and so great a defection of the senses, the soul could maintain any force within, to take cognizance of her self, or look into her own condition, and that therefore they had no tormenting reflections, to make them consider and be sensible of the misery of their condition, and consequently were not much to be lamented. I can for my part think of no estate so insupportable and dreadful, as to have the soul spritely and afflicted without means to declare it self: as one should say of such who are sent to execution, with their tongues first cut out; were it not that in this kind of dying, the most silent seems to me the most graceful, if accompanied with a grave and constant countenance; or of those miserable prisoners, who fall into the hands of the base bloody soldiers of this age, by whom they are tormented with all sorts of inhuman usage, to compel them to some excessive and impossible ransom, kept in the mean time in such condition and place, where they have no means of expressing, or signifying their mind and misery, to such as they may expect should relieve them.

Both the interrupted words, and the short and irregular answers one gets from them sometimes,by bawling and keeping a clutter about them; or the motions which seem to yield some consent to what we would have them do, are no testimony nevertheless that they live an entire life at least. So it happens that in the yawning of sleep, before it has fully possess'd us to perceive, as in a dream, what is done about us, and to follow the last things are said with a perplex'd and uncertain hearing, which seem but to touch upon the borders of the soul; and make answers to the last words have been spoken to us, which have more in them of fortune than sense. Now seeing I have effectually tried it, I make no doubt but I have hitherto made a right judgment. For first, being in a swoon, I labour'd with both hands to rip open the buttons of my doublet, (for I was without arms) and yet I felt nothing in my imagination that hurt me; for we have many motions in us, that do not proceed from our direction. So falling people extend their arms before them by a natural impulse, which prompts them to offices and motions, without any commission from us.

My stomach was so opprest with the coagulated blood, that my hands moved to that part of their own voluntary motion, as they frequently do to the part that itches, without being directed by our will. There are several animals and even men, in whom one may perceive the muscles to stir and tremble after they are dead. Now these passions which only touch the outward bark of us, as a man may say, cannot be said to be ours to make them so, there must be a concurrence of the whole man and the pains, which are felt by the hand or the foot while we are sleeping, are none of ours. As I drew near my own house, where the alarm of my fall was already got before me, and that my family were come out to meet me, with the hubbub usual in such cases; I did not only make some little answer to some questions were askt me, but they moreover tell me, that I had so much sense, as to order that a horse I saw trip and faulter in the way, which is mountainous and uneasie, should be given to my wife. This consideration should seem to proceed from a soul, that retained its functions, but it was nothing so with me. I knew not what I said or did, and they were nothing but idle thoughts in the clouds, that were stir'd up by the senses of the eyes and ears,

senses.

236 and proceeded not from me. I knew not for all that, or whence I came, or whither I went, neither was I capable to weigh and consider, what was said to me: these were light effects, that the senses produced of themselves, as of custom; what the soul contributed was in a dream, as being lightly toucht, lick'd and bedew'd by the soft impression of the Notwithstanding, my condition was in truth very easie and quiet, I had no afflictions upon me, either for others or my self. It was an extream drooping and weakness without any manner of pain. I saw my own house, but knew it not. When they had put me to bed, I found an inexpressible sweetness in that repose; for I had been damnably tugg'd and lugg'd by those poor people, who had taken the pains to carry me upon their arms a very great and a very ill way, and had in so doing all quite tir'd out themselves twice or thrice one after another. They offer'd me several remedies, but I would take none, certainly believing that I was mortally wounded in the head. And in earnest, it had been a very happy death, for the weakness of my understanding, deprived me of the faculty of discerning, and that of my body from the sense of feeling. I suffer'd my self to glide away so sweetly, and after so soft and easie a manner, that I scarce find any other action less troublesom than that was. But when I came again to my self, and to reassume my faculities,

WHAT THE SOUL CONTRIBUTED WAS IN A DREAM.

Ut tandem sensus convaluere mei.-Ovid Trist. lib. 1. El. 3.

As my lost senses did again return,

which was two or three hours after, I felt my self on a suddain involved in terrible pain, having my limbs shatter'd and ground to pieces with my fall, and was so exceeding ill two or three nights after, that I thought once more to die again, but a more painful death, having concluded my self as good as dead before, and to this hour am sensible of the bruises of that terrible shock. I will not here omit, that the last thing I could make them beat into my head, was the memory of this accident, and made it be over and over again repeated to me whither I was going, from whence I came, and at what time of the day this mischance befel me, before I could comprehend it. As to the manner of my fall, that was conceal'd from me in favour to him, who had been the occasion, and other flim-flams were invented to palliate the truth. But a long time after, and the very next day that my memory began to return and to represent to me the estate wherein I was, at the instant that I perceived this horse coming full drive upon me (for I had seen him come thundring at my heels, and gave my self for gone: but this thought had been so suddain, that fear had no leisure to introduce it self) it seemed to me like a flash of lightning that had pierc'd through my soul, and that I came from the other world.

This long story, of so light an accident, would appear vain enough, were it not for the knowledge I have gained by it for my own use; for I do really find, that to be acquainted with death, is no more but nearly to approach it. Every one, as Pliny says, is a good doctor to himself, provided he be capable of discovering himself near at hand. This is not my doctrine, 'tis my study; and is not the lesson of another but my own, and yet if I communicate it, it ought not to be ill taken. That which is of use to me, may also peradventure be useful to another.

As to the rest, I spoil nothing, I make use of nothing but my own; and if I play the fool, 'tis at my own expence, and no body else is concerned in it: for 'tis a folly that will die with me, and that no one is to inherit. We hear but of two or three of the ancients, who have beaten this road, and yet I cannot say, if it be after this manner, knowing no more of them but their names. Not one since has followed the track: 'tis a ticklish subject, and more nice than it seems to follow a pace so extravagant and uncertain as that of the soul: to penetrate the dark profundities of their intricate internal windings; to choose and lay hold of so many little graces and nimble motions, is a new and extraordinary undertaking, and that withdraws us from the common and most recommended employments of the world. 'Tis now many years since, that my thoughts have had no other aim and level, than my self, and that I have only pryed into and studied my self: or if I study any other thing, 'tis to lay it up for, and to apply it to my self. And yet I do not think it a fault, if, as others do, by other much less profitable sciences, I communicate what I have learnt in this affair; tho' I am not very well pleased with what I have writ upon this subject. There is no description so difficult, nor doubtless of so great utility, as that of a man's self. And withal a man must curl, set out and adjust himself to appear in publick. Now I am perpetually tickling my self; for I am eternally upon my own description. Custom has made all speaking of a man's self vicious, and does positively interdict it, in hatred to the vanity, that seems inseparably joyned with the testimony men give of themselves. I do not know that necessarily follows; but allowing it to be true, and that it must of necessity be presumption to entertain the people with discourses of ones self, I ought not, pursuing my general design, to forbear an action that publishes this infirmity of mine; nor conceal the fault which I not only practise, but profess. Notwithstanding, to speak my thought freely, I do think that the custom of condemning wine, because some people will be drunk, is it self to be condemned. A man cannot abuse any thing but what is good in it self: and I believe that this rule has only regard to the popular vice: they are bits with which neither the saints whom we hear speak so highly of themselves, nor the philosophers, nor the divines will be curbed; neither will I, who am as little the one as the other of what does Socrates treat more largely, than of himself? To what does he more direct, and address the discourses of his disciples, than to speak of themselves, not of the lesson in the book, but of the essence and motion of their souls? We confess our selves religiously to God and our confessor; and, as they are our neighbours to all the people. But some will answer and say, that we there speak nothing but accusation against our selves: why then we say all, for our very vertue it self is faulty and repentable; my trade and art is to live. He that forbids me to speak according to my own sense, experience and practice, may as well enjoyn an architect not to speak of building according to his own knowledge, but according to that of his neighbour; according to the knowledge of another, and not according to his own. If it be vain glory for a man to publish his own vertues, why does not Cicero prefer the eloquence of Hortensius, and Hortensius that of Cicero ? Peradventure they mean, that I should give testimony of my

238

NO VERTUE ASSISTS ITSELF WITH FALSEHOOD.

I

self by works and effects, not barely by words: I chiefly paint my thoughts, an inform subject, and incapable of operative production. 'Tis all that I can do to couch it in this airy body of the voice. The wisest and devoutest men have lived in the greatest care to avoid all discovery of works: effects would more speak of fortune, than of me. They manifest their own office, and not mine; but uncertainly, and by conjecture. They are but patterns of some one particular vertue. expose my self entire: 'tis a skeleton where at one view the veins, muscles and tendons are apparent, every of them in its proper place. I do not write my own acts, but my self and my essence: I am of opinion, that a man must be very wise to value himself, and equally conscientious, to give a true report; be it better or worse, indifferently: if I thought my self perfectly good and wise, I would speak with open mouth, and rattle it out to some purpose. To speak less of a man's self, than what one really is, is folly, not modesty; and to take that for currant pay, which is under a man's value, is pusillanimity and cowardice, according to Aristotle. No vertue assists it self with falshood: truth is never the master of error: to speak more of ones self, than is really true, is not always presumption, 'tis moreover very often folly: to be immeasurably pleased with what one is, and to fall into an indiscreet self-love, is, in my opinion, the substance of this vice. The most sovereign remedy to cure it, is, to do quite contrary to what these people direct, who in forbidding them to speak of themselves, do consequently at the same time interdict thinking of themselves too. Pride dwells in the thought, the tongue can have but a very little share in it: they fancy, that to think of ones self is to be delighted with himself; to frequent, and to converse with a man's self, to be over indulgent. But this excess springs only in those, who only take of themselves a superficial view, and dedicate their main inspection to their affairs; that call meditation, raving and idleness, looking upon themselves as a third person only, and a stranger. If any one be ravished with his own knowledge, whilst he looks only on those below him; let him but turn his eye upward toward past ages, and his pride will be abated, when he shall there find so many thousand wits that trample him under foot. If he enter into a flattering vanity of his personal valour, let him but recollect the lives of Scipio, Epaminondas, so many armies and nations that leave him so far behind them, and he will be cur'd of his self-opinion. No particular quality can make any man proud, that will at the same time put so many other meek and imperfect ones as he has in him in the other scale, and the nothingness of human condition to balance the weight: because Socrates had alone swallow'd to purpose the precept of his God, To know himself, and by that study was arrived to the perfection of setting himself at naught, he was only reputed worthy the title of a sage. Whosoever shall so know himself, let him boldly speak it out.

CHAP. L.-OF RECOMPENCES OF HONOUR.

THEY who write the life of Augustus Cæsar, observe this in his military discipline, that he was wonderfully liberal of gifts to men of merit : but that as to the true recompences of honour, he was as sparing. So

it is, that he had himself been gratified by his uncle, with all the military recompences, before he had ever been in the field. It was a pretty invention, and received into most governments of the world, to institute certain vain and insignificant distinctions to honour and recompence vertue; such as the crowns of lawrel, oak, and myrtle, the particular fashion of some garment, the privilege to ride in a coach in the city, or to have a torch by night; some peculiar place assigned in publick assemblies; the prerogative of certain additional names and titles; certain distinctions in their bearing of coats of arms, and the like the use of which, according to the several humours of nations, has been variously receiv'd, and do yet continue. We in France, as also several of our neighbours, have the orders of knighthood, that are instituted only for this end. And 'tis in earnest a very good and profitable custom to find out an acknowledgment for the worth of rare and excellent men; and to satisfie their ambition with rewards, that are not at all chargeable either to prince or people. And that which has been always found both by ancient experience, and that we ourselves may also have observed in our own times, that men of quality have ever been more jealous of such recompences, than of those wherein there was gain and profit, is not without very good ground and reason. If with reward, which ought to be simply a recompence of honour, they should mix other emoluments, and add riches, this mixture instead of procuring an encrease of estimation, would vilifie and abate it. The order of St. Michael, which has been so long in repute amongst us, had no other, nor greater commodity, than that it had no communication with any other; which produced this effect, that formerly there was no office, nor title whatever, to which the gentry pretended with so great desire and affection, as they did to that; nor quality that carried with it more respect and grandure: vertue more willingly embracing, and with greater ambition, aspiring to a recompence truly her own, and rather honourable than beneficial: for in truth, the other rewards have not so great a dignity of usage, by reason they are laid out upon all sorts of occasions. With money a man pays the wages of a servant, the diligence of a courier, dancing, vaulting, speaking, and the vilest offices we receive; nay, and reward vice with it too; and therefore 'tis no wonder if vertue does less desire, and less willingly receive this common sort of payment, than that which is proper and peculiar to her, throughout generous and noble. Augustus had reason to be a better husband, and more sparing of this, than the other, by how much honour is a privilege that extracts its principal esteem from rarity, and vertue it self.

Cui malus est nemo, quis bonus esse potest?-Mart. lib. 2 Epig. 82. To whom none seemeth ill, who good can seem?

We do not intend it for a commendation, when we say, that such a one is careful in the education of his children: by reason it is a common act, how just and well done soever; no more than we commend a great tree, where the whole forest is the same. I do not think that any citizen of Sparta valued himself much upon his valour, it being the the universal vertue of the whole nation, and as little glorified himself upon his fidelity, and contempt of riches. There is no recompence due