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by Benito Jerónimo Feijóo

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Title: Essays, or discourses, vol. 1 (of 4)
       Selected from the works of Feyjoo, and translated from the
       Spanish

Author: Benito Jerónimo Feijóo

Translator: John Brett

Release Date: July 26, 2023 [eBook #71277]

Language: English

Credits: Josep Cols Canals, Krista Zaleski and the Online Distributed
         Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
         produced from images generously made available by The Internet
         Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAYS, OR DISCOURSES, VOL. 1
(OF 4) ***






                       ESSAYS,

                          OR

                     DISCOURSES,

                    SELECTED FROM

                 THE WORKS OF FEYJOO,

                         AND

             TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH,

                          BY

                   JOHN BRETT, ESQ.

                  VOLUME THE FIRST.

                       LONDON,

         Printed for the TRANSLATOR:

    Sold by H. PAYNE, Pall-Mall; C. DILLY, in the
        Poultry; and T. EVANS, in the Strand.

                      MDCCLXXX.




CONTENTS

OF THE FIRST VOLUME.


    THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE.                   Page 1

    VIRTUE AND VICE.                            p. 27

    EXALTED AND HUMBLE FORTUNE.                 p. 61

    THE MOST REFINED POLICY.                   p. 107

    THE MACHIAVELIANISM OF THE ANCIENTS.       p. 161

    AMBITION IN SOVEREIGNS.                    p. 221

    THE VALUE OR SUPERIOR EXCELLENCE OF
    NOBILITY. WITH SOME REMARKS ON THE POWER
    OR INFLUENCE OF HIGH BLOOD.                p. 257

    THE SEMBLANCE OF VIRTUE; OR, VIRTUE
    IN APPEARANCE.                             p. 291




THE

TRANSLATOR’s PREFACE.


The Author of the following Discourses was a Spaniard, and a dignified
clergyman of the Church of Rome, high in rank, and much respected
as an ecclesiastic; but was not less esteemed for his candour and
liberality of sentiment, than admired for his almost universal learning
and extensive knowledge. The Translator has it not in his power to
give so particular and satisfactory an account of this eminent man as
he could wish; but the Reader will find in the Fourth Essay of the
Second Volume, a summary one given of himself, in which he tells
us where he was born, how he was educated, and where he passed the
greatest part of his life; how he passed it, is pretty clear from his
Writings, which manifest, that he must have employed a very large
portion of it in study. When I first entered upon this undertaking,
I had no thoughts of translating so many of the Author’s Essays as I
was afterwards tempted to do; the subject matter of them, in which I
found great pleasure, exciting me to proceed; and indeed, I was also
flattered and encouraged to go on, by the expectation, that my labours
in this respect, would afford agreeable amusement, and furnish useful
instruction to many of my countrymen. After I had translated as many
Essays, as I conjectured would make Four Volumes in Octavo, I thought
it would be necessary to prefix to them, a more enlarged Preface, than
that which appeared at the head of the first four; and as I have taken
the liberty to omit some parts of those Essays which I have translated,
I thought it would be right to say something, by way of assigning my
reasons and motives for so doing; which are briefly these: That the
parts left out, appeared to me, to be either confined, or applicable
only to the affairs and prejudices of Spain; or else, that they were
points of speculation, which the world at large, might not consider
as matters of importance. I have also ventured to omit such things,
as were relative only to religious controversy, as in this species of
disputation, men are apt to lose that candour and temper, which they
have been remarkable for preserving in all other cases, and upon all
other occasions. A strong example of the truth of this remark, would
have been manifested in father Feyjoo, had I translated that part of
the First Essay, where he speaks of the Protestant Writers; whom he
mentions in such language, and with a degree of warmth and acrimony,
which he afterwards in many places of his Works, reprehends as
improper, and illiberal. I have likewise taken the liberty to curtail
here and there a description which appeared to me rather superfluous,
or too redundant; and in the Apology for Persons who have been famous
in History, I have omitted the characters, of the queens Brunequilda
and Fredegunda, of both whom, I imagined the Reader would find as
much said as he would be desirous of knowing, in some of the other
Essays of these Volumes. Nor have I translated from this Discourse,
what is said of the empress Maria of Arragon, the marquis of Villena,
and William le Croix de Gevres. The accusation which had been brought
against the first of these three, appearing to me, only interesting to
the subjects of Spain: those of Magic against the second, to savour
of spite and bigotry; and those against the last, to be the effect
of pique and resentment, on account that he, although not a native
of Spain, had been promoted to the archbishopric of Toledo. In the
Translation of the Physical Paradoxes, I have likewise omitted some
articles; for instance, such, as whether heavy bodies, if they could be
forced in a perpendicular direction to a great distance from the earth,
would ever revert back to it again; and also that, of whether gold
is produced by the sun; and another, which treats of the possibility
of restoring by natural means, sight to a blind person; as all these
appeared to me, things rather speculative than interesting. In the
Translation of the Moral and Political Paradoxes, I have also omitted
the following articles: that which charges the Spanish laws with being
too favourable to persons of tender years; that which censures the
great number of holidays which are observed in Spain; that which treats
of whether the offspring of a human father and a brute mother, should
be baptized under certain conditions and restrictions; and that, which
questions whether Christian burial should be allowed to a person who is
guilty of suicide. The first of these appeared to me applicable to the
Spanish laws only; and the second, calculated to correct the abuse that
is made of the numbers of festivals in most Roman Catholic countries,
and particularly in Spain, and which seems intended to point out the
great loss they occasion to a state. The other two I considered as
rather abstruse points, and such as would afford very little amusement
or instruction to those who may peruse this work. Thus much for the
omissions; but if the reader, who understands Spanish, was to turn to
the Essays in their original language, he would find something added
to them; I therefore thought it would be proper to mention, that all
those additions, except the one that is made to the comparison between
ancient and modern music, are taken from the ninth, or supplemental
volume to the Teatro Critico, and are added in such places as the
author there directs. The addition to the comparison between antient
and modern music, is taken from the Essay on the Resurrection of the
Arts; and all that is said on music in that Essay, is interwoven into
this discourse, it having appeared to me to be very apposite to, and
indeed, what one might not improperly call a part of the subject of
it. There is nothing more that occurs to me as necessary to add to
this preface, except it is, that I have selected these Essays from
nearly all the volumes of the author’s works, and that, to the best of
my judgment, those I have chosen are some of the most interesting of
them; and such, as I thought would be the most entertaining, and the
most instructive to the generality of mankind. How judiciously I have
made this choice, and how well I have executed the translation, must
be left to others to determine; and shall only observe further, that I
have done both the one and the other, to the best of my discernment and
abilities; and although the translation is by no means a literal one, I
will venture to declare, that it contains the true sense and sentiment
of the author, which, as well as my learning and talents would enable
me to imitate so eminent a man as Feyjoo, I have endeavoured to express
in nearly the same language, I imagine he would have made use of, if he
had been a native of this country, and had written his works originally
in English. For the rest, the nature, scope, and design of the author’s
writings, will be best explained by his own prologue, which follows
next in order.




PROLOGUE.

TO THE READER.


My good reader, whoever you are, I have little expectation that you
will be very propitious to this my undertaking, from a supposition,
that you probably are already preoccupied in favour of many of the
opinions which I combat; and I ought not to have such confidence,
either in my persuasive powers, or in your docility, as to promise
myself an early conquest of your prejudices, or a sudden attachment
of your approbation. From hence it may follow, that stiff in your old
opinions, you will condemn my sentiments, as false and injurious.
Father Malebranche said justly, that those authors who write with an
intention to banish common pre-possessions, should always conclude,
that the public will receive their works with disgust. Whenever it
happens that truth becomes triumphant, the victory advances by such
slow paces, that the author while he lives, only enjoys the vain
expectation, that his tomb will one day be crown’d with laurels.
A striking example of this truth, was seen in the famous William
Hervey, against whom, on account of his noble discovery respecting
the circulation of the blood, the physicians of that time declaimed
furiously, though all the professors of the science at present,
venerate him as an oracle. In his life-time they loaded him with
injuries; now he is dead they would place his image on the altars.

I should here endeavour to win your mind to an admission of my maxims,
and take the opportunity of shewing by various examples, how involv’d
in error, are many of the most established opinions; but this being the
intire object of my first discourse, I must refer you thither, for the
perusal of my arguments on this head, I having plac’d that discourse
in the front, as a necessary preliminary to this volume; but if you
are not to be persuaded, and are obstinately bent on remaining a
constant partizan of the Voice of the People, in the name of goodness
pursue your course. If you are wise, I shall treat you liberally,
and we shall not become angry with each other; for liberality will
reprehend the sentiment, without ill using the author; but if you are
simple, you, together with that infirmity, will not fail to possess the
quality of inexorable also. I know very well, there is not a more rigid
censurer of a book, than a man who is incapable of dictating a letter.
Such people may say what they please of me, and treat my opinions as
excentric, because they are out of the common road; but let us agree in
a preliminary, to wit, that if they are to take the liberty of calling
me extravagant, I may be allowed to say they are ignorant.

I ought, however, to remove some objections, that will naturally
occur in reading this volume. The first is, the discourses not being
distributed in determin’d classes, and not following in a regular
progression, the faculties or matters to which they belong. To this I
answer, that though I at first design’d such an arrangement, I soon
discover’d the pursuing it to be impracticable; for having proposed
to myself so vast a field in the Teatro Critico, I saw that many of
the matters which would be touch’d upon in it, were incomprehensible
under a determin’d faculty; either because they do not belong to any
one in particular, or because, they participate equally of many.
Besides, there are a number, every one of which, treats solely of some
particular faculty, without any other having to do with the subject
matter. On physical subjects only, within which walk the errors of the
vulgar are infinite, you may write as many discourses as are capable
of making a separate volume; but I am more disposed to divide them in
the different volumes, because by so doing, each will afford a more
agreeable variety. By this means, although every volume with respect to
the matter, will appear strictly speaking, a miscellany, the design of
attacking common errors will be uniformly preserved. The formal object
will always be the same, the materials must necessarily be composed of
great variety, and should be distributed.

I may perhaps be blamed, for giving the name of errors to all the
opinions I controvert. The complaint would be just, if I did not remove
the odium of the term by an explanation. I say then, that error in the
sense I here take and use it, signifies no more than an opinion that I
look upon as false, abstracted from, and without my determining upon
the probability or improbability of it.

Neither by the term common errors, do I mean to signify, that those I
encounter are incident to all mankind, it is sufficient to apply this
term to them, if they are admitted by the generality of the vulgar,
or lead in their train, a more than ordinary number of the literati.
This must be understood with a reservation, that I don’t mean to
introduce myself as a judge in those questions, which are mooted in
various schools, especially such as regard Theological points: for
what advances can I make on those subjects, which have been studied
and considered with the most intense reflection, by so many men of
eminence? or who am I, to have such confidence in my own strength, as
to fancy that I am capable of entering the lists, where so many giants
engage? In matters purely physical, this objection need not detain me;
for those of this species which are treated of in other schools are
very few, and those few with little or no reflection.

I may be also blamed, when I am to touch upon many things which are
mere matters of faculty, for having wrote in the Castilian Idiom: as an
answer to this, it will be sufficient to reply, that no other reason
is necessary to be given for so doing, than that I know of no reason
against it. I do not deny, that there are truths, which should be hid
from the vulgar, whose weakness exposes them to more danger by being
informed, than they would be exposed to by remaining in ignorance;
but this argument would militate with equal strength, against those
truths going forth to the world in Latin, there being a great number of
vulgar, among those who understand that language, and it passes easily
from them, to those who understand no other than their mother tongue.

I am so far from having the least intention to communicate pernicious
matter to the public, that the principal design of this work, is to
undeceive them in many points, which by being admitted as true, would
be very prejudicial to them; nor is it reasonable, that a benefit which
can be made universal, should not be enjoyed by every one.

But do not from what I have advanced, conclude, that I have great
confidence this work will be of eminent utility; for although my
sole object is to propose the truth, it is possible, that in some
instances I may want penetration to discern it, and in others, powers
_to persuade it_; but I can with confidence assure you, that I write
nothing, but what is conformable to my real sentiments. I look upon
proposing, or attempting to prove singular opinions, only with a
view of displaying a person’s ingenuity, as puerile and pedantic,
and consider it as an employment, unworthy of every honest man. In
conversation, these things may be tolerated by way of amusement, but
the introducing them into writings, is an abuse, and a deceit upon the
public. The noble use of reason, is to penetrate and enforce truths;
the knack of puzzling others with sophistries, is the meanest faculty
of the human understanding. Spiders, which in the brute creation are
looked upon as vile, fabricate fine, but trifling threads; among
mankind, none fabricate fine and firm ones, but excellent artists;
the first, are emblems of subtle and sophistical works, the others of
ingenious and solid ones.

The common errors which I attack, do not always occupy the whole
of the discourse in which I treat of them, and sometimes, many
are comprehended in one and the same; either because they relate
immediately to the matter of it, or because in pursuing the thread of
the principal subject, they are found in the way, or fall in as it
were by incidence. This method appeared to me the most convenient, as
by writing a separate discourse upon every opinion I encounter, there
being much to be said on some heads, and but little on others, there
would result a compound or mass of parts extremely unequal.

I expect many attacks, especially with relation to two or three of the
discourses in this book, and when some of my friends apprize me, that I
shall be loaded with injuries and abuse; I reply, that such treatment
will only serve to convince me more firmly, of the truth of what I have
written; it being certain, that he is doubtful of his own strength, who
attacks with unfair weapons. If they oppose me with arguments, I will
reply to them; if with sneers and scurrility, I shall instantly allow
myself vanquish’d, as that is a mode of engaging, in which I never
exercised myself. Adieu.




THE

VOICE of the PEOPLE.


That ill-understood maxim, that God explains himself in the Voice of
the People, authorizes the commonalty to triumph over sound judgment,
and erect to themselves a tribunitial authority, capable of oppressing,
and bearing down the dignity of literature. This is an error that is
pregnant with an infinity of others, because, by establishing the
position, that the voice of the multitude is the rule of truth, all
the extravagances of the vulgar, would be venerated as inspirations of
heaven. This consideration excites me to attack this error the first,
upon a supposition, that by exploding this, I shall subdue many enemies
in one, or at least, that it will be more easy to expunge other errors,
by removing the patronage, which they receive from the common voice in
the estimation of unwary men.


SECT. I.

I. _Æstimes judicia, non numeres_, said Seneca, (Epist. 39). The value
of opinions, should be computed by the weight, not by the number of
votaries. The ignorant, though numerous, are ignorant still; what
benefit then is to be expected from their determinations? It is rather
probable, that the multitude, by increasing the partizans of error,
would increase obstacles to the advancement of truth. If it was a
barbarous superstition in the Molossians, an antient people of Epirus,
to constitute the trunk of an oak for the organ of Apollo; would it be
less so, to concede this privilege to the whole Dodonean Wood? and if
from a stone, unless modelled by the hand of an artist, you could not
produce the image of Minerva, the same impossibility would continue,
although you add to it all the rocks of a mountain. One wise person,
will always discern more than a croud of simpletons, as one eagle can
better see the sun, than an army of owls.

II. Pope John the XXIII. being once asked what was the thing most
distant from truth, answered, the opinion of the vulgar. The severe
Phocion was so firmly of this sentiment, that observing, while he was
once making an oration in Athens, the people with one consent raise
their voices in his applause, asked his friends who were near him,
what mistake he had been guilty of, as he was persuaded, the blind
populace were incapable of applauding any thing but absurdities.
I don’t approve these rigorous decisions, nor can I consider the
populace, as the precise antipodes to the hemisphere of truth; they are
sometimes right, but this generally speaking, is either the result of
chance, or the effect of borrowed reflection. Some wise man, I don’t
remember who, compared the vulgar to the moon, on account of their
inconstancy: the comparison however was just, as they never shine by
the power of their own lights. _Non consilium in vulgo, non ratio, non
discrimen, non diligentia_, said Tully. (Orat. pro Planc.) There is not
in this vast body, any native illumination, wherewith can be discerned
the true from the false; the light is all borrowed, and reflected
superficially; for by reason of its opacity, the rays cannot penetrate
through it.

III. The public is an instrument of various sounds, which (unless it
happens by some rare accident) till adjusted by a skilful hand, is
hardly ever in tune. Epicurus was dreaming, when he imagined, that
infinite atoms impelled by chance, and wandering through the air,
could, without the interposition of a supreme will, form this admirable
system of the globe. Peter Gassendi, and the other modern refiners
upon Epicurus, added to this vulgar confusion, a disposition and
regulation, executed by the divine hand; but even supposing this, it
will be difficult for us to comprehend, by what means, the rudeness
of matter was polished, and the earth rendered capable of producing
the most trifling plant. The vulgar of mankind, differ but little
from the vulgarity of the atoms; and as from the casual concurrence
of our sentiments, there would hardly ever result a regular series of
established truths, it becomes necessary, that the Supreme Being should
superintend the business. But how must this be done? Why by employing
learned and wise men as his subalterns, and using them as a secondary
means, to dispose and organize such material entities.

IV. Those who ascribe so great authority to the common voice, don’t
foresee a dangerous consequence, that treads close on the heels of
their tenet; for if the decision of what is truth, was to be confided
to the plurality of voices, you should look for sound doctrine in the
Alcoran of Mahomed, and not in the Gospel of Christ; it being certain,
that the Alcoran would have more votes in its favour than the Gospel. I
am so far from being of opinion, that such a question should be decided
by numbers, that I think it ought to be determined the reverse, because
in the nature of things, error occupies a much larger field than
truth, and the vulgar of mankind, as the lowest and most humble portion
of the rational world, may be compared to the element of earth, whose
bowels contain little gold, but much iron.


SECT. II.

V. Whoever considers, that there is but one path which leads to
truth, and that those which lead to error are infinite, will not
be surprised, that mankind who travel by so dim a light, should in
the bulk go astray. The conception which the understanding forms of
things, may be compared to squares, which can only be regular one
way, but may be irregular in an infinite number of ways. Every body,
according to its species, can, by but one mode, be produced rightly
organized, but may be produced a monster by an infinite number. Even in
the heavens, there are but two fixed points to direct the navigator;
all the others are changeable. There are likewise two fixed points
in the sphere of the human understanding, to wit, revelation, and
demonstration: the rest is a group of opinions, that dance about, and
are made to follow one another, according to the caprice of doubtful
and inferior comprehensions. Whoever does not observe attentively these
two points, or at least one of them, according to the hemisphere in
which he navigates; that is, the first in the hemisphere of grace,
and the second in the hemisphere of nature, will never arrive at the
port of truth: for as in very few parts of the terraqueous globe,
the magnetic needle points true to the poles; but in most places has
more or less degrees of variation; even so in very few parts of the
world, does the human understanding attain the pole of its direction;
the pole of revelation, is perceived directly, in only two places,
Europe, and America; in all other parts, it has more or less degrees
of declination: in the heretical countries, the needle is much warped,
more in the Mahometan countries, and more still in the idolatrous ones.
The pole of demonstration, is observed only by the small community of
mathematicians, and even within that small circle, is affected with
declination.

But what necessity is there for beating round the world, to discover,
that in various regions, the common opinion is the reverse of truth;
even among the people who were called God’s people, so far many times
was the voice of the people from being the voice of God, that there was
not the least semblance between them: no sooner was the voice of the
people in unison with the divine voice, than it immediately changed
to the greatest dissonance. Moses propounded to them the laws which
God had given him; and all the people cried with one consent, “What
the Lord has commanded let us do:” how beautiful was the sound of
consonance between the two voices! but no sooner did the chapel-master
Moses, who had put them in tune, turn his back, than the same
congregation, after obliging Aaron to make two idols, lifted up their
voice, and said, “These are the true Gods to whom we owe our liberty:”
what horrible dissonance!

VII. Circumstances of this sort occurred often; but the case of their
petitioning Samuel to give them a king, has something particular in it.
The voice of God promulged by the mouth of the Prophet, dissuaded them
from desiring a king; but how distant was the voice of the people from
concording with the divine organ, for they once and again, repeat their
intreaties to have a king; and on what do they found their request? Why
upon other nations having kings. In this instance, there are two things
which are striking and remarkable; the one is, that though this request
was made by the voice of the whole people, it was erroneous; the other
is, that it’s being qualified by the authority of all other people,
does not amend, or exempt it from error. To sum up the whole, the voice
of the people of Israel, concorded with the voices of all other people,
and it’s being in consonance with that of all those other people,
made it dissonant to the divine voice. Away with those then, who would
govern us by common cries, upon the foundation, that the voice of the
people is the voice of God.


SECT. III.

VIII. I was once of opinion, that in one special instance, the
public voice was infallible, that is to say, in the approbation, or
reprobation, of particular people. It appeared to me, that he of whom
the public at large entertained a good opinion, was certainly a good
man, and that he was certainly wise, who was generally allowed to be
so, and so on the contrary; but upon reflection, I found that in this
instance also, the popular opinion is liable to mistake. Phocion, as
he was once reprehending the people of Athens with some asperity, was
accosted by his enemy Democritus in these words, “Have a care what you
say, for they will murder you for talking to them in this manner:” “And
do you take care, answered Phocion, or they will murder you likewise,
for pretending to pass your judgment.” This sentence shewed, that he
thought the populace hardly ever right in their decisions, with regard
to people’s qualities or characters. The hard fate of Phocion himself,
confirmed in a great measure this sentiment, because he was afterwards
put to death as an enemy to his country, by the furious populace of
Athens, though he was the best man, which at that time could be found
in all Greece.

IX. An ignorant man having passed for a wise one, and a wise one
being reputed a fool, are things which have been frequent in many
places; and applicable to this, is the pleasant event which happened
to Democritus with his countrymen the Abderites. This philosopher,
who had long meditated on the follies and vanities of mankind, was
accustomed, when any occurrence brought these reflections to his mind,
to burst out into immoderate fits of laughter. The Abderites having
remarked this, although they before esteemed him a very wise man,
concluded that he was gone mad; and they wrote to Hippocrates who
flourished at that time, and earnestly intreated that he would come
and cure him. The good old man suspected how the matter stood, to wit,
that the people were disordered, and not Democritus, and concluded,
that what they mistook for madness, was rather a symptom of great
wisdom. In a letter to his friend Dionysius, informing him of his
being sent for by the Abderites, and the account they had given him of
Democritus’s madness, he expresses himself to this effect, _Ego vero
neque morbum ipsum esse puto, sed immodicam doctrinam, quæ revera non
est immodica, sed ab idiotis putatur_; and writing to Philopemnes, he
says, _Cum non insaniam, sed quandam excellente mentis sanitatem vir
ille declaret_. Afterwards, Hippocrates visited Democritus, and from
a long conversation which he had with him, was satisfied, that his
laughter was founded in wise and solid morality, the justness of which,
he was convinced of and admired. Hippocrates, in a letter he wrote to
Damagetus, gives a particular account of this conversation, and there
may be seen his encomiums upon Democritus; among other things, he says,
Democritus so far from being mad, is the wisest man I ever met with; I
was much instructed by his conversation, and rendered more capable of
instructing others: _Hoc erat illud, Damagete, quod conjectabamus. Non
insanit Democritus, sed super omnia sanit, et nos sapientiores effecit,
et per nos omnes homines._

X. These letters are to be found in the works of Hippocrates, and are
well deserving of being read, especially that to Damagetus; and from
them may be inferred, not only how much the public at large are capable
of being mistaken in their opinion of an individual; but also, with how
little reason, many authors paint Democritus as a half-mad ridiculous
person; for nobody disputes the judgment and wisdom of Hippocrates,
who, after treating seriously and at large on the subject, gives so
opposite a testimony in his discussion of the matter; for he declares,
that in his judgment, Democritus was the most learned and wise man in
the world; and in a letter of Hippocrates to Democritus, he recognizes
him for the greatest natural philosopher upon earth: _Optimum naturæ,
ac mundi interpretem te judicavi_. Hippocrates was then grown old, for
in the same letter he says, _Ego enim ad finem medicinæ perveni, etiam
si jam senex sim_; and consequently, capable of forming a good judgment
of the abilities of Democritus.

I am disposed to think, that the accusation which some authors bring
against Aristotle is a probable one, that is, that he did not fairly
lay open to the world the opinions of other philosophers who preceded
him, to the end, that by discrediting all those, he might establish the
sovereignty of his own doctrine, and that he did by them, as the great
Lord Bacon says the Ottoman Emperors do by their brothers, put them all
to death, that they may reign in security.


SECT. IV.

With regard to virtue and vice, the instances of the one of them
having been mistaken by the public for the other in particular people,
are so numerous, that history stumbles upon them, at almost every
step; nothing can illustrate this more evidently, than the greatest
impostors the world has produced, having passed for repositories of
the secrets of heaven. Numa Pompilius, introduced among the Romans,
whatever policy and religion he thought fit, by means of the fiction,
that all he proposed was dictated to him by the nymph Egeria. The
Spaniards fought blindly against the Romans, under the banners of
Sertorius, he having made them believe, that through a white doe, which
he artfully made use of, and had trained for his purpose, he received
by occult means, all sorts of information, which was communicated to
the doe by the goddess Diana. Mahomed persuaded a great part of Asia,
that Heaven had sent the Angel Gabriel to him as a Nuncio in the shape
of a dove, which he had taught to put its bill into his ear. Most
heretical opinions, although stained with manifest impurities, were
reputed in many places, to proceed from the venerable archives of the
divine mysteries.

XII. We have even seen such monsters, engendered in the bosom of the
Roman church. In the eleventh century, Tranquilenus, a man given openly
to all kinds of debauchery, was venerated as a saint by the people
of Antwerp, and to such a pitch did they carry their adoration, that
they preserved as a relic the water in which he had washed himself. In
the republic of Florence, where the people were never thought rude,
or uncultivated, Francis Jeronimo Savonarola, a man of prodigious
genius, and great sagacity, was many years respected as a saint, and a
person endued with the spirit of prophecy; he made the people believe,
that his political predictions were divine revelations, though they
were founded on secret advices which he received from France, and
notwithstanding many of those predictions were proved false, such as
the second coming of Charles the Eighth into Italy, the recovery of
John Pico de Mirandola from a fit of sickness, of which he died two
days afterwards, &c. And although he was publicly burnt on the parade
at Florence for an impostor, still, all was not sufficient to eradicate
his deceptions from the minds of many people; for not only the heretics
venerate him as a heavenly man, and consider him as a forerunner of
Luther, on account of his vehement declamations against the court of
Rome, but some Catholics were his panegyrists likewise, among whom
Marcus Antonius Flaminius excelled all the others, by the following
beautiful though false epigram.

    _Dum fera flamma tuos, Hieronyme, pascitur artus,_
      _Religio sacras dilaniata comas_
    _Flevit, et O, dixit, crudeles, parcite, flammæ,_
      _Parcite; sunt isto viscera nostra rogo._

XIII. But what has been the most monstrous in these sort of cases is,
that some churches have celebrated, and even worshiped as saints,
perverse men, who died separated from the Roman communion. The church
of Limogines, addressed for a long time in a direct prayer (which
prayer exists at this day in the antient breviary of that church)
Eusebius Cæsarius, who lived and died in the Arian heresy, they
having, as is most probable, mistaken him at first, for Eusebius
Bishop of Cæsarea, in Cappadocia, who was the successor of Saint
Basil; whereas the man we have now been mentioning, was Bishop of
Cæsarea in Palestine; I am very well aware, some authors assert, that
at the council of Nice, he conformed to the Catholic faith, in which
he remained steady ever after, but there are so many testimonies to
contradict this, and among the rest his own writings, that what is
said in his defence seems void of all probability. The church of Turin
venerated a thief as a martyr, and erected an altar to him, which St.
Martin destroyed, after having convinced them of their error; this is
related by Sulpicius in his Life of St. Martin.


SECT. V.

XIV. To excite a total distrust of the Vox Populi, you need only
reflect upon the extravagant errors, which in matters of religion,
policy, and manners, have been seen, and may still be seen authorized,
by the common consent of whole bodies politic. Cicero said, there was
no tenet, though ever so wild and absurd, that had not been maintained
by some philosopher or other: _Nihil tam absurdum dici potest, quod non
dicatur ab aliquo philosophorum_. (lib. 2. de Divinat.) I will venture
with greater reason to affirm, there is no extravagance, however
monstrous, which has not been patronized by the uniform consent of some
country.

XV. Things which the light of natural reason represents as abominable,
have in this, and the other region, passed, and still do pass, as
lawful. Lying, perjury, adultery, murder, and robbery: in short, all
vices have obtained, and do obtain, the general approbation of some
nations. The Herules, an ancient people, whose situation cannot be
exactly ascertained, though they dwelt near the borders of the Baltic
Sea, were used to put to death all their sick and old people, nor would
they suffer the wives to survive their husbands. The Caspians, a people
of Scythia, were more barbarous still, for they imprisoned and starved
to death, their own parents, when they came to be advanced in years.
What abominations were committed by some people of Ethiopia, who,
according to Ælian, adopted a dog for their king, and regulated all
their actions, by the gestures and motions of that animal; and Pliny
instances a people, whom he calls Toembaros, though not of Ethiopia,
who obeyed the same master.

Nor are the hearts of mankind in many parts of the world, much mended
at this day. There are many places, where they feed on human flesh, and
go hunting for men, as they would for wild beasts. The Yagos, a people
of the kingdom of Ansicus in Africa, eat, not only the prisoners they
take in war, but feed also upon such of their friends as die natural
deaths; so that among them, the dead have no other burying place than
the stomachs of the living. All the world knows, that in many parts
of the East-Indies, they uphold the barbarous custom, of the women
burning themselves at the funeral of their husbands, and though they
are not by law obliged to do this, the instances of their failing to do
it are very rare, because upon their declining it, they would remain
infamous, despised, and abhorred by every one. Among the Cafres, all
the relations of a person who dies are obliged to cut off the little
finger of the left hand, and throw it into the grave of the deceased.

XVII. What shall we say to the countenance, that has been given to
Turpitude, by various nations? In Malabar, the women may marry as
many husbands as they please. In the Island of Ceylon, when a woman
marries, she is common to all the brothers of her husband, and the
consorted parties may divorce themselves and contract a fresh alliance
whenever they please. In the kingdom of Bengal, all the new-married
women, those of the first rank not excepted, before they are allowed
to be enjoyed by their husbands, are delivered up to the lust of the
bramins or priests. In Mingrelia, a province of Georgia, where the
people are Schismatic Christians, among the compound of various errors
prevailing there, adultery is considered as a thing indifferent, and it
is very rare, that any of their sex are faithful to their consorts; it
is true, that the husband in case of catching the wife in the act of
adultery, has a right by way of compensation, to demand of her paramour
a pig, which is considered as ample amends, and the criminal person is
generally invited to partake of it.


SECT. VI.

XVIII. Was I to recite the extravagant superstitions prevailing in
various places, the labour would be immense. It is very well known,
that the antient Gentiles worshiped the most despicable and vile
animals. The goat was the deity of one nation, the tortoise of another,
the beetle of another, and the fly of another. Even the Romans, who
were esteemed the most polished people in the world, were extremely
ridiculous in matters of religion; St. Austin, in many parts of his
Treatise, called The City of God, upbraids them with it; and the most
remarkable of their absurdities in this respect was, their adopting
such an innumerable quantity of deities, to separate and distinct
charges; the protection of the harvest, and the grain, belonged to
twelve different Gods, each of whom had his particular department.
To guard the door of the house, they had no less than three; the God
Lorculos had the care of the wood, the Goddess Cordea that of the
hinges, and the God Limentius looked after the pediment. St. Austin
jocosely remarks to them, that if each individual would appoint a
porter, they would find him capable of doing much more than any one of
their Gods, for he would be able to execute this whole business, better
than three of them, and with greater security. Pliny (who runs into
the opposite extreme of denying a Deity or a Providence, or at least
of affecting to doubt there is a Supreme Being) in giving an account
of the superstitious faith of the Romans, estimates the number of
their deities to exceed the number of their people. _Quam ob rem major
cœlitum populus, etiam quam hominum intelligi potest_ (Lib. 1. cap.
6.) The computation is not aggravated, as every man according to his
fancy, appointed himself Household Gods, to each of whom, he consigned
a particular charge, and besides this, worshiped all the established
Gods. The multifarious number may be inferred, not only from what St.
Austin has told us, but from the same Pliny, who says, they erected
temples and altars, to all the diseases and misfortunes, with which
mankind are visited: _Morbis etiam in genera descriptis, et multis
etiam pestibus, dum esse placatas trepido metu capimus_. It is certain,
that in Rome, there was a Temple erected to Fevers, and another to Ill
Luck.

XIX. The modern idolators, are not less blind than the antient ones.
The devil is worshiped in his own proper name by many people. In Pegu,
a kingdom in the Peninsula of India, although they worship God as the
author of all good, they pay more adoration to the devil, whom they
believe to be the author of all evil. Some people in the train of the
ambassador, whom Peter the Great, late Czar of Muscovy, sent to China,
met in the way an idolatrous priest praying, and they asked him whom he
worshiped? To which he answered in a magisterial tone, _I worship a God
whom the God you worship cast down from heaven, but after awhile my God
will throw yours down from heaven, and then will be seen great changes
among the sons of men_. They must in that region have had some account
of the fall of Lucifer; but they may wait long enough for a redeemer,
if they stay till their deity returns to heaven. From as ridiculous a
motive, the Jedices, a sect in Persia, never curse the devil, and that
is, that one day or other he may make his peace with God, and then may
revenge all the affronts they offer him.

XX. In the kingdom of Siam, they worship a white elephant, and four
Mandarines are appointed constantly to attend him, who serve him with
his meat and his drink, in a vessel of gold. In the Island of Ceylon,
they worshiped a tooth, which was pretended to have fallen from the
mouth of God; but Constantine de Bergania, a Portuguese, having got
possession of it, burnt it, to the great disgrace of the priests who
had invented the fable. The Indians of Honduras, worshiped a slave; but
neither the divinity nor the life of the poor creature lasted long,
for he died within a year, after which, they made a sacrifice of his
body, and substituted another in his place: but their believing, that
he who could not redeem himself from the confinement and restraint, in
which, by way of security they kept him, could make others happy, was
ridiculous enough. In the Southern Tartary, they worship a man who they
think is eternal, having been made to believe so by the artifices of
the priests appointed to his service. They only shew him in a private
place of the palace or temple, surrounded by a number of lamps, and
they always by way of precaution, in case he should die, keep another
man secreted, who is much like him, that he may be ready to take his
place, and seem as if he was still the same man. They call him Lama,
which signifies Father eternal, and such is their veneration for
him, that their greatest men procure by rich presents a part of his
excrements, which they put into a gold box, and wear it suspended from
their necks, as a precious relic. But no superstition appears to me
more extravagant, than what is practised at Balia, an Island in the
Indian Sea, to the eastward of Java, where every man has his separate
God, which he fixes upon just as his caprice dictates, either the trunk
of a tree, a stone, or a brute, and many of them change their Gods
every day, for they are allowed this liberty, and often worship for the
day the first thing they meet going out of their houses in a morning.


SECT. VII.

XXI. What shall I say of the ridiculous historical tales, which are
venerated in some nations as irrefragable traditions? The Arcadians
compute their origin to be antecedent to the creation of the Moon. The
people of Peru maintain their kings to be legitimate descendants from
the sun. The Arabs believe as an article of faith, the existence of
a bird, which they call Anca Megareb, of such an enormous size, that
its eggs are as big as large hills; which bird they say was afterwards
cursed by their Prophet Handal, for having insulted him, and that it
now lives retired in a certain inaccessible Island. The credit of an
imaginary hero called Cherderles, is not less established among the
Turks; they say he was one of Alexander’s captains, and that having
made himself and his horse immortal by drinking of the waters of a
certain river, he now goes about exploring the world, and assisting
such soldiers as invoke him; they seem very happy with this delusion,
and near a little Mosque appropriated to his worship, they shew the
tombs of the nephew and the servant of this knight errant, and they
add, that by their intercession continual miracles are wrought in that
quarter.

XXII. In short, if you scrutinize country by country, the whole
intellectual map of the globe, except only those places where the name
of Christ is worshiped, you will find all this extensive surface,
covered with spots and stains. Every country is an Africa to engender
monsters; every province, an Iberia to produce poisons; in all places,
as in Lycia, they invent chimeras; and in all nations, where the
light of the gospel is wanting, they are obscured with as dark mists,
as formerly obscured Egypt. There are no people whatever, who have
not much of the barbarous. What results from this? why that the voice
of the people is totally destitute of authority, because we see it
so frequently posted on the side of error. Every one considers as
infallible, the sentiment that prevails in his own country; upon this
principle, that every body says so, and every body thinks so. Who are
these every bodies? All the people in the world? Not so, because in
other places, they think and say the contrary. But is not mankind the
same in one place as another? why then should truth be more attached to
the voice of this people, than of that people? Why because this is my
country, and the other is a foreign one;--good reasoning!


SECT. VIII.

XXIII. I never observed, that the dogmatic writers, who in various
manners, have conclusively proved the evident credibility of our
holy faith, have introduced as one of their arguments, the consent
of many nations in their belief of those mysteries; but have laid
great stress, upon the consent of men, eminent for their sanctity and
wisdom. The first argument would be favourable to idolatry, and the
Mahomedan Sect; the second cannot be answered, nor can it be used to
militate on the other side; and in case they should oppose to us the
authority of the antient philosophers, who have been the partizans of
idolatry, the objection would be grounded on a false supposition, it
being established by irrefragable testimony, that those philosophers
in matters of religion did not think with the people. Marcus Varus,
one of the wisest of the Romans, distinguished among the Antients
three kinds of Theology; the Natural, the Civil, and the Poetical.
The first existed in the minds of wise men; the second was used to
govern the religion of the people at large; the third was the invention
of the poets; and of all the three, the philosophers held only the
first to be true. The distinction of the two first, had been pointed
out by Aristotle, in the twelfth book of his Metaphysics, cap. 8,
where he says, that from the opinions of preceding ages which have
been communicated to us respecting the Gods, may be inferred, they
held some things to be true, and others false, and that the last were
invented for the use and civil government of the populace: _Cætera
vero fabulosè ad multitudinis persuasionem_. It is true, that although
those philosophers were not of the same sentiment with the people, they
generally talked their language, as an opposite conduct would have been
very hazardous; for whoever denied the plurality of Gods, was looked
upon as impious; as it happened to Socrates. The sum of the whole of
this is, that in the voice of the people was contained all the error;
and that the little or much which existed of truth, was shut up and
imprisoned in the minds of a few wise men.

XXIV. After all that has been said, I shall conclude, by pointing out
two senses, in which only, and in no other whatever, is contained the
truth of the maxim, “that the voice of the people is the voice of
God.” The first is, taking for the voice of the people, the unanimous
consent of all God’s people; that is, of the universal church, which it
is certain cannot err in matters of faith; nor through any antecedent
impossibility which may be inferred from the nature of things, but by
means of the interposition of the holy spirit, with which, according
to the promise made by Christ, it will be constantly assisted. I said
all God’s people, because a large portion of the church may err, and
in fact did err, in the great Western Schism; for the kings of France,
Castile, Arragon, and Scotland, acknowledged Clement the VIIth for
legitimate Pope; the rest of the Christian world, adhered to Urban the
VIth. But it is manifest, that one of the two parties must be wrong,
which may be considered as a conclusive proof; that even within
the pale of the Christian church, not only one, but several nations
collectively, may err in essentials.

XXV. The second sense in which the maxim ought to be held true, is,
by taking for the voice of the people, the universal concurrence of
all mankind; it appearing morally impossible, that all the nations of
the world should agree in adopting any one error. Thus the consent of
the whole earth, in believing the existence of a God, is held by the
learned, as a conclusive proof of this article.




VIRTUE and VICE.


Every mortal (said Philo, as cited by St. Ambrose, Lib. 1. of Cain
and Abel, cap. 4.) has, within the little habitation of the soul, two
females, the one chaste but rigid and unpleasant, the other wanton
but soft and amorous. The first is the type of virtue, the second of
worldly delights.

II. The learned Jew paints virtue and vice according to appearances
at first sight, or according to the opinion of the world, but not
according to the truth; and so it comes to pass, that virtue is
commonly conceived to be all asperity, and vice all deliciousness;
virtue is placed among thorns, and vice reposing on beds of flowers:
but this is an error, and of all the false opinions upheld by the
blindness of the world, the most pernicious one. I shall endeavour in
this discourse to expose its fallacy, by shewing, that even in this
life, abstracted from the rewards and punishments of that to come, by
people’s abandoning themselves to the pursuit of criminal pleasures,
they are liable to more inquietudes, and experience more fatigues,
than they would be exposed to, by the practice of the moral and
Christian virtues. For this purpose, I shall make use of such arguments
as are furnished by natural reason and experience, without having
recourse to the sentences of fathers, or the sayings of philosophers,
the collection of which might be swelled to a vast bulk; but whoever is
not to be persuaded by reason, will never be convinced by authority.

III. Could we but see the hearts of men abandoned to a vicious
course, the doubt would be soon removed; however, we may view them by
reflection in the looking-glasses of their souls, of which their words
and actions are the types. If you observe with attention these unhappy
men, you will find, that no others betray such perturbation in their
countenances, such inquietude in their actions, nor such embarrassment
in their conversation; nor is this to be wondered at, there being many
tormentors, who are continually disturbing them in the enjoyment of
their beloved pleasures. That domestic enemy, that unavoidable, but
unsavoury guest, their own conscience, with the nectar they drink, is
constantly mixing the gall they abominate.

IV. Tully said with energetical propriety, that the crimes of wicked
men, reflected in their own imaginations, are to them continual and
domestic furies? _Hæ sunt impiis assiduæ, domesticæque furiæ._ (Orat.
pro Rosc.) These are the serpents and vulturs, who gnaw in pieces the
entrails of the wicked _Tityus_; these are the eagles, who tear the
heart of the rash Prometheus. Consider the torments of Cain, a fugitive
from the world, and who, if it were possible, would fly from himself
also; wandering through the woods and mountains, without ever having
power to extract the dart which had pierced his breast, that is, the
memory of his crime; or like another wounded hind, under which image
the great poet describes the mortal inquietude of that enamoured queen,

    ----_Silvas, saltusque peragrat_
    _Dictæos; hæret lateri læthalis arundo._

V. Contemplate the anxieties of a Lamech, so violently pressed by the
recollection of the murder, or murders, which he had committed, that,
wanting power to remain the repository of his own secret, he throws
it up like one who has swallowed poison, which excites a coughing or
tickling in the throat, and runs the hazard of infamy and punishment,
for the sake only of enjoying a trivial and temporary relief. Plutarch
relates of one Apollodorus, that the memory of his crimes, haunted him
in his sleep; for he dreamed every night, that after being quartered,
his members were dissolved in boiling water, and that while he suffered
this martyrdom, his heart screamed out, “I am the cause and motive of
these torments.”


SECT. II.

VI. I acknowledge it to be true, that all men are not so susceptible
of interior remorse, and that, as St. Paul expresses it, there are
consciences so cauterized, as to lose all sensation; and hearts, which
by a long habit of sin are become petrified;

    _Sic læthalis hyems paulatim in pectora venit._

VII. O men, of all the most unhappy! This obdurateness of the breast,
is a schirrous of the soul, for which, by appealing to miracles only,
you can hope relief. Such people are apt to amuse themselves with
the hope, that during this mortal life at least, they shall pass on
with mirth and enjoyment; but how much are they deceived, who feed
themselves with such hopes, for these are the people who experience
the most toil. This will appear by a survey of the three vices, within
whose boundaries, almost every evil lays distributed, to wit, ambition,
avarice, and luxury.

VIII. The ambitious man is the slave of all the world. Of the Prince,
that he may bestow a place on him; of his client, because he solicits
him; and of other men, for fear they should put obstacles in his way.
His soul and body are in continual agitation, from an apprehension of
the consequences, with which the loss of an instant of time may be
attended, and he dreads all mankind, lest some one by an accusation,
may occasion all his solicitude to vanish in smoke. How forced are his
looks! for he smiles on those, to whom he bears a mortal enmity. What
labour does it cost him, to suppress those vicious inclinations, that
might throw obstructions in the way of his manœuvres! All the other
passions, are the victims of the ruling one, and the vice of ambition,
like a tyrant master, adds to the torment that itself inflicts, by
the prohibition of all those pleasures which the inclination prompts
to. He sees one go to a comedy, another amuse himself with innocent
recreation, another go to a feast, and another to a ball; he sees them
all, and envies them all; for his passions, though furious, may be
compared to the winds, which are confined and shut up in the prisons of
Æolus;

    _Illi indignantes magno cum murmure montis_
    _Circum claustra fremunt._

IX. When he has obtained a place, his cares do not lessen, the object
only of his anxiety being changed, and his attention is but translated
from the means of procuring his rise, to the study of how he shall
keep possession of what he has acquired. He finds himself placed on
a ladder, which he cannot ascend without much fatigue, nor remain
where he is situated without uneasiness, and where the dread of
falling headlong terrifies him from descending. He finds the necessity
of holding a tight rein on his depraved appetites increased, and
is obliged to ride his vicious inclinations with a stronger curb.
He is solicited by avarice, instigated by gluttony, and burns with
incontinence; but still obeys, although it is with reluctance, that
passion which has the despotic rule of him. He would wish to crush by
an unjust sentence, the man who has offended him; but fears lest the
injured person should appeal to the king, or a superior tribunal. He
loves indolence; but if he relaxes in his application, all is lost.
He trembles at the thought of a change of administration, as the idea
fills him with an apprehension of being left deserted in the street;
and never reads a news-paper, without being terrified at seeing an
account of the death of his patron. Can a man lead a more miserable
life?

X. It is a known thing, that the covetous man is one of the devil’s
martyrs; or he may be compared to an Anchorite, who, by his abstinence
and retirement, acquires merits, which may intitle him to a place in
hell. His heart, divided between the desires of keeping and acquiring,
experiences a continual fever, mixed with a mortal cold, as he burns
for other people’s property, and trembles with the apprehension of
losing his own. He is hungry, but does not eat; he is thirsty, and
does not drink; he is always needy, and his mind knows no repose.
He is never free from alarms. A rat does not move in the silence of
the night, without the noise filling him with apprehensions, that a
thief is breaking into his house. No strong wind can blow, that in
his imagination, does not threaten the wreck of one of his trading
ships. He is continually meditating new hiding-places for his treasure,
which he frequently visits, doubtful of finding the money in the
hiding-place, but always sure of finding his heart in the money. He
views it with anxious concern, and sometimes will not venture to touch
it, lest it should crumble to ashes between his fingers. Thus, fat in
possessions, and a martyr to fears, his days pass away, till, as it
happened in the case of king Agag, the fatal hour of punishment arrives
(_pinguissimus et tremens_). Can a man’s life be more unhappy?

XI. If he seeks relief from lasciviousness, he will find, that no vice
loads a man with so much uneasiness; and provided the meanness of his
disposition, or the depravity of his appetite, determine him to pursue
criminal pleasures, in the instant are set before his eyes the injuries
it will be productive of, to the three articles, that are esteemed
the most valuable in this life, honour, wealth, and property. He goes
from pitcher to pitcher, to satisfy his thirst, till meeting with
some infectious water, he poisons his whole mass of blood, by which
means, his life is either endangered, or he is obliged to purchase the
preservation of it at a dear rate, and although he recovers his health,
he will suffer in his reputation through life.

XII. If, from the ampleness of his fortune, or the merit of his person,
his pursuits are directed to objects in a higher sphere, he will avoid
part of the inconveniences before enumerated, to incur greater, which
is shunning Scylla, and running upon Charybdis. Adventures of this
kind, are full of alarms, inquietudes, and dangers. What anxieties
await him pending the love-suit! His eyes seek sleep, but find it not;
for Jacob, who was an honourable lover, experienced, and declared, that
it was become a fugitive from his eyes. His heart longs for repose, but
does not obtain it. In this manner he goes on, conceiving unhappiness,
that he may bring forth misfortune. He is constantly wavering in his
determination, about what means he shall employ to accomplish his end;
he approves all that occur to him, and he rejects them all: _incertæ
tanta est discordia mentis_. He trembles to think of the possibility of
a repulse. Love drags him forward, fear detains him. He finds the whole
road of his courtship strewed with perils, which upon his arrival at
the summit of his wishes, will be multiplied, the hazardous instances
in such cases, being many; but it seldom happens, that the injury is
confined to a single person, and it is next to a moral impossibility,
that a man should take so many steps without making a little noise,
by which means, suspicion will be awakened, and watching in the end,
be rewarded with the discovery of truth; and although the purpose is
accomplished, a man who commits insults, and does injuries, is never
free from alarms. What real pleasure is a man capable of feeling, who
cannot separate the gratification of his lewd desires, from the hazard
that attends them? He cannot move a step in prosecution of the crime,
but the injured person, presents himself to his imagination, with a
dagger, or a pistol in his hand; and this danger is constantly pursuing
him, whichever way he turns himself; so that he is precisely in the
case of that man, who is in continual dread of losing his life, and
always sees it hang suspended by a single thread before his eyes,
which is a state, that God represents to his people as a terrible
curse: _Et erit vita tua quasi pendens ante te. Timebis nocte, & die, &
non credes vitæ tuæ._

XIII. But admitting there are circumstances where these apprehensions
do not exist, still it does not follow, that they are not attended with
very serious inquietudes. Suppose that after enjoyment, a loathing
should ensue, which happens very frequently, and which actually did
happen to Amnon with Thamar. You see in this case, for the sake of a
delicious moment, a disagreeable obligation intailed upon a man for
life. If he resolves to break the noose, he exposes himself to the
rage of an abandoned woman, who finding herself neglected, runs mad,
either through love or hatred, which are both equally dangerous. If
his criminal affection continues, the impatience of not enjoying his
beloved object with freedom, over-balances the satisfaction, which is
afforded by a delight that he usurps by stealth. In such a situation,
his bowels being gnawed by a furious envy is unavoidable. But what
if jealousies should steal in? Those who have experienced the rigour
of these furies well know, how much they exceed the most exquisite
criminal enjoyments, and that whole years of that false glory are not
equal to one day only of this hell. Reflect on what has been said, and
then tell me, whether you can figure to yourself a state more unhappy.
St. Austin, who found himself so long entangled in the labyrinth of
the three before-mentioned vices, is a good witness, that the dish
which they present to the appetite, is filled with putrefaction. Hear
his words, when he addresses himself to God in the sixth Book of his
Confessions: _Inhiabam honoribus, lucris, conjugio, & tu irridebas,
patiebar in iis cupiditatibus amarissimas difficultates._


SECT. III.

XIV. Nor ought we to conclude, that those few whose will with respect
to other men, is the law, and whose libertinism there is no rein
to check, navigate the sea of vice without inquietude, for they
also experience the waters of that sea to be extremely bitter. I
mean sovereign princes. Nero was lord of the earth, that is to say,
master of the whole Roman empire. He gave the most latitudinary loose
imaginable to all his perverse inclinations, and those inclinations
were irrefragable decrees. The weight of government, sat very light
on him, and far from supporting the state on his shoulders, which by
way of example, had been done by the best princes, he trod it under
foot. All the world obeyed the sceptre, and the sceptre was the slave
of appetite. He possessed whomsoever he liked, and put to death
whomsoever he hated. Love in the Emperor’s hands, held its attainment
and completion, and in the hands of his instruments, hatred held the
knife. Passion could not carry a man to a more horrible pitch of
extravagance, than he manifested, when he set fire to Rome to indulge
his cruelty, and also to gratify his base appetites, which were evident
by the indignities he offered to his own sex. All this, to the disgrace
of human nature, was executed by that monster in iniquity.

XV. Who would believe, that this prince, who held the world in slavery
to his arbitrary will, did not lead a joyous life? but according to
Tacitus, so far from enjoying this happiness, he was always possessed
with terrors: _Facinorum recordatione nunquam timore vacuus._ And
Suetonius adds, that unable to sleep of nights, he used to run about
the salons of his palace, tumbling heels over head like a man out of
his senses.

XVI. Tiberius was equal to Nero in power, and very little inferior
to him in wickedness; but with all his power, he led so uneasy and
disturbed a life, that in order a little to relieve his heart from
the oppression of its anxieties, he could not avoid bursting forth in
groans and words, that were expressive of his grief and uneasiness.
So says Tacitus: _Tiberium non fortuna, non solitudines protegebant,
quin tormenta pectoris, suasque ipse pænas fateretur_; and a little
before, he relates a mournful exclamation of the Emperor’s, in a letter
he wrote to the Senate, where he says, my own crimes have transformed
themselves into executioners, in order to torment me; _adeo facinora
atque flagitia ipsi quoque in supplicium verterant_.

XVII. These anxieties of bad princes, are for the most part, occasioned
by their seeing themselves universally abhorred, in consequence of
which, they live in continual dread of conspiracies. They reflect,
that out of so many people who hate them, some will be found, with
sufficient resolution to execute, what had been previously concerted;
so that amidst all their pleasures, they cannot feel more enjoyment,
than is felt by a culprit, at the sound of soft music, while he is
waiting to hear the fatal sentence. Dionysius the tyrant of Syracuse,
in order to undeceive a person who envied his happiness, made use of
the following expressive device. He invited the man to a banquet, and
seated him immediately under the point of a sword, that hung suspended
by a fine thread, very near to, and just ready to pierce his neck,
and then informed him, that was precisely the situation, in which his
fortune had placed him.

XVIII. Over and above this anguish, which is common to all tyrants,
there is no legitimate prince, however happy he may seem, without
his serious and weighty inquietudes. Alexander cloathed with glory,
afflicts himself, because Homer does not live to celebrate his actions.
Augustus, who had always been the favourite of fortune, because she
once slighted him in the case of the legions in Germany, passed much
of his time, both night and day, in ravings and exclamations, as if he
had been mad. Caligula, fancies he shall insure his safety, by spilling
great quantities of blood, but is grieved when he reflects, that all
the heads in Rome are not placed on one neck, and that he cannot strike
them off at a blow. The ambitious prince groans, because he cannot make
himself master of the whole world; the covetous one, because he cannot
accumulate in his own treasury, the riches of other kingdoms; the
vindictive one, because he cannot destroy a neighbouring prince who has
offended him; the lascivious one, because his imagination represents to
him some foreign object, exempt from the power of his will. Thus bitter
afflictions, are annexed to exalted stations.


SECT. IV.

XIX. So certain and so general is the sentence, which wisdom puts in
the mouths of all wicked men, when they arrive at the region where
the delusion ceases: _Lassati sumus in via iniquitatis & perditionis,
& ambulavimus vias difficiles._ Oh! how have we fatigued ourselves
in the way of perdition! our relaxation was weariness, our pleasures
anguish; unhappy we, who have run the course of life, not through
delicious gardens, or pleasant forests, but through thorns and briars,
and intricate paths! This is the language of all the damned: _Talia
dixerunt in inferno hi, qui peccaverunt._ Of all? yes, they all say so,
and they speak the truth. All sinners have their little hell in this
world. They all travel through asperities, to arrive at the precipice.
They all drink the dregs of that cup, which according to David’s
description our Lord holds in his hand: _Calix in manu domini vini
meri plenus mixto: & inclinavit ex hoc in hoc, verumtamen fæx ejus non
est exinanita, bibent omnes peccatores terræ._ And it must be so, for
according to the sense and meaning of the text, the pure wine is for
the saints of the land, where the enjoyment is pure: the mixed, is for
the just of that country, where tribulation is mixed with happiness, so
that even in this life, there remains for sinners, only the bitter and
gross dregs; and these they all drink. All, yes all, without excepting
even those, on whom the good things of this world seem to be heaped up.

XX. For the more clear understanding this matter, and to enforce the
argument we are using, it will be necessary to premise, that in this
life, there is a heavy and mortal affliction, which is common to all
men; but with respect to sinners, it is peculiarly and most severely
felt by those who seem the most happy. This affliction, consists in
the reflection, that we must one day die. There is no doubt, but every
living creature feels horror, upon arriving at that fatal pass, and
is naturally sad, whenever it occurs to him, that he must unavoidably
go through it; but he will be more affected beyond comparison, who
after having culled all the regales of fortune, has placed his whole
happiness in the enjoyment of them. Let us contemplate a man, rich,
powerful, respected, and obeyed, and to whom nothing is wanting, either
for convenience or pleasure, and to whom, let his appetites be ever
so vague, fortune has denied nothing that may enable him to gratify
them. Such a man, whenever he thinks that he must die, which is a
thought that will sometimes occur to him, without his being able to
prevent it, cannot fail to be exceedingly afflicted. The thought of
death, to whoever does not employ it for the amendment of his life,
becomes a torturer. Let us admit, that he is a determined Atheist,
so blinded, as not to entertain the least idea of the immortality of
the soul, and consequently, has not the least apprehension of what
will befall him in the world to come; yet he will at least consider
death, as a merciless, and a savage tyrant, who will despoil him of
all that is most dear to him; of the property which he possesses, of
the banquet he regales himself at, of the chace which diverts him, of
the music which delights him, and of the concubine whom he adores; all
which will be lost at a stroke, never to be recovered any more. The
greater the pleasures are which he enjoys, the more miserable this
consideration will make him. The unhappy man, who is the outcast of
fortune, and even he who is placed in a middle station of life, feels
the light consolation, that death will relieve him from many vexations;
but what comfort can he receive, whom it will only rob of enjoyments?
Death strikes terror into all men, but to such a one, it is terrible in
extreme. Every man is intensely fond of his own particular happiness,
and in proportion to the ardour with which he loves it, will be his
grief at losing it. Such a man, when he thinks himself arrived at the
summit of felicity, and knows no other than that which he possesses,
with what anguish must he reflect, that the whole, without the least
reserve, will be one day lost!

XXI. This inevitable melancholy, as they advance in years, is much
augmented in all the favourites of fortune. Life, after a man is
arrived at his prime, may be from thenceforward, truly and properly,
compared to a chronic disease, which proceeds leading a man to death
by slow paces; or to speak more properly, it is death implanted in
our nature. Upon arriving at the period we have just mentioned, that
is, the prime of life, the powerful man, from thenceforward, in the
strength which he continues to lose, and in the diseases he proceeds
to gain, finds constant information, that by little and little, the
cottage of life goes on crushing and crumbling to nothing, by the
weight of the temple of fortune. At this stage, he revolves in his
mind, one by one, all the pleasures he enjoys, and all the objects of
his love, and each thought tears from his heart a sigh, especially when
he reflects, that the time approaches, when he must bid them all a
melancholy farewell. He proceeds to cast another glance at death, and
almost in the words of the unhappy King David oppressed with grief,
exclaims against her in a sentimental complaint, not so much for having
cut the thread of his life, as for having separated him by an eternal
absence from all he esteemed and adored. _Siccine separat amara mors._
O sinners! whom the world call happy, is this living? But let the
world be undeceived; for ye are the people, who burden yourselves with
whatever is most heavy, and hard to be borne, that is contained in the
stores of mortality; all your relaxation is fatigue, all your pleasure
is anxiety, all your nectar is poison.

XXII. For your comfort and advantage, although you cannot be a stranger
to it, listen at present, to that sweet and sonorous voice, which, by
the divine organ, was conveyed and dispersed over the whole face of
the earth. Attend, for to you it is addressed; hear and profit by it:
_Venite ad me omnes, qui laboratis, & onerati estis, & ego reficiam
vos._ Come unto me, all ye who labour, and are heavy laden with cares,
for I will lighten your burdens, and give you relaxation and ease.
These words, it is certain, are designed to reclaim sinners, and are
addressed as a call to those who are distant from Christ. These then
are they, who lead a wearisome life. Christ invites them to come nearer
him, that is, to embrace virtue; the virtuous then are those, who enjoy
relaxation and ease. Thus, you see, both the points I am attempting to
prove are supported by evangelical authority.


SECT. V.

But having demonstrated the first point by natural reason and
experience, I will proceed to do the same by the second. And first of
all, I ought to acknowledge, that the beginnings of a virtuous life,
are toilsome: _Ardua prima via est_; and more especially to those who
have been a long time under the dominion of their passions. Vicious
habits, are enemies, which in their first attacks, wage cruel war,
but their force declines daily, and sometimes, by a miracle of grace,
they are laid prostrate at the first onset. The flight of a vicious
man from sin, is in all respects, like the escape of the Hebrews from
the land of Egypt. How dejected were they, when, with the Red Sea in
their front, they saw the Egyptian army at their backs! How haughty
were the Egyptians! how desponding were the Hebrews! They are just on
the point of treating to surrender, when Moses, exalting his voice,
said to the people, “Now, Israel, advance boldly into the gulph, for
the Lord hath undertaken to defend you.” They obey, and upon setting
their feet in the water, the Sea divided. The troops of Pharaoh pursue
them in crouds. What pride possessed the Egyptians! what fear the
Hebrews! However, the last proceed with trembling pace, till they reach
the opposite shore; upon arriving there, they turn round, and look at
whence they came from, and they then perceive Pharaoh and all his host
are buried in the Red Sea. Their grief is converted to happiness, and
their groans to songs of joy.

XXIV. Exactly like this, is the flight of a sinner from vice. Egypt
is the criminal station. The enemies who pursue the fugitive sinner
are his vicious inclinations, of which, he was a long time the slave:
these are strong, he is feeble. The first assault is furious. Moses
is the virtue which animates him. The sinner at last, breaks through
a sea of difficulties, and although it requires more perseverance in
some to compleat the good work, than in others, he ultimately obtains
the satisfaction, of seeing all his passions drowned. He gains footing
on the opposite shore: and what follows? the same that happened to the
Hebrews, he bursts forth in songs of joy. Afterwards, in pursuing his
road to the Land of Promise, he is now and then upon the way, assaulted
by enemies, that is, by some temptations; but they are overcome, as
Moses overcame the Amalekites, by lifting the hands to Heaven, under
which figure is implied the force and efficacy of prayer. Sometimes
he also meets with bitter waters, that is to say tribulations, but
a miraculous wood sweetens them; for the cross, or passion of our
Saviour, makes them palatable. From Mara or Marath, a place whose name
is used to express bitterness, on account of its nauseous waters, he
makes the transition to Elim, a situation, which is both pleasant and
delightsome.

XXV. Thus it succeeds with the sinner, who, fugitive from vice, puts
himself under the divine protection, which never fails those who
solicit it; but to be uniform to what I proposed, it will now be
necessary, to consider virtue in its natural state, and abstracted from
the extraordinary aids, with which it is assisted by grace.


SECT. VI.

XXVI. The superlative Mount of Virtue is formed the reverse of all
other mountains. In the material mountains, the skirts are pleasant,
and the tops all asperity; therefore, in ascending them, the pleasant
part diminishes, and the dreary part augments. On the contrary,
the skirts of the Mount of Virtue are disgusting, and the eminence
grateful. He who would arrive at it, must expect at first setting
out, to meet with nothing but rocks, thorns, and thickets, but as he
advances in his course, the asperity diminishes, and he begins to
discover the pleasant part; and at length, on arriving at the top,
he sees nothing but beautiful flowers, regaling plants, and crystal
fountains.

XXVII. The first passages, are excessively laborious and slippery: _per
insidias iter est, formasque ferarum_; he is courted by the songs of
the syrens, from the sea of the world; he is terrified in some parts
of the mountain, by the roaring of lions. He casts a wishful look on
the smooth surface of the valley, and he contemplates with dread the
top of the mountain, to which he aspires. Freed from the prison of
sin, still, in his passions he wears his fetters, the weight of which,
together with the difficulty of the road, render his progress slow and
toilsome. He hears just behind him, the soft murmurs of his criminal
pleasures, which accost him as they did St. Austin, and say, is it
possible that you can abandon us? _Dimittis de nos_: is it possible
you can take your leave and absent yourself from us for ever? _Et a
momento isto non erimus tecum ultra in æternum._ He however proceeds
on, though a little dejected, and now and then meets a rub in the way,
which causes him to stumble; but now he begins to find the path less
difficult, and the clamours of earthly delights make less impression
on him, because he hears them at a greater distance. Just so St.
Austin experienced it: _Et audiebam eas jam longè minus quam dimidias,
veluti a dorso musitantes._ Having gone a little further, he begins
to discover the road plain and smooth, and although now and then the
force of his antient habits causes him to think of the pleasures he has
enjoyed, and the difficulty of forsaking them, the stroke is so feeble,
that it makes no impression: _Cum diceret mihi consuetudo violenta,
putasne sine istis poteris? sed jam tepidissimè hoc dicebat._

XXVIII. He arrives at last, at the superior part of the mountain,
where he beholds a beautiful, and an agreeable plain. The sweat and
tears with which he watered the skirts, he finds have fertilized the
summit; for here he obtains an abundant harvest, far exceeding what
is produced from cultivation and prolix labour. This is hid from the
eyes of the world, who, instead of considering him as enjoying a happy
retirement at the top of the mountain, conclude, he is placed in an
almost inaccessible and arduous station. They think he cannot enjoy an
instant of repose, imagining the situation he inhabits, to be a field,
where the elements engage with the utmost fury, and where the tempests
rage with the greatest force and rigour. But it fares with him, as with
one who scales the height of Olympus, who afterwards enjoys a climate
of uninterrupted serenity, where the air is not disturbed with the
most slight agitation, and where the tranquillity is so transcendent,
that characters written in ashes exposed to the open air will continue
legible for years together. There you always look down upon the clouds,
and the fulminations burst on the skirts, without ever incommoding the
eminence. At the same time, those who dwell in the neighbouring vales,
conclude, if information or experience has not undeceived them, that it
is ever obscured by gatherings, and continually scorched by the rays of
lightning.

XXIX. Just so the difficulties of life, and the storms of fortune, fall
on those who inhabit the humble vallies of the world, but not upon him
who has ascended the Mount of God; the fat mountain, as David calls
it. But with all this, sickness, grief, loss of goods, persecution,
ignominy, and other calamities, are they not common to the just, and
to the unjust? and are they not in some degree acquired by the first,
by silence, retirement, watching, prayer, discipline, fasting, and
other penalties? It is all true, but these are clouds that are seen at
a distance, and only appear on the sides of Olympus, but never rise to
the top; that is, they never attain the power of inquieting the sublime
part of the soul.

XXX. I do not mean to insinuate, that just men are insensible, for this
would savour of the extravagance of the Stoics, who pretend, that in
the workshops of virtue you may transform men to marble. The virtuous
have their sufferings, but they don’t sit so heavy on them, as they
do on the delinquents, and the inquietudes which they both experience
are felt by the delinquents in their full vigour; by the virtuous only
partially. You may distinguish the spirit of the just man and the
sinner, as you would the elements of air and earth. The earth in all
its regions, is exposed to the injuries of the other elements. The
inferior portion of the air only is so exposed; which is the theatre
of vapours and exhalations; but the sensible alterations, do not reach
what is called the superior region of the air. There the temperature
is observed to be always equal, there the Heavens are displayed in
a constant serenity, and there is always enjoyed an atmosphere,
crystalline and pure.


SECT. VII.

XXXI. But let us scrutinize with the greatest exactness, the temporal
conveniences of virtue. Health, honour, and property, which essentially
contribute to temporal felicity, are of great importance in this
matter, if the whole of it does not consist in the enjoyment of
them; and considered with respect to these contingents, the virtuous
man has much the advantage of the vicious one. No one is ignorant,
that honour is the legitimate offspring of virtue; for which reason
the Romans, when they built them, joined the temples together, that
were appropriated to the adoration of those endowments, which they
worshipped as deities; so that the only way by which you could enter
the Temple of Honour, was through the Temple of Virtue. The very
people who shun the practice of virtue, esteem and reverence it; and
the blessings of health and long life, on account of the regularity
with which he lives, are more likely to be attained by the virtuous
man, than by the vicious one, who, by his debaucheries, ruins his
health, and curtails his existence. Property finds a good steward in
the œconomy of virtue, who takes care of and preserves it, by avoiding
superfluities. Solomon expressed the whole, when he said, that the
obedient to the divine mandates held long life in one hand, and in
the other honour and property: _Longitudo dierum in dextra ejus; & in
sinistra illius, divitiæ & gloria._ (Prov. 3.) Now, even supposing the
just man to enjoy no other advantages over the vicious one, is not his
condition much to be preferred?

XXXII. But it has others. The tranquillity, and sweetness, which is
administered to the soul by a good conscience, places in a very eminent
degree, the fortune of the just, superior to that of the sinner. This
is a blessing of little bulk, but of great value: a precious stone,
which, within small dimensions, contains great and rich qualities. The
conscience is the mirror of the soul, and it happens to the just man,
and to the sinner, when they look in the glass, as it happens to the
handsome, and the ugly woman, when they view themselves in the crystal;
the handsome is pleased, because she sees perfections, the other is
sad, because she observes nothing but blemishes. The condition of
the sinner is even worse than that of the ugly woman, for she, if she
pleases, may run from the glass, but the sinner cannot do this; for
although he should not present himself before the mirror, the mirror
will present itself before him, and the understanding cannot shut its
eyes, when the memory presents to it the images of a man’s evil deeds.
In that state, the sinner is filled with horror instead of delight, for
his desire forsakes him, and the blemish remains by itself. In addition
to this, the sinner at such a conjuncture, is made unhappy by the
reflection, that his infamies may be laid open to the world; at this
thought, the inevitable torture of shame, and the punishment of the
law, terrify him by turns. The just man, on the contrary, has nothing
to fear. If he hides his actions from the world, it is not from the
dread of their being observed, but to avoid the hazard of their being
applauded. He contemplates them alone, and if he is so happy as to
find that they are all good, he receives that pure pleasure, which the
sacred Chronologer, even in God himself, paints as an accidental glory:
_Vidit Deus cuncta quæ fecerat, & erant valdè bona._

XXXIII. The difference between the just and the unjust man, is not
less, when fortune in disgust sheds its reverses, or heaven is severe
by visiting him with tribulations. The sinner loses his property, his
beloved woman dies, he receives an injury from somebody, which it is
out of his power to revenge. What relief does he find? None: he raves,
he storms, he burns; he neither eats, drinks, nor rests; his symptoms
are worse than the disease, and sometimes so violent, as to oblige him
to take to his bed, and deprive him of life; and his passions often
rise to such a degree of ferocity, as to excite him to lay violent
hands on himself. On the contrary, the first thing the just man does,
under similar circumstances, is to lift his eyes to Heaven; and whether
he considers the tribulation as a just punishment for some crime he has
been guilty of, or as a visitation for the exercise of his patience,
he trusts, it will all turn out for his benefit; he knows the stroke
comes from a friendly hand, and he knows also, that for his own good
he is wounded; he not only is reconciled, but kisses the rod. Thus
you see, by an admirable metamorphose, his heaviness is converted to
satisfaction; and that what is poison to a wicked man, becomes balsam
to a just one: for, _Diligentibus Deum omnia co-operantur in bonum._

XXXIV. Who, upon a view of what we have enumerated and urged on this
head, will not be convinced, that even in this life, the lot of the
just man is incomparably better than that of the vicious one; that
tranquillity and temporal convenience, are only to be met with in
the paths of virtue, and that the field of vice, under the delusive
appearance of flowers, produces nothing but thorns?

XXXV. There now remains but one argument for me to solve, and that is
taken from the words of Christ in St. Matthew, where our great Master
assures us, the road is broad, that is, easy, which leads to perdition;
and that the path is narrow, that is, toilsome, which leads to life
immortal.

XXXVI. I say then, that before we proceed further, it will be proper
to reconcile this text with the one before quoted, where our Saviour
invites sinners to pursue the paths of virtue, and propounds to them
relief and ease, upon a supposition, that they are crippled and borne
down by the weight of sin: _Venite ad me, omnes qui laboratis_, &c.
and it is also necessary, to compound this with that sweet expression,
used in another place, when he intimates to us, that his yoke is easy,
and his burden light; and we should likewise harmonize with it, what
David teaches us also, which is, that the road of the divine precepts
is broad, and that the precepts themselves are so likewise: _Latum
mandatum tuum nimis._ In fine, this text should be understood in a
sense, that is not repugnant to reason, or experience.

XXXVII. The solution is easy, if we say, that grace reconciles and
softens, that which is hard and difficult to nature; and the same yoke,
which is heavy to be borne by mere natural powers, is made light,
when the divine aid concurs and lends its assistance. And this is the
manner, in which the fathers commonly reconcile those texts.

XXXVIII. It may also be said, by way of answer, that the Redeemer
speaks only of the first passages or entrance into the one and the
other path, so that the path of virtue, at its entrance, is toilsome
and laborious, but afterwards becomes easy; on the contrary, the path
of vice is easy at the beginning, and toilsome at the end. The context
gives reason for this construction, for Christ, when he is exciting
men to pursue the paths of virtue, describes all the difficulty as
placed at the first passages: _Intrare per angustam portam_, says St.
Matthew, which according to St. Luke, is, _Contendite intrare per
angustam portam_; which amounts to the same thing, as if he had said,
in the entrance lies all the difficulty; therefore take courage, press
forward, fight, _contendite_: to conquer the obstruction, which you
find in the narrowness of the door.

XXXIX. So it is, that this door is exceeding strait, and the newly
converted is pressed by the power of its hinges, that the ill habits
he has imbibed may be squeezed out, and not only the skin is grazed by
the pressure, but sometimes pieces of flesh also are torn off, and left
in the entrance. But the difficulty of this transit once conquered, the
way by little and little grows wider, till at last, it is extended to a
delightsome and a spacious valley;

    _Largior hic campos æther, & lumine vestit,_
    _Purpure, solemque suum sua sidera morunt._

XL. The path of vice is very differently formed, and may be compared to
a passage or cave, which, according to the naturalists, is fabricated
as a place of safe retreat by the Rat of India. This sagacious
animal, knowing the enmity the dragon bears him, and knowing also the
insufficiency of his own strength to resist him, not only defends
himself, but conquers his enemy by the following stratagem. He makes
two entrances to his cave, the one small and proportioned to the bulk
of his own body, the other wider at the surface, but which he draws
narrower by degrees, till towards the other end it is but just wide
enough to admit of his passing through. The use of this place is as
follows: When the little animal finds himself pursued by that voracious
beast, he flies to his cave, which he enters at the wide mouth, not
doubting but the dragon will follow him, who eager for his prey, the
large aperture being sufficiently wide to admit his whole body, plunges
in, but as it insensibly becomes narrower and narrower, the dragon,
who presses violently on, finds himself in the end so straitened, as
not to be able either to retreat, or advance; the rat, as soon as he
perceives this, sallies out of the narrow passage, and in the rear of
the dragon, entering the wide one, revenges himself upon him much at
his leisure, converting him into a regale for his appetite, and food
for his resentment.

XLI. The stratagem of this little animal exactly resembles that which
the devil practises upon men. He displays to him the road of vice, very
broad and commodious at the entrance; the unhappy man, lured by this
appearance, enters without suspicion, and in the consequence becomes
a prey to his criminal pleasures. The road, by little and little,
grows narrower; one care oppresses him on one side, and another on the
other; sickness and old age, which are very nearly allied together,
come on; his limbs begin to contract, and the use of them to forsake
him; fear, solicitude, grief and heaviness, press upon him more and
more every day, till he is put in such a strait, that even the soul
with its spiritual nature is unable to ruminate or reflect on: by this
progression, the sinner, in the end, arrives at the summit of anguish,
and at that unhappy station, from whence it is impossible to recede,
_ubi nulla est redemptio_, and where he will be eternally food for that
ravenous serpent, whose voracity and thirst of blood is never satiated:
_Mors depascet eos_; which Cardinal Hugo expounds, _Diabolus depascet
eos._

XLII. This remarkable difference and opposition between virtue and
vice, was not hid from the antients, for the light of natural reason
was sufficient to acquire this knowledge; and Virgil has painted
beautifully, the distinction between the one and the other path, in the
following verses:

    _Nam via virtutis dextrum petit ardua collem_
    _Difficilemque aditum primum spectantibus offert,_
    _Sed requiem præbet fessis in vertice summo._
    _Molle ostentat iter via lata; sed ultima meta_
    _Præcipitat captos, volvitque per ardua saxa._




Exalted and Humble FORTUNE.


Those were blind themselves, who feigned Fortune to be blind; and
they were unjust, who accused her of partiality. This error is
corrected by religion, when it teaches us, that what is meant by the
word Fortune, is nothing else but the Divine Providence, which is
all eyes, and proceeds in every thing from the justest motives. But
although the error is corrected in the essential, the deception is not
so effectually dispelled, but there is still left remaining, a faint
appearance of the principle. The complainers of fortune, compute the
inequality of men’s lots, according to the greater or less parade and
figure which they make among their fellow creatures; and seeing that in
a great measure, this inequality is not proportioned to men’s merits,
the wicked attribute it to the chimerical force of accident, the
idolators to the caprice of a blind deity, and the true believers to
the disposing will of a Supreme Providence.

II. These last conclude well, but they suppose ill, for thus it is; the
circling wheel of Fortune, and all its movements, are directed by a
divine hand; and the raising up some, and casting down others, is so
ordered and regulated, with the most wise design. It is also certain
(and this reflection is of infinite importance) that with respect to
many, we see but one half of the wheel’s turning, the remainder of its
circuit being reserved for completion in the other world. We observe,
that Fortune raises some, and never lowers them, and that it casts down
others, without ever raising them. What is this? Nothing more, than
that Providence in this mortal life, gives the wheel but half a turn;
the round is concluded in the other hemisphere; so that those who rise
here, go down there, and those who descend here, are there mounted up.
This is the most ordinary course, although there is no rule without an
exception.


SECT. II.

III. But supposing what I have just premised is admitted,
notwithstanding all the solutions and precautions we can advert to, a
serious and pernicious deceit continues to impose on, and in some sort,
govern the world, which is derived, as I have already observed, from
those who conclude well, but suppose badly. In the distribution they
make of happy, and unhappy people, they suppose an inequality, which
in reality does not exist, nor is it to be found in the fortunes of
men. He who occupies posts of dignity, he who inhabits a magnificent
palace, he who possesses great riches, and much more he whose temples
are adorned with a crown, is reputed the happiest of men. On the
contrary, he who beneath an humble roof, scarce known to the world,
who to subsist and enable him to live, has no more than is absolutely
necessary, is considered as unhappy. At least, the fortune of this
last, is judged to be as much inferior to that of the other, as a
little fountain is to the whole stock of waters contained in the Nile.

IV. Very different was the sentiment of the oracle of Delphi, who, when
he was asked by Gyges King of Lydia, who was the happiest man in the
world? replied, “Agalus Psophidius, the possessor of a little estate,
in a confined corner of Arcadia, is the most happy man who inhabits the
globe.” The King, who expected to be told that himself was the happiest
man, remained equally confounded and surprized.

V. Agathocles was a monster of Fortune; from being the son of a poor
potter of the City of Regio, he rose to be sovereign of Sicily, with
all which, I believe, that by comparing his fortune with that of
Carcinus his father, we shall find that the father was the more happy
man of the two. It is certain, he did not live in that continual
uneasiness, which agitated the whole life of Agathocles, nor did
he suffer any grief so intense, or of so long duration, as that of
Agathocles, which was occasioned by the death of his sons, who were
barbarously beheaded by his own soldiers.

VI. Pliny, in his seventh Book, speaking of those Romans, who, in some
instances, were the most remarkable favourites of Fortune, such as the
dictator Scylla, the two Metellus’s, and Octavius Augustus, points
out at the same time, so many counterpoises to their good luck, as to
leave it doubtful, whether the scale of their adversity, or of their
prosperity preponderated.

VII. The labour would be infinite, if, by turning over history,
you was to instance all those, to whom the hand of fortune, has
alternately dealt the most cruel blows, and administered the most
tender gratifications; nor would such an enquiry be of any avail to
our purpose, because every one will readily grant, there is no asylum
in this world, to protect us from the rigours of fate; nor is there
any privilege annexed to high dignity, which exempts it from the
jurisdiction of misfortune. The best method then is, to weigh the one
and the other fortune, the exalted and the humble, and estimate them,
according to what in their common and ordinary state, they are found
to contain in themselves; abstracted from any extraordinary accidents,
either favourable or adverse.


SECT. III.

VIII. I say then, that humble fortune according to its intrinsic value,
if it does not exceed, is at least equal to the exalted. In order to
give at once a clear and a solid proof of this fact, which may seem
a mystery, it should be understood as a certain truth, that riches
do not constitute happiness in men, in proportion to their material
magnitude, but in proportion to what is enjoyed of them, either with
respect to convenience, or the pleasure they occasion. What is a rich
man the better, for having his table covered with a variety of delicate
eatables, if he has lost his appetite? with all his dainties, he
cannot be said to regale himself; and it fares much better in point of
gratification with a poor man, who eats of a coarse dish, if his palate
embraces it with earnestness.

IX. The comparison of relish with respect to food, may be applied to
all our other senses and faculties with respect to their objects;
for let these be gratified and delighted to whatever degree you can
suppose, the pleasure produced in every individual, will tally with the
disposition of the organ; and therefore, the greater or lesser degree
of felicity of the subject, in the use of those objects, should be
measured, not by the entative magnitude which is contained in them, but
by the delight they afford. This being the case, you will find, that
vast riches do not furnish to an opulent man greater enjoyments, nor
turn aside from him more vexations, than is afforded to, and diverted
from a poor man with his scanty means; and you will conclude, those are
not more happy than these, and that consequently the fortunes of both
are equal.

X. But how are we to know the hearts, and what passes in the breasts
of persons in the one and the other state? Nothing is more easy. Nero
erected a temple to Fortune, which he built with transparent stones,
found in his days in Capadocia; so that from the outside, although
the doors were shut, you could see all that passed within the temple.
And nature has so made mankind, that from without, you may discern
their good or bad interior situation, their looks for this purpose
supplying the use of transparent stones, and their lips expressing
their pleasures and vexations. Observe, says Seneca, (Epist. 80.)
through the crystal of their countenances, the recesses of the bosoms
of the rich and the poor: _compara inter se pauperum & divitum vultus_,
and you will most frequently find the last more chearful than the
first: _sæpius pauper, & fidelius ridet_. In this instance, he gives
the preference to the condition of the poor; in other respects, he
supposes the benefits of both stations to be equal: observe, says
he, the greatest part of the poor people, and you will find, that
they are in no respect more sad or oppressed than the rich: _primum
aspice quanto major pars sit pauperum, quos nihilo notabis tristiores,
solicitioresque divitibus_. (In consolat. ad Helviam.)

XI. Saint Austin found great benefit, from a reflection he made, upon
seeing a Mendicant Friar go through a village in the state of Milan, to
all appearance quite chearful and happy. He compared his own fortune
with that of the poor man, and found, that he was joyous, and himself
oppressed; that he was free from apprehensions, and himself full of
terrors: _Et certè ille lætabatur, ego anxius eram; securus ille, ego
trepidus_; and from thence he concluded, the fortune of that Mendicant
was much better than his own: _Nimirum quippe ille felicior erat._
(Confess. lib. 6. cap. 6.)

XII. This is viewing things according to what they are in their own
nature. To estimate the felicity of any man, you should not consider
the goods he possesses, but the enjoyment he receives from the
possession of them. Although the rich man always sits down to a
splendid banquet, a poor man regales himself better than him, if, as
is most commonly the case, he knows better what he eats. No man will
say, that the existence of riches without their use is of any value. It
is necessary, in order to relish their sweets, that you should expend
them. They are a good of such a nature, that they can only be enjoyed
when you part with them. He who keeps his gold in a chest may receive
some satisfaction in contemplating, that he has it at his command,
but that is much inferior to the inevitable chagrin, which attends
his continual care and anxiety. Horace sung wisely, who held, that
convenience consisted more in the want, than in the possession of such
goods, as their concern for the preservation of kept people in constant
alarms and terrors night and day, for fear a thief should break in and
steal them, an unfaithful servant purloin them, or a fire consume them.

    _An vigilare metu exanimem, noctesque diesque_
    _Formidare malos fures, incendia, servos_
    _Ne te compilent fugientes, hoc juvat? Horum_
    _Semper ego optarim pauperimus esse bonorum._

    Lib. 1. Sat. 1.

XIII. Quicksilver occasions continual tremors to him who works it in
the mines; gold and silver, to him who keeps and turns them over in a
chest. There is no doubt, but the pleasure of finding himself rich
is greatest in a covetous man, but his care and anxiety are excessive
in proportion to it. Besides this, he is not so much gratified by the
goods he enjoys, as he is made uneasy by the desire of possessing those
he is not master of. There is always in his heart an immense vacuum, as
obnoxious to his avarice, as a vacuum in all bodies is to nature, and
his thirst is of the dropsical kind, so that the more he drinks, the
more he craves.

XIV. Upon a supposition then, that instead of convenience, there is
evil and vexation in the mere possession of riches, let us proceed
to take a view of the benefits that may result from their use. And
first, riches to a very large amount, are exceedingly superfluous for
furnishing the accommodations of life. If a man, possessed of a few
thousands of crowns, can find sufficient to purchase all that can be
reasonably desired, of what use are millions? To what purpose should he
who finds water sufficient for all his occasions in a little fountain,
bring a river into his house? He would acquire nothing by such an
act, but the hatred and indignation of those, who see, that without
utility to himself, a man monopolizes a stock of water, sufficient to
accommodate a whole town; by doing which, he exposes himself to the
malicious designs that a wicked and perverse person may form to take
away his life, in hopes that by perpetrating the fatal deed, he might
become master of his property; and it is certain, that many persons
from such a motive only, have fallen victims to the knife or to poison;
so that an excess of doubloons to the owner, are rather things of
weight, than things of worth. I mean, that instead of a convenience,
they are dangerous, and an evil of life.

XV. But though they are not necessary to furnish the reasonable
accommodations of life, they may be serviceable to purchase the
pleasures of it. Upon this head much may be said. The natural desires
of the greatest part of mankind, are fixed upon such objects, that with
a moderate income, they are able to satisfy all their real wants. Meat
and drink that might be stiled regaling, the diversion of hunting, and
frequent amusement at play, may be all attained with a moderate portion
of thousands. Of what advantage are immense riches to him, whose whole
delight is centered in the cup and the dish, if he cannot eat or
drink more than the proportion of a single man; and if, urged by his
gluttony, he strives to cram down as much as would serve two, he would
soon destroy his health, and not be able to eat a sufficient quantity
to satisfy half a man. A person spending his substance, in diversions
that are not suited to his genius or inclination, is throwing it away
intirely. The sweetness or soothing of music, is allowed to be the
greatest enchantment existing in the world, but what charms has it
to him who wants an ear, or cannot relish it? The vassals of Antæus,
an ancient King of Scythia, having taken Ysmenias, the famous Theban
musician, a prisoner in war, presented him to their master as a prize
of great value. Anteus after hearing him awhile, declared, that the
neighing of his horse sounded better to him than all the fine tones of
Ysmenias. Nor should we understand, that the want of musical feeling
is confined to one single barbarous genius, for not only the tigers
fly from the lyre, but many cultivated spirits are deaf as adders to
the charms of music. It is told of Justus Lipsius, that he abhorred
music, and that his whole delight was in flowers and dogs. Many men
are insensible of the recreation afforded by harmony; and those who
are not, for the most part content themselves with a coarse sort of
music, which may be had at a cheap rate, and often for nothing. The
remarks we have made on music, may be applied generally to all other
kinds of amusement. How many are there, who cannot endure so much as
to be in company with, or to converse with women! Flowers, which are
the most beautiful production of nature, and with which the fields are
cloathed with more splendor and gaiety than Solomon in all his glory,
to some people are not only ungrateful, but noxious also. There have
been those, who the fragrancy of a rose has caused to fall into a
fainting fit. Cardinal Esfrondati, in his Curso Philosophica, relates
of another Cardinal, that during the whole time of the spring, he kept
a watch at the door, to prevent a rose being brought into his house.
Spacious gardens afford but a slender delight to abundance of men, and
to many, not even that slender one; besides this, in time, it becomes a
sickening amusement, which with regard to the gardens of others may be
removed, but not with regard to a man’s own; for that being always in
his view, he comes at last to loath the sight of it.


SECT. V.

XVI. Thus with respect to many individuals, all that is attracting
is comprehended in objects of little value. It is true however, that
if you could collect all these into one heap, they would amount to
something considerable. But to what end should people endeavour this?
I am sure I don’t know, nor many times they themselves neither. What
passed between Pyrrhus, King of Albania, and his wise friend and
counsellor Cineus, is pleasant, and applicable to this matter. Cineus
said to that prince in a conversation between them, the subject of
which was Pyrrhus’s intended invasion of the Romans; “Truly, Sir, the
undertaking is difficult, for we shall have to do with a martial, and
a powerful people; but supposing the success of our arms to be so
great, as that we should subdue the Romans, what fruit shall we reap by
the conquest?” “Are you at a loss to find out that, answered Pyrrhus?
Shall not we make ourselves masters of all Italy?” And what shall we do
afterwards, replied Cineus? Pyrrhus answered, “We will conquer Sicily,
which is in the neighbourhood, and may be easily subdued.” “That will
be a great thing, said Cineus; but when that’s done, shall we put an
end to the war?” Pyrrhus, who had not yet penetrated the drift of
Cineus in asking all these questions, answered, “By no means; after
conquering Sicily, we will proceed to Africa, and possess ourselves of
Carthage, and the adjacent kingdoms.” “You are clear, said Cineus, that
the Gods will indulge you with all this good fortune; but when this is
done, what are we to employ ourselves about next?” “We will return,
said Pyrrhus; to our own country, cloathed with immense power, and
we will conquer all the Empire of Greece.” “Having conquered Greece,
replied Cineus, what are we to do then?” “When this is compleated,
answered Pyrrhus, we will pass the remainder of our lives in soft and
sublime indolence, without thinking of any thing but banquets, and
festive society.” Here Cineus, who had without the King’s being aware
of him, entangled him in the net, said laughingly; “But pray Sir, what
should hinder us from beginning to enjoy all this happiness at this
instant of time? Is not the kingdom you are possessed of sufficient to
furnish you banquets, and every other kind of regale? To what end then,
should you conquer provinces and cross seas, wasting your health, and
exposing your life to the rage of waves, and fury of battles?”

XVII. This reasoning, which is taken almost literally from Plutarch,
is well adapted, not only to that ambitious Prince, but may be also
properly applied to an infinite number of other men; who accumulate
riches upon riches, at the expence of dangers and fatigues, and
who, without knowing what they are in pursuit of, run a vicious and
an erroneous course, in search of the very thing they possess. The
pride of Philip King of Macedon, was mortified with great address by
Archidamus the IIId, King of Sparta, whom Philip had overcome in a
battle; and the day after wrote Archidamus a letter, full of arrogance
and insult; to which Archidamus answered, That if he would place
himself in the sun, he would find that his shadow was not a jot bigger
after, than it was the day before the battle. Thus it is, that fortune
aggrandizes, but adds nothing to the stature.


SECT. VI.

XVIII. Those, who are under the dominion of ambition and avarice,
invert the order and nature of things; placing the end in the means
of attaining it. They desire more, only to hoard more, and to have
more power, merely for the sake of domineering more. But how does
it fare with such people? why that they are always unhappy; because
the hunger and thirst of their desires is never appeased, but either
remains constantly in the same state, or else proceeds to acquire fresh
augmentations. The weight of honour and riches has the same effect on
the human heart, which weights have upon a clock; the greater they
are, they cause the machine to be more violently agitated, and to move
with greater impetuosity. The passions go on to display a succession
of cavities, as the first openings are continued to be filled up. At
first, the thirst can be satisfied with a fountain; after having grown
into a dropsy, it requires a river to satisfy it, and after having
swallowed the river, it craves the ocean: _Ecce absorbebit fluvium, &
non mirabitur._ Alexander in his first schemes of ambition, had nothing
further in view, than the destruction of Thebes, and the conquest of
Thrace and Illyricum; having compleated this, he took it into his head
to subdue the Asiatic Empire, and when he was in quiet possession of
that, upon hearing a philosopher say, there were more worlds, he wept
with grief, because that being the case, his ambition could not be
satiated with the conquest of one only; which caused Juvenal to sing as
follows:

    _Unus Pellæo juveni non sufficit orbis._

XIX. Those who endeavour to acquire riches to make use of them, and
to employ them in pleasures, seem to have the advantage with respect
to temporal convenience. For who can dispute the happiness of him,
who being master of great riches, makes them the tributaries of his
appetites? so the world judges, and the world deceives itself. The
most able man that the world ever produced, and the best qualified to
give an opinion in this matter from his own experience, was Solomon,
as there was not upon earth, a man who was richer, or even so rich,
as him, nor did any man expend his riches with more prodigality to
procure enjoyments; in the doing of which, he had this advantageous
circumstance in his favour, to wit, his great wisdom and knowledge of
nature; which taught him the means that were the best adapted, and
the most likely to furnish delight, and which was the best method,
of applying objects to enchant the senses: I say, hear this man’s
sentiments on the subject, who himself confesses, that he had given
a loose to his pleasures, and gratified them with every thing their
voracity craved: _Omnia, quæ desideraverunt oculi mei, non negavi eis:
nec prohibui cor meum, quin omni voluptate frueretur._ And what did he
meet with in this sea of delights? nothing but bitter waters: he found
that all was vanity and vexation of spirit: _Vidi in omnibus vanitatem,
& afflictionem animi_; and he found it so to such an extreme degree, as
to make his life a burthen to him: _Idcirco tæduit me vitæ meæ._

XX. This is exalted and brilliant fortune; and so exalted, that the
fortune of no man ever rose to a more sublime degree of altitude. I
ask now, if the most miserable man in the world can find his heart
placed in a state of greater anguish, than when he endures the irksome
sensation, of loathing, or being tired of his existence? We know that
Job used no other phrase, to express the profound agony which his
singular calamity had brought upon him: _Tædet animam meam vitæ meæ._

XXI. What Solomon says is infallible, because the church has received
that book as canonical. But though it should be confessed, that
the truth of this matter is an article of faith, it also appears
mysterious: for how could so much bitterness, be contained in the
greatest delights? Solomon did not chuse to decipher this enigma,
although his abilities would have permitted him to do it with the
greatest ease. Let us see if I can hit upon its explanation, and I
think I shall.


SECT. VII.

XXII. My first position is, that he who enjoys the most delights, is
the man who enjoys the fewest; and I might even say, he enjoys none
at all; but although this is another enigma more puzzling than the
first, I shall easily extricate myself from the difficulty of solving
both the one and the other. I ask in the first place, can meat or
drink afford pleasure or gratification to a man, who eats without
being hungry, and drinks without being thirsty? every one will readily
acknowledge, little or none; but in this manner, do such opulent men
as hold a loose rein on their appetites, enjoy delectable objects.
The objects anticipate the desires. Hunger does not await the food,
thirst the drink, nor lust the concupiscence. How then? do they make
use of that for which they have no inclination? in the beginning, no;
in the progress and the end, yes. The opulent man, who gives himself
up to pleasure, begins very early in his course, to acquire a habit of
gluttony in all his passions; by which means, in a very short time,
the least glimpse of desire attracts him to the object. Even though
his passion has been quite stifled by the antecedent enjoyment, new
craving scarce begins to revive in embryo, when he gives himself up
to fresh satiety; and as at such a crisis, concupiscence must be very
languid, the enjoyment of course can be but insipid. This habit, by the
immense repetition of acts, goes on every day, acquiring more and more
force, till it excites men at last to drink of the forbidden liquor,
when they are not the least stimulated by thirst. Here you see a man
arrived at a state, in which, without tasting pleasure, or being able
to experience gratification, he continues to destroy his health, and
shorten his life.

XXIII. But I have not yet explained all the evil. The worst is, that
hunger and satiety come to be joined together. If I say that the rich
man who is filled, is as sensible of hunger as the poor man who is
really hungry; it will be thought that I am propounding a new paradox,
or at least a new riddle. But this shall not deter me from speaking
the truth. The hungry poor man hungers after food, the hungry rich one
hungers after hunger itself. He who is distressed, and in want of what
is precisely necessary, craves for aliment. The glutton, who after
having filled his belly, sees his table covered with dainties, craves
for an appetite. The first is unhappy, because he wants what is needful
for him, the other, because he can’t enjoy what he has. There is little
difference in point of pain or uneasiness, between him who is really
in want of water, and him who is oppressed with a dropsical thirst.

XXIV. This depraved craving, this flame, which raises itself upon the
ashes of another fire, worst or last disease of concupiscence, or of
the concupiscence of the superior part of the soul, oppresses those
much, who, when they attain the pinnacle of power, arrive at the summit
of perverseness; whose whole pursuit, has been seeking provocations
for the appetite, dainties to feed their sensuality, and extravagant
incentives to inflame desire. In looking for the exquisite, they found
the monstrous. Heliogabalus went so far, as to make a banquet, all
composed of the combs of cocks. Nero exercised his lust, cloathed
in the skins of wild beasts, which was a habit, well suited to the
character of that brute. So extravagant were the abominations of other
Emperors, that neither the course of so many ages, nor the fragrance
of such number of saints as have lived since, have dissipated at Rome,
the stink of the Princes of those times. But with all their solicitude,
what did they obtain? Nothing; they only augmented the violence of
a bad habit, and caused it to exert itself in loathing. Pleasure
in the mean while fled away, like the water of Tantalus, which,
notwithstanding he seemed to have it always within his reach, his
excessive anticipation of laying hold of it, was the occasion of his
not being able to obtain it. These people, with all their toil, only
acquired anxieties of mind, sickness, and bodily pain. And it is worthy
of remarking, that those who gave themselves up to gluttony and lust,
became melancholy, peevish, and disagreeable; and it may be from this
cause, that we have rarely heard of a Prince, who was lascivious and a
glutton, in whom cruelty was not joined to those vices. Some of them
came to be tired of themselves, for instance, the second Apicius, who,
after gorging two millions and a half, deprived himself of life with a
halter. What was this, but finding vanity and vexation of spirit, among
the greatest: endowments of fortune? Do even the miserably poor, think
you, lead so unsavoury and tiresome lives?


SECT. VIII.

XXV. Truly, I have now pursued the comparison of the one and the
other fortune, through the most difficult part, having drawn into the
parallel, the most elevated, and the most abased, the sovereign state,
and that of beggary. I did not intend so much when I began to write
this chapter, but the pen took a flight without my being aware of it,
towards the extreme of both the extremities. So much was not necessary,
but as it is done, let us suppose that we have conquered all the
difficulty at the first onset; because, if he who is under the feet of
fortune, is equal to him who treads the summit of her wheel; the reason
is stronger, for supposing him who has no more than what is required to
provide things that are precisely necessary, equal to the man, who is
possessed of a princely fortune.

XXVI. The truth is, if we are to speak out, that he is not only equal,
but superior. Upon a superficial view, the rich man appears to be
better accommodated, and exposed to fewer inconveniencies than the
poor one, but if you search to the bottom, you will find the reverse.
The rich man has great abundance, and variety of delicious eatables;
but do they taste more savoury to him, than his common coarse food
to the poor one? no, nor so savoury, for the appetite with which the
poor man sits down to table, more than compensates, for the advantage
derived to the rich one by his excess. Of what consequence is it to the
bees of Lithuania, a rude and unpleasant country, that they have not
such beautiful and odoriferous flowers to gather from, as the bees of
other countries; if from their own trifling and unpleasing ones, they
extract the sweetest and best-flavoured honey that is to be found in
all Europe? The rich man lays himself down on a feather-bed, but does
he sleep more, or better than a poor one on a truss of straw? You
see that the poor man, always rises chearful and pleasant, and that
the other, often complains of having passed an uneasy night. How many
people slept sweetly on the hard ground, the same night, that king
Ahasuerus not being able to take rest, was constrained to amuse himself
with reading the annals of his Kingdom! The rich defend themselves
from the rigours of cold, with thick walls, tapestry hangings, and
furred garments; but observe, and you will find, that they complain
more of the intemperance of the season, shut up within the walls of
their palaces, than the shepherd covered with skins, on the heights
of the mountain. David, when he was grown old, found it difficult to
defend himself from the cold, with all the covering he could put on,
when at the same time, many antient labourers, with half the cloathing,
made light of the frosts. You will see at every turn, an opulent man
trembling, and expressing his extreme sensations of cold, whenever he
is obliged to leave the fire-side, while at the same time, the common
people are passing chearfully along the street. The same difference
is observeable in summer. The rich man is low spirited and oppressed
with lassitude, and scarce ventures to go up stairs or down; while the
common people, with alacrity and chearfulness, apply themselves to
whatever falls in their way. So that what Dionysius of Sicily, said
of the golden cloak, which covered the statue of Jupiter, by way of
furnishing a pretence to plunder it, may be applied to the riches of
opulent people; which was, that a cloth cloak was better, because the
golden one in winter, did not defend him from the cold, and in summer,
it fatigued him with its weight. The opulent man, inhabits a capacious
and commodious palace, and never contented, he is always thinking of
enlarging or improving it, but the thought of his habitation being too
confined, scarce ever occurs to a poor man in the whole course of a
year.

XXVII. The rich man wears fine holland, the poor one coarse dowlas;
but tell me, if you ever heard a poor man complain, that the roughness
of the dowlas was unpleasant to, or gave him bodily uneasiness. The
rich man is idle, and the poor one at work all the day; but you will
not observe, that the poor man is more sad at his work, than the rich
one in his state of indolence; on the contrary, and especially if he
works in company, his time passes merrily, and he goes on singing and
chanting through the whole course of his labour. When that is over,
his relaxation is not like that of the rich, an insipid indolence,
but sweet repose, and in the conclusion, soft and uninterrupted sleep
recompences the labour of the day. The rich, on the contrary, (as
sleep does not sit easy on members which have not been exercised,)
restless and impatient, turns a thousand times in his bed; so that
the poor man may be said to work by day, and the rich one by night.
In case of going a journey, it is true, the rich man travels either
on horseback or in a coach, and the poor one on foot. Notwithstanding
which, the rich man is more sensible of the inclemency of the weather,
and is much more affected by an incommodious lodging-room, a hard bed,
and the want of refreshment than the poor one; to whom, by his being
accustomed to them, such things are familiar, and consequently they do
not make him uneasy. I, in my journies, have remarked, that the lad
who attended me on foot, seemed much less sensible of the difficulties
and inconveniencies of the road, than myself. You may add to this, the
dread of thieves, from whom the poor have nothing to fear, when the
rich, behind the trunk of every tree they come near, fancy they see a
robber.

XXVIII. If we would weigh the pleasures of one and the other state, we
should attend to the remark of Seneca before cited: _Inspice pauperum,
& divitum vultus._ You will observe the poor, chearful in their
conversation, laughing from their hearts at their rustic balls, and in
all appearance truly happy: _Sæpius pauper, & fidelius ridet._ On the
contrary, you will see the rich, even at their festive meetings, seem
tired and surfeited. At least, happiness does not shine so brilliant
in their countenances, as in those of the poor.

XXIX. All these disproportions, spring from, or grow out of one general
principle, which is this; nature left to herself, is contented with
a little, but by attempting to polish her, you fashion her into a
fantastical lady, who craves every thing, and despises every thing.
A human heart with three ventricles, in the year 1699, was presented
to the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris, as the most monstrous
production that had ever been seen; but morally and politically
speaking, it is a monster we see every day. The human heart, naturally
contains but two large cavities; but if you fill these with worldly
goods, a succession of others will begin to open, and others still
without end. Pleasure and delight, are nothing to a man who does not
consider and feel them as such, and no man considers that as a regale,
which he is used and accustomed to; or which is adapted and familiar
to his own sphere of life. Therefore delicate food, is delicate to
him only, who has been used to eat plain victuals; but dainties, are
familiar and common things to the man who has been accustomed to feed
on them, and therefore, he craves something more exquisite. Even
variety itself, to him who is used to vary his objects every day, that
they may tally with his inclinations, loses all the enchantment which
it originally contained. A poor man tastes more pleasure in feeding on
a common fish at his own homely board, than Caius Hirtius, in eating
with great pomp, his most regaling Murenas; and he is more happy, when
he adds to his inheritance a foot of land, than Alexander was, when he
added to his conquests the City of Tyre.


SECT. IX.

XXX. If we were to compare the anxieties incident to the one and the
other state, as we have done the pleasures, we should find, that by
much the greatest load of the first, would rest on the shoulders of
the rich; either from the greater sensibility of the subjects, or from
the greater magnitude, or multitude of their cares. The rich are of a
delicate texture, liable to be moved and disturbed with every blast, or
made of sonorous metal, which complains loudly at the gentlest touch.
They may be compared to a well at Chiapa, a Province in New Spain, from
which, by throwing in a small stone, you raise a horrible tempest.
Hence the furious perturbations which in the opulent, are produced by
slight causes. The Sultan Mahomed the Second, was seized with such a
barbarous rage upon missing a melon out of his garden, that he ordered
the stomachs of fourteen pages to be opened, to discover who had eaten
it. And Otho Antonio, Duke of Urbino, ordered one of his servants to
be burnt alive, for having neglected to wake him at the time he had
appointed.

XXXI. The toils of the great are also more in number, than those of the
poor. The larger the bulk of a man, the fairer mark he is for his enemy
to hit; and the greater the amplitude of his fortune, the larger the
space is exposed to the wounds of adversity. The rich are high towers,
the poor humble cottages, and the ray of lightning, oftner discharges
its fury on the tower, than on the cottage. One of the greatest
temporal evils that can befal a man, is a broken constitution, as the
greatest temporal blessing, is a robust state of health. And there
is no doubt, but that with equal stamina, a poor man is more healthy
than a rich one, because the last injures his health by his excesses,
and the other, preserves his by his sobriety. Of what avail are all a
great man’s riches to him, when he is oppressed by a fit of the gout?
(and the gout, by the way, is a distemper which seldom attacks the
poor.) I say what is he the better for them, if they cannot procure him
a remedy for the evil, nor even obtain him the least ease or relief?
While the fit lasts, he suffers pain; and when it is over, he endures
the terrors and apprehensions of fresh attacks. Solomon pronounced the
following sentence, which is applicable to all the rich: _Quid prodest
possessori, nisi quod cernat divitias oculis suis?_ Of what other
use are riches to a man who possesses vast treasures, than to feast
his eyes with the sight of them. But the sentence is more strongly
applicable, to an opulent man of a bad constitution, who is constantly
ailing.

XXXII. A great man has more cares, and consequently more to vex him,
than an humble one. More people are envious of him, and consequently
he has more enemies. He is desirous of aggrandizing his fortune still
more, and grieves at every little obstacle he meets with; which he
considers as a steep rock in the way of his pursuits. From those below
him, he expects more homage; and one only, as in the case of Mordecai
and Haman, refusing to bend the knee to him, is sufficient to make him
unhappy. He is anxious to be upon an equality with his superiors, and
when he sees any one, whom he looks upon as his equal, or his inferior,
step before him, he can hardly contain himself. There was a famous
painter, named Francis of France, rich, both in possessions and fame.
When this man was at Bolognia, he saw a figure of Saint Cecilia, which
had been painted by Raphael of Urbino, for a church in that city; and
seeing, and being sensible, how much he was outdone in the use of the
pencil, by that incomparable artist, it so affected him, that he fell
sick and died in a few days. It cannot be said with truth, that ever a
poor man died from such a cause, or of such an affection.

XXXIII. Fears and apprehensions, in which are contained the most severe
martyrdom of life; because by means of them, people endure all future,
and all possible evils, have their very nests in the hearts of the
great. He who is oppressed with evils, is always grieving; he who is
possessed of goods, is always fearing: and what is more afflicting
than perpetual terror? The dangers which threaten a great man, are
in proportion to the possible cases, of others enriching themselves
by despoiling, or murdering him; and though these are many, in his
imagination they are still more; so that riches are acquired by toil,
and preserved by anxiety. The inhabitants of Macasar, an Island in the
Indian Sea, have a custom of drawing some of their teeth, and putting
gold or silver ones in the place of them, which practice, cannot fail
to be troublesome and hurtful to them. Can any thing favour stronger
of barbarism, than the suffering a voluntary pain, only to gain an
inconvenience? Those fall into the same mistake, who pant for, and are
anxious in their pursuit after riches. They draw their teeth, that is,
they undergo great suffering in order to acquire more wealth; and in
the room of those they have parted with, they get teeth of gold and
silver, yes, but these are teeth, which in the end, will feed on, and
gnaw their own hearts. It is very remarkable, that in the age of gold
and silver, (according to the description given, and the division made
of the four ages by the poets,) there was no gold or silver to be met
with, but these metals made their appearance in the age of iron. Thus
Ovid, speaking of this age:

    -------- _Itum est in viscera terræ_
    _Quasque recondiderat, Stygiisque admoverat umbris_
    _Effodiuntur opes irritamenta malorum._
    _Famque nocens ferrum, ferroque nocentius aurum_
    _Prodierat, prodit bellum quod pugnat utroque._

XXXIV. The age of gold passed without gold, and was therefore the
Golden Age, that is fortunate and happy. In the age of iron, there was
gold, and on that account, it was called the Iron Age, that is, it was
harsh and toilsome.

XXXV. Lucan, in his fifth Book of the Civil War, makes a fine
digression upon the happiness of the poor boatman, Amiclas, when he
paints Cæsar, in the silence of the night, tapping at the door of
his cabbin to awake him, and make him rise, and carry him with all
possible haste to Calabria. All the world was agitated, and trembling
with the movements of the civil war; and within Greece itself, which
is the theatre of the war, in the very neighbourhood of the armies, a
poor boatman on dried sheep skins, sleeps without fear. The strokes
of the generous leader at his door awake him, without producing the
least surprize in his breast; for although he was not ignorant, that
the whole face of the country was covered with troops, he knew very
well, there was nothing in his cabbin to invite military insults. O
life of the poor, exclaims the poet, in which is contained the felicity
of being exempt from outrages. O poverty! thou greatest blessing of
heaven, although not recognized or justly valued by men. What palaces
or what temples were there, which enjoyed the privilege of Amiclas and
his cabbin, neither of which, could be made to tremble at the strokes
of the robust hand of Cæsar!

                -------- _O vita tuta facultas_
    _Pauperis, angustique lares! O munera nondum_
    _Intellecta divûm. Quibus hoc contingere templis;_
    _Aut potuit muris, nullo trepidare tumultu_
    _Cæsarea pulsante manu!_

XXXVI. It is not to be wondered at, that temples and palaces should be
shaken, when cottages remain secure; because in temples and palaces,
riches are kept, therefore in them, there is no being free from
alarms. If we compare the fortune of Amiclas, with the lives of Cæsar
and Pompey, who were all contemporaries; how brilliant were theirs,
how obscure was his; but if you consider them prudently, how much
preferable was that of Amiclas. Those ambitious heroes, whose elevated
splendor, made the world regard them as two suns, were in reality no
more than parahelions, or suns in appearance only, false reflections,
stamped in the inconstancy of flying clouds. How far were they from
happy, each being constantly tormented with the jealousy of the other’s
power.

    _Et jam nemo ferre potest, Cæsar ve priorem_
    _Pompeiusve parem._

XXXVII. They contend for the Empire, hazarding in the competition, life
and liberty. How each is possessed, with the fear of his rival becoming
victorious; what miserable forsaken man, did fortune ever place in such
a strait, that in order to better his condition, he should be obliged
like Cæsar, in the dead of the night, to commit himself to the rage of
a tempestuous sea? Amiclas, at the same time, knows no other cares,
than those of exploring the sea, and spreading his nets to dry in the
sun. Others are agitated and tossed about on the plains, and in the
fields, while he is secure amidst the waves. He catches fish in the
sea, while others on land fish for tempests. At the expence of a little
labour, the water affords him as much as is necessary to support life;
when the great fatigues of Cæsar and Pompey, serve only to precipitate
on them a violent death. The din of so much martial noise, disturbs
not his rest; while each of the two chiefs, finds in his own heart, a
continual alarm to awaken him. He fears nobody, because no one covets
his fortune; but if any body should be so prudent as to covet it, he
may enjoy the same thing, without despoiling Amiclas. Cæsar and Pompey
for the present, mutually fear each other. The vanquished person in
future, fears all the world, and the conqueror has to fear all those
who envy him.

XXXVIII. The heathen poets, feigned poverty to be a divinity, on
account of the mischiefs it preserved people from, and the goods it
produced; but Lucan, calls it the mother of great men; and Horace says,
that to this deity, the Romans owed the virtues of a Curius, and a
Camillus. Aristophanes the Greek, erred much in his description, when
he represented her as a savage fury, always ready to commit acts of
desperation. These extraordinary furies, are much more common among
the rich, than the poor, although it is true, that they rage with the
greatest violence, in such poor people as have been formerly rich;
at least, during the time they are in the noviciate state of their
misfortunes.


SECT. X.

XXXIX. I would not have it be understood, that by the eulogium I have
just ended on poverty, I mean to speak of absolute poverty, but of the
relative; not of the state of beggary, where people are in want of what
is precisely needful; but of that limited moderation, which administers
to nature, no more than what is absolutely necessary, and what her
wants demand; and that, at the expence of bodily labour. In truth,
when I speak of beggars, I am at a loss what to say, or what decision
to make concerning them. On the one hand, I see them suffer great
inconveniences, and on the other, I see many people betake themselves
to that way of life, who could earn their living by their labour, and
who prefer going from door to door, to working in the field, or even
to leading an idle life in an alms-house. Henricus Cornelius Agrippa,
in his Book on the Vanity of the Sciences, says of those who go
about pretending to occult science, that they would not change their
condition, for that of nobility; and I believe he says right.

XL. All those voluntary poor, who are not so in the gospel sense, and
for that reason, not comprehended in the benediction of Christ, are
the pests of the states they inhabit, or where they strole about. They
live well, not only without being of the least advantage, but are
even an injury to the community. Like the ants, they are serviceable
to themselves only, and a nuisance in the place where they make their
nests, and where they run about. For which reason, they are not
tolerated in any republic, that is governed by the maxims of good
policy.

XLI. Disabled or impotent beggars, are legitimate creditors of our
compassion. There is notwithstanding, great difference among those
of this class. Those who are afflicted with habitual disorders, it
cannot be denied, are very miserable, and especially if they do not
sweeten their toil, with a due resignation to the divine will; but if
they do, they will become the most happy, or those, who fall within
our Saviour’s description of the most fortunate. The disabled by the
loss of a limb, or by a defect in the organization of parts of their
bodies, if they have a tolerable share of ingenuity, and have the
art of begging with address, fare admirably; and not a few of them,
have left behind at their deaths decent sums of money. Those who are
ill-favoured, and ugly, find it difficult to subsist, especially,
if nastiness in their persons, is joined to the deformity of their
bodies. The error into which people fall, in the ordinary distribution
of charity in this particular, is great, they being apt to deal out
their bounty with an unequal hand. The beggar, who has a pleasing and
moving way of painting his distress, is relieved by almost every one,
and more especially if he has a good countenance, and looks clean
in his shabby dress. There is scarce any body who does not shun and
loath the ill-favoured and driveling poor: but we ought to remember,
that Christ our Lord, is as much the representative of the one, as of
the other; and as a Redeemer, is rather inclined to favour those of
the most displeasing and despicable aspect: thus Isaias describes him
in his most sacred passion, _Non est species ei, neque decor_: and a
little lower, _Quasi absconditus vultus ejus, & despectus_. And that
christian piety should not despise, or avoid those who are afflicted
with loathsome diseases, the same Prophet compares our Saviour to the
lepers, _Nos putavimus eum quasi leprosum_.

XLII. But without having recourse to so high a motive, natural reason
will instruct us sufficiently, that we should not only distribute
equally, but exceed in our donations, to those who are deformed and of
an unhappy aspect, because these last experience the most sufferings,
and are in the greatest necessity. The others, as I observed before,
will never want any body to assist them with more than they stand in
need of. The first require pity to be exerted in their favour with all
its force, although their ungrateful appearance should strike us with
horror. And I protest for myself, the alms which the narrowness of my
fortune will permit me to bestow, is distributed, much more in favour
of those of a disgusting and a forbidding aspect, than in favour of
those who have a persuasive manner, and a winning outward appearance.

XLIII. But it is proper that I should repeat, that I did not intend
to take into the comparison I have been making, the sort of poor I
have just described; but those only, who procure themselves food,
raiment, and shelter, by the sweat of their brow, proportioned to the
necessities of nature, without advancing to any kind of exceeding. This
is what I call humble fortune, and that which I judge to be at least
equal to the exalted and brilliant, enjoyed by the opulent and great;
and it seems to me, that I have sufficiently proved it so. But I judge
also, that the condition of those who are placed in a middle station
of life, is preferable to either of them. I mean such as possess a
moderate income, and can go through life, without experiencing the
pinchings of the one state, or the troubles incident to the want of
accommodations of the other.


SECT. XI.

XLIV. I have hitherto treated of the happiness of men, by making an
estimate of it, according to their situations or conditions of life;
abstracted from any particular accidents, that may intervene or occur
to individuals of both sorts, both high and low; there being no doubt
but humble fortune, is also exposed to terrible reverses and mortifying
disgusts, although not so frequently as the exalted.

XLV. But if I am asked, whom I repute absolutely happy or unhappy
among mortals? With respect to the happy, I answer with a sentence of
the great Chancellor Bacon, in his book entitled _Interiora Rerum_:
where he says, I judge those to be happy, whose mode of living is
proportioned to their genius or inclination: _Felices dixerim, quorum
indoles naturalis cum vitæ suæ genere congruit_: a decision, worthy
of the superior talents of that incomparable Englishman. I think,
notwithstanding, there should be some limitation added to the sentence,
which is, that the genius or inclination should not be a vicious one,
for in that case the person would be always unhappy. The ambitious
man, for example, although he finds himself in the occupation of high
posts, is ever restless and anxious to rise to others still higher.
The covetous man, even when he is overloaded with riches, labours and
toils to add fresh treasures to his heap. The opulent glutton fills
himself with meat and drink, but he also fills himself with diseases,
which afterwards, turn all he has eaten and drunk to bitterness.

XLVI. With the limitation I have mentioned, I esteem the sentence a
very true one. Temporal conveniences are all relative, and there is as
much variance in the genius of men with respect to the application of
them, as there is in their inclinations with respect to the food they
fancy. What one esteems good, another thinks bad. God only is good, and
savory to all men. This man disdains the lot, which that adores; and
one grasps the thing, which another despises. Cæsar, when he was going
to Spain, in his passage over the Alps, came to a very poor little
village, where one of his companions, in a conversation which turned
on the misery of the inhabitants, asked another sneeringly, if he
thought these Barbarians also, had their questions and disputes, about
who should command and govern. To which Cæsar replied quickly, saying,
“I assure you, I had much rather be the first man in this village,
than the second at Rome.” The learned Fleming Nicholas Clenard, went
over to Africa, with an intention of learning Arabic, and remained
two years in the kingdom of Fez, from whence he wrote often to his
friends; and in his letters assured them, that he never was in a place,
the customs of which suited so well with his genius, for this reason
only, because in that kingdom, they had not such a multitude of laws,
nor were their litigations so prolix, as in Europe; all disputes being
instantly determined by the magistrate in a summary way. This method
suited well with the disposition of Clenard, who abhorred extremely,
the endless windings and turnings of processes in our tribunals. George
Paschio, relates of him in his Book, _de Novis Inventis_, though what
he says is not true, that on this account only, he left his own country
and went to live in Fez. To this it may be replied, that it appears
from the testimony of many authors, his return to Spain was voluntary;
from whence, after teaching languages some time in the University of
Salamanca, he went to the Court of Lisbon, where he was engaged as a
tutor to the Prince of Portugal, brother of King John the Third.

XLVII. This great variety in the genius and dispositions of men, and
not the platonic love of their country, is the true cause why many find
themselves satisfied in miserable and unpleasant regions, and refuse to
leave them for others more happily situated. Ovid having observed, that
some Scythians, who were brought to Rome, never missed an opportunity
of flying back to their own steril bleak country, which was the place
of their nativity, attributes their doing so to an occult affection
for home, (that he himself, with all his explanatory powers, could not
hit upon the explanation of,) which, like a sympathetic faculty, or
magnetic virtue, attracts every man to his own country, and at last
leaves it undefined, with a sort of declaration, that he does not know
what it is:

    _Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine cunctos_
    _Tangit, & immemores non sinit esse sui._
    _Quid melius Roma? Scythico quid frigore pejus?_
    _Huc tamen ex illa barbarus urbe fugit._

XLVIII. It is owing to none of all this, nor was it the effect of a
mysterious magic, which charms and enchants men to be fond of their own
country, which induced the Scythians to leave the soft habitations of
Rome, for the frozen regions of Scythia; for we every day see men, who
to improve their fortunes leave their native homes, sometimes never
to return again; but it does not follow from thence, that they cease
to love their country. The place where I write this abounds in such
examples. The true reason of this political phænomenon is, that the
mode of the Scythians living in their own country, was proportioned and
suited to their natural genius and disposition. The same thing happens
with respect to the Laplanders, a Northern nation, situated between
Norway, Sweden, and Russia, on the coasts of the Frozen Sea. These
Barbarians live in a continual state of war, with an immense number of
bears and wolves, and in a country full of lakes, and almost always
covered with snow. Many of them at various times have been brought
to Germany; but notwithstanding they were well accommodated, and had
a good maintenance assigned them, there never was one, who, when an
opportunity offered, did not fly back to his own country.

XLIX. True temporal felicity, consists, in attaining that state or mode
of life, which the genius or inclination of a man prompts him to wish
or desire. Conveniences with respect to the soul, may be compared to
clothes with respect to the body, it not being possible to bring those,
which in appearance are best made, to suit well with, or to fit every
shape.

L. There are however some of such flexible tempers, that they can
accommodate themselves to every kind of fortune, and be content to
live within the limits of its extension; some dispositions of soft
wax, who at will, can conform themselves in such a manner, that every
thing sits easy on them. Nothing inquiets them, because the softness
of their texture gives way to every impulse. They enlarge and contract
themselves, in proportion to the limits of the walk which is allowed
them. They rise without fatigue, and they descend without violence.
In their own docility, they find the honey, which edulcorates every
sort of acid. They are of so happy a temperament, that provided they
don’t want what is absolutely necessary, they are contented in every
station. The wheel of their mind is concentrical with the wheel of
their fortune, and let this last turn as it will, they with great
facility turn themselves to correspond with it. They bear their fortune
within themselves, let them move whichever way they will. It cannot be
denied, that there are but few people of this sweet disposition; but
it should be also confessed, that such are the truly happy, and that
only the saints themselves can be more so, because they are either
without the circle of the wheel, or placed in the center of it, so that
its turnings can neither raise them to pride, nor precipitate them to
contempt.


SECT. XII.

LI. We have said which are the absolutely happy: but who are the
absolutely unhappy? Those, whose destiny have drawn them into a train
of life, which is contrary to their genius or disposition. The violence
done their inclination is constant, and therefore, their disgust is
constant also. That which would be sweet to others, is bitter to them.
Fortune could certainly, without adding fresh goods, make people more
happy; it might be done at no more cost, than permitting them to change
stations and employments, as from envying each other, when they have
nothing to be envious of, springs the mischief. The bird from his cage,
sees with envy, the stone mount and fly with freedom through the air,
but the ascent is a greater violence to the stone, than the confinement
to the bird. The poor man looks with envy on him he sees idolized on a
throne. The Prince burns with impatience, because he cannot taste the
liberty enjoyed by the poor person.

LII. Some are made unhappy by fortune, and there are others who are so
by nature. Those I say, who in their own proper genius and tempers,
find their greatest enemy; discontented men, who are pleased with
nothing, but are always loathing what they are in present possession
of; who although they should frequently change their fortunes, would
find no other effect from it, than they would from changing their
shirts, which after ten or twelve days wear would be ready to poison
them. These people live in a continual opposition to the movements of
Fortune, notwithstanding which, they are dragged on, and obliged to
obey the impulse of the wheel, being compelled by force and violence;
or like the stars, which are constrained to follow the movements
of the sphere to which they are attached, although they are always
endeavouring at a motion, opposite to that of the orb which agitates
them. These are sickly souls, whose stomachs turn at all sorts of food,
and there are not a few of such men in the world.




THE MOST REFINED POLICY.


SECT. I.

I. The center of all the political doctrine of Machiavel, is placed
in that cursed maxim of his, that in the application of temporal
means, the semblance or appearance of virtue is useful; real virtue,
or virtue itself, is an obstacle. From this point issues forth, in
right lines, the poison, to the whole circumference of that pernicious
system. All the world abominates the name of Machiavel, and almost
all the world are his followers. Although, to speak the truth, the
practice of the world is not taken from the doctrine of Machiavel; but
the doctrine of Machiavel, is rather taken from the practice of the
world. This depraved genius taught, in his writings, that which he had
studied in men. The world was the same before Machiavel, which it is
at present, and they deceive themselves greatly, who think, that the
ages continued to grow worse, as they continued to succeed one another.
The golden age never existed but in the imaginations of the poets; the
happiness they feign to have prevailed in it, was enjoyed by only one
man, and one woman, Adam and Eve; and continued so short a space of
time, that so far from lasting an age, according to many fathers, it
did not endure an entire day.

II. You need only examine history, both sacred and profane, to be
informed, that the policy of the antients was not better than that of
the moderns; and I for my part, am inclined to think it was worse; for
they scarce knew any other road to the temple of Fortune, than that
which was either laid open by violence, or fabricated by deceit. Good
faith and friendship, lasted as long as people found it their interest
to preserve them. Religion and justice, served as footstools to the
idol of convenience. Ovid and Aulus Gellius relate, that when Tarquin
resolved to build the great temple of the capitol to the honour of
Jupiter, he demolished, in order to make room for it, the temples of
many inferior Gods, who were all obliged to give way to Jupiter; but
the God Terminus, or the patron of interest and convenience, refused to
cede or make way for Jupiter himself, so he maintained his ground, and
his statue kept its place in the capitol, jointly with that of Jupiter:

    _Terminus, ut veteres memorant, conventus in urbe_
    _Restitit, & magno cum Jove templa tenet._

III. This fiction discovers to us the following truth, that the object
of men’s pursuits is their own convenience, which they are ever
strenuous and anxious to promote; and this is the deity, who never
cared to cede or give place to Jupiter himself, for from the most
antient times, _ut veteres memorant_, interest has ever disputed the
precedence with religion.

IV. Polybius lived a great while ago, and in his time they had not only
one, but many Machiavels, who taught, that the management of public
affairs was impracticable, without the aid of deceit and treachery:
_Non desunt, qui in tam crebro usu doli mali necessarium eum esse
dicant ad publicarum rerum administrationem_ (Lib. 13. Histor.)
Although you may see in Lucan, the fundamental doctrine of Machiavel
more strongly expressed than it is in the above sentence, by the
abandoned Phocion, in the speech he made to Ptolemy King of Egypt,
to prevail with him, in violation of gratitude, and in breach of his
plighted word, to take away the life of the great Pompey;

                      _Sidera terra_
    _Ut distant, & flamma mari sic utile recto._

V. This is precisely saying, that virtue is always in a state of
warfare with private utility, and that to negotiate convenience, it
is necessary to abandon justice. A little after he adds, that he who
resolves to be merciful and just, should banish himself from courts,
for there, vice only is patronized:

          _Exeat aula_
    _Qui vult esse pius._

VI. This is the creed, not of a few people only, but of the world at
large, and it has been so in all times. What Machiavel, Hobbes, and
other infamous politicians have inserted in their works, is the same
which you hear every day in juntos of people; to wit, that virtue is
neglected, that vice is caressed and exalted; that truth and justice
are banished from courts; and that flattery and lying are the wings,
with which people ascend to high stations. But this I suppose to be
an error, and that it ought to be classed in the catalogue of common
errors, and in my reasoning on this subject, I shall undertake to
demonstrate that it is one, by informing mankind, that contrary to the
opinion of the world, the most refined, and the most safe policy, is
that which is founded in justice and truth.


SECT. II.

VII. I shall begin with confessing, that those who aspire at being
usurpers, can never attain their ends, but by wicked means, because to
the goal of insolence, there is no road through the land of virtue. But
who will say these are subtil politicians? They are the most blind and
mistaken of all, because they pursue a road, that is all over drenched
with blood. Very few have travelled through it, who before they arrived
at the point in view, have not lost their lives in a violent and an
ignominious manner. You hardly see any thing in this whole rout, but
men hanging on gibbets, carcasses extended on scaffolds, limbs torn
off by wild beasts, and the ashes of victims, who have been sacrificed
to the vengeance of the party offended. You may find here or there
one, who, by pursuing this road, has at the end of his career attained
sovereignty. But is the accidental success of one or two lucky people,
a counterbalance to so horrid and bloody a spectacle? Who will be
encouraged to trust himself in a sea, strewed with rocks, and covered
with wrecks and dead bodies, because in the course of many ages, three
or four vessels which have navigated it, have arrived safe at their
desired port? We should add, to the hazard of shipwreck, the toils
and terrors of the navigation; for it is certain, that those who
navigate a sea of danger and horror, before their catastrophe, endure
a tempest within their souls. Those who from private people aspire at
being sovereigns, lead a life of perpetual alarms and anxiety, in order
afterwards to die with ignominy: so that their toil and their danger
remain cemented to their fortune, even after they have accomplished
or succeeded in their undertaking; for all tyrants live in terror,
and rarely or never die in their beds. But how can such as these be
considered even as middling politicians? Policy, in the sense we here
use the word, means the art of negotiating one’s own convenience. But
what convenience can a man find, by travelling through a laborious life
to a violent death? I say, that so far from contemplating such people
as able politicians, we ought to esteem them consummate fools.

VIII. There are however, some among them, who by calling them fools,
you do not say enough of; as they give cause to have themselves
pronounced raving mad men; such, as when they see they are advancing to
a lofty precipice, will attempt to scale the height; people, emulous
of vain exaltations, who that they may shine on high, consent to be
reduced to ashes, and who prefer the shortest life elevated in air,
to a long duration on the humble earth. These take to themselves the
motto of Saavedra, _dum luceam peream_; provided they shine, they are
indifferent about being consumed. Such was the ambitious Agrippina,
who, when the Chaldeans told her her son would obtain the empire, but
that he would take away her life, answered spiritedly, _Occidat dum
imperet_. Provided he reigns, I don’t mind his murdering me. Such
again was Anna Bolen, who, finding herself condemned to death for an
adultress, said proudly, They may do what they will with me, but they
can’t deprive me of having been Queen of England; from whence may
be inferred, that she esteemed it a preferable lot, to have been a
Queen, and die with indignity in the flower of her age, than to enjoy
a long life of honour as a private person. We should look with an eye
of pity on geniuses of this character, not only with respect to their
misfortunes, but to their delusion also; and we should degrade those
from politicians to mad men, who knowing their danger, run headlong
into it.

IX. I will go so far as to acknowledge, that some iniquitous
politicians, have experienced the gale of fortune favourable for
them, even to the day of their deaths. Philip, King of Macedon, and
father of Alexander, was fortunate in almost all his undertakings;
for which he was as much indebted to his craft and deceptions, as to
his arms; and in his conquests, was equally favoured by Mercury and
Mars; and if his injustice to Pausanias, in not caring to punish the
abominable act of turpitude, which Atalus, one of Philip’s captains,
had violently perpetrated on him, had not irritated that generous
youth to such a degree, that he murdered the unjust Prince with his
fists, it might have been said, that none of his wicked deeds had ever
been prejudicial to his fortune. Cornelius Scylla manifested, that
he professed no regard to any religion, by the havock he made among
the Grecian temples, which he accompanied with such piccant terms of
contempt and derision of their deities, as they were well deserving
of; and though he was extremely able in the conduct of war, he was
not less so in political subtilties; which made his enemy Carbon say
of him, that in the person of one man, he found himself engaged with
a lion and a fox, but that he feared the fox more than the lion. His
cruelty exceeded the bounds of barbarity, notwithstanding which, he
was wonderfully successful. He first triumphed over the enemies of the
republic, and afterwards over his personal ones. Nor did his putting
thousands of people to death violently, who while he was dictator were
all executed by his order, excite a sufficient degree of public or
private hatred, to occasion his being treated in the same way; but his
natural death was worse than any violent one; for he died eat up by
lice, in consequence of all his flesh by degrees, being converted to
those vermin.

X. England furnishes us in later times with two wayward, but successful
politicians. The first was Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester[1], the
favourite of Queen Elizabeth, and so great a favourite, as to cause
his entertaining hopes, that she would give him her hand in marriage,
which was the occasion of one of the most wicked acts of his life,
for he murdered his wife to remove the obstacle to his attaining so
high an honour. Fortune always cherished and continued faithful to
him, making him to the day of his death, master of the affections of
that Queen, whom he held in chains, by the sprightliness of his wit,
and his fertile and domestic talents of pleasing, as well as by his
genteel and graceful person; and he had the presumption, when he found
he could not obtain her for his wife, to solicit from her the last
personal favours. The second was Oliver Cromwell, who, under the title
of Protector, was tyrant of England, and principal actor in the death
of Charles the First. An attempt so horrible, from the circumstance of
his own subjects having erected themselves into his Judges, and having
instituted process, and pronounced sentence with all the formalities
which are ordinarily used with respect to common criminals, is such
an example, that the world till then, had never seen the like. The
insult was made greater, by their affecting to elude insulting him,
under the pretence, that they proceeded according to law. The English
nation so far debased themselves by that act, that the person who was
then hangman of London, and who could not be prevailed on, either by
threats or promises to execute the sentence, appeared to be the most
noble spirited man in the kingdom. Cromwell, the author of such an
enormous piece of wickedness, and of many other inferior ones, reigned
afterwards, not only absolute master of Great Britain for the residue
of his life, but, by dint of his incomparable sagacity, came to be the
arbiter of all Europe.

XI. There are these examples, but you will find very few others, of
perverse politicians, who have been always successful. But what shall
we infer from such examples? Shall we esteem those fine politicians who
have pursued the same rout? no, we should rather call them absurd and
insensible ones. It shews great want of judgment, to found hopes and
expectations upon one or two singular events, in preference to what
commonly happens in the ordinary course of things. Because some one has
found a vein of gold by digging the ground, would it not be madness in
me to occupy myself, and spend all my time in opening wells through the
bowels of the earth? for if two or three have found the philosopher’s
stone, (though I much doubt if any one ever did) the number of those
are infinite, who by searching after it, have wasted their substance,
and lost their lives. In these very rare chances, on which imprudent
ambitious people found their expectations, there likewise intervene
other very rare accidents, and that these should all concur to favour
him, is more than any prudent man can expect. Those few successful
people were also assisted with very uncommon natural talents, by dint
of which, if they had directed their steps through the paths of virtue,
they would have gone on smoothly, and would have arrived at happiness
with much greater ease and satisfaction to themselves, than they did
in the vicious course they pursued; and this corresponds with the
observation Titus Livius makes on the elder Cato; _In illo viro tantum
robur corporis, & animi fuit, ut quocumque loco natus esset, fortunam
sibi facturus videretur._


SECT. IV.

XII. But abstracted from the innumerable craigs and stumbling blocks
in the way of ambition, when it advances to its object by the
road of infamy; if its views are very high, the best and most safe
policy is, to pursue the pretension by the way of justice and truth.
Lord Chancellor Bacon, who was as great a politician as he was a
philosopher, divided policy into the high and the low. The exalted or
sound policy, consists in the knowledge of disposing means for the
attainment of ends, without deviating, either from truth, equity,
or honour. The low or mean policy, consists in the art of attaining
ends, by the means of fictions, flattery and sophistries; the first is
proper and natural to men, in whom a generous and an upright heart, is
joined to a clear understanding and a solid judgment. In fact, says
the author we have cited, almost all eminent politicians have been
of this character: _sane ubique reperias homines rerum tractandarum
peritissimos, omnes ferè candorem, ingenuitatem, & veracitatem in
negotiis præsetulisse_. The second sort is composed of men, of bastard
dispositions or understandings: or of such whose understandings are
so faintly enlightened, that they can discern no other road which
will lead them to their desired end, but that of deceit; or their
dispositions are so depraved, that they embrace dishonesty without
reluctance, if they conceive it will be useful to them; or I am rather
inclined to think, that both their dispositions and understandings are
vitiated.

XIII. The representation of both these sorts of politicians, may be
seen as in two mirrors, by viewing the characters of the two Emperors,
Augustus and Tiberius, who were immediate successors to each other.
Augustus was open, candid, generous, steady in his friendships,
faithful to his promises, and free from all deceit. In the whole
course of his life, which was a very long one, there does not appear
the least treachery; why do I say treachery? not even the slightest
fallacy. Tiberius, on the contrary, was deceitful, false, gloomy, and
dissembling. His looks and his breast, were never in concord, and his
words were always opposite to his designs; which of the two was the
best politician? Tacitus decides the question, when he extols the
perspicuity of Augustus, and remarks on the caution of Tiberius; in
the last he recognizes high dissimulation, and in the first supreme
ability, which induced Mucianus, by way of animating Vespasian against
Vitellius to say: _Non adversus Augusti acerrimam mentem, neque
adversus Tiberii cautissimam senectutem insurgimus._

XIV. I should always esteem him the best politician, who, contented
with the little or much which Heaven has bestowed on him, avoids
interfering with, or engaging in the traffic and bustle of the world;
in the same sense, we understand the saying, that the best thing which
can be done with dice, is to forbear playing with them; but we must
except the case of filling a public office, the business of which must
be attended to. The following admirable distich, of I don’t know what
antient, seems addressed to all private people:

    _Mitte superba pati fastidia, spemque caducam_
      _Despice, vive tibi cum moriare tibi._

XV. But I would not have it understood from what I have been saying,
that I approve of those they commonly call good men, who are in all
respects useless members of society, to whom may be applied the
Italian proverb, _Tanto buon che val niente._ They are so good, that
they are good for, or worth nothing. Much less do I approve of those
narrow-minded geniuses, who care for nobody but themselves. It is
meanness of spirit, says the excellent Bacon, for a man to direct all
his attention to his own convenience, and to make that the centre
of all his happiness: _Centrum plane ignobile est actionum hominis
cujusquam commodum proprium._ Man is a sociable animal, not only by
the force of social laws; but the obligation of assisting other men
when it is in our power, is a debt we owe to our own nature, and more
especially to our friend, and our neighbour, but most of all, to our
King and our country. Pliny says, that those who are disposed to acts
of beneficence, and to administer ease and comfort to other men, have
something divine in them: _Deus est mortali juvare mortalem._ Those
whose whole care or attention is confined to themselves only, scarce
deserve the name of human beings.


SECT. V.

XVI. What reason dictates is, that we should neither officiously
engage in, nor obstinately refuse entering into business, provided
we find in ourselves talents, that are apt and proper for it. If a
person can make his fortune in this line, although he does not solicit
employments, he should not refuse accepting them; because the public
is much interested, in having places of trust filled with able and
good-intentioned men. But upon a supposition, that the doctrine we have
laid down on this head, is not suited to men of such moderation, but
rather applicable to those who are somewhat affected with the malady
of ambition, and who are not fond of reading documents of morality,
but had rather study political ones: I say upon this supposition, let
us proceed in following the parallel of the two courses, by which a
man may either make his fortune, or improve that which he is already
possessed of.

XVII. All that a person can reasonably desire, may be attained without
deviating from the path of honour. A man of a clear head, accompanied
with perspicuity and prudence, will always find a way to arrive at
the goal of his pretensions, without inclining the line of rectitude
and honesty, towards the curve of deceit. Fidelity in friendship, and
sincerity in behaviour, are so far from being prejudicial, that they
afford great assistance; because with these endowments, he will gain
the confidence and good-will of such as can lend their hand to raise
him, and of those, who may be useful as instruments in helping him
forward. By being disinterested and a lover of justice, he will acquire
the esteem and affection of many, and the veneration of all men. To be
open-hearted, and to communicate with confidence in all matters, except
such as prudence dictates to you to conceal, or else, such as are
confided to you under the seal of secrecy, by those with whom you have
friendly intercourse, have a most powerful attraction. And although
this behaviour may sometimes occasion disgust, to here and there a
person of a different cast of mind; that disadvantage would be doubly
compensated for, by the good opinion, that person would entertain of
such a one when he is persuaded, that he is a man of sincerity; for the
disgust would pass away, and the good opinion would remain. In fact,
these transparent souls, when discretion is combin’d with the purity of
their dispositions, are those, who ascend to the greatest height with
the least fatigue. The theatre of nature in this particular, is an
emblem of the theatre of fortune. The diaphonous and brilliant bodies,
are those which occupy the most elevated stations in the fabric of the
globe; the gloomy, opake, and obscure ones, the lowest.

XVIII. He who finds himself aided with an apt or ready prudence, an
upright intention, and a firm loyalty, together with the qualities
we have before enumerated, has no need to be always considering and
contriving means to better his affairs. Apelles, who in every other
instance celebrated the famous painter Protogenes, pointed out a defect
in him, which was, that he never knew when to have done finishing a
picture; this shews, says Pliny, that too much diligence many times is
prejudicial: _Documentum memorabile nocere sæpe nimiam diligentiam._
When our politician finds himself on the theatre where his talents
become conspicuous, expedients occur to him without much thought or
study. An officious left-handed competitor may happen to dispute
the palm with him, but it will be at the expence of a great deal of
additional toil and labour. The cunning snake may arrive at the same
eminence, to which the generous eagle aspires to mount, but with how
much fatigue? The character and properties of a low politician, cannot
be better displayed, than under the figure of a snake, the side way
and oblique motion with which he goes on, points out the deceit he
proceeds with; his breast fix’d to the earth, shews his adherence to
self-interest; the various inflexions and foldings of his body, are
descriptive of his crooked soul; and his conceal’d venom, denotes the
evil intention he hides. O serpent! what pains does it cost you to
better your situation, only because thou art a snake; while at the same
time, the eagle with a careless and an easy flight, ascends to the top
of Olympus.


SECT. VI.

XIX. This is not the greatest inequality discernible; the most striking
consists, in the different security consequent to the one and the other
mode of conduct. The left-handed politician, both while he is seeking
his fortune, and even after he has obtained it, is exposed to great
danger. It is impossible, or next to impossible, that the artifices
and mal-practices of a man beset and watched by many rivals, should
not be discovered; and when these are once laid open, as this was the
cement of the whole fabric, its being reduced to ruins will not be
delayed an instant. It is very difficult says father Famianus Estrada,
for him to avoid a sudden fall, who stands on slippery ground, and is
press’d upon by many people: _Difficile est in lubrico stare diu, quem
plures impellunt._ This is the state of a deceitful politician; he
walks through a very slippery path, and is always upon false ground.
The people who labour to pull him down consist, of all those who
either envy his fortune, or abhor his evil deeds; which is as much as
to say, he has for enemies, both the good and the bad. How can a man
so circumstanced, support himself for any length of time? he must be
overthrown, and, as it frequently happens, may in his fall be dashed to
pieces: an energetic description of this is sung by Claudian:

    _--------Jam non ad culmina rerum_
    _Injustos crevisse queror: tolluntur in altum_
    _Ut lapsu graviore ruant._

XX. The upright politician, on the contrary, meets no dangers on his
road, and has nothing to fear at his journey’s end. He is the more
safe, the more the grounds of his conduct are displayed. He has fewer
enemies than the other, because they can consist of none but bad
people. In case he is overthrown, his fall will not be precipitate
and violent, but soft and easy. His innocence will at least preserve
his life; and the worst that can befal him, is being reduced to his
former state; but it most commonly happens, that evil-intentioned
people do not succeed in their attacks upon him, and that the shafts of
their malice recoil and wound themselves, which oftentimes, affords
honour and triumph to the party accused. The history of a politician
of integrity, although an infidel by his religion, occurs to me at
present, which is very applicable to the subject we are treating of.
The relation is taken from Tavernier’s Voyages, and it being new and
pleasant, I shall give a brief recital of it.

XXI. Mahomed Alibeg, high steward to the King of Persia, was, from
being a poor shepherd, raised to that elevated post, in the beginning
of the last century. The King, one day when he was hunting, met with
him in the mountains, where he was playing on his flute, and attending
his flocks. For his amusement, he asked him some questions, and, taken
with the vivacity and acuteness of the lad’s answers, he carried him
with him to his palace; where having him instructed, the rectitude
of his heart, and the clearness of his understanding, soon gained
the affection and confidence of the King, who advanc’d him rapidly
from charge to charge, till he at last placed him in the office of
high steward. His inflexible integrity, and his aversion to bribes,
a thing very rare among the Mahometans, raised him powerful enemies;
but finding him so thoroughly possessed of the confidence of his
master, they could not venture to act in a hostile way against him
during the King’s life. After his death, when his successor who was
a young man mounted the throne, they suggested to him, that Mahomet
had subtracted vast sums from the Royal Treasury. The Prince ordered
him to make up his accounts in fifteen days, to which Mahomet replied
with intrepidity, that so much delay was not necessary, and that if his
Majesty would be pleased to go with him immediately to the Treasury
Office, he would there deliver them to him. The King went, followed
by all the accusers, but he found every thing in such fine order, and
the books of accounts so exactly and accurately stated, with which
all other circumstances corresponded, that nobody had a word to say.
From thence the King proceeded to Mahomet’s house, where he could not
help admiring the moderation of the furniture, and the poverty of the
decorations. One of the enemies of the favourite observing the door of
a room shut, and secured with three strong chains, hinted it to the
King, who asked Mahomet what he had got shut up in that room. Sir,
answered Mahomet, here I keep my own things, all you have hitherto
seen belongs to your Majesty; and having said this he opened the door.
The King entered the room, and after looking all round, saw nothing
but the following particulars hanging on nails drove into the wall. A
leathern doublet, a wallet, a shepherd’s crook, and a flute. The King
was viewing them with astonishment, when Mahomet throwing himself at
his feet, said, Sir, this is the habit, and these are the goods which
I was possessed of, when the King your father brought me to court.
These were what belonged to me then, and these are what I have now, and
these only I claim as my own; and as they are so, I supplicate with
the greatest submission, that your Majesty will permit me to enjoy
them, by returning to the mountains from whence my fortune brought
me forth. Here the King, unable to refrain from tears, embraced the
generous favourite; and not content with this mark of his approbation,
immediately stript off his royal robes, and ordered Mahomet to wear
them, which in Persia, is esteemed the highest honour a King can confer
on a subject. The result of all this, was, that Mahomet during his
whole life after, preserved the firm confidence and love of his Prince.
What pity it is, that this disinterestedness, this nobleness of mind,
this rectitude, this moderation, should be all lodged in an infidel!


SECT. VII.

XXII. The obstacle in the way of an honest politician, is the
difficulty of treating with men in power upon the principles of
truth and candour. Flattery is a door, that opens very wide for the
introduction to favour, but as it is very low also, no man of a
generous mind can enter in at it. I have heard all the world declare
they abhorred flatterers, but I never saw any one who did not cherish
them. This proceeds, from every man rating his own talents at more
than their true value, and because the true language of a flatterer
corresponds with the good opinion the person flattered entertains
of himself, who does not look upon him who pays the adulation as a
flatterer, but as a man of abilities, and one who forms right judgments
of things: but allowing him to be so prudent, as even to undervalue,
instead of over-rating his own talents, he might still lie open to
the practices of a flatterer; as for instance, the flatter’d person,
might be induced to attribute the excessive high opinion the flatterer
professed to entertain of him, to the excess of his love and esteem
for him, and all that is represented through the microscope of love,
is greatly magnified in the imagination; and in this case, although he
does not credit the applause, he esteems the affection. By these means,
flattery becomes a universal net, which catches and entangles fish of
every kind.

XXIII. This method then, if managed with art, for there are some
flatterers, who are fulsome and surfeiting, is sufficiently effectual
and secure to practise with, but is at the same time most vile and
pernicious, and therefore should never be made use of, nor should the
truth ever be deviated from. But truth is disgusting! no matter,
prudence will find seasonings to make it palatable; and although it
be true, that by using these means, an honest man will be longer in
ingratiating himself into the good opinion of a great person, than a
sordid flatterer, still, he will in the end obtain a more solid and
lasting estimation with him. The first thing to be observed by him,
is never to give his opinion with asperity, nor ever to give it at
all but at proper opportunities. The rigidity of undeceiving people
with respect to their errors, should be softened by the gentleness of
respect; and if reverence and sweetness of manner, are used as vehicles
to convey the proposition, they will cause it to be well received. It
would be better still, to refrain intirely from doing what we have
just mentioned, if you could with propriety be excused from speaking
your sentiments. These qualities were celebrated by King Theodoricus,
in a favourite of his: _Sub genii nostri luce intrepidus quidem;
sed reverenter adstabat, opportune tacitus, necessarie copiosus._
(_Casiodor. lib. 5. Epist. 3._) In cases that admit of waiting for
favourable opportunities, be watchful and attentive to make use of
them, when the mind of the great man is happily tempered, and when he
is well disposed to be undeceived, and to receive information; the
choice of these must be confided to discretion, which best understands
these matters, and is the best guide in such cases:

    _Sola viri molles aditus, & tempora noras._

XXIV. In the second place, you should never, in opposition to the
opinion of a great man, be stiff or positive in maintaining your
own sentiments, because this is difficult to be done without giving
offence. The philosopher Favorinus answered wisely to some, who blamed
him for giving way in a dispute he had with the Emperor Adrian, by
saying to them, it was proper and necessary to give way to a man who
commanded thirty legions.

XXV. Thirdly, you may sweeten the bitter of truth, with a species of
engaging and modest condescension; which consists more in actions,
than in words, I mean that it is contained in being obsequious, and
expressing by your gestures, a disposition and desire to please; and
these will have a notable effect in promoting attention to your advice,
because they will create an opinion, that the instruction is the
offspring of generous sincerity, and not of positive pride. I would
not however have it understood, that the submission should be abject,
or savour of meanness of spirit; but I had almost said, that with
respect to superiors, submission is generally defended from the hazard
of such an imputation. Dionysius, tyrant of Syracuse, having refused
to grant a request which was made to him by Aristippus of Cyrene, he
prostrated himself at his feet, and obtained what he asked. Some people
reprehended the action, as beneath the dignity of a philosopher; to
which Aristippus answered, “He that would be heard by Dionysius, must
apply his mouth to his feet, for there his ears are placed.” The saying
was pleasant, and I won’t determine whether or not the submission was
excessive.

XXVI. I repeat my assurance, that by using these precautions, the open
honest politician, will obtain a much higher degree of estimation
in the mind of a great man, than the sly contemplative one. When he
arrives at convincing the person who was before persuaded he was able,
that he is candid also, he stands on sure ground. In consequence of
his integrity, he may at times experience a few slights, but he will
still continue to possess the confidence he has gained; as it happened
to the Duke of Alva, with Philip the Second, when he sent the Duke to
conquer Portugal. The king, before he set out, shewed him the slight
of refusing to let him wait on him to take his leave, and at the same
time confided to his management, an enterprize of such importance. On
the contrary, the flatterer, although he in his ordinary conversation
and deportment, is always pleasant and entertaining, still you will
perceive, if his superior is a wary man, that such sort of talents
do not introduce him deep into his esteem. Many people make use of
flatterers, as men who are feverish use water; which although it may
seem obnoxious to them, they gargle their throats with, but do not
swallow it. Generally speaking, and to me the conclusion is infallible,
that with an equal share of talents, the good, candid, faithful,
grateful man, who is a lover of justice and equity, will make a
greater fortune, and with more certainty, than he who is void of those
qualities, or possessed of opposite ones.


SECT. VIII.

XXIX. But here I find myself pressed with an objection, which is
pretended to be derived from common experience, to wit, that nothing
is seen in the world but perverse people exalted, and virtuous ones
cast down; that flattery and deceit ride triumphant; and that truth
and candour lie groaning and oppressed. I answer first, that all this
seems more like the voice of envy, than just observation founded on
experience. I confess, that you hear these complaints at every turn;
but who articulates them? not those who occupy places, for they
would hardly speak against themselves; neither do virtuous neglected
people utter them; for they are not apt to go about complaining,
and troubling the world with their disappointments, neither do they
snarl at, or envy the honours conferred on men in power, nor do they
compliment themselves with being the only people who possess any degree
of merit. Who are those then, that find themselves so neglected? none
but the bad and incapable; such who from want of ability, and by
their bad behaviour, have made themselves unworthy of all attention;
these are the men, who accuse Fortune of partiality; and the angry
and discontented people being very numerous, they make such a noise
with their complaints, that the cries vociferated from their vitiated
breasts, seem like the clamours of all the world. You may add to this,
that as no man who arrives at obtaining power, can serve every one he
sees in an inferior station, but only a few of them, all such then
as do not partake of his beneficence, think he has made an unjust
distribution of his favours; like the Cafres, they only worship God
when he sends them fair weather, and are very angry with him when
they have foul. The very people obliged, are apt to complain, because
the favours bestowed on them, fall short of what they expected, or
what they thought themselves entitled to. I can assert from my own
experience, that having had intercourse with some of those persons
who had been the artisans of their own fortune, I found them beyond
comparison better men, than common fame had represented them to be.

XXVIII. Secondly, even though it should appear true, that the fortunate
virtuous men are but few in number, I answer, nothing can be inferred
from thence to contradict what we have asserted. If those are few
who have made their fortunes by pursuing the paths of virtue, it is,
because few have attempted it in that way. How can many arrive at a
goal, which but few have set out on their rout to? It is certain, that
men of sanctity of manners, or those who are truly virtuous, are never
solicitous about ascending to high stations. They are like the stars,
none of which attempt rising to a sphere superior to that in which God
has placed them. Those who are not blessed with such solid virtue, but
are endowed with the talents we have mentioned before, are the men we
are about to treat of; and I say, that in all countries, such men are
but few in number, though I will venture to assure those few, if they
will apply themselves, that they will succeed and do their business.
Shew me a single man of distinguished natural parts, and of a clear
understanding, who is well intentioned, and has a firm and constant
heart; who is courteous, faithful, and just; that has not better’d his
fortune, if he has diligently endeavoured at it. Many of these, I mean,
many in proportion to the number of them, are sought by fortune, even
when they themselves seem to slight her; and although I may be possibly
shewn some such, who have been reduced; still, for every one of this
sort that can be instanced, I will venture to point out a hundred
crooked left-handed politicians, who have been brought to poverty and
misery, by their frauds, little tricks, and mean cunning.

XXIX. But I have not mentioned all, for I am firmly persuaded, that
you will rarely meet with a man, to whom virtue has not been of use,
even in point of temporal convenience; because, if the system of
government, and the men in power are favourable to him, he is raised;
if indifferent, he is respected; if adverse, he is at least not hated;
even when the state is inflam’d by factions, the opposite party, if in
power, although they do not confide employments to him, consider him
as an exception to their resentment. There never was seen in the world
a furor, equal to that of the Sicilians, when in their famous vespers,
they cut the throats of the French; nor was there ever any nation so
irritated against another; for their barbarity, carried them to rip
open the bellies of all the Sicilian women they suspected were with
child by Frenchmen. In this horrible massacre, they did not spare one
of that nation who fell into their hands, except William de Porceleto,
governor of the district of Calatafima, who was protected from the
general rage, by the fame of his goodness. So certain is it, that the
temple of virtue is the only asylum of public safety.

XXX. The noise and clamour that men of great abilities are neglected,
and lie hid in corners, is a mere fable; and if they do not voluntarily
hide themselves, totally void of truth, or if this is not the case,
they are neglected, because to their great talents, there are annexed
great defects. I have gone about and seen the world, but to this day,
have not observed a man of distinguished abilities, (who was not
blemished with glaring defects,) slighted and disregarded; however, as
we ought in every instance to speak the truth, the esteem for him, has
not always been in proportion to his degree of merit. Some maintain an
opposite sentiment to that we have been advancing, but if you attend
to them, they do not so much complain of other peoples’ slights and
disappointments as of their own. With their tongues, they lament that
men of talents are despised; in reality, they only grieve that those
are despised who are void of them, which are themselves; and under
the pretence of zeal for the public good, they vent their own private
spleen. It is the vulgar artifice of people of extreme incapacity to
censure the partial distribution of favours, and it has been remarked,
that if one of these censurers ever ascended to what he aspired at, he
immediately approved of all those measures of government, which he had
before clamoured against; from whence it may be inferred, that all the
merit he before lamented to have been trodden under foot, he considered
as centered and collected together in his own person. I have seen some
unworthy men exalted, but do not remember an instance of a great man
without spot ever having been despised or contemned.


SECT. IX.

XXXI. It is now time for us to treat of the inconvenience of low
policy. The celebrated Bacon, calls it the asylum of those, who
for want of talents, are incapable of pursuing the sublime path of
heroic policy: _Quid si quis ad hunc judicii, & discretionis gradum
ascendere non valeat, ei relinquitur tanquam tatissimum, ut sit rectus
& dissimulator_ (_de Inter. rer. cap. 6._). This maxim, coincides with
that which Plutarch cites of the General Lysander. The Lacedæmonians
remonstrated with him, that on account of his little faith and truth,
he degenerated from Hercules whom they boasted being the descendants
of. To which he answered wittily, alluding to the habit Hercules used
to wear, that for want of the skin of a lion, he was obliged to make
use of the skin of a fox.

XXXII. There are different degrees of low policy, some of which, are
worse than others. The first, is that of dissimulation and craft. The
second, is that of false appearances and lying. The third, is that of
wickedness and insolence. The first, if it does not come in contact
with the line of the second, is in the moral indifferent; but it is
very difficult to pursue a course of craft and reserve, without being
under the occasional necessity of telling many lies; because if a man
is pressed with questions, silence, by being unfavourably interpreted
with respect to the person questioned, is equivalent to, or makes as
much against him, as a positive answer; and the gift of being ready in
these streights with an ingenious come off, is bestowed on very few
people.

XXXIII. An habitual dissimulation proceeds, partly from a defect in
the understanding, and partly from the natural talents being vitiated.
Those who cannot distinguish when it is proper to observe silence, nor
when it is requisite, and when hazardous, to be open and explicit;
upon a short reflection, either decide upon keeping silence totally;
or else on all occasions, never to venture more than a very diminutive
explanation; like blind people, who even when they are walking on
plain ground, for fear of slipping, proceed with great caution.
This in some, is more the effect of pusillanimity than the want of
reflection, although they always mix one with the other; but be that
as it will, they lead but a weary and unpleasant life; for wearing a
padlock continually on the lips, is the same thing, as living with a
heart which is ever imprisoned. Such people, are ever in dread that
the secrets of their breasts should be laid open, or else, that some
words which they have made use of, have already discovered them. They
are destitute of the comfort of unbosoming to a friend, because all
pusillanimous people are distrustful and suspicious; they scarce think
any man sincere in friendship, or safe to put confidence in; they also
make themselves unpleasant and disgusting companions, because they
make a mystery of every thing; and the reciprocal communication of
souls, being the sweetest correspondence among men, they are unhappy,
because they cannot taste of this bliss; and they are disagreeable,
because as far as it depends on them, they deprive other people of that
happiness. We may add to this; that no prudent person confides in him
who has confidence in no one; because such a man, is ever suspected of
judging other people by himself. It also happens, that in consequence
of his not communicating his designs to any one, those afford him no
assistance, who might either be disposed, or have it in their power
to serve him, for want of being acquainted with what he aims at. This
was the case of Pompey, who although a daring warrior, was a timid
politician. His intention was the same as Cæsar’s, that is, to rule the
republic with an absolute sway. Cæsar succeeded in his scheme, because
he attempted the thing openly. Pompey, by hiding his designs from his
most affectionate friends, who were numerous; and by using occult
artifices, and endeavouring to disturb the republic, in order that it
might fall spontaneously into his hands, missed his aim; because his
friends, being ignorant of what he intended, knew not how to apply
their influence in assisting him. Tacitus comparing him with Marius and
Sylla, says, _Occultior non melior._ For all these reasons, it appears
very difficult, for men who are exceedingly deceitful to better their
fortunes. At least, they will hardly ever owe their doing it to their
genius.


SECT. X.

XXXV. The dealers in false pretences, and the men of cunning, compose
the vulgar of a court, and are the most numerous part of population in
the political world; but they who act upon these principles, follow a
very dangerous tract, although it is the most beaten. Their deceptions
are so manifold, that notwithstanding art and fortune should conspire
to hide them, it is next to impossible that some will not appear. A
fabric built on false ground, without the wind overturning it, will
fall of itself. When a lying genius is once found out, the least
inconvenience consequent on the discovery is, his never being believed
any more. Tiberius, on account of his having been so often detected
in falsehoods, was not credited, even when he spoke the truth: _Vero
quoque, & honesto fidem demissit_, says Tacitus.

XXXV. Not only lies detected are unfortunate, but they are likewise
sometimes so, on account of their being thought true; for in this
case, they produce an effect, quite opposite to the purpose they were
intended to answer. Nero wanted to murder his mother Agrippina in such
a manner, that her death should appear accidental, and not design’d.
For this purpose, he caused a ship in which Agrippina was to embark,
to be constructed so artfully, that the part where his mother was
to be lodged, could be easily separated from the other, and let the
unfortunate Princess drop into the Sea. The purpose was not answered,
because the part did not separate as was intended, but only open’d, so
as to cause great dread of shipwreck in those of the party. Aceronia,
a lady who attended Agrippina, when the alarm happened, ran out and
called aloud for assistance, saying, she was Agrippina, the mother of
the Emperor. The darkness of the night favoured the deceit, and those
who knew Nero’s intention, believing she was Agrippina, came quickly
to her; not with a design to assist, but to demolish the unfortunate
Aceronia, which they did, upon a supposition that they were doing an
agreeable piece of service to Nero.

XXXVI. Lying, is proper and natural to base and ambitious people, who
by mixing flattery with their lies, become vile and contemptible to
the last degree; and their doing this, makes them the slaves of all
mankind. They submit to every one, and humble themselves to every one,
and treat all the world as their masters; some because they should do
them service, and others because they should not injure them; like
the savages of Virginia, who not only worship the stars because they
give them light, and promote fertility, but they worship all they fear
likewise; not only the devil whom they most dread, but also fire,
clouds, horses, and great guns are venerated as deities by them. They
have work enough upon their hands who serve so many masters, for over
and above the labour which liars find in obeying such a number of
directors, they are alarm’d and fatigu’d with the risques they run, for
their practices of deceiving being once discover’d, all mankind abhor
them.


SECT. XI.

XXXVII. We come now to the quintessence of the venom of ambition, to
those pests of society, abandoned politicians; to those concealed
Atheists, those devils in disguise, who without the least scruple to
attain their base purposes, practise the most deformed vices; who to
lay their hands on benefits, set their feet on, and trample upon the
laws; who with the fine accomplishments, of perjury, ingratitude,
and treachery, are galanting fortune night and day. These, of all
politicians are the most blind, because the road by which they think to
arrive at happiness and honour, leads them directly to misfortune and
disgrace. Who, by such sort of means, was ever made happy? Machiavel
himself, the grand master of this infernal policy, passed the last
years of his life in extreme misery; and he would long before his
dissolution happened have died on a gibbet, if he had not denied in
the torture, his participation in the conspiracy against the family
of the Medicis. If one or two, have happened to raise themselves by
the dint of wicked practices, their elevation may be compared to that
of Simon Magus, who was lifted up, that his legs might be crushed to
pieces with his fall. Sejanus, in consequence of a similarity in their
habits and dispositions, gained such a degree of favour with Tiberius,
and came to have such an ascendant over him, that he directed and
control’d him with an absolute sway. And what did all these smiles of
fortune end in? Nothing more, than that no culprit was ever put to
death with greater ignominy. Petronius Arbiter, by flattering the
lascivious disposition of Nero, arrived at being superintendant of
his turpitudes, or regulator of his brutalities; so that in all which
related to criminal pleasures, the Prince obeyed his subject; nor would
he taste of any thing, but what Petronius prescribed; notwithstanding
which, the criterion arrived, when Nero condemned him to death; which
Petronius anticipated, by opening his veins. It is very remarkable that
out of all the people Nero most hated, Seneca was the last who died
by his order. The arm of the Prince, was restrained by the virtue of
the philosopher, notwithstanding that same virtue made the Prince’s
life unpleasant, and was an irksome monitor to him; and after all,
the philosopher did not die without a crime, for he was privy to the
conspiracy of Pison. If virtue enjoys these immunities under bad
Princes, what may it not expect from good ones?

XXXVIII. It would be strange delirium in him who is making war against
heaven, to expect, the stars should be favourable to his designs. A
Frenchman, reminding an Englishman of the time, when in the reign of
Henry the Sixth, the English were almost absolute masters of France,
said sneeringly to him, “When do you think you shall return again to be
Lords of our kingdom?” to which the Englishman made him this admirable
reply, _When your iniquities shall be greater than ours_. Little
different from this was the saying of Agislaus; who (when Tisaphernes
finding himself superior in force, in violation of the peace he had
sworn to observe, began hostilities,) spoke thus: _I am very happy at
this event, because Tisaphernes by his perfidy, has engaged the Gods
on my side._ The issue was, that Agislaus came off triumphant, and
Tisaphernes lost the battle and his life.

XXXIX. But to illustrate how much God takes part with the enemies of
him, who hopes to succeed in his undertakings, by violating the oaths
sworn by his holy name, there is not a more memorable instance in
history, than may be seen in the case of Ladislaus the fourth, king of
Hungary. This Prince, after gaining some victories, agreed upon a truce
with Amurat the Second; but in a short time afterwards, instigated by
the indiscreet zeal of the Pontifical legate, he began the war afresh:
Worldly policy taught him, that the opportunity was favourable, as the
Turks had not recovered from the consternation of their late defeats.
Ladislaus had excellent troops, and for his General, John Huniades, who
was esteemed the most skillful warrior the world knew in that age. They
came to a battle, which in the beginning, was much in favour of the
Hungarians. Amurat, when he saw his troops ready to betake themselves
to flight, drew out from his bosom the instrument containing the
truce, which Ladislaus had sworn to observe; and lifting his eyes
to heaven, in a loud voice, addressed our Saviour, in words to this
effect: _Jesus Christ, if thou art the true God, as the Christians
believe you to be, chastise the affront offered to you by these people,
in breaking a truce, which they have sworn by thy holy name to keep
sacred_; and wonderful to relate, at this instant the gale of fortune
veer’d about, the Mahometans defeated the Christians with a bloody
slaughter, and to compleat the whole, Ladislaus himself was among the
slain:

    _Discite justitiam moniti, & non temnere Divos._


SECT. XI.

XL. One of the most common effects of infamous policy, is, the author’s
own maxims being often turned upon, and brought to militate against
himself. Jeroboam, when the kingdom of Israel was divided, having made
himself master of the ten tribes, spun, as it appeared to him, a most
exquisite fine thread of policy; for observing, that from a religious
motive, the hearts of his subjects were attached to the Temple of
Jerusalem; and that, if he could not separate them from the Jews in
point of worship, he was not secure in the possession of his portion of
the empire; he raised two idols, and insisted the ten tribes should
worship them, forsaking the true God, who was worshiped in the Temple
of Jerusalem; but this keen piece of policy, as we read in the Book
of Kings, was the very cause, which deprived his posterity of the
succession to the crown; his son Nadab in consequence of it, having
lost the kingdom and his life by the hands of the rebellious General
Baassa. In the death which the Jews inflicted on our Saviour, they
pretended, that political precaution made it necessary they should
deprive him of life, for otherwise, the Romans would demolish them for
having acknowledged any other King but Cæsar; but for their having
carried this cursed maxim into execution, heaven ordained as their
punishment, that these very Romans, should afterwards be the people to
destroy them.

XLI. Thus Providence disposes, that the very same means which
Machiavilian politicians apply for their exaltation, or their security,
become the instruments of their destruction. Haman, is hang’d on the
same gallows, which he prepared for Mordecai. Perillus, is burnt in the
same brazen ox, which he fabricated to indulge the cruelty of Phalaris.
Callipus, tyrant of Sicily, has his throat cut by the same knife, with
which he took away the life of the generous Dion. Isaac Aaron, a Greek
by nation, whose eyes were put out by order of the Emperor Emanuel
Comenus, as a punishment for his evil deeds, afterwards advised the
usurper Andronicus, not only to put out the eyes of his enemies, but
to cut their tongues out also; because, that after being deprived of
their sight, they could do mischief with their tongues. The Emperor
Isaac Angelo, succeeded Andronicus, and ordered, that the tongue of
the infamous counsellor who had before lost his eyes, should be cut
out likewise. Perrin, Captain General of Geneva, the great persecutor
of the Catholics, when in the year 1535, that republic changed their
religion, caused the stone of the great altar in the Cathedral to
be transported to the place of execution, that it might serve as a
scaffold to dispatch delinquents on; and father Maimburgus, in his
History of Calvinism, tells us, that the blood of Perrin, who was
beheaded for his crimes, was the first which stained the stone. Thomas
Cromwell, whom Henry the Eighth, when he erected himself into head of
the English church, constituted his supreme vicar in all ecclesiastical
matters, was a man extremely false, cruel, and avaricious. To furnish
pretences for persecuting the ecclesiastics, that he might enrich
himself with their spoils, he prevailed on Henry to make that most
iniquitous law, that sentences of death, and confiscations, pronounced
on people for high treason, should be good and valid, although they
had not been heard in their defence; but Cromwell himself, was the
first man this law was put in practice against; Henry having caused
him to be beheaded, without his being heard or permitted to make any
defence:

    _--------Nec lex est æquior illa,_
    _Ut necis artifices arte perirent sua._

XLII. Finally, and to sum up the whole, if we search history, we shall
hardly find one among a thousand of those politicians, who have sought
to exalt themselves by means of wicked arts and practices, that have
not come to an unhappy end. Thus it has ever been till this time, and
so it will ever continue to be from henceforward. What blindness then
is it, to persevere in following a path, by pursuing which, you can
only by a miracle of chance avoid a precipice? What can this be but
delirium, the infallible symptom of the fever of ambition? which is
a flame that cannot burn with violence in any man, without his being
affected with a phrensy of the brain.


SECT. XIII.

XLIII. All we have said of policy, as it relates to private people,
may be applied to princes, or superiors, who govern every kind of
state; and with respect to these also, the division of policy into
the high and the low, is apt and proper, as the first is secure, and
the second hazardous in them, in the same proportion, which it is with
respect to subjects or private men. Any ruler whatever, who is endued
with the three virtues, of prudence, justice, and fortitude, will be a
singular good politician, without ever having read any of those books,
which treat of reasons of state. The true arts of governing, are, to
chuse such ministers as are wise and upright, to reward merit, and
to punish crimes; to watch over, and attend to the interest of the
public, and to be faithful in promises. By these means, the respect,
the love, and the obedience of subjects, will be much more effectually
secured, than by all that compound farrago of political subtilties,
called reasons of state; a mystery, deposited in the minds of privy
counsellors, which, as if it was a most sacred thing, they never suffer
to be totally displayed; nor ever to go forth to the public, unless
covered with a thick veil; and is for the most part, no more than a
ridiculous phantom, or vain idol, which under the title of a Deity,
they exhibit for the adoration of the ignorant vulgar. Reason of state,
is the universal agitator, or primum mobile of a kingdom, and is the
reason for every thing, without being the reason of any thing. If it
is asked, why was such a thing done, the answer is, for reasons of
state; very well, but why was such another thing omitted to be done,
why for reasons of state also. Would it not be better to say, it was
done because justice required it, or because religion, clemency, or
some moral virtue dictated the doing it? The reason of the directions
of a minister to his inferiors, in all matters, is, that they are the
King’s commands. The reason why a Prince orders any thing to be done,
should be this, and this only, because the commandments and laws of
God, require it; for a Prince in a more rigorous sense, is the minister
of God, than his subalterns are ministers to him.

XLIV. If we are to understand, that reason of state means political
prudence, why not call it by that name? because the phrase political
prudence, implies or signifies a moral virtue, but the term, reason
of state, we don’t know the meaning of. This expression, _ragioni
di stato_, took its rise in Italy, but it does not seem as if they
entertained a high veneration for it there, since we are told, that the
holy Pontif Pius, could not bear to hear it mentioned; and was used to
say, that reasons of state were the inventions of perverse men, and the
very reverse of religion and the moral virtues. It was observable, that
Pope Pius, in no case stood in need of these political subtilties; for
without their aid, he was not only a great saint, but a distinguish’d
and exemplary ruler.

XLV. It was a remark of the celebrated Bacon, that the most desirable
governments which the church has in all times experienced, were under
those Popes, who having passed the greatest part of their lives in
monasteries, were reputed ignorant of political business; and that
these made excellent Princes, and recommended themselves much more
to the good opinion of posterity, by their wise regulations, than
those, who had been bred in the schools, and had exercised themselves
all their lives, in the management of public affairs; instancing as
examples of the truth of this assertion, Pius V. and Sextus V. who both
reign’d in the same age: _Imò convertamus oculos ad regimen pontificium
ac nominatim Pij V. vel Sixti V. nostro sæculo, qui sub initiis habiti
sunt pro fraterculis rerum imperitis, inveniemusque acta paparum ejus
generis magis esse solere memorabilia, quam eorum, qui in negotiis
civilibus, & principum aulis enutriti ad papatum ascenderint_ (_Lib._
I. _de Augment. Scient._) This testimony to the truth, is given by a
Calvinist Heretic, although abstracted from his religion, he was in
every sense a great, and most enlightened man, and one, who was not
more remarkable for his incomparable talents, than for his candour and
ingenuity.

XLVI. The reason he gives why the Popes, who before their elevation
to the throne, had lived in holy retirement, excelled in the mode and
goodness of their government, those, who before their rise, had always
been exercised in public business, entitles him to the appellations we
have just bestowed on him. He says, the want of civil instruction in
those Pontiffs, was more than compensated for by their virtues; because
Princes, who follow steadily, the plain and safe road of religion,
justice, and the other moral virtues, readily and expertly, without
the aid of studied policy, put in train, and dispatch all sorts of
business that may occur to them. They are sound and robust souls, who
have no more occasion for civil arts, than men who are healthy, and
blessed with good constitutions have for physic. _In eo tamen abundè
fit compensatio, quod per tutum, planumque iter religionis, justitiæ,
honestatis, virtutumque moralium, prompte, atque expedite incedant,
quam viam, qui constanter tenuerint, illis alteris remediis non magis
indigebunt, quam corpus sanum medicina._

XLVI. I almost blush, that a Heretic should talk in this strain, when
among the Catholics, we find so many politicians who abound in very
different maxims. But the case is, that the subtilties and artifices
which compose what is commonly called worldly policy, are a sort
of remedies, which sickly souls only, stand in need of. A vicious
government, which he who has the management of turns and winds to
answer his private purposes, cannot exist without the help of such
medicaments, which may with as much propriety be called drugs, as those
that are sold in an apothecary’s shop. But a sound understanding,
endued and justly tempered with the four elemental qualities, of
prudence, justice, fortitude, and sobriety, with only the assistance
of these virtues, will, without the succour of other arts, and without
embarrassment, surmount all the difficulties that can occur in
government.

XLVII. And since Bacon has mentioned him, let us take a cursory view
of the reign of Sextus the Vth. This spirit, so truly incomparable,
that it seems as if God had formed him for the purpose of governing
the whole world; in whom, the magnanimity of Cæsar, the prudence of
Augustus, and the justice of Trajan were joined, and who, in these
virtues, even excelled them; in a few months after his mounting the
throne, had gained the respect of all the Princes of Europe, and had
put the whole ecclesiastical state in better order, and under better
regulation, than it had been known to be blessed with or enjoy, for
many antecedent ages. Thefts, cheating, murders, subornations, and
licentious insolence, were so effectually rooted out and banished from
that great city, that it never till then, could with so much propriety
be called Holy Rome. All dread of extortion and injustice was lost,
and nobody feared, only God and the Pope; and as Gregory Leti tells
us, in his History of Sextus, women, and other defenceless persons,
could walk the streets at all hours of the night, as safely, as they
could walk in the cloisters of a Capuchin Convent. In the five years
which he reigned, he embellished Rome with many noble edifices, and
left the treasury some millions richer than he found it. I ask now, by
what political arts, and what ingenious devices, he performed all these
wonders? He knew no arts, save those of an indefatigable vigilance
and attention to the concerns of government; a fervent zeal for the
public good, and an unalterable rectitude and justice. I cannot tell,
whether what has been so much rumoured about Sextus having put on
false appearances before his advancement to the throne, be true, but
I believe it is not; and it is certain, that after he found himself
seated in the Papal chair, he was a man void of all dissimulation;
always generous, open, free and sincere, and one, who that his designs
should not appear occult, frankly exposed and laid them open; and
unless the virtue of prudence dictated caution, or the character of the
prelate demanded reserve, he concealed the purposes of his heart from
no man. This frankness, was natural to his genius, and he was the same
in that respect while he was a religious; and therefore, I cannot give
credit, to what is said of his practising duplicity while a Cardinal,
in order to obtain the Popedom. It is more probable, that they mistook
what was the real effect of his virtue, for dissimulation. They also
charge him with doing violence to his nature, by bearing all sorts of
injuries patiently, that he might acquire the character of a meek and
gentle man; but why should not all this be imputed, to his desire, in
obedience to the gospel precept, of imitating our Saviour? The severity
he observed when he was Pope, proves nothing to contradict this
sentiment; because bearing with offences that are merely personal, and
those which are committed against dignities, are very different things.
They also say, he feigned himself decrepid and worn out with age and
infirmities, to excite in his favour, the choice of the Cardinals;
from the prospect that his would be a short pontificate, and that they
should have a quick return of another conclave. But notwithstanding
what people say, I don’t believe the Cardinals are so much influenced
by this sort of policy as the world imagine, from their having so often
chosen Popes of good constitutions, and not far advanced in years,
provided at the time of their election, their judgment was arrived
at that state of maturity, which it is not common to attain but in a
more advanced age. On the other hand, it is probable, that Sextus who
was seventy-four when he ascended the Papal chair, was much broke. If
he afterwards seemed more robust, it might be, because having charged
himself with such weighty obligations, he used extraordinary exertions
to comply with what he had undertaken; and besides this, the before
cited Leti informs us, that to enable him to discharge the duties
incumbent on him, he fed more copiously, and took more nourishing
aliment, both with respect to meat and drink, when he was a Pope, than
he did while he was a Cardinal.

XLVIII. I have dwelt with pleasure on the eulogium of this singular
man, who was always the object of my admiration, although some have
been unjust enough, not to render him the praise due to his merit.
And here by the way, I cannot forbear congratulating the seraphic
religion, on having produced in the person of this Pontif, and in
that of Cardinal Cisneros, two politicians so eminent, that in my
opinion the world never saw greater; though neither the one or the
other have been without their enemies, who, envious of their merit,
have strove to tarnish their glories; but what I most admire in this
particular is, that so able a man as Don Antonio de Solis, should in
the third Chap. of his History of Mexico, paint the Cardinal, as a man
deficient in point of political abilities; notwithstanding he in all
other respects, heaps on him the highest encomiums. Foreign authors
do him more justice, and particularly, Flechier, Bishop of Nimes, who
with great judgment and discretion wrote his life, celebrates him, as
a most eminent and brilliant politician: and another modern French
author, having drawn a parallel of the characters of the two Cardinals,
Cisneros, and Richlieu, gives the preference to our countryman;
acknowledging, that he was equal to the other as a politician, and much
preferable to him as a devout man; though by the way, when he says
this, he pays no great compliment to the sanctity of Cisneros.

XLIX. From all that has been said on this subject, it is evident and
plain, that with an equality of talents, those politicians who proceed
upon the principles of honesty, and who pursue the road of rectitude
and truth, will with greater certainty, and more ease, attain their
ends, than those, who follow the rout of artifice and deceit; for the
first, is the sound or true policy, the other, the rotten or false.




THE MACHIAVELIANISM OF THE ANCIENTS.


SECT. I.

I. As we are about to treat in this discourse of the tyrannic doctrine
of Machiavel; I believe it will be agreeable to the greatest part of
our readers, to have some particular information respecting this man,
of whom all the world talks, and whom all the world detests; for by
whatever means men make themselves famous, they excite a curiosity to
know who and what they were.

II. Nicholas Machiavel, who was a native of Florence, lived in the
beginning of the sixteenth century, and was a man of more than middling
ingenuity. He wrote the Tuscan language with elegance and propriety,
although his knowledge of the Latin was but moderate. He had a good
genius for writing comic poetry, which he manifested in various pieces
which he wrote for the theatre; and more particularly in one of them,
that was represented at Florence with such great applause, that it
excited Pope Leo the tenth, as Paulus Jovius informs us, to cause it
to be acted at Rome by the same players, and with the same dresses and
decorations, with which it had been exhibited at Florence. When the
unhappy conspiracy against the family of the Medicis, was set on foot
by the Soderinis, Machiavel, who was impeached as an accomplice in
it, was put to the question by torture; but either his fortitude, or
his innocence, caused him to resist the rigour of that trial without
making the least confession. I do not know whether it was before, or
after this event, that he was made secretary to the republic, but it
is certain, that for the title of historian to it, which was conferred
on him together with a good salary, he was totally indebted to the
favour of the Medicis; but whether they did this from a conviction of
his innocence with respect to the late conspiracy, and were disposed to
recompence him by this honourable emolument, for the injury he suffered
in the torture; or whether they did it from considering him as an able
man whom they had a mind to keep under obligations to them, in order
to avail themselves of so good a pen as Machiavel’s in their favour;
I say, whichever of these motives they were actuated by, is not quite
certain.

III. The conferring this benefit on him, did not prevent new suspicions
being entertained of his fidelity, and of his having concurred in
another plot concerted by some private individuals, to take away the
life of cardinal Julius de Medicis, who afterwards ascended to the
popedom, by the name of Clement the seventh. This suspicion was founded
entirely, on the repeated applauses, with which both in his writings
and private conversations, he had celebrated Brutus and Cassius, as
the defenders and vindicators of the liberty of the Roman republic;
which at that time, was interpreted as an indirect exhortation to
the Florentines to defend their liberty, which the Medicis either in
reality or appearance, meditated to suppress. But with all this, either
from mere motives of policy, or because the suspicions seemed lightly
founded, no proceedings were had against Machiavel. It is confirmed
however, that after this time, he passed the remainder of his days in
misery and poverty. Perhaps the Medicis, who were secretly displeased
with him, thought it more adviseable, instead of bringing him to open
punishment, to accomplish their dark revenge, by occult ways and
means. It might also happen, that he brought himself to poverty by his
own misconduct; but, be this as it will, he hastened his death as many
other people have hastened theirs before him, by taking a precautionary
medicine to prolong his life, which instead of lengthening, shortened
it, and brought him to an untimely end in the year 1530.

IV. Machiavel was of a jocose and satyrical disposition, and was
believed to have little or no religion. There are some who say, that
when he was near dying, they were under a necessity of employing
the authority of the civil magistrate to oblige him to receive the
sacraments. We read in many authors, a wanton and insolent impiety of
his, under the colour of a joke; that is, his having said, that he had
much rather go to hell than heaven; because in heaven he should only
meet with fryars, mendicants, and other miserable and groveling people;
but that in hell, he should enjoy the company of popes, cardinals,
and princes, with whom he could converse of state affairs. Others
substitute, for his saying popes, cardinals, and princes, the most
eminent philosophers and political writers, such as Plato, Aristotle,
Plutarch, and Tacitus.

V. He published a variety of books, and among them, the life of
Castrucius Castracani, and the history of Florence, which do not obtain
the greatest credit with the critics. But the work that made him
jointly the most famous and infamous man in the world, was a political
tract, intituled, “The Prince;” in which he teaches and recommends to
all sovereigns, to reign tyrannically, and to govern their people,
without regarding either equity, law, or religion, but sacrificing them
all three, together with the public good, to his interest, his will,
his caprice, and his own particular grandeur.


SECT. II.

VI. But notwithstanding the principles of this book are so pernicious,
there have not been wanting those, who have patronized both the book
and the author. Abraham Nicholas Amelot de Houssaye, defends it in the
most odious point of view, which is approving his maxims as beneficial
to the public, and asserting, that they are only reprobated by ignorant
men, who know nothing of politics or reasons of state; and adds, that
the same people who now live as private men, and are unacquainted with
the management of public business, and at present condemn them, were
they by any great and unexpected change of fortune, to arrive at being
princes or prime ministers, would approve, and practise them.

VII. There are others, who, although they acknowledge the maxims of
Machiavel are pernicious, sanctify the intention of the author. They
say, that so far from intending to instruct princes against their
people, he only meant to caution the people against the proceedings
and arts of tyrants, to the end that princes, seeing the tendency of
their schemes liable to be exposed, should be more circumspect in their
behaviour, and that the people, by being aware of the arms with which
the attacks were made upon liberty, might be the better able to parry
the blows. They add further, that Machiavel was under a necessity of
using this artful method of warning the people, and of couching his
cautions to them, under the veil and figure of teaching princes how to
make themselves absolute, because these last, would not have permitted
his book to be licenced, if he had openly declared himself inimical to
their total independency.

VIII. They endeavour to prove the probability of this sentiment, by
urging, that Machiavel was an utter enemy to tyranny, and a strenuous
advocate for the liberty of the republic; and that the whole tenor
of his words and actions, conspire to manifest these were his
inclinations. His two great and favourite heroes, were Brutus and
Cassius, who killed Cæsar to restore Rome to her liberty. He also
quotes the tenth chapter of the first book of his discourses, where he
speaks strongly against tyrants; and urges further, that he was accused
of being an accomplice with the Soderinis in their conspiracy against
the family of the Medicis, who were thought at that time, to have an
intention of tyrannizing over the republic of Florence; and that he
was afterwards, not exempt from being suspected, of having a finger in
the conspiracy against the life of cardinal Julius de Medicis. Nardi,
a Florentine author who was a contemporary with him, says, that he was
closely connected with the contrivers of that plot and design, and also
with the rest of the faction, who were in opposition to the Medicis.
He then proceeds to say, what view or intention could a man have in
favouring and abetting tyrants, who had given so many proofs of his
abhorrence of them? or how could the man be suspected of designing to
extend the power of princes above their natural sphere, who had always
manifested himself an admirer of democracy? he next says, it must
follow then of course, that his intention must be different, and very
contrary to what the ordinary and superficial sense of his words seem
to import. This is the way those reason, who support this opinion.

IX. Finally, there are others, who admit that the maxims of Machiavel
are detestable, but waiving the question about what was his intention,
they limit their excuse of the author, by affirming, there has not,
nor can there arise, any general inconvenience from the publication
of them. These say, that Machiavel has broached nothing new; and that
his maxims are the same with those you will find inserted in various
histories, and which were practised by an infinite number of princes;
and what more pernicious effect can they have on him who reads them in
Machiavel’s book, than on him who reads them in any other?

X. This is the very excuse which Bocalini puts in the mouth of
Machiavel, when he supposes him to be speaking in his own defence
before Apollo. He says, I do not pretend to defend my works, but
rather to arraign, and condemn them as impious, and full of cruel and
execrable documents for the government of states; but provided the
doctrine I have written shall appear to be new, or the invention of my
brain, I am ready at this moment, to submit to the execution of any
sentence, the judges shall think proper to fulminate against me. On the
other hand, if my writings contain nothing more than those political
precepts, and those rules of state, which I have deduced from the
actions and conduct of some princes, the speaking ill of whom would
formerly have been punished with death, and, if you will be pleased to
permit me, I can now name; I say if this be the case, what justice,
what reason can there be, for respecting those as little less than
divinities, who have been the authors and inventors of all the furious
and desperate maxims of policy which appear in my writings; and of
treating me, who have done nothing more than republish them, as an
abandoned vagabond, and an Atheist I certainly cannot conceive, why the
original should be adored as a saint, and the copy execrated; nor why
I deserve to be so persecuted, when the reading of histories, not only
tolerated, but recommended, are sufficient to convert to Machiavels,
all those who peruse them with a political view.


SECT. III.

XI. But not to leave the reader in suspence, or not to give him
occasion to think that I propose these three opinions as problems,
I will here declare the judgement I entertain of them. The first is
false, shocking, abominable, and only worthy of a second Machiavel.
What reason, I won’t say can dictate, but even endure the detestable
maxims, that a prince owes more to himself than to the republic?
that this last was instituted by nature for the convenience of the
prince, and not the prince for the good of the republic? that the
right to govern with tyrannic sway, is an appendage, appertaining to
the prerogative of the crown? that the untimely and disgraceful deaths
of tyrants, ought to be attributed to chance, and not to the divine
vengeance or judgements? with others of the same sort.

XI. The second apology, is contradicted by the literal and natural
sense of the author’s writings; for if he intended to convey a meaning
which was different from these, it is not easy to ascertain what that
meaning was. I will admit as good and conclusive, all the arguments
that are used to prove Machiavel was an enemy to tyranny. There is no
man whatever who does not abhor tyranny, while he contemplates it as a
restraint on his own person, or while he is apprehensive part of the
weight of it may be loaded on his own shoulders. But many of those who
abhor it in general, are friends to it in particular, and especially,
if they entertain hopes that the favour of the tyrant will better
their fortunes. It is very natural to suppose, this was the state and
situation of Machiavel’s mind when he wrote his book. The Medicis at
that time ruled the city of Florence; and he imagined that he should
sooth and flatter them, by approving and recommending a government,
that dispensed with all law, as the means the best calculated to pave
the way for the introduction and establishment of despotic power.
Perhaps also, he might entertain hopes, that some prince who read
his book, might be induced to make him his prime minister, from an
expectation, that by having the author of these maxims at his elbow, he
might be able to raise his power to the highest pitch of uncontroul and
grandeur.

XIII. The excuse, with which it is attempted to defend Machiavel by
the third supposition, is manifestly sophistical. It cannot be denied,
that we read in a variety of authors, of numbers of princes who have
put in practice the doctrine of Machiavel, but there is this great
difference between those authors and Machiavel, that they condemn the
doctrine, which he adopts and enforces. They, at the same time that
they inform you of the fact, inspire you with horror of the maxim; he,
when he teaches the maxim, exhorts to the execution of it. How great
must his zeal have been to recommend and persuade tyranny, when he had
the presumption to propose Moses and David, as examples of tyrannic
government? but to this execrable degree of impiety, did Machiavel
carry his daring blasphemy.

XIV. With regard to the peculiar defence which Bocalina makes for
Machiavel, it is easy to see, at whom his malignant expressions point;
which he might very well have omitted, because without alluding to any
one in so elevated a form of life, he had very near at hand in the
person of Cæsar Borgia[2], a man furnished with all the requisites
for his purpose, and whom he did not run much hazard of announcing. I
mean, that in order to excuse Machiavel from being the inventor of the
maxims he published, and to point out some person under whom he had
studied and learned them, he could have fixed on no one more proper
than that prince, because Cæsar Borgia was without doubt, a man of
most iniquitous and tyrannic politics, and capable of committing all
sorts of wickedness, provided his doing it would contribute to advance
his grandeur; for he was fiery, daring, and cruel, and was besides
so furiously ambitious, that were it in his power, he was capable
of burning the whole world, for the sake afterwards of domineering
absolutely over the ashes of it.

XV. Hermanus Coringius, a protestant author, says, that Machiavel was
some time in the service of this prince. If this be true, it is easy to
guess from whom he learned what he afterwards committed to writing;
and I believe the Italians would not disdain to acknowledge, that their
Florentine politician had been instructed by a Spanish master.

XVI. But the truth is, that Machiavel had no occasion to seek for an
example, either in him, or in any other of the princes of his own
time; for as he was a man pretty well read in history, every age had
furnished him with examples in plenty. They mistake little less, who
suppose Machiavel learned his maxims from the politicians of his day;
than those do, who believe the politics, posterior to Machiavel, were
taken from his doctrines.

XVII. But notwithstanding all that can be urged in opposition to it,
this second opinion is much entertained and received by people of
little reading and short reflection, in which group we may suppose to
be comprehended the bulk of mankind. Not a few, when they converse
upon this subject, add with a mysterious gravity, and as if they were
extracting a profound apophthegm from the inmost recesses of their
understandings, that although Machiavel was the master who introduced
this doctrine, it has since his time been so much improved upon in
courts, that if the master could now come back into the world, he would
find it necessary to go to school again.

XVIII. I cannot refrain from laughter, when I hear men discourse in
this manner, who, from their education, ought to know and reason
better. The maxims of tyrannic policy are as antient in the world,
as government or dominion. Machiavelianism owes its first existence
to the most antient princes of the earth, and only to Machiavel its
name. It is rooted in our nature, and it does not require ages, as
moments, when fit occasions present themselves, are equal to bring
forth its malignant productions. Nor is the passion of domineering more
natural to man, than that of amplifying and extending his dominion. An
ambitious man, by attaining to be a prince, does not find his ambition
satisfied; but is always desirous of extending his power, exteriorly
with respect to the subjects of other states, and interiorly with
regard to his own. The love of independence can seldom be contained
within reasonable bounds. He who is free from all subjection to other
men, aspires at being independent of the laws also.


SECT. IV.

XIX. I am so far from thinking that Machiavel has made the world worse
in this respect, or from supposing that the princes of these times,
have refined upon the iniquitous politics of Machiavel, that I firmly
believe, if we limit our enquiries precisely to Europe, we shall find
the sovereigns of it in general, much better than those of the remote
ages.

XX. Now-a-days, if it is in contemplation to impose some new burthen
on the subject, or to wage war with a neighbouring state, divines and
lawyers are consulted upon the justice and propriety of the measure;
an enquiry is made, how the laws stand with respect to the subject
matter in question, and the archives and records are examined and
turned over; and although it often happens, that from the ambitious
adulation of the people consulted, a right is attributed to their
prince, which in reality does not belong to him, their malice does not
impeach his good faith. In former times this was not the case. If a
prince was disposed to trample on the rights of his subjects, or to
subdue his neighbours, he consulted nobody, nor made any other enquiry
or examination, than whether he had force and power sufficient to
accomplish what he meditated; and the question was always decided, by
his ability or inability to execute what he designed. In times not very
distant from our own, and even in the most polished kingdoms, where the
true religion has humanized people’s minds, when the person invaded
by a powerful prince his neighbour, has represented to him, that his
pretensions to what he possesses are just and legal; the invader has
laughed at the representation, and answered savagely, in the language
that was then become proverbial in the mouths of kings and ministers
of state, that the rights of princes were not to be determined by old
rolls of parchment, but by burnished arms.


SECT. V.

XXI. The further our memories carry us back through the series of past
times, we find this evil the greater; and from hence proceeds that ill
opinion, which in early ages was generally entertained of kings. The
Romans were struck with amazement, to find the Cappadocians, upon their
offering to make their country a free republic, instantly request,
that they would permit them to remain under kingly government; which
amazement, was occasioned by their considering in a rigorous or strict
sense, that mode of rule, as a mark or type of slavery. Cato said, this
animal which is called a king, is a great devourer of human flesh;
_Hoc animal rex carnivorum est._ And Flavius Vopiscus, tells us of a
Roman buffoon, who pleasantly and keenly remarked, that the effigies
of all the good kings that had ever been known in the world, might be
carved on a ring. Plato, in his Georgiac dialogue, represents kings
as appearing before Rhadamanthus in hell, loaded for the most part
with injustices, perjuries, and other wickedness. Aristotle, in his
third book on politics, recognizes as tyrannical, the exercise of the
regal power, by all, or nearly all, the Asiatic princes; and Livy says,
that the most sagacious and penetrating Hannibal, never confided in
the promises of kings: _fidei regum nihil sane confisus_; a legate of
the Rhodians also, according to the said Livy, observed, that kings
were always desirous of making slaves of their subjects. Thus we have
the greatest reason to conclude, that it was a common practice with
the princes of those times, to pay no regard to any law, whenever an
opportunity offered of augmenting their authority.


SECT. VI.

XXII. But we should not conclude that this was all done by main force,
without the intervention of art or stratagem. The same contrivances,
the same artifices, which we read of in Machiavel, and which have been
practised by the most crafty tyrants of these latter ages, were exerted
in the early ones. Cast your eyes on Romulus, seeking for a specious
pretence of justice for taking away the life of his brother, in order
to remove this obstacle to his reigning without the danger of a rival,
and in security: view his successor, Numa Pompilius also, who was a
most consummate hypocrite, affecting exteriorly to appear religious
and devout, and to pay a great respect to rites and ceremonies. He
pretended to receive visions and revelations from the goddess Egeria,
in order that the Roman people, looking upon him as a man favoured in
an especial manner by heaven, should not only not dare to entertain
thoughts of dethroning him, but permit him to aggrandize himself at
his discretion; we have another example of the same sort of policy, in
Tullius Hostilius, who succeeded Numa, and introduced with great art,
those ostentatious outside appearances, which dazzle the eyes of the
world, and are the most efficacious means to make majesty formidable
and respectable; for he likewise sought out deceitful pretences, for
making war on the neighbouring states: we see Tarquin the Proud also,
availing himself of the stratagem of his son Sextus, who, under the
pretence of being a fugitive from his father’s cruelty, fled to, and
entreated refuge among the Gabians, on whom, after their receiving him
kindly, he artfully prevailed to make him their generalissimo, veiled
with an absolute power; in consequence of which, he was enabled to fell
and betray them. He did so, and they became an easy prey to the Romans.

XXIII. Is not that famous precept of Machiavel’s, that with an enemy
reduced to great straits or difficulties, you should take no middle
course, but, according as you find it most for your interest, should
either ruin him totally, or give him your hand to extricate him out
of his danger; punctually conformable to the advice which Herennius
gave to his son Pontius, who was general of the Samnites? When this
general had shut up the Roman army within the Caudine Forks, he sent
information of it to his father, and at the same time desired to have
his advice, respecting how he should act by them. The old man answered,
that he should generously open the pass, and let them go free, without
any condition or limitation whatever, that might be injurious to, or
affect either their lives, their liberty, or their honour. Pontius,
and all the principal people of the republic who were with the army,
believed, that Herennius had not well understood or considered the
information that had been sent him, nor apprehended, that the whole
Roman army were entirely at their mercy. They therefore sent other
messengers or deputies, with instructions to inform him minutely, of
the unhappy situation and state of the Roman army, whose lives, without
remedy, were at their discretion and disposal. To this he answered,
that they should cut all their throats, and not spare a single man of
them. Two answers so diametrically opposite, made some of them suspect
that the old man was not in his right senses; but notwithstanding this
suspicion, as they had for many years respected him as the oracle and
soul of the republic, the major part of them began to conjecture, and
not without reason, that there was some mystery contained in these
contradictory replies, which they did not comprehend, or were not aware
of; and they therefore desired, that he would come to the camp and
explain himself. He came accordingly, and told them his sentiments;
which were, that they should adopt one or other of the extremes,
and either gain their affections by an heroic act of generosity, or
extirpate them totally, to prevent their ever being able to revenge
themselves for whatever indignity they should impose on them. Pontius
did not follow the advice of the old man, but took a middle way, which
was, to spare their lives, but dismiss them with the loss of their
honour, by obliging consuls, officers, and soldiers, to submit to the
signal disgrace of _passing under the yoke_. The result of this was,
what might easily have been foreseen and expected, the Romans, stung
with the ignominy they had undergone, could not divert their thoughts
from meditating revenge, which they after a while determined to take;
and breaking through the stipulated conditions, they renewed the war
with stronger army, and totally routed and overthrew the Samnites.

XXIV. We must allow, that the determination Pontius took was imprudent;
but it does not follow from thence, that we should approve the advice
of Herennius; for although the first was insecure, the other was cruel
in extreme. He might have fallen upon other expedients, better suited
and proportioned to the nature of the case; such as taking hostages,
and before permitting the army to depart, obliging them to deliver
into their possession, certain towns and districts as pledges, for
the faithful performance of their engagements; but the supposing that
the faith of stipulations or compacts, would have more influence upon
a vain, proud, warlike people, than the indignation conceived for a
gross affront offered to their honour, was very idle, and very silly
confidence.

XXV. Neither, as I have already said, do I think there was any security
in the extreme benign advice of Herennius; for with the Romans,
ambition was more powerful than public faith, or the obligations of
gratitude. A good testimony to this truth, was their behaviour to the
Numantians, which was a true sample of the politics of those times.


SECT. VII.

XXVI. I say of those times, to avoid censuring the Romans singly; for
in Greece also, the not performing a promise given, or even sworn to,
when the observance of it clashed with the interest of the state, was
so common, that a sovereign for having done it, was hardly looked upon
to have impeached his character as a just prince, or an honest man.

XXVII. Agesilaus, king of Sparta, was one of the most celebrated
princes of antiquity; and although he was an eminent warrior, placed
his principal glory in being thought a lover of virtue and justice. To
one who called the sovereign of Persia the great monarch, he answered
sharply, _he who is not better than me, is not a greater king than
myself_. He was exceedingly sober, patient of labour, and such a
respecter of the Gods, that he would not permit even his enemies, who
had taken refuge in the temples, to be forced from their sanctuary;
and was besides, so averse to dress and finery, that there was scarce
a soldier in his army, more humbly or simply cloathed than himself.
But this saint of Paganism, made not the least scruple of violating
the public faith, when by the violation he expected to derive some
advantage to the state. By means of one of his emissaries he, in
profound peace, surprized and seized on the city of Thebes; and
although in Sparta, the justice of the action was somewhat disputed, as
soon as it was shewn, that the keeping the place was of importance to
the kingdom, they immediately consented to send a garrison to maintain
the citadel. In his expedition to Egypt, he abandoned king Taco, in
whose pay and service he and his Lacedæmonian troops were engaged, and
joined the rebel Nectanebus, without making any other excuse for this
treachery, than that he found it for the interest of his country.

XXVIII. Aristides, the Cato of the Athenians, who by way of eminence
they called the Just, having caused his country to swear to a certain
thing, and having in the name of it sworn to it himself likewise,
persuaded them afterwards to violate the oath, because the observance
of it would be productive of some inconvenience to them. Plutarch, who
cites Theophrastus as his author, adds, that to serve his country he
did many iniquitous things. Such were the just men of Greece, and such
was their policy.


SECT. VIII.

XXIX. I well know, that in the opinion of many people, this political
money is current in our times, and that it is frequently said, the
words and promises of those who have the supreme management of affairs,
should not remain in force for any longer time than they are found not
to clash with the interests of the state. I have read of an Italian
prince, who, when he was negotiating a peace with a powerful monarch,
requested among other conditions, the restitution of a large part of
his territories, which had been taken from him during the war, to which
request, the ambassador of the monarch answered, _what reliance can
the king my master place on the fidelity of your highness, in case he
gives you all you ask?_ to which the prince replied:--Assure him, that
I will pledge my word to him to fulfil my engagements, not in quality
of a sovereign, for in that capacity, whenever favourable opportunities
offer, it behoves me to sacrifice every thing to my grandeur, and the
interests of my state; but as a gentleman, and a man of honour.

XXX. But after all, this assurance contains in it a large portion of
hyperbole; for I firmly believe, the majority of the princes of this
day, are scrupulous about breaking the treaties they have entered
into; although it be true, that at every turn, you will hear them
reciprocally accusing each other of being the infringers of them; but
it seldom happens, that either of the parties can so clearly make
out the justice of his cause, as not to leave room for a difference
of opinion on the subject. Thus they both go upon probabilities,
and also upon the strength of probabilities, accuse each other. If
either of them happens to be a person of so enlarged a conscience, as
knowingly, and without scruple, to trample on all the obligations of
equity, justice, and public faith, he endeavours notwithstanding to
save appearances, and to seek some specious pretence for his behaviour.
This shews, that he is ashamed of what he does, and would gladly hide
the odium of his actions for fear of being pointed at, which would not
happen, if breaking their words was so common among princes, and so
little scrupled by them, as some would persuade us.

XXXI. I know very well, that an anonymous French author, asserted a few
years ago, that Don Ferdinand the Catholic, being told that Louis the
twelfth of France complained he had twice deceived him, replied, _By
the Lord! the French man lies, for it was not twice, but ten times that
I deceived him._ If such a thing ever happened, we may suppose, that
our Don Ferdinand prided himself in perfidy. But these are mere gossips
tales, and such as prudent people pay no regard to. I suppose, that
before this joke or tale, could arrive at the ears of the French man
who wrote it, from the mouth of Don Ferdinand, it must necessarily pass
through the mouths of a hundred different people; and we may conclude,
that out of that hundred, at least ninety of them were more capable of
framing it, than Don Ferdinand was of uttering it.

XXXII. But admitting this was true, all that can be inferred from it
is, that among a great number of princes of our times, here and there
one of them, has without shame or blushing, practised lying and deceit
in the affairs of state; whereas among the antients, this was very
frequent and common; for all, or nearly all of them, seem to have
stamped on their hearts, that sentence of Chorebus: _Dolus, an virtus,
qius in hoste requirat?_ or some other like it.


SECT. IX.

XXXIII. But our surprize will cease at their acting in this manner,
when we reflect, that that great philosopher and oracle of antiquity,
the divine Plato, by his doctrine, taught, that it was lawful for
those who had the management of public affairs, to lye, whenever it
could be of use to the interests of the state. _Igitur rempublicam
administrantibus præcipue, si quibus aliis, mentiri licet, vel hostium,
vel civium, causa ad communem civitatis utilitatem. Reliquis autem à
mendacio abstinendum est._ (lib. III. de Repub.) If the princes of
antiquity had so able a master, and one of so great authority, what
loss could they be at for want of a Machiavel?

XXXIV. It is true, that Plato only allowed lying to be lawful, in cases
where it might be conducive to advance the public good; Machiavel
advises it, whenever it can be useful to serve the particular interests
of a tyrant. Thus Plato was a bad moralist, and Machiavel a bad man.
But this difference in the character of the matters, does not prevent
tyrants from making the same use of the doctrine of Plato, for the
purpose of serving their particular conveniencies, that disinterested
princes may do for the good of the public, because a tyrant, always
endeavours to make the people believe, that every thing he does to
advance his own grandeur, is transacted with a view of promoting their
interest; and if at any time he is detected in a lye, he will pretend
that he lyed for the public good, and quote the doctrine of Plato to
justify his conduct; but in case this doctrine of Plato’s should appear
too limited or confined for tyrants, as in truth it is, they may be
supplied with a much more copious and enlarged system, in the writings
of Plato’s disciple Aristotle.

XXXV. I do not mean to say, that Aristotle was an abettor of perverse
policy, or that he wrote with a design of instructing tyrants in the
methods by which they might make themselves absolute, and support
themselves by tyrannic rule, but only mean to declare, that in the
fifth book of his Politics, cap. 11. he did it without intending it,
or without being aware that he was doing it. In this chapter, which
is a pretty long one, not only those two famous maxims, _Oderint dum
metuant, Divide ut imperes_, are exactly pointed out and applied; but
all, or very near all the others, which are published by the Florentine
author, in his book intitled Il Principe, are to be found in this
chapter of Aristotle’s. I have never seen Machiavel’s book, but only
the capital maxims of it, as they are cited by other authors; but hear
Hermanus Conringius, who has read both that and Aristotle. He says,
Nicholas Machiavel, that trumpeter of political arts, cannot, nor
does not, teach his prince any arcana or secrets, for promoting or
maintaining tyrannic dominion, which many hundred years before, had
not been taught by Aristotle in his fifth book of Politics; and it is
not improbable, but that cunning teacher and promoter of wickedness,
transcribed from Aristotle, although he concealed the plagiary, all
that he published in his own book; but there is a remarkable difference
in the application the two masters make of their doctrine, which is,
that Machiavel advises all princes without distinction, to pursue
and practise what he teaches; whereas Aristotle declared more justly
and frankly, his to be fit and necessary for tyrants only. (Conring.
Introduct. ad Politic. Aristotelis, cap. III.)

XXXVI. But let the truth prevail. I say the same of both Aristotle and
Machiavel, which is, that neither of them were the inventors of systems
of perverse policy; for that they copied them, from the actions of the
kings of Persia and Egypt; from the Archelaus’s and Philips of Macedon;
from the Phalaris’s, the Agathocles’s, the Hierones, and Dionysius’s
of Sicily; from the Perianders, from the Pisistratus’s, and other
political pests of Greece.


SECT. X.

XXXVII. Nor can I perceive such profundity or acuteness, in these so
much applauded maxims, either of Aristotle, or Machiavel, as may render
it worth the while of a politician of special perspicuity, to bestow
much time in reading or studying them; as a moderate understanding,
without their help, will enable a man to acquire all they teach; nor is
there any thing necessary to carry them into execution, but a hardened
and a perverted heart.

XXXVIII. The maxim, that a tyrant must be supported by making himself
feared, and not trust to the love of his subjects, is as clear as
day-light; for how can those, whom he is continually oppressing with a
hard slavery, have any love for him? And it follows of course, that he
must treat them as he would enemies, and endeavour to keep them poor,
as every one knows, that the more you impoverish your enemy, the more
you deprive him of the means of injuring you.

XXXIX. It is also an immediate consequence deducible from the same
principle, that it will be proper for him to put more confidence in
strangers, than his own subjects; for who but a stupid person, would
confide in one, who he knows is fired with indignation against him?
The necessity of keeping a number of emissaries in such a situation,
to inform him of the words and actions of those whom he suspects are
not his friends, would occur to every rustic, and is what is daily
practised by rustics in their way; for if one of these suspects any
man to be his enemy, he is continually observing his conduct, watching
his motions, and as far as he is able, prying into his designs. The
advantages of religious and virtuous appearances, to command respect,
are manifest to every young girl; and the art of fomenting discords,
and encouraging opposite factions in a state, in order to preserve the
balance of power equal between them, may be learned from the tumblers
and rope-dancers, who support themselves, by keeping the weights at the
opposite ends of their poles in equilibrio.

XL. It was said of Catherine of Medicis, who with the nicest caution,
and greatest vigilance, continued to put this contrivance in practice
for a long time, that she studied Machiavel every day, and that she had
always his book in her hand, or else laying by her, which occasioned a
satyrical writer to call it the New Testament of the queen; but perhaps
this was said of her, on account of her being obliged to have recourse
to the before-named arts. But in order to do this, what necessity
was there for her having such a master at her elbow? The posture and
situation of affairs, pointed out sufficiently to a person of the
abilities and penetration of that queen, the utility of dispensing some
favours to the heretics, and by conciliating their good-will, causing
their weight to serve as a counterpoize to the power of the catholics,
of whom she was jealous and apprehensive, but always taking care at
the same time to declare and profess, that in point of faith she was a
catholic, to prevent the affections of that party from being weaned and
estranged from her.

XLI. There have not been wanting those, who have attributed the same
policy to Constantine the Great, who, at the same time that he was
favouring Christianity, kept Gentiles in his ministry, and filled
posts of importance with them. But this we should suppose was an act
of necessity, because it was incumbent on him to proceed with caution,
in so great and arduous a work, as that of the conversion of the whole
Roman empire. If he had endeavoured to beat down Paganism at a blow,
and by open force and violence, he might possibly never have been able
to accomplished it.


SECT. XI.

XLII. I say the same, of all the other rules of practices of tyrannic
and deceitful policy. What ability or penetration does it require,
to invade with an armed force, the territories of a neighbouring
prince or republic, and surprize some of the fortified towns of those,
who thinking themselves secure, and relying upon the faith of an
established peace, are off their guard, and not prepared to resist
the attack? To accomplish this, requires nothing more, than for a man
to become compleatly callous to the fear of God, and to have lost all
sense of shame of the world. To find a plausible pretence for doing it,
is the most easy thing imaginable, for a child of ten years old, is
never at a loss for such a one, whenever he is disposed from motives
of interest, or through fickleness, to break a little friendship or
connexion he has engaged in.

XLIII. The barbarous maxim, of getting rid of brothers or relations,
to remove the most dangerous apprehensions of, or incitements to,
insurrections, does not require ingenuity to execute it, but cruelty
only. We see the Ottoman emperors have practised it in a variety of
ways; some have taken away the lives of their brothers and relations,
others have deprived them of sight, and others of liberty, by shutting
them up in close confinement. They were all equally apprized of the
importance of preventing the danger, but they were not all equally
fierce and cruel. Thus in proportion to the degrees of their barbarity,
or their fears, their rigour in the practice of the maxim, was
greater or less. Mahomed the third, when he mounted the throne, not
satisfied with putting to death his whole twenty-one brothers, ordered
ten Sultanas, likewise, who were then pregnant, to be thrown into
the sea and drowned; whereas others, have contented themselves with
confining those who were related to them in a prison, with reasonable
accommodations appertaining to it. This great difference in their
conduct, did not proceed from their distinct political ideas, but from
the diversity of their tempers and dispositions.

XLIV. As we are now treating on this subject, this seems a proper
occasion, for taking notice of a common error and opinion, which
prevails among many people with respect to the Ottoman emperors, viz.
that the bloody maxim of sacrificing their own brothers to their
safety, in order to their possessing the throne in security, is
peculiar to the Ottoman race. This barbarous and atrocious policy,
is much more ancient than the stock of Ottoman princes, and was more
generally practised by other royal families than by them. Plutarch,
speaking of those kings who were the successors of Alexander, and
among whom the vast conquests of that hero were divided, says, that
cruel maxim was so universally adopted by their descendants, that they
considered it as an invariable political axiom, and as a self-evident
first principle, indispensably necessary to be adhered to, and which
followed of course, with as much certainty as geometrical postulata.
_Fratrum parricidia, ut petitiones geometræ fumunt, sic concedebantur,
habitanturque, communis quædam petitio ad securitatem, & Regia._
Plutarch. in Demetrio.

XLV. I do not know whether the soil and climate of Asia is not more
naturally adapted for the production of these political monsters, than
that of Europe, for we have seen in all times, the princes of the
Asiatic regions, more addicted to pursue tyrannic and cruel maxims
than those of Europe. By confining one’s attention immediately to
the present times, what appears to me is, that the Europeans, who
for the most part have some knowledge of Machiavel, commonly found
their governments upon principles of justice and moderation; and that
the oriental people, who do not know that there ever was such a man
as Machiavel in the world, most frequently, practise the very same
perverse maxims, which this master of wickedness taught; and I think
the Chinese, are the only orientals who are an exception to this
general rule.


SECT. XII.

XLVI. I would not have it understood by what I have said, that I think
the reading of Machiavel would not be pernicious; for it would without
doubt be so to many, and especially if their dispositions incline
them to the side of ambition. There have been, and ever will be, an
infinite number of tyrants, who never heard of, or read Machiavel’s
book, intituled The Prince; but that book may probably have made
tyrants of many, who never would have been such without perusing it;
and it would have the same effect in the hands of a weak prince, that
the mouth of an evil counsellor would have applied to his ear.

XLVII. One of the most atrocious and treacherous acts ever recorded in
history, and one that has made the greatest noise in the world, was,
the unworthy putting to death of the great Pompey, which was occasioned
intirely, by young Ptolemy who was then king of Egypt, having at the
time it was committed, a Machiavel by his side, in the person of the
depraved Theodotus.

XLVIII. Pompey, after being routed in the battle of Pharsalia, and
becoming a fugitive from Cæsar and his fortune, thought no asylum could
be more convenient and safe for him, than the kingdom of Egypt; because
the prince who then reigned there, was indebted to him, for the great
favour of having reinstated his father on that throne, from whence
he had been cast down by his own subjects. On the confidence of this
service, he steered for Alexandria, and upon entering the port, sent
to inform the king of his arrival, and beg that protection from him,
which he had so just a right to demand. The king summoned a council
to deliberate on the matter, in which the majority of votes, were for
doing what was honourable and right, and gave it as their opinion,
that the unfortunate hero should be entertained and protected. But
Theodotus, who had got the ascendency over the young king, and who had
more influence with him than every body else, suggested to him, that
he should not only not grant Pompey his protection, but that he should
take away his life also.

XLIX. But let us hear from Lucan, the reasons of convenience, on which
that depraved politician grounded his advice for perpetrating so horrid
and atrocious an act of treachery, in order, that by comparing them
with those of Machiavel, we may discern, whether the principles of
the Florentine master were well understood in those times. But it is
proper to observe, that Lucan makes the eunuch Photinus the author of
the advice, instead of Theodotus; whereas other writers do not make
Photinus the adviser, but assisted by the general Aquilas, the executor
of the wickedness; and some others again, attribute to this last, a
great part, if not the whole of the suggestion.

L. But whether Theodotus, Aquilas, or Photinus, was the first who
suggested the treacherous cruelty, is not material to the main
question. The arguments used with Ptolemy, to incite him to the
deed, were as follow: That great as his father’s obligations were to
Pompey, he ought to consider, that he owed more to himself than he
did to him; that Fortune had declared itself in favour of Cæsar, and
against Pompey, and that it would be the height of imprudence to take
part with that side, to whom Fortune was averse; that although it was
true, the affording Pompey an asylum had the appearance of an honest
action, still, princes ought not to attend to what was honest, but to
what was useful; that the monarch, who is desirous of confining his
operations within the limits of justice, is more a slave of the laws,
than a master of his dominions; that the supreme power is paramount to
all law, nor can it acknowledge any subjection; that it was beyond a
doubt, the affording Pompey protection in his kingdom, would soon bring
on him, the invincible arms of Cæsar, and the power of the whole Roman
empire; against which attack, he would be unable to make the slightest
resistance; that he already, as far as his ability went, had complied
with his obligations to Pompey, by wishing that he might be victorious;
but now that Cæsar had won the day, he ought to attach himself to
die conqueror, and endeavour to court his favour, by taking away the
life of Pompey; that pursuing the medium, of neither receiving nor
destroying him, would be the worst resolution they could take, for that
by such a determination, they would lose the useful, without attaining
the honest; that Cæsar would always look upon him as an enemy, who
having had it in his power, should neglect to destroy his rival,
although all the rest of the world should regard him as ungrateful,
for refusing to protect his benefactor. It was also suggested, that
it would not be difficult to assign a religious motive for destroying
Pompey, and to cover the cruelty of the action under that pretence; for
it might be alledged, that he was sacrificed to the goddess of Fortune,
who had already declared herself adverse to the unhappy hero; that this
sacrifice seemed not only to be dictated by religion, but justice also;
for that protecting Pompey under such circumstances, in the kingdom
of Egypt, and in the manner he wished, would infallibly, by provoking
the indignation of Cæsar, bring on it ruin and desolation, and that he
ought therefore to be proceeded against with fire and sword, as against
an avowed enemy of the state.

LI. I ask now, if Nicholas Machiavel, placed at the ear of the king
of Egypt in that conjuncture, and under the like circumstances, could
have said more? Thus there always were Machiavels, and they were always
pernicious and did mischief, when concerned in the administration of
public affairs, not only to the people at large, but most commonly to
the princes themselves, whose exaltation or security they endeavoured
to promote, by the practice and adoption of impious and cruel maxims.

LII. I believe, that although all who read the relation we have
just been discussing, will abominate the advice of Theodotus, as
base, tyrannical, violent, inhuman, and atrocious; there are many of
those who attend to nothing but temporal convenience, will think it
salutary; but observe, that instead of this, it was extremely hurtful
and injurious. They perpetrated the murder of the great Pompey, by
adding to the act of cruelty, another of treachery, which was coaxing
him to come ashore, by an assurance, that the king had engaged his
royal word that his life should be safe. What was the result of all
this? That Ptolemy obtained the hoped for friendship of Cæsar? That
Theodotus, Aquilas, and Photinus, were rewarded for the great service
they had done him, by freeing him for ever from the apprehension of
so formidable an enemy as Pompey? No, nothing of this sort fell out
in consequence of the base act; but it happened, that in a few days
after, Ptolemy in a most tragical manner, lost his kingdom and his
life, and that the three authors and executors of the murder of Pompey,
Theodotus, Aquilas, and Photinus, died miserably; which consequences
are produced, either by impious maxims tending naturally to bring on
misfortunes, or by the interposition of the Supreme Providence, which
superintends and watches over human affairs, and with an especial
design, fulminates his wrath on the authors of such wickedness, in a
manner, that serves to make them scarecrows to terrify, as well as
examples to warn others.


SECT. XIII.

LIII. I am fully persuaded, that if the case on which the council of
king Ptolemy deliberated, had been referred to the politicians of
our Europe, and in our age, that not one of them would have advised
the putting to death of Pompey; but it is likely there would have
been very few of them so generous, as to recommend the receiving and
protecting him. In truth, although not only generous, but hazardous
resolutions, may be appendages to the punctilios of princes, and may
spring from that source, they are very rarely suggested to them by
their counsellors. Thus, if a point of this sort was to be discussed
by the council of a king now-a-days, the consideration of the danger
of protecting Pompey on the one hand, and the scandal of sacrificing
him to the resentment of Cæsar on the other, would most probably have
determined them to pursue the middle way, of neither entertaining
nor injuring him, and would have left to his own election, the choice
of another asylum, and to his fortune, the good or bad exit from his
troubles; nor do I doubt but that in the court of Ptolemy there were
some, and possibly the major part, of this opinion. Notwithstanding
this, if I had been a member of that council, I should have given my
vote for the most benign, not only as the most honest, but the most
useful and beneficial resolve they could have fallen upon; and I even
think, it would have had great weight with the king, if any one of
those who assisted at it, had recommended to him the protection of
Pompey, for the reasons, supported with some such arguments as follow,
which altogether I shall call

    A declamation on behalf of Pompey.

LIV. Whoever tells you, sir, that from an apprehension of Cæsar,
you should destroy Pompey, would persuade you to fear men more than
the gods. I will suppose Cæsar to be so unjust, as to be capable of
thanking you for putting Pompey to death, and of being irritated
against you for not doing it. This same act of flattery to Cæsar, is
so palpable an offence against heaven, that he who advises you to it,
cannot possibly entertain a doubt of its being such; for if he should
tell you, that by such a conduct you would conform to the will of the
gods, who have declared themselves favourable to Cæsar, he would
advance a sophistry unworthy to be heard in so august and solemn an
assembly; for what delirium is it to imagine, that we may continue to
oppress those, who groan under the weight of adverse fortune, upon a
pretence, of co-operating with the Supreme Providence? According to
this mode of reasoning, it would be right to give a sick man poison
instead of medicine, instead of binding up the sores of the wounded, to
cut and stab him afresh, and instead of succouring the poor, to take
from him the little he has. The gods are able to make people unhappy,
for this is a prerogative annexed to their sovereign power, which
they sometimes exert, by way of exercising the patience and constancy
of those they afflict, and with a view of affording to others an
opportunity of manifesting their clemency, and of administering to the
misfortunes of the distressed. Thus he who lends a compassionate hand
to assist those whom the gods have thought fit to make unhappy, does
not counteract their dispensations, but rather shews a compliance with,
and an obedience to, the immutable principles of their laws.

LV. To insinuate to you, in order to make Pompey a delinquent, that by
seeking an asylum here, he sought the ruin of your kingdom, amounts
to the same thing, as saying he meditates burning the temple, who
from the fury of his enemies, takes refuge at the altars of it. Pompey
does not pretend to compel, but only intreats you; neither, in his
intreaty, does he point out the bounds to which you should extend your
protection to him; nor although he should point them out, could any
consequences be deduced from thence to your disadvantage; for that
cannot take away from you, neither now, nor at any time after he shall
have put himself into your hands, the right of deliberating upon, and
after a just estimation of your power, your obligation, and your risk,
of determining to act by him, as the urgency of your affairs may make
it necessary. Furthermore, if you reflect, you will find that he has a
right to demand your protection, although it may be dangerous for you
to afford it him. You owe to him the sceptre you now sway, which he
restored to your father; nor is the probable hazard of the same crown,
which was certainly restored to you, an adequate recompence to the man
who restored it.

LVI. Having hitherto endeavoured to shew, that it would be just and
right to protect Pompey; my next argument shall be to prove, that it
would be convenient and advantageous also; although I am very well
aware, that in the eyes of an ordinary politician, this will appear an
extravagant paradox.

LVII. I shall begin with asking, what opinion ought we to entertain of
Cæsar, to think that he would look with benign eyes, and a grateful
heart, on a horrible act of perfidy, although it was committed to
disincumber him of that enemy, who has already disputed, and may
perhaps contend again with him for the empire? It seems to me, sir,
that this is the light in which it is laboured to represent Cæsar to
you; but if he truly is not such a sort of man, the treachery which
Theodotus proposes to you, will be very useless; but I will add, that
although he is that sort of man, you will not avoid, but rather augment
the danger of losing your crown, by being guilty of it. If Cæsar is
blinded by the passion of ambition to such an extreme degree, that it
would excite him, for the sake of gratifying it, to trample every sort
of duty and obligation under foot; this vile piece of service, will
not exempt or protect you from his despoiling you of your kingdom;
his ambition, if this is his only idol, will prompt him to extend his
dominion by all possible ways and means, whether just or unjust; and
the opulent kingdom of Egypt, is not so contemptible an acquisition,
that an ambitious man will forbear to seize it, for the sake of
rewarding a perfidious one with its possession.

LVII. The worst is, that by following the advice of Theodotus, you will
furnish Cæsar with a specious pretence for usurping your kingdom; and
therefore I say, that so far from avoiding the danger of losing it,
by adopting his plan, you would increase the risk. That Cæsar is very
sagacious and penetrating, is well known to all the world; and although
he might be glad to hear that Pompey was put to death; after the deed
was executed, he would affect to lament it. He, in appearance at least,
would detest the treachery of receiving Pompey into Egypt, under a
promise of security upon the royal word, for the purpose of taking
away his life. From this equivocal or critical state of Cæsar’s mind,
there might be but a short transition to his taking the resolution
of depriving you of your crown, and perhaps your life also. He might
do it for the sake of gratifying his ambition, and endeavouring to
persuade the world, that he was actuated by no other motive than that
of punishing the treacherous murderer of Pompey; and although he might
foresee, the Romans would never believe that this was his motive; he
well knows they would applaud the action, as they idolized Pompey while
living, and will adore his memory when dead. Other nations, who on
account of their being less penetrating, may not see into the artful
policy of Cæsar, will only contemplate in your ruin, a punishment
correspondent to your crime, and will admire the heroic justice of
Cæsar, who chastised the wicked act, although the commission of it was
never so convenient to him. Consider, sir, whether Cæsar will lose so
fine an opportunity of flattering the Roman people, of recommending
himself to the world for a just man, and of adding to the Imperial
crown he is fabricating, the precious gem of this kingdom.

LIX. We know that Cæsar, in all his actions and designs, has proposed
to himself Alexander of Macedon as the only example he would wish to
imitate. We are informed, that having in a temple of Spain, seen a
statue of that hero, it raised in his imagination a contemplation of
his glory, and caused him to shed tears of envy. Attend now, sir, to
what I am about to say to you. Immediately after Darius was defeated by
Alexander in the battle of Arbela, that unhappy king, who was become
a fugitive from the conqueror, was treacherously murdered by Bessus
the governor of Bactria, who thought by putting him to death, that
he should gain the favour of Alexander. But what followed? Why, that
Alexander caused him to be arrested, and torn to pieces by his own
immediate order as some tell us, or as others say, delivered him to
Oxathres the brother of Darius, to be dealt with as he thought proper.
Consider, sir, how great an affinity there is between the battles of
Arbela and Pharsalia, between the fortunes of Pompey and Darius, and
between the genius and tempers of Cæsar and Alexander. How much is it
to be dreaded, that if you act by Pompey, as Bessus did by Darius, that
Cæsar will do by you, as Alexander did by Bessus? He will find himself
precisely in the same circumstances of Alexander, and will, without
doubt, be strangely flattered with the idea of imitating him, and
especially in an action, which he knows was applauded by all the world.
We find ourselves also in the city of Alexandria, which was founded
by, and took its name from, Alexander; and even this circumstance, may
contribute to augment your danger, because, if ever he should think fit
to visit this city, it would revive in his imagination the idea of its
founder.

LX. I very well know, that although Cæsar should be the man we have
hitherto supposed him, still the protection of Pompey is not free from
danger. The Roman legions, in search of this illustrious fugitive,
will naturally present themselves to our imagination, destroying with
warlike fury, the country that harbours him. But if, in whatever
course we pursue, we must unavoidably encounter rocks and quicksands,
what does human prudence dictate in such a case? that we should do
what’s right and just, and leave the event to the disposal of the gods.
It is beyond a doubt, that the power of Cæsar is great; but his fortune
is no less dependant on heaven than ours, and the ray of Jupiter
pays no more respect to the proud palace, than to the humble cabin.
Thus those to whom heaven is most propitious, are likely to be most
successful.

LXI. Nor need we depend solely for our security on the special
providence of the gods, as we have resources in the ordinary course of
human events, and in the common influence of second causes. Cæsar is
yet at a great distance, and as he will have much to settle both in
Italy and Greece, in order to secure the fruits of his late victory,
it will be probably some time before he will find himself at leisure
to visit Egypt. During that interval, we may be employed in modeling
and disciplining our troops; they are not few in number, and we may
add new recruits to them; and to make the Egyptian troops equal to the
best in the world, nothing more is necessary, than that they should be
properly trained, and be commanded by a good general; because when we
had such a one in the person of our famous Sesostris, they conquered
and triumphed over the principal regions of Asia, as the ruins of the
columns that prince erected, and which time has thrown down, testify.
Nobody disputes Pompey’s being, if not the greatest soldier in the
world, at least equal to the greatest. His victories have acquired
him the epithet of great, which is a title Cæsar never attained. We
have then in him, the general we want; nor ought his reputation to be
lessened by the victory Cæsar lately obtained over him; for besides
his commanding a motley army, collected from, and composed of various
nations, he was but little or ill obeyed in that war; and this is an
evil, for which we have a remedy in our own power, by committing the
whole military government to the discretion and direction of Pompey.
If he finds himself not in a condition or situation to attack with a
prospect of victory, he will stand on the defensive, and preserve his
troops, which is the conduct he wished to have pursued in Greece. We
may also hope for many advantages from time; as in the interval of our
recess, succours may arrive to Pompey from all the world; for the whole
Roman empire, except the troops immediately in his pay, are enemies to
Cæsar; and although we should not be able to assemble an army, capable
of resisting Cæsar, his success will not be quite certain. The whole
Roman republic which commands the world, groans with affliction, under
the intolerable sensation, occasioned by the suppression of their
liberty; and it would be very extraordinary, if among the millions of
people of which it is composed, there should not be found some one
desperate enough, to sacrifice his own life, for the sake of redeeming
his country. Every man who arrives at despising, or setting no value on
his own life, may have that of Cæsar in his power; for one concealed
poignard, or one disguised dose of poison administered at his table,
would be more dangerous and fatal to him, than fifty thousand lances in
the open field. The instances of Romans, who have offered themselves
voluntary victims to the idol of fame, or the good of their country,
are numerous; and perhaps Cæsar at this time, has some one near his
person, waiting for an opportunity to repeat the same sacrifice.

LXII. There remains to us also another crutch of hope whereon to rest,
that is, the unwholesomeness of our climate. The air of Ægypt, which
is very unsalutary to the natives, is much more so to strangers. The
soldiers of Cæsar were born under, and have served in climates, which
were very different from ours. How natural then is it to suppose, that
by being detained some time in this country, the visitation of an
epidemical disorder may either demolish or incapacitate them!

LXIII. If by all, or any of these means, which are very probable
ones, you should be enabled to protect and preserve Pompey, you would
make yourself, sir, the most glorious prince in the world. The Romans
would adore you, as the vindicator and defender of their liberty, and
would look upon this kingdom, as the only temple which has afforded
sanctuary to, and preserved their idol. Other nations will applaud your
generous gratitude, and seeing how faithfully you have behaved to your
benefactor, there is no prince whatever, who will not be ready and
desirous to render you his services. What you may expect from Pompey,
is not in my power to express, nor in my imagination to conceive.

LXIV. But admitting, sir, that these well founded hopes should be
frustrated, and that heaven should continue to prosper the arms of
Cæsar, that Fortune should regulate the motions of its inconstant
wheel, so as that it shall always turn in his favour; that we
should see the Roman legions batter down the walls of Alexandria,
and afterwards be witnesses to the demolition of those of Memphis,
and behold all the other cities of Lower Ægypt in danger of being
destroyed; and that in consequence of this, we find ourselves under an
absolute necessity of capitulating with Cæsar; which is the greatest
difficulty and distress, to which we can be driven by Fortune; but
please to observe, sir, that although you should be reduced to this
necessity, you would even then find your affairs in a better state,
than there is any probability of your finding them, provided you
follow the advice that has been given you by Theodotus. Cæsar would
require you to deliver up Pompey, and it is most likely would offer
you in return, the restitution of all he has conquered; for the whole
country that is inundated by the Nile, would be of but little value
to him, compared to the possession of a person, who by a thousand
accidents, might have it in his power to overturn his whole empire.
You might then make this exchange, and remain master of your kingdom,
and might justify yourself to all the world, by pleading the hard law
of necessity as an excuse for what you did. But what infatuation, what
madness would it be, sir, for you to persuade yourself, that it would
be right at this time to put Pompey treacherously to death, without
more advantage to yourself, than what you might obtain hereafter, by
delivering him up without infamy? I have said without more advantage,
and I ought to add to it with greater danger. If you commit so base an
action, it is probable that Cæsar, either from motives of virtue, or
excited to it by hypocrisy, will punish you severely. If you think
him generous, you must conclude that he will be extremely irritated
against you, both for your cruelty, and your ingratitude, and because
you offered him a provoking indignity, by supposing him capable of
accepting a treachery for a compliment; and because also, you deprived
him of a precious opportunity, of manifesting his clemency to Pompey
in distress. If you consider him only as an ambitious and profound
politician, you may suppose he will act the same part from motives of
dissimulation, that he would have acted from motives of generosity, and
to gain credit with the world, would treat you as a delinquent. You
will have none of this to apprehend, when, forced to it by necessity,
you find yourself obliged to deliver up Pompey, because in this last
case, the reasons for treating you in the manner we have just been
describing will not exist, and because also it was never known, that
Cæsar failed to preserve the faith of his engagements, or that he
treated with cruelty, those he had vanquished.

LXV. Nor should we omit, that Cæsar’s good opinion of your personal
conduct to Pompey, may co-operate with his virtue, and have an
influence on his policy. Cæsar is not ignorant, that you have always
been well affected to Pompey and his cause, and when Cæsar finds Pompey
has perished by your hands, he will readily conclude, that you would
have dealt the same treatment to him, and with a better will, provided
the victor had been the vanquished. Consider now, what sort of an
opinion Cæsar must entertain of you, when he reflects, that your not
committing the same treachery by him, is owing to his fortune, and not
your good-will, but that in spite of your malevolent disposition, his
fortune has insured his safety.

LXVI. The arguments, sir, with which I have proved, that without
attending to the justice of the case, it was more for your interest
to protect than to destroy Pompey, will serve to prove, that it will
be more beneficial to you to entertain him than to send him away. The
sending him away, will not oblige Cæsar, but will offend Pompey, and
will also make you appear ungrateful in the eyes of the whole world.
Pompey driven from this coast, will become a wanderer by sea and by
land, in search of some safe hole or corner, wherein to hide himself,
till the desperation of one, or the conspiracy of many, shall deprive
Cæsar of his life; and in all probability, it will not be long, before
this contingent happens. If this event should fall out, Pompey would
then be master in much greater security than he ever was, of all
that Cæsar at present enjoys. Consider now, if this should ever be
the case, what you would have reason to expect from his hands for
driving him out of your kingdom, after he had fixed the crown on the
head of your father. Cæsar while he rules, as he is not ignorant that
you are disaffected to him, will always consider you as an enemy, who
only wants power or resolution to act openly as such. The service of
your abandoning Pompey, will not oblige him, and will debase you,
for he cannot fail to see clearly, that you did it through fear. His
dislike to you will continue, and you will add to it, his contempt and
disesteem.

LXVII. Further, if you receive and entertain Pompey benignly, you
may in consequence of doing it, give yourself credit to a certain
amount, for having both Pompey and Cæsar in some degree under your
influence, Pompey, in virtue of having him within your dominions; and
Cæsar, because he would be disposed to grant you very advantageous
conditions, to prevail on you to deliver Pompey up. But I would not
have it understood, that I mean to recommend this, as what you ought
to do; for my opinion is, that you should absolutely risk every thing
to preserve Pompey, because you owe every thing to him. This is what
true virtue dictates; but the predicament we are in at present, is that
of consulting and considering, the reasons of state and policy for
receiving Pompey with a determination of defending him, and at the same
time not to extend that defence so far as to endanger the loss of your
kingdom. It is true, this would not be doing enough to entitle you to
the applause of the world as a generous man; but it would be sufficient
to prevent your being condemned as an unjust one. You would save your
honour, and not neglect your interest; and the judgment of heaven,
with respect to such a conduct, would coincide with that of the world.
Pompey would find himself under great obligations to you: Cæsar might
perhaps be irritated against you; but the emotions of his anger, would
soon give way to his own convenience, and even to yours. If the gods,
as they are able to do, should prosper our arms under the command of
Pompey, all the world will respect your person, your virtue, and your
power; and in spite of all Cæsar can do, after you have sustained the
losses enumerated, which will be sufficient to excuse your conduct in
the eye of the world, you will at last, by delivering up Pompey, be
able to repair all your damage.

LXVIII. This speech appeared to me proper to introduce here, not
only for the entertainment of the reader, but for his benefit and
caution also; for having in this discourse set forth so many maxims
and examples of tyrannic policy, I was apprehensive, that some
people of weak understandings, might persuade themselves, it would
be convenient and useful to practise them, if I did not at the same
time, together with the poison, administer the antidote, and shew by
such an example, that the violent expedients which Machiavelianism
proposes as convenient, are in general hurtful and pernicious, or at
least insecure and not to be relied on, and that in the very cases
in which they are represented to be necessary, there are others that
might be hit upon, which would answer the purpose much better, and
which would admit of reconciling the useful with the honest, provided
there is an upright will to adopt them, and a clear understanding to
search out and apply them; so that what they call refined policy,
is nothing more than a political dross or scum, and the production
of gross geniuses, who do not search deeper than the superficies of
things. The Machiavelians, seldom attend to more than the immediate
effect of the blow their malice meditates, without reflecting, that
the political machine is many times disposed to move in such a variety
of directions, that it often runs back on, and crushes him who first
set it in motion. I have said before, and I repeat it again, that the
instances of perverse politicians who have been happy for any length
of time, are very few, and that those few, have seldom been blessed
with more than a transient ray of the splendor of fortune; and have
been almost all shipwrecked by a sudden change of the wind, when they
thought themselves sailing on with a favourable gale, and in the most
prosperous manner. What infatuation then is it, to pursue a course,
where all the rocks in the track of it, are stained with the blood of
unhappy sufferers? Or who, with any reasonable expectation of success,
can hope to make his fortune, by following and adopting the maxims of
Machiavel, knowing the author of them lived poor and despised, and
died miserable and abhorred? Perhaps this impious politician, may not
improperly be compared to the unhappy Phlegyas described by Virgil,
who was not undeceived, till his being convinced of the delusion he
had been under could be of no service to him, and who with bitter
expressions of lamentation, and in a hideous tone of voice, proclaimed
the error of his detestable maxims, to the whole miserable group of the
damned:

        _--Phlegyasque miserrimus omnes_
    _Admonet, & magna testatur voce per umbras:_
    _Discite justitiam, moniti, & non temnere Divos._




AMBITION IN SOVEREIGNS.


SECT. I.

I. The most unjust adoration the world bestows, is that which is given
to, and received by conquering Princes, they being only deserving of
the public hatred; while living, mankind pay them a forced obedience,
and when dead a courteous applause; the first is necessity, the second
folly.

II. What is a conqueror but a scourge, which the divine anger has sent
among us for our chastisement? What, but an animated pestilence, both
to his own kingdom, and those of the Princes his neighbours also;
a malignant star, which rules and influences nought but murders,
robberies, desolations, and conflagrations; a comet, which equally
threatens the destruction of cottages and of palaces; and, to sum up
the whole, a man who is the enemy of all other men, because in the
prosecution of his ambitious views, he would deprive all mankind of
their liberty, and take from many their lives and fortunes?

III. In this, as in many other things, I admire the superior judgment
of the Chinese. Isaac Vossius affirms, that in the annals of those
people, they do not celebrate warlike, but pacific Princes; neither do
they triumph in future ages, or acquire the applauses of posterity, who
have by their arms added new dominions to the state, but those who have
governed with justice and moderation the territories which descended to
them by inheritance. This is applauding with judgment.

IV. I don’t deny, that valour, military skill, and other endowments
peculiar to conquerors, are estimable; but only mean to inculcate, that
when they are accompanied with a tyrannic use, they cause those who
make such an application of them, to become objects of abhorrence and
detestation. There never was any man eminent for feats of wickedness,
who was not endued with great qualities of body and mind; at least,
they are rarely deficient in those of robustness, industry, and
bravery: but who, on this account, would employ himself in celebrating,
or becoming the panegyrist of malefactors?

V. It is not comparison, but identity, which I mean to propound and
enforce; for truly those great heroes, who are so celebrated by the
trumpets of fame, were in reality nothing better than malefactors in a
high form. If I was to set about writing a catalogue of the most famous
rogues who have figured on the theatre of the world, I should place at
the head of it, Alexander the Great, and Julius Cæsar.

VI. No one had a juster sense of his situation in this respect, nor
made a more candid acknowledgment of his profession and occupation,
than Antigonus King of Asia. When he was in the zenith of his
conquests, a philosopher dedicated a book to him which he had just
finished, the subject-matter of which was, an encomium on the virtue of
justice. As soon as Antigonus read the title of the book, he smiled,
and said, “It is certainly very _à propos_, to dedicate a treatise in
commemoration of the virtue of justice to me, who am robbing all the
world of every thing I can.”

VII. And although, neither Alexander, nor Cæsar, ever made so candid
a confession, they manifested sufficiently, that they were stung with
the remorse, and affected with the bitings of their own consciences.
The first, shewed the influence these feelings had over him, in the
instance of the temper and forbearance, with which he suffered the
pirate who fell into his hands, to upbraid him with being a greater
and more scandalous pirate than himself; for if Alexander had not been
conscious that the man spoke truth, the consequence of his boldness
would have been very terrible to him. The second displayed it, in
his perplexities at the crisis of passing the Rubicon; it being
most probable, that intrepid soul was not withheld so much by the
contemplation of the dangerous undertaking he was going to engage in,
as by the sense of the crime he was about to commit.


SECT. II.

VIII. In reality, conquering Princes are so totally bad, that they are
not even good to themselves. They are bad neighbours, as is notorious;
they are bad to their subjects, who in the end are equal sufferers with
the others; because by the excessive contributions that are extorted
from them, they are drained of their property, and in the obstinate
wars in which their Princes engage, are deprived of their lives. It is
true they conquer; but ten battles gained cost more men to a nation
than two or three lost. If we were to add to this, the loss incurred in
consequence of the neglect and decay of arts, manufactures, commerce,
and agriculture; at winding up the bottom you will find, that with the
exception of a few military men, who have been exceedingly fortunate
and successful, or whose services have been liberally rewarded, and
also with that of a few others, who have enriched themselves by
plunder, or the spoils of their own country; the conquerors are left in
as bad a situation as the vanquished.

IX. These ambitious spirits bring on their subjects another injury,
which is sufficiently serious, though less noticed than the former;
and that is, that being totally occupied with the idea of aggrandizing
their power by all possible ways and means, they do not only endeavour
to augment it externally, and among strangers, but also internally, and
among their own subjects. They are not only desirous of ruling over
the most vassals they can, but are also anxious to domineer the most
they can over their own subjects. It is not so easy to satisfy ambition
in this second way, as in the first; for by adopting it, without
an addition of subjects, he, who will disembarrass himself of the
restriction of laws, may form an empire without limits; and an empire
reduced to despotism, if, instead of estimating it by the number of
those who are to obey, you make the computation according to the number
of things that may be commanded, is an infinite one.

X. Finally, conquering Princes are evils to themselves; for as the
dropsical thirst of accumulating new subjects is never satiated, the
anxieties of their hearts are never quieted: _Plusque cupit, quo plura
suam demittit in alvum._ Their backs are turned on all they have
acquired, and they turn their eyes on what remains for them to acquire.
From hence it follows, that this last being always in their view,
has more power to inquiet their minds by irritating their appetite,
than the other has to calm their souls by insinuating the happiness
of possession, and the pleasure of enjoyment; and we may add to this
anxiety, the dread of poison or the knife, which are the ordinary
finishers of the lives of conquerors.

XI. There only remains to them, as the fruit of all their labours and
toils, a single good, which they cannot enjoy, and therefore should
not be reckoned to them as a benefit; that is, their names being
celebrated in future ages; a tribute, which is paid to their ashes by
the folly of mankind, and than which no tribute is more unjust. If the
remembrance of conquerors was to be recorded in phrases dictated by
the understanding, they would be described in terms of execration, not
applause. Whoever sets about celebrating a Nimrod, an Alexander, or a
Romulus, may with equal reason, employ himself in celebrating a tiger,
a dragon, or a basilisk. I find the same qualities in the three eminent
heroes, as in the three furious wild beasts, to wit, a great strength
and power to commit mischief, and a great inclination to do it.

XII. I can’t refrain from laughter, when I reflect on the Romans, who
were masters of the world, being vain of fixing the origin of their
empire in Romulus. There was nothing in the deeds or character of this
man, which could reflect lustre on his descendants. If you look to his
birth, you will find that his mother was nothing better than a common
prostitute. If you consider his life and profession, you will find
that he was a daring and enterprising robber, who, being made captain
of others like himself, erected his infamous gang into a republic. The
rape of the Sabines, if the story is true, proves that Romulus, and
all his followers, were looked upon as despicable and vile, and as
a nuisance, by all Italy, because no other people chose to give them
wives, or to intermarry with them; and it was necessary, in order to
have women, that they should steal, and take them by violence. The life
of Romulus was taken away by the same ministers he himself had raised,
they not being able to bear with, or endure him. But such is the
blindness of the world, that the same person who was deemed unworthy to
live among men, and who was put to death on that account, is presently
afterwards placed among the deities.

XIII. Other great conquerors met with the same lot; they were abhorred
while living, and worshipped when dead. Nimrod was the first object
of idolatry. They changed the name Nimrod, which signified rebel,
into that of Bel, Baal, or Baalim, which signifies Lord. This is the
Jupiter Belus of antiquity. Alexander fell a victim to poison, from the
resentment of Antipater, and presently there were victims sacrificed on
the altars to Alexander. They had scarce murdered Cæsar in the capital,
as an enemy to his country, when they venerated him in Heaven, as the
tutelar deity of the republic. The raising men to the rank of deities,
was a great error in the Gentiles; but the raising those to that rank,
who on account of their vices should have been degraded from the rank
of men, was a much greater.


SECT. III.

XIV. Those who have a just idea of the Deity, cannot fall into so gross
an error; but we don’t on that account cease to err. It is true, we do
not worship conquerors as deities, but we celebrate them as heroes.
What is this, but debasing so noble an epithet? True heroes are wrought
and fashioned by virtue, and therefore we should reject all those
as spurious and ill-made, which are fabricated in the workshops of
ambition. A great and a bad man are contradictions in terms. Agesilaus
answered wisely, to one who was extolling the greatness of the King of
Persia, and at the same time took occasion to insinuate a remark on the
smallness of the kingdom of Sparta, compared to the Persian empire. His
reply was: _He only can be greater than me, who is better than me._ He
could not have spoke more to the purpose, if he had read the celebrated
saying of St. Austin, in the following words: _In his, quæ non mole,
sed virtute, præstant, idem est majus esse, quod melius esse. With
regard to those things, which are estimated, not by the bulk, but by
the virtue or excellence of them, that is greatest, which is best._

XV. Let a Theodosius, a Charles the Great, a Godfrey of Bulloign, a
George Castriotus, be celebrated as heroes; and, in fine, all those in
whom Fortune assisted Valour, and Valour Justice; those, who only drew
their swords in the cause of Heaven, or for the good of the public;
those, who in wars take to themselves the toil and the danger only, and
leave untouched as the property of others, the fruits and acquisitions;
those, who are pacific by inclination, and warriors through necessity;
finally, all those, who, as an example to posterity, have by their
actions, impressed an idea on the minds of men, that they were just,
clement, wise, and animated Princes, in whose sceptres justice reigned,
and whose swords never wounded their own consciences.

XVI. But discard from the stock of heroes, those crowned Tigers called
conquering Princes, and let them be numbered with the delinquents.
Throw down their statues, and translate their images, from the Palace
to the dens of wild beasts, that the copies at least may be placed
among company, and in such a situation, as suited the characters of the
originals. I will in this place give a general trait or description of
all conquering Princes, which I find delineated in very lively colours,
in the words of a Prince on his death-bed, to whom they gave this
epithet, which was William the First of England.

XVII. This prince, in that last stage of life, in which a man finding
himself on the verge of eternity, begins to see things in their true
light; and at the period of time, when the eyes of the soul open,
with the same pace with which those of the body proceed to shut;
and when the thoughts of his past victories gnawed his conscience,
without feeding his ambition. At this crisis, either from motives of
repentance, despair, or from a desire to unburthen himself, after
reflecting with horror on the sum of his past actions, in the presence
of many nobles who surrounded his bed--He made this confession: _I have
hated the English, I have dishonoured their Nobility, I have mortified
and oppressed the people, and have been the cause of the death of
infinite numbers, by famine and the sword; and to sum up the whole, I
have desolated this fine and illustrious kingdom, by the murder and
destruction of thousands and tens of thousands of its inhabitants._ In
these few lines, are painted, in their true colours, the exploits of
that conqueror; and the same tints, would serve to delineate those of
most others who have been dignified with that epithet.

XVIII. I had almost said all; for as I observed before, the dropsical
thirst of rule and dominion, which is a disease common to all
conquerors, inclines them to aggrandise and extend their empire with
respect to foreigners; and also, to enlarge and increase their power
among their own subjects. The ambition that agitates them, not only
makes them pant to beat down the boundaries of the crown, but those of
justice also. Not content to govern by law, they aspire at despotism.
They look upon equity as an impediment to, and a restriction of their
grandeur, and can only find enlargements proportioned to the views of
their souls, in tyranny. That kingdom is in an unhappy state, where he
who rules and presides over it, has his head filled with this caprice.
The misfortune is, that many are poisoned with these notions and
dispositions, who are no conquerors, nor entertain the least thoughts
of being such, unless it is in the subjugation of their own subjects.

XIX. This is a species of conquest, the most odious, and the most
cheap; for it is not acquired by valour, but by craft and cunning; not
by the fatigues of the field, but by the cabals of the cabinet. But
notwithstanding they conquer their own subjects, and render them more
submissive, and by binding liberty with stronger and heavier chains,
convert vassalage to slavery; they should remember, that dominion is
only hereditary, for so long as it is conducted with justice; but
that when it comes to be exercised with violence, it is usurpation.
But that is an unhappy harvest, which ambition reaps by such means.
How is a Prince benefited, if, by putting the bodies of his subjects
under a hard state of servitude, he loses their souls, and alienates
their affections? He loses the best part of his subjects, which is
their love, and gets in return for it a small portion more of fear;
and he estranges from him their hearts, by oppressing their breasts.
He deprives himself of the greatest sweet or pleasure of reigning,
which consists in seeing his legal commands obeyed with chearfulness
and inclination. What delight can the prospect of a government afford,
where you contemplate every vassal, as a fierce animal, who supports
with indignation the chain that confines him? What security can a
Prince have against the invasions of foreign powers, who has made his
subjects disaffected to him? Or what security against the intrigues and
resentment of his own people, whom, by his absurd conduct, he has made
angry, and weaned of their affections for him? The monarchs of the east
can best answer these queries, and tell, how by affecting to be so much
the arbiters of the lives of their subjects, the subjects frequently
have erected themselves into being the arbiters of the lives of their
Princes.


SECT. IV.

XX. The blame of this abuse, whenever it happens, lies at the doors of
ill-intentioned ministers and vile flatterers. These are interested
in extending the acts of government beyond their bounds, because they
expect to be partakers in the sway and emoluments resulting from a
stretch of power; and they endeavour to gain the favour of the Prince,
by insinuating to him, that government being all force or seduction,
the most easy and eligible method of ruling, is by the King’s pleasure,
and that this at the same time, would be the most likely means of
raising the King’s authority to the highest pitch of elevation and
perfection. With this view, they also are continually representing to
him, that total independance is essential to a crown, and that laws and
customs are unworthy restrictions upon sovereigns; that a monarch is
the more respectable, the more absolute he reigns; and that the just
medium of the King’s authority, is the King’s will. That the dignity
of the crown is by so much the more exalted, by so much the more the
people are depressed and kept under. And to sum up the whole: that a
King is a deity upon earth, which maxim they enforce so strongly, that
as far as it is in their power, they would make him forget there is
another superior in Heaven.

XXI. A story related by John Reynaldo de Segrais in his anecdotes, is
very applicable to the present purpose. When Louis the XIVth of France
was but fifteen years old, some flatterers were one day entertaining
him at court, with a recital of, and endeavouring to instill into him,
such maxims of tyrannic policy as we have been just mentioning, though
I believe if he had been five or six years older, the least punishment
he would have inflicted on them for it, would have been banishing them
from his presence and court for ever; but the want of experience,
joined to his judgment not being then matured, and the ardour of his
lively spirit, occasioned him to listen to them with pleasure, as their
relations were suited to the grandeur of his heart, and his ideas of
unlimited power. Marechal d’Etré, an antient man, of great wisdom and
experience, was at the same time standing at a little distance from
the King, and listening with the highest indignation, to the language
of those flatterers. In the course of their conversation, they came
to talk of the Ottoman Emperors, and spoke with great approbation of
those monarchs being the despotic masters of the lives and fortunes of
their vassals. This is reigning in the true sense of the word, said
Louis; they must certainly be happy Princes; and he spoke this in a
manner, which indicated his good liking of that mode of government. His
words pierced through the heart of the good Marechal, who, reflecting
on the pernicious consequences that would result from his adopting such
principles, advanced quickly up to the King, and intrepidly said to
him: _But, Sir, I must inform your Majesty, that within my remembrance,
two or three of these Emperors have been strangled by the hands of
their own subjects._ Marechal Villeroi, the worthy guardian and
governor of the young King, who was at some distance, but had overheard
all that passed; in a transport of joy, broke through the crowd to get
at d’Etré, whom he publicly embraced, and gave him the most cordial
thanks for so opportune and useful a caution. Would to God that there
was always ready at the side of Princes, some man of such generous
and liberal sentiments, to apply the antidote, when flattery in the
alluring gilded cup of grandeur presents to them the poison of tyranny!


SECT. V.

XXII. The tender age of Princes is the most susceptible of imbibing
salutary or pernicious maxims, and the impressions of childhood take
deep root in the soul, which, according to the cultivation it receives
then, produces fruit in future; and it very seldom happens, that this
rule is known to fail; for the good or bad images which are impressed
at that time, are scarce ever effaced.

XXIII. Therefore the election of guardians, who are to direct and
regulate the management of Princes in their infancy, is a matter of
the utmost importance to kingdoms; and the choice of proper maxims,
wherewith to inspire their pupils, demands the most serious attention
of the guardians.


SECT. VI.

XXIV. The soul then, in the state of nonage, receiving impressions
like wax, and retaining them like brass; I repeat once more, that the
inspiring young people with wholesome maxims in their tender years,
is a thing of the utmost importance. The method of education should
be thus laid out: to begin with religion, to proceed next to ethics
or morality, and to finish with politics. In these three parts, there
is an admirable connection. Religion (which we don’t speak of here as
a special virtue, but only with relation to the firm faith contained
in it, and the truths it persuades) informs the understanding of the
greatness and goodness of God, and disposes the heart to love him.
Ethics, or moral instruction, directs all our actions, and causes them
to conspire unanimously to promote this end, serving at the same time,
as a vehicle to convey, and as an ultimate disposer to the practice
of the most sound policy; or, to speak more properly, the morality
of a King, with relation to his kingly office, is no other thing but
policy itself, taken in general and comprehensive sense; because that
consists, in a combination or assemblage of all those virtues, which
conduce or lead to the exercise of good government.

XXV. The reading of good books is very useful, to instruct Princes in
the maxims of sound policy. But which are the good books? I believe
very few. Those which contain sound doctrine are infinite; but what
signifies their informing, if they don’t stimulate or move? The most
difficult part of morality, does not so much consist in coming at a
knowledge of what is right, as in exciting and moving an effectual
inclination to practise it. There are books of short sentences, and
abounding with affectation, (in the stile of Seneca, which a certain
Emperor called sand without lime) which tingle in the ear, but their
echo never reaches the heart. There are others, filled with texts and
pulpit conceits, which, instead of illustrating, confound, and instead
of moving, become tiresome and surfeiting. There are others again,
which abound with the sentences of Thucydides, Polybius, Tacitus, Livy,
and Sallust, intermixed with a number of historical passages. I shall
say of all these, as Apelles said of a pupil of his, who had painted
Helen with very little beauty, but in a very costly dress stuck full of
jewels: _Cum non posses facere pulchram, fecisti divitem. As you was
unable to make her handsome, you have made her rich._ These forced and
unnatural ornaments, with which erudition in the books that treat of
it, dress virtue, do not conduce to fire the minds of those who read
them, with the love of her. He only will accomplish this end, who has
the art of painting in lively colours her native beauty; and who has
the address and genius, to impress on the understanding, a clear and
agreeable idea, of the magnificence of her charms.

XXVI. But better than the best books, is good conversation. The
instruction which is communicated by means of the voice, is natural,
that which is conveyed by writing, is artificial; the one is animated,
the other dead; consequently, the first will be efficacious and active,
the second languid and faint. The tongue writes on the soul, as the
hand on paper. That which we hear, is conveyed to us immediately and
in the first instance, from the mind of him from whom the instruction
proceeds; that which we read, is the copy of a copy. If princes in
their childhood, were daily attended by discreet and good-intentioned
people, who under the colour of amusing and entertaining them, were to
instruct them; any one might venture to be bound, for their future good
behaviour and wise conduct. The learning insinuates itself deepest,
which is conveyed under the veil of diversion; and as that nourishes
the body best, which we eat with desire and an appetite, so that which
we listen to with delight, is most improving to the soul. The word
instruction is unpleasing to children, therefore it is necessary as
far as we are able, to take away the name, and leave or preserve the
substance of the thing; and this is much more necessary to be done in
the case of Princes, because from their early time of life, either
their own vanity, or the flattery of other people, inspires them with
a notion, that persons of their rank and station have no need of
learning. The rules of equity and civil jurisprudence, conveyed under
the disguise of engaging and entertaining relations of the conduct
and management of just Princes, who by acting well, attained the
accomplishment of all their wishes with respect to foreign concerns,
and acquired the adoration of their own subjects at home, and the
admiration of all strangers; I say, if improvement was insinuated
into them in this way, by some person whose conversation was pleasing
to them, and who had the address to introduce it, not as if he was
instructing, but entertaining, them; it would be the best method of
ingrafting in their minds, plants of the choicest quality, from whence
in time you might expect to gather excellent fruit. For this reason,
the wise Bishop of Cambray composed for the education of the Duke of
Burgundy, whose preceptor he was, a collection of pleasing fables, in
the stile and manner of such tales, with which old women are accustomed
to entertain children, and which children for their amusement are used
to relate to one another; in these, he in natural and easy language,
suited to their capacities and comprehensions, conveyed all the
precepts which compose the most Christian policy.


SECT. VII.

XXVII. All the lessons however, which are given to Princes, should
be calculated to train them to, and make them enamoured with those
virtues, which may be of the most consequence, and the most useful
to them, both as Princes and men; above all, regard should be had,
as a matter of the utmost importance, to implanting in them, the
feelings of humanity and moderation of spirit, which virtues, as being
diametrically opposite to, are the best counterpoises to the vice of
ambition. Other vices may be prejudicial to themselves, or injurious
to particular individuals; but ambition, or the inordinate lust of
dominion and controul, are pernicious, and evils to a whole kingdom.
There is no doubt, but an unjust or a cruel Prince, is extremely
abhorrent, though with all this, if you attend to the mischief these
vices produce, you will find, that that occasioned by ambition, far
exceeds the other; for on account of its being most generally felt,
it is by far the greatest. Injustice and cruelty are exercised on
determined individuals, but ambition oppresses all. Or we should
express it better, by saying, the unjust and cruel, is cruel and unjust
to some particular people; but the ambitious is unjust and cruel to
the whole community. These are the ordinary steps and progressions
of ambition. It begins by injustice, goes on to rigour, and ends
with cruelty. The Prince is unjust to a state, who, by extending his
demands beyond the limits of right reason, is desirous of burthening
his subjects more than the rules of equity permit. But what follows
this oppressive mode of conduct? Why that the subjects, as soon as
it is introduced, begin to be dissatisfied and complain; and that
the Prince, regarding their complaints and applications for redress,
though couched in never so submissive terms, as affronts and injuries,
begins to direct chastisements. Measures of rigour are now determined
on; and what follows the execution of them? Why, that the clamours and
complaints grow louder, and that the cries of the oppressed in the ears
of the King, sound like the voice of rebellion. Upon this, the rigour,
under the colour of law and justice, is augmented, till it ascends
to the degree of cruelty; but in case things do not arrive at this
extremity, because fear suffocates in the breasts of the afflicted, the
voice of murmur; yet what greater torment can a man undergo, than that
of supporting a heavy yoke on his shoulders, and having at the same
time a cord drawn so tight round his neck, as to obstruct the relief of
a sigh? This then being a great martyrdom, the oppression which is the
cause of it, can’t fail of being a great cruelty.


SECT. VIII.

XXVIII. I am not surprized that some Princes have gone to this
extreme, but rather wonder that all have not proceeded to it. The
thirsty desire of domineering, which is never satiated, is natural
to the heart of man; and this principle which is born with us, in
Princes, is stimulated and inflamed by flattery. We frequently hear
them addressed, in terms which are exquisitely hyperbolical, some to
blazon the perfections of their characters, others those of their
persons. They represent to them their superiority in a manner, that
tends to persuade them, they are more than men, and that other people
are less. This ostentatious image of grandeur is very grateful to their
feelings, and therefore it is not wonderful, they should set it up
as an idol, for the people who are under them to offer as sacrifices
to, all they possess which is most valuable. Some politicians have
thought it expedient, in order to give Princes a higher idea of their
own excellence, and fill them with more exalted notions, to place
flatterers about their persons; and I have no doubt but this may
be proper, when you perceive them to be very pusillanimous. But in
general, the thing of most consequence in their education, ought to
be taking care to impress on their minds, such maxims only, as are
dictated by religion, virtue, and humanity. And this is the manner in
which they should be propounded to them.

XXIX. That a King is a man, as other men are, son like them, of the
same common father, equal by nature, and only unequal in fortune.

XXX. That this fortune, imagine it to be great as you will, he owes all
to God, who has power to place one of another race on the throne; and
no man, if he pleases to do it, has a right to find fault or complain
of injustice, even though he should raise to the rank of Majesty a
person of the most humble station in the kingdom, and reduce to the
lowest class, him, who the day before was seated on a throne.

XXXI. That so much the greater the idea of his own grandeur is, by so
much the greater ought his gratitude and thankfulness to be to the
Divine Majesty, who has conferred it upon him; and that in proportion
to the superiority of his rank, are his obligations to serve and obey
God as an example to other men.

XXXII. That God did not make the kingdom for the King, but the King
for the kingdom. Therefore the object of his government should not be
directed to support his own private interest or convenience, but that
of the republic. For this reason, Aristotle points out the essential
distinction between a King and a tyrant, that the first only attends to
his own convenience, the other to the public good.

XXXIII. That consequently, the expression used in edicts, that such is
the King’s pleasure, he having thought fit to order the thing specified
to be done for the advancement or good of his service, should be
understood to imply, that he is pleased with ordaining such things only
as are for the good of the public. It is the duty of the subjects to
obey the King; and it is the duty of the King to command such things
only, as are for the benefit and advantage of his subjects.

XXXIV. That as the subjects are obliged to obey and execute what
the King is pleased to direct, the King is obliged to order such
things only as are pleasing to God, and consistent with his laws and
commandments.

XXXV. That the power of ordering only what is right and just, does not
diminish his authority, but rather aggrandizes it; for although it is
impossible for God to do any act which is not right and just, he does
not on that account cease to be omnipotent.

XXXVI. That a King, having risen to the summit of human glory, cannot
ascend to a superior degree of altitude, but by the arduous path of
virtue; that is, he can only be greater by being better.

XXXVII. That the most difficult and most glorious part of the exercise
of the kingly office, consists, not in a Prince’s conquering new
kingdoms, but in his good government of that he possesses. A Courtier
in the presence of Augustus said, that Alexander, at thirty-two years
of age, upon reflecting that in a little time he should subjugate all
the world, was at a loss to think how he should employ himself when
that was done: _Alexander at that rate_, replied Augustus, _must have
been very simple; for the most arduous and difficult part of the work
remained still to be executed, which was, governing well the kingdoms
he had conquered._

XXXVIII. If we were to take an account of the Princes who were great
warriors, and of those who were eminent for their virtue, we should
find the number of the last much smaller than that of the first; so
that although virtue should not be so much admired in Kings as military
glory, its being more scarce, is sufficient to make it more valuable.
Flavius Vopiscus relates, that a buffoon, to express the smallness of
the number of the good Princes who had been known in he world, said,
the effigies of them all might be carved on a ring. As he talked of
idolatrous Kings, for he knew no others, he may be supposed to have
spoken the truth; but things are quite otherwise at present, although
the numbers of the warlike and political ones, may be reckoned in all
times to have exceeded those of the pious ones.

XXXIX. That as the subjects owe to their King their obedience and
respect, he owes to them his tender care and protection. A King has two
sorts of children, some as a man, others as a Prince; those of the one
sort are natural, those of the other political; but they are all his
subjects, and as such he ought to love them. The inhabitants of Sichem,
of whom Hamor was Prince, are called in scripture the children of Hamor.

XL. That this love should not impede, but rather stimulate him to
punish delinquents; because the greatest benefit a King can confer on
his subjects, is to root out from among them evil-doers.

XLI. That the effects of his love should be more felt by his subjects
at large, than by his ministers, and especially those who are nearest
his person; for to these, he should dispense the tokens of his regard,
in proportion to their merit; and it is of the utmost importance, that
he should not extend his esteem for them beyond those limits. It is
good that ministers should love their Prince; but I judge it would be
more beneficial to the public, that they should fear him. That kingdom
is in a most happy state, where the subjects fear the ministers, the
ministers the King, and the King God.

XLII. Those above all should experience him terrible, who are found
wanting to the truth in any informations they give him relating
to important public affairs, or even concerning private ones; for
there are few Princes, who would not wish to do what is most for the
advantage of their subjects; but it happens, that they fail to attain
this end, on account of the indirect and fallacious informations which
come to their ears.

XLIII. That in order to insure the receiving them pure, there is no
other method to be pursued, but that of admitting easy access to all
men; some would then remove the deceptions, which others had imposed;
or no one would venture to deceive, for fear that some other should
detect him. If any one arrives at the sole possession of the King’s
ear, he, without using further industry, becomes the sole master of
the King and his kingdom.

XLIV. That he should listen courteously to all who address him, but
should be more particularly gracious to those in humble stations of
life, because these, as more timorous and bashful, stand in most need
of encouragement to enable them to express themselves. Augustus, with a
most humane air, asked a man who approached him with fear and trembling
to deliver a petition, if he thought he was addressing himself
to a lion or a tiger. This courteous manner in a Prince, besides
conciliating the love of his subjects, facilitates to those who obtain
an audience, a clear and entire exposition of all they have to say; for
a tremulous tongue can never articulate plainly, and fear cuts off the
communication between the lips and the breast.

XLV. That he should shew himself so zealous a lover of justice, as even
for the sake of it, to dispense with his own interest or convenience;
and he should give the judges to understand, that whenever his concerns
come in question, and that any thing which is supposed to be his is
claimed by one of his subjects, if the merits of the case are not on
his side, they would not recommend themselves to him, by pronouncing
sentence in his favour. This was the great lesson, which, among others,
was given on his death-bed by the pious King Louis to his heir and
successor Philip. The Senescal Joinville, the beloved minister of that
Prince, relates the advice to have been conceived in the following
terms: _If any one shall have a dispute or litigation with you, shew
yourself favourably disposed to the suit of your opponent, till the
truth can with certainty be established. By pursuing this method, you
will ensure, that your ministers and counsellors will always act in
favour of justice._ A caution worthy to be written and preserved in
letters of gold.

XLVI. That whenever it is evidentally established, that some resolution
is necessary to be taken for the good of the public, maugre the
compassion, benignity, and love, which are so much recommended; it
should not be omitted to be carried into execution, on account of the
complaints or injury it may occasion to some particular people; for
they sometimes are not aware of the importance of the measure; and
sometimes it is also necessary, to suffer a grievance to be born by a
small part of a kingdom, for the good of the whole.

XLVII. That when he consults the lawyer, the divine, or the politician,
he should conceal the inclinations of his own mind, and hear their
answers with perfect indifference. If he does not act thus, but on the
contrary rewards him who coincides with his wishes, and frowns on the
man who speaks with christian freedom and integrity; the precaution of
a consultation will not remove from him the guilt of any miscarriage
that may happen; for it is very well known, that a King is never at a
loss for politicians, divines, and lawyers, to say that is right and
proper, which he is desirous of doing.

XLVIII. That in the end, he must one day die, and that at the instant
of his dissolution, he must appear upon a level with the most humble
sinner of the earth before the King of Kings, to give an account of all
his actions. I contemplate the appearance of a King at that tremendous
tribunal, in a terrible light. Private delinquents are charged with
here and there a homicide, and here and there a theft; but to the
account of an iniquitous King, homicides and robberies are charged by
thousands and by millions. In one unjust war which he commences, all
those who die on one side and the other have their deaths charged to
his account, which although they should be estimated at a few, will
always be found to amount to several thousands. All the diminutions
which the subjects of both kingdoms sustain in their properties, in
order to support the expences of the war, are imputed to him as the
author and cause of the mischief; and the number of people injured
amounting to millions, the account of his injustices amounts to
millions also.

XLIX. It appears just and proper to me, to instill into the minds of
Princes in their tender age, these and such like admonitions, taking
care not to propound them with that dryness, and in the bald and naked
shape, in which they appear in this writing; but observing to combine
and interweave them, into such conversations on political subjects,
as may naturally present themselves. In the doing this, all odious
magisterial affectation should be avoided, and the instruction should
be conveyed under the form, and habited in the dress of rational
amusement.

L. I am not ignorant, that if Princes are pusillanimous, it will be
necessary in various instances, in order to enlarge their minds, to
educate them with less severe maxims; but those who are appointed
to instruct them in their youth, need not be very attentive to this
consideration; for they may naturally conclude, that when their pupils
mount the throne, there will always be people enough at their elbows
ready to supply this defect.


SECT. IX.

LI. What we have written in this discourse, if we attend precisely
to the present state of Spain, can produce no other benefit to him
who reads it, but that of an honest amusement; or at most, can only
furnish the people here with a knowledge of some moral truths, the
effects of which do not reach them, nor have they any experience of the
consequences resulting from them; for neither the royal children of
this day, who for the good of this kingdom proceed to grow and increase
in virtue, nor those who are appointed to instruct them, stand in need
of my advice; but rather, my theory is marked out by their steps,
and copied from their practice. Besides, it is the general condition
of all cautions and admonitions which are written to warn Princes,
that they are only printed when they are not necessary. Nobody writes
against tyranny, when a tyrant is seated on the throne; nobody against
ambition, while an ambitious Prince reigns; nobody against avarice,
while a covetous prince sways the sceptre. All maxims that issue from
the press, which are opposite to the existing mode of ruling, are
reputed satires upon government, so that the author by publishing them
incurs the indignation of the Prince, and fails to benefit the public.
His work is suppressed as offensive, and by that means his labour is
totally lost, because the fruits of it can never be enjoyed, neither
then, nor in any future time.

LII. From hence it follows, that the most opportune time to exhibit to
the world treatises upon just and right policy, is that in which such
policy is practised. It is then you should sow, for then you have a
favourable prospect, that the seed will produce a good crop hereafter;
and even then you may enjoy the produce in part; for the reigning
Prince being confirmed that the road he pursues is right, is fortified
in his good purposes. To him such doctrine serves as a cordial, and to
future ages it acts as a preservative.




THE VALUE OR SUPERIOR EXCELLENCE OF NOBILITY.

With some Remarks on the Power or Influence of HIGH BLOOD.


I. He would do great service to the nobility, who could separate their
vanity from their quality; for it is almost as difficult to find this
dignity free from that vice, as it is to find silver in the mines
without a mixture of earth. Splendour of ancestry is a fire, which
produces much smoke in descendants. There is nothing of which people
should be less vain than their high origin, and there is nothing of
which they are more so. The best pens in all ages, both sacred and
profane, have laboured to persuade, that there is no pride worse
founded than that which is built upon high birth. The world perseveres
in its error, and there is no flattery better received, than that
which compliments a man on the grandeur of his race; nor is there any
adulation more hacknied and transcendent; to be convinced of which, you
need only read epistles dedicatory to books. Flattery in them, commonly
guides the pen, and you will hardly find one, which omits to lay great
stress on the nobleness and antiquity of the family of the person to
whom he consigns the protection of his book; and they do this, because
it is pretty well known, there is scarce any man so candid or modest,
as not to be pleased with this eulogium.

II. From hence spring those wild and extravagant genealogies,
fabricated by some flatterers, in order to compliment, and by that
means, cultivate the favour and protection of great and powerful
people. Basil the first, emperor of the East, was a man of obscure
birth. The patriarch Phocio, finding himself out of his good graces,
endeavoured to regain his favour, by forming a genealogical chain,
which made him descended from Tiridates king of Armenia, who reigned
in that country eight centuries anterior to Basil. The descent which
Abraham Bzovius gives to pope Sylvester the second, which began in
Timenus king of Argos, who flourished more than a thousand years before
Christ, in all likelihood was not fabricated by Bzovius, but was
probably found among some papers written in the life-time of that pope,
by some person who composed the thing to flatter him. Roderig Flaharti
wrote, a little while since, the history of some transactions relating
to Ireland, in which he assigns two thousand seven hundred years of
antiquity to the kings of England in their possession of the throne.

III. If you ascend two generations anterior to Rodulfus count of
Augsburg, there is no family of more doubtful origin than that of
the house of Austria. Upon coming to the grandfather of Rodulfus,
historians find themselves surrounded with such thick darkness, that
they don’t know which way to turn themselves; nor is it a point beyond
contest, who the grandfather of Rodulfus was. Notwithstanding this,
there have not been wanting Spanish historians, who, by running up the
line of their ancestors, have, without touching or tripping, traced
them to the destruction of Troy. Penafiel de Contreras, an author
of Grenada, went further than this; for, as Mothe le Vayer informs
us, he fabricated a genealogical chain of one hundred and eighteen
successions, and made Philip the third descend in a right line from
Adam; and because the duke of Lerma, Philip’s favourite at that time,
should not be under less obligations to his pen, he formed another of a
hundred and twenty-one from Adam to the duke, entwining the sovereign
and favourite with two kings of Troy and with Æneas, by means of
their two sons Iulus and Asaracus, from one of which he made the king
descend, and from the other the duke.

IV. There have not been wanting in other nations those who have
flattered their princes to the same excess. John Messanius derived the
succession of the kings of Sweden, without the least interruption, from
the primitive father of mankind; and William Slater did the same thing,
in compliment to James the first of England.

V. Truly one would be apt to think, that such fulsome incense must
stink in the nose of the idol to which it is offered; for Vespasian
despised some flatterers, who derived him from the stock of Hercules;
and Cardinal Mazarin treated with great scorn, one who traced his
origin to Titus Geganius Macerinus, and Proculus Geganius Macerinus,
ancient consuls of Rome. Thus those lose the fruits of their adulation,
who pour it forth without bounds.

VI. But to return to our subject: I repeat, that there is no
pre-eminence people have less reason to boast of, than that of
nobility; every other is personal, and proper to a man’s self; this is
derived, and may be deemed the reflection of a borrowed light. Nobility
is a mere extrinsic denomination, and if you would make it an intrinsic
one, it must be done by rational means. The virtue of our forefathers
was their own, not ours; and Ovid, in the following compendious
sentence, expressed all that is capable of being said on the subject:

    _Nam genus, & proavos, & quæ non fecimus ipsi,_
    _Vix ea nostra voco._

VII. It is true, that in a certain manner the excellencies of our
progenitors illustrate us, but they illustrate us as the sun does the
moon, by exposing our spots and blemishes if we degenerate from them.
I have seen, in some coats of arms, stars quartered, which seems as
if he who acquired this blazon gained it by his merit; because, after
the manner of a star, he shone by his own light. It is probable,
that in many of his successors they should take away the stars, and
substitute moons in their places, to denote that they only shine like
this luminary by virtue of a borrowed light. The following eulogium,
which Velleius Paterculus bestowed on Cicero, always appeared to me
extremely elegant and magnificent: _Per hæc tempora Marcus Cicero,
qui omnia incrementa sua sibi debuit, vir novitatis nobilissimæ, &c._
Cicero owed all his fortune to himself, because although he sprung from
an obscure family, he without any other support but that of his own
merit ascended to the first honours of Rome. I would much rather this
should be said of me, than that I was descended in a right line from
Augustus Cæsar.


SECT. II.

VIII. But there is no necessity for dwelling upon a subject which is
common, and on which so many and so fine things have been written, that
all I could add to them would be like contributing a small fountain to
the ocean, or a little stone to the mountain of Mercury. My intention
is only to banish a vulgar error which is entertained of this matter,
and which ferments greatly in the imaginations of people of quality.

IX. It is commonly said, that good or bad blood has its occult
influence on thoughts and actions, and that as in the ordinary course
of nature the genus of the tree follows that of the seed, and the fruit
that of the tree; so it is with mankind, who, according to the stock
from whence they are derived, copy after the customs and manners of
their ancestors. This prepossession in favour of nobility is so general
among the vulgar, that there are several adages made use of in their
common conversation to express it; and you will at every turn, when a
man well born has done a bad action, hear them say, he has not behaved
like what he is; as on the contrary, if the same thing is related
of a poor man, they answer, you could not expect any better of him,
considering from whence he sprung.

X. If this was really so, the estimation the nobility enjoy might with
great justice be said to belong to them; but this is so far from being
the case, that there is scarce any other erroneous opinion that has so
many, and so evident testimonies to contradict it. In what kingdom of
the world do we not at present see the same thing come to pass, which
formerly happened at Rome? a Cicero of obscure extraction, ennobling
himself and his country with illustrious actions; and, by way of
contrast to him, a most noble Catiline, debasing himself and family by
licentiousness and treachery? or the same which was heretofore seen
at Athens, a Socrates the son of a blacksmith, replete with virtues,
contrasted with a Critias, who was the worthless disciple of so
great a master, and an unworthy descendant of a brother of Solon’s,
whom neither nobility nor philosophy, could withhold or refrain from
behaving like a monster, compounded or made up of abominable vices?

XI. What Plutarch says of the kings, who were the successors of those
captains, among whom the empire of Alexander was divided, is very
remarkable. What progenitors could be more illustrious than those
heroes, to whom, in a great measure, the Macedonian chief owed such
glorious conquests? But all the descendants, says Plutarch, of these
generous leaders, were people of evil, and perverse customs and
manners. All? Yes, all without the least reserve: _Omnes parricidiis,
et incestis libidinibus, infames fuere._ Let the nobility contemplate
this, and then say, what dependence they can place on the future virtue
of their race.

XII. The reflection of Elius Spartianus is still stronger. This writer
says, that by casting your eyes over history, you will see clearly,
that there is scarce a great man who has figured in the world, that
has left a son who was a worthy successor of his father, that is, one
who proved equally good and useful to the state: _Et reputanti mihi,
neminem prope magnorum virorum optimum, et utilem filium reliquisse,
satis liquet._ (Spartian, in vita Severi.)

XIII. There is no doubt but you will frequently meet in history,
accounts of unworthy children, who were descended from good parents.
Germanicus is so generously disinterested, that he refuses the empire
when it is offered him by the army; and his daughter Agrippina so
determinedly ambitious, that she sacrifices shame, and even life
itself, to the thirst of dominion. Octavianus is modest and reserved,
and besides possesses many other excellent qualities; his daughter
Juliana, scandalizes Rome with her indecencies. Cicero, view, him on
which side you will, is a most elevated genius; the son, who only
resembled his father in name, was heavy, stupid, and a man of no other
ability, but that of drinking a great deal of wine. Quintus Hortensius,
was the competitor of Cicero, in oratory, political talents, and zeal
for his country; his son departed so widely from the foot-steps of
his father, that he was in danger of being disinherited, but, bad as
the son was, the grandson was still worse. Septimus Severus, with the
exception of his excessive rigour, was an accomplished prince; his son
Antoninus Caracalla, neither deserved the name of a prince, nor to
be called a man. To the prudent and wise Marcus Aurelius, succeeded
the brutal and unbridled Commodus; to the glorious Constantine, the
unworthy Constantius; to the magnanimous Theodosius, the timorous
Arcadius, and the pusillanimous Honorius. But endeavouring to establish
general rules upon these and such like examples, is giving a large
scope to the pen.

XIV. Although we may with certainty affirm, that being allied in blood
does not produce a similitude of manners, as this truth is invincibly
proved, by the great variance of dispositions we frequently meet in
brothers. If the children of the same father were to be like him,
they would also be like one another. How then can we account for the
great difference that is so frequently observed between them? One
is courageous, another timid; one liberal, another avaricious; one
ingenious, another dull; one rakish, another reserved; and the same in
every other instance.


SECT. III.

XV. Of this variety of defects and virtues in the same blood, we have
a striking example in the Antonian family, who were people of note
and fame in ancient Rome. Marcus Antonius, called the orator, may be
said to be the man who raised this house; for the Antonian family,
which was so well known in the first ages of Rome, became divided
into two branches; the one that was called Patrician became extinct;
and from the other, which was called Plebeian, although it is not
known by what accident they fell from their ancient splendour, sprung
Marcus Antonius. This man, who was of humble extraction, by his rare
and excellent qualities, raised himself to the first charges in the
republic, and exercised them gloriously; but his two sons Marcus
Antonius, called Creticus, and Caius Antonius, degenerated entirely
from the excellencies of their great father, and were men without
virtue, without conduct, and without valour. To Marcus Antonius
Creticus, succeeded Marcus Antonius the triumvir, in whom the vices of
his father were augmented, although he inherited part of the virtues
of his grandfather, for he was a good soldier, and no bad politician,
but a glutton, a drunkard, and lascivious, and this last failing,
caused him to sacrifice his life and his fortune to the beauty of the
dishonest Cleopatra. From so bad a father, descended an admirable
daughter, the wise, beautiful, modest, prudent, and spirited Antonia.
This eminent woman, who was beyond doubt the ornament of Rome in
her day, had two sons and a daughter, which differed as greatly in
their dispositions and manners, as if their blood and education had
been diametrically opposite. Germanicus the eldest, turned out an
able, discreet, mild, generous, and modest prince. Claudius, who was
afterwards emperor, was so stupid, and differed so greatly from his
brother and mother, that she was used to say her son Claudius was a
monster, for that nature had begun to make him a man, but had never
finished the work. Livilla, the sister of these two, was another
species of monster, for she was convicted of adultery, and murdering
her own husband. But the dissimilitude which we have hitherto remarked
among the individuals of this family, may be called trivial, compared
to that which appeared between Germanicus and his son Caligula; the
first, was an harmonious compound of virtues and graces, the last the
tail or fag-end of abominations; in fine, he was so bad, that people
were used to say, nature had made him as he was to shew to what a
degree mankind could be formed perverse. I have exposed to view, the
signal inequality, which in native disposition and manners, there was
between the individuals of the Antonian family, in order to illustrate,
the little dependance that is to be placed on how the children will
turn out, by conjectures, founded on the influence or example of the
parents. If we were to make the same analysis of other families, we
should find the same inequality with but little or no difference.


SECT. IV.

XVI. I am aware, however, of the argument that may be used in favour
of the vulgar opinion. I may be told, that customs and manners are
commonly derived from the genius or disposition, and the genius
or disposition from temperament. How else could the constitution
of parents be communicated to their children, by means of which
communication we see them inherit their infirmities? In the same manner
then, may their geniuses and dispositions be communicated.

XVII. But this argument fails in many parts of it; first, because by
the commixture of the two sexes, which is indispensable in generation,
there may result to the children a third temperament, unlike to that of
both father and mother. Secondly, because it is not probable, that the
seminal matter is in all its parts homogeneous; and to this principle,
I think, should chiefly be attributed the notable dissimilarity that
we find in some brothers. Thirdly, because many different principles
have their influence on the temperament; for example, the accidental
disposition of the parents at the time of generation, the various
affections of the mother during the formation of the fœtus, the
alterations of the atmosphere in this period, childrens aliment in
their infancy, and many other things.

XVIII. From hence I conclude, the vulgar prognostic, that the short
or long lives of children, depend upon the much or little time
their parents lived, is to the last degree fallible and void of all
probability; because from all the principles we have pointed out,
the temperament of the parents with respect to the children, may be
vitiated or amended; for we every day see healthy children born of
sickly parents, and sickly children born of healthy ones. It is true,
that there are some diseases which have the stamp or mark of hereditary
ones; but I conclude, this originates, or is derived from a vitiated
quality which pervades the whole seminal matter; but this is proper
or confined to very few diseases, nor is it so proper or certain with
regard to those few, as not to be many times falsified. My father was
gouty, but I am not so, neither is any one of my brothers.

XIX. I add, that even admitting some communication of genius or manners
from parents to children, this argument in no shape favours the ancient
nobility, who are descended from a very remote origin; the reason is,
because in every generation there is a sensible alteration, sufficient
to introduce some dissimilitude with respect to the immediate
progenitor, and in the accumulation of many, the unlikeness becomes so
great, as in a manner to efface all appearance of kindred or relation
between them. What expectation then can a man entertain, of inheriting
even a small portion of the generosity of his illustrious progenitors,
the heroes from whom he derived the lustre of his house, and to whom
he looks up, at the remote distance of many centuries? By so many
more grandfathers he reckons, by so many more degrees is he removed
from the original generous influence. In every generation he goes on
to lose a part of it; and when they become very numerous, he at last
arrives at losing it intirely. It is most likely that the Thespiades,
or sons which Hercules had by the daughters of Thespis, inherited a
good portion of the strength of their father; and that, in the sons of
the Thespiades, the robustness of the grandfather was more curtailed,
and that the descendants of these, in the course of two or three
generations, would come to be no stronger that the ordinary race of men.


SECT. V.

XX. I should here conclude this discourse, if none but the nobility
were to read it; but as it is my intention to cure the nobles of their
vanity, without exempting the humble from paying them all due respect,
it is necessary to advert to, and guard against the inconvenience that
may result from these last omitting to do it; for although it is just
to restrain pride in the nobility, it is right and fit, that the common
people should behave to them with respect.

XXI. But strong as the reasons may be, which we have alledged against
the intrinsic worth of nobility, it cannot be denied, that the
authority which favours it is of more force than all our arguments.
Every cultivated and well regulated nation in the world, adopts
and countenances this pre-eminence, which amounts to little less,
than its being generally assented to by the bulk of mankind; and a
universal opinion, rises superior to an ordinary one, and ought to
prevail against every thing which is not self-evident, or supported by
undeniable testimony.

XXII. The vanity (says the famous Magdalen Scudery, in the fourth
volume of her Cyrus) which is derived only from our progenitors, is
not well founded; but for all this, this illustrious chimera, which
so sooths and flatters the hearts of all mankind, is so universally
established throughout the world, that it cannot fail to obtain
veneration and regard. It is certain, that in many things common
usage hurries us on against reason, but in others, reason dictates
to us, that we should conform to the common practice, and this is the
predicament with respect to the subject we are treating of, that we
find ourselves in at present.

XXIII. It is however true, that I have my doubts, whether this common
estimation of nobility has arose of itself, or whether it is derived
from an adjunct quality that is annexed to it, which is power. Noblemen
are generally rich, and it may be doubted, whether the adoration that
is paid to this idol called nobility, was introduced by the respect
people bore to the image or figure, or the gold of which it was made.
What we see is, that the nobles who fall off in riches, proceed with
the same pace that they decrease in these, to lose the estimation in
which they were held; and although there will always remain to them
some respect, who can determine, whether this proceeds from the occult
influence of their generous race, or from a common habit we are in of
holding them in esteem? It may also happen, that a noble reduced from
opulence to poverty, may be venerated as the relic of an idol, which
heretofore had been worshiped.

XXIV. It is therefore necessary, to seek for some more solid ground
than any we have hitherto gone over, whereon to build the estimation
which should be enjoyed by the nobility, and such, no doubt, is to be
found in reason, abstracted from the support of authority. It is a
fixed maxim in ethics, that to every kind of excellence some honour
is due; the general consent then of mankind, the regard shewn them by
princes, and the privileges allowed them by the laws; having placed the
nobility in a degree of superiority above that of other people; I say
these considerations, ought to make us look upon nobility as a kind of
excellence, to which, in consequence of its being such, we owe respect
and honour.

XXV. And here it will be proper to remark, that this debt is not barred
or cancelled by any uncertainty that may arise concerning the origin
of those who are accepted as nobles. The reason is, because their
being generally acknowledged and received as such, is sufficient to
place them in that degree of superiority; for we cannot require more
examination of their descent, in order to respect them, than the laws
require which favour them. He would be a very extraordinary man, who
could arrive at giving physical proof of who is his father; but his not
being able to do this, does not absolve any one from the indispensable
obligation of reverencing the man as such, who is generally esteemed
and reputed to be his father.

XXVI. This debt of veneration to the nobility, should be understood in
all cases, with a reservation of what is due, and properly appertains
to virtue, which, according to the constant doctrine of Aristotle, and
St. Thomas, is much more worthy of honour than nobility; therefore,
even with that civil and extrinsic honour, which in their ethics those
two great masters speak of, we ought more to reverence a virtuous
Plebeian, than a Nobleman without virtue. Our cardinal Aguirre, when
he is explaining philosophy, in the third chapter of his fourth book
of ethics, says, that a vicious nobleman is unworthy of all honour and
respect; to which sentiment I subscribe, because it is conformable to
a maxim of the angelic doctor, who (22 quæst. 145. art. I.) having
said, that honour properly and principally was only due to virtue,
admits, that other qualities and excellences inferior to her, such as
nobility, riches, and power, are only honourable in proportion as they
conduce to, and assist the operations of virtue: _Alia vero, quæ sunt
infra virtutem, honorantur in quantum coadjuvant ad opera virtutis,
sicut nobilitas, potentia, & divitiæ._ If the nobility then do not
assist virtue, but rather foment vanity and nourish pride, by lending
their suffrages to vices which obstruct virtue, they render themselves
totally unworthy of the least respect.


SECT. VI.

XXVII. But how shall we reconcile what we have just now said against
the nobility, with what we said but a little before in their favour?
Easily, by saying this prerogative is not laudable, but honourable.
The arguments we have just urged impugn its laudabillty, those we are
about to use are affirmative of its honour. This is a distinction
pointed out by Aristotle, between virtue and all the other excellences
which illustrate the human race. Virtue, he says, is laudable; riches,
nobility, and power, deserve no praise, but have a pretension to be
honoured. So that there is nothing in nobility which a man should
boast or be vain of; but there is something in it, which those who are
inferior to them in rank should reverence and respect. This distinction
will reconcile all difficulties, and assure to the nobility esteem,
without fomenting their vanity.


SECT. VII.

XXVIII. The subject of this discourse, especially that part of it
which is contained in the second, third, and fourth paragraphs, leads
me opportunely to banish an error which is exceedingly vulgarized.
The world is so filled with the caprice of the occult influence of
the blood, that many people are led away with a notion, that children
by the force of it, not only inherit from thence those passions which
depend on the temperament, but also a propensity for the religion of
their ancestors. They don’t even stop here, for the lower sort extend
this influence to the milk with which children are nourished in their
infancy, giving credit to this ridiculous maxim, from here and there an
uncertain or fabulous experiment or instance, such for example, as a
person when he came to the state of manhood having turned Jew, which he
imbibed a disposition to do, by having sucked a Jew nurse.

XXIX. There is no error more void of all probability than this. If we
speak of the true religion, not only the assent which the understanding
gives to its dogmas, but also the pious affection which precedes
this assent, are both supernatural; consequently, according to sound
theology, neither the blood nor the aliment, nor any other natural
cause, can have connexion, either with the assent or pious affection.
This is all the work of the divine grace, as a substitute for which,
there is not the most remote disposition to be found in the whole
sphere of nature, and you can only admit negative natural ones, which
concur merely to remove impediments, such as a good understanding, and
a good native turn of mind. But these good dispositions, in those who
possess them, do not depend upon their fathers having professed the
true religion; for if this was the case, all the catholics would have
good understandings, and would be naturally good-disposed people.

XXX. The assent to false religions, is beyond a doubt absolutely
natural, because error cannot be derived from a supernatural cause.
Upon the whole then it is certain, that this assent does not depend, in
any manner whatever, either on the temperament, or on the organization,
which are the only things, on which the paternal seed, or the infant
aliment, can have any influence; the reason is, because giving assent
to an error, depends upon the shape or light in which objects appear or
are represented to the understanding, which in different temperaments
and organizations may be the same, and in such as are alike different.
What doubt can there be, that in the great city of Constantinople,
there are vast numbers of men unlike in these and other natural
dispositions? Notwithstanding which, they have all faith in the same
errors.

XXXI. He who will not yield to these arguments, let the experience or
example of the Janisaries convince. This military corps, who are the
Grand Seignor’s guards, and the best troops in the Ottoman empire,
although they at present admit among them people of every nation, were
originally all composed of the children of Christians, who in their
infancy were either made prisoners of war, or were paid to the Grand
Seignor by way of tribute, by the poor Christians who resided in his
dominions. These soldiers, who notwithstanding their being the children
of Christians, and their having been nourished in their infancy with
Christian milk, were always as staunch professors of Mahometism as the
children of the Turks themselves; and in the wars in which they were
engaged against the Christians, so far was the occult influence of the
blood, or the milk they sucked, from restraining their arms, that they
fought, I don’t know whether to call it with more valour, or with more
fury and rage, than the other Mahometans.

XXXII. The same reflection, may be made on the slaves which are
brought from Africa to America to work in the mines, or on the sugar
plantations; for they, when educated in the Christian religion, don’t
entertain the most distant thoughts of returning to idolatry, which
was the religion professed by their ancestors.

XXXIII. What now and then happens is, that some one, who in his infancy
was instructed in a religion different from that of his parents, after
being arrived at a state of manhood, coming to understand that they
professed another faith, has found himself inclined to follow their
steps. But it is clear, this was not produced by the seeds of his
paternal religion which circulated within his veins, but was rather a
proof, that his love and veneration for his progenitors, disposed him
to imitate them, and I believe it proceeds from want of reflection,
that these examples are not more frequent, for it is natural to
suppose, that the example of those who gave people birth, would have
more weight with thinking persons, than that of those who had deprived
them of their liberty; but such is the force of education, habit,
and intercourse, that they prevail over all other considerations and
attentions.


SECT. VIII.

XXXIV. It will also be proper in this place, to touch on a complaint
very common among poor gentlemen: These frequently say, that now-a-days
money is more esteemed than men of family, and that riches are more
respected than nobility. This sentence is hardly out of their mouths,
before it is followed by a deep sigh, that seems to express their
sorrow for the corruption of the times, which has altered and mistaken
the true value of things.

XXXV. But they are greatly deceived, who think the world ever was, or
ever will be otherwise in this particular, for they always did, and
always will, make more professions of esteem and respect to a rich man
of humble origin, than to a poor one descended from an illustrious
family. This is a consequence attendant on, and naturally produced by
the condition of humanity. Men are seldom obsequious or attentive to
others, from mere motives of courtesy, and without an eye to their
interests, but are generally solicitous to please those, who have
it in their power either to favour or injure them. Nobility is not
an active quality, but wealth is. A nobleman, merely as a person
ennobled, can do neither good nor harm; but a rich man, holds in one
hand the thunderbolt of Jupiter, and in the other the cornucopia of
Amalthea. Simonides being asked which was most estimable, riches or
learning, replied that he was puzzled to give an answer, because he
frequently saw the learned running to pay their court to the rich and
powerful, but that he never remarked the same attention of the rich
to the learned; so that if in those ancient times the learned paid
homage to the rich, what must the vulgar have done? Hope and fear,
are the two main springs, which give motion to the human heart, but
disinterested love, operates in very few individuals. There are at this
day idolatrous nations, who worship both God and the Devil; God, that
he should bestow benefits on them, and the Devil, because he should
not injure them. He then who can neither do good nor harm, must expect
no adoration or attention paid to him. The only and most effectual
instrument wherewith to do service or injury, is money; thus those who
are masters of that, will also be masters of, and command the common
respect and homage. Gold is the idol of the rich, and the rich are the
idols of the poor; it always was so, and ever will be so.

XXXVI. Let the neglected nobles, however, comfort themselves with the
reflection, that the adoration and court which is paid to the rich
and powerful, is not sincere. The incense which is offered to them,
does not arise from the fire of love, but the blaze of concupiscence;
and the breast is always giving the lie to whatever is pronounced by
the lips. The body bends with submissive congées, but the will does
not incline or stoop to the idol. Obsequies, or the outward shew of
respect, is all the invention of art, not the work of nature. What
price or value can you set upon adulations, that are articulated by a
tongue, which is the vile slave of interest? I don’t deny but there are
some men of opulence and power, who have merited their fortune; and
that these, on account of the intrinsic worth of their good qualities,
may be sincerely and consistently honoured and respected by good men;
but such as these are the fewest in number, and the misfortune is, that
there is no rich man whatever, who has not been persuaded by the voice
of flattery, that he is one of those few.

XXXVII. It may be also necessary to apprize the complaining gentlemen,
that the rich, merely as rich people, are in some degree intitled to
the respect that is shewn them. The blessing of the Lord, says Solomon
in the Proverbs, makes men rich, so that riches is a gift from heaven,
and such a gift, as according to the common estimation and opinion of
the world, constitutes those who possess it worthy to be honoured and
respected. St. Thomas affirms this to be the case in the following
sentence: _Secundum vulgarem opinionem, excellentia divitiarum facit
hominem dignum honore._ (22. quæst. 45. art. 1.) The common estimation
in this particular, founds a right: and although that judgment should
be erroneous, it would be prudent for us to wait till the world is
undeceived, before we exempt ourselves from conforming to the usages
of it. But this happy time will hardly ever arrive, till God, with
his powerful hand, shall bend and incline the hearts of men to esteem
virtue, and that only; though if this happy day should arrive, the
nobility may probably find a falling-off in the estimation they are at
present held in; for every one then, would be respected according to
his own deeds, and not according to those of his ancestors. This mode
of rating things, would be exceedingly beneficial to the state; for
how well would it be served, and what good citizens would it consist
of, if there was no other road but that of virtue, whereby to arrive
at the public esteem! but as the case stands at present, the merit, or
even the fortune of an individual, makes all his descendants glorious
and honourable, and when those who succeed in that line, find that
by virtue of their birth the public veneration is attached to their
family, great numbers of them will consider themselves as excused from
negotiating it by some honourable application.

XXXVIII. From hence I infer, that what is speciously urged in favour
of the nobility, to wit, that it is just and right to reward in the
descendants the virtue of their ancestors, although it may sound well
in theory, will have but a bad effect in practice. If only personal
virtue was to be rewarded, in the course of twenty descendants, there
might probably be ten or a dozen of them, who would labour to acquire
glory. But if the first of the twenty gains it for all the rest, he
only would be useful to the state. He would serve the public, and the
public would become the servants of all the rest.


SECT. IX.

XXXIX. What we have just said, was not intended as an objection against
giving the preference to the nobility in appointments to places of
dignity and honour, but was only meant, as an argument against their
being conferred on them, as a reward for the merits of their ancestors.
I do not oppose the thing, but the motive for doing it; for I am rather
of opinion, the public utility, the advancement of which, and not
rewarding the services of others, should be the leading consideration
to direct in making those appointments, would be better answered, by
prefering the nobleman to the person of inferior rank, not only in
cases of equality of virtue between the parties, but also where their
difference in birth is great, and the disproportion in point of virtue
but small; and this, for four weighty and important reasons.

XL. The first is, you would avoid by this means, multiplying the number
of priviledged persons within a state. If it was frequent and common,
to fill posts of consequence with people of humble birth, because they
were virtuous and able; as from the elevation of these, would result
that of their posterity; in the course of a century and a half, you
would create a great multitude of fresh nobility, which is extremely
prejudicial to a community; because in proportion as you lessen the
number of those, who should apply themselves to business, and the
improvement and cultivation of land; you would lessen the assistance of
useful people; or what is worse, you would over-load with the burden of
the others, such as were dedicated to these employments.

XLI. The second is, because in posts of dignity, a nobleman is obeyed
with more resignation, readiness, and good-will, than a person of
humble extraction; which is a matter of great importance in every
kind of government. What disturbances have been occasioned, by the
repugnance men find in obeying the commands of him, who they saw
yesterday wear a plain coarse coat, and they see to-day cloath’d with
purple; their obedience is sometimes slow, at others ill exerted, and
at others not performed at all. The love, or at least the interior
condescension with which those who serve, obey him who commands, is
extremely useful and necessary in every kind of business. Many fine
projects have vanished in smoke, because the instruments appointed to
apply the means of executing them, have, stimulated by an occult envy
of their superior, wished they should not succeed.

The want of sufferance and condescension in the inferiors, is succeeded
by abhorrence and hatred in him who commands, with respect to them; and
when he and they, reciprocally come to regard each other as enemies,
there is no sort of confusion and danger, that may not be considered as
near at hand.

XLII. The third is, because it is much more to be apprehended, that
the virtue of an humble person is feigned, than that of a nobleman.
The vice of hypocrisy may be said to be allied, or in a manner annexed
to narrow fortune; for poor people are under a necessity of concealing
their defects; and are obliged, in order to better their lot, to have
recourse to the trivial expedient, of putting on the semblance of
virtue. On the contrary, opulence and illustrious birth, naturally
give relief and enlargement to the mind. People that are ennobled, are
generally what they appear to be, because neither necessity nor fear,
obliges them to make ostentation of virtues they do not possess.

XLIII. The fourth and last is, that admitting there should not be
the least doubt of the truth and reality of an humble man’s virtue,
there is always great danger of his losing it by his exaltation. Great
leaps of fortune are exceedingly perilous. Those from lofty stations
downwards are very hazardous, because in consequence of them, the
honour and properties of men may be dashed to pieces; but those from
below upwards are more to be dreaded, for they are commonly attended
with the destruction and loss of the soul. Every virtuous man, before
he is raised from the dust to dignities, should find sureties for his
continuing to act uprightly; for the soul by such a transition, is
translated to a very different climate; and a very unwholesome one for
customs and manners. Many have the seeds of various vices so deeply
buried in their temperaments, as even to be concealed from their own
eyes, till opportunities and occasions cause them to grow and sprout
out. It is rare to find a man of low extraction, who is cruel and
proud; and very rare to meet with one who is covetous; for he is so far
from being excited by vices which he has no materials to supply the
cravings of, that he scarce ever thinks of them; and how should he fix
his attention on the superfluous, who is in want of what is precisely
necessary for him? To find out whether such a person is tainted with
the two first vices, you should place him in authority; and to discover
whether he is infected with the third, you should give him a portion of
riches. In fact, these three vices have been most frequently remarked
in those, who were raised from humble to exalted fortune, although
before their elevation, they did not shew the least signs of being
tainted with them, or any others.

XLIV. For these reasons, I am of opinion, that a person of humble
extraction, should never be preferred to a nobleman or man of family,
to fill posts of dignity and honour, except, where the excess of
virtue in the first shall be found to be very great. But in the
military line, we should make an exception to this rule, for valour,
and skill in the art of war, are requisites of great importance in
executing and conducting military business; nor can they be lost by a
man’s advancement, or counterfeited by hypocrisy. On the other hand,
these endowments, for the purpose of exciting respect and obedience
in those who are to be commanded, sufficiently supply the want of
splendid origin in him who commands; and finally, a great warrior
makes double amends to a state for the injury that is sustained by it,
by planting therein a new stock of nobility. So that by adverting to
these precautions, the four inconveniences we have pointed out would be
avoided.




THE SEMBLANCE OF VIRTUE; OR, VIRTUE IN APPEARANCE.


SECT. I.

I. Virtue and Wickedness fly with nearly the same velocity from the
human eye, and are both almost equally concealed from the discernment
and penetration of mankind. The first lies hid under the veil of
modesty, the second behind the parapet of hypocrisy. The vicious
disguises himself with the colouring of virtue, the virtuous disdains
and effaces all false tints or glosses.

II. The number of hypocrites in the world is much greater than is
generally imagined. There is no vice so transcendant, for all bad
people are hypocrites. This may seem a paradox, and you may say to me,
are there no men who make parade and ostentation of vice? I answer yes,
but not of all their vices. They endeavour by their boasting to hide
their confusion, and discover that part of their soul which they are
unable to conceal. They place a crown on the image of vice, in order
to give dignity to the figure; and although arrogant wickedness is
worse than timid, the last is despised, and the first feared. An unruly
passion breaks down all the fences of reserve, and the delinquent,
not being able to conceal his shame and disgrace by dissimulation,
endeavours by his pride and arrogance to make himself dreaded. This
is practising a new hypocrisy, with which he belies and endeavours to
put a trick on his own conscience. The crime appears odious in his
eyes, therefore by putting on a false semblance and air of gallantry,
he attempts to dazzle the eyes of other people. To protect from
public insult, him, who is a notorious bad man, no other method is so
effectual, as that of openly exposing his faults to the world with
daring impudence.

III. But observe attentively these very people, and you will find, that
although they behave with this audacity, they at the very time they
are doing it, endeavour to conceal other vices they are infected with,
and also to make ostentation of virtues which they do not possess. They
will own they are incontinent, prodigals, ambitious, and audacious;
but they blazon their gratitude to their benefactors, their steadiness
in their friendships, and their fidelity to their promises. It is
certain, that the vice of ingratitude is one of the most common and
most vulgarised in all the world; but with all this, you will not find
any man who does not take pains to justify himself on this head; and
I say the same of lying, of perfidy, and of other vices. It follows
then, that upon a critical enquiry, you will not find a vicious man
who is not a hypocrite. We should not suppose that open and avowed
profligates, or debauchees, have no other blemishes, than such as shew
themselves outwardly. There is no virtue such a man would not trample
upon, if it was an impediment to his pursuits, nor an opposite vice to
that virtue, which he would not employ as an instrument, to gratify his
ruling passion. Do you think a very lewd man, for all the boastings of
his innocence in matters of justice, and in points of _meum_ and _tuum_
honesty, would not, if he found himself without money of his own, make
use of that of another person which was confided to his keeping, to
purchase the enjoyment of his favourite object? or that the ardently
ambitious man, for all the vociferations of his gratitude, would not
turn his back on his benefactor, whenever this baseness would be a
means of recommending him to the good graces of one, who could advance
him to a higher degree of preferment, than it was in the power of his
old friend to procure for him?

IV. So that it is very rare to find a perverse person, who, over and
above those glaring vices which manifest themselves so palpably, is not
tainted with others, which he affects to hide; and in case there do
not predominate in him other passions besides those, which on account
of their vehemence are so very conspicuous, these of themselves are
sufficient to betray him into faults, which arise from, and are the
offspring of other distinct passions, when the committing those faults
is indispensably necessary for attaining the objects or purposes of the
ruling passion. Alexander in his natural disposition, was certainly not
a cruel man, notwithstanding which, he was guilty of cruel actions; for
such were the putting to death his friend Clytus, and the philosopher
Calisthenes. His predominant passions were vain-glory and pride.
Clytus fell a victim to the first, for having preferred the actions of
Alexander’s father Philip to his; and Calisthenes fell a victim to the
last, for having deterred people from idolizing Alexander as the son of
Jupiter.

V. Sometimes the false appearance of a vice is put on politically, or
with a view of deriving some advantage from it. A man feigns himself
vindictive, when in reality he is not so, in order that the fear of
his vengeance may deter people from offending. This most frequently
happens, when the vice affected is meritorious in the eyes of him who
rules. Sejanus would never have obtained the favour of Tiberius, by
appearing a lover of justice; nor Tigilinus, nor Petronius, that of
Nero, by seeming modest and continent.

VI. It is probable, that from the motive of falling in with the humour
of wayward and evil-minded princes, there have been politicians who
were contradictory hypocrites, and have wore the semblance of vices
which their natures revolted at; and what is worse, in order to prove
they were tainted with them, have put a violence on their inclinations,
and although it was with reluctance, have brought themselves to commit
disorders which their dispositions abhorred. When people make a merit
of delinquency, instead of that hypocrisy which is properly such on
account of its counteracting virtue, they study another which is the
reverse of it, because it feigns vice.

VII. But these very persons will affect to appear sincere, constant,
grateful, and men of veracity. There never was any man, who was not
desirous of dissembling or concealing those vices, which were opposite
to the virtues, which constitute what is commonly called a good man,
and therefore, the hypocrites who affect the shew of these virtues are
innumerable.

VIII. I do not deny, that a man’s being more under the dominion of some
vices than others, depends in a great measure on his constitution,
which may be compared to a soil, where some passions take deeper root,
and grow more vigorous than others. This man, without attempting to
restrain it, suffers himself to be carried away by incontinence, but
abhors cheating: another gives himself up to gluttony and drunkenness,
but looks upon perfidy with horror and indignation. Thus it is; but
his enmity to these vices, lasts no longer than till he has occasion
for their assistance to indulge his passion for the others. Catiline,
in the early part of his life, appeared to have no other passions than
those of incontinence, ostentation, and prodigality; but these vices
having reduced him to poverty, and he on that account not being able
to continue his pursuits of them, formed the design of tyrannizing
over the republic, in order to extricate himself from indigence. In
consequence of this, he became ambitious, fierce, cruel, relentless,
and perfidious.

IX. I am of opinion, that nobody should put much confidence in those,
who are called good sort of men, if they see them much impressed
with, or under the influence of particular passions. That vice which
domineers over them, is to themselves the ultimate end or object, to
which they direct all their attentions; or the idol, to which, if their
occasions required it, they would sacrifice all other considerations. I
do not pretend that there are no exceptions to this rule; the natural
abhorrence of one vice, may predominate over the inclination to commit
another. But I in all cases, and at all events, would sooner place my
confidence in him, who from a religious fear of God has a regard to
his conscience in all his actions, than in the man, who only from his
natural disposition and temperament, or from a punctilio of honour,
practises those virtues, which are commonly understood to constitute
the character of what the world calls a good man; temperament lets
go the rein, when the ruling passion becomes impetuous, and shews an
eagerness to press forward; and honour loses its influence, when it is
believed the commission of the bad act will not be known. The fear of
God never ceases to operate.

X. The famous Magdalen Scudery, in her book, intituled, Moral
Conversations, relates a remarkable story of a man, who risqued his
life for a friend in three duels; but this friend afterwards, having
occasion to beg he would lend him a small sum of money which he stood
in need of, he refused to comply with his request. Who would believe,
that a man who on repeated occasions, had hazarded his life for his
friend, would have failed him in a thing of so much less consequence?
He was both covetous and intrepid, but his avarice made him consider
his life as less valuable than his money. His friendship contended with
his ruling passion, and the last, as the most prevalent, pressed down
and stifled the finer feelings.

XI. One of the greatest mistakes which men commit in their confidences,
is that of trusting those, whom they have known to be unfaithful to
others. This is an error which all men condemn, and which almost
every one falls into. I confide my secret to him, who has recommended
himself to my favour, by revealing that of another person. I give
my friendship to the man, who in compliment to me has abandoned the
patron who before protected him. This is the effect of our love for,
and the superior conceit we entertain of ourselves. Every one fancies,
that he has in himself a most powerful attraction, that will keep the
heart of a person fixed and attached to him, who has been unfaithful
to other people. He thinks, that it was the power of his singular
merit, which made the man abandon his benefactor or friend, for the
sake of allying himself to him. He is so full of his own consequence
and rare qualities, that it never enters his imagination, nor does
he even harbour the least suspicion, that this very person may see,
or pretend to see, a higher degree of merit in another man, to which
he might make the same sacrifice of his friendship. Princes and
great men, whom the habit of being flattered is apt to make the most
presumptuous, are those who are most liable to fall into this snare.
How often do we see in courts, treachery rewarded with promotion! The
maxim that we love the treason, but hate the traitor, is received by
all the world in theory, but has very few votaries in practice. The
traitor is displeasing to him, who dislikes the treason; but he who
interests himself in the treason, looks on the traitor with favourable
eyes. This is derived in a great measure, from calling things by
wrong names. Treason is termed obsequiousness, and a traitor called
friend; and jointly with this, they are apt to interpret, that some
honest motive intervened to excite to the action; and in case they
can’t find out any other than that of interest or convenience, they
applaud the ability displayed in chusing the most beneficial side.
Queen Elizabeth of England was a striking exception to this rule. An
unfaithful Spaniard, sold to her for a stipulated price, a town in the
Low Countries; and after he had so done, to avoid the punishment due to
his demerit, went over to, and resided in England, where he offered his
service to the Queen as an able military officer; to which she replied,
“Go your ways, when I have occasion for any one to commit an act of
treachery, I will make use of you.”


SECT. II.

XII. The perfect hypocrites are few in number. I call those perfect
hypocrites, whose outside is all devotion, and who within, are all
baseness and iniquity, or such as answer the description of the
satyrist:

    _Qui curios simulant, et bacchanalia vivunt._

Upon serious reflection, it will not appear wonderful these are so
few, for notwithstanding the road of hypocrisy is the shortest a man
can pursue, to arrive at the temple of Fortune; still we rarely see
men endued with a sufficient degree of perseverance, to engage in so
laborious an undertaking; for conceive the practice of virtue to be
ever so arduous, the pursuit of the feigned, is much more painful
than that of the true. In order to carry it on, there is need of a
constant studiousness, joined to a continual anxiety, and also an
indefatigable watchfulness, to suppress the sallies of the soul, which
without intermission is making efforts to disclose herself. There is
no passion, which, like a wild beast chained, strives more forcibly
to break its confinement, than that of dissimulation. The animal
faculty of the heart is as plainly reflected on the countenance, as
the vital is manifested in the artery. The tokens of their internal
movements, may be compared to those of a clock, which has a bell that
proclaims them, and a hand that points them out. There is not a word,
nor an action, if not restrained by a contrary impetus, which would
not follow the impulse of that animated machine. Curiosity and lust,
importune and tempt a man’s eyes by turns; he is anxious to give vent
to his bosom by his voice, and his brow manifests his impatience to
do it; a pleasant jest provokes to laughter; an injury calls for
vengeance; and the tongue and the ear are averse to silence. There
is not a member which is not put under painful restrictions, nor a
faculty that is not constrained, by being thus compelled to wear the
forced appearance of composure. The strings, of which the harmony of
an exterior modesty are composed, are infinite, and ought always to be
kept violently on the stretch; the desires also of possessing beloved
objects, are continually tapping at the doors of the senses. What force
is sufficient to resist so many impulses? or what address, equal to
managing so many reins at a time?

XIII. Add to this, the apprehension of their deceit being detected;
for they look upon all the eyes that surround them as so many spies of
their enemies; and they are very well aware, with all their caution,
of the difficulty of always preserving their souls impenetrable to
foreign inspection; for let them be never so careful in shutting up
their windows, there will ever remain, by imperceptible omissions,
innumerable crevices; and although they may succeed in deceiving the
multitude, there are never wanting transcendent spirits, who can
discern and distinguish, whereever they meet with it, the natural
from the artificial. Let affection strive to imitate reality never so
industriously; one or another will make his remarks, which, although
they cannot be explained, may be conceived, and may be compared to the
character of a language, which, notwithstanding you comprehend it, you
can’t pronounce. The very means that are taken to conceal the soul,
manifest and disclose it, because the reserve or caution that is used
for this purpose is visible, and it is also visible and well known,
that innocent people have no need of this disguise. Every man who uses
great circumspection, makes himself suspected. He who is confirmed
that he possesses a good conscience, acts and speaks with openness;
nor would it avail a hypocrite, to endeavour at imitating that native
frankness; for he never could hit upon the true criterion of the
character. Those of experience and penetration, would always be able to
distinguish the copy from the original; therefore I believe, that to
this day, there never was a hypocrite who succeeded in deceiving all
the world.

XIV. O how much less toilsome would it be, for hypocrites to tread the
path of true virtue, than to pursue that of false! The first affords
intervals of ease and tranquillity to the mind, and also administers to
it many comforts; but the fiction of virtue, demands a constant labour
of thought, and a continual stretch of invention to save appearances.
It is like a fabric built in the air, which would fall to the ground,
if you neglect to keep it propped up a minute.

XV. I may be told, that with time and practice, fiction would become
habitual, and then a man would find no difficulty in dissembling.
Truly I doubt whether habit has power to effect so much. When art
fights against the whole bent or force of nature, I don’t think
the case ever happened, of the first obtaining a complete triumph;
but judge rather, that the last always remains with a residue of
strength, sufficient to renew the combat. It sometimes falls out with
a consummate hypocrite, as it happened to the cat converted to a fine
lady in the fable of Æsop. She continued to sit with much studied
composure at the table, till a rat entered the room; but instantly
upon the animal’s appearing, hurried away by that native impulse which
supersedes all caution, she with all her might threw herself on her
beloved prey, and exposed her nature to the bye-standers.

XVI. But admitting, that, by long practice in deceit, a man could
overcome all difficulties; this does not obviate the mistake of the
hypocrites; for with a great deal less labour, and in a much less time,
he could have made virtue more familiar to him than dissimulation.
The first is most conformable to the inclination of man as a rational
creature, and he only acts in contradiction to this principle as a
sensitive one; the last is a violence on his nature, both as a rational
and as a sensitive one. In a land of virtue, the soul may be said to
live at home; in that of deceit, she resides as a total stranger. She
certainly then must find more fatigue and trouble in familiarizing
herself to deceit, and more difficulty in making dissimulation seem
natural to her than virtue.


SECT. III.

XVII. There are notwithstanding, a certain species of hypocrites, who
live without fatigue, and deceive with little trouble; because the
appearances they wear of virtue, are partly owing to study, and partly
to temperament or constitution. They want some vices, and conceal
others; or the few virtues they possess, serve as a cloak or covering
to hide greater vices. Thus it may be said, that the hypocrites of whom
we spoke before, are always labouring against wind and tide, and never
get on, but by the force of hard rowing. Those of whom we are about to
speak now, are frequently assisted with a gale in their favour.

XVIII. Truly the pains the public take, to inform themselves of
the virtues of mankind, are very slight and trivial; he who stands
unimpeached in some determined particulars, may easily dispense with
a great number of virtues. Emilius, for example, is regular and
moderate in his diet, and is also modest in his conversation. He goes
frequently to, and behaves devoutly at church, and abstains from all
illicit commerce with the other sex. He needs nothing more, to make his
virtue conspicuous and reverenced by the whole town; notwithstanding
this, I know that this same Emilius, vexes his neighbours with unjust
and litigious prosecutions, and I also see him anxious after, and
solicitous to acquire honours and riches by all sorts of means.
Whatever little injury he receives, is stamped on his memory in
indelible characters; and although there is great plenty in his house,
no poor are ever seen at his door. He assists with great pleasure in
all murmurs and cabals, and especially if they are against some man
of conspicuous merit, who is likely to rival him in the estimation of
the public. He favours the unjust pretensions of his associates and
dependants; and, when applauding or condemning the actions of others
is the subject of conversation, his tongue is always guided by his
prejudices or partialities. He sets no value on the virtues of others;
and if he finds they are in any shape inconvenient or incommodious to
himself, he depreciates them. I observe his fawnings on, and cringings
to the great, and his slights and contempt of the poor. In fine, I
don’t see a movement in this man, that does not point directly or
indirectly to his own particular interest, which he seems determined to
pursue, although in the road that lends to it, he should trample under
foot, the rights and properties of other people.

XIX. With all this, the vulgar esteem him, as a just, religious, and
devout man. Those few virtues are a skreen or shelter to a great number
of vices. Ambition, avarice, envy, malice, and hatred, have built their
nests in his breast; but all this is overlooked. The false brilliancy
which glitters on the surface of his continence, and his temperance,
dazzle the eyes of the public. This seems, as if the world thought all
sin consisted in the criminal indulgence of corporeal inclinations, and
that all wickedness, was confined to the operation or exercise of two
or three senses. The devil is neither lascivious, nor a glutton, nor is
he capable of perpetrating either of those vices, because the execution
of them depends on the exertion of material powers; but he does not on
this account cease in a moral sense, to be the worst of all creatures.

XX. The injustice of this opinion, and the evils arising from it, are
most visible in the other sex. A woman by being chaste, thinks she has
complied with, and fulfilled all the duties appertaining to virtue,
and that, in consequence of her possessing this single good quality,
she may without impeachment of her conduct, be allowed to commit
every other vice with impunity. Thus having established the proofs of
her chastity, she concludes she has a right to be arrogant, envious,
passionate, and proud; and there even are women, whom the confirmation
of their fame in point of chastity has made savage and insufferable.
What plagues are such to their poor husbands, for they sell them that
fidelity at an exorbitant price, which they owe to them as a just
debt. Some authors have assigned this, as the motive of Paulus Æmilius
having procured himself to be divorced from his first wife, the noble,
chaste, beautiful, and prolific Papiria. Plutarch tells us of a Roman,
who, when his friends blamed him for having got himself divorced from a
chaste woman of great endowments, both of body and mind, pulled off one
of his shoes, and shewing it to them, said, _You see this shoe is new,
handsome, and well made; but perhaps that is the very reason why it
wrings and pinches my foot_. By which he meant to insinuate, that the
accomplishments of his wife made her proud and insufferable.

XXI. I must confess, that I have no patience with the distinction
the world makes between vices appertaining to the same species, only
because of the different methods which are used in the execution of
them. He is not only esteemed a thief, but a most vile and base man,
who clandestinely enters another’s house, and robs it of money and
goods; and why does not he deserve to be stigmatized with the same
epithets, who by making an unjust demand, or by using frauds, usurps
another’s property. The trader, for instance, who takes more than a
fair profit on his goods, or deceives with regard to the quality of
what he sells; or the man in office, who demands or receives more than
his due, or than his trouble deserves; and, above all, the judge who
suffers himself to be bribed; I say, what difference is there between
this first and last class of people? They are all cheats and robbers;
and God will punish them all in the same manner, not regarding the
means they used to impose on, but in proportion to the injury they
did their neighbours. Notwithstanding all this, vast numbers of these
people pass for very good christians; and not only so, but if they pray
much, and count over many rosaries, hear mass every day, and have the
insolence to frequent the sacraments, they are venerated as illustrious
patterns of virtue.

XXII. But for all these may appear an heterogeneous or monstrous
compound of virtue and vice, there is nothing belonging to them, which
may not be supposed conformable to nature. Virtues and vices have
the same root or origin, that is, the temperament or constitutions
of mankind. Thus as there is no soil so inhospitable as to produce
nothing but poisonous plants, neither is there any disposition so
vitiated as to nourish nothing but perverse inclinations. In no
individual is nature such an enemy to reason, as to oppose it in every
thing. This man is urged by gluttony, but not incited by incontinence.
Another burns with impatience to be rich, and knows no other happiness
than that of possessing vast treasure. A third is swayed by pride and
vain-glory; and provided he receives the homage he expects, no other
passion disturbs him.

XXIII. To this we may add, that vice being very ugly and deformed,
every one abhors those vices, that do not correspond, or fall in with
his own inclinations, and is consequently led to admire those virtues
with which they are contrasted. From hence it is common for men to be
reciprocally offended and scandalized with the actions of each other.
We see the faults of others in their proper shape and colours, and
our own in the delusive form in which our appetites represent them to
us. In the first we view the horrible, in the second the delectable.
The picture which passion draws of vice, resembles that which was
painted by Apelles of Antigonus. That monarch had but one eye, and
the ingenious painter, to hide the blemish, drew him in profile, and
exhibited only that part of his face in which there was no defect.
Thus passion exposes to our view the flattering side only of our own
vices; and conceals the deformed, but takes a quite opposite method in
inspecting those of other people.

XXIV. I contemplate sometimes, but not without emotions of laughter,
how the covetous man appears disgusted with, and to nauseate the
incontinent one; and how the incontinent man, looks with horror and
abomination on the avaricious one. All this happens, by the first not
being stimulated by carnal desires; and the second not being diseased
with the dropsical thirst of gold. Every man has his strong and his
weak side, or may be said to be made of brass in one part, and glass
in another; but every man, by excusing himself on the pretext of hiss
own fragility, is not aware, that all others have the same right to
disculpate themselves in the same manner; and if we were to make
the proper reflection on this matter, we should not be such severe
critics on the actions of our neighbours. Envy would be converted to
compassion, and that which at present inflames hatred, would beget
charity.

XXV. It is a common error, to apply to determined or particular
species of sins only, the excuse of the frailty of human nature. This
frailty as transcendent in all the passions, intervenes in all kinds
of slips. There is no vice, which has not its natural fermentation in
the complexion of the individual. The disorders which are the most
distant from, or opposite to the reasonable faculties, find their
patronage in the sensible ones. I confess I cannot comprehend, how in
our nature, there can be contained geniuses so perverse, that they
should take pleasure in doing mischief to other people, when by the
act, no sensible good can result to themselves. With all this, it is
certain that there are such people, and it is also certain, they behave
in this manner, because they are under the dominion of this villainous
disposition. But observe of what this frailty is compounded. If their
malignant conduct did not afford them some considerable delight, they
would not for the sake of indulging it run the hazard of incurring the
public hatred.

XXVI. But it is proper to remark, that these men of whom we have
been speaking, and who are compounded of virtue and vice, are not
what they seem to be by their outside appearance. I mean, that even
the virtues they are supposed to possess, will upon enquiry be found
not so properly to deserve the name of virtues, as that of the mere
want or absence of vices. Observe Chrysantus: he abstains from
all commerce with the other sex; and you may be led to think, this
abstinence proceeds from virtue; but you would mistake, for it is
the effect of insensibility; he has no stimulus which incites him to
desire women, and therefore we may conclude, there is no more merit
in his continence, than may be imputed to the trunk of a tree. If
his abstinence had been the effect of his fear of God, he would not
have been so inattentive to his conscience in other respects. Observe
Aurelius: he is very sparing and moderate in his diet, both with regard
to eating and drinking. You may conclude this proceeds from temperance;
no such thing: Aurelius wants an appetite; the case of him, in this
respect, is like that of a man in a fever, who forbears to eat, because
he is not able; but you see, he is capable of swallowing all the goods
and money he can lay his hands on; from whence we may suppose, that
if his stomach was as voracious as his heart, he would be another
Heliogabalus.

XXVII. These are hypocrites by constitution; and temperament compleats
in them, what study does in other people; theirs is not virtue, but
only the semblance or image of it, although it is an image which is not
formed by art, but nature.

XXVIII. I have heard it said, that in the court of Rome, when they
deliberate about the canonization of a saint, the point they examine
with, the greatest caution and nicety, is that of disinterestedness,
but when the proof of this excellence is once established, they are
not so prolix in their other enquiries; but abstracted from whether
this is, or is not their mode of proceeding, it appears to me a very
rational one on two accounts; the first is, that disinterestedness
does not depend, or depends very little and remotely, on constitution;
and therefore we should conclude, this good quality is more an
acquisition of virtue, than a gift of nature. The second is, because
this excellence may be supposed to imply or contain in it many others.
The reason is, money being the means with which men gratify all their
passions, it may be said to serve as an auxiliary and assistant to
every kind of vice; and a man’s not being greedy of money, is a token
that he is of greatly under the dominion of vice. Avarice is under the
controul of, and made the hackney implement of all other vices. The
incontinent man seeks money to indulge his carnal desires; the glutton
to satiate his intemperate and beastly appetite; the ambitious man to
attain promotion; and the vindictive one to revenge himself of, and
destroy his enemy. The same may be said of all other things. He then
who is not anxious for money, we may conclude, is not tainted with
those vices; or we may at least take disinterestedness, to be the best
and most certain indication of virtue.

XXIX. Those who are idolizers of applause, are not good, but great
spirits. Enamoured with the beauty of human glory, they either are not
diseased or infected with the other passions, or disdain to subject
themselves to their controul. In the republic of vices also, there are
distinctions of classes, and some usurp to themselves, without any just
pretension to it, the rank of nobility. This presumption produces the
utility, of their disdaining to mix with others of inferior order. As
one of this last sort we may reckon avarice, and thus the vain-glorious
man will always be upon his guard to avoid falling into this meanness.

XXX. I am persuaded, that if we were to investigate nicely, the cause
or origin, of all the heroic actions that are to be met with in the
profane annals, we should find many more children of vice, than of
virtue among them. The anxious hope of reward, has been the occasion
of winning more battles, than the love we bear to our country. How
many triumphs have been owing to emulation and envy! Alexander was
stimulated by the glory of Achilles, Cæsar by that of Alexander; and
Pompey, when he gave battle, had his attention more fixed on the
victories of Cæsar, than the troops of the enemy. Many have done
great things, from much more criminal incitements; for they have made
their obsequies a ladder, wherewith to ascend to tyranny. How many
have served a state, with a view of making the state subservient to
themselves, and have first made it victorious, in order afterwards to
enslave it! This was frequent and common among the most celebrated men
of Greece. For this reason, eminent services to the republic became
so suspicious in Athens, that they devised the law of ostracism to
punish them as crimes; and they condemned to banishment, those who
distinguished themselves by their great and conspicuous actions.

XXXI. You see the same thing happen with regard to services done to
private people, that you do in those rendered to a state, which is,
that we frequently attribute to motives of fidelity and affection, what
the person employed, executed only with an eye to his own interest;
but when the dependence ceases, the real or true motive immediately
displays itself.

XXXII. So that upon making it just estimate of things, we shall find,
that the world is full of hypocrites; some who wear the deceitful
appearance of particular virtues, and others who are dissemblers with
respect to all of them. The emperor Frederic the third said, as we are
told by Æneas Silvius, that there was not any man whatever, who had not
a spice of the hypocrite in his composition.

XXXIII. We should not approve, or adopt so severe a judgment; but it
would be necessary in my opinion, that all princes should partake of
the doubt or distrust of Frederic; for they are those who are most
abused by, and the least aware of hypocrites. There is scarce any one,
who lays himself quite open when he is before them. The same who are
free and unreserved among their equals, are hypocrites in the presence
of their superiors; and there is hardly a man, who, prior to his
appearing before the person who commands him, does not daub his soul
all over with washes, and give false colourings to his spirit, in the
same manner, that a strumpet paints her face before the goes abroad,
and exhibits herself to public view. Momus wished there was a window
in the breast of man, whereby to discover the secrets of the bosom;
but I should be contented with a door, of which the owner should keep
one key, and his superior the other. These however are all flights of
fancy. What reason dictates is, that the works of God are perfect.


SECT. IV.

XXXIV. It would affect me much, if, because I proceed to take off the
mufflings and coverings of vice, the world should think me one of those
suspicious geniuses, who will not give any person credit for acting
from good motives, and who am always endeavouring to put sinister
interpretations on the causes of other peoples conduct. Those who
are intimate with me, well know, that my spirit is not diseased with
that truly malignant malady; and some have remarked in me a contrary
defect, to wit, that of too benevolent and charitable a criticism on
the behaviour of other men. Perhaps the experience of the deceits and
impositions that have been put upon me, from my easiness in crediting
the appearances of virtue, have made these few reflections more
obvious to me; which nevertheless, shall always rest with me in mere
theory; for I am persuaded that in the practice, my natural genius,
and disposition would ever prevail over them, as also my remembrance,
that in the moral, it is better to err through compassion, than to
do right from motives of spite and envy. I would wish to conduct my
pen so delicately, that it should wound hypocrisy, without offending
charity; and I would expose the artifices of hypocrites in such a way,
as should not alarm or disturb the quiet of the innocent and simple.

XXXV. I will also acknowledge, that as time has helped me to discover
in some people many vices, which I could not have believed; it has
also assisted me to discern many virtues in others, which I had no
conception of. Thus the judgment of a good-intentioned man being poised
in equilibrio between reason and experience, it is easy to imagine,
that his genius and disposition will incline the balance to the
charitable side.

XXXVI. I have taken notice of a thing which is a little remarkable,
and that is, that great virtues are less perceptible than small ones.
This is derived from the exercise of them not being so frequent, and
the value of them, not being generally understood. The going regularly
to church, exterior modest deportment, taciturnity and fasting, are
virtues, which strike the eyes of every one, because they are daily
practised, and every body knows them. There are other virtues, that
are more substantial, and which spring from more noble roots, that the
vulgar are unacquainted with, because they are carried about by those
who are masters of them, like ladies who go abroad _incog._ without
the ostentatious parade and show of equipage. There are men (would to
God there were more of them!) who with an open carriage, and the free
correspondence and intercourse of an ordinary life, and who do not seem
the least sensible or affected with mysterious niceties, that nourish
within their breasts, a robust virtue and solid piety, impenetrable
to the most furious batteries of the three enemies of the soul. Let
Sir Thomas More, that just, wise, and prudent Englishman, whom I have
always regarded with profound respect, and a tenderness approaching to
devotion; I say let this man serve as an example to all men, and stand
as a pattern to future ages, of all the virtues and excellencies I have
been describing.

XXXVII. If we view the exterior part of the life of Sir Thomas More,
we only see an able politician, simple in his manners, engaged in a
department of the state, and attentive to the affairs of the king
and kingdom, always suffering himself to be wafted by the gale of
fortune, without soliciting honours, and without refusing to accept
of them; in private life, open, courteous, gentle, cheerful, and
even fond of a convivial song, frequently partaking in the halls of
mirth, of the jovial relaxations of the mind, and in the circulation
of wit and pleasantry; always innocent, but never shewing the least
symptom of austerity. His application in literature was directed,
indifferently and alternately, to the study of sacred and profane
learning, and he made great advances in both the one and the other.
His great application to, and proficiency in the living languages of
Europe, represent him as a genius desirous of accommodating himself to
the world at large. His works, except such as he composed in prison
during the last year of his life, seemed more to savour of politics
than religion. I speak of the subject of them, not of the motive with
which he wrote them. In his description of Utopia, which was truly
ingenious, delicate, and entertaining, he lets his pen run so much on
the interests of the state, as makes it seem as if he was indifferent
about the concerns of religion.

XXXVIII. Who, in this image or description of Sir Thomas More, would
recognize that glorious martyr of Christ, and that generous hero,
whose constancy to the obligations of his religion could not be
bent or warped, neither by the threats or promises of Henry VIII.
nor a hard imprisonment of fourteen months, nor the persuasions and
intreaties of his wife, nor by the sad prospect of seeing his family
and children reduced to misery and beggary, nor by the privation of
all human comfort, in taking from him all his books, nor finally by
the terrors of a scaffold placed before his eyes? So certain is it,
that the qualities of great souls are not to be discovered, but by the
touch-stone of great occasions and hard trials, and may be compared to
large flints, which only manifest their smooth or shining surfaces by
the execution of hard blows.

XXXIX. Sir Thomas More was the same while he was a prisoner of state,
as when he was High Chancellor of England; the same in adverse, as in
prosperous fortune; the same ill treated, as in high favour; the same
in the prison, as seated at the head of the Court of Chancery; but
adversity, manifested and made visible his whole heart, of which the
greatest and best part had before lain hid. This great man, used to
give to his own virtues an air of humanity and condescension, which in
the eyes of the vulgar abated their splendour; but in proportion as it
obscured the lustre of them to their view, it augmented it in the sight
of all men of discernment and penetration. It once happened when he
was High Chancellor, that a gentleman, who had a suit depending before
him, made him a present of two silver bottles: it was inconsistent
with his dignity or integrity to accept the present; and how did Sir
Thomas conduct himself? Did he fall into a passion against the suitor
for having offered an affront to his reputation? Did he punish the
criminal audacity of the man, for attempting to corrupt and make venal
the functions of his duty? Did he manifest before his domestics any
disinterested delicacy, or appear scandalized at the temptation? No; he
did none of all this, because nothing of this sort was correspondent
to the nobleness or generous turn of his mind. He received the bottles
with a good grace, and immediately gave orders to one of his servants
to fill them with the best wine he had in his cellar, and carry
them back to the gentleman, together with this courteous message,
_That it gave him great pleasure to have an opportunity of obliging
him, and that any sort of wine he had in his house was much at his
service_. Expressing, by this prudent seeming insensibility or want
of apprehension, that he supposed that was the purpose for which the
gentleman sent the bottles. In this manner, he joined integrity to
gentleness of reproof, and correction with courteous behaviour; and by
so much the less parade he made of his own purity, by so much the more
was the confusion of the gentleman diminished.

XL. It is clear, that the heroic constancy with which he supported his
adherence to his religion, was not the effect of a strained violence
on his nature, but proceeded from innate virtue, which acts in all
things, and on all occasions, according to the habitual dispositions
of the mind; for always, to the very crisis of his suffering, he
preserved the native cheerfulness of his disposition. He did not
appear less festive, nor less tranquil in chains, than he had before
appeared in the banquet room. During the time of his trial he was
all composure, and when it was drawing near a conclusion, and those
iniquitous judges, who had already sacrificed their consciences to the
will of their sovereign, were on the point, to please and flatter him,
of delivering that innocent man, as a victim to his resentment, the
barber came to shave him, and just as he was going to begin his work,
Sir Thomas recollected himself, and said _Hold, as the King and I at
present are contending to whom this head belongs, in case it should
be adjudged to him, it would be wrong for me to rob him of the beard,
so you must desist_. Being about to ascend the scaffold, and finding
himself feeble, he begged one who was near to aid him in getting up
the ladder, saying to him at the same time, _Assist me to get up, for
be assured I shan’t trouble you to help me down again_. O eminent
virtue! O spirit truly sublime, who mounted the scaffold with the same
festive cheerfulness, that he would sit down to a banquet! Let men of
little minds and narrow souls contemplate this example, and learn to
know, that true virtue does not consist in the observance of forms and
scrupulous niceties.


SECT. V.

XLI. O how many antipodes in morality to Sir Thomas More are to be
found in every state! for both in the east and the west, you will meet
with many of those ridiculous scarecrows, who lead a kind of hermetic
life, and are called sanctified or holy men; but those of this day do
not mortify themselves so much, but offend other people more, than
those of former times were used to do. With a displeasing gravity,
and forbidding look that amounts to sour sternness; a conversation
so opposite to the cheerful, that it borders on the extreme of
clownish surliness; a zeal so harsh and severe, that it degenerates
into cruelty; a scrupulous observance of rites and ceremonies, that
approaches to superstition; and by the mere want or absence of a few
vices; I say, that with the help of these appearances, they, without
more cost or trouble, set themselves up as patterns or images of
ultimate perfection; and they are truly images in the strict sense of
the word, for their whole value consists in their external shape and
figure; and I besides call them images, because they are not endued
or informed with a true, but with the sham semblance of a spirit. I
repeat again that they are images, because they are hard as marble,
and insensible and unfeeling as the trunks of trees. In the morality
that directs them, gentleness of manners, affability, and pity, are
blotted out of the catalogue of virtues. I have not even yet said
enough. Those two sensible characteristics of charity, pointed out by
St. Paul, that is to say, patience and benevolence, are so foreign to
their dispositions, that they are inclined to consider them as signs
of relaxation of discipline, or at least of lukewarmness. They assume
the figure of saints, without possessing more sanctity than the stock
or stone images of such, and would number themselves among the blessed,
wanting the requisites which the gospel expresses to constitute them
such, and make them deserving of being inserted in that catalogue,
which are meekness, compassion, and a conciliatory spirit. _Beati
mites, beati misericordes, beati pacifici._

XLII. It is also certain, that virtue is tinctured with, or wears a
different hue, according to the genius or disposition of the subject
in whom it exists, and on this account, in different individuals it
appears in different colours. Notwithstanding this, we ought in the
mixture or combination, to distinguish what is derived solely from
virtue, and what is produced by the intervention of constitution. There
are men of a harsh, choleric, unpleasant cast of mind, who at the same
time are virtuous; but their virtue on this account is not harsh,
choleric, and displeasing, but rather in its operations, by means of
its innate good qualities, corrects those defects. The misfortune is,
that these defects of temper, confound the understanding and pervert
the judgment; and in consequence of this perversion of the judgment,
virtue is prevented from amending the defects of the genius. A virtuous
man, who is of an impetuous, violent disposition, and inclining to
the morose, when placed in command, is easily brought to think; he
finds himself in circumstances where prudence dictates that he should
use rigour; whereas one of an excessive gentle and mild genius, can
never persuade himself that contingent is arrived. Both one and the
other discharge and preserve their consciences, and the public are the
sufferers by their mistakes, but in a very different degree, according
to the diversity of the employments or destinations of such people.
The very gentle man is most pernicious in external policy, and the
rigorous in internal. An excess of clemency, and forbearing to put in
execution criminal laws, in cases where the offences committed are
injurious to the public at large, is a very great evil. In matters that
concern the reformation, or internal amendment of souls, rigour is not
only useless, but prejudicial, because the fear of temporal punishment
does not make penitents, but hypocrites; it only removes the external
execution of vice, and concentrates the evil intention within the
soul, where it produces a new sin, in the hatred it excites against the
judge.


SECT. VI.

XLIII. I have observed, that for the sincere conversion or turning
of mens hearts, benignity and gentle treatment has done miracles, in
cases where rigour has been found ineffectual. Two illustrious examples
of this sort, which in different ages have been exhibited on the
theatre of France, occur to me at present. The first is that of Peter
Abelard, a most subtle logician, and famous broacher of heresies in
the twelfth century. The adventures of this man were extraordinary,
and he for the most part experienced adverse fortune. He suffered
many persecutions, some of which were unjust ones; but neither the
just nor the unjust were capable of subduing his mind, or mitigating
the contentious vivacity of his spirit. His errors, after innumerable
debates, were condemned by the council of Sens, at which St. Bernard
assisted. He appealed from the sentence to Pope innocent the Second,
who confirmed the decision of the council; and added to it, that his
books should be burnt, and the author imprisoned for life. Abelard had
an infinite number of enemies, many of whom were not so from their
zeal to religion, but from many other very different motives. As an
augmentation of his misfortunes, there was scarce any one who did not
exclaim against him, and cry aloud for the execution of the sentence.
In this deplorable situation of Abelard, there was only one man who
had generosity enough to take the favourable side of the question,
and interest himself on his behalf. This was that most pious and wise
person St. Peter the Venerable, abbot of the great monastery of Cluny,
who solicited and obtained of the Pope, Abelard’s pardon. He also
reconciled him with St. Bernard, which amounted to the same thing as
indemnifying him against the public hatred. Besides this, as a remedy
for all his reverses of fortune, he offered him an asylum in his
monastery of Cluny, which monastery received him in its arms like a
loving father, and gave him the habit of a monk.

It will be proper to observe here, that Eloisa, a sensible, beautiful,
and noble French lady, was in her youth in love with, and beloved by
Abelard, to such an excess, that their love broke through all the
fences of honour. Historians relate a very singular circumstance of
this woman, which is, that Abelard being desirous of marrying her,
she, notwithstanding her prodigious fondness for him, rejected the
proposal, and chose rather to continue his concubine than be his wife,
alledging as her motive for this conduct, that she would not, by
her marriage, deprive the church of the great lustre that might be
reflected on it by the sublime genius of Abelard, although in the end,
she, by the importunities and threats of her friends and relations,
was prevailed on to espouse him. She afterwards took the veil, and
became an exemplary religious. She always maintained a very tender and
affectionate correspondence with Abelard, but at the same time in very
chaste terms, and such as were conformable to the rules of virtue and
decorum. As soon as she was informed of Abelard’s death, she begged of
St. Peter the Venerable, that he would let her have his body, that she
might bury it in the convent where she was prelate; and the pious abbot
granted her request. It appears by the epistles of Abelard, that Eloisa
was universally beloved and respected for her virtue and discretion. He
says, the bishops loved her as a daughter, the abbesses as a sister,
and the seculars a mother.

The effect which this generous benignity of St. Peter the Venerable
had upon Abelard, was admirable. He not only became a monk, but a most
exemplary one, and a shining pattern of all kinds of virtues, of which
St. Peter the Venerable gives irrefragable testimony in his letter to
Eloisa on the occasion of his death, which letter is filled with the
highest eulogiums on the virtues of Abelard. He says in one part of
it, that he does not remember to have seen a man so humble as him; and
in another, that it was matter of admiration, to observe a person so
famous and of so great a name, have so lowly an opinion of himself.
In another, he says, his understanding, his tongue, and his works,
were always employed on celestial objects. And in another, he compares
him to the great Gregory in the following words: _Nec (sicut de magno
Gregorio legitur) momentum aliquod præterire sinebat, quin semper aut
oraret, aut legeret, aut scriberet, aut dictaret_. These eulogiums are
confirmed, and if possible exceeded, in the Chronicle of the Monastery
of Cluny, which says, that, from the time of his taking the habit of a
monk, his thoughts, words, and actions, were always divine: _Et deinde
mens ejus, lingua ejus, opus ejus, semper divina fuere_.

XLIV. So that this man, who could not be made to bend to the most
learned men of France, who were engaged in continual controversies
with him; nor to the force of the civil power, exerted against him
various times at the instance of his enemies; nor to the ecclesiastical
prelates, nor to the authority of a council, nor to the zeal and
learning of a St. Bernard: This man, I say, on whom all these
exertions had no influence, submitted to the gentle, compassionate,
and benevolent spirit of St. Peter the Venerable. The estimation and
tenderness, with which this saint always regarded Abelard after his
conversion, was very great, as is evident from two epitaphs he wrote to
grace his tomb. I shall insert a part of each of them here, by which
may be seen the high opinion he entertained of the learning and wisdom
of this eminent man.


First Epitaph.

    _Gallorum Socrates, Plato maximus Hesperiarum,_
    _Noster Aristoteles, Logicis, quicumque fuerunt,_
    _Aut par, aut melior, studiorum cognitus orbi_
    _Princeps, ingenio varius, subtilis, & acer._


Second Epitaph.

    _Petrus in hac petra latitat, quem mundus Homerum_
      _Clamabat, sed jam sidera sidus habent._
    _Sol erat hic Gallis, sed eum jam fata tulerunt:_
      _Ergo caret Regio Gallica sole sua._
    _Ille sciens quidquid fuit ulli scibile, vicit_
      _Artifices, artes absque docente docens._

XLV. The second example, which is still more striking and illustrious
than the first, is that of the Huguenots in the reign of Charles the
ninth, in the diocese of Lisieux in Normandy. The learned Dominican
John Henuyer, who had been confessor to Henry the second, was bishop
of that diocese, when orders came from the king to the governor of
Normandy, to put to the sword all the Huguenots of that province. The
venerable prelate opposed the execution of the order as far as it
related to his own diocese efficaciously, by declaring that he would
sooner submit his own throat to the knife, than consent to the death
of those heretics, whom he had always considered as sheep of his
flock, although they had gone astray; and used such other arguments,
as prevailed on the governor to suspend the execution of the orders;
and the king, moved with the firmness and zeal of the pious bishop,
revoked the decree with respect to the Huguenots of that bishopric. The
hand of Omnipotence heaped blessings on the paternal affection which
bishop Henuyer manifested to his flock, and on the pious exertion he
made to save their lives at all events; and (O wonderful to relate!)
in none of the other parts of France, where rivers of Huguenot blood
had been spilt in the execution of the king’s orders, was the heresy
extinguished; but on the diocese of Lisieux only, did God confer this
great blessing. The experience of the paternal bowels and feeling of
their prelate for them, made such an impression on the hearts of the
Huguenots of that district, that they all, without a single exception,
became converts to the catholic faith. Thus does benignity triumph
over the most stubborn hearts, when managed and conducted with a pious
zeal and consummate prudence.


SECT. VII.

XLVI. But to return to our subject, as all that was introduced in the
preceding section was by way of digression: I say, that among the
groupe of those severe saturnine geniuses, of whom we were just before
speaking, are to be found the worst species of hypocrites. I speak of
those censurers of other people’s conduct and behaviour, who pretend to
do it out of zeal, and to promote the welfare of those they fall upon.
These act as if they were ministers vested with full powers from Hell,
or were a _quid pro quo_ of the Devil, because their whole occupation
is pointing out the sins of mankind; a race so diabolical, that they
are at variance with their neighbours, and friends with their vices.
They pretend they love the first, and abhor the last, but it is quite
the reverse. They are always busied in throwing biting reflections
on their neighbours, and at the same time licking their chops with a
longing desire to taste of their sins. There is no news so pleasing to
them, as this or that person having made such and such a slip. This is
their favourite little aliment, because it affords pabulum to feed and
nourish their malevolence.

They exclaim furiously, and with all their might, against sinful
and sensual practices, and wreck their inventions for hyperboles to
exaggerate the wickedness of them; and after they have glutted their
revenge on a miserable individual they have been abusing, they direct
the rage of their thunder against the public at large, and cry out,
The people are all going the high road to perdition: God defend us,
sure the like never was seen! Their daily text is the _O tempora! O
mores!_ of Cicero. The matter of their ordinary conversations is truly
and properly matter, as it is all putrefaction and corruption; for they
talk of nothing but turpitudes and uncleanness. They reserve for their
own use and purposes Satan’s Gazette, where the news is distributed
in articles and paragraphs received from different quarters; as for
example: “We hear by an express arrived from such a street, dated
such a day of the month, which was brought by an herb woman, that Mr.
A---- has made great advances in his negotiations with Madam B----;
and although in the beginning he met with some difficulties, by
proposing more advantageous and agreeable terms, was at last admitted
to a private audience.” In this manner it proceeds to give an account
of various other matters, and always, as is customary, tells us
something about the court; as for instance; “His majesty Pluto and
all his family, although they cannot fail to be incommoded with the
excessive heats which prevail in his territories, continue for all
that to pass their time very jollily, by the entertainment they find
in hunting all sorts of sins, which is a game that is found in great
abundance in every quarter of his infernal majesty’s dominions.” But
to be serious: Those who blazon or aggravate the vices that are most
frequent or prevailing in a place or town, do a great injury which they
are not aware of, which is removing from many a certain impediment,
which withholds or restrains them from falling into those very vices.
When speaking of the vice of incontinence for example, a man exclaims,
“The city in this respect is in a total state of depravity; that the
dissoluteness which pervades it is horrid and unbridled; that already,
with a little reserve, or without any at all, you can scarce find a
man that is continent, or a woman that is chaste; and truly this is
the vice, against which they most frequently make such declamations.”
Some hear this, who till then had entertained no such idea of the
thing, and who were continent from the apprehension of being exposed,
and the fear of being repulsed by this or that woman. This, to those
who are withheld from being incontinent, principally or solely by
the shame of being remarked, or that of being ignominiously repulsed,
takes away in part, or removes totally, the chief impediment which
retrained them from rushing into criminal amours. If all, says each
of these to himself, or nearly all the men in the town, are guilty of
this vice, my share of disgrace by falling into it will be but small,
as I shall only bear my proportion as one among so large a number; and
if all, or nearly all the women, are disposed to be lewd and wanton,
it will rarely happen that I shall meet with one that will not yield
to my solicitations. Some, from not foreseeing the inconvenience, are
betrayed into this absurdity by their zeal, and commit the mistake with
the best intentions. I have many times heard preachers exclaim with
great fervour, that the town is filled with scandals and turpitudes;
that there is scarce a house, which in every corner of it is not
burning with the infernal fire of lust. I entreat most earnestly all
those who exercise this sacred function, and God is the judge of the
sincerity and pious intention with which I make the request, that
they would abstain from such-like declamations, for the mischief they
produce, is greater than the benefits which are derived from them.

XLVII. But to resume the thread of our discourse, what we have just
finished saying being rather an addition to, or digression from, our
main or principal subject. The hypocrites we mentioned last, are such
as conceal their malice under the cloak or pretence of zeal; but there
are others, who are such at their own expence, because in order to
appear virtuous they punish themselves, by abstaining from many things
their appetites prompt them to desire; whereas all the cost of the
first sort, is defrayed at the expence of their neighbour’s honour. It
is true that this rule admits of some exceptions, for there are those
so malignant, who, to wound with certainty another’s fame, would many
times commit a violence on their own inclinations. They would abstain
from the external exercise of those vices which they point out in
others, be it ever so painful to them, in order that they may censure
them with the greater freedom. Unhappy passion! Detestable hypocrisy!


SECT. VIII.

XLVIII. There remains for us to say something on two particulars, by
the intervention of which, vice is frequently reverenced as virtue:
The first is the exterior resemblance of certain vices to certain
virtues; for as every virtue is placed between two vicious extremes,
many of these last wear the appearance of the first. Thus prodigality
often passes for liberality, rashness for valour, obstinacy for
firmness, cunning for prudence, and pusillanimity for moderation. It is
also the same with respect to many other things.

XXIX. The second is, the material commission of an act, abstracted from
the turpitude of the end it was done to answer. If we were to explore
the motives that intervene in an infinite number of actions, which are
right to outward appearance; we should perceive, they were derived from
indirect principles, and performed to answer perverse purposes. It is
very common for one vice to be an obstacle to the external operation
or execution of another. This man is continent to avoid spending his
money; that, because he is terrified by the danger of the enterprize.
In the first, continence is the child of avarice; in the second, of
pusillanimity. This one puts on the shew of humility, because he is
a candidate for favour and promotion; another, to avoid the exposing
himself to a quarrel. In the first, humility springs from ambition, in
the second it is derived from cowardice. Much, more might be said on
these two heads; but, as the subject matter of them has been largely
treated of in various other books, we shall rest the thing here, and
content ourselves with the slight observations we have already made.


END OF VOL. I.




ERRATUM.


P. 11. 1. 1. _read_ matter; for he declares, [Transcriber’s note:
rather than “matter, he declares”].




FOOTNOTES.


[1] Feyjoo, in the supplement to his Teatro Critico, says, the relation
of the Earl of Leicester’s being guilty of the horrid crime of
murdering his wife in order to remove all impediments to his marrying
Queen Elizabeth, which he had entertained hopes of doing, was taken
from Nicholas Sanders, and another person whose name he has forgot;
he says further, he has since found reason to doubt the truth of that
accusation, and condemns the mistaken zeal of Sanders, who he owns was
much addicted to give credit to any thing he heard against the enemies
of the Catholic Religion. He declares that Protestants have the same
right to natural justice as Catholics, and that they should not be
positively and unjustly charged with crimes, upon false rumours, or
dubious reports.

[2] The son of Pope Alexander the sixth.




Transcriber’s Notes


References to “Theatrico-Critico” corrected to “Teatro Critico”

The erratum is corrected in place.

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

Numbering errors/omissions from the original are left unaltered. As
such there are missing/skipped section numbers and paragraph numbers
in the text.

Italics are represented thus _italic_.

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