XIX.
The order adopted in this essay brings us now to drinking-songs. Next to spring and love, our students set their affections principally on the tavern and the winebowl. In the poems on the Order we have seen how large a space in their vagrant lives was occupied by the tavern and its jovial company of topers and gamesters. It was there that--
"Some are gaming, some are drinking, Some are living without thinking; And of those who make the racket, Some are stripped of coat and jacket; Some get clothes of finer feather, Some are cleaned out altogether; No one there dreads death's invasion, But all drink in emulation."
The song from which I have extracted this stanza contains a parody of S. Thomas Aquinas' hymn on the Eucharist.[33] To translate it seemed to me impossible; but I will cite the following stanza, which may be compared with stanzas ix. and x. of _Lauda Sion_:--
"Bibit hera, bibit herus, Bibit miles, bibit clerus, Bibit ille, bibit illa, Bibit servus cum ancilla, Bibit velox, bibit piger, Bibit albus, bibit niger, Bibit constans, bibit vagus, Bibit rudis, bibit magus."
Several of the best anacreontics of the period are even more distinctly parodies. The following panegyric of wine, for example, is modelled upon a hymn to the Virgin:--
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 33: _In Taberna, Carm. Bur_., p. 235.]
A SEQUENCE IN PRAISE OF WINE.
No. 45.
Wine the good and bland, thou blessing Of the good, the bad's distressing, Sweet of taste by all confessing, Hail, thou world's felicity! Hail thy hue, life's gloom dispelling; Hail thy taste, all tastes excelling; By thy power, in this thy dwelling Deign to make us drunk with thee!
Oh, how blest for bounteous uses Is the birth of pure vine-juices! Safe's the table which produces Wine in goodly quality. Oh, in colour how auspicious! Oh, in odour how delicious! In the mouth how sweet, propitious To the tongue enthralled by thee!
Blest the man who first thee planted, Called thee by thy name enchanted! He whose cups have ne'er been scanted Dreads no danger that may be. Blest the belly where thou bidest! Blest the tongue where thou residest! Blest the mouth through which thou glidest, And the lips thrice blest by thee!
Therefore let wine's praise be sounded, Healths to topers all propounded; We shall never be confounded, Toping for eternity! Pray we: here be thou still flowing, Plenty on our board bestowing, While with jocund voice we're showing How we serve thee--Jubilee!
Another, regarding the date of which I have no information, is an imitation of a well-known _Christmas Carol_.
A CAROL OF WINE.
No. 46.
In dulci jubilo Sing we, make merry so! Since our heart's pleasure Latet in poculo, Drawn from the cask, good measure. Pro hoc convivio, Nunc, nunc bibito!
O crater parvule! How my soul yearns for thee! Make me now merry, O potus optime, Claret or hock or sherry! Et vos concinite: Vivant socii!
O vini caritas! O Bacchi lenitas! We've drained our purses Per multa pocula: Yet hope we for new mercies, Nummoram gaudia: Would that we had them, ah!
Ubi sunt gaudia? where, If that they be not there? There the lads are singing Selecta cantica: There are glasses ringing In villae curia; Oh, would that we were there!
_In Dulci Jubilo_ yields an example of mixed Latin and German. This is the case too with a comparatively ancient drinking-song quoted by Geiger in his _Renaissance und Humanismus_, p. 414. It may be mentioned that the word _Bursae_, for _Burschen_, occurs in stanza v. This word, to indicate a student, can also be found in _Carm. Bur._, p. 236, where we are introduced to scholars drinking yellow Rhine wine out of glasses of a pale pink colour--already in the twelfth century!
THE STUDENTS' WINE-BOUT.
No. 47.
Ho, all ye jovial brotherhood, Quos sitis vexat plurima, I know a host whose wits are good, Quod vina spectat optima.
His wine he blends not with the juice E puteo qui sumitur; Each kind its virtue doth produce E botris ut exprimitur.
Host, bring us forth good wine and strong, In cella quod est optimum! We brethren will our sport prolong Ad noctis usque terminum.
Whoso to snarl or bite is fain, Ut canes decet rabidos, Outside our circle may remain, Ad porcos eat sordidos,
Hurrah! my lads, we'll merry make! Levate sursum pocula! God's blessing on all wine we take, In sempiterna saecula!
Two lyrics of distinguished excellence, which still hold their place in the _Commersbuch_, cannot claim certain antiquity in their present form. They are not included in the _Carmina Burana_; yet their style is so characteristic of the Archipoeta, that I believe we may credit him with at least a share in their composition. The first starts with an allusion to the Horatian _tempus edax rerum_.
TIME'S A-FLYING.
No. 48.
Laurel-crowned Horatius, True, how true thy saying! Swift as wind flies over us Time, devouring, slaying. Where are, oh! those goblets full Of wine honey-laden, Strifes and loves and bountiful Lips of ruddy maiden?
Grows the young grape tenderly, And the maid is growing; But the thirsty poet, see, Years on him are snowing! What's the use on hoary curls Of the bays undying. If we may not kiss the girls, Drink while time's a-flying?
The second consists of a truly brilliant development of the theme which our Herrick condensed into one splendid phrase--"There's no lust like to poetry!"
THERE'S NO LUST LIKE TO POETRY.
No. 49.
Sweet in goodly fellowship Tastes red wine and rare O! But to kiss a girl's ripe lip Is a gift more fair O! Yet a gift more sweet, more fine, Is the lyre of Maro! While these three good gifts were mine, I'd not change with Pharaoh.
Bacchus wakes within my breast Love and love's desire, Venus comes and stirs the blessed Rage of Phoebus' fire; Deathless honour is our due From the laurelled sire: Woe should I turn traitor to Wine and love and lyre!
Should a tyrant rise and say, "Give up wine!" I'd do it; "Love no girls!" I would obey, Though my heart should rue it. "Dash thy lyre!" suppose he saith, Naught should bring me to it; "Yield thy lyre or die!" my breath, Dying, should thrill through it!
A lyric of the elder period in praise of wine and love, which forcibly illustrates the contempt felt by the student class for the unlettered laity and boors, shall be inserted here. It seems to demand a tune.
WINE AND VENUS.
No. 50.
Ho, comrades mine! What is your pleasure? What business fine Or mirthful measure? Lo, Venus toward our crew advancing, A choir of Dryads round her dancing!
Good fellows you! The time is jolly! Earth springs anew, Bans melancholy; Bid long farewell to winter weather! Let lads and maids be blithe together.
Dame Venus spurns Her brother Ocean; To Bacchus turns; No colder potion Deserves her godhead's approbation; On sober souls she pours damnation.
Let then this band, Imbued with learning, By Venus stand, Her wages earning! Laymen we spurn from our alliance, Like brutes to art deaf, dumb to science.
Two gods alone We serve and mate with; One law we own, Nor hold debate with: Who lives the goodly student fashion Must love and win love back with passion!
Among drinking-songs of the best period in this literature may be reckoned two disputations between water and wine. In the one, Thetis defends herself against Lyaeus, and the poet assists in vision at their contest. The scene is appropriately laid in the third sphere, the pleasant heaven of Venus. The other, which on the whole appears to me preferable, and which I have therefore chosen for translation, begins and ends with the sound axiom that water and wine ought never to be mixed. It is manifest that the poet reserves the honour of the day for wine, though his arguments are fair to both sides. The final point, which breaks the case of water down and determines her utter confusion, is curious, since it shows that people in the Middle Ages were fully alive to the perils of sewage-contaminated wells.
THE CONTEST OF WINE AND WATER.
No. 51.
Laying truth bare, stripped of fable, Briefly as I may be able, With good reasons manifold, I will tell why man should never Copulate, but rather sever, Things that strife and hatred hold.
When one cup in fell confusion Wine with water blends, the fusion, Call it by what name you will, Is no blessing, nor deserveth Any praise, but rather serveth For the emblem of all ill.
Wine perceives the water present, And with pain exclaims, "What peasant Dared to mingle thee with me? Rise, go forth, get out, and leave me! In the same place, here to grieve me, Thou hast no just claim to be.
"Vile and shameless in thy going, Into cracks thou still art flowing, That in foul holes thou mayst lie; O'er the earth thou ought'st to wander, On the earth thy liquor squander, And at length in anguish die.
"How canst thou adorn a table? No one sings or tells a fable In thy presence dull and drear; But the guest who erst was jolly, Laughing, joking, bent on folly, Silent sits when thou art near.
"Should one drink of thee to fulness, Sound before, he takes an illness; All his bowels thou dost stir; Booms the belly, wind ariseth, Which, enclosed and pent, surpriseth With a thousand sighs the ear.
"When the stomach's so inflated, Blasts are then ejaculated From both draughts with divers sound; And that organ thus affected, All the air is soon infected By the poison breathed around."
Water thus wine's home-thrust warded: "All thy life is foul and sordid, Sunk in misery, steeped in vice; Those who drink thee lose their morals, Waste their time in sloth and quarrels, Rolling down sin's precipice.
"Thou dost teach man's tongue to stutter; He goes reeling in the gutter Who hath deigned to kiss thy lips; Hears men speak without discerning, Sees a hundred tapers burning When there are but two poor dips.
"He who feels for thee soul's hunger Is a murderer or whoremonger, Davus Geta Birria; Such are they whom thou dost nourish; With thy fame and name they flourish In the tavern's disarray.
"Thou by reason of thy badness Art confined in prison sadness, Cramped and small thy dwellings are: I am great the whole world over, Spread myself abroad and cover Every part of earth afar.
"Drink I yield to palates burning; They who for soul's health are yearning, Need the aid that I have given; Since all pilgrims, at their praying, Far or near, I am conveying To the palaces of heaven."
Wine replied: "What thou hast vaunted Proves thee full of fraud; for granted That thou earnest ships o'er sea, Yet thou then dost swell and riot; Till they wreck thou hast no quiet; Thus they are deceived through thee.
"He whose strength is insufficient Thee to slake with heat efficient, Sunk in mortal peril lies: Trusting thee the poor wretch waneth, And through thee at length attaineth To the joys of Paradise.
"I'm a god, as that true poet Naso testifies; men owe it Unto me that they are sage; When they do not drink, professors Lose their wits and lack assessors Round about the lecture-stage.
"'Tis impossible to sever Truth from falsehood if you never Learn to drink my juices neat. Thanks to me, dumb speak, deaf listen, Blind folk see, the senses glisten, And the lame man finds his feet.
"Eld through me to youth returneth, While thine influence o'erturneth All a young man's lustihead; By my force the world is laden With new births, but boy or maiden Through thy help was never bred."
Water saith: "A god thou! Just men By thy craft become unjust men, Bad, worse, worst, degenerous! Thanks to thee, their words half uttered Through the drunken lips are stuttered, And thy sage is Didymus.
"I will speak the truth out wholly: Earth bears fruit by my gift solely, And the meadows bloom in May; When it rains not, herbs and grasses Dry with drought, spring's beauty passes, Flowers and lilies fade away.
"Lo, thy crooked mother pining, On her boughs the grapes declining, Barren through the dearth of rain; Mark her tendrils lean and sterile O'er the parched earth at their peril Bent in unavailing pain!
"Famine through all lands prevaileth, Terror-struck the people waileth, When I choose to keep away; Christians kneel to Christ to gain me, Jews and Pagans to obtain me Ceaseless vows and offerings pay."
Wine saith: "To the deaf thou'rt singing, Those vain self-laudations flinging! Otherwhere thou hast been shown! Patent 'tis to all the races How impure and foul thy place is; We believe what we have known!
"Thou of things the scum and rotten Sewer, where ordures best forgotten And unmentioned still descend! Filth and garbage, stench and poison. Thou dost bear in fetid foison! Here I stop lest words offend."
Water rose, the foe invaded, In her own defence upbraided Wine for his invective base: "Now at last we've drawn the curtain! Who, what god thou art is certain From thy oracle's disgrace.
"This thine impudent oration Hurts not me; 'tis desecration To a god, and fouls his tongue! At the utmost at nine paces Can I suffer filthy places, Fling far from me dirt and dung!"
Wine saith: "This repudiation Of my well-weighed imputation Doth not clear thyself of crime! Many a man and oft who swallowed Thine infected potion, followed After death in one day's time."
Hearing this, in stupefaction Water stood; no words, no action, Now restrained her sobs of woe. Wine exclaims, "Why art thou dumb then? Without answer? Is it come then To thy complete overthrow?"
I who heard the whole contention Now declare my song's intention, And to all the world proclaim: They who mix these things shall ever Henceforth be accursed, and never In Christ's kingdom portion claim.
The same precept, "Keep wine and water apart," is conveyed at the close of a lyric distinguished in other respects for the brutal passion of its drunken fervour. I have not succeeded in catching the rollicking swing of the original verse; and I may observe that the last two stanzas seem to form a separate song, although their metre is the same as that of the first four.
BACCHIC FRENZY.
No. 52.
Topers in and out of season! 'Tis not thirst but better reason Bids you tope on steadily!-- Pass the wine-cup, let it be Filled and filled for bout on bout Never sleep! Racy jest and song flash out! Spirits leap!
Those who cannot drink their rations, Go, begone from these ovations! Here's no place for bashful boys; Like the plague, they spoil our joys.-- Bashful eyes bring rustic cheer When we're drunk, And a blush betrays a drear Want of spunk.
If there's here a fellow lurking Who his proper share is shirking, Let the door to him be shown, From our crew we'll have him thrown;-- He's more desolate than death, Mixed with us; Let him go and end his breath! Better thus!
When your heart is set on drinking, Drink on without stay or thinking, Till you cannot stand up straight, Nor one word articulate!-- But herewith I pledge to you This fair health: May the glass no mischief do, Bring you wealth!
Wed not you the god and goddess, For the god doth scorn the goddess; He whose name is Liber, he Glories in his liberty. All her virtue in the cup Runs to waste, And wine wedded yieldeth up Strength and taste.
Since she is the queen of ocean, Goddess she may claim devotion; But she is no mate to kiss His superior holiness. Bacchus never deigned to be Watered, he! Liber never bore to be Christened, he!