If this is so, have we who have entered the ministry not had a fine catch all this while, to find no better fruit from our labours? “Is this why you grow pale? Is this a reason for anyone to go without dinner?” Do we wear ourselves away for this? Is this why we rise so early all year long, leaping, as he says, out of bed when we hear the bell ring, as though we had heard a thunderclap?

If this is all the respect, reward and honour we are to receive, “break your slender pens, Thalia, and tear up your books.” Let us abandon our books and take up some other way of life. Why should we study? “Why did my foolish parents teach me letters?” What did our parents mean by making us scholars, if after twenty years’ study we are as far from advancement as at the beginning? Why do we take such pains? “What pleasure is there in growing so pale over these mad pages?” If there is no further hope of reward, no better encouragement—

I say again, “break your slender pens, Thalia, and tear up your books.” Let us turn soldiers, sell our books and buy swords, guns and pikes, or use the books to stopper bottles. Let us turn our philosophers’ gowns into millers’ coats, as Cleanthes once did, leave everything and take up any other way of life rather than continue in this misery. “It is better to whittle toothpicks than to beg the favour of the great with literary works.”

Yes, but I seem to hear someone objecting to these words. What I have said about the condition of scholars, and especially the clergy, may be true: they are miserable and distressed at present, the Church’s goods are being shipwrecked, and they have just cause to complain. There is a fault—but where does it come from? If the cause were fairly examined, the charge would be turned back upon ourselves. If summoned before that tribunal of truth, we should be found guilty and unable to excuse ourselves.

I admit that there is fault among us: without a buyer, there would be no seller. But anyone who considers the matter more carefully will see plainly enough that these miseries flow from grasping patrons. In accusing them, I do not wholly excuse us. Both sides are at fault, they and we; yet in my judgement theirs is the greater fault, the more evident cause, and much to be condemned.

For my part, if my circumstances are not what I would wish or what they ought to be, I attribute the cause, as Cardano did in a similar case, “to my own misfortune rather than their wrongdoing”—to my own unhappiness rather than their wickedness. Some of them have indeed treated me with contempt in my time, and I have as good a cause to complain as anyone. Or rather, I attribute it to my own negligence.

For I have always been like that Alexander in Plutarch, Crassus’s philosophy tutor. Though he lived on familiar terms with wealthy Crassus for many years, he was just as poor when he left him—which astonished many people—as when he first arrived. He never asked; the other never gave him anything. When he travelled with Crassus, he borrowed a hat from him and returned it when they came back.

I have had some such noble friends, acquaintances and pupils; but for the most part, apart from common courtesies and ordinary marks of respect, we parted as we had met. They gave me as much as I asked for, and that was—

And as Alessandro d’Alessandro answered Girolamo Massaini in his Genial Days, book 6, chapter 16: Massaini wondered, “since he saw many idle and obscure men promoted daily to honours and church offices”, why Alessandro remained in the same position while others rose—“in the same condition and circumstances, although he thought a reward was owed to him for his labours and studies”—for he thought Alessandro deserved as much as the rest.

He answered that he was content with his present circumstances and had no ambition. Although Massaini “reproached him, accusing him of laziness, when men of obscure condition had been raised to church offices and bishoprics, and so on”—scolding him for hanging back—he remained unchanged. For my part, though I may not be worthy to carry Alessandro’s books, some friends who think too highly of me and wish me well have spoken to me in the same way. But I always answered with Alessandro that I had enough, and perhaps more than I deserved.

And I agreed with Libanius the sophist, who, when the emperor offered him honours and offices, preferred to be “a sophist of this standing rather than a magistrate of that standing”. I would just as soon remain Democritus Junior, “a wholly private man, if I were now given the choice, rather than perhaps such a Doctor, such a Lord”. But where is all this leading? For the rest, it is “a detestable crime” on both sides to buy and sell church livings, or to withhold from the Church what divine and human laws have bestowed on it. But the patrons are chiefly to blame, through the greed and ignorance of those involved in this business.

I name greed first, as the root of all these evils. Like Achan, it drives them to commit sacrilege and make simoniacal bargains—and what else will they not do?—to serve their own ends. This kindles God’s wrath, bringing plague, vengeance and grievous punishment upon themselves and others.

Some, in their insatiable desire for filthy gain and riches, do not care how they obtain it, “by right or wrong”, by hook or by crook, so long as they have it. Others, having squandered their estates in riotous extravagance, try to recover themselves by making the Church their prey. They rob it, as Julian the Apostate did, stripping parsons of their revenues by keeping back half, as a great man among us observes, and taking the support on which they should live. As a result, ignorance increases and there is a great decline among those who profess Christianity.

For who will devote himself, his son or his friend to these theological studies if, after immense labour, they will have nothing to live on? But what comes of these actions?

You hunt for wealth with all your strength, But the harvest that comes of it is most wretched.

They toil and drudge, but what do they reap? The families that practise this are commonly unfortunate, cursed in their offspring and, as ordinary experience shows, themselves cursed in all their undertakings. “How can they have the face to expect a blessing or inheritance from Christ in heaven when they defraud Christ of his inheritance here on earth?”—as he quotes from Augustine.