Laudator Temporis Acti

Two gates unto the road of life there are,
And to the happy youth both seem afar,
Both seem afar, so far the past one seems,
The gate of birth, made dim with many dreams,
Bright with remembered hopes, beset with flowers;
So far it seems he cannot count the hours
That to this midway path have led him on
Where every joy of life now seemeth won —
So far, he thinks not of the other gate,
Within whose shade the ghosts of dead hopes wait
To call upon him as he draws anear,
Despoiled, alone, and dull with many a fear,
"Where is thy work? how little thou hast done,
Where are my friends, why art thou so alone?"

How shall he weigh his life? slow goes the time
The while the fresh dew-sprinkled hill we climb,
Thinking of what shall be the other side,
Slow pass perchance the minutes we abide
On the gained summit, blinking at the sun;
But when the downward journey is begun
No more our feet may loiter, past our ears
Shrieks the harsh wind scarce noted midst our fears,
And battling with the hostile things we meet
Till, ere we know it, our weak shrinking feet
Have brought us to the end and all is done.

What a life! What morals! What lunacy!

hancin vitam! hoscin mores! hanc dementiam!

I do envy the old man
his luck; what a turn-around
from his arid habits and lifestyle!
Now he's learned different ways,
and he'll make a really great change
to a life of delicate luxury.
But maybe he'll not want that;
it's hard for anyone to depart
from his normal and natural character.
Yet many have had this experience;
when exposed to others' ideas,
they have changed their habits.

ζηλῶ γε τῆς εὐτυχίας
τὸν πρέσβυν, οἷ μετέστη        1450
ξηρῶν τρόπων καὶ βιοτῆς.
ἕτερα δὲ νῦν ἀντιμαθὼν
ἦ μέγα τι μεταπεσεῖται
ἐπὶ τὸ τρυφῶν καὶ μαλακόν.
τάχα δ᾿ ἂν ἴσως οὐκ ἐθέλοι·        1455
τὸ γὰρ ἀποστῆναι χαλεπὸν
φύσεως, ἣν ἔχοι τις ἀεί.
καίτοι πολλοὶ ταῦτ᾿ ἔπαθον·
ξυνόντες γνώμαις ἑτέρων
μετεβάλοντο τοὺς τρόπους.        1460

However well a man may have calculated his scheme of life, still circumstances, years, experience, always introduce a new element and teach new lessons. You find that you don't know what you thought you did know, and what you thought of primary importance that in practice you reject. That's what has happened to me. The hard life, which up to now I have lived, now that my race is almost run I renounce. And why? Hard facts have taught me that a man can have no better qualities than mildness and complaisance.

numquam ita quisquam bene subducta ratione ad vitam fuit,        855
quin res aetas usus semper aliquid adportet novi,
aliquid moneat: ut illa quae te scisse credas nescias,
et quae tibi putaris primat in experiundo ut repudies.
quod nunc mi evenit: nam ego vitam duram, quam vixi usque adhuc,
prope iam excurso spatio omitto. id quam ob rem? re eapse repperi        860
facilitate nihil esse homini melius neque clementia.

As in all cases of hurry and confusion in every part of the world, a number of individuals kept hurrying to and fro, with amazing vigour and perseverance, doing nothing themselves, and hindering others.

For there is no pleasanter sight than to see one's enemy fallen from prosperity into misfortune.

                                             ἐκ γὰρ εὐτυχοῦς
ἥδιστον ἐχθρὸν ἄνδρα δυστυχοῦνθ᾽ ὁρᾶν.

Meanwhile the University's official bookseller, Maître Andry Musnier, bent to whisper in the ear of the furrier of the King's wardrobe, Maître Gilles Lecornu.

'I tell you, monsieur, it's the end of the world. The students' behaviour has never been so outrageous. It's all these damnable modern inventions that are the ruin of everything. Artillery, serpentines, bombards, and especially printing, that other plague from Germany. It's the end of manuscripts, the end of books! Printing is killing off the book trade. The end of the world is at hand!'

Cependant le libraire juré de l'Université, maître Andry Musnier, se penchait à l'oreille du pelletier-fourreur des robes du roi, maître Gilles Lecornu.

— Je vous le dis, monsieur, c'est la fin du monde. On n'a jamais vu pareils débordements de l'écolerie. Ce sont les maudites inventions du siècle qui perdent tout. Les artilleries, les serpentines, les bombardes, et surtout l'impression, cette autre peste d'Allemagne. Plus de manuscrits, plus de livres! L'impression tue la librairie. C'est la fin du monde qui vient.

A curious remedy for present cares,
And yet as near a good one as I know;
It is to scan the cares of long ago,
Which these brown bindings lodge.

An election, whether managed directly by ballot-box on public hustings, or indirectly by force of public opinion, or were it even by open alehouses, landlords' coercion, popular club-law, or whatever electoral methods, is always an interesting phenomenon. A mountain tumbling in great travail, throwing up dust-clouds and absurd noises, is visibly there; uncertain yet what mouse or monster it will give birth to.

Besides, it is a most important social act; nay, at bottom, the one important social act. Given the men a People choose, the People itself, in its exact worth and worthlessness, is given. A heroic people chooses heroes, and is happy; a valet or flunky people chooses sham-heroes, what are called quacks, thinking them heroes, and is not happy. The grand summary of a man's spiritual condition, what brings out all his herohood and insight, or all his flunkyhood and horn-eyed dimness, is this question put to him. What man dost thou honour? Which is thy ideal of a man; or nearest that? So too of a People: for a People too, every People, speaks its choice, — were it only by silently obeying, and not revolting, — in the course of a century or so.

Human life is like a game with dice; if you don't get the throw you most want, you must show your skill in making the best of the throw which you do get.

ita vitast hominum quasi quom ludas tesseris.
si illud quod maxume opus est iactu non cadit,
illud quod cecidit forte, id arte ut corrigas.

That's what life is like; just as dice don't always fall in the same way, the same pattern doesn't last in our daily life either, it undergoes changes.

τοιοῦτο τὸ ζῆν ἐστίν· ὥσπερ οἱ κύβοι
οὐ ταὔτ' ἀεὶ πίπτουσιν, οὐδὲ τῷ βίῳ
ταὐτὸν διαµένει σχῆµα, µεταβολὰς δ' ἔχει.

That which was whilom grene gras,
Is welked hey at time now.
Forthi mi conseil is that thou
Remembre wel hou thou art old.

Ah, once upon a time we were valiant in choruses,
and valiant in battle,
and above all most valiant where this is concerned.⁶⁴
But that's long, long ago,
all gone now, and these locks of mine
bloom whiter than a swan.
But even from these ruins we must
summon up youthful strength,
for I think that my
old age outdoes the ringlets, the getups, and the wide-arsedness
of today's young men.

⁶⁴ Indicating their phalli.

ὦ πάλαι ποτ᾽ ὄντες ἡμεῖς ἄλκιμοι μὲν ἐν χοροῖς,        1060
ἄλκιμοι δ᾽ ἐν μάχαις,
καὶ κατ᾽ αὐτὸ δὴ τοῦτο μόνον
ἄνδρες ἀλκιμώτατοι·
πρίν ποτ᾽ ἦν πρὶν ταῦτα, νῦν δ᾽
οἴχεται, κύκνου τ᾽ πολι-
ώτεραι δὴ αἵδ᾽ ἐπανθοῦσιν τρίχες.        1065
ἀλλὰ κἀκ τῶν λειψάνων δεῖ τῶνδε ῥώμην
νεανικὴν σχεῖν· ὡς ἐγὼ τοὐμὸν νομίζω
γῆρας εἶναι κρεῖττον ἢ πολλῶν κικίννους
νεανιῶν καὶ σχῆμα κεὐρυπρωκτίαν.        1070

1063 ἀλκιμώτατοι Bentley: μαχιμώτατοι codd.
1067 σχεῖν Reisig: ἔχειν codd.
1070 κεὐρυπρωκτίαν Kuster: κηὐρυπρωκτίαν codd.

Meanwhile, nor launches nor lawns tempt him that pursueth the rural Pan. In the hushed recesses of Hurley backwater, where the canoe may be paddled almost under the tumbling comb of the weir, he is to be looked for; there the god pipes with freest abandonment. Or under the great shadow of Streatley Hill, "annihilating all that's made to a green thought in a green shade"; or better yet, pushing an explorer's prow up the remote untravelled Thame, till Dorchester's stately roof broods over the quiet fields. In solitudes such as these Pan sits and dabbles, and all the air is full of the music of his piping.

"Hold up thy tail, thou Satan!" then said he,
"Show forth thine arse and let the friar see
The nest ordained for friars in this place!"
Ere the tail rose a furlong into space
From underneath it there began to drive,
Much as if bees were swarming from a hive,
Some twenty thousand friars in a rout
And swarmed all over Hell and round about,
And then came back as fast as they could run
And crept into his arse again, each one.
He clapped his tail on them and then lay still.
And after when the friar had looked his fill
On all the torments in that sorry place
His spirit was restored by Heaven's grace
Back to his body again and he awoke.
But all the same the terror made him choke.
So much the devil's arse was in his mind,
The natural heritage of all his kind.

"Hold up thy tail, thow Sathanas!" quod he,
"Shewe forth thin ers, and lat the frere se        1690
Where is the nest of freres in this place."
And er that half a furlong wey of space,
Right so as bees out swarmen from an hive,
Out of the develes ers ther gonne drive
Twenty thousand freres on a route,        1695
And thurghout helle swarmeden aboute,
And comen again as faste as they may gon
And in his ers they crepten everychon;
He clapte his tail again and lay ful stille.
This frere, whan he looked hadde his fille        1700
Upon the tormentz of this sory place,
His spirit God restored, of his grace,
Unto his body agayn, and he awook.
But natheles for fere yet he quook,
So was the develes ers ay in his minde;        1705
That is his heritage of verray kinde.

The story about the friars hidden in the devil's tail may be a parody of medieval legends in which a monk or friar, vouchsafed a vision of heaven, laments that he sees none of his own order there; he is then shown a multitude of them beneath the Virgin Mary's mantle, as a sign of her special favour to them (see J.V. Fleming, ChauR, 2 (1967), 95-107).

Labels: noctes scatologicae

We ever strive for what is forbid, and ever covet what is denied.

nitimur in vetitum semper cupimusque negata.

Alas, what mountains of dead ashes, wreck and burnt bones, does assiduous Pedantry dig up from the Past Time...

Another world, truly: and this present poor distressed world might get some profit by looking wisely into it, instead of foolishly. But at lowest, O dilettante friend, let us know always that it was a world, and not a void infinite of grey haze with phantasms swimming in it. These old St. Edmundsbury walls, I say, were not peopled with phantasms; but with men of flesh and blood, made altogether as we are. Had thou and I then been, who knows but we ourselves had taken refuge from an evil Time, and fled to dwell here, and meditate on an Eternity, in such fashion as we could? Alas, how like an old osseous fragment, a broken blackened shin-bone of the old dead Ages, this black ruin looks out, not yet covered by the soil; still indicating what a once gigantic Life lies buried there! It is dead now, and dumb; but was alive once, and spake.

How silent now; all departed, clean gone. The World-Dramaturgist has written: Exeunt. The devouring Time-Demons have made away with it all: and in its stead, there is either nothing; or what is worse, offensive universal dust-clouds, and grey eclipse of Earth and Heaven, from 'dry rubbish shot here!'

The process of the purchase is always much the same, therein resembling the familiar but inferior passion of love. There is the first sight of the Object, accompanied of a catching of the breath, a trembling in the limbs, loss of appetite, ungovernable desire, and a habit of melanholy in secret places. But once possessed, once toyed with amorously for an hour or two, the Object (as in the inferior passion aforesaid) takes its destined place on the shelf — where it stays. And this, saith the scoffer, is all; but even he does not fail to remark with a certain awe that the owner goeth thereafter as one possessing a happy secret and radiating an inner glow. Moreover, he is insufferably conceited, and his conceit waxeth as his coat, now condemned to a fresh term of servitude, groweth shabbier. And shabby though his coat may be, yet will he never stoop to renew its pristine youth and gloss by the price of any book. No man — no human, masculine, natural man — ever sells a book. Men have been known in moments of thoughtlessness, or compelled by temporary necessity, to rob, to equivocate, to do murder, to commit what they should not, to "wince and relent and refrain" from what they should: these things, howbeit regrettable, are common to humanity, and may happen to any of us. But amateur bookselling is foul and unnatural; and it is noteworthy that our language, so capable of particularity, contains no distinctive name for the crime. Fortunately it is hardly known to exist: the face of the public being set against it as a flint — and the trade giving such wretched prices.

It is seldom, indeed, that any institution, practice or system is improved by the blind interference of those who know nothing about it.

Might we enter into discussion and compromise without this fighting and shrill screaming?

ἔσθ᾿ ὅπως ἄνευ μάχης καὶ τῆς κατοξείας βοῆς
ἐς λόγους ἔλθοιμεν ἀλλήλοισι καὶ διαλλαγάς;

471 ἄνευ codd.: ἂν ἐκ Hermann

Might we enter into discussion with one another and compromise without this fighting and shrill screaming?

Gane is the day, and mirk's the night,
But we'll ne'er stray for faute o' light,
For ale and brandy's stars and moon,
And blude-red wine's the rysin Sun.

Chorus
Then, guidewife, count the lawin, the lawin, the lawin,
Then guidewife count the lawin, and bring a coggie mair.

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen,
And semple-folk maun fecht and fen';
But here we're a' in ae accord,
For ilka man that's drunk 's a lord.
    Then, guidewife, count the lawin, &c.

My coggie is a haly pool
That heals the wounds o' care and dool;
And pleasure is a wanton trout,
An ye drink it a', ye'll find him out.
    Then, guidewife, count the lawin, &c.

The chorus of this is old but the verses are from Burns. The 'lawin' refers to the reckoning, or bill, an account paid at the end of the night's drinking — in modern colloquial Scots, the 'damage'.

Labels: nunc est bibendum

Hence although we believe and instruct that God is everywhere, nevertheless no one should presume to say that he is in an unclean place, either designating that place a latrine or defining it by any other term of filth.

Vnde cum deum ubique esse et credamus et predicemus, nemo tamen dicere presumat eum in inmundo loco esse, ita ut locum ipsum aut latrinam nominet aut alioquo nomine alio determinate spurcitie ipsum assignet.

Labels: noctes scatologicae