C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
From ‘Erasmus Montanus’
By Ludvig Holberg (1684–1754)
N
Montanus—I spoke neither with Jeronimus nor his daughter, on account of a fellow with whom I got into an argument.
Nille—What sort of a fellow was he? Perhaps it was the schoolmaster.
Montanus—No, it was a stranger who leaves here to-day. I know him a little, although I never associated with him in Copenhagen. I lose my temper completely with people who imagine themselves the embodiment of all wisdom, and who are idiots. I will tell you, little mother, what it was all about. The fellow has been ordinarius opponens once or twice, and therein is his sole merita. But how did he perform his partes? Misere et hæsitanter absq. methodo. When Præses once made a distinction inter rem et modum rei, he asked, Quid hoc est? Wretch! you should have learned that antequam in arenam descendis. “Quid hoc est?” quæ bruta! A fellow that ignores distinctiones cardinales, and yet would dispute publice!
Nille—Well, Mr. Son must not take it too much to heart. I can tell from what you say that he must be a fool.
Montanus—An ignoramus.
Nille—Nothing is more certain.
Montanus—An idiot.
Nille—He cannot be anything else.
Montanus—He publicly confused materiam cum forma.
Nille—He ought to be punished for it.
Montanus—And such a fellow thinks he can dispute.
Nille—The devil he can!
Montanus—Not to speak of the mistake he made in his proœmio, when he said, Lectissimi et doctissimi auditores.
Nille—What a fool he must be!
Montanus—Think of putting lectissimus before doctissimus, when lectissimus is a prædicat, as every beginner should know.
Jeppe—But didn’t my son get to talk with Jeronimus?
Montanus—No, for just as I was going in I saw the fellow passing by the door, and since we knew each other I went up to greet him; whereupon we got into a discussion about learned matters, and finally into a disputation, so that I had to postpone my visit.
Jeppe—I am afraid that Monsieur Jeronimus will take it ill, that my son went to his place and came away without seeing him.
Montanus—I couldn’t help it. When a man attacks philosophy, he attacks my honor. I am fond of Mademoiselle Lisbed, but metaphysica and logica have the prior place in my affections.
Nille—O my dear son, what do I hear? Are you engaged to two other girls in Copenhagen? You may get into trouble with the courts.
Montanus—You don’t understand me: it is not meant that way. They are not girls, but two branches of science.
Nille—That is different. But here comes the bailiff; don’t be angry any more.
Montanus—I can’t be angry with him, because he is a simple and ignorant man, with whom I cannot get into any argument.
Montanus—Thank you, Mr. Bailiff.
Jesper—I am very glad that we have so learned a man in town. It must have racked his brain a good deal before he got so far. I wish you joy, too, Jeppe Berg! Your son makes you very happy in your old age.
Jeppe—Yes, that is true.
Jesper—Now listen, my dear Monsieur Rasmus: I want to ask you about something.
Montanus—My name is Montanus.
Jesper[aside to Jeppe]—Montanus—is that Latin for Rasmus?
Jeppe—Yes, it must be.
Jesper—Listen, my dear Monsieur Montanus Berg: I have heard said that learned folks have singular ideas. Is it true that in Copenhagen they think the earth is round? Here in the country no one will believe it; for how can it be, since the earth seems quite flat?
Montanus—That is because the earth is so big that we do not notice its roundness.
Jesper—Yes, that is true: the earth is big; it is almost half as big as the world. But listen, monsieur: how many stars would it take to make a moon?
Montanus—A moon! The moon is to a star about as Pebling Lake is to the whole of Sjælland.
Jesper—Ha, ha, ha, ha! Learned people are never quite right in their heads. I have even heard people say that the earth runs and the sun stands still. Monsieur doesn’t believe that too?
Montanus—No reasonable man any longer doubts it.
Jesper—Ha, ha, ha! If the earth ran, we should all fall over and break our necks.
Montanus—Cannot a ship sail with you without breaking your neck?
Jesper—But you say that the earth goes round; if a ship turned over, wouldn’t the people fall out into the sea?
Montanus—I will explain it more clearly, if you will only be patient.
Jesper—I don’t want to hear about it. I should have to be crazy to believe such stuff. The earth turns round without our all falling into the gulf and going to the devil, ha, ha, ha! But, my dear Monsieur Berg, how does it happen that the moon is sometimes so little and sometimes so big?
Montanus—If I were to tell you, you wouldn’t believe it.
Jesper—But just be good enough to tell me.
Montanus—It is because when the moon is grown to full size, they cut off little pieces to make stars of.
Jesper—That is very curious, I declare. I didn’t know that before. If they didn’t cut off the little pieces it might grow too big, and be as broad as Sjælland. Nature rules things very wisely. But why doesn’t the moon warm us like the sun, since it is quite as big?
Montanus—It is because the moon gives no light, but is made of the same dark matter as the earth, and gets its light from the sun.
Jesper—Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Let us talk about something else. These things are distracting enough to make a man’s head turn Catholic.
Per—Welcome here, Monsieur Rasmus Berg!
Montanus—In Copenhagen I am usually called Montanus: I beg that you will address me by that name.
Per—All right, it amounts to about the same thing. How are affairs in Copenhagen? Did many graduate this year?
Montanus—As many as usual.
Per—Were there some rejected this year?
Montanus—Two or three conditionaliter.
Per—Who is imprimatur this year?
Montanus—What do you mean?
Per—I mean, who is imprimatur in verses and books that are printed?
Montanus—Is that supposed to be Latin?
Per—It was good Latin in my time.
Montanus—If it was good Latin then, it must be now; but it was never Latin in the sense you give to it.
Per—Good Latin it is, all the same.
Montanus—Is it a nomen or a verbum?
Per—It is a nomen.
Jesper—That’s right, Per, stick to it!
Montanus—Cujus declinationis is imprimatur then?
Per—All the words there are, belong to eight classes, which are nomen, pronomen, verbum, principium, conjugatio, declinatio, interjectio.
Jesper—Hear, hear; listen to Per, when he talks off-hand. That is right, press him hard!
Montanus—He doesn’t answer what I ask him. What is imprimatur in genitivo?
Per—Nominativus ala, genitivus alæ, dativus alo, vocativus alo, ablativus ala.
Jesper—There, there, Monsieur Montanus, we have people here in the country too.
Per—I should say so. In my time the fellows that matriculated were of a different sort from nowadays. They were fellows that got shaved twice a week, and could scandere all sorts of verse.
Montanus—That is a great thing to boast of: anybody can do that now in the second lesson. Fellows now graduate from the schools of Copenhagen who can make Hebrew and Chaldaic verses.
Per—Then they can’t know much Latin.
Montanus—Latin! If you were to go to school now, they would put you in the booby class.
Jesper—Don’t say that, Montanus. I know that the clerk is a deeply studied man; I have heard the tax collector and the district judge say so.
Montanus—Perhaps they know no more Latin than he does.
Jesper—But I can hear that he speaks up stoutly for himself.
Montanus—He doesn’t answer the questions I ask him. E qua schola dismissus es, mi domine?
Per—Adjectivum et substantivum genere, numero, et caseo conveniunt.
Jesper—He gives him full measure, i’ faith. Come, Per, we’ll have a glass of brandy together.
Montanus—If Mr. Bailiff knew what these answers meant, he would split his sides laughing. I ask him from what school he graduated, and he answers with a lot of rubbish that has nothing to do with the question.
Per—Tunc tua res agitur, paries cum proximus ardet.
Jesper—Well, well, now he wants to go on. Just answer that.
Montanus—I cannot answer it; it is mere nonsense. Let us talk Danish together, so that the others can understand, and you will soon find out what sort of fellow he is.
Nille—It hurts me so to have my son beaten in Latin.
Jesper—Well, mother, that is no wonder,—Per is so much older than he is. It is no wonder. Let them talk Danish now, so we can all understand.
Per—Very well. I am ready for whichever he chooses. We will ask each other a few questions: for example, who was it that cried so loud that he was heard all over the world?
Montanus—I know of no one who can cry louder than donkeys and parish clerks.
Per—Nonsense! can you hear them all over the world? It was an ass in the ark, because the whole world was in the ark.
Jesper—Ha, ha, ha! So it was, ha, ha, ha! Per Degn has got a cunning head on his shoulders.
Per—Who killed a quarter of mankind?
Montanus—I do not answer such coarse questions.
Per—It was Cain, who killed his brother Abel.
Montanus—Prove that there were not more than four human beings in the world.
Per—Prove that there were more.
Montanus—I am not forced to; for affirmanti incumbit probatio. Do you understand that?
Per—Certainly. Omnia conando docilis solertia vincit. Do you understand that?
Montanus—I am very foolish to stay here in disputation with a booby. You would dispute, and know neither Latin nor Danish, still less what logica is. Let us hear, Quid est logica?
Per—Post molestam senectutem, post molestam senectutem nos habebat humus.
Montanus—Will the rascal make fun of me?
Enter Jeronimus
Jesper—He will be here right away. Pity you didn’t come half an hour sooner; you might have heard him argue with the clerk.
Jeronimus—How did it come out?
Jesper—Per Degn, deuce take him, is slyer than I thought; I see that he has forgotten neither his Latin nor his Hebrew.
Jeronimus—I can believe that, for he never knew much of them.
Jesper—Don’t say that, Monsieur Jeronimus. He has got a deuce of a mouth on him. It is really a pleasure to hear the man talk Latin.
Jeronimus—That is more than I supposed he could do. But how does my son-in-law look?
Jesper—He looks dreadfully learned; you would hardly know him again. He has got another name, too.
Jeronimus—Another name! What is his name now?
Jesper—He calls himself Montanus, which is the same as Rasmus in Latin.
Jeronimus—Oh fie! that is abominable. I have known many who have thus changed their Christian names, and they never did well in the world. I knew one a few years ago who was christened Peer, and who when he amounted to something sought to change his stamp, and had himself called Peiter. But his Peiter cost him dear, for he broke his leg and died in great wretchedness. Our Lord does not like such doings, Mr. Bailiff.
Jesper—I don’t care what sort of a name he takes, but I don’t like to have him believe in such strange opinions.
Jeronimus—What opinions has he got?
Jesper—They are frightful. The hair stands up on my head when I think of them. I don’t remember all that I heard, but I know that he said for one thing that the earth was round. What do you think of that, Monsieur Jeronimus? It is nothing less than upsetting all religion and leading people away from their faith. A heathen cannot be worse.
Jeronimus—He must have said it in jest.
Jesper—It is dreadful to make such jests. See, there he comes.
Jeronimus—People of my age cannot expect to have remarkable health.
Montanus—You look thoroughly well.
Jeronimus—Do you think so?
Montanus—How is Mademoiselle Lisbed?
Jeronimus—Well enough.
Montanus—Why, what is the matter, that you greet me so coldly, dear father-in-law?
Jeronimus—I have good cause to.
Montanus—What wrong have I done?
Jeronimus—I have been told that you have peculiar opinions: people must think you are crazy or Catholic in your head, for how can a reasonable man have the rashness to say that the earth is round?
Montanus—Of course it is round; I must say what is true.
Jeronimus—It is the Devil’s own truth; such notions must come from the father of lies. I am sure there is not one man in this town who would not condemn such an opinion: ask the bailiff, who is a reasonable man, if he doesn’t agree with me.
Jesper—It is all the same to me whether it is round or long; but I must believe my eyes, and they tell me the earth is flat as a pancake.
Montanus—It is all the same to me what the bailiff or anybody else in this town thinks about it, for I know the earth is round.
Jeronimus—It isn’t round. I believe you are crazy. You have eyes in your head like other men.
Montanus—It is well known, my dear father-in-law, that there are people right under us, with feet pointed toward ours.
Jesper—Ha, ha, ha, hi, hi, hi, ha, ha, ha!
Jeronimus—You may well laugh, for he has a screw loose in his head. Just try once to get up under the ceiling, and turn your head down, and then see what will come of it.
Montanus—That is quite another matter, father-in-law.
Jeronimus—I won’t be your father-in-law any more. I think more of my daughter than to throw her away on you.
Montanus—Your daughter is as dear to me as my own soul, in truth; but you cannot expect me for her sake to renounce philosophy and send my intelligence into exile.
Jeronimus—Yes, yes, I hear you have got some other woman in your head. You may keep your Lucy or Sophy: I shall not force my daughter upon you.
Montanus—You misunderstand me. Philosophy is only a branch of science, and it has opened my eyes in this matter as in others.
Jeronimus—It has rather blinded both eyes and understanding. How can you show such a thing as that?
Montanus—It is not necessary to prove it. Educated persons no longer doubt it.
Jesper—Per Degn would never admit that.
Montanus—Per Degn! He is a nice fellow! I am foolish to stand here and talk philosophy with you; but to please Monsieur Jeronimus, I will give you two proofs. First, that we get from travelers; who, when they get several thousand miles away from us, have daylight when we have night, see other stars and another sky.
Jeronimus—Are you crazy, that you say there is more than one heaven and earth?
Jesper—Yes, Monsieur Jeronimus. There are twelve heavens, one above the other, until you come to the crystal heaven. He is right as to that.
Montanus—O quantæ tenebræ!
Jeronimus—I went to Kiel sixteen times when I was young, but as true as I am an honest man, I never saw any other sky than the one we have here.
Montanus—You would have to travel sixteen times as far, Domine Jeronime, before you could see it, because—
Jeronimus—Stop talking such nonsense; it doesn’t lead to anything. Let us hear the other proof.
Montanus—The other proof is from eclipses of the sun and moon.
Jesper—Just listen to that; now he is really crazy.
Montanus—What do you suppose an eclipse is?
Jesper—Eclipses are signs set upon the sun and moon to show when some misfortune is to happen on earth. I can prove that by my own experience: when my wife was sick three years ago, and when my daughter Gertrude died, both times there were eclipses before.
Montanus—Such nonsense will drive me crazy.
Jeronimus—The bailiff is right; for there is never an eclipse that does not mean something. When the last one occurred, everything seemed to be going well, but not for long: only two weeks afterwards we got news from Copenhagen that six students had failed at once, and two of them were deans’ sons. If you don’t hear of something bad in one place after such an eclipse, you are sure to in another.
Montanus—That is certain enough; for no day passes without bringing misfortune in some part of the world. As for the people you speak about, they should not put it off on the eclipse, for if they had studied harder they would have got through.
Jeronimus—What is an eclipse of the moon, then?
Montanus—It is nothing but the earth’s shadow, which deprives the moon of sunlight; and since the shadow is round, we can see that the earth likewise is round. It is all perfectly natural; for we can calculate eclipses, and therefore it is foolishness to say that they are signs of coming misfortune.
Jeronimus—Ah, Mr. Bailiff, I feel sick. It was an unhappy hour when your parents let you study.
Jesper—Yes, he is pretty near to becoming an atheist. I must set Per Degn at him again. There is a man who can talk to some purpose. He shall prove to you, either in Latin or Greek as you like, that the earth, thank God, is as flat as my hand. But there comes Madame Jeronimus with her daughter.
Lisbed—O my love, let me embrace you!
Jeronimus—Softly, softly, my child, not so fast.
Lisbed—May I not embrace my betrothed, whom I have not seen for years?
Jeronimus—Keep away from him, I tell you, or you will get beaten.
Lisbed[weeping]—I know that we were publicly betrothed.
Jeronimus—That is true enough; but a difficulty has since arisen.
Lisbed—Is that all, father? We can settle that easily enough.
Jeronimus—Keep away from him, I say!
Magdelone—What does this mean, Mr. Bailiff?
Jesper—It is bad enough, madame! He brings false learning into the town, says that the earth is round, and things of that sort that I blush to mention.
Jeronimus—Don’t you pity the good old parents who have spent so much money on him?
Magdelone—Ei, is that all? If he loves our daughter he will give up his notion, and say that the earth is flat, for her sake.
Lisbed—Ah, my love, say for my sake that it is flat.
Montanus—I cannot oblige you, so long as my reason is left me. I cannot give the earth any other shape than it has by nature. I will say and do all that is possible for your sake, but I cannot oblige you in this. For should my fellow students come to know that I had made such a statement, I should be scorned and held for a fool; besides, we learned men never take back what we have said, but defend it to the last drop of our ink-bottle.
Magdelone—Listen, husband: this does not seem to me important enough to make us break off the match.
Jeronimus—And I say that if they were already married, I would have them divorced on account of it.
Magdelone—I think I’ve got something to say about it; for if she is your daughter she is mine too.
Lisbed[weeping]—O my dear, say that it is flat.
Montanus—That I cannot.
Jeronimus—Listen, wife: you must know that I am the man of the house, and that I am her father.
Magdelone—You must know also that I am the woman of the house, and that I am her mother.
Jeronimus—What I mean is, that a father is of more account than a mother.
Magdelone—And I say that he isn’t, for no one can doubt that I am her mother, while you— I won’t say any more, or I shall get excited.
Lisbed[weeping]—O my love, can’t you say for my sake that it is flat?
Montanus—I cannot, my pet: nam contra naturam est.
Jeronimus—What do you mean by that, wife? Am I not her father as you are her mother? Listen, Lisbed, am I not your father?
Lisbed—I think you must be, for my mother says so. I think you are my father, but I know she is my mother.
Jeronimus—What do you think of all this nonsense, Mr. Bailiff?
Jesper—I can’t say that ma’mselle is wrong, because—
Jeronimus—That’s enough. Come, let us go. Be quite sure, my good Rasmus Berg, that you shall never get my daughter as long as you persist in your errors.
Lisbed[weeping]—O my love, say that it is flat!
Jeronimus—Out, out of the door!