the true
cultivation of the mind, and sets a man, mark you, on a level with
princes, to stoop to handle virgin milk and dragon's blood, as they
style their vile mixtures; or else grope in dead men's bodies for the
thing which killed them. Which is a pure handicraft and cheirergon,
unworthy a scholar, who stoops of right to naught but the goose-quill!"

"And yet, master, by these same things----"

"Men grow rich," Basterga continued with a sneer, "and get power? Ay,
and the bastard sits in the chair of the legitimate; and pure learning
goes bare while the seekers after the Stone and the Elixir (who, in
these days are descending to invent even lesser things and smaller
advantages that in the learned tongues have not so much as names) grow
in princes' favour and draw on their treasuries! But what says Seneca?
'It is not the office of Philosophy to teach men to use their hands. The
object of her lessons is to form the soul and the taste.' And Aldus
Manucius, vir doctissimus, magister noster," here he raised his hand to
his head as if he would uncover, "says also the same, but in a Latinity
more pure and translucent, as is his custom."

Grio scratched his head. The other's vehemence, whether he sneered or
praised, flew high above his dull understanding. He had his share of the
reverence for learning which marked the ignorant of that age: but to
what better end, he pondered stupidly, could learning be directed than
to the discovery of that which must make its owner the most enviable of
mortals, the master of wealth and youth and pleasure! It was not to
this, however, that he directed his objection: the _argumentum ad
hominem_ came more easily to him. "But you do this?" he said, pointing
to the paraphernalia about the stove.

"Ay," Basterga rejoined with vehemence. "And why, my friend? Because the
noble rewards and the consideration which former times bestowed on
learning are to-day diverted to baser pursuits! Erasmus was the friend
of princes, and the correspondent of kings. Della Scala was the
companion of an emperor; Morus, the Englishman, was the right arm of a
king. And I, Caesar Basterga of Padua, bred in the pure Latinity of our
Master Manucius, yield to none of these. Yet am I, if I would live,
forced to stoop 'ad vulgus captandum!' I must kneel that I may rise! I
must wade through the mire of this base pursuit that I may reach the
firm ground of wealth and learned ease. But think you that I am the dupe
of the art