But return we to Hieron. He also relateth how many incommodities he findeth in his royalty, being so barred that he cannot at his liberty travel or go whither he pleaseth, being as it were a prisoner within the limits of his country. And that in all his actions he is encircled and hemmed-in with an importunate and tedious multitude. Truly, to see our princes all alone, sitting at their meat, beleaguered-round with so many talkers, whisperers, and gazing-beholders, unknown what they are or whence they come, I have often rather pitied than envied them. King Alphonsus was wont to say that burden-bearing asses were in that in far better condition than kings. For their masters suffer them to feed at their ease, whereas kings can not obtain that privilege of their servants. And it could never fall into my mind that it might be any special commodity to the life of a man of understanding to have a score of find-faults, pick-thanks, and controllers about his close-stool. [56] Nor that the service of a man that hath a thousand pound rent a year or that hath taken Cales or defended Sienna [57] is more commodious or acceptable to him than that of a sufficient and well-experienced groom.
Prince-like advantages are in a manner but imaginary pre-eminences. Every degree of fortune hath some image of principality. Cæsar termeth all the lords, which in his time had justice in France, to be kinglets, or petit-kings. And truly, except the name of Sire, we go very far with our kings. Look but in the provinces remote and far from the court. As for example, in Brittany, the attending train, the flocking subjects, the number of officers, the many affairs, the diligent service, the obsequious ceremonies of a lord that liveth retired and in his own house, brought up amongst his own servants, tenants, and followers. And note also the high pitch of his imaginations and humours; there is no greater royalty can be seen. He heareth no more talk of his master than of the Persian king and happily but once a year, and knows but some far-fetched and old kindred or pedigree, which his secretary finds or keeps upon some ancient record or evidence. Verily, our laws are very free, and the burden of sovereignty doth scarcely concern a gentleman of France twice in his whole life. Essential and effectual subjection amongst us doth not respect any but such as allure themselves unto it and that affect to honour and love to enrich themselves by such service. For he that can shroud and retire himself in his own home and can manage and direct his house without suits in law or quarrel with his neighbours or domestic encumbrances is as free as the Duke of Venice. [58] Paucos servitus, plures servitutem tenent. Service holds few, but many hold service. [59]
But above all things Hieron seemeth to complain that he perceiveth himself deprived of all mutual friendship, reciprocal society, and familiar conversation, wherein consisteth the most perfect and sweetest fruit of human life. [60] For what undoubted testimony of affection and good will can I expect or exact from him, that will-he or nill-he [61] oweth me all he hath, all he can? Can I make account of his humble speech, of his low-lowting curtzie [62] or of his courteous offers, since it lieth not in his power to refuse them me? The honour we receive of those which fear and stand in awe of us is no true honour. Such respects are rather due to royalty, to majesty, than to me.
——maximum hoc regni bonum est,
Quod facta domini cogitur populus sui
Quam ferre, tam laudare.
This is chief good of prince’s dominations,
Subjects are forc’t their sov’reign’s acts and fashions
To bear with patience, pass with commendations. [63]
Do I not see that both the bad and the good king are served alike? That he who is hated and he that is beloved are both courted alike? And the one as much fawned upon as the other? My predecessor was served with the same appearances and waited upon with the like ceremonies, and so shall my successor be. If my subjects offend me not, it is no testimony of any good affection. Wherefore shall I take it in that sense, sithence [64] they cannot if they would? No man followeth me for any friendship that is between him and me; inasmuch as no firm friendship can be contracted where is so small relation, so slender correspondence, and such disparity. My high degree hath excluded me from the commerce of men. There is too great an inequality and distant disproportion. They follow for countenance and of custom, or rather my fortune than myself, hoping thereby to increase theirs. Whatsoever they say, all they do unto me is but a gloss and but dissimulation, their liberty being every where bridled and checked by the great power I have over them. I see nothing about me but inscrutable hearts, hollow minds, feigned looks, dissembled speeches, and counterfeit actions. [65]
His courtiers one day commended Julian the Emperor for ministering of right and doing of justice. I should easily grow proud (said he) for these praises, if they came from such as durst either accuse or discommend my contrary actions, should I commit any.
All the true commodities that princes have are common unto them with men of mean fortune. It is for gods to mount winged horses and to feed on ambrosia. They have no other sleep, nor no other appetite than ours. Their steel is of no better temper than that wherewith we arm ourselves. Their crown, their diadem can neither hide them from the sun nor shelter them from the rain. Dioclesian that wore one, so much reverenced and so fortunate, did voluntarily resign the same to withdraw himself unto the pleasure of a private life. But a while after, the urgent necessity of public affairs requiring his presence and that he should return to re-assume his charge again, he answered those that solicited him unto it, “You would never undertake to persuade me to that had you but seen the goodly ranks of trees, which my self have planted in mine orchard or the fair musk-melons I have set in my garden.”
According to Anacharsis his opinion, The happiest estate of a well-ordered commonwealth should be where, all other things being equally common, precedence should be measured and preferments suited according to virtue and desert, and the contrary according to vice. [66]
At what time King Pyrrhus undertook to pass into Italy, Cyneas his wise and trusty counselor, going about to make him perceive the vanity of his ambition, one day bespake him thus: “My good Sir,” (said he) “To what end do you prepare for so great an enterprise?” He answered suddenly, “To make myself lord of Italy.” “That done, what will you do then?” (replied Cyneas). “I will then pass” (said Pyrrhus) “into Gaul and then into Spain.” “And what afterwards?” “I will then invade Africa and subdue the same and, at last, when I shall have brought all the world under my subjection, I will then take my rest and live contented at mine ease.” “Now, for God’s sake, Sir” (replied Cyneas), “Tell me what hinders you that you be not now, if so you please, in that estate? Wherefore do you not now place yourself where you mean to aspire and save so much danger, so many hazards, and so great troubles as you interpose between both?” [67]
Nimirum quia non bene norat quæ esset habendi
Finis, et omnino quoad crescat vera voluptas.
The cause forsooth, he knew not what should be the end
Of having, nor how far true pleasure should extend. [68]
I will exclude [69] and shut up this treatise with an ancient verse, which I singularly applaud and deem fit to this purpose:
Mores cuique sui fingunt fortunam.
Ev’ry man’s manners and his mind,
His fortune to him frame and find. [70]
Of Age
1.57
I CANNOT receive [1] that manner whereby we establish the continuance [2] of our life. [3] I see that some of the wiser sort do greatly shorten the same, in respect of the common opinion. “What,” said Cato Junior, to those who sought to hinder him from killing himself, “Do I now live the age wherein I may justly be reproved to leave my life too soon?” Yet was he but eight and forty years old. He thought that age very ripe, yea and well advanced, considering how few men come unto it. And such as entertain themselves with I wot not what kind of course—which they call natural—promiseth some few years beyond, might do it [4] had they a privilege that could exempt them from so great a number of accidents unto which each one of us stands subject by a natural subjectio
n, and which may interrupt the said course they propose unto themselves.
What fondness is it for a man to think he shall die for, and through, a failing and defect of strength which extreme age draweth with it, and to propose that term unto our life, seeing it is the rarest kind of all deaths and least in use! We only call it natural, as if it were against nature to see a man break his neck with a fall; to be drowned by shipwreck; to be surprised with a pestilence or pleurisy; and as if our ordinary condition did not present these inconveniences unto us all. Let us not flatter ourselves with these fond-goodly [5] words. A man may peradventure rather call that natural which is general, common, and universal.
To die of age is a rare, singular, and extraordinary death, and so much less natural than others. It is the last and extremest kind of dying. The further it is from us, so much the less is it to be hoped for. Indeed, it is the limit, beyond which we shall not pass and which the law of nature hath prescribed unto us, as that which should not be outgone by any. [6] But it is a rare privilege peculiar unto herself to make us continue unto it. It is an exemption which through some particular favor she bestoweth on some one man in the space of two or three ages, [7] discharging him from the crosses, troubles, and difficulties she hath interposed between both in this long cariere [8] and pilgrimage.
Therefore my opinion is to consider that the age unto which we are come is an age whereto few arrive. Since men come not unto it by any ordinary course, it is a sign we are very forward. [9] And since we have passed the accustomed bounds which is the true measure of our life, we must not hope that we shall go much further. Having escaped so many occasions of death, wherein we see the world to fall, we must acknowledge that such an extraordinary fortune as that is, which maintaineth us and is beyond the common use, is not likely to continue long.
It is a fault of the very laws to have this false imagination. They allow not a man to be capable and of discretion, to manage and dispose of his own goods, until he be five and twenty years old, yet shall he hardly preserve the state of his life so long. Augustus abridged five years of the ancient Roman laws and declared that for any man that should take upon him the charge of judgement, [10] it sufficed to be thirty years old. Servius Tullius dispensed [11] the knights who were seven and forty years of age from all voluntary services of war. Augustus brought them to forty and five. To send men to their place of sejourning [12] before they be five and fifty or three score [13] years of age, me seemeth, carrieth no great appearance [14] with it. My advice would be that our vocation and employment should be extended as far as might be for the public commodity. But I blame some, and condemn most, that we begin not soon enough to employ ourselves. The same Augustus had been universal and supreme judge of the world, when he was but nineteen years old, and would have another to be thirty before he shall be made a competent judge of a cottage or farm. [15]
As for my part, I think our minds are as full grown and perfectly jointed at twenty years as they should be, and promise as much as they can. A mind which at that age hath not given some evident token or earnest of her sufficiency shall hardly give it afterward; put her to what trial you list. Natural qualities and virtues, if they have any vigorous or beauteous thing in them, will produce and show the same within that time or never. They say in Delphinate, [16]
Si l’espine nou picque quand nai,
A peine que picque jamai.
A thorn, unless at first it prick,
Will hardly ever pierce to th’quick.
Of all human honourable and glorious actions that ever came unto my knowledge, of what nature soever they be, I am persuaded I should have a harder task to number those which, both in ancient times and in ours, have been produced and achieved before the age of thirty years than such as were performed after. Yea, often in the life of the same men.
May not I boldly speak it of those of Hannibal and Scipio his great adversary? They lived the better part of their life with the glory which they had gotten in their youth. And though afterward they were great men in respect of all others, yet were they but mean in regard of themselves.
As for my particular, I am verily persuaded that since that age both my spirit and my body have more decreased than increased, more recoiled than advanced. It may be that knowledge and experience shall increase in them, together with life, that bestow their time well. But vivacity, promptitude, constancy, and other parts much more our own, more important and more essential, they droop, they languish, and they faint.
——ubi iam validis quassatum est viribus ævi
Corpus, et obtusis ceciderunt viribus artus,
Claudicat ingenium, delirat linguaque mensque.
When once the body by shrewd strength of years
Is shak’t, and limbs drawn-down from strength that wears,
Wit halts, both tongue and mind
Do daily dote, we find. [17]
It is the body which sometimes yieldeth first unto age and other times the mind. And I have seen many that have had their brains weakened before their stomach or legs. And forasmuch as it is a disease, little or nothing sensible [18] unto him that endureth it and maketh no great show, it is so much the more dangerous. Here I exclaim against our laws, not because they leave us so long and late in working and employment, but that they set us a-work no sooner, and it is so late before we be employed. Methinks that considering the weakness of our life, and seeing the infinite number of ordinary rocks and natural dangers it is subject unto, [19] we should not so soon as we come into the world allot so great a share thereof unto unprofitable wantonness in youth, ill-breeding idleness, and slow-learning prentissage. [20]
Of the Inconstancy of Our Actions
2.1
THOSE which exercise themselves in controlling human actions find no such let [1] in any one part as to piece them together and bring them to one same lustre. For they commonly contradict one another so strangely as it seemeth impossible they should be parcels of one warehouse. Young Marius is sometimes found to be the son of Mars and other times the child of Venus. Pope Boniface the Eighth is reported to have entered into his charge [2] as a fox, to have carried himself therein as a lion, and to have died like a dog. And who would think it was Nero, that lively image of cruelty who, being required to sign (as the custom was) the sentence of a criminal offender that had been condemned to die, that ever he should answer, “Oh, would to God I could never have written!” So near was his heart grieved to doom a man to death.
The world is so full of such examples, that every man may store himself. And I wonder to see men of understanding trouble themselves with sorting these parcels, sithence [3] (me seemeth) irresolution is the most apparent and common vice of our nature, as witnesseth that famous verse of Publius the Comedian:
Malum consilium est, quod mutari non potest.
The counsel is but bad,
Whose change may not be had. [4]
There is some appearance to judge a man by the most common conditions of his life. But seeing the natural instability of our customs and opinions, I have often thought that even good authors do ill and take a wrong course, willfully to opinionate themselves about framing a constant and solid contexture [5] of us. They choose an universal air and, following that image, range and interpret all a man’s actions. Which, if they cannot wrest sufficiently, they remit them unto dissimulation. Augustus hath escaped their hands, for there is so apparent, so sudden and continual a variety of actions found in him through the course of his life that even the boldest judges and strictest censurers have been fain to give him over and leave him undecided. There is nothing I so hardly believe to be in man as constancy, and nothing so easy to be found in him as inconstancy. He that should distinctly and part by part judge of him should often jump to speak truth. [6]
View all antiquity over, and you shall find it a hard matter to choose out of a dozen of men that have directed their life unto one certain, settled, and assured course, which is the surest drift of wisdom. For, to comprehend all in one word, sayeth an ancient wri
ter, and to embrace all the rules of our life into one, it is at all times to will and not to will one same thing. I would not vouchsafe (sayeth he) to add anything, always provided the will be just. For, if it be unjust, it is impossible it should ever continue one. Verily, I have heretofore learned that vice is nothing but a disorder and want of measure and, by consequence, it is impossible to fasten constancy unto it. It is a saying of Demosthenes (as some report), That consultation and deliberation is the beginning of all virtue, and constancy the end and perfection. If by reason or discourse we should take a certain way, we should then take the fairest: but no man hath thought on it.
Quod petiit, spernit, repetit quod nuper omisit,
Æstuat, et vitæ disconvenit ordine toto.
He scorns that which he sought, seeks that he scorn’d of late,
He flows, ebbs, disagrees in his life’s whole estate. [7]
Our ordinary manner is to follow the inclination of our appetite, this way and that way, on the left and on the right hand, upward and downward, according as the wind of occasions doth transport us. We never think on what we would have but at the instant we would have it, and change as that beast that takes the colour of the place wherein it is laid. [8] What we even now purposed, we alter by and by, and presently return to our former bias; all is but changing, motion, and inconstancy:
Ducimur ut nervis alienis mobile lignum.
So are we drawn, as wood is shoved,
By others sinews each way moved. [9]
We go not, but we are carried: as things that float, now gliding gently, now hulling [10] violently, according as the water is, either stormy or calm.
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