XI Our Masters
Nugo. Why, don’t you think it worthy of a philosopher? Ask the question of our new masters from Paris.
Grac. Many of them are philosophers in their clothes, not in their brains.
Nugo. Why do you say on account of their dress? For you should rather say that they seem to be cooks or mule-drivers.
Grac. I say so because they wear clothes which are clumsy, worn out, torn, muddy, dirty, and full of lice in them.
Nugo. Why this almost constitutes them cynic philosophers!
Grac. Nay, they are rather cimici35 but not what they desire to seem, viz., peripatetics, for Aristotle, the leader of this sect, was a most polished man. But I have long since bidden farewell to philosophy, if I cannot any other way than theirs become a philosopher. For what is more comely and worthy in a man than cleanliness and a certain refinement in bearing and in dress? In this respect I consider the Lovanians are superior to the Parisians.
Turd. But don’t you think that too much attention to cleanliness and elegance is a hindrance to studies?
Grac. I certainly believe in cleanliness, but I don’t think there should be an anxious and morose absorption in it.
Nugo. Do you then condemn elegance, on which Laurentius Valla has written so diffusely and which our teachers so diligently commend to us? There is an elegance, e.g., of words, in speaking, and there is an elegance of clothes in dressing.
Turd. Do you know what was told me by the letter-carrier at Louvain?
Nugo. What was that?
Turd. That Clodius fell in love madly with some girl and Lusco transferred himself from letters to merchandise, that is, from horseback to mule-back.
Nugo. What do I hear?