourselves? What, lest God should hear? Ah, good God! I perceive you're a religious Whore, that relievest Mendicants.

Lu. I get more by them Beggars than by you rich Men.

So. They rob honest Women, to lavish it away upon naughty Strumpets.

Lu. But go on, as to your Book.

So. So I will, and that's best. In that Book, Paul, that can't lie, told me, that neither Whores nor Whore-mongers shall obtain the Kingdom of Heaven. When I read this, I began thus to think with myself: It is but a small Matter that I look for from my Father's Inheritance, and yet I can renounce all the Whores in the World, rather than be disinherited by my Father; how much more then ought I to take Care, lest my heavenly Father should disinherit me? And human Laws do afford some Relief in the Case of a Father's disinheriting or discarding a Son: But here is no Provision at all made, in case of God's disinheriting; and upon that, I immediately ty'd myself up from all Conversation with lewd Women.

Lu. It will be well if you can hold it.

So. It is a good Step towards Continence, to desire to be so. And last of all, there is one Remedy left, and that is a Wife. When I was at Rome, I empty'd the whole Jakes of my Sins into the Bosom of a Confessor. And he exhorted me very earnestly to Purity, both of Mind and Body, and to the reading of the holy Scripture, to frequent Prayer, and Sobriety of Life, and enjoin'd me no other Penance, but that I should upon my bended Knees before the high Altar say this Psalm, Have Mercy upon me, O God: And that if I had any Money, I should give one Penny to some poor Body. And I wondring that for so many whoring Tricks he enjoin'd me so small a Penance, he answer'd me very pleasantly, My Son, says he, if you truly repent and change your Life, I don't lay much Stress upon the Penance; but if thou shalt go on in it, the very Lust itself will at last punish thee very severely, although the Priest impose none upon thee. Look upon me, I am blear-ey'd, troubled with the Palsy, and go stooping: Time was I was such a one as you say you have been heretofore. And thus I repented.

Lu. Then as far as I perceive, I have lost my Sophronius.

So. Nay, you have rather gain'd him, for he was lost before, and was neither his own Friend nor thine: Now he loves thee in Reality, and longs for the Salvation of thy Soul.

Lu. What would you have me to do then, my Sophronius?

So. To leave off that Course of Life out of Hand: Thou art but a Girl yet, and that Stain that you have contracted may be wip'd off in Time. Either marry, and I'll give you something toward a Portion, or go into some Cloyster, that takes in crakt Maids, or go into some strange Place and get into some honest Family, I'll lend you my Assistance to any of these.

Lu. My Sophronius, I love thee dearly, look out for one for me, I'll follow thy Advice.

So. But in the mean Time get away from hence.

Lu. Whoo! what so suddenly!

So. Why not to Day rather than to Morrow, if Delays are dangerous?

Lu. Whither shall I go?

So. Get all your Things together, give 'em to me in the Evening, my Servant shall carry 'em privately to a faithful Matron: And I'll come a little after and take you out as if it were to take a little Walk; you shall live with her some Time upon my Cost till I can provide for you, and that shall be very quickly.

Lu. Well, my Sophronius, I commit myself wholly to thy Management.

So. In Time to come you'll be glad you have done so.