510

WHAT ARE THE FOUNDATIONS OF OUR MOURNING.

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of her infancy. The remembrance of a farewel, of the particular grace of an action, of a last recommendation, afflict us. The sight of Cæsar's robe troubled all Rome, which was more than his death had done. Even the sound of names ringing in our ears, as, "My poor master, my faithful friend;" Alas, my dear father," or, "my sweet daughter," afflict us. When these repetitions torment me, and that I examine it a little nearer, I find 'tis no other but a grammatical complaint; I am only wounded with the word and tone, as the exclamations of preachers do very oft work more upon their auditory than their reasons; and as the pitiful eyes of a beast kill'd for service, without my weighing, or penetrating in the interim into the true and real essence of my subject. These are the foundations of our mourning. The obstinacy of my stone to all remedies, especially those in my bladder, has sometimes thrown me into so long suppressions of urine for three or four days together, and so near death, that it had been folly to have hop'd to evade it; and it was much rather to have been desir'd, considering the miseries I endure in those cruel fits. A dog, a horse, a book, a glass, and what not? were consider'd in my loss. To others, their ambitious hopes, their money, their knowledge, not less foolish considerations in my opinion than mine. I look upon death carelesly, when I look upon it universally as the end of life. I insult over it in gross; but in retail it domineers over me. The tears of a footman, the disposing of my cloaths, the touch of a friendly hand, which is a common consolation, discourages and entenerates me. So do the complaints in tragedies infect our souls with grief, and the regrets of Dido and Ariadne, empassionate even those who believe them not, in Virgil and Catullus. 'Tis a symptom of an obstinate and obdurate nature, to be sensible of no emotion; as 'tis reported for a miracle of Polemon; who not so much as alter'd his countenance at the biting of a mad dog, who tore away the calf of his leg. And no wisdom proceeds so far, as to conceive so lively and entire a cause of sorrow by judgment, that it does not suffer an encrease by presence, where the eyes and ears have their share; parts that are not to be moved but by vain accidents. Is it reason, that even the arts themselves should make an advantage of our natural brutality and weakness? An orator, says rhetorick, in the farce of his pleading, shall be mov'd with the sound of his own voice, and feigned emotions, and suffer himself to be impos'd upon by the passion he represents; he will imprint in himself a true and real grief, by means of the part he plays, to transmit it to the audience, who are yet less concern'd than he: as they do, who are hired at funerals to assist in the ceremony of sorrow, who sell their tears and mourning by weight and measure. For altho' they act in a borrow'd form, nevertheless by habituating themselves, and setling their countenances to the occasion, 'tis most certain, they oft are really affected with a true and real sorrow. I was one, amongst several others of his friends, who convey'd the body of Monsieur de Grammont to Soissons, from the siege of la Fere, where he was slain; I observ'd that in all places we pass'd through, we met with sorrowful countenances, occasion'd by the meer solemn pomp of our convoy, for the name of the defunct was not there so much as known. Quintilian reports to have seen comedians so deeply engag'd in a mourning part, that they could not give

over weeping when they came home, and who, having taken upon them to stir up passion in another, have themselves espous'd it to that degree, as to find themselves infected with it, not only to tears, but moreover with paleness, and the comportment of men really overwhelm'd with grief. In a country near our mountains, the women play priest Martin, that is to say, both the priest and the clerk; for as they augment the regret of the deceased husband, by the remembrance of the good and agreeable qualities he was master of; they also at the same time make a register of, and publish his imperfections; as if, of themselves to enter into some compensation, and so divert themselves from compassion to disdain; and yet with much better grace than we, who when we lose an old acquaintant, strive to give him new and false praises, and to make him quite another thing when we have lost sight of him, than he appear'd to us when we did see him: as if regret was an instructive thing, or that tears, by washing our understandings, clear'd them. For my part, I henceforth renounce all favourable testimonies men would give of me, not because I shall not be worthy of them, but because I shall be dead. Whoever shall ask a man, what interest have you in this siege? The interest of example, he will say, and of the common obedience to my prince: I pretend to no profit by it; and for glory, I know how small a part can reflect upon such a private man as I: I have here neither passion nor quarrel. And yet you shall see him the next day quite another man, chafing, and red with fury, rang'd in battle for the assault. 'Tis the glittering of so much steel, the fire and noise of our canon and drums, that have infus'd this new rancour and fury into his veins. A frivolous cause you will say, how a cause? There needs none to agitate the mind; a meer whimsie without body, and without subject will rule and sway it. Let me think

of building castles in Spain, my imagination suggests to me conveniencies and pleasures, with which my soul is really delighted and pleased. How oft do we torment our mind with anger or sorrow by such shadows, and engage our selves in fantastick passions, that alter both the soul and body? What astonish'd, fleeting, and confus'd grimaces does this raving put our faces into ! What sallies and agitation both of members and voices does it inspire us with? Does it not seem that this individual man has false visions from the crowds of others with whom he has to do, or, that he is possess'd with some internal Dæmon that persecutes him? Enquire of your self, where is the object of this mutation? Is there any thing but us in nature, but subsisting nullity, over which it has power? Cambyses, for having dreamt that his brother should be one day king of Persia, put him to death; a beloved brother, and one in whom he had always confided. Aristodemus, king of the Messenians, kill'd himself out of a fancy of ill omen, from I know not what howling of his dogs; and king Midas did as much upon the account of some foolish dream he had dream'd. 'Tis to prize life at its just value, to abandon it for a dream; and yet here the soul triumphs over the miseries and weakness of the body.

512 WISDOM HAS NO LESS NEED OR MODERATION THAN FOLLY.

CHAP. LXXVIII.-UPON SOME VERSES OF VIRGIL.

By how much profitable thoughts are more full and solid, by so much are they also more cumbersome and heavy. Vice, death, poverty, diseases, are grave and grievous subjects. A man must have his soul instructed in the means to sustain and to contend with evils, and in the rules of living and believing well; and often rouze it up, and exercise it in this noble study. But in an ordinary soul, it must be by intervals, and with moderation; it will otherwise grow besotted, if continually intent upon it. I found it necessary when I was young, to put my self in mind and to solicit to keep me to my duty; gayety and health do not, they say, so well agree with those grave and serious meditations: I am at present in another condition. The indispositions of age do but too much put me in mind, and preach to me. From the excess of spriteliness, I am fallen into that of severity; which is much more troublesome. And for that reason, I now suffer my self on purpose, a little to run into disorder; and sometimes busie my mind in wanton and youthful thoughts, wherewith it diverts it self. I am of late but too reserv'd, too heavy, and too ripe; my age does every day read to me new lectures of coldness and temperance. This body of mine avoids disorder, and dreads it; 'tis now my body's turn to guide my mind towards reformation; it governs in turn, and more rudely and imperiously than the other; it lets me not an hour alone, sleeping or waking; but its always preaching to me death, patience, and repentance. I now defend my self from temperance, as I have formerly done from pleasure; it draws me too much back, and even to stupidity. Now I will be master of my self to all intents and purposes. Wisdom has its excess, and has no less need of moderation than folly. Therefore, lest I should wither, dry up, and overcharge my self with prudence, in the intervals my infirmities allow me. I gently decline it, and turn away my eyes from the stormy and frowning sky I have before me; which, thanks be to God, I consider without fear, but not without meditation and debate. And amuse myself in the remembrance of my better years. Let infancy look forward, and age backward; is not this the signification of Janus his double face? Let years hale me along if they will, but it shall be backward: as long as my eyes can discern the pleasant season expir'd, I shall now and then turn them that way. Though it escape from my blood and veins, I shall not however root the image of it out of my memory.

Plato ordains, that old men should be present at the exercises, dances, and sports of young people, that they may rejoyce in others, for the activity and beauty of body, which is no more in themselves; and call to mind the grace and comeliness of that flourishing age: and wills, that in these recreations, the honour of the prize should be given to that young man who has most diverted the company. I was formerly wont to mark cloudy and gloomy days, for extraordinary; those are now my ordinary ones; the extraordinary are the clear and bright. I am ready to leap out of my skin for joy, as for an unwonted favour, when nothing ails me. Let me tickle my self presently after, I cannot force a poor smile from this wretched body of mine. I am only merry in conceit, by artifice to divert the melancholy of age; but

doubtless it requires another remedy than the efficacy of a dream. A weak contest of art against nature. 'Tis great folly to lengthen and anticipate human inconveniences, as every one does. I had rather be

a less while old, than to be old before I am really so. I seize on even the least occasions of pleasure I can meet; I know very well by hearsay, several sorts of prudent pleasures, that are effectually so, and glorious to boot; but opinion has not power enough over me, to give me an appetite to them. I covet not so much to have them magnanimous, magnifick, and lofty; as I do to have them sweet, facile, and ready. A natura discedimus: populo nos damus, nullius rei bono auctori."-Sen. Ep. 99. We depart from nature, and give our selves to the people who understand nothing. My philosophy is in action, in natural and present practice, very little in fancy. What if I have a mind to play at cob-nut, or to whip a top.

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Pleasure is a quality of very little ambition, it thinks it self rich enough of it self, without any addition of repute; and is best pleas'd where most obscure. A young man should be whipt, who pretends to a palate in wines and sawces; there was nothing which at that age I less valued or knew; now I begin to learn. I am very much asham'd on't; but what should I do? I am more asham'd than vex'd at the occasions that put me upon 't. 'Tis for us to doat and trifle away the time, and for young men to stand upon their reputation, and the punctilio's of honour; they are going towards the world, and the world's opinion; we are retiring from it. "Sibi arma, sibi equos, sibi hastas, sibi clavam, sibi pilam, sibi nationes, et cursus habent: nobis senibus, ex lucionibus multis, talos relinquant et tesseras."-Cicero de Senect. "Let them reserve to themselves, arms, horses, spears, clubs, tennis, swimming and races; and of their numerous sports and exercises, leaves to us old men the diversions of cards and dice.” The laws themselves send us home to our lodgings. I can do no less in favour of this wretched condition, into which my age has thrown me, than furnish it with toys to play withal, as they do children, and we also become such. But wisdom and folly will have enough to do to support and relieve me by alternate offices in this calamity of age. I accordingly avoid the lightest punctures, and those that formerly would not have rippled the skin, do now pierce me through and through: my habit of body is now so naturally declining to evil: “In fragili corpore odiosa omnis offensio est." "To a decrepid body all offence is hateful." I have ever been tender in matters of offence, I am much more tender now, and open throughout. My judgment restrains me from kicking against, and murmuring at the inconveniences that nature orders me to endure, but it does not take away my feeling: I, who have no other thing in my prospect but to live and be merry, would run from one end of the world to the other to seek out one good year of pleasant and jocund tranquility. A melancholick and dull tranquility, is, I confess, enough for me, but it benumbs, stupifies, and besots me, I am not contented with it: if there be any person, any knot of good company in country or city, in France, or elsewhere, resident, or in motion, who can like my humour, and whose humours I can like, let them but whistle, and I will run to furnish them with essays of flesh and bone. Seeing it is the privilege of the mind

K K

514

VERTUE IS A PLEASANT AND GAY QUALITY.

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to rescue it self from old age, I advise mine to it with all the power I have, let it in the interim continue green, and flourish if it can like misseltoe upon a dead tree: but I fear 'tis a traytor, it has contracted so strict a fraternity with the body, that it leaves me at every turn to follow that in its need. I wheedle and deal with it apart in vain; I try to much purpose to wean it from this correspondence, to much effect quote to it Seneca and Catullus, and represent to it beautiful ladies, and royal masques; if its companion have the stone, it seems to have it too. Even the faculties that are most peculiarly and properly its own, cannot then perform their functions, but manifestly appear stupified and asleep; there is no sprightliness in its productions, if there be not at the same time an equal proportion in the body too. Our masters are to blame, that searching out the causes of the extraordinary emotions of the soul, besides attributing it to a divine extasie, love, martial fierceness, poesie, and wine, they have not also attributed a part to health. A boyling, vigorous, full and lazy health, such as formerly the verdure of youth and security by fits supply'd me withal ; that fire of spriteliness and gayety darts into the mind flashes that are lively and bright beyond our natural light, and with the most working, if not the most desperate enthusiasms: it is then no wonder if a contrary estate stupifie and clog my spirit, and produce a contrary effect. "Tetrica sunt amonanda jocularibus."-Sid. Apollin. 1. "Sour things are to be sweetned with those that are pleasant." I love a gay and civil wisdom, and fly from all sourness and austerity of manners, all grumness of faction being suspected to me. I am very much of Plato's opinion, who says, That facile or difficile humours are a great prejudice to the good or ill disposition of the mind." Socrates had a constant countenance, but withall, serene and smiling; not sourly constant, like the elder Crassus, that never any one saw laugh. Vertue is a pleasant and gay quality. I know very well that few will quarrel with the liberty of my writings, who have not more to quarrel with in the licence of their own thoughts: I conform my self well enough to their inclinations, but I offend their eyes. 'Tis a pretty humour to strain the writings of Plato, to wrest his pretended negotiation with Phædo, Dion, Stella, and Archeanassa. "Non pudeat dicere, quod non pudeat sentire." "Let us not be asham'd to speak, what we are not asham'd to think." I hate a froward and pensive spirit, that slips over all the pleasures of life, and seizes and feeds upon misfortunes; like flies, that cannot stick to a sleek and polish'd body, but fix and repose themselves upon craggy and rough places; and like cupping-glasses, that only suck and attract the worst blood. As to the rest, I have enjoyn'd my self to dare to say all that I dare to do, and even thoughts that are not to be publish'd displease me; the worst of my actions and qualities do not appear to me so foul, as I find it foul and base not to dare to own them. Every one is wary and discreet in confession, but men ought to be so in action. The boldness of doing ill is in some sort recompenc'd and restrain'd by the boldness of confessing it. Whoever will oblige himself to tell all, should oblige himself to do nothing that he must be forc'd to conceal. I wish that this excessive licence of mine may draw men to freedom, above these timorous and mincing pretended vertues sprung from our imperfections; and that at the expence of my im