the rest; but, lest it should tyrannize and domineer over you, weaken and protract, in dividing and diverting it; Cum morosa vago singultiet inguine venæ.-Persius Sat. 6. Conjicito humorem collectum in corpora quæque.—Lucr. l. 4. and look to't in time, lest it prove too troublesome to deal with, when it has once seiz'd you. Si non prima novis conturbes vulnera plagis, Revel in love, and cure old wounds by new. I once was wounded with a vehement displeasure, and withal, more just than vehement; I might peradventure have lost my self in it, if I had merely trusted to my own strength. Having need of a powerful diversion to disengage me, by amorous arts and study, wherein I was assisted by my youth, I found one out love reliev'd and rescu'd me from the evil wherein friendship had engaged me. 'Tis in every thing else the same; a violent imagination hath seiz'd me, I find it a nearer way to change, than to subdue it: I depute, if not one contrary, yet another at least in its place. Variation does always relieve, dissolve, and dissipate; if I am not able to contend with it, I escape from it; and in avoiding it, slip out of the way, and make my doubles: shifting of place, business, and company, I secure my self in the crowd of other thoughts and fancies, where it loses my trace, and I escape. After the same manner does nature proceed, by the benefit of inconstancy; for the time she has given us for the sovereign physician of our passions, does chiefly work by that, that supplying our imaginations with other, and new affairs, it unnerves, and dissolves the first apprehension, how strong soever. A wise man sees his friend little less dying at the end of five and twenty years, than the first year, and according to Epicurus, no less at all; for he did not attribute any alleviation of afflictions, neither to the foresight of the man, or the antiquity of the evils themselves. But so many other thoughts traverse the first, that it languishes and tires at last. Alcibiades, to divert the inclination of common rumours, cut off the ears and tail of his beautiful dog, and turn'd him out into the pubiick place, to the end, that giving the people this occasion to prate, they might let his other actions alone. I have also seen, for this same end of diverting the opinions and conjectures of the people, and to stop their mouths, some women conceal their real affections by those that were only counterfeit, and put on to blind men's eyes; but some of them withal, who in counterfeiting, have suffer'd themselves to be caught indeed, and who have quitted the true and original affec 694 WE DO NOT MUCH CONSIDER SUBJECTS IN GROSS. tion, for the feign'd; and by them have found, that they who find their affections well plac'd, are fools to consent to this disguise. The favourable and publick reception being only reserv'd for this pretended servant, a man may conclude him a fellow of very little address, and less wit, if he does not in the end put himself into your place, and you into his; this is properly to cut out, and make up a shooe for another to draw on. A little thing will turn and divert us; because a little thing holds us. We do not much consider subjects in gross, and single in themselves; but they are little and superficial circumstances that wound us, and the outward useless rinds that pill off those subjects. Folliculos ut nunc teretes æstate cicadæ Such as the hollow husks, or shells we find Even Plutarch himself laments his daughter for the little apish tricks 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. His se stimulis dolor ipse lacessit.—Lucan. l. 2. With these incitements grief it self provokes. 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 696 WE TORMENT OUR MIND WITH ANGER FOR SHADOWS. 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; and truly in that it is expos'd to all offences and alterations, it has reason to speak after this manner : O prima infœlix fingenti terra Prometheo! Corpora disponens, mentem non vidit in arte, Recta animi primum debuit esse via.—Prop. lib. 3 Eleg. 3. Oh, 'twas for man a most unhappy day, When rash Prometheus form'd him out of clay ! In his attempt th' ambitious architect Did indiscreetly the main thing neglect. In framing bodies, he had not the art To form the mind, which is the chiefest part. CHAP. XCIX.-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 and truces my infirmities allow me, Mens intenta suis ne siet usque malis.—Ovid. Trist l. 4. El. 1. And fix'd on subjects still of discontent. 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. Animus quod perdidit optat, Atque in præterita se totus imagine versat.-Petron. Arbiter. The mind what it has lost wishes to have, And for things past eternally does crave. |